18th Fighter-Bomber Wing in Korea

SOUTH for the WINTER - Myoshi's Inn, Tokyo

In early November, 1950, the civil engineers gradually installed wood-plank floors in our tents and, finally, equipped each with a quaint-looking pot-bellied oil burner stove device which would cook anything within three feet of it’s surface, but would leave the rest of the tent in it's normal sub-frigid condition. A shower facility of sorts was plumbed into the hot water system installed for the Mess tent and, if willing to stand long enough in line, with the cold wind blowing between the tent flaps, the sensation of a shower felt pretty good.

As the basic amenities were slowly acquired, and the community of Dogpatch became almost livable, it also became apparent that the luxury was too good to last ... the rumors began to circulate that we were slated to move once again, to another airfield, further north, to eliminate the long two-hour flight to the front lines.

Our first choice was the airfield at Wonsan, far up on the east coast. We had been treating that airstrip with some foresight during our attacks in the area; purposely avoiding any bomb damage to the runways and taxi strips. We even held off strafing the buildings ... with the idea that with luck, it might some day be our new home.

The second option, and not nearly as attractive as the first, was to move to the beaten and battered airstrip near Pyongyang, the much-attacked North Korean capitol ...the airfield that was covered with debris, with nary a single building still standing.

It's easy to guess which site was selected for the 18th Group's next base.

The Marine Air Division was given the half-way decent field at Wonsan, while we were to move to Pyongyang. We reasoned that the 'powers that be' decided the 'culture shock' would be too great for the Marine’s pilots ... coming down from the luxury of clean sheets and wardrooms aboard their aircraft carriers to mud floors and drafty winter tents. The decision gave me even more reason to press for a prompt transfer back to the Philippines.

The ground battles continued to make rapid strides toward the Yalu River, and the ultimate decimation of the North Korean forces appeared to be just a matter of time. But occasional sightings of enemy aircraft began to give us concern; we wondered why the few prop-driven YAKs were showing up, so late in the war. They were promptly shot down by our Mustang pilots, whenever they would show themselves, and on one occasion a pair of our guys were attacked by a pair of swept-wing MiG-15 jets as they flew along the south bank of the Yalu River.

The Russian-made jets overshot their mark while attacking Lieutenants Morehouse and Reynolds, in their slower prop-driven F-51 Mustantgs, and our two pilots didn't hang around to ask questions. It was obvious that the MiGs were from the Chinese or Russian base at Antung, Manchuria, and their entry onto the Korean side of the river was, at that time, rather startling news.

Captain Alma Flake and Lieutenant Jim Glessner each shot down a YAK-9, and Moon Mullins knocked down two of them on the same mission, within two minutes of each other. We continued to wonder if the belated show of enemy air power was a last, final gasp of the falling enemy ... or were they just testing.

There were hundreds of fresh new MiG jets just across the river in Manchuria ...known to us, and we knew we would be in deep, deep trouble if they chose to use them against us in Korea.

Rumors, and rumors of rumors persisted concerning how FEAF Headquarters was finally going to set up a rotation policy for pilots, once the war was declared officially "over".

After being in the theater for more than 30 long months, and having been thrice-bitten by allowing my hopes to rise, only to have them dashed against the rocks of reality, I resigned myself to the simple hope of getting back down to the Philippines where, with luck, I could get orders for travel back to the 'States within a month or so. If everything worked right, I might even be able to get back to California by Christmas time.

My spirits were beginning to rise again, buoyed by the prospect of getting to some warmer weather when I heard that our Group CO, Col. Wintermute, had told the 13th AF Commanding General at Clark Field that "we wouldn't need any more replacement pilots in the 18th ... the war was winding down so fast that the whole outfit would probably be pulled out in just a short time."

Our opinion of that kind of idiotic logic was short and to the point ..... "Bullshit!!"

