To say that she was very beautiful would be an understatement no matter how many “verys” I would use.
I remember the first time I spotted her. She was standing at a bus stop early on a bright sunny Philippine morning. There were other good-looking women at the stop, but they were the usual Navy Exchange “girls” – gossiping and giggling while waiting for the base shuttle bus to take them to work. She was standing a little aloof, not talking to anyone. Her beauty was exceptionally exotic, even for the exotic orient. But there was also something else different about her; she was not like any other Filipina girl that I had ever seen.
In the late 1960’s I was the Shore Patrol officer on a small Navy base in the Philippines. That sunny morning, I was in the Shore Patrol office by the Main Gate checking the logbook for overnight activities as I did every morning. Being a normal red-blooded male, I also used these opportunities to look out the large picture window to observe the morning view at the bus stop.
Almost to myself I said, “Wow, who is that?” Now, I may not have said exactly “Wow”, but my expression and the tone of my voice did.
The Shore Patrolman standing desk duty briefly glanced at the bus stop. He understood fully my tone; I did not have to point her out. He answered with a smile in his voice, “That’s Mrs.…” I don’t remember her name, but I do remember the “Mrs.”
Some uncontrollable force from within compelled me to ask, “Who’s the lucky guy?”
The desk patrolman responded, “He’s the second class that runs the photo lab at Base Ops.”
The patrolman took some pride in telling me that this most attractive woman was married to an enlisted man. Since I was an officer, and a bit of an elitist, I thought for sure that she should have been married to an officer. That is, if she had to be married.
Without being asked the patrolman continued, “She’s a stewardess with Philippines Airlines, part Japanese, born during the occupation.”
This was when they were called “stewardesses” and not “flight attendants.” Stewardesses were all women, young and pretty. Back then, the fantasies of many men, young or old, included at least one stewardess asking, “Coffee, tea, or me?” Except for the “Mrs.”, the exotic beauty waiting for the bus more than met all the requirements for being the stewardess in my dreams.
Being part Japanese explained the “something different” that I immediately noticed when I first spotted her. Some of the prettiest girls I ever saw were part something. In Saigon, French-Vietnamese girls were the most beautiful women in Vietnam. In the Philippines, some of the best-looking girls were part Spanish. But the part Japanese airline stewardess was the most attractive woman I have ever seen in my life. Now I have never have seen Elizabeth Taylor in person, but I still don’t think I would change my mind if I did. Of course, I’m talking about the Elizabeth Taylor in “Giant” and “Cat on a Hot Tin Roof”, not the one in “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?”
Being born during the Japanese occupation also explained why she was standing by herself. When I think of the Japanese occupation of the Philippines, I remember the old World War II newsreels of the liberation of Manila. Along with the ferocious fighting from building to building, there was the brutal retaliation against the Filipino collaborators. I remember one scene where a male collaborator was being swarmed and beaten by an angry mob. One vengeful mob member was hitting him repeatedly with a hammer. The part Japanese airline stewardess must have spent most of her life standing a little aloof.
But the day I first saw her was more then a year before the incident.
During the months leading up to the incident I really didn’t find out too much more about the Lucky Guy’s Lady. However, every time I saw her, my day seemed a little brighter. If I were with another guy who was new to the base, he would invariably utter “Wow” either at loud or by expression. I would act as if I was solely responsible for bringing forth the most striking girl in the Philippines, if not the world. I would then proudly provide the details I had about my standoffish stewardess. When I said that she was married, the new man would undoubtedly ask, “Who’s the lucky guy?”
I did find out more about the Lucky Guy. Shortly after I first spotted the most stunning stewardess, I made a point to drop by the photo lab to look him over. Why a most extraordinary girl would marry such an ordinary guy, I will never understand. But I’m a guy who openly admits that he never understood women and never will. I guessed he must have had a great personality.
