The Japanese Attack Southern California

From the yeah, really department: In February 1942, the Japanese mounted the first mainland attack against the United States since the War of 1812, and the attack was likely prompted by prickly pear cactus spines stuck in a Japanese fellow's ass.

In the early months of World War II, ten Japanese submarines patrolled the west coast of the United States. In 1941 and 1942 they sunk about a dozen ships, sticking to targets at sea. But Kozo Nishino, the commander of I-17, a 350 foot long B-1 class submarine 70 feet longer than the largest German U-boat, decided to up the ante one evening in February 1942. He surfaced off the shore of Ellwood Oil Field, near Santa Barbara, California, with his crew of 101. For twenty minutes, starting at about 7:15 pm, the I-17 fired 15 to 20 shells at the facility.

After the attack, Captain Nishino reported to the Japanese command that he’d “left Santa Barbara in flames,” but the shelling was kind of a bust. The Japanese had the best shipboard night optics in the world at the time, but most of the shells fell either well short or well beyond the intended target. The attack caused about 500 dollars worth of damage to the oil facility pier, and there was only one injury reported. (That injury actually happened well after the attack, when a worker was injured while trying to defuse an unexploded shell.)

Nishino knew the area well. In the 1930s, he’d often captained a merchant tanker in and out of the Santa Barbara channel, sometimes loading crude oil at the Ellwood oil facility.

During one such visit in the late 30s, officials invited Nishino ashore for a welcome ceremony. While walking up the path to the ceremony location, he fell into a prickly pear cactus, and cactus spines were pulled from his butt while oil field workers looked on and laughed.

As legend goes (it’s a widely accepted story, but not without dispute), Captain Nishino never forgave the folks at the Ellwood facility for laughing at him, and would years later seize the opportunity to gain revenge from a Japanese submarine. Thus, the probability that the first mainland attack against the United States since the War of 1812 was provoked by a prickly pear cactus--and laughter.

The attack on Ellwood could be viewed as kind of a joke, especially since the jitters brought on by the attack almost certainly led to the so-called “Battle of Los Angeles” the next day. Decades later, the two events would inspire the movie “1941.”

But in the longer term, the hysteria provoked by the attack was no laughing matter. It led to greater censorship of the news, and increased pressure to confine Japanese-Americans and Japanese visitors in internment camps. Soon, 110,000 Japanese people--62% of them U.S. citizens--were forced to leave homes and businesses behind and were confined to internment camps.

My Son and Our Sun

(In honor of Mother's Day, here's a re-post from October 2008.)

I write about my son Dylan often. I was a late-in-life dad when he came into the world, and eight years later, he's still a fascinating little creature.

Dylan is a good kid. More than that, he has the makings of a guy who will be a good person as an adult. He's not perfect. He can't eat anything without ten percent of it ending up on the floor. Sometimes it's like pulling teeth to get him to do his homework. Sometimes he knees me in the privates when we're wrestling. I think it's accidental.

But yeah, in my heart and mind, Dylan shines in many ways. Still, Uncle E's post today in which he mentioned Dylan surprised me, and left me with a big lump in my throat. There's something about hearing or reading good things about my son from someone else--especially when that someone else is as thoughtful and perceptive as Uncle E--that just makes my heart swell anew.

*

I don't mention my wife Rhonda as often as I do Dylan. That largely has to do with Rhonda's desire for privacy. She's fairly well known in our community, and she doesn't like the idea of her life being an open book. So, I respect her feelings, although the woman has had a fascinating life. Heck, someone should base a novel on her experiences.

The three of us went out boat camping on Lake Shasta on my last break at home before Dylan commenced going to school again. We had a wonderful time, but two days into the trip, Rhonda had pressing matters to attend to at her office, so Dylan and I dropped her off at the marina and headed back to camp. Dylan, at the age of eight, had spent a total of two nights away from Rhonda in his life. He was brave about the idea of two "dudes only" nights at the camp, but on the second morning without Mom, after we finished breakfast, I could tell that something was on his mind.

"Dad, if I tell you that I miss Mom, will it hurt your feelings?"

I chuckled. "Of course not. I've had a great time, but I miss your mom too."

Dylan said, "I've had a great time too, until now. Now, it seems boring without Mom. She's always so cheerful and funny; she always makes me feel like every day is a special day. She's like the sun."

She's like the sun. Dylan's words, and the look on his face, hit me with a wallop. Dylan offered a poetic essence of what I've always loved about Rhonda, from the day I first saw her and heard her talk in our high school cafeteria, thirty-six years ago.

She can show a tough-as-nails exterior, but inside lives a marshmallow heart. She has an irreverent, bawdy sense of humor, but a little girl's sense of wonder. She's one of the bravest, kindest, and most compassionate people I've ever known. Also, I like seeing her naked.

She's like the sun.

I'm one lucky dude.

Fidelity and iPhones

I recently learned via a blog post that a female friend, one of the few blogger buddies I sometimes see in person, keeps her iPhone 4 in her bra while she's at work. On vibrate. I guess calling her while she's working is now out of the question. I'd feel like I was fooling around on my wife.

***

Funny what you can learn from Sitemeter. I never knew, until a few days ago, that there was an Alamo, California. It’s east of Oakland.

***

I woke early Saturday morning, so I left while wife and son were sleeping to do some grocery shopping. On the way, I stopped to have breakfast. While I was eating, the song “Sugar Sugar” came over the speakers. That song came out in September 1969, while I was in the eighth grade. Forty-one years later, it still makes me wanna hurl. Yep, it was the #1 hit song in 1969, and the very mention of it provokes a cringe.

I posted something to that effect on Facebook, and Bob Barbanes, a friend, former coworker, and former disk jockey, mentioned the name of the singer: Ron Dante. Turns out that ol’ Ron is still active, even recently appearing with the CBS Orchestra on the David Letterman show. That’s pretty cool.

But I still can’t stand “Sugar Sugar.”

Rain Patrols

I'm nine, and I walk in the door soaking wet. No coat, no rain jacket. I've been walking in the rain. I'd loved walking in the rain for as long as I could remember. Rain seemed like a special occasion in southern California, and I wanted to feel it, to remember it, to celebrate.

My mom sighs and asks, "What were you thinking?"
"It was fun."
"Getting soaked is fun?"
"Well, yeah."

Mom shakes her head, but she's smiling just a little.

***

Dylan asks if we can go out "on patrol."
"It's raining," I say.
"It'll be fun."
I start to tell him that we'll wait for the rain to slow down. But then, I remember.

I grab a jacket and meet my son back at the front door. "Where's your jacket?"
"Don't need one," he says.
"C'mon. Get a jacket."
"Please, Dad?"

A memory. A nine year-old's memory.

We come back a half hour later. We're soaked. We're on the verge of shivering. Mom is waiting.

"Where are your jackets?"
"We left them behind," Dylan answers.
"What were you guys thinking?"

But she's smiling just a little, and while her words were "What were you guys thinking?", what we hear is "I love you both, even when you do stupid stuff."

She orders us to stand by the front door. She grabs a couple of towels, orders us to take off our shirts, towels off Dylan, towels off me. She disappears, and comes back with sweat pants and fresh t-shirts for both of us. We put on the dry duds, and retire to the sofa to watch "Dirty Jobs."

Rhonda comes out of the kitchen with hot chocolate. She looks at us, shakes her head, and utters, "boys."

I look at Dylan. He looks so happy.