Tuesday Dec. 23 A day ashore at Pago Pago. The island, with its rugged peaks forested to their tips, looked remarkably green and enticing as we neared it in the early morning. The naval station and town are in a landlocked harbor and hidden from the sea. Tied up at the wharf at 7:30. Landed one passenger, a Mrs. Luce, missionary. The native police band played on the wharf, and a choir sang songs in Samoan. Native women, in long lava lavas and white blouses, ringed the mission lady's neck with so many laes that only the top of her hat stuck out above them. Laes of fresh flowers were on sale at the wharf. Fragrant frangipanni and many sorts of colorful flowers worked into chains, and soon wilting in the heat. A pretty custom, even though commercialized. Pago has altered a lot since I was here in September 1939. There was no wharf then. A wharf was built during the war and about two-thirds paved with concrete. Perhaps the war ended before they could finish the concrete job. At any rate, the exposed timbers of the unfinished part - some soft coniferous wood, apparently - are now fast rotting away. Many barracks buildings and stores were built during the war, all painted navy grey. A military airfield was established on the seaward side of the island, south of the harbor entrance. Part of the waterfront, in the town, now holds a row of officer's houses, in a setting of trees and lawns that is forbidden ground to the lowly. A good many navy men still stationed here on base jobs. But the station seems to be fast slipping back to its pre-war sloppiness, if one may judge from the appearance of the one navy vessel in harbor. This grubby patrol boat, it looks like the one that was here in 1939, is almost as shabby, and its crew as unmilitary, as the auxiliary ketch "Samoa" which runs a service between Pago and Apia. Some of the passengers clubbed together to hire cars and buses for drives along the roads which follow the shores of the island. They paid from a quarter to a dollar for the ride. Before we landed word had spread through the ship to beware of owners of vehicles for hire. Unwary passengers have been known to get stuck with charges of $10. Ship's rumors always gain in the telling. For example, talk at table this evening had it that the missionary Luce was actually no disciple of the Lord, but no less than Clare Booth Luce traveling incognito. She did not look like a fashion plate to me, and it seems unlikely that the excongresswoman could have passed unrecognized by the American women on board. A few days ago we heard whispered stories children breaking arms and legs on the steel ladders and stairs and lying in maimed piles down in the hospital. This morning the "Have you heard" is that Auckland is ravaged with polio, that no passengers will be allowed ashore there, and for some unexplained reason we will stay a week instead of three hours in Suva. It used to be thus in the army. Rumors, rumors, starting no one knew where, passed on by all, but not believed by the old hands until they were confirmed in daily orders. Much of my own time ashore was spent in trying to get pictures of the town and the open market place where natives sell articles of handicraft, and tropical fruits to visitors. I want to expose some color film for a test of Eastman Kodak processing as done in their Melbourne laboratories. Found plenty of interesting subjects, but almost constant cloud made color photography difficult. Chief articles on sale, spread on mats beside the street, under the porch of the movie theater, and displayed in a thatched market shelter, were shell and coral necklaces, grass skirts done in garish un-native colors, palm-leaf baskets and table mats, tapa cloth (coarse stuff in small pieces), and carved wooden bowls and model canoes. Prices very reasonable except for the wood carvings. The bowls were priced out of all reason. Popular with our passengers were the fruits - mostly ripe bananas, pineapples, drinking