From the USS Harlan R Dickson (DD-708) 

Sunday, June 30  1300 hours

Dear Folks-

Well, here’s my weekly news report. Anymore, Sunday is about the only time I have left to write.  I suppose it would be easier if I wrote a day-by-day account, relying on me memory for details.

I still haven’t been seasick. There are only 4 of us left out of 30 3/C Middies who haven’t, so we set up a pot to be given the last man to become sick. There’s about 5# in it now and increasing.  When I wrote you, about a week ago Thursday as I remember, we were in the Caribbean.  In spite of the picture you see in Holiday mag of beautiful blue moon-lit waters, I can say I didn’t think it was too red hot.  We recorded our greatest roll of the cruise here last Friday—28°.  Eating was impossibility. My, the food wouldn’t stay on the tray. You had to use the inboard passageway because we were taking water over the how and waves and spray sometimes reach the 01 deck level.

We were having a “field day” as the Navy calls it (where we clean up the ship) but spent most of our time cleaning up guy’s messes.

Saturday, the 22^nd, we had inspection. Got a comment on my shoes (good) but he said, “Son, it looks like you’ve been teething on your neckerchief” (bad).

Sunday, I wrote letters, spit-shined shoes, slept, and spent 2 hours of my own time up in my gun-firing station learning how to operate the range-finder, for which I received a chit sent to the C. O. for excellent attitude.  More on that later.

Monday, we held our first firing exercises, and upheld our tradition as the “shootingest ship” in the squadron.  We fired at sleeves towed by planes.  In the process, we shredded the first sleeve, and cut the cable on the second.  It was funny-when we shredded the sleeve, the pilot reported that it been a Purvis round that had hit it, but as the Purvis hadn’t even fired, we knew it was ours. On the second run, one of our 5” rounds exploded about 200 yds astern of the plane (accidentally) and when the pilot radioed to watch where in hell we were shooting. Lt. Hibson radioed back asking if he still doubted the accuracy of our gunners. We fired about 3 times as much as the Purvis on an equal number of firing runs, and nearly 5 times as much as the Beatty.  We can really kick them out.

Tuesday, we went thru the Panama Canal. I took some pictures although the weather was cloudy. The locks are like any other canal locks—I guess the outstanding part is where they dug thru the mountains of solid rock to build the canal. We hosed down the ship in fresh-water Gatum Lake (which ended in a water fight with fire hoses) and threw fish to the fresh-water barracuda in the Lake. Took us all one day to traverse the Canal.

Wednesday, There was a certain tenseness in the ship as we approached “the realm of King Neptune” or Neptunus Rex.  We hung a Shellback in effigy between the stacks, locked all the Shellbacks in the forward sand locker. The Polliwogs could do anything they wanted to a Shellback anytime before we crossed the line.

Thursday, all hell broke loose.  We had a 4:30 reveille (a Shellback was boatswain’s mate of the watch), sauerkraut and oysters (raw) for breakfast, no lunch, and at 10:28 when we crossed the Line, the Initiation began.  We crawled the length of the ship on hands and knees, helped along by fire hoses and paddles.  We were brought before the Royal Court and accused. (see enclosure) and found guilty.  We then had to kiss the Royal Baby’s Belly, greased up, drink quinine water and milk from the Royal Bottle, crawl thru a garbage chute, roll in oil and sand, eat ground-up beets, raw potatoes, onions, hot sauce, and some other crap I couldn’t identify, drink (or try to) some vile-tasting stuff that was colored with menthol blue which left your tongue and teeth blue and finally take a Royal Bath, most of it underwater and which did no good as far as removing the grease and oil was concerned. The whole mess took 15 minutes, but it’s something to tell to my grandchildren.  I am now a Shellback, and have my card to prove it.  

Friday, we fired at target drones. We Were using V.T. non-frag ammunition, so our “hits” didn’t actually knock the plane down, but “hits” could be registered by small black puffs of smoke as the shell exploded.  We got 3 hits on the first run, 5 on the second, 5 on the third, and the drone ran out of gas before the fourth. The Purvis got 2 hits on the third run; the Beatty did better with 2 hits on the second and 2 on the third.  Our secret was that we opened up at extreme range and fired so fast (that the paint blistered off the barrels) that by the time the drone was within effective range, the radar really had it pinpointed and was scoring effective hits, any one of which would have blown it out of the air, had we been using fragmented ammunition.  What a God-awful racket. The rest of Friday we had another “field day” and yesterday had another inspection.

We’ll be in Valpo Wednesday.  Should be interesting. Didn’t sign up for any tours, cuz I figured I could get as much out of it by doing my own touring.

How’s everything at home?  Sandy should be in D.C. by now, Tell Beez and Pat I’ll write them in Valpo when I’ve got lots of time-am really busy now. You probably pass this letter on.

