PEARL HARBOR, Hawaii — Since that terrible morning 65 years ago, the survivors of the attack on Pearl Harbor have been called heroes, VIPS of the greatest generation and the first American witnesses to the last world war.
But more and more, the members of this exclusive clique are being called something else: endangered.
With age and aching joints slowing even the most hardy of old sailors, Marines and airmen, the major national survivors group has decided this year's anniversary gathering will be its last in Hawaii.
"We're getting about as extinct as the dodo bird," said Mal Middlesworth, the president of the Pearl Harbor Survivors Association, which traditionally meets here every five years. "The way its going, our next national convention here we could hold in a phone booth."
Middlesworth, 83, who watched the attack from the deck of the heavy cruiser USS San Francisco, said much of his membership of 4,600 survivors had simply gotten too old to travel great distances. "There's a lot of people in wheelchairs and in walkers," he said. "And we don't have any replacement troops."
But if they're going, they're going with a bang. Organizers said the crowd at Thursday's commemoration on the harbor — dubbed "The Last Reunion" — was one of the largest in years, with more than 3,000 spectators, double the number expected, some of whom camped out well before dawn to enter. That number included about 400 survivors, decked out in naval hats, campaign ribbons and medals.
Many survivors brought several generations of family. "A lot of the families are coming just to bring grandpa," Middlesworth said. "And they need everyone there to help them get around."
Stephen Yorden, 86, made the trip from suburban Philadelphia with his two daughters, his granddaughter and a grandson. Yorden, who was a ship fitter on the destroyer USS Dewey when the attack began and who only recently retired from a career in construction, said his reasons for coming this year were simple.
"I'm getting tired: the old bones don't jump no more," he said, explaining he had been slowed by a bad back. "And I figured I may as well get rid of some money before I have to give it to Uncle Sam."
Academics and historians also crowded the island of Oahu this week, as part of a week-long symposium tied to the anniversary of the early-morning sneak attack, in which 2,338 servicemembers and civilians died and 21 warships were sunk or destroyed. Topics and events included a discussion of the Japanese perspective on the attacks and a re-enactment of a Dec. 6, 1941 jitterbug competition (the night before the attacks) featuring the same two dancers — Pat Thompson and Jack Evans — who won that night. This time around, their routine was shorter, slower, but undeniably sweeter.
Daniel A. Martinez, a historian with the National Park Service here in Honolulu, drew a comparison between this year's Pearl Harbor ceremony and a gathering in 1938 at Gettysburg, Pa., of about 2,000 Civil War veterans that was considered that group's last hurrah.
"This is literally an organization that's facing its own mortality," said Martinez. "That makes it not only a very difficult trip physically, but emotionally."
The tears in A.M. Geiger's eyes confirmed that. Geiger, 85, had traveled here from Buford, S.C., with his daughter, Janice, who had come from Tampa, Fla. On the morning of the attacks, Geiger had been enjoying a cup of coffee when a Japanese shell tore through the kitchen of the building where he was on Ford Island.
He came to this year's ceremony to donate an American flag he'd found that afternoon, and he welled up with tears at the thought of never returning to Pearl Harbor.
"Don't talk about that crap," said Geiger, who walks with a cane and wears a pacemaker. "I don't have any friends left."
Emotions aside, many of the old sailors were still more salty than sad. Mel Fisher, 84, a former engineer on the destroyer-tender USS Whitney, who recalled being blown out of his bunk on the morning of the attacks, was here with four generations of his family.
"I'm trying to get away from them," he said, smiling at his 18-year-old granddaughter, Kate.
Fisher said five members of his local chapter of Pearl Harbor survivors in northern California had died in the last year. "We have a luncheon once a month," he said. "If I can get seven of them vertical, that's a good day. Restaurants don't want us to come anymore, because we don't drink anymore."
Still, he said he was looking forward to trying to track down some old crewmates, though he said it wasn't always easy. "For some reason, they look different," Fisher said. "Their hair is goofy, and a lot of them limp."
The shrinking corps of Pearl Harbor survivors, which Middlesworth estimated at about 6,000 — mirrors an overall winnowing of number of World War II veterans. As of September 2006, the Department of Veterans Affairs said that about 3.2 million American World War II veterans were still alive, but that they are dying at a rate of 1,000 to 1,200 a day. By 2021 — Pearl Harbor's 80th anniversary — the department projects that the number of World War II veterans will have shrunk to 158,000.
Middlesworth said many veterans welcomed this anniversary as a last opportunity to show their families what they had endured that day. That included Middlesworth himself, who was an 18-year-old Marine when he saw Japanese torpedo planes buzzing over the fantail of his ship, the San Francisco.
"We didn't have any fuel or ammunition because we were in for service, and I didn't think my 45 would do any good, so I stood and watched," recalled Middlesworth, who now lives in Upland, Calif.
"But I saw the Oklahoma roll over, and I saw the Arizona blow up," he said, referring to two battleships destroyed that day. "I looked over, and the officer of the deck had tears running down his cheeks. But it was too much for my mind to understand."
Middlesworth said his grandson had recently asked him about the attacks, and when he began to talk, his son sat down. "I said, 'What are you doing?' And he said, 'Dad, you've never told me anything about what you saw."'
The survivors group plans to continue to hold national conventions every two years, but will keep the events on the mainland. That will not, of course, keep some veterans from coming to Hawaii, both for the memories and in honor of the men who did not survive.
"You never get over it: I've been crying," said Haile Jaekel, 82, who served on the heavy cruiser USS Salt Lake City, and lost friends that day. "But I'm going to keep coming 'til I drop."