A letter to Staff Sergeant Jake Kachadoorian, wherever you are
Dear Jake,
A century ago, there you were—cheerful and curious—playing with your friends in the warm streets of Fresno, California. Born on August 1, 1919, to Eznig and Annie Kachadoorian, you were the pride and joy of your Armenian parents. You loved them deeply and would have done anything for them. I guess, you remember all the fun and laughter you shared with your four brothers—Andrew, Reuben, Harry and Nick—climbing trees, playing ball, racing down the dirt roads until the sun dipped below the horizon. Those were the happiest moments of your life, weren’t they? Back then, the world seemed so beautiful and full of promise.
Then came your high school years in Selma, where everyone knew your name. You were not just another student; you were a friend—someone people wanted to hang out with. You had a natural way of making others laugh and feel better. After graduation, you worked as a machinist at Douglas Aircraft Corporation in Santa Monica, California. It was a good job, building the planes that would soon fill the skies of war.
During World War II, you saw what was happening overseas—how innocent lives were being swallowed by the tide of war. With courage in your heart, you joined the U.S. Army Air Forces to stand against tyranny and help rescue a world in danger. You became a proud member of the 331st Bomber Squadron, 94th Bomber Group and served your country in a B-17 Flying Fortress named Marge H. Like every airman, you knew that each mission meant staring death in the face, but you never hesitated. Every time you climbed into that aircraft, you knew you were protecting not just your country, but the very ideals of freedom and justice.
I imagine you remember September 27, 1943, and that fateful mission over Emden, Germany. As a ball turret gunner, you were in that small glass sphere beneath the belly of the plane, watching the world spin below you, always ready to protect your crewmates—brothers in a different kind of family.
On that day, you were approaching your target when, suddenly, German fighters came out of nowhere and attacked your aircraft. Badly damaged, with black smoke pouring from the engines, your B-17 struggled to stay in the air. You fought back, but the damage was too great and your plane crashed into the North Sea. Just like that, you vanished beneath the waves and into the silence of a world that would never hear your voice again.
Back home, your parents and brothers clung to hope—praying for a miracle, for news, for anything that meant you were still out there. But shortly after the crash, an official telegram destroyed all hope. Each of them carried the weight of your absence in their own way. They lived full lives, but the pain of losing you never left them. Every family gathering held an empty space where you should have been. And one by one, as they grew older and their time came, they carried that ache with them to their graves.
None of them ever forgot you, Jake. None of them.
Today, at the Netherlands American Cemetery in Margraten, your name, Staff Sergeant Jake Kachadoorian, is engraved on the Walls of the Missing, alongside so many other American heroes who gave their lives for our freedom and have no known grave. You are honored there, in a land far from home, but not far from our hearts. Once in a while, strangers trace their fingers over your name and, for a brief moment, they know you.
You are also remembered in your hometown of Fresno. Shortly after the confirmation of your death, your family placed a memorial marker for you at Masis Ararat Cemetery, so they would have a place to come—to mourn, to cry, to reflect and to feel close to you. That marker became a sacred space: a symbol of love, loss and eternal remembrance.
But Jake, there is something I have to tell you—something that breaks my heart to say. I always believed the world would remember what you fought for, what you died for. I thought your sacrifice, and the sacrifice of so many others, would help us build a better future. But now I’m not so sure.
Dictators in suits are once again dreaming of empires, invasions and ethnic cleansing. Old, greedy men are still sending young souls like yours to die on distant battlefields. Aggressive nationalism is rising. Authoritarianism is creeping back into the places it once destroyed. The very ideology you gave your life to stop is no longer confined to the past—it is being rehabilitated, repackaged, even promoted.
I am so sorry, Jake. I wish I could tell you that the world learned from the pain, the blood and the silence you left behind. But it did not. And that may be the greatest tragedy of all.
But even as the world falters and forgets, I will not. Until my time comes, I will make sure your name is spoken and honored. I will carry your story forward—lighting the way for those who come after—so that your memory stays alive, at least in the hearts of those who still choose to remember.
Such a personal and touching way to honor this Armenian hero. Beautifully written. Thank you, John, for keeping Jake’s memory alive.
I didn’t know Jake, but now I’ll never forget him. Thank you, John.
Thank You so much John for keeping these American Armenian heroes alive. They may be gone, but they are not really gone. Salutes to Jake and to my Father and all my Uncles who served in WW2.
Beautifully written. Thank you John for honouring these heroes and to remind us that freedom, democracy and the rule of law is worth fighting for.
Dear John, Your words about sacrifice and ongoing loss of life resonates deeply. Unfortunately despite the loss of live of so many soldiers, still many wars continue in distant battlefields. And soldiers still sacrifice their lives… I want to thank you for dedicating so many hours and doing the research to write these heartfelt columns
Hi John,
Thank you for posting this. Jake is actually my cousin. My Dad and Jake are first cousins. Was this letter written by Reuben and you reposted? Trying to get some clarity on the whole piece. We don’t have a lot of background here.
Hi John,
Thank you for the beautiful letter to honor Jake Kachadoorian.
Jake was my husband Nicholas Eznig Kachadoorian, Jr. oldest brother and he loved him so deeply. My husband Nick was called Junior through the years until his father passed away. Nick was the one that bought a family plot at Massis Ararat Cemetery for his family and installed a plaque for Jake to honor him. He worked constantly to get his brothers name recognized as a purple heart war hero on the walls of the purple heart section at the National Legion of Valor Museum, Fresno, CA.
I helped my husband since the early 1970’s along with Louis L. Cochran, Commander MOPH Ch. #106. Most of the credit goes to Louis Cochran persistence
to keep trying. We would get letters saying all records were destroyed in a fire etc. etc. Louis never gave up and in the year 2004 Jakes name was added to the purple heart wall. Sadly my husband never knew as he died on August 10, 2003 a year earlier.
The Army Air Corps Unit acknowledge that Jake was a Staff Sargent, Turrent Gunner and Flight Engineer -B-17 that was awarded the purple heart. He was in the 331st Bomb Squadron, 328th Service Group (H) 8th Air Force, ETO and had completed two tours of combat flight and was on his 23rd mission of his third tour when his plane was destroyed on September 23, 1943 and reported on fire over the North Sea near Emden, Germany. No survivors were ever reported.
I want to thank you again for bringing Jake alive with your beautiful letter and other letters to veterans of World War II