My story 8– Japan to and fro

My story 8– Japan to and fro

We graduated on April 30, 1953. I was assigned to Navy and appointed as assistant to the Political Officer of YunShung ﹝永順﹞, AM 44, with the rank of ensign. The ship was built in 1943, a 625 ton Admirable class minesweeper. She had served briefly in the US navy, was leased to the Chinese Nationalist Navy in 1945, and handed over in 1948. Since there were no mines to sweep, the Nationalist navy used her as a frigate. Her wide hull and slow speed, 13 knots at the most, earned her nickname “the duck”.

I did not like my assignment to the ship. My horrible seasickness during the passage to Taiwan in 1949 and to Matsu (馬祖) the year before turned me against anything floating. I would rather go back to Jinmen (金門), the front, than to any ship. But that was an order and there was no bargaining.

More than 200 of us went to the Navy, mostly to the marines and headquarters, and only about a quarter to the ships. On May 1, 1953, we reported to the navy base, Zoying  (左營) in Southern Taiwan to receiving a month of basic naval training for knowledge such as navigation, rigging and sail. On the third day of the training I, with two other trainees, were summoned to the office and told that our ships were leaving the port, so our training had to be cut short. In the afternoon a tailor came to take measurements to make uniforms since we were still in our army outfits. They were delivered two days later and in the afternoon we were picked by a jeep to report for duty.

Life on a naval vessel fascinated me at first. I had never worn such fine, good quality, and neatly pressed clothes. The food was much better than the food at any stage of my life before. We had eggs for breakfast every day and meat at every meal. It was my first time tasting toast with butter and jam. My salary, including the special subsidy for the personnel in ships, rose from NT$20 in the army and academy to NT$360 -- higher even than an army captain, paid about NT$250 then. There were a laundry man, a barber, and servants to serve us.

Preventing mutinies and rebellions

One of the duties of political officers was to make sure that orders from higher commands were faithfully carried out. It may sound strange that in military service orders would be disobeyed. But after the Nationalist Government had been defeated and pushed to Taiwan, the system of command broke down. Many ships revolted and went over to the newly established Communist regime. So when a ship sailed out to the sea, the government could never be sure if she would come back.  Rebellions that broke out on a ship were always the result of internal fights between the rebellious and those who were still loyal to the Nationalist government. Many died in these struggles. The commercial vessel Morning of the Sea, which carried me to Taiwan, also tried to sail to Communist Shanghai but was stopped by the Nationalist Navy and escorted back to Taiwan. Its captain and others who were in the conspiracy were shot. Most mutinies and revolts occurred in 1949, and they were rare afterwards.  But compromises in order execution were  common. Very often, ships were ordered to patrol only went as far as the mouth of the harbor.

A system was set up to prevent rebellions. When a ship was ordered to sail out to the open sea, a squadron of marines was stationed aboard, under the command of the political officers rather than the captain. They confiscated all the weapons, including the sailors’ knives, and kept watch over all the personnel. I remember a couple of years later, I was stationed in a gun boat fleet with 3 boats under my jurisdiction. Whenever a boat was sent out, I had to be on board. Once, an air force plane crashed in the middle of Taiwan Strait, and one of the boats under my oversight was ordered to search for survivors. The small boat struggled in the gale force waves for several hours but gained no distance from the mouth of the harbor. Eventually the captain explained to me that the boat could sink in such rough weather and asked for my permission to return. I, suffering from the choppy seas, happily granted it.

Smuggling and piracy

Since the customs had no authority to search navy vessels, some ships resorted to smuggling to supplement their salary. In some extreme cases, naval ships even sailed to Hong Kong to smuggle such necessities as medicine, and such luxuries as ladies’ stockings, cigarettes, lipstick, fragrant soaps, and other things not available in Taiwan. The common practice was to buy in Jinmen and sell in Taiwan. Jinmen was like an independent kingdom under the Garrison Headquarter rule. They had several vessels to buy merchandise in Hong Kong and sell in a monopolized store in Jinmen. Navy officers and sailors were the most frequent customers. I witnessed such smuggling on my journey to Taiwan on my way to the Political Academy. One of the duties of political officers was to stop such unlawful practice, but the practice was tolerated to some degree if people did not overdo it. When I returned from Japan, many people, myself included, bought things to sell to the special store in Taipei. The money carried me through my first year of college. However, if the activity was excessive and then reported, political officers would be the first to be in hot water.

