A Child’s Remembrances of Pearl Harbor: The Day of Infamy and the Years of War

On Dec. 7, 1941, in the early morning hours on the beautiful Hawaiian island of Oahu, Dorinda Makanaonalani was eating breakfast with her family when they heard the sounds of low-flying planes; then, almost immediately, loud explosions, followed by more planes passing directly over their house.

Her father remarked that it was “unusual” for the military to do maneuvers on a Sunday, and he bolted into the front yard, with his young daughter running close behind.

“We looked up into the orange-red emblem of the Rising Sun and we could see the pilots’ faces and even the goggles that covered their eyes” she recalled. “The sounds of the bullets were muffled by the roar of the engines; we could not hear them, but the incendiary bullets found their targets, and parts of our house caught on fire. The front door of our neighbor’s house was so bullet-ridden from the strafing, it fell from the hinges.”

She was just 6 years old when her eyes saw things she couldn’t describe or begin to understand. Images were etched into her heart and mind which she kept silent about for almost 50 years, until she finally told her story in a book titled “Pearl Harbor Child: A Child’s View of Pearl Harbor—From Attack to Peace,” first printed in 1993 under her married name of Nicholson. She experienced the blackouts, rationing, air raid drills, gas masks, censorship, martial law, wartime currency, and finally peace.

The Makanaonalanis lived on Jean Street in a small civilian community on the Pearl City Peninsula, across the channel from Ford Island, where the battleship USS Utah was docked just a few hundred yards from their home. As the attack continued, she could see that it was on its side in the murky water. There was smoke everywhere, and the smell of fire and burning oil filled the air.

Standing beside her father, she watched the Japanese torpedo planes scream past at treetop level, strafing her street on their way to attack the U.S. ships anchored peacefully in the harbor.

In the next instant, her mother heard the radio announcer give the dramatic news: “Air raid Pearl Harbor. This is no maneuver. This is the real McCoy.” This message was followed by an urgent request for all medical and military personnel to report to the hospitals and bases.

Her father ran back inside the house and yelled for the family to “get in the car.” They took nothing with them, not even their dog. He drove through the smoke-filled streets, uncertain of where to go.

“He knew he wanted to get away from the bay, fearing another attack. He drove to another vantage point on the harbor, where we could see that another battleship was upside down and others were ablaze and helpless,” she said.

The feelings of shock were quickly replaced with anxiety and fear. Her father drove to Waimano Home Road, to the sugarcane fields in the hills above Pearl Harbor. Even from that point, they could still see the fires and, fearing for what could happen next, they parked their car and went deep into the sugarcane fields. She could feel the field shake beneath her little feet from the massive explosions; explosions that would continue for days from the stored ammunition.

Within hours, neighbors joined them in the sugarcane field, bringing only tidbits of news because Hawaii Gov. Joseph Poindexter had ordered all radio stations off the air in case the Japanese came back and tried to use the signals to guide them to the islands for another attack. Telephones could not be used.

As the sun set that evening, military police found them in the fields and evacuated them to a recreation hall called Sugar Mill. Shortly after arriving there, red streaks flashed over Pearl Harbor with sounds of gunfire in all directions.

“We saw the sky light up like an extended lightning storm. Then, there was silence. The remainder of the night was spent in fear, wondering what the latest exchange of gunfire meant. There was nothing to do but huddle together and wait for morning as we slept on the floor in total darkness,” she said.

Nearly 50 years passed before she learned that the battle sounds and red streaks in the sky were the “Fighting Six,” a group of U.S. fighter planes from the aircraft carrier USS Enterprise that was trying to land on the island. Sadly, they were mistaken for the enemy, and U.S. troops fired at them, destroying five fighter planes and killing three pilots by friendly fire.

Her family, along with approximately 100 civilian men, women, and children, remained at the shelter for four to five days before returning home. Their home was damaged from the fire, but they could still live there after removing the incendiary bullets that were supposed to burn when hitting a target.

“As kids, we played games to see who could collect the most shrapnel,” Nicholson said, noting she still has one bullet from her home.

Thankfully, she found her dog under the house and they enjoyed a tremendous reunion.

