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My father was aboard the USS Perry, a World War I destroyer that had been converted into a high speed minesweeper. They were moored in a nest of 4 destroyers off Pearl City landing where the seaplane hangers were located. He was on deck drinking a cup of coffee when the first flights appeared over the mountains. He thought it odd as they began to dive that the army was putting on an airshow just as "To The Colors" was about to be played. As he turned to go below to stow his cup, the seaplane hanger exploded. He ran below and yelled to a chief that we were under attack...the chief said "You're $#!+ me Duke". At the time, he was a 21 year old Motor Machinist Mate 2nd Class so he was ordered to get the captain's gig away and take it to Pearl City landing so that the ship could get underway. Being on the outside of the nest of four ships they had their captains gig (about a 30 ft. wooden boat) and the USS Trevor's (who was inboard) tied alongside. One gig had dead batteries and the other was having carb. trouble. So he had to swap out marine batteries and get the good one away. He always said the most frightened he'd ever been was when his booty was in the air swapping those batteries and tracers were zipping everywhere. Said the ride to Pearl City landing wasn't nearly as scary cause he could see the tracer tracks coming and could manouver to avoid. He remembered passing near the Utah and seeing an old Steward's Mate in a white apron firing a tommy gun at the Japs on the fantail of the Utah as she was rolling over...said he watched the US flag go under on her fantail. He was sunk in '43 in the Soloman Islands campaign and spent 5 hours swimming against the current to try and maintain position for rescue at daylight. He had found a floating cargo net with some officers aboard who were all injured. As daylight approached they spied the sillouette of a destroyer and the signal officer said he recognized it as one of ours and wished he had some way to signal it. Dad remembered that he had stuffed a flashlight in his back pocket earlier in the day, reached back there and it was still there! Tried it and it worked so the officer signaled "Survivors of Strong" and the USS Gwin came alongside and picked them up. I have letters from his skipper who was on the net which refer to him having the flashlight and how it saved them. The Gwin was sunk the next night. When he was a kid they had a mule named Rock that was slow and stubborn. He'd cry as the mule would pull him crossways of the rows when he heard the dinner bell at the big house. But he always said the thought of Rock plowing all day, one step at a time, saved his life that night and that's how he swam against the current without rest for five hours. Most of the others who elected to float with the current into the beach were killed by Jap soldiers. The torpedo hit them at five minutes after midnight on July 5, 1943 so we boys grew up never shooting fireworks on the 4th of July. He passed away last fall at 89 years old and was buried with full military honors at Jefferson in Carroll County. Yep, today is a special day for our family and in our country's history.

Great read.. Thanks for sharing.. And Thank God for that generation..

great story, thanks for sharing

good stuff just think if the power at be now where runing the country then i wonder what would of happend

My great grand mother was awarded a special honer i believe from the 1st Lady. She recieved an award for having the most sons in WWII. Two in the navy, two in the Army, one in the air force and one in the Marines. I think what was pretty awesome is all of them made it back alive.

My grand dad was a medic in the army. He said it wasnt nothing to see an ambulance with a hole thru the cross on the side. I remember a story about how they had made a wrong turn, and as they were driving down this road, they could see about 3 or 4 tiger tanks sitting on a ridge about a mile away. The thing was they were all following him with their turrets.

I did have one uncle that had a couple of close calls, one night he was in a forward fox hole. It had started raining pretty hard around 8 or so and didnt stop till the next morning. About two in the morning the germans starting firing on thier position but all he could do is just bunker down till they finished. He felt a thud and mud fell in on some but he just kept his position. The next morning when the lite broke, he had a patrol come up to relieve him and as he stood up he saw a large shell sitting in the mud next to him about 3 feet away. The other time, same uncle, he had been captured and was in a prison camp. He asked a prison guard for a cigerette lit and the guard hit him with the end of his rifle and spun the bayonette around like he was going to jab him. Then called him an american swine and walked away. Needless to say he didnt ask for another lite.

Great post! We should all be mindful of the sacrifices our troop made during WWII to ensure enduring freedom for all Americans.

My grandfather signed up right after Pearl Harbor and fought with the 42nd Infantry in the South Pacific from 1942 to 1945. He seldom spoke of the harsh realities of war, but he often talked about the folks he met or the places he'd seen. He told me stories of shark fishing in Australia and of natives in the jungles of New Ginuea. He fought in the Phillipines, New Ginuea and several smaller islands after the Phillipines were retaken.

