My friend has convinced me that some of you may want to know about my getting drunk with a monkey in the Philippines. So here it goes!
You might want to get something to drink, sit back, and get ready to hear a tale that is as true as I can tell it.
It was back in 1975, a time that's forever ago yet sometimes feels like yesterday. I was part of the Marine Detachment stationed aboard the USS Hancock, the "Hanna." She was really a grand old lady of a ship, and we just pulled back into port at Subic Bay after leaving the South China Sea.
This was right after the evacuations of Phnom Penh, Cambodia, and Saigon, South Vietnam, after they fell to the Communists. And in fact, it was after we were called out to support the recovery mission of the SS Mayaguez, and its 39 Merchant Marine Seamen who were taken captive by pirates.
As I said, I was a Marine with the ship's Marine Detachment. I was a Sea Going Marine and on Liberty. So yes, there I was, minding my own business, sitting in this bar in Olongapo, Philippines. Olongapo was the garden spot of the Philippines, where every Sailor and Marine in the 7th Fleet enjoyed themselves while overseas. There were even those who re-enlisted just so they could go back there.
There was a reason for that. Olongapo was sort of a Disney Land for young servicemen. It was wall to wall bars, with every sort of music you wanted to hear. The music was great, and the drinks were as cheap as the women there.
I started drinking San Miguel beer earlier that day. First at the beach and then in town. And of course, as a matter of safety, like others, I made sure that I held it up to the light first to make sure nothing was swimming around in the bottle before I took a drink. Beers overseas were notorious for having bugs in them, and San Miguel wasn't any different than the others.
Later on that day, I moved to drinking what the locals called Mojo. Mojo was really an interesting drink. The bars served it in a plastic quart pitcher. It contained double-shots of rum, vodka, bourbon, gin, and I think they threw in a beer before they added pineapple and orange juices, or whatever else they had on hand. It was green.
They charged 3 pesos for the pitcher, and the going exchange rate back then was about 15 pesos to a dollar on the Black Market. The regular exchange was about 9 to 1. So either way, it was a deal!
Like I said before, they served it in a plastic pitcher along with as many plastic cups as you wanted. Most of the time, three cups were all we needed. Of course the problem with Mojo was its effect on a person. It was sort of like Torpedo Juice in that it hit you slow.
First, you think everything is fine until you stand up and find that you've lost the use of your legs. Then, for some reason, your tongue stops working and you lose the ability to speak coherently. Before you know it, you're saying things to the local women that you'd never imagine saying to an American gal back in the States.
Things like, "Sure, I'll take you State-side. Come with me and I'll buy you an air-conditioned helicopter with a sidecar." And since most of the gals only speak very little English and mostly their native Tagalog, God only knows how that translates.
Please understand that when you're a teenager and in the Service, this is as close to Heaven as you can get in those days. Besides, for less than 25 cents a pitcher, it was a cheap way of having a great time while getting pretty plastered.
Then in comes this young boy with an arm full of "puka shells" and a monkey on his shoulder. Now, over the years, I've wondered what kind of monkey he was, and I would guess a friendly one, thank God.
I had just poured my second or third cup of Mojo when the boy asked me if I wanted to buy some puka shells. I didn't want any puka shells, but the monkey looked like it was looking for a new home, so I asked the boy to sell me the monkey.
He said he wanted 2 pesos per puka shell necklace, and I said that I'd give him 3 pesos for the monkey. And this went back and forth a few times until I upped it to 6 pesos for the monkey. Then the monkey was mine.
For what seemed like the longest time that night, me and the monkey sat there talking about his future when we'd get back to the states. And of course, we drank Mojo. As the night went on, the monkey and I drank a lot of Mojo together. Personally, it was my first time drinking with a monkey, and I wasn't really impressed by how well he handled his booze.
There are certain rules when dealing with monkeys:
First, remember that no matter how mature and trustworthy a monkey looks, never ever give him a loaded gun. This is sure to result in a bad situation, bank robberies, the whole nine yards. Second, remember when listening to monkeys, remember that they all lie. Yes, besides cheating at cards and telling you how they have the answers to everything, the little suckers lie like there's no tomorrow. Third, monkeys tend to be power hungry and will throw a fit if they don't get their way. This is usually demonstrated when they have been drinking and want to hog things for themselves. In this case, all of the Mojo! Lastly, always remember that monkeys steal. When you're not looking, they steal your money, your drink, and they'd even try to steal your hooker if they could figure out what to do with her. They deny everything and blame others for the things they do. Bottom line, monkeys can't be trusted.
