Luis Sung's Blog

Washington, D.C. December 8th 1941…“Yesterday, December 7th, 1941. A date that will live in infamy…” President Franklin D. Roosevelt regarding the attacks on Pearl Harbor.

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(The U.S.S. Arizona Memorial)

When the Arizona was hit it was personal for Roosevelt, he helped lay the keel for the Arizona.

It’s kind of personal for me as well. As a child growing up in Hawaii we visited the Arizona Memorial many times. It was the place to go when people from the mainland came to visit us.

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(With family friends at the Arizona Memorial entrance early 70’s)

At the time though it had little meaning for me.  I heard it many times when we visited the Arizona. As we stood in the memorial, under us was a sunken ship. It was bombed during an attack 20 years before I was born. In fact it was really, really…boring. Although the boat ride out to the memorial was pretty cool.

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(With my Aunt on the boat ride to the Arizona 1971)

But once there…you couldn’t run around. No yelling or loud talking. You looked out over the sides and there was nothing to look at except rusty metal sticking up out of the water.  And the water…it looked muddy and dirty with oil floating around the area. For an eight year old kid… zzzzzzzzzzzzz.

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(Looking forward in the Memorial 1971)

But I remember something that caught my eye that fascinated me for some reason. I’m not sure that “fascinated” is the right word to use but it got me thinking. As I looked over the edge of the memorial towards the remains of the forward gun turret that sticks out of the water you can partially see down in it. I remember standing up on the ledge of the memorial where I saw what looked like a light blue piece of cloth flapping in the wind. I didn’t understand at the time why it caught my eye and interest. I know I thought what a weird place it was for something like that to be.

As an adult, and specifically because I served 20 years in the Navy myself, Pearl Harbor and the Arizona had a totally different meaning. I learned more about the attacks of December 7th and the lives that were lost. In fact I am an avid reader of WWII history and especially the attacks on Pearl Harbor. I’ve spent countless hours watching documentaries of the attacks over the years. And then I remember that strip of cloth. It made more sense to me what it was having worn the light blue shirt of the everyday Navy uniform like they did back during WWII.

Now when at the memorial I no longer need to stand on the ledge to see the inside of the turret. The strip of cloth though is no longer there. Perhaps taken by a bird for a nest or blown away by the wind. But I remember it and wonder. Was it from the shirt of someone who was on board and in the turret at the time of the attack? Did he manage to escape and tore his shirt? Or was it from someone who never made it out and is one of the 1177 sailors who were entombed in the Arizona on the day of the attack. Did he get the chance to tell his story?

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In my visits to Pearl Harbor I loved the opportunity to meet and talk to some of the survivors, especially those of the Arizona. Sadly that opportunity dwindles with each passing year. Those who survived, they got the chance to tell their stories. Not all wanted to, I understand that. It was a painful time. But the chance was there. Those that did, I listened to closely.

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(With a Pearl Harbor Survivor 2011)

My wonderment was for the ones that did not. The ones who rest with their ship at the bottom of Pearl Harbor. The opportunity was taken away from them. Oh the stories they could tell had they had the chance. It, believe it or not, haunts me. The stories, the memories, the experiences. So much more than lives were lost on December 7th 1941.  But for me, they will never be forgotten.

It was for those reasons that I wrote my first book, ‘Tales From My Sea Bag’.

As I sat and wrote, so many memories of my time on the Trenton flowed in. “Tales From My Sea Bag’ turned out to be a bigger project than I had originally intended. As it was it became 371 pages of memories and could easily have been more. I had to stop at some point before it turned into another book the size of “War and Peace.’

One of the biggest things I thought about as I wrote that became a constant thought was how the Trenton is no longer in service. She belongs to the Indian Navy now. Her memories are now being written under another name, the INS Jalashwa by another country. And the memories of her service and those who served on her in the U.S. Navy from 1971 to 2007 are slowly slipping away. I didn’t want that to happen. Thus, ‘Tales From My Sea Bag’ was born.

I am at it again, yes I’m writing. It has taken me a while to get back into a writing frame of mind. My oldest son who is a writer himself reminded me that once you publish, you need to get moving with the next project. That’s what writers do. Onward mush!!!

