China Hand: A book review

By: Garland Davis

I just finished reading China Hand. An enjoyable story. I don’t doubt that it correctly described life and operations aboard submarines homeported in Asia during the depression years of the thirties. The boats and their tender, USS Canopus AS-34, spent their winters in Cavite and Olongapo and their summers in Tsingtao, China (I was serving in USS Reeves CG-24 in 1986 when we visited that port). Much of the book deals with the politics of China and the Japanese threat and the machinations of a wealthy Chinese merchant to profit by gaining intelligence information from two sailors to sell to the Japanese.

No Sand Pebbles, but a pleasant few hours. I would recommend it.

A Sailor’s Language

by: Garland Davis

I have been told that sailors use injudicious and inappropriate language. Inappropriate to what? Sure as hell wasn’t inappropriate to the Far East Fleet.

I recently read in a blog about life in Appalachia about by-words. By-words are words or phrases used in the place of profanity or cuss words. The most common by-word used by my shipmates and I was “Fuck.” Injudicious? Perhaps… Inappropriate? Doubtful… Make that, HELL NO! No, make that FUCK NO!

The language most sailors speak was never used by Dr. Suess, Mr. Rodgers, or Captain Kangaroo. I never rode a ship with either of them or the Muppets. If they were ever haze gray and underway, I can assure you they spoke as sailors, injudiciously and inappropriately.

Some sociologists have conceptualized a theory of social acceptability that states sailors’ communication ability and gentlemanly behavior deteriorates in direct proportion to the distance separating them from their mamas and other female relatives. The women in a sailor’s life, other than honey-kos and bar hogs, are the civilizing influences that keep him from running around naked, living in trees, and resorting to cannibalism.

There has never been a Chief Petty Officer who talked like Bill Buckley. They may exist somewhere, but if they do they are Pentagon Yeomen or light in the loafers Chaplain’s Assistants, who have never ridden old worn out haze gray steel on the Asia Station. Nobody’s Mom or Aunties were there either. If any of them had been there, many sailors would have been gargling soapy water.

Living beyond the influence of females leads to a diminution of vocabulary to a level where words like ‘fuckin’ thing’ and ‘that goddamn son-of-a-bitch’ is universally applied to practically every close by object. An amazing thing is the fact that all your shipmates understand exactly what you are talking about. For those of you who were never stretched out under a piece of machinery weighing more than a bank vault, with oil leaking all over you, it may be difficult to understand how pointing to something and saying, “Hey Hoss, hand me that Mother Fucker”, saves you the mental exercise of remembering it’s correct name.

“Kick that Piece of Shit over here” and “Hey, you up there, bear a hand and drop that big bastard down to me” are coherent requests to any idiot who ever shit between a pair of regulation shower shoes.

Pacific Fleet sailors who rode Fletcher and Forrest Sherman Class Destroyers and WWII Cruisers understand the universally applied vernacular of the Naval Service.

I wonder what influence the introduction of females into the seagoing Navy, a place that was once a man’s world, is having on the American Blue Jackets ability to converse in a language that is effective, colorful, and easily understood. I suspect that many of the girls recognize the effectiveness of a sailor’s language and readily adopt it.

For those of you trying to wade through this idiotic bullshit., let me explain. I know it’s somewhere in the New Testament, where God speaks to the first sailor… Well, maybe it wasn’t God… Maybe it was Noah’s Cheng. I don’t recall, but somebody said,

“Thou that ride Haze Gray Steel on the Far East Station shall be forgiven the use of injudicious language for ye art engaged in toil inside some of the damnedest contraptions ever created and ye shall receive blanket amnesty for verbal transgression in the performance of your assigned obligations.”

That was later extended to cover all the bars on Honcho, Magsaysay, and Wanchai. It also covers the ports of Taiwan for those of you fortunate enough to have pulled liberty in that paradise. It also includes sea stories told on liberty anywhere other than within a hundred miles of where your mother and any other female relative are currently geographically located.

I hope this Biblical reference will clear up and eliminate, for those of you seeking to save my soul for the use of naughty words, the need to communicate your concern.

Many of our shipmates have already reported to the fleet of the Supreme Commander. I am sure the folks who run the squadron up there are perceptive. By now, some damn Machinist Mate has to have dropped a harp on his toe or misplaced his wings, so the language cannot come as a startling revelation

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A native of North Carolina, Garland Davis has lived in Hawaii since 1987. He always had a penchant for writing but did not seriously pursue it until recently. He is a graduate of Hawaii Pacific University, where he majored in Business Management. Garland is a thirty-year Navy retiree and service-connected Disabled Veteran.

