From Cornbread to Caviar – and Back Again

(and back again?)

1925 – 1943

I never saw the ocean until I was sent to Parris Island to boot camp in the Marine Corps. Since that time I have been in 43 countries and counting – because, at the age of 72, I have some interesting projects on the fire. But these projects appear at odd times and, in between, I am trying to amuse myself by passing on a bit of the experience I have had the good fortune to “endure”.

Some years ago, when I started my career as an “International Gypsy” I felt that business letters were basically dull and consequently were usually ignored. I began to try to write in a way which would perhaps get the attention of the recipient. As a result of this, over the years friends and colleagues have said “You should write.”

When I was pre teen and teen age I played a lot of baseball and thought it would be nice to be a professional baseball player. When I was in China in 1946 in the U.S. Marine Corps we started a baseball team after we had sent the Japanese back to Japan and there was not much to do. I did not make the Regimental first team but I did get to bat once against a fellow who had been a bull pen pitcher for the Chicago White Sox.  He threw a fast ball which looked to me like an aspirin tablet approaching at 90 miles per hour and the umpire yelled “Strike”. He threw a second one which scared me to death – another strike. The third pitch came right at my head and, being a right handed batter, I ran down the third base line to keep from getting killed. It curved over the center of the plate, the umpire yelled “Strike Three”.

I then realized that I was not going to be a pro baseball player.

Also during my teens, I started playing saxophone in local dance bands and my ambition was to be a side man in one of the many good bands. This was the era of “Swing” and the big names were Miller, Goodman, Dorsey etc.

In December of 1942, at the ripe old age of 17, I had a call from a band at the University of North Carolina. They had booked a tour for the Christmas and New Year season and 4 of their 5 saxophone players had been drafted. They invited me and two other members of our local band to join them. During this tour and later in China, I was working with people of real talent and I realized that I was not going to be a professional musician.

Having read many of the brilliant authors – and some not so brilliant – I also realize that I will never be a pro in this field either – but – I am going to write this for my grandchildren in case that someday, they may want to know from where they came. (Normally I would have said “where they came from” but I remember when Winston Churchill was chastised in Parliament for having a preposition at the end of a sentence. He answered the rebuke by saying “This is an impertinence up with which I will not put”.

The first time anyone said to me “You should write” was as a result of my first letter to Weyerhaeuser headquarters when I first arrived in Guatemala.  I was going through the files when I arrived and I found that the letters each month said, more or less “Sales are up 1.3% over the same month last year. Administrative Expense is 6.8% as opposed to 6.7% last year. Inventory is 1,200 tons. Etc., etc.”

Since the plant in Guatemala was very small, by Weyerhaeuser standards, I decided that no one was going to read this type of report, especially when he was dealing with many companies overseas.

My first letter was as follows:

Mr. Ivan Wood

Vice President, International

Weyerhaeuser Company

Tacoma, Washington

Dear Ivan,

As you know, United Fruit Company opened their own box plant and Cajas y Empaques de Guatemala just lost 45% of its business. Naturally, this created a loss for the month.

We will recover this as soon as possible and I assume this is why you sent me here.

Last Wednesday the guerrillas killed the U.S. Ambassador and all of the foreigners here are scared S—less. Being an ex Marine, I think I can handle it.

I am beginning to adapt to the cultural change slowly. When I arrived I noticed that all of the houses had a wall around them and the lawn and garden were in this compound.

I assumed this was for protection, which is partially correct, but it has a more practical reason for being.

Guatemala has a rainy season for six months and a dry season for six months. The dry season causes an extreme water shortage and also breeds bacteria.

Most people think that the problem with a water shortage is that there is no drinking water. There is always beer, coke and soda water to drink. The real problem is that you cannot flush the toilet but one time.

To live in a house with three people and a maid when the bacteria have inflicted everyone with the “green apple quick step”, and only being able to flush the toilet once, is above and beyond the call of duty.

It was at this time that I realized the value of the wall for privacy and the practical use of all of the beautiful trees and shrubs in the garden.

My cat, which has had much experience in this sort of thing, came in second.

Regards,

M. B. Tilson

ASHEVILLE, N. C.

Perhaps the title of this little epistle is confusing – let me clarify.

I was born in Asheville, N.C. in 1925. My family was of “middle income” – not to be confused with “middle class”.  My son, Bill, in his thesis for a masters degree in Architecture wrote “after a long and interesting childhood” – I would like to cop this phrase because I too, had a long and interesting childhood – but, being a middle income southern family, we ate fried chicken and cornbread. It would be years before I ever had shrimp cocktail and caviar – but they are good!!

And now, after retirement, we have reverted to cornbread. With a little luck, some more hard work and a few more years, perhaps, like General MacArthur, we shall return.

The great jazz singer, Pearl Bailey once said “I’ve been poor and I’ve been rich and rich is better”.

If my story is interesting it is only because of the interesting people with whom I have been associated. For this reason, I will recount many tales, some without naming names “to protect the not so innocent”.

If I dwell on the past more than the future it is because there is more of the former than of the latter.

I guess the place to start is at the beginning. I was born in Asheville, N.C. and named Melvin Blalock Tilson Jr.  This is sufficient cause for me to acquire the nickname “Charlie” which has stuck with me over the years.

My Mother, Mary Reagan, was the youngest of 8 children of J.J. Reagan and Carolyn Pickens of Weaverville, N.C.  – a metropolis of 500 people, most of whom were addressed as “Cousin” or “Aunt” or “Uncle” even though there may not have been a family connection. This was a sign of respect at that time. It also came in handy in strange ways. Uncle Frank Weaver used to sit on the bench on Main Street. Because he had gotten a bit round around the middle, he could not zip his trousers all the way up. Later, when one of the male members of the family would forget to zip up we only had to say “Hello, Uncle Frank” and the offender realized immediately what he had forgotten.

Papa Reagan, as we called our grandfather, was known as the “8th ranking mathematician in the USA.” This was accepted and it appeared in his obituary. But – at about age 10, I began to ask myself “How do you rate Mathematicians?”  The batting champion is calculated by hits vs. times at bat. A valedictorian is determined by a sum of grades but how do you rank mathematicians?

As I grew older, I think I figured out how this title evolved.

The Odd Fellows Hall was the local gathering spot and social club for the men in Weaverville. Here they could chew tobacco and play dominos. I don’t really understand the game but I do know that the way they played it, it was a mathematical exercise. Papa usually won because he was good. He corresponded with professors from Yale and Harvard and they sent each other problems to solve. It was said that he would jump up in the middle of the night, write the answer to a problem on his night shirt, and go back to sleep, but – this still does not answer the ranking.

I visualize that, after being thoroughly beaten by “Fessor” Reagan, one of the group probably said “Fessor is really smart. He must be the best mathematician in the country”. And another replied “Well, I don’t know, there’s that Einstein feller and he’s pretty smart”. And, after a discussion, they agreed that maybe he was not number one but he must be number 8. That is my theory but maybe he was number 3 – who knows?

Since college professors were paid even worse then than they are now, Papa Reagan was also a surveyor and he had a nursery and a small farm. He owned Hamburg Mountain which was behind his house and, although it was small compared to real mountains, it did have fruit trees, farm land and pasture land. He also had a smoke house where country hams were cured. This remains my favorite meat.

He had read of Luther Burbank I suppose, because he experimented with grafting fruit trees. If my memory serves me correctly after all these years, he had one tree which had apples, pears, cherries and peaches on the same tree. I don’t think this continued but, for the year in which it was grafted, all of the fruits were edible.

Mama Reagan was a God fearing lady of the old school – a descendant of a long line of Methodist preachers. I recall that one Sunday, Papa Reagan sneaked off to a barn to listen to the World Series on radio (there was no TV then). Mama berated him terribly for violating the Sabbath. Papa replied “But nobody could see me”. To which Mama replied “The Lord could see you”.

Often, when I was very young, all of my mother’s brothers and sisters and their children would have dinner (this was the mid day meal) at the Reagan house. Because of the large number, we children ate at the second table. It was here that I developed a dislike for cake. Mama Reagan’s coconut cake was as dry as the Sahara Desert and weighed approximately 8 pounds per slice. My mother seemed to have inherited this great skill at cooking so never in my life have I ever said to my Dear Ann, “Why can’t you cook like my mother?”

I don’t want to dwell on Papa Reagan but I could go on and on. So – only a couple of more things.

Once he and his sons, the youngest at that time being about 6 years old, were going up Hamburg Mountain to repair some of the fences. The youngest, I think it was “Preach”, was up ahead with several others and Papa was some ways behind. Suddenly there was a blood curdling scream, and Papa began to run up the mountain. He thought there was a terrible tragedy and he yelled “What happened?” The oldest one who was up with “Preach” (I think it was Grady) yelled back “He dropped the hammer on his toe.”

Papa responded by yelling back “Take that hammer and kill that boy!!”  This now reminds me of the Bill Cosby routine where his wife said, upon his return from work “Go up stairs and kill that boy.”

Mama Reagan fell and broke her hip while I was away in the Marine Corps. She became senile, as we said then, but now I know it was Alzheimer’s.  Unfortunately, she died before I returned from China.

Papa Reagan continued for many years more but was killed by a car while crossing the highway. The car was driven by a honeymoon couple and of course, they were devastated.  Today, the family would probably have sued and demanded huge sums. In those days, and I hope we return to these morals, my mother’s family apologized to the couple, explained that at age 85 he did not see or hear too well and they were in no way responsible.

The part I liked most, and hope to emulate, is that he was reportedly on his way to see his girl friend. (all right  Annie, quit smirking, I know that you are thinking of the George Gershwin tune “It ain’t necessarily so”, in which the lyrics say ” Methuselah lived 900 years, but what’s the use of livin’ when no gal will give in to no man who’s 900 years.” ) I can dream can’t I?

Now, let’s run quickly through my Mother’s generation of the Reagan clan:

The oldest was Anna Lee (we children called her “Key”) – if she were alive she would kill me for saying this because she was an actress and consequently, quite vain. She never made it to Broadway but she did study in Boston and was active in local and regional plays. I think her last was a production called “Unto These Hills” which was a chronicle of the Cherokee Indians. She played in this for a number of years and also starred in a successful play called “Tight Britches” which was written by Hubert Hayes, a playwright from The University of North Carolina.

Key’s daughter was Mary Madeline. Since Key was 20 years older than my mother, Mom and Mary Madeline (Manna) actually grew up together. This probably sounds like the old comic strip “The Mountain Boys” where the 6′ tall, shotgun totin’ bootleggers had an Uncle named Rufe. Uncle Rufe was in diapers and was about 6 months old – but that’s the way it was in the old days before family planning.

Key married Scroup Styles (Don’t you love these names?)

