Gardenia Duty

Bobby’s feet were light as he headed to the Receiving Station to retrieve his orders. Between chipping and painting destroyers in the Mothball Fleet and eight weeks of welding school, he envied House being assigned to a ship in the Mediterranean. Via his regular letters, Bobby knew House had been jumping from Greece to Italy, working in the air-conditioned radio room. Bobby was sweating in Treasure Island above and below the ships retired from the Great World Wars. He was getting restless and was ready to head to sea. He took a breath before he entered the office.

“5207514,” Bobby answered. That number was as much a part of him now as his name; it rolled off his tongue. She turned to a stack of brown service records.

“Yes, ma’am.” Bobby’s curiosity was growing. He’d been hounding his petty officer to put in a good word for an overseas transfer. He knew it would probably be somewhere in the Pacific.

“You’re to report to Pier 3 West, Fort Mason in two days to USNS Barrett. The bus will depart 1130 and embarkation will be at 1300. When you get to Subic Bay, you’ll report to the Naval Station. Review the Orders and you’ll find your assignment as #64,” she finished, and handed him the five pages. He searched the list of men he was travelling with and found his name at number 64. There were 119 going to the Philippines. The only person headed to the same assignment was his friend, Jerry Fox. He’d heard of the transport ship, USNS Barrett. He’d seen Cary Grant movie scenes on ships like that.

“How long will we be at sea?” Bobby asked, trying to conceal his excitement.

“That depends on how many stops your captain makes on the way,” she replied. “You’ll be on board with dependents, too.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Bobby said. As he left the building, he threw his cap into the air.

It had been six weeks underway on his transport ship. Walking down the gangway, there was a clanging of metal out on the piers. The sharp assault brought him back to the reality of his new assignment. The Subic Bay Naval Magazine was full of naval ammunitions, mostly from injured ships. With a sea bag slung over his shoulder, he followed his shipmates headed towards floating barracks. What a strange place to spend his first night in the Philippines. The Barrett had been luxurious and as close to a vacation as he’d had since boot camp. They walked quietly around the new piers in the dark.

“You’ll hear the bosun’s whistle at 0530 and be ready, including your breakfast, for transportation to your respective assignments by 0700,” the chief said before he allowed them to approach the gangway. The air was humid and there was a slight smell of raw sewage. “There will be a Welcome Committee meeting after you board the buses. Get some sleep men.”

Bobby looked for a top berth and crashed. He hoped it looked better in the morning.

0700—Standing on the pier after a very brief shower and shave, Bobby hung with his friend, Fox. The veterans of the base were strolling to their duties. Officers wore khaki shorts and short-sleeved shirts. The enlisted men wore dungarees and short-sleeved shirts. Sweat was already beading on brows and under arms.

“The old salts back at Treasure Island gave me shit about being sent here. I think it’s going to be a great first adventure,” Bobby replied. He’d heard stories of the liberties, bars, beer and bands. He’d never write home about that but was excited to sow some oats. San Francisco sounded tame in comparison and the USO wasn’t calling his name. He wanted to experience local flare and local girls.

“Just watch out being hustled,” Fox said. “I hear the money handlers aren’t the best. Even the beer prices go up when the guys fight in the bars.”

“A marine coming back for his second tour. He started out getting the base on its feet a couple years ago,” Fox said.

Two grey school busses pulled up, driven by a local. Gaping holes stared at the men where there should have been windows, or at least screens on the windows. “Glad we aren’t going through the jungles on that. It’s like a Navy target for the Huks. They like to practice on Americans with grenades.”

“Cut it out, Fox,” Bobby said. “Let’s give this a chance.” Fox seemed to be getting more negative by the minute.

“Playing with ammo, avoiding snipers, pythons, monkeys and hustlers,” Fox said glumly. “I wanted to see the world, not a shit hole.”

Bobby ignored his mate. The morning sun glistened on the water. White clouds softly blew over the grey ships with the American flag flapping over the fantails. Maybe it was time to find a new sidekick.

A short bus ride and thirty minutes later, Bobby had first sat in the Welcome Center, he’d learned there was a mixed reception to the American presence in the Philippines. The chief went through rules of transportation, off limit areas in the city, the basic layout of the base and its services. Bobby stared at the map mounted at the front of the room. The hospital was on the hill by Cubi Point. His duty station was by the piers to receive and replenish ammunition. Hopefully, he’d never need to make a serious burn visit up the hill. The residential neighborhoods segregated the officers from the enlisted. He needed to explore and make sure he could stand his watch on time.

Bobby stopped his mind wandering and refocused on the chief’s warnings. “You will exit and re-enter through the Main Gate during liberty. Do not leave the authorized areas. Your CO, XO or OOD are available for any questions from money handlers to your watch schedules. You will be assigned to another class to orient you on watch responsibilities and to review proper procedures. Be diligent and aware of anyone acting suspiciously, even if they are in Naval uniform.”

