U.S. Army & Japan [1954-1962]
EUGENE J. BIANCHERI
U.S. Army Military History, by Unit
1954 to 1962
2 Feb 1954 - 22 Aug 1954 339th Transportation Battalion, NYPOE, Brooklyn, NY [active Reserves]
23 Aug 1954 - mid Jan 1955 69th Division, Ft. Dix, NJ [active duty began; basic training]
Mid Jan 1955 - 14 Feb 1955 En route to Japan, via Ft. Lewis, Wash. Troop ship USNS Pope, from Seattle
15 Feb 1955 - 16 Feb 1955 Tokyo Quartermaster Depot, Tokyo, Japan
17 Feb 1955 - 27 Jul 1955 Hq Btry, 92d Armored Field Artillery Battalion, Camp Omiya, Japan [IX Corps]
28 Jul 1955 - 5 Feb 1956 Hq Btry, IX Corps Artillery, Camp Drake, Japan
6 Feb 1956 - 21 Apr 1956 Hq Btry, 268th Field Artillery Battalion, Camp Drake, Japan [1st Cavalry Artillery]
22 Apr 1956 - 2 Jun 1956 En route to U.S. via Midway Island, Hickham Field, Hawaii, Oakland Army Terminal, then home on leave
3 Jun 1956 - 7 Jun 1956 1400th SU, Fort Hamilton, Brooklyn, NY [First Army – active duty ended]
8 Jun 1956 - 31 Mar 1962 Standby Reserves [Inactive], until Discharge
Training in Basics – 1954
After eight weeks of Army basic training at Fort Dix, N.J., I concluded it was, well, an experience – but not one I’d want to repeat.
Late one evening, our drill sergeant called the company out of the barracks to stand at attention in the quadrangle.
He cordially exhorted us: “Listen up, you effen people. You go to the PX and buy ‘Axjax’ and then you clean the effen toilets.” And, after another harangue, he said, “Remember: your soul belongs to Jesus, but your ass belongs to me.”
Word spread among the draftees that the sergeant had, along with the rest of the training cadre, a major communications flaw – an effen limited vocabulary.
Because of my prior military experience – seven months in the active reserves – I was made squad leader and entitled to wear a temporary arm band of a corporal. One of my squad members, Morty C., was having a very difficult time adjusting to Army life. His cartridge belt was always upside down, and marching in step and handling a rifle for the manual of arms were about impossible for him. Yet, he was a devoted family man and made sure he showed everyone and anyone pictures of his wife. When it came time for each trainee to toss a live hand grenade, I warned the trainer about Morty. Since only the trainer and the recruit were together in the trench, I presumed Morty had help in throwing the grenade. The cadre solider had survived combat in Korea and surely didn’t want an “accident.” I remember his piercing focus on my hands as I pulled the firing pin on the grenade.
Of the 220 or so men in our company, Morty was one of four who failed to qualify on the rifle range. So in the Army’s wise ways, he was sent to cook’s school. On hearing this, the men in my unit hoped they would never be assigned to a post served by his kitchen.
But now I wonder – was Morty really shrewd enough to make himself be clearly marked as NOT prepared for combat?
2010
Cadence Count – 1954
After finishing eight weeks of basic Infantry training at Fort Dix, in 1954, the next eight weeks were at Clerk Typist School, then called the Basic Army Administrative Course.
Our group marched from barracks to class and we followed the tradition of shouting cadence calls to keep everyone in step. One call we used was named “Titless WACs Cadence Count.” When the platoon leader asked for this, the soldiers, all men, would respond with a marching chant based on the 8-finger placement on the home row of a typewriter keyboard:
“A – S – D – F
J – K – L – SEMICOLON”
This was followed immediately by loud, high-pitched, falsetto laughing: “HEE-HEE-HEE-HEE-HEE.”
It was intended to be a little competition for GIs marching to nearby classes, such as the macho telephone pole-climbers at Signal School.
