Chapter 28

THE IDOLS OF THE HEATHEN.

(Marine Corps Air Station Iwakuni, Yamaguchi Prefecture, Japan. Part 1, from 5 December 1973 thru 30 April 1974)

I am assigned to Marine Air Base Squadron 12 (MABS 12). This squadron has no airplanes. Its function is to maintain the facilities of a Marine air base. Here at Iwakuni Base, civilian Japanese employed on base (Public Works) do most of that maintenance. But on a Marine base, say in Viet Nam where we fought, this squadron would do the vast majority of maintaining such a Marine air base. “Buildings and Grounds” or “Housekeeping” are simpler ways to describe its bland, but necessary functions.

One A-6 Intruder tactical squadron is presently stationed at Iwakuni, but twice the number of pilots and navigators it needs are at Iwakuni. So, the Marine Corps typically puts us into some “housekeeping” unit for our first 6 months, then transfers us into the A-6 tactical squadron the last 6 months, during which time we get to fly more. During the time I am in MABS-12, I am to fly periodically in the back cockpit of a TA-4 belonging to Headquarters and Maintenance Squadron 12 (H&MS 12, pronounced “Hams 12”). This squadron maintains airplanes, not buildings and such, like MABS 12 does.

The old wooden 2-story building that houses MABS 12 offices on its 2^nd floor suits me most well as a workplace. (I haven’t researched the history of this base, but likely the Japanese built it for their air force during, or shortly before, WWII.) This was one of the better buildings erected on this base in its early days. (Old fashioned is nice!)

The building’s 1^st floor houses Public Works, staffed entirely (I think) by Japanese civilians (men and women). Headquarters offices of Marine Air Group 12 (MAG 12) are also on the 1^st floor. (Our Squadron is under Group’s command. A “MAG” typically has 3 or so squadrons in it.)

At the far end of the 2^nd story’s front open walkway is a separate section of 3 or 4 office rooms that houses both the S-3 section (operations, training, etc.) and S-4 section (supply, logistics, barracks, ground safety, etc.) of MABS 12 Squadron. I’m assigned to the office in the far front corner of this “office complex”. Most of the time, I have this 1 office space for my use alone, which makes Loner Me most happy!

Ground Safety Officer (in S-4) and Training Officer (in S-3) are assigned to me as my primary duties. Were MABS 12 fully manned with the number of personnel that the T/O (Table of Operations) calls for, there would be 6 or so officers here in this S-3 and S-4 complex of offices (ranking from 2^nd lieutenant up to captain), with up to 10 or so enlisted men working under us. But on a foreign base in “peace time”, MABS 12 is terribly understaffed (a skeleton of a squadron).

The following 14 and half months that I work in this S-3 and S-4 office section, sometimes there are 3 (rarely 4 of us officers), usually only 2, and sometimes only me. I have 2 to 4 enlisted Marines working under me in this office complex. So, in addition to my primary duties, at times I oversee all the jobs I previously listed under S-3 and S-4. Tho MABS 12 isn’t doing much in this foreign peacetime setting, at times we’re extremely busy due to being understaffed.

MABS 12 Commanding Officer is a tall, lean, physically fit, striking, brilliant lieutenant colonel whom I admire much. In general, he is as fair to us as the situation permits. But often the situation leaves much to be desired. Each morning, all of us ten or so squadron officers, seat ourselves in the briefing room adjacent to his office, and he walks into that room from his office at exactly 8 AM to give orders for the day, and to take input and questions from each of us. One morning, he spoke of 2 separate training sessions presently going on, and ordered me to make sure that all men required to attend each session of training did so.

‘But, Sir, both sessions are going on at the same hour of the day, and some men are supposed to be in both. So, we have a conflict.’

“Work it out. I don’t want to hear anything more about it.”

I didn’t set the times of the training sessions, nor am I in a position to change the times. But he just brushed me off with that impossible order. So, I personally held some of the training sessions after work hours, and more eagerly looked forward to the soon approaching day of my discharge from the Marines, when I begin serving my Lord Jesus Who does the impossible for me, instead of ordering a weak mortal like me to do the impossible.

Not only are we understaffed; but also, under-budgeted, resulting in vexing problems when old equipment breaks down. This is before the computer age. We have manual typewriters in our squadron’s offices, possibly an electric typewriter in S-1 (admin). Officers and our staff manually type the paper work. When copies are needed, we take the typed page to the admin office, tell them the number of copies needed, and an admin worker runs off those copies on an old-fashioned mimeograph copy machine. (If you don’t know what that is, search it.)

Admin’s old, dying mimeograph copier steadily malfunctions more frequently. When my Staff Sergeant McDonald took a paper from our office to be copied, more and more frequently he was told, “The copier is down now, so we can’t do it.” So, Sarge Mac goes around base looking for an old mimeograph copier not in use. He finds one, scrounges it, and sets it up in our office, so my S-3 and S-4 sections can copy our own documents. Good!

When Admin gets wind that we have a copy machine, they come to my office complex to make all their copies. Death throes soon beset our old copier, causing it to turn out poor copies. Daily, Admin types up the Plan of the Day, and now comes to my office to make copies for each squadron officer. One morning our squadron executive officer (XO) (a major) stalks into my office in a huff, thrusts the Plan of the Day under my nose and demandingly asks, “Can you read this?”

Looking at it, I can hardly discern any of the blurred faint blue words. ‘No, Sir, I can’t.’

“Then you remedy this problem!”

I can’t recall the additional terse words he used to convey that command to me, before he stalked out of my office in his huff. But I had absolutely no power or authority to obtain a functioning copier. Moreover, the main point was, My S-3 and S-4 sections had absolutely no official duty at all to copy squadron documents. That was S-1’s duty. When S-1’s old copier died, the S-1 officer should ask Group Supply for a functioning one. If Group couldn’t provide it, our huffy Executive Officer should inform the Group Executive Officer that our Squadron had no machine to copy our documents, and should have requested that Group either supply the needed copy machine to our Squadron, or allow our S-1 personnel to come downstairs to Group S-1 to make our copies there.

But instead, this airhead major orders me to remedy a problem that is not my responsibility at all, and is a problem that I have no means available to me to remedy. I wish he would put his brain into gear when he is in command of us.

When I entered MABS 12 (5 Dec. 1973), the squadron was plagued with several turbulent problems, mainly with our enlisted men. Some were fighting amongst themselves in the barracks. Many were insubordinate to the Sergeant of the Barracks when he called on them to do routine cleaning and housekeeping in the barracks. Several were stealing, on base and off base. For example, an enlisted Marine when out in town would hail a taxi to bring him to our barracks. Arriving at the front of the barracks, the Marine would tell the Japanese taxi driver, “Wait for me to go in and get the money to pay you. I’ll be right back.” Then he would escape into the barracks and hide. Even if the taxi driver called the MPs to go in and look for him, they seldom found him. As barracks officer, I was caught up in our attempts to stop all such lawbreaking.

Tho I could fill a few more pages with the vexing turmoil I was assigned to upon reaching Iwakuni, I will stop with these examples. Daily I was confronted with such trouble. Back at Cherry Point, when I entered the tactical A-6 squadron (VMA 121), it was most turbulent and vexing at the start, but was followed by A CALM. Now, history repeats itself here at Iwakuni. Tho I know it not now, as I’m being violently tossed about in these turbulent waters, I will reach ever so smooth sailing in calm waters about 7 months from this start.

Let me now back up to December 5^th (the day I arrived at Iwakuni), to tell how my personal life has shaped up here. Staying alert to all I hear and see, I learn that captains are assigned to a single BOQ room, but lieutenants to double rooms. So, when I check into the BOQ office to be assigned a room, I confidently and boldly tell the Marine corporal on duty at the desk that I had just been promoted to captain on the 1^st of December. ‘So, I want a captain’s room.’ But because my orders that I show to him list me as a 1^st lieutenant, and because I’ve not yet received any proof on paper to show him that I am a captain, he could not comply with my request.

