June, 1947 Vol. 34, No. 10
CONTENTS
They Dared To Venture
Peter J. Piper 10
"Dear Mrs. Jackson"
Alfred J. Carter 13
The Swedes Seldom Strike
Richard L Neuberger 14
Choose a Career You Can Enjoy Eugene J. Donaghue 17
Tokyo Mose
Bernard Simon 19
Encampment In Cleveland
Larry C. Greene 20
Duck Hunting With Nets
Joe Austell Small
21
Veteran Preference
Omar B. Ketchum
22
V.F.W. National Home Graduates of '47
Katherine B. Gordon
25
Short Features , 16, 18, 24, 28, 30, 31, 32, 33, 39
DEPARTMENTS
The Observation Post
2
Scouting the News
4
In Very Few Words
5
Mail Call
6
Editorials
9
Good Reading
26
Operation Opportunity 29
Vet Vignettes
30
Factual Flak
31
Reunions
37
Notices
38
Jest-a-Minute
40
Directory of V.F.W. National Officers—Page 31
THE COVER
In the Spring a young man's fancy . , . and by June she's got him hooked! Artist Bill Jacobson's painting on the cover of this issue of Foreign Service is, of course, inspired by the fact that June tops ail other months for business at the marriage license bureaus. There will always be some disagreement as to what constitutes the most eventful day in a veteran's life—the day he received his discharge from the Armed Forces or the day he enlisted in the Matrimonial Corps for life. Cynics opine that as far as "battles" are concerned, it's just like stepping from the frying pan into the fire . * . we'll let you take up the argument from here on!
Editor, Barney Yanofsky; Managing Editor, Don Clark; Assistant Editors, Larry C. Greene and Harmon Elder; Business Manager, R. B. Handy, Jr.; Circulation Manager, George K. Bradford.
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Tokyo Mose
By Bernard Simon
This trio of Japanese warblers sang "Moshi moshi ano-ne" on Station WVTR, Armed Forces Radio Network. Tokyo Mose called them the "Ah-So-Rotten Chorus."
Sneak up behind a guy who did occupation duty in Japan last winter and to the tune of London Bridge Is Falling Down sing this gibberish in his ear:
Moshi-moshi ano-ne,
Ano-ne,
Ano-ne,
Ah, so deska!
He will either haul off and render you a smart slug on the skull—or he will beam with pleasant reminiscence, throw his arm around you, pally-like, and invite you to the bar. There, over a drink, he will talk with you about a spoofing, satirical, somewhat Sad Sack-ish radio character created by the United States Army whose antics provided a potent shot in the arm for morale in the Pacific.
He was called Tokyo Mose, an appropriate sobriquet in view of the fact that he succeeded the infamous Mrs. Iva Taguri, that Japanese lady disc jockey better known by her professional billing, Tokyo Rose. When MacArthur's troops followed the atom bomb into Japan for the expressed purpose of revamping local customs, Mrs. Taguri found herself "at liberty" in radio, having been tossed into the gaol, along with her employers, as a war criminal. But she left behind 10,000 phonograph records—the complete gamut from
bouncing jive, to symphony, to hillbilly—neatly catalogued and stacked in
the six-story Radio Tokyo building. Rose always played good music, conceded the Special Service Officer at GHQ,
so why not continue the
program?
Thus was Tokyo Mose created. The detail was assigned to Sgt. Walter
Kaner, a blond, 26-year old radio performer from Astoria, Long Island. Having already earned two battle stars and the combat infantryman's badge as a doughfoot with the 97th Infantry Division in the Rhineland, Kaner was properly conditioned to take on anything. The big brass directed that he entertain the troops six afternoons a week, between 1400 and 1500 hours, interspersing the recorded music of Benny Goodman and Cab Calloway with carefully edited "commercials" about the importance of war bonds, VD control and reenlistments. Sgt. Kaner was commended for getting his advertising across to the public. But the manner in which he vocally manhandled his sponsors should not happen to an enlistee in the K-9 corps.