September 2013
Weekend Sans Pass
During my second eight-weeks of basic Army training at Fort Dix in 1954, we were allowed an occasional weekend pass. A soldier could leave the Fort on Saturday afternoon and return Sunday evening. Fort Dix at the time was an "open" post, without gates patrolled by Military Police. If a GI did not have a pass, he would just get on a bus and leave; but if caught off post without one, he was subject to disciplinary action.
As we neared the end of our training, most were being sent overseas, primarily Germany and the Far East, so many went AWOL (Absent Without Leave) for a final weekend home. There was no bed check on Saturday night, so the primary risk was being stopped by an MP at the Port Authority Bus Terminal in New York City.
I recall one such weekend when I, without authorized leave, was returning on Sunday evening, and I saw fellow soldiers pouring out of the bus terminal. They were, like me, all pass-less, evading the MPs who had left their resting places in the coffee shop and were taking a leisurely stroll through the cavernous hall. I joined the parade of GIs briskly walking around the outside of the building -- west on 42nd Street, down Ninth Avenue, east on 40th street and then up Eighth Avenue -- until the MPs got thirsty for another cup of coffee.
We wondered why they didn't just stand at the bus stop inside Fort Dix and check for passes as the returning soldiers filed off the bus. But that never happened.
Providence protects inebriates, AND GIs taking a little unauthorized leave.
October 4, 2017
Barracks Ballads – 1954 & 1994
BASIC TRAINING (1954)
During my basic Army training at Fort Dix in 1954, I learned early on, as did other trainees, that you needed to make yourself nearly invisible to avoid being picked for miscellaneous chores, such as “policing details” (that is, walking around the area to pick up cigarette butts and candy wrappers).
Most Sundays during training we were “free” from formal assignments, but we had to remain in the barracks area in case there was a surprise roll call. To lounge around the bunks in the barracks, however, was an invitation to disaster. So, a couple of buddies and I decided to hide out in the wooded area behind the barracks, where we could still hear the call for a line up, if it came. On entering the thick woods, we found the bushes full of trainees who had the same idea. Everywhere we turned, we bumped into other soldiers. Some even had family members or girlfriends visiting them – all ducking in and out of foliage.
I noticed that there were sandy pathways through the underbrush, the vegetation having been worn out by generations of GIs trying to escape being picked as a “volunteer.”
This is how Army traditions are born.
SWITZERLAND (1994)
On our escorted tour through the main cities of Switzerland, our tour guide was very knowledgeable, but English was not his primary language. We had to listen carefully to understand even one-half of what he was saying.
As we approached a church we were to visit, he announced over the bus PA system that it was built in “barracks steel.” The way we tried to decipher some of his expressions was to memorize the phonetic sounds he uttered and then repeat them.
So we said to ourselves: “barracks steel”… “barrack steel.”
As we thought about the construction of the church with the onion-shaped dome, the phrase morphed into what he was actually saying:
“Baroque style.”
June 2003
Journey Across the Pacific – January-February 1955
VOYAGE BEGINS - MONDAY, JANUARY 31, 1955
It all began one gloomy Monday morning, January 31, 1955, when a few hundred GIs were packed into busses and carried away through the mountains to the waterfront at Seattle, Washington. There, along with thousands of other potential killers, they walked up the gangplank, balancing a duffel bag on a shoulder and carrying a grip in the free hand. On to the ship, the U.S.N.S. General John Pope, and down, down, down to the compartment which would be homeground for many days. After changing into fatigues, we donned life jackets and ascended to the main deck for an abandon-ship drill. This was about four in the afternoon, and the ship had already been moving up the inlet for one hour. On deck, three and one-half thousand men stood silently in the rapidly diminishing light and watched as the shores of Washington and Vancouver Island, Canada, slowly passed by both sides of the deck.
