Schofield Barracks, Okinawa, General Buckner, Dead Drunk

"The worth of a sentiment lies in the sacrifices men will make for its sake." ~ Joseph Conrad

Easter Sunday April 1, 1945, was a bright beautiful day aboard a ship off of Okinawa. All hell broke loose that morning on this gorgeous day when U.S. troops started landing on Okinawa. While my outfit didn't participate in the initial landing (we went ashore on the 2nd or 3rd) the noise and ferocity of the bombardment by the battleships with troops landing simultaneously was unfucking real. Unforgettable as well.

There was no resistance to the landings and the biggest risk was getting wet. The real fighting came into being when the infantry moved into the hills where the Japanese had entrenched themselves. At the same time it started pissing fucking rain and everyone was up to their asses in mud. For my part I never worried when the bullets started flying. I was young and stupid. No fear in my fucked up DNA.

As a communication/radio outfit our initial chore was to establish communications with Saipan. No one had ever heard of Saipan or the Marianna's as well. None of the other dot dit guys like me were able to establish communications between Okinawa and Saipan. Captain Gooch, the CO who really disliked me, and for good reason, reluctantly sent for me as a last resort. The walk from my tent, to the radio tent in the ass deep fucking mud was a test of physical strength which I barely passed. I was one exhausted Jew after that 100 yard struggle with mud.

When I did raise Saipan by radio, my big moment in the service, Gooch was happy that we connected but annoyed that the Bronx, loud mouth Jew that he disliked, had pulled it off. But Gooch and I had one hell of a trade going as I didn't like him worth a shit either.

The memory of stopping in Hawaii on the way to the Philippines and then Okinawa has a premier place in my empty head. After a horrendous trip, in often rough seas, (lots of puking), we were ensconced in Schofield Barracks (From Here to Eternity, film). Gooch came to see me to tell me that he was very reluctantly making me a Corporal.

General Buckner needed 3 personal radio operators and Gooch was appointing me as one of them and couldn't justify me being a premier radio operator and still a private. If I was supposed to be good enough to be a personal radio operator for a general then surely I should have some stripes.

A few days after being transferred to the General's personal staff I decided that there was no fucking way that I was going to stay with him.

First they had me in a half track learning how to dismantle and fire a 50 caliber machine gun. Hell, my Mom wouldn't allow a BB gun in the house. You can bet your sweet ass that I was uncomfortable with the idea of needing to fire a 50 caliber machine gun from the back of a half track.

Taking the machine gun apart and putting it back together was a non starter for me. Hell, remembering which way to turn wheel lugs to loosen them for a tire change was something I have never mastered.

But the absolute, fucking, clincher came when I was told that I was expected to dig the General's personal latrines. That busted the cherry and I went on a spree of fucking up so that I would be sent back to my outfit.

Dropped a radio transmitter, knocked over a bookshelf, and couldn’t dismantle the fucking machine gun (for sure). After two weeks of that kind of action the first sergeant had enough of me and with some strong, nasty words shipped my ass back to my outfit.

The only loser was Gooch who didn't have enough on me to bust me back to private and was stuck with me as a corporal. General Buckner and his radio operator were killed. God does take care of drunks and fools and since I qualified on both scores I wasn't the radio operator that was killed while with the General. I made Sergeant later on because some poor son of a bitch was killed and I replaced him. Boggs from Texarkana.

The hospital ship that was carrying my fat ass home was truly the Slow Boat from Korea. Forty five fucking days from Korea to Wilmington, California. We stopped in Yokohama; I rushed to get laid in a Japanese whore house, decided while at the whore house that I was better off jackin’ off then getting a dose. Didn't get laid. Never jacked off enough to grow hair in the palm of my right hand either.

On the hospital ship all we did was play poker, in the morning, for slices of O'Henry candy bars. They were kissin cousins of Baby Ruth bars. In the afternoon we shot craps for real money. At one point I was ahead $1,200 1946 dollars. Was dead broke when we landed in Wilmington but playing cards and shooting craps were great time killers. No regrets.

Because, our lack of intellectual curiosity, like reading books the officers looked down at the enlisted men with great disgust. We looked down at them as arrogant assholes.

When we found that we were going to spend overnight in Honolulu we started making plans to have milk and steak during our few shore hours.

Once on shore, a group of us headed over to a place called Hawaiian Village and spent our few hours drinking boiler makers. (Shots with beer chasers.) We got blind drunk, never did eat anything. I stumbled, face first in a pool of water while walking back to the ship. Always have felt that had it been a deeper puddle I would have fucking drowned.

'When you're up to your ass in alligators, you forget that your initial objective was to clear the swamp.'