The Bill of Rights stems from those natural rights…at least in my opinion. I ain’t a lawyer, thank goodness.
Original Bill of Rights
And if my schooling and failing memory are correct, this Bill of Rights sought out to protect us from our own newly created government. It sought out to call out these rights simply…and protect us from tyranny.
It put into simple language a guarantee of a number of personal freedoms, limit the government’s power in certain areas, and provide power to the states and the public.
The Bill of Rights cements our national culture, I feel.
Help me out here, smarter people than I.
____________________________
But can an American overrule this foundation, the Bill of Rights. Singly overrule this foundation?
Yes.
Its called an Executive Order. The President of the United States can act as a monarch in concept.
Tremendous power, yes?
But do we learn from our past mistakes?
A kind reminder: FDR signed an Executive Order in 1942.
Executive Order 9066. Notice, readers, it is not “We the people”. It is filled with “I”.
This Executive Order resulted in this somewhat familiar poster:
It stripped my father, uncle, aunt, and cousins completely of their rights.
Not just one right. All of their rights.
They were forced out of the West Coast and forced to live in concentration camps if they could not afford to move.
Their US Passports were confiscated. They were fingerprinted, photographed and assigned an inmate number. Man, woman or child…or baby.
All this happened with one signature. FDR’s.
________________________
Some people say this Executive Order arose out of hysteria. Reaction to something that happened.
I just want to say I am against any Executive Order. Large or small in its magnitude. By definition, it serves to nullify the Bill of Rights.
“She’s the most beautiful thing I had ever seen,” said Old Man Jack in a trembling voice and with very wet eyes.
On March 3, 2003. Truly.
______________________
He was referring to the F4U Corsair. I had taken him to the Chino Planes of Fame Museum in Chino, CA. The WWII aircraft there – all of them – fly.
That’s right. They get up in the air.
Planes that were engineered with a minimal lifespan as they were meant for combat were still spinning their props for the men who flew them – or worked on them.
Old Man Jack was one of them.
Do you know what these beautiful planes look like? What they may have sounded like to Old Man Jack 70 years ago? Ever see one fly? A vid I took at the Planes of Fame Airshow:
In case you haven’t figured it out, his Corsair is “on the tail” of a famed Zero of the Imperial Japanese Navy in this mock dogfight. I filmed it almost ten years ago at an air show there at Chino Planes of Fame.
______________________
Old Man Jack was an “AMM 1/C” during WWII, or “Aviation Machinist Mate First Class”. He could have re-upped after the war and been promoted to Chief Petty Officer but like Mrs. Johnson, Carol would have none of that.
I am not positively sure as Old Man Jack would only give tidbits here and there but he was responsible for the aircraft. Before flight – and while remembering this was at the front lines on “those stinkin’ islands” – he would get into the cockpit and make sure all essential bells and whistles worked after his crew worked on it all night. I also believe he was to pilot one on occasion to maintain his certs. Very simplistically said on my part.
US Navy ground crew servicing a Corsair on what appears to be Guadalcanal – where Old Man Jack was. National Archives 127-N-55431
The pilot was headed off into harm’s way. The pilot’s life depended on Jack and his crew. It’s airworthiness.
But one thing is for certain – Old Man Jack said many times “there just weren’t enough spare parts so we had to make do.”
______________________
But back to the story…
Our friendship had begun to solidify by then… I had mentioned to him that I was a member of the museum and that he wouldn’t have to worry about me paying for his entry. But that wasn’t why he hesitated. You will see why. And I found out later myself why he was so hesitant.
Back then, the museum’s WWII hangars were divided into the two main theaters of operation: the European and the Pacific – where Old Man Jack was stationed during the thick of things.
We meandered through the European Theater hangar. He recognized them right away. The P-51. The P-47. Others.
He had brought along his “walking chair”; it was light and when folded up, it was a walking aid. If you press down on it a certain way, it would spread out into a little chair. Well, he was doing good…and I was happy.
