Active Service

After six days of processing the Army put us on the train, destination unknown It was a Pullman, a sleeping car. Of course, the train also included a Dinning Car and a Lounge Car where one could smoke or buy a drink. The food was good, probably a fixed menu, served by waiters. At night, the berths were made up by the Porters. For those of you who have never traveled by Pullman, the seats, facing each other, are pulled out to make into a bed. Above that set of seats is a berth that is let down at night, known as the upper berth. To provide privacy, heavy curtains are pulled across in front of the berths. Bathrooms are located at the end of car. They were very roomy, with sinks for shaving, and possessed all the other restroom accoutrements.

After a day and half on the train, (which I enjoyed very much), we arrived at Fort Sill, Oklahoma, which was the home of the Field Artillery School.

Here we received Basic Training. It took 18 weeks, 16 in garrison, and 2 in the field.

A goodly number of classes were presented on first aid, personnel hygiene, and venereal diseases.

We were schooled on the 105mm Howitzer, its prime mover was an M5 Tractor, a full tracked vehicle. I was quick to learn the operation of the howitzer, and the different positions of the cannoneers. So, I was picked on one fire mission to fire 26 rounds as Gunner, then to move over to the # 1 position and fire 26 more rounds.

In small arms, the M-l Carbine was our individual weapon. We could field strip it and put it back together blind folded. We fired it on the range, and would pull, mark, and patch targets in the pits. I always enjoyed a day on the rifle range. It was great fun in the pits. On the firing range, we always attended to business, competing with each other for the marksmanship badges. Growing up in the country we knew about guns, we always had them around and would go out and "plink" at tin cans with the .22 Rifle, when we had a free moment.

Training was also given on machine guns, .50 Caliber, and 30 Caliber, water cooled and air cooled, plus the .45 Caliber Submachine gun, also known as the Grease Gun. We fired all of these weapons. And of course we threw the hand grenade-dummies, and live ones - fired the Bazooka, a 2.35 inch rocket launcher, which had a range of 600 yards.

We got our fair share of digging foxholes, slit trenches, and latrines. The fine art of camouflage was impressed upon us.

The Cadre were first rate people. There was no harassment of the recruits. There was no staying up until the "wee" hours of the morning "G.I.'ing" the barracks.

They were gentlemen and treated us as such. I don¹t know that we even had weekly inspections. I am sure we had inspections now and then, but getting ready for them was not the onerous task that it was in the Peace Time Army.

In 1943-44 the Army was far more interested in getting us through the training, with no accidents. It was a great time. Uncle Sam was providing me with a job, $50.00 a month, travel and education. He was also feeding, clothing, and housing me. I still believe in the Army¹s recruiting slogan of yesteryear, Travel, Education, and Career.

Of course we did have our details, like K.P., (kitchen police). This is where we helped the cooks out in the kitchen. Peeling potatoes was a big job in those days. We also washed pots and pans, trays, dishes, crockery, flatware, cleaned out grease traps and garbage cans. And anything else cook could think of to keep us occupied. I pulled K.P. on Christmas Day 1943 for a soldier that did not want to pull it. He paid me $5.00. His name was Campbell, he was from Youngstown, Ohio. They don¹t have K.P.s in today's Army. For some reason or other they hired civilians to do this job. Social engineering.

I certainly had a lot of freedom in the Army. While at home, we were kept on a "short leash". But in the Army, after two weeks into Basic Training we got a Class A Pass. This meant a soldier could go into town whenever the spirit moved him. After duty hours, of course. One of the biggest disappointments in my life at that time was a movie I went to see. It was in Lawton. It was advertised as an "Adults Only Movie". It was no different than any other movie at that time. In fact, it was second rate, with no memorable actors/actresses. For you younger readers, be advised that there were no steamy bed room scenes, nor street language in movies of that era.

After 18 weeks of Basic Training I was posted off to Camp Campbell, Kentucky, to Battery A, 275th Armored Field Artillery Battalion. Again we were moved by Pullmans. What ever happened to those wonderful trains of yesteryear, with those first rate lounge and dining cars?

