“No thank you, ma’am.”
This lady could talk and talk, and she did, nonstop. Luckily, Commander Knox joined us a few minutes later. I jumped to attention as he entered the office, and he smiled and told me to stand at ease. He was wearing his summer white uniform with a blouse that had three rows of ribbons and the insignia of a submariner.
As instructed, I followed him into his office and deposited my personnel file and orders on his desk.
Sliding behind his desk, he started to review my paperwork. He was short, older and heavy-shouldered. Judging by his graying temples, gray eyes and weathered face, I placed his age in the late forties.
Finally, he looked up at me. “Your paperwork says you’re a born leader, an expert rifleman, with a background in survival. Those are all excellent skills for a mud Marine, but not necessarily the traits OWI is looking for. But then I looked down and saw who signed your orders, and far be it from me to argue with the Secretary of the Navy.” Putting down my file, he continued, “This show is mostly Navy, but we do have a small contingent of Marines, commanded by Lt. Colonel Ford. That’s where you’ll be assigned. I’ll let Ford find your hidden skills. Our mission here is simple -- we’re to promote and provide military information to the Hollywood community. We are the face of the United States Navy to millions of theatergoers across this nation and around the world, and it’s a job worth doing well. In the last war, I was a submarine commander, and after that I was a film producer for MGM. When this war broke out, the Navy needed publicity more than they needed fat old submariners like myself, so I now command OWI. Most of my people are retreads from WW1 or have entered OWI direct from civilian life with special talents or skills. They are writers, editors, publicists, and photographers. The hundred-plus people that work for me take their mission seriously and do a damn good job. Do you understand, Lieutenant?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Leave your DD214 file here, but take a copy of your orders and report to Colonel Ford over in Bungalow Seven, and good luck, Lieutenant.”
Bracing myself, I gave the commander a sharp salute. “Aye, aye, sir.”
My action caught him off guard. Finally, with a puzzled look on his face, he half-heartily returned my salute and mumbled, “Dismissed…Marine.”
Cottage Seven was across the parking lot and down two. In front of the bungalow was a small sign that read ‘#7 USMC Publicity.’ Once again, I deposited my duffle bag next to the front door and entered. The first thing I noticed was the smell of flowers…or was that perfume? This room seemed larger and had two chairs in front of a small empty desk, with wooden filing cabinets behind. On top of the desk was a typewriter, some small, framed pictures and an assortment of files and papers.
Just then, from a hallway at one side of the desk, a woman appeared. She was carrying a coffee cup and looked startled to see me standing in the office. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in. I was in the back, getting some coffee. What can I do for you, Lieutenant?” she said in a low voice that was almost a whisper.
It wasn’t the flowers I had smelled, it was this stunning lady.
“I’m Dutch Clarke, reporting for duty. Commander Knox sent me over from HQ to report to Colonel Ford.”
“I see.” She smiled as she slipped behind her desk. “The Colonel is here but he’s a little indisposed right now,” she continued softly. “We only heard yesterday that you were being assigned to us, and I’m afraid we are a little disorganized.”
Smiling back at her, I said, “I understand, ma’am. I only heard yesterday that I was being assigned here, too.”
“Don’t get me wrong. The Colonel needs the help. We were just surprised how quickly this happened, since we only made the request last week.”
She had a very special look, more handsome than beautiful. Her figure was trim and full, and the clothes she wore looked expensive. There was a streak of gray or blonde mixed in with her auburn hair, and after a closer look at her face, I placed her age in the late thirties. Her warm smile and twinkling hazel eyes lit up her face.
Just then, from behind the closed door at the rear of her desk, came the muffled but loud voice of a man. “What the hell is going on out there? I can’t get any goddamn sleep with all that noise…”
Just then, the door opened, revealing an older man dressed only in old-fashioned riding pants and a dirty white tank top. He was startled clearly to see me standing there, staring at him.
The lady looked his way. “This is Lieutenant Clarke, Colonel. Commander Knox sent him over.”
This was Lt. Colonel Ford? Bringing myself to attention, I said, “Reporting for duty, sir.”
He looked me over for a moment, then answered while turning back into his office. “Come in, Lieutenant, and bring your orders.”
At first his office was dark, but soon the Colonel had all three of the window shutters open, flooding the little room with light. Under the window stood a long, red-leather couch, with pillows and a blanket at one end. Across from the couch was a large wooden desk, with rows of book shelves behind it. The room smelled of stale smoke and brandy, just like my grandfather’s office, back in New Jersey. Bracing myself in front of the desk, I handed the Colonel my orders.
“Stand at ease. We weren’t expecting you today.” Looking down and reading my orders, he reached into his desk and brought out a cigarette and a white ivory holder. Wetting one end of the cigarette with his lips, he fitted it into the holder and lit it.
In the warm morning light, I could see that he was older than Commander Knox, somewhere in his fifties. His hair was mostly gray, with the exception of his eye brows, which were jet black and made him look distinguished. The Colonel was a short fireplug of a man neither fat nor slender. His face was round, with a large nose, but his eyes were clear and as dark as a barrel of crude. I liked him immediately.
Finally, with his gaze still trained on the page, and white smoke rising around his head, he said, “You run with some powerful folks, Lieutenant. I have never seen a set of orders signed by the big boss himself. I’m impressed!” Putting the papers down, he looked up at me and continued, “We only put in for some help last week, and now you show up. How do you suppose the Secretary of the Navy heard about my request?”
“I don’t know, sir. I have never met the gentleman. Last week at this time, I was just a Marine boot awaiting advance weapons training. Now, for some reason, I’m here.”
“Nothing moves this fast in the Navy…nothing but trouble. But, according to the Secretary of the Navy, here you are and here you will stay.” Chewing and puffing on the cigarette holder, the Colonel went on, “I run a laid-back outfit here, so I’ll call you Dutch and you can call me Colonel. We have an important job to do, and I want us to work as a team. Did Commander Knox give you that bullshit speech about being the ‘face of the Navy’ to millions of people?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, that’s just fine for him and his people, but from now on, you and I are the face of the Marines for these Hollywood types. If I have my way, we won’t be playing second fiddle to the Navy anymore. It’s going to be our own show, a Marine show. Do you understand, Dutch?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. I’ll go over your duties in more detail later. I’ve got a shitty schedule for today, so we’ll have to do it tomorrow.” Turning towards the door, he shouted, “Maggie, come in here, please.”
Within seconds, the front office lady was standing in the doorway.
“Dutch, this is Margaret Meede -- or, as I call her, Maggie. She’s my secret weapon and Girl Friday, and has been so for years. She’ll help you get squared away.”
Turning to Maggie he continued, “I’m going to try to get some sleep again.