The meaning of real sacrifice, and the fragility of life, became personally significant when we visited Pearl Harbor. Here, on December 7, 1941, Bill's father arose and was headed to breakfast, when chaos and terror erupted aboard the battleship West Virginia (right next to the place the Missouri Battleship is now mored). His was located three decks down when the first torpedo hit the side of the ship. His fight for escape and survival is one he pondered and relived the remainder of his life. He wondered why he survived such a horrific scene of twisted steel, burning oil and strafing airplanes. Years later, he shared that the only sense he could make of it, was that he was supposed to get married and have children.
We found a quiet spot, and Bill read aloud his father's story. As his father jumped from the ship, into water covered with burning oil, he proceeded to swim around two languishing battleships. He saw another struggling sailor and helped him get to Ford Island. Many years later, this fellow found and thanked him for saving his life.
His father was a member of the band, on the West Virginia, having been assigned there just three months earlier from off of the Arizona. And the night before the attack, he had participated in the "Battle of the Bands", with his former shipmates. Their total loss was devastating to him. Another friend, who was a diver, found and retrieved his trumpet in the days that followed. The blackened bell visually reminds us, daily, of the gift of life he was granted.
Bill's father remained on duty, at Pearl Harbor, for the next several years. Besides his regular duties, he helped clean at the Royal Hawaiian Hotel, and he continued with the band, welcoming in the submarine crews, and playing with visiting musicians and entertainers that came to entertain the troops, such as Bob Hope. During his free time, he spent many hours on Waikiki Beach, surfing.
I find it interesting and profoundly meaningful, that both Bill and I have very personal ties to these islands.
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