Jim 6 of ---
In the Merchant Marines
In the Army
And other myths
TRAVELING WITH JOHNNY TO CALIFORNIA
o When I found I could learn nothing more in High School, or perhaps they decided they could teach me nothing more, I went to California with Johnny. He had been in the Merchant Marines for several months by then, and if I remember right, had made a couple of trips to Le Havre, France to deliver and/or return things to/from the US.
For reasons not remembered, he was going to California to ship out to somewhere over the Pacific. We left home in early January 1946, in the 1930 Chevy. We drove night and day, taking turns driving, so we didn't see much of the country.
We finally spent the night in a motel in Williams, Arizona, planning to drive to the Grand Canyon the next morning. When we got up, we found there had been a big snow storm during the night, so the road was closed.
When we arrived at the Hoover Dam, we had time to take the tour down, down deep in the dam, far below the water, to see the electric generators.
ALMOST A NIGHT IN LAS VEGAS
Las Vegas was nothing like it is now. Don't remember seeing any sign of gambling, and certainly no big hotels, like there are dozens of today.
If we drove on to Los Angeles we would arrive in the middle of the night, so Johnny decided we should spend the night in a motel in Las Vegas. We stopped at a small restaurant for a bite to eat at supper time, and I remember asking the waitress if there was a place we could sleep for a couple of hours. Her answer was, “Well, I get off work at five o'clock.” Would you believe we arrived in Los Angeles in the middle of the night? Well, believe it!
VISIT WITH ALDINE BAUMAN
o Sometime in the few days after we arrived in Los Angeles, we visited with Paul and Aldine Bauman, and we spent a night in their home. The thing I remember most is going to Sunday dinner with Louie and Mrs. Bauman, and Paul and Aldine. That's the first time I had ever been to a restaurant with actual table-cloth covered tables, rather than stools lined up at a counter.
You can also believe it was the first time I ever saw anyone pull out a whole $20 bill and pay for the dinner - no idea how much change he received. I thought everyone knew $20 was a week's pay for a hard worker, to be spent for several weeks groceries, not just one meal.
(In Mama's Diary I wrote, “Although I knew her when I was 5 or 6 years old, or thereabouts, and remember her wedding. I only met Aldine a couple times over the following years, including one night in her home in Calif. in 1946. Whenever I think of Aldine, I remember a beautiful, cheerful, wonderful person.”)
JOINING THE MERCHANT MARINE
o I had no idea what I did in Los Angeles for the next couple of weeks, but did go to an office in San Pedro (the harbor at Los Angeles) and with no trouble at all, became a member of the Merchant Marine. Johnny had to attend some kind of a training school, but when I joined, all I did was sign a couple of papers. Maybe I was just smarter, or perhaps it was because the war was over and anyone could just ride in a ship, and didn't need to know much of anything.
I do remember they asked me if I could swim. I was as scared of the water as anyone ever has been, but knew enough to say, “Yes, I can swim.” If I said no, I would have to take swimming lessons, but I figured that 10,000 miles out in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, what difference would it make anyhow.
Each time I visit the San Pedro area, or sail in or out of the Los Angeles Harbor on a Cruise Ship, I still recognize the building where I signed up for the Merchant Marines.
HITCHHIKE TO SAN FRANCISCO
o Within a couple of weeks Johnny got on a model C-2 ship, called the “Flyaway,” and left for Manila, Philippines, then going on to Shanghai, China. I ran out of money and sold my watch to a pawn-shop for a few dollars, and for reasons not remembered, hitch-hiked to San Francisco. Do remember sleeping on the beach in Ventura, one night, but how many people I rode with to get to San Francisco, or how long it took, I don't remember.
During this time hotel rooms were almost impossible to get in San Francisco. The Hotel Canterbury had triple decked bunks in their Ball Room, that could be rented for 50¢ a night. Often the man above or below, was a business man with a coat, tie, and briefcase. There were just no rooms, at any price.
Many years later when I was spending a night or three a month in San Francisco, I stopped and talked to the night desk-man, and he remembered the 50¢ per night lodging during the war, but I never spent a night there in all my hundred(s) of business trips to Frisco. But it is very nice hotel.
THE “SS PHILLIPI”
o I had to join a Union, which I did, and then somehow got a job on a ship. It was an old ship, and leaned to one side just enough so that nothing was level.
On my first day as a “Ships Steward,” as the Chief Steward left the ship (going to a bar on shore to get drunk), he told me to make the salads. Even today that would at best result in nothing of great excitement, but in those days I hadn't the slightest idea what a salad was, let alone how to make one. Doubt if I had ever heard the word, or had seen an actual salad. I remember Mama digging dandelions from the lawn, and eating them, mixed with some other stuff, and of course there was lettuce to eat. But there were no dandelions on the dock in San Francisco.
