Most of us who remember the actual day are very old. Our great grandchildren are many years away from that time. They have no idea what we Americans were like in those days. They have no idea how much the middle class has grown over those years. Even we who are old sometimes forget.
I remember it well. I remember what life was like. I remember the mail came twice a day. I remember the trains ran on time, and they ran just about everywhere. Not all families had cars, in fact many did not until after WWII. The iceman delivered ice, the milkman delivered milk. At our house groceries were delivered, too. I remember small town America. I know others lived in cities. I did not.
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This is how my family wound up moving to Rockport in 1949. We moved first to Borger, TX with Phillips Petroleum, and then to Odessa, TX with United Carbon Co. and then on to Rockport with the United Carbon Co. That plant is gone, but the black soot put into the soil remains between Rockport and Aransas Pass. Each of these places have memories, but one of the most vibrant in my mind is the day the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor.
