Now I have thought long and hard about this topic and how it applies to the America in which we live. Friends and I have debated this for years as de Tocqueville is one of the most forward thinking of men in history. I never thought of a scenario where it would apply to us. To me it was always about the stupidity of the American voter because I always thought of Congress as shysters and thieves. Fred Barnes looks at the topic from how de Tocqueville would see it. A novel idea and a very good article well worth the read. Usually Barnes is too liberal for me but this article is right on.
The Tyranny of the Majority Party
If Democrats insist on passing unpopular laws, they won't control Congress for long...By FRED BARNES
Alexis de Tocqueville never met Harry Reid. Had he encountered the Senate Democratic leader—or President Barack Obama or House Speaker Nancy Pelosi—de Tocqueville might have learned about a new twist on his concept of the "tyranny of the majority."
The Frenchman toured America in the 1830s and published his conclusions in the classic "Democracy in America." He noted the powerful impact of public opinion. "That is what forms the majority," he wrote. Congress merely "represents the majority and obeys it blindly" and so does the president. They are free to brush aside minority opinion, creating a threat de Tocqueville described as the "tyranny of the majority."
Democrats in Washington do have large majorities in Congress. But instead of reflecting popular opinion, they are pursuing wide-ranging initiatives in defiance of the views of the majority of Americans. This stands de Tocqueville's concept on its head.
The most striking example is health-care reform. It is intensely unpopular but was approved by the House in November and the Senate on Christmas Eve. Asked in a Rasmussen poll in mid-December if they'd prefer no bill to ObamaCare, 57% said they would. Only 34% said they'd rather ObamaCare be enacted.
Yet Democrats are forging ahead as if the public actually approves of their health-care reform. Why, when Republicans are preparing to hammer them on the issue in next year's elections, would they do that?
Democrats offer different explanations—besides their obsessive attachment to national health care—which suggests that they aren't quite sure of the political fallout.
After Senate Democrats locked up the 60th vote to assure Senate passage of ObamaCare, Mr. Obama sounded worry-free. Risk? What risk? The bill "is a major step forward for the American people," he said. The president didn't mention the public's disapproval as expressed in countless polls. Vice President Joe Biden, in an op-ed in the New York Times, didn't either.
David Axelrod, a senior adviser to the president, is more realistic. While acknowledging bad poll numbers, he suggested recently on ABC's "This Week" that enactment of sweeping health-care legislation will melt public misgivings. "The reality, I think, will trump poll numbers in the dead of winter as this debate is going on," Mr. Axelrod said.
Ms. Pelosi, too, is brimming with wishful thinking. "Now we will have the attention placed on the truly great things that are in the bill that we have in common," she declared recently. And Sen. Chuck Schumer (D., N.Y.) told Politico, "When people see what is in this bill and when people see what it does, they will come around."
Then there are the martyrs. Doing a reverse de Tocqueville, willingly endangering one's political career by voting for ObamaCare, hasn't fazed Democrat Michael Bennet, the appointed senator from Colorado. He was asked by CNN's John King whether he'd vote for ObamaCare "if every piece of evidence tells you, if you support that bill, you'll lose your job." Mr. Bennet said "yes."
Mr. Bennet isn't the only potential martyr. A Democratic strategist told Byron York of the Washington Examiner that Mrs. Pelosi "believes losing 20 or even 40 Democratic seats in the House would be an acceptable price for achieving a goal the party has pursued since Franklin Roosevelt." Now that Alabama Rep. Parker Griffith has bolted the Democratic Party, Republicans need 40 seats to capture control of the House.
With large congressional majorities, Democrats decided to forget about Mr. Obama's campaign theme of bipartisanship. They brook no compromise with Republicans and forge ahead on issue after issue—health care, cap and trade, Guantanamo, spending, the deficit—despite the public's mounting disapproval.
That arrogance shaped the economic stimulus passed in February. Republicans wanted tax cuts to spur investment and create jobs. Democrats rejected that idea and enacted a huge increase in spending. As unemployment continued to rise, public opinion turned against the stimulus. Nonetheless, House Democrats passed a new, smaller stimulus bill last week with the same emphasis on spending.
Large majorities create what de Tocqueville called a sense of "omnipotence." This leads to overreaching and spawns dubious ideas. Since Democrats believe they will benefit from passing any sort of health-care bill regardless of public opinion, they're committed to passing anything they can call a "historic" achievement. That makes little sense.
With history in mind, cutting procedural corners becomes acceptable. Thus Democrats have set arbitrary deadlines, scheduled post-midnight votes and put limits on debate, all in the name of achieving a breakthrough.
Not that such behavior is anomalous. To pass a Medicare prescription drug benefit in 2003, Republicans kept the House vote open for three hours to round up votes. Unlike ObamaCare, however, the drug benefit had popular support.
This is not the first time in recent memory when a sizable congressional majority, feeling self-sufficient, ignored popular opinion at its peril. In 1995, Republicans, led by newly installed House Speaker Newt Gingrich, shut down the federal government in their fight over spending with President Bill Clinton. The public sided with Mr. Clinton, and the clash spurred his re-election in 1996.
William Daley, who was Mr. Clinton's Commerce secretary and is the brother of Chicago Mayor Richard Daley, worries that Democrats are doing now what Republicans did then: provoking a public backlash. Democrats must "acknowledge that the agenda of the party's most liberal supporters has not won the support of a majority of Americans," he wrote last week in the Washington Post. "Either we plot a more moderate, centrist course or risk electoral disaster not just in the upcoming midterms but in many elections to come."
"I regard as impious and detestable the maxim that in matters of government the majority of a people has the right to do everything," de Tocqueville wrote roughly 175 years ago. But what about a congressional majority—which lacks a mandate from a majority of Americans—seeking to do everything? The Frenchman might have dubbed that the "tyranny of the minority."
Mr. Barnes is executive editor of the Weekly Standard and a commentator on Fox News Channel.
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Monday, December 28, 2009
Commies vs. You and Me and God
How does communism come to rule free men? Simple. The "leaders" of the everyone is equal society kill all opposition to their power even if they fought together for the same cause. Then they like to oppress the people by making them dependent on said leaders. Depending on them for all things cars, gas, electricity, water, food, vodka, housing, amusements, news. They determine how many children married couples are allowed to have so as not to overextend their limited centrally planned food supply. But without the belief in God how does one get married in a totalitarians regime? Simple, there is no separation of church and state because the state is the church and their ideals are the religion. None of any of this would be possible without the total compliance of the Supreme Soviet/Congress of by and for the people and the national press corps Pravda/CBS,ABC,NBC,CNN. Of course we cannot forget when the absolute ruler begins to get paranoid the citizenry will have to endure purges of all classes of all those that are "enemies of the state." This means people will be tortured to gain confessions of actions against the state. This is not the simulated drowning of water boarding but real torture with pain and bleeding and electric shock of not only the transgressors but his/her whole family. Life has no value to those who do not believe in God.
Those of us in our thirties and those of you older than that remember the stories of Soviet Russia and the bread lines and the toilet paper lines no fresh fruit or vegetable days and empty stores. Now as a kid I did not understand how they could have shortages when I would get dragged through the local supermarket and the shelves would be packed. As I came to understand how a centrally planned communist economy works it made perfect sense. No plans for drought or too much rain or cold weather just do what you did last year lest the workers would have to put forth more effort and with all people being equal that cannot happen. Everything is provided by the government albeit shoddy and half-assed from alarm clocks to cars to food to health care. But when it is super cheap or free and all you have to do is get out of bed and breathe and you will be taken care of. The human spirit will crushed under the lack of necessity no hope without the ability to get ahead or improve your lot in life. Under the Commies you are merely a cog in their machine of ideals you do not live you exist.
John Lennon - Imagine
Imagine there's no heaven
It's easy if you try
No hell below us
Above us only sky
Imagine all the people
Living for today...
Imagine there's no countries
It isn't hard to do
Nothing to kill or die for
And no religion too
Imagine all the people
Living life in peace...
You may say I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope someday you'll join us
And the world will be as one
Imagine no possessions
I wonder if you can
No need for greed or hunger
A brotherhood of man
Imagine all the people
Sharing all the world...
You may say I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope someday you'll join us
And the world will live as one
If this were true John communism would be the perfect way to live. As with all hippies John Lennon sought the ideal Utopia that truly is a dream and because these hippies came to this realization we must lose this American Utopia. Now some of my internet friend advocate punching hippies and I am all for this but I would like to expand the punching to all Obama supporters. People in Obama hats and t-shirts, with bumpers stickers on their cars need to be punched also. Communism was not and is not the answer, people are individuals not a collective being that toils for the good of the people. Choice keeps people free. Choice of car, food, spouse, family size and even health care. As Congress and the head Commie in charge take your choices away do not say you were surprised or caught off guard, you have no excuses America. July 4, 1776 has already passed you by, we are engaged in the second civil war right now not just to save the Union but the whole American way of life. When the new federal choice police come knocking on your door, don't come looking to me for help because you are part of the problem by being a stupid, servile, moron. Do not fret I will have a bullet waiting for you.
Those of us in our thirties and those of you older than that remember the stories of Soviet Russia and the bread lines and the toilet paper lines no fresh fruit or vegetable days and empty stores. Now as a kid I did not understand how they could have shortages when I would get dragged through the local supermarket and the shelves would be packed. As I came to understand how a centrally planned communist economy works it made perfect sense. No plans for drought or too much rain or cold weather just do what you did last year lest the workers would have to put forth more effort and with all people being equal that cannot happen. Everything is provided by the government albeit shoddy and half-assed from alarm clocks to cars to food to health care. But when it is super cheap or free and all you have to do is get out of bed and breathe and you will be taken care of. The human spirit will crushed under the lack of necessity no hope without the ability to get ahead or improve your lot in life. Under the Commies you are merely a cog in their machine of ideals you do not live you exist.
John Lennon - Imagine
Imagine there's no heaven
It's easy if you try
No hell below us
Above us only sky
Imagine all the people
Living for today...
Imagine there's no countries
It isn't hard to do
Nothing to kill or die for
And no religion too
Imagine all the people
Living life in peace...
You may say I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope someday you'll join us
And the world will be as one
Imagine no possessions
I wonder if you can
No need for greed or hunger
A brotherhood of man
Imagine all the people
Sharing all the world...