The chief paused and looked around the room to make sure his crew was all paying attention before he continued in a somber voice. “The jungles are off limits. Keep your eye out for the kids that may disregard this. There are pythons and other wild life that could be deadly,” he advised them. “Check the list by the door for your bus assignment. Welcome to Subic Bay! You’re dismissed.”

There was a “Welcome to Subic Bay!” pamphlet with even more information. Bobby noticed that all US currency had to be turned in and converted to Military Payment Certificates. MPC would be his future pay and pesos had to be used in the local community.

Dear Mama

I hope you got my letter about my new assignment in Subic Bay in the Philippines. Me and 118 guys were sent over on a ship called the Barrett. We shared the ship with military wives and children. I volunteered to help take care of an officer’s dog, named Pooh. Who names a dog Pooh? But, it gave me something to do and hopefully some good notes in my record. I asked how far it was from San Francisco and it was about 7,000 miles. Can you believe I’m that far away?

We pulled into Pearl Harbor. I couldn’t believe the sadness we all felt when looking at those sunken ships. It really made me proud to be part of the Navy. My friend, Jerry, and I tried some of the local food. You wouldn’t like this stuff called poi. Tastes like paste. I’ll take grits any day. But the palm trees are just like they look in the movies, and the beaches are, too.

So, I’ve completed my fireman school training. I’m a watch stander and working on my third class rating. The Filipinos I work with are really nice. (They are short though). We have a bowling alley and a movie theatre on the base. There is a school for the kids here with their families. They like to try and get dimes from us so they can bowl and let a local set up their pins. Watching them hang out and become part of a small town reminds me of home. I miss all of you and hope to get some leave time in a few months. House is having a good time on the opposite side of the world. I get a letter or two from him.

You’ll always find monkeys hanging around the banana trees. The first thing they told us was to stay out of the jungles. I had to laugh at a sign on one of the jungle paths: “STRITLY off limits.” Not sure who made that sign but they can’t spell. The beaches are even more beautiful than in the movies. We go over to Cubi Point or Grande Island. I spotted my first shark while swimming! The officers are usually off water skiing with their families.

So, I hope all is well and Pops is feeling better. Will miss you on Christmas. I’m sending a package but not sure if it will get there in time.

Love,
Bobby

He folded the letter into the envelope, licked the stamp and carefully wrote the family address. His last letter had been three weeks ago. Since then, he’d attended the class for fire control and watch stander duties at the Naval Magazine. His head was packed with circumstantial protocol. Until the fence had been installed, local thieves would take advantage of nightstanders. Fire extinguishers, tools and parts would be stolen from generators, all hidden in the jungles. Bobby appreciated the fence and the new telephone line that had been installed by a senior officer. Evening watch and midwatch were dark and solitary. The jungle’s nocturnal noises often had to be deciphered between human or animal rustling. He was armed with a rifle and warned not to leave his post to approach unknown persons. Even a fire outside the magazine could be a diversion tactic.

But, after unloading ammunition from a damaged destroyer, Bobby was getting his first liberty chit. For two weeks, every depth charger and bit of gun ammo had to be removed from the holds and driven to the Naval Magazine so the hull could be repaired. There was no easy way to get this done but passing them off in the heat. It had reminded him of an old Western movie where buckets were passed to put out the burning building. He definitely felt he could justify blowing some pesos off base.

His new sidekick, Bill Smith, was meeting him at the gate at 1800. Bill had earned the nickname “Crunch” for driving a jeep into the water. Bobby hadn’t had the chance to ask why yet, but he was hoping to get the story soon. Bill had been on the base for six months and had insisted he’d be Bobby’s sea daddy, both on base and off, or “on liberty.” Smith had already learned the ropes and Bobby, as a green Subic sailor, knew he’d benefit from being under Bill’s wing.

The uniform of the day was his crackerjack whites. Other more experienced sailors warned him about carrying wallets and the pesos he had exchanged on base. For the past two weeks due to the heavy indoctrination classes and the ammunition transfers, Bobby had stayed on base, hanging out at the enlisted men’s club. The food was good and the beer was cheap. The local beer, San Miguel, was his new favorite flavor. The local girls were sweet and loved waiting on them. But he wanted to see what was off the base. He’d heard other sailors’ stories and they sounded unbelievable. He wasn’t sure if he could participate in some of the racy activities. But his boyish curiosity and boredom tipped the scale. He splashed Old Spice on his freshly shaven face. Well, he hoped it would really need a razor soon. Geez, will I ever get used to that sting?