Back down in the compartment we began to get a fuller appreciation of what the future would be like for the next thirteen days. There were approximately 325 men – sleeping, playing cards, talking, living – in tiers of four bunks in a relatively small area. The call for the first meal showed the lines we would soon be accustomed to and the mess hall where the men stand, eat and proceed to another line to make an exit.
DAY 1 - TUESDAY, FEB. 1
The first night went very quickly, but at reveille the next day, the entire picture had changed. The braver of the men got up for breakfast and began to wait in the stairwells and narrow corridors. The rest seemed about ready for the sick bay. Green faces were seen all round, and the trash cans were being used constantly. The reason was simple – the ship had passed out of the calm waters of the inlets and straight and was on the rough, moving ocean. Not feeling the tops at that point, I went up to the main deck for some air, where to my surprise, I found that most of the men who had gone to breakfast, in addition to many others, were topside, fully utilizing rails, pails and any other space to deposit belongings they couldn’t hold down. The sea was rough and the wind was blowing up a storm. Old Neptune and his cohort Aeolius had it in for the poor GI that day. The few who didn’t get sick had the unpleasant task of cleaning compartments, ladder-wells and decks. The mess hall didn’t do much business that day, and as a result, dinner consisted of two pieces of bread, ice cream and an apple. And so the first day ended on our newly-found home at sea.
DAY 2 THROUGH 5 - WEDS., FEB. 2 THRU SAT. FEB. 5
The rest of the week was spent under somewhat improved conditions. Seasickness was at a minimum, and the unending quest for something to do began. After awaking at 3:30 a.m. each morning, the next step was to wait for the call to chow. After breakfast, the men were herded to the main deck while the compartments and stairways below were cleaned. The problem of getting over 3,000 men situated in such a small space was not alleviated by the wind and rain which caused certain sections to be completely void of men.
So the search for a tiny corner began – everywhere one turned there was another group of men huddled against the sides of the ship. This continued until the time for lunch, which began about 10:30 a.m. and ended around 2:00 p.m. For entertainment of the troops, a loudspeaker played monotonous records, inaudible to those several feet away, but too loud for those beneath it. Other than this, the troops could go to the PX or the movie, both of which involved a line sometimes wrapped all around the ship. At the PX, candy, crackers, and cigarettes were sold by the box only, so the men came up stuffed to the pockets with boxes of Oh Henrys, Hersheys and HiHo Crackers, and some entrepreneurs went into the scalping business. The motion pictures were shown in a recreation hall, which was crammed beyond capacity – men sat on the floor, hung in the overhead pipes or stood around. Of the pictures shown there, one usually saw only a half, the top half. And when the country boys removed their shoes to enjoy the picture, those in the area didn’t.
An alternative form of relaxation was the small area each man called his own – his bunk. One could retire to that spot and read, or sleep, or think. This too could become unpleasant, since the average man had only one change of clothes available and this certainly didn’t last the full voyage. After the line for the evening meal, the typical day aboard the Pope ended. Averaging about twelve hours of sleep daily aided in passing away the time, but the other twelve could really drag.
At one point during the voyage, I decided to visit some of my buddies who were located toward the rear of the ship. They had been slated to continue on board to Korea for their Far East assignments. The compartments at the rear, over the engines it seemed, bounced up and down wildly as the ship lumbered across the ocean, so my visits there were very brief. One GI there was not particularly concerned with his prospective assignment to Korea, where conditions were expected to be somewhat primitive. He said he was eventually going to sell insurance back in his home town and thought the knowledge that he had been in Korea would be very helpful.
DAY 6 - SUNDAY, FEB. 6
Sunday on the Pacific differed not from the average day of the week. Having no Catholic chaplain aboard, the religious services consisted of the Rosary and a few other prayers. The first Sunday, however, turned out to be our first day of sun. It brought out the blue of the Pacific and also many of the men from the holds. It was possibly due to the movement south, or perhaps it was just to lift the spirits of the men. Not doing a thing from day to day, and relief so far away, can make one feel somewhat depressed. Every other day in the Army was occupied with some sort of detail or activity, but this plain existence gave one a deeper appreciation of the hopeless situation to be faced for the remainder of Army time. Thoughts of completing this time seemed to become more prominent in the minds of many men.
