ANGER MANAGEMENT - Wanting To Kill Kennedy

 

The big Buick boldly appeared at the peak of the bridge across Lake Worth (above), and slipped past the police car, before sulking onto the palm tree lined boulevard of Royal Poinciana Way.

As the patrol car blended into traffic under the warm December sun, Officer Lester Free (above)  noted the interloper’s New Hampshire plates matched the alert, and he called it in. Once his back up arrived, Free judged where best to make his standard traffic stop. What Officer Free could not know was that he was already four days too late.

Five days earlier, on Saturday, 10 December 1960, the old man spent almost an hour in the parking lot of his West Palm Beach motel (above), wrapping seven sticks of dynamite around four large cans of gasoline. He then inserted blasting caps into the sticks, and wired the infernal machine to the Buick's cigarette lighter. When he pushed the lighter in, the bomb would be powerful enough to, as a Secret Service Agent  later admitted, “level a small mountain.”

Early the next morning, Sunday, 11 December, the old man crossed the nearly deserted bridge and drove quietly across the narrow island (above). He pulled his Buick into the brush flanking Monterey Road. Ahead of him was the nondescript intersection with North Ocean Boulevard, and the hidden entrance to the estate at 1095.

The old man knew that beneath its clay tile roof and white stucco walls (above), there were 7 bedrooms in the two-story 11, 000 square foot home. And although he could not see the Atlantic Ocean, the 73 year old knew it was just a few hundred feet beyond the house. People who could afford ocean front property on Palm Beach Island were not interested in sharing what they had, not even the view. And the man the old man had come here to kill, was living in that estate.

The old man was  Richard Pavlick. He knew his target would be going to Sunday Mass. It was Richard’s intention to crash his car into the target’s car, and then set off his infernal machine, killing them both. Richard was thus ready, just before ten that morning, when the target car edged out of the driveway from 1095. The the killer's hand hovered over the Buick’s ignition key.

But as Kennedy's  car edged onto the street, in the back seat of the limousine, Richard saw a woman with dark hair.  It had to be the target’s wife, which meant the target’s two children were probably in the car as well. Richard waited. What stopped him at that crucial moment was not the police nor the Secret Service, but some shred of sanity floating free in Richard’s unhinged mind.  He hated Kennedy because they were Catholics. And yet, in his morality, Richard reflected the Catholic adoration of Mary.

There would be another time. Not today, but soon. Soon, this target must die. In Richard’s eyes, this man had used his privilege and wealth and the influence of the church to steal the office of President of the United States.

In a nation that seems obsessed with partisanship, the presidential election of 1960 shouts for attention. According to the history books, the election was settled on Tuesday, 8  November. But in fact, the decision dragged out for weeks, with Republican lawsuits in 11 states seeking recount after recount.

On Tuesday, 11 December,  a Federal judge in Texas rejected a Republican lawsuit asking for another recount, and two hours later the state awarded all 27 of its electors to Kennedy. That put John Fitzgerald Kennedy over the top, and it was not until the next day, 12 December, that the state of Illinois rejected a similar Republican lawsuit, and awarded it's 24 electors to Kennedy.

Still, the margin of victory was slim; by one tenth of one percent of the 68 million votes cast. It is still accepted by many partisans that the election was stolen by voter fraud in Chicago and Texas (both Democratic strongholds in 1960) and even earlier, when Joe Kennedy spent the equivalent of $100 million to secure the election of his second son, John in the West Virginia primary.

But even if Kennedy had lost Illinois, he still would have won where it really counted, in the electoral collage. And in Texas, which Kennedy carried by only 46,000 votes, 2% of all votes cast, there were at least two precincts which showed more Democratic votes than registered voters. But an examination of all Texas voting records (as well as Illinois') show similar errors for both candidates through out most states.  In an election casting, counting and recording 68,000 million votes in one day, errors will always occur.

So, in an election in which six states were decided by less than 1%, and 3 more states by less than 2%, and seven more states by less than 3% of their totals, partisan conspiracy theories were certain to spring up.  In every case, a second look at the evidence shows that no fraud actually occurred. 

But, in the opinion of the partisan Richard Pavlick, there was another reason to suspect John Kennedy of stealing the election that trumped all others.

Kennedy was the first Catholic elected president of the United States. Writing for the newspaper The Texas Baptist Standard, L.R. Elliot warned, that Catholicism followed “a consistent pattern of seeking and using all the power and control it can gain to advance its agenda"  – a charge strikingly similar to later charges laid against Muslims.

