by Craig Nelson
• • •
At about 7:00 p.m. in Washington that December 7 night—0800 in Manila; 1400 in Hawaii—General Gerow finally got General MacArthur on the phone to repeatedly warn him that the Japanese were coming for him next. MacArthur said he was ready for them: “Our tails are up in the air.”
At 1030 and 1230, General Lewis Brereton, air commander of the Philippines, asked permission to send his B-17s on bombing runs against Japanese bases on nearby Formosa. MacArthur’s chief of staff, Richard K. Sutherland, refused to allow Brereton to speak with the commander.
1257: From their Saipan base, Japanese naval bombers attacked the five hundred marines and sailors posted to Guam, who had no weapons beyond a few machine guns and pistols. After destroying the local barracks and the USS Penguin, the planes departed, only to be succeeded by an invasion force of transports and destroyers.
1300: With only fifteen seconds of warning, the Americans on Wake atoll couldn’t get their fighters into the air or their antiaircraft guns ready to defend against thirty-six Japanese bombers arriving from the Marshalls. The planes just delivered by Enterprise were destroyed, along with the island’s fuel-storage tank. As Pan Am’s flying boat Philippine Clipper took off with airline personnel and Allied wounded, the captain radioed that he saw Japanese cruisers and destroyers heading for Wake.
1400: Thirty-five hell divers arrived over Hong Kong, destroying the Hong Kong Clipper and the China National Aviation fleet, as ground forces advanced on the British mainland territory of Kowloon. Allied defenses consisted of a few Canadian and Indian infantry battalions, one antique destroyer, and eight PT boats.
1530: Brereton called MacArthur again for permission to launch an assault and again was told to wait. Brereton finally received an approval and by 17:20, orders for the attack were sent by Teletype to Clark Field.
1730: The Philippines’ Iba Field radar operator tried to send Teletype, radio, and telephone warnings to Clark that he had detected two hundred Japanese warplanes heading toward them. The radio didn’t work, the Clark teletypist was out to lunch, and the lieutenant who answered the phone promised to spread word of the impending attack “at the earliest opportunity,” but never did.
1750: Brereton’s planes were still on the ground being fueled, checked, and loaded when, a good fifteen hours after Pearl Harbor, fifty-four Mitsubishi horizontal bombers and seventy-nine Zero fighters from Formosa attacked Clark Field, destroying half of the American air forces in the Philippines and killing over one hundred men. In less than an hour, the Japanese had won the victory that would enable them to launch their ground assault on the Philippines. Hearing the news, MacArthur refused to believe the attackers could be Japanese, insisting they must be German or Italian mercenaries.
• • •
Grace Tully woke President Roosevelt at seven on the morning of the eighth with more terrible updates. Midway, Wake, and Hong Kong were under attack, and even after all the warnings sent to Douglas MacArthur, he’d been caught on the ground at Manila, losing over half of his air force, most of his fleet, and a great deal of his supplies. The death toll on Oahu, meanwhile, was now estimated at twenty-eight hundred. The president continued to keep this information as private as possible, not wanting the Japanese to know the magnitude of their victory—a great success, after all, might inspire them to invade Hawaii, or even the West Coast—as well as not wanting Americans to panic or feel defeated even before they had begun to fight.
After breakfast, at 11:00 a.m. valet Arthur Prettyman arrived to dress the chief executive for his appearance at the joint session of Congress. He removed Roosevelt’s pajamas and slid each leg into a heavy metal brace, strapping in his knee, thigh, and hip to keep his legs rigid and make it appear as if the leader of the United States of America could walk. Then the valet dressed his president in formal wear, the last touch being the black armband Roosevelt continued to wear in memory of his mother Sara’s death on September 7. Prettyman then lifted the American leader into his wheelchair, and Roosevelt wheeled himself to the North Portico, where a limousine he’d never seen before was waiting. Secret Service chief Mike Reilly had determined that in wartime the president required additional protection.
FDR asked, “What’s that thing, Mike?”
