One item that I put in my time capsule a long time ago was how the bombing of Pearl Harbor on Dec. 7, 1941, affected a child in Southern California.
I was 13 years old and living with my grandmother and grandfather (Walter Doyle Pollard and Etta Huckaby Pollard) in El Centro. My father (Everett Enloe) died in 1937 and my mother (Mildred Pollard Enloe) had died in March 1941.
My uncle Roy Powell had taken my aunt (Betty Pollard Neely) and me to Mexicali to get Mexican food for a special dinner my grandmother was giving. Uncle Roy had given our order and Betty and I were drinking a soda when the waiter came back and in very broken English said, "Mister Powell, Mister Powell, Japanese just bombed Pearl Harbor and we closing U.S. border. You must take girls and hurry."
Poor Roy, who was a bachelor, told us later he was really afraid he would be caught in Mexico with two young teen-age girls for the duration of what obviously would be a war. We never received our order. He burned a U-turn where we parked and headed for the border.