When the very mean, and by now very drunk steward returned at dinner time and found no salad, he chased me with a butcher knife. I was assured by others that I really was in danger. All I knew about ships was that the Captain is always in charge, so I went to see him, to report the problem.
o Well, in those days, and most likely it's still true, the union runs things on a ship, and they were unhappy that I had bypassed their authority. For the next 10 days or so, I stayed away from that man, and managed to do enough to keep everyone else happy.
The permanent 2 degree list to starboard (that means it leaned to the right a little, all the time), of the “SS Phillipa,” meant the baker had to put blocks of wood under one side of the cake pan to keep the batter from spilling, so the “SS Phillipa” was finally deemed ready for the junk yard. The ship was supposed to sail to Australia, and return with a load of war brides, but since the war had ended, they felt it best to find a ship that was in better condition, for a trip like that.
o Now I was out of a job, so had to go to the Union hall to try to get another one. Of course that same chief cook was also unemployed, and had told everyone at the union hall about the stupid steward who had reported him to the Captain of the ship.
I was called into a union meeting, of some kind, to explain what happened. I was able to convince them that I really didn't know any better/different, so they told me I must learn, and must follow union rules. (Can't you just see this? I was used to arguing with a cow, and a cow was more intelligent than these union goons!)
Under union rules, when a job became available they wrote it on a blackboard in the Union Hall, and the first person to the window, got the job. Well, wouldn't you know it, while everyone in the hall was standing around berating me, and threatening me with dire consequences if I ever did anything stupid like that again, the clerk wrote a job name on the black-board.
I was the only one paying attention, so I went over and got the job. Now my problems really escalated, as a dozen others had been waiting for days to get a job, and here this little troublemaker walked right in and got the job. I reminded the man in charge that they had just told me that I must follow union rules, and wasn't that just what I was doing?
o Well, I got the job, but left the building very carefully and ran like the wind toward downtown San Francisco. I knew most of the union riffraff spent their time in bars and flophouses along The Embarcadero, the street that went along the harbor, so made sure I never visited there, except to get on my ship, the “SS Marine Cardinal.”
o A couple of weeks later the “Marine Cardinal” sailed for Manila and picked up a bunch of Indian Diplomats, who were being thrown out of the Philippines for collaborating with the Japanese during the occupation; then to Singapore on March 16, 1946, Jim's 18th birthday; then to Calcutta for a few days while we got rid of the diplomats, then loaded the ship with US Army troops to bring back to the US.
THE “SS MARINE CARDINAL”
o The ship was a C-4 model, the “S. S. Marine Cardinal.” It was quite new, had only made a couple of trips across the ocean, but was in the repair dock in Oakland, for something. I managed to get aboard with no problem, and was very happy with the ship, and with my job. (Dishwasher, garbage detail, etc. OK so I forgot how to do that in the years since.)
A day or two later the ship was to be taken out for a “shake-down” cruise for a day. No one told me they were going out past the Golden Gate Bridge, but while I was washing dishes, I started to get a little sea-sick. I stopped what I was doing and went on deck, and that took care of that. We were in some very bad storms in the Pacific on this trip, and caught the edge of a tidal wave, but I never did get sea-sick again.
o In a very bad storm, way out in the Pacific, I can remember getting right at the very front of the bow of the ship during a storm. When the bow came up out of the water, I would look over the side and see the whole ship (75 feet, the height of a seven story building) rise completely out of the water. Then it would go down completely under the water, but I would get under the little overhang, and watch a hundred tons of water go over my head. Had I not done that with care, I would not be here to talk about it.
Another time during a storm I went up to the crows-nest (near the very top of the highest mask) and could look straight down into the water on one side, then after the ship rolled, could look down into the water on the other. Never bothered me, as I didn't know any better. The older sailors thought I was nuts, and you know what, perhaps I was. But it was fun, and that was a little different than milking cows, which was about the most exciting thing I had done up to then.
MANILA, THE PHILIPPINES
o The city of Manila must have been a beautiful city before the war. Don't remember a building that was not badly damaged. One night I went to a movie, and when I looked up, I thought a marvelous painter had painted a sky scene on the ceiling, complete with stars and moon. Then I discovered there was no ceiling, that was the sky.
I remember seeing a Jeep driving down the street in a heavy rainstorm. Suddenly the Jeep and driver disappeared into a bomb crater that was filled with water, level with the street.
I was told to go to an office in a building right at the harbor, and go to a certain office. I found a room full of the most beautiful women you could imagine. The story was, the Colonel in charge held a “beauty contest” before hiring, then he found a way to buy nice clothes for the very beautiful ladies. Boy, would he be in trouble if he tried that these days in the 1990's.
