Men of the Fourth Marine Division first glimpsed what was to be our so called rest camp, from the decks of our troop ships, as we passed by the Island of Maui, on our way to invade the Marshall Islands. We were sitting off shore from Lahaina Roads taking on provisions, and from our view point it looked like a normal, beautiful tropical island, and a wonderful place for a home base.
After the Marshall Islands had been secured, we returned to the Island of Maui in February 1944, and proceeded to get acquainted with our new Division home. I still remember the long convoy of trucks traveling from Kahului docks, through Paia and Makawao, passing under the beautiful blooming flame and shower trees, on past giant hibiscus and wild roses. I remember passing several green clapboard houses from which curious islanders peered out at us.
Three times in 15 months, the Division was to make this journey from the Kahului docks to Camp Maui and each time the Island was reported to be more beautiful than before.There was one phenomenon however, that was difficult to accept and that was the incessant rain. It rained and rained and then rained some more.
There are legends concerning how the Fourth got Camp Maui as a rest camp. There are those that say it was originally intended for the Army, but they refused to accept it, which of course made it just the thing for Marines. Some others claim it was the result of a deliberate conspiracy on the part of the High Command who wanted to simulate combat conditions. Whatever the truth, everyone agreed that originally, the term "Rest Camp" was definitely a misnomer. On this there was total agreement.
Camp Maui sprawled 1,500 feet above sea level on the side of the world's largest extinct volcano, Haleakala, whose broad rim soared nearly 10,000 feet into the sky. To the older natives, Haleakala personified the majestic power of a higher being, and it was into its crater that the legendary Madame Pele, as an act of appeasement, threw roast pig, silk handkerchiefs, and even jewelry.
To the Marines however, Haleakala was simply the cause of many of our problems. Rain clouds, passing over its crest, descended to warmer levels and dumped their moisture. Islanders pointed out that we had arrived during the rainy season and that was the cause of the heavy rainfall. There was one story that made the rounds about the rain and mud. It seemed that one Marine's shoes came off in a muddy ditch one night and he didn't know about it for three days. He had been undoing the mud at night and putting it back on in the morning.
We had a saying on Maui, if you don't like the weather, just stand by for 10 minutes and it will change. Slowly, in spite of the muck, mud and rain, the camp came to life. Buildings were constructed for officers, tents for livings quarters, mess halls were built and roads carved through the mud. We even had PX's, Post Exchanges, with supplies of "pogey Bait". tobacco and sufficient beer for two bottles per man each night. We had movie screens and stages in each regimental area. Ball diamonds were laid out and boxing rings constructed. Even libraries were opened and we had a choice of many different magazines.
Chaplains even succeeded in getting someone, somewhere to procure lumber for chapels, and would you believe we had electric lights in all our tents. Of course it was a single light bulb hanging from the center of the tent, but it served its purpose. Loud speakers were hung throughout the area so we had the latest music to listen to, plus, of course, lots of official announcements. Most important though, within a few months, Camp Maui was turned into a relatively decent place to call home.
Maui was not only a place for training, it was a place for fun and good times. We had USO Shows, Hula Dance shows, and one of my favorites, The Fubar Follies, with Sergeant Lee Cohen as MC. This show expanded and with new acts along with the dance bank from the 24th Marines, the, "Just 4 Fun Show", was born. It toured the Pacific, playing the "fox hole" circuit, giving shows at Roi, Saipan, Guam, Tinian and Johnston Islands,and became one of the best shows in the Pacific.
Maui was also a place where many medals were awarded, including untold numbers of Purple Hearts. On April 26, 1944, Admiral Nimitz traveled to Camp Maui to present awards to men of the Fourth who had earned them on Roi-Namur, with the following words: "The world knows of the gallant performance and achievement of the men who fought at Roi-Namur Islands. There the Fourth Division wrote another brilliant chapter in the chronicles of the Marine Corps." Twice again, on Maui, words like these would be spoken to men of the Fourth--after Saipan & Tinian, and Iwo Jima. Each time there were fewer of the original Fourth to hear them.
On July 4, 1945 a parade was held on the Camp Maui airstrip at which time 714 men of the Division received decorations. On August 16 there was another ceremony and the Presidential Unit Citation and the Asiatic Pacific Theater streamers were attached to the Division and Regimental colors.
