Grandpa's Memories of World War II, Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8
MY FINAL YEAR

With the victory in Europe, a point system was instituted to provide for an orderly system for discharging Army personnel. Each individual was given points based on length of service, time spent overseas, battle engagements, etc. This meant each person's points increased monthly. An initial point level was set, and men with more than that number of points became eligible for discharge. As time went on, the point level was reduced to permit more men to be discharged. After the surrender of Germany, some men began to reach the designated point level, and our work in the Separation Center began to increase. Because of this, we began to acquire more personnel in anticipation of the increased work load - especially since the surrender of Japan became more imminent.

At the same time, the work load in the other parts of our Personnel Center (Reception Center and Reception Station) began to decrease as the induction rate was reduced. Because of this, some of us who were not directly involved in the Separation Center were allowed to take a day off work occasionally for our own personal recreation. One day we visited the Brookfield Zoo in Chicago, and on other days we were able to go on a picnic or spend some time at the beach on Lake Michigan. We were even able to purchase some used tires at the post garage which made our trips feel a little more secure.

Through the battles at Iwo Jima and Okinawa, Japan was gradually being driven closer back to her own islands. It was on August 6, 1945, that the world was amazed by the announcement that the first atomic bomb was dropped on Hiroshima. Later estimates placed the number of casualties at 70,000. Three days later, the second atomic bomb was dropped on Nagasaki, and, on August 14, 1945, Japan officially surrendered. We were playing softball on the post that evening when word of the end of the war arrived. Everyone was immediately restricted to the post. The celebration in Chicago lasted all that night and the next day, and Post Headquarters was afraid, if soldiers went into Chicago, they might not be back for duty for several days. It was certainly the greatest news that we had heard. World War II was finished.

With the end of the war, our Separation Center was thrown into high gear. Additional personnel were assigned to us from other posts, but these people had to be trained in the proper procedures. Perhaps our biggest problem was housing for the troops.  When train loads of men would arrive from the east and west coasts at the same time, we didn't have sufficient barracks to house them. Sometimes we would give 3-day passes to those who lived in the Chicago area, hoping that, when they returned, we could find a place for them until they could be processed. Some of the people in the Separation Center were working 10- or 12-hour days.

During the fall, as the points needed for discharge began to come down more rapidly, it became apparent that my time for departure was approaching. As some of those with whom I had   served were discharged the reality began to strike that there was going to be a total break-up of the close relationships that had developed over the past years. I still look back at some of those people: Col. Eldon Stenjem, our Commanding Officer; Major Raymond Finley from Flint for whom I worked at various times; Major William Duvel, the Adjutant who was my immediate superior; Sergeants Lester Hummel and Sidney Grenkowitz with whom I had worked most of my Army career; and Gwen Warner, my very capable civilian secretary.

Finally, my turn for separation arrived. I reported to the Separation Center on the afternoon of Saturday, January 5, 1946, and began my processing the next morning. Around noon on Monday, January 7, 1946, I was handed that piece of paper for which I had been waiting 3 years, 7 months and 28 days.

We had already taken care of the paperwork to clear our house with the Quartermaster Office. The morning after my discharge, a man from the Quartermaster arrived, along with a German prisoner-of-war, to pack our dishes into barrels. We waited until the truck arrived to pick up our furniture and household belongings, which were to be shipped home to us by freight. Shortly before lunch, we got into our car, passed the gate at the entrance to Fort Sheridan, and were on our way to Michigan. My Army career was over!

In retrospect, my time in the service had been a great experience. My professional career had been greatly advanced through the responsibilities that had been thrust upon me. Beth and I had matured tremendously because of living many miles from our homes, and we had to become self-reliant. We had also grown in the Lord as we learned how many times He had met our needs and demonstrated His grace to us. It was an experience I would not trade for a million dollars, but which I would not care to repeat for all the money in the world.

Postscript: All but the last chapter of this account was written during my time in the service. The last chapter was written about 50 years later from the best recollections I have.

Grandpa's Memories of World War II, Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7
MY THIRD YEAR

It was very shortly after the beginning of my third year that my wife and I were blessed with the addition to the family. It was 2:00 A.M. on June 18, 1944, that I took her to the hospital in Highland Park, and, at 8:05 A.M. we were the parents of a fine baby girl. We had had the name selected for a long time, and so we lost no time affixing the title of "Nancy Beth." She was strictly an Army baby for all the pre-natal care had been performed at the Station Hospital at Fort Sheridan, and the final delivery was performed by Capt. Trudeau. She weighed in at 6 lbs., 15 1/2 oz. Everything went along fine, and, at the end of the usual hospitalization period, my wife returned home with the little "queen" and we were on our own again. My wife's mother and sister-in-law came down to visit us and spent a few days helping out until my wife was once more able to handle the house work by herself. Now there were three in our family instead of two, for we now had a little native of Illinois to live with us.

During the summer of 1944, our recreation again consisted of playing softball. This time, however, our team was not so fortunate, and the completion of the season found our team around the middle of the standings. We did have a good deal of fun from it, however, and a wealth of good exercise. Also, late in the summer, I had the opportunity of again sharpening my shooting eye with the rifle when I entered the Post Rifle Team match, but I soon found that wearing glasses was too great a handicap when the shooting competition became really keen. So about all I acquired from the rifle match was a sore shoulder and a ringing in my ears.

During my third year, our organization underwent a terrific transformation. Up until the spring of 1944, we had been operating almost entirely as a Reception Center, processing newly inducted men into the Army. In the spring, however, we were given the added title of a Reception Station and began processing men returned from overseas. This increased our activities a great deal and presented innumerable problems new to all of us. Then, in the middle of the summer of 1944, we began the organization of a pilot Separation Center to study the problems of the mass separation of military personnel. Ours was one of the first five activated  in the United States; all of which were used for experimental purposes in order to be prepared for the giant exodus of personnel which was to come when the hostilities ceased. Gradually, the volume of work in the Separation Center increased until, by the end of my third year, it took its place as an equal with the Reception Center and Reception Station. Naturally, many hours of work and study had  to be expended to learn and perfect the many phases of processing required to properly separate a man from the service of his country.

