Christmas Movie Memories From Seven Decades Ago

  When World War II ended in 1945, my advanced communications unit was assigned to provide movies for Navy crews on boats docking on Manila’s Pasig River fleet landing. There were hundreds of warships anchored in nearby Manila Harbor.

We worked in a big metal Quonset hut and lived in tents next to it. Our crew also serviced movie projectors for the Navy ships and land bases in the area. The equipment included 16mm and the big-reel, theater-sized 35mm units. To test the repaired ones, every night we projected movies on a big white bedsheet on the outside back of the Quonset hut.

We set up benches in front of the sheet, and invited guys from nearby Army and Navy units. We had a regular supply of the latest films fresh from the States, and vintage films we exchanged with ships’ crews at the fleet landing.

Some Manila street kids showed up one night to watch the movies. Then, entire families came. Because English was and still is the second language of the Philippines, everyone in the audience could understand and enjoy the films.

Their favorites were musicals, especially those with kid themes, such as 1945’s “Anchors Aweigh”, the Navy film starring Frank Sinatra, Gene Kelly, and Jerry the Mouse in a dance number with Gene. We got many requests from locals in the audience to repeat films, so they could invite relative families from nearby neighborhoods. We were happy to oblige, because we knew the movies let them forget their wartime troubles for an hour or so.

Earlier that year, Manila had been devastated by the retreating Japanese soldiers in the last months of the war. They deliberately blew up much of the once-beautiful Pearl of the Orient, as Manila had been called, Because Filipinos were loyal to the U.S. the Japanese had also wantonly killed thousands of civilians. Many of the kids who came to our movies were war orphans living on the streets.

As Christmas 1945 approached, we came up with an idea to help local kids and families. During mid-December, we told crews aboard ships in the harbor and other Army and Navy guys attending shows that it was no longer free.

Each time a military viewer arrived, he had to bring at least one article of food. Soon, a corner inside our Quonest hut was stacked with candy bars, cakes and cookies swiped from nearby mess halls. Many guys received food packages from home, so we also had canned meats, fish, chicken, vegetables and fruits. 

By Christmas Eve, our repair crew had put together a Christmas tree made from old projector parts. They draped them with pieces of damaged film, burned-out projector bulbs and hung the tree out on the edge of the bed-sheet movie screen.

As street kids and families arrived for the show, we handed out gifts. The movie for that special evening was, of course, “Anchors Aweigh”. The audience of GIs, sailors, Manila families and street kids sang along with the theme and other familiar songs from the film.

Even though 70 years have passed since that night, no other Christmas since has been as memorable. Any time I hear music from “Anchors Aweigh”, I recall the heartwarming experience as if it were yesterday.

Immigration Discrimination Isn’t Something New

  
Today there are strong opinions in the daily media about the large numbers of Muslim immigrants flooding Europe. Some of the more dramatic critics question their motives, potential religious violence, terrorism, welfare costs and other problems. The very similar situation in the U.S. concerning undocumented Mexican immigrants continues to make headlines and affect political attitudes. 

As a guy who always professes a liberal, let-’em-live mindset, I sometimes find myself unconsciously reacting instinctively to basic prejudice. The constant, blaring news about immigration problems certainly affects everyone. 

For example, just the other morning, while walking down my residential street, I passed a Muslim family in burkas. Instead of a usual neighborly greeting, we just glared at each other. Apparently, earlier we had watched the same TV news.

Suspicion, prejudice and discrimination are nothing new. More than a century ago, my grandparents escaped from Russia and came to America. They were isolated and riduculed here because of their language and lifestyle. Since then, throughout my 90 years, I’ve also experienced it. First, as one of the few Jewish kids in a Christian residence home for fatherless boys, I frequently had to defend myself. It came at me verbally and physically from the usual playground name-calling and bullying.

In wartime Navy duty, the anti-Semitism was often blatantly obvious. Of all the Armed Services, the traditionalist Navy seemed to be the most prejudiced against minorities. Overt discrimination negatively affected assignments, relationships and promotions.

Of course, I wasn’t alone in the prejudice spotlight. In the Navy and elsewhere, name-calling hurled at minorities included Jews, Italians, Hispanics and Asians. And, of course, too often worst of all, the crudely hateful treatment of African Americans.