During the months before the incident I heard a rumor that the Lucky Guy was messing around with one of the American schoolteachers on base. The scuttlebutt was they were meeting in the teacher’s quarters, located just across from the photo lab. Since the sources of the rumor were numerous and from people I knew, I tended to believe it. I did not have to go by the school to look over the teacher; I already knew her, at least to say “Hi!” to. She was not particularly good looking and she was slightly overweight. Again, I was confused. Why would an average looking guy cheat on a very attractive wife, and to do so with a portly teacher? Once again, I hypothesized that the teacher must have had a great personality.
It did bother me that the rumor of the trysts appeared to be widespread. If I heard about it on base, Filipinos working on base must know about it and be talking about it off base. One of the favorite pastimes of the citizens of Cavite, the city outside the base, was gossiping. Since Mr. and Mrs. Lucky Guy lived off base, I was sure that Mrs. Guy would find out about it eventually. I was also dumbfounded that the Lucky Guy didn’t realize the same thing.
The incident took place one afternoon and word of it spread quickly. Since I was the Shore Patrol officer, I was among the first to hear about it. I knew it would be the topic in many households, on base and off. Of course, it would not be discussed in front of children.
The next morning, I got to my office before seven o’clock. My secretary, with a slight smile, informed me that the Captain’s office called; I had a meeting at zero eight hundred in the Captain’s office. Since my secretary didn’t tell me what the meeting was for, I knew she was not officially informed. But she and I both knew what the meeting was about. I immediately called my boss, the base security officer, to inform him about the meeting. He responded that he would also be there, and then asked me if I had looked over the records yet. Of course, he didn’t need to say what records or whose records. I’d told him that I checked the records the day before when I first heard about the incident, and that they hadn’t shown any suspicious activities.
Besides being the Shore Patrol officer, I was the Black-Market Control officer. The records I checked were the sale receipts that my office maintained on all base personnel. The purchase records showed that the Lucky Guy and his wife were shopping at the Base Exchange and Commissary within approved limits.
I got to the Captain’s office early; as a junior officer I always wanted to make sure I was not late. In the outer office I was greeted by his secretary, who offered me coffee. I declined; I feared spilling coffee on myself in front of the high-level brass or worse, on the brass. I was not the first one there; I recognized the Lucky Guy’s division officer and his branch officer. Now I had no doubt about what the meeting was going to be about.
The outer office soon filled with other officers. The confident ones accepted the coffee offered by the Captain’s efficient secretary. The number and ranks of the officers attending the meeting surprised me. As a full lieutenant, I was the junior officer. The only other lieutenant was the Lucky Guy’s branch officer. The rest included a few lieutenant commanders, several commanders, and a couple of Navy captains.
At exactly zero eight hundred, the secretary knocked on the door to the Captain’s inner office and opened it wide to let us all in. The Captain greeted us and quickly waved us to chairs situated around a big oval coffee table. I sat down next to my boss. We seemed to sit by groupings. There were the captain and his executive officer, the Lucky Guy’s division officer and branch officer, two doctors from the base hospital, the public affairs officer, and three Navy lawyers.
The captain opened by saying that the reason for the meeting was to make sure we did everything we needed to do. By “we” we all knew he meant the Navy. The Captain continued, “Let’s start by getting his medical condition.” He turned to the doctors.
The senior doctor nodded and said, “He’s been Medic-vaced out and is now in Hawaii. He lost one eye and may lose the other, but he should live. They will be sending him on to San Diego as soon as his condition is more stable.”
The Captain shook his head in disbelief and then, looking towards my boss and me, asked; “I understand that he was having an affair with one of the school teachers on base?”
My boss and I both nodded. Even though I would not have used “having an affair” to describe the relationship; however, it was probably appropriate for this official meeting.
Okay, I guess it’s time to describe the incident that brought together all those officers to the Captain’s unscheduled meeting. You readers have been very patient. But I also have to admit that at the meeting we did not discuss the actual details of the incident itself.
As I said, the incident happened the day before. It appears that the Lucky Guy’s wife, the stewardess, found out about the Lucky Guy “having an affair” with the schoolteacher. After working a flight, the wife went directly home and confronted her husband. He was in his photo lab, which he had set up in their home off base. Apparently, a heated argument ensued in the lab. The encounter quickly turned violent.
