*Me in the Military
A couple of days after we were maried in 1951, I drove our 1936 Chevy back to the Army base in Ft. Monmouth, NJ. Emmy brought Ronnie by plane (their first flight) to LaGuardia Airport in New York City about two weeks later. This is the same 1936 Chevy that brother Paul first bought for $398 in December 1939, and sold to Papa when Paul went into the Army in 1941. Later Mary and Harold owned it, then sold it to me in 1950.
A few months before my Merchant Marine ship was there, in 1946 typhoon “Little Lulu,” the worst storm in the South Pacific for many years had sunk Navy ships and caused a lot of damage in this part of the world.
A piece of Trivia: Retired Brig. General Reginald P. Lyman, US Signal Corp., was a rather unique name, not many people would just happen to have that name. In about March 2004, I was going through some old papers and found a yellowed, faded paper that was an Extract of the Headquarters Signal Corps., Ft. Monmouth, New Jersery, Special Order 218, dated 14 Sep 1951, where paragraph 34 released me from Active Duty in the US Army. Imagine my surprise when I saw that paper was issued by Colonel Reginald P. Lyman, Chief of Staff, US Signal Corp. In the ten years after, he had been promoted to General, retired, and since he was an expert in the Signal Corp., was working at CEIR with the Signal Corp., at Ft. Huachuca, Arizona, in the early 1960’s. That just had to be the same man that I became such good friends with, 10 years after I was released from Active Duty. I sure wish I had known that at the time I worked with the General.
A portion of one deck of the troop ship, as we returned from Calcutta, was reserved for the soldiers who had wives on board. No one was allowed to even think of observing the blanket activity on that deck, during the day and well into the night!
A year after being a driving instructor at Ft. Knox, KY, I was stationed at Ft. Sill Okla., I was the battalion clerk. 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. who I had refused to issue a driver’s license a year earlier at Fort Knox, 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. Within ten miles, he had crashed, just like I had predicted in Ft. Knox, a year earlier.
About that finger that was partially removed by the hay bailer, before I joined the Army, in 1946. It healed a little “funny,” and needed some work. I went to the Army Dispensary and they decided to operate. The doctor had the end of the finger cut open, when an emergency 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.
About that finger that was partially removed by the hay bailer, before I joined the Army, in 1946. After the operation on the finger, sometimes when I saluted an officer, that cut off finger would hang down and not straighten itself, with the rest of the fingers, and I would hear about it from the officer. 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!
As expected the Colonel on the Troop Ship, was very upset with me, but he was not my boss (he had stolen a piece of cake from my tray, I made him put it back). 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 chow line! Needless to say that made me a hero to them, but the Colonel was furious. He went to my boss, The Chief Stward 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. (A lot more about this later!!)
As my ship passed under the Golden Gate Bridge, it dawned on me that I must become an expert in nautical terms and descriptions, and so far I had been told nothing that added to my complete lack of information about ships. I heard someone mention the word Port or Starboard, and it dawned on me that was a good place to start. Then it dawned on me that the word Port had four letters just like the word Left, and Starboard had more letters than Port, just like Right had more letters than Left. Of course I had to be facing the front of the ship to make that work.
As soon as anyone was being let out of the Army in 1951 because of mistakes in calling many of us in, I applied, and they were happy to let me go in Sept. 1951. They called me in for 21 months, but I only had 17 months left on my enlistment. Recently I asked Army Recruiting office what they would pay me not to re-enlist.
At the dock in Calcutta, India, in 1946 they were removing a huge concrete slab, several inches thick. Several hundred men dressed in loincloths, shoulder to shoulder, squatted on their heels, with a small chisel, and a small hammer. At best they removed an inch or two of the slab each day. The man in charge agreed that a bull-dozer could do it faster, but this provided work and income for these men, for months.
At an Army Base, maybe Ft. Benning, GA, a bunch of us were sent to the Officer’s Club, to get it all cleaned for some big party that night. The dance floor needed to be waxed and polished. The floor polish machine had a 2 foot diameter brush. I made sure I did not have to polish the floor, since I had tried it one time, and I knew how difficult it could be to control the machine. While a solider was carefully polishing the floor, the machine got out of his control, flew across the room and right through a large plate glass window, out to the Patio. Thank goodness it wasn’t my fault.
