Academy of Careers and Technology Incident of Pearl Harbor Summary This assignment requirements are in the attachment below. Follow the instruction in the

Academy of Careers and Technology Incident of Pearl Harbor Summary This assignment requirements are in the attachment below. Follow the instruction in the file below and let me know if you want further explanation. Summary what has happened in the plot for each chapter separately, so every chapter has separate summary and all requirements you will find it in attachment that will give you the instructions. Also, please use basic English vocabulary. what actually I want to combine them all into one document and still have them separated summary.Also, add the anomaly pick out something unconventional and surprising that happened during all the chapters read one anomaly link anomaly to a philosophical principle you can see this also in assignment requirements in attachment. PART TWO
CHAPTER SEVEN
Oh Krishna, what satisfaction could we find in killing? Chapter One, Bhagavad Gita
The news of the day: Japan wars on U.S. and Britain; makes sudden attack on Hawaii;
heavy fighting at sea reported–Guam Bombarded; army ship is sunk. Japanese force
lands in Malta. Lewis wins captive mine fight; arbitrators grant union shop. The New
York Times, Front page for December 8, 1941. ANDREW O’Neil was in trouble. He
had been talking to Moira about their fate. So much had been put on hold in the
past: Moira’s degree and his law school dreams. Events had not gone smoothly, but
now they had saved enough for their aspirations to finally be realized. Andrew had
drawn up a plan for next year, the fall of 1942, which made it all possible. All their
waiting and working—first to get married, and second to realize their dreams and
ambitions they nurtured at Macalester College. He was so full of his conversation
that he didn’t notice that he was almost out of gas! He knew the roads around
Menomonie, Wisconsin well. After all, he was a traveling salesman. He knew of a
station on Stout Road, but he wasn’t sure he’d make it. The Bhagavad Gita, tr.
Eknath Easwaran, (Tomales, CA: Nilgigi Press, 1985). Luck was with him. He saw the
trapezoid sign with the red letters: Sinclair and underneath, a little green
brontosaurs. The ’36 Willys Coup glided up to the slender gasoline pump that
resembled an exotic dancer. Andrew parked his car and started pumping his gas. He
could hear a loud radio in the office. Against his will he listened to the news: The
Japanese have bombed Pearl Harbor in a surprise and dastardly attack. The evil Japs
have sunk at least nine American ships, including the Arizona. Thousands are
presumed to be dead. It is the worst sneak attack ever against America by a foreign
power. President Roosevelt is reportedly asking Congress for a declaration of war!
Andrew was riveted. He spilled some gasoline on the ground as he overfilled his
tank. Then he acted in mechanical sequential order: (a) look at the cost, (b) get out
your wallet, and (c) walk to the office. The man in the office was a fat Norwegian
with two weeks of beard on his face and a shirt that showed circular yellow-brown
stains under the armpits. “It was a little over fifteen-gallons,” said Andrew. “Buck
sixty-five,” said the man as he set his stogie down on a derelict car mirror that served
as his ashtray. Andrew paid and left. “What’s the matter?” asked Moira when
Andrew returned to the car. Andrew turned to his wife of almost eighteen months:
“It’s a catastrophe, darling. They’ve bombed Pearl Harbor. They’ll be calling to me to
war—just like they called my brother, James. I’m going to war, and I’ll probably be
killed.” Moira burst into tears and hugged her husband to death. *** There was a
long silence as they drove back into Menomonie. Moira’s gaze was to the right.
Andrew was having trouble looking at anything. When they were almost home Moira
asked Andrew, “By the way, where is Pearl Harbor?” “Hawaii.” “But that’s not in
America.” “Colony.” “We’re going to war over a colony?” “U.S. warships were sunk.
