There was a moment early in my career, in Galveston, when I was sure I was tottering on the springboard to Gehenna...It happened while I was at KGBC, the station from which I burst upon radio with all the surefootedness  of  a newborn colt.

Galveston was a loveable but corrupt town of 50,000 run by a Don, named Sam Maceo. He seemed to get a laugh out of me, which happens rarely for a Don, and the result was that he had me doing two national big band remotes from two different places almost every night, often separated by just thirty minutes The first remote, over Mutual, originated from the posh Balinese Room. The second one at the huge Municipal Pier was a mile away. I would end the Balinese Room remote, slip on my pants cuff peg, hop on my bike and peddle like hell down the Galveston seawall to the Municipal Pier, in time to run to the stage, do the audience  warm-up and launch into the broadcast over ABC. .I had an adrenal gland for a heart, so it never occurred to me that this wasn’t normal.

All of the bands in both places were big league. The Balinese Room booked society bands lsucy as  Carmen Cavallaro, Alvino Rey,  Guy Lombardo, and Jan Garber. The pier brought in swing bands :Johnny Long, Kenton, Dorsey, and Ray McKinley.

Sam Maceo was a handsome, quiet spoken man., respected on both coasts, including Hollywood. Phil Harris and Alice Faye had been his Best Man and Maid of Honor at his wedding. to a Copa beauty

He owned every gaming table and slot between Galveston and the Louisiana border. His tentacles reached into the Texas state legislature. At the Balinese Room, he  had a deal with the Texas Rangers wherein they would raid him a few times each year, but not before a tip-off. At the appointed time, they would appear at the front door, the receptionist would step on a floor button which lit up a red light in the casino alerting the dealers that the “raid” was on. When they saw the red light, the dealers went into a dazzling choreography. They flipped over all of the gaming tables, converting them into billiard tables and by the time the Rangers ran the length of the pier to the casino, all of the guests were playing billiards. When the Rangers burst into the dining room,, the band  struck up a spirited rendition of : “The Eyes of Texas. Are Upon You.”

My favorite at the Balinese Room was Jan Garber’s band and Jan himself. He was immensely popular with the dancers, because he was personally charming and enjoyed making people happy with his lilting music. He and I developed s warm relationship during his stay, one that I tested severely one night.

A few minutes before we were scheduled to do a Jan Garber broadcast, I was told that the Mutual Network lines were down.. My first impulse was to turn around and go home but a mischievous sprite took over. Checking with Maceo, who smiled and nodded his assent, I mounted the stage and went into the warm-up. .”Good evening ladies and gentlemen. We are about to go on the air on a nationwide hook-up. We appreciate your applause when we go on.”  Then, I counted down to “airtime.”

On the precise second, Jan hit the theme and after a few seconds of his establishing music amid the applause, I did the usual “From the beautiful Balinese Room in Galveston it’s  the music of Jan Garber and his orchestra..” Jan kicked off the show with “Marie” and  “Got a Date With An Angel”  with me intro-ing  them  with as much flourish as I could muster. Then, I pounced.

Jan was poised to play the third number when I ran to the mike with a stricken face and said, “Ladies and gentlemen, I regret to say that we cannot continue with this broadcast, because…well…... you see….. Jan Garber is drunk.”  Jan’s face went  ashen. The band was paralyzed., looking at Jan for guidance. It didn’t come. Instead, he ran toward me in his version of an attack mode, and I started fleeing through the dining room with mock panic on my face. There was murder in Jan’s eyes, but to use a sports analogy:: He had an A mind and a C body. He wasn’t gaining on me.

The chase climaxed at the casino entrance where Sam Maceo stood. I ran past Sam into the casino with Jan in his version of hot pursuit, then he skidded to a halt when he saw the Don laughing. There was a general rule of Dondom. If Sam frowns, you frown. If he laughs, you laugh. Sam was laughing. Then Sam leaned over and whispered into Garber’s ear that it was a prank. Jan instantly became a bigger laugher than either of us He played it to the hilt, He brought me to the mike, laughing like the good sport that he really was,  and got a big hand for me.

A week later, I received word from KLAC in Hollywood that they had heard me doing the dance remotes and wanted me to come west.. Imagine the feelings that ran through me, a Galveston kid barely into radio and now I was going to the big league. From Pop Warner to the  Colts.

 I ran into Sam Maceo’s office and began blurting out the news, but he was already nodding, . “I know,” he said. Then, he called a grinning Jan Garber into his office. “You can thank him,” said the Don. “He contacted the General Manager of KLAC. He listened and likes you. Jan is responsible for this..”

