My father was 25 years old on the 7th of December, 1941. He was a midshipman at the US Merchant Marine Academy at Kings Point, NY. He’d been in the US Army’s field coastal artillery school at Fort Monroe, Virginia two years before. All of his classmates from Fort Monroe ended up going to Bataan after graduation, and if he hadn’t ended up at Kings Point, I mightn’t be here writing to you today because it was no picnic after Bataan, gentle reader. They didn’t call it a “death march” for nothing.
After December the 7th his studies were cut short - men were needed to sail ships, move equipment, food and people to the fight. So my father closed his textbooks and went to sea after Pearl Harbor - the Murmansk run from New York, carrying tanks and ammunition for the Soviet war effort against Nazi Germany. It wasn’t a milk run. He had classmates from that school that didn’t come back either. He saw some of them die in front of him. A country half our population, with 400,000 dead in three and one half years? Everyone knew someone who didn’t come back. Those were hard times. You had to pull together.
There was a time when I was at the Boat School, plebe year that I was feeling rather sorry for myself that I hadn’t gone to Virginia or Duke - I wasn’t a particularly good plebe, and the upperclassmen were especially fond of pointing that fact out to me. We spoke on the phone, my father and I, and troubled by my evident unhappiness he wrote a letter to me afterwards. Remember getting letters?
I remember this one: He told of a time in the North Sea, the convoy harrassed by dive bombers in the daylight hours and threatened by U-Boats around the clock. He told me the story of an ammunition ship getting hit at night alongside him, the way she went up in a column of fire, the strange fact that years later, he couldn’t remember having heard a sound. He told me of another Liberty ship alongside of his, her bow blown off at 15 knots, the way she steamed right under the sea until at last her fantail lifted in the air, the propellor still thrashing. It was a really good letter. He’s been gone for 24 years, but sometimes when I’m feeling low, I pull it out and read it again. It puts things into perspective.
When I was a kid he told me about coming up on deck during the war, the General Quarters alarm sounding, to man his AA gun when his ship was under air attack and seeing a Stuka dive bomber framed in the hatchway at the top of the ladder, growing larger, screaming as it came, the bomb coming loose, falling towards the ship, towards my father.
“Were you scared, dad?” I asked, maybe 10 years old.
“Scared?” he said with a grunt. “I was terrified.”
You never think of your father being terrified when you’re ten years old. It makes him human in a way he’d never been before. In a way you didn’t really want him to be. In a way he had to be eventually, so that you too could become a man.
It seemed so long ago, the stories he told of that day. For everyone of their generation it was the equivalent of Kennedy in Dallas and Columbia combined. Everyone could tell you exactly where they were that day. What they were wearing. Who they were with. The ones who didn’t make it back, after all was said and done.
It was their 9/11 but no one told them that they had it coming, no one dared. You could get punched in the nose for even suggesting it. It was their war on fascism, and the people whose job it was to share the news with the citizenry felt like they had a stake in winning it too, like it mattered who won. They looked at setbacks - and there were so many, so very, very many - as reasons for concern, rather than reasons for exultation. It was a different time.
Everyone alive that day remembered where they were and what they were doing the moment that a faraway world jumped in through the window and importuned itself upon a country still clawing its way out of the Great Depression. A country inwardly focused, callused by hardship. A country suddenly, comprehensively at war.
When I was a child though, Pearl Harbor was just a name to me, as remote as Gettysburg or Shiloh. But on my first cruise, coming home from the Arabian Sea in the autumn of 1987, the USS Constellation pulled in there to pick up “Tigers” - family members who would sail with us from Hawaii to San Diego. On a whim I joined my roomates and went up to the flight deck in my summer whites to “man the rail” as we entered port. We were young and happy and ready for anything, laughing as we came on deck.
It’s a beautiful port entry, the water absurdly blue and green and white all at once, a warm breeze snapping at your trousers, happy thoughts of future entertainments never far from the forefront of your mind. You see the family housing of Hickham Air Force Base pass close along the starboard side - close! So close you could almost toss a biscuit ashore. And then you see Ford Island loom up to port, and you become thoughtful, remembering your lessons, remembering your parents’ conversations, remembering “battleship row.” Remembering because it had been passed down to you as an admonition, as a warning, as a duty: Remember.