It took several days and many meetings amongst our remaining "old-timers" to convince Lt. Col. Bob Dow who, in turn, took it up with Wintermute. He finally agreed to keep the replacement pilots coming in. Then, at last a small group of five "homesteader" pilots from Clark arrived on 5 November, and my name was put on orders for transfer back to Clark on the 7th or 8th. Harlan Ball and my former neighbor, Bob Hinck, were on the same orders, all of us elated at the opportunity to get out of Korea before we were forced into another move to a much worse hole ... at Pyongyang.

The Group was already beginning to pack their movable ground equipment ... our transfer orders came just in the 'nick of time'.

Preparations for my departure from Korea took but a very few minutes. With so few personal belongings, it didn't take me long to turn in my little stock of government-issue equipment: my parachute, flying helmet, pistol belt, holster and pistol, canteen, bedding, etc. Just slam the lid on my two footlockers, pull a tan uniform out of my canvas B-4 bag, stuff my dirty flying suit into one of the zippered pockets, pick up my printed orders and I was ready to go.

No goodbyes were necessary, nor were they expected; everyone remaining behind was honestly planning to join us at Clark Field within just a couple of weeks. Harlan Ball, Bob Hinck and I weren't going to wait for another opportunity ... we headed for the Base Operations tent immediately, and got ourselves onto the evening courier flight to Tokyo on 7 November.

"Bam, Bam, Thank You, Ma'am" ... we were on our way before anyone could change their minds!

Only when we were airborne in the darkness over the Sea of Japan did we dare look at each other with a sigh of relief, and the honest belief that we had really made it out of the Korean War with our whole skins.

Our transfer orders had no reporting date for our arrival at Clark Field and as we came in on the approach to Tokyo's Haneda airport in our old C-47, we fantasized on the possibilities of going to the Philippines by way of Los Angeles or San Francisco. We burst our fantasy bubbbles and came back down to earth to settle for an old taxicab to carry us and our dusty footlockers and bags into downtown Tokyo.

We stopped first at the University Club ... on the bare possibility that we might again succeed, as we had just a few weeks previously, and find a stray room or two. Unfortunately, we had no such luck. We then called the desk clerk at the Tokyo Electric ... the Company-grade officer's transient hotel, but they too were filled to capacity, and didn't have the slightest idea where we might find a room in the war-crowded city.

We called the Meiji Park hotel, located 'way out on the outskirts of Tokyo, and the clerk told us, sleepily, that even he couldn't do anything for us for at least two days. It was by then 4:00 AM on Wednesday, November 8th, and they didn't expect any vacancies before Friday the 10th.

Finally, exasperated and getting desperate, we asked the Japanese desk clerk at the University Club if he knew of any 'half-way economical’, yet presentable Japanese Inns or Hotels where we might get a room for the night. He thought for a moment, then, tilting his head to the side, as if questioning whether he should even mention it or not ... he suggested that we might try the "Myoshi".

He said in his halting English, that it was 'very nice ... if it is still open'. We took this to mean: ".. if the desk was still open at that time of the morning..." We didn't realize, at the time, that he meant: "If it's not Off Limits"! He then made a phone call, spoke in Japanese to the party on the other end, then came back to us nodding that the Myoshi had rooms and, yes, they would be able to prepare some breakfast for us.

It sounded good; we asked the clerk to come out and give our taxi driver directions on how to find the place. Little did we know that every taxi driver in Tokyo knew where to find Myoshi's.

We drove around on numerous narrow side streets, just out of central Tokyo for perhaps fifteen minutes, until finally we pulled through a bamboo covered gate and into a sheltered courtyard. The taxi parked in an area surrounded by neat, two-story frame buildings of traditional Japanese construction ... almost like one of our 'stateside motel buildings, only more quaint. We could see no advertising signs of any kind, and assumed that it was more like a 'bed and breakfast' type of Inn. It looked good enough for a night or two, until we could get into the Meiji Park or one of the other U.S. military hotels.

As we stopped in the courtyard, we were met by a little, round, grey-haired, grey-kimona'd "Mama-san" who gestured wide-eyed, saying "No, No, No ... no stay. One night only!" as we started to take our four dirty footlockers down from the roof of the taxi, and to pull our three large canvas B4 bags out of the trunk. She undoubtedly thought we were about to take up permanent residence in her little "Inn".

