This year when I happened to call up my college class’s web site, I was shocked to find how many of my classmates have passed on.   It was a wake-up call for me to put on paper some reminiscences of my last months as a second lieutenant after the end of World War II.  My experiences seem to me fairly unique, so I have decided to put these accounts out to be seen in the form of

A Christmas (Island) Story

In about October of 1945 I found myself in a rapidly disbanding Engineer Light Ponton Company in a location amid the sugar cane fields of  Oahu.  I was bored, there being little to do except stand inspections, and I knew that with my limited overseas experience I would have a long wait before being allowed to leave the army and return to civilian life.  So I applied for a transfer to a “forward area.”   My request wended its way up through various echelons of command finally coming to rest in MIDPAC,  Army headquarters in the Middle Pacific.  Their reply then wended its way back down to me with the information that they would keep my request “on file.”   So I shrugged my shoulders and waited.  Shortly before Christmas, 1945, I received orders to report immediately to Pearl Harbor for a flight to Christmas Island where I was to report to the Island Commander for duty in the Army Garrison Force there.

So, on some date very close to Christmas, I boarded a Navy plane and flew down to Christmas Island, an atoll about 1300 miles due south of Oahu.  It wasn’t very “forward” but it was enough different to whet my appetite for adventures. Christmas Island had been so named because it had been discovered by Captain Cook on December 24, 1777.  He reported no human life of any kind on the atoll.

The Island Commander(s)

The American Island Commander was 1st Lt. Ferdinand P. Roeber.  He was a kindly looking gentleman of about 55 who had served in World War I. He was a native of Chicago and a house painter by trade.  He had served faithfully as a second lieutenant in the Reserves ever since 1918, had been declared over-age-in-grade,  and had been relegated to recruiting duty for the whole of World War II.  As a result of his constantly asking to be sent overseas he was finally sent to Christmas Island to replace an alcoholic major whose principal occupation there had been to play poker on the floor with some enlisted men using jiggers of whisky as bets.  Roeber was told that his job was to improve the morale of the troops, who had apparently seen a succession of alcoholic Island Commanders.  Lt. Roeber was not a drinker but had a genial and relaxed personality, and was well along on his mission by the time I arrived. However, he was outranked by the British Island Commander, one Major Sinclair, who hailed from New Zealand and who lived on another part of the atoll known as “London” together with his wife and two daughters and a number of males from the Gilbert and Ellice Islands (now Kiribati) whose duty was to harvest coconuts , break them open, and dry their meats in the sun to produce copra, eventually to be used by Lever Brothers in the making of soap products.  It seems that both Britain and the U.S. laid claim to Christmas Island.   The British, however, had next to no supplies, and so an Indian mechanic often came over to the American base to cadge parts for their few vehicles.  Their only chance to receive mail and supplies from home came twice a year in a sailing vessel that loaded the copra for processing elsewhere.  Actually we Americans were under instructions to cooperate with the British in every way, and we found Major Sinclair and his family to be fine folks. 

It soon developed that my being college-educated fitted me to handle a lot of administrative stuff that Lt. Roeber had no interest in whatsoever. This left him free to circulate among the 27 enlisted men on the island, whose jobs were to keep the airfield maintained, man the crash trucks and radio stations, keep the oil-fired fresh-water-from-brackish-water distillation  and electrical plants running, cook the food (mostly available from huge refrigerated “reefers”) run the post exchange, etc.  When not doing this he loved to just go out and paint whatever structures seemed to need it.  Occasionally he would take whoever would want to go on fishing trips around the island in the one launch we had.  He felt he was improving morale and I believe he was.  I have very fond memories of Lt. Roeber.  He was made a captain well before he left the island about a month before I did on July 4, 1946.

The Base and the Island

The base had once been the site  for the island hopping planes that took troops to the South Pacific and once when Japan was a threat in the Eastern Pacific had garrisoned an infantry division.  But that was long past in 1945 and most living quarters were now deserted with ineffective insect protection.  However, there were still large sheds with  thousands of spare parts,  C-rations, and tropical chocolate bars, which I often commandeered. I was never alcoholic, but chocolate was another matter.  There was also a tank farm of aviation gasoline that was a particular responsibility.  Much more gasoline was there than we ever used.  The coral airstrip of course was very much kept up, and the base office, clinic, mess-hall and commander’s quarters were in reasonable shape.