I ALMOST SAW JOHNNY IN MANILA
o As my ship entered the harbor we had to wait for a ship to leave the place where the ship was to dock. There was a sign at the dock identifying the ship docked there, they hadn't changed it yet, and found the ship that had just left was the “Flyaway,” Johnny's ship. He had left California a month before I did, but there was a problem of some kind (perhaps a strike of dock workers, but either forget what it was, or perhaps Johnny never said), and Johnny was in Manila for a month, instead of just a couple of days as scheduled.
A couple of days later, on the way out of Manila, my ship had to wait for another ship to leave the refueling ship, near the famous Corregidor Island, where our ship's fuel tanks were to be filled. As that ship left and we approached the refueling ship, I could see the name, and found that it was again Johnny's ship, the “SS Flyaway.”
WAS THAT HAROLD'S BACK, I SAW IN THE DISTANCE?
o While docked in Manila, after visiting downtown I returned to the ship and found the ship docked next to mine had barbed wire strung around the deck rail, with a lot of guards standing around. I remember that Harold had been on a ship taking Japanese soldiers back to Japan, so quickly asked the guard at the gang-plank if he knew Harold.
He pointed and said he thought Harold just left on 'that Jeep.' I saw his back (I think), but could not catch him. My ship was just leaving, and I wasn't there when Harold came back, if he did. Harold said he was in Manila about that time, but we haven't compared exact dates. I would guess it was within a couple days of March 5, 1946.
INDIAN DIPLOMATS, GOING HOME
o In Manila my ship picked up a bunch of Indian Diplomats, to take home to Calcutta. Those Indians were being thrown out of Manila because they had collaborated with the Japanese during the war. No one would even help them load their belongings onto the ship, so they had to take just what they could carry. What dirty, dirty people, even the ones who were very, very rich!
I remember that the Indian Diplomat with the highest rank came to the Chief Steward and said, “We are of different castes, so you must feed us in separate dining rooms.” The Steward replied, “Those tables right there are for all of you, and the meals are served between these hours, and if that's not fine with you, some of you will just have to starve.” (You can bet those weren't his exact words, but this is a family publication.) And they found they could sit in the same room and eat next to each other, just fine.
When the ship got to Singapore the Captain tried to put them ashore, but he wasn't allowed to do that. They not only were living like pigs, but since they had a couple of sewing machines they were stealing white sheets to make clothes for themselves, among the more minor things. When we got to Calcutta and they left the ship, their rooms were an awful mess, and smelled terrible. It was difficult to get them clean enough for other people to use during the trip home.
JIM'S 18TH BIRTHDAY, IN THE HARBOR AT SINGAPORE
o I had my 18th birthday in the harbor at Singapore in 1946. The harbor was filled with sunken ships, and damaged crumbled building lined the shore. For all kinds of reasons, no one was allowed to get off the ship.
In 1995 Linda's husband Dan was in Singapore on business on the 49th anniversary of Jim's 18th birthday, and he brought a copy of “The Straits Times,” Singapore's daily newspaper dated March 16, 1995, (Jim's 804th birthday, monthly birthday that is) and a cane for the collection. Dan said the “hole in the water” occupied by Jim's ship in 1946, had disappeared, and no memorial was in sight. (Disney Channel was starting a new operation in Asia, and Dan had to hire and train a bunch of people to run the thing.) Your 83rd year plus 4 months, is your 1,000th birthday.
UP THE HOOGHLY RIVER TO CALCUTTA
o At the dock in Calcutta, India (March 1946) I saw a very good example of the value of some human life, or at least the value of their labor. There was a huge concrete slab, most likely a quarter to a half mile square, and 12 or 15 inches thick. They were in the process of removing that slab.
A line of hundreds, or maybe thousands, of very small Indian men dressed only in loin cloths, shoulder to shoulder, squatted on their heels. In one hand was a small chisel, and in the other a small hammer. At a very slow pace, they would lift the hammer and let it drop on the chisel, and to the sounds of “…tink, tink, tink, …” a small puff of dry cement would appear, sometimes.
Every once in a while a little piece of concrete would come loose, and be brushed back between their legs. Behind them were other tiny, scrawny men who would slowly pick up each fleck of concrete and place it in a small basket. At best they removed an inch or two of the slab each day.
One of the men, who seemed to be in charge, said this was just the way jobs like this were done in India. With machinery the job could be done in a short time, but this provided jobs for thousands of men for months and months!
o Calcutta had not been damaged by war, but it was in worse condition than Manila. In the couple of days I was there, I toured downtown, visited some expensive hotels, and shopped in what I remember was called the “New Market,” where I bought a camera and a suitcase. I remember seeing that camera someplace, sometime in the past few years. Now why on earth would I get rid of that suitcase? I didn't need it, but it was memorabilia. Can't remember when or why. The only other shopping center I have seen that compares with Calcutta's New Market, is the much larger 4,000 stall Grand Bazaar in Istanbul, where Emmy and I visited in 1989.
