By: John DeRoo Jr.

A MOMENT in Time
MY
MEMOIRS of WW2
Introduction
Throughout the history of World War 2, countless
stories have been told recalling the feats of bravery by
those who fought in those many, hard fought, battles. This
is as it should be, but left untold are the experiences of
those Support Services who served behind the lines and
helped make possible the victories won by our troops, now
so celebrated in our books and films.
This humble effort is an attempt to chronicle the way
in which W.W2 shaped the life of one young American and
provide some insight into the pathos and, sometimess
ludicrus hilarity, that he encountered while caring for the
sick and wounded as well as those off duty hours while on
leave. This is the typical experiences of Support Service
G.I`s as they plodded through,what to them, seemed a never
ending war.
This is my story, as I lived it. This is not the
story of a hero but simply the memories of one who saw the
results of the horrors of war and encountered some of the
more humorous aspects of life as well as the human tragedy
of war and then made the transition back into civilian
life. It is the story of millions of young Americans who
answered the call to duty when their country called.
.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

John DeRoo is a native of Kalamazoo Michigan. It was after
his service in WW2 that he attended college under the G.I.

Bill of Rights. He received his B.A. degree from Western

Michigan College of Education and his M,A. degree from
California State University and holds a Doctoral degee in
the field of Education.
He is now widowed, is ninety five years of age and lives in
Granada Hills California, a suburb of Los Angeles, in the
San Fernando Valley.

Dedication
I am deeply indebted to my late wife,Peggy,Col.Denis
Dionne,VietNam war veteran, the late Lt.Col. Mary
Costantini, member of the U.S. Army Nurse Corps. during
W,W,2, and a Gold Star Mother, and Mr. Gene Denney, veteran
of the Korean war,along with my son John, an army veteran
of the VietNam era and, my daughter in law,Kathy DeRoo, for
their patience and forbearance as an "Old Vet" recounted
his memoirs and received their valuable advice in making
this piece,somewhat,literate.
I dedicate this work. most of all, to my beautiful and
faithful Irish wife, Peggy, who gave me sixty three years
of happily narried life, a son, of whom I am justifibly
proud, four beautiful grandchildren and one great
grandchild and countless happy memories to sustain me in my
twilight years.

Prologue to War
In order to understand why it took an attack against the
United States for America to become involved in a war
against,the Axis powers of Germany, Italy and Japan, one
must be aware of what was happening in the United States.
The prevailng attitude in America was that we would not
involve ourselves,again,in the conflicts of other countries
when our self interest was not,clearly, at stake. This
position was butressed by the positions taken by leading
American figures.

The Ambassador to Great Britain, Joseph Kennedy, the father

of John F.Kennedy, our future President, had shown, by his
agreement with German policies, that he was sympathetic to
the views of the German dictator, Adolf Hitler, and
resigned from Office, under pressure from President
Franklin D. Roosevelt. Fr. Coughlin,prominent and popular
Catholic Priest and radio personality, was, unabashidly, a
supporter of Hitler and his anti semetic views and,
American industrialist, Henry Ford, who supported Nazi
groups in the United States and showed support for Hitler
in his pronouncements. All this influenced American public
opinion.. Little wonder then, that American public opinion
was so anti war and caused the United States policy to
became one of isolationism. It took only one mistaken move
by Japan to change America`s isolationism and,in so doing,
spelled defeat for the Axis powers.

CHAPTER ONE
A Call To Arms
December 7, i941, I was having coffee with my buddy
in a neighborhood diner and trying to decide what we would
do for the rest of the day. The music of a swing band was
playing in the background.Suddenly the music was
interrupted and an announcer came on the air with these
words,
"This morning, December 7, 1941, Pearl Harbor, in Hawaii,
was attacked by air and the harbor has been severely
damaged. It is estimated that there have been many
fatalities and the loss of many of our ships and aircraft.
From the markings on the attacking aircraft, it has been
determined that this was an attack by the Japanese. Make no
mistake about it, this was an attack against the Territory
of Hawaii and therefore an act of war against the United
States. We will keep you informed as additional information
becomes available".

My first reaction to this startling announcement

was, "Where the Hell is Pearl Harbor"? To most Americans,
Hawaii, and Pearl Harbor in particular, was a far distant
place, few had ever given much thought to, or visited. This
was to change radically in the days ahead as America
entered World War 2.
The following day, along with my family, I listened,
spellbound, as President Franklin D. Roosevelt addressed
the nation and the nation`s Congress. His familiar voice,
now forceful with outrage and determination, proclaimed the
sentiments of his fellow countrymen. "Yesterday, Sunday,
December 7, 1941, a date which will live in infamy, the
United States of America was suddenly and deliberately
attacked by the naval and air forces of the Empire of
Japan," Briefly, the President, explained the background
of the events which culminated in the attack, ending his
speech with the following, fateful, request to the
Congress of the United States. "With confidence in our
Armed forces-with the unbounded determination of our people
we will gain the inevitable triumph-So help us God. I ask
that the Congress declare that since the unprovoked and
dastardly attack by Japan on Sunday, December 7, a state of
war has existed between the United States and the Empire of
Japan." Almost immediately Congress declared war on Japan
and three days later, December 11, Germany and Italy
declared war on the United States. We were now fully
involved, along with the British Empire. The Republic of
Ireland declared neutrality. Russia had been at war with
Germany since June and, although, never officially, became
an ally of the United States. America and its allies were
now at war with the axis of Germany, Italy and Japan. World
War 2, had begun in earnest.
I, like other young Americans, living in different
parts of the country, and having little in common except
our American citizenshp, faced a future that would affect
the remainder of our lives. This, I held in common with
untold numbers of other young Americans. I was twenty one
years old when America entered the war. I was nine years
old, the eldest in a family of four children, at the time
America entered the era of the Great depression. Like so
many Americans, my family suffered through those trying

years thinking that poverty was here to stay. This was

about to end, as America tooled up for war, and the
factories began to hum. Like so many other American young
men, I was eager to do my duty and welcomed this call to
serve. Kalamazoo was not the most exciting place in the
country and, I must admit, military service appealed to my
adventurous nature almost as much as my patriotic fervor.
The Navy, having always interested me, was my first thought
for service. I approached the naval recruiting station with
a vision of being a member of the crew on one of our naval
vessels.I was greeted by a Petty Officer who seemed eager
to make my enlistment a reality, filled out some forms and
sent me to a dentist for an examination.
After a short exam I was sent back to the recruiter and
then, in spite of wartime needs, I was informed that I had
an overbite with my upper teeth and could not be qualified
for naval service. This seemed incredible to both the
recruiter and myself when wartime conditions required so
many able bodied men. From that moment on, I decided to
wait for the Draft and see if the Army would be so "picky."
It wasn`t and I was soon in the Army.
I lacked a college education and was inducted into the
United States Army with the grand rank of "Buck Private".
The following is my memory of induction into military
service. On August 13, 1942, after months of waiting, I was
called to the induction center. There must have been fifty
of us, all standing there, "buck naked", damned glad it was
August and not a cold Michigan day. One by one we were
called before a doctor to see if we were breathing and send
us on to be processed and made "Government Issue", or for
short, "G.I. A few minutes later we took the oath and were
officially in the Army of the United States. A Sergeant
took us aside, told us we were being sent to Fort Custer,
Battle Creek, Michigan, on August 27. I had just two weeks
left to be wearing civilian clothes.Time moved very rapidly
and I was taken to Battle Creek in a very new Army truck,
along with some other "Raw Recruits."
At Fort Custer I was outfitted with an Army uniform and
assigned to a barracks with a lot of other "enthusiastic"
recruits. A very unfriendly Sergeant called us to

attention, told us what poor specimens of humanity we were,

and, "from this time on yOur scrawny bodies belong to me,
until you are shipped out for basic training". In the words
of a popular song of the era, "This is the army Mr. Jones,
no private rooms or telephones". You had your breakfast in
bed before, but you won`t have it there any more". Irving
Berlin, who wrote these lyrics, certanly understood the
Army from a Private`s point of view.
It was there at Fort Custer, that I received my first duty
assignment. I, along with two other "rookies", were handed
gunny sacks, to be placed over the shoulder, and each of
us, a stick with a nail protruding from one end and told to
"police" the area. We spent most of the morning stabbing at
litter on the ground and neatly placing it into our sacks.
One of my fellow "Sanitary Technicians" was a guy, somewhat
older than the rest of us, exceedingly short and paunchy.
With "great sensitivity," we kept ourselves amused by
badgering the poor soul with various terms alluding to his
lack of manly stature. Later, during a coffee break, we
discovered that he was a member of the Michigan
legislature. This was the first time I learned the valuable
lesson, to not judge my fellow soldiers by their appearance
or ethnic identity.
After a short, miserable stay at Fort Custer we were
shipped out to Camp McCoy Wisconsin, which was still under
construction, and being used mainy for the housing of
"Enemy Aliens", Germans, Italians and Japanese, as well as
being readied for the thousands of troops who would be
trained there, many to go on for the invasion of Europe.
When American troops arrived for training, it was then, we
came in contact with the 442nd Infantry Regiment comprised
of Japanese Americans, most of whom, had families living in
the territory of Hawaii.
As usual, the army gave us no indication as to what service
we were assigned to. We were told that we were temporarily
assigned to the Military Police Escort Guard. As a matter
of fact, we were neither Military Police nor Escort Guards.
Our sole duty was to stand guard over the Enemy Alien camp
at night and go through basic training during the day.
If the army taught us anything it was that we, young

Midwestern boys, had to face the realities of life and

adjust our way of thinking, if we were to succeed in life,
in the army or as civilians. One night on a bus, returning
from a night out in La Crosse, I was seated next to a young
Japanese American guy from the 442nd. This was the outfit
that was so highly decorated for their service in the South
Pacific, all Japanese Americans. Two members from his unit
had been found murdered and an investigation was underway.
The "scuttlebutt" was that they had been killed by some
guys from an infantry unit on the Base. He went on to say
that he couldn't understand how American soldiers could
harbor such hate for one another. He explained that at the
time of the Pearl Harbor attack they were in training at
"Pearl" and had not yet been given any rifle training. At
the moment of the attack, they were called to duty, issued
rifles, and told to fire at those f****** "Japs." He said,
"Not one of us hesitated because we were American soldiers,
defending our country".
We were taken through basic training by a "Sergeant from
Hell." He marched us until we dropped, had us do target
shooting until we could no longer see the target, had us
peeling potatoes until we hated the sight of the damned
things and, in general, made life absolutely miserable for
us. We had no inkling of what we were being assigned to
until the Sergeant, during basic training, introduced us to
a new cadence marching verse which he deemed very
appropriate for a bunch om Medics. As I remember, it went
something like this, "Eyes right, a** holes tight,
Foreskins to the rear, we're the boys from Camp McCoy, and
we've got gonorrhea". Now we knew we were in the Medical
Corps, and wondered what experiences lay ahead for us in
the days to come.
As all "good" things" do, basic training came to a finish.
Our basic training period had been short and we all hoped
we would be up to what lay ahead. The Sergeant called us
together before our graduation march, told us we were now
soldiers and that he was proud of us. Somehow, all our ill
feelings vanished and we came around to thinking he was a
"great guy."
Immediately, I was assigned to the Camp McCoy Station

Hospital, became a "Ward Boy", and assigned to doing what

the Officer nurses, chose not to do, and doing it with a
smile and a salute. Along with my other duties I was
assigned to a number of classes taught by the doctors and
other personnel.
It was during these sessions that I met my best buddy, Glen
McQueen,and, a resident of my home town, whom I was to
serve with during a part of the war. We all called him
"Mac." He was one of those guys who truly had "savoirfaire." Six foot tall, a good physique and
a,somewhat,handsome face topped by a full head of black,
wavy hair. "Tall, dark and handsome," fitted his
description exactly. Since I was not exactly the most
sophisticated guy on the planet, Mac, always ready with a
smooth line, "took up the slack," and made our social life
more pleasant. We became known as the "Gold Dust Twins",an
advertising name for a cleaning product of the time, since
we always traveled together. It is this sense of
camaraderie in the service that makes war time friendships
so special.
Our training for medical duty consisted of courses which
would make us valuable as assistants to the doctors and
nurses as well as on the battlefield. One lesson that made
a strong impression on me was the proper way to remove a
wounded soldier from a disabled tank. It was this course
that made me wonder if we were soon to be on the
battlefield. Unlike the movies, most of my buddies and I,
did not long to be assigned to the infantry for heroic
combat duty.
One day while off "ward duty" Mac and I were chatting with
a Captain with whom we had become familiar. All doctors
held the rank of Captain or higher. He asked if we would
like to assist him during an examination. We knew by the
way he asked,and the twinkle in his eyes, that this was to
be a farce of some kind. He was known for his love of
practical jokes, many not always in line with medical
ethics. The examinee was a member of the Women`s Army
Corps. in for a gynecolological exam. Clad in white
surgical gowns, looking much like young interns, we stood
by as the Captain performed his examination. This was

followed by a burst of hilarity after the "Doc" dismissed

her. Such lack of insensitivity was rare and not typical of
the behavior of Officers or enlisted men. Later that day we
passed the young lady in the main corridor. She took a very
contemptable look at us in our enlisted mens uniforms and,
in a very unladylike manner, called us "dirty bastards," a
not, "Ladylike" expression for a not, "Gentlemanly like"
incident.
One of the "off the cuff", lessons we received during
training was from an Officer in the office of the Adjudent
General. He often gave us bits of "army wisdom."
Concerning our demeanor, he advised us that, while walking
on the hospital campus, to carry, very conspicuously, a
sheet of paper and walk, very briskly, as if on an errand.
This, he emphasized, would save us many hours of extra duty
being assigned to us by an overeager Seargant.
Finally, after two weeks of training by doctors and nurses
we were assigned to the wards. I was given a promotion to
T/5, Corporal- Medical Tecknician, a rank I continued to
carry throughout the war. After going overseas, the old
lyric kicked in, "There will be no promotion this side of
the ocean." I was assigned the duty of supervising eight
Privates for ward duty. This was my first experience in
supervision and led to an incident which gave me much
satisfaction. During basic training I had committed some
"unforgivable sin" and was banished to the kitchen for a
week of Kitchen Police, better known as "KP." As all old
soldiers know, "Police" had nothing to do with this
inglorious assignment. This was simply a means for some
damned Sergeant to "vent his spleen" and for the kitchen to
get extra help. I believe that in the sixteenth century
many ships were manned by a "shanghaied crew." This was the
Army`s way of getting extra hours of a soldier`s time
without any reward for extra duty and punishing him for his
indiscretions. For that unforgettable week I took orders
from a Mess Sergeant who ground out orders like meat going
through a sausage grinder. The tiniest infraction of his
rules, like taking a glass of milk, without his permission,
would result in the full force of his temper coming down on
one like a full blown hurricaine. He was truly, "The Devil,
In Chef's Clothing."

Now, that I was an NCO, with all the "Authority" that

implies, I was checking in soldiers being assigned to the
hospital, many, just for some time away from the duties of
the day and a chance to relax. One day, when, "What, to my
wondering eyes should appear," but my old "Comrade in
Arms", the Mess Sergeant, with nothing but a bad head cold.
The Army soldier had a, not so technical, term for his
condition. "Goldbricking" is far to tame. I was very happy
to accomodate my old comrade and immediately assigned him
to a bed. He settled in for some rest and relaxation. Much
to his chagrin, he soon found out that this was not to be
the case. Vengeance was in my heart and this was my golden
opportunity to even up the score. He seemed utterly
unawaware,that in the hospital, he was duty bound to take
orders from hospital personnel regardless of inferior rank.
As an ambulatory patient he had to perform whatever
housekeeping duties assigned to him. I had no problem in
finding a job for him to take his mind off the boredom of
the day. For those of you, former soldiers, who are
thinking, "Latrine Duty", I can only say that you are so
right in your assumptions. I armed him with a toilet brush,
a mop and bucket and gave him immediate employment. It soon
became apparent that he had no desire to perform such
menial tasks and informed me that I should remember that he
held the rank of Sergeant. With joy in my heart, I, very
authoritatively, pointed out to him that there were no
stripes on his bathrobe and that his immediate concern was
to have the latrine ready for Saturday morning inspection,
"Vengeance is mine", sayeth the Lord," but, for this one
shining moment, "Vengeance was mine", and I enjoyed every
damned second of it.
With the compliance of the Captain, we kept him in the
hospital for a few extra days. I`m sure, after this
experience, he was more careful in dealing with lowly
privates he held sway over. He had just experienced the old
adage, "What goes around, comes around."

CHAPTER TWO

Hello To The "Old World"

As the days wore on, life was a series of daily routine
duties and we were becoming somewhat restless. Although the
time we had spent in the army was short our youthful
outlook made the days seem endless. Many of the units on
the base were moving on. This made us hope that we would be
next and go on to some other experiences. We had no idea
what things awaited us but anything was better than
spending the war in the Army at Camp McCoy, Wisconsin as
"Ward Boys." Didn't Gen. Patton say to recruits that "they
didn`t want to have to tell their grandchildren they spent
the war shoveling horseshit at an Army Cavalry base"?
We didn't have to wait for long for we suddenly got the
news that the 306 Station Hospital was being sent overseas.
With typical Army retinence to not tell the enlisted man
anything, we were told absolutely nothing except to pack
our belongings and be ready to "Ship out". With the
enlisted man`s penchant for finding out everything, we soon
found out that we were headed for the European Theater of
Operations, or for short, the E.T,O..
On October 31, Halloween being an appropriate day, we
received our shipping orders, and we were on our way to the
train station, all "very comfortable," in a "luxurious"
army truck. Arriving at the train depot, we hastily boarded
a car that looked as though it had seen service in the
Civil War. Once on the train, we eagerly awaited some
legitimate information as to our destination. True to army
form, none came.
Finally, after many hours, card games and an occasional
snooze, we arrived in Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada. The
year was 1942 and the Americans were now fully involved.
The war was in full force and Britain was in a state of
deadly peril and the arrival of the "Yanks" was considered
a blessing to their hopes of defeating the Germans. In any
event, we were now, about to board a troop ship and make
the dangerous crossing across the North Atlantic, to
relieve our British Allies. That America was fully engaged
in this war was borne out by the hundreds of thousands of
American soldiers waiting to board the many troop ships

crowding the harbor.

Upon our arrival at the harbor, we boarded the RMS
Mauritania for our trip across the North Atlantic to Great
Britain. We boarded the ship in the late afternoon. After a
"fine meal" of "good" mutton stew, we were told to choose a
spot on the long mess table for our gear. This is where we
would sleep and, "Be sure to be out of there as soon as
reveille is over because the Royal Air Force will be using
the table for training classes."
We were allowed to roam around and get acquainted with the
ship. Mac and I ventured into an area where a number of RAF
{Royal Air Force guys} were singing' Bless `Em All', which
was a popular British wartime song. The lyrics, "Bless `em
all, the long, the short , and the tall" ,etc. were
constantly repeated with the "Bless" always replaced with a
four letter word, better not repeated here. Soon we were
joined by more fellow "Yanks." American- British unity was
already beginning to take place. As the Mauritania got
underway we were engrossed in making friends and having a
"Jolly good time", as the "Limeys" would say,
After a nights rest, on that hard table, we got the signal
to clear out, which we did without hesitation. Gazing out
a porthole, expecting to see the open ocean, we found out
that we were back in port. As we gazed out at the harbor,
Mac turned to me and said, "What the Hell is this?" "I
thought we were underway." It didn't take long to find the
answer to that query. It seems that during the night we had
run into a "Wolf Pack." That was the name, Admiral Donitz,
the Commander of the German navy, gave to his submarines,
which hunted in packs, awaiting Allied shipping. We were
traveling without a convoy and were a likely target.
Before long we, once more, got underway. With the unbounded
optimism of youth and a feeling of invincibility, we never
gave another thought to the danger we faced in crossing the
North Atlantic without a convoy, depending only on the
speed and maneuverability of this great ship. Ships capable
of traveling fast steered a zig zag course, without
accompanying vessels, making them difficult to target.

True to British tradition, a daily shot of rum was provided

to all on board. As I recall, we approached a small
makeshift bar and were doled out our potion. The only "fly
in the ointment" was that the U.S. Navy did not permit
drinking on board its ships. Even though this was a British
ship, American personnel were bound by American Naval
rules. This was handled very neatly by the British by
simply doling out a portion of ginger beer, a British soda
pop, to the Americans. Never to be outdone, we simply
accepted the soda pop, exchanged our soft drink for rum by
handing a couple of cigarettes to our British brethren and
accepting their gracious exchange of rum for ginger beer.
Another bit of culture shock was the difference in what the
"Limeys" thought of as tasty cuisine and what we thought of
as "good grub." The, too frequent, serving of mutton stew
did not bode well for the "Yanks", and resulted in a
considerable amount of grumbling on our part. Other than
that, and similar differences, the next few days or so went
off without incident and a surprising amount of goodwill
developed between us and the "Limeys."
Finally, after several days of boredom and, less than
delicious, food we arrived in Great Britain and were
hastily put on a waiting train for our final destination.
We were all anxious to see what England looked like but we
were traveling at night and the windows were blacked out in
compliance with "blackout" regulations. The British
strictly enforced these rules because of the possibility of
giving the Germans a target on their nightly flights over
England.
Our Executive Officer, Capt. Lebowitz, a balding man,
somewhat overweight and a chain smoker, had preceded our
arrival and having boarded the train at Southampton to
accompany us to our destination. He soon appeared on the
scene to address us when suddenly a loud roar was heard
directly above the train. Certain that the plane would hit
the train or strafe us with a hail of deadly bullets, we
all hit the floor, "scared, out of our wits." The only one
standing was Capt. Lebowitz. With a big smile on his face,
he said, "Gentlemen you have just been welcomed to the
United Kingdom by the U.S.Army Air Force."

At long last, the train came to a stop,somewhere, just

outside the city of Bournemouth. We were immediately
trucked to an Army camp told to find a bunk and try to get
a good nights sleep. We soon found our bunks and then the
"bitching" began. On the bunk was a rather plump mattress,
but when one lay down, it suddenly became apparent that
what appeared to be a mattress was,in reality, a bag of
straw. Later we found out that the British had arranged
this for us since it was a part of the "Lend-Lease"
arrangement America had made with the British. The whole
damned camp was a British creation, and not one to become
fond of.The upshot was that we were so awefully tired that
we slept as though we were sleeping on the best mattresses
money could buy.
Without regard that we were all in need of more rest, after
our long journey, reveille sounded as usual. After standing
for roll call we were dismissed for "Mess." Although we
had been severe critics of army food, the sight of good old
American style bacon and eggs, tended to soften our
criticism, at least for the moment.
After "Mess" The Company was called to order and we were
given the "Orders of the Day.' It seems that we were in a
"holding area" and quarantined for several days, during
which time, we would be responsible for housekeeping
duties. The Sergeant then introduced Capt. Lebowitz, our
never to be forgotten, Executive Officer. What followed
was so damned comical, coming from this balding, overweight
and pompous, unmilitary like Officer, that, I am sure,
every G.I, there at that moment, will remember it to his
dying day. I`m sure, I will.Then Captain Lrbowitz addressed
us, as I recall it,"Gentlemen, you are now a part of the
European Theater of Operations. Your conduct here will be
vitally important in bringing victory to our forces against
the German Tyranny. God Bless you and our American Armythis
bit of army wisdom, "Always remember, when off duty, that
you are here as conquerors, not to be conquered by the
harpies of the streets." He ended with a military salute
that would have made Gen. Eisenhower proud. Dr. Lebowitz
had transformed himself into a military conqueror that
satisfied his deepest longings, which I`m sure,he usually

only carried out in his fantasy life.

After several long and boring days, punctuated by crap
games and other "intellectual pursuits", the quarantine was
lifted and we were free to visit Bournemouth. Immediately,
the office was filled with G.I.s requesting passes. As long
as you knew your name rank and serial number the request
was granted. Mac and I were among the first to get in line,
receive our passes, and board the truck for town. Dressed,
as finely as we could, in our "dress uniforms", we joined
in the ribald singing as the truck bounced along taking
some very enthusiastic, young and virile, men, into the
city. The word "virile" is used very purposefully since the
thoughts on all the passengers minds concerned speedy
liaisons with the local girls.
Mac, who seemed ever knowledgeable about such things,
steered me into the lounge bar of a local pub. The lounge
bar was a cut above the part of the pub that served only
the men. The lounge was for social gatherings and included
the more refined women and men of the community and the
occasional military Officer as well as a few enlisted men.
Once, comfortably ensconced, in a neat little booth, Mac
began to size up the situation and decided to make his
move. He moved, with great suavity, to the table of two
lovely, young ladies and soon had them seated with us in
our booth. Although I do not have a good recollection of
the young lady Mac was interested in, I shall never forget
the charming and petite girl I was partnered with. Doreen
Hazelwood, her real name. She was everything one thinks of
when we hear the term, "English Beauty." The charm of her
English accent was not lost upon me and our conversation
soon consisted of little details about where we called home
and our particular interests.
The barkeeper, having called, "Time, please," which was the
signal for early closing, brought the usual query from us
and all the American soldiers frequenting the lounge bar,
"May I see you home"? Both girls, having informed us that
they would rather go home together, had made it quite clear
that their parents, mothers in particular, did not have a
fondness for soldiers when their daughters were involved.

Doreen did agree to meet me the following day and give me a

tour of Bournemouth. Always the tourist, and in this case,
a quite enthusiastic tourist, we arranged a place to meet.
The following day we met at the appointed place. Doreen
seemed eager to do her duty in making a lonely G.I.
welcome, and this lonely G.I. was only too eager to accept
her services.
Doreen proved to be an excellent tour guide and knew all
the places of interest. Her knowledge of the history of
Bournemouth was quite extensive. She delighted in showing
me all the sights and made my stay in Bournemouth a quite
pleasurable experience. One of her favorite places was an
old church of historical importance and it was there that I
came to realize how much different an American`s concept of
time differed from the British. During our visit I noticed
a beautiful brass spread eagle that served as the podium
for the Minister. The cleaning lady was polishing it and I
made the remark that it was a beautiful podium. She smiled
and said, "Oh, this was a gift from our late Pastor in the
early 1700s." Being a "Yank", I thought of the 1700s as
ancient history. This gave me pause, and made me realize
how young our beloved country is.
My way of thanking Doreen was to have my mother send her a
gift. As I recall, she did receive a lovely blue sweater,
was delighted, and said she would treasure it. A gift from
America was a highly prized possession.
Meanwhile the war on the continent was raging on and my
unit moved to a new location near Tidworth, a city located
southeast of Wilshire It shares its eastern border with the
Salisbury Plain, the site of the famous archeological find,
Stonehenge. Here we carried on our duties caring for the
soldiers, who were receiving tender loving care from our
beautiful nurses.
It was not only the nurses who brought smiles to our
patients. The Red Cross and the Salvation Army both sent
some very lovely ladies to visit with the soldiers. One
incident that stands out clearly happened during one of
those visits. A young man of about twenty years old, was in
the hospital for a rather extended stay. He was an avid

reader and kept us busy supplying him with books from the
hospital library. During a routine visit from the Red Cross
volunteer he requested of her to get a copy of Pygmalion, a
book he had acquired in London, signed by the author. The
lady explained that it was next to impossible to obtain the
autograph since this author was quite elderly and ill and
had a reputation of not being friendly to autograph
seekers, so the task would only end in failure. That closed
the subject until the Salvation Army lady made her visit
and the same request was made of her. Her reaction was
somewhat different. She, in a very motherly fashion, said,
"Give me the book and I`ll see what I can do." A week went
by and the same lady appeared and was eager to see the
young soldier. Upon greeting him she said, "Wait till you
see what I have for you." With that. she unwrapped a
package and there was the soldiers book. She opened the
book to the flyleaf, and there, in boldly handwritten
words, was the following note, as I remember it, "If I
signed every book for someone who thinks I am the greatest
writer since Shakespeare, I'd be doing nothing but signing
my name." Then, written with a flourish, was the signature,
George Bernard Shaw, This incident comes to mind every
Christmas when I make my donation in a Salvation Army
kettle.
Mac and I were eager to see more of England and find a
place free from the ever present G.I. Having this in mind,
we decided to take leave and get as far away from places
inhabited by people of our ilk as we could. This led to us
catching a bus and traveling as far away from camp as we
could .
Our bus ride took us to a town which seemed completely
bereft of servicemen. As all G.I.s do, we immediately found
the nearest Pub and settled in comfortably to enjoy a pint
of beer. We were the only customers and, after a few
moments of waiting, no one appeared to wait upon us. Mac
finally called out for service. Soon, a young lady peered
around an open door and said, quite breathlessly, "Oh, you
are Americans." I said, "We sure are, what did you think we
were"? Her reply was that she and her parents had observed
us from the kitchen and, just catching a glimpse of our
boots, thought we were Germans. We knew we had found the

right spot and enjoyed a great afternoon free from the hub
bub of G.I. activity. This place showed no signs of ever
having been host to an American soldier. After an hour of
friendly chatter with the barkeep and his daughter we
decided it was time to get back to camp.
Before boarding the bus I looked around for a rest room..
Spotting a toilet, I entered and went to the urinal to
relieve myself. There, written in bold letters on the wall
was that old familiar refrain, "Kilroy Was Here." There was
no way in the world that one could find a place in England
that had not been visited by American soldiers.
We returned to our unit, ready to resume our duties but, as
usual, Mac and I were ready for our next outing and this
time, we both agreed, it was to be London, the capital of
Great Britain, and one of the great historical cities of
the world.
The week following our bus trip had been exceedingly busy.
Two guys had been admitted for broken limbs and another for
a severe case of appendicitis. Between scheduling them for
operations, working out a schedule for the ward boys and
covering for a nurse who had gone on leave, as well as
attending to my other duties, I had my hands full. Mac also
had experienced a hectic week and both of us were ready to
get a pass for the weekend and our trip to London.
Having secured a three day pass and arranged for one of the
ward boys, who was "Bucking for Corporal,", to cover for
me, I was ready to head for London. Mac had obtained a
pass, too, although he had to do some fast talking to get
his.
In London, we went to Paddington Station. Across the
street from the station was Dickens Tavern, one of the many
historic pubs in London. As we entered the pub, Mac noticed
a ,very old, lady with a small glass of Guinness, half
full. With his usual charm and savoir faire, he walked over
to her and inquired, "May I get you a drink, mother?" To
the delight and laughter of all around, she replied, as
loudly as she could, in a her high pitched, shrill voice,
"I`ll have a `pint."

After a couple of "pints" we decided it was time to get to

the Red Cross Club in Piccadilly Circus, the Broadway of
London, and settle down for the night.
The Red Cross Club in Piccadilly, also known as Rainbow
Corner, was the headquarters for all G.Is when they visited
London. A huge building of several stories, with all kinds
of hospitality available, it was a magnet for all of us
seeking rest and relaxation.
One of the attractions was the little office presided over
by Adele Astaire, sister of Fred Astaire, where she wrote
letters to the loved ones of the G.I.s telling them of her
visit with their sons and daughters or sweethearts. It was
a very thoughtful way to support the war effort and was
highly appreciated by all . "Rainbow Corner" also played
host to such celebrated personages as Gen.Theodore
Roosevelt, son of President Theodore Roosevelt, Gen.
Eisenhower, George Raft, Jimmy Stewart, Irving Berlin and
many others. Glen Miller did a broadcast there and also,
Artie Shaw, who performed there for the soldiers. Little
wonder that this was a most favored place visited by G.I,s
when on leave in London.
Mac and I had just settled down for the night on the top
floor of the club with the sound of "Pom Pom" guns above us
on the roof of the building. "Pom Pom" was the name the
British people called the anti-aircraft guns that responded
to the, almost nightly, bombings. Just as sleep was taking
over, we were aroused by a mighty explosion accompanied by
the intense shaking of the building.
In a matter of moments we were out of bed and dressed,
prepared to leave the building. Once out on the street, we
observed the reason for the blast. About four buildings
down the street from the club a V1 rocket had hit a
building, tearing it apart, as though a giant fist had come
down on it. In no time at all, ambulances were on the
scene, and people covered in blood, crying out in pain,
were being removed from the wreckage. In that terrible
moment I became aware of the resilience of the British
people. There was no panic, no screaming, only a dogged
determination on the part of the volunteers to assist the

wounded and bring order out of the chaos.

This should have been enough to spoil our weekend but,
being young. and feeling, indestructible ,we were
undeterred and, after all, the old Windmill Theater was
still in business and the girls were still there, awaiting
the G.I.s.
The Windmill Theater, famous for never having closed during
the worst of the bombing of London, had by the time of the
war, became a burlesque house and obviously a premier
attraction for British and American soldiers while on
leave. The old theater has an interesting history and has
been portrayed on the screen in a film titled, "Mrs.
Henderson Presents."
It was one of those rare evenings in London, when the air
was soft and warm, ideal for outdoor relaxation. This, I
mention, because it was a tradition at the theater, when
the weather was good, that the patio at the rear of the
house was open and customers and dancers , between acts,
could enjoy a drink and conversation. Needless to say, Mac
and I took full advantage of this opportunity to "schmoose"
with the show girls.
Ensconced comfortably at one of the patio tables, we
awaited the arrival of the girls. They usually arrived as
soon as the first performance was over, still, heavily
"Made Up" with grease paint and those long artificial eye
lashes in place. To my unsophisticated eyes, this was the
very zenith of feminine glamour.
Two "ladies" strolled by and, with great admiration, I
watched as Mac beckoned to them, and with, a skill usually
observed only in the movies, brought them to our table.
After a moment of "sweet talk" by my adroit companion, the
girls settled in comfortably. I was highly impressed as he
deftly proffered cigarettes to our lovely companions.
Within a moment, his Zippo lighter appeared, cover thrown
back, and with a flick of his thumb, the flame appeared
and, it was at that moment, Mac's sophistication ,"went up
in flames". The streak of fire from the lighter rose fully
four inches and licked at those long artificial eye lashes.
This was followed by a stream of four letter obscenities
from the young "lady" that would have made a drunken sailor
blush. So endeth our London trip, and so endeth Mac's,

highly acclaimed "savoir faire", but it was only one of

many trips that we took to that great and historic city.
On another occasion, Mac and I had the privilege of
visiting the Royal Opera House, in London's Covent
Gardens. Impressive as this may seem, hundreds of "Yanks,"
nightly, made a pilgrimage to this historic place of
culture and refinement, not to experience the opera, but to
meet the girls and dance the night away.
Sometime during the war a decision had been made to convert
the opera house into a dance hall for the entertainment of
the thousands of military personnel in the city. The stage
was prepared for the accommodation of the large swing bands
that would appear there and a dance floor installed. In
effect, this historic place had become a night club. For
the price of two shillings and six pence one became a
member of the club and entitled to free admission when in
town on leave. I can still hear, in my "moments of
recollection," the music of Ted Heath and other bands of
renown, and those tender moments on the dance floor, with a
lovely English girl in my arms, as we swayed to the music
and, for a few shining moments, forgot the shadow of war
that always hung over us. There were other times when we
were "jitterbugging" or dancing romantically to a love song
and the wail of the siren would be heard alerting us to a
bombing and," If we so desired, retire to an air raid
shelter." Very often, the young lady in my arms would
whisper, "Oh, lets just keep on dancing."
Upon our return to the hospital we found that the 306th had
received a new arrival. This was a surprise because no one
new had ever been assigned to our outfit, unlike combat
units, who were often getting replacements due to
casualties suffered in battle. We were curious to know why
the young soldier had been sent to the 306th. He was busy
getting his gear in order when we introduced ourselves.
In our chat with him we found out his home was in Dayton
Ohio. We asked him how he became assigned to our outfit.
His answer was, " I don`t know." He went on to say he was
doing guard duty at a place in Alamogordo, New Mexico and

he was in town in a bar when a civilian struck up a

conversation with him. As he told it, "This guy asked me
what duty I was performing in the army." He said he told
him, "Nothing important, I just stand guard duty at a gate
to some damned compound outside Alamogordo." He added, "I
don`t even know what the Hell is going on there." "At that
point two other civilians walked up, took me by the arms
and walked me outside to a waiting car, drove me to my
outfit and turned me over to a Lieutenant." The Officer
simply said to me, "Stow your things in your duffle bag and
follow me". Following his instructions, I finished up
stowing my gear and with that the Lieutenant took me to a
car and the airport and I wound up here. Hell, up to this
moment, I don`t know what happened and why I`m here." I
guess he never did know until the war was over.
This incident brought home to all of us how serious the
military was about security. "Loose lips, sink ships," had
real meaning for all of us and we were constantly on guard
when chatting with anyone, especially civilians.

Chapter Three
"Crime and Punishment"
The patients were not the only ones to appreciate the
charms of those lovely nurse Second Lieutenants but we
knew better than to attempt to socialize with Officers, a
"sin", requiring drastic action by Superior Officers, if
ventured by a lowly enlisted man.
My duties kept me in close contact with nurses and doctors,
arranging schedules for the "Ward Boys," schedules for
medications and assisting doctors and nurses during their
rounds. It was impossible to not become familiar with the
nurses, and one beautiful young nurse by the name of
Rosemary, last name deleted, caught my eye to the point
that I broke through that invisible barrier and arranged a
date with her. Mac, never much concerned with rules, also
arranged a date with his favorite nurse and a double date
was about to take place that would have the inevitable

consequences.
The bus arrived for the short ride into Salisbury. Mac and
I found our seats, discreetly separated from our dates so
as not to appear to be accompanying Officers. Shortly
thereafter, arriving at our destination, we proceeded to
the nearest pub, and, with our dates, began imbibing the
best of what British brewers had to offer. Our conversation
gradually became more stimulating and our relationships
becoming ever more intimate, we were off to a wonderful
evening. At just before 11:00, the booming voice of the
bartender resounded throughout the pub. "Time please", the
dreaded call, that meant we could order only one more drink
before the bar closed. This was usually followed by a rush
to the bar by the patrons, many of whom still had
unfinished drinks at their tables.
Knowing the rules of the game, we decided to move to one of
the pubs that catered to Officers and remained open after
the usual closing hours. The local officials were well
aware that, "rank has its privileges." The man at the door
listened patiently as Mac explained how the young lady with
me had nursed me back to health from a serious illness,
"And now, my buddy John, and Rosemary, the lovely nurse
with him, are celebrating their engagement". Mac's story so
impressed the doorman that he made no objection to our
presence in the club.
Although Mac and I were the only non-Officers in the room,
no one seemed to notice and our evening continued on until
closing time. As we made our way through the crowd exiting
the room, our arms encircling our dates, I looked up and,
catching my eye, was the Company Commander. His look of
disapproval, I knew immediately, was a harbinger of things
to come.
The results of having encountered the Company Commander,
the night before, under the previously mentioned
circumstances, were not long in coming. Mac was the first
to heed a call to the Office immediately after Mess, and
upon his return to the barracks, informed me he had been
told to pack his belongings and leave on the truck parked
outside the Commander's office. He said, he knew not, where

he was headed.
Mac packed his gear and we both walked over to the waiting
truck. Before he climbed aboard, we shook hands and wished
each other well. I never saw Mac again, until we were
discharged and home, once more, in Kalamazoo.
I was the next to get the call to meet with the Company
Commander. His directive was quick, brusque and direct.
"Tomorrow morning, be at the roadside with your belongings
in your duffle bag and meet the truck when it arrives." "Do
you have any questions, Corporal?"
My answer was quick, brusque and direct. "No Sir," followed
by a salute. The answer was a snappy salute and a,
"Dismissed, Soldier."
Feeling depressed at having lost my buddy and being sent to
"God knows where," I climbed aboard the truck the following
morning with a number of other "F***Ups, "but damned glad I
hadn't lost my stripes.
The truck rambled on for several miles until the driver
pulled over and hollered back at us, "You guys wanna stop
at this pub and have a beer?" The question was, of course,
unnecessary, and we all disembarked , much heartened by
this magnanimous gesture.
Along with the other guys, I dropped to the ground, faced
forward, and lo and behold, there was Capt. John Hummer,
leaving his seat alongside the driver. Capt. Hummer was one
of the enlisted men's favorite Officers and a resident of
my hometown. His greeting to me was, "John, what the Hell
are you doing here?" I replied, "I might ask you the same
thing, Captain." Such was the informality that existed
between he and the enlisted men with whom he was well
aquainted. He was an excellent doctor, a fine Officer and a
real gentleman.
Onc inside the pub the G.I.s quickly received their "pints"
and were noisily swapping stories. Capt. Hummer and myself,
knowing each other well, and, having come from the same
outfit, as well as both of us being residents of
Kalamazoo, took a booth, and over a pint of Guinness, began

our stories of how we came to be on this particular

journey. I recounted my encounter with the Commander
regarding fraternization with Officers and the penalty I
suffered. Capt. Hummer laughed and said he had even a
better story to tell. As he recounted it, he and another
officer had been on a date with two nurses and had imbibed
a little too much of "Old john Barleycorn," and upon
returning to camp one of the party dared him to go to the
Commander`s quarters and awaken him. He said," Having had
one too many, and taking the dare,I went into his hut,
shook him, and with my flashlight, blinded him and backed
out. I was unable to stifle a laugh as I left. The
Commander,recognized my laugh and bellowed out, "Hmmer,"You
SOB, I will make you pay for this." He continued, "So, here
I am with the rest of you "F***Ups."
He went on to assure me that we were not only assigned to
the same place but were going to Torquay, on the south
coast of England, to care for an encampment of soldiers
training for the invasion. We would be responsible for
their day to day medical problems. He said, "This is going
to be dammed good duty, since this is one of the best spots
in England, as close to tropical weather as you will see
over here, and we will be on our own, to do, as we see
fit".
After dropping off the guys on the truck at their assigned
destinations, we finally arrived at the lovely seaside
town of Torquay, to this day, stll known as an integral
part of the "English Riviera." It is no wonder that the
famed British author, Agatha Christie, chose to live most
of her life there, in this, almost, tropical like paradise.
Wartime Britain was in no position to have its beaches
inhabited only by vacationing sun bathers and the long
stretches of barbed wire that lined the beaches stood as
stark testimony to the fact that the U.K. was at war and
fighting for its life.
In Russia, soldiers were being sent to the Eastern Front
for improper behavior and Torquay was our, "Eastern Front."
Of course, being "good and obedient soldiers," we would do
our best to cope with the cards life and the army had dealt

us.
The encampment, covering several acres, was located on the
outskirts of town. The troops were housed in tents. We soon
found our spot, a large Quonset hut, neatly made up,
sleeping accommodations for six and an office and lab. This
was to be our home and workplace until further notice.
We quickly staked out our cots and proceeded to make our
areas as comfortable as possible. Capt. Hummer and I took
an inventory of the things we required in the lab and then
sat down over a cup of coffee to discuss our routine. He
explained that ,undoubtedly, he would have connections in
town that might require him to spend the night there. He
said he was sure that I could handle the routine cases by
myself but he would leave me a telephone number where I
could reach him in case of an emergency. I was well aware
of the fact that one did not question a Superior Officer
about his off base activities. He then told me to tell the
Mess Sergeant he would like to confer with him.
The Sergeant, a large bulky man, heavily tattooed and
florid of face, responded quickly, and gave a proper salute
to Capt. Hummer, which was returned in proper military
manner. Capt. Hummer began, "Sergeant, We are here to care
for the personnel stationed here and I want my men, and
soon there will be more of us, to get plenty of rest, so it
would be appreciated if you would have breakfast for them
even if their arrival is somewhat late, thus giving them
time for some extra sleep time in the morning." The
Sergeant assured Captain Hummer that this would be no
problem but he had a favor to ask of him. The Captain,
knowing, "Quid pro quo," said, "Mention it, and it's done."
The Seargeant then explained that he often suffered from a
severe hangover in the morning and would appreciate a"
Doctor approved" remedy. With that, Captain Hummer made up
a concoction and showed me how to prepare it for the
amiable Sergeant. As I recall, it had a very solid base of
codeine, and it later received a very favorable reaction
from the Sergeant.
Our discussion continued, after the sergeant departed, and
being curious about Capt. Hunner`s remark that there would

soon be more of us, I said, "Captain, Will we be receiving

some additional help?" His answer came in the form of a
question. "John, I`m sure you will be making some social
connections in town, and wouldn't it be nice to have some
"wheels?" Without hesitation, he received an affirmative
answer. He then went on to say that he was ordering an
ambulance and driver. "I'll make sure that the driver will
understand that the vehicle is at your disposal at all
times," He said, with a smile. "I told you this would be
good duty, didn't I?" "Let's make the most of it."
The ambulance did arrive and it served me well as I became
more acquainted in the community. The driver, a Private
First Class, was a fine young man and fitted in very well
with,our,rather "laid back" style of living. We did,
however, have one incident which challenged our unmilitary
behavior.
For some unknown reason, and, maybe, it was because the
army had no other place to put him, another Captain doctor
appeared one day and showed Capt. Hummer his transfer. We
now had two Captains and two enlisted men. That seemed a
little heavy with rank.
It wasn't long before our new arrival, a young, "spit and
polish" Officer, made it known, in no uncertain terms, that
our unkempt beds and generally, sloppy housekeeping was not
in line with what he considered military demeanor. Dr.
Hummer, I`m sure, considered this an insult to his
management and approached him a couple of days later, after
one of the new Officer`s rants about unmade beds. Captain
Hummer, confronting the young Officer with fire in his
eyes, said, "Captain, "What was the date of your
commission"? Without a moments hesitation he blurted out
the date to Capt. Hummer. The response was almost
immediate, Capt. Hummer said, "Captain, my commission is of
a much earlier date and this puts me in complete command
here, and furthermore, my staff and I are quite satisfied
with our lifestyle. Is that perfectly clear?" The young
Captain Answered with a quick, "Yes Sir." I am still of the
opinion that the young Captain`s transfer to another
location the following week had something to do with this
clash of opinions between the two Officers.

Another incident, which I recall, with great relish,

happened one evening when we were seated outside of our hut
chatting. A Sergeant from one of the infantry outfits
showed up, rifle in hand, and joined us. He said, "Wanna
see a demonstration of how we train the men in rifle
handling?" He then proceeded to break down the rifle into
its separate parts. "Now watch this", he said. He closed
his eyes, and in a flash, put the rifle back together in
record time. Capt. Hummer, without verbal response, reached
over and took hold of the rifle. In a few short seconds he
then proceeded to dismantle the piece. He closed his eyes,
and with a few deft movements, much faster than the
infantryman, reassembled the rifle. Then, breaking his
silence, Capt. Hummer said, "Soldier, I learned this little
maneuver in the National Guard, long before being sent over
here. Not all medics are unfamiliar with firearms."
Not all duty here was "fun and games", and meeting the day
to day needs of the troops kept us busy. There were plenty
of situations which required our response, although most
situations were not of a highly serious nature. These were
highly trained combat troops, having been already trained
for battle before arriving at this station. They were not
engaging in maneuvers which resulted in severe injury or
worse. Most of our cases were merely first aid, although we
did have occasional situations in which, after initial
treatment, we took the patient to a nearby hospital.
We did have some inkling that important moves in the war
were about to take place. Often at night, in the darkness,
German reconnaissance planes would appear overhead and
shoot tracer bullets, hoping for return fire, thus
establishing the location of the troops. One night they
dropped a small personnel bomb which landed on a china shop
on the outer perimeter of the encampment. What we saw in
the morning would have had a collector of fine China
"climbing the walls."
Just to be on the safe side, we dug a small trench and when
a plane appeared overhead we would climb in until all
activity ceased. One night, Capt. Hummer and I took to the
trench for cover. During our descent into the trench I
brushed against something and received a small cut on my

wrist. Upon seeing the bloody wrist, Capt. Hummer said.

"OK, John, now I can put you in for a Purple Heart."
I, of course, declined the offer. The Purple Heart is given
to those wounded in battle as a tribute to their sacrifice
and heroism. I am sure, Captain Hummer was speaking in
jest, knowing I could not, in good conscience, accept his
offer.
Monitoring the news every day, we were very much aware of
the mayhem being carried on across the Channel. Hitler had
subdued most of Europe and was keeping a wary eye on
Britain where more and more American, British, Canadian and
allied forces were training for, what he knew would be, the
invasion of the continent.
Being in such close contact with these soldiers, who would
be among those to storm the beaches, made us very aware of
the tremendous responsibilities our nation had placed upon
their shoulders. Many of these young soldiers would be
laying down their lives to keep alive, what was left of law
and order in Europe. We were also aware of the other Allied
forces, in camps such as these, who were also called upon
to keep alive freedom and democracy. We were quite young,
but not too young, to know that what happened on those
beaches would make Europe, either free or slave and, in
time, threaten the security of the United States. For those
of us who would not be compelled to make that trip across
the English Channel and face the carnage of the invasion,
it strengthened our resolve to care well for our brave
combat soldiers.
Chapter Four
The "Great Crusade" and Life Thereafter
The year was 1944 and the Stars and Stripes, the GI.
newspaper, kept us fully informed of what was happening
across the English Channel. Hitler's 1941 invasion of
Russia, known as "Operation Barbarossa", had proven a
disaster and the attack on Pearl Harbor by the Japanese,
bringing in the Americans, had the German forces on the
defensive. Everyone realized that a turning point in the

war had been reached. The world held its breath awaiting
the invasion.
Preparations for the invasion of the Normandy coast in
France had been made in 1943. President Roosevelt and Prime
Minister Winston Churchill had selected Gen. Dwight D.
Eisenhower as Supreme Commander and gave the plan the code
name, Operation Overlord. The Allied powers were now set on
a course that would result in the greatest military
operation in the history of the world.
The Allies assembled a force of three million men and
stored sixteen million tons of ammunition and supplies in
great Britain. The Allies had five thousand large ships,
four thousand smaller landing craft and more than eleven
thousand aircraft.
All along the south coast of Britain staging areas were set
up for the accommodation of the thousands of troops
preparing for the invasion. Torquay was one of these
staging areas.
I remember clearly, getting up one morning, prepared to go
to town and meet the young lady with whom I had become
acquainted. I stepped out the door and it became crystal
clear to me that I was not going anywhere. This huge
encampment was completely surrounded by British and
American soldiers bearing automatic weapons. From that
moment on security was absolute and complete. It was then
that I realized why large circus tents had been set up in
the last few days and Officers from all the outfits had
been seen coming and going. Briefings were being held,
prior to, what all of us ,expected to be, the launching of
the invasion. What I did not know, was that the invasion
had been set for June 5, but weather conditions in the
channel were so bad that the mission had been postponed
until June 6.
In the wee hours of the morning of June 6,1944 we became
aware of frenzied activity in the camp. The sound of
barked orders, the roar of truck engines and the sound of
booted feet made us realize that the time had come. The
invasion of the European continent was about to become

reality. Many young men would perish that day on the

beaches of Normandy, but many more would go forward into
the heart of Germany, in what Gen. Eisenhower dubbed, "A
great Crusade."
The greatest armada in all of military history would be
unleashed that morning and a grateful world , to this day,
pays homage to the brave men who were willing to sacrifice
their lives to wipe from the face of the earth, the evil
empires of Germany, Italy and, ultimately, Japan.
The Order of the Day. June 6 , 1944 from Supreme
Headquarters Allied Expeditionary Forces, as stated by
General Dwight Eisenhower,Supeme Commander, Allied
Expiditionary Forces.

Supreme Commander
Allied Expeditionary Force.
"Soldiers, Sailors and Airmen of the Allied Forces,
in compamy with our brave allies on other fronts, you will
bring about the destruction of the German war machine and
the elimination of Nazy tyrrany,
over the oppressed peoples of Europe and provide a hew
birth of freedom for the free nations of the world and
security for our nation in a free world.
Your task will not be an easy one. Your enemy is well
trained, well equipped, and battle hardened. He will fight
savagely.
But this is the year 1944! Much has happened since the Nazi

triumphs of 1940-41. The United Nations have inflicted upon

the Germans great defeats, in open battle, man to man. Our
offensive has seriously reduced their strength in the air
and their capacity to wage war on the ground. Our Home
Fronts have given us an overwhelming superiority in
munitions and weapons of war, and placed at our disposal
great reserves of trained fighting men. The tide has
turned! The free men of the world are marching together
toward victory!
I have full confidence in your courage, devotion to duty
and skill in battle. We will accept nothing less than full
victory!
Good luck! And let us beseech the blessing of Almighty God
upon this great and noble undertaking."
With this directive from the Supreme Commander and the
hopes of all free men, our troops went forward into
battle. Before the day was over, the events that took place
on the beaches of Normandy would herald a "new "Birth of
Freedom" for the "Oppressed people of Europe" and a new
"Sense of security for ourselves" in a free world.
An eerie quiet now settled over this huge staging area. The
sound of bugle calls, the barked orders of the Sergeants
and the noisy rush to the mess hall by hundreds of hungry
soldiers had suddenly become stilled. The sounds of the
camp had been transferred to the beaches of Normandy and
became the whine of bullets, the flash of rocket fire, the
explosion of heavy artillery and cries of pain from the
wounded and dying. These brave troops were struggling
forward to free a continent from the evil stranglehold of
Nazi tyranny.
The only personnel left in the encampment were Capt.
Hummer, myself and the young man who drove the ambulance.
Our mission was finished. Together, the Private and myself
did a "Walk-through" of the tents before they were struck
and removed by the Quartermaster Corps.
Left behind by the troops were those things they could not
carry into battle, bits of "this and that",they had
acquired while on leave, magazines and books they had been

reading and the other, nonconsequential, things they

collected as they moved about.
One bit of memorabilia did catch my eye. Lying on a cot,
was a red, hardbound copy of Tolstoy`s War and Peace,
possibly the last book this young soldier would ever read.
With this thought in mind, I picked up the book and there
on the flyleaf, was the soldier's signature, Jack C.
Barnett. Through the years, this has been one of my
treasured mementos and I have tried, repeatedly, but to no
avail, to locate Jack or his family, to return this bit of
his wartime life to its rightful owners.
The Quartermaster Corps, with its usual efficiency, arrived
toward the end of the day and removed the tents and all
Army property except our quarters.We would spend the night
in our Quonset hut and wait for our orders.
Not having access to a mess hall, Capt. Hummer, the
ambulance driver and myself clambered aboard the
ambulance, drove into town and had a meal of fish and chips
and returned to await further orders.}
The following morning, Capt. Hummer called us together,
and, now having our orders in hand, informed us that we
were to return to the 306 Station Hospital and the Private
was to return to his outfit. A vehicle would arrive to
transport the Captain, and myself to the hospital. I
remember him saying, "Now, all we have to do is get back
and ready ourselves for the casualties that will be
arriving from Normandy. It won`t be long before we see what
the term, "War is Hell," really means,"
(place pic here}
The hospital was now located outside the town of
Cheltenham. The Quonset huts were lined up neatly,
concrete sidewalks connecting the ward buildings. A mess
hall was in place, barracks, quarters for the Officers, a
laboratory, sanitary facilities, and flying from a tall
flagpole, "Old Glory." The hospital was located on an area
of undeveloped land which provided the opportunity to carry
on a military program without disturbing the civilians who
lived nearby. I soon found the barrack to which I was
assigned and Capt. Hummer, being an Officer, had a building
which he shared with another Officer. We settled in for the

night wondering what tomorrow would

bring.

The one thing that struck me was that the hospital had no
patients and that meant we were prepared for the arrival of
casualties. It was now well into the invasion. We had
received word of the heavy fighting and that the beachhead
had been established and our troops and the Canadians, as
well as other forces, were now firmly entrenched in
Normandy.
Unlike the old 306th, the hospital had Military Police
surrounding it. It didn`t take long to find out that our
patients would not be American casualties, but instead,
German prisoners of war.
With the arrival of the new patients, a whole set of new
problems were encountered. All of this meant additional
training.. We had to become familiar with the rules of war,
under, what was to become, the Geneva Convention, regarding
the treatment of enemy combatants, learn to communicate
with people of a foreign language and abide with enhanced
security regulations.
I was extremely busy for the next few days, assigning my
men to their wards, arranging duty schedules, and generally
getting in sync with the doctor I was working with, and
getting to know the various routines followed by the
nurses.
Our first batch of patients arrived by train and we worked
late into the night getting them into the proper wards,
taking care of their medication needs and showing them, by
our actions, that they had nothing to fear. These were men
who had been in the thick of battle, weary and confused,
not knowing what fate had in store for them, in the hands
of the enemy. Many had received severe wounds, others only
wounds severe enough that they could not function well
enough to be left unattended. The one thing they had in
common was that most would soon be ambulatory. Their quick
removal to a hospital in England must have been the need to
get them across the channel and, in case of escape, not
having them return to duty.

While few of the prisoners spoke English and few of us

spoke German, it became apparent to us, quite quickly, that
we had to teach each other our language. Out of this
emerged a mixture of German and English that, strung
together in half sentences, allowed us to communicate, if
not fluently, at least well enough to function.
The one thing most of these men shared in common was their
disdain of Hitler and their nonparticipation in Nazi
activities. Their participation in the war was the result
of the Draft and the now familiar refrain, "I was only
taking orders" defense. They uttered it, we ignored it.
There were exceptions, of course, and, as time went by,
some really did turn out to be anti-Nazi.
Our treatment of the prisoners was strictly according to
international law. In spite our dislike of these "Nazi
Supermen," they were provided the same treatment as
American patients. Treatment of their medical needs was of
the highest order of the time. Doctors, nurses and enlisted
personnel gave their level best in caring for their
patients. Needless to say, we had no escape attempts.There
were two types of prisoners. Combat soldiers had, very
visably, on their shirts, P.W. while Medical soldiers had
P.P, Protrctive Personnel, on their shirts, which gave them
special status under the rules of war.
German medical personnel, Officers and enlisted men, were
given the opportunity to work with us in caring for the
patients. Our doctors now had additional help with the
assistance of the German doctors and my men had, much
needed, help in carrying out their duties.
Life soon settled down into a daily routine. Most of the
patients, now ambulatory, seemed quite satisfied with the
conditions we provided for them and presented no problems
for us.
Among the patients there were a few who were complete
fanatics, usually young and thoroughly "brainwashed." One
such ,was a twenty year old infantryman who. over and over,
professed his loyalty to Hitler and the Nazi doctrine. He
had been severely wounded and was scheduled for an

operation.
At his scheduled time we wheeled him into the operating
room. It soon became apparent that he would need a blood
transfusion. Since all the American personnel had records
on their "dog tags" of their blood type, and many Germans
had lost theirs. Time, being of the essence, it was decided
that one of the "Ward Boys" would "volunteer" to donate the
needed blood.
At the conclusion of the operation. He was returned to the
ward. I stood by him until he recovered from the effects of
the anesthesia. It was then that I gave in to an impulse
that possibly could be construed as "torture," and in
violation of the rules of war. In the best German I could
muster ,with my limited fluency, I informed him that he was
now a Jew. His immediate response was, "Nein, Nein, which
in English is a very emphatic, "NO. NO!" I managed to get
across to him that one of the American soldiers had given
him blood and that the soldier was Jewish, therefore, he
now had Jewish blood. I am sure his reaction to my
fabrication did not lead to his swift recovery. The fact
that the young man who donated his blood was not Jewish and
my deliberate attempt to cause this, "Hitler Youth,"
anguish, I consider to this day, a contribution to the war
effort,and more deserving of a commendation than a rebuke.
Justifibly,I received neither for having inflicted a severe
sense of discomfort upon a "patriotic warrior" of the
German Reich.
Many of the Germans had acquired quite substantial amounts
of French money and this was not lost on us as to the good
times we could have if we were to obtain this currency and
convert it to British Pounds. The Germans seemed eager to
part with this booty, which they had cleverly concealed
when captured, in exchange for American cigarettes. Having
plenty of cigarettes, we soon had pocketfuls of French
money, and now the trick was to make the conversion to
British currency. The post office had been ordered to make
known, sums of money beyond the amount Uncle Sam so
generously showered upon us, being sent home. The army
seemed always watchful for G.I. indiscretions. For some
reason, not understood by us, French Francs could still be

converted to British pounds while the Germans were still

occupying France.Since sending the cash home was not our
first priority, that was not an option we had considered..
The second hurdle was to get an American Officer to sign
off on our transaction when we were on leave.
As soon as passes became available, Joe Feld, a good
drinking buddy, and a fellow Michigander from Detroit,and I
took leave and headed for London. Our first stop, the Red
Cross Club in Piccadilly Circus, to freshen up, exchange
our British pounds for French Francs and have a memorable
weekend.
In the lobby of the club, at a spot where currency
transactions could be made,we spotted a young Second
Lieutenant,with all the earmarks of a "Ninety Day Wonder",
and convinced him to sign off for us, making it possible to
convert our Frenh money to British Pounds.
With a generous amount of the royal cash in our pockets we
set off to find the finest hotel in London that would admit
a pair of lowly enlisted men. The need to be free from
being surrounded by fellow G.I.s, of lowly rank, was a
passion that engrossed most soldiers while on leave, and we
were no exception.
Although my memory fails me as to the exact hotel we
settled upon, I do know that all the military guests,
except us, wore marks of rank upon their shoulders. The
secret to acceptance here was, not rank,but an adequate
amount of the "King`s Sterling."
We were escorted to our room by an elderly "Bell Boy," who
treated us with all the respect given to any of the guests,
and graciously accepted his tip with a "Thank you." and a
salute. Having, at one time, in civilian life, held the
same position as he, I could not but marvel at the fact
that I was on the receiving line of this timeless little
ritual.
Our room was, indeed, first class and more luxurious than I
was accustomed to. Joe, seemed much more blase and was not
as impressed as I was. After a call for room service and
having a couple of drinks, quickly brought to us by a room

attendant, we decided that after a shave, s**t and shower

we would "Do the town."
This was rapidly accomplished and we were soon on the
street.
After hailing a cab and getting aboard, Joe instructed the
driver to take us somewhere where good food and drink was
available as well as some "action." He then placed a five
pound note on the seat beside the driver, which was hastily
retrieved and an assurance given that, "I know exactly the
right place." That much British currency, roughly
translated into twenty American dollars, was a very hefty
sum at that point in time. "Money Talks."
After a short drive the cab pulled up in front of a
construction fence which cordoned off a bombed out site.
This seemed an unlikely place to begin our carousing. The
cab driver, without hesitation, found and opened a
makeshift door and bade us, "Enter". Once inside, we
entered an opening into a bombed out building and found a
party was in "full swing". A rather nice bar, given the
circumstances, was doing a hectic business. There was
plenty of food in sight and a small band was playing for
the dancing couples on the floor. Eyeing up the single
girls, we knew immediately that "action" was available. It
was, and Joe and I got back to our hotel very late, or
early, depending on how one looks at the clock. Our weekend
came and went, as did our "easy money." One thing we did
learn was that the "Black Market" was alive and well and
almost anything was available.
Chapter Five
Fun and Understanding
Back at our duties, our natural impulse for fun took over.
To liven up the evening we acquired from the lab a quantity
of pure alcohol. Having plenty of grape juice on hand, we
mixed the two together to give the grape juice, "added
flavor". The result was a delicious refresher which, after
inducing the nurses to join us, and noting their lustful
expressions of delight, we dubbed the cocktail, "Purple

Passion." I shall not belabor this yarn further although,

needless to say, we continued this little manuever whenever
possible.
As the war on the continent heated up we received word that
the bombing over Germany and the victories on land were
taking its toll to the point that Hitler began the
recruitment of the very young and the old. It was then that
we received contingents of prisoners that consisted of
boys, some not even in their teens, and men well into the
latter stage of middle age.
Among these older prisoners was a man, in his late fifties,
elderly to me, who was assigned to me for ward duty. He was
a very mild man, somewhat confused as to why he was in the
army. I kept him busy with light duties and, to the degree
possible, we became friends.
One late afternoon I walked into the office and found him
sitting at a table, his head in his hands, bent over the
table and sobbing. I walked over to him, placed my hand on
his shoulder and inquired, ,"What`s the matter?"
He raised his head, tears running down his cheeks, and
lifting a photo from the table. replied in his broken
English, "This is a picture of my wife and sons, all killed
in the bombing." This incident and the sight of these old
men and very young boys, caught up in a war, not of their
making, caused me to realize that the tragedy of war
strikes both sides with equal vengeance,
It was now late into 1944 and the 306th had been in the UK
for over two years. This was not lost on the mind of our
Company Commander. At a Company meeting with him he
broached the idea of having a little celebration
commemorating our service overseas. He informed us that he
had obtained a spot in Cheltenham where he would set up a
bar and social area where, when off duty, we could go and,
with our fellow G.Is, celebrate our anniversary. His, much
appreciated gesture was met with a sincere round of
applause.
Deciding to take advantage of this generous tribute and
having an afternoon free of duty, I decided to invite one

of the M,Ps to accompany me as my guest. When we arrived at

the Pub, it was full. The Conpany Commander,again, gave a
Toast and his speech of congratulation, which was followed
by enthusiastic applause.
My companion and guest, an extremely large and imposing MP,
had just told me how lucky we were to have such a fine
Officer in charge when the Commander walked over to where
we were sitting, handed me am MP arm band, and said,
"Corporal, put this on and if any guys come in, not a part
of our outfit, tell them this is a private party and tell
them to leave." I said, "Sir, I am not an MP." His response
was, "Soldier, you are now," and walked away with a grin on
his face.
Faced with this unpleasant duty, I remarked to my
companion, "Damn, I`ll get killed if I try to throw any of
those infantrymen out."
He laughed and said, "John, if they come in just walk over
to them and tell them to get out."
"To Hell I will. you
want to see me get killed?" I replied.
He said, "You don`t get it, do you?" He went on, "Tell them
to get out and then stand between them and the door and if
they give you any crap, invite them out to settle the
matter." I said, "You've got to be nuts." At this my friend
was suddenly consumed with laughter. After recovering his
composure he said, "When you invite them out, I`ll go out
the side door over there, don't worry, You`ll be alright."
As if on cue, two guys wearing combat boots and infantry
insignia on their shirts, walked over to the bar, obtained
mugs of beer and seated themselves. For me, Armagaddon had
arrived. "Undaunted and fearless", I approached them and
gave them the message that they were not welcome since this
was a private party. Completely ignoring the MP badge on my
arm, they answered with a " Screw you, you f******
medic." Having faith and confidence in my companion, with
some reservation, I invited them outside. My invitation was
immediately accepted.
I walked to the door, my legs a bit wobbly, followed by the
two combatants. My friend, at the same time, went out the
side door. Once on the street, all Hell broke loose. Out of

nowhere, one of the G.I.s got a fist squarely in the face

and the other a kick in the pants and both moved rapidly
down the street. My friend returned to the side door and
entered. Still, a bit dazed, I returned to my place at the
table where, my buddy was already seated, gave a salute to
the startled Commander, and sat down. I am sure, to this
day, that Officer is still wondering how that skinny kid
managed to evict two combat soldiers with "Chips on their
shoulders."
As one of my duties was to have the wards ready for
Saturday morning inspection, I made my rounds on Friday
afternoon. On one particular Friday, I was summoned to the
bedside of a patient who spoke fluent English. He informed
me that a patient, and he named the bed number, was not
getting a full portion of food and was always complaining
that he was hungry. I, immediately confronted the patient
and, he informed me that, Hauptman, a POW, that that had
been a medic in the German navy, and whom I now had serving
the food in this ward, was refusing him a full portion of
food. From the look of the patient,I didn`t doubt that the
information I had recieved was correct.
I headed back to the office, found Hauptman, and confronted
him with the fact that a patient was being denied his full
portion of food. Hauptman made no attempt to conceal the
fact that he gave this patient only minimal portions. I
asked him why he would do such a thing and got an immediate
response. "Unter' Officer, that man is a Waffen S.S.
soldier, Look at the insignia on his uniform." All S.S. had
a "Black Patch Waffen SS" insignia on their uniforms. He
continued, "You take care of the office, I take care of the
"SS," spoken in surprisingly good English. Needless to say,
I sympathized with his motive, but explained that we had to
treat all patients the same.
Saturday morning inspection went off without any problem,
the soldier in question had been given the proper amount of
food and made no complaints. The inspecting Officer, having
given us an OK, immediately departed and we went back to
business, as usual. I was ready for some leave time and
knew Joe would be in line with me for a pass and a trip to

London.
Usual procedure before going on leave was to be sure all
duty was covered in my absence. I finished arranging
schedules for the, on duty, enlisted personnel and returned
to the wards to see that all was in order. Having
determined that everything was shipshape, I turned to the
Private, on duty, and was discussing special needs for
certain patients when a terrific explosion shook the
building Both, the Private and I were knocked off our feet
and some patients had been thrown out of their beds.
Our immediate concern, after picking ourselves up off the
floor, was to ascertain the condition of our patients and
determine the damage done to the building. As soon as it
was determined that no injuries were suffered by the
patients and the building seemed intact, I went outside to
see if I could discover the cause of the explosion.
An ambulance had arrived and a bomb crew, off in the
distance, was surveying a place where a huge cloud of smoke
had formed. After informing the driver that everything was
alright with us, and clambering aboard, we headed out to
the bomb site. What I saw made "my hair stand up straight."
What if that bomb had landed on the hospital?, was my first
thought.
The crater seemed big enough to have swallowed a large
building. The bomb crew soon left the scene, after taking
note of the situation I reflected upon what I had just
seen.. Could this have been one of Hitler's V2 bombs Could
this have been one of the last V2s. that found its way to
England? It has been said that the V2 was a failure and hit
more uninhabited places than occupied areas but, at that
moment, it seemed a deadly weapon to me.
Never deterred by last minute interruptions, Joe and I
headed for London on a two day pass which we spent in
"cultural pursuits." An interesting few moments occurred
while we were on a short train ride to a place just outside
of London, highly recommended by a fellow G.I. as a great
place to indulge ourselves.
Seated directly across from me in the train was a small

British gentleman, British trains have these little

compartments, much like those seen on stage coaches in
Western movies. We exchanged pleasantries, and in so doing,
he asked me where I was from, "In the States." I told him,
Kalamazoo, Michigan. His face broke into a grin and he
said, "Oh I know that part of the country well." He went
on, "several years ago, I was in Chicago, looking for a
shop where I could construct neon signs and not having any
success."He continued, "I was eating in a little Italian
restaurant and got talking to the waiter and telling him of
my problem." He reached into his pocket, withdrew a
business card, scribbled his name on it, handed it to me,
and said, "Here, take this card to the hotel named on the
card, stand in line on the stairs until you are ushered
into the room at the top of the stairs. Give the man at the
door the card, and you'll be taken care of. I did as he
suggested the following day. When I was finally ushered in
I saw a long Board of Directors table, and there, at the
head of the table was, none other than, "Scar face" Al
Capone. I recognized him immediately, having seen his
picture in the newspaper. I tell you, my knees were
buckling and I was one scared little Englishman." He went
on to say that he was "taken care of," but it was an
experience he would never forget.
On another occasion, on one of those train rides out of
London I experienced a very enlightening moment while
talking to a civilian. The man sitting across from me
struck up a conversation and remarked, "I certainly admire
the spirit of you `Yanks." He went on to say, " I was
taking this same train two days ago and a "Yank" was
sitting across from me and I inquired as to his
destination. The train was just beginning to slowly move
out of the station, he told me where he was going and I
told him he was on the wrong train, going in the opposite
direction. Without further ado, he simply grabbed the
leather strap, dropped down the window, jumped out onto the
platform and disappeared. That`s the kind of immediate
action that will win this damned war, Thank God, you are on
our side".
Another time, taking this same train to the outskirts of
Londonn to keeo a date with a young woman, I had a less

than inspiring experience on the return to downtown London.

It seems our little tryst lasted well into the very early
hours of the morning and when I left to go back to the city
the train had concluded its day and I was left stranded.
Since a long hike was not something new to me I decided to
hike it. Only after about a mile, fatigue began to set in,
and I still had five or six miles to go. Having no other
option, I decided to continue on. Finally, I came within a
mile or two of Rainbow Corner and the vision of a warm bed
completely overwhemed my imagination. As I struggled to
dismiss the fatigue that now consumed me a "Lady of the
Night" appeared in a doorway and, very seductively, asked
if I wanted a "good time" with her. I was so damned tired,
the last thing in the world I wanted was sex, and my answer
was an abrupt negative reply. Not to be outdone, she said,
"C`mon soldier, it won`t cost you a shilling, I just don`t
like to sleep alone." The thought of a bed, upon which I
could lay my weary frame, caused me to change from negative
to positive and I followed her into the, dimly lit,
hallway. With the light from my Zippo lighter, we made our
way to her room. The neatly made bed was a tiny bit of
Heaven to me. I sat down promptly and began to remove my
boots. It was then she asked, "Would you like a cup of
tea?" Without further ado, she disappeared into the tiny
kitchen. I had no sooner stretched out on the bed when a
series of loud squauks met my ears. Quickly, I went to the
kitchen and a sight, I shall never forget, greeted my eyes.
This little vixen had removed the stick from a parrot cage
and, with an evil gleam in her eyes, was beating the
happless bird who occupied the cage. It was then, I decided
to return to the street and avoid this happening to me in
the middle of the night. Sadistic behavior, was not my "Cup
of tea" and I returned to the bed, put on my boots and,
once again, made my way down the dimly lit hallway, and out
to the street and continued on to Ranbow Corner for a night
of peaceful sleep, wanting only to get back to camp the
following morning and care for my patients. This last
little encounter had not been one of my shining moments.

Chapter Six
A Year to Remember
On December 16, 1944, we received word that the Germans had
mounted a huge offensive, had broken through and created an
extensive bulge in the Allied lines. This was Hitler`s last
desperate attempt to change the course of the war and
became known as the "Battle of the Bulge." Although
fighting was fierce, it was to no avail, and the end of the
war was now in sight, although peace would not come until
May of 1945.
The New Year arrived and while we managed to celebrate in
the local pub it was a time when one felt very homesick,
wondering if this damned war would ever end,an emotion one
felt every night when the bugle sounded, Taps, signaling,
"Lights Out."
The year 1945 seemed much like every other year, the same
old routine, the same "bitching" in the barracks and the
same old duties in the wards looking after the needs of the
wounded enemy. Much to the credit of the American military,
our good treatment of them never waivered in spite of our
disdain of them.
Spring had arrived and with the coming of April, we were on
one of our `voluntary' long hikes to condition ourselves
before settling down to the business of the day. It was a
chilly day in April and we were just approaching camp when
a Sergeant came running over to us shouting, "Have you guys
heard the news?" Before we could respond, he shouted, "The
President just passed away." There was a moment of complete
silence among the group. As the portent of this shocking
news settled upon us, we all fell silent and tears arose in
the eyes of all six of us. We were the young men who grew
from children to adults, never having known another
President, and one so dearly loved by all of us. He was the
leader who took us through the "Great Depression" and led
us in time of war. "He was always the "Master of his
Realm", and will always be remembered as the "Captain at
the Helm." April 12, 1945, "Now he belongs to the ages," to
borrow a phrase from Secretary of War, Stanton, upon the

death of Abraham Lincoln during the Civil War.

What had seemed just the beginning of a new year, suddenly
turned into a year filled with surprises. We knew that the
Allies had agreed to demand "Unconditional Surrender." We
also knew that Hitler had committed suicide and that this
meant sure victory for the Allies. In spite of all this, we
were taken aback, when on May 5,1945 the surrender of
Germany brought an end to the war in Europe. On May 8, the
surrender was signed. It was VE Day! The guns were
silenced and a war torn continent was, once again, at
peace. The "Captain at the Helm," had not lived to see us
"Gain the summit of the hill."
Celebrations broke out throughout the United Kingdom and
this meant passes were being issued very liberally and it
made it possible for us to join in the celebration.
Needless to say, Joe Feld and I were ready to take full
advantage of the situation and applied immediately for
passes.
In London we were treated royally and the British deemed us
"heros", although Joe and I had not fired a single shot in
anger. Until the day we returned to camp we reveled,
shamelessly, in all the expressions of gratitude showered
upon us by the gratful British people. At one point Prime
Minister Winston Churchill and Gen. Eisenhower appeared on
the balcony of Mansion House and addressed the throngs
below.
I was one of the G.I.s in the crowd and a reporter
approached me and asked me about the reaction of the
British people to the news of surrender and America`s role.
It was only after I got home that my mother showed me a
clipping from the newspaper of my interview. As I remember,
the reporter was from the Chicago Tribune and his work,
later, appeared in local newspapers near Chicago.
After returning from leave I was making my rounds in the
wards when my Sergeant informed me I was going on Detatched
Service, again. My immediate response was that there was
nothing I had done to deserve punishment for miscondunct or
deriliction of duty and such an assignment was very unfair.
He laughed and said, "No, its not punishment, you are going

on detached service to Belfast, Northern Ireland with a

Private to set up a prophylactic station, you lucky dog."
He continued, "That's a dammed nice duty assignment".
Somewhat baffled as to why I was chosen for this
assignment, I continued on with my work, not realizing that
this new experience would be a turning point in my life.
CHAPTER SEVEN
An Assignment Of Destiny
May 12, 1945, I arrived in Belfast with Bill, my
assistant, moved into our new quarters and for the next
couple of days made the place "ship-shape." My station was
set up in a storefront not far from the center of town. It
consisted of quarters for two and a facility to service the
soldiers before their return to camp. This was my station
and I was in complete charge, far from the commands of
demanding Sergeants. My subordinate was a young Private who
hailed from the Appalachians, a "Hillbilly," if you will.
To my delight he even stood in awe of a lowly Corporal.
Needless to say, we got on very well.
Belfast is the largest city in Northern Ireland. N.Ireland
is a part of the United Kingdom and was fully involved in
the war. It was here that the Titanic was built in the
shipyards of Harland and Wolfe. For many decades many of
the great ships of historical importance were built there.
Belfast also has a long history related to the linen trade
and it was known all over the world for its fine linen
products. Then, during the war Belfast had another claim to
fame, along with other cities in the United Kingdom, and
that was its surplus of "Yanks." The term, "Yanks," was a
token of friendship except when it was used by the mothers
of eligible girls in the community. In spite of this bit of
"bigotry" the young maidens seemed to find the "Yanks"
good company and the dance halls were constantly creating
many "social relationships."
There were still enough "Yanks" to go around even though
the war in Europe was over. There was an Air Force base
called, Langford Lodge just outside the city and the troops
were busy dismantling the base and removing equipment while
awaiting orders for their next assignment. With the war

still raging in the South Pacific, there was little doubt

as to where that would be. Needless to say, I was wondering
about the destination for the 306th, but for now at least,
I was safely tucked away in Belfast. I did know, however,
that since we had not been in combat, the South Pacific
might be our next location and a combat area there.
My assistant was not eager to wend his way through the
large city, preferring to stay at our station in the
evening, writing letters to his girlfriend and parents.
This made it possible for me to have the evenings to
myself. During the day there was little to do and it was
then I became acquainted with civilians on the street
outside the facility. One elderly lady and I had several
interesting chats. On one occasion, she told me she was a
seamstress and invited me over in the next street to see
her shop. Not wanting to seem uninterested, I walked with
her to the shop. She was very proud of it and showed me all
her creations. We chatted for a few minutes and then she
said, "Would you be staying for Tea?" With that, she pulled
aside a curtain and there in the next room was a neat
little restaurant. Her smuggling connections in the Irish
Free State, which was neutral in the war, provided her with
all the food and drink she needed to run this fine little
lunch room at this time of severe food rationing in the
United Kingdom. I could not know it at the time but this
tiny sliver of the "Black Market," would mark a turning
point in my life.
Having heard of a dance hall, not ordinarily frequented by
Americans I decided to give it a try. Hoping to find some
feminine companionship, I sauntered into the club,
approached the bar, ordered a drink, and surveyed the scene
for a possible conquest. There, sitting at a nearby table
with a young British Naval Officer, was the loveliest
Colleen I had ever laid eyes upon. Much as I wanted to ask
her for a dance, I couldn`t chance a rejection with that
"Limey" seated at the table with her. I bided my time and
after a few short minutes her date excused himself and left
the table. Siezing the moment, I strode over to her and
asked her for a dance. Surprisingly,she accepted my
invitation and for several wonderful minutes I held her in
my arms as we danced to the romantic music the band was

playing. The dance, having ended, I escorted her back to

her table. The young Officer had returned and as we
approached,the damned "Limey,"in his phony, uppercrust
accent, said, "I presume, Peggy, my dancing is too old
fashioned for you." With that, he stood up and strode
off.Now,I knew her name, had vanquished her boyfriend and
had her to myself. This didn`t seem to bother Peggy, who
seemed almost glad to see him leave. I sat down with her,
took her hand in mine, and from that moment on, I was in
love.
I wanted very much to escort her home but she made it quite
clear that her mother would not welcome me and it would
cause her more trouble than she was willing to bear. Before
seeing her to the bus we agreed to see one another the
following evening. I was in "Seventh Heaven," and felt,
very much, like the character Gene Kelly played in that
wonderful dance sequence in the movie Singing in the
Rain.It seemed that all these events were taking place as
though I was watching scenes from a movie. I had been in
Ireland for such a short period of time and, here I was,
already in love.
We met the following evening, and by the end of two weeks
of ,every night dating, had become a "Couple." We both
realized that our affair was more than just a "Passing
Fancy." None of this would have been possible without the
collusion of Peggy`s sister, Betty, who was always ready
with an excuse for Peggy`s late nights.
It soon became quite clear to both of us that we were in
love to the point that we wanted to spend the rest of our
lives together, although I had not yet, "popped the
Question." The difficulties to overcome seemed too
overwhelming. Peggy was from an Irish Catholic family. I
was a Protestant, with ties to the Dutch Reformed Church,
the church of the most hated, King William of Orange, and,
to top it off, I was a "Damned Yankee" and a soldier from a
far off country.
Then, and even today, in Belfast, Catholics do not marry
Protestants and, most certainly, not Protestants with ties
to the Dutch Reformed Church. Secondly, and even more

disqualifying, was the fact that her parents would be

losing a beloved daughter and sending her abroad, maybe
never to return. All this we knew, but two people in love
are blinded by their emotions to the extent that they are
insensitive to the feelings of others affected by their
union.
One late Friday afternoon, after a stroll through the shops
and a light dinner in one of the many little curbside
eateries that dot the downtown streets of Belfast, we
walked up the steps of the City Hall, found a seat close to
the great columns that grace that stately building and sat
down to chat. It was early evening, a light rain had fallen
during the day but the evening was quite pleasant. I told
Peggy that I was sure that we both loved each other but
that nothing could come of it unless i could meet her
parents. She said nothing for a minute, and then, with
tears in her eyes, said, "OK, John, let`s go home, right
now."
Dusk had fallen, with a bit of chill in the air, as we
walked up Rockville Street and entered number 39, one of
the little brownstone houses that line the streets of
Belfast. The tiny living room was warm and cozy, heated by
a neat little fireplace that threw long, flickering shadows
on the papered walls. A piano, sofa and chair graced the
room . All these homey images gave me a feeling of warmth
and security I had not experienced for a very long time.
No one being home, Peggy busied herself with making a pot
of hot tea and then went to the piano and played an old
Irish tune. As I sat and basked in the beauty of the scene,
I kept thinking how much I would love to spend the rest of
my life with this lovely Irish girl.
The peace and tranquility of this heavenly moment was
shattered as Peggy`s mother arrived on the scene. Mrs.
McKenny, although not a large lady, to my eyes presented a
very imposing figure. Peggy introduced her mother to me.
Mrs. McKenny, very graciously, shook my hand, and then,
with a pleasant smile, uttered the words, so often spoken
to young men in my position, "So, you are the young man who
has been keeping my daughter out to all hours of the

night." My response was, " Yes, Mrs. McKenny, I must plead

guilty to that."
The evening was continuing splendidly with Peggy`s mother
querying me about all things Catholic. I was responding
with many things I had read about the Church and throwing
in the names of a few Catholic clerics. Fortunately, I had
read so much history that included the Church that I felt I
was coming off quite well. Never once, did Mrs. McKenny ask
me if I was a Catholic, although Peggy told me later that
her mother concluded that I was a "Fallen away" Catholic.
The evening was getting late and then Peggy`s mother
issued the "Coup de Grace." She said," I know you boys
enjoy a good home cooked meal and I have some lovely fish
and some delicious chicken, which would you prefer?" It was
then, I made my first mistake. I chose chicken, completely
forgetting it was Friday. I was served a delicious plate of
roast chicken , completely oblivious of the error I had
just made.
Not all was lost, for I was invited back and spent all my
evenings there getting to know Peggy`s mother, father,
sister and brother. Peggy`s father was a quiet little man
who worked for a local bakery. He was very easy to talk to
and we became friends very quickly, spending some time at
the local pub getting better acquainted. He was a very
broad minded man, certainly not a part of the religious
bigotry that consumed so much of Northern Ireland, and best
of all, not prejudiced toward American soldiers. I came to
know her sister, Betty, a lovely young lady, with a great
sense of humor, and Peggy`s ally in whatever Peggy wanted
to do. Her brother, Seamus was the typical teenager,
unconcerned with his sister`s problems and more concerned
about my supply of "Yankee goodies." Mrs. McKenny and I
soon became good friends and my frequent visits with her
during the day, while Peggy was at work, sharing many
laughs together,cemented my relationship with the McKenny
family.
Though I did spend many daytime hours away from my station,
I did cover for my assistant on those occasions he wanted
to go to town. As far as night time activities were

concerned, he preferred to spend his time reading or

writing letters home.
As was to be expected, soldiers being at their base during
the day, we had few guys showing up at the pro station
during daylight hours. However there was an occasional G.I.
I remember one such instance because it had such a sad ring
to it. A young man came into the station and asked me if he
could use the facility to shower and shave. He said he was
being married in a few hours and wanted to get ready for
the wedding. Upon receiving an affirmative answer, he
proceeded with his grooming and left, looking in great
shape for his plunge into matrimony.
Several hours later a lady and her daughter arrived and
asked if I had seen a soldier fitting the description she
gave of him. I knew immediately it was the G.I. I had seen
earlier and confirmed that he had been here.. I knew
something was amiss by the sad look on the girl`s face. Her
mother then blurted out, "I knew this would happen. That
damned "Yank" never showed up for the wedding, damn his
soul."
It was the end of June, 1945 and my whole venture almost
came crashing down. I received a visit from a Captain and a
Lieutenant to make an inspection of the facility. I wanted
to get the inspection behind me because I felt I wouldn't
have another inspection until around the end of July, 1945.
After completion of the inspection,the Captain
said,"Corporal, everything seems in order." I then invited
them into my quarters for a drink, which they readily
accepted. The Lieutenant glanced at a portrait of Peggy I
had placed near my bed and said, "Pretty girl, your
girlfriend or your wife, back home?" I replied, rather
naively, "No Sir, "That's a young lady I met here in
Belfast and hope to marry before I go home. Oops! Bad
mistake! I well knew of the Army`s disapproval of soldiers
marrying girls they met while stationed overseas, The
Captain smiled and said, "She is a beautiful girl.I can
readily understand why you would like to take her home with
you, Corporal,but, probably, not a good idea.Maybe its time
we got you back to your outfit." That remark hit me like a
lightening bolt. I could not imagine being separated from

"The love of my life," and being put in a position where

marriage would be impossible. I felt trapped, and no way
out. Then, suddenly, I remembered a bit of wisdom Captain
Hummer had given me. He had said, "Never ask for anything
without being prepared to give something in return, "or,
"Quid Pro Quo."
Regaining my composure and having hit on an idea,
remembering the seamstress with the lunch room behind her
shop. I replied to the superior Officer, "Captain, that's
for you to decide, Sir." I followed that with, "Sir, its
almost lunch time, would you and the Lieutenant like to
join me for a nice meal of steak and eggs?" The Lieutenant
spoke up and said, "Where in the name of Hell can you get a
meal like that with all this damned rationing?" Realizing
that I was on to something, I replied, " If you gentlemen
will follow me, I`ll be glad to show you." With that, we
all got up, walked to the door and started up the street.
When we arrived at the dress shop of my old friend,the
seamstress, I beckoned them in. I noticed a look of
puzzlement on the faces of the two Officers as I approached
the lady at the counter. After a moment, I introduced the
Officers, and she escorted us to the "magic" curtain,
pulled it back and ,"Voila", we were in "Food Heaven."
The steaks were done to perfection, the eggs, a perfect
complement, to the steaks, and presented beautifully on
fine china plates. The "piece de resistance' was a tasty
peach cobbler topped with whipped cream. This, and steaming
cups of hot coffee brought smiles of satisfaction to the
faces of the two Officers. It was then, I made my move.
Addressing the Captain, I said, "Sir, I would really
appreciate it if you could have my assignment here
extended." The Captain, with a broad, knowing smile,
replied, "Well, Corporal, I suppose a little more time
Could be arranged, maybe another month. Plan on being back
at your outfit in England on July 30."=== "Quid Pro Quo.
Chapter Eight
Sealing My Fate for the Better
Realizing how transient my stay in Belfast was going to
be, I made up my mind to, "Bite the Bullet," and ask Peggy
to marry me.

One evening Peggy and I were invited to take a drive along

the beautiful scenic Antrim Road with a couple she knew
who owned a car. This was a special treat because, at that
time, few people in the U.K. owned cars. The car was a cute
little roadster with seats for four, two of them in a cozy
little rumble seat, perfect for two people in love. After a
short drive, the car was pulled over and parked. It was a
gorgeous, starlit night, a warm breeze coming in from the
ocean, the sound of waves lapping the shore and a gorgeous
moon overhead. A film director could not have set up a
better scene for a romantic moment in the film he was
directing.
I held Peggy in my arms, kissed her luscious lips and then
uttered the following clumsy proposal, "Peggy, "Would you
consider becoming my wife?" Of all the opportunities to use
romantic phrases, this was one, but I was so tongue-tied I
was lucky to get this much across and on top of all this, I
didn`t even have an engagement ring ready.. After a short
pause, Peggy, with tears in her eyes, said, "Yes, John, but
you know, its going to be difficult to manage. My mum and
dad will be awfully hard to convince" This was followed by
a lingering kiss which I will always remember unto the end
of my days.
Now that we were engaged, I said to Peggy, "Sweetheart, I
know this is going to be difficult for your parents but I
think we can convince them that they should give us their
blessing. Now we have to find a good time to tell them of
our intentions." To this she replied, "I know, but lets
wait for the proper time. This is not going to be easy."
For several days we said nothing to anyone about our
engagement. We knew we had to find the proper moment to
broach the subject to Peggy`s parents. Our procrastination
finally came to an end, forced upon us by a call I received
from my unit, informing me that my stay in Belfast was to
end on July 30,1945 and to close down my facility and
return to the 306.th It was now July 2, 1945 and having,
roughly, only four weeks left in Belfast, we had to end our
procrastination and,"Face the Music," with Peggy`s parents.
Our opportunity to have a quiet evening with Peggy`s

parents came shortly thereafter. Peggy`s sister, was out on

a date, , her brother, was busy elsewhere, and Mr. and Mrs.
McKenny were having a quiet evening at home. Peggy and I
had just returned from town and decided this was the
perfect time to break the news of our engagement.
Peggy was at the piano accompanying her father as he played
a lively jig on his fiddle. Having laid down the violin and
returned to his place on the sofa next to Mrs. McKenny, he
said, "Peggy, did you have something to tell us?" He
continued, "You certainly didn`t have your mind on the
music," Peggy hesitated and seemed at a loss for words.
Sensing it was my turn to say something, I began, "Yes, we
do have something to tell you, Peggy and I are engaged to
be married, and now, all we need, is your blessing." There
was a moment of silence, which, to Peggy and I, seemed an
eternity, and then her mother spoke up. She said, "Seeing
how the two of you get on, a person would have to be blind
not to see that this was coming, even if you have only
known each other for such a short time." Peggy`s father
seemed content to let Peggy`s mother continue the dialogue.
She said, "Now, John, you know Peggy is very young and this
is a serious move the two of you are thinking about. John,
you are a long way from home and sometimes it is easy to
forget someone you care for back there." She went on,
"There is also the need for you to get settled, have a job
and ready to begin a family." Peggy`s father then spoke up.
"I think what "Minnie" is trying to say is that marriage,
while you are still in the army, is not possible." "Minnie"
was the name everyone used for Mrs. McKenny. After a short
pause. Minnie began, "John, you are a nice boy and I know
Peggy really cares for you but she is also our daughter and
we want her to be happy. You told me that you must return
to England soon and the war is not yet over for you. We
think that it would be best for you to wait until you are
out of the army, have a job and no one back there you may
have forgotten, and then, if you and Peggy still feel the
same about marriage, we will consider it." Without waiting
for my response, Minnie said, "Now, I think we should have
some tea." Knowing Mrs. McKenny, I knew the last word had
been given and we simply accepted her dictum.
After a nice cup of hot tea and a delicious Irish scone,

liberally covered with jam, I realized it was getting late

and, with our mission accomplished, I arose and prepared to
say good night. I shook hands with her dad, gave Peggy a
goodnight kiss, turned to Minnie and said, "Mrs. McKenny,
After I do get home, you will be hearing from me. I am a
very stubborn Yank, you know."
During the following days Peggy and I spent every moment
together we could. The only shadow hanging over our
romance was that I would soon be returning to England. We
had long conversations about the life we would live in
America. Peggy asked me countless questions about how
Americans lived. We were in a constant state of euphoria
over the idea of being married and starting a family. I
knew I had found the right mate for a happily married life.
I had met Peggy only a little more than a few weeks ago
but,in my heart, I knew I had met the girl God had chosen
for me.
On the evening of July 29, the day before I had to return
to my outfit, we spent our last hours together at Peggy`s
home with her parents. That night,our hearts were heavy at
the thought of my leaving but we both pledged our troth to
each other and agreed to write every day until we were
reunited in America.
On the morning of July 30, 1945, Bill, my assistant, and I
boarded a cross channel ferry and left Belfast behind. I
had asked Peggy not to be there, not wanting to have an
emotional good bye. Arriving in England, we boarded a train
and soon were back at the old 306th.
When we arrived back in camp excitement was running high.
Everyone had been "sweating" the news about the action in
the Pacific, and rumors had been circulating that the 306th
was scheduled for deployment . The news coming out of the
Theater of Operations in the Pacific was on every ones
minds but, as a result of so many disappointments in the
past, not always believed. Absolutely no one is as
skeptical of news reports as a G.I. in a time of war.
By the middle of July, 1945, most of the important battles
in the South Pacific had been won. In spite of this the

Japanese still carried on, refusing to accept the

inevitable, with the loss of thousands of military and
civilian lives. Thousands of tons of bombs were raining
down all over Japan.
During the rest of July the newspapers carried stories of
the impossible resistance of the Japanese. By July 30 the
naval forces of Japan had been almost completely wiped out.
Despite all these signs of defeat the Japanese continued to
boast that they were capable of repelling any enemy attack
against the homeland. This air of bravado continued, even
after having experienced, what has been called, "the
greatest air raid in history," having just had six
thousand, six hundred thirty two tons of bombs dropped on
their oil refineries and cities.
By August 3, it was obvious that Japan was doomed but the
American bombers continued to blast their railroads and
warn them that the end was near. They still continued to
resist. Even after August 5, when a dozen cities were added
to the "surrender or die" list they stubbornly clung to the
idea that they could recover and continue the fight.
Listening intently to the radio, we heard the news but
still felt that deployment to the South Pacific was in the
offing. It was on the 6th of August when we received news
that President Truman had unleashed a bomb, two thousand
times more destructive than a blockbuster, which had been
detonated over Hiroshima.
This announcement got our attention. We were glued to the
radio but censorship was in place. Bombing by the Flying
Fortresses continued. No word from Japan in reply to an
ultimatum that had been given for them to surrender was
made. While no news of the destruction caused by the bomb
was being released we sensed that it must have been
horrendous. Then, on August 9 word came through that a
second bomb had been detonated over the city of Nagasaki.
We, along with the rest of the world, awaited word of the
Japanese surrender. Then the word came through that the
Japanese were willing to surrender as long as the Emperor
was safeguarded, but no offer of capitulation. The Allies
then offered to leave the fate of the Emperor up to the

direction of the Allied nations. The Japanese continued to

delay and the killing continued. The Japanese were given a
warning that renewed atomic bombing was possible if Japan
continued to delay surrendering.
Finally on August 14 word was received that the Japanese
had surrendered but no official proof was given. Having
received no official word the Americans continued to shell
and bomb Japan.
At long last, we all heaved a sigh of relief as word came
through that in Bern, Switzerland on the 14th that the
Japanese Minister had delivered a note to the Foreign
Office from Tokyo . This was quickly followed by a radio
report from Washington. "Tokyo radio said today that Allied
terms for Japan's surrender had been accepted by Emperor
Hirohito." More than twelve hours later no official
confirmation was given and the fighting in the Pacific
continued.
On August 15, 1945, the one word the world had been
wanting to hear. "PEACE," appeared in newspapers all over
the world. In no matter what language the word appeared,
the families of loved ones gave thanks to their God for the
end to this brutal war. The world was now at peace and the
tyranny of the brutal dictators in Italy, Germany and Japan
had come to an end, thanks to the sacrifices made by the
soldiers of the Allied nations and their loved ones at
home.
On September 2, 1945, Gen. Douglas MacArthur, delegates of
the Allied powers and the Japanese delegates met on the
deck of the battleship USS Missouri in Tokyo Bay and
formally signed the document,accepting the terms of
surrender by the Japanese. The world was, once again, at
peace and the blessings of freedom and democracy had been
secured for nations dedicated to those principles.
Each of us, in our own way, responded to this news with
thoughts of what the future would bring. My mind
immediately returned to thoughts of my Peggy, and how soon
we would be reunited. We had been corresponding every day
and now my letter, this day, would be filled with joy and

optimistic words about our being together and the life we

would be living in America.
For those of us in Britain the scenario now became a
waiting game. Individuals would be going home based on a
point system. Length of time served, the type of action the
soldier was involved in and the decorations he had
received, would be taken under consideration in giving
points. Since the members of our outfit had served for
about the same amount of time. had collected no medals for
valor in combat, and our service had been a "Walk in the
Park" compared to the ones who had suffered the horrors of
combat, we were in for the "Long Haul."
Chapter Nine
American Tourists
It was now the beginning of October, 1945 and repatriation
had not
yet taken place for the POWs in the hospital, although, by
this time, almost all were ambulatory and able to work thus
relieving us of many duties.. Our work in the hospital
continued as usual but on a much more relaxed basis. We
were in a "holding pattern" and really only biding time
until we could be go back to the United States for
demobilization.
Somewhere along the line of command an idea emerged to keep
the anxious troops happy. The army set up a number of tours
to which the troops could sign up for and, for all
practicality, make us "tourists." This attention to our
concerns was enthusiastically accepted, especially when a
trip to a brewery was scheduled.
On the Company bulletin board was the following notice,
"SIGN UP FOR A VISIT TO THE STROUD BREWERY. The bus will
leave at 0900 hours tomorrow."
Needless to say there was no problem in getting a busload.
Joe and I were at the assigned location to meet the bus at
exactly 0900 hours. It seems promptness was not an issue
when all that free beer was in the offing. to Stroud. .The
ride was of short duration and we were greeted by a tour
guide, who, by the look on his face, did not relish guiding

this group of. "Bloody Yanks,"

He gave us the usual speech as he guided us through the
brewery, although we made it difficult for him with our
crude remarks and lack of attention. Finally we arrived in
the cellar, surrounded by huge vats of beer and were
invited to sample the wares. This got our immediate
attention and we showed our affection for Stroud beer by
consuming all that the attendant provided.
The tour over, we boarded our bus and pulled out for home,
with waves of goodbye from the employees. The, now somewhat
inebriated "tourists," showed their gratitude by blowing up
condoms, tying them off into neat little balloons and
tossing them out the windows. Is this where the term, "Ugly
American," first surfaced? Was this our contribution to
millions of tourists who were to visit England after the
war? On the other hand, would this not be viewed as merely
the exuberant joy of a lot of war weary G.I.s anxious to
return home to families and friends?
There were several other trips that caught my attention and
turned out to be experiences to be remembered. One of the
most treasured of these was a trip that was posted as, "A
TRIP TO A STATELY BRITISH MANSION." Needless to say, this
particular tour was not as popular as the brewery trip but
I and five other guys signed up for it, hoping to see how
the "Other Half" lived in this "Class Ridden" society and,
just maybe, a chance to view a place connected with the
history of England. There was agreement among the guys that
I would t speak on their behalf when we arrived at our
destination.
At the appointed time we boarded a small van and headed
down the road. The colors of autumn, the trees splendid
with their bouquet of red and yellow leaves, brought home
to me mental pictures of Michigan and, for just a moment,
engulfed me in pangs of homesickness, an emotion, I`m sure,
that was felt by my companions. The ride took only a little
over an hour. It always amazed us at how short distances
between places in Britain were. Americans never could get
over the small size of this island country.
Finally, looming ahead of us was a huge, sprawling mansion

The massive, graveled covered area in front of the entrance

provided ample room for a large number of vehicles. I had a
feeling of having been here before, probably the result of
having seen scenes such as this in the movies. It was a
truly impressive sight.
The driver, a young English girl, who had remained silent
all during the trip, completely ignoring our ribald
remarks, turned to us and said, "Here you are genlemen,
Blenheim Palace, ancestral home of Prime Minister Winston
Churchill, enjoy yourselves."
Here we were, a group of awe struck Yanks, who had never
seen such a glamorous residence. As grandiose as was the
palace, and grandiose it certainly was, the sheer size of
this magnificent home simply overwhelmed us and, for just a
moment, I was so taken aback that I could not find the
entrance. Then I realized that the huge door that I was
facing must be what I was looking for.. Hesitently, we
approached,, but before I could reach the front door, a
lovely young lady opened it, or had it opened for her, its
size seemed too huge to be opened by such a gentle young
lady, and greeted us as though she were awaiting our
arrival. Her greeting was, "You must be our American
guests." I replied, "Yes Mam, My name is John, and then
introduced my companions. She, in turn, introduced
herself, but memory does not allow me to recall her name. I
do remember, very clearly, that her name was preceded by
the title, "Lady." She bade us,enter and her easy banter
made us feel right at home. To tell the truth, we were
overwhelmed at the granduer of the entrance and we must
have seemed to her, a group of yokels, as we stood in awe
at the sheer size of the place and the gorgeous oil
paintings, of long gone ancestors, that graced the walls of
this magnificent entrance.
In a very informal manner the young lady steered us into
the study, a beautifully appointed room, furnished with
some of the finest leather seating that any of us had ever
encountered. We, were no longer seated, than a butler
approached us, said, "Gentlemen, what can I bring you."
After ordering our drinks, and the lady ordering hers, the
butler retreated and the usual remarks about the beauty of

the home were uttered by each of us. The lady was giving
us a history of the palace when suddenly a middle aged lady
and gentleman appeared on the scene.
We were introduced, but again, my memory fails in recalling
their names. I do remember the gracious manner in which
they joined in the conversation. I, for one, was amazed at
how easily we were accepted and treated as though we were
important guests. In the meantime, the butler arrived and
served our drinks, much more elegantly than the way we were
accustomed to being served. The gentleman went on to
describe the estate. He said, "I`m sure you men would like
to know a little about the historical place you are
visiting." He went on to say that the mansion was located
on twenty one hundred acres and the house was built in the
eighteenth century and the gardens were added in the
nineteenth century. He said, "the palace was designed by
Vanbrugh, a noted architect of that period, and was the
nation`s reward to the First Duke of Marlborough for his
victories over Louis 1V. The gardens were designed by Henry
Wise, in an Anglo-Dutch Barouqe manner." He went on to say
that we would appreciate the skill of the people of that
period when we took a tour of the grounds.
It was now approaching noon, and as interesting as the
conversation had been, we began to feel the need for
sustenance. As if our wish had been heard, the butler
arrived and said, "Tea is being served." All six of us knew
that meant food, even if we didn`t understand "Dutch
Baroque."
We were seated at a long table in a magnificent dining area
overlooking a finely manicured garden resplendent with the
hues of autumn.. "High Tea", is usually served between
three and five in the afternoon but from the look of the
spread on the table they must have made an exception,
knowing they were feeding a group of hungry G.I.s. For a
group of guys who thought meat and potatoes was a feast,
this menu overwhelmed our imaginations.
The main entree consisted of smoked salmon with cream
cheese. Also gracing the table was egg, mayonnaise, sliced
cucumber, and if one was partial to meat, Wilshire ham and
mustard. Thinly cut slices of bread and scones were placed

before us with homemade jam and all of this to be followed

by our choice of several scrumptious looking desserts. Oh,
there was tea, of course, but coffee was available and this
was to be followed by champagne. Knowing how severe
rationing was, these wonderful, hospitable people must have
strained their ration coupons to the limit to make all this
possible. Oh, to have a mess sergeant, with such a creative
mind and generous spirit.
Having demonstrated our liking of this delicious meal, by
our over enthusiastic consumption of its contents, we were
invited to tour the gardens by our lovely hostess. As I
remember, a pram, or baby carriage, was produced, occupied
by a delightful baby whose gender I cannot recall. Our
hostess, now guiding the pram, was giving us a delightful
account of the history of the gardens. At this point I
offered my services as driver of the carriage. The offer
was readily accepted and I found myself responsible for the
safe transportation of a, very young, British aristocrat.
The tour continued and even a group of uncultured Yanks
could not help but express admiration for the artistry in
creating such beauty. Suddenly, a young RAF Officer
appeared on the scene. After a perfunctory hug and a peck
on the cheek of, his wife, our hostess, he introduced
himself and bade us welcome. Turning to me, guiding the
pram, he said, "Do you know who you are caring for in the
pram." I replied, "No Sir, we haven't been introduced, as
yet." He smiled and rattled off a rather long series of
names, strung together by centuries of aristocratic
familial ties. As I recall, he did mention the child`s
relationship with P.M. Winston Churchill, but by this time.
I was only able to grasp enough of our conversation to know
that I was, indeed, personally experiencing a bit of
English history.
To describe the beauty, creativity and attention to detail
displayed in those gardens would require another book and
descriptive powers beyond my meager talents. Suffice to
say, that all members of the American group took away great
admiration for the social and botanical skills of our
English cousins and their ability to bring an air of
formality to the wonders of nature and social etiquette.
The less formal approach to the physical world, by we

Americans, stood in stark contrast and underscored how time

had created a people much different than our forbearers.
Different we had become, since those Colonial days, but
never having lost the values and basic principals we shared
as a people.
Chapter Ten
Farewell to the Unitd Kingdom
October now turned to November, with cool, chilly days,
signaling the beginning of winter, The repatriation of
German prisoners was now taking place. Daily, our patients,
mostly ambulatory, were leaving the hospital behind and
returning to occupied Germany.
Then, one grand day in December we received word that our
unit was
scheduled for deployment. We were going home! Oh Dear God,
the day we had long wished for had now become reality. The
order to be ready to pack our belongings and prepare to
leave was the most precious order we had ever received. My
letters to Peggy now were full of the utter elation I felt
at the thought of our being united and sharing our lives
together as lovers and man and wife.
Christmas 1945, was a much more festive affair than
previous Christmas` and the dinner of turkey and all the
fixings, prepared for us by the kitchen crew, seemed much
more tasty, given the fact that we soon would be on a
troopship headed for home. The high level of morale was
evident as we all envisioned being in our own home towns
with those we loved. I, could not contain my feelings of
happiness at the thought of being in a position to send for
my Peggy and having her with me in Kalamazoo to begin our
life together.
A happier New Year was never more welcomed than the year
1946. We celebrated, not only the new year, but the
knowledge that we would soon be back in the "Good Old
United States." You can well believe, that we were on our
best behavior, not wanting any complications to mar our
departure for home.