Christmas, 1944, was the first one we were compelled to spend away from home. Each year before, we had been able to be with our families while I was on a furlough, but this time it was out of the question. However, my folks drove down to spend that holiday with us, so we enjoyed ourselves here instead of at home in Michigan.

In March, we received our greatest sorrow and also one of the best surprises of our life. The pressure was again on for men overseas, and everyone had to be reexamined and all who were qualified physically for overseas duty were to be shipped there as soon as possible. When I went through the medical line, I was found qualified for limited service overseas, and I thought my days here were definitely numbered. Arrangements were even made for me to take a furlough in order that I could move my family back to Michigan, and then I was scheduled for immediate transfer to an overseas station. However, a week or two before my furlough was to begin, all the medical records were rechecked, and I was reclassified as unfit for overseas service. Needless to say, many hours had been spent on our knees before the Lord asking Him to keep us together here if it was according to His will. Once again, He had seen us through and answered our prayers. It was only one example of the many times that the Lord has interceded in our behalf and blessed us in a way that only He can. That was one furlough that we were very happy not to be able to take.

The anniversary of my third year in the Army was celebrated by another great happening. It was on May 7, 1945, that Germany officially surrendered, and the war in Europe was brought to a successful completion. We were on furlough back in Michigan at the time, and, naturally, such an occasion as this caused a great deal of happiness for it meant that only one other enemy was left for us to defeat before we could all go home to stay.

Thus, the third year of my Army career came to a close with things definitely looking forward to the time, in the near future, when we could lay aside our drab uniforms and once again don the bright colors of civilian life. This third year had been mainly a period of learning for everyone in our organization as we progressed gradually from a Reception Center to a Reception Station and finally to a War Department Personnel Center composed of these two units plus a Separation Center. We were looking forward to a period of the most feverish activity as the mass separation was about to get under way following the closing of the war.

Chapter 8 →

Grandpa's Memories of World War II, Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6
MY SECOND YEAR

As I stated in the preceding chapter, I had just been assigned the job of Personnel Sergeant Major prior to the beginning of my second year. This promotion gave me a great deal of satisfaction, because it gave me an excellent opportunity to obtain a more thorough knowledge of all types of Army personnel work, and provided a chance to rise to the top as an enlisted man. This had always been my aim because I did not then have, or since get, any desire to join that self-appointed "super race" known as officers.

In my new job, I worked hand in hand with the Personnel Adjutant to make certain the plans and policies, which we together formulated, were carried out in the Personnel Office. Our office was divided into four subordinate sections known as the Stenographic Section, which did all the general typing work; the Morning Report Section under the direction of Sgt. Grenkowitz, the work of which I have described earlier; the Records Section under the guidance of Sgt. Hummel, which maintained all the personnel records of the men assigned to the Reception Center; and the Payroll Section supervised by Sgt. Stensland, that had the job of handling all the financial matters of our organization. It was my primary job to so coordinate the activities of these various sections to obtain the maximum efficiency within our office.

I had a good deal to learn before I completely mastered my job because, hitherto, I had been concerned with only one of these activities; that of handling Morning Reports. I had the good fortune to have such a splendid officer as Lieut. Finley with whom to work. He was one of the finest gentlemen with whom I have ever had the privilege of laboring either in civilian or military life. He was extremely courteous and long-suffering in teaching me the tricks of this new undertaking, and he always displayed a sense of humor that made the job a pleasure even when it seemed that I would never be able to fully comprehend all the facts I had to know in order to handle the job in a commendable manner. I have always been grateful to him for thus aiding me in acquiring a more thorough knowledge of Army administration.

I worked pretty hard from May to August in order to accumulate these facts, but I was rewarded on August 24, 1943, by the promotion to the grade of Technical Sergeant. I was getting into the upper brackets of enlisted grades, which made each promotion even more valuable, and this one placed me just one step away from the highest grade possible for enlisted personnel. Naturally, both my wife and I were elated at this good news. The Lord was continuing to be so good to both of us.

As has been previously stated, the start of my second year in the Army also saw my wife and I living together once more as a family should live. The Houvener family, from whom we rented our two-room apartment, lived in the remainder of the house. The family was composed of Mr. and Mrs. Houvener; Linnea, a girl of about 20; and Jerry, an up and coming young fellow of about 12 years. It was a wonderful Christian atmosphere in which to live, and one couldn't help but be happy under such circumstances. The beautiful companionship which my wife enjoyed with Mrs. Houvener helped immensely to overcome the sense of loneliness which could have so easily overtaken her on this movement to a strange city, where every person was a stranger. I'm sure neither of us will ever forget the wonderful times we had with them; playing games in the evening, having weiner roasts in the back yard, attending church with them, spending the week-end at their cottage, or just spending a quiet evening discussing the wonderful blessings which were ours through the Lord Jesus Christ. It certainly did much to renew my love for the Lord after having spent the previous year in the companionship of a godless group of soldiers.

While living in Battle Creek, we attended the Gospel Center, which I would vote one of the finest churches it has ever been my privilege to fellowship with. It was a non-denominational church under the pastorate of Rev. S. J. McCarrell, one of the best fundamental preachers and leaders with whom I have associated. Every service, whether it was Sunday School, Young People's Meetings or evangelistic service, was to the honor and glory of our Lord. It was a church which welcomed active participation in the services by members of the congregation, and I had a number of opportunities to help in the radio services and young peoples' meetings. Probably the greatest opportunity I received was preaching in their county jail service at Marshall, Michigan, where I had the privilege of leading one of the inmates to Christ. It was like a breath of fresh air to be on active duty for my Lord once again.

During the period of time we were living in Battle Creek, we had a number of opportunities to visit our families back home. It is four miles from Battle Creek to Fort Custer, which necessitated my driving to and from work, which consequently enabled me to receive additional gasoline rationing coupons. By careful planning and economical utilization of the available gasoline, we were able to visit home about once a month. In addition, our families, by careful conservation, were able to visit us on many occasions. This made our stay at Battle Creek less like being far from home.