So, knowing the rules, I sat and we talked. I also watched and listened to his troubles as he got drunk. He was a sloppy drunk. No control over his liquor and less control over his swearing. And talk about getting meaner as he drank, I figured he must have been a Boatswain's Mate in his last life.
After a while, I knew what was needed to make his life complete. And knowing that first things were first, he had to become an American citizen before anything else would take place. Even back then there were reports of people getting Social Security cards for their dogs and cats and such, so why not a monkey? I saw no reason to deprive him of the life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, even if that simply meant more bananas.
He needed papers! So I decided to take him back to the base and get him onto the ship where my commanding officer, who I knew could do anything, could swear him in as an American citizen. Going up the after brow and onto the Hanna, I was sure that my Captain, or my X.O., would make him raise a hand and swear to be a good citizen. I had great Officers who I respected like no one ever knew. And frankly, I figured that they'd do it just to do it!
It is amazing how a lot of booze, in that case, Mojo, can make things clear to someone. Knowing that I may find some resistance from the Navy about making that monkey an American citizen, I figured, for good measure, I stuffed Henry into my jacket as I boarded the gangway. It was also just in case I ran into someone who didn't like monkeys and wanted to pick a fight with him. There are all sorts of people in the world, and yes, some are Sailors who don't cotton to monkeys. Take it from this Marine, I know these things.
When I reached the quarter deck, I turned to salute the colors and then turned to salute and request permission to come aboard. That's when the crusty old Chief Petty Officer on watch heard the monkey chattering under my jacket and demanded, "You get son of King Kong off my boat!"
Before I could say anything, I heard the word "NOW!" And with that, I spun back around and headed back down the after brow with son of King Kong still chattering away.
In those days, the Philippines was under Martial Law, and there was a Midnight curfew outside of the base. I knew it was too close to curfew to go back into town and try to find a home for the monkey there, so instead the monkey and I went to the base's Enlisted Men's Club to have a beer or two. So there we sat discussing his future, trying to figure out if I could get him back to the States somehow.
I had a plan where I figured I'd enroll him in some sort of good school as a Foreign Exchange Student. I could falsify some papers, like a Birth Certificate, and say that he was born in Hawaii instead of the Philippines. Since I'm originally from Hawaii, I figured I could pass him off as a slow-thinking pot-smoking local moke as long as everyone only noticed his sunglasses, tank-top shirt, board shorts, and cheap rubber flip-flops.
I figured I could then send him to a private school that was only interested in getting tuition money. I figured they wouldn't care if they ever saw him or dealt with his shitty behavior or if he were gay and selling drugs, as long as they got their tuition money. And as most know, drunk or not, a lot of monkeys have some pretty poor social skills. They chatter a lot. Spit a lot. Swear a great deal. Some smoke a lot of pot. Can't handle their liquor. They are not very masculine, and while they can be very friendly, they have been known to be sort of self-righteous because they're monkeys.
I was worried that he'd get into drugs in College or maybe want to become a Communist. But, I figured that even if he did, most Colleges are only concerned about getting their money and wouldn't care if he did or didn't attend class. Besides, at the time, I was willing to bet that no one would care if he didn't show up for classes as long as he was helping them to meet their enrollment goals, their ethnic quota, and had a financial supporter paying for his tuition.
Most folks know that Colleges and Universities are like Drug Dealers and Hookers. They don't care where the money comes from. They're just concerned about it rolling in. And as for what Universities put out as a product, I figured they couldn't care less if Henry was a monkey and couldn't read, write, do math, or wanted to start throwing Molotov cocktails, vote Democrat, or look down on working Americans.
Yes, I was betting that no one would find out that he was a monkey until after he graduated with honors. By then, I figured they wouldn't want to make that public. I figured that even if no one ever saw him attend a single class, no one would care. Yes, especially if he became famous later. Then, they'd proudly claim him. Though they would seal his academic records so that everyone wouldn't see how he got a pass while not attending classes.
I even thought of making him a Law student with a minor in Political Science. I thought about a major in English Lit, but I figured that the other students would want him to sit around and drink wine and smoke a little too much pot. And knowing how monkeys can spend all of their student loans on wine and pot, and birth control, I figured that a major in Law would benefit him later. Besides, even if he were to get on a law school's Law Review, it's a good chance that no one would ever remember a monkey on the Law Review. Or, ever owe up that one was their Editor.
Yes, he needed a name. So with the power vested in me as a Lance Corporal in the United States Marine Corps, I named him Henry Olongapo. It seemed a good name for a monkey, especially a monkey who would one day be a pseudo-intellectual, maybe even one day be picked to teach in a University but never show up. Henry Olongapo was a perfect name because it was definitely ethnic sounding. And yes, I figured with such a name, he would be entitled to head-of-the-line privileges for everything, including job preferences -- certainly a lot more than someone with the name Smith or Jones. Yes, that was the case even in 1975.