And Richard Pavlick was well known, in his home town of Belmont, New Hampshire - “The best town by a Dam site” - for his anti-Catholic rants at public meetings. He was also a rabid letter writer to the local paper on the same issue, and obsessed with proper etiquette in displaying the American flag. One of Richard's few friends in Belmont had been Thomas Murphy, Richard’s old boss and the Postmaster for Belmont. And it had been Postmaster Murphy who had warned the Secret Service about Richard’s behavior since the election.

After the November election, Richard had signed over his farm to a neighboring youth camp, packed up his remaining belongings in his car, and left town. Murphy later received a card from Pavlick postmarked Hyanis Port, on Cape Cod, where the Kennedy family had an estate. And when Murphy received a similar card from Pavlick post marked from Palm Beach, where he knew Kennedy was staying during the post election transition, Thomas Murphy immediately notified the Secret Service.

The Secret Service were charged with the security of the President, but not yet with protecting candidates or the President-elect. Still they began interviewing people around Belmont (above). They learned Richard had bought dynamite, and once had a rifle confiscated after threatening a water meter reader.  This had inspired them to alert to the Palm Beach police chief Homer Large. Now, upon hearing Officer Free’s call for back up, Chief Large ordered that all units to converge on the suspect’s car.

They stopped the Buick in the middle of the street, and asked the driver to step out. They found Richard to be pleasant and cooperative, readily producing his New Hampshire driver's license.

Richard explained that he had been living out of his car since he got to Florida, and that this morning he was headed for St. Edward’s Catholic Church (above), on North Country Road, because, he said, he wanted to see where the new President went to church. The conversation was going along pleasantly, and the officers’ had begun to drop their guard, when Officer Free called out the single word, “Bomb”. That ended any polite conversation.

In some ways Richard Pavlick seemed relieved that he had been caught. He watched impassively while the bomb was disabled, and his car carefully searched. And later, when questioned at the police headquarters on South County Road, Richard explained, “I had the crazy idea I wanted to stop Kennedy from being president.” But he also added, “The Kennedy money bought him the White House. I wanted to teach the United States the presidency is not for sale.”

At the end of January 1961, Richard was committed to the Federal Public Health Service Hospital in Springfield, Missouri.   In March he was indicted in Palm Beach for threatening the life of John Kennedy. It would not be a federal offense to threaten the life of the President until after 22 November, 1963. Charges against Richard were still pending at that time, but they were dropped in December of 1963. However Richard was not released from the hospital until 13 December, 1966. He died unnoticed to the public, at the V.A. hospital in Manchester, New Hampshire on Veterans Day, 1975.

It can be argued that his mad man was inspired by the anti-Catholic rhetoric of politicians, or the bigotry of the pundits of his day. 

But that is the way it is with madmen. They receive far too little discouragement, until we actually see them coming over the rise on the bridge. By then it is often too late.

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THE MERRY MONTH OF MAY - 1920

I don’t know the truth of what happened to Andrea Salsedo. His fellow prisoner, Roberto Elia, testified he jumped through a window of the 14th floor of the Park Row Building, in Manhattan (above). Some claimed that he was pushed.  Both men had been questioned by officers of the Justice Department in that building for eight solid weeks. The Federal agents suspected the two printers had helped publish an Anarchist-Communist pamphlet entitled “Plain Words”. The pamphlet in fact explained how to build bombs. 

Roberto claimed that Andrea (above) threw himself through the window to avoid being forced to implicate his friends. But his suicide cannot be taken as proof that Andrea had anything real to confess. It may have been simply despair and a refusal to lie, or even just to stop the beatings. All we know for a fact is that at 4:30 A.M., on Monday, 3 May, 1920, the little man with the passive eyes was found dead outside the headquarters of the U.S. Justice Department in New York City.

Far to the north, in Braintree, Massachusetts, on Wednesday, 5  May, 1920  four men, Nicola Sacco, Mario Boda, Riccardo Orciani and Bartolomeo Vanzetti attempted to pick up Boda’s sedan from the Elm Street Garage. But it was past closing time, and the garage was locked up. The four men crossed the street, to the home of the auto repair shop's owner, Simon Johnson. He put them off by explaining that the license plate on Borda’s sedan had expired. Meanwhile Mrs. Johnson scurried next door to call the Bridgewater police. They did not arrive in time. Boda and Orciani rode off in tandem on a motorcycle, while Mrs. Johnson watched. The mechanic followed Sacco and Vanzetti as they walked to a nearby streetcar stop. 