Never forget.
And then you see her on the port quarter, what little there is to see of her above the water from an acute angle: The number 3 barbette of the USS Arizona, the watery graveyard of 1100 men and a mute testament both to perfidy and unpreparedness. Sixty-odd years after she went down, little rainbow pools of oil still bubble to the surface from within trapped spaces and voids, footless passageways embracing the mouldering bones of sailors whose names are known but to God. The old salts say that these are her tears of rage and anguish, her tears of loss and bereavement. They say that she is weeping. They say that she is weeping still.
These melancholy thoughts are interrupted by the trilling sound of a bosun’s whistle on the 5MC, two short blasts - “Attention to port!” The flight deck snaps to attention. One short blast follows - “Hand salute!” A long moment passes in the heat, the sweat suddenly liberated, trickling down your back as your arm goes up and holds, holds. A silent and expectant moment as one great ship glides softly past another, a thousand crewman rendering honors to another thousand from a far different time, from a far different land. The moment stretches, breaks, and at last is over: Two short blasts - “Ready, two!” And finally, three blasts - “Carry on.”
According to immutable naval custom, the junior ship initiates the rendering of passing honors, while the senior ship returns it. But senior though she may be, there will never again be a salute returned from onboard Arizona. No bosun’s pipe echoes across the water. No one mans her rails. My brothers and I took one long look back at the memorial receding behind us, exchanged silent glances between ourselves, saying with our eyes the things we could never allow ourselves to say out loud. Pursed our lips and went below in quiet introspection. It wouldn’t last forever - we were after all, young and careless. But we wouldn’t forget that moment, not ever.
We would remember.
45 responses so far ↓
1
jon spencer
// Dec 7, 2006 at 3:47 am
Years ago we took the gig over to the USS Arizona after it had closed for the day.
Three sailors, no one else around and quiet.
It still remember the feeling that we were being watched.
2
Paul Powondra
// Dec 7, 2006 at 4:52 am
Can you imagine being with Halsey when he and ENTERPRISE arrived at Pearl the evening of Dec 8?
3
badbob
// Dec 7, 2006 at 5:12 am
One of your best- thanks.
b2
4
Guy
// Dec 7, 2006 at 5:20 am
Lex, once again, you’ve stirred up within me that curious thing that causes my eyes to burn and my sight to blur. Thank you so much for the rememberance.
5
Phil Andrilla
// Dec 7, 2006 at 5:23 am
Very compelling read.Thank you.
Quarters for entering port wasn’t one of my favorite things to do, but going by the ARIZONA was never like passing any other ship, not even for a 19 year old idoit like me.Like you, I remember it to this day.
6
Ernie
// Dec 7, 2006 at 5:37 am
One of the major “things still on my to-do list” is a visit to that great lost ship, to render honors and to promise those shipmates that no, we haven’t forgotten the lessons they learned in the hardest of schools.
7 William Hummel // Dec 7, 2006 at 6:07 am
what a truly remarkable story,I wasnt around when all this happened,but my father was and it was something he never like to talk about.I have done alot of reaserch on Pearl Harbor and other historic wars and would like to salute each and every person military,or civilian,past,or present who took/takes part in helping to defend this counrty. God bless you all.
8
MissBirdlegs in AL
// Dec 7, 2006 at 6:47 am
Beautiful and sad. Thank you, Lex. I pray we never forget.
9
MajMike
// Dec 7, 2006 at 6:55 am
thanks for that one, well done.
(my Dad was on sub-chasers, i’ll have to ask him this weekend if he did the Murmansk run)
10
Buck
// Dec 7, 2006 at 7:48 am
Thanks, Lex. This post is definitely one of your Greatest Hits!
I always think of my father on this day, too. He had been in the Army Air Corps for nearly two years on Dec. 7, 1941. And while my Ol’ Man never knew the Murmansk run and its horrors, he had his share of terror over Germany in B-17s. They were “The Greatest Generation,” indeed.