RETURN FROM CALCUTTA
o In Calcutta we had loaded the ship with GIs (soldiers, for those of you not familiar with WW II terms) for the trip back to the USA, but just as we were about to leave, a convoy of Army trucks came speeding to the dock and yelled for us not to leave. Their commander had said if they could get on the ship, they could go home right now.
Well my ship was already loaded to capacity, but the Captain announced over the loud speaker that if the troops already on board didn't mind sleeping on deck, standing in longer lines to eat their meals, and eat a little less, the other guys could come along. Everyone already on board yelled their approval, so on came the extra men.
All day long, and most of the night, there were lines of people waiting to eat, but never heard a complaint.
SINGAPORE AGAIN, ALMOST
o When my ship got near Singapore on the return home, they had a problem, and docked at some place several miles from Singapore. This had been an oil depot of some kind, and for as far as could be seen, there was nothing but crumbled buildings and burnt, twisted, oil tanks. The repairs to the ship were supposed to be completed by morning, so we tried to make some arrangements to visit the city. Finally we gave up and disappeared to do something else. Then a “gypsy” taxi boat came by, and for a good sum of money, the several crew members still on deck, made a quick trip to and from Singapore. I was so disappointed I missed that opportunity.
At that time I remember thinking maybe I would “jump ship” in Singapore, and take my chances in that city. Don't think I had the nerve to do it, even if I had the chance and the money, but have often wondered how that would have worked out. The worst thing I can imagine is that I would not of met 'ol what's her name, and that would have been a terrible mistake.
THE EDGE OF A TYPHOON
o I remember that when we neared the Philippine Islands a typhoon, or at least a very bad storm, was approaching, and the Captain was afraid if he took the normal shipping lane, the storm would hit the ship while it was traveling through the islands, and that wouldn't be good.
The Captain turned east a little earlier, and followed a path south of where he had originally planned. In this area of the Philippines there were hundreds of small islands, some were populated. At high speed the ship twisted and turned like a speed boat, going this way and that, actually leaning right then left, around and between islands. We missed all the islands, and were in open ocean when the main storm arrived. And that was really a big storm. Some of the older sailors said that was the most expert job of piloting a huge ship they had ever experienced.
A few months earlier, typhoon “Little Lulu,” the worst storm in many years had sunk Navy ships and caused a lot of damage in this part of the world.
SETTING THE STAGE FOR FUTURE PROBLEMS
o There was a Lt. Colonel, one of the officers in charge of the troops, who was not at all liked by anyone. It seemed he just wanted to do or say anything that would show his power.
I had the job, sometimes, of taking a tray of pies and cakes to the officer's dining room, and would have to go past the hungry enlisted men, waiting in a long line for a chance to eat just plain food, with little or no desert. One day as I walked past the enlisted men lined up for lunch, the Lt. Colonel was standing nearby, talking to someone. In response to the yells of the troops, I told them they could not have any of the pies or cake on my tray.
This Lt. Colonel just reached out and took a piece of cake, and continued to talk to the other officer. The troops yelled and complained, as well they should, so I hollered at the Colonel and made him put the food back on the tray. (Who said I wasn't brash, precipitous, impulsive perhaps, but not too smart.)
As expected the Colonel was very upset with me, but he was not my boss. When the troops cheered what I had done, the Colonel got even madder, so I just handed out all the very good pies and cakes to the troops in line! Needless to say that made me a hero to them, but the Colonel was furious. He went to my boss to complain, but since he was disliked by most everyone on the ship, he was told to get lost, or at least that is all of the conversation that can be repeated here.
Need it be mentioned that this is not the end of the story of the Lt. Colonel. Stayed tuned, film at Ft. Knox!
BET HE WON'T DO THAT AGAIN
o There were several officers on that troop ship who were a real pain. I remember another case where retribution was swift and sure. In the Army officer's dining room they had table cloths on the table, most of the time. Crew members complained about how messy the officers were at meal time, and did not like it that the table cloths had to be changed and washed much more often than should have been necessary.
One morning we were in the edge of a storm and as the ship rocked “to and fro” the plates slid here and there on the table cloth. One obnoxious officer determined that if he spilled some of the maple syrup on the table cloth, then put his plate in it, the plate wouldn't slide. Can you imagine how much of a coincidence it was when the waiter just happened to spill a tray of dirty dishes on this officer. Wonder how something like that could have happened? But everyone was glad it did!
The US Army withstood my first attack in July 1946.
DRAFT BAIT
o When I arrived back in San Francisco in about April 1946, after my Merchant Marine trip to Manila, Singapore, and Calcutta, I was told to go to the Selective Service office and register for the draft. I was supposed to have done this within a few days of my 18th birthday, but since I was in Singapore on March 16, that was not possible.