According to the modern web site www.janeresture.com/christmas/index.htm “Christmas Island is the largest coral atoll in the world with an area of 248 square miles of which 125 square miles is land and the remainder lagoon.  It is 2,015 miles from the Republic of Kiribati, 1,335 miles from Honolulu; 4000 miles from Sydney Australia, and 3250 miles from San Francisco.  It lies between longitude 157 degrees 10’ west and 157 degrees 34’ west and latitudes 1 degree 42’ north and 2 degrees 3’ north.  It is 145 miles north of the equator. “  It is now known as Kiritimati, is part of the Republic of Kiribati, and is now home to a population of  about 5000 persons mainly of Micronesian descent plus some Polynesians from Tuvalu and some “expatriates.”   When I was there the population was less than 100, probably nearer to 70, composed of  a mix of 27 Hawaiian  and stateside GIs, a medical officer , two physicists from the Carnegie Institute who operated an ionosphere tracking station, and the persons already mentioned.  Major Sinclair’s wife and two young daughters were the only human females on the island.  There was also a population of rather small, scrubby male dogs of indeterminate breed and one large, tan female German shepherd named “Snooks,”  who was the Island Commander’s dog.  The other dogs “belonged” to various NCOs, but their allegiance seemed to depend on who provided the best scraps.  The natural population was mostly bird-life in great variety plus many land crabs, hermit crabs and others of that ilk. Also a variety of insects, of which more, later. The plant life was varied, but most prominently coconut palms. The weather was warm, pleasant and dry while I was there.  There had been a short rainy season in the fall that I had missed.

The Medical Officers

 Two medical officers, both majors, served on Christmas Island during my time.  The climate was so pleasant and the work so untaxing that they had very little to do other than treat the Gilbert and Ellice Islanders for yaws, a venereal disease apparently endemic among them.  As a result both men, and particularly the last, who had previously been a neurosurgeon at a military base on Oahu, felt over-qualified and their conversation consisted mostly of grousing and complaining.   I suspect the second somehow had fallen afoul of his superiors on Oahu and had been sent to Christmas as to Siberia far from the pleasant recreations on Oahu..  Perhaps a like policy for handling difficult officers had been the cause of the succession of alcoholic Island Commanders  experienced by the enlisted men..

The Scientists

I found the two physicists from Carnegie much more to my taste.  Their work was important, because it provided much needed information on radio transmission interference for much of the Pacific.  As a result they felt needed and important and were happy and easy to get along with.  One was a ham radio operator and I asked him once to send a message to one  of the stateside GI’s families when our regular radio communication became very limited.  The tracking station had a darkroom, so I soon found myself in possession of a 35-mm camera, taking shots around the island and developing them in the darkroom. 

Blister Bugs and the USO Troop  

The “blister bug,” a night flying creature much attracted to light like the moth, yellow, winged and about half an inch long was about the only prominent insect species on the island.  Lt. Roeber warned me early never to slap one of these creatures if it happened to light on me, because if I did I would soon find that its juices would raise a nasty welt.  At that time pyrethrum spray cans were the insecticide weapon of choice, and pyrethrum was totally effective in knocking these creatures down from around the light fixtures in the base office.  As a matter of fact I took considerable satisfaction in wielding this weapon and observing their headlong descent onto my desk, there to be swept up and disposed of.  I was not much of an environmentalist in those days.

One weekend we were graced with the presence of one of the many USO troops  who went around the Pacific entertaining the troops, but this troop did not include Bob Hope,  Betty Grable, nor any other big star.  Rather it included one comedian, about the most mournful man I have ever met, some musicians, whom I have no storing remembrance of at all, and a lady singer, who lost no time complaining about the facilities, the food, the poor screens, lack of privacy, etc., etc.  Well, I suppose we weren’t very gracious, but our view was that we had to put up with it, so why shouldn’t she?   Alas, they scheduled their show for the cool evening.  Things went along OK for a while - the sad comedian perked up enough to be funny, and then when it had become quite dark, onto the stage strode the lady singer, with two spotlights presenting her in all her very high-lighted majesty,  The blister bugs attacked in force and we were presented with the show of this haughty lady striking out wildly as clouds of blister bugs surrounded her.  I don’t think she got out a note.  They all left the next morning, cursing I am sure, and damning us all to the devil.

