At the other end of Ford Island, on December 7, the barracks and the air station were hit. Part of the evacuation plan for the military dependents on the island was to go to an administration building on "that side" of the island.
Picture that it is early Sunday morning. Some families have taken the ferry to Oahu, (a five minute trip at best) to go to church. Many families were still asleep. The ships had just begun morning colors. It was a glorious Sunday morning, sunny, trades blowing, and Christmas was in the air.
When the attack occurred, there was confusion at first. Shore Patrol came through housing telling families to stay inside. (There are records of families huddling under kitchen tables.) Then minutes later, the Shore Patrol may have evacuated a family--but to where?
The houses at Ford Island were single wall construction. It's a miracle that there wasn't a mass fire. Windows shook and broke, walls collapsed, homes collapsed on their foundations. The air was thick with smoke and saturated with the smell of oil burning, the attack was loud--children were afraid, animals barked, the housing area was darkened by the smoke, and particulates were in the air. There was tremendous fear. At the same time, there were tremendous acts of quiet heroism.
Sailors who swam out of the burning waters were covered with oil; some of them were naked; some badly burned. Women from the nearby housing area brought out their husbands' clothes and bed blankets for corpsmen to wrap and clothe the oil-covered swimmers.
In a real sense, all hell broke lose--and it was unexpected. The war everyone expected was a Japanese attack of the Philippines.
Incredibly, there is no record of any military dependent on Ford Island being killed. The Japanese were precise in their bombing, and their targets were the battleships.
For a personal experience of that day, check out the citation for Mrs. John Earle.
Women of World War II Hawaii
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