Our outdoor recreation that summer consisted of participating in a softball league composed of teams representing various organizations within the Reception Center. We played on an average of two or three nights a week; usually under the lights. As a result of our playing prowess, or perhaps due to the weakness of the other teams, the team for which yours truly was the catcher managed to win the championship.

Everything at the office continued on an even keel until September, when a rumor began making the rounds to the effect that, before many weeks passed, our Reception Center would be moved to Fort Sheridan, Illinois. At first, there seemed to be little basis for such speculation, but, by mid-October, it had advanced from the rumor stage to an official fact that on November 1st the transfer would be made. To further complicate matters, I was selected to go with an advanced party of officers and men to act as Sergeant Major of our organization at Fort Sheridan until the entire unit could be moved to that camp. This meant that I must move my wife and our few belongings back home as soon as possible.  This we accomplished over the week-end prior to the date on which I was to leave. 

It was about 10:00 A.M. on October 24, 1943, that our little group boarded the train and bade farewell to Fort Custer. At 7:00 P.M. that evening, our train rolled onto the siding at Fort Sheridan. After a much needed supper, we set up enough bunks for our immediate use and went to bed to get some welcome sleep.

The next day, we had an opportunity to look over the post, and we found there was a good deal of difference between Fort Custer and Fort Sheridan. Fort Custer was a temporary camp composed almost entirely of wooden structures built during the mobilization program. In fact, there was only one permanent brick building in the entire area. Fort Sheridan, on the other hand, was over 50 years old and contained a large number of brick structures, with here and there a few areas of temporary barracks. It is situated on the shores of Lake Michigan, approximately 30 miles north of Chicago. From the window in the building which was to be our office, one could see right over the blue waters of the lake. Even at this time of the year, it was easy to see that this was a beautiful post, for here and there flowers were still blooming, and the spacious parade grounds were still carpeted with green grass. It was readily apparent that Fort Sheridan was a good place to be stationed.

My first thought concerned finding a place where my wife and I could be together once again. Before leaving Fort Custer, we had learned that there were a small number of houses located on the post for both officers and enlisted men, and a few of us had already forwarded our applications. Imagine my amazement that first day, while going over the mail which had already accumulated, to find an order assigning me to one of those houses. The following week-end, I secured a pass and went home for my wife. Again the Lord had so graciously provided for us.

Our first couple of weeks here at Fort Sheridan were busy ones. Every building in our area was dirty and needed a thorough renovation. Everyone put in long and hard  hours those first days getting everything ready for our first group of recruits due to arrive on November 1st. However, things progressed favorable, and, by the end of November, we were processing about 900 men daily. As soon as all of our personnel had arrived, M/Sgt. Smith, who had formerly been Sergeant Major at Camp Grant, took over that job here and I reverted to my old job of Personnel Sergeant Major.

Things went along smoothly until the spring of 1944, when everyone was reclassified as to physical standards, and all who were qualified were slated for overseas service. For a period of time, it seemed certain that I was one of those destined to leave this country, but we took the matter to the Lord in prayer, and He interceded for us. I was disqualified for overseas service.

When the transfer orders came out, it pretty well cleaned us out of our older men who were veterans at their particular jobs, which meant we had to do some rapid training. Sgt. Arnold, who had  been our First Sergeant of Headquarters Company for the preceding year or so, was one of those sent out, which left a gaping hole in that organization. After a good deal of deliberation, the "powers that be" decided to shift M/Sgt. Smith, our Sergeant Major, over to that job and move me up to his job. So, in March, 1944, I turned my job over to Sgt. Hummel and became the Sergeant Major of the Reception Center, which is the most important job an enlisted man can hold in any organization.

The Sergeant Major is the top non-commissioned officer in a unit and is responsible for carrying out all plans and policies turned over to him by the Commanding Officer and the Adjutant. When he gives an order, he speaks for them, and his directions are respected accordingly. In addition to having a complete knowledge of Army administration, he should also be thoroughly familiar with all the activities carried on within the unit. Fortunately, my previous positions had pretty well qualified me for this promotion. I had worked hand in hand with M/Sgt. Smith on many occasions, and I didn't have too much difficulty in filling his shoes.

On May 19, 1944, I received my last promotion; to the grade of Master Sergeant. At the end of my second year as a soldier, I reached the top rung as an enlisted man. In many respects, they had been two years of hard work, but that was well compensated for by this final step up the ladder. At last I had achieved the goal at which I had been aiming all this time. When I looked back over those previous two years, all I could do was to thank God for every provision He had made for us. He had done so much more for us than we could ever hope to deserve. As I stopped to meditate, I couldn't help but think, "If only our faithfulness could approach that of His!"

Chapter 7 →

Grandpa's Memories of World War II, Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5
MY FIRST YEAR

My Army career consisted of three and a fraction years. Therefore, I decided to devote one chapter to each of the years; the final chapter being climaxed by a brief description of my discharge from the service. This chapter is concerned with the first year from May, 1942, to May, 1943.

My first job was that of a typist working with two swell corporals named Phil Dorman and Frank Roggero. It was here that I received my first initiation into military correspondence and reports, and I've always been thankful that I had two such competent stenographers with whom to work in order that I might become so well grounded in these fundamentals of Army administration. At first, I had a good deal of difficulty becoming accustomed to the difference between civilian and military letter writing, etc., but, after a few weeks these fellows helped me erase most of my problems, and I had a good start to being a real Army clerk.

As I was nearing the finish of my basic training, Corporal Radke, who was one of the Morning Report Clerks, heard that his application for Officer Candidate School was about to be accepted, and he was looking for someone to train for his job. After asking two or three of the older fellows who seemed disinterested in the job, he finally turned to me.