______________________
To get to the Pacific Theater hangar, you would leave the European Theater hangar and mosey across a tarmac.
Chino Planes of Fame and “X” marks the spot.
It was a hot day. Old Man Jack was in a t-shirt. Blue, of course.
We were slowly making it across the tarmac. I knew a Corsair was in there – pretty as the day she rolled off the assembly line. As the hangar door was cracked open, you could see the wing spar.
Then Old Man Jack stopped. At the white “X” marked in the map above. Dead in his tracks.
He propped open his chair.
He sat down.
I was wondering if he was tired. We were out in the sun. Why’d he stop there?
I walked back to him. His hands that still firmly shook your hands were on his knees. His head was bowed down.
Then I saw it.
His shoulders were shuddering a bit at first, then began to bob up and down.
The man who had a barrel chest…the man who worked on these planes as a young man whose bushy eyebrows had turned white with age …was crying.
Deeply. No sounds. He was holding it in…
_________________________
I walked away.
The plumbing in my eyes broke too.
I think he cried quietly for about a couple of minutes. Out there on the tarmac. In the sun.
Old Man Jack then straightened up. He wiped his eyes.
“Young man, earn your pay. Give me your hand and help me up.”
Old Man Jack was back.
_________________________
We walked over to her – Jack’s beloved Corsair. His eyes were still wet.
I remember him saying very quietly while trying very hard to hold back his now visible anguish, “I knew a lot of young boys who flew them,” his voice cracking with 70 years of nightmares tormenting him. “Some of them just didn’t come back. I could never stop thinking, ‘Did a Jap get him… or was it me?'”
Nothing more need be said.
A very, VERY proud Jack Garrett, AMM 1/C showing off his barrel chest as best he could.
_________________________
That’s when he told me she was the most beautiful girl in the sky. But like any woman, she was a pain to keep happy.
“We didn’t wear shirts because it was so _ucking hot; I’d burn my stomach and chest on that hot metal.” He pointed at the wing spar (the bottom of the “gull wing”) and said, “We would always slip on those damn spars. You never had good footing.”
He then recollected other things. He told me “We’d stick a shotgun shell into a breech under the cowling and fire it off to turn over the engine.” As I surely didn’t know much better back then, I asked why. “Because the dumb son-of-a-bitch who designed the plane didn’t put in a starter. That’s why.” Oh, boy (with a smile). “And if she didn’t turn over, you only had a couple more tries at it before you had to let it cool off.”
Old Man Jack then smiled a bit when he admitted he fell off the wing while taxiing once. “Like a dumb smart ass kid, I stood up on the wing when the pilot was taxiing. You were taught to lay on the wing to point which way to go but (the wing’s surface) was too damn hot so I stood up. We hit a bump and off I came.” (Note: the Corsair’s nose was long to accommodate the powerful engine. It was so long that it obscured the pilot’s forward view during taxi and landing.)
One more thing he said. “There was nothing better than seeing the flight come back after a patrol at wave top, do victory rolls then peel off.” He was a bit choked up.
_________________________
When we got home, he said to me, “I didn’t know how I would react if I saw something and that’s why I put you off in going. But I feel good about it now. Thank you, young man.”
He gave me that solid Jack Garrett handshake…and a hug.
I think he enjoyed the visit…and no better way to end my first six months of blogging.
All familiar names to us with a common thread – they helped create the lore of the rough and tough cowboy.
Killing eight bad guys with their Colt .45 six-shooters. Without reloading. Bullets would glance off them as if they were slickered with the world’s supply of Vaseline.
Make that a non-stick coating.
With that, let’s get into the lore – and the truths – of the samurai.