Then, on or about January 7, 1946, the order came. "Pack

your gear, climb aboard the awaiting trucks for the trip to
Southhampton to meet the troopship that will carry you
home." Not a single soul in our outfit had any misgivings
about carrying out that order.
The trip to Southhampton was more like a holiday event than
the movement of army troops. The singing of the soldiers
had a very upbeat quality about them and the joy of being
on the way home was evident in the spirit of the men as
they relished the thought of going back to wives and
sweethearts. My mind was entirely focused on getting home
and sending for my Peggy.
Having arrived in Southhampton and on the dock awaiting our
embarcation orders, we were assembled in military order.
Officers were in their own assemblage, and all of us,
enlisted and Officer rank, in a highly festive mood. We
were ready to board the giant aircraft carrier, the USS
Lake Champlain.
Once on board, all units, mostly infantry, were given
assigned areas and each told where to place their gear.
Shortly thereafter, a Sergeant called us to attention to
receive an order from the Captain of the ship.
In a voice, almost identical to that of Franklin Roosevelt,
the Captain addressed us over the public address system. As
I recall, he said, "Now hear this. This is the Captain
speaking. My name is Captain Logan Ramsey. I want to
welcome you on behalf of myself and the crew of the Lake
Champlain. This ship is part of Operation, Magic Carpet. I
would, personally, like to take this opportunity to to
thank you for your service. You have done a wonderful job
in bringing this war to a successful conclusion. From this
moment on, you are our guests. We ask only that you keep
your area in a neat condition. There will be no reason to
make up your bunks in the morning. This, and all other
housekeeping duties will be performed by the crew. You will
find question boxes at various places around the ship. If
you have questions or queries for me, feel free to place
them in the box. I will try to answer you in my nightly
address to you. Additionally, I have given orders that

snacks be placed at various points around the ship, in case

you feel hungry between meals. The United States Navy and
this ship in particular, as a part of Operation, Magic
Carpet, will do everything we can to provide for your
comfort on your trip home. I thank you again. for your
dedicated service, You will soon be home with your loved
ones. God Speed and God Bless you."
This eulogy, with its words of praise and welcoming, left
us breathless. Never, during our term of service, had we
been spoken to in such a manner. In addition to our joy at
going home we were now going there under the most favorable
of conditions.
We were soon underway and, before long, it became evident
that the weather was not going to be one of the favorable
conditions that we were to experience. We had no sooner
cleared the harbor than storm clouds appeared on the
horizon. As the weather worsened and the waves loomed
larger and larger it became evident that even a ship as
large as this aircraft carrier could have problems coping
with the whims of "Mother Nature."
That first night on board was a rocky one as the ship
plunged through the angry waves of the North Atlantic.
Although many of the "landlubbers" on board grappled with
seasickness, we made it through the night into a day of
calm seas.
True to the Captain`s promise, the crew did arrive, made
our beds and performed the other housekeeping duties. We
were still in a state of wonderment at these services being
performed for us. Breakfast was a delight, with fresh eggs,
hash browns, bacon, sausage and plenty of hot coffee. In
spite of the army derision of the navy, we had to admit
that when it came to food, the navy was in a superior
position.
The weather having cleared, the day was an absolute
delight. We were able to walk the decks, enjoy a snack at
one of the tables scattered around the ship, observe the
activities of the crew and, if one chose, spend some time
reading or writing letters back at our bunks. Captain

Ramsey had, indeed, made this a pleasure cruise, God Bless

him.
As time wore on, the weather worsened and, during his
nightly address to us, the Captain made it clear that we
could expect this to be a frequent occurrence since this
was January and the North Atlantic was a stormy place in
the winter. He also assured us that we were not to worry
about our safety since ships, such as these, were built to
withstand all that nature could throw at them.
The third night out, after mess, the familiar voice of
Captain Ramsey sounded on the P.A. system. "Now hear this,
this is the Captain speaking. We are well on our way to
home and I trust you are enjoying the voyage. I have
little to report and so I have chosen to read a couple of
the questions you have posed for me. This first one is from
Sgt. ?? Of the ?? Infantry. The good Sgt. asks if this was
a banana boat before the war." The Captain, his voice
tinged with just a touch of irritation, replied, "Sgt.
First let me remind you that this is not a boat. This is a
ship. A ship carries boats." He went on, " Sgt., As a
matter of fact, I would like to inform you that this ship
was paid for by the people of the United States and is
entitled to the respect it deserves, having been made
possible, by the contributions of the citizens of of our
great nation."
The weather continued to be bad and the consumption of the
snacks the Captain had placed around the ship had
diminished due to the incidents of sea sickness experienced
by the G.I.s. Bad as the weather was, the crap games
continued on as usual, although frequently interrupted by
the hasty departure of one or more of the players, due to
sudden "illness." This situation was not lost on the
Captain and provided a moment of humor on his next nightly
address.
As usual, we were assembled, ready to hear the Captain`s
report. "Now hear this. This is the Captain speaking," came
the now familiar refrain.
This night he chose to make comment on the weather
conditions, informing us that during the night conditions
were so bad that they had been unable to respond to a cry

of distress from a Liberty Ship in the vicinity. He went on

to tell us that during his entire career he had not
experienced weather this difficult to contend with. Then,
he changed the subject and went on to answer a question
from one of the question boxes. He said, "I have a question
that deals with a problem experienced by PFC ?? " It seems
that the good Private was involved in a crap game and a
considerable amount of money was in the pot. He says that a
Petty Officer arrived on the scene, broke up the game and
departed with the money. His question is, "Can we get back
the money?" There was a short pause, and then, with a
chuckle in his voice, he answered the Private's question, "
Private, my cabin is on deck--. Standing outside my door
will be a Marine. Tell him you wish to see me. In order to
answer your question more directly, the answer is that the
Petty Officer has deposited the money in the Seamen's Fund.
If you still desire to have the money, so inform me when we
meet, however I would like to read you the Article of War,
regarding gambling on ships of the United States Navy."
After reading the Article, he finished with, "I hope this
answers your question." The roar of laughter from the
troops clearly indicated their appreciation of this bit of
backhanded humor.
The high morale aboard the Lake Champlain was evident in
stories told to me by the crew. One such tale seemed to sum
up the reason for this high regard for their Captain. One
seaman related to me how their Executive Officer insisted
that the crew in the engine room wear white socks, although
there was clearly no need, given the duties required of
them. He said this particular Officer also gave orders that
crewmen could not have their uniforms altered for better
fit. When word of this reached Captain Ramsey, a curious
thing happened. When the ship reached the next port a new
Executive Officer was assigned to the ship.
Finally, after ten days of bad weather and superb treatment
by the Officers and crew of the USS Lake Champlain, we
arrived in New York harbor on January, 17, 1946. It was a
cold January day, warmed considerably by our sight of the
Statue of Liberty, standing tall and proud, the torch of
freedom still firmly in place, pointing to the Heavens as
a testament to the valor of all the Armed Forces, soldiers,

sailors, airmen and our civilian Merchant Marine. It was

our military and, even us non-combat soldiers, who had
struggled so valiently and secured our way of life, now and
for generations yet unborn.
Awaiting us on the dock as we disembarked, was a cordon of
lovely ladies representing the American Red Cross and the
Salvation Army. Their beauty was enhanced by the smell of
hot coffee and doughnuts and the hot dogs and hamburgers
sizzling on the BBQ. Never, before or since, have I had a
hot dog that could compare with the one I so relished that
morning on that frigid, but wonderful day. The presence of
those caring ladies added luster to the joyous moment we
were experiencing at being, once again, on American soil.
It is in moments, such as these, that one knows the
tremendous value of being a free American citizen. We were
home, home at last, and I, for one, was looking forward to
a life of happiness with, my, now to be, beautiful Irish
bride.
My joy at being back in the United States had made me
almost completely unaware of the great number of troops
crowding the dock. True to its tradition of military
efficiency, the army had a long row of buses standing ready
for our departure to the train depot and our journey to
Camp Atterbury, Indiana for our transfer to civilian life.
The bus trip very quickly brought us to the depot and by
the time we had checked our duffle bags the day had turned
to night and in spite of our weariness our spirits were
high. Nothing could dampen our utter joy at being on the
way to becoming civilians, once again, and being with
family and friends.
After checking our duffle bags and boarding the train, the
festivities began. Although beverages of an alcoholic
nature were not provided, mysteriously, some very
stimulating drinks began to appear and voices were lifted
in song. No blackout curtains, no planes buzzing the train
and no Officer lecturing us of the consequences of improper
behavior were part of this journey. Although some did
manage to catch a little sleep, the majority of the
passengers were in too celebratory a mood to notice the

fatigue that engulfed us.

Some fifteen or so, hours later the train pulled in to a
depot situated at Camp Atterbury. In spite of some
hangovers and lack of sleep our Company was still in a
joyful mood and hardly anyone complained. We went through
the routine of getting our baggage, hearing the barked
commands of a Sergeant directing us to our barracks, and
generally getting the treatment we were so accustomed to.
On the other hand, no damned Sergeant could lessen our
happiness at being at the place that would hand back our
freedom and make us, just plain, American civilian
citizens..
Camp Atterbury was a very busy place. As a separation
station it served some 561,000 troops, arranging discharge
from the Service at the rate of 3000 per day, so it was not
not surprising that it was January 22, before our outfit
was called to go through the separation process.
In the meantime, we had plenty of time to write letters,
make phone calls to home and explore this sprawling
installation.
January 22, 1946. "A date that will live in memory," at
least my memory, for that was the date of my separation
from the Army of the United States.
At the appointed time the 306th gathered in a huge assembly
hall and there, each of us, listened carefully for our name
to be called.
When, an obviously bored Sergeant, bellowed out my name I
was immediately on my feet. Making my way to the
registration table was the sweetest hike I had ever taken.
After going through the necessary paper work, a young 2nd
Lt. beckoned me to an open door. He said, "Good morning
soldier, step inside and place your chest against the X ray
panel, and , Oh by the way, if you intend to join the
Reserves, have them raise the panel to the level of your
head." Even, given my limited intellectual powers, it
seemed to me that he was sending me a message that it was
not in my best interest to join the Reserves. It was
probably because of this encounter that I was able to
follow the later events that took place in Korea from the
comfort of my home, eyes glued to the TV screen. As

unpatriotic as this may seem, I felt, at that time, this

new action could be handled by another generation of young
Americans.
Chapter Eleven
Going Home At Last
subsSeated comfortably in my homeward bound train, still
wearing my uniform, I was beginning to feel more and more
like a civilian, almost but not quite. This would come when
I arrived home surrounded by family and friends. Still,
there was one nagging problem to solve before I would feel
secure and comfortable and that was, bringing my Peggy to
Kalamazoo and walking down the aisle with her.
While in Atterbury awaiting discharge , I had penned off a
letter to Peggy telling her that I was almost a civilian
and to start getting her mum and dad prepared to have her
daughter become a married woman and acquiring a son in law.
I put as much humor in the letter as I was able to muster
up, but not unaware, of the emotional problems I was
placing on the McKenny family.
I was met at the station in Kalamazoo by my mother and
father. Dad had insisted that this moment belonged to Mom
and He, accounting for the tiny welcoming party. Dad gave
me a "bear hug" and an emotional "Welcome home, Son." My
Mom, tears in her eyes, simply said, "Thank God, you are
home and safe." Never had I felt so close to my parents.
At the house, all my family members and a goodly crowd of
friends and neighbors had gathered for a welcoming home
party. It was hard for me to believe that this moment had
arrived. The rest of the day was spent in eating good home
cooked food and answering a thousand questions about my
experiences. Often my mind wandered as I contemplated on
the thoughts of Peggy and wishing she could be a part of
these festivities. My brother Henry, was home from the
navy, having arrived a week earlier. My brother Charles,
having been disqualified for service due to a ruptured ear
drum, was curious about the things I had done and seen. My
sister Anna Mae, now an experienced welder because of a
defense related job, also peppered me with questions about

my time in the service. It was a time of good cheer and

thankfulness and, I must admit, I was enjoying being the
center of attention.
That night, in the comfort of my bed, I pondered on the
days to come. I had not disclosed to mom and dad the fact
that I was engaged. Now ,the shoe was on the other foot."
All the adjustments, in religion and culture, to our
pending marriage had been discussed in full with Peggy`s
parents and now it was time to work things out with my
mother and dad.
During the ensuing week I had many discussions with my dad
and mom about my return to civilian life. Dad had secured a
job for me with the Kalamazoo Stove and Furnace Co. ,where
he was employed The plant had been closed in order to
revert back to civilian production, having been engaged in
producing war materials and, would soon reopen.
Finally, I had my opportunity to discuss my pending
marriage. It was one of those cold winter nights and I was
enjoying an evening alone with mom and dad. During a break
in the conversation, I said, " I guess this is as good a
time as any to share some news with you." I, immediately
had their attention. Dad was the first to speak. He said,
"I hope it`s good news, Son." I replied, "I think it is, I
hope you will feel the same." Mom said, "Get on with it,
John." I simply blurted out, "I`m engaged to get married."
Both looked at me in amazement and then Dad said, "Getting
married, you have only been home for a week and, as far as
we know, you don`t even have a girl friend." Realizing
their quandary at this startling announcement, I said,
"Well, let me explain it to you." At this precise moment I
became aware of how unprepared I was to explain fully, the
situation.
For the next few minutes I had full attention from mom and
dad. I said, "Maybe I should have told you this earlier
but, here it is." Now my mind was racing, but I went on
with the story, hoping I would not encounter any negatives.
I said, "The girl I am marrying is in Ireland. I met her in
Belfast. Her parents are aware of our engagement and I hope
she gets their approval to come to the States to be

married. She is a lovely girl, from a good family. She is

nineteen years old but will be twenty by the time of our
marriage." At this point, I pulled from my wallet, a
picture of Peggy and both studied it for a moment. Mom
said, "She sure is a pretty girl." Dad, looked up and said,
"Do you know what you are doing?" My reply was, "Dad, I`m
almost twenty six years old and perfectly capable of making
my own decisions." That seemed to end the discussion and
then Mom said, "John, If this is your wish, we have no
objection and will welcome her with open arms." With that,
I decided to fill out the rest of the story. I said, "Now
let me "drop the other shoe."
"She is an Irish Catholic girl and I have decided to join
the Catholic Church." This resulted in a stunned silence
for fully a minute. Then my dad reacted in a fashion truly
his own and, left me incredulous. He said, "Ev", that was
Dad's nick name for Mom, "Get your coat on and, John, you
do the same and get out to the car, we are going for a
ride." Not wanting to make a fuss, we both did as he said.
Dad wheeled the car skillfully over the icy streets and
pulled up in front of St. Augustine Catholic Church.
Without another word we left the car and dad walked up to
the residence of the Priest and rang the doorbell.
The door was answered by an elderly lady, the housekeeper,
and dad asked to see the Father. She replied, "You mean
Monsignor Hackett?"
Dad simply stated, "Yes Mam, that's whom we would like to
talk to." We were invited in and given a seat in the
parlor. I was utterly flabbergasted since I had no idea my
dad even knew the location of the church and had no idea of
what he was up to.
In a few moments a tall, dignified man with a full head of
grey hair entered the room. He looked around and, in a
thick Irish brogue said, "Good evening, I am Monsignor
Hackett. What can I do for you?"
Now, absolutely confused, I said nothing. Dad came right to
the point. He said, "Father", and pointing to me, "This is
my Son, John, and he is just home from the army. He is
engaged to an Irish girl in Ireland and wants to join the
Catholic Church." A broad smile appeared on Monsignor
Hackett's face and he sat down to hear the rest of the

story.
As I explained the situation, giving him all the details of
our meeting and the equent romance that followed, Father
Hackett, nodded approval, and said, "John, this is one of
the nicest things I have heard all year. It only goes to
prove that there is always something good coming out of a
tragedy like war." Wanting to get directly to the reason
for our visit, I said, "Father, I know that as a convert, I
need to attend some classes to understand the procedure of
conversion. Please tell me when I can attend." Again, with
a cheerful smile, he replied, " Aw, to Hell with the
classes, you won`t be attendin them, you'll be meeting with
me for private sessions here in my study. Young man, You
are marrying a girl from the "Ould Sod", and that requires
some special attention." All this was said in his thick
Irish brogue, and at that moment, I felt very special. With
that he called for some tea. Over cups of hot tea the
conversation turned to filling out all the details. All
this time, Mom and Dad had little to say but joined in the
conversation and I knew that all would be well. There was
no bigotry here and I felt very proud of my parents and
their easy acceptance of the situation. Fr. Hackett, true
to his word, made my conversion to Catholic an easy
procedure and the memory of this kind and thoughtful man
will remain in my mind forever.
Having written Peggy and told her to get ready to come to
the United States, I was anxious to receive a letter
telling me all was well and arrangements were being made
for her journey. Each day I waited patiently for the
postman, and feeling depressed when no mail was
forthcoming. After several days of anxiety a letter did
arrive and, anxious as I was, I was almost afraid to open
it, fearing the worst. When I did open it and read the
first few words I was ecstatic. Peggy`s mother and dad had
accepted the inevitable and were helping Peggy to make
arrangements. From the inquiries regarding passport, visa
and transportation that had been made in Ireland, it was to
be, at least, six months before she would arrive in the
United States. I couldn't wait to reply and rushed to get
paper and pen.

By this time I had been employed at the Stove Co. and had
met a fellow worker named James O`Meara. When I told him
that Peggy would be arriving in about six months he said,
"John, that will give us some time to give her a real Irish
welcome and I`m going to see that you have some real Irish
folk to greet her."
James called me one day and asked if I would like to meet
some Irish people who would love to meet Peggy. He said
that they were an elderly couple that would take Peggy,
"Under their wings." The Irish certainly know how to
express the most mundane things in a beautiful way.
The Fitzpatricks were, in my mind, the ideal couple to
make my peggy feel at home in America. Pat and Mary
Fitzpatrick were typical Irish, even though neither had set
foot in Ireland. Pat and Mary were each, only about five
feet tall, beautiful grey hair and as eloquently Irish in
their speech as though they had just arrived in the U.S.A.
Their home reflected everthing Irish, including a green,
white and gold flag prominently displayed in the hall.
Over a cup of hot tea I learned that they had thirteen
children, had always wanted to visit Ireland, and would be
thrilled to meet a colleen from the "Ould Sod." Where had I
heard that term before?
That meeting was the first of many that James arranged. and
included a young Irish priest, Fr. King, who was to become
a good friend and "buddy," if one can truly be a "buddy"
with a Priest. Fr. King was the Chaplain at Borgess
Catholic Hospital in Kalamazoo and not too popular with the
Nuns, due to his liking for alcoholic spirits. Although he
did enjoy a drink, now and then, he did not drink to
excess.
A moment I remember with relish was the time Fr. King and I
were enjoying a hamburger for lunch. Halfway through our
meal, Fr. King paused, and said, "John, do you know what
day this is?" Without giving a thought to what the Fr. Was
implying, I replied, "It's Friday, Fr., why?" Then, with a
smile Fr. King said, "I know we shouldn't be eating meat on

Friday but it is also a sin to waste good food." Without

further ado, he made the sign of the Cross and said, "I
grant absolution." Such was our easy going relationship.
Although I was anxious awaiting Peggy`s arrival I was also
busy making arrangements for our wedding and making new
friends among the Irish community. I was introduced to a
Mr. and Mrs. Heflin by Fr. King and was immediately made
welcome to their home. Mrs. Heflin, in true womanly
fashion, was excited about the coming wedding and did much
to help me prepare. There were several parties at her house
and Fr. King, minus his collar and wearing a sport shirt,
always gave two hours absolution at midnight on Saturday,
so that "No food and drink was wasted," due to the late
hour.
One day when Fr. King and I were conversing in his quarters
at the hospital he broached the possibility of he
performing the Mass and wedding ceremony. He went on to
say that we should discuss the matter with Msgr. Hackett.
He said, "I`ll give him a call and see if we can arrange
it."
Fr. King, after explaining to Msgr. Hackett, that since we
had become close friends, he thought it would be
appropriate for him to perform the wedding ceremony. I
remained absolutely silent, awaiting Msgr. Hackett's
response. There was only a moment's pause and then Msgr.
Hackett addressed Fr. King in, what I thought was, a rather
condescending tone of voice. He said, "Father, Just as in
the army, "rank has its privileges." "I will be saying the
Mass and performing the wedding ceremony." Although this
dictum was said with a smile, Fr. King seemed to feel that
he had received the final answer to his query.
Chapter Twelve
My Dream Becomes Reality
About the middle of June, 1946 a telegram arrived that
informed me of the day and time as well as the flight
number of the American Airlines plane that was to bring my
Peggy to the United States. To say that I was overcome with

joy is an understatement. The days that followed were

filled with excitement and planning for her arrival.
On the scheduled day, my cousin, Bud, my dad, and I headed
for Chicago to meet the plane and reunite me with my Peggy.
Arriving at O`Hare airport, well ahead of time, we waited
anxiously for over two hours. Finally, the arrival of the
plane from Dublin was announced and we hurriedly proceeded
to the announced gate. The gatekeeper opened the gate and
we proceeded onto the tarmac where the plane was parked.
In those, still early, times of domestic and transatlantic
flight, people met the arriving passengers on the runway
and then they departed the plane down a long portable
gangway. My anxiety was at fever pitch as I silently prayed
that Peggy would soon appear. Person after person descended
the gangway, and then, a small figure in a lovely blue
dress, walked down the stairs, made her way to where we
were standing and, in that unforgettable moment, Peggy was
in my arms and I thanked God for the blessing he had
bestowed upon me.
Midst all the happy chatter on the way home, it was quite
apparent that my dad had bonded with his, soon to be,
daughter in law. Peggy snuggled in my arms, chattered on
about the great adventure she had just experienced and how
happy she was to be in America with me and the life we
would have together. Our reunion was complete, and now many
busy days were ahead as we planned our wedding.
When we arrived home, my mother and sister had refreshments
ready and, in spite of all the excited conversation,
another bonding had taken place. My mother and my Peggy, it
seemed, were kindred souls.
The days ahead were filled with activity as my mother,
sister and friends planned for the wedding that was to make
Peggy my bride. Peggy and I spent many hours with the many
members of the Irish community. The Fitzpatricks took an
immediate liking to Peggy and became almost like parents to
her. The Heflin family, especially Mrs. Heflin, became
fully involved in seeing that Peggy had a truly Catholic
wedding.

At long last the great day arrived, July 4, 1946. The date
had been arrived at because there were only two dates
available in July. Msgr. Hackett offered Peggy a choice and
she chose July 4 as a very appropriate day for her to
become an American, This, and the fact that her mother
insisted that she was to be married at the first available
date, settled that issue. "Minnie," like most Irish
mothers, did not easily relinquish control.
The morning of July 4 began very early with my mother and
sister preparing for the wedding and the reception that was
to follow. Peggy, somewhat nervous but glowing with
excitement, with the assistance of my sister, were making
sure that the wedding gown fitted properly and all was set
for her big moment when she would walk down the aisle and
become Mrs. Margaret DeRoo. My brothers, Henry and Charles
were dressed in their best, "Sunday go to meeting clothes."
My sister, Anna Mae, having finished helping Peggy, was now
dressed and "made up," for the big moment. My dad, standing
in for Peggy`s father, was more "dressed up" than I had
ever seen him, and my mom, the picture of loveliness, in
the beautiful dress she had acquired for the wedding. I was
dressed in a dark blue business suit, sporting a carnation
in my lapel and was as ready as I could be for the
realization of all my dreams.
Finally, the climax of all this preparation arrived. Seated
in the pews of St. Augustne Church were my relatives and
friends. Adding a moment of unreality to the occasion was
the fact that my relatives, all Protestants, most of whom
had never been inside a Catholic Church, were seated side
by side with devout Catholics. Surely, this was a sight,
unbelievable to my Peggy.
The "Best Man" and his entourage were in place, Msgr.
Hackett was at the altar, having concluded Mass, Fr. King
at his side, and organ music filling the church, signaled
the beginning of this sacred ritual. My mother was quietly
wiping the tears from her eyes as the bridesmaids made
their way down the aisle and made their way to their place
beside the altar. Then, all eyes were focused on the lovely
bride on the arm of my father, standing in for Peggy`s

father. The strains of "Here Comes the Bride," filled the

church. As they approached, I was overcome with emotion at
the beauty of my Peggy in her lovely white wedding gown and
the realization that the moment had come for my most
precious dream te become reality. Fr. Hackett was standung
beside the altar as my dad and Peggy arrived at the
prescribed spot. Solemnly, Msgr. Hackett intoned the age
old question, "Who gives this woman in Holy Matrimony? My
father replied, "I do, " stepped back,and the "Best Man"
produced the wedding band, I placed the band on her finger
and we bowed before the altar.
Msgr. Hackett, after a short homily on the sacredness of
marriage and the, age old question, to both of us, which
received a very affirmative answer, proceeded to pronounce
the wedding vows, ending with, "I now pronounce you husband
and wife, and "Now you may kiss the bride."
I wonder, to this day, whether Peggy uttered the words, "I
promise to love, honor and obey," Certainly, she would
never admit to having, said,"Obey." Looking back to that
moment in time, I still wonder how we managed to overcome
all the obstacles and bring this dream to reality.
Our wedding was a High Mass, with all the ceremony that
implies, but neither of us could remember all that was said
and done, for the excitement we felt had a way of shutting
out all that surrounded us in that magical moment. I do
remember, however, very well, when we were told, "Now, I
pronounce you Husband and Wife,"
A milestone in the lives of my Peggy and me had been
reached and our future lay ahead of us. For me, this was
the climax of my transition to civilian life and a more
than happy ending to my experiences in the "Great War,"
It has been said that all things happen fast in times of
war. As I look back to that time, which seems so long ago,
when I first heard the announcement over the radio that
Pearl Harbor had been attacked, I must agree, that little
truism is correct. In a matter of less than four short
years, my life had been completely altered as had the lives
of so many of my fellow compatriots.

These are my personal memoirs encompassing a critical

period in the history of my country and how it affected me
personally, as well as millions throughout the world for
good or ill. Thank God, so many of my fellow American
citizens and citizens of allied countries were willing to,
if necessary, make the ultimate sacrifice to make possible
lives of freedom for future generations, free from the
tyranny of evil dictatorships, and, hopefully, the terrible
scourge of future wars.
The End

G.I. Memoirs
Introduction
be, Throughout the history of World War 2, countless stories
have been told recalling the feats of bravery by those who fought in
those many, hard fought, battles. This is, as it should but left
untold are the experiences of those support forces who served behind
the lines and helped make possible the victories won by our troops,

now so celebrated in our books and films.

This humble effort is an attempt to chronicle the way in which
W.W. 2 shaped the life of one young American and provide some insight
into the pathos and, sometimes , ludicrous hilarity, that he
encountered while caring for the sick and wounded, as well as off
duty hours while on leave. The following antecdotes, hopefully, will
provide some insight into the experiences of Support Service G.I`s as
they plodded through. what to them, seemed a never ending war.
This is my story, as I lived it. This is not the story of a hero
but simply the memoirs of one who saw the results of the horrors of
war and encountered some of the more humorous aspects of life and
then made the transition back into civilian life. It is the story of
millions of youhg Americans who answered the call to duty when their
country called.
December 7, i941, I was having coffee with my buddy in a
neighborhood diner and trying to decide what we would do for the rest
of the day. The radio was on and the music of a swing band was
playing in the background. The waiter suddenly turned up the volume
and shouted for us to listen. The announcer, his voice solemn,
informed his audience, "This morning, December 7, 1941, Pearl Harbor,
in Hawaii, was attacked by air and the harbor has been severely
damaged. It is estimated that there have been many fatalities and the
loss of many of our ships and aircraft. From the markings on the
attacking aircraft, it has been determined that this was an attack by
the Japanese. Make no mistake about it; this was an attack against
the Territory of Hawaii and therefore an act of war against the
United States. We will keep you informed as additional information
becomes available."
My first reaction to this startling announcement was, "Where
the Hell is Pearl Harbor?" In that long ago time this was a question
on the minds of most Americans. Hawaii, and Pearl Harbor, in
particular, was a far distant place, few had ever given much thought
to, or visited. This was to change radically in the days ahead as
America entered World War 2. The following day, along with my family,
I listened, spellbound, as President Franklin D. Roosevelt addressed
the nation and the nation`s Congress. His familiar voice, now
forceful with outrage and determination, proclaimed the sentiments of
his fellow countrymen. "Yesterday, Sunday, December 7, 1941, "a
date which will live in infamy", the United States of America was
suddenly and deliberately attacked by the naval and air forces of the
Empire of Japan," Briefly, the President, explained the background
of the events which culminated in the attack, ending his speech with
the following, fateful, request to the Congress of the United
States. "With confidence in our Armed forces-with the unbounded
determination of our people- we will gain the inevitable triumph-So

help us God. I ask that the Congress declare that since the
unprovoked and dastardly attack by Japan on Sunday, December 7, a
state of war has existed between the United States and the Empire of
Japan."
Almost immediately Congress declared war on Japan and three days
later, December 11, Germany and Italy declared war on the United
States. We were now fully involved, along with the British Empire.
The Republic of Ireland declared neutrality. Russia had been at war
with Germany since June and, although never officially, became an
ally of the United States. America and its allies were now at war
with the axis of Germany, Italy and Japan. World War 2, had begun in
earnest.
I, like other young Americans, living in different parts of
the country and having little in common except our American
citizenship, faced a future that would affect the remainder of our
lives. This, I held in common with untold numbers of other young
Americans. I was twenty one years old when America entered the war. I
was nine years old, the eldest in a family of four children, at the
time America entered the era of the Great depression. Like so many
Americans, my family suffered through those trying years thinking
that poverty was here to stay. This was about to end, as America
tooled up for war, and the factories began to hum.
I was exactly the right age for military service and aware that I
would be hearing from my local Draft Board and soon be inducted into
the army. Like so many other American young men, I was eager to do my
duty and welcomed this call to serve. Kalamazoo was not the most
exciting place in the country and, I must admit, military service
appealed to my adventurous nature almost as much as my patriotic
fervor.
I lacked a college education and was inducted into the United States
Army with the grand rank of "Buck Private". The following is my
memory of induction into military service. On August 13, 1942, after
months of waiting, I was called to the induction center. There must
have been fifty of us, all standing there, "buck naked", damned glad
it was August and not a cold Michigan day. One by one we were called
before a doctor to see if we were breathing and send us on to be
processed and made "Government Issue", or for short, "G.I. A few
minutes later we took the oath and were officially in the Army of the
United States. A Sergeant took us aside, told us we were being sent
to Fort Custer, Battle Creek, Michigan, on August 27. I had just two
weeks left to be wearing civilian clothes.
At Fort Custer I was outfitted with an Army uniform and assigned to a
barracks with a lot of other raw recruits. A very unfriendly Sergeant
called us to attention, told us what poor specimens of humanity we
were and, from this time on, our scrawny bodies belonged to him until
we were shipped out for basic training. In the words of a popular
song of the era, "This is the army Mr. Jones, no private rooms or

telephones. You had your breakfast in bed before, but you won`t have
it there any more." Whoever wrote those lyrics must have spent time
in the army, as a Private.
It was there at Fort Custer, I received my first duty assignment. I,
along with two other "rookies," were handed gunny sacks, neatly
arranged for hanging over the shoulder, and each a stick with a nail
protruding from one end and told to "police" the area. We spent most
of the morning stabbing at litter on the ground and neatly placing it
into our sacks. One of my fellow "Sanitary Technicians" was a guy,
somewhat older than the rest of us, and exceedingly
short and
paunchy. With "great sensitivity," we kept ourselves amused by
badgering the poor soul with various terms alluding to his lack of
manly stature. Later, during a coffee break, we discovered that he
was a member of the Michigan legislature. This was the first time I
learned the valuable lesson, to not judge my fellow soldiers by their
appearance or ethnic identity.
After a short, miserable stay at Fort Custer we were shipped out to
Camp McCoy, Wisconsin for basic training. Camp McCoy, then, was still
under construction and being used, mainly, for the housing of "Enemy
Aliens", Germans, Italians and Japanese, as well as being readied for
the thousands of troops who would be trained there, many to go on for
the invasion of Europe. When American troops arrived for training, it
was then, we came in contact with the 442nd Infantry Regiment
comprised of Japanese Americans, most of whom, had families living in
the territory of Hawaii.
As usual, the army gave us no indication as to what service we were
assigned to. We were told that we were temporarily assigned to the
M.P.E.G, Military Police Escort Guard. As a matter of fact, we were
neither Military Police nor Escort Guards. Our sole duty was to stand
guard over the Enemy Alien camp at night and go through basic
training during the day.
It was here that young Americans, like me, first learned that it was
wrong to judge people by the color of their skin or by their
ancestry. If the army taught us anything, it was that we, young
Midwestern boys, had to face the realities of life and adjust our way
of thinking if we were to succeed in life, in the army or as
civilians. One night on a bus, returning from a night out in La
Crosse, I was seated next to a young Japanese American guy from the
442nd. We were discussing an incident that had taken place recently.
It seems that two of the Japanese- Americans from his unit had been
found murdered and an investigation was underway. The "scuttlebutt"
was that they had been killed by some guys from an infantry unit. He
went on to say that he couldn't understand how American soldiers
could harbor such hate for one another. He explained that at the time
of the Pearl Harbor attack they were in training at "Pearl" and had
not yet been given any rifle training. At the moment of the attack,

they were called to duty, issued rifles, and told to fire at those
f****** ""Japs." He said, "Not one of us hesitated, because we were
American soldiers, defending our country".
We were taken through basic training by a "Sergeant from Hell." He
marched us until we dropped, had us do target shooting until we could
no longer see the target, had us peeling potatoes until we hated the
sight of the damned things and, in general, made life absolutely
miserable for us. We had no inkling of what we were being assigned to
until the Sergeant introduced us to a new cadence marching verse. As
I remember it went something like this, "Eyes right, a** holes tight,
Foreskins to the rear, we're the boys from Camp McCoy, and we've got
gonorrhea."
When we asked him what all that meant, he replied, "It`s God damned
appropriate for all you f******* medics. " Now we knew we were in the
Medical Corps. and wondered what experiences lay ahead for us in the
days to come.
As all "good" things" do, basic training came to a finish. Our basic
training period had been short and we all hoped we would be up to
whatever lay ahead. The Sergeant called us together before our
graduation march, told us we were now soldiers and that he was proud
of us. Somehow, all our ill feelings vanished and we came around to
thinking he was a "great guy."
Immediately, I was assigned to the Camp McCoy Station Hospital,
became a "Ward Boy", and wound up doing all the, less attractive,
duties that the Officer nurses chose not to do, and doing it with a
with a smile and a salute. Along with my other duties I was assigned
to a number of classes taught by the doctors and other personnel.
It was during these sessions that I met my best buddy, Glen McQueen,
whom I was to serve with during much of the war. We all called him
"Mac." He was one of those guys who truly had "savoir- faire." Six
foot tall, a good physique and a somewhat handsome face, topped by a
full head of black, wavy hair. "Tall, dark and handsome," fitted his
description exactly. Since I was not exactly the most sophisticated
guy on the planet, Mac, always ready with a smooth line, "took up the
slack," and made our social life more pleasant. We became known as
the "Gold Dust Twins," since we always traveled together. It is this
sense of camaraderie in the service that makes war time friendships
so special.
Our training fo medical duty consisted of courses which would make us
valuable as aides to the nurses and doctors and also consisted of
training for the field. One lesson that made a strong impression on
me was the proper way to remove a wounded soldier from a disabled
tank. It was this course that made me wonder if we were soon to be on
the battlefield. Unlike the movies, most of my buddies and I, did not
long to be assigned to the infantry for heroic combat duty.

One day while off "ward duty" Mac and I were chatting with a Captain
with whom we had become familiar. All doctors held the rank of
Captain or higher. He asked if we would like to assist him during an
examination. We knew by the way he asked and the twinkle in his eye
that this was to be a farce of some kind. He was known for his love
of practical jokes, many not always in line with medical ethics. The
examinee was a member of the Women`s Army Corps. in for a
gynecolological exam. Clad in white surgical gowns, looking much like
young interns, we stood by as the Captain performed his examination.
This was followed by a burst of hilarity after the "Doc" dismissed
her. Such lack of insensitivity was rare and not typical of the
behavior of Officers or enlisted men. Later that day we passed the
young lady in the main corridor. She took a very contemptable look at
us in our enlisted mens uniforms and, in a very unladylike manner,
called us "dirty bastards," a not "Ladylike" expression for a not
"Gentlemanly like" incident.
One of the "off the cuff", lessons we received during training was
from an Officer in the office of the Adjudent General. Along with
legal advice, he often gave us bits of "army wisdom." Concerning our
demeanor, he advised us that, while walking on the hospital campus,
to carry, very conspicuously, a sheet of paper and walk, very
briskly, as if on an errand. This, he emphasized, would save us many
hours of extra duty being assigned to us by an overeager Seargant.
Finally, after two weeks of training by doctors and nurses we were
assigned to the wards. I was given a promotion to T/5, CorporalMedical Technician, a rank I continued to carry throughout the war.
After going overseas, the old lyric kicked in, "There will be no
promotion this side of the ocean." I was assigned the duty of
supervising eight Privates for ward duty. This was my first
experience in supervision and led to an incident which gave me much
satisfaction. During basic training I had committed some
"unforgivable sin" and was banished to the kitchen for a week of
Kitchen Police, better known as "KP." As all old soldiers know,
"Police" had nothing to do with this inglorious assignment. This was
simply a means for some damned Sergeant to "vent his spleen" and for
the kitchen to get extra help. I believe that in the sixteenth
century many ships were manned by a "shanghaied crew." This was the
Army`s way of getting extra hours of a soldier`s time without any
reward for extra duty and punishing him for his indiscretions. For
that unforgettable week I took orders from a Mess Sergeant who ground
out orders like meat going through a sausage grinder. The tiniest
infraction of his rules like taking a glass of milk, without his
permission, would result in the full force of his temper coming down
on one like a full blown hurricaine. He was truly, "The Devil, In
Chef's Clothing`.
Now, that I was an NCO, with all the "authority" that implies, I was

regularly checking into the ward, soldiers who had fallen ill or who
just found some reason to be assigned to the hospital, many, just for
some time away from the duties of the day and a chance to relax. One
day, "When what, to my wondering eyes should appear," but my old
"Comrade in Arms", the Mess Sergeant, with nothing but a bad head
cold. The Army had, a ,not so technical, name for his distress. The
term "Goldbricking" is far too tame. The other crude term is better
not repeated here. I was very happy to accommodate my old comrade and
immediately assigned him to a bed. With a smile on his face, he
settled in for some rest and relaxation. Much to his chagrin, he soon
found out that this was not to be the case. Vengeance was in my heart
and this was my golden opportunity to even up the score. He seemed
utterly unawaware that in the hospital he was duty bound to take
orders from hospital personnel, regardless of inferior rank.. As an
ambulatory patient he had to perform whatever housekeeping duties
assigned to him. I had no problem in finding a job for him to take
his mind off the boredom of the day. For those of you, former
soldiers, who are thinking, "Latrine Duty", I can only say that you
are so right in your speculation. I armed him with a toilet brush, a
mop and bucket and gave him immediate employment. It was apparent
that he had no desire to perform these menial tasks and informed me
that I should remember that he held the rank of Sergeant. With joy in
my heart, I, very authoritatively, pointed out to him that there were
no stripes on his bathrobe and that his immediate concern was to have
the latrine ready for Saturday morning inspection, "Vengeance is
mine, sayeth the Lord," but, for this one shining moment, "Vengeance
was mine", and I enjoyed every damned second of it.
With the compliance of the Captain, we kept him in the hospital for
a few extra days. I`m sure he was more careful about his treatment
of other lowly privates he held sway over. He had just experienced
the old adage, "What goes around, comes around."

Chapter Two
As the days wore on, life was a series of daily routine duties and we
were becoming somewhat restless. Although the time we had spent in
the army was short our youthful outlook made the days seem endless.
Many of the units on the base were moving on. This made us hope that
we would be next and go on to some other experiences. We had no idea
what things awaited us but anything was better than spending the war
in the Army at Camp McCoy, Wisconsin as "Ward Boys." Didn't Gen.
Patton say to recruits that they didn`t want to have to tell their
grandchildren t they spent the war shoveling horseshit at an Army
Cavalry base?
We didn't have to wait for long for we suddenly got the news that the
306 Station Hospital was being sent overseas. With typical Army
retisense to tell the enlisted man anything, we were told absolutely
nothing except to pack our belongings and be ready to move. With the
enlisted man`s penchant for finding out everything, we soon found out
that we were headed for the European Theater of Operations, or for
short, the E.T,O..
On October 31, 1942, Halloween being an appropriate day, we received
our shipping orders. Everything we possessed was crammed into our
duffle bags, and we were on our way to the train station, all "very
comfortable," in a "luxurious" army truck. Arriving at a train depot,
we hastily boarded a car that looked as though it had seen service in
the Civil War. Once on the train, we eagerly awaited some legitimate
information as to our destination. True to army form, none came.
Finally, after many hours, card games and an occasional snooze, we
arrived in Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada. The year was 1942 and the
war in Europe was in full force. Britain was in a state of deadly
peril and the arrival of the "Yanks" was considered a blessing to
their hopes of defeating the Germans. In any event, we were now about
to board a troop ship and make the dangerous crossing across the
North Atlantic to relieve our British Allies. That America was fully
engaged in this war was borne out by the hundreds of thousands of
American soldiers waiting to board the many troop ships crowding the
harbor.
Upon our arrival at the harbor, we boarded the RMS Mauritania for our
trip across the North Atlantic to Great Britain. We boarded the ship
in the late afternoon. After a "fine meal" of "good" mutton stew, we
were told to choose a spot on the long mess table for our gear. This
is where we would sleep and, "Be sure to be out of there as soon as
reveille is over because the RAF will be using the table for
training classes."
We were allowed to roam around and get acquainted with the ship. Mac

and I ventured into an area where a number of RAF {Royal Air Force
guys} were singing Bless `Em All, which was a popular British wartime
song. The lyrics, "Bless `em all, the long, the short , and the tall"
,etc. were constantly repeated with the "Bless" almost always
replaced with another four letter word, better not repeated here.
Soon we were joined by more fellow "Yanks." American- British unity
was already beginning to take place. As the Mauritania got underway
we were engrossed in making friends and having a "Jolly good time, as
the "Limeys" would say,
After a nights rest on that hard table, we got the signal to clear
out, which we did without hesitation. Gazing out a porthole,
expecting to see the open ocean, we found out that we were back in
port. As we gazed out at the harbor, Mac turned to me and said, "What
the hell is this? "I thought we were underway." It didn't take long
to find the answer to that query. It seems that during the night we
had run into a "Wolf Pack." That was the name, Admiral Donitz, the
Commander of the German navy, gave to his submarines, which hunted in
packs, awaiting Allied shipping. We were traveling without a convoy
and were a likely target.
Before long we, once more, got underway. With the unbounded optimism
of youth and a feeling of invincibility, we never gave another
thought to the danger we faced in crossing the North Atlantic without
a convoy, depending only on the speed and maneuverability of this
great ship. Ships capable of traveling fast steered a zig zag course,
without accompanying vessels, making them difficult to target.
True to British tradition, a daily shot of rum was provided to all on
board. As I recall, we approached a small makeshift bar and were
doled out our portion. The only "fly in the ointment" was that the
U.S. Navy did not permit drinking on board its ships. Even though
this was a British ship, American personnel were bound by American
Naval rules. This was handled very neatly by the British by simply
doling out a portion of ginger beer, a British soda pop, to the
Americans. Never to be outdone, we simply accepted the soda pop,
exchanged our soft drink for rum by handing a couple of cigarettes to
our British brethren and accepting their gracious exchange of rum for
ginger beer.
Another bit of culture shock was the difference in what the "Limeys"
thought of as tasty cuisine and what we thought of as "good grub."
The, too frequent, serving of mutton stew did not bode well for the
"Yanks", and resulted in a considerable amount of grumbling on our
part. Other than that, and similar differences, the next few days or
so went off without incident and a surprising amount of goodwill
developed between us and the "Limeys."
Finally, after several days of boredom and bad food we arrived in

Great Britain and were hastily put on a waiting train for our final
destination.
We were all anxious to see what England looked like but we were
traveling at night and the windows were blacked out in compliance
with "blackout" regulations. The British strictly enforced these
rules because of the possibility of giving the Germans a target on
their nightly flights over England.
Our Executive Officer, Capt. Lebowitz, a balding man, somewhat
overweight and a chain smoker, had preceded our arrival, having
boarded the train at Southampton to accompany us to our destination.
He soon appeared on the scene to address us when suddenly a loud roar
was heard directly above the train. Certain that the plane would hit
the train, we all hit the floor, "scared, out of our wits."
The only one standing was Capt. Lebowitz. With a big smile on his
face, he said, "Gentlemen you have just been welcomed to the United
Kingdom by the U. S. Army Air Force."
At long last, the train came to a stop, somewhere, just outside the
city of Bournemouth. We were immediately trucked to an Army camp,
given a barracks and told to get a good nights sleep. We found our
bunks and then the "bitching" began. On the bunk was a rather plump
mattress but when one lay down, it suddenly became apparent that what
appeared to be a mattress was, in reality, a bag of straw. Later we
found out that the British had arranged this for us since it was a
part of the "Lend-Lease" arrangement America had made with the
British. The whole damned camp was a British creation, and not one to
become fond of. The upshot was that we were so damned tired that we
slept as though we were sleeping on the best mattresses money could
buy.
Without regard that we were all in need of more rest after our long
journey, reveille, sounded as usual. After standing for roll call we
were dismissed for "Mess." Although we had been severe critics of
army food, the sight of good old American style bacon and eggs,
tended to soften our criticism, at least for the moment.
After "mess" The Company was called to order and we were given the
"Orders of the Day.' It seems that we were in a "holding area" and
quarantined for several days, during which time, we would be
responsible for housekeeping duties. The Sergeant then introduced
Capt. Lebowitz, our never to be forgotten, Executive Officer. What
followed was so damned comical, coming from this balding, overweight
and pompous, unmilitary like Officer, that I am sure every G.I.,
there at that moment, will remember it to his dying day. I`m sure, I
will. The Captain addressed us, as I recall it, "Gentlemen, you are
now a part of the European Theater of Operations. Your conduct here
will be vitally important in bringing victory to our forces against
the German Tyranny. God Bless you and the American Army." He,
finished with, "Always remember, when off duty, that you are here as

conquerors, not to be conquered by the harpies of the streets." He

ended with a military salute that would have made Gen. Eisenhower,
himself, proud. Dr. Lebowitz had transformed himself into a military
conqueror and satisfied his deepest longings, which, I`m sure, he
usually only carried out in his fantasy life.
After several long and boring days, punctuated by crap games and
other "intellectual pursuits", the quarantine was lifted and we were
given an opportunity to visit Bournemouth. Immediately, the office
was filled with G.I.s requesting passes. As long as you knew your
name rank and serial number the request was granted.
Mac and I were among the first to get in line, receive our passes,
and board the truck for town. Dressed, as finely as we could, in our
dress uniforms, we joined in the, rather ribald, singing as the truck
bounced along taking some very enthusiastic, young and virile, men,
into the city. The word virile is used very purposefully since the
thoughts on all the passenger's minds concerned speedy liaisons with
the local girls.
Mac, who seemed ever knowledgeable about such things, steered me into
the lounge bar of a local pub. The lounge bar was a cut above the
part of the pub that served only the men. The lounge was for social
gatherings and included the more refined women and men of the
community and the occasional military Officer as well as a few
enlisted men.
Once, comfortably ensconced, in a neat little booth, Mac began to
size up the situation and decided to make his move. He moved, with
great suavity, to the table of two lovely, young ladies and soon had
them seated with us in our booth. Although I do not have a good
recollection of the young lady Mac was interested in, I shall never
forget the charming and petite girl I was partnered with. Doreen
Hazelwood, her real name, was everything one thinks of when we hear
the term, "English Beauty." The charm of her English accent was not
lost upon me and our conversation soon consisted of little details
about where we called home and our particular interests.
The barkeeper, having called, "Time, please." which was the signal
for closing, brought the usual query, "May I see you home?" Both
girls, having informed us that they would rather go home together,
had made it quite clear that their parents, mothers in particular,
did not have a fondness for soldiers when their daughters were
involved. Doreen did agree to meet me the following day and give me a
tour of Bournemouth. Always the tourist, and in this case, a quite
enthusiastic tourist, we arranged a place to meet. The following day
we met at the appointed meeting place. Doreen seemed eager to do her
duty in making a lonely G.I. welcome and this lonely G.I. was only
too eager to accept her services.

Doreen proved to be an excellent tour guide and knew all the places
of interest. Her knowledge of the history of Bournemouth was quite
extensive. She delighted in showing me all the sights and made my
stay in Bournemouth a quite pleasurable experience. One of her
favorite places was an old church of historical importance and it was
there that I came to realize how much different an American`s concept
of time differed from the British. During our visit I noticed a
beautiful brass spread eagle that served as the podium for the
Minister. The cleaning lady was polishing it and I made the remark
that it was a beautiful podium. She smiled and said, "Oh, this was a
gift from our late Pastor in the early 1700s." Being a "Yank", I
thought of the 1700s as ancient history. This gave me pause, and made
me realize how young our beloved country is.
My way of thanking Doreen was to have my mother send her a gift. As I
recall, she did receive a lovely blue sweater, was delighted, and
said she would treasure it.
Meanwhile the war on the continent was raging on and my unit moved to
a new location near Tidworth, a city located southeast of Wilshire.
It shares its eastern border with the Salisbury Plain, the site of
the famous archeological find, Stonehenge. Here we carried on our
duties caring for the soldiers, who were receiving tender loving care
from our beautiful nurses.
It was not only the nurses who brought smiles to our patients. The
Red Cross and the Salvation Army both sent some very lovely ladies to
visit with the soldiers. One incident that stands out clearly
happened during one of those visits. A young man of about twenty
years old, was in the hospital for a rather extended stay. He was an
avid reader and kept us busy supplying him with books from the
hospital library. During a routine visit from the Red Cross volunteer
he requested of her to get a copy of Pygmalion, a book he had
acquired in London, signed by the author. The lady explained that it
was next to impossible to obtain the autograph since this author was
quite elderly and ill and had a reputation of not being friendly to
autograph seekers, so the task would only end in failure.
That closed the subject until the Salvation Army lady made her visit
and the same request was made of her. Her reaction was somewhat
different. She, in a very motherly fashion, said, "Give me the book
and I`ll see what I can do." A week went by and the same lady
appeared and was eager to see the young soldier. Upon greeting him
she said, "Wait till you see what I have for you." With that. she
unwrapped a package and there was the soldiers book. She opened the
book to the flyleaf, and there, in boldly handwritten words, was the
following note, as I remember it, "If I signed every book for someone
who thinks I am the greatest writer since Shakespeare, I'd be doing
nothing but signing my name." Then, written with a flourish, was the
signature, George Bernard Shaw, This incident comes to mind every
Christmas when I make my donation in a Salvation Army kettle.

Mac and I were eager to see more of England and find a place free
from the ever present G.I. Having this in mind, we decided to take
leave and get as far away from places inhabited by people of our ilk
as we could. This led to us catching a bus and traveling as far away
from camp as we could .
Our bus ride took us to a town which seemed completely bereft of
servicemen. As all G.I.s do, we immediately found the nearest Pub and
settled in comfortably to enjoy a pint of beer. We were the only
customers and after a few moments of waiting, no one appeared to wait
upon us. Mac finally called out for service. Soon, a young lady
peered around an open door and said, quite breathlessly, "Oh, you are
Americans." I said, "We sure are, what did you think we were"? Her
reply was that she and her parents had observed us from the kitchen
and, just catching a glimpse of our boots, thought we were Germans.
We knew we had found the right spot and enjoyed a great afternoon
free from the hub bub of G.I. activity. This place showed no signs
of ever having been host to an American soldier. After an hour of
friendly chatter with the barkeep and his daughter we decided it was
time to get back to camp.
Before boarding the bus I looked around for a rest room.. Spotting a
toilet, I entered and went to the urinal to relieve myself. There,
written in bold letters on the wall was that old familiar refrain,
"Kilroy was here." There was no way in the world that one could find
a place in England that had not been visited by American soldiers.
We returned to our unit, ready to resume our duties but, as usual,
Mac and I were ready for our next outing and this time, we both
agreed, it was to be London, the capital of Great Britain, and one of
the great historical cities of the world.
The week following our bus trip had been exceedingly busy. Two guys
had been admitted for broken limbs and another for a severe case of
appendicitis. Between scheduling them for operations, working out a
schedule for the ward boys and covering for a nurse who had gone on
leave, as well as attending to my other duties, I had my hands full.
Mac also had experienced a hectic week and both of us were ready to
get a pass for the weekend and our trip to London.
Having secured a three day pass and arranged for one of the ward
boys, who was "Bucking for Corporal,", to cover for me, I was ready
to head for London. Mac had obtained a pass, too, although he had to
do some fast talking to get his.
In London, we went to Paddington Station. Across the street from the
station was Dickens Tavern, one of the many historic pubs in London.
As we entered the pub, Mac noticed a ,very old, lady with a small
glass of Guinness, half full. With his usual charm and savoir faire,

he walked over to her and inquired, "May I get you a drink, mother?"
To the delight and laughter of all around, she replied, as loudly as
she could, in a her high pitched, shrill voice, "I`ll have a `pint."
After a couple of "pints" we decided it was time to get to the Red
Cross Club in Piccadilly Circus, the Broadway of London, and settle
down for the night.
The Red Cross Club in Piccadilly, also known as Rainbow Corner, was
the headquarters for all G.Is when they visited London. A huge
building of several stories, with all kinds of hospitality available,
it was a magnet for all of us seeking rest and relaxation.
One of the attractions was the little office presided over by Adele
Astaire, sister of Fred Astaire, where she wrote letters to the loved
ones of the G.I.s telling them of her visit with their sons,
daughters or sweethearts. It was a very thoughtful way to support the
war effort and was highly appreciated by all of us. "Rainbow Corner"
also played host to such celebrated personages as Gen. Theodore
Roosevelt, Gen. Eisenhower, George Raft, Jimmy Stewart, Irving Berlin
and many others. Glen Miller did a broadcast there and also, Artie
Shaw, who performed there for the soldiers. Little wonder that this
was the most favored place visited by G.I,s when on leave in London.
Mac and I had just settled down for the night on the top floor of the
club with the sound of "Pom Pom" guns above us on the roof of the
building. "Pom Pom" was the name the British people called the antiaircraft guns that responded to the, almost, nightly bombings. Just
as sleep was taking over, we were aroused by a mighty explosion
accompanied by the intense shaking of the building.
In a matter of moments we were out of bed and dressed, prepared to
leave the building. Once out on the street, we observed the reason
for the blast. About four buildings down the street from the club a
V1 rocket had hit a building, tearing it apart, as though a giant
fist had come down on it. In no time at all, ambulances were on the
scene, and people covered in blood, crying out in pain, were being
removed from the wreckage. In that terrible moment I became aware of
the resilience of the British people. There was no panic, no
screaming, only a dogged determination on the part of the volunteers
to assist the wounded and bring order out of the chaos.
This should have been enough to spoil our weekend but, being young.
and feeling, indestructible ,we were undeterred and, after all, the
old Windmill Theater was still in business and the girls were still
there, awaiting the G.I.s.
The Windmill Theater, famous for never having closed during the worst
of the bombing of London had, by the time of the war, became a
burlesque house and a premier attraction for British and American
soldiers while on leave. The old theater has an interesting history
and has been portrayed on the screen in a film called, Mrs. Henderson

Presents,
It was one of those rare evenings in London, when the air was soft
and warm, ideal for outdoor relaxation. This, I mention, because it
was a tradition at the theater, when the weather was good, that the
patio at the rear of the house was open and customers and dancers ,
between acts, could enjoy a drink and conversation. Needless to say,
Mac and I took full advantage of this opportunity to "schmoose" with
the show girls.
Ensconced comfortably at one of the patio tables, we awaited the
arrival of the girls. They usually arrived as soon as the first
performance was over, still heavily "Made Up" with grease paint and
those long artificial eye lashes in place. To my unsophisticated
eyes, this was the very zenith of feminine glamour.
Two "ladies" strolled by and, with great admiration, I watched as Mac
beckoned to them, and with a skill, usually observed only in the
movies, brought them to our table. After a moment of "sweet talk" by
my adroit companion the girls settled in comfortably. I was highly
impressed as he deftly proffered cigarettes to our "lovely"
companions. Within a moment, his Zippo lighter appeared, the cover
thrown back, and with a flick of his thumb, the flame appeared and,
it was at that moment, Mac's sophistication ,"went up in flames". The
streak of fire from the lighter rose fully four inches and licked at
those long artificial eye lashes. This was followed by a stream of
four letter obscenities from the young "lady" that would have made a
drunken sailor blush. So endeth our London trip, so endeth Mac's,
highly acclaimed "savoir faire", but it was only one of many trips
that we took to that great and historic city.
On another occasion, Mac and I had the privilege of visiting the
Royal Opera House, in London's Covent Gardens. Impressive as this
may seem, hundreds of" Yanks," nightly, made a pilgrimage to this
historic place of culture and refinement, not to experience the
opera, but to meet the girls and dance the night away.
Sometime during the war a decision had been made to convert the opera
house into a dance hall for the entertainment of the thousands of
military personnel in the city. The stage was prepared for the
accommodation of the large swing bands that would appear there and a
dance floor installed. In effect, this historic place had become a
night club. For the price of two shillings and six pence one became a
member of the club and entitled to free admission when in town on
leave. I can still hear, in my "moments of recollection." the music
of Ted Heath and other bands of renown, and those tender moments on
the dance floor, with a lovely English girl in my arms, as we swayed
to the music and, for a few shining moments, forgot the shadow of war
that always hung over us. There were other times when we were
"jitterbugging" or dancing to a love song and the wail of the siren
would be heard alerting us to a bombing and, if we so desired, retire

to an air raid shelter. Very often, the young\

lady in my arms would whisper in my ear, "Oh, lets just keep on
dancing."
Upon our return to the hospital we found that the 306th had received
a new arrival. This was a surprise because no one new had ever been
assigned to our outfit, unlike combat units who were often getting
replacements due to casualties suffered in battle. We were curious to
know why the young soldier had been sent to the 306th.
He was busy getting his gear in order when we introduced ourselves.
In our chat with him we found out his home was in Dayton Ohio. We
asked him how he became assigned to our outfit. His answer was, " I
don`t know." He went on to say he was doing guard duty at a place in
Alamogordo, New Mexico and he was in town in a bar when a civilian
struck up a conversation with him. As he told it, "This guy asked me
what duty I was performing in the army." He said he told him,
"Nothing important, I just stand guard duty at a gate to some damned
compound outside Alamogordo." He added, "Hell. I don`t even know
what the Hell is going on there." "At that point two other civilians
walked up, took me by the arms and walked me outside to a waiting
car, drove me to my outfit and turned me over to a Lieutenant." The
Officer simply said to me, "Stow your things in your duffle bag and
follow me. Following his instructions, I finished up stowing my gear
and with that the Lieutenant took me to a car and to the airport and
sent me here, Hell, up to this moment, I don`t know what happened and
why I`m here." I guess he never did know until the war was over.
This incident brought home to all of us how serious the military was
about security. "Loose lips, sink ships," had real meaning for all of
us and we were constantly on guard when chatting with anyone,
especially civilians.

Chapter Three
The patients were not the only ones to appreciate the charms of those
Lovely nurse Second Lieutenants' but we knew better than attempt to
socialize with Officers, a `sin,' requiring drastic action by
Superior Officers, if ventured by a lowly enlisted man.
My duties kept me in close contact with nurses and doctors, arranging

schedules for the "Ward Boys," schedules for medications and

assisting doctors and nurses during their rounds. It was impossible
to not become familiar with the nurses, and one beautiful young nurse
by the name of Rosemary, last name deleted, caught my eye to the
point that I broke through that invisible barrier and arranged a date
with her. Mac, never much concerned with rules, also arranged a date
with his favorite nurse and a double date was about to take place
that would have the inevitable consequences.
The bus arrived for the short ride into Salisbury. Mac and I found
our seats, discreetly separated from our dates so as not to appear to
be accompanying Officers. Shortly thereafter, arriving at our
destination, we proceeded to the nearest pub, and, with our dates,
began imbibing the best of what British brewers had to offer. Our
conversation gradually became more stimulating and our relationships
becoming ever more intimate, we were off to a wonderful evening. At
just before 11:00, the booming voice of the bartender resounded
throughout the pub. "Time please", the dreaded call, that meant we
could order only one more drink before the bar closed. This was
usually followed by a rush to the bar by the patrons, many of whom
still had unfinished drinks at their tables.
Knowing the rules of the game, we decided to move to one of the pubs
that catered to Officers and remained open after the usual closing
hours. The local officials were well aware that, "rank has its
privileges." The man at the door listened patiently as Mac explained
how the young lady with me had nursed me back to health from a
serious illness, "And now, my buddy John, and Rosemary, the lovely
nurse with him, are celebrating their engagement". Mac's story so
impressed the doorman that he made no objection to our presence in
the club.
Although Mac and I were the only non-Officers in the room, no one
seemed to notice and our evening continued on until closing time. As
we made our way through the crowd exiting the room, our arms
encircling our dates, I looked up and, catching my eye, was the
Company Commander. His look of disapproval, I knew immediately, was a
harbinger of things to come.
The results of having encountered the Company Commander, the night
before, under the previously mentioned circumstances, were not long
in coming. Mac was the first to heed a call to the Office immediately
after Mess., and upon his return to the barracks, informed me he had
been told to pack his belongings and leave on the truck parked
outside the Commander's office. He knew not, where he was headed.
Mac packed his gear and we both walked over to the waiting truck.
Before he climbed aboard, we shook hands and wished each other well.
I never saw Mac again, until we were discharged and home, once more,
in Kalamazoo.

I was the next to get the call to meet with the Company Commander.
His directive was quick, brusque and direct. "Tomorrow morning, be at
the roadside with your belongings in your duffle bag and meet the
truck when it arrives." "Do you have any questions, Corporal?"
My answer was quick, brusque and direct. "No Sir," followed by a
salute. The answer was a snappy salute and a, "Dismissed, Soldier."
Feeling somewhat, depressed at having lost my buddy and being sent to
"God knows where," I climbed aboard the truck the following morning
with a number of other "F***Ups, "but damned glad I hadn't lost my
stripes.
The truck rambled on for several miles until the driver pulled over
and hollered back at us, "You guys wanna stop at this pub and have a
beer?" The question was, of course unnecessary, and we all
disembarked , much heartened by this magnanimous gesture.
Along with the other guys, I dropped to the ground, faced forward,
and lo and behold, there was Capt. John Hummer, leaving his seat
alongside the driver. Capt. Hummer was one of the enlisted men's
favorite Officers and a resident of my hometown. His greeting to me
was, "John, what the Hell are you doing here?" I replied, "I might
ask you the same thing, Captain." Such was the informality that
existed between he and the enlisted men with whom he was well
aquainted. He was an excellent doctor, a fine Officer and a real
gentleman.
Once, inside the pub the G.I.s quickly received their "pints" and
were noisily swapping stories. Capt. Hummer and myself, knowing each
other well and, having come from the same outfit, as well as both of
us being residents of Kalamazoo, took a booth, and over a pint of
Guinness, began our stories of how we came to be on this particular
journey. I recounted my encounter with the Commander regarding
fraternization with Officers and the penalty I suffered. Capt. Hummer
laughed and said he had even a better story to tell. As he recounted
it, he and another officer had been on a date with two nurses and had
imbibed a little too much of "Old john Barleycorn," and upon
returning to camp one of the party dared him to go to the Commander`s
quarters and awaken him. He said," Having had one too many, and
taking the dare, I went into his hut, shook him, and with my
flashlight, blinded him and backed out. Unfortunately, I was unable
to stifle a laugh. Big mistake! The Commander, now fully aroused,
recognized my laugh, and bellowed out, "John Hummer, you S.O.B, I`ll
make you pay for this," "So here I am with the rest of you "F***ups."
He went on to assure me that we were not only assigned to the same
place but were going to Torquay, on the south coast of England, to
care for an encampment of soldiers training for the invasion. We
would be responsible for their day to day medical problems. He said,

"This is going to be dammed good duty, since this is one of the best
spots in England, as close to tropical weather as you will see over
here, and we will be on our own, to do, as we see fit".
After dropping off the guys on the truck at their assigned
destinations, we finally arrived at the lovely seaside town of
Torquay, to this day, stll known as an integral part of the "English
Riviera." It is no wonder that the famed British author, Agatha
Christie, chose to live most of her life here in this, almost,
tropical like paradise.
Wartime Britain was in no position to have its beaches inhabited only
by vacationing sun bathers and the long stretches of barbed wire that
covered those beaches stood in stark testimony to the fact that
England was at war and fighting for its life and freedom.
In Russia, soldiers were being sent to the Eastern Front for
improper behavior and Torquay was our, "Eastern Front." Of course,
being `good and obedient soldiers," we would do our best to cope
with the cards life had dealt us.
The encampment, covering several acres, was located on the outskirts
of town. The troops were housed in tents. We soon found our spot, a
large Quonset hut, neatly made up, sleeping accommodations for six
and an office and lab. This was to be our home and workplace until
further notice.
We quickly staked out our cots and proceeded to make our areas as
comfortable as possible. Capt. Hummer and I took an inventory of the
things we required in the lab and then we sat down over a cup of
coffee to discuss our routine.
Each morning we would take care of the needs of the soldiers on "Sick
Call." He explained that, at times, he would not be available as he
would, undoubtedly, have connections in town that might require him
to spend the night there. He said he was sure that I could handle the
routine cases by myself but he would leave me a telephone number
where I could reach him in case of an emergency. I was well aware of
the fact that one did not question a Superior Officer about his off
base activities. He then went on to say that he would arrange a, not
too early, sick call. He then instructed me to tell the Mess Sergeant
that he would like to confer with him.
The Sergeant, a large bulky man, heavily tattooed, and florid of
face, responded quickly, and gave a proper salute to Capt. Hummer,
which was returned in proper military manner. Capt. Hummer began,
"Sergeant, We are here to care for the personnel stationed here and I
want my men, and soon there will be more of us, to get plenty of
rest, so it would be appreciated if you would have breakfast for them
even if their arrival is somewhat late, thus giving them time for

some extra sleep time in the morning." The Sergeant assured Captain
Hummer
that this would be no problem but he had a favor to ask of him. The
Captain, knowing, "Quid pro quo," said, "Mention it, and it's done."
He then explained that he often suffered from a severe hangover in
the morning and would appreciate a doctor approved remedy. With that,
Captain Hummer made up a concoction and showed me how to prepare it
for the amiable Sergeant. As I recall, it had a very solid base of
codeine, and later received a very favorable reaction from the
Sergeant.
Our discussion continued, and being curious about his remark that
there would soon be more of us, I said, "Captain, Will we be
receiving some additional help?" His answer came in the form of a
question. "John, I`m sure you will be making some social connections
in town, and wouldn't it be nice to have some "wheels?" Without
hesitation, he received an affirmative answer. He then went on to say
that he was ordering an ambulance and driver. "I'll make sure that
the driver will understand that the vehicle is at your disposal at
all times," He said, with a smile. "I told you this would be good
duty, didn't I?" "Let's make the most of it."
The ambulance did arrive and it served me well as I became more
acquainted in the community. The driver, a Private First Class, was
a fine young man and fitted in very well with, our, rather "laid
back," style of living. We did, however, have one incident which
challenged our unmilitary behavior.
For some unknown reason, and, maybe, it was because the army had no
other place to put him, another Captain doctor appeared one day and
showed Capt. Hummer his transfer. We now had two Captains and two
enlisted men. That seemed a little heavy with rank.
It wasn't long before our new arrival, a young, "spit and polish"
Officer, made it known, in no uncertain terms, that our unkempt beds
and generally, sloppy housekeeping was not in line with what he
considered military demeanor. Dr. Hummer, I`m sure, considered this
an insult to his management and approached him a couple of days
later, after one of his rants about unmade beds. Confronting the
young Officer with fire in his eyes, he said, "Captain, "What was the
date of your commission"?
Without a moments hesitation he blurted out the date to Capt. Hummer.
The response was almost immediate, Capt. Hummer said, "Captain, my
commission is of a much earlier date and this puts me in complete
command here, and furthermore, my staff and I are quite satisfied
with our lifestyle. Is that perfectly clear"?
The young Captain Answered with a quick, "Yes Sir."
I am still of the opinion that the young Captain`s transfer to
another location the following week had something to do with this
clash of opinions between the two Officers.

Another incident, which I recall with great relish, happened one

evening when we were seated outside of our hut chatting. A Sergeant
from one of the infantry outfits showed up, rifle in hand, and
joined us. He said, "Wanna see a demonstration of how we train the
men in rifle handling?" He then proceeded to break down the rifle
into its separate parts. "Now watch this", he said. He closed his
eyes, and in a flash, put the rifle back together in record time.
Capt. Hummer, without verbal response, reached over and took hold of
the rifle. In a few short seconds he then proceeded to dismantle the
piece. He closed his eyes, and with a few deft movements, much faster
than the infantryman, reassembled the rifle. Then, breaking his
silence, Capt. Hummer said, "Soldier, I learned this little maneuver
in the National Guard, long before being sent over here. Not all
medics are unfamiliar with firearms."
Not all duty here was "fun and games", and meeting the day to day
needs of the troops kept us busy. There were plenty of situations
which required our response, although most situations were not of a
highly serious nature. These were highly trained combat troops,
having been already trained for battle before arriving at this
station. They were not engaging in maneuvers which resulted in severe
injury or worse. Most of our cases were merely first aid, although we
did have occasional situations in which, after initial treatment, we
took the patient to a nearby hospital.
We did have some inkling that important moves in the war were about
to take place. Often at night, in the darkness, German reconnaissance
planes would appear overhead and shoot tracer bullets, hoping for
return fire, thus establishing the location of the troops. One night
they dropped a small personnel bomb which landed on a china shop on
the outer perimeter of the encampment. What we saw in the morning
would have had a collector of "fine China "climbing the walls."
Just to be on the safe side, we dug a small trench and when a plane
appeared overhead we would climb in until all activity ceased. One
night, Capt. Hummer and I took to the trench for cover. During our
descent into the trench I brushed against something and received a
small cut on my wrist. Upon seeing the bloody wrist, Capt. Hummer
said. "OK, John, now I can put you in for a Purple Heart."
I, of course, declined the offer. The Purple Heart is given to those
wounded in battle as a tribute to their sacrifice and heroism. I am
sure, Captain Hummer was speaking in jest, knowing I could not, in
good conscience, accept his offer.
Monitoring the news every day, we were very much aware of the
mayhem being carried on across the Channel. Hitler had subdued most
of Europe and was keeping a wary eye on Britain where more and more
American, British, Canadian and allied forces were training for, what
he knew, would be the invasion of the continent.

Being in such close contact with these soldiers, who would be among
those to storm the beaches, made us very aware of the tremendous
responsibilities our nation had placed upon their shoulders. Many of
these young soldiers would be laying down their lives to keep alive,
what was left of, law and order in Europe. We were also aware of the
other Allied forces, in camps such as these, who were also called
upon to keep alive freedom and democracy. We were young, but not too
young, to know that what happened on those beaches would make Europe,
either free or slave and, in time, threaten the security of the
United States. For those of us who would not be compelled to make
that trip across the English Channel and face the carnage of the
invasion, it strengthened our resolve to care well for our brave
combat soldiers.

Chapter Four
The year was 1944 and the Stars and Stripes, the GI. newspaper, kept
us fully informed of what was happening across the English Channel.
Hitler's 1941 invasion of Russia, known as "Operation Barbarossa",
had proven a disaster and the attack on Pearl Harbor by the Japanese,
bringing in the Americans, had the German forces on the defensive.
Everyone realized that a turning point in the war had been reached.

The world held its breath awaiting the invasion.

Preparations for the invasion of the Normandy coast in France had
been made in 1943. President Roosevelt and Prime Minister Winston
Churchill had selected Gen. Dwight D. Eisenhower as Supreme Commander
and gave the plan the code name, Operation Overlord. The Allied
powers were now set on a course that would result in the greatest
military operation in the history of the world.
The Allies assembled a force of three million men and stored sixteen
million tons of ammunition and supplies in great Britain. The Allies
had five thousand large ships, four thousand smaller landing craft
and more than eleven thousand aircraft.
All along the south coast of Britain staging areas were set up for
the accommodation of the thousands of troops preparing for the
invasion. Torquay was one of these staging areas.
I remember clearly, getting up one morning, prepared to go to town
and meet the young lady with whom I had become acquainted. I stepped
out the door and it became crystal clear to me that I was not going
anywhere. This huge encampment was completely surrounded by British
and American soldiers bearing automatic weapons. From that moment on
security was absolute and complete. It was then that I realized why
large circus tents had been set up in the last few days and Officers
from all the outfits had been seen coming and going. Briefings were
being held, prior to, what all of us expected to be, the launching of
the invasion. What, I did not know, was that the invasion had been
set for June 5, but weather conditions in the channel were so bad
that the mission had been postponed until June 6.
In the wee hours of the morning of June 6,1944 we became aware of
frenzied activity in the camp. The sound of barked orders, the roar
of truck engines and the sound of booted feet made us realize that
the time had come. The invasion of the European continent was about
to become reality. Many young men would perish that day on the
beaches of Normandy, but many more would go forward into the heart of
Germany, in what Gen. Eisenhower dubbed, "A great Crusade."
The greatest armada in all of military history had been unleashed
that morning and a grateful world , to this day, pays homage to the
brave men who were willing to sacrifice their lives to wipe from the
face of the earth the evil empires of Germany, Italy and, ultimately,
Japan.
The Order of the Day. June 6 , 1944 from Supreme Headquarters Allied
Expeditionary Forces, as stated by General Dwight Eisenhower, Supreme
Commander was as follows,
Supreme Headquarters
Allied Expeditionary Force.

"Soldiers, Sailors and Airmen of the Allied Expeditionary Force!

You are about to embark upon the Great Crusade, toward which we have
striven these many months. The eyes of the world are upon you. The
hopes and prayers of liberty loving people everywhere march with you.
In company with our brave Allies and brothers-in-arms on other
fronts, you will bring about the destruction of the German war
machine, the elimination of Nazi tyranny over the oppressed peoples
of Europe and security for ourselves in a free world.
Your task will not be an easy one. Your enemy is well trained, well
equipped and battle hardened. He will fight savagely.
But this is the year 1944! Much has happened since the Nazi triumphs
of 1940-41. The United Nations have inflicted upon the Germans great
defeats, in open battle, man to man. Our offensive has seriously
reduced their strength in the air and their capacity to wage war on
the ground. Our Home Fronts have given us an overwhelming superiority
in munitions and weapons of war, and placed at our disposal great
reserves of trained fighting men. The tide has turned! The free men
of the world are marching together toward victory!
I have full confidence in your courage, devotion to duty and skill in
battle. We will accept nothing less than full victory!
Good luck! And let us beseech the blessing of Almighty God upon this
great and noble undertaking."
With this directive from the Supreme Commander and the hopes of all
free men, our troops went forward into battle. Before the day was
over, the events that took place on the beaches of Normandy would
herald a "new "Birth of Freedom" for the "Oppressed people of Europe"
and a new "Sense of security for ourselves" in a free world.
An eerie quiet now settled over this huge staging area. The sound of
bugle calls, the barked orders of the Sergeants and the noisy rush to
the mess hall by hundreds of hungry soldiers had suddenly become
stilled. The sounds of the camp had been transferred to the beaches
of Normandy and became the whine of bullets, the flash of rocket
fire, the explosion of heavy artillery and cries of pain from the
wounded and dying, as these brave troops struggled forward to free a
continent from the evil stranglehold of Nazi tyranny.
The only personnel left in the encampment was Capt. Hummer, myself
and the young Private who drove the ambulance. Our mission was
finished. Together, the Private and myself did a "Walk-through" of
the tents before they were struck and removed by the Quartermaster
Corps.
Left behind by the troops were those things they would not carry into
battle, bits of this and that they had acquired while on leave,
magazines and books they had been reading and the bric- a-brack that

magically collects around us as we move about.

One bit of memorabilia did catch my eye. lying on a cot, was a red,
hardbound copy of Tolstoy`s War and Peace, possibly the last book
this young soldier would ever read. With this thought in mind, I
picked up the book and there on the flyleaf, was the soldier's
signature, Jack C. Barnett. Through the years, this has been one of
my treasured mementos and I have tried repeatedly, to no avail, to
locate Jack, or his family, to return this bit of his wartime life to
its rightful owners.
The
the
our
for

Quartermaster Corps, with its usual efficiency, arrived toward

end of the day and removed the tents and all Army property except
quarters.. We would spend the night in our Quonset hut and wait
our orders.

Not having access to a mess hall, Capt. Hummer, the ambulance driver
and myself clambered aboard the ambulance, drove into town and had a
meal of fish and chips and returned for our last night in Torquay.
The following morning, Capt. Hummer called us together, and, now
having our orders in hand, informed us that we were to return to the
306 Station Hospital and the Private was to return to his outfit. A
vehicle would arrive to transport the Captain, and myself to the
hospital. I remember him saying, "Now, all we have to do is get back
and ready ourselves for the casualties that will be arriving from
Normandy. It won`t be long before we see what the term, "War is
Hell," really means,"
The hospital was now located outside the town of Cheltenham. The
Quonset huts were lined up neatly, concrete sidewalks connecting the
ward buildings. A mess hall was in place, barracks, quarters for the
Officers, a laboratory, sanitary facilities, and flying from a tall
flagpole, "Old Glory." The hospital was located on an area of
undeveloped land which provided the opportunity to carry on a
military program without disturbing the civilians who lived nearby. I
found the barrack
to which I was assigned and Capt. Hummer, being an Officer, had a
building which he shared with another Officer. We settled in for the
night wondering what tomorrow would bring.
The one thing that struck me was that the hospital had no patients
and that meant we were prepared for the arrival of casualties. It was
now well into the invasion. We had received word of the heavy
fighting and that the beachhead had been established and our troops
and the Canadians, as well as other forces, were now firmly
entrenched in Normandy.
Unlike the old 306th, the hospital had Military Police surrounding
it. It didn`t take long to find out that our patients would not be

American casualties, but instead, , German prisoners of war.

With the arrival of the new patients, a whole set of new problems
were encountered. All of this meant additional training.. We had to
become familiar with the rules of war, under, what was to become, the
Geneva Convention, regarding the treatment of enemy combatants, learn
to communicate with people of a foreign language and abide with
enhanced security regulations.
I was extremely busy for the next few days, assigning my men to their
wards, arranging duty schedules, and generally getting in sync with
the doctor I was working with, as well as getting to know the various
routines followed by the nurses.
Our first batch of patients arrived by train and we worked late into
the night getting them into the proper wards, taking care of their
medication needs and showing them, by our actions, that they had
nothing to fear. These were men who had been in the thick of battle,
weary and confused, not knowing what fate had in store for them, in
the hands of the enemy. Many had received severe wounds, others only
wounds severe enough that they could not function well enough to be
left unattended. The one thing they had in common was that most
would soon be ambulatory. Their quick removal to a hospital in
England must have been the need to get them across the channel and,
in case of escape, not having them return to duty.
While few of the prisoners spoke English and few of us spoke German,
it became apparent to us, quite quickly, that we had to teach each
other our languages. Out of this emerged a mixture of German and
English that, strung together in half sentences, allowed us to
communicate, if not fluently, at least well enough to function.
The one thing most of these men shared in common was their disdain of
Hitler and their nonparticipation in Nazi activities. Their
participation in the war was the result of the Draft and the now
familiar refrain, "I was only taking orders" defense. They uttered
it, we ignored it. There were exceptions, of course, and, as time
went by, some really did turn out to be anti-Nazi.
Our treatment of the prisoners was strictly according to
international law, in spite of our dislike of these," Nazi Supermen."
They were not forced to work, had food comparable to that fed our own
soldiers, allowed religious activities and housing equal to that
provided American patients. Treatment of their medical needs was of
the highest order of the time. Doctors, nurses and enlisted personnel
gave their level best in caring for their patients. Needless to say,
we had no escape attempts.
There were, however two types of prisoners. Combat soldiers had, very
visably, marked on their shirts, PW. "Prisoners of War," Medical

personnel had on their shirts, the marking, PP ," Protective

Personnel."Their non-combat status, allowed them special status under
the firmly established rules of war, later to become known as the
"Geneva Convention."
German medical personnel, Officers and enlisted men, were given the
opportunity to work with us in caring for the patients. Our doctors
now had additional help with the assistance of the German doctors and
my men had, much needed, help in carrying out their duties.
Life soon settled down into a daily routine. Many of the patients,
now ambulatory, seemed quite satisfied with the conditions we
provided for them and presented no problems for us.
Among the patients there were a few who were complete fanatics,
usually young and thoroughly "brainwashed." One such ,was a twenty
year old infantryman who. over and over, professed his loyalty to
Hitler and the Nazi doctrine. He had been severely wounded and was
scheduled for an operation.
At his scheduled time we wheeled him into the operating room. It soon
became apparent that he would need a blood transfusion. Since all the
American personnel had records on their "dog tags" of their blood
type, and many Germans had lost theirs, time being of the essence, it
was decided that one of the "ward boys" would "volunteer" to donate
the needed blood.
At the conclusion of the operation. He was returned to the ward. I
stood by him until he recovered from the effects of the anesthesia.
It was then that I gave in to an impulse that possibly could be
construed as "torture," and in violation of the rules of war. In the
best German I could muster ,with my limited fluency, I informed him
that he was now a Jew. His immediate response was, "Nein, Nein, which
in English is a very emphatic, "NO. NO!" I managed to get across to
him that one of the American soldiers had given him blood and that
the soldier was Jewish, therefore, he now had Jewish blood. I am sure
his reaction to my fabrication did not lead to his swift recovery.
The fact that the young man who donated his blood was not Jewish and
my deliberate attempt to cause this, "Hitler Youth," anguish, I
consider to this day, a contribution to the war effort, and more
deserving of a commendation than a rebuke. Thankfully I received
neither, for having inflicted a severe sense of discomfort upon a
"patriotic warrior" of the German Reich.
Many of the Germans had acquired quite substantial amounts of French
money and this was not lost on us as to the good times we could have
if we were to obtain this currency and convert it to British Pounds.
The Germans seemed eager to part with this booty, which they had
cleverly concealed when captured, in exchange for American
cigarettes. Having plenty of cigarettes we soon had pocketfuls of

French money, and now the trick was to make the conversion to British
currency. The post office had been ordered to make known, sums of
money beyond the amount Uncle Sam so generously showered upon us,
being sent home. The army seemed always watchful for G.I.
indiscretions. Since sending the cash home was not our first
priority, that was not an option we had considered.. The second
hurdle was to get an American Officer to sign off on our transaction
when we were on leave.
As soon as passes became available, Joe Feld, a good drinking buddy,
and a fellow Michigander from Detroit, and I took leave and headed
for London. Our first stop, the Red Cross Club in Piccadilly Circus,
to freshen up, change our francs for pounds and prepare for a
memorable weekend.
In the lobby of the club we spotted a young Second Lieutenant, with
all the earmarks of a "Ninety Day Wonder," and convinced him to sign
off for us, making it possible to make our currency transaction.
With a generous amount of the royal cash in our pockets
find the finest hotel in London that would admit a pair
enlisted men. The need to be free from being surrounded
G.I.s, of lowly rank, was a passion that engrossed most
while on leave, and we were no exception.

we set off to
of lowly
by fellow
soldiers

Although my memory fails me as to the exact hotel we settled upon, I

do know that all the military guests, except us, wore marks of rank
upon their shoulders. The secret to acceptance here was, not rank
but, an adequate amount of the "King`s Sterling."
We were escorted to our room by an elderly "Bell Boy," who treated us
with all the respect given to any of the guests, and graciously
accepted his tip with a "Thank you." and a salute. Having, at one
time, in civilian life, held the same position as he, I could not but
marvel at the fact that I was on the receiving line of this timeless
little ritual.
Our room was, indeed, first class and more luxurious than I was
accustomed to. Joe, seemed much more blas and was not as impressed
as I was. After a call for room service and having a couple of
drinks, quickly brought to us by a room attendant, we decided that
after a shave, s**t and shower we would "Do the town."
This was rapidly accomplished and we were soon on the street.
After hailing a cab and getting aboard, Joe instructed the driver to
take us somewhere where good food and drink was available as well as
some "action." He then placed a five pound note on the seat beside
the driver, which was hastily retrieved and an assurance given that,
"He knew exactly the right place." That much British currency,
roughly translated into twenty American dollars, a very hefty sum at

that point of time. "Money Talks."

After
fence
place
found

a short drive the cab pulled up

which cordoned off a bombed out
to begin our carousing. The cab
and opened a makeshift door and

in front of a construction
site. This seemed an unlikely
driver, without hesitation,
bade us, "Enter.

Once inside, we entered an opening into a bombed out building and

found a party was in "full swing". A rather nice bar, given the
circumstances, was doing a hectic business. There was plenty of food
in sight and a small band was playing for the dancing couples on the
floor. Eyeing up the single girls, we knew immediately that "action"
was available. It was, and Joe and I got back to our hotel very late,
or early, depending on how one looks at the clock. Our weekend came
and went, as did our "easy money." One thing we did learn was that
the "Black Market" was alive and well and almost anything was
available.

Chapter five

Back at our duties, our natural impulse for fun took over. To liven
up the evening we acquired from the lab a quantity of pure alcohol.
Having plenty of grape juice on hand, we mixed the two together to
give the grape juice, "added flavor". The result was a delicious
refresher which, after inducing the nurses to join us, and noting
their lustful expressions of delight, we dubbed the cocktail, "Purple
Passion." I shall not belabor this yarn further.
As the war on the continent heated up we received word that the
bombing over Germany and the victories on land were taking its toll
to the point that Hitler began the recruitment of the very young and
the old. It was then that we received contingents of prisoners that
consisted of boys, some not even in their teens, and men well into
the latter stages of middle age.
Among these older prisoners was a man, in his late fifties, elderly
to me, who was assigned to me for ward duty. He was a very mild man,
somewhat confused as to why he was in the army. I kept him busy with
light duties and, to the degree possible, we became friends.
One late afternoon I walked into the office and found him sitting at
a table, his head in his hands, bent over the table and sobbing. I
walked over to him, placed my hand on his shoulder and
inquired, ,"What`s the matter?"
He raised his head, tears running down his cheeks, and lifting a
photo from the table. replied in his broken English, "This is a
picture of my wife and sons, all killed in the bombing." This
incident and the sight of these old men and very young boys, caught
up in a war, not of their making, caused me to realize that the
tragedy of war strikes both sides with equal vengeance,
It was now late into 1944 and the 306th had been in the UK for over
two years. This was not lost on the mind of our Company Commander. At
a Company meeting with him he broached the idea of having a little
celebration commemorating our service. He informed us that he had
obtained a spot in Cheltenham where he would set up a bar and social
area where, when off duty, we could go and, with our fellow G.Is,
celebrate our anniversary. His, much appreciated gesture was met with
a sincere round of applause.
Having an afternoon free of duty, I decided to invite one of the MPs
to accompany me. When we arrived the house was full , the Company
Commander made a toast and congratulated us on a "Job, well done."
After a moment or two of, "He's a Jolly Good Fellow," we settled down
to consuming the free beer.
My companion and guest, an extremely large and imposing MP, had just
told me how lucky we were to have such a fine Officer in charge when
the Commander walked over to where we were sitting, handed me am MP

arm band, and said, "Corporal, put this on and if any guys come in,
not a part of our outfit, tell them this is a private party and tell
them to leave." I said, "Sir, I am not an MP." His response was,
"Soldier, you are now," and walked away with a grin on his face."
Faced with this unpleasant duty, I remarked to my companion, "Damn,
I`ll get killed if I try to throw any of those infantrymen out."
He laughed and said, "John, if they come in just walk over to them
and tell them to get out."
"To hell I will. You want to see me get
killed?" I replied.
He said, "You don`t get it, do you?" He went on, "Tell them to get
out and then stand between them and the door and if they give you any
crap, invite them out to settle the matter." I said, "You've got to
be nuts." At this my friend was suddenly consumed with laughter.
After recovering his composure he said, "When you invite them out,
I`ll go out the side door over there, don't worry, You`ll be
alright."
As if on cue, two guys wearing combat boots and infantry insignia on
their shirts, walked over to the bar, obtained mugs of beer and
seated themselves. For me, Armagaddon had arrived. "Undaunted and
fearless", I approached them and gave them the message that they were
not welcome since this was a private party. Completely ignoring the
MP badge on my arm, they answered with a " Screw you, you f******
medic." Having faith and confidence in my companion, with some
reservation, I invited them outside. My invitation was immediately
accepted.
I walked to the door, my legs a bit wobbly, followed by the two
combatants. My friend, at the same time, went out the side door. Once
on the street, all Hell broke loose. Out of nowhere, one of the G.I.s
got a fist squarely in the face and the other a kick in the pants and
both moved rapidly down the street. My friend returned to the side
door and entered. Still, a bit dazed, I returned to my place at the
table where, my buddy was already seated, gave a salute to the
startled Commander, and sat down. I am sure, to this day, that
Officer is still wondering how that skinny kid managed to evict two
combat soldiers with "Chips on their shoulders."
As one of my duties was to have the wards ready for Saturday morning
inspection, I made my rounds on Friday afternoon. On one particular
Friday, I was summoned to the bedside of a patient who spoke fluent
English. He informed me that a patient, and he named the bed number,
was not getting a full portion of food and was always complaining
that he was hungry. I, immediately confronted the patient and, he
informed me that, Hauptman, a POW, that that had been a medic in the
German navy, and whom I now had serving the food in this ward, was
refusing him a full portion of food. From the look of him, I didn`t
doubt his word.