We were finally able to convince her that we were on our way from Korea, and were just going to spend the next day, until we could get an airplane flight to Manila. She was still skeptical, but finally showed us to three adjoining rooms in one corner of the Inn complex and, pointing to a smaller, adjoining building, saying: "Bath, there."

The ground-level rooms were small, typical Japanese bedrooms, with straw tatami mats on the floor, a couple of ornately-embroidered cushions on the floor, a low night-stand with a single-bulb lamp, and a sliding screen storage closet which contained a rolled, quilt-like "bed". It was quaint, but it was clean and warm, and a far, far cry from our dirty tents in Korea.

Within just a few minutes, while Harlan, Bob and I were sitting cross-legged on the cushions ... there were no chairs in the room, sipping a 'weather-cooled' whiskey and water from the bottle which Hinck had brought from the University Club, Mama-san brought in the first of three little short-legged trays, each of which contained a plate of two fried eggs, sliced ham, warm biscuit-like crackers, a cup and a kettle of steaming hot tea.

"Good bleckfus" she said, with a bow, then backed out of the little room. She brought the two additional trays, and the three of us purred contentedly as we sipped our highballs and enjoyed our delicious, home-cooked ‘bleckfus’.

Awhile later, when she came back to remove the trays, we asked if it was possible to take a bath right away, or whether it was too early, and there would be no hot water as yet...? Often, in the Orient, the hot water was limited to certain hours, and we didn't want to go over to bathe, only to find that there was no hot water. She said: "I see", and shuffled off, returning a few minutes later, at 6:00 AM, saying "Bath OK".

At that hour there was no other activity around the courtyard, so I stripped to my pants and shoes, and, picking up one of the bulky towels she had piled next to the door, slung it over my neck and headed in the direction of the adjoining building, thru the breaking dawn of the new day.

I was tired ... I'd been up for more than twenty-four hours, but I couldn't hit the sack until I'd washed some of the Korean grime from my body. I wondered what the bath facility would be like ... a little wooden tub on a rough concrete floor, with a small tile alcove for dressing...? I really didn't know what to expect. I did know, however, that there would be no shower ...he Japanese just hadn't yet gotten around to such amenities. I didn't really care, just so long as I could scrape and rinse part of the residue from our long Korean camp out.

When I opened the door into a little wind-break alcove, screened from a larger room by a short wooden wall, I could hardly believe my eyes as I turned into the larger room. I found a spacious open area with floors and walls ceramic-tiled in a soft beige, with a darker brown trim. The room was warm and comfortable, and had not one tub, but two. One was the size of a small swimming pool, about 12 by 16 feet, with tiled steps leading down into the four or five foot depth. The water in this pool, clean and clear, was comfortably warm ... not too hot, not too cool.

The other pool, also sunken below floor level, was somewhat smaller, perhaps six by eight feet, and about the same depth as the other. It's water, however, was much, much warmer... the steam was rising from it's clear surface.

"What an amazing facility", I thought, "for such a small, unpretentious Inn".

But then I thought no more about it as I doffed my pants and shoes, to bask in the luxury of a bath that, with the addition of a few dancing slave girls, would do justice to the old Roman baths of ancient days. Ball and Hinck came in after a few minutes, and the three of us soaked and soaked until, after thirty minutes in the hot tub, we were hardly able to climb out under our own power ... we were afraid we might have to call for Mama-san to give us a hand getting out!

Finally then, after a long tiring day, I crawled into my quilt-like bed about 8:00 AM, on the floor of our quaint little 'Inn' in Tokyo, and fell into a sound, completely relaxed sleep. I didn't hear another sound until I felt a hand on my shoulder and looked up to see Harlan leaning over me, asking if I was going to sleep "all night". I looked at my watch in the dim, fading light... it was after 7:00 PM and the guys were ready to go downtown to the University Club for a good steak dinner. I'd slept through the whole day without moving a muscle.