DAYS 7-10 - TUES., FEB. 8 THRU FRI., FEB. 11
[FEB. 7 "LOST"]
Time during the second week moved right along. Perhaps the reason was that the ship passed the International Date Line, and somehow, Monday, February 7, disappeared. In effect, this would make the month of February shorter than it was.
The early part of the week was devoted to small details, such as exchanging currency, declaring valuables and cigarettes, participating in abandon-ship drills and other pre-debarkation activities. All this consisted mainly of organized Army confusion.
Life and time, however, continued to crawl along with the speed of an over-weight turtle. Time spent in the canvas bed increased with each tedious day. The ship’s newspaper, printed daily, rapidly became an important factor in the afternoon’s diversion. It was the sole contact with the outside world, and although it was concerned with Red China, Formosa and war in the Far East, it was nevertheless appreciated. The information on the ship’s position, speed and weather conditions served as an official notification that there really was movement across some 4,700 miles of ocean separating Seattle from Yokohama. This mileage included a few extra miles added to avoid rough weather while a seasick GI underwent an appendectomy. Thus the slow pitch and roll of the ship moved the heavy pendulum of time.
What were my reactions to this new environment? The answer to this question is much more complex than can be imagined. It was an experience I had never had before, and many new emotions and feelings were brought out in the animal/vegetable type existence. On entering the Army, it was just a question of resigning myself to the situation as it was, and it eventually became acceptable. This journey, however, brought out an entirely new attitude toward the entire affair. The realization that there was to be another year and a half, combined with the peculiar, monotonous, zombie-like existence on board, caused me to lead a new type life, with new mental attitudes, thought patterns, philosophies of life.
The following are some of the striking events, dominant thoughts, or plain observations:
-the ghoulish visages on the men leaving the mess hall as I came in;
-the constant topics of conversation and language used;
-the barnyard smell encountered in the “compound;”
-the multitude of day-dreaming topics: a resume of my life; the return trip to be made in the hot summer months; back in civilian life as a ghost returned;
-the amounts of money to be made, spent and saved;
-the conversations, discussions, arguments with fellow passengers;
-serious thinking on religion, expiation, philosophy;
-the extra-ordinary individuals reading serious literary works;
-the pathetic RA (enlistee) bemoaning his plight and cursing the recruiting sergeant;
-the non-existent individual who fully comprehended the situation and adjusted himself perfectly to his position in the drama (or farce).
DAYS 11 & 12 - SAT., FEB. 12 & SUN., FEB. 13
The second week-end on board was filled with the estimations as to the hour or day of arrival. Saturday was the eleventh day and, due to the poor time being made, no one thought we could reach Yokohama before Sunday evening. Sunday was then planned as the day of debarkation, but the time of arrival would probably be too late for a mass exodus, so most estimated Monday morning, February 14.
DAY 13 - ARRIVAL, YOKOHAMA, JAPAN - MON., FEB. 14
The sight of fishing vessels and other ships in the area gave the troops a little lift, but basically the toll of twelve days was taking its final effect. On Sunday night, we went to sleep but by two o’clock the next morning, we were up again and out on the deck waiting for debarkation. The ship was already in the harbor at Yokohama and lights could be seen all around through the mist. The sun rose on a foggy waterfront, as the troops waited. While nearing the dock, a United States Army band was on the end of the pier, striking up a few tunes of nostalgia and of some things to come. This was while the troops waited, and waited.