For this new project, a continuation of memories from the Trenton, I again reached out to some of my shipmates that I am still in touch with. I had hoped to include more stories but from different people who served with me. Sadly my requests only spawned sarcastic answers of why they couldn’t participate. Some said they simply didn’t remember anything. Some said their stories were not something they wanted told because of their behavior. Some just completely blew off the request. OK, no worries guys. Trenton will live on in my memories, in my stories.

Fortunately all was not lost. So far one of the guys from “Tales From My Sea Bag’, Ed will make a return appearance with his stories and humor. I’m also hoping Jack will make another appearance as well. So far we are back underway with several stories already written with more to come. A title for this next project is not as yet known…But I will come up with something.

By the way, I have to mention…I received a review about ‘Tales From My Sea Bag’ from a lady (I use the term lightly) who said (and I quote), “The stories were incredibly embellished.” I am amazed at how people are willingly wanting to show their ignorance and disrespect to the world. Lady, if you felt my stories were embellished, you clearly don’t know anything about, or anyone in the military. Tell that to our Pearl Harbor survivors I mentioned above. Tell that to our WWII, Korean and Vietnam Vets. Tell that to those who are currently out in the field and out to sea every day. Tell that to those who have lost limbs and suffer from PTSD.

If you think my stories are embellished? Well…I can only imagine.

Susan Davis
5.0 out of 5 stars Great book
November 10, 2018

I bought Tale From My Sea Bag after hearing about it on Twitter. Read it as soon as I received it and I loved it! Luis had me smiling, then laughing and even crying. I felt like I was with him on the ship. I highly recommend reading it.

Stacey Nourie
5.0 out of 5 stars Good read
November 4, 2018

Easy, funny, and honest read. Read it in two days. Loves the detailed story telling

Kathy Gosney
4.0 out of 5 stars A Good Read
November 1, 2018

I’m not a big reader but, I loved this book! I found myself literally laughing out loud while reading several of the stories and was brought to tears by others. Thank you Luis for taking us with you down memory lane, introducing us to your friends and showing us Trenton through your eyes. I am looking forward to the next installment of you adventures.

Claire Creech
5.0 out of 5 stars Totally enjoyable book
October 8, 2018

I totally enjoyed this book, it took me on a trip around the world. Luis writing made me feel like I was right on the Trenton with him .Can’t wait for the next book.

I have published a book. It’s available on Amazon and is called, “Tales From My Sea Bag.” It’s a collection of short stories that chronicle my life in the Navy aboard my first ship, the U.S.S. Trenton (LPD-14). But those closest to me know that wasn’t my first attempt at writing. For those of you who don’t know me…I tried writing another book. I took many of the experiences/adventures I had in my early Navy career that I talked about in “Tales From My Sea Bag.” and attempted to write a fictional story around them. Things didn’t turn out as I had hoped and for now I’ve shelved the project.

One thing should be noted, being a writer was not my desire as I was growing up. In fact I showed a serious interest in art and had desires to become a Commercial Artist.  When I was young I drew on anything I could find. If it didn’t move, I drew on it. I recall when living in Hawaii I took an art class in school, it was something I did very well at…maybe at times too good. My teacher used to get frustrated with me because when given an assignment, I was always the first to finish.  When given homework, I would often have it finished before class was out.  It got to a point where my teacher ran out of things for me to do. This wasn’t necessarily a bad thing in fact my parents encouraged it. I remember my father coming home from work one day with a case of paper (5000 sheets) and said that it was for me to do my drawings on. I went through that case like I was pouring water down the drain. But something happened when we left Hawaii…I slowly started to lose interest. I still drew but not with the voracity I once had.  In fact and sadly once I joined the Navy I did not have the time to pursue my drawing anymore and I guess over time I lost the ability. I still have the very last thing I ever drew. While on mess duty we were having a meeting and while our lead was talking I started to doodle…the result is the below picture.  But now days, even my stick figures look horrible.