As serious world immigration problems continue today, there’s not much any individual can do about it. However, I can try to rid myself of the insidious prejudices that blare out with never-ending news and opinions that inundate the media.  

In the late 1930s, President Franklin D. Roosevelt blocked entry into the U.S. of thousands of Jewish refugees fleeing German persecution. It doomed them to Nazi death camps. However, in a more kindly moment, he said: Whoever seeks to set one race against another seeks to enslave all races.

Tattoos: Why I Never Got Drunk Enough To Do It

  
A month or so past my 18th birthday and just out of Navy basic training is when I first considered getting a tattoo. Along with other ex-boots in early 1944, I was at the Navy base on Treasure Island in San Francisco Bay. We were waiting for our first World War II sea duty assignment.

On liberty in San Francisco, we teen swabbies followed old Navy traditions in an attempt to look like old salts. With our fake ID cards proving we were over-21-year-old adults, we proceeded to get sloppy drunk at several bars. The next staggering steps for some of us were to a tattoo parlor. Fortunately, I didn’t follow. Instead of getting my skin illustrated, I took a bus back to the Navy base to sleep it off. 

I managed to make it through the war without becoming a walking picture gallery. In most of the years since, I didn’t see many people with tattoos. However, that colorful social statement today appears to have exploded in popularity. Tattoos are now wildly popular with entertainment and sports stars, as well as with their me-too followers.  

During my twice-daily hike along Santa Monica Bouevard in West Hollwyood, I see many tattoos. Not on old sailors, but adorning scores of young adults, some with necks, backs, arms and legs totally covered with the colorful skin illustrations. 

Of course, my old guy opinion is that they should consider what happens when they get to my age. Then, skin bags and sags, colors fade and the drooping illustrations look similar to grafitti on public toilet walls.  

Aged illustrated skin is not pleasant to behold. Young people who continue to get frequent tattoos should think of what happens in later life. It can become an addiction like smoking, except smokers don’t have to worry about getting old. Of course, that’ll be the subject of a future rant.

Memories Along Hollywood’s Walk Of Fame

 After Navy service in the Korean War, I worked for a now-long-gone daily newspaper, the Beverly Hills Citizen, and often did assignments in the neighboring town of Hollywood. In the many decades since, it hasn’t changed very much. Strolling along Hollywood Boulevard today, you can still see the familiar tourist shops, theaters, nightclubs, restaurants, costumed panhandlers and throngs of gawking tourists. 

What’s different today from the 1950s is the Hollywood Walk of Fame, consisting of nearly 2,500 star-shaped designs with brass plaques embedded in the sidewalks. They honor actors, musicians, authors, directors and others of the entertainment industry. The Walk was officially started in 1960, and new plaques are added frequently.

In addition to covering news events way back then, I met many stars of the time at social functions, premieres, awards ceremonies and other events. Like most fans, I had my favorites, and one of my first ventures when I returned recently after so many years away was to wander along Hollywood Boulevard. I wanted to seek out the Walk of Fame plaques of those stars I fondly remembered. Just a few examples are:

Errol Flynn: The sidewalk plaque of the swashbuckling hero of 1930s and 1940s adventure movies is in front of the Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel, 7000 Hollywood Boulevard. An appropriate location, because Errol was notorious for his hyperactive in-like-Flynn love life, and was rumored to have had many midnight trysts in the hotel.

Nat “King” Cole: The star honoring the smooth crooner of the 1950s and 1960s is near Musso & Frank Grill, 6667 Hollywood Boulevard, a favorite hangout of show biz personalities since the 1930s. It’s still a great place to do lunch and spot a current celebrity or two.

Sammy Davis, Jr.: I paused in front of the posh W Hotel, 6250 Hollywood Boulevard, to remember the great singer-dancer. A fond memory was seeing him perform live in Las Vegas in the 1950s, when he was a member of the famous Rat Pack, along with Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, Peter Lawford and Joey Bishop.

Mel Brooks and Sylvester Stallone: They never made a movie together, but they’re two of my all-time favorites. Their stars are both in front of the Egyptian Theater, 6712 Hollywood Boulevard, where glittering movie premieres are still celebrated. After a combined century in show biz, fortunately for their many fans, both Mel and Sly are still active. 

