Category Archives: Papua New Guinea

Language Hat on Mother-in-Law Talk and Fieldwork

I should have mentioned earlier that the always enlightening Language Hat has been running a series of excerpts from R.M.W. Dixon’s Searching for Aboriginal Languages: Memoirs of a Field Worker. His two-part post (here and here) on the special “mother-in-law” language employed by speakers of the Australian language Dyirbal takes me back to my grad school days in linguistics, including more than a few “Eureka!” moments that compensated for the drudgery, discomfort, diseases, and social frustrations of fieldwork (and college classrooms, for that matter).

The many-to-one correspondence between Guwal [everyday language] and Jalnguy [“mother-in-law” language] vocabularies was a key to the semantic structure of Dyirbal. If one Jalnguy word was given as the equivalent for a number of distinct Guwal terms, it meant that the Guwal words were seen, by speakers of the language, to be related. For nouns, it revealed the botanical and zoological classifications which the Aborigines perceived. For instance, bayi marbu “louse”, bayi nunggan “larger louse”, bayi daynyjar “tick”, and bayi mindiliny “larger tick” were all grouped together under a single Jalnguy term, bayi dimaniny.

It could be even more revealing with verbs. The everyday style has four different words for kinds of spearing, and also such verbs as nyuban “poke a stick into the ground (testing for the presence of yams or snails, say)”, nyirran “poke something sharp into something (for example, poke a fork into meat to see if it is cooked)”, gidan “poke a stick into a hollow log, to dislodge a bandicoot”. All seven of these Guwal verbs are rendered by just one word in Jalnguy: nyirrindan “pierce”.

After I returned from doing fieldwork in Papua New Guinea, the three of us who had spent most of 1976 living in little villages along the north coast of New Guinea were invited to share our experiences at a Q&A session for other linguists. At one point, we were asked how our linguistics training had helped prepare us for our fieldwork experiences. I answered something along the following lines: “Well, it substantially increased my boredom threshold, and that proved extremely useful in the field.”

UPDATE: Part III, the exciting conclusion here.

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My Malaria Tales

In 1976, I got a chance to do linguistic fieldwork in Papua New Guinea. PNG is a malaria zone, so I tried to get antimalarials before I left, but hardly any doctors in Honolulu knew about either malaria or PNG, and they wouldn’t prescribe anything unless it was for treatment, not prevention. So my first day in Sydney, en route, I went to a public hospital and waited a long time to see a doctor. (Australia, like Canada, gives free but limited medical coverage to everybody.) When the doctor finally saw me, he asked me all sorts of questions about PNG because he was to spend part of his residency there, but he said state policy was to give only one week’s worth of medicine at a time free. So I got just two Chloroquine pills, one week’s prophylactic dose. I was due to arrive in PNG within the week.

In PNG I had no trouble buying Chloroquine at a local chemist (pharmacy) and took them faithfully every Sunday. For months, I was fine. The only problem I had was early on, when my intestinal flora were changing to accommodate the local diet. I got the runs one night really bad. The village was maybe 100 yards from end to end, with the women’s outhouse out over the water (flushed twice a day by the tide) near my end of the village and the men’s outhouse clear at the other end of the village, across a coconut log bridge over the stream that served as the village’s only supply of fresh, cold mountain water. The men’s bathing hole was upstream from the women’s bathing, laundry, and dishwashing area, and people were really careful not to shit near the river. That night, I must have walked through the dark village 6 or 8 times, setting off the dogs each time, but not always having much to feed the fish with by the time I climbed up into the four-hole outhouse and squatted over the ocean. So, before long, I’d start the long trek back, setting off the dogs again.