I like everything fine so far.  I’ve got my sea legs. You really need them—this damn thing rocks ‘n’ rolls at anchor. The chow is good—I’m usually so tired I don’t know how my rack feels-no beauty rest by any stretch of the imagination but it’s about the only vertical portion of this can long enuf and wide enuf to sleep on.

Well, had better wind this up. Have to wash hats, spit-shine shoes, etc. Plus a watch so had better get busy.  Say hello to everyone for me.  Get Alphie’s address if you haven’t already done so, please.  I don’t want her to think I’ve forgotten her.  See you in a month.

Love to all—

Mike

Heavy Attack Squadron Eight (VAH-8)

c/o Fleet Post Office

San Francisco, California

Yokosuka, Japan 6 May 1962  

Dear Mom and Dad, and all

Another one of my newsletters, am falling behind in the letter writing again so this is the obvious solution. 

We are presently tied up at Piedmont Pier Number Twelve, Yokosuka, Japan. We’ve been here approximately, hell, exactly five days, having tied up on Wednesday, the second.  There has been so much to see and do that I think the best method is just record my impressions as they occur to me. 

We stayed on board most of Wednesday as the monthly reports were due and naturally I, being Reports Control Officer had to stay on board till they were finished.  This is the same deal the pulled in San Fran our last nite in there, too.  Guess I should be used to it by it now but it still rankles me.  Oh well.  We got off the boat that nite, tho, and proceeded to enjoy first nite ashore in the Land of the Rising Sun.  The first thing that struck me (and still does) was the smell that prevails nearly everywhere.  It can best be described as musty, but I am told that this is not the case in the country.  Not having been in the country yet I cannot vouch for this but when people packed together as they are here, I can’t help but imagine most of Japan smells this way.

Traffic: There are three method of motorized transportation that I have seen here: motorbikes, taxis, and buses.  There are no private vehicles to speak of.  Those who cannot afford a taxi or bus, walk or ride a bycicle(sp).  Taxis are dirt cheap and are a thrill a minute. Fares start out at 70 yen (20¢) and you can go damn near anywhere within forty mile for 1500 yen, about four dollars. Considering that speed limit here is rarely over thirty miles per hour, this is not a bad rate at all.  The standard phraseology is: “Papasan, take me eat, hyako” and then sit back and hang on.  These people must get 70,000 or 80,000 miles between brake lining changes or else someone hasn’t shown them where the brake peddle is because they prefer to use the horn or, in extreme emergency, actually swerve to miss.  Generally tho, they just bore straight ahead come hell or high water. Almost all the cars on the streets are taxis so it amounts to one big destruction derby minus the crashes. There are few wrecks but many scratches and bumps.  The buses are merely large taxis with the same drivers and take full advantage of their size by virtually running everything off the road which doesn’t move for them.  All streets in Japan are narrow two lane and the houses and shops are built right down to the curb. There are few sidewalks so the people walk in the street along the side.  Add at least forty people per block on bicycles, twenty on motorbikes, seven taxis horn-a-blowing, and one large bus booming right down the middle and you have typical street scene.  The drivers will pass on curves, hills, and thru intersections with carefree abandon and if the car doesn’t slow down and pull over as far as possible he will be run off the road for the drivers merely speed up fast enuf to pull along side then pull back in again.  It’s damned interesting to ride in the first couple of rows of seats in a bus in the front seat in a taxi-you say your Mea Culpa’s at least once a block.  It never ceases to be thrilling.

There are also electric trains which you may set your watch by but the big disadvantage is that none of the conductors speak English and when they call out “Yamaguchisimawafijisan” it sounds as if the guy has a mouth full of buffalo chips and suddenly realized it- the only trouble is that you wake up thirty miles down the line having missed the all-important transfer. There are also streetcars of ancient vintage which are also very punctual.  They however derail at frequent intervals which is not only embarrassing but time-consuming and therefore last on the list in modes of travel.  Everybody drives on the left; vice versa the right also.  Makes for confusion the first couple of days in but one gets use to these ways shortly.

Children: The small children are by far the cutest I have ever seen.  I (and everyone else) have a big urge to pick one up every time you see one. The Japanese are a small race and the kids are like dolls, immaculately clean and always dressed up.  They are extremely well-behaved and quiet and polite to the point of embarrassment.  There are also very shy at first and warm up fast with the biggest smile in the world.  The mama-sans still carry the babies around on their back, even when working in the fields and washing, riding bicycles, or what-have-you.  The school-age children all walk to school; school buses are very rare. Nearly everyone carries a small umbrella.  Books are carried in bags (resembling newspaper bags) around the shoulder.  Boys are dressed in black military style coats and trousers and black caps and girls wear black skirts or shorts and white blouses with black sweater or jackets.  All children must attend school and results in Japan’s extremely high (for the Far East) literacy rate.  Most all take at least a couple years of English and most speak it better than their parents.