First off, Kaner popularized Moshi-moshi. The lyrics to this impish composition, created by war correspondent Howard Handleman, are a meaningless jumble of the first Jap words a foreigner meets up with. Exact translation. "Hello, hello—see here, see here, see here—is that so?" This bit of nonsense was plugged by Kaner into the No. 1 spot on the Nipponese hit parade. It was quickly accepted as the occupational anthem by everyone—including the erudite listeners who fiercely denounced Tokyo Mose for subjecting them to "another horror cycle of The Music Goes 'Round and 'Round and Mairzy Doats." Not the least bit concerned with—or desirous of—an option renewal, Kaner flayed his tormentors by featuring Moshi-moshi with live entertainment. He selected three Japanese elevator girls and had them sing it once each day, introducing them as the "Ah-So-Rotten Chorus." A fanfare accompanied this introduction which pleased the maidens no little.
The Army's Civilian Information and Education Section reported that some 15 per cent of the natives fortunate enough to own radios religiously tuned in Tokyo Mose. Naturally, they accepted Moshi (Please turn to page 31)
Tokyo Mose
(Continued from page 19)
moshi. By common consent it became a national byword. Jap school children, policemen and prostitutes followed at the heels of the conquerors ingratiatingly chanting it. A second chorus, "Beeru mitsu kudisi, ah-rigatoo!"—"Give me three beers, please, thank you!"—became the most widely spoken words in geisha houses.
Kaner further stimulated listener reaction by declaring war against hillbilly music. This earned him the consummate wrath of all Arkansas travelers in uniform. He even attempted to arrange a mike interview with Tokyo Rose. Headquarters nixed it. When her guards told her about the program that had replaced hers, Rose laughed but said nothing.
Mose's greatest popularity was the result of his efforts as a commentator. Whenever the urge seized him —and that was often—he would discuss with maudlin sympathy "the plight of our officers forced to share the horrors of being billeted in the Imperial Hotel."
"The lack of materiel," he once explained gravely, "prevents many junior officers from having personal jeeps. It is an indictment of current conditions to report that some lieutenants are sorely inconvenienced and must double-up on dinner engagements."
Another favorite sermon was his "Be Kind To Your First Sergeant, Some Day He May Be Kind To You." Items culled from Stars and Stripes were subjects for many of Mose's ludicrous, outspoken comments, providing a vicarious delight for many pent-up GIs. The point system for discharge, then in high disfavor among Kaner's listeners, provided excellent fodder. Each day he started the program with a poetic lament— "I think that I shall never see a guy who has less points than me!"— which often disturbed War Department policy makers indeed.
Kaner, once more a civilian, is trying hard to find his niche in the competitive radio field. While in khaki, however, his sprightly, unorthodox style, beamed on an 18-station hook-up operated by Armed Forces Radio Service, amused more than a half-million listeners. COs where so impressed with the program's morale value that many of them made it an official part of their command's daily activities. American and British naval ships in Tokyo and Yokohama harbors broadcast it through loud speakers and some posts dispensed with KP, drill and fatigue details during the hour that Tokyo Mose was on the air.
Although his fan mail jumped to 600 letters a week, Kaner himself was unaware of his prestige until he ran afoul of his own comedy. A supply sergeant had submitted a musical request for Mexicali Rose. "One Rose on this program is enough!" stormed the irrepressible Kaner while he shattered the offending record over a microphone so that all might hear. "The trouble with this man's army," he added, "is that all the supply sergeants hoard all the radios."
Several months later, while at a replacement depot en route home, Kaner was rudely ejected from a supply room where he had innocently ventured in search of a shoelace.
"Keep that bum outta here!" roared a frothing supply NCO. "After his damn broadcast the Old Man held an investigation and lifted every radio on the post!"
About the Author
Bernard Simon served as a master sergeant at the New York Port of Embarkation from August, 1942, until February, 1946. Born in Brooklyn, he obtained his degree in Journalism at the University of New York. He has been a sports writer on several daily newspapers, editor of a weekly, and a contributor to such magazines as Liberty, Coronet, Saturday Evening Post and This Week, This is the first time his work has appeared in Foreign Service.