When I left the Second Medical Battalion's field hospital (Hawaii), I was astonished to find out what a huge organization the Second Marine Division had become. The regiments were camped in separate areas, but close enough together so that from a distance the tents looked continuous. This was the first time in its history (since 1 Feb. '41) that the entire Division had been billeted in one place. I was lost and had no guide.
I retreated to the Medical Company's office and asked if they would call my unit. They did and the unit sent a jeep over to get me. I was introduced to the driver, Otis L. Martin, who would become a life-long friend. He drove me to our quarters, then to the offices, which were long, rectangular buildings about 30 feet wide. They differed in length depending on their use.
On the ride to our building, Otis brought me up to date on what had been happening. Our unit had bloated to about 25 men and three full-time drivers that were detached from Second Motor Transport. Otis knew Larry Card, who had been transferred into Motor Transport. We settled into a long conversation. When I reported to the first sergeant I was placed on light duty for a period of not less than two weeks. Light duty there was the same as no duty, so I would go down to the section office and spend my time there.
When we were back at Camp Elliott, Smokey Smolikar had taught me the in's and out's of running a projection booth and how to operate both the carbon-arch and the portable 35-mm and 16-mm projection machines. Now this teaching was put to good use. Smokey didn't like doing the same thing he'd done on the outside, so he asked to be transferred. Because we now had so many full-time projectionists, his request was granted and he went back to K Company as a Grunt. He was as happy as a hog in mud, plus no one there complained about his cigar smoking.
In our building was a huge space for the training-film library, and next to it a small theater had been built that could seat 12~15 people on folding chairs. We also now had a group that handled recreational movies and they had a separate library. Usually the new movies, received directly from the States, were shown to General Smith and his staff before they were shown to the troops. These movies came in 16-mm and 35-mm sizes, so they had both size projectors set up in the booth to the rear of the theater. Captain Louis Hayward was in charge of these libraries, but he was seldom seen. I made good use of the theater by showing myself all the latest films.
It was during this time that I got a letter from my older brother, who mentioned that the "Bull" had been transferred. Jim, my brother, was now on Bull Halsey's staff as a first- class yeoman and they had been in Noumea, New Caledonia. We knew Halsey had been transferred to Pearl Harbor. I took the letter up to the top kick and requested a furlough to go to Pearl. He presented it to the CO who said, "Okay. Get the papers ready and arrange for transportation up and back."
I got five days starting two days later. When the time came I was driven to the Naval Air Station in Hilo and checked in for my flight. That was my introduction to bucket seats. I had flown only one other time in my life and that was in an open cockpit, single-engine plane, so this was a step up. There were two rows of seats facing each other across the cabin with seatbelts for each seat attached to the frame that ran the length of the plane on one side and on the other side from front to rear doors. Someone said the plane was a DC-3 — I'll accept that.
We got to Pearl without falling out of the sky, as I suspected we might, and I was looking for transportation. When I picked up my papers at Camp Tarawa, I was told to report to JICPOA, where my brother was stationed. This information came from a source and through channels that I knew nothing about, and I accepted it thinking to myself, "Ours is not to reason why; ours is but to do or die."
When I got off the plane I asked a sailor how to get to JICPOA. He said, "Take this bus right here. It goes to Pearl Harbor. Then catch the bus marked CINCPAC." Okay, fine, nothing to it. While we were riding along I kept looking for damage from the Japs' bombing but couldn't find any. I was aimlessly thinking, "What the hell do all these abbreviations mean?" I was used to the simple things like Second Marine Division or at worst 2ndMarDiv. We got to the gate at Pearl Harbor where the bus pulled inside and stopped alongside a curb. When we began to leave the driver said, "Have your identification ready." As we stepped off the bus an armed Marine corporal was checking our ID. When I got off I handed him my U.S. Army fold-out ID that I'd been issued in Iceland (the only ID I had) — and the ship hit the sand!