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But the writing thing…a much different animal all together.  As I think about it the idea for my story was planted as far back as when we lived in Hawaii. My mom bought me my first guitar. Then Elvis burst in to my life. While in High School I joined the chorus in the hopes of maybe pursuing music but when I was no longer allowed to be in chorus (it’s a long story involving my mother. If you want details, it’s in my book) that dream went out the window. So as they say, “those who can’t sing, writing about it.”

The story evolved over the years. But about 18 years ago I decided to put thought to paper. Yes, I said 18 years…being in the military didn’t make things easy time wise. I have more than 3/4 of the story written. It has been an interesting road to get as far as I did.

I wrote on my own and had a little help from a couple of friends. But it’s interesting, those who don’t have a desire to write don’t understand the desire to write. So when I said I was writing a book, they looked at me funny. It’s a look like, “You? Writing a book?” Yeah, me. Why not me? A book is nothing more than a story idea that someone decided to write down. Is it because I am not famous…yet?  Books stores are filled with stories and subjects written by people who are not and at one time were not famous. Stephen King for example…very famous author of horror books was once a nobody. People love his stuff. Actually I’m kind of creeped out as to what goes on in his head on a daily basis. But the point is…all those books came out of someone’s head. So why not me?

Actually, I had given the story to a quite a few people, both friends and family members, all with promises, “Hey, I’d love to read what you’ve written!” Well awesome, let me know what you think. Week one goes by…week two goes by…week three goes by.  Hey, did you have a chance to read what I sent you? “Well, you know, I’ve been busy.” Ah, I see. Well, that would explain why I haven’t heard from you AT ALL lately. Its cool…Thanks anyway.

One thing I have specifically tried to avoid is allowing teachers to read my writing.  Now no offense to my teacher friends out there, I know you meant well and were only trying to help.  See as a teacher reads pretty much anything, their first thought is, spelling and grammar.  I handed this story over to a couple of teachers and they immediately went into edit mode.  No, no, no, no!  I didn’t ask you for that.  I’m was more concerned with content.  Needless to say they lost total interest in the story when I wouldn’t allow them to use their evil red pens of death.

I did have one person who read everything. I only mentioned the book to her. I did not ask her too or remotely hint that she read it. She and I went to high school together and hadn’t seen each other in a good 15 or so years. We decided to have lunch one day and catch up on each other’s lives. The conversation took us too many places including the writing of my book. About an hour or so after we parted ways she called me and said she wanted to read my story. No need to mention I was a bit hesitant to send it to her since I’d been told by so many others the same thing. But she assured me that she (and her husband) would read it while they made a long drive that were about to take. She asked that I print a copy. So while at work (I can admit that now since I’m no longer with that company) I printed the couple hundred page manuscript as it was at that time. We met once again for lunch and I explained where I was going with the story.  A couple of weeks later we met once again. She said she and her husband read the story to each other as each took the wheel and drove. They liked it. So I was like cool, it appeals to men as well. But she did something I didn’t expect. I was amazed…she was serious, she took notes. She had recommendations. I noticed little sticky notes all over the pages where she had written specific notes to herself to pass to me.  I was like finally!!! Someone got what I was looking for. Not just, it’s good or not good, but constructive feedback. As we talked about it, she told me about areas that were good but had nothing to do with the story being told. I was like OK…then she really flipped me out. She said to take what didn’t belong out but to save it and use it for another book. WHAT!!!??? Another book? Are you kidding? Do you realize how long it has taken me to write this one? Another book? I don’t have that much time in life left. She said not to worry, I could do it. And she was going to help me. Well, I was very much encouraged. I thought I was finally going to have the help I needed to finish this thing. So I got back to some serious writing.

Ahh but then the bad news came. Murphy’s law struck…Do I have to explain Murphy’s law?  Anything that could go wrong will.  Some of you may have guessed. Did I mention she was married?  Long story short, the husband didn’t feel comfortable with the situation even though it was strictly for purposes of the book…the result, working collaboration now terminated!!! L Thanks, pal. Boy are you gonna be sorry when I do get published.