So, regretfully, I’m assigned to a double room in an old Quonset hut with A-6 navigator 1^st Lt. Chuck, with whom I had worked at Cherry Point. Chuck smokes in our room in the evenings after supper chow. But he doesn’t wake up during the night to smoke, like Captain Jim did. Chuck is not yet that far along in his smoking enjoyment. Tho I wanted to relax in our room between supper and bedtime, I can’t stand that smoke-filled room. So, I quickly grow accustomed to taking my Bible, a book, and letter writing materials, and walking to a nearby newer BOQ building that has small sitting areas in the hallways on each of its 2 floors, to look for an unoccupied sitting area. (Seldom was one ever occupied.) I spend my evening hours in that sitting area, writing a letter or 2 back home, but mostly reading my Bible and Christian literature.

‘I now have much time’, was the serene feeling that came over me, because I am now separated from all my social life with family members and Christian friends. Amazing how that factor settled my mind and made my eye single, as I spent much time in solitude concentrating on God’s Scriptures and what Godly preachers had written about the Holy Bible. Entering into this solitary lifestyle set me to musing seriously about our present day Laodicean church that lives to eat, drink and make merry (both at church and in Christian family life, continuous social gatherings mainly to indulge in the lusts of the flesh). Thus, we are setting ourselves up for our Lord to soon spue us out of His Mouth and to bring famine upon us.

Tho I am close to my 28^th birthday when I arrive in Japan, to date, about the only Christian literature I have read (besides the Bible) has been the Sunday School lesson books and Sunday evening class lesson books printed by the Free Will Baptists, and the 2 books of powerful sermons that Evangelist Bobby Jackson wrote. Such was my spiritual life to date.

Remember, when I visited my cousin Rick in Nashville a few weeks ago, he put a Sword of the Lord newspaper into my hand. I brought it to Japan, hardly having had time to glance at it till I am here in the BOQ sitting area. As I read the powerful sermons printed in it, God’s Holy Ghost powerfully stirs my heart with them! I immediately subscribe to that weekly paper and start ordering books of sermons advertised in it, powerful sermons by Billy Sunday, Jack Hyles, John R. Rice, and other men of God. Devouring that reading during my frequent solitude, The Holy Ghost stirs my heart ever so wonderfully!

‘I can’t wait to return to the States to become a preacher!’

Arriving at Iwakuni, I rejoice to again be living on base, walking to the nearby officers’ chow for all meals, good meals! (Don’t have to do any cooking for myself, which I did poorly in my house at New Bern.) The base chapel is in the same old building with the officers’ chow hall where I eat. I attend Sunday services in the chapel. My MABS 12 office is about one-third of a mile from my room and chow hall. I gladly walk to work and everywhere I go on base, this foreign base being much more compact than the stateside military bases I had been stationed on. I’ve no other transportation than my feet. I need none other. Living and working with no commute! Great!

My Lord graciously perfectly timed my move to Japan to “rescue” me from life in the U.S. and bring me into a life of a walking commute, precisely at this pivotal time when our nation pivoted sharply downward in ways previously unknown.

Briefly search and read the history of this winter (1973-74) in the U.S. Gasoline and fuel prices steadily climbing to unbelievable highs, shortages of most all fuels, the rationing of gasoline, long lines at gas stations with at least 1 incident of a waiting customer shooting and killing another waiting customer, the nation going on daylight savings time in mid-winter to give another hour of daylight in the evenings, causing a car to plow into a group of children waiting in the cold morning dark for their school bus (injuring several), and other such morbid history never before known in our nation. Thank Thee, Lord Jesus, that Thou didst put me in Japan this winter, walking everywhere I go on base and riding Japanese trains when I am off base. I feel as snug as a bug in a rug.

Upon first reporting in to MABS 12, I immediately tell the admin officer (whom I outrank) that I was promoted to captain on December 1^st. I press his office to get that confirmation from Cherry Point, so I’ll be officially promoted. Then I’ll pin on my captain bars and request a captain’s single room at the BOQ office. The sooner I escape roommate Chuck’s deadly smoke, the better! Admin sends a message by cable to VMA 121 concerning this, and I get permission to phone to 121 at Cherry Point myself. I talk to my navigator buddy Captain Simmons (who had flown occasionally with me at 121), urging him to officially cable the documentation of my 1 December 1973 promotion here to Iwakuni. He promises to do his best.

Warrant Officer Jim quickly perceives me to be religious, so he frequently plies me with questions about religion. I strive to always answer him with Truth. He said that he once tried to be a Christian, but failed. I encourage him to trust in the Lord Jesus and to never waver from that decision. Our CO holds a monthly dinner for all squadron officers. Attendance is mandatory. Once during the CO’s monthly dinner, Jim plied me with questions and I answered. The CO picked up on our personal conversation, and he soon firmly reprimanded us.

“There are 2 topics I do not allow to be discussed at my dinners, religion and politics!” Jim and I hushed at that. Then as the buzz of others talking picked up volume, I quietly told Jim religious things I believe the Lord wanted me to tell him, with no more interruptions from the boss. Since then, I have mused on the CO’s two forbidden topics. Politics decides which men rule over mankind on this earth. Religion decides which god or gods (or The God) rules over mankind. Thus those 2 topics are most controversial, explosive, and deadly.

“The kings shall shut their mouths at him.” (Isaiah 52:15)

I deeply long for the soon-coming day when my King of Kings and Lord of Lords shall return to earth to shut the mouths of all kings, peons, and all souls between those highest and lowest ranks. Until then, may I speak every glorious word of my King that He desires I speak of Him.

I arrived at Iwakuni 20 days before Christmas Day. The base chapel has special Christmas services. I attend and enjoy them. Being in a foreign land away from all my loved ones, makes Christmas and New Year’s season only slightly bland for me. (As I said, I’m enjoying the solitude.) But at Christmas time, I particularly look forward to spending next Christmas with loved ones. When I return to the U.S. as December 1974 starts, only 2 and half months of active duty will remain. I’ll probable take 3 or 4 weeks leave then.

Thus, the Marine Corps will not send me to a stateside base for so short a remaining time. They’ll discharge me early from active duty at a west coast Marine or Navy facility upon my return stateside. Then I’ll be free of military rule, to thoroughly enjoy all of December and New Years season with whom I choose, and then enter the winter term of a Bible college.

Soon after the holiday season, comes my 28^th birthday in January 1974, here in Chapter 28. Amazing! At each birthday, as a Navy/Marine pilot, I must take 2 annual flying checkups, an instrument flight check and a NATOPS flight test, in the pilot seat of an A-6 with a senior pilot sitting beside me in the navigator’s seat evaluating me (like that smoking major back at Cherry Point a year ago).

My CO sternly reminds me of that, ordering me to not be late in making those flights and getting evaluated and approved on time. Because our squadron has no airplanes, I ask him how I can get scheduled for such. He sort of brushes me off by ordering me to go find an airplane squadron that will administer that test to me. “Work it out yourself. Figure it out yourself. But you must get it done.” Such unjust treatment sure makes a Marine look forward to becoming a civilian. I owned no jet warplanes of my own to use for that flight test.

So, I walk over to the A-6 tactical squadron building (VMA 533), go into their operations’ office, and tell a fellow aviator of about equal rank, that I must take my annual flight tests. “Our planes and crews are presently deployed down at Cubi Point in the Philippines for a few weeks with a full and busy flight schedule the whole time of this deployment.” The officer in ops tries to brush me off in such manner. Telling him of the stern ultimatum my CO gave me; I’m reduced to pleading with this ops officer to let me have a few flights with them in the Philippines. He reluctantly agrees, with a sour attitude at me for my persistence. It certainly wasn’t my heart’s desire to push him like that. It’s the duty of the Marine Corps to make an airplane available to me for that flight test they require of me.

Next, I walk to Group 12 operations office to humbly beg them to request orders from 3^rd Wing for me to go TAD (Temporary Additional Duty) to the Philippines. Then I go plead to get manifested onto the Air Force C-141 cargo plane that comes thru here on January 26 from Yokota going to the Philippines. I pack what I need to take, borrowing roommate Chuck’s flight gear because mine has not yet arrived by boat from Cherry Point via the Panama Canal. Come Jan. 25^th, I still haven’t received my orders that will allow me to travel to the Philippines. I walk downstairs from my office to Group Admin to ask if my orders have come down from Wing. “No.”