Anyway, I was told that they were going to make sure that I was drafted real soon, so that made getting a job very difficult. United Airlines was just starting a new Air Freight business at the San Francisco Airport, and were interesting in hiring me, but they wouldn't, because I was draft bait. Can't remember the other business, but that outfit told me the same thing.
MARY'S PROTECTOR HA!
o I went back to Martinsburg to stay with Mary and the kids, and worked on a farm. When I had been in Manila, I had just missed meeting Harold (see earlier), but somehow had heard that Mary was having a hard time living by herself (Joyce and Patty weren't much help at their age!), and wanted me to live with her in Martinsburg until Harold came back from the Army.
As might be expected, the only job available in a place like Martinsburg was to work on a farm. I got a job on the farm of a Kensinger family, who lived somewhere several miles outside Martinsburg. Linda will say that when I tell these stories there is always six feet of snow, but in this case, while there was no snow, there were miles of hilly roads, miles of dirt roads, and only a bike to ride early in the morning, still in the dark, and then home again near evening after a really hard day of work. And that's the moral equivalent of 10 feet of snow!
Don't remember the exact number, but I had to milk about 30 cows early in the morning and again at night, with very little help, except there were milking machines. And I ran a hay bailer, working at neighbors farms. (This is where the tip of my finger was cut off. Story elsewhere)
o While working at Kensinger's, I remember going to the eye doctor to get a new pair of glasses. Don't remember how much they cost, but must have been a good part of a month's salary. Within minutes of returning home with the new glasses, I was on the Farmall tractor mowing grass around trees in the orchard. Those of you familiar with those tractors will remember the exhaust and muffler stuck up high above the engine. As I was carefully watching the cutter blade to see it didn't catch a stone or a tree, I didn't see the tree branch that caught on the muffler, then sprung back and just tore the brand-new glasses off my face. As I carefully watched the cutter blade, I could see my brand new, 30 minute old glasses being chewed into tiny pieces.
o Kensinger had a New Holland string-tie hay bailer, and in addition to bailing his own hay, it was used to do custom work for nearby neighbors. In July 1946 when I was bailing hay somewhere, a bolt broke, and repairs were needed. There was a group of five “V” belts, that ran from the engine to the bailer, and I was carefully moving the belts an inch at a time, trying to line up the hole to replace the broken bolt.
I don't remember his name, and this is not meant as disrespect, but one of the man helping, a good worker who was not quite “all there” and was somewhat known as the “village idiot,” was standing where he could not see what I was doing, and reached over the engine, squeezed the belts together, caught my glove between them, and pulled my fingers into the pulley. I yanked my hand and pulled off a couple of finger nails, and part of one finger. (Gruesome, isn't it!) I went to the hospital in Roaring Spring and they stitched something, and I went back to work. It was a little difficult to milk cows, even with a machine. I joined the Army just a week or so later, and they said the Army would take care of it for me, and they did, after a fashion.
Nearly a year later, it had healed a little “funny,” and needed some work. At first they said I would not have a finger nail, but later the nail grew clear around the finger. I went to the Dispensary a couple of times, and finally they decided to operate. Part of the problem was, they had no nurse to help, so there I was with a pair of surgical “pliers” in my left hand, holding the skin out of the way, while the doctor worked on the finger and the root of the nail on the right hand. As it turns out, when they put in the Novocain, or whatever it was, they deadened most of the finger (it is still partially numb - come on, just the finger, not the rest of me), and it would not “work” right.
Sometimes when I saluted an officer, that finger would hang down and not straighten itself, with the rest of the fingers, and I would hear about it. Sometimes when I reached for a drawer in my desk, that finger would stay extended straight ahead, rather than curl to catch hold of the drawer handle, and believe it, everyone in the office would hear about that!
o For reasons not remembered, a couple of months later, in mid-July 1946, Johnny was going to Altoona to join the Army, and I went with him. Johnny had gotten out of the Merchant Marines about the same time I did (it was mentioned earlier about seeing Johnny's ship while in the port in Manila), and since Johnny was also draft bait, found it a problem to find a good job. Also, Johnny wanted to earn the GI bill to help him through college. But as you might imagine, that thought never crossed my mind. Volunteers only had to serve for 18 months, draftees were in for 24 months.
Why I went to Altoona with Johnny, I don't remember, but when we got there the Army recruiter suggested that I join the Army and go with Johnny, and so I did, and the Army recuiter brought me back to give the Kensingers a 5 minute notice, and to tell Mary goodby.
Can't imagine how I forgot about Mary and her problem (sorry about that kid), but as I remember, the Army recruiter drove me back to Kensinger's to get my things. I gave them 5 minutes notice, without much concern as to how the cows were going to get milked that night or in the morning, then to Martinsburg for a couple of minutes to say good-by to Mary.