You may say I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope someday you'll join us
And the world will live as one
If this were true John communism would be the perfect way to live. As with all hippies John Lennon sought the ideal Utopia that truly is a dream and because these hippies came to this realization we must lose this American Utopia. Now some of my internet friend advocate punching hippies and I am all for this but I would like to expand the punching to all Obama supporters. People in Obama hats and t-shirts, with bumpers stickers on their cars need to be punched also. Communism was not and is not the answer, people are individuals not a collective being that toils for the good of the people. Choice keeps people free. Choice of car, food, spouse, family size and even health care. As Congress and the head Commie in charge take your choices away do not say you were surprised or caught off guard, you have no excuses America. July 4, 1776 has already passed you by, we are engaged in the second civil war right now not just to save the Union but the whole American way of life. When the new federal choice police come knocking on your door, don't come looking to me for help because you are part of the problem by being a stupid, servile, moron. Do not fret I will have a bullet waiting for you.
Thursday, December 17, 2009
From The Are You F'n Serious File
Found this on AOL Daily Finance. These, "Save the planet" nutjobs are not helpful, they are a menace. What is milk going cost after these farmers install this bullshit? Do not give me the lefty, environmentalist wacko line of they will make money by giving power to the grid. These people need to be stopped in any and all schemes they try to pull on the American public. Thank God this writer is a reasonable human being and sees this as the farce that it is. These are dangerous times we are living we must be vigilant and not give these fuckers any shot at gaining a foothold for their ideas.
U.S. to Capture Cow Farts to Save the Planet
SARAH GILBERT
In the future, America will harness cow farts to curb pollution and power the grid. What? It sounds like a joke, but it's actually a real promise. By 2020, dairy industry emissions will be reduced by 25%, largely by persuading dairy farmers to capture methane gas, U.S. Agriculture Secretary Tom Vilsack announced at the Copenhagen climate change summit this week. Farmers will be able to buy anaerobic digesters that convert cow, errr, emissions into electricity.
You've heard the over-simplified message from vegetable-positive environmental groups: eating animal products is a big cause of global warming. Indeed, 7% of the greenhouse gas emissions produced from U.S. sources are from agriculture. The dairy industry is ripe for change, with only 2% of the farmers whose operations are suited for methane capture currently making use of it.
A Drop In the (Milk) Bucket
Just how bad a problem are dairy emissions? Well, it's a greatly increasing problem -- up 40% in the past decade. But compared, say, to the driving a car or even a tractor, dairy pollution is pretty insignificant. Of the 6.7% of overall U.S. greenhouse gas emissions in 2007 attributed to agriculture, 10.7% were from the methane of "manure management," mostly from pork and dairy farms.
According to the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency, the growth comes from a general trend in manure management to use liquid systems, which tends to produce greater methane emissions. "The increase in liquid systems is the combined result of a shift to larger facilities, and to facilities in the West and Southwest, all of which tend to use liquid systems," the EPA says.
Reducing dairy industry emissions by 25% over the next decade would reduce overall emissions by something less than one-quarter of 0.71%, or about one-tenth of 1%, in 10 years. That wouldn't do much as it would only get us back to what would be about 10% more greenhouse gas emissions from manure management than we generated in 2000.
Vilsack calls his agreement with the dairy industry a move that "will help us achieve the ambitious goal of drastically reducing greenhouse gas emissions while benefiting dairy farmers." He goes on to say that the harnessed emissions from one farm could power 200 homes.
Treating Symptoms, Not The Disease
I have many words for this reduction, but "drastic" is not one of them. I must leave aside the pie chart of U.S. greenhouse gas emissions that is now incinerated on my brain in which burning fossil fuels for electricity (coal) and transportation (cars) is responsible for 59.9% of 2007's total pollution.
But the moves being made to capture methane are neither an effective way to avert climate change nor a sensible way to address the problem of methane production. It's addressing the symptoms, not the disease.
Changing the way farms work would be a far more sensible manner to reduce methane production. In the bargain, this would eliminate the many other destructive side effects of the so-called liquid systems of manure management. At issue is not the poop itself, but the volume, concentration and makeup of the poop.
Over the past half-century, more animals have been forced onto smaller grazing areas. Cow food has been switched to corn and soy from the traditional range feed (grass, alfalfa, clover and the like). And meat cows have grown in size. All this has contributed to the precipitous rise in greenhouse gas emissions from dairy farms and pork and beef producers.
Worry About Farms, Not Cow Poop
The answer to this problem is simple, really, and is there between the lines in the reports from the USDA over the years. One, from 1995, promises to reduce greenhouse emissions by 50% by 2000. That didn't happen, obviously.
But if animals are getting bigger, farms are more concentrated and specialized and the nutrient content of the manure is changing, well, by Jove, farms should become smaller. They should also become more diverse and adopt a wider variety of species of animals that grow more slowly and end up smaller.
Turning dairy cow poop into electricity -- and the pitifully small greenhouse gas reductions that result -- may make a nice (also funny) headline. But it's a cartoon-character Band-Aid approach to the festering, infected wound beneath. Vilsack should stay focused on his patient's long-term health; not this week's media appearance.
U.S. to Capture Cow Farts to Save the Planet
SARAH GILBERT
In the future, America will harness cow farts to curb pollution and power the grid. What? It sounds like a joke, but it's actually a real promise. By 2020, dairy industry emissions will be reduced by 25%, largely by persuading dairy farmers to capture methane gas, U.S. Agriculture Secretary Tom Vilsack announced at the Copenhagen climate change summit this week. Farmers will be able to buy anaerobic digesters that convert cow, errr, emissions into electricity.
You've heard the over-simplified message from vegetable-positive environmental groups: eating animal products is a big cause of global warming. Indeed, 7% of the greenhouse gas emissions produced from U.S. sources are from agriculture. The dairy industry is ripe for change, with only 2% of the farmers whose operations are suited for methane capture currently making use of it.
A Drop In the (Milk) Bucket
Just how bad a problem are dairy emissions? Well, it's a greatly increasing problem -- up 40% in the past decade. But compared, say, to the driving a car or even a tractor, dairy pollution is pretty insignificant. Of the 6.7% of overall U.S. greenhouse gas emissions in 2007 attributed to agriculture, 10.7% were from the methane of "manure management," mostly from pork and dairy farms.
According to the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency, the growth comes from a general trend in manure management to use liquid systems, which tends to produce greater methane emissions. "The increase in liquid systems is the combined result of a shift to larger facilities, and to facilities in the West and Southwest, all of which tend to use liquid systems," the EPA says.
Reducing dairy industry emissions by 25% over the next decade would reduce overall emissions by something less than one-quarter of 0.71%, or about one-tenth of 1%, in 10 years. That wouldn't do much as it would only get us back to what would be about 10% more greenhouse gas emissions from manure management than we generated in 2000.
Vilsack calls his agreement with the dairy industry a move that "will help us achieve the ambitious goal of drastically reducing greenhouse gas emissions while benefiting dairy farmers." He goes on to say that the harnessed emissions from one farm could power 200 homes.
Treating Symptoms, Not The Disease
I have many words for this reduction, but "drastic" is not one of them. I must leave aside the pie chart of U.S. greenhouse gas emissions that is now incinerated on my brain in which burning fossil fuels for electricity (coal) and transportation (cars) is responsible for 59.9% of 2007's total pollution.
But the moves being made to capture methane are neither an effective way to avert climate change nor a sensible way to address the problem of methane production. It's addressing the symptoms, not the disease.
Changing the way farms work would be a far more sensible manner to reduce methane production. In the bargain, this would eliminate the many other destructive side effects of the so-called liquid systems of manure management. At issue is not the poop itself, but the volume, concentration and makeup of the poop.
Over the past half-century, more animals have been forced onto smaller grazing areas. Cow food has been switched to corn and soy from the traditional range feed (grass, alfalfa, clover and the like). And meat cows have grown in size. All this has contributed to the precipitous rise in greenhouse gas emissions from dairy farms and pork and beef producers.
Worry About Farms, Not Cow Poop
The answer to this problem is simple, really, and is there between the lines in the reports from the USDA over the years. One, from 1995, promises to reduce greenhouse emissions by 50% by 2000. That didn't happen, obviously.
But if animals are getting bigger, farms are more concentrated and specialized and the nutrient content of the manure is changing, well, by Jove, farms should become smaller. They should also become more diverse and adopt a wider variety of species of animals that grow more slowly and end up smaller.
Turning dairy cow poop into electricity -- and the pitifully small greenhouse gas reductions that result -- may make a nice (also funny) headline. But it's a cartoon-character Band-Aid approach to the festering, infected wound beneath. Vilsack should stay focused on his patient's long-term health; not this week's media appearance.
The President Is No B+
Written by Karl Rove in today's Wall Street Journal. This man is the best writer in America. One of the few people I would vote for without reservation, fortunately he is too smart to run for office. Unashamedly conservative and he knows right from wrong and good policy from bad. Awesome piece read the whole thing.
The President Is No B+
In fact, he's got the worst ratings of any president at the end of his first year.
By KARL ROVE
Barack Obama has won a place in history with the worst ratings of any president at the end of his first year: 49% approve and 46% disapprove of his job performance in the latest USA Today/Gallup Poll.
There are many factors that explain it, including weakness abroad, an unprecedented spending binge at home, and making a perfectly awful health-care plan his signature domestic initiative. But something else is happening.
Mr. Obama has not governed as the centrist, deficit-fighting, bipartisan consensus builder he promised to be. And his promise to embody a new kind of politics—free of finger-pointing, pettiness and spin—was a mirage. He has cheapened his office with needless attacks on his predecessor.
Consider Mr. Obama's comment in his interview this past Sunday on CBS's "60 Minutes" that the Bush administration made a mistake in speaking in "a triumphant sense about war."
This was a slap at every president who rallied the nation in dark moments, including Franklin D. Roosevelt ("With confidence in our armed forces, with the unbounding determination of our people, we will gain the inevitable triumph"); Woodrow Wilson ("Right is more precious than peace and we shall fight for the things which we have always carried nearest our hearts"); and John F. Kennedy ("Any hostile move anywhere in the world against the safety and freedom of peoples to whom we are committed . . . will be met by whatever action is needed").
This kind of attack gives Mr. Obama's words a slippery quality. For example, he voted for the bank rescue plan in September 2008 and praised it during the campaign. Yet on Dec. 8 at the Brookings Institution, Mr. Obama called it "flawed" and blamed "the last administration" for launching it "hastily."
Really? Bush Treasury Secretary Hank Paulson, Federal Reserve Chairman Ben Bernanke and New York Fed President Timothy Geithner designed it. If it was "flawed," why did Mr. Obama later nominate Mr. Bernanke to a second term as Fed chairman and make Mr. Geithner his Treasury secretary?