After the battles of Saipan and Tinian, we returned to Maui for R&R but mostly for additional training. For me however, life on Maui would be cut short. Due to wounds received during the Saipan - Tinian campaign, and some serious problems at home, I was returned to the States, never to return to the Fighting Fourth, and never again would I be as happy as I had been with the Fourth Marine Division.
Leaving the Division was very difficult and I had no idea what was in store for me in the future, because the War was far from over. Even today it is difficult to remember details of the trip back to the states. I only remember leaving Maui by air for Pearl Harbor, then finding flight transportation from Pearl to San Francisco on a four engine Navy flying boat, the PB4Y2, and then landing at the Naval Air Station in Alameda California.
When I landed at the Alameda Air Station I had no idea where I was or where I was to report. I flagged down some Marine Officers in a Jeep and asked them if they could tell me where I might report and they took me in tow and dropped me off at 100 Harrison Street, Marine Corps Headquarters.
After asking around, I finally found my way to the third floor, walked over to a desk where I saw a Marine Major. He asked what he could do for me, and I handed him my orders, which by the way simply read Stateside. I advised him that I had just arrived from Hawaii and was reporting for re-assignment. He took the orders, and after determining that I was more or less fresh from the battle field, proceeded to treat me like someone important.
Never before or since have I been treated as well as I was at Marine Headquarters in San Francisco that day and the days to follow. In short order he got me settled in, gave me a jeep and a lady Marine driver, told me I could go anywhere I wanted that day and the young lady would be glad to drive me.
As an enlisted man this was really VIP treatment. In the evening I was taken to the Marine Barracks on Treasure Island Naval Base, and told I had permanent liberty and not to bother to come back to the barracks, just call in once each day. This was the kind of duty I had only dreamed about.
In a couple of days, my orders were still not settled as to my next duty station, so I activated the 30 day leave I had received as part of my orders, and hoped that during my leave the situation would be worked out.
I reported back to the Major at Headquarters and asked him for assistance in getting to San Diego where my wife was living at the time. He asked me how I would like to travel and since I didn't have very much money, I suggested the train. He looked at me and said no Marine just out of combat is going to travel by train, that I deserved to fly 1st Class. At that time in my life I hadn't been around a lot but I knew that during the war a Marine Corporal didn't rate very high on the totem pole, and obtaining the necessary priority to fly during the war, to me,was out of the question.
He advised me that that would be no problem, that he would take care of everything, which he proceeded to do. If I remember correctly he got me a No 4 priority, which was not the very top but it was high enough that I boarded ahead of a lot of people. The Major told me that I might get a few sour remarks from some politicians and even from some military, but not to let it bother me, just simply ignore the whole bunch.
As he predicted, I heard a few nasty remarks about why a marine enlisted man rated this kind of classification. Things like, how does he rate. Who does he know, that gives him the right to fly, and so on. I must admit I found it quite amusing. One thing for sure, the treatment I received from the Major made me very proud to be a Marine that day.
I also recall that not one single Marine officer on the flight made any remarks about me being aboard. Most of them went out of their way to be nice.
My wife didn't know I was being returned to the states. It happened so quickly that I really didn't have time to notify her by mail and in those days a telephone was out of the question. In fact I had no idea where I would be assigned, or even if I would be able to take my leave before the assignment came through. As a result, when I boarded the plane for San Diego she had no idea I was on my way home. You can then imagine what a shock she had when I walked up the steps to our small apartment and she opened the door to my knock.
It was good to be home and good to be with my wife again. The thirty days seemed to fly and soon it was time to return to San Francisco, because no orders had come through as yet. As luck would have it, my orders came through almost as soon as I arrived in San Francisco. When I reported to the Major, he advised me that I might as well get back on the plane and return to San Diego because that was where I had been assigned.
I was to report to the Marine Barracks, Marine Base in San Diego and I couldn't have been happier. He didn't say so, but I have an idea that the Major had a hand in my being assigned to the Marine Base, San Diego.
The reception I received upon reporting to the Marine Base in San Diego was somewhat less than that I experienced in San Francisco. My orders required that I report to the Commandant’s Office on arrival and when I walked in, I reported using all the official protocol required of any enlisted man. After I was recognized, I presented my orders which had been received from Washington and copies given to me in San Francisco.