Then Maceo shook hands with Jan and thanked him, meaning he was dismissed. He then sat down and wrote me a check for $1000.00.. “This is for your expenses, he said. He took out a note pad and wrote something. “Go to Nathan’s” he said “and see this man..” He handed me the note before he sealed it. “Angelo,” It read,.“This is Harry Martin. Take care of him.” The man was Angelo Tremarchi, manager of Nathan’s, Galveston’s version of Neiman Marcus.

At Nathan’s Angelo Tremarchi carried out Maceo’s orders with warmth, great courtesy and supreme dedication to the haberdasher’s art. as he outfitted me with a couple of expensive suits. He presented each suit with great flair as he draped it on me and stood back and regarded me with a practiced eye. The piece de résistance  was a pair of alligator shoes. In another age, he would have been draping the Pope. Despite his cloistered life in that store, he packed a set of muscles that were impossible to conceal beneath his cashmere coat. He was about 45, a young body with a grey streak in his side burns. I was sincerely grateful. “I don’t know when we will see each other again but thanks,  Angelo.”  He smiled warmly, “Goodbye. See you.”

Three days later I, Marine Reserve Pvt. Harry Martin, received orders to report to the local airport, and from there, fly to Camp Pendleton, to undergo the two weeks of  rigorous training that are mandatory for reservists each of the two years they serve.

I had not expected the orders, but it wasn’t all bad., I would do the two weeks and go from there straight to Hollywood to began my new job.I stuffed my duffel bag and carefully packed my suits into a garment bag and showed up at the airport with forty other Marine buddies where we were shoved aboard a DC 3 and flown to Oceanside. We made it to Oceanside  in 6 hours. DC3’s are not jets.

The big cargo plane roared onto the tarmac at Oceanside, and our platoon sergeant, a local buddy, suddenly was all business. He barked an order for us to get ready to disembark. My lofty thoughts of future glory were brought down to earth by the jarring effect of his newly found command voice calling out my name.. “Martin,” he rasped  ”There is someone who wants to see you.. Take the head of the line.” Puzzled, .I made my way to the front and stepped down off the plane onto the tarmac.

There standing with a wicked gleam in his eyes was Anglo Tremarchi, my haberdasher. Only this time, he was impeccably attired in starched Marine khaki. His sleeves were lined with hash marks and on the side of his shirt were multiple stripes. Angelo Tremarchi was a Master Sergeant,.

Pvt. Martin,” he growled, “Get your ass over here.” I felt a shock run through my body. No wonder he was a hard body.. He was a Marine NCO. I walked toward him  with an ingratiating smile, and stuck out my hand to shake his. but quickly withdrew it when I saw he wasn’t  buying it.

“Welcome to Camp Pendleton.” he said with a demonic look on his face. “You have two weeks to get in shape for Hollywood. Do you remember the note that Mr. Maceo sent me, telling me to take care  of you?”

“Yes.” I croaked.

“Well, when he wrote that, he also meant for me to take care of you here. He knew I was the Battalion Headquarters’ top ranking NCO  He told me to have you ordered here before you go to Hollywood.”. he said wickedly. “Just think, Martin. You got free transportation to California.. “Thank you sergeant.” I replied. I smiled disarmingly. He didn’t disarm.

Then, in front of hundreds of gawking Marine Reservists, he abruptly shoved his face against mine. “Your training starts now,” he roared. “Hit the deck and give me fifty., lady.” I tossed my bags aside, hit the deck and gave him fifty.

The man had morphed from Angelo Tremarchi. into Mr. Hyde.

 

                                       GEHENNA EPILOGUE

 During the following two weeks, Sergeant Tremarchi grew into one of my true all-time heroes.. There was nothing he asked us to do that he wouldn’t do. He was a beast on the obstacle course. He ran ahead of us on the final day’s 20 mile march, often running a hundred yards to the rear of the battalion to berate stragglers. He got out of my face when it became clear to him that I was going to be as good a  Marine as I could be.

On the last Saturday morning, I turned in my gear, slung my garment bag over my shoulder, walked out to a Camp Pendleton bus stall and caught the bus to Los Angeles. I spent the first night at the ”Y”, rented an apartment near KLAC the next day and reported for work the following Monday.

My two years were up, and I was discharged. A few weeks after that, my outfit, Company B in Galveston, was frozen, and shipped to Gehenna, Christ’s name for Hell but otherwise called Korea., where they fought the overwhelming invading Chinese hordes at Chosin Reservoir. Many  never made it back.