H I S T O R Y
BEFORE WWII	DURING WWII	1944 BILL ILES	1944 CURTIS PARTCH	1947 ED SPILMAN	1950 - 1951 GENE WOOLIEVER	1951 - 1969	1970 - 1989	1990 - 1994	HISTORY COMES ALIVE

Bill Iles 1944

The Navy scooped me up right out of college. I had been in the half of the class that made the upper class possible. The Navy did not care. They awarded me a commission before they actually saw me, except for a pharmacist’s mate who checked me to the extent of saying, “Cough” and then saying “Say Ahh” in that sequence. After some scant training in the installation of anti-submarine equipment I was assigned to a unit called GROPAC 2, and in time we made our way on a troop ship to Kwaj. We arrived in the area in time to watch the heavy bombardment of the big island. Watch in our case was to be about a half mile off shore, inside the lagoon. As we sat on the deck for two or three days, we had the radio on. We listened to a Marine (?) Major and his helper who were on the island. Hour after hour we heard him say, typically, “I’m in J-4. I need two 250 pounders on a pillbox.” Within a few seconds we would watch a plane drop the bombs. Then we might hear, “I’m in L-6. A 16 incher will take care of that building.” The battleships were behind us in the lagoon and we could actually see the shells go over our heads to strike the targets. Probably it was on D/Day+4 that we got the word to prepare to go ashore. There was about eighteen knots of wind and the LCVPs (Landing Craft, Vehicles and Personnel) rose and fell fifteen feet as we scrambled down the cargo nets which were dropped along the ship’s side. You stepped off onto the LCVP at its apogee. Too soon and the drop could have broken a leg. Too late might have put one between the ship and the boat, a sudden death possibility. I have no recollection of the first night ashore except that we could hear frequent rifle and some machine gun fire. We quickly learned when dressing to bang our boots on something solid to be sure to be rid of the centipedes, which abounded. Each night we officers had a meeting and set out the chores of the following day. I was appointed the position of Fleet Lieutenant. In the Navy that is not a rank but a responsibility. In the situation of the time it was to see that there were living accommodations for the subsequent echelons. Each night the word would be, typically, that 140 additional personnel would arrive. The Navy had no equipment until later. When the SeaBees would come later they could clear space for tents. I had only one asset, navy beer. Army beer did not exist. Each day at noon I would negotiate with the operator of some Army machinery and for a modest bribe of beer he’d clear off some space. It seemed always that some part of the effort was where a mound would have a sign such as ED123 (123 Enemy Dead). I’d get the tents up and latecomers would arrive. As they had been taught, they would immediately dig trenching around their tents to be their foxholes in case of enemy attack. The late arrivers were thrilled to be so near “the action” and would write V-Mail letters to tell their stateside friends. What chilled them in a hurry was for individuals to dig and come up with some Japanese body parts. That attack did happen one night. My recollection is that all the activity was at Roi, but we spent several hours in our hidey-holes. The scuttlebutt reported that the commanding officer of the Marines at Roi awarded Purple Hearts to every military person on the island. I hate to think that it was true, but it has cheapened that honor in my mind ever since. The islands were named alphabetically using frequently used American given names. An island about three or four to the left was used by graves registry as an interim cemetery for U.S. dead. To the right and counterclockwise was MogMog, which was fixed up for a recreation island. It was there that I first saw an octopus in the wild. With all the extremities in precise synchronization it climbed over rough coral at an unbelievable speed. Freddie Island was farther up to the right. George Arthur was a mine disposal officer with a gunners mate named Bates. George had no boat, but I did. I took him and Bates up to Freddie one morning when we received a report that a huge mine had drifted ashore. With me watching he deftly disarmed the fulminate of mercury pistol, removed the canister of granulated TNT and decided to burn out the hundreds of pounds of cast TNT. The latter decision was because he had not seen a mine like this before and he would send photographs