_____________________________
Toshiro Mifune portraying Lord Toranaga in “Shogun”
Yes, Japan had their John Wayne, Clint Eastwood and Kirk Douglas creating the samurai lore. Not to bore you with the names of key Japanese actors portraying samurai, but Toshiro Mifune is their John Wayne. You may have seen him playing Lord Toranaga in the 1980 TV mini-series “Shogun” opposite Richard Chamberlain.
Let’s give you a taste of the movie “lore” created in Japan. This compilation is of “Zatoichi” (座頭一), a blind swordsman of all things. He is portrayed by Katsu Shintaro, another famous actor. Think of him as Sean Connery in a series of films; instead of James Bond, it is Zatoichi.
His character is a very entertaining combination of John Wayne, Clint Eastwood and Jackie Chan, all rolled into one fantasy character. The lore. No need to watch the entire thing, of course; its intent is to expose you to the samurai lore.
In these fictional fight sequences (What am I saying? It’s a movie!), Zatoichi slays up to 40 bad guys with his one sword, i.e., eight guys with a six shooter.
Incorrect. More like 20 bad guys with a six-shooter.
Yes, Zatoichi is smothered in Japan’s supply of Vaseline…and there is no guard (tsuba 鍔) on the sword to protect his pinky.
Anyways, I’m sure you have a flavor of the samurai lore by now.
Did any of you watch the entire clip? Better than the Gunfight at the O.K. Corral (which really didn’t happen in the O.K. Corral, by the way)?
_______________________________
Let’s begin the first OMG Samurai Truth with a simple question based on Western culture:
When Colt made a six shooter, how did they test its accuracy? After all, no cowboy would want to aim at a bad guy and have it miss by a couple of feet when it counted. Only Bob Hope.
Colt pistol, 1851
They test fired the pistol, of course. Likely at a target with a bulls-eye.
And its resulting level of accuracy also made for higher selling prices. They would be prized possessions.
Well, second question: how did the samurai know his samurai sword, or “katana” (刀) was sharp?
Jabbing a bulls-eye would be unthinkable. Where’s the fun?
They would test the katana out on an executed criminal.
Testing out a new katana (From “Secrets of the Samurai”, 1973)
Cut off a limb. Perhaps an arm or a leg.
Well, that’s mostly true.
If a samurai was of high enough ranking (perhaps one of my samurai ancestors), he can pay……for a live one.
While the “lore” varies, there is one documented story – but who knows? The story is a criminal was being taken to his execution when he spied a high ranking samurai with a vassal carrying his brand-spanking new katana.
The criminal asked, “Are you going to try out your new katana on me?” to which the samurai replied in the affirmative. The samurai said he would try a slashing diagonal cut on him from the shoulder down.
The soon-to-be executed criminal then replied something to the effect of, “Well, I wish I would have known beforehand as I would have swallowed some stones to dull your blade.”
_____________________________
A grisly first “OMG Samurai Truth”, perhaps, but truth nonetheless. Not lore.
But one thing is for certain: the consequence of execution did not defray criminals from doing their dastardly deeds even in the 1600’s. And they did indeed carry out the sentences. No ACLU.
_____________________________
Stay tuned for more OMG Samurai Truths. More to come.
To be with his beloved wife Carol…and his comrades who were left behind “on those stinkin’ islands”.
Came with two of my kids to say hi…and Merry Christmas, Jack
_____________________________
Life is so fleeting. Some people go through a whole lot. Some of us don’t.
Old man Jack was one of the former. I need to find the time to write more of what he experienced as a young man.
So that at least those that read this blog will know…and appreciate.
_____________________________
Old man Jack had his health problems in his last years.
But when he was a young sailor, he had malaria, dysentery…leeches between his toes, all from fighting on those damn islands in the Southwest Pacific during WWII.
And in 2009, he nearly died from a horrid intestinal infection. His abdomen had swollen. Fat Albert would have been jealous.
He was in ICU for a couple of weeks. After they transferred him to an extended care facility, I made it a point to see him every day…even if it was for brief time.
He looked forward to it as did I.
