"AKA" Jimmy Doolittle Air & Space Museum

What happened on this day in History?

Click Here "Don't Drink & Drive" - Warning, this is very graphic

MY FIRST EXPERIENCE WITH ALCOHOL

    Upon graduation from high school I worked at various odd jobs. One was as a auto mechanic. My knowledge of cars was limited but the owner of the garage told me he would teach me the "tricks of the trade". Being young and gullible I agreed. Just the thought of having a job provided some peace of mind. He told me he could only pay me a small amount until I become proficient in repairing cars. At the end of the first week he paid me $5.00. I was really shocked because bus fare was almost $2.00 per week. After two weeks I quit. There were no regulatory measures in those days which governed wages and an employer was free to pay whatever he could get a person to agree to be paid.

    I was fortunate to finally obtain a job with the local Firestone Service Store doing minor car repairs, selling, and installing merchandise such as tires, car heaters, etc. In those days most cars were not equipped with heaters, they had to be installed which almost cost me my job. A regular customer wanted a heater installed in a 1935 LaSalle, which was a very expensive car costing over $2,000 dollars.

    During the installation I stripped the threads in the motor block. This required rethreading a fixture which fit into the motor block. It was a time consuming procedure and I was severely reprimanded.

    Selling was a challenge and we had a quota assigned by the store manager. I could show my worth by doing a good job but selling was proof of my capabilities. I became one of the top salesmen and just missed a free trip to the Indianapolis Auto Races as a reward for my sales.

    Although a valued employee, on Christmas Eve of 1936, alcohol became a part of my life. I had my first drink at a party and proceeded to get drunk. I became the life of the party. My self-consciousness left me and it was a good feeling to be a part of the crowd without having to feel inferior. Later it was learned that I became rather bold in my approach to the girls, in fact there was some resentment because of my actions. This was the new me.

    After leaving the party I bought an ice cream cake which required refrigeration. It was left at the home of my boss on the top shelf of the refrigerator and it melted all over their Christmas dinner. There was some serious consideration to fire me over that stunt.

    Life was never the same after my first experience with intoxication. Preoccupation with the thought of drinking was almost a constant process. The hangovers were unbearable. I tried several methods of coping with them, including Seven-up and salt. This was recommended by a friend who had long since passed the period of social drinking. It did little to relieve the suffering. The morning drinking was introduced to me within a short period of time and this seemed to the be the most reliable remedy to relieve a hangover. However, going to work with alcohol on your breath was a job threatening practice. Despite this, I was able to camouflage the morning drinks.

    Strangely, my job did not suffer for a period of time because I exercised extreme caution. I could not stand criticism and worked extra had in order to justify my employment. My cousin was the Service Manager at the time and protected me. In fact, we drank together quite often. He also ended up with a drinking problem.

    For the next three years my drinking escapades increased and although never getting into difficulty with the law, my family became more concerned and there were times when they severely criticized me. Several family members, including my brother-in-law who was married to my oldest sister, always defended me. He was acutely aware of my situation, and although he drank too much himself, never deserted me.

    My relationship with Firestone was "on again, off again". During the three years my drinking increased. Firestone had received my resignation three times. the first time there wan an urge to travel and my uncle hired me to drive a truck as his helper. I guess he was helped too much, as he failed to pay me. After about one month of truck driving I went back to Firestone.

    The store manager was very close and protected me quite often. Eventually he was transferred to Portsmouth, Virginia and agreed to hire me. I moved to Portsmouth from Ohio and was shortly warned about drinking on the job. I bought my lunch in a restaurant and drank beer with it. Upon returning to work he smelled alcohol on my breath and really gave me a tongue lashing. After several more warnings were issued I decided to quit.

    A truck driver who bought his gas at the station, asked me if I would like to go to Atlanta, Georgia with him. It sounded like a good idea. I had driven a semi in Portsmouth so it was o big deal. He left me off in Atlanta and told me he would pick me up after he dropped his load. That was the last time he was seen. I was left penniless in Atlanta. I soon decided to head north. Just outside of Atlanta a highway patrolman picked me up and was going to charge me with vagrancy. This would have meant a stint on the chain gang. I became totally unraveled and pleaded with him to let me go. I told him the reason for hitch hiking and my pleas were effective as he took me to a likely spot for getting a ride, gave me a dollar and wished me good luck.

