Before dawn, Jerry Westfield and his two excited boys boarded their runabout at Ala Wai Harbor. Stowing the fishing gear along with their lunch, Jerry yanked the cord and started the Evinrude outboard while his sons tossed the mooring lines onto the dock.
The black sky turned to cloudless cobalt as they slipped out to sea, past the enormous gray hulls of the battleships lying quietly at anchor. It was going to be a glorious day of fishing and their spirits rose along with the sun. The fish were already biting, and the glinting windows of distant Waikiki Beach hotels seemed to be applauding their prowess. All was well until eight o’clock that morning, December 7, 1941.
To remind oneself of how quickly circumstances can deteriorate, one doesn’t need to reflect back seventy years. A little over sixteen years ago, on a sunny Tuesday morning in September, the lives of every American changed for the worse. Most of us can easily identify a moment in our own lives that dashed our dreams.