The
Captain Goes To War
On Sunday, December 7, 1941 the newspaper
headlines screamed it all.
Pearl Harbor has been attacked by the
Japanese Imperial Navy as 353 Japanese fighters flew over Hawaii destroying all
eight United States battleships.
President Roosevelt declared it a day of
infamy. We declared war against Japan the next day. That Monday was also the
day my father announced he was enlisting in the U.S. Air Force.
“At your age?” my mother demanded. “Bill,
you're forty-five. You already served in the first World War. What are you
thinking?”
“I'm thinking my country can use me,” he
answered proudly. His decision was adamant and within two weeks he had joined
up.
Although reluctant, Mother closed up our
house and we wound up in Miami Beach, Florida, where my father took his basic
training. Mother may not have admitted it, but it was an exciting time for us
as we watched the troops march past our hotel window each morning heading for
the camp grounds that had been set up. Six weeks of basic training, and my
father was promoted to Captain and told he would be based in Mississippi.
We made the journey to Mississippi and
Dad looked for a place we could stay. With his gift of gab, he cajoled an
elderly couple, Mr. and Mrs. Lang, to rent us their guest house in Long Beach,
a twenty minute drive from the camp in Gulfport, Mississippi, where he would be
stationed.
It was a beautiful little cottage
surrounded by acres of various colored camellias. There were three bedrooms, a
small living room with an outside porch, and a large kitchen. Outside the back
door was an ice box. Our rental of the cottage also included maid service. A
young black woman, Naomi, would come in
each day, make beds, clean the house and even cook supper for us if
necessary.
It was evident to me that Dad had really
charmed the Langs because they would even invite us for mint juleps and
sometimes supper. As we grew closer to them, I realized they never had children and enjoyed the
companionship of younger people. I was their special favorite.
“Mercy, child, you could be my grand-daughter,”
she'd laugh and hug me.
I was enrolled as a freshman in Long
Beach High School and Mrs. Lang had her chauffeur, Julian, drive me to school
each day. The first day I hopped into the front seat next to Julian.
He frowned, almost embarrassed. “No,
Missy, you sit in the back. You don't sit next to me.” I didn't understand why,
but from then on I rode in the back seat. Long Beach was a four block town so I
could have walked, but Mrs. Lang wanted Julian to drive me.
By now, Dad headed to camp every day. His
job? To train the young soldiers how to fight jungle style. The camp had set up
an area called Guadalcanal. It was similar to the islands they would be heading
to. Enormous trees, thick clinging vines and heavy undergrowth was where my
father spent his days. He loved every minute and each night would bring home
some critter he had found. There were turtles, a small squirrel, and caged
snakes which he claimed were harmless.
One day a snake got loose and Naomi ran
around trying to bat it with a broom.
“I ain't gonna work with no snake
underfoot,” she declared. The snake finally slithered away and I had to
convince Naomi it wouldn't return.
My father's pet was the baby squirrel he
had caught and caged. He'd come home at night, pet it, and feed it peanut
butter. Strange diet for a squirrel, but Dad always had a handful of nuts that
he fed him, too. I'd never seen this side of my father. He actually bonded with
that baby squirrel. Unfortunately, the bonding didn't last too long.
For my birthday, Mr. Lang had given me a
tiny rat terrier. He was so small and
cute I named him “Sniffles”. He kept eying the squirrel from a distance and
would sometimes run up to the cage and bark. To “Sniffles, whether a squirrel
or a rat, he was meant to hunt them.
I don't know how it happened, but
the squirrel managed to wiggle out of his cage and fell to the ground. “Sniffles” saw his
chance, attacked and killed him. When my father came home that night he was
furious, grabbed the dog and sent him hurtling through the air. The dog refused
to come near him after that. I was just happy he hadn't killed “Sniffles”.
After getting permission from Mr. Lang, Dad started bringing three or
four young soldiers home for fun on the pier and Sunday supper each week.
During the week he worked their butts off, but he was right there side
by side with them, struggling through the swamps and wild terrain. Those young
soldiers had nothing but admiration for him because he never asked them to do
something he couldn't do. He loved those boys. They were like the sons he'd
never had.
Every weekend there were different faces coming to the house. At fifteen
I was having the time of my life surrounded by all these handsome hunks. Of
course my father warned them I was off limits.
Then one weekend a young soldier named Milton was on the guest list. We
hit it off immediately. He was a bit older than me, but I loved his warm, brown
eyes and quirky smile. We swam away from the rest, and I found myself
underwater kissing him. When we broke to the surface he was blushing.
“I – I'm sorry,” he stammered. “I shouldn't have done that, but you were
so tempting. Your father will kill me.”
I assured him I was fine with the kiss and we'd keep it between us. I
never saw Milton again, but we did correspond until the war was over.
One day I received a strange letter from someone named Earl who was a
soldier in Milton's platoon. He had seen
a bathing suit picture of me that I had sent to Milton. He wrote that I now had
sixteen lovers. He suggested that, in fun, I would send a duplicate picture
signed “To the guys I love in Hut K-3.”
I was touched. What a simple time it was that those lonely soldiers
wanted me as their pin up girl. Most would have wanted pictures of Betty
Grable.
I wrote Earl back and explained why I was declining. I didn't think it
would be fair to Milton.
It's funny how war changes people in subtle ways. We become closer to
those in service. Today, every time I see a soldier in uniform I walk over to
him or her, shake hands and profusely thank them for helping to keep our
country free.
_______________________
Author: Audrey Frank