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 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 are fighting, 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 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 the first 6 months we are to
be here and then lets 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 2nd
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
before WWII.) This was one of the better buildings erected on this base in its
early days. (Old fashioned is nice!)
The
building’s 1st 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 1st floor. (Our squadron is under
group’s command. “Group” is larger than “Squadron”, containing 3 or so
squadrons.)
At
the far end of the 2nd 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 7 officers
here in this S-3 and S-4 complex of offices (ranking from 2nd
lieutenant all way up to major) 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 I work in this office, 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, slender, physically fit, 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 dozen or so squadron officers seat ourselves in the briefing room
next to his office and he walks into that room from his adjoining office at
exactly 8 AM to give orders for the day and to take input 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. I held some of the training sessions myself 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.
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.)
The
old dying mimeograph copier in admin got in the habit malfunctioning more
frequently with each passing day. 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 find ones, scrounges it, and sets it up in
our office so my S-3 and S-4 sections can copy our own documents.
When
admin learns we have a copy machine, they begin to 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 come to
my office to make copies for each squadron officer. One morning our squadron
executive officer (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
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. But 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 new one. If Group had no funds to provide it, our
Executive Officer should have informed the Group Executive Officer that
our Squadron was without any 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 copies there.
But
instead, this 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 in 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. I was caught up in trying
to stop all such lawbreaking because the barracks came under my S-4 section.
Tho
I could fill a few more pages telling you of 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 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 5th (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 checked into the BOQ office to be assigned a room, I
confidently and boldly told the Marine corporal on duty at the desk that I had
just been promoted to captain on the 1st of December. ‘So I want a
captain’s room.’ But because my orders that I showed to him listed me as a 1st
lieutenant and because I had not yet received any proof on paper to show him
that I was a captain, he could not comply with my request.
So, regretfully
I was assigned to a double room in an old Quonset hut with A-6 navigator 1st
Lt. Chuck, with whom I had worked at Cherry Point. Chuck smoked in our room in
the evenings after supper chow. But he didn’t wake up during the night to smoke
like Captain Jim had done, Chuck not yet being that far along in his
smoking enjoyment. Tho I wanted to relax in the room between supper and
bedtime, I couldn’t stand that smoke-filled room. So I quickly grew accustomed
to taking my Bible, a book and letter writing materials and walking to a nearby
newer BOQ building that had 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 spent 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. I liked the way 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 life set me to musing seriously about our present day Laodicean church
that lives to eat, drink and make merry (both church life and Christian family life
just one social gathering after another 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 28th 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. That just happened to be the way I had carried on 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, 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 the 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 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 1st. 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.
Our
CO holds a monthly dinner for all squadron officers. Attendance is mandatory.
Warrant Officer Jim quickly perceives me to be religious and 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. Once during the CO’s
monthly dinner, Jim plied me with questions and I answered. The CO picked up on
our personal conversation and 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 will return to earth to shut the mouths of all kings, peons, and all
souls between those 2 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 and I attend 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. at the beginning of
December 1974, I will only have 2 and half months of active duty remaining (and
I’ll probable take 3 or 4 weeks of that time as leave). So the Marine Corps
will not send me to a stateside base for such a short time of duty. They will
discharge me early from active duty at a west coast Marine or Navy facility
upon my return stateside. Then I will be free of military rule over me 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 28th birthday in
January 1974. 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 the 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 getting
out of the Marine Corps. I had no jet warplanes of my own to use for that
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
to 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
plead 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 a plane 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 3rd 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. Come Jan. 25th,
I still haven’t received my orders that will allow me to travel to the
Philippines. I go 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 Admin and then thru my
squadron’s admin for each office in the chain of command to stamp their
approval on the master copy and take their copy to file. Then I walk to base
flight operations office, show them my orders and thus 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 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 1st 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 as we approach the Philippines, our pilot is
told (by radio) that an 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
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 route. So my buddy Bob and I each get 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. We’re hitchhiking
internationally in the sky (on duty), scrounging for a ride on a military
airplane because we unexpectedly got dumped off the bird scheduled to take us
to our destination. Never a dull moment in the Marines!
My 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.”
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 way, I stare out at the Philippines below. On
arriving, I check in and find an empty bunk in a BOQ room 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) from my Auburn
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 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 GCAs (ground controlled approach) touch and go at Clark
Air Base, see 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” 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 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 BX
(store) 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, as I
remember these last 6 days well. Thus I’m able to give you details from the 25th
on, which I’ve written here.
“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.”
‘I’m afraid so!’
When I was 12 or 13 years old, a desire started forming in my writer’s
heart to start keeping a diary. Sure wish I had started it then. But I didn’t.
Upon becoming a university student that seemed like the ideal time to start a
diary because I was living on my own, had my own desk, and spent much time at
that desk with writing instruments. But I kept procrastinating about starting a
diary, using the mental excuse that I was just too busy to daily take the time.
