Today we got blitzed! Japanese Military Police interpreter Nakizawa came at 1100 for my Mercury-V8, arriving in a La Salle converted pick-up tow-car with four mechanics from the Japanese air force (Grace Park gang) while I was hiding my radio. Today I got an eyeful on how people's ideals can change when it suits them.

Our garage held my Mercury and Mike's Chrysler; old man Campos' Chevrolet was outside in the path of my Mercury. I said I didn't have the Chevy's bolts. The Japanese went over to the Campos home, returning with old man Campos and his sons, Tony and Luis (I'd heard the latter did some work for the Japanese). Pretending also that I couldn't find the wheel bolts of the Mercury, I gave a 15-minute performance of searching worthy of Hollywood fame.

Luis said that he might have some in his basement. "Yes, yes," said Tony. "Where's the jack?" asked Luis. The Japanese had one. (My tools were upstairs.) While the Japanese rolled my wheels out with Tony's help, Luis got busy putting the jack under the Chevy. (Most cars had been suspended on wooden blocks for the past 2 to 3 years.) The old man ran hither and yonder, directing them, not omitting to pass by now and then to give me a fraternal pat in the back and a few words of sympathy.

I was stupefied! With less than half-an-hour of daylight left, why in hell did the Camposes have to work so hard? They worked like bees — squatting, lifting, turning and giving the Japanese some unneeded advice to boot. I don't suppose that in all my life I was so stunned, struck dumb and frozen with wonder. About the wheel bolts, I really had been unable to find them. I had mentioned this to Nakizawa earlier in the day, and it turned out that their mechanics didn't have any too. But Luis floored me by shouting: "I'll get some!" He reminded me of Figueras telling Fukushima — No, no — just tell me what you need! I felt betrayed. Luis dashed off home and returned with eight nuts. They weren't enough, so back he dashed Paul Revere-style and returned with four more bolts — enough to fit three to each wheel. I was fit to be tied!

Meanwhile two Japanese that had been pumping the tires were almost finished but were pooped out. Guess who took over: Luis! But there was still work to be done. The Chevy had been lowered to the last block. It was easy now — just roll the car back — but it was in gear and wouldn't roll. Well, unlock the door and put the gear in neutral — but the door wouldn't open, even with the key. "Push anyway," said Nakizawa. "No," said Luis, "you might strip the gears." Then realizing he had practically committed treason, murmured, "Ok, let's push." The car resisted, of course. So they picked it up and carried it to one side — and how the Camposes worked! I hadn't lifted a finger; after all, it was my funeral. All that was needed now was to put the tires onto my car and tow it out.

Luis came over and was soon talking to Naky in front of me! "I got plenty of work, it will take me two weeks to finish the pick-ups I'm working on, then I'll begin on this," he said indicating the Chevy.

continues...