Samoa

Samoa is a group of three large islands and several smaller islands in the southwest Pacific Ocean located north of Tonga and northeast of Fiji.  After a period of international friction and internal dissent during the 19^th century, the neutrality and independence of the islands was established by tripartite agreement in 1889 among the United States, Great Britain and Germany.  In 1899, Britain ceded its rights to Germany and Germany and the United States divided the islands between them.  Germany acquired Savaii and Upolu, the larger islands in the group, and the United States assumed title to Tutuila and the Manua Islands located further east.

With the end of the First World War, Savaii and Upolu were mandated to New Zealand in 1919 as Western Samoa.  In 1962, Western Samoa achieved independence and changed its name over the objections of the United States, from Western Samoa to Samoa.  American Samoa continued as a dependency of the United States.

After the defeat of the Japanese at Midway in 1942, our somewhat battered squadron was returned to Eva, Hawaii for refitting and R&R.  Subsequently, we boarded a carrier and set sail for the South Pacific.  While in transit, we completed a number of assigned tasks and eventually reached the southern coast of Tutuila in the American Samoa group. 

My recollections of Samoa are very dated, of course, since they reflect the islands as they were in 1942-43, over sixty years ago.  Tutuila has a magnificent harbor at Pago Pago, its administrative capital.  The island is densely forested with a mountainous, spiny backbone and numerous deep valleys with an extremely fertile coastal strip.  At the time of my visit, most villages were situated on the coast or in the lower valleys.  The geography of the island is such that attempting to locate a village elsewhere would be risky because of the steep slopes.  My first impression of the harbor as we approached from the sea was a lasting one.  I remember thinking that the harbor appeared to have been fashioned by a hand that had scooped a section of the spine from the island permitting the sea to rush in and form the deep anchorage that almost cut the island in two.  The forested slopes that formed the eastern shore of the harbor were almost vertical cliffs, while the western shore was flat at the approximate sea level permitting docking facilities, warehouses, repair shops and other structures to be erected in profusion.  The harbor at Pago Pago is considered to be one of the best in the Pacific.

Wartime cautions demanded that entrance to the harbor be controlled through a series of restrictive ship maneuvers.  All vessels were required to approach Pago Pago from the south and steer a course parallel to the shore (where several batteries of coast defense artillery were located), before turning into the harbor.  Unloading that carrier was an experience I will never forget.  The carrier had to be unloaded during the night, permitting the vessel to leave before dawn.  As I understand it, the captain was concerned that his ship could be the subject of a Japanese air attack if he lingered longer.  Prior to our arrival, the chiefs of the island population were notified that an unloading detail of natives would be needed.  As we were to learn later, these natives accepted any assignment as a challenge that they met with unbelievable strength and enthusiasm.  The small army of Samoans that met the ship and helped with the docking were all large, muscular males – not as large as a Japanese Sumo wrestler, but large.  They delighted in doing anything to show off their strength, especially if they were in competition with our sailors or Marines.  In many ways, they were like overgrown children.  I don’t mean that in any derogatory way.  They were a magnificent, dedicated group that could be depended upon.  Most of the work detail was married males who could be identified by the intricate blue tattoos that covered most of their bodies.  I suspect that these people did not know divorce. 

As the ship docked, Marines and members of the ship’s crew began to bring up cargo from the holds.  By the time we were docked and ready for unloading, the hanger deck was covered with cargo much of it heavy, such as the cases of 50 caliber ammunition.  Other crates were unwieldy, such as spare three-bladed propellers, wing and empennage sections and aircraft engines. 

Because the hanger deck of a carrier is higher than a cargo vessel’s weather decks, large wooden platforms were constructed at dockside to simplify unloading.  The native dockworkers formed lines on these platforms and on the dock below.  Slides were added from the hanger deck to the platforms and from the platforms to the dock with natives moving the cargo and loading the fleet of trucks.  In operation, Marines and sailors would place cargo on the slides to the platforms; natives would move the cargo from the platforms, down the slides to the dock where they would load the trucks.  Of course, this unloading procedure would only be used for the smaller parcels, such as the 50 caliber cases.  Larger, more heavy and unwieldy crates would be handled using cranes from the dock and ship.