Mr. Obama also claimed at Brookings that he prevented "a second Great Depression" by confronting the financial crisis "largely without the help" of Republicans. Yet his own Treasury secretary suggests otherwise. In a Dec. 9 letter, Mr. Geithner admitted that since taking office, the Obama administration had "committed about $7 billion to banks, much of which went to small institutions." That compares to $240 billion the Bush administration lent banks. Does Mr. Obama really believe his additional $7 billion forestalled "the potential collapse of our financial system"?
Mr. Obama continued distorting the record in his "60 Minutes" interview Sunday when he blamed bankers for the financial crisis. They "caused the problem," he insisted before complaining, "I haven't seen a lot of shame on their part" and pledging to put "a regulatory system in place that prevents them from putting us in this kind of pickle again."
But as a freshman senator, Mr. Obama supported a threatened 2005 filibuster of a bill regulating Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac. He doesn't show "a lot of shame" that he and other Fannie and Freddie defenders blocked "a regulatory system" that might have kept America from getting in such a bad pickle in the first place.
The president's rhetorical tricks don't end there. Mr. Obama also claimed his $787 billion stimulus package "helped us [stem] the panic and get the economy growing again." But 1.5 million more people are unemployed than he said there would be if nothing were done.
And as of yesterday, only $244 billion of the stimulus had been spent. Why was $787 billion needed when less than a third of that figure supposedly got the job done?
Mr. Obama also alleged on "60 Minutes" that health-care reform "will actually bring down the deficit" (which people clearly know it will not). He said his reform reduces "costs and premiums for American families and businesses" (though they will be higher than they would otherwise be). And he claimed 30 million more people will get coverage through "an exchange that allows individuals and small businesses" to purchase insurance (though 15 million of them are covered by being dumped into Medicaid and don't get private insurance).
Mr. Obama may actually believe it when he says, "I think that's a pretty darned good outcome" and congratulates himself that he could succeed where "seven presidents have tried . . . [and] seven presidents have failed."
But voters seem to have a different definition of success. And they are tiring of the president's blame shifting and distortions.
Mr. Obama may believe, as he told Oprah Winfrey in a recent interview, that he deserves a "solid B+" for his first year in office, but the American people beg to differ. A presidency that started with so much promise is receiving unprecedentedly low grades from the country that elected him. He's earned them.
Mr. Rove, the former senior adviser and deputy chief of staff to President George W. Bush, is the author of the forthcoming book "Courage and Consequence" (Threshold Editions).
The President Is No B+
In fact, he's got the worst ratings of any president at the end of his first year.
By KARL ROVE
Barack Obama has won a place in history with the worst ratings of any president at the end of his first year: 49% approve and 46% disapprove of his job performance in the latest USA Today/Gallup Poll.
There are many factors that explain it, including weakness abroad, an unprecedented spending binge at home, and making a perfectly awful health-care plan his signature domestic initiative. But something else is happening.
Mr. Obama has not governed as the centrist, deficit-fighting, bipartisan consensus builder he promised to be. And his promise to embody a new kind of politics—free of finger-pointing, pettiness and spin—was a mirage. He has cheapened his office with needless attacks on his predecessor.
Consider Mr. Obama's comment in his interview this past Sunday on CBS's "60 Minutes" that the Bush administration made a mistake in speaking in "a triumphant sense about war."
This was a slap at every president who rallied the nation in dark moments, including Franklin D. Roosevelt ("With confidence in our armed forces, with the unbounding determination of our people, we will gain the inevitable triumph"); Woodrow Wilson ("Right is more precious than peace and we shall fight for the things which we have always carried nearest our hearts"); and John F. Kennedy ("Any hostile move anywhere in the world against the safety and freedom of peoples to whom we are committed . . . will be met by whatever action is needed").
This kind of attack gives Mr. Obama's words a slippery quality. For example, he voted for the bank rescue plan in September 2008 and praised it during the campaign. Yet on Dec. 8 at the Brookings Institution, Mr. Obama called it "flawed" and blamed "the last administration" for launching it "hastily."
Really? Bush Treasury Secretary Hank Paulson, Federal Reserve Chairman Ben Bernanke and New York Fed President Timothy Geithner designed it. If it was "flawed," why did Mr. Obama later nominate Mr. Bernanke to a second term as Fed chairman and make Mr. Geithner his Treasury secretary?
Mr. Obama also claimed at Brookings that he prevented "a second Great Depression" by confronting the financial crisis "largely without the help" of Republicans. Yet his own Treasury secretary suggests otherwise. In a Dec. 9 letter, Mr. Geithner admitted that since taking office, the Obama administration had "committed about $7 billion to banks, much of which went to small institutions." That compares to $240 billion the Bush administration lent banks. Does Mr. Obama really believe his additional $7 billion forestalled "the potential collapse of our financial system"?
Mr. Obama continued distorting the record in his "60 Minutes" interview Sunday when he blamed bankers for the financial crisis. They "caused the problem," he insisted before complaining, "I haven't seen a lot of shame on their part" and pledging to put "a regulatory system in place that prevents them from putting us in this kind of pickle again."
But as a freshman senator, Mr. Obama supported a threatened 2005 filibuster of a bill regulating Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac. He doesn't show "a lot of shame" that he and other Fannie and Freddie defenders blocked "a regulatory system" that might have kept America from getting in such a bad pickle in the first place.
The president's rhetorical tricks don't end there. Mr. Obama also claimed his $787 billion stimulus package "helped us [stem] the panic and get the economy growing again." But 1.5 million more people are unemployed than he said there would be if nothing were done.
And as of yesterday, only $244 billion of the stimulus had been spent. Why was $787 billion needed when less than a third of that figure supposedly got the job done?
Mr. Obama also alleged on "60 Minutes" that health-care reform "will actually bring down the deficit" (which people clearly know it will not). He said his reform reduces "costs and premiums for American families and businesses" (though they will be higher than they would otherwise be). And he claimed 30 million more people will get coverage through "an exchange that allows individuals and small businesses" to purchase insurance (though 15 million of them are covered by being dumped into Medicaid and don't get private insurance).
Mr. Obama may actually believe it when he says, "I think that's a pretty darned good outcome" and congratulates himself that he could succeed where "seven presidents have tried . . . [and] seven presidents have failed."
But voters seem to have a different definition of success. And they are tiring of the president's blame shifting and distortions.
Mr. Obama may believe, as he told Oprah Winfrey in a recent interview, that he deserves a "solid B+" for his first year in office, but the American people beg to differ. A presidency that started with so much promise is receiving unprecedentedly low grades from the country that elected him. He's earned them.
Mr. Rove, the former senior adviser and deputy chief of staff to President George W. Bush, is the author of the forthcoming book "Courage and Consequence" (Threshold Editions).
Monday, December 14, 2009
Scumbag Fakers Piss Me Off
This is why con artists should be given the death penalty. If they were dead they could not procreate, teach others their heinous craft or hurt any innocent victim. These people are self-indulgent, loser, predators plain and simple. They cannot make a real life for themselves so they create a persona and a profile to fool the public. Hey assholes, that is what Second Life or World of Warcraft are for. Thank God someone had the brains to realize they were full of shit and contact the proper authorities. These people should be treated harshly a slow tortured death would be my call. I volunteer to be the Punisher-in-Chief for these scumbags. I found this on AOL if you can believe that.
Military Impostors Are Neither Few Nor Proud
Richard C. Paddock
San Francisco Correspondent
(Dec. 14) -- Steven Douglas Burton wore the Marine Corps uniform proudly. He had rows of medals, including a prestigious Navy Cross, a Purple Heart and a Bronze Star.
He posted a photo of himself in uniform and blogged about serving one tour of duty in Afghanistan and four in Iraq. He was at the Battle of Fallujah, he said, and praised the doctors who "patched us up."
But Burton wasn't a hero. He was a fraud who purchased medals online.
A scam that began two years ago when Burton wore a Marine Corps uniform as a Halloween party costume ended Monday with a guilty plea in federal court in Riverside, Calif.
Burton, a 39-year-old bank employee from Palm Springs, was unmasked after he wore the uniform of a Marine lieutenant colonel to his 20-year high school reunion. A classmate who was a Navy commander became suspicious of his story, got him to pose for a photo and handed it over to the FBI.
Burton pleaded guilty to a single count of the unauthorized wearing of a military medal. He faces up to a year in prison and a $100,000 fine for violating the Stolen Valor Act, which prohibits wearing an unearned medal or falsely claiming to have earned one.
"The defendant was wearing some of the highest military honors given in this country for valor," said Assistant U.S. Attorney Joseph Akrotirianakis, who prosecuted the case. "He never served in the military."
Burton is one of five men -- and the second in two weeks -- successfully prosecuted in California since the 2006 law toughened penalties against fraudulent claims of heroism. That is the largest number of phony heroes prosecuted in any state, said independent watchdog Doug Sterner, who operates the Home of Heroes Web site in Pueblo, Colo.
Sterner and others who track impostors say there are thousands more like Burton who falsely claim military honors or lie about their supposed wartime bravery but have never been prosecuted.
Mary Schantag, co-founder and researcher for the POW Network, said her group's Web site lists 3,500 "phonies and wannabes" who claim to be former prisoners of war, medal recipients, members of elite forces or heroic combat veterans. She said she receives new allegations daily.
"This is an epidemic," said Schantag, who is based in Skidmore, Mo. "It's almost a mass identity theft of people who earned their status as heroes."
Some, like Burton, are apparently motivated to make false claims by a desire to pump up their self-esteem. But more often, a false claim of bravery is part of a con to steal money, get a better job, illegally claim veteran's benefits or entice a woman into a romantic relationship.
"It pretty much boils down to ego, women or money," Schantag said.
Many impostors get away with their claims for years because the military does not keep a list of most medal recipients. Sterner, who pushed for adoption of the Stolen Valor Act, is now campaigning for legislation that would require the Pentagon to maintain a list of all the men and women it has honored.
"How many people do you see out there claiming they won an Academy Award and didn't?" he asked. "None, since there is a list of Academy Award recipients. How many phonies are claiming Silver Stars? They are all over the country because there is no list of Silver Star recipients."
Sterner has compiled his own list of more than 26,000 medal winners and posted it on the Hall of Valor Web site, sponsored by the Military Times. Members of the public can search the database to verify the names of true medal winners. Earlier this month, AMVETS launched ReportStolenValor.org, where people can report suspected impostors.