I headed back to the office, found Hauptman, and confronted him with
the fact that a patient was being denied his full portion of food.
Hauptman made no attempt to conceal the fact that he gave this
patient only minimal portions. I asked him why he would do such a
thing and got an immediate response. "Unter' Officer, that man is a
Waffen S.S. soldier, Look at the insignia on his uniform." All S.S.
had a "Black Patch Waffen SS" insignia on their uniforms. He
continued, "You take care of the office, I take care of the "SS,"
spoken in surprisingly good English. Needless to say, I sympathized
with his motive, but explained that we had to treat all patients the
same.
Saturday morning inspection went off without any problem, the
soldier in question had been given the proper amount of food and made
no complaints. The inspecting Officer, having given us an OK,
immediately departed and we went back to business, as usual. I was
ready for some leave time and knew Joe would be in line with me for a
pass and a trip to London.
Usual procedure before going on leave was to be sure all duty was
covered in my absence. I finished arranging schedules for the on duty
enlisted personnel and returned to the wards to see that all was in
order. Having determined that everything was shipshape, I turned to
the Private, on duty, and was discussing special needs for certain
patients when a terrific explosion shook the building Both, the
Private and I were knocked off our feet and some patients had been
thrown out of their beds.
Our immediate concern, after picking ourselves up off the floor, was
to ascertain the condition of our patients and determine the damage
done to the building. As soon as it was determined that no injuries
were suffered by the patients and the building seemed intact, I went
outside to see if I could discover the cause of the explosion.
An ambulance had arrived and a bomb crew, off in the distance, was
surveying a place where a huge cloud of smoke had formed. After
informing the driver that everything was alright with us, and
clambering aboard, we headed out to the bomb site. What I saw made
"my hair stand up straight." What if that bomb has landed on the
hospital, was my first thought.
The crater seemed big enough to have swallowed a large building. The
bomb crew soon left the scene, after taking note of the situation I
reflected upon what I had just seen.. Could this have been one of
Hitler's V2 bombs Could this have been one of the last V2s. that
found its way to England? It has been said that the V2 was a failure
and hit more uninhabited places than occupied areas but, at that
moment, it seemed a deadly weapon to me.

Never deterred by last minute interruptions, Joe and I headed for

London on a two day pass which we spent in "cultural pursuits." One
interesting few moments occurred while we were on a short train ride
to a place just outside of London, highly recommended by a fellow
G.I. as a great place to indulge ourselves.
Seated directly across from us in the train was a small British
gentleman, British trains have these little compartments, so much
like those seen on stage coaches in Western movies. We exchanged
pleasantries, and in so doing, he asked me where I was from, "In the
"States." I told him, Kalamazoo, Michigan. His face broke into a
smile and he said, "Oh I know that part of the country well." He went
on, "several years ago, I was in Chicago, looking for a shop where I
could construct neon signs and not having any success."He continued,
"I was eating in a little Italian restaurant and got talking to the
waiter and telling him of my problem." He reached into his pocket,
withdrew a business card, scribbled his name on it, handed it to me,
and said, "Here, take this card to the hotel named on it, stand in
line on the stairs until you are ushered into the room at the top of
the stairs. Give the man at the door the card, and you'll be taken
care of. I did as he suggested the following day. When I was finally
ushered in I saw a long Board of Directors table, and there, at the
head of the table was, none other than, "Scar face" Al Capone. I
recognized him immediately, having seen his picture in the newspaper.
I tell you, my knees were buckling and I was one scared little
Englishman." He went on to say that he was "taken care of," but it
was an experience he would never forget.
On another occasion, on one of those train rides out of London I
experienced a very enlightening moment while talking to a civilian.
The man sitting across from me struck up a conversation with me and
remarked, "I certainly admire the spirit of you `Yanks." He went on
to say, " I was taking this same train and a "Yank" was sitting
across from me and I inquired as to his destination. The train was
just beginning to move and I inquired as to his destination. He told
me and I told him he was on the wrong train, going in the opposite
direction. Without further ado, he simply grabbed the leather strap,
dropped down the window, jumped out onto the platform and
disappeared. That`s the kind of immediate action that will win this
damned war, Thank God, you are on our side."
On December 16, 1944, we received word that the Germans had mounted a
huge offensive, had broken through and created an extensive bulge in
the Allied lines. This was Hitler`s last desperate attempt to change
the course of the war and became known as the "Battle of the Bulge."
Although fighting was fierce, it was to no avail, and the end of the
war was now in sight, although peace would not come until May of
1945.
The New Year arrived and while we managed to celebrate in the local

pub it was a time when one felt very homesick, wondering if this
damned war would ever end, an emotion one felt every night when the
bugle sounded, Taps., signaling, "Lights Out."
The year 1945 seemed much like every other year, the same old
routine, the same "bitching" in the barracks and the same old duties
in the wards looking after the needs of the wounded enemy.
Spring had arrived and with the coming of April, we were on one of
our `voluntary' long hikes to condition ourselves before settling
down to the business of the day. It was a chilly day in April and we
were just approaching camp when a Sergeant came running over to us
shouting, "Have you guys heard the news?" Before we could respond, he
shouted, "The President just passed away." There was a moment of
complete silence among the group. As the portent of this shocking
news settled upon us, we all fell silent and tears arose in the eyes
of all six of us. We were the young men who grew from children to
adults, never having known another President, and one so dearly loved
by all of us. He was the leader who took us through the "Great
Depression" and led us in time of war. "He was always the "Master of
his Realm", and will always be remembered as the "Captain at the
Helm." April 12, 1945, "Now he belongs to the ages," to borrow a
phrase from Secretary of War, Stanton, upon the death of Abraham
Lincoln during the Civil War.
What had seemed just the beginning of a new year, suddenly turned
into a year filled with surprises. We knew that the Allies had agreed
to demand "Unconditional Surrender." We also knew that Hitler had
committed suicide and that this meant sure victory for the Allies. In
spite of all this, we were taken aback, when on May 5, 1945 the
surrender of Germany brought an end to the war in Europe. On May 8,
the surrender was signed. It was VE Day! The guns were silenced and
a war torn continent was, once again, at peace. The "Captain at the
Helm," had not lived to see us "Gain the summit of the hill."
Celebrations broke out throughout the United Kingdom and this meant
passes were being issued very liberally and it made it possible for
us to join in the celebration. Needless to say, Joe Feld and I were
now ready for a trip to London. London was in a high state of
euphoria when we arrived. People, everywhere, were still celebrating,
days after the war ended, and American G.I, s were treated as
heroes. Joe and I basked in the glory of it all, even though we had
not fired a single shot in anger throughout the war.
Chapter Six
After returning from leave I was making my rounds in the wards when
my Sergeant approached me and said, "John, looks like you have a new

assignment." I replied, "The Hell I do, I haven't done anything

wrong." He laughed and said, "No, its not punishment, you are going
on detached service to Belfast, N. Ireland with a Private to set up a
prophylactic station, you lucky dog." He continued, "That's a dammed
nice duty assignment."
May 8, 1945, I arrived in Belfast with Bill, my assistant, moved
into our new quarters and for the next couple of days made the place
"ship-shape." My station was set up in a storefront not far from the
center of town. It consisted of quarters for two and a facility to
service the soldiers before their return to camp. This was my station
and I was in complete charge, far from the commands of demanding
Sergeants. My subordinate was a young Private who hailed from the
Appalachians, a"Hillbilly," if you will. To my delight he even stood
in awe of a lowly Corporal. Needless to say, we got on very well.
Belfast is the largest city in Northern Ireland. N. Ireland is a part
of the United Kingdom and was fully involved in the war. It was here
that the Titanic was built in the shipyards of Harland and Wolfe. For
many decades many of the great ships of historical importance were
built there. Belfast also has a long history related to the linen
trade and it was known all over the world for its fine linen
products. Then, during the war Belfast had another claim to fame,
along with other cities in the United Kingdom, and that was its
surplus of "Yanks." The term, "Yanks," was a token of friendship
except when it was used by the mothers of eligible girls in the
community. In spite of this bit of "bigotry" the young maidens
seemed to find the "Yanks" good company and the dance halls were
constantly creating many "social relationships."
There were still enough "Yanks" to go around even though the war in
Europe was over. There was an Air Force base called, Langford Lodge
just outside the city and the troops were busy dismantling the base
and removing equipment while awaiting orders for their next
assignment. With the war still raging in the South Pacific, there was
little doubt as to where that would be. Needless to say, I was
wondering about the destination for the 306th, but for now, at least,
I was safely tucked away in Belfast. I did know, however, that since
we had not been in combat, the South Pacific might be our next
location and a combat area there.
My assistant was not eager to wend his way through the large city,
preferring to stay at our station, in the evening writing letters to
his girlfriend and parents. This made it possible for me to have the
evenings to myself. During the day there was little to do and it was
then I became acquainted with civilians on the street outside the
facility. One elderly lady and I had several interesting chats. On
one occasion, she told me she was a seamstress and invited me over in

the next street to see her shop. Not wanting to seem uninterested, I
walked with her to the shop. She was very proud of it and showed me
all her creations. We chatted for a few minutes and then she said,
"Would you be staying for Tea?" With that, she pulled aside a curtain
and there in the next room was a neat little restaurant. Her
smuggling connections in the Irish Free State, which was neutral in
the war, provided her with all the food and drink she needed to run
this fine little lunch room at this time of severe food rationing in
the United Kingdom. I could not know it at the time but this tiny
sliver of the "Black Market," would mark a turning point in my life.
Having heard of a dance hall, not ordinarily frequented by Americans
I decided to give it a try. Hoping to find some feminine
companionship, I sauntered into the club, approached the bar, ordered
a drink, and surveyed the scene for a possible conquest. There,
sitting at a nearby table with a young British Naval Officer, was the
loveliest Colleen I had ever laid eyes upon. Much as I wanted to ask
her for a dance, I couldn`t chance a rejection with that "Limey"
seated at the table with her. I bided my time and after a few short
minutes her date excused himself and left the table. Siezing the
moment, I strode over to her and asked her for a dance. Surprisingly,
she accepted my invitation and for several wonderful minutes I held
her in my arms as we danced to the romantic music the band was
playing. The dance, having ended, I escorted her back to her table.
The young Officer had returned and as we approached, the damned
"Limey," in his phony, uppercrust accent, said, "I presume, Peggy, my
dancing is too old fashioned for you." With that, he stood up and
strode off. Now, I knew her name, had vanquished her boyfriend and
had her to myself. This didn`t seem to bother Peggy, who seemed
almost glad to see him leave. I sat down with her, took her hand in
mine, and from that moment on, I was in love.
I wanted very much to escort her home but she made it quite clear
that her mother would not welcome me and it would cause her more
trouble than she was willing to bear. Before seeing her to the bus we
agreed to see one another the following evening. I was in "Seventh
Heaven," and felt, very much, like the character Gene Kelly played in
that wonderful dance sequence in the movie Singing in the Rain. It
seemed that all these events were taking place as though following a
movie scenario. I had been in Ireland for such a short period of time
and, here I was, already in love.
We met the following evening, and by the end of two weeks of ,every
night dating, had become a "Couple." We both realized that our
affair was more than just a "Passing Fancy." None of this would have
been possible without the collusion of Peggy`s sister, Betty, who was
always ready with an excuse for Peggy`s late nights.
It soon became quite clear to both of us that we were in love to the
point that we wanted to spend the rest of our lives together,

although I had not yet, "Popped the Question." The difficulties to

overcome seemed too overwhelming. Peggy was from an Irish Catholic
family. I was a Protestant, with ties to the Dutch Reformed Church,
the church of the most hated, King William of Orange, and, to top it
off, I was a "Damned Yankee" and a soldier from a far off country.
Then, and even today, in Belfast, Catholics do not marry Protestants
and, most certainly, not Protestants with ties to the Dutch Reformed
Church. Secondly, and even more disqualifying, was the fact that her
parents would be losing a beloved daughter and sending her abroad,
maybe, never to return. All this we knew, but two people in love are
blinded by their emotions to the extent that they are insensitive to
the feelings of others affected by their union.
One late Friday afternoon, after a stroll through the shops and a
light dinner in one of the many little curbside eateries that dot the
downtown streets of Belfast, we walked up the steps of the City Hall,
found a seat close to the great columns that grace that stately
building and sat down to chat. It was early evening, a light rain had
fallen during the day but the evening, was quite pleasant.
I told Peggy of my love for her but emphasized that if I could not
meet her parents it would be better to call the whole thing off
before we both got hurt in the process. She said nothing for a
minute, and then, with tears in her eyes, said, "OK, John, let`s go
home, right now."
Dusk had fallen, with a bit of chill in the air, as we walked up
Rockville Street and entered number 31, one of the little brownstone
houses that line the streets of Belfast. The tiny living room was
warm and cozy, heated by a neat little fireplace that threw long,
flickering shadows on the papered walls. A piano, sofa and chair
graced the room . All these homey images gave me a feeling of warmth
and security I had not experienced for a very long time.
No one being home, Peggy busied herself with making a pot of hot tea
and then went to the piano and played an old Irish tune. As I sat and
basked in the beauty of the scene, I kept thinking how much I would
love to spend the rest of my life with this lovely Irish girl.
The peace and tranquility of this heavenly moment was shattered as
Peggy`s mother arrived on the scene. Mrs. McKenny, although not a
large lady, to my eyes presented a very imposing figure. Peggy
introduced her mother to me. Mrs. McKenny, very graciously, shook my
hand, and then, with a pleasant smile, uttered the words, so often
spoken to young men in my position, "So, you are the young man who
has been keeping my daughter out to all hours of the night." My
response was, " Yes, Mrs. McKenny, I must plead guilty to that."

The evening was continuing splendidly with Peggy`s mother querying me

about all things Catholic. I was responding with many things I had
read about the Church and throwing in the names of a few Catholic
clerics. Fortunately, I had read so much history that included the
Church that I felt I was coming off quite well. Never once, did Mrs.
McKenny ask me if I was a Catholic, although Peggy told me later that
her mother concluded that I was a "Fallen away" Catholic.
The evening was getting late and then Peggy`s mother issued the
"Coup de Grace,"
"I know you boys always enjoy some home cooked food. Would you like
something with your tea?"
I answered, "Certainly Mrs. McKenny, I`d
like that very much, thank you." Then she said, "Well now, I have
some lovely fish and some delicious chicken, which would you prefer?"
It was then, I made my first mistake. I chose chicken, completely
forgetting it was Friday. I was served a delicious plate of roast
chicken , completely oblivious of the error I had just made.
Not all was lost, for I was invited back and spent all my evenings
there getting to know Peggy`s mother, father, sister and brother.
Peggy`s father was a quiet little man who worked for a local bakery.
He was very easy to talk to and we became friends very quickly,
spending some time at the local pub getting better acquainted. He was
a very broad minded man, certainly not a part of the religious
bigotry that consumed so much of Northern Ireland, and best of all,
not prejudiced toward American soldiers. I came to know her sister,
Betty, a lovely young lady, with a great sense of humor, and Peggy`s
ally in whatever Peggy wanted to do. Her brother, Seamus was the
typical teenager, unconcerned with his sister`s problems and more
concerned about my supply of "Yankee goodies." Mrs. McKenny and I
soon became good friends and my frequent visits with her during the
day, while Peggy was at work, sharing many laughs together, cemented
my relationship with the McKenny family.
Though I did spend many daytime hours away from my station, I did
cover for my assistant on those occasions he wanted to go to town. As
far as night time activities were concerned, he preferred to spend
his time reading or writing letters home.
As was to be expected, soldiers being at their base during the day,
we had few guys showing up at the pro station during daylight hours.
However there was an occasional G. I remember one such instance
because it had such a sad ring to it. A young man came into the
station and asked me if he could use the facility to shower and
shave. He said he was being married in a few hours and wanted to get
ready for the wedding. Upon receiving an affirmative answer, he
proceeded with his grooming and left, looking in great shape for his
plunge into matrimony.
Several hours later a lady and her daughter arrived and asked if I

had seen a soldier fitting the description she gave of him. I knew
immediately it was the G.I. I had seen earlier and confirmed that he
had been here.. I knew something was amiss by the sad look on the
girl`s face. Her mother then blurted out, "I knew this would happen.
That damned "Yank" never showed up for the wedding, damn his soul."
It was the end of June, 1945 and my whole venture almost came
crashing down. I received a visit from a Captain and a Lieutenant to
make an inspection of the facility. I wanted to get the inspection
behind me because I felt I wouldn't have another inspection until
around the end of July, 1945.
After a quick "walk through," the Captain said, " Nice job, Corporal,
everything seems in order." I then invited them into my quarters for
a drink, which they readily accepted. The Lieutenant glanced at a
portrait of Peggy I had placed near my bed and said, "Pretty girl,
your girlfriend or your wife, back home?" I replied, rather naively,
"No Sir, "That's a young lady I met here in Belfast and hope to marry
before I go home. Oops! Bad mistake! I well knew of the Army`s
disapproval of soldiers marrying girls they met while stationed
overseas, The Captain smiled and said, "She is a beautiful girl. I
can readily understand why you would like to take her home with you,
Corporal, but probably, not a good idea. Maybe its time we got you
back to your outfit." That remark hit me like a lightening bolt. I
could not imagine being separated from "The love of my life," and
being put in a position where marriage would be impossible. I felt
trapped, and no way out. Then, suddenly, I remembered a bit of wisdom
Captain Hummer had given me. He had said, "Never ask for anything
without being prepared to give something in return, "or, "Quid Pro
Quo."
Regaining my composure and having hit on an idea, I replied to the
superior Officer, "Captain, that's for you to decide, Sir." I
followed that with, "Sir, its almost lunch time, would you and the
Lieutenant like to join me for a nice meal of steak and eggs?" The
Lieutenant spoke up and said, "Where in the name of Hell can you get
a meal like that with all this damned rationing?" Realizing that I
was on to something, I replied, " If you gentlemen will follow me,
I`ll be glad to show you." With that, we all got up, walked to the
door and started up the street.
When we arrived at the dress shop of my old friend, the seamstress. I
beckoned them in. I noticed a look of puzzlement on the faces of the
two Officers as I approached the lady at the counter. After a moment,
I introduced the Officers, and she escorted us to the magic curtain,
pulled it back and ,Voila, we were in "Food Heaven."
The steaks were done to perfection, the eggs, a perfect complement,
to the steaks, "over easy", and presented beautifully on fine china
plates. The "piece de resistance' was a tasty peach cobbler topped
with whipped cream. This, and steaming cups of hot coffee brought
smiles of satisfaction to the faces of the two Officers. It was then,
I made my move. Addressing the Captain, I said "Sir, I would really

appreciate it if you could have my assignment here extended." The

Captain, with a broad, knowing smile, replied, "Well, Corporal, I
suppose a little more time Could be arranged, maybe another month.
Plan on being back at your outfit in England on July 30."=== "Quid
Pro Quo."

chapter Seven
Realizing how transient my stay in Belfast was going to be, I made
up my mind to, "Bite the Bullet," and ask Peggy to marry me.
One evening Peggy and I were invited to take a drive along the
beautiful, scenic Antrim Road with a couple she knew who owned a car.
This was a special treat because, at that time, few people in the
U.K. owned cars. The car was a cute little roadster with seats for
four, two of them in a cozy little rumble seat, perfect for two
people in love. After a short drive, the car was pulled over and
parked. It was a beautiful, starlit night, a warm breeze coming in
from the ocean, the sound of waves lapping the shore and a gorgeous
moon overhead. A film director could not have set up a better scene
for a romantic moment in the film he was directing.
I held Peggy in my arms, kissed her luscious lips and then uttered
the following clumsy proposal, "Peggy, "Would you consider becoming
my wife?" Of all the opportunities to use romantic phrases, this was
one, but I was so tongue-tied I was lucky to get this much across and
on top of all this, I didn`t even have an engagement ring ready..
After a short pause, Peggy, with tears in her eyes, said, "Yes, John,
but you know, its going to be difficult to manage. My mum and dad
will be awfully hard to convince" This was followed by a lingering
kiss which I will always remember unto the end of my days.
Now that we were engaged, I said to Peggy, "Sweetheart, I know this
is going to be difficult for your parents but I think we can convince
them that they should give us their blessing. Now we have to find a
good time to tell them of our intentions." To this she replied, "I

know, but lets wait for the proper time. This is not going to be
easy."
For several days we said nothing to anyone about our engagement. We
knew we had to find the proper moment to broach the subject to
Peggy`s parents. Our procrastination finally came to an end, forced
upon us by a call I received from my unit, informing me that my stay
in Belfast was to end on July 30,1945 and to close down my facility
and return to the 306.th It was now July 2, 1945 and having, roughly,
only four weeks left in Belfast, we had to end our procrastination
and , "Face the Music" with Peggy`s parents.
Our opportunity to have a quiet evening with Peggy`s parents came
shortly thereafter. Peggy`s sister, was out on a date, , her brother,
was busy elsewhere, and Mr. and Mrs. McKenny were having a quiet
evening at home. Peggy and I had been in town and decided this was
the perfect time to break the news of our engagement.
Peggy was at the piano accompanying her father as he played a lively
jig on his fiddle. Having laid down the violin and returned to his
place on the sofa next to Mrs. McKenny, he said, "Peggy, did you have
something to tell us?" He continued, "You certainly didn`t have your
mind on the music," Peggy hesitated and seemed at a loss for words.
Sensing it was my turn to say something, I began, "Yes, we do have
something to tell you, Peggy and I are engaged to be married, and
now, all we need, is your blessing." There was a moment of silence,
which, to Peggy and I, seemed an eternity, and then her mother spoke
up. She said, "Seeing how the two of you get on, a person would have
to be blind not to see that this was coming, even if you have only
known each other for such a short time." Peggy`s father seemed
content to let Peggy`s mother continue the dialogue. She said, " Now,
John, you know Peggy is very young and this is a serious move the two
of you are thinking about. John, you are a long way from home and
sometimes it is easy to forget someone you care for back there." She
went on, "There is also the need for you to get settled, have a job
and ready to begin a family." Peggy`s father then spoke up. "I think
what "Minnie" is trying to say is that marriage, while you are still
in the army, is not possible." "Minnie" was the name everyone used
for Mrs. McKenny. After a short pause. Minnie began, "John, you are a
nice boy and I know Peggy really cares for you but she is also our
daughter and we want her to be happy. You told me that you must
return to England soon and the war is not yet over for you. We think
that it would be best for you to wait until you are out of the army,
have a job and no one back there you may have forgotten, and then, if
you and Peggy still feel the same about marriage, we will consider
it." Without waiting for my response, Minnie said, "Now, I think we
should have some tea." Knowing Mrs. McKenny, I knew the last word had
been given and we simply accepted her dictum.
After a nice cup of hot tea and a delicious Irish scone, liberally

covered with jam, I realized it was getting late and, with our
mission accomplished, I arose and prepared to say good night. I shook
hands with her dad, gave Peggy a goodnight kiss, turned to Minnie and
said, "Mrs. McKenny, After I do get home, you will be hearing from
me. I am a very stubborn Dutchman, you know."
During the following days Peggy and I spent every moment together we
could. The only shadow hanging over our romance was that I would
soon be returning to England. We had long conversations about the
life we would live in America. Peggy asked me countless questions
about how Americans lived. We were in a constant state of euphoria
over the idea of being married and starting a family. I knew I had
found the right mate for a happily married life. I had met Peggy only
a little more than two months ago but, in my heart, I knew I had met
the girl God had chosen for me.
On the evening of July 29, the day before I had to return to my
outfit, we spent our last hours together at Peggy`s home with her
parents. That night, when I departed, our hearts were heavy at the
thought of my leaving but we both pledged our troth to each other and
agreed to write every day until we were reunited in America.
On the morning of July 30, 1945, Bill, my assistant, and I boarded a
cross channel ferry and left Belfast behind. I had asked Peggy not to
be there, not wanting to have an emotional good bye. Arriving in
England, we boarded a train and soon were back at the old 306th.
When we arrived back in camp excitement was running high. Everyone
had been "sweating" the news about the action in the Pacific, and
rumors had been circulating that the 306th was scheduled for
deployment . The news coming out of the Theater of Operations in the
Pacific was on every ones minds but, as a result of so many
disappointments in the past, not always believed. Absolutely no one
is as skeptical of news reports as a G.I. in a time of war.
By the middle of July, 1945, most of the important battles in the
South Pacific had been won. In spite of this the Japanese still
carried on, refusing to accept the inevitable, with the loss of
thousands of military and civilian lives. Thousands of tons of bombs
were raining down all over Japan.
During the rest of July the newspapers carried stories of the
impossible resistance of the Japanese. By July 30 the naval forces of
Japan had been almost completely wiped out. Despite all these signs
of defeat the Japanese continued to boast that they were capable of
repelling any enemy attack against the homeland. This air of bravado
continued, even after having experienced, what has been called, "the
greatest air raid in history," having just had six thousand, six
hundred thirty two tons of bombs dropped on their oil refineries and
cities.

By August 3, it was obvious that Japan was doomed but the American
bombers continued to blast their railroads and warn them that the
end was near. They still continued to resist. Even after August 5,
when a dozen cities were added to the "surrender or die" list they
stubbornly clung to the idea that they could recover and continue the
fight.
Listening intently to the radio, we heard the news but still felt
that deployment to the South Pacific was in the offing. It was on the
6th of August when we received news that President Truman had
unleashed a bomb, two thousand times more destructive than a
blockbuster, which had been detonated over Hiroshima.
This announcement got our attention. We were glued to the radio but
censorship was in place. Bombing by the Flying Fortresses continued.
No word from Japan in reply to an ultimatum that had been given for
them to surrender was made. While no news of the destruction caused
by the bomb was being released we sensed that it must have been
horrendous. Then, on August 9 word came through that a second bomb
had been detonated over the city of Nagasaki.
We, along with the rest of the world, awaited word of the Japanese
surrender. Then the word came through that the Japanese were willing
to surrender as long as the Emperor was safeguarded, but no offer of
capitulation. The Allies then offered to leave the fate of the
Emperor up to the direction of the Allied nations. The Japanese
continued to delay and the killing continued. The Japanese were given
a warning that renewed atomic bombing was possible if Japan continued
to delay surrendering.
Finally on August 14 word was received that the Japanese had
surrendered but no official proof was given. Having received no
official word the Americans continued to shell and bomb Japan.
At long last, we all heaved a sigh of relief as word came through
that in Bern, Switzerland on the 14th that the Japanese minister had
delivered a note to the Foreign Office from Tokyo . This was quickly
followed by a radio report from Washington. "Tokyo radio said today
that Allied terms for Japan's surrender had been accepted by Emperor
Hirohito." More than twelve hours later no official confirmation was
given and the fighting in the Pacific continued.
On August 15, 1945, the one word the world had been wanting to hear.
"PEACE," appeared in newspapers all over the world. In no matter what
language the word appeared, the families of loved ones gave thanks to
their God for the end to this brutal war. The world was now at peace
and the tyranny of the brutal dictators in Italy, Germany and Japan
had come to an end, thanks to the sacrifices made by the soldiers of
the Allied nations and their loved ones at home.

On September 2, 1945, Gen. Douglas MacArthur, delegates of the Allied

powers and the Japanese delegates met on the deck of the battleship
USS Missouri in Tokyo Bay and formally signed the document accepting
the terms of surrender by the Japanese. The world was, once again, at
peace and the blessings of freedom and democracy had been secured for
the nations dedicated to those principles.
Each of us, in our own way, responded to this news with thoughts of
what the future would bring. My mind immediately returned to
thoughts of my Peggy, and how soon we would be reunited. We had been
corresponding every day and now my letter, this day, would be filled
with joy and optimistic words about our being together and the life
we would be living in America.
For those of us in Britain the scenario now became a waiting game.
Individuals would be going home based on a point system. Length of
time served, the type of action the soldier was involved in and the
decorations he had received, would be taken under consideration in
giving points. Since the members of our outfit had served for about
the same amount of time. had collected no medals for valor in combat,
and our service had been a "Walk in the Park" compared to the ones
who had suffered the horrors of combat, we were in for the "Long
Haul."

Chapter Eight

C
It was now the beginning of October, 1945 and repatriation had not
yet taken place for the POWs in the hospital, although, by this
time, almost all were ambulatory and able to work thus relieving us
of many duties.. Our work in the hospital continued as usual but on a
much more relaxed basis. We were in a "holding pattern" and really
only biding time until we could be go back to the United States for
demobilization.
Somewhere along the line of command an idea emerged to keep the
anxious troops happy. The army set up a number of tours to which the
troops could sign up for and, for all practicality, make us
"tourists." This attention to our concerns was enthusiastically
accepted, especially when a trip to a brewery was scheduled.
On the Company bulletin board was the following notice, "SIGN UP FOR
A VISIT TO THE STROUD BREWERY. The bus will leave at 0900 hours
tomorrow."
Needless to say there was no problem in getting a busload. Joe and I
were at the assigned location to meet the bus at exactly 0900 hours.
It seems promptness was not an issue when all that free beer was in
the offing.
At exactly 0900 hours we were seated on the bus for the ride to
Stroud. .The ride was of short duration and we were greeted by a tour
guide, who, by the look on his face, did not relish guiding this
group of. "Bloody Yanks,"
He gave us the usual speech as he guided us through the brewery,
although we made it difficult for him with our crude remarks and lack
of attention. Finally we arrived in the cellar, surrounded by huge
vats of beer and were invited to sample the wares. This got our
immediate attention and we showed our affection for Stroud beer by
consuming all that the attendant provided.
The tour over, we boarded our bus and pulled out for home, with waves
of goodbye from the employees, The, now somewhat inebriated
"tourists," showed their gratitude by blowing up condoms, tying them
off into neat little balloons and tossing them out the windows. Is
this where the term, "Ugly American," first surfaced? Was this our
contribution to millions of tourists who were to visit England after
the war? On the other hand, would this not be viewed as merely the
exuberant joy of a lot of war weary G.I.s anxious to return home to
families and friends?

There were several other trips that caught my attention and turned
out to be experiences to be remembered. One of the most treasured of
these was a trip that was posted as, "A TRIP TO A STATELY BRITISH
MANSION." Needless to say, this particular tour was not as popular as
the brewery trip but I and five other guys signed up for it, hoping
to see how the "Other Half" lived in this "Class ridden" society and,
just maybe, a chance to view a place connected with the history of
England. There was agreement that I would speak on their behalf when
we arrived at our destination.
At the appointed time we boarded a small van and headed down the
road. The colors of autumn, the trees splendid with their bouquet of
red and yellow leaves, brought home to me mental pictures of Michigan
and, for just a moment, engulfed me in pangs of homesickness, an
emotion, I`m sure, was felt by my companions. The ride took only a
little over an hour. It always amazed us at how short distances
between places in Britain were. Americans never could get over the
small size of this island country.
Finally, looming ahead of us was a huge, sprawling mansion The
massive, graveled covered area in front of the entrance provided
ample room for a large number of vehicles. I had a feeling of having
been here before, probably the result of having seen scenes such as
this in the movies. It was a truly impressive sight.
The driver, a young English girl, who had remained silent all during
the trip, completely ignoring our ribald remarks, turned to us and
said, "Here you are genlemen, Blenheim Palace, ancestral home of
Prime Minister Winston Churchill, enjoy yourselves."
Here we were, a group of awe struck Yanks, who had never seen such a
glamorous residence. As grandiose as was the palace, and grandiose it
certainly was, the sheer size of this magnificent home simply
overwhelmed us and, for just a moment, I was so taken aback that I
could not find the entrance. Then I realized that the huge door that
I was facing must be what I was looking for.. Hesitently, we
approached,, but before I could reach the front door, a lovely young
lady opened it, or had it opened for her, its size seemed too huge to
be opened by such a gentle young lady, and greeted us as though she
were awaiting our arrival. Her greeting was, "You must be our
American guests." I replied, "Yes Mam, My name is John," and then
introduced my companions. She, in turn, introduced herself, but
memory does not allow me to recall her name. I do remember, very
clearly, that her name was preceded by the title, "Lady." She bade us
, enter and her easy banter made us feel right at home. To tell the
truth, we were overwhelmed at the granduer of the entrance and we
must have seemed to her, a group of yokels, as we stood in awe of the
sheer size of the place and the gorgeous oil paintings, of long gone
ancestors, that graced the walls of this magnificent entrance.

In a very informal manner the young lady steered us into the study, a
beautifully appointed room, furnished with some of the finest leather
seating that any of us had ever encountered. We, no longer were
seated, than a butler approached us, said, "Gentlemen, what can I
bring you." After ordering our drinks, and the lady ordering hers,
the butler retreated and the usual remarks about the beauty of the
home were uttered by each of us. The lady was giving us a history of
the palace when suddenly a middle aged lady and gentleman appeared on
the scene.
We were introduced, but again, my memory fails in recalling their
names. I do remember the gracious manner in which they joined in the
conversation. I, for one, was amazed at how easily we were accepted
and treated as though we were important guests. In the meantime, the
butler arrived and served our drinks, much more elegantly than the
way we were accustomed to being served. The gentleman went on to
describe the estate. He said, "I`m sure you men would like to know a
little about the historical place you are visiting." He went on to
say that the mansion was located on twenty one hundred acres and the
house was built in the eighteenth century and the gardens were added
in the nineteenth century. He said, "the palace was designed by
Vanbrugh, a noted architect of that period and was the nation`s
reward to the First Duke of Marlborough for his victories over Louis
1V. The gardens were designed by Henry Wise, in an Anglo-Dutch
Barouqe manner." He went on to say that we would appreciate the skill
of the people of that period when we took a tour of the grounds.
It was now approaching noon, and as interesting as the conversation
had been, we began to feel the need for sustenance. As if our wish
had been heard, the butler arrived and said, "Tea is being served."
All six of us knew that meant food, even if we didn`t understand
"Dutch Baroque."
We were seated at a long table in a magnificent dining area
overlooking a finely manicured garden resplendent with the hues of
autumn.. "High Tea", is usually served between three and five in the
afternoon but from the look of the spread on the table they must have
made an exception, knowing they were feeding a group of hungry G.I.s.
For a group of guys who thought meat and potatoes was a feast, this
menu overwhelmed our imaginations.
The main entre consisted of smoked salmon with cream cheese. Also
gracing the table was egg, mayonnaise, sliced cucumber, and if one
was partial to meat, Wilshire ham and mustard. Thinly cut slices of
bread and scones were placed before us with homemade jam and all of
this to be followed by our choice of several scrumptious looking
desserts. Oh, there was tea, of course, but coffee was available and
this was to be followed by champagne. Knowing how severe rationing
was, these wonderful, hospitable people must have strained their
ration coupons to the limit to make all this possible. Oh, to have a
mess sergeant, with such a creative mind and generous spirit.

Having demonstrated our liking of this delicious meal, by our over

enthusiastic consumption of its contents, we were invited to tour the
gardens by our lovely hostess. As I remember, a pram, or baby
carriage, was produced, occupied by a delightful baby whose gender I
cannot recall. Our hostess, now guiding the pram, was giving us a
delightful account of the history of the gardens. At this point I
offered my services as driver of the carriage. The offer was readily
accepted and I found myself responsible for the safe transportation
of a, very young, British aristocrat. The tour continued and even a
group of uncultured Yanks could not help but express admiration for
the artistry in creating such beauty. Suddenly, a young RAF Officer
appeared on the scene. After a perfunctory hug and a peck on the
cheek of, his wife, our hostess, he introduced himself and bade us
welcome. Turning to me, guiding the pram, he said, "Do you know who
you are caring for in the pram." I replied, "No Sir, we haven't been
introduced, as yet." He smiled and rattled off a rather long series
of names, strung together by centuries of aristocratic familial ties.
As I recall, he did mention the child`s relationship with P.M.
Winston Churchill, but by this time. I was only able to grasp enough
of our conversation to know that I was, indeed, personally
experiencing a bit of English history.
To describe the beauty, creativity and attention to detail displayed
in those gardens would require another book and descriptive powers
beyond my meager talents. Suffice to say, that all members of the
American group took away great admiration for the social and
botanical skills of our English cousins and their ability to bring an
air of formality to the wonders of nature and social etiquette. The
less formal approach to the physical world, by we Americans, stood in
stark contrast and underscored how time had created a people much
different than our forbearers. Different we had become, since those
Colonial days, but never having lost the values and basic principals
we shared as a people.

Chapter Nine
October now turned to November,

with cool, chilly days, signaling

the beginning of winter, The repatriation of German prisoners was now

taking place. Daily, our patients, mostly ambulatory, were leaving
the hospital behind and returning to occupied Germany.
Then, one grand day in December we received word that our unit was
scheduled for deployment. We were going home! Oh Dear God, the day we
had long wished for had now become reality. The order to be ready to
pack our belongings and prepare to leave was the most precious order
we had ever received. My letters to Peggy now were full of the utter
elation I felt at the thought of our being united and sharing our
lives together as lovers and man and wife.
Christmas 1945, was a much more festive affair than previous
Christmas` and the dinner of turkey and all the fixings, prepared for
us by the kitchen crew, seemed much more tasty, given the fact that
we soon would be on a troopship headed for home. The high level of
morale was evident as we all envisioned being in our own home towns
with those we loved. I, could not contain my feelings of happiness at
the thought of being in a position to send for my Peggy and having
her with me in Kalamazoo to begin our life together.
A happier New Year was never more welcomed than the year 1946. We
celebrated, not only the new year, but the knowledge that we would
soon be back in the "Good Old United States." You can well believe,
that we were on our best behavior, not wanting any complications to
mar our departure for home.
Then, on or about January 7, 1946, the order came. "Pack your gear,
climb aboard the awaiting trucks for the trip to Southhampton to meet
the troopship that will carry you home." Not a single soul in our
outfit had any misgivings about carrying out that order.
The trip to Southhampton was more like a holiday event than the
movement of army troops. The singing of the soldiers had a very
upbeat quality about them and the joy of being on the way home was
evident in the spirit of the men as they relished the thought of
going back to wives and sweethearts. My mind was entirely focused on
getting home and sending for my Peggy.
Having arrived in Southhampton and on the dock awaiting our
embarcation orders, we were assembled in military order. Officers
were in their own assemblage, and all of us, enlisted and Officer
rank, in a highly festive mood. We were ready to board the giant
aircraft carrier, the USS Lake Champlain.
Once on board, all units, mostly infantry, were given assigned areas
and each told where to place their gear. Shortly thereafter, a
Sergeant called us to attention to receive an order from the Captain
of the ship.

In a voice, almost identical to that of Franklin Roosevelt, the

Captain addressed us over the public address system. As I recall, he
said, "Now hear this. This is the Captain speaking. My name is
Captain Logan Ramsey. I want to welcome you on behalf of myself and
the crew of the Lake Champlain. This ship is part of Operation, Magic
Carpet. I would, personally, like to take this opportunity to to
thank you for your service. You have done a wonderful job in bringing
this war to a successful conclusion. From this moment on, you are our
guests. We ask only that you keep your area in a neat condition.
There will be no reason to make up your bunks in the morning. This,
and all other housekeeping duties will be performed by the crew. You
will find question boxes at various places around the ship. If you
have questions or queries for me, feel free to place them in the box.
I will try to answer you in my nightly address to you. Additionally,
I have given orders that snacks be placed at various points around
the ship, in case you feel hungry between meals. The United States
Navy and this ship in particular, as a part of Operation, Magic
Carpet, will do everything we can to provide for your comfort on your
trip home. I thank you again. for your dedicated service, You will
soon be home with your loved ones. God Speed and God Bless you."
This eulogy, with its words of praise and welcoming, left us
breathless. Never, during our term of service, had we been spoken to
in such a manner. In addition to our joy at going home we were now
going there under the most favorable of conditions.
We were soon underway and, before long, it became evident that the
weather was not going to be one of the favorable conditions that we
were to experience. We had no sooner cleared the harbor than storm
clouds appeared on the horizon. As the weather worsened and the waves
loomed larger and larger it became evident that even a ship as large
as this aircraft carrier could have problems coping with the whims of
"Mother Nature."
That first night on board was a rocky one as the ship plunged through
the angry waves of the North Atlantic. Although many of the
"landlubbers" on board grappled with seasickness, we made it through
the night into a day of calm seas.
True to the Captain`s promise, the crew did arrive, made our beds and
performed the other housekeeping duties. We were still in a state of
wonderment at these services being performed for us. Breakfast was a
delight, with fresh eggs, hash browns, bacon, sausage and plenty of
hot coffee. In spite of the army derision of the navy, we had to
admit that when it came to food, the navy was in a superior position.
The weather having cleared, the day was an absolute delight. We were
able to walk the decks, enjoy a snack at one of the tables scattered
around the ship, observe the activities of the crew and, if one
chose, spend some time reading or writing letters back at our bunks.

Captain Ramsey had, indeed, made this a pleasure cruise, God Bless
him.
As time wore on, the weather worsened and, during his nightly address
to us, the Captain made it clear that we could expect this to be a
frequent occurrence since this was January and the North Atlantic was
a stormy place in the winter. He also assured us that we were not to
worry about our safety since ships, such as these, were built to
withstand all that nature could throw at them.
The third night out, after mess, the familiar voice of Captain Ramsey
sounded on the P.A. system. "Now hear this, this is the Captain
speaking. We are well on our way to home and I trust you are enjoying
the voyage. I have little to report and so I have chosen to read a
couple of the questions you have posed for me. This first one is from
Sgt. ?? Of the ?? Infantry. The good Sgt. asks if this was a banana
boat before the war." The Captain, his voice tinged with just a touch
of irritation, replied, "Sgt. First let me remind you that this is
not a boat. This is a ship. A ship carries boats." He went on, "
Sgt., As a matter of fact, I would like to inform you that this ship
was paid for by the people of the United States and is entitled to
the respect it deserves, having been made possible, by the
contributions of the citizens of of our great nation."
The weather continued to be bad and the consumption of the snacks the
Captain had placed around the ship had diminished due to the
incidents of sea sickness experienced by the G.I.s. Bad as the
weather was, the crap games continued on as usual, although
frequently interrupted by the hasty departure of one or more of the
players, due to sudden "illness." This situation was not lost on the
Captain and provided a moment of humor on his next nightly address.
As usual, we were assembled, ready to hear the Captain`s report. "Now
hear this. This is the Captain speaking," came the now familiar
refrain.
This night he chose to make comment on the weather conditions,
informing us that during the night conditions were so bad that they
had been unable to respond to a cry of distress from a Liberty Ship
in the vicinity. He went on to tell us that during his entire career
he had not experienced weather this difficult to contend with. Then,
he changed the subject and went on to answer a question from one of
the question boxes. He said, "I have a question that deals with a
problem experienced by PFC ?? " It seems that the good Private was
involved in a crap game and a considerable amount of money was in the
pot. He says that a Petty Officer arrived on the scene, broke up the
game and departed with the money. His question is, "Can we get back
the money?" There was a short pause, and then, with a chuckle in his
voice, he answered the Private's question, " Private, my cabin is on
deck--. Standing outside my door will be a Marine. Tell him you wish
to see me. In order to answer your question more directly, the answer
is that the Petty Officer has deposited the money in the Seamen's

Fund. If you still desire to have the money, so inform me when we

meet, however I would like to read you the Article of War, regarding
gambling on ships of the United States Navy." After reading the
Article, he finished with, "I hope this answers your question." The
roar of laughter from the troops clearly indicated their appreciation
of this bit of backhanded humor.
The high morale aboard the Lake Champlain was evident in stories told
to me by the crew. One such tale seemed to sum up the reason for this
high regard for their Captain. One seaman related to me how their
Executive Officer insisted that the crew in the engine room wear
white socks, although there was clearly no need, given the duties
required of them. He said this particular Officer also gave orders
that crewmen could not have their uniforms altered for better fit.
When word of this reached Captain Ramsey, a curious thing happened.
When the ship reached the next port a new Executive Officer was
assigned to the ship.
Finally, after ten days of bad weather and superb treatment by the
Officers and crew of the USS Lake Champlain, we arrived in New York
harbor on January, 17, 1946. It was a cold January day, warmed
considerably by our sight of the Statue of Liberty, standing tall and
proud, the torch of freedom still firmly in place, pointing to the
Heavens as a testament to the valor of all the Armed Forces,
soldiers, sailors, airmen and our civilian Merchant Marine. It was
our military and, even us non-combat soldiers, who had struggled so
valiently and secured our way of life, now and for generations yet
unborn.
Awaiting us on the dock as we disembarked, was a cordon of lovely
ladies representing the American Red Cross and the Salvation Army.
Their beauty was enhanced by the smell of hot coffee and doughnuts
and the hot dogs and hamburgers sizzling on the BBQ. Never, before or
since, have I had a hot dog that could compare with the one I so
relished that morning, on that frigid, but wonderful day. The
presence of those caring ladies added luster to the joyous moment we
were experiencing at being, once again, on American soil. It is in
moments, such as these, that one knows the tremendous value of being
a free American citizen. We were home, home at last, and I, for one,
was looking forward to a life of happiness with, my, now to be,
beautiful Irish bride.
My joy at being back in the United States had made me almost
completely unaware of the great number of troops crowding the dock.
True to its tradition of military efficiency, the army had a long row
of buses standing ready for our departure to the train depot and our
journey to Camp Atterbury, Indiana for our transfer to civilian life.
The bus trip very quickly brought us to the depot and by the time we
had checked our duffle bags the day had turned to night and in spite

of our weariness our spirits were high. Nothing could dampen our
utter joy at being on the way to becoming civilians, once again, and
being with family and friends.
After checking our duffle bags and boarding the train, the
festivities began. Although beverages of an alcoholic nature were not
provided, mysteriously, some very stimulating drinks began to appear
and voices were lifted in song. No blackout curtains, no planes
buzzing the train and no Officer lecturing us of the consequences of
improper behavior were part of this journey. Although some did manage
to catch a little sleep, the majority of the passengers were in too
celebratory a mood to notice the fatigue that engulfed us.
Some fifteen or so, hours later the train pulled in to a depot
situated at Camp Atterbury. In spite of some hangovers and lack of
sleep our Company was still in a joyful mood and hardly anyone
complained. We went through the routine of getting our baggage,
hearing the barked commands of a Sergeant directing us to our
barracks, and generally getting the treatment we were so accustomed
to. On the other hand, no damned Sergeant could lessen our happiness
at being at the place that would hand back our freedom and make us,
just plain, American civilian citizens..
Camp Atterbury was a very busy place. As a separation station it
served some 561,000 troops, arranging discharge from the Service at
the rate of 3000 per day, so it was not not surprising that it was
January 22, before our outfit was called to go through the separation
process.
In the meantime, we had plenty of time to write letters, make phone
calls to home and explore this sprawling installation.
January 22, 1946. "A date that will live in memory," at least my
memory, for that was the date of my separation from the Army of the
United States.
At the appointed time the 306th gathered in a huge assembly hall and
there, each of us, listened carefully for our name to be called.
When, an obviously bored Sergeant, bellowed out my name I was
immediately on my feet. Making my way to the registration table was
the sweetest hike I had ever taken. After going through the necessary
paper work, a young 2nd Lt. beckoned me to an open door. He said,
"Good morning soldier, step inside and place your chest against the X
ray panel, and , Oh by the way, if you intend to join the Reserves,
have them raise the panel to the level of your head." Even, given my
limited intellectual powers, it seemed to me that he was sending me a
message that it was not in my best interest to join the Reserves. It
was probably because of this encounter that I was able to follow the
later events that took place in Korea from the comfort of my home,
eyes glued to the TV screen. Unpatriotic as this may seem, I felt,
at this time, this new action could be handled by another generation
of young Americans.

Seated comfortably in my homeward bound train, still wearing my

uniform, I was beginning to feel more and more like a civilian,
almost but not quite. This would come when I arrived home surrounded
by family and friends. Still, there was one nagging problem to solve
before I would feel secure and comfortable and that was, bringing my
Peggy to Kalamazoo and walking down the aisle with her.
While in Atterbury awaiting discharge , I had penned off a letter to
Peggy telling her that I was almost a civilian and to start getting
her mum and dad prepared to have her daughter become a married woman
and acquiring a son in law. I put as much humor in the letter as I
was able to muster up, but not unaware, of the emotional problems I
was placing on the McKenny family.

Chapter 10
I was met at the station in Kalamazoo by my mother and father. Dad
had insisted that this moment belonged to Mom and He, accounting for
the tiny welcoming party. Dad gave me a "bear hug" and an emotional
"Welcome home, Son." My Mom, tears in her eyes, simply said, "Thank
God, you are home and safe." Never had I felt so close to my parents.
At the house, all my family members and a goodly crowd of friends and
neighbors had gathered for a welcoming home party. It was hard for me

to believe that this moment had arrived. The rest of the day was
spent in eating good home cooked food and answering a thousand
questions about my experiences. Often my mind wandered as I
contemplated on the thoughts of Peggy and wishing she could be a part
of these festivities. My brother Henry, was home from the navy,
having arrived a week earlier. My brother Charles, having been
disqualified for service due to a ruptured ear drum, was curious
about the things I had done and seen. My sister Anna Mae, now an
experienced welder because of a defense related job, also peppered me
with questions about my time in the service. It was a time of good
cheer and thankfulness and, I must admit, I was enjoying being the
center of attention.
That night, in the comfort of my bed, I pondered on the days to come.
I had not disclosed to mom and dad the fact that I was engaged.
Now ,the shoe was on the other foot." All the adjustments, in
religion and culture, to our pending marriage had been discussed in
full with Peggy`s parents and now it was time to work things out with
my mother and dad.
During the ensuing week I had many discussions with my dad and mom
about my return to civilian life. Dad had secured a job for me with
the Kalamazoo Stove and Furnace Co. ,where he was employed The plant
had been closed in order to revert back to civilian production,
having been engaged in producing war materials and, would soon
reopen.
Finally, I had my opportunity to discuss my pending marriage. It was
one of those cold winter nights and I was enjoying an evening alone
with mom and dad. During a break in the conversation, I said, " I
guess this is as good a time as any to share some news with you." I,
immediately had their attention. Dad was the first to speak. He said,
"I hope it`s good news, Son." I replied, "I think it is, I hope you
will feel the same." Mom said, "Get on with it, John." I simply
blurted out, "I`m engaged to get married." Both looked at me in
amazement and then Dad said, "Getting married, you have only been
home for a week and, as far as we know, you don`t even have a girl
friend." Realizing their quandary at this startling announcement, I
said, "Well, let me explain it to you." At this precise moment I
became aware of how unprepared I was to explain fully, the situation.
For the next few minutes I had full attention from mom and dad. I
said, "Maybe I should have told you this earlier but, here it is."
Now my mind was racing, but I went on with the story, hoping I would
not encounter any negatives. I said, "The girl I am marrying is in
Ireland. I met her in Belfast. Her parents are aware of our
engagement and I hope she gets their approval to come to the States
to be married. She is a lovely girl, from a good family. She is
nineteen years old but will be twenty by the time of our marriage."
At this point, I pulled from my wallet, a picture of Peggy and both

studied it for a moment. Mom said, "She sure is a pretty girl." Dad,
looked up and said, "Do you know what you are doing?" My reply was,
"Dad, I`m almost twenty six years old and perfectly capable of making
my own decisions." That seemed to end the discussion and then Mom
said, "John, If this is your wish, we have no objection and will
welcome her with open arms." With that, I decided to fill out the
rest of the story. I said, "Now let me "drop the other shoe."
"She is an Irish Catholic girl and I have decided to join the
Catholic Church." This resulted in a stunned silence for fully a
minute. Then my dad reacted in a fashion truly his own and, left me
incredulous. He said, "Ev", that was Dad's nick name for Mom, "Get
your coat on and, John, you do the same and get out to the car, we
are going for a ride." Not wanting to make a fuss, we both did as he
said.
Dad wheeled the car skillfully over the icy streets and pulled up in
front of St. Augustine Catholic Church. Without another word we left
the car and dad walked up to the residence of the Priest and rang the
doorbell.
The door was answered by an elderly lady, the housekeeper, and dad
asked to see the Father. She replied, "You mean Monsignor Hackett?"
Dad simply stated, "Yes Mam, that's whom we would like to talk to."
We were invited in and given a seat in the parlor. I was utterly
flabbergasted since I had no idea my dad even knew the location of
the church and had no idea of what he was up to.
In a few moments a tall, dignified man with a full head of grey hair
entered the room. He looked around and, in a thick Irish brogue said,
"Good evening, I am Monsignor Hackett. What can I do for you?"
Now, absolutely confused, I said nothing. Dad came right to the
point. He said, "Father", and pointing to me, "This is my Son, John
and he is just home from the army. He is engaged to an Irish girl in
Ireland and wants to join the Catholic Church." A broad smile
appeared on Monsignor Hackett's face and he sat down to hear the rest
of the story.
As I explained the situation, giving him all the details of our
meeting and the subsequent romance that followed, Father Hackett,
nodded approval, and said, "John, this is one of the nicest things I
have heard all year. It only goes to prove that there is always
something good coming out of a tragedy like war." Wanting to get
directly to the reason for our visit, I said, "Father, I know that as
a convert, I need to attend some classes to to understand the
procedure of conversion. Please tell me when I can attend." Again,
with a cheerful smile, he replied, " Aw, to Hell with the classes,
you won`t be attendin them, you'll be meeting with me for private
sessions here in my study. Young man, You are marrying a girl from
the "Ould Sod", and that requires some special attention." All this
was said in his thick Irish brogue, and at that moment, I felt very
special. With that he called for some tea. Over cups of hot tea the

conversation turned to filling out all the details. All this time,
Mom and Dad had little to say but joined in the conversation and I
knew that all would be well. There was no bigotry here and I felt
very proud of my parents and their easy acceptance of the situation.
Having written Peggy and told her to get ready to come to the United
States, I was anxious to receive a letter telling me all was well and
arrangements were being made for her journey. Each day I waited
patiently for the postman, and feeling depressed when no mail was
forthcoming. After several days of anxiety a letter did arrive and,
anxious as I was, I was almost afraid to open it, fearing the worst.
When I did open it and read the first few words I was ecstatic.
Peggy`s mother and dad had accepted the inevitable and were helping
Peggy to make arrangements. From the inquiries regarding passport,
visa and transportation that had been made in Ireland, it was to be,
at least, six months before she would arrive in the United States. I
couldn't wait to reply and rushed to get paper and pen.
By this time I had been employed at the Stove Co. and had met a
fellow worker named James O`Meara. When I told him that Peggy would
be arriving in about six months he said, "John, that will give us
some time to give her a real Irish welcome and I`m going to see that
you have some real Irish folk to greet her."
James called me one day and asked if I would like to meet some Irish
people who would love to meet Peggy. He said that they were an
elderly couple that would take Peggy, "Under their wings." The Irish
certainly know how to express the most mundane things in a beautiful
way.
The Fitzpatricks were, in my mind, the ideal couple to make my
peggy feel at home in America. Pat and Mary Fitzpatrick were typical
Irish, even though neither had set foot in Ireland. Pat and Mary were
each, only about five feet tall, beautiful grey hair and as
eloquently Irish in their speech as though they had just arrived in
the U.S.A. Their home reflected everthing Irish, including a green,
white and gold flag prominently displayed in the hall.
Over a cup of hot tea I learned that they had thirteen children, had
always wanted to visit Ireland, and would be thrilled to meet a
colleen from the "Ould Sod." Where had I heard that term before?
That meeting was the first of many that James arranged. and included
a young Irish priest, Fr. King, who was to become a good friend and
"buddy," if one can truly be a "buddy" with a Priest. Fr. King was
the Chaplain at Borgess Catholic Hospital in Kalamazoo and not too
popular with the Nuns, due to his liking for alcoholic spirits.
Although he did enjoy a drink, now and then, he did not drink to
excess.

A moment I remember with relish was the time Fr. King and I were
enjoying a hamburger for lunch. Halfway through our meal, Fr. King
paused, and said, "John, do you know what day this is?" Without
giving a thought to what the Fr. Was implying, I replied, "It's
Friday, Fr., why?" Then, with a smile Fr. King said, "I know we
shouldn't be eating meat on Friday but it is also a sin to waste good
food." Without further ado, he made the sign of the Cross and said,
"I grant absolution." Such was our easy going relationship.
Although I was anxious awaiting Peggy`s arrival I was also busy
making arrangements for our wedding and making new friends among the
Irish community. I was introduced to a Mr. and Mrs. Heflin by Fr.
King and was immediately made welcome to their home. Mrs. Heflin, in
true womanly fashion, was excited about the coming wedding and did
much to help me prepare. There were several parties at her house and
Fr. King, minus his collar and wearing a sport shirt, always gave two
hours absolution at midnight on Saturday, so that "No food and drink
was wasted," due to the late hour.
One day when Fr. King and I were conversing in his quarters at the
hospital he broached the possibility of he performing the Mass and
wedding ceremony. He went on to say that we should discuss the
matter with Msgr. Hackett. He said, "I`ll give him a call and see if
we can arrange it."
Fr. King, after explaining to Msgr. Hackett, that since we had become
close friends, he thought it would be appropriate for him to perform
the wedding ceremony. I remained absolutely silent, awaiting Msgr.
Hackett's response. There was only a moment's pause and then Msgr.
Hackett addressed Fr. King in, what I thought was, a rather
condescending tone of voice. He said, "Father, Just as in the army,
"rank has its privileges." "I will be saying the Mass and performing
the wedding ceremony." Although this dictum was said with a smile,
Fr. King seemed to feel that he had received the final answer to his
query

Chapter 11
About the middle of June, 1946 a telegram arrived that informed me of
the day and time as well as the flight number of the American
Airlines plane that was to bring my Peggy to the United States. To
say that I was overcome with joy is an understatement. The days that
followed were filled with excitement and planning for her arrival.
On the scheduled day, my cousin, Bud, my dad, and I headed for
Chicago to meet the plane and reunite me with my Peggy. Arriving at
O`Hare airport, well ahead of time, we waited anxiously for over two
hours. Finally, the arrival of the plane from Dublin was announced
and we hurriedly proceeded to the announced gate. The gatekeeper
opened the gate and we proceeded onto the tarmac where the plane was
parked.
In those, still early, times of domestic and transatlantic flight,
people met the arriving passengers on the runway and the they
departed the plane down a long portable gangway. My anxiety was at
fever pitch as I silently prayed that Peggy would soon appear. Person
after person descended the gangway, and then, a small figure in a
lovely blue dress, walked down the stairs, made her way to where we
were standing, and in that unforgettable moment, Peggy was in my arms
and I thanked God for the blessing he had bestowed upon me.
Midst all the happy chatter on the way home, it was quite apparent
that my dad had bonded with his, soon to be, daughter in law. Peggy
snuggled in my arms, chattered on about the great adventure she had
just experienced and how happy she was to be in America with me and
the life we would have together. Our reunion was complete, and now
many busy days were ahead as we planned our wedding.
When we arrived home, my mother and sister had refreshments ready

and, in spite of all the excited conversation, another bonding had

taken place. My mother and my Peggy, it seemed, were kindred souls.
The days ahead were filled with activity as my mother, sister and
friends planned for the wedding that was to make Peggy my bride.
Peggy and I spent many hours with the many members of the Irish
community. The Fitzpatricks took an immediate liking to Peggy and
became almost like parents to her. The Heflin family, especially Mrs.
Heflin, became fully involved in seeing that Peggy had a truly
Catholic wedding.
At long last the great day arrived, July 4, 1946. The date had been
arrived at because there were only two dates available in July. Msgr.
Hackett offered Peggy a choice and she chose July 4 as a very
appropriate day for her to become an American, This, and the fact
that her mother insisted that she was to be married at the first
available date, settled that issue. "Minnie," like most Irish
mothers, did not easily relinquish control.
The morning of July 4 began very early with my mother and sister
preparing for the wedding and the reception that was to follow.
Peggy, somewhat nervous but glowing with excitement, with the
assistance of my sister, were making sure that the wedding gown
fitted properly and all was set for her big moment when she would
walk down the aisle and become Mrs. Margaret DeRoo. My brothers,
Henry and Charles were dressed in their best, "Sunday go to meeting
clothes." My sister, Anna Mae, having finished helping Peggy, was now
dressed and "made up," for the big moment. My dad, standing in for
Peggy`s father, was more "dressed up" than I had ever seen him, and
my mom, the picture of loveliness, in the beautiful dress she had
acquired for the wedding. I was dressed in a dark blue business suit,
sporting a carnation in my lapel and was as ready as I could be for
the realization of all my dreams.
Finally, the climax of all this preparation arrived. Seated in the
pews of St. Augustne Church were my relatives and friends. Adding a
moment of unreality to the occasion was the fact that my relatives,
all Protestants, most of whom had never been inside a Catholic
Church, were seated side by side with devout Catholics. Surely, this
was a sight, unbelievable to my Peggy.
Msgr. Hackett was at the altar, having concluded Mass, Fr. King at
his side, and organ music filling the church, signaled the beginning
of this sacred ritual., my mother was quietly wiping the tears from
her eyes as the bridesmaids made their way down the aisle. Then, all
eyes were focused on the lovely bride on the arm of my father,
standing in for Peggy`s father. The strains of "Here Comes the
Bride," filled the church.
Msgr. Hackett, having concluded Mass, was standing beside the altar,

as Peggy and my dad arrived at the prescribed spot. Solemnly, Msgr.

Hackett intoned the age old question, "Who gives this woman in Holy
Matrimony? My father replied, "I do. " The best Man produced the
wedding band, I placed the band on her finger and we bowed before the
altar.
Msgr. Hackett pronounced the wedding vows, ending with, "I now
pronounce you husband and wife." "Now you may kiss the bride."
I wonder, to this day, whether Peggy uttered the words, "I promise
to love, honor and obey," Certainly, she would never admit to having,
said, "Obey." Looking back to that moment in time, I still wonder how
we managed to overcome all the obstacles and bring this dream to
reality.
Our wedding was a High Mass,
neither of us could remember
excitement we felt had a way
in that magical moment. I do
were told, "Now, I pronounce

with all the ceremony that implies, but

all that was said and done, for the
of shutting out all that surrounded us
remember, however, very well, when we
you Husband and Wife,"

A milestone in the lives of my Peggy and me had been reached and our
future lay ahead of us. For me, this was the climax of my transition
to civilian life and a more than happy ending to my experiences in
the "Great War,"
It has been said that all things happen fast in times of war. As I
look back to that time, which seems so long ago, when I first heard
the announcement over the radio that Pearl Harbor had been attacked,
I must agree, that little truism is correct. In a matter of less than
four short years, my life had been completely altered as had the
lives of so many of my fellow compatriots.
These are my personal memoirs encompassing a critical period in the
history of my country and how it affected me personally, as well as
millions throughout the world, for good or ill. Thank God, so many of
my fellow American citizens and citizens of allied countries were
willing to, if necessary, make the ultimate sacrifice to make
possible lives of freedom for future generations , free from the
tyranny of evil dictatorships, and, hopefully, the terrible scourge
of future wars.
THE END

G. I. MEMORS
Introduction
be, Throughout the history of World War 2, countless stories
have been told recalling the feats of bravery by those who fought in
those many, hard fought, battles. This is, as it should but left
untold are the experiences of those support forces who served behind
the lines and helped make possible the victories won by our troops,
now so celebrated in our books and films.
This humble effort is an attempt to chronicle the way in which
W.W. 2 shaped the life of one young American and provide some insight
into the pathos and, sometimes , ludicrous hilarity, that he
encountered while caring for the sick and wounded, as well as off
duty hours while on leave. The following antecdotes, hopefully, will
provide some insight into the experiences of Support Service G.I`s as
they plodded through. what to them, seemed a never ending war.
This is my story, as I lived it. This is not the story of a hero
but simply the memoirs of one who saw the results of the horrors of
war and encountered some of the more humorous aspects of life and
then made the transition back into civilian life. It is the story of
millions of youhg Americans who answered the call to duty when their
country called.
December 7, i941, I was having coffee with my buddy in a
neighborhood diner and trying to decide what we would do for the rest
of the day. The radio was on and the music of a swing band was
playing in the background. The waiter suddenly turned up the volume
and shouted for us to listen. The announcer, his voice solemn,
informed his audience, "This morning, December 7, 1941, Pearl Harbor,
in Hawaii, was attacked by air and the harbor has been severely
damaged. It is estimated that there have been many fatalities and the

loss of many of our ships and aircraft. From the markings on the
attacking aircraft, it has been determined that this was an attack by
the Japanese. Make no mistake about it; this was an attack against
the Territory of Hawaii and therefore an act of war against the
United States. We will keep you informed as additional information
becomes available."
My first reaction to this startling announcement was, "Where
the Hell is Pearl Harbor?" In that long ago time this was a question
on the minds of most Americans. Hawaii, and Pearl Harbor, in
particular, was a far distant place, few had ever given much thought
to, or visited. This was to change radically in the days ahead as
America entered World War 2. The following day, along with my family,
I listened, spellbound, as President Franklin D. Roosevelt addressed
the nation and the nation`s Congress. His familiar voice, now
forceful with outrage and determination, proclaimed the sentiments of
his fellow countrymen. "Yesterday, Sunday, December 7, 1941, "a
date which will live in infamy", the United States of America was
suddenly and deliberately attacked by the naval and air forces of the
Empire of Japan," Briefly, the President, explained the background
of the events which culminated in the attack, ending his speech with
the following, fateful, request to the Congress of the United
States. "With confidence in our Armed forces-with the unbounded
determination of our people- we will gain the inevitable triumph-So
help us God. I ask that the Congress declare that since the
unprovoked and dastardly attack by Japan on Sunday, December 7, a
state of war has existed between the United States and the Empire of
Japan."
Almost immediately Congress declared war on Japan and three days
later, December 11, Germany and Italy declared war on the United
States. We were now fully involved, along with the British Empire.
The Republic of Ireland declared neutrality. Russia had been at war
with Germany since June and, although never officially, became an
ally of the United States. America and its allies were now at war
with the axis of Germany, Italy and Japan. World War 2, had begun in
earnest.
I, like other young Americans, living in different parts of
the country and having little in common except our American
citizenship, faced a future that would affect the remainder of our
lives. This, I held in common with untold numbers of other young
Americans. I was twenty one years old when America entered the war. I
was nine years old, the eldest in a family of four children, at the
time America entered the era of the Great depression. Like so many
Americans, my family suffered through those trying years thinking
that poverty was here to stay. This was about to end, as America
tooled up for war, and the factories began to hum.
I was exactly the right age for military service and aware that I
would be hearing from my local Draft Board and soon be inducted into

the army. Like so many other American young men, I was eager to do my
duty and welcomed this call to serve. Kalamazoo was not the most
exciting place in the country and, I must admit, military service
appealed to my adventurous nature almost as much as my patriotic
fervor.
I lacked a college education and was inducted into the United States
Army with the grand rank of "Buck Private". The following is my
memory of induction into military service. On August 13, 1942, after
months of waiting, I was called to the induction center. There must
have been fifty of us, all standing there, "buck naked", damned glad
it was August and not a cold Michigan day. One by one we were called
before a doctor to see if we were breathing and send us on to be
processed and made "Government Issue", or for short, "G.I. A few
minutes later we took the oath and were officially in the Army of the
United States. A Sergeant took us aside, told us we were being sent
to Fort Custer, Battle Creek, Michigan, on August 27. I had just two
weeks left to be wearing civilian clothes.
At Fort Custer I was outfitted with an Army uniform and assigned to a
barracks with a lot of other raw recruits. A very unfriendly Sergeant
called us to attention, told us what poor specimens of humanity we
were and, from this time on, our scrawny bodies belonged to him until
we were shipped out for basic training. In the words of a popular
song of the era, "This is the army Mr. Jones, no private rooms or
telephones. You had your breakfast in bed before, but you won`t have
it there any more." Whoever wrote those lyrics must have spent time
in the army, as a Private.
It was there at Fort Custer, I received my first duty assignment. I,
along with two other "rookies," were handed gunny sacks, neatly
arranged for hanging over the shoulder, and each a stick with a nail
protruding from one end and told to "police" the area. We spent most
of the morning stabbing at litter on the ground and neatly placing it
into our sacks. One of my fellow "Sanitary Technicians" was a guy,
somewhat older than the rest of us, and exceedingly
short and
paunchy. With "great sensitivity," we kept ourselves amused by
badgering the poor soul with various terms alluding to his lack of
manly stature. Later, during a coffee break, we discovered that he
was a member of the Michigan legislature. This was the first time I
learned the valuable lesson, to not judge my fellow soldiers by their
appearance or ethnic identity.
After a short, miserable stay at Fort Custer we were shipped out to
Camp McCoy, Wisconsin for basic training. Camp McCoy, then, was still
under construction and being used, mainly, for the housing of "Enemy
Aliens", Germans, Italians and Japanese, as well as being readied for
the thousands of troops who would be trained there, many to go on for
the invasion of Europe. When American troops arrived for training, it
was then, we came in contact with the 442nd Infantry Regiment
comprised of Japanese Americans, most of whom, had families living in

the territory of Hawaii.

As usual, the army gave us no indication as to what service we were
assigned to. We were told that we were temporarily assigned to the
M.P.E.G, Military Police Escort Guard. As a matter of fact, we were
neither Military Police nor Escort Guards. Our sole duty was to stand
guard over the Enemy Alien camp at night and go through basic
training during the day.
It was here that young Americans, like me, first learned that it was
wrong to judge people by the color of their skin or by their
ancestry. If the army taught us anything, it was that we, young
Midwestern boys, had to face the realities of life and adjust our way
of thinking if we were to succeed in life, in the army or as
civilians. One night on a bus, returning from a night out in La
Crosse, I was seated next to a young Japanese American guy from the
442nd. We were discussing an incident that had taken place recently.
It seems that two of the Japanese- Americans from his unit had been
found murdered and an investigation was underway. The "scuttlebutt"
was that they had been killed by some guys from an infantry unit. He
went on to say that he couldn't understand how American soldiers
could harbor such hate for one another. He explained that at the time
of the Pearl Harbor attack they were in training at "Pearl" and had
not yet been given any rifle training. At the moment of the attack,
they were called to duty, issued rifles, and told to fire at those
f****** ""Japs." He said, "Not one of us hesitated, because we were
American soldiers, defending our country".
We were taken through basic training by a "Sergeant from Hell." He
marched us until we dropped, had us do target shooting until we could
no longer see the target, had us peeling potatoes until we hated the
sight of the damned things and, in general, made life absolutely
miserable for us. We had no inkling of what we were being assigned to
until the Sergeant introduced us to a new cadence marching verse. As
I remember it went something like this, "Eyes right, a** holes tight,
Foreskins to the rear, we're the boys from Camp McCoy, and we've got
gonorrhea."
When we asked him what all that meant, he replied, "It`s God damned
appropriate for all you f******* medics. " Now we knew we were in the
Medical Corps. and wondered what experiences lay ahead for us in the
days to come.
As all "good" things" do, basic training came to a finish. Our basic
training period had been short and we all hoped we would be up to
whatever lay ahead. The Sergeant called us together before our
graduation march, told us we were now soldiers and that he was proud
of us. Somehow, all our ill feelings vanished and we came around to
thinking he was a "great guy."
Immediately, I was assigned to the Camp McCoy Station Hospital,

became a "Ward Boy", and wound up doing all the, less attractive,
duties that the Officer nurses chose not to do, and doing it with a
with a smile and a salute. Along with my other duties I was assigned
to a number of classes taught by the doctors and other personnel.
It was during these sessions that I met my best buddy, Glen McQueen,
whom I was to serve with during much of the war. We all called him
"Mac." He was one of those guys who truly had "savoir- faire." Six
foot tall, a good physique and a somewhat handsome face, topped by a
full head of black, wavy hair. "Tall, dark and handsome," fitted his
description exactly. Since I was not exactly the most sophisticated
guy on the planet, Mac, always ready with a smooth line, "took up the
slack," and made our social life more pleasant. We became known as
the "Gold Dust Twins," since we always traveled together. It is this
sense of camaraderie in the service that makes war time friendships
so special.
Our training fo medical duty consisted of courses which would make us
valuable as aides to the nurses and doctors and also consisted of
training for the field. One lesson that made a strong impression on
me was the proper way to remove a wounded soldier from a disabled
tank. It was this course that made me wonder if we were soon to be on
the battlefield. Unlike the movies, most of my buddies and I, did not
long to be assigned to the infantry for heroic combat duty.
One day while off "ward duty" Mac and I were chatting with a Captain
with whom we had become familiar. All doctors held the rank of
Captain or higher. He asked if we would like to assist him during an
examination. We knew by the way he asked and the twinkle in his eye
that this was to be a farce of some kind. He was known for his love
of practical jokes, many not always in line with medical ethics. The
examinee was a member of the Women`s Army Corps. in for a
gynecolological exam. Clad in white surgical gowns, looking much like
young interns, we stood by as the Captain performed his examination.
This was followed by a burst of hilarity after the "Doc" dismissed
her. Such lack of insensitivity was rare and not typical of the
behavior of Officers or enlisted men. Later that day we passed the
young lady in the main corridor. She took a very contemptable look at
us in our enlisted mens uniforms and, in a very unladylike manner,
called us "dirty bastards," a not "Ladylike" expression for a not
"Gentlemanly like" incident.
One of the "off the cuff", lessons we received during training was
from an Officer in the office of the Adjudent General. Along with
legal advice, he often gave us bits of "army wisdom." Concerning our
demeanor, he advised us that, while walking on the hospital campus,
to carry, very conspicuously, a sheet of paper and walk, very
briskly, as if on an errand. This, he emphasized, would save us many
hours of extra duty being assigned to us by an overeager Seargant.

Finally, after two weeks of training by doctors and nurses we were

assigned to the wards. I was given a promotion to T/5, CorporalMedical Technician, a rank I continued to carry throughout the war.
After going overseas, the old lyric kicked in, "There will be no
promotion this side of the ocean." I was assigned the duty of
supervising eight Privates for ward duty. This was my first
experience in supervision and led to an incident which gave me much
satisfaction. During basic training I had committed some
"unforgivable sin" and was banished to the kitchen for a week of
Kitchen Police, better known as "KP." As all old soldiers know,
"Police" had nothing to do with this inglorious assignment. This was
simply a means for some damned Sergeant to "vent his spleen" and for
the kitchen to get extra help. I believe that in the sixteenth
century many ships were manned by a "shanghaied crew." This was the
Army`s way of getting extra hours of a soldier`s time without any
reward for extra duty and punishing him for his indiscretions. For
that unforgettable week I took orders from a Mess Sergeant who ground
out orders like meat going through a sausage grinder. The tiniest
infraction of his rules like taking a glass of milk, without his
permission, would result in the full force of his temper coming down
on one like a full blown hurricaine. He was truly, "The Devil, In
Chef's Clothing`.
Now, that I was an NCO, with all the "authority" that implies, I was
regularly checking into the ward, soldiers who had fallen ill or who
just found some reason to be assigned to the hospital, many, just for
some time away from the duties of the day and a chance to relax. One
day, "When what, to my wondering eyes should appear," but my old
"Comrade in Arms", the Mess Sergeant, with nothing but a bad head
cold. The Army had, a ,not so technical, name for his distress. The
term "Goldbricking" is far too tame. The other crude term is better
not repeated here. I was very happy to accommodate my old comrade and
immediately assigned him to a bed. With a smile on his face, he
settled in for some rest and relaxation. Much to his chagrin, he soon
found out that this was not to be the case. Vengeance was in my heart
and this was my golden opportunity to even up the score. He seemed
utterly unawaware that in the hospital he was duty bound to take
orders from hospital personnel, regardless of inferior rank.. As an
ambulatory patient he had to perform whatever housekeeping duties
assigned to him. I had no problem in finding a job for him to take
his mind off the boredom of the day. For those of you, former
soldiers, who are thinking, "Latrine Duty", I can only say that you
are so right in your speculation. I armed him with a toilet brush, a
mop and bucket and gave him immediate employment. It was apparent
that he had no desire to perform these menial tasks and informed me
that I should remember that he held the rank of Sergeant. With joy in
my heart, I, very authoritatively, pointed out to him that there were
no stripes on his bathrobe and that his immediate concern was to have
the latrine ready for Saturday morning inspection, "Vengeance is

mine, sayeth the Lord," but, for this one shining moment, "Vengeance
was mine", and I enjoyed every damned second of it.
With the compliance of the Captain, we kept him in the hospital for
a few extra days. I`m sure he was more careful about his treatment
of other lowly privates he held sway over. He had just experienced
the old adage, "What goes around, comes around."

CHAPTER 2
As the days wore on, life was a series of daily routine duties and we
were becoming somewhat restless. Although the time we had spent in
the army was short our youthful outlook made the days seem endless.
Many of the units on the base were moving on. This made us hope that
we would be next and go on to some other experiences. We had no idea
what things awaited us but anything was better than spending the war
in the Army at Camp McCoy, Wisconsin as "Ward Boys." Didn't Gen.
Patton say to recruits that they didn`t want to have to tell their
grandchildren t they spent the war shoveling horseshit at an Army
Cavalry base?
We didn't have to wait for long for we suddenly got the news that the
306 Station Hospital was being sent overseas. With typical Army
retisense to tell the enlisted man anything, we were told absolutely
nothing except to pack our belongings and be ready to move. With the
enlisted man`s penchant for finding out everything, we soon found out
that we were headed for the European Theater of Operations, or for
short, the E.T,O..
On October 31, 1942, Halloween being an appropriate day, we received
our shipping orders. Everything we possessed was crammed into our

duffle bags, and we were on our way to the train station, all "very
comfortable," in a "luxurious" army truck. Arriving at a train depot,
we hastily boarded a car that looked as though it had seen service in
the Civil War. Once on the train, we eagerly awaited some legitimate
information as to our destination. True to army form, none came.
Finally, after many hours, card games and an occasional snooze, we
arrived in Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada. The year was 1942 and the
war in Europe was in full force. Britain was in a state of deadly
peril and the arrival of the "Yanks" was considered a blessing to
their hopes of defeating the Germans. In any event, we were now about
to board a troop ship and make the dangerous crossing across the
North Atlantic to relieve our British Allies. That America was fully
engaged in this war was borne out by the hundreds of thousands of
American soldiers waiting to board the many troop ships crowding the
harbor.
Upon our arrival at the harbor, we boarded the RMS Mauritania for our
trip across the North Atlantic to Great Britain. We boarded the ship
in the late afternoon. After a "fine meal" of "good" mutton stew, we
were told to choose a spot on the long mess table for our gear. This
is where we would sleep and, "Be sure to be out of there as soon as
reveille is over because the RAF will be using the table for
training classes."
We were allowed to roam around and get acquainted with the ship. Mac
and I ventured into an area where a number of RAF {Royal Air Force
guys} were singing Bless `Em All, which was a popular British wartime
song. The lyrics, "Bless `em all, the long, the short , and the tall"
,etc. were constantly repeated with the "Bless" almost always
replaced with another four letter word, better not repeated here.
Soon we were joined by more fellow "Yanks." American- British unity
was already beginning to take place. As the Mauritania got underway
we were engrossed in making friends and having a "Jolly good time, as
the "Limeys" would say,
After a nights rest on that hard table, we got the signal to clear
out, which we did without hesitation. Gazing out a porthole,
expecting to see the open ocean, we found out that we were back in
port. As we gazed out at the harbor, Mac turned to me and said, "What
the hell is this? "I thought we were underway." It didn't take long
to find the answer to that query. It seems that during the night we
had run into a "Wolf Pack." That was the name, Admiral Donitz, the
Commander of the German navy, gave to his submarines, which hunted in
packs, awaiting Allied shipping. We were traveling without a convoy
and were a likely target.
Before long we, once more, got underway. With the unbounded optimism
of youth and a feeling of invincibility, we never gave another

thought to the danger we faced in crossing the North Atlantic without

a convoy, depending only on the speed and maneuverability of this
great ship. Ships capable of traveling fast steered a zig zag course,
without accompanying vessels, making them difficult to target.
True to British tradition, a daily shot of rum was provided to all on
board. As I recall, we approached a small makeshift bar and were
doled out our portion. The only "fly in the ointment" was that the
U.S. Navy did not permit drinking on board its ships. Even though
this was a British ship, American personnel were bound by American
Naval rules. This was handled very neatly by the British by simply
doling out a portion of ginger beer, a British soda pop, to the
Americans. Never to be outdone, we simply accepted the soda pop,
exchanged our soft drink for rum by handing a couple of cigarettes to
our British brethren and accepting their gracious exchange of rum for
ginger beer.
Another bit of culture shock was the difference in what the "Limeys"
thought of as tasty cuisine and what we thought of as "good grub."
The, too frequent, serving of mutton stew did not bode well for the
"Yanks", and resulted in a considerable amount of grumbling on our
part. Other than that, and similar differences, the next few days or
so went off without incident and a surprising amount of goodwill
developed between us and the "Limeys."
Finally, after several days of boredom and bad food we arrived in
Great Britain and were hastily put on a waiting train for our final
destination.
We were all anxious to see what England looked like but we were
traveling at night and the windows were blacked out in compliance
with "blackout" regulations. The British strictly enforced these
rules because of the possibility of giving the Germans a target on
their nightly flights over England.
Our Executive Officer, Capt. Lebowitz, a balding man, somewhat
overweight and a chain smoker, had preceded our arrival, having
boarded the train at Southampton to accompany us to our destination.
He soon appeared on the scene to address us when suddenly a loud roar
was heard directly above the train. Certain that the plane would hit
the train, we all hit the floor, "scared, out of our wits."
The only one standing was Capt. Lebowitz. With a big smile on his
face, he said, "Gentlemen you have just been welcomed to the United
Kingdom by the U. S. Army Air Force."
At long last, the train came to a stop, somewhere, just outside the
city of Bournemouth. We were immediately trucked to an Army camp,
given a barracks and told to get a good nights sleep. We found our
bunks and then the "bitching" began. On the bunk was a rather plump
mattress but when one lay down, it suddenly became apparent that what
appeared to be a mattress was, in reality, a bag of straw. Later we

found out that the British had arranged this

part of the "Lend-Lease" arrangement America
British. The whole damned camp was a British
become fond of. The upshot was that we were
slept as though we were sleeping on the best
buy.

for us since it was a

had made with the
creation, and not one to
so damned tired that we
mattresses money could

Without regard that we were all in need of more rest after our long
journey, reveille, sounded as usual. After standing for roll call we
were dismissed for "Mess." Although we had been severe critics of
army food, the sight of good old American style bacon and eggs,
tended to soften our criticism, at least for the moment.
After "mess" The Company was called to order and we were given the
"Orders of the Day.' It seems that we were in a "holding area" and
quarantined for several days, during which time, we would be
responsible for housekeeping duties. The Sergeant then introduced
Capt. Lebowitz, our never to be forgotten, Executive Officer. What
followed was so damned comical, coming from this balding, overweight
and pompous, unmilitary like Officer, that I am sure every G.I.,
there at that moment, will remember it to his dying day. I`m sure, I
will. The Captain addressed us, as I recall it, "Gentlemen, you are
now a part of the European Theater of Operations. Your conduct here
will be vitally important in bringing victory to our forces against
the German Tyranny. God Bless you and the American Army." He,
finished with, "Always remember, when off duty, that you are here as
conquerors, not to be conquered by the harpies of the streets." He
ended with a military salute that would have made Gen. Eisenhower,
himself, proud. Dr. Lebowitz had transformed himself into a military
conqueror and satisfied his deepest longings, which, I`m sure, he
usually only carried out in his fantasy life.
After several long and boring days, punctuated by crap games and
other "intellectual pursuits", the quarantine was lifted and we were
given an opportunity to visit Bournemouth. Immediately, the office
was filled with G.I.s requesting passes. As long as you knew your
name rank and serial number the request was granted.
Mac and I were among the first to get in line, receive our passes,
and board the truck for town. Dressed, as finely as we could, in our
dress uniforms, we joined in the, rather ribald, singing as the truck
bounced along taking some very enthusiastic, young and virile, men,
into the city. The word virile is used very purposefully since the
thoughts on all the passenger's minds concerned speedy liaisons with
the local girls.
Mac, who seemed ever knowledgeable about such things, steered me into
the lounge bar of a local pub. The lounge bar was a cut above the
part of the pub that served only the men. The lounge was for social
gatherings and included the more refined women and men of the

community and the occasional military Officer as well as a few

enlisted men.
Once, comfortably ensconced, in a neat little booth, Mac began to
size up the situation and decided to make his move. He moved, with
great suavity, to the table of two lovely, young ladies and soon had
them seated with us in our booth. Although I do not have a good
recollection of the young lady Mac was interested in, I shall never
forget the charming and petite girl I was partnered with. Doreen
Hazelwood, her real name, was everything one thinks of when we hear
the term, "English Beauty." The charm of her English accent was not
lost upon me and our conversation soon consisted of little details
about where we called home and our particular interests.
The barkeeper, having called, "Time, please." which was the signal
for closing, brought the usual query, "May I see you home?" Both
girls, having informed us that they would rather go home together,
had made it quite clear that their parents, mothers in particular,
did not have a fondness for soldiers when their daughters were
involved. Doreen did agree to meet me the following day and give me a
tour of Bournemouth. Always the tourist, and in this case, a quite
enthusiastic tourist, we arranged a place to meet. The following day
we met at the appointed meeting place. Doreen seemed eager to do her
duty in making a lonely G.I. welcome and this lonely G.I. was only
too eager to accept her services.
Doreen proved to be an excellent tour guide and knew all the places
of interest. Her knowledge of the history of Bournemouth was quite
extensive. She delighted in showing me all the sights and made my
stay in Bournemouth a quite pleasurable experience. One of her
favorite places was an old church of historical importance and it was
there that I came to realize how much different an American`s concept
of time differed from the British. During our visit I noticed a
beautiful brass spread eagle that served as the podium for the
Minister. The cleaning lady was polishing it and I made the remark
that it was a beautiful podium. She smiled and said, "Oh, this was a
gift from our late Pastor in the early 1700s." Being a "Yank", I
thought of the 1700s as ancient history. This gave me pause, and made
me realize how young our beloved country is.
My way of thanking Doreen was to have my mother send her a gift. As I
recall, she did receive a lovely blue sweater, was delighted, and
said she would treasure it.
Meanwhile the war on the continent was raging on and my unit moved to
a new location near Tidworth, a city located southeast of Wilshire.
It shares its eastern border with the Salisbury Plain, the site of
the famous archeological find, Stonehenge. Here we carried on our
duties caring for the soldiers, who were receiving tender loving care
from our beautiful nurses.

It was not only the nurses who brought smiles to our patients. The
Red Cross and the Salvation Army both sent some very lovely ladies to
visit with the soldiers. One incident that stands out clearly
happened during one of those visits. A young man of about twenty
years old, was in the hospital for a rather extended stay. He was an
avid reader and kept us busy supplying him with books from the
hospital library. During a routine visit from the Red Cross volunteer
he requested of her to get a copy of Pygmalion, a book he had
acquired in London, signed by the author. The lady explained that it
was next to impossible to obtain the autograph since this author was
quite elderly and ill and had a reputation of not being friendly to
autograph seekers, so the task would only end in failure.
That closed the subject until the Salvation Army lady made her visit
and the same request was made of her. Her reaction was somewhat
different. She, in a very motherly fashion, said, "Give me the book
and I`ll see what I can do." A week went by and the same lady
appeared and was eager to see the young soldier. Upon greeting him
she said, "Wait till you see what I have for you." With that. she
unwrapped a package and there was the soldiers book. She opened the
book to the flyleaf, and there, in boldly handwritten words, was the
following note, as I remember it, "If I signed every book for someone
who thinks I am the greatest writer since Shakespeare, I'd be doing
nothing but signing my name." Then, written with a flourish, was the
signature, George Bernard Shaw, This incident comes to mind every
Christmas when I make my donation in a Salvation Army kettle.
Mac and I were eager to see more of England and find a place free
from the ever present G.I. Having this in mind, we decided to take
leave and get as far away from places inhabited by people of our ilk
as we could. This led to us catching a bus and traveling as far away
from camp as we could .
Our bus ride took us to a town which seemed completely bereft of
servicemen. As all G.I.s do, we immediately found the nearest Pub and
settled in comfortably to enjoy a pint of beer. We were the only
customers and after a few moments of waiting, no one appeared to wait
upon us. Mac finally called out for service. Soon, a young lady
peered around an open door and said, quite breathlessly, "Oh, you are
Americans." I said, "We sure are, what did you think we were"? Her
reply was that she and her parents had observed us from the kitchen
and, just catching a glimpse of our boots, thought we were Germans.
We knew we had found the right spot and enjoyed a great afternoon
free from the hub bub of G.I. activity. This place showed no signs
of ever having been host to an American soldier. After an hour of
friendly chatter with the barkeep and his daughter we decided it was
time to get back to camp.
Before boarding the bus I looked around for a rest room.. Spotting a

toilet,
written
"Kilroy
a place

I entered and went to the urinal to relieve myself. There,

in bold letters on the wall was that old familiar refrain,
was here." There was no way in the world that one could find
in England that had not been visited by American soldiers.

We returned to our unit, ready to resume our duties but, as usual,

Mac and I were ready for our next outing and this time, we both
agreed, it was to be London, the capital of Great Britain, and one of
the great historical cities of the world.
The week following our bus trip had been exceedingly busy. Two guys
had been admitted for broken limbs and another for a severe case of
appendicitis. Between scheduling them for operations, working out a
schedule for the ward boys and covering for a nurse who had gone on
leave, as well as attending to my other duties, I had my hands full.
Mac also had experienced a hectic week and both of us were ready to
get a pass for the weekend and our trip to London.
Having secured a three day pass and arranged for one of the ward
boys, who was "Bucking for Corporal,", to cover for me, I was ready
to head for London. Mac had obtained a pass, too, although he had to
do some fast talking to get his.
In London, we went to Paddington Station. Across the street from the
station was Dickens Tavern, one of the many historic pubs in London.
As we entered the pub, Mac noticed a ,very old, lady with a small
glass of Guinness, half full. With his usual charm and savoir faire,
he walked over to her and inquired, "May I get you a drink, mother?"
To the delight and laughter of all around, she replied, as loudly as
she could, in a her high pitched, shrill voice, "I`ll have a `pint."
After a couple of "pints" we decided it was time to get to the Red
Cross Club in Piccadilly Circus, the Broadway of London, and settle
down for the night.
The Red Cross Club in Piccadilly, also known as Rainbow Corner, was
the headquarters for all G.Is when they visited London. A huge
building of several stories, with all kinds of hospitality available,
it was a magnet for all of us seeking rest and relaxation.
One of the attractions was the little office presided over by Adele
Astaire, sister of Fred Astaire, where she wrote letters to the loved
ones of the G.I.s telling them of her visit with their sons,
daughters or sweethearts. It was a very thoughtful way to support the
war effort and was highly appreciated by all of us. "Rainbow Corner"
also played host to such celebrated personages as Gen. Theodore
Roosevelt, Gen. Eisenhower, George Raft, Jimmy Stewart, Irving Berlin
and many others. Glen Miller did a broadcast there and also, Artie
Shaw, who performed there for the soldiers. Little wonder that this
was the most favored place visited by G.I,s when on leave in London.
Mac and I had just settled down for the night on the top floor of the

club with the sound of "Pom Pom" guns above us on the roof of the
building. "Pom Pom" was the name the British people called the antiaircraft guns that responded to the, almost, nightly bombings. Just
as sleep was taking over, we were aroused by a mighty explosion
accompanied by the intense shaking of the building.
In a matter of moments we were out of bed and dressed, prepared to
leave the building. Once out on the street, we observed the reason
for the blast. About four buildings down the street from the club a
V1 rocket had hit a building, tearing it apart, as though a giant
fist had come down on it. In no time at all, ambulances were on the
scene, and people covered in blood, crying out in pain, were being
removed from the wreckage. In that terrible moment I became aware of
the resilience of the British people. There was no panic, no
screaming, only a dogged determination on the part of the volunteers
to assist the wounded and bring order out of the chaos.
This should have been enough to spoil our weekend but, being young.
and feeling, indestructible ,we were undeterred and, after all, the
old Windmill Theater was still in business and the girls were still
there, awaiting the G.I.s.
The Windmill Theater, famous for never having closed during the worst
of the bombing of London had, by the time of the war, became a
burlesque house and a premier attraction for British and American
soldiers while on leave. The old theater has an interesting history
and has been portrayed on the screen in a film called, Mrs. Henderson
Presents,
It was one of those rare evenings in London, when the air was soft
and warm, ideal for outdoor relaxation. This, I mention, because it
was a tradition at the theater, when the weather was good, that the
patio at the rear of the house was open and customers and dancers ,
between acts, could enjoy a drink and conversation. Needless to say,
Mac and I took full advantage of this opportunity to "schmoose" with
the show girls.
Ensconced comfortably at one of the patio tables, we awaited the
arrival of the girls. They usually arrived as soon as the first
performance was over, still heavily "Made Up" with grease paint and
those long artificial eye lashes in place. To my unsophisticated
eyes, this was the very zenith of feminine glamour.
Two "ladies" strolled by and, with great admiration, I watched as Mac
beckoned to them, and with a skill, usually observed only in the
movies, brought them to our table. After a moment of "sweet talk" by
my adroit companion the girls settled in comfortably. I was highly
impressed as he deftly proffered cigarettes to our "lovely"
companions. Within a moment, his Zippo lighter appeared, the cover
thrown back, and with a flick of his thumb, the flame appeared and,
it was at that moment, Mac's sophistication ,"went up in flames". The
streak of fire from the lighter rose fully four inches and licked at

those long artificial eye lashes. This was followed by a stream of

four letter obscenities from the young "lady" that would have made a
drunken sailor blush. So endeth our London trip, so endeth Mac's,
highly acclaimed "savoir faire", but it was only one of many trips
that we took to that great and historic city.
On another occasion, Mac and I had the privilege of visiting the
Royal Opera House, in London's Covent Gardens. Impressive as this
may seem, hundreds of" Yanks," nightly, made a pilgrimage to this
historic place of culture and refinement, not to experience the
opera, but to meet the girls and dance the night away.
Sometime during the war a decision had been made to convert the opera
house into a dance hall for the entertainment of the thousands of
military personnel in the city. The stage was prepared for the
accommodation of the large swing bands that would appear there and a
dance floor installed. In effect, this historic place had become a
night club. For the price of two shillings and six pence one became a
member of the club and entitled to free admission when in town on
leave. I can still hear, in my "moments of recollection." the music
of Ted Heath and other bands of renown, and those tender moments on
the dance floor, with a lovely English girl in my arms, as we swayed
to the music and, for a few shining moments, forgot the shadow of war
that always hung over us. There were other times when we were
"jitterbugging" or dancing to a love song and the wail of the siren
would be heard alerting us to a bombing and, if we so desired, retire
to an air raid shelter. Very often, the young\
lady in my arms would whisper in my ear, "Oh, lets just keep on
dancing."
Upon our return to the hospital we found that the 306th had received
a new arrival. This was a surprise because no one new had ever been
assigned to our outfit, unlike combat units who were often getting
replacements due to casualties suffered in battle. We were curious to
know why the young soldier had been sent to the 306th.
He was busy getting his gear in order when we introduced ourselves.
In our chat with him we found out his home was in Dayton Ohio. We
asked him how he became assigned to our outfit. His answer was, " I
don`t know." He went on to say he was doing guard duty at a place in
Alamogordo, New Mexico and he was in town in a bar when a civilian
struck up a conversation with him. As he told it, "This guy asked me
what duty I was performing in the army." He said he told him,
"Nothing important, I just stand guard duty at a gate to some damned
compound outside Alamogordo." He added, "Hell. I don`t even know
what the Hell is going on there." "At that point two other civilians
walked up, took me by the arms and walked me outside to a waiting
car, drove me to my outfit and turned me over to a Lieutenant." The
Officer simply said to me, "Stow your things in your duffle bag and
follow me. Following his instructions, I finished up stowing my gear

and with that the Lieutenant took me to a car and to the airport and
sent me here, Hell, up to this moment, I don`t know what happened and
why I`m here." I guess he never did know until the war was over.
This incident brought home to all of us how serious the military was
about security. "Loose lips, sink ships," had real meaning for all of
us and we were constantly on guard when chatting with anyone,
especially civilians.

