Camp Drake

We came into Tokyo at night and the sight was spectacular for this “wide-eyed Midwesterner” who was experiencing his first flight on a commercial air line. Tokyo at the time was a city of seven or eight million souls and it seemingly stretched out for miles across the Japanese landscape.

We were at Camp Drake for about a week. In looking at my orders when writing this piece, I see we were there over the Fourth of July. When you are headed for the unknown in a war zone, holidays don’t grab much attention.

On July 6 we headed for our destination, which we thought was Korea. A flood in southern Japan, however, prevented us from reaching our port so our orders were changed. We were sent to a specialist’s school at Eta Jima (not Iwo Jima of World War II fame). The school prepared junior officers to become proficient in the art of chemical, biological and radiological warfare. It was not designed to wage war, but rather, prepare us in case the enemy used those methods against us.

I mention again that people in our position, i.e., on our way to war, pay little heed to world events or daily activities. I don’t think it was necessarily because we were afraid, although we were, but more because of the uncertainty. One tends to live for the moment because of that uncertain tomorrow.

With that background I relate the events of the hours preceding our boarding a train for southern Japan and my realization that the next stop could be on a hill serving as a forward observer for an artillery unit in Korea.

The officers’ club at Camp Drake found itself in a surplus financial condition and under Army rules they could not exceed a certain amount in their slush fund. To correct the situation they announced a free-drink day to reduce the surplus.

Despite the temptation to overdo, the permanent officers at Camp Drake knew they had to show up for duty in reasonably good shape. It was not so for transients who were on their way into the unknown. We imbibed more than we should have.

Our train was scheduled to leave at 6 p.m. from Tokyo Station and by the time we poured ourselves into an Army bus to go, we did not reflect what our commissions had described of us, an “officer and a gentleman.” One of our number even stashed a couple full bottles of whiskey from the club before we left so we were well supplied even on our trip downtown.

Once we got to Tokyo Station we were feeling no pain. I have never been in Grand Central Station in New York City but this place had to be three times as big. No one was exactly sure when our train left or where to find the right track, but an urgent mission precluded any searching.

With the quantities of liquid we had consumed, it was quite evident we needed to find the facilities. This was long before the advent of international signs posted for rest rooms and such. We didn’t read Japanese. Finally, one of the guys spotted a large garden area that could possibly obscure our presence. After taking advantage of the bushes, we then proceeded to find our boarding location.

When we arrived at the edge of the garden where we had entered, we found a large corrugated door had been lowered and we were no longer able to get out. Missing a troop shipment is a court-martial offense and, in time of war, punishable by death.

Our panic was extreme and certainly had a sudden sobering (both practically and figuratively) effect. We beat on the door and after a while someone heard us and opened it. We finally found our train and discovered we still had an hour to spare but no one was sorry we hadn’t tarried.

We boarded the famed “Bullet Train” that travels in excess of 100 miles per hour and began our journey to Eta Jima. To say our bodies were not in top notch condition would be an understatement. That much speed on rails added to our discomfort. A further complication was the construction of Japanese urinals (which we continued to find an important part of our several hours journey). These units are not constructed on the wall so one can stand up to them. They are implanted in the floor without any rail-holds alongside and require a squatting position to use. The Japanese (also Koreans) are accustomed to this style of bathroom. They sit hour after hour at their businesses or in conversation in this squatting position. For an American GI rocking side to side at 100 miles an hour with a hangover, it was pure Hell.

Our consternation was not over. When we detrained at Eta Jima, we found the depot was alongside a fishing port. The fishermen found it convenient to spread their nets to dry along the railroad tracks. The fish were left in the sun also. The smell for a healthy person was horrendous, but for those in our condition it was enough to send us over the edge. The locals were naturally accustomed to the smell and thought nothing of it.

The school was interesting enough but it was sufficient only to certify us as battalion CBR officers when we reached our units in Korea.