Division Headquarters was the former Hotel Windsor in Wellington (NZ); in its day the Windsor had been an upper-middle-class facility. As I recall, it had five or six stories, ample kitchen facilities, one small elevator and a sitting or parlor room. This room extended the width of the hotel and was about 18 feet from front to back.
The hotel had a balcony, or overhang, between the first and second floors that extended over the sidewalk and to the curb of the street. The front and sides of the balcony had a wrought- iron grill about three feet high. Doors from the parlor could be opened to make a wide entrance to the balcony. This parlor and the balcony comprised the officers' lounge. On the in-board side to the left as one entered from the central hallway were a series of small rooms that were used for storage of bar equipment and other items. On the far left wall was the bar. Scattered throughout the room were round tables with white linen on them, and ample chairs and some sofas.
As one entered the lobby of the hotel from the street, there was this small elevator ahead (only senior officers were permitted to ride the elevator) and to the left a wide stairway leading to the second deck. Guards were posted in the lobby, and entrance to the facility was restricted to those who carried a special-type pass. General Julian Smith and his staff had four offices on the third deck.
These were large hotel rooms that had been converted into offices. As I recall, General Smith had the corner office on the left as one reached the floor from the stairs. General Hermle, Assistant Division Commander; Colonel Edson, Chief of Staff; and Lt. Colonel Shoup D-1, had their offices in that sequence going toward the stairs, then D-2, D-3 and D-4 had their offices in that order. Our office was directly across from the stairs and kitty-corner to the left of the elevator as one stepped from it.
All these offices were large rooms that faced the street. The main telephone switchboard (one installed by the Division's communications section) was at the head of the stairs just left of the elevator. All men on duty outside of the offices were usually armed. Our section consisted of five officers and three enlisted men. There were other offices, but I had nothing to do with them.
The hotel was also BOQ [bachelor officers quarters] for all officers assigned to Headquarters. Rooms were assigned by rank with lieutenants having the small, dark rooms in the back of the hotel. The rooms were connected with the second deck by a rear staircase that led to the kitchen. All enlisted men assigned to headquarters ate their noon meal in the kitchen's dining room that had previously served the hotel staff. Our section wasn't doing much when I arrived, but we were warned never to talk about it, even among ourselves once we left the office.
We had a lieutenant in our office who was designated the Division Officers Club Liquor Purveyor. It was his job to collect money for, and take orders for, liquor from all officers in the Division. When the money was collected it would be banked at the Bank of New Zealand until time to pay for the liquor. Liquor was ordered from all over the free world. I was impressed when one day he asked me to accompany him to the bank to deposit over $25,000. "That's a lot of booze," I said.
During this walk he said what amounted to, "I don't want this friggin' job and I've devised a way to get rid of it. If you would handle the day-to-day stuff like inventory and delivery to the units (they came to the Windsor to pick up liquor for their outfit), I will sign all the checks, inventory receipts and whatever else has to be signed and make the reports to the Club's Board." I replied that we both could get our ass in a sling (thinking back to the trouble caused by Japanese flag I'd sent home). He replied, "I'll take you down to the Officers Club and introduce you so no one will think anything of it when you go in and out."
To me, his offer sounded like another case of the fox in the chicken-house, so I reluctantly agreed. One of the rooms off the hotel lounge was designated as the club's liquor locker, and that is where the liquor was kept until someone from the unit came to pick it up. Also, the local bar supply and the hotel BOQ supply were kept there. There were only two keys — one for the lieutenant and one for me.
We had some great parties up until the time I had to return the key to him when we left Wellington. He was staying behind with a working party to clean the hotel and return it to the owners. Then it was his responsibility to see that the liquor that had been inventoried arrived in Hilo (Hawaii) in good shape. Of course, at the time we didn't know where that booze was going and we had all sorts of plans to conduct a raid, but it never came off. 'Nuff said.
I was still having problems with malaria. Before I could get settled in, I was in the hospital at Camp Anderson (a U.S. Navy hospital within the city of Wellington, where the headquarters staff went, among others). I had also been to Trentham and Silver Stream, and now Camp Anderson, but I could not shake the bug (along with a lot of other Marines). I had been married for a couple of months and we had a small apartment about a mile from the hotel. I had received permission to live off base, so I would check in at the hotel about 0745, locate the other people of our group, then call to the company office and report. Headquarters Company was billeted in Central Park, about two miles from the hotel.
