Belly of the Beast

by Judith L. Pearson

  “… It will be necessary for us to project our fleet and landing forces across the Pacific and wage war in Japanese waters,” Ellis said. “It is not enough that the troops be skilled infantrymen or artillery men of high morale; they must be skilled water-men and jungle-men who know it can be done—Marines with Marine training.”

  Following Major Ellis’ wise advice, the 4th Marines sailed from their San Diego home base to Shanghai, China, in February 1927. And as the Marines had no medical corps, a contingent of Navy medical personnel was stationed with them. The Marines’ stated objective was to protect American business interests, missionaries, and diplomatic personnel in Shanghai’s International Settlement, a collection of foreign enclaves. Each country represented in the International Settlement was immune from Chinese law and protected by its own troops and gunboats. Initially the protection was to be from any internal Chinese strife, but the developing tensions between Japan and China began to pose an even greater threat to the foreigners.

  An American military presence in China was not a new concept: a small fleet of shallow-draft, twin-screw gunboats had cruised the waterways since the turn of the century. China was a vast nation, made unstable by warlords, revolutions, and civil wars. Her largest city, Shanghai, had been the site of many anti-imperialist struggles. Its coastal location at the mouth of the Yangtze River made it an economic and strategic jewel, a treasure well worth fighting over.

  About half of the boundary of the International Settlement rested on natural barriers—Soochow Creek on the northwest and the Whangpoo River on the southeast. On the west, the defense perimeter was pushed out beyond the political boundary to the tracks of the Shanghai-Hangchow-Ningpo Railroad, the embankment of which made a natural defensive position. These barriers were useful to the Marines and the military of other foreign powers when Japanese military entered the city in 1932 and then again in 1937.

  By 1940, the joint Marine-Navy objective was firmly established. According to a Congressional directive, the Marines’ role, if necessary, was “to seize, establish, and defend, until relieved by Army forces, advanced naval bases; and to conduct such limited auxiliary land operations as are essential to the prosecution of the naval campaign.”

  In 1941, one hundred and fifty thousand of Shanghai’s four million inhabitants were foreigners. Fifteen hundred of those were American military, including Estel Myers. And the Henderson’s late April arrival came none too soon for him. After leaving Browny in Honolulu, Myers was anxious to get to his own assignment and more than a little curious about the city itself. Some of the men aboard ship had been there; others had just heard stories. Sin City, they called it. The world’s pleasure capital—an exotic sanctuary with much to teach a young man from Kentucky.

  “Blood Alley, that’s where the action is.” At 0700 hours on a Friday, the day after Marine payday, Myers and another hospital assistant by the name of Frank Stover were taking inventory at the Naval Hospital in the International Settlement. Stover continued, “They say there are more than five women for every man. And all of ’em yours for the taking. Those gals love Yankee dollars.”

  Myers was more practical. “Yeah, and how many seagoing bellhops are gonna come running in here to see the pecker-checker after a night on the town? I hear the girls on Blood Alley are just about the lowest class you can buy.”

  “That’s no way to talk about the Marines and what they do with their girlfriends,” Stover told him. “Besides, some of those girls are probably clean.”

  “Yeah, Stover, and I’m an admiral in the Navy,” Myers said. “There can’t be—” He was cut off mid-sentence when three MPs clattered in, all shouting at the same time.

  “Get ready, you guys!”

  “Where’s the doctor? Get a bunch of doctors!”

  “Huge fight broke out at the Majestic!”

  Myers put in calls for hospital reinforcements and sent a runner for the doctors, who were still in their morning meeting. Stover set up extra cots in the hallway so they could start triage as soon as the casualties arrived. And arrive they did, groaning and bleeding profusely, in a fleet of ambulances.

  “What happened?” Myers bent over an unconscious Marine with an ugly gash on his forehead and a broken nose. The Marine’s buddy hovered nearby, holding a towel to his oozing mouth with one hand and two of his teeth in the other.