It’s been several years but that was the last significant writing I had done.  After that I found it difficult to continue writing but I did accomplish bits and pieces here and there.  And it’s funny, and I don’t know if all writers go through this but I would be working with something in chapter one when suddenly…”ding” a thought…but for chapter five. Wait I’m in chapter one, what’s this chapter five thing?  OK, write it down and get back to chapter one.  So later I pursue the thought for chapter five and then…”ding” a thought…awesome!…chapter twelve.  Oh common!!!!!  I’m in chapter five.  OK, write it down and move on.  OK, now pursuing the chapter twelve thought and then…”ding” a thought…for the other book I haven’t considered writing yet.  How do you write a book? One chapter at a time…not necessarily in order.

Someone then recommended I join a writers group.  Maybe I could get some help and feedback there.  That worked out to some degree.  But there were rules to being in the group.  Everyone was allowed to present their work.  I figured no problem; I already have lots to present.  But you were limited to 1000 words at each presentation.  OK, this would help me learn to say the same things but with less words.  The group was great, I learned a lot.  But I also realized that at the rate we went once per week I would finish presenting my work in the year 2061 when I was 99 years old.  Fortunately or unfortunately the group decided to move their meeting place to a much farther location than where we were at. It was a bit for me to go considering the price of gas and not having a job at the time.  So, I had to let that go…

To kind of help me a long I created this blog.  I thought it would keep me in a writing spirit.  And it did for a while.  I’ve had to change host sights a couple of times so I am hoping I have found a permanent home.

One thing that most recently revitalized my desire to get back to my writing. I came across a couple of people who reignited the still small flame.  The first being my own son who has entered the world of sports writing.  I have become very impressed with his writing style.  It is not that of your typical sports writer.  In fact he writes with an insight very rarely seen in sports.  Now days it’s all about statistics which he does too, but there is a human quality in his writing.  The people he writes about are real, human, not just million dollar numbers on a field of play.

The second person is a young author named Heather Manning. I came across her on Facebook. Let me rephrase that, she is a young published author whose books are in my opinion what great movies are made of.  In my mind had her stories been written in the 30’s and 40’s, they could easily have been a block buster for Errol Flynn and Olivia DeHavilland.  As I read her books, I easily pictured them as her characters.

With all that said…as with most writers I suppose I had dreams of where I wanted to see this story go after I finished and published it.  Dare I say, “Hollywood?”  Well, gotta finish the story first.  After 18 years it’s on a virtual shelf for now. “Tales From My Sea Bag” took it place in priority. But the characters still talk to me now and then. Who knows what the future holds. I stopped setting deadlines as to when I would finish.  I had too many come and go.  I’ll get done, when I get done.  How much longer is 2061?

 

Portsmouth, England

I was looking around on YouTube when I came across a Billy Idol video.  I was actually trying to find one of Tommy James and the Shondells doing, “Mony, Mony” when this other one popped up.  I’d forgotten that Billy Idol did a version of it as well and I’m sorry I was reminded.  But it did remind me of something that happened while on my ship, the U.S.S. TRENTON.

The Quarterdeck of any ship is the first line of defense for anyone trying to gain access or to depart while in port.  On this occasion, it was bustling with activity.  Men coming on and off the ship for various reasons, some still on duty loading supplies, some taking off the trash. Yet more were dressed in civilian clothes heading out for a night on the town, or just coming back from a tour.  As I stood on the quarter deck waiting for a friend, I witnessed the following exchange:

“Permission to go ashore, Sir.” One young sailor asked as he presented himself and his ID card for inspection.

As the temporarily distracted Petty Officer of the watch turned around to grant permission to the sailor, his hand at mid salute, he received a shock.

“What the hell are you wearing?” He said while looking the young sailor up and down and lowering his hand.

“What?” the sailor replied as he looked down at his clothes.

Both comments were loud enough to catch the attention of the Officer of the Deck who was in charge of the Quarterdeck.  As the Chief looked up from the podium he couldn’t help but stare.  The sailor was dressed from head to toe in black leather, his blonde hair spiked, and his lips painted black.  Around his neck and wrists were thick leather bands with quarter inch spikes.  On his hands, black leather gloves with the tips cut off also with spikes. To round out the show, heavy black leather boots, and to complete the picture, black finger nail polish. 