I slept under a mosquito net in the village, although not always when I took trips to the neighboring village where several kids from my host family went to school. (They boarded there.) One day during August (I think), I felt really feverish, with flu symptoms, but the next day I felt better, so I let the village boat, with its loud, 2-stroke, Japanese Yanmar diesel engine, leave for town without me. It was an 8-hour trip up the coast to Lae, where the boat would sell its catch of fish, fill up with ice for the next catch, take on supplies and passengers, and be back in a week. That evening after I went for my customary bath in the stream, I couldn’t stop shivering. My hosts built up the fire and I hunkered down next to it until the shivers turned to sweat. By that time, I figured I’d better take a treatment dose of Chloroquine: 2 pills every 4-6 hours, rather than 2 pills every week. In a day or two the flu symptoms abated and I broke out instead with intense itching under the skin of my hands and feet. It hurt to walk over the rough path to the bathing hole. So the next time the boat came back to load up and take more fish and passengers, I was on board.

The doctor I saw in town thought maybe I had reacted to the Chloroquine, so he put me on milder Camoquine and, sure enough, the next time I came down with malaria symptoms and took a treatment dose, at least I didn’t have that horrible itch. (By now many strains of malaria in PNG are resistent to both.) But the timing was bad. I had come into town about Thanksgiving time, and my host, an American with an MA in ESL from Hawai‘i, had fixed up a real American meal with turkey, deviled eggs, and pumpkin pies. My throat was swollen, it hurt to swallow, and I was too sick to join the crowd for dinner, so I went off to bed. That night my fever broke and I soaked the sheets. The next day I felt much better–and ravenous. Fortunately, there were leftovers of everything except the deviled eggs. I ate a lot, but swallowed carefully.

Back in Honolulu, I got another severe bout of malaria. By this time, I knew the whole cycle real well–24 hours of fever and chills followed by 24 hours of dull headache. It was sure to be Plasmodium vivax, according to Merck’s Manual, so I managed to get referred to a Dr. Berman, the only civilian doctor in town who knew much of anything about malaria. (He had seen plenty of it as an Army doctor in Vietnam.) So I drove to the emergency room of the hospital where he was supposed to start a shift at 7 pm. He took a long time getting to me and I spent the whole time shivering under the air-conditioning vent in the examination room, trying to cover myself with little hand towels.

When Berman finally saw me, I made the mistake of telling him I was suffering from P. vivax and asking for a treatment dose of Camoquine or its equivalent. He sent me for a blood test, but couldn’t find anything, so he sent me away for another 48 hours until I would be in worse shape again. When he couldn’t see anything in that sample, either, he told me to come back when I was really in the throes of fever and chills. So at the peak of the next 48-hour cycle, I was driving shakily through traffic to his downtown office. This time, he managed to find the little buggers under the microscope. He returned with a sarcastic “Congratulations, Dr. Outlier. Your diagnosis is correct. It’s Plasmodium vivax.” Whereupon, I let him have it, telling him each of those 3 lab tests cost me $24 that my grad student health insurance didn’t cover, and that I had been through a week’s worth of the symptoms a 3rd time now, thanks to him. I think he ended up waiving any of his own fees above what my health insurance covered. He also prescribed some very powerful drug that was supposed to clear the creatures out of my liver as well. I’ve never had a relapse since then.

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The Selling of the Last Savage

The February 2005 edition of the travel magazine Outside has a long article by Michael Bihar entitled “The Selling of the Last Savage” in which he recounts his experience on a savage-spotting tour in West Papua.

On a planet crowded with six billion people, isolated primitive cultures are getting pushed to the brink of extinction. Against this backdrop, a new form of adventure travel has raised an unsettling question: Would you pay to see tribes who have never laid eyes on an outsider?

Why, no. No, I wouldn’t. Nor would I pay to shoot the last spotted owl, or harpoon the last sperm whale. I just don’t understand the attraction. Nostalgia for the pith-helmet era?

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Holiday Hiatus Reruns

For the next few weeks, the Far Outliers will be traveling to the Far East Coast (NYC and DC area) for a refresher course in family reunions and unblogged lives.

I started this blog as an experiment almost exactly a year ago, inspired most of all by Regions of Mind and Rainy Day. I sincerely appreciate those who have stopped for a visit. As a small gesture of appreciation, I offer the following compendia of reruns, most of it my original writing.