Chapter 3
The patients were not the only ones to appreciate the charms of those
Lovely nurse Second Lieutenants' but we knew better than attempt to
socialize with Officers, a `sin,' requiring drastic action by
Superior Officers, if ventured by a lowly enlisted man.
My duties kept me in close contact with nurses and doctors, arranging
schedules for the "Ward Boys," schedules for medications and
assisting doctors and nurses during their rounds. It was impossible
to not become familiar with the nurses, and one beautiful young nurse
by the name of Rosemary, last name deleted, caught my eye to the
point that I broke through that invisible barrier and arranged a date
with her. Mac, never much concerned with rules, also arranged a date
with his favorite nurse and a double date was about to take place
that would have the inevitable consequences.
The bus arrived for the short ride into Salisbury. Mac and I found
our seats, discreetly separated from our dates so as not to appear to
be accompanying Officers. Shortly thereafter, arriving at our
destination, we proceeded to the nearest pub, and, with our dates,
began imbibing the best of what British brewers had to offer. Our
conversation gradually became more stimulating and our relationships
becoming ever more intimate, we were off to a wonderful evening. At
just before 11:00, the booming voice of the bartender resounded
throughout the pub. "Time please", the dreaded call, that meant we
could order only one more drink before the bar closed. This was
usually followed by a rush to the bar by the patrons, many of whom
still had unfinished drinks at their tables.
Knowing the rules of the game, we decided to move to one of the pubs
that catered to Officers and remained open after the usual closing

hours. The local officials were well aware that, "rank has its
privileges." The man at the door listened patiently as Mac explained
how the young lady with me had nursed me back to health from a
serious illness, "And now, my buddy John, and Rosemary, the lovely
nurse with him, are celebrating their engagement". Mac's story so
impressed the doorman that he made no objection to our presence in
the club.
Although Mac and I were the only non-Officers in the room, no one
seemed to notice and our evening continued on until closing time. As
we made our way through the crowd exiting the room, our arms
encircling our dates, I looked up and, catching my eye, was the
Company Commander. His look of disapproval, I knew immediately, was a
harbinger of things to come.
The results of having encountered the Company Commander, the night
before, under the previously mentioned circumstances, were not long
in coming. Mac was the first to heed a call to the Office immediately
after Mess., and upon his return to the barracks, informed me he had
been told to pack his belongings and leave on the truck parked
outside the Commander's office. He knew not, where he was headed.
Mac packed his gear and we both walked over to the waiting truck.
Before he climbed aboard, we shook hands and wished each other well.
I never saw Mac again, until we were discharged and home, once more,
in Kalamazoo.
I was the next to get the call to meet with the Company Commander.
His directive was quick, brusque and direct. "Tomorrow morning, be at
the roadside with your belongings in your duffle bag and meet the
truck when it arrives." "Do you have any questions, Corporal?"
My answer was quick, brusque and direct. "No Sir," followed by a
salute. The answer was a snappy salute and a, "Dismissed, Soldier."
Feeling somewhat, depressed at having lost my buddy and being sent to
"God knows where," I climbed aboard the truck the following morning
with a number of other "F***Ups, "but damned glad I hadn't lost my
stripes.
The truck rambled on for several miles until the driver pulled over
and hollered back at us, "You guys wanna stop at this pub and have a
beer?" The question was, of course unnecessary, and we all
disembarked , much heartened by this magnanimous gesture.
Along with the other guys, I dropped to the ground, faced forward,
and lo and behold, there was Capt. John Hummer, leaving his seat
alongside the driver. Capt. Hummer was one of the enlisted men's
favorite Officers and a resident of my hometown. His greeting to me
was, "John, what the Hell are you doing here?" I replied, "I might
ask you the same thing, Captain." Such was the informality that

existed between he and the enlisted men with whom he was well
aquainted. He was an excellent doctor, a fine Officer and a real
gentleman.
Once, inside the pub the G.I.s quickly received their "pints" and
were noisily swapping stories. Capt. Hummer and myself, knowing each
other well and, having come from the same outfit, as well as both of
us being residents of Kalamazoo, took a booth, and over a pint of
Guinness, began our stories of how we came to be on this particular
journey. I recounted my encounter with the Commander regarding
fraternization with Officers and the penalty I suffered. Capt. Hummer
laughed and said he had even a better story to tell. As he recounted
it, he and another officer had been on a date with two nurses and had
imbibed a little too much of "Old john Barleycorn," and upon
returning to camp one of the party dared him to go to the Commander`s
quarters and awaken him. He said," Having had one too many, and
taking the dare, I went into his hut, shook him, and with my
flashlight, blinded him and backed out. Unfortunately, I was unable
to stifle a laugh. Big mistake! The Commander, now fully aroused,
recognized my laugh, and bellowed out, "John Hummer, you S.O.B, I`ll
make you pay for this," "So here I am with the rest of you "F***ups."
He went on to assure me that we were not only assigned to the same
place but were going to Torquay, on the south coast of England, to
care for an encampment of soldiers training for the invasion. We
would be responsible for their day to day medical problems. He said,
"This is going to be dammed good duty, since this is one of the best
spots in England, as close to tropical weather as you will see over
here, and we will be on our own, to do, as we see fit".
After dropping off the guys on the truck at their assigned
destinations, we finally arrived at the lovely seaside town of
Torquay, to this day, stll known as an integral part of the "English
Riviera." It is no wonder that the famed British author, Agatha
Christie, chose to live most of her life here in this, almost,
tropical like paradise.
Wartime Britain was in no position to have its beaches inhabited only
by vacationing sun bathers and the long stretches of barbed wire that
covered those beaches stood in stark testimony to the fact that
England was at war and fighting for its life and freedom.
In Russia, soldiers were being sent to the Eastern Front for
improper behavior and Torquay was our, "Eastern Front." Of course,
being `good and obedient soldiers," we would do our best to cope
with the cards life had dealt us.
The encampment, covering several acres, was located on the outskirts
of town. The troops were housed in tents. We soon found our spot, a
large Quonset hut, neatly made up, sleeping accommodations for six

and an office and lab. This was to be our home and workplace until
further notice.
We quickly staked out our cots and proceeded to make our areas as
comfortable as possible. Capt. Hummer and I took an inventory of the
things we required in the lab and then we sat down over a cup of
coffee to discuss our routine.
Each morning we would take care of the needs of the soldiers on "Sick
Call." He explained that, at times, he would not be available as he
would, undoubtedly, have connections in town that might require him
to spend the night there. He said he was sure that I could handle the
routine cases by myself but he would leave me a telephone number
where I could reach him in case of an emergency. I was well aware of
the fact that one did not question a Superior Officer about his off
base activities. He then went on to say that he would arrange a, not
too early, sick call. He then instructed me to tell the Mess Sergeant
that he would like to confer with him.
The Sergeant, a large bulky man, heavily tattooed, and florid of
face, responded quickly, and gave a proper salute to Capt. Hummer,
which was returned in proper military manner. Capt. Hummer began,
"Sergeant, We are here to care for the personnel stationed here and I
want my men, and soon there will be more of us, to get plenty of
rest, so it would be appreciated if you would have breakfast for them
even if their arrival is somewhat late, thus giving them time for
some extra sleep time in the morning." The Sergeant assured Captain
Hummer
that this would be no problem but he had a favor to ask of him. The
Captain, knowing, "Quid pro quo," said, "Mention it, and it's done."
He then explained that he often suffered from a severe hangover in
the morning and would appreciate a doctor approved remedy. With that,
Captain Hummer made up a concoction and showed me how to prepare it
for the amiable Sergeant. As I recall, it had a very solid base of
codeine, and later received a very favorable reaction from the
Sergeant.
Our discussion continued, and being curious about his remark that
there would soon be more of us, I said, "Captain, Will we be
receiving some additional help?" His answer came in the form of a
question. "John, I`m sure you will be making some social connections
in town, and wouldn't it be nice to have some "wheels?" Without
hesitation, he received an affirmative answer. He then went on to say
that he was ordering an ambulance and driver. "I'll make sure that
the driver will understand that the vehicle is at your disposal at
all times," He said, with a smile. "I told you this would be good
duty, didn't I?" "Let's make the most of it."
The ambulance did arrive and it served me well as I became more
acquainted in the community. The driver, a Private First Class, was

a fine young man and fitted in very well with, our, rather "laid
back," style of living. We did, however, have one incident which
challenged our unmilitary behavior.
For some unknown reason, and, maybe, it was because the army had no
other place to put him, another Captain doctor appeared one day and
showed Capt. Hummer his transfer. We now had two Captains and two
enlisted men. That seemed a little heavy with rank.
It wasn't long before our new arrival, a young, "spit and polish"
Officer, made it known, in no uncertain terms, that our unkempt beds
and generally, sloppy housekeeping was not in line with what he
considered military demeanor. Dr. Hummer, I`m sure, considered this
an insult to his management and approached him a couple of days
later, after one of his rants about unmade beds. Confronting the
young Officer with fire in his eyes, he said, "Captain, "What was the
date of your commission"?
Without a moments hesitation he blurted out the date to Capt. Hummer.
The response was almost immediate, Capt. Hummer said, "Captain, my
commission is of a much earlier date and this puts me in complete
command here, and furthermore, my staff and I are quite satisfied
with our lifestyle. Is that perfectly clear"?
The young Captain Answered with a quick, "Yes Sir."
I am still of the opinion that the young Captain`s transfer to
another location the following week had something to do with this
clash of opinions between the two Officers.
Another incident, which I recall with great relish, happened one
evening when we were seated outside of our hut chatting. A Sergeant
from one of the infantry outfits showed up, rifle in hand, and
joined us. He said, "Wanna see a demonstration of how we train the
men in rifle handling?" He then proceeded to break down the rifle
into its separate parts. "Now watch this", he said. He closed his
eyes, and in a flash, put the rifle back together in record time.
Capt. Hummer, without verbal response, reached over and took hold of
the rifle. In a few short seconds he then proceeded to dismantle the
piece. He closed his eyes, and with a few deft movements, much faster
than the infantryman, reassembled the rifle. Then, breaking his
silence, Capt. Hummer said, "Soldier, I learned this little maneuver
in the National Guard, long before being sent over here. Not all
medics are unfamiliar with firearms."
Not all duty here was "fun and games", and meeting the day to day
needs of the troops kept us busy. There were plenty of situations
which required our response, although most situations were not of a
highly serious nature. These were highly trained combat troops,
having been already trained for battle before arriving at this
station. They were not engaging in maneuvers which resulted in severe
injury or worse. Most of our cases were merely first aid, although we
did have occasional situations in which, after initial treatment, we
took the patient to a nearby hospital.

We did have some inkling that important moves in the war were about
to take place. Often at night, in the darkness, German reconnaissance
planes would appear overhead and shoot tracer bullets, hoping for
return fire, thus establishing the location of the troops. One night
they dropped a small personnel bomb which landed on a china shop on
the outer perimeter of the encampment. What we saw in the morning
would have had a collector of "fine China "climbing the walls."
Just to be on the safe side, we dug a small trench and when a plane
appeared overhead we would climb in until all activity ceased. One
night, Capt. Hummer and I took to the trench for cover. During our
descent into the trench I brushed against something and received a
small cut on my wrist. Upon seeing the bloody wrist, Capt. Hummer
said. "OK, John, now I can put you in for a Purple Heart."
I, of course, declined the offer. The Purple Heart is given to those
wounded in battle as a tribute to their sacrifice and heroism. I am
sure, Captain Hummer was speaking in jest, knowing I could not, in
good conscience, accept his offer.
Monitoring the news every day, we were very much aware of the
mayhem being carried on across the Channel. Hitler had subdued most
of Europe and was keeping a wary eye on Britain where more and more
American, British, Canadian and allied forces were training for, what
he knew, would be the invasion of the continent.
Being in such close contact with these soldiers, who would be among
those to storm the beaches, made us very aware of the tremendous
responsibilities our nation had placed upon their shoulders. Many of
these young soldiers would be laying down their lives to keep alive,
what was left of, law and order in Europe. We were also aware of the
other Allied forces, in camps such as these, who were also called
upon to keep alive freedom and democracy. We were young, but not too
young, to know that what happened on those beaches would make Europe,
either free or slave and, in time, threaten the security of the
United States. For those of us who would not be compelled to make
that trip across the English Channel and face the carnage of the
invasion, it strengthened our resolve to care well for our brave
combat soldiers.

Chapter 4
The year was 1944 and the Stars and Stripes, the GI. newspaper, kept
us fully informed of what was happening across the English Channel.
Hitler's 1941 invasion of Russia, known as "Operation Barbarossa",
had proven a disaster and the attack on Pearl Harbor by the Japanese,
bringing in the Americans, had the German forces on the defensive.
Everyone realized that a turning point in the war had been reached.
The world held its breath awaiting the invasion.
Preparations for the invasion of the Normandy coast in France had
been made in 1943. President Roosevelt and Prime Minister Winston
Churchill had selected Gen. Dwight D. Eisenhower as Supreme Commander
and gave the plan the code name, Operation Overlord. The Allied
powers were now set on a course that would result in the greatest
military operation in the history of the world.
The Allies assembled a force of three million men and stored sixteen
million tons of ammunition and supplies in great Britain. The Allies
had five thousand large ships, four thousand smaller landing craft
and more than eleven thousand aircraft.
All along the south coast of Britain staging areas were set up for
the accommodation of the thousands of troops preparing for the
invasion. Torquay was one of these staging areas.
I remember clearly, getting up one morning, prepared to go to town
and meet the young lady with whom I had become acquainted. I stepped
out the door and it became crystal clear to me that I was not going
anywhere. This huge encampment was completely surrounded by British
and American soldiers bearing automatic weapons. From that moment on
security was absolute and complete. It was then that I realized why

large circus tents had been set up in the last few days and Officers
from all the outfits had been seen coming and going. Briefings were
being held, prior to, what all of us expected to be, the launching of
the invasion. What, I did not know, was that the invasion had been
set for June 5, but weather conditions in the channel were so bad
that the mission had been postponed until June 6.
In the wee hours of the morning of June 6,1944 we became aware of
frenzied activity in the camp. The sound of barked orders, the roar
of truck engines and the sound of booted feet made us realize that
the time had come. The invasion of the European continent was about
to become reality. Many young men would perish that day on the
beaches of Normandy, but many more would go forward into the heart of
Germany, in what Gen. Eisenhower dubbed, "A great Crusade."
The greatest armada in all of military history had been unleashed
that morning and a grateful world , to this day, pays homage to the
brave men who were willing to sacrifice their lives to wipe from the
face of the earth the evil empires of Germany, Italy and, ultimately,
Japan.
The Order of the Day. June 6 , 1944 from Supreme Headquarters Allied
Expeditionary Forces, as stated by General Dwight Eisenhower, Supreme
Commander was as follows,
Supreme Headquarters
Allied Expeditionary Force.
"Soldiers, Sailors and Airmen of the Allied Expeditionary Force!
You are about to embark upon the Great Crusade, toward which we have
striven these many months. The eyes of the world are upon you. The
hopes and prayers of liberty loving people everywhere march with you.
In company with our brave Allies and brothers-in-arms on other
fronts, you will bring about the destruction of the German war
machine, the elimination of Nazi tyranny over the oppressed peoples
of Europe and security for ourselves in a free world.
Your task will not be an easy one. Your enemy is well trained, well
equipped and battle hardened. He will fight savagely.
But this is the year 1944. Much has happened since the Nazi triumphs
of 1940-41. The allied nations have inflicted upon the Germans great
defeats, in open battle, man to man. Our offensive has seriously
reduced their strength in the air and their capacity to wage war on
the ground. Our home fronts have given us an overwhelming superiority
in munitions and weapons of war, and placed at our disposal great
reserves of trained fighting men. The tide has turned! The free men
of the world are marching together toward victory!
I have full confidence in your courage, devotion to duty and skill in
battle. We will accept nothing less than full victory!
Good luck! And let us beseech the blessing of Almighty God upon this
great and noble undertaking."
With this directive from the Supreme Commander and the hopes of all

free men, our troops went forward into battle. Before the day was
over, the events that took place on the beaches of Normandy would
herald a new "Birth of Freedom" for the "Oppressed people of Europe"
and a new "Sense of security for ourselves" in a free world.
An eerie quiet now settled over this huge staging area. The sound of
bugle calls, the barked orders of the Sergeants and the noisy rush to
the mess hall by hundreds of hungry soldiers had suddenly become
stilled. The sounds of the camp had been transferred to the beaches
of Normandy and became the whine of bullets, the flash of rocket
fire, the explosion of heavy artillery and cries of pain from the
wounded and dying, as these brave troops struggled forward to free a
continent from the evil stranglehold of Nazi tyranny.
The only personnel left in the encampment was Capt. Hummer, myself
and the young Private who drove the ambulance. Our mission was
finished. Together, the Private and myself did a "Walk-through" of
the tents before they were struck and removed by the Quartermaster
Corps.
Left behind by the troops were those things they would not carry into
battle, bits of this and that they had acquired while on leave,
magazines and books they had been reading and the bric- a-brack that
magically collects around us as we move about.
One bit of memorabilia did catch my eye. lying on a cot, was a red,
hardbound copy of Tolstoy`s War and Peace, possibly the last book
this young soldier would ever read. With this thought in mind, I
picked up the book and there on the flyleaf, was the soldier's
signature, Jack C. Barnett. Through the years, this has been one of
my treasured mementos and I have tried repeatedly, to no avail, to
locate Jack, or his family, to return this bit of his wartime life to
its rightful owners.
The
the
our
for

Quartermaster Corps, with its usual efficiency, arrived toward

end of the day and removed the tents and all Army property except
quarters.. We would spend the night in our Quonset hut and wait
our orders.

Not having access to a mess hall, Capt. Hummer, the ambulance driver
and myself clambered aboard the ambulance, drove into town and had a
meal of fish and chips and returned for our last night in Torquay.
The following morning, Capt. Hummer called us together, and, now
having our orders in hand, informed us that we were to return to the
306 Station Hospital and the Private was to return to his outfit. A
vehicle would arrive to transport the Captain, and myself to the
hospital. I remember him saying, "Now, all we have to do is get back
and ready ourselves for the casualties that will be arriving from
Normandy. It won`t be long before we see what the term, "War is

Hell," really means,"

The hospital was now located outside the town of Cheltenham. The
Quonset huts were lined up neatly, concrete sidewalks connecting the
ward buildings. A mess hall was in place, barracks, quarters for the
Officers, a laboratory, sanitary facilities, and flying from a tall
flagpole, "Old Glory." The hospital was located on an area of
undeveloped land which provided the opportunity to carry on a
military program without disturbing the civilians who lived nearby. I
found the barrack
to which I was assigned and Capt. Hummer, being an Officer, had a
building which he shared with another Officer. We settled in for the
night wondering what tomorrow would bring.
The one thing that struck me was that the hospital had no patients
and that meant we were prepared for the arrival of casualties. It was
now well into the invasion. We had received word of the heavy
fighting and that the beachhead had been established and our troops
and the Canadians, as well as other forces, were now firmly
entrenched in Normandy.
Unlike the old 306th, the hospital had Military Police surrounding
it. It didn`t take long to find out that our patients would not be
American casualties, but instead, , German prisoners of war.
With the arrival of the new patients, a whole set of new problems
were encountered. All of this meant additional training.. We had to
become familiar with the rules of war, under, what was to become, the
Geneva Convention, regarding the treatment of enemy combatants, learn
to communicate with people of a foreign language and abide with
enhanced security regulations.
I was extremely busy for the next few days, assigning my men to their
wards, arranging duty schedules, and generally getting in sync with
the doctor I was working with, as well as getting to know the various
routines followed by the nurses.
Our first batch of patients arrived by train and we worked late into
the night getting them into the proper wards, taking care of their
medication needs and showing them, by our actions, that they had
nothing to fear. These were men who had been in the thick of battle,
weary and confused, not knowing what fate had in store for them, in
the hands of the enemy. Many had received severe wounds, others only
wounds severe enough that they could not function well enough to be
left unattended. The one thing they had in common was that most
would soon be ambulatory. Their quick removal to a hospital in
England must have been the need to get them across the channel and,
in case of escape, not having them return to duty.
While few of the prisoners spoke English and few of us spoke German,

it became apparent to us, quite quickly, that we had to teach each

other our languages. Out of this emerged a mixture of German and
English that, strung together in half sentences, allowed us to
communicate, if not fluently, at least well enough to function.
The one thing most of these men shared in common was their disdain of
Hitler and their nonparticipation in Nazi activities. Their
participation in the war was the result of the Draft and the now
familiar refrain, "I was only taking orders" defense. They uttered
it, we ignored it. There were exceptions, of course, and as time went
by, some really did turn out to be anti-Nazi.
Our treatment of the prisoners was strictly according to
international law, in spite of our dislike of these," Nazi Supermen."
They were not forced to work, had food comparable to that fed our own
soldiers, allowed religious activities and housing equal to that
provided American patients. Treatment of their medical needs was of
the highest order of the time. Doctors, nurses and enlisted personnel
gave their level best in caring for their patients. Needless to say,
we had no escape attempts.
There were, however two types of prisoners. Combat soldiers had, very
visably, marked on their shirts, PW. "Prisoners of War," Medical
personnel had on their shirts, the marking, PP ," Protective
Personnel."Their non-combat status, allowed them special status under
the firmly established rules of war, later to become known as the
"Geneva Convention."
German medical personnel, Officers and enlisted men, were given the
opportunity to work with us in caring for the patients. Our doctors
now had additional help with the assistance of the German doctors and
my men had, much needed, help in carrying out their duties.
Life soon settled down into a daily routine. Many of the patients,
now ambulatory, seemed quite satisfied with the conditions we
provided for them and presented no problems for us.
Among the patients there were a few who were complete fanatics,
usually young and thoroughly "brainwashed." One such ,was a twenty
year old infantryman who. over and over, professed his loyalty to
Hitler and the Nazi doctrine. He had been severely wounded and was
scheduled for an operation.
At his scheduled time we wheeled him into the operating room. It soon
became apparent that he would need a blood transfusion. Since all the
American personnel had records on their "dog tags" of their blood
type, and many Germans had lost theirs, time being of the essence, it
was decided that one of the "ward boys" would "volunteer" to donate
the needed blood.

At the conclusion of the operation. He was returned to the ward. I

stood by him until he recovered from the effects of the anesthesia.
It was then that I gave in to an impulse that possibly could be
construed as "torture," and in violation of the rules of war. In the
best German I could muster ,with my limited fluency, I informed him
that he was now a Jew. His immediate response was, "Nein, Nein, which
in English is a very emphatic, "NO. NO!" I managed to get across to
him that one of the American soldiers had given him blood and that
the soldier was Jewish, therefore, he now had Jewish blood. I am sure
his reaction to my fabrication did not lead to his swift recovery.
The fact that the young man who donated his blood was not Jewish and
my deliberate attempt to cause this, "Hitler Youth," anguish, I
consider to this day, a contribution to the war effort, and more
deserving of a commendation than a rebuke. naturally I received
neither, for having inflicted a severe sense of discomfort upon a
"patriotic warrior" of the German Reich.
Many of the Germans had acquired quite substantial amounts of French
money and this was not lost on us as to the good times we could have
if we were to obtain this currency and convert it to British Pounds.
The Germans seemed eager to part with this booty, which they had
cleverly concealed when captured, in exchange for American
cigarettes. Having plenty of cigarettes we soon had pocketfuls of
French money, and now the trick was to make the conversion to British
currency. The post office had been ordered to make known, sums of
money beyond the amount Uncle Sam so generously showered upon us,
being sent home. The army seemed always watchful for G.I.
indiscretions. Since sending the cash home was not our first
priority, that was not an option we had considered.. The second
hurdle was to get an American Officer to sign off on our transaction
when we were on leave.
As soon as passes became available, Joe Feld, a good drinking buddy,
and a fellow Michigander from Detroit, and I took leave and headed
for London. Our first stop, the Red Cross Club in Piccadilly Circus,
to freshen up, change our francs for pounds and prepare for a
memorable weekend.
In the lobby of the club we spotted a young Second Lieutenant, with
all the earmarks of a "Ninety Day Wonder," and convinced him to sign
off for us, making it possible to make our currency transaction.
With a generous amount of the royal cash in our pockets
find the finest hotel in London that would admit a pair
enlisted men. The need to be free from being surrounded
G.I.s, of lowly rank, was a passion that engrossed most
while on leave, and we were no exception.

we set off to
of lowly
by fellow
soldiers

Although my memory fails me as to the exact hotel we settled upon, I

do know that all the military guests, except us, wore marks of rank

upon their shoulders. The secret to acceptance here was, not rank
but, an adequate amount of the "King`s Sterling."
We were escorted to our room by an elderly "Bell Boy," who treated us
with all the respect given to any of the guests, and graciously
accepted his tip with a "Thank you." and a salute. Having, at one
time, in civilian life, held the same position as he, I could not but
marvel at the fact that I was on the receiving line of this timeless
little ritual.
Our room was, indeed, first class and more luxurious than I was
accustomed to. Joe, seemed much more blas and was not as impressed
as I was. After a call for room service and having a couple of
drinks, quickly brought to us by a room attendant, we decided that
after a shave, s**t and shower we would "Do the town."
This was rapidly accomplished and we were soon on the street.
After hailing a cab and getting aboard, Joe instructed the driver to
take us somewhere where good food and drink was available as well as
some "action." He then placed a five pound note on the seat beside
the driver, which was hastily retrieved and an assurance given that,
"He knew exactly the right place." That much British currency,
roughly translated into twenty American dollars, a very hefty sum at
that point of time. "Money Talks."
After
fence
place
found

a short drive the cab pulled up

which cordoned off a bombed out
to begin our carousing. The cab
and opened a makeshift door and

in front of a construction
site. This seemed an unlikely
driver, without hesitation,
bade us, "Enter.

Once inside, we entered an opening into a bombed out building and

found a party was in "full swing". A rather nice bar, given the
circumstances, was doing a hectic business. There was plenty of food
in sight and a small band was playing for the dancing couples on the
floor. Eyeing up the single girls, we knew immediately that "action"
was available. It was, and Joe and I got back to our hotel very late,
or early, depending on how one looks at the clock. Our weekend came
and went, as did our "easy money." One thing we did learn was that
the "Black Market" was alive and well and almost anything was
available.

Chapter Five
Back at our duties, our natural impulse for fun took over. To liven
up the evening we acquired from the lab a quantity of pure alcohol.
Having plenty of grape juice on hand, we mixed the two together to
give the grape juice, "added flavor". The result was a delicious
refresher which, after inducing the nurses to join us, and noting
their lustful expressions of delight, we dubbed the cocktail, "Purple
Passion." I shall not belabor this yarn further.
As the war on the continent heated up we received word that the
bombing over Germany and the victories on land were taking its toll
to the point that Hitler began the recruitment of the very young and
the old. It was then that we received contingents of prisoners that
consisted of boys, some not even in their teens, and men well into
the latter stages of middle age.
Among these older prisoners was a man, in his late fifties, elderly
to me, who was assigned to me for ward duty. He was a very mild man,
somewhat confused as to why he was in the army. I kept him busy with
light duties and, to the degree possible, we became friends.
One late afternoon I walked into the office and found him sitting at
a table, his head in his hands, bent over the table and sobbing. I
walked over to him, placed my hand on his shoulder and
inquired, ,"What`s the matter?"
He raised his head, tears running down his cheeks, and lifting a
photo from the table. replied in his broken English, "This is a
picture of my wife and sons, all killed in the bombing." This

incident and the sight of these old men and very young boys, caught
up in a war, not of their making, caused me to realize that the
tragedy of war strikes both sides with equal vengeance,
It was now late into 1944 and the 306th had been in the UK for over
two years. This was not lost on the mind of our Company Commander. At
a Company meeting with him he broached the idea of having a little
celebration commemorating our service. He informed us that he had
obtained a spot in Cheltenham where he would set up a bar and social
area where, when off duty, we could go and, with our fellow G.Is,
celebrate our anniversary. His, much appreciated gesture was met with
a sincere round of applause.
Having an afternoon free of duty, I decided to invite one of the MPs
to accompany me. When we arrived the house was full , the Company
Commander made a toast and congratulated us on a "Job, well done."
After a moment or two of, "He's a Jolly Good Fellow," we settled down
to consuming the free beer.
My companion and guest, an extremely large and imposing MP, had just
told me how lucky we were to have such a fine Officer in charge when
the Commander walked over to where we were sitting, handed me am MP
arm band, and said, "Corporal, put this on and if any guys come in,
not a part of our outfit, tell them this is a private party and tell
them to leave." I said, "Sir, I am not an MP." His response was,
"Soldier, you are now," and walked away with a grin on his face."
Faced with this unpleasant duty, I remarked to my companion, "Damn,
I`ll get killed if I try to throw any of those infantrymen out."
He laughed and said, "John, if they come in just walk over to them
and tell them to get out."
"To hell I will. You want to see me get
killed?" I replied.
He said, "You don`t get it, do you?" He went on, "Tell them to get
out and then stand between them and the door and if they give you any
crap, invite them out to settle the matter." I said, "You've got to
be nuts." At this my friend was suddenly consumed with laughter.
After recovering his composure he said, "When you invite them out,
I`ll go out the side door over there, don't worry, You`ll be
alright."
As if on cue, two guys wearing combat boots and infantry insignia on
their shirts, walked over to the bar, obtained mugs of beer and
seated themselves. For me, Armagaddon had arrived. "Undaunted and
fearless", I approached them and gave them the message that they were
not welcome since this was a private party. Completely ignoring the
MP badge on my arm, they answered with a " Screw you, you f******
medic." Having faith and confidence in my companion, with some
reservation, I invited them outside. My invitation was immediately
accepted.

I walked to the door, my legs a bit wobbly, followed by the two

combatants. My friend, at the same time, went out the side door. Once
on the street, all Hell broke loose. Out of nowhere, one of the G.I.s
got a fist squarely in the face and the other a kick in the pants and
both moved rapidly down the street. My friend returned to the side
door and entered. Still, a bit dazed, I returned to my place at the
table where, my buddy was already seated, gave a salute to the
startled Commander, and sat down. I am sure, to this day, that
Officer is still wondering how that skinny kid managed to evict two
combat soldiers with "Chips on their shoulders."
As one of my duties was to have the wards ready for Saturday morning
inspection, I made my rounds on Friday afternoon. On one particular
Friday, I was summoned to the bedside of a patient who spoke fluent
English. He informed me that a patient, and he named the bed number,
was not getting a full portion of food and was always complaining
that he was hungry. I, immediately confronted the patient and, he
informed me that, Hauptman, a POW, that that had been a medic in the
German navy, and whom I now had serving the food in this ward, was
refusing him a full portion of food. From the look of him, I didn`t
doubt his word.
I headed back to the office, found Hauptman, and confronted him with
the fact that a patient was being denied his full portion of food.
Hauptman made no attempt to conceal the fact that he gave this
patient only minimal portions. I asked him why he would do such a
thing and got an immediate response. "Unter' Officer, that man is a
Waffen S.S. soldier, Look at the insignia on his uniform." All S.S.
had a "Black Patch Waffen SS" insignia on their uniforms. He
continued, "You take care of the office, I take care of the "SS,"
spoken in surprisingly good English. Needless to say, I sympathized
with his motive, but explained that we had to treat all patients the
same.
Saturday morning inspection went off without any problem, the
soldier in question had been given the proper amount of food and made
no complaints. The inspecting Officer, having given us an OK,
immediately departed and we went back to business, as usual. I was
ready for some leave time and knew Joe would be in line with me for a
pass and a trip to London.
Usual procedure before going on leave was to be sure all duty was
covered in my absence. I finished arranging schedules for the on duty
enlisted personnel and returned to the wards to see that all was in
order. Having determined that everything was shipshape, I turned to
the Private, on duty, and was discussing special needs for certain
patients when a terrific explosion shook the building Both, the
Private and I were knocked off our feet and some patients had been

thrown out of their beds.

Our immediate concern, after picking ourselves up off the floor, was
to ascertain the condition of our patients and determine the damage
done to the building. As soon as it was determined that no injuries
were suffered by the patients and the building seemed intact, I went
outside to see if I could discover the cause of the explosion.
An ambulance had arrived and a bomb crew, off in the distance, was
surveying a place where a huge cloud of smoke had formed. After
informing the driver that everything was alright with us, and
clambering aboard, we headed out to the bomb site. What I saw made
"my hair stand up straight." What if that bomb has landed on the
hospital, was my first thought.
The crater seemed big enough to have swallowed a large building. The
bomb crew soon left the scene, after taking note of the situation I
reflected upon what I had just seen.. Could this have been one of
Hitler's V2 bombs Could this have been one of the last V2s. that
found its way to England? It has been said that the V2 was a failure
and hit more uninhabited places than occupied areas but, at that
moment, it seemed a deadly weapon to me.
Never deterred by last minute interruptions, Joe and I headed for
London on a two day pass which we spent in "cultural pursuits." One
interesting few moments occurred while we were on a short train ride
to a place just outside of London, highly recommended by a fellow
G.I. as a great place to indulge ourselves.
Seated directly across from us in the train was a small British
gentleman, British trains have these little compartments, so much
like those seen on stage coaches in Western movies. We exchanged
pleasantries, and in so doing, he asked me where I was from, "In the
"States." I told him, Kalamazoo, Michigan. His face broke into a
smile and he said, "Oh I know that part of the country well." He went
on, "several years ago, I was in Chicago, looking for a shop where I
could construct neon signs and not having any success."He continued,
"I was eating in a little Italian restaurant and got talking to the
waiter and telling him of my problem." He reached into his pocket,
withdrew a business card, scribbled his name on it, handed it to me,
and said, "Here, take this card to the hotel named on it, stand in
line on the stairs until you are ushered into the room at the top of
the stairs. Give the man at the door the card, and you'll be taken
care of. I did as he suggested the following day. When I was finally
ushered in I saw a long Board of Directors table, and there, at the
head of the table was, none other than, "Scar face" Al Capone. I
recognized him immediately, having seen his picture in the newspaper.
I tell you, my knees were buckling and I was one scared little
Englishman." He went on to say that he was "taken care of," but it
was an experience he would never forget.

On another occasion, on one of those train rides out of London I

experienced a very enlightening moment while talking to a civilian.
The man sitting across from me struck up a conversation with me and
remarked, "I certainly admire the spirit of you `Yanks." He went on
to say, " I was taking this same train and a "Yank" was sitting
across from me and I inquired as to his destination. The train was
just beginning to move and I inquired as to his destination. He told
me and I told him he was on the wrong train, going in the opposite
direction. Without further ado, he simply grabbed the leather strap,
dropped down the window, jumped out onto the platform and
disappeared. That`s the kind of immediate action that will win this
damned war, Thank God, you are on our side."
On December 16, 1944, we received word that the Germans had mounted a
huge offensive, had broken through and created an extensive bulge in
the Allied lines. This was Hitler`s last desperate attempt to change
the course of the war and became known as the "Battle of the Bulge."
Although fighting was fierce, it was to no avail, and the end of the
war was now in sight, although peace would not come until May of
1945.
The New Year arrived and while we managed to celebrate in the local
pub it was a time when one felt very homesick, wondering if this
damned war would ever end, an emotion one felt every night when the
bugle sounded, Taps., signaling, "Lights Out."
The year 1945 seemed much like every other year, the same old
routine, the same "bitching" in the barracks and the same old duties
in the wards looking after the needs of the wounded enemy.
Spring had arrived and with the coming of April, we were on one of
our `voluntary' long hikes to condition ourselves before settling
down to the business of the day. It was a chilly day in April and we
were just approaching camp when a Sergeant came running over to us
shouting, "Have you guys heard the news?" Before we could respond, he
shouted, "The President just passed away." There was a moment of
complete silence among the group. As the portent of this shocking
news settled upon us, we all fell silent and tears arose in the eyes
of all six of us. We were the young men who grew from children to
adults, never having known another President, and one so dearly loved
by all of us. He was the leader who took us through the "Great
Depression" and led us in time of war. "He was always the "Master of
his Realm", and will always be remembered as the "Captain at the
Helm." April 12, 1945, "Now he belongs to the ages," to borrow a
phrase from Secretary of War, Stanton, upon the death of Abraham
Lincoln during the Civil War.
What had seemed just the beginning of a new year, suddenly turned
into a year filled with surprises. We knew that the Allies had agreed

to demand "Unconditional Surrender." We also knew that Hitler had

committed suicide and that this meant sure victory for the Allies. In
spite of all this, we were taken aback, when on May 5, 1945 the
surrender of Germany brought an end to the war in Europe. On May 8,
the surrender was signed. It was VE Day! The guns were silenced and
a war torn continent was, once again, at peace. The "Captain at the
Helm," had not lived to see us "Gain the summit of the hill."
Celebrations broke out throughout the United Kingdom and this meant
passes were being issued very liberally and it made it possible for
us to join in the celebration. Needless to say, Joe Feld and I were
now ready for a trip to London. London was in a high state of
euphoria when we arrived. People, everywhere, were still celebrating,
days after the war ended, and American G.I, s were treated as
heroes. Joe and I basked in the glory of it all, even though we had
not fired a single shot in anger throughout the war.
Chapter Six
After returning from leave I was making my rounds in the wards when
my Sergeant approached me and said, "John, looks like you have a new
assignment." I replied, "The Hell I do, I haven't done anything
wrong." He laughed and said, "No, its not punishment, you are going
on detached service to Belfast, N. Ireland with a Private to set up a
prophylactic station, you lucky dog." He continued, "That's a dammed
nice duty assignment."
May 8, 1945, I arrived in Belfast with Bill, my assistant, moved
into our new quarters and for the next couple of days made the place
"ship-shape." My station was set up in a storefront not far from the
center of town. It consisted of quarters for two and a facility to
service the soldiers before their return to camp. This was my station
and I was in complete charge, far from the commands of demanding
Sergeants. My subordinate was a young Private who hailed from the
Appalachians, a"Hillbilly," if you will. To my delight he even stood
in awe of a lowly Corporal. Needless to say, we got on very well.
Belfast is the largest city in Northern Ireland. N. Ireland is a part
of the United Kingdom and was fully involved in the war. It was here
that the Titanic was built in the shipyards of Harland and Wolfe. For
many decades many of the great ships of historical importance were
built there. Belfast also has a long history related to the linen
trade and it was known all over the world for its fine linen
products. Then, during the war Belfast had another claim to fame,
along with other cities in the United Kingdom, and that was its
surplus of "Yanks." The term, "Yanks," was a token of friendship
except when it was used by the mothers of eligible girls in the
community. In spite of this bit of "bigotry" the young maidens

seemed to find the "Yanks" good company and the dance halls were
constantly creating many "social relationships."
There were still enough "Yanks" to go around even though the war in
Europe was over. There was an Air Force base called, Langford Lodge
just outside the city and the troops were busy dismantling the base
and removing equipment while awaiting orders for their next
assignment. With the war still raging in the South Pacific, there was
little doubt as to where that would be. Needless to say, I was
wondering about the destination for the 306th, but for now, at least,
I was safely tucked away in Belfast. I did know, however, that since
we had not been in combat, the South Pacific might be our next
location and a combat area there.
My assistant was not eager to wend his way through the large city,
preferring to stay at our station, in the evening writing letters to
his girlfriend and parents. This made it possible for me to have the
evenings to myself. During the day there was little to do and it was
then I became acquainted with civilians on the street outside the
facility. One elderly lady and I had several interesting chats. On
one occasion, she told me she was a seamstress and invited me over in
the next street to see her shop. Not wanting to seem uninterested, I
walked with her to the shop. She was very proud of it and showed me
all her creations. We chatted for a few minutes and then she said,
"Would you be staying for Tea?" With that, she pulled aside a curtain
and there in the next room was a neat little restaurant. Her
smuggling connections in the Irish Free State, which was neutral in
the war, provided her with all the food and drink she needed to run
this fine little lunch room at this time of severe food rationing in
the United Kingdom. I could not know it at the time but this tiny
sliver of the "Black Market," would mark a turning point in my life.
Having heard of a dance hall, not ordinarily frequented by Americans
I decided to give it a try. Hoping to find some feminine
companionship, I sauntered into the club, approached the bar, ordered
a drink, and surveyed the scene for a possible conquest. There,
sitting at a nearby table with a young British Naval Officer, was the
loveliest Colleen I had ever laid eyes upon. Much as I wanted to ask
her for a dance, I couldn`t chance a rejection with that "Limey"
seated at the table with her. I bided my time and after a few short
minutes her date excused himself and left the table. Siezing the
moment, I strode over to her and asked her for a dance. Surprisingly,
she accepted my invitation and for several wonderful minutes I held
her in my arms as we danced to the romantic music the band was
playing. The dance, having ended, I escorted her back to her table.
The young Officer had returned and as we approached, the damned
"Limey," in his phony, uppercrust accent, said, "I presume, Peggy, my
dancing is too old fashioned for you." With that, he stood up and
strode off. Now, I knew her name, had vanquished her boyfriend and
had her to myself. This didn`t seem to bother Peggy, who seemed

almost glad to see him leave. I sat down with her, took her hand in
mine, and from that moment on, I was in love.
I wanted very much to escort her home but she made it quite clear
that her mother would not welcome me and it would cause her more
trouble than she was willing to bear. Before seeing her to the bus we
agreed to see one another the following evening. I was in "Seventh
Heaven," and felt, very much, like the character Gene Kelly played in
that wonderful dance sequence in the movie Singing in the Rain. It
seemed that all these events were taking place as though following a
movie scenario. I had been in Ireland for such a short period of time
and, here I was, already in love.
We met the following evening, and by the end of two weeks of ,every
night dating, had become a "Couple." We both realized that our
affair was more than just a "Passing Fancy." None of this would have
been possible without the collusion of Peggy`s sister, Betty, who was
always ready with an excuse for Peggy`s late nights.
It soon became quite clear to both of us that we were in love to the
point that we wanted to spend the rest of our lives together,
although I had not yet, "Popped the Question." The difficulties to
overcome seemed too overwhelming. Peggy was from an Irish Catholic
family. I was a Protestant, with ties to the Dutch Reformed Church,
the church of the most hated, King William of Orange, and, to top it
off, I was a "Damned Yankee" and a soldier from a far off country.
Then, and even today, in Belfast, Catholics do not marry Protestants
and, most certainly, not Protestants with ties to the Dutch Reformed
Church. Secondly, and even more disqualifying, was the fact that her
parents would be losing a beloved daughter and sending her abroad,
maybe, never to return. All this we knew, but two people in love are
blinded by their emotions to the extent that they are insensitive to
the feelings of others affected by their union.
One late Friday afternoon, after a stroll through the shops and a
light dinner in one of the many little curbside eateries that dot the
downtown streets of Belfast, we walked up the steps of the City Hall,
found a seat close to the great columns that grace that stately
building and sat down to chat. It was early evening, a light rain had
fallen during the day but the evening, was quite pleasant.
I told Peggy of my love for her but emphasized that if I could not
meet her parents it would be better to call the whole thing off
before we both got hurt in the process. She said nothing for a
minute, and then, with tears in her eyes, said, "OK, John, let`s go
home, right now."
Dusk had fallen, with a bit of chill in the air, as we walked up

Rockville Street and entered number 31, one of the little brownstone
houses that line the streets of Belfast. The tiny living room was
warm and cozy, heated by a neat little fireplace that threw long,
flickering shadows on the papered walls. A piano, sofa and chair
graced the room . All these homey images gave me a feeling of warmth
and security I had not experienced for a very long time.
No one being home, Peggy busied herself with making a pot of hot tea
and then went to the piano and played an old Irish tune. As I sat and
basked in the beauty of the scene, I kept thinking how much I would
love to spend the rest of my life with this lovely Irish girl.
The peace and tranquility of this heavenly moment was shattered as
Peggy`s mother arrived on the scene. Mrs. McKenny, although not a
large lady, to my eyes presented a very imposing figure. Peggy
introduced her mother to me. Mrs. McKenny, very graciously, shook my
hand, and then, with a pleasant smile, uttered the words, so often
spoken to young men in my position, "So, you are the young man who
has been keeping my daughter out to all hours of the night." My
response was, " Yes, Mrs. McKenny, I must plead guilty to that."
The evening was continuing splendidly with Peggy`s mother querying me
about all things Catholic. I was responding with many things I had
read about the Church and throwing in the names of a few Catholic
clerics. Fortunately, I had read so much history that included the
Church that I felt I was coming off quite well. Never once, did Mrs.
McKenny ask me if I was a Catholic, although Peggy told me later that
her mother concluded that I was a "Fallen away" Catholic.
The evening was getting late and then Peggy`s mother issued the
"Coup de Grace,"
"I know you boys always enjoy some home cooked food. Would you like
something with your tea?"
I answered, "Certainly Mrs. McKenny, I`d
like that very much, thank you." Then she said, "Well now, I have
some lovely fish and some delicious chicken, which would you prefer?"
It was then, I made my first mistake. I chose chicken, completely
forgetting it was Friday. I was served a delicious plate of roast
chicken , completely oblivious of the error I had just made.
Not all was lost, for I was invited back and spent all my evenings
there getting to know Peggy`s mother, father, sister and brother.
Peggy`s father was a quiet little man who worked for a local bakery.
He was very easy to talk to and we became friends very quickly,
spending some time at the local pub getting better acquainted. He was
a very broad minded man, certainly not a part of the religious
bigotry that consumed so much of Northern Ireland, and best of all,
not prejudiced toward American soldiers. I came to know her sister,
Betty, a lovely young lady, with a great sense of humor, and Peggy`s
ally in whatever Peggy wanted to do. Her brother, Seamus was the
typical teenager, unconcerned with his sister`s problems and more

concerned about my supply of "Yankee goodies." Mrs. McKenny and I

soon became good friends and my frequent visits with her during the
day, while Peggy was at work, sharing many laughs together, cemented
my relationship with the McKenny family.
Though I did spend many daytime hours away from my station, I did
cover for my assistant on those occasions he wanted to go to town. As
far as night time activities were concerned, he preferred to spend
his time reading or writing letters home.
As was to be expected, soldiers being at their base during the day,
we had few guys showing up at the pro station during daylight hours.
However there was an occasional G. I remember one such instance
because it had such a sad ring to it. A young man came into the
station and asked me if he could use the facility to shower and
shave. He said he was being married in a few hours and wanted to get
ready for the wedding. Upon receiving an affirmative answer, he
proceeded with his grooming and left, looking in great shape for his
plunge into matrimony.
Several hours later a lady and her daughter arrived and asked if I
had seen a soldier fitting the description she gave of him. I knew
immediately it was the G.I. I had seen earlier and confirmed that he
had been here.. I knew something was amiss by the sad look on the
girl`s face. Her mother then blurted out, "I knew this would happen.
That damned "Yank" never showed up for the wedding, damn his soul."
It was the end of June, 1945 and my whole venture almost came
crashing down. I received a visit from a Captain and a Lieutenant to
make an inspection of the facility. I wanted to get the inspection
behind me because I felt I wouldn't have another inspection until
around the end of July, 1945.
After a quick "walk through," the Captain said, " Nice job, Corporal,
everything seems in order." I then invited them into my quarters for
a drink, which they readily accepted. The Lieutenant glanced at a
portrait of Peggy I had placed near my bed and said, "Pretty girl,
your girlfriend or your wife, back home?" I replied, rather naively,
"No Sir, "That's a young lady I met here in Belfast and hope to marry
before I go home. Oops! Bad mistake! I well knew of the Army`s
disapproval of soldiers marrying girls they met while stationed
overseas, The Captain smiled and said, "She is a beautiful girl. I
can readily understand why you would like to take her home with you,
Corporal, but probably, not a good idea. Maybe its time we got you
back to your outfit." That remark hit me like a lightening bolt. I
could not imagine being separated from "The love of my life," and
being put in a position where marriage would be impossible. I felt
trapped, and no way out. Then, suddenly, I remembered a bit of wisdom
Captain Hummer had given me. He had said, "Never ask for anything
without being prepared to give something in return, "or, "Quid Pro
Quo."

Regaining my composure and having hit on an idea, I replied to the

superior Officer, "Captain, that's for you to decide, Sir." I
followed that with, "Sir, its almost lunch time, would you and the
Lieutenant like to join me for a nice meal of steak and eggs?" The
Lieutenant spoke up and said, "Where in the name of Hell can you get
a meal like that with all this damned rationing?" Realizing that I
was on to something, I replied, " If you gentlemen will follow me,
I`ll be glad to show you." With that, we all got up, walked to the
door and started up the street.
When we arrived at the dress shop of my old friend, the seamstress. I
beckoned them in. I noticed a look of puzzlement on the faces of the
two Officers as I approached the lady at the counter. After a moment,
I introduced the Officers, and she escorted us to the magic curtain,
pulled it back and ,Voila, we were in "Food Heaven."
The steaks were done to perfection, the eggs, a perfect complement,
to the steaks, "over easy", and presented beautifully on fine china
plates. The "piece de resistance' was a tasty peach cobbler topped
with whipped cream. This, and steaming cups of hot coffee brought
smiles of satisfaction to the faces of the two Officers. It was then,
I made my move. Addressing the Captain, I said "Sir, I would really
appreciate it if you could have my assignment here extended." The
Captain, with a broad, knowing smile, replied, "Well, Corporal, I
suppose a little more time Could be arranged, maybe another month.
Plan on being back at your outfit in England on July 30."=== "Quid
Pro Quo."

Chapter
7
Realizing how transient
up my mind to, "Bite the
One evening Peggy and I
beautiful, scenic Antrim

my stay in Belfast was

Bullet," and ask Peggy
were invited to take a
Road with a couple she

going to be, I made

to marry me.
drive along the
knew who owned a car.

This was a special treat because, at that time, few people in the
U.K. owned cars. The car was a cute little roadster with seats for
four, two of them in a cozy little rumble seat, perfect for two
people in love. After a short drive, the car was pulled over and
parked. It was a beautiful, starlit night, a warm breeze coming in
from the ocean, the sound of waves lapping the shore and a gorgeous
moon overhead. A film director could not have set up a better scene
for a romantic moment in the film he was directing.
I held Peggy in my arms, kissed her luscious lips and then uttered
the following clumsy proposal, "Peggy, "Would you consider becoming
my wife?" Of all the opportunities to use romantic phrases, this was
one, but I was so tongue-tied I was lucky to get this much across and
on top of all this, I didn`t even have an engagement ring ready..
After a short pause, Peggy, with tears in her eyes, said, "Yes, John,
but you know, its going to be difficult to manage. My mum and dad
will be awfully hard to convince" This was followed by a lingering
kiss which I will always remember unto the end of my days.
Now that we were engaged, I said to Peggy, "Sweetheart, I know this
is going to be difficult for your parents but I think we can convince
them that they should give us their blessing. Now we have to find a
good time to tell them of our intentions." To this she replied, "I
know, but lets wait for the proper time. This is not going to be
easy."
For several days we said nothing to anyone about our engagement. We
knew we had to find the proper moment to broach the subject to
Peggy`s parents. Our procrastination finally came to an end, forced
upon us by a call I received from my unit, informing me that my stay
in Belfast was to end on July 30,1945 and to close down my facility
and return to the 306.th It was now July 2, 1945 and having, roughly,
only four weeks left in Belfast, we had to end our procrastination
and , "Face the Music" with Peggy`s parents.
Our opportunity to have a quiet evening with Peggy`s parents came
shortly thereafter. Peggy`s sister, was out on a date, , her brother,
was busy elsewhere, and Mr. and Mrs. McKenny were having a quiet
evening at home. Peggy and I had been in town and decided this was
the perfect time to break the news of our engagement.
Peggy was at the piano accompanying her father as he played a lively
jig on his fiddle. Having laid down the violin and returned to his
place on the sofa next to Mrs. McKenny, he said, "Peggy, did you have
something to tell us?" He continued, "You certainly didn`t have your
mind on the music," Peggy hesitated and seemed at a loss for words.
Sensing it was my turn to say something, I began, "Yes, we do have
something to tell you, Peggy and I are engaged to be married, and
now, all we need, is your blessing." There was a moment of silence,
which, to Peggy and I, seemed an eternity, and then her mother spoke

up. She said, "Seeing how the two of you get on, a person would have
to be blind not to see that this was coming, even if you have only
known each other for such a short time." Peggy`s father seemed
content to let Peggy`s mother continue the dialogue. She said, " Now,
John, you know Peggy is very young and this is a serious move the two
of you are thinking about. John, you are a long way from home and
sometimes it is easy to forget someone you care for back there." She
went on, "There is also the need for you to get settled, have a job
and ready to begin a family." Peggy`s father then spoke up. "I think
what "Minnie" is trying to say is that marriage, while you are still
in the army, is not possible." "Minnie" was the name everyone used
for Mrs. McKenny. After a short pause. Minnie began, "John, you are a
nice boy and I know Peggy really cares for you but she is also our
daughter and we want her to be happy. You told me that you must
return to England soon and the war is not yet over for you. We think
that it would be best for you to wait until you are out of the army,
have a job and no one back there you may have forgotten, and then, if
you and Peggy still feel the same about marriage, we will consider
it." Without waiting for my response, Minnie said, "Now, I think we
should have some tea." Knowing Mrs. McKenny, I knew the last word had
been given and we simply accepted her dictum.
After a nice cup of hot tea and a delicious Irish scone, liberally
covered with jam, I realized it was getting late and, with our
mission accomplished, I arose and prepared to say good night. I shook
hands with her dad, gave Peggy a goodnight kiss, turned to Minnie and
said, "Mrs. McKenny, After I do get home, you will be hearing from
me. I am a very stubborn Dutchman, you know."
During the following days Peggy and I spent every moment together we
could. The only shadow hanging over our romance was that I would
soon be returning to England. We had long conversations about the
life we would live in America. Peggy asked me countless questions
about how Americans lived. We were in a constant state of euphoria
over the idea of being married and starting a family. I knew I had
found the right mate for a happily married life. I had met Peggy only
a little more than two months ago but, in my heart, I knew I had met
the girl God had chosen for me.
On the evening of July 29, the day before I had to return to my
outfit, we spent our last hours together at Peggy`s home with her
parents. That night, when I departed, our hearts were heavy at the
thought of my leaving but we both pledged our troth to each other and
agreed to write every day until we were reunited in America.
On the morning of July 30, 1945, Bill, my assistant, and I boarded a
cross channel ferry and left Belfast behind. I had asked Peggy not to
be there, not wanting to have an emotional good bye. Arriving in
England, we boarded a train and soon were back at the old 306th.

When we arrived back in camp excitement was running high. Everyone

had been "sweating" the news about the action in the Pacific, and
rumors had been circulating that the 306th was scheduled for
deployment . The news coming out of the Theater of Operations in the
Pacific was on every ones minds but, as a result of so many
disappointments in the past, not always believed. Absolutely no one
is as skeptical of news reports as a G.I. in a time of war.
By the middle of July, 1945, most of the important battles in the
South Pacific had been won. In spite of this the Japanese still
carried on, refusing to accept the inevitable, with the loss of
thousands of military and civilian lives. Thousands of tons of bombs
were raining down all over Japan.
During the rest of July the newspapers carried stories of the
impossible resistance of the Japanese. By July 30 the naval forces of
Japan had been almost completely wiped out. Despite all these signs
of defeat the Japanese continued to boast that they were capable of
repelling any enemy attack against the homeland. This air of bravado
continued, even after having experienced, what has been called, "the
greatest air raid in history," having just had six thousand, six
hundred thirty two tons of bombs dropped on their oil refineries and
cities.
By August 3, it was obvious that Japan was doomed but the American
bombers continued to blast their railroads and warn them that the
end was near. They still continued to resist. Even after August 5,
when a dozen cities were added to the "surrender or die" list they
stubbornly clung to the idea that they could recover and continue the
fight.
Listening intently to the radio, we heard the news but still felt
that deployment to the South Pacific was in the offing. It was on the
6th of August when we received news that President Truman had
unleashed a bomb, two thousand times more destructive than a
blockbuster, which had been detonated over Hiroshima.
This announcement got our attention. We were glued to the radio but
censorship was in place. Bombing by the Flying Fortresses continued.
No word from Japan in reply to an ultimatum that had been given for
them to surrender was made. While no news of the destruction caused
by the bomb was being released we sensed that it must have been
horrendous. Then, on August 9 word came through that a second bomb
had been detonated over the city of Nagasaki.
We, along with the rest of the world, awaited word of the Japanese
surrender. Then the word came through that the Japanese were willing
to surrender as long as the Emperor was safeguarded, but no offer of
capitulation. The Allies then offered to leave the fate of the
Emperor up to the direction of the Allied nations. The Japanese
continued to delay and the killing continued. The Japanese were given

a warning that renewed atomic bombing was possible if Japan continued

to delay surrendering.
Finally on August 14 word was received that the Japanese had
surrendered but no official proof was given. Having received no
official word the Americans continued to shell and bomb Japan.
At long last, we all heaved a sigh of relief as word came through
that in Bern, Switzerland on the 14th that the Japanese minister had
delivered a note to the Foreign Office from Tokyo . This was quickly
followed by a radio report from Washington. "Tokyo radio said today
that Allied terms for Japan's surrender had been accepted by Emperor
Hirohito." More than twelve hours later no official confirmation was
given and the fighting in the Pacific continued.
On August 15, 1945, the one word the world had been wanting to hear.
"PEACE," appeared in newspapers all over the world. In no matter what
language the word appeared, the families of loved ones gave thanks to
their God for the end to this brutal war. The world was now at peace
and the tyranny of the brutal dictators in Italy, Germany and Japan
had come to an end, thanks to the sacrifices made by the soldiers of
the Allied nations and their loved ones at home.
On September 2, 1945, Gen. Douglas MacArthur, delegates of the Allied
powers and the Japanese delegates met on the deck of the battleship
USS Missouri in Tokyo Bay and formally signed the document accepting
the terms of surrender by the Japanese. The world was, once again, at
peace and the blessings of freedom and democracy had been secured for
the nations dedicated to those principles.
Each of us, in our own way, responded to this news with thoughts of
what the future would bring. My mind immediately returned to
thoughts of my Peggy, and how soon we would be reunited. We had been
corresponding every day and now my letter, this day, would be filled
with joy and optimistic words about our being together and the life
we would be living in America.
For those of us in Britain the scenario now became a waiting game.
Individuals would be going home based on a point system. Length of
time served, the type of action the soldier was involved in and the
decorations he had received, would be taken under consideration in
giving points. Since the members of our outfit had served for about
the same amount of time. had collected no medals for valor in combat,
and our service had been a "Walk in the Park" compared to the ones
who had suffered the horrors of combat, we were in for the "Long
Haul."

Chapter 8
It was now the beginning of October, 1945 and repatriation had not
yet taken place for the POWs in the hospital, although, by this
time, almost all were ambulatory and able to work thus relieving us
of many duties.. Our work in the hospital continued as usual but on a
much more relaxed basis. We were in a "holding pattern" and really
only biding time until we could be go back to the United States for
demobilization.
Somewhere along the line of command an idea emerged to keep the
anxious troops happy. The army set up a number of tours to which the
troops could sign up for and, for all practicality, make us
"tourists." This attention to our concerns was enthusiastically
accepted, especially when a trip to a brewery was scheduled.
On the Company bulletin board was the following notice, "SIGN UP FOR
A VISIT TO THE STROUD BREWERY. The bus will leave at 0900 hours
tomorrow."
Needless to say there was no problem in getting a busload. Joe and I
were at the assigned location to meet the bus at exactly 0900 hours.

It seems promptness was not an issue when all that free beer was in
the offing.
At exactly 0900 hours we were seated on the bus for the ride to
Stroud. .The ride was of short duration and we were greeted by a tour
guide, who, by the look on his face, did not relish guiding this
group of. "Bloody Yanks,"
He gave us the usual speech as he guided us through the brewery,
although we made it difficult for him with our crude remarks and lack
of attention. Finally we arrived in the cellar, surrounded by huge
vats of beer and were invited to sample the wares. This got our
immediate attention and we showed our affection for Stroud beer by
consuming all that the attendant provided.
The tour over, we boarded our bus and pulled out for home, with waves
of goodbye from the employees, The, now somewhat inebriated
"tourists," showed their gratitude by blowing up condoms, tying them
off into neat little balloons and tossing them out the windows. Is
this where the term, "Ugly American," first surfaced? Was this our
contribution to millions of tourists who were to visit England after
the war? On the other hand, would this not be viewed as merely the
exuberant joy of a lot of war weary G.I.s anxious to return home to
families and friends?
There were several other trips that caught my attention and turned
out to be experiences to be remembered. One of the most treasured of
these was a trip that was posted as, "A TRIP TO A STATELY BRITISH
MANSION." Needless to say, this particular tour was not as popular as
the brewery trip but I and five other guys signed up for it, hoping
to see how the "Other Half" lived in this "Class ridden" society and,
just maybe, a chance to view a place connected with the history of
England. There was agreement that I would speak on their behalf when
we arrived at our destination.
At the appointed time we boarded a small van and headed down the
road. The colors of autumn, the trees splendid with their bouquet of
red and yellow leaves, brought home to me mental pictures of Michigan
and, for just a moment, engulfed me in pangs of homesickness, an
emotion, I`m sure, was felt by my companions. The ride took only a
little over an hour. It always amazed us at how short distances
between places in Britain were. Americans never could get over the
small size of this island country.
Finally, looming ahead of us was a huge, sprawling mansion The
massive, graveled covered area in front of the entrance provided
ample room for a large number of vehicles. I had a feeling of having
been here before, probably the result of having seen scenes such as
this in the movies. It was a truly impressive sight.
The driver, a young English girl, who had remained silent all during

the trip, completely ignoring our ribald remarks, turned to us and

said, "Here you are genlemen, Blenheim Palace, ancestral home of
Prime Minister Winston Churchill, enjoy yourselves."
Here we were, a group of awe struck Yanks, who had never seen such a
glamorous residence. As grandiose as was the palace, and grandiose it
certainly was, the sheer size of this magnificent home simply
overwhelmed us and, for just a moment, I was so taken aback that I
could not find the entrance. Then I realized that the huge door that
I was facing must be what I was looking for.. Hesitently, we
approached,, but before I could reach the front door, a lovely young
lady opened it, or had it opened for her, its size seemed too huge to
be opened by such a gentle young lady, and greeted us as though she
were awaiting our arrival. Her greeting was, "You must be our
American guests." I replied, "Yes Mam, My name is John," and then
introduced my companions. She, in turn, introduced herself, but
memory does not allow me to recall her name. I do remember, very
clearly, that her name was preceded by the title, "Lady." She bade us
, enter and her easy banter made us feel right at home. To tell the
truth, we were overwhelmed at the granduer of the entrance and we
must have seemed to her, a group of yokels, as we stood in awe of the
sheer size of the place and the gorgeous oil paintings, of long gone
ancestors, that graced the walls of this magnificent entrance.
In a very informal manner the young lady steered us into the study, a
beautifully appointed room, furnished with some of the finest leather
seating that any of us had ever encountered. We, no longer were
seated, than a butler approached us, said, "Gentlemen, what can I
bring you." After ordering our drinks, and the lady ordering hers,
the butler retreated and the usual remarks about the beauty of the
home were uttered by each of us. The lady was giving us a history of
the palace when suddenly a middle aged lady and gentleman appeared on
the scene.
We were introduced, but again, my memory fails in recalling their
names. I do remember the gracious manner in which they joined in the
conversation. I, for one, was amazed at how easily we were accepted
and treated as though we were important guests. In the meantime, the
butler arrived and served our drinks, much more elegantly than the
way we were accustomed to being served. The gentleman went on to
describe the estate. He said, "I`m sure you men would like to know a
little about the historical place you are visiting." He went on to
say that the mansion was located on twenty one hundred acres and the
house was built in the eighteenth century and the gardens were added
in the nineteenth century. He said, "the palace was designed by
Vanbrugh, a noted architect of that period and was the nation`s
reward to the First Duke of Marlborough for his victories over Louis
1V. The gardens were designed by Henry Wise, in an Anglo-Dutch
Barouqe manner." He went on to say that we would appreciate the skill
of the people of that period when we took a tour of the grounds.

It was now approaching noon, and as interesting as the conversation

had been, we began to feel the need for sustenance. As if our wish
had been heard, the butler arrived and said, "Tea is being served."
All six of us knew that meant food, even if we didn`t understand
"Dutch Baroque."
We were seated at a long table in a magnificent dining area
overlooking a finely manicured garden resplendent with the hues of
autumn.. "High Tea", is usually served between three and five in the
afternoon but from the look of the spread on the table they must have
made an exception, knowing they were feeding a group of hungry G.I.s.
For a group of guys who thought meat and potatoes was a feast, this
menu overwhelmed our imaginations.
The main entre consisted of smoked salmon with cream cheese. Also
gracing the table was egg, mayonnaise, sliced cucumber, and if one
was partial to meat, Wilshire ham and mustard. Thinly cut slices of
bread and scones were placed before us with homemade jam and all of
this to be followed by our choice of several scrumptious looking
desserts. Oh, there was tea, of course, but coffee was available and
this was to be followed by champagne. Knowing how severe rationing
was, these wonderful, hospitable people must have strained their
ration coupons to the limit to make all this possible. Oh, to have a
mess sergeant, with such a creative mind and generous spirit.
Having demonstrated our liking of this delicious meal, by our over
enthusiastic consumption of its contents, we were invited to tour the
gardens by our lovely hostess. As I remember, a pram, or baby
carriage, was produced, occupied by a delightful baby whose gender I
cannot recall. Our hostess, now guiding the pram, was giving us a
delightful account of the history of the gardens. At this point I
offered my services as driver of the carriage. The offer was readily
accepted and I found myself responsible for the safe transportation
of a, very young, British aristocrat. The tour continued and even a
group of uncultured Yanks could not help but express admiration for
the artistry in creating such beauty. Suddenly, a young RAF Officer
appeared on the scene. After a perfunctory hug and a peck on the
cheek of, his wife, our hostess, he introduced himself and bade us
welcome. Turning to me, guiding the pram, he said, "Do you know who
you are caring for in the pram." I replied, "No Sir, we haven't been
introduced, as yet." He smiled and rattled off a rather long series
of names, strung together by centuries of aristocratic familial ties.
As I recall, he did mention the child`s relationship with P.M.
Winston Churchill, but by this time. I was only able to grasp enough
of our conversation to know that I was, indeed, personally
experiencing a bit of English history.
To describe the beauty, creativity and attention to detail displayed
in those gardens would require another book and descriptive powers
beyond my meager talents. Suffice to say, that all members of the

American group took away great admiration for the social and
botanical skills of our English cousins and their ability to bring an
air of formality to the wonders of nature and social etiquette. The
less formal approach to the physical world, by we Americans, stood in
stark contrast and underscored how time had created a people much
different than our forbearers. Different we had become, since those
Colonial days, but never having lost the values and basic principals
we shared as a people.

Chapter Nine
October now turned to November, with cool, chilly days, signaling
the beginning of winter, The repatriation of German prisoners was now
taking place. Daily, our patients, mostly ambulatory, were leaving
the hospital behind and returning to occupied Germany.
Then, one grand day in December we received word that our unit was
scheduled for deployment. We were going home! Oh Dear God, the day we
had long wished for had now become reality. The order to be ready to
pack our belongings and prepare to leave was the most precious order
we had ever received. My letters to Peggy now were full of the utter
elation I felt at the thought of our being united and sharing our
lives together as lovers and man and wife.
Christmas 1945, was a much more festive affair than previous
Christmas` and the dinner of turkey and all the fixings, prepared for
us by the kitchen crew, seemed much more tasty, given the fact that
we soon would be on a troopship headed for home. The high level of
morale was evident as we all envisioned being in our own home towns
with those we loved. I, could not contain my feelings of happiness at
the thought of being in a position to send for my Peggy and having
her with me in Kalamazoo to begin our life together.
A happier New Year was never more welcomed than the year 1946. We
celebrated, not only the new year, but the knowledge that we would
soon be back in the "Good Old United States." You can well believe,
that we were on our best behavior, not wanting any complications to
mar our departure for home.

Then, on or about January 7, 1946, the order came. "Pack your gear,
climb aboard the awaiting trucks for the trip to Southhampton to meet
the troopship that will carry you home." Not a single soul in our
outfit had any misgivings about carrying out that order.
The trip to Southhampton was more like a holiday event than the
movement of army troops. The singing of the soldiers had a very
upbeat quality about them and the joy of being on the way home was
evident in the spirit of the men as they relished the thought of
going back to wives and sweethearts. My mind was entirely focused on
getting home and sending for my Peggy.
Having arrived in Southhampton and on the dock awaiting our
embarcation orders, we were assembled in military order. Officers
were in their own assemblage, and all of us, enlisted and Officer
rank, in a highly festive mood. We were ready to board the giant
aircraft carrier, the USS Lake Champlain.
Once on board, all units, mostly infantry, were given assigned areas
and each told where to place their gear. Shortly thereafter, a
Sergeant called us to attention to receive an order from the Captain
of the ship.
In a voice, almost identical to that of Franklin Roosevelt, the
Captain addressed us over the public address system. As I recall, he
said, "Now hear this. This is the Captain speaking. My name is
Captain Logan Ramsey. I want to welcome you on behalf of myself and
the crew of the Lake Champlain. This ship is part of Operation, Magic
Carpet. I would, personally, like to take this opportunity to to
thank you for your service. You have done a wonderful job in bringing
this war to a successful conclusion. From this moment on, you are our
guests. We ask only that you keep your area in a neat condition.
There will be no reason to make up your bunks in the morning. This,
and all other housekeeping duties will be performed by the crew. You
will find question boxes at various places around the ship. If you
have questions or queries for me, feel free to place them in the box.
I will try to answer you in my nightly address to you. Additionally,
I have given orders that snacks be placed at various points around
the ship, in case you feel hungry between meals. The United States
Navy and this ship in particular, as a part of Operation, Magic
Carpet, will do everything we can to provide for your comfort on your
trip home. I thank you again. for your dedicated service, You will
soon be home with your loved ones. God Speed and God Bless you."
This eulogy, with its words of praise and welcoming, left us
breathless. Never, during our term of service, had we been spoken to
in such a manner. In addition to our joy at going home we were now
going there under the most favorable of conditions.

We were soon underway and, before long, it became evident that the
weather was not going to be one of the favorable conditions that we
were to experience. We had no sooner cleared the harbor than storm
clouds appeared on the horizon. As the weather worsened and the waves
loomed larger and larger it became evident that even a ship as large
as this aircraft carrier could have problems coping with the whims of
"Mother Nature."
That first night on board was a rocky one as the ship plunged through
the angry waves of the North Atlantic. Although many of the
"landlubbers" on board grappled with seasickness, we made it through
the night into a day of calm seas.
True to the Captain`s promise, the crew did arrive, made our beds and
performed the other housekeeping duties. We were still in a state of
wonderment at these services being performed for us. Breakfast was a
delight, with fresh eggs, hash browns, bacon, sausage and plenty of
hot coffee. In spite of the army derision of the navy, we had to
admit that when it came to food, the navy was in a superior position.
The weather having cleared, the day was an absolute delight. We were
able to walk the decks, enjoy a snack at one of the tables scattered
around the ship, observe the activities of the crew and, if one
chose, spend some time reading or writing letters back at our bunks.
Captain Ramsey had, indeed, made this a pleasure cruise, God Bless
him.
As time wore on, the weather worsened and, during his nightly address
to us, the Captain made it clear that we could expect this to be a
frequent occurrence since this was January and the North Atlantic was
a stormy place in the winter. He also assured us that we were not to
worry about our safety since ships, such as these, were built to
withstand all that nature could throw at them.
The third night out, after mess, the familiar voice of Captain Ramsey
sounded on the P.A. system. "Now hear this, this is the Captain
speaking. We are well on our way to home and I trust you are enjoying
the voyage. I have little to report and so I have chosen to read a
couple of the questions you have posed for me. This first one is from
Sgt. ?? Of the ?? Infantry. The good Sgt. asks if this was a banana
boat before the war." The Captain, his voice tinged with just a touch
of irritation, replied, "Sgt. First let me remind you that this is
not a boat. This is a ship. A ship carries boats." He went on, "
Sgt., As a matter of fact, I would like to inform you that this ship
was paid for by the people of the United States and is entitled to
the respect it deserves, having been made possible, by the
contributions of the citizens of of our great nation."
The weather continued to be bad and the consumption of the snacks the
Captain had placed around the ship had diminished due to the
incidents of sea sickness experienced by the G.I.s. Bad as the

weather was, the crap games continued on as usual, although

frequently interrupted by the hasty departure of one or more of the
players, due to sudden "illness." This situation was not lost on the
Captain and provided a moment of humor on his next nightly address.
As usual, we were assembled, ready to hear the Captain`s report. "Now
hear this. This is the Captain speaking," came the now familiar
refrain.
This night he chose to make comment on the weather conditions,
informing us that during the night conditions were so bad that they
had been unable to respond to a cry of distress from a Liberty Ship
in the vicinity. He went on to tell us that during his entire career
he had not experienced weather this difficult to contend with. Then,
he changed the subject and went on to answer a question from one of
the question boxes. He said, "I have a question that deals with a
problem experienced by PFC ?? " It seems that the good Private was
involved in a crap game and a considerable amount of money was in the
pot. He says that a Petty Officer arrived on the scene, broke up the
game and departed with the money. His question is, "Can we get back
the money?" There was a short pause, and then, with a chuckle in his
voice, he answered the Private's question, " Private, my cabin is on
deck--. Standing outside my door will be a Marine. Tell him you wish
to see me. In order to answer your question more directly, the answer
is that the Petty Officer has deposited the money in the Seamen's
Fund. If you still desire to have the money, so inform me when we
meet, however I would like to read you the Article of War, regarding
gambling on ships of the United States Navy." After reading the
Article, he finished with, "I hope this answers your question." The
roar of laughter from the troops clearly indicated their appreciation
of this bit of backhanded humor.
The high morale aboard the Lake Champlain was evident in stories told
to me by the crew. One such tale seemed to sum up the reason for this
high regard for their Captain. One seaman related to me how their
Executive Officer insisted that the crew in the engine room wear
white socks, although there was clearly no need, given the duties
required of them. He said this particular Officer also gave orders
that crewmen could not have their uniforms altered for better fit.
When word of this reached Captain Ramsey, a curious thing happened.
When the ship reached the next port a new Executive Officer was
assigned to the ship.
Finally, after ten days of bad weather and superb treatment by the
Officers and crew of the USS Lake Champlain, we arrived in New York
harbor on January, 17, 1946. It was a cold January day, warmed
considerably by our sight of the Statue of Liberty, standing tall and
proud, the torch of freedom still firmly in place, pointing to the
Heavens as a testament to the valor of all the Armed Forces,
soldiers, sailors, airmen and our civilian Merchant Marine. It was
our military and, even us non-combat soldiers, who had struggled so

valiently and secured our way of life, now and for generations yet
unborn.
Awaiting us on the dock as we disembarked, was a cordon of lovely
ladies representing the American Red Cross and the Salvation Army.
Their beauty was enhanced by the smell of hot coffee and doughnuts
and the hot dogs and hamburgers sizzling on the BBQ. Never, before or
since, have I had a hot dog that could compare with the one I so
relished that morning, on that frigid, but wonderful day. The
presence of those caring ladies added luster to the joyous moment we
were experiencing at being, once again, on American soil. It is in
moments, such as these, that one knows the tremendous value of being
a free American citizen. We were home, home at last, and I, for one,
was looking forward to a life of happiness with, my, now to be,
beautiful Irish bride.
My joy at being back in the United States had made me almost
completely unaware of the great number of troops crowding the dock.
True to its tradition of military efficiency, the army had a long row
of buses standing ready for our departure to the train depot and our
journey to Camp Atterbury, Indiana for our transfer to civilian life.
The bus trip very quickly brought us to the depot and by the time we
had checked our duffle bags the day had turned to night and in spite
of our weariness our spirits were high. Nothing could dampen our
utter joy at being on the way to becoming civilians, once again, and
being with family and friends.
After checking our duffle bags and boarding the train, the
festivities began. Although beverages of an alcoholic nature were not
provided, mysteriously, some very stimulating drinks began to appear
and voices were lifted in song. No blackout curtains, no planes
buzzing the train and no Officer lecturing us of the consequences of
improper behavior were part of this journey. Although some did manage
to catch a little sleep, the majority of the passengers were in too
celebratory a mood to notice the fatigue that engulfed us.
Some fifteen or so, hours later the train pulled in to a depot
situated at Camp Atterbury. In spite of some hangovers and lack of
sleep our Company was still in a joyful mood and hardly anyone
complained. We went through the routine of getting our baggage,
hearing the barked commands of a Sergeant directing us to our
barracks, and generally getting the treatment we were so accustomed
to. On the other hand, no damned Sergeant could lessen our happiness
at being at the place that would hand back our freedom and make us,
just plain, American civilian citizens..
Camp Atterbury was a very busy place. As a separation station it
served some 561,000 troops, arranging discharge from the Service at
the rate of 3000 per day, so it was not not surprising that it was

January 22, before our outfit was called to go through the separation
process.
In the meantime, we had plenty of time to write letters, make phone
calls to home and explore this sprawling installation.
January 22, 1946. "A date that will live in memory," at least my
memory, for that was the date of my separation from the Army of the
United States.
At the appointed time the 306th gathered in a huge assembly hall and
there, each of us, listened carefully for our name to be called.
When, an obviously bored Sergeant, bellowed out my name I was
immediately on my feet. Making my way to the registration table was
the sweetest hike I had ever taken. After going through the necessary
paper work, a young 2nd Lt. beckoned me to an open door. He said,
"Good morning soldier, step inside and place your chest against the X
ray panel, and , Oh by the way, if you intend to join the Reserves,
have them raise the panel to the level of your head." Even, given my
limited intellectual powers, it seemed to me that he was sending me a
message that it was not in my best interest to join the Reserves. It
was probably because of this encounter that I was able to follow the
later events that took place in Korea from the comfort of my home,
eyes glued to the TV screen. Unpatriotic as this may seem, I felt,
at this time, this new action could be handled by another generation
of young Americans.
Seated comfortably in my homeward bound train, still wearing my
uniform, I was beginning to feel more and more like a civilian,
almost but not quite. This would come when I arrived home surrounded
by family and friends. Still, there was one nagging problem to solve
before I would feel secure and comfortable and that was, bringing my
Peggy to Kalamazoo and walking down the aisle with her.
While in Atterbury awaiting discharge , I had penned off a letter to
Peggy telling her that I was almost a civilian and to start getting
her mum and dad prepared to have her daughter become a married woman
and acquiring a son in law. I put as much humor in the letter as I
was able to muster up, but not unaware, of the emotional problems I
was placing on the McKenny family.

Chapter 10
I was met at the station in Kalamazoo by my mother and father. Dad
had insisted that this moment belonged to Mom and He, accounting for
the tiny welcoming party. Dad gave me a "bear hug" and an emotional
"Welcome home, Son." My Mom, tears in her eyes, simply said, "Thank
God, you are home and safe." Never had I felt so close to my parents.
At the house, all my family members and a goodly crowd of friends and
neighbors had gathered for a welcoming home party. It was hard for me
to believe that this moment had arrived. The rest of the day was
spent in eating good home cooked food and answering a thousand
questions about my experiences. Often my mind wandered as I
contemplated on the thoughts of Peggy and wishing she could be a part
of these festivities. My brother Henry, was home from the navy,
having arrived a week earlier. My brother Charles, having been
disqualified for service due to a ruptured ear drum, was curious
about the things I had done and seen. My sister Anna Mae, now an
experienced welder because of a defense related job, also peppered me
with questions about my time in the service. It was a time of good
cheer and thankfulness and, I must admit, I was enjoying being the
center of attention.
That night, in the comfort of my bed, I pondered on the days to come.
I had not disclosed to mom and dad the fact that I was engaged.
Now ,the shoe was on the other foot." All the adjustments, in
religion and culture, to our pending marriage had been discussed in
full with Peggy`s parents and now it was time to work things out with
my mother and dad.
During the ensuing week I had many discussions with my dad and mom
about my return to civilian life. Dad had secured a job for me with
the Kalamazoo Stove and Furnace Co. ,where he was employed The plant
had been closed in order to revert back to civilian production,
having been engaged in producing war materials and, would soon

reopen.
Finally, I had my opportunity to discuss my pending marriage. It was
one of those cold winter nights and I was enjoying an evening alone
with mom and dad. During a break in the conversation, I said, " I
guess this is as good a time as any to share some news with you." I,
immediately had their attention. Dad was the first to speak. He said,
"I hope it`s good news, Son." I replied, "I think it is, I hope you
will feel the same." Mom said, "Get on with it, John." I simply
blurted out, "I`m engaged to get married." Both looked at me in
amazement and then Dad said, "Getting married, you have only been
home for a week and, as far as we know, you don`t even have a girl
friend." Realizing their quandary at this startling announcement, I
said, "Well, let me explain it to you." At this precise moment I
became aware of how unprepared I was to explain fully, the situation.
For the next few minutes I had full attention from mom and dad. I
said, "Maybe I should have told you this earlier but, here it is."
Now my mind was racing, but I went on with the story, hoping I would
not encounter any negatives. I said, "The girl I am marrying is in
Ireland. I met her in Belfast. Her parents are aware of our
engagement and I hope she gets their approval to come to the States
to be married. She is a lovely girl, from a good family. She is
nineteen years old but will be twenty by the time of our marriage."
At this point, I pulled from my wallet, a picture of Peggy and both
studied it for a moment. Mom said, "She sure is a pretty girl." Dad,
looked up and said, "Do you know what you are doing?" My reply was,
"Dad, I`m almost twenty six years old and perfectly capable of making
my own decisions." That seemed to end the discussion and then Mom
said, "John, If this is your wish, we have no objection and will
welcome her with open arms." With that, I decided to fill out the
rest of the story. I said, "Now let me "drop the other shoe."
"She is an Irish Catholic girl and I have decided to join the
Catholic Church." This resulted in a stunned silence for fully a
minute. Then my dad reacted in a fashion truly his own and, left me
incredulous. He said, "Ev", that was Dad's nick name for Mom, "Get
your coat on and, John, you do the same and get out to the car, we
are going for a ride." Not wanting to make a fuss, we both did as he
said.
Dad wheeled the car skillfully over the icy streets and pulled up in
front of St. Augustine Catholic Church. Without another word we left
the car and dad walked up to the residence of the Priest and rang the
doorbell.
The door was answered by an elderly lady, the housekeeper, and dad
asked to see the Father. She replied, "You mean Monsignor Hackett?"
Dad simply stated, "Yes Mam, that's whom we would like to talk to."
We were invited in and given a seat in the parlor. I was utterly
flabbergasted since I had no idea my dad even knew the location of
the church and had no idea of what he was up to.

In a few moments a tall, dignified man with a full head of grey hair
entered the room. He looked around and, in a thick Irish brogue said,
"Good evening, I am Monsignor Hackett. What can I do for you?"
Now, absolutely confused, I said nothing. Dad came right to the
point. He said, "Father", and pointing to me, "This is my Son, John
and he is just home from the army. He is engaged to an Irish girl in
Ireland and wants to join the Catholic Church." A broad smile
appeared on Monsignor Hackett's face and he sat down to hear the rest
of the story.
As I explained the situation, giving him all the details of our
meeting and the subsequent romance that followed, Father Hackett,
nodded approval, and said, "John, this is one of the nicest things I
have heard all year. It only goes to prove that there is always
something good coming out of a tragedy like war." Wanting to get
directly to the reason for our visit, I said, "Father, I know that as
a convert, I need to attend some classes to to understand the
procedure of conversion. Please tell me when I can attend." Again,
with a cheerful smile, he replied, " Aw, to Hell with the classes,
you won`t be attendin them, you'll be meeting with me for private
sessions here in my study. Young man, You are marrying a girl from
the "Ould Sod", and that requires some special attention." All this
was said in his thick Irish brogue, and at that moment, I felt very
special. With that he called for some tea. Over cups of hot tea the
conversation turned to filling out all the details. All this time,
Mom and Dad had little to say but joined in the conversation and I
knew that all would be well. There was no bigotry here and I felt
very proud of my parents and their easy acceptance of the situation.
Having written Peggy and told her to get ready to come to the United
States, I was anxious to receive a letter telling me all was well and
arrangements were being made for her journey. Each day I waited
patiently for the postman, and feeling depressed when no mail was
forthcoming. After several days of anxiety a letter did arrive and,
anxious as I was, I was almost afraid to open it, fearing the worst.
When I did open it and read the first few words I was ecstatic.
Peggy`s mother and dad had accepted the inevitable and were helping
Peggy to make arrangements. From the inquiries regarding passport,
visa and transportation that had been made in Ireland, it was to be,
at least, six months before she would arrive in the United States. I
couldn't wait to reply and rushed to get paper and pen.
By this time I had been employed at the Stove Co. and had met a
fellow worker named James O`Meara. When I told him that Peggy would
be arriving in about six months he said, "John, that will give us
some time to give her a real Irish welcome and I`m going to see that
you have some real Irish folk to greet her."
James called me one day and asked if I would like to meet some Irish

people who would love to meet Peggy. He said that they were an
elderly couple that would take Peggy, "Under their wings." The Irish
certainly know how to express the most mundane things in a beautiful
way.
The Fitzpatricks were, in my mind, the ideal couple to make my
peggy feel at home in America. Pat and Mary Fitzpatrick were typical
Irish, even though neither had set foot in Ireland. Pat and Mary were
each, only about five feet tall, beautiful grey hair and as
eloquently Irish in their speech as though they had just arrived in
the U.S.A. Their home reflected everthing Irish, including a green,
white and gold flag prominently displayed in the hall.
Over a cup of hot tea I learned that they had thirteen children, had
always wanted to visit Ireland, and would be thrilled to meet a
colleen from the "Ould Sod." Where had I heard that term before?
That meeting was the first of many that James arranged. and included
a young Irish priest, Fr. King, who was to become a good friend and
"buddy," if one can truly be a "buddy" with a Priest. Fr. King was
the Chaplain at Borgess Catholic Hospital in Kalamazoo and not too
popular with the Nuns, due to his liking for alcoholic spirits.
Although he did enjoy a drink, now and then, he did not drink to
excess.
A moment I remember with relish was the time Fr. King and I were
enjoying a hamburger for lunch. Halfway through our meal, Fr. King
paused, and said, "John, do you know what day this is?" Without
giving a thought to what the Fr. Was implying, I replied, "It's
Friday, Fr., why?" Then, with a smile Fr. King said, "I know we
shouldn't be eating meat on Friday but it is also a sin to waste good
food." Without further ado, he made the sign of the Cross and said,
"I grant absolution." Such was our easy going relationship.
Although I was anxious awaiting Peggy`s arrival I was also busy
making arrangements for our wedding and making new friends among the
Irish community. I was introduced to a Mr. and Mrs. Heflin by Fr.
King and was immediately made welcome to their home. Mrs. Heflin, in
true womanly fashion, was excited about the coming wedding and did
much to help me prepare. There were several parties at her house and
Fr. King, minus his collar and wearing a sport shirt, always gave two
hours absolution at midnight on Saturday, so that "No food and drink
was wasted," due to the late hour.
One day when Fr. King and I were conversing in his quarters at the
hospital he broached the possibility of he performing the Mass and
wedding ceremony. He went on to say that we should discuss the
matter with Msgr. Hackett. He said, "I`ll give him a call and see if
we can arrange it."

Fr. King, after explaining to Msgr. Hackett, that since we had become
close friends, he thought it would be appropriate for him to perform
the wedding ceremony. I remained absolutely silent, awaiting Msgr.
Hackett's response. There was only a moment's pause and then Msgr.
Hackett addressed Fr. King in, what I thought was, a rather
condescending tone of voice. He said, "Father, Just as in the army,
"rank has its privileges." "I will be saying the Mass and performing
the wedding ceremony." Although this dictum was said with a smile,
Fr. King seemed to feel that he had received the final answer to his
query

Chapter 11
About the middle of June, 1946 a telegram arrived that informed me of
the day and time as well as the flight number of the American
Airlines plane that was to bring my Peggy to the United States. To
say that I was overcome with joy is an understatement. The days that
followed were filled with excitement and planning for her arrival.

On the scheduled day, my cousin, Bud, my dad, and I headed for

Chicago to meet the plane and reunite me with my Peggy. Arriving at
O`Hare airport, well ahead of time, we waited anxiously for over two
hours. Finally, the arrival of the plane from Dublin was announced
and we hurriedly proceeded to the announced gate. The gatekeeper
opened the gate and we proceeded onto the tarmac where the plane was
parked.
In those, still early, times of domestic and transatlantic flight,
people met the arriving passengers on the runway and the they
departed the plane down a long portable gangway. My anxiety was at
fever pitch as I silently prayed that Peggy would soon appear. Person
after person descended the gangway, and then, a small figure in a
lovely blue dress, walked down the stairs, made her way to where we
were standing, and in that unforgettable moment, Peggy was in my arms
and I thanked God for the blessing he had bestowed upon me.
Midst all the happy chatter on the way home, it was quite apparent
that my dad had bonded with his, soon to be, daughter in law. Peggy
snuggled in my arms, chattered on about the great adventure she had
just experienced and how happy she was to be in America with me and
the life we would have together. Our reunion was complete, and now
many busy days were ahead as we planned our wedding.
When we arrived home, my mother and sister had refreshments ready
and, in spite of all the excited conversation, another bonding had
taken place. My mother and my Peggy, it seemed, were kindred souls.
The days ahead were filled with activity as my mother, sister and
friends planned for the wedding that was to make Peggy my bride.
Peggy and I spent many hours with the many members of the Irish
community. The Fitzpatricks took an immediate liking to Peggy and
became almost like parents to her. The Heflin family, especially Mrs.
Heflin, became fully involved in seeing that Peggy had a truly
Catholic wedding.
At long last the great day arrived, July 4, 1946. The date had been
arrived at because there were only two dates available in July. Msgr.
Hackett offered Peggy a choice and she chose July 4 as a very
appropriate day for her to become an American, This, and the fact
that her mother insisted that she was to be married at the first
available date, settled that issue. "Minnie," like most Irish
mothers, did not easily relinquish control.
The morning of July 4 began very early with my mother and sister
preparing for the wedding and the reception that was to follow.
Peggy, somewhat nervous but glowing with excitement, with the
assistance of my sister, were making sure that the wedding gown
fitted properly and all was set for her big moment when she would
walk down the aisle and become Mrs. Margaret DeRoo. My brothers,

Henry and Charles were dressed in their best, "Sunday go to meeting

clothes." My sister, Anna Mae, having finished helping Peggy, was now
dressed and "made up," for the big moment. My dad, standing in for
Peggy`s father, was more "dressed up" than I had ever seen him, and
my mom, the picture of loveliness, in the beautiful dress she had
acquired for the wedding. I was dressed in a dark blue business suit,
sporting a carnation in my lapel and was as ready as I could be for
the realization of all my dreams.
Finally, the climax of all this preparation arrived. Seated in the
pews of St. Augustne Church were my relatives and friends. Adding a
moment of unreality to the occasion was the fact that my relatives,
all Protestants, most of whom had never been inside a Catholic
Church, were seated side by side with devout Catholics. Surely, this
was a sight, unbelievable to my Peggy.
Msgr. Hackett was at the altar, having concluded Mass, Fr. King at
his side, and organ music filling the church, signaled the beginning
of this sacred ritual., my mother was quietly wiping the tears from
her eyes as the bridesmaids made their way down the aisle. Then, all
eyes were focused on the lovely bride on the arm of my father,
standing in for Peggy`s father. The strains of "Here Comes the
Bride," filled the church.
Msgr. Hackett, having concluded Mass, was standing beside the altar,
as Peggy and my dad arrived at the prescribed spot. Solemnly, Msgr.
Hackett intoned the age old question, "Who gives this woman in Holy
Matrimony? My father replied, "I do. " The best Man produced the
wedding band, I placed the band on her finger and we bowed before the
altar.
Msgr. Hackett pronounced the wedding vows, ending with, "I now
pronounce you husband and wife." "Now you may kiss the bride."
I wonder, to this day, whether Peggy uttered the words, "I promise
to love, honor and obey," Certainly, she would never admit to having,
said, "Obey." Looking back to that moment in time, I still wonder how
we managed to overcome all the obstacles and bring this dream to
reality.
Our wedding was a High Mass,
neither of us could remember
excitement we felt had a way
in that magical moment. I do
were told, "Now, I pronounce

with all the ceremony that implies, but

all that was said and done, for the
of shutting out all that surrounded us
remember, however, very well, when we
you Husband and Wife,"

A milestone in the lives of my Peggy and me had been reached and our
future lay ahead of us. For me, this was the climax of my transition
to civilian life and a more than happy ending to my experiences in
the "Great War,"

It has been said that all things happen fast in times of war. As I
look back to that time, which seems so long ago, when I first heard
the announcement over the radio that Pearl Harbor had been attacked,
I must agree, that little truism is correct. In a matter of less than
four short years, my life had been completely altered as had the
lives of so many of my fellow compatriots.
These are my personal memoirs encompassing a critical period in the
history of my country and how it affected me personally, as well as
millions throughout the world, for good or ill. Thank God, so many of
my fellow American citizens and citizens of allied countries were
willing to, if necessary, make the ultimate sacrifice to make
possible lives of freedom for future generations , free from the
tyranny of evil dictatorships, and, hopefully, the terrible scourge
of future wars.
THE END

G. I. MEMORS
Introduction
be, Throughout the history of World War 2, countless stories
have been told recalling the feats of bravery by those who fought in
those many, hard fought, battles. This is, as it should but left
untold are the experiences of those support forces who served behind
the lines and helped make possible the victories won by our troops,
now so celebrated in our books and films.

This humble effort is an attempt to chronicle the way in which

W.W. 2 shaped the life of one young American and provide some insight
into the pathos and, sometimes , ludicrous hilarity, that he
encountered while caring for the sick and wounded, as well as off
duty hours while on leave. The following antecdotes, hopefully, will
provide some insight into the experiences of Support Service G.I`s as
they plodded through. what to them, seemed a never ending war.
This is my story, as I lived it. This is not the story of a hero
but simply the memoirs of one who saw the results of the horrors of
war and encountered some of the more humorous aspects of life and
then made the transition back into civilian life. It is the story of
millions of youhg Americans who answered the call to duty when their
country called.
December 7, i941, I was having coffee with my buddy in a
neighborhood diner and trying to decide what we would do for the rest
of the day. The radio was on and the music of a swing band was
playing in the background. The waiter suddenly turned up the volume
and shouted for us to listen. The announcer, his voice solemn,
informed his audience, "This morning, December 7, 1941, Pearl Harbor,
in Hawaii, was attacked by air and the harbor has been severely
damaged. It is estimated that there have been many fatalities and the
loss of many of our ships and aircraft. From the markings on the
attacking aircraft, it has been determined that this was an attack by
the Japanese. Make no mistake about it; this was an attack against
the Territory of Hawaii and therefore an act of war against the
United States. We will keep you informed as additional information
becomes available."
My first reaction to this startling announcement was, "Where
the Hell is Pearl Harbor?" In that long ago time this was a question
on the minds of most Americans. Hawaii, and Pearl Harbor, in
particular, was a far distant place, few had ever given much thought
to, or visited. This was to change radically in the days ahead as
America entered World War 2. The following day, along with my family,
I listened, spellbound, as President Franklin D. Roosevelt addressed
the nation and the nation`s Congress. His familiar voice, now
forceful with outrage and determination, proclaimed the sentiments of
his fellow countrymen. "Yesterday, Sunday, December 7, 1941, "a
date which will live in infamy", the United States of America was
suddenly and deliberately attacked by the naval and air forces of the
Empire of Japan," Briefly, the President, explained the background
of the events which culminated in the attack, ending his speech with
the following, fateful, request to the Congress of the United
States. "With confidence in our Armed forces-with the unbounded
determination of our people- we will gain the inevitable triumph-So
help us God. I ask that the Congress declare that since the

unprovoked and dastardly attack by Japan on Sunday, December 7, a

state of war has existed between the United States and the Empire of
Japan."
Almost immediately Congress declared war on Japan and three days
later, December 11, Germany and Italy declared war on the United
States. We were now fully involved, along with the British Empire.
The Republic of Ireland declared neutrality. Russia had been at war
with Germany since June and, although never officially, became an
ally of the United States. America and its allies were now at war
with the axis of Germany, Italy and Japan. World War 2, had begun in
earnest.
I, like other young Americans, living in different parts of
the country and having little in common except our American
citizenship, faced a future that would affect the remainder of our
lives. This, I held in common with untold numbers of other young
Americans. I was twenty one years old when America entered the war. I
was nine years old, the eldest in a family of four children, at the
time America entered the era of the Great depression. Like so many
Americans, my family suffered through those trying years thinking
that poverty was here to stay. This was about to end, as America
tooled up for war, and the factories began to hum.
I was exactly the right age for military service and aware that I
would be hearing from my local Draft Board and soon be inducted into
the army. Like so many other American young men, I was eager to do my
duty and welcomed this call to serve. Kalamazoo was not the most
exciting place in the country and, I must admit, military service
appealed to my adventurous nature almost as much as my patriotic
fervor.
I lacked a college education and was inducted into the United States
Army with the grand rank of "Buck Private". The following is my
memory of induction into military service. On August 13, 1942, after
months of waiting, I was called to the induction center. There must
have been fifty of us, all standing there, "buck naked", damned glad
it was August and not a cold Michigan day. One by one we were called
before a doctor to see if we were breathing and send us on to be
processed and made "Government Issue", or for short, "G.I. A few
minutes later we took the oath and were officially in the Army of the
United States. A Sergeant took us aside, told us we were being sent
to Fort Custer, Battle Creek, Michigan, on August 27. I had just two
weeks left to be wearing civilian clothes.
At Fort Custer I was outfitted with an Army uniform and assigned to a
barracks with a lot of other raw recruits. A very unfriendly Sergeant
called us to attention, told us what poor specimens of humanity we
were and, from this time on, our scrawny bodies belonged to him until
we were shipped out for basic training. In the words of a popular
song of the era, "This is the army Mr. Jones, no private rooms or
telephones. You had your breakfast in bed before, but you won`t have

it there any more." Whoever wrote those lyrics must have spent time
in the army, as a Private.
It was there at Fort Custer, I received my first duty assignment. I,
along with two other "rookies," were handed gunny sacks, neatly
arranged for hanging over the shoulder, and each a stick with a nail
protruding from one end and told to "police" the area. We spent most
of the morning stabbing at litter on the ground and neatly placing it
into our sacks. One of my fellow "Sanitary Technicians" was a guy,
somewhat older than the rest of us, and exceedingly
short and
paunchy. With "great sensitivity," we kept ourselves amused by
badgering the poor soul with various terms alluding to his lack of
manly stature. Later, during a coffee break, we discovered that he
was a member of the Michigan legislature. This was the first time I
learned the valuable lesson, to not judge my fellow soldiers by their
appearance or ethnic identity.
After a short, miserable stay at Fort Custer we were shipped out to
Camp McCoy, Wisconsin for basic training. Camp McCoy, then, was still
under construction and being used, mainly, for the housing of "Enemy
Aliens", Germans, Italians and Japanese, as well as being readied for
the thousands of troops who would be trained there, many to go on for
the invasion of Europe. When American troops arrived for training, it
was then, we came in contact with the 442nd Infantry Regiment
comprised of Japanese Americans, most of whom, had families living in
the territory of Hawaii.
As usual, the army gave us no indication as to what service we were
assigned to. We were told that we were temporarily assigned to the
M.P.E.G, Military Police Escort Guard. As a matter of fact, we were
neither Military Police nor Escort Guards. Our sole duty was to stand
guard over the Enemy Alien camp at night and go through basic
training during the day.
It was here that young Americans, like me, first learned that it was
wrong to judge people by the color of their skin or by their
ancestry. If the army taught us anything, it was that we, young
Midwestern boys, had to face the realities of life and adjust our way
of thinking if we were to succeed in life, in the army or as
civilians. One night on a bus, returning from a night out in La
Crosse, I was seated next to a young Japanese American guy from the
442nd. We were discussing an incident that had taken place recently.
It seems that two of the Japanese- Americans from his unit had been
found murdered and an investigation was underway. The "scuttlebutt"
was that they had been killed by some guys from an infantry unit. He
went on to say that he couldn't understand how American soldiers
could harbor such hate for one another. He explained that at the time
of the Pearl Harbor attack they were in training at "Pearl" and had
not yet been given any rifle training. At the moment of the attack,
they were called to duty, issued rifles, and told to fire at those

f****** ""Japs." He said, "Not one of us hesitated, because we were

American soldiers, defending our country".
We were taken through basic training by a "Sergeant from Hell." He
marched us until we dropped, had us do target shooting until we could
no longer see the target, had us peeling potatoes until we hated the
sight of the damned things and, in general, made life absolutely
miserable for us. We had no inkling of what we were being assigned to
until the Sergeant introduced us to a new cadence marching verse. As
I remember it went something like this, "Eyes right, a** holes tight,
Foreskins to the rear, we're the boys from Camp McCoy, and we've got
gonorrhea."
When we asked him what all that meant, he replied, "It`s God damned
appropriate for all you f******* medics. " Now we knew we were in the
Medical Corps. and wondered what experiences lay ahead for us in the
days to come.
As all "good" things" do, basic training came to a finish. Our basic
training period had been short and we all hoped we would be up to
whatever lay ahead. The Sergeant called us together before our
graduation march, told us we were now soldiers and that he was proud
of us. Somehow, all our ill feelings vanished and we came around to
thinking he was a "great guy."
Immediately, I was assigned to the Camp McCoy Station Hospital,
became a "Ward Boy", and wound up doing all the, less attractive,
duties that the Officer nurses chose not to do, and doing it with a
with a smile and a salute. Along with my other duties I was assigned
to a number of classes taught by the doctors and other personnel.
It was during these sessions that I met my best buddy, Glen McQueen,
whom I was to serve with during much of the war. We all called him
"Mac." He was one of those guys who truly had "savoir- faire." Six
foot tall, a good physique and a somewhat handsome face, topped by a
full head of black, wavy hair. "Tall, dark and handsome," fitted his
description exactly. Since I was not exactly the most sophisticated
guy on the planet, Mac, always ready with a smooth line, "took up the
slack," and made our social life more pleasant. We became known as
the "Gold Dust Twins," since we always traveled together. It is this
sense of camaraderie in the service that makes war time friendships
so special.
Our training fo medical duty consisted of courses which would make us
valuable as aides to the nurses and doctors and also consisted of
training for the field. One lesson that made a strong impression on
me was the proper way to remove a wounded soldier from a disabled
tank. It was this course that made me wonder if we were soon to be on
the battlefield. Unlike the movies, most of my buddies and I, did not
long to be assigned to the infantry for heroic combat duty.

