CHAPTER 2

ANGEL ISLAND, SAN FRANCISCO BAY

Fortunately, we arrived during the daylight hours and as the boat moved out into the bay, we were treated to an incredible vista! To the left was the magnificent Golden Gate Bridge, and on the right was fisherman’s wharf, then began the San Francisco waterfront. Huge, covered piers jutted out into the bay. For many of us it was our first view of a seaport, and the large freighters and ocean liners appeared even more vast than we had expected. The great ships were colorful, and watching the tall cranes loading and unloading the freighters was an exciting experience.

Our attention was directed to an island directly ahead, and we were informed that we were approaching Alcatraz, the infamous prison! We also discovered the boat would stop at the island to allow visitors to disembark. From our vantage point on the boat, we were awarded a close-up view of the foreboding prison, it’s grey walls and guard towers dominating the small, rocky island. A narrow gangplank was rolled from the pier to an opening in the railing and several people alighted onto the island. Also, a number of cartons marked U.S. Mail were slid down to several waiting men. A whistle sounded and the boat drew away from Alcatraz and headed north toward a low silhouette protruding from the water. It was difficult to estimate the distance to Angel Island, for it blended into the mainland beyond, but we heard that it was two or three miles from Alcatraz.

As the boat neared the island, a few buildings became visible. A three story, barracks-type structure sat back, and up the hill from the dock area. Another of the three story buildings was located to the right and above the dock on a knoll, and another large rambling building sat directly behind the dock area.

We were informed that this was Fort McDowell, and would be our address while the ship was being readied. Once we were established in the barracks, our initiation into the Army began. Clothing was issued, and this lengthy procedure disposed of an entire morning. We were issued mess hall passes that indicated which messes we would be eligible for. Each meal consisted of three messes. For example, for breakfast I was assigned to mess Number Two, and for lunch and dinner, also the second mess.

More and more new men reached the island from throughout the United States, from the east, the Midwest and the southern states. Each day, our circle of immediate friends continued to expand. 

Fortunately, we had time to explore the island. We found that Angel Island was once the Immigration Station for all Asian entrants into the United States, similar to Ellis Island on the east coast, immigration station for European immigrants.

We saw the strange toilets that still existed, slots in the floor instead of conventional ‘sit down’ toilets common in the U.S. Also, many fences and enclosures were in evidence, remnants of the once heavily used and isolated immigration station. Spence and I spent much of our ‘free’ hours exploring for, and searching out the concrete gun positions, part of the San Francisco Bay Coastal Defense System. Since hiking was one of our first loves, and with few other diversions available on Angel Island, Spence and I covered much of the island on foot during our stay.

At the top of the list of memories of my Angel Island experiences, were those endless days of KP drudgery! Due to the large number of Army personnel being processed through this very busy ‘staging’ facility, the requirements for feeding these men was indeed incredible! To feed all of the men on the island, it required three sittings for each meal! As we recruits referred to it, ‘nine chows per day.’ If your name appeared on the KP list for the following day, getting up time for the next morning was approximately 3:30 to 4:00 am! We must get cleaned up, dash to the mess hall, receive our assignment or particular duty for that meal, go to your assigned work station and get busy. I can recall breaking eggs, (one in each hand) on the rims of large 30 gallon boilers. The volume of eggs required for scrambled eggs was earth shaking! I had yet to see so many eggs at one time, even during my stint as a cook in the CCC camps during 1940! During that enlistment, I cooked for the entire camp located at Fresno, Ohio, and the magnitude of cooking requirements was insignificant compared to a day in the kitchen at Angel Island! One can only imagine three separate breakfasts, three lunches, and then three huge dinners, with all the trimmings! At the end of the day, following nine meals, those of us laboring on KP literally crawled to bed. 

It was difficult the following morning to arise from our bunks and face that immense mess hall just to eat breakfast! Unfortunately, we were growing boys, and it was necessary to eat! We always dreaded that time when the rotation brought our name back to the top of the KP list once again! The requirements for more kitchen help increased almost daily and our assignment to KP became seemed more frequent much to our dismay. 