So, I walk to Wing Admin to politely inquire to that high office. My request for TAD orders is lying in that officer’s “In Basket”. He “cuts” those orders for me in 5 minutes. Then I walk them thru Group, and then thru my squadron’s admin for each office in the chain of command to stamp their approval on the master copy, and to take their copy to file. Then I walk to base flight operations office, show them my orders, and thus wise get manifested on the C-141 for tomorrow. I do all that hiking around base as a light snow is falling. ‘Sure do look forward to flying to the warm tropics tomorrow!’

The following morning, Saturday 26 Jan. 1974, I rise at 4:30 AM, get my gear and such ready, and call a base taxi to take me to the flight terminal. The Japanese driver is most friendly, talking about his wife and son. When the C-141 lifts off the runway about 8:30 AM, I’m aboard it, along with an old friend from Cherry Point, Pilot 1^st Lt. Bob M. who is also going down to take his annual flight tests. We chat together sitting on the uncomfortable web strap bench seats that fold up easily when not in use (to make room for cargo). Next stop is Kadena Air Force Base in Okinawa. Approaching and departing Kadena, the emerald green waters around those islands are so lovely.

The next scheduled stop is Cubi Point Naval Air Base in the Philippines, my destination. But approaching the Philippines, our pilot is told (by radio) that an airborne emergency is in progress at Cubi Point, so no other planes are allowed to land for some time. Thus, our pilot diverts our flight to nearby Clark Air Force Base in the Philippines. Upon landing at Clark, this pilot tells us that he will not continue on to Cubi Point, but rather turn back from Clark onto his return flight route. So my buddy Bob and I each grab our large canvas flight bag of flight gear and personal items, and go into the terminal building to inquire if there are any planes going to Cubi Point. Hitchhiking internationally in Asian skies (on duty), scrounging for a ride on a military airplane because we unexpectedly got bumped off the bird scheduled to take us to our destination. Never a dull moment in the Marines!

The Lord smiles on Bob and me, thank God! A Navy propeller engine P-3 submarine hunter had recently landed here at Clark, and the terminal flight ops office tells us it will soon fly on to Cubi Point. Bob and I look around for its Navy pilot, find him, and ask if we may hitch a ride to Cubi with him.

“Sure.” (Brave Pilot, not afraid to pick up strangers.)

So, we board with our flight bags which a crewmember straps down, we strap in, and leap into the skies again. This pilot first shoots a few practice “touch and go” landings here at Clark. I crane my neck staring thru the small portal at the lovely Philippine scenery around us, and see a water buffalo in a field. It isn’t far to Cubi (about a 40-minute flight), and the P-3 flies on down there at low altitude. All the way, I stare out at the Philippines below. On arriving, I check in and find an empty bunk in a BOQ room that 3 other A-6 pilots and navigators are occupying, eat supper in the officers’ chow hall, and then try to sleep in this hot room with no air conditioning. ‘Yep, I’ve definitely escaped the cold snow in Iwakuni!’

The following morning, Sunday, Bob and I report to squadron ops office for Captain Pete to brief us on the course rules for this air base on foreign soil. A full schedule of squadron flight operations is going on this day. Several of the fellow aviators here, I know from Cherry Point. One is Wayne P. ⑥ whom I know from my Auburn University days.

The following day (Monday), this squadron takes the day off from their busy flight operations for a big party. None of them want to miss the party, so you can guess whom they stick with being duty officer this day. Yerby! So, I man the duty officer’s desk in the ready room all day, thankful that it’s quiet as death here (nothing going on). The duty clerk (an enlisted Marine) sits by the phone, practicing typing. I study up on the local flight rules, maps, and courses. I also review all flight materials pertaining to my 2 upcoming pilot flight tests, enjoying the quiet day. In early afternoon, I brief 3 Marine guards for their afternoon and night “guarding” of our squadron area, especially the flight line where our war planes set parked on this foreign soil. I show and tell them some interesting features of the A-6, which they enjoy hearing.

The following day, January 29, I fly my NATOPS check with Pilot Captain Pete sitting beside me in the navigator’s seat to examine me. I had not piloted an A-6 (or any airplane) since 29 October last year, exactly 3 months ago. One would expect to be “rusty” at the controls. I fly a planned box course around the area, shoot a few GCA (ground-controlled approach) touch and go landings at Clark Air Force Base, view a live volcano from above, and the smog and haze at Manila Bay. I return to Cubi to practice a few touch and go landings. I need that landing practice, being plenty “rusty” on landings (not having flown for 3 months).

The following day, January 30, I take my instrument check with navigator Ray in the seat beside me, and my evaluator (Captain B.) flying another A-6 on my wing with navigator Pat. I fly as “lead bird” the entire flight. I lead us up to Clark for a “section” GCA behind a big C-5 cargo plane, and back to Cubi for a TACAN approach. After final landing back home at Cubi, I take my written NATOPS test in the ready room. I pass both tests. This is my last time to take such flight tests. My last flight (as a Marine pilot) will be 20 January 1975, next year. These 2 exams yesterday and today, will keep me valid and qualified thru that last flight, just less than a year in the future.

This noteworthy day (January 30), after finishing the flight and then the written test, I’m finished with my day’s work a little early. I walk to the Base Exchange Store (BX)) to buy a diary in the stationery department. Back in the BOQ, I shower, change into civilian clothes, eat a leisurely supper in the officers’ chow hall, and then start writing my diary. I start it at Friday 25 January 1974, remembering the last 6 days well. Thus, I’m able to bore you with the details I’ve written here from the 25^th on.

“Oh no! Captain Yerby not only has his pilot’s logbook to bore us with its details, but now he has a daily diary with which to bore us with many more exact dates and details.”

‘Sadly, tragically, regretfully, that is the case!’

When I was about 12 years old, a desire began forming in my writer’s heart to start keeping a diary. Wish I had begun then. But I didn’t. Becoming a university student seemed like the ideal time to start a diary, living on my own, often seated at my own desk, with pen and paper handy. But I kept putting it off. Too busy!

But now, upon getting away from my social life in my native land, I finally start a diary, and have daily kept it up till now (2024). I hope to continue it thru my earthly journey. Daily I write 12 sentences or so, simply recording the main events of the day. To me, a written record of life is much richer than photos. Wish I’d started when I was 12 years old. If parents were to keep a diary of each child from birth and start training the child to write it themselves (from age 8 or so), those writings would become a cherished treasure as the years go by. When memory deteriorates with age, it sure helps to refer back to diary to find or confirm some event and its date.

I have the following day off (Thursday). I go out to the officers’ pool early in the morning, sit there and write 6 letters to folks back home before anyone else comes to the pool. As I watch small birds fly down and skim along the surface of the pool to give themselves a bath, I think of how God created each of them as such proficient pilots that they never get low enough on the surface of the pool to cause enough “drag” from the water to lose their flying ability. Doing so would drown the bird in the pool. It’s so peaceful with no other soul around, and feels good to soak up the warm sunrays. But I overdo it.

The next day (Friday 1 February), it tortures my sunburned skin to put on my flight gear and strap tightly into the pilot’s seat. I fly in a 3-plane formation with practice bombs loaded under each plane’s wings. We fly out to a little island that is a target site for such bombing practice. The Philippine government strictly forbids civilians to trespass on this island. But poor folks come in little boats to pick up the 26-pound inert iron bombs to sell for scrap iron, a few pesos for each bomb. Snitching a fallen bomb is “first come, first serve”.

So, it isn’t all that rare for folks, often boys, to be around the target waiting for the next bomb to land, so they can race to it and pick it up. If that 26-pound hulk of iron dropped from a fast-diving A-6 ever hits one of them in the torso or head, it will kill them instantly, causing a big problem between the U.S and Philippine governments. We pilots are briefed on all this, and ordered to be as cautious as possible. This day, I’m relieved to see that no small boats or poor Filipinos are in sight at the target for me to drop a bomb on one of their poor heads.

We 3 planes fly one behind the other in the racetrack pattern around the target to drop all our bombs. I have some good hits. We then climb up to high altitude to practice tail chase and evading the chaser. In both the bombing and aerial tactics, I often pull 4 Gs or so. Each time I do so, my G-suit inflates. It, my harness, helmet and oxygen mask painfully dig into my sunburned skin. Thus, I’m much relieved when this flight ends.