    I was given a ride from a man who was on his way to New York City. He agreed to pay me if I helped him with the driving. That sounded like an adventure, having never been in New York City. He treated me with dignity and the trip to New York was very enjoyable. Upon arrival in the big city he gave me money for food and two night's lodging in the Lexington Hotel. Having never been in the "Big Apple" nor had the privilege of staying in a hotel, it was quite an experience. My neck became stiff looking up at the tall buildings. Despite this there was a feeling of fright because of being alone in such an awesome setting. I felt as though everyone was aware of the fact that I was from a small town and was overwhelmed by this experience.

    As I was wondering around a man approached me with a proposition which defied refusal. He offered to sell two diamond rings for five dollars. There was an immediate response as the money was needed to get back to Ohio. I went to the hotel, got my one day deposit back, paid him the five dollars and headed west.

    As I boarded the subway the rings were tightly clutched in my fist to avoid their getting lost or stolen. Getting off the subway, I decided to look at my new found wealth but much to my dismay, my hand had a greenish tint to it. It did not take an expert to determine I had been taken by a con artist. I tossed the rings over my shoulder, leaving me with twenty five cents.

    The trip across New York was very painful. An overwhelming feeling of loneliness and despair gripped me. As nightfall descended, fright became a reality. Hours were spent waiting for a ride. I was hungry and as luck would have it, I found an apple tree along the side of the road. Just as I reached for an apple a horse was close and made a loud sound scaring the daylights out of me. However, my hunger was such that I retrieved a few apples and went on my way. They were the best apples I ever tasted.

    Eventually a man picked me up and immediately offered me a drink that was like the "elixir of the Gods". we ended up getting pretty drunk and he ran into another car. The driver of the other car was injured, so we were detained overnight. He was arrested and I had to give a written deposition regarding the accident. Some of my statements which were falsified as I did not remember what had happened. However, I was allowed to leave town the next morning.

    In western New York I was so hungry and begged in a small town. I got enough for a sandwich and was talking with a girl who worked in a restaurant. She asked me where I was going and when I told her she almost fainted. She was from a town four miles from there. I mentioned my last name and she was further astonished because upon getting more information she knew my uncle and cousins. This coincidence got me a big meal and after many thanks it was off to Ohio.

     Soon after returning home, I was again hired by Firestone. This time I was promoted to Service Manager and my pay was $80.00 per month. My drinking continued but it rarely interfered with my work.

    One day I had just finished dusting and rearranging the merchandise in the store. It was looking very nice but an elderly man entered the store and started to rearrange some of the displays. On several occasions he asked if there was some way I could help him. He insisted that he was in no hurry to purchase anything. I got a little irritated and tried to sell him something and became somewhat aggressive.

    The manager who had been in another area in town, came in the front door and in a very strained voice said, "good morning Mr. Firestone". This was a shock to me in addressing the founder of the Firestone Tire and Rubber Company. I took off out the back door knowing my days were numbered. Apparently, Mr. Firestone must have approved of my behavior as he advised the store manager to give me a five dollar a month pay raise.

    I had been serious with a girl from home and upon return from Georgia, we were engaged. Our relationship lasted for almost three years. She was a very beautiful and caring girl but my drinking was the cause of many problems. She was opposed to the use of alcohol and because of this she finally broke off our engagement, leaving me extremely depressed. My family was opposed to her because of her Catholic background. After this separation my drinking became a real problem. She never got married and I often wondered if this was because of our going together for so long a time and the genuine caring for each other.

    One time a call came in for services needed regarding a truck with a blown tire. I answered the call and found that the truck was overloaded with manure and the load had shifted, causing a blowout. Getting the tire off was difficult because part of the body of the truck was close to the tire. It finally became free and I had to go back to the station to mount a new tire.

    After returning to the truck, it was discovered that the load had again shifted significantly to prevent mounting of the tire. After crawling under the truck with a jack to lift part of the truck body, much of the manure came off and pinned me under the truck. Almost half of my body was covered with the manure. I was pinned under the truck for what seemed like an eternity. He called a tow truck which lifted the truck and freed me. By this time the weight of the truck caused my lower body to go numb. Upon returning to the store the boss said, "Where the hell have you been, you smell like you have been wrestling in horse manure". My response was, "You are absolutely right".

