The Secret

Not long after my ship, USS Los Angelesarrived in the Western Pacific and we began pulling liberty in Japan a shipmate told me that the lieutenant I worked for had snuck a 20-millimeter anti-tank rifle aboard the L.A.

USS Los Angeles (CA-135)
USS Los Angeles (CA-135)

In those days, 1961, there was a strong U.S. military presence in and around some  Japanese ports and I was told that there were warehouses where surplus World War II equipment was stored. I guess that’s where he got it.

It would not be easy to hide a 20-millimeter rifle, or tote one around, so I have no idea how he could have brought it aboard ship without being discovered.  But I didn’t put it past him. The lieutenant was, how shall I say, different.  Peculiar.

He believed the world as we knew would end in his lifetime, that almost everyone would die, at least, that’s what he told me. He said there would be two groups of survivors — masters and slaves. He intended to be a master. Toward that end he was building a bunker on the California side of Lake Tahoe, where he said his parents owned land.

A few days after I was told about the 20-millimeter rifle the lieutenant and I got to talking and he asked me what I knew about shotguns. I asked him why he was interested, did he want a shotgun for his bunker?  He said he did.

That’s when I asked him about that 20-millimeter rifle. Was that also for his bunker?

Oh, no, no.  Where had I heard such a thing? He tried to laugh off my inquiry, and we began talking about something else.

But when he got to leave the lieutenant leaned toward me and said, “Don’t say anything about that 20-millimeter.”

Coming Friday: Republicans Need Not Apply

Texarkana Pit Stop

When I was released from active duty in the Navy, in September 1962, I road a bus home, from San Diego to Charlotte, a trip that took the best part of three days.

[Why San Diego and not Long Beach, California, my ship’s home port?  The USS Los Angeles had gone to San Diego for some reason or another and that’s where I was released.]

The bus stopped every few hours so passengers could go to the bathroom and, if they wanted to, buy a coke and nabs, or a sandwich. One stop was in Texarkana, right smack on the Texas-Arkansas border.

I got off to go the bathroom.

The Men’s Room was the crappiest public restroom I had ever seen but, still, serviceable. When I was done, I bought a coke and while I was standing around I noticed a second “Men’s Room.”

Sierra Exif JPEG

Two Men’s Rooms?

The light was dawning and I checked it out.  The signs had been taken down but the other men’s room had been for “White Men” only.  The one I had used had been for “Colored Men.” The two Men’s Rooms were separate but they sure weren’t equal.

Coming Monday: Goodbye Charlotte, Part 1 of 3