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 (2016). I hope to keep
it up all my life. I daily average writing 12 sentences or so, simply recording
the main events of the day. To me, the written record is much richer than pictures
most people typical take of their lives and of their families. Wish I’d started
my diary 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.
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 one 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’s plenty painful on my sunburned
skin to put on my flight gear and strap tightly into the pilot 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 sight for such bombing practice. The
Philippine government forbids civilians to trespass on this island. But poor
folks come in little boats to pick up the 26-pound inert metal 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 metal dropped from a fast A-6 ever hits one of them in
the torso or head, it will killed 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 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.
Major K. is flight leader with Chris his navigator. I fly Number 2 in
the formation. Pilot Joe F. ⑪ flies the 3rd 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 (with others) horsing around in the BOQ here, so full of
life as they enjoy the much flying fun here in the Philippines with
no way of 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 in VMA 121 there, he always
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
day for me to pilot a Navy A-6 Intruder. This is 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 Intruder!
The next day, Saturday, is my last full day here in the Philippines and
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 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 4th) 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 terrible 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 1st major improvement in my life at Iwakuni.
I like my solitude and 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 let me just 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. 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 smell came from the crematorium and most Marines believed that.
But actually it came from the city incinerator.
Upon defeating Japan in World War II, the U.S. made demands on their
government 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 have to be located somewhere.
So, in cities where U.S. military bases were located, it became the Japanese
custom to build their garbage incinerator on the upwind side of that base. 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 burning
garbage.
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 9th, 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 I
go with a couple of Marines out to Kintai Bridge, an attractive famous old
wooden bridge with several arches, oriental style.
To date, just a few times I had walked out the
base’s gate and strolled around in town (seeing Japan). I had been quite 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 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 chapel the next day, I ride the train
with them to the ferryboat for Miyajima Island and we hike around on the steep
hills of Miyajima for a while. 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.)
Later, waiting on the station platform for the return train, an elderly
Japanese lady with 4 children starts talking to me with the little English she
knows. When we soon board, those 5 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, tells the driver where to take
them, and 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 to soon return to the States. We kindly accept her invitation and
I tell her that on Saturday I will bring beef from the base and give her 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 as much
thanks to them as we can and walk back to the nearby base.
This weekend is my very first time to go
around much in Japan outside a military base and 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 the glorious process of me coming
to live the rest of my life in Japan.
From the time (last September) my CO at Cherry Point unexpectedly
announced to me 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
and buy a small English/Japanese dictionary and 1 more small book explaining
basic Japanese language. (Today, 2016, that little dictionary sets in the
bookcase on my desk.) Peeping into both books, my initial reaction was ‘This is
so difficult 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 the
Japanese family. For example, because they plan to feed us, I memorize, “I like
this”.
Friday becomes a most busy day in my office. On top
of a demanding workload, my Staff Sergeant McDonald receives word from the
States that his wife’s dad has just been killed in a car wreck. So we throw
ourselves into doing the “red tape” necessary to get him emergency leave and on
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, give the beef to Granny and reconfirm
‘1 PM tomorrow’.
Sunday 17 February 1974. Chapel adult Sunday School class is especially
blessed 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 kids 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 arm painfully straight in
order to measure it.
One girl exclaimed in Japanese. “2 centimeters! Wow! So long!”
We had an early supper of sukiyaki. My clumsy attempts to eat with
chopsticks while sitting on the floor, brings 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 warm 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 city of Kure and that I would probably enjoy visiting it. My heart
leaped with joy at that prospect. So we 3 go there today. We ride a special
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 Kure.
But a refined Japanese lady about 60 years old sits with us and begins
talking to us in fluent English. She’s most friendly 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.”
‘But the ticket agent at Iwakuni said we would have to change at
Hiroshima.’
Nearing Hiroshima, the conductor announces the connecting trains at
Hiroshima. We three Marines understand nothing he says. But this lady cocks her
head toward the ceiling speaker, listens attentively and soon assures us. “Yes,
this train does go to Kure.”
So we 3 stay aboard and bid her farewell when she gets off at
Hiroshima. But she lied to us, and in such a refined and courteous manner. It
was a long ways up that main trunk line toward Tokyo before this special
express stopped again and we could get off, double back to Hiroshima and catch
a train 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 about 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 was presently
qualified to drop a nuclear bomb from an A-4 or A-6. But she didn’t know that.)
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 fly jet
airplanes like I, a captain, can do.
‘But Captain Yerby, 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” because 1 or both
parents died, but rather because of “extenuating circumstances” of family
poverty, domestic problems 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 they
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 immediately hugs me. My heart completely melts within me, the liquid
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). I immediately see that they are much more
reserved toward the other 2 Marines who had not God’s Holy Spirit dwelling in
their spirit as I had. Praise God that I radiate God’s Love, Joy and Peace and
that it is most evident across any language or race barrier! Praise Thy Name, Lord Jesus!”
