With society seemingly collapsing, with a senator play-acting, with so much angst, I thought I’d drop two excerpts from my dad’s WWII memoir to lighten the day. He was a Marine during WWII. Below are two interesting stories from “downtime," in their original writing.

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HEADED TO GUAM (PRE INVASION) 

A pleasantry not afforded to enlisted Marines was having a meal in a stateroom with tablecloths and nice cutlery and China. That privilege was strictly for officers. A fraternity brother, Ted Garhart on the same ship I was on. Ted was nothing short of a legend at the University of Washington. During the preceding years, the Huskies were dominant in rowing. Ted was a big part of that. In the 3 years he was at Washington, Ted never lost a varsity eight-man race. Never. It remained an unequaled feat for years. He sat in the stroke seat, which is closest to the stern. With Ted sitting in stroke, U of W won the IRA national titles in 1941 and '42. In short, Ted was a stud and a prince of a man, and he was on the same ship headed to Guam.  

Ted was a Marine Corps Captain in command of a company of Sherman tanks. He had learned through the Fiji newsletter that I was in JASCO, and each time he was able, he’d try to find Fiji brothers in the Corps. He found my commanding officer and asked if a Donn Thompson from Washington was aboard. Ted tracked me down, and after handshakes and smiles, he invited me to dine with him.  

I was a Private. Ted wasn’t just a Huskie rowing legend, he was a Marine Corps Captain. I wasn’t on his level. I was a mud Marine. A private. A grunt. He let me know it would be ok.  

Maybe he alerted his fellow officers of his plan, but we ate together a couple of times. It was a nice treat. I wasn’t impersonating an officer; that violation of the Uniform Code of Military Conduct would come later. We didn’t get caught, and no one asked me to leave the mess. We reminisced about school days and talked about the Fiji brothers who were in the war. We talked about Ted McKay. McKay was the All-American kid. President of his class. Handsome. A star quarterback. He had married his girlfriend, and she had given birth to their child.  

Word to us was McKay had been killed on the light aircraft carrier Cowpens. Apparently, while the Cowpens was in support of the Kwajalein invasion, a fighter had crashed on the deck, its propeller had dislodged, flew across the deck and killed Ted. Unknown to me – I was just miles away from Ted when he was killed.  

Also unknown to Ted Garhart and me was that McKay’s High School football team co-captain, a guy named Charles McAllister was a Marine and also headed to Guam in our Task Force. McAllister was on a different troop transport. McKay and McAllister had been in the same company before Ted was killed. He was killed on 21 July, 1944 while leading an attack on Guam. July 21st was the last day of major conflict on Guam. Bad luck. McKay and McAllister were two of thirteen men from Lakeside School in Seattle who were killed during World War II.  

HEADED TO GUADALCANAL  

Our trip on the Typhoon had our own adventure. When we reached the equator on April 22nd, we were subjected to another maritime ritual, but this one was more elaborate. We all knew something would happen, we just didn’t know what it would be. One of our company Sergeants named Leymaster tried to sneak a peek. Unfortunately for Leymaster, he got caught. His punishment was having half of his very handsome handlebar mustache shaved off, and he was ordered to “stand watch”. Standing watch usually means you scan the seas with binoculars looking for the enemy. But Leymaster wasn’t given binoculars – he was given two big potatoes. It was a pretty comical scene watching Leymaster with half a mustache scanning the seas with two potatoes against his eyes. It was all in good fun.  

The ritual was brief but intense. We were blindfolded, stripped down to our trunks, and made to fast walk across the desk, through a gauntlet of sailors spraying us with saltwater hoses and hitting us with paddles. Then, we “walked the plank” and were told to jump into Neptune’s depths. What we didn’t know (but was obvious), we weren’t jumping over the side; we were jumping into a round bin about 20 ft across and 3 feet deep, filled with sea water. One Marine had a panic attack. He thought he was actually going over the railing and into the ocean. Sailors had to pull him out. They all had a laugh at that. We were initiated. 

From Pollywogs to Shellbacks in King Neptune Court! Once you are a Shellback you are always a Shellback.  

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