It is the moving of the 50 caliber ammunition crates and similar boxes by the natives that creates a tale worth telling.

In preparation for unloading, the natives formed up in two lines on each of the platforms and on the dock below.  All   of the natives were bare-footed, bare-chested and wore a wrap-around lava-lava from their waist to their ankles.  While they worked, they would chant a rhythmic chant keeping time by stamping their feet.  As the work progressed, the intensity of the chant and the stamping would increase to the point where the generated vibrations risked collapsing the platforms.  The local chiefs would periodically stop the unloading to permit the native workers to take a break and calm down.  However, when they found or thought they were getting ahead of the ability of the Marines and sailors to bring up cargo for unloading, they were irrepressible and the chiefs were hard pressed to keep them under control.  This was typical of their conduct in whatever they did.

I keep referring to Samoan chiefs without any clarification of what I’m talking about.  Back in 1872 when the U,S. Navy was first interested in using Samoa as a coaling station for it’s then coal-burning warships, it was a Samoan High Chief, Chief Mauga, who negotiated the deal.  In today’s world people such as Prime Ministers and Secretaries of State, normally resolve such matters.  So, just from this comparison alone one can imagine the power and authority of a High Chief.  During my stay at Samoa, I heard references to and saw photos of a High Talking Chief.  It may be possible that there are two rankings, that of High Talking Chief and High Chief.  My references to the Chiefs who were present during unloading are probably to a lower ranking of authority from which the higher-ranking chiefs are ultimately chosen. 

Another group of natives formed a kind of militia called the Fita Fita Guard.  They were a proud and elite organization.  Their uniform was a blue lava-lava with white piping similar to the piping found on an American sailor’s uniform cuffs.  Here too they were bare-chested and bare-footed, but wore a white sailor cap.  Each carried a rifle, wore an ammunition belt and drilled with a precision and passion that only a Marine would appreciate.  They participated in ceremonial events and appeared to be the primary harbor security force.  

After an exhausting night, we finished unloading, the carrier left on schedule and we were trucked to the western end of the island where a single landing strip had been carved from the jungle to the water’s edge.  Other than the airstrip, the airfield with planes and crews was built into the jungle growth.  Taxiways were constructed under the canopy of trees and vines that formed a natural roof.  In the occasional spot where the ways were open to the sky, cables and camouflage nets formed a temporary screen.  In a matter of weeks, any such cable and net arrangement would be overgrown with branches and vines that become part of the natural covering.  Most of the jungle growth was so thick that little sunlight ever reached the ground.  The frequent rainfalls supplied this growth with more than enough water, but strangely, most of the rainfall never reached the ground directly.  The heavy growth intercepted the rain and what reached the ground were drippings from vines and branches and flow down tree trunks.  Humidity was always high and uncomfortable.  There were paths carved through the growth for movement of personnel.  Teams of Marines were assigned the task of keeping these paths open by regularly cutting the new growth that was always there.  An odd feature of the land was the ability of the newly cut growth to fluoresce.  Just as the wake of a ship in southern waters would fluoresce from turbulence, so would the trunks, branches and vines when cut.  We found that there was enough fluorescence to permit pedestrian night traffic with little or no light.  It became common for Marines to carry machetes to renew the fluorescence through new cuttings even when free passage didn’t require the cuttings.                  

The common quarters used by Samoans consisted of a circular dirt floor about 15 feet in diameter with a series of wood posts about 8 feet high spaced evenly around the edge of the floor.  Some quarters were oval or rectangle instead of round.  The roof was of high-peaked thatch with a small opening at the top for improved ventilation.  There were some dirt floors placed on top of a low pedestal, but this was not common.  These homes, called fales, did not have walls – the sides were open to the elements.  What they did have was a form of Venetian blinds between each pair of poles.  At the option of the resident, all or part of the blinds could be up or down providing privacy, if desired, or protection from the wind or rain.  Normally, all blinds were up during the day at which time pigs, chickens

and islanders would share the space.  The family used these homes for cooking, eating, sleeping and personal social gatherings.  For larger social affairs, there was a communal building. 