I was assigned to the Machine Gun and Ammo Section, the 7th section, mode of transport, a half-track with a .50 Caliber Machine Gun in a ring mount.

We could fire at aircraft or ground targets. The primary weapons of the battery were six 105mm Howitzers mounted on a tank chassis. There maximum range was about seven miles.

For more about the 275th Arm'd FA Bn., see our home page at: http://ww.oocities.com/EnchantedForest/creek/7185/ There are pictures, and a wealth of information. See if you can identify me in the picture of Battery A.]

We trained some more at Camp Campbell, went to the Dentist for the first time in the Army. Pulled our share of KP, and latrine orderly, chased prisoners, and pulled Guard Duty. The snap detail was the prisoner chasing. How it got that name I don¹t know. Because you didn't chase anybody. You stood guard on prisoners in the stockade, who were in there for some infraction of the rules. They might be sent out to work someplace and you went with them. Oh, I suppose if he tried to get away, you would chase after him.

There were POW's at Camp Campbell but we had no interaction with them. I remember when we came back, after the war, to Camp Atterbury, Ind., that the POW's had the run of the post. They were working as carpenters, plumbers, and general handymen. There were no guards following them around.

The highlight of my time at Camp Campbell was a 15 day leave to go home. One never thought about going any other place in those days. A number of us soldiers caught a milk train out of Clarksville, Tenn. We had to ride in the baggage car to Cincinnati, Ohio. We sat on the floor, not a very comfortable ride. It was the old Louisville and Nashville RR. Are they still in business? We transferred to another road in Cincinnati, which I rode to Salem, I either hitch-hiked from there or took a bus to Lisbon. In uniform, in those days, it was easy to get a ride. Upon arriving in Lisbon, I went to South Lincoln Street where my Aunt Esther parked when she was in town, and found her car. She and Francis had gone to the movies. It was good that the car was there or I would have had about a four mile walk home.

While home, I visited at my High School and visited friends and relatives. I went to Cleveland by bus, with Aunt Esther and Elinore, they went to the opera, I went sight-seeing. Spent an over night in Kent. Went out with Elinore and her college friends at Kent State. I think we spent some time playing cards. I stayed at Uncle Howard's rooming house, he was working the night shift at a machine shop.

After returning to camp, we trained some more, then shipped out to Camp Shanks, NY. which was about thirty miles up the Hudson River from New York City. For some reason or other we knew where and when we were going. I was short of funds at the time. Where did my $50.00 a month go, you ask? It was all but mandatory that $18.75 was taken out for a War Bond, then $6.40 for Insurance, and $2.00 for laundry. No income tax or social security. In fact we were exempt from filing an income tax return. This left me a grand total of $22.85 per month. Now, to get back to my story. I called my dad, collect, and asked him to send $5.00 for the trip, which he did. As usual I had procrastinated in calling him, but the money got through in time. For some reason or other mail traveled faster in those days. Of course every passenger train had a mail car on it. Manned by U.S. Postal Clerks. They picked up and sorted mail while en route. If it was an express train, that did not stop at smaller towns, the car had a hook to grab the mail bag off a post as the train went by at speed. Passenger trains were certainly in their "hay day" during the 1940s.

Again, I have strayed from the path. We did take Pullmans from Camp Campbell to Camp Shanks, but we went in an around-about-way. Through northern Alabama, and northern Georgia before turning towards New York.

After arriving at Camp Shanks, we trained on mock ships, debarking by rope ladder, with our equipment on, pulled some KP, and went swimming. The highlight of our stay at Camp Shanks was the night in New York City. We went down by train, then caught a ferry across to the landing at West 42d Street. I still remember the ride down, and the ferry ride across. We had a soldier in the unit that was skilled on the yo-yo. He always carried one with him, he lived in Brooklyn and was explaining the Manhattan skyline to us while he played with the yo-yo. After the war he became a policeman in Brooklyn, and retired from the force. I see him at the 275th reunions now.

