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pg. 6

feet we broke into the clear and three monutes later landed at the Sacramento airport. Somebody said," If they could do this why G.C.A.?"

It was raining lightly when we took off but the rain was only of a local nature and lasted only a few minutes. Soon Oakland, California swam into vision and in the distance the Golden Gate Bridge and the Pacific Ocean. It was my first look at the Pacific andit didn't particularly impress me. At 2 p.m., Jan. 3rd. 1945, we landed at the San Fransico Municipal Airport. The end of a very pleasent journey and the beginning of another one to God- knows-wehre.

Our orders read to report to Hamilton Field, Port of Aerial Emabarkation (P.O.A.) We lined up before San Francisco Municipal Airport building and asked a passing stranger to take our picture. Just after he was agreeable enough to do so an M.P. jeep screeched to a halt and they were going [[obscured]] take the poor guy in for taking pictures in a restricted area. He was quite bewildered by this sudden turn of events and was very happy to get away from there when we talked to the M.P.'s into forgetting about the whole matter.

Transportation finally arrived to take us to Hamilton Field, thirty miles distant, north of San Fransico. The driver of our truck was anxious to show us the sigh[[obscured]] so in going to Hamilton Field he took us in a roundabout manner, a quick tour of the Bay Area. The weather was fine but what struck me most about [[obscured]] San Francisco was the broken down beat up street cars. What rattletraps! Many of the homes were built out of white stone very similar to those in Miami.