Along some shores, there were a number of outhouses built on stilts and connected to the shore by a lengthy walkway.  The sections of the shore selected for these outhouses appear to have been consciously made for sanitary reasons.  Other beaches were reserved for fishing, boating and bathing, apparently to avoid bathing and fishing in polluted waters.  Bathing was also conducted in the lower valleys where waterfalls were frequently found. 

Almost all of the native fales were on or near the coasts.  Not so with our quarters.  We lived in the jungle with the planes.  Our barracks were long rectangular buildings built off the wet ground on stone pedestals.  Each barracks had two rows of double bunks protected with mosquito netting and situated against both outer walls.  The walls were of wood with an opening just under the eaves running the full length of the building and at both ends.  The openings were covered with cloth netting for insect control.  The roof was flat without openings.  Doors were located at both ends.  A number of trash cans were located within the building for the collection of non-organic trash.  Garbage cans were located outside the barracks doors.  All trash and garbage was collected throughout the day to avoid having it attract animals.  For a small fee or favor, young Samoans would climb a banana tree and cut a stalk of bananas which they would hang outside one end of our barracks.  This could be a risky task for many banana stalks were home to spiders.

Samoa abounded in animal and insect life.  Spiders and scorpions were the particular barracks menace; small rodents were equally dangerous to the unwary.  The larger animals appeared to avoid us but after dark, the risk increased substantially.  For example, after work was completed, everyone was interested in a shower before bed.  Everyone complied religiously with a specific ritual before leaving for the showers or retiring for the night.  During the day mosquito netting was always tucked under the mattress on all four sides to protect the bunks against invading insects.  Before taking a shower or preparing for bed, the Marine would circle his bunk examining the edge of the mattress where the netting was tucked.  Spiders and scorpions would sometimes hide in these spaces.  To avoid bringing the vermin into the bed, an inspection was necessary.  Satisfied that nothing was there, the Marine would open as small a space as was needed for him to get into the bunk and climb in fully clothed, shoes included.  The opened netting would be closed with the Marine in his bunk.  He would then undress and stack his clothing at the foot of his mattress.  Stark naked, he would exit the bunk, put on his shoes, tuck in the netting, retrieve a towel from his sea chest, wrap it around his hips and strap his weapon and ammunition belt around his waist.  He was now ready for a trip to the shower.  Weapons were carried wherever you traveled to avoid being weaponless in the event of an emergency. 

After showering and returning to the barracks, he would secure fresh clothing for the coming day, repeat the examination of his bunk and climb in with his new clothing and shoes.  He was now ready for a night’s sleep – that is, if the high temperature and humidity didn’t keep him awake.  Most Marines were tired enough to sleep under any conditions, even if night operations were programmed.  The following morning, the Marine would dress in bed, examine the netting before getting out, place his used clothing in a laundry bag, and leave for the mess hall for breakfast and then work.

What I have just described was a routine followed by all every time they entered or exited their bunk.  Failure to perform an examination of the netting could mean bringing something into the bed with you – a companion you didn’t want, or having an unwelcome something join you for breakfast.  Marines foolish enough to leave their clothing or shoes outside their netting overnight might find a surprise in their shoes or clothing in the morning.  Scorpions and spiders loved the warmth and seclusion of an empty shoe.  Because most everyone respected the risk, I don’t recall any Marine sent to the sick bay because he was careless or took shortcuts. 

Despite all the precautions and despite following all procedures, I contracted Dengue fever.  How?  I have no idea.  Some lone mosquito managed to infect me is my guess.  Some times you can’t win.                

