The California Immigrant

by Barbara Anne King

  “For all our sakes, I hope not.”

  In attempt to divert the conversation from war, Marty said, “What have you heard from home?”

  “Either they’re not writing or letters are not getting through. And I have to admit, I haven’t had the motivation to write them either. Mom is not going to want to hear all about me being shot at and shooting back. She couldn’t care less if I’ve made ace.”

  “I know. She just wants her baby to stay safe and come back to her in one piece.”

  “I’ll either end this war in one piece or be blown to smithereens.”

  “Let’s not give tongue nor thought to that. Anyway, I’m only going to be around Honolulu for a couple of days and then we’re shipping out again.”

  “Oh, yeah? Where to?”

  “Ulithi Atoll. It’s in the Caroline Islands.”

  “I know all about it. It’s a major naval staging area. Guess we’re gearing up for another battle.”

  “Who knows? They don’t tell us sailors much. We’re on a need-to-know basis.”

  Tom Paul let out a loud belly laugh. “We all are. Sometimes I don’t even think the commanders know much too far in advance.”

  Chapter 63

  Back at the Nevada, Marty and his mates loaded ammunition and then set sail under full power. Marty had not been at Pearl Harbor when the Japs struck so he could only imagine what the Nevada and its crew had struggled through to get underway that day only three years ago, the only battleship that did. It brought tears to his eyes, thinking about that day, knowing that the Nevada’s ability to maneuver had given hope despite taking a torpedo in its port side earning its nickname, Cheer Up Ship.

  As it moved out into the harbor, it was pelted by several bombs and then ordered to beach itself so it wouldn’t block the channel. It must have been a sorry sight for sailors to witness their ship going under. Even sorrier to have to carry off dead and wounded mates. Most gruesome of all was encountering body parts of crew who had minutes ago been robust seamen but now not even recognizable.

  As the Nevada moved along the channel, some crew members pointed to the spot the Nevada had been laid down. But like the Phoenix, it was raised from the ashes and sent off to the Puget Sound Navy Yard under its own power to be refitted. When President Roosevelt visited the Navy Yard, it was there to bear witness to the day that will live in infamy. As a former Secretary of the Navy, Roosevelt had a special connection to ships and their crews.

  There can be no doubt that the battle-scarred Nevada had been an inspiration that would help carry him through war time, a reminder that our country is strong, and though scarred, would come out a survivor as well as a victor. The USS Nevada was one of the few battleships that would fight key battles on both fronts. Marty knew he was having the experience of a lifetime aboard a vessel that would go down in history.

  After they got through the channel, the seas grew rough as blustery winds blew, but the Nevada plowed through to its destination. After making their way through the Mugal Channel, they anchored in a lagoon near an island named Mogmog. But as Marty and his crew were later to find out—don’t judge an island by its name. The island was a bit of paradise with its crystal blue waters, white-sand beaches, and palm trees, fronds waving gently in the wind.

  Once there, they had unrestricted liberty and there were plenty of diversions to occupy their time. The navy had built a bandstand, which gave sailors with even a bare amount of talent a venue to entertain the troops. Some guys put together a band, others brought out their guitar and some just got on stage and harmonized. Then there was a large arena where various acts took to the stage to entertain as well as plenty of drink stands around so no one ever had to do without a beer for too long. Marty found an ongoing poker game that he was able to last in until dawn when he lost most of his pay.

  But just as it seemed too good to be true, it was. The island was crawling with one of the largest populations of coconut crabs whose leg span of three feet was only surpassed by its pincers, the strength of steel. One chop was all it took for a crab to break open a coconut. It made one wonder what they could do to a man’s skull.

  It didn’t take the men long to decide that giant crabs would make good target practice. As it turned out, they provided the makings for the biggest crab boil this side of the Maryland shore.