Because the Communists had not established a significant naval force in the beginning, the Nationalist government in Taiwan blockaded all the mainland seaports . The coastline was too long for the blockade to be effective, but the blockade provided naval ships the opportunity to make extra income when the logistics broke down during the confusion of the early years soon after the Nationalists withdrew to Taiwan. There was a saying in the navy, “The gun sounds once,  gold comes in by thousands of ounces.” When naval vessels encountered cargo ships from the mainland, they took the opportunity to rob them of their merchandise or to levy a ransom. This piratical practice stopped after political officers were stationed on every naval vessel, and the Communist naval force gradually became strong enough to break the blockade.  By the time I entered Navy, the practice had mostly ceased. But I witnessed remnants of the practice in Peesan, an island near Tachen, which was controlled by the Nationalist guerrillas whose logistics were not supported by the Government. Using gun boats converted from trawlers, they levied NT$50 for each fishing boat from mainland. Since mainland crew did not have Taiwan currency, they paid in the form of rice instead. Rice was not planted in the rocky islands, and this unlawful practice provided the guerrillas with their food supply.

Journey to Japan

My ship sailed to Japan on May 13, 1953, for a complete overhaul paid for by MAAG (Military Assistance Advisory Group of the US) in Taiwan.  At the time, few people could afford to go abroad. The ship had been preparing for it for a couple of years, and those with good connections sought to be assigned to that ship. Since I was appointed only days before sailing and my position was newly created, people suspected that I had very good connections high up. 

The next day I suffered such severe seasickness that the only consolation was that nobody died from it. First I threw up all I ate, then, a yellowish liquid – most likely gastric juice. After emptying everything in my stomach, my stomach itself was squeezed and traces of blood came out. Shipmates advised me that although I felt terrible, I had to eat to fill my stomach or suffer permanent damage. Followed this advice, I recovered on the third day. It became a routine while I was in navy. Every time my ship went out to sea after a stay in a harbor, I always got seasick then recovered soon after. But as time passed, the seasickness got shorter and was no longer threatening.

We reached the US Navy base in Yokosuka, Japan on May 17. During our stay, we received US$3.00 per diem. An exchange rate of one US$ to NT$40 meant that for every three days I received an extra month’s pay. After 6 months stay, we all accumulated a small fortune. The money helped me to defray the expenses of my first year in college.

At the base we were allowed to patronize US PX (Post Exchange), a store at the base specially serving members of the armed forces and their families. It was a miniature American department store with prices cheaper than the regular stores outside. We bought a lot of stuff, not to use ourselves but to sell after we returned to Taiwan, where US-made goods were expensive.  We were also allowed to use other resources and facilities.  Officers and sailors used the opportunity to go to the base clinic to treat diseases that were untreatable in Taiwan. Since the officers who knew English were busy supervising the repair work and I had nothing to do, the captain sent me to go with them as the interpreter. Actually such a job should be the ship doctor’s, but for some reason he sent me, and I was afraid to argue with him. It was my first time to converse with real Americans. My English was not adequate, especially for medical terms. It frustrated the doctors. One day a doctor gave me a book named “English Conversation in a Hospital” with Japanese translation. Since half of the Japanese was in Chinese characters, I was able to grasp their meaning and improve my interpretation, and the work thus became smoother.

My lack of connections

Navy officers looked down on their army counterparts not only because the pay was better, but because their educational level was higher. When I was in Jinmen I was the best educated person in the company. On the ship, the captain was a graduate from the British Royal Naval College, and the Executive Officer had received short term training in the States. The ship’s chief engineer, and navigation and gunnery officers all graduated from Naval College and read English. They had to because the operation manuals as well as the charts were all in English. Some officers even spoke English fluently. Having freshly transferred from the army to the navy, I felt looked down upon by the line officers, so I associated myself with the warrant officers and sailors.  And this led to the following incident.

