20

II

THE BLITZ

The Centennial was still fresh in everyone's mind when school
opened in September, 1941, to begin it second century. Enroll-
ment stood at 1450, with more service children arriving every
week. Student spirit was good and school projects received
enthusiastic support. A successful football team had been
promised a trip to Maui, and on Friday before the"Blitz," team,
coaches, and President Shepard left town in gala mood. It was
to be more than a week before the president could get back, and
until he reached the campus he was entirely ignorant of what had
happened to the school dureing his absence.

Yet Punahou, like the rest of civilian Hawaii, was not unaware,
with its mind, of the coming crisis. Even during the busy weeks
before the Centennial, Red Cross classes in first aid had drawn a
large enrollment among the teachers, and a unit was organized
for quick mobilization on the campus in an emergency. In Novem-
ber the faculty men had met at the president's house to receive
instructions from the civilian defense organization. A second
meeting on December 2nd discussed disposal of incendiary bombs.
An army office, present as adviser to the group, even suggested
digging slit trenches across the grounds. One teacher who pro-
tested (silently) at what seemed to him an alarmist's idea, and
very destructive to beautiful lawns, found himself on a few
weeks later superintending a gang of children digging those same
trenches.

Radio and press gave every detail of the diplomatic develop-
ments; double alerts were known to be in progress (until the night
of Dec. 6th!) and yet nobody really believed the trouble would
start here. On Friday after school two senior girls rehearsed a
skit they had written for Monday's assembly. It portrayed the
earnest work for peace going on in Washington between Secretary
Hull and Kurusu. Their teacher's last word to the girls urged
them to be alert on the week-end for news which might call for a
change in the script. Since both girls were daughteers of naval
officers, they were evacuated so promptly that Punahou never saw
them again!

Sunday morning was quiet on the campus, though breakfasters
watched the "unusually realistc maneuvers." Mr. Hubert V.
Coryell packed his bows and arrows and his taragets and set out as
usual for Sunday archery practice at Kapiolani Park. He and a
dozen others, including a young naval lieutenant service man as
"darned fools," and then they heard his car radio blaring Webley