While in the City, I stopped at the USO, then took the subway to Coney Island, messed about there for a while, then returned to Manhattan, walked about, sight seeing, then caught the ferry and train back to Camp Shanks. New York City in those days was a clean and wholesome city. One did not see any adult book/video stores about. Of course there was no video in those days.

We left Camp Shanks by ferry on the 1st of July, 1944, for the trip down the Hudson River to board the HMS Scythia at a pier in NYC. It was a nice sunny day, and we had a crap game in progress, on the way down the river. I think I won two or three dollars. After boarding the HMS Scythia, we were posted to the dinning room, where we were quartered for the trip across the Atlantic. We slept on hammocks, which we took down during the day. You stood up to eat. It was a Limey ship, which is not politically correct today, and the food was decidedly British. They served us three minute eggs. Of course the first time this happened we thought they were hard boiled. American troops were not used to soft boiled eggs so you can imagine their chagrin when they discovered what kind of eggs they were getting. Eggs not withstanding, we survived our trip across the North Atlantic in a big convoy. Our unit pulled guard, which kept us occupied part of the time. We got so far North that we had snow in July. We had boat drills on occasion. We played cards, read books, and went top-side to watch the ocean to while away the time.

We did some training in Llanmartin, went on several marches through the countryside. The unit went north to a British Artillery Range, to fire the 155mm Howitzer, they were an older model, with box trails. As a result of that training, I was sent up there on detail, to help move the ammunition back to the storage area. We stayed for two or three days and were billeted at a British Army Post. We ate in their mess hall, of course it was different than American food, but we survived. For recreation we would go to town in the evening and go boating in a small river. They were called punts and you polled them about. Great fun.

While in Llanmartin, I dated a girl in Newport, her name was Betty Davies, (pronounced, Davis), I remember that she showed me the bombed out part of the city. Her salary, every two weeks, was about the same that I paid for my GI Insurance, $6.40. Of course things were tough over their at that time. She later corresponded with Elinore after I shipped out to France.

In the summertime in England, it didn't get dark until after 11p.m. at night and, of course, the sun came up early in the morning due to the northern latitude. It took a little bit of getting used to.

We spent six weeks in Llanmartin, then headed south to Portland. It took two days to make the journey. We had all of our equipment that we would take to France with us. The outfit stopped overnight at a small Army Post. Our beds were stacked in a corner of a building. They consisted of boards, bricks, and corn shuck ticking, we built them, and slept on them. They were better than hard ground. We had plenty of practice sleeping on that.

At Portland we spent a couple of days at a camp that overlooked the bay. I remember that there were outside sinks where one could wash up or shave.

We may well have departed Llanmartin on 31 August, but we did not arrive at Portland on 31 August. It was a two day trip. In any event, we loaded aboard an LST, (Landing Ship Tank), chained the equipment down, had some excellent U.S. Navy food while riding at anchor, in the bay. There were a great many barrage balloons floating over the port, to keep out enemy aircraft. They were anchored in the water by steel cables. We finally felt like we were in a War Zone.

It was just beginning to hit home that we might see some action in the near future. We sailed on the 5th of September and landed on Utah Beach on the 6th of September. It was a rough crossing. One could look down the companion ways of the LST and watch it flex, the sills of the hatchways would curl up then reverse themselves and straighten out. I must admit that I got seasick on that crossing, a great many other soldiers felt the same way.

We landed on Utah Beach, Normandy, ninety days after D-Day. We were thankful that we were able to drive off the L.S.T.'s without the harassment of enemy fire.

Our first night in France was rainy. I remember sleeping in a Jeep, or trying to. By the second night we had pup tents set up. Two men in a tent. We were eating "C" Rations at this time. A "C" Ration consisted of two cans, one was called a light ration, which consisted of crackers, rather thick ones, jam, or peanut butter, and a powder to make a drink. Depending on the meal, it could be coffee, cocoa, or lemonade. The other can was the main meal, in the morning it might be eggs & ham, at noon, hash of some sort, at night, beef stew. And of course some might have chicken in them. The can with the "meat and potatoes" in, you would heat if possible. One way was to immerse it in hot water. Another way was to puncture the top, and heat it over a small gasoline stove, which we carried with us in the half track. If we didn't have "C" Rations, we had "K" Rations, which was packaged differently.