Pilot Major K. is flight leader with Chris his navigator. I fly Number 2 in the formation. Pilot Joe F. ⑫ flies the 3^rd plane with Doug D. as his navigator. I mentioned that Wayne P. ⑥ is also here at this time, flying much. I recall these 2 buddies ⑥ ⑫ (with others) horsing around in the BOQ here, so full of life, enjoying the much flying fun here in the Philippines, not knowing that just months ahead, a deadly plane crash is waiting to snuff out their young lives. Reader Friend, the Grim Reaper is coming for you sooner than you think. Prepare to die!

This day as I fly #2 in this 3-plane formation, Larry L. is my navigator. (Previously, I mentioned Larry being the buddy at Cherry Point who told me that it was my college buddy Mike ④ who was killed in an A-6 crash there.) Larry and I just naturally became buddies at Cherry Point. And back in VMA 121, he often wanted to fly as my navigator, but was never once scheduled to do so. This day, he is my navigator for the first, only, and last time. This day, 1 February 1974, is the last time for me to pilot a Navy A-6 Intruder. This is also the last time for me to be the pilot-in-command of a military jet warplane. The remainder of my flights at Iwakuni will be as co-pilot in the back cockpit of a TA-4. I immensely liked my many adventures in my 2-engine attack Intruder, a most rich experience for this horse and wagon Alabama Farm Boy!

The next day, Saturday, is my last full day here in the Philippines. Squadron Ops planned to give me one flight on Saturday. But my sunburn is tormenting me so badly I ask them not to schedule me. They’re happy to accommodate that request, because many gung-ho pilots here want to fly much. I spend most of the day reading in the cool library, and take a nice walk around the area in the cool of the evening before eating supper. I enjoy viewing the much tropical beauty.

During this week I’m at Cubi Point, I never go off base. Larry goes off base much, and tells me what it’s like upon stepping outside the base’s gate. Beggar children flock to you pleading for money. Many are quite apt pickpockets. The prostitutes also come after you. I have no desire to endure such harassment and crimes against me, so I just stay put on base.

Early Sunday morning, February 3, I (along with 4 other Marine pilot and navigator buddies) go to the flight terminal to catch an Air Force MAC hop thru Okinawa to Iwakuni. That flight is late, becoming a possible “no-show”. But there is a Marine C-130 coming thru, so we 5 catch a ride on it. Landing at Kadena AF Base in Okinawa, the Japanese customs officials are nitpicky and rude to us, making our 2-hour layover there unpleasant. Finally, we fly on to Iwakuni, arriving 11:15 PM.

The following cold morning (Monday the 4^th) I go back to work as usual at turbulent MABS 12, busy myself catching up on my desk work, read the several letters waiting on my desk from friends back home, and daily welcome the gradual recovery from my terribly painful sunburn in the tropics.

This day is a happy occasion for me because the BOQ office moves Chuck out of my room, and it is so pleasant to have this spacious room all to myself with no stinking cigarette smoke in it. This is the 1^st major improvement in my life at Iwakuni. I like my solitude. I detest breathing secondhand poisonous smoke in my abode. The next day (Tuesday) the BOQ office calls me at work saying they have a captain’s single room for me now. I turn on all the charm I possess as I request them to just let me stay alone in this spacious double room. They refuse my charm and my request. So, during my lunch break the next day (Wednesday), I move my few things into my appointed room in a newer and more attractive 2-story BOQ building.

The room is tiny, about 8.5 by 9.5 feet, which is no major problem for me. But the large electric generator powered by a loud diesel motor about 30 yards from my window is most annoying as it runs day and night, only rarely shutting down for 12 or 24 hours. I learn that a Christian master sergeant that I met in Sunday chapel services works where that generator is. One day I comment to him about it being so annoying. He says that metal container building for which the generator provides electricity, will soon be wired with base electricity, and the noisy generator will be removed. I rejoice to hear that, and look forward to that soon-coming day. “And it came to pass.”

This evening is our Commanding Officer’s dinner for all his officers at the officers’ club. I’m pleasantly surprised when he prays a short prayer of thanks before the meal.

At Iwakuni Base, most days there’s a horrible smell in the air akin to rotten cabbage. On arriving here, I was so repulsed by it. It comes from something being burned daily. Long ago, some Marines started the false rumor that the stink came from the crematorium. Most Marines believed that and pass it on. But actually, it came from the city garbage incinerator.

Upon defeating Japan in World War II, the U.S. demanded Japan to give us many military bases in Japan. The loser had little choice but to yield to those demands of the victor, but the crafty Japanese will get their “pound of flesh”. City garbage incinerators must be located somewhere. So, in cities where U.S. military installations were located, it became the Japanese custom to build their garbage incinerator on the installation’s upwind side. I breathe that “rotten cabbage air” most every day at Iwakuni. I soon learn that Yokota Air Force Base near Tokyo similarly endures the stink of city garbage burning upwind.

On Friday February 8, I am the Reactionary Platoon duty officer. So, in the late afternoon, I watch the Sergeant drill them after their workday, as they practice mob control drills. Saturday morning, the 9^th, all we junior officers in MABS 12 stand before the Group Commanding Officer for him to inspect our uniforms. Our workday ends at noon on Saturdays. This afternoon (a milestone for me), two Marines take me out to Kintai Bridge, an attractive famous old wooden bridge with several arches, oriental style (preserved for tourism).

To date, just a few times I had walked out the base’s gate to stroll around town (touring Japan). I have been busy getting settled in at work, settled into the BOQ, and going to the Philippines. Also, being in a nation of people who spoke little or no English daunted me (nor did I understand their language). At times, a Japanese man in the Public Works office in my building would approach me, and speak to me in such poor sounding English that I first thought he was speaking Japanese. Straining my brain, at times I still couldn’t grasp his words, even when he repeated them a few times. It was plenty embarrassing. Not wanting to get caught in a perplexing situation off base due to the communication barrier, I was reluctant to leave the security of the base.

“But Captain Yerby, you fly jet warplanes high up the sky!”

‘Sure, that’s easy.’

These 2 Marines I work with, have been here almost a year, and one of them, Charlie, speaks a little Japanese. After Sunday chapel the following day, I ride the train with them to the ferryboat for Miyajima Island, and we hike around on the steep hills of Miyajima. Presently, we are getting snow flurries almost daily. The white mountains around are scenic. Thus far in my life, I have lived on flat (or fairly flat) terrain.

Late this afternoon, a Most Blessed Brightness dawns on my life in Japan. As we 3 Marines wait on the station platform for the return train, an elderly Japanese lady with 4 children in tow, starts talking to me with the little English she knows. When we soon board, those 5 purposely sit with me on the train, and she continues to talk. Arriving at Iwakuni, she asks us 3 Marines to come to her house. We agree. She puts the 4 children into one taxi, telling the driver where to take them. She gets into another taxi with us three, and we go to her married son’s house where this granny lives also (quite near the base). (Three of these children are her grandchildren, the other girl being a neighbor friend of her granddaughter.)

The grown son and wife tolerate us 3 Marines for Granny’s sake. I play with the children much in their room, and then go play outside in the tiny yard. I’m so thankful for the rapport God gives me with them even tho we can’t communicate verbally. Soon Charlie calls me back inside to announce to me that Granny has invited us back next Sunday afternoon for a going away party for him, as he is soon to return to the States. We kindly accept her invitation. I tell her that on Saturday I will bring some beef from the base to use in making sukiyaki for our party. (Beef in the Japanese stores is most expensive for her to buy.) She is grateful for my offer. We 3 express hearty thanks to them, and walk back to our nearby Marine base.

This weekend, my very first time to tour Japan much outside a military base, My Lord gives me this cheerful time with an extended Japanese family in their home. They won my heart (to say the least), the first major step in this gloriously bright Dawn process of me coming to live the remainder of my life in Japan. Glory to God!

From last September, when my CO at Cherry Point unexpectedly announced to me that I was to be sent to Japan, I never thought about the possibility of making any friends among the Japanese, and being in their homes and such. Not giving much thought to what I would specifically do in my free time in Japan, I vaguely reckoned that I would do no more than go see a few local sights in the role of an “ugly American tourist”, without any chance to make friends with Japanese people. But on this day, 10 February 1974, I instantly become interested in interacting with as many Japanese as I can during the remaining less than 10 months of my stay in their nation.

