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Bob Babin’s Memories of Pearl-Harbor Day,

1941
In 1941 I was living with my mother in Washington D.C. I was 16, was working as the
office boy at The American Institute of Architects, and was attending evening electrical-
engineering classes at The George Washington University.
On Sunday, December 7th, at around 1 p.m., my mother and Paul White and I were
driving in suburban Washington. On the car radio we heard a startling news flash: the
White House had just announced that Japanese planes had attacked Hawaii! The an-
nouncer, John Daly, said “the island of (pause) oo-ha [sic] has been bombed, and many
casualties are feared.” During the rest of the day and evening there were essentially no
news updates, because the White House had already ordered news censoring.
We were surprised but not as shocked as we would have been if we had been told the
truth, that most of the Pacific Fleet had been sunk and that more than 3,000 American
soldiers and civilians had been killed in Hawaii that morning. The true damage report
and casualty figures from Pearl Harbor were not disclosed until weeks later.
In mid-afternoon we drove past the Japanese Embassy and saw smoke rising from a
small fire in its garden. As reported later, they were burning their documents, preparing
to return to Japan, since war with the U.S. was inevitable. As we passed the German Em-
bassy on our way home, we noticed a great flurry of activity. At its entrance was a line of
cars and limousines waiting to discharge passengers. Germany was at the time an ally of
Japan and would declare war on the U. S. four days later.
That evening we listened to the radio for more news, but to no avail. There was,
however, a repeated announcement that starting tomorrow, all military personnel must
wear their uniforms in public.
The next day, 8 December, from my office just two blocks from the War and Navy De-
partment buildings on Constitution Avenue I noticed hundreds of fully uniformed milit-
ary men and women, many of whose uniforms were obviously too small for them!
Among those walking down 18th Street that morning I saw the world-famous Admiral
Richard Byrd, whom I had previously recognized one day in civilian clothes.
That afternoon Roosevelt went to Congress, asked for, and quickly got a declaration of
war against Japan. The vote was unanimous except for a congresswoman’s “no” vote.
Soon the radio began broadcasting blackout, curfew, and other new regulations to
quickly put Washington on a wartime footing.
Riding to work the next morning I saw a block-long line of several hundred men wait-
ing to enlist at the Army Recruiting Station on Pennsylvania Avenue.
Two days later, Germany declared war on the U.S. Fifteen months later, a week after I
turned 18, I would be serving in the U. S. Navy.

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