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Kwajalein is about two thousand miles from Hawaii- or anywhere else. A lonely speck in the middle of the vast Pacific, Kwajalein was my home for about two years. Kwajalein Island is a boomerang-shaped hunk of coral, three miles long by a half-mile wide. The lagoon inside the reef is of the clearest blue. The tropical days are cooled by the trade winds constantly stirring the coconut palms in this remote Pacific Island paradise. Kwajalein is in the Marshalls, a tiny island group scattered along the Equator. Mandated to Japan after the First World War, the strategically-located Marshalls were secretly fortified by the Japanese in their scheme for Pacific domination prior to World War Two. According to theory, the famous aviatrix Amelia Earhart was mapping Japanese fortifications when she went down in the Pacific. One theory has Earhart captured and taken to Japanese headquarters on the island of Roi-Namur for interrogation. One of my prized photographs shows me on the porch of that Japanese headquarters building still standing on Roi-Namur, in the Kwajalein atoll. Late in 1967, bored at NASA and dreaming of faraway places, I put down my book, "The Search For Amelia Earhart", to scan the newspaper Major Scott had left on my desk. The ad said a California contractor needed people to work on Kwajalein. I shipped out. The Marshallese people are of the Micronesian race, somewhat different from the Polynesians and Melanesians who populate other Pacific islands. No Marshallese lived on Kwajalein, but there was a settlement on the island of Ebeye, four miles away. A converted landing craft called "The Tarlang" ran between the two islands morning and evening to ferry the citizens of Ebeye to and fro. Among the Tarlang passengers was His Majesty King Kabua. The King, technically ruler of all Marshallese subjects in his island domain, in reality had less authority than a Justice-Of-The-Peace in Georgia. The Exalted Monarch rode the Tarlang every week to con the store managers out of sacks of sugar. He exercised his Royal Privilege by bothering the commanding officer with trivial problems and petty complaints about the Americans. Captain Seaweed Holmes was Mate on the Tarlang, a most interesting old salt, and a friend to all. He lent a sympathetic ear to the King's rambling accounts of the Americans real or imagined misconduct. One of the King's pet peeves was that the Americans were-uh-deflowering the maidens on Ebeye. The King wanted to write a formal letter of protest to the Colonel, but he couldn't write a lick. He enlisted the help of Captain Seaweed. One evening old Seaweed invited me to ride with him on the Tarlang on his run to Ebeye. It was a wonderful time of day to be on the waters of the blue lagoon, and to witness the most beautiful sunset on the planet. During the trip, Holmes discussed with me the project in which the King had requested his help. He thought I might draft a suitable letter for the King to present to the Colonel. I composed a masterpiece of official correspondence befitting a Royal Monarch addressing a high-ranking military commander. I heard the Colonel got a big laugh out of it. This story has no moral, nor any particular point, but I'm proud of my role in it. Who else do you know who served as Secretary to a King?
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| Shermie at the Piano |