By Bob Krauss
Advertiser Columnist

Hardly anybody has heard of the mosquito-bitten Marine detachment at 'Ewa that formed "the nucleus of what was to become the largest and most lethal combat air force the Marine Corps has ever known." The whole coast of 'Ewa is ripe with forgotten history like that.

The keeper of this 'Ewa lore is insurance agent Al Shoehigh, also historian of the Barbers Point Navy League Council.

So let's start at the beginning. Besides kiawe and sugar cane, the first big landmark at 'Ewa was a Navy mooring mast for dirigibles built in 1935, useless as a parachute on a submarine.

Next, in January 1941, 800 Marines in San Diego sailed on the USS Enterprise for a voyage to a South Sea island where they were ordered to build an airstrip. The Marines were enlisted fighter pilots. The Pacific island was O'ahu, and the airstrip was to be carved out of bone-dry coral at 'Ewa by the pilots themselves.

The Marines sweated during the day under a blazing sun wielding picks, shovels and wheelbarrows. They stepped on kiawe thorns and choked on coral dust, then dropped exhausted on cots in pup tents while mosquitoes chewed them up. For a toilet, they dug a ditch.

There was Piss Willie and Spic-itch Pater and Sam Sad Moore. They became known as the 'Ewa Marine Air Base. Every Saturday, they fell in for a spit-and-polish inspection; weapons cleaned and oiled, uniforms spotless.

They made friends with the locals in plantation camps Tenney, Renton and Verona. A flight took off at sunset for night formation practice and never returned. The next morning, word came that four young lieutenants had flown into Haleakala. That's the origin of the expression, "Here today, gone to Maui."

On Dec. 7, 1941, Japanese planes shot up the base and killed four Marines. The survivors went on to win battles at Midway and other war-torn Pacific islands. But the most poignant story of the forgotten 'Ewa Marine Air Base concerns a lonely Marine named Maynard C. Hoffman and his powder-blue coat.

Early in December he got invited on a blind date to a lu'au at one of the plantation camps. To prepare for this epic occasion he went to town and bought a new outfit, including a powder-blue sport coat. Marines were not allowed to leave the base in civilian clothes so he stored his civies at the village.

Before the lu'au, he had to get a haircut for Saturday inspection. The Navy barber peeled him like an onion. He was so embarrassed that he skipped his blind date. Then came Dec. 7. Hoffman never met the girl of his dreams. But he wrote a poem about it. Here's the last verse:

"Now the moral of this poem is obvious to all, vanity and ego you must forestall. I never did wear the powder blue coat. It disappeared from Honolulu on the very next boat."

Reach Bob Krauss at 525-8073.