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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. 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 -
Email: fourptmd@cox.net |
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