It was a slow news day at The Inquirer's tall white building on North Broad Street. The banner headline that morning had said, "Roosevelt Sends Personal Note to Emperor in 'Final Effort' to Avert War With Japan." But the only thing going on was the Eagles' game against the Redskins, and that was in Washington.

At 2:22 p.m., the Associated Press clacked out: "Flash! White House says Japs attack Pearl Harbor."

America suddenly was thrust into World War II.

For Philadelphia, the nation's third-largest city with a population of 1.9 million, the war would mean an industrial revival - a temporary return to its claim of being the "Workshop of the World."

A manufacturing base that had languished through the Depression with acres of tired, dead factories would be resurrected by millions of dollars in defense spending.

Philadelphia would turn out light tanks and bazookas, radio equipment and gun turrets, and bullets by the billions. Seven shipyards on both sides of the Delaware would labor overtime. So many workers would be needed, boardinghouses would rent rooms by the shift.

Philadelphians would also fight and die abroad.

When the war was over, Mayor Bernard Samuel would speak of the work and sacrifice in these terms:

"The city of Philadelphia has paid a heavy price for victory. More than 5,000 of our servicemen and women have given their all in defense of American ideals. Nearly 30,000 have suffered wounds on the battlefield. Homes have been broken up and family life disrupted. Great financial sacrifices have been made."

All that was yet to unfold on the war's first afternoon, when The Inquirer dispatched reporters to do man-on-the-street interviews.

Cab driver Herman Einhorn, 31, of Porter Street, spoke for many when he said: "Japan got in the first blow. Now we should make every effort to defeat them quickly."

Al Schmid's heroism

Eight months after Pearl Harbor, Marine Corps Pvt. Al Schmid, of Tulip and Hellerman Streets, was squatting in a machine-gun pit on the Pacific island of Guadalcanal.

American troops had surrendered in the Philippines. German subs were sinking merchant ships off New Jersey. The Marines on Guadalcanal were the first U.S. troops to have invaded any foreign shore during the war.

America desperately needed heroes, and Schmid was soon to become one.

The former factory worker was 21 and had never been far from Philadelphia before.

Now, on Aug. 20, 1942, Schmid was waiting for the Japanese to begin an assault across the Tenaru River.

When the Japanese opened their attack, the two men with Schmid were hit. He took over the machine gun and kept on firing, alone, for hours, until a Japanese hand grenade exploded in his face.

Schmid was blinded. But he had stopped the assault in his sector. The Marines counted about 200 dead Japanese in front of his gun.

Word of Schmid's efforts filtered through the Marine Corps as he was promoted to corporal, then to sergeant, while hospitalized. His exploits came out in Life magazine on March 22, 1943.