Читать книгу Dutch Clarke -- the War Years - Brian Psy.D. Ratty - Страница 12

As a reward for the platoon’s hard work, Sergeant Nelson announced that on the coming Saturday we would get a twelve-hour pass to San Diego. Two buses would depart at 1000 and return at 2200 sharp. God help any recruit not back from liberty at 2200, as they would be listed AWOL (absent without leave) and court-marshaled. The 3^rd Platoon was not as lucky, and was spending that day practicing close-order drills again. Sergeant Nelson enjoyed telling us that bit of news.

The day of our liberty dawned clear and hot. Dressed in our Class A uniforms, we loaded the buses for the fifty-minute drive to downtown San Diego. The Marines had printed up a little tourist guide about the city that was passed out to all. The booklet listed all the places of interest and all the rules of liberty. Much of the city was ‘off limits,’ but the brochure did suggest places to go and things to see, although they were things most Marines had little interest in: museums, libraries and tourist venues. What our bus talked and laughed about was broads, beer and boogie.

Kurt, Hank, Jim, and I were going to stick together, to enjoy this fragrance of freedom. Our liberty started by us walking around the area of the bus station. Here we found restaurants, cafés and many bars. The guys wanted beer, cold beer, so into a bar we went…and minutes later, out we came, since Jim and Kurt were underage and not old enough to drink. We tried two more saloons with the same results.

By now, the Comedian wasn’t laughing, “Damn, it’s just not fair. I can give my life for my country but I can’t vote or drink a cold beer? It makes no sense!”

Kurt piped up. “Dutch, you can go buy some at a store and we can drink them in some park.”

My response was not a welcome one when I said, “If the MP’s catch us, we’ll all spend the night in the brig. I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Finally Hank came to my defense. “Hey, guys, leave him alone and don’t make him do what he doesn’t want to do.”

“I have no problems doing it. Just not here and not now.”

“You’re right, Hank. Come on. Let’s get some chow,” Kurt added.

We had a fair meal at a sidewalk café on a busy street in the hot sun, but the boys groused about the cost of the food and were sure that the owner was ‘sticking it’ to the GI’s. After lunch, we did some girl-watching and then grabbed a cab and decided to try the Art Museum, since it was air conditioned. It was nice and it was cool, but after eight weeks at boot camp, it was boring.

When we walked out of the museum into the blazing hot sun, I looked across the street…and stopped. There, in all its splendor, stood the old Hotel El Cortez!

It was a grand tall building with a large blue canopy above the front entrance. Beneath the awning, a doorman dressed in a red-braided uniform was helping people come and go. The sign above the canopy read “Air-Conditioned Rooms.”

My mind began to race. Why not? I thought. Turning to my pals, I pointed to a bench beside the museum. “Why don’t you guys take a load off, over there in the shade? I’ll be back in minute.”

“What’s going on? Where are you going, Dutch?” Kurt asked.

Starting across the busy street, I turned my head and answered, “Trust me!”

Walking past the doorman, I nodded with a smile and pushed at the brass revolving door. While the door was moving, I straightened my tie and brushed off my uniform.

The lobby was massive, replete with stone columns, marble floors, overstuffed furniture and the smell of money. My footsteps echoed as I walked towards the front desk. My mind kept saying, Strut, Dutch, strut. Act like you belong here.

Behind the desk were two gentlemen. The one facing my way was reading a book, while an older gentleman behind him sorted out mail. The bookworm was a skinny fellow with a dark suit and dress shirt with one of those old-fashioned starched collars. His face was narrow and, below his bony nose, he had a pencil mustache. Above his nose, he wore a pair of pince-nez glasses. As I approached the desk, he didn’t look up.

After a few seconds of standing there, I cleared my throat.

Looking up at me, he said in a superior tone, “May I help you?”

“Yes. I would like a room, please.”

He stared at me and my uniform with contempt. “I’m sorry, sir. That won’t be possible. We are booked solid.”

