Pearl Harbor Happened Only Yesterday!

Historically Speaking...

By Tom Morrow

Today is Pearl Harbor Day. As Franklin D. Roosevelt told Congress, it's a day that has lived "in infamy" for America ever since Dec. 7, 1941.

To younger generations, this important day in United States history has about as much significance as Columbus Day – something more or less important that happened long ago. If you're over 60 years of age, this day represents more than just another one of those "war stories" our parents or grandparents may have told us.

As we go through our lives, we have benchmarks that give us instant recall as to where we were and what we were doing when a dramatic or traumatic incident occurs. Even though I was a very small child, I vividly recall being at my grandparents’ home for Sunday dinner. Everyone suddenly huddled around the radio, then the women started crying. If you were remember May 8, or Aug. 14, 1945, or Nov. 22, 1963, you remember exactly where you were and what you were doing, and, you don't have to be reminded what happened. These are historic benchmarks that stay with us forever.

The day the Japanese attacked our Pacific Fleet at Pearl Harbor on the island of Oahu, Hawaii, was the beginning of the United States becoming the most powerful nation in the world. Until that day, this country was more or less satisfied with its isolationist status. The war raging in Europe wasn't our business, and the Japanese atrocities in Asia were ever so far away. After all, we had two great oceans keeping all of that bad news away from us.

We should recognize that the Empire of Japan awakened us to our tremendous vulnerabilities on that fateful day of Dec. 7, 1941. Only the timidity of the Japanese command saved us from hand-to-hand combat in Hawaii and probably here in California. The Japanese High Command hadn't realized just how successful they were when they broke off their attack and returned to Japan.

During that same time over in the Atlantic, if Nazi Germany had been able to launch just 50 additional submarines, our Navy would have been completely cut off from our allies in Europe. England would have most assuredly fallen. It was our tenacity and vital supply ships that kept that stubborn British island afloat.

Saturday morning at 9 a.m., a shrinking group of old survivors will gather as they do every year on this date throughout the nation. Locally, those who witnessed, fought, and survived the attack that morning 72 years ago will meet for a brief remembrance ceremony at Oceanside Harbor. The gathering is smaller each year. The club, if you want to call it that, is one that doesn’t have a membership chairman. If you were there, military or civilian, you are a survivor.

If you want to hear real war stories, talk with any survivor, if you can find or know one or two. You'll hear stories you won't think possible. Can you imagine yourself on the night of Dec. 7, 1941, standing watch on the dock of Battleship Row where the USS Arizona went down, and having to listen to pounding on the sunken hull from still-alive sailors trapped inside? There was no way to get them out. After a couple of weeks the pounding stopped. That's just one of many horrific survivor tales that was told to me on one of the many occasions I met with the local Pearl Harbor Survivors Association chapter.

It's been nearly 72 years, but for those of us who remember, it happened only yesterday.  

Below, find Chapter 8 of my novella, "Dark Angel." If you're looking for a literary Christmas gift, try my web site for my novels at the below link:

http://www.tomorrowsnovels.com/

Chapter

8

A slight mist was forming from the overcast sky. It was more than the usual evening marine layer that hung off the coast of Oceanside. It could mean a chance of rain, something seldom seen in Southern California, except in January and February. For the most part the song title is right, “It Never Rains in Southern California.”

Detective Danny Saenz had parked his unmarked police car in front of a Zip ‘n’ Split convenience market to pick up a half-gallon of milk to take home when he encountered three Latino gang-bangers standing in the parking lot. They were harassing a homeless man, threatening to take away his shopping cart filled with what appeared to be all of his belongings, plus a big bag of aluminum cans.

“Hey, let the old one alone,” Danny yelled in Spanish.

“Who’s gonna make us, asshole?”

“I will,” Danny shouted back in a commanding voice, pulling his jacket away from his waist, exposing his gun and badge.

“Stinkin’ cop,” the leader of the group of three shouted back.

None of the trio looked more than 17 or 18 – the youngest couldn’t be more than 13 or 14. All were wearing similar garb: baseball cap worn backwards, one had on an Oakland Raiders jersey, the other two were in white t-shirts, and all were wearing their pants low below their waist, with long, white socks pulled tight to just below their short pant-legs. Danny always wondered how anyone could wear their trousers that low and not have them drop around their ankles. This sort of fashion with the pants and caps started many years ago by Latinos and now was growing in popularity, as well as Blacks and some Anglos try to emulate the style as well.

“Oh, it looks like you ‘bangers are ex-cons,” Danny said as the three began backing off.

“Whadda ya mean, man? We ain’t never been to no prison,” the leader said in a defiant tone. The other two were shaking their heads in the negative.

“Well, I see you’re wearing your pants to advertise you were someone’s prison bitch while you were inside.”

The youngest of the ‘bangers, standing behind the other two, could be seen slowly pulling his pants up around his waist.