Now, I don't mind being a typist. In fact, I rather enjoy it. However, I had no intention of remaining one for the remainder of my Army career if an opportunity came along for something a little better. Therefore, I jumped at the chance, and I never regretted it afterward , for it proved a stepping-stone to better things ahead.

A Morning Report is a personnel accounting instrument peculiar to the Army, which is used as a daily report of all personnel transactions within a Company or similar organization. As the name indicates, it is submitted each morning to the regimental or corresponding headquarters for compilation of strength reports, etc. In one section, it contains the written report of all the happenings within the organization, such as the names of men assigned or transferred out to other places; men sent to the hospital; gone AWOL, etc. In another section was a table showing the personnel status of the organization by number as of midnight the date of the report. It showed the number of men of each grade present for duty, the number sick in the hospital, the number AWOL, etc. My primary job was to audit the report to make certain the transactions contained in the first section accounted for the difference between the figures shown the previous day and those shown in the second section of that day's report. After their accuracy had been proved, or proper corrections made, it was our job to make a report indicating the consolidated strength of our entire organization as compiled from the reports of our various units. There were a number of odd jobs connection with this procedure, but that was our primary function. I spent two or three weeks with Corporal Radke and then the orders came for him to go to school, and I was on my own.

Since Fort Custer was only 100 miles from my home near Flint, I naturally seized upon every opportunity to get home as often as possible. Fortunately, I did not dispose of my car when I came into the service, so, before I had completed my basic training, I had my car at the camp, and each week-end saw me making the trek home. That single feature made that period of my Army career much easier to bear, and I have never ceased to thank God for providing for me in this wonderful way. That fall, gasoline rationing came along, and it was necessary for me to leave the car at home and ride the bus between Battle Creek and Flint, but it was more than worth sitting through that tedious four-hour ride every week-end in order to spend it with my wife and family. In this way, the Lord was exceedingly good to me during this first year.

By the time I had completed my basic training, I was ready to take over my job in the Morning Report Section, and, when Corporal Radke left a week or two later, I was on my own. In August, about a week after I had finished the training, Lieut. Finley, the Personnel Adjutant for whom I worked, called me over and informed me I was being promoted to a Private First Class. That really put me on top of the world. I shall never forget the day that order came out. It was on a Saturday, and, on my way home that afternoon, I stopped in Battle Creek and bought that first pair of single stripes in order that my wife could sew them on for everybody to see. When I arrived home, I found my wife and another couple waiting for me to go with them on a weiner roast, but I was so elated about my promotion that I made her sew on the stripes before we could even leave. I guess that was one of the few things I ever put ahead of my stomach. Without a doubt, I received a greater thrill from that little jump in grade than from any other promotion I ever received.

A month later, the officers apparently felt I had completely mastered the job, because on September 9th I received my second promotion, this time to Corporal, the same grade held by Radke for the same job. This made me pretty proud for it meant that they were satisfied that I had acquired the ability to do the job. At this time, there were only two of us working in the Morning Report Section; Sgt. Allison and myself. However, as time went on and the Reception Center load increased from about 500 a day to nearly 1,000, it became necessary to add to our number until we reached a total of six men. In January, 1943, Sgt. Allison was promoted to the job of Personnel Sergeant Major, and I found myself in charge of the Morning Report Section. With this added responsibility, came another promotion to Sergeant on January 26, 1943. I remained on that job until the very end of my first year, for it was in May that, in weeding out all general service men for overseas service, it became necessary to transfer Sgt. Allison to another station, and I was taken out of the Morning Report Section and installed as Personnel Sergeant Major. With this change, on May 15, 1943, came my promotion to Staff Sergeant.

The greatest interest in my social life around the camp was in the Victory Center, which was located just outside the camp and only a short walk from the barracks in which I lived. It was a fine Christian organization supported by the Christian Business Men of Detroit and was operated under the direction of Douglas Hines, who previously had been Assistant Pastor to Rev. Zoller at Zoller Tabernacle in Detroit. It was a good-sized building with a game room, reading room and little library in the basement, and a lunch counter and auditorium on the main floor. Its primary objective was to win souls to Christ through personal workers while, at the same time, offering recreation and relaxation to the fellows. Many an enjoyable evening was spent there during that first winter in the fellowship of this fine group of Christians. It was a real thrill to see those personal workers point these boys to the way of salvation night after night, and the harvest which the Lord reaped was great. That particular activity of a group of Christians with a vision for lost souls is surely worthy of the highest praise.

The highlight of my private life during that first year came in April when, with the help of the Victory Center, I was able to rent a two-room apartment in Battle Creek, and my wife and I began living together again. It was on Easter Day of 1943 that we moved into this apartment with Mr. and Mrs. Leland Houvener and began to live as man and wife once more after nearly a year of virtual separation. The wonderful Christian fellowship which we enjoyed with this family, as well as the church which we shall describe more fully in the following chapter, will never be forgotten. This climax to my first year in the Army will always be remembered.

Chapter 6 →

Grandpa's Memories of World War II, Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4
BASIC TRAINING

Soon after a man concludes his processing at a Reception Center, there comes a time when he must begin a period of basic training which transposes him from merely a civilian in a uniform to a full-fledged soldier. Ordinarily, this is done at a place called a Replacement Training Center, where hundreds of raw recruits are constantly undergoing this training in fundamental military knowledge before being subjected to the more specialized training for a particular technical job which is to be his Army occupation.

I received my indoctrination into military matters very soon after I discarded my civilian clothes. I found that the Reception Center was very hard pressed for operating personnel, and the first day I was at work a system was announced for training new men like myself while also getting a certain amount of work from us. There was a total of about 100 of us who had to be trained, so we were divided into two equal teams of approximately 50 each and told that, while one team worked, the other would train. Team #1 would train the first week while Team #2 worked, and the second week it was to be reversed. The following weeks would find us alternating between work and drill. But the thing that we were the happiest about was the fact that we would receive that training right at Fort Custer rather than having to sweat it out in some stinking hot camp in Louisiana or Texas.

