"You know, I never have been able to figure this [darn] thing out." With a twinkle in his eye, Warren joked about his oxygen tube, which had a tendency to get knocked about as he gestured with his hands. His sense of humor continued, "The pills I'm taking, my God - I'm like a chicken pecking at kernels of corn." As my friend made light of his medication, he admitted the benefits, "[The doctor asked] if I felt all right. I said that I'm getting so that I'm not wobbly like I used to be."
As we talked, Warren brought out an old photo album, starting with pictures from his boyhood, "You can see what kind of house we had." The photo, aged and cracked, was of the home he grew up in, out by Smokey Road. Next was a picture of Warren riding a horse - Smokey Road looked like a back road surrounded by farmland and barbed wire fences. Next in the album was Warren's ID card from the Marines, "I was a mean one", and he smiled. He weighed 165 pounds.
"I think this one was taken around Hawaii. Those buildings were thrown up so the boys would have someplace to live." The picture was of an obvious construction zone, with Warren on a bulldozer. "They asked us if anyone wanted to dig out the septic with a bulldozer. I just wanted to destroy something."
Warren was never seriously ill when he was in the Marines, nor was he ever wounded in the four years he served. But, he certainly was close enough, even to friendly fire:
"Those planes would be in the sky like a bunch of sparrows coming out of a wheat field. At the time you kind of wondered why the American planes kept coming closer. They (started) about five miles out, and the smoke - the whole (darn) earth was shaking. (It kept getting closer), to where my nerves, I was about ready (for a new pair of) drawers. The shaking - the leaves came right off the trees. Then we advanced, Christ what a mess. We walked through, and a lot of guys were lying there just like skeletons, lying there like a dog resting in the hot sun. (The bombs) just cooked the meat off and everything else; Japanese, white people; man, you talk about getting into the nitty gritty ..."
One of the next photos to come up stood out in stark contrast to the others. In it were three young Marines, each smiling and holding a drink. "I'll bet all the beer I had you could carry in that waste bucket over there," Warren gestured across the room. Still, the figures in the picture were smiling; they looked happy. "Here were two real good friends of mine. This one was a redhead; he had all red hair. He was from Milwaukee." Despite the age of the photo, the clarity was spectacular. The three men stood in full U.S. Marine regalia, holding their drinks. On a shelf was a caricatured skull, next to an antique bottle. A shiny sign proclaimed they were patronizing the Owl Bar, while another advertised beer for five cents. Still another advertised "Jap Navy Fizz: One Swig and you'll Sink." Warren continued:
"That was some hole-in-the-wall place you could go to, slurp down two or three beers before they shipped you off, right on down the line. I saw both those fellows killed, one not any further from me than that lavatory over there," he gestured to a door not six feet away. "He got killed deader than hell. I was talking to the [redhead from Milwaukee] and when he didn't answer I looked over. Half his head was gone. That was, I think, on Okinawa. We stopped and had a beer (took that photo), just the day before."
Flipping the page, he nonchalantly pointed out another photo. There was Warren, hands in his pockets, but looking much older than the Owl Bar shot. His shirt was unbuttoned, his face unshaven. His hair, longer and uncombed, hung well into his brow line. "See that building there? If I remember right, that was storage for rice or corn or something. See how it's kicked out at the bottom?" The structure ran back toward the horizon, as far as the black-and-white picture allowed. "That brickwork just got shot to hell. I remember we just blew that building apart."
Warren continued with another photo, relaying the unimaginable consequences surrounding it, "These are Japanese barracks. We'd go in, and kill everyone in there. Of course naturally we had to have a place to live so we'd kill everything there, hose it out, and then we'd take over. It wasn't too good smelling, but with Japs shooting the fields, laying and hiding all over hell, at least we had a place to stay." Standing next to Warren in the photograph was a fellow Marine, shirt unbuttoned and with a handgun tucked in the front of his trousers. Smiling, he held a captured Japanese flag. I peered closer - that smile; it looked familiar. I asked Warren who the man was. "He was that redhead from Milwaukee."
Years after they were taken, my friend can still recite the photographs. Despite the brutal events represented in the photos, Warren retains a catching sense of humor. He reverted back to his pills, "[Some of them] are the size of rabbit turds. You know what I would really like? One cigar - I just love a good cigar. I haven't had a good cigar in so [darn] long."
