DAY OF INFAMY
It was a pleasant day in Webster Groves that Sunday in December. As I looked out the window
of our apartment I could see the railroad tracks half a block away. This was the main line of the
Missouri Pacific Railroad heading west out of Saint Louis. Whenever I heard the ding-ding-ding
of the crossing gates I would rush to the window to watch the huge steam locomotives as they
chuffed slowly and deafeningly up the grade pulling their long freight trains. I liked to count the
cars. Sometimes there were a hundred of them and they required several locomotives to do the
job. Even with that much power, they moved slowly. When I could, I would open the window so
I could hear and see better, and even breathe the soot-laden exhaust. I loved it; especially when
you could feel the floor vibrating from the weight of the locomotives.
There weren’t any trains that morning. As I looked down Lockwood Avenue, I could see the
Presbyterian Church where we had worshipped a short while earlier. It was a handsome
building, with a front façade of rough-hewn granite blocks. It stood on the other side of the
street, and I could make out the massive wooden doors that opened directly onto the sidewalk.
Their bright red color stood out against the gray of the rock.
Mother sat as usual in the living room listening to the Sunday broadcast of the New York
Philharmonic. I played on the rug with various toys, not really listening to the “grownup” music.
But, when the music suddenly stopped, we both wondered what had happened. And then we
heard a man’s voice. He sounded urgent as he said:
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“We interrupt this program to bring you a special news bulletin. The Japanese have
attacked Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, by air, President Roosevelt has just announced. The
attack also was made on all Naval and Military activities on the principal island,
Oahu.”
“Why did those men attack Pearl Harbor? Mommy, what does that mean? Isn’t that where
Daddy is? Is he alright?” All these questions came pouring out of me after the man on the radio
read the President’s announcement. The President said the Japanese had attacked Pearl Harbor
by air. “How did they do that, Mommy?” Worried, I asked again, “Is Daddy alright?
“Tommy, we need to listen to the radio. They’ll be telling us more, and we don’t want to miss
it.” So I stopped pestering her with questions. I could tell she was unhappy, because she hardly
spoke after that. Whenever another news announcement came over the air, she would lean
toward the radio so she wouldn’t miss anything.
“Mommy, what does it mean? The man said the Japanese had bombed the fleet. He said there
were heavy casualties. What’s that?” I could see she was really getting worried now, because
her eyes were getting red, and I could see they were wet. She never cried, but I could tell she
wanted to.
The phone rang and she answered it. I couldn’t hear the conversation except for the few words
she spoke. I could tell it was her older sister, my Aunt Nan. Mother said she had heard the news
just like Aunt Nan had. She thanked her sister for calling, then went back to the radio. I had
never seen her look the way she did then. She looked so sad. I didn’t understand what was
happening.
Finally sheer boredom took over. I left the radio and started playing with my toys on the living
room carpet again. Finally, when it was getting dark, she fixed something for us to eat. Then it
was time for bed. I kneeled by the side of the bed and said my bedtime prayers. “Now I lay me
down to sleep. I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my
soul to take. God Bless Mommy and Daddy. Amen.”
Next morning was Monday, and we got up at the usual time. She fixed us something for
breakfast, then I started getting dressed for school. She surprised me by saying, “Oh, I don’t
think you need to go to school today Tommy.”
“Oh. Why?” She didn’t say much, except that we needed to listen to the radio.
“Is Daddy going to be alright?” I asked again. She struggled for words and ended up not saying
much. I knew something really serious was going on then. So I settled down to listen to the
radio with her. Then we heard a loud knock at the front door of our apartment. We had very
few visitors, and I wondered who this could be. She opened the door, and I could see a man in a
blue uniform. He handed Mommy an envelope. She signed the receipt, and then opened it. I
couldn’t see her face, only her back.
“Mommy, what is it?” She finished reading the paper and held it out to her side. I went across
the room, and took it from her. It was covered with strips of paper with purple printing pasted
to the paper in rows. I didn’t remember seeing such a thing before. I read the message:
“DEAR MRS KIRKPATRICK STOP I REGRET TO INFORM YOU THAT YOUR HUSBAND
CAPTAIN THOMAS LEROY KIRKPATRICK IS MISSING IN ACTION AND PRESUMED
DEAD STOP SIGNED SECRETARY OF THE NAVY FRANK KNOX STOP”
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The day was December 8, 1941. I asked, “Mommy, what does that mean?” She turned around
and I saw her crying then.
“It means Daddy is never going to come home, Tommy.” I didn’t know what to say. Daddy was
my hero, and I absolutely worshipped him. I couldn’t really believe that I was never going to see
him again. Not ever.
Just the day before, I had read one of his frequent letters to us, postmarked, “U.S.S. Arizona,
Pearl Harbor. T.I.” They bore the return address, “Chaplain T.L. Kirkpatrick.” They were usually
addressed to Mommy, but he never forgot to say hello to me too. When one of his letters
arrived, I could hardly wait to see what he said inside. He told me wonderful stories about his
adventures in Hawaii. One time, he wrote about a special evening aboard the ship, where the
Navy invited a local dance troupe to perform on board. I laughed when he told about how the
Admiral himself had gotten up and danced a hula dance with an enormous Hawaiian lady in a
grass skirt. The sailors all got a laugh out of seeing this usually dignified officer acting foolishly.
The sailors all thought it made the Admiral seem like a regular fellow.
I couldn’t imagine never reading one of his letters again. Not ever.
I could never quite remember the next day, except for two things. First was when the President
came on the radio as he delivered a speech to Congress. I could tell he was really angry as he
started talking, saying:
“Yesterday, December 7, 1941—a date which will live in infamy—the United
States of America was suddenly and deliberately attacked by naval and air forces
of the Empire of Japan.”
The second thing I remember was the knock at the door. It was a lot louder than when the
Western Union man had delivered the telegram. Mommy went to the door and called out,
“Who is it?”
A man said he was from the Webster Groves newspaper. He asked, “Are you the Mrs. Kirkpatrick
whose husband was killed by the Japs at Pearl Harbor? I have to talk to you.” She said she
couldn’t talk right now. He knocked again, this time really loud. She replied, “Please go away. I
can’t talk to you right now.” I was across the room and couldn’t see her face, but I knew from
her voice she was crying.
The man refused to go away. He kept knocking. Then he started to pound really hard, all the
time shouting through the door that he had to talk to her. I sat across the living room scared to
death. I had never seen anything like that and was shocked. Then Mommy took a portrait of
Daddy out of the leather-bound holder she kept by her bed and slipped it out under the door.
The portrait never came back.
That night, as I was going to bed I prepared to say my bedtime prayers. I knew Daddy was never
coming home, that he was dead, so I asked her what seemed a logical question. “Mommy,
should I leave Daddy out of my prayers now?” That was too much for her. She was sitting on the
edge of my bed, and she started to cry. I could see tears streaming down her cheeks as she said,
“No, Tommy. You must always keep Daddy in your prayers.”
And I have. Always.
About 1485 words
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Pdf Entry Information
Exhibitor Name: Thomas Kirkpatrick
WEN: 163741
Division: FA - 355 - Memoir
Class: 01 Personal Memoir
Title: Day of Infamy
Description: December 7, 1941 told from a childs perspective
Notes: