Echoes of December 7

For someone who fancies himself a historian, I haven't been to many historic military sites.  However, since July I can say I've been to Pearl Harbor.


My wife Aimee and I were on the last day of our Hawaiian honeymoon and Pearl served as a grand finale of sorts.  We spent the better part of the day there and it was a moving experience to say the least.  


After getting our gear off of what had been our home for a week (NCL's Pride of America) we boarded a tour bus and headed west to Pearl Harbor from Honolulu Harbor.  It was a package tour kind of deal, so things were rather structured: look around the main gift shop and visitors' center after clearing the main gate, watch the short film about December 7, board boat for Arizona Memorial, sail back to main complex, hustle on over to Ford Island via shuttle to board the USS Missouri, catch shuttle back to visitors' center, get a glimpse of the USS Bowfin and then hurry to make the tour bus.


Despite the hectic pace of the day, we still had moments of reflection.  One of the many facets of Pearl Harbor that stood out to me was how loud the echoes of 1941 still were.  I remember reading a story by Robert Plant (yes, I'm mixing Led Zeppelin with Pearl Harbor, but bear with me) where he was describing the feeling he got touring ancient battlefields in the British Isles.  His opinion was that a person had to be really insensitive (I believe Plant used the word "bimbo", but I could be wrong) to not feel anything while standing on a spot where hundreds of men suffered and died.  Likewise, I am of the belief that if you don't hear, feel or see something at Pearl, you are a little off.  In historic terms, 70 years is not that long ago; the wound is still fresh in a very real sense and it can be felt.


Perhaps the most famous example of a visible wound is the oil that still leaks from the bunkers of the Arizona.  The great battleship went down with with well over 500,000 gallons of #6 (Bunker C) fuel oil in her tanks; she bleeds to this day.  (Experts aren't too sure what to do it seems.  Eventually the bunkers will give way, but any attempts to shore them up will certainly lead to premature collapse.)  


But even without the sight of fuel oil on the water or prior knowledge of what happened in that harbor, you would simply know that a great horror occurred.  For me, it was almost uncomfortable to be inside the Arizona Memorial.  The pain of the 1000+ souls trapped down below was very tangible and reading their names at the north end of the memorial was almost too much.  (If the main wall doesn't bring a tear to your eye, then a smaller monument will.  This bench-like structure bears the names of the men who survived the attack and who requested that, after their passing, their ashes be scattered over the Arizona.)


It was something of a relief to get on the shuttle boat and sail back across the harbor.  It was even more of a relief to visit the Surrender Deck of the Missouri.  While standing at the very spot that WWII ended, I felt a sense of justice for those who died on the Arizona.   Not in any jingoistic sense, but in overall "a great wrong has been corrected" terms.  By the way, for those of you who haven't gotten to Pearl Harbor yet, the Missouri is moored with her bow facing that of the Arizona; the Missouri's final duty is to stand guard over her fallen predecessor. 


I should point out that there were lighter moments on this excursion as well.  Sitting in the captain's chair on the bridge of the Missouri was a blast;  seeing all of the Navy activity at Pearl was great and I brought home several neat souvenirs, including a chunk of teak from the Missouri.  A moment of slight levity was even seen inside the Arizona Memorial.  I was wearing a Steamship William G. Mather Museum shirt that day and I felt a gentle tap on my shoulder.  An older gentleman leaned over and whispered "isn't that the ship in Cleveland?"


I hope that Aimee and I can get back to Pearl Harbor someday.  It really is an experience that can occupy two days or more (we didn't even get aboard the Bowfin or tour the Pacific Aviation Museum).  But to have gotten there in the first place (and during the 70th anniversary year no less) is a memory I will treasure forever.
(Note: all of the photographs in this post were taken by the author)

Note the sheen of fuel oil on the surface.

Cleveland Union Terminal

New York Central Mohawk #3012 blasts west bound out of the Cleveland Union Terminal.  From the Special Collections of the Cleveland State Library.

My last post inspired some further thoughts about the complex now known as Tower City Center.  I am very glad that I have memories of the place before it became Tower City; when it was still Cleveland Union Terminal (CUT). Of course, when I was little (early '80s), the Terminal had become a shadow of its former self.  The last passenger train left the platform in 1977 and much of the dining and retail had dwindled.


But what a glorious place it still was.  For one, it seemed so vast to my young eyes and in actuality it was big.  Also, it was a beautiful space with its brass storefronts and marble galore.  Of course, the huge mosaic mural that seemed to be as big as a football field was certainly a mindblower.  Perhaps the most intriguing aspects for me were the access ways down to the platforms. While some other features of the station had fallen into disuse, these stairs were actually still in operation to get riders down to the RTA rapid transit trains.


Of course, my mom and dad had memories of the CUT while it was still an active train station.  Both were children during the WWII years and they had visited the Terminal often during this peak time.  Like most people who experienced the CUT during the war, my parents told of the gigantic crowds that filled the place.  Soldiers, sailors and marines were everywhere along with scads of civilians.  Dozens of trains would use the station each day keeping the public address announcers quite busy.  It was as close to Grand Central as Cleveland would get.


My mom actually got down to the passenger platforms on many occasions, but not as an actual passenger.  I shall explain:  For about a dozen years, my great-grandmother (Grama Ganley) would take New York Central's named trains to New York.  Once in New York, she would board a trans-Atlantic liner and sail to England and Ireland to visit our family in the "Old Country". Grama Ganley's son, my grandfather John (Grampa John), happened to be a yard conductor for the NYC at the Rockport Yard on Cleveland's west side. As such, Grampa John had a NYC employee badge to waive about that got him access to the innards of the Terminal.  Naturally this access was supposed to be for employees only, but invariably the rest of the Ganley clan would pile on down behind Grampa John.  Interestingly enough, Grampa John never traveled by train even though he could have gone pretty far via rail for no cost.


As mentioned above, it's been over 30 years since a passenger train left the Terminal and the whole complex got a makeover in the late 1980s, re-opening in 1990 with a new batch of shops, a food court and cinema.  I was actually quite sad when the old station vanished, but the new place has grown on me.  Enough historic elements were retained to keep the place interesting; it's a great venue for the film festival; and nothing beats sitting by the windows overlooking Collision Bend (hopefully with a lakeboat navigating the river) while eating greasy food court grub.  And I can go visit the old mosaic mural over at the Western Reserve Historical Society.  But still, I would love to hop into the time machine and get a glimpse at what the Terminal once was.


(Fortunately, the internet is the next best thing to a time machine; there's a lot of photographs of the Terminal out there.  The Cleveland Memory site has many, many pictures regarding the complex.  Go here and prepare to lose some time.  Another fun place to visit is Frank's Photography Site.  And while you're at it, check this out.)