Only once did he ever talk about being in battle. I was sitting with him in front of the fireplace one afternoon and looking into the fire, he began talking about having his machine gun set up in front of the opening to a Japanese tunnel complex. They had firebombed the tunnels and as the Japs came running out enveloped in flame, he had orders to shoot them down. He said he could never forget the awful smell of burning flesh. It's hard to imagine the things those men must have seen and done. He passed away last summer at 90 years old, but I think about him often. I'm glad I was fortunate enough to hear his stories.

God bless those men and women. I often wonder how our country went from the greatest generation to hippies and their beliefs to what our country is today in such a short period of time. I mean seriously, how did the United States of America go from what it was in the fortys to what it is today?

feather wrote: But he always said the thought of Rock plowing all day, one step at a time, saved his life that night and that's how he swam against the current without rest for five hours.

Truly the greatest generation..............

That truly was the greatest generation. My grandfather was a battalion tank commander under Patton in Europe. He had some real stories about Patton.

Here is part of the eulogy that was written for Captain Gibson of Monticello who was killed in a training accident flying a B-17. This was after he had flown his 25 missions in the European Theater. His wife was in my Sunday School Class and I have the copy of his eulogy and part of his flight logs.
"Death to these has become the price our "four freedoms", and not one of them would say that death is too great a price for so great a heritage. Who then will say that they died in vain?
It is only when we who live default in the gracious privileges of that heritage secured for us by so great a sacrifice that they die in vain. It is not a light obligation which involves us who live and enjoy this freedom because they shed their blood. Every drop of the spilt blood of these youths binds us in a blood covenant to live finer and serve better our generation. And if we default in the stewardship of this freedom, we betray these noble sacrifices, and to the extent of our unworthiness, we allow them to die in vain."
Every time I start to feel sorry for myself I read this and try to be a better man for my family.

Bill Collector, you just had to pose that question didn't you? You got me fired up and on my soapbox now.

The people that won WWII for us were of the last generation to know hardship on a grand scale.

They were born no later than the 1920's, and lived through the Great Depression.

There was no welfare check, crazy check, or food stamps The Social Security Administration was just getting started. Social Security was never meant to be a retirement system (as too many people today think it is), it was just meant to supplement your own savings. There was the WPA, the PWA, the CCC, the TVA, and the REA. To get a check from them, you had to work for them. It was not a road to wealth, but it would keep your ass from starving. Neither they nor any of the people that came before them could survive nor prosper without working.

Most Southerners, Midwesterners, and Westerners were rural and worked the land. Walking behind a mule all day made a man tough. Most people didn't have air conditioners or refrigerators. Living without air conditioning (in most of the country) made you tough.

In rural areas, people grew their own food. People knew that cows, pigs chickens, squirrels, deer, ducks, racoons, rabbits, etc. and so forth were for food, the horses and mules were beasts of burden, dogs were for hunting or for barking at strangers, and cats were for killing rats and mice.

They didn't have ready access to lawyers, so they were taught to shake hands on a deal, look a man in the eye and give your word, and then follow through. A man that didn't was no good. You might sign a paper, like a bill of sale, but that was usually it.

They were taught about George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, Daniel Boone, the Alamo, Robert E. Lee, and Abraham Lincoln. Maybe by our jaded standards today it would be called "propaganda", but it instilled a love of country in people.

Most people back then had strong religious beliefs and attended church regularly. The community was built around the church. People had a moral compass. Even if you weren't inclined to the straight and narrow, the fear of the law kept many people straight. People knew what prisons were for back then - punishment and banishment from the real world. And society knew what to do with murderers, kidnappers, and child molesters back then - most were executed.

The illegal drug of choice was moonshine.

People had a greater sense of duty. You got a girl pregnant, you married her. (Single teenage moms were rare back then.) You took care of your family. A man that didn't was no good. I believe people were more concerned about doing their duty than worrying about their rights.

There was no such thing as political correctness.

After WWII, things changed. We became prosperous, for which I am very grateful. Those folks came back from WWII, raised their families, and turned this country into the most prosperous country in the world.

But for the most part, their children and all of us that have followed, have forgotten what they knew. Most of us have never known REAL deprivation. We don't worry about our next meal, we gripe about our cell phone bills and boat payments.

For many people today, a government check is a way of life. Whether they really need it or not. And there is no shame in being on take.