One day while off "ward duty" Mac and I were chatting with a Captain
with whom we had become familiar. All doctors held the rank of
Captain or higher. He asked if we would like to assist him during an
examination. We knew by the way he asked and the twinkle in his eye
that this was to be a farce of some kind. He was known for his love
of practical jokes, many not always in line with medical ethics. The
examinee was a member of the Women`s Army Corps. in for a
gynecolological exam. Clad in white surgical gowns, looking much like
young interns, we stood by as the Captain performed his examination.
This was followed by a burst of hilarity after the "Doc" dismissed
her. Such lack of insensitivity was rare and not typical of the
behavior of Officers or enlisted men. Later that day we passed the
young lady in the main corridor. She took a very contemptable look at
us in our enlisted mens uniforms and, in a very unladylike manner,
called us "dirty bastards," a not "Ladylike" expression for a not
"Gentlemanly like" incident.
One of the "off the cuff", lessons we received during training was
from an Officer in the office of the Adjudent General. Along with
legal advice, he often gave us bits of "army wisdom." Concerning our
demeanor, he advised us that, while walking on the hospital campus,
to carry, very conspicuously, a sheet of paper and walk, very
briskly, as if on an errand. This, he emphasized, would save us many
hours of extra duty being assigned to us by an overeager Seargant.
Finally, after two weeks of training by doctors and nurses we were
assigned to the wards. I was given a promotion to T/5, CorporalMedical Technician, a rank I continued to carry throughout the war.
After going overseas, the old lyric kicked in, "There will be no
promotion this side of the ocean." I was assigned the duty of
supervising eight Privates for ward duty. This was my first
experience in supervision and led to an incident which gave me much
satisfaction. During basic training I had committed some
"unforgivable sin" and was banished to the kitchen for a week of
Kitchen Police, better known as "KP." As all old soldiers know,
"Police" had nothing to do with this inglorious assignment. This was
simply a means for some damned Sergeant to "vent his spleen" and for
the kitchen to get extra help. I believe that in the sixteenth
century many ships were manned by a "shanghaied crew." This was the
Army`s way of getting extra hours of a soldier`s time without any
reward for extra duty and punishing him for his indiscretions. For
that unforgettable week I took orders from a Mess Sergeant who ground
out orders like meat going through a sausage grinder. The tiniest
infraction of his rules like taking a glass of milk, without his
permission, would result in the full force of his temper coming down
on one like a full blown hurricaine. He was truly, "The Devil, In
Chef's Clothing`.
Now, that I was an NCO, with all the "authority" that implies, I was
regularly checking into the ward, soldiers who had fallen ill or who

just found some reason to be assigned to the hospital, many, just for
some time away from the duties of the day and a chance to relax. One
day, "When what, to my wondering eyes should appear," but my old
"Comrade in Arms", the Mess Sergeant, with nothing but a bad head
cold. The Army had, a ,not so technical, name for his distress. The
term "Goldbricking" is far too tame. The other crude term is better
not repeated here. I was very happy to accommodate my old comrade and
immediately assigned him to a bed. With a smile on his face, he
settled in for some rest and relaxation. Much to his chagrin, he soon
found out that this was not to be the case. Vengeance was in my heart
and this was my golden opportunity to even up the score. He seemed
utterly unawaware that in the hospital he was duty bound to take
orders from hospital personnel, regardless of inferior rank.. As an
ambulatory patient he had to perform whatever housekeeping duties
assigned to him. I had no problem in finding a job for him to take
his mind off the boredom of the day. For those of you, former
soldiers, who are thinking, "Latrine Duty", I can only say that you
are so right in your speculation. I armed him with a toilet brush, a
mop and bucket and gave him immediate employment. It was apparent
that he had no desire to perform these menial tasks and informed me
that I should remember that he held the rank of Sergeant. With joy in
my heart, I, very authoritatively, pointed out to him that there were
no stripes on his bathrobe and that his immediate concern was to have
the latrine ready for Saturday morning inspection, "Vengeance is
mine, sayeth the Lord," but, for this one shining moment, "Vengeance
was mine", and I enjoyed every damned second of it.
With the compliance of the Captain, we kept him in the hospital for
a few extra days. I`m sure he was more careful about his treatment
of other lowly privates he held sway over. He had just experienced
the old adage, "What goes around, comes around."

CHAPTER 2
As the days wore on, life was a series of daily routine duties and we
were becoming somewhat restless. Although the time we had spent in
the army was short our youthful outlook made the days seem endless.
Many of the units on the base were moving on. This made us hope that
we would be next and go on to some other experiences. We had no idea
what things awaited us but anything was better than spending the war
in the Army at Camp McCoy, Wisconsin as "Ward Boys." Didn't Gen.
Patton say to recruits that they didn`t want to have to tell their
grandchildren t they spent the war shoveling horseshit at an Army
Cavalry base?
We didn't have to wait for long for we suddenly got the news that the
306 Station Hospital was being sent overseas. With typical Army
retisense to tell the enlisted man anything, we were told absolutely
nothing except to pack our belongings and be ready to move. With the
enlisted man`s penchant for finding out everything, we soon found out
that we were headed for the European Theater of Operations, or for
short, the E.T,O..
On October 31, 1942, Halloween being an appropriate day, we received
our shipping orders. Everything we possessed was crammed into our
duffle bags, and we were on our way to the train station, all "very
comfortable," in a "luxurious" army truck. Arriving at a train depot,
we hastily boarded a car that looked as though it had seen service in
the Civil War. Once on the train, we eagerly awaited some legitimate
information as to our destination. True to army form, none came.
Finally, after many hours, card games and an occasional snooze, we
arrived in Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada. The year was 1942 and the
war in Europe was in full force. Britain was in a state of deadly
peril and the arrival of the "Yanks" was considered a blessing to
their hopes of defeating the Germans. In any event, we were now about
to board a troop ship and make the dangerous crossing across the
North Atlantic to relieve our British Allies. That America was fully
engaged in this war was borne out by the hundreds of thousands of
American soldiers waiting to board the many troop ships crowding the
harbor.
Upon our arrival at the harbor, we boarded the RMS Mauritania for our
trip across the North Atlantic to Great Britain. We boarded the ship
in the late afternoon. After a "fine meal" of "good" mutton stew, we
were told to choose a spot on the long mess table for our gear. This
is where we would sleep and, "Be sure to be out of there as soon as
reveille is over because the RAF will be using the table for
training classes."
We were allowed to roam around and get acquainted with the ship. Mac

and I ventured into an area where a number of RAF {Royal Air Force
guys} were singing Bless `Em All, which was a popular British wartime
song. The lyrics, "Bless `em all, the long, the short , and the tall"
,etc. were constantly repeated with the "Bless" almost always
replaced with another four letter word, better not repeated here.
Soon we were joined by more fellow "Yanks." American- British unity
was already beginning to take place. As the Mauritania got underway
we were engrossed in making friends and having a "Jolly good time, as
the "Limeys" would say,
After a nights rest on that hard table, we got the signal to clear
out, which we did without hesitation. Gazing out a porthole,
expecting to see the open ocean, we found out that we were back in
port. As we gazed out at the harbor, Mac turned to me and said, "What
the hell is this? "I thought we were underway." It didn't take long
to find the answer to that query. It seems that during the night we
had run into a "Wolf Pack." That was the name, Admiral Donitz, the
Commander of the German navy, gave to his submarines, which hunted in
packs, awaiting Allied shipping. We were traveling without a convoy
and were a likely target.
Before long we, once more, got underway. With the unbounded optimism
of youth and a feeling of invincibility, we never gave another
thought to the danger we faced in crossing the North Atlantic without
a convoy, depending only on the speed and maneuverability of this
great ship. Ships capable of traveling fast steered a zig zag course,
without accompanying vessels, making them difficult to target.
True to British tradition, a daily shot of rum was provided to all on
board. As I recall, we approached a small makeshift bar and were
doled out our portion. The only "fly in the ointment" was that the
U.S. Navy did not permit drinking on board its ships. Even though
this was a British ship, American personnel were bound by American
Naval rules. This was handled very neatly by the British by simply
doling out a portion of ginger beer, a British soda pop, to the
Americans. Never to be outdone, we simply accepted the soda pop,
unmilitarexchanged our soft drink for rum by handing a couple of
cigarettes to our British brethren and accepting their gracious
exchange of rum for ginger beer.
Another bit of culture shock was the difference in what the "Limeys"
thought of as tasty cuisine and what we thought of as "good grub."
The, too frequent, serving of mutton stew did not bode well for the
"Yanks", and resulted in a considerable amount of grumbling on our
part. Other than that, and similar differences, the next few days or
so went off without incident and a surprising amount of goodwill
developed between us and the "Limeys."
Finally, after several days of boredom and bad food we arrived in

Great Britain and were hastily put on a waiting train for our final
destination.
We were all anxious to see what England looked like but we were
traveling at night and the windows were blacked out in compliance
with "blackout" regulations. The British strictly enforced these
rules because of the possibility of giving the Germans a target on
their nightly flights over England.
Our Executive Officer, Capt. Lebowitz, a balding man, somewhat
overweight and a chain smoker, had preceded our arrival, having
boarded the train at Southampton to accompany us to our destination.
He soon appeared on the scene to address us when suddenly a loud roar
was heard directly above the train. Certain that the plane would hit
the train, we all hit the floor, "scared, out of our wits."
The only one standing was Capt. Lebowitz. With a big smile on his
face, he said, "Gentlemen you have just been welcomed to the United
Kingdom by the U. S. Army Air Force."
At long last, the train came to a stop, somewhere, just outside the
city of Bournemouth. We were immediately trucked to an Army camp,
given a barracks and told to get a good nights sleep. We found our
bunks and then the "bitching" began. On the bunk was a rather plump
mattress but when one lay down, it suddenly became apparent that what
appeared to be a mattress was, in reality, a bag of straw. Later we
found out that the British had arranged this for us since it was a
part of the "Lend-Lease" arrangement America had made with the
British. The whole damned camp was a British creation, and not one to
become fond of. The upshot was that we were so damned tired that we
slept as though we were sleeping on the best mattresses money could
buy.
Without regard that we were all in need of more rest after our long
journey, reveille, sounded as usual. After standing for roll call we
were dismissed for "Mess." Although we had been severe critics of
army food, the sight of good old American style bacon and eggs,
tended to soften our criticism, at least for the moment.
After "mess" The Company was called to order and we were given the
"Orders of the Day.' It seems that we were in a "holding area" and
quarantined for several days, during which time, we would be
responsible for housekeeping duties. The Sergeant then introduced
Capt. Lebowitz, our never to be forgotten, Executive Officer. What
followed was so damned comical, coming from this balding, overweight
and pompous, y like Officer, that I am sure every G.I., there at that
moment, will remember it to his dying day. I`m sure, I will. The
Captain addressed us, as I recall it, "Gentlemen, you are now a part
of the European Theater of Operations. Your conduct here will be
vitally important in bringing victory to our forces against the
German Tyranny. God Bless you and the American Army." He, finished
with, "Always remember, when off duty, that you are here as

conquerors, not to be conquered by the harpies of the streets." He

ended with a military salute that would have made Gen. Eisenhower,
himself, proud. Dr. Lebowitz had transformed himself into a military
conqueror and satisfied his deepest longings, which, I`m sure, he
usually only carried out in his fantasy life.
After several long and boring days, punctuated by crap games and
other "intellectual pursuits", the quarantine was lifted and we were
given an opportunity to visit Bournemouth. Immediately, the office
was filled with G.I.s requesting passes. As long as you knew your
name rank and serial number the request was granted.
Mac and I were among the first to get in line, receive our passes,
and board the truck for town. Dressed, as finely as we could, in our
dress uniforms, we joined in the, rather ribald, singing as the truck
bounced along taking some very enthusiastic, young and virile, men,
into the city. The word virile is used very purposefully since the
thoughts on all the passenger's minds concerned speedy liaisons with
the local girls.
Mac, who seemed ever knowledgeable about such things, steered me into
the lounge bar of a local pub. The lounge bar was a cut above the
part of the pub that served only the men. The lounge was for social
gatherings and included the more refined women and men of the
community and the occasional military Officer as well as a few
enlisted men.
Once, comfortably ensconced, in a neat little booth, Mac began to
size up the situation and decided to make his move. He moved, with
great suavity, to the table of two lovely, young ladies and soon had
them seated with us in our booth. Although I do not have a good
recollection of the young lady Mac was interested in, I shall never
forget the charming and petite girl I was partnered with. Doreen
Hazelwood, her real name, was everything one thinks of when we hear
the term, "English Beauty." The charm of her English accent was not
lost upon me and our conversation soon consisted of little details
about where we called home and our particular interests.
The barkeeper, having called, "Time, please." which was the signal
for closing, brought the usual query, "May I see you home?" Both
girls, having informed us that they would rather go home together,
had made it quite clear that their parents, mothers in particular,
did not have a fondness for soldiers when their daughters were
involved. Doreen did agree to meet me the following day and give me a
tour of Bournemouth. Always the tourist, and in this case, a quite
enthusiastic tourist, we arranged a place to meet. The following day
we met at the appointed meeting place. Doreen seemed eager to do her
duty in making a lonely G.I. welcome and this lonely G.I. was only
too eager to accept her services.

Doreen proved to be an excellent tour guide and knew all the places
of interest. Her knowledge of the history of Bournemouth was quite
extensive. She delighted in showing me all the sights and made my
stay in Bournemouth a quite pleasurable experience. One of her
favorite places was an old church of historical importance and it was
there that I came to realize how much different an American`s concept
of time differed from the British. During our visit I noticed a
beautiful brass spread eagle that served as the podium for the
Minister. The cleaning lady was polishing it and I made the remark
that it was a beautiful podium. She smiled and said, "Oh, this was a
gift from our late Pastor in the early 1700s." Being a "Yank", I
thought of the 1700s as ancient history. This gave me pause, and made
me realize how young our beloved country is.
My way of thanking Doreen was to have my mother send her a gift. As I
recall, she did receive a lovely blue sweater, was delighted, and
said she would treasure it.
Meanwhile the war on the continent was raging on and my unit moved to
a new location near Tidworth, a city located southeast of Wilshire.
It shares its eastern border with the Salisbury Plain, the site of
the famous archeological find, Stonehenge. Here we carried on our
duties caring for the soldiers, who were receiving tender loving care
from our beautiful nurses.
It was not only the nurses who brought smiles to our patients. The
Red Cross and the Salvation Army both sent some very lovely ladies to
visit with the soldiers. One incident that stands out clearly
happened during one of those visits. A young man of about twenty
years old, was in the hospital for a rather extended stay. He was an
avid reader and kept us busy supplying him with books from the
hospital library. During a routine visit from the Red Cross volunteer
he requested of her to get a copy of Pygmalion, a book he had
acquired in London, signed by the author. The lady explained that it
was next to impossible to obtain the autograph since this author was
quite elderly and ill and had a reputation of not being friendly to
autograph seekers, so the task would chattonly end in failure.
That closed the subject until the Salvation Army lady made her visit
and the same request was made of her. Her reaction was somewhat
different. She, in a very motherly fashion, said, "Give me the book
and I`ll see what I can do." A week went by and the same lady
appeared and was eager to see the young soldier. Upon greeting him
she said, "Wait till you see what I have for you." With that. she
unwrapped a package and there was the soldiers book. She opened the
book to the flyleaf, and there, in boldly handwritten words, was the
following note, as I remember it, "If I signed every book for someone
who thinks I am the greatest writer since Shakespeare, I'd be doing
nothing but signing my name." Then, written with a flourish, was the
signature, George Bernard Shaw, This incident comes to mind every
Christmas when I make my donation in a Salvation Army kettle.

Mac and I were eager to see more of England and find a place free
from the ever present G.I. Having this in mind, we decided to take
leave and get as far away from places inhabited by people of our ilk
as we could. This led to us catching a bus and traveling as far away
from camp as we could .
Our bus ride took us to a town which seemed completely bereft of
servicemen. As all G.I.s do, we immediately found the nearest Pub and
settled in comfortably to enjoy a pint of beer. We were the only
customers and after a few moments of waiting, no one appeared to wait
upon us. Mac finally called out for service. Soon, a young lady
peered around an open door and said, quite breathlessly, "Oh, you are
Americans." I said, "We sure are, what did you think we were"? Her
reply was that she and her parents had observed us from the kitchen
and, just catching a glimpse of our boots, thought we were Germans.
We knew we had found the right spot and enjoyed a great afternoon
free from the hub bub of G.I. activity. This place showed no signs
of ever having been host to an American soldier. After an hour of
friendly chatter with the barkeep and his daughter we decided it was
time to get back to camp.
Before boarding the bus I looked around for a rest room.. Spotting a
toilet, I entered and went to the urinal to relieve myself. There,
written in bold letters on the wall was that old familiar refrain,
"Kilroy was here." There was no way in the world that one could find
a place in England that had not been visited by American soldiers.
We returned to our unit, ready to resume our duties but, as usual,
Mac and I were ready for our next outing and this time, we both
agreed, it was to be London, the capital of Great Britain, and one of
the great historical cities of the world.
The week following our bus trip had been exceedingly busy. Two guys
had been admitted for broken limbs and another for a severe case of
appendicitis. Between scheduling them for operations, working out a
schedule for the ward boys and covering for a nurse who had gone on
leave, as well as attending to my other duties, I had my hands full.
Mac also had experienced a hectic week and both of us were ready to
get a pass for the weekend and our trip to London.
Having secured a three day pass and arranged for one of the ward
boys, who was "Bucking for Corporal,", to cover for me, I was ready
to head for London. Mac had obtained a pass, too, although he had to
do some fast talking to get his.
In London, we went to Paddington Station. Across the street from the
station was Dickens Tavern, one of the many historic pubs in London.
As we entered the pub, Mac noticed a ,very old, lady with a small
glass of Guinness, half full. With his usual charm and savoir faire,

he walked over to her and inquired, "May I get you a drink, mother?"
To the delight and laughter of all around, she replied, as loudly as
she could, in a her high pitched, shrill voice, "I`ll have a `pint."
After a couple of "pints" we decided it was time to get to the Red
Cross Club in Piccadilly Circus, the Broadway of London, and settle
down for the night.
The Red Cross Club in Piccadilly, also known as Rainbow Corner, was
the headquarters for all G.Is when they visited London. A huge
building of several stories, with all kinds of hospitality available,
it was a magnet for all of us seeking rest and relaxation.
One of the attractions was the little office presided over by Adele
Astaire, sister of Fred Astaire, where she wrote letters to the loved
ones of the G.I.s telling them of her visit with their sons,
daughters or sweethearts. It was a very thoughtful way to support the
war effort and was highly appreciated by all of us. "Rainbow Corner"
also played host to such celebrated personages as Gen. Theodore
Roosevelt, Gen. Eisenhower, George Raft, Jimmy Stewart, Irving Berlin
and many others. Glen Miller did a broadcast there and also, Artie
Shaw, who performed there for the soldiers. Little wonder that this
was the most favored place visited by G.I,s when on leave in London.
Mac and I had just settled down for the night on the top floor of the
club with the sound of "Pom Pom" guns above us on the roof of the
building. "Pom Pom" was the name the British people called the antiaircraft guns that responded to the, almost, nightly bombings. Just
as sleep was taking over, we were aroused by a mighty explosion
accompanied by the intense shaking of the building.
In a matter of moments we were out of bed and dressed, prepared to
leave the building. Once out on the street, we observed the reason
for the blast. About four buildings down the street from the club a
V1 rocket had hit a building, tearing it apart, as though a giant
fist had come down on it. In no time at all, ambulances were on the
scene, and people covered in blood, crying out in pain, were being
removed from the wreckage. In that terrible moment I became aware of
the resilience of the British people. There was no panic, no
screaming, only a dogged determination on the part of the volunteers
to assist the wounded and bring order out of the chaos.
This should have been enough to spoil our weekend but, being young.
and feeling, indestructible ,we were undeterred and, after all, the
old Windmill Theater was still in business and the girls were still
there, awaiting the G.I.s.
The Windmill Theater, famous for never having closed during the worst
of the bombing of London had, by the time of the war, became a
burlesque house and a premier attraction for British and American
soldiers while on leave. The old theater has an interesting history
and has been portrayed on the screen in a film called, Mrs. Henderson

Presents,
It was one of those rare evenings in London, when the air was soft
and warm, ideal for outdoor relaxation. This, I mention, because it
was a tradition at the theater, when the weather was good, that the
patio at the rear of the house was open and customers and dancers ,
between acts, could enjoy a drink and conversation. Needless to say,
Mac and I took full advantage of this opportunity to "schmoose" with
the show girls.
Ensconced comfortably at one of the patio tables, we awaited the
arrival of the girls. They usually arrived as soon as the first
performance was over, still heavily "Made Up" with grease paint and
those long artificial eye lashes in place. To my unsophisticated
eyes, this was the very zenith of feminine glamour.
Two "ladies" strolled by and, with great admiration, I watched as Mac
beckoned to them, and with a skill, usually observed only in the
movies, brought them to our table. After a moment of "sweet talk" by
my adroit companion the girls settled in comfortably. I was highly
impressed as he deftly proffered cigarettes to our "lovely"
companions. Within a moment, his Zippo lighter appeared, the cover
thrown back, and with a flick of his thumb, the flame appeared and,
it was at that moment, Mac's sophistication ,"went up in flames". The
streak of fire from the lighter rose fully four inches and licked at
those long artificial eye lashes. This was followed by a stream of
four letter obscenities from the young "lady" that would have made a
drunken sailor blush. So endeth our London trip, so endeth Mac's,
highly acclaimed "savoir faire", but it was only one of many trips
that we took to that great and historic city.
On another occasion, Mac and I had the privilege of visiting the
Royal Opera House, in London's Covent Gardens. Impressive as this
may seem, hundreds of" Yanks," nightly, made a pilgrimage to this
historic place of culture and refinement, not to experience the
opera, but to meet the girls and dance the night away.
Sometime during the war a decision had been made to convert the opera
house into a dance hall for the entertainment of the thousands of
military personnel in the city. The stage was prepared for the
accommodation of the large swing bands that would appear there and a
dance floor installed. In effect, this historic place had become a
night club. For the price of two shillings and six pence one became a
member of the club and entitled to free admission when in town on
leave. I can still hear, in my "moments of recollection." the music
of Ted Heath and other bands of renown, and those tender moments on
the dance floor, with a lovely English girl in my arms, as we swayed
to the music and, for a few shining moments, forgot the shadow of war
that always hung over us. There were other times when we were
"jitterbugging" or dancing to a love song and the wail of the siren
would be heard alerting us to a bombing and, if we so desired, retire

to an air raid shelter. Very often, the young\

lady in my arms would whisper in my ear, "Oh, lets just keep on
dancing."
Upon our return to the hospital we found that the 306th had received
a new arrival. This was a surprise because no one new had ever been
assigned to our outfit, unlike combat units who were often getting
replacements due to casualties suffered in battle. We were curious to
know why the young soldier had been sent to the 306th.
He was busy getting his gear in order when we introduced ourselves.
In our chat with him we found out his home was in Dayton Ohio. We
asked him how he became assigned to our outfit. His answer was, " I
don`t know." He went on to say he was doing guard duty at a place in
Alamogordo, New Mexico and he was in town in a bar when a civilian
struck up a conversation with him. As he told it, "This guy asked me
what duty I was performing in the army." He said he told him,
"Nothing important, I just stand guard duty at a gate to some damned
compound outside Alamogordo." He added, "Hell. I don`t even know
what the Hell is going on there." "At that point two other civilians
walked up, took me by the arms and walked me outside to a waiting
car, drove me to my outfit and turned me over to a Lieutenant." The
Officer simply said to me, "Stow your things in your duffle bag and
follow me. Following his instructions, I finished up stowing my gear
and with that the Lieutenant took me to a car and to the airport and
sent me here, Hell, up to this moment, I don`t know what happened and
why I`m here." I guess he never did know until the war was over.
This incident brought home to all of us how serious the military was
about security. "Loose lips, sink ships," had real meaning for all of
us and we were constantly on guard when ing with anyone, especially
civilians.

Chapter 3
The patients were not the only ones to appreciate the charms of those
Lovely nurse Second Lieutenants' but we knew better than attempt to
socialize with Officers, a `sin,' requiring drastic action by
Superior Officers, if ventured by a lowly enlisted man.
My duties kept me in close contact with nurses and doctors, arranging

schedules for the "Ward Boys," schedules for medications and

assisting doctors and nurses during their rounds. It was impossible
to not become familiar with the nurses, and one beautiful young nurse
by the name of Rosemary, last name deleted, caught my eye to the
point that I broke through that invisible barrier and arranged a date
with her. Mac, never much concerned with rules, also arranged a date
with his favorite nurse and a double date was about to take place
that would have the inevitable consequences.
The bus arrived for the short ride into Salisbury. Mac and I found
our seats, discreetly separated from our dates so as not to appear to
be accompanying Officers. Shortly thereafter, arriving at our
destination, we proceeded to the nearest pub, and, with our dates,
began imbibing the best of what British brewers had to offer. Our
conversation gradually became more stimulating and our relationships
becoming ever more intimate, we were off to a wonderful evening. At
just before 11:00, the booming voice of the bartender resounded
throughout the pub. "Time please", the dreaded call, that meant we
could order only one more drink before the bar closed. This was
usually followed by a rush to the bar by the patrons, many of whom
still had unfinished drinks at their tables.
Knowing the rules of the game, we decided to move to one of the pubs
that catered to Officers and remained open after the usual closing
hours. The local officials were well aware that, "rank has its
privileges." The man at the door listened patiently as Mac explained
how the young lady with me had nursed me back to health from a
serious illness, "And now, my buddy John, and Rosemary, the lovely
nurse with him, are celebrating their engagement". Mac's story so
impressed the doorman that he made no objection to our presence in
the club.
Although Mac and I were the only non-Officers in the room, no one
seemed to notice and our evening continued on until closing time. As
we made our way through the crowd exiting the room, our arms
encircling our dates, I looked up and, catching my eye, was the
Company Commander. His look of disapproval, I knew immediately, was a
harbinger of things to come.
The results of having encountered the Company Commander, the night
before, under the previously mentioned circumstances, were not long
in coming. Mac was the first to heed a call to the Office immediately
after Mess., and upon his return to the barracks, informed me he had
been told to pack his belongings and leave on the truck parked
outside the Commander's office. He knew not, where he was headed.
Mac packed his gear and we both walked over to the waiting truck.
Before he climbed aboard, we shook hands and wished each other well.
I never saw Mac again, until we were discharged and home, once more,
in Kalamazoo.

I was the next to get the call to meet with the Company Commander.
His directive was quick, brusque and direct. "Tomorrow morning, be at
the roadside with your belongings in your duffle bag and meet the
truck when it arrives." "Do you have any questions, Corporal?"
My answer was quick, brusque and direct. "No Sir," followed by a
salute. The answer was a snappy salute and a, "Dismissed, Soldier."
Feeling somewhat, depressed at having lost my buddy and being sent to
"God knows where," I climbed aboard the truck the following morning
with a number of other "F***Ups, "but damned glad I hadn't lost my
stripes.
The truck rambled on for several miles until the driver pulled over
and hollered back at us, "You guys wanna stop at this pub and have a
beer?" The question was, of course unnecessary, and we all
disembarked , much heartened by this magnanimous gesture.
Along with the other guys, I dropped to the ground, faced forward,
and lo and behold, there was Capt. John Hummer, leaving his seat
alongside the driver. Capt. Hummer was one of the enlisted men's
favorite Officers and a resident of my hometown. His greeting to me
was, "John, what the Hell are you doing here?" I replied, "I might
ask you the same thing, Captain." Such was the informality that
existed between he and the enlisted men with whom he was well
aquainted. He was an excellent doctor, a fine Officer and a real
gentleman.
Once, inside the pub the G.I.s quickly received their "pints" and
were noisily swapping stories. Capt. Hummer and myself, knowing each
other well and, having come from the same outfit, as well as both of
us being residents of Kalamazoo, took a booth, and over a pint of
Guinness, began our stories of how we came to be on this particular
journey. I recounted my encounter with the Commander regarding
fraternization with Officers and the penalty I suffered. Capt. Hummer
laughed and said he had even a better story to tell. As he recounted
it, he and another officer had been on a date with two nurses and had
imbibed a little too much of "Old john Barleycorn," and upon
returning to camp one of the party dared him to go to the Commander`s
quarters and awaken him. He said," Having had one too many, and
taking the dare, I went into his hut, shook him, and with my
flashlight, blinded him and backed out. Unfortunately, I was unable
to stifle a laugh. Big mistake! The Commander, now fully aroused,
recognized my laugh, and bellowed out, "John Hummer, you S.O.B, I`ll
make you pay for this," "So here I am with the rest of you "F***ups."
He went on to assure me that we were not only assigned to the same
place but were going to Torquay, on the south coast of England, to
care for an encampment of soldiers training for the invasion. We
would be responsible for their day to day medical problems. He said,

"This is going to be dammed good duty, since this is one of the best
spots in England, as close to tropical weather as you will see over
here, and we will be on our own, to do, as we see fit".
After dropping off the guys on the truck at their assigned
destinations, we finally arrived at the lovely seaside town of
Torquay, to this day, stll known as an integral part of the "English
Riviera." It is no wonder that the famed British author, Agatha
Christie, chose to live most of her life here in this, almost,
tropical like paradise.
Wartime Britain was in no position to have its beaches inhabited only
by vacationing sun bathers and the long stretches of barbed wire that
covered those beaches stood in stark testimony to the fact that
England was at war and fighting for its life and freedom.
In Russia, soldiers were being sent to the Eastern Front for
improper behavior and Torquay was our, "Eastern Front." Of course,
being `good and obedient soldiers," we would do our best to cope
with the cards life had dealt us.
The encampment, covering several acres, was located on the outskirts
of town. The troops were housed in tents. We soon found our spot, a
large Quonset hut, neatly made up, sleeping accommodations for six
and an office and lab. This was to be our home and workplace until
further notice.
We quickly staked out our cots and proceeded to make our areas as
comfortable as possible. Capt. Hummer and I took an inventory of the
things we required in the lab and then we sat down over a cup of
coffee to discuss our routine.
Each morning we would take care of the needs of the soldiers on "Sick
Call." He explained that, at times, he would not be available as he
would, undoubtedly, have connections in town that might require him
to spend the night there. He said he was sure that I could handle the
routine cases by myself but he would leave me a telephone number
where I could reach him in case of an emergency. I was well aware of
the fact that one did not question a Superior Officer about his off
base activities. He then went on to say that he would arrange a, not
too early, sick call. He then instructed me to tell the Mess Sergeant
that he would like to confer with him.
The Sergeant, a large bulky man, heavily tattooed, and florid of
face, responded quickly, and gave a proper salute to Capt. Hummer,
which was returned in proper military manner. Capt. Hummer began,
"Sergeant, We are here to care for the personnel stationed here and I
want my men, and soon there will be more of us, to get plenty of
rest, so it would be appreciated if you would have breakfast for them
even if their arrival is somewhat late, thus giving them time for

some extra sleep time in the morning." The Sergeant assured Captain
Hummer
that this would be no problem but he had a favor to ask of him. The
Captain, knowing, "Quid pro quo," said, "Mention it, and it's done."
He then explained that he often suffered from a severe hangover in
the morning and would appreciate a doctor approved remedy. With that,
Captain Hummer made up a concoction and showed me how to prepare it
for the amiable Sergeant. As I recall, it had a very solid base of
codeine, and later received a very favorable reaction from the
Sergeant.
Our discussion continued, and being curious about his remark that
there would soon be more of us, I said, "Captain, Will we be
receiving some additional help?" His answer came in the form of a
question. "John, I`m sure you will be making some social connections
in town, and wouldn't it be nice to have some "wheels?" Without
hesitation, he received an affirmative answer. He then went on to say
that he was ordering an ambulance and driver. "I'll make sure that
the driver will understand that the vehicle is at your disposal at
all times," He said, with a smile. "I told you this would be good
duty, didn't I?" "Let's make the most of it."
The ambulance did arrive and it served me well as I became more
acquainted in the community. The driver, a Private First Class, was
a fine young man and fitted in very well with, our, rather "laid
back," style of living. We did, however, have one incident which
challenged our unmilitary behavior.
For some unknown reason, and, maybe, it was because the army had no
other place to put him, another Captain doctor appeared one day and
showed Capt. Hummer his transfer. We now had two Captains and two
enlisted men. That seemed a little heavy with rank.
It wasn't long before our new arrival, a young, "spit and polish"
Officer, made it known, in no uncertain terms, that our unkempt beds
and generally, sloppy housekeeping was not in line with what he
considered military demeanor. Dr. Hummer, I`m sure, considered this
an insult to his management and approached him a couple of days
later, after one of his rants about unmade beds. Confronting the
young Officer with fire in his eyes, he said, "Captain, "What was the
date of your commission"?
Without a moments hesitation he blurted out the date to Capt. Hummer.
The response was almost immediate, Capt. Hummer said, "Captain, my
commission is of a much earlier date and this puts me in complete
command here, and furthermore, my staff and I are quite satisfied
with our lifestyle. Is that perfectly clear"?
The young Captain Answered with a quick, "Yes Sir."
I am still of the opinion that the young Captain`s transfer to
another location the following week had something to do with this
clash of opinions between the two Officers.

Another incident, which I recall with great relish, happened one

evening when we were seated outside of our hut chatting. A Sergeant
from one of the infantry outfits showed up, rifle in hand, and
joined us. He said, "Wanna see a demonstration of how we train the
men in rifle handling?" He then proceeded to break down the rifle
into its separate parts. "Now watch this", he said. He closed his
eyes, and in a flash, put the rifle back together in record time.
Capt. Hummer, without verbal response, reached over and took hold of
the rifle. In a few short seconds he then proceeded to dismantle the
piece. He closed his eyes, and with a few deft movements, much faster
than the infantryman, reassembled the rifle. Then, breaking his
silence, Capt. Hummer said, "Soldier, I learned this little maneuver
in the National Guard, long before being sent over here. Not all
medics are unfamiliar with firearms."
Not all duty here was "fun and games", and meeting the day to day
needs of the troops kept us busy. There were plenty of situations
which required our response, although most situations were not of a
highly serious nature. These were highly trained combat troops,
having been already trained for battle before arriving at this
station. They were not engaging in maneuvers which resulted in severe
injury or worse. Most of our cases were merely first aid, although we
did have occasional situations in which, after initial treatment, we
took the patient to a nearby hospital.
We did have some inkling that important moves in the war were about
to take place. Often at night, in the darkness, German reconnaissance
planes would appear overhead and shoot tracer bullets, hoping for
return fire, thus establishing the location of the troops. One night
they dropped a small personnel bomb which landed on a china shop on
the outer perimeter of the encampment. What we saw in the morning
would have had a collector of "fine China "climbing the walls."
Just to be on the safe side, we dug a small trench and when a plane
appeared overhead we would climb in until all activity ceased. One
night, Capt. Hummer and I took to the trench for cover. During our
descent into the trench I brushed against something and received a
small cut on my wrist. Upon seeing the bloody wrist, Capt. Hummer
said. "OK, John, now I can put you in for a Purple Heart."
I, of course, declined the offer. The Purple Heart is given to those
wounded in battle as a tribute to their sacrifice and heroism. I am
sure, Captain Hummer was speaking in jest, knowing I could not, in
good conscience, accept his offer.
Monitoring the news every day, we were very much aware of the
mayhem being carried on across the Channel. Hitler had subdued most
of Europe and was keeping a wary eye on Britain where more and more
American, British, Canadian and allied forces were training for, what
he knew, would be the invasion of the continent.

Being in such close contact with these soldiers, who would be among
those to storm the beaches, made us very aware of the tremendous
responsibilities our nation had placed upon their shoulders. Many of
these young soldiers would be laying down their lives to keep alive,
what was left of, law and order in Europe. We were also aware of the
other Allied forces, in camps such as these, who were also called
upon to keep alive freedom and democracy. We were young, but not too
young, to know that what happened on those beaches would make Europe,
either free or slave and, in time, threaten the security of the
United States. For those of us who would not be compelled to make
that trip across the English Channel and face the carnage of the
invasion, it strengthened our resolve to care well for our brave
combat soldiers.

Chapter 4
The year was 1944 and the Stars and Stripes, the GI. newspaper, kept
us fully informed of what was happening across the English Channel.
Hitler's 1941 invasion of Russia, known as "Operation Barbarossa",
had proven a disaster and the attack on Pearl Harbor by the Japanese,
bringing in the Americans, had the German forces on the defensive.
Everyone realized that a turning point in the war had been reached.

The world held its breath awaiting the invasion.

Preparations for the invasion of the Normandy coast in France had
been made in 1943. President Roosevelt and Prime Minister Winston
Churchill had selected Gen. Dwight D. Eisenhower as Supreme Commander
and gave the plan the code name, Operation Overlord. The Allied
powers were now set on a course that would result in the greatest
military operation in the history of the world.
The Allies assembled a force of three million men and stored sixteen
million tons of ammunition and supplies in great Britain. The Allies
had five thousand large ships, four thousand smaller landing craft
and more than eleven thousand aircraft.
All along the south coast of Britain staging areas were set up for
the accommodation of the thousands of troops preparing for the
invasion. Torquay was one of these staging areas.
I remember clearly, getting up one morning, prepared to go to town
and meet the young lady with whom I had become acquainted. I stepped
out the door and it became crystal clear to me that I was not going
anywhere. This huge encampment was completely surrounded by British
and American soldiers bearing automatic weapons. From that moment on
security was absolute and complete. It was then that I realized why
large circus tents had been set up in the last few days and Officers
from all the outfits had been seen coming and going. Briefings were
being held, prior to, what all of us expected to be, the launching of
the invasion. What, I did not know, was that the invasion had been
set for June 5, but weather conditions in the channel were so bad
that the mission had been postponed until June 6.
In the wee hours of the morning of June 6,1944 we became aware of
frenzied activity in the camp. The sound of barked orders, the roar
of truck engines and the sound of booted feet made us realize that
the time had come. The invasion of the European continent was about
to become reality. Many young men would perish that day on the
beaches of Normandy, but many more would go forward into the heart of
Germany, in what Gen. Eisenhower dubbed, "A great Crusade."
The greatest armada in all of military history had been unleashed
that morning and a grateful world , to this day, pays homage to the
brave men who were willing to sacrifice their lives to wipe from the
face of the earth the evil empires of Germany, Italy and, ultimately,
Japan.
The Order of the Day. June 6 , 1944 from Supreme Headquarters Allied
Expeditionary Forces, as stated by General Dwight Eisenhower, Supreme
Commander was as follows,
Supreme Headquarters
Allied Expeditionary Force.

"Soldiers, Sailors and Airmen of the Allied Expeditionary Force!

You are about to embark upon the Great Crusade, toward which we have
striven these many months. The eyes of the world are upon you. The
hopes and prayers of liberty loving people everywhere march with you.
In company with our brave Allies and brothers-in-arms on other
fronts, you will bring about the destruction of the German war
machine, the elimination of Nazi tyranny over the oppressed peoples
of Europe and security for ourselves in a free world.
Your task will not be an easy one. Your enemy is well trained, well
equipped and battle hardened. He will fight savagely.
But this is the year 1944! Much has happened since the Nazi triumphs
of 1940-41. The United Nations have inflicted upon the Germans great
defeats, in open battle, man to man. Our offensive has seriously
reduced their strength in the air and their capacity to wage war on
the ground. Our Home Fronts have given us an overwhelming superiority
in munitions and weapons of war, and placed at our disposal great
reserves of trained fighting men. The tide has turned! The free men
of the world are marching together toward victory!
I have full confidence in your courage, devotion to duty and skill in
battle. We will accept nothing less than full victory!
Good luck! And let us beseech the blessing of Almighty God upon this
great and noble undertaking."
With this directive from the Supreme Commander and the hopes of all
free men, our troops went forward into battle. Before the day was
over, the events that took place on the beaches of Normandy would
herald a "new "Birth of Freedom" for the "Oppressed people of Europe"
and a new "Sense of security for ourselves" in a free world.
An eerie quiet now settled over this huge staging area. The sound of
bugle calls, the barked orders of the Sergeants and the noisy rush to
the mess hall by hundreds of hungry soldiers had suddenly become
stilled. The sounds of the camp had been transferred to the beaches
of Normandy and became the whine of bullets, the flash of rocket
fire, the explosion of heavy artillery and cries of pain from the
wounded and dying, as these brave troops struggled forward to free a
continent from the evil stranglehold of Nazi tyranny.
The only personnel left in the encampment was Capt. Hummer, myself
and the young Private who drove the ambulance. Our mission was
finished. Together, the Private and myself did a "Walk-through" of
the tents before they were struck and removed by the Quartermaster
Corps.
Left behind by the troops were those things they would not carry into
battle, bits of this and that they had acquired while on leave,
magazines and books they had been reading and the bric- a-brack that

magically collects around us as we move about.

One bit of memorabilia did catch my eye. lying on a cot, was a red,
hardbound copy of Tolstoy`s War and Peace, possibly the last book
this young soldier would ever read. With this thought in mind, I
picked up the book and there on the flyleaf, was the soldier's
signature, Jack C. Barnett. Through the years, this has been one of
my treasured mementos and I have tried repeatedly, to no avail, to
locate Jack, or his family, to return this bit of his wartime life to
its rightful owners.
The
the
our
for

Quartermaster Corps, with its usual efficiency, arrived toward

end of the day and removed the tents and all Army property except
quarters.. We would spend the night in our Quonset hut and wait
our orders.

Not having access to a mess hall, Capt. Hummer, the ambulance driver
and myself clambered aboard the ambulance, drove into town and had a
meal of fish and chips and returned for our last night in Torquay.
The following morning, Capt. Hummer called us together, and, now
having our orders in hand, informed us that we were to return to the
306 Station Hospital and the Private was to return to his outfit. A
vehicle would arrive to transport the Captain, and myself to the
hospital. I remember him saying, "Now, all we have to do is get back
and ready ourselves for the casualties that will be arriving from
Normandy. It won`t be long before we see what the term, "War is
Hell," really means,"
The hospital was now located outside the town of Cheltenham. The
Quonset huts were lined up neatly, concrete sidewalks connecting the
ward buildings. A mess hall was in place, barracks, quarters for the
Officers, a laboratory, sanitary facilities, and flying from a tall
flagpole, "Old Glory." The hospital was located on an area of
undeveloped land which provided the opportunity to carry on a
military program without disturbing the civilians who lived nearby. I
found the barrack
to which I was assigned and Capt. Hummer, being an Officer, had a
building which he shared with another Officer. We settled in for the
night wondering what tomorrow would bring.
The one thing that struck me was that the hospital had no patients
and that meant we were prepared for the arrival of casualties. It was
now well into the invasion. We had received word of the heavy
fighting and that the beachhead had been established and our troops
and the Canadians, as well as other forces, were now firmly
entrenched in Normandy.
Unlike the old 306th, the hospital had Military Police surrounding
it. It didn`t take long to find out that our patients would not be

American casualties, but instead, , German prisoners of war.

With the arrival of the new patients, a whole set of new problems
were encountered. All of this meant additional training.. We had to
become familiar with the rules of war, under, what was to become, the
Geneva Convention, regarding the treatment of enemy combatants, learn
to communicate with people of a foreign language and abide with
enhanced security regulations.
I was extremely busy for the next few days, assigning my men to their
wards, arranging duty schedules, and generally getting in sync with
the doctor I was working with, as well as getting to know the various
routines followed by the nurses.
Our first batch of patients arrived by train and we worked late into
the night getting them into the proper wards, taking care of their
medication needs and showing them, by our actions, that they had
nothing to fear. These were men who had been in the thick of battle,
weary and confused, not knowing what fate had in store for them, in
the hands of the enemy. Many had received severe wounds, others only
wounds severe enough that they could not function well enough to be
left unattended. The one thing they had in common was that most
would soon be ambulatory. Their quick removal to a hospital in
England must have been the need to get them across the channel and,
in case of escape, not having them return to duty.
While few of the prisoners spoke English and few of us spoke German,
it became apparent to us, quite quickly, that we had to teach each
other our languages. Out of this emerged a mixture of German and
English that, strung together in half sentences, allowed us to
communicate, if not fluently, at least well enough to function.
The one thing most of these men shared in common was their disdain of
Hitler and their nonparticipation in Nazi activities. Their
participation in the war was the result of the Draft and the now
familiar refrain, "I was only taking orders" defense. They uttered
it, we ignored it. There were exceptions, of course, and, as time
went by, some really did turn out to be anti-Nazi.
Our treatment of the prisoners was strictly according to
international law, in spite of our dislike of these," Nazi Supermen."
They were not forced to work, had food comparable to that fed our own
soldiers, allowed religious activities and housing equal to that
provided American patients. Treatment of their medical needs was of
the highest order of the time. Doctors, nurses and enlisted personnel
gave their level best in caring for their patients. Needless to say,
we had no escape attempts.
There were, however two types of prisoners. Combat soldiers had, very
visably, marked on their shirts, PW. "Prisoners of War," Medical

personnel had on their shirts, the marking, PP ," Protective

Personnel."Their non-combat status, allowed them special status under
the firmly established rules of war, later to become known as the
"Geneva Convention."
German medical personnel, Officers and enlisted men, were given the
opportunity to work with us in caring for the patients. Our doctors
now had additional help with the assistance of the German doctors and
my men had, much needed, help in carrying out their duties.
Life soon settled down into a daily routine. Many of the patients,
now ambulatory, seemed quite satisfied with the conditions we
provided for them and presented no problems for us.
Among the patients there were a few who were complete fanatics,
usually young and thoroughly "brainwashed." One such ,was a twenty
year old infantryman who. over and over, professed his loyalty to
Hitler and the Nazi doctrine. He had been severely wounded and was
scheduled for an operation.
At his scheduled time we wheeled him into the operating room. It soon
became apparent that he would need a blood transfusion. Since all the
American personnel had records on their "dog tags" of their blood
type, and many Germans had lost theirs, time being of the essence, it
was decided that one of the "ward boys" would "volunteer" to donate
the needed blood.
At the conclusion of the operation. He was returned to the ward. I
stood by him until he recovered from the effects of the anesthesia.
It was then that I gave in to an impulse that possibly could be
construed as "torture," and in violation of the rules of war. In the
best German I could muster ,with my limited fluency, I informed him
that he was now a Jew. His immediate response was, "Nein, Nein, which
in English is a very emphatic, "NO. NO!" I managed to get across to
him that one of the American soldiers had given him blood and that
the soldier was Jewish, therefore, he now had Jewish blood. I am sure
his reaction to my fabrication did not lead to his swift recovery.
The fact that the young man who donated his blood was not Jewish and
my deliberate attempt to cause this, "Hitler Youth," anguish, I
consider to this day, a contribution to the war effort, and more
deserving of a commendation than a rebuke. Thankfully I received
neither, for having inflicted a severe sense of discomfort upon a
"patriotic warrior" of the German Reich.
Many of the Germans had acquired quite substantial amounts of French
money and this was not lost on us as to the good times we could have
if we were to obtain this currency and convert it to British Pounds.
The Germans seemed eager to part with this booty, which they had
cleverly concealed when captured, in exchange for American
cigarettes. Having plenty of cigarettes we soon had pocketfuls of

French money, and now the trick was to make the conversion to British
currency. The post office had been ordered to make known, sums of
money beyond the amount Uncle Sam so generously showered upon us,
being sent home. The army seemed always watchful for G.I.
indiscretions. Since sending the cash home was not our first
priority, that was not an option we had considered.. The second
hurdle was to get an American Officer to sign off on our transaction
when we were on leave.
As soon as passes became available, Joe Feld, a good drinking buddy,
and a fellow Michigander from Detroit, and I took leave and headed
for London. Our first stop, the Red Cross Club in Piccadilly Circus,
to freshen up, change our francs for pounds and prepare for a
memorable weekend.
In the lobby of the club we spotted a young Second Lieutenant, with
all the earmarks of a "Ninety Day Wonder," and convinced him to sign
off for us, making it possible to make our currency transaction.
With a generous amount of the royal cash in our pockets
find the finest hotel in London that would admit a pair
enlisted men. The need to be free from being surrounded
G.I.s, of lowly rank, was a passion that engrossed most
while on leave, and we were no exception.

we set off to
of lowly
by fellow
soldiers

Although my memory fails me as to the exact hotel we settled upon, I

do know that all the military guests, except us, wore marks of rank
upon their shoulders. The secret to acceptance here was, not rank
but, an adequate amount of the "King`s Sterling."
We were escorted to our room by an elderly "Bell Boy," who treated us
with all the respect given to any of the guests, and graciously
accepted his tip with a "Thank you." and a salute. Having, at one
time, in civilian life, held the same position as he, I could not but
marvel at the fact that I was on the receiving line of this timeless
little ritual.
Our room was, indeed, first class and more luxurious than I was
accustomed to. Joe, seemed much more blas and was not as impressed
as I was. After a call for room service and having a couple of
drinks, quickly brought to us by a room attendant, we decided that
after a shave, s**t and shower we would "Do the town."
This was rapidly accomplished and we were soon on the street.
After hailing a cab and getting aboard, Joe instructed the driver to
take us somewhere where good food and drink was available as well as
some "action." He then placed a five pound note on the seat beside
the driver, which was hastily retrieved and an assurance given that,
"He knew exactly the right place." That much British currency,
roughly translated into twenty American dollars, a very hefty sum at

that point of time. "Money Talks."

After
fence
place
found

a short drive the cab pulled up

which cordoned off a bombed out
to begin our carousing. The cab
and opened a makeshift door and

in front of a construction
site. This seemed an unlikely
driver, without hesitation,
bade us, "Enter.

Once inside, we entered an opening into a bombed out building and

found a party was in "full swing". A rather nice bar, given the
circumstances, was doing a hectic business. There was plenty of food
in sight and a small band was playing for the dancing couples on the
floor. Eyeing up the single girls, we knew immediately that "action"
was available. It was, and Joe and I got back to our hotel very late,
or early, depending on how one looks at the clock. Our weekend came
and went, as did our "easy money." One thing we did learn was that
the "Black Market" was alive and well and almost anything was
available.

Chapter Five

Back at our duties, our natural impulse for fun took over. To liven
up the evening we acquired from the lab a quantity of pure alcohol.
Having plenty of grape juice on hand, we mixed the two together to
give the grape juice, "added flavor". The result was a delicious
refresher which, after inducing the nurses to join us, and noting
their lustful expressions of delight, we dubbed the cocktail, "Purple
Passion." I shall not belabor this yarn further.
As the war on the continent heated up we received word that the
bombing over Germany and the victories on land were taking its toll
to the point that Hitler began the recruitment of the very young and
the old. It was then that we received contingents of prisoners that
consisted of boys, some not even in their teens, and men well into
the latter stages of middle age.
Among these older prisoners was a man, in his late fifties, elderly
to me, who was assigned to me for ward duty. He was a very mild man,
somewhat confused as to why he was in the army. I kept him busy with
light duties and, to the degree possible, we became friends.
One late afternoon I walked into the office and found him sitting at
a table, his head in his hands, bent over the table and sobbing. I
walked over to him, placed my hand on his shoulder and
inquired, ,"What`s the matter?"
He raised his head, tears running down his cheeks, and lifting a
photo from the table. replied in his broken English, "This is a
picture of my wife and sons, all killed in the bombing." This
incident and the sight of these old men and very young boys, caught
up in a war, not of their making, caused me to realize that the
tragedy of war strikes both sides with equal vengeance,
It was now late into 1944 and the 306th had been in the UK for over
two years. This was not lost on the mind of our Company Commander. At
a Company meeting with him he broached the idea of having a little
celebration commemorating our service. He informed us that he had
obtained a spot in Cheltenham where he would set up a bar and social
area where, when off duty, we could go and, with our fellow G.Is,
celebrate our anniversary. His, much appreciated gesture was met with
a sincere round of applause.
Having an afternoon free of duty, I decided to invite one of the MPs
to accompany me. When we arrived the house was full , the Company
Commander made a toast and congratulated us on a "Job, well done."
After a moment or two of, "He's a Jolly Good Fellow," we settled down
to consuming the free beer.
My companion and guest, an extremely large and imposing MP, had just
told me how lucky we were to have such a fine Officer in charge when
the Commander walked over to where we were sitting, handed me am MP

arm band, and said, "Corporal, put this on and if any guys come in,
not a part of our outfit, tell them this is a private party and tell
them to leave." I said, "Sir, I am not an MP." His response was,
"Soldier, you are now," and walked away with a grin on his face."
Faced with this unpleasant duty, I remarked to my companion, "Damn,
I`ll get killed if I try to throw any of those infantrymen out."
He laughed and said, "John, if they come in just walk over to them
and tell them to get out."
"To hell I will. You want to see me get
killed?" I replied.
He said, "You don`t get it, do you?" He went on, "Tell them to get
out and then stand between them and the door and if they give you any
crap, invite them out to settle the matter." I said, "You've got to
be nuts." At this my friend was suddenly consumed with laughter.
After recovering his composure he said, "When you invite them out,
I`ll go out the side door over there, don't worry, You`ll be
alright."
As if on cue, two guys wearing combat boots and infantry insignia on
their shirts, walked over to the bar, obtained mugs of beer and
seated themselves. For me, Armagaddon had arrived. "Undaunted and
fearless", I approached them and gave them the message that they were
not welcome since this was a private party. Completely ignoring the
MP badge on my arm, they answered with a " Screw you, you f******
medic." Having faith and confidence in my companion, with some
reservation, I invited them outside. My invitation was immediately
accepted.
I walked to the door, my legs a bit wobbly, followed by the two
combatants. My friend, at the same time, went out the side door. Once
on the street, all Hell broke loose. Out of nowhere, one of the G.I.s
got a fist squarely in the face and the other a kick in the pants and
both moved rapidly down the street. My friend returned to the side
door and entered. Still, a bit dazed, I returned to my place at the
table where, my buddy was already seated, gave a salute to the
startled Commander, and sat down. I am sure, to this day, that
Officer is still wondering how that skinny kid managed to evict two
combat soldiers with "Chips on their shoulders."
As one of my duties was to have the wards ready for Saturday morning
inspection, I made my rounds on Friday afternoon. On one particular
Friday, I was summoned to the bedside of a patient who spoke fluent
English. He informed me that a patient, and he named the bed number,
was not getting a full portion of food and was always complaining
that he was hungry. I, immediately confronted the patient and, he
informed me that, Hauptman, a POW, that that had been a medic in the
German navy, and whom I now had serving the food in this ward, was
refusing him a full portion of food. From the look of him, I didn`t
doubt his word.

I headed back to the office, found Hauptman, and confronted him with
the fact that a patient was being denied his full portion of food.
Hauptman made no attempt to conceal the fact that he gave this
patient only minimal portions. I asked him why he would do such a
thing and got an immediate response. "Unter' Officer, that man is a
Waffen S.S. soldier, Look at the insignia on his uniform." All S.S.
had a "Black Patch Waffen SS" insignia on their uniforms. He
continued, "You take care of the office, I take care of the "SS,"
spoken in surprisingly good English. Needless to say, I sympathized
with his motive, but explained that we had to treat all patients the
same.
Saturday morning inspection went off without any problem, the
soldier in question had been given the proper amount of food and made
no complaints. The inspecting Officer, having given us an OK,
immediately departed and we went back to business, as usual. I was
ready for some leave time and knew Joe would be in line with me for a
pass and a trip to London.
Usual procedure before going on leave was to be sure all duty was
covered in my absence. I finished arranging schedules for the on duty
enlisted personnel and returned to the wards to see that all was in
order. Having determined that everything was shipshape, I turned to
the Private, on duty, and was discussing special needs for certain
patients when a terrific explosion shook the building Both, the
Private and I were knocked off our feet and some patients had been
thrown out of their beds.
Our immediate concern, after picking ourselves up off the floor, was
to ascertain the condition of our patients and determine the damage
done to the building. As soon as it was determined that no injuries
were suffered by the patients and the building seemed intact, I went
outside to see if I could discover the cause of the explosion.
An ambulance had arrived and a bomb crew, off in the distance, was
surveying a place where a huge cloud of smoke had formed. After
informing the driver that everything was alright with us, and
clambering aboard, we headed out to the bomb site. What I saw made
"my hair stand up straight." What if that bomb has landed on the
hospital, was my first thought.
The crater seemed big enough to have swallowed a large building. The
bomb crew soon left the scene, after taking note of the situation I
reflected upon what I had just seen.. Could this have been one of
Hitler's V2 bombs Could this have been one of the last V2s. that
found its way to England? It has been said that the V2 was a failure
and hit more uninhabited places than occupied areas but, at that
moment, it seemed a deadly weapon to me.

Never deterred by last minute interruptions, Joe and I headed for

London on a two day pass which we spent in "cultural pursuits." One
interesting few moments occurred while we were on a short train ride
to a place just outside of London, highly recommended by a fellow
G.I. as a great place to indulge ourselves.
Seated directly across from us in the train was a small British
gentleman, British trains have these little compartments, so much
like those seen on stage coaches in Western movies. We exchanged
pleasantries, and in so doing, he asked me where I was from, "In the
"States." I told him, Kalamazoo, Michigan. His face broke into a
smile and he said, "Oh I know that part of the country well." He went
on, "several years ago, I was in Chicago, looking for a shop where I
could construct neon signs and not having any success."He continued,
"I was eating in a little Italian restaurant and got talking to the
waiter and telling him of my problem." He reached into his pocket,
withdrew a business card, scribbled his name on it, handed it to me,
and said, "Here, take this card to the hotel named on it, stand in
line on the stairs until you are ushered into the room at the top of
the stairs. Give the man at the door the card, and you'll be taken
care of. I did as he suggested the following day. When I was finally
ushered in I saw a long Board of Directors table, and there, at the
head of the table was, none other than, "Scar face" Al Capone. I
recognized him immediately, having seen his picture in the newspaper.
I tell you, my knees were buckling and I was one scared little
Englishman." He went on to say that he was "taken care of," but it
was an experience he would never forget.
On another occasion, on one of those train rides out of London I
experienced a very enlightening moment while talking to a civilian.
The man sitting across from me struck up a conversation with me and
remarked, "I certainly admire the spirit of you `Yanks." He went on
to say, " I was taking this same train and a "Yank" was sitting
across from me and I inquired as to his destination. The train was
just beginning to move and I inquired as to his destination. He told
me and I told him he was on the wrong train, going in the opposite
direction. Without further ado, he simply grabbed the leather strap,
dropped down the window, jumped out onto the platform and
disappeared. That`s the kind of immediate action that will win this
damned war, Thank God, you are on our side."
On December 16, 1944, we received word that the Germans had mounted a
huge offensive, had broken through and created an extensive bulge in
the Allied lines. This was Hitler`s last desperate attempt to change
the course of the war and became known as the "Battle of the Bulge."
Although fighting was fierce, it was to no avail, and the end of the
war was now in sight, although peace would not come until May of
1945.
The New Year arrived and while we managed to celebrate in the local

pub it was a time when one felt very homesick, wondering if this
damned war would ever end, an emotion one felt every night when the
bugle sounded, Taps., signaling, "Lights Out."
The year 1945 seemed much like every other year, the same old
routine, the same "bitching" in the barracks and the same old duties
in the wards looking after the needs of the wounded enemy.
Spring had arrived and with the coming of April, we were on one of
our `voluntary' long hikes to condition ourselves before settling
down to the business of the day. It was a chilly day in April and we
were just approaching camp when a Sergeant came running over to us
shouting, "Have you guys heard the news?" Before we could respond, he
shouted, "The President just passed away." There was a moment of
complete silence among the group. As the portent of this shocking
news settled upon us, we all fell silent and tears arose in the eyes
of all six of us. We were the young men who grew from children to
adults, never having known another President, and one so dearly loved
by all of us. He was the leader who took us through the "Great
Depression" and led us in time of war. "He was always the "Master of
his Realm", and will always be remembered as the "Captain at the
Helm." April 12, 1945, "Now he belongs to the ages," to borrow a
phrase from Secretary of War, Stanton, upon the death of Abraham
Lincoln during the Civil War.
What had seemed just the beginning of a new year, suddenly turned
into a year filled with surprises. We knew that the Allies had agreed
to demand "Unconditional Surrender." We also knew that Hitler had
committed suicide and that this meant sure victory for the Allies. In
spite of all this, we were taken aback, when on May 5, 1945 the
surrender of Germany brought an end to the war in Europe. On May 8,
the surrender was signed. It was VE Day! The guns were silenced and
a war torn continent was, once again, at peace. The "Captain at the
Helm," had not lived to see us "Gain the summit of the hill."
Celebrations broke out throughout the United Kingdom and this meant
passes were being issued very liberally and it made it possible for
us to join in the celebration. Needless to say, Joe Feld and I were
now ready for a trip to London. London was in a high state of
euphoria when we arrived. People, everywhere, were still celebrating,
days after the war ended, and American G.I, s were treated as
heroes. Joe and I basked in the glory of it all, even though we had
not fired a single shot in anger throughout the war.

Chapter 6
After returning from leave I was making my rounds in the wards when

my Sergeant approached me and said, "John, looks like you have a new
assignment." I replied, "The Hell I do, I haven't done anything
wrong." He laughed and said, "No, its not punishment, you are going
on detached service to Belfast, N. Ireland with a Private to set up a
prophylactic station, you lucky dog." He continued, "That's a dammed
nice duty assignment."
May 8, 1945, I arrived in Belfast with Bill, my assistant, moved
into our new quarters and for the next couple of days made the place
"ship-shape." My station was set up in a storefront not far from the
center of town. It consisted of quarters for two and a facility to
service the soldiers before their return to camp. This was my station
and I was in complete charge, far from the commands of demanding
Sergeants. My subordinate was a young Private who hailed from the
Appalachians, a"Hillbilly," if you will. To my delight he even stood
in awe of a lowly Corporal. Needless to say, we got on very well.
Belfast is the largest city in Northern Ireland. N. Ireland is a part
of the United Kingdom and was fully involved in the war. It was here
that the Titanic was built in the shipyards of Harland and Wolfe. For
many decades many of the great ships of historical importance were
built there. Belfast also has a long history related to the linen
trade and it was known all over the world for its fine linen
products. Then, during the war Belfast had another claim to fame,
along with other cities in the United Kingdom, and that was its
surplus of "Yanks." The term, "Yanks," was a token of friendship
except when it was used by the mothers of eligible girls in the
community. In spite of this bit of "bigotry" the young maidens
seemed to find the "Yanks" good company and the dance halls were
constantly creating many "social relationships."
There were still enough "Yanks" to go around even though the war in
Europe was over. There was an Air Force base called, Langford Lodge
just outside the city and the troops were busy dismantling the base
and removing equipment while awaiting orders for their next
assignment. With the war still raging in the South Pacific, there was
little doubt as to where that would be. Needless to say, I was
wondering about the destination for the 306th, but for now, at least,
I was safely tucked away in Belfast. I did know, however, that since
we had not been in combat, the South Pacific might be our next
location and a combat area there.
My assistant was not eager to wend his way through the large city,
preferring to stay at our station, in the evening writing letters to
his girlfriend and parents. This made it possible for me to have the
evenings to myself. During the day there was little to do and it was
then I became acquainted with civilians on the street outside the
facility. One elderly lady and I had several interesting chats. On
one occasion, she told me she was a seamstress and invited me over in
the next street to see her shop. Not wanting to seem uninterested, I

walked with her to the shop. She was very proud of it and showed me
all her creations. We chatted for a few minutes and then she said,
"Would you be staying for Tea?" With that, she pulled aside a curtain
and there in the next room was a neat little restaurant. Her
smuggling connections in the Irish Free State, which was neutral in
the war, provided her with all the food and drink she needed to run
this fine little lunch room at this time of severe food rationing in
the United Kingdom. I could not know it at the time but this tiny
sliver of the "Black Market," would mark a turning point in my life.
Having heard of a dance hall, not ordinarily frequented by Americans
I decided to give it a try. Hoping to find some feminine
companionship, I sauntered into the club, approached the bar, ordered
a drink, and surveyed the scene for a possible conquest. There,
sitting at a nearby table with a young British Naval Officer, was the
loveliest Colleen I had ever laid eyes upon. Much as I wanted to ask
her for a dance, I couldn`t chance a rejection with that "Limey"
seated at the table with her. I bided my time and after a few short
minutes her date excused himself and left the table. Siezing the
moment, I strode over to her and asked her for a dance. Surprisingly,
she accepted my invitation and for several wonderful minutes I held
her in my arms as we danced to the romantic music the band was
playing. The dance, having ended, I escorted her back to her table.
The young Officer had returned and as we approached, the damned
"Limey," in his phony, uppercrust accent, said, "I presume, Peggy, my
dancing is too old fashioned for you." With that, he stood up and
strode off. Now, I knew her name, had vanquished her boyfriend and
had her to myself. This didn`t seem to bother Peggy, who seemed
almost glad to see him leave. I sat down with her, took her hand in
mine, and from that moment on, I was in love.
I wanted very much to escort her home but she made it quite clear
that her mother would not welcome me and it would cause her more
trouble than she was willing to bear. Before seeing her to the bus we
agreed to see one another the following evening. I was in "Seventh
Heaven," and felt, very much, like the character Gene Kelly played in
that wonderful dance sequence in the movie Singing in the Rain. It
seemed that all these events were taking place as though following a
movie scenario. I had been in Ireland for such a short period of time
and, here I was, already in love.
We met the following evening, and by the end of two weeks of ,every
night dating, had become a "Couple." We both realized that our
affair was more than just a "Passing Fancy." None of this would have
been possible without the collusion of Peggy`s sister, Betty, who was
always ready with an excuse for Peggy`s late nights.
It soon became quite clear to both of us that we were in love to the
point that we wanted to spend the rest of our lives together,
although I had not yet, "Popped the Question." The difficulties to

overcome seemed too overwhelming. Peggy was from an Irish Catholic

family. I was a Protestant, with ties to the Dutch Reformed Church,
the church of the most hated, King William of Orange, and, to top it
off, I was a "Damned Yankee" and a soldier from a far off country.
Then, and even today, in Belfast, Catholics do not marry Protestants
and, most certainly, not Protestants with ties to the Dutch Reformed
Church. Secondly, and even more disqualifying, was the fact that her
parents would be losing a beloved daughter and sending her abroad,
maybe, never to return. All this we knew, but two people in love are
blinded by their emotions to the extent that they are insensitive to
the feelings of others affected by their union.
One late Friday afternoon, after a stroll through the shops and a
light dinner in one of the many little curbside eateries that dot the
downtown streets of Belfast, we walked up the steps of the City Hall,
found a seat close to the great columns that grace that stately
building and sat down to chat. It was early evening, a light rain had
fallen during the day but the evening, was quite pleasant.
I told Peggy of my love for her but emphasized that if I could not
meet her parents it would be better to call the whole thing off
before we both got hurt in the process. She said nothing for a
minute, and then, with tears in her eyes, said, "OK, John, let`s go
home, right now."
Dusk had fallen, with a bit of chill in the air, as we walked up
Rockville Street and entered number 31, one of the little brownstone
houses that line the streets of Belfast. The tiny living room was
warm and cozy, heated by a neat little fireplace that threw long,
flickering shadows on the papered walls. A piano, sofa and chair
graced the room . All these homey images gave me a feeling of warmth
and security I had not experienced for a very long time.
No one being home, Peggy busied herself with making a pot of hot tea
and then went to the piano and played an old Irish tune. As I sat and
basked in the beauty of the scene, I kept thinking how much I would
love to spend the rest of my life with this lovely Irish girl.
The peace and tranquility of this heavenly moment was shattered as
Peggy`s mother arrived on the scene. Mrs. McKenny, although not a
large lady, to my eyes presented a very imposing figure. Peggy
introduced her mother to me. Mrs. McKenny, very graciously, shook my
hand, and then, with a pleasant smile, uttered the words, so often
spoken to young men in my position, "So, you are the young man who
has been keeping my daughter out to all hours of the night." My
response was, " Yes, Mrs. McKenny, I must plead guilty to that."
The evening was continuing splendidly with Peggy`s mother querying me

about all things Catholic. I was responding with many things I had
read about the Church and throwing in the names of a few Catholic
clerics. Fortunately, I had read so much history that included the
Church that I felt I was coming off quite well. Never once, did Mrs.
McKenny ask me if I was a Catholic, although Peggy told me later that
her mother concluded that I was a "Fallen away" Catholic.
The evening was getting late and then Peggy`s mother issued the
"Coup de Grace,"
"I know you boys always enjoy some home cooked food. Would you like
something with your tea?"
I answered, "Certainly Mrs. McKenny, I`d
like that very much, thank you." Then she said, "Well now, I have
some lovely fish and some delicious chicken, which would you prefer?"
It was then, I made my first mistake. I chose chicken, completely
forgetting it was Friday. I was served a delicious plate of roast
chicken , completely oblivious of the error I had just made.
Not all was lost, for I was invited back and spent all my evenings
there getting to know Peggy`s mother, father, sister and brother.
Peggy`s father was a quiet little man who worked for a local bakery.
He was very easy to talk to and we became friends very quickly,
spending some time at the local pub getting better acquainted. He was
a very broad minded man, certainly not a part of the religious
bigotry that consumed so much of Northern Ireland, and best of all,
not prejudiced toward American soldiers. I came to know her sister,
Betty, a lovely young lady, with a great sense of humor, and Peggy`s
ally in whatever Peggy wanted to do. Her brother, Seamus was the
typical teenager, unconcerned with his sister`s problems and more
concerned about my supply of "Yankee goodies." Mrs. McKenny and I
soon became good friends and my frequent visits with her during the
day, while Peggy was at work, sharing many laughs together, cemented
my relationship with the McKenny family.
Though I did spend many daytime hours away from my station, I did
cover for my assistant on those occasions he wanted to go to town. As
far as night time activities were concerned, he preferred to spend
his time reading or writing letters home.
As was to be expected, soldiers being at their base during the day,
we had few guys showing up at the pro station during daylight hours.
However there was an occasional G. I remember one such instance
because it had such a sad ring to it. A young man came into the
station and asked me if he could use the facility to shower and
shave. He said he was being married in a few hours and wanted to get
ready for the wedding. Upon receiving an affirmative answer, he
proceeded with his grooming and left, looking in great shape for his
plunge into matrimony.
Several hours later a lady and her daughter arrived and asked if I
had seen a soldier fitting the description she gave of him. I knew

immediately it was the G.I. I had seen earlier and confirmed that he
had been here.. I knew something was amiss by the sad look on the
girl`s face. Her mother then blurted out, "I knew this would happen.
That damned "Yank" never showed up for the wedding, damn his soul."
It was the end of June, 1945 and my whole venture almost came
crashing down. I received a visit from a Captain and a Lieutenant to
make an inspection of the facility. I wanted to get the inspection
behind me because I felt I wouldn't have another inspection until
around the end of July, 1945.
After a quick "walk through," the Captain said, " Nice job, Corporal,
everything seems in order." I then invited them into my quarters for
a drink, which they readily accepted. The Lieutenant glanced at a
portrait of Peggy I had placed near my bed and said, "Pretty girl,
your girlfriend or your wife, back home?" I replied, rather naively,
"No Sir, "That's a young lady I met here in Belfast and hope to marry
before I go home. Oops! Bad mistake! I well knew of the Army`s
disapproval of soldiers marrying girls they met while stationed
overseas, The Captain smiled and said, "She is a beautiful girl. I
can readily understand why you would like to take her home with you,
Corporal, but probably, not a good idea. Maybe its time we got you
back to your outfit." That remark hit me like a lightening bolt. I
could not imagine being separated from "The love of my life," and
being put in a position where marriage would be impossible. I felt
trapped, and no way out. Then, suddenly, I remembered a bit of wisdom
Captain Hummer had given me. He had said, "Never ask for anything
without being prepared to give something in return, "or, "Quid Pro
Quo."
Regaining my composure and having hit on an idea, I replied to the
superior Officer, "Captain, that's for you to decide, Sir." I
followed that with, "Sir, its almost lunch time, would you and the
Lieutenant like to join me for a nice meal of steak and eggs?" The
Lieutenant spoke up and said, "Where in the name of Hell can you get
a meal like that with all this damned rationing?" Realizing that I
was on to something, I replied, " If you gentlemen will follow me,
I`ll be glad to show you." With that, we all got up, walked to the
door and started up the street.
When we arrived at the dress shop of my old friend, the seamstress. I
beckoned them in. I noticed a look of puzzlement on the faces of the
two Officers as I approached the lady at the counter. After a moment,
I introduced the Officers, and she escorted us to the magic curtain,
pulled it back and ,Voila, we were in "Food Heaven."
The steaks were done to perfection, the eggs, a perfect complement,
to the steaks, "over easy", and presented beautifully on fine china
plates. The "piece de resistance' was a tasty peach cobbler topped
with whipped cream. This, and steaming cups of hot coffee brought
smiles of satisfaction to the faces of the two Officers. It was then,
I made my move. Addressing the Captain, I said "Sir, I would really
appreciate it if you could have my assignment here extended." The

Captain, with a broad, knowing smile, replied, "Well, Corporal, I

suppose a little more time Could be arranged, maybe another month.
Plan on being back at your outfit in England on July 30."=== "Quid
Pro Quo."

Chapter
7
Realizing how transient my stay in Belfast was going to be, I made
up my mind to, "Bite the Bullet," and ask Peggy to marry me.
One evening Peggy and I were invited to take a drive along the
beautiful, scenic Antrim Road with a couple she knew who owned a car.
This was a special treat because, at that time, few people in the
U.K. owned cars. The car was a cute little roadster with seats for
four, two of them in a cozy little rumble seat, perfect for two
people in love. After a short drive, the car was pulled over and
parked. It was a beautiful, starlit night, a warm breeze coming in
from the ocean, the sound of waves lapping the shore and a gorgeous
moon overhead. A film director could not have set up a better scene
for a romantic moment in the film he was directing.
I held Peggy in my arms, kissed her luscious lips and then uttered
the following clumsy proposal, "Peggy, "Would you consider becoming
my wife?" Of all the opportunities to use romantic phrases, this was
one, but I was so tongue-tied I was lucky to get this much across and
on top of all this, I didn`t even have an engagement ring ready..
After a short pause, Peggy, with tears in her eyes, said, "Yes, John,
but you know, its going to be difficult to manage. My mum and dad
will be awfully hard to convince" This was followed by a lingering
kiss which I will always remember unto the end of my days.
Now that we were engaged, I said to Peggy, "Sweetheart, I know this
is going to be difficult for your parents but I think we can convince
them that they should give us their blessing. Now we have to find a
good time to tell them of our intentions." To this she replied, "I

know, but lets wait for the proper time. This is not going to be
easy."
For several days we said nothing to anyone about our engagement. We
knew we had to find the proper moment to broach the subject to
Peggy`s parents. Our procrastination finally came to an end, forced
upon us by a call I received from my unit, informing me that my stay
in Belfast was to end on July 30,1945 and to close down my facility
and return to the 306.th It was now July 2, 1945 and having, roughly,
only four weeks left in Belfast, we had to end our procrastination
and , "Face the Music" with Peggy`s parents.
Our opportunity to have a quiet evening with Peggy`s parents came
shortly thereafter. Peggy`s sister, was out on a date, , her brother,
was busy elsewhere, and Mr. and Mrs. McKenny were having a quiet
evening at home. Peggy and I had been in town and decided this was
the perfect time to break the news of our engagement.
Peggy was at the piano accompanying her father as he played a lively
jig on his fiddle. Having laid down the violin and returned to his
place on the sofa next to Mrs. McKenny, he said, "Peggy, did you have
something to tell us?" He continued, "You certainly didn`t have your
mind on the music," Peggy hesitated and seemed at a loss for words.
Sensing it was my turn to say something, I began, "Yes, we do have
something to tell you, Peggy and I are engaged to be married, and
now, all we need, is your blessing." There was a moment of silence,
which, to Peggy and I, seemed an eternity, and then her mother spoke
up. She said, "Seeing how the two of you get on, a person would have
to be blind not to see that this was coming, even if you have only
known each other for such a short time." Peggy`s father seemed
content to let Peggy`s mother continue the dialogue. She said, " Now,
John, you know Peggy is very young and this is a serious move the two
of you are thinking about. John, you are a long way from home and
sometimes it is easy to forget someone you care for back there." She
went on, "There is also the need for you to get settled, have a job
and ready to begin a family." Peggy`s father then spoke up. "I think
what "Minnie" is trying to say is that marriage, while you are still
in the army, is not possible." "Minnie" was the name everyone used
for Mrs. McKenny. After a short pause. Minnie began, "John, you are a
nice boy and I know Peggy really cares for you but she is also our
daughter and we want her to be happy. You told me that you must
return to England soon and the war is not yet over for you. We think
that it would be best for you to wait until you are out of the army,
have a job and no one back there you may have forgotten, and then, if
you and Peggy still feel the same about marriage, we will consider
it." Without waiting for my response, Minnie said, "Now, I think we
should have some tea." Knowing Mrs. McKenny, I knew the last word had
been given and we simply accepted her dictum.
After a nice cup of hot tea and a delicious Irish scone, liberally

covered with jam, I realized it was getting late and, with our
mission accomplished, I arose and prepared to say good night. I shook
hands with her dad, gave Peggy a goodnight kiss, turned to Minnie and
said, "Mrs. McKenny, After I do get home, you will be hearing from
me. I am a very stubborn Dutchman, you know."
During the following days Peggy and I spent every moment together we
could. The only shadow hanging over our romance was that I would
soon be returning to England. We had long conversations about the
life we would live in America. Peggy asked me countless questions
about how Americans lived. We were in a constant state of euphoria
over the idea of being married and starting a family. I knew I had
found the right mate for a happily married life. I had met Peggy only
a little more than two months ago but, in my heart, I knew I had met
the girl God had chosen for me.
On the evening of July 29, the day before I had to return to my
outfit, we spent our last hours together at Peggy`s home with her
parents. That night, when I departed, our hearts were heavy at the
thought of my leaving but we both pledged our troth to each other and
agreed to write every day until we were reunited in America.
On the morning of July 30, 1945, Bill, my assistant, and I boarded a
cross channel ferry and left Belfast behind. I had asked Peggy not to
be there, not wanting to have an emotional good bye. Arriving in
England, we boarded a train and soon were back at the old 306th.
When we arrived back in camp excitement was running high. Everyone
had been "sweating" the news about the action in the Pacific, and
rumors had been circulating that the 306th was scheduled for
deployment . The news coming out of the Theater of Operations in the
Pacific was on every ones minds but, as a result of so many
disappointments in the past, not always believed. Absolutely no one
is as skeptical of news reports as a G.I. in a time of war.
By the middle of July, 1945, most of the important battles in the
South Pacific had been won. In spite of this the Japanese still
carried on, refusing to accept the inevitable, with the loss of
thousands of military and civilian lives. Thousands of tons of bombs
were raining down all over Japan.
During the rest of July the newspapers carried stories of the
impossible resistance of the Japanese. By July 30 the naval forces of
Japan had been almost completely wiped out. Despite all these signs
of defeat the Japanese continued to boast that they were capable of
repelling any enemy attack against the homeland. This air of bravado
continued, even after having experienced, what has been called, "the
greatest air raid in history," having just had six thousand, six
hundred thirty two tons of bombs dropped on their oil refineries and
cities.

By August 3, it was obvious that Japan was doomed but the American
bombers continued to blast their railroads and warn them that the
end was near. They still continued to resist. Even after August 5,
when a dozen cities were added to the "surrender or die" list they
stubbornly clung to the idea that they could recover and continue the
fight.
Listening intently to the radio, we heard the news but still felt
that deployment to the South Pacific was in the offing. It was on the
6th of August when we received news that President Truman had
unleashed a bomb, two thousand times more destructive than a
blockbuster, which had been detonated over Hiroshima.
This announcement got our attention. We were glued to the radio but
censorship was in place. Bombing by the Flying Fortresses continued.
No word from Japan in reply to an ultimatum that had been given for
them to surrender was made. While no news of the destruction caused
by the bomb was being released we sensed that it must have been
horrendous. Then, on August 9 word came through that a second bomb
had been detonated over the city of Nagasaki.
We, along with the rest of the world, awaited word of the Japanese
surrender. Then the word came through that the Japanese were willing
to surrender as long as the Emperor was safeguarded, but no offer of
capitulation. The Allies then offered to leave the fate of the
Emperor up to the direction of the Allied nations. The Japanese
continued to delay and the killing continued. The Japanese were given
a warning that renewed atomic bombing was possible if Japan continued
to delay surrendering.
Finally on August 14 word was received that the Japanese had
surrendered but no official proof was given. Having received no
official word the Americans continued to shell and bomb Japan.
At long last, we all heaved a sigh of relief as word came through
that in Bern, Switzerland on the 14th that the Japanese minister had
delivered a note to the Foreign Office from Tokyo . This was quickly
followed by a radio report from Washington. "Tokyo radio said today
that Allied terms for Japan's surrender had been accepted by Emperor
Hirohito." More than twelve hours later no official confirmation was
given and the fighting in the Pacific continued.
On August 15, 1945, the one word the world had been wanting to hear.
"PEACE," appeared in newspapers all over the world. In no matter what
language the word appeared, the families of loved ones gave thanks to
their God for the end to this brutal war. The world was now at peace
and the tyranny of the brutal dictators in Italy, Germany and Japan
had come to an end, thanks to the sacrifices made by the soldiers of
the Allied nations and their loved ones at home.

On September 2, 1945, Gen. Douglas MacArthur, delegates of the Allied

powers and the Japanese delegates met on the deck of the battleship
USS Missouri in Tokyo Bay and formally signed the document accepting
the terms of surrender by the Japanese. The world was, once again, at
peace and the blessings of freedom and democracy had been secured for
the nations dedicated to those principles.
Each of us, in our own way, responded to this news with thoughts of
what the future would bring. My mind immediately returned to
thoughts of my Peggy, and how soon we would be reunited. We had been
corresponding every day and now my letter, this day, would be filled
with joy and optimistic words about our being together and the life
we would be living in America.
For those of us in Britain the scenario now became a waiting game.
Individuals would be going home based on a point system. Length of
time served, the type of action the soldier was involved in and the
decorations he had received, would be taken under consideration in
giving points. Since the members of our outfit had served for about
the same amount of time. had collected no medals for valor in combat,
and our service had been a "Walk in the Park" compared to the ones
who had suffered the horrors of combat, we were in for the "Long
Haul."

Chapter 8
It was now the beginning of October, 1945 and repatriation had not
yet taken place for the POWs in the hospital, although, by this
time, almost all were ambulatory and able to work thus relieving us
of many duties.. Our work in the hospital continued as usual but on a
much more relaxed basis. We were in a "holding pattern" and really
only biding time until we could be go back to the United States for
demobilization.
Somewhere along the line of command an idea emerged to keep the
anxious troops happy. The army set up a number of tours to which the
troops could sign up for and, for all practicality, make us
"tourists." This attention to our concerns was enthusiastically
accepted, especially when a trip to a brewery was scheduled.
On the Company bulletin board was the following notice, "SIGN UP FOR
A VISIT TO THE STROUD BREWERY. The bus will leave at 0900 hours
tomorrow."
Needless to say there was no problem in getting a busload. Joe and I
were at the assigned location to meet the bus at exactly 0900 hours.
It seems promptness was not an issue when all that free beer was in
the offing.
At exactly 0900 hours we were seated on the bus for the ride to
Stroud. .The ride was of short duration and we were greeted by a tour
guide, who, by the look on his face, did not relish guiding this
group of. "Bloody Yanks,"
He gave us the usual speech as he guided us through the brewery,
although we made it difficult for him with our crude remarks and lack
of attention. Finally we arrived in the cellar, surrounded by huge
vats of beer and were invited to sample the wares. This got our
immediate attention and we showed our affection for Stroud beer by
consuming all that the attendant provided.
The tour over, we boarded our bus and pulled out for home, with waves
of goodbye from the employees, The, now somewhat inebriated
"tourists," showed their gratitude by blowing up condoms, tying them
off into neat little balloons and tossing them out the windows. Is
this where the term, "Ugly American," first surfaced? Was this our
contribution to millions of tourists who were to visit England after
the war? On the other hand, would this not be viewed as merely the
exuberant joy of a lot of war weary G.I.s anxious to return home to
families and friends?

There were several other trips that caught my attention and turned
out to be experiences to be remembered. One of the most treasured of
these was a trip that was posted as, "A TRIP TO A STATELY BRITISH
MANSION." Needless to say, this particular tour was not as popular as
the brewery trip but I and five other guys signed up for it, hoping
to see how the "Other Half" lived in this "Class ridden" society and,
just maybe, a chance to view a place connected with the history of
England. There was agreement that I would speak on their behalf when
we arrived at our destination.
At the appointed time we boarded a small van and headed down the
road. The colors of autumn, the trees splendid with their bouquet of
red and yellow leaves, brought home to me mental pictures of Michigan
and, for just a moment, engulfed me in pangs of homesickness, an
emotion, I`m sure, was felt by my companions. The ride took only a
little over an hour. It always amazed us at how short distances
between places in Britain were. Americans never could get over the
small size of this island country.
Finally, looming ahead of us was a huge, sprawling mansion The
massive, graveled covered area in front of the entrance provided
ample room for a large number of vehicles. I had a feeling of having
been here before, probably the result of having seen scenes such as
this in the movies. It was a truly impressive sight.
The driver, a young English girl, who had remained silent all during
the trip, completely ignoring our ribald remarks, turned to us and
said, "Here you are genlemen, Blenheim Palace, ancestral home of
Prime Minister Winston Churchill, enjoy yourselves."
Here we were, a group of awe struck Yanks, who had never seen such a
glamorous residence. As grandiose as was the palace, and grandiose it
certainly was, the sheer size of this magnificent home simply
overwhelmed us and, for just a moment, I was so taken aback that I
could not find the entrance. Then I realized that the huge door that
I was facing must be what I was looking for.. Hesitently, we
approached,, but before I could reach the front door, a lovely young
lady opened it, or had it opened for her, its size seemed too huge to
be opened by such a gentle young lady, and greeted us as though she
were awaiting our arrival. Her greeting was, "You must be our
American guests." I replied, "Yes Mam, My name is John," and then
introduced my companions. She, in turn, introduced herself, but
memory does not allow me to recall her name. I do remember, very
clearly, that her name was preceded by the title, "Lady." She bade us
, enter and her easy banter made us feel right at home. To tell the
truth, we were overwhelmed at the granduer of the entrance and we
must have seemed to her, a group of yokels, as we stood in awe of the
sheer size of the place and the gorgeous oil paintings, of long gone
ancestors, that graced the walls of this magnificent entrance.

In a very informal manner the young lady steered us into the study, a
beautifully appointed room, furnished with some of the finest leather
seating that any of us had ever encountered. We, no longer were
seated, than a butler approached us, said, "Gentlemen, what can I
bring you." After ordering our drinks, and the lady ordering hers,
the butler retreated and the usual remarks about the beauty of the
home were uttered by each of us. The lady was giving us a history of
the palace when suddenly a middle aged lady and gentleman appeared on
the scene.
We were introduced, but again, my memory fails in recalling their
names. I do remember the gracious manner in which they joined in the
conversation. I, for one, was amazed at how easily we were accepted
and treated as though we were important guests. In the meantime, the
butler arrived and served our drinks, much more elegantly than the
way we were accustomed to being served. The gentleman went on to
describe the estate. He said, "I`m sure you men would like to know a
little about the historical place you are visiting." He went on to
say that the mansion was located on twenty one hundred acres and the
house was built in the eighteenth century and the gardens were added
in the nineteenth century. He said, "the palace was designed by
Vanbrugh, a noted architect of that period and was the nation`s
reward to the First Duke of Marlborough for his victories over Louis
1V. The gardens were designed by Henry Wise, in an Anglo-Dutch
Barouqe manner." He went on to say that we would appreciate the skill
of the people of that period when we took a tour of the grounds.
It was now approaching noon, and as interesting as the conversation
had been, we began to feel the need for sustenance. As if our wish
had been heard, the butler arrived and said, "Tea is being served."
All six of us knew that meant food, even if we didn`t understand
"Dutch Baroque."
We were seated at a long table in a magnificent dining area
overlooking a finely manicured garden resplendent with the hues of
autumn.. "High Tea", is usually served between three and five in the
afternoon but from the look of the spread on the table they must have
made an exception, knowing they were feeding a group of hungry G.I.s.
For a group of guys who thought meat and potatoes was a feast, this
menu overwhelmed our imaginations.
The main entre consisted of smoked salmon with cream cheese. Also
gracing the table was egg, mayonnaise, sliced cucumber, and if one
was partial to meat, Wilshire ham and mustard. Thinly cut slices of
bread and scones were placed before us with homemade jam and all of
this to be followed by our choice of several scrumptious looking
desserts. Oh, there was tea, of course, but coffee was available and
this was to be followed by champagne. Knowing how severe rationing
was, these wonderful, hospitable people must have strained their
ration coupons to the limit to make all this possible. Oh, to have a

mess sergeant, with such a creative mind and generous spirit.

Having demonstrated our liking of this delicious meal, by our over
enthusiastic consumption of its contents, we were invited to tour the
gardens by our lovely hostess. As I remember, a pram, or baby
carriage, was produced, occupied by a delightful baby whose gender I
cannot recall. Our hostess, now guiding the pram, was giving us a
delightful account of the history of the gardens. At this point I
offered my services as driver of the carriage. The offer was readily
accepted and I found myself responsible for the safe transportation
of a, very young, British aristocrat. The tour continued and even a
group of uncultured Yanks could not help but express admiration for
the artistry in creating such beauty. Suddenly, a young RAF Officer
appeared on the scene. After a perfunctory hug and a peck on the
cheek of, his wife, our hostess, he introduced himself and bade us
welcome. Turning to me, guiding the pram, he said, "Do you know who
you are caring for in the pram." I replied, "No Sir, we haven't been
introduced, as yet." He smiled and rattled off a rather long series
of names, strung together by centuries of aristocratic familial ties.
As I recall, he did mention the child`s relationship with P.M.
Winston Churchill, but by this time. I was only able to grasp enough
of our conversation to know that I was, indeed, personally
experiencing a bit of English history.
To describe the beauty, creativity and attention to detail displayed
in those gardens would require another book and descriptive powers
beyond my meager talents. Suffice to say, that all members of the
American group took away great admiration for the social and
botanical skills of our English cousins and their ability to bring an
air of formality to the wonders of nature and social etiquette. The
less formal approach to the physical world, by we Americans, stood in
stark contrast and underscored how time had created a people much
different than our forbearers. Different we had become, since those
Colonial days, but never having lost the values and basic principals
we shared as a people.

Chapter Nine

October now turned to November, with cool, chilly days, signaling

the beginning of winter, The repatriation of German prisoners was now
taking place. Daily, our patients, mostly ambulatory, were leaving
the hospital behind and returning to occupied Germany.
Then, one grand day in December we received word that our unit was
scheduled for deployment. We were going home! Oh Dear God, the day we
had long wished for had now become reality. The order to be ready to
pack our belongings and prepare to leave was the most precious order
we had ever received. My letters to Peggy now were full of the utter
elation I felt at the thought of our being united and sharing our
lives together as lovers and man and wife.
Christmas 1945, was a much more festive affair than previous
Christmas` and the dinner of turkey and all the fixings, prepared for
us by the kitchen crew, seemed much more tasty, given the fact that
we soon would be on a troopship headed for home. The high level of
morale was evident as we all envisioned being in our own home towns
with those we loved. I, could not contain my feelings of happiness at
the thought of being in a position to send for my Peggy and having
her with me in Kalamazoo to begin our life together.
A happier New Year was never more welcomed than the year 1946. We
celebrated, not only the new year, but the knowledge that we would
soon be back in the "Good Old United States." You can well believe,
that we were on our best behavior, not wanting any complications to
mar our departure for home.
Then, on or about January 7, 1946, the order came. "Pack your gear,
climb aboard the awaiting trucks for the trip to Southhampton to meet
the troopship that will carry you home." Not a single soul in our
outfit had any misgivings about carrying out that order.
The trip to Southhampton was more like a holiday event than the
movement of army troops. The singing of the soldiers had a very
upbeat quality about them and the joy of being on the way home was
evident in the spirit of the men as they relished the thought of
going back to wives and sweethearts. My mind was entirely focused on
getting home and sending for my Peggy.
Having arrived in Southhampton and on the dock awaiting our
embarcation orders, we were assembled in military order. Officers
were in their own assemblage, and all of us, enlisted and Officer
rank, in a highly festive mood. We were ready to board the giant
aircraft carrier, the USS Lake Champlain.
Once on board, all units, mostly infantry, were given assigned areas
and each told where to place their gear. Shortly thereafter, a
Sergeant called us to attention to receive an order from the Captain
of the ship.