    Another close call occurred when I was working on a large truck tire. I had just repaired the tube and was inflating the tire when the part of the rim holding the tire blew off. It hit me a glancing blow and went through the door of the garage. It was estimated that 3200 pounds of pressure hit me indirectly and had I not been careful in my inflating the tire I would have certainly been killed. I was taken to the hospital with a broken leg and some pieces of rubber embedded in various parts of my anatomy.

    The thing that made this more traumatic was the fact that your pay stopped in those days when you were injured on the job. I was planning a trip to Canada the next week during a week's vacation without pay because very few companies approved of paid vacations. I was really disappointed but went to Canada despite the cast on my leg. Fishing in a row boat with a cast on your leg is not the most comfortable way to fish.

    I had never owned an automobile prior to 1938. The main reason being lack of money. I discovered a 1929 Ford Model "A" which was on sale for $49.00. It sure beat walking and I purchased it. They required a $7.00 down payment and my payments were $7.00 per month. My dad was dead set against me buying a car because of my drinking problem. However, I bought it and felt like a rich kid. I also recall my dad was very upset that a radio was installed in the car for about eight dollars. This was a big sum for an $85.00 a month man. Although liquor and beer was cheap in those days, with an insatiable appetite for alcohol, it took a lot to maintain my habit and the car was repossessed when I still owed $14.00.

    Drinking alienated me from most of my relatives and friends. There was a constant yearning to feel comfortable with my family yet we were growing further apart. I loved my brothers and sisters, but felt inadequate in their presence. Constant pangs of remorse and sorrow caused me to turn against everything that was honorable. My family was the brunt of harsh criticism, especially when this was told to my drinking buddies. The truth was they tried to help me but there was very little effort on my part to recover. Life was abysmal, but there were no tools to cope with the problems which crept into my personality. Frankly, I gave up and became preoccupied with circumstances which promoted personal failure.

    For a while I lived with my dad but conditions were not favorable and my oldest sister took pity on me. I moved in with her family. I loved them very much but it was apparent that this would not work. After a night on the town I got into a fight with my brother-in-law. My sister hit me on the knees with a rolling pin and that was the end of that skirmish.

    The final straw came a few days later. Again there was a lot of drinking and I came home loaded. Several of my brothers and sisters were there. We got into a big argument and without their knowledge, I packed my bags and threw them out the upstairs window. The dogs in the neighborhood began to bark when the bags hit the ground. I went down stairs and out the door to a waiting taxi. That was the last time I saw my family for almost four years.

    I went into town and drank myself into oblivion. My first recall after a long blackout was the fact that I was again in Portsmouth, Virginia. My former boss was approached soon thereafter but he refused to hire me. After about a week of wondering around the town I began drinking again. Walking down the street a sign stuck out like a "sore thumb" which read, "Uncle Sam Needs You". I thought, "My God someone needs me". Although I had been drinking, I went to the recruiting office and signed up for the Army Air Corps. Under more sober conditions the thought entered my mind to rescind the contract. It was very easy to get in the military but almost impossible to get out once you took the oath.

    We were sent to Langley Field, Virginia for recruit training. It was in December and the weather was very cold and damp during the winter months. Marching and sleeping in tents did not help one's disposition. I recall the day before Christmas in 1939 it started to snow and there was no heat in the tents. We had to roll ourselves in blankets to keep warm. Christmas morning we were awakened to the sound of a recording, thanks to the chaplain. The name of the song was, "Oh What A Beautiful Morning", and the thought of murdering the chaplain entered my mind.

    I had never been subjected to such discipline before and there was serious consideration of taking off and forgetting about being a military man. The consequences of such action was considered and becoming a wanted man provided the motivation to continue with military life.

    One night we were given a pass to go into Hampton. We were told if anyone got in trouble, the Christmas passes would be cancelled. I went into town with a brash young Irishman who liked to drink. After a few rounds we went into a restaurant and ordered something to eat. My friend called the waitress over and asked her how much she made per week. She said, $5.00 per week. He said he wanted to talk to the owner who just happened to be in the restaurant.