At about ten o’clock we finally debarked, and almost as quickly were put on a Japanese train, taken for a slow but interesting ride through the railroad yards of Yokohama, around the outskirts of Tokyo, and then on to Camp Drake, near the town of Asaka-machi, about fifteen miles northwest of Tokyo. This first encounter with the new country proved very interesting and novel. The appearance, living conditions and manners of the people were most striking. Since most of the sights were on the “other side of the tracks,” the first impression was not too good. The country, however, was yet to prove itself. The arrival at Drake completed the various methods of transportation used since the departure from Fort Dix, New Jersey – bus, airplane, ship, train, open-air truck, and of course, foot-power.
At Drake, the men had their orders read to them and they were immediately carted off in the night to their future assignments. For me it was back to Tokyo, to the Quartermaster Depot for a day or two, then back to Drake, and a few days later, off on an assignment that would last several months, at Camp Omiya, seventeen miles northwest of Tokyo, for the commencement of a new era.
Written by Private Eugene J. Biancheri, ER12417285, United States Army, shortly after arrival in Japan in February 1955. Transcribed from original pencil notes, February 1983; minor revisions and conversion to computer disk, February 1994.
Japanese Language Lesson – 1955
During my travels near Tokyo, Japan, in the mid-1950s, courtesy of the United States Army, I was standing on a small, local bus that had one or two inches less headroom than my 6-feet 1-inch frame. A Japanese man standing next to me seemed sympathetic to my discomfort. So I smiled and tried out my few words of Nihongo, saying, "Chisai" (CHEE-SIGH), meaning small, referring to the size of the bus. He smiled and gently corrected me by saying, "Takai" (TAH-KIGH), the Japanese word for large.
I learned about being the guest in another land.
April 1987
[Published, with minor changes, as letter to editor, The NY Times, April 26, 1987.]
French Major in Japan – 1955
Shortly after arriving in Japan during my Army days, in March 1955, I joined fiver other GIs for an overnight visit to Kamakura, Japan, located near Yokohama. We were all in the S-1 unit (Personnel) of the 92nd Armored Field Artillery Battalion stationed at Omiya, northwest of Tokyo. We were a very diverse bunch: Bill Bagemihl (German-American from Milwaukee), Wallace Hernandez (Cajun from Louisiana), Steve Hopkins (Native American from Oklahoma), Pete Peterson (Scandinavian-American from Minnesota) and Cal Stark (Jewish from Brooklyn).
On arriving in Kamakura in the early evening, we started thinking about lodgings – we didn’t plan too far in advance in those days. The few people we asked spoke no English, so we just kept walking. A Japanese man we met responded to us in school-book French. As the French major in the group, I was able to exchange some specifics about destination and directions. We arrived at a ryokan, a Japanese style inn, and after shedding our shoes at the front entrance, we agreed to take a large room for the six of us. The only items on the tatami (woven straw floor) were a charcoal brazier and a small, low table. A kimono-clad chambermaid (called a nakai) brought each of us a yakata (wrap-around robe) and served us hot tea. We proceeded to take photos of each other. Later in the evening she returned to extract the bedding (futon – flat cotton mattress) from behind the shoji (sliding door with paper over a wooden frame). The only traditional custom we missed was the communal bath, which was usually segregated by gender. Either the ryokan didn’t have them or we were discretely excluded from participation.
The night was relatively cool and we slept on pillows that were like padded bricks(called soba gara makura, and are made with buckwheat hulls). In the morning, we went out to search for breakfast (asa gohan in Japanese, literally “morning rice.”) We knew we wouldn’t find a place that would serve American staples such as ham and eggs or cereal and milk. Being resourceful travelers we settled on overly sweet rice cakes bought from a street vendor.
One of the main tourist attractions in Kamakura is the "Daibutsu" – a large outdoor bronze statue of Buddha. It is about 44 feet high, weighs 93 tons and dates from around 1250 AD, when the city was the fourth largest in the world and Japan’s capital. As we took our requisite photos, I noted the only sign we saw in English: “Do not climb on the statue.” It turns out that not only GIs in the 1950s needed such warnings. When I entered “BUDDHA” and “DO NOT CLIMB” in Google, there were over 2,100 “hits,” with reminders of the special etiquette needed when visiting sacred images of Buddha.