Alma (who we called Tante) was a nurse. She married a lawyer and lived in High Point, N.C. Her husband, who we called “Uncle Nobe”, was named Xenobious Walker. After I found out his real name, Melvin did not sound so bad.

My mother, Mary, was the one with the musical talent. She was soloist in the Methodist church for years and, unknown to most people, she sang at funerals for what we now call “homeless people”. When I found this out, I was proud.

My maternal uncles were:

Grady - was in the Army in World War one and perhaps was the forerunner of the USO. He was on the front lines in France and then wrote some songs about the war and was sent around to entertain the troops when they were at the rest areas. He wrote a song called “Bloody War” which was later published, this was a simple song with many verses applicable to the times and I used it many years later to write parodies for our friends.

Later he was chairman of the county board of commissioners. This was a political job and apparently important. At that time there were no Republicans in Buncombe County or perhaps not in North Carolina, but there was fierce competition. The two factions were known as the “Ring” and the “Anti Ring”. The Ring was controlled by Deacon Greene. He never held an elected office and he lived in the Langren Hotel but, nothing happened without the approval of the Deacon.  Grady was finally defeated and I really don’t know what he did after that. I do know that Aunt Grace, his wife, worked at Ivey’s department store. Maybe Grady never did anything after that.

His sons were Grady, Jr. and Gordon. Grady Jr. had an excellent bass voice, as did his father and sang in the church choir. The last I heard, he worked for the Veterans Administration. Gordon had a basketball scholarship to UNC and I saw him for the last time in Chapel Hill. I had returned from China and was utilizing the G.I. Bill to finish my education and he, being younger, had just entered UNC. The last I heard of him, he was in the diplomatic service in Pakistan.

Rob – I assume his name was Robert but I never knew anything but “Uncle Rob”. Rob was a surveyor or, as we say now, a civil engineer. He was quite successful and he built a house directly behind Mama and Papa Reagan. He and Aunt (we pronounced it Ant) Belle had two children – Bobby and Gloria (Glo). Bobby wanted to be a dentist but for some reason never made it. The last I heard of him, he was a salesman for Morton Salt. Glo married a man who had a car dealership in Virginia Beach. When I was in the Dominican Republic, she and her husband (I am ashamed that [MT1] I cannot remember his name) came to Casa de Campo for a golf vacation. Nice people.

Ernest - Uncle “Ern” was a book keeper. He and Aunt Zola (didn’t we have some great names?) had 4 children. One was retarded and was put in a “home”. The eldest was Elaine, a delightful lady. She married a Marine captain and, when I was at Camp Lejeune in the Marine Corps, they invited me to their house for dinner. Afterwards, we went to the movies but, since I was a Pfc. and he was a Captain, we separated. I sat down stairs and they sat in the balcony in the officer’s section. Today this would probably be called “discrimination” but I think it is correct.

Ernest Jr. (Bud) and Jim were the two boys. Bud and I, being of the same age, were probably closer than any of my male cousins. Bud was a master joke teller, particularly of dirty, but funny, jokes. He ended up as a Navy Chaplain – and quite a good one. Unfortunately, he died in his early 40’s. I never saw him after we left Chapel Hill.

Jim was a Marine, like I. But, since there was an age difference, I was not close to him. The last contact I had was from Jacksonville, Fla. Jim had suffered a severe case of arthritis and for much of the time was confined in the VA hospital in Gainesville, Fla. He started a chronicle of the Reagan clan. I shall try to find if he is still at it although I do not have a phone number.

Carol - We called him “Uncle Preach”. He got this name because, as a child he used to go into the woods and preach sermons. This obviously came from the visits of related “circuit riders” who were part of Mama Reagan’s family. Preach married “Aunt Ann” – a tiny lady who worked as a bank teller in the local bank. She was a victim of a bank robbery, complete with shotguns and masks, in the local bank. This was the time of John Dillinger and whether it was Dillinger or some other petty thief, we don’t know – but it was exciting to think that it was old John.

Their only child was Suzy. Suzy was about 2 years younger than I so we were not close when we were young. However, for reasons unknown to both of us, and although we never saw each other more than once or twice after we grew up, we became “favorite cousins”. Suzy married a great guy who was an executive for Malcolm McLean at Sealand. The last I heard they lived in Connecticut and their oldest son was an Ensign in the Navy. I shall try to find them also.

Scruggs – (These names get better all the time). Uncle Scruggs married “Aunt Myrtle”. He moved to Evansville, Indiana before I was born so I only saw him on rare visits to Weaverville. They had one son, Jim. I remember him only because, on one two month stay in Weaverville during the summer, he began to gain weight. No one could understand this until he remarked “This is the best milk I have ever had in my life”. Mama & Papa Reagan had cows and kept a pitcher of pure cream in the refrigerator. Jim was drinking several glasses a day. Talk about cholesterol!! The last I heard of Jim, he was in Las Vegas.

In summary, someone once said of my Mother’s brothers “Two were serious, solid citizens. One liked whiskey, one liked women and the other liked both.”  Needless to say, I shall not identify them by name.

Enough about my Mother’s family. Let’s move on to my Father’s side.

I never knew my paternal Grandfather because he died when my Father was 14. For this reason, Dad never finished school – I think he went to the 7th grade.  He began to drive the buggy for my Great Uncle, Dr. Weaver and this was the origin of my Father’s nickname “Little Doc” which later evolved into simply “Doc.”

My paternal Grandmother was Essie Penland. I don’t think Essie was the real name but that’s all we ever knew. This was before the days of social security so, when Miss Essie could no longer run her boarding house, she came to live with us. The only things I remember about “Granny Tilson” were when she sat me on her lap, when I was about 7 years old, and read me bible stories. Also, she used to take me on the streetcar to places where they served watermelon in the summer time. I still love watermelon. Granny died while she was living with us. I have no idea where she slept because we had a 2 bedroom house. My dear sister “Til” and I shared one bedroom, my parents had the other. Where did Granny sleep? – I never thought about this until this moment!!

George and Essie had 5 children. The oldest was my Uncle George, then my Dad Melvin, then Bertha, Edgar and Harriet. This side of the family had great names also.

George married Aunt Marian – a Yankee no less. They had no children but had a Scottie dog. They came to the house one night, distraught, because the dog had died. They felt guilty because they had not had his tonsils removed in time. The rest of us, whose dogs came from the pound or off the street and ate table scraps, could not envision a dog going to the doctor for an operation.

I recently heard from my cousin Fred Reeves that Aunt Marian was still alive at the age of 97 but really was not “with it”. Spare me this.

Edgar was the black sheep. He married and had one child; Bertha Ann. Bertha Ann lived for several years with Harriet. What happened to her later, I have no idea.

Bertha was great. We called her Aunt Tillie (a nickname her husband, Fred, had given her – derived from Tilson). They had a nice house with a tennis court in Weaverville and 2 cabins in the mountains on Reems Creek. This property adjoined Camp Sequoia which was, and perhaps still is, an exclusive camp for boys and girls. Fred worked in the bank in Weaverville and when all of the banks began to fail during the depression, he was, how do we say nowadays? – downsized?

After this, they sold (or lost) the house in Weaverville and moved to the cabins. They lived in one and rented the other. They were log cabins, made in the old fashioned way but were very comfortable except that the food was preserved in the spring house and the plumbing was a nice out building surrounded by flowers which we called “Johnny House Lilies”.

Their two children were Fred (Junie) and Mary Elizabeth (Libba).

I recently spoke with Fred and he had just celebrated his 80th birthday. He said he did not have many friends because he did not like old people. Fred played on the tennis team at N.C. State, perhaps a result of having a court at his house. He was a captain in the Air Force in World War II and after the war moved to California and entered the real-estate business. I think he still dabbles in this. I hope to see him if my housing project in Tijuana develops because he lives near San Diego.

Libba married a merchant marine officer and had one daughter which she named “Eve” because she was the first girl in her husbands family for several generations. I have lost touch with them completely and, since Libba was older than Fred, perhaps she is no longer alive.

Harriet married John Brady, an engineer. They produced two sons, John and George. John and Harriet were divorced and Harriet ended up in New York working for the government. She passed away some years ago. George lives somewhere in New England but John died quite young. He was editor of the newspaper in Franklin, N.C. – a town quite similar to Weaverville.

I had a special affection for Aunt Tillie because, when I was about 10 years old I use to climb the trees behind one of her cabins and walk on the huge grape vines which grew in these trees. She would not let Uncle Fred cut these grape vines because “Charlie likes to climb on them”.

I took my lovely Ann to the cabin when we were engaged – shortly before we were married. I did not realize that she was not enchanted with the mountains, as I was, and I insisted that we swing on a grape vine over the creek. She cut her leg in the process and this was her last venture on a grape vine. She did, however, go to sleep on a swing on the porch and really relaxed so it was not a complete loss.

Now – after all of these people, along comes “little Melvin”.  I was born on January 4, 1925 and it hit me yesterday, after watching the untimely death of Princess Diana and also Sister Maria Teresa, that Sister Teresa who died at age 87 was born only 15 years before me. I had better hurry to finish this chronicle!

I have come to believe – well, maybe not believe, but be interested in the general characteristics of the Zodiac. I am a Capricorn and have all of the general traits attributed to us “Goats”. I married a Leo and she has all of the characteristics of a “Lioness” – Princess of the jungle.

Since we Capricorns are rather plodding, dogged and sometimes naive individuals, my first memories are fitting.  Once I was playing in the field next to our house in Weaverville, where we had moved shortly after I was born, and I stepped in a post hole. My little foot went down pointed but flattened out at the bottom so that it would not come out.  Others, perhaps brighter and more emotional than I would have screamed for help. I, as a dull Capricorn, stood silent until I was missed. My mother, who was not so emotionless, came screaming into the field and dug me out with a silver spoon.

My next recollection was that I had a pet goat. My father built a wagon shaped like a fire truck and the goat could pull this.  My cousins, who were older, and obviously cleverer than I, would say “Charlie, you stay here and wait for any emergency calls which come in. We will take the wagon and investigate any fires which are happening.”  Although I believed them at the time, this has kept me from being “suckered in” many times since.

My next memory is when we moved back to Asheville and rented a house on Merrimon Avenue. I was only about 6 years old but I do remember that I had a small black board on an easel in my room but I had only one piece of white chalk with which to draw.  At Sunday school at Central Methodist Church, South, there was colored chalk. I stole it!!

Being very clever, I hid this in my room until about the next Wednesday. Then – while playing in the yard I tripped and fell down. I came up from the ground and said to my parents who were on the front porch “Look, I tripped and fell and landed on a box of colored chalk”.

They of course knew that the chalk had been missing from Sunday school for 3 days and were astute enough to wait for developments. After telling me how lucky I was to find this chalk and with discreet questions as to how it might have gotten there – I confessed. I returned the chalk the next Sunday and I have never stolen anything since. Perhaps if I had gotten away with this or if I had been incarcerated at age six, I would have been a confirmed criminal.

