Free Pearl Harbor Christmas by Stanley Weintraub Page A

likely that Hopkins and Churchill, with rooms across the hallway from each other, talked shop into the morning, stimulated not only by events but by the spirits, however different, both could not do without. Hopkins, often disabled by internal troubles requiring drastic surgery, persisted heroically through them and the war as the President’s legs, but as he lay dying soon after, would write from his hospital bed to Robert Sherwood, who assisted in writing Roosevelt’s speeches, that his doctors “are struggling over a very bad case of cirrhosis of the liver—not due, I regret to say, from taking too much alcohol. . . . I dislike hating the effect of a long life of congenial and useful drinking and neither deserve the reputation nor enjoy its pleasures.”
    Across the continent in Seattle, someone after dark sounded a fire alarm and a wannabe Paul Revere on horseback galloped about the city shouting, “Blackout! Air raid! The Jap bombers are coming!” Ostensibly to enforce the false alarm, mobs plunged about the downtown area smashing neon signs and lighted shop windows, looting the displays. Scenes like it occurred elsewhere, but mostly in the west. There, panic was easiest to stir, military aircraft punctuated the skies, and Christmas merchandise loomed invitingly behind glass. None of the “strange planes” were strange.

 
    December 24, 1941
    Christmas Eve
    O N THE Nagato at ten—it was X + 16, X being the opening day of the war—the chief of the naval general staff, Admiral Osami Nagano, boarded to offer a battle report about Pearl Harbor, based on interviews with the returned crews, now anchored at Kure. Although still morning, the presentation was followed, Admiral Ugaki wrote, “by a drinking party.” Then the brass left for the Agaki, flagship of the Pearl Harbor strike force, where Admiral Yamamoto spoke to commanders and officers of Kido Butai . “Pictures were taken and toasts followed.”
    In Surabaja, once the crews of the Pope and Ford were paid at one-and-a-half Dutch guilders to the dollar, they were granted Christmas Eve liberty. Many put on their whites and took tenders ashore. According to the Ford ’s diary, Mac McKean, Dan Nowlin, R. M. Soyars and Henry Mate
    caught a Dutch Navy bus into town and had no trouble in finding a nice combination restaurant and bar. Someone there knew a little English and was helpful in the choice of food. Heinekens beer was recognized immediately and ordered. Then McKean spotted a glass enclosed counter with lots of rich, creamy cakes and cookies of various sizes and shapes. They ate like food was going out of style and everyone enjoyed their enthusiasm. There was no order in their eating and drinking. Beer mixed with the rich cakes and the entré[e], then more beer before and after dessert, and more beer. There were girls, too—who were easy to talk to, even if each did not understand the other, at first. After a couple of hours of vocabulary swapping and sign language, none had any difficulty understanding the other.
    Jon Cross, William Mack, and C. A. Darrah of Ford were also in the first boat ashore. “They caught a cab to the Dutch Naval Officer’s Club, a prestigious large clubhouse on the outskirts of town. It was one fancy place, with silver place settings, flowers, immaculate adornments, etc. They stayed at the bar and sampled several curry appetizers, but noticing that most of the tables were reserved, they left for the Hotel Oranje. There they had a marvelous Xmas dinner, 4 followed by several fancy drinks. Truely a relaxing time after weeks at sea, with its deprivation, privation, and just gut-tightening watch standing and alerts.”
    The account was understated. All the ships that had made it to Java had left behind dead and wounded at Cavite, and many of the bomb-damaged ships and their crews would not survive beyond Darwin, Australia. Balikpapan would fall to the Japanese on January 24, barely a month later, and exotic Surabaja would fall on