by Joe Corso
“Can’t you do something about this Red?” he asked.
His eyes were pitiful. It might have been the only time the guys ever saw Swifty as the child boy that he was, only twenty–four, they had to remind themselves. He had always seemed so much older, but here he was, just reaching out for someone to tell him that it was gonna be okay.
“Well, Swiff,” Red said, “I can probably get it deferred for a while, but they’d get you in a year or two and you’d be that much older. My best advice is to just go on in and I’ll try to pull some strings and get you on the army’s boxin’ team. You stay in shape and you’ll have an easy duty for a couple of years and when you get out, we’ll get you right back on track for the goal – a championship belt.”
Moose drove Swifty to the city. All the men who reported to Thirty–Nine Whitehall Street that morning had to complete a routine physical examination which Swifty was hoping he’d fail. The line was long and moved slowly. There was some kidding among the men and a few of them were nervous about the injections they would be getting. They had received three shots of heaven knows what when a Sergeant with a booming voice announced that the next shot would be the hardest one in the series. He said that they were about to get the helicopter shot. The men all looked at each other. As the story goes, they were all probably thinking what the hell can a helicopter shot be? It sounded scary. Swifty wasn’t worried, but the strapping young man with well – defined muscles standing in front of him in line turned ghost white. He turned to Swifty with a worried look and said, “Look, if I pass out when I get this shot, grab me before I fall. I don’t want to embarrass myself and look stupid in front of all these guys.” Swifty couldn’t help but chuckle a little bit. Here was this big lug who was afraid of a little needle. The guy looked like he could fight five guys in an alley and was asking Swifty to catch him if he fainted.
“Sure, don’t worry about a thing,” Swifty said. “I got your back.”
“Thanks,” the big guy said and he put out his hand. “I’m Gonzo.”
“I’m Swifty. Nice to meet ya.”
“Do you have any idea where you’re going?” Gonzo asked.
“No, but I’m pretty sure wherever it is, I’ll be on the boxin’ team . . . wherever that’ll be,” Swifty answered confidently.
“Hey, no kiddin’! I’m gonna be on the boxin’ team too. What’s your weight class?”
“Welterweight. Right now I’m at 165 pounds, but I usually fight at 160.”
“I’m a heavyweight,” Gonzo said, “as you can probably tell.” He laughed and gave Swifty a good–natured slap on the back. Swifty liked the guy and he began thinking that it would be nice if the two of them were assigned to the same company, maybe even the same barrack. The guy was from New York, he was a boxer – it didn’t get any better than that to Swifty. Lots in common.
The time had come. A few weeks later, Moose and the rest of the guys drove Swifty to Grand Central Station to begin his journey to Fort Dix in Trenton, New Jersey for basic training. The guys took turns giving Swifty big Italian hugs. Red and Moose started to choke up a little. Swifty tried to remain real cool but when he saw these guys, his idols, getting sappy, his eyes started to get moisten, too. “I gotcha covered,” Red said. “Don’t you worry, my boy, Big Red’s got you covered. Now, you just go and make all of us proud.”
Basic training first required a series of five physical training tests. The Lieutenant announced that he’d give the top three men with the highest scores a three-day pass. The first test was pull–ups. Gonzo was feeling a little full of himself and told the Sergeant that he could do them with one hand. “Just name the hand,” he bragged. The Sergeant, hands on his hips, eyed him up and down and said, “I never met a man yet who could pull his full body weight up to his chin with one hand.” Gonzo first performed the fifteen required, regular, two–handed chin–ups for the test. He then asked the sergeant to watch. Gonzo reached up with his right hand and did three one handed pull–ups. He did the same with the other hand. He looked at the sergeant and remarked, “If I hadn’t just done fifteen regular chin–ups, I could’ve done a lot more.” The Sergeant stood there, eyes wide, and shook his head as if to say yes, he was impressed. The second test was deep knee–bends. Seventy-five in this category was a perfect score. Both Gonzo and Swifty did the seventy-five easily. When they looked around, they saw other recruits falling to the ground and stumbling to get to their next test. Their leg muscles had just given out. The third test was pushups. Twenty-five were needed to pass. Gonzo and Swifty, once again, performed easily. Next were the sit–ups – so easy that the two boxers could have kept going all day. The fifth and final test was the completion of an obstacle course within a three minute time frame. This included a short run. Both men came in well under the time allotted. Gonzo and Swifty tied for first place. Each of them, as well as the second place winner received three – day passes. Swifty knew exactly where he wanted to go and asked Gonzo if he’d like to accompany him to Queens and spend some time with him at The Starlight Club. The boys were lucky – the Sergeant, who had his own pass was headed their way so they hitched a ride with him to the big apple. During the drive, Swifty and Gonzo talked a lot about boxing.
