Every December 7, the first time I look at the date, whether on a calendar, my phone, an email, whatever, I still hear FDR's voice, and say "A day that will live in infamy"--normally out loud to myself.
I've probably shared this before, but most of my family that served in WWII were in the Army. My grandfather came to the island hopping a little later on (he was taking his first semester law school exams the week of December 8-12, then was stationed as a coast artilleryman defending California's coast), with the return to the Philippines. One of my uncles was a tanker who fought in the Bulge and saw the aftermath of Dresden. My great grandfather--and the father-in-law of the one island hopping, father of the tanker--commanded supply ships in the Pacific. He was a Captain (for those who don't know--a very senior officer in the Navy, one step below the first Admiral rank) throughout the war, was promoted to Rear Admiral (one star) at the end of the war, and died very shortly thereafter of a heart attack, I think. Grandpa (son-in-law) was invited to his ship to dine while they were both in the Philippines.
Anyway, Grandpa always used to say, "the Admiral saw more action in the war than all of us boys, combined." As a supply ship commander, he was involved in several campaigns getting the LSTs to the beach, which meant coming under fire much of the time. He was at Guadalcanal, Luzon, and several other large landings. Family lore is that he was one of the architects of the method the Navy devised for getting men and material onto the beach under fire.
Towards the end of her life (she died three years ago just after turning 100), my grandmother (daughter of "the Admiral") told my son and me about sitting around the family table and hearing the adults discuss (and fear) the Scharnhorst and Gneisenau battlecruisers during the late 30s. For a kid who was fascinated by naval warfare, my son ate that up.
Naval duty was hard, with long periods of boredom, but hard work, on the open sea, and short bursts of terror, while most of the sailors were relying on other people to do the shooting, and hoping the big stuff wouldn't hit them.
I can't imagine visiting the Arizona without being profoundly moved. I certainly was.