WITH JOHNNY FOR INDUCTION IN THE ARMY
o We both first went to Fort Meade, Maryland. Don't know where we took the physicals and were processed into the Army, but for some reason our serial numbers were 6 numbers apart (one ended in 14, the other in 20). We went through basic training in Fort Knox, Kentucky sleeping in adjacent bunks. I am sure Johnny really needed my help, and most likely wouldn't have made it without that assistance! Well, look who's telling this story.
THE BEST LITTLE GUNNER AND NUMBER ONE MAN IN THE US ARMY FIELD ARTILLERY
o This is the story I remember best, but don't remember it too well. We were in the Field Artillery, training on 105 mm howitzers. Best I can remember, the crew for each gun included a Gunner, a Number One Man, and five or six others who did such things as load the right amount of powder, put the shell in the gun, take out what was left after firing, and such things.
The Gunner had a hand crank or two that were used to set some instruments that had to be lined up with something, then had some more settings to make, and in general kept track of what was happening. The Number One Man had another dial or two to set, a crank or two to turn and things to check, but can't remember just which of these two actually pulled the lanyard that fired the shell. But boy, did it make a lot of noise, and if pointed right, did a lot of damage to whatever it hit.
Can't remember what was so important about it, but for some reason I was a very good Gunner, and Johnny was a very good Number One Man. When we went to the field to fire the guns for our graduation, we were to be graded on how well we hit the targets, but after each group of shells were fired, the members of the crew were to rotate so that each person had the chance to play the part of Gunner, Number One Man, number two, number three, and so forth.
Our Captain was very anxious to make a good showing, so told us to go through the motions of rotating the crew members, but that each time we were ready to shoot, Johnny and I were to be the Number One Man and the Gunner. Well, it all went well, and we really scored the best of any gun crew in the school.
The only problem was that the General or Colonel, who was in charge of the whole thing, could not imagine any gun crew doing as well as we were doing, so trained his field-glasses on us and soon discovered what was happening. He could do nothing but congratulate Johnny and I, but he was very unhappy with the Sergeant and the Captain. Haven't thought of this for 52 years, but I remember it just as if it happened! The main thing I have to remember it by, is a constant ringing in my ears! At least a Doctor or two blame the sound of the Artillery shells going off.
THIS TROUBLE CARRIED OVER FROM THE MERCHANT MARINE
o Now back to the story about the Lt. Colonel on the troop ship, when I was in the Merchant Marine in late March or early April 1946. By late 1946 I had graduated from Basic Training at Ft Knox, Ky., and had been assigned as a member of the Cadre for the next Basic class of recruits. You can almost figure where this is going, can't you. I was dumb enough to introduce myself to that same Lt. Colonel, when I found he was the Battalion Commander.
Over the next few weeks I was called into my Company Commander's office a time or two to discuss complaints about me, from Battalion headquarters. One weekend when I was home on leave, someone at Battalion reported to the Company Commander that I had just crashed the truck that was assigned to me, one that I drove most of the time.
I then explained the incident on the ship to the Company Commander, and since everyone at Ft. Knox hated the Lt. Colonel, just as everyone on the ship had, my Commander took care of any further complaints. How does that old story go, “Cast your cake and pies on the chow line, and it will come back to haunt you!”
GOING HOME FOR THE WEEKEND
The train from Louisville (Fort Knox) Ky., to Flora went right in back of the barn/garage just behind the folk's home, just outside Flora. On a couple of occasions the conductor was upset that I threw my little duffel bag out the door of the train, over the fence into the backyard, so I didn't have to carry it home from “beautiful downtown Flora.” One time the same man was conductor when I was going back to Ft Knox, and he got a “kick” out of Mama standing in the back yard waving to me as the train went past.
The Driving Instructor
At Ft. Knox I was assigned as a driving instructor, teaching people to drive big trucks. Two of my students, from New York City, had never been in the front seat of a car, and one had never been in a car. He had only ridden in the subway and on a train, not even a Taxi.
One student, from Tenn., was a wise guy, and drove in a dangerous manner. He said he had driven all over the mountains of Tenn., so don’t I even try to tell him what to do.
When it became time for his driving test, I would not sign his license, because of his manner of driving. He went to the Major and complained, and the Major asked me to sign his license, but I refused. The Major took him for a drive, then issued the license, signed by the Major, not me.
A year later, when I was stationed at Ft. Sill Okla., I was the battalion clerk, and one time we needed a bunch of drivers to go to Ft. Hood, Texas, to bring a bunch of Jeeps and trucks back to Ft. Sill. Since we did not have enough drivers, I decided to go with them.
Imagine my surprise to find the man from Tenn., on the bus on the way to Ft. Hood. He remembered me, and was very unhappy with me. I went to the officer in charge of the convoy and told my story, and said I did not want to be anywhere near that guy, in the convoy.
