As a reward for the platoon’s hard work, Sergeant Nelson announced that on the coming Saturday we would get a twelve-hour pass to San Diego. Two buses would depart at 1000 and return at 2200 sharp. God help any recruit not back from liberty at 2200, as they would be listed AWOL (absent without leave) and court-marshaled. The 3rd Platoon was not as lucky, and was spending that day practicing close-order drills again. Sergeant Nelson enjoyed telling us that bit of news.
The day of our liberty dawned clear and hot. Dressed in our Class A uniforms, we loaded the buses for the fifty-minute drive to downtown San Diego. The Marines had printed up a little tourist guide about the city that was passed out to all. The booklet listed all the places of interest and all the rules of liberty. Much of the city was ‘off limits,’ but the brochure did suggest places to go and things to see, although they were things most Marines had little interest in: museums, libraries and tourist venues. What our bus talked and laughed about was broads, beer and boogie.
Kurt, Hank, Jim, and I were going to stick together, to enjoy this fragrance of freedom. Our liberty started by us walking around the area of the bus station. Here we found restaurants, cafés and many bars. The guys wanted beer, cold beer, so into a bar we went…and minutes later, out we came, since my friends were all underage. We tried two more saloons with the same results.
By now, the Comedian wasn’t laughing, “Damn, it’s just not fair. I can give my life for my country but I can’t vote or drink a cold beer? It makes no sense!”
Kurt piped up. “Dutch, you can go buy some at a store and we can drink them in some park.”
My response was not a welcome one when I said, “If the MP’s catch us, we’ll all spend the night in the brig. I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Finally Hank came to my defense. “Hey, guys, leave him alone and don’t make him do what he doesn’t want to do.”
“I have no problems doing it. Just not here and not now.”
“You’re right, Hank. Come on. Let’s get some chow,” Kurt added.
We had a fair meal at a sidewalk café on a busy street in the hot sun, but the boys groused about the cost of the food and were sure that the owner was ‘sticking it’ to the GI’s. After lunch, we did some girl-watching and then grabbed a cab and decided to try the Art Museum, since it was air conditioned. It was nice and it was cool, but after eight weeks at boot camp, it was boring.
When we walked out of the museum into the blazing hot sun, I looked across the street…and stopped. There, in its entire splendor, stood the old Hotel El Cortez!
It was a grand tall building with a large blue canopy above the front entrance. Beneath the awning, a doorman dressed in a red-braided uniform was helping people come and go. The sign above the canopy read “Air-Conditioned Rooms.”
My mind began to race. Why not? I thought. Turning to my pals, I pointed to a bench beside the museum. “Why don’t you guys take a load off, over there in the shade? I’ll be back in minute.”
“What’s going on? Where are you going, Dutch?” Kurt asked.
Starting across the busy street, I turned my head and answered, “Trust me!”
Walking past the doorman, I nodded with a smile and pushed at the brass revolving door. While the door was moving, I straightened my tie and brushed off my uniform.
The lobby was massive, replete with stone columns, marble floors, overstuffed furniture and the smell of money. My footsteps echoed as I walked towards the front desk. My mind kept saying, Strut, Dutch, strut. Act like you belong here.
