Tuesday, July 28, 1942
Dear Diary,

We now have a new gas alarm. All you have to do to become the center of all action and raise all hub-bub is tap it like you would your ole dinner caller at home. Go ahead “dood it.” Sure the Colonel or the General is probably taking a shower and he”™ll love to have an alarm go off so he can skirt down the hall, soap in his eyes, in his birthday suit, hunting for his extra face, the gas mask.
Oh yes, we got our gas suits August 22.

Don”™t know whether I would rather be gassed or smell the suit. It”™s a concoction of moth balls and all the awful things we used to make in chemistry class. It consists of Unionalls, cap and socks. Cute and the last word in style. The socks I couldn”™t get on the page, but I put mine away and each night pray me no have to wear it.
We eat rice often these days. Only hope they ain”™t getting us used to it for the Japs, ”˜cause ah don”™t like it that well, nor fish heads. That”™s why I”™m content to stay in every night. Passes only five hours every ten days, wear a uniform at all places, live on a rock in a complete blackout, carry me gas mask and helmet and work

for $70 a month while civilians pull down $225 a month and can go out until the ungodly hour of 10 p.m., every night. Oh well.
Pardon the intrusion dear diary, but a lizard just crawled over my hand as the ants were moving it away.
By the way, I was evacuated to Kamehameha School. I woke up at 4:30 a.m. moved at 6 p.m. and went on duty at 7:30. Boy this place is so large, one could be dead here a year and he wouldn”™t even smell. Never found half my patients until next morning.
LOOSE TALK CAN COST LIVES CLIPPING
“You can say that again”