So, at my noon break the following Wednesday, I go to the BX bookstore to buy a small English/Japanese dictionary and 1 other small book explaining basic Japanese language. (Today, year 2024, that little dictionary sets in the bookcase on my desk.) Peeping into both books, my initial reaction was ‘This is so difficult that it will be impossible for me to ever learn to speak any Japanese.’ Thank Thee, Lord Jesus, for doing the impossible for me!

But I start memorizing basic phrases I want to use this Sunday with this Japanese family. For example, because they plan to feed us, I memorize, “I like this”.

Friday sadly becomes a most busy day in my office. On top of a demanding workload, my Staff Sergeant McDonald receives tragic news from the States that his wife’s dad has just been killed in a traffic accident. So, we hurriedly set about doing the “red tape” necessary to get him emergency leave and onto a flight home ASAP (to attend the funeral).

After working Saturday morning and eating lunch chow, I buy beef in the commissary, walk to that Japanese house, hand over the beef to Granny and reconfirm ‘1 PM tomorrow’.

Sunday 17 February 1974. Chapel adult Sunday School class is especially bless-ed this morning at 10 AM. Then followed chapel service. After chow hall lunch, I soon walk out the base gate and to the Japanese house on time at 1 PM. The 2 other Marines soon come. It touches my heart that the children are thrilled to see me again, and draw me into playing games with them. We all sit on the floor Japanese style. Each time I sit down, one of the girls soon sits on my lap. The girls soon start rubbing my hairy arms, fascinated by them. (Japanese men typically have little or no hair on their arms.) The girls bring out a ruler from their room and pull 1 hair on my forearm painfully straight in order to measure it.

One girl (about 7 years old) exclaims in Japanese. “Two centimeters! Wow! So long!”

We have an early supper of sukiyaki. My clumsy attempts to eat with chopsticks while sitting on the floor bring laughter from the whole family. The children draw us into one game after another. They want many piggyback rides from me. I gladly oblige. I take pictures and finally walk back to my BOQ room, my heart overflowing with the brightest of joy!

We Marines are off from work the following day (Monday), Washington’s Birthday. My 2 Marine “guides” had told me there is a Salvation Army orphanage in the harbor city of Kure, and that I would probably enjoy visiting it. My heart leaped with joy at that prospect. So, we 3 go there Monday. We ride a special (faster) express train to Hiroshima, where we are to change to a slow train on a spur train line that goes along the beautiful coast between Hiroshima City and port city Kure.

But a refined Japanese lady about 60 years old sits with us, and begins talking to us in fluent English. She’s most cordial, sensible, and seems to enjoy conversing with us. She asks us where we are going.

‘To Kure. We will change trains at Hiroshima.’

“I think this train goes out to Kure,” she kindly informs us.

‘But the ticket agent at Iwakuni said we would have to change at Hiroshima.’

Nearing Hiroshima, the conductor announces (over the train’s PA system) the connecting trains at Hiroshima. We three Marines understand nothing he says. But this lady cranes her head toward the ceiling speaker, listens attentively and soon assures us. “Yes, this train does go to Kure.”

So, we 3 gullible foreigners stay aboard, bidding her Farewell when she gets off at Hiroshima. But she lied to us, and in such a refined and courteous manner. Almost impossible that she was honestly mistaken. We go far up that main trunk line toward Tokyo before this special express stops next, so we can get off, double back to Hiroshima and catch a train to Kure.

No special express trains run on this short spur line to Kure. I ponder why she would lie to us. Likely she lived in or near Hiroshima and has horrible memories of the A-bomb dropped on her city only 29 years before. But we 3 Marines had no more to do with that A-bomb drop, than she had to do with the Japanese sneak attack on Pearl Harbor. (Tho I am presently qualified to drop a much more powerful nuclear bomb from an A-4 or A-6 onto her. But she doesn’t know that.)

Anyway, when we finally arrive at Kure, we walk out near the harbor to gaze at impressive large cargo ships, and the large cranes that load and unload them. Following directions given to us by someone at Iwakuni base, we walk to the orphanage. It is an orphanage for girls only, run by a staff of 4 or 5 women headed by a Japanese lady Salvation Army Captain. But she can’t pilot jet airplanes like I, a captain, can do.

“But Captain Pilot, she can take care of precious little orphan girls and teach Jesus’ Love to them! Which is more important?!”

‘Taking care of those precious, needy, little souls, and teaching them of Jesus, of course!!’

Most (or all) of these girls are not “orphans” due to one or both parents dying, but rather because of various “extenuating circumstances” of family poverty, domestic troubles at home, or similar problems. The girls (about 30 in number) range in age from about 3 years old to high school seniors (about 18 years old). For years, Marines from Iwakuni Base have come here periodically (for example, to give the girls an annual Christmas party with gifts). So, the girls are accustomed to Americans showing up at their gate.

None of us 3 Marines had come here before. But the girls (especially the small ones) jump with joy any time they see Americans show up at the gate. When we 3 walk thru the gate, a few girls are playing in the small yard. Several run up to me, and one precious soul immediately hugs me. Whereupon my heart completely melts within me, my liquid heart then running all the way down my body and out my toes into Japan soil to take strong roots so firmly attached here that I hope I will never tear away from this nation of idols.

None of these girls had ever met any of us 3 men (tho they had met other Marines who came here). It is immediately apparent that they are much more reserved toward the other 2 Marines who have not God’s Holy Spirit dwelling in their spirit as I have. Praise God that I radiate God’s Love, Joy and Peace, and that it is most evident across any language or race barrier! I praise Thee, Lord Jesus, for that rich blessing!”

We 3 walk on across the small dirt yard to the entrance of the building, a lady welcomes us in, sets hot green tea and refreshments before us, brings in 3 of the children and brings out pictures to show us. (Viewing pictures is most helpful in a language barrier situation.) We stay only a short time, so as to not impose on their time, and ride the 2 trains back to Iwakuni.

Apart from precious Japanese souls, riding the trains is one of the 1^st things that greatly appeals to me about life in Japan. Trains are most convenient, compared to Japan’s crowded highways and streets where traffic jams are common. I now start riding trains frequently on Saturdays between Iwakuni, Hiroshima and Kure. Tho at times we are jammed like sardines inside the train, it travels on time, keeping to its schedule, as I often peer out the window at standstill (or creeping) traffic on the major highway that runs alongside the railroad tracks.

As I keenly observe life in Japan during my first 6 months here, several things about it make me think it would be horrible to have to live here. But traveling on their safe and timely trains greatly appeals to me. Since February 1974, I have delighted in riding trains often. No need to drive. I read my Bible, or eat, or sleep. And it’s a good opportunity for “chance” meetings of Japanese who are riding the same train as I. I have made a few friends this way. Also, if I give up driving a car in my old age, I can still be just as mobile as I care to be in this land of many trains and local buses, as long as I am able to climb aboard those conveyances and sit on them.

Two days later, Wednesday 20 February, I report to the base hospital for my annual pilots’ physical checkup by a Navy doctor. Passed it! That’s the last physical checkup I will take in the military. Truly, my military time is coming to pass, and daily becoming more blessed beyond description!

MABS 12 Communications Officer, Captain Delp, is slender and fleet-footed like a deer. He is a “marathon” runner and hounds me to join our squadron’s cross-country team because they are short of runners. So today I run with them. Delp takes us on a pressing 7-mile run and I’m dragging by the end of it. I had not run that distance non-stop since early 1970 at TBS at Quantico. I quit his team today, my 1^st practice day.

“Sounds like Captain Yerby is getting old and feeble!”

‘Well, the very next day, I run a 3.3-mile timed run in 25 minutes and 10 seconds. Could you have done that, at age 28?’

Thursday 28 February, Captain Bradley (whom I work under in S-3 and S-4) gets his desired transfer to the A-6 tactical squadron here at Iwakuni. He is a most fine officer that I enjoyed working with in VMA 121 back at Cherry Point and here at MABS 12. Previously, he flew combat missions in Viet Nam in the A-6. His transfer leaves me as the only officer in these 2 offices of this squadron. I now have a heavy workload.