At that time, in 1946, 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 have met 'ol Sweetheart, and that would have been a terrible mistake.
At the office building at Fort Sill, OK, there was a Private whose name was pronounced “Major.” There was Major Fitzsimmons, and the commanding officer’s last name was Major. One day just after someone had washed the kitchen porch, the Private Major was on the porch, and the Mess Sgt. could see him, but was not aware that Colonel Major and Major Fitzsimmons were just approaching from the office. The Sgt. hollered, complete with a string of 4-letter words, “Major get your … … off the porch.” The two officers quickly turned back to the office, and said, “Get that Mess Sgt. in here.” I had seen and heard what happened, and quickly told my Sgt. who instructed me to go to the office and get it straightened out before the Mess Sgt. arrived. The “Majors” didn’t want to be disturbed by me, but I managed to get the story told before the Mess Sgt. arrived, thank goodness.
At Ft. Knox, KY, in 1946 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. 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. I refused, so the Major signed it. More about this elaewhere.
Calcutta, India, 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. Now why on earth would I get rid of that camera and suitcase in the years since? I didn't need either, but they were memorabilia.
During a lifeboat drill on the S. S. Marine Cardinal, I was slowing swaying over the Pacific Ocean, someone hit the wrong button, the lifeboat dropped, but I still had hold of the rope. Here I was swinging out over the ocean hanging on for dear life, someone finally hit the right button and the boat rose to where I could stand. I was so frightened of water that when the Merchant Marine enlisting officer asked me if I could swim, I said yes. If I truthfully said no, they would insist on swimming lessons. Who cared if I could swim, 5,000 miles out in the Pacific?
I am the original isolationist and nationalist — no Korean War (Whoops, I met my Sweetie because of the Korean War), no Vietnam, Iraq, or any other war since WW II, when it was obvious help was needed, for a good reason.
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 troop ship SS Marine Cardinal 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.
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 mental problems, but was treated very nicely by the Army. More elsewhere.
I had my 18th birthday on a Troop Ship 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.
I had the job in the Merchant Marine, 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, a 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. The Lt. Colonel took a piece, and I yelled at him to put it back. More elsewhere.
Given a key to the IBM building at Ft. Monmouth, NJ, I spent nights and weekends learning all I could about IBM machines, before IBM computers existed.
I joined the Army just a week or so after my finger was cut off by the Hay Bailer, and they said the Army would take care of it for me, and they did, after a fashion.
I once asked a friend if he had ever been to Saarbrucken, Germany. He responded, “Yes, I flew there in my B-26, and bombed it several times during WW II.”
I ran out of money and sold my watch to a pawn-shop in Los Angeles for a few dollars in 1946, and for reasons not remembered, hitch-hiked to San Francisco. Do remember sleeping on the beach in Ventura, one night. 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. I had just joined the Merchant Marine in Los Angeles, and went to Frisco to get on a ship.
I remember being hollered at by the Ship’s Officers in Manila and Calcutta, because I was out walking by myself instead of with a bunch of guys who would be going places that I had no interest in.
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.
I remember seeing a Jeep driving down the Manila, Philippines, 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 remember that the Indian Diplomat with the highest rank, that we had picked-up in Manila, Philippines, 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.
I remember that when we neared the Philippine Islands, on our return from Calcutta, a typhoon, or at least a very bad storm, was approaching. The Captain was afraid that if he took the normal shipping lane through the Islands of the Philippines, the storm would hit the ship while it was traveling through the many 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. The ship leaned right and left, and felt like riding in a sports boat. But we made it OK, no storm reached us while we were near a lot of small islands.
I was a secret spy for the FBI in 1951, looking for members of the Julius and Ethel Rosenberg spy ring at Ft. Monmouth, NJ. The Rosenbergs had worked at Ft. Monmouth, and had stolen some sensitive information while working there in the 1940s. Sounds like an exciting story, but all my weekly reports mailed to the secret FBI PO Box number in a phony town name, said, “Nothing to Report.” When I got home, neighbors asked why the FBI had been asking them questions about me.
I remember while in the Army, a couple of times I went to the bus station on Saturday morning, and said, “Give me a $5 round trip ticket to somewhere.” I wanted to be alone, not hanging with a bunch of uninteresting people.
