Locomotive to the Past by George Schultz (iphone ebook reader .TXT) 📕

old man had maintained (always) that there had been (always) a pronounced difference—in the nation’s attitude—back then! A vast difference—in the “mood”, of the entire country! And it had never changed! Had never lessened! Of this, Our Hero had become truly—and irreversibly—convinced!

The population, of the entire nation—he was positive—had been totally caught up, in those highly-troubled 1940’s days! Completely wrapped up—in the questionable-survival situation, that had so, inescapably, prevailed, in early-forties! Dedicated—the entire country—in their consistent, all-for-one, nationalistic, unashamed, patriotic, manner of living! Of being!

Frighteningly, this ever-so-enviable quality was—Jason was sure—totally, and conspicuously, lacking, in 2001! Or, at least, so it appeared! Of course, in the early-forties, there had been no “progressive” Jane Fonda! Just Tokyo Rose! And everyone, in America, hated her! Absolutely hated her!

Our Hero’s maternal granddad had been only nine-years-old—when the Japanese had, so mercilessly (and sneakily) converged, on those poor people, in Pearl Harbor!

In Grandpa’s words, “Everything stopped!”! With the December 7, 1941, atrocity, everything had “come… to a complete, screeching, halt”! And, according to the old man, “The military-induction offices… all across the entire country . . . were, actually, flooded! Overrun—with volunteers! The very next day! With devoted . . . patriotic . . . young men! Willing to die! Willing to give their lives . . . for their country!”

Talented baseball stars—such as Bob Feller and Joe DiMaggio—had enlisted, on December eighth! “Boston’s Splendid Splinter”—Ted Williams—was not far behind! Neither were numerous other prominent—and some not so prominent—sports personalities!

No one seemed to know more about that war—than this young man’s maternal grandfather. No one—that Jason had ever met, anyway. Not anybody that he’d ever had the opportunity, to listen to.

Another troubling factor—on this most-troubling day: Jason had, “forever”, found himself wishing—wishing often, and hoping fervently—that the current schoolhouse history classes (the ones to which he’d, so recently, been exposed) would’ve devoted infinitely more time and space, and attention, to “The Big One”. And to what Tom Brokau would come to refer to, as “The Greatest Generation”. There should be much more time—devoted to the war! And a hell of a lot more attention!

From his “educational” studies—all through his “school-housing”—the lad had always felt that he’d learned more (significantly more) about the life and times of Nelson Mandela! Definitely more—than he’d ever learned, about Thomas Jefferson, or John Adams, or Benjamin Franklin, or James Madison, or any of the Founding Fathers. Certainly more, than the minutia that he’d been taught—about Douglas MacArthur, or Chester A. Nimitz, or George S. Patton, or Winston Churchill, or “Bull” Hulsey, or Jimmy Doolittle! Or any of the many other out and out, self-sacrificing, heroes, of World War II! The Doolittle raid, on Tokyo—in 1942—was scarcely noted! How could that be?

Thankfully, Our Hero had learned a lot—had learned much—about such towering items, as Corregidor! About the unforgivable, the outlandishly-sadistic, Bataan Death March! About the God-awful, terribly-bloody, battles of Iwo Jima, and Tarawa, and Guadalcanal! About D-Day—and the rise and fall of the merciless, sacrilegious, Third Reich! About “The Battle of The Bulge”! And all of this knowledge—literally, all of this authentic history—had come, from Grandpa Piepczyk. Exclusively! From him—alone!

But, how many others—how many of Jason’s generation, or even his mother’s generation—could’ve had the undeniable benefit, of simply listening, to this well-versed, this dear, old man? “Learning at this highly-versed, heavily-principled, man’s knee”? His “knee”! An old—very-outdated cliché. But, in this case, one which was very apt. So fittingly apt.

Clearly, the earthshaking fact, of the two planes hurling into the World Trade Center towers, was—at first flush—even worse than Pearl Harbor! Much worse!

Potentially, there would be thousands—of out and out casualties! Thousands of doomed people! Thousands of purely-innocent souls! Killed! All murdered! Wiped out! Literally thousands of unspeakable, merciless, patently-vicious, indescribably-atrocious, deaths! Executions, they were! Maybe tens of thousands, of them! Probably tens of thousands, of them! Overwhelming numbers! Staggering numbers! Who could ever fathom the extent, of these most gruesome—most frightening—fatalities! Dear Lord!

“Dear Lord” is right! And this is all happening here! Right here! Right here! Here—on the North American continent! In New York City, for heaven’s sake! On American soil! Here! Here—and now!

Pearl Harbor was, to Jason, a totally different story. On the horrible day, that the Japanese had launched their cowardly sneak attack—when they had, literally, snuck up on those poor, unsuspecting, peace-loving, people—Hawaii had been “merely” an American territory. Plus, Oahu, actually, was located, geographically, hundreds of miles—from the mainland.

Well, of course, it still is. Those heroic people survived the terrible mass destruction—as all Americans seemed able to, back then. They, in fact, have thrived—over the ensuing years. Again, as all Americans seemed to have had the “knack” for—back then.

It would be almost 20 years after “The Day That Will Live In Infamy”—before all those beautiful islands would become an actual state! Our 50th!

There was absolutely no red state/blue state—split-down-the-middle—partisan mentality back then! According to Grandpa, the whole, entire, nation had mobilized! In an instant! Against the Japanese! Then, against the Germans and Italians—on whom, the United States had declared war, two days later!

The thought—of those “glorious” days, as so ably described, by Grandpa Piepczyk—had always brought a wistful, far-away, sigh from a highly-impressed, strongly-moved, Jason! Always! He had solemnly regretted—from age five, or six,—having “missed out”, on such a “classic” (and, obviously, “classy”) era!

At the busy, crowded, coffee shop, Mr. Clarkson—the eatery’s owner—had both TVs turned on! Each tuned in—reporting the travesty! The one at the east end of the restaurant was showing The Fox News Channel. The west end set was tuned, to CNN. But, who was paying attention? Well—to be honest—maybe, a few! But, a precious few! Damn few, truth to tell!

What’s wrong with you people? Can’t you understand? Are all of you clods totally incapable . . . of understanding? Of understanding . . . what’s happening? Don’t you see? Don’t you care? Don’t you realize . . . what might be going on? What MUST be going on? Can’t you, freaking, SEE? Can’t you see everything . . . unraveling? Can’t you see . . . ANYTHING?

Commentators had begun to speculate, that the mind-numbing number, of casualties—resulting from the terrible atrocity—could, possibly, be listed,