- Elizabeth Larson
- Posted On
Jim Harris: A great man, and a great life, remembered
LUCERNE, Calif. – In his 86 years, Jim Harris' eyes had settled on scenes that, for most, are confined to history books.
He had survived Pearl Harbor, had been blown off his ship in the Pacific and lived to tell the story and had gone on to serve at the invasion of Normandy, all before he turned 20 years old.
So when his eyes closed for the last time on the morning of Saturday, Jan. 8, he took with him memories that could fill volumes.
Harris' friend, Ronnie Bogner, said he often joked with Harris that he should either buy a lottery ticket or not bother, because he was either the luckiest or unluckiest man he'd ever met.
“He was around for a lot of interesting stuff,” said Bogner, who acts as the master of ceremonies of the annual Pearl Harbor commemoration at Library Park and is an honorary member of the local Pearl Harbor Survivors Association group.
Harris' rich life will be celebrated at a memorial service planned for 1 p.m. Thursday, Jan. 13, at the Lucerne Community Church, 5870 E. Highway 20, not far from where Harris and his wife, Helen, lived on the shore of Clear Lake.
A reception will be held afterwards at Kapitan's Kafe, 6150 E. Highway 20, also in Lucerne.
Harris had been diagnosed with terminal cancer last fall, but his robust demeanor hardly betrayed the fact in his more recent appearances.
Given between three months and a year to live, he continued attending meetings of local veterans groups, and took his place of honor at the Veterans Day and Pearl Harbor commemorations held late in the year, wearing his usual Pearl Harbor survivor uniform of white pants, a Hawaiian shirt, his service hat and a necklace of large, black Hawaiian kukui nuts.
At the county Veterans Day commemoration on Nov. 11, Supervisor Rob Brown presented to Harris a proclamation honoring his service in World War II, with Brown calling Harris “one of the finest men I've ever met.”
Harris, who received a standing ovation from the crowd, only spoke briefly, telling the hundreds in attendance, “I want to thank you all for being my friends.”
The following month, several of his fellow Pearl Harbor survivors traveled from Lake County to Hawaii to take part in the last gathering of survivors. Harris didn't go because he was a caregiver for his wife, Helen. But he had attended the 50thanniversary commemoration in Hawaii in 1991.
He and fellow Pearl Harbor survivors Henry Anderson of Lakeport, Clarence “Bud” Boner of Glenhaven and “sweetheart” – or widow – Vanya Leighton were on hand for the local commemorations on Dec. 7, where they received commemorative ship pennants flown over the US Capitol from Brad Onorato, district aide for Congressman Mike Thompson.
A young man's trip through the war
Harris was the youngest of the local Pearl Harbor survivors.
Born in 1924 in Los Angeles, his family would later move to New Orleans when he was a teenager. He worked there in a fishing fleet and, at the age of 15, lied about his age – he said he was 19 – so he could join the Navy in 1940, which took him to San Diego for a year for sonar school.
He was next assigned to the destroyer USS Ellet, which took him to Pearl Harbor, where he was given yet another assignment – serving as part of the admiral’s flag allowance aboard the destroyer tender USS Dobbin, a repair and mother ship for destroyers, he said in a 2007 interview.
On what might otherwise have been a quiet Sunday morning on Dec. 7, 1941, Harris had just come up from breakfast and was standing on the Dobbin's quarterdeck when he saw airplanes sweep in over the Aiea Hills and head for Pearl Harbor.
At first, he and his fellow sailors thought the planes were from the USS Enterprise, which that same day had launched scout planes en route back to the harbor, according to a Navy chronology.
But as the planes banked, Harris said they could see “the read meatball” – the red sun and imperial seal of the Empire of Japan.
“After a few cuss words we identified them,” he said.
The officer of the deck hit the alarm for general quarters and called all boats away, trying to get the smaller boats moored to the battleships clear so the larger boats could move.