I was about 16 years old when I joined the Ohio State Guard Band. The others were retired professional musicians, 60 to 70 years old. With their overage and my underage, at least a couple of us averaged a legal age.
I was close enough to General Dwight Eisenhower to salute him, on Easter Sunday 1947, in Fort Benning, Georgia.
I was dumb enough to re-introduce myself to the Lt. Colonel I had insulted on the Troop Ship, when I found he was my Battalion Commander at Ft. Knox, KY, a few months after my trip in the Merchant Marine. The next few weeks I was called into my Commander’s office a couple of times to discuss complaints from Battalion headquarters. I then explained the incident on the ship to my 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.
I was in the Army at an IBM School in Indianapolis, Ind. Most weekends I went AWOL to see my Sweetie in Chicago.
I was supposed to have registered for the draft within a few days of my 18th birthday, but since I was in Singapore on March 16, 1946, that was not possible. 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.
I was surprised when I saw beautiful US Army Nurses, and Red Cross ladies, walking the streets of Calcutta, India. I was even more surprised when I saw little boys holler “Bakshee,” (gift) then holler other phrases containing four-letter-words in English, not usually said to nice girls. After they boarded our troop ship on the way home, I asked a couple of the ladies why those boys said what they did. They responded, “The blankity, blank GIs told the kids that we would consider that a complement, and would donate more.”
I was told to go to an office in a building right at the harbor of Manila, 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.
I was told this story by someone who worked for Matson Steamship Lines, when I worked for Matson Lines for a few weeks, while I was in the Merchant Marines, nearly 65 years ago. I always liked the story, my brother Jesse had heard the same story, so it may even be true. Sometime in the late 1930s, when jobs were hard to find, Matson Steamship Lines advertised for a Radio Operator for one of their ships. The ad said to be there by 8:00 AM. Before that hour, the waiting room was full of men sitting and talking, waiting to be called into the office for an interview. One man came into the waiting room, sat down a moment, then got up and went through the door. In a minute someone came out and told the others to go home, as the job was filled. When the uproar subsided, the man said, “Be quiet and listen a minute,” and in the background, clear and easy to hear, Morse Code spelled out the message, over and over, “A Radio Operator must always be alert, if you ‘read’ this message, come through the door, the job is yours.”
I went to the Dental Colonel in Ft. Monmouth, NJ, and said if I had my new false teeth, I could get discharged. I told my Commanding Officer if I could get discharged, the Dental Clinic would rush the order for the false teeth. Neither talked to the other, I talked to both, got teeth and Army discharge, both earlier than scheduled.
In 1946, I was in the Merchant Marines, washing dishes in my dining room. I felt movement and hurried to the open deck, so I could see us pass under the Golden Gate Bridge, on a test drive. We soon returned, and went under the bridge again. This is the first time I had been on the water in anything bigger than a row boat, so I was thrilled.
In 1946, in Manila, Philippines, 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!
In 1947 at Fort Benning, Georgia, I was told this story. One day, in the 1920s, a group of top military brass from Washington DC, was scheduled to watch maneuvers. After the action was complete, Lt. George Patton and his men disappeared, returned a few minutes later. When asked, Patton said, “We were removing the trees.” He was asked what he was talking about. ”I was told to be sure no trains went through the battle field, so we cut down some trees and laid them across the tracks, so no trains could get through.” His commander said, “I meant for you to ask the railroad company, not to send a train this afternoon.” But that was Patton.
In a very bad storm, in the Merchant Marine way out in the Pacific, I can remember getting right at the very front of the bow of the SS Marine Cardinal 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.
In March 1946 I spent my 18th birthday as a member of the Merchant Marine, on a troopship, SS Marine Cardinal, in the harbor of Singapore, on my way from Manila, Philippines, to Calcutta, India. We were to bring home a shipload of US Military, Army Nurses, Red Cross ladies, and Army War brides (many with their husband on the ship). A portion of one deck was reserved for the soliders who had wives on board, and no one was allowed to even think of observing the blanket activity on that deck, during the day and well into the night!