  

Relations between the natives and Marines were friendly though there were occasional disputes when some young Samoan thought an equally young Marine was paying too much attention to one of the young females.  Upon arrival at the islands, all Marines were cautioned about fraternizing, but that only went so far.  Occasionally, a headman, a High Talking Chief, would arrange through our commanding officer for a fete.  If it were held in Hawaii, I guess you would call it a luau and you would see women dancing the hula.  At the Samoan fetes, the dancers were usually men who would perform intricate Polynesian dances some of which would include using sharp machetes.  There were two kinds of machetes used.  One had a hook at the end, which they spun and threw at each other, catching one machete with the other using the hooks.  In the other dance, they simply caught the spinning machete with their bare hands.  Neither is something that I would care to try. 

At one time Tutuila was self-sufficient in food staples, but no longer.  A collective family economy prevails with taro, bananas, coconuts and other fruits grown.  Exports are mostly canned tuna, copra and local handicrafts.  Modern Samoa attracts many tourists since the construction of an international airport.

During the early days of the Pacific war, strategies were centered by both the United States and Japan in trying to cut each other’s supply lines.  Japan was attempting to isolate Port Moresby and threaten Australia and New Zealand.  It was essential that the lines between the United States and its allies be kept open.  After Midway, the United States opened the Solomon Islands campaign and started to reinforce anti-submarine bases in the South Pacific.  Our assignment to Samoa placed us halfway between Australia and the French Society Islands.  Other squadrons took up similar positions on other islands eventually filling the gaps from Tahiti to New Zealand and Australia.  The squadron we relieved was relocated or moved to New Zealand for R&R. 

After a few days of settling in, we started anti-submarine patrols of our assigned areas.  Compared to the ancient Vought SB2U Vindicators that we had at Midway, our new Douglas SBD5A Dauntless dive-bombers were luxurious craft.  They had the capability of carrying a 500-pound bomb on a yoke under the fuselage and two fragmentation bombs under the wings for normal anti-ship patrols.  The 500-pound bomb could be replaced with a 1,000-pound bomb at the sacrifice of range.  The heavier load increased fuel consumption.  The old and dangerous tubular Vickers bombsight was gone replaced by a display reflected onto a screen of clear Plexiglas canted at about 45 degrees at the pilot’s eye level.  The rear cockpit had much improved radio and IFF equipment.  The old 100-round cans that fed ammo to the twin 30-caliber machine guns were replaced by two 1,500-round bins built into the plane’s fuselage.  There were other features, but these were the most impressive.  For anti-submarine patrols, the fuselage-mounted bombs were replaced by a depth charge.  The fragmentation bombs were retained.

Our patrols were short-ranged – the long-range patrols were assigned to flying boats, such as the PBY’s and British Sunderland craft.  We patrolled pieces of a geographic pie centered at Tutuila.  Simultaneous patrols of two SBD’s each would fly up one leg of each piece of the pie, turn across the end and return to base on the downward leg.  The patrols were run at dawn and at late afternoon.  Since it was known that Japanese forces were in the Ellis Islands to our northwest, patrol activity was greater in that quadrant.  Other patrols ringed Samoa coordinating with other U.S. and allied squadrons.  With limited aircraft available, consideration was given to probable areas of Japanese activities.  High probability, more patrols; low probability, less patrols. 

East of Tutuila is a small 3-island group (Tau, Ofu and Olosega), called the Manua Islands.  The total acreage of the group is less than 20 square miles. A narrow channel separates Ofu and Olosega that could be used by a Japanese submarine in distress to make temporary repairs.  Two patrols a day were dispatched to Manua to examine the channel for signs of use and to survey the area, generally.  There was an interesting incident during one of the patrols.  The total population of Manua was considerably less than 2,000.  With the outbreak of war and the increased need for laborers on Tutuila, all of the male population of Manua was transferred to Tutuila to support the Samoan work force.  This left Manua with an all-female population except for some older males.  During flights over the islands, groups of female Manaus commonly greeted the flight crews by removing their lava-lavas and waving the garments over their very naked bodies.  This, of course, became a subject of squadron discussion and flight crews began to lobby for the flights.  It all came to a head when one of the planes struck a tall palm tree with a wingtip while conducting their “search” at a very low altitude.  Damage was to the wingtip and aileron, which made flying back to Tutuila less than easy especially since a number of palm fronds had embedded themselves in the wing, increasing drag and making control of the plane more difficult.  As the plane approached the airstrip, the waiting ground crews could see the lack of symmetry caused by the palm fronds.  Everyone had been alerted to the accident and the field took precautions for the possible crash landing.  Both planes landed safely and the damage was repairable.  What went on between the pilot and the commanding officer was never made public, but imaginations ran wild on the possibilities.  There was no court martial, a strong possibility, but we noted that just about every crap assignment that an officer could draw was given to the offending pilot.  There were directives issued that made it clear that any repeat of the tree incident would not be tolerated. It never happened again.              