  The navy knew how to do crab boils with Annapolis being located on the Chesapeake Bay, the center of the crab-eating culture. So, they assembled as many big pots as they could find, filled them with water, and set them over a fire built in the sand. When the crabs started cooking, the smell reminded Marty of the San Francisco Wharf where a Dungeness crab cocktail was the order of the day.

  Just as the feast was about ready to be served up, an aircraft carrier pulled into the lagoon. Marty happened to be nearby when Tom Paul made his appearance, scrambling up the shore from a tender.

  “Ahoy there, mate. Welcome ashore,” Marty said as he offered a helping hand to his brother.

  “Somehow I knew we’d meet up here.”

  “This reminds me of the D-Day shakedown when we had hundreds of ships and thousands of military men gathered before battle. But now instead of Frankie, it’s you I’m going to be hanging out with.”

  Tom Paul gave Marty a big hug. “What’s that I smell?” The aroma of crab was filling the air, overpowering every other odor in the vicinity including body odor, which was ever-present.

  “It’s crab…giant coconut crab. This island is crawling with the monsters. But as you can see from the long food lines, it’s a hit especially with naval officers who were weaned on crab at Annapolis.”

  “The admirals seem to be the first in line. I thought officers were supposed to let their men eat first.”

  “That’s the rule but in this case I think they’re food tasters. If they keel over their men will know not to partake. But the natives consider the coconut crabs a delicacy and claim it has aphrodisiac powers. When crab is served up, the young women go into hiding while the old wives parade around in their hula skirts.”

  “Let’s get in line,” said Tom Paul, “before they run out. I want to find out if what they say is true.”

  While they dined at long tables covered with paper, hammered at the shells with volcanic rocks, and picked out the meat with their fingers, guys around them discussed the finer points of crustaceans since some had a lot of experience with them. A young naval lieutenant across the table from them said, “The blue crabs in Maryland are the best. And when they begin molting their shell in spring, you can eat them whole. That’s how I like them—especially the legs which remind me of French fries.”

  An army sergeant down the line said, “We got golden crab in the Aleutians. It has a bit of a sweet taste that was quite pleasing. But the red king crab are supposed to be the best. They’re big suckers…bigger than the ones here…and fishing for them is a real killer. By that I mean, men lose their lives on a regular basis trying to wrangle those monsters onto the boat. They’ve got a six-foot leg span.”

  “If you want to hear something really scary that will give you nightmares,” said an airman next to Tom Paul, “I’ve heard crabs in Japan have a thirteen-foot leg span. Imagine what they could do to a man.”

  “That’s right,” said Tom Paul. “Maybe all we have to do is capture them and set them lose in Tokyo until the Japs are terrorized enough to surrender.”

  On that note, Marty stood up and Tom Paul followed. They cleared their plates, throwing the shells in the garbage. “Now let’s see what we can scare up,” said Tom Paul. “I’m starting to feel the effects of the crab.” He turned his head toward Marty and they grinned at each other as if to say maybe this will be their lucky night.

  Christmas Eve arrived with all the servicemen in good spirits. They took shifts attending church services in the hastily built chapel that could only accommodate five hundred—had it not been for the holiday that certainly would have been sufficient seating. Christmas dinner had to be served in shifts as well bu
t even had fresh bread and an assortment of pies on the menu that were baked on one of the navy’s distilling ships anchored in the lagoon. But the real treat was ice cream, which crews churned out daily at a rate of five hundred gallons a shift. Today they had a special eggnog flavor in honor of the festivities. When Marty took his first spoonful, he whispered to Tom Paul. “It’s spiked.” Apparently most of the other servicemen noticed the same thing and were going back for seconds, even thirds.

  Marty and Tom Paul had been lucky to draw seats for President Roosevelt’s Christmas message. The theatre held 1,200, and then there would be standing room for a few hundred more. Radios had also been set up around the camp to listen in. As well, ships’ radios would be tuned in full blast.

