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 Jim and Kurt were underage and not old enough to drink. 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 all its 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.
Behind the desk were two gentlemen. The one facing my way was reading a book, while an older gentleman behind him sorted out mail. The bookworm was a skinny fellow with a dark suit and dress shirt with one of those old-fashioned starched collars. His face was narrow and, below his bony nose, he had a pencil mustache. Above his nose, he wore a pair of pince-nez glasses. As I approached the desk, he didn’t look up.
After a few seconds of standing there, I cleared my throat.
Looking up at me, he said in a superior tone, “May I help you?”
“Yes. I would like a room, please.”
He stared at me and my uniform with contempt. “I’m sorry, sir. That won’t be possible. We are booked solid.”
Smiling at him and raising one of my hands, I commented, “You mean in this tall, grand, old hotel there is not one room available for a weary traveler like myself?”
He did not smile back but replied, “There is the Governor’s Suite, but I’m confident that it would be out of a soldier’s price range. You might want to try the YMCA.”
Looking him straight in the eye, I asked, “How much is it?”
He glared “It really doesn’t matter, sir. We do not accommodate soldiers.”
My face turned red with anger, and I could have punched him right across the counter, but I didn’t.
“That’s too bad,” I remarked. “My Uncle Roy -- that’s Roy Clarke -- was just a guest in your hotel, and he highly recommended your establishment. I will have to tell him of my treatment. Do you know who he is?”
“I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t know the gentleman. As I said, you can try the Y.”
Just then, the older man behind the clerk stepped forward. With one fluid body bump, the surly clerk was no longer in front of me.
With a pleasant smile on his face, the older man said, “I’m Mr. Hudson, the manager. And yes, Mr. Clarke of Gold Coast Petroleum was a guest here, last week. You are his nephew?”
“Yes, and his business partner.”
Nodding and smiling at my response, he continued, “I’m sure we can accommodate you, sir, but unfortunately the Governor’s Suite is the only room available, and its rate is ninety-eight dollars a night.”
“Mr. Hudson, I have no problem with the rate, but I want to make sure that the suite is air-conditioned, and that there is a radio in the room. And, oh yes, that you offer room service to your guests.”
Reaching for a registration card, he answered, “Yes, on all accounts. And If I might add, our room service menu is the finest in all of San Diego. And how long will you be staying with us, Mr. Clarke?”
Reaching into my wallet, I removed my military ID and two crisp one hundred-dollar bills. Placing the ID and one bill on the desk, I said, “This will cover the room.” I placed the second bill on the desk. “And this will cover my room service needs. I will be staying until nine, this evening.”
He gave me an astonished look. “Yes, sir. I understand. Let me fill out this registration card and you can sign it. Would you like the bellboy to show you to your room?”
“No, thank you. I can find my way. But you can have Room Service send up…hmm…a dozen bottles of iced Falstaff beer, a large bowl of potato chips and...oh yes, some nuts. Salted nuts, if you have them.”
Sliding the card and room key across the desk, he answered, “Yes, sir. Right away!”
After signing, I took the key and started to walk away, but stopped and turned back to Mr. Hudson. “And newspapers. Please send up the New York Times and your local paper. I haven’t heard the news for a long time. And tell Room Service that I’ll be in the room in ten minutes.”
“Yes, sir.”
Crossing the lobby, I exited briskly through the revolving front door. With the doorman watching, I whistled to my pals across the street and made hand signals for them to join me. Within seconds, they were standing by me.