VIET NAM IMMIGRANT

On Saturday, July 24th, 2010 the town of Prescott Valley, AZ, hosted a Freedom Rally. Quang Nguyen was asked to speak on his experience of coming to America and what it means. He spoke the following in dedication to all Viet Nam Veterans. Thought you might enjoy hearing what he had to say:

“35 years ago, if you were to tell me that I am going to stand up here speaking to a couple thousand patriots, in English, I’d laugh at you. Man, every morning I wake up thanking God for putting me and my family in the greatest country on earth.

“I just want you all to know that the American dream does exist and I am living the American dream. I was asked to speak to you about my experience as a first generation Vietnamese- American, but I’d rather speak to you as an American.

“If you hadn’t noticed, I am not white and I feel pretty comfortable with my people.

“I am a proud US citizen and here is my proof. It took me 8 years to get it, waiting in endless lines, but I got it, and I am very proud of it.

“I still remember the images of the Tet offensive in 1968, I was six years old. Now you might want to question how a 6-year-old boy could remember anything. Trust me, those images can never be erased. I can’t even imagine what it was like for young American soldiers, 10,000 miles away from home, fighting on my behalf.

“35 years ago, I left South Viet Nam for political asylum. The war had ended. At the age of 13, I left with the understanding that I may or may not ever get to see my siblings or parents again. I was one of the first lucky 100,000 Vietnamese allowed to come to the US . Somehow, my family and I were reunited 5 months later, amazingly, in California. It was a miracle from God.

“If you haven’t heard lately that this is the greatest country on earth, I am telling you that right now. It was the freedom and the opportunities presented to me that put me here with all of you tonight. I also remember the barriers that I had to overcome every step of the way. My high school counselor told me that I cannot make it to college due to my poor communication skills. I proved him wrong. I finished college. You see, all you have to do is to give this little boy an opportunity and encourage him to take and run with it. Well, I took the opportunity and here I am.

“This person standing tonight in front of you could not exist under a socialist/ communist environment. By the way, if you think socialism is the way to go, I am sure many people here will chip in to get you a one-way ticket out of here. And if you didn’t know, the only difference between socialism and communism is an AK-47 aimed at your head. That was my experience.

“In 1982, I stood with a thousand new immigrants, reciting the Pledge of Allegiance and listening to the National Anthem for the first time as an American. To this day, I can’t remember anything sweeter and more patriotic than that moment in my life.

“Fast forwarding, somehow I finished high school, finished college, and like any other goofball 21 year old kid, I was having a great time with my life. I had a nice job and a nice apartment in Southern California . In some way and somehow, I had forgotten how I got here and why I was here.

“One day I was at a gas station, I saw a veteran pumping gas on the other side of the island. I don’t know what made me do it, but I walked over and asked if he had served in Viet Nam . He smiled and said yes. I shook and held his hand. The grown man began to well up. I walked away as fast as I could and at that very moment, I was emotionally rocked. This was a profound moment in my life. I knew something had to change in my life. It was time for me to learn how to be a good citizen. It was time for me to give back.

“You see, America is not just a place on the map, it isn’t just a physical location. It is an ideal, a concept. And if you are an American, you must understand the concept, you must accept this concept, and most importantly, you have to fight and defend this concept. This is about Freedom and not free stuff. And that is why I am standing up here.

“Brothers and sisters, to be a real American, the very least you must do is to learn English and understand it well. In my humble opinion, you cannot be a faithful patriotic citizen if you can’t speak the language of the country you live in. Take this document of 46 pages – last I looked on the Internet, there wasn’t a Vietnamese translation of the US Constitution. It took me a long time to get to the point of being able to converse and until this day, I still struggle to come up with the right words. It’s not easy, but if it’s too easy, it’s not worth doing.

“Before I knew this 46-page document, I learned of the 500,000 Americans who fought for this little boy. I learned of the 58,000 names scribed on the black wall at the Viet Nam Memorial. You are my heroes. You are my founders.

“At this time, I would like to ask all the Viet Nam veterans to please stand. I thank you for my life. I thank you for your sacrifices, and I thank you for giving me the freedom and liberty I have today. I now ask all veterans, firefighters, and police officers, to please stand. On behalf of all first generation immigrants, I thank you for your services and may God bless you all.”

