World War II should have ended 50 years ago today.

It didn't.

After the Enola Gay dropped the first atomic bomb Aug. 6, 1945, the Allied leaders privy to details of the massive destruction expected Japan to capitulate.

It took a second bomb and five more days before Emperor Hirohito on Aug. 14, 1945, called a halt to nearly four years of fighting.

When the news reached the Tri-Cities late that afternoon, there were moments of disbelief before the reality of peace hit home.

The Tri-Cities, like the rest of the United States, erupted into spontaneous singing, shouting and dancing in the streets as news reports confirmed Japan's surrender.

"It was a wonderful madhouse," recalled retired Pasco fireman Gene Bailie. "People were kissing and hugging and climbing on cars."

Bailie and his boyhood friend George Keene had wandered to Pasco's downtown at Fourth and Lewis streets and found themselves in the middle of a celebration waiting to happen.

Twice in the previous days, there had been radio rumors of Japan's surrender. And twice there was disappointment.

"After two false starts, it took considerable time for the populace to realize that the surrender had actually come," The Pasco Herald wrote that day.

"The whole town is wild," the newspaper observed.

"People waited before their radio to find if this one also would be called a false alarm as the two others had been ... but this appeared to be the real thing and the town and the surrounding vicinity really let loose.

"Where all the people came from no one knew, but they were there and all were happy. All the pent-up emotions of almost four years of war let loose as people got ready to make a big day of it.

"Old friends and neighbors met each other on the street. They threw their arms about each other's neck and kissed each other hysterically ... then whirled on down the street to greet another old friend equally rapturously.

"The long wait had been hard to bear. Feelings were pent up too tight. The false alarms (of surrender) had served to heighten the tension in the hearts of the public.

"And when the real and soul-thrilling announcement came from President Truman ... emotions spilled out of those tight hearts. All neighbors and friends forgot all conventions and embraced and tooted their horns ... and shouted across the street ... the war was over."

And Bailie - then a 14-year-old junior high student - was in the thick of that celebration. In fact, it turned into a profitable day for him.

"The Pasco Herald printed some 'Extras' that day, and someone from the paper came over to George and me and asked us if we would take a stack of about 100 'Extras' and give them away (for free).

"We said 'Sure,' " he remembers. "Then we charged people a nickel."

Bailie later married Bev Williams, whose mother Bertie, now 87, also remembers the day Truman announced Japan's surrender.

She had a personal reason to be joyful.

"It meant my husband was coming home," she recalled. "I began counting the days."

Allen and Bertie Williams had moved to Pasco in 1942. Soon after, he was drafted into the U.S. Army Air Corps, which later became the Air Force.

Across the Columbia River, the same jubilation was going on in Richland - the town where plutonium was made for the Nagasaki bomb.

"We were elated our efforts had been successful and brought about the end of the war," said then-Hanford chemist Obie Amacker of Kennewick.

Allied leaders had been waiting for Japan to surrender since the first bomb fell on Hiroshima.

And when it finally happened, here's how the Richland weekly Villager reported the news:

"It's peace ... This is finally IT."