I wonder if the Venus de Milo at the Louvre has a similar sign.
2008
Job Placement, Army Style – 1955
Late on afternoon, over forty years ago, my boss, the battalion personnel officer, called me to his desk in the large open office at Camp Omiya, a U.S. Army post about twenty miles northwest of Tokyo, Japan.
“Hey, Private Cherry!” He had told me he had trouble pronouncing my last name so he used an easy alternative. “Come over here for a few minutes to talk.”
I sat down next to his desk, and he hunkered down. His neck was somewhat larger than his head, and when everything got compressed, I knew we were going to have a confidential conversation.
“Did you ever think about becoming a priester?” he whispered.
At first, I wasn’t sure what he was talking about, but soon figured out he meant “priest.” Curious at where this would lead, I gave him a general, but truthful reply. “Well, yes, I thought about it many years ago, but I decided I wasn’t cut out for it.”
He continued, “I’m asking because there’s an opening at Camp Drake for a chaplain’s assistant.”
Drake was one of the best Army posts in the Far East. During World War II it had been a training facility for Japanese naval officers. There was a nine-hole golf course, a large movie theater, a full sized gymnasium/field house, baseball and football fields, a well-stocked PX, a library with an extensive record collection – and a large Club building for Enlisted Men that looked like it was designed by Frank Lloyd Wright. There was even a small chapel, with a steeple. A “plum” job as chaplain’s assistant at Drake would be a G.I.’s dream-come-true.
I agreed to go for an interview with the post chaplain. After less than a minute into the interview, he wondered why I was there – the opening was with the Protestant chaplain, and I was Catholic.
So ended another great job match made by the Army which had sent a French-major to Japan. All I had to do was change religions.
1987
Guard Duty in Japan – 1955
“CLACK… CLACK… CLACK-CLACK.”
In the still of the night, I heard this repetitive, eerie sound on the other side of the wall of the U.S. Army camp in Japan. Every minute or so, I heard it again. It was a balmy summer evening, and I was on guard duty at Camp Omiya, located adjacent to a small rural town about 20 miles northwest of Tokyo. My assignment was to walk around an ammunition storage building during the overnight hours.
In the early part of my tour, I could hear the call of the seller of noodles (soba), as he pushed his cart through the village. But it was later, in the middle of the night that I heard the mysterious, sharp clacking sounds made by someone walking through the streets of the town. The clacking would intensify as the person got closer, then the sound gradually faded.
Only later did I learn who made these sounds and why – it was the town fire watchman walking down the lanes, on the lookout for fires in the mostly woodframe and paper (shoji screens) homes. I understand this practice dates back to 17th century Japan. The clacking of his wooden blocks assured the townspeople that he was on the job and maybe it even helped them fall asleep. These patrols augmented other fire wardens perched in watchtowers, scanning the town for signs of a fire that could bring a sudden devastation to the sleeping populace.
I was guarding my post with an M-I rifle and one clip of bullets in my belt, essentially defending my fellow Americans living thousands of miles away. I represented the enormous firepower of the United States, which ten years earlier had released two atomic bombs on mainland Japan, finally ending World War II.
The Japanese fire warden on patrol was armed with only two pieces of wood, but he was effectively accomplishing his mission to protect a much smaller universe, his section of the town of Omiya.
September 15, 2004
Army “Formation” in Mt. Fuji’s Shadow – 1955
Back in 1955, all members of the U.S. Army’s IXth Corps Artillery in Japan, about 1,500 men, gathered together for a “formation.” Battalions from all over the Tokyo area were to meet in a large valley on a hillside. We wore our classy “Class A” uniforms, and right after breakfast were loaded onto “deuce-and-a-half” trucks (2 ½ tons) for a 45-minute bouncy ride through small Japanese farming villages and over rural roads. After unloading in a large open field, each unit marched in formation to positions in front of the Commanding General’s reviewing stand.