Quang Nguyen

Creative Director/Founder

Caddis Advertising, LLC

Notice that he referred to himself as an American, NOT Vietnamese – American.

How good it would be here in America if all of the immigrants—no, EVERYONE — felt like Quang Nguyen.

” God Bless America ”

“One Flag, One Language, One Nation Under God”

USS Thresher

By: Garland Davis

I was stationed at NAS Lemoore out of Recruit Training. I was there for a one-year special tour of shore duty. Lemoore was a brand new station. They shipped a number of “boots’ there to do the mess cooking and coop cleaning duties. I spent nine of the twelve months in the galley as a mess cook and as a Commissaryman striker. During that time I was assigned to the same berthing cubicle (four bunks and locker per cubicle) with a CS3, later CS2 Ronald A. Muise.

“Moose” helped me learn the rudiments of the CS rate and his advice was very helpful in my battle to become a cook striker. We became good friends. He was attached to one of the training squadrons and was transferring the same month that I was. We both filled out our “dream sheets” on the same day. I requested ships homeported on the west coast and in Hawaii. Moose applied for Submarine School. We received our orders the same day. His to Groton Connecticut foeightr Sub School and mine to the USS Vesuvius, an ammunition ship homeported in Port Chicago, CA.

I checked out of the base the same day he checked out of his squadron. A friend of his gave us a ride to the bus station in Hanford. We shook hands and vowed to keep in touch. He was going on leave to his home in New York and I was going to San Francisco.

We traded a couple of letters over the next few months. I still have the last postcard he sent. It read: “Dave, I graduated Sub School. Getting a few days leave before I report to my first boat. I will be coming back here to report to the USS Thresher.” The postcard was dated March 27, 1963.

On 9 April 1963 Thresher, got underway from Portsmouth at 8 am and rendezvoused with the submarine rescue ship Skylark at 11 am to begin its initial post-overhaul dive trials. That afternoon Thresher conducted an initial trim dive test, surfaced and then performed a second dive to half test depth. It remained submerged overnight and re-established underwater communications with Skylark at 6:30 am on the 10th to commence deep-dive trials. Following standard practice, Thresher slowly dived deeper as it traveled in circles under Skylark – to remain within communications distance – pausing every additional 100 feet of depth to check the integrity of all systems. As Thresher neared her test depth, Skylark received garbled communications over underwater telephone indicating “… minor difficulties, have positive up-angle, attempting to blow”, and then a final even more garbled message that included the number “900”.[ When Skylark received no further communication, surface observers gradually realized Thresher had sunk. By mid-afternoon, a total of 15 Navy ships were en route to the search area. At 6:30 pm, the Commander Submarine Force Atlantic sent word to Portsmouth Naval Shipyard to begin notifying next-of-kin that Thresher was “missing.” By morning the next day all hope of finding Thresher was abandoned and at 10:30 am the Chief of Naval Operations went before the press corps at the Pentagon to announce that the submarine was lost with all hands.

Today marks the fifty-eighth anniversary of Thresher’s loss. Today my flag flies at half-staff in honor of the USS Thresher and my friend and shipmate Ronald A (Moose) Muise.

Asia Sailor’s Rules

By: Garland Davis

The following rules are promulgated to guide the societal actions of the Asia Sailor:

1. Under no circumstances may an Asia Sailor share an umbrella with another man
2. An Asia Sailor may cry ONLY under the following circumstances:
3. When a heroic dog dies to save its master.
4. The moment Salena Gomez starts unbuttoning her blouse.
5. At the decommissioning of a proud old ship.
6. At the final memorial for a shipmate.
7. An Asia Sailor may legally kill anyone who brings a camera to a party in the Barrio.
8. Unless he murdered someone in the Asia Sailor’s family. The Asia Sailor must bail a shipmate out of jail within twelve hours.
9. An Asia Sailor’s shipmate’s daughter or sister is off limits unless he actually marries her.
10. An Asia Sailor must never complain about the brand of free beer in a shipmate’s fridge. However, bitching is permissible if the temperature of said beer is unsuitable.
11. No Asia Sailor shall ever be required to buy a birthday present for another man.
12. On a road trip, the Asia Sailor with the strongest bladder determines pit stops, not the LantFlt Yeoman with the weakest bladder.
13. An Asia Sailor stumbling upon a shipmate watching a sporting event, may ask the score of the game but never ask who is playing.
14. There is never a valid reason for an Asia Sailor to watch men’s ice skating or men’s gymnastics. Ever! However, watching Michelle Wie play golf is permissible.
15. It is permissible for an Asia Sailor to drink a fruity alcohol beverage only when it is MOJO and he is sunning on a tropical beach in Barrio Barretto, and the beverage is prepared and delivered by a topless LBFM and only if another Asia Sailor paid for it.
16. An Asia Sailor always accepts free drinks.
17. Only in situations of moral and or physical peril is an Asia sailor permitted to kick another man in the nuts.
18. Asia Sailors never wear Speedos and never lets a shipmate do so. This issue is closed.
19. If another sailor’s fly is unzipped, that’s his problem. An Asia Sailor doesn’t notice such things.
20. Female sailors who claim to be Asia Sailors are to be treated as spies until they demonstrate the ability to pull a Seventy-Two in the Barrio and drink as much San Miguel as the Male Asia Sailor.
21. When an Asia Sailor compliments a shipmate on his six-pack, of course, he is talking about the beer the shipmate is carrying.
22. An Asia Sailor talking to a hot suggestively dressed LBFM in a club must always have enough Pesos for the Bar Pine.
23. An Asia Sailor never hesitates to reach for the last San Miguel or the last stick of Monkey Meat, but not both, that is just greedy.
24. An Asia Sailor never joins his wife or girlfriend in discussing a shipmate, unless she is withholding sex pending his response.
25. An Asia Sailor never talks to another man in the head unless they are on equal footing (i.e., both urinating, both waiting in line, etc.). For all other situations, only an almost imperceptible nod is appropriate.
26. An Asia Sailor never lets a telephone conversation with his wife or present shack up to go longer than he can have sex with her. Hang up when necessary.
27. The morning after an Asia Sailor and a female who was formerly “just a friend” have carnal, drunken, monkey sex and the fact that they are feeling weird and guilty is no reason not to nail each other again before the discussion occurs about what a big mistake it was.
28. It is acceptable for an Asia Sailor to drive a woman’s car. It is never acceptable for her to drive his.
29. An Asia Sailor never buys a brown, pink, lime green, orange, or sky blue car. Never!
30. A woman who replies to the question, “What do you want for Christmas?” with “If you love me, you will know what I want!” gets laid Christmas morning by her Asia Sailor. End of story.

We sincerely hope this clears up any confusion.

The Asia Sailor Westpac’rs Association, Ltd.

P.S. Add something about an Asia Sailor never rubbing sunblock on another dude!

To follow Tales of an Asia Sailor and get e-mail notifications of new posts, click on the three white lines in the red rectangle above, then click on the follow button.

A native of North Carolina, Garland Davis has lived in Hawaii since 1987. He always had a penchant for writing but did not seriously pursue it until recently. He is a graduate of Hawaii Pacific University, where he majored in Business Management. Garland is a thirty-year Navy retiree and service-connected Disabled Veteran.

Beer for Breakfast

Beer for Breakfast

Garland Davis

Early one day when the sun wouldn’t shine

I walked into the Hole in the Wall not feeling too fine

I saw two sailors with two honey-ko’s an’ San Miguel before ’em

And this was the song that I heard them singing

Chief forgive us and protect us,

We’ve been drinking beer for breakfast

Well my LBFM and I stopped by the table where they was sitting

And I couldn’t believe how drunk they were getting

I said “shipmates, have you been drinking long?”

They said ‘Just long enough to be singing this song”

Chief forgive us and protect us,

We’ve been drinking beer for breakfast

Well they passed me a bottle and I took a little sip

And it felt so good I just couldn’t quit

I drank some more and next thing I knew

All of us were sitting there singing this tune

Chief forgive us and protect us,

We’ve been drinking beer for breakfast

One by one every shipmate who could hear the sound

Heard our ruckus and they came around

And pretty soon the Hole was ringing

With the sound of the every sailor laughing and singing

Chief forgive us and protect us,

We’ve been drinking beer for breakfast

Snipes

By: Garland Davis

They were the engineers who made the steam, the electricity, the water, ran the auxiliary machinery and made the ships go. They were the MM’s, BT’s, EM’s, EN’s, HT’s, IC men, MR’s and some that I have probably forgotten. They took on the fuel that they turned into the steam that moved the ship and made the electricity. They inhabited the lower levels of engineering spaces, crawled through bilges and other tight places into which only an idiot would enter… Sweating, joking and cussing the whole time. They tore clothes, skinned their knuckles and burned themselves with steam and hot water. Through cold northern seas and the sweltering tropic oceans, they kept the ships moving and the machinery operating.