Smiling at him and raising one of my hands, I commented, “You mean in this tall, grand, old hotel there is not one room available for a weary traveler like myself?”

He did not smile back but replied, “There is the Governor’s Suite, but I’m confident that it would be out of a soldier’s price range. You might want to try the YMCA.”

Looking him straight in the eye, I asked, “How much is it?”

He glared “It really doesn’t matter, sir. We do not accommodate soldiers.”

My face turned red with anger, and I could have punched him right across the counter, but I didn’t.

“That’s too bad,” I remarked. “My Uncle Roy -- that’s Roy Clarke -- was just a guest in your hotel, and he highly recommended your establishment. I will have to tell him of my treatment. Do you know who he is?”

“I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t know the gentleman. As I said, you can try the Y.”

Just then, the older man behind the clerk stepped forward. With one fluid body bump, the surly clerk was no longer in front of me.

With a pleasant smile on his face, the older man said, “I’m Mr. Hudson, the manager. And yes, Mr. Clarke of Gold Coast Petroleum was a guest here, last week. You are his nephew?”

“Yes, and his business partner.”

Nodding and smiling at my response, he continued, “I’m sure we can accommodate you, sir, but unfortunately the Governor’s Suite is the only room available, and its rate is ninety-eight dollars a night.”

“Mr. Hudson, I have no problem with the rate, but I want to make sure that the suite is air-conditioned, and that there is a radio in the room. And, oh yes, that you offer room service to your guests.”

Reaching for a registration card, he answered, “Yes, on all accounts. And If I might add, our room service menu is the finest in all of San Diego. And how long will you be staying with us, Mr. Clarke?”

Reaching into my wallet, I removed my military ID and two crisp one hundred-dollar bills. Placing the ID and one bill on the desk, I said, “This will cover the room.” I placed the second bill on the desk. “And this will cover my room service needs. I will be staying until nine, this evening.”

He gave me an astonished look. “Yes, sir. I understand. Let me fill out this registration card and you can sign it. Would you like the bellboy to show you to your room?”

“No, thank you. I can find my way. But you can have Room Service send up…hmm…a dozen bottles of iced Falstaff beer, a large bowl of potato chips and...oh yes, some nuts. Salted nuts, if you have them.”

Sliding the card and room key across the desk, he answered, “Yes, sir. Right away!”

After signing, I took the key and started to walk away, but stopped and turned back to Mr. Hudson. “And newspapers. Please send up the New York Times and your local paper. I haven’t heard the news for a long time. And tell Room Service that I’ll be in the room in ten minutes.”

“Yes, sir.”

Crossing the lobby, I exited briskly through the revolving front door. With the doorman watching, I whistled to my pals across the street and made hand signals for them to join me. Within seconds, they were standing by me.

“What’s up, Dutch?” Kurt asked.

Looking them in the eye, I said in my most commanding voice, “We are all going to walk into this grand hotel together. Then we are going to stroll across the lobby to the elevators. I want you Marines to be absolute gentlemen -- no cursing, no laughing, and no grab ass, just like you’re on the parade grounds for a Saturday inspection. Act like you belong here. Do you understand?”

“What the hell is going on, Dutch?” Hank asked.

“Just trust me a little longer and you’ll see.”

They did just as I asked. We walked casually across the lobby to the elevators, in all our uniformed pomp and splendor. And all the while, I could see Mr. Hudson, out of the corner of my eye, smiling as he watched.

Getting into the elevator, I said to the lady operator, “Governor’s Suite, please.”

“Yes, Mr. Clarke.”

There was snickering and smiles from my guys, but no one said a word all the way to the twenty-first floor.

When the car stopped and the doors opened, the operator remarked, “Just to your left, Mr. Clarke. Room 2102.”

