(HMS King George V- “Cagey Five”-  enters Apra Harbor, Guam, with sailors manning the rail in August, 1945. Photo National Archive 80- G- 328942)

I was walking over to Willow when Old Jim called. I fished the phone out of my briefcase and answered- it was a District number, and I thought it might be him.

“Where are you?” he growled. “Mac is here.”

“I am on my way,” I said. “Getting ready to cross Fairfax Drive. Be there in a minute or two. Busy day. I will tell you when I get there.”

Jim clicked off without comment. It had been a busy day. I flogged the Hubrismobile up to Shippensburg to confirm the burial space for Mom and Dad, visited Eby’s Granite Works to order a headstone, toured a couple likely spots to hold he reception, and found a place that would block some rooms to accommodate the family that will attend the funeral.

I made it back with an hour to spare, and went through the office mail after the company system took twenty minutes to boot up.

Our crack IT staff has succeeded in their Information Assurance mission so thoroughly that the system is now almost impregnable to use by the employees. Brave New World, I thought, and thought I could make the date with Mac on time.

People were drinking out on the patio. The day was that nice, and I had the top down at the cemetery. It had been thirsty work, and I was gratified to see that Liz-with-an-S was back behind the bar.

“I worried about you,” I said, slipping onto a stool next to Mac.

Liz-S gave me one of those radiant smiles as she topped up my glass. “Clean bill of health from the Docs,” she said. “I was going stir crazy at the house.”

“There is a lot of that going around,” said Mac. “I drove fifty miles today getting my grand-daughter to some medical tests out in Fairfax. I am starved. Is there anything new on the menu?”

“There may be duck tacos,” I ventured, “but they are usually out of them.”

Mac studied the menu, and I got my pen and notebook positioned. Neither of us had eaten that day, so Mac asked for the duck, and I decided to go with the Pollyface Farms organic deviled eggs. “I brought you my recipe for no-fry eggplant parmesan,” he said, sliding a wire-bound cook-book toward me. “It is something we did at the Arlington Hospital.”

I read the title on the book: “Comforting Foods; Comforting Times.”

“I could use some comfort. Wait- it is right here at the end of Liz-S’s arm in this glass!”

Mac laughed. “I am feeling great. I walked over from The Madison.”

“No kidding! You are getting spryer and spryer! We won’t be able to keep up!” I looked up the bar.

(Mac with John-With and Jon-Without. Photo Socotra.)

Old Jim anchored the Amen Corner. John-with-an-H was wearing a worn Carhartt Jacket rather than his usual suit. “I tele-commuted today,” he said, looking at his Happy Hour red with satisfaction as Jasper topped him up.

“Me too,” I said. “but mostly just commuted.”

I picked up my pen after inhaling a deep draft of an impertinent white wine. “Now, where were we?”

Mac looked at me with a twinkle. “You never know where to start, do you? Why not at the beginning. That is a good place to start.”

“Nah,” I said. “I like to jump around. I think I might have ADD.”

“You think?” growled Jim.

“The alcohol helps,” I said. “With the word that the Navy is going to start using breathalyzers on sailors when they come on the ship. It is ridiculous.”

“I heard that,” said Mac. “Would not have been popular in my day.” He took a sip of Bell’s, a fine golden lager out of Kalamazoo, Michigan.  His duck arrived on a rectangular white plate and he began to nibble on the dark morsels.

“it is like they want to make General Oder Number One permanent,” I said indignantly. “You guys won World War II and you had a wine mess at the forward headquarters on Guam.”

“Yes, we did.”

“Well, let me ask you this. Your Boss Eddie Layton almost punched out Admiral Richmond Kelly Freaking Turner onboard the USS South Dakota at the end of the war. Turner was drunk onboard ship.”

“So was Eddie,” said Mac. “There was probably more alcohol flowing on that ship the night of the victory as ever was poured on a man-o-war. People used to ask me how I tolerated him, but he was always OK with me.”

“That is an interesting cultural snap-shot,” I said. “What about Admiral Nimitz? Did he drink?”

“Never saw him do so,” said Mac. “He may have had a glass of wine with dinner, but he certainly wasn’t a booze-hound like some of them were.”

“Did you ever socialize with the Fleet Admiral?” I asked.

“Not really. Well, wait, there was one time.” He took a bite of duck and looked pensive.

“Was that on Guam?”

(Admiral Sir Bruce Fraser, Commander in Chief of the British Pacific Fleet. Photograph taken on board HMS Duke of York at Apia, Guam, 1945.   Photo Imperial War Museum.)

Mac nodded. “Yep. Admiral Sir Bruce Fraser- F-R-A-S-E-R” he spelled out as I scribbled, “He brought the Cagey Five into Apia to present Nimitz with the Order of the Bath.”

“Wow. Were you there for that?”

“Yes, I was. The Admiral sent out a note that anyone who had a set of dress whites could go out to King George V- Cagey Five, we called her- and attend the ceremony. I happened to have a set of whites, and I was included in the party. It was around August 12th, I think.”

“Did the Admiral drink at lunch?”

“Dunno. He and Fraser went to the Flag In Port Cabin, and the rest of us were in the wardroom with the Brits. We had lunch, and then we drank all afternoon, and then through dinner.”

“That must have been pretty fun. I have gotten smashed on Canadian warships, the last time being at Fleet Week in San Francisco in ‘98. I miss a civilized wardroom.”

“This was on the way to not being so civilized, so we decided to get the boat and go back ashore. We were walking down the brow to board when we heard Cagey Five’s 1MC crackle to life. The Captain announced that the Imperial Japanese government had made a decision to honor the terms of the Potsdam Declaration.”

“What a moment,” I said in wonder.

“Yes indeed. It may not have been official, but we turned around and climbed back up and had more drinks in the wardroom before we finally went ashore to sleep it off. On the way we stopped to ask Colonel Purple, the crusty old senior Marine on the staff if he had heard anything, and he said he hadn’t.”

”Wasn’t that the guy whose house you flooded when your car hit the fireplug out front?”

Mac smiled. “Yes, it was. He didn’t think much of the junior Navy officers.”

“That was funny. But as to the merriment, you were entitled to it,” I said. “It meant that everyone was going to live, and no one was going to have to die in the invasion of the Home Islands.”

“Everything changed. Everyone had a different reaction, and most just wanted to go home as fast as possible.”

“Except you.”

Mac nodded. “I didn’t have a job to go home to. I was single. I liked the Navy.”

“It was a Navy that I remember, but is just a fading memory now.”

“I think you will be surprised by that.  Any institution that has survived a couple centuries will probably survive what is going on now.”

“I hope so. I sure had fun in my Navy.”

“So, the next day we resolved to host the Brits ashore in thanks for the open bar in their wardroom on Cagey Five. Then they had us back. It went on, back-and-forth, for four days.”

“Sounds like fun,” I said, taking a sip of happy hour white from a glass that never seemed to get dry.”

“It was. But by the time the actual surrender was announced by Hirohito on the 15th everyone had been partying for days. I went up to the club at Nimitz Hill to have a cocktail.”

“Must have been wild,” I said.

Mac shook his head. “Nope. It was kinda funny. There was no one there. Too much merriment over the last four days, and no one came.”

“Not quite what I would have expected,” I said, putting two fingers across the side of my glass and winking at Liz-S.

“Well, that pretty much sums up the whole thing, in my experience,” said Mac. He dipped the last bit of duck in a dash of hoisin sauce, and happily popped it in his mouth.

Copyright 2012 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com