Burton began attracting attention in February 2008, when he wrote to a veterans' Web site and sent a photo of himself in uniform taken on Coronado Island, near San Diego.
The letter discussed his supposed wartime experiences and a moving encounter with ex-Marines on Coronado. He signed the letter, "MGySgt Burton, 1st Division, USMC," indicating his rank as master gunnery sergeant.
Some vets who saw his post questioned his terminology and the abbreviation. When asked in an e-mail why his name did not turn up on a list of Navy Cross winners, he replied that Burton was his first name and that he does not provide his full name online.
The exchange prompted Schantag to post Burton's photo and letter on her site of "phonies and wannabes." She also posted Burton's e-mail reply, which says, "If people are hunting around for information on me or trying to match my name to medals I'm wearing, they are not looking in the right place."
Even though he knew he was under suspicion, Burton wore the lieutenant colonel's uniform to his October 2008 reunion. Classmates at Alhambra High School in Martinez remember him as an unlikely candidate to become a highly decorated Marine. His regalia aroused the suspicion of Navy Cmdr. Colleen Salonga, who obtained Burton's photo by asking if they could pose together.
Burton was arrested a year later on Veterans Day and initially pleaded not guilty. But on Dec. 3, he signed a plea agreement admitting in detail to the crime.
He chose the Marine Corps uniform because he liked it best of all the services, the plea agreement said. He purchased uniforms and equipment online and at military stores, acquiring at least 15 medals. His attorney, Michael DeFrank, did not return phone calls from Sphere.
"Defendant wore the USMC uniform to the reunion because he wanted to impress his high school classmates," the plea agreement says.
Last week, another high-profile impostor pleaded guilty in Sacramento. Kenneth Jerome Nelson, the unofficial caretaker of the California Vietnam Veterans Memorial in Sacramento, had become something of a local celebrity. His accounts of his bravery during the war had been featured in newspaper and television stories.
Nelson, 60, said he was a Marine in Vietnam and was wounded three times, once while carrying an injured buddy on his back for 26 miles. He sometimes wore a Silver Star and said he had received three Purple Hearts.
In fact, Nelson never served in combat in Vietnam or anywhere else.
Last week -- on Pearl Harbor Day -- he pleaded guilty in federal court to wearing a Silver Star he did not earn. As part of the plea agreement, Nelson surrendered his medals.
Despite the successful prosecutions in California, Sterner and Schantag say authorities often don't take phony heroes as seriously as they should.
"In the vast majority of these cases, there is additional fraud going on," Sterner said.
Women are particular targets, and dating Web sites are a common place to encounter phony heroes, Schantag said. Some women who were tricked have lost their homes, contracted AIDS or gotten pregnant and then been abandoned.
"It's not a victimless crime," she said. "They are looking for women with money, secure jobs or inheritances. Prosecution isn't fast enough sometimes to prevent further victims. We hear from woman after woman after woman, and nothing is being done."
Schantag also said that punishment is often too light. Worst of all, she said, is ordering an impostor to perform community service for a veterans' organization.
"Don't put them with the real heroes, where they can learn more stories," she said. "Have them dig graves in Arlington National Cemetery."
Military Impostors Are Neither Few Nor Proud
Richard C. Paddock
San Francisco Correspondent
(Dec. 14) -- Steven Douglas Burton wore the Marine Corps uniform proudly. He had rows of medals, including a prestigious Navy Cross, a Purple Heart and a Bronze Star.
He posted a photo of himself in uniform and blogged about serving one tour of duty in Afghanistan and four in Iraq. He was at the Battle of Fallujah, he said, and praised the doctors who "patched us up."
But Burton wasn't a hero. He was a fraud who purchased medals online.
A scam that began two years ago when Burton wore a Marine Corps uniform as a Halloween party costume ended Monday with a guilty plea in federal court in Riverside, Calif.
Burton, a 39-year-old bank employee from Palm Springs, was unmasked after he wore the uniform of a Marine lieutenant colonel to his 20-year high school reunion. A classmate who was a Navy commander became suspicious of his story, got him to pose for a photo and handed it over to the FBI.
Burton pleaded guilty to a single count of the unauthorized wearing of a military medal. He faces up to a year in prison and a $100,000 fine for violating the Stolen Valor Act, which prohibits wearing an unearned medal or falsely claiming to have earned one.
"The defendant was wearing some of the highest military honors given in this country for valor," said Assistant U.S. Attorney Joseph Akrotirianakis, who prosecuted the case. "He never served in the military."
Burton is one of five men -- and the second in two weeks -- successfully prosecuted in California since the 2006 law toughened penalties against fraudulent claims of heroism. That is the largest number of phony heroes prosecuted in any state, said independent watchdog Doug Sterner, who operates the Home of Heroes Web site in Pueblo, Colo.
Sterner and others who track impostors say there are thousands more like Burton who falsely claim military honors or lie about their supposed wartime bravery but have never been prosecuted.
Mary Schantag, co-founder and researcher for the POW Network, said her group's Web site lists 3,500 "phonies and wannabes" who claim to be former prisoners of war, medal recipients, members of elite forces or heroic combat veterans. She said she receives new allegations daily.
"This is an epidemic," said Schantag, who is based in Skidmore, Mo. "It's almost a mass identity theft of people who earned their status as heroes."
Some, like Burton, are apparently motivated to make false claims by a desire to pump up their self-esteem. But more often, a false claim of bravery is part of a con to steal money, get a better job, illegally claim veteran's benefits or entice a woman into a romantic relationship.
"It pretty much boils down to ego, women or money," Schantag said.
Many impostors get away with their claims for years because the military does not keep a list of most medal recipients. Sterner, who pushed for adoption of the Stolen Valor Act, is now campaigning for legislation that would require the Pentagon to maintain a list of all the men and women it has honored.
"How many people do you see out there claiming they won an Academy Award and didn't?" he asked. "None, since there is a list of Academy Award recipients. How many phonies are claiming Silver Stars? They are all over the country because there is no list of Silver Star recipients."
Sterner has compiled his own list of more than 26,000 medal winners and posted it on the Hall of Valor Web site, sponsored by the Military Times. Members of the public can search the database to verify the names of true medal winners. Earlier this month, AMVETS launched ReportStolenValor.org, where people can report suspected impostors.
Burton began attracting attention in February 2008, when he wrote to a veterans' Web site and sent a photo of himself in uniform taken on Coronado Island, near San Diego.
The letter discussed his supposed wartime experiences and a moving encounter with ex-Marines on Coronado. He signed the letter, "MGySgt Burton, 1st Division, USMC," indicating his rank as master gunnery sergeant.
Some vets who saw his post questioned his terminology and the abbreviation. When asked in an e-mail why his name did not turn up on a list of Navy Cross winners, he replied that Burton was his first name and that he does not provide his full name online.
The exchange prompted Schantag to post Burton's photo and letter on her site of "phonies and wannabes." She also posted Burton's e-mail reply, which says, "If people are hunting around for information on me or trying to match my name to medals I'm wearing, they are not looking in the right place."
Even though he knew he was under suspicion, Burton wore the lieutenant colonel's uniform to his October 2008 reunion. Classmates at Alhambra High School in Martinez remember him as an unlikely candidate to become a highly decorated Marine. His regalia aroused the suspicion of Navy Cmdr. Colleen Salonga, who obtained Burton's photo by asking if they could pose together.
Burton was arrested a year later on Veterans Day and initially pleaded not guilty. But on Dec. 3, he signed a plea agreement admitting in detail to the crime.
He chose the Marine Corps uniform because he liked it best of all the services, the plea agreement said. He purchased uniforms and equipment online and at military stores, acquiring at least 15 medals. His attorney, Michael DeFrank, did not return phone calls from Sphere.
"Defendant wore the USMC uniform to the reunion because he wanted to impress his high school classmates," the plea agreement says.
Last week, another high-profile impostor pleaded guilty in Sacramento. Kenneth Jerome Nelson, the unofficial caretaker of the California Vietnam Veterans Memorial in Sacramento, had become something of a local celebrity. His accounts of his bravery during the war had been featured in newspaper and television stories.
Nelson, 60, said he was a Marine in Vietnam and was wounded three times, once while carrying an injured buddy on his back for 26 miles. He sometimes wore a Silver Star and said he had received three Purple Hearts.
In fact, Nelson never served in combat in Vietnam or anywhere else.
Last week -- on Pearl Harbor Day -- he pleaded guilty in federal court to wearing a Silver Star he did not earn. As part of the plea agreement, Nelson surrendered his medals.
Despite the successful prosecutions in California, Sterner and Schantag say authorities often don't take phony heroes as seriously as they should.
"In the vast majority of these cases, there is additional fraud going on," Sterner said.
Women are particular targets, and dating Web sites are a common place to encounter phony heroes, Schantag said. Some women who were tricked have lost their homes, contracted AIDS or gotten pregnant and then been abandoned.
"It's not a victimless crime," she said. "They are looking for women with money, secure jobs or inheritances. Prosecution isn't fast enough sometimes to prevent further victims. We hear from woman after woman after woman, and nothing is being done."
Schantag also said that punishment is often too light. Worst of all, she said, is ordering an impostor to perform community service for a veterans' organization.
"Don't put them with the real heroes, where they can learn more stories," she said. "Have them dig graves in Arlington National Cemetery."
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Army-Navy Game and Leadership
Look at last year's post for feelings and what what this game means. This year I am going to talk about things that stood out about this game. First, of course, was the absent Commander-in-Chief but this can only be expected after winning the Nobel peace for prize for 1. being a jerk off liberal and 2. not being George Bush. He had something to do that pertained to himself and had nothing to do with this country. These types of things are only to be expected with this guy which exemplifies what a sad state this country's leadership is in. It would have looked bad for him to be at Army-Navy to his liberal peacenik asshole hippie friends. Now this leadership void is usually filled with those that participate in this game. Our future leaders is how I heard them referred to on the CBS telecast. I disagree, they are present leaders they volunteered in time of war to serve, that is leadership. I saw a ton of that quality in this game; I mean how about the freshman QB from Army, a plebe running the offense that kid is a leader and is going to be a great one just from the experience. Class and age mean everything at these institutions. Also the Army linebacker who moved from outside to inside, when the starter was injured in a previous game, he was way undersized but had fifteen tackles and called the defense and the presnap adjustments. I watched kids from both academies run to the football and hit with good form and fight through pain. I saw running backs that ran hard without regard for themselves refusing to go down without a fight.