General Impressions:  Every house if Japan is painted dark brown, dark green, or gray, I think. I don’t recall having seen one painted or stained any other color.  Construction consists of plywood o very thin wood attached to a frame structure. There are a few stucco houses but for the most part are wooden. Roofs are either tin, tile, or straw, all of which blow off during one of Japan’s frequent storms. Fire is an ever-present danger and the capital crime in Japan is arson. Bricks, cement and steel are gradually being introduced into the cities for construction of houses and apartments.  Haven’t seen any cinder blocks yet but understand that in places where wood is more scarce, these are being used in small quantity. Everyone seems to have a flag pole of some sort from which is flown a variety of things from large paper fish (on Boys Day, one fish for every son in the family) to streamers to wind sockets to flags, occasionally.  Nearly everyone seems to have a sign or signs printed on or near the house so that you get the impression that every house is a shop or something.  Nearly all have a garden varying sizes and those who can afford the lumber or bamboo have a fence of sorts.

We have been getting our flight time in at NAS Atsugi.  On Thursday nite, Dick Powell and I were just stepping out the club when I saw Ray Pinson, a Marine Helicopter Pilot. He said Andy Banks was back the BOQ so I went up, found his room, banged on the door and said “This is the Shore Patrol!” to which he answered, “There aren’t any girls in here.”  When he opened the door, he about fell over because he thought it was Ray and didn’t even know I was in Japan.  We went out, had a few drinks, and discussed old times for about three hours.  He’s looking very good and there isn’t a scar on his face anywhere from his helicopter crash. He said he still has a couple on his legs and wrists where he was burned so badly, but other than that, is in real good shape.  On Friday afternoon, John Sells and I got an F9F and flew a cross country up to Misawa Air Force Base on the northern tip of Honshu Island, where Stuart and Leslie Mathis are stationed. They are Sue’s and my friends from Salem and are up there for three years (up this December).  They didn’t know I was coming because I wasn’t sure I could get up there.  Anyway, it had been raining and the runway was extremely slippery and as we touched down, we blew a tire on the right side.  We started to skid immediately and thought for sure that we were going to ground loop or worse for sure, but by the grace of God, got partially straightened out but still ran off the runway about halfway down the runway on the right side.  Came to rest on the middle of a field, muddy as hell but completely unscathed except for a small scratch on the left wing tip where we struck a runway marker as we ran off the runway. The tower, believe it or not, called and said, “May we be of assistance?” (the wise bastards) and we said “hell no, we always land this way.” (I eventually got called down for swearing over the air but that was the least of my worries at the time).  After two hours of sweat, answering questions, etc, finally got the plane out of the field and was towed back to the line where we discovered they didn’t have a tire to fit us.  Same deal as that time we were stuck at Hill Air Force Base.  So we called up NAS Atsugi and said we need a couple of tires (the other one was worn as the result of the braking we used to get straightened out) but they couldn’t get them up there that nite, so we stayed for the evening.  I didn’t have Mathis’s address (I assumed the Base would have it-they didn’t), but remembered Leslie was pregnant so called the hospital and sure enuf, they had it, Quarters F-11, Fairview Manor.  Fairview Manor turned out to be a muddy alley with a couple of small houses and I was sure the taxi driver had misunderstood me (he was extremely nervous as I was still in flight gear, G-suit on, pistol strapped on, etc) but he said no, this was the place. I finally found F-11, banged on the door, and Stuart opened it.  I thot he was going to pass out on the spot. I’m sure I was the last person on earth he expected to see at his door on a rainy dark nite in northern Japan. Leslie just stood there, mouth open.  They finally got around to inviting me in (after I took off my shoes, old Japanese custom, you know) and sat down for an hour or so and gabbed. It turned out that they are actually living in one of the better quarters available ($33 a month).  Three rooms, plywood construction with stucco on the outside. Japanese landlord, electricity about $14 per, oil heat and hot water heated by oil, too. Drafty and hotter’n’hell in the summer. Anyway, both are anxious to get back to the States (who isn’t) Leslie is going back around the First of December and Stu about three weeks later. The next day, yesterday, they finally got the plane fixed but couldn’t drop-check the gear (necessary after running off the runway to make sure the gear will extend and retract normally) so we flew back with the gear down. Had to land at Matsushima Air Base, a Jap Fighter Base, where only one guy knew any English at all and he wasn’t there.  The Tower operator knew a few words and we got permission to land, but getting refueled was a real battle. No wonder they lost the war.  Anyway, finally got refueled (still don’t know who’s going to pay for it), re-filed (the flight plan was in Japanese so we made up one of our own) and leaped off again for Atsugi. Made it in the middle of a rainstorm and at nite but what the hell, that’s what we get flight pay for. It was probably the most unusual experience of my entire flying career and by far the funniest, now that I look back upon it. Gads.

Well, am running out of paper, time (we sail in the morning) and patience (typing drives me ape). So will close for now. Sayonara.