I always loved to travel. Why? I still hold onto the crazy idea that travel is in itself, fun. Hitting the road and seeing things was always my greatest thrill. My brother Gerald and I would almost become hopelessly involved in anticipation at the thought of just going to see grandma. Not that we wanted to see grandma so badly, but it was the long drive down to Leflore County that grabbed our imagination. In 1947 my dad announced that he was taking the family on a 3-week travel vacation to California and all points in between. I just about passed away with anticipation. But alas, the trip naturally turned out to be another big disappointment. The start of a trend.

Over the past few days, I have been sick with some sort of mokus or something. Naturally, I just lay around and poke at my highway maps planning some new poorly thought-out long auto-trip to the west to view the beautiful sights of our National Parks once more. Of course, I know in the back of my experienced mind that I am planning chaos, breakdowns, hotel cancellations and road detours that are totally avoidable. All I have to do is stay home. Fat chance. I want to travel.

Even back in my Navy days I would get hyped up on the days my ship was to steam. New Vistas. New countries? Just being at sea was sort of exciting. I didn’t envision the typhoon that wrenched our aircraft carrier so bad we had to go into a Jap shipyard two weeks for repair. I didn’t see all those hardships and fear in my future. But I should have. Nor did I envision a sudden transfer from my comfy carrier to a somewhat rusty E. Coast Destroyer. I should have. Our travel officer immediately ordered me to the consulate there in Hong Kong, where we were ported at the moment. I hurriedly packed up my stuff and went over the ornate American Consulate in Hong Kong China and was promptly kicked rejected. That American Consulate officer ordered me back to the ship, the USS Lexington, to go to Japan.

I rode the ship back to Japan and I was already very tired of this trip. In Yokosuka Japan I was given a bunk on the 16th floor in this receiving building as my woes were just starting. I foolishly took a nap and when I woke, I found my uniform had been stolen. I had to get permission to go to a uniform store and buy new stuff (at my own expense). Things just got worse. When I walked back into the receiving station, I was placed on a crowded Jap bus to Tokyo International Airport. Most of us were then crammed into a big “Super Connie” bound for Honolulu. We were to refuel on Wake Island. I was now even more apprehensive about this trip even in my new uniform.

The big civilian aircraft left about midnight and soon all I could hear were the 4 engines and a large number of irate infants crying as we lumbered eastward toward Wake. Our landing on the island was a near disaster. We landed well short of the runway at Wake Island. It scared the heck out all of us, damaging the landing gear and now we couldn’t take off. It was about 30 hours before a relief plane came out of Oahu and took us on to Honolulu. I have never forgotten this crash landing on this nearly deserted island. My confidence continued on its downward spiral.

Yes, I did make it all the way to San Francisco and then timidly flew on to Dallas on a defective American Airline craft which soon lost #3 engine. Being late, I missed the Central Airline DC-3 out of Dallas to Ada so I wound up finally hitchhiking home. Another mistake. My last ride home was in the bed of an old rusty pickup.

Did I ever make it to Boston? Yes. And after I got aboard my destroyer, I was informed there was no hurry after all. They suggested I take 30 days leave. I didn’t. Didn’t have any money left. And besides, that would involve more travel. Something I swore right then I would never do again. I was wrong. I’m already looking at my highway maps.

I hope your week is good and don’t forget to go to church Sunday.

Wayne Bullard, DPh cwaynebullard@gmail.com