Richard Erwin

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My Grandpa's War

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My Grandpa's War

Today marks the tenth anniversary since my grandpa died. He was 91, he had recently had major surgery and ended up going to hospice where he died peacefully. I was 3,000 miles away doing my PhD in Dublin, Ireland. Few people had as large an impact on me as he did. He taught me how to ride a bicycle but more than that he was just there for most of my childhood being himself. I have, unsurprisingly, been reflecting on him and his impact as this anniversary approached. When I was last in Virginia I found copies in my brother’s house of some memoirs he wrote in his final years, and I thought this would be a good time to share one: in this case, his memory of his time at war.

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Remembering Pearl Harbor

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Remembering Pearl Harbor

Before he passed away in 2014, my grandpa wrote down a few short pieces about some of his memories from the years 1941-51. These were written for a cousin of mine as a way to record and share some of his stories. For most of my life he had been relatively quiet about these topics, but as he passed through his 80s and into his 90s, he opened up a bit more about it. One thing that struck me, though, was how when remembering Pearl Harbor and the entry of America into WWII what stuck in his mind 60 years later was not FDR’s speech or the horror of an attack on America. It was what America did to its own people. The stories below reflect the specific circumstances of growing up in relatively diverse rural communities in central California, and how what happened there shaped his memory of December 1941.