I also saw some late hits and extra curricular shots in one form or another but that is to be expected in any rivalry game. I saw way too much "hey look at me celebration" shit, this was not an LSU or "U" game. But the biggest disappointment had to be in the Navy quarterback. I believe this kid is way too self centered to be a great leader. Why are you picking on this kid that volunteered to serve his country? Whoa, chill, I am not the one who put this kid on TV and let him tell his story to the world. He signed a team signed football helmet 5 times that was then presented to Obama, why five times so Obama would remember his name. Maybe you should have impressed him with the content of your character instead of the number of times you could write your name use something with some substance. Son Obama only cares about Obama. He wants to be a politician. Son politician is NOT a career it is a service you serve and move on but liberals do not think this way and look for the easy way out. The reason he went to the Naval Academy is he wanted to go to the dentist, he wanted free health care. Son are you serious, nothing about your character is positive. 1. Hero worship of someone who has done nothing and who hates the military and the country. 2. Want a cushy political job. 3. Part of the I,I,I Me,Me,Me culture that wants everything for nothing. It breaks my heart to write this piece but it needed to be done. I am all for those who serve to get free health care for life, as I have stated here many times, but going in with the attitude that it is owed regardless of service or not is a bad, selfish idea. It is the farthest thing from leadership there is just look at the president.
I also saw some late hits and extra curricular shots in one form or another but that is to be expected in any rivalry game. I saw way too much "hey look at me celebration" shit, this was not an LSU or "U" game. But the biggest disappointment had to be in the Navy quarterback. I believe this kid is way too self centered to be a great leader. Why are you picking on this kid that volunteered to serve his country? Whoa, chill, I am not the one who put this kid on TV and let him tell his story to the world. He signed a team signed football helmet 5 times that was then presented to Obama, why five times so Obama would remember his name. Maybe you should have impressed him with the content of your character instead of the number of times you could write your name use something with some substance. Son Obama only cares about Obama. He wants to be a politician. Son politician is NOT a career it is a service you serve and move on but liberals do not think this way and look for the easy way out. The reason he went to the Naval Academy is he wanted to go to the dentist, he wanted free health care. Son are you serious, nothing about your character is positive. 1. Hero worship of someone who has done nothing and who hates the military and the country. 2. Want a cushy political job. 3. Part of the I,I,I Me,Me,Me culture that wants everything for nothing. It breaks my heart to write this piece but it needed to be done. I am all for those who serve to get free health care for life, as I have stated here many times, but going in with the attitude that it is owed regardless of service or not is a bad, selfish idea. It is the farthest thing from leadership there is just look at the president.
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Just So You Do Not Forget
From Major Pain at Onemarinesview.com. Unbelievable post. Unbelievable enthusiasm. Unbelievable leader. Remarkable man. Thank God for the U.S. Marines. I still today hear them referred to as brain-washed killers. But that is just ignorant speak from people who have never spoken to a Marine or read what they have written. These are men, warriors with humanity these men love more than you or I could ever, in many lifetimes, hope too. They love life and realize how easily it can be taken away. They see how important freedom is so much so they are willing to put themselves in harm's way. So this Hanukkah and Christmas season let them know how appreciated they are. How necessary they are and how important the job that they are doing is. Be safe and be well Marines, may God bless you and as always thank you.
December 03, 2009
You heard what?
I was able to get my weekly shower today, if I needed it or not. Your Marines continue to take the fight to the enemy and keep them off balance. Thanksgiving has come and gone and we all have a lot to be thankful for as young studs keep the bad guys away from innocent civilians throughout the area.
Your warriors are hooking and jabbing with bad guys that believe they can scare off your fighting Marines. ….well, they have another thing coming! Patrols are relentless, the weather is getting colder and morale is high. If I have to hear another news article about how your warriors morale is bad I’m gonna puke. Apparently they aren’t talking to warriors here in country because your Marines work their butts off daily and then go out for more. Thousands of miles away from home, equipped with the best gear possible on the planet, they march directly into the bad guys and make them have a very bad day. So if you happen to read some tree-hugging report about this and that and boo hoo they don’t have this or that, its BS….and most importantly, the ones doing the fighting, are feeding off of it.
The dirt is everywhere, showers are over rated and sleep is a crutch. Having a bad day? Just think of the 20 yr old out doing America’s great work over here, day after day and kicking butt! Yer day just got a whole lot better huh? Before you jump on the finger pointing parade, write one of these warriors and get it firsthand….otherwise keep quoting some reporter who is stating his opinion about morale vise facts.
Time for another cigar--Semper
December 03, 2009
You heard what?
I was able to get my weekly shower today, if I needed it or not. Your Marines continue to take the fight to the enemy and keep them off balance. Thanksgiving has come and gone and we all have a lot to be thankful for as young studs keep the bad guys away from innocent civilians throughout the area.
Your warriors are hooking and jabbing with bad guys that believe they can scare off your fighting Marines. ….well, they have another thing coming! Patrols are relentless, the weather is getting colder and morale is high. If I have to hear another news article about how your warriors morale is bad I’m gonna puke. Apparently they aren’t talking to warriors here in country because your Marines work their butts off daily and then go out for more. Thousands of miles away from home, equipped with the best gear possible on the planet, they march directly into the bad guys and make them have a very bad day. So if you happen to read some tree-hugging report about this and that and boo hoo they don’t have this or that, its BS….and most importantly, the ones doing the fighting, are feeding off of it.
The dirt is everywhere, showers are over rated and sleep is a crutch. Having a bad day? Just think of the 20 yr old out doing America’s great work over here, day after day and kicking butt! Yer day just got a whole lot better huh? Before you jump on the finger pointing parade, write one of these warriors and get it firsthand….otherwise keep quoting some reporter who is stating his opinion about morale vise facts.
Time for another cigar--Semper
Monday, December 7, 2009
Pearl Harbor, 7 Dec. 1941
A day that shall live in infamy. People today do not remember, most Americans do not care they only care about getting free health care and other government handouts. Those in charge could give a shit less about what happened that fateful morning on that tiny island so far away. They are just looking to get their hands on our money by any means necesary; Cap & Trade or VAT Tax or repealing the Bush tax cuts. Those that survived that horrific ordeal and then survived the war went on to build a better America and in that they built a better world for all of us. Thank you to all the brave souls who were there who fought back and then fought on. There are some of us here who are grateful for your strength and we will learn from it and use it.
Attack on Pearl Harbor as seen from high on Battleship Pennsylvania's Mainmast
The huge red ball blossoming under the plane's wing filled the porthole on U.S.S. Pennsylvania, as the fighter banked and climbed for altitude. The plane had just completed a strafing run on Ford Island, located in the middle of Pearl Harbor. I didn't need for anyone to remind me that it was an unfriendly, because I recognized it as a Jap Zero.
As the striker for Corporal Thomas N. Barron, Marine Detachment Clerk, I usually caught Sunday morning duty for turning in the detachment's daily report to the ship's office prior to 0800. I had just dropped it off and stopped for a bull session with a deck division friend when the sound of explosions reverberated through the ship. We laughed at a nearby sailor's remark, "That's just like the Army to wait until Sunday to hold gunnery practice." But we rushed to a porthole when another sailor yelled, "The Japs are attacking!"
The pace had been leisurely on the ships in Pearl Harbor, the 7th of December, 1941, because Sunday was the day for rest and relaxation after the usual weekly few days at sea where the crews practiced day and night for war. Some men were still ashore; some of those aboard were still feeling the effects of a night out in Honolulu; and others were writing letters, pressing uniforms, shining shoes, straightening wall-locker gear, or rapping in bull sessions. With the surprise and suddenness of the attack some would die with a shoe still in hand, or with thoughts of how to word the next sentence in a letter, or with mouths open as they began the next sea story -their war had ended before it had officially begun!
I turned from the porthole and raced aft, heading for my battlestation high on the mainmast-I was the pointer on the director controlling the port 5-inch .51-caliber broadside guns. As I dodged others racing to their stations, the expressions on faces registered shocked disbelief, anger and determination, and some had fear stamped indelibly into their paled and drawn features. The mouths of others spewed curses as they damned the Japs in almost a scream.
Though Marines usually didn't take their rifles to shipboard battlestations I instinctively thought of my "best friend." As I sped through the Marine Compartment, I noticed Sgt. Bud Tinker standing near the weapons locker and I slowed to ask whether I could get my rifle. He didn't have a key so I resumed my sprint aft.
I had to climb a ladder up the outside of the most starboard leg of the mainmast's tripod to get to my battlestation. Countless times up and down it in practice had given me the agility and confidence of a monkey. As I sped upward, I rammed my head against the ass of a sailor climbing above me, just below the searchlight platform. I fumed while the clumsy overweight man dragged his bulky body, at what seemed like a snail's pace, the rest of the way to the platform. He spun to face me, "What the hell's the idea of running into me?" he demanded.
"Get your fat ass out of my way!" I retorted. He didn't make a comeback but stepped aside, and I resumed my trip.
After reaching my station, I helped the men already there lower the storm windows into recesses. I uncovered the gun director, donned a soundpower phone headset, and made checks with the captains of the five-port side broadside guns. The 5-inch .51-caliber guns were not designed for use against aircraft so the director and gun crews could do nothing but watch harbor activities. So 2dLt. Leyton M. Rogers, the Marine officer commanding the director station, ordered all phones secured except for one to the ship's gunnery control.
As a 19-year old, I didn't want to miss anything and my eyes darted about the harbor trying to keep tabs on every Jap plane, every bomb and torpedo, and every ship. My attention switched back and forth from Ford Island to Battleship Row, and to Helena and Oglala berthed in the Pennsylvania's regular 10-10 Dock berth, with Oglala outboard of Helena. Pennsy, as Flagship of the Pacific Fleet, usually enjoyed the choice berth because Admiral Husband E. Kimmel wasn't about to ride his barge across channel whenever he wanted to board or debark from his flagship. But now Pennsylvania was in Number-1 Drydock with screws off, just forward of her usual 10-10 berth. Battleship Row was across the channel and I had an unobstructed and relatively closeup view of it by looking across Pennsylvania's starboard quarter.
I didn't think of the dangers caused by strafing Jap planes, or of low-level American small-caliber fire, or of a 5" AA gun's projectile hitting the mast when it was fired at low-flying planes. I was so engrossed in watching events across the channel that I didn't notice when three planes strafed Pennsylvania's port side at about 0805.
The gun director crews were supposed to huddle between the tripod's legs running up through the station during strafing attacks but I leaned out a window for a better view of low-flying planes or flights passing over at higher altitude. Twice, Lieutenant Rogers grasped my belt and pulled me inboard. Even though he reminded me to stay between the legs, I would become engrossed in following the action and ease back to an opening.