It was in a small box about ten inches long, six inches wide, and about three inches thick. And, also depending upon the meal, it would contain different items. Generally, eggs, in the morning, or ham, crackers, a powdered drink of some sort, chocolate bar, or fruit bar. And cigarettes, four in a small package, with matches to light them. So much for the rations at that time.

We stayed in Normandy for a few days, then moved to Camp Coetquidon, in Brittany. It was a French Army camp dating back to Napoleon's time. There were a number of Free French Forces, and quite a lot of American Artillery units, parked under the trees. We were in reserve waiting for the call to go to the front.

We did some training, got a pass to Rennes, and hung out in the woods. Sleeping in pup tents, two shelter halves buttoned together. To make it more interesting, another set could be hooked together at the end, to make room for four men. Our mess personnel were up and running, and able to draw Class A rations and cook them for the troops. We would get marmalade in big #10 cans, and we were pestered with yellow jacket bees at meal time, trying to get to the marmalade.

We were able to get passes and go to town at night. Here we discovered the men's outdoor urinal. It was made out of steel. It was open at the bottom, it would strike a man about his knee cap, then rising about two feet, it would strike a man at the middle of his chest. It had a trough to catch the urine and a waste pipe leading into the ground. Needless to say the American Soldiers were astonished at this set up. One could be walking down the street with a girl, walk into one of these urinals, relieve himself and carry on a conversation with his date without missing a beat and think nothing of it. I have done this in later years with my wife standing outside, if not in France, then in Belgium.

We had been comfortably dug in prior to the start of the battle, with a log cabin mess hall built, so that we could get in out of the weather to eat. We had dugouts with built in bunks to sleep in, a small wood stove and lighting. We could clean our weapons, write letters, play cards, read, or whatever. We would hear the occasional V-1, (German Buzz Bomb), fly over on its way into Belgium. I would hear them, but never saw them until one day, I heard one coming, looked up, saw it, it had an altitude of about 300 meters to my left front. Just as I spotted the buzz bomb one of our 105mm Howitzers fired a round. The V-1 rolled onto to its side and plunged down into the woods back of our position and exploded. The Battery personnel were all excited about that. A number of us went down into the woods and poked around among the crash site, and probably picked up some remnants of the V-1. Little did I realize at the time that some time in the future I would be involved with guided missiles in the American Army.

In any event, when the German Army uprooted us from our comfortable digs (we had been in them for about six weeks) we became very mobile. We seldom stayed more than two or three days in one place. We slept in barns on hay or abandoned slit trenches, that someone else had dug. Read, Infantry. Sometimes we slept in houses. At Hinderhausen, we received small arms fire from the enemy while eating supper in a barnyard. The first sergeant took about 10 of us boys in the seventh section out on patrol to see if we could see anything. It was getting dark, we didn't see anything, and we didn¹t stay too long. I might add that this was where Battery C got shot up. Five men were killed, and several wounded, before the Germans were driven off.
[Please see the 275th's Home Page for a list of all the men killed and wounded during World War II. The address is: http://www.oocities.org/EnchantedForest/creek/7185/ Beside the memorial, there is a wealth of information on this site.]

Now, back to our activities. We fired a lot of 105mm projectiles at the enemy. If you are firing ammunition someone has to carry it to the guns. That is what I, and my compatriots in the seventh section did. While not on perimeter guard, when the ammo trucks came in, we carried ammo to the guns. In any kind of weather, day or night. The weight of each round was about 50 pounds. If they were packed two to a wooden box, it would be somewhat over a 100 pounds. Since it was winter, and a cold one at that, we weren¹t sloshing about in the mud carrying ammo like our fellow artillerymen of The World War.