  President Roosevelt opened his fireside chat by saying, “It is not easy to say ‘Merry Christmas’ to you, my fellow Americans, in this time of destructive war.” Then he went onto say, “The Christmas spirit lives tonight in the bitter cold of the front lines in Europe and in the heat of the jungles and swamps of Burma and the Pacific islands.”

  Marty and Tom Paul looked at each other and then Tom Paul whispered in Marty’s ear. “If our fellow Americans knew we were stuffing ourselves on pies and ice cream, they would trade places with us in a split second.”

  Near the end, Roosevelt said the words the servicemen were anxiously waiting to hear. “On this Christmas day, we cannot yet say when our victory will come. Our enemies still fight fanatically. They still have reserves of men and military power. But, they themselves know that they and their evil works are doomed.” At the end of the speech, the crowd let out a cheer. Even though they could tell the president was being cautious, he was also expressing optimism that the war would be won by the Allies, even if the end point was not yet known.

  After Marty and Tom Paul left, they reflected on the words of “the bitter cold of the front lines of Europe” and wondered where Frankie would be found on this holy night, Europe already shrouded in darkness awaiting the dawn of Christmas Day.

  The good times came to an end on February 10 when the USS Nevada set course with other war ships for Iwo Jima, which had airfields the Allies needed. It took six days to reach the island, and then the invasion began with guns blasting for two days before the marines made their assault on the beaches. Unfortunately, the bombardment had done little to prepare the way since the Japanese were so well fortified. Despite heavy losses and a formidable enemy, one week later on February 23, a few marines raised the American flag on a hill for all to see, more importantly, providing inspiration to the fighting men and all Americans who saw the photo on the front page of their home town newspapers. It took a total of thirty-six days to take the island but the mission was accomplished. By March 11, the Nevada was back at Ulithi Atoll for a little R&R.

  Chapter 64

  The Battle of the Bulge ended at the end of January with the Allies victorious despite heavy casualties. This surprise attack by the Nazis set Allied plans for the invasion of Germany back several weeks. When the fighting finally ended, Frankie was spent—he didn’t think he had any energy left. But he was no longer an individual—he was part of a unit, and the unit’s collective spirit took hold, moving him and the others along. While the Battle of the Bulge had been a harrowing experience, it also showed him what he was made of. He’d always been a calm, peaceful person. Some had mistaken that for weakness. But on the battlefield, he had been tested and his true character had revealed itself. He could fight and when he had a reason to, fight fiercely. The calm that he usually displayed turned out to be quiet courage that could be sustained. After dodging so many bullets and other near misses, Frankie felt invincible, as if he were under some divine protection—that nothing could take his life.

  There was very little rest for the 4th Infantry, which had to move on across Europe and invade Germany. After crossing the Rhine, the 4th marched through Bavaria until they hit Frankfurt. From there they followed the Main River until they reached the outskirts of Wurzburg, a city renowned for its Baroque architecture. On March 16 the British bombed the city, destroying ninety percent of it in a bare seventeen minutes and setting off a firestorm.

  On April 3, Frankie and the 4th Infantry moved into Wurzburg to secure it but found not much more than rubble and ashes. The magnificent Baroque castle, Wurzburg Residence, was left in ruins. As Frankie and his unit moved through the debris, their movement triggered an avalanche of bricks—some hit soldiers, others hit the ground, but one large brick caught Frankie, crushing his left leg. It took four soldiers to free him, and when they did his lower leg bones appeared to be shattered. His buddy, Jethro Jeremiah Jackson, the same one who’d saved him at the Battle of the Bulge, quickly tied a tourniquet above the knee to stem the bleeding. Then with the help of others, Jethro slung Frankie onto his back to carry him out where medics could treat him.

  Before the bombing, Wurzburg had forty hospitals. Now they had to find just one for Frankie. They spotted a building still standing high on a hill with Red Cross flags waving overhead. Not knowing where else to go, the medics transported Frankie to what turned out to be Luitpold Hospital, a highly respected medical clinic. The medics were relieved to have found the place because they knew Frankie’s leg had to be amputated.

