One activity was teaching a Sunday school class of sixth-grade boys. Then there was that Saturday night, Dec. 6, when the church youth group to which I belonged went to Lick Observatory atop Mt. Hamilton, a popular recreational destination of the time.

What I remember most about that trip was the spectacle of lights extending up both sides of San Francisco Bay. It was a clear night for this brilliant panorama, which seemed all the more brilliant in retrospect, since it was to be a matter of years before that spectacle would be seen again. War means blackouts.

The next day, Sunday, the morning service was followed by a groundbreaking ceremony for the new education wing that ultimately would be designated the Emrich Wing, a name no longer current. When we got home, it was to learn of the Pearl Harbor attack, and life was forever changed, or so it seemed.

There was an ironic sidelight to the naming of the Emrich Wing. The Rev. J.A. Emrich had been pastor of the Christian Church, or Disciples of Christ, which, with the Congregational Church, combined to form the Federated Church.

Rev. Emrich endorsed the merger, but when the first pastor was chosen for the new Federated Church, it was the one from the Congregational Church who filled that pulpit. Rev. Emrich's name lived on for a time on the educational wing, which was the first addition to the 1923 structure that had been designed by famed architect Julia Morgan.

Many years later, when the present sanctuary was constructed, the construction involved cutting off a section of the once-designated Emrich Wing. I always saw a significant parallel between that truncated building and a ministerial career that had been cut short.

But, back to the war. Three days after the Pearl Harbor attack, Saratoga was "invaded" by a field artillery unit of the 7th Infantry Division. There were three batteries, to use the military term, whose mission was to protect Mills Field, now San Francisco International Airport, and Moffett Field. Their principal weapons were 155-millimeter howitzers positioned along Skyline Boulevard, where they could fire down on any attackers. The soldiers who manned them, however, were assigned living space in towns like Saratoga.

That meant pitching pup tents in Wildwood Park and in the old Blossom Festival Grounds, now the site of the Saratogan and Creekside condominiums. Dec. 7 had been sunny, but this was winter, and the rains came. Saratoga Creek overflowed its banks, and the troops had to move elsewhere into whatever public buildings were available.

In all, there were some 125 young men stationed here, and we got used to seeing them in full field uniform, standing guard in front of stores along Big Basin Way and lining up for morning roll call along Third Street. There were some ironic twists to this "occupation." One was—a fact that came out many years later—the matter of ammunition. Those howitzers had only three rounds of ammunition each. This meant that if two rounds were used on zeroing in on the target, there was only one round that could be fired for effect. Likewise, the rifles of the men standing guard had no ammunition in them. There was only a single box of cartridges in the battery office at the Saratoga Foothill Club.

The troops had arrived in December 1941. In late February 1942, they moved to a camp near Palo Alto, and from there, I understand, to Attu in the Aleutians and Kwajalein in the Pacific.

One facet of their Saratoga "occupation" that I remember especially was a variety show they put on at the Saratoga Grammar School auditorium. It was announced as being for "the good people of Saratoga and surrounding communities in appreciation for the kindness shown us during our stay." There was a lot of good talent in that bunch. I say, if you have to go to war, that's the way to do it.