So, on the Monday afternoon after I was temporarily put to work, I reported for basic training as a member of Team #1. The first day we were enlightened as to just what our basic training would consist of; who was going to give it to us. We discovered that Lieut. Dalrymple would be in charge, but that the actual training would be handled by Sgt. Joe McCann, a veteran of 21 years service not only in the United States, but in nearly every foreign land where our troops had ever been stationed during those years. I have never seen a more Godless man who could drink more or swear faster than he, but nobody could help admiring his stamina or tactical knowledge of field training. Later on, Joe was selected to attend Infantry Officer Candidate School, but he failed when he was half way through the course because he had trouble reading and writing more than his name and a few letters home. Perhaps he wasn't officer material, but I'm sure he would have compared  favorably  with a good many other officers I have met and with whom I've worked.

Of course, the first step in training is close order drill, and that is where we began. We were instructed on how to stand at attention; how to salute; how to stand at "parade rest"; and numerous other phases of military intelligence such as how to wear your cap and how to address an officer. Then they taught us how to march and do it the same as the guy on your left, on your right, in front of you and behind you. Up and down that drill field we marched during that first week. We soon learned that the answer to that question, "What do you do in the Infantry?" was no joke. The first couple of days it wasn't bad because it was novel and interesting, but the last couple of days in the week dragged on until you could hear that, "Hut, two, three, four" in your sleep. However, I will have to admit that, at the end of that first week, we looked a whole lot more like a platoon of soldiers than when we fell out in mob formation that first day. We were gradually being bent to fit the mold.

Another phase of training which seldom changed from that first week until the final day was our half hour of calisthenics every morning and afternoon. At first our bones creaked and our muscles groaned as it seemed our bodies were being called upon to do impossible things, but as the days wore on, there were few exercises that the instructor might give that most of us couldn't duplicate. It was wonderful for the waist line, and I needed it on that Army chow I was eating.

Late in the second week, we took up bayonet practice, and let me tell you that learning how to handle that 12" blade of steel on the end of your rifle was one of the most tiring and monotonous jobs I've ever undertaken. Over and over again we practiced the long thrust, short thrust, withdraw, the jab and the horizontal and vertical butt strokes; all the time on a post driven into the ground. Then, after a week or so of practice, we were marched about two miles to the bayonet course where the target became a little more elusive. Straw dummies were constructed to simulate an enemy ready to meet you on equal terms. Always, the problem was to evade the enemies' bayonet and knock him out with the proper type of attack. Over and over again, day after day, we ran that course until all of us could cover the course without a flaw. Fortunately, I never had to utilize that training, but I can well understand the importance of it in combat. It really keeps you in top physical trim and on your toes. When you understand all the uses of the bayonet, you can easily believe that statement, "War is hell."

In the couple of weeks that followed, we studied a lot of things such as how to march in a parade, how to carry the colors, how to read maps, etc., in addition to that constant march, march, march. One of the most interesting things we learned was how to wear our gas mask. After a few drills, we were taken out in the center of an empty field to a gas chamber where we were put through a tear gas test. We were all led into the building with our gas masks on and told we were surrounded by tear gas. At first it was hard to believe, because breathing was absolutely normal, but after a bit the places on your bodies where the clothing rubbed the skin, such as your neck, began to itch and it became apparent there was some foreign substance in the air. As final proof of the value of our masks, we were told to take off our masks as we were ready to leave the building. We had to stop about 10 feet from the door, rip off the mask and run out the door. That short period of time was enough to prove to you that the tear gas was no hoax because everybodies eyes filled with tears as they made that last dash. I've never been required to use the gas mask, either, other than in training demonstrations, but I can well comprehend what a blessing it would be if needed in combat. That simple exhibition demonstrated its value.

Certainly the most interesting phase of our training was learning to fire the .30 caliber Springfield Rifle. It was a long, grueling task, but the ultimate pride in being able to qualify as a marksman, sharpshooter, or expert on the range easily compensated for it. Our course of instruction on this weapon began in about the fourth week of our training, and, for the next two weeks, all we did was practice sighting, aiming and manipulating the rifle. After that, we were ready to go to the rifle range where we spent a couple of days practice firing just to get the feel of the gun under actual shooting conditions and to learn how to "zero in" the rifle, etc. Then, July 3 and 4, 1942, came our chance to fire for permanent Army record. After the two days of firing were completed, I was pretty well satisfied with myself when I learned that I had scored 204 out of a possible 250 points to qualify as a Marksman. Three more points would have made me a Sharpshooter.

The last couple of weeks of training were devoted to miscellaneous items such as hikes, pitching shelter-halves, throwing hand grenades, etc. Our final week was culminated with a 17-mile hike with full field pack weighing about 50 pounds, which lasted through the afternoon and evening. It was a mighty long stroll, and that pack on my back apparently increased in weight with every step I took. As we came stumbling back to camp through the dark that night, it was certainly a pleasure to know that, when we turned in our equipment the next morning, we would be completing the last gesture of our basic training. A lot of it had been fun, but it would certainly be a pleasure now to return to a normal job in the office.

Chapter 5 →

Grandpa's Memories of World War II, Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3
RECEPTION CENTER

It was early in the evening when we arrived at Fort Custer, the first Army Post most of us had ever seen. Darkness was just setting in as we walked from the rail-head up past those large two-story barracks to the Reception Center where we were to spend our first night in the Army. There was no band here to meet us and, for some reason, all the glory seemed gone now.

Our first stop was a huge mess hall and, almost before we were aware of what was happening, we were seated at mess tables eating our first army chow. It wasn't half bad considering that slum they had fed us at Detroit. Of course, most of us were much too excited to really enjoy this meal.

From the mess hall, we were marched to the Company B area and told we were to stay in Barracks 1042. As a fitting climax to such a disheartening day, it began to rain. It came down in bucketsful and most of us were well soaked by the time we got inside. By this time, it was pretty late in the evening and we were dead tired from this exciting day, so it was little wonder that we crawled into bed and were soon sound asleep with little thought of our homesickness. Sleep was so swell.