Here, I will digress a moment. After the war, I went to work at Ravenna Arsenal, and encountered a man that had been an artilleryman in France during The World War. He had been in a 155mm outfit. He had to carry ammunition through streams that were knee high. The 155mm projectile alone weighed 95 pounds. I have always admired the soldiers of that early war. They had so many more hardships to put up with than we did. My father-in-law, Lloyd C. Gardner, was wounded and captured at the Second Battle of the Marne, taken to Poland, where he worked on a farm until the Armistice was signed. He ate a lot of cabbage soup while a POW.

During our moving about in The Bulge, I did get a little break. It was late December, we were sleeping outside. I had found an Infantry man's slit trench to use. I got laryngitis and couldn¹t talk above a whisper. The medics sent me to Spa. The Battalion had a house there where they could put up soldiers who had a minor illness, it was staffed with a cook or two, and a medic. There were sheets on the bed, food was good, it was warm, one could lay back in a warm tub and relax, there was no guard duty to worry about. After about three days I found myself back at Battery A, recovered from the laryngitis. (I have been back to Spa, Belgium, in the 1980's and 90's, trying to find that house, but didn't have any luck.)

The Belgique folk were very friendly towards us, and still are today, especially the older ones. They have collected up all the old World War II vehicles, American, have them running and keep them painted up in their original colors, and hold parades with them. With a person dressed up as General Patton riding around in a Command Car liberating a city in Belgium, or France.

In one village we stayed in houses. The meal that evening was spaghetti, served by the cooks out of the back of a 6X6 GMC Truck. We had just pulled into the village, after a day on the road. The spaghetti was probably the first hot meal that day and it tasted good. Afterwards we went to a little store and bought ice cream cones. It was wonderful. Before we went to bed that night, a crap game was started. I was probably in it, if I had any money. It was in full swing when the Battery Commander came in and confiscated the money in the pot and chewed us out for gambling. That was a first for me, nobody had ever said gambling was taboo.

This was the village that we saw a number of dead American Aviators. Their B-17 had been shot down. They were lying among the wreckage. I have not mentioned the dead we saw during the war. They were military, Americans and Germans, many died during the Bulge, not so many afterwards.

After the campaign in The Ardennes, (Battle of the Bulge), was over, in late January, 1945, the 275th moved into Germany. Our route was through Aachen and Duren, and the Roer Pocket. We did quite a bit of night firing in this area. We stayed busy moving ammunition up to the guns. The weather had warmed up and we were getting rain in this area. We had no idea that the National Treasure was in Aachen, or that Charlemagne's Throne was located there. We knew of Charlemagne from our High School European History Course. In any event, today, there is a fine National Museum in Aachen, we recommend a visit.

As the German Army started to crumble we moved quite rapidly down the highways deeper into Germany. At the end of day, we would pull just off the highway into a field. Set up our perimeter guard. Of course the field belonged to a farm. So we would go to the farm and gather the eggs, get a nice chicken or two, grab a wheelbarrow and a bale of straw or hay. Pick up a nice cured ham or shoulder, if there was one hanging in the rafters. Then we would take our supplies back to the half-track. By the time we got back, there would be a fire going, and some one would have started to dig a dugout for us. We would go down about two feet, and make it about eight foot square. Into this hole would go the straw and over top of it we would rig a tarp. It made a nice place to sleep, and gave us some protection, from counter battery fire, or a counter attack. In getting our rations from the farms I don¹t ever remember seeing any one about. We were lucky to have a cook in our section. The first cook, a T-4 Tolley, had some sort of fracas with the Mess Sergeant, and been reduced to Pvt. and sent to our section. He took care of killing and dressing the chickens. He would dry pluck them. I had never seen that done before. At home, we soaked them in hot water, then picked the feathers off. As kids we had plenty of experience doing that. (At Canons Mills we sold fresh dressed chickens to the townspeople of East Liverpool.)

By mid-March, we had progressed to the western bank of the Rhine River, and went into quarters there. Civilian housing, in fact, whenever the unit stopped for three or four days, it was generally in a town, and we stayed in houses.