Bobby put on his white dixie cup and left the Enlisted Quarters, heading to the gate. He patted his pocket to make sure he had remembered his wallet and letter to be dropped into the corner mailbox. He’d need his ID and liberty chit. He felt the same anticipated excitement he’d felt when he and House wandered around Chicago. Instead of a train, he would be taken to the road Magsaysay across the canal. The sewage, diesel and trash dumped from the Olongapo barrio was part of the tales sailors told making the trip to drink, listen to music and play with the bar girls. He suspected he was going to understand why they called it Shit River in a few minutes.

He headed to the security house at Gate 2. Young military dependents were passing him on their way to the Teen Club movie. He noticed officers and their wives headed to the Officers Club. He was starting to feel like he belonged in Subic Bay.

Crunch was leaning against a building, puffing a cigarette near the jeepnies. Two lines of the colorfully painted old WWII jeeps had been left behind. It was obvious that each driver had put a lot of effort to completely cover the jeep with many paint colors and artwork.

“Let’s get this party started, fobbitch. Let’s pop your cherry,” Crunch said, grinning at his pun. He pushed the real meaning of fobbitch; it was reserved for military personnel who had never seen action or left a base. Bobby resembled that remark. He looked over Bobby’s uniform to make sure the Marines working the security gate wouldn’t find something over which to harass the newbie.

“I’m ready!” Bobby said, pulling out his wallet. The smell of the river was getting stronger. “I guess tonight will be a lot of firsts!”

“You deserve a cold one or two. Unloading that destroyer was a bitch. Too bad she took a hit by that minesweeper. That was a lot of damn ammo,” Crunch said. They walked to the gate, presented their IDs and liberty chits. The MP recognized Crunch and looked at Bobby as if he was memorizing the face of a new arrival.

“Are you in charge, PO Smith? Keep this green seaman from getting in trouble?”

“This is not an overnight pass, Seaman Higgins. Stay out of the alleys and other restricted areas. Free to pass and expect you to stumble back by 2300.”

Crunch slapped Bobby on the back and Bobby resisted grinning. “Yes, sir,” he responded. They had barely approached the bridge when the stench christened Bobby.

“This smells like shit,” Bobby said. He looked off the side of the bridge and saw young girls dressed in pretty dresses on the local Filipino banca boats. They looked up and begged the sailors for coins. One group of sailors tossed several dimes into the river cheering when the boys on shore jumped into the smelly water. Then, like ducks diving for food, they disappeared to the bottom and reappeared holding a coin. Bobby was appalled but intrigued at the same time. It couldn’t be healthy for them. He’d lost a sister to diphtheria.

“The girls are called Shit River Queens,” Crunch informed him. “At the end of the day, the boys split the coins with the girls.”

“This is a very poor barrio and a lot of locals were moved off the land to build more of the base. If they don’t work on the base, they have to be very resourceful in getting money off the Americans,” Crunch said.

They continued over the bridge and entered a vending area. Women were cooking over grills, while others beckoned them to tables laden with souvenirs, including beautiful leather photo albums. An old woman stood on the corner with a basket of eggs.

“Don’t rush and buy souvenirs yet, the same stuff is out here all the time,” Crunch said, stepping into his sea daddy mode. “Those eggs? Balut. You have to either want to impress someone by eating it or you’re really drunk.”

“Nothing wrong, they are a local food. Duck embryos are in there that are partially developed. I have no curiosity to try one myself, but I’ve watched sailors and marines eat them. By their faces, looks like they must taste disgusting. One of my friends said there’s a different texture in every bite. Not sure if this is a joke, but they say if you’re really good, you save the beak for a toothpick.”

“I guess I’ll put that on the bottom of my budget,” Bobby said. “I’ll buy another beer first.”

As they continued walking along Magsaysay Road, the vendors thinned to make way for storefront bars that lined the dirt road. There was music everywhere and girls tried to entice them into each bar. Bobby suspected in a good rain, the bottom of their crackerjacks would be muddy.

“Okay, here’s the deal about some of the bars. You heard the chief warn you of pick-pockets but you have to know what bars not to go to,” Crunch said.

“Because there are bars that only radiomen go to, EOD guys. You get the picture. It is an invitation to brawl, get arrested, put in the local jail and have to get shore patrol to bail your ass out. When they get to it,” Crunch added. “If you blow off steam with one of the girls, be sure to wrap it. If you catch something, it goes in your record. Use the off base clinics if you need antibiotics.”

Bobby heard country music ahead. “When do we get to have fun, Daddy?” Bobby said sarcastically.

Crunch laughed and slapped him on the back. “What’s your flavor? Country, rock-n-roll? I usually go to The Hay Stack.” He pointed up the block. With that, there was a pep in Bobby’s step and he heard Johnny Cash.

