Was Hitler really dead?  Did he actually commit suicide in the Berlin bunker constructed for his use?

How could the United States, with its British and French allies, ever bring about democracy in the Germany shattered by war?  Would not the forces of the Soviet Union continue to disrupt their efforts?

In the fall of 1946, the first of these questions still haunted the American public. Many people did not quite believe Hitler was dead.

The second question would prove troublesome for years. As one of the occupying powers, the Soviet Union proved an ornery ally and, at times, a military threat to the United States.

No one could have foreseen then the new Germany that eventually emerged and flourishes today.

In an effort to inform people about the American occupation of Germany, the U.S. Army invited editors from around the country to travel to Germany, in September and October 1946, and visit important areas of the country, along with smaller sections of Austria and Italy.

Among the eleven journalists chosen for the trip was my father, John Griffin, then Sunday Editor of the Boston Post.

Thanks to my sister Maureen, I now have a packet of the 20 articles sent back by my father and published in the Post. They provide vivid accounts of the suffering of the Germans as they tried to cope with minimal food allotments and widespread destruction of their cities.

In Frankfurt, the first city visited, my father reported arrogance among the people toward their conquerors. He did not think they had submitted “to a new idea of government and friendship for other nations.”

Moving on to Berlin, Jack (as friends and colleagues called him) wrote about the American army of occupation. Most of the troops were still teenagers, young men only 18 or 19.  Those who had done the fighting had gone home and passed on to these youthful draftees the chores of conquerors.

While in Berlin, Jack and his colleagues were introduced to Hitler’s bunker.  They went down forty feet to the living quarters and saw where he had first killed Eva Braun and then himself.  There could be no doubt of the dictator’s death and the end of his regime.

In Munich my father met Germans who were much more hopeful about the future. The Oktoberfest was going on during the editors’ stay in the city.  Precious little evidence of Nazism remained in the city where it had begun.

While in Munich, Jack also wrote an article about art works stolen by Hitler and his forces. He saw experts at work trying to identify where these treasures belonged. U.S. military police kept guard over an incredibly precious hoard.

Throughout his stops, Jack expressed concern about the food problems facing the people.  He worried how they would fare if the coming winter proved especially cold.

Had he lived longer, my father would presumably be amazed at the changes that came to mark a new, prosperous, and democratic Germany.

After completing their tour of Germany, the editors flew to Vienna.  Though the Russian occupation of Austria was extensive, the country was self-governing. And the people, though needy, were generally hopeful about their future.

The editors’ last stop, surprisingly enough, was Castel Gandolfo near Rome, where Pope Pius XII was in residence.  In prepared remarks, the pope expressed concern for the material and spiritual rehabilitation of the tens of thousands of people made refugees by the war. Later, in informal conversation, the editors found him gracious and ready for what my father called “chatty discussion.”

I was a teenager when these articles appeared, and I never talked with my father about any of his experiences. This is something I still regret.