With the ship shuddering from the constant concussions caused by the firing of her 5" and 3" guns, and the explosions of bombs and torpedoes in the harbor, I didn't consciously feel, hear, or see the gigantic explosion that demolished Arizona. Only minutes after the attack had begun, the dreadnought turned into a mass of twisted, torn and fire-scorched steel.
I didn't pay much attention to activities around California, or the tanker Neosho directly across the harbor, or Ford Island. My concentration focused on Oklahoma and West Virginia as torpedoes ripped again and again into their bowels.
Oklahoma's masts appeared to be moving closer and I realized she was listing heavily to port. Then I watched in awe as she continued turning-so fast her masts splashed the water-until her keel was exposed to the dimmed light of a smoke-shielded sun. When she rolled I could see men spilling off her decks into the water to port and others frantically scrambling over her hull to starboard.
I was in a quandary as I debated with myself whether I should salute. To me the ship was dying in shame and I didn't feel she rated a salute, but I wanted to pay respects to the many men who were dying with her. By the time I'd firmed my decision, she had capsized so I snapped a quick, but reverent, salute.
As Oklahoma rolled, a float-equipped scout plane slid off the aft-turret catapult and floated into the burning oil at the channel side of the ship. My attention switched to West Virginia and other activities so I didn't watch the plane's final fate but it must have burned and sank.
I watched while torpedo planes continued attacking West Virginia. In what seemed only a matter of seconds after a plane dropped a torpedo, a plume of water spouted at the outboard side of the ship ... she appeared to rise, shudder, and then settle back even lower in the water than she had been before as the explosions tore out her bowels.
How could anything possibly penetrate a battleship's thick armor I had wondered ... that it could be done was being demonstrated to me in a most dramatic and definite way!
The Jap planes were below my height when they dropped low to lay their deadly cargoes into the water, as they made torpedo runs on Helena and Oglala. I could see the cockpit instruments and the expressions on the pilots' faces. The white of their teeth flashed as they grimaced with concentration or grinned in exultation at the success of their missions. Then as the planes banked and climbed for altitude, I was almost eyeball-to-eyeball with the rear gunners as they looked down their gun sights and sprayed deadly bullets over the topsides of the ships. How I wished for my rifle!
My eyes focused on a plane struggling to gain altitude after attacking Ford Island. Flames and smoke streamed out behind it. Then it slipped off to the left and glided to a crash on or near the Navy yard hospital grounds- it was the only plane I saw shot down during the attack!
A flight of five planes flew over Pennsylvania at high altitude and the ship's AA guns concentrated on them. I fumed with frustration as I saw the shells bursting below the planes or, judging from the volume of fire, not even exploding. The planes continued serenely on their way and disappeared unscathed over the billowing smoke hovering above the harbor. The sight of them added to the frustration of watching torpedo and bomber planes dropping their instruments of destruction, then escaping apparently undamaged into the billowing smoke.
Approximately 30-minutes after the attack began, orders were passed for the director crew to clear the mainmast and go below. I dropped down the tripod leg ladder, grasping the handrails loosely and tightening my grip occasionally to control my speedy descent ... my feet were catching every third or fourth rung! I ran to the boat deck and joined a line of sailors and Marines passing ammunition to a 5" .25-caliber AA gun-I felt better now that I was helping to fight Japs.
As I cradled each projectile against my chest, I prayed that it would knock an enemy plane from the air. Odd thoughts can enter one's mind at unexpected moments: grease from the ammo was smearing my white skivvy shirt and I directed extra curses at the Japs for that!
So many men were lending a hand on the boat deck that they were getting in each other's way. It also exposed more than necessary to strafing planes so all Marines were ordered below. But I didn't want to sit in the Marine Compartment with nothing to do, unable to keep tabs on harbor activity, so I went to Number-7 Casemate. It and -9 were starboard side and the 5" broadside guns in them were manned by Marines, as were Number-8 and -10 on the port side. Again, I had nothing to do but observe-and talk.
Sgt. R. L. Taylor and I were standing in the center of the casemate talking when a Marine sitting in the gun's pointer seat yelled, exultantly, "A battleship is going out!"
I rushed to the casemate opening and saw Nevada emerging almost like a ghost from the thick smoke ... slowing making her way by Battleship Row and heading toward the harbor's entrance.
A swarm of Japanese planes darted through the air above her and bombs were exploding in the water alongside and on her decks. When one exploded in the water just off her starboard bow and near a sailor coiling rope on the fo'c'sle, he dropped the rope and streaked aft. It appeared that his upper body was lagging behind his churning legs, because he ran leaning back and the back of his head appeared to be almost between his shoulder blades. I sensed his desperation and empathized with him but in other circumstances it would have been hilarious!
His timing was poor, however, because when he reached about amidships on the port side, a bomb hit Nevada in that area. Debris spurted high into the air, including a cotton bunk mattress. I envisioned a genie sitting on a Persian rug as the mattress soared high above the ship and then fluttered and yawed as it dropped to the water. I've always wondered whether the sailor was wounded or killed by that bomb.
I felt pride as I watched the gallant old battlewagon slowly, determinedly, and majestically, fighting her way through rising geysers of water, shrugging off multiple bomb hits, with her guns defiantly spitting flames and projectiles at the darting planes swarming like bees above her while striving desperately to stop her. The old ship fighting her way down harbor was the most inspiring sight I saw during the entire war!
I wouldn't learn of Nevada's fate until later, because Pennsylvania's PA system blared: "A strafing attack is coming. Take cover!"
Sergeant Taylor yelled, "Get inboard!" And I ducked into the passageway connecting the two casemates. He joined me by the guns' ammunition hoist and we resumed our conversation.
Then I was fighting for consciousness and it was like trying to climb out of an inky-black abyss. During those moments that I was aware of my surroundings the pile of men on the deck of Number-7 casemate felt like a nest of squirming worms as they struggled to untangle. As I'd gain consciousness for a moment, I could feel the crushing weight from above and the warmth and softness of wriggling bodies beneath me. Suddenly, the weight was gone and I felt someone tugging at the back of my skivvy shirt, pulling me off the pile. He helped me to stand.
At 0906, a bomb had penetrated the deck of the boat deck and had apparently hit the base of the broadside gun in Number-9 Casemate before rolling over on the deck and exploding. The blast had funneled through the connecting passageway hurling men like projectiles against the wall- lockers attached to the forward bulkhead of Number-7.
I glanced toward the casemate opening and saw Sergeant Taylor standing nearby. His face was blackened but he acted uninjured, even though he had been between me and the exploding bomb. "Sickbay! Main deck forward!" he yelled. Feeling woozy and rudderless, I grasped the back of a Marine's skivvy shirt and followed him down the ladder to the Marine Compartment located below the casemates.
After stumbling over a stretcher in the compartment and learning that the man in it, PFC Nelson R. Holman, had a broken leg, my next awareness was of standing just inside the sickbay. My eyes roved over it ... taking in the sparkling white bulkheads, the white bunk coverings and the compartment's clean-as-a-new-pin look. Even the terra-cotta color battleship linoleum covering the deck looked immaculate to me ... except for a huge pool of blood on the deck by the bunk nearest the entrance. But there wasn't any blood on the bunk! Later, someone told me that a close buddy had lain there and his life had flowed out with that pool of red. Shrapnel had taken a huge chunk out of his back and nothing could be done to save him.
I didn't see a single man ... dead or alive. The sickbay was completely empty! It was quiet, peaceful, and a haven from the carnage I had witnessed topside. But I felt deserted because those who could tend to my needs had disappeared. In doubt as to what to do and unable to make a rational decision, I ambled aft to a compartment where mess tables had been setup for morning chow. Dishes, food, tables, and silverware were helter-skelter on the deck. A sailor was standing in the compartment and I asked him if he knew where sickbay had been moved. He didn't know. Another sailor entered the compartment and the sailor with me asked him. He informed us that it had been moved to second deck and forward by Number-1 turret's barbette.
I made my way to it and saw many wounded men laying in bunks lining the passageways and sitting or laying on the deck. I felt very weak and eased myself to the deck and leaned back against the barbette. I didn't see any doctors but several corpsmen were busily attending to wounded men.
After leaning against the barbette for several minutes with my eyes closed, I sensed the approach of a corpsman and opened them. He squatted beside me and inquired about my injuries, then asked, "Can you stand up?"
I didn't realize that my khaki pants were blood soaked. After I pushed myself to my feet, he didn't wait for me to drop my pants but began slitting up the left leg with a scalpel. The higher he slit while searching for the source of the blood, the more worried I became that the worst had happened and vowed: "If they got my nuts, I'll kill everyone of the little bastards!" Fortunately, the shrapnel wound was in my upper thigh, just below the buttock. He hastily bandaged it and moved on to another man.
Remembering a few empty bunks, tiered three high, when I entered the temporary sickbay I headed for a clean-looking center bunk. A young sailor manning a soundpower phone nearby remarked in a reproving tone of voice, "I put clean coverings on just this morning. You'll get them bloody." I stared at him with a "Tough! You just try to keep me out of it" look. As I eased into the bunk he didn't make any more remarks.
A doctor dressed in civilian clothes entered the sickbay, quite some time later, and began checking wounded men. He worked his way around the barbette and upon reaching my bunk, questioned, "Marine, what happened to you?"
"Shrapnel in the leg and a knock on the head, sir," I replied.
He checked the corpsman's bandaging job. Then, without checking my head or asking how I felt, he said, "You can return to your station."
I crawled out of the bunk and started around the barbette. But, after a few steps, I felt vomit beginning to rise and dashed for a tin mop bucket setting nearby on the deck. After I had finished, the doctor ordered me back into the bunk. As I didn't feel up to going any place under my own power, I crawled back into it.
A short time later, sailors dashed into the compartment and grabbed all of the fire extinguishers. Their actions caused PFC Tommie J. Dale, in a bunk across the passageway, and I to worry that Pennsylvania was afire. We began discussing the best and fastest way to abandon ship.
Two destroyers, Cassin and Downes, were in the drydock with Pennsylvania. They were beam-to-beam forward of the battleship. Private First Class Dale and I didn't know that the destroyers had been hit by bombs and were burning. The heat from their fires was bubbling the paint inside Pennsylvania's bow.
Some time later, the ship's crew began transferring men from the sickbay to the nearby naval hospital. A bullet had torn off part of Dale's heel and he was suffering severely. When men started to take me out first I requested that they take him because of his pain. At that time my head and the shrapnel wound were not hurting.