Incidentally, Central Methodist Episcopal Church-South meant that there were no blacks in the congregation.

My Dad, who was known as somewhat of a humorist, used to say that we moved every time the rent came due. This was not true but when I was about eight years old we moved to 6 Coleman Avenue. This was about a mile away but it meant that I would have a complete new set of friends because it was another neighborhood.

I have many memories of 6 Coleman Avenue. It was a small house, perhaps 700 ft2 on the principle floor but with a basement and a garage. We had two bedrooms. Mom and Dad had one and I shared the second with my sister. Where Granny Tilson slept when she came to live with us, I do not know.

My Father always wanted to have a “hoss” because I think he was infatuated with the Old West and the cowboys in the movies. The Recreation Park was one of the 1930’s theme parks which had a zoo, merry go round, bump cars, Ferris wheel etc. It also had a pony ride. Dad found that the owners of the pony ride would let anyone have a pony to keep during the winter season when the Park was closed, if they fed it and looked after it.

He got me a pony. My Mother and Sister were not too delighted but Dad, I and my friends were!!

Although our house was small, the lot went back about 300 feet. We were in rented property but Dad took down the garage doors and used them for the sides of a stable for my pony “Phyllis” – AKA “Phil”.

It is amazing how many friends you have when you have a pony.

Phil used to get loose and since I left for grammar school before my sister left for high school, she had to go up to Merrimon Avenue to get Phil and bring her back to the stable. Phil always seemed to step on Til’s foot and, not knowing about horses and hating them also, Til did not know that all you have to do is pick up the ankle and lift the foot. I think she learned some vulgar words in this experience.

At the same time, I had a dog, a cat, a bantam hen and a bantam rooster. The dog had 6 pups, the cat had 8 kittens and the bantams hatched a brood of 12.  My Mother was very tolerant.

At that time I started my first commercial venture. I sold magazines from door to door – Saturday Evening Post and Ladies Home Journal. I was not very good at this so I was not successful. The only one worse than I was my neighbor, Billy Charnuckle. His approach was to say to whomever answered the door “You don’t want to buy any magazines do you?” They would of course say “No” and shut the door.

When I was about 11 we moved to Murdoch Avenue. This was the favorite place I lived while growing up. It was a small house – one floor with a basement, part of which was a garage. It had 3 bedrooms, two of which were formerly a large sun porch so there were windows all around. Off of the living room there was a large storage closet with exit to a small balcony. I chose this for my room rather than one of the bedrooms. It had room for my bed, plenty of shelves and not much more but it was private and cozy. It had a few disadvantages not for me but for others. My sister, being 4 years older, quite often had company and dates. They were in the living room and to get from my “hideaway” to the bathroom, it was necessary to pass through the living room. I went to bed early, since I was carrying newspapers on a morning route and for me to get up about 11:00 pm and traipse through the living room in my underwear was quite disconcerting to my sister, particularly when she was trying to impress the latest “love of her life”.

The main reason I liked this house was the neighborhood. It was known as “Norwood Park” and there was an abundance of kids of all ages. Across from my house was an area which we called “The Woods”. It was perhaps about 5 acres of trees with a creek running through it and a corn field on the other side.  Each summer we built a dam across this creek and created a swimming hole. This was supervised by the older members of the group who were at least 15 years old. The rest of us, ranging from age 8 to 14, were the common labor.  The creek was perhaps 8 feet wide and about 1 or 2 feet deep during normal times. Our procedure, which wasn’t bad for a group of kids, was as follows:

We cut down a tall tree – perhaps 30 feet tall with a diameter of perhaps 12 or 15 inches. This we laid across the creek to reach the banks of the creek which were about 5 feet above the creek level. We staked this log down at each end so that it could not move in either direction.

We then began to scrounge all over the neighborhood and any nearby construction site for any lumber which was not tied down. As I write this I realize that we were probably stealing but we never thought of picking up a loose piece of lumber as theft even though we usually did this at night.

These planks were then put at about a 45 degree angle, one end nailed to the log across the “canyon” and the other end in the dirt in what would be the pool.  We started at each end and worked our way to the middle, leaving a space for the creek to flow through. Underneath the lumber we piled rocks to support the planks and on top of the planks we piled dirt. This dirt was dug out of the creek bed and the sides to make the pool deeper and larger.

After several weeks of work the dam was complete except for a section in the center about 3 feet wide. This was the time to mobilize all of the kids who had worked on it. (You could not swim in the pond unless you participated in the construction). Everyone arrived at about 7am with shovels, picks, hammers and much excitement. When the planks were placed in the center we all began to shovel like mad to cover the remaining space. This was usually accomplished by 9 am and then came the waiting for the dam to overflow.

It usually took about 5 days for the pond to fill up and, of course, during this time there was no water downstream because we had closed off the entire flow. We put twigs in the bank at water level and checked them the next day to see how many inches the water had risen. From this primitive measurement, we could guess about when the water would flow over the dam.

The creek started from a spring on Sunset Mountain and flowed through the Asheville Country Club golf course in front of Grove Park Inn. After it passed our swimming hole, it meandered through the suburbs and about 15 miles down stream, it flowed through farm land. About the 3rd day of no water there would be a farmer walking upstream to see why his live stock were not getting any water from the creek. We knew this would happen so we always had someone on duty at the dam while it was filling up (except at night). When the farmer would inevitably arrive, a signal would go out and any one nearby would come to plead with him to wait “just one more day”. “Please, Mister, don’t break our dam”. They never did since they too had been kids.

The overflow was an occasion for celebration. The word went out to the entire neighborhood “The Dam Is Going to over Flow about Midnight!!  We begged our parents to let us go watch and usually they consented and quite often accompanied us.

I learned to swim in this swimming hole and, since it was so shallow, I can dive in a teacup without hitting the bottom. In the early morning it was crystal clear but after 20 kids had been stirring up the mud from the bottom, in the late afternoon it was a dark brown. At night we would take a small piece of wood, about 1 foot square, place a lighted candle on it, tie a string to one edge and float in into the pond. Frogs, attracted by the light, would jump up on the wood and give out what I suppose was their mating call. It was there that I learned to call frogs and this became a great source of amusement at cocktail parties – especially when a frog appeared from a country club pool.

The field on the other side of the pond from the woods was not always planted in corn. Sometimes they planted potatoes and we would dig up a few, roast them in the coals covered with mud and have a feast. I guess this was stealing also.

We had quite a large number of kids in the neighborhood, close enough in age to be compatible and were actually able to field a baseball team and a football team from the neighborhood.

At this time I took on a newspaper route. This is perhaps the greatest business experience for young people but it does not exist today. It has evolved, like everything else, into volume and is now handled by adults with automobiles who hire young people or immigrants to deliver over large areas. My route was 100 clients in a working class district. They went to work at 7:00 am and wanted their morning paper by 6:00 am. So – I got up at 4: am and finished by 6:00am, went back to sleep for 1 hour and got up to go to school. In the summer time when there was no school, my friends who also carried papers, came to the swimming pool at the country club (we were not members) and we swam at 6:00 am in the morning. Sometimes the guard would come out and threaten us for trespassing but he never pulled his gun and we left peaceably.

I also got a job on the weekends as a clerk in McIntyre’s Fruit Store. This was run by Joe McIntyre, his brother and a sister.  Leo, Joe’s brother drove a semi trailer truck to Florida each week, returning with citrus from Indian River and Bananas from Central America which came in by boat to Miami. Nowhere else in Asheville was such fresh, quality fruit available because the supermarkets did not exist at that time. Joe also brought in exotic (for Asheville at that time) fruits and vegetables from California. These included avocados which my Mother dearly loved. Each pay day I would buy her one. At that time – 1940, they cost $1.00. I suppose that is about $20.00 today. Transportation has changed our eating habits because an avocado still costs about $1.00. At that time I hated avocados but after living overseas where they grow wild, I have developed a taste for them also – particularly in guacamole.

Since this was at the tail end of the depression, I had been taught to be very frugal – a trait I lost somewhere along the line  – and , unknown to my family I opened a savings account at the First National Bank of Asheville.  I paid my expenses from my paper route so when I received my check from McIntyre I put most of it in the bank.

I was working full time during the summer so at the end, when school started I had about $250 in the account. This was more than my Father made in a month. One day my passbook fell out of my pocket on the sofa and I did not notice it. My Mother and my Sister found this and were astounded. My Mother casually suggested that I buy some clothes for school so – there went my savings but it did help the family quite a bit because I was still growing and last years clothes did not fit.

I had now graduated from Claxton elementary school and entered High School and I loved every minute of those 4 years. I was a Freshmen for three years. No, I didn’t fail – it was a quirk of fate. At that time we had only 11 grades of school. 7 were in elementary (grammar) school and 4 in High School. During the depression Junior High had closed. When I entered Lee Edwards High School I was in the 8th grade. At the end of the year, Junior High was re-opened for one grade so I was a Freshman in the 9th grade. At the end of this year a second grade was moved to Junior High so I was a Freshman in the 10th grade. I graduated at age 16 because I had skipped 1/2 a grade in grammar school. This was not because I was smart but again a quirk of fate.

Today one must be 6 years old in September to enter the first grade. When I entered school, being born in January, I entered in grade 1-A in January. When I was in the 3rd grade this system was abandoned and we had entry to school only in September. Those of us in the “middle” had to either move up 1/2 grade or move back 1/2 grade. I was moved up so I gained 6 months on most of the normal graduates.

When I started High School I carried as heavy a schedule as was allowed. Most people had a “Study Hall” but I never took one, preferring instead to take both Band and Physical Education – both of which were electives. I loved sports and played everything, but not good enough to make either the varsity or to think of an athletic scholarship to college. My Mother, being a musician, wanted me to study piano. At this time any boy who played piano or took dancing classes was a “Sissy”. I have regretted my decision to bow to peer pressure to this day.

Because of my overbite, I was assigned to the clarinet and I played a very exuberant, if not inspired 3rd clarinet in the High School band. For graduation my family gave me an alto saxophone. I had never played sax before but I loved it. I began to play in the local dance bands. The first was formed by a transfer student from New Mexico. His name was Bob Shamaskin. He was known as “The Jerk from Albuquerque” but he was a nice guy and gave me my first chance.

After this band folded I joined one of my friends from Norwood Park who had become an accomplished trumpet player. His name was Arthur Weneje. During this era the bands were named after the leader. This was before we got names like the Grateful Dead, Three Dog Night, the Rolling Stones etc.

Our first job was for the graduation at the Asheville Normal School (this was what teacher’s colleges were called in those days). We all griped a bit about being paid $2.50 for the evening but Art said “Listen, these people hired us without ever hearing us. This is our first job so play as best you can and we will get other jobs.”