“Mr. President, I’ve taken the liberty of getting a new car. It’s armored, I’m afraid it’s a little uncomfortable, and I know it has a dubious reputation. It belonged to Al Capone. The Treasury Department had a little trouble with Al, you know, and they got it from him in the subsequent legal complications. I got it from Treasury.”
At 12:20, ten black limousines entered the Capitol grounds, three of them—Leviathan, Queen Mary, and Normandie—filled with Secret Service guards. Jimmy Roosevelt, in his Marine Corps uniform, helped his father, in his US Navy cape, out of Capone’s leviathan and into a wheelchair.
The House chamber, where the meeting would take place, could seat 86 members of the press; 590 appeared.
At 12:15, the Speaker of the House of Representatives, Sam Rayburn, rapped his gavel, bringing the session to order, and Doorkeeper Joe Sinnott announced that the Senate had passed House Concurrent Resolution 61, to convene a joint session. Vice President Henry Wallace then brought the Senate into the chamber, while Cordell Hull, Henry Stimson, Harold Stark, George Marshall, and the justices of the Supreme Court took seats in the audience.
At 12:29, to an explosion of applause, Sinnott announced, “The president of the United States.” For the first time in as long as any legislator could recall, even Republicans stood for Franklin Delano Roosevelt. Only two refused to stand: Montana’s Jeannette Rankin and Michigan’s Clare Hoffman; Rankin would be the only representative or senator voting nay to the president’s call for war against Japan.
Holding on to his son James’s arm, the crippled man forced himself to walk in an Olympian effort, as the son recalled: “His uppermost thought was that he get one braced foot after the other in the right position; that he hold his balance over his hips and pelvis just so; that he shift his great shoulders forward, left, and right just so; that he not fall down. This concentration caused him to break out into a sweat as, indeed, it always did.”
At the podium, Roosevelt fiddled with his glasses, then took a look for the ages, slow and long, at everyone assembled, before he began. He spoke for six minutes and thirty seconds, to the biggest audience in radio history. His “face appears to be carved in granite,” the New York Times reported. “Gone is the almost happy-go-lucky air of early New Deal days; gone is the latter-day fatigue and occasional irritability. He stands more firmly than for some time, his head held higher, his chin thrust out.”
Franklin Delano Roosevelt: “Mr. Vice President, Mr. Speaker, members of the Senate and the House of Representatives:
“Yesterday, December seventh, 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 United States was at peace with that nation, and, at the solicitation of Japan, was still in conversation with its government and its emperor looking toward the maintenance of peace in the Pacific. Indeed, one hour after Japanese air squadrons had commenced bombing in the American island of Oahu, the Japanese ambassador to the United States delivered to our secretary of state a formal reply to a recent American message. And while this reply stated that it seemed useless to continue the existing diplomatic negotiations, it contained no threat or hint of war or of armed attack.
“It will be recorded that the distance of Hawaii from Japan makes it obvious that the attack was deliberately planned many days or even weeks ago. During the intervening time the Japanese government has deliberately sought to deceive the United States by false statements and expressions of hope for continued peace.
“The attack yesterday on the Hawaiian Islands has caused severe damage to American naval and military forces. I regret to tell you that very many American lives have been lost. In addition, American s
hips have been reported torpedoed on the high seas between San Francisco and Honolulu.
“Yesterday the Japanese government also launched an attack against Malaya.
“Last night Japanese forces attacked Hong Kong.
“Last night Japanese forces attacked Guam.
“Last night Japanese forces attacked the Philippine Islands.
“Last night the Japanese attacked Wake Island.
“And this morning the Japanese attacked Midway Island.
“Japan has therefore undertaken a surprise offensive extending throughout the Pacific area. The facts of yesterday and today speak for themselves. The people of the United States have already formed their opinions and well understand the implications to the very life and safety of our nation.
“As commander in chief of the army and navy I have directed that all measures be taken for our defense, that always will our whole nation remember the character of the onslaught against us.
“No matter how long it may take us to overcome this premeditated invasion, the American people, in their righteous might, will win through to absolute victory.