11 Zane // Dec 7, 2006 at 7:53 am
A few days ago I dl’d some of the old WWII cartoons, Bugs Bunny and others, and was struck by the unflinching national self-confidence they manifested. So many men who answered the call because it was their duty, so many women who bore their privations and trials with dignity and pride, and no confusion about who we were, what we believed, or why our cause was just and worth the tremendous sacrifices. Every day I try to recognize that my life is as good as it is because of all those nameless boys who went to war, especially those so many who never came back.
12
Kris, in New England
// Dec 7, 2006 at 7:54 am
And may our children’s children, and theirs to follow and so on, remember. Those who forget history are condemned to repeat it. For the sake of the 1100 on the Arizona - and the hundreds of thousands thereafter, we should always remember the ultimate sacrifice from the Greatest Generation.
As usual Sir…perfection.
13
Kristen
// Dec 7, 2006 at 7:58 am
God grant honored repose to those sailors, and to all who fall in defense of this nation.
14
Curt
// Dec 7, 2006 at 8:28 am
Lex;
If it’s not too personal to put up, I’d like to petition you to consider posting your father’s letter here.
I’d be willing to bet, the words of that man who faced the Stuka, and so many other threats to his life, could then serve to steel a few more young (and maybe not so young) peoples nerves today and in the future.
Even if only excepts are appropriate, please consider sharing that wonderful inspiration with us…
15
Rick
// Dec 7, 2006 at 8:58 am
Thanks for an exceptional post, Lex.
I had the privilege of rendering honors to USS Arizona and her crew on two occasions — on the way to WESTPAC and on the return trip. The one thing I really wanted to do when in Hawaii was to visit the USS Arizona memorial (even as a 19-20 year old).
We weren’t in port long enough on the first stop over. We weren’t scheduled to be in port long enough on the return trip either but, as luck would have it, COMNAVPAC (IIRC) wanted to have his change of command ceremony onboard the carrier (USS Kitty Hawk). We got two extra days in port whilst ships company gussied-up the ship for the ceremony. Used part of my liberty to take the launch over to the memorial. The 1,100+ names engraved on the memorial’s wall is a very somber sight.
RIP Arizona.
16
Mark
// Dec 7, 2006 at 9:11 am
Great Post Lex, I expected you would propound on this day & I was not disappointed.
17
Dan
// Dec 7, 2006 at 10:28 am
Agree with Mark. Fantastic post.
18
Monkeyboy
// Dec 7, 2006 at 10:43 am
You said it, I manned the rails for her coming in on the INDEPENDENCE and it was somber indeed.
I kept thinking about how the old carriers saw it when they arrived.
No matter what happens, we, your shipmates, won’t forget.
19
jpr
// Dec 7, 2006 at 11:45 am
Excellent post, as usual.
My wife and I were at the Arizona this past August and she saw several names on the wall with the same uncommonly-spelled Danish last name as hers. Chances are good she’s related to them.
Never forget, true enough.
20
Bob
// Dec 7, 2006 at 12:22 pm
My first rememberance of the USS Arizona.
On board a ship in 1946, passing to starboard, the ships Boatsin announced:
“USS Arizona, Port”
All hands above deck and covered, turned to the left side of the ship and saluted.
I wonder if they still do this?
21
Bomber Guy
// Dec 7, 2006 at 12:51 pm
After reading this post, I listened to FDR’s “..date of infamy” speech of 8 December 1941. In exactly 7 minutes, he put the nation, and the world, on notice that, “..no matter how long it takes..” Americans would be victorious.
…and then I watched today’s noon news.
Where is the national resolve fired by Pearl Harbor..and years later by 9-11? What do those spirits entombed in USS Arizona or in the dust of the WTC, or the rubble of the Pentagon, and in a thousand other places, from the sands of Normandie, to the freezing mud in Korea, to a Pennsylvania farmer’s field, to rotting jungles and burning deserts, think of our generations?
22
Alex
// Dec 7, 2006 at 1:01 pm
A fantastic post. Very poignant and sensitive in its observation that P.H. was that generation’s 9-11, a national turning point of awareness of place on this planet and our responsibilities to defend our lives. I was watching a bunch of the old newsreels and Frank Capra pieces - - Why We Fight - - and just marveling over how times have changed. Check them out if you’re interested: http://www.ifilm.com/channel/warzone.