The islands were put under military rule. A curfew was implemented and people couldn’t leave the house at night unless they were given a pass. Lights had to be out at night. The media and mail were censored. Guards were placed in front of buildings. Bomb shelters and trenches were dug. They lived every day in fear of a land invasion.

Nicholson recalled that as the war progressed after the attack, food became scarce as most of the food was imported to the islands by boat through possible enemy waters. Long lines became a fact of life, and grocery stores began limiting the number of shoppers.

“It was a ‘special’ kind of rationing that began even before the official ration stamps were printed and in use,” she said.

Gas was rationed. There was no toilet paper. Eggs and meat were too expensive to buy. Butter was scarce, so the distributors provided an “orange-colored tablet” to mix with margarine to make it look like butter. The tablet was later replaced with a liquid in a plastic pouch, which made it easier to color the margarine to look like butter.

In the 1940s, silk stockings with seams were extremely popular but in short supply, because the military needed the material to make parachutes. Women improvised by applying makeup on their legs and drawing “seam lines.”

Poindexter urged all nonessential civilians to leave the island because he wanted fewer mouths to feed and fewer people to defend if the enemy returned. The wives and children of the military were forced to leave. The Makanaonalanis chose to stay.

She recalled that every person over 6 years of age had to be fingerprinted and carry an identification card at all times.

“My mom and dad never told me that this was to identify the bodies in case of bombing raids,” she said.

People dug trenches and built bomb shelters. Residents over the age of 2 years were required to carry a gas mask at all times, and schools had regular drills to practice putting them on. Another protective measure was to install barbed wire along the island’s coastline. Waikiki Beach had rolls and rolls of “ugly barbed wire” stretched across the sand leading to the ocean.

As time progressed, people found creative ways to enjoy light at night. Her parents, as did many others, bought black paint and painted the windows black so they could turn the lights on after the designated blackout time.

“We had to be extremely careful about any light escaping from our houses because the block warden was very strict. If he saw any light, he would report it to the soldiers in a patrol car. They took care of the problem by shooting out the light,” she said. There were no street lights, no lighted signs on buildings, or car lights.

The curfews stipulated that no one could be on the streets after dark without a special pass. If you had a pass to be out after dark, your car lights had to have a shield or hood over them, only allowing half of the light to pass through.

Censorship became a fact of life during the war years and included all types of communications, such as newspapers, magazines, radio broadcasts, and the U.S. mail. Hundreds of readers would censor the mail and ink or cut out any parts that were judged to be unacceptable or hurtful to the war effort. The objective for both civilian and military censors was to prevent any important military-related facts from falling into Japanese hands.

“One forbidden topic was the weather,“ Nicholson said. ”If you mentioned the weather, it would be cut out of your letter. Even the newspapers couldn’t mention forecasts or current conditions since this might help the enemy plan an attack.”

Nicholson was involved with the community gardens. She watched as women joined the service, some going to work to help the war efforts. There were remnants of war throughout the island as homes, buildings, and automobiles were damaged. She saw how the Japanese Americans were treated, detained by force, and taken to detention camps. It took more than 50 years for the U.S. government to offer an official apology and reparations.

The restrictions were lifted when the war was declared over on Aug. 14, 1945, when the Japanese agreed to surrender. She recalls the celebrations in the streets with firecrackers, people banging pots and pans, strangers kissing strangers, alarms, horns, sirens, and whistles. The sky over the harbor flashed brightly with flares, and the ship whistles sounded.

“As we came closer to our house, our car lights picked up the white uniform of a sailor standing in a yard across the street. Unlike the others, he was alone. I watched him curiously, wondering why he wasn’t with the jubilant crowds nearby. Then I saw that he had his own way to express his joy at America’s victory. He leaned against a palm tree with his elbow bent, and rested his face in the crook of his arm. I didn’t hear him cry, but I could see his shoulders and head quake with emotion,” she said.

She said: “I told my story for future generations. War is not romantic. It hurts more than the military and civilians. It hurts families and communities. It hurts our children. Over the years, I’ve had the privilege of meeting many of our military heroes and I share their stories, as well. We must learn from the past and never repeat the lessons learned. We must continue to pursue peace and healing.”

At 87 years young, she continues to research and write. Her story continues.