    The Chief blinked in disbelief a couple of times as he saw what looked like mascara on the boys eyes.  

So before I go on I think I should let you know who the officer of the deck was. Without mentioning his name, he was a good old boy. He was as country as country could be from his feathered cowboy hat to the pointy cowboy boots he wore when not in uniform.  He was also the leader of the ships band.  A group of men that included one of my friends who frequently played southern fried music with all the fixin’s and a “TWANG” in not only his guitar, but in his singing.  He looked a cross between country music star Waylon Jennings and NASCAR driver Richard Petty.  He didn’t sing like Waylon but he sure looked like him.  Have I painted the picture enough?  Let’s continue…

[image error]Guess which ones the Chief. Photo Credit: Trenton Cruise Book

The Chief made a complete circle and then took a few steps to stand before the sailor. While most would have been hesitant to get too close, Chief stood right in front of the young man and placed his hands behind his back.  He pondered the fashion statement being presented. The sailor stared back at the Chief, a lump forming in his throat I’m sure. Finally the Chief leaned into him and broke his silence.

“Boy, you’re joking with that outfit aren’t ya?”  He said in his southern drawl.

“No Chief.” The sailor replied.

“And just where are you going in that get up?”

“To a punk club.”

“Naw Sir, naw Sir, naw Sir. You’re a representative of the United States Navy and this ship, you’re not leaving here looking like that! Not on mah watch!” the Chief said matter-of-factly.

“What’s wrong with the way I look?” the sailor asked.

The Chief’s jaw dropped in disbelief over the comment. In a look that only Chief Petty Officers and angry mothers can give, he took another step closer to the sailor and answered in a calm, clear voice.

    “Do ya really want me tah give you an answer young man? Because ah will and when I’m done, you won’t be leaving this ship again until we get back to the States. So mah advice to you is that you head back down below deck, get you some decent clothes on, wash your face, comb your hair, and take off that nail polish then report back to me for inspection before ah let you off.” He looked the young sailor dead in the eyes, “Do you understand me, Billy Idol?”

Swallowing hard the sailor managed to get a “Yes Chief”

“Now move it fore I have you replace mah Petty Officer of the Watch and let him go on liberty in your place.”

The Chief just shook his head in disbelief as he watched the sailor’s hands formed into fists, and cursing to no end, storm off the Quarterdeck.    

The Chief then looked up at me and my buddies, he was still hot. “You boys waiting on something?”

“Permission to go ashore Chief!”

 

An excerpt from my forthcoming book…

We heard it many times…as I mentioned before…water   restrictions. And they came at some of the most inopportune times. Water restrictions meant one of two things…

– You have three minutes to take a shower or…

– There will be no showers today.

When the second option happened all hope was not lost, we were allowed a bird bath. What’s that? We were allowed to fill a sink and wash cloth or sponge ourselves clean doing our best to hit all the major areas. If we were fortunate to still be able to take the three minute shower it was a lesson in Rapid Cleanliness. You had a total of three minutes to get wet, soap up, rinse off, and get out. I remember there were times when I was in Deck, we had a guy stand outside the shower with a stopwatch. Ready or not when your time was up, you got out.

Many times there was an added challenge that took time from us, getting the hot/cold water balance right. Sometimes it could take up to a minute to get to at least lukewarm water. As time went by, I learned to get it all complete in the three minutes allotted, sometimes less if I just used my shampoo to do my entire body…don’t judge, times were tough. But using that method I can proudly report, my body never had dandruff.

The least preferred option was the no water usage at all.  No shower, no bird bath. So what did we do? Well, that was a time when you got to experience what was everyone’s favorite cologne was.

Most unfortunately there were a few that had no concern with water restrictions. They simply didn’t bother whether restrictions were on or not. For the few that unwisely practiced this, they got to experience personalized lessons in hygiene from their                 shipmates. I’ll let your mind wonder as to what may have taken place.

