A Liberator Returns: Joe Caminiti’s Journey Back to Guam

Joe meeting a unidentified man from Guam at the Honolulu Airport, who walked up to him to thank for saving his life during World War II.  Joe was named as one of Guam's Liberators at a banquet in Guam in 2025 by Governor Lou Leon Guerrero.

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As told by Neal Supranovich

Joe Caminiti and I stood in the loading area of Honolulu Airport, preparing for the final leg of our journey to Guam. We had just arrived from the mainland, and more passengers—many from Guam—were beginning to gather around us.

Joe, warm and approachable as always, chatted easily with fellow travelers. I hung back, taking photos and watching the scene quietly. That’s when a man approached me. He looked to be in his late 60s, still strong, and carried the presence of someone shaped by history.

He asked softly, “Is it okay if I talk to him?”—nodding toward Joe.

“Of course,” I said, surprised. “Why are you asking me?”

“You’ve got a camera,” he replied. “I thought maybe you were his agent.”

I smiled. “No, just a friend.”

Then he said something I will never forget. During World War II, his family—his mother, father, and uncles—had been imprisoned in Japanese camps on Guam. With emotion in his voice, he said, “If it wasn’t for people like Joe, my family might not have survived. I owe my life to him.”

I stood there, speechless.

He walked over to Joe and began to talk. I stepped back and let them have their moment. It was something sacred—one man offering a quiet, heartfelt thank-you to the Marine who helped change the course of his family’s life. I took a few photos, wanting to capture the history unfolding before me, but without disturbing what was clearly a deeply personal connection.

Other Guamanians nearby overheard the exchange. Some watched in reverent silence, others came up to shake Joe’s hand and thank him. In that airport, something shifted. Gratitude filled the air.
We boarded the plane and flew on to Guam.

The next day, Joe realized he had forgotten his bar of soap. We stopped at an ABC store, but they didn’t carry the kind he liked. The clerk called over the manager.

When the manager saw Joe, he paused. “I saw you at the airport yesterday,” he said. “I was on your flight.”
He remembered the interaction between Joe and the man whose family had survived the camps. That moment had stuck with him. “I just want to thank you, sir,” he said. Then, without hesitation, he walked us to another store across the hotel property to find the exact soap Joe needed. It was a simple act, done with deep respect.

That spirit of gratitude followed Joe everywhere we went during our time on Guam. Locals approached him to say thank you—some with tears, others with a gentle hand on the shoulder or a nod. Many didn’t say much at all. But they didn’t have to.

At the time, neither of us knew what the term “Guam Liberator” meant. To me, Joe was simply Joe—a kind man, a humble Marine, and a dear friend. But as the week unfolded, we came to realize the full weight of his presence.

Later that week, Governor Lourdes “Lou” Leon Guerrero herself confirmed it: Joe was indeed a Guam Liberator. His return to the island was not just a visit—it was a homecoming long overdue.

At one hotel event, a local woman working the meal service came out to ask for a photo with Joe. She had to leave early, but later returned with a batch of homemade cookies she had baked just for him. Joe had already stepped out, so she handed them to a friend to ensure they reached him.

Joe and I packed those cookies and brought them with us to Iwoto—better known to the world as Iwo Jima. There, thousands of miles from Guam, on the volcanic soil where he had once fought for every inch of ground, Joe quietly ate one of the cookies—a sweet reminder of the gratitude and kindness we had experienced all week.

We never had the chance to return and thank her in person. But her gesture—and the many others we witnessed—left an unforgettable mark.

It turns out Guam never forgot its liberators. And now, thanks to this journey, neither have we.

Still Marching ForwardJoe Caminiti’s story didn’t end on Iwo Jima—or even in Guam. At nearly 101 years old, he continues to live a life of purpose, strength, and quiet determination.

• He still drives.
• He is the official caregiver to his wife.
• He works out at the gym five days a week—spending 40 minutes on the treadmill and doing leg weights. His workout partner is the father of our town mayor.
• He does all the shopping, laundry, and most of the house cleaning. A helper comes in once a week, but Joe insists on staying active.
• He refuses to use a walker and prefers taking stairs over elevators.
• He doesn’t like being told he’s old—and anyone who meets him knows better than to try.

Joe is one of only two known Iwo Jima survivors in Connecticut, and one of fewer than 200 still living nationwide. He witnessed the raising of the U.S. flag on Mt. Suribachi from the airstrip below, a moment etched in both national memory and in his own.

There’s even a video of Joe working out at the gym the day after his 100th birthday celebration—filmed by a local TV station. You can find it on YouTube.

Joe’s legacy is commemorated in multiple places: two paintings of him are on display at Camp Pendleton. His story is also preserved in our city library and the local military museum. Online, you’ll find articles, tributes, and clips honoring this remarkable man.

He still takes calls from people who want to talk to a living piece of history.

But to those who know him, Joe Caminiti isn’t just history. He’s heart, humor, grit, and grace.
And when the people of Guam said, “Thank you,” they were speaking for all of us.

Photo Credits: Neal Supranovich

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