Frank Sinatra: His star is near the corner of Hollywood and Vine, by the Hollywood Plaza Apartments. It’s now a government-subsidized senior community, and many occupants are elderly women. Could they have been giddy bobbysoxers swooning back in the 1940s when Frankie was crooning from the stage of New York’s Paramount Theater?

Ah, memories!

Consider Domestic Scenes If Jesus Was A Married Man

  
After my young dad died when I was four, I spent ten years in a residence school for fatherless boys. We were required to attend chapel daily and twice on Sundays. Sermons and readings were from both the Old and New Testaments. Although some of the kids were Jewish, there was considerable Christian emphasis on the life of Jesus, portraying him as the pure son of God, as written in the Scriptures. 

However, according to a recent article in USA Today, many theories are surfacing that there are historic indications Jesus was married. Several years ago, a scrap of 2,000-year-old papyrus allegedly reveals his earthbound domestic life.

Thus, based on that premise, can you imagine the radical changes now that may be required when telling the story of Jesus. How about a gospel according to Mrs. Jesus, alleged to be the former Ms. Mary Magdalene, as she espoused it to her spouse.

Must you always go out preaching with those 12 guys? Just for once, can’t you stay home and preach to your wife?

There you go again! Tracking all that wet into the house. The rugs are soaked! Do you have to keep doing the walk on water miracle routine just to impress everyone?

And speaking of miracles, cool it with the Virgin Mary story you’ve been telling about your mom. That’s so birds and bees stuff.

When you went to that wedding feast and turned water into wine, everyone marveled at your miracle. So, why can’t you do it all the time? We’d make a fortune when we open the J&M Wine Bar on Sunset Boulevard.

Did you know the cops were mad as hell after you overturned the tables and chased the money changers out of the temple? Didn’t you realize that the local polititians were being paid under those tables.

And what about your raising Lazarus from the dead? If you can make him come back to life as a woman, it’ll get you offers of jazzillions of bucks for a movie of the week and other deals from all the TV networks.

And my biggest gripe of all, dear husband, is when you went up on the mountain and did the magic act with just five loaves and two fishes. From that, you fed 5,000 people! And you came home with not one little scrap of leftovers for your wife!

All right, all right already. I realize that an historic religious icon has to do what he needs to do. He shouldn’t have to suffer abuse all the time with a nagging wife. But, I guess that’s your cross to bear …. ooops, sorry about that remark.

When Ya Gotta Go: How History Coulda Seen It

  
In recent news, San Francisco, the beautiful city by the Bay, is having trouble with public pooping and peeing on its sidewalks. It’s nothing new, and we can be sure ancient Athens and all cities since have had the same problem.

One of my earliest memories of outdoor elimination happened when our Navy advanced communications unit landed on the island of Leyte during the 1944-45 WW2 campaign in the Philippines. Our open air toilets consisted of a large wooden platform with four holes on either side of a railing holding rolls of toilet paper. Whenever we sailors sat there, friendly native people came by offering to sell us fresh fruit and fermented drinks.

Of course, going to the toilet is a very natural, if sometimes bothersome, universal process. As I enter my 90s and wander city streets daily, concerns about getting to a bathroom on time become more and more important. I’m not yet ready for adult diapers, but often wonder about situations I never thought much about before.

During school days, teachers taught us of heroic moments in history. However, they never mentioned the actualities of a very human need that arises several times daily, even to heroes. It happened, and too often at the most inopportune moments. For example:

Marc Anthony: Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me a coin for the pay toilet.

Paul Revere: The British are coming! The British are coming! And they’re already lined up at ye olde outhouse.

Ben Franklin: The lightning bolt really knocked the stuffings out of me! Could someone please hold my kite for a few minutes while I use the facilities?

Napoleon: I keep my hand in my vest because I’m too damned shy to put it where I most need it.

Teddy Roosevelt: Hey, guys. I need a moment before I lead the charge up San Juan Hill. After I go, I’ll tell you when we’ll go.
The Wright Brothers: Now that we’ve invented flight, let’s plan for passenger planes with pay toilets.
Astronaut Neil Armstrong: There has to be a mooning joke here somewhere.