One morning I was feeling punk and I knew that an attack was just a short time away. Our lead man at that time was a Colonel Gannon, who had been with the First Division on Guadalcanal. He was watching me closely and when Captain Todd came in the colonel called him over and told him that he didn't want any hung-over drunks on his staff and to get rid of me, pronto. The captain said he didn't think I was hung-over, but I might be having an attack of malaria. The colonel came over to my place, looked at me and said, "Son, were you on Guadalcanal?"
"Yes Sir." I answered. "You drop what you're doing and come with me." I followed him out of the office and up to his room on the next deck. He said, "You get in that bed and take it easy." I protested and said I was okay, but he insisted, "That's an order."
"Yes, Sir."
I took off my shoes, got between the sheets, and fell asleep almost instantly. A short time later came a hard knock on the door and there was the colonel with two corpsmen and a stretcher. Off to Anderson again. Colonel Gannon felt that anyone who was on the Canal could do no wrong and was entitled to all the care and attention he needed.
At the hospital I came across Doc English, who had been transferred. He came over to see me and I reminded him that we had made a deal, and asked him to let my wife know where I was. He said, "Don't worry about it." Three weeks later and 10 pounds lighter, I returned to the hotel. When I arrived at our office there was a large brown bottle of Quinine that someone had got from a pharmacist mate for me. Those tablets served me in good stead for a long time. As a result, my trips to the hospital became fewer. Colonel Gannon said he didn't know anything about how the Quinine came my way.
Soon things began to heat up and our workload was increasing. One day a working party appeared in the hall and began to move furniture and everything else out of the room next to ours (across from the elevator), then a large table and a few chairs were moved in. Next, an armed guard with a rifle appeared in the hall to take up his post outside the door to that room. He mainly stood at port arms, but he also used at-ease and parade-rest positions. We knew it was just a matter of time. The only men who went into that room were the senior officers, or others they took in with them. Most of the time we left the door to our office open for air circulation.
About 1130 hours on this particular day, everyone in our section went down for chow except me as I had the duty. I noticed that the officers next door were leaving and waiting for the elevator. I didn't pay any attention because this occurred everyday. About an hour or so later I heard the elevator clanking and the door opened. Out stepped General Smith and three or four other officers. One of them reached for the door knob and I heard the sentry say, "May I see your badge, sir?" Then a reply, "I don't have it, I must have left it inside."
Then this was repeated with a different voice responding. Next General Smith said, "I'm General Smith, son, I am the Commanding Officer of the Second Division. Just let us in and we will bring out the badges for you to see." I heard the unmistakable sound of a round going into the chamber as the guard said,"I know who you are, Sir, but you are not going into that room without a badge." By now I am on my feet heading for the hall. I didn't know what I could do but my only thought was, "Christ, he's going to shoot the general!" I had to do something to stop it. Just as I got to the door, the elevator door opened and Colonel Edson came out. He took in the situation and asked, "What's the trouble here?" General Smith answered, "Our badges are inside and he won't let us in without them."
Edson said, "Relax, son, take it easy. I'm Colonel Edson and I have my badge with me (which was hanging around his neck). Look. Is it okay if I go in and get their badges and bring them out?" The sentry said he thought that would be okay, so that was what happened. I'm thinking to myself, "This kid will be in Portsmouth for the duration." As our group came back I told them what had happened and they all felt the same way. We speculated as to why he hadn't called the Corporal of the Guard or someone else, but not knowing his special orders he had no pat answers. Three days later when I came in at 0745 and saw that same kid standing in the same place — with sergeant stripes on his sleeves. Buck private to sergeant in one big step. I'm still a corporal.
Of course, the room he guarded was the War Room, if that is an acceptable term, and the plans and maps were there for the invasion of Tarawa and the other Gilbert Islands. Our group just took orders and carried them out, but when the assault troops in the convoy were shown the mockups of the island, they were admiring our work. Most of us were on the old battleship Maryland. The Sixth had arrived late at Guadalcanal, so we had not experienced the initial bombardment. We were about to make up for that.
Ships, then planes combined in battering Tarawa island with a barrage that seemed to shake it to its foundation. The noise and odor aboard ship was deafening and breathtaking. Smoke enveloped the entire area and made it impossible to see just a few feet in front of us. We were certain that nothing could survive such a pounding. We knew the time had come for the first wave to start their run to the beach, but we couldn't see anything. That would change soon enough but the savage slaughter that followed was something we could not see close up and could only speculate about. We got little accurate information as most communications were not working, and there was more to do than pass the word. Then came the unthinkable, the unspoken — the Marines on Tarawa might not make it. It was a long, long time before David Shoup's message of encouragement came — "We are winning."
