Today is Pearl Harbor Day, and I certainly hope most of you don't need to be reminded of that. As President Franklin Roosevelt accurately predicted 70 years ago, Dec. 7, 1941, is unquestionably a date that would live in infamy.

The majority of Americans alive today will never forget where they were in 2001 when they saw or heard about the terrorist attacks on 9/11. Many of us Baby Boomers can vividly recall hearing the news of JFK's assassination. But for our parents' generation, the surprise attack on Pearl Harbor was a defining moment that was forever seared onto our nation's collective consciousness. Sadly though, the number of people who can still clearly remember that shocking Sunday morning is dwindling.

For those of us who weren't around yet in 1941, history and movies have helped to keep the stories of Pearl Harbor fresh in our minds. We know how the Japanese navy launched waves of carrier-based bombers against U.S. ships and air fields in Hawaii, ultimately killing or wounding more than 3,000 Americans and plunging us into World War II.

It used to be hard for me to imagine the confused, stunning, this-can't-be-happening reactions that people must have had that day, but now, having experienced the same kind of jolt when the World Trade Center was struck, I have a good sense of what it probably felt like: the unthinkable horror of so many lives being taken almost instantaneously in a totally unexpected, unprovoked assault motivated by a violent people's warped sense of moral superiority.

Some events and names associated with the Pearl Harbor attack are well-known, such as the U.S.S. Arizona — the sunken battleship that still rests as a hallowed monument in the harbor today. However, countless other aspects of the battle never made it into the news, or have faded into the shadows of history along with the individuals who witnessed them first-hand.

One of those was my Uncle Gene, who was a sailor assigned to the battleship Utah that morning at Pearl Harbor.

His ship was among the first to be sunk. The attack began just before 8 a.m.; the Utah took a hit from a Japanese torpedo bomber at 8:01 and keeled over within eleven minutes. Fortunately, most of the men aboard the doomed vessel escaped: although 58 sailors died on the Utah on Dec. 7, more than 400 others survived, including Uncle Gene.

I've read stories about incredible acts of heroism on the Utah that day. Four men ran through enemy strafing to return to the capsized hull with a cutting torch, freeing some of their shipmates trapped inside. Another sailor went below decks during the attack to help others get out; he ended up going down with the ship and was posthumously awarded the Medal of Honor for his bravery. I don't know what Uncle Gene was doing while the battle raged, but I like to think it was something extraordinary.

I never met the man. In a quirky, tragic bit of irony, he dropped dead from a heart attack or some other physical anomaly when I was only a baby. Ever since then, any mention of his name in our family circles usually came with a sighing, one-line descriptor like, "The poor guy survived Pearl Harbor, only to have that happen to him."

Uncle Gene was still a young man when he died, with a couple little kids of his own. His son Steve — who also later joined the Navy — became one of my favorite cousins, and was the guy who introduced me to surfer music in 1963.

This whole story naturally has great personal appeal for me, but it added a new wrinkle last year. My sister and I were in the process of moving our mother into a retirement apartment, which included the inevitable chore of cleaning out old boxes.

Although she wouldn't have qualified for a spot on "Hoarders," Mom had saved a lot of stuff. Some of it was pretty cool, like a 1937 Muny program and a scorecard from a St. Louis Browns game in 1944, but much of it was nondescript paperwork destined to be recycled.

Then I found a small, faded envelope which was postmarked "U.S. Naval Base, Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, Dec. 6, 1941." The hair on the back of my neck stood up. I opened the envelope and took out an ordinary-looking holiday greeting card with a hand-written message inside: "Hope you're having an exciting Christmas. It's pretty quiet here. Love, Gene."

Steve Unger has been professionally writing for 30-plus years to help companies sell stuff. His Journal columns are a labor of love to salute the people, places and charm of St. Louis. If you'd like to share a memory of St. Louis or just drop him a line, he can be reached at stevethewordguy@aol.com.