In March 1946 we had to wait for another ship to move from our docking space, when my ship first arrived in Manila, Philippines. When we docked, I noticed the name of the ship that had just left, was still shown on a pedestal on the dock. That was the ship my brother Johnny was on, the SS Flyaway, sailing on its way to Shanghai, China.
In the Merchant Marines in 1946, one night in Manila, Philippines, we went to a Movie. I thought some artist had painted a beautiful night scene on the ceiling. Then I noticed, the moon had moved!!
In March 1946 when I returned from downtown, to the Manila, Philippines, harbor, I saw a ship, covered with barbed wire, docked next to my ship. I knew my brother-in-law was serving as a guard on a prison ship, taking Japanese “Prisoners of War” from Manila to Japan. I ran and quickly asked the gangplank guard if he knew Harold, and he pointed and said, “That's him, riding on that Jeep, just going down the street.”
In the Army in 1946, I found myself in Akron, Ohio, my home for a couple of years earlier. I checked into a hotel, and called a friend. He didn’t answer, so I called his friend Silvia. She was no longer the girlfriend, and didn’t know where my friend was. Soon the phone rang in my hotel room, and a voice said, “This is Silvia, why don’t you come visit?” “I’ll be right over, where do you live now?” She gave me an address. When I rang the doorbell it was answered by a lady who was not Slivia. The sales pitch started in high gear, as I left. Someone had listened to my call from the hotel, used her name and part of my conversation, to direct me to the special HOUSE, full of ladies.
In the mid-1947, 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. It soon became obvious that the black “lingo” just naturally contained many slurs to the whites. A couple of us called a meeting of the whole group, to discuss the matter. The point was made 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.
In the southern area of the Philippines there were hundreds of small islands, some were populated. At high speed the SS Marine Cardinal 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.
My first ship “SS Phillipa,” had a permanent 2 degree list, so since the war had ended, they finally junked the ship. The baker had to put blocks of wood under one side of the cake pan to keep the batter from spilling. I was out of a job, the chief steward was unemployed, and he had told the union bosses about the stupid steward who had reported him to the Captain. I convinced them that I didn’t know any better, they told me I must follow union rules, exactly.
Nearly a year later in the Army, the Cut off Finger 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.
On my very first day on a Merchant Marine ship, when the very drunk Chief steward returned and found no salad, he chased me with a butcher knife. I had never seen a salad, had no idea what it was, or how to make 20 of them.
One day when General Wainwright was visiting Fort Sill, Okla., a cook got drunk and went looking for the General. The cook was drunk, and wearing dirty white cooks uniform, so 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.
One morning we were in the edge of a storm and as the Merchant Marine troop ship rocked “to and fro” the plates slid here and there on the table cloth in the Army officer’s dining room. 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!
One night at time for Taps, four musicians of the Ohio State Guard Band arrived back in Camp Perry, Ohio, so drunk they could hardly walk. They picked up instruments — two trumpets, a trombone, and a bass horn — and played Taps. No one had ever heard Taps played so beautifully, the sleepy soldiers cheered for an encore, and the Commanding Officer came over in his nightgown, to tell them thanks. The next morning, sober, they tried, but could not repeat the previous night’s amazing performance. The four man jam-session spectacular dramatic musical arrangement required a fifth — of liquor.
One of the men, who seemed to be in charge of removing the slab of concrete in Calcutta, India, 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!
The Army’s IBM school in Indianapolis, I don’t remember even one slight thing that I was taught. I felt it was a complete waste of time, but I don’t even remember what the “waste” was. My parents lived in Flora, Indiana, about half way between Chicago and “Naptown,” my beautiful Sweetie and I spent one weekend at their home. They loved her, of course.
So there, the Republic survived my help loading an airplane for the Navy, being in the Ohio State Guard band a few months, 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. The other day I stopped at the US Army recruiting office in the nearby shopping Mall. I asked, “How much will you pay me not to enlist again?” No comment, but a lot of laughter.
The “SS Marine Cardinal” sailed for Manila, Philippines, and picked up a bunch of Indian Diplomats, who were being thrown out of the Philippines for collaborating with the Japanese during the war and occupation. Then to Singapore on March 16, 1946, my 18th birthday. To Calcutta, India, 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 Army only paid me around $100 or so a month. I had to have a part-time job, popping corn at a race track, to help pay the bills, when we first got married. There were no water fountains at the race track, only beer and soft drinks for sale. When the beer and soft drink salesmen went past the pop corn machine, they would holler, “More salt, more salt.” People’s mouths would pucker with each bite of popcorn.
