Never Forget

Today marks the 67th anniversary of the attack on Pearl Harbor by the Empire of Japan, shortly before 8:00 AM on Sunday, December 7th, 1941. The attack, which brought the US into WWII, resulted in 5 of 8 battleships sunk or sinking, with the other three heavily damaged, and a large majority of the other ships in port also heavily damaged or sunk. American deaths that horrible morning were approximately 2,400 - the true number will never be known. The most devastating loss was the USS Arizona, which took a direct bomb hit to one of it's main gun magazines, immediately sinking the Arizona, and taking 1,177 of her crew.

In the mid-1970's, I had the privilege of serving on a ship home ported in Pearl Harbor, and as I spent time there, I would often walk through the base. As I walked, I could plainly see in some of the structures still remaining from that time, bullet strike marks. From time to time, I would walk up to a structure (either part of the piers or a concrete bunker) and run my hands over those bullet marks, and contemplate what that day must have been like, hearing in my mind the roar of plane engines, the rattle of machine guns firing, the dull booming sounds of bombs exploding, the terrified screams of people as they tried to get away from the inferno, and the determined oaths of those who fought back. As I contemplated all this, I was saddened by the loss of life, angered by the fact that we could be so surprised, and proud that my country had responded as it did, eventually prevailing over the evil of fascism.

Every December 7th at Pearl Harbor, various ceremonies are conducted in remembrance of the attack, including the laying of a wreath from the USS Arizona Memorial, and the lowering of all flags on the base to half-staff. The last December 7th that my ship was in port while I served aboard her (1975), we were tied up in full view of the USS Arizona Memorial. On that particular day, my entire ship's complement was mustered on the main deck in our dress whites, and as the clock struck 0755, over the loudspeaker came the shrill whistle of the bosun's pipe, followed by the order to stand at attention and render honors (salute) as we faced the Memorial. As we stood there at attention, holding our salute, and we watched as the colors were lowered to half-staff on the Memorial, chills ran up and down my spine (and I'm sure not a few other spines as well). Soon enough (all too soon to me now), the bosun's pipe sounded once again, we ended our salute, and headed below to change into our dungaree's to begin our normal daily routine.

Later that day, I again had the opportunity to run my hands over some remaining bullet strike marks, and as I did, I again looked over to the Memorial. As I gazed over there, my heart swelled with pride, and surprising myself by my own actions, I drew myself to attention once again, and saluted. Unknown to me, a full Captain (Colonel in the other services) was walking past as I was saluting, and cleared his throat to get my attention. As I turned to face him, he saluted me, and said something that I will always remember.

He said, "Never forget!", dropped his salute and walked on his way. As he walked away, I responded, "I won't, Sir!".

I have kept that promise.