At about 10:00 P.M., as their streetcar arrived in Brockton, Sacco and Vanzetti (above) were arrested.  Searched, they were both discovered to be carrying loaded pistols. Vanzetti was also found to be carrying shells for a shotgun. They both denied knowing Boda or Orciani. It was the first of a series of stupid lies, leading to the men's executions. 

Meanwhile, May of 1920 was proving to be a most profitable month for another Italian immigrant in Boston. Where his compatriots were frustrated with American Capitalism, and seeking redemption in revolution, this cheerful little man saw American Capitalism as the American Dream. 

In order to gaze upon his dream you had to merely find the arch along Washington Street in Downtown Boston (above), cross under it and enter Pi Alley, also known as Williams Court. 

The narrow cobblestone passage (above) lead to School Street, near the old City Hall. And at 27 School Street,  stood the granite walls and steel frame of the Niles Building. On the fifth floor you would find Room 227. The painted door identified it as the offices of the “Old Colony Foreign Exchange Company”, the most extraordinary and successful investment program in all of 1920 America.

In February “Old Colony” had attracted $5,000 in new investments. In March the investors had coughed up $30,000. This May investors were forcing $420,000 into the companies’ coffers. The reason for such success was obvious. Profits for those investors were guaranteed, a return of 50% of their original investment within 45 days, a 100% return within 90 days. After that, every dime was pure profit. 

“Old Colony” bought and sold International Reply Coupons, (IRC’s), a now defunct form of international postage. Bought in bulk in Italy for 11 cents each, they could be sold in America for 44 cents each. That was a 400% profit. The tellers in the Old Colony's offices were taking in cash from eager investors so quickly, there was no time to count it. The tellers would accept the cash being proffered, hand over a preprinted receipt, and then drop the dollars into a large barrel, before moving on to the next investor. Periodically, some one would take away the cash filled barrels and would later return with empties. 

Hour after hour, day after day, the cash rolled in. Some days the line of people desperate to hand over their life savings ran down the stairs, across School Street, down the Alley and snaked back along Washington Street. And week after week, the investors were paid their dividends. Few dared to withdraw their original investments. The payouts continued, like clockwork, like magic, like sheer genius.

The magician at the center of this investment was a smartly dress little Italian immigrant, who went by the name of Charles Ponzi, AKA Charles Ponei, AKA Charles P. Bianchi, AKA Carl or Carlo Ponzi. 

And the snappy dressed little man wielding the silver handled cane (above) did indeed have a secret which produced massive wealth out of a seemingly mundane transaction. He had never bought or sold a single IRC in his life. 

On 13 May  1920 Mrs. Mary Wilcox (above, in an earlier family photo) arose to discover that during the night her 21 year old son Cyril Wilcox (center)  had committed suicide. The one time Harvard student had blown out the flame on the gas jets in his room. Without the cleansing illumination, the poisonous fumes filled the unhappy young man’s bedroom until he passed out and suffocated in his sleep.

Mary Wilcox was heartbroken. Her eldest son George was angry. Suicide has those effects on the survivors. The grieving mother ascribed her son’s death to his failure at Harvard. Cyril had been suspended after managing only five F’s, two C’s, one B and a  “passed” on his finals. But George was convinced he knew the real reason for Cyril’s unhappiness. 

George had read a letter addressed to Cyrll, delivered the day after his death. George had then tracked down the author, Harry Dreyfus. He was an older man who owned a bar on Beacon Hill called "Cafe Dreyfus", as well as a restaurant in Cambridge frequented by Harvard students. 

George confronted the older man and then assaulted him, beating him badly until Dryfus admitted that he and Cyril had once been lovers. 

Then, on 22 May, 1920, George called upon Harvard Acting Dean Chester N. Greenough. George shared the information he had been beaten out of Harry Dreyfus; that the cause of Cyril‘s suicide had really been his "victimization" by a "homosexual ring" at Harvard College. The ring,  charged George, was made up of students Ernest Weeks Roberts, Eugene Cummings, Kenneth Day and a non-student named Pat Courtney.  The next day Dean Greenough asked five professors and deans to form a “court” to root out these homosexuals in the college. In the modern vernacular, it was to be a witch hunt.

