By Thomas W. Butler

Iwo Jima is a volcanic island and, as such, is subject to all sorts of naturally induced seismic events. However, on one occasion during the summer of 1945 our part of the island experienced a ground shaking event which turned out to be purely man-made.

Latrine facilities at FRUPAC-Iwo Jima were quite basic. Some might even say primitive. In the early summer of 1945 our “head” technology had advanced to the stage of a six-holer privy built right out on the open beach, courtesy of the USN 90th Construction Battalion.

Originally without any sort of shield from the eyes of the rest of the world, it eventually acquired a board/canvas rear wall and roof and low wooden walls on the sides. The side facing the sea and the upper part of the two side walls were left open, not for reason of aesthetics but rather to give maximum ventilation to a locale which was, even under the most charitable evaluation, something less than the Chanel factory.

To keep down the level of flies and noxious odors and to make the place reasonably acceptable for use, it was the weekly job of the working party to pour some diesel fuel into the holes…and then set the fuel alight. Lime might have been a better solution, but we didn’t have any lime. We had diesel fuel. After being lit, the interior of the “head” would kind of burn and smoke for a while and in the process, improve some of the more unattractive aspects of the place.

Enter Fred Morehouse, a white hat radioman detailed to perform the dreaded chore. Fred was a 21-year-old reservist from Boston with an enthusiastic at¬titude towards any task which fate assigned him. Told to burn out the “head”, Fred went off to the powerhouse, found a jerrycan of diesel fuel and headed for the six-holer. The one flaw in the picture was that Fred had mistakenly picked up a jerrycan of hi-octane aviation gasoline which someone had placed in our powerhouse for use with the gasoline driven water pump at our shower bath operation.

Upon arriving at the “head”, Fred proceeded to dump a liberal portion of the jerrycan’s contents down each of the holes until the jerrycan was empty. Then, while leaning over one of the openings, he struck a match and dropped it into the stygian depths. The result was…earthshaking.

As Fred later described it, there was an immediate whooosh…and then flame roared out of each of the six holes. Cost to the highly disconcerted Fred, half of his eyebrows and part of his front hair! Fortunately, Fred’s eyes were not damaged.

The explosion generated pressure sufficient to send a couple of seat covers flying into the air and also ex¬panded the boxlike structure so that it had to be rehammered together.

We, of course, treated the whole thing with great hilarity once we had determined Fred had not been seriously injured. For days, there were elaborate descriptions of Fred’s possible citations upon receiving the first Purple Heart ever awarded for being wounded in combat with a latrine.

On all of Fred’s working parties subsequent to the explosion, he was invariably given the task of burning out the “head”…and exhorted to “…give us another fireworks show, Fred”.

It never happened again. Fred would check and recheck that fuel can to make certain it contained low-volatile diesel fuel…and then, as insurance, he would ignite it only by means of a lengthy fuse made out of twisted toilet paper.

Actually, Fred’s explosive incident spurred some overdue improvements. The “head” was rebuilt as a more modern facility, retaining only the general site and some of the “open-to-the-air” aspects. The architecturally impressive result can be seen in the upper left-hand quadrant of this photo of J.J. “Pinky” Higgins on the beach at FRUPAC in late summer of 1945. The more distant structure in the upper right-hand quadrant is the DAB-3 D/F. In the center background is a supply ship and a section of the offshore Kangoku Reef.