Water restrictions weren’t all bad. They turned out to be a valuable piece of training. The faster you got in, the faster you got out. Now why is this important? First off, sometimes there was no hot water at all. This was especially rough during winter months. It also presented a problem with certain body parts disappearing for days. Second, there were roughly 60 or so people in each berthing compartment and we had to share two bathrooms known as “Heads”…Goggle it. There was one on the port side, and one on the starboard side (left and right for you civilians). Each head had two showers, two urinals, and two toilets. While showering the odds were very good (especially at sea) that someone else would come in. The odds were even greater that they were there to do more than shower. While showering, the trick was to get in and out before another  person came in and unleashed what he had been holding in all day, thereby turning the head into a gas chamber. And heaven forbid someone else came in at the same time and used the second toilet. You’ve now been sentenced to death.

JFK was once quoted as saying while he was in the Navy during WWII, “You aren’t a real sailor until you have experienced brushing your teeth (or in this case showering) while a guy was taking a dump three feet away from you.”

The three minute shower often still happens with me today. Some things just stick with you especially when there is a line of family members waiting their turn. My kids can’t figure out how it’s possible for me to get in and be done so quickly. Sometimes while they are showering I go in and sit three feet from them so they’ll understand.

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Everyone has that one favorite movie, one they can watch over and over again and never get tired of it. I actually have a few but there is one that I watch more than the others. So it was my watching this film that brought up the following thoughts…

It’s been over 75 years since the initial release of Casablanca back in 1942. A movie that was voted #2 on the top 100 films of all time. It was not long ago that I had a wonderful opportunity to see this all time favorite of mine on the big screen the way it was originally shown oh so many years ago.  Now saying the big screen these days could mean many things like, “I watched it on my big flat screen at home.”  That is not the case here.  I have not made the jump to light speed from my 31 inch, 200 pound monster to a flat screen yet…YET, but my pennies are adding up!!!!  No, in this case I am talking about a movie theater.

For the 70th Anniversary of it’s release, it was being shown for one night at theaters across the country.  Now some of you might be saying, “Wait, isn’t that on VHS, and DVD?”  My response is yes, yes it is. But there is something about watching a movie in a theater, a full theater at that along with other lovers of this great film.  It’s a different atmosphere.  That was especially true with Casablanca.  I was one of the first people in (I did that on purpose) and I watched as person after person filed in, people of every age and color.  It was amazing to see.

There was also a mischievous side about my thinking.  As I sat there watching I thought, “OMG, there are people walking in here old enough to have probably attended the original theatrical release in 1942. And then they walked in, an entire family, four generations worth…Great grandparent, grand parents, parents, and children. They took seats right behind me and I listened closely as the older folks talked of how they saw that original screening.  The chief comments though were the difference between what they paid then (30 cents) vice the $13.50 we all just paid.  But apparently the entire house felt it was worth it because every seat was taken. Either way, I was sitting in awe and just thought how cool was that they all could come together to see the show?  It reminded me of how I am now sharing my love of classic TV and movies with my family.  My boys sit with me as I watch McHale’s Navy, Hogan’s Heroes, M*A*S*H, the original Hawaii Five-0, and many movies from the golden era.  But that’s another story…

Now I have to confess.  Casablanca  wasn’t always my all time favorite. I didn’t fall in love with it right away.  It’s not that it took me several views to get into it…it was more like…well…Once upon a time I bought Casablanca as a Laser Disc.  Anyone remember those? It looked like a giant DVD and played like a DVD, but like a record not only because of its size but also in that you had to turn it over half way through the movie to see the second half.  OK, back to the story…

I have a really bad habit of trying to start a movie late at night after a long day at work and just before bed.  Needless to say, I would fall dead asleep shortly after the movie started.  Sometimes not making it past the credits. Only to wake up when the closing credits and music were playing. My slumber had nothing to do with the movie mind you.  I can fall asleep through movies like, Gladiator and the Patriot during an action scene if it was late enough.  Out of frustration, I finally made it a point one Saturday morning after a decent night’s sleep to sit and watch the movie. With coffee in hand and my remote in the other, I hit play…it was love at first site.