_____________________________
But soon after being transferred, he went into a depression. He wouldn’t eat – especially what he called the “Army slop” they had at his hospice.
Man, he complained about the chow – but his eyes lit up when I (secretly) took him a Mickey D’s burger and fries once in awhile. He’d smack his lips. But I’d make him eat the chow when I didn’t bring him his hamburger and as usual, he’d get pissed. But not really.
One evening, he was really weak. He wouldn’t raise his head off his pillow.
I told him, “Jack… What’s the matter? Haven’t you been eating?”
He never answered the question but he was off in a different world. While he realized I was there, he said to me softly, “Carol came down to see me last night. She sat right here,” gently patting the mattress on his gurney. “She said, ‘Honey, its about time now. I’m waiting for you.'”
Carol was his wife. He loved her greatly. She had passed away eight years before. I think he wanted to be with her.
_____________________________
Well, I pushed him to get better. And he did.
He finally consented to get into a wheel chair a couple of weeks or so later. I can’t exactly remember but it was June of 2009.
Perhaps you can get a flavor of Old Man Jack’s true character although my Blackberry did a lousy job of recording:
Soon after that, in spite of his pissing and moaning (which I loved as it meant he was getting better), I forced him to use his walker:
It was his way of saying, “Get lost,” by the way…but didn’t mean it as usual. He loved the attention.
Hilarious.
Old Man Jack was on the road to recovery.
_____________________________
Well, the recovery was short-lived.
He is now with his beloved Carol and eating her wonderful cooking. She cooked things exactly as he wanted.
Hamburger patties burned to a crisp. Scrambled eggs WELL done.
He never complained – as he knew he wouldn’t eat if he did.
Deep down, he knew who was the boss.
_____________________________
I miss you and your hollerin’ and moanin’, Jack.
And I knew you never meant it.
And as sad as I am, I also know you are now free of those horrible nightmares from combat that you endured for 70 years…and that you and Carol are on your second honeymoon.
You deserve no less.
You were a helluva representative of the Greatest Generation.
Samurais did the same thing… Slashed through two dozen other samurai with one sword…at least in the movies.
__________________________
My mother drummed it into me for the first years of my life – that “my ancestors” were samurai.
And not just plain ol’ run-of-the-mill samurai.
They were 偉い侍.
Okie-dokie. I’ll help. High ranking samurai.
And its true…but flawed.
_________________________
It gets too complicated so for argument’s sake, I have a second cousin, Toshio. He was adored by both my mother and Aunt Eiko. “Tosh-chan”, as we lovingly called him, was always kind to them through the years. Considering his horrendous working hours common amongst Japanese workers of that time, he still made the effort without complaint. He eventually became a top-notch engineer for Mitsubishi and worked in Cairo and Singapore to name a few places. He lives in Yokohama, Japan.
Tosh-chan sporting a Japanese goliath beetle near his home in the village of Fukui. 1974
When I lived in Japan alone for a couple of years as a very young adult, ever faithful Tosh-chan was there again. This time to help me out as well.
_______________________________
As it turns out, and while mom was there with me visiting, he took us to his home village of Fukui, on the Japan Sea side. It was beautiful country and the area still had the ambience of pre-war Japan. We stayed at his parent’s house and were fortunate to meet some of the extended family. The house was typical from that early time – even the abode was outside. And the mosquitoes. Notice the plural? They never went away. The little buggers loved me… After a couple of hours, I was swollen like a Japanese pin cushion.
Mosquitoes and me after a while – nice and puffy.
____________________________
One day, Toshio drove mom, his mom and me to a very old temple, Zenshouji (全昌寺〒922-0807 Ishikawa Prefecture, Kaga, Daishoji Shinmeicho, １ if you’re curious). It was at least three centuries old and miraculously escaped US Naval bombardments.
We met with the head monk who took us to a room where we waited. We sat with our feet under our hineys; you should try that. Very uncomfortable. And the damn mosquitoes were there.