back to the Navy Bureau of Ordnance. George got a fire going inside the mine. He and bates and I walked back near the shore to wait. The boat had broached to and we couldn’t get away immediately anyway. George detected that the fire had died out. He got a few rags that were on the boat, took them back to the mine and stuffed them in the opening. They did not immediately start burning so with a stick he stirred them. What the fire needed was more oxygen, and that action provided it. The blast was terrible. George disappeared, Bates who was facing me got shrapnel in his back and he was thrown into me, and both of us to the ground. George had indeed disappeared. We found not a shred of flesh of any kind, but amazingly a ring finger was discovered without any sign of trauma. We put it into a Bull Durham tobacco sack and delivered it back to Graves Registry. About twenty years later I was in Honolulu and decided to go look at the Punchbowl, Cemetery of the Pacific. Not finding George’s name on any of the walls, I went into the building to check a directory. There was Ensign George Arthur’s name with the designation N-129. I found grave N-129, and it was the same small size as all the others. I only report this incident and its sequel because of the Providence that spared my life and in the assurance that George’s parents are long gone. They never knew this. A favorite swimming place on the weekend afternoons was the seaward side of Kwaj. Sailors would take mattress covers, let the wind fill them with air and go swimming and floating with them. There was a severe drop-off not far from shore. More than one sailor fell off his float and was pressed against the wall of that drop-off and drowned. One other adventure with George Arthur comes to mind. Early on we found the Bachelor Officer’s quarters. The bunks were so short! The interesting artifact that we discovered was a carton containing several gross of chopsticks. These were not ordinary bamboo chopsticks. These were wood, carefully crafted and lacquered. We liberated them with malevolence that today I’d be shamed of. We knew that the late echelon warriors were eager to have souvenirs and it was an act of kindness for u to help them. We bound a dozen or more pairs of the “Admiral’s Own Chopsticks”. We painted on them a couple of Japanese characters we copied off a Japanese K-ration can. Not wanting to dilute the market, we burned the rest. A pair of the “Admiral’s Own” sold for a fifth of Shenleys which later turned out to be worth a lot of U.S dollars with the word Hawaii printed on them. After we graduated from K-rations to C-rations, the food wasn’t bad. Unfortunately, te large mess tent had been pitched, but not by me, very near to one of those mounds with an ED sign on it. The smell of what we came to call buddy buddies became terrible. The eating arrangements, however, were not the responsibility of the First Lieutenant, and until I transferred, the smell continued and worsened. For the next ten years I could taste that mess tent smell any time that I drank out of and aluminum cup or canteen. Conditioned response, I think it’s called. My final recollection of Kwaj was a year or so later. I was TDY on Ulithi. Orders I had allowed me to get my own transportation to my next assignment on board ship. Commodore Oscar O. Kessing cut me loose and I hitchhiked to Guam, thence to Kwaj and on to Pearl Harbor. I arrived on Kwaj about one o’clock in the morning and got bumped from my bucket seat that I had scrounged in Guam. Though the atoll was a Navy project, Kwaj was under the command of Army General Ross. In Chicago, years before, I had negotiated seats on the Overland Limited to San Francisco when there were no seats, service personnel under orders or not. Even General Ross had been snubbed, multiple stars not withstanding. So when I shared my good fortune with the good General, he was most appreciative. When I learned that General Ross was the island commander I asked the Officer of the day to call him for me (0100 hours, mind you). The OD could not believe me. Against his better judgment, and orders, he called. “Hey, General Ross, remember me?” I greeted him. I do not know the ensuing events. I do know that someone missed the ride and it was not I. During my tour of Navy duty I had some horrible experiences but Kwajalein was not one of them.

H I S T O R Y
BEFORE WWII	DURING WWII	1944 BILL ILES	1944 CURTIS PARTCH	1947 ED SPILMAN	1950 - 1951 GENE WOOLIEVER	1951 - 1969	1970 - 1989	1990 - 1994	HISTORY COMES ALIVE