Just at this time, the documentation of my December 1^st promotion to captain, arrives ever so tardily at MABS 12. At our morning officers’ meeting, the commanding officer officially announces my promotion. I am happy to pin on the double silver bars (tracks) of a Marine captain. Second lieutenants do not have to salute first lieutenants. But both of those officer ranks must salute captains. So, in addition to getting saluted by (and addressed as ‘Sir’ by) all enlisted men (as always), I now get the same honor from all warrant officers and 2^nd and 1^st lieutenants.

“Hey, everybody, look at Captain Yerby’s head swelling!”

From 1 December last year, I’ve been receiving the pay of a captain with over 4 years “longevity”. It certainly helped when my wallet “swelled” with that good pay raise.

The following day, Friday 1 March, I do the weekly inspection of the barracks and someone tells me the Japanese had used this barracks building as a POW compound during World War II. The prisoners they held here were likely Koreans and Chinese, but there may have been some American POWs also, captured as we fought our way across Pacific islands to Japan. (That’s a neat bit of history.)

I rejoice to see the weather start warming this 1^st week of March. I’ve had enough of white mountains and cold winds from off them. I look forward to getting out much with the Japanese people during the pleasant spring. On March 5^th at our squadron’s dinner for all squadron officers in the officers’ club, the CO asks me to say “grace”. I’m pleasantly shocked.

On 7 March, my personal things and flight gear (I sent from Cherry Point in early November) finally arrive here. It took 4 months by ship from a North Carolina port, thru the Panama Canal and across the wide Pacific. Good to have my own flight gear that fits me well, and taped sermons to listen to. On this day, I fly co-pilot in the rear cockpit of an H&MS-12 TA-4 for the 1^st time at Iwakuni, but they fail to record it in my pilot’s logbook. The following day I take my annual physical fitness test (PFT) running the 3 miles in 21.5 minutes. I was happy with that time. See if you can beat it when you are 28 years old.

On 9 March, a Navy lawyer interviews me as a potential witness in a court martial because he is defending an enlisted Marine (whom I know) that is charged with crimes. The lawyer “felt me out” with questions to see if I would sugarcoat (on the witness stand), what I know about this bad Marine. I make it clear to this defense lawyer that I’ll tell the truth about his client the defendant. Thus, he chose not to call me as a witness.

Now that I am a captain, I start getting called up for court martial duty (which is much like jury duty in civilian life), where a few officers decide guilty or not guilty, and decide the sentence to be meted out. I take that duty most seriously. I also start getting appointed to meritorious promotion boards for enlisted men, where we board members ask a range of questions to Marines who are excelling, and then decide who among them will get promoted early (meritoriously).

Also, as an officer in a squadron with no airplanes, I get appointed to various public relations duties and such, because the pilots in squadrons with airplanes are busier with flying. I am appointed to guide around our base, Marine infantry and artillery officers who fly up here from a Marine base on Okinawa on a “field trip” to study what officers in an air wing do. The Japanese Self Defense Force has a gooney bird (planes that land on the ocean) squadron based here at Iwakuni. I once did some brief liaison with a small group of them at some special occasion. I like the fact that my work involves doing a variety of different things, instead of the same old grind each day that tends to boredom.

As a pilot of the A-6 that is capable of carrying and dropping nuclear bombs, I attend top secret nuclear courier briefings here, where I learn the contingency plans of the U.S. government for this area of Asia, in the event we get into an “all out” nuclear war here. On Saturday morning 16 March, my executive officer calls me into his office for a personal reliability screening (as he does to each pilot and navigator in MABS 12). The purpose is to determine if I am mentally stable enough to be a reliable pilot of an airplane that drops nuclear bombs. He particularly probes me to see if my religious beliefs would be any hindrance to me dealing such death and destruction to masses of human souls in an instant flash.

“What exactly did you answer to him, Captain Yerby?”

‘So Sorry, but my answer is Top Secret, to you!’

I work till noon this Saturday as usual, eat lunch chow, and then walk more than a mile to the Iwakuni Train Station to go to the orphanage in Kure. Marine Air Group (MAG) 12 Chaplain’s assistant is Corporal Frank. He daily sits at a desk in the chaplain’s office downstairs from my office, an easy job for a Marine. I met Frank soon after coming to Iwakuni and occasionally stop by the chaplain’s office to inquire about religious events on this base. Frank came to Iwakuni several months before I did, is most outgoing, and thus knows more about such events here than I do.

I know that Frank plans to go to the orphanage today on the same train as I. We meet on the platform, waiting for the train. Frank has with him 1 other Marine and 4 teenage American girls whose fathers are Marines stationed at Iwakuni on “accompanied” tours of duty (meaning that the Marine brings his family to this foreign base). Also with Frank, are Izumi and Reiko, young Japanese ladies who are students at Hiroshima University. Izumi speaks good English and professes to be a Christian, tho Reiko is not a Christian. So, it is a relief to have Izumi along to interpret for us, and I relish each opportunity to meet more Japanese people.

Frank carries a guitar case. I care not to be with people who carry guitars around. (Nothing personal against you who do so.) So, we are a troop of 9 souls when we arrive at the orphanage. Ladies in charge there seat us in their dining area and bring out most of the children. We sing English songs as Frank strums his guitar. Then the Japanese here sing hymns in Japanese. It thrills my soul to hear them singing in their tongue. The ladies in charge here ask us several Bible questions thru Izumi our interpreter. Such a great relief and help to have someone to interpret! As this “session” winds down, one of the ladies asks us to pray. Frank prays. Then all we guests go outside to play with many of the orphan girls before leaving.

When time comes to leave, it’s so difficult to get away (a wonderful problem). One after another, the little girls each keep giving me a hug and holding onto my hands and arms, as they keep repeating, “Mata kite ne! (Come again.)” We ride the trains back. I eat a cheeseburger in a snack bar on base, being too late for supper at the officers’ chow hall. I wash a load of laundry, and lay me down to sleep with a great desire and heavy burden to preach Christ to Japanese children. Thank Thee, Lord, for giving me that desire and burden.

Wednesday 20 March, I sit on a promotion board all morning, questioning Marines, and then making my recommendations (along with other board members).

At noon break the next day (Thursday), I invite Staff Sergeant McDonald to bowl a game or 2 with me. Base facilities are compact on a tiny foreign base. I mentioned that the base chapel is in the same building as the officers’ chow hall. Well, the base’s small bowling alley of 6 lanes or so is downstairs at the far end of this building my office is in. Convenient! My custom is to eat a large breakfast and supper at the chow hall. I bring a light lunch to eat in the office in 10 minutes, and then have 50 minutes left of the lunch hour to do something I enjoy better than walking to and from the officers’ chow hall. I bowl about once a week at lunch hour, the cost being so cheap on base, and the bowling alley being a minute’s walk away. Truly, it’s a conveniently grand lifestyle!

However,…MABS 12 commanding officer (CO) had commanded a few of us officers to have a surprise, unannounced “barracks bust” tonight. Being the barracks officer, I’m one of the main officers in charge of it. After 8 PM (when we can expect most all our enlisted Marines to be in their barracks), I and a few other designated officers march into the barracks, announce that we are going to search all rooms, and that we are first putting out an “amnesty basket” for them to willingly put any contraband into, which we will seize but ask no questions about it. Then we will search each room for contraband, and charge any Marine who is found with any. I’m shocked at the number of Marine Corps items (stolen by these Marines) that fill up that basket. Do you remember my Chapter 25, Among Thieves…Lawless…And Oppressors? Well, this is one of many downsides of the “truly good life” with which I ended the preceding paragraph!

Saturday 23 March. In early afternoon, Frank and I meet up (as planned) at the time we are to board the same train. Both Izumi and Reiko live between Iwakuni and Hiroshima. Today Izumi soon boards at the station nearest her parents’ house and 2 stops or so later, Reiko boards at the station nearest her parents’ house. Frank brought a few bags of marshmallows saying he will show the girls how to roast them. As we walk from Kure station to the orphanage, I see a grocer and buy 2 bags of tangerines to give to the orphanage. They let us build a small fire in the yard and roast marshmallows today. Each moment I spend with these orphan girls is so precious to me.

Sunday Morning 24 March. Sunday School. Chapel. Then a leisurely delicious brunch in the officers’ chow hall in the same building as the chapel, and a 4-minute (or less) walk from my BOQ room. I relish this convenience (no wheels, only feet). I am becoming more aware of my loner nature, as I discover that the much solitude I have far from U.S.A. suits me perfectly.

