Oahu
The thought that we had been shafted by the Russians
only made me madder in my loathsome galley chores and one large square
baking pan would not yield to my scrub brush and furiously I flung it
out the door into the sea for a thorough cleaning. The cook pretended
not to see, still averting my eyes.
After drifting along for about seven days we saw mountains
and then recognized Hawaii and then Pearl Harbor. In a sort of mental
limbo I walked out the ramp and lined up to board trucks sent for us.
Driving across the busy city of Honolulu we gawked
at traffic with civilians and, wow, females walking along the sidewalks
downtown. Mouths agape in dumb incomprehension, we must have looked
like refugees from a Siberian prison camp.
We were a very seedy looking lot with no uniformity
at all in our dress. Most of us were dressed in assortments of khaki,
denim, forest green and navy whites. Whatever we were able to scrounge
up to wear from sources available. Most of us had shaggy hair with many
months away from barbers, and we all had a fixed glaze in our eyes often
seen in primates at the zoo.
Our physical appearance and our mental condition became
known as 'Asiatic'! We had been 'out there' too long, and hardly had
any resemblance to the civilized society around us.
Long away from our feminine counterparts we had begun
to believe the rumors of American womanhood going to the 'dogs'. Tales
of high paid defense workers staining the virtue of our innocents at
home plus several men had filed for a divorce as wives claimed 'immaculate
conception' when blessed events were announced. One clown passed out
cigars telling about 'his' son being born after his absence of two years.
Then he marched over to headquarters to apply for a divorce,
We had also heard that there were women in the Marine
Corps but we had never seen any out 'there'!
About three miles from Pearl our truck turned into
a gate for a transit camp next door to a Marine base and stopped near
some Quanset huts. As we climbed down the driver said use number twenty
two there and drove away.
As we started in to the barracks someone said, "Look
at that!" pointing across a chain link fence at two female Marines
dressed in sweaty fatigues, scrubbing out garbage cans.
We stared, incredulously, mouths agape as the two
girls giggled glancing at our shaggy group. Both, on cue, fell to her
hands and knees and began barking at us! "Arf Arf Arf". We
scuttled into the barracks in bewilderment, brows furrored. It was true.
American womanhood had gone to the dogs! They continued to bark, "Arf
Arf Arf"!
We had 'base privileges' only, no liberty allowed
while waiting for three days for transportation to become available
to take us the last leg of this trip home. SAN FRANCISCO!
We were called out to board trucks again and were
driven to the docks at Pearl Harbor and stopped at the gangplank of
a DESTROYER ESCORT! A mini destroyer, not much bigger than the Statin
Island ferry!
Going aboard we were greeted by a very nice crew of
about one hundred who we outnumbered by a few. They said "We don't
have any bunks for you but feel free to sleep anywhere you like on the
deck!'
This ship was a bit faster than the L.S.T. and cut
the water nicely for a smoother ride and very soon we began to note
the cooler air of the northern latitudes. When it got damp and cold
we searched for cover and I went into a small ammunition room and spread
my bedroll on mounds of five inch shells. Much like the lumpy foxhole
back at Peleliu.
For the last few years we spoke the name San Francisco
reverently and the golden gate bridge became an icon of our grand return
to the promised land.
We chanted a favorite slogan, "Golden Gate in
Forty eight!". We had fantasies about fountains of water from many
fire boats and the sacred bridge sagging under weight of mobs and marching
bands greeting the veterans in wild abandon... suits at the Mark Hopkins...women
smothering us with kisses....!
Thats not exactly the way it turned out!
Cloud cover nearing the coast prevented any sight of
land as we lined the rails straining to see the California coastline.
Fog settled low on the water trying to dampen our spirits but failed
as the excited anticipation was palatable all around. Ahead an object
gradually took shape as we neared it, a buoy with the number nine in
white.
Shouts went up, "Nine miles to Paradise!"
As each numbered buoy drifted by the count down began, "Eight,
Seven, Six," and then it happened! The old Master Showman himself
parted gray pearly gates of fog to reveal The Bridge brilliantly lighted
with warm sunshine!