It was a terrific surprise the following morning at 5:45 A.M. to suddenly have the lights flash on in your eyes and to hear some corporal yell, "O.K., everybody up!" By 6:00 A.M., we were dressed and outside in the street, lined up in more or less a straight line to stand our first "reveille." It was a new experience for all of us, but it was much too early in the morning to enjoy it.

After we made our beds, cleaned the barracks and ate breakfast, we were informed we were about to begin our processing. We were marched over to a huge wooden warehouse and, once inside, there was a terribly strong smell of moth balls. There could be no mistaking the fact that this was where we were going to lose our civilian clothes and take on our khakis. First, we were each given a barracks bag and told to strip down to our shorts and put all our clothes in this bag. Then, we started down that long clothing issue line. Someone measured you for shoes; another sized your head, your waist and your hips. One person dropped shoes in the barracks bag; someone else contributed pants, shirts, underwear, overcoat; and so on down the line until it didn't seem possible that one bag could hold so much stuff. It was no longer a matter of carrying the bag, you had to drag it. At last everyone was satisfied we had been given everything to which we were entitled and we began that long trek back to the barracks looking like Santa Claus with that huge bag of clothes and equipment over our shoulder. In the short time that was left before noon, we wrapped up our civilian clothes, took them to the express office nearby and sent them home. It was good-bye to them for a long time.

It was now Wednesday afternoon as we marched down the street to a theater and, after a few brief remarks by a Chaplain, we were informed we were about to be given a general aptitude test to find out just what our mental capabilities were. For a couple of hours we sat there and wrote down answers to questions; some difficult, some easy, some foolish. Finally, we were finished with the tests and then followed the reading of the Articles of War. By the time we had listened to the long list of violations which were possible, nobody dared open his mouth for fear he might be "punished by death or such other punishment as the Courts­Martial may direst." That concluded our first full day in the Army.

The next morning we were taken to another large building known as the Insurance Section. Here, we were given the opportunity of taking out life insurance in any amount we desired up to $10,000.00 at extremely reasonable rates. Also, we were given a chance to make a deduction from our pay to buy bonds, but few people figured on having enough money left out of $21.00 per month to buy bonds.

From here, we passed through the Classification Section where we were interviewed by another soldier. Here a complete description of our civilian work was recorded as well as a myriad of facts pertaining to our life; from where we were born to what our religious preference happened to be. It was here I met the first gentlemen in the Army. We were treated like we really amounted to something. I was impressed by a sign there which read, "No man is too big to be courteous, but many are too small." That was their philosophy.

As a part of our interview, we were given a trade test, which, in my case, consisted of a typing test because of my clerical background. It was a rickety old typewriter, but to my amazement, I showed a speed of 60 words per minute, which isn't half bad for a male typist. When I reached a sergeant who appeared to be making the final check for accuracy on the card that had been filled out, he said, "How much better could you have done on an A-1 typewriter?" Rather skeptically, I replied, ''Oh, perhaps 5 words a minute." He erased the 60 and recorded 65 and, just as I was ready to leave, he asked a bewildering question, "How would you like to be stationed here at Fort Custer?" Jokingly, I replied, ''Suit me swell."

We were now on our way to the final step in our transition from a civilian to a soldier, those fabulous inoculations. We had heard such spine-tingling tales from two-day veterans about the needle with the hooked end, etc., that most of us were pretty jittery by the time we reached the dispensary. We stripped to the waist, lined up in a single file and the ordeal was under way. One man scratched our left arm and the small pox vaccination was over and, before there was time to turn around, another fellow had stuck us in the right arm with a needle and the first typhoid shot was a thing of the past. It was all so simple and we were pleasantly surprised.

Another busy day had  ended, but it was nothing compared to the one that followed. About 4:30 A.M., I was awakened by someone and told I was to be on KP that day. By 5:00 A.M., bleary-eyed and half asleep, I was in the mess hall eating breakfast. All that day, I and my colleagues slaved away in that kitchen washing dishes, scrubbing floors, washing dishes , scouring pans, washing dishes, etc. Why didn't they use paper plates? It would have been so much easier. It was well after midnight that night when I dragged myself back to the barracks and into my cot. I had  been working nearly 20 hours that day; and no time and a half either!

I thought perhaps the next day was to be one of leisure because my name wasn't on the detail sheet the next morning. I was sadly mistaken, however, because about 9:00 A.M. a group of us were lined up and marched over to a job. Lo and behold, it was another mess hall! I was at it again; washing dishes, scrubbing floors, etc., until about 4:00 P.M. in the afternoon when one of the sergeants called me aside and said I was supposed to report back to the Orderly Room in Company B.

I hurried over there and, while my legs were shaking, I was ushered into the Company Commander's office. He told me that Lieut. Whitaker, the Adjutant, wanted to talk with me right away. I ran to my barracks, put on my uniform and was on my way to the Reception Center Headquarters. It was just after 5:00 P.M. when I arrived at Headquarters and Lieut. Whitaker was in the office by himself. He was graciously asking me to have a seat and soon began a conversation with me. He went over my civilian job with me. He asked, "How would you like to work right here in the Headquarters?" I didn't know how to answer for a minute. Deep down, I was crazy about it, but I was afraid to make it too obvious for fear it would give a bad impression. So, after thinking a bit, I replied, "I'd like it very much." He asked, "Why?" Again I was stumped. Should I blurt out the truth or attempt to hide it behind some other motive? I compromised and replied, "Well, because it's the kind of work I believe I'm qualified to do and also because I'll be close to my home." I held my breath as he answered, "O.K., we'll put you on trial for 30 days and, if we're satisfied, we'll have you assigned here." When I got outside the office, all I could think of was, "Thank you, Lord, for giving me this opportunity." As I look back now, that was only the first of many blessings God has bestowed upon me in this man's Army.