  “It wasn’t our fault, Doc. We didn’t start it. It was those damn wops—think they’re all Romeo. We’d been havin’ fun since midnight at the Majestic. Got paid yesterday, so we was drinking and dancing, not botherin’ anybody. Some wop soldier came in, didn’t spend a red cent, just waltzed over to a honey and whispered somethin’ in her ear. He takes her out to a rickshaw, see. A corporal I know—well, he’d been dancing with her, sorta makin’ plans, ya know?”

  “Yeah, I saw it,” another man chimed in from the next cot. “It just ain’t right, stealing somebody else’s girl. So a bunch of us thought we should have a little talk with the greaseball before he left in his rickshaw. He got real mad ’cause we was interfering, and before you knew it, everybody was going at it.”

  The man holding his teeth picked up the story again. “We had ’em licked, too, ’cept word got back to their barracks and reinforcements showed up in trucks with knives and clubs and bayonets and everything but the kitchen sink.”

  “Is that when your buddy here got clocked?” Myers asked.

  “Well, it was either then or when our MPs arrived. They started clubbing people, too, to break up the fight. Then the Italian MPs showed up and things started to calm down.”

  “Poor Old Man Wong. Did you see him, Roberts?” the man on the cot asked. “Old Man Wong owns the place,” he explained to Myers. “He was mad as a wet hen, runnin’ around, cussin’ us all out. His joint’s a mess. There was even one girl ended up getting tossed into the bass drum.”

  Myers moved on to other men. Those who could talk coherently related similar stories. Once the last stitch had been sewed, the men were ordered to remain in the hospital, even those who were otherwise healthy enough to have gone back to their barracks. It was rumored the C.O. wanted to have a word with them, which turned out to be quite an understatement.

  “Whew! Those guys are gettin’ it,” Stover told Myers. He had just joined Myers in the dispensary to restock the shelves. “The C.O.’s really blowing his top. Says some of ’em are even headed for solitary in the brig.”

  Myers winced. “That’s rough.”

  “You been there?”

  “Yeah.” Myers shook his head in disgust. “It was a screwy stunt I pulled the night I graduated from Hospital Corps School. I got plastered so bad that when time for my shift came around, I was still drunk. I didn’t think anybody’d notice, so I reported for duty. But the head doctor noticed. I got ten days in solitary on bread and water. I don’t plan on ever bein’ stuck in the brig again.”

  Stover let out a long whistle. “And here I thought you were such a good boy, Myers. I might have to change my opinion of you.”

  “You beat your gums too much, Stover. We got thirty minutes to get this stuff restocked before our four hours are done and the next shift comes in. How about we head over to that little café in the French Concession, Pop’s Place, for some chow. We don’t have to be back here until fifteen hundred hours.”

  “You’re on. Last one done buys.”

  A Christian evangelist once observed, “If God lets Shanghai endure, He owes an apology to Sodom and Gomorrah.” For Myers, Stover, and the rest of the American military personnel, there weren’t enough hours in the day to soak up all the transgressions this city had to offer. Bar girls, affectionately known as B-girls, were paid a commission by the establishments for every man in a uniform they enticed to drink. After purring, “Dahlink, buy me one drink, please,” the drinking sometimes led to a lengthier relationship, lasting two or three hours. The price? Usually just one thin dime.

  Since Shanghai lies at the same latitude as New Orlean
s, the same kind of Turkish bath heat envelops the city during the summer. Many servicemen found frequent clothing changes to be a necessity if they wanted to remain at their best for whatever opportunity came along. Fortunately, laundry was easily affordable, too. At one point, an enterprising laundryman passed out flyers on the pier in the International Settlement, hoping to work his way into doing an entire ship’s washing. The flyers went beyond describing just the services; they also assured discretion.

  Dear Sir,

  Would you please give me authorization for can get pickup your ship’s laundry at quay. I will perform surly and speedy as showed in price list and serve free of charge (no pay) for Captain’s. Exact officer’s and other officer’s and Chief’s would be served at half price. Relating to your ship’s secret we would be blind, no ear and shut the mouth.

