While Ike’s brother was standing on a knoll a short distance away, their dog flushed a pheasant out of the brush. The bird flew up and fluttered in the air between the two boys.
“I raised my shotgun and that’s the last I knew — because I was shot,” Ike says.
The bird had blocked his brother’s view of him. Pellets peppered the left side of Ike’s body, from his abdomen down though his left leg, his right leg, and he was bleeding profusely.
His brother carried him from the valley to their car, which was parked about half a mile away, then drove him to Koloa Hospital, a sugar plantation-owned hospital.
“While I was in a semi-conscious state, I had this incredible vision that I went off to war, was wounded, came back, got married and fathered two daughters,” he says.