hynespa
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- Jun 7, 2010
- 314
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My mom was a 10 year old girl living on a military base in Hawaii, when it was attacked on December 7, 1941 by the Japanese. Today is the 82nd anniversary of that infamous attack that drew the United States into World War II. Before my mom passed away in 2003, she wrote the following first person account of her memories from that day and the aftermath:
BACKGROUND:
Wheeler Field was the Army Air Corp Base located outside Schofield Barracks, Hawaii. The base was home to fighter plane squadrons. Because of unrest with our relations with Japan, earth bunkers had been built around the edge of the airfield, and the fighter planes parked in them. A few days before December 7th, "wiser heads" decided the bunkers could be sabotaged easily and the planes were moved and lined up in neat rows on the flight line.
Because the draft had been in effect for some time, the base was also loaded with soldiers who spilled over into tent cities, as the barracks were filled.
I remember, before December 7, 1941, collecting grease, scrap metal, etc., and finding out later our patriotic businessmen sold it to Japan, who promptly put it to good use making bombs and shrapnel for the bombs.
Wheeler field had a broad boulevard that ran from the main gate through the complex. Our house faced this boulevard and was directly across the street from a large barracks and behind that particular barracks were the hangers and flight line. My Dad was the Sgt. Major of the base. His office was at the Headquarters Building, a couple of blocks from our house and near the edge of the flight line.
That Sunday morning, we had been up for a few minutes getting ready to attend church services at the chapel.
We could hear aircraft approaching and suddenly heard a huge explosion. My Dad, in his underwear, ran out the front door saying it must be the Navy having maneuvers and a plane had crashed because the Air Corp hadn't planned anything for that day. Suddenly he yelled, "My God, it's the Japanese." We could see waves of planes coming over and hear explosion after explosion. Some of the planes were so low, strafing the barracks and flight line, that we could make out the Japanese pilots in the cockpits. Our car, bedroom windows and lawn furniture were shot up, and our stucco home was shaking so badly we feared it would collapse. My Dad got all of us against the living room wall and tilted the sofa up over us, perchance the house started to fall in. In the meantime, soldiers who had been out for a Sunday walk, were plastered against the outside of the house trying to stay out of the way of bullets, though some of them had been hurt and were bleeding. During this time (with a lull before the second wave of planes came over), a branch PX, kitty corner across the street from us was hit, a house two doors away was hit and a bomb was dropped directly on a mess hall full of men. The hangers and nearly all of the fighter planes, lined up so nicely on the flight line, were destroyed.
When the Japanese came over the mountain pass, they first hit Schofield Barracks, not much damage; then Wheeler Field, terrible damage; then Hickam Field, again terrible damage; and finally Pearl Harbor, unbelievable damage.
Once the raid was over and not knowing if there would be more, my Dad quickly moved us into the house of friends that was further away from the flight line. We huddled in that house, not knowing what was going on, while my Dad reported to his duty station. That night, they decided to take all the dependents in a convoy, without lights, into the mountains near Honolulu. It was a harrowing trip in the dark, with tracer bullets going over the roofs of the cars and trucks. They were firing at anything that moved. We rounded the crest of a hill and could see all of Pearl Harbor ablaze with burning ships.
We were taken to a school in the mountains for the first couple nights and slept on desks or the floor until cots could be brought in. The Army paid some civilian service to feed us and the meals they brought were close to SLOP. The majority of the people came down with food poisoning. We found out later, they gave us the cheapest, worse food and pocketed the difference.
Rumors, as you can guess, were rampant, especially the rumor that there was a Japanese Task Force off the coast and Hawaii was going to be invaded at any minutes.
Finally my Dad came and told us that we were being evacuated back to the States, and we could return to Wheeler Field to pack just the amount of clothing that could fit into a few suitcases, which we did.
We were put on a rubber freighter that had been on the high seas when the war started, coming from the Philippines. It, and another ship, was loaded with dependents, wounded and the worse burned sailors from Pearl Harbor. We started our journey to the States, with only one Naval destroyer escorting us; all the Navy could spare.
The smell on the ship was unbelievable. Besides the smell of raw rubber, the ship also had the smell of badly burned men. My Mom had her hands full with my brother who was just three at the time. I was ten, so I worked in the "hospital" of the ship doing whatever they asked of me. This part, I don't remember too well. My Mom says I've blocked it out of my mind because of the smell and terrible cries of the burned men.
The day before we were to sail into San Francisco under the Golden Gate Bridge, word got around that Japanese submarines had been spotted in that area (which later turned out to be true). Finally on Christmas Day, December 25, 1941, we docked at San Francisco. Since most of the dependents had lived in Hawaii for a number of years and a lot of them were heading to relatives and friends in the north for the duration of the war, the only thing we had against the cold were sweaters. When the merchants of San Francisco found out about this, they opened up their stores to let us shop for winter clothing, and the taxi cab drivers took us around at no charge.
We ended up spending the war years in the small town of New Bethlehem, Penna. My father stayed in Hawaii for awhile, then went to India with a B-29 group, and finally the Island of Tinian from which the B-29 took off that dropped the 1st atomic bomb.
We lost all of our furniture, car and a lot of personal items, but my Dad was able to ship us Mom's cedar chest full of our albums and old mementos, my favorite doll and bike, and his and my brother's set of Lionel Trains...all the things that really mattered. One added note: among shrapnel that fell in our yard in Hawaii, was an iron horse-shoe, stamped made in New Jersey. The Japanese had used our scrap iron well.
FOOTNOTE: I returned to Hawaii in the 1970's with my husband, and we got permission to tour Wheeler Field. Except for a few additions, the base is exactly the way it was on December 7, 1941. Our house and headquarters are still in use and the hangers were rebuilt to duplicate the original ones that had been destroyed.