The Spitting-Mad General

Perhaps their prayers were answered.  As time went on we had to send GIs with extended overseas experience home, and this included radio operators.  Finally we were down to only enough operators to man the radio station  12 hours/ day (as I hazily recollect) and not at all on Sundays.  At the same time a like situation had developed with the pilots who had flown the weekly plane from Oahu down to Christmas.  We simply had no planes at all.   This, of course,  had started just after I had gotten permission to have a Red Cross group of girls come down to the island for a weekend dance - this wearing one of my several hats of Recreation Officer.  So no dance on Christmas ever happened, and the weeks dragged wearily on, with no fresh vegetables, and no transportation out.  As far as most of we Americans were concerned, we just all wanted to go home and morale sank.

One Sunday morning as I lay in my “sack,” I heard the drone of an airplane overhead, and so did everyone else.  We rushed to the airfield in whatever clothes we had on to man the crash trucks that had to be present for a landing.  It was a complete surprise to us because in our limited time on the air we had received no notice of any plane intending to land. Finally the plane landed and rolled to a stop before our eyes. There outside the pilot’s window flew a flag bearing two stars.  Uh-oh - a major-general on an inspection tour! Out he burst from the plane cursing and yelling and chewing as only a major-general knows how to curse, and yell and chew.  Why hadn’t our blankety-blankety-blank radio station been operating? He had been flying around the blankety-blankety-blank Pacific as his blankety-blank gas got lower and lower and couldn’t raise a blankety-blankety-blank signal from us to home in on. .  Well, good old Lt. ( I should call him Captain now) Roeber firmly stood his ground, saying that we had informed MIDPAC of all our transmission times, that we had an operative beacon running all the time, and that we had a severe shortage of radio operators.  Well the general soon cooled down, we fed him handsomely (no fresh vegetables though) and he shortly left for Oahu with a fresh load of gas promising that several changes would be made to alleviate our shortages.  And so it happened.

The Brits

Well, we didn’t call Major Sinclair and his wife Brits - the term wasn’t even in use then, and anyway they were New Zealanders.  Once they invited us all over to London for a party.  The island almost encircled the shark-filled lagoon something like a crab’s claws.  One point of land  (or claw)  was called Paris.  It was the abandoned site of a French missionary’s attempt to colonize the island and was now the home of thousands of sea birds and their eggs.  (It is now a bird sanctuary.)  The tip of the other “claw” was called London, and was Major Sinclair’s base of operations.  There we went for the party and were most cordially received. The Gilbert and Ellice Islanders put on dances to the rhythm of beaten empty 55-gal oil drums for us, and the theme to my great surprise was “The Atomic Bomb.”   The theme was more prescient than any of us knew.   Christmas Island was to become the site for several British trials of their atomic bomb. The head man of the Islanders, whose skin and straight-as-an-arrow hair were midnight black, and who bulged with muscles, gave me a necklace of sea shells, which now my grand daughter, Anna. owns.  He was a very pleasant, jovial man, and I remember him with fondness.

The Dogs

I have mentioned the dogs above, and they were the cause of two of my strongest recollections.  I have also mentioned the fact our enlisted men were composed of both stateside and Hawaiian GIs - to the best of my recollection about evenly divided, and all were competent at their particular tasks, and required more recognition than supervision. However, there was one scarce commodity on the island (other than women) that both groups vied for, and that was the company of one of those small, scrubby male dogs. The top NCOs of both groups (who claimed rank privilege of ownership) were constantly trying to steal away one of the dogs from the other group by providing especially succulent scraps.  This eventually caused a fight, and bad feeling not at all helped by the fact that some of the statesiders constantly referred to the Hawaiians as “gooks.”  Captain Roeber asked me to deal with the situation, which I did by having the miscreants on both sides on the carpet separately and then together, reminding the statesiders that the others were our fellow soldiers, and deserved respect, and the Hawaiians that the others had no experience of foreign peoples, but also were fellow soldiers deserving of respect for that fact, and both together that they should work out their differences in a friendly way, with perhaps an allusion to the fact that if things did not cool down, the Captain would have to see to it that certain dogs would have to be disposed of.  But all this was just talk. I was to find that I would become the unwitting agent for the solution of the dog problem.