They were not all greasy apes with an oily rag in one hand and a stolen crescent wrench in the other. They were intelligent young men with pride in their spaces and the jobs they did. The brightest of them ended up as doctors, lawyers and college professors. I knew an ENFN that went on to earn a PHD and was involved with the Space and Shuttle programs at Jet Propulsion Laboratories.

They were usually referred to as Fuckin’ Snipes by their fellow crewmembers. They were Snipes because they wanted to be.

They happily tended the machinery of their hot, noisy world. They crawled through small nasty places. They were shocked, pinched and thrown about. They were wet and cold, wet and hot, wet and oily. The humidity of their spaces was always at one hundred percent.

They routinely worked around the clock to get a piece of machinery fixed that some officer had just told them would take yard birds and naval engineers to repair. However, they fixed it anyway and sent a “fuck you” off to the naval engineers. During these marathons, they lived on “black gang coffee” and baloney sandwiches eaten with greasy hands. They smoked cigarettes only half way down before forgetting or the smokes became too nasty to smoke from the oil on their fingers.

At times, they did their work with the delicate skill of a surgeon and at other times with the force of pry bars and large hammers. They often lifted extremely heavy weights in spaces too small for the number of men needed to do the job safely. They stuck their hands in places where wayward electrons might be waiting to kill. They were contortionists having to get in the most awkward positions to fix things placed in stupid places by those brilliant naval engineers and yard birds. “Fuck’em.”

They wore their badge of office with pride. The torn, greasy and acid-eaten dungarees… their hands always black with grease in the pores and cracks of their knuckles.

Shipmates in the “Basement.”

For My Shipmates

THIS ONE FOR MY SHIPMATES. ONLY A REAL SAILOR CAN READ THIS AND UNDERSTAND AND LAUGH.

I didn’t write this but it sure is a fun one…

Me and Willy were lollygagging by the scuttlebutt after being aloft to boy-butter up the antennas and were just perched on a bollard eyeballing a couple of bilge rats and flangeheads using crescent hammers to pack monkey shit around a fitting on a handybilly.

All of a sudden the dicksmith started hard-assing one of the deck apes for lifting his pogey bait. The pecker-checker was a sewer pipe sailor and the deckape was a gator. Maybe being blackshoes on a bird farm surrounded by a gaggle of cans didn’t set right with either of those gobs.

The deck ape ran through the nearest hatch and dogged it tight because he knew the penis machinist was going to lay below, catch him between decks and punch him in the snot locker. He’d probably wind up on the binnacle list but Doc would find a way to gundeck the paper or give it the deep six to keep himself above board.

We heard the skivvywaver announce over the bitch box that the breadburners had creamed foreskins on toast and SOS ready on the mess decks so we cut and run to avoid the clusterfuck when the twidgets and cannon cockers knew chow was on.

We were balls to the wall for the barn and everyone was preparing to hit the beach as soon as we doubled-up and threw the brow over.

I had a ditty bag full of fufu juice that I was gonna spread on thick for the bar hogs with those sweet Bosnias. Sure beats the hell out of brown bagging. Might even hit the acey-duecy club and try to hook up with a Westpac widow. They were always leaving snail trails on the dance floor on amateur night.

If you understand this, you’re true blue and gold!

WWII Veterans

The following was posted by a shipmate, Bob Walker on Facebook today:

Coming home today, I drove past my dentist’s office. Instead of calling to check on an appointment I have later this week, I decided to stop in and check on it. I’m glad I did.

When I entered, I noticed a gentleman sitting in the waiting area with a WW2 Veteran hat on. I took care of my business, and he was still there when I reentered the waiting area. I walked over to him and thanked him for his service. I was wearing my USS Nashville ball cap, and he asked me if I was in the military. I told him I was retired from the Navy, and he said, sit down, son, and let’s talk.

His name is Adrian, I won’t reveal his full name. He was a medic with the 95th Infantry, serving in Germany and France. His unit had 2 medics for about 150 men, and they called him “The Man”. Among other things we talked about, he told me stories of liberating a concentration camp, the ones still alive hadn’t eaten in weeks, and were eating the flesh of the recently deceased. He closed his eyes and leaned back, and said he could still see it and smell it, even today.

He said Hitler had a plan to create a master race, and rule the world. I told him that thanks to men like him, it didn’t work out that way.

