(Kiko-San, in Yokosuka, Japan. 1949).

Quite a set of notes this morning from the Out There Gang. Bewildering, almost. It started with Cornhusker’s contribution about the disposition of the cremated ashes of the Class A Japanese war criminals. There were six of them, including Tojo, the main public figure of the Empire, excepting his aloof Imperial Majesty, of course.

You have to have a little feel for the Japanese, particularly how it was for those who survived the great conflict with the Americans. Many of the old timers in our group from Out There date back to the heart of the conflict in Vietnam, and the extraordinary role of Navy ships and pilots in war. The lily pads of brief rest included Japan, mostly in Yokosuka, and of course the Philippines when the port at Subic Bay kept everything running for the ships that transited the vast Pacific to go to war.

The memories are profound but inexplicable in their crazed assortment of mental gymnastics. For some of us, they involve a few days ashore between endless steaming and flight operations and terrible stress that sometimes involved burying the dead at sea. Add monsoons, and green water towering inviable above the plunging decks.

The stories about the War Criminals and their remains are still controversial, and the lengths the Occupying Americans thought appropriate to ensure that there would not be shrines made atop their remains. New evidence has emerged from dusty files that outline what was done, and how a few handfuls of ash from a crematorium became a matter of dark art and subterfuge. Since the tale is one of compiled email notes, it is disjointed. But it was enough to draw back some attention to older shipmates who knew Japan when the Occupation was still new.

That struck home. My time on those shores is now 40-odd years ago, then about the same distance from the Pacific war. I kept an interest, and collected several stories from Tom “Big Smoke” Duvall that I published in the Naval Intelligence Professionals Quarterly publication while he still lived.

They were wonderful. In addition to his paean of praise for Kiko’s lovely stature, his tale of the Cracker Caper demonstrates how a bos’n with Law Enforcement authority deals with black marketeers, or the later matter of all that counterfeit money traveling undisturbed on big steel ships. We were going great guns on his memories until we got to that. After his passing, I kept them in one of the files that gathered electronic dust across several computers. The conversation led me back to them, and I sent one this morning to that distinguished group regarding an account of life on the waterfront in Yokosuka, Japan, in 1949, just before the Korea War cooked off. The title was about Kiko, and a couple of the physical manifestations of her beauty. And how prostitution worked in a nation in that time when the only real currency was the greenbacks the Sailors and Marines carried in their dungaree pockets.

Some of Tom’s later stories involved some interesting people he had to approach to receive clearance to tell them. It was the only time I was warned about trouble if I got it wrong, since they had been specifically approved by those concerned, I was directed to use the words provided, since any deviation could wind up in trouble. Considering who we were dealing with, I took Big Smoke’s advice seriously and put the matter aside. But this morning I will gather them together and see how they have stood the test of time. My assurances to any of the living who could take offense: I will use Tom’s words and no others to describe what he saw. No other speculation will emerge from their compilation. Tom was Out There in Those Times, and his words will be enough.

So, that matter crossed with an account of the Cubi Point Naval Air Station Officer’s Club, a legendary place on Subic Bay in the Philippines that is a touchstone in Fleet memories from Out There. Naturally, that would require a longer account to sort out. Our squadron, Cornhusker’s and mine, embarked in USS Midway, was part of several port visits conducted in our post-war role as the Overseas Family Residency Program (OFRP). It might have been six visits, each normally about four days in duration that included just about everything under a different and mutable sky.

The dimensions of all that would not be contained in a simple Daily episode in the Socotra files, and I can only imagine the tumult that would result from a regular Editorial Board meeting to discuss them. The nuance and level of the relations are deep, and the laughter that erupted from younger throats still rings against the rich green of a Philippine jungle, or a crowded and darkened street in the Honshu-Ku outside the main gate in Yokosuka.

So that was how Saturday commenced amid short tales and longer silences that cover more than seven decades. In them, the roar of rotary-engined aircraft transitions to the sleeker and more penetrating sound of jets, and a Sea Service that is now insisting on the inclusion of Ibram X. Kendi’s controversial book “How to be an Anti-Racist” would lead to “a better Navy” by promoting more discussion of systemic racism in America. Most of us in the discussion have seen a world that is different than Mr. Kendi’s. Many remember when the Civil Rights Bill was passed in 1964, what it was about, and have sworn to follow its provisions for more than a half century. So some of he current discussion seems- well, dated.

You can imagine that to those who have been Out There, the subject touches several hot buttons. Some of the discussions regarding it wondered about the future of a fighting force that seems more concerned about domestic perceptions than putting missiles on target. But there is some ground truth to be found, not in the book but in life itself. The kind of life that swirls around all of us who were out there, taking things from us and giving back others. And of course, some of us still are Out There. And will so remain.

Copyright 2021 Vic Socotra
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