Well, to make a long story a little shorter, as you may have guessed already, sure enough, we had not driven 10 miles before he was looking off into the distance (as reported by the driver behind him), so ran his Jeep into the truck in front of him.
The damage was not much, but the officer in charge made him get back into the bus (that was empty at that time), and would not let him drive again.
OFFICER'S TRAINING SCHOOL
o Johnny and I both scored very high on the tests we took when we arrived in the Army, and both were asked to go to Officers Training School. We had both enlisted for 18 months, and if we became officers, had to serve a total of 24 months, and Johnny didn't want to stay in that long. I went on to Fort Benning, Georgia and started the training, but a month or so later, as I remember, they changed the rules again and said I had to serve 36 months or so, so I quit OCS. Haven't the slightest idea what happened to Johnny, but most likely he had something (someone) more interesting to do (be with) back in Martinsburg.
o I remember one story told by a very old Army Colonel. Fort Benning was a large place, covering many miles in any direction. At one place the main track of some railroad ran right through the base. This Colonel had been here years ago, most likely around the time of WW I, or in the early 1920's. One day they were going to have a major training operation, and put on a show for visiting brass from Washington. The General told a young officer to make sure the railroad did not disturb the training exercise. What he meant was, check the schedule, and make sure the schedule of the training exercise didn't conflict with the trains.
When the exercise was over, the young officer and a few men jumped on a truck and took off into the wilderness. When they returned, the man who was telling us this story, asked them where they had been. The officer said, “We were clearing the trees from the railroad tracks.” What had happened was, the officer and a few men cut down some very large trees and let them fall over the railroad tracks, to make sure the train couldn't pass, rather then just checking the schedules, and planning properly. He really made sure the operation would not have been disturbed. The young officer's name was, (at that time) Lt. George Patton.
o I was then sent to Fort Sill, Oklahoma, where they were lucky to have me for a few more months. (This is where I was the Battalion clerk under Lt. Colonel Major (his last name was Major), the story told just after Paul's Life Story.)
At Fort Benning
In the mid-1940s, I was a member of what was said to be the first integrated US Army barracks in Fort Benning, GA. I would say the Blacks were the ones who were most concerned with how it would work, the whites didn’t seem to care much.
It soon became obvious that the black “lingo” just naturally contained many slurs to the whites, and I don’t remember a slur by a white man in those first few days.
A couple of us called a meeting of the whole group, to discuss the matter. My point was that no one, of either race, should pay any attention to any comment made by either side of the color barrier.
Everyone agreed, and from that day on, language was no longer a problem. Sure there were things said that should not have been said, but since no one paid any attention to them, it didn’t matter.
What did matter was that within a few weeks the so-called slurs almost disappeared completely, because as some of us had expected, if we didn’t pay any attention, and no one made a big deal of what was said, those slurs would almost completely disappear from the conversation.
Several Black soldiers said that for the first time in their life, all those life-long comments they had used, just automatically disappeared.
========
While stationed at Ft. Benning, GA, in about 1947, late one night a Columbus, GA city bus was headed for the base. When I got on the bus with a half-dozen others, one a black solider, there were just exactly the number of seats as the number of passengers.
Some of the soldiers in the back of the bus were drunk and sleeping, so when the Black solider when to the back of the bus as the stupid Democrats in Georgia demanded in those days, there were no seats.
There was a seat just in front of me, and several soldiers told him to sit there. As soon as he did, the driver jumped out of his seat and said the bus would not leave until he got to the place he belonged, the back of the bus.
Everyone on the bus hollered to the driver to get back in his seat, which he did, but insisted we were going no where.
The biggest solider on the bus, the size of a NFL linesman, went to the driver and said, in the deepest southern drawl you could imagine, “Are you gonna drive this thing, or am I?”
We were soon on our way, and the driver lived for another day.
CRIES IN THE NIGHT
o I remember plenty of midnight screams in the barracks when I was at Fort Sill in 1947. Most of the soldiers were veterans, and several were ex-POWs who had really suffered. Some were of no value to the Army, but they didn't want to discharge them, as they certainly would not have fit in civilian life.
General Jonathan Wainwright (the American general who was forced to surrender to the Japanese at Corregidor in 1942 and was held prisoner until 1945), was the Commanding General at some level, over Fort Sill. One of the men in our Battalion had been the cook for General Wainwright, while the General was in prison. The cook was one of the men who had a lot of problems, but was treated very nicely by the Army.
One day when Wainwright was visiting Fort Sill, this man got drunk and went looking for him, and managed to get to the hall just outside the room where a meeting was taking place. The cook was drunk, and wearing dirty white cooks uniform, when they tried to arrest him, and get him out of there. The cook hollered for the General, the General came out of the meeting and “took care” of the matter. The General said that without this cook, he, the General, would not have lived through the POW experience. He wasn't called “Skinny” for nothing.