    The owner came over and he told him the waitress should get more money because she was a very good waitress. The owner told him to mind his own business and if he did not leave he would call the police. They argued for awhile but I kept quiet.

    Eventually the cops were called and started to take my friend to jail. I pleaded with them not to take him being fully aware of the consequences. They said, "Shut up or we will take you too". I refused to keep quiet and we were both locked up.

    In the bullpen we got into an argument over being arrested. Eventually our argument turned to fisticuffs and I was getting the better of the fight. Suddenly he called time-out. I honored his request. He put his overcoat over his head and said, "Ok I'm ready now". The next morning the Commanding Officer came and bailed us out.

    All hell broke loose when we returned to the Squadron. A "Kangaroo Court" was held and we were both subjected to thirty lashes on a naked rear end with a garrison belt. My friend was allowed to use a blanket because I had worked him over pretty well and they felt sorry for him. I did not sit down for days as my butt was raw from the flogging. Although he was the cause of our getting restricted for Christmas, I was blamed. Later, members of the Squadron learned that I tried to avoid the arrest and I was a hero.

    Eventually we were shipped off to New York to board a troopship for Hawaii. I had volunteered to go to Hawaii because there were so many references to that as the "Land of Paradise". Many films were produced which glorified the Islands. It was with great anticipation that we awaited to board the ship for transportation to Hawaii.

    Our stay at Fort Slocum on a small island near New Rochelle, New York was a totally negative experience. it was one of the few times that I had hot dogs for breakfast. The general conditions on the island made one want to seek a different career.

    One day we were informed that General Hugh Drumm was going to conduct an inspection of the garrison. General Drumm had earned a reputation of being hard-nosed and a strict disciplinarian. History will immortalize him as being General Yo-Who Drumm for he was the General who disciplined a soldier who was marching and shouted yo-who to a voluptuous young girl on the sidelines.

    We prepared for the General's visit by having our clothing cleaned, pressed, and in some instances altered to fit. Back in those days we were usually issued two sizes, too small or large, so many of us had to get our uniforms altered. I must say we looked pretty sharp. For unknown reasons, General Drumm's visit was cancelled and we were assigned an alternate mission. It consisted of carrying rocks from the shoreline to the sight of a new Officer's Club so they cold have an attractive rock garden. This was a move that certainly did not endear our feelings toward the General nor the Military.

    We had to board a ferry to get to the mainland. Upon return to the Fort, each GI was searched to be sure no liquor was smuggled in. I recall a liquor that was bottled in that area labeled 1860. It was about as cheap and distasteful as any liquor distilled, but in those days who could afford being choosy. A GI was caught trying to get a half pint of liquor into the barracks for medicinal purposes the next morning. (Those who are drinkers will understand the logic of this statement.) The soldier pleaded with the MP not to take the liquor as he said it was almost seventy-five years old. The MP was gullible and let him pass with the liquor. It was all the young soldier could do to keep a straight face until he was off the pier on his way to the barracks.

    In due time we were herded (as in cattle) aboard a troopship and sailed down he east coast, through the Panama Canal and on to San Francisco. Those who have never been on a troopship are not aware of what they haven't missed. It did not take long to determine that troopships were not constructed with the comfort an convenience of the passengers in mind.

    The bunks were constructed to accommodate GI's stacked five high, with approximately thirty inches between the springs. It took a magician to turn over or "de-bunk". Also, there was no consideration for those who become seasick and had to make a quick exit. Deodorant was not part of a GI's gear in those days and the odor in those cubicles defied description.

    An interesting duty while aboard ship was kitchen police. This title did not provide you with any authority, it meant you peeled potatoes for about three thousand troops, washed dishes for hours and in general, caused you to detest the fact you volunteered for such torture. Imagine washing dishes in a big storm on the high seas. It isn't easy.

    Despite the negative things about life on a troopship, the voyage through the Panama Canal was unforgettable. The beauty cannot be imagined, it has to be experienced. The Pacific side of the Canal was also majestic. On a moonlit night, the phosphorescent jelly fish were observed in abundance. this was particularly true when the ocean was calm. It was as though one was in another world. The experience seemed to be worth the poor food, cramped quarters, and unpleasant duties assigned to all of us during the voyage.