Before leaving, we got Mama-san to agree that we could remain another night, then called a taxi to take us into town. After a sumptuous, leisurely filet mignon steak dinner, complete with fresh crab cocktail and a nice Cabernet Sauvignon wine, all served on fresh, white linen, with sterling silver cutlery ... in the University Club dining room, then followed by a series of Benedictine and Brandies in the lounge, while listening to a live combo playing all of the old musical favorites of the past ten or fifteen years ... we decided that we had found the one, ideal way to slip out of the War Zone.

We had to ask ourselves: "Which is the fantasy world, and which is the real world? Was Korea real, and this fantasy, or was Korea the fantasy and this, in Tokyo, real....?" It was obvious that we'd had too much to drink, because we could not agree on the answer ... we no longer knew what the real world looked like!

On our way out, after midnight, we called the Meiji Park Hotel to confirm our reservations for Friday, then went over to thank the desk clerk for finding us such a nice little local inn. He nodded, and smiled knowingly, and asked if it was quiet. When we assured him that we hadn't heard a sound all day, he said something like ..."and no MPs?" ... which we really didn't understand; but we agreed "...and no MPs".

We then took a taxi back to Myoshi's; the driver didn't have to ask directions, he seemed to know just where it was located. We were back in our little beds shortly after 1:00 AM; it was still "nice and quiet," and, as far as we could tell "... still no MPs."

Awakening late the next morning, Mama-san fixed three more nice ham and egg breakfasts while we bathed and shaved. Then, after counting out a stack of Yen ...we really didn't know its current rate of exchange, and really didn't care, the quaint rooms, service and excellent baths were well worth whatever it would cost us. Mama-san called a taxi to take us, with our four footlockers and three B-4 bags, over to the somewhat more drab surroundings of the Meiji Park Hotel.

The Meiji desk clerk, who spoke excellent English, asked where we'd spent the last couple of nights while waiting for his vacancies to become available, and when we said "The Myoshi Inn", he broke into a broad, knowing grin. He said that he didn't realize that Myoshi's was open again.

"It was closed down for awhile" he said. It was only after some questioning that he explained to us that Myoshi's was, by far, "... the Best Little Whorehouse in Tokyo!" ... and it had been placed "Off Limits" by the Military Police just a few weeks before. Mama-san was apparently trying to make ends meet by starting a little "Inn" of sorts.

Finally it dawned upon us the "why" of the sumptuous bath facility ... the knowing smiles from the University Club desk clerk, and the efficient, knowledgeable taxi drivers!

Why", we asked ourselves, "must we always be late, and the last to know." Why couldn't Mama-san have continued her usual business services just a little longer ... while we were there...?

In later years, when I would compare notes with other pilots who had been stationed in the Far East, inevitably the name "Myoshi's" would filter into the conversation about Tokyo's highlights, and I would nod knowingly, and smile. I would never dare to add that I stayed there two full days and nights while it was "Off Limits" to U.S. military personnel, and there was not a single one of their fabulous beauties ... for which Myoshi's was noted, anywhere on the premises.

'Just the old, shuffling Mama-san and Papa-san.

Two days later, after more conventional forays into town to shop along the Ginza, and more delightful meals at the University Club each evening, we finally confirmed flight reservations to Clark Field, and took a bus out to Haneda Airport for an 8:00 PM flight to the Philippines aboard a MATS C-54, on Saturday evening, 11 November, 1950.

Despite Tokyo’s many attractions, and the "no reporting date" on our transfer orders... tempting as they were, they just could not keep us from getting back down to Clark Field. The three of us were convinced that a formal Rotation Policy would be announced as the Korean battles wound down, and if we weren't there to receive our new orders, we might just miss out on an early flight back to the United States.

However, since we had been out of contact with the war for almost a week, we were not aware that our troops were meeting ever-increasing resistance as they neared the Yalu River, and the fighting was becoming more brutal, especially in the mountainous northeast sector ... near the Chosin Reservoir. The battles had about reached a bloody stalemate.

.... It was then that the massed hordes of Red Chinese troops crossed the Yalu River and entered the war.

Duane E. 'Bud' Biteman,
Lt. Col, USAF, Ret
‘...One of those Old, Bold Fighter Pilots’
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