Later, two very-young sailors brought a stretcher to my bunk. They stood by it discussing how they could manage to get me out of the bunk and onto the stretcher. I'd remember it with amusement later, because I solved their problem. I told them to wait a minute and crawled out of the bunk and lay down on the stretcher.
They carried me aft but stopped when they reached the first ladder going up to the main deck. They set the stretcher on the deck, and for several minutes discussed how to get me up the ladder. Again, I suggested they wait a minute and got off the stretcher, climbed the ladder, and they folded the stretcher and brought it up. I laid back down on it and they carried me to the quarterdeck.
As we neared the head of the gangway to 10-10 Dock, the ship's PA system blared: "A stretcher is needed for a severely wounded man!" and gave the location.
"Leave me here and go get him," I suggested to the sailors. "I'll be okay." They stopped. I got off the stretcher and sat on a nearby bit.
While I sat in the warm sun waiting for the sailors to return, I wasn't conscious of any guns firing. Number-3 and -4 turrets blocked my view of Battleship Row, but I noticed that Helena was still afloat at 10-10 Dock. I also noticed a navy officer, a sailor, and Marine were standing at the head of the gangway.
Though my head felt like it was detached and floating several feet above the deck watching what went on below, I still was mentally alert enough to know that the Japs had made a shambles of Pearl Harbor. I wondered how much damage had been done to Pennsylvania. But I was too dazed to give much thought to future happenings. Feeling very tired I considered laying down on the teakwood deck but resisted the urge.
Floating in and out of awareness I didn't know whether the severely wounded man was carried off via way of the quarterdeck gangway. Curious about him I wondered if another gangway had been put in place forward. After awhile, I began to worry that the sailors had forgotten me. But, eventually, they returned and carried me to the dock.
They laid me on a cotton mattress in the bed of a civilian pickup truck. The driver headed for the hospital at breakneck speed. When the truck hit a bump in the road it bounced me into the air above the mattress. The pickup had a 2 x 6 board bolted across the top of its bed. Mesmerized, I stared fixedly at the board and began worrying that a large bump would throw me into it. The driver apparently didn't realize that the rough ride could do more damage than lack of speed in getting me to the hospital. Even though I was still woozy from the bomb blast, it was an unforgettable ride.
Upon arriving at the hospital, the attendants moved me to another mattress, laying on the deck just inside the entrance. Private First Class Dale was on one of the nearby mattresses. Once more, the stretcher bearers started to give me priority and I again suggested that they take him first. He thanked me and they took him away. It was the last time I'd ever see him.
Eventually I was taken into a ward and put to bed. After a quick check by ward medical personnel and a morphine shot, I drifted into an untroubled sleep.
I awakened after dark to the sound of guns firing in the harbor area. Later, I learned that a flight of six Enterprise planes had been coming in for a landing on Ford Island and four were shot down by friendly forces.
After the guns quit firing, the only sounds to be heard in the darkness were the muted voices of medical personnel and the moans of the wounded.
Pennsylvania Pearl Harbor Action Report
The Quack Corps–a Marine's War Pearl Harbor to Okinawa
Attack on Pearl Harbor as seen from high on Battleship Pennsylvania's Mainmast
The huge red ball blossoming under the plane's wing filled the porthole on U.S.S. Pennsylvania, as the fighter banked and climbed for altitude. The plane had just completed a strafing run on Ford Island, located in the middle of Pearl Harbor. I didn't need for anyone to remind me that it was an unfriendly, because I recognized it as a Jap Zero.
As the striker for Corporal Thomas N. Barron, Marine Detachment Clerk, I usually caught Sunday morning duty for turning in the detachment's daily report to the ship's office prior to 0800. I had just dropped it off and stopped for a bull session with a deck division friend when the sound of explosions reverberated through the ship. We laughed at a nearby sailor's remark, "That's just like the Army to wait until Sunday to hold gunnery practice." But we rushed to a porthole when another sailor yelled, "The Japs are attacking!"
The pace had been leisurely on the ships in Pearl Harbor, the 7th of December, 1941, because Sunday was the day for rest and relaxation after the usual weekly few days at sea where the crews practiced day and night for war. Some men were still ashore; some of those aboard were still feeling the effects of a night out in Honolulu; and others were writing letters, pressing uniforms, shining shoes, straightening wall-locker gear, or rapping in bull sessions. With the surprise and suddenness of the attack some would die with a shoe still in hand, or with thoughts of how to word the next sentence in a letter, or with mouths open as they began the next sea story -their war had ended before it had officially begun!
I turned from the porthole and raced aft, heading for my battlestation high on the mainmast-I was the pointer on the director controlling the port 5-inch .51-caliber broadside guns. As I dodged others racing to their stations, the expressions on faces registered shocked disbelief, anger and determination, and some had fear stamped indelibly into their paled and drawn features. The mouths of others spewed curses as they damned the Japs in almost a scream.
Though Marines usually didn't take their rifles to shipboard battlestations I instinctively thought of my "best friend." As I sped through the Marine Compartment, I noticed Sgt. Bud Tinker standing near the weapons locker and I slowed to ask whether I could get my rifle. He didn't have a key so I resumed my sprint aft.
I had to climb a ladder up the outside of the most starboard leg of the mainmast's tripod to get to my battlestation. Countless times up and down it in practice had given me the agility and confidence of a monkey. As I sped upward, I rammed my head against the ass of a sailor climbing above me, just below the searchlight platform. I fumed while the clumsy overweight man dragged his bulky body, at what seemed like a snail's pace, the rest of the way to the platform. He spun to face me, "What the hell's the idea of running into me?" he demanded.
"Get your fat ass out of my way!" I retorted. He didn't make a comeback but stepped aside, and I resumed my trip.
After reaching my station, I helped the men already there lower the storm windows into recesses. I uncovered the gun director, donned a soundpower phone headset, and made checks with the captains of the five-port side broadside guns. The 5-inch .51-caliber guns were not designed for use against aircraft so the director and gun crews could do nothing but watch harbor activities. So 2dLt. Leyton M. Rogers, the Marine officer commanding the director station, ordered all phones secured except for one to the ship's gunnery control.
As a 19-year old, I didn't want to miss anything and my eyes darted about the harbor trying to keep tabs on every Jap plane, every bomb and torpedo, and every ship. My attention switched back and forth from Ford Island to Battleship Row, and to Helena and Oglala berthed in the Pennsylvania's regular 10-10 Dock berth, with Oglala outboard of Helena. Pennsy, as Flagship of the Pacific Fleet, usually enjoyed the choice berth because Admiral Husband E. Kimmel wasn't about to ride his barge across channel whenever he wanted to board or debark from his flagship. But now Pennsylvania was in Number-1 Drydock with screws off, just forward of her usual 10-10 berth. Battleship Row was across the channel and I had an unobstructed and relatively closeup view of it by looking across Pennsylvania's starboard quarter.
I didn't think of the dangers caused by strafing Jap planes, or of low-level American small-caliber fire, or of a 5" AA gun's projectile hitting the mast when it was fired at low-flying planes. I was so engrossed in watching events across the channel that I didn't notice when three planes strafed Pennsylvania's port side at about 0805.
The gun director crews were supposed to huddle between the tripod's legs running up through the station during strafing attacks but I leaned out a window for a better view of low-flying planes or flights passing over at higher altitude. Twice, Lieutenant Rogers grasped my belt and pulled me inboard. Even though he reminded me to stay between the legs, I would become engrossed in following the action and ease back to an opening.
With the ship shuddering from the constant concussions caused by the firing of her 5" and 3" guns, and the explosions of bombs and torpedoes in the harbor, I didn't consciously feel, hear, or see the gigantic explosion that demolished Arizona. Only minutes after the attack had begun, the dreadnought turned into a mass of twisted, torn and fire-scorched steel.
I didn't pay much attention to activities around California, or the tanker Neosho directly across the harbor, or Ford Island. My concentration focused on Oklahoma and West Virginia as torpedoes ripped again and again into their bowels.
Oklahoma's masts appeared to be moving closer and I realized she was listing heavily to port. Then I watched in awe as she continued turning-so fast her masts splashed the water-until her keel was exposed to the dimmed light of a smoke-shielded sun. When she rolled I could see men spilling off her decks into the water to port and others frantically scrambling over her hull to starboard.
I was in a quandary as I debated with myself whether I should salute. To me the ship was dying in shame and I didn't feel she rated a salute, but I wanted to pay respects to the many men who were dying with her. By the time I'd firmed my decision, she had capsized so I snapped a quick, but reverent, salute.
As Oklahoma rolled, a float-equipped scout plane slid off the aft-turret catapult and floated into the burning oil at the channel side of the ship. My attention switched to West Virginia and other activities so I didn't watch the plane's final fate but it must have burned and sank.
I watched while torpedo planes continued attacking West Virginia. In what seemed only a matter of seconds after a plane dropped a torpedo, a plume of water spouted at the outboard side of the ship ... she appeared to rise, shudder, and then settle back even lower in the water than she had been before as the explosions tore out her bowels.
How could anything possibly penetrate a battleship's thick armor I had wondered ... that it could be done was being demonstrated to me in a most dramatic and definite way!
The Jap planes were below my height when they dropped low to lay their deadly cargoes into the water, as they made torpedo runs on Helena and Oglala. I could see the cockpit instruments and the expressions on the pilots' faces. The white of their teeth flashed as they grimaced with concentration or grinned in exultation at the success of their missions. Then as the planes banked and climbed for altitude, I was almost eyeball-to-eyeball with the rear gunners as they looked down their gun sights and sprayed deadly bullets over the topsides of the ships. How I wished for my rifle!
My eyes focused on a plane struggling to gain altitude after attacking Ford Island. Flames and smoke streamed out behind it. Then it slipped off to the left and glided to a crash on or near the Navy yard hospital grounds- it was the only plane I saw shot down during the attack!
A flight of five planes flew over Pennsylvania at high altitude and the ship's AA guns concentrated on them. I fumed with frustration as I saw the shells bursting below the planes or, judging from the volume of fire, not even exploding. The planes continued serenely on their way and disappeared unscathed over the billowing smoke hovering above the harbor. The sight of them added to the frustration of watching torpedo and bomber planes dropping their instruments of destruction, then escaping apparently undamaged into the billowing smoke.