We sat and talked for about 10-15 minutes, not a long time, and I wish I could have stayed and talked with him for hours.

Folks, these are the men who saved our world over 70 years ago, and there aren’t many of them left with us. If you see someone wearing a WW2 Veteran hat, take a moment to thank them. Then take a few more minutes to ask them about their service. It doesn’t take much, only a few minutes out of your busy day… but I think it’ll mean the world to these heroes.

Bob’s story reminded me of an incident that happened to me about ten years ago:

A few years ago, I had an appointment at the Internal Medicine Clinic at Tripler Army Medical Center. This was before I began to manifest the symptoms of my Parkinson’s disease. As I entered the elevator, an Army officer in a camo uniform rushed past me into the nearly full elevator. I noticed an elderly couple also nearing the elevator and stopped the door to hold the elevator for them.

As the couple entered the elevator, the officer groaned and said, “For Christ’s sake.”

The elderly couple told me they were going to the same floor I was. As the elevator reached our floor and opened the officer pushed his way to the front, upsetting the lady, who would have fallen if I hadn’t caught her. Her husband also clutched my arm to maintain his balance. I helped them from the elevator and asked where they were going. As it happened, the were also going to Internal Medicine. I took my time and assisted them with a couple of stops to rest.

Once we reached the clinic, I helped them to check in and got them seated. As I completed my check in, the rude Army officer came from the back and sat down in the waiting area.

I walked over to him and said, “Major, if you don’t mind I would like to talk to you outside.”

We went out into the foyer. I said, “Major you owe that old man and woman an apology. When you pushed the aside exiting that elevator, they both almost fell. I see you are wearing the Combat Infantry Badge which tell me you have seen combat. Did you notice that old gentleman’s ball cap is embroidered with the Marine Corps device and the words Guadalcanal, Iwo Jima, and Okinawa? There are also Gunnery Sargent’s chevrons, as well as the ribbons for the Pacific Theater, the Purple Heart and the Bronze Star.”

He stared at me for a minute, turned and reentered the waiting room, walked over to the couple, knelt and talked with them for about ten minutes. He shook their hands, stood and rendered a hand salute.

He walked to me and said, “Sir, may I ask, what is your rank?”

I told him, “I am a retired Navy Chief Petty Officer.”

He shook my hand, said, “I always heard that Chiefs were a bunch of Hard-asses.” He saluted me and walked to his seat.

The Tiger Bar

By: Garland Davis

I met Ray in Yokohama in 1964 shortly after I reported to the Navy Housing Command there. Ray was thirty-one or two years old. He was a Third Class Commissaryman with three hash marks. We became good friends. Ray overlooked the fact that I was a twenty-year-old Second Class CS. He never seemed to resent my success and appeared to take pride that I outranked him.

Ray’s greatest talent was a hollow leg. He could drink more without ever showing signs of being drunk than anyone else I ever met. I once saw him drink a fifth of Canadian Club in about a six hour period and drive to the package store for another.

I guess the reason Ray and I became such good friends was because we shared the same goals. Beer and Pussy.

During the early and mid-sixties, the currency exchange rate was 360 Japanese Yen to One U.S. Dollar. Prices were cheap in the Japanese bars. Beer was usually 100Y and Whiskey water was 100Y or 150Y. Nikka Whiskey (personification of rotgut) and water could be had for 50Y. A short time with a girl usually cost 500Y to a 1000Y and an overnight about 2000Y or 3000Y. Ten dollars would pay for a memorable liberty and you would have to throw some coins away so you could say you came back broke. It was sort of like paradise.

Ray and I spent many memorable evenings in the bars of Isezaki-cho and China Town. There was a short alley in Chinatown. It was shown on the Security Department maps as Four and a Half Street. The Tiger Bar was one of Ray’s favorite places. There was the Mama-san and three older women who worked there. They were famous for the 500Y BJ’s in the back booth.

Ray shipped over for orders to Vietnam. Volunteers for Nam supposedly got a choice of duty afterward. Ray wanted to come back to Japan.

He collected a $600 reenlistment bonus for his six-year commitment. Ray insisted that I accompany him to Chinatown that night. After a stop at the Zebra Club for a few, he set a course for the Tiger Bar. There were no other customers as we entered the bar.

Mama asked, “What you want Ray.”

Ray placed Y72,000 ($200) on the bar and said, “Lock the door and everybody get naked.”

A memorable time was had by all.