Remembering

There are still quite a few folks around who remember where they were and what they were doing when they learned on Dec. 7, 1941, that Japanese planes were attacking Pearl Harbor.

I certainly remember, although I was only 11 at the time. We lived in Laurel Canyon in Hollywood, Calif. I’d just gotten home from Sunday school and had started washing the dishes, my Sunday morning chore. I looked out the kitchen window and saw a neighbor lady running across the lawn toward our house in panic — her arms flapping as if she were trying to fly – and screaming repeatedly, “The Japs are attacking Pearl Harbor.”

My folks had her come in and managed to quiet her down. “Turn the radio on,” she gasped. We did. Sure enough, while initial details were sketchy, most stations were breaking into their normal programming with bulletins. There was no television, of course, and no “instant” coverage like today.

The afternoon was spent near the radio, frequently turning the dial to hear other stations and hoping for faster reports. Rumors were plentiful.

After going to bed that night, I heard my stepdad tell Mom, “They say that Japanese bombers are heading toward San Francisco.” Of course, they weren’t — but we didn’t know for sure. That led to more wild speculation. It was hard for anyone to get to sleep that night.

It was quite a contrast to instant, visual news coverage of 9/11 events. That, too, is an event that folks will remember for many years, where they were and what they were doing when they learned of 9/11 and witnessed the fall of those twin skyscrapers.