Also, if you still have it, yes, the letter from your dad would prob be fascinating as well. Anyway, thanks Lex!
23
Scott
// Dec 7, 2006 at 2:38 pm
Thank you, Lex. Beautifully related.
Having been there just a few short months ago, the way you relate it is so vivid. I stood outside the Hickam O-Club and watched both the Reagan and Lincoln pass by, and felt like I could almost reach out and shake hands with the Sailors manning the deck.
I also stood in front of the wall of names, and felt so much that I still can’t put it into words. Not a unique experience among those who have been there, I’m sure, but one that will stick with me as long as I live. I also had the opportunity to look into the eyes of my 6 year old daughter standing beside me and see that something had changed. Her reverently whispered questions and her responses to my whispered answers broke my heart, because I knew that the world was a little different for her now, not quite the friendly place we’d all like it to be, but at the same time I swelled with pride, because I could see that she ‘got it’. She began to understand that day that her freedom has come at a price.
Thanks once again to you and all those that have manned the rails, and especially to those who are ’still on patrol’.
24
Byron Audler
// Dec 7, 2006 at 3:47 pm
Lex, my father was merchant marine as well. He was a radio operator, and sailed for Lykes Lines for many years, retiring at the age of 72. His service started in late 45, and had his ship damn near sunk under him during a typhoon in the Phillipines.
And, as usual, your wonderful prose is combined with your guns-kill clarity.
25
Steve
// Dec 7, 2006 at 3:47 pm
Nice piece. Thanks for the personal touch. And Scott’s comment above regarding his young daughter’s reaction brought chills. It’s a truly inspiring place, standing above the hull resting on the bottom, the wall full of names in front of you and their tomb beneath you. The sad fact is the Arizona is deteriorating at an alarming rate and the question of how do we preserve her as the final resting place for her crew remains unanswered.
26
irish
// Dec 7, 2006 at 5:07 pm
Lex, thanks for a stirring rememberence of the commitment and dedication of that generation - and what is important today - on the front page of WaPo headlines:
Bush Bashing - ISP “…offered a stinging assessment of every aspect of the US venture in Iraq.
Non Sequitor: Mars Photos may indicat the recent flow of water
Below the fold: Conservative Rabbis allow ordained gays, same sex marriage unions
Area students lead country in AP, IB tests taken.
You had to go to A-3 to find anything related to Pearl and the story was not about the attack - not about the lives lost - not about the entry to war - it was about the potential for all the oil in Arizona to contaminate the harbor - some have forgotten - some have their priorities screwed up - the principle newspaper of the capital of the nation and they can’t / won’t remember - some still remember - God bring rest and peace to the souls who suffered that day.
27 Idaho // Dec 7, 2006 at 6:08 pm
My Grandpa was a deck engineer in the Merchant Marine during WWII. His stories of the convoys crossing the North Atlantic sounded very similar to the one you shared, Lex. He also mentioned crates and crates full of ammunition, all conspicuously marked “SHOE POLISH”.
Thanks, Lex, as always, for the wonderful way in which you LEAD us into those dim passageways of our own memories.
28
Bou
// Dec 7, 2006 at 6:13 pm
A most excellent post.
I grew up with my father telling me of Pearl Harbor. He told me the story from the time I was just four, many many time. And he told that story in such vivid detail, that it was not until I was older and did the math did I realize he had not been there. He was but one years old when it occurred. His father was shipped out to the Pacific theater shortly thereafter.
29
blackeagle603
// Dec 7, 2006 at 7:23 pm
Thanks for the post. BZ
I was there with you. Never prouder to wear the Navy uniform than manning the rail into Pearl. Always got a lump in my throat and damp eyes — could only hope my buddies wouldn’t notice.
30 Theodore // Dec 7, 2006 at 7:24 pm
Re 25, Arizona’s condition
The NPS did an extensive survey recently, and it turns out she isn’t in such bad shape as was previously feared. She should be sound for an indefinite period. They built ‘em strong at the New York Navy Yard..