- Dan Wegmueller is a columnist for The Monroe Times. He can be reached at dwegs@tds.net.
As we talked, Warren brought out an old photo album, starting with pictures from his boyhood, "You can see what kind of house we had." The photo, aged and cracked, was of the home he grew up in, out by Smokey Road. Next was a picture of Warren riding a horse - Smokey Road looked like a back road surrounded by farmland and barbed wire fences. Next in the album was Warren's ID card from the Marines, "I was a mean one", and he smiled. He weighed 165 pounds.
"I think this one was taken around Hawaii. Those buildings were thrown up so the boys would have someplace to live." The picture was of an obvious construction zone, with Warren on a bulldozer. "They asked us if anyone wanted to dig out the septic with a bulldozer. I just wanted to destroy something."
Warren was never seriously ill when he was in the Marines, nor was he ever wounded in the four years he served. But, he certainly was close enough, even to friendly fire:
"Those planes would be in the sky like a bunch of sparrows coming out of a wheat field. At the time you kind of wondered why the American planes kept coming closer. They (started) about five miles out, and the smoke - the whole (darn) earth was shaking. (It kept getting closer), to where my nerves, I was about ready (for a new pair of) drawers. The shaking - the leaves came right off the trees. Then we advanced, Christ what a mess. We walked through, and a lot of guys were lying there just like skeletons, lying there like a dog resting in the hot sun. (The bombs) just cooked the meat off and everything else; Japanese, white people; man, you talk about getting into the nitty gritty ..."
One of the next photos to come up stood out in stark contrast to the others. In it were three young Marines, each smiling and holding a drink. "I'll bet all the beer I had you could carry in that waste bucket over there," Warren gestured across the room. Still, the figures in the picture were smiling; they looked happy. "Here were two real good friends of mine. This one was a redhead; he had all red hair. He was from Milwaukee." Despite the age of the photo, the clarity was spectacular. The three men stood in full U.S. Marine regalia, holding their drinks. On a shelf was a caricatured skull, next to an antique bottle. A shiny sign proclaimed they were patronizing the Owl Bar, while another advertised beer for five cents. Still another advertised "Jap Navy Fizz: One Swig and you'll Sink." Warren continued:
"That was some hole-in-the-wall place you could go to, slurp down two or three beers before they shipped you off, right on down the line. I saw both those fellows killed, one not any further from me than that lavatory over there," he gestured to a door not six feet away. "He got killed deader than hell. I was talking to the [redhead from Milwaukee] and when he didn't answer I looked over. Half his head was gone. That was, I think, on Okinawa. We stopped and had a beer (took that photo), just the day before."
Flipping the page, he nonchalantly pointed out another photo. There was Warren, hands in his pockets, but looking much older than the Owl Bar shot. His shirt was unbuttoned, his face unshaven. His hair, longer and uncombed, hung well into his brow line. "See that building there? If I remember right, that was storage for rice or corn or something. See how it's kicked out at the bottom?" The structure ran back toward the horizon, as far as the black-and-white picture allowed. "That brickwork just got shot to hell. I remember we just blew that building apart."
Warren continued with another photo, relaying the unimaginable consequences surrounding it, "These are Japanese barracks. We'd go in, and kill everyone in there. Of course naturally we had to have a place to live so we'd kill everything there, hose it out, and then we'd take over. It wasn't too good smelling, but with Japs shooting the fields, laying and hiding all over hell, at least we had a place to stay." Standing next to Warren in the photograph was a fellow Marine, shirt unbuttoned and with a handgun tucked in the front of his trousers. Smiling, he held a captured Japanese flag. I peered closer - that smile; it looked familiar. I asked Warren who the man was. "He was that redhead from Milwaukee."
Years after they were taken, my friend can still recite the photographs. Despite the brutal events represented in the photos, Warren retains a catching sense of humor. He reverted back to his pills, "[Some of them] are the size of rabbit turds. You know what I would really like? One cigar - I just love a good cigar. I haven't had a good cigar in so [darn] long."
- Dan Wegmueller is a columnist for The Monroe Times. He can be reached at dwegs@tds.net.