It was not a display of arms or war-game maneuvers, since all field artillery battalions kept their cannons at a firing range on Mount Fuji. Our unit, the 92nd Armored Field Artillery Battalion, nick-named “Brave Cannons,” had 155-millimeter, self-propelled howitzers mounted on armored vehicles. Oddly, our commanding officer had been heard to say that if war occurred twenty miles away, our old World War II-vintage vehicles and equipment would basically break down before getting there. Yet, advanced versions of this same basic weapon (the “Paladin”) were used in the Iraq War. But on that sunny summer day, all GIs were standing tall in polished boots and crisply starched uniforms, topped with neck scarves in a bright red color, the symbol of the United States Army Artillery.
When all the troops were in place, the Commanding General yelled, “CORPS” – our Battalion Commander, a Major, then yelled, “BATTALION” and our Battery Commander, a lowly Captain, quickly added, “BATTERY” – all done to preserve and demonstrate on the parade grounds the chain of command so vital in the military. Then the General commanded, “ATTEN-SHUN!” After a very brief program, we executed a proper salute and marched back to the trucks for an uneventful ride to our respective camps.
I don’t recall whether there was a specific purpose for the gathering, such as presenting an award or allowing a new Commanding General to greet his troops. It was not done to impress the Japanese population, as only a handful of farmers watched the gathering of troops. The war with Japan had ended nine years before and a peace treaty had been signed. The mobilization of U.S. military for the “police action” in Korea was beginning to dwindle, following the cease fire there. By early 1956, all of IXth Corps Artillery was disbanded. The U.S. military presence in the Far East was being reduced to a level that presumably would keep Communist China and Soviet Russia on the defensive. But the next “police action,” Vietnam, was already on the horizon.
Back then, I thought the Army had gone through a great deal of effort and expense for a brief ceremony in a remote location. Perhaps it was intended as a test of our officers’ abilities to move their “brave cannoneers” over dirt roads and march them through fields full of pot-holes and brambles. But the effect was one of showing unity and strength, and in a way, I was impressed and proud to have had a small part in it.
December 3, 2009
Army Mess in Japan – 1955
While stationed in Camp Drake in Japan in the mid-1950s, our mess hall at Headquarters Battery, IX Corps Artillery, had a reputation as one of the best. Even the announcers and staff from Far East Network radio walked across the post to dine with us. We had been told that food everywhere in the Army was the same – the menu had been set by “a lady in Washington.” Was it Bess Truman? Mamie Eisenhower? Julia Child in the OSS? We never knew.
Some items, such as lettuce, were not served to GIs in Japan because locally-grown crops were fertilized with “night soil” (human excrement), and Americans didn’t have the same immunities the native people had. Some fresh vegetables came from American military hydroponic farms, where the plants were grown above ground and just watered (with untainted liquids, I presume).
Eggs were a problem – powdered eggs from the U.S. were not popular, so the Army obtained some “fresh” eggs for troops overseas. A fellow GI, a Greek-American who had been in the restaurant business, told me that the Army purchased eggs that were about to reach the 12-month legal limit for cold storage. They were rushed to the hold of a ship and moved a few miles off the U.S. shore, where the law no longer applied. Then they could take a leisurely cruise through the Panama Canal, or even around Tierra del Fuego to save tolls, followed by weeks across the Pacific Ocean, landing in the port of Yokohama for the final trek to our camp located outside Tokyo. Often when a cook broke one open to make a fried egg, there was a horrific stench.
I recall one career soldier covering his fried eggs with a 1/16 inch coating of black pepper. At the time, I thought perhaps it was because his taste buds had been destroyed by decades of Army chow. But perhaps it was his solution to the foul-tasting “fresh” eggs.
I learned to like powdered eggs.
August 18, 2012