In honor of December 7th and the sacrifices made by all those who were there that horrible day, I’ve reposted a story from my book Fried Chicken & Wine. As time now does what the Japanese couldn’t, God bless all those who are slipping silently into the night.
A light mist shrouded Pearl Harbor, Hawaii. The normally bright blue water was more of a dull gray, matching the U.S. Navy ships that slipped in and out of its protected waters. A black Lincoln Towncar slowly pulled up to the battleship and stopped. The driver got out, walked around to the passenger side rear door and opened it. A shaky foot emerged.
Capt. John Franklin, U.S. Navy (Ret.), slowly got out of the car and looked up at the mighty ship. His eyes immediately began to water as tears and memories flooded forth. The driver popped the trunk, got out a walker and helped the old man to his feet. The driver paused, saluted and waited by the car. Capt. Franklin slowly made his way to the gangplank.
As he pushed the walker up the walkway he noticed a strange thing beginning to happen: His legs were getting stronger. About halfway up, he threw the walker aside, “I hated the dam’ thing anyway,” the old sailor growled. He paused, looked up at the mighty guns and the colorful flags. The fog swirled around the superstructure and the steel guns. He continued on his journey.
He got to the top and took a deep breath. The smell of fresh paint, oil and wood tickled his senses, unleashing memories he had not thought about in 70 years. He stuck out his chest and said, “Capt. Franklin reporting for duty. Permission to come aboard?” The faceless officer said, “Permission granted, sir.”
Captain John Franklin walked to aft of the ship and approached a 5-inch gun. He put his hand on the warm steel, climbed a ladder and sat inside. He was now manning his position on the U.S.S. Arizona. He had rejoined his shipmates who had perished 70 years ago while he was ashore on leave. Smiling, he waved at the driver on the dock below. The driver saluted back and drove away.
The Captain was home. He looked out at the shore and everything looked just like it had early on the morning of December 7, 1941. Suddenly the sun broke through the mist at Pearl Harbor. And when the sunbeam hit the ghost battleship, it disappeared.
At that moment, alarms went off in room BB39 of the Naval hospital. ”We’re losing him!” the nurse screamed. A team of nurses and doctors scrambled like ants and tried to save him but with no luck. Captain John Franklin, U.S. Navy (Ret.), survivor of the day that will live in infamy, faded into history.
Beautiful tribute Marshall.
Precious.