The city of Manila, Philippines, must have been a beautiful city before the war. I 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 the moon had moved, there was no ceiling.
The back seats of the bus was filled with drunken, sleeping white soldiers. There was a seat just in front of me, and several soldiers told the Black solider to sit there. The driver jumped out of his seat and said the bus would not leave for Ft. Benning, GA, until he got where he belonged. Everyone on the bus hollered to the driver who insisted we were going nowhere. 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.
The early years of our travels were long before I had a home computer, but my travel memories seem to last forever. I could most likely tell you more about my 3-day visit to Calcutta, India, 60 years ago, then I could about what I had for lunch yesterday.
The first evening together in our home in Asbury Park, NJ, I had to go to my part-time job as the popcorn popper at the local hot-rod race track, to make a little extra money. After an hour or two I left early when it dawned on me that my new wife was “home” and why wasn't I there with her? But I had to keep the job, to pay the bills. The Army only paid around $100 or so a month. There were no water fountains at the race track, only beer and soft drinks for sale. When the beer and soft drink salesmen went past the pop corn machine, they would holler at me, “More salt, more salt.” Some nights, people’s mouths would pucker with each bite of popcorn. (1951)
The IBM maintenance engineer said that he knew to come to Ft. Monmouth, NJ, first thing Monday morning, so he could replace any burned-out fuse, and repair anything I had damaged over the weekend. I don’t think he was really kidding either. At times I learned more than I thought possible.
The only other shopping center I have seen that compares with Calcutta, India’s 2,000 stall New Market, is the much larger 4,000 stall Grand Bazaar in Istanbul, Turkey.
The SS Marine Cardinal, my Merchant Marine 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.
The U. S. Army sent me — at my suggestion, ha, ha — to a special IBM school at Ft. Benj. Harrison in Indianapolis, Indiana — just close enough to Chicago to be a problem! Most Saturday noons, an hour before I should leave, I would sneak off and catch a train to Chicago. I would telephone first, and Emmy would meet me at the station. One Sat morning on the train to Chicago, the Major said, “I see you got permission to leave early this morning, also.” I didn't tell him whose “permission,” mine! You can imagine my pride to see this Beautiful Lady — who rode a couple of busses to get to the station — rushing toward me with a beautiful beaming smile, just for me.
The worst two days of my life in the US Army, were spent as a prison guard. Terrible. Obviously I was never in a war, that would have been much worse, I am sure.
There was a Lt. Colonel, one of the officers in charge of the troops on the troop ship, SS Marine Cardinal, who was not at all liked by anyone. It seemed he just wanted to do or say anything that would show his power. This Lt. Colonel, just reached out and took a piece of cake from my tray, 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.
Two men had played in the MGM Studio Orchestra, two in the New York Symphony, one in the Firestone Symphony, one was a drummer for the Barnum and Bailey Circus, and I had played in the Cove High Band. These musicians were exceptional artists, and were happy to see that while I could play several instruments — a little — I knew that I basically filled space in the Ohio State Guard Band. I would swap instruments with the man next to me when my instrument was needed for a difficult part.
We were traveling on our way to Los Angeles to sail in the Merchant Marines. In Las Vegas Brother Johnny asked the waitress if there was some place we could rest for a few hours. She answered, “I get off at 5 o'clock.”
We had a shipload of soldiers, nurses, Red Cross ladies, and soldier’s wives on the SS Marine Cardinal, for the trip back to the USA from Calcutta. A convoy of Army trucks came speeding to the dock, the troops yelling for us not to leave. 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.
Well, to make a long story a little shorter, as you may have guessed already, sure enough, we had not driven the convoy 10 miles frm Ft. Hood before the Kid from Tenn. (who I had refused to issue a driver’s licence to) 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.
When I joined the Merchant Marine, they asked if I could swim. I had discovered that if I said no, I would have to go to a swimming class, if I sort of said yes, they let me alone. Elsewhere I told the story of hanging onto a rope out over the ocean, when there was a lifeboat drill, and as I said then, “Who cares if I can’t swim, 5,000 miles out in the Pacific Ocean.”
