How my father ‘survived’ Pearl Harbor, or did he?

William Adams, my father, did not talk about the war — not to his wife nor to his children. Just once, I asked him a question: How close did you come to being hit? He spread his thumb and forefinger no more than two inches apart.

My father enlisted in the U.S. Army, fortunate to be stationed on the beautiful island of Oahu, Hawaii. The scenery, the beaches, the balmy weather — it was a desirable post. He was stationed at Schofield Barracks, as a staff sergeant training soldiers on the howitzer, a long-range artillery weapon. His return home and discharge were slated for the end of 1941.

The morning of Dec. 7 changed all that. After Pearl Harbor was attacked, other bases were targeted.  Japanese planes strafed Schofield Barracks, something I learned only from a book. 

Consequently, my father was afflicted with a condition not yet named or treated. He suffered from what’s now known as PTSD, or post-traumatic stress disorder. Back then there was no support system for those who were “shell-shocked.”  If there were, would proud soldiers seek help? 

No, he did not lose a limb or have a visible scar. But what he lost, I think, was a sense of security. It was an inner wound that shook him as though he were two inches from a strafing airplane again — and again. He might have had other symptoms of PTSD, but the most obvious — and frightening — to my sister Fran and I, was his big reaction to a little thing that turned the household into something of a war zone.

Sudden noises, no matter how small, had an extremely startling effect on him. For example: if I picked up a spoon from the dinner table and clumsily dropped it back onto the table, making only a little clattering noise, my father would jump up scowl at me and yell and even curse.

When my sister and her family moved to California, my father told my mother that he would not get on an airplane to visit them. He had seen too many crash in Hawaii. But he did fly to California, several times. I give him credit for that.

While my father survived Pearl Harbor 82 years ago, he and fellow survivors suffered inwardly the horror of that day.

We must know that the wounds of any war can be deep inside the soul. We must pray — and work — for peace.