During the bottom of the 4th inning, in a game between the Yankees and the Red Sox at Fenway Park, on Thursday, 27 May, 1920, New York Pitcher Bob Shawkey (above) had a melt down. With the bases loaded, Shawkey took offense when Umpire George Hildebrand called ball four and forced in a run.  Shawkey shouted obscenities at the ump, who ignored the outburst.  Shawkey then crouched on the mound and spent  five minutes tying his shoe. Again, Hildebrand ignored him. 

After striking out the next Boston batter (Harry Hooper) and retiring the side, Shawkey took off his cap and elaborately bowed to the umpire.  As Shawkey jogged to the New York dugout, Umpire Hildebrand quietly informed him that he had been thrown out of the game.  Shawkey then took a swing at the ump. The Yankees won the game, six to one. Shawky won a two week suspension and a $200 fine.  That was baseball, in 1920; class all the way - just like today.

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THEY MISSED: Pearl Harbor

 

At 7:40 am  local time the first wave of 183 warplanes spotted the white water breakers at Kahuka Point (above).  As they banked south at 6,000 feet, 39 year old Commander Mitsuo Fuchida slid back the center canopy of his torpedo bomber. And as they passed seaward of Waimea Bay, he raised his binoculars.

Twenty miles up the central valley of Oahu he could see the Army air base and Wheeler airfield. Thirty-five miles beyond, and clearly visible,  were the three lobes of the naval base at Pearl Harbor. No American planes moved in the sky. The American Pacific Battle Fleet remained chained to its anchors. 

Ten minutes later the long anticipated war between the United States and Japan, began. But what screwed up 40 years of careful planning on both sides was a bunch of irrational human beings. And you can't plan for that.  But you can always count on it.

In 1901 the rational Rear Admiral Raymond Perry Rodgers  (above) drew up plans for an American war with Japan. Labeled War Plan Orange, it called for the American Pacific Fleet to sail west to relieve the U.S. colony in the Philippines, and then turn north to fight a decisive battle with the dreadnoughts of the Imperial Japanese Navy. With minor modifications that remained the basic war plan until 1941, and was mirrored by Japanese planning. 

Entering the 20th century, the Japanese elite were desperate to keep the Americans from scavenging their nation as the Europeans had devoured China.  In 1910 Japan annexed Korea, so it's rice fields could feed the growing Japanese population of industrial workers.

They conquered Manchuria in 1931, to gain coal, iron, zinc and copper for Japanese industry.

And they invaded China in 1937, seeking even more resources to stabilize their own Imperial system. The one natural resource which kept Japan from total independence was oil, 90% of which they had to buy from the United States. As a hedge, the Imperial government had carefully amassed a 2 year stockpile of oil.

By April of 1940,  Prime Minster, 50 year old Prince Fumimaro Konoye (above, front), started looking for an escape hatch from the morass of the war in China he had sought. He opened talks with the American government. But from within his own cabinet a war hawk opposing him emerged, 52 year old General Hideki Tojo (second row, second from the left) 

The General (above)  argued that, “... If we yield to America's demands, it will destroy the fruits of the China incident. Manchukuo (Japanese Manchuria) will be endangered and our control of Korea undermined.” As the most elite of the elite, Emperor Hirohito was sympathetic to Tojo.

Then, early in July of 1941 the Japanese occupied the rubber plantations in French Indochina, gaining access to yet another vital war supply.  Outraged, President Franklin Roosevelt froze all Japanese funds in American banks. The President and his senior advisers then secretly slipped off to Newfoundland to meet with Winston Churchill to talk about the war raging in Europe. 

So everybody above Assistant Secretary of State Dean Acheson (above), was abruptly out of the loop. Because of this brief and sudden power vacuum, the 38 year old antifascist autocratic who headed the little known Foreign Funds Control Committee, found his hand wrapped around the Japanese throat.

Late in July Acheson squeezed. His committee ruled that Japan could not use frozen funds to pay for the $50 million of petroleum they had contracted to buy, enough oil to keep them independent into 1943. The American oil companies screamed at the lost revenue, but after returning from the Atlantic Conference the Roosevelt administration feared rescinding the order would “send the wrong message” to Japan. 

Acheson himself (above) had no concerns about backing Japan into a corner because, as he wrote later, “...no rational Japanese could believe that an attack on us could result in anything but disaster for his country." 

The power Acheson had such faith in was the American Pacific fleet, 9 battleships (above the USS Arizona) , 3 aircraft carriers, 20 cruisers, 50 destroyers and 33 submarines. In May of 1940, this powerful force had been transferred from San Diego, California,  to Pearl Harbor, Oahu, Hawaii, to send a message about American resolve.