We were pretty good for a young band and our next job was a debutante ball at the Vanderbilt Hotel. Here I first ran into Union problems. The local musicians union threatened to boycott the Hotel Vanderbilt for hiring a non union band. This came out in the newspaper under the headlines “Local Union Wants To Kill Ambitions of Teenagers” – so they never followed through.  But – we also never got another job at the Vanderbilt.

Our next job was on the local radio. Of course we were not paid for this. But as a result, we got a job playing for a Fraternity Dance in Spartanburg , S.C. the idea of getting an out of state job was unbelievable , particularly since we got $5.00 each plus expenses.

The band eventually broke up for lack of work and we all played “gigs” whenever we could and people who could not get a job at other time of the year could get one at Christmas. During the Christmas season and New Year there was always work because there were perhaps 3 bands in the area and 15 parties. Many times I went on a job and the first thing we did was to shake hands with the other members of the band and say “I am pleased to meet you”.  After the audience had a few drinks, the band sounded great.

World War II had now started and, being almost of age, we were all ready to go. I joined the Marine Corps in November of 1942 at age 17 but was not called up until July of 1943 when I graduated from Biltmore Junior College (now UNC- Asheville).

For reasons which I still don’t understand, I was awarded a huge dictionary at graduation from Biltmore College for being the outstanding student. I still have it somewhere. My only regret is that, being caught off guard, I did not have a proper acceptance speech. What I should have said was “Ladies and Gentlemen, Distinguished Faculty and Guests, there are only 3 reasons why I have been accorded this honor. My sister is not here tonight because she is at school in Greensboro but the other two reasons are here. Please stand up Mom and Dad.” I hope all three can hear this, where ever they are.

I joined the Boy Scouts at age 12 and this was where I learned many things, which, joined with the principals taught to me by my family, church and school is probably why I did not find it necessary to carry a gun to school and shoot at random.

Being a Capricorn, I seemed to be singled out as a leader – although I never sought this. After about 2 months into Troop 4 I was picked to be the patrol leader of the Nighthawk Patrol at age 12. This consisted of 10 other kids and was no big deal – but I learned some things. In my first year at Boy Scout Camp there was a contest among all of the Patrols. The brand new Nighthawk patrol with its brand new patrol leader quickly fell behind. At one location we had to build a fire with two matches, at another we had to tie the proper knots to move a fallen tree etc. There was a counselor at each location and as we reached the one about 3 from the end, all other patrols had finished. I said to the counselor “We might as well quit. Everyone else has finished.” He replied “There is some honor in coming in last. There is no honor in quitting.” I have come in last a lot of times since then but I never quit.

One of the volunteer jobs I had was to hold the ropes around the greens at the first Land Of The Sky professional golf tournament. The favorite was Ralph Gudhal who had just won the U.S. Open. He did not win because a young ex caddie by the name of Ben Hogan won his first tournament there.

I did not have dramatic talent but I was interested in the theater so I joined the stage crew in high school. The Lee Edwards High in Asheville always did well in drama, as well as football, and we went to the regional competition at the University of North Carolina in Chapel Hill. Our entry was an original play, written by the drama teacher and it had a mountain theme. We on the stage crew had made the props which were the inside of a mountain cabin. One of the props had a gun rack which held a rifle. That particular prop warped on the trip down and we brought it back straight with a stage brace. Miss Welch was ecstatic with our ingenuity and we were proud. It was fine until the middle of the first act. The stage brace slipped, throwing the rifle onto the middle of the stage, almost decapitating the star of the show. For some reason, Miss Welch was no longer ecstatic and we were in the dog house – women are fickle.

After I graduated from high school I enrolled at Biltmore Junior College. The first year, 1941, at “Biltmore Tech” as we liked to call it, was situated in the first floor of the Asheville Normal School. Math had always been my easiest subject in High School and I usually did the homework, if at all, at the end of the class or when the teacher went over the homework at the beginning of the next class.  When I arrived in college I found the game plan was different. Homework was assigned and at the next class another topic was taken up. Quite often it was based on knowing what had been assigned for homework – I almost failed. I got on the ball and recovered because I remembered my experience in taking 4 semesters of Latin. I got an A, a B, a C and a D. Seeing the hand writing on the wall, I quickly switched to French class.

The second year, 1942, Biltmore Tech moved to an old orphanage. It was an ideal location for a school with several hundred people because the rooms had not been private so they were large enough for a classroom, there was office space and the yard was very large with beautiful oak trees. I had never cut a class in my life but on one gorgeous spring day, I could not resist. Instead of attending economics class, I retired to the lawn and propped myself up against one of the large oaks and let spring fever attack. In about 10 minutes Mr. Junuis Allison, the professor, brought the class outside to have class under the trees. Spotting me at the next tree he said, “Good afternoon Mr. Tilson. Would you care to join us?” My answer is rather obvious – so much for being a truant.

The male population and the faculty of Biltmore College was fast being depleted because of World War II. The math professor was called by the government for one of the agencies, the chemistry professor was hired by DuPont, the language professor (he taught both French and Spanish) was commissioned in the Navy, learned Japanese and was sent to the Pacific to de code intercepted messages and the Phys Ed teacher was called up by the Navy to train recruits.

The male student body was also being depleted by the draft. In 1942 our basketball squad consisted of 6 people. Since the PhysEd teacher had also been the coach, the ole Capricorn ended up being player/coach. Toward the end of the season, we almost won a game.

In October, 1942 we had a special assembly for the male students in which Recruiters from the various branches of service made their pitch to try to get enlistments. The Air Force outlined the glamour and excitement of flying, the Navy gave the old “see the world” bit, the Army stressed how one could learn a trade or a specialty. A Marine Captain stood up and said “I can’t make the promises that the others have made. If you join the U.S. Marine Corps you will probably get shot and wash up on the beach of some Pacific Island. But – if you are interested, I will be here as soon as the meeting ends.”

I signed up that day but was not called up until after graduation in July of 1943.

1943 – 1944

EMORY UNIVERSITY

July 1, 1943 I boarded a train for Atlanta to start my interesting time in the U.S. Marine Corps. The Navy had started a program called “V 12″ as a preliminary to Officer Candidate School. The reason was that the armed forces were building so fast that officers and non commissioned officers cold not be trained as fast as they were taken in. V 12 was offered to individuals who qualified and were currently students in college.

Because this was a rather select group, the talent gathered was most invigorating. Because these people came from various schools and were all reasonably bright and physically fit individuals, it made for an interesting time. The good part for us, as participants, was that we were continuing our education although we were also being trained as Marines.

Emory was, and still is, an outstanding university of medicine and ministry. I dare say that it has never been the same since the V 12 of the Navy and Marine Corps descended upon it. We took over the dormitories and bunked 3 to a room in two tiered bunk beds. The good beds and mattresses were stored in the attic – which I later discovered and took a nap on a pile of 6 mattresses every afternoon. I seem to never get enough sleep and can sleep 10 hours every night – although I don’t get to. Perhaps it is because my blood pressure runs low or maybe I am just lazy.

Our group had been drawn from the southeastern colleges while other groups in the north and west drew on students from their respective areas. Since Georgia Tech, across town, also had a V 12 unit, our group at Emory came mainly from smaller schools. Besides me and two others from “Biltmore Tech” we had people from Rollins, The University of the South, Bob Jones College, Furman, Newberry and a host of others whose names escape me at this time.

Our routine was a bit different from what I was used to. We were up at 6:00 a.m., ran one mile, showered and went to breakfast. Then we went to class just as regular college students until 3 p.m. from 3 to 5 we had close order drill, rifle instruction and ran 5 miles. Then we could play baseball or football until supper (not dinner). Study period was from 7 p.m. to 10 p.m. and lights out at 10 p.m. I have not been so healthy or in such good condition since.

As mentioned above, there was such a diversity of talent available that almost any kind of group could be formed. Word was put on the bulletin board that there was an inspection next month by high ranking officers from Washington and asking anyone interested to become a part of a marching band. In two weeks we had a reasonably good band, complete with an experienced drum major. To our chagrin, there were no majorettes available.

As an off shoot of this, there was a call for anyone interested in being a part of a dance orchestra which was being formed. I joined this along with some really good musicians and I learned a lot.

Since there was a shortage of men outside of the service, the girl’s schools had a difficult time getting enough for the Christmas dances. My roommate, Adrian Testerman, knew a girl from Brenau and she invited him to attend the Christmas dance at the Tri Delta sorority and bring two friends. Hap Marshall and I gladly accepted.  Brenau is in Gainesville, Georgia so we took the train from Atlanta – about a one hour trip.

My blind date was Denny Williams. Denny was engaged to an Ensign and she was not overwhelmed with me nor I with her. I spent most of the time with her roommate, a vivacious young thing named Ann Sholes and as the Sicilians say, I was struck by the thunderbolt. I had a date with Ann the next day and we walked around Gainesville. Ann, always the adventurous type, did not tell me that the girls were prohibited from walking in the city without permission. We were accosted by an old maid teacher who ordered us back to the campus and told me “We think boys would rather marry Brenau girls who have been brought up properly. I replied, in my usual smart mouth way “I just came for the week end, I did not come to get married.” Little did I know that the old biddie was giving me an accurate forecast of the outcome. Ann was in her first year at Brenau but she was a sophomore. Her freshman year was at Stevens College in Missouri but with the cost and travel time involved in going from Lynchburg to Missouri, her parents felt it better that she get closer to home.

Ann and Denny came to Atlanta in a few weeks and we went to the Fox Theater to a movie – that was about all we could do. They returned the same night, after curfew and sneaked in a bottle of rum purchased in Atlanta. Someone squealed and they were campused for a month.

Toward the end of my assignment at Emory, Charlie Smith who had married my cousin Mary Madeline came through Atlanta. Charlie was an executive for F. W. Woolworth. He took me to dinner at the Biltmore hotel and asked if I liked shrimp cocktail. I said “Yes” but the truth is I had never had one… (Caviar was starting) he also took me to the Fox Theater, which is still the place in Atlanta for entertainment. The featured performer was Eddie Peabody, the King of the Banjo. Many years later while I was attending a meeting of the Fiber Box Association, Eddie was the featured entertainer. The president of the Association, after the cocktail hour had been in session, introduced him as follows: Ladies and Gentlemen, we have a rare treat for you tonight. Eddie Playbody is going to pee on his banjo.

Feeling like a man of the world, I wrote Ann and said “We probably won’t see each other again but it has been fun.” She was distraught because now she had only 5 boyfriends instead of 6.

1944

DUKE UNIVERSITY

As more and more of the V-12 group were sent to Parris Island, Camp LeJeune and Quantico, the V-12 program began to contract and the operation at Emory was closed and after 6 months at Emory the remaining personnel were sent to Duke.