Then out came the monk with a VERY old notebook for the lack of a better description. It had black front and back covers. It was about three inches thick and quite dusty. It was held together by an old hemp string which bound EQUALLY old rice paper. He opened it up on the tatami flooring.
I wish I took photos of it. But my family (on my mother’s side) does have something similar in appearance. The paper and writing looked like something like this:
Example of calligraphy on rice paper. Written by Great-Great Grandfather Wakio Shibayama.
____________________________
The rice paper the history was written on was from the 1600’s… from about the time the Mayflower set sail on her historic voyage putting it into an American mindset (which was AFTER the Native Americans were here, of course). And the writing had some details on “my” samurai ancestors. Unbelievable. Even Joan Rivers would have been speechless.
____________________________
We then proceeded up a good sized hill accompanied by – you guessed it – the world’s supply of mosquitoes. I would have preferred just one Doutzen Kroes bug me. Was it my Hai Karate cologne?… or my blood infused by twenty years of Oscar Mayer bacon? Whatever it was, I must have smelled scrumptious to them. I was the nectar of the gods to the little buggers.
We climbed. And Tosh-chan pointed out that as we climbed up, the gravestones (called Ohaka) got older. And older. And older. 1900. 1850. 1800. 1750. 1700. 1650… “Fascinating,” as Spock frequently said.
Then, near the top of the hill by a ledge was a line of ohaka. There they were. “My” ancestors. Samurai ancestors. I was standing by their ashes.
You can see the edge of the hillside off to left of Tosh-chan.
The ohaka with the roofs on them mark the resting place of the honorable samurai. (The littler ones mark the resting place of children.) The one Tosh-chan and I are standing next to represents the resting place of a high ranking samurai. All their last names were of the “Shibayama” clan of which my grand-mother was one (my mother’s mother).
According to the family’s understanding, one ancestor was so skilled in swordsmanship that he was appointed the personal instructor to the son of a shogun. I’d have to admit that would be quite an honor back then. Others were feudal lords.
But…….. That is on my mother’s side and even then, half of that as she had her father’s blood in her… although my grandfather was also of samurai heritage. I know very little of grandfather’s side except that he came from the island of Shikoku.
And my father’s family? They were hard-working farmers. NOT samurai. And that’s one-half of ME.
So what does that make me? As mentioned at the beginning, my mother drummed into me my ancestors were samurai. I grew up thinking, “Yeah! I’m samurai!”
Yes, my ancestors were samurai. Noble ones at that. No doubt. But what my mother drummed into me was just a tad flawed to say the least. SOME of my ancestors were samurai.
________________________________
So I guess John Wayne is more of a samurai than I.
Make that Tom Cruise. He did a much better job portraying one in “The Last Samurai”.
________________________________
In a future post, you will learn of the true samurai. Not the lore. It is definitely not what you see in Hollywood movies.
But in closing this chapter, here is good ol’ Tosh-chan this past summer when my oldest son Takeshi and I went to Japan.
He helped us once again. Right down to the mosquitoes.
My son Takeshi and Tosh-chan in Yokohama near my father’s WWII US 8th Army HQs.
The carnage he was to experience would be absent even from the worst possible nightmare a nineteen year old boy can possibly have dreamed.
Violence no young boy of 19 should have to endure.
He would have two lives after he stepped into that Marine Corps recruiting station: one of reality during the day and of a nightmare he would never awaken from at night.
____________________________
I took them to breakfast for a belated 66th wedding anniversary and 88th birthdays. It’s softened as that’s how Marge wanted it. Seal Beach, CA. August 14, 2011.
I was not close to Mr. Johnson as I was to Old Man Jack; perhaps it was because for the first five years after I moved into this patriotic Naval neighborhood, he and his good wife Marge traveled about the US in their motorhome. They were gone for perhaps six to eight months out of the year. Man, did they enjoy seeing the US of A. After all, he fought for her.
