Remembering Pearl Harbor

December 7, 1941 was my father's 40th birthday. It was Sunday, so I assume we went to the 11 a.m. mass. Immediately upon returning home, Mother probably prepared dinner, likely her special chicken, and we cut the cake. At about 7 p.m., we turned on the radio to enjoy the evening's entertainment. I believe that was when we heard the dreadful news. . . several hours after the event. My first reaction was a childish, "What? No Jack Benny?"

In the days that followed, I began to worry about the possibility of my father having to go to war. His German heritage was also a concern when our declaration of war included Hitler and Mussolini. Dad assured me he wasn't going anywhere, however, except to his life-long job at the newspaper. Years later, what I learned about his unusual youthful experience with the military made me realize that he had indeed been allowed to cruise virtually undetected under the radar the rest of his life.

Speaking of radar, 18 years later, as an Army draftee, I served with one Sgt. Elliott, a career soldier. I was initially skeptical of his story of having been at Pearl Harbor. He said that, then as a private, he was on duty in a radar facility on a nearby high hill that morning, when he and a buddy saw an anomaly on the screen and phoned it in. Because the technology was in its infancy, they were told to forget about it, and to come back to headquarters. Within moments they were able to see the entire attack from near the top of the hill, he said.

Eleven years later the blockbuster film, "Tora! Tora! Tora" portrayed the incident exactly as he had related it. . . right down to the name, Private Elliott. As a Sgt., he was a neat guy, and in the Army that frequently means "liar," but I now believe him. However, I don't remember him having a Korean War story, and I do hope he retired before the Vietnam conflict. I do remember him as a better human being than a soldier.

I RELATE this story one day early so that you may have time to find your flag, and prepare to fly it at half staff tomorrow. I'm going to spend a good part of the day trying to remember Sgt. Elliot's first name. After all, we who regularly came home after curfew knew and traded on it to weasel out of punishment. I told you he was neat; he always let us slide, good old what's his name.