Ever hear of MPC's?  Military Payment Certificates were our government's way of NOT spending U.S. Yankee American Official Greenback Dollars in the open Japanese market, and a few select other places, as that practice was certain and sure to disrupt the entire world's economy.  Soooo..... when a submariner who had been out on patrol and all that entailed,  came into port for a bit of rest and relaxation tailored to his Official Navy Paycheck, there wasn't any.  Paycheck.  Oh, boy!  NOW you're talking!  Real greenbacks to go out and have some FUN with!  Uh....no greenbacks.  Instead, we were all issued what I liked to call "Monopoly Money" as found in the popular board game of Monopoly.  These MPC's came in different colors and sizes according to their denominations.  And were time limited.

That meant quite a few things all at once.  What wasn't spent, was turned back into real money upon departure.  At the rate of exchange for that particular day.  Sooo...you either really made a profit, or took a loss.  I would imagine that most were exactly like me.  Young and very dumb.  This stuff looked, smelled and felt like play money.  It wasn't real - especially after a few Asahi's.  Play money could get you anything, and all too soon, it was gone, gone, gone.

Of course, U.S. Naval Personnel, who are fully aware that they are ambassadors to any foreign soil that they set foot upon, would NEVER even THINK of also carrying Official United States Yankee Greenback Dollars on thier persons when going ashore.  Never!  Perish even the thought.  Only Military Payment Certificates were authorized, after all.

Sooo...everyone was well aware of the dollar's going rate of exchange on the black market for any given day.  Purely for academic reasons, you see.  A few more Ashahi beers, and you needed an abacus to keep up with it.  Not all that many MPC's were turned back in for real dollars by the time we got underway again.  I could never fully understand that.  But then again, I was very young and stupid.

Oboy!  First WestPac ever!  Underway to Japan!  All  of the trip hearing one sea story after the next about the infamous hotsy baths to be experienced there.  I couldn't wait!  (purely for historical and academic reasons, of course)

For once, Murphey's First Law did not come into effect (Whatever Can Possibly Go Wrong Will).  I actually pulled liberty first day in!  Everyone had plans centering around quenching a terrible thirst.  Not me.  I wanted to do research on the local customs surrounding the mythical hotsy baths.  Again, of course, for academic fact finding (ahem) purposes.

For some reason, Remora chose to stop off first in a place called Atami, instead of the normal Yokosuka or Sasebo ports.  Atami is a resort town that Japanese financially elite attend for rest and entertainment.  Nobody else wanted to join me in my quest, so off I went alone.  After the first hour of communicating with smiling facial expressions and hand gestures, it became apparent, even to me, that NOBODY spoke English there!  What started out as a quest, was now a determined effort and a project.  Two hours of wandering from street location to street location.  Nothing.  It was a hot day.  Beads of perspiration everywhere.  I plodded on.  Everyone trying to help the American Sailor, of course, but like "Cool Hand Luke" the movie, we had "A failure to communicate" and now I was well into the third hour of my quest for knowledge, and was NOT going to be beaten.

Then, in the distance, two Japanese gentlemen were descending wooden steps from an establishment, each patting his forearms dry with a white cloth.  Aha!  Finally!  I, naturally, bowed a few thousand times with them as they passed by as I made my way up those same wooden steps.

I was met at the door by a kindly and smiling middle-aged Japanese lady who took my wrist, and promptly escorted me all the way back DOWN the staircase!  After three hours of trying to find this place, I was not going away all that easily yet.  I smiled my most winning and heart-rendering smile, and stomped right back up again.  Again, the wrist, and the insisted escort all of the way back down.  She kept pointing at my feet.  I was very likely brain damaged at this point, but then an old John Wayne movie popped into my head about removing the shoes.  So I did.  This kindly, smiling middle-aged lady then DRAGGED me UP the stairs and almost bodily THREW me into the anteroom where the business counter resided.

So, with nothing to lose, I again began my lame gestures.  She actually knew what I was trying to find!  Dragging me behind her, we went into an adjacent room with wooden lockers, resplendant with wooden keys.  Reaching out, she cracked a translucent door, and I could see a bunch of Japanese guys sitting around a huge pool that looked to be about three feet deep.  Not exactly what my quest was about, but after three hours of trudging about on a hot day, I shrugged my shoulders and  nodded.

I followed her back to that counter, and counted out the 37 yen that she insisted on.  It was about a quarter American back then.  I (ahem) just happened to mysteriously have yen instead of MPC's which she would not accept anyway.  She gave me a wooden key and took me to where my wooden box was pigeon-holed with the rest of them.  Then left.

What the heck?  I needed a bath.  Bad.  Anyway.  So I stripped down, locked everything up securely, and went to join the rest of the guys intending to play native.   I slid the door open abruptly, and just as abruptly, the entire place broke into giggles.  Giggles?  I looked around.  They were couples!  I later found out that this was a public bath, and that this section was reserved for the local marrieds.  Here I stood, all six feet four inches tall, in all my glory, RED with embarrassment from head to toe for all to bear witness!

So I went in.

Most fortunately, there was a local taxicab driver and his wife, and each spoke a bit of English.  They played host and tutor, showing how it was all done.  Now, don't forget.  This was an academic quest, right?  You had NEVER seen such monumental self control.  Ever.

Everyone there was having a great time, and I just rolled with it.  Afterwards, the couple invited me to their place for dinner.  What a meal!  Never ending courses, and never ending Asahi (I had to go very slow at that).  During the course of the meal, the gentleman broke off for his religious offings, and explained everything to me as he went along.   He also kept eyeing my ship's lighter.  So I gave him my zippo.  It was the very least that I could do.  Then came dessert.  It was in the form of a guy outside with an ice cream cart.  Nope.  Some kind of rice jello-looking stuff.   They poured soy souce over it.  That was dessert.  So far, it was just an unusual and cool experience like any tourist might have.

uh uh...He packed his wife off to her girlfriend's place, then took me out on the town.  Nobody knows a town like a cab driver!  I had spent three hours wandering and meandering all through a very bright and sunny resort area.  Now, it was evening.  I'm not going into great details here, but I was shown places that many of the locals likely knew little about.  Interesting dances with huge ostridge feathered fans...  A small movie show operated by the Japanese equivalent of the Mafia...  and everywhere we went, he would brandish, with a flourish, his Remora lighter.  You see, it was like I had just handed him a million dollars.
U.S. Yankee Greenbacks.

My fact-finding quest yielded some other results as well.  There is a definite social division between Officers and Enlisted Personnel.  At times, even on the beach while on liberty.  In Yokosuka, Japan, it could be found in the fact that the Officers had The Clover Club, and the Enlisted had everything else, the Clover Club being taboo to mere underlings, of course.

I personally liked The Grand Palace.   However, on one occasion, I became brave, daring, and VERY stupid.  I decided to try something that I had seen in the Hollywood movies.  The Old Geisha Back Stomp Massage Trick.  Unfortunately, the chosen Geisha-type although half of my size, had to be fully my weight.  Ever heard the term Primordeal Scream?  In my case, that occurred at the third pass at my back.  To this day, I still walk kind of funny......