He stayed indoors most of the time when at home while Marge would walkabout during the warm summer nights with her wine and chat with neighbors and me. She enjoyed her Chablis very much. Slowly, her legs would give way to age. Mr. Johnson’s, too.
____________________________
In the early part of 1942, Mr. Johnson found himself on a little boat out in the middle of the Pacific – the Big E.
The USS Enterprise.
CV-6.
She was one of only three operational carriers in the Pacific. The Enterprise, Hornet and Yorktown.
The Battle for Midway
He was on his way to the Battle of Midway (Mr. Johnson did not tell me that. Old Man Jack did.). June of 1942.
A tremendous gamble of scarce naval assets and young men by Admiral Nimitz.
PFC Doreston “Johnnie” Johnson manned her anti-aircraft batteries as a US Marine.
Thousands of young lives were lost during the most critical sea battle – on both sides. But the critical gamble paid off for the US. The Japanese Imperial Navy lost four carriers. They would never recover.
But we lost the Yorktown. A tremendous loss for the United States…but the tide of war changed.
The USS Yorktown on fire at the crucial Battle of Midway. She would later be sunk.
Miraculously, the Enterprise escaped damage.
And as far as I understand, so did the young boy from Basile, Louisiana, Mr. Johnson.
At least physically.
_________________________
Guadalcanal and the Solomon Islands Campaign
His next trial would be Guadalcanal and the Solomon Islands campaign.
It would be an insult to to all the brave men that were there if I were to even try and express in writing what brutal sea combat was like.
I was not there. But every young man there thought – every second – that there was a bomb coming at him. Constantly.
Like hearing shrapnel from near bomb misses ricocheting off the batteries – or striking flesh. The deafening, unending thundering of “whump-whump-whump” from AA batteries. The yelling. The sound of a mortally wounded enemy plane crashing into the water nearby with a likewise young pilot. The screams of wounded or dying boys.
This is taken from a naval summary: “After a month of rest and overhaul, Enterprise sailed on 15 July for the South Pacific where she joined TF 61 to support the amphibious landings in the Solomon Islands on 8 August. For the next 2 weeks, the carrier and her planes guarded seaborne communication lines southwest of the Solomons. On 24 August a strong Japanese force was sighted some 200 miles north of Guadalcanal and TF 61 sent planes to the attack. An enemy light carrier was sent to the bottom and the Japanese troops intended for Guadalcanal were forced back. Enterprise suffered most heavily of the United States ships, 3 direct hits and 4 near misses killed 74, wounded 95, and inflicted serious damage on the carrier. But well-trained damage control parties, and quick, hard work patched her up so that she was able to return to Hawaii under her own power.”
“Repaired at Pearl Harbor from 10 September to 16 October, Enterprise departed once more for the South Pacific where with Hornet, she formed TF 61. On 26 October, Enterprise scout planes located a Japanese carrier force and the Battle of the Santa Cruz Island was underway. Enterprise aircraft struck carriers, battleships, and cruisers during the struggle, while the “Big E” herself underwent intensive attack. Hit twice by bombs, Enterprise lost 44 killed and had 75 wounded. Despite serious damage, she continued in action and took on board a large number of planes from Hornet when that carrier had to be abandoned. Though the American losses of a carrier and a destroyer were more severe than the Japanese loss of one light cruiser, the battle gained priceless time to reinforce Guadalcanal against the next enemy onslaught.
Regardless of who is correct – and we’ll never know for obvious reasons – Enterprise gunners shot down more planes at Eastern Solomons in 15 minutes and at Santa Cruz in 25 minutes than did the vast majority of all battleships, carriers, cruisers and destroyers throughout the entire war.
She was the last operating carrier in the Pacific.”
For those of you who are unfamiliar with the violence of World War II, perhaps these photos will give you an idea.