While we were waiting to cross the Rhine, our perimeters were set up, and the half tracks were posted there. Someone stood guard, twenty four hours a day, two at night and one in the day-time. The terrain was very flat, and there was a German 88mm, that had been destroyed, located about fifteen yards from the half track. One nice sunny afternoon, while I was on guard at the half-track, walking about, minding my own business, a shell went off, about fifteen hundreds yards in front of me, throwing dirt and dust in the air.

As you may well imagine, it got my attention. I immediately grabbed the pick mattock that we carried with us, and started to dig. Unfortunately, the ground was rock hard. The pick mattock would not make a dent in the ground. Of course by that time another round had come somewhat closer. Well, I watched another one come closer, and weighed my options. I couldn't desert my post, that would warrant a court martial. So, I crawled under the half track. I thought, it will provide me some protection, unless it takes a direct hit. Well, the enemy fired another round, which was closer than the other ones, and as usual it threw up a lot of dirt and dust. Then they quit firing. I figured they quit because they thought they had destroyed the target, or they ran out of ammunition. I was happy that they stopped.

This was the same place I remember getting sick on chocolate. All the soldiers got "free rations". Once a week we would get, seven packs of cigarettes, seven tropical Hershey bars, other jellied candies, and toilet articles, soap, razors, etc. The smokers were always waiting for the non-smokers. They would trade there candy for the smokes, which might be Lucky Strikes, Camels, or Chesterfields. They were the most popular cigarettes of the day. And, today, can you imagine that the Federal Government is suing the tobacco companies, and that cigarettes have become such a pariah? How the world has changed. And not for the better. I became a smoker after the war, it was "smart" to smoke, but quit after eleven years. I came down with asthma at the age of thirty-two. The medics at Walter Reed Army Hospital declared that my big allergy was tobacco, and that I must stop smoking. I did. About six months later I tried a cigarette, it tasted so bad I wondered why I had ever started smoking in the first place.

Back to the candy. The tropical Hershey was made so that it wouldn't melt in the tropics. It was a small thick bar. Pure chocolate. Who knows how many fat calories there were in one of them. They were good and rich. I don't remember how many I ate that afternoon, but it was enough that I got sick.

We crossed the Rhine on the 25th of March, by the way of a pontoon bridge. It was a foggy morning and there were soldiers standing in the boats, with their M-1's, firing at anything that was floating downstream toward the pontoon bridge. They were concerned that the enemy might be floating explosives down to blow up the bridge. As a note of interest, the 82d Airborne Division moved into our position, when we departed.

After crossing the Rhine I had one more close call. We had moved into a small village, and found a wounded German Soldier there. All of the other enemy soldiers had gotten out of there. We rounded up the medics and got him taken care of. I needed to go to the latrine, so I grabbed my shovel, a little entrenching tool, and headed down towards the woods. When I got close to my destination, an enemy round came in, landing in a ditch about fifteen yards away from me. The concussion from the explosion picked me up, and spun me around in the air. Landing on my feet, I noticed that I had been turned 180 degrees. That, was a close call. When I got back to the battery area one of my friends was surprised to see me.

Our last fire mission was on Blankenberg, Germany, where another Armored Field Artillery Battalion, the 399th, and our battalion, put a one minute concentration of fire on the center of town. After that, the town surrendered. See page 175, Caissons Across Europe, by Richard M. Hardison. The date was 20 April 1945.

The war in Europe ended, the Peace Treaty was signed in Rheims, France on May 7, 1945. By that time our Battalion had been on occupation duty near the Harz Mountains for about two weeks. We were not too far from Gottingen.

Occupation duty consisted of detachments set up in villages, to make sure that the Germans observed curfew. We would set up the odd road block, I was out on road block one time and a motorcar came by, I stopped him and asked him for his papers, speaking in German, he flashed something at me and I let him go. Of course I had no idea what was on the paper. But that was our instructions, if they had a paper to show - let them pass. While out in the villages, we would barter cigarettes for eggs, and other things. Cigarettes were the coin of the realm. And chocolate wasn't far behind. Life was good on occupation duty, we would see a movie once in a while. A few soldiers got passes to Paris. Nobody was shooting at us. And, most importantly, we were accumulating points to get discharged.