It was like stepping into the "Twilight Zone".
December 7, 1941
As recalled by Jean Elizabeth Williams Hynes
As recalled by Jean Elizabeth Williams Hynes
BACKGROUND:
Wheeler Field was the Army Air Corp Base located outside Schofield Barracks, Hawaii. The base was home to fighter plane squadrons. Because of unrest with our relations with Japan, earth bunkers had been built around the edge of the airfield, and the fighter planes parked in them. A few days before December 7th, "wiser heads" decided the bunkers could be sabotaged easily and the planes were moved and lined up in neat rows on the flight line.
Because the draft had been in effect for some time, the base was also loaded with soldiers who spilled over into tent cities, as the barracks were filled.
I remember, before December 7, 1941, collecting grease, scrap metal, etc., and finding out later our patriotic businessmen sold it to Japan, who promptly put it to good use making bombs and shrapnel for the bombs.
Wheeler field had a broad boulevard that ran from the main gate through the complex. Our house faced this boulevard and was directly across the street from a large barracks and behind that particular barracks were the hangers and flight line. My Dad was the Sgt. Major of the base. His office was at the Headquarters Building, a couple of blocks from our house and near the edge of the flight line.
SUNDAY MORNING, ABOUT 7:50 A.M., WHEELER FIELD, HAWAII
That Sunday morning, we had been up for a few minutes getting ready to attend church services at the chapel.
We could hear aircraft approaching and suddenly heard a huge explosion. My Dad, in his underwear, ran out the front door saying it must be the Navy having maneuvers and a plane had crashed because the Air Corp hadn't planned anything for that day. Suddenly he yelled, "My God, it's the Japanese." We could see waves of planes coming over and hear explosion after explosion. Some of the planes were so low, strafing the barracks and flight line, that we could make out the Japanese pilots in the cockpits. Our car, bedroom windows and lawn furniture were shot up, and our stucco home was shaking so badly we feared it would collapse. My Dad got all of us against the living room wall and tilted the sofa up over us, perchance the house started to fall in. In the meantime, soldiers who had been out for a Sunday walk, were plastered against the outside of the house trying to stay out of the way of bullets, though some of them had been hurt and were bleeding. During this time (with a lull before the second wave of planes came over), a branch PX, kitty corner across the street from us was hit, a house two doors away was hit and a bomb was dropped directly on a mess hall full of men. The hangers and nearly all of the fighter planes, lined up so nicely on the flight line, were destroyed.
When the Japanese came over the mountain pass, they first hit Schofield Barracks, not much damage; then Wheeler Field, terrible damage; then Hickam Field, again terrible damage; and finally Pearl Harbor, unbelievable damage.
Once the raid was over and not knowing if there would be more, my Dad quickly moved us into the house of friends that was further away from the flight line. We huddled in that house, not knowing what was going on, while my Dad reported to his duty station. That night, they decided to take all the dependents in a convoy, without lights, into the mountains near Honolulu. It was a harrowing trip in the dark, with tracer bullets going over the roofs of the cars and trucks. They were firing at anything that moved. We rounded the crest of a hill and could see all of Pearl Harbor ablaze with burning ships.
We were taken to a school in the mountains for the first couple nights and slept on desks or the floor until cots could be brought in. The Army paid some civilian service to feed us and the meals they brought were close to SLOP. The majority of the people came down with food poisoning. We found out later, they gave us the cheapest, worse food and pocketed the difference.
Rumors, as you can guess, were rampant, especially the rumor that there was a Japanese Task Force off the coast and Hawaii was going to be invaded at any minutes.
Finally my Dad came and told us that we were being evacuated back to the States, and we could return to Wheeler Field to pack just the amount of clothing that could fit into a few suitcases, which we did.
We were put on a rubber freighter that had been on the high seas when the war started, coming from the Philippines. It, and another ship, was loaded with dependents, wounded and the worse burned sailors from Pearl Harbor. We started our journey to the States, with only one Naval destroyer escorting us; all the Navy could spare.
The smell on the ship was unbelievable. Besides the smell of raw rubber, the ship also had the smell of badly burned men. My Mom had her hands full with my brother who was just three at the time. I was ten, so I worked in the "hospital" of the ship doing whatever they asked of me. This part, I don't remember too well. My Mom says I've blocked it out of my mind because of the smell and terrible cries of the burned men.
The day before we were to sail into San Francisco under the Golden Gate Bridge, word got around that Japanese submarines had been spotted in that area (which later turned out to be true). Finally on Christmas Day, December 25, 1941, we docked at San Francisco. Since most of the dependents had lived in Hawaii for a number of years and a lot of them were heading to relatives and friends in the north for the duration of the war, the only thing we had against the cold were sweaters. When the merchants of San Francisco found out about this, they opened up their stores to let us shop for winter clothing, and the taxi cab drivers took us around at no charge.
We ended up spending the war years in the small town of New Bethlehem, Penna. My father stayed in Hawaii for awhile, then went to India with a B-29 group, and finally the Island of Tinian from which the B-29 took off that dropped the 1st atomic bomb.
We lost all of our furniture, car and a lot of personal items, but my Dad was able to ship us Mom's cedar chest full of our albums and old mementos, my favorite doll and bike, and his and my brother's set of Lionel Trains...all the things that really mattered. One added note: among shrapnel that fell in our yard in Hawaii, was an iron horse-shoe, stamped made in New Jersey. The Japanese had used our scrap iron well.
FOOTNOTE: I returned to Hawaii in the 1970's with my husband, and we got permission to tour Wheeler Field. Except for a few additions, the base is exactly the way it was on December 7, 1941. Our house and headquarters are still in use and the hangers were rebuilt to duplicate the original ones that had been destroyed.
It was like stepping into the "Twilight Zone".