Chapter 4 →

Grandpa's Memories of World War II, Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2: INDUCTION

It was about 9:00 P.M. that night before the bus had covered that 60 or 70 miles between Flint and downtown Detroit, and we came to a halt before the Fort Shelby Hotel where we were to stay that night. It had been a long and tiring ride occasioned partly by that down-hearted feeling of leaving home and partly by the surroundings. The bus had been full of cigarette smoke and the constant smell of liquor had been nauseating. It seemed everyone had  spent the previous week in a drunken stupor both as a method of farewell celebration and as a way of covering up the mental sorrow they were experiencing. More important than these discomfitures, however, was my first introduction to the filthy, lewd, degrading talk of a bunch of fellows who seemed determined to debase themselves and everyone else within hearing range. This was something new to me because I had  been accustomed to fellowshipping with a group of Christian fellows and girls, but I was soon to realize that I was no longer to have the privilege of such splendid friends, but would have to be accustomed to the worldly habits of ungodly men far from home and with nothing to tie them down.    It was not a pleasant transition, but I did learn how the world lives, and now fully realize the great need they have of our Saviour, the Lord Jesus Christ.

We alighted from the bus and were lined up on the sidewalk in pairs. Then we were led inside and each pair was assigned to a room for that night. My partner and I were directed to a room and I, at last, had the opportunity of relaxing. My newly acquired friend, whose name I cannot even recall, informed me that he was supposed to meet some others down­ stairs and go out to give Detroit a quick once-over, and very cordially invited me to go along. Of course, I declined and spent my first evening of loneliness because I was a child of God and consequently had no desire to enjoy the fellowship the world offers. Instead, I went to bed early and, after turning over in my mind the possibilities the future might hold for me, I dropped off the sleep. My sleep was only briefly interrupted that night by the return of my partner and it was a pleasant night's rest.

It was rather a rude awakening the next morning at 5 :00 A.M. when the telephone rang. When my buddy answered it, the operator gently informed him it was time for us to get up and report downstairs for breakfast. We hurriedly arose, dressed, and in a matter of a few minutes were downstairs in the dining room ready to eat. It was a fine meal of bacon and eggs, toast, coffee and tomato juice. I guess I can remember it so well because of the contrast it made to the other unpalatable meal that day at the Induction Station.

Finally, along about 7:00 A.M., they lined us up outside the hotel and we began the trek to the Induction Station. It was only a 15-minute walk in the early morning air and I was then well on my way to the most disheartening experience of my Army career. From 8:00 A.M. to 3:30 P.M., we wandered around that ramshackled old brick building in various stages of undress. Toward mid-afternoon, we would all have felt at home in a nudist colony. At 4:00 P.M., after being thoroughly interrogated and examined by every type of specialist from heart experts to x-ray technicians, we were allowed to get dressed once more and await the decisions of the medicos to see whether we were to become G.I. Joes or remain happy civilians.

After a few minutes wait, a group of five or six, containing yours truly, were told that we would have to wait over until the following day for the results of our blood test, but that we would be inducted as non-combatants, which would mean we would be used for administrative or supply work. Each of us was given a pass for a hotel room for that night and instructed to report back the following afternoon. It seemed we had some free time in Detroit.

Another fellow and I decided it would be much better to spend that Monday night in Flint instead of Detroit, so we headed for the Greyhound Bus Terminal and in a few minutes we were on our way for a brief visit home. By 7:00 P.M., I was standing in a filling station at Grand Blanc calling my folks, and in a few minutes they were there to pick me up. Their faces were wreathed in smiles because they thought I was home for keeps, but the smiles left as I explained the facts.

After a pleasant Monday night and Tuesday forenoon just enjoying the fellowship of my family and my wife, we started for Detroit so I could be there on time.  We arrived about 2:00 P.M. and, after a few brief parting words, I kissed my wife and mother, shook hands with my father and brother and turned my back on them to face the unknown future.

Soon after I entered the Induction Station, we were all assembled in a large room and told we were about to be formally inducted into the Army of the United States.    Almost before we knew what was happening, an officer was standing before us and we were told to raise our right hand. Then, we were repeating the oath of enlistment and within a few seconds we were full-fledged soldiers in Uncle Sam's great army.

Then we were hustled downstairs to waiting buses and whisked away to the railroad station. As we passed through the station, a band was playing and people were shouting encouragement to us as we were embarking on this great mission. It seemed they were making every effort to buoy up our spirits in this time of sorrow by such a display of patriotism, and I believe they half succeeded for no one could help feeling a surge of pride for this opportunity of serving our country. One thing your writer acquired from this cheering crowd was a small copy of the blessed New Testament published by the Gideons and distributed by Christian ladies. That testament is still a most treasured memento of my Army experience.

Soon we were aboard the train and pulling out of the station. The suburbs of Detroit passed by and we were out in the country, well on our way to Fort Custer. Now as I relaxed in the seat I began to realize the full impact of what was taking place, I was on my way from home and I might not see those loved ones to whom I had said good-bye for many months.

As my mind turned over these possibilities, my heart seemed to turn to lead and once again the tears were hard to restrain. Then, came the realization that I had nothing to fear for the Lord was on my side and I knew His will would be done in my life. Peace filled by soul as I realized that I had a Saviour and a Redeemer that nothing could defeat. Suddenly, it seemed even more wonderful to be a Christian and have such an assurance.

Chapter 3 →

Grandpa's Memories of World War II

Recently, my mom gave me an incredible treasure: my grandpa's memories of his time in the Army, during World War II. I quickly discovered where my love for writing came from. Since today is Memorial Day, I just wanted to share this part, describing his departure from his family and new bride on May 10, 1942. Thank you, Grandpa, and so many others, who have sacrificed so much to ensure our freedom.