Try – just try – to imagine you are on that ship… Nineteen years old. The Japanese planes are shooting at you and dropping bombs on you. Dead and wounded boys are everywhere. Fires are raging… The ship is listing…and through all this, you must continue to man your anti-aircraft guns… Protecting the ship and the lives of your fellow Americans.
A Japanese bomb explodes on the USS EnterpriseOne of the direct bomb hits. All the young men in this area (Gun Group 3) were killed. Many could not be found.The USS Enterprise under attack. A near miss but men were killed or wounded by the shrapnel.The USS Enterprise on fire. August 24, 1942. Mr. Johnson was on her.A Val bomber on fire goes past the radar mast on the USS Enterprise. Perhaps one of Mr. Johnson’s rounds hit it.Damaged hull from one of the near misses.More hull damage from bomb shrapnel.The USS Enterprise listing from battle damage.Burning Japanese planes seen from the deck of the Enterprise. That’s how close they were. Up close and very personal. Aug. 24, 1942.Burial service at sea for 44 of the men after the battle at Santa Cruz. Oct 27 1942
Remember these young boys. I always will.
Mr. Johnson was one of them.
Mr. Johnson was one of those wounded.
Twice.
And I have proof of his valor and guts on board as a US Marine.
“Koji, funerals don’t do a damn thing for me anymore.”
That was Mr. Johnson’s reply while I was driving us to Old Man Jack’s funeral. I had asked him to help hold me together as I knew I would fall apart.
“Oh-oh,” I thought to myself when I heard that curt reply. “I guess I hit a nerve…”
_____________________________
Old man Jack on the left, Mr. Johnson on the right. Taken June 30, 2005.
Mr. Johnson was Old Man Jack’s next door neighbor.
Since 1953.
Nearly SIXTY years. Hell, I ain’t that old yet. Well, I’m close.
They got along real well for those 60 years… except Jack was a WWII sailor… and Mr. Johnson was a WWII Marine. They reminded each other of it often.
Lovingly, of course.
Old Man Jack happily reminisced that “…us white caps would also tussle with them Marines ‘cuz they thought they were better than us”. But Jack would have gotten the short end of the stick if he took on Mr. Johnson. He towered over Jack and me…
And Mr. Johnson was a decorated WWII Marine.
Decorated twice…that I know of.
_____________________________
Our cozy neighborhood called him “Johnnie”. I always addressed him as Mr. Johnson…He used to say, “Damn it, Koji. I wish you’d stop calling me that.”
I never did call him Johnnie. I just couldn’t.
But in the end, we found out his real name was Doreston. Doreston Johnson.
Born August 1, 1923 in Basile, Louisiana. A tiny town, he said, and everyone was dirt broke.
I wish I knew why he wanted to go by “Johnnie” but later, I discovered Doreston was his father’s name.
_____________________________
After Jack passed away, I visited with him. He opened up a bit.
The Depression made it tough on everybody but then war…
When war broke out, he was gung ho like many young boys at that time.
It was expected. You were branded a coward if you didn’t enlist or eluded the draft. You were at the bottom of the heap if you got classified 4F.
He said went to the Army recruiting station. They said they met their quota, couldn’t take him right away and to try again next week.
He then went to the Navy recruiter. They also said pretty much the same thing but that there was an outfit “over there that’ll take ya”.
It was the United States Marine Corps.
Notice the 1903 Springfield in this 1942 recruiting poster.
The Marines “took him”…right then and there, he said.
Mr. Johnson said, “I was a dumb, stupid kid at that time” – slowly shaking his head…but with a boyish little grin.
____________________________
It was 1941… When the United States Navy had their backs against the beaches… MacArthur blundered after Pearl Harbor and thousands of soldiers were taken prisoner in the Philippines.
The country’s military was poorly equipped and poorly trained. With outdated equipment like the 1903 Springfield and the Brewster Buffalo. And most gravely, the US Navy was outgunned.
Masako and Spam Musubi 