“I saw him sing ‘There You Go’ last year,” Bobby said. “That sounds just like him!”

As they nodded to the doorman, Bobby spied the little Filipino guitar playing man belting out Johnny Cash. The room was full of local women. He saw the hostess sitting on a stool, predominantly watching each sailor who entered. With San Miguel bottles sweating on the tables, sailors were flocked by girls sitting on their laps. The floor was dirty and he spied a hand-scrawled sign posted behind the bartender’s counter: “If you urinate anywhere but the toilet, you will be thrown out.”

Crunch pointed to two seats in the corner. They settled in and were immediately the target of the girls.

“San Miguel? One hour in your lap?” a young girl advertised. “Love you long time.”

Crunch tossed out the pesos and added a little extra. “Extra cold in the back of the icebox? This is my friend’s first time.” She grinned and gave a nod to another honey-ko. The bar was filled with the smell of tobacco and beer. It was hot. The sound of the jeepnies and scooters played in the background as the Filipino Johnny Cash belted from his little stage.

In a low voice, Crunch said, “The girls are commonly referred to as entertainers or honey-ko. If you pick one, you’d better like her. No one will touch you after that. Try and have several in other bars, they will label you as a butterfly. They will blacklist you. So what I’m saying is, don’t be hasty.”

The beers arrived and two girls immediately perched on their laps. The singer started a new song and Bobby was determined to baptize himself into the heart of Olongapo, even if they only wanted his pesos.

“Did I tell you about the bar that has the alligator in the ditch? You can buy a baby duck and feed it before you hang out,” Crunch added like a sea daddy infomercial. “But, it’s mostly a Marine’s bar. I’ve heard many a drunken jarhead has bitten the baby duck’s head off before they toss it. They’re animals.”

Bobby was appalled but only responded, “Guess that’s why they’re in charge of the brig. Glad I’m not a duckling.”

Bobby’s honey-ko wasn’t the youngest in the bar. She was petite and had long, straight black hair. Her eyes reminded him of the root beer marbles at home in his dresser. Her dress was short and tight but clean. In spite of the heat, she wore knee high black boots. She smelled like jasmine.

There was a small stage beside the band area with dancers. There was no enthusiasm on their faces as they tried to entice anyone that wanted servicing. Bobby picked up the “other” menu and read various pleasures for pesos. Crunch leaned back on his well-worn wooden chair, one hand around his honey-ko, the other on his beer, a slight smirk as he observed his seaman.

Bobby tried to digest the entertainers’ sex offerings as if it was the decision to try baluk. Unfortunately, his long-ingrained family values were still battling against his basic male desires. He felt a little overwhelmed and queasy as the angel and devil on his shoulder played an age-old tug of war. He shifted his focus to the honey-ko on his lap.

“How do I ask her what her name is?” Bobby asked. “I don’t know Tagalog.”

“Pretty,” Bobby said and tried to focus on the band as he allowed Floribeth a little reprieve from all the hungry eyes and free-roaming hands.

Four San Miguels later, Crunch nudged Bobby from his nodding state. “Bobby, wake up, we have to get you back. You have watch tomorrow night.”

The girls had abandoned the table. There was no action other than drinking and the ladies left the bar with their arms linked. Bobby had given his honey-ko an extra peso for being so patient and not pushing him.

Bobby’s eyes tried to focus and shake off the exhaustion of his past few days on base. “Yeah, sure,” he said. Let’s go.” As he stood up, he stumbled a little to his left. Crunch grabbed his arm and stabilized him.

“Easy, we have to get back through the gate. We’ll grab some monkey meat on the way back,” Crunch said as he waved at the hostess and tipped his cap.

“It’s just chicken on a skewer. They sell them on the way back to the bridge,” Crunch said. “There is some type of meat all over Subic. This one may help if you wake up too late to get a good breakfast and soak up some of that San Magoo.”

Ten minutes later, the charcoaled monkey meat digesting in his stomach, Bobby was sturdier, ready to pass through the gate and crawl into his bunk.

The Marine at the checkpoint turned on his flashlight and checked their IDs and chits. “Welcome aboard.”

Bobby and Crunch hadn’t quite passed the guard shack and Bobby felt a sharp whack on the back of his head. Assuming it was the Marine, his Alabama surfaced. Crunch grabbed him as he spun around to accuse the jarhead.

“Don’t go overreacting! That’s the local monkey. They call him Henry,” Crunch said, trying to diffuse Bobby’s temper. “He hides in that tall tree and thinks he is trying out for the Yankees. Loves to hit a sailor cap for shits and giggles.”

“Maybe I’ll sell him to the old woman and eat some real goddamn monkey meat,” Bobby said, rubbing the goose egg on his skull.