“Hey Gonzo, ya got any professional fights under your belt?” Swifty asked.
“Yeah,” Gonzo answered. “I have fifteen – won thirteen, twelve by knockout, and lost two. I’d like to fight those two guys I lost to again. I’m really more of a bar room brawler and I never took training seriously, so I wasn’t in the best of shape when I fought ‘em.” Swifty liked his honesty. “Next time, I’ll make it my business to be in shape and I’ll kick their asses. You can be sure of that. How about you? You fight professionally?”
“Yeah, I had thirty fights. Won twenty-seven. Had three draws.”
“Wow that’s some record. Three draws? That’s good. Least you didn’t lose.”
“Yeah, and all to the same guy.”
“What? I never heard of that happenin’ before,” Gonzo said. “Three draws and to the same guy? Man, you musta been good. He musta have been good, too.”
Swifty nodded. “He was the best I ever fought. I hope I meet him again one day. I’d like to tell him what a good fighter I thought he was,” Swifty said.
“Who knows?” Gonzo said. “Maybe you’ll get a chance to fight him again someday.”
“Not on your life man. Three fights with that guy was enough. Un uh – no need to talk about that. Not gonna happen,” Swifty said laughing. Sergeant Rodgriguez, turned to the guys and asked. “Do you guys have to go to Queens or can I talk you out of it for something better?” Swifty and Gonzo looked at each other puzzled like. “What did you have in mind Sarge?”
“Well, I was just promoted to Sergeant First Class and my sister is throwing me a party to celebrate my promotion. There’ll be home cooked food, plenty of booze and my sister invited her college girlfriends to come to the party. I met her girlfriends and all I can say is they are all knockouts.” The two boxers couldn’t refuse the offer of a home cooked meal and just hearing that beautiful girls would be coming to the party cinched it for them. “Ok you convinced us. Do you know of a hotel close by where we can stay?” Gonzo asked. Rodriguez shook his head. “My friends don’t stay in hotels. I insist you stay with us. We have an extra room you can use. Come on, say you’ll come. You’ll have a great time.” The two boxers shrugged and looked at each other as smiles spread across their faces. “Sure … we’d be happy to come. Thanks for inviting us.” The three days passed quickly and so did basic training.
Boxing qualified as a critical M.O.S. (Military Occupational Specialty). Because of that, both boys bypassed being sent overseas by ship. Instead, they were flown to Japan by way of a four-engine constellation, a propeller – driven airplane that was used for civilians as well as military air transport. The plane stopped in Hawaii to refuel and on the following day, an overbooked flight, full of officers who had seniority over them, caused the men to be bumped fro
m their flight. Each day for a week, they faithfully reported to their flight, and every morning for a week, they were bumped. The boys loved being bumped. Hawaii was paradise with its temperature in the mid eighties, clear skies and gentle breezes. There was one problem, however. The boxers never really got to enjoy the great state. Instead, they stayed locked in a crap game on the second floor of their temporary barracks near Hickum Air Force Base. Since they carried their payroll records with them. It was easy to go to the paymaster and get an advance on their salary, even before a salary was earned. The crap game was a big one and, one by one, guys were eliminated. Gonzo had to get out because he, like all the others, lost all of his money.
