On January 21, 1922, in Seattle, Washington, a boy was born to Japanese immigrant parents. His name was William Kenzo Nakamura. He grew up in the heart of the city’s vibrant Japanese American community, balancing school, family, and hard work. At Garfield High School, he was a quiet but determined student; later, at the University of Washington, he dreamed of building a life beyond the classroom, spending summers laboring in Alaskan canneries to pay his tuition. His future seemed full of promise. But history had other plans.

In 1942, following Executive Order 9066, Nakamura’s life was torn apart. He and his family were forced from their Seattle home and confined behind barbed wire in the Minidoka incarceration camp in Idaho. Surrounded by watchtowers and suspicion, their loyalty to America was doubted simply because of their ancestry. Yet from within the camp, William Nakamura made a choice that defied bitterness: he volunteered for the U.S. Army’s 442nd Regimental Combat Team. The all-Nisei unit carried not only rifles into battle, but also the burden of proving their community’s devotion to a country that had cast them aside. Their motto was simple, and Nakamura embraced it fully: Go for Broke.

By the summer of 1944, Nakamura was serving with Company G, 2nd Battalion, as the regiment pushed through the rugged hills of Tuscany, Italy. On July 4—Independence Day—the regiment assaulted a ridge known as Hill 140, nicknamed “Little Cassino” for the ferocity of its defenses. Nakamura’s platoon was pinned down by merciless German machine-gun fire. To stay in place meant destruction. To advance meant almost certain death.

Nakamura chose to advance. Crawling forward alone across open ground, bullets kicking up dirt all around him, he pressed within twenty yards of the enemy nest. Pulling the pins from four grenades, he hurled them one by one into the machine-gun position. The explosions silenced the guns and opened a path for his comrades to move forward. His courage had turned the tide.

But his sacrifice was not over. Later that same day, when his platoon was ordered to withdraw, Nakamura volunteered to stay behind. He laid down steady, accurate fire against the enemy, holding them back long enough for his comrades to escape. It was during this desperate stand, alone against overwhelming odds, that he was struck down. He was just 22 years old.

For his valor, William Nakamura was posthumously awarded the Distinguished Service Cross. Yet, like so many Nisei soldiers, his recognition was limited by the prejudice of the times. It would take more than half a century before America made things right. On June 21, 2000, after a comprehensive review of Asian American service records, his award was upgraded to the Medal of Honor. In a solemn White House ceremony, President Bill Clinton presented the medal to Nakamura’s family, declaring that his sacrifice was equal to the greatest in American history.

The following year, Seattle’s historic federal courthouse was renamed the William Kenzo Nakamura U.S. Courthouse, a tribute not only to his courage on Hill 140 but also to his enduring place in the city’s story. Today, Nakamura rests at Evergreen Washelli Memorial Park in Seattle, where his grave is a place of quiet remembrance.

Visitors who pause there, or who step into the courthouse that bears his name, encounter more than the memory of a soldier. They see the story of a young man who chose duty over despair, who believed in a country that doubted him, and who gave everything so that others might live.

At Ghosts of the Battlefield, we work to preserve and share the stories of heroes like William K. Nakamura, whose courage helped shape not only the legacy of the 442nd Regimental Combat Team but also the conscience of a nation. His stand at Hill 140 remains a testament to loyalty, sacrifice, and the unyielding spirit of the Nisei generation.