Dreams Delayed

     After I was old enough as a boy to understand the significance of what my Dad had experienced and survived at Pearl Harbor, I began to dream of visiting Battleship Row, thinking if I could just be there and concentrate deeply enough, I could live it as he had lived it.   But I just couldn't figure a way to traverse the 4,500 miles and cover a price tag that was far out of reach of what my newspaper route profits could provide.  

     So, everyone has to live with a dream delayed, right ?  But, I read every book I could, and watched every movie and documentary ever produced about the Day of Infamy, getting as close to the Pearl as I could without actually being there to touch her.

     I still hadn't fulfilled my dream when, on August 24, 1998,  Daddy fought the last battle of his life.  Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis had done what Japanese bombs and torpedoes could not.  On Christmas Eve of 1941, his parents had received that joyous telegram, saying that the report of his death was a mistake.  But there would be no such telegram this time.   And as I watched helplessly as he slipped away, I saw the same courage that he had shown all of his life.  The same courage that I knew he had shown on the deck of a battleship at the age of 18.   Now that he was gone, I was even more determined to make whatever connection I could with that critical time in his life---and mine.

     Finally, in November of 2006, the dream became reality, and I was blessed to travel to the island of Oahu and absorb this Pacific haven that I had so badly wanted to see for over 50 years.  Finally, I didn't have to depend on the limited view of a photo in a book to see where Battleship Row had been.  It was difficult to contain my excitement as we exited the bus at the Visitor Center.  As we made our way out of the museum, and the vista revealed the Harbor, other visitors saw the clear, sunny day as it was, with only the modern Memorial visible on the surface across the channel.    But I saw the USS Arizona, the USS West Virginia,  the USS Tennessee,  and the USS Oklahoma engulfed in rolling, black smoke,  and white-clad sailors in the water, swimming through burning oil.  I looked keenly at the West Virginia, hoping I could spot my Dad---or rather, my Dad-to-be.  But there was too much smoke.  Too much fire.  Too much confusion.   Japanese planes,  Zeros with the unmistakable, large red circles on their wings, still were descending toward the "battlewagons", dropping their bombs and torpedoes, strafing the decks with machine gun fire.  And there was nothing I could do to stop them.  Maybe if I could have arrived a couple of hours sooner, I could have warned them that the planes were coming....  Then, a tremendous explosion seemed to lift the Arizona completely from the surface and broke her back, instantly killing hundreds below her decks.

USS West Virginia, in the midst of her own and USS Arizona's billowing smoke

USS West Virginia

      When I feared it might be more than I could bear to watch, the scene became quiet.

     There was no black smoke, no concussion of explosions.  No screams.  Instead, now I was standing in the gleaming white memorial that straddles the sunken USS Arizona.  The other visitors obviously hadn't seen what I just had.  But we all stood reverently and peered just below the water's serene, green surface where the remains of this gallant vessel rest, along with the remains of 1,102 sailors.

     My eyes searched south and west a bit,  toward where the West Virginia would have been anchored, trying to imagine what my Dad was thinking when the first torpedo struck.  My only regret was that he wasn't standing next to me, sharing his memories of that tragic day. 

       I had heard before that many times, those who survive a tragedy such as this may suffer intensely, wondering why they were allowed to live and others were not.  Maybe that could explain why Daddy would never really share the depth of that day.  I'm not sure.  But one thing I am sure of.   He made the most of surviving that day and the rest of the War.  He came home and married Virginia Frances Botkin, and together by God's grace, they raised a family that continues to grow.  And continues to miss him and love him dearly.  Perhaps someday I'll share, especially for the benefit of their descendants who haven't been born yet, how Ray and Virginia met and courted during such a turbulent time.