    We finally arrived in San Francisco and going under the Golden Gate Bridge was awesome. It was a panoramic view of one of the world's most beautiful cities. We were anticipating a short visit but several GI's contracted measles and we had to stay on the Island for almost three months. To this day I cannot determine why they called it "Angel Island", as it was a desolate piece of land in the San Francisco Bay.

    Each morning we were awakened at 5:00 AM and inspected for the measles. With the declaration that everyone was free of the disease, we marched around the island which was approximately three miles. I surmise this was prescribed in order to ingest the powdered eggs and drink the coffee which could have been used for a paint remover.

    I saw San Francisco through the eyes of a "raw recruit". One day we were playing poker I hit a streak of luck, winning quite a bit of money. I decided to go to town and play the role of "big shot". My first thought was to go to the Fairmont Hotel and really get with the elite of our society. Strange as it may seem, GI's were not welcome at any of the plush hotels, our place was in the Tenderloin District of San Francisco at the lower class bars. Beer was ten cents and liquor cost fifteen cents a shot. The atmosphere in those places defied description. Most GI's had sex and alcohol on their mind and there were plenty of girls to meet these demands. In all honesty, I was never attracted to this type female so my mission was to get anesthetized and declare I had a good time although recall of events was impossible. In those days, GI's were second class citizens and it was reported there were signs which read "dogs and soldiers not allowed". Another example of a means to deflate one's ego.

    Eventually, all of the GI's were free of the measles and we set sail for the land of enchantment. We arrived in Hawaii in April of 1940 and were greeted with music, lei's and cordiality's which led us to think we were in for a wonderful tour of duty. I was assigned to Hickam Field and became a policeman. Again this sounded like a position of authority, but in reality, being a policeman meant you were assigned the duty of picking up trash from the streets and around buildings. Among the most non motivating tasks, this one topped the list. The chance of promotion in this position was about as likely as a snow ball avoiding melting in the summer heat.

    One month I had drawn enough "Canteen and Barber Checks" to cover all but sixty four cents of my pay so I told the person in charge of disbursing the cash that I wanted to donate my whole pay to the Red Cross. We were allowed to draw $1.00 per month for haircuts. I recall my Commanding Officer called me into his office because I had overdrawn my haircut and canteen check allotment for the month and reported to him needing a haircut. Needless to say, his words were not too pleasant. Instead of getting a haircut we would sell them at a reduced rate to get enough money to go to town.

    I played baseball prior to the war. Our squadron had one of the best teams at Hickam Field and I was the pitcher. They nicknamed me "The Primo Kid" in honor of the local beer brewed in Honolulu. Every time I would rare back to throw the ball, the stands would yell PRIMO.

    The next morning at 7:45 we were in our most devastating war. Having never been subjected to gunfire and bombs in the past, terror was a mild description for my state of mind. I left the barracks and ran across the parade grounds while still in my underwear shorts and a pith helmet. There was o time for dressing as the barracks was sprayed with bullets and small projectiles from cannons mounted on their aircraft.

    It is difficult to describe the events that took place in the next few hours. I was in bed suffering from an acute hangover when I heard the droning overhead and the deafening sound of bombs as they exploded on the hanger line. Our barracks was adjacent to the explosions and we could witness the mass destruction.

    As soon as I saw the Rising Sun as the insignia on the wings of the aircraft, I knew we were at war. It was strange but my sister had written me prior to the attack, telling me I was lucky to be stationed in Hawaii and not the Panama Canal. I answered her letter by telling her I thought we were in imminent danger in Hawaii. My sister gave a copy of the letter to the hometown newspaper and they printed it. After the attack, the Office of Special Investigations questioned me regarding my letter predicting the danger of being in Hawaii.

    As I ran across the parade grounds, bombs fell all around me. I could hear the screaming of shrapnel and bullets as they whizzed by me. While running through this chaotic inferno, I saw a bomb drop squarely on top of my friend, blowing him to bits. I began to think about my family and how I disappointed them. Diving under wooden barracks there were men who were crying, praying, and swearing. I felt lost as it was almost impossible for me to pray, never having much experience in this practice in the past.

