South Pacific

I remember getting off the plane in Honolulu and being immersed into the scene from the Hawaii Five-0 TV show.  It was warm but not hot.  Men and women wore bright flowered shirts and dresses and palm trees swayed gently in the breeze.  I got into a cab that would take me to the base which was located northwest of Honolulu near the little town of Wahiawa.  I hadn’t done any research on where I was going. I only knew it was Hawaii...surfer dudes and hula girls!  I had no conception of multiple islands with different names, what the culture was like or how far it was out across the Pacific Ocean except what I saw on TV. 

In the cab I remember seeing a sign that read King Kamehameha Highway.  I thought to myself “how the hell do you pronounce that?”  In my mind it was Commy Hommy Hah.  What did I know.

Schofield Barracks was at the base of a range of mountains that ran along the west coast of the island.  For history buffs you probably know that the attack on Pearl Harbor began with the Japanese planes flying from the west through Kolekole Pass, over Schofield Barracks and then turned south to conduct their strafing and bombing mission. There is giant cross in the center of the gap marking the site.

Kolekole Pass

Giant Cross Monument

The cab entered the base and deposited me and my duffle at the doorstep of the Military Police Barracks.  It was late afternoon and I met the Staff Sergeant who introduced me around the office and then had a PFC escort me to the bay area on the 3^rd floor which would be my home for the next 16 months.

At least this bay area was cordoned off with lockers and 8ft walls that served to create small cubicle rooms unlike training bays from my previous posts.  There were no doors but several of these sections had curtains at the entrances to give a semblance of privacy.

The following day I reported to the office and was introduced to the Captain in charge of this company.  He was a nice enough guy, though somewhat short at about 5’ 4” with round black framed glasses and a distinct air of superiority. He reminded me a little of the Penguin from the Batman TV show.  It was the way he tilted up his cigarette between his teeth with an open mouth and a slightly paunchy belly.

I had my basic uniforms; the olive drab fatigues, khaki’s and dress greens, which were seldom worn.  I would need more khaki’s as that was the dress for road MP’s at Schofield.  They also had to issue me a weapon; a 45 caliber pistol that we carried on patrol.  It was assigned but kept in the armory; a secure room on the first floor.

The next day I reported to work at MP Headquarters and started my stint on the road.  It wasn’t much different than it had been in Georgia but with better scenery. Same long boring shifts on patrol.  Same redneck attitudes about how to deal with people.

How do you spell MP?

Within a few months I felt I had to have my own transportation so I bought a brand new Honda 125cc dirt bike that was street legal.  I could play in the dirt on some of the outstanding off-road trails up in the foothills and I could also get around the island pretty well, even with a rider on the back.

With my new found freedom I was off to the North Shore to experience “Pipeline”, a famous surfing beach, and Waimea Bay, where the big waves were in winter.  Another favorite was Hanauma Bay, on the southeast corner of the island.  Great snorkeling. There were so many places to see all around the island and I went to as many as I could.

Waimea Bay in Winter - Big Waves

I tried surfing but couldn’t get the hang of it so body surfing became the go to.  That was the case for most GI’s.  The locals didn’t really want us out there in the surf with them.  It wasn’t a very welcoming environment for Haoles. They knew how dumb GI's could be.

I remember one trip to Waimea Bay in December when the waves were running 15 to 20 feet and all the locals were surfing.  Some of us decided to body surf but we were warned not to.  I picked up a wave about 75 yards from the beach and rode it until I was slammed onto the sandy shore.  I thought I might drown because I was so disoriented but I stood up in about 3 feet of water only to be crushed again by the next big wave.  Again I sputtered around and barely dragged myself up onto the dry shore.

You can only go to the beach so many times.  You can surf and snorkel and drink and snorkel, and drink some more, and hike the mountains, and pick fresh pineapple but after about 6 months I was experiencing what they call “rock fever". Add to that the nature of my job day to day.  Law enforcement on a military base would never be different and was never going to get any better no matter where you are stationed.  I really wanted off the road.  I hated working with these guys and tried to talk my way back into the MP Investigations section.  I’d love to live off post in civilian housing like I did in Columbus but it was not to be and it got to me over time.

While on patrol one day with a more seasoned troop we got a call to leave post and patrol an adjoining area toward the center of the island.  Well this became "adventure training" as far as we were concerned because this area bordered on a forest and we had a off-road vehicle.  We left the main road and went down a hill a few miles and as we descended the road got narrower.  There were gullies on both sides.  With nowhere to turn around we decided it was best to just back up the hill but when I did the Jeep slipped into a gully and the Jeep turned over, almost on its side. Now we could have called in to HQ but we knew we were in the shit if anybody found out we were screwing around with US Army property.  

The other guy got behind the wheel and I pushed the Jeep back up just enough for the wheels to catch the dirt.  It took a lot of rocking, a lot of swearing and a lot of sweat for the next hour or so for us to get back to level. We had taken a few turns on the way down and the driver didn't recognize where we were or where the road back was so we just continued driving until we saw the ocean.  Well, there wasn't supposed to be an ocean in front of us and we certainly weren't turning around and going back.  The way back to post had to be the highway so we took it.  Luckily no one called us on the radio during that 3 hour trek. Nobody from the Army saw us on the highway and nobody ever found out about our adventure.  I did get a fresh pineapple from the trip however.  