OH' THAT FINGER
About that finger that was partially removed by the hay bailer. It healed a little “funny,” and needed some work. I went to the Dispensary a couple of times, and finally they decided to operate.
The doctor had the end of the finger cut open, when an emergence came up, and the nurse had to leave. The Doctor could not hold the flap of the finger open while he operated, so there I was, being both patient and nurse at the same time. The Doctor said I did a good job.
The Army even survived Jim's second attack, in 1951
o I was called back into the Army during the Korean War, as noted on other pages, and spent my time at Fort Monmouth in New Jersey, where I had the first chance to work with what were then called “IBM machines” - long before computers existed! At the Army induction center, a man who knew what IBM machines were, suggested that each time someone asked what I did, I was to say, “I'm an IBM man.” This man said that when I meet someone who knows what that means, tell him the truth. That is exactly what happened. (Told in more detail (as if that is needed) in the 1950 part of Jim and Emmy's Family History.)
A SPY FOR THE FBI
o You may remember that Senator Joe McCarthy accused the Army of being careless with security leaks, and said they had lost control of Army secrets at Fort Monmouth. Don't wish this next part to sound quite as secretive and dramatic as it may appear, but I had a part in watching for spies at Fort Monmouth.
A side story, I just happened to be in the galley of the Senate in 1957, when Senator Joe McCarthy gave his last speech, during his last visit on the floor. He died just a couple of days later. That speech, and his deportment with others on the floor that day, was really outrageous. While his original purpose may have been worthwhile, how he went about doing it, and in some cases, who he did it to, was disgraceful. Now back to the FBI story.
o I worked with the IBM equipment, as noted above, and had to visit all parts of the base to gather the information needed for my files. This included visiting many of the very secret laboratories where I was escorted from place to place by an armed guard.
One day I was called into the Major's office and told to report to a certain building at a certain time. When I asked why, the Major turned purple, and said they wouldn't tell him, and I could see the Major was about to explode (he was nice enough, but very hot-headed). He ordered me to give him the complete story just as soon as I returned.
The building I went to was surrounded by guards. Once in the room they said people could leave right then if they wanted to, but if anyone left, they were not even to tell anyone that they had been in the room. A couple of people left, but the rest were all ears, to say the least. During the next couple of hours, several high-ranking officers said that they were to keep an eye out for spies, problems of any kind, suspicions we might have, and anything out of the ordinary that we might see or hear. An unsigned letter was to be mailed each week to a Post Office Box in a nearby city. (Remembered that number and the city for many years, but never wrote it down, and have forgotten it by now.)
They would not reimburse anyone for the stamp or the envelope. They were never to talk or associate with anyone else in the room, and were assured that other people might be watching them. What fun! I told them my Major had said I must inform him what happened, and I knew I could not control him. They gave me a telephone number for the Major to call, and we all left.
o Of course the Major was ready to court-martial me when I wouldn't talk, but I told him to call the number (that I had memorized). The Major demanded that the person on the other end of the line tell him what was going on, and then I saw his face turn to stone. He almost came to attention in his chair, and said, “Yes sir! Yes sir!” and hung up. He turned to me and said if I ever got in even a little trouble, some part of my anatomy would be hung from the nearest flag pole, but he asked no more questions.
I sent the report of “Nothing to report” weekly for the rest of the time I was in the Army, and never heard anything from anyone - so who knows! But Joe McCarthy was wrong on that part of his crusade, as well as some other things he blundered on here and there, from time to time.
I just asked Emmy if I mentioned this to her at the time, and she said it was years later before I ever discussed it with her. I remember Paul telling me that he had a similar experience, but you will have to ask him about that.
WHAT AN EDUCATION I RECEIVED, ON THE WEEK - ENDS
o While I was stationed at Ft. Monmouth, NJ in 1951, I discovered a school that was held at Ft. Benjamin Harrison in Indianapolis. Somehow I persuaded the Army to send me there. I wasn't interested in learning anything, I just wanted to be near enough to Chicago to spend each and every week-end visiting with Emmy, until we were married on June 2. One weekend she did come down to Flora to meet the folks.
Haven't the slightest idea what the school was all about, don't remember even a tiny speck about it. I do remember being offered free tickets to the Indy 500, both the practice rounds, and the race itself, but that offer didn't stand a chance, when compared with the exciting competition in Chicago! And that's still exciting! (A Story also told in our 1950 History.)
I LIVED THROUGH IT, AND SO DID “THEY”
So there, and the Republic survived my help loading an airplane for the Navy, in the Ohio State Guard band, for a couple of months in the Merchant Marine, and twice in the Army. But let this be a warning: I won't be that cooperative any time in the future.
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