    A total of 277 men were either killed or wounded that day, nearly 10 percent of the total stationed at the base. Most of the aircraft on the hanger line were partially or totally destroyed. They were all antiquated aircraft as we were ill-prepared for the war. The most modern aircraft bomber was a B-18. The newer planes were in the States. Most of the fighter planes were also outdated.

    The three attacks lasted for three hours. There were some lulls in the attack, but during the attacks waves after waves of planes came in. Many were so low you could observe the pilots faces as they wrought destruction on men and equipment. It was a hopeless feeling and one I would never want to experience again.

    During one of the attacks, five B-17 bombers came roaring overhead and loud cheers were heard. Everyone thought they were our salvation, but low and behold, they had no ammunition. They were on their way to reinforce our defensive posture. They did not land at Hickam Field but flew to Bellows Field in order to save them from being destroyed by enemy aircraft.

    Several planes managed to become airborne that morning and knocked a few Japanese aircraft out of the skies. This was a minor comfort compared to the massive destruction of our troops and equipment. We were fortunate at Hickam Field in one respect. The Japanese intelligence had earmarked a fuel storage area for bombing. They were erroneous in their intelligence however and ended up bombing the baseball field. Had they been more accurate in their intelligence gathering and correctly located the fuel storage area, a greater amount of destruction would have been realized.

    Approximately 130 men were in my squadron at the time and 37 were either killed or wounded. The loss of so many men so suddenly and brutally had a tremendous impact on me, as well as on many other members of the squadron.

    It was rough emotionally. There were some suicides after that and I recall one airman who was from an area close to my hometown. He called many of his friends to his bunk so they would be unknowingly, witness to his shooting himself in the head. The tremendous pride the Americans had was drastically reduced that morning. We thought we were impenetrable but such was not the case. Having been taken off alert the Friday prior to the bombing left us defenseless. We had neither weapons nor the will to fight until later during the attack. The loss of lives and the destruction of property was enormous. When asked if I was running that morning I said "no, but I passed a lot of guys who were".

    I recall one incident that occurred which was later verified by my wife in 1972. There was a row of palm trees which lined the main boulevard in from of the barracks. I hugged one of these palm trees very tightly during one of the attacks. A piece of shrapnel severed the top of the tree I was hugging and I was left holding a tree that had lost it's top.

    When my wife and I visited Hawaii in 1972, we went out to Hickam AF Base and I showed her some of the areas of damage. One could still see the bullet holes in the sides of the barracks and of particular interest to me was the palm tree that I had so affectionately hugged during part of the attack. It was about fifteen feet shorter than the rest of the trees and although it survived the attack, evidence of its wounds were obvious.

    A host of GI's including myself had a particular resentment toward the Japanese. They had bombed our beloved "Snake Ranch" which was the name given the local beer hall. Many a night was spent in that establishment, some of them without the ability to recall. Also, there were many who had some either imagined or genuine talent for singing, magic, acting, etc., who would perform for the captive audience.

    Gambling was a popular past time and on payday there were all types of gambling games. Although it was illegal to gamble, rarely was any action taken toward those involved. The most popular card game was Blackjack. It was always my dream to strike it rich but that was never the case. Looking back on those days, it is believed that my gambling was a form of self punishment and when I lost most of my money, drinking was the acceptable way to forget my losses.

    After the attack by the Japanese, we thought they would follow by invading the Islands, constant fear kept us on the alert. We were assigned duties consistent with readiness and everyone was apprehensive about eventually having to engage in hand to hand combat. It was strange the way the attitude of the natives changed. Prior to the attack, many Islanders resented American servicemen  but as soon as war was declared we became heroes. Regardless of who thought of us as being heroes, there was no such feeling on my part.

    The next year and one half was spent under blackout conditions. There was a total darkness outside and each building had all the windows and doors covered so no light was seen from the outside. This condition enhanced the eerie feeling that prevailed.

    When we went to town we had to carry a gas mask and helmet at all times. I recall a sergeant who also loved to drink. He got drunk one night and lost his gas mask and helmet. Someone suggested he call the Commanding General's Office to find out who hot his gear. In a drunken stupor he called, giving his name, rank, serial number, and a very short time later he was again a private.

