The other day I was reminded that perhaps I’d better write my memories of Pearl Harbor while I still can. My daddy, Dempsey Heiskell, had bought a Philco battery radio so we could hear the War news. Our house had by now been wired for electricity, and there was great excitement in anticipating the lights coming on with the flip of a switch instead of a match. This had not happened yet, so the battery that looked like a ten-pound mold of butter enabled my family to keep up with what was happening in Europe.