Remembering a time of infamy | Editorial

My column this week was going to be about a political issue until I noticed the date Wednesday morning. My calendar lists Dec. 7 as “Remember Pearl Harbor” day.

My column this week was going to be about a political issue until I noticed the date Wednesday morning.

My calendar lists Dec. 7 as “Remember Pearl Harbor” day.

I have a number of memories about my grandmother and the effects of World War II on her and my mother.

Grandma’s son, Elmer Johnson, my mom’s bother, was killed in action during the war.

He was tail gunner on the B-17, Idiot’s Delight, and was shot down over Germany during a daylight raid.

He was 19.

I remember grandma telling me how excited Elmer was when he heard the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor.

A 16-year-old boy saw danger, adventure and life out of Enumclaw.

Grandpa told my grandma there would be no way to stop the boy.

He would find a way to go, no matter what they did.

For some reason Wednesday morning the memory that came to me when I read the words about remembering Pearl Harbor was a scene from when I was about 7 years old.

My brother David had joined the Air Force. It was about 1961.

He was the first of us to leave the farm.

He had gone through basic training and radar school. He had probably been in the service about two years of a four-year hitch. He received orders to go to Germany.

The day he was to leave we were all loaded in the car, or probably a couple of them, and headed for Tacoma to take him to train.

I don’t remember why he left on the train.

I do remember I was hoping someone would feel sympathy for me and buy me large amounts of ice cream.

What I remember next I have never forgotten.

My brother got on the train, mom was crying and my grandma had this look on her face I had never seen.

As the train pulled away she started talking to my mom, calling her sister.

They called mom that when she was a little girl.

And then grandma said something about Elmer was waiting. …waiting at the train.

That we needed to go back.

She kept saying we needed to go back.

My dad stood with her for a while, then walked her to the car and helped her in.

After a while, grandma had my dad stop and she bought me ice cream. We never talked about that day again.


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Don C. Brunell is a business analyst, writer and columnist. He is a former president of the Association of Washington Business, the state’s oldest and largest business organization, and lives in Vancouver. Contact thebrunells@msn.com.
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