Another marvelous opportunity to attend a first rate University.

We were at Duke only 3 months but it was fun, interesting and educational. There was a dance band in existence there and I joined it and was asked to switch from alto to baritone sax. This was because I was not very good and no one wanted to play baritone but I did it quite well. There I learned that a baritone sax really does not play with the sax section. The arrangements were written so that the baritone plays kind of a counter melody with the trombones and bass.

It was also there that I had my first beer. Having been raised in the Methodist church, any alcohol was forbidden and even at communion they gave grape juice instead of wine. This is how Mr. Welch, who was a devout Methodist, started his company “Welch’s Grape Juice”. After reading the Bible I found that Jesus drank wine so who am I do otherwise?

The Duke campus at that time was split – one part was for males and one part was for females. There was a bus which took us to the girl’s campus but we had to register to enter. How times change. There was also a large bronze statue at the entrance of the girls campus of Mr. Duke seated. The legend at that time was that the statue would stand up if a virgin entered.  Today he would probably remain seated but times were different then.

There I also learned a bit about people. We were told that the workers who cleaned the halls (we cleaned our own rooms) would ask us for a loan. The people “in the know” said “If they ask for a loan of $5.00, don’t loan it to them because they will dodge you forever. But, instead, give them a $1.00 and they will be forever loyal”. Think about it.

I always seemed to have two close friends. I have found that this is about the total number of close friends one can have even though you may have hundreds of acquaintances. My two close friends at that time were Harrison “Hap” Marshall and Adrian Testerman. Adrian was dating a girl on the other campus whose name was “Bobbie”. A delightful, intelligent and very rich girl. Unfortunately, she was born with an eye problem and Hap and I would say “Are you still dating Cross?”

After the war, Adrian married Bobbie and Hap and I were humiliated since we were invited to the wedding.  I am still in touch with Hap who lives in Greenville, S.C. but we have not seen each other for a long time. To my distress, I found that Adrian and Bobbie had divorced, Adrian married a second time and passed away a few years ago. Our reunion, which we had planned for years, will have to wait.

So – on to

1944

PARRIS ISLAND

There have been many books written and movies made about Boot Camp in the Marines and it is something special and is part of the reason for the reputation of the Corps. It was tough but perhaps we had it a little easier than a raw recruit coming in cold. The job of the drill instructors (D I’s) was to instill blind discipline (which they surely did), teach us to march and strip an M-1 rifle. We already knew how to do the last two so their job was easier. For this reason, we perhaps did not get as much abuse as is normal. However, I do remember when I lost my locker key. The punishment for this was to put a bucket over your head, run up and down before the Platoon flapping your arms like wings and yelling “I am a shit bird from Yemassee, I lost my locker key”. Yemassee was a small town on the mainland across from Parris Island. Our train stopped there on the way from Durham to Parris Island and it was not exactly the Orient Express. There was such a shortage of rail cars that everything which would run was pressed into service. Ours had kerosene lamps and a pot bellied stove for heat. Although we griped about this, the guys from the First Division who were on Guadalcanal would have swapped with us gladly.

This was when I first learned of Government Morals. I had always been taught “Thou shalt not steal”. When we reported, we were issued two sheets and a blanket for the bunks. When I went in to my assigned bunk, there was no blanket. I reported this to the D.I. he said “I signed for all of these blankets so you will not go to lunch with the rest of the Platoon but when we get back from lunch I expect to see a blanket on your bunk”.  The message was clear and while everyone was a lunch I went to the next Platoon and stole a blanket. How many times this happened and who finally ended up without a blanket, I do not know.

One of our lessons in Boot Camp was to learn how to box. The assistant D.I. said “Today we are going to learn to box. Are there any professional boxers here?”  No hands were raised. Are there any Golden Glove Boxers here?” Two hands were raised. “You two fall out”. “Are there any college boxers here?”  4 hands were raised. “You 4 fall out”. “Are there any street fighters here?’ Two hands were raised. “You 2 fall out”.  “Now, after eliminating these people, I assume that I know more about boxing than you.” and he proceeded to give us a lesson from which even the pros and amateurs learned something because it was not just boxing but total self defense. He taught us that, if the Marcus of Queensbury rules don’t apply, a blow to the Adam’s apple, a kick on the knee, a stomp on the instep and other areas which shall remain unmentionable, is more effective than a right cross to the jaw.

Our D.I.’s were very good and honorable but tough. Some were not so honorable. One of my staff when I was in China told me a story about when he was in Boot Camp. In the barracks there was a walled off section where the D.I. lived. My friend told me that one night when they had just come back from “chow”, the D.I. was in his room. In a loud voice he said “I had $5.00 and I was going over to the NCO club to drink some beer but I lost the $5.00 somewhere – so, I guess we will have to stay here and have a field day (which meant scrubbing the floor with toothbrushes).

One of the recruits yelled out “I found 50 cents of your $5.00. Another chimed in “I found 75 cents” until the entire $5.00 appeared and the D.I. had his evening and the boots had some rest.

After 4 weeks we earned the ultimate privilege – going to a movie.  The screen was outdoors and we arranged our selves in the sand. If you build up a little mound behind your back, it can be quite comfortable sitting in the sand. Before we went we asked “What is on at the movie?”

The D.I.’s always replied “12 rounds of grab ass starring Shirley Temple and Boris Karloff.” I guess this was part of their training – but you know, the expression “Grab Ass” was pretty accurate when applied correctly. If you remember when you were a pre teenager, all of the boys were constantly tripping each other, pushing each other, grabbing each other and fretting the girls. Other, more civilized persons than Marines probably called this “Horse Play”.

Before I leave Parris Island I must speak of the sand fleas. The environmentalist will tell you that every living thing on earth has a reason for being. If the sand flea has a reason, it must be to pester Marines at Boot Camp. When you are in formation at attention, you cannot move a muscle. If a sand flea crawls up you nose, as they are prone to do, all you can do is swallow them. At any formal parade on Parris Island you would hear “snuff, snuff” – indicating that another sand flea had bitten the dust – or at least the digestive tract. Are they rich in protein? Only the D. I. Knows.

Then we graduated and received the rank of PFC – Private First Class!!

This meant $5.00 per month raise and an attitude of superiority over the poor buck private.

Also, if you shot Expert on the rifle range this meant another $2.50 per month plus a medal.

And – off to Camp Lejeune to learn how to kill Japs (although we did not really want to kill anybody – except for a few D.I.’s)

1944-1945

CAMP LEJEUNE (1)

Although I did not realize it, this was to be my first time at Camp Lejeune. It is perhaps the largest base in the Marine Corps and is situated in the eastern part of North Carolina, close to Jacksonville N.C. and not too far from Wilmington N.C. How many square miles it encompasses I do not know but it numbers in the hundreds of thousands and borders on the Atlantic Ocean and the Inland Waterway.

We were put in Companies according to our age (which at that time was 19 for me and the others in our company). We now had a collar adornment which said “OCS”.  This stood for Officer Candidate School. Needless to say, the other troops training at Camp LeJeune did not like us very much.

One thing I have found in war time is that those who survive do not talk about the terrible things which happen but about the funny things. I recall that we had maneuvers in the Boondocks and we had a box lunch. This consisted of a ham sandwich with mayonnaise. Having been in the heat for a long time, when we ate the sandwich, it got all of us.

Upon returning to the barracks, it hit us. After much study by architects and engineers it was determined that toilet facilities are needed for 5% of the group involved. When 100% have the “Green Apple Quick Step”, 5% ain’t enough. I recall going into our own bathroom which had about 10 toilets and saying “Please get up”. The occupant would say” I would like to but I can’t”.

Then I would go to the next barracks and say “Please get up”. The occupant would say” I would like to but I can’t”.

Statistics do not always work.

My Mother sent me some candy and I ate it all in one night. The next day I had a stomach ache. I went to sick bay and asked for some medicine. The doctor said “Let me check you”. He punched on my stomach and I almost jumped through the ceiling. He said “You have acute appendicitis. I am sending you to the hospital”. I was put in a truck with a group of prisoners who were also going to the hospital. We arrived at the hospital and sat on benches, waiting. After about 2 hours they got to me and asked for the papers I was carrying. The nurse said “My God, you have acute appendicitis. Get on this stretcher”. I was sent to the operating room and operated on immediately. Instead of stitches I had staples. These rusted and gave me some problems. I don’t think the surgeons use these anymore. I was in a ward of about 150 others, most of whom were gunshot wounds from Guadalcanal so I felt kind of inferior – but it was a fun group. When the lights went out there were always jokes and songs – mostly vulgar. After about 4 days I was up on my feet and was assigned to clean the bathroom even though I could not straighten up.  One day, after mopping the bathroom a Lieutenant Nurse came in and said “This is not good enough. Do it over”. As she left I said “Bitch”. She said “What did you say?” I said “I have an itch under the scar”.

After two weeks the doctor came in and said “There is a hospital in your home town of Asheville. We can send you there for two months to recuperate”. I declined this because I would lose my class and would fall behind. If I had accepted this I probably would not have gone to Guam or China. Was I smart or stupid?

We worked hard and learned a lot. The war was in full force in Europe and the Pacific. We were headed for the Pacific and we knew it.

I began to write to Ann again and while she was still preoccupied with other suitors, I was still enchanted. To my surprise and pleasure, I found that because of transportation and cost to Brenau, she had transferred to Mary Washington College in Fredericksburg, Va. which was close to Quantico where I was going next.

1945

QUANTICO

I arrived in Quantico and, although it was tough, I enjoyed it thoroughly. This was Officers Candidate School so we had a few amenities which we did not have in Parris Island or  Camp LeJeune. We ate at tables for four with chairs instead of a long table on benches and we were called “Mister”. The best part was the quality of the instructors.

Although our primary purpose was to learn to kill people, we also learned the skills of leadership and organization. Both of these principles apply to life in any field. Since that time, I have been interested in the principles of leadership and organization which are put forth by many prominent people. I am not a great student of the Bible but if I remember correctly, Moses, who was known for his leadership, found himself bogged down in settling disputes among his subjects and did not have time to govern. He went to his father in law whose name was (I think) Jethro. Jethro said “Make men captains of tens, captains of hundreds and captains of thousands – then you work with the captains of thousands but don’t forget the individuals. This has remained a principle of the military, business and government.

General Eisenhower said “Leadership is a business of push and pull. If you put a piece of string on the table and push it, it will fold up. If you pull it, it will follow you. If you want a promotion, you must push the person above you to create a spot for your promotion but – you must also pull the person below you to fill your spot so that you can be promoted.”

Henry Ford, who did not invent the automobile but who did invent mass production, was once asked by reporters “Mr. Ford, are you an engineer?”  He replied ” No, but I can push this button on my desk and the best 10 engineers in the country will be here in 10 minutes”. He was not afraid to surround himself with good people.

