Walter Boviall

You would be surprised at the things you miss listening to when you can no longer hear! 

Although, I have long since forgotten what any of it sounds like. Loosing your hearing is like loosing a loved one, you don’t notice how vital they are to your everyday life until their gone and you need them. The sound of laughter, violin, Ocean waves, music. The sound of an engine, silverware clinking together as you eat, a good joke or rain. These things I no longer miss. What clouds my mind to this day is the same as it has always been --yelling, screaming, fear. These are sounds you do not forget. When you sleep at night and you dream a good dream, these are sounds in the back of your mind. When you wake from that dream and your decide that today is going to be a good day, those sounds are in the back of your mind. It never goes away. Losing my hearing at the young age of ten was devastating. I had got accustomed to using all five senses only to then be labeled handicapped, defective some people said. I was the boy who was in the wrong place at the wrong time and, although I survived, I was never the same. Living through that time at a young age was hard.

Things could have been worse I suppose. For many people it was worse. On this day, December 7, 1941 I lost my hearing, and my big brother. People that day lost husbands, fathers, sons. I was once told that you should never compare your loss to someone else’s, because the pain is all the same. Still it seams so little in comparison. I am still here, able to tell my great grandchildren what happened on this day. I have made it to 90 years old with wit, knowledge and most importantly understanding. I now understand somethings I couldn’t begin to comprehend at that age. I am here able to talk about the greatest thing I saw that day, sacrifice and unconditional love for one's country and fellow man. I am blessed, this I do not doubt. 

It was a day I will never forget! My older brother, Walter, and I were there that morning. At the harbor. He was excited to enlist; it was a thing of pride with him. To be able to serve his country. So every other day we would walk a path close to base to get a glimpse of the sailors. Our parents weren't too happy about what he had chosen for a career path. Not for lack of patriotism, but because they weren't sure they could take the possibility of outliving their oldest son or the possibility that their youngest would fallow. Which was a realization any Navy parent had to face. I couldn’t really tell you how I felt. Right now, I talk with pride and longing for my older brother. Back then, I was confused. The only thing I knew was that my brother would be gone for long periods of time, that is if he survived. he might not have come back at all.

It is unbelievable the courage you see in someone when put in an impossible position. When the first bomb hit, the ground shook and we were completely surprised. We were shocked and unaware of what to do. Me, I was telling Walter we had to run! We had to leave and get home. He just would not move. He shook his head right before turning to look at me. “Go home Ronnie, I have to help! I have to do something!”

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. How could one boy, barely turning eighteen in a month's time, help? He was not trained; this wasn’t his fight. He was going into this knowing he couldn’t possibly make it back home. He new this, and did it anyway. Before I could say anything, another bomb landed and the ground quaked. If we did not leave, we wouldn’t make it. I pulled and screamed but, in the end, it was no use. Walter wouldn’t leave. He ran through the field on the base and behind the closest building he could find. He watched the scene unfold deciding what to do next. As he watched the scene, I watched him. I watched the shock on his face turn into fear then anger and finally determination. I’m sure my face looks something similar. shock, fear and disbelief. With one last look my way, and a small wave I watched my big brother run around the building and out of my sight. That was the last time I saw him. 

I had stayed in the field for what felt like hours but was only seconds. I felt many more quakes and the sounds of bullets and screams. I ran. Before I knew what was happening, I was not only running from scattered bullets but from a fire that had started in the field I was in. I ran to take cover falling and picking myself up. checking my self for injuries, I was getting ready to run again until I saw an abandoned drainage pipe. Buried under rock and dirt down the hill from the unholy scene I had fallen into. I crawled in and I prayed. I cried for the circumstances, I prayed for my brother and the men whose screams I could still hear till this day. I wished for my mother, like any ten-year-old would. I watched, as the surrounding area was destroyed. Trees burning, bodies dropping, land and dirt flying in the air. Ash and smoke were in the sky.

Do you want to know something? I was in that pipe for about 27 hours before I was found, and I didn't know I had lost my hearing until then. I had clamped my hands over my ears so tight I simply was grateful I had blocked out the sounds I could no longer stand. I didn’t know or understand what had happened. When they found me, I asked for my brother, my mother. I couldn’t hear the response. I must have passed out at some point. At some point I woke up only to find myself still in the mist of chaos. Soldiers and nurses everywhere. I stayed there and wept until I once again lost consciousness.

​Franklin Roosevelt said, “December 7th, 1941 was a day that would live in infamy.” He was right. My brother was not a soldier yet, but he will always be my hero. I will remember the name, Walter Boviall.