Many hundreds—maybe thousands of service men’s lives have been lost. I predict
war within a day. They already have a draft. I’m registered. They’ll call me up, ship
me off, and send me home in a box.” Moira began crying again. This time Andrew
did, too. *** When they arrived at their six-room rented house across from Wilson
Park on 7th street, their Scottie dog, Chiltren, ran to greet them. There weren’t many
words spoken on the short trip from the gas station. Chiltren hopped up in the air,
indicating that he wanted to be held. It was Moira that picked him up and gave him a
kiss on his wet nose. They went inside and fed the dog. Neither Andrew nor Moira
was hungry. They went to bed to read their books. After almost an hour, Andrew put
down his book. He looked over to his wife with desire. He remembered when he had
met Moira at Macalester College. Andrew had been a senior and Moira was a
freshman. Andrew was the captain of the debating team and president of the prelaw society, NOMOS. They officially met at a university dance. It was a Saturday night
in the fall term near harvest time in October, the last Saturday of the month. The
dance was a mixer in which most people came without partners; stag they used to
call it. The dance was held in the gym whose interior was built as a square. The
square could be described this way: one side of the square had the doors; opposite
the doors was the stage where the band was playing; perpendicular to this plane was
the side of the gymnasium where the women stood in their full dresses and on the
other side were the men dressed in dark suits and ties. There was no smoking in the
gym. The band was playing “Cheek to Cheek” and the boys started advancing to the
opposite wall. Andrew saw the rail-thin girl who had read at the poetry reading. She
had a pure expression on her face that reminded him of his departed sister, Doris.
He immediately picked up his pace and asked her to dance. Their first dance was
“Begin the Beguine.” Andrew was a very imaginative dancer—though he had had no
training. Moira was very agile and could make up for Andrew’s excesses. In short,
they both had a good time. They danced every number until the notes of the closing
song, “Blue Moon,” had been sent into the night. After the dance, they went to a
coffee shop for some java and an ice cream cone. They finished their desserts
around midnight, but continued talking until closing time at two. Andrew walked
Moira back to her dormitory. “I’m going to get detention points for being out after
one on a weekend, but I don’t care a single bit,” said Moira. Andrew smiled, opened
the door and watched his date report in to the dorm monitor. *** Andrew couldn’t
wait until he could ask Moira out again. The system at the college was that young
men could write notes to young women in a dormitory via the dorm monitor who sat
at a large desk at the entrance to the dorm. The monitors had a cubbyhole system
for all residents so that when a note was left, it was put into the cubbyhole. When
the resident came back to the dorm, she could ask if she had any messages. This was
an easy retrieval process. In addition, the residents could write a reply and the beau
in reverse fashion could retrieve it: by asking whether a Moira Smith might have
written a note to Andrew O’Neil. It was a high stakes affair that left such exchanges
very public—especially since the dorm monitors were other students who took the
position as work contract to lower the amount of tuition they owed to the university.
In this case, Andrew left a note for Moira. Had a great time at the dance. Are you
free next Friday to go to Hamlet? I love Shakespeare. Andrew O’Neil The Macalester
Drama Club was putting on a production of Hamlet. There was no cost for students.
Andrew really wanted to invite Moira to watch him lead the debate team against
Carleton College on the question of whether Social Security should become law. It
was a pivotal question that was a controversial issue of the time. Andrew was dead
set against it. He came from a family that had lost its breadwinner when he was ten.
He lived in an unheated attic in St. Paul that often became a torture zone that was
only marginally warmer than the outside temperature of twenty degrees below zero,
Fahrenheit. This required a heap of blankets that covered head and feet—no air
holes. He got his first job when he was eleven working at a carnival, and pushed
himself to work before and after school at St. Luke’s. This often put him over the
edge. He was a growing boy living on four or five hours of sleep (sometimes less
when there was lots of homework). He would doze off in class and Sister Benedict
would walk over to him and slap him on his ear to wake him up. She sometimes hit
him so hard that his ear bled. Andrew grew to hate all nuns. Little-by-little, the jobs
that Andrew got paid him more money. All funds had to be turned in to his mother,
Frederica. She ran the household. She railed against her dead husband who she said
brought shame upon the whole family because of the bankruptcy of the family
business: a general store/ pharmacy. Because Andrew came home after midnight,
there was no food left for him to eat. His older sister, Ellen, would save half of her
dinner in her apron and take it to her room to give to her brother when he came
home after work. One day when Andrew came home after an eight-hour shift at a
brewery, Ellen came out of her room and led him into the kitchen (normally they
went up to the attic so that Frederica wouldn’t discover that she was covertly
feeding Andrew). But on this night she took him to the kitchen and gave him some