Adventure Training on Oahu

One sunny afternoon I came back into the barracks after mandatory PT having run two miles with the company. I guess the First Sergeant was having a bad day because he singled me out to call into his office and strenuously voiced his displeasure with my tardiness to work the previous evening.  He added to my list of infractions my recent haircut that, incidentally, I had gotten at the local PX Barbershop. When he finished his tirade he asked if I had any questions. I probably should have said “no Sergeant”, and gone back to my cubicle but instead I blurted out something I would soon regret. I said "Only one, Sergeant. Can you tell me how I can get out of the fucking MP's?" Now, this guy is a career MP.  He stood and started yelling and pointing and flailing and I have no memory of what he said. 

The next day I was brought before the Captain who was considering charges of insubordination and AWOL for being late for work. What could I do but plead insanity. I had “rock fever”, I missed my girlfriend back in Missouri (but didn’t have a girlfriend...anywhere), and I hated being on the road. It worked.  Luckily instead of charging me they sent me to the base shrink.

I started visiting some PFC therapist at the post hospital once a week. After two visits he realized that I wasn't that crazy, released me and recommended that they take me off the road.  Well since they weren't letting me out, instead they gave me a job as permanent Charge of Quarters or CQ.  That meant I worked the all-night shift from 4:00 p.m. until the next morning at 8:00 am in the barracks office. But I only worked one 16 hour shift then I had 56 hours off.  I was "in charge" of the barracks and I could watch TV, read or sleep during my Army shift as long as I got up at 11:00 p.m., 3:00 am and 7:00 am to issue and check in weapons for the MP's that were coming and going from their road shifts. I settled into that nicely.

Without a source for marijuana I had been hanging out with the Juice Freaks.  Those were the guys that were straight, drank a lot of beer but didn't smoke dope.  I remember thinking that this was similar to high school.  You had the jocks and the freaks and the nothings.  I could fit right in because I knew my place.

It didn’t take too long for me to discover that the best place to get high was in the barracks while on duty. I hadn’t spent too much time in the barracks when I wasn’t working but I knew guys were drinking and smoking dope there all the time.  You could smell the marijuana but because of the open bays above the walls you couldn’t really tell which unit it was coming from.  

Attitudes about dope during the Viet Nam era were somewhat liberal for most of the enlisted men.  It was probably because there was so much drug abuse in Viet Nam and lots of guys spent tours there. You just didn’t flaunt it in the face of the lifers.  They all knew that some GI’s got high but they just looked the other way. There was even advance warning when they would bring the marijuana dogs through the barracks.  MP’s didn’t really want to bust other MP’s.

Over time I made some friends and bean to socialize when not working.  It was quite a menagerie of people.  There were three guys I hung around with the most. One was a guy from New York City named Jimmy Rocco.  He was about 5’ 4” tall and loved to sing.  Give that guy a microphone and he would bring down the house.  Lionel Kirkland was a good old boy from La Junta, Colorado.  Finally there was a guy from Kansas.  His last name was Brian Brambledge and he claimed to have been a roadie for Steely Dan before the Army.  Little did we know that Steely Dan was a studio band and never toured at the time. I had 2 Yashika 35mm cameras stolen from my locker while I lived in the barracks.  I always thought it was Brian who stole them.

We started out just staying on post at the EM Club but eventually started making the trek to Honolulu when we could find transportation.  Once in a while two of us would take my bike but it was a long ride back into the mountains after a night of drinking in Waikiki.  It was a good 25 miles away so a group had to find a driver that could avoid ditches.

But it wasn't all work and getting buzzed.  We sometimes played flag football against other companies before we drank.  We were in great shape and played hard.  Jimmy and Lionel were on the flag football team with me.  I wasn't too bad for a guy who never played sports in school.  Maybe puberty finally set in.

We had a good team. I remember one game where I went out for a pass and the quarterback through it behind me.  I reached back and got my little finger on the ball and SNAP!  It was dislocated.  The Lieutenant who was our coach took a look and sent me to the dispensary a few blocks away.  I arrived and was seen quickly by a Sergeant Medic who said "looks bad". He then said "look over there" and grabbed the finger and jerked it back into place.  He wrapped it with a splint, told me to take an aspirin and sent me back to finish the game.  I did.

Flag Football

One last story about drugs that I still find hilarious.     

One of the guys from MP school got transferred to Germany from Ft. Benning.  He wrote me a letter at some point describing his new duty station.  It was not much different from a military perspective but while I was basking in the sunshine and the swaying palms he was October-festing with Bratwurst at the Hofbrau.

One of the benefits of being stationed in Germany was the relative abundance of hashish, or hash.  He said he could get me some really cheap so I responded to the affirmative, as they say in the military.  I sent him the money and he responded.

Now remember that I live among the Military Police and so did he.  Within 2 weeks I had a small package delivered to me from Germany.  I picked it up in the mail room and waited for about a day before I opened it.  Inside was a bottle of Lea & Perrins Worcestershire Sauce.

I thought "how nice"... and then realized that my hash was submerged in the bottle.  Dan had wrapped the hash inside a rubber...a prophylactic, and submerged it so that it could not be detected from the outside.  I knew that University of Michigan degree would be his ticket to stardom.

So how do I retrieve it? You can't just break the bottle and the neck is too narrow to pull through 12 grams of hash.  What do you grab onto it with?  After a couple of hours of contemplating how I was going to eventually get to try this stuff I settled on a simple plan.  I needed a roach clip with a long handle.  By this time I knew somebody in the barracks who could help. We put our heads together and figured out how to grab onto the rubber and drag it up through the neck of the bottle, only to find out that the rubber had ruptured.  Now I used to love Worcestershire Sauce on my steak. But after smoking 12 grams of hash that tasted like steak sauce, and having to explain the taste to others... well it has never been the same.

Oh, and there is more...