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As you really start to get into the characters you can’t help but relate and enjoy them. The cast; Humphrey Bogart, Ingrid Bergman, Paul Henreid, and Claude Raines. As many times as I’ve seen it I find it’s one of those films where you can’t imagine anyone else playing those parts, it was a one of a kind cast.  I’ve heard they’ve tried to remake Casablanca  over the years, it didn’t work. I’m not going to go into details about the movie.  If you’ve never seen it, do so.

There have been many documentaries made about Casablanca, one of which was shown before the movie in the theater hosted by Bogie’s wife, Loren Bacall.  When you see and hear the stories behind the production you have to wonder how the heck it was completed at all much less becoming a classic.  But it is a fascinating story and a wonderful movie.  It has a combination of mystery, intrigue, comedy, romance and suspense.  It also gives you a chance to use your imagination, something movies today don’t allow you to do.  I’ll give you a hint at what I mean:

Today in movies, in order to kill someone (or something) using a gun, you need a spray of bullets to accomplish the task.  You even have to be shown the bloody details.  In Casablanca and other classics…one bullet, just one, gets the job done.  You don’t have to see the wound, you didn’t need to see blood. If someone gets shot and they don’t get up, you can safely assume they are not going to.  If by chance they do, it usually only takes one more shot, you don’t have to empty your clip.

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The one thing that mystifies me about Casablanca was the cigarette use. Granted, the movie takes at a time where smoking was the thing to do, it was cool.  And of course “Rick’s Café Americane ” is a night club so I guess I have to allow for that.  But wow, the amount of smoking! One after another, after another. Humphrey Bogart in practically every scene he was either smoking a cigarette or was firing one up. And as I watched, one person smoking compelled another to light up.  As they are talking one would blow smoke in another’s face and it wouldn’t faze them, not even a blink, not a single cough.  If that were now days people’s hands fly around like someone walked in to a swarm of mosquitoes! What amazed me more than anything was Ingrid Bergman; She didn’t smoke (at least not in the movie).  How she was able to get through her smoke filled scenes and still kept a straight face is beyond my comprehension.

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All that aside, I loved the experience.  It was amazing to be in a room with fellow fans and watch such a great movie. The best way to put it is like this…Casablanca  wasn’t released 70 years ago.  It wasn’t on DVD, or VHS.  For those in the room it was right there and then.  As many times as I’ve seen it, that night the lines from the movie were fresh.  We all gasped where a gasp we needed.  We laughed where something funny occurred. We jumped when a shot was fired. I am pretty sure that if there had been a second screening, we all would have stayed for it.  It was totally worth the ticket price…and the medium popcorn…with butter…and large soda!

Again, I won’t go into details about the movie, if you haven’t seen it…shame on you!!  I urge you to do so.  I have noticed that some theaters are now showing some of the old classics on a regular basis…I applaud that. Here’s a suggestion, Cary Grants, “Father Goose” on the big screen!

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It flips me out more than any other event in my life. As I think back on it, it shouldn’t have happened. There was no reason for it to happen. There was nothing to lead up to it to make it occur. But when it hit, it hit hard. It became an obsession. 41 years later I sit back and still shake my head, the event of August 16, 1977.

I’m 15 years old, sitting in my room I shared with my little brother…(AND sister) but that’s another story. I’m minding my own business; I was probably watching TV when my father who had just come home from work comes into my room. “Hi Daddy!” I happily proclaimed. I was always happy to see my dad home. He returned my hello and then asked me a question. Now before I go into that let me back track a bit…

My music taste was rooted in what my mother liked. So back in the early 70’s besides what I heard on TV (The Partridge Family), or on the radio (The Osmonds and Jackson Five were all the rage in Hawaii at the time) I was inundated with Hawaiian music (and my mom doing the hula all around the house…that’s yet another story), Engelbert Humperdinck and Tom Jones. Curiously we had no Tom Jones records but my mom never missed his variety show. Make a sound during that hour he was on and you took your life into your hands.