During my entire tour at Samoa, we never once saw a Japanese submarine though there were many false alarms.  In one such incident we were returning from a patrol north of Tutuila when we noticed some unusual turbulence in one of the north shore lagoons.  These lagoons were deep and many and could provide a temporary shelter for a stalking submarine.  Orders were to be alert to such possibilities.  Our SBD was flying at an altitude high enough to clear the island’s mountainous spine to permit landing on the airstrip that had to be approached from the south.  We were much too high for a proper investigation of the turbulence, so the pilot sent the plane into a dive, something an SBD is noted for doing well.  We rapidly approached the surface and found we were flying up the lagoon toward the high cliffs.  Some very fancy maneuvering by the pilot safely removed us from the pocket.  We completed our search and returned home without further incident.  It was a very scary few minutes of an otherwise routine and monotonous patrol.  With few exceptions, all patrols were routine and monotonous. 

Another task that we assumed were weather flights.  Each morning at about 3-4 o’clock we would have breakfast and one plane with special weather instruments mounted on the wing bomb racks would climb to about 20,000 feet, where tropics or not, it is freezing cold.  On the way up the crew would see the sunrise and they would go on oxygen when they passed 10,000 feet.  At the peak altitude, the pilot would open the wing flaps and permit the plane to slowly spiral down.  During the descent, the instrument package on the wing would be activated and start recording.  During descent, the crew would see the sunset and eventually they would land in the light that precedes the dawn.  Shortly after landing, the Sun would rise and the normal day would begin.  In the space of a few hours, we had had two sunrises and one sunset with one additional sunset yet to come before day’s end.  When we landed, the plane was covered with condensation from the warm, humid air condensing on the very cold aluminum alloy body of the plane.      

There came a time when Hawaii command decided to remove the threat of the Japanese in the Ellis Islands, located uncomfortably close to Samoa and other patrol bases.  In 1943, the fleet moved against Funafuti in the Ellis Islands (now Tuvalu) in the mistaken belief that a Japanese occupation force was still there.  Actually, the Japanese realized that defending the islands was not feasible and had evacuated their forces to other more defensible island facilities.  While the fleet and the Marine landing force was occupied with storming Funafuti, SBD squadrons, mine and others, flew short range patrols in a northwest screen while the big PBY flying boats flew the longer distances, all dedicated to locating any Japanese naval force attempting to slip in behind our landing forces.  Once again, we served a purpose, but once again, our patrols were routine and monotonous.        

The time finally came when it was decided that men and machines were the worse for wear and we were slated for relief.  Normally, relieved squadrons in the South Pacific area were sent to New Zealand or Australia.  In our case, the squadron was moved to New Zealand for R&R and refitting, but a number of us, me included because of the Dengue, boarded an old WW-I transport, the Henderson, and shipped back to the U.S.  This ancient vessel had a speed of 10-12 knots on a good day and many days were not that good.  We traveled without escort; moving east past the Society Islands, then past the Galapagos Islands, up the Mexican coast, where we picked up a DE escort, to Treasure Island, arriving in October 1943. 

One month’s wonderful furlough at home in New York City was followed by assignment to a new dive-bombing squadron and a return to the Pacific after a short period of anti-submarine patrols in the Caribbean.   

August 2007