Again, at Quantico, we had a relatively easy time compared to the people who came in cold. There was a program where applicants came in directly from civilian life and had to be taught all of the basics of being a Marine. We had been in V-12 for a year, in Parris Island for 10 weeks and Camp Lejeune for a year. This made it easy for the instructors so they made it (relatively) easy on us.

As in all walks of life there are tragedies but in the military there are more than normal. My fist view of a dead person was at Quantico. We went into the field to be shown how to blow a tank trap with explosives. We were perhaps 1/2 mile away and when the charge was set off great pieces of rock and dirt were blown into the air. The explosive was too big and rocks began to rain down on us. One large rock, the size of a basketball hit one of our platoon on the head. He was perhaps 20 feet away from me. He died instantly.  This was my first real insight into the horrors of war – but it happens on the highway at the rate of 50,000 per year.

I called Ann and arranged our first date as soon as I had a free week end. I went to the train station to go to Fredericksburg and was hit by the “Gallops”. I went to sick bay and they gave me paregoric. This stopped the problem but I felt terrible. When I got to Mary Washington I went through the grilling that the house mothers used to do and they called Ann. I shall never forget her running down the hall, dressed in a gray flannel skirt, a pink angora sweater, pink angora bobby socks and loafers. She threw her arms around me and gave me a big hug. I was hooked.

We began to meet in Washington, D.C. which was a short train ride for both of us. Ann stayed with her Aunt and Uncle – Bill Clarkson who was a Colonel stationed at the Pentagon. Colonel Clarkson was very self confident gentlemen and many called him arrogant – but I liked him. He was in the army before the war started and was a Warrant Officer. I don’t know if this rank still exists but at that time it was between “enlisted” and “officer”. When the war started he was promoted to a commissioned officer – a Captain I think – and was sent on a special mission to General Clair Chennault’s “Flying Tigers”. They were volunteers fighting with China against the Japanese. Colonel Clarkson got sick and was flown to Hong Kong for treatment. While he was there, the Japanese attacked and all of the Americans were taken prisoner. Bill told me they spent 5 days on the roof of the American Embassy firing at the Japanese Zeros with 45 caliber pistols.  This is like a bullfighter attacking a bull with a pen knife but it was all they could do. Hong Kong fell and they were captives. For about one year, he was missing in action as far as his family knew. During his captivity he drew up some “official” documents transferring himself to the diplomatic corps. After about a year there was a negotiation whereby the diplomats were returned to the USA on a Swedish ship – I think it was the Gripsholm – and he was on it. While the ship was leaving the harbor his subterfuge was discovered and the Japanese tried to stop the ship but the captain would not turn back so Bill returned to the USA.

He was sent to the Walter Reid Army hospital at Bethesda because of under nourishment. After checking him, the doctor said “We have to get some weight back on you. To help your appetite, what would you like to drink before dinner?”  He said “I would like a Scotch and soda”.  – and that was his medicine. It don’t get no better than this in the hospital

I called Ann for a date in Washington and this was before direct dialing. The operator said ” President Roosevelt just died’. I got the news before it came out in the papers and CNN was not in operation at that time.

At that time a hotel room in Washington was almost impossible to get but we had a system. The Willard hotel, an old but famous hotel always had suites available. Five of us would go together to rent a suite and although there were only two beds. We would sleep on the floor, sofa or wherever. Since we did not sleep much on the weekends it really did not matter. One weekend Ann did not have permission to visit her Aunt and Uncle but she came to Washington anyway. Her friend came with her and others in our group at the Willard had girl friends. We all stayed in the suite. Fear not – this was not an orgy. We were of a different generation so we moved the mattresses off the bed and two girls slept on the springs, two on the mattresses and the guys slept on the floor. Since one bed was in one room and one in the other, we had to pass the mattresses through the window since they would not go through the door. We were on the 12th floor. The next morning Ann and I went to have breakfast at a diner across from the hotel. We looked up and saw a mattress being passed from one room to the other on the 12th floor. Fortunately the management was not looking.

On another week end, Ann told me she was “campused” and could not meet me in Washington. I called Sara Bohannon, a good friend and ex classmate at Biltmore Tech who was going to George Washington University. We met and had a good time re hashing old times – nothing romantic. I had always wondered what Sara’s father did since they lived in Grove Park, belonged to the Country Club and traveled a lot. I found that he was a lobbyist for the oil industry – an occupation which I am sure is on going.

It turned out that Ann was not “Campused” but was meeting an old high school  boy friend. My friend, Fred Williams bumped into them accidentally and talked Ann into returning on the same train with us. To my surprise, when I went to the station to meet Fred, there was Ann. Stan Kenton was playing a concert at Quantico that night and I asked Ann to get off at Quantico and go to see Kenton because he had Anita O’Day singing with him and she was great. It was strictly prohibited for any girl from Mary Washington to get off at Quantico – but you know Annie – so she did. We were disappointed to find that Anita O’Day had left the band but her replacement was June Christie who went on to her own fame in the Jazz world. We got Ann safely on the late train and she managed to conceal her activities from the Wardeness at the school.

Finally, in June of 1945, graduation day came. I invited Ann to attend. She really wanted to go to the graduation of her favorite cousin, Billy Clarkson at West Point but Billy talked her into coming to Quantico because he was to be married right after graduation and Ann would not really get to see him. I have been grateful to Billy but I never got to meet him. He was killed in a fighter plane crash in Germany.

Ann returned to Asheville with me on the Southern Railroad – what used to be a fine form of transportation. She stayed for one glorious week and when she returned to Lynchburg, I left for Camp Pendleton.

We were allowed the equivalent of train fare from Quantico to Los Angeles with 5 days per diem for meals but the option of how to get there was open. I elected to go by plane – my first trip in the air.

1945

CAMP PENDLETON

I caught American Airlines from Knoxville, Tennessee to L.A. It was on a DC 3 and took 18 hours. I thought it was incredible. Upon arrival, being a Jazz fan, I went to the Hollywood Palladium to hear Les Brown. Doris Day was singing with him at the time.

The next day I reported to Camp Pendleton and began 2 months of Troop Leaders School. Most civilians think the military spends its time shooting and crawling through the mud – and there is plenty of this – but a great deal of time in training officers is spent on learning how to instruct your troops and to make effective plans. There are many incompetent leaders (and followers) in the military but when the chips are down the cream comes to the top and an Eisenhower, Patton, Bradley, Vandergrift, Puller or hundreds of others emerge. The skills I learned there stood me in good stead later in life in business. I had always wanted to be a teacher anyway but I had to wait for my son and granddaughter to fulfill this ambition.

We worked 6 days and had 2 days off so our “weekends” moved up one day each week. This was the pattern in all of the military installations in the area. If a normal 5 day week had been in effect, the number of service men descending on Hollywood, L.A. and San Diego at one time would have sunk the southern coast of California.

Our normal routine during these two months was to go to the Hollywood Palladium the first night of our pass, meet some girls, dance and do whatever your morals dictated (mine were pretty dull), save enough money to go to Laguna Beach  to drink beer and body surf in the wonderful waves at this beach. I should point out that even though I was a Marine Lieutenant, I could not buy a drink in California because the age limit was 21 and I was 20. Being of sound mind and body and being thirsty I changed my birth date on my I.D. card from 1925 to 1923 with one stroke of the pen. Also, it was most embarrassing to invite a young lady to dinner and have the waiter refuse to serve you a drink.

One week end a friend asked me to join him in La Jolla which was just north of San Diego (and is now part of metropolitan San Diego). Having no knowledge of Spanish, I was hearing “Lahoya”. I went on the bus, missed the sign and ended up in San Diego.

Then came our orders to pack up and paint “DUVA” on our sea trunks and sea bags.  This was a top secret code but everyone seemed to know it meant “Guam”.

1945

GUAM

We boarded ship in San Diego and became part of one of the most costly mistakes in World War II (of which , I am sure, there were many). The ship was an AKA and the only cargo was 21 brand new, wet behind the ears, Marine Second Lieutenants. While we were zig zaging across the Pacific for 28 days, the atomic bomb was dropped. The crew, knowing that we were the only cargo on a ship which would hold a battalion and equipment, were convinced that we were specialists connected to the atomic program. After denying this for a week, we finally began to say, “Yes, but it is top secret and we can’t talk about it”.

Upon arriving on Guam, we were all sent to the Transit Center which consisted of a series of tents with wooden floors. We waited, we waited and we waited. Guam had been “secure” for over a year after the Marines landed there and on Tinian which was close by but there were a number of Japanese in the Jungle who did not get the word that the Island had been captured. From time to time, some of these would be captured and they always wore Marine green underwear which they had stolen off the clothes lines at various locations.

To break the monotony of waiting, I decided to hitchhike to North Field to see where some of the planes had taken off for Tokyo. As I recall, the planes carrying the Atomic Bombs had left from Tinian or Saipan and had landed on the return at Okinawa (they did not have fuel to get all the way back). This explained why taking Okinawa had been so important. While on Guam we saw the battle plan for the invasion of Japan with the estimate of hundreds of thousands of casualties. Thanks to Harry Truman’s decision to drop the bombs, I am still alive.

While I was standing on the road waiting for a Jeep or truck to come by and give me a lift to North Field, there was a great crashing sound in the jungle. I was unarmed and assumed that a Japanese soldier was coming out. Instead, a huge water buffalo with big horns emerged. He looked at me, I looked at him. He turned and retreated into the jungle. Only the laundry man and I will know how scared I was.

We were finally assigned to a unit. Five of us were assigned to the 2nd battalion, 22nd Marines. Later, after I was promoted to First Lieutenant and became a human being in the eyes of the enlisted men, the First Sergeant told me that when the 5 of us reported he said “My God, here is the basketball team from Podunk High School”.

Adrian Testerman was in our group and he was assigned to be the Adjutant. I was assigned to be S-2, Combat Intelligence Officer. He and I did some “networking” and found that Hap Marshall had landed and was assigned to the 29th Marines across the Island. We walked over and had a good reunion.

We received orders to pack up and leave for China. I was given a work detail with the second platoon of company D to load the ship. Up until this time, the only command I had had was a platoon or a company made up of officer candidates. All of these were eager to do well and get good grades from the instructors so if you gave a command or instruction, they did their best to comply. How naive can you get when entering the real world?