“I believe that I interpret the will of the Congress and of the people when I assert that we will not only defend ourselves to the uttermost but will make it very certain that this form of treachery shall never again endanger us.
“Hostilities exist. There is no blinking at the fact that our people, our territory, and our interests are in grave danger.
“With confidence in our armed forces, with the unbounding determination of our people, we will gain the inevitable triumph. So help us God.
“I ask that the Congress declare that since the unprovoked and dastardly attack by Japan on Sunday, December seventh, 1941, a state of war has existed between the United States and the Japanese Empire.”
For Americans listening at home, Roosevelt’s speech echoed with memories of America’s other historic days of infamy: the Alamo massacre and Custer’s Last Stand. In those two instances, terrible setbacks were followed up by heroic victories, and the Texas cry of “Remember the Alamo” soon became “Remember Pearl Harbor.”
With its attack on Hawaii, Japan erased the isolationist argument that had held sway over American politics for two decades. By 1:06 p.m. the Senate had voted unanimously, and by 1:26 p.m. the House had voted 388 to 1. Congress had declared war in all of fifty-two minutes. This would be the last war declared by Congress, and its unanimous sentiment was felt across the country, with isolationist icon Charles Lindbergh announcing, “Our country has been attacked by force of arms and by force of arms we must retaliate,” and FDR antagonist Herbert Hoover concurring, “American soil has been treacherously attacked by Japan. Our decision is clear. It is forced upon us. We must fight with everything we have.” Later that day, Roosevelt cabled Churchill, “Today all of us are in the same boat with you and the people of the Empire, and it is a ship which will not and cannot be sunk.”
Elsewhere in Washington, DC, enraged Americans chopped down four of the Potomac River’s cherry trees, gifts from the mayor of Tokyo in 1912. Archibald MacLeish, librarian of Congress, shipped the Declaration of Independence, the Constitution, the Bill of Rights, a Gutenberg Bible, and a copy of the Magna Carta to Fort Knox for safekeeping.
• • •
Back on Ford Island, Mary Ann Ramsey had spent all afternoon and the night of December 7 taking care of the dead, the dying, and the horribly wounded. On the eighth, she walked outside and found herself drawn to the smoldering hulk that was the Arizona. For the first time, she broke down in sobs. Others were at the Bellinger home at that moment, also in tears, after hearing President Roosevelt’s speech to Congress, the declaration of war, and the now-poignant trumpeting of “The Star-Spangled Banner.”
Mary Ann Ramsey: “Even the children were pin-drop quiet as he talked. When it was over, the national anthem was played. Without a word, every woman and child rose, standing as I had so often seen the smallest of the Navy Juniors do at taps, when the flag was taken down at sunset. Even Chuckie Coe’s young face was somber as he placed his hand over his heart. Adults wiped away tears.”
There were other points of view. “Since the war, I have confiscated about $500 worth of radio equipment, soda, beer, cigarettes, and seventeen cars,” Hickam Private 1st Class Nicholas Gayno later wrote his family. “Some fun! I conked a Jap in the Sears-Roebuck in Honolulu and had him turn over a shortwave receiver. Boy, was he scared. I hadn’t shaved, changed clothes or washed since Sunday. I had two revolvers, one huge bolo knife—about twenty-six inches long—and a mean look on my face. I was sure having fun scaring hell out of these civilians.”
Rigel’s Lieutenant Commander Ed Seiser tells a very different story: “Cowboy, a sailor from Texas, had brought along his dog, Brandy, which he offered as the ship’s mascot, and who was accepted as such and named Captain Brandy. He took off to visit other ships and shore facilities and made many new acquaintances. It took him about two weeks to make the rounds; at least he was gone that long before he returned to the ship. Of course, he was under no obligation to return at all, but he had to come aboard to see how Cowboy was getting along and to check in with his orderly.
“A few days before the attack, one of the smaller ships had to make a run to San Francisco, and Brandy just happened to be aboard at the time of departure. So away he went on a trip to the mainland. The word of Brandy’s departure was passed along to Cowboy, so that he wouldn’t worry too much.