meatloaf and bread. Andrew sat down and first drank some milk—his favorite
beverage. It was not homogenized. Ellen took pains to open a new pint bottle for
Andrew so that he might get the cream at the top. After his meal that was downed
within minutes, Ellen took a scrap of paper from her blouse. “I found this today while
I was doing some cleaning. It’s one of Doris’ poems. I knew that you would want it”:
My voice is gone, I cannot talk My strength is gone, I cannot walk The bumps under
my skin They won’t go away But merge with the bumps atop. A rash inflames my
joints I cannot but ask—–why? My brother’s hope keeps me alive I love my brother
as I now die. 12/ 20/ 28 Andrew took the bit of paper and religiously put it into his
wallet. He would later insert it into his scrapbook that he would keep until the day
he died. The book had fifty pages and he’d already filled twenty by the time he was
sixteen—the same age as Doris was when she caught rheumatic fever and died (she
was two years older than Andrew). When Doris left, Ellen stepped in to save him. But
there was no one like Doris. Life in the twenties for the O’Neil family was tough. Each
child had to go out and earn his and her share of money. All money went to
Frederica without deduction. Frederica also received a black envelope each month
with no return address. No one was allowed to look at it. The postmark said
Louisville. The mother became a recluse. She occasionally went away from the family
for weeks at a time without explanation. Gradually, Frederica began speaking
German around the family. No one understood a word she said. The bond between
Ellen and Andrew carried each of them through. Ellen was plain and was not
interested in boys except her little brother. Andrew persevered. He shared with her
nun horror stories from his school, generally revolving around the corporal
punishment to his left-ear because he fell asleep during class. When talking to Ellen,
he often lifted his hand to his left ear—the one the nuns often slapped—because it
was ringing. There were few priests at Andrew’s school. Once when he was trying
out for the running team, he collapsed after a mile. The coach, a kindly priest, picked
up Andrew and gave him some water and a chocolate bar. Andrew had no quarrel
with priests. Then in 1930 his cousin, Julia, was born from Ruth and Otto. There was
quite a fête. Unfortunately, Andrew had to work that day: Sunday. Andrew became
the second O’Neil to graduate from high school. He was also the first to go to
college. The process was difficult. His mother thought it was an extreme arrogance
to go to college. “Do you know that my uncle Wolf never passed through what they
call in Amerika the third-grade? He came to Amerika and could barely speak English,
but taught himself so that his accent went away within a decade. And now do you
know how many stores he runs? A dozen! And he has a factory in New Orleans, too.
He is what Amerika is all about. And he didn’t need any college!” “If he’s so
successful, then why doesn’t he help us? After all, we’re family, aren’t we?”
Frederica opened a drawer and took out the rolling pin. Then she slowly walked
forward toward her son. Andrew got up from his chair, kept his hands to his side,
and clenched his fists. “Come on, mama, beat up on me just like you used to beat up
on Dà. I can take it. The nuns have taught me how to accept physical punishment.
But don’t keep on about your uncle, Wolf, as if he’s anything but trash. He has no
living family but us, but does he help us? Has he ever helped us? Or is he the Devil in
our midst?” Frederica suddenly became terrified of her youngest child. She dropped
the rolling pin and ran away. Andrew watched her escape. It was Sunday, and he
didn’t have to work this day. But he had filled up his pen with ink and gotten three
sheets of paper and a blotter to write out his application for university work. A week
later he was hired as assistant recruiter for the college. The job paid room, board,
and tuition. And he only had to work forty hours a week! Andrew was free at last.
Andrew moved out of the house on August 1st, 1932. He began classes in September
and his life went on smoothly until he was suddenly arrested by Moira Smith. He
could remember the date. It was Thursday, October 17th, 1935. He had just finished
a mock debate for the upcoming series against Carleton College. Andrew was tired,
but he was somehow lured into a poetry reading by a hand-written sign that also
sported the likeness of a female deer. (Drawing doodles of deer during class lectures
was one of Andrew’s pastimes.) There were seven students sitting in front of the
room. There was also a wooden lectern. Each student would read three poems and
then sit down so that the succeeding student would have their chance. All the poets
were females. Andrew sat down near the back. Andrew’s entrance made the number
of those in the audience equal to the number of presenters. Moira was the last to
speak. She was medium tall and very thin. She wore dark-framed glasses. Moira’s
poems were about growing up next to an Indian Reservation in Wolf Point, Montana.
Moira was poised and read fluently. After the reading, Andrew went up to Moira and
said, “I really liked your poem about eating rattlesnake. I couldn’t imagine doing
that.” Moira smiled and tilted her head. “You’d be surprised what you can do if you
have no other choice.” Andrew laughed and made a mental note to see this girl
again. The Saturday next he had his wish at the dance. Then when he went back to
her dorm to see whether she wanted to see Hamlet, he was given a positive
response. He would pick her up at her dorm and walk her over to the theater.