In a voice, almost identical to that of Franklin Roosevelt, the

Captain addressed us over the public address system. As I recall, he
said, "Now hear this. This is the Captain speaking. My name is
Captain Logan Ramsey. I want to welcome you on behalf of myself and
the crew of the Lake Champlain. This ship is part of Operation, Magic
Carpet. I would, personally, like to take this opportunity to to
thank you for your service. You have done a wonderful job in bringing
this war to a successful conclusion. From this moment on, you are our
guests. We ask only that you keep your area in a neat condition.
There will be no reason to make up your bunks in the morning. This,
and all other housekeeping duties will be performed by the crew. You
will find question boxes at various places around the ship. If you
have questions or queries for me, feel free to place them in the box.
I will try to answer you in my nightly address to you. Additionally,
I have given orders that snacks be placed at various points around
the ship, in case you feel hungry between meals. The United States
Navy and this ship in particular, as a part of Operation, Magic
Carpet, will do everything we can to provide for your comfort on your
trip home. I thank you again. for your dedicated service, You will
soon be home with your loved ones. ." Never hGod Speed and God Bless
you."
This eulogy, with its words of praise and welcoming, left us
breathless. Never, during our term of service, had we been spoken to
in such a manner. In addition to our joy at going home we were now
going there under the most favorable of conditions.
We were soon underway and, before long, it became evident that the
weather was not going to be one of the favorable conditions that we
were to experience. We had no sooner cleared the harbor than storm
clouds appeared on the horizon. As the weather worsened and the waves
loomed larger and larger it became evident that even a ship as large
as this aircraft carrier could have problems coping with the whims of
"Mother Nature."
That first night on board was a rocky one as the ship plunged through
the angry waves of the North Atlantic. Although many of the
"landlubbers" on board grappled with seasickness, we made it through
the night into a day of calm seas.
True to the Captain`s promise, the crew did arrive, made our beds and
performed the other housekeeping duties. We were still in a state of
wonderment at these services being performed for us. Breakfast was a
delight, with fresh eggs, hash browns, bacon, sausage and plenty of
hot coffee. In spite of the army derision of the navy, we had to
admit that when it came to food, the navy was in a superior position.
The weather having cleared, the day was an absolute delight. We were
able to walk the decks, enjoy a snack at one of the tables scattered

around the ship, observe the activities of the crew and, if one
chose, spend some time reading or writing letters back at our bunks.
Captain Ramsey had, indeed, made this a pleasure cruise, God Bless
him.
As time wore on, the weather worsened and, during his nightly address
to us, the Captain made it clear that we could expect this to be a
frequent occurrence since this was January and the North Atlantic was
a stormy place in the winter. He also assured us that we were not to
worry about our safety since ships, such as these, were built to
withstand all that nature could throw at them.
The third night out, after mess, the familiar voice of Captain Ramsey
sounded on the P.A. system. "Now hear this, this is the Captain
speaking. We are well on our way to home and I trust you are enjoying
the voyage. I have little to report and so I have chosen to read a
couple of the questions you have posed for me. This first one is from
Sgt. ?? Of the ?? Infantry. The good Sgt. asks if this was a banana
boat before the war." The Captain, his voice tinged with just a touch
of irritation, replied, "Sgt. First let me remind you that this is
not a boat. This is a ship. A ship carries boats." He went on, "
Sgt., As a matter of fact, I would like to inform you that this ship
was paid for by the people of the United States and is entitled to
the respect it deserves, having been made possible, by the
contributions of the citizens of of our great nation."
The weather continued to be bad and the consumption of the snacks the
Captain had placed around the ship had diminished due to the
incidents of sea sickness experienced by the G.I.s. Bad as the
weather was, the crap games continued on as usual, although
frequently interrupted by the hasty departure of one or more of the
players, due to sudden "illness." This situation was not lost on the
Captain and provided a moment of humor on his next nightly address.
As usual, we were assembled, ready to hear the Captain`s report. "Now
hear this. This is the Captain speaking," came the now familiar
refrain.
This night he chose to make comment on the weather conditions,
informing us that during the night conditions were so bad that they
had been unable to respond to a cry of distress from a Liberty Ship
in the vicinity. He went on to tell us that during his entire career
he had not experienced weather this difficult to contend with. Then,
he changed the subject and went on to answer a question from one of
the question boxes. He said, "I have a question that deals with a
problem experienced by PFC ?? " It seems that the good Private was
involved in a crap game and a considerable amount of money was in the
pot. He says that a Petty Officer arrived on the scene, broke up the
game and departed with the money. His question is, "Can we get back
the money?" There was a short pause, and then, with a chuckle in his
voice, he answered the Private's question, " Private, my cabin is on
deck--. Standing outside my door will be a Marine. Tell him you wish

to see me. In order to answer your question more directly, the answer
is that the Petty Officer has deposited the money in the Seamen's
Fund. If you still desire to have the money, so inform me when we
meet, however I would like to read you the Article of War, regarding
gambling on ships of the United States Navy." After reading the
Article, he finished with, "I hope this answers your question." The
roar of laughter from the troops clearly indicated their appreciation
of this bit of backhanded humor.
The high morale aboard the Lake Champlain was evident in stories told
to me by the crew. One such tale seemed to sum up the reason for this
high regard for their Captain. One seaman related to me how their
Executive Officer insisted that the crew in the engine room wear
white socks, although there was clearly no need, given the duties
required of them. He said this particular Officer also gave orders
that crewmen could not have their uniforms altered for better fit.
When word of this reached Captain Ramsey, a curious thing happened.
When the ship reached the next port a new Executive Officer was
assigned to the ship.
Finally, after ten days of bad weather and superb treatment by the
Officers and crew of the USS Lake Champlain, we arrived in New York
harbor on January, 17, 1946. It was a cold January day, warmed
considerably by our sight of the Statue of Liberty, standing tall and
proud, the torch of freedom still firmly in place, pointing to the
Heavens as a testament to the valor of all the Armed Forces,
soldiers, sailors, airmen and our civilian Merchant Marine. It was
our military and, even us non-combat soldiers, who had struggled so
valiently and secured our way of life, now and for generations yet
unborn.
Awaiting us on the dock as we disembarked, was a cordon of lovely
ladies representing the American Red Cross and the Salvation Army.
Their beauty was enhanced by the smell of hot coffee and doughnuts
and the hot dogs and hamburgers sizzling on the BBQ. Never, before or
since, have I had a hot dog that could compare with the one I so
relished that morning, on that frigid, but wonderful day. The
presence of those caring ladies added luster to the joyous moment we
were experiencing at being, once again, on American soil. It is in
moments, such as these, that one knows the tremendous value of being
a free American citizen. We were home, home at last, and I, for one,
was looking forward to a life of happiness with, my, now to be,
beautiful Irish bride.
My joy at being back in the United States had made me almost
completely unaware of the great number of troops crowding the dock.
True to its tradition of military efficiency, the army had a long row
of buses standing ready for our departure to the train depot and our
journey to Camp Atterbury, Indiana for our transfer to civilian life.

The bus trip very quickly brought us to the depot and by the time we
had checked our duffle bags the day had turned to night and in spite
of our weariness our spirits were high. Nothing could dampen our
utter joy at being on the way to becoming civilians, once again, and
being with family and friends.
After checking our duffle bags and boarding the train, the
festivities began. Although beverages of an alcoholic nature were not
provided, mysteriously, some very stimulating drinks began to appear
and voices were lifted in song. No blackout curtains, no planes
buzzing the train and no Officer lecturing us of the consequences of
improper behavior were part of this journey. Although some did manage
to catch a little sleep, the majority of the passengers were in too
celebratory a mood to notice the fatigue that engulfed us.
Some fifteen or so, hours later the train pulled in to a depot
situated at Camp Atterbury. In spite of some hangovers and lack of
sleep our Company was still in a joyful mood and hardly anyone
complained. We went through the routine of getting our baggage,
hearing the barked commands of a Sergeant directing us to our
barracks, and generally getting the treatment we were so accustomed
to. On the other hand, no damned Sergeant could lessen our happiness
at being at the place that would hand back our freedom and make us,
just plain, American civilian citizens..
Camp Atterbury was a very busy place. As a separation station it
served some 561,000 troops, arranging discharge from the Service at
the rate of 3000 per day, so it was not not surprising that it was
January 22, before our outfit was called to go through the separation
process.
In the meantime, we had plenty of time to write letters, make phone
calls to home and explore this sprawling installation.
January 22, 1946. "A date that will live in memory," at least my
memory, for that was the date of my separation from the Army of the
United States.
At the appointed time the 306th gathered in a huge assembly hall and
there, each of us, listened carefully for our name to be called.
When, an obviously bored Sergeant, bellowed out my name I was
immediately on my feet. Making my way to the registration table was
the sweetest hike I had ever taken. After going through the necessary
paper work, a young 2nd Lt. beckoned me to an open door. He said,
"Good morning soldier, step inside and place your chest against the X
ray panel, and , Oh by the way, if you intend to join the Reserves,
have them raise the panel to the level of your head." Even, given my
limited intellectual powers, it seemed to me that he was sending me a
message that it was not in my best interest to join the Reserves. It
was probably because of this encounter that I was able to follow the
later events that took place in Korea from the comfort of my home,
eyes glued to the TV screen. Unpatriotic as this may seem, I felt,

at this time, this new action could be handled by another generation

of young Americans.
Seated comfortably in my homeward bound train, still wearing my
uniform, I was beginning to feel more and more like a civilian,
almost but not quite. This would come when I arrived home surrounded
by family and friends. Still, there was one nagging problem to solve
before I would feel secure and comfortable and that was, bringing my
Peggy to Kalamazoo and walking down the aisle with her.
While in Atterbury awaiting discharge , I had penned off a letter to
Peggy telling her that I was almost a civilian and to start getting
her mum and dad prepared to have her daughter become a married woman
and acquiring a son in law. I put as much humor in the letter as I
was able to muster up, but not unaware, of the emotional problems I
was placing on the McKenny family.

Chapter 10
I was met at the station in Kalamazoo by my mother and father. Dad
had insisted that this moment belonged to Mom and He, accounting for
the tiny welcoming party. Dad gave me a "bear hug" and an emotional
"Welcome home, Son." My Mom, tears in her eyes, simply said, "Thank
God, you are home and safead I felt so close to my parents.

At the house, all my family members and a goodly crowd of friends and
neighbors had gathered for a welcoming home party. It was hard for me
to believe that this moment had arrived. The rest of the day was
spent in eating good home cooked food and answering a thousand
questions about my experiences. Often my mind wandered as I
contemplated on the thoughts of Peggy and wishing she could be a part
of these festivities. My brother Henry, was home from the navy,
having arrived a week earlier. My brother Charles, having been
disqualified for service due to a ruptured ear drum, was curious
about the things I had done and seen. My sister Anna Mae, now an
experienced welder because of a defense related job, also peppered me
with questions about my time in the service. It was a time of good
cheer and thankfulness and, I must admit, I was enjoying being the
center of attention.
That night, in the comfort of my bed, I pondered on the days to come.
I had not disclosed to mom and dad the fact that I was engaged.
Now ,the shoe was on the other foot." All the adjustments, in
religion and culture, to our pending marriage had been discussed in
full with Peggy`s parents and now it was time to work things out with
my mother and dad.
During the ensuing week I had many discussions with my dad and mom
about my return to civilian life. Dad had secured a job for me with
the Kalamazoo Stove and Furnace Co. ,where he was employed The plant
had been closed in order to revert back to civilian production,
having been engaged in producing war materials and, would soon
reopen.
Finally, I had my opportunity to discuss my pending marriage. It was
one of those cold winter nights and I was enjoying an evening alone
with mom and dad. During a break in the conversation, I said, " I
guess this is as good a time as any to share some news with you." I,
immediately had their attention. Dad was the first to speak. He said,
"I hope it`s good news, Son." I replied, "I think it is, I hope you
will feel the same." Mom said, "Get on with it, John." I simply
blurted out, "I`m engaged to get married." Both looked at me in
amazement and then Dad said, "Getting married, you have only been
home for a week and, as far as we know, you don`t even have a girl
friend." Realizing their quandary at this startling announcement, I
said, "Well, let me explain it to you." At this precise moment I
became aware of how unprepared I was to explain fully, the situation.
For the next few minutes I had full attention from mom and dad. I
said, "Maybe I should have told you this earlier but, here it is."
Now my mind was racing, but I went on with the story, hoping I would
not encounter any negatives. I said, "The girl I am marrying is in
Ireland. I met her in Belfast. Her parents are aware of our
engagement and I hope she gets their approval to come to the States
to be married. She is a lovely girl, from a good family. She is

nineteen years old but will be twenty by the time of our marriage."
At this point, I pulled from my wallet, a picture of Peggy and both
studied it for a moment. Mom said, "She sure is a pretty girl." Dad,
looked up and said, "Do you know what you are doing?" My reply was,
"Dad, I`m almost twenty six years old and perfectly capable of making
my own decisions." That seemed to end the discussion and then Mom
said, "John, If this is your wish, we have no objection and will
welcome her with open arms." With that, I decided to fill out the
rest of the story. I said, "Now let me "drop the other shoe."
"She is an Irish Catholic girl and I have decided to join the
Catholic Church." This resulted in a stunned silence for fully a
minute. Then my dad reacted in a fashion truly his own and, left me
incredulous. He said, "Ev", that was Dad's nick name for Mom, "Get
your coat on and, John, you do the same and get out to the car, we
are going for a ride." Not wanting to make a fuss, we both did as he
said.
Dad wheeled the car skillfully over the icy streets and pulled up in
front of St. Augustine Catholic Church. Without another word we left
the car and dad walked up to the residence of the Priest and rang the
doorbell.
The door was answered by an elderly lady, the housekeeper, and dad
asked to see the Father. She replied, "You mean Monsignor Hackett?"
Dad simply stated, "Yes Mam, that's whom we would like to talk to."
We were invited in and given a seat in the parlor. I was utterly
flabbergasted since I had no idea my dad even knew the location of
the church and had no idea of what he was up to.
In a few moments a tall, dignified man with a full head of grey hair
entered the room. He looked around and, in a thick Irish brogue said,
"Good evening, I am Monsignor Hackett. What can I do for you?"
Now, absolutely confused, I said nothing. Dad came right to the
point. He said, "Father", and pointing to me, "This is my Son, John
and he is just home from the army. He is engaged to an Irish girl in
Ireland and wants to join the Catholic Church." A broad smile
appeared on Monsignor Hackett's face and he sat down to hear the rest
of the story.
As I explained the situation, giving him all the details of our
meeting and the subsequent romance that followed, Father Hackett,
nodded approval, and said, "John, this is one of the nicest things I
have heard all year. It only goes to prove that there is always
something good coming out of a tragedy like war." Wanting to get
directly to the reason for our visit, I said, "Father, I know that as
a convert, I need to attend some classes to to understand the
procedure of conversion. Please tell me when I can attend." Again,
with a cheerful smile, he replied, " Aw, to Hell with the classes,
you won`t be attendin them, you'll be meeting with me for private
sessions here in my study. Young man, You are marrying a girl from
the "Ould Sod", and that requires some special attention." All this

was said in his thick Irish brogue, and at that moment, I felt very
special. With that he called for some tea. Over cups of hot tea the
conversation turned to filling out all the details. All this time,
Mom and Dad had little to say but joined in the conversation and I
knew that all would be well. There was no bigotry here and I felt
very proud of my parents and their easy acceptance of the situation.
Having written Peggy and told her to get ready to come to the United
States, I was anxious to receive a letter telling me all was well and
arrangements were being made for her journey. Each day I waited
patiently for the postman, and feeling depressed when no mail was
forthcoming. After several days of anxiety a letter did arrive and,
anxious as I was, I was almost afraid to open it, fearing the worst.
When I did open it and read the first few words I was ecstatic.
Peggy`s mother and dad had accepted the inevitable and were helping
Peggy to make arrangements. From the inquiries regarding passport,
visa and transportation that had been made in Ireland, it was to be,
at least, six months before she would arrive in the United States. I
couldn't wait to reply and rushed to get paper and pen.
By this time I had been employed at the Stove Co. and had met a
fellow worker named James O`Meara. When I told him that Peggy would
be arriving in about six months he said, "John, that will give us
some time to give her a real Irish welcome and I`m going to see that
you have some real Irish folk to greet her."
James called me one day and asked if I would like to meet some Irish
people who would love to meet Peggy. He said that they were an
elderly couple that would take Peggy, "Under their wings." The Irish
certainly know how to express the most mundane things in a beautiful
way.
The Fitzpatricks were, in my mind, the ideal couple to make my
peggy feel at home in America. Pat and Mary Fitzpatrick were typical
Irish, even though neither had set foot in Ireland. Pat and Mary were
each, only about five feet tall, beautiful grey hair and as
eloquently Irish in their speech as though they had just arrived in
the U.S.A. Their home reflected everthing Irish, including a green,
white and gold flag prominently displayed in the hall.
Over a cup of hot tea I learned that they had thirteen children, had
always wanted to visit Ireland, and would be thrilled to meet a
colleen from the "Ould Sod." Where had I heard that term before?
That meeting was the first of many that James arranged. and included
a young Irish priest, Fr. King, who was to become a good friend and
"buddy," if one can truly be a "buddy" with a Priest. Fr. King was
the Chaplain at Borgess Catholic Hospital in Kalamazoo and not too
popular with the Nuns, due to his liking for alcoholic spirits.
Although he did enjoy a drink, now and then, he did not drink to

excess.
A moment I remember with relish was the time Fr. King and I were
enjoying a hamburger for lunch. Halfway through our meal, Fr. King
paused, and said, "John, do you know what day this is?" Without
giving a thought to what the Fr. Was implying, I replied, "It's
Friday, Fr., why?" Then, with a smile Fr. King said, "I know we
shouldn't be eating meat on Friday but it is also a sin to waste good
food." Without further ado, he made the sign of the Cross and said,
"I grant absolution." Such was our easy going relationship.
Although I was anxious awaiting Peggy`s arrival I was also busy
making arrangements for our wedding and making new friends among the
Irish community. I was introduced to a Mr. and Mrs. Heflin by Fr.
King and was immediately made welcome to their home. Mrs. Heflin, in
true womanly fashion, was excited about the coming wedding and did
much to help me prepare. There were several parties at her house and
Fr. King, minus his collar and wearing a sport shirt, always gave two
hours absolution at midnight on Saturday, so that "No food and drink
was wasted," due to the late hour.
One day when Fr. King and I were conversing in his quarters at the
hospital he broached the possibility of he performing the Mass and
wedding ceremony. He went on to say that we should discuss the
matter with Msgr. Hackett. He said, "I`ll give him a call and see if
we can arrange it."
Fr. King, after explaining to Msgr. Hackett, that since we had become
close friends, he thought it would be appropriate for him to perform
the wedding ceremony. I remained absolutely silent, awaiting Msgr.
Hackett's response. There was only a moment's pause and then Msgr.
Hackett addressed Fr. King in, what I thought was, a rather
condescending tone of voice. He said, "Father, Just as in the army,
"rank has its privileges." "I will be saying the Mass and performing
the wedding ceremony." Although this dictum was said with a smile,
Fr. King seemed to feel that he had received the final answer to his
query

Chapter 11
About the middle of June, 1946 a telegram arrived that informed me of
the day and time as well as the flight number of the American
Airlines plane that was to bring my Peggy to the United States. To
say that I was overcome with joy is an understatement. The days that
followed were filled with excitement and planning for her arrival.
On the scheduled day, my cousin, Bud, my dad, and I headed for
Chicago to meet the plane and reunite me with my Peggy. Arriving at
O`Hare airport, well ahead of time, we waited anxiously for over two
hours. Finally, the arrival of the plane from Dublin was announced
and we hurriedly proceeded to the announced gate. The gatekeeper
opened the gate and we proceeded onto the tarmac where the plane was
parked.
In those, still early, times of domestic and transatlantic flight,
people met the arriving passengers on the runway and the they
departed the plane down a long portable gangway. My anxiety was at
fever pitch as I silently prayed that Peggy would soon appear. Person
after person descended the gangway, and then, a small figure in a
lovely blue dress, walked down the stairs, made her way to where we
were standing, and in that unforgettable moment, Peggy was in my arms
and I thanked God for the blessing he had bestowed upon me.
Midst all the happy chatter on the way home, it was quite apparent
that my dad had bonded with his, soon to be, daughter in law. Peggy
snuggled in my arms, chattered on about the great adventure she had
just experienced and how happy she was to be in America with me and
the life we would have together. Our reunion was complete, and now
many busy days were ahead as we planned our wedding.

When we arrived home, my mother and sister had refreshments ready

and, in spite of all the excited conversation, another bonding had
taken place. My mother and my Peggy, it seemed, were kindred souls.
The days ahead were filled with activity as my mother, sister and
friends planned for the wedding that was to make Peggy my bride.
Peggy and I spent many hours with the many members of the Irish
community. The Fitzpatricks took an immediate liking to Peggy and
became almost like parents to her. The Heflin family, especially Mrs.
Heflin, became fully involved in seeing that Peggy had a truly
Catholic wedding.
At long last the great day arrived, July 4, 1946. The date had been
arrived at because there were only two dates available in July. Msgr.
Hackett offered Peggy a choice and she chose July 4 as a very
appropriate day for her to become an American, This, and the fact
that her mother insisted that she was to be married at the first
available date, settled that issue. "Minnie," like most Irish
mothers, did not easily relinquish control.
The morning of July 4 began very early with my mother and sister
preparing for the wedding and the reception that was to follow.
Peggy, somewhat nervous but glowing with excitement, with the
assistance of my sister, were making sure that the wedding gown
fitted properly and all was set for her big moment when she would
walk down the aisle and become Mrs. Margaret DeRoo. My brothers,
Henry and Charles were dressed in their best, "Sunday go to meeting
clothes." My sister, Anna Mae, having finished helping Peggy, was now
dressed and "made up," for the big moment. My dad, standing in for
Peggy`s father, was more "dressed up" than I had ever seen him, and
my mom, the picture of loveliness, in the beautiful dress she had
acquired for the wedding. I was dressed in a dark blue business suit,
sporting a carnation in my lapel and was as ready as I could be for
the realization of all my dreams.
Finally, the climax of all this preparation arrived. Seated in the
pews of St. Augustne Church were my relatives and friends. Adding a
moment of unreality to the occasion was the fact that my relatives,
all Protestants, most of whom had never been inside a Catholic
Church, were seated side by side with devout Catholics. Surely, this
was a sight, unbelievable to my Peggy.
Msgr. Hackett was at the altar, having concluded Mass, Fr. King at
his side, and organ music filling the church, signaled the beginning
of this sacred ritual., my mother was quietly wiping the tears from
her eyes as the bridesmaids made their way down the aisle. Then, all
eyes were focused on the lovely bride on the arm of my father,
standing in for Peggy`s father. The strains of "Here Comes the
Bride," filled the church.

Msgr. Hackett, having concluded Mass, was standing beside the altar,
as Peggy and my dad arrived at the prescribed spot. Solemnly, Msgr.
Hackett intoned the age old question, "Who gives this woman in Holy
Matrimony? My father replied, "I do. " The best Man produced the
wedding band, I placed the band on her finger and we bowed before the
altar.
Msgr. Hackett pronounced the wedding vows, ending with, "I now
pronounce you husband and wife." "Now you may kiss the bride."
I wonder, to this day, whether Peggy uttered the words, "I promise
to love, honor and obey," Certainly, she would never admit to having,
said, "Obey." Looking back to that moment in time, I still wonder how
we managed to overcome all the obstacles and bring this dream to
reality.
Our wedding was a High Mass,
neither of us could remember
excitement we felt had a way
in that magical moment. I do
were told, "Now, I pronounce

with all the ceremony that implies, but

all that was said and done, for the
of shutting out all that surrounded us
remember, however, very well, when we
you Husband and Wife,"

A milestone in the lives of my Peggy and me had been reached and our
future lay ahead of us. For me, this was the climax of my transition
to civilian life and a more than happy ending to my experiences in
the "Great War,"
It has been said that all things happen fast in times of war. As I
look back to that time, which seems so long ago, when I first heard
the announcement over the radio that Pearl Harbor had been attacked,
I must agree, that little truism is correct. In a matter of less than
four short years, my life had been completely altered as had the
lives of so many of my fellow compatriots.
These are my personal memoirs encompassing a critical period in the
history of my country and how it affected me personally, as well as
millions throughout the world, for good or ill. Thank God, so many of
my fellow American citizens and citizens of allied countries were
willing to, if necessary, make the ultimate sacrifice to make
possible lives of freedom for future generations , free from the
tyranny of evil dictatorships, and, hopefully, the terrible scourge
of future wars.
THE END

G. I. MEMORS
Introduction
be, Throughout the history of World War 2, countless stories
have been told recalling the feats of bravery by those who fought in
those many, hard fought, battles. This is, as it should but left
untold are the experiences of those support forces who served behind
the lines and helped make possible the victories won by our troops,
now so celebrated in our books and films.
This humble effort is an attempt to chronicle the way in which
W.W. 2 shaped the life of one young American and provide some insight
into the pathos and, sometimes , ludicrous hilarity, that he
encountered while caring for the sick and wounded, as well as off
duty hours while on leave. The following antecdotes, hopefully, will
provide some insight into the experiences of Support Service G.I`s as
they plodded through. what to them, seemed a never ending war.
This is my story, as I lived it. This is not the story of a hero
but simply the memoirs of one who saw the results of the horrors of
war and encountered some of the more humorous aspects of life and
then made the transition back into civilian life. It is the story of
millions of youhg Americans who answered the call to duty when their
country called.
December 7, i941, I was having coffee with my buddy in a
neighborhood diner and trying to decide what we would do for the rest
of the day. The radio was on and the music of a swing band was
playing in the background. The waiter suddenly turned up the volume
and shouted for us to listen. The announcer, his voice solemn,
informed his audience, "This morning, December 7, 1941, Pearl Harbor,

in Hawaii, was attacked by air and the harbor has been severely
damaged. It is estimated that there have been many fatalities and the
loss of many of our ships and aircraft. From the markings on the
attacking aircraft, it has been determined that this was an attack by
the Japanese. Make no mistake about it; this was an attack against
the Territory of Hawaii and therefore an act of war against the
United States. We will keep you informed as additional information
becomes available."
My first reaction to this startling announcement was, "Where
the Hell is Pearl Harbor?" In that long ago time this was a question
on the minds of most Americans. Hawaii, and Pearl Harbor, in
particular, was a far distant place, few had ever given much thought
to, or visited. This was to change radically in the days ahead as
America entered World War 2. The following day, along with my family,
I listened, spellbound, as President Franklin D. Roosevelt addressed
the nation and the nation`s Congress. His familiar voice, now
forceful with outrage and determination, proclaimed the sentiments of
his fellow countrymen. "Yesterday, Sunday, December 7, 1941, "a
date which will live in infamy", the United States of America was
suddenly and deliberately attacked by the naval and air forces of the
Empire of Japan," Briefly, the President, explained the background
of the events which culminated in the attack, ending his speech with
the following, fateful, request to the Congress of the United
States. "With confidence in our Armed forces-with the unbounded
determination of our people- we will gain the inevitable triumph-So
help us God. I ask that the Congress declare that since the
unprovoked and dastardly attack by Japan on Sunday, December 7, a
state of war has existed between the United States and the Empire of
Japan."
Almost immediately Congress declared war on Japan and three days
later, December 11, Germany and Italy declared war on the United
States. We were now fully involved, along with the British Empire.
The Republic of Ireland declared neutrality. Russia had been at war
with Germany since June and, although never officially, became an
ally of the United States. America and its allies were now at war
with the axis of Germany, Italy and Japan. World War 2, had begun in
earnest.
I, like other young Americans, living in different parts of
the country and having little in common except our American
citizenship, faced a future that would affect the remainder of our
lives. This, I held in common with untold numbers of other young
Americans. I was twenty one years old when America entered the war. I
was nine years old, the eldest in a family of four children, at the
time America entered the era of the Great depression. Like so many
Americans, my family suffered through those trying years thinking
that poverty was here to stay. This was about to end, as America
tooled up for war, and the factories began to hum.

I was exactly the right age for military service and aware that I
would be hearing from my local Draft Board and soon be inducted into
the army. Like so many other American young men, I was eager to do my
duty and welcomed this call to serve. Kalamazoo was not the most
exciting place in the country and, I must admit, military service
appealed to my adventurous nature almost as much as my patriotic
fervor.
I lacked a college education and was inducted into the United States
Army with the grand rank of "Buck Private". The following is my
memory of induction into military service. On August 13, 1942, after
months of waiting, I was called to the induction center. There must
have been fifty of us, all standing there, "buck naked", damned glad
it was August and not a cold Michigan day. One by one we were called
before a doctor to see if we were breathing and send us on to be
processed and made "Government Issue", or for short, "G.I. A few
minutes later we took the oath and were officially in the Army of the
United States. A Sergeant took us aside, told us we were being sent
to Fort Custer, Battle Creek, Michigan, on August 27. I had just two
weeks left to be wearing civilian clothes.
At Fort Custer I was outfitted with an Army uniform and assigned to a
barracks with a lot of other raw recruits. A very unfriendly Sergeant
called us to attention, told us what poor specimens of humanity we
were and, from this time on, our scrawny bodies belonged to him until
we were shipped out for basic training. In the words of a popular
song of the era, "This is the army Mr. Jones, no private rooms or
telephones. You had your breakfast in bed before, but you won`t have
it there any more." Whoever wrote those lyrics must have spent time
in the army, as a Private.
It was there at Fort Custer, I received my first duty assignment. I,
along with two other "rookies," were handed gunny sacks, neatly
arranged for hanging over the shoulder, and each a stick with a nail
protruding from one end and told to "police" the area. We spent most
of the morning stabbing at litter on the ground and neatly placing it
into our sacks. One of my fellow "Sanitary Technicians" was a guy,
somewhat older than the rest of us, and exceedingly
short and
paunchy. With "great sensitivity," we kept ourselves amused by
badgering the poor soul with various terms alluding to his lack of
manly stature. Later, during a coffee break, we discovered that he
was a member of the Michigan legislature. This was the first time I
learned the valuable lesson, to not judge my fellow soldiers by their
appearance or ethnic identity.
After a short, miserable stay at Fort Custer we were shipped out to
Camp McCoy, Wisconsin for basic training. Camp McCoy, then, was still
under construction and being used, mainly, for the housing of "Enemy
Aliens", Germans, Italians and Japanese, as well as being readied for
the thousands of troops who would be trained there, many to go on for
the invasion of Europe. When American troops arrived for training, it

was then, we came in contact with the 442nd Infantry Regiment

comprised of Japanese Americans, most of whom, had families living in
the territory of Hawaii.
As usual, the army gave us no indication as to what service we were
assigned to. We were told that we were temporarily assigned to the
M.P.E.G, Military Police Escort Guard. As a matter of fact, we were
neither Military Police nor Escort Guards. Our sole duty was to stand
guard over the Enemy Alien camp at night and go through basic
training during the day.
It was here that young Americans, like me, first learned that it was
wrong to judge people by the color of their skin or by their
ancestry. If the army taught us anything, it was that we, young
Midwestern boys, had to face the realities of life and adjust our way
of thinking if we were to succeed in life, in the army or as
civilians. One night on a bus, returning from a night out in La
Crosse, I was seated next to a young Japanese American guy from the
442nd. We were discussing an incident that had taken place recently.
It seems that two of the Japanese- Americans from his unit had been
found murdered and an investigation was underway. The "scuttlebutt"
was that they had been killed by some guys from an infantry unit. He
went on to say that he couldn't understand how American soldiers
could harbor such hate for one another. He explained that at the time
of the Pearl Harbor attack they were in training at "Pearl" and had
not yet been given any rifle training. At the moment of the attack,
they were called to duty, issued rifles, and told to fire at those
f****** ""Japs." He said, "Not one of us hesitated, because we were
American soldiers, defending our country".
We were taken through basic training by a "Sergeant from Hell." He
marched us until we dropped, had us do target shooting until we could
no longer see the target, had us peeling potatoes until we hated the
sight of the damned things and, in general, made life absolutely
miserable for us. We had no inkling of what we were being assigned to
until the Sergeant introduced us to a new cadence marching verse. As
I remember it went something like this, "Eyes right, a** holes tight,
Foreskins to the rear, we're the boys from Camp McCoy, and we've got
gonorrhea."
When we asked him what all that meant, he replied, "It`s God damned
appropriate for all you f******* medics. " Now we knew we were in the
Medical Corps. and wondered what experiences lay ahead for us in the
days to come.
As all "good" things" do, basic training came to a finish. Our basic
training period had been short and we all hoped we would be up to
whatever lay ahead. The Sergeant called us together before our
graduation march, told us we were now soldiers and that he was proud
of us. Somehow, all our ill feelings vanished and we came around to
thinking he was a "great guy."

Immediately, I was assigned to the Camp McCoy Station Hospital,

became a "Ward Boy", and wound up doing all the, less attractive,
duties that the Officer nurses chose not to do, and doing it with a
with a smile and a salute. Along with my other duties I was assigned
to a number of classes taught by the doctors and other personnel.
It was during these sessions that I met my best buddy, Glen McQueen,
whom I was to serve with during much of the war. We all called him
"Mac." He was one of those guys who truly had "savoir- faire." Six
foot tall, a good physique and a somewhat handsome face, topped by a
full head of black, wavy hair. "Tall, dark and handsome," fitted his
description exactly. Since I was not exactly the most sophisticated
guy on the planet, Mac, always ready with a smooth line, "took up the
slack," and made our social life more pleasant. We became known as
the "Gold Dust Twins," since we always traveled together. It is this
sense of camaraderie in the service that makes war time friendships
so special.
Our training fo medical duty consisted of courses which would make us
valuable as aides to the nurses and doctors and also consisted of
training for the field. One lesson that made a strong impression on
me was the proper way to remove a wounded soldier from a disabled
tank. It was this course that made me wonder if we were soon to be on
the battlefield. Unlike the movies, most of my buddies and I, did not
long to be assigned to the infantry for heroic combat duty.
One day while off "ward duty" Mac and I were chatting with a Captain
with whom we had become familiar. All doctors held the rank of
Captain or higher. He asked if we would like to assist him during an
examination. We knew by the way he asked and the twinkle in his eye
that this was to be a farce of some kind. He was known for his love
of practical jokes, many not always in line with medical ethics. The
examinee was a member of the Women`s Army Corps. in for a
gynecolological exam. Clad in white surgical gowns, looking much like
young interns, we stood by as the Captain performed his examination.
This was followed by a burst of hilarity after the "Doc" dismissed
her. Such lack of insensitivity was rare and not typical of the
behavior of Officers or enlisted men. Later that day we passed the
young lady in the main corridor. She took a very contemptable look at
us in our enlisted mens uniforms and, in a very unladylike manner,
called us "dirty bastards," a not "Ladylike" expression for a not
"Gentlemanly like" incident.
One of the "off the cuff", lessons we received during training was
from an Officer in the office of the Adjudent General. Along with
legal advice, he often gave us bits of "army wisdom." Concerning our
demeanor, he advised us that, while walking on the hospital campus,
to carry, very conspicuously, a sheet of paper and walk, very
briskly, as if on an errand. This, he emphasized, would save us many

hours of extra duty being assigned to us by an overeager Seargant.

Finally, after two weeks of training by doctors and nurses we were
assigned to the wards. I was given a promotion to T/5, CorporalMedical Technician, a rank I continued to carry throughout the war.
After going overseas, the old lyric kicked in, "There will be no
promotion this side of the ocean." I was assigned the duty of
supervising eight Privates for ward duty. This was my first
experience in supervision and led to an incident which gave me much
satisfaction. During basic training I had committed some
"unforgivable sin" and was banished to the kitchen for a week of
Kitchen Police, better known as "KP." As all old soldiers know,
"Police" had nothing to do with this inglorious assignment. This was
simply a means for some damned Sergeant to "vent his spleen" and for
the kitchen to get extra help. I believe that in the sixteenth
century many ships were manned by a "shanghaied crew." This was the
Army`s way of getting extra hours of a soldier`s time without any
reward for extra duty and punishing him for his indiscretions. For
that unforgettable week I took orders from a Mess Sergeant who ground
out orders like meat going through a sausage grinder. The tiniest
infraction of his rules like taking a glass of milk, without his
permission, would result in the full force of his temper coming down
on one like a full blown hurricaine. He was truly, "The Devil, In
Chef's Clothing`.
Now, that I was an NCO, with all the "authority" that implies, I was
regularly checking into the ward, soldiers who had fallen ill or who
just found some reason to be assigned to the hospital, many, just for
some time away from the duties of the day and a chance to relax. One
day, "When what, to my wondering eyes should appear," but my old
"Comrade in Arms", the Mess Sergeant, with nothing but a bad head
cold. The Army had, a ,not so technical, name for his distress. The
term "Goldbricking" is far too tame. The other crude term is better
not repeated here. I was very happy to accommodate my old comrade and
immediately assigned him to a bed. With a smile on his face, he
settled in for some rest and relaxation. Much to his chagrin, he soon
found out that this was not to be the case. Vengeance was in my heart
and this was my golden opportunity to even up the score. He seemed
utterly unawaware that in the hospital he was duty bound to take
orders from hospital personnel, regardless of inferior rank.. As an
ambulatory patient he had to perform whatever housekeeping duties
assigned to him. I had no problem in finding a job for him to take
his mind off the boredom of the day. For those of you, former
soldiers, who are thinking, "Latrine Duty", I can only say that you
are so right in your speculation. I armed him with a toilet brush, a
mop and bucket and gave him immediate employment. It was apparent
that he had no desire to perform these menial tasks and informed me
that I should remember that he held the rank of Sergeant. With joy in
my heart, I, very authoritatively, pointed out to him that there were

no stripes on his bathrobe and that his immediate concern was to have
the latrine ready for Saturday morning inspection, "Vengeance is
mine, sayeth the Lord," but, for this one shining moment, "Vengeance
was mine", and I enjoyed every damned second of it.
With the compliance of the Captain, we kept him in the hospital for
a few extra days. I`m sure he was more careful about his treatment
of other lowly privates he held sway over. He had just experienced
the old adage, "What goes around, comes around."

CHAPTER 2
As the days wore on, life was a series of daily routine duties and we
were becoming somewhat restless. Although the time we had spent in
the army was short our youthful outlook made the days seem endless.
Many of the units on the base were moving on. This made us hope that
we would be next and go on to some other experiences. We had no idea
what things awaited us but anything was better than spending the war
in the Army at Camp McCoy, Wisconsin as "Ward Boys." Didn't Gen.
Patton say to recruits that they didn`t want to have to tell their
grandchildren t they spent the war shoveling horseshit at an Army
Cavalry base?
We didn't have to wait for long for we suddenly got the news that the
306 Station Hospital was being sent overseas. With typical Army
retisense to tell the enlisted man anything, we were told absolutely
nothing except to pack our belongings and be ready to move. With the
enlisted man`s penchant for finding out everything, we soon found out
that we were headed for the European Theater of Operations, or for
short, the E.T,O..

On October 31, 1942, Halloween being an appropriate day, we received

our shipping orders. Everything we possessed was crammed into our
duffle bags, and we were on our way to the train station, all "very
comfortable," in a "luxurious" army truck. Arriving at a train depot,
we hastily boarded a car that looked as though it had seen service in
the Civil War. Once on the train, we eagerly awaited some legitimate
information as to our destination. True to army form, none came.
Finally, after many hours, card games and an occasional snooze, we
arrived in Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada. The year was 1942 and the
war in Europe was in full force. Britain was in a state of deadly
peril and the arrival of the "Yanks" was considered a blessing to
their hopes of defeating the Germans. In any event, we were now about
to board a troop ship and make the dangerous crossing across the
North Atlantic to relieve our British Allies. That America was fully
engaged in this war was borne out by the hundreds of thousands of
American soldiers waiting to board the many troop ships crowding the
harbor.
Upon our arrival at the harbor, we boarded the RMS Mauritania for our
trip across the North Atlantic to Great Britain. We boarded the ship
in the late afternoon. After a "fine meal" of "good" mutton stew, we
were told to choose a spot on the long mess table for our gear. This
is where we would sleep and, "Be sure to be out of there as soon as
reveille is over because the RAF will be using the table for
training classes."
We were allowed to roam around and get acquainted with the ship. Mac
and I ventured into an area where a number of RAF {Royal Air Force
guys} were singing Bless `Em All, which was a popular British wartime
song. The lyrics, "Bless `em all, the long, the short , and the tall"
,etc. were constantly repeated with the "Bless" almost always
replaced with another four letter word, better not repeated here.
Soon we were joined by more fellow "Yanks." American- British unity
was already beginning to take place. As the Mauritania got underway
we were engrossed in making friends and having a "Jolly good time, as
the "Limeys" would say,
After a nights rest on that hard table, we got the signal to clear
out, which we did without hesitation. Gazing out a porthole,
expecting to see the open ocean, we found out that we were back in
port. As we gazed out at the harbor, Mac turned to me and said, "What
the hell is this? "I thought we were underway." It didn't take long
to find the answer to that query. It seems that during the night we
had run into a "Wolf Pack." That was the name, Admiral Donitz, the
Commander of the German navy, gave to his submarines, which hunted in
packs, awaiting Allied shipping. We were traveling without a convoy
and were a likely target.

Before long we, once more, got underway. With the unbounded optimism
of youth and a feeling of invincibility, we never gave another
thought to the danger we faced in crossing the North Atlantic without
a convoy, depending only on the speed and maneuverability of this
great ship. Ships capable of traveling fast steered a zig zag course,
without accompanying vessels, making them difficult to target.
True to British tradition, a daily shot of rum was provided to all on
board. As I recall, we approached a small makeshift bar and were
doled out our portion. The only "fly in the ointment" was that the
U.S. Navy did not permit drinking on board its ships. Even though
this was a British ship, American personnel were bound by American
Naval rules. This was handled very neatly by the British by simply
doling out a portion of ginger beer, a British soda pop, to the
Americans. Never to be outdone, we simply accepted the soda pop,
exchanged our soft drink for rum by handing a couple of cigarettes to
our British brethren and accepting their gracious exchange of rum for
ginger beer.
Another bit of culture shock was the difference in what the "Limeys"
thought of as tasty cuisine and what we thought of as "good grub."
The, too frequent, serving of mutton stew did not bode well for the
"Yanks", and resulted in a considerable amount of grumbling on our
part. Other than that, and similar differences, the next few days or
so went off without incident and a surprising amount of goodwill
developed between us and the "Limeys."
Finally, after several days of boredom and bad food we arrived in
Great Britain and were hastily put on a waiting train for our final
destination.
We were all anxious to see what England looked like but we were
traveling at night and the windows were blacked out in compliance
with "blackout" regulations. The British strictly enforced these
rules because of the possibility of giving the Germans a target on
their nightly flights over England.
Our Executive Officer, Capt. Lebowitz, a balding man, somewhat
overweight and a chain smoker, had preceded our arrival, having
boarded the train at Southampton to accompany us to our destination.
He soon appeared on the scene to address us when suddenly a loud roar
was heard directly above the train. Certain that the plane would hit
the train, we all hit the floor, "scared, out of our wits."
The only one standing was Capt. Lebowitz. With a big smile on his
face, he said, "Gentlemen you have just been welcomed to the United
Kingdom by the U. S. Army Air Force."
At long last, the train came to a stop, somewhere, just outside the
city of Bournemouth. We were immediately trucked to an Army camp,
given a barracks and told to get a good nights sleep. We found our
bunks and then the "bitching" began. On the bunk was a rather plump

mattress but when one lay down, it suddenly became apparent that what
appeared to be a mattress was, in reality, a bag of straw. Later we
found out that the British had arranged this for us since it was a
part of the "Lend-Lease" arrangement America had made with the
British. The whole damned camp was a British creation, and not one to
become fond of. The upshot was that we were so damned tired that we
slept as though we were sleeping on the best mattresses money could
buy.
Without regard that we were all in need of more rest after our long
journey, reveille, sounded as usual. After standing for roll call we
were dismissed for "Mess." Although we had been severe critics of
army food, the sight of good old American style bacon and eggs,
tended to soften our criticism, at least for the moment.
After "mess" The Company was called to order and we were given the
"Orders of the Day.' It seems that we were in a "holding area" and
quarantined for several days, during which time, we would be
responsible for housekeeping duties. The Sergeant then introduced
Capt. Lebowitz, our never to be forgotten, Executive Officer. What
followed was so damned comical, coming from this balding, overweight
and pompous, unmilitary like Officer, that I am sure every G.I.,
there at that moment, will remember it to his dying day. I`m sure, I
will. The Captain addressed us, as I recall it, "Gentlemen, you are
now a part of the European Theater of Operations. Your conduct here
will be vitally important in bringing victory to our forces against
the German Tyranny. God Bless you and the American Army." He,
finished with, "Always remember, when off duty, that you are here as
conquerors, not to be conquered by the harpies of the streets." He
ended with a military salute that would have made Gen. Eisenhower,
himself, proud. Dr. Lebowitz had transformed himself into a military
conqueror and satisfied his deepest longings, which, I`m sure, he
usually only carried out in his fantasy life.
After several long and boring days, punctuated by crap games and
other "intellectual pursuits", the quarantine was lifted and we were
given an opportunity to visit Bournemouth. Immediately, the office
was filled with G.I.s requesting passes. As long as you knew your
name rank and serial number the request was granted.
Mac and I were among the first to get in line, receive our passes,
and board the truck for town. Dressed, as finely as we could, in our
dress uniforms, we joined in the, rather ribald, singing as the truck
bounced along taking some very enthusiastic, young and virile, men,
into the city. The word virile is used very purposefully since the
thoughts on all the passenger's minds concerned speedy liaisons with
the local girls.
Mac, who seemed ever knowledgeable about such things, steered me into
the lounge bar of a local pub. The lounge bar was a cut above the

part of the pub that served only the men. The lounge was for social
gatherings and included the more refined women and men of the
community and the occasional military Officer as well as a few
enlisted men.
Once, comfortably ensconced, in a neat little booth, Mac began to
size up the situation and decided to make his move. He moved, with
great suavity, to the table of two lovely, young ladies and soon had
them seated with us in our booth. Although I do not have a good
recollection of the young lady Mac was interested in, I shall never
forget the charming and petite girl I was partnered with. Doreen
Hazelwood, her real name, was everything one thinks of when we hear
the term, "English Beauty." The charm of her English accent was not
lost upon me and our conversation soon consisted of little details
about where we called home and our particular interests.
The barkeeper, having called, "Time, please." which was the signal
for closing, brought the usual query, "May I see you home?" Both
girls, having informed us that they would rather go home together,
had made it quite clear that their parents, mothers in particular,
did not have a fondness for soldiers when their daughters were
involved. Doreen did agree to meet me the following day and give me a
tour of Bournemouth. Always the tourist, and in this case, a quite
enthusiastic tourist, we arranged a place to meet. The following day
we met at the appointed meeting place. Doreen seemed eager to do her
duty in making a lonely G.I. welcome and this lonely G.I. was only
too eager to accept her services.
Doreen proved to be an excellent tour guide and knew all the places
of interest. Her knowledge of the history of Bournemouth was quite
extensive. She delighted in showing me all the sights and made my
stay in Bournemouth a quite pleasurable experience. One of her
favorite places was an old church of historical importance and it was
there that I came to realize how much different an American`s concept
of time differed from the British. During our visit I noticed a
beautiful brass spread eagle that served as the podium for the
Minister. The cleaning lady was polishing it and I made the remark
that it was a beautiful podium. She smiled and said, "Oh, this was a
gift from our late Pastor in the early 1700s." Being a "Yank", I
thought of the 1700s as ancient history. This gave me pause, and made
me realize how young our beloved country is.
My way of thanking Doreen was to have my mother send her a gift. As I
recall, she did receive a lovely blue sweater, was delighted, and
said she would treasure it.
Meanwhile the war on the continent was raging on and my unit moved to
a new location near Tidworth, a city located southeast of Wilshire.
It shares its eastern border with the Salisbury Plain, the site of
the famous archeological find, Stonehenge. Here we carried on our

duties caring for the soldiers, who were receiving tender loving care
from our beautiful nurses.
It was not only the nurses who brought smiles to our patients. The
Red Cross and the Salvation Army both sent some very lovely ladies to
visit with the soldiers. One incident that stands out clearly
happened during one of those visits. A young man of about twenty
years old, was in the hospital for a rather extended stay. He was an
avid reader and kept us busy supplying him with books from the
hospital library. During a routine visit from the Red Cross volunteer
he requested of her to get a copy of Pygmalion, a book he had
acquired in London, signed by the author. The lady explained that it
was next to impossible to obtain the autograph since this author was
quite elderly and ill and had a reputation of not being friendly to
autograph seekers, so the task would only end in failure.
That closed the subject until the Salvation Army lady made her visit
and the same request was made of her. Her reaction was somewhat
different. She, in a very motherly fashion, said, "Give me the book
and I`ll see what I can do." A week went by and the same lady
appeared and was eager to see the young soldier. Upon greeting him
she said, "Wait till you see what I have for you." With that. she
unwrapped a package and there was the soldiers book. She opened the
book to the flyleaf, and there, in boldly handwritten words, was the
following note, as I remember it, "If I signed every book for someone
who thinks I am the greatest writer since Shakespeare, I'd be doing
nothing but signing my name." Then, written with a flourish, was the
signature, George Bernard Shaw, This incident comes to mind every
Christmas when I make my donation in a Salvation Army kettle.
Mac and I were eager to see more of England and find a place free
from the ever present G.I. Having this in mind, we decided to take
leave and get as far away from places inhabited by people of our ilk
as we could. This led to us catching a bus and traveling as far away
from camp as we could .
Our bus ride took us to a town which seemed completely bereft of
servicemen. As all G.I.s do, we immediately found the nearest Pub and
settled in comfortably to enjoy a pint of beer. We were the only
customers and after a few moments of waiting, no one appeared to wait
upon us. Mac finally called out for service. Soon, a young lady
peered around an open door and said, quite breathlessly, "Oh, you are
Americans." I said, "We sure are, what did you think we were"? Her
reply was that she and her parents had observed us from the kitchen
and, just catching a glimpse of our boots, thought we were Germans.
We knew we had found the right spot and enjoyed a great afternoon
free from the hub bub of G.I. activity. This place showed no signs
of ever having been host to an American soldier. After an hour of
friendly chatter with the barkeep and his daughter we decided it was
time to get back to camp.

Before boarding the bus I looked around for a rest room.. Spotting a
toilet, I entered and went to the urinal to relieve myself. There,
written in bold letters on the wall was that old familiar refrain,
"Kilroy was here." There was no way in the world that one could find
a place in England that had not been visited by American soldiers.
We returned to our unit, ready to resume our duties but, as usual,
Mac and I were ready for our next outing and this time, we both
agreed, it was to be London, the capital of Great Britain, and one of
the great historical cities of the world.
The week following our bus trip had been exceedingly busy. Two guys
had been admitted for broken limbs and another for a severe case of
appendicitis. Between scheduling them for operations, working out a
schedule for the ward boys and covering for a nurse who had gone on
leave, as well as attending to my other duties, I had my hands full.
Mac also had experienced a hectic week and both of us were ready to
get a pass for the weekend and our trip to London.
Having secured a three day pass and arranged for one of the ward
boys, who was "Bucking for Corporal,", to cover for me, I was ready
to head for London. Mac had obtained a pass, too, although he had to
do some fast talking to get his.
In London, we went to Paddington Station. Across the street from the
station was Dickens Tavern, one of the many historic pubs in London.
As we entered the pub, Mac noticed a ,very old, lady with a small
glass of Guinness, half full. With his usual charm and savoir faire,
he walked over to her and inquired, "May I get you a drink, mother?"
To the delight and laughter of all around, she replied, as loudly as
she could, in a her high pitched, shrill voice, "I`ll have a `pint."
After a couple of "pints" we decided it was time to get to the Red
Cross Club in Piccadilly Circus, the Broadway of London, and settle
down for the night.
The Red Cross Club in Piccadilly, also known as Rainbow Corner, was
the headquarters for all G.Is when they visited London. A huge
building of several stories, with all kinds of hospitality available,
it was a magnet for all of us seeking rest and relaxation.
One of the attractions was the little office presided over by Adele
Astaire, sister of Fred Astaire, where she wrote letters to the loved
ones of the G.I.s telling them of her visit with their sons,
daughters or sweethearts. It was a very thoughtful way to support the
war effort and was highly appreciated by all of us. "Rainbow Corner"
also played host to such celebrated personages as Gen. Theodore
Roosevelt, Gen. Eisenhower, George Raft, Jimmy Stewart, Irving Berlin
and many others. Glen Miller did a broadcast there and also, Artie
Shaw, who performed there for the soldiers. Little wonder that this
was the most favored place visited by G.I,s when on leave in London.

Mac and I had just settled down for the night on the top floor of the
club with the sound of "Pom Pom" guns above us on the roof of the
building. "Pom Pom" was the name the British people called the antiaircraft guns that responded to the, almost, nightly bombings. Just
as sleep was taking over, we were aroused by a mighty explosion
accompanied by the intense shaking of the building.
In a matter of moments we were out of bed and dressed, prepared to
leave the building. Once out on the street, we observed the reason
for the blast. About four buildings down the street from the club a
V1 rocket had hit a building, tearing it apart, as though a giant
fist had come down on it. In no time at all, ambulances were on the
scene, and people covered in blood, crying out in pain, were being
removed from the wreckage. In that terrible moment I became aware of
the resilience of the British people. There was no panic, no
screaming, only a dogged determination on the part of the volunteers
to assist the wounded and bring order out of the chaos.
This should have been enough to spoil our weekend but, being young.
and feeling, indestructible ,we were undeterred and, after all, the
old Windmill Theater was still in business and the girls were still
there, awaiting the G.I.s.
The Windmill Theater, famous for never having closed during the worst
of the bombing of London had, by the time of the war, became a
burlesque house and a premier attraction for British and American
soldiers while on leave. The old theater has an interesting history
and has been portrayed on the screen in a film called, Mrs. Henderson
Presents,
It was one of those rare evenings in London, when the air was soft
and warm, ideal for outdoor relaxation. This, I mention, because it
was a tradition at the theater, when the weather was good, that the
patio at the rear of the house was open and customers and dancers ,
between acts, could enjoy a drink and conversation. Needless to say,
Mac and I took full advantage of this opportunity to "schmoose" with
the show girls.
Ensconced comfortably at one of the patio tables, we awaited the
arrival of the girls. They usually arrived as soon as the first
performance was over, still heavily "Made Up" with grease paint and
those long artificial eye lashes in place. To my unsophisticated
eyes, this was the very zenith of feminine glamour.
Two "ladies" strolled by and, with great admiration, I watched as Mac
beckoned to them, and with a skill, usually observed only in the
movies, brought them to our table. After a moment of "sweet talk" by
my adroit companion the girls settled in comfortably. I was highly
impressed as he deftly proffered cigarettes to our "lovely"
companions. Within a moment, his Zippo lighter appeared, the cover
thrown back, and with a flick of his thumb, the flame appeared and,

it was at that moment, Mac's sophistication ,"went up in flames". The

streak of fire from the lighter rose fully four inches and licked at
those long artificial eye lashes. This was followed by a stream of
four letter obscenities from the young "lady" that would have made a
drunken sailor blush. So endeth our London trip, so endeth Mac's,
highly acclaimed "savoir faire", but it was only one of many trips
that we took to that great and historic city.
On another occasion, Mac and I had the privilege of visiting the
Royal Opera House, in London's Covent Gardens. Impressive as this
may seem, hundreds of" Yanks," nightly, made a pilgrimage to this
historic place of culture and refinement, not to experience the
opera, but to meet the girls and dance the night away.
Sometime during the war a decision had been made to convert the opera
house into a dance hall for the entertainment of the thousands of
military personnel in the city. The stage was prepared for the
accommodation of the large swing bands that would appear there and a
dance floor installed. In effect, this historic place had become a
night club. For the price of two shillings and six pence one became a
member of the club and entitled to free admission when in town on
leave. I can still hear, in my "moments of recollection." the music
of Ted Heath and other bands of renown, and those tender moments on
the dance floor, with a lovely English girl in my arms, as we swayed
to the music and, for a few shining moments, forgot the shadow of war
that always hung over us. There were other times when we were
"jitterbugging" or dancing to a love song and the wail of the siren
would be heard alerting us to a bombing and, if we so desired, retire
to an air raid shelter. Very often, the young\
lady in my arms would whisper in my ear, "Oh, lets just keep on
dancing."
Upon our return to the hospital we found that the 306th had received
a new arrival. This was a surprise because no one new had ever been
assigned to our outfit, unlike combat units who were often getting
replacements due to casualties suffered in battle. We were curious to
know why the young soldier had been sent to the 306th.
He was busy getting his gear in order when we introduced ourselves.
In our chat with him we found out his home was in Dayton Ohio. We
asked him how he became assigned to our outfit. His answer was, " I
don`t know." He went on to say he was doing guard duty at a place in
Alamogordo, New Mexico and he was in town in a bar when a civilian
struck up a conversation with him. As he told it, "This guy asked me
what duty I was performing in the army." He said he told him,
"Nothing important, I just stand guard duty at a gate to some damned
compound outside Alamogordo." He added, "Hell. I don`t even know
what the Hell is going on there." "At that point two other civilians
walked up, took me by the arms and walked me outside to a waiting
car, drove me to my outfit and turned me over to a Lieutenant." The

Officer simply said to me, "Stow your things in your duffle bag and
follow me. Following his instructions, I finished up stowing my gear
and with that the Lieutenant took me to a car and to the airport and
sent me here, Hell, up to this moment, I don`t know what happened and
why I`m here." I guess he never did know until the war was over.
This incident brought home to all of us how serious the military was
about security. "Loose lips, sink ships," had real meaning for all of
us and we were constantly on guard when chatting with anyone,
especially civilians.

Chapter 3
The patients were not the only ones to appreciate the charms of those
Lovely nurse Second Lieutenants' but we knew better than attempt to
socialize with Officers, a `sin,' requiring drastic action by
Superior Officers, if ventured by a lowly enlisted man.
My duties kept me in close contact with nurses and doctors, arranging
schedules for the "Ward Boys," schedules for medications and
assisting doctors and nurses during their rounds. It was impossible
to not become familiar with the nurses, and one beautiful young nurse
by the name of Rosemary, last name deleted, caught my eye to the
point that I broke through that invisible barrier and arranged a date
with her. Mac, never much concerned with rules, also arranged a date
with his favorite nurse and a double date was about to take place
that would have the inevitable consequences.
The bus arrived for the short ride into Salisbury. Mac and I found
our seats, discreetly separated from our dates so as not to appear to
be accompanying Officers. Shortly thereafter, arriving at our
destination, we proceeded to the nearest pub, and, with our dates,
began imbibing the best of what British brewers had to offer. Our
conversation gradually became more stimulating and our relationships
becoming ever more intimate, we were off to a wonderful evening. At
just before 11:00, the booming voice of the bartender resounded
throughout the pub. "Time please", the dreaded call, that meant we
could order only one more drink before the bar closed. This was
usually followed by a rush to the bar by the patrons, many of whom
still had unfinished drinks at their tables.

Knowing the rules of the game, we decided to move to one of the pubs
that catered to Officers and remained open after the usual closing
hours. The local officials were well aware that, "rank has its
privileges." The man at the door listened patiently as Mac explained
how the young lady with me had nursed me back to health from a
serious illness, "And now, my buddy John, and Rosemary, the lovely
nurse with him, are celebrating their engagement". Mac's story so
impressed the doorman that he made no objection to our presence in
the club.
Although Mac and I were the only non-Officers in the room, no one
seemed to notice and our evening continued on until closing time. As
we made our way through the crowd exiting the room, our arms
encircling our dates, I looked up and, catching my eye, was the
Company Commander. His look of disapproval, I knew immediately, was a
harbinger of things to come.
The results of having encountered the Company Commander, the night
before, under the previously mentioned circumstances, were not long
in coming. Mac was the first to heed a call to the Office immediately
after Mess., and upon his return to the barracks, informed me he had
been told to pack his belongings and leave on the truck parked
outside the Commander's office. He knew not, where he was headed.
Mac packed his gear and we both walked over to the waiting truck.
Before he climbed aboard, we shook hands and wished each other well.
I never saw Mac again, until we were discharged and home, once more,
in Kalamazoo.
I was the next to get the call to meet with the Company Commander.
His directive was quick, brusque and direct. "Tomorrow morning, be at
the roadside with your belongings in your duffle bag and meet the
truck when it arrives." "Do you have any questions, Corporal?"
My answer was quick, brusque and direct. "No Sir," followed by a
salute. The answer was a snappy salute and a, "Dismissed, Soldier."
Feeling somewhat, depressed at having lost my buddy and being sent to
"God knows where," I climbed aboard the truck the following morning
with a number of other "F***Ups, "but damned glad I hadn't lost my
stripes.
The truck rambled on for several miles until the driver pulled over
and hollered back at us, "You guys wanna stop at this pub and have a
beer?" The question was, of course unnecessary, and we all
disembarked , much heartened by this magnanimous gesture.
Along with the other guys, I dropped to the ground, faced forward,
and lo and behold, there was Capt. John Hummer, leaving his seat
alongside the driver. Capt. Hummer was one of the enlisted men's
favorite Officers and a resident of my hometown. His greeting to me

was, "John, what the Hell are you doing here?" I replied, "I might
ask you the same thing, Captain." Such was the informality that
existed between he and the enlisted men with whom he was well
aquainted. He was an excellent doctor, a fine Officer and a real
gentleman.
Once, inside the pub the G.I.s quickly received their "pints" and
were noisily swapping stories. Capt. Hummer and myself, knowing each
other well and, having come from the same outfit, as well as both of
us being residents of Kalamazoo, took a booth, and over a pint of
Guinness, began our stories of how we came to be on this particular
journey. I recounted my encounter with the Commander regarding
fraternization with Officers and the penalty I suffered. Capt. Hummer
laughed and said he had even a better story to tell. As he recounted
it, he and another officer had been on a date with two nurses and had
imbibed a little too much of "Old john Barleycorn," and upon
returning to camp one of the party dared him to go to the Commander`s
quarters and awaken him. He said," Having had one too many, and
taking the dare, I went into his hut, shook him, and with my
flashlight, blinded him and backed out. Unfortunately, I was unable
to stifle a laugh. Big mistake! The Commander, now fully aroused,
recognized my laugh, and bellowed out, "John Hummer, you S.O.B, I`ll
make you pay for this," "So here I am with the rest of you "F***ups."
He went on to assure me that we were not only assigned to the same
place but were going to Torquay, on the south coast of England, to
care for an encampment of soldiers training for the invasion. We
would be responsible for their day to day medical problems. He said,
"This is going to be dammed good duty, since this is one of the best
spots in England, as close to tropical weather as you will see over
here, and we will be on our own, to do, as we see fit".
After dropping off the guys on the truck at their assigned
destinations, we finally arrived at the lovely seaside town of
Torquay, to this day, stll known as an integral part of the "English
Riviera." It is no wonder that the famed British author, Agatha
Christie, chose to live most of her life here in this, almost,
tropical like paradise.
Wartime Britain was in no position to have its beaches inhabited only
by vacationing sun bathers and the long stretches of barbed wire that
covered those beaches stood in stark testimony to the fact that
England was at war and fighting for its life and freedom.
In Russia, soldiers were being sent to the Eastern Front for
improper behavior and Torquay was our, "Eastern Front." Of course,
being `good and obedient soldiers," we would do our best to cope
with the cards life had dealt us.
The encampment, covering several acres,

was located on the outskirts

of town. The troops were housed in tents. We soon found our spot, a
large Quonset hut, neatly made up, sleeping accommodations for six
and an office and lab. This was to be our home and workplace until
further notice.
We quickly staked out our cots and proceeded to make our areas as
comfortable as possible. Capt. Hummer and I took an inventory of the
things we required in the lab and then we sat down over a cup of
coffee to discuss our routine.
Each morning we would take care of the needs of the soldiers on "Sick
Call." He explained that, at times, he would not be available as he
would, undoubtedly, have connections in town that might require him
to spend the night there. He said he was sure that I could handle the
routine cases by myself but he would leave me a telephone number
where I could reach him in case of an emergency. I was well aware of
the fact that one did not question a Superior Officer about his off
base activities. He then went on to say that he would arrange a, not
too early, sick call. He then instructed me to tell the Mess Sergeant
that he would like to confer with him.
The Sergeant, a large bulky man, heavily tattooed, and florid of
face, responded quickly, and gave a proper salute to Capt. Hummer,
which was returned in proper military manner. Capt. Hummer began,
"Sergeant, We are here to care for the personnel stationed here and I
want my men, and soon there will be more of us, to get plenty of
rest, so it would be appreciated if you would have breakfast for them
even if their arrival is somewhat late, thus giving them time for
some extra sleep time in the morning." The Sergeant assured Captain
Hummer
that this would be no problem but he had a favor to ask of him. The
Captain, knowing, "Quid pro quo," said, "Mention it, and it's done."
He then explained that he often suffered from a severe hangover in
the morning and would appreciate a doctor approved remedy. With that,
Captain Hummer made up a concoction and showed me how to prepare it
for the amiable Sergeant. As I recall, it had a very solid base of
codeine, and later received a very favorable reaction from the
Sergeant.
Our discussion continued, and being curious about his remark that
there would soon be more of us, I said, "Captain, Will we be
receiving some additional help?" His answer came in the form of a
question. "John, I`m sure you will be making some social connections
in town, and wouldn't it be nice to have some "wheels?" Without
hesitation, he received an affirmative answer. He then went on to say
that he was ordering an ambulance and driver. "I'll make sure that
the driver will understand that the vehicle is at your disposal at
all times," He said, with a smile. "I told you this would be good
duty, didn't I?" "Let's make the most of it."

The ambulance did arrive and it served me well as I became more

acquainted in the community. The driver, a Private First Class, was
a fine young man and fitted in very well with, our, rather "laid
back," style of living. We did, however, have one incident which
challenged our unmilitary behavior.
For some unknown reason, and, maybe, it was because the army had no
other place to put him, another Captain doctor appeared one day and
showed Capt. Hummer his transfer. We now had two Captains and two
enlisted men. That seemed a little heavy with rank.
It wasn't long before our new arrival, a young, "spit and polish"
Officer, made it known, in no uncertain terms, that our unkempt beds
and generally, sloppy housekeeping was not in line with what he
considered military demeanor. Dr. Hummer, I`m sure, considered this
an insult to his management and approached him a couple of days
later, after one of his rants about unmade beds. Confronting the
young Officer with fire in his eyes, he said, "Captain, "What was the
date of your commission"?
Without a moments hesitation he blurted out the date to Capt. Hummer.
The response was almost immediate, Capt. Hummer said, "Captain, my
commission is of a much earlier date and this puts me in complete
command here, and furthermore, my staff and I are quite satisfied
with our lifestyle. Is that perfectly clear"?
The young Captain Answered with a quick, "Yes Sir."
I am still of the opinion that the young Captain`s transfer to
another location the following week had something to do with this
clash of opinions between the two Officers.
Another incident, which I recall with great relish, happened one
evening when we were seated outside of our hut chatting. A Sergeant
from one of the infantry outfits showed up, rifle in hand, and
joined us. He said, "Wanna see a demonstration of how we train the
men in rifle handling?" He then proceeded to break down the rifle
into its separate parts. "Now watch this", he said. He closed his
eyes, and in a flash, put the rifle back together in record time.
Capt. Hummer, without verbal response, reached over and took hold of
the rifle. In a few short seconds he then proceeded to dismantle the
piece. He closed his eyes, and with a few deft movements, much faster
than the infantryman, reassembled the rifle. Then, breaking his
silence, Capt. Hummer said, "Soldier, I learned this little maneuver
in the National Guard, long before being sent over here. Not all
medics are unfamiliar with firearms."
Not all duty here was "fun and games", and meeting the day to day
needs of the troops kept us busy. There were plenty of situations
which required our response, although most situations were not of a
highly serious nature. These were highly trained combat troops,
having been already trained for battle before arriving at this
station. They were not engaging in maneuvers which resulted in severe
injury or worse. Most of our cases were merely first aid, although we

did have occasional situations in which, after initial treatment, we

took the patient to a nearby hospital.
We did have some inkling that important moves in the war were about
to take place. Often at night, in the darkness, German reconnaissance
planes would appear overhead and shoot tracer bullets, hoping for
return fire, thus establishing the location of the troops. One night
they dropped a small personnel bomb which landed on a china shop on
the outer perimeter of the encampment. What we saw in the morning
would have had a collector of "fine China "climbing the walls."
Just to be on the safe side, we dug a small trench and when a plane
appeared overhead we would climb in until all activity ceased. One
night, Capt. Hummer and I took to the trench for cover. During our
descent into the trench I brushed against something and received a
small cut on my wrist. Upon seeing the bloody wrist, Capt. Hummer
said. "OK, John, now I can put you in for a Purple Heart."
I, of course, declined the offer. The Purple Heart is given to those
wounded in battle as a tribute to their sacrifice and heroism. I am
sure, Captain Hummer was speaking in jest, knowing I could not, in
good conscience, accept his offer.
Monitoring the news every day, we were very much aware of the
mayhem being carried on across the Channel. Hitler had subdued most
of Europe and was keeping a wary eye on Britain where more and more
American, British, Canadian and allied forces were training for, what
he knew, would be the invasion of the continent.
Being in such close contact with these soldiers, who would be among
those to storm the beaches, made us very aware of the tremendous
responsibilities our nation had placed upon their shoulders. Many of
these young soldiers would be laying down their lives to keep alive,
what was left of, law and order in Europe. We were also aware of the
other Allied forces, in camps such as these, who were also called
upon to keep alive freedom and democracy. We were young, but not too
young, to know that what happened on those beaches would make Europe,
either free or slave and, in time, threaten the security of the
United States. For those of us who would not be compelled to make
that trip across the English Channel and face the carnage of the
invasion, it strengthened our resolve to care well for our brave
combat soldiers.

Chapter 4
The year was 1944 and the Stars and Stripes, the GI. newspaper, kept
us fully informed of what was happening across the English Channel.
Hitler's 1941 invasion of Russia, known as "Operation Barbarossa",
had proven a disaster and the attack on Pearl Harbor by the Japanese,
bringing in the Americans, had the German forces on the defensive.
Everyone realized that a turning point in the war had been reached.
The world held its breath awaiting the invasion.
Preparations for the invasion of the Normandy coast in France had
been made in 1943. President Roosevelt and Prime Minister Winston
Churchill had selected Gen. Dwight D. Eisenhower as Supreme Commander
and gave the plan the code name, Operation Overlord. The Allied
powers were now set on a course that would result in the greatest
military operation in the history of the world.
The Allies assembled a force of three million men and stored sixteen
million tons of ammunition and supplies in great Britain. The Allies
had five thousand large ships, four thousand smaller landing craft
and more than eleven thousand aircraft.
All along the south coast of Britain staging areas were set up for
the accommodation of the thousands of troops preparing for the
invasion. Torquay was one of these staging areas.
I remember clearly,
and meet the young
out the door and it
anywhere. This huge

getting up one
lady with whom
became crystal
encampment was

morning, prepared to go to town

I had become acquainted. I stepped
clear to me that I was not going
completely surrounded by British

and American soldiers bearing automatic weapons. From that moment on

security was absolute and complete. It was then that I realized why
large circus tents had been set up in the last few days and Officers
from all the outfits had been seen coming and going. Briefings were
being held, prior to, what all of us expected to be, the launching of
the invasion. What, I did not know, was that the invasion had been
set for June 5, but weather conditions in the channel were so bad
that the mission had been postponed until June 6.
In the wee hours of the morning of June 6,1944 we became aware of
frenzied activity in the camp. The sound of barked orders, the roar
of truck engines and the sound of booted feet made us realize that
the time had come. The invasion of the European continent was about
to become reality. Many young men would perish that day on the
beaches of Normandy, but many more would go forward into the heart of
Germany, in what Gen. Eisenhower dubbed, "A great Crusade."
The greatest armada in all of military history had been unleashed
that morning and a grateful world , to this day, pays homage to the
brave men who were willing to sacrifice their lives to wipe from the
face of the earth the evil empires of Germany, Italy and, ultimately,
Japan.
The Order of the Day. June 6 , 1944 from Supreme Headquarters Allied
Expeditionary Forces, as stated by General Dwight Eisenhower, Supreme
Commander was as follows,
Supreme Headquarters
Allied Expeditionary Force.
"Soldiers, Sailors and Airmen of the Allied Expeditionary Force!
You are about to embark upon the Great Crusade, toward which we have
striven these many months. The eyes of the world are upon you. The
hopes and prayers of liberty loving people everywhere march with you.
In company with our brave Allies and brothers-in-arms on other
fronts, you will bring about the destruction of the German war
machine, the elimination of Nazi tyranny over the oppressed peoples
of Europe and security for ourselves in a free world.
Your task will not be an easy one. Your enemy is well trained, well
equipped and battle hardened. He will fight savagely.
But this is the year 1944! Much has happened since the Nazi triumphs
of 1940-41. The United Nations have inflicted upon the Germans great
defeats, in open battle, man to man. Our offensive has seriously
reduced their strength in the air and their capacity to wage war on
the ground. Our Home Fronts have given us an overwhelming superiority
in munitions and weapons of war, and placed at our disposal great
reserves of trained fighting men. The tide has turned! The free men
of the world are marching together toward victory!
I have full confidence in your courage, devotion to duty and skill in
battle. We will accept nothing less than full victory!

Good luck! And let us beseech the blessing of Almighty God upon this
great and noble undertaking."
With this directive from the Supreme Commander and the hopes of all
free men, our troops went forward into battle. Before the day was
over, the events that took place on the beaches of Normandy would
herald a "new "Birth of Freedom" for the "Oppressed people of Europe"
and a new "Sense of security for ourselves" in a free world.
An eerie quiet now settled over this huge staging area. The sound of
bugle calls, the barked orders of the Sergeants and the noisy rush to
the mess hall by hundreds of hungry soldiers had suddenly become
stilled. The sounds of the camp had been transferred to the beaches
of Normandy and became the whine of bullets, the flash of rocket
fire, the explosion of heavy artillery and cries of pain from the
wounded and dying, as these brave troops struggled forward to free a
continent from the evil stranglehold of Nazi tyranny.
The only personnel left in the encampment was Capt. Hummer, myself
and the young Private who drove the ambulance. Our mission was
finished. Together, the Private and myself did a "Walk-through" of
the tents before they were struck and removed by the Quartermaster
Corps.
Left behind by the troops were those things they would not carry into
battle, bits of this and that they had acquired while on leave,
magazines and books they had been reading and the bric- a-brack that
magically collects around us as we move about.
One bit of memorabilia did catch my eye. lying on a cot, was a red,
hardbound copy of Tolstoy`s War and Peace, possibly the last book
this young soldier would ever read. With this thought in mind, I
picked up the book and there on the flyleaf, was the soldier's
signature, Jack C. Barnett. Through the years, this has been one of
my treasured mementos and I have tried repeatedly, to no avail, to
locate Jack, or his family, to return this bit of his wartime life to
its rightful owners.
The
the
our
for

Quartermaster Corps, with its usual efficiency, arrived toward

end of the day and removed the tents and all Army property except
quarters.. We would spend the night in our Quonset hut and wait
our orders.

Not having access to a mess hall, Capt. Hummer, the ambulance driver
and myself clambered aboard the ambulance, drove into town and had a
meal of fish and chips and returned for our last night in Torquay.
The following morning, Capt. Hummer called us together, and, now
having our orders in hand, informed us that we were to return to the

306 Station Hospital and the Private was to return to his outfit. A
vehicle would arrive to transport the Captain, and myself to the
hospital. I remember him saying, "Now, all we have to do is get back
and ready ourselves for the casualties that will be arriving from
Normandy. It won`t be long before we see what the term, "War is
Hell," really means,"
The hospital was now located outside the town of Cheltenham. The
Quonset huts were lined up neatly, concrete sidewalks connecting the
ward buildings. A mess hall was in place, barracks, quarters for the
Officers, a laboratory, sanitary facilities, and flying from a tall
flagpole, "Old Glory." The hospital was located on an area of
undeveloped land which provided the opportunity to carry on a
military program without disturbing the civilians who lived nearby. I
found the barrack
to which I was assigned and Capt. Hummer, being an Officer, had a
building which he shared with another Officer. We settled in for the
night wondering what tomorrow would bring.
The one thing that struck me was that the hospital had no patients
and that meant we were prepared for the arrival of casualties. It was
now well into the invasion. We had received word of the heavy
fighting and that the beachhead had been established and our troops
and the Canadians, as well as other forces, were now firmly
entrenched in Normandy.
Unlike the old 306th, the hospital had Military Police surrounding
it. It didn`t take long to find out that our patients would not be
American casualties, but instead, , German prisoners of war.
With the arrival of the new patients, a whole set of new problems
were encountered. All of this meant additional training.. We had to
become familiar with the rules of war, under, what was to become, the
Geneva Convention, regarding the treatment of enemy combatants, learn
to communicate with people of a foreign language and abide with
enhanced security regulations.
I was extremely busy for the next few days, assigning my men to their
wards, arranging duty schedules, and generally getting in sync with
the doctor I was working with, as well as getting to know the various
routines followed by the nurses.
Our first batch of patients arrived by train and we worked late into
the night getting them into the proper wards, taking care of their
medication needs and showing them, by our actions, that they had
nothing to fear. These were men who had been in the thick of battle,
weary and confused, not knowing what fate had in store for them, in
the hands of the enemy. Many had received severe wounds, others only
wounds severe enough that they could not function well enough to be
left unattended. The one thing they had in common was that most

would soon be ambulatory. Their quick removal to a hospital in

England must have been the need to get them across the channel and,
in case of escape, not having them return to duty.
While few of the prisoners spoke English and few of us spoke German,
it became apparent to us, quite quickly, that we had to teach each
other our languages. Out of this emerged a mixture of German and
English that, strung together in half sentences, allowed us to
communicate, if not fluently, at least well enough to function.
The one thing most of these men shared in common was their disdain of
Hitler and their nonparticipation in Nazi activities. Their
participation in the war was the result of the Draft and the now
familiar refrain, "I was only taking orders" defense. They uttered
it, we ignored it. There were exceptions, of course, and, as time
went by, some really did turn out to be anti-Nazi.
Our treatment of the prisoners was strictly according to
international law, in spite of our dislike of these," Nazi Supermen."
They were not forced to work, had food comparable to that fed our own
soldiers, allowed religious activities and housing equal to that
provided American patients. Treatment of their medical needs was of
the highest order of the time. Doctors, nurses and enlisted personnel
gave their level best in caring for their patients. Needless to say,
we had no escape attempts.
There were, however two types of prisoners. Combat soldiers had, very
visably, marked on their shirts, PW. "Prisoners of War," Medical
personnel had on their shirts, the marking, PP ," Protective
Personnel."Their non-combat status, allowed them special status under
the firmly established rules of war, later to become known as the
"Geneva Convention."
German medical personnel, Officers and enlisted men, were given the
opportunity to work with us in caring for the patients. Our doctors
now had additional help with the assistance of the German doctors and
my men had, much needed, help in carrying out their duties.
Life soon settled down into a daily routine. Many of the patients,
now ambulatory, seemed quite satisfied with the conditions we
provided for them and presented no problems for us.
Among the patients there were a few who were complete fanatics,
usually young and thoroughly "brainwashed." One such ,was a twenty
year old infantryman who. over and over, professed his loyalty to
Hitler and the Nazi doctrine. He had been severely wounded and was
scheduled for an operation.
At his scheduled time we wheeled him into the operating room. It soon
became apparent that he would need a blood transfusion. Since all the

American personnel had records on their "dog tags" of their blood

type, and many Germans had lost theirs, time being of the essence, it
was decided that one of the "ward boys" would "volunteer" to donate
the needed blood.
At the conclusion of the operation. He was returned to the ward. I
stood by him until he recovered from the effects of the anesthesia.
It was then that I gave in to an impulse that possibly could be
construed as "torture," and in violation of the rules of war. In the
best German I could muster ,with my limited fluency, I informed him
that he was now a Jew. His immediate response was, "Nein, Nein, which
in English is a very emphatic, "NO. NO!" I managed to get across to
him that one of the American soldiers had given him blood and that
the soldier was Jewish, therefore, he now had Jewish blood. I am sure
his reaction to my fabrication did not lead to his swift recovery.
The fact that the young man who donated his blood was not Jewish and
my deliberate attempt to cause this, "Hitler Youth," anguish, I
consider to this day, a contribution to the war effort, and more
deserving of a commendation than a rebuke. Thankfully I received
neither, for having inflicted a severe sense of discomfort upon a
"patriotic warrior" of the German Reich.
Many of the Germans had acquired quite substantial amounts of French
money and this was not lost on us as to the good times we could have
if we were to obtain this currency and convert it to British Pounds.
The Germans seemed eager to part with this booty, which they had
cleverly concealed when captured, in exchange for American
cigarettes. Having plenty of cigarettes we soon had pocketfuls of
French money, and now the trick was to make the conversion to British
currency. The post office had been ordered to make known, sums of
money beyond the amount Uncle Sam so generously showered upon us,
being sent home. The army seemed always watchful for G.I.
indiscretions. Since sending the cash home was not our first
priority, that was not an option we had considered.. The second
hurdle was to get an American Officer to sign off on our transaction
when we were on leave.
As soon as passes became available, Joe Feld, a good drinking buddy,
and a fellow Michigander from Detroit, and I took leave and headed
for London. Our first stop, the Red Cross Club in Piccadilly Circus,
to freshen up, change our francs for pounds and prepare for a
memorable weekend.
In the lobby of the club we spotted a young Second Lieutenant, with
all the earmarks of a "Ninety Day Wonder," and convinced him to sign
off for us, making it possible to make our currency transaction.
With a generous amount of the royal cash in our pockets we set off to
find the finest hotel in London that would admit a pair of lowly
enlisted men. The need to be free from being surrounded by fellow

G.I.s, of lowly rank, was a passion that engrossed most soldiers

while on leave, and we were no exception.
Although my memory fails me as to the exact hotel we settled upon, I
do know that all the military guests, except us, wore marks of rank
upon their shoulders. The secret to acceptance here was, not rank
but, an adequate amount of the "King`s Sterling."
We were escorted to our room by an elderly "Bell Boy," who treated us
with all the respect given to any of the guests, and graciously
accepted his tip with a "Thank you." and a salute. Having, at one
time, in civilian life, held the same position as he, I could not but
marvel at the fact that I was on the receiving line of this timeless
little ritual.
Our room was, indeed, first class and more luxurious than I was
accustomed to. Joe, seemed much more blas and was not as impressed
as I was. After a call for room service and having a couple of
drinks, quickly brought to us by a room attendant, we decided that
after a shave, s**t and shower we would "Do the town."
This was rapidly accomplished and we were soon on the street.
After hailing a cab and getting aboard, Joe instructed the driver to
take us somewhere where good food and drink was available as well as
some "action." He then placed a five pound note on the seat beside
the driver, which was hastily retrieved and an assurance given that,
"He knew exactly the right place." That much British currency,
roughly translated into twenty American dollars, a very hefty sum at
that point of time. "Money Talks."
After
fence
place
found

a short drive the cab pulled up

which cordoned off a bombed out
to begin our carousing. The cab
and opened a makeshift door and

in front of a construction
site. This seemed an unlikely
driver, without hesitation,
bade us, "Enter.

Once inside, we entered an opening into a bombed out building and

found a party was in "full swing". A rather nice bar, given the
circumstances, was doing a hectic business. There was plenty of food
in sight and a small band was playing for the dancing couples on the
floor. Eyeing up the single girls, we knew immediately that "action"
was available. It was, and Joe and I got back to our hotel very late,
or early, depending on how one looks at the clock. Our weekend came
and went, as did our "easy money." One thing we did learn was that
the "Black Market" was alive and well and almost anything was
available.

Chapter Five
Back at our duties, our natural impulse for fun took over. To liven
up the evening we acquired from the lab a quantity of pure alcohol.
Having plenty of grape juice on hand, we mixed the two together to
give the grape juice, "added flavor". The result was a delicious
refresher which, after inducing the nurses to join us, and noting
their lustful expressions of delight, we dubbed the cocktail, "Purple
Passion." I shall not belabor this yarn further.
As the war on the continent heated up we received word that the
bombing over Germany and the victories on land were taking its toll
to the point that Hitler began the recruitment of the very young and
the old. It was then that we received contingents of prisoners that
consisted of boys, some not even in their teens, and men well into
the latter stages of middle age.
Among these older prisoners was a man, in his late fifties, elderly
to me, who was assigned to me for ward duty. He was a very mild man,
somewhat confused as to why he was in the army. I kept him busy with
light duties and, to the degree possible, we became friends.
One late afternoon I walked into the office and found him sitting at
a table, his head in his hands, bent over the table and sobbing. I

walked over to him, placed my hand on his shoulder and

inquired, ,"What`s the matter?"
He raised his head, tears running down his cheeks, and lifting a
photo from the table. replied in his broken English, "This is a
picture of my wife and sons, all killed in the bombing." This
incident and the sight of these old men and very young boys, caught
up in a war, not of their making, caused me to realize that the
tragedy of war strikes both sides with equal vengeance,
It was now late into 1944 and the 306th had been in the UK for over
two years. This was not lost on the mind of our Company Commander. At
a Company meeting with him he broached the idea of having a little
celebration commemorating our service. He informed us that he had
obtained a spot in Cheltenham where he would set up a bar and social
area where, when off duty, we could go and, with our fellow G.Is,
celebrate our anniversary. His, much appreciated gesture was met with
a sincere round of applause.
Having an afternoon free of duty, I decided to invite one of the MPs
to accompany me. When we arrived the house was full , the Company
Commander made a toast and congratulated us on a "Job, well done."
After a moment or two of, "He's a Jolly Good Fellow," we settled down
to consuming the free beer.
My companion and guest, an extremely large and imposing MP, had just
told me how lucky we were to have such a fine Officer in charge when
the Commander walked over to where we were sitting, handed me am MP
arm band, and said, "Corporal, put this on and if any guys come in,
not a part of our outfit, tell them this is a private party and tell
them to leave." I said, "Sir, I am not an MP." His response was,
"Soldier, you are now," and walked away with a grin on his face."
Faced with this unpleasant duty, I remarked to my companion, "Damn,
I`ll get killed if I try to throw any of those infantrymen out."
He laughed and said, "John, if they come in just walk over to them
and tell them to get out."
"To hell I will. You want to see me get
killed?" I replied.
He said, "You don`t get it, do you?" He went on, "Tell them to get
out and then stand between them and the door and if they give you any
crap, invite them out to settle the matter." I said, "You've got to
be nuts." At this my friend was suddenly consumed with laughter.
After recovering his composure he said, "When you invite them out,
I`ll go out the side door over there, don't worry, You`ll be
alright."
As if on cue, two guys wearing combat
their shirts, walked over to the bar,
seated themselves. For me, Armagaddon
fearless", I approached them and gave

boots and infantry insignia on

obtained mugs of beer and
had arrived. "Undaunted and
them the message that they were

not welcome since this was a private party. Completely ignoring the
MP badge on my arm, they answered with a " Screw you, you f******
medic." Having faith and confidence in my companion, with some
reservation, I invited them outside. My invitation was immediately
accepted.
I walked to the door, my legs a bit wobbly, followed by the two
combatants. My friend, at the same time, went out the side door. Once
on the street, all Hell broke loose. Out of nowhere, one of the G.I.s
got a fist squarely in the face and the other a kick in the pants and
both moved rapidly down the street. My friend returned to the side
door and entered. Still, a bit dazed, I returned to my place at the
table where, my buddy was already seated, gave a salute to the
startled Commander, and sat down. I am sure, to this day, that
Officer is still wondering how that skinny kid managed to evict two
combat soldiers with "Chips on their shoulders."
As one of my duties was to have the wards ready for Saturday morning
inspection, I made my rounds on Friday afternoon. On one particular
Friday, I was summoned to the bedside of a patient who spoke fluent
English. He informed me that a patient, and he named the bed number,
was not getting a full portion of food and was always complaining
that he was hungry. I, immediately confronted the patient and, he
informed me that, Hauptman, a POW, that that had been a medic in the
German navy, and whom I now had serving the food in this ward, was
refusing him a full portion of food. From the look of him, I didn`t
doubt his word.
I headed back to the office, found Hauptman, and confronted him with
the fact that a patient was being denied his full portion of food.
Hauptman made no attempt to conceal the fact that he gave this
patient only minimal portions. I asked him why he would do such a
thing and got an immediate response. "Unter' Officer, that man is a
Waffen S.S. soldier, Look at the insignia on his uniform." All S.S.
had a "Black Patch Waffen SS" insignia on their uniforms. He
continued, "You take care of the office, I take care of the "SS,"
spoken in surprisingly good English. Needless to say, I sympathized
with his motive, but explained that we had to treat all patients the
same.
Saturday morning inspection went off without any problem, the
soldier in question had been given the proper amount of food and made
no complaints. The inspecting Officer, having given us an OK,
immediately departed and we went back to business, as usual. I was
ready for some leave time and knew Joe would be in line with me for a
pass and a trip to London.
Usual procedure before going on leave was to be sure all duty was
covered in my absence. I finished arranging schedules for the on duty

enlisted personnel and returned to the wards to see that all was in
order. Having determined that everything was shipshape, I turned to
the Private, on duty, and was discussing special needs for certain
patients when a terrific explosion shook the building Both, the
Private and I were knocked off our feet and some patients had been
thrown out of their beds.
Our immediate concern, after picking ourselves up off the floor, was
to ascertain the condition of our patients and determine the damage
done to the building. As soon as it was determined that no injuries
were suffered by the patients and the building seemed intact, I went
outside to see if I could discover the cause of the explosion.
An ambulance had arrived and a bomb crew, off in the distance, was
surveying a place where a huge cloud of smoke had formed. After
informing the driver that everything was alright with us, and
clambering aboard, we headed out to the bomb site. What I saw made
"my hair stand up straight." What if that bomb has landed on the
hospital, was my first thought.
The crater seemed big enough to have swallowed a large building. The
bomb crew soon left the scene, after taking note of the situation I
reflected upon what I had just seen.. Could this have been one of
Hitler's V2 bombs Could this have been one of the last V2s. that
found its way to England? It has been said that the V2 was a failure
and hit more uninhabited places than occupied areas but, at that
moment, it seemed a deadly weapon to me.
Never deterred by last minute interruptions, Joe and I headed for
London on a two day pass which we spent in "cultural pursuits." One
interesting few moments occurred while we were on a short train ride
to a place just outside of London, highly recommended by a fellow
G.I. as a great place to indulge ourselves.
Seated directly across from us in the train was a small British
gentleman, British trains have these little compartments, so much
like those seen on stage coaches in Western movies. We exchanged
pleasantries, and in so doing, he asked me where I was from, "In the
"States." I told him, Kalamazoo, Michigan. His face broke into a
smile and he said, "Oh I know that part of the country well." He went
on, "several years ago, I was in Chicago, looking for a shop where I
could construct neon signs and not having any success."He continued,
"I was eating in a little Italian restaurant and got talking to the
waiter and telling him of my problem." He reached into his pocket,
withdrew a business card, scribbled his name on it, handed it to me,
and said, "Here, take this card to the hotel named on it, stand in
line on the stairs until you are ushered into the room at the top of
the stairs. Give the man at the door the card, and you'll be taken
care of. I did as he suggested the following day. When I was finally
ushered in I saw a long Board of Directors table, and there, at the

head of the table was, none other than, "Scar face" Al Capone. I
recognized him immediately, having seen his picture in the newspaper.
I tell you, my knees were buckling and I was one scared little
Englishman." He went on to say that he was "taken care of," but it
was an experience he would never forget.
On another occasion, on one of those train rides out of London I
experienced a very enlightening moment while talking to a civilian.
The man sitting across from me struck up a conversation with me and
remarked, "I certainly admire the spirit of you `Yanks." He went on
to say, " I was taking this same train and a "Yank" was sitting
across from me and I inquired as to his destination. The train was
just beginning to move and I inquired as to his destination. He told
me and I told him he was on the wrong train, going in the opposite
direction. Without further ado, he simply grabbed the leather strap,
dropped down the window, jumped out onto the platform and
disappeared. That`s the kind of immediate action that will win this
damned war, Thank God, you are on our side."
On December 16, 1944, we received word that the Germans had mounted a
huge offensive, had broken through and created an extensive bulge in
the Allied lines. This was Hitler`s last desperate attempt to change
the course of the war and became known as the "Battle of the Bulge."
Although fighting was fierce, it was to no avail, and the end of the
war was now in sight, although peace would not come until May of
1945.
The New Year arrived and while we managed to celebrate in the local
pub it was a time when one felt very homesick, wondering if this
damned war would ever end, an emotion one felt every night when the
bugle sounded, Taps., signaling, "Lights Out."
The year 1945 seemed much like every other year, the same old
routine, the same "bitching" in the barracks and the same old duties
in the wards looking after the needs of the wounded enemy.
Spring had arrived and with the coming of April, we were on one of
our `voluntary' long hikes to condition ourselves before settling
down to the business of the day. It was a chilly day in April and we
were just approaching camp when a Sergeant came running over to us
shouting, "Have you guys heard the news?" Before we could respond, he
shouted, "The President just passed away." There was a moment of
complete silence among the group. As the portent of this shocking
news settled upon us, we all fell silent and tears arose in the eyes
of all six of us. We were the young men who grew from children to
adults, never having known another President, and one so dearly loved
by all of us. He was the leader who took us through the "Great
Depression" and led us in time of war. "He was always the "Master of
his Realm", and will always be remembered as the "Captain at the
Helm." April 12, 1945, "Now he belongs to the ages," to borrow a

phrase from Secretary of War, Stanton, upon the death of Abraham

Lincoln during the Civil War.
What had seemed just the beginning of a new year, suddenly turned
into a year filled with surprises. We knew that the Allies had agreed
to demand "Unconditional Surrender." We also knew that Hitler had
committed suicide and that this meant sure victory for the Allies. In
spite of all this, we were taken aback, when on May 5, 1945 the
surrender of Germany brought an end to the war in Europe. On May 8,
the surrender was signed. It was VE Day! The guns were silenced and
a war torn continent was, once again, at peace. The "Captain at the
Helm," had not lived to see us "Gain the summit of the hill."
Celebrations broke out throughout the United Kingdom and this meant
passes were being issued very liberally and it made it possible for
us to join in the celebration. Needless to say, Joe Feld and I were
now ready for a trip to London. London was in a high state of
euphoria when we arrived. People, everywhere, were still celebrating,
days after the war ended, and American G.I, s were treated as
heroes. Joe and I basked in the glory of it all, even though we had
not fired a single shot in anger throughout the war.

Chapter 6
After returning from leave I was making my rounds in the wards when
my Sergeant approached me and said, "John, looks like you have a new
assignment." I replied, "The Hell I do, I haven't done anything
wrong." He laughed and said, "No, its not punishment, you are going
on detached service to Belfast, N. Ireland with a Private to set up a
prophylactic station, you lucky dog." He continued, "That's a dammed
nice duty assignment."
May 8, 1945, I arrived in Belfast with Bill, my assistant, moved
into our new quarters and for the next couple of days made the place
"ship-shape." My station was set up in a storefront not far from the
center of town. It consisted of quarters for two and a facility to
service the soldiers before their return to camp. This was my station
and I was in complete charge, far from the commands of demanding
Sergeants. My subordinate was a young Private who hailed from the
Appalachians, a"Hillbilly," if you will. To my delight he even stood
in awe of a lowly Corporal. Needless to say, we got on very well.
Belfast is the largest city in Northern Ireland. N. Ireland is a part
of the United Kingdom and was fully involved in the war. It was here
that the Titanic was built in the shipyards of Harland and Wolfe. For
many decades many of the great ships of historical importance were
built there. Belfast also has a long history related to the linen

trade and it was known all over the world for its fine linen
products. Then, during the war Belfast had another claim to fame,
along with other cities in the United Kingdom, and that was its
surplus of "Yanks." The term, "Yanks," was a token of friendship
except when it was used by the mothers of eligible girls in the
community. In spite of this bit of "bigotry" the young maidens
seemed to find the "Yanks" good company and the dance halls were
constantly creating many "social relationships."
There were still enough "Yanks" to go around even though the war in
Europe was over. There was an Air Force base called, Langford Lodge
just outside the city and the troops were busy dismantling the base
and removing equipment while awaiting orders for their next
assignment. With the war still raging in the South Pacific, there was
little doubt as to where that would be. Needless to say, I was
wondering about the destination for the 306th, but for now, at least,
I was safely tucked away in Belfast. I did know, however, that since
we had not been in combat, the South Pacific might be our next
location and a combat area there.
My assistant was not eager to wend his way through the large city,
preferring to stay at our station, in the evening writing letters to
his girlfriend and parents. This made it possible for me to have the
evenings to myself. During the day there was little to do and it was
then I became acquainted with civilians on the street outside the
facility. One elderly lady and I had several interesting chats. On
one occasion, she told me she was a seamstress and invited me over in
the next street to see her shop. Not wanting to seem uninterested, I
walked with her to the shop. She was very proud of it and showed me
all her creations. We chatted for a few minutes and then she said,
"Would you be staying for Tea?" With that, she pulled aside a curtain
and there in the next room was a neat little restaurant. Her
smuggling connections in the Irish Free State, which was neutral in
the war, provided her with all the food and drink she needed to run
this fine little lunch room at this time of severe food rationing in
the United Kingdom. I could not know it at the time but this tiny
sliver of the "Black Market," would mark a turning point in my life.
Having heard of a dance hall, not ordinarily frequented by Americans
I decided to give it a try. Hoping to find some feminine
companionship, I sauntered into the club, approached the bar, ordered
a drink, and surveyed the scene for a possible conquest. There,
sitting at a nearby table with a young British Naval Officer, was the
loveliest Colleen I had ever laid eyes upon. Much as I wanted to ask
her for a dance, I couldn`t chance a rejection with that "Limey"
seated at the table with her. I bided my time and after a few short
minutes her date excused himself and left the table. Siezing the
moment, I strode over to her and asked her for a dance. Surprisingly,
she accepted my invitation and for several wonderful minutes I held
her in my arms as we danced to the romantic music the band was

playing. The dance, having ended, I escorted her back to her table.
The young Officer had returned and as we approached, the damned
"Limey," in his phony, uppercrust accent, said, "I presume, Peggy, my
dancing is too old fashioned for you." With that, he stood up and
strode off. Now, I knew her name, had vanquished her boyfriend and
had her to myself. This didn`t seem to bother Peggy, who seemed
almost glad to see him leave. I sat down with her, took her hand in
mine, and from that moment on, I was in love.
I wanted very much to escort her home but she made it quite clear
that her mother would not welcome me and it would cause her more
trouble than she was willing to bear. Before seeing her to the bus we
agreed to see one another the following evening. I was in "Seventh
Heaven," and felt, very much, like the character Gene Kelly played in
that wonderful dance sequence in the movie Singing in the Rain. It
seemed that all these events were taking place as though following a
movie scenario. I had been in Ireland for such a short period of time
and, here I was, already in love.
We met the following evening, and by the end of two weeks of ,every
night dating, had become a "Couple." We both realized that our
affair was more than just a "Passing Fancy." None of this would have
been possible without the collusion of Peggy`s sister, Betty, who was
always ready with an excuse for Peggy`s late nights.
It soon became quite clear to both of us that we were in love to the
point that we wanted to spend the rest of our lives together,
although I had not yet, "Popped the Question." The difficulties to
overcome seemed too overwhelming. Peggy was from an Irish Catholic
family. I was a Protestant, with ties to the Dutch Reformed Church,
the church of the most hated, King William of Orange, and, to top it
off, I was a "Damned Yankee" and a soldier from a far off country.
Then, and even today, in Belfast, Catholics do not marry Protestants
and, most certainly, not Protestants with ties to the Dutch Reformed
Church. Secondly, and even more disqualifying, was the fact that her
parents would be losing a beloved daughter and sending her abroad,
maybe, never to return. All this we knew, but two people in love are
blinded by their emotions to the extent that they are insensitive to
the feelings of others affected by their union.
One late Friday afternoon, after a stroll through the shops and a
light dinner in one of the many little curbside eateries that dot the
downtown streets of Belfast, we walked up the steps of the City Hall,
found a seat close to the great columns that grace that stately
building and sat down to chat. It was early evening, a light rain had
fallen during the day but the evening, was quite pleasant.
I told Peggy of my love for her but emphasized that if I could not

meet her parents it would be better to call the whole thing off
before we both got hurt in the process. She said nothing for a
minute, and then, with tears in her eyes, said, "OK, John, let`s go
home, right now."
Dusk had fallen, with a bit of chill in the air, as we walked up
Rockville Street and entered number 31, one of the little brownstone
houses that line the streets of Belfast. The tiny living room was
warm and cozy, heated by a neat little fireplace that threw long,
flickering shadows on the papered walls. A piano, sofa and chair
graced the room . All these homey images gave me a feeling of warmth
and security I had not experienced for a very long time.
No one being home, Peggy busied herself with making a pot of hot tea
and then went to the piano and played an old Irish tune. As I sat and
basked in the beauty of the scene, I kept thinking how much I would
love to spend the rest of my life with this lovely Irish girl.
The peace and tranquility of this heavenly moment was shattered as
Peggy`s mother arrived on the scene. Mrs. McKenny, although not a
large lady, to my eyes presented a very imposing figure. Peggy
introduced her mother to me. Mrs. McKenny, very graciously, shook my
hand, and then, with a pleasant smile, uttered the words, so often
spoken to young men in my position, "So, you are the young man who
has been keeping my daughter out to all hours of the night." My
response was, " Yes, Mrs. McKenny, I must plead guilty to that."
The evening was continuing splendidly with Peggy`s mother querying me
about all things Catholic. I was responding with many things I had
read about the Church and throwing in the names of a few Catholic
clerics. Fortunately, I had read so much history that included the
Church that I felt I was coming off quite well. Never once, did Mrs.
McKenny ask me if I was a Catholic, although Peggy told me later that
her mother concluded that I was a "Fallen away" Catholic.
The evening was getting late and then Peggy`s mother issued the
"Coup de Grace,"
"I know you boys always enjoy some home cooked food. Would you like
something with your tea?"
I answered, "Certainly Mrs. McKenny, I`d
like that very much, thank you." Then she said, "Well now, I have
some lovely fish and some delicious chicken, which would you prefer?"
It was then, I made my first mistake. I chose chicken, completely
forgetting it was Friday. I was served a delicious plate of roast
chicken , completely oblivious of the error I had just made.
Not all was lost, for I was invited back and spent all my evenings
there getting to know Peggy`s mother, father, sister and brother.
Peggy`s father was a quiet little man who worked for a local bakery.
He was very easy to talk to and we became friends very quickly,
spending some time at the local pub getting better acquainted. He was

a very broad minded man, certainly not a part of the religious

bigotry that consumed so much of Northern Ireland, and best of all,
not prejudiced toward American soldiers. I came to know her sister,
Betty, a lovely young lady, with a great sense of humor, and Peggy`s
ally in whatever Peggy wanted to do. Her brother, Seamus was the
typical teenager, unconcerned with his sister`s problems and more
concerned about my supply of "Yankee goodies." Mrs. McKenny and I
soon became good friends and my frequent visits with her during the
day, while Peggy was at work, sharing many laughs together, cemented
my relationship with the McKenny family.
Though I did spend many daytime hours away from my station, I did
cover for my assistant on those occasions he wanted to go to town. As
far as night time activities were concerned, he preferred to spend
his time reading or writing letters home.
As was to be expected, soldiers being at their base during the day,
we had few guys showing up at the pro station during daylight hours.
However there was an occasional G. I remember one such instance
because it had such a sad ring to it. A young man came into the
station and asked me if he could use the facility to shower and
shave. He said he was being married in a few hours and wanted to get
ready for the wedding. Upon receiving an affirmative answer, he
proceeded with his grooming and left, looking in great shape for his
plunge into matrimony.
Several hours later a lady and her daughter arrived and asked if I
had seen a soldier fitting the description she gave of him. I knew
immediately it was the G.I. I had seen earlier and confirmed that he
had been here.. I knew something was amiss by the sad look on the
girl`s face. Her mother then blurted out, "I knew this would happen.
That damned "Yank" never showed up for the wedding, damn his soul."
It was the end of June, 1945 and my whole venture almost came
crashing down. I received a visit from a Captain and a Lieutenant to
make an inspection of the facility. I wanted to get the inspection
behind me because I felt I wouldn't have another inspection until
around the end of July, 1945.
After a quick "walk through," the Captain said, " Nice job, Corporal,
everything seems in order." I then invited them into my quarters for
a drink, which they readily accepted. The Lieutenant glanced at a
portrait of Peggy I had placed near my bed and said, "Pretty girl,
your girlfriend or your wife, back home?" I replied, rather naively,
"No Sir, "That's a young lady I met here in Belfast and hope to marry
before I go home. Oops! Bad mistake! I well knew of the Army`s
disapproval of soldiers marrying girls they met while stationed
overseas, The Captain smiled and said, "She is a beautiful girl. I
can readily understand why you would like to take her home with you,
Corporal, but probably, not a good idea. Maybe its time we got you
back to your outfit." That remark hit me like a lightening bolt. I

could not imagine being separated from "The love of my life," and
being put in a position where marriage would be impossible. I felt
trapped, and no way out. Then, suddenly, I remembered a bit of wisdom
Captain Hummer had given me. He had said, "Never ask for anything
without being prepared to give something in return, "or, "Quid Pro
Quo."
Regaining my composure and having hit on an idea, I replied to the
superior Officer, "Captain, that's for you to decide, Sir." I
followed that with, "Sir, its almost lunch time, would you and the
Lieutenant like to join me for a nice meal of steak and eggs?" The
Lieutenant spoke up and said, "Where in the name of Hell can you get
a meal like that with all this damned rationing?" Realizing that I
was on to something, I replied, " If you gentlemen will follow me,
I`ll be glad to show you." With that, we all got up, walked to the
door and started up the street.
When we arrived at the dress shop of my old friend, the seamstress. I
beckoned them in. I noticed a look of puzzlement on the faces of the
two Officers as I approached the lady at the counter. After a moment,
I introduced the Officers, and she escorted us to the magic curtain,
pulled it back and ,Voila, we were in "Food Heaven."
The steaks were done to perfection, the eggs, a perfect complement,
to the steaks, "over easy", and presented beautifully on fine china
plates. The "piece de resistance' was a tasty peach cobbler topped
with whipped cream. This, and steaming cups of hot coffee brought
smiles of satisfaction to the faces of the two Officers. It was then,
I made my move. Addressing the Captain, I said "Sir, I would really
appreciate it if you could have my assignment here extended." The
Captain, with a broad, knowing smile, replied, "Well, Corporal, I
suppose a little more time Could be arranged, maybe another month.
Plan on being back at your outfit in England on July 30."=== "Quid
Pro Quo."

