December 7, 1941 - A date that will live in infamy. . .

. . .but not it seems in the Los Angeles Times. No mention this morning. (Strange that, when you think about it. "Los Angeles Times". "Infamy". Hmmm.) Unless, of course, you count this review in the Calendar section of a sympathetic book on those normal, every-day, decent fellows the kamikaze pilots. There weren't any at Pearl Harbor in 1941 but it's as close as I could find to a reference to this day's antecedents in the Los Angeles Newspaper Monopoly.

The Long Beach Press Telegram did a bit better: two large photographs on the front page of the "California" section with a large half-page article continued-on-the-inside. It turned out to be mostly about video games, although still sympathetic to a loss of the sense of history. Tom Hennessy's column was rather what I was looking for.

I don't know if this post is so much about patriotism as it is a lament for the passage of time from a middle-aged grump. When I was growing up every house in our neighbourhood was headed by a World War II veteran. Some had two. (Except the Paulings. But Mr Pauling was quite old and neighbourhood rumor had it that he had been in the horse cavalry which made him something of an icon in my eyes. Alas, he never talked about it and I was a little afraid of him and never asked.) So World War II and its significant dates were the background of my childhood, ever-present and never to be forgotten. Tarawa, Guadalcanal, and Okinawa were names to conjure with in our house. Bastogne and the Battle of the Bulge, where his dad was surrounded, was of more significance at Ronnie Cranford's house.

Forget December 7th? Never.