Lo, as He preacheth His sermon unto the faithful multitudes, He speaketh….. OK, OK, I’ll stop! I dare not even attempt to muse about history’s most saintly religious leaders. Nor will I speculate on embarrassing bodily interruptions occurring during their most holy moments.

70 Years Later: World War 2 Ends In The Philippines

  
Some of my most vivid memories go back to 1945 Navy service in the island nation. At the time it was a U.S. possession and battleground being fought over by Imperial Japanese and American forces. 

A Short History A few days after the Japanese surprise December 7, 1941, attack on Pearl Harbor in Hawaii, massive numbers of their forces landed in the Philippines. The unprepared American and Filipino troops were overwhelmed, and surrendered in May, 1942. Then the Japanese began a brutal, murderous three-year occupation of the islands.

In October, 1944, American troops, commanded by General Douglas MacArthur, returned to recapture the Philippines. Their first landing was on the island of Leyte. The campaign continued, ending at the main island of Luzon, and the capital city of Manila. While the city was declared recaptured in March 1945, there was still fighting until the official Japanese formal surrender in late August.

My Philippine Service: I arrived on Leyte in December 1944 with a Navy advance communications team. We moved up to Manila in March 1945. There we bunked in tents at the U.S. Fleet Landing along the city’s Pasig River. We ate chow with members of the Navy Underwater Demoliton Team (UDT evolved to SEALs). Our mess hall was located in the basement garage of the nearby Manila Hotel. 

The penthouse was the HQ of General MacArthur. Several times we saw him hurry by us on the way to his limo while flanked by bodyguards. He later moved his HQ to Tokyo in September after the formal Japanese surrender aboard the USS Missouri. The official end of the war was September 2, 1945.

Enduring Respect: My fondest memories of wartime experiences in the Philippines is of the people. They willingly helped our American military in every way possible, sometimes at the cost of their own lives to Japanese brutality. The citizens of The Philippines richly deserved their independence when it was declared on July 4, 1946. They were then and still are among the most loyal friends of the United States in the world.

USS Indianapolis: 70th Anniversary Of Tragedy And Triumph

  

As the 70th anniversary of the end of World War II approaches, this old Navy vet still has vivid memories of one of history’s most dramatic two weeks. Consider the combination of ironic coincidence, horrible casualties and everything else representing the insanity of war. 

A movie about one of the most tragic events of the time, entitled “USS Indianapolis: Men of Courage” is now being filmed, with release date expected in 2016. The producer is Nicolas Cage and director Mario Van Peebles. 

The two-week drama began on July 30, 1945, just days before the Japanese surrender ending World War II. The official ceremony, conducted by General Douglas MacArthur, was held August 14 aboard the battleship USS Missouri in Tokyo Bay.

Days earlier, at midnight on that late July date, the heavy cruiser USS Indianapolis was hit by two torpedoes from a Japanese submarine off the island of Leyte. She took just 12 minutes to disappear into the Philippine Sea. Of the 1,196 Navy and Marine crew, 300 died from onboard explosions and drowning.

Although distress signals had gone out from the doomed ship in her final moments, no help came for four days. The results were that another 600 died in the water from exposure and shark attacks. 

On August 3, a Navy aircraft carrier bomber pilot reported seeing the survivors, and they were picked up by ships and boats sent out from the Philippine island of Leyte. When rescue finally arrived, there were only 317 of the crew still alive. 

At the time, I was a sailor with an advance Navy unit at the Leyte port of Tacloban. We were rushed to Army and Navy medical units to unload stretchers and help the survivors in every way we could.

Afterword: Ironically, when it was sunk, the USS Indianapolis was returning from the island of Tinian. It had just delivered the atomic bomb components for the Air Force B-29s. Their mission killed at least 200,000 Japanese, mostly civilians, when they devastated Hiroshima on August 6, and Nagasaki on August 9. My 20th birthday was August 8.

After the war, the captain of the USS Indianapolis was court-martialed for failing to follow wartime safety regulations. He was reprimanded and retired from the Navy. Never forgiven by families of the lost crewmen, he committed suicide several years later.