By June 13th, we had turned in all of our equipment, loaded ourselves onto six by six trucks to start the journey back to the USA. Sitting on wooden seats in the back of a truck is not the most comfortable way to cross most of Germany, Belgium, and France. It took us three days. We went through Cologne, where we saw the devastation of war in a big city. It was in ruins, The Dom, (Cathedral), was still standing, but only the shell. However, when we got to Belgium, in the bigger cities, you couldn't tell that there had been a war. The shop windows were filled with all sorts of goods, to include their famous Belgique sporting arms, rifles and shotguns.

At last we arrived at Camp Lucky Strike, at St. Valery, just outside the port city of Le Havre, France. It was a big camp, there were several others in the area, all named after cigarette brands. They were all filling up with American Soldiers returning to the states. Here I ran into one of our sister battalions, the 276th AFA Bn. Several friends of mine from basic training had been assigned to it at Camp Campbell, so I went over to talk with them. I found out that one of my best friends had been killed during the war. His battery was receiving counter battery fire. He had been standing behind the M-7, and stepped out from behind it to see what was going on, and was killed by the next explosion. His name was Arambula, he was from Oklahoma. As you can imagine I was quite upset. If I could have found any Germans, I would have killed them.

We stayed at Camp Lucky Strike until the 24th of June when we sailed out of Le Havre for Boston. Standing on the dock on the morning of our departure, we were handed US Custom Tags, to fill out and put on our duffel bags. We filled them out, tied them to the bags, but no one inspected them, at any time. I have often said, if I could have gotten Germany in my bag, I could have brought it back to the states. Who knows what all came back in those duffel bags.

We sailed on the tide and spent nine days in crossing to Boston on the Santa Maria. It was a pleasant voyage. Two meals a day of American food, prepared by the crew. We did pull a little KP, but it wasn't difficult. Another GI and I ran the China Clipper ( a dishwasher). There was plenty of Ice Cream and half-pints of milk. The milk was frozen, when it thawed we thought it was great. Powdered milk had a terrible taste during that time period and that was all we got overseas. We appreciated the fresh milk, even if it was frozen. I think we had quite a few steaks on the crossing too.

We arrived at Camps Miles Standish in Boston on July 3, 1945. We had a fine welcome in Boston Harbor, with fire boats putting on a nice display with their water nozzles shooting water high into the air. And, of course there was the Army Band to welcome us. The day was bright and sunny. (I remember coming back from Korea in early January of 1952, standing in the rain, tied up at a dock in San Francisco, listening to a Band play, waiting with impatience to get off the ship, so that I could call my lovely wife and son, who I hadn't seen in over eighteen months.)

We got off the ship and took the train to Camp Miles Standish, it wasn't far. We had a good meal that evening. We had a PX to visit. We had a bit of an orientation. There were WAC's on the base, but we were separated from them by a fence. We were warned not to talk to them, because they would take "advantage" of us. In any event I don't know how many of our troops talked to them, I didn't.

The next morning, the 4th of July, we boarded day coaches headed for Camp Atterbury, Ind. It was an overnight trip, it was more comfortable than riding trucks. There was no air-conditioning in those day coaches, so the windows would be down, and sometimes smoke and cinders would come in. These are steamers that are pulling the trains. Very romantic but not clean. By the time we got to Camp Atterbury, we were ready for a change of clothes. We spent a day processing out, getting leave papers, and paid, then we were on our way home, for a thirty day recuperation leave.

On January 4, 1946, the Army of the United States issued me an Honorable Discharge at Fort Leavenworth, Kansas. I had accumulated enough points to get discharged, 54.

Of course, I am getting a bit ahead of this story and I must go back and bring you up to date.

During my thirty days leave, I spent most of it in Edinburgh, Ohio. My Aunt Esther and family had moved up there from Lisbon. Uncle Howard, and Francis in the summertime were in Defense work, Aunt Esther was teaching school at Palmarya. Granddad was minding the farm, they were living on a twenty-five acre place. Keeping chickens and bees. And in the summertime, a garden. Edinburgh is situated halfway between Akron and Youngstown, about 25 miles to either place.