Most of us (Americans) don't do real physical work. Look at the obesity epidemic. We sit behind desks all day and then go home to sit on the couch. Our children play video games instead of football. Many parents don't let their children play cops and robbers or war with toy guns because they "don't believe in guns" or they think "it causes violence and reinforces negative stereotypes." But they have no problem with the kids playing Grand Theft Auto and listening to Gangsta Rap.

Many people today believe that animals have "rights", and that an animal's life is worth more than a human's. Many of these people believe that killing an animal for food is evil, but aborting a human baby for the sake of convenience is not only ok, but a "right".

Today, US history (and the evening news) emphasizes the negative in our history - slavery, segregation, robber barons, and political scandals. Not a week goes by that the Clarion-Ledger doesn't dig something up from the 50's or 60's to keep racism alive.

Freedom of religion has been reinterpreted to mean freedom "from" religion. Prisons are air-conditioned "rehabilitation centers" with basketball courts, television sets, and weightlifting.

The illegal drugs of choice today are crack and crystal meth.

Duty? What the hell is that? We only have "rights" today. Everybody knows their "rights" (or at least they think they do) and when their "rights" have been "violated", but most Americans don't worry about their duty to cast an intelligent, thoughtful vote (less than half of Americans bother to vote).

We survived the Civil War, WWI, the Great Depression, and WWII. The ironic question is will we survive our prosperity?

Can you imagine any of the following of today's headlines being in a newspaper during World War II?:

Senate Dems Demand CIA Terror Tape Probe

NBC Nixes "Thank You" To Troops

Mom Sentenced for Trying to Sell Son to Pay for Wedding Dress

Court Rules Lesbian Couple Married in Massachusetts Can't Get Divorced in Rhode Island

HIV-Positive Chaplain Sentenced in Sex Case

Sex Club Ban Roils Texas Swingers

I think we're morally and morale-ly a long way away from what we used to be as a nation and as a people.

Just have to keep hoping that the future will be better than today.

My grandfather was there. I am thankful he write it all down about 20 years ago.

A Topic of Conversation
By: Tully T. Blalock, MD
Written circa 1985

Each evening when I return home from the office after a day filled with emergencies, personal tragedies, and excitement, I sit down to relax and Jean asks, "what happened today?"; I can never think of a single interesting thing that happened, and she turns to her household chores, convinced that I work in an isolation booth completely cut off from the rest of the world.

I have, therefore, been ever grateful to General Tojo and Admiral Yamamoto for affording me at least one day that has remained a sure fire topic of conversation. WWII started behind the wheel of a vintage Packard coupe driving down Honolulu's Kapiolani Boulevard shortly after 8 a.m. on Sunday, December 7, 1941. My war had actually begun a year earlier in 1940 when orders arrived to report to Mine Battle Force, Pacific Fleet, Pearl Harbor, for duty as Division Medical Officer, Mine Division One. On this particular Sunday morning a medical conference had been scheduled for 8:30 a.m. The sound of gunfire was unexpected for Sunday morning, although the Coast Artillery had been having gunnery practice on weekday mornings for some time. Suddenly, black mushrooms of smoke began to appear in the blue sky over the city and hell broke loose.

The road out to Pearl Harbor was a narrow two-lane strip leading westward over the marshy flats out to the Navy Base. Within minutes every solder, sailor and marine on Oahu was trying to get his car or bus on that narrow road at the same time and at maximum speed. Periodically the Japanese would strafe the highway sending the automobiles spewing out at an angle on each side into the marshy ditch. If not mired down they would all pull up on the road and head west at top speed. Entering the Pearl Harbor Navy Base, it seemed as if the whole world was blowing up.

Smoke covered everything and the noise was deafening. The Naval Hospital occupied a finger of land jutting out into the harbor pointing at Ford Island Air Base just across the narrow channel. The main hospital building was surrounded on the shore side by a series of wooden temporary wards, each housing forty beds, two toilets and a small examining room. The Commanding Officer, Capt. Hayden had stationed himself at the front entrance and as each doctor arrived he was assigned to a specific ward or service. The Packard was abandoned at Navy Landing “C.” Halfway to the main hospital building, a tremendous explosion rocked the entire area. Looking back a towering pillar of smoke and fire covered the area and debris rained down over the medical compound. This was the classic “LIFE” magazine picture of the Destroyer “Shaw” blowing up.