We exited the car and in a flash she was gone. As we walked down the hall, the Comedian started to imitate the elevator lady. “Mr. Clarke, the Governor’s Suite is Room 2102, don’t you know, Mr. Clarke?”

With this, we all started laughing and pushing each other along.

Putting the key into the door of Room 2102, I stopped and turned to the guys. “I have a little surprise for you, boys -- we’re going to have those cold beers, after all!” Opening the door, I let the guys go in first, and then added, “This is all ours until 2100.”

The boys were quiet for the longest moment as they entered the room. Then Jim shouted, “Woo! Look! The room has its own bar…” And then, from Kurt standing by the windows, “And look at this view! It looks like we’re in Heaven!” And finally Hank piped up, as he sank into a chair, “Feel that air conditioning? Here is where I want to stay!”

Walking into the room, I found myself in a space half the size of our barracks. On the left was a long dining table behind which stood a bar with four stools and a mirror that ran the length of the area. On the right, a row of windows was flanked by overstuffed chairs, sofas and small tables. At the far corner was a large upright Philco radio, with a game table and chairs in front. The main salon was impressive beyond my grandest expectations.

By now, Kurt was opening the double doors at the rear of the room. He shouted, “Guys! Come look at this damn bedroom. You won’t believe it!”

We all walked to where he was standing, and found ourselves looking at a room that contained the biggest canopy bed I have ever seen. On one side, a window overlooked the city, complete with a seating area with plush leather chairs.

Just then, Hank’s voice echoed from the bathroom that connected. “Check this out! It’s bigger than our whole latrine -- and there’s a bath tub!”

Walking into the tiled room, I saw a large sunken tub at one end of the room, along with double sinks in the middle and a private toilet room at the other end. The tiles on the floor and walls were hospital-white and Marine-clean.

The Comedian started running the water in the tub, then turned to me and asked, “I wanna be first in the tub. Is that okay, Dutch?”

“Sure. Why not?” I answered.

Walking back into the living room, Kurt grabbed me. With an ear-to-ear grin on his face, he asked, “Dutch, did you rob a bank this morning, when we weren’t looking? How can you afford this?”

“I can’t. My uncle sent me some money. Where we’re going, I’m sure we won’t have much use for it, so why not enjoy it now?”

Just then, there was a knock on the door. The room fell quiet, as if the guys feared that the cops were outside. Grinning, I walked to the door and opened it.

“Room Service,” the bellhop said as he pushed a table-clothed cart into the room. On top was a large bowl full of ice and twelve bottles of beer, another bowl full of potato chips, and a smaller bowl filled with nuts. Folded between the bowls were two newspapers.

“Where would you like this, sir?”

Pointing to the bar area, I answered, “Let’s set it up over there.”

By the time the bellhop was done, all three of my friends had a cold bottle in their hands and were fighting over the church key.

As I walked back to the front door with the bellhop, he stopped and whispered, with a serious look on his face, “Are your friends old enough to drink, sir?”

Smiling back at him, I reached into my pocket and slid a five dollar bill into his hands as I answered, “They are today.”

He smiled and nodded his approval.

That’s how it started, six glorious hours of living like royalty. We drank, we nibbled, we bathed, and we listened to the radio and read the papers. The news from overseas was not good. All of us were confident that we would soon be on some distant battlefield and in some future headlines. We tried to shake off such thoughts, but we all knew what was coming.

I was the last to bathe. When I returned to the living room, I found Jim standing at an open window, dressed only in his skivvies. Kurt and Hank had their heads sticking out of the open window next to him.

“What the hell are you guys doing?” I demanded.

Kurt poked his laughing face back into the room and answered, “The Comedian is pissing out the window, and the doorman and a cab driver down there think it’s raining! Damndest thing I’ve ever seen!”

Shaking my head, I told the guys to get back inside. The last thing we needed was for the cops to be called, or one of the guys to fall out of the window. Their stunt reminded me that, inside these new men’s bodies, they were really just boys…

It was time for food, before we got into trouble. They were still laughing and giggling about the golden shower when I passed around the menu.