“When his ship arrived in San Francisco, Brandy immediately took off to do some visiting and shopping up and down the Embarcadero. . . . Under normal conditions, whenever a ship was about to depart, she would sound her siren and give certain blasts on her whistle to signal what she was going to do. . . . But now, with the country at war, all sirens and whistles were silenced, so Brandy had no way of knowing that his ship was about to get under way. She sailed and left him stranded on the beach. He spent a couple of days wandering up and down the docks before he was recognized by a sailor from another ship, who took him in tow temporarily until he could decide what to do with him.
“News of Brandy’s plight finally reached the ears of the captain of the Lurline, flagship of the Matson Line. . . . So the skipper of the Lurline invited Brandy to be his guest and to share his cabin on a run he was preparing to make to Honolulu. . . . News of Brandy’s arrival preceded him by some unknown means, for all radio communications were silenced. When the Lurline arrived in Honolulu, a navy brass band was on hand to head a greeting party. Brandy was mounted on an elevated seat in the stern of a jeep for a parade through the city and out to Pearl Harbor. The dog’s picture along with a story about his escapade appeared on the front page of one of the daily newspapers.”
• • •
As central a role in American history as Pearl Harbor continues to hold, in Japanese history, it was only a small moment in a cavalcade of victories, the foundation of a great Asian empire. Twenty-three hundred miles west of the Hawaiian archipelago lay the three coral islets of Wake, home to scrub and rats and a China Clipper runway with an adjacent motel, the Pan Am Inn; for their guests’ recreation, the inn provided air rifles to go rat hunting. On December 7, Japanese horizontal bombers destroyed the Wildcats just delivered to the marines at Wake by Enterprise as well as the inn, killing half the army’s troops and fifty Morrison-Knudsen construction workers. On December 16, Admiral Kimmel sent an armada to support Wake’s defenders, but when on December 22, two thousand Japanese soldiers invaded and the island’s commander cabled Hawaii, “The Enemy is on the Island. The Issue is in Doubt,” the carrier armada retreated back to Hawaii, and the sixteen hundred remaining Americans surrendered.
On December 18, the Japanese took Kowloon and began their assault on the island of Hong Kong, and on the twenty-second, 109 Japanese transports launched almost ten thousand men into the Philippines, not at the heavily defended southern end of Lingayen Gulf, but miles up the coast near the town of Aganoo, and miles south in Lamon Bay. They pour
ed down the cobblestone highway to Manila, where they expected MacArthur to lie in wait. But by now the general had snapped out of his shock and torpor, and the brilliant soldier within awakened to execute a strategic retreat that saved his fifteen thousand American and sixty-five thousand Filipino troops from the invaders and united them on the Bataan Peninsula, where, across the whole of Southeast Asia, they became the only resistance to Japanese attacks. The battling bastards of Bataan repulsed three enemy assaults and believed that they might indeed win their war, once they received American reinforcements as Marshall had promised. But those reinforcements never arrived, and the logistics of getting supplies, weapons, and food from the beaches and cities to them immediately faltered into chaos. While MacArthur stayed in the relative comfort of Corregidor’s tunnel defense, the nearly hundred thousand people on the peninsula ran out of food, water, and medicine, falling prey to dysentery, scurvy, malaria, and beriberi. The shock of their abandonment created a misplaced nickname for MacArthur—Dugout Doug—as well as the brutally honest chant:
We’re the battling bastards of Bataan:
No mama, no papa, no Uncle Sam,
No aunts, no uncles, no nephews, no nieces,
No rifles, no planes, or artillery pieces,
And nobody gives a damn.
MacArthur himself expected to die there, and he expected that his wife of a soldier and his four-year-old son of a soldier would die there, too. He risked a court-martial by refusing Washington’s order to evacuate, but when his staff said that a great army awaited in Australia that would allow him to return and take back the Philippines, he agreed. Sneaking across two thousand miles of enemy-held territory, he arrived in Australia to discover that, in fact, her troops had been ordered to Egypt to battle Rommel. “God have mercy on us,” he said, collapsing, stunned and flabbergasted, in what was his “greatest shock and surprise of the whole war.”