How To Survive A Lousy Job You Hate Like Hell

  Why would anyone want to stay in a really bad work situation? Sadly, most of us don’t have the luxury to jump ship in this storm-tossed economy. Therefore, a realistic method is to find ways to enjoy, or at least tolerate, the rotten job until you can nail something better.

I spent 25 hectic years at one company, and there were very few days when I didn’t have at least one urge to punch a nose, kick a butt, contemplate murder or quit. Too often, I was fed up enough and ready to commit all of the above. 
What kept me from acting out those angry urges was that I had growing kids, big home mortgage, two cars and other obligations. I realized that staying with the company would provide for my family and eventually bring me secure retirement income. 
With continuing frustration, workplace troubles prompted me to seek new jobs whenever possible. I did receive several in-company offers, but they would’ve required relocating when my kids were still in school. However, I never stopped seeking new opportunities.
In fact, I sent out my umpteenth resumé just a year or so before I decided to retire. Bingo! I was happily surprised, because it got me a good job in a sunny desert resort city, where I could relocate from what had become our empty family nest. 
The gig there lasted five years and paid kids’ college costs. Then I had the satisfaction to retire financially free and permanently at age 70. What helped me survive in too-often unhappy job situations was that I was always determined to find some meaningful productivity in my daily work.
If I were asked for advice today, I’d say that with a positive attitude, consuming hate for a job can be reduced to merely occasional annoyances. If that’s your situation, just hunker down, block out distractions and perform to the very best of your ability.
While succeeding in that current job you hate like hell, an unexpected promotion, transfer or other career opportunity could suddenly come your way. Then, you may actually enjoy your higher-level pay, rank and privileges. My final bit of advice is that you then shouldn’t make life miserable for all the unfortunate, unhappy, underpaid underlings who’ll hate like hell working for you.

How My Non-Swimming Navy Recruits Became Expert Swimmers

  

Hey, Chief. I’m scared! 

I can’t swim! You might think when an eighteen-year-old joins the Navy, he already knows how to swim. Oceans are pretty wide and deep, so a non-swimming landlubber wouldn’t stand a chance if his ship suddenly took a dive.
As a Naval Reservist and college student, I served several eight-week summer active duty assignments as a drill and athletic instructor at a Naval Air Station boot camp. My responsibilities were for platoons of 30 recruits. 
They were newly-enrolled as Navy Reserve Officer Training Corps (NROTC) candidates. To complete their college freshman year, they had to attend the same recruit training as required of full-time sailors.
These teens were in good physical shape, so in the first week, there were no problems. It was easy to get them to run, drill, do the obstacle course and meet other physical requirements. However, when we got to the on-base swimming pool, I was in for a surprise.      
I lined them up for a basic abandon ship instructions. One by one, they’d climb the ladder on the 12-foot-high diving board fully dressed, and jump off into the deep water below. Then they’d swim the 25 yards to the shallow end of the pool. Some panicked, and shamefully confessed they couldn’t swim.  
I shouldn’t have been too surprised. Many were inner-city kids, and had reached their teens without any pool, lake and ocean experiences. I could’ve sent the non-swimmers to the locker room to sit while I worked with the others. I could also recommend that they flunk out of the ROTC program.
I explained to them that future Navy officers who couldn’t swim would be useless baggage in a real-life abandon ship emergency. However, I said I’d work with them and promised they’d all be efficient swimmers before their eight-week boot camp was completed.
I scheduled the non-swimmers to spend an extra hour daily with me in the pool. They also had to be at the pool all day Sundays, when the other boots had liberty to go home or into the city.
We started with basics in the shallow end. I didn’t push them in or force any other drastic sink or swim routine. They did practice arm strokes, kicks and endurance tests with heads under water. Gradually, they could take several unassisted swim strokes. 
We moved to the deeper parts of the pool as they began swimming eight-stroke widths, then 20-stroke lengths. They surprised themselves (but not me) with their quick ability to swim.   
By graduation day, every ROTC student in my company was an accomplished swimmer, as well as qualified in abandon ship drill. Many went on active duty as Navy officers after college graduation. For many years, I received thank-you letters from my former non-swimming boots.