Eugene Carson

When Japan surrendered in 1945, I was in training with the Marine Fifth Amphibious Corps for the invasion of the Japanese homeland. Following through with invasion plans, we landed in the seaport city of Sasebo of the island of Kyushu and took over what was once one of Japan's main naval training stations, complete with all the amenities, one of these being the mother of all long johns (no, not the sweet roll) a twenty-five holler with none of the creature comforts, but plenty of creatures.

One morning I was occupying one of these holes reading the Marine Corps manual (comic book). I had one eye on the book and the other on the four-foot trench under my derriere, where sewer rats as big as cats kept checking the scene above.

I was so engrossed in either the comic book or the trench that I failed to hear the honey-wagon pull up in front of this monster outhouse. Two persons exited the tanker, one uncoiling and dropping a hose into the twenty-fifth hole. The other person entered the building and plopped on the hole next to mine. I was used to the other Marines sitting beside me and gave it little thought.

All of a sudden, I heard "konnichiha" (good morning or a simple hello in Japanese) spoken in the sweetest voice I have ever heard and quilted pants dropped to the floor next to mine.

I have sat beside many Marines in my four years in the Corps but none wore quilted pants. The manual went flying as I grabbed for my shorts and pants, all the while, gazing into the eyes of one of the prettiest young Japanese ladies I had ever seen. With a nod of the head and a "Sayonara" she exited as gracefully as she had entered, leaving this Iowa farm boy speechless.

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