  Some servicemen solved the laundry problem by simply buying more clothing. A tailor-made suit could be had for $5, and for a dollar more, some shops offered a hat to match. The hats were made using a machine capable of identifying every contour of the head, thus ensuring a perfect fit.

  Most transactions were conducted using local currency, known as the Chinese Mex. The exchange rate was sixteen Chinese Mex to one American dollar. A movie was four Chinese Mex and a quart of duty-free imported liquor went for six more. This was relatively wholesome entertainment at a very reasonable price.

  In 1941, U.S. servicemen made between $21 and $30 a month, depending on their rank. The breadth of the temptations and the incredibly low prices encouraged some GIs to spend more than they otherwise might have. It wasn’t unusual for some men to draw only pocket change on payday, having borrowed heavily against their pay throughout the month.

  Despite an eat, drink, and be merry attitude, the American military was not oblivious to Shanghai’s ugly side. It was a city of extremes, from grinding poverty to indecent wealth. In the squalid quarter, a gang called the Green Gang ruled opium dens, and houses of prostitution operated openly. The Green Gang fought with others for power and supremacy. It was a common belief that Shanghai had more gangsters than Chicago ever did in Capone’s heyday.

  Crime and the exploitation of Chinese citizens were rampant. Bodies floated in the city’s canals and the Yangtze. The poor and homeless lived in the streets and routinely froze to death during the winter. Some of the more fortunate poor who had shelter depended on every family member to pull his weight. Boys, therefore, were viewed as having value; they could be put to work as soon as they could walk and contribute to the household income. Girls, on the other hand, were seen as burdens and often killed shortly after birth. Their tiny bodies were thrown in the gutters, to be picked up and hauled away in carts making rounds through the city. The only salvation for girls was if their family believed they could sell them to wealthy foreigners as guaranteed virgins; $5 for a five-year-old was the usual going rate.

  All of this caused tremendous emotional conflict for servicemen like Myers and Stover, far from home and family. At times, their existence in Shanghai was a surreal dream, where all their wishes could be fulfilled. Other times, the strange land filled with exotic people made them feel as though they weren’t just on the other side of the earth from home but on another planet entirely.

  It was near lunchtime several weeks after the incident at the Majestic that Myers and Stover arrived at one of Shanghai’s busiest intersections. Johnny Sikh, whose job was traffic control at the intersection, saw them coming. The Indian stood proudly, directing rickshaws and rice wagons, his colorful turban bobbing in rhythm with his rapid arm movements.

  “U.S. Marines, U.S. sailors! Coming through. Everybody stop.” Johnny blew hard on his whistle and made a dramatic show out of stopping traffic for the men to cross.

  “Hey, Marines, hey, pals! I stop traffic for you. You need main dish? Johnny Sikh knows where the best girls are. You need cheap booze? I know a guy on Foochow Road. You bring me some too, okay?”

  Stover patted the happy Indian on the back as he and Myers passed him. “Not today. Me and my pal are just looking for some lunch.”

  “Okay, but you come see Johnny Sikh if you need anything. Hey, don’t take any wooden nickels, Joe!”

  Myers and Stover headed for a little joint that was famous for its fried rice. The food was good, hot, and guaranteed to be made from chicken and not a neighborhood stray. Stover had bought a pack of Al Chings, a popular brand of Chinese cigarettes. Once they ordered, the two men lit up and began discussing what they thought might happen next in the giant chess game of which they were a part.

  It was the thirteenth of September and the war in Europe was at a fevered pitch. The fact that Great Britain, New Zealand, Australia, and Canada had declared war on Germany two years earlier only seemed to fuel the Führer’s fire. In his possession were Austria, Czechoslovakia, Poland, Holland, Belgium, Luxembourg, most of Scandinavia, and now France. He had rained blitzkriegs over Britain and was advancing on Moscow. Meanwhile, Italy, one of Germany’s partners in the Tripartite Pact, had conquered Albania and Ethiopia. The third partner in their pact was Japan.

  Myers and Stover discussed the possibility of a troop buildup in Europe that might include them.

