This letter was written by my mother, Persis Carling, to her mother Clara Spencer from San Francisco 80 years ago today, on Dec.9, 1941, two days after Pearl Harbor was bombed. It mentions my dad, Gerald, and my sister, Geraldine, who had been born in August. The others mentioned in the letter were Gerald’s sister and her husband, Clora and Frank Martin, and Berta, who is Persis’s sister Roberta.
Dear Mother and all,
We just received your nice letter yesterday just before we heard the President address Congress. Your letter spoke of a life free from fear and excitement while we were all excited about what was going on and what was yet to come. Everybody we talk to says they wish they were back in Utah where it was safe.
Yesterday we listened to the radio all day. They said all cities and towns from the Alaskan border to San Francisco would be blacked out tonight and that all radio stations would be cut off. One report later in the day said there had been an airplane carrier lurking off the coast of Washington.
All the schools across the bay were closed down yesterday as a precautionary measure. They have so many defense plants etc. over there they could expect heavy bombing.
They told us that one blast of a siren without a break was an air raid alarm. An “all clear” signal was a long blast from a siren with one break. they said if at any time we were on the streets and heard shots to immediately take cover. If we heard planes overhead, even if we did think them to be friendly, to lie down flat on your stomach so as not to be recognized and be the object of a direct hit.
Last night we were listening to the Lux Radio Theater when all at once it went off. Every station on the radio was silent. We were getting ready to go down to the hospital to visit a friend of ours who has a new baby. We were going to leave Geraldine with Clora while we went. Just as we got outside by the car all the street lights went off—“Geepers” it was a funny feeling—when we were going up Clora’s front steps we heard a siren but it only lasted about half a second. It came from down by the waterfront on North Beach so we just supposed it was a ship or something . We decided not to go to the hospital, so about 7:30 Frank suggested we take a ride up on Twin Peaks and see what was going on. As we rode through the streets some were all lit up with neon lights in front of business houses and people’s windows were all lit up and on other streets there were no lights at all and men were standing at intersections directing traffic and saying “lights out”. Kids were all over the sidewalks calling to every car that flashed lights on to see where they were, “turn your lights out”. We couldn’t figure it out. Riding in complete darkness is worse than walking especially around bends. Streetcars and taxies were without lights, hospitals and dormitories were blacked out, but looking down from Twin Peaks we could tell where most every street was. Market Street was one long streak of red neon signs. Mission Street was just about as bad. Fillmore and Haight were just little flickers but you could see plenty of lights all over town. We heard once that the Coast Guard was driving a submarine out of the Golden Gate. Search lights were going back and forth across the sky for awhile when we were on our way to Twin Peaks. When the radio came back on at 10 o’clock they told us there had been 60 unidentified planes flying toward San Francisco. They were spotted about 20 miles out at sea and American planes had taken off to engage them in air battle but they turned back and were being followed to see if they could determine the exact location of the airplane carrier at sea. They went on and described the unsuccessful blackout of San Francisco. It said radio stations were silenced so the enemy couldn’t spot us by radio waves. Street lights were turned off and the siren in the old Ferry Building sounded off for the first time in years which after one weak blow died out in silence. So, San Francisco was caught without any general alarm and it went on to tell how half cocked the whole thing went off. It said from now on all fire engines will be backed out of their stations and sirens turned on in order to let everyone know they mean business.
I heard every little noise last night and expected to hear the worst but when morning came we were still safe and sound and I felt like I had had a bad dream. Everything has happened in such a hurry. There aren’t any air raid shelters or even a clear space to run to if your house caught fire. I sure don’t want to be here when the fireworks start if I can help it. Gerald and Berta seem to think it’s “heap fun”, all the excitement, but it makes me feel sorta sick inside.
Sunday when news came that Japan had attacked Pearl Harbor etc. the radio sent messages out for all Army, Navy and Marine men to report for duty immediately. All policemen and firemen were called back on duty. There was either one or two policemen on every corner in the city. Trucks were going around gathering up all uniformed men on the streets. Cars were as thick as ants on a honey jar, everyone was out to see what was going on. Newsboys came out calling “Extra! Extra! Japan declares war on America!” People came running from all directions to buy a paper.
The radio is off again this morning so I don’t know what’s been going on during the night but it don’t look so good or they would be broadcasting.
I hope you have a beautifully decorated tree and lots of popcorn and apples for Christmas because maybe if it gets too hot for comfort down here I’ll hop the train and come home (if I don’t change my mind about the fireworks). Gerald would have to stay as long as there is work but he said last night if I wanted to I could take the baby and go home. I would hate to leave him here in case it got bad, I’d be worried sick, but at least the baby would be safe.
It doesn’t look like Christmas will be so “Merry” for a lot of folks this year but I guess we can be thankful we have what we have in spite of it all. Don’t buy us any presents. If we are still here you can send us a box of eats and a letter or just a letter as we don’t plan on sending gifts to all of you.
Well Geraldine is crying for her bath so I’ll close for now. Tell Aunt Clara and Uncle George I send my love.
Persis, Gerald and Geraldine