YOU ARE MY SUNSHINE, MY ONLY SUNSHINE

This journey should brighten up you day. It did mine, when the Army Air Force sent me packing to the far north. 02/26/2016

YOU ARE MY SUNSHINE, MY ONLY SUNSHINE

   It felt good to be on the move, heading west toward Seattle, after languishing at Langley for months. I hoped to serve in Europe or the Caribbean, but with these orders, that hope faded.

Our first leg of this trip ended in Chicago where we changed trains. Did you know that this country never had a rail system that allowed a passenger to ride straight through, coast-to-coast, without changing rail lines? Our layover lasted nine hours. During this time, I hung out with one of the other soldiers, a young man my age who happened to be of Japanese descent, a native-born Californian who stood about six feet tall. He showed me a picture of his Caucasian girlfriend and told me the military had interned his family in Utah at the start of the war, news that shocked me. I don’t recall if he was released in order to enlist. He had been to Chicago previously and knew his way around the city.

We hit a few bars where we played some dice games, and returned to the train station carrying some bottles of liquor. Many of the others did the same. This supply allowed our little group to host a continuous party that got rowdier as we rolled west. In North Dakota, the conductor threatened to kick us off the train. By the time we reached Seattle, we had befriended many passengers who seemed to enjoy our booze as well as our youthful and carefree behavior.

My stay in Boeing lasted three weeks, awaiting further orders. It seemed like a vacation to me, as there was nothing to do but play endless games of hearts and gin rummy in the barracks and eat lavish meals at the small, almost exclusive, mess hall. I visited Seattle on weekends, but never made it to Mt. Rainier whose snow-capped presence dominated the landscape.

During this time, all nine of my traveling pals had departed for duty in the South Pacific or beyond. Finally, my turn came. Much to my surprise, the army flew me from Boeing to Chanute Field, Great Falls, Montana. The base was filled with soldiers waiting to be severed from military duty. I would be replacing one of them, somewhere in Alaska. This prospect did not meet with my immediate approval. The thought of being stationed in the Aleutian Islands, a truly god-forsaken place, left me feeling distressed.

On a bright, sunny morning, about 6:00 a.m., I boarded a DC-3 with some twenty other soldiers. We sat on benches that ran along both sides of the fuselage. Once airborne, a few of the men got sick, although the flight was relatively smooth. It was not pleasant, having to share a plane ride with a few green-faced companions who threw up with some degree of regularity. These men were not cut out to be paratroopers.

We landed at Edmonton and refueled. It was a beautiful, warm, sunny day. We heard that the women there outnumbered the male population, ten to one, because so many Canadian men had gone to war and had not yet returned. Unfortunately, we were not allowed to leave the aircraft to seek the truth about this report. We continued our journey to the north, landing at two tiny outposts in the Yukon: White Horse and Ft. St. John, remaining on board during these stops. One could not help but notice that the day was as bright as it had been when we departed Great Falls.

We arrived at Fairbanks’ Ladd Field at about 4 p.m. under sunny skies. Before long, we took off and headed for our final destination, Elmendorf A.F.B. at Anchorage. We landed, and quickly got our barracks assignment. After dinner, I walked under a cloudless blue sky to see a movie at 9 p.m. The film (could it have been Long Day’s Journey into Night?) ended at 11 p.m. Daylight had not. The sun continued to blaze away. It was as intense as it had been when we left Montana. It was the longest and brightest day in the history of my short life. I had fallen into the pit of eternal sunshine. 

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