SKIVVIES AND SHOWER SHOES BY LEN TEVEBAUGH
 
After I completed Marine Corps boot camp at San Diego, California, in 1959, and I had completed my 20 days recruit leave, I reported once again to the recruit depot at San Diego for electronics school. I was thrown together with a number of people to await the beginning of our training. There were a number of people that I still communicate with today, but one of the more memorable was a fellow by the name of Tom. Tom was a blondish, red-haired guy with white skin, ruddy lips and a medium build. He had a biting wit, loved to drink, and went to his Catholic Mass each Sunday morning to light a candle for him and me. He said we both needed it. Tom grew up in Sioux Falls, South Dakota, the son of a Midwestern family, and was already homesick for his roots. While we waited for our school to start, we were not allowed to sit idle. We were immediately assigned to mess duty upon reporting in and spent the next 45 days waking up at 0430 (4:30 AM) and getting off duty at 1800 (6:00 PM). Work time passed in a blur, however there was a lot of time in the evening for us to sit out on the second story balcony of the “Arcade” barracks that we lived in, time to smoke and tell stories of our life back home. Our standard barracks attire was “skivvies and shower-shoes.” When we entered boot camp, every recruit was issued six sets of boxer shorts and T-shirts, as well as rubber shower shoes, which are called flip-flops today. As I was growing up, I always assumed that T-shirts were everyday outer wear since that was about all I ever had as a kid. I had never seen a pair of shower-shoes prior to reporting to boot camp. We played football, sat out on the balcony and smoked, played poker and generally everything else in the barracks in this uniform. During these days and nights, Tom and I formed a lasting friendship that was only terminated a short time ago by Tom’s death. We were friends forever. Upon completing our training, we were assigned to duty in Japan. We went on leave once again and then reported to the Marine Corps Air Station at El Toro California for transportation to Japan as part of the aviation draft replacement group. On the 22nd of Nov, 1959, we were transported back to San Diego, to board a troop ship for transportation to Japan. The trip was to prove memorable. During our stay at El Toro, one of my friends and I had purchased a hair cutting kit, with the intent of cutting hair and raising some money for liberty. We were cutting hair for $.45 since that was 5 cents less than the base barber shop. We did a land rush business. In 1959 the Marine Corps hair style was not much different from today, none. When we were getting ready to board the ship, we were assigned as the troop barbers for the trip to Japan. Since the ships crew already had barbers, we never had to cut hair once during the entire 22-day trip, and every time there was a working party assignment during the trip, we were exempt because we had already been assigned a job. We never appreciated our luck, at least not until one day, when, as we were lost somewhere in the Pacific, we noted that Tom was missing. We continued our daily routine of chow, reading, cards, chow, reading, cards, etc… still wondering where Tom was. After what seemed like days of missing him, Tom showed up in the berthing compartment. He looked like hell. His utility trousers were rolled up to above his boondockers, his shirt was out (we wore our shirts tucked in at the time), his hair was messed up and he looked like he needed a shave. He looked shell shocked. We of course gathered around him and began questioning him as to where he had been. He told us that he had been selected for a working party and he had been at it for about 12 hours. We asked him what he had been doing and he told us that he had been assigned as a “Turd-Poker.” We had no idea what a Turd-Poker was but Tom explained it in great detail. The troopship heads (restrooms) had a series of long stainless steel troughs instead of commodes. These troughs were slanted so that they all drained to one end. During this crossing of the Pacific in November, the weather was extremely rough and the ship was pitching violently. Apparently, the troughs tended to get stopped up due to the number of troops we had aboard and would overflow if left unattended. Tom’s job was to stand at the end of the trough with a broom handle and poke turds down the drain so that a stoppage did not occur. Tom said that once you got into the rhythm of it, it was pretty easy however, he said he was going over the side if they came looking for a man with experience. Needless to say, our accidental foresight in claiming a status of “troop barbers” was a subject discussed over numerous beers from that time forward and Tom would forever be referred to as “TP” which he didn’t care for at all.