If you're thinking that it sounded a bit too crazy? It wasn't all that crazy! I figured that maybe after he gets his degree, I'd be able to find him a job with the Democratic Party in the San Francisco Bay Area as some sort of an Intern who never shows up but just gets paid. I figured he'd fit in perfectly with them and could be used to fill one of the spots on their hiring quota.
I did wonder how long it would take for someone to realize that he was a primate. Though of color, red and black, actually a dark gray, if my memory serves me right, he was definitely ethnic. And of course, technically, he was from another country, he spoke a foreign language, and he needed assistance. So I figured, he'd be perfect for Liberal politics!
Yes, there is that thing about him being foreign-born, but I figured that would help when trying to get him College tuition assistance. It would have been a little bit of a problem if I wanted to run him for Congress, but not much. After all, as his manager, I figured I'd be able to pass him off as a candidate who comes from a very "Environmentally friendly family."
And even if no one ever said that he was, in reality, a monkey, it was a safe bet that I would be able to get big money donors to sponsor him if I ran him as a Democrat for Congress. And no, there would have been nothing wrong with running him as a Democrat -- especially considering how much money Democrats get from kickbacks with every Congressional Bill they pass. Henry would have been knee-deep in bananas.
Look at it this way, Congress makes criminal acts attractive. If you don't think so, think about this: where else can some crook be embedded in a job, in this case the job of a Senator or a Representative, making a salary of $174,000 a year -- but accumulates over $60,000,000 in a couple of years. It's better than robbing banks!
And folks, we can joke all we want, but really, monkey or not, primate or not, whether a candidate is a drunk power hungry woman who calls folks "deplorable," a refugee who married her brother, a broke Leftist bartender, someone who sniffs little children, someone who doesn't want to deport illegal alien rapists and murderers, someone who is all in when it comes to killing babies and getting pay-offs for Mexican Cartels, none of that matters to Liberal billionaires who don't care who they throw their money at as long as their candidate is a Democrat.
Back in the 1970s, I had no idea that politics was a way to become extremely wealthy. It's a way to scam the American people. And while I didn't think about running Henry for Congress as a way to scam Liberal political donors, I'm now convinced Henry would have had a lot of money thrown at him long before any of those people ever noticed he was a monkey.
Actually, I thought about running Henry for Congress as a joke to see how long it would take for someone to notice that he was a monkey with citizenship papers and a degree from Harvard or Columbia. After all, at the time, I heard stories about people who ran their dog for Mayor. Can you imagine losing a Mayoral Election to a dog? Well, believe it or not, that happened in a small town in California where a dog won an election and became the Honorary Mayor. After the dog died, the dog was stuffed and put on a shelf in a local bar. It may have been reelected like that.
Back in 1975, I was naive. I thought politics was a lot more honorable and certainly more honest than I've learned it is. Looking at the reality of what could have been, if I had run Henry's Congressional Election campaign, it wouldn't have taken that much work on my part since I could have gotten a lot of help from the Democratic Party. With limited interviews to recorded statements by others, issued press releases, and keeping him completely out of sight, the only concern would have been a debate with Republicans.
But with the help of ABC, CBS, and NBC at the time, I figured they'd cover for him because he was a Democrat. Yes, even if he looked like a monkey on camera and didn't answer questions coherently, I believe that television stations would have helped Henry win a debate by accusing Republicans of bullying Henry and being racist -- especially for pointing out that Henry was, well, in fact, a monkey.
I did think it would be impossible to run him for President. I mean, how would I have been able to explain that he received College tuition assistance as a Foreign Exchange Student while at the same time claiming that he's really an American citizen born in Hawaii? And how would I explain that he became President without being born in America and lied about that? No, I figured no one would ever go for such a con-job unless people were really that stupid.
As I said before, I knew I could probably dummy up a Birth Certificate. Heck, people fake driver's licenses and Social Security cards. Some people have even used other people's Social Security numbers, and no one fusses about it, so why not a fake Birth Certificate?
Back in 1975, I would have bet just about anything that trying to produce a Birth Certificate when there isn't one, just so he can be President, could never be done. That sort of fraud would be hard to get past diligent Newspaper people. I knew that there would be no way of doing it. I figured they'd hound poor Henry for a statement, and sooner or later, even the Democrats would turn on him.
Of course, then there would be revelations that somehow the news media was covering up for the fact that Henry Olongapo was not who they thought he was -- and was a monkey. Once revealed as a monkey, Henry would be shipped back to the Philippines. Yes, even after some partisan Supreme Court Judge gave him his Oath of Office as President, it wouldn't matter, and they'd deport him.
