After arriving at the island paradise Ensign Clark went to the Pacific Amphibious Operating Base on Waipio Point in Pearl Harbor to await final assignment. It was from here that on December 8, 1943 he was ordered to report to USS LCI(L) 77. For those not familiar with the geography of Pearl Harbor click here for a map with the locations referred to below marked out.
When I was transferred from the Amphibious Operating Base at Waipio Point to the SEVENTY-SEVEN, she was moored at the DE docks in the Navy Yard normally a 20 minute drive away. In this instance it required the better part of two hours to complete the move. I was assigned a pickup truck and driver. These were required because nearly the full capacity of the truck was needed for my luggage(valpac, suitcase, and three duffel bags) as well as the help of the driver to load and unload it all.
The enlisted men had somewhat the same problem. Pictures of the time show them with a large, ungainly load on their shoulders (at least it could be lifted). It was the traditional seabag surrounded by a horseshoe-shaped bundle of a hammock tightly wrapped around a rolled mattress. In the middle of WWII, the Navy came to the realization that the ship could issue mattresses and hammocks to each crewmember as organizational equipment thus relieving the individual of need to carry these items from one command to another. At a certain time on a particular day, every sailor dropped his mattress and hammock right where he was. From then on, as a sailor moved from one assignment to another, he would always find a set waiting for him. "The Lone Sailor" statue at the Navy Memorial in Washington has only his seabag beside him.
With the exception of the Kwajalein invasion in late January and early February 1944 LCI Group Seven spent the time from December 1943 to May 1944 in Hawaiian waters. As the junior officer aboard his ship Bill Clark was assigned the least desirable duties. Principal among these was Stores Officer. The Stores Officer was responsible for acquiring everything the ship needed to operate from spare parts to food to paint to medicine. On a larger ship an officer of the Supply Corps would have performed this job. These are officers who specialize in the logistic support of the Navy and as such have received specialized training to perform the job.
During this period my primary duty was Stores Officer, a deck officer of a small ship assigned the job a Supply Officer would do on a large one with no special training, only what he could pick up on the job. The key to the system was a number for each item found in the supply catalog. Once you had the right number you could fill out a requisition and, if it was in stock, you got it just for the asking. During WWII there was no budget for a ship or price for an item. This catalog contained all sorts of great stuff. I perused it frequently and was tempted to order a Fire Engine or Gold Bars, they were listed with stock numbers.
Each department used the catalog to make out their own requisitions. When we had enough to make a trip to the Supply Depot worthwhile, I arranged it. I gathered a working party. Got them all aboard a duty boat, harbor bus service, and we were off for the day's adventure to see if we could outsmart the Supply Department professionals to fill the ship's needs (in accordance with the rules and regulations, or otherwise).
The first job was to get a truck. A very pleasant, heavyset, Chinese gentleman was the truck dispatcher. He was always in a good mood. I got along with him very well, perhaps, it was because I used the Island idioms or slang whenever we talked. The larger ships usually required more than one truck so they called ahead to reserve them. I just walked in and, without too much delay, always got one. Once I found 50 people ahead of me in his line. After standing at the end for a while, I heard my name being called. I was asked to phone the dispatcher. When I got him, he called out our reserved truck was ready. I had made no reservation but he saw me waiting and went through this act so the others would not know he was jumping me ahead of them.
Another problem at the Supply Depot was finding an item was not in stock, the Island term was "no got". A way around this was to take along a supply of blank requisitions signed by the CO. If I heard a "no got", I would look for a substitute. It might be the same item in a different finish or material. Upon finding one, I would get its number, put it on a new requisition, get that item, and probably the person ordering it would not even notice. Sometimes there was a rule preventing us from being issued an item we wanted. The unsung hero of this situation was the skipper of a destroyer who wanted a refrigerated drinking fountain. He had ordered one but his supply officer reported "no got". The CO had visited the Supply Department Headquarters himself and knew that along one wall of the block-long main office were ten such fountains. He returned with a requisition along with a special working party including an electrician, pipe fitter (complete with tools), and three strong deck hands. He submitted his paperwork. He received a "no got". He said he could turn around and see a number of them. He pointed at one and said he would take it. His crew whipped out their tools, promptly disconnected it, and carried it away. The proper papers were left behind. His ship had a drinking fountain.
I never tried anything quite as complicated. Once, I received a "no got" on a couple of sheets of plywood when I saw a big pile right in front of me, I thought differently. After talking to my men, I conferred seriously with the guy in charge, while turning him so he could not see the pile. As I watched over his shoulder, two sheets, with only some fingers and feet showing, moved silently out the door to our truck. We too left the correct papers.
