After boot
camp, Dad’s platoon got on a train and headed towards the ocean.
(Which seemed like a very fitting and proper place for future sailors
to be.) Idaho hadn’t taught them a thing about the South Pacific,
but what the hell, everything would work out just fine. Palm trees,
naked native girls, and a few near sighted Japs they’d have to bump
off.
They could
hardly wait.
They had to
change trains in this little mountain town and it was winter so they
all headed for the only restaurant to be had. Trouble was, no colored
folks were allowed. Well, the kids in that platoon were more redneck
than not. But Jamie had won them over at least to a point. Anyway, a
platoon is like a gang. You mess with one member, you mess with all.
So the platoon formed up in front of that café and no one was
allowed in. A deputy sheriff was called in, but that man was no fool.
He took one look at all those uniforms and realized that his
handcuffs would be staying in their little case.
In the end,
everyone was allowed in, and just to pour salt onto the wound of the
proprietor, Jamie was told to take a healthy dump in the bathroom so
he wouldn’t need to go on the train.
On the
coast, Dad had to wait for an overseas assignment along with Jamie
and a guy named T.L.Cole. It was the only time in Dad’s life when
he became the equivalent of a straight A student. He just loved guns,
big and small. The training wouldn’t do him much good in civilian
life, but he didn’t care. He was having a great time at the expense
of the taxpayers.
He and his
friends ended up at Puget Sound Naval Shipyard where ships were being
refitted. He wasn’t there for very long, but he did have one
experience that was worth passing on to me. In the neighboring city
of Bremerton, sometimes drunken servicemen got a bit out of hand. The
shore patrolmen would get paired up with ordinary sailors and patrol
the bar areas at night.. I believe I mentioned that Dad was a heavy
weight, so he didn’t mind it when he got a chance to play “cop.”
That
changed forever when he followed an S.P. into a bar where a drunken
marine was most definitely the center of attention. First thing Dad
noticed was the man’s club. It was a crutch. The marine had half a
leg missing and obviously the guy was having a bit of trouble
accepting his misfortune. He kept swinging that crutch at anyone who
came near him, and two service men were already on the floor.
Dad looked
at the S.P. and asked, “So---do you think we could use a table as a
shield?”
The S.P.
ignored Dad and drew his Colt .45 service automatic. He gave the
marine one chance to drop the crutch, and the marine told him
to---well---you can fill in the blank. Then the S.O.B.S.P. actually
went and did it. He shot the marine in his good leg.
It was at
that point in his life when two very important components came
together for my dad: Revulsion, and helplessness. Those were the
pieces of bread that would hold the shit that would get served up
over and over again. The world outside of Shakopee Minnesota could
get really ugly, and young Dennis Schmitt had only taken a few steps
into that world so far.
Dad wasn’t
trained to be a “yard bird,” but at that stage of the game, he
would do any work that didn’t expose him to lunatics. He helped
re-arm battle damaged ships until he was assigned to a destroyer, and
was pleased to discover that Jamie and T.L. Cole were still with him.
Only one thing happened on that “tin can” that was worth
relating. The destroyer sailed through a pretty bad storm that scared
the crap out of Dad.
I suppose
all you well educated people know who John Newton was; the man who
composed the hymn “Amazing Grace.” Well, Dad felt a little like
that when a mischievous sailor grinned and said, “Guess what boys,
we just became a submarine.”
Unfortunately
my father can’t remember the name of the ship. He told me the name
about thirty years ago, and now I can’t remember it either. Anyway,
he and his buddies became part of something called “Task Force 51,”
which was sent to capture the Marshall Islands at the start of 1944.
That Island group is over 1000 miles long and located halfway between
Hawaii and Australia. The Islands of Majuro and Kwajaline had
airstrips built by the Japanese so those were primary targets.
Dad rode
shotgun on a landing craft called a L.C.I. It was 160 ft. long and
about 23 feet wide. They carried 200 men and could sail between 600
and 900 miles depending on their speed and prevailing currents.
Majuro was where they would land, and while it wasn’t as bad as
Omaha beach, that wouldn’t make any difference to the dead and
wounded.
Dad didn’t
give me any details, he just said that once the beach was secured,
they spent a long time transporting wounded men to a hospital ship.
That went on until the airstrip was secured. Then Dad was given the
job of bore sighting machine guns in the wings of fighter planes as
they were brought in. It was hot work and everything had to be done
“yesterday,” but it was a damn sight better than watching guys
bleed to death.
I remember
Dad once saying, “If a guy is yelling bloody murder, he has lots of
time. But if he’s being real quiet and peaceful like---keep an eye
on him.”
Yea, that
makes sense.
Anyway,
eventually it was time to get served another shit sandwich, so Dad,
Jamie and T.L got on another LCI and headed for the Island of
Kwajalein. The invasion was over, but like Majuro, there were still
many things for a gunner’s mate to do. But first they had to get
there. So they put together a small fleet of a dozen landing craft, a
few P.T. boats, and a corvette that broke it’s own trail.
The plan
was to land at Kwajalein at daybreak, but the Japanese sort of messed
that up. You see, those boys were really sore losers. When they would
lose an Island or a shipping lane between Islands, they would leave
just a few mines behind, to keep the Allies nervous. At about 0230
hrs Dad’s LCI hit one of those mines. Fortunately it was a small
one that had probably been dropped by an aircraft. It tore open the
bow and turned the landing craft into a crash diving submarine.