Morobe Field Diary

Good Soldier Outlier

Eastern Indonesia

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The New Guinea Schoolboy and the Japanese Straggler

The following story was told to me in 1976 by a man from Morobe Province, New Guinea who was a noted traveler and raconteur whose nickname was “Samarai,” because he had once spent time there. An earlier The following story was told to me in 1976 by a man from Morobe Province, New Guinea who was a noted traveler and raconteur whose nickname was “Samarai,” because he had once spent time there. An earlier episode, The New Guinea Schoolboy and the Japanese Officer, was posted in May.

In this rough translation, I’ve tried to capture the storyteller’s idiom without presuming too much specialized knowledge on the part of my readers. We can be sure the story has “improved” over countless retellings, but it nevertheless conveys a third-party perspective on the Pacific War that is too rarely heard. For more local reactions to the Pacific War in Papua New Guina, consult the Australian-Japan Research Project.

We went and slept until the first crack of dawn when it was my time to sound reveille. So I went and struck the, dakine, slitgong: “Kuing, kuing, kuing, kuing, kuing.” So then the boys woke up and bathed and washed their faces. When they finished, okay, the bell rang.

The bell rang and all the people went to school and were singing. As soon as they finished, I ran right up behind the school and stood atop a rock.

When I looked out, I could see as far as the Huon Gulf and, okay, it was completely dark.

I said, “Hey guys, come look at something. The boys said, “What is it?”

“Come look!” And when they looked, “Guys, let’s scatter!”

Okay, they went and gathered up their things and fled into the forest. Before we left, the guns started sounding, “Bum, bum, bum.” They were firing at the soldiers at Singkau and Kabwum and Lae and Salamaua. You could see fire and smoke all over the place.

Okay, all the Bukawa and Hopoi people went into the forest. I ran to my house and roasted some taro cakes under a tree. I planned to take two to eat in the forest.

I was doing that and our teacher Gidisai and his wife and kids came up. And just then a crazy Japanese man came up. He had no gun, no knife, just walking around empty-handed.

“E, Kapten!”

So I said, “What?”

“E, Kapten, Japan boi hangre, ya.”

“Oh, I don’t have any food.”

“A, banana sabis [= ‘free’], ya? Japan boi hangre, ya.”

The teacher said, “Are you crazy or what? You go fight!”

“O, nogat [= ‘no’], ya. Japan boi sik na hangre, ya.”

“Oh.” I heard that so I stayed and thought, “Oh, if he stays there, the guns will kill our teacher for sure.” So I stood by and didn’t go into the forest.

I was standing there waiting and, suddenly, “Japan boi, yu mekim wanem [= ‘you do what’]?”

“Boi, hangre, a, imo [= ‘tuber’] sabis, ya? Imo sabis?”

“O, imo planti planti istap faia [= ‘are on the fire’]. Olgeta sabis [= ‘all free’]! Kam kaikai [= ‘come eat’]!

He went and sat down and ate taro and I said to the teacher, “You all go quickly!”

So they ran way over into the forest and hid themselves in the rocks. And then I said, “Japan boi! Yu kaikai. Yu stap. Yu slip haus. Mi go.”

“Mm.”

Okay. I took my things and ran into the forest.

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Pacific War U.S. Soldier’s Photo Album

The Library of Congress collection Experiencing War: Stories from the Veterans History Project includes a photo album by Denton W. Crocker, a “bug-chaser” medic in a malaria survey unit who trained at Camp Pickett, Virginia, and New Orleans, Louisiana, and was then deployed in 1944-45 to Milne Bay in Papua, Hollandia in Dutch New Guinea, Morotai off Halmahera, Mindoro Island outside Manila Bay, Cape Zampa in Okinawa, and finally Takarazuka near Osaka, Japan. It contains 81 photos.

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Lutherans Celebrate 118 Years in PNG

The Papua New Guinea Post-Courier reports Lutherans Mark 118 years in Papua New Guinea.

ELCPNG Head Bishop Dr Wesley Kigasung said prior to the Lae celebrations, the Church has been through a lot in those 118 years.