"What the f*ck is this?" he said and in the same breath yelled, "Sergeant of the guard!" while simultaneously I felt two strong hands, one on each arm, grasp me and I was, none too gently, but mighty firmly, walked toward the rear of the bus. In the half minute or less that it took to do this, I hadn't uttered a word. The Sergeant of the Guard appeared out of nowhere and asked the corporal what was going on. The corporal handed him my ID and said something I couldn't hear. The sergeant then came over toward me and the two MPs that were still holding me and said,
"Keep him here, I'm going to get the OD." I wasn't too concerned about what was happening, but all these men had sidearms and I kept getting a picture of Field Music Dahl nearly decapitating our lieutenant. The OD arrived in under a minute and took over.
"Where did you get that ID, Marine?"
"We got them in Iceland, sir, about December 1941."
"What's your serial number?"
"299422, sir"
"Why don't you have a Navy ID?"
"We never had any before the war and when we got back to the States I was never issued one. I didn't know I needed another one. I have my dog tags, sir."
"Come with me, corporal."
"Yes, sir." (aside to myself, "To the brig, you asshole.")
We went into the guard house — with the two MPs helping me find the way. Inside the OD sits down at a desk and tells me to sit in a chair. I did. The MPs are still standing beside me. The OD asks, "What are you doing here?" So, I give him the whole story from scratch. He says, "What's your outfit?"
"Second Marine Division, D-3, sir."
"Who is D-3?"
"Lieutenant Colonel Green, sir."
"Well you got that right. What's his first name?"
"Wallace, sir."
"Okay. I'm going to make a call. You wait over by the door."
I didn't hear the conversation, but when he was through he came over to us and said to the MPs, "Put him on the CINCPAC bus, but one of you stay with him. There will be a Navy lieutenant waiting to meet him and you can release him to the lieutenant."
We got on the bus. By now I was beginning to wish I hadn't asked for a furlough. We got to CINCPAC and unloaded from the bus. I was turned over to a Navy lieutenant after proper identification was made and he said, "Are you Corporal Bailey?"
"Yes, sir."
"We have been waiting for you. Your brother is next door at JICPOA (jigpoha). Come on."
We were in front of a nondescript building that looked like it needed a coat of paint. Between us and the building were two rows of cyclone fence about 10~12 feet apart that circled the building. There was a gate in each fence, to allow entry, that was guarded by two armed Marine platoon sergeants at each gate. The fence appeared to be 10~12 feet high and was crowned by slanted barbed-wire pointing both inboard and outboard. At the door to the building were two Marine Corps lieutenants in dress greens and a Navy lieutenant in winter dress blues, all carrying sidearms and riot guns. I had been thinking about the initials CINCPAC and suddenly it dawned on me — "Commander In Chief Pacific!" Nimitz and all those other big admirals! My God! What the hell am I doing here?
We went next door where the same security system was in effect there. The lieutenant showed his pass to each set of guards and each one scrutinized it. We finally passed through the door into a large lobby. Directly ahead of us was a very wide staircase that led to the top deck. To our right was a large L-shaped room with the foot of the L pointing to us. In that area were two desks facing us that were occupied by two lieutenant commanders. To their right were three rows of desks facing them. There appeared to be about six desks in each row, all these desks were occupied by officers and each of them was carrying a sidearm. To our left was a wall with three or four chairs backed up to it. The commander at the front desk stood up and came over to us and said, "Is this Corporal Bailey?"
"Yes, sir," the lieutenant replied.
The commander said, "That will be all, lieutenant. You may go." He disappeared without a word. The commander looked at me and said, "You see those chairs over there?"
"Yes, sir."
"You go over there and sit down and don't move a muscle unless I tell you to."
"Yes, sir."
Back at his desk the commander picked up the phone and made a call. About three or four minutes later I heard a noise on the stairs, but hardly dared look up, however I did and there was a Navy chief descending the stairs. It took me a few seconds to recognize my brother, Jim. He laughed and asked, "Did you lose another suitcase?" The commander motioned for us to come to his desk, so we did and he asked my brother, "Is this your brother, Jim?"
"Yes, sir."
