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W. Earl Hall correspondence, 1940-1945

1945-03-26 Johnny to W. Earl Hall Page 3

Air raid shelters in Hawaii are a type unto themselves. Thrown together hastily in the first part of the war, they would probably be effective against shell fragments, but not much use against a direct hit or near miss. They are a 40 foot long, 4 foot square room with a long bench along either side, earthen bunkers at each end and about 2 feet of earth on top and from 2 to 3 feet of earth piled pyramid style at the sides. They are overgrown with grass and weeds -- don't suppose they'll ever be used. Like the foxholes we found in the front yards of our quarters when we arrived here -- in most cases they were grown over with grass and flowers; since then they have been filled and grass planted where they were. Yes, Hawaii is pretty far from the war right now. I inspected some of these shelters on the way to town. And then found myself in town itself -- no worse except for a couple of blisters. It was the longest walk I'd taken since the hike over the mountains I took a couple months ago.

Some sections of Honolulu are jampacked with the same sort of gyp joints as Waikiki -- except that there are more of them. Seemingly endless little cheap souvenir booths, other booths where one may buy hot dogs, malted milks and hamburgers; penny arcades, "marksmanship" ranges sporting automatic air rifles, photo shops, etc., etc. These parts of town are just like permanently placed carnivals. I sneaked into one booth which advertised "Have your picture taken with a genuine hula girl. Two poses for one dollar." Officers seldom go into these places, so immediately he saw me the barker started to work on me, "Right this way, captain, you making love to an island beauty to send to the fellows at home." I said I was sorry, had no money. Then the girl herself (actually a little Japanese girl dressed in colorful bra and hula skirt made of cellophane strips) tried her wiles without success. "Sorry, can't do it." I had a sack of popcorn with  me, "but here, have some popcorn." The little girl's face lit up as I imagine it hadn't for days; she accepted a handful of popcorn, and munching it, went to work posing with some of the sailors who were handing over their dollars. Guess she must have been a bit hard to be working at a job like that -- but human nevertheless. Not much more than a high school kid.

I escaped as silently as possible, but not without a "Come back again Cap'n," and headed for Chinatown and its dark narrow streets. All boarded up for the night -- perhaps for protection against burglary? there are no lights on the street. At one corner a reeling, drunken soldier accosted me, "Captain, I'm going to have a good time tonight. And I mean a good time. Shipping out tomorrow." Beads of perspiration stood out all over his face. They glistened in the moonlight--he looked like a frame out of a horror movie. "You want to be careful of the good times around here. But good luck to you, soldier." He wasn't to be shaken easily, but after delivering a ten minute discourse on how tough he was, the 14 shrapnel wounds he had already received in a past campaign, and oursing generally all officers in the Pacific Ocean area from General Richardson on down, he staggered off down the street.

And by that time it was 9 o'clock, so I hurried back to our bus station. Buses and trucks pulling out continually for various parts of the island. Some soldiers who had missed their cars were anxiously searching for another possible rides, at those remaining long queues of soldiers and sailors were patiently waiting for enough transportation to arrive to take them back to their bunks. My feet were killing me by this time--I'd been on them steadily for six hours--so it felt mighty good to sit down. And I went to bed without writing any letters and slept soundly.

Saving...

Air raid shelters in Hawaii are a type unto themselves. Thrown together hastily in the first part of the war, they would probably be effective against shell fragments, but not much use against a direct hit or near miss. They are a 40 foot long, 4 foot square room with a long bench along either side, earthen bunkers at each end and about 2 feet of earth on top and from 2 to 3 feet of earth piled pyramid style at the sides. They are overgrown with grass and weeds -- don't suppose they'll ever be used. Like the foxholes we found in the front yards of our quarters when we arrived here -- in most cases they were grown over with grass and flowers; since then they have been filled and grass planted where they were. Yes, Hawaii is pretty far from the war right now. I inspected some of these shelters on the way to town. And then found myself in town itself -- no worse except for a couple of blisters. It was the longest walk I'd taken since the hike over the mountains I took a couple months ago. Some sections of Honolulu are jampacked with the same sort of gyp joints as Waikiki -- except that there are more of them. Seemingly endless little cheap souvenir booths, other booths where one may buy hot dogs, malted milks and hamburgers; penny arcades, "marksmanship" ranges sporting automatic air rifles, photo shops, etc., etc. These parts of town are just like permanently placed carnivals. I sneaked into one booth which advertised "Have your picture taken with a genuine hula girl. Two poses for one dollar." Officers seldom go into these places, so immediately he saw me the barker started to work on me, "Right this way, captain, you making love to an island beauty to send to the fellows at home." I said I was sorry, had no money. Then the girl herself (actually a little Japanese girl dressed in colorful bra and hula skirt made of cellophane strips) tried her wiles without success. "Sorry, can't do it." I had a sack of popcorn with me, "but here, have some popcorn." The little girl's face lit up as I imagine it hadn't for days; she accepted a handful of popcorn, and munching it, went to work posing with some of the sailors who were handing over their dollars. Guess she must have been a bit hard to be working at a job like that -- but human nevertheless. Not much more than a high school kid. I escaped as silently as possible, but not without a "Come back again Cap'n," and headed for Chinatown and its dark narrow streets. All boarded up for the night -- perhaps for protection against burglary? there are no lights on the street. At one corner a reeling, drunken soldier accosted me, "Captain, I'm going to have a good time tonight. And I mean a good time. Shipping out tomorrow." Beads of perspiration stood out all over his face. They glistened in the moonlight--he looked like a frame out of a horror movie. "You want to be careful of the good times around here. But good luck to you, soldier." He wasn't to be shaken easily, but after delivering a ten minute discourse on how tough he was, the 14 shrapnel wounds he had already received in a past campaign, and oursing generally all officers in the Pacific Ocean area from General Richardson on down, he staggered off down the street. And by that time it was 9 o'clock, so I hurried back to our bus station. Buses and trucks pulling out continually for various parts of the island. Some soldiers who had missed their cars were anxiously searching for another possible rides, at those remaining long queues of soldiers and sailors were patiently waiting for enough transportation to arrive to take them back to their bunks. My feet were killing me by this time--I'd been on them steadily for six hours--so it felt mighty good to sit down. And I went to bed without writing any letters and slept soundly.