DAY 6 PEARL HARBOR. by Rick Cotton

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1 DAY 6 PEARL HARBOR by Rick Cotton Well, sometimes things don t go quite the way we plan them. We had an early Friday morning flight out of Lihue airport, Kauai, which should have gotten us into Honolulu about 8:30-45 or so plenty of time to see Pearl Harbor before our 7:30pm flight home. At least, that was the plan. Hawaiian Airlines did not cooperate with the plan. We all dutifully got aboard the jet, got seated, only to have the flight attendants tell us that the aircraft would have to be emptied back out, as there had been a bird strike on its way in, and that it would have to be inspected before we could go. What we did not know at the time was that the inspector would have to be flown in from Oahu. 10 o clock, at the worst, they said. Hmmmmm. We all got back off and sat around, as the inspection got pushed farther and farther back. Had our luck soured on us? There is a local Hawaiian legend that if you take a rock, or sand away from the islands, you will have bad luck until you return it to where it came from. Some say it is an ancient Polynesian legend. Others say it is a recent legend, created by tour guides growing tired of turistas dragging sand and rocks onto their tour buses. I DID have rocks for Sweetie in my bag (she likes getting a rock from everywhere I go, call it a tradition), and as the delay kept getting extended into the early afternoon, I was beginning to wonder if Pele (the local Hawaiian goddess) was after me. Finally eight hours, one mediocre airport sandwich and 67 Gummi Bears later, Pele must have gotten bored with torturing us, so the plane passed inspection, and we were on our way to Honolulu. It actually works out, as we will spend another night on Oahu, and be 3 miles away from Pearl Harbor in the morning. Thanks, Pele, much appreciated. Nighty-night. Oh, the thoughts that course through my head as we approach Pearl. So much history, so much tragedy, so much heroism. I have read and read about the attack, to the point that the landscape was actually familiar, the first time I laid eyes on it. There was Ford Island, with the clear space down the center where the old airstrip once was. The original control tower is still there. There s the East Loch, where the Kate torpedo bombers roared down, low and slow, to drop their deadly fish at the battleships moored along Battleship Row. The Missouri is now permanently berthed there as a museum ship.

2 There are the white concrete mooring pads, still standing, and still bearing the names West Virginia Nevada Arizona And there she is Arizona, lying peacefully asleep forever, under a gleaming white monument. At this time, there was some problem with the memorial platform, so our boat did not tie up, and we could not go on the monument itself. But I saw that rusty turret ring above the water. I saw the oil slick. I sat there silently, with the rest, letting the emotions wash over me. It was here right here, in this

3 peaceful, sunny harbor, which probably looked much like today on that peaceful Sunday so long ago. The last moment of peace, suddenly shattered by an unearthly blast, killing so many, and plunging this nation into the most violent war ever. I closely noted a Japanese couple, who sat near me. I had heard them talking in Japanese earlier, so I knew they were from Nippon. Their expression was one of quiet respect, and contemplation. Near the Arizona, they simply gazed on it, and never said a word. Not many did. Words are really not necessary here. I ran into them on the bus to the Missouri later, talking quietly in their native tongue. I smiled and spoke to them: Nihonjin desu ka? (Are you Japanese?) They smiled gently. Hai! So Desu! (Yes, we are!) Ah, so desu. Ohayo Gozaimasu! (Ah, I see. Hello! ) Ohayo gozaimasu!!! Nihon go ga hanase ka? (Hello! You speak Japanese?) Iye, watakushi wa Nihon go ga hanase-masen gomen nasai. (No, sorry, I do not speak Japanese.) Just a few words and phrases. Ah, wakarimashte! (I understand). But your Japanese is pretty good! Ah! Domo arigato gozaimasu! They spoke some English, and we chatted for a while. They were on vacation, and I explained that I was here for work. But a moment came, when the gentleman, a little bit older than me, said, with a very soft look in his eyes This very sad must be no more too sad. Never. I put out my hand, which he took and shook warmly. Hai. Wakarimashte, I said. Yes I understand. He bowed, along with his wife, which I returned. Indeed, I understood that look. Words in any language were not needed.

4 The Missouri is, of course, huge. Having been on the Texas many times, the sheer size of an Iowa-class battlewagon is incredible. I did not care for the small touristy gift shop-canteen-picture stands clustered around the entry ramp, but there it is the ship is not cheap to maintain, so they must find ways to buy gray paint in large quantities. The ship itself seems to be in pretty good repair, lovingly kept up by volunteers. The site of the Japanese surrender is clearly marked by a large, polished brass marker, which is protected from tourists by a rope barrier. Nearby, copies of the surrender documents are laid out for examination, and many stood around, reading and contemplating. Here is where the war ended, moored just a few feet away from where it began. How ironic.

5 The Pacific Aviation Museum was next, and it is interesting enough, but the exhibit that drew me was something that is extremely hard to find a 40% intact Nakajima B5N Kate torpedo bomber. There are exactly NONE left intact, and this bird is something you would be very lucky to see. We toured both hangars, the first full of WW2 exhibits, and the second, hangar 79, full of more recent aircraft. If you looked closely on the outside, there are still bullet and shrapnel holes in the exterior of the building. Eerie. All good things must come to an end, though. Our time to go to the airport was fast approaching. I took a long last look across the harbor, letting it all sink in. I will never forget it. Aloha. Headed home.