The Officer was sitting in an office just outside the Commandant’s office and his only remark to me was ,"Yeah, We know, we have copies to, sit down, someone will be with you in a minute". I remember he never even looked at me while these remarks were being made and I realized I was back in the real world again.
After what seemed to be an eternity, the officer returned and handed me my assignment. He then advised me I would be joining a company he called ,”The Walking Wounded”, better known as a casual company. When I arrived at the barracks I found an array of men from every battle field in the Pacific. Some of them still had open wounds, some had one leg three and four inches shorter than the other, one had his entire shoulder blade blown away on the Canal and completely deaf in one ear. Almost all had some type of serious problem.
Any time we moved from one location to another as a group, we were never required to march in any particular order. We just sort of strolled along and the other Marines on Base referred to us as Old Timers. Our age probably averaged around 20 at the time.
Since we all had one common bond, we became very good friends. We had guys who had been wounded on Tarawa, Guadalcanal, Bougainville, Saipan, Tinian, Peleliu, and just about every other Island the Marines had invaded in the Pacific. Each morning we more or less fell out for roll call, and as we were called to attention by the Master Sergeant, it was almost funny to see some of the guys try.
After a while the Master Sgt. gave up and all we were required to do was line up in some kind of order. Some guys had to be helped and some were on crutches , while others wore full body casts. We were in general a sorry looking array. Most of us had to report daily to the Doctor, who in most cases returned us to our regular routine. Some would be returned to the Hospital until such time as they were found fit enough to return.
I recall two very good friends, both of which had been hurt on the Canal. One was the Marine who had his shoulder blown apart, and the other one had been shot through the knees with a Jap machine gun, resulting in one leg being almost four inches shorter than the other. At that time I believe he was from Washington state, and was one Guy Felix. The one with the bad shoulder also had lost all hearing in his left ear, was one Dale York from Golden, Colorado. These two guys were typical of the walking wounded .
At that same period in time, we had a Marine that was about as tough as they came, and he had a problem. He was a really nice guy but a little psycho. In fact he got so bad no one could handle him and the CO decided he needed to be confined to the Psycho Ward in the Hospital. He knew that one other guy and I were good friends of this Marine and so ordered us to take him in. About half way there he decided he didn't want to go, saying he was not crazy, everyone else was. Believe me, if we had not been good friends, I don't think we would ever have arrived in one piece. After about two hours we finally covered the 100 yards or so, and felt lucky at that. This guy was one big tough Marine, but he needed help.
One day Felix and I decided that Dale deserved to go home and was qualified for medical discharge. We got an appointment with the Doctor and proceeded to walk him down to the clinic, with him protesting all the time. When we arrived the Doctor decided we all needed to be checked out and proceeded to do so. When it was all over he decided that Felix would be discharged and that Dale and I were fit for continued duty. Felix had a Marine Corps fit. What he didn't want was a discharge, but his argument was to no avail. He was out and on his way home in just a few days. What he had really wanted was for the Navy to fix his leg, but if that ever happened he had it done in the Veterans Hospital.
At this time in history, I can no longer recall how many of us were in this casual company, but I do remember that no one seemed to know what to do with us. As a result the Master Sergeant who was in charge of these misfits, as some called us, made up his own rules. For reasons I don’t understand until this day, he had an intense dislike for all of us and proceeded to make life as unpleasant as possible. Most of the guys determined that his dislike stemmed from the fact that we had all been injured in combat, while he was either too old or unfit. Whatever the reason, he gave us a bad time.
All of us had been ordered to strict light duty, which meant no heavy work. That fact alone seemed to really get his goat In an attempt, I think, to show us that he was in charge, he decided that light duty meant that we were strong enough to unload sides of beef from refrigerated boxcars, and carry them on our backs into cold storage lockers.
We all knew that we were not supposed to do that kind of work, but decided to give it a try anyway. Some of us made it, but some simply could not, so they went back to the barracks. This went on for a couple of days and more and more guys had to drop out. One day one Marine collapsed and the weight of the side of beef fell on top of him opening up some old wounds. We took him to the doctor and decided right then that we would not unload anymore boxcars. For the rest of that day we went on strike, so to speak. Also in our spare time he insisted we wash and wax the Major’s cars.