Approximately 30-minutes after the attack began, orders were passed for the director crew to clear the mainmast and go below. I dropped down the tripod leg ladder, grasping the handrails loosely and tightening my grip occasionally to control my speedy descent ... my feet were catching every third or fourth rung! I ran to the boat deck and joined a line of sailors and Marines passing ammunition to a 5" .25-caliber AA gun-I felt better now that I was helping to fight Japs.
As I cradled each projectile against my chest, I prayed that it would knock an enemy plane from the air. Odd thoughts can enter one's mind at unexpected moments: grease from the ammo was smearing my white skivvy shirt and I directed extra curses at the Japs for that!
So many men were lending a hand on the boat deck that they were getting in each other's way. It also exposed more than necessary to strafing planes so all Marines were ordered below. But I didn't want to sit in the Marine Compartment with nothing to do, unable to keep tabs on harbor activity, so I went to Number-7 Casemate. It and -9 were starboard side and the 5" broadside guns in them were manned by Marines, as were Number-8 and -10 on the port side. Again, I had nothing to do but observe-and talk.
Sgt. R. L. Taylor and I were standing in the center of the casemate talking when a Marine sitting in the gun's pointer seat yelled, exultantly, "A battleship is going out!"
I rushed to the casemate opening and saw Nevada emerging almost like a ghost from the thick smoke ... slowing making her way by Battleship Row and heading toward the harbor's entrance.
A swarm of Japanese planes darted through the air above her and bombs were exploding in the water alongside and on her decks. When one exploded in the water just off her starboard bow and near a sailor coiling rope on the fo'c'sle, he dropped the rope and streaked aft. It appeared that his upper body was lagging behind his churning legs, because he ran leaning back and the back of his head appeared to be almost between his shoulder blades. I sensed his desperation and empathized with him but in other circumstances it would have been hilarious!
His timing was poor, however, because when he reached about amidships on the port side, a bomb hit Nevada in that area. Debris spurted high into the air, including a cotton bunk mattress. I envisioned a genie sitting on a Persian rug as the mattress soared high above the ship and then fluttered and yawed as it dropped to the water. I've always wondered whether the sailor was wounded or killed by that bomb.
I felt pride as I watched the gallant old battlewagon slowly, determinedly, and majestically, fighting her way through rising geysers of water, shrugging off multiple bomb hits, with her guns defiantly spitting flames and projectiles at the darting planes swarming like bees above her while striving desperately to stop her. The old ship fighting her way down harbor was the most inspiring sight I saw during the entire war!
I wouldn't learn of Nevada's fate until later, because Pennsylvania's PA system blared: "A strafing attack is coming. Take cover!"
Sergeant Taylor yelled, "Get inboard!" And I ducked into the passageway connecting the two casemates. He joined me by the guns' ammunition hoist and we resumed our conversation.
Then I was fighting for consciousness and it was like trying to climb out of an inky-black abyss. During those moments that I was aware of my surroundings the pile of men on the deck of Number-7 casemate felt like a nest of squirming worms as they struggled to untangle. As I'd gain consciousness for a moment, I could feel the crushing weight from above and the warmth and softness of wriggling bodies beneath me. Suddenly, the weight was gone and I felt someone tugging at the back of my skivvy shirt, pulling me off the pile. He helped me to stand.
At 0906, a bomb had penetrated the deck of the boat deck and had apparently hit the base of the broadside gun in Number-9 Casemate before rolling over on the deck and exploding. The blast had funneled through the connecting passageway hurling men like projectiles against the wall- lockers attached to the forward bulkhead of Number-7.
I glanced toward the casemate opening and saw Sergeant Taylor standing nearby. His face was blackened but he acted uninjured, even though he had been between me and the exploding bomb. "Sickbay! Main deck forward!" he yelled. Feeling woozy and rudderless, I grasped the back of a Marine's skivvy shirt and followed him down the ladder to the Marine Compartment located below the casemates.
After stumbling over a stretcher in the compartment and learning that the man in it, PFC Nelson R. Holman, had a broken leg, my next awareness was of standing just inside the sickbay. My eyes roved over it ... taking in the sparkling white bulkheads, the white bunk coverings and the compartment's clean-as-a-new-pin look. Even the terra-cotta color battleship linoleum covering the deck looked immaculate to me ... except for a huge pool of blood on the deck by the bunk nearest the entrance. But there wasn't any blood on the bunk! Later, someone told me that a close buddy had lain there and his life had flowed out with that pool of red. Shrapnel had taken a huge chunk out of his back and nothing could be done to save him.
I didn't see a single man ... dead or alive. The sickbay was completely empty! It was quiet, peaceful, and a haven from the carnage I had witnessed topside. But I felt deserted because those who could tend to my needs had disappeared. In doubt as to what to do and unable to make a rational decision, I ambled aft to a compartment where mess tables had been setup for morning chow. Dishes, food, tables, and silverware were helter-skelter on the deck. A sailor was standing in the compartment and I asked him if he knew where sickbay had been moved. He didn't know. Another sailor entered the compartment and the sailor with me asked him. He informed us that it had been moved to second deck and forward by Number-1 turret's barbette.
I made my way to it and saw many wounded men laying in bunks lining the passageways and sitting or laying on the deck. I felt very weak and eased myself to the deck and leaned back against the barbette. I didn't see any doctors but several corpsmen were busily attending to wounded men.
After leaning against the barbette for several minutes with my eyes closed, I sensed the approach of a corpsman and opened them. He squatted beside me and inquired about my injuries, then asked, "Can you stand up?"
I didn't realize that my khaki pants were blood soaked. After I pushed myself to my feet, he didn't wait for me to drop my pants but began slitting up the left leg with a scalpel. The higher he slit while searching for the source of the blood, the more worried I became that the worst had happened and vowed: "If they got my nuts, I'll kill everyone of the little bastards!" Fortunately, the shrapnel wound was in my upper thigh, just below the buttock. He hastily bandaged it and moved on to another man.
Remembering a few empty bunks, tiered three high, when I entered the temporary sickbay I headed for a clean-looking center bunk. A young sailor manning a soundpower phone nearby remarked in a reproving tone of voice, "I put clean coverings on just this morning. You'll get them bloody." I stared at him with a "Tough! You just try to keep me out of it" look. As I eased into the bunk he didn't make any more remarks.
A doctor dressed in civilian clothes entered the sickbay, quite some time later, and began checking wounded men. He worked his way around the barbette and upon reaching my bunk, questioned, "Marine, what happened to you?"
"Shrapnel in the leg and a knock on the head, sir," I replied.
He checked the corpsman's bandaging job. Then, without checking my head or asking how I felt, he said, "You can return to your station."
I crawled out of the bunk and started around the barbette. But, after a few steps, I felt vomit beginning to rise and dashed for a tin mop bucket setting nearby on the deck. After I had finished, the doctor ordered me back into the bunk. As I didn't feel up to going any place under my own power, I crawled back into it.
A short time later, sailors dashed into the compartment and grabbed all of the fire extinguishers. Their actions caused PFC Tommie J. Dale, in a bunk across the passageway, and I to worry that Pennsylvania was afire. We began discussing the best and fastest way to abandon ship.
Two destroyers, Cassin and Downes, were in the drydock with Pennsylvania. They were beam-to-beam forward of the battleship. Private First Class Dale and I didn't know that the destroyers had been hit by bombs and were burning. The heat from their fires was bubbling the paint inside Pennsylvania's bow.
Some time later, the ship's crew began transferring men from the sickbay to the nearby naval hospital. A bullet had torn off part of Dale's heel and he was suffering severely. When men started to take me out first I requested that they take him because of his pain. At that time my head and the shrapnel wound were not hurting.
Later, two very-young sailors brought a stretcher to my bunk. They stood by it discussing how they could manage to get me out of the bunk and onto the stretcher. I'd remember it with amusement later, because I solved their problem. I told them to wait a minute and crawled out of the bunk and lay down on the stretcher.
They carried me aft but stopped when they reached the first ladder going up to the main deck. They set the stretcher on the deck, and for several minutes discussed how to get me up the ladder. Again, I suggested they wait a minute and got off the stretcher, climbed the ladder, and they folded the stretcher and brought it up. I laid back down on it and they carried me to the quarterdeck.
As we neared the head of the gangway to 10-10 Dock, the ship's PA system blared: "A stretcher is needed for a severely wounded man!" and gave the location.
"Leave me here and go get him," I suggested to the sailors. "I'll be okay." They stopped. I got off the stretcher and sat on a nearby bit.
While I sat in the warm sun waiting for the sailors to return, I wasn't conscious of any guns firing. Number-3 and -4 turrets blocked my view of Battleship Row, but I noticed that Helena was still afloat at 10-10 Dock. I also noticed a navy officer, a sailor, and Marine were standing at the head of the gangway.
Though my head felt like it was detached and floating several feet above the deck watching what went on below, I still was mentally alert enough to know that the Japs had made a shambles of Pearl Harbor. I wondered how much damage had been done to Pennsylvania. But I was too dazed to give much thought to future happenings. Feeling very tired I considered laying down on the teakwood deck but resisted the urge.
Floating in and out of awareness I didn't know whether the severely wounded man was carried off via way of the quarterdeck gangway. Curious about him I wondered if another gangway had been put in place forward. After awhile, I began to worry that the sailors had forgotten me. But, eventually, they returned and carried me to the dock.
They laid me on a cotton mattress in the bed of a civilian pickup truck. The driver headed for the hospital at breakneck speed. When the truck hit a bump in the road it bounced me into the air above the mattress. The pickup had a 2 x 6 board bolted across the top of its bed. Mesmerized, I stared fixedly at the board and began worrying that a large bump would throw me into it. The driver apparently didn't realize that the rough ride could do more damage than lack of speed in getting me to the hospital. Even though I was still woozy from the bomb blast, it was an unforgettable ride.
Upon arriving at the hospital, the attendants moved me to another mattress, laying on the deck just inside the entrance. Private First Class Dale was on one of the nearby mattresses. Once more, the stretcher bearers started to give me priority and I again suggested that they take him first. He thanked me and they took him away. It was the last time I'd ever see him.
Eventually I was taken into a ward and put to bed. After a quick check by ward medical personnel and a morphine shot, I drifted into an untroubled sleep.
I awakened after dark to the sound of guns firing in the harbor area. Later, I learned that a flight of six Enterprise planes had been coming in for a landing on Ford Island and four were shot down by friendly forces.
After the guns quit firing, the only sounds to be heard in the darkness were the muted voices of medical personnel and the moans of the wounded.
Pennsylvania Pearl Harbor Action Report
The Quack Corps–a Marine's War Pearl Harbor to Okinawa
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