“This year, the Evangelical Lutheran Church of Papua New Guinea celebrates 118 years of its Ministry of Proclamation of the Gospel. It is a celebration of a success story of God’s miraculous work and wonder in the life of this Church,” he said.

“The small beginning on the shores of Simbang in Finschhafen on July 12, 1886, when God led and guided his inspired and motivated servant Reverend Johannes Flierl of the Neuendettelsau Mission Society to set foot on a virgin soil to plant the first seed of the Gospel.

“The early beginning was tough and difficult and filled with doubts, but the persistence, patience, endurance and faith added with God’s guidance produced an amazing story. It is the story of the Lutheran adherents of the Evangelical Lutheran Church of Papua New Guinea.

“It is the amazing story of how the Church had grown from the early missionary beginnings in 1886 to the founding of the constituted Church body — Evangelical Lutheran Church of New Guinea — in 1956 to the declaration of the autonomous church – Evangelical Lutheran Church of PNG — in 1975.

Dr Kigasung said the church has developed from a small beginning in 1886 to over nearly one million members today with 16 Church districts.

Yikes. I was in PNG for their 90th anniversary.

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Island Archetypes: Coastal Slickers vs. Orang Utan

Where is your archetypal cultural dividing line? Is it rural vs. urban, north vs. south, east vs. west, the West vs. the Rest? For traditional cultures tied to large islands, the archetypal division is often sea vs. mountain, coast vs. inland, which often equates to civilized vs. barbarian, cosmopolitan vs. isolated, believers vs. heathen, or–from the opposite point of view–corrupt vs. pure, deceitful vs. honest.

Traces of these oppositions show up in English borrowings: Boondocks from bundok ‘mountain’ in Tagalog and other Philippine languages. Orangutan from the Malay words orang ‘person’ + hutan ‘forest’, a derogatory term for ‘forest dweller’ or ‘aboriginal peoples of E. Sumatra’. Hutan is related to Hawaiian uka ‘inland, upland’, as in the cardinal directions every newcomer to Hawai‘i has to master: mauka ‘toward the land’ and makai ‘toward the sea’. However, as far as I know, uka doesn’t have any derogatory connotations in Hawai‘i, where traditional land divisions (ahupua‘a) ran from coast to mountaintop.

The following excerpt from a book review in Oceanic Linguistics provides more detail about how these archetypes play out in Northeast New Guinea. The book under review (not online) is Children of Kilibob: Creation, cosmos, and culture in Northeast New Guinea, edited by Alice Pomponio, David R. Counts, and Thomas G. Harding Pacific Studies Special Issue, vol. 17, no. 4 (Institute for Polynesian Studies, Brigham Young University–Hawai‘i, 1994).

One of my most memorable, and intellectually challenging, conversations during my fieldwork in Morobe Province, Papua New Guinea (PNG), in 1976 was a discussion of how the huge disparity between the relative political and economic status of Europeans and Papua New Guineans came about. My interlocutor, a good-hearted, elderly Numbami church leader who shared my penchant for moral philosophizing, suggested an explanation along Biblical lines: Europeans descended from Jacob, while Papua New Guineans descended from Jacob’s elder twin brother Esau, who lost his birthright to his deceitful younger brother. (My own attempts at an explanation along the lines of specialization and increasing technological complexity were not entirely satisfactory either.) Children of Kilibob (CK) puts that conversation in a much broader perspective.

Kilibob and Manup are the names (as rendered in Peter Lawrence’s seminal work Road Belong Cargo) of two hostile brothers who feature prominently in the mythology of Northeast New Guinea. Kilibob is the trickster, the traveler, and the creator (like Jacob) who always seems to come out on top, while the more stolid and sedentary Manup (like Esau) regularly loses out. The trickster/creator hero goes by many different names depending on the peoples involved in the events described (variations of Mala, or Aragas, Ava, Titikolo–perhaps even Jesus), with some storytellers consciously changing the names of the protagonists as locales change within a single story (115). (This recalls the shared mythology of Latins and Greeks, wherein Zeus = Jupiter, Aphrodite = Venus, Ares = Mars, and so on, not to mention rougher Germanic equivalents in Woden, Freya, Tiw, etc.)