In early afternoon, I walk off base to Grace Bible Center (a “Christian Center” where Americans and Japanese associate together). I meet Frank there (as planned), and ride to House of Sun (Taiyoo No Ie) with him in his tiny compact car. This is a “day” care center for physically handicapped children and young adults (drawn up limbs, speech ability impaired or non-existent; some are mentally deficient, and such).

Granny’s extended family instantly won my heart when they had me in their home for much fun. The same goes for the girls in the orphanage. Now, these dear Japanese who are suffering much physically not only win my heart, but also break it all to pieces in pity over their misery.

Today, 5 or 6 mothers have each bought their 1 handicapped child. Two or so staff personnel are present. (The mothers assist the staff.) Both Izumi and Reiko typically come here most Sundays to do volunteer work, related to their university studies. They are here today. Those 2 girls really have a heart for people in physical need.

Today, we play some simple games with the children, mothers and adults helping each handicapped child participate. Then we do a puppet show of “Snow White.” Izumi (interpreting) tells Frank and me to each take a puppet and participate. So, I gladly pick up a glove-like puppet, not bothering to check which one it is. My puppet is Prince Charming. So, when it comes time to kiss Snow White to awaken her from her sleep, I touch my puppet’s face to the face of that sleeping puppet, and make a loud sucking, smacking, kissing sound with my lips. No one expected that. Even tho Japanese are very sober faced, it cracks up most everyone. I’m elated over giving them a good laugh, a moment of joy.

Alone in my room tonight, I weep much over those suffering young ones I met today. Getting to know Granny’s family, the orphans, and the suffering young ones at House of Sun, are important events off base that start making my life at Iwakuni most rich, and start tying my heartstrings to Japan.

The 1^st major improvement for me here was getting a single room. Now, on Tuesday 26 March, at the morning officers’ briefing, our executive officer (Major B.) introduces his replacement (Major E.) to us. Major B. is now to rotate back stateside. He is somewhat of a pitiful excuse for a Marine major. Since I arrived at MABS 12 back on 5 Dec., he’s been a pain in the neck to me, unnecessarily, severely lacking common sense. I’m relieved that he now leaves my life for good.

Major B.’s departure is the next, 2^nd, major change at work that turns my life in Iwakuni more pleasant (which started out plenty turbulent as I have explained). This afternoon, our new executive officer (XO), Major E., walks to each squadron office, greets the enlisted Marines, and talks personally with each of us officers to get acquainted. I readily perceive that he has good common sense, a most fresh breeze, after Major B.

Due to the “fuel crisis” that came upon most of this planet late last year, thru out the winter, both at my workplace and in my living quarters, daily the heat was off several hours. I arrived at Iwakuni in early December as the winter cold arrived. I was away from my loved ones, in a literally cold environment, and passed such a cold, bland winter while trying to handle much trouble at work. Now, as warm spring arrives with lovely cherry blossoms and flowers all around, troubles at work also subside, and I gain Japanese friends. Thank Thee, My Lord!

Simultaneously, both my life on the military base and outside the base in “real” Japan, begins to turn bright and golden. I so much like eating the bitter herbs first, and then the sweet dessert at the end. Thank Thee, Lord Jesus!

Wednesday 27 March. I had been assigned to a court martial board scheduled to start this morning. But Captain Luckie calls, saying it has been postponed. My weekday diary entries record me regularly leaving work at 5 PM or after, walking to the chow hall for a nice supper and on to my private room to read for about 3 hours (The Holy Bible, Spurgeon, other men of God). It all sets my heart on fire. I so relish being away from the busy social life (mostly church related) in the States. Presently, the much solitude is most beneficial.

Thursday 28 March. I am scheduled to attend nuclear courier classes all day, but H&MS flight ops officer calls me, more or less demanding I take an afternoon flight. He doesn’t efficiently make up his schedule in advance. So, he then presses me at the last minute, threatening to not give me any flight time if I don’t jump when he hollers. So, I cut afternoon nuke classes to take a flight. After landing, I return to my office right at quitting time to learn that my Corporal R. has been charged with theft and forgery. At his previous duty station stateside, he picked up another Marine’s paycheck from that Marine’s workplace, signed that Marine’s name on the endorsement line, cashed the check, and spent the money. My Corporal R. will soon stand a court martial trial here. Among thieves…lawless. It all keeps a lazy Captain on his toes!

Friday 29 March. H&MS 12 flight ops officer decreed to me that I must fill a pilot’s seat tomorrow night. I prefer going to the orphanage on Saturdays instead of flying. I pray for God to work a miracle to change that. Where be the miracles?

Saturday 30 March. I conduct Staff NCO training classes all morning. Then I call “HAMS” to check about my flight tonight. He sheepishly says it was a mix-up. There is no flight tonight. Thank Thee, Lord Jesus, for scrambling his mind!

I go with Frank, Izumi and a different lady friend of hers (a college classmate) to the orphanage for a blessed afternoon. They ask us to stay for supper. We do. It’s a blessing. Leaving there by a different route, we see a church. We go to the door, call out, and a Japanese Christian man comes. We have Izumi ask him if he has tracts in Japanese. He does, and gives us a good stack of them. I rejoice to have them to give to Japanese acquaintances! Not being able to converse in Japanese, written materials are most helpful. In our travels this day, we see many lovely cherry trees in full bloom, so beautiful, making this a most pleasant spring Saturday, with no night flight.

Monday 1 April 1974: Squadron CO commands me (as barracks officer) to go to the Criminal Investigation Division (CID) office on base, and set up for them to bring their drug-sniffing dogs to our barracks for a surprise drug raid. CID is duty bound to keep this secret. The CO warns me that no one else in our squadron (besides him and me), is to know about this planned raid till I announce it to the other officers on the day of the raid. Secrecy is of utmost importance. No leaks!

“Everybody, look at Super Sleuth Captain Yerby in action!”

‘This certainly wasn’t what I had in mind about 8 years ago at Auburn, when I was aspiring to become a Marine officer.’

Tuesday 2 April. So, at the officers’ meeting 1^st thing this morning, the CO goes around the table calling on each officer for any input he has concerning today’s work. When it comes my time, most everyone’s mouth drops open in surprise when I announce that as soon as this meeting breaks up, we will have a drug raid on the barracks with CID and their dogs. (That was a bright moment for little ol’ me to savor.) The CO then designates which other officers are to come with him and me, detailing the exact time for us to walk into the barracks, just as CID personnel arrive in their pickup truck with dogs.

Most Marines that live in the barracks are at work. Only a few are in the barracks. Our timing is perfect with the CO and us officers arriving just before CID arrives with dogs. The CO issues a command for each Marine in the barracks to get into his room and stay there. We officers split up to stand in each hall to ensure no Marine leaves his room, because they try to go to the “head” (toilet) to flush their drugs down the commodes. I go room to room with the search team. Surprisingly, they find no drugs. As CID is preparing to leave, their leader tells me that if I walk around the barracks, I might find drugs that Marines had thrown out the windows of their rooms. So, I walk around the barracks, and in one place find a plastic bag with marijuana residue in it and a pipe designed to smoke pot. I turn it over to CID, and soon go on with life.

I have been assigned Group Duty Officer this day. On workdays, I do nothing regarding that till 4:30 PM. Then I go from my upstairs office where I have worked all day, downstairs to the Group office where I (and the Duty Clerk) will pass the night. I am required to eat in the enlisted Marines mess hall in an act of inspecting their food to see if it is fit for human consumption. Tonight is steak supper there. So, I enjoy a delicious steak with potatoes, gravy and veggies. Sure is fit for this Captain to eat. Then I return to the “Duty Station” to let my clerk go eat also. After he comes back, I later go out and inspect the armed guards on the flight line and such, and then I rack out (go to bed).

The Duty Clerk gets tomorrow off, because he sits awake by the phone all night. I do not get tomorrow off. But he awakes me to take 2 phone calls in the wee hours. Neither is important. I work the following day (3 April), flying at midday.

