As we headed back towards the front door, I heard my name being called out from the line. “Lieutenant Clarke! Lieutenant Dutch Clarke!”
Turning and looking down the line, about halfway, I saw Hank Marks waving and jumping up and down.
“Jack,” I said, “you go on in. I want to say hello to some pals. I’ll be right there.”
As I walked down the line, nearly all of the soldiers saluted me. This made me increasingly uncomfortable as I approached my friends.
It was the Comedian who first shouted, “Attention! Officer on deck!”
My three pals all braced themselves and, with the biggest smiles on their faces, gave me a sharp leatherneck salute, which I proudly returned. After that, it was handshakes and slapping each other on the back. The other Marines standing around us were dumfounded. They had never seen an officer so friendly with lowly Privates.
“Come on, you guys. Follow me. You don’t have to stand here, unless you want to shake hands with a General.”
They all laughed and started after me.
Finding a table close to the dance floor for the guys, I motioned for Black Jack to join us.
As he was making his way across the room, Kurt whispered, “I saw you working with that swabbie. Isn’t he a Nigger? How did you hook up with him?”
Over the sounds of the band playing, I angrily whispered back, “He’s a Petty Officer in the Navy, and he’s a Negro. Never use that ‘Nigger’ word when you talk about him to me. Got it?”
Kurt looked bewildered. “Sorry, Dutch. I thought that’s what they were called. We don’t have any…Negroes…in Ketchikan.”
And he was right. I could not recall having seen one single colored person in all the years I had lived up there.
When Jack arrived beside me, I said, “Fellows, I’d like you to meet Black Jack Malone. He’s the best damn photographer in the Navy and, more importantly, a very good friend of mine.”
They all shook hands and introduced themselves to Jack. Then Jack took a picture of all four of us. Getting ready to leave, I explained to the guys that I had to work the party, but that I would sneak over to talk to them whenever possible.
At nine, the floor show started. First out was Red Skelton. He did ten minutes of gags and jokes, with the whole room doubled over with laughter. Next up was Marlene Dietrich. She came out in a revealing dress and, in her deep, sexy voice, sang some love songs. While she was on, I asked Red Skelton if he would allow me to take a few pictures of him with some soldiers. He was pleased to do so. I did the same with Miss Dietrich while Bing Crosby and Bob Hope did gags, a few soft-shoe dances and some songs.
The last act was Carole Lane. She sang a few numbers but for the most part just talked to the guys about home and country. Carole’s act surprised me. She wasn’t wearing all that much make-up, and her dress, while sexy, had style. When she talked to the audience, she seemed to be talking from her heart. Her closing story was about how her brother joined the RAF in 1940 and was killed the next year in the skies over London. The way she told it, amplified by her stage presence, brought tears to the eyes of many in the audience. Then, with the rest of the cast joining her, she sang the closing number, ‘God Bless America.’
It brought the house down, with whistles and applause. The performances were outstanding, especially with the stars acting so friendly and down-to-earth. They provided much more than just entertainment -- they provided a way to forget the war, and then to remind us what we were fighting for. An audience full of soldiers always loves a good show, as they’re so pleased the entertainers cared enough just to show up.
After the performances, the volunteer hostesses danced with the men while the stars worked the room, signing autographs. Jack and I were like one-armed paper hangers, taking down information and shooting pictures as fast as we could. At one point, Jack had to reload our film holders, so I snuck over to my pals’ table.
“What did you guys think of the show?”
With smiles on their faces, they all agreed that it was the best damn show they had ever seen.
“When do you guys have to go back?” I asked.
“We have to be on the bus at 23:30,” the Comedian answered.
“Gosh, I wish there was a way I could get you to stay the night.”
Just then, I felt a tap on my shoulder. Turning, I found Carole Lane standing there. Reaching out, she gave me a big hug and kissed me on the cheek, saying, “Dutch, darling, you haven’t said hello to me all night, and you promised to take some pictures.”
The look on my friends’ faces was priceless. That’s when the idea flashed to me.
“Carole, I’d like to introduce you to some friends of mine. I was wondering if I might bring them up to your home tomorrow and take a few publicity pictures of you giving them your autograph, out by your pool.”
“How do you know I have a pool, Dutch?”
“When I delivered the program to your house, I saw it, and it occurred to me that it would make a great backdrop for PR shots.”
“Why didn’t you come in and see me, sweetie?”
“Your gate keeper wouldn’t let me pass. I think she said you were out.”
“Mrs. Jackson’s my housekeeper, not my gate keeper. Next time, call first. I’ll always see you. And okay, let’s take some pictures around the pool. How about eleven, tomorrow morning?”
My friend’s sat speechless, their faces frozen in expressions of disbelief, as I talked to Carole Lane, who was some kind of sex goddess in their minds. Just then, Jack returned with fresh film and suggested we take a picture of Carole with my pals. After the picture, I told them that I would try to get approval for them to stay over -- a plan to which they whole-heartedly agreed.
As we were leaving to catch some more shots with Carole, she turned to them and said, “Good night, boys. See you tomorrow morning…and don’t forget your bathing suits.”
As we moved to the next setup, Jack whispered, “What’s happening tomorrow morning with Miss Lane and your friends?”
I told him about my idea and her agreement.
“Well, I’m sorry, Dutch, but you’ll be on your own, tomorrow. I have other plans.”
Trying not to panic, I assured him that I understood. This time, in my enthusiasm, I’d outsmarted myself, and I’d have to improvise again.
Just before the party ended, I found Colonel Ford and told him that Miss Lane had offered to let us shoot some more photographs the next day with my Marine friends. I asked him if he could make the arrangements for them to stay over.
“Where will the guys sleep? And who’s doing the shooting, you or Malone?”
“I have room at my apartment, and I’ll be doing the photography.”
He hesitated for a moment. “After her performance tonight, how could anyone say no? I’ll square it with their CO by saying it’s a personal favor to Miss Lane. But they have to be on the afternoon train back to Camp Pendleton tomorrow, and you’ll buy their train tickets. Do you understand, Lieutenant?”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
By the end of the evening, over a thousand Marines had passed though the turnstiles, and Jack and I had shot eighty-four images of the event. Our supplies had dwindled to a few sheets of film and only four remaining flash bulbs, just enough for the next day.
My friends were delighted to be staying