December Seven Ninety Forty-One

As a WW II Vet, I cannot forget December 7, 1941. As

our family’s little battery radio halted Sunday preaching

to track bombs raining on Hawaii, I felt a thirteen year

old boy’s premonition that this danger was not remote.

Five years later, I took up the cause in Navy Blue roaming

what was left of the bombed out Pacific Islands of Tinian,

Guam and Kwajalein. Those Natives’ pain from incendiary

bombing began to drain our happy lakes of innocence.