Legacy Magazine

By Alan Leftridge

Water lapped against my ankles as I strolled the soft white sands. The big Pacific waves were arrested by the barrier reef several hundred yards to my right. The left side of my face was warmed by the late morning sunlight, my feet by the 80-degree water of the lagoon. It was Sunday morning, and the visitors that had filled the few hotels on the island were almost three hours into their bus tour of Saipan. I walked alone on this impeccable beach, enjoying the untroubled ambience, well aware that this was where the Second Marine Division came ashore during the invasion of Saipan, June 15, 1944. A pair of binoculars directed at what might be mistaken for rock outcroppings in the lagoon would focus on relics of the invasion that floundered in the shallow water.

The gleaming roof of a low-lying building caught my attention. Typical of Pacific island houses, it was constructed of concrete block, with a metal roof designed to blow off when typhoon winds reached super velocity. The building looked like more than a residence, due to several tables scattered about, suggesting a restaurant. I saw no customers, but a lone man sitting in an Adirondack chair was watching me. Interested in a late breakfast, I took a step toward him, and without pause, he waved me forward. We greeted one another, and I asked if breakfast was still available.

“Yes, of course. Ohana!” he called out. A woman approached from the building. “What would you like?” the man inquired of me.

“An American breakfast.”

“Fix this man some Spam and eggs and toast. Coffee?”

“Yes, please.”

“And get him a cup of coffee, too.” Ohana nodded and disappeared into the house as he remained in his chair and I sat across from him.

“Been on the island long?” he asked.

“Just a couple of days. I came to do some diving and look around. I’m working for the DOE on Guam. How about you?” I shuddered at my lame question. It was apparent that he was an islander.

“I came here June 15, 1944.” He motioned with his head, “By way of that beach. Stayed with the Marines for a while. Then back to the States. Moved here for good with Ohana in the mid-70s.”

“So, you were part of the invasion?”

“Yes, I was here. They even made a movie about me in 1960, and what I did here during the war. It’s called Hell to Eternity. Jeffrey Hunter played my role. Can you believe it? Nice guy, but six feet tall, light-brown hair, and blue eyes! And here I am, Guy Gabaldon, barely over five feet, and Mexican-American. Have you seen the movie?” he inquired.

I told him I wasn’t familiar with it, but I would like to hear his story.

“Before the invasion, Saipan was a possession of Japan, given to Japan by the League of Nations as a concession of the first war. By ’44 most of the population was not the local Chamorros, but people of Japanese ancestry. As the war went on, many residents believed the propaganda that Americans were butchers and would slaughter civilians if we ever took the island.”

“Oh, I did my share of killing during the invasion, but one time I was behind enemy lines and captured a group of Japanese soldiers. My commanding officer scolded me, because we had no place to hold prisoners. But about the same time, civilians began leaping from cliffs in mass suicides. One day, I watched as a mother threw her baby over a cliff. Then, she jumped. Because I could speak Japanese, I decided to talk people into surrendering.”

“How did you learn Japanese?” I inquired.

“I was raised in East LA. In those days, kids would spend a lot of time with neighbor-kids’ families. Throughout high school, I practically lived with a Japanese family, hanging out with their two sons. I learned street-Japanese. When the war began, I tried to join the Navy. Too short, they said. The Marines wanted me though, because I could speak Japanese.”

“So, because I knew the language, I’d go alone day or night and seek out the caves where people were hiding. I would go up to the cave’s mouth and jabber, and soon people would start coming out. Sometimes I’d bribe them with chocolate, cigarettes, and food. Other times I’d capture about six soldiers but release three, telling them to spread the word about good Americans and fair treatment. Then I’d tell them that if they didn’t return, I’d kill the others. It worked! The military credited me with capturing, or persuading to surrender, up to 1,500 Japanese soldiers and civilians—including 800 in one day. Afterwards, my commanding office tagged me ‘The Pied Piper of Saipan.’

“I was wounded by machine-gun fire about the time the battle was over, and they gave me the Silver Star. I left the Marine Corps still a private, though.

“I married Ohana, and after several years living in the States, we moved here in the mid-70s. Many people have campaigned for me to receive the Medal of Honor. I plan to write my memoir some day, and hope to include the award in my story.”

I sat transfixed throughout Guy’s narrative. With measured bites, I ate breakfast. I asked a few questions, he said a few things more, but I could tell he was growing weary. Excusing myself, I said while shaking his hand, “It is an honor meeting you Mr. Gabaldon.” Turning to Ohana, I thanked her for the great meal, then said, “I am glad your restaurant was still open for breakfast.” She looked at Guy and they both laughed. I looked back at Guy, who revealed, “This is not a restaurant, it’s our home.”

This episode happened almost three decades ago, yet the story looms large in my memory. I have since learned more about the war in the Pacific and found that everything Guy told me was accurate. He finished his memoir in 1990, but died in 2006 without receiving the Medal of Honor. I recently rented Hell To Eternity on DVD, and saw that he was listed as a consultant on the movie.

I visited Saipan with the aim of exploring the sea life that abounds in its surrounding waters. The generosity of a war hero introduced me to the complexities of the island’s cultural heritage, as well. This episode helped me realize that wherever I travel there are rich human and natural history stories to be heard. All I must do is be open to the myriad narratives. I may not be looking for them, but they are revealed when I am open to unexpected opportunities.

Alan Leftridge is a contract interpretive trainer, visitor services trainer, and interpretive writer based out of the Swan Valley of Montana. Contact him at www.leftridge.com.