Actually, what we were up against was a shortage of dogs.  Snooks was simply too high off the ground for any of the males to reach her although she had been in heat several times.  She was a gentle, lovely dog.  She hated weapons.  Captain Roeber showed me what would happen if he took down his carbine and worked the action of his weapon.  She would jump up into his lap and put her head under his arm.  I would often take her out in the jeep to the edge of the lagoon and throw a coconut out and she would jump in and retrieve it.  When she was in heat the captain was non too-anxious to have her ride along with him, because often it meant a train of these small, scrubby dogs would follow after. If any of these dogs could reach her, we all felt it would be Big Boy, one black and white floppy-eared fellow, who was somewhat larger than the run-of-the-mill.  But to date, Big Boy had never “scored.” 

One day I had to run an errand to the radio station and Snooks jumped into the jeep with me as often happened..  I noticed no other dogs around, and we proceeded to the radio station where I went inside, leaving Snooks in the jeep. Suddenly inside we heard an enormous amount of yipping and yapping coming from outside, and I and the operators all rushed out, only to stare open-mouthed at the primal scene that had developed before us. Snooks was standing placidly on the floor in the back of the jeep and Big Boy had managed to climb up onto the back seat and perform his male function - and indeed - all the way.  There was nothing of any of his “equipment” to be seen.  After a moment or too, Snooks simply jumped out of the jeep, carrying Big Boy with her!   This caused a disengagement, and Big Boy fell to licking his member and associated parts, and getting them back where they belonged, while Snooks simply walked around with sang froid and an air of “So what’s the big deal?’  The news spread like wildfire around the base, and the big question was, “Would she have pups? and “If so, when?”

The Last Alcoholic Major

Captain Roeber had spent over a year on Christmas Island by May of 1946, flights from Oahu had been reestablished, morale was good, and both he and MIDPAC felt that he needed to be relieved.  So we were informed that a major who had served in a Federal Post Office  all during the war, was to be sent in as his replacement.  He arrived as per schedule, the captain filled him in on his duties and left for Oahu on the same plane.  I reported to my new commanding officer, and very shortly was told that my uniform was not smartly pressed, and was not regulation and that I was to sharpen up.  Such things had never meant anything to the captain - his emphasis was always on the men and their well-being.  The major clearly intended to cut a swath and bring the base up to snuff.  There was only one problem - as he spoke a definite whiff of grain spirits headed in my direction. However, the major was in charge, and I had to follow orders - but only so long.  My replacement was due to arrive in a month and I could well afford a final month of spit and polish.  To skip ahead in my story for a bit, I did leave in a month -on the fourth of July 1946 - and immediately found on arrival on Oahu that the major was under investigation by the inspector general.  It seems that Captain Roeber had also noticed the smell of liquor on the major and had felt compelled to turn him in.  The major had been forthwith relieved of duty and I was asked to testify about him. What I testified to was what I have said here - yes, I had smelled liquor on his breath, and , no, I did not feel he had made any request that was out of line. I saw the poor fellow once sitting on the stairs in front of one of the huts of the “repple-depple” and as I approached he got up and went inside. I never found out what happened to him.

The Fourth of July, 1946

There is nothing like a satisfying conclusion, and the fact that I was headed home on this day of celebration of liberty made me feel all the happier. But then I saw something that somehow has been symbolic of my whole stay on Christmas, and it really is my Christmas message to all my friends and family.  It is that if we just go about doing our normal duties and trying to meet our responsibilities without fanfare, we will find that much good can come from it.  Because as I shouldered my barracks bag and walked past the base office to the truck that would take me to the plane, one of the men said, “Hey, Lieutenant, look!”   There cuddled in the coral beneath the front of the building were Snooks and perhaps five or six puppies.  It just doesn’t get any better than that.