This night is our squadron’s mess night (a formal banquet). I haven’t had my dress blue uniform pressed since it arrived here on the boat. So, it doesn’t look its best tonight, but neither do I (having been up much last night and flying today). I refrain from drinking the wine as they repeatedly toast “great” men. The meal is high class and delicious. But when I bite into the delicious looking dessert, I quickly recognize that it is “spiked” with intoxicating wine. So, I leave it. It’s a great relief to me, when we are finally allowed to leave this banquet, late.

I go to my room and gladly collapse into my rack (bed), after 2 busy days with a busy night between them, doing numerous jobs on the ground, flying co-pilot, confronting the problem of my corporal being a criminal, and attending a banquet where some of the fellow Marine officers got drunk.

“Good night, weary Captain. Sure is thrilling, being an elite Marine officer, isn’t it?”

‘Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.’

Soon after arriving at Iwakuni, I began frequently walking out the base’s gate, and walking around town to see Japan. I started touring Japan in that simple manner, because no talking with Japanese people (taxi drivers, train personnel, etc.) was necessary. From that time on, I came to harbor a most regretful thought. ‘It’s so tragic that I don’t have the ability to ever learn the Japanese language, so I can freely communicate with these precious souls for whom Christ died!’ As I steadily meet more and more Japanese who win my heart, that mental regret burns more bitterly in my heart. (I wrote of buying a small English-Japanese dictionary, and practicing basic greetings before going to Granny’s for that meal.)

Now, on Thursday night 4 April 1974, I attend my 1^st Japanese language class taught by a Japanese man at a “cultural center” (a small old shack of a building right adjacent to the base’s main gate, just outside the gate). With the Holy Spirit gently whispering to me that nothing is impossible with God, I start Japanese language study with a fiery zeal, have continued that study to date as I write this in 2024, and hope to continue that study all my days on earth.

Saturday afternoon 6 April, I go to the orphanage, and then to the care center for handicapped young people the next afternoon. It becomes my custom to go to each place, 2 or more weekends a month. Then Easter Sunday afternoon, 14 April, I again go to House of Sun. While there, Reiko quizzes me.

“Did you attend university?”

‘Yes.’

“What was your major?”

‘Sociology.’

“When you return to the States, what will you then do?”

‘Study a short time at a Bible college, and then become a preacher.’

“Maybe you can come back to Japan, and preach here.”

Hiroshima University student Miss Reiko was the very first (of a few unsaved Japanese friends I made in the Iwakuni area), who invited me (and some even pleaded with me) to live in Japan. Some of them also mentioned me preaching Christ here. Likely Reiko had mutual matrimony in mind, more so than me preaching. But The Holy Spirit used each friend’s words to start working a calling to Japan into my heart.

This weekend, my pilot buddy (Captain Bradley) flies a cross country to a U.S. AF base in South Korea and back. On Monday 15 April, at work Ken tells us he almost crashed into barren mountains as he approached the base due to a faulty altimeter in his airplane. That’s not bright news to us aviators.

Saturday 27 April. Just as I arrive at my office to start my busy half-day of work, “Hams” calls to ask me to fly. So, I have to rush to “Hams”, and learn that this is a test flight in a bird that was grounded for needed repairs, has now been worked on, and the purpose of this test flight is to see if that airplane is flyable. This kind of test flight will make a Christian pilot pray earnestly for his life. When I arrive at “Hams”, they had found more trouble with the bird that grounds it again, but the mechanics are working hard on repairs. I pray for more mercy. Just when it looks like the mechanics won’t get the bird flyable this morning, they announce that it is “air worthy”.

I sure hope so, as I strap into the back cockpit with Lieutenant Colonel Crane in the front cockpit as the test pilot. Thank God the questionable plane functions properly, bringing us back for a safe landing. But recently, “Hams” had the room painted where our flight gear is stored. Strapping my oxygen mask tightly to my face just before takeoff, I discover that it is full of paint fumes that make me sick as I breathe them in flight, a hazardous situation that should have been prevented.

I return to my office well after 12 noon, and soon go to the chow hall for lunch. This afternoon I ride the train alone to Hiroshima, and walk to the Peace Park located where the first atomic bomb was dropped on mankind. I walk near and far viewing Japan, and later board a special express train going back toward Iwakuni.

A group of high school students (on a trip) are aboard this train. There is crowded standing room only, so I stand in a crowded area at the end of a car. The girls around me try to talk to me, and soon call their teacher who is nearby to squeeze thru the crowd to us. He can speak English well enough for us all to converse some. Soon a girl about 17-years-old hands me a present, 3 small colorful “balls” woven of various colors of bright thread. Likely it was a souvenir she had bought on this school trip for herself, or to give to a family member or friend back home. I’m touched that she wants to give it to me (at this once in a lifetime chance meeting). I know better than to try to refuse it. I heartily thank her for it. I pray that she will come to know Christ as her Saviour. You please pray for that also.

Tuesday 30 April 1974. Payday. It comes twice a month. All the time I was in the military stateside, someone would hand out each person’s paycheck on payday. Here on this foreign base in 1974, we are paid in U.S. $ cash. Don’t ask me why, because I know not. On each payday, a squadron officer is assigned as pay officer. Today, I have that duty.

So, I arise at 5 AM, ready myself, and walk to the base dispersing office by 6 AM. A Marine in dispersing gives me a printout with name, rank, serial number, and amount of pay for each Marine in MABS 12. He then counts out just over $20,000 in cash on the counter between him and me, and turns that pile of money over to me (half a month’s pay for all the Marines in my squadron, courtesy of you kind taxpayers).

As pre-planned, my Sergeant Smith meets me here at Dispersing at 6 AM, wearing a loaded .38 caliber pistol (that he checked out of the base armory), because he will be my bodyguard as I walk about with this mountain of cash. We put the money into the large metal ammo box provided for it. Then we 2 head out walking, I carrying the ammo box and Sgt. Smith keeping an eye peeled for any Marine (Thieves) who might be tempted to try to snatch a $20,000 “bonus” on payday. We walk to Motor T (Transport) first, to catch their night crew leaving work as the day crew comes to work, thus the early start. After paying them, we walk to the communications building and possibly 1 other MABS building, dishing out cash before ending up in my office where I pay all the Marines in our MABS 12 offices located in our main building.

At that time (and possibly still now), the lowest ranking private in the military had access to the charts that show the basic pay of all military ranks up thru the generals. Sgt. Smith and I walk to our commanding officer and executive officer offices, and I pay each of them sitting at his desk (in cash). Thus, it amuses me that many civilian employers require some employees (especially high-ranking ones), to keep their salary secret. Tho there were many amazing top secrets in the Marine Corps I served; a Marine’s pay was not one of them. (Why, all citizens of our nation know the salary of our president, vice-president, legislators, governors, and such high-ranking souls. Also, you know just how good you feel paying them.)

Coming up short of cash toward the end of divvying out the dough was a terrible nightmare that loomed over the pay officer each payday. I saw fellow captains make mistakes, thus come up short, and it was a huge task to recalculate each amount, trying to find where that smart jet pilot messed up, counting out cash to almost 100 Marines. I was much relieved to see that I came out “right on the money”, as I paid the last Marine in our squadron.

“Congratulations, smart jet pilot and smart payroll officer Captain Yerby! Looks like your high school was right on target, choosing you for the math honor award at graduation. Why, you can count accurately up to 20,000. Wow!”

Tonight, MABS 12 officers’ monthly banquet is a “Farewell” occasion for our Commanding Officer, Lieutenant Colonel Carroll, who is leaving our squadron for another command here at Iwakuni. I attend the banquet.

The idols of the heathen are silver and gold, the work of men’s hands. They have mouths, but they speak not; eyes have they, but they see not; they have ears, but they hear not; neither is there any breath in their mouths. They that make them are like unto them: so is every one that trusteth in them. (Psalms 135:15-18)

Before arriving in Japan, I had lived practically all my life in the “Bible Belt” (southeastern U.S.), and I don’t recall ever seeing any heathen religion “facilities” during those first (almost 28) years of my life. Now, Buddhists and Shinto idols abound all around me in Japan. It is both appalling and heartbreaking to behold them, and readily brings home to my mind the Truth of the above Holy Scriptures. God is stirring my heart to preach to them, The One True Living God their Creator.

The End of Chapter 28

On to Chapter 29

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