'68 - A Novel...

CHAPTER 3:  SATURDAY, JANUARY 20


John Harris was engaged in his favorite Saturday morning activity: working in his backyard garden. His winter vegetables were doing well, thanks to the mild Bay Area weather. He hoed and weeded and pruned where necessary, and thought about whether or not to add compost for moisture control and to protect the delicate roots. This was therapy for John after a grueling week on the shipyard.

His friends called him “Big John,” and for good reason. It wasn’t that he was tall – perhaps 6’1” or 6’2” on a good day – but rather it was the bulk and the impression of strength that he projected. He weighted in at 240 lbs., and he carried it with an athletic grace that made you think he could suit up and play offensive guard for the local semi-pro team.

As John continued his gardening, he noticed the compact figure of a man wearing a broad-brimmed straw hat, working steadily in his neighbor’s yard. The low picket fence that surrounded the property made it easy to see what was going on in your neighbor’s domain. John wondered what Bart West, his neighbor, was up to. The figure moving about briskly – spading, hoeing and raking – wasn’t old man West. He must have hired a gardener for this project, whatever it was. But why now, when he had the house up for sale? Finally, John couldn’t stand the suspense any longer. He walked over to the back fence and called out to the man in the hat.

“Hey there… can you come over for a second?” The man looked up and John motioned to him. He hesitated for a moment and then walked over to the fence, removing his work gloves as he approached. “Hi, I’m John Harris. What are you working on there?” John saw that the short, powerfully built man was Japanese.

“Hi, I’m Ken Hashimoto.” He gave John a firm handshake. “I’m building a rock garden.”

“Well, I’ll be damned! Why would ol’ West want a rock garden? Especially now, when he’s got the place up for sale?”

“It’s not for Mr. West.” Ken gave a slight smile. “I just bought the place. We just moved in. It’s nice to meet you, John.”

John was dumbstruck for a moment. West had sold the house, he was gone, his new neighbor was a Jap, and he was building a damn rock garden. He backed away from the conversation without ever saying welcome to the neighborhood. A few minutes later, he was washing his hands in the kitchen sink and looking to his wife for answers.

“So what the hell is going on? West sold the house? To a Jap? Why didn’t I know about this?”

Martha Harris patted her husband’s back and tried to reassure him. “The Wests sold the house late last month. They’re gone, relocated to San Diego to be close to their kids.”

“And they sold to a damn Jap?”

“Japanese, John. Don’t use the word ‘Jap.’”

“I’ll use any dang word I want! Did you know this was happening?”

“Of course. June West was a good neighbor and a friend.” Martha was puttering around her kitchen, getting ready to start dinner.

“But, Japs in our neighborhood? What the hell was West thinking?”

“Now, John. They’re just people, just like us.”

“Just like us, hell! We lost a lot of good men to those little bastards. A lot of good men, Martha. I know, I was there!”

“I know you were, honey. But Ken Hashimoto wasn’t. Actually, I think Tami said they’re from Santa Clara.”

“Oh, so now it’s Ken and Tami, is it?”

“Yes, I met her the other day. I brought her a cake. She seems very nice. You know their son is John Jr.’s age. He plays baseball. They’ll be teammates this year on the varsity team.”

John stood at the sink scowling, looking out the window toward his neighbor’s house. He could see a figure moving about in their kitchen window, a woman with short black hair.

“Well… I’ll be damned,” was all he could muster.
_____


Kenji Hashimoto leaned against the kitchen counter, shuffling some bills that had arrived in the mail that day. “I met our neighbor today – John Harris. What a piece of work!”

“What do you mean by that?” Tami was moving quickly around the kitchen, preparing the evening meal.

“I mean he thought I was the Wests’ gardener. You should have seen the look on his face when I told him we bought the place.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’re exaggerating. Martha Harris brought over a nice cake and we visited for a while. She seems very nice.”

“Oh really? You think it’s safe to eat the damn cake? Maybe we should give a little to the dog first.”

“Stop it now, Kenji. I’m sure they’re nice people. Their son is Eric’s age. They’ll be teammates this year at the high school. We’ll probably see a lot of the Harrises.”

Kenji looked up from the small stack of bills. “Well… I’ll be damned.”
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CHAPTER 4:  MONDAY, JANUARY 22


The whistle blew for the shift change and the shipyard workers began to pour out of the shops to make their way home. Isaac Washington joined the stream of men, lunch pails in hand, heading for the dock where they would board the long, low boats that would carry them across the Mare Island Strait to the Ferry Building. From there, at the foot of Georgia Street, he would catch a city transit bus that would take him within a block of home.