Among the non-Austronesian (NAn) Waskia and Austronesian (An) Takia who share residence on Karkar Island in Madang Province, Kulbob is said to be “a fine hunter and carver” and “tall and fair in contrast to Manub, an industrious fisherman of stocky build and dark complexion” (15). This opposition harks back not just to the most recent one between innovative, intrusive Europeans and traditional, indigenous Papua New Guineans, but also to the earlier one between An and NAn forebears, for “the [NAn] Waskia claim their descent and language from Manub, while the [An] Takia claim theirs, with their culture (ultimately widely adopted in Waskia), from Kulbob” (14). Similarly, the equivalent of Kilibob in the islands of the Vitiaz Strait (where he is called variously Mala, Male, Namor, or Molo) is considered a progenitor and culture-hero among the An Siassi (53–91) and a visiting benefactor by the An Sio (29–51), but an interfering outsider (a “city slicker”?) by the NAn Kowai of Umboi Island (93–107). The swift incorporation of newly intrusive elements of Judeo-Christian ritual (like churchgoing) and of European material culture (like rifles) into this mythological narrative is one of many indications that the traditional cultures of Papua New Guinea were far from static. In fact, Dorothy Counts stresses the role of mythology in exploring tensions with the outside world: “The myths explore the difference between Us and Them and ask what kind of relationship is possible between Us and the Others with whom we must interact, trade, and marry if we are to survive” (115).

For me, the most intriguing aspect of this collection is what Alice Pomponio calls the use of “mythical metaphors to chronicle historical realities” (in contrast to Marshall Sahlins’s characterization of Hawaiian accounts of Captain Cook’s reception and demise as “historical metaphors of mythical realities”) (61–62). She finds that many of the “legendary events mirror real episodes in Siassi genealogical and migration histories” (74). For instance, in the Mandok Siassi account, “the villages Mala visits [on Umboi Island] are [NAn] Kowai communities known to the Mandok to be safe havens among otherwise hostile [Kowai] ‘bushmen’ [farther inland]” (74). This hints that the biggest cultural divide is between coastal peoples and inland peoples rather than between An and NAn peoples.

There is apparently a similar distinction between “forest” and “grassland” peoples at higher elevations (in Eastern Highlands Province), where the lowland grasslanders are characterized as politically and culturally dominant and more sophisticated, while the highlanders are characterized as more knowledgeable about their natural surroundings (according to James B. Watson, in his chapter “Other people do other things: Lamarckian identities in Kainantu Subdistrict, Papua New Guinea” in Cultural Identity and Ethnicity in the Pacific, edited by Jocelyn Linnekin and Lin Poyer (U. Hawai‘i Press, 1990).

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The New Guinea Schoolboy and the Japanese Officer

The following story was told to me in 1976 by a man from Morobe Province, New Guinea who was a noted traveler and raconteur whose nickname was “Samarai,” because he had once spent time there. (My late West Virginia uncle had also spent time as an Army cook on nearby Goodenough Island after spending time in Australia. He had a lot of respect for the Aussies, and he’d been in fistfights with more than a few of them.)

In this first, rough translation, I’ve tried to capture the storyteller’s idiom without presuming too much specialized knowledge on the part of my readers. We can be sure the story has “improved” over countless retellings, but it nevertheless conveys a third-party perspective on the Pacific War that is too rarely heard. For more local reactions to the Pacific War, consult the Australian-Japan Research Project for Australia and PNG, and the book Typhoon of War for Micronesia.

While were were in school [around March 1942], the Japanese came and took over Lae, took over the Bukaua coast [the south coast of the Huon Peninsula], all the way to Finschhafen. But we stayed there at school for another year. Then, okay, the Australians and Americans seemed to be planning to come back. Their number one patrol officer, Taylor, sent a letter saying, “Natives, don’t stay in your villages any more. Build huts in your hillside gardens and stay there. A big fight is coming.”