We were permitted weekend passes to ‘Frisco’ as it was called by the ‘old timers’. The old timers of course were those that had two or three months in the service behind them. They had been ‘around’ a long time. We always were eager to hear what ‘they’ had to say. Since Spence and I cared nothing for alcohol or bars, we would disembark from the boat at Ft. Mason and head for the Army-Navy YMCA downtown. A room there was inexpensive, even for ‘us recruits’ and we took advantage of the large, inside swimming pool. I can still recall walking down the long flight of cold, tile steps to the pool. It was winter in San Francisco, and rarely did we see anyone else frequent the pool. 

During the day, San Francisco was indeed an adventure. My own ‘druther’ was to wander along the great piers at the waterfront. Here were giant ocean liners and freighters from throughout the world, loading and unloading. I was intrigued by the many exotic languages shouted from ship to shore. From the docks I usually moved on to Fisherman’s Wharf to wander thru the aisles, and between the vats where the big crabs, and the red lobsters were cooked on order.

When our legs gave out, it was back to the YMCA. Since our money was scarce, we went to few movies or other activities costing even a small portion of our skimpy funds. Sunday evening always came and we made our way back to Ft. Mason to catch the boat to Ft. McDowell, our home away from home.

My circle of friends grew, and once some of these men learned that I was a non-alcoholic, I was very much in demand to accompany these folks to San Francisco. One in particular, Frank Workman, a large, handsome, likable representative from West Virginia realized very quickly that having me along when the group engaged in their bar hopping activities would certainly improve their chances of returning to Fort Mason in time to catch the boat. After my first experience baby sitting these boozers, and escorting them back to Fort Mason, I became very scarce. I related my experience to Spence the next morning, and amid his moronic giggling, I vowed to cease my escort service immediately! These practices were anything but pleasant for a non-boozer such as I! Firstly, I did not like bars! Secondly, I didn’t care for drunks, and I had little patience when trying to convince a drunk to do something he didn’t wish to do!

Late Sunday afternoon men began drifting to Ft. Mason for the purpose of catching the early boat to Angel Island. A wide sidewalk led down the gentle slope to the gate leading to the gangplank. As the line grew in length, M.P.’s strolled along each side of the line-up. Now booze was a no-no on the Army Post and it was hardly unusual to see, or hear, one of the M.P.’s flick his billy club across the rump of a suspected rum-runner! All too often a sickening crunch would reward the M.P. and the biting odor of whiskey would permeate the air as the man’s precious booze would stream down his leg and a great, wet stain would appear on his backside. How depressive to sit on booze-soaked trousers as the boat slowly proceeded from the dock and sailed on to Angel Island by way of Alcatraz.

The days progressed rapidly. More kitchen duty, an occasional journey to the big city, and more hikes around the island. A fist fight often broke the monotony as the men from varied locations in the U.S. melded together. I learned the North and South were still at war, and it was a shock for me to encounter men incapable of writing their own name! I wondered how they could qualify for the Army, how they could fill out the forms. I learned to accept reality and refrain from asking too many questions. 

CHAPTER 3

Preface | Frontispiece | The Road to Adventure | Angel Island | Across the Pacific | Corregidor April 22, 1941 | Duty Assignment | Battery Hartford | To The Field | War | Surrendered!| 92nd Garage | The Spoils | Goodbye Corregidor | Bilibid | Cabanatuan Camp III | Pasay School | Nichols Field | Feet on Fire | Survival | Goodbye Pasay | Noto Maru | Moji Japan to Omori | Kawasaki, Nishin Flour Mill | Air Raid | Fire Bombs! | Out of Kawasaki | Suwa in the Mountains | The War is Over | The Yanks and Tanks | In The Air To Where? | Luzon? Again! 29th Replacement | Gray Cruise Ship to Home | Madigan General Hospital, Seattle | Last Leg to Home | Fletcher General Hospital, Cambridge Ohio |

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© 2002 Al McGrew

Angel Island Photograph courtesy of Roger Mansell