"He doesn't look anything like you; he's so damned skinny. Are you sure he's not a spy?" with a laugh. "The first thing you are going to do with him is take him down to Photo and get him fixed up with some proper Navy ID. He's got the whole god-damned place in an uproar this morning. And you, young man, whatever you see or hear while you are here does not exist, understand?"
"Yes, sir!"
Jim led me down a flight of stairs to the next deck and through a long passageway to a room full of photographic equipment. They were aware we were coming, so they had everything ready to take my picture, type up the card, fingerprint me and laminate the whole thing in less than five minutes. I was officially back in the Marine Corps. I finally asked my brother what all the letters stood for and he confirmed CINCPAC, then said JICPOA (Joint Intelligence Corps Pacific Ocean Area) — Naturally, as if I could've guessed. Intelligence personnel from all the Allied nations were stationed there.
The Japanese code had been broken, and they listened into Jap radio messages 24 hours a day. My brother's job was to keep track of every Japanese vessel in the Pacific Ocean. He took me up to his office, which was a huge room on the second deck. One entire wall was a mural of the Pacific Ocean with all the islands shown and hundreds of ships at different places. He asked, "Do you know what's next for you?" I replied in the negative. He took a pointer and touched Saipan. I said, "You didn't do that. I don't want to know."
Sometime before I left Hilo I had heard that Hank Edelstein had got a commission and was stationed at Pearl. I asked my brother if there was any way I could find out if he was here. "Sure," he replied, and pulled out a telephone directory containing the names and phone numbers of all the officers at Pearl. We called the number and, sure enough, it was Hank. He was elated to hear me and we arranged to meet at his office the next morning at 1000 and he gave me directions. And when I told him where I was he said, "What the hell are you doing up there?"
My brother and I got a hotel room and prepared to see the sights of Honolulu. The next morning I arrived at another nondescript-looking building and as I passed through the door a Marine guard asked, "What is your business here?"
I said I had an appointment with Lieutenant Edelstein. He consulted a large book on his desk then said, "I'll get you an escort." I was taken up to the second deck that was a bevy of offices from left to right. We walked to the far right and the escort waved me into an office on the left.
There behind the desk was Hank in all his finery. He jumped up, ran around the desk and threw his arms around me, laughing and talking at the same time. After we settled down a little he said, "All this happened because you showed me how to use a stupid stick [shovel]!" He was on General Holland M. Smith's staff — V Amphibious Corps and our big boss. Finally I had to ask, "How did this happen, from the beginning?" He related the following story:
"You remember I got transferred to the 9th Marines. At the time I was a PFC (not to be confused with Poor F*cking Civilian). When I got there I was assigned to Easy Company. There were no 9th Marines and there wasn't an E Company. They were a paper regiment. We had just one 90-day wonder and me as the company clerk.. Neither of us knew what to do and this continued for some time.
One day out of sheer boredom I began to read the First Sergeant's Handbook and soon came across the procedure for promotions. I found out that we had all the papers and forms so the next day I told the lieutenant I should be a corporal because the TO called for it, and would he sign the necessary papers for the promotion." The lieutenant replied, 'Anything you say, Hank. Hell, you've been in longer than I have.'
"The next day I had my warrant. I waited a few weeks then I promoted myself to sergeant, then later on to platoon sergeant and finally to first sergeant. We still hadn't received any men for the platoon. I waited about a month and then put in for OCS. I got the necessary endorsements, passed the course and became Lieutenant Henry A. Edelstein, an officer and a gentlemen in the United States Marine Corps — even though at one time I had been covered with sh*t and had to sit in the back of the truck!" We laughed ourselves to tears.
We had dinner that night and promised to stay in touch. My brother and I visited all the sights of Oahu and all the bars (right) we could get into. Before we parted I said, "Remember — Loose lips sink ships." Man, those five words are hard to say when you're three sheets in the wind.
I left for Hilo as scheduled and arrived back feeling more physically fit than I had felt in a long time. But, for the first time in my life I felt old. I was 24.