For the next hour, the attack continued. Japanese planes skimmed the hospital compound at tree-top level, launching their torpedoes and bombs at the ships in the harbor and at Ford Island across the channel. Suddenly one of the planes nosedived into the hospital tennis court, bounced up against the laboratory building and disintegrated intro a ball of fire. The only remnant of the pilot was a portion of the torso in a flight jacket. Much of the debris was collected by hospital personnel as souvenirs, but was later confiscated by Navy Intelligence. One nurse was assigned to each two wards with one Hospital Corpsman per ward. Within two hours there were 254 badly burned patients filling the beds, floor space, tables, and every conceivable space of wards “D” and “E.” As the first patient was brought in covered with oil grime and severely burned, he was put on the examining table. Before he could be given a shot of morphine there were twenty more patients just like him on the floor outside. Most of the men were in shock, all were in great pain, a few already dead and more coming every minute. The personnel problem was solved by commandeering each stretcher bearer, putting him to work cutting off the clothing and fetching supplies. There were no IV fluids, no plasma, no blood, no laboratory work. As the clothing was removed it was evident that the burns were mainly on exposed areas, face, neck, arms and legs. Even a thin T shirt seemed to protect against the flash burns.

There were many deeper burns, shrapnel wounds and crush injuries. Many of the men had inhaled smoke, water and oil, and all were in acute respiratory distress. With all exposed areas burned, a major problem was finding an available vein for fluids when the supply arrived. With their clothing off the men began to freeze and the few blankets were soon exhausted. There was no heat in the building and no available heat cradles. Morphine was the only answer.

By 10 a.m. the attack was over, but the wounded poured in for another three of four hours, being brought in from the ships in the harbor and from Ford Island. By noon there were three doctors assigned to the two burn wards with one nurse, two corpsmen and an assortment of machinist’s mates, bosuns and seamen. They were all superb. The dedication, willingness and gentleness of these untrained sailors was magnificent. They were real heroes.

Back at Waikiki things were not going well either. As the neighbors congregated in each other’s apartments, rumors expanded until all the wives were convinced that the Japanese were storming the beaches and already overwhelming the Island. Jean and her close friend, a Destroyer Captain’s wife, barricaded themselves in our second floor apartment with a nickel plated .38 for protection. Communications to the Navy Base were cut for three days so neither group knew what had happened to the others.

Darkness brought new problems. No one knew if or when the Japanese might return. The Island was in total blackout. Even the glow of a cigarette might bring a stray shot from a nervous marine on guard duty. The waterfront in December was windy and cold. Blankets were still in short supply. All work had to be carried out with small blue flashlights and even these brought warnings from the marines manning the anti-aircraft batteries on the shoreline. Someone had the bright idea of painting the light bulbs with blue paint and hanging them under blankets for warmth, but the bulbs could explode from the heat. There were no blackout curtains, and it was several days before the hospital pained the windows black.

During the night there were two “air raids.” As it turned out theses were American planes coming in from the mainland. Fortunately none were shot down. All supplies were soon depleted. For a while there was not even morphine, but a new batch was finally obtained. Intravenous saline was made up in the hospital using distilled water and salt in clysis bottles with rubber tubing. Some dehydrated plasma was available but soon exhausted. Saline had to be given by subcutaneous route and nasogastric tubes because of the absence of available veins. One sailor was given intraperitoneal fluids which dissected down the fascial planes and left him with a scrotum the size of a basketball. Burn treatment consisted of a wash tub filled with mineral oil into which sulfanilamide powder had been stirred. Large gauze squares were then dipped into this mixture and laid over the burn. The mineral oil was soon exhausted and the sulfanilamide powder was sprinkled on the surface of the burn. Most of the patients were still covered with oil and grime which was gradually removed as more help became available. Bowels and bladders were a major problem and were attended by our recruited assistants who did yeomen’s work with very meager equipment. There were no antibiotics in 1941, nothing but morphine and sulfanilamide. Many of the boys died that first night.

Excluding those who died from wounds and those who succumbed to pulmonary complications of inhaling oil, smoke and sea water, the corrected mortality rate was published at 15%. This seems an incredible figure in view of the primitive treatment. Many of the boys sent back to the mainland died later of complications, so the figure may have to be revised.

It was a day never to be forgotten.

Some good reading. Thanks guys.

Awesome post guys! They did not set out to be heros but many an ordinary young man from Main St., Anytown USA became heros by doing their jobs to the best of their ability! God bless and comfort those left and we honor the fallen.

Had an old family friend who passed on a few years back. He was an infantryman at Normandy. He always told us they told the guys to "remember Pearl Harbor everytime you look down your gun barrel".

This country is in a mess