About
two-thirds of the men went under. Dad, his buddies, and about fifty
others floated clear of it. Somehow they call grouped together and
concluded that no one was hurt bad. The water was warm and everyone
had a life jacket, so all they had to do was wait until daybreak to
get picked up.
Piece of
cake.
Then
someone felt something bump up against them. Next time it happened
the sailor probed with his hand and felt something that was like
sandpaper. That was not a good thing. But the main problem was
ignorance. Those Midwest farm boys wouldn’t learn anything from
Jacques Cousteau for another thirty years so they were plenty scared
of any kind of shark. In fact most sharks are like vultures. They
won’t bite you unless you’re dead. But there have been many
exceptions to that rule, as we all know.
I recall
the scene in “Jaws” when Robert Shaw says, “I’ll never put on
a life jacket again.”
You’re
in pitch black water up to your shoulders, and there’s nothing
under you except the fear of teeth.
Jamie said,
“Wonder if them fish know the difference between white meat and
dark.”
Anyway, the
dawn always comes, and when it came that morning, all arms and legs
were still where they belonged. They got picked up by the corvette
and once on Kwajalein, they received some thrilling news. They would
be working with the Seabees. (Construction Battalion) That meant that
they would learn skills that would carry over into civilian life.
Gunner’s Mates were wanted because they had some training with
explosives, and the main job would be to break up the now useless
Japanese bomb shelters.
Dad didn’t
know it, but it was time for another shit sandwich.
You see,
those bunkers were not empty. Do you know what happens when you fill
a bomb shelter with men, then kill them, then let them rot for a few
days in tropical temperatures? You grab an arm or a leg and it comes
right off. You can’t blow the bunkers while the bodies are still in
them so you gotta get them out the hard way. They gave Dad a gas mask
but after puking in it a few times he decided that he really didn’t
want it.
For three
days Dad went without eating. (I miracle for him.) Then things
started getting squared away. But that only meant that Dad would be
moving again. This time to an Island called Ebeye, which had been a
Japanese sea plane base, and would also serve the U.S. Navy in that
capacity. The Navy Brass would soon make this small Island their home
because a PBY Catalina (flying boat) is a great way to Island hop if
you are an admiral.
Now the
trouble with admirals is that they make junior officers kind of
nervous. It’s no fun working under a J.G. who’s nervous,
especially when it’s 100 degrees in the shade. You gotta learn how
to conserve energy in the tropics. Everyone one learned that except
Jamie.
The kid from Georgia was an eternal optimist in the sense that
he was always looking around for a samurai sword that some careless
Jap officer might have dropped.
Well,
eventually he did find something that the enemy had left behind. He
stepped on a land mine and it took every bit of meat off one femur
bone. Dad and a few other guys called for the officer in charge but
got no answer. That’s when a decision had to be made. There was an
open boat on the beach, and an auxiliary hospital ship just a few
miles away. So they put Jamie on the floor of the boat and Dad sat on
the wound. As far as they could determine at the time, there was no
way to apply a tourniquet .Dad was the heaviest guy there, and it
just seemed like the only thing to do.
Half the
guys took Jamie out, the other half went looking for the lieutenant.
Jamie died on the boat, and Dad and the others got a lecture from the
lieutenant, but no punishment. The thing my dad needed to remember
was that there was no way to save Jamie by keeping him on that
Island, and there were no seaplanes ready to take off at that time.
After that
Dad just cleaned and replaced gun parts until a B-29 known as Enola
Gay took off from Kwajalein with a secret weapon. Dad had been told
at one point after the historic bombing mission that a very important
container was being stored in the Ebeye ammunition magazine. (Which
was kind of like a basement with a lot of insulation on top of it.)
I’m thinking that the mysterious container might have been the bomb
they tested on Bikini.
Anyway, the
day they celebrated the end of the war, Dad got one more chance to
end or at least ruin a portion of his life. Everyone was shooting off
guns and going crazy. Well, Dad decided he could do them all one
better. He knew about this Japanese anti-aircraft gun that was about
the size of a German 88mm. The action had been taken out of it so
there was just the barrel and the breach block. Dad got his hands on
some explosives and packed it into the rear end. Then he muzzle
loaded the front with ten pounds of pipe nipples.
Pipe
nipples are little metal tubes and they make a shrieking sound if
launched into the air with sufficient force. Dad calculated that he
could get them over the Island and they would then fall harmlessly
into the water on the other side. Well----his shot went a bit low.
There was this officer’s tent on the far beach you see. In fact the
lieutenant who gave Dad crap about Jamie was one of the occupants.
Thank God
no one was in the tent when the pipe nipples hit it. All the same,
there were a few less smiles after that. You know, everyone
understands that nuking Hiroshima and Nagasaki saved a lot of
American lives, but it also saved the sorry rear end of Dennis
Schmitt. The guys who could have burned Dad had only one thing on
their minds: going home. So Dad lucked out one last time.
Final Note:
Dennis Schmitt and T.L. Cole went to Georgia a few months after
returning home. They were house guests of the Jameson family and
learned a little more about the world that Jamie had been brought up
in. It wasn’t all pretty, but a great deal of it was.
