I’ll take "uneventful" any time
My days as a semi-retired physician performing examinations on recruit
applicants seeking to join the Armed Forces was off in the future, way,
way off in the future, as I was, hardly more than a recruit myself, with
wide eyes and still wet behind the ears (a medical condition known as
recruititis) in 1952.
Following several days of bone chilling weather in June 1952 at Treasure
Island Naval Air Station in San Francisco, I was transported to a Mars
Flying Boat in San Francisco waters, where we taxied for an inordinate
period of time prior to our water takeoff.
The enormous flying boat slowly lifted its huge mass into the air and
headed west into the sinking sun at a speed of just over 200 mph for the
12-hour flight to Hawaii. Soon the chill of the night and the 9,000-foot
altitude signaled a call for blankets in which we all bundled up as we
sank into our single row of uncomfortable canvas seats along the
bulkhead and settled in for the flight to the Seaplane landing area at
Barbers Point near Honolulu.
Weary from the long flight, we deplaned and were instantly slapped in
the face by what seemed like a warm damp washcloth, but it was merely
the hot humid air of the tropics. A bus ride brought us to Hickam AFB
where I boarded an R5D (Boeing DC4---speed 200 mph) for another long
over the water flight to Kwajalein in the Marshall Island (2,100
nautical miles W.S.W.).
As we boarded the plane, a large radial aircraft engine occupying the
center of the aircraft cargo area greeted us. Passengers, mostly U.S.
Marine Officers set along the airplane bulkhead in canvas seats. Our
flight to Johnston Island, a low sand and coral island, 717 nautical
miles from Honolulu, 1,000 yards long, and 200 yards wide, was
uneventful, and I didn’t realize how good “uneventful” can be. We
refueled and began our last leg of the flight to Kwajalein, another
8-hour flight.
Approximately two hours from Johnston, I peered out of a window and
noted that one of our engines was smoking. In a few minutes I rechecked
the smoking engine and was momentarily relieved to see that the smoking
had stopped. But then I realized that not only had the smoking stopped
but the engine also! I stared at the now motionless propeller, and also
noted that the sun was coming in from the other side of the aircraft. We
were indeed heading back to Johnston Island.
A crewman announced our change of plans, and we all tried to settle
down, eagerly anticipating our revised destination and ETA. Somewhat
later, looking out of the window I saw a B-17 flying beside us with an
intimidating yellow ‘Rescue Boat’ attached to its undersurface.
Comforting but scary! What if they had to lighten the load? No way could
they jettison the huge engine. Most of the passengers were Marine
Officers and I was a lowly E-2 fresh out of Boot Camp. The options
seemed ominous! As night fell, an excited crewmember appeared in the
cabin ordering us to fasten our seat belts. We were still 30 minutes
from our ETA, and the tension became palpable. Suddenly we heard and
felt the screech of tires as our landing gear slammed onto the runway
signaling the end of a scary flight. (Look at the following Web site,
http://www.johnstonmemories.com/milo.htm to view how Johnston Island
appeared to a landing pilot.) Following a late supper, I went to
the NCO (non commissioned officers) club and was regaled by stories of
disabled aircraft that were unable to make it back to Johnston. Not too
scary since I made it back. Following repairs to the faulty engine, we
left Johnston for the flight to Kwaj, which was another long flight of
1,400 nautical miles with a flight time of another 8 hours, which was,
ah, I was so glad, “uneventful.” I bid adieu to the Marine Officers and
feared for their safety as they proceeded on to Korea.
These were "grounds" for court-martial
Arriving on Kwajalein on that June day in 1952, I was impacted by the
heat and humidity, and wondered as I climbed into my bunk that first
night if it would be possible to remove my skin along with all my
clothing, since it was impossibly hot and humid. The following morning,
I went to the Transportation Compound of Construction Battalion
Detachment (CBD) 1509 which my Orders specified. Upon entering the
office, I was greeted by Mr. Simmons, a Mustang Warrant Officer and
Division Commander, a Chief, and a glorified Yeoman (Sea Bee) named
Thompson, whose job I was about to acquire. I was initially assigned to
the garage where I would assume the role of mechanic. However, when
leaving the office in a dejected mood, Thompson asked if I knew how to
type. The answer was in the affirmative, and an invitation was extended
to work in the garage office as his replacement. It was an easy
transition for the personnel since I was replacing a Thompson, and as a
Thomas the name ‘Tommy’ as he was called, was also appropriate for me.