The lagoon's original name was “Wai Momi”; in English, "Waters of Pearl". Over the previous half century the U.S. Navy had dredged it to an average depth of 30 feet, built piers, dry docks, maintenance yards, barracks, warehouses and air fields. 

In 1924 construction began on what would become 60 large above ground oil tanks (above), which could hold 4.5 million barrels of fuel for the Pacific Fleet. 

In addition there were some 30,000 U.S. Army troops stationed at Henderson Barracks, and Army fighters and bombers at Hickham Field in the center of Oahu.

Oddly, the individual who objected the most to basing the fleet at Pearl Harbor was the Commander of the U.S. Pacific Fleet, 64 year old Admiral James Otto Richardson (above, center). 

What worried Richardson was the vulnerability of the fleet, in particular those above ground oil tanks. A single strafing run,  firing incendiary shells, could set afire the entire 4 million barrels, leaving the fleet stranded and easy prey to a Japanese invasion.

Richardson (above) had spent most of 1940 convincing Congress to put the fleet's vulnerable Oahu oil stockpile 100 feet safely below the volcanic rocks of the Red Hills, 3 1/2 miles east of the harbor. But the crews did not start drilling into the basalt until late December of 1940. Even working around the clock the 250 million gallons of oil would not start filling the 20 steel lined underground tanks for another three years. Until then, Richardson wanted the fleet to return to San Diego. The Roosevelt Administration felt that would be an open invitation to Japanese aggression, and decided to fire Richardson.

About the same time Richardson's head hit the chopping block, 57 year old commander of the Japanese Combined Fleet, Admiral Isoroku Yamamoto (above), began planning a preemptive attack on Pearl Harbor. He did this own his own, and the first time he presented his proposal to the Naval General Staff,  they rejected it. 

Typical was the opposition of 57 year old arthritic Vice Admiral Chūichi Nagumo. Even though he had no experience in aviation, he had just been just been promoted to command Japan's Kido Butai (mobile strike force), their fifteen aircraft carriers. Nagumo insisted he had the “utmost respect” for Yamamoto, but cautioned, “...the most brilliant man can occasionally make a mistake.”

On 1 February, 1941, 58 year old Admiral Husband Edward Kimmel was named the new Chief in Command of the U.S. Pacific Fleet. He shared many of Richardson's concerns about the fleet's new base. But remembering the fate of his predecessor, Kimmel subdued his warnings, and 2 weeks after assuming command, he assured his bosses, “I feel that a surprise attack (submarine, air, or combined) on Pearl Harbor is a possibility, and we are taking immediate practical steps to minimize the damage inflicted and to ensure that the attacking force will pay.”

But Kimmel's only effective warning of such an attack would come from Consolidated PBY Catalina patrol planes, which could search up to 800 miles out of Pearl. However the strain of long flights on aircraft and crews, and the limited number of planes at hand meant Kimmel could only search the most probable approaches. 

U.S. Army Air Force had been promised B-17 heavy bombers (above), which could match the Catalina for search range. However, on the eve of every delivery, the numbers were reduced or completely diverted to other demands. As of May, there were only 17 B-17's in Hawaii. Several of those were soon transferred to Manila, in the Philippines, and none at Pearl were assigned search duties.

In August of 1941, after the American embargo had begun, Yamamoto (above) submitted a revised plan, using almost 500 planes on six  carriers. Again the General Staff rejected it again.  To be clear, Yamamoto did not expect a surprise attack to yield direct victory. as he warned a friend and political ally. He wrote, "Should hostilities once break out between Japan and the United States, it is not enough that we take Guam and the Philippines, nor even Hawaii and San Francisco. To make victory certain, we would have to march into Washington and dictate the terms of peace in the White House." 

But because of the embargo and the China war, the Japanese navy was down to a six months supply of oil. Yamamoto argued that Nagumo had to either use his carriers or lose them, So on 25 September the nervous Nagumo began training his pilots for the attack. The naval critics were pacified that at least the precious carriers were under the direct command of the cautious Nagomo. Surely he would prevent the Yamamoto from unduly risking them. On 16 October, 1941, the Emperor asked General Hideki Tojo to serve as Prime Minister, and he formed a war cabinet.