Finally Kurt burst out, “Woo! Get a load of these prices. And here I thought the café screwed us, today. These guys are crazy. A buck for a hamburger and two bits for a coke!”

Then Hank added, “Four bits for French fries and six bits for a piece of pie!”

Finally, I broke in. “Look, guys, the meal is on my uncle, so order whatever you want. Forget the prices. Let’s enjoy the food and the company.”

Jim turned to me. “Okay, then, how about a bottle of champagne to go with this fine food?”

Kurt looked up from the menu. “Why not two bottles?”

“Okay, why not two? But, come 2100, we are out of here. Agreed?”

They all nodded.

We ate our food sitting at the long dining room table, with Tommy Dorsey playing on the radio in the background. The meal started out rowdy and noisy, but once we had a taste of the prime beefsteaks and potatoes, the room grew quiet. We all agreed it was, without a doubt, the best meal we had ever eaten. Good food, good music, good company and good wine. We couldn’t have asked for anything more.

After dinner, we sat around, drinking our wine and talking about home and family. The guys were happy, homesick, and a little tipsy. We had just about polished off the final bottle of champagne when there came a knock at the door.

Kurt jumped to his feet. “I’ll get it.”

From behind me, the door opened, and I heard a female voice say, “Housekeeping. Do you need anything?”

Kurt quickly ushered the young lady into our room. “You can keep my house anytime, honey.”

By now, we were all standing and looking at the girl. Hank gave out a low wolf whistle, and Jim’s eyes were popping out of his head. She was a Mexican girl, petite, young and pretty even in her drab maid’s uniform. Over one arm, she carried fresh towels. Her eyes were dark brown, and they sparkled as a smile lit her face. She stood there for a moment, looking back at all of us, and then asked, “Are you boys Marines?”

“You’re damn right we are, honey,” replied Hank.

Still smiling, she moved further into the room and laid the towels over the back of a chair. Our eyes were fixated on this shapely young lady.

Looking around at us again, she continued, “I know what all Marines want…and I am going to give it to you boys!”

The room fell silent for a second. Then Kurt cried out, “All right, doll. We’re here to have some fun!”

My mind started racing. We could be in real trouble here.

“I know,” she said, “because my brother is a Marine, just like you, and he’s fighting on Guadalcanal.”

The smiles on our faces melted away instantly. Her brother was a fellow Marine, and he was where we might soon be. Guadalcanal had been all over the news. We had lost many good Marines on that island in the Pacific. Her words jarred us out of our champagne fantasies and back to reality.

Moving towards Kurt, she continued, “He tells me that all that Marines want to do is kiss girls. Okay!”

With this said, she placed her two hands on Kurt’s face and stood on her tiptoes to give him a kiss on the cheek. Next she moved to Jim, then Hank, and then me, doing the same for each of us. Finally, she walked towards the front door and concluded, “Now I’ve given you all what you wanted. I hope you’ll always be safe in the Marines. God bless you and America…good night, boys.”

In the blink of an eye, she was gone.

We were speechless. She had been sexy, yet innocent, so tender, so loving.

Finally, Kurt remarked, “Did you smell that perfume?”

Jim sighed. “Did you feel how soft her lips were?”

Hank added, “And that body! What a beautiful body.”

The last to comment, I said, “Let’s finish off the wine before we head back.”

At 2045, we departed the hotel…but not before we took one last long look at the room that had brought us so much joy. Before leaving, I asked the guys to keep our activities a secret. The last thing I needed was trouble over buying booze for my under-aged friends. They agreed.

On the bus ride back to base, there was a lot of bellyaching from the other guys about the heat, the cost of food, and the fact that there had been no broads, no beer and no boogie. Kurt, Hank, Jim and I sat quietly, with smiles on our faces. It was a liberty none of us would ever forget.