On June 22, while I was chatting, joking, and laughing away with a group of sailors on the middle deck, I was summoned by the captain to the officers’ hall. At the meeting there, I was chastised in front of all the officers for not behaving as an officer. In the navy, an officer should maintain his dignity and not mix with sailors. I should admit that I did not realize there was such a rule. When I was in Jinmen with the army, most officers were promoted from the rank and file, and they usually mixed with the soldiers naturally. My training in the Political Academy also emphasized that a political officer should go to the multitude (sailors, in this case) to understand their needs, dissatisfaction, and even thinking. They taught us to honor the soldiers as saints in the great job of defending Taiwan and recovering the mainland. I did not realize that in the Navy there was such a discrepancy between officers and sailors.

The captain treated me like a naughty teenager. He may have thought that I was too young to be an officer. A couple of days later, he asked my superior how I could have been appointed an officer at such an immature age – 16 or 17 years old. He also said that I idled while everybody was busy – which was true because while the ship was being repaired, I had no official duties, and my superior did not assign me any work.

The captain also mentioned my appointment to the ship. Although nearly all the officers and sailors on the ship had some kind of connection, he knew my appointment to his ship was pure luck, and he thought that I did not merit such an appointment. He said, “I don’t care what your connection is. I just want to warn you in Navy, you should behave in a way that suits your appointment.” That means he was sure I did not have any connections. If I had, he would not say such a thing.

A similar situation occurred later in my life, when I was in Foreign Service. One month after I was transferred to New York Consulate late in 1968, the Consul-General, brother of the Prime Minister in Taiwan, explicitly inquired me about my connections. At the time, Foreign Service officials all preferred US appointments, especially in Washington, DC or New York. After I answered that I had none, he ignored me – but gave me a C on my evaluation every year. One colleague mentioned to him that B grades were customary. His reply was that if a person wanted a better evaluation, he should talk to the authority himself, insinuating that a good connection was needed even to earn a B in evaluation. Fortunately, the personnel department did not agree with him. Since I committed no faults in my work, they always overruled him and raised my grade to B.

 I eventually realized that it was the captain's character to derive satisfaction from scolding others . He could not do it to other officers, or even to other sailors, because they could retaliate. He only chose those who were not able to fight back. In one instance, we searched a fishing boat from the mainland and summoned the captain to our ship. Something irritated my captain, and he scolded the fishing boat captain.  But not until he found a language the man could understand – after trying English,  Mandarin, and finally ZheJiang dialect, and then seeing the poor man bow in humiliation – then he was satisfied.

On April 16, 1954, the captain was transferred. During the time that he was my captain, our relationship never improved, and he continued giving me hard times for some trifling incidents. 
The experience made me not to expect anything better from our new captain, Liu, either. However, one day he send for me to his cabin,  showed me a stack of application forms that were for to go to the US to receive a retired US DD being given to Taiwan. It was something everyone to fight for. I had not signed up because I thought there was no chance.  He asked me why I did not apply. I answered then he said: "Do apply, I'll recommend you." His good intention did not materialize because in ten days he was superseded by captain Lin

Trip to Japan ends

In Japan I visited Tokyo, Yokohama, and other nearby cities and towns, as well as scenic spots such as Kamakura and Enoshima. The ship also organized sightseeing tours to Hakone and Atami.

A short time after our arrival, I saw for the first time a black and white TV displayed in front of a store. By the end of our six month stay, TVs of all sizes were everywhere, including transportation stations, coffee houses, and restaurants.

Also, as our ship entered port in May, I saw a ship being built in a dock, with its hull just starting to form. By the time we left, it had already been launched and was docked alongside a commercial wharf to be equipped on the inside.

Nylon fabric was abundant. We called it “artificial silk” and bought a lot of it for relatives and friends.

Japan was recovering from the ruins very fast.  Still, the war left very few men on the streets. I guess it is harder to make man than to make things.

Our ship began its journey back to Taiwan on September 29, 1953, with a three-day stop at Sasebo (佐世保). We arrived at our base, TsaoYing, on October 10, and had many visitors for two days. Engineers from Headquarters came to inspect the repair work, the Political Main Office sent a team to make sure there was no smuggling, and officers from the Fleet Command came to review regular but long overdue ship work. Relatives and friends of the officers and sailors also came with the hope that they might receive some gifts.

After we returned, I discovered that other my schoolmates had started their work long before, and I had been left behind. The time in Japan seemed like a long vacation. I had to start to catch up.