On Saturday, 1 November, the Japanese Combined Fleet changed their radio codes. At the same time all ships in the Kido Butai - 6 aircraft carriers, 2 battleships, 2 Cruisers, 11 destroyers, one fleet oiler and 7 supply ships - went radio silent, and were replaced by simulated broadcasts, which convinced the listening Americans the Japanese carriers remained at anchor in Hiroshima and Saeki bays. Then at dawn on Sunday, 16 November, and under strict radio silence, the Kido Butai set sail for the Kuriles Islands, 1,000 miles to the north. On that same day 20 full sized and 6 midget submarines left Kwajalein atoll, also bound for Hawaiian waters.

On Friday, 21 November, , the Japanese strike force dropped anchor in the lonely volcano lined Hitokappu Bay, Iturup Island. That same day Emperor Hirohito gave his final approval for the attack. Only if the Americans lifted the oil embargo and gave Japan a free hand in Asia, could a war now be averted. The Americans still expected Japan to react to their economic pressure short of war. As one historian has put it, they had underestimated “...the incredibly high risks...” the Japanese elite would take to dominate Asia. “It was a matter of life and death for them.”

On Sunday, 23 November, Vice Admiral Nagumo was ordered to “....proceed to the Hawaiian Area with utmost secrecy and, at the outset of the war...launch a resolute surprise attack on and deal a fatal blow to the enemy fleet in the Hawaiian Area...the Task Force will (then) immediately withdraw...” 

As the Fleet steamed east toward war through stormy seas at 14 knots, Vice Admiral Nagumo mused to his Chief of Staff, “ If I had only been more firm and refused. Now we've left home waters...” He believed it was too late for second thoughts.

On Saturday, 6 December, 1941, Nagumo ordered the attack fleet to changed course to 180 degrees and increase speed to 20 knots.  After a voyage of almost 2,500 miles, dawn on Sunday, 7 December, 1941, found the Kido Butai just 230 miles northwest of Oahu Island. 

At 6:10 am local time, they launched the first wave of attack aircraft.

The first bombs and torpedoes fell on Pearl Harbor, Wheeler Field and Schofield barracks at 7:55 am, local time. 

At 9:45 am the second wave of Japanese planes turned for home. 

In those 110 minutes 2,043 U.S. military personnel were killed – half when the USS Arizona's magazine exploded – and 1,143 were wounded. 

Five battleships were sunk or run aground. Another 13 cruisers, destroyers and service ships were damaged to varying degrees. 

Out of 402 American aircraft on Oahu,188 were destroyed and 159 damaged. 

The cost to the Japanese attack force of 414 planes was 29 aircraft shot down, 9 in the first wave and 20 in the second, or 8% of the attacking force. 

Another 111 planes were damage but returned to their carriers. A total of 20 of those planes never flew again.

Commander Mitsuo Fuchida returned to the aircraft carrier Akagi, just before noon, local time. He was one of the last to land, having circled over Pearl Harbor to observe the entire assault. Immediately upon landing, presumably after relieving his bladder, he reported to Vice Admiral Nagumo on the bridge. He detailed the damage he had seen inflicted on the American ships, and then began to suggest further attacks for a third wave, including hitting the vulnerable oil storage tanks and the dry dock repair facilities.  Despite some accounts which suggest a confrontation, there is no persuasive evidence such a discussion took place. Even before Fuchida had landed, Nagumo and his staff had decided to turn the carriers back north and "....immediately withdraw...”.

There were good reasons for Nagumo's decision, None of the Kido Butai were equipped with radar, meaning at any moment American aircraft might appear without warning. Intercepted radio traffic hinted that perhaps 50 American land based bombers were still operational. Also, the ocean might be filled with American submarines. 

Did the carriers even have the weaponry capable of damaging the concrete dry docks? The fuel tanks were easy targets, but the Kido Butai could only put 150 aircraft into a third strike. And losses had doubled between the first and second wave attacks. If they doubled again a third wave could expect to lose between 30 and 40 aircraft. And a third wave would have to land on the carriers after dark, something Japanese pilots were not trained for.

And finally there was also this - Nagumo had never believed in the attack. Having avoided his greatest fears, and turning back before achieving Yamamoto's greatest hopes, Nagumo had at least preserved six of Japan's fragile aircraft carriers. But it would prove to be a Pyrrhic victory. 

Expanding a war because of oil, the Japanese had left 4 ½ million barrels on Oahu. That fuel would power the U.S. Navy through the launching of Doolittle Raid on Tokyo, and the battle at Midway, where 4 Japanese carriers would be sunk. Refusal to knock out those vulnerable above ground tanks proved that although the Japanese elite had started the war because of oil, they simply failed to recognize its strategic role in the war. Their war was to protect their privilege.  And that is as far as their thinking went.

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