  Chapter 65

  The Battle of Okinawa was scheduled for April 1. Marty and the Nevada moved out a few days before that to wait in Nagagusuku Bay about ten miles off the coast. Even before the battle began, they were being threatened by Kamikazes. After holding them off for a few days, one finally made it through crashing into the front deck leaving sixty casualties in its wake. For the next several days, the Nevada’s guns let loose on the beaches and other military targets. Then unexpectedly, the enemy fired a barrage of bullets at the Nevada, again damaging the main deck and inflicting casualties.

  The Nevada answered with a hail of gunfire that shut the enemy down completely. That bought some time to slip into Kerama Retto for repairs. What was a dark time was made even darker when they learned that President Roosevelt had died on April 12. Just like Moses, Marty thought, he leads us through the desert but doesn’t get to see the Promised Land.

  The Nevada returned to battle, clearing sea lanes of mines and bombarding the shoreline. One day as it went about its business, the radio picked up a broadcast from Tokyo Rose, which was a familiar program broadcasting a mix of entertainment and propaganda. While they listened they heard her say, “We know you’re out there, Nevada.” The sailors all wondered how she knew. After that, the crew felt uneasy as if someone was watching them.

  While the battle continued, the Nevada was sent back to Pearl Harbor for permanent repairs on April 20. For Marty and his crewmates, it was a chance for liberty and pleasure. But it was hard to really relax with a fight underway and Tom Paul in the mix. The news of Hitler’s suicide, followed by Germany’s surrender a week later on May 7, uplifted everyone’s spirits.

  Chapter 66

  No one’s spirits were lifted more than the delegates of fifty nations attending the San Francisco Conference to write the United Nations charter. The head of the US delegation, Secretary of State Edward Stettinius, took up residence in the penthouse of the Fairmont Hotel that was the site of behind-the-scene negotiations. As well, a number of other delegations made the Fairmont their headquarters.

  Stan Dukich, the Fairmont’s head chef, was finding himself overwhelmed by the eating habits of the delegates, who seemed to have no pattern and often required an adherence to special dietary requirements. If this were only going to be a week or so, I could handle it, he thought. But it appeared the conference would go on for weeks. There was only one thing he could do—call in recruits.

  Martin’s phone rang one evening soon after he got home. It was already ten o’clock at night—not a time to pass on good news so he made sure he answered the call rather than Lena. To his surprise, it was Stan Dukich on the other end of the line. “Is there anything wrong, Stan, or is this just the time chefs have to talk to each oth
er?”

  “If there is anything wrong, it is in a good way. You probably know there is an important world conference being held here to form a United Nations. Well, the US delegation is staying in the hotel along with a few others, including Yugoslavia, so I am up to my ears in it. We are having trouble keeping up with the demand. I’m calling you because I need your help.”

  “You know I’m always willing to help in any way I can. What do you need from me?”

  “I need you in my kitchen cooking and helping to manage the operation.”

  “I see. If this were only going to be for a day or two, I could leave my restaurant to my sous chef, Liu. But I cannot do that long -term and make a living.”

  “I wouldn’t expect you to. I know your restaurant is closed on Sundays but we still have plenty of mouths to feed in the hotel.”

  “Sunday…I could probably help you out then.”

  “You wouldn’t have to get here early. These people stay up late on Saturday nights talking and, of course, drinking except for the Arabs who are Muslim so don’t imbibe. I’ve heard the Secretary of State has cornered the market on Scotch.”

  “Perhaps, I should come up one weekday to view your operation so I know what to expect. A big hotel kitchen is very different from my little one at the café. I may not be up to the task quite frankly.”

  “You are more than up to the task. We don’t turn out dishes en masse. We do them to order which means a chef, like you, will be able to use your skill to create a palate-pleasing dish—something these finicky diplomats require.”