By Thomas W. Butler

Among the more colorful characters who made FRUPAC-Iwo Jima a memorable duty post was a whitehat Seaman first class named “T.T”. I omit his last name for reasons which will become evident as this story unfolds.

“T.T.” was part of the Seaman Guard unit assigned by the U.S. Naval Base (Iwo Jima) to provide security for FRUPAC during the summer of 1945. Since all of the Japanese on the island had been dead for weeks…and there was no one else around but U.S.A. military, it was not clear from whom he was to protect us. That didn’t bother “T.T.” … it didn’t bother us … and it seemed to be in general accord with the Bluejacket’s Manual.

“T.T.” spent a considerable amount of time at our station gate, standing by to screen our very rare visitors. The scarcity of visitors left “T.T.” with much idle time on his hands, especially during his mid-watches. The saying “The Devil finds mischief for idle hands to do”, was coined for “T.T.” He found things to do with his idle hands. Mischievous things.

Specifically, he established that within 100 yards of FRUPAC’s front gate, on the other side of a road and a barbed wire fence, there were newly erected Quonset huts filled with cases of canned beer. U.S.A. beer. Beer with exotic names like Olympia, Iron City, Schlitz. At this time, the enlisted men’s weekly beer ration was six cans, per man, per week. Thus began the great Iwo Jima “requisitioning” raids of 1945.

About once a week, “T.T.” would make his arrangements (with whom, we never asked). He would take the station jeep for an hour or so in the middle of the night…and invariably return with ten or twelve cases of beer loaded into the back seat. “T.T.” once confided there was a Quonset hut on the other side of that barbed wire fence with so many nails removed from its walls that a good push would bring down the entire building.

Despite our total seriousness about our FRUPAC duties, we were a pretty easy going lot. Not very “regnav” and certainly not very rank/rate conscious. As a Seaman first class who wasn’t even allowed to know what he was guarding, “T.T.” was positioned quite low on the USN totem pole. Most of us were RM1, with a sprinkling of CPOs, but despite the rating differences almost everyone accepted “T.T.” as one of the group, pretty much on a level of equals.

“T.T.” liked that and he sought ways to express his appreciation of our egalitarian attitudes.

Most…perhaps all…of our drinking water came out of a barge or a desalinator…and emphatically tasted like it. No one really liked to drink the barely potable water so we frequently were thirsty. Offered “T.T.’s” midnight-small-stores beer, we easily rationalized that not taking it would hurt his feelings. After about two seconds of consideration, we said “cheers” and drank the beer.

The whole thing was wrong. It was immoral. It was theft. It was misappropriation of U.S. Government property. It was like being a criminal accessory after-the-fact. It also seemed like a wonderful gift from God. We decided not to question His blessings. We drank the beer.

I have, on occasion, wondered whatever became of “T.T”. I remember he was born and raised in coal mining country…back-country Pennsylvania or West Virginia. He wasn’t very well educated…but he did know enough to try to avoid spending his life underground, digging coal as his father did. I hope he used his ingenuity and resourcefulness to good advantage when he left the USN.

We all benefited from “T.T.’s” considerable generosity. None of us have forgotten him and he is remembered as a friend. That’s a fairly significant measure of success…to be well remembered by your friends of 50 years past.