At the end of the three-day-old crap game, it was just Swifty and a Sergeant. The Sergeant suggested that they put all their cash into the pot for a ‘winner take all’. Swifty readily agreed. The sergeant picked up the dice. Swifty, who had become suspicious of this guy, kept his eyes on the man, looking for signs of deception. Then, there it was. Swifty spotted the move. It was good, almost unnoticeable, but Swifty had been in crap games like this one all his life growing up on the streets of New York and he knew what to look for. This was a blanket game. Swifty could have insisted that they roll the dice against a wall or something hard, but since the game had been underway long before he joined in, he had kept quiet. It appeared that old sarge here was switching the dice – that much he was sure of. Swifty theorized, and logic would state, that when the dice were going well for him, he might not switch the dice because he didn’t need to, but when he found his luck changing, that’s when he’d make his move.
Now that Swifty had caught him cheating, he waited; waited for him to make that funny move again with the fingers he held the dice with. As soon as the sergeant was about to throw, Swifty put his hand on the man’s chest and pushed him away from the blanket that held the money. This caused him to stumble backwards and land on his haunches. Swifty, ignoring the sarge, picked up the dice and felt them. Suspicions validated. The dice were weighted. While the other guys looked on, Swifty said, “Look. Watch this. I’ll throw a seven,” and he rolled the dice onto the blanket. Sure enough, he rolled a seven. “These dice are loaded,” Swifty said. “This bum’s been switchin’ the dice the whole time. That’s how come he’s been winnin’.” At least forty pair of eyes trained on the sergeant. “He’s good,” Swifty continued. “I’ll give him that, but he’s nothin’ but a rat thief.” The sergeant, sensing the hostility in the room, lunged slightly toward Swifty. It was more of a ‘let me outta here’ move than anything, but Swifty had anticipated it. Using the man’s forward momentum against him, Swifty stepped back and caught the sergeant with a right hand flush on his jaw. The big guy staggered backwards. Swifty was all over him then, hitting him with lefts, and then rights, until the sergeant just collapsed, in a heap, onto the floor. The sergeant’s friends tried moving into position to help him, but Gonzo put out his big hands to stop them.
“The first one who tries to help this guy deals with me,” said Gonzo.
The men didn’t move a muscle. Gonzo was big. Big and muscular. The men could do nothing but watch as Swifty pummeled their friend mercilessly into unconsciousness. Satisfied that the guy wouldn’t be getting up anytime soon, Swifty collected the money on the blanket, bent down, removed the sergeant’s wallet from his back pocket, took out all the cash, and threw the empty wallet on top of the unconscious man.
“Come on Gonzo. Let’s get outta of this joint. I don’t like the smell in here,” Swifty said.
“Yeah,” Gonzo said. “I think we need to find a new location until we get on that plane. Now’s just about as good a time as any to finally see a little of Honolulu.” Swifty agreed. Now was a good time. The boys found a cab parked right outside the base.
On the drive to Honolulu, Gonzo looked over at Swifty and said, “You did real good handlin’ that guy. I can see why you were undefeated.”
“Ah, he was just a bum,” Swifty answered modestly. “By the way,” Swifty continued, “how much money did you lose?”
“About two forty,” Gonzo answered.
Swifty reached into his pocket, pulled out the wad of dough he has taken, and counted out eighteen hundred dollars. He took out the three hundred dollars that he had started with. There was fifteen hundred remaining. He divided that in half. “Here,” he said to Gonzo, “this should cover what you lost plus a few extra bucks.” Gonzo laughed as he waved the money in his left hand while slapping Swifty on the shoulder with his right.
“Thanks for that, Swiff,” Gonzo said. “Only a good guy would do that. Thanks,” he said smiling.
Being bumped every day was getting ridiculous but on the seventh day the boxers found themselves with two seats on the plane. “You know,” Gonzo said, “I’ve been told that with these new jets, you can put a cup of coffee on the table and it won’t spill or fall off.”
“You’re kiddin’ me,” Swifty said. “If that’s the case, then why are we still usin’ these old constellations?”