So here’s what we did. We people at Hopoi abandoned Hopoi. We took our school, our desks, and everything and set them up in the forest. We stayed at a place called “Apo.” We kept going to school and, okay, the Australians came from over on the Moresby side, they came all the way to Wau. And they came down that little trail and they and the Japanese fought each other over at Mubo and Komiatam [above Salamaua].

And they sent word to us Kembula [Paiawa], Numbami [Siboma], and Ya [Kela] villagers to go carry their cargo to Komiatam. And they did that and the fighting got harder. The Australian forces got bigger. And some Numbami went and carried cargo over at Salamaua. They went at night. They went there and the Australians came down and fired on the Japanese so the Numbami ran into the forest.

They ran into the forest and there was one guy named G. “G, where are you? We’re leaving!”

So, okay, they went and slept overnight and the next morning arrived at Buansing. And a Japanese bigman there named Nokomura [probably Nakamura], he heard the story so he came down and talked to me. He talked to me and I said, “Oh, that was my cousin, my real [cross-]cousin.”

So the Japanese guy said, “Really? Your cousin? Oh, your cousin has died. The Australians shot him dead.” And he spoke Japanese, and he said, “One man, bumbumbumbumbumbu, boi i dai.”

I said, “Oh, you’re talking bad talk.”

Then he said, “Tomorrow, you go to school until 12 o’clock, then come to me.” So I went to school until 12 o’clock and I went to him.

He gave me, dakine, a rifle, a gun. And he gave me, dakine, ten cartridges, ten rounds. Then he said, “I’d like for you to take this and go shoot a few birds and bring them back for me to eat.”

So, okay, I took it and I went. And he wrote out my pass. And there were bigmen with long swords the Japanese called “kempesi” [probably kempeitai, the dreaded military police]. One man, his name was Masuda [possibly Matsuda]. This man had gone to school over in Germany. And he really knew German well.

So I came by and he saw me, “You, where are you going with that gun?”

So I said, “Oh, a bigman gave it to me to shoot birds for him to eat.”

“Let me see your papers.”

So I showed him my papers and he said, “Okay, go.”

So I went and found a friend of mine. His name was Tudi. I said, “Hey, Tudi. A bigman gave me a gun and I haven’t shot a bird yet. Could we both go and you shoot?”

“Okay.”

So we both went and stopped at an onzali tree and two hornbills were there. So he went and planted his knee and shot one and it fell down. So I was really happy and ran and got it. We kept going until he shot a cockatoo.

So after I thanked him, I said, “Give me the gun and I’ll see if I can shoot.”

So he gave it to me and we kept going until we saw some wala birds, and I said, “I’ll try to shoot. Shall I shoot or not?”

So, okay, I fired and I shot a wala bird to add to the others. So I said, “Okay, we have enough, so I’ll take it and go.”

So I tied the wings together and hung them over the gun and carried them back over to Buansing. I went and all the Japanese bigmen were sitting in a, dakine, committee. They were talking about the coming battles. They were sitting there talking and their bigman said, “Look, here comes my man,” and the guards saluted him. And I was invited in.

So I entered the building and the guard at the door said, “Ha!” When he said that I replied, “Ha!” And I bowed three times and he bowed three times.

After we finished, okay, I went up to the second guard and he went, “Ha!” And I said “Ha!” And I bowed three times and he bowed three times. Okay, then I walked on.

So then I went up to the man who stood at the steps up to the bigman. When he said, “Ha!” then I said, “Ha!” and we had both bowed the third time, I went up the steps.

I went up the ladder and the people who were sitting in the meeting, they stood up and went “Ha!” to me and I said “Ha!”, then I went up and they gave me a chair. I sat down.

And the bigman glanced at his cook. And, okay, he took smokes and opened a pack and passed them around until they were gone. Okay, then he struck his lighter and gave everyone a light, then we all sat down. We sat and sat, maybe a half-hour. Then he told his people, “Okay, the talk is over.”

