By the summer of 1945, the country was well used to the huge war effort. The need for scrap iron, for example, was such that the iron fence around the Boston Common was turned into tanks and ships. In Lincoln there was a makeshift corral just off the edge of the center Post Office parking lot into which one would chuck squashed tin cans.

As to foodstuffs, about a third of all the vegetables produced in the United States were grown in individual backyard “victory gardens” with crops favoring those that could be stored in root cellars for winter use. It was not surprising if your neighbor had a chicken coop out in the yard, or perhaps a few pigs running around. Since in those days there were few if any home “deep freeze” units, one could rent space in a large freezer facility in Concord if the need arose.

But also in effect was gas rationing: four gallons a week if you were lucky. And one could not possess any more than five tires, which had a proclivity for making themselves flat at the plunk of a pothole.

Against this backdrop, then, we as a family had splurged with our ration coupons and — absent the Dad who was in military government in Leipzig — were headed to Vermont in our ancient Chevrolet. It was the afternoon of August 15, 1945.

Suddenly, as we were slowly moving through the village of Townsend, Mass., a woman burst out her front door and ran pell-mell toward the street, a huge smile on her face, arms pumping in the air, and yelling over and over and over again for all the world to hear: “The war is over! The war is over! The war is over!”

It was the greatest single outpouring of joy I have ever heard.

Author’s note: The emperor announced the surrender of Japan on August 15, 1945, setting off celebrations around the world. The official surrender ceremony was held on September 2 aboard the battleship USS Missouri.