I did get down to East Liverpool to see my dad and friends. And to pick up my War Bonds that I had been sending my dad. I immediately cashed them and bought a 1936 Four Door Ford V-8. I didn't know much about driving, nor about buying cars. I bought it in East End, it was my first car. Used cars were hard to come by at that time. There were no new cars on the market. All automobile plants were making war machinery. In any event, the 1936 Ford had a three speed transmission and a clutch to manipulate in changing gears, and it was a mechanical clutch, not a hydraulic one. Plus, it had mechanical brakes. Those brakes are nothing like our hydraulic brakes, with power assist, that we have on automobiles today. With mechanical brakes it takes a long time to stop. What I didn't know about the car was that it had a cracked cylinder wall. Which allowed water to drip down through the cylinder onto the crankshaft. Overtime, this would cause the bearing to go out. Which it did, several times during that thirty day leave.

In any event, I started off for Edinburgh stopping at Lisbon to buy a license for the car. I didn't have a drivers license at that time. Nobody asked me for one. In Ravenna they gave me Ration Stamps for Gasoline, I have forgotten how many gallons I got, but it was enough.

Francis and I were double dating a couple of local girls. We would take them Roller Skating at Lake Milton and to Idora Park in Youngstown. One night I took Wanda to Euclid Beach Park in Cleveland, which was about sixty or so miles from Edinburgh. On the way back the bearing on the Ford went out. And when that happens, the engine stops. Anyway, it was late at night, but we were lucky. We were between Ravenna and Edinburgh and some one came along and took us the rest of the way home.

I spent several hours, and a number of dollars, that summer at Royers Garage in Edinburgh, working on that 1936 Ford. The mechanics were busy repairing cars, so they had me do the preliminary work, like dropping the wishbone, and taking the oil pan off, to expose the crankshaft. Then, Dutch, would replace the bearing. I would put the engine back together. That bearing went out at least three times that summer. Automobiles have been the bane of my existence, but that is an entirely different story, not to be gotten into here.

After the leave, I reported back to Camp Atterbury, Indiana, and from there to Camp Bowie, Texas. Transportation was by rail, what ever happened to those wonderful trains? Was the public seduced by the auto and oil interests? I think so.

In any event, the 275th AFA BN., drew new equipment at Camp Bowie, and were getting ready to go to the Pacific Theater of Operations when the war ended. The Atomic Bombs were dropped which brought a speedy close to the war. Our unit was disbanded, I and a number of my comrades were shipped to Fort Leavenworth, Kansas, to await discharge. During my time at Fort Leavenworth I operated the Check Room. The post was the discharge point for soldiers who lived in that part of Mid America. So, soldiers needing a secure place to store their valuables would turn them into the Check Room. It was one of the Cadre Rooms in the Supply Room. It had a set of bunk beds where two of us slept. And pigeon holes for storage of material. I worked the day shift, and my partner worked the evening shift. He was a married man who worked downtown during the days, sweeping out city buses, earning extra money to send home to his family.

The troops would bring all sorts of things to the Check Room. Cash, Money Orders, Whiskey, Rifles, Pistols, Swords, Knives, and other souvenirs. One soldier had $3,000.00 in Money Orders, which was a lot of money in those days. Consider, I paid $210.00 for the 1936 Ford. We also received a valise full of pint bottles of whiskey. We would give our customers a ticket for their goods, when they received their separation papers they would bring the ticket back to us, to claim their material. It was a great job, one of the better ones that I have had. I was not on any duty roster, and my evenings were free. There were good movies on post. Kiss and Tell, with Shirley Temple, was one of them. Why I remember that one, I don't know. When we went to the movies in those days, we were in Class "A" Uniform. Which meant dressed up, to include tie and headgear. If you went off post, you were in Class "A's". (I have had a long association with the U. S. Army, and other branches of service. I must say over time, the dress code, and other aspects of the Army has deteriorated to a considerable degree. In other words, in today's Army, you can "let it all hang out," and go to the movies however you please.)

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