I marched the Platoon to the dock and met the crane operator. He was leaving for supper and would be back in one hour. He also told me that I needed only half the platoon at one time so I divided them up in group 1 and group 2 and told them to relax until the crane operator returned. When he returned I called out “Group one, fall in”. After several shouts with no action, I began to look around. I found one Marine under a tarpaulin drinking pineapple juice which he had found in the shipment and had opened with a bayonet. When I asked if he were in group one he of course said “No.” Wising up, I found some more, here there and yonder. I would ask which group they were in and when they replied either one or two, I would say “Fall in, your group is working.” In this manner I had gathered up about 10 people. I went to search for more and when I returned there was no one there. I then found another eating corned beef which he had discovered in the shipment. I asked his name and when he gave it I said “Private, you have 10 minutes to find your platoon sergeant.  He reported in about 2 minutes. I told him to locate both groups and have them fall in. He yelled “Alright, all you S.O.B.’s from the first platoon, company D, fall in.”  They came from all directions and this was the last time I by passed a chain of command.

We completed loading and left for China.

1945-1946

CHINA

After about three days at sea we ran into a Typhoon. Ropes were tied on the deck for those who had to go out but most stayed inside. Sleeping was difficult because of the pitching and rolling. When we looked out the portholes at other ships in the convoy, it appeared the Destroyer Escorts were going under. They would disappear behind the waves and then break water like a fish jumping. I am told that even the sailors with much time aboard did not make a meal for three days. We had a Chinese interpreter attached to Division Intelligence and he was sick the whole time. Fearing for his health, we finally convinced him to come to a meal. In the officers wardroom the plates were placed upside down and were turned over for serving when you sat down. This poor fellow turned his plate over and promptly threw up in it. The rest of the table rose, as if on command, and retired.

The fourth day the storm passed and we spent much time on deck watching the flying fish (they don’t have those in Asheville, N. C.) I was standing by a Gunnery Sergeant who had previously been in China in the 30’s. I said “Gunny, how will we know when we are getting close?” He replied “You will smell it.”

We were prepared for a combat landing because there were several divisions of Japanese in Tsingtao and we were not sure they had gotten the word that the war was over. However, we received radio messages from the Chinese military that all was quiet so we docked in the harbor. To make sure everything was calm we sent a reconnaissance platoon ashore. This was commanded by a lieutenant who was known by the name of “Whiskey”. This had come from the Okinawa campaign where he was famed for always finding something to drink.

Whiskey was gone for some time with no radio messages and we began to be concerned. He finally returned, without his hat. The welcome from the Chinese was joyful and his jeep had been surrounded by a group of “Ladies of the Night.” They sang out “Fuckee ?, Suckee?” to which Whiskey replied “Both.”

We disembarked and took over Shantung University which had been the Japanese Naval Academy. Field grade officers were quartered in houses outside the compound. We junior officers were 8 to a room in what had been class rooms. There appeared on the scene a Chinaman dressed in a long white gown, just like in the movies. He spoke a little English since he had been houseboy to the Marines in the 30’s. He asked for a job as our houseboy and I hired him. He cleaned our room, shined our boots and we taught him to clean our weapons.  This was soon discovered by a Major and since the Field grade officers did not have a house boy, we were ordered to fire him. In about two months, everyone, including the non coms had house boys and we were allowed to re hire our friend.

Our mission was to send the Japanese back to Japan but first we had to take a formal surrender. This took place on the grounds of the local race track. Our division stood in ranks while the Japanese officers paraded by our commanding General and place their swords in a huge pile. (These became souvenirs which were given out by rank. There weren’t enough to filter down to 2nd lieutenants.) This ceremony, which was quite impressive, was very tiring. We were at parade rest for over 4 hours in the hot sun. Viewed from the front of the ranks, it was a very orderly, military sight. But – a plane took aerial photos and from about the fifth row back, guys were sitting down, lounging and smoking. When these came out the general’s staff spent weeks identifying who was where in each company.

We soon found that the local Generals in the Chinese army were responsible for funding their own armies. This resulted  not only in taxes but there were groups of Chinese soldiers who were going into the European sector, entering the house at gun point and taking whatever was available. We started patrols, day and night, in this sector to prevent this. Most of the European population was white Russians who had been in Tsingtao for years. There were also a few English and French. Most of these were sent back to their own country by the Chinese government and it was tough because many had never been to their own country.

Chang was still in charge at that time but the Communists controlled all of China except those cities where there was a Marine contingent. Besides Tsingtao, we had units in Shanghai and Tientsin. Because of this we had to set up a defense line around the airport and around the whole city. We had gun positions and fox holes prepared and could move out to these in a very short time. Because of some sniping and other activity, we were called to move to these positions several times – usually a 2 or 3:00 in the morning.

On one such trip, as day light crept up, I noticed something moving in the trees. I went to investigate and found a Chinaman hanging, an apparent suicide. His possessions were on the ground – a pipe, a small amount of tobacco and a small pocket knife and from his clothing he was obviously a poor peasant. I did not touch anything and upon our return, I reported this to my counterpart in the Chinese intelligence. We went back to these positions three days later and I found that the poor fellow was still hanging but his meager belongings were gone and his clothes had been stolen. I returned to the city, strapped on a .45 pistol (which I normally did not carry), went to the police station and demanded that someone accompany me to the site, cut the poor fellow down and bury him – and they did.

I tried to get one of the trips on an LST returning the Japanese troops to Japan but they always went with a staff sergeant in charge so I never saw Japan except when I was leaving on a ship for home, I got a glimpse of  Mount Fujiama .

After all of the Japanese had been returned we really did not have much to do. We had close order drill in the mornings and were encouraged to participate in sports in the afternoon. I played a lot of tennis – not exactly the thing you brag about when asked about your military service.

I had the good fortune to report to Captain Jack Marston, an excellent officer and later a good friend. Jack was the son of General John Marston who was the Commandant of Camp Lejeune when I was there. Needless to say, I did not know the General.  Jack was one of the older more experienced officers – he was 25. Our battalion commander, Colonel Stephens was known affectionaly as “The Old Man”. He was 28. I had my 21st birthday in Tsingtao. As best I can remember, it was a fine party and used up our ration of two bottles of bourbon per month for several months.

Since the war was over, many officers who had been desk bound were anxious to have overseas service on their records and many applied. Most of them were excellent officers who, through no fault of their own or because of a special skill, were assigned to Washington. Some were just opportunists. One of the latter was a Major assigned to the Regimental Intelligence Section and when I had the duty as Officer of the Day, he called and said he wanted to accompany me on the inspection of all of the guard posts.

We started at the dock and as our jeep approached we were halted and asked for the password. I gave this and we drove up to the sentry, an old country boy from Tennessee. He said “Evenin’ Lt. Tilson, evenin’ Major and I replied “Good evening, Herman. Everything quiet here?” “Yessir, no action.” The Major looked at the paper listing all of the guard posts and said “Private this is a two man post. I am going to report your partner for deserting his post!!”  To which Herman replied “Oh he ain’t deserted his post Major. We seen you coming and didn’t know who you was. He’s in that clump of bushes over yonder and he’s got an M-1 rifle pointed right at your head.“ To my credit, I was able to stifle my laughter.

Buck Thalheimer, a friend from Quantico, and I became friends with Mr. Yen Chi Dong, a wealthy Chinese merchant who had a big house right outside of our compound. As was the custom, we would take him to dinner one night and the next time was his turn. His beautiful young wife, who I saw by accident once in his house, never was present but his brothers and his mother quite often joined us. Once we went to a restaurant which had 5 floors. It got better as the floors increased. The first floor was for walk in patrons and the fifth, where we ate, was all private dining rooms with each person having a waitress. My waitress had gold teeth and was ugly by any standards. Mr. Yen offered her to me if I wished. Besides her being ugly, I had been so frightened by the training films on V.D. that I had no interest.

I defended several enlisted men as a result of my reputation on Guam. I had forgotten about this until 1993 when I was handling a loan with option to buy for Cartonera Hernandez. The negotiation was with Union Camp (recently bought by International Paper) and I was thrown against some of the finest lawyers in the USA and Dominican Republic. This resulted in the following letter:

November 15, 1993

To: Dr. Ramon Caceres – Troncoso y Caceres

Mr. Jeffery Fraum Esq. – Counsel – Union Camp

Mr. William Lets Esq. – Counsel – Bank of New York

Lic. Georges  Santoni – Herridia Bonetti

Mr. Victor Alvarez Esq. – White & Case

Mr. Donald Baker Esq.  -  White & Case

From: M. B. Tilson

Gentlemen,

We have successfully completed the negotiations between Cartonera Hernandez and Union Camp/Bank of New York for the $15 million transaction.

As I recall, the gestation period of an elephant is quite long so I think we have given birth to an elephant rather than a baby.

During this extended period I sent many lawyer jokes to Jeff but perhaps the best joke of the whole transaction was when Jeff sent me a package addressed to “M.B. Tilson, Esquire”.

Georges Santoni , who received a copy, called me and said “Are you a lawyer?”

I told him it was a joke from Jeff but after I hung up the phone I realized that I was a lawyer before any of you.

In 1945 I was serving as combat intelligence officer for the 22nd Marine Regiment on Guam. We were scheduled for a combat landing on the mainland of Japan but, thanks to the atomic bombs, we were diverted to China instead.

Since Guam was secure, except for a few Japanese in the jungle who would not believe the war was over, we allowed the men to go on liberty into the small villages on the island.

One of the men in my section was put in the brig and was scheduled for a court martial for “lewd and lascivious conduct unbecoming a Marine”.

When I asked his friends what he had done they said “He was waving his dick at a gook girl” (The Marine fighting man was not very reverent).

This was before the Code of Military Justice went into effect and the custom was to appoint an officer as defense attorney. The legal officer of the Regiment acted as the prosecutor. I was appointed as defense attorney and so, I became a lawyer in 1945.

Several of you were not born at that time and I am sure none of you were yet lawyers.

I was eminently qualified for this since I was 20 years old and had spent the last three years learning to kill people.

But – I did learn the dilemma which you attorneys face when your duty is to defend your client even though you know, or at least suspect, that he is guilty.

In this case the client readily admitted that he had indeed done this but he had not been arrested at the scene. The MP’s came for him only after the young lady reported him.

He further stated that she had decided not to appear against him and that his story to the Military Police was that he was not in the city but was visiting his brother who was on a submarine which had arrived at the port in Guam.

Since I knew, or at least thought, that the burden of proof was on the prosecution, my defense was as follows:

I did not let him testify. I submitted to the court the record showing that he was off the base on authorized liberty. I entered into the record his statement about visiting his brother on a submarine. He did not name the submarine because the coming and going of submarines was top secret at that time.

Since the young lady did not wish to testify and since the court could not disprove the submarine story, I rested my case.

He was convicted anyway and sentenced to six months in the brig with loss of pay for this time.

After two months, the verdict was reversed by the Judge Advocate General’s Office in Washington for lack of evidence. He was released and his pay restored.

The consensus of the men in the Regiment was that he should have been punished but after 2 months in the brig with 10 days on cake and ale (which you civilians would call bread and water), this was enough. Besides, having been in the Pacific for three years, all he was doing was advertising which is nothing but good business.