The roar could have been heard to San Jose as the
sailors of the little ship shouted right along with us. The ships fog
horn blasted adding to the pandemonium and the lone little ship glided
along under the bridge where one lone pedestrian stood leaning over
the rail. He raised one hand and gave a casual wave to us. This was
our welcoming committee!
Our trusty little ship eased into a dock and dropped
the gangplank and we tumbled ashore bent to kissing our LAND! We were
HOME! Our seedy bunch of misfits were herded onto a gray navy bus with
a female type sailor at the wheel. As she drove out the driveway, pausing
to find a slot amid busy fast traffic we quieted a bit since it had
been years since we had seen cars racing along bumper to bumper and
it was a bit unnerving to this group of tropical 'hayseeds'.
Seeing a fifty foot opening she jerked the forty foot
bus into the lane as we held tight to the seat in front of us, wide
eyed as we flashed along in the mechanical madness. We had been shot
at s on and everything but we were scared senseless as the bus wove
in and out of maniacal traffic at high speed.
Looking into the rear view mirror she grinned at out
pop eyed reaction and whipped a turn into Mare Island's front gate.
Zipping along to an administration building she skidded us to a stop,
flung the door open, grinned and said, "Yall come back now, ya'
hear?"
We had thought that we may have been zapped on the
last leg of our journey home and with weak knees we left the bus and
fell in for one more roll call.
Again we were restricted to base and certainly not
allowed to go to the Mark Hopkins or anyplace where civilized people
may be contaminated by our presence.
I deposited my pack on a chosen bunk and went out
looking for a public telephone to call my mother and let her know the
'death warrant' had been invalidated.
Entering the Post Exchange I spoke to a man wearing
khaki sipping a malted milk straw. "Hay, Mac, where are the phones?"
He turned a dull look at me like he didn't understand a word I was saying.
"The telephones, where are they?"
Without a word he turned and walked away and on his
back were the black letters, P.O.W., evidently a German trustee, a very
strange sight for me. The enemy!
Following a slow moving long line up to the few public
phones I finally got through to her and after convincing her that I
was actually in San Francisco and all in one piece, no arms or legs
lost enroute, she said, "Your brother is here."
Then I spoke to my very favorite person on earth,
Freddie, two years my senior who had been shot down over Germany in
1944. He avoided capture for six weeks and was then 'sold out' by A
French 'Judas'.
Patton's army released him in May of forty-five and he returned with
a strange illness that took his life in early forty six.
Our 'captive' veterans were escorted onto a train
at Mare Island and went down to more close confinement at the Marine
base in San Diego. Liberty not allowed for us here either.
We were not fit for public assimilation and they knew
it. We had to be refurbished mentally for acceptance back into the fold
of civilized people.
Beyond our seedy, unkempt appearance our language
was foul and we had to be 'cleansed' to a degree. At the dinner table
when asking for the salt or pepper or anything, the requested item was
prefaced with the vulgar "F" word as a matter of habit. That
odious word was used to describe everything, the weather, the outfit,
the government, the Marine corps. Everything!
Also we had become viciously bitter about the years
of privations in our 'lousy' chow, lack of uniforms and misuse by the
army wherever we were under their control. An angry bunch of people
who must be 'brainwashed' before released.
They served steaks most every day and the tables were
full of all the 'goodies' we had dreamed about so long. Fresh eggs,
pitchers of fresh milk, real tomatoes and other fresh vegetables so
sorely missed for years.
We had survived for years on powdered eggs, dehydrated
potatoes, carrots, and of course, SPAM. This fattening of the hogs finally
took hold and we began to censor our language a bit and slowly appeared
near normal again.
Our image and attitudes had been reconstructed to
a degree and after two weeks of the 'treatment' we were granted thirty-day
furloughs. My first furlough in three years in the corps.
And everyone lived happily ever after!
Part 1 | Part 2 |
Part 3 | Part 4 |
Part 5 | Part 6 |
Part 7 | Part 8 |
Part 9 | Part 10
