I was at Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941. I was a seventeen-year-old signalman aboard the USS Oklahoma. When the attack came, I was asleep in my bunk. The first thing I knew was the sound — this enormous roar, like the whole world was tearing apart. I ran topside and saw a Japanese plane so close I could see the pilot's face. He was young. He looked scared too. Then the torpedoes hit. The Oklahoma rolled over. I ended up in the water with oil all over me. I remember thinking: the water is warm. That's the thing I remember most — the water was warm. I got picked up by a destroyer that was itself on fire. I spent the next three years in the Pacific, at Midway, at Leyte, at Okinawa. Every time I went into battle, I'd think about that Japanese pilot's face. I never hated the Japanese people. I hated what the war did to everyone. I still have the oil-stained Bible I was reading the morning of December 7th. I can't bring myself to open it.