During the fighting, she threw some acid used for photography in her husband’s face. The husband immediately knew he was in deep trouble and went directly to the sink and started washing out his eyes. When her husband was bent over the sink, she stabbed him in the back with a pair of scissors she found in the lab. He continued to wash his eyes out but soon fell to the floor. While he was prostrated on the floor, she proceeded to deposit the remaining acid on the part of his body that got him in trouble in the first place.
Things then happened quickly. The Filipino police were called and they informed the base. The Shore Patrol and an ambulance were dispatched. The base hospital immediately realized that his injuries were very critical and needed to be taken care of stateside. Luckily for the Lucky Guy the Vietnam War was at its height, and he was placed on one of the many medical evacuation flights to Hawaii.
At the meeting, the captain continued by addressing the lawyers, “Can we press charges, or is that something only he can do?”
What followed was a protracted discourse on the Navy’s legal options. Each of the three lawyers seemed to take turns describing at length the various options. Then they would brusquely explain why each option was not feasible. Pressing charges was not practicable because it would require the Lucky Guy to come back to the Philippines. If he came back to the Philippines, he most likely would be charged with adultery with a good chance of being found guilty by a Filipino jury. In addition, everyone believed that the chances that she would be found guilty of assaulting an American sailor, who was cheating on his wife, in a Filipino court were zero.
The lawyers next considered her military identification card and her rights as a dependant of an American sailor no longer stationed in the Philippines. The lawyers decided that we did not even have the authority to seize the ID card if she attempted to come on base. The lawyers believed that only if they were divorced would we be able to pick up the ID card. The lawyers were researching the matter further to see if just a letter from the husband requesting us to collect the card would suffice. But as long as she still had the ID card, she would be allowed to come on base.
As the lawyers kept talking, the captain became more and more frustrated. Finally asked, “What about base privileges?” Cutting away from the lawyers, he turned to me and implored, “She shouldn’t be able shop on base?”
I replied, “Since he is no longer officially in the Philippines, we could put a stop on her ration card. She wouldn’t be able to shop on any of the U.S. bases in the Philippines.”
The Captain immediately said, “Good! Do that!” He then turned to the Public Affairs Officer and proclaimed, “I don’t think we need to issue a press release or an official statement.”
The PA Officer quickly nodded in agreement.
I felt that the end was near. The meeting, which was dominated by the lawyers, seemed to have ambled on incessantly. The Captain asked, “Is there anything else?” Thank god there were negative responses from everyone.
The Captain concluded the meeting by saying, “So Tom will put a stop on the ration card.” I nodded yes without saying the word. “I want to thank you all for coming on such short notice. Have a good day.” We said our farewells to the Captain and exited his office.
Once back in the outer office, small talk commenced. The confidant ones returned their coffee mugs. My boss and I said our good-byes to the others and left.
I didn’t look at my watch until we were completely outside the building. The meeting had lasted an hour, but seemed longer. It must have been the lawyers.
My boss said, “Let me know when you get the stop letter out.” And then continued, “So he lost one eye and maybe two. They didn’t mention his other injuries. I wonder if he’ll be able to have sex again. But I guess he’s still a lucky guy. She could have killed him.”
I smiled to myself. My boss used my personal nickname for the sailor who would now be considered unlucky by most people, on or off base. I said good morning to my boss and told him that I would call him within hour on the stop letter. I also wondered about the Lucky Guy’s other injuries. And my thoughts also went to his more basic bodily functions.
I walked back to my office, still smiling, thinking about the meeting. There we were. We represented the might of the United States Navy. She was a Filipina stewardess who violently thrashed her cheating husband, an American sailor. The only thing we could do was to stop her base shopping privileges. It was left up to me, the junior officer, to miter out this “harsh” punishment.
I never saw the Lucky Guy’s Lady again. I still checked out the bus stop each morning, but she never came back to the base. My remaining days in the Philippines seemed less bright. I never saw guys express a silent “Wow!” anymore.