Chapter

7
Realizing how transient my stay in Belfast was going to be, I made
up my mind to, "Bite the Bullet," and ask Peggy to marry me.
One evening Peggy and I were invited to take a drive along the
beautiful, scenic Antrim Road with a couple she knew who owned a car.
This was a special treat because, at that time, few people in the
U.K. owned cars. The car was a cute little roadster with seats for
four, two of them in a cozy little rumble seat, perfect for two
people in love. After a short drive, the car was pulled over and
parked. It was a beautiful, starlit night, a warm breeze coming in
from the ocean, the sound of waves lapping the shore and a gorgeous
moon overhead. A film director could not have set up a better scene
for a romantic moment in the film he was directing.
I held Peggy in my arms, kissed her luscious lips and then uttered
the following clumsy proposal, "Peggy, "Would you consider becoming
my wife?" Of all the opportunities to use romantic phrases, this was
one, but I was so tongue-tied I was lucky to get this much across and
on top of all this, I didn`t even have an engagement ring ready..
After a short pause, Peggy, with tears in her eyes, said, "Yes, John,
but you know, its going to be difficult to manage. My mum and dad
will be awfully hard to convince" This was followed by a lingering
kiss which I will always remember unto the end of my days.
Now that we were engaged, I said to Peggy, "Sweetheart, I know this
is going to be difficult for your parents but I think we can convince
them that they should give us their blessing. Now we have to find a
good time to tell them of our intentions." To this she replied, "I
know, but lets wait for the proper time. This is not going to be
easy."
For several days we said nothing to anyone about our engagement. We
knew we had to find the proper moment to broach the subject to
Peggy`s parents. Our procrastination finally came to an end, forced
upon us by a call I received from my unit, informing me that my stay
in Belfast was to end on July 30,1945 and to close down my facility
and return to the 306.th It was now July 2, 1945 and having, roughly,
only four weeks left in Belfast, we had to end our procrastination
and , "Face the Music" with Peggy`s parents.
Our opportunity to have a quiet evening with Peggy`s parents came
shortly thereafter. Peggy`s sister, was out on a date, , her brother,
was busy elsewhere, and Mr. and Mrs. McKenny were having a quiet
evening at home. Peggy and I had been in town and decided this was
the perfect time to break the news of our engagement.
Peggy was at the piano accompanying her father as he played a lively
jig on his fiddle. Having laid down the violin and returned to his
place on the sofa next to Mrs. McKenny, he said, "Peggy, did you have

something to tell us?" He continued, "You certainly didn`t have your

mind on the music," Peggy hesitated and seemed at a loss for words.
Sensing it was my turn to say something, I began, "Yes, we do have
something to tell you, Peggy and I are engaged to be married, and
now, all we need, is your blessing." There was a moment of silence,
which, to Peggy and I, seemed an eternity, and then her mother spoke
up. She said, "Seeing how the two of you get on, a person would have
to be blind not to see that this was coming, even if you have only
known each other for such a short time." Peggy`s father seemed
content to let Peggy`s mother continue the dialogue. She said, " Now,
John, you know Peggy is very young and this is a serious move the two
of you are thinking about. John, you are a long way from home and
sometimes it is easy to forget someone you care for back there." She
went on, "There is also the need for you to get settled, have a job
and ready to begin a family." Peggy`s father then spoke up. "I think
what "Minnie" is trying to say is that marriage, while you are still
in the army, is not possible." "Minnie" was the name everyone used
for Mrs. McKenny. After a short pause. Minnie began, "John, you are a
nice boy and I know Peggy really cares for you but she is also our
daughter and we want her to be happy. You told me that you must
return to England soon and the war is not yet over for you. We think
that it would be best for you to wait until you are out of the army,
have a job and no one back there you may have forgotten, and then, if
you and Peggy still feel the same about marriage, we will consider
it." Without waiting for my response, Minnie said, "Now, I think we
should have some tea." Knowing Mrs. McKenny, I knew the last word had
been given and we simply accepted her dictum.
After a nice cup of hot tea and a delicious Irish scone, liberally
covered with jam, I realized it was getting late and, with our
mission accomplished, I arose and prepared to say good night. I shook
hands with her dad, gave Peggy a goodnight kiss, turned to Minnie and
said, "Mrs. McKenny, After I do get home, you will be hearing from
me. I am a very stubborn Dutchman, you know."
During the following days Peggy and I spent every moment together we
could. The only shadow hanging over our romance was that I would
soon be returning to England. We had long conversations about the
life we would live in America. Peggy asked me countless questions
about how Americans lived. We were in a constant state of euphoria
over the idea of being married and starting a family. I knew I had
found the right mate for a happily married life. I had met Peggy only
a little more than two months ago but, in my heart, I knew I had met
the girl God had chosen for me.
On the evening of July 29, the day before I had to return to my
outfit, we spent our last hours together at Peggy`s home with her
parents. That night, when I departed, our hearts were heavy at the
thought of my leaving but we both pledged our troth to each other and
agreed to write every day until we were reunited in America.

On the morning of July 30, 1945, Bill, my assistant, and I boarded a

cross channel ferry and left Belfast behind. I had asked Peggy not to
be there, not wanting to have an emotional good bye. Arriving in
England, we boarded a train and soon were back at the old 306th.
When we arrived back in camp excitement was running high. Everyone
had been "sweating" the news about the action in the Pacific, and
rumors had been circulating that the 306th was scheduled for
deployment . The news coming out of the Theater of Operations in the
Pacific was on every ones minds but, as a result of so many
disappointments in the past, not always believed. Absolutely no one
is as skeptical of news reports as a G.I. in a time of war.
By the middle of July, 1945, most of the important battles in the
South Pacific had been won. In spite of this the Japanese still
carried on, refusing to accept the inevitable, with the loss of
thousands of military and civilian lives. Thousands of tons of bombs
were raining down all over Japan.
During the rest of July the newspapers carried stories of the
impossible resistance of the Japanese. By July 30 the naval forces of
Japan had been almost completely wiped out. Despite all these signs
of defeat the Japanese continued to boast that they were capable of
repelling any enemy attack against the homeland. This air of bravado
continued, even after having experienced, what has been called, "the
greatest air raid in history," having just had six thousand, six
hundred thirty two tons of bombs dropped on their oil refineries and
cities.
By August 3, it was obvious that Japan was doomed but the American
bombers continued to blast their railroads and warn them that the
end was near. They still continued to resist. Even after August 5,
when a dozen cities were added to the "surrender or die" list they
stubbornly clung to the idea that they could recover and continue the
fight.
Listening intently to the radio, we heard the news but still felt
that deployment to the South Pacific was in the offing. It was on the
6th of August when we received news that President Truman had
unleashed a bomb, two thousand times more destructive than a
blockbuster, which had been detonated over Hiroshima.
This announcement got our attention. We were glued to the radio but
censorship was in place. Bombing by the Flying Fortresses continued.
No word from Japan in reply to an ultimatum that had been given for
them to surrender was made. While no news of the destruction caused
by the bomb was being released we sensed that it must have been
horrendous. Then, on August 9 word came through that a second bomb
had been detonated over the city of Nagasaki.

We, along with the rest of the world, awaited word of the Japanese
surrender. Then the word came through that the Japanese were willing
to surrender as long as the Emperor was safeguarded, but no offer of
capitulation. The Allies then offered to leave the fate of the
Emperor up to the direction of the Allied nations. The Japanese
continued to delay and the killing continued. The Japanese were given
a warning that renewed atomic bombing was possible if Japan continued
to delay surrendering.
Finally on August 14 word was received that the Japanese had
surrendered but no official proof was given. Having received no
official word the Americans continued to shell and bomb Japan.
At long last, we all heaved a sigh of relief as word came through
that in Bern, Switzerland on the 14th that the Japanese minister had
delivered a note to the Foreign Office from Tokyo . This was quickly
followed by a radio report from Washington. "Tokyo radio said today
that Allied terms for Japan's surrender had been accepted by Emperor
Hirohito." More than twelve hours later no official confirmation was
given and the fighting in the Pacific continued.
On August 15, 1945, the one word the world had been wanting to hear.
"PEACE," appeared in newspapers all over the world. In no matter what
language the word appeared, the families of loved ones gave thanks to
their God for the end to this brutal war. The world was now at peace
and the tyranny of the brutal dictators in Italy, Germany and Japan
had come to an end, thanks to the sacrifices made by the soldiers of
the Allied nations and their loved ones at home.
On September 2, 1945, Gen. Douglas MacArthur, delegates of the Allied
powers and the Japanese delegates met on the deck of the battleship
USS Missouri in Tokyo Bay and formally signed the document accepting
the terms of surrender by the Japanese. The world was, once again, at
peace and the blessings of freedom and democracy had been secured for
the nations dedicated to those principles.
Each of us, in our own way, responded to this news with thoughts of
what the future would bring. My mind immediately returned to
thoughts of my Peggy, and how soon we would be reunited. We had been
corresponding every day and now my letter, this day, would be filled
with joy and optimistic words about our being together and the life
we would be living in America.
For those of us in Britain the scenario now became a waiting game.
Individuals would be going home based on a point system. Length of
time served, the type of action the soldier was involved in and the
decorations he had received, would be taken under consideration in
giving points. Since the members of our outfit had served for about
the same amount of time. had collected no medals for valor in combat,
and our service had been a "Walk in the Park" compared to the ones
who had suffered the horrors of combat, we were in for the "Long

Haul."

Chapter 8
It was now the beginning of October, 1945 and repatriation had not
yet taken place for the POWs in the hospital, although, by this
time, almost all were ambulatory and able to work thus relieving us
of many duties.. Our work in the hospital continued as usual but on a
much more relaxed basis. We were in a "holding pattern" and really
only biding time until we could be go back to the United States for
demobilization.
Somewhere along the line of command an idea emerged to keep the
anxious troops happy. The army set up a number of tours to which the
troops could sign up for and, for all practicality, make us
"tourists." This attention to our concerns was enthusiastically
accepted, especially when a trip to a brewery was scheduled.

On the Company bulletin board was the following notice, "SIGN UP FOR
A VISIT TO THE STROUD BREWERY. The bus will leave at 0900 hours
tomorrow."
Needless to say there was no problem in getting a busload. Joe and I
were at the assigned location to meet the bus at exactly 0900 hours.
It seems promptness was not an issue when all that free beer was in
the offing.
At exactly 0900 hours we were seated on the bus for the ride to
Stroud. .The ride was of short duration and we were greeted by a tour
guide, who, by the look on his face, did not relish guiding this
group of. "Bloody Yanks,"
He gave us the usual speech as he guided us through the brewery,
although we made it difficult for him with our crude remarks and lack
of attention. Finally we arrived in the cellar, surrounded by huge
vats of beer and were invited to sample the wares. This got our
immediate attention and we showed our affection for Stroud beer by
consuming all that the attendant provided.
The tour over, we boarded our bus and pulled out for home, with waves
of goodbye from the employees, The, now somewhat inebriated
"tourists," showed their gratitude by blowing up condoms, tying them
off into neat little balloons and tossing them out the windows. Is
this where the term, "Ugly American," first surfaced? Was this our
contribution to millions of tourists who were to visit England after
the war? On the other hand, would this not be viewed as merely the
exuberant joy of a lot of war weary G.I.s anxious to return home to
families and friends?
There were several other trips that caught my attention and turned
out to be experiences to be remembered. One of the most treasured of
these was a trip that was posted as, "A TRIP TO A STATELY BRITISH
MANSION." Needless to say, this particular tour was not as popular as
the brewery trip but I and five other guys signed up for it, hoping
to see how the "Other Half" lived in this "Class ridden" society and,
just maybe, a chance to view a place connected with the history of
England. There was agreement that I would speak on their behalf when
we arrived at our destination.
At the appointed time we boarded a small van and headed down the
road. The colors of autumn, the trees splendid with their bouquet of
red and yellow leaves, brought home to me mental pictures of Michigan
and, for just a moment, engulfed me in pangs of homesickness, an
emotion, I`m sure, was felt by my companions. The ride took only a
little over an hour. It always amazed us at how short distances
between places in Britain were. Americans never could get over the
small size of this island country.
Finally, looming ahead of us was a huge, sprawling mansion The
massive, graveled covered area in front of the entrance provided

ample room for a large number of vehicles. I had a feeling of having

been here before, probably the result of having seen scenes such as
this in the movies. It was a truly impressive sight.
The driver, a young English girl, who had remained silent all during
the trip, completely ignoring our ribald remarks, turned to us and
said, "Here you are genlemen, Blenheim Palace, ancestral home of
Prime Minister Winston Churchill, enjoy yourselves."
Here we were, a group of awe struck Yanks, who had never seen such a
glamorous residence. As grandiose as was the palace, and grandiose it
certainly was, the sheer size of this magnificent home simply
overwhelmed us and, for just a moment, I was so taken aback that I
could not find the entrance. Then I realized that the huge door that
I was facing must be what I was looking for.. Hesitently, we
approached,, but before I could reach the front door, a lovely young
lady opened it, or had it opened for her, its size seemed too huge to
be opened by such a gentle young lady, and greeted us as though she
were awaiting our arrival. Her greeting was, "You must be our
American guests." I replied, "Yes Mam, My name is John," and then
introduced my companions. She, in turn, introduced herself, but
memory does not allow me to recall her name. I do remember, very
clearly, that her name was preceded by the title, "Lady." She bade us
, enter and her easy banter made us feel right at home. To tell the
truth, we were overwhelmed at the granduer of the entrance and we
must have seemed to her, a group of yokels, as we stood in awe of the
sheer size of the place and the gorgeous oil paintings, of long gone
ancestors, that graced the walls of this magnificent entrance.
In a very informal manner the young lady steered us into the study, a
beautifully appointed room, furnished with some of the finest leather
seating that any of us had ever encountered. We, no longer were
seated, than a butler approached us, said, "Gentlemen, what can I
bring you." After ordering our drinks, and the lady ordering hers,
the butler retreated and the usual remarks about the beauty of the
home were uttered by each of us. The lady was giving us a history of
the palace when suddenly a middle aged lady and gentleman appeared on
the scene.
We were introduced, but again, my memory fails in recalling their
names. I do remember the gracious manner in which they joined in the
conversation. I, for one, was amazed at how easily we were accepted
and treated as though we were important guests. In the meantime, the
butler arrived and served our drinks, much more elegantly than the
way we were accustomed to being served. The gentleman went on to
describe the estate. He said, "I`m sure you men would like to know a
little about the historical place you are visiting." He went on to
say that the mansion was located on twenty one hundred acres and the
house was built in the eighteenth century and the gardens were added
in the nineteenth century. He said, "the palace was designed by
Vanbrugh, a noted architect of that period and was the nation`s

reward to the First Duke of Marlborough for his victories over Louis
1V. The gardens were designed by Henry Wise, in an Anglo-Dutch
Barouqe manner." He went on to say that we would appreciate the skill
of the people of that period when we took a tour of the grounds.
It was now approaching noon, and as interesting as the conversation
had been, we began to feel the need for sustenance. As if our wish
had been heard, the butler arrived and said, "Tea is being served."
All six of us knew that meant food, even if we didn`t understand
"Dutch Baroque."
We were seated at a long table in a magnificent dining area
overlooking a finely manicured garden resplendent with the hues of
autumn.. "High Tea", is usually served between three and five in the
afternoon but from the look of the spread on the table they must have
made an exception, knowing they were feeding a group of hungry G.I.s.
For a group of guys who thought meat and potatoes was a feast, this
menu overwhelmed our imaginations.
The main entre consisted of smoked salmon with cream cheese. Also
gracing the table was egg, mayonnaise, sliced cucumber, and if one
was partial to meat, Wilshire ham and mustard. Thinly cut slices of
bread and scones were placed before us with homemade jam and all of
this to be followed by our choice of several scrumptious looking
desserts. Oh, there was tea, of course, but coffee was available and
this was to be followed by champagne. Knowing how severe rationing
was, these wonderful, hospitable people must have strained their
ration coupons to the limit to make all this possible. Oh, to have a
mess sergeant, with such a creative mind and generous spirit.
Having demonstrated our liking of this delicious meal, by our over
enthusiastic consumption of its contents, we were invited to tour the
gardens by our lovely hostess. As I remember, a pram, or baby
carriage, was produced, occupied by a delightful baby whose gender I
cannot recall. Our hostess, now guiding the pram, was giving us a
delightful account of the history of the gardens. At this point I
offered my services as driver of the carriage. The offer was readily
accepted and I found myself responsible for the safe transportation
of a, very young, British aristocrat. The tour continued and even a
group of uncultured Yanks could not help but express admiration for
the artistry in creating such beauty. Suddenly, a young RAF Officer
appeared on the scene. After a perfunctory hug and a peck on the
cheek of, his wife, our hostess, he introduced himself and bade us
welcome. Turning to me, guiding the pram, he said, "Do you know who
you are caring for in the pram." I replied, "No Sir, we haven't been
introduced, as yet." He smiled and rattled off a rather long series
of names, strung together by centuries of aristocratic familial ties.
As I recall, he did mention the child`s relationship with P.M.
Winston Churchill, but by this time. I was only able to grasp enough
of our conversation to know that I was, indeed, personally

experiencing a bit of English history.

To describe the beauty, creativity and attention to detail displayed
in those gardens would require another book and descriptive powers
beyond my meager talents. Suffice to say, that all members of the
American group took away great admiration for the social and
botanical skills of our English cousins and their ability to bring an
air of formality to the wonders of nature and social etiquette. The
less formal approach to the physical world, by we Americans, stood in
stark contrast and underscored how time had created a people much
different than our forbearers. Different we had become, since those
Colonial days, but never having lost the values and basic principals
we shared as a people.

Chapter Nine
October now turned to November, with cool, chilly days, signaling
the beginning of winter, The repatriation of German prisoners was now
taking place. Daily, our patients, mostly ambulatory, were leaving
the hospital behind and returning to occupied Germany.
Then, one grand day in December we received word that our unit was
scheduled for deployment. We were going home! Oh Dear God, the day we
had long wished for had now become reality. The order to be ready to
pack our belongings and prepare to leave was the most precious order
we had ever received. My letters to Peggy now were full of the utter
elation I felt at the thought of our being united and sharing our
lives together as lovers and man and wife.
Christmas 1945, was a much more festive affair than previous
Christmas` and the dinner of turkey and all the fixings, prepared for
us by the kitchen crew, seemed much more tasty, given the fact that
we soon would be on a troopship headed for home. The high level of
morale was evident as we all envisioned being in our own home towns
with those we loved. I, could not contain my feelings of happiness at
the thought of being in a position to send for my Peggy and having
her with me in Kalamazoo to begin our life together.

A happier New Year was never more welcomed than the year 1946. We
celebrated, not only the new year, but the knowledge that we would
soon be back in the "Good Old United States." You can well believe,
that we were on our best behavior, not wanting any complications to
mar our departure for home.
Then, on or about January 7, 1946, the order came. "Pack your gear,
climb aboard the awaiting trucks for the trip to Southhampton to meet
the troopship that will carry you home." Not a single soul in our
outfit had any misgivings about carrying out that order.
The trip to Southhampton was more like a holiday event than the
movement of army troops. The singing of the soldiers had a very
upbeat quality about them and the joy of being on the way home was
evident in the spirit of the men as they relished the thought of
going back to wives and sweethearts. My mind was entirely focused on
getting home and sending for my Peggy.
Having arrived in Southhampton and on the dock awaiting our
embarcation orders, we were assembled in military order. Officers
were in their own assemblage, and all of us, enlisted and Officer
rank, in a highly festive mood. We were ready to board the giant
aircraft carrier, the USS Lake Champlain.
Once on board, all units, mostly infantry, were given assigned areas
and each told where to place their gear. Shortly thereafter, a
Sergeant called us to attention to receive an order from the Captain
of the ship.
In a voice, almost identical to that of Franklin Roosevelt, the
Captain addressed us over the public address system. As I recall, he
said, "Now hear this. This is the Captain speaking. My name is
Captain Logan Ramsey. I want to welcome you on behalf of myself and
the crew of the Lake Champlain. This ship is part of Operation, Magic
Carpet. I would, personally, like to take this opportunity to to
thank you for your service. You have done a wonderful job in bringing
this war to a successful conclusion. From this moment on, you are our
guests. We ask only that you keep your area in a neat condition.
There will be no reason to make up your bunks in the morning. This,
and all other housekeeping duties will be performed by the crew. You
will find question boxes at various places around the ship. If you
have questions or queries for me, feel free to place them in the box.
I will try to answer you in my nightly address to you. Additionally,
I have given orders that snacks be placed at various points around
the ship, in case you feel hungry between meals. The United States
Navy and this ship in particular, as a part of Operation, Magic
Carpet, will do everything we can to provide for your comfort on your
trip home. I thank you again. for your dedicated service, You will
soon be home with your loved ones. God Speed and God Bless you."

This eulogy, with its words of praise and welcoming, left us

breathless. Never, during our term of service, had we been spoken to
in such a manner. In addition to our joy at going home we were now
going there under the most favorable of conditions.
We were soon underway and, before long, it became evident that the
weather was not going to be one of the favorable conditions that we
were to experience. We had no sooner cleared the harbor than storm
clouds appeared on the horizon. As the weather worsened and the waves
loomed larger and larger it became evident that even a ship as large
as this aircraft carrier could have problems coping with the whims of
"Mother Nature."
That first night on board was a rocky one as the ship plunged through
the angry waves of the North Atlantic. Although many of the
"landlubbers" on board grappled with seasickness, we made it through
the night into a day of calm seas.
True to the Captain`s promise, the crew did arrive, made our beds and
performed the other housekeeping duties. We were still in a state of
wonderment at these services being performed for us. Breakfast was a
delight, with fresh eggs, hash browns, bacon, sausage and plenty of
hot coffee. In spite of the army derision of the navy, we had to
admit that when it came to food, the navy was in a superior position.
The weather having cleared, the day was an absolute delight. We were
able to walk the decks, enjoy a snack at one of the tables scattered
around the ship, observe the activities of the crew and, if one
chose, spend some time reading or writing letters back at our bunks.
Captain Ramsey had, indeed, made this a pleasure cruise, God Bless
him.
As time wore on, the weather worsened and, during his nightly address
to us, the Captain made it clear that we could expect this to be a
frequent occurrence since this was January and the North Atlantic was
a stormy place in the winter. He also assured us that we were not to
worry about our safety since ships, such as these, were built to
withstand all that nature could throw at them.
The third night out, after mess, the familiar voice of Captain Ramsey
sounded on the P.A. system. "Now hear this, this is the Captain
speaking. We are well on our way to home and I trust you are enjoying
the voyage. I have little to report and so I have chosen to read a
couple of the questions you have posed for me. This first one is from
Sgt. ?? Of the ?? Infantry. The good Sgt. asks if this was a banana
boat before the war." The Captain, his voice tinged with just a touch
of irritation, replied, "Sgt. First let me remind you that this is
not a boat. This is a ship. A ship carries boats." He went on, "
Sgt., As a matter of fact, I would like to inform you that this ship
was paid for by the people of the United States and is entitled to
the respect it deserves, having been made possible, by the

contributions of the citizens of of our great nation."

The weather continued to be bad and the consumption of the snacks the
Captain had placed around the ship had diminished due to the
incidents of sea sickness experienced by the G.I.s. Bad as the
weather was, the crap games continued on as usual, although
frequently interrupted by the hasty departure of one or more of the
players, due to sudden "illness." This situation was not lost on the
Captain and provided a moment of humor on his next nightly address.
As usual, we were assembled, ready to hear the Captain`s report. "Now
hear this. This is the Captain speaking," came the now familiar
refrain.
This night he chose to make comment on the weather conditions,
informing us that during the night conditions were so bad that they
had been unable to respond to a cry of distress from a Liberty Ship
in the vicinity. He went on to tell us that during his entire career
he had not experienced weather this difficult to contend with. Then,
he changed the subject and went on to answer a question from one of
the question boxes. He said, "I have a question that deals with a
problem experienced by PFC ?? " It seems that the good Private was
involved in a crap game and a considerable amount of money was in the
pot. He says that a Petty Officer arrived on the scene, broke up the
game and departed with the money. His question is, "Can we get back
the money?" There was a short pause, and then, with a chuckle in his
voice, he answered the Private's question, " Private, my cabin is on
deck--. Standing outside my door will be a Marine. Tell him you wish
to see me. In order to answer your question more directly, the answer
is that the Petty Officer has deposited the money in the Seamen's
Fund. If you still desire to have the money, so inform me when we
meet, however I would like to read you the Article of War, regarding
gambling on ships of the United States Navy." After reading the
Article, he finished with, "I hope this answers your question." The
roar of laughter from the troops clearly indicated their appreciation
of this bit of backhanded humor.
The high morale aboard the Lake Champlain was evident in stories told
to me by the crew. One such tale seemed to sum up the reason for this
high regard for their Captain. One seaman related to me how their
Executive Officer insisted that the crew in the engine room wear
white socks, although there was clearly no need, given the duties
required of them. He said this particular Officer also gave orders
that crewmen could not have their uniforms altered for better fit.
When word of this reached Captain Ramsey, a curious thing happened.
When the ship reached the next port a new Executive Officer was
assigned to the ship.
Finally, after ten days of bad weather and superb treatment by the
Officers and crew of the USS Lake Champlain, we arrived in New York
harbor on January, 17, 1946. It was a cold January day, warmed

considerably by our sight of the Statue of Liberty, standing tall and

proud, the torch of freedom still firmly in place, pointing to the
Heavens as a testament to the valor of all the Armed Forces,
soldiers, sailors, airmen and our civilian Merchant Marine. It was
our military and, even us non-combat soldiers, who had struggled so
valiently and secured our way of life, now and for generations yet
unborn.
Awaiting us on the dock as we disembarked, was a cordon of lovely
ladies representing the American Red Cross and the Salvation Army.
Their beauty was enhanced by the smell of hot coffee and doughnuts
and the hot dogs and hamburgers sizzling on the BBQ. Never, before or
since, have I had a hot dog that could compare with the one I so
relished that morning, on that frigid, but wonderful day. The
presence of those caring ladies added luster to the joyous moment we
were experiencing at being, once again, on American soil. It is in
moments, such as these, that one knows the tremendous value of being
a free American citizen. We were home, home at last, and I, for one,
was looking forward to a life of happiness with, my, now to be,
beautiful Irish bride.
My joy at being back in the United States had made me almost
completely unaware of the great number of troops crowding the dock.
True to its tradition of military efficiency, the army had a long row
of buses standing ready for our departure to the train depot and our
journey to Camp Atterbury, Indiana for our transfer to civilian life.
The bus trip very quickly brought us to the depot and by the time we
had checked our duffle bags the day had turned to night and in spite
of our weariness our spirits were high. Nothing could dampen our
utter joy at being on the way to becoming civilians, once again, and
being with family and friends.
After checking our duffle bags and boarding the train, the
festivities began. Although beverages of an alcoholic nature were not
provided, mysteriously, some very stimulating drinks began to appear
and voices were lifted in song. No blackout curtains, no planes
buzzing the train and no Officer lecturing us of the consequences of
improper behavior were part of this journey. Although some did manage
to catch a little sleep, the majority of the passengers were in too
celebratory a mood to notice the fatigue that engulfed us.
Some fifteen or so, hours later the train pulled in to a depot
situated at Camp Atterbury. In spite of some hangovers and lack of
sleep our Company was still in a joyful mood and hardly anyone
complained. We went through the routine of getting our baggage,
hearing the barked commands of a Sergeant directing us to our
barracks, and generally getting the treatment we were so accustomed
to. On the other hand, no damned Sergeant could lessen our happiness
at being at the place that would hand back our freedom and make us,

just plain, American civilian citizens..

Camp Atterbury was a very busy place. As a separation station it
served some 561,000 troops, arranging discharge from the Service at
the rate of 3000 per day, so it was not not surprising that it was
January 22, before our outfit was called to go through the separation
process.
In the meantime, we had plenty of time to write letters, make phone
calls to home and explore this sprawling installation.
January 22, 1946. "A date that will live in memory," at least my
memory, for that was the date of my separation from the Army of the
United States.
At the appointed time the 306th gathered in a huge assembly hall and
there, each of us, listened carefully for our name to be called.
When, an obviously bored Sergeant, bellowed out my name I was
immediately on my feet. Making my way to the registration table was
the sweetest hike I had ever taken. After going through the necessary
paper work, a young 2nd Lt. beckoned me to an open door. He said,
"Good morning soldier, step inside and place your chest against the X
ray panel, and , Oh by the way, if you intend to join the Reserves,
have them raise the panel to the level of your head." Even, given my
limited intellectual powers, it seemed to me that he was sending me a
message that it was not in my best interest to join the Reserves. It
was probably because of this encounter that I was able to follow the
later events that took place in Korea from the comfort of my home,
eyes glued to the TV screen. Unpatriotic as this may seem, I felt,
at this time, this new action could be handled by another generation
of young Americans.
Seated comfortably in my homeward bound train, still wearing my
uniform, I was beginning to feel more and more like a civilian,
almost but not quite. This would come when I arrived home surrounded
by family and friends. Still, there was one nagging problem to solve
before I would feel secure and comfortable and that was, bringing my
Peggy to Kalamazoo and walking down the aisle with her.
While in Atterbury awaiting discharge , I had penned off a letter to
Peggy telling her that I was almost a civilian and to start getting
her mum and dad prepared to have her daughter become a married woman
and acquiring a son in law. I put as much humor in the letter as I
was able to muster up, but not unaware, of the emotional problems I
was placing on the McKenny family.

Chapter 10
I was met at the station in Kalamazoo by my mother and father. Dad
had insisted that this moment belonged to Mom and He, accounting for
the tiny welcoming party. Dad gave me a "bear hug" and an emotional
"Welcome home, Son." My Mom, tears in her eyes, simply said, "Thank
God, you are home and safe." Never had I felt so close to my parents.
At the house, all my family members and a goodly crowd of friends and
neighbors had gathered for a welcoming home party. It was hard for me
to believe that this moment had arrived. The rest of the day was
spent in eating good home cooked food and answering a thousand
questions about my experiences. Often my mind wandered as I
contemplated on the thoughts of Peggy and wishing she could be a part
of these festivities. My brother Henry, was home from the navy,
having arrived a week earlier. My brother Charles, having been
disqualified for service due to a ruptured ear drum, was curious
about the things I had done and seen. My sister Anna Mae, now an
experienced welder because of a defense related job, also peppered me
with questions about my time in the service. It was a time of good
cheer and thankfulness and, I must admit, I was enjoying being the
center of attention.
That night, in the comfort of my bed, I pondered on the days to come.
I had not disclosed to mom and dad the fact that I was engaged.
Now ,the shoe was on the other foot." All the adjustments, in
religion and culture, to our pending marriage had been discussed in
full with Peggy`s parents and now it was time to work things out with
my mother and dad.
During the ensuing week I had many discussions with my dad and mom

about my return to civilian life. Dad had secured a job for me with
the Kalamazoo Stove and Furnace Co. ,where he was employed The plant
had been closed in order to revert back to civilian production,
having been engaged in producing war materials and, would soon
reopen.
Finally, I had my opportunity to discuss my pending marriage. It was
one of those cold winter nights and I was enjoying an evening alone
with mom and dad. During a break in the conversation, I said, " I
guess this is as good a time as any to share some news with you." I,
immediately had their attention. Dad was the first to speak. He said,
"I hope it`s good news, Son." I replied, "I think it is, I hope you
will feel the same." Mom said, "Get on with it, John." I simply
blurted out, "I`m engaged to get married." Both looked at me in
amazement and then Dad said, "Getting married, you have only been
home for a week and, as far as we know, you don`t even have a girl
friend." Realizing their quandary at this startling announcement, I
said, "Well, let me explain it to you." At this precise moment I
became aware of how unprepared I was to explain fully, the situation.
For the next few minutes I had full attention from mom and dad. I
said, "Maybe I should have told you this earlier but, here it is."
Now my mind was racing, but I went on with the story, hoping I would
not encounter any negatives. I said, "The girl I am marrying is in
Ireland. I met her in Belfast. Her parents are aware of our
engagement and I hope she gets their approval to come to the States
to be married. She is a lovely girl, from a good family. She is
nineteen years old but will be twenty by the time of our marriage."
At this point, I pulled from my wallet, a picture of Peggy and both
studied it for a moment. Mom said, "She sure is a pretty girl." Dad,
looked up and said, "Do you know what you are doing?" My reply was,
"Dad, I`m almost twenty six years old and perfectly capable of making
my own decisions." That seemed to end the discussion and then Mom
said, "John, If this is your wish, we have no objection and will
welcome her with open arms." With that, I decided to fill out the
rest of the story. I said, "Now let me "drop the other shoe."
"She is an Irish Catholic girl and I have decided to join the
Catholic Church." This resulted in a stunned silence for fully a
minute. Then my dad reacted in a fashion truly his own and, left me
incredulous. He said, "Ev", that was Dad's nick name for Mom, "Get
your coat on and, John, you do the same and get out to the car, we
are going for a ride." Not wanting to make a fuss, we both did as he
said.
Dad wheeled the car skillfully over the icy streets and pulled up in
front of St. Augustine Catholic Church. Without another word we left
the car and dad walked up to the residence of the Priest and rang the
doorbell.
The door was answered by an elderly lady, the housekeeper, and dad
asked to see the Father. She replied, "You mean Monsignor Hackett?"

Dad simply stated, "Yes Mam, that's whom we would like to talk to."
We were invited in and given a seat in the parlor. I was utterly
flabbergasted since I had no idea my dad even knew the location of
the church and had no idea of what he was up to.
In a few moments a tall, dignified man with a full head of grey hair
entered the room. He looked around and, in a thick Irish brogue said,
"Good evening, I am Monsignor Hackett. What can I do for you?"
Now, absolutely confused, I said nothing. Dad came right to the
point. He said, "Father", and pointing to me, "This is my Son, John
and he is just home from the army. He is engaged to an Irish girl in
Ireland and wants to join the Catholic Church." A broad smile
appeared on Monsignor Hackett's face and he sat down to hear the rest
of the story.
As I explained the situation, giving him all the details of our
meeting and the subsequent romance that followed, Father Hackett,
nodded approval, and said, "John, this is one of the nicest things I
have heard all year. It only goes to prove that there is always
something good coming out of a tragedy like war." Wanting to get
directly to the reason for our visit, I said, "Father, I know that as
a convert, I need to attend some classes to to understand the
procedure of conversion. Please tell me when I can attend." Again,
with a cheerful smile, he replied, " Aw, to Hell with the classes,
you won`t be attendin them, you'll be meeting with me for private
sessions here in my study. Young man, You are marrying a girl from
the "Ould Sod", and that requires some special attention." All this
was said in his thick Irish brogue, and at that moment, I felt very
special. With that he called for some tea. Over cups of hot tea the
conversation turned to filling out all the details. All this time,
Mom and Dad had little to say but joined in the conversation and I
knew that all would be well. There was no bigotry here and I felt
very proud of my parents and their easy acceptance of the situation.
Having written Peggy and told her to get ready to come to the United
States, I was anxious to receive a letter telling me all was well and
arrangements were being made for her journey. Each day I waited
patiently for the postman, and feeling depressed when no mail was
forthcoming. After several days of anxiety a letter did arrive and,
anxious as I was, I was almost afraid to open it, fearing the worst.
When I did open it and read the first few words I was ecstatic.
Peggy`s mother and dad had accepted the inevitable and were helping
Peggy to make arrangements. From the inquiries regarding passport,
visa and transportation that had been made in Ireland, it was to be,
at least, six months before she would arrive in the United States. I
couldn't wait to reply and rushed to get paper and pen.
By this time I had been employed at the Stove Co. and had met a
fellow worker named James O`Meara. When I told him that Peggy would
be arriving in about six months he said, "John, that will give us

some time to give her a real Irish welcome and I`m going to see that
you have some real Irish folk to greet her."
James called me one day and asked if I would like to meet some Irish
people who would love to meet Peggy. He said that they were an
elderly couple that would take Peggy, "Under their wings." The Irish
certainly know how to express the most mundane things in a beautiful
way.
The Fitzpatricks were, in my mind, the ideal couple to make my
peggy feel at home in America. Pat and Mary Fitzpatrick were typical
Irish, even though neither had set foot in Ireland. Pat and Mary were
each, only about five feet tall, beautiful grey hair and as
eloquently Irish in their speech as though they had just arrived in
the U.S.A. Their home reflected everthing Irish, including a green,
white and gold flag prominently displayed in the hall.
Over a cup of hot tea I learned that they had thirteen children, had
always wanted to visit Ireland, and would be thrilled to meet a
colleen from the "Ould Sod." Where had I heard that term before?
That meeting was the first of many that James arranged. and included
a young Irish priest, Fr. King, who was to become a good friend and
"buddy," if one can truly be a "buddy" with a Priest. Fr. King was
the Chaplain at Borgess Catholic Hospital in Kalamazoo and not too
popular with the Nuns, due to his liking for alcoholic spirits.
Although he did enjoy a drink, now and then, he did not drink to
excess.
A moment I remember with relish was the time Fr. King and I were
enjoying a hamburger for lunch. Halfway through our meal, Fr. King
paused, and said, "John, do you know what day this is?" Without
giving a thought to what the Fr. Was implying, I replied, "It's
Friday, Fr., why?" Then, with a smile Fr. King said, "I know we
shouldn't be eating meat on Friday but it is also a sin to waste good
food." Without further ado, he made the sign of the Cross and said,
"I grant absolution." Such was our easy going relationship.
Although I was anxious awaiting Peggy`s arrival I was also busy
making arrangements for our wedding and making new friends among the
Irish community. I was introduced to a Mr. and Mrs. Heflin by Fr.
King and was immediately made welcome to their home. Mrs. Heflin, in
true womanly fashion, was excited about the coming wedding and did
much to help me prepare. There were several parties at her house and
Fr. King, minus his collar and wearing a sport shirt, always gave two
hours absolution at midnight on Saturday, so that "No food and drink
was wasted," due to the late hour.
One day when Fr. King and I were conversing in his quarters at the
hospital he broached the possibility of he performing the Mass and

wedding ceremony. He went on to say that we should discuss the

matter with Msgr. Hackett. He said, "I`ll give him a call and see if
we can arrange it."
Fr. King, after explaining to Msgr. Hackett, that since we had become
close friends, he thought it would be appropriate for him to perform
the wedding ceremony. I remained absolutely silent, awaiting Msgr.
Hackett's response. There was only a moment's pause and then Msgr.
Hackett addressed Fr. King in, what I thought was, a rather
condescending tone of voice. He said, "Father, Just as in the army,
"rank has its privileges." "I will be saying the Mass and performing
the wedding ceremony." Although this dictum was said with a smile,
Fr. King seemed to feel that he had received the final answer to his
query

Chapter 11
About the middle of June, 1946 a telegram arrived that informed me of
the day and time as well as the flight number of the American

Airlines plane that was to bring my Peggy to the United States. To

say that I was overcome with joy is an understatement. The days that
followed were filled with excitement and planning for her arrival.
On the scheduled day, my cousin, Bud, my dad, and I headed for
Chicago to meet the plane and reunite me with my Peggy. Arriving at
O`Hare airport, well ahead of time, we waited anxiously for over two
hours. Finally, the arrival of the plane from Dublin was announced
and we hurriedly proceeded to the announced gate. The gatekeeper
opened the gate and we proceeded onto the tarmac where the plane was
parked.
In those, still early, times of domestic and transatlantic flight,
people met the arriving passengers on the runway and the they
departed the plane down a long portable gangway. My anxiety was at
fever pitch as I silently prayed that Peggy would soon appear. Person
after person descended the gangway, and then, a small figure in a
lovely blue dress, walked down the stairs, made her way to where we
were standing, and in that unforgettable moment, Peggy was in my arms
and I thanked God for the blessing he had bestowed upon me.
Midst all the happy chatter on the way home, it was quite apparent
that my dad had bonded with his, soon to be, daughter in law. Peggy
snuggled in my arms, chattered on about the great adventure she had
just experienced and how happy she was to be in America with me and
the life we would have together. Our reunion was complete, and now
many busy days were ahead as we planned our wedding.
When we arrived home, my mother and sister had refreshments ready
and, in spite of all the excited conversation, another bonding had
taken place. My mother and my Peggy, it seemed, were kindred souls.
The days ahead were filled with activity as my mother, sister and
friends planned for the wedding that was to make Peggy my bride.
Peggy and I spent many hours with the many members of the Irish
community. The Fitzpatricks took an immediate liking to Peggy and
became almost like parents to her. The Heflin family, especially Mrs.
Heflin, became fully involved in seeing that Peggy had a truly
Catholic wedding.
At long last the great day arrived, July 4, 1946. The date had been
arrived at because there were only two dates available in July. Msgr.
Hackett offered Peggy a choice and she chose July 4 as a very
appropriate day for her to become an American, This, and the fact
that her mother insisted that she was to be married at the first
available date, settled that issue. "Minnie," like most Irish
mothers, did not easily relinquish control.
The morning of July 4 began very early with my mother and sister
preparing for the wedding and the reception that was to follow.

Peggy, somewhat nervous but glowing with excitement, with the

assistance of my sister, were making sure that the wedding gown
fitted properly and all was set for her big moment when she would
walk down the aisle and become Mrs. Margaret DeRoo. My brothers,
Henry and Charles were dressed in their best, "Sunday go to meeting
clothes." My sister, Anna Mae, having finished helping Peggy, was now
dressed and "made up," for the big moment. My dad, standing in for
Peggy`s father, was more "dressed up" than I had ever seen him, and
my mom, the picture of loveliness, in the beautiful dress she had
acquired for the wedding. I was dressed in a dark blue business suit,
sporting a carnation in my lapel and was as ready as I could be for
the realization of all my dreams.
Finally, the climax of all this preparation arrived. Seated in the
pews of St. Augustne Church were my relatives and friends. Adding a
moment of unreality to the occasion was the fact that my relatives,
all Protestants, most of whom had never been inside a Catholic
Church, were seated side by side with devout Catholics. Surely, this
was a sight, unbelievable to my Peggy.
Msgr. Hackett was at the altar, having concluded Mass, Fr. King at
his side, and organ music filling the church, signaled the beginning
of this sacred ritual., my mother was quietly wiping the tears from
her eyes as the bridesmaids made their way down the aisle. Then, all
eyes were focused on the lovely bride on the arm of my father,
standing in for Peggy`s father. The strains of "Here Comes the
Bride," filled the church.
Msgr. Hackett, having concluded Mass, was standing beside the altar,
as Peggy and my dad arrived at the prescribed spot. Solemnly, Msgr.
Hackett intoned the age old question, "Who gives this woman in Holy
Matrimony? My father replied, "I do. " The best Man produced the
wedding band, I placed the band on her finger and we bowed before the
altar.
Msgr. Hackett pronounced the wedding vows, ending with, "I now
pronounce you husband and wife." "Now you may kiss the bride."
I wonder, to this day, whether Peggy uttered the words, "I promise
to love, honor and obey," Certainly, she would never admit to having,
said, "Obey." Looking back to that moment in time, I still wonder how
we managed to overcome all the obstacles and bring this dream to
reality.
Our wedding was a High Mass,
neither of us could remember
excitement we felt had a way
in that magical moment. I do
were told, "Now, I pronounce

with all the ceremony that implies, but

all that was said and done, for the
of shutting out all that surrounded us
remember, however, very well, when we
you Husband and Wife,"

A milestone in the lives of my Peggy and me had been reached and our

future lay ahead of us. For me, this was the climax of my transition
to civilian life and a more than happy ending to my experiences in
the "Great War,"
It has been said that all things happen fast in times of war. As I
look back to that time, which seems so long ago, when I first heard
the announcement over the radio that Pearl Harbor had been attacked,
I must agree, that little truism is correct. In a matter of less than
four short years, my life had been completely altered as had the
lives of so many of my fellow compatriots.
These are my personal memoirs encompassing a critical period in the
history of my country and how it affected me personally, as well as
millions throughout the world, for good or ill. Thank God, so many of
my fellow American citizens and citizens of allied countries were
willing to, if necessary, make the ultimate sacrifice to make
possible lives of freedom for future generations , free from the
tyranny of evil dictatorships, and, hopefully, the terrible scourge
of future wars.
THE END

G. I. MEMORS
Introduction
be, Throughout the history of World War 2, countless stories
have been told recalling the feats of bravery by those who fought in
those many, hard fought, battles. This is, as it should but left

untold are the experiences of those support forces who served behind
the lines and helped make possible the victories won by our troops,
now so celebrated in our books and films.
This humble effort is an attempt to chronicle the way in which
W.W. 2 shaped the life of one young American and provide some insight
into the pathos and, sometimes , ludicrous hilarity, that he
encountered while caring for the sick and wounded, as well as off
duty hours while on leave. The following antecdotes, hopefully, will
provide some insight into the experiences of Support Service G.I`s as
they plodded through. what to them, seemed a never ending war.
This is my story, as I lived it. This is not the story of a hero
but simply the memoirs of one who saw the results of the horrors of
war and encountered some of the more humorous aspects of life and
then made the transition back into civilian life. It is the story of
millions of youhg Americans who answered the call to duty when their
country called.
December 7, i941, I was having coffee with my buddy in a
neighborhood diner and trying to decide what we would do for the rest
of the day. The radio was on and the music of a swing band was
playing in the background. The waiter suddenly turned up the volume
and shouted for us to listen. The announcer, his voice solemn,
informed his audience, "This morning, December 7, 1941, Pearl Harbor,
in Hawaii, was attacked by air and the harbor has been severely
damaged. It is estimated that there have been many fatalities and the
loss of many of our ships and aircraft. From the markings on the
attacking aircraft, it has been determined that this was an attack by
the Japanese. Make no mistake about it; this was an attack against
the Territory of Hawaii and therefore an act of war against the
United States. We will keep you informed as additional information
becomes available."
My first reaction to this startling announcement was, "Where
the Hell is Pearl Harbor?" In that long ago time this was a question
on the minds of most Americans. Hawaii, and Pearl Harbor, in
particular, was a far distant place, few had ever given much thought
to, or visited. This was to change radically in the days ahead as
America entered World War 2. The following day, along with my family,
I listened, spellbound, as President Franklin D. Roosevelt addressed
the nation and the nation`s Congress. His familiar voice, now
forceful with outrage and determination, proclaimed the sentiments of
his fellow countrymen. "Yesterday, Sunday, December 7, 1941, "a
date which will live in infamy", the United States of America was
suddenly and deliberately attacked by the naval and air forces of the
Empire of Japan," Briefly, the President, explained the background
of the events which culminated in the attack, ending his speech with
the following, fateful, request to the Congress of the United

States. "With confidence in our Armed forces-with the unbounded

determination of our people- we will gain the inevitable triumph-So
help us God. I ask that the Congress declare that since the
unprovoked and dastardly attack by Japan on Sunday, December 7, a
state of war has existed between the United States and the Empire of
Japan."
Almost immediately Congress declared war on Japan and three days
later, December 11, Germany and Italy declared war on the United
States. We were now fully involved, along with the British Empire.
The Republic of Ireland declared neutrality. Russia had been at war
with Germany since June and, although never officially, became an
ally of the United States. America and its allies were now at war
with the axis of Germany, Italy and Japan. World War 2, had begun in
earnest.
I, like other young Americans, living in different parts of
the country and having little in common except our American
citizenship, faced a future that would affect the remainder of our
lives. This, I held in common with untold numbers of other young
Americans. I was twenty one years old when America entered the war. I
was nine years old, the eldest in a family of four children, at the
time America entered the era of the Great depression. Like so many
Americans, my family suffered through those trying years thinking
that poverty was here to stay. This was about to end, as America
tooled up for war, and the factories began to hum.
I was exactly the right age for military service and aware that I
would be hearing from my local Draft Board and soon be inducted into
the army. Like so many other American young men, I was eager to do my
duty and welcomed this call to serve. Kalamazoo was not the most
exciting place in the country and, I must admit, military service
appealed to my adventurous nature almost as much as my patriotic
fervor.
I lacked a college education and was inducted into the United States
Army with the grand rank of "Buck Private". The following is my
memory of induction into military service. On August 13, 1942, after
months of waiting, I was called to the induction center. There must
have been fifty of us, all standing there, "buck naked", damned glad
it was August and not a cold Michigan day. One by one we were called
before a doctor to see if we were breathing and send us on to be
processed and made "Government Issue", or for short, "G.I. A few
minutes later we took the oath and were officially in the Army of the
United States. A Sergeant took us aside, told us we were being sent
to Fort Custer, Battle Creek, Michigan, on August 27. I had just two
weeks left to be wearing civilian clothes.
At Fort Custer I was outfitted with an Army uniform and assigned to a
barracks with a lot of other raw recruits. A very unfriendly Sergeant
called us to attention, told us what poor specimens of humanity we
were and, from this time on, our scrawny bodies belonged to him until

we were shipped out for basic training. In the words of a popular

song of the era, "This is the army Mr. Jones, no private rooms or
telephones. You had your breakfast in bed before, but you won`t have
it there any more." Whoever wrote those lyrics must have spent time
in the army, as a Private.
It was there at Fort Custer, I received my first duty assignment. I,
along with two other "rookies," were handed gunny sacks, neatly
arranged for hanging over the shoulder, and each a stick with a nail
protruding from one end and told to "police" the area. We spent most
of the morning stabbing at litter on the ground and neatly placing it
into our sacks. One of my fellow "Sanitary Technicians" was a guy,
somewhat older than the rest of us, and exceedingly
short and
paunchy. With "great sensitivity," we kept ourselves amused by
badgering the poor soul with various terms alluding to his lack of
manly stature. Later, during a coffee break, we discovered that he
was a member of the Michigan legislature. This was the first time I
learned the valuable lesson, to not judge my fellow soldiers by their
appearance or ethnic identity.
After a short, miserable stay at Fort Custer we were shipped out to
Camp McCoy, Wisconsin for basic training. Camp McCoy, then, was still
under construction and being used, mainly, for the housing of "Enemy
Aliens", Germans, Italians and Japanese, as well as being readied for
the thousands of troops who would be trained there, many to go on for
the invasion of Europe. When American troops arrived for training, it
was then, we came in contact with the 442nd Infantry Regiment
comprised of Japanese Americans, most of whom, had families living in
the territory of Hawaii.
As usual, the army gave us no indication as to what service we were
assigned to. We were told that we were temporarily assigned to the
M.P.E.G, Military Police Escort Guard. As a matter of fact, we were
neither Military Police nor Escort Guards. Our sole duty was to stand
guard over the Enemy Alien camp at night and go through basic
training during the day.
It was here that young Americans, like me, first learned that it was
wrong to judge people by the color of their skin or by their
ancestry. If the army taught us anything, it was that we, young
Midwestern boys, had to face the realities of life and adjust our way
of thinking if we were to succeed in life, in the army or as
civilians. One night on a bus, returning from a night out in La
Crosse, I was seated next to a young Japanese American guy from the
442nd. We were discussing an incident that had taken place recently.
It seems that two of the Japanese- Americans from his unit had been
found murdered and an investigation was underway. The "scuttlebutt"
was that they had been killed by some guys from an infantry unit. He
went on to say that he couldn't understand how American soldiers
could harbor such hate for one another. He explained that at the time

of the Pearl Harbor attack they were in training at "Pearl" and had
not yet been given any rifle training. At the moment of the attack,
they were called to duty, issued rifles, and told to fire at those
f****** ""Japs." He said, "Not one of us hesitated, because we were
American soldiers, defending our country".
We were taken through basic training by a "Sergeant from Hell." He
marched us until we dropped, had us do target shooting until we could
no longer see the target, had us peeling potatoes until we hated the
sight of the damned things and, in general, made life absolutely
miserable for us. We had no inkling of what we were being assigned to
until the Sergeant introduced us to a new cadence marching verse. As
I remember it went something like this, "Eyes right, a** holes tight,
Foreskins to the rear, we're the boys from Camp McCoy, and we've got
gonorrhea."
When we asked him what all that meant, he replied, "It`s God damned
appropriate for all you f******* medics. " Now we knew we were in the
Medical Corps. and wondered what experiences lay ahead for us in the
days to come.
As all "good" things" do, basic training came to a finish. Our basic
training period had been short and we all hoped we would be up to
whatever lay ahead. The Sergeant called us together before our
graduation march, told us we were now soldiers and that he was proud
of us. Somehow, all our ill feelings vanished and we came around to
thinking he was a "great guy."
Immediately, I was assigned to the Camp McCoy Station Hospital,
became a "Ward Boy", and wound up doing all the, less attractive,
duties that the Officer nurses chose not to do, and doing it with a
with a smile and a salute. Along with my other duties I was assigned
to a number of classes taught by the doctors and other personnel.
It was during these sessions that I met my best buddy, Glen McQueen,
whom I was to serve with during much of the war. We all called him
"Mac." He was one of those guys who truly had "savoir- faire." Six
foot tall, a good physique and a somewhat handsome face, topped by a
full head of black, wavy hair. "Tall, dark and handsome," fitted his
description exactly. Since I was not exactly the most sophisticated
guy on the planet, Mac, always ready with a smooth line, "took up the
slack," and made our social life more pleasant. We became known as
the "Gold Dust Twins," since we always traveled together. It is this
sense of camaraderie in the service that makes war time friendships
so special.
Our training fo medical duty consisted of courses which would make us
valuable as aides to the nurses and doctors and also consisted of
training for the field. One lesson that made a strong impression on
me was the proper way to remove a wounded soldier from a disabled
tank. It was this course that made me wonder if we were soon to be on

the battlefield. Unlike the movies, most of my buddies and I, did not
long to be assigned to the infantry for heroic combat duty.
One day while off "ward duty" Mac and I were chatting with a Captain
with whom we had become familiar. All doctors held the rank of
Captain or higher. He asked if we would like to assist him during an
examination. We knew by the way he asked and the twinkle in his eye
that this was to be a farce of some kind. He was known for his love
of practical jokes, many not always in line with medical ethics. The
examinee was a member of the Women`s Army Corps. in for a
gynecolological exam. Clad in white surgical gowns, looking much like
young interns, we stood by as the Captain performed his examination.
This was followed by a burst of hilarity after the "Doc" dismissed
her. Such lack of insensitivity was rare and not typical of the
behavior of Officers or enlisted men. Later that day we passed the
young lady in the main corridor. She took a very contemptable look at
us in our enlisted mens uniforms and, in a very unladylike manner,
called us "dirty bastards," a not "Ladylike" expression for a not
"Gentlemanly like" incident.
One of the "off the cuff", lessons we received during training was
from an Officer in the office of the Adjudent General. Along with
legal advice, he often gave us bits of "army wisdom." Concerning our
demeanor, he advised us that, while walking on the hospital campus,
to carry, very conspicuously, a sheet of paper and walk, very
briskly, as if on an errand. This, he emphasized, would save us many
hours of extra duty being assigned to us by an overeager Seargant.
Finally, after two weeks of training by doctors and nurses we were
assigned to the wards. I was given a promotion to T/5, CorporalMedical Technician, a rank I continued to carry throughout the war.
After going overseas, the old lyric kicked in, "There will be no
promotion this side of the ocean." I was assigned the duty of
supervising eight Privates for ward duty. This was my first
experience in supervision and led to an incident which gave me much
satisfaction. During basic training I had committed some
"unforgivable sin" and was banished to the kitchen for a week of
Kitchen Police, better known as "KP." As all old soldiers know,
"Police" had nothing to do with this inglorious assignment. This was
simply a means for some damned Sergeant to "vent his spleen" and for
the kitchen to get extra help. I believe that in the sixteenth
century many ships were manned by a "shanghaied crew." This was the
Army`s way of getting extra hours of a soldier`s time without any
reward for extra duty and punishing him for his indiscretions. For
that unforgettable week I took orders from a Mess Sergeant who ground
out orders like meat going through a sausage grinder. The tiniest
infraction of his rules like taking a glass of milk, without his
permission, would result in the full force of his temper coming down
on one like a full blown hurricaine. He was truly, "The Devil, In
Chef's Clothing`.

Now, that I was an NCO, with all the "authority" that implies, I was
regularly checking into the ward, soldiers who had fallen ill or who
just found some reason to be assigned to the hospital, many, just for
some time away from the duties of the day and a chance to relax. One
day, "When what, to my wondering eyes should appear," but my old
"Comrade in Arms", the Mess Sergeant, with nothing but a bad head
cold. The Army had, a ,not so technical, name for his distress. The
term "Goldbricking" is far too tame. The other crude term is better
not repeated here. I was very happy to accommodate my old comrade and
immediately assigned him to a bed. With a smile on his face, he
settled in for some rest and relaxation. Much to his chagrin, he soon
found out that this was not to be the case. Vengeance was in my heart
and this was my golden opportunity to even up the score. He seemed
utterly unawaware that in the hospital he was duty bound to take
orders from hospital personnel, regardless of inferior rank.. As an
ambulatory patient he had to perform whatever housekeeping duties
assigned to him. I had no problem in finding a job for him to take
his mind off the boredom of the day. For those of you, former
soldiers, who are thinking, "Latrine Duty", I can only say that you
are so right in your speculation. I armed him with a toilet brush, a
mop and bucket and gave him immediate employment. It was apparent
that he had no desire to perform these menial tasks and informed me
that I should remember that he held the rank of Sergeant. With joy in
my heart, I, very authoritatively, pointed out to him that there were
no stripes on his bathrobe and that his immediate concern was to have
the latrine ready for Saturday morning inspection, "Vengeance is
mine, sayeth the Lord," but, for this one shining moment, "Vengeance
was mine", and I enjoyed every damned second of it.
With the compliance of the Captain, we kept him in the hospital for
a few extra days. I`m sure he was more careful about his treatment
of other lowly privates he held sway over. He had just experienced
the old adage, "What goes around, comes around."

CHAPTER 2
As the days wore on, life was a series of daily routine duties and we
were becoming somewhat restless. Although the time we had spent in
the army was short our youthful outlook made the days seem endless.
Many of the units on the base were moving on. This made us hope that
we would be next and go on to some other experiences. We had no idea
what things awaited us but anything was better than spending the war
in the Army at Camp McCoy, Wisconsin as "Ward Boys." Didn't Gen.
Patton say to recruits that they didn`t want to have to tell their
grandchildren t they spent the war shoveling horseshit at an Army
Cavalry base?
We didn't have to wait for long for we suddenly got the news that the
306 Station Hospital was being sent overseas. With typical Army
retisense to tell the enlisted man anything, we were told absolutely
nothing except to pack our belongings and be ready to move. With the
enlisted man`s penchant for finding out everything, we soon found out
that we were headed for the European Theater of Operations, or for
short, the E.T,O..
On October 31, 1942, Halloween being an appropriate day, we received
our shipping orders. Everything we possessed was crammed into our
duffle bags, and we were on our way to the train station, all "very
comfortable," in a "luxurious" army truck. Arriving at a train depot,
we hastily boarded a car that looked as though it had seen service in
the Civil War. Once on the train, we eagerly awaited some legitimate
information as to our destination. True to army form, none came.
Finally, after many hours, card games and an occasional snooze, we
arrived in Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada. The year was 1942 and the
war in Europe was in full force. Britain was in a state of deadly
peril and the arrival of the "Yanks" was considered a blessing to
their hopes of defeating the Germans. In any event, we were now about
to board a troop ship and make the dangerous crossing across the
North Atlantic to relieve our British Allies. That America was fully
engaged in this war was borne out by the hundreds of thousands of
American soldiers waiting to board the many troop ships crowding the
harbor.
Upon our arrival at the harbor, we boarded the RMS Mauritania for our
trip across the North Atlantic to Great Britain. We boarded the ship
in the late afternoon. After a "fine meal" of "good" mutton stew, we
were told to choose a spot on the long mess table for our gear. This
is where we would sleep and, "Be sure to be out of there as soon as

reveille is over because the RAF will be using the table for
training classes."
We were allowed to roam around and get acquainted with the ship. Mac
and I ventured into an area where a number of RAF {Royal Air Force
guys} were singing Bless `Em All, which was a popular British wartime
song. The lyrics, "Bless `em all, the long, the short , and the tall"
,etc. were constantly repeated with the "Bless" almost always
replaced with another four letter word, better not repeated here.
Soon we were joined by more fellow "Yanks." American- British unity
was already beginning to take place. As the Mauritania got underway
we were engrossed in making friends and having a "Jolly good time, as
the "Limeys" would say,
After a nights rest on that hard table, we got the signal to clear
out, which we did without hesitation. Gazing out a porthole,
expecting to see the open ocean, we found out that we were back in
port. As we gazed out at the harbor, Mac turned to me and said, "What
the hell is this? "I thought we were underway." It didn't take long
to find the answer to that query. It seems that during the night we
had run into a "Wolf Pack." That was the name, Admiral Donitz, the
Commander of the German navy, gave to his submarines, which hunted in
packs, awaiting Allied shipping. We were traveling without a convoy
and were a likely target.
Before long we, once more, got underway. With the unbounded optimism
of youth and a feeling of invincibility, we never gave another
thought to the danger we faced in crossing the North Atlantic without
a convoy, depending only on the speed and maneuverability of this
great ship. Ships capable of traveling fast steered a zig zag course,
without accompanying vessels, making them difficult to target.
True to British tradition, a daily shot of rum was provided to all on
board. As I recall, we approached a small makeshift bar and were
doled out our portion. The only "fly in the ointment" was that the
U.S. Navy did not permit drinking on board its ships. Even though
this was a British ship, American personnel were bound by American
Naval rules. This was handled very neatly by the British by simply
doling out a portion of ginger beer, a British soda pop, to the
Americans. Never to be outdone, we simply accepted the soda pop,
exchanged our soft drink for rum by handing a couple of cigarettes to
our British brethren and accepting their gracious exchange of rum for
ginger beer.
Another bit of culture shock was the difference in what the "Limeys"
thought of as tasty cuisine and what we thought of as "good grub."
The, too frequent, serving of mutton stew did not bode well for the
"Yanks", and resulted in a considerable amount of grumbling on our
part. Other than that, and similar differences, the next few days or

so went off without incident and a surprising amount of goodwill

developed between us and the "Limeys."
Finally, after several days of boredom and bad food we arrived in
Great Britain and were hastily put on a waiting train for our final
destination.
We were all anxious to see what England looked like but we were
traveling at night and the windows were blacked out in compliance
with "blackout" regulations. The British strictly enforced these
rules because of the possibility of giving the Germans a target on
their nightly flights over England.
Our Executive Officer, Capt. Lebowitz, a balding man, somewhat
overweight and a chain smoker, had preceded our arrival, having
boarded the train at Southampton to accompany us to our destination.
He soon appeared on the scene to address us when suddenly a loud roar
was heard directly above the train. Certain that the plane would hit
the train, we all hit the floor, "scared, out of our wits."
The only one standing was Capt. Lebowitz. With a big smile on his
face, he said, "Gentlemen you have just been welcomed to the United
Kingdom by the U. S. Army Air Force."
At long last, the train came to a stop, somewhere, just outside the
city of Bournemouth. We were immediately trucked to an Army camp,
given a barracks and told to get a good nights sleep. We found our
bunks and then the "bitching" began. On the bunk was a rather plump
mattress but when one lay down, it suddenly became apparent that what
appeared to be a mattress was, in reality, a bag of straw. Later we
found out that the British had arranged this for us since it was a
part of the "Lend-Lease" arrangement America had made with the
British. The whole damned camp was a British creation, and not one to
become fond of. The upshot was that we were so damned tired that we
slept as though we were sleeping on the best mattresses money could
buy.
Without regard that we were all in need of more rest after our long
journey, reveille, sounded as usual. After standing for roll call we
were dismissed for "Mess." Although we had been severe critics of
army food, the sight of good old American style bacon and eggs,
tended to soften our criticism, at least for the moment.
After "mess" The Company was called to order and we were given the
"Orders of the Day.' It seems that we were in a "holding area" and
quarantined for several days, during which time, we would be
responsible for housekeeping duties. The Sergeant then introduced
Capt. Lebowitz, our never to be forgotten, Executive Officer. What
followed was so damned comical, coming from this balding, overweight
and pompous, unmilitary like Officer, that I am sure every G.I.,
there at that moment, will remember it to his dying day. I`m sure, I
will. The Captain addressed us, as I recall it, "Gentlemen, you are

now a part of the European Theater of Operations. Your conduct here

will be vitally important in bringing victory to our forces against
the German Tyranny. God Bless you and the American Army." He,
finished with, "Always remember, when off duty, that you are here as
conquerors, not to be conquered by the harpies of the streets." He
ended with a military salute that would have made Gen. Eisenhower,
himself, proud. Dr. Lebowitz had transformed himself into a military
conqueror and satisfied his deepest longings, which, I`m sure, he
usually only carried out in his fantasy life.
After several long and boring days, punctuated by crap games and
other "intellectual pursuits", the quarantine was lifted and we were
given an opportunity to visit Bournemouth. Immediately, the office
was filled with G.I.s requesting passes. As long as you knew your
name rank and serial number the request was granted.
Mac and I were among the first to get in line, receive our passes,
and board the truck for town. Dressed, as finely as we could, in our
dress uniforms, we joined in the, rather ribald, singing as the truck
bounced along taking some very enthusiastic, young and virile, men,
into the city. The word virile is used very purposefully since the
thoughts on all the passenger's minds concerned speedy liaisons with
the local girls.
Mac, who seemed ever knowledgeable about such things, steered me into
the lounge bar of a local pub. The lounge bar was a cut above the
part of the pub that served only the men. The lounge was for social
gatherings and included the more refined women and men of the
community and the occasional military Officer as well as a few
enlisted men.
Once, comfortably ensconced, in a neat little booth, Mac began to
size up the situation and decided to make his move. He moved, with
great suavity, to the table of two lovely, young ladies and soon had
them seated with us in our booth. Although I do not have a good
recollection of the young lady Mac was interested in, I shall never
forget the charming and petite girl I was partnered with. Doreen
Hazelwood, her real name, was everything one thinks of when we hear
the term, "English Beauty." The charm of her English accent was not
lost upon me and our conversation soon consisted of little details
about where we called home and our particular interests.
The barkeeper, having called, "Time, please." which was the signal
for closing, brought the usual query, "May I see you home?" Both
girls, having informed us that they would rather go home together,
had made it quite clear that their parents, mothers in particular,
did not have a fondness for soldiers when their daughters were
involved. Doreen did agree to meet me the following day and give me a
tour of Bournemouth. Always the tourist, and in this case, a quite
enthusiastic tourist, we arranged a place to meet. The following day

we met at the appointed meeting place. Doreen seemed eager to do her

duty in making a lonely G.I. welcome and this lonely G.I. was only
too eager to accept her services.
Doreen proved to be an excellent tour guide and knew all the places
of interest. Her knowledge of the history of Bournemouth was quite
extensive. She delighted in showing me all the sights and made my
stay in Bournemouth a quite pleasurable experience. One of her
favorite places was an old church of historical importance and it was
there that I came to realize how much different an American`s concept
of time differed from the British. During our visit I noticed a
beautiful brass spread eagle that served as the podium for the
Minister. The cleaning lady was polishing it and I made the remark
that it was a beautiful podium. She smiled and said, "Oh, this was a
gift from our late Pastor in the early 1700s." Being a "Yank", I
thought of the 1700s as ancient history. This gave me pause, and made
me realize how young our beloved country is.
My way of thanking Doreen was to have my mother send her a gift. As I
recall, she did receive a lovely blue sweater, was delighted, and
said she would treasure it.
Meanwhile the war on the continent was raging on and my unit moved to
a new location near Tidworth, a city located southeast of Wilshire.
It shares its eastern border with the Salisbury Plain, the site of
the famous archeological find, Stonehenge. Here we carried on our
duties caring for the soldiers, who were receiving tender loving care
from our beautiful nurses.
It was not only the nurses who brought smiles to our patients. The
Red Cross and the Salvation Army both sent some very lovely ladies to
visit with the soldiers. One incident that stands out clearly
happened during one of those visits. A young man of about twenty
years old, was in the hospital for a rather extended stay. He was an
avid reader and kept us busy supplying him with books from the
hospital library. During a routine visit from the Red Cross volunteer
he requested of her to get a copy of Pygmalion, a book he had
acquired in London, signed by the author. The lady explained that it
was next to impossible to obtain the autograph since this author was
quite elderly and ill and had a reputation of not being friendly to
autograph seekers, so the task would only end in failure.
That closed the subject until the Salvation Army lady made her visit
and the same request was made of her. Her reaction was somewhat
different. She, in a very motherly fashion, said, "Give me the book
and I`ll see what I can do." A week went by and the same lady
appeared and was eager to see the young soldier. Upon greeting him
she said, "Wait till you see what I have for you." With that. she
unwrapped a package and there was the soldiers book. She opened the
book to the flyleaf, and there, in boldly handwritten words, was the
following note, as I remember it, "If I signed every book for someone

who thinks I am the greatest writer since Shakespeare, I'd be doing

nothing but signing my name." Then, written with a flourish, was the
signature, George Bernard Shaw, This incident comes to mind every
Christmas when I make my donation in a Salvation Army kettle.
Mac and I were eager to see more of England and find a place free
from the ever present G.I. Having this in mind, we decided to take
leave and get as far away from places inhabited by people of our ilk
as we could. This led to us catching a bus and traveling as far away
from camp as we could .
Our bus ride took us to a town which seemed completely bereft of
servicemen. As all G.I.s do, we immediately found the nearest Pub and
settled in comfortably to enjoy a pint of beer. We were the only
customers and after a few moments of waiting, no one appeared to wait
upon us. Mac finally called out for service. Soon, a young lady
peered around an open door and said, quite breathlessly, "Oh, you are
Americans." I said, "We sure are, what did you think we were"? Her
reply was that she and her parents had observed us from the kitchen
and, just catching a glimpse of our boots, thought we were Germans.
We knew we had found the right spot and enjoyed a great afternoon
free from the hub bub of G.I. activity. This place showed no signs
of ever having been host to an American soldier. After an hour of
friendly chatter with the barkeep and his daughter we decided it was
time to get back to camp.
Before boarding the bus I looked around for a rest room.. Spotting a
toilet, I entered and went to the urinal to relieve myself. There,
written in bold letters on the wall was that old familiar refrain,
"Kilroy was here." There was no way in the world that one could find
a place in England that had not been visited by American soldiers.
We returned to our unit, ready to resume our duties but, as usual,
Mac and I were ready for our next outing and this time, we both
agreed, it was to be London, the capital of Great Britain, and one of
the great historical cities of the world.
The week following our bus trip had been exceedingly busy. Two guys
had been admitted for broken limbs and another for a severe case of
appendicitis. Between scheduling them for operations, working out a
schedule for the ward boys and covering for a nurse who had gone on
leave, as well as attending to my other duties, I had my hands full.
Mac also had experienced a hectic week and both of us were ready to
get a pass for the weekend and our trip to London.
Having secured a three day pass and arranged for one of the ward
boys, who was "Bucking for Corporal,", to cover for me, I was ready
to head for London. Mac had obtained a pass, too, although he had to
do some fast talking to get his.

In London, we went to Paddington Station. Across the street from the

station was Dickens Tavern, one of the many historic pubs in London.
As we entered the pub, Mac noticed a ,very old, lady with a small
glass of Guinness, half full. With his usual charm and savoir faire,
he walked over to her and inquired, "May I get you a drink, mother?"
To the delight and laughter of all around, she replied, as loudly as
she could, in a her high pitched, shrill voice, "I`ll have a `pint."
After a couple of "pints" we decided it was time to get to the Red
Cross Club in Piccadilly Circus, the Broadway of London, and settle
down for the night.
The Red Cross Club in Piccadilly, also known as Rainbow Corner, was
the headquarters for all G.Is when they visited London. A huge
building of several stories, with all kinds of hospitality available,
it was a magnet for all of us seeking rest and relaxation.
One of the attractions was the little office presided over by Adele
Astaire, sister of Fred Astaire, where she wrote letters to the loved
ones of the G.I.s telling them of her visit with their sons,
daughters or sweethearts. It was a very thoughtful way to support the
war effort and was highly appreciated by all of us. "Rainbow Corner"
also played host to such celebrated personages as Gen. Theodore
Roosevelt, Gen. Eisenhower, George Raft, Jimmy Stewart, Irving Berlin
and many others. Glen Miller did a broadcast there and also, Artie
Shaw, who performed there for the soldiers. Little wonder that this
was the most favored place visited by G.I,s when on leave in London.
Mac and I had just settled down for the night on the top floor of the
club with the sound of "Pom Pom" guns above us on the roof of the
building. "Pom Pom" was the name the British people called the antiaircraft guns that responded to the, almost, nightly bombings. Just
as sleep was taking over, we were aroused by a mighty explosion
accompanied by the intense shaking of the building.
In a matter of moments we were out of bed and dressed, prepared to
leave the building. Once out on the street, we observed the reason
for the blast. About four buildings down the street from the club a
V1 rocket had hit a building, tearing it apart, as though a giant
fist had come down on it. In no time at all, ambulances were on the
scene, and people covered in blood, crying out in pain, were being
removed from the wreckage. In that terrible moment I became aware of
the resilience of the British people. There was no panic, no
screaming, only a dogged determination on the part of the volunteers
to assist the wounded and bring order out of the chaos.
This should have been enough to spoil our weekend but, being young.
and feeling, indestructible ,we were undeterred and, after all, the
old Windmill Theater was still in business and the girls were still
there, awaiting the G.I.s.
The Windmill Theater, famous for never having closed during the worst

of the bombing of London had, by the time of the war, became a

burlesque house and a premier attraction for British and American
soldiers while on leave. The old theater has an interesting history
and has been portrayed on the screen in a film called, Mrs. Henderson
Presents,
It was one of those rare evenings in London, when the air was soft
and warm, ideal for outdoor relaxation. This, I mention, because it
was a tradition at the theater, when the weather was good, that the
patio at the rear of the house was open and customers and dancers ,
between acts, could enjoy a drink and conversation. Needless to say,
Mac and I took full advantage of this opportunity to "schmoose" with
the show girls.
Ensconced comfortably at one of the patio tables, we awaited the
arrival of the girls. They usually arrived as soon as the first
performance was over, still heavily "Made Up" with grease paint and
those long artificial eye lashes in place. To my unsophisticated
eyes, this was the very zenith of feminine glamour.
Two "ladies" strolled by and, with great admiration, I watched as Mac
beckoned to them, and with a skill, usually observed only in the
movies, brought them to our table. After a moment of "sweet talk" by
my adroit companion the girls settled in comfortably. I was highly
impressed as he deftly proffered cigarettes to our "lovely"
companions. Within a moment, his Zippo lighter appeared, the cover
thrown back, and with a flick of his thumb, the flame appeared and,
it was at that moment, Mac's sophistication ,"went up in flames". The
streak of fire from the lighter rose fully four inches and licked at
those long artificial eye lashes. This was followed by a stream of
four letter obscenities from the young "lady" that would have made a
drunken sailor blush. So endeth our London trip, so endeth Mac's,
highly acclaimed "savoir faire", but it was only one of many trips
that we took to that great and historic city.
On another occasion, Mac and I had the privilege of visiting the
Royal Opera House, in London's Covent Gardens. Impressive as this
may seem, hundreds of" Yanks," nightly, made a pilgrimage to this
historic place of culture and refinement, not to experience the
opera, but to meet the girls and dance the night away.
Sometime during the war a decision had been made to convert the opera
house into a dance hall for the entertainment of the thousands of
military personnel in the city. The stage was prepared for the
accommodation of the large swing bands that would appear there and a
dance floor installed. In effect, this historic place had become a
night club. For the price of two shillings and six pence one became a
member of the club and entitled to free admission when in town on
leave. I can still hear, in my "moments of recollection." the music
of Ted Heath and other bands of renown, and those tender moments on
the dance floor, with a lovely English girl in my arms, as we swayed

to the music and, for a few shining moments, forgot the shadow of war
that always hung over us. There were other times when we were
"jitterbugging" or dancing to a love song and the wail of the siren
would be heard alerting us to a bombing and, if we so desired, retire
to an air raid shelter. Very often, the young\
lady in my arms would whisper in my ear, "Oh, lets just keep on
dancing."
Upon our return to the hospital we found that the 306th had received
a new arrival. This was a surprise because no one new had ever been
assigned to our outfit, unlike combat units who were often getting
replacements due to casualties suffered in battle. We were curious to
know why the young soldier had been sent to the 306th.
He was busy getting his gear in order when we introduced ourselves.
In our chat with him we found out his home was in Dayton Ohio. We
asked him how he became assigned to our outfit. His answer was, " I
don`t know." He went on to say he was doing guard duty at a place in
Alamogordo, New Mexico and he was in town in a bar when a civilian
struck up a conversation with him. As he told it, "This guy asked me
what duty I was performing in the army." He said he told him,
"Nothing important, I just stand guard duty at a gate to some damned
compound outside Alamogordo." He added, "Hell. I don`t even know
what the Hell is going on there." "At that point two other civilians
walked up, took me by the arms and walked me outside to a waiting
car, drove me to my outfit and turned me over to a Lieutenant." The
Officer simply said to me, "Stow your things in your duffle bag and
follow me. Following his instructions, I finished up stowing my gear
and with that the Lieutenant took me to a car and to the airport and
sent me here, Hell, up to this moment, I don`t know what happened and
why I`m here." I guess he never did know until the war was over.
This incident brought home to all of us how serious the military was
about security. "Loose lips, sink ships," had real meaning for all of
us and we were constantly on guard when chatting with anyone,
especially civilians.

Chapter 3
The patients were not the only ones to appreciate the charms of those
Lovely nurse Second Lieutenants' but we knew better than attempt to

socialize with Officers, a `sin,' requiring drastic action by

Superior Officers, if ventured by a lowly enlisted man.
My duties kept me in close contact with nurses and doctors, arranging
schedules for the "Ward Boys," schedules for medications and
assisting doctors and nurses during their rounds. It was impossible
to not become familiar with the nurses, and one beautiful young nurse
by the name of Rosemary, last name deleted, caught my eye to the
point that I broke through that invisible barrier and arranged a date
with her. Mac, never much concerned with rules, also arranged a date
with his favorite nurse and a double date was about to take place
that would have the inevitable consequences.
The bus arrived for the short ride into Salisbury. Mac and I found
our seats, discreetly separated from our dates so as not to appear to
be accompanying Officers. Shortly thereafter, arriving at our
destination, we proceeded to the nearest pub, and, with our dates,
began imbibing the best of what British brewers had to offer. Our
conversation gradually became more stimulating and our relationships
becoming ever more intimate, we were off to a wonderful evening. At
just before 11:00, the booming voice of the bartender resounded
throughout the pub. "Time please", the dreaded call, that meant we
could order only one more drink before the bar closed. This was
usually followed by a rush to the bar by the patrons, many of whom
still had unfinished drinks at their tables.
Knowing the rules of the game, we decided to move to one of the pubs
that catered to Officers and remained open after the usual closing
hours. The local officials were well aware that, "rank has its
privileges." The man at the door listened patiently as Mac explained
how the young lady with me had nursed me back to health from a
serious illness, "And now, my buddy John, and Rosemary, the lovely
nurse with him, are celebrating their engagement". Mac's story so
impressed the doorman that he made no objection to our presence in
the club.
Although Mac and I were the only non-Officers in the room, no one
seemed to notice and our evening continued on until closing time. As
we made our way through the crowd exiting the room, our arms
encircling our dates, I looked up and, catching my eye, was the
Company Commander. His look of disapproval, I knew immediately, was a
harbinger of things to come.
The results of having encountered the Company Commander, the night
before, under the previously mentioned circumstances, were not long
in coming. Mac was the first to heed a call to the Office immediately
after Mess., and upon his return to the barracks, informed me he had
been told to pack his belongings and leave on the truck parked
outside the Commander's office. He knew not, where he was headed.

Mac packed his gear and we both walked over to the waiting truck.
Before he climbed aboard, we shook hands and wished each other well.
I never saw Mac again, until we were discharged and home, once more,
in Kalamazoo.
I was the next to get the call to meet with the Company Commander.
His directive was quick, brusque and direct. "Tomorrow morning, be at
the roadside with your belongings in your duffle bag and meet the
truck when it arrives." "Do you have any questions, Corporal?"
My answer was quick, brusque and direct. "No Sir," followed by a
salute. The answer was a snappy salute and a, "Dismissed, Soldier."
Feeling somewhat, depressed at having lost my buddy and being sent to
"God knows where," I climbed aboard the truck the following morning
with a number of other "F***Ups, "but damned glad I hadn't lost my
stripes.
The truck rambled on for several miles until the driver pulled over
and hollered back at us, "You guys wanna stop at this pub and have a
beer?" The question was, of course unnecessary, and we all
disembarked , much heartened by this magnanimous gesture.
Along with the other guys, I dropped to the ground, faced forward,
and lo and behold, there was Capt. John Hummer, leaving his seat
alongside the driver. Capt. Hummer was one of the enlisted men's
favorite Officers and a resident of my hometown. His greeting to me
was, "John, what the Hell are you doing here?" I replied, "I might
ask you the same thing, Captain." Such was the informality that
existed between he and the enlisted men with whom he was well
aquainted. He was an excellent doctor, a fine Officer and a real
gentleman.
Once, inside the pub the G.I.s quickly received their "pints" and
were noisily swapping stories. Capt. Hummer and myself, knowing each
other well and, having come from the same outfit, as well as both of
us being residents of Kalamazoo, took a booth, and over a pint of
Guinness, began our stories of how we came to be on this particular
journey. I recounted my encounter with the Commander regarding
fraternization with Officers and the penalty I suffered. Capt. Hummer
laughed and said he had even a better story to tell. As he recounted
it, he and another officer had been on a date with two nurses and had
imbibed a little too much of "Old john Barleycorn," and upon
returning to camp one of the party dared him to go to the Commander`s
quarters and awaken him. He said," Having had one too many, and
taking the dare, I went into his hut, shook him, and with my
flashlight, blinded him and backed out. Unfortunately, I was unable
to stifle a laugh. Big mistake! The Commander, now fully aroused,
recognized my laugh, and bellowed out, "John Hummer, you S.O.B, I`ll
make you pay for this," "So here I am with the rest of you "F***ups."

He went on to assure me that we were not only assigned to the same

place but were going to Torquay, on the south coast of England, to
care for an encampment of soldiers training for the invasion. We
would be responsible for their day to day medical problems. He said,
"This is going to be dammed good duty, since this is one of the best
spots in England, as close to tropical weather as you will see over
here, and we will be on our own, to do, as we see fit".
After dropping off the guys on the truck at their assigned
destinations, we finally arrived at the lovely seaside town of
Torquay, to this day, stll known as an integral part of the "English
Riviera." It is no wonder that the famed British author, Agatha
Christie, chose to live most of her life here in this, almost,
tropical like paradise.
Wartime Britain was in no position to have its beaches inhabited only
by vacationing sun bathers and the long stretches of barbed wire that
covered those beaches stood in stark testimony to the fact that
England was at war and fighting for its life and freedom.
In Russia, soldiers were being sent to the Eastern Front for
improper behavior and Torquay was our, "Eastern Front." Of course,
being `good and obedient soldiers," we would do our best to cope
with the cards life had dealt us.
The encampment, covering several acres, was located on the outskirts
of town. The troops were housed in tents. We soon found our spot, a
large Quonset hut, neatly made up, sleeping accommodations for six
and an office and lab. This was to be our home and workplace until
further notice.
We quickly staked out our cots and proceeded to make our areas as
comfortable as possible. Capt. Hummer and I took an inventory of the
things we required in the lab and then we sat down over a cup of
coffee to discuss our routine.
Each morning we would take care of the needs of the soldiers on "Sick
Call." He explained that, at times, he would not be available as he
would, undoubtedly, have connections in town that might require him
to spend the night there. He said he was sure that I could handle the
routine cases by myself but he would leave me a telephone number
where I could reach him in case of an emergency. I was well aware of
the fact that one did not question a Superior Officer about his off
base activities. He then went on to say that he would arrange a, not
too early, sick call. He then instructed me to tell the Mess Sergeant
that he would like to confer with him.
The Sergeant, a large bulky man, heavily tattooed, and florid of
face, responded quickly, and gave a proper salute to Capt. Hummer,
which was returned in proper military manner. Capt. Hummer began,

"Sergeant, We are here to care for the personnel stationed here and I
want my men, and soon there will be more of us, to get plenty of
rest, so it would be appreciated if you would have breakfast for them
even if their arrival is somewhat late, thus giving them time for
some extra sleep time in the morning." The Sergeant assured Captain
Hummer
that this would be no problem but he had a favor to ask of him. The
Captain, knowing, "Quid pro quo," said, "Mention it, and it's done."
He then explained that he often suffered from a severe hangover in
the morning and would appreciate a doctor approved remedy. With that,
Captain Hummer made up a concoction and showed me how to prepare it
for the amiable Sergeant. As I recall, it had a very solid base of
codeine, and later received a very favorable reaction from the
Sergeant.
Our discussion continued, and being curious about his remark that
there would soon be more of us, I said, "Captain, Will we be
receiving some additional help?" His answer came in the form of a
question. "John, I`m sure you will be making some social connections
in town, and wouldn't it be nice to have some "wheels?" Without
hesitation, he received an affirmative answer. He then went on to say
that he was ordering an ambulance and driver. "I'll make sure that
the driver will understand that the vehicle is at your disposal at
all times," He said, with a smile. "I told you this would be good
duty, didn't I?" "Let's make the most of it."
The ambulance did arrive and it served me well as I became more
acquainted in the community. The driver, a Private First Class, was
a fine young man and fitted in very well with, our, rather "laid
back," style of living. We did, however, have one incident which
challenged our unmilitary behavior.
For some unknown reason, and, maybe, it was because the army had no
other place to put him, another Captain doctor appeared one day and
showed Capt. Hummer his transfer. We now had two Captains and two
enlisted men. That seemed a little heavy with rank.
It wasn't long before our new arrival, a young, "spit and polish"
Officer, made it known, in no uncertain terms, that our unkempt beds
and generally, sloppy housekeeping was not in line with what he
considered military demeanor. Dr. Hummer, I`m sure, considered this
an insult to his management and approached him a couple of days
later, after one of his rants about unmade beds. Confronting the
young Officer with fire in his eyes, he said, "Captain, "What was the
date of your commission"?
Without a moments hesitation he blurted out the date to Capt. Hummer.
The response was almost immediate, Capt. Hummer said, "Captain, my
commission is of a much earlier date and this puts me in complete
command here, and furthermore, my staff and I are quite satisfied
with our lifestyle. Is that perfectly clear"?
The young Captain Answered with a quick, "Yes Sir."

I am still of the opinion that the young Captain`s transfer to

another location the following week had something to do with this
clash of opinions between the two Officers.
Another incident, which I recall with great relish, happened one
evening when we were seated outside of our hut chatting. A Sergeant
from one of the infantry outfits showed up, rifle in hand, and
joined us. He said, "Wanna see a demonstration of how we train the
men in rifle handling?" He then proceeded to break down the rifle
into its separate parts. "Now watch this", he said. He closed his
eyes, and in a flash, put the rifle back together in record time.
Capt. Hummer, without verbal response, reached over and took hold of
the rifle. In a few short seconds he then proceeded to dismantle the
piece. He closed his eyes, and with a few deft movements, much faster
than the infantryman, reassembled the rifle. Then, breaking his
silence, Capt. Hummer said, "Soldier, I learned this little maneuver
in the National Guard, long before being sent over here. Not all
medics are unfamiliar with firearms."
Not all duty here was "fun and games", and meeting the day to day
needs of the troops kept us busy. There were plenty of situations
which required our response, although most situations were not of a
highly serious nature. These were highly trained combat troops,
having been already trained for battle before arriving at this
station. They were not engaging in maneuvers which resulted in severe
injury or worse. Most of our cases were merely first aid, although we
did have occasional situations in which, after initial treatment, we
took the patient to a nearby hospital.
We did have some inkling that important moves in the war were about
to take place. Often at night, in the darkness, German reconnaissance
planes would appear overhead and shoot tracer bullets, hoping for
return fire, thus establishing the location of the troops. One night
they dropped a small personnel bomb which landed on a china shop on
the outer perimeter of the encampment. What we saw in the morning
would have had a collector of "fine China "climbing the walls."
Just to be on the safe side, we dug a small trench and when a plane
appeared overhead we would climb in until all activity ceased. One
night, Capt. Hummer and I took to the trench for cover. During our
descent into the trench I brushed against something and received a
small cut on my wrist. Upon seeing the bloody wrist, Capt. Hummer
said. "OK, John, now I can put you in for a Purple Heart."
I, of course, declined the offer. The Purple Heart is given to those
wounded in battle as a tribute to their sacrifice and heroism. I am
sure, Captain Hummer was speaking in jest, knowing I could not, in
good conscience, accept his offer.
Monitoring the news every day, we were very much aware of the

mayhem being carried on across the Channel. Hitler had subdued most
of Europe and was keeping a wary eye on Britain where more and more
American, British, Canadian and allied forces were training for, what
he knew, would be the invasion of the continent.
Being in such close contact with these soldiers, who would be among
those to storm the beaches, made us very aware of the tremendous
responsibilities our nation had placed upon their shoulders. Many of
these young soldiers would be laying down their lives to keep alive,
what was left of, law and order in Europe. We were also aware of the
other Allied forces, in camps such as these, who were also called
upon to keep alive freedom and democracy. We were young, but not too
young, to know that what happened on those beaches would make Europe,
either free or slave and, in time, threaten the security of the
United States. For those of us who would not be compelled to make
that trip across the English Channel and face the carnage of the
invasion, it strengthened our resolve to care well for our brave
combat soldiers.

Chapter 4
The year was 1944 and the Stars and Stripes, the GI. newspaper, kept
us fully informed of what was happening across the English Channel.

Hitler's 1941 invasion of Russia, known as "Operation Barbarossa",

had proven a disaster and the attack on Pearl Harbor by the Japanese,
bringing in the Americans, had the German forces on the defensive.
Everyone realized that a turning point in the war had been reached.
The world held its breath awaiting the invasion.
Preparations for the invasion of the Normandy coast in France had
been made in 1943. President Roosevelt and Prime Minister Winston
Churchill had selected Gen. Dwight D. Eisenhower as Supreme Commander
and gave the plan the code name, Operation Overlord. The Allied
powers were now set on a course that would result in the greatest
military operation in the history of the world.
The Allies assembled a force of three million men and stored sixteen
million tons of ammunition and supplies in great Britain. The Allies
had five thousand large ships, four thousand smaller landing craft
and more than eleven thousand aircraft.
All along the south coast of Britain staging areas were set up for
the accommodation of the thousands of troops preparing for the
invasion. Torquay was one of these staging areas.
I remember clearly, getting up one morning, prepared to go to town
and meet the young lady with whom I had become acquainted. I stepped
out the door and it became crystal clear to me that I was not going
anywhere. This huge encampment was completely surrounded by British
and American soldiers bearing automatic weapons. From that moment on
security was absolute and complete. It was then that I realized why
large circus tents had been set up in the last few days and Officers
from all the outfits had been seen coming and going. Briefings were
being held, prior to, what all of us expected to be, the launching of
the invasion. What, I did not know, was that the invasion had been
set for June 5, but weather conditions in the channel were so bad
that the mission had been postponed until June 6.
In the wee hours of the morning of June 6,1944 we became aware of
frenzied activity in the camp. The sound of barked orders, the roar
of truck engines and the sound of booted feet made us realize that
the time had come. The invasion of the European continent was about
to become reality. Many young men would perish that day on the
beaches of Normandy, but many more would go forward into the heart of
Germany, in what Gen. Eisenhower dubbed, "A great Crusade."
The greatest armada in all of military history had been unleashed
that morning and a grateful world , to this day, pays homage to the
brave men who were willing to sacrifice their lives to wipe from the
face of the earth the evil empires of Germany, Italy and, ultimately,
Japan.
The Order of the Day. June 6 , 1944 from Supreme Headquarters Allied
Expeditionary Forces, as stated by General Dwight Eisenhower, Supreme

Commander was as follows,

Supreme Headquarters
Allied Expeditionary Force.
"Soldiers, Sailors and Airmen of the Allied Expeditionary Force!
You are about to embark upon the Great Crusade, toward which we have
striven these many months. The eyes of the world are upon you. The
hopes and prayers of liberty loving people everywhere march with you.
In company with our brave Allies and brothers-in-arms on other
fronts, you will bring about the destruction of the German war
machine, the elimination of Nazi tyranny over the oppressed peoples
of Europe and security for ourselves in a free world.
Your task will not be an easy one. Your enemy is well trained, well
equipped and battle hardened. He will fight savagely.
But this is the year 1944! Much has happened since the Nazi triumphs
of 1940-41. The United Nations have inflicted upon the Germans great
defeats, in open battle, man to man. Our offensive has seriously
reduced their strength in the air and their capacity to wage war on
the ground. Our Home Fronts have given us an overwhelming superiority
in munitions and weapons of war, and placed at our disposal great
reserves of trained fighting men. The tide has turned! The free men
of the world are marching together toward victory!
I have full confidence in your courage, devotion to duty and skill in
battle. We will accept nothing less than full victory!
Good luck! And let us beseech the blessing of Almighty God upon this
great and noble undertaking."
With this directive from the Supreme Commander and the hopes of all
free men, our troops went forward into battle. Before the day was
over, the events that took place on the beaches of Normandy would
herald a "new "Birth of Freedom" for the "Oppressed people of Europe"
and a new "Sense of security for ourselves" in a free world.
An eerie quiet now settled over this huge staging area. The sound of
bugle calls, the barked orders of the Sergeants and the noisy rush to
the mess hall by hundreds of hungry soldiers had suddenly become
stilled. The sounds of the camp had been transferred to the beaches
of Normandy and became the whine of bullets, the flash of rocket
fire, the explosion of heavy artillery and cries of pain from the
wounded and dying, as these brave troops struggled forward to free a
continent from the evil stranglehold of Nazi tyranny.
The only personnel left in the encampment was Capt. Hummer, myself
and the young Private who drove the ambulance. Our mission was
finished. Together, the Private and myself did a "Walk-through" of
the tents before they were struck and removed by the Quartermaster
Corps.