  “I don’t think we’ll be sent to Fritzville.” Stover had a definite opinion about this. “Not unless we declare war on them.”

  “You’re probably right,” Myers agreed. “And since the Brits left Shanghai, we’re about all that’s keeping the Japs from taking over the entire International Settlement. And those Nips gotta be upset over us freezing their assets in the States. Now they got no gas, they got no oil, and no money. They got nothin’. Can’t run an army that way.”

  “And I don’t think they got it in their stomachs to try anything,” Stover added. “If they wanted a fight, they would have done something by now.”

  The fried rice arrived and their conversation moved across several subjects, including the girls back home and those they’d met in Shanghai. After having been in Shanghai for five months, the city’s mysterious attraction had worn off. Peculiar Chinese customs were now beginning to wear on them. The tradition that most bothered Stover involved the Huang Pu River, which ran through the heart of the city.

  “Place stinks. And you know why? There’s some ancient custom that says they gotta be buried where they were born. So bodies sit on the docks in boxes all day long waiting to get picked up and taken upriver to wherever their hometowns are. You know, this whole place is starting to give me the creeps. I wouldn’t mind leaving it behind.”

  The wheels of change for the two men were already in motion. Stover received orders two days later to report to a hospital facility in Olongapo, on Subic Bay in the Philippines. The day after that, Myers found out he was to be attached to the Canacao Naval Hospital in the Philippines. The two men shipped out a day later, September 17, 1941, on the Henderson, the same ship Myers had taken from the States.

  The trip from Shanghai to Luzon, the largest of the seven thousand islands that make up the Philippine archipelago, took seventeen days. The ship stopped first in Olongapo to off-load supplies and men, including Stover. The Henderson continued southward, sailing into Manila Bay, past a peninsula named Bataan and an island named Corregidor. She arrived at the Cavite Naval Yard, one of two prongs that jutted out into the southern end of the bay. Some of the men would remain there to work on the ships. The rest of them were trucked to the other prong of land, Sangley Point. Here, they would go to work at the communications towers, the air station, the fuel tanks, or, as in the case of Myers, Canacao Naval Hospital.

  Chapter Three

  Monsoons and Medicine

  Hospital Assistant Leonard Tarpy had been stationed in the Philippines for six months, since April of 1941, and he knew his way around pretty well. He knew where the best eateries were—karinderias, the Filipinos called them. He knew he liked sinigang soup and halo halo, a sweet dessert with fruit and custard. He knew just how much body English was needed to
throw a strike at the bowling alley up at Fort Stotsenberg. And he knew that an afternoon siesta was a great way to nurse a persistent headache caused from too much bamboo gin the night before. All in all, Tarpy’s tour of duty in the Philippines had been pleasant. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t be glad to board the ship that would take him stateside in two months.

  Tarpy was the first person Myers met when he reported to the Canacao Naval Hospital on Sangley Point. Like Myers, Tarpy was compactly built: five foot eight or nine, lean at about a hundred and sixty-five pounds or so. But that was where the similarities ended. Myers’ hair was dark and looked wavy even with a military cut. Tarpy’s was blond and straight, like straw. Myers’ speech was rich with a Kentucky drawl. Tarpy’s Wisconsin roots were evident in his accent.

  “So you been up in Shanghai, eh? How was it? I mean, I’ve heard stories. Booze, women, anything a guy could want for practically peanuts.”

  “That ’bout says it all,” Myers told him.

  “Where you billeted?” Tarpy asked.

  “Hospital barracks. Same as you, I expect.”

  “Yup. Anybody explain to you how we spend our days yet?”

  Myers shook his head, so Tarpy continued.

  “Well, reveille is at oh five hundred. We drill some and then report here around oh eight hundred. Most of the work is routine—scrapes and bruises, an occasional broken bone. We get some malaria cases, but that’s about as exciting as it gets. At twelve hundred hours the next shift reports and we have the rest of the day to ourselves. I know a couple girls—Filapinas—so I usually look them up after my siesta.”

  “Sounds like a country club. What do you do at night?”