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 was one of the 1st
things that greatly appealed 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 peer out the window at standstill traffic on the
major hwy that runs alongside the railroad tracks.
As I 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 will
be the last physical checkup I will have to take in the military.
Truly, my military time is coming to pass, 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.
“Sounds like Captain Yerby is getting old and feeble.”
‘Well, the 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 1st 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, I now get the
same honor from all warrant officers and 2nd and 1st
lieutenants.
“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 told me the Japanese had used this barracks building as a POW compound
during WWII. 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 1st week of March.
I’ve had enough of white mountains and cold winds off them. I look forward to
getting out much with the Japanese people during the pleasant spring. On March
5th at our squadron’s dinner in the officers club for all squadron
officers, 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 1st
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 the sentence to be meted out. I take that duty most serious. 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 think 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 causes 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 a
nuclear war. On Saturday 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 a 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?”
‘Sorry,
but my answer is Top Secret!’
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, 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. I don’t care 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
it came time to leave, it was so difficult to get away. One after
another, the little girls each kept giving me a hug and holding onto my
hands and arms, as they kept repeating, “Come back again.” “Mata kite ne!” 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 good life!
But
this very night, 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 amount 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 the
downside 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 here 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 care center
for physically handicapped children and young adults (drawn up limbs, speech
ability impaired or non-existent, 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 for 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 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.
That
night alone in my room, I weep much over those suffering young ones I was with
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.
Previously
getting a single room to live in was a 1st great improvement in my
life on base. 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
December, he has been a pain in the neck to me, and that unnecessarily.
I’m relieved that he leaves my life for good.
This
is the next major change at work on base that turns my life
in Iwakuni more pleasant (which started out plenty turbulent as I previously
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 (which Major B. didn’t have).
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 time
that the heat was on was cut back quite drastically. 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.
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. 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 room to read for about 3 hours (The
Holy Bible and Spurgeon and other men of God). It all set my heart on fire.
I so relished 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 got up with 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 Corporal R. in my office 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 keeps a 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.
Saturday
30 March. I conduct Staff NCO training classes all morning and then check by
phone with “HAMS” about my flight tonight. He sheepishly says it was a mix-up.
There is no flight tonight. Thank Thee, Lord Jesus, for stirring
his mind!
I go
with Frank, Izumi and a different lady friend of hers (a college classmate) to
the orphanage for a blessed afternoon and 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 get them so I can give them 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.
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 when I was aspiring to
become a Marine officer.’
Tuesday
2 April. So at the officers’ meeting 1st 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 vehicle 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)
and 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 that had 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 them to eat. 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 guards on the flight line and such and then I rack out (go to bed).
The
Duty Clerk gets tomorrow off because he sits 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). 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
learn that it is “spiked” with liquor. So I leave it. It is a great relief to
me when we are finally allowed to leave this banquet.
I go
to my room and gladly collapse into my rack (bed) after 2 busy days with a busy
night between them, having done busy jobs on the ground, flying co-pilot,
confronting the problem of my corporal being a criminal and attending a banquet
where some fellow Marine officers got drunk.
“Good
night, weary Captain. Sure is fun 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 met more and more Japanese who won my heart, that
mental regret burned more bitterly in my heart. Before going to Granny’s for
that meal, I bought a small English-Japanese dictionary and practiced basic
greetings and such (as I told you).
Now,
on the night of Thursday 4 April 1974, I attend my 1st 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 2016, and hope to continue that study all
my days on earth.
Saturday
afternoon 6 April, I go to the orphanage. It becomes my custom to go there 2 or
more Saturdays a month. Sunday afternoon 7 April, I go to the care center for
handicapped young people. It becomes my custom to go there 2 or more Sundays a
month. 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 Reiko was the very first (of a few 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. The Holy
Spirit used their words to start working a calling to Japan in 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 quickly hoof it 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, 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 it is full of paint fumes that make
me most sick as I breathe them in flight, a plenty dangerous situation and
totally unnecessary.
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 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 such 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 her 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. 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 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. 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).
As
planned, my Sergeant Smith meets me here at Dispersing at 6 AM, wearing a
loaded .38 caliber pistol because he will be my bodyguard as I walk about with
this mountain of cash. We put the money into the large ammo can provided for
it. Then we 2 head out walking, me carrying the ammo can 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. 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 the squadron offices there.
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 figure 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 when they chose you for the math honor award when
you graduated. You can count well.”
Tonight,
MABS 12 officers’ monthly banquet is a “Farewell” occasion for our Commanding
Officer Lt. Col. Carroll who is leaving our squadron for another Iwakuni
post.
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)
Previous
to arriving in Japan, I had lived practically all my life in the “Bible Belt”
(southeastern U.S.) and 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.