Remembering Pearl Harbor

My dad was 13 years-old when Pearl Harbor was bombed. He lived in Albert Lea, a small rural town in southern Minnesota. I remember the stories he told me about what it was like that day. He said that the news traveled slowly then—that the kids at school first heard from someone driving by who shouted it out. Then after school, they heard it on the radio and still didn’t believe it. Finally one of Dad’s uncles drove down from Minneapolis to spread the news. People talked on street corners in shocked and hushed whispers. The older boys spoke gallantly about enlisting and then they did. Dad and his sister, who was a year younger, and their parents were frightened about what this would mean for the country, and found themselves glued to the radio in the evenings, listening to the news.

Christmas that year was a somber event. Traveling up to Minneapolis to spend time with the city-side of the family, they discovered how fear, then anger, then an active spirit of grit and volunteerism gripped the country as everyone pulled together and prepared for war. It changed everything. I remember my dad telling me that by the end of the war, almost every window in Albert Lea had a gold star in the window—sometimes two or even more, indicating that the household had lost someone in the war. He said that it was rare to see a house without a gold star. How different it is now, when many people don’t know anyone who has served in the military or fought in a war. Dad’s generation has an understanding of life and sacrifice that most in my generation do not begin to comprehend.

I was saddened today to read in the news about the “last” reunion of Pearl Harbor survivors. From the LA Times, “Donald Robinett came directly to the sign-in area for Pearl Harbor survivors when he arrived here this week. "I am trying to find my shipmates," the 89-year-old veteran said. "I want to see which ones are here." A volunteer at the Pearl Harbor Survivors Association, one of the groups organizing the reunion to mark the 65th anniversary of the Japanese attack on U.S. forces here, flipped through a log book until she came to Robinett's ship, the Tracy, a small mine-laying vessel that was in port that infamous day. "Sir," she said sadly, patting the old man on his shoulder, "you're the only one here."'

Our World War II vets are a national treasure, and we have so little time left to hear their stories and show them our appreciation.

My dad loved watching the news and keeping up with politics and current events—even local events stirred him. I often would ask his advice about voting, and he got so he would take my sample ballot when it came in the mail and highlight candidates that fit his vision of how things ought to be. “Not that I’m telling you how to vote, but I thought since I had the time, I’d do some research for you.”

Right, Dad. That’s just one of the things I miss that about you, and I wish I could hear the stories one more time.

Pearl Harbor Memorial Association

Pearl Harbor Survivors Association

~L