I have so many reflections on a day like today. It’s a Tuesday, but no ordinary Tuesday.

80 years ago today the world changed forever. We all know the story of how early in the morning of December 7, 1941, America was brutally attacked by the Imperial Japanese Navy Air Service in a less than honorable sneak strike.

The consequences of this action resulted in the deaths of 2,403 American servicemen and 68 civilians, sparking America’s entry into the Second World War.

I don’t want to retell a history that has already been told many times, and by far more adequate writers. Instead, here are a few random thought threads I’ve had today.

I remember the first year my family and I went to Pearl Harbor. I had just turned 15. Still on a high from Normandy and the D-Day celebrations that summer, I had been a strong advocate for getting to Hawaii for the 70th. We all considered it to be the last big finale to remember this historic moment in American history. Little did I underestimate the tenacity of the Pearl Harbor Survivors to continue making the long pilgrimage each year.

If Normandy was my adult baptism into the world of WWII, Pearl Harbor left the final touches. I came home from that trip inspired and amazed.

In the days leading up to the 7th, our hotel was literally crawling with veterans. Looking back it’s hard to believe. If my memory recalls, there were over 100 Pearl Harbor Survivors in Hawaii for the 70th anniversary, not to mention the countless other veterans of World War Two that had shown up to pay tribute.

Today I read that somewhere between 20-30 Survivors were present for the 80th, and just about 100 total still alive. If you consider that it’s been 80 years - it’s still impressive.

In 2011, one veteran I met in the lobby of our hotel told a crazy story about a bomb that hit his ship. It landed not too far from his position, and to the shock and surprise of his fellow shipmates, the bomb didn’t explode. It was a dud. Putting caution to the wind, they rushed over to examine it. Indelibly engraved on top were the words USN 1915. Surplus we had sold the Japanese and they were now returning - with interest.

Another veteran left an indelible mark on my heart as he recalled listening in horror to the pounding on the walls of the USS Arizona by the sailors trapped below. For days. There would be 1,177 casualties from that ship. Homes that would never be the same, and a memory that would never leave the ears of the witnesses to the sinking.

But my memories with the Pearl Harbor guys aren't all serious…

A couple of years ago, I was privileged to return to Pearl Harbor with The Best Defense Foundation and their veterans. In the group were two vets new to me, Donald Long and Stu Hedley. They were a duo if ever I’ve met one. Don was tall, elegant, charming, and had a way with words that would capture anyone’s heart. Stu was known around the world for his empathy, quick wit and iconic greeting, “Alooooha.” Together, they were ready for vaudeville.

I remember the afternoon we arrived at our hotel in Hawaii, Don looking up at the high ceilings and elaborate Christmas decorations remarked, “Stu, I think they should place a swing up there [pointing with his cane], and you should sit on it and swing back and forth across the lobby singing ‘Remember Pearl Harbor.”’

The visual image was just outrageous. Stu got a kick out of it. Thankfully, this idea never came to fruition.

Our morning elevator rides were something else. In the corner window above the floor numbers, a little hula girl would dance every time someone stepped into the elevator. The first ride up, Don remarked that the girl was shaking her hula skirt at Stu. Stu, a terribly good sport, went along with it. This routine continued every time we got on the elevator. My friend Cindy and I were in stitches watching these two (almost 100-year-olds) crack jokes about Stu’s romance with the hula dancer in the window like they were back in high school.

At the end of the trip, Don presented Stu with a hat that had a hula girl neatly embroidered on it, the perfect ending to a perfect trip.

The adventures of Stu and Don would make a great little book. They both died within a few weeks of each other. I loved my conversations with Don over text, and I still have a precious voicemail from Stu.

Don wasn’t very good at accepting compliments. When I told him goodbye in person the last time, I hugged him tightly and said how much I would miss our chats and intellectual discourses. “Now look, Liberty,” he said in his elegant tone of voice, “I know you tell that to all the boys.” But his eyes twinkled. And if he knew how much he was truly missed, I know he would be flattered.

Thank you Don and Stu for the laughs and love.

And to my Pearl Harbor Survivors: We will always remember you.