Okinawa - Spring/Summer 1987 (The forming of CSSD-32)
Camp Fuji - Summer/Fall 1987 (Living in Quanset Huts)
Okinawa - Fall/Winter 1987 (Packing back up for Mainland Japan)
Camp Fuji - Winter 1987 (Breaking in the new barracks)
Okinawa - Winter 1988 (Going Home)
I remember when the plane landed and the doors opened. A rush of warm humid air filled the already stinking plane. We walked down the stairway (on a truck) and on to the tarmac. It was pouring rain and about 75 degrees. Marines were loading hundreds of seabags into trucks, so we, the new meat had to pick our way through them. There were hundreds of green seabags, all the same lined up in row after row.... there was no way of telling which was yours. Guys were taking out the Travel Orders stuffed in the little outside pocket, trying the combinations on the locks, anything to determine ownership. A true and classic cluster-fuck. (Note made to self... mark the outside of seabag with thick black marker for trip home) The thing that surprised me the most right away was that everybody was working in the rain with no type of protection. No rain coats, umbrellas, nothing. The guys unloading seemed to be oblivious to the rain. I distinctly remember thinking to myself, "after a few weeks here I wonder if I'll be just like those guys in the rain....?" After getting lucky and finding my seabag fairly quick, I too stood there in the rain, seabag on shoulder, in my wrinkled Charlies, smelly from the long crowded flight, sweating in the rain, waiting for the word. Welcome to Okinawa.
A 5-ton showed up and the guy riding shotgun called out some names. I was one of about 10. We climbed into the back which was exposed and wet. I had no idea were we were headed and I didn't bother to ask any of the other poor saps in the back with me. Jim Ahlers was there too, thank goodness. At least I knew one person but I knew he had no idea either. We drove in the rain on a main highway with lots of traffic, and then through what seemed like city neighborhoods. After about an hour we arrived at a gate with guards posted.. The name above was Camp Kinser. Yeha! No Schwab or Hansen! How could I have been so lucky?
When I received my orders to Japan in October of '86, I knew I had one of two places to go. Neither were very exciting from the sound of it. From what I had heard, Camp Hansen was up North and the only redeeming quality of it was "the Ville" right outside the gate. Even worse was Camp Schwab. I hadn't heard anything good about Schwab. It was even farther north and rumored to really be out in the sticks... Of coarse, tanks need room so it made sense. The odds of my going to Schwab were high and I secretly dreaded it.
The truck dropped us off at the transient barracks and the guy riding shotgun said, "Choose any rack you want. After all, this is only receiving and you'll be here about a week before heading up to Hansen".
Damn, the bubble burst.
After settling in and finding a rack, I hit Jimbo up on chow. We were both starving but didn't feel like chow hall food after such a long flight.We still had airplane food packing our colons. The truck driver had casually mentioned to the group that there was a Pizza Hut near by... that sure sounded good. So we went out the gate, flagged a taxi and asked the driver to take us to the Pizza Hut. He asked us several times, "Pizza Hou? Pizza Hou?", "Yes, Pizza Hut!". "Pizza Hou?" "Yes! Pizza Hut!" We headed off for directions unknown and I watched as the landscape and town passed by, noting the odd and strange way buildings were constructed. Everything seemed to be made of concrete. Not much in the way of paint as everything looked like bare cement, but there was an overabundance of in your face bill-boards and tacky neon signs. After about 10 minutes we pull into a parking lot and the place was called Pizza House. Not the Pizza Hut we had thought... but what the heck, it was Pizza, right? We paid our fare in US greenbacks and let him keep the change as I didn't want any Yen and had no idea of the exchange rate yet. We entered the restaurant and a hush fills the place as all eyes worked their way to over to us. We spy a table, sit down and order a beer. The waitress spoke very little English and I remember it hitting me. Oh yeah, we're in Okinawa. We ordered a large Pepperoni and had another beer. We chowed it down, and the bill came. That threw us for another loop because it was in Yen. The waitress gracefully converted it for us and excepted out greenbacks. But now we had a real problem. We didn't have enough cash to catch a cab back to Kinser. Being a bit buzzed from the beer we figured we'd walk back and check out the sights in the process... Besides, the rain had stopped. Good thing I made mental notes of landmarks we had passed. It took us about an hour and when we walked through the gate showing our ID cards, we slapped ourselves on the back for not getting lost. Then we hit the E-Club.
There was no way of knowing where I'd be placed until we all showed up at receiving. The higher ups would determine my fate. Camp Kinser was where it all happened. Lots of office pouges and paper shuffling. After about a week and numerous classes about deadly snakes and bugs, I learned I was going to Hansen...