“Who says we were,” the second ‘banger shouted.

“Oh, you telegraph to everyone by just the way you’re wearing your panties.” Danny had no idea if wearing trousers in that manner meant anything other than the style of a bunch of youngsters wanting to be hip or tough. He had heard about the prison aspect, but had no idea of its validity. Nonetheless, it was effective in taking this particular trio off guard.

“Bullshit!” the leader grumbled. “Let’s go, man.” The ‘bangers walked across the parking lot. “I’ll remember you, cop,” the leader yelled over his shoulder,” looking back with a glare.

“I’ll remember you, too, Jose,” Danny smiled.

Danny slowly walked over to the old man, while watching the gang-bangers shuffle on down the street.

“Stay here in front of the store until those guys are out of sight,” Danny told him. “I’ll tell the manager inside you’ll be moving along in a few minutes, but don’t go anywhere until we know they’re gone,” Danny nodded toward the three young men walking east from the store.

Danny got the milk his wife had told him not to forget. He stayed, chatting with the homeless man for about 10 minutes. Before leaving, he slipped the old man a five-dollar bill.

“Here, don’t spend it on booze,” he smiled.

“Sir, I surely won’t,” the old man replied. “This will feed me in between meals at one of the shelters. These ol’ bones thank ya, son, they surely do.”

Back in his car, Danny got on his radio and asked to meet a patrol car in the area. When the patrolwoman arrived, Danny told her what had happened at the Zip ‘n’ Split and to keep watch to make sure the gang-bangers didn’t come back to harass the old man. Then, he continued on home. He didn’t want to present a carton of warm milk to his wife, because his five kids would be expecting cold milk with their dinner.

Yolanda was at the stove finishing up the evening meal when Danny walked through the door. Four of the kids were in front of the television set in the family room; his son, Daniel (Little Danny), Jr., was in his room doing homework. Little Danny, as he was known in the family, was a straight-'A' eighth-grade student, who, when at home, spent more time reading than anything else. His father and mother could see their eldest son becoming a college scholar in less than five years because he’s on track to finish high school in only three.

“A good day, dear?” Yolanda asked with a smile.

Danny smiled back, “I’m a homicide detective, what do you think?”

Yolanda went back to stirring some gravy on the stove.

“Oh, you found a body.”

“Two of ‘em,” her husband mumbled, sitting down at the kitchen table with that morning’s paper he had yet to read.

Yolanda shook her head slightly as she continued stirring.

“Other than that, I had a safe, normal day,” Danny said without looking up from the paper.

“Thank you, Jesus,” his wife said.

“Jesus had nothing to do with it, sweetheart. It was my keen eye, expert knowledge of police procedures, and a stunning personality that kept me safe,” Danny whispered with a smile, again without looking up. “Oh, and my good looks didn’t hurt.”

Again, Yolanda shook her head. “Don’t let your ego fall out of your ass and break your heel,” she replied, chuckling.

“Sweetheart, the children,” Danny smiled, looking up at her.

“They’re in front of the TV. They can’t hear or pay attention to anything else, and Danny, Jr., has his head in a book. So, I’m home free with that one,” she replied with a laugh.

“Not to change the subject, but we …”

“But you are?” Danny interrupted, continuing to read his paper.

“We need to talk about planning for Teresa’s quincienara,” Yolanda said.

To a Latino family, the daughter turning 15 is a right-of-passage into womanhood.

“How much is that gonna cost me?”

“Well, if we have it at the Elks Lodge so everyone in both families can come, I think it will be around $7,000 to $8,000.”

“Good god, can’t we just have a simple little birthday party for a 15-year-old girl?” he said in an astonished voice. He had abandoned the sports section and was looking directly at his wife.

“No, we can’t. She’s looking forward to it. Besides, your mom and dad, and my parents have agreed to help with everything.”

“What is ‘everything?” Danny asked in a non-believing manner.

“Well, they think they all can come up with maybe a thousand dollars -- and, don’t forget aunts and uncles.”

“There aren’t that many ‘aunts and uncles,’” he said, going back to the newspaper.

“Don’t forget her godfather, Shamus,” Yolanda reminded.

“Hell, he’ll probably put up more than all the others combined. By-the-way, I saw him today.”

       “How’s he doing?” she asked while beginning to set the table for the evening meal.

       “Same ol’ Shamus. Nothing ever changes with him. He’s giving me a hand on one of my cases.”

       “That’s odd. I thought he was retired?”

       “Yeah, well he is. I just wanted some fresh eyes on this particular case.”

       “What is it?”

       “You don’t wanna know.”

       “Of course I do. I’m a woman interested in her husband’s work.”

       “Trust me, dear. Let’s just have dinner without bringing my work to the table. Crap, the Padres lost again,” Danny said, going back to the sports page.