Sorry we couldn’t have gotten together for dinner or something. This hotel is the best, and their food is outstanding. We would have had a grand time! I still don’t understand why you joined the Marines, when you could have been home helping with the war effort. Oh well, what’s done is done…
…PS I have put some pocket money in here for you. Let me know if you need more. Business is going just great!
Putting the letter back in the envelope, I shook my head in disbelief that he had called the Colonel and then talked with Sergeant Crane. Uncle Roy just didn’t get it. This military life was a mystery to him, and I would most likely pay the price. And that part about ‘business is just great’ -- being a war profiteer was something I didn’t like!
At the end of our eighth week, there was a feeling in the air that we were all going to make it. We had changed, our heads had hair, our bodies were firmer, and our minds were sharper. We walked with a swagger and we could curse like any good mud Marine. These weeks brought other changes, and I marveled, watching the young boys becoming young tigers. We had worked hard and it was beginning to pay off. Our platoon could out-march, out-shoot and out-swim any other unit on the post.
Liberty
As a reward for the platoon’s hard work, Sergeant Nelson announced that on the coming Saturday we would get a twelve-hour pass to San Diego. Two buses would depart at 1000 and return at 2200 sharp. God help any recruit not back from liberty at 2200, as they would be listed AWOL (absent without leave) and court-marshaled. The 3rd Platoon was not as lucky, and was spending that day practicing close-order drills again. Sergeant Nelson enjoyed telling us that bit of news.
The day of our liberty dawned clear and hot. Dressed in our Class A uniforms, we loaded the buses for the fifty-minute drive to downtown San Diego. The Marines had printed up a little tourist guide about the city that was passed out to all. The booklet listed all the places of interest and all the rules of liberty. Much of the city was ‘off limits,’ but the brochure did suggest places to go and things to see, although they were things most Marines had little interest in: museums, libraries and tourist venues. What our bus talked and laughed about was broads, beer and boogie.
Kurt, Hank, Jim, and I were going to stick together, to enjoy this fragrance of freedom. Our liberty started by us walking around the area of the bus station. Here we found restaurants, cafés and many bars. The guys wanted beer, cold beer, so into a bar we went…and minutes later, out we came, since Jim and Kurt were underage and not old enough to drink. We tried two more saloons with the same results.
By now, the Comedian wasn’t laughing, “Damn, it’s just not fair. I can give my life for my country but I can’t vote or drink a cold beer? It makes no sense!”
Kurt piped up. “Dutch, you can go buy some at a store and we can drink them in some park.”
My response was not a welcome one when I said, “If the MP’s catch us, we’ll all spend the night in the brig. I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Finally Hank came to my defense. “Hey, guys, leave him alone and don’t make him do what he doesn’t want to do.”
“I have no problems doing it. Just not here and not now.”
“You’re right, Hank. Come on. Let’s get some chow,” Kurt added.
We had a fair meal at a sidewalk café on a busy street in the hot sun, but the boys groused about the cost of the food and were sure that the owner was ‘sticking it’ to the GI’s. After lunch, we did some girl-watching and then grabbed a cab and decided to try the Art Museum, since it was air conditioned. It was nice and it was cool, but after eight weeks at boot camp, it was boring.
When we walked out of the museum into the blazing hot sun, I looked across the street…and stopped. There, in all its splendor, stood the old Hotel El Cortez!
It was a grand tall building with a large blue canopy above the front entrance. Beneath the awning, a doorman dressed in a red-braided uniform was helping people come and go. The sign above the canopy read “Air-Conditioned Rooms.”
My mind began to race. Why not? I thought. Turning to my pals, I pointed to a bench beside the museum. “Why don’t you guys take a load off, over there in the shade? I’ll be back in minute.”
“What’s going on? Where are you going, Dutch?” Kurt asked.
Starting across the busy street, I turned my head and answered, “Trust me!”
Walking past the doorman, I nodded with a smile and pushed at the brass revolving door. While the door was moving, I straightened my tie and brushed off my uniform.
The lobby was massive, replete with stone columns, marble floors, overstuffed furniture and the smell of money. My footsteps echoed as I walked towards the front desk. My mind kept saying, Strut, Dutch, strut. Act like you belong here.
Behind the desk were two gentlemen. The one facing my way was reading a book, while an older gentleman behind him sorted out mail. The bookworm was a skinny fellow with a dark suit and dress shirt with one of those old-fashioned starched collars. His face was narrow and, below his bony nose, he had a pencil mustache. Above his nose, he wore a pair of pince-nez glasses. As I approached the desk, he didn’t look up.
After a few seconds of standing there, I cleared my throat.
Looking up at me, he said in a superior tone, “May I help you?”
“Yes. I would like a room, please.”
He stared at me and my uniform with contempt. “I’m sorry, sir. That won’t be possible. We are booked solid.”
Smiling at him and raising one of my hands, I commented, “You mean in this tall, grand, old hotel there is not one room available for a weary traveler like myself?”
He did not smile back but replied, “There is the Governor’s Suite, but I’m confident that it would be out of a soldier’s price range. You might want to try the YMCA.”
Looking him straight in the eye, I asked, “How much is it?”
He glared “It really doesn’t matter, sir. We do not accommodate soldiers.”
My face turned red with anger, and I could have punched him right across the counter, but I didn’t.
“That’s too bad,” I remarked. “My Uncle Roy -- that’s Roy Clarke -- was just a guest in your hotel, and he highly recommended your establishment. I will have to tell him of my treatment. Do you know who he is?”
“I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t know the gentleman. As I said, you can try the Y.”
Just then, the older man behind the clerk stepped forward. With one fluid body bump, the surly clerk was no longer in front of me.
With a pleasant smile on his face, the older man said, “I’m Mr. Hudson, the manager. And yes, Mr. Clarke of Gold Coast Petroleum was a guest here, last week. You are his nephew?”
“Yes, and his business partner.”
Nodding and smiling at my response, he continued, “I’m sure we can accommodate you, sir, but unfortunately the Governor’s Suite is the only room available, and its rate is ninety-eight dollars a night.”
“Mr. Hudson, I have no problem with the rate, but I want to make sure that the suite is air-conditioned, and that there is a radio in the room. And, oh yes, that you offer room service to your guests.”
Reaching for a registration card, he answered,