MY MEMORIES

of

THE ARMY

during

WORLD WAR II

MAY 10, 1942 -

JANUARY 7, 1946

BY

EARL L. ALBERTS

CHAPTER 1: DEPARTURE

     This is the story of an average young American fellow who became a soldier in Uncle Sam's Army; not because of the glory or the honor which comes from serving one's country, but because his nation called upon him in a time of national emergency, when it became necessary for people throughout the country to take up arms against a common enemy. This is the story of a man who became a part of this great world-wide maelstrom, not as a matter of choice, but because he was selected by a group of his fellow citizens to enter the Army as a Selective Service Trainee, just as millions of other boys throughout the nation were called upon to serve this great country we call our home. There was little thought then of the bravery and patriotism to be shown by thousands just like himself who were in the service of the United States for the same reasons. That could only be learned by association with hundreds of these men who were to be called upon to undergo great hardships, and some who would be called upon the pay the supreme sacrifice, for the privilege of returning to an America free from foreign domination where they might pursue a life of their own choosing.

     Many men have attempted to overlook or belittle the magnitude and immensity of becoming a member of the greatest Army of the world by covering it up with humorous stories or great and rare deeds of heroism. To be sure, there are many instances of humorous happenings to make life livable, and innumerable cases of valor which make your heart beat faster, but this story is concerned with a boy who is only average and counted only on serving his country without the thought of any such decorations or citations.

     More than anything else, this is a true story of a Christian youth who was suddenly thrown amidst the greatest throng of ungodly men imaginable. Few people who have lived their lives in an atmosphere of home, and among Christian friends, can comprehend the great volume of temptations which surround the soldier. It is the great melting-pot of professing Christendom where only those whose hearts are truly filled with the Holy Ghost and whose sins have been washed away by the blood of the Lord Jesus Christ, can come out with their skirts clean. All others invariable fall into the great major category of lost souls to which they have always belonged, but which can only be properly revealed under such circumstances.

     That's the picture of the young gentleman with whom this story deals. It's the story of a man who was married on October 11, 1941; seven months before entering the Army, to one of the grandest young ladies of which this world can boast and who had spent slightly better than three years establishing himself as a regular employee of Chevrolet Motor Company of Flint, Michigan. This is the tale of a fellow who left a great deal behind him when he went to work at one of the most important jobs he could ever encounter; that of defeating the enemies of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.

     It was on Sunday, May 10, 1942, that I was scheduled to depart for the Army Induction Station at Detroit, Michigan. I had quit working a few days before that and everything had been arranged for moving our family belongings back to our parents' homes. That was one of the major problems in entering the service. It seemed foolish to relinquish the fine apartment we had been occupying while there was still the possibility I might be rejected at Detroit. On the other hand, if i was accepted, it was imperative that the living quarters be vacated as early as possible for financial reasons. After a great deal of planning, arrangements were made for our parents to accomplish the move when it was definitely determined I was to become a member of the armed forces.

     Those few days preceding that memorable Sunday were so full of activity that the time seemed to fly past. I had tried so desperately to visit my friends and relatives. The longest journey had been to Ionia to visit my Uncle Henry and Aunt Nettie as well as bidding good-bye to other friends there. The climax to my farewells had come when I was accorded the privilege of preaching a sermon that very morning at the little church in which I had been so active in serving the Lord. I had seized upon this opportunity to tell everyone "so long," and to leave with those beloved brethren the testimony of my faith in the Lord Jesus and His ability to hold me true no matter what might happen. Needless to say, I would never forget the sadness of my father and brother; the tender tears of my mother; or the silent sorrow of my beloved wife during those unhappy days. Those are memories that I'll retain the rest of my life.

     We were to leave by bus from the giant I.M.A. Auditorium in Flint. When this future rookie arrived with his family, it seemed half the population of that large city had come together there. As I looked around, I saw a number of friends there to see me off. In addition to my own family, many of my wife's relatives were there for the occasion.

     At about 6:30P.M., a number of large Greyhound buses arrived on the scene and instructions were given for loading into these conveyances. At last the time had come for departing. I shook hands with all my well-wishers; kissed my mother; and then turned to my wife. As I looked into her eyes, there were no tears, but beneath that brave exterior, I knew her heart was breaking. I took her in my arms and tenderly kissed her. Then, I turned quickly and began pushing my way through this maelstrom of seething humanity eager to see everyone at once. Finally, I·reached the curb and stepped into the bus. I took a seat and spent the last remaining minutes exchanging longing glances with that loving wife.

     At last the bus started. The door was closed. The vehicle ahead of ours started away and our turn had come. The wheels turned, the bus moved ahead. I waved the final good-bye to my beloved partner, and we were on our way. It became impossible to keep back those tears, and my eyes became dim. It seemed I was leaving behind everything for which I had been struggling. The future, which only a few short weeks ago, had seemed so bright, was now shattered and fallen. I wasn't just leaving Flint, I was leaving everything I loved and held dear.

Chapter 2 →

For a Little While Longer

If I could just hold you for a little while longer...

Come here, child of mine, and climb up next to me. Snuggle your little body up against mine. With your munchkin voice, tell me all your wild adventures and everything that was new to you today. Let me kiss your chubby red cheeks and brush the too-long curls away from your eyes. One of these days I will have to break down and get your hair cut.

Come to me, my boy, and curl up on my lap. Lay your sleepy head upon my shoulder. Let me feel the gentle rise and fall of your chest and the sweetness of each precious breath on my neck. Close your eyes and dream of pirates or space heroes or John Deere tractors. Only let me keep you right here with me. I know you would sleep better in your bed, but today I don't want to leave you there.

How I have treasured your smiles, your giggles, your belly laughs! And how your tears have brought silent tears of my own. My heart is filled with so many hopes and dreams for you. And yet I know you can only grow and bloom and chase your dreams if I am willing to let you go.

Come, my son, and sit beside me. You have turned into a young man in the blink of an eye. You are filling your mind with knowledge, developing incredible skills, and forging the character you will take with you into manhood. I am overcome with joy and pride as I watch you allowing God to mold you into the person He wants you to be. I pray that you will seek after Him and follow Him with all your heart, all the days of your life. And even when you have left this house and have a family of your own, you will never be too old for your mother's hugs, kisses, encouragement, and love.

I know that day will come before I am ready. So I will cherish every moment between now and then. I can't hold you forever. Just let me hold you for a little while longer.