Pete Azzole's On-line Library

 

AFTERTHOUGHTS

Off to the Far East

By Pete Azzole

 

Can't tell you how many times I reread my orders that fall of '58: ". . .Naval Security Group Activity, Kami Seya, Japan, via CTR Class A School, Imperial Beach, CA." Me, the kid from sleepy hollow, going to Japan! By that time in my life I had traveled extensively to, oh, perhaps three states bordering NJ. Japan was going to be so much better than the other option the Naval Reserve had offered me -- Naval Academy Prep School. As sick of school as I was, Bainbridge sounded like prison. Besides, it was tough and if you flunked out, you went to sea for four years. In retrospect, deciding not to go to that prison was one of the biggest mistakes I ever made. Well, you know how things went at Imperial Beach. [AFTERTHOUGHTS; Welcome Aboard] Graduation day finally came at "IB." They promptly sent me to the Receiving Station at Long Beach, CA which was responsible for getting me to Japan. Some faceless character decided the first leg of my trip to Japan would be via a Landing Ship Tank (LST) which was going to Pearl Harbor. Then, it would be Pearl's problem to get me the rest of the way. Hey, that might be cool, a real ship of the line. And a chance to see the Pearl Harbor. Wow! Let the adventure begin! The Chief Radioman on the LST was no fool. I was hardly on board when he located me, hauled me out of the Deck Division lineup and up to the Radio Shack. What a great relief that was from duty in the ship's galley. I already paid my dues at Philadelphia and Imperial Beach. I learned a lot that week on the LST: to really communicate by Morse on live circuits; to use the flashing light -- I was surprised to find that it was just another medium for Morse code; that food on ships ran from excellent to outrageously awful on a random basis and visual cues were not particularly relevant in assessing food. I vividly remember how an absolutely wonderful looking bowl of vegetable soup turned out to be the liquid equivalent of a salt lick. Not to mention the spaghetti which was cut into 4" X 6" cubes of congealed pasta, which were unceremoniously flopped onto the stainless steel tray and anointed with a thin reddish liquid. After a week at sea, Oahu loomed up out of the sea just after daybreak. What a sight for sore eyes. Paradise lost. Breathtaking blue sky, puffy cumulus, Diamond Head's unmistakable contour, lush green vegetation. From afar, there was no evidence of inhabitation. I had one full day to explore the island. Waikiki: this is it? This is Waikiki? Arizona memorial: I was shaken by an overpowering omnipresence. Tears came to my eyes in a vivid mental replay of that fateful day. Now, where was I going for duty? Japan! The next morning at 0700 I was in a line under a beautiful, blue Hawaiian sky, snaking up to the side of a C54 military transport plane. I noticed -- understatement -- a sweet young thing my age in the waiting area of the terminal. No wedding ring; seemed to be traveling alone. She was now maybe ten people behind me in line. Please God, if you have a heart, put that beautiful creature of yours next to me. It was three by two seating; my seat assignment was near the back, aisle seat of two. I watched anxiously as she entered the cabin and found her spot. "Excuse me," were her first words to me, pointing to the window seat, flashing an angelic smile. I loved her strong Bostonian accent. My prayers were answered. Patricia was charming. She was a new civil servant, going to her first assignment at Fuchu Air Force Base, Japan. The chemistry between us was unbelievable; no one could possibly have more fun, in public, on an airplane, and not get arrested. Well, I don't know if the fuel stop at Wake Island was planned or precautionary. But it was mighty opportune. After waiting for a couple hours in a tiny terminal building, they announced that there was trouble with an engine, and a replacement would have to be flown in. After getting situated in our quarters and changed into 'civvies,' Pat and I headed out for the beach. Took us less than an hour to wade hand in hand around the periphery of Wake. WW II military junk still protruded from the shallows and the sands. We couldn't help but feel the presence of the poor souls whose lives were once related to the residue of war in our midst. That night the stars shone bright, the breeze was balmy and the water was warm; romance bloomed like honeysuckle. What an adventure! Is this Navy great or what?