December 7, 1941 – What happened 66 years ago today?

Imagine this:

I am an 18 year old farm boy from a little town in southern Wisconsin. I grew up on a family farm and the oldest kid in a family of nine boys and girls. There were seven of us but my mom and dad took in two cousins after their family broke apart. That’s just the way my mom was. It was a hard life on a farm in late 30’s but they still had less then we did so we found room.

Well, you can’t believe my good luck. I up and joined the Army Air Core and got lucky enough to be stationed in a spot in heaven. Hawaii!! Great weather, great sunshine and great beaches. No more cold, no more snow and no more brothers and sisters bugging me all the time. I’ve got the world by the tail now. Or so I thought.

I got an off post pass for the weekend of December 6 and 7^th and really didn’t expect to be back at my barracks that Saturday night. But, I got tired and had a little too much to drink so I thought I’d just drift back and hit my bunk.

I sat up early that Sunday morning, December 7, 1941. The sun was shinning through the window and my head ache a little. A few other guys were starting to move around but things were still moving slow. Thought I have a smoke sitting with my feet off the bunk and looking out the window. That’s when it started.

I heard the explosions first, then the sirens. What the heck is going on? I started hearing screams and saw guys running everywhere. I kind of just froze for a moment. I decided to make a run for it with the rest of my buddies but I wasn’t sure where to go. Just then it happened. My barracks took a direct bomb hit. I don’t know if it was the bomb itself or a just a big chunk something from the wall exploding, but the front part of my thigh about the size of a football, got ripped off my leg. I don’t know how I did it, but I didn’t fall down. I suddenly had a fear of being trampled by the other guys trying to get out. So I reached out to a support column running down the center of the bay area. I grabbed a hold as strong as I could, until everyone that could get out of the barracks, were gone. It was kind of an eerie feeling then. There were sounds of the bombs and now machine gun fire outside of what was left of the barracks. Guys were around me, some dead, some not, but bleeding pretty bad.

I looked down and knew I was hurt pretty bad, but decided I had to get outside. I got down on my hands and knees and some how made it out to the front porch. The view was something an 18 year old shouldn’t have to see, I told myself. Most of the buildings around my barracks were destroyed and burning. Guys were running in all directions and the planes were flying between the buildings and machine gunning them down. I saw one plane come in so low; I swear I could see the face of the pilot. I do believe I would recognize him today, if I ever saw him again.

Just then, I took one of those rounds right in my chest. It blew me off the porch and down into the street near a pile of bricks. I remember lying on my back and a medic suddenly standing over me. I just drifted off as the whole terrible scene gradually faded. I found out later that that medic saved my life. I don’t think he really thought I’d make it with a huge part of my leg gone and a hole in my chest. But, lucky for me, he hooked me up to an IV bag, threw on some quick bandages and ran to help someone else.

I woke up about two weeks later in the hospital with some Salvation Army nurses taking care of me. (I still put a buck or two in those Christmas buckets every time I pass one) I learned that my parents had gotten a wire telling them I had been wounded, but not much else. I knew I had to write them and tell them I was ok. I tried to sound fine and not let them worry.

They tried to get me to take an early out of the military but I wouldn’t have any part of it. I told them I had to stay in until the end, so they sent me to the Aleutian Islands. Boy oh boy, back in the cold weather again, but I knew I couldn’t leave this war up to everybody else. I had to do my part too.

Now years later, I’ve got great wife and four kids of my own. On the 40^th anniversary I went back and toured the base. It still gives me the creeps, but we won, that’s what matters.

True story as told by Horace Tiffany 1922 – 2001, repeated by his son Mike Tiffany