“I don’t know. I guess since they have ‘em, they have to use ‘em. It’s probably cheaper that way.”
“Yeah I guess you’re right. That’s probably why we’re still using the same jeeps, the same Chevy staff cars, and the same deuces and a half that we used in the Second World War.”
The big plane flew high into the blackness of the night as the powerful engines roared and vibrated pulling the plane deeper and higher into darkness. The lights were turned off in the cabin. Swifty looked out the window and thought that he had never seen a sky as black as this one. He turned on one side and then the other and tried to get some sleep, and just as he was about to get comfortable, he was alerted by the Captain’s voice informing everyone to prepare for landing at Wake Island – the plane couldn’t make it to Japan without refueling. Swifty looked out the window again. He could see lights dancing in the middle of the ocean. The aircraft banked, turned, and touched down, landing smoothly on the black tarmac where it taxied to the waiting buses. The soldiers deplaned, boarded the buses, and drove a short distance to the Quonset huts – those semicircular steel buildings that were so common on military bases.
Wake Island is a small V–shaped island five by two and a half miles. It didn’t take long to get there and with this fuel break in the trip, the boy decided now was a good time to get some breakfast. Gonzo and Swifty were among the first. With their bellies full, the boys stepped out of the chow hall to wait for the others to finish eating so that they could all get back onto the bus that would take them back to the plane. While they waited, the fighters walked to the water’s edge where the sun was beginning to rise in the east.
“It’s weird, ain’t it Gonz?” Swifty said. “We’re on a volcanic island. Everything’s black instead of being green. Those shapes rising out of the darkness are the boats and the planes sunk during World War Two.”
“Yeah,” Gonzo added, “all the signs of the second world war are plainly in sight.”
Swifty wandered over to a pillbox, a concrete trench with openings used to fire artillery, and it struck him – how our brave men had desperately fought for their lives as they were being pushed closer and closer toward the ocean. This must have been where they took their last stand. It was an eerie feeling so he was relieved when the order came to board the bus and soon, with no other air traffic nearby, the powerful engines pulled them along the runway, gaining speed until they lifted the large aircraft high into the morning sky.
On this last leg of their journey, the guys managed to sleep a little. They awoke just as the plane was preparing to land in Tokyo and once again, a bus was there waiting for them. Swifty was glad that Gonzo was with him on the long drive deep into the Japanese countryside. The bus finally reached its destination and the men found themselves at Camp Zama, the Japanese West Point during World War II, now the present site of the Army Forces Far East (AFFE) headquarters.
Swifty and Gonzo were happy to find that they had been assigned to the same barr
ack. The barracks here were laid out a bit differently than those back in the states. When they entered the front door, there was a hallway on the right with rooms on either side. There were about ten cots in each room on the left. Halfway down the hall, there was the bathroom and showers and in one of them, there was a young man shaving. Swifty walked ahead, thought better of it, took a few steps back and stared at the guy. There was something familiar about him. The guy sensing Swifty’s gaze, turned and looked at him. At that moment, something clicked and each man slowly broke into a big grin.
“Henri?” asked Swifty.
“Swifty, didn’t we see enough of each other back home?” Henri replied. And with that, Swifty hastily walked over to him and the two men embraced each other in that manly sort of way.
“It’s good to see you Henri.”
“You too Swifty.”
“Gonzo, come on over here. I want you to meet a friend of mine.” Gonzo ambled over.
“Gonzo, do you remember me tellin’ you about that classy fighter that I fought three draws with?”
“Yeah. Nah, don’t tell me this is the guy,” he laughed.
“This is him – the only guy I can’t beat and the only guy I don’t ever wanna fight again.” Laughter filled the bathroom and boom – it was instant camaraderie.
Gonzo and Swifty quickly stowed their gear in their new home away from home and hightailed it back to Henri’s room. He had a few cold brews stashed in the small cooler next to his cot and he handed one to each of his new friends.
“Gonzo here is our heavyweight fighter,” Swifty explained. “He has a decent record for someone who don’t like to train much, but we’ll change that right, Henri?”