When Brother Johnny and I joined the Army at Altoona, PA, we 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.
When I was called back into the Army during the Korean War, at the Induction Center I met a Supervisor in an IBM Department. He said each time I was asked my job, say, “I'm an IBM man” (I knew nothing about IBM), when I met someone who did know, tell the truth. Exactly what I did at Ft. Monmouth, NJ, it worked. Given a key to the building, I spent nights and weekends learning all I could about IBM machines, before IBM computers existed.
When I was discharged from the Army in 1951, I returned to International Harvester in Melrose Park, near Chicago, IL. Using what I had learned while in the Army, I got a job on the night shift in the IBM Department, rather than on the diesel engine assembly line, where I had worked before being called back into the Army. I remember the pay as $82.50 a week, a whole two dollars an hour, a fortune in those days.
When I arrived back in San Francisco, Calif., 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.
When I joined the Army in 1946 with my brother Johnny, the recuiter drove me back to give the Farmer Kensingers a 5 minute notice and 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. Can't imagine how I forgot about Mary and her problem (sorry about that kid).
When I was discharged from the Army in New Jersey, in September 1951, we tied Ronnie's crib on the back of the 1936 Chevy and took it to brother Johnny and wife Betty's place in Spring Grove, Pennsylvania, so they could soon use it for David, who was born a few weeks later, including David’s children many years later, who knows who else. As we got closer to Chicago, Emmy was really excited. It had been the first time she had been away from “home” for such a long time and she had been homesick.
When I was in the Army the first time, they insisted that I must swim. When I would not put my face in the water, I was almost in big trouble. I solved that easily, after the first session I learned to go on sick call each time they even talked about swimming, so got away with it.
When I was stationed at Ft. Knox, KY, several times I went home for the weekend. The train went directly from Louisville, KY, to Chicago, IL, and that RR track ran right behind our garage. Maybe I changed trains at Indianapolis, but I don’t think so. The conductor was unhappy when he saw me throw something over the fence, as we were slowing to stop at Flora. I told him that was my home, and I didn’t want to carry my bag home. Of course he didn’t believe me, even after I did it on two trips, while he was there. However one time as I was returning to Ft. Knox on a Sunday PM, that very same conductor saw my Mother standing near the garage, waving goodbye. He got a big kick out of that, and now believed my earlier story.
When my ship got near Singapore on the return home from Calcutta, India, they had a problem of some kind, 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. 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.
When the ship got to Singapore the Captain tried to put the Indian Diplomats 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.
While in the Army the second time (a couple of months after being married, my poor Sweetie), all my teeth were scheduled to be pulled, and plates made. Since I didn't have enough time left on my enlistment in the Army Reserve, I shouldn’t have been inducted in the first place. Other people with the same problem were suing to get discharged. Oh my, I met Sweetie only because I was recalled to the Army.
While on our way to Los Angeles to sail in the Merchant Marine in 1946, Brother Johnny and I made a special point of driving through northern Arizona so we could visit the Grand Canyon, but found the road blocked by a huge snow storm. We did take the time to stop and enjoy a tour of the Hoover Dam.
While sailing in the Merchant Marine, we had lifeboat drills. I was told to be in the lifeboat, and while it was slowing swaying over the Pacific Ocean, someone hit the wrong button, the lifeboat dropped, but I grabbed hold of a rope. Here I was swinging out over the ocean hanging on for dear life, someone finally hit the right button and the boat rose to where I could stand. Who cared that I couldn’t swim, 5,000 miles out in the Pacific?
While stationed at Fort Monmouth, NJ in 1950, a lady I worked with told this story. This lady and her husband bought a new car, then drove to New York City to see a Broadway play. They parked in a garage, and said they would be back at midnight. At dinner they decided to forget the play and just go home. At the parking garage, they were refused their car. The police went upstairs and found their car high on a rack, the new motor being removed, an old motor that would fit, waiting to be installed.
While working in the IBM room at Ft. Monmouth, NJ, whenever the Army had the nerve to assign me some other job like KP, guard duty, or to march in a parade, the IBM Supervisor would sign any paper I prepared, telling the powers above me that I was too important for that, as I had to “IBM that day!” It worked every time, too.
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