On D+2 we went in, but we were not assigned to any unit in particular. There was much confusion and disarray among units. I attached myself to the Sixth, which had also landed about the same time. We were to help with the dead and wounded in any way we could. It was utter chaos. There was really no place to start. The island was declared secured on 24 November. During the clean-up period, to which we were assigned, we learned that on the first day as the landing craft had started for the beaches, many of the men broke out in the song, TA-RA-RA BOOM DER-E. It was a song that quickly died that day, but for many of us it echoes through the years. The Division newspaper that we published during our stay in Hawaii was called TARAWA BOOM DER-E. Also, our camp was named Camp Tarawa.
We left on 1 December 1943, after assisting the Sixth in the clean-up operation. The sickly sweet stench of death permeated everything. [Author's note: Bill Ojala, from my home State of Minnesota and who I first met on TheFew.com, was on a ship close to the Maryland and he can give some graphic descriptions of the Maryland's fire power and the results, as well as the action ashore, if he will. We have exchanged a number of messages and he has directed me to other WW II Marines. His e-mail address is bojala@rangenet. com. Is that okay, Bill? I would not presume to say that anyone would do anything about raising these memories]. Robert Sherrod said it best about Tarawa — "The Marines simply assumed that they were the world's best fighting men."
We were heading for Hilo, Hawaii. About the third day out I came down with chills and a high fever. Malaria again, I thought. A few hours later every muscle in my body went rigid. I couldn't move any part except my eyes and I could blink. We used that method for simple communication for about an hour when the rigidity began to pass. When I could move I was taken to sickbay. On the way I had to go to the head. I was shocked to see my urine was black. I knew what it was — black-water fever. This is something that can develop from certain strains of malaria. (Even today the medical profession does not know how that occurs, nor is there any known cure. The mortality rate 60 years ago was 60~70 percent; today it is 30~40 percent).
To be absolutely certain that there was no mistake, the doctor had me use a urinal the next time I urinated. There was no mistaking the black urine. This in itself was not positive proof; the blood tests verified that the red corpuscles were rapidly disappearing without a corresponding increase in the white corpuscles, such as occurs with an infection. I was placed in one of the ship's officers quarters to make me more comfortable and to make it easier for the doctor to keep an eye on me.
I kept losing consciousness and I didn't know how long it took, but the ship docked at Hilo and I was taken off the ship on a stretcher through the side door in the bulkhead used for loading supplies, and into a waiting ambulance. I ended up at a hospital called the U.S. Army 75th Station Hospital (I couldn't get away from the Army). I was there for two months. Slowly I got my strength back and I began to play chess with the doctor in charge of our ward, which had only eight patients. The Army takes your clothes and issues you a pair of slippers, pajamas and a ruby-red robe with US Army in white, stitched on the left breast. No midnight liberty from this place.
Eventually I learned that the Second Division was camped on the Parker Ranch,
about 65 miles from the hospital, near a place called Kamuela. I also learned
that malaria patients from the Division were transferred to the Army's 75th
Station Hospital, if they were scheduled to go back to the States as a result of
the bug. I still had no intention of going back to the States, so I began to ponder
ways to get out of the hospital. I had been playing chess with the doctor for a
couple of weeks when he told me he was going on furlough for two weeks starting
that Friday. I immediately called my section and told them I was going to be discharged about noon on Monday, so could they please send a jeep for me — Of course.
Monday morning when the new young doctor began his rounds I told him I was to be discharged that day and sent back to my unit. I asked if he'd received my papers yet. He said he knew nothing about it, adding that he had no authority to discharge me. This went on for some time with me telling him that my transportation was on its way and my papers must be somewhere. Finally, in exasperation he said,
"I don't know, but there is something I can do. I can turn you over to the Second Medical Battalion and let them decide what to do with you. I'll call them and if they agree, I'll get the papers ready." He was gone about 45 minutes, then came in with a bunch of papers just about the time the jeep arrived. He told me in no uncertain terms that I was to go to the Second Medical Battalion and give them the orders and he'd call that afternoon to be sure I was there. We got there alright and I spent two weeks at the place (in tents), until one day when the doc was making his rounds he looked at me and said, "What are you doing here?"
"I don't know, sir," I replied. "I'm okay and I should be with my unit."
"I think so, too," he said.
So he discharged me and I returned to duty. It was March 1944.