    There were strict regulations regarding duty assignments. We had to work seven days a week and were allowed one three day pass per month. There were few recreational activities and the major source of entertainment was available at the Noncommissioned Officer's Club. There was some heavy drinking during free time. As I reflect on the past, many of the ranked enlisted men relied on alcohol to alleviate the stress of this meager existence.

    Poker and blackjack games were conducted in the latrines of the barracks at night. The smoke was thick as they wagered their money. Some of the smoke escaped and came up the stair steps to the second floor where my sleeping quarters was located. One night in my sleep I smelled the smoke and dreamed the Japanese had dropped canisters of gas on us and I yelled, "gas". Someone heard me yell and sounded the alert at Hickam Field. Before it was all over the whole territory of Hawaii was on alert. Never in my wildest dreams did I think I could wield such influence, even if it was in my sleep.

    Things were never the same after the war started. The free and easy life in the Islands changed. Many of the Islanders were of Japanese origin and they were under a cloud of suspicion. Rumors were spread that there were spies among us and always be on the alert for any sabotage or suspicious behavior on the part of the natives. Many of them resented the way they were treated after the war began and ignored any contact with us.

    Promotions came very fast after the war began. I was a "Buck Private" when the war started and within a period of six months I was promoted to First Sergeant, due mainly to the fact I had quit drinking. Having lost some of my drinking buddies prompted me to remain sober for a period of time. My pay rose to $132.00 per month and this was more money that I made for some time. Never having had a position of authority in the past, this produced an awesome responsibility. I was ill prepared to be a leader and with the additional income I went back to drinking. The pressures associated with being a leader were too painful and eventually I was reassigned.

    Somehow I managed to pass the Aviation Cadet test and was chosen to attend Pilot Training. This was an honor and I wanted nothing more than to become a pilot. Upon returning to the states, we were given a thirty day leave. Shortly after the war broke out a letter was received from a girl from my home town. I did not know that she cared about me but her letter suggested she was worried about my safety. Soon the letters came more frequently and we had a close relationship by the time I arrived home. The first thing I did after visiting with my family was to contact her. In a short period of time we fell in love and decided to get engaged. At that time she was unaware of my drinking problem and we had social drinks on several occasions. Each time, after leaving her house I would get bombed. My family was very concerned about my drinking and confronted me about it.

    My assignment to Cadet School was in LaGrande, Oregon. Prior to being shipped to Oregon we were stationed in Fresno, California on a temporary basis. There were sixty-nine of us awaiting orders for transfer to Cadet training. We were all from Hawaii and known as the "Fighting Sixty-Niners". Most of us liked to drink and we were somewhat curtailed in our drinking habits during our stay in Fresno. While in Fresno we had to go through what was the equivalent of basic training.

    Being a Technical Sergeant and having to take orders from a Staff Sergeant was the pitts. We also had to march in the boiling hot sun with full field equipment. I shall never forget that little upstart. His name was Sergeant Zero and we call him Mister Nothing. He sure liked to use his authority to the fullest.

    Soon our orders came through and we were transferred to LaGrande, Oregon. This was quaint little town and we were welcomed with open arms. Some wild servicemen invaded the town and although rowdy at times, we were widely accepted and made to feel at home. It would not be exaggeration to say these folks adopted us as their own. The college we attended was Eastern Oregon College. In those days a prospective pilot had to go to pretraining at a University before being accepted for advanced pilot training. The courses while at the college were difficult and lots of study was required to pass. I really believe if there was no drinking I could have become a pilot.

    There was a lot of responsibility. In addition to the academic requirements we had to learn how to pilot a training aircraft. I accepted this assignment with much enthusiasm. Unfortunately, my drinking impeded my progress and although cited for accomplishments and being considered for the position of Cadet Colonel, I was subsequently washed out of training. This was a sad day for me as I wanted so desperately to become a pilot. In addition to the personal disappointment was the knowledge of the disappointment felt by my family and girlfriend.

    The day I left Eastern Oregon College was a memorable one and it did not take long to determine that this was not going to be one of my better assignments. A new phase of my life had begun, one which had joy and heartaches. Chapter 4

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