Now I will mention, we lived in Hawaii when Elvis did his famed “Aloha From Hawaii” concert in 1973.  That was the first I’d ever heard his name.  As I recall a girl who lived across the way from us, we’ll call her Debbie… OK, that was her name. She was absolutely nuts about Elvis.  She talked about him like he sung her to sleep in person every night.  I of course being the 11 year old boy that I was and girls were still kinda icky made fun of her and this Elvis person.  But still the curiosity seed had been planted…

Elvis decided to walk on stage at 12:30am Hawaii time.  So needless to say my parents didn’t allow me to stay up with them and watch the show.  Fortunately or unfortunately the kitchen faced the TV so I could peek over the counter in the darkness.  The unfortunate part was that my mother could sense the presence of people even in another room. She quickly turned her head and as our eyes made contact, I felt this telepathic message, “get back in your room and go to sleep.”  So I quickly and rather disappointedly made my way back to my room.  Sleep however was out of the question.  I needed to know who this Elvis guy was that was causing all of Hawaii to go gaga.  Thinking I would be slick, I put some thick socks on to make sure to silence my footsteps.  I slowly and quietly made my way to the kitchen and peeked over the counter and saw…nothing L.  I saw My dad was about to get up so I quickly zipped out of the kitchen and nearly killed myself as my socks slipped across the linoleum floor trying to get back into my room.  Did he see or hear me, I’ll never know.  But I was determined to risk another try.  I opened my door and heard music, something about a Hound Dog.  Again I slipped into the dark kitchen and peeked over the counter.  Finally, I saw this guy with huge side burns, dressed in a white jump suite with a huge eagle made of rhinestones, and white shoes moving across the stage…and then it happened.  My mom’s spider senses went off.  She whipped her head around, just as she did I tried to duck but misjudged where I was in relation to the counter and, {{{BAM}}} hit my chin on the counter.  Now at this point I would have thought my mother would get all maternal on me and bring me into the living room and let me watch the show with her and she’d comforted her freshly wounded son.  No such luck…I’ll skip the actual language since this is a G rated blog (at least this post is). But let’s just say I was sent back to my room with the threat of bodily harm.  That was the end of my first Elvis experience. Well, not entirely.  A month later the album from the concert came out and it seemed like everyone had a copy…except of course for our house.  Back to Engelbert.

So back to sitting in my room four years later.  My father walks in…let’s stop again.  Here is why it was all so weird an occurrence.  First my dad almost NEVER came into our room.  And second, he was not one to discuss current events with me, least of all something to do with rock music.  He’s a classical music kind of guy.  Other famous people had passed without my dad saying a word.  So why he chose to one, come in our room, and two, tell me about Elvis’ death remains a mystery.  Let me remind you all, Elvis after Hawaii was never mentioned in our house.  His music never played through our speakers.

“Did you hear who died?’  My father asked.  “Who?” I responded.  “Elvis Presley!”  As loudly as the sound of a “snap” like when you’re in the woods and step on a twig, something goes off in my mind as though a light had been turned on.  From that point on, I became infatuated with Elvis.

That night I stayed up and watched the late news for word on Elvis’ death.  It was then I got a real taste of who Elvis was. At that time I didn’t realize how much this man would affect my life.  I recently had a conversation about the occurrence and told my dad it was entirely his fault as I relayed this entire scenario to him.  Had he not come into my room, it never would have happened.  To this day I still wonder, why?!  He was also the one who bought me my first Elvis book and record, one of those infomercial collections.

My mom had a theory…mind you I don’t believe it but it does make you go, hmmmmm.  I was in my room (this time a different house and only sharing a room with my brother), I’m listening to Elvis and out of the blue my mom sits down and starts telling me her theory…Elvis, when he was born was a twin.  His brother was still born.  Years earlier my mom told me when I was born, I was a twin and my brother was still born.  Anyone seeing the connection?  She felt that my infatuation with Elvis is because I was his brother re-incarnated. Do I believe it?  Not really.  Does it make me go, hmmmmm.  Absolutely!

I’ll spare you all the details of how I drove everyone nuts with Elvis’ music as the years went on.  Those of you who knew me lived it.

One thing I absolutely have to mention before I close…Debbie, who lived on Liliha Street in 1973. If you’re out there, I’m sorry about all those nasty things I said about you and Elvis.  I probably became a bigger fan then she ever was!

Thank you, thank you very much.