31
Lee
// Dec 7, 2006 at 8:01 pm
Lex, great post. I can relate in a small way. My maternal Grandfather was discharged from the Navy as an EM1 on November 7 of 1941 from the USS Nevada, so that he could take a commission in the Merchent Marines. I often wonder if that paperwork would have been delayed a bit, what would have become of him… probably would have fare out ok, as Nevada did get underway, even if it was only for a short stretch. Thanks for the great read.
32
devildog67712
// Dec 8, 2006 at 1:58 am
Lex, thank you for sharing that memory with us. It reminded me so much of my dad.
33
AFSister
// Dec 8, 2006 at 9:28 am
Lex… it’s posts like these that got you that Milblog of the Year nomination.
Thank you so much for recounting that memory. I hope to one day visit and pay my respects as well.
My boss and his wife went there a few years ago. He was telling me about the group he was with, which included a Japanese family. This family was laughing, joking, smiling, talking and generally just off in their own little tourist world… until my boss walked up to them and said, “Do you speak english?” They said, “yes”. Then he said, “Well, good then. Because you’ll be able to understand me when I tell you that you are on sacred ground, much like your own Hiroshima, and we expect more respect than you’re giving our dead right now. It’d be in your best interest to shut the hell up for the rest of this tour!”
The rest of the group applauded.. and they did, in fact, remain silent for the rest of the tour.
34
AW1 Tim
// Dec 8, 2006 at 10:23 am
Lex,
One of the few things I need to do before I pass on is to visit USS Arizona. My father and his brother enlisted in the Navy, my dad being a Pharmacist’s Mate assigned to the Marines because of his independant duty quals. He spoke about the unspoken anger so many felt after arriving at Pearl and seeing the destruction. From that point on, many of those he served with removed the word “mercy” from their vocabulary.
I flew into barer’s Point a couple of times, but I could never spring the time to visit the memorial. I hope to change that soon.
There is a piece of Arizona up here in Maine, at the VA Hospital in Togus. It’s a section from her superstructure that still shows her rivetted construction. It’s in a case alongside a rather large and beautifully detailed model of her as she was before the attack. A graceful ship that LOOKED like a warship, unlike the armed yachts we put to sea with today.
I’ve often stood and looked at that small fragment of rusting, twisted steel, and thought of the sounds, the smells, the sights that swirled about it that day. Many people walk by the case it’s enclosed in, not even knowing what it is, what it represents. Some do, but others are busy, heading to appointments, or lunch, or the mailroom. Getting about with their lives.
And yet that piece of history sits there still, and it’s call of “remember me, remember them” can be heard by some of us. I’ll remember her, and them, as others will in their good time remember us. In that small fashion, we will all be remembered. Maybe not by name, or even by service, but by what we did, what they did, our catholic service, as it were, to Constitution, family, and neighbors.
As long as some remember, then that’s all any can really ask for. It means that somewhere, for someone, all was worth the price paid, and duty faithfully and fully done was not in vain, but lives on.
Respects to all my shipmates,
35
Robin Belsha
// Dec 8, 2006 at 1:31 pm
Thank you for your moving piece on our history. As a teacher, I have made it my mission to acquaint our students with these events and the great speeches from this era. As a student, I had a teacher whose older brother died on the Arizona and I’ve never forgotten his anger when one student came in wearing an iron cross one day. As a daughter, I remember my father (USN Seabees during the war)paging through his high school yearbook, pointing out all the young men who didn’t come home. As a Marine mom I pray for those who currently stand “on the wall” and those who stood there before them.
Great website - my son clued me in on it & I’ve voted for the day!
Robin
36
shirley sparks
// Dec 8, 2006 at 10:04 pm
what a wonderful rememberabie, i had a dad and stepfather who was in this war and i pray that no one every forget
37
Subsunk
// Dec 9, 2006 at 7:28 am
I lived in Hawaii, working at Pearl Harbor for 5 years. I have been to the Arizona many, many times, both during my time in Hawaii and since then. I’ve never forgotten what I saw on the ship or in the museum.