Imagine for a moment, if he became President? All of the pardons that Henry Olongapo generated and all of the Executive Orders signed with an auto-pen, the 162 executive orders, 242 presidential memoranda, 725 proclamations, and 152 notices, would have all been void because the world would find out that Henry wasn't in charge -- and in fact Henry was just a drunk monkey.
As for me, faking his Birth Certificate, sending him to the best schools, watching him get his useless degrees from Harvard and Columbia, getting him hired by the Democratic Party, running him for Congress, making sure he was not seen, and getting him elected President with a "We hate the other guy" campaign? Well, I would've probably ended up writing a book about how Henry was the perfect banana-eating Democrat, how no one was in charge of the White House, how the White House staff and the media covered up for Henry being a monkey, and how people without names who were in charge of the White House almost pushed the world into a Nuclear War. Like that could ever happen!
Of course, none of that was a big deal because none of it would ever come true. It wasn't a big deal because in 1975, I couldn't get Henry aboard the USS Hancock to get my ship's Captain to swear him in as an American citizen. So basically, all of my dreams of Henry going on to bigger and better things were just shot in the butt by a Chief Petty Officer who didn't know that he just ordered a future President off the ship.
It became a case of no more booze and bananas for Henry. Of course, now the question became, what do we do?
Well, while we were discussing this, I got hungry. Yes, boozing will make one hungry. So thinking that the midnight Martial Law curfew hadn't started yet, I figured I'd take a chance and try to get across the Shit River bridge which crossed from Subic Bay Naval Base to the town of Olongapo. There were Bar-B-Q stands at the end of the bridge, and I could grab something to eat there.
While standing there, ordering some meat sticks, the owner asked me to trade meat sticks for my monkey. At first, I thought no, but then the owner raised the ante to five sticks, so I gave him up. Goodbye Henry!
So now, I'm standing there all alone when the owner and my monkey buddy disappear behind a tarp that separates the front from the back of the shack. Then I hear this terrible scream coming from Henry in the back of the shack. That's when I scaled the counter and pulled aside the tarp. There I see my monkey Henry being held down on a chopping block while the owner is holding a cleaver above him, about to chop him up to make more meat sticks. So I shoved the owner aside and grabbed the monkey. We were out of there. And with that, we headed back across Shit River and the base.
While trying to figure out what to do with Henry since I couldn't get him to the States to become President and I didn't want him to become meat sticks, I remembered a friend from Boot Camp who I'd seen earlier at the Enlisted Men's Club.
I had bumped into my old friend earlier, and we reminisced about having gone through Boot Camp and Infantry Training School together. He was stationed at the upper MAU Camp there in Subic. I figured that I needed to find him, so I went back to the Enlisted Men's Club, where I found him about three sheets to the wind.
Once I told him that there was no way for me to get that monkey back to the States to run for Congress or for President, I figured we had to set him free. Henry needed to be AWOL from anyone's shoulder. He needed to be free from a leash. After all, there was always the chance that his owner might get hungry and Henry would become Bar-B-Q.
My old friend was more than willing to help out, and after brainstorming for a few minutes on our options, we headed off toward the MAU Camp above Subic. As we went along, we talked about messing with the Navy and giving Henry to the Admiral in charge of the Subic Bay base as a gift. We thought about maybe slipping him into the Admiral's bedroom. And of course, we laughed at the thought of the Admiral's wife meeting Henry in the middle of the night.
Maybe it was because the booze was wearing off, or simply a case of good judgment, but instead we decided to go up into the hills near the jungle and turn him loose. My friend knew where there were a lot of other monkeys. All be it not as drunk as our Henry.
So there on that night, with me by then fairly sober, up passed the upper MAU Camp in an isolated area that my old friend knew well, without ceremony or fanfare, we set Henry Olongapo free. When I got back to the ship, I walked up the after brow and again faced aft to salute the colors. And again, I requested permission to come aboard. Though sadly, this time without "Son of King Kong" with me.
It's strange how no one believed me when I told them that I was drinking with someone that night who just could have been a Senator or even President. But then again, maybe it wasn't that surprising since the guys knew me for telling pretty tall tales back in the day.
The fact is, back in those days, I sort of enjoyed seeing who was gullible enough to believe my sea stories and who was smart enough to know when I was telling the truth. The night I bought that monkey from a boy in a bar really happened. This story is as true as can be.
As for Henry, that drunk monkey, who knows what happened to him? For me,
I'm pretty sure that over 40 years later, some old monkey is telling his grandkid the story about the time he got drunk with a
young U.S. Marine who set him free!
Story by Tom Correa
©Thomas Correa