Though the crowd of men was mostly white, Isaac’s was not the only black face in the throng heading for the dock. Born and raised in rural Alabama, it was still something of a shock to him to be working in a place where there were no “back of the bus” edicts and no facilities or water fountains labeled “Colored.” Oh, there were definite lines, but they were far more subtle in this blue collar, lunch pail, Navy shipbuilding town.

Isaac merged into the queue filing down the gangway to load onto the ferry. A sign on top of the cabin proclaimed that the little boat had a name: the Heron. He saw that another boat was gliding up to the dock, ready to load as soon as the Heron pulled away. “All aboard,” came the call and boat eased away from the dock. The skipper advanced the throttle to full ahead and Isaac could feel the steady thrum of the engine as they raced across the channel toward the city. Daylight was fading now and he could see the lights of the city glowing in the dusk. All he wanted was to get home and see what Millie had on the stove. Was tonight the night she had promised ham hock and beans? The thought made his mouth water and he realized that he was very hungry.

Isaac had a thing about dinnertime. It was a hard and fast rule that all family members had to be present and accounted for when it was time to sit down at the table. If one of the kids proposed to miss dinner, it had to be for a compelling reason. Casual absences were simply not tolerated. Family time around the dinner table was sacred as far as Isaac Washington was concerned. It was a time to share the events of the day and every family member was expected to participate. Now, with his daughter Bobbie home again after a year away at college, the family unit would be complete: Isaac, Millie, Bobbie, and his son Lucas. He relished having everyone under his roof.

The ferry pulled up to the dock, the lines were secured and the men began to stream up the gangway and onto the dock. Buses were waiting in the lot across from the Ferry Building, doors open, motors running. Isaac smiled and nodded to the driver as he boarded and dropped his token in fare box. He took a window seat near the front of the bus and settled back for the ride home.

He wondered if he had been too strict with his kids as they were growing up – too rigid, too demanding, too many rules? He’d always demanded a certain standard of behavior, especially when they were little. Bad behavior was met with a warning: “Knock it off! Now!” If that command wasn’t obeyed, the kids could count on a swift smack on the backside. That usually did the trick. But was it too much? Isaac wondered if he’d do it differently if he had it to do over again.

There was no arguing with the results. Bobbie and Lucas had grown up to be fine young people, polite, respectful and loving. He couldn’t be more proud of them: Bobbie, with her keen intelligence and ready wit, not to mention her physical beauty; and Lucas, a junior in high school this year, an outstanding student and a fine athlete. Isaac was sure that he and Millie had done a good job raising their kids.

He was looking forward to a quiet evening with his family. No class to attend tonight, and no need to report for his part-time job. Just a hearty meal, some lively conversation, and a little TV watching, all of it surrounded by the people he loved.

Isaac caught his reflection in the window and realized he was smiling. He could picture Millie, hurrying about the kitchen, the rich aroma of her down-home cooking wafting into every corner of the little house. He couldn’t wait to be home.
_____


Out across the Pacific, across the International Dateline, the sun was rising on a soon-to-be-historic day: January 23, 1968. In the waters off North Korea, events were unfolding that had no precedent in U.S. history. After a long day of harassment by gunboats and jet fighters of the People’s Republic of North Korea, the Navy spy ship USS Pueblo had been forced to halt dead in the water. The Pueblo carried a crew of 83 men; one of them, Fireman Apprentice Duane Hodges, had been killed as the North Koreans repeatedly fired across the ship’s bow. The ship was boarded and the crew was forced to sail into the port at Wonsan where they were taken captive.

It was the beginning of 11 months of beatings, torture, starvation and public humiliation for Captain Lloyd Bucher and the remaining members of his crew. In the years ahead, it would also come to be seen as a major intelligence coup, not only for the North Koreans, but for their Soviet allies as well. It turns out that the Pueblo was loaded with Top Secret documents and cryptographic equipment and there had not been enough time to destroy all of it.

The carrier USS Enterprise was on patrol 510 miles to the south, yet no aircraft were sent to ward off the enemy. No other warships of the Seventh Fleet were in position to respond. By the time president Lyndon Johnson was awakened with the news, it was too late: any military action would probably have resulted in the death of the crew.

And so a small, slow, virtually unarmed U.S. Navy ship and her crew, operating off the coast of a hostile nation, carrying sensitive documents and equipment, was left completely unprotected to be seized and exploited.

So much for naval intelligence.
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Next week: Remembering the Tet Offensive. And boy meets girl: is it love at first sight?
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