I worked in old quonset huts that seemed to have bulletholes from the war still visible on them, although I was certain that couldn’t be true. The first ship I served on was a namesake for the first ship to draw blood that day (supposedly), USS Tautog, whose Duty Officer and Duty Torpedoman manned their anti aircraft gun to bring down a Japanese plane near the shipyard. That Ship’s Duty Officer later became one of the most successful Commanding Officers of USS Tautog SS199, and sank several ships and a Japanese submarine.
I’ve rendered honors to USS Arizona many, many times, and the feeling has always been the same. Sailors who have done a task many times before will frequently continue their banter and interactions even while rendering honors to passing senior vessels. There was never a sound except the flag whipping in the breeze and the traffic on the beach, the small boat making its way between the museum and the memorial, when we passed the memorial. Not a sound during the salute except the wind passing through the memorial.
Pearl Harbor is in my blood. I saw the harbor and the memorial from my bedroom window every morning. I can still smell the air over the memorial. I remember the oil seeping up from below. I remember the leis cast upon the waters so often, from folks whom I saw on every visit to it. There are spirits of Men there. And the lessons of the place are in me.
My father served in Burma during the war and I remember his stories of the war as well. Horribly draining tedium and work interspersed with moments of sheer terror. My mother worked in her mother’s boarding house, feeding the men who came through on jobs that needed to support the war effort.
Your father sounds like one of a million, each whom was one in a million. God bless him. And God bless all of that generation. They lived through the most difficult of times and complained so little. We must be so proud of them.
An excellent post, CAPT Lex. Press on, sir.
Subsunk
38
Jim Shawley
// Dec 10, 2006 at 1:59 pm
They were there, Capt. Lex, they were there. And they were manning ARIZONA’s rails too, and returning your hand salute. You just didn’t–couldn’t–see them.
Never forget.
Jim
39 Misty Marie Felix // Dec 29, 2006 at 2:33 pm
I would like to say that you for all you have done for this country my brother Armando F. Felix Jr. is in the Iraq war now but a lot of people die on the Pearl Harbor. Some lived and some die. In my English class I am doing a report on the attack of Pearl Harbor. If there still any survieds still alive please call me so that I can get some info how it was when it got attack. My number 723-3951 thank you for helping the USA. God Bless you and thank you
40
Juno888
// Jun 18, 2007 at 8:48 pm
I flew into Barber’s Point a couple of times, but I could never spring the time to visit the memorial. I hope to change that soon.
41
Hannah
// Aug 1, 2007 at 9:53 am
Thank you so much for this beautiful post Lex! I just watched the movie Pearl Harbor and it got me really interested in finding out more about it. It breaks my heart to think of those 1100+ men who died for our freedom on the USS Arizona. I hope some day I can go and pay my respects to them. Thanks again.
42 Chicago Boyz » Blog Archive » Pearl Harbor - 67 // Dec 7, 2008 at 11:03 am
[...] Via David Foster, this excellent post from Neptunus [...]
43 Infamy | Neptunus Lex // Dec 7, 2008 at 11:35 am
[...] Chicago Boyz: Via David Foster, this excellent post from Neptunus [...]
44 Opining Online » Pearl Harbor // Dec 7, 2008 at 4:33 pm
[...] Today, I visited the USS Arizona through the words of Neptunus Lex. [...]
45
Steve Skubinna
// Dec 8, 2008 at 5:56 am
I lived in Hawaii as a dependent in the early sixties. There were still many people there who had been alive that day, and most of the senior officers my father served under had seen combat in WWII. For me, Pearl Harbor was recent history, the same way you can tell stories about notorious family members from shortly before your own birth. Those stories are your own, even if they predated you, because they’re incorporated into your family tradition.
Even today, when I visit Oahu I see the terrain today overlaid upon that from 45 years ago, when the scars from 7 December 1941 were still visible and there were plenty of people who could tell you where they had been that day, what they had been doing, and what they saw.
So for me, no study of history is ever dry and remote, whatever period I read of. That’s because I can relate to a pivotal bit of history that was real to me in my youth, despite having been removed from me by two decades. I just wish there was some way to bring history to life for everyone else who dismisses it as unimportant, or as nothing more than a tedious list of dates and names.
History is real life, and it’s the road map of how we got here.
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