Lugging the heavy camera case into the canteen, I found an Oriental cook behind the line, cleaning the stove.
“Hello Lieutenant. Sorry, we’re closed.”
“I just came in for some coffee. Is the pot still on?”
“Sure. It might not be fresh but it’s hot and black.”
Walking over to the pot, I poured a cup and asked, “Is the boss still here?”
“Black Jack? Yeah, he’s still here. Do you want me to get him for you, sir?”
“Are we talking about Petty Officer Malone? I don’t know him as Black Jack.”
“Sorry, sir. That’s his nickname. I shouldn’t be using it with officers. I just thought everyone knew. Do you want me to get him, sir?”
“No. I just wanted to say hello and thank him for the coffee. Don’t bother him.”
Taking my coffee I moved to a table and placed the camera outfit on it. Opening the case, I removed the manual and started reading while drinking the stale brew.
Some moments later, I heard, “Hi, Lieutenant. I thought that was your voice.”
Looking up, I found the PO coming my way, with a large smile on his face.
As he got to the table, he concluded, “What do you have there? Looks like a new camera.”
I smiled back. “From what the manual says, it’s a 4x5 Speed Graphic Camera, Model 1940…but it’s still a mystery to me.”
Looking down at the outfit, he remarked, “Wow! I’ve never seen a C6 in olive drab before.”
“C6? What’s a C6?”
“It’s what the military calls this type of camera. Can I take a look, sir?”
“Sure. Sounds like you know a lot more about it than me.”
Within moments, he had the camera out of the case. Opening it, he examined how it worked, holding the camera up to his eye. “First time I’ve held this model. There are lots of improvements. Better lens…better focusing system…and its got that new focal plane shutter that goes to 1/1000 of a second. This is quite a camera, Lieutenant! Did you just get it, sir?”
“Yeah. It appeared on my desk, this afternoon. Colonel Ford has given me the duty of unit photographer, but the only camera I’ve ever used was a Kodak Brownie. I’ve never seen such a camera like this. How do you know so much about photography?”
Putting the camera down on the table, he said, with a look of pride, “Photography is what I did before the Navy got hold of me. In 1937, I was a photographer for TIME Magazine. Then, in ’38 and ’39, I worked as a cameraman for a film production company in Chicago. But that was a long time ago, sir.”
His answer made no sense to me. Why would such an experienced photographer be slinging hash in a chow hall like this? I searched for the correct words, as I didn’t want to embarrass him. “So…how did you end up as a cook in the Navy?”
His expression turned from pride to resolve. “In 1940, when I joined the Navy, the recruiters told me that I’d be made a Signalman. But after basic training I was sent off to cook’s school instead. Guess the Admirals don’t want colored folks as photographers. My two-year hitch was up this year, but because of the war they won’t let me out. And to pour salt in the wound, they put me in charge of this cafeteria in the middle of the industry I wanted to work for. So I’m stuck here…but it’s okay. Light hours and light duty.” He shrugged. “Sorry, Lieutenant. I didn’t mean to bend your ear. Guess I’m just letting off some steam.”
“Don’t worry about it. Can you join me for a minute? I’d like to pick your brain about photography.”
Sliding a chair out next to me, he sat down and we talked for almost an hour, mostly about the assignments he had done for TIME Magazine. He talked about the different cameras he had used over the years, and how he’d experimented with smaller-format cameras that used 35MM film. These small cameras were much better for what he called ‘photojournalism.’ He seemed to know all the camera brands and models, which ones worked and which ones didn’t. He was a fountain of information.
At one point, the conversation turned back to his duties as a cook, and why the Navy did what they did.
“It’s not just me, Lieutenant. Take Seaman Riku, over there cleaning the stove. He’s Nisei, a Japanese American, born right here in L.A. in ’21. Can read and write both English and Japanese fluently. Went to Hollywood High School and then on to UCLA to study film production. In early 1941, he saw the war clouds coming, dropped out of college and joined the Navy to be a translator. But he ended up in cook school, too. But it’s worse for him. They won’t even give him sea duty, because he’s Japanese.”
“It must be rough to be Japanese American in these times,” I agreed. “Seaman Riku told me your nickname. Do they call you Black Jack because you’re a Negro?”
With a broad smile on his face, he said, “No. When I was working in the South for the magazine, I did a lot of assignments in the slums. The poor folks there could roll ya for a stick or a stone, so I started carrying a blackjack for protection. People soon were calling me the ‘blackjack photographer.’ I never lost a camera or the nickname.”
“Do you still carry one?”
“A sap? Yes, sir, I do, but it’s out of habit, not fear. Don’t think anyone in the canteen would mug me for my apple pies!”
With his big-shouldered physique, I respected Black Jack Malone right away. He was intelligent and resourceful, with a good sense of humor. From the look of him, I was convinced that he was able to take care of himself, too.
Finally, I got up the nerve to ask him if he would be willing to give me a few photography lessons.
He hesitated for a moment and then, with a big grin, answered, “Sure. Why not?”
He went on to explain that we would need to buy some supplies and yet more camera accessories for the lessons. We agreed to meet at Cameron’s Camera Shop on Wilshire Boulevard on Saturday morning.
As I was getting ready to leave, a serious look crossed Jack’s face. “Can I ask you a question, Lieutenant?”
“Sure…but please call me Dutch.”
With a surprised look on his face, he said, “Okay, Dutch. If you say so. When did you get your commission?”
Getting to my feet, I admitted, “Last Saturday morning, I was just a recruit going off to advance weapons training. By that afternoon, they’d promoted me to Lieutenant and sent me here. The whole thing was just one big Marine snafu! So I’m stuck here, just like you.” Rolling the camera manual into my pocket, I reached out and shook his hand. “See you Saturday morning at Cameron’s. And thanks for helping me out.”
With a twinkle in his eyes, he nodded. “You bring the camera, I’ll bring the knowledge, and we’ll have you shooting like a pro in no time.”
Dropping off the camera outfit at the office, I started the walk home. My thoughts kept going back to the Black Jack and Seaman Riku. All day, I had pissed and moaned to myself about my lot…and then I met them. Prejudice had raised its ugly head and really shafted these two guys. Maybe it was time for me to change my attitude and start having some fun with this snafu. And maybe, just maybe, along the way I could help these guys, as well. If the Marines wanted me as a photographer, then I was determined to become the Leonardo da Vinci of photography.
The next morning, when I arrived at the office, I found Maggie on the phone. Looking up from her note pad, she smiled and nodded at me. Walking into my office I unrolled the manual from my pocket, and laid it on my desk. It was starting to look ‘dog-eared,’ as I had read it from cover to cover twice during the previous night. Sliding behind the desk, I removed the camera from