Veterans recall surprise attack

Former soldiers, now in their 80s, recall the shock, anger and fear they felt.
ORANGE COUNTY REGISTER
SANTA ANA, Calif. -- Who cares?
The survivors gather in graveyards each Dec. 7 to salute the flag. But even their numbers are dwindling as Pearl Harbor Day rolls around. Again. What can any of the rest of us really do, these 64 years later?
Maybe the answer lies just beneath the surface of John Johnsen's story, which opens with a can of spilled milk on the deck of the USS Nevada and ends with some telephone calls to his Yorba Linda, Calif., home last year.
First you have to understand the day that dawned sunny and warm 64 years ago this morning. And know it was a day defined by three emotions.
Shock.
Anger.
And fear.
7:51 a.m. -- Shock
The hum of airplanes came as good news to Army Air Force Pvt. Andy Weniger, sitting on the flight line of Hickam Field, a U.S. bomber base at Pearl Harbor. Weniger was awaiting a dozen B-17s, expected to fuel at Hickam before flying farther into the Pacific.
What they first saw
What he heard instead was the first wave of Japan's attack -- 183 planes storming in from the northwest and targeting six U.S. airfields to prevent counter-attack.
"The first plane came in and bombed our hangers," said Weniger, now 83, of Huntington Beach, Calif. "After the bombs, they went around strafing all our guys on the runways. They were having a field day."
The U.S. couldn't have been caught less prepared: planes were parked in neat rows, rifles locked in armories, foxholes nonexistent.
"We ran outside but there was nothing to jump into," said William Carr, now 86, of Westminster, Calif., then stationed at Schofield Barracks, some 15 miles north of Pearl Harbor. "It was supposed to be peacetime. But bullets were coming through the open windows and I heard screams of men being hit."
In all, the Japanese grounded 347 of America's 394 planes. Down at Battleship Row, however, things were worse. And the second wave hadn't even started.
8:10 a.m. -- Anger
Madness surrounded him. Smoke. Flames. Explosions. And milk. Some 2,300 men were drowning, burning or bleeding to death as Japan's surprise attack unfolded on a clear Sunday morning.
"In all the uproar, someone had spilled some canned milk right where we were trying to stand and fire the number-five broadside gun," said Johnsen, now 83. "Someone was looking for a mop to clean up that darned milk so nobody would slip and fall. It seemed strange we had to fool around with some little thing like that."
Explosion
When a torpedo peeled open the port bow of the Nevada, it felt like the 29,000-ton battleship lifted out of the water. And when the USS Arizona exploded in front of them, it blew shrapnel and body parts onto the Nevada.
High above, in the Nevada's crow's nest, seagoing Marine Dick Troxcil, now 83, of Bellflower, Calif., manned a 50-caliber machine gun.
When the Arizona exploded, he said, "all you could see was flame and smoke. You couldn't even see the ship."
Japanese planes had a perfect view of the 96 U.S. ships in the harbor. Some planes swooped low to drop torpedoes. Some dropped bombs. Others made strafing runs.
"They looked like birds up there," said Troxcil, who downed a Japanese plane 200 yards off the port side of Nevada.
"It started to roll," he said. "I thought his wing was going to hit my tower. It felt like it was two feet away, but it was probably a lot farther. Then it keeled over the ship and splashed on the other side."
The Nevada was the only ship on Battleship Row to get under way that morning. Wounded and limping, she made a run for open sea at 8:50 a.m. Four minutes later, Japan's second wave of 167 planes roared overhead.
"We went by all of the ships in Battleship Row," said Johnsen. "The Oklahoma had capsized. I knew there were hundreds of men trapped with no way to get them out."
Within 15 minutes, six 250-kilogram bombs found the Nevada, adding to her torpedo damage. She sunk in shallow waters off Hospital Point.
"You knew we were at war now -- no doubt about that," said Johnsen. "But we wondered how we were going to fight it because it didn't look like we had anything left."
9:45 a.m. -- Fear
And then it was over.
"You could almost feel the silence after all those planes took off," said Johnsen. "You could see all this fire, and black smoke, and in many places the water was burning from all the oil on it, with small boats coming in and out picking up the dead and wounded.
To a man, Pearl Harbor survivors say they were scared. Not in battle. But after.
"You don't have time to get scared when you're working," said Jefferson Maner, now 87, in Laguna Woods, Calif., who served on the USS Dobbin. "After it's all over -- that's when you get scared, buddy."
Casualties and damage
Japan's attack destroyed 18 U.S. warships, 347 planes and killed more than 2,300 men.
Sixty-four years later, the survivors can't erase the memories. Many will meet at 11 a.m. Wednesday at El Toro Memorial Park in Lake Forest to honor the dead. But some don't know if they can make it.
Age has crept up.
Dec. 7, '05 -- The Answer
"I'm having trouble walking right now," Johnsen said. "I lost my lower right leg 15 years ago."
So he lives with other memories now, too. Like memories of a Pearl Harbor reunion in Washington, D.C., when strangers stopped him on the Metro to say thank you. And memories of calls he got last Dec. 7 from friends who wanted to show their appreciation.
"They call and let me know they remember," he said, and the booming voice of this big man, which had been rock steady, breaks for the first time. "That is special."
He pauses, unable to talk.
And in that pause lies the answer to what can be done by those who didn't experience the shock, anger or fear 64 years ago today. It's as simple as saying two words.
Thank you.