Andrew carefully folded the slip of paper and vowed to put it into his scrapbook. ***
On the night of the play, Andrew resolved to talk to Moira about politics. He would
tell her about his being captain of the debating team and how he was against the
Social Security Bill because he had made it through tough circumstances and
doggonit, if he could do it, then so should everyone else. There should be no
handouts—even to old people! But Andrew never got the chance to talk politics. All
the way Moira talked about her interpretation of various key themes in Hamlet.
Though Andrew was no intellectual slouch, he was no match for Moira concerning
Hamlet. “What are you, an English major?” asked Andrew. Moira smiled. “I intend to
be, but I’m just a freshman.” “I’m pre-law. That means I take courses in philosophy,
economics, and politics.” “Ah, a well-rounded person. Maybe that’s why the other
girls say you’re a BMOC.” BMOC meant ‘big man on campus.’ It was an epithet that
was much sought after. Andrew responded with a broad smile. The play and postplay coffee went very well. Andrew and Moira became a couple. One day in April,
1936, after they were walking back from Sunday services at the Baptist Church,
Andrew proposed that they have lunch together at a sit-down place. Moira had
some studying to do, but she consented. The place Andrew chose was Roy’s Diner. It
wasn’t fancy, but the food was good and the prices were low. The couple got a booth
by the window. Andrew ordered coffee and meatloaf while Moira ordered tea and
vegetable soup. “You know, Moira, these past six months with you have been the
happiest of my whole life.” Moira broke her bread and buttered it thinly. “In May,
I’m going to graduate. I hope to work a couple of years to get money to go to law
school. I know I’d have a good future in law.” Moira smiled, nodded her head, and
took a bite of bread. “Well, with you being a freshman and all. Well, I know that this
might be the end of us as a couple—what with you being in school and me working a
job or two to get my law school stake.” Moira pursed her lips. “That’s how things will
work out, if we don’t do something. But I’m a man who intends to take his fortune
into his own two hands. I don’t want to lose you, Moira. That’s why I want to marry
you. What do you say?” “About your going to law school?” Andrew scowled. “About
marriage? Well, I’m only a freshman in college. I’ve got three years to go. I couldn’t
be a student and be married. We couldn’t afford the tuition. My father certainly
wouldn’t support me for a degree if I were married. And then with your law school
tuition, we could never pay our bills. It doesn’t seem very practical.” “Bother the
practicality! Would you like to be my wife?” “Well, hypothetically, if I were to bother
the practicality as you say, I could very well imagine being your wife. I am very fond
of you.” Andrew smiled and reached for her hand—but then the meatloaf and soup
came. *** Nothing was decided at the lunch except that Andrew and Moira would
continue to be a couple—only this time a pre-engaged couple who knew that
dreams just didn’t happen, they had to be founded upon practical reality or else they
were doomed to fail. *** It was June when Moira came home to her parents’
apartment on 15th near Grand & Nicolet. Moira was coming home from her job as a
secretary at the law offices of Swenson, Peterson, & Johansson. She landed a good
summer job because of her shorthand skills and her typing speed (100 words per
minute with nary a mistake). She could also correct grammar and didn’t take a lunch
break. It was around seven o’clock in the evening when Moira walked the three
blocks from the streetcar stop to their third-floor apartment. It was a nice building
with a self-service elevator. Moira pulled back the bronze metal safety fencing and
got in the elevator; shut it again and pulled a waist high handle attached to a semicircular device that had six positions for the six stops in the building (including the
basement). The elevator always made a terrific racket when it went into operation,
but the racket was nothing like she was about to hear from her father. “I just got a
letter from the college telling me that you declared a major in English!” Malcolm
(Mac) Smith was sixty-one. He was completely bald. His voice was raspy. Mac sat his
daughter down on the green sofa with the little white flower pattern. The room was
light because they used blinds that were pulled up. Moira put her purse down, “Yes,
Father, that is correct.” “Are you suffering from amnesia?” Mac was pacing on their
multi-colored rag rug. “I sent you to that rich kids’ school in order that you could get
your two years in before medical school or nursing college. This year you got two ‘A’s
in biology, one in math, and a third in Latin. This is all medical school is about. You
forget, I almost made it through medical school but for a nervous breakdown. Your
success was what I was counting on to make my life complete.” “But Dad, you are a
very successful man.” She wanted to remind him about her three ‘As’ in English
Literature and a ‘B’ in philosophy—but she held…
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