In the Spring of 1946 the Port Director granted a seven day leave of absence to a signalman at the HECP to be selected by the commanding officer of the HECP. I got the leave. It was never clear to me why I was selected. The leave destination was a Red Cross hospitality center at an ancient resort and religious shrine called Nara, located not far from Kyoto, on the island of Honshu, south of Tokyo. There were about twelve or so soldiers and me at the hotel. Three or four Red Cross girls were the hostesses. I remember vividly several events.

One night we attended a taxi dance. For those who might not know, a taxi dance hall is a public dance hall where the men pay women to dance with them – by the dance. Japanese men were also present. All the women were Japanese. I had observed a bit and singled out a small woman who was a good dancer. When the live orchestra began a fast and swinging fox trot, I quickly bought her ticket and we began swirling around the floor. She followed impressively, even to fast turns — until she, without warning, fainted. The managers gathered her up and took her to a private lounge. I felt both embarrassed and uncomfortable, guilty even. I insisted on accompanying them, even though they made it clear that my presence was not needed, nor, perhaps, even wanted. When she recovered, she was ashamed and embarrassed, and I left, I think to everyone’s relief. Somehow the dance had lost its luster, and I returned to the hotel.

Another day we went for a lengthy horseback ride. It was hilly country with rice paddies and small grain fields and well packed trails, lots of them. Now, I was an experienced rider from high school days when riding was a favored hobby, so once I learned how the Japanese reined their horses things went very well, except for one problem. My horse either would not or could not move faster than an unbelievably slow walk. Maybe it was undernourished. His ribs were certainly visible.

In any case the others left me behind, and I was hopelessly lost. At one point a hysterical woman yelled and pointed first at me then in another direction. She was clearly very disturbed, but there was nothing for me to do except ride on— slowly. Fortunately my knowledge of horses kicked in and I remembered that mostly horses want to go home. So I let it walk where it wanted and, after a while and a very scenic ride along what I recognized as roads less traveled, we rounded a curve and there was its home. My fellow riders were waiting.

While at Nara I learned the Japanese played baseball. We had been scheduled to play a baseball game with a Japanese team. We saw it as a lark, an easy game. As a matter of fact, we were surprised that they played baseball at all. Then we watched them warm up.

A young soldier turned to me and said something like, “I think they’ve played this game before.”

They had. It was a hard fought and close game. We were certainly no all-star team. I do not even remember who won. However, one event was quite unforgettable. I played third base. At one point late in the game, I made an easy, but critical, force out. The player got up, dusted off a bit, bowed and returned to the bench. Now that is sportsmanship.

Before leaving we had a tour of the temple grounds which included a deer park. Before the war there had been hundreds of deer. In 1946 there were very few and those were closely guarded. The rest had been poached and eaten during the food shortages at the end of the war, or so we were told.

While there, we saw the largest indoor statue of Buddha. I returned to Toriga Saki to the news that in a few weeks we would be closing the Harbor Entrance Control Post. And I never did know who to thank for a very interesting and enjoyable week.