The evening after the Marine fell, we all got together and decided that we would refuse to work the boxcars anymore, nor would we wash and wax the Major’s cars. The next morning we were called out and given our work assignment, first we were to wash and wax the Major’s cars and afterward we would resume unloading the boxcars, then things sort of exploded. During the meeting the night before, I was elected to be company spokesman, so I took two steps forward, stood at attention, and proceeded to inform the Sergeant that we would no longer wash and wax the Major’s cars, and we most definitely would not unload any boxcars loaded with frozen beef. We would however be willing to do anything that fell within the scope of our assigned task and did not exceed our ability as wounded marines.
For a minute I thought the old Sergeant was going to have a heart attack, he stammered; his face turned red, and when he could breathe normally again he repeated his order. Again I repeated our demands and this time he screamed in my face that I had disobeyed a lawful order and he was charging me with that, plus another charge of mutiny. I was told I should consider myself under arrest and I was to report to the Major at a time I no longer remember. I do know it was after he had time to see the Major and make a full report.
Well I reported as ordered and received a very strong dressing down, being advised at the same time that I could be court marshaled and given a term in the local brig. I advised the Major that I was fully aware of that and that we did not refuse to work, only refused to do the type of work that many of us were incapable of doing without injury. I then advised him of the injury to the marine that fell and inquired if it was his order that we wash and wax his cars each week. He seemed surprised at that and told me it was not.
After dressing me down for a while longer, he told me he would not press charges and that in the future I was to use the chain of command. That meant doing as you are ordered and then making the complaint. I advised him that we had tried to talk sense to the sergeant but got nowhere and so we decided on this action. He then dismissed me with the words, “You guys have got some real spunk, now get out of here, charges dismissed". I thanked the Major for his understanding and got out of there as fast as I couild.
Things returned to normal after that but we never saw much of the old Master Sergeant again. Before that incident, the Major never seemed to be very much involved with the company, but afterward, he really seemed to develop a whole new attitude and really got involved with running the company. He made sure the most seriously wounded were taken care of, and we never were assigned to work outside the boundary set down by the doctor again.
In those days the enlisted rates were much more simple than they are today. They were private, private first class, corporal, buck sergeant, etc. There was no such thing as E rates, lance corporal, etc. A corporal was simply a corporal and after the corporal the rate was sergeant, and on up the line. Today it reminds me of the army rates. During WWII the only way you could get a promotion, someone had to either get killed or transferred, then his rate would open up.
One day I was summoned to the Major’s office and asked if I had messed up before in any way. I told him no and inquired why he asked. He then advised me that I was walking around with a Spec number which called for a Staff or Tech Sergeant rate and I was wearing Corporal stripes. I advised him that I was aware of that and he promised he would see that I was promoted to the rate I deserved, and would find out why I had not been given the rate my specialty called for.
Guess what, I was again transferred before the rate came through. I was considered well enough to return to full duty and sent to Camp Pendleton. There I joined a regular casual company and went through the same thing again about why I was not a Staff Sgt. To make a long story a little shorter, I will say that the promotion never did come through. I was transferred time and time again, just one jump ahead of the promotion. The paperwork never caught up with me, and I never knew why.
In Camp Pendleton it was one replacement battalion after another. Each morning we would check the bulletin boards to see who was being shipped out. The Doctors kept some of us around for reasons unknown to me and we would simply form up another replacement battalion when most of the guys left. The whole process would start all over again.
Soon after I returned to the states my wife became pregnant with twins and that presented a few problems in finding living quarters, both in San Diego and Oceanside, near Camp Pendleton. During the war you could not rent an apartment if you had a child or even if your wife was pregnant. My wife and I spent a lot of time walking the streets trying to find a place to live.
The places we did find were one room in the back, cheap hotels, small trailers, etc. In Oceanside it was even worse. Some marines were renting tents set up on the beach. It was simply impossible to lead a normal life. There was some Government housing, but the waiting list was enormous and one had to wait for at least a year. If you had children or if your wife was pregnant it was worse.
"MOVE TO OCEANSIDE-Part Two"
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