prune picker

This is the blog of a prune picker. (Native born Californian) Retired oilfield. I am an old man. I blog a lot about my body and getting old. As I approach death life gets more interesting. More interesting is not good. I still drive. I attend sports, music, and civic events. I am writing my memoirs. I attend swim class three times a week. Some of my blogs might be interesting. A lot of my blogs are silly and trivial. None are very long.

Monday, February 3, 2014

(Army 20) Okinawa looked like California.

Soft rolling hills covered with grass. Here and there were clumps of oak trees. One night I was standing guard. One of our ammunition dumps several miles away was blowing up. Debris from the exploding shells would come falling out of the sky. As they fell they made a weird sound. Like a whistle. They must have been twirling as they fell. As I sat and listened it felt like they were going to land right on the top of my head. I would sit like I was a turtle and stick my head up into my helmet. I do not think that the helmet would have helped, however.

There was no need for our machine gun at the airport. We moved into a tent camp on the other side of the island and went to work. We built roads and an airport. I did demolition work, blasting coral.  Below is a copy of a previous blog.


I spent several months on Okinawa. I never did see a Japanese soldier. I am glad that the Marines did not ask for help. Back on the Palau Islands they did. When I went to help them I got a bullet in each leg. Seriously, I have nothing but admiration and respect for the Marines and the Army Infantry. When they go to work it is against bullets almost every time. They deserve our thanks and respect.

Below are some snapshots from my time on Okinawa.


The building behind us is the mess hall.


On my way to the shower.


Five of the best combat engineers.







2 comments:

  1. Very interesting to me, since my own father was a Marine officer who was wounded on Okinawa (sniper got him with a glancing shot off his head - left him blind for quite awhile). You and he were there at the same time. I should mention my father did not talk about his combat experiences until after I myself spent several years on active duty - then he opened up to me about it (scary stuff) but never did to my non-vet siblings. I think it's good to see you talk about it.

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    1. Thanks for your comment. If you read my war service story which I am in the middle of telling on my blog you can see that my war experience was pretty mild compared to your father or Sledge. I got close enough.

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