The Stores Officer not only dealt with the Supply Department but, sometimes, various activities in the Navy Yard. For a long time, we had suffered from the tropical sun when standing watch on the bridge. We saw other ships had awnings for protection. We had the problem of working out the specifications. 78's Chief Boatswain mate could solve it. We asked him to help us with the measurements. After we began, we decided to get awnings for the well and boat decks. He made the measurements for us as he said he could use them to get awnings for his ship as well. We took the request to the Canvas Shop. A few days later we picked them up. Using our welding machine, we fabricated the framing for the awnings. When we got them they fitted perfectly. Shortly afterwards, 78's Chief came to see me as mad as could be. He wanted to know how we had gotten our awnings. When his Stores Officer tried to order them, he was turned down. I asked what he had said they were to be used for. He said sun awnings, of course. I explained to him the same pieces of canvas I had ordered were to be used "to protect supplies stored on deck". This had been deemed a necessity not something frivolous, like awnings to improve habitability and comfort. The Chief left vowing to have words with his Stores Officer. Sometimes, it is not what you need but how you describe it.
USS LCI(G) 77 with other ships of Landing Craft Division 13 in San Diego Bay November 1945. Note that the SEVENTY-SEVEN has a white awning while the SEVENTY-EIGHT tied up next to her does not.
The invasion of Kwajalein was a warm up for the LCIs in their new role. They spent just about a month traveling to the island and returning to Hawaii. This was the first opportunity to test the concept of using converted landing craft as fire support ship. Upon returning to port training began for the next big event, the Marianas operation scheduled for June.
The first experience of being under fire was something not soon forgotten. The preparations for battle aboard SEVENTY-SEVEN were part tradition and part dictated by the Medical Department. All hands took a shower the night before. On the day of battle everyone wore clean clothes, to prevent infection if we were wounded. Before going to GQ, we rolled down and buttoned the sleeves of our shirts, buttoned shirt collars, and tucked our pants into our socks which were then pulled over them as far as possible. This was to prevent flash burn (in those days all of our clothing was cotton, offering pretty good protection). Of course, dressed like this we all looked rather foolish. Hardly would we have qualified as subjects for a poster depicting the fighting sailors of the U.S. Navy.
As final preparations were being made for the Marianas invasion a major disaster struck the amphibious fleet in Pearl Harbor. On the afternoon of May 21, 1944 army troops were loading ammunition aboard a Group of Tank Landing Ships (LST) at the ammunition piers near the head of West Loch. The ammunition including mortar shells was being stacked in open storage on the tank deck of these ships. Some event occurred (as with most explosive accidents it is unclear exactly what because eyewitnesses tend to blown up along with most other evidence) and explosions and fires broke out on six of the LSTs.
I was with a working party at the Supply Depot on May 21, 1944, when the LST's exploded in West Loch, not far from our moorage. This conflagration killed 163 and injured 396 nearly all veteran Marines. The 6 LST's were lost. We had nearly finished loading our truck with supplies when it happened. The smoke and flames were clearly seen with the sound of the explosions. We went to the Depot's dock to get a boat to the ship. They refused, as all boats were restricted from West Loch. We would have to find another way back on our own. We left our supplies under a Marine guard. We were allowed to return our frozen meat to cold storage. We caught a bus to the Receiving Station/Fleet Landing. I tried to get a boat to the ship but the area was surrounded by armed Marines. As I approach, one of them lowered his rifle with affixed bayonet. If I had continued he would have stuck me. He said the dock was off limits and to move away. I didn't think he had to be so formal. A PT boat approached at full speed, stopping just in time to keep from ramming the dock. It had injured on board who were immediately transferred to waiting ambulances. I met with my men to tell them to get in the chow line at the Receiving Station for lunch. I went to the Officers' Club. We rejoined in an hour when things were back to normal. I arranged for a boat to take us to the Supply Depot for our supplies and on to the ship. Later than usual, we finally got back.
When the ships of LCI Group Seven left Pearl Harbor for the Marianas on May 26, 1944 it would be over a year before they returned. The real test that would face the crew of LCI(G) 77 in the months to come would not be combat with the enemy but getting what they needed from the supply departments at the various forward operating bases they would visit in the months to come. Bill Clark was convinced that his crew had become so accomplished at acquiring what they needed from people who were not necessarily eager to give it to them in the first place that that his ship’s emblem should have been the “skull and crossbones”.
This rare private photograph from a warship in the war zone in 1945 showes LT(jg)Bernard Dannels, the executive officer, and ENS Ralph Rotthaus, the stores officer, receiving final instructions from LT(jg) Bill Clark, the commanding officer, prior to visiting other ships in the anchorage for services and supplies.