Ship of Ghosts - James D. Hornfischer [103]
Burge occupied a cubicle across from Strickland and Castro’s, affording him a clear and tempting view of the fermented treasure trove. Apparently the temptation got to him. One day Burge said to George Detre, “Well, I think we’re going to have a big sale on beer tonight.” Detre didn’t think so. He didn’t sense the brewers were eager to sell just yet. “I think they will tonight,” Burge offered. “Why?” “Because I just started a rumor that the Japs are going to raid the place.” When he knew word had gotten around, Detre approached Strickland and Castro and asked how much they wanted for the beer. A bargain was struck and Detre took the whole supply. He tipped off Burge, and the two sailors spread a blanket under the fruit tree that night and drank until the sun came up.
Marine Sgt. James McCone’s nickname was “Gunner” before his creativity and resourcefulness in Bicycle Camp earned him a new moniker. As Howard Charles wrote, “He’d see a tin can—‘Oh my God, this is a container. This is not a tin can. This is a container. This can hold things, house things.’ He’d see a bit of twine: ‘We’ll sew somebody up with this someday. This can be very, very vital.’” He was intense about it, became focused every waking moment, it seemed, on gathering useful things for himself and his fellow prisoners. His buddies started calling him “Pack Rat.”
The Japanese were leery of McCone’s eccentricities. “They’d look at him and kind of shake their heads a little bit and just leave him alone,” wrote Charles. Pack Rat was hard to intimidate. He maintained a vacant, vaguely bemused posture somewhere between spaciness and menace. He walked with a bouncing lope that Charles suspected was phony and affected. “I don’t know what there was in that man,” Charles said. “I don’t know what got him that way. He’d been a loner all his life. He grew up on this huge Montana ranch. His dad wasn’t there. The Japs were scared of him. They were afraid of anybody who was crazy. And they thought he wasn’t of sound mind.” If the Japanese didn’t know what to make of McCone, most of his shipmates didn’t either when they learned he was the son of a prominent Montana politician, the late state senator George J. McCone, who had gotten a whole county named after him. They wondered: The kid could have gotten his card punched through family influence, and he joined the China Marines? In captivity, McCone was one of the most resourceful of survivors. He quietly assembled a crew he called “the Forty Thieves,” whose ingenuity and generosity would keep many a man alive through the worst of the ordeal.
One day a Houston machinist’s mate named Jack Feliz was thinking how much he’d like a mirror to help him shave when his wish wheeled right into camp. A Japanese soldier drove past the gate to deliver a load of rice. He parked his truck in the middle of the American compound before going in search of a work party, or kumi, to unload the rice. Feliz saw the truck’s rearview mirror and recognized an opportunity. Pack Rat McCone saw a larger windfall at hand. He said, “Hey, Jack, you’ve got a real treasure there. Wait until I get my Forty Thieves, and we can work on that thing.” McCone’s buddies set upon the vehicle like a pit crew. Well equipped with tools, ever handy, and impeccably organized, they got right to work, lifting the truck and inserting concrete blocks under each axle, removing tires (for boots), the hood (for trays and plates), and the windshield (a card table).