New man same name. My first task was a request from the Chief telling me
to make a pot of coffee. Being a non-coffee drinker I had no idea how to
perform this assignment. Reaching back in my memory bank, my mother’s
method of brewing coffee came back into my thought process. I added two
scoops of new coffee to the old grounds, and presented the freshly
steaming brew to the Chief. He took one swallow and exploded while
quizzing me on my method of producing such vile swill. I proudly
explained that I had recalled my mother’s method of coffee brewing
during WW II and was told in a stern voice, “Son the Navy runs on
coffee, and we never reuse the coffee grounds!” Grade on my first test
on Kwaj “F”.
A Mom and Pop Business - Without the Mom!
Shortly after the coffee caper I was transferred to a small office in
the garage proper where my task was to keep records of vehicles on the
island. My responsibility was to call the different Divisions and
schedule Preventive Maintenance (PM) work on each vehicle on a monthly
basis. An interesting item in my office was an ancient four-door
refrigerator, which was still in working condition. The sailor who I
replaced had used it to cool soda pop, which he sold to garage personal
at a small profit. I “purchased” the reefer and set up my own ‘Pop Biz’.
However, there was a small problem with my purchase. My pay record had
been lost on the way to Kwaj so I had no income, and little cash.
Fortunately, my credit was good since my tour of duty was for one year.
My stock consisted of Pepsi Cola at $2.00 per case purchased at the
Commissary for a 24-bottle case, and was sold for 10 cents each for a
profit of 40 cents. Root Beer and Orange came 48 to a case for a cost of
$3.60 and sold for $4.80 for a whooping $1.20 profit! Soon word spread
to the flight line, which was adjacent to the garage, and flight crews
came for cold refreshments following long recon flights in their P2V
Neptunes.
We take "jeep revenge" on those Marine
reporters
Barracks life was Spartan, with double deck bunks, and a locker with a
light bulb in the base, which hopefully kept your shoes from becoming an
overnight fungus culture medium. One night after payday, there was a hot
Pinochle game in progress when Marines raided our new barracks and all
of the players were put on “Report”. The next morning, 1st Class P.O.
Dempsey, who was in charge of the garage and vehicle inventory,
instructed me to call the Marine Compound and order all the Marine
vehicles in for PM, and to bring them in ASAP.
We replaced several Ford pickups with one lonely Jeep, which was ready
for the junk heap, and in a short period of time, there was a frantic
call from the Marine Gunny Sgt. asking to speak to Dempsey. An
understanding was quickly reached---all the Sea Bees were taken off
“Report” and the Marines had their vehicles returned. Diplomacy in
action! I think the Marine move on us was spurred by the fact that their
sleeping quarters were located between the “E-Club” and the Sea Bees’
barracks and it was not unusual for our people to return home late at
night chanting “What’s the color of Chicken S--t? Jirene Green”. The
Marines, who were the MPs on Kwaj, obviously took exception to the
chanting and lyrics!
The Great Drunken Wheelbarrow Caper
Another interesting happening in our new barracks was the night one of
the Sea Bees had too much to drink at the E-Club and was brought back to
the barracks in a wheelbarrow. We were on the second deck, and it must
have been with much difficulty that he remained in the wheelbarrow while
ascending a flight of stairs. He was pushed wildly around the barracks,
and then dumped unceremoniously onto the deck next to his bunk. His was
an upper bunk, and he had fallen out of his bunk several times while
intoxicated, so being on the deck was a safety measure. The victim had
vowed to become intoxicated every night for a month once he turned 21,
and I think that he accomplished his mission! The minimum drinking age
of 21 was strictly enforced on Kwaj with ID checks being an every night
ritual. I was very nervous using a friend’s ID card showing my age as
21! Now, back to the wheelbarrow. The next morning, the OOD
inspected our barracks and discovered the wheelbarrow sitting in the
middle of the deck. He awakened a sleeping Sea Bee from the night shift
and inquired about the presence of a wheelbarrow in the barracks. The
half awake, but quick thinking sailor responded, “I don’t know
Sir---perhaps they left it here when they finished the construction”.
Now, That’s Entertainment
We were entertained by nightly movies at the Richardson Theatre
(outside) with mandatory ‘ponchos’ worn when it was raining---the show
must go on! We had at least one USO Show during my one-year sentence on
Kwaj, which was greatly appreciated. Other entertainment consisted of
photography with a ‘Dark Room’ in the Hobby Shop. Swimming was popular
due to the constant tropical temperature. We had a salt water swimming
pool, and the braver of us would swim in the ocean side of Kwaj where a
huge swimming hole had been blasted in the coral reef, On one occasion,
there was a plane load of Navy Nurses on their way to Korea who had
deplaned and were allowed to go swimming at the ‘ole swimming hole’, I
had never seen before or after such a gathering of Sea Bees who suddenly
took up the sport of swimming.
