Jack Fallon's recollections of Pearl Harbor day

Excerpted from memoir of John Fallon written with Janine Fallon - Mower By December 1941, I knew that scholastically, I was doing poorly. My grades for most of my classes were C’s and D’s. The subjects themselves were a problem for me in their own right. I also believed that my scholastic performance was adversely affected by the disappointment I felt about my experience in freshman football. I entered into the football program with the high expectations of being a great triple threat halfback in college. The fact that I didn’t realize that dream had me wondering about being at Syracuse at all. I sometimes wondered if I might have been better off had I accepted a full tuition scholarship that I had been offered from Gettysburg College. As someone said, there I might have been a big fish from in a little pond, whereas at Syracuse I was a little fish in a big pond. It was a typical winter day in Syracuse New York. The cold air and overcast sky held promise of the usual snowfall later in the evening. In my home town, Kingston NY, we were used to winter weather. However, many of my fellow students who transferred to Syracuse from other regions of the country had to acclimate themselves to the regions primary color of winter, gray. My friend Shimmy (aka Maynard Schermerhorn) and I were walking along the sidewalk from our dorms. I had first met Shimmy, who was from south central New York near Endicott, when I enrolled at the University the previous fall, and he played guard on the Syracuse football team with me. You couldn’t help but notice that the green grass edging the concrete sidewalks we walked on was now faded brown and covered with a light dusting from the snow that fell the night before. Syracuse is synonymous with winter and snow. Moisture from Lake Ontario causes the surrounding countryside to frequently be blanked with the frozen white stuff. It was a setting in which one might find it easy to drift into a gloomy mood, even more so if you were like me and weren’t doing well in your freshman year at college. Many of my class mates who enjoyed the long central New York winter climate could occupy their free time with skiing or other winter sports. Unless one sought out something bright, something cheerful, you might find yourself in a rather down frame of mind most of the time in this lousy cold climate. I only had my kitchen duties, thoughts about my girlfriend Shirley, and the fresh memories of the miserable football season that just ended to occupy my mind. I was nineteen years old when I found myself in this pesky down mood. As part of our scholarship responsibilities, Shimmy and I worked serving meals and cleaning up after the “pay their own way” students in Sims Hall. When we were done working in the kitchen, washing and drying other student’s dishes and silverware, it was customary for Shimmy and I to sit together and eat our free meal. Well, we decided, maybe varying the Sunday routine would help chase away the grey frame of mind I was in. Classes were done for the weekend, so “Shimmy” and I decided take a brisk walk down off the hill and hop on the late afternoon bus and head downtown for dinner. No doubt, dinner in a real restaurant would make the day more pleasant. Our dining destination was a Schrafts restaurant on Salina Street, eight or ten blocks east of the Syracuse University complex. Schrafts, the candy company, ran a chain of popular restaurants throughout the United States. It wasn’t the fanciest place to dine, but it was warm, welcoming and we settled into an enjoyable meal and conversations about school and football. We admitted that we were glad that we had managed to grab a few hours away from our dining hall routine and also we gave ourselves a chance to get away from the tensions of studying. Adding to our pleasure was the enjoyable dinner music that was piped in over the restaurant’s sound system. Shimmy and I were relaxing at the table after completing our meal, waiting for the waitress to bring our coffee. An especially entertaining musical piece played by Freddie Martin and his orchestra was on. The melody was from a classical concerto called Piano Concerto in B Flat. As it turns out, it was one of my favorite pieces of music. I knew the song from its Americanized title, “Tonight We Love; and if asked, I could sing it in my Irish tenor voice. Abruptly, the music stopped. We both paused, wondering why the music suddenly went quiet, the song not yet at its conclusion. After some static, a man’s voice apologized for the interruption and the announcer stated that it was felt that the patrons should be told the news that Japan had attacked the United States fleet at Pearl Harbor on this day, at 7 55 am Hawaii time, December 7, 1941. Shimmy and I looked at each other in disbelief. We both had the same thoughts screaming through our minds. How could this happen? How was this event going to affect our futures? We had, up to this point, been disconnected from the war in Europe. Shimmy was already a cadet in the Reserve Officers Training Corps. (R. O. T. C.) He had let me borrow his uniform one time to dress up and clown around for a snapshot. Though it didn’t fit right the effect was fun and made everyone laugh. I wasn’t in R. O. T. C. but I was aware that very soon, I would be faced with making a decision about my status under the Selective Service Systems draft provisions. Ever so slowly, we walked back to the bus stop. In quiet conversation, we agreed it was a good meal but neither of us could say that we enjoyed the sour dessert served over the P.A. system. We hopped a bus back to campus with an uneasiness brewing in our hearts as to what impact this event was going to have on our lives. With all the difficulties facing me as a freshman college student, all I needed was for my country to be involved in a world war putting draft eligible males, like me, on the spot to determine a course of action. I had been a student at Syracuse for only a little over 3 months. And yet in that short time I had experiences that would influence any decision I would make, whether wisely or not, about my immediate future. draft version to be published by Anam Cara Press 2015

Morning time

Morning time is a special time because that space when just waking and before the day takes off at full speed is where beauty can resides. The field outside my window wears many faces, often controlled by the season and the weather. This morning, as I wiped the remnants of sleep from my eyes, my first glance out the window revealed that the grasses are brown; the snow is whitish grey in its pre dawn splendor. There is a black cat sitting at attention, as still as can be, watching and waiting for an unsuspecting mouse to scurry along. As I fill the tea kettle, I get a sense that there is a reddish glow descending on my view. The sky to the west still holds the dark blue hue of dawn, the sky to the east resembles the color of a light baby blue blanket with pink clouds. The little pink orange glow of the rising sun begins to paint the field with a reddish orange tint. The essence of the field changes from winter white to this amazing warm hearty earth tone resembling the painted rocks of the Grand Canyon. Then, as suddenly as this glow appeared, everything switched into winter grey, and snow flakes began to fall. Time lapse- 3 minutes.

The field where the Hawk watches for his meal

Occasionally, life unfolds right before my eyes as I'm washing dishes. The field is home to many little creatures including mice and birds. Wintertime, especially a bitter cold day, the activity around the bird feeder increases. Much to our surprise, a Hawk set down right by our back door- perching on a snow covered flower pot. His usual treat are little field mice. Today he had his eyes set on the juncos and the finches snacking on the sunflower seeds blown down on the snow. As would be expected, the little birds made a quick exit away from the feeding station. The hawk repositioned himself in the Japanese Maple outside the kitchen window. His strength and power could be seen as he sat motionless on the branches, waiting patiently for a little bird to re appear. There would be no meal for the hawk outside my kitchen window today.

a lasting gift

These little African violets were a gift from a good friend when I graduated from College in June. I don't have the greatest track record with African Violets. Usually after a few months they shrivel up and begin to look like thirty cactus. My mom, Winnie and my mother in law, Annie, now they could grow African Violets. Winne had at least half a dozen plants in her dining room window ,different sizes and different colors. They responded quite well to Winnies care because all the plants were healthy and happy. Annie kept her African Violets in pots set along her kitchen window. A few were quite large, all the plants thrived on the love Annie gave them. Much to my surprise, a week or so before Christmas, this little plant sprouted a few blooms.

Winter View

We had our first big blizzard of 2014 hit the North East overnight. The snow accumulation is not really the problem, its the bone chilling cold and wind that has come along with the precipitation. The sun streams into the kitchen as it nears the noontime position in the sky. The kitchen counter becomes a perfect spot for a cup of tea and a good book