So they all split up and went out leaving just him and me still sitting. We stayed sitting until he said, “I’ve already given you a blanket and a mosquito net. Here’s a knife. Here’s your lavalava. Over there are your bags of rice and dried bonito, two tins of meat, a tin of fish.”

I said, “Oh, you’ve given me so much. How will I carry it?”

He said, “Oh, it’s all right. Take it away.”

So I asked him, “You’ve given away so much. What does it mean?”

“Oh, there’s a reason. I guess I’ll tell you. After you leave, a ship will come tonight, a submarine will come and I’ll board it and go to Rabaul.”

I said, “Why are you going to do that?”

“Nothing. All us bigmen are going up to Rabaul because the bigmen and a whole lot of soldiers are at Rabaul. And these people, their job is to stay behind, and fight the Australians and Americans when they come, and destroy them, destroy them here. And us bigmen will be in Rabaul.”

“Oh, all right.”

Then he told me, he said, “You go get a good night’s sleep so that when you see the crack of dawn you’ll get up quickly.”

So I listened to him and left.

For a very well-researched Japanese account of the defense of Lae-Salamaua, see here.

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LBJ in PNG

Don’t you find it amazing how many important people have turned up at one time or another in Papua New Guinea? Me, too. (Okay, maybe just Errol Flynn, Gen. Douglas MacArthur, and one or two others.) One such VIP was LBJ, who accompanied a bombing run over Salamaua on 8-9 June 1942:

Nine days after the raid, Lyndon Johnson was awarded an Army Silver Star medal, the nation’s 3rd highest medal for valour, by General MacArthur’s chief of Staff, Major-General R.K. Sutherland for his participation in the above bombing raid. He often wore this medal during his term as President of the United States. He refused to discuss the details of how we won the medal. His citation read:

For gallantry in action in the vicinity of Port Moresby and Salamaua, New Guinea on June 9, 1942. While on a mission of obtaining information in the Southwest Pacific area, Lieutenant Commander Johnson, in order to obtain personal knowledge of combat conditions, volunteered as an observer on a hazardous aerial combat mission over hostile positions in New Guinea. As our planes neared the target area they were intercepted by eight hostile fighters. When, at this time, the plane in which Lieutenant Commander Johnson was an observer, developed mechanical trouble and was forced to turn back alone, presenting a favorable target to the enemy fighters, he evidenced marked coolness in spite of the hazards involved. His gallant action enabled him to obtain and return with valuable information.

After President Roosevelt ordered all members of Congress in the Armed Forces to return to their legislative duties, Johnson was released from active duty under honorable conditions on 16 June 1942. In 1949 he was promoted to Commander in the Naval Reserves to date from 1 June 1948. During his time in service, Johnson was awarded the Asiatic Pacific Campaign Medal and the World War II Victory Medal. After he became President following the assassination of John F. Kennedy, Johnson’s resignation from the United States Naval Reserve was accepted by the Secretary of the Navy effective 18 January 1964.

Of course, Johnson also spent time in Townsville, Queensland, Australia, but I’ve never been there, so that hardly counts.

Here’s more on the controversy surrounding LBJ’s silver star in PNG. Opinion Journal’s Best of the Web reports:

It turns out Lyndon B. Johnson’s silver star, which we noted in an item yesterday, is a matter of some controversy. CNN reported in 2001 that its own “review of the historical record raises new questions about the circumstances of its award by Gen. Douglas McArthur nearly 60 years ago.”

Historian Robert Dallek–who contributed the chapter on LBJ in our forthcoming book, “Presidential Leadership: Rating the Best and the Worst in the White House” (order it from the OpinionJournal bookstore)–tells CNN he concluded that “there was an agreement, a deal made between LBJ and Gen. MacArthur. And the deal was Johnson would get this medal, which somebody later said was the least deserved and most talked about medal in American military history. And MacArthur, in return, had a pledge from Johnson that he would lobby FDR to provide greater resources for the southwest Pacific theater.”

Of course, there also seems to be some controversy about John Kerry’s medals in Vietnam.

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