How and why to go "over the hill" on a
small reef
The Transportation Division had the distinction of having the first Sea
Bee to go “Over the Hill” on Kwaj. Our friend did not show up for roll
call one morning, and no one thought much about it---perhaps he had gone
to sickbay. The next morning he was again absent and by the third day
there was growing concern. How can you disappear on Kwaj? Well---he
wasn’t on Kwaj! One night at low tide, he waded across the coral reef,
which was less than two feet deep, between Kwaj and Ebeye, the adjoining
island, and was happily “playing house” with one of the girls on Ebeye.
You know the motto of the Sea Bees “Can Do” and he did! I can’t recall
if he was applauded or chastised.
A scam that was truly warranted
One last thought concerning my Division Officer, Mr. Simmons. Following
our move to the new Transportation Compound my position was moved from
the garage into the new office complex with the subsequent loss of my
Soda Pop Biz, which had begun to pay me more than my E-3 salary of
$99/month. Mr. Simmons approached me one morning and informed me that I
would probably be Court-Marshaled since it was against Navy Regs. to
make money from your shipmates, which I had been doing for several
months with my Pop Biz. Then he informed me---and here comes the kicker
(I mean extortion)---if I paid for the beer and goodies for our next
‘Beer Party”, (for which he was financially responsible) he could
probably prevent the Court-Martial. As a frightened 19 year old, I was
grateful that he was going to bat for me for the price of a party.
Strange---following my paying for the party, the term Court-Martial was
never heard again. He wasn’t a Chief Warrant Officer for nothing!
Why quick showers are so popular in the
Navy
During my stay, there was a constant shortage of fresh water, and
brackish (filtered salt water) was piped into our shower and toilet
areas. Most of us felt dirtier following a brackish shower than not
taking one! When fresh water was available, it was on a time rationed
basis. Hopefully you would not be in the midst of a shower when the
water was secured.
We didn’t bite nails; we picked them
One month prior to my leaving Kwaj I asked for a transfer to the
“Driving Shack” where 1st Class P.O. Dempsey was still in charge. He did
not like me as he had no jurisdiction over me when I was in the garage
office, since I answered directly to the Division Officer, Ensign
Yurtchuk, who had recently replaced Warrant Officer Simmons. Also,
Dempsey was unable to beat me in arm wrestling, which was a real sore
point with him. I was a skinny kid with long arms and had the mechanical
advantage but I was unable to put his Popeye sized arm down either. The
Ensign fortunately liked me since I wrote for the “Kwaj Hodge Podge”,
the Official Publication of the Navy on Kwaj, and I would consult him on
all articles written about the Transportation Division. The importance
of an officer ‘liking’ you will be seen shortly.
When I reported to Dempsey, he gave me the worst job possible for a
driver. I was assigned to drive the ‘Nail Picker’. It was a Dock Mule,
which had been fitted with a gasoline engine powered magnetic unit on
the back. I drove on the side of the road picking up ferrous foreign
objects as I progressed. When the magnet was covered with debris, the
engine was shut down and the metal fell to the ground and I scooped it
into a container on the back of the Dock Mule. My contribution to the
Korean Conflict at this point was mighty indeed and I was pleased that
people back home were safer due to my heroic action and total command of
the ‘Nail Picker’! The Korean conflict ended July 27, 1953, and I am
convinced that my days of driving the ‘Nail Picker’ greatly affected the
timing of the Truce! However, my true reward was sunburn and blisters
thanks to the blazing hot tropical sun of Kwaj which is located about
200 miles north of the equator My other driving responsibility was to
drive the Commanding Admiral about the island. Most people hated the
job, since you had to be dressed in “Whites,” but it was satisfying to
me. However, Dempsey was unaware of that pleasure.
"Condemned"
to life as a civilian
When the time came for me to leave Kwaj, Dempsey graded my performance
based on the 4-0 system. His grading was so low that I can no longer
remember what it was, and his admonition was “Thomas, you’ll never
amount to a Damn in the Navy,” to which I heartily agreed. My final
check out was with my Division Officer, Ensign Yurtchuk, and when he saw
the miserable rating that Dempsey had given me, he scratched it out and
awarded me with a decent rating. Again, diplomacy in action, since I had
worked with him on the Kwaj newsletter. So, my odyssey on Kwajalein,
Marshall Islands concluded as I boarded an R5D for a flight back to
Hickam Field on Oahu, with connections to Travis AFB near San Francisco,
following an eventful year for a then 19-year-old Sea Bee.
Paul E. Thomas, MD,
fourptmd@cox.net |