The word of the reversal spread through the Regiment and, after reaching China, I defended several more cases. I was known to the men as the “Perry Mason of the 22nd Marines”.

So you see, Gentlemen, I am not a lawyer but I used to be.

Regards,

Having not much to do, we organized a dance band and played at the enlisted club twice a week. The men were allowed to bring Chinese girls to these dances. Three of us were officers and were not supposed to be in the enlisted club so we took off the bars on our collar. Since there were no stripes on our sleeves, we appeared to be buck privates and quite often had to take a lot of lip from drunk corporals. Occasionally a fight would break out between sailors and Marines. The only way to stop it was to start playing The Star Spangled Banner. When the National Anthem was being played, all service men were required to stand at attention and salute. Francis Scott Key never knew how many broken bones, black eyes and bloody noses he would prevent.

I met an English journalist who had been sent to cover the operation. He encouraged me to enter the Diplomatic service when I returned home and finished my education. I asked him why he thought I could be a diplomat and he said ” When we have been playing bridge (which I was just learning) I have seen you open the bidding with two no trump without anything in your hand. As the hand progressed I could see no emotion to indicate that you were in trouble so I made many mistakes, assuming you had something hidden.” I sometimes wish I had taken his advice.

Then came the day we all had waited for. On the bulletin board was posted the names of those returning. These were listed in order of time spent overseas and my name was pretty close to the top since the real veterans of Iwo Jima, Okinawa etc. had already been sent home when the war ended. Also a chance came up for us to fly in Marine Corps fighter planes as passengers to Shanghai, Tientsin and Hong Kong. I did not take this because I was afraid of missing the next ship home. Adrian Testerman took a more logical approach saying “I’ll never get this chance again and a few more months won’t make any difference.” He took the trip and when he returned I was still waiting for the boat.

One reason I declined was that I had sent Ann an engagement ring and a wedding ring. I don’t think I had ever formally proposed but she accepted and sent me a newspaper clipping with her picture and the engagement announcement. She still had a number of boys after her and she continued to date. Absence makes the heart grow fonder – but of whom??  Fortunately for me, when she met me in Asheville upon my return, she agreed completely.

We got word that we were going to pull out and we who remained were transferred to the Sin Wah Hotel. We were there for three weeks while we were loading the ship and the waiters and clean up people were fabulous. You could leave money on the table by the bed and nothing happened. But – the night before we left everyone knew we were leaving at 6:00 am. That morning every watch, fountain pen, wallet and money was gone – as were the waiters, cooks and clean up personnel.

I was in charge of loading the equipment for our Battalion on the ship. I was up for 36 hours and after boarding I slept for 16 hours straight. When I awakened, we were at sea.  A few days later we passed by Japan – but far away – but I did get a glimpse of the top of Mount Fujiyama – Spectacular.

We were on a ship with 5,000 men and the routine for the men was to eat breakfast and then get in line for lunch and after lunch, get in line for supper. Since I had been in charge of loading the ship the Colonel excused me from being on guard duty as officer of the day. Instead, he placed me in charge of the laundry. Can you imagine having to sort out green underwear, all identical except for the name stenciled on them, for 5,000 men?  He did me no favors.

Most of our band was on the ship so we re-organized and played on the fan tail each night. This would normally have been cocktail hour but, as you know, American ships are dry (at least they were after the booze sneaked aboard ran out).

Again we by passed Hawaii. I guess we were the only group going to the Pacific which did not stop in Hawaii going or coming. I am sorry I missed it.

One morning we were awakened by the fact that the ship was not moving. Coming on deck we sighted the lushest vegetation I had ever seen. After having been in China for a year and at sea for about 24 days, the sight of greenery was wonderful. We were anchored off Panama, ready to enter the Canal. This took all day and we all stood on deck watching. I would like to do it again someday because it is an experience which I shall never forget.

After passing through the Canal, we anchored on the Atlantic side and were told we would have two days liberty. The paymaster said we could draw whatever pay we had coming if we wished. I had $50.00 so I assumed that this was plenty. After returning the first night and having prowled all of the night clubs, I and many others had to go to the paymaster and ask for more. All of the clubs had girls who would come to the table, dance with the Marines and engage in lively conversation.  Of course we were expected to buy the girls drinks and, being young and naive, I did not know they were drinking tea and not bourbon.

The young Latin lovely for whom I had been buying drinks suddenly stood up and said “Excuse me, I am on.” In about 3 minutes she came on stage and did a most erotic strip tease on top of a drum. When she returned to the table, I did not know quite what to do. I guess I was like Gomer Pyle.

Having been raised in the South, perhaps the most astounding thing to me was to see black people speaking Spanish. In my town when you get past “Que horas son?” you are bilingual.

We boarded ship and headed for Norfolk, VA. After about 3 days we were off the coast of Virginia Beach where I would later spend happy vacations with Ann and later Bill and Kerry. We disembarked at Norfolk and boarded the train for Camp Lejeune. Since all of the Marines on the train were reservists going home, it was a little difficult to maintain discipline but, once a Marine, always a Marine and I was able to keep my group under reasonable control.

1946 – 1947

ASHEVILLE & UNC

We were all given 60 days leaving so I left for Asheville on the Greyhound bus. After 28 days aboard ship, this was luxury.  A few days later Ann arrived in Asheville with the possible idea of breaking our engagement. As she tells it, when she saw me walking across the station, she decided we were for real. (I was neat and trim at that time since, being in uniform, I did not have to pick out the proper tie to go with my shirt.)

After a visit in Asheville I returned to Lynchburg with Ann and we were married on November 9, 1946. We were both 21 years old. Because Ann has always looked younger than she is (she still does), her sister had to go to the Court House to swear that she was old enough to get a marriage license.

My family came up for the wedding and besides the traditional champagne and wedding cake, we had Virginia country ham on beaten biscuits. At last count my father had eaten about 3 gross. The wedding reception was in Ann’s home and it was a beauty. The house was formerly owned by Carter Glass whose family had started the local newspaper. Carter was a senator and is responsible for the Federal Reserve Act. The house was rented but came up for sale a few years later. My wonderful father in law, Warren Simpson Sholes (who was known affectionately as “Bill”) was determined to buy it. He had to be out of town on business and left a friend with power of attorney at the auction. The man decided the bidding had gone too high and let it get away. I am not sure Bill ever got over this although the house he did buy was something special also.

Since I was getting paid for the dance jobs, I had enough in China to keep me in cigarettes and 10 cent beer and therefore I put away a big part of my small salary and had enough for a good honeymoon. Ann wanted to go to Bermuda but, having been overseas for over a year, I wanted to keep my feet in the USA. We went to Washington, D.C. to re-visit our dating days and then on to New York. We were driving Bill Sholes car. Since they only had one car, I don’t know what he did to run his business while we were cruising all over in his car.

I have always been a Jazz fan and at that time 52nd street was a swinging place. Also each hotel and theater and night club had first class orchestra and small groups. We danced to Stan Kenton, Benny Goodman, Gene Krupa , Eddie Condon and listened to June Christy, Billie Holiday, the Ink Spots etc. It was great.

When we were in Billy Rose’s Diamond Horseshoe an older gentleman sent us drinks. (People did that for service men at this time). Since that time, I have tried to do the same whenever possible.

We returned to Camp Lejeune where I received my discharge and accepted a permanent commission in the Marine Corps Reserve. Then back to Lynchburg and on to Asheville.

We were a rare couple – both virgins until we married. Ann’s chastity was because that was what proper young ladies did at this time. Mine was probably for lack of opportunity and a fear of VD instilled by the Marine Corps training films. But there are many advantages to this situation. For one, you don’t have to compare your mate with other encounters.

We rented a room in Asheville next door to my family while I waited to get into a University. I applied to Furman where Hap and Adrian were and was accepted but a week later I was accepted at UNC at Chapel Hill and this had always been my first choice so I was Happy!!!

Because of the G.I. Bill, all of the colleges in the country were expanding like wildfire. We went to Chapel Hill to find a place to live. All dormitories were for single students and all available houses, apartments and rooms had been rented. The university had established a trailer park but it was full. The only chance was to buy one on the site from someone graduating. We were lucky to find one and it was a palace – 20′ long and about 20 years old. This was before “trailers” became “mobile homes” and although we had running cold water in the sink, there was a common bath house in the middle of the park. Fortunately I did not have to get up in the middle of the night as I now do – Ah, Youth.

Since the next term did not start until January I took a job at my Alma Mater, McIntyre’s Fruit Store. I earned $30.00 per week and could have joined the “52/20″ club at $20.00 for doing nothing. The 52/20 was another benefit offered to veterans to help them out until they could find work. It offered $20.00 per week for 52 weeks and all you had to do was to register and show that you could not find work in your field. One of my cousins registered as a snow plow operator and a friend registered as a commercial fisherman, neither occupation existed in Asheville. I preferred to retain my dignity and work, even though it was menial.

I filled in for one dance job with a local band but had to join the union to do it.

In January we left for Chapel Hill and arrived at night with a light snow on the ground. I could not get the kerosene heater lighted so we shivered all night under my Marine overcoat. The next day a neighbor showed me how to light the stove and the heater and life became more pleasant. I started classes and we settled in to being married – and it was fun.

I had many friends and acquaintances there and some of them were in the KA fraternity which was just a block up the street from our trailer. If I came home from class and Ann was not at the trailer, I knew I could find her playing poker at the KA house. Never a dull moment with that lady.

By this time the funds I had accumulated had run out and although the G.I. bill paid tuition and a small allowance, it would not support a wife. I took a job in the library at night and Ann got a job at a camera shop developing film. This was almost fatal for me.  One of her co-workers was a cute little blonde country girl who was the girl friend of Art Weiner, a star tight end on the football team. Art was about 6′5″ tall and weighed about 250 lbs. Ann bruised her arm one day and when her friend asked how she said “Charlie threw me up against the wall”. The girl was appalled and Ann said “Oh, he does this all the time.” Her friend was prepared to have Art Weiner punch me out until I convinced Ann to tell her that she was kidding.

Our entertainment was mainly events at the University so we were able to hoard enough to have dinner each week end at the Port Hole, the best restaurant in Chapel Hill. Their specialty for dessert was toasted pound cake with ice cream and the aroma of the pound cake permeated the whole restaurant – it was a delightful smell and I still find a dinner in a nice restaurant to be one of life’s finest experiences.

We particularly enjoyed the basketball games. This was before integration and, had this not been changed there would have been no Michael Jordon at UNC.

After Biltmore Tech and a full 12 months at Emory and Duke I had only 6 months to go for a degree. I graduated in August with a B.S. in Commerce. I don’t think they offer this degree any more. Usually a degree in commerce with a stress on accounting is a B.A. but ours had some engineering involved.

I was proud of the BS until it took on a more vernacular connotation in recent years.

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