Left behind by the troops were those things they would not carry into
battle, bits of this and that they had acquired while on leave,
magazines and books they had been reading and the bric- a-brack that
magically collects around us as we move about.
One bit of memorabilia did catch my eye. lying on a cot, was a red,
hardbound copy of Tolstoy`s War and Peace, possibly the last book
this young soldier would ever read. With this thought in mind, I
picked up the book and there on the flyleaf, was the soldier's
signature, Jack C. Barnett. Through the years, this has been one of
my treasured mementos and I have tried repeatedly, to no avail, to
locate Jack, or his family, to return this bit of his wartime life to
its rightful owners.
The
the
our
for

Quartermaster Corps, with its usual efficiency, arrived toward

end of the day and removed the tents and all Army property except
quarters.. We would spend the night in our Quonset hut and wait
our orders.

Not having access to a mess hall, Capt. Hummer, the ambulance driver
and myself clambered aboard the ambulance, drove into town and had a
meal of fish and chips and returned for our last night in Torquay.
The following morning, Capt. Hummer called us together, and, now
having our orders in hand, informed us that we were to return to the
306 Station Hospital and the Private was to return to his outfit. A
vehicle would arrive to transport the Captain, and myself to the
hospital. I remember him saying, "Now, all we have to do is get back
and ready ourselves for the casualties that will be arriving from
Normandy. It won`t be long before we see what the term, "War is
Hell," really means,"
The hospital was now located outside the town of Cheltenham. The
Quonset huts were lined up neatly, concrete sidewalks connecting the
ward buildings. A mess hall was in place, barracks, quarters for the
Officers, a laboratory, sanitary facilities, and flying from a tall
flagpole, "Old Glory." The hospital was located on an area of
undeveloped land which provided the opportunity to carry on a
military program without disturbing the civilians who lived nearby. I
found the barrack
to which I was assigned and Capt. Hummer, being an Officer, had a
building which he shared with another Officer. We settled in for the
night wondering what tomorrow would bring.
The one thing that struck me was that the hospital had no patients
and that meant we were prepared for the arrival of casualties. It was
now well into the invasion. We had received word of the heavy
fighting and that the beachhead had been established and our troops
and the Canadians, as well as other forces, were now firmly

entrenched in Normandy.
Unlike the old 306th, the hospital had Military Police surrounding
it. It didn`t take long to find out that our patients would not be
American casualties, but instead, , German prisoners of war.
With the arrival of the new patients, a whole set of new problems
were encountered. All of this meant additional training.. We had to
become familiar with the rules of war, under, what was to become, the
Geneva Convention, regarding the treatment of enemy combatants, learn
to communicate with people of a foreign language and abide with
enhanced security regulations.
I was extremely busy for the next few days, assigning my men to their
wards, arranging duty schedules, and generally getting in sync with
the doctor I was working with, as well as getting to know the various
routines followed by the nurses.
Our first batch of patients arrived by train and we worked late into
the night getting them into the proper wards, taking care of their
medication needs and showing them, by our actions, that they had
nothing to fear. These were men who had been in the thick of battle,
weary and confused, not knowing what fate had in store for them, in
the hands of the enemy. Many had received severe wounds, others only
wounds severe enough that they could not function well enough to be
left unattended. The one thing they had in common was that most
would soon be ambulatory. Their quick removal to a hospital in
England must have been the need to get them across the channel and,
in case of escape, not having them return to duty.
While few of the prisoners spoke English and few of us spoke German,
it became apparent to us, quite quickly, that we had to teach each
other our languages. Out of this emerged a mixture of German and
English that, strung together in half sentences, allowed us to
communicate, if not fluently, at least well enough to function.
The one thing most of these men shared in common was their disdain of
Hitler and their nonparticipation in Nazi activities. Their
participation in the war was the result of the Draft and the now
familiar refrain, "I was only taking orders" defense. They uttered
it, we ignored it. There were exceptions, of course, and, as time
went by, some really did turn out to be anti-Nazi.
Our treatment of the prisoners was strictly according to
international law, in spite of our dislike of these," Nazi Supermen."
They were not forced to work, had food comparable to that fed our own
soldiers, allowed religious activities and housing equal to that
provided American patients. Treatment of their medical needs was of
the highest order of the time. Doctors, nurses and enlisted personnel
gave their level best in caring for their patients. Needless to say,

we had no

escape attempts.

There were, however two types of prisoners. Combat soldiers had, very
visably, marked on their shirts, PW. "Prisoners of War," Medical
personnel had on their shirts, the marking, PP ," Protective
Personnel."Their non-combat status, allowed them special status under
the firmly established rules of war, later to become known as the
"Geneva Convention."
German medical personnel, Officers and enlisted men, were given the
opportunity to work with us in caring for the patients. Our doctors
now had additional help with the assistance of the German doctors and
my men had, much needed, help in carrying out their duties.
Life soon settled down into a daily routine. Many of the patients,
now ambulatory, seemed quite satisfied with the conditions we
provided for them and presented no problems for us.
Among the patients there were a few who were complete fanatics,
usually young and thoroughly "brainwashed." One such ,was a twenty
year old infantryman who. over and over, professed his loyalty to
Hitler and the Nazi doctrine. He had been severely wounded and was
scheduled for an operation.
At his scheduled time we wheeled him into the operating room. It soon
became apparent that he would need a blood transfusion. Since all the
American personnel had records on their "dog tags" of their blood
type, and many Germans had lost theirs, time being of the essence, it
was decided that one of the "ward boys" would "volunteer" to donate
the needed blood.
At the conclusion of the operation. He was returned to the ward. I
stood by him until he recovered from the effects of the anesthesia.
It was then that I gave in to an impulse that possibly could be
construed as "torture," and in violation of the rules of war. In the
best German I could muster ,with my limited fluency, I informed him
that he was now a Jew. His immediate response was, "Nein, Nein, which
in English is a very emphatic, "NO. NO!" I managed to get across to
him that one of the American soldiers had given him blood and that
the soldier was Jewish, therefore, he now had Jewish blood. I am sure
his reaction to my fabrication did not lead to his swift recovery.
The fact that the young man who donated his blood was not Jewish and
my deliberate attempt to cause this, "Hitler Youth," anguish, I
consider to this day, a contribution to the war effort, and more
deserving of a commendation than a rebuke. Thankfully I received
neither, for having inflicted a severe sense of discomfort upon a
"patriotic warrior" of the German Reich.
Many of the Germans had acquired quite substantial amounts of French
money and this was not lost on us as to the good times we could have

if we were to obtain this currency and convert it to British Pounds.

The Germans seemed eager to part with this booty, which they had
cleverly concealed when captured, in exchange for American
cigarettes. Having plenty of cigarettes we soon had pocketfuls of
French money, and now the trick was to make the conversion to British
currency. The post office had been ordered to make known, sums of
money beyond the amount Uncle Sam so generously showered upon us,
being sent home. The army seemed always watchful for G.I.
indiscretions. Since sending the cash home was not our first
priority, that was not an option we had considered.. The second
hurdle was to get an American Officer to sign off on our transaction
when we were on leave.
As soon as passes became available, Joe Feld, a good drinking buddy,
and a fellow Michigander from Detroit, and I took leave and headed
for London. Our first stop, the Red Cross Club in Piccadilly Circus,
to freshen up, change our francs for pounds and prepare for a
memorable weekend.
In the lobby of the club we spotted a young Second Lieutenant, with
all the earmarks of a "Ninety Day Wonder," and convinced him to sign
off for us, making it possible to make our currency transaction.
With a generous amount of the royal cash in our pockets
find the finest hotel in London that would admit a pair
enlisted men. The need to be free from being surrounded
G.I.s, of lowly rank, was a passion that engrossed most
while on leave, and we were no exception.

we set off to
of lowly
by fellow
soldiers

Although my memory fails me as to the exact hotel we settled upon, I

do know that all the military guests, except us, wore marks of rank
upon their shoulders. The secret to acceptance here was, not rank
but, an adequate amount of the "King`s Sterling."
We were escorted to our room by an elderly "Bell Boy," who treated us
with all the respect given to any of the guests, and graciously
accepted his tip with a "Thank you." and a salute. Having, at one
time, in civilian life, held the same position as he, I could not but
marvel at the fact that I was on the receiving line of this timeless
little ritual.
Our room was, indeed, first class and more luxurious than I was
accustomed to. Joe, seemed much more blas and was not as impressed
as I was. After a call for room service and having a couple of
drinks, quickly brought to us by a room attendant, we decided that
after a shave, s**t and shower we would "Do the town."
This was rapidly accomplished and we were soon on the street.
After hailing a cab and getting aboard, Joe instructed the driver to
take us somewhere where good food and drink was available as well as

some "action." He then placed a five pound note on the seat beside
the driver, which was hastily retrieved and an assurance given that,
"He knew exactly the right place." That much British currency,
roughly translated into twenty American dollars, a very hefty sum at
that point of time. "Money Talks."
After
fence
place
found

a short drive the cab pulled up

which cordoned off a bombed out
to begin our carousing. The cab
and opened a makeshift door and

in front of a construction
site. This seemed an unlikely
driver, without hesitation,
bade us, "Enter.

Once inside, we entered an opening into a bombed out building and

found a party was in "full swing". A rather nice bar, given the
circumstances, was doing a hectic business. There was plenty of food
in sight and a small band was playing for the dancing couples on the
floor. Eyeing up the single girls, we knew immediately that "action"
was available. It was, and Joe and I got back to our hotel very late,
or early, depending on how one looks at the clock. Our weekend came
and went, as did our "easy money." One thing we did learn was that
the "Black Market" was alive and well and almost anything was
available.

Chapter Five
Back at our duties, our natural impulse for fun took over. To liven
up the evening we acquired from the lab a quantity of pure alcohol.
Having plenty of grape juice on hand, we mixed the two together to
give the grape juice, "added flavor". The result was a delicious
refresher which, after inducing the nurses to join us, and noting
their lustful expressions of delight, we dubbed the cocktail, "Purple
Passion." I shall not belabor this yarn further.
As the war on the continent heated up we received word that the
bombing over Germany and the victories on land were taking its toll
to the point that Hitler began the recruitment of the very young and
the old. It was then that we received contingents of prisoners that
consisted of boys, some not even in their teens, and men well into
the latter stages of middle age.
Among these older prisoners was a man, in his late fifties, elderly
to me, who was assigned to me for ward duty. He was a very mild man,
somewhat confused as to why he was in the army. I kept him busy with
light duties and, to the degree possible, we became friends.
One late afternoon I walked into the office and found him sitting at
a table, his head in his hands, bent over the table and sobbing. I
walked over to him, placed my hand on his shoulder and
inquired, ,"What`s the matter?"
He raised his head, tears running down his cheeks, and lifting a
photo from the table. replied in his broken English, "This is a
picture of my wife and sons, all killed in the bombing." This
incident and the sight of these old men and very young boys, caught
up in a war, not of their making, caused me to realize that the
tragedy of war strikes both sides with equal vengeance,
It was now late into 1944 and the 306th had been in the UK for over
two years. This was not lost on the mind of our Company Commander. At
a Company meeting with him he broached the idea of having a little
celebration commemorating our service. He informed us that he had
obtained a spot in Cheltenham where he would set up a bar and social
area where, when off duty, we could go and, with our fellow G.Is,
celebrate our anniversary. His, much appreciated gesture was met with
a sincere round of applause.
Having an afternoon free of duty, I decided to invite one of the MPs
to accompany me. When we arrived the house was full , the Company
Commander made a toast and congratulated us on a "Job, well done."
After a moment or two of, "He's a Jolly Good Fellow," we settled down
to consuming the free beer.

My companion and guest, an extremely large and imposing MP, had just
told me how lucky we were to have such a fine Officer in charge when
the Commander walked over to where we were sitting, handed me am MP
arm band, and said, "Corporal, put this on and if any guys come in,
not a part of our outfit, tell them this is a private party and tell
them to leave." I said, "Sir, I am not an MP." His response was,
"Soldier, you are now," and walked away with a grin on his face."
Faced with this unpleasant duty, I remarked to my companion, "Damn,
I`ll get killed if I try to throw any of those infantrymen out."
He laughed and said, "John, if they come in just walk over to them
and tell them to get out."
"To hell I will. You want to see me get
killed?" I replied.
He said, "You don`t get it, do you?" He went on, "Tell them to get
out and then stand between them and the door and if they give you any
crap, invite them out to settle the matter." I said, "You've got to
be nuts." At this my friend was suddenly consumed with laughter.
After recovering his composure he said, "When you invite them out,
I`ll go out the side door over there, don't worry, You`ll be
alright."
As if on cue, two guys wearing combat boots and infantry insignia on
their shirts, walked over to the bar, obtained mugs of beer and
seated themselves. For me, Armagaddon had arrived. "Undaunted and
fearless", I approached them and gave them the message that they were
not welcome since this was a private party. Completely ignoring the
MP badge on my arm, they answered with a " Screw you, you f******
medic." Having faith and confidence in my companion, with some
reservation, I invited them outside. My invitation was immediately
accepted.
I walked to the door, my legs a bit wobbly, followed by the two
combatants. My friend, at the same time, went out the side door. Once
on the street, all Hell broke loose. Out of nowhere, one of the G.I.s
got a fist squarely in the face and the other a kick in the pants and
both moved rapidly down the street. My friend returned to the side
door and entered. Still, a bit dazed, I returned to my place at the
table where, my buddy was already seated, gave a salute to the
startled Commander, and sat down. I am sure, to this day, that
Officer is still wondering how that skinny kid managed to evict two
combat soldiers with "Chips on their shoulders."
As one of my duties was to have the wards ready for Saturday morning
inspection, I made my rounds on Friday afternoon. On one particular
Friday, I was summoned to the bedside of a patient who spoke fluent
English. He informed me that a patient, and he named the bed number,
was not getting a full portion of food and was always complaining
that he was hungry. I, immediately confronted the patient and, he
informed me that, Hauptman, a POW, that that had been a medic in the

German navy, and whom I now had serving the food in this ward, was
refusing him a full portion of food. From the look of him, I didn`t
doubt his word.
I headed back to the office, found Hauptman, and confronted him with
the fact that a patient was being denied his full portion of food.
Hauptman made no attempt to conceal the fact that he gave this
patient only minimal portions. I asked him why he would do such a
thing and got an immediate response. "Unter' Officer, that man is a
Waffen S.S. soldier, Look at the insignia on his uniform." All S.S.
had a "Black Patch Waffen SS" insignia on their uniforms. He
continued, "You take care of the office, I take care of the "SS,"
spoken in surprisingly good English. Needless to say, I sympathized
with his motive, but explained that we had to treat all patients the
same.
Saturday morning inspection went off without any problem, the
soldier in question had been given the proper amount of food and made
no complaints. The inspecting Officer, having given us an OK,
immediately departed and we went back to business, as usual. I was
ready for some leave time and knew Joe would be in line with me for a
pass and a trip to London.
Usual procedure before going on leave was to be sure all duty was
covered in my absence. I finished arranging schedules for the on duty
enlisted personnel and returned to the wards to see that all was in
order. Having determined that everything was shipshape, I turned to
the Private, on duty, and was discussing special needs for certain
patients when a terrific explosion shook the building Both, the
Private and I were knocked off our feet and some patients had been
thrown out of their beds.
Our immediate concern, after picking ourselves up off the floor, was
to ascertain the condition of our patients and determine the damage
done to the building. As soon as it was determined that no injuries
were suffered by the patients and the building seemed intact, I went
outside to see if I could discover the cause of the explosion.
An ambulance had arrived and a bomb crew, off in the distance, was
surveying a place where a huge cloud of smoke had formed. After
informing the driver that everything was alright with us, and
clambering aboard, we headed out to the bomb site. What I saw made
"my hair stand up straight." What if that bomb has landed on the
hospital, was my first thought.
The crater seemed big enough to have swallowed a large building. The
bomb crew soon left the scene, after taking note of the situation I
reflected upon what I had just seen.. Could this have been one of
Hitler's V2 bombs Could this have been one of the last V2s. that

found its way to England? It has been said that the V2 was a failure
and hit more uninhabited places than occupied areas but, at that
moment, it seemed a deadly weapon to me.
Never deterred by last minute interruptions, Joe and I headed for
London on a two day pass which we spent in "cultural pursuits." One
interesting few moments occurred while we were on a short train ride
to a place just outside of London, highly recommended by a fellow
G.I. as a great place to indulge ourselves.
Seated directly across from us in the train was a small British
gentleman, British trains have these little compartments, so much
like those seen on stage coaches in Western movies. We exchanged
pleasantries, and in so doing, he asked me where I was from, "In the
"States." I told him, Kalamazoo, Michigan. His face broke into a
smile and he said, "Oh I know that part of the country well." He went
on, "several years ago, I was in Chicago, looking for a shop where I
could construct neon signs and not having any success."He continued,
"I was eating in a little Italian restaurant and got talking to the
waiter and telling him of my problem." He reached into his pocket,
withdrew a business card, scribbled his name on it, handed it to me,
and said, "Here, take this card to the hotel named on it, stand in
line on the stairs until you are ushered into the room at the top of
the stairs. Give the man at the door the card, and you'll be taken
care of. I did as he suggested the following day. When I was finally
ushered in I saw a long Board of Directors table, and there, at the
head of the table was, none other than, "Scar face" Al Capone. I
recognized him immediately, having seen his picture in the newspaper.
I tell you, my knees were buckling and I was one scared little
Englishman." He went on to say that he was "taken care of," but it
was an experience he would never forget.
On another occasion, on one of those train rides out of London I
experienced a very enlightening moment while talking to a civilian.
The man sitting across from me struck up a conversation with me and
remarked, "I certainly admire the spirit of you `Yanks." He went on
to say, " I was taking this same train and a "Yank" was sitting
across from me and I inquired as to his destination. The train was
just beginning to move and I inquired as to his destination. He told
me and I told him he was on the wrong train, going in the opposite
direction. Without further ado, he simply grabbed the leather strap,
dropped down the window, jumped out onto the platform and
disappeared. That`s the kind of immediate action that will win this
damned war, Thank God, you are on our side."
On December 16, 1944, we received word that the Germans had mounted a
huge offensive, had broken through and created an extensive bulge in
the Allied lines. This was Hitler`s last desperate attempt to change
the course of the war and became known as the "Battle of the Bulge."
Although fighting was fierce, it was to no avail, and the end of the

war was now in sight, although peace would not come until May of
1945.
The New Year arrived and while we managed to celebrate in the local
pub it was a time when one felt very homesick, wondering if this
damned war would ever end, an emotion one felt every night when the
bugle sounded, Taps., signaling, "Lights Out."
The year 1945 seemed much like every other year, the same old
routine, the same "bitching" in the barracks and the same old duties
in the wards looking after the needs of the wounded enemy.
Spring had arrived and with the coming of April, we were on one of
our `voluntary' long hikes to condition ourselves before settling
down to the business of the day. It was a chilly day in April and we
were just approaching camp when a Sergeant came running over to us
shouting, "Have you guys heard the news?" Before we could respond, he
shouted, "The President just passed away." There was a moment of
complete silence among the group. As the portent of this shocking
news settled upon us, we all fell silent and tears arose in the eyes
of all six of us. We were the young men who grew from children to
adults, never having known another President, and one so dearly loved
by all of us. He was the leader who took us through the "Great
Depression" and led us in time of war. "He was always the "Master of
his Realm", and will always be remembered as the "Captain at the
Helm." April 12, 1945, "Now he belongs to the ages," to borrow a
phrase from Secretary of War, Stanton, upon the death of Abraham
Lincoln during the Civil War.
What had seemed just the beginning of a new year, suddenly turned
into a year filled with surprises. We knew that the Allies had agreed
to demand "Unconditional Surrender." We also knew that Hitler had
committed suicide and that this meant sure victory for the Allies. In
spite of all this, we were taken aback, when on May 5, 1945 the
surrender of Germany brought an end to the war in Europe. On May 8,
the surrender was signed. It was VE Day! The guns were silenced and
a war torn continent was, once again, at peace. The "Captain at the
Helm," had not lived to see us "Gain the summit of the hill."
Celebrations broke out throughout the United Kingdom and this meant
passes were being issued very liberally and it made it possible for
us to join in the celebration. Needless to say, Joe Feld and I were
now ready for a trip to London. London was in a high state of
euphoria when we arrived. People, everywhere, were still celebrating,
days after the war ended, and American G.I, s were treated as
heroes. Joe and I basked in the glory of it all, even though we had
not fired a single shot in anger throughout the war.

Chapter 6
After returning from leave I was making my rounds in the wards when
my Sergeant approached me and said, "John, looks like you have a new
assignment." I replied, "The Hell I do, I haven't done anything
wrong." He laughed and said, "No, its not punishment, you are going
on detached service to Belfast, N. Ireland with a Private to set up a
prophylactic station, you lucky dog." He continued, "That's a dammed
nice duty assignment."
May 8, 1945, I arrived in Belfast with Bill, my assistant, moved
into our new quarters and for the next couple of days made the place
"ship-shape." My station was set up in a storefront not far from the
center of town. It consisted of quarters for two and a facility to
service the soldiers before their return to camp. This was my station
and I was in complete charge, far from the commands of demanding
Sergeants. My subordinate was a young Private who hailed from the
Appalachians, a"Hillbilly," if you will. To my delight he even stood
in awe of a lowly Corporal. Needless to say, we got on very well.
Belfast is the largest city in Northern Ireland. N. Ireland is a part
of the United Kingdom and was fully involved in the war. It was here
that the Titanic was built in the shipyards of Harland and Wolfe. For
many decades many of the great ships of historical importance were
built there. Belfast also has a long history related to the linen
trade and it was known all over the world for its fine linen
products. Then, during the war Belfast had another claim to fame,
along with other cities in the United Kingdom, and that was its
surplus of "Yanks." The term, "Yanks," was a token of friendship
except when it was used by the mothers of eligible girls in the
community. In spite of this bit of "bigotry" the young maidens
seemed to find the "Yanks" good company and the dance halls were
constantly creating many "social relationships."
There were still enough "Yanks" to go around even though the war in
Europe was over. There was an Air Force base called, Langford Lodge
just outside the city and the troops were busy dismantling the base
and removing equipment while awaiting orders for their next
assignment. With the war still raging in the South Pacific, there was
little doubt as to where that would be. Needless to say, I was
wondering about the destination for the 306th, but for now, at least,
I was safely tucked away in Belfast. I did know, however, that since
we had not been in combat, the South Pacific might be our next
location and a combat area there.
My assistant was not eager to wend his way through the large city,
preferring to stay at our station, in the evening writing letters to
his girlfriend and parents. This made it possible for me to have the
evenings to myself. During the day there was little to do and it was

then I became acquainted with civilians on the street outside the

facility. One elderly lady and I had several interesting chats. On
one occasion, she told me she was a seamstress and invited me over in
the next street to see her shop. Not wanting to seem uninterested, I
walked with her to the shop. She was very proud of it and showed me
all her creations. We chatted for a few minutes and then she said,
"Would you be staying for Tea?" With that, she pulled aside a curtain
and there in the next room was a neat little restaurant. Her
smuggling connections in the Irish Free State, which was neutral in
the war, provided her with all the food and drink she needed to run
this fine little lunch room at this time of severe food rationing in
the United Kingdom. I could not know it at the time but this tiny
sliver of the "Black Market," would mark a turning point in my life.
Having heard of a dance hall, not ordinarily frequented by Americans
I decided to give it a try. Hoping to find some feminine
companionship, I sauntered into the club, approached the bar, ordered
a drink, and surveyed the scene for a possible conquest. There,
sitting at a nearby table with a young British Naval Officer, was the
loveliest Colleen I had ever laid eyes upon. Much as I wanted to ask
her for a dance, I couldn`t chance a rejection with that "Limey"
seated at the table with her. I bided my time and after a few short
minutes her date excused himself and left the table. Siezing the
moment, I strode over to her and asked her for a dance. Surprisingly,
she accepted my invitation and for several wonderful minutes I held
her in my arms as we danced to the romantic music the band was
playing. The dance, having ended, I escorted her back to her table.
The young Officer had returned and as we approached, the damned
"Limey," in his phony, uppercrust accent, said, "I presume, Peggy, my
dancing is too old fashioned for you." With that, he stood up and
strode off. Now, I knew her name, had vanquished her boyfriend and
had her to myself. This didn`t seem to bother Peggy, who seemed
almost glad to see him leave. I sat down with her, took her hand in
mine, and from that moment on, I was in love.
I wanted very much to escort her home but she made it quite clear
that her mother would not welcome me and it would cause her more
trouble than she was willing to bear. Before seeing her to the bus we
agreed to see one another the following evening. I was in "Seventh
Heaven," and felt, very much, like the character Gene Kelly played in
that wonderful dance sequence in the movie Singing in the Rain. It
seemed that all these events were taking place as though following a
movie scenario. I had been in Ireland for such a short period of time
and, here I was, already in love.
We met the following evening, and by the end of two weeks of ,every
night dating, had become a "Couple." We both realized that our
affair was more than just a "Passing Fancy." None of this would have
been possible without the collusion of Peggy`s sister, Betty, who was
always ready with an excuse for Peggy`s late nights.

It soon became quite clear to both of us that we were in love to the

point that we wanted to spend the rest of our lives together,
although I had not yet, "Popped the Question." The difficulties to
overcome seemed too overwhelming. Peggy was from an Irish Catholic
family. I was a Protestant, with ties to the Dutch Reformed Church,
the church of the most hated, King William of Orange, and, to top it
off, I was a "Damned Yankee" and a soldier from a far off country.
Then, and even today, in Belfast, Catholics do not marry Protestants
and, most certainly, not Protestants with ties to the Dutch Reformed
Church. Secondly, and even more disqualifying, was the fact that her
parents would be losing a beloved daughter and sending her abroad,
maybe, never to return. All this we knew, but two people in love are
blinded by their emotions to the extent that they are insensitive to
the feelings of others affected by their union.
One late Friday afternoon, after a stroll through the shops and a
light dinner in one of the many little curbside eateries that dot the
downtown streets of Belfast, we walked up the steps of the City Hall,
found a seat close to the great columns that grace that stately
building and sat down to chat. It was early evening, a light rain had
fallen during the day but the evening, was quite pleasant.
I told Peggy of my love for her but emphasized that if I could not
meet her parents it would be better to call the whole thing off
before we both got hurt in the process. She said nothing for a
minute, and then, with tears in her eyes, said, "OK, John, let`s go
home, right now."
Dusk had fallen, with a bit of chill in the air, as we walked up
Rockville Street and entered number 31, one of the little brownstone
houses that line the streets of Belfast. The tiny living room was
warm and cozy, heated by a neat little fireplace that threw long,
flickering shadows on the papered walls. A piano, sofa and chair
graced the room . All these homey images gave me a feeling of warmth
and security I had not experienced for a very long time.
No one being home, Peggy busied herself with making a pot of hot tea
and then went to the piano and played an old Irish tune. As I sat and
basked in the beauty of the scene, I kept thinking how much I would
love to spend the rest of my life with this lovely Irish girl.
The peace and tranquility of this heavenly moment was shattered as
Peggy`s mother arrived on the scene. Mrs. McKenny, although not a
large lady, to my eyes presented a very imposing figure. Peggy
introduced her mother to me. Mrs. McKenny, very graciously, shook my
hand, and then, with a pleasant smile, uttered the words, so often
spoken to young men in my position, "So, you are the young man who

has been keeping my daughter out to all hours of the night." My

response was, " Yes, Mrs. McKenny, I must plead guilty to that."
The evening was continuing splendidly with Peggy`s mother querying me
about all things Catholic. I was responding with many things I had
read about the Church and throwing in the names of a few Catholic
clerics. Fortunately, I had read so much history that included the
Church that I felt I was coming off quite well. Never once, did Mrs.
McKenny ask me if I was a Catholic, although Peggy told me later that
her mother concluded that I was a "Fallen away" Catholic.
The evening was getting late and then Peggy`s mother issued the
"Coup de Grace,"
"I know you boys always enjoy some home cooked food. Would you like
something with your tea?"
I answered, "Certainly Mrs. McKenny, I`d
like that very much, thank you." Then she said, "Well now, I have
some lovely fish and some delicious chicken, which would you prefer?"
It was then, I made my first mistake. I chose chicken, completely
forgetting it was Friday. I was served a delicious plate of roast
chicken , completely oblivious of the error I had just made.
Not all was lost, for I was invited back and spent all my evenings
there getting to know Peggy`s mother, father, sister and brother.
Peggy`s father was a quiet little man who worked for a local bakery.
He was very easy to talk to and we became friends very quickly,
spending some time at the local pub getting better acquainted. He was
a very broad minded man, certainly not a part of the religious
bigotry that consumed so much of Northern Ireland, and best of all,
not prejudiced toward American soldiers. I came to know her sister,
Betty, a lovely young lady, with a great sense of humor, and Peggy`s
ally in whatever Peggy wanted to do. Her brother, Seamus was the
typical teenager, unconcerned with his sister`s problems and more
concerned about my supply of "Yankee goodies." Mrs. McKenny and I
soon became good friends and my frequent visits with her during the
day, while Peggy was at work, sharing many laughs together, cemented
my relationship with the McKenny family.
Though I did spend many daytime hours away from my station, I did
cover for my assistant on those occasions he wanted to go to town. As
far as night time activities were concerned, he preferred to spend
his time reading or writing letters home.
As was to be expected, soldiers being at their base during the day,
we had few guys showing up at the pro station during daylight hours.
However there was an occasional G. I remember one such instance
because it had such a sad ring to it. A young man came into the
station and asked me if he could use the facility to shower and
shave. He said he was being married in a few hours and wanted to get
ready for the wedding. Upon receiving an affirmative answer, he
proceeded with his grooming and left, looking in great shape for his

plunge into matrimony.

Several hours later a lady and her daughter arrived and asked if I
had seen a soldier fitting the description she gave of him. I knew
immediately it was the G.I. I had seen earlier and confirmed that he
had been here.. I knew something was amiss by the sad look on the
girl`s face. Her mother then blurted out, "I knew this would happen.
That damned "Yank" never showed up for the wedding, damn his soul."
It was the end of June, 1945 and my whole venture almost came
crashing down. I received a visit from a Captain and a Lieutenant to
make an inspection of the facility. I wanted to get the inspection
behind me because I felt I wouldn't have another inspection until
around the end of July, 1945.
After a quick "walk through," the Captain said, " Nice job, Corporal,
everything seems in order." I then invited them into my quarters for
a drink, which they readily accepted. The Lieutenant glanced at a
portrait of Peggy I had placed near my bed and said, "Pretty girl,
your girlfriend or your wife, back home?" I replied, rather naively,
"No Sir, "That's a young lady I met here in Belfast and hope to marry
before I go home. Oops! Bad mistake! I well knew of the Army`s
disapproval of soldiers marrying girls they met while stationed
overseas, The Captain smiled and said, "She is a beautiful girl. I
can readily understand why you would like to take her home with you,
Corporal, but probably, not a good idea. Maybe its time we got you
back to your outfit." That remark hit me like a lightening bolt. I
could not imagine being separated from "The love of my life," and
being put in a position where marriage would be impossible. I felt
trapped, and no way out. Then, suddenly, I remembered a bit of wisdom
Captain Hummer had given me. He had said, "Never ask for anything
without being prepared to give something in return, "or, "Quid Pro
Quo."
Regaining my composure and having hit on an idea, I replied to the
superior Officer, "Captain, that's for you to decide, Sir." I
followed that with, "Sir, its almost lunch time, would you and the
Lieutenant like to join me for a nice meal of steak and eggs?" The
Lieutenant spoke up and said, "Where in the name of Hell can you get
a meal like that with all this damned rationing?" Realizing that I
was on to something, I replied, " If you gentlemen will follow me,
I`ll be glad to show you." With that, we all got up, walked to the
door and started up the street.
When we arrived at the dress shop of my old friend, the seamstress. I
beckoned them in. I noticed a look of puzzlement on the faces of the
two Officers as I approached the lady at the counter. After a moment,
I introduced the Officers, and she escorted us to the magic curtain,
pulled it back and ,Voila, we were in "Food Heaven."
The steaks were done to perfection, the eggs, a perfect complement,
to the steaks, "over easy", and presented beautifully on fine china
plates. The "piece de resistance' was a tasty peach cobbler topped

with whipped cream. This, and steaming cups of hot coffee brought
smiles of satisfaction to the faces of the two Officers. It was then,
I made my move. Addressing the Captain, I said "Sir, I would really
appreciate it if you could have my assignment here extended." The
Captain, with a broad, knowing smile, replied, "Well, Corporal, I
suppose a little more time Could be arranged, maybe another month.
Plan on being back at your outfit in England on July 30."=== "Quid
Pro Quo."

Chapter
7
Realizing how transient my stay in Belfast was going to be, I made
up my mind to, "Bite the Bullet," and ask Peggy to marry me.
One evening Peggy and I were invited to take a drive along the
beautiful, scenic Antrim Road with a couple she knew who owned a car.
This was a special treat because, at that time, few people in the
U.K. owned cars. The car was a cute little roadster with seats for
four, two of them in a cozy little rumble seat, perfect for two
people in love. After a short drive, the car was pulled over and
parked. It was a beautiful, starlit night, a warm breeze coming in
from the ocean, the sound of waves lapping the shore and a gorgeous
moon overhead. A film director could not have set up a better scene
for a romantic moment in the film he was directing.
I held Peggy in my arms, kissed her luscious lips and then uttered
the following clumsy proposal, "Peggy, "Would you consider becoming
my wife?" Of all the opportunities to use romantic phrases, this was
one, but I was so tongue-tied I was lucky to get this much across and
on top of all this, I didn`t even have an engagement ring ready..
After a short pause, Peggy, with tears in her eyes, said, "Yes, John,
but you know, its going to be difficult to manage. My mum and dad
will be awfully hard to convince" This was followed by a lingering
kiss which I will always remember unto the end of my days.

Now that we were engaged, I said to Peggy, "Sweetheart, I know this

is going to be difficult for your parents but I think we can convince
them that they should give us their blessing. Now we have to find a
good time to tell them of our intentions." To this she replied, "I
know, but lets wait for the proper time. This is not going to be
easy."
For several days we said nothing to anyone about our engagement. We
knew we had to find the proper moment to broach the subject to
Peggy`s parents. Our procrastination finally came to an end, forced
upon us by a call I received from my unit, informing me that my stay
in Belfast was to end on July 30,1945 and to close down my facility
and return to the 306.th It was now July 2, 1945 and having, roughly,
only four weeks left in Belfast, we had to end our procrastination
and , "Face the Music" with Peggy`s parents.
Our opportunity to have a quiet evening with Peggy`s parents came
shortly thereafter. Peggy`s sister, was out on a date, , her brother,
was busy elsewhere, and Mr. and Mrs. McKenny were having a quiet
evening at home. Peggy and I had been in town and decided this was
the perfect time to break the news of our engagement.
Peggy was at the piano accompanying her father as he played a lively
jig on his fiddle. Having laid down the violin and returned to his
place on the sofa next to Mrs. McKenny, he said, "Peggy, did you have
something to tell us?" He continued, "You certainly didn`t have your
mind on the music," Peggy hesitated and seemed at a loss for words.
Sensing it was my turn to say something, I began, "Yes, we do have
something to tell you, Peggy and I are engaged to be married, and
now, all we need, is your blessing." There was a moment of silence,
which, to Peggy and I, seemed an eternity, and then her mother spoke
up. She said, "Seeing how the two of you get on, a person would have
to be blind not to see that this was coming, even if you have only
known each other for such a short time." Peggy`s father seemed
content to let Peggy`s mother continue the dialogue. She said, " Now,
John, you know Peggy is very young and this is a serious move the two
of you are thinking about. John, you are a long way from home and
sometimes it is easy to forget someone you care for back there." She
went on, "There is also the need for you to get settled, have a job
and ready to begin a family." Peggy`s father then spoke up. "I think
what "Minnie" is trying to say is that marriage, while you are still
in the army, is not possible." "Minnie" was the name everyone used
for Mrs. McKenny. After a short pause. Minnie began, "John, you are a
nice boy and I know Peggy really cares for you but she is also our
daughter and we want her to be happy. You told me that you must
return to England soon and the war is not yet over for you. We think
that it would be best for you to wait until you are out of the army,
have a job and no one back there you may have forgotten, and then, if
you and Peggy still feel the same about marriage, we will consider
it." Without waiting for my response, Minnie said, "Now, I think we

should have some tea." Knowing Mrs. McKenny, I knew the last word had
been given and we simply accepted her dictum.
After a nice cup of hot tea and a delicious Irish scone, liberally
covered with jam, I realized it was getting late and, with our
mission accomplished, I arose and prepared to say good night. I shook
hands with her dad, gave Peggy a goodnight kiss, turned to Minnie and
said, "Mrs. McKenny, After I do get home, you will be hearing from
me. I am a very stubborn Dutchman, you know."
During the following days Peggy and I spent every moment together we
could. The only shadow hanging over our romance was that I would
soon be returning to England. We had long conversations about the
life we would live in America. Peggy asked me countless questions
about how Americans lived. We were in a constant state of euphoria
over the idea of being married and starting a family. I knew I had
found the right mate for a happily married life. I had met Peggy only
a little more than two months ago but, in my heart, I knew I had met
the girl God had chosen for me.
On the evening of July 29, the day before I had to return to my
outfit, we spent our last hours together at Peggy`s home with her
parents. That night, when I departed, our hearts were heavy at the
thought of my leaving but we both pledged our troth to each other and
agreed to write every day until we were reunited in America.
On the morning of July 30, 1945, Bill, my assistant, and I boarded a
cross channel ferry and left Belfast behind. I had asked Peggy not to
be there, not wanting to have an emotional good bye. Arriving in
England, we boarded a train and soon were back at the old 306th.
When we arrived back in camp excitement was running high. Everyone
had been "sweating" the news about the action in the Pacific, and
rumors had been circulating that the 306th was scheduled for
deployment . The news coming out of the Theater of Operations in the
Pacific was on every ones minds but, as a result of so many
disappointments in the past, not always believed. Absolutely no one
is as skeptical of news reports as a G.I. in a time of war.
By the middle of July, 1945, most of the important battles in the
South Pacific had been won. In spite of this the Japanese still
carried on, refusing to accept the inevitable, with the loss of
thousands of military and civilian lives. Thousands of tons of bombs
were raining down all over Japan.
During the rest of July the newspapers carried stories of the
impossible resistance of the Japanese. By July 30 the naval forces of
Japan had been almost completely wiped out. Despite all these signs
of defeat the Japanese continued to boast that they were capable of
repelling any enemy attack against the homeland. This air of bravado

continued, even after having experienced, what has been called, "the
greatest air raid in history," having just had six thousand, six
hundred thirty two tons of bombs dropped on their oil refineries and
cities.
By August 3, it was obvious that Japan was doomed but the American
bombers continued to blast their railroads and warn them that the
end was near. They still continued to resist. Even after August 5,
when a dozen cities were added to the "surrender or die" list they
stubbornly clung to the idea that they could recover and continue the
fight.
Listening intently to the radio, we heard the news but still felt
that deployment to the South Pacific was in the offing. It was on the
6th of August when we received news that President Truman had
unleashed a bomb, two thousand times more destructive than a
blockbuster, which had been detonated over Hiroshima.
This announcement got our attention. We were glued to the radio but
censorship was in place. Bombing by the Flying Fortresses continued.
No word from Japan in reply to an ultimatum that had been given for
them to surrender was made. While no news of the destruction caused
by the bomb was being released we sensed that it must have been
horrendous. Then, on August 9 word came through that a second bomb
had been detonated over the city of Nagasaki.
We, along with the rest of the world, awaited word of the Japanese
surrender. Then the word came through that the Japanese were willing
to surrender as long as the Emperor was safeguarded, but no offer of
capitulation. The Allies then offered to leave the fate of the
Emperor up to the direction of the Allied nations. The Japanese
continued to delay and the killing continued. The Japanese were given
a warning that renewed atomic bombing was possible if Japan continued
to delay surrendering.
Finally on August 14 word was received that the Japanese had
surrendered but no official proof was given. Having received no
official word the Americans continued to shell and bomb Japan.
At long last, we all heaved a sigh of relief as word came through
that in Bern, Switzerland on the 14th that the Japanese minister had
delivered a note to the Foreign Office from Tokyo . This was quickly
followed by a radio report from Washington. "Tokyo radio said today
that Allied terms for Japan's surrender had been accepted by Emperor
Hirohito." More than twelve hours later no official confirmation was
given and the fighting in the Pacific continued.
On August 15, 1945, the one word the world had been wanting to hear.
"PEACE," appeared in newspapers all over the world. In no matter what
language the word appeared, the families of loved ones gave thanks to
their God for the end to this brutal war. The world was now at peace

and the tyranny of the brutal dictators in Italy, Germany and Japan
had come to an end, thanks to the sacrifices made by the soldiers of
the Allied nations and their loved ones at home.
On September 2, 1945, Gen. Douglas MacArthur, delegates of the Allied
powers and the Japanese delegates met on the deck of the battleship
USS Missouri in Tokyo Bay and formally signed the document accepting
the terms of surrender by the Japanese. The world was, once again, at
peace and the blessings of freedom and democracy had been secured for
the nations dedicated to those principles.
Each of us, in our own way, responded to this news with thoughts of
what the future would bring. My mind immediately returned to
thoughts of my Peggy, and how soon we would be reunited. We had been
corresponding every day and now my letter, this day, would be filled
with joy and optimistic words about our being together and the life
we would be living in America.
For those of us in Britain the scenario now became a waiting game.
Individuals would be going home based on a point system. Length of
time served, the type of action the soldier was involved in and the
decorations he had received, would be taken under consideration in
giving points. Since the members of our outfit had served for about
the same amount of time. had collected no medals for valor in combat,
and our service had been a "Walk in the Park" compared to the ones
who had suffered the horrors of combat, we were in for the "Long
Haul."

Chapter 8
It was now the beginning of October, 1945 and repatriation had not
yet taken place for the POWs in the hospital, although, by this
time, almost all were ambulatory and able to work thus relieving us
of many duties.. Our work in the hospital continued as usual but on a
much more relaxed basis. We were in a "holding pattern" and really
only biding time until we could be go back to the United States for
demobilization.
Somewhere along the line of command an idea emerged to keep the
anxious troops happy. The army set up a number of tours to which the
troops could sign up for and, for all practicality, make us
"tourists." This attention to our concerns was enthusiastically
accepted, especially when a trip to a brewery was scheduled.
On the Company bulletin board was the following notice, "SIGN UP FOR
A VISIT TO THE STROUD BREWERY. The bus will leave at 0900 hours
tomorrow."
Needless to say there was no problem in getting a busload. Joe and I
were at the assigned location to meet the bus at exactly 0900 hours.
It seems promptness was not an issue when all that free beer was in
the offing.
At exactly 0900 hours we were seated on the bus for the ride to
Stroud. .The ride was of short duration and we were greeted by a tour
guide, who, by the look on his face, did not relish guiding this
group of. "Bloody Yanks,"
He gave us the usual speech as he guided us through the brewery,
although we made it difficult for him with our crude remarks and lack
of attention. Finally we arrived in the cellar, surrounded by huge
vats of beer and were invited to sample the wares. This got our
immediate attention and we showed our affection for Stroud beer by
consuming all that the attendant provided.
The tour over, we boarded our bus and pulled out for home, with waves
of goodbye from the employees, The, now somewhat inebriated
"tourists," showed their gratitude by blowing up condoms, tying them
off into neat little balloons and tossing them out the windows. Is
this where the term, "Ugly American," first surfaced? Was this our

contribution to millions of tourists who were to visit England after

the war? On the other hand, would this not be viewed as merely the
exuberant joy of a lot of war weary G.I.s anxious to return home to
families and friends?
There were several other trips that caught my attention and turned
out to be experiences to be remembered. One of the most treasured of
these was a trip that was posted as, "A TRIP TO A STATELY BRITISH
MANSION." Needless to say, this particular tour was not as popular as
the brewery trip but I and five other guys signed up for it, hoping
to see how the "Other Half" lived in this "Class ridden" society and,
just maybe, a chance to view a place connected with the history of
England. There was agreement that I would speak on their behalf when
we arrived at our destination.
At the appointed time we boarded a small van and headed down the
road. The colors of autumn, the trees splendid with their bouquet of
red and yellow leaves, brought home to me mental pictures of Michigan
and, for just a moment, engulfed me in pangs of homesickness, an
emotion, I`m sure, was felt by my companions. The ride took only a
little over an hour. It always amazed us at how short distances
between places in Britain were. Americans never could get over the
small size of this island country.
Finally, looming ahead of us was a huge, sprawling mansion The
massive, graveled covered area in front of the entrance provided
ample room for a large number of vehicles. I had a feeling of having
been here before, probably the result of having seen scenes such as
this in the movies. It was a truly impressive sight.
The driver, a young English girl, who had remained silent all during
the trip, completely ignoring our ribald remarks, turned to us and
said, "Here you are genlemen, Blenheim Palace, ancestral home of
Prime Minister Winston Churchill, enjoy yourselves."
Here we were, a group of awe struck Yanks, who had never seen such a
glamorous residence. As grandiose as was the palace, and grandiose it
certainly was, the sheer size of this magnificent home simply
overwhelmed us and, for just a moment, I was so taken aback that I
could not find the entrance. Then I realized that the huge door that
I was facing must be what I was looking for.. Hesitently, we
approached,, but before I could reach the front door, a lovely young
lady opened it, or had it opened for her, its size seemed too huge to
be opened by such a gentle young lady, and greeted us as though she
were awaiting our arrival. Her greeting was, "You must be our
American guests." I replied, "Yes Mam, My name is John," and then
introduced my companions. She, in turn, introduced herself, but
memory does not allow me to recall her name. I do remember, very
clearly, that her name was preceded by the title, "Lady." She bade us
, enter and her easy banter made us feel right at home. To tell the

truth, we were overwhelmed at the granduer of the entrance and we

must have seemed to her, a group of yokels, as we stood in awe of the
sheer size of the place and the gorgeous oil paintings, of long gone
ancestors, that graced the walls of this magnificent entrance.
In a very informal manner the young lady steered us into the study, a
beautifully appointed room, furnished with some of the finest leather
seating that any of us had ever encountered. We, no longer were
seated, than a butler approached us, said, "Gentlemen, what can I
bring you." After ordering our drinks, and the lady ordering hers,
the butler retreated and the usual remarks about the beauty of the
home were uttered by each of us. The lady was giving us a history of
the palace when suddenly a middle aged lady and gentleman appeared on
the scene.
We were introduced, but again, my memory fails in recalling their
names. I do remember the gracious manner in which they joined in the
conversation. I, for one, was amazed at how easily we were accepted
and treated as though we were important guests. In the meantime, the
butler arrived and served our drinks, much more elegantly than the
way we were accustomed to being served. The gentleman went on to
describe the estate. He said, "I`m sure you men would like to know a
little about the historical place you are visiting." He went on to
say that the mansion was located on twenty one hundred acres and the
house was built in the eighteenth century and the gardens were added
in the nineteenth century. He said, "the palace was designed by
Vanbrugh, a noted architect of that period and was the nation`s
reward to the First Duke of Marlborough for his victories over Louis
1V. The gardens were designed by Henry Wise, in an Anglo-Dutch
Barouqe manner." He went on to say that we would appreciate the skill
of the people of that period when we took a tour of the grounds.
It was now approaching noon, and as interesting as the conversation
had been, we began to feel the need for sustenance. As if our wish
had been heard, the butler arrived and said, "Tea is being served."
All six of us knew that meant food, even if we didn`t understand
"Dutch Baroque."
We were seated at a long table in a magnificent dining area
overlooking a finely manicured garden resplendent with the hues of
autumn.. "High Tea", is usually served between three and five in the
afternoon but from the look of the spread on the table they must have
made an exception, knowing they were feeding a group of hungry G.I.s.
For a group of guys who thought meat and potatoes was a feast, this
menu overwhelmed our imaginations.
The main entre consisted of smoked salmon with cream cheese. Also
gracing the table was egg, mayonnaise, sliced cucumber, and if one
was partial to meat, Wilshire ham and mustard. Thinly cut slices of
bread and scones were placed before us with homemade jam and all of
this to be followed by our choice of several scrumptious looking

desserts. Oh, there was tea, of course, but coffee was available and
this was to be followed by champagne. Knowing how severe rationing
was, these wonderful, hospitable people must have strained their
ration coupons to the limit to make all this possible. Oh, to have a
mess sergeant, with such a creative mind and generous spirit.
Having demonstrated our liking of this delicious meal, by our over
enthusiastic consumption of its contents, we were invited to tour the
gardens by our lovely hostess. As I remember, a pram, or baby
carriage, was produced, occupied by a delightful baby whose gender I
cannot recall. Our hostess, now guiding the pram, was giving us a
delightful account of the history of the gardens. At this point I
offered my services as driver of the carriage. The offer was readily
accepted and I found myself responsible for the safe transportation
of a, very young, British aristocrat. The tour continued and even a
group of uncultured Yanks could not help but express admiration for
the artistry in creating such beauty. Suddenly, a young RAF Officer
appeared on the scene. After a perfunctory hug and a peck on the
cheek of, his wife, our hostess, he introduced himself and bade us
welcome. Turning to me, guiding the pram, he said, "Do you know who
you are caring for in the pram." I replied, "No Sir, we haven't been
introduced, as yet." He smiled and rattled off a rather long series
of names, strung together by centuries of aristocratic familial ties.
As I recall, he did mention the child`s relationship with P.M.
Winston Churchill, but by this time. I was only able to grasp enough
of our conversation to know that I was, indeed, personally
experiencing a bit of English history.
To describe the beauty, creativity and attention to detail displayed
in those gardens would require another book and descriptive powers
beyond my meager talents. Suffice to say, that all members of the
American group took away great admiration for the social and
botanical skills of our English cousins and their ability to bring an
air of formality to the wonders of nature and social etiquette. The
less formal approach to the physical world, by we Americans, stood in
stark contrast and underscored how time had created a people much
different than our forbearers. Different we had become, since those
Colonial days, but never having lost the values and basic principals
we shared as a people.

Chapter Nine
October now turned to November, with cool, chilly days, signaling
the beginning of winter, The repatriation of German prisoners was now
taking place. Daily, our patients, mostly ambulatory, were leaving
the hospital behind and returning to occupied Germany.
Then, one grand day in December we received word that our unit was
scheduled for deployment. We were going home! Oh Dear God, the day we
had long wished for had now become reality. The order to be ready to
pack our belongings and prepare to leave was the most precious order
we had ever received. My letters to Peggy now were full of the utter
elation I felt at the thought of our being united and sharing our
lives together as lovers and man and wife.
Christmas 1945, was a much more festive affair than previous
Christmas` and the dinner of turkey and all the fixings, prepared for
us by the kitchen crew, seemed much more tasty, given the fact that
we soon would be on a troopship headed for home. The high level of
morale was evident as we all envisioned being in our own home towns
with those we loved. I, could not contain my feelings of happiness at
the thought of being in a position to send for my Peggy and having
her with me in Kalamazoo to begin our life together.
A happier New Year was never more welcomed than the year 1946. We
celebrated, not only the new year, but the knowledge that we would
soon be back in the "Good Old United States." You can well believe,
that we were on our best behavior, not wanting any complications to
mar our departure for home.
Then, on or about January 7, 1946, the order came. "Pack your gear,
climb aboard the awaiting trucks for the trip to Southhampton to meet
the troopship that will carry you home." Not a single soul in our
outfit had any misgivings about carrying out that order.
The trip to Southhampton was more like a holiday event than the
movement of army troops. The singing of the soldiers had a very
upbeat quality about them and the joy of being on the way home was
evident in the spirit of the men as they relished the thought of
going back to wives and sweethearts. My mind was entirely focused on
getting home and sending for my Peggy.
Having arrived in Southhampton and on the dock awaiting our
embarcation orders, we were assembled in military order. Officers
were in their own assemblage, and all of us, enlisted and Officer
rank, in a highly festive mood. We were ready to board the giant
aircraft carrier, the USS Lake Champlain.

Once on board, all units, mostly infantry, were given assigned areas
and each told where to place their gear. Shortly thereafter, a
Sergeant called us to attention to receive an order from the Captain
of the ship.
In a voice, almost identical to that of Franklin Roosevelt, the
Captain addressed us over the public address system. As I recall, he
said, "Now hear this. This is the Captain speaking. My name is
Captain Logan Ramsey. I want to welcome you on behalf of myself and
the crew of the Lake Champlain. This ship is part of Operation, Magic
Carpet. I would, personally, like to take this opportunity to to
thank you for your service. You have done a wonderful job in bringing
this war to a successful conclusion. From this moment on, you are our
guests. We ask only that you keep your area in a neat condition.
There will be no reason to make up your bunks in the morning. This,
and all other housekeeping duties will be performed by the crew. You
will find question boxes at various places around the ship. If you
have questions or queries for me, feel free to place them in the box.
I will try to answer you in my nightly address to you. Additionally,
I have given orders that snacks be placed at various points around
the ship, in case you feel hungry between meals. The United States
Navy and this ship in particular, as a part of Operation, Magic
Carpet, will do everything we can to provide for your comfort on your
trip home. I thank you again. for your dedicated service, You will
soon be home with your loved ones. God Speed and God Bless you."
This eulogy, with its words of praise and welcoming, left us
breathless. Never, during our term of service, had we been spoken to
in such a manner. In addition to our joy at going home we were now
going there under the most favorable of conditions.
We were soon underway and, before long, it became evident that the
weather was not going to be one of the favorable conditions that we
were to experience. We had no sooner cleared the harbor than storm
clouds appeared on the horizon. As the weather worsened and the waves
loomed larger and larger it became evident that even a ship as large
as this aircraft carrier could have problems coping with the whims of
"Mother Nature."
That first night on board was a rocky one as the ship plunged through
the angry waves of the North Atlantic. Although many of the
"landlubbers" on board grappled with seasickness, we made it through
the night into a day of calm seas.
True to the Captain`s promise, the crew did arrive, made our beds and
performed the other housekeeping duties. We were still in a state of
wonderment at these services being performed for us. Breakfast was a
delight, with fresh eggs, hash browns, bacon, sausage and plenty of
hot coffee. In spite of the army derision of the navy, we had to
admit that when it came to food, the navy was in a superior position.

The weather having cleared, the day was an absolute delight. We were
able to walk the decks, enjoy a snack at one of the tables scattered
around the ship, observe the activities of the crew and, if one
chose, spend some time reading or writing letters back at our bunks.
Captain Ramsey had, indeed, made this a pleasure cruise, God Bless
him.
As time wore on, the weather worsened and, during his nightly address
to us, the Captain made it clear that we could expect this to be a
frequent occurrence since this was January and the North Atlantic was
a stormy place in the winter. He also assured us that we were not to
worry about our safety since ships, such as these, were built to
withstand all that nature could throw at them.
The third night out, after mess, the familiar voice of Captain Ramsey
sounded on the P.A. system. "Now hear this, this is the Captain
speaking. We are well on our way to home and I trust you are enjoying
the voyage. I have little to report and so I have chosen to read a
couple of the questions you have posed for me. This first one is from
Sgt. ?? Of the ?? Infantry. The good Sgt. asks if this was a banana
boat before the war." The Captain, his voice tinged with just a touch
of irritation, replied, "Sgt. First let me remind you that this is
not a boat. This is a ship. A ship carries boats." He went on, "
Sgt., As a matter of fact, I would like to inform you that this ship
was paid for by the people of the United States and is entitled to
the respect it deserves, having been made possible, by the
contributions of the citizens of of our great nation."
The weather continued to be bad and the consumption of the snacks the
Captain had placed around the ship had diminished due to the
incidents of sea sickness experienced by the G.I.s. Bad as the
weather was, the crap games continued on as usual, although
frequently interrupted by the hasty departure of one or more of the
players, due to sudden "illness." This situation was not lost on the
Captain and provided a moment of humor on his next nightly address.
As usual, we were assembled, ready to hear the Captain`s report. "Now
hear this. This is the Captain speaking," came the now familiar
refrain.
This night he chose to make comment on the weather conditions,
informing us that during the night conditions were so bad that they
had been unable to respond to a cry of distress from a Liberty Ship
in the vicinity. He went on to tell us that during his entire career
he had not experienced weather this difficult to contend with. Then,
he changed the subject and went on to answer a question from one of
the question boxes. He said, "I have a question that deals with a
problem experienced by PFC ?? " It seems that the good Private was
involved in a crap game and a considerable amount of money was in the
pot. He says that a Petty Officer arrived on the scene, broke up the
game and departed with the money. His question is, "Can we get back

the money?" There was a short pause, and then, with a chuckle in his
voice, he answered the Private's question, " Private, my cabin is on
deck--. Standing outside my door will be a Marine. Tell him you wish
to see me. In order to answer your question more directly, the answer
is that the Petty Officer has deposited the money in the Seamen's
Fund. If you still desire to have the money, so inform me when we
meet, however I would like to read you the Article of War, regarding
gambling on ships of the United States Navy." After reading the
Article, he finished with, "I hope this answers your question." The
roar of laughter from the troops clearly indicated their appreciation
of this bit of backhanded humor.
The high morale aboard the Lake Champlain was evident in stories told
to me by the crew. One such tale seemed to sum up the reason for this
high regard for their Captain. One seaman related to me how their
Executive Officer insisted that the crew in the engine room wear
white socks, although there was clearly no need, given the duties
required of them. He said this particular Officer also gave orders
that crewmen could not have their uniforms altered for better fit.
When word of this reached Captain Ramsey, a curious thing happened.
When the ship reached the next port a new Executive Officer was
assigned to the ship.
Finally, after ten days of bad weather and superb treatment by the
Officers and crew of the USS Lake Champlain, we arrived in New York
harbor on January, 17, 1946. It was a cold January day, warmed
considerably by our sight of the Statue of Liberty, standing tall and
proud, the torch of freedom still firmly in place, pointing to the
Heavens as a testament to the valor of all the Armed Forces,
soldiers, sailors, airmen and our civilian Merchant Marine. It was
our military and, even us non-combat soldiers, who had struggled so
valiently and secured our way of life, now and for generations yet
unborn.
Awaiting us on the dock as we disembarked, was a cordon of lovely
ladies representing the American Red Cross and the Salvation Army.
Their beauty was enhanced by the smell of hot coffee and doughnuts
and the hot dogs and hamburgers sizzling on the BBQ. Never, before or
since, have I had a hot dog that could compare with the one I so
relished that morning, on that frigid, but wonderful day. The
presence of those caring ladies added luster to the joyous moment we
were experiencing at being, once again, on American soil. It is in
moments, such as these, that one knows the tremendous value of being
a free American citizen. We were home, home at last, and I, for one,
was looking forward to a life of happiness with, my, now to be,
beautiful Irish bride.
My joy at being back in the United States had made me almost
completely unaware of the great number of troops crowding the dock.
True to its tradition of military efficiency, the army had a long row

of buses standing ready for our departure to the train depot and our
journey to Camp Atterbury, Indiana for our transfer to civilian life.
The bus trip very quickly brought us to the depot and by the time we
had checked our duffle bags the day had turned to night and in spite
of our weariness our spirits were high. Nothing could dampen our
utter joy at being on the way to becoming civilians, once again, and
being with family and friends.
After checking our duffle bags and boarding the train, the
festivities began. Although beverages of an alcoholic nature were not
provided, mysteriously, some very stimulating drinks began to appear
and voices were lifted in song. No blackout curtains, no planes
buzzing the train and no Officer lecturing us of the consequences of
improper behavior were part of this journey. Although some did manage
to catch a little sleep, the majority of the passengers were in too
celebratory a mood to notice the fatigue that engulfed us.
Some fifteen or so, hours later the train pulled in to a depot
situated at Camp Atterbury. In spite of some hangovers and lack of
sleep our Company was still in a joyful mood and hardly anyone
complained. We went through the routine of getting our baggage,
hearing the barked commands of a Sergeant directing us to our
barracks, and generally getting the treatment we were so accustomed
to. On the other hand, no damned Sergeant could lessen our happiness
at being at the place that would hand back our freedom and make us,
just plain, American civilian citizens..
Camp Atterbury was a very busy place. As a separation station it
served some 561,000 troops, arranging discharge from the Service at
the rate of 3000 per day, so it was not not surprising that it was
January 22, before our outfit was called to go through the separation
process.
In the meantime, we had plenty of time to write letters, make phone
calls to home and explore this sprawling installation.
January 22, 1946. "A date that will live in memory," at least my
memory, for that was the date of my separation from the Army of the
United States.
At the appointed time the 306th gathered in a huge assembly hall and
there, each of us, listened carefully for our name to be called.
When, an obviously bored Sergeant, bellowed out my name I was
immediately on my feet. Making my way to the registration table was
the sweetest hike I had ever taken. After going through the necessary
paper work, a young 2nd Lt. beckoned me to an open door. He said,
"Good morning soldier, step inside and place your chest against the X
ray panel, and , Oh by the way, if you intend to join the Reserves,
have them raise the panel to the level of your head." Even, given my
limited intellectual powers, it seemed to me that he was sending me a
message that it was not in my best interest to join the Reserves. It

was probably because of this encounter that I was able to follow the
later events that took place in Korea from the comfort of my home,
eyes glued to the TV screen. Unpatriotic as this may seem, I felt,
at this time, this new action could be handled by another generation
of young Americans.
Seated comfortably in my homeward bound train, still wearing my
uniform, I was beginning to feel more and more like a civilian,
almost but not quite. This would come when I arrived home surrounded
by family and friends. Still, there was one nagging problem to solve
before I would feel secure and comfortable and that was, bringing my
Peggy to Kalamazoo and walking down the aisle with her.
While in Atterbury awaiting discharge , I had penned off a letter to
Peggy telling her that I was almost a civilian and to start getting
her mum and dad prepared to have her daughter become a married woman
and acquiring a son in law. I put as much humor in the letter as I
was able to muster up, but not unaware, of the emotional problems I
was placing on the McKenny family.

Chapter 10
I was met at the station in Kalamazoo by my mother and father. Dad
had insisted that this moment belonged to Mom and He, accounting for
the tiny welcoming party. Dad gave me a "bear hug" and an emotional

"Welcome home, Son." My Mom, tears in her eyes, simply said, "Thank
God, you are home and safe." Never had I felt so close to my parents.
At the house, all my family members and a goodly crowd of friends and
neighbors had gathered for a welcoming home party. It was hard for me
to believe that this moment had arrived. The rest of the day was
spent in eating good home cooked food and answering a thousand
questions about my experiences. Often my mind wandered as I
contemplated on the thoughts of Peggy and wishing she could be a part
of these festivities. My brother Henry, was home from the navy,
having arrived a week earlier. My brother Charles, having been
disqualified for service due to a ruptured ear drum, was curious
about the things I had done and seen. My sister Anna Mae, now an
experienced welder because of a defense related job, also peppered me
with questions about my time in the service. It was a time of good
cheer and thankfulness and, I must admit, I was enjoying being the
center of attention.
That night, in the comfort of my bed, I pondered on the days to come.
I had not disclosed to mom and dad the fact that I was engaged.
Now ,the shoe was on the other foot." All the adjustments, in
religion and culture, to our pending marriage had been discussed in
full with Peggy`s parents and now it was time to work things out with
my mother and dad.
During the ensuing week I had many discussions with my dad and mom
about my return to civilian life. Dad had secured a job for me with
the Kalamazoo Stove and Furnace Co. ,where he was employed The plant
had been closed in order to revert back to civilian production,
having been engaged in producing war materials and, would soon
reopen.
Finally, I had my opportunity to discuss my pending marriage. It was
one of those cold winter nights and I was enjoying an evening alone
with mom and dad. During a break in the conversation, I said, " I
guess this is as good a time as any to share some news with you." I,
immediately had their attention. Dad was the first to speak. He said,
"I hope it`s good news, Son." I replied, "I think it is, I hope you
will feel the same." Mom said, "Get on with it, John." I simply
blurted out, "I`m engaged to get married." Both looked at me in
amazement and then Dad said, "Getting married, you have only been
home for a week and, as far as we know, you don`t even have a girl
friend." Realizing their quandary at this startling announcement, I
said, "Well, let me explain it to you." At this precise moment I
became aware of how unprepared I was to explain fully, the situation.
For the next few minutes I had full attention from mom and dad. I
said, "Maybe I should have told you this earlier but, here it is."
Now my mind was racing, but I went on with the story, hoping I would
not encounter any negatives. I said, "The girl I am marrying is in

Ireland. I met her in Belfast. Her parents are aware of our

engagement and I hope she gets their approval to come to the States
to be married. She is a lovely girl, from a good family. She is
nineteen years old but will be twenty by the time of our marriage."
At this point, I pulled from my wallet, a picture of Peggy and both
studied it for a moment. Mom said, "She sure is a pretty girl." Dad,
looked up and said, "Do you know what you are doing?" My reply was,
"Dad, I`m almost twenty six years old and perfectly capable of making
my own decisions." That seemed to end the discussion and then Mom
said, "John, If this is your wish, we have no objection and will
welcome her with open arms." With that, I decided to fill out the
rest of the story. I said, "Now let me "drop the other shoe."
"She is an Irish Catholic girl and I have decided to join the
Catholic Church." This resulted in a stunned silence for fully a
minute. Then my dad reacted in a fashion truly his own and, left me
incredulous. He said, "Ev", that was Dad's nick name for Mom, "Get
your coat on and, John, you do the same and get out to the car, we
are going for a ride." Not wanting to make a fuss, we both did as he
said.
Dad wheeled the car skillfully over the icy streets and pulled up in
front of St. Augustine Catholic Church. Without another word we left
the car and dad walked up to the residence of the Priest and rang the
doorbell.
The door was answered by an elderly lady, the housekeeper, and dad
asked to see the Father. She replied, "You mean Monsignor Hackett?"
Dad simply stated, "Yes Mam, that's whom we would like to talk to."
We were invited in and given a seat in the parlor. I was utterly
flabbergasted since I had no idea my dad even knew the location of
the church and had no idea of what he was up to.
In a few moments a tall, dignified man with a full head of grey hair
entered the room. He looked around and, in a thick Irish brogue said,
"Good evening, I am Monsignor Hackett. What can I do for you?"
Now, absolutely confused, I said nothing. Dad came right to the
point. He said, "Father", and pointing to me, "This is my Son, John
and he is just home from the army. He is engaged to an Irish girl in
Ireland and wants to join the Catholic Church." A broad smile
appeared on Monsignor Hackett's face and he sat down to hear the rest
of the story.
As I explained the situation, giving him all the details of our
meeting and the subsequent romance that followed, Father Hackett,
nodded approval, and said, "John, this is one of the nicest things I
have heard all year. It only goes to prove that there is always
something good coming out of a tragedy like war." Wanting to get
directly to the reason for our visit, I said, "Father, I know that as
a convert, I need to attend some classes to to understand the
procedure of conversion. Please tell me when I can attend." Again,
with a cheerful smile, he replied, " Aw, to Hell with the classes,

you won`t be attendin them, you'll be meeting with me for private

sessions here in my study. Young man, You are marrying a girl from
the "Ould Sod", and that requires some special attention." All this
was said in his thick Irish brogue, and at that moment, I felt very
special. With that he called for some tea. Over cups of hot tea the
conversation turned to filling out all the details. All this time,
Mom and Dad had little to say but joined in the conversation and I
knew that all would be well. There was no bigotry here and I felt
very proud of my parents and their easy acceptance of the situation.
Having written Peggy and told her to get ready to come to the United
States, I was anxious to receive a letter telling me all was well and
arrangements were being made for her journey. Each day I waited
patiently for the postman, and feeling depressed when no mail was
forthcoming. After several days of anxiety a letter did arrive and,
anxious as I was, I was almost afraid to open it, fearing the worst.
When I did open it and read the first few words I was ecstatic.
Peggy`s mother and dad had accepted the inevitable and were helping
Peggy to make arrangements. From the inquiries regarding passport,
visa and transportation that had been made in Ireland, it was to be,
at least, six months before she would arrive in the United States. I
couldn't wait to reply and rushed to get paper and pen.
By this time I had been employed at the Stove Co. and had met a
fellow worker named James O`Meara. When I told him that Peggy would
be arriving in about six months he said, "John, that will give us
some time to give her a real Irish welcome and I`m going to see that
you have some real Irish folk to greet her."
James called me one day and asked if I would like to meet some Irish
people who would love to meet Peggy. He said that they were an
elderly couple that would take Peggy, "Under their wings." The Irish
certainly know how to express the most mundane things in a beautiful
way.
The Fitzpatricks were, in my mind, the ideal couple to make my
peggy feel at home in America. Pat and Mary Fitzpatrick were typical
Irish, even though neither had set foot in Ireland. Pat and Mary were
each, only about five feet tall, beautiful grey hair and as
eloquently Irish in their speech as though they had just arrived in
the U.S.A. Their home reflected everthing Irish, including a green,
white and gold flag prominently displayed in the hall.
Over a cup of hot tea I learned that they had thirteen children, had
always wanted to visit Ireland, and would be thrilled to meet a
colleen from the "Ould Sod." Where had I heard that term before?
That meeting was the first of many that James arranged. and included
a young Irish priest, Fr. King, who was to become a good friend and
"buddy," if one can truly be a "buddy" with a Priest. Fr. King was

the Chaplain at Borgess Catholic Hospital in Kalamazoo and not too

popular with the Nuns, due to his liking for alcoholic spirits.
Although he did enjoy a drink, now and then, he did not drink to
excess.
A moment I remember with relish was the time Fr. King and I were
enjoying a hamburger for lunch. Halfway through our meal, Fr. King
paused, and said, "John, do you know what day this is?" Without
giving a thought to what the Fr. Was implying, I replied, "It's
Friday, Fr., why?" Then, with a smile Fr. King said, "I know we
shouldn't be eating meat on Friday but it is also a sin to waste good
food." Without further ado, he made the sign of the Cross and said,
"I grant absolution." Such was our easy going relationship.
Although I was anxious awaiting Peggy`s arrival I was also busy
making arrangements for our wedding and making new friends among the
Irish community. I was introduced to a Mr. and Mrs. Heflin by Fr.
King and was immediately made welcome to their home. Mrs. Heflin, in
true womanly fashion, was excited about the coming wedding and did
much to help me prepare. There were several parties at her house and
Fr. King, minus his collar and wearing a sport shirt, always gave two
hours absolution at midnight on Saturday, so that "No food and drink
was wasted," due to the late hour.
One day when Fr. King and I were conversing in his quarters at the
hospital he broached the possibility of he performing the Mass and
wedding ceremony. He went on to say that we should discuss the
matter with Msgr. Hackett. He said, "I`ll give him a call and see if
we can arrange it."
Fr. King, after explaining to Msgr. Hackett, that since we had become
close friends, he thought it would be appropriate for him to perform
the wedding ceremony. I remained absolutely silent, awaiting Msgr.
Hackett's response. There was only a moment's pause and then Msgr.
Hackett addressed Fr. King in, what I thought was, a rather
condescending tone of voice. He said, "Father, Just as in the army,
"rank has its privileges." "I will be saying the Mass and performing
the wedding ceremony." Although this dictum was said with a smile,
Fr. King seemed to feel that he had received the final answer to his
query

Chapter 11
About the middle of June, 1946 a telegram arrived that informed me of
the day and time as well as the flight number of the American
Airlines plane that was to bring my Peggy to the United States. To
say that I was overcome with joy is an understatement. The days that
followed were filled with excitement and planning for her arrival.
On the scheduled day, my cousin, Bud, my dad, and I headed for
Chicago to meet the plane and reunite me with my Peggy. Arriving at
O`Hare airport, well ahead of time, we waited anxiously for over two
hours. Finally, the arrival of the plane from Dublin was announced
and we hurriedly proceeded to the announced gate. The gatekeeper
opened the gate and we proceeded onto the tarmac where the plane was
parked.
In those, still early, times of domestic and transatlantic flight,
people met the arriving passengers on the runway and the they
departed the plane down a long portable gangway. My anxiety was at
fever pitch as I silently prayed that Peggy would soon appear. Person
after person descended the gangway, and then, a small figure in a
lovely blue dress, walked down the stairs, made her way to where we
were standing, and in that unforgettable moment, Peggy was in my arms
and I thanked God for the blessing he had bestowed upon me.
Midst all the happy chatter on the way home, it was quite apparent
that my dad had bonded with his, soon to be, daughter in law. Peggy
snuggled in my arms, chattered on about the great adventure she had

just experienced and how happy she was to be in America with me and
the life we would have together. Our reunion was complete, and now
many busy days were ahead as we planned our wedding.
When we arrived home, my mother and sister had refreshments ready
and, in spite of all the excited conversation, another bonding had
taken place. My mother and my Peggy, it seemed, were kindred souls.
The days ahead were filled with activity as my mother, sister and
friends planned for the wedding that was to make Peggy my bride.
Peggy and I spent many hours with the many members of the Irish
community. The Fitzpatricks took an immediate liking to Peggy and
became almost like parents to her. The Heflin family, especially Mrs.
Heflin, became fully involved in seeing that Peggy had a truly
Catholic wedding.
At long last the great day arrived, July 4, 1946. The date had been
arrived at because there were only two dates available in July. Msgr.
Hackett offered Peggy a choice and she chose July 4 as a very
appropriate day for her to become an American, This, and the fact
that her mother insisted that she was to be married at the first
available date, settled that issue. "Minnie," like most Irish
mothers, did not easily relinquish control.
The morning of July 4 began very early with my mother and sister
preparing for the wedding and the reception that was to follow.
Peggy, somewhat nervous but glowing with excitement, with the
assistance of my sister, were making sure that the wedding gown
fitted properly and all was set for her big moment when she would
walk down the aisle and become Mrs. Margaret DeRoo. My brothers,
Henry and Charles were dressed in their best, "Sunday go to meeting
clothes." My sister, Anna Mae, having finished helping Peggy, was now
dressed and "made up," for the big moment. My dad, standing in for
Peggy`s father, was more "dressed up" than I had ever seen him, and
my mom, the picture of loveliness, in the beautiful dress she had
acquired for the wedding. I was dressed in a dark blue business suit,
sporting a carnation in my lapel and was as ready as I could be for
the realization of all my dreams.
Finally, the climax of all this preparation arrived. Seated in the
pews of St. Augustne Church were my relatives and friends. Adding a
moment of unreality to the occasion was the fact that my relatives,
all Protestants, most of whom had never been inside a Catholic
Church, were seated side by side with devout Catholics. Surely, this
was a sight, unbelievable to my Peggy.
Msgr. Hackett was at the altar, having concluded Mass, Fr. King at
his side, and organ music filling the church, signaled the beginning
of this sacred ritual., my mother was quietly wiping the tears from
her eyes as the bridesmaids made their way down the aisle. Then, all

eyes were focused on the lovely bride on the arm of my father,

standing in for Peggy`s father. The strains of "Here Comes the
Bride," filled the church.
Msgr. Hackett, having concluded Mass, was standing beside the altar,
as Peggy and my dad arrived at the prescribed spot. Solemnly, Msgr.
Hackett intoned the age old question, "Who gives this woman in Holy
Matrimony? My father replied, "I do. " The best Man produced the
wedding band, I placed the band on her finger and we bowed before the
altar.
Msgr. Hackett pronounced the wedding vows, ending with, "I now
pronounce you husband and wife." "Now you may kiss the bride."
I wonder, to this day, whether Peggy uttered the words, "I promise
to love, honor and obey," Certainly, she would never admit to having,
said, "Obey." Looking back to that moment in time, I still wonder how
we managed to overcome all the obstacles and bring this dream to
reality.
Our wedding was a High Mass,
neither of us could remember
excitement we felt had a way
in that magical moment. I do
were told, "Now, I pronounce

with all the ceremony that implies, but

all that was said and done, for the
of shutting out all that surrounded us
remember, however, very well, when we
you Husband and Wife,"

A milestone in the lives of my Peggy and me had been reached and our
future lay ahead of us. For me, this was the climax of my transition
to civilian life and a more than happy ending to my experiences in
the "Great War,"
It has been said that all things happen fast in times of war. As I
look back to that time, which seems so long ago, when I first heard
the announcement over the radio that Pearl Harbor had been attacked,
I must agree, that little truism is correct. In a matter of less than
four short years, my life had been completely altered as had the
lives of so many of my fellow compatriots.
These are my personal memoirs encompassing a critical period in the
history of my country and how it affected me personally, as well as
millions throughout the world, for good or ill. Thank God, so many of
my fellow American citizens and citizens of allied countries were
willing to, if necessary, make the ultimate sacrifice to make
possible lives of freedom for future generations , free from the
tyranny of evil dictatorships, and, hopefully, the terrible scourge
of future wars.
THE END

G. I. MEMORS
Introduction
be, Throughout the history of World War 2, countless stories
have been told recalling the feats of bravery by those who fought in
those many, hard fought, battles. This is, as it should but left
untold are the experiences of those support forces who served behind
the lines and helped make possible the victories won by our troops,
now so celebrated in our books and films.
This humble effort is an attempt to chronicle the way in which
W.W. 2 shaped the life of one young American and provide some insight
into the pathos and, sometimes , ludicrous hilarity, that he
encountered while caring for the sick and wounded, as well as off
duty hours while on leave. The following antecdotes, hopefully, will
provide some insight into the experiences of Support Service G.I`s as
they plodded through. what to them, seemed a never ending war.
This is my story, as I lived it. This is not the story of a hero
but simply the memoirs of one who saw the results of the horrors of
war and encountered some of the more humorous aspects of life and
then made the transition back into civilian life. It is the story of
millions of youhg Americans who answered the call to duty when their
country called.
December 7, i941, I was having coffee with my buddy in a
neighborhood diner and trying to decide what we would do for the rest
of the day. The radio was on and the music of a swing band was

playing in the background. The waiter suddenly turned up the volume

and shouted for us to listen. The announcer, his voice solemn,
informed his audience, "This morning, December 7, 1941, Pearl Harbor,
in Hawaii, was attacked by air and the harbor has been severely
damaged. It is estimated that there have been many fatalities and the
loss of many of our ships and aircraft. From the markings on the
attacking aircraft, it has been determined that this was an attack by
the Japanese. Make no mistake about it; this was an attack against
the Territory of Hawaii and therefore an act of war against the
United States. We will keep you informed as additional information
becomes available."
My first reaction to this startling announcement was, "Where
the Hell is Pearl Harbor?" In that long ago time this was a question
on the minds of most Americans. Hawaii, and Pearl Harbor, in
particular, was a far distant place, few had ever given much thought
to, or visited. This was to change radically in the days ahead as
America entered World War 2. The following day, along with my family,
I listened, spellbound, as President Franklin D. Roosevelt addressed
the nation and the nation`s Congress. His familiar voice, now
forceful with outrage and determination, proclaimed the sentiments of
his fellow countrymen. "Yesterday, Sunday, December 7, 1941, "a
date which will live in infamy", the United States of America was
suddenly and deliberately attacked by the naval and air forces of the
Empire of Japan," Briefly, the President, explained the background
of the events which culminated in the attack, ending his speech with
the following, fateful, request to the Congress of the United
States. "With confidence in our Armed forces-with the unbounded
determination of our people- we will gain the inevitable triumph-So
help us God. I ask that the Congress declare that since the
unprovoked and dastardly attack by Japan on Sunday, December 7, a
state of war has existed between the United States and the Empire of
Japan."
Almost immediately Congress declared war on Japan and three days
later, December 11, Germany and Italy declared war on the United
States. We were now fully involved, along with the British Empire.
The Republic of Ireland declared neutrality. Russia had been at war
with Germany since June and, although never officially, became an
ally of the United States. America and its allies were now at war
with the axis of Germany, Italy and Japan. World War 2, had begun in
earnest.
I, like other young Americans, living in different parts of
the country and having little in common except our American
citizenship, faced a future that would affect the remainder of our
lives. This, I held in common with untold numbers of other young
Americans. I was twenty one years old when America entered the war. I
was nine years old, the eldest in a family of four children, at the
time America entered the era of the Great depression. Like so many
Americans, my family suffered through those trying years thinking

that poverty was here to stay. This was about to end, as America
tooled up for war, and the factories began to hum.
I was exactly the right age for military service and aware that I
would be hearing from my local Draft Board and soon be inducted into
the army. Like so many other American young men, I was eager to do my
duty and welcomed this call to serve. Kalamazoo was not the most
exciting place in the country and, I must admit, military service
appealed to my adventurous nature almost as much as my patriotic
fervor.
I lacked a college education and was inducted into the United States
Army with the grand rank of "Buck Private". The following is my
memory of induction into military service. On August 13, 1942, after
months of waiting, I was called to the induction center. There must
have been fifty of us, all standing there, "buck naked", damned glad
it was August and not a cold Michigan day. One by one we were called
before a doctor to see if we were breathing and send us on to be
processed and made "Government Issue", or for short, "G.I. A few
minutes later we took the oath and were officially in the Army of the
United States. A Sergeant took us aside, told us we were being sent
to Fort Custer, Battle Creek, Michigan, on August 27. I had just two
weeks left to be wearing civilian clothes.
At Fort Custer I was outfitted with an Army uniform and assigned to a
barracks with a lot of other raw recruits. A very unfriendly Sergeant
called us to attention, told us what poor specimens of humanity we
were and, from this time on, our scrawny bodies belonged to him until
we were shipped out for basic training. In the words of a popular
song of the era, "This is the army Mr. Jones, no private rooms or
telephones. You had your breakfast in bed before, but you won`t have
it there any more." Whoever wrote those lyrics must have spent time
in the army, as a Private.
It was there at Fort Custer, I received my first duty assignment. I,
along with two other "rookies," were handed gunny sacks, neatly
arranged for hanging over the shoulder, and each a stick with a nail
protruding from one end and told to "police" the area. We spent most
of the morning stabbing at litter on the ground and neatly placing it
into our sacks. One of my fellow "Sanitary Technicians" was a guy,
somewhat older than the rest of us, and exceedingly
short and
paunchy. With "great sensitivity," we kept ourselves amused by
badgering the poor soul with various terms alluding to his lack of
manly stature. Later, during a coffee break, we discovered that he
was a member of the Michigan legislature. This was the first time I
learned the valuable lesson, to not judge my fellow soldiers by their
appearance or ethnic identity.
After a short, miserable stay at Fort Custer we were shipped out to
Camp McCoy, Wisconsin for basic training. Camp McCoy, then, was still
under construction and being used, mainly, for the housing of "Enemy

Aliens", Germans, Italians and Japanese, as well as being readied for

the thousands of troops who would be trained there, many to go on for
the invasion of Europe. When American troops arrived for training, it
was then, we came in contact with the 442nd Infantry Regiment
comprised of Japanese Americans, most of whom, had families living in
the territory of Hawaii.
As usual, the army gave us no indication as to what service we were
assigned to. We were told that we were temporarily assigned to the
M.P.E.G, Military Police Escort Guard. As a matter of fact, we were
neither Military Police nor Escort Guards. Our sole duty was to stand
guard over the Enemy Alien camp at night and go through basic
training during the day.
It was here that young Americans, like me, first learned that it was
wrong to judge people by the color of their skin or by their
ancestry. If the army taught us anything, it was that we, young
Midwestern boys, had to face the realities of life and adjust our way
of thinking if we were to succeed in life, in the army or as
civilians. One night on a bus, returning from a night out in La
Crosse, I was seated next to a young Japanese American guy from the
442nd. We were discussing an incident that had taken place recently.
It seems that two of the Japanese- Americans from his unit had been
found murdered and an investigation was underway. The "scuttlebutt"
was that they had been killed by some guys from an infantry unit. He
went on to say that he couldn't understand how American soldiers
could harbor such hate for one another. He explained that at the time
of the Pearl Harbor attack they were in training at "Pearl" and had
not yet been given any rifle training. At the moment of the attack,
they were called to duty, issued rifles, and told to fire at those
f****** ""Japs." He said, "Not one of us hesitated, because we were
American soldiers, defending our country".
We were taken through basic training by a "Sergeant from Hell." He
marched us until we dropped, had us do target shooting until we could
no longer see the target, had us peeling potatoes until we hated the
sight of the damned things and, in general, made life absolutely
miserable for us. We had no inkling of what we were being assigned to
until the Sergeant introduced us to a new cadence marching verse. As
I remember it went something like this, "Eyes right, a** holes tight,
Foreskins to the rear, we're the boys from Camp McCoy, and we've got
gonorrhea."
When we asked him what all that meant, he replied, "It`s God damned
appropriate for all you f******* medics. " Now we knew we were in the
Medical Corps. and wondered what experiences lay ahead for us in the
days to come.
As all "good" things" do, basic training came to a finish. Our basic
training period had been short and we all hoped we would be up to
whatever lay ahead. The Sergeant called us together before our

graduation march, told us we were now soldiers and that he was proud
of us. Somehow, all our ill feelings vanished and we came around to
thinking he was a "great guy."
Immediately, I was assigned to the Camp McCoy Station Hospital,
became a "Ward Boy", and wound up doing all the, less attractive,
duties that the Officer nurses chose not to do, and doing it with a
with a smile and a salute. Along with my other duties I was assigned
to a number of classes taught by the doctors and other personnel.
It was during these sessions that I met my best buddy, Glen McQueen,
whom I was to serve with during much of the war. We all called him
"Mac." He was one of those guys who truly had "savoir- faire." Six
foot tall, a good physique and a somewhat handsome face, topped by a
full head of black, wavy hair. "Tall, dark and handsome," fitted his
description exactly. Since I was not exactly the most sophisticated
guy on the planet, Mac, always ready with a smooth line, "took up the
slack," and made our social life more pleasant. We became known as
the "Gold Dust Twins," since we always traveled together. It is this
sense of camaraderie in the service that makes war time friendships
so special.
Our training fo medical duty consisted of courses which would make us
valuable as aides to the nurses and doctors and also consisted of
training for the field. One lesson that made a strong impression on
me was the proper way to remove a wounded soldier from a disabled
tank. It was this course that made me wonder if we were soon to be on
the battlefield. Unlike the movies, most of my buddies and I, did not
long to be assigned to the infantry for heroic combat duty.
One day while off "ward duty" Mac and I were chatting with a Captain
with whom we had become familiar. All doctors held the rank of
Captain or higher. He asked if we would like to assist him during an
examination. We knew by the way he asked and the twinkle in his eye
that this was to be a farce of some kind. He was known for his love
of practical jokes, many not always in line with medical ethics. The
examinee was a member of the Women`s Army Corps. in for a
gynecolological exam. Clad in white surgical gowns, looking much like
young interns, we stood by as the Captain performed his examination.
This was followed by a burst of hilarity after the "Doc" dismissed
her. Such lack of insensitivity was rare and not typical of the
behavior of Officers or enlisted men. Later that day we passed the
young lady in the main corridor. She took a very contemptable look at
us in our enlisted mens uniforms and, in a very unladylike manner,
called us "dirty bastards," a not "Ladylike" expression for a not
"Gentlemanly like" incident.
One of the "off the cuff", lessons we received during training was
from an Officer in the office of the Adjudent General. Along with
legal advice, he often gave us bits of "army wisdom." Concerning our

demeanor, he advised us that, while walking on the hospital campus,

to carry, very conspicuously, a sheet of paper and walk, very
briskly, as if on an errand. This, he emphasized, would save us many
hours of extra duty being assigned to us by an overeager Seargant.
Finally, after two weeks of training by doctors and nurses we were
assigned to the wards. I was given a promotion to T/5, CorporalMedical Technician, a rank I continued to carry throughout the war.
After going overseas, the old lyric kicked in, "There will be no
promotion this side of the ocean." I was assigned the duty of
supervising eight Privates for ward duty. This was my first
experience in supervision and led to an incident which gave me much
satisfaction. During basic training I had committed some
"unforgivable sin" and was banished to the kitchen for a week of
Kitchen Police, better known as "KP." As all old soldiers know,
"Police" had nothing to do with this inglorious assignment. This was
simply a means for some damned Sergeant to "vent his spleen" and for
the kitchen to get extra help. I believe that in the sixteenth
century many ships were manned by a "shanghaied crew." This was the
Army`s way of getting extra hours of a soldier`s time without any
reward for extra duty and punishing him for his indiscretions. For
that unforgettable week I took orders from a Mess Sergeant who ground
out orders like meat going through a sausage grinder. The tiniest
infraction of his rules like taking a glass of milk, without his
permission, would result in the full force of his temper coming down
on one like a full blown hurricaine. He was truly, "The Devil, In
Chef's Clothing`.
Now, that I was an NCO, with all the "authority" that implies, I was
regularly checking into the ward, soldiers who had fallen ill or who
just found some reason to be assigned to the hospital, many, just for
some time away from the duties of the day and a chance to relax. One
day, "When what, to my wondering eyes should appear," but my old
"Comrade in Arms", the Mess Sergeant, with nothing but a bad head
cold. The Army had, a ,not so technical, name for his distress. The
term "Goldbricking" is far too tame. The other crude term is better
not repeated here. I was very happy to accommodate my old comrade and
immediately assigned him to a bed. With a smile on his face, he
settled in for some rest and relaxation. Much to his chagrin, he soon
found out that this was not to be the case. Vengeance was in my heart
and this was my golden opportunity to even up the score. He seemed
utterly unawaware that in the hospital he was duty bound to take
orders from hospital personnel, regardless of inferior rank.. As an
ambulatory patient he had to perform whatever housekeeping duties
assigned to him. I had no problem in finding a job for him to take
his mind off the boredom of the day. For those of you, former
soldiers, who are thinking, "Latrine Duty", I can only say that you
are so right in your speculation. I armed him with a toilet brush, a
mop and bucket and gave him immediate employment. It was apparent

that he had no desire to perform these menial tasks and informed me

that I should remember that he held the rank of Sergeant. With joy in
my heart, I, very authoritatively, pointed out to him that there were
no stripes on his bathrobe and that his immediate concern was to have
the latrine ready for Saturday morning inspection, "Vengeance is
mine, sayeth the Lord," but, for this one shining moment, "Vengeance
was mine", and I enjoyed every damned second of it.
With the compliance of the Captain, we kept him in the hospital for
a few extra days. I`m sure he was more careful about his treatment
of other lowly privates he held sway over. He had just experienced
the old adage, "What goes around, comes around."

CHAPTER 2
As the days wore on, life was a series of daily routine duties and we
were becoming somewhat restless. Although the time we had spent in
the army was short our youthful outlook made the days seem endless.
Many of the units on the base were moving on. This made us hope that
we would be next and go on to some other experiences. We had no idea
what things awaited us but anything was better than spending the war
in the Army at Camp McCoy, Wisconsin as "Ward Boys." Didn't Gen.
Patton say to recruits that they didn`t want to have to tell their
grandchildren t they spent the war shoveling horseshit at an Army
Cavalry base?
We didn't have to wait for long for we suddenly got the news that the
306 Station Hospital was being sent overseas. With typical Army
retisense to tell the enlisted man anything, we were told absolutely
nothing except to pack our belongings and be ready to move. With the
enlisted man`s penchant for finding out everything, we soon found out

that we were headed for the European Theater of Operations, or for

short, the E.T,O..
On October 31, 1942, Halloween being an appropriate day, we received
our shipping orders. Everything we possessed was crammed into our
duffle bags, and we were on our way to the train station, all "very
comfortable," in a "luxurious" army truck. Arriving at a train depot,
we hastily boarded a car that looked as though it had seen service in
the Civil War. Once on the train, we eagerly awaited some legitimate
information as to our destination. True to army form, none came.
Finally, after many hours, card games and an occasional snooze, we
arrived in Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada. The year was 1942 and the
war in Europe was in full force. Britain was in a state of deadly
peril and the arrival of the "Yanks" was considered a blessing to
their hopes of defeating the Germans. In any event, we were now about
to board a troop ship and make the dangerous crossing across the
North Atlantic to relieve our British Allies. That America was fully
engaged in this war was borne out by the hundreds of thousands of
American soldiers waiting to board the many troop ships crowding the
harbor.
Upon our arrival at the harbor, we boarded the RMS Mauritania for our
trip across the North Atlantic to Great Britain. We boarded the ship
in the late afternoon. After a "fine meal" of "good" mutton stew, we
were told to choose a spot on the long mess table for our gear. This
is where we would sleep and, "Be sure to be out of there as soon as
reveille is over because the RAF will be using the table for
training classes."
We were allowed to roam around and get acquainted with the ship. Mac
and I ventured into an area where a number of RAF {Royal Air Force
guys} were singing Bless `Em All, which was a popular British wartime
song. The lyrics, "Bless `em all, the long, the short , and the tall"
,etc. were constantly repeated with the "Bless" almost always
replaced with another four letter word, better not repeated here.
Soon we were joined by more fellow "Yanks." American- British unity
was already beginning to take place. As the Mauritania got underway
we were engrossed in making friends and having a "Jolly good time, as
the "Limeys" would say,
After a nights rest on that hard table, we got the signal to clear
out, which we did without hesitation. Gazing out a porthole,
expecting to see the open ocean, we found out that we were back in
port. As we gazed out at the harbor, Mac turned to me and said, "What
the hell is this? "I thought we were underway." It didn't take long
to find the answer to that query. It seems that during the night we
had run into a "Wolf Pack." That was the name, Admiral Donitz, the
Commander of the German navy, gave to his submarines, which hunted in

packs, awaiting Allied shipping. We were traveling without a convoy

and were a likely target.
Before long we, once more, got underway. With the unbounded optimism
of youth and a feeling of invincibility, we never gave another
thought to the danger we faced in crossing the North Atlantic without
a convoy, depending only on the speed and maneuverability of this
great ship. Ships capable of traveling fast steered a zig zag course,
without accompanying vessels, making them difficult to target.
True to British tradition, a daily shot of rum was provided to all on
board. As I recall, we approached a small makeshift bar and were
doled out our portion. The only "fly in the ointment" was that the
U.S. Navy did not permit drinking on board its ships. Even though
this was a British ship, American personnel were bound by American
Naval rules. This was handled very neatly by the British by simply
doling out a portion of ginger beer, a British soda pop, to the
Americans. Never to be outdone, we simply accepted the soda pop,
exchanged our soft drink for rum by handing a couple of cigarettes to
our British brethren and accepting their gracious exchange of rum for
ginger beer.
Another bit of culture shock was the difference in what the "Limeys"
thought of as tasty cuisine and what we thought of as "good grub."
The, too frequent, serving of mutton stew did not bode well for the
"Yanks", and resulted in a considerable amount of grumbling on our
part. Other than that, and similar differences, the next few days or
so went off without incident and a surprising amount of goodwill
developed between us and the "Limeys."
Finally, after several days of boredom and bad food we arrived in
Great Britain and were hastily put on a waiting train for our final
destination.
We were all anxious to see what England looked like but we were
traveling at night and the windows were blacked out in compliance
with "blackout" regulations. The British strictly enforced these
rules because of the possibility of giving the Germans a target on
their nightly flights over England.
Our Executive Officer, Capt. Lebowitz, a balding man, somewhat
overweight and a chain smoker, had preceded our arrival, having
boarded the train at Southampton to accompany us to our destination.
He soon appeared on the scene to address us when suddenly a loud roar
was heard directly above the train. Certain that the plane would hit
the train, we all hit the floor, "scared, out of our wits."
The only one standing was Capt. Lebowitz. With a big smile on his
face, he said, "Gentlemen you have just been welcomed to the United
Kingdom by the U. S. Army Air Force."
At long last, the train came to a stop,

somewhere, just outside the

city of Bournemouth. We were immediately trucked to an Army camp,

given a barracks and told to get a good nights sleep. We found our
bunks and then the "bitching" began. On the bunk was a rather plump
mattress but when one lay down, it suddenly became apparent that what
appeared to be a mattress was, in reality, a bag of straw. Later we
found out that the British had arranged this for us since it was a
part of the "Lend-Lease" arrangement America had made with the
British. The whole damned camp was a British creation, and not one to
become fond of. The upshot was that we were so damned tired that we
slept as though we were sleeping on the best mattresses money could
buy.
Without regard that we were all in need of more rest after our long
journey, reveille, sounded as usual. After standing for roll call we
were dismissed for "Mess." Although we had been severe critics of
army food, the sight of good old American style bacon and eggs,
tended to soften our criticism, at least for the moment.
After "mess" The Company was called to order and we were given the
"Orders of the Day.' It seems that we were in a "holding area" and
quarantined for several days, during which time, we would be
responsible for housekeeping duties. The Sergeant then introduced
Capt. Lebowitz, our never to be forgotten, Executive Officer. What
followed was so damned comical, coming from this balding, overweight
and pompous, unmilitary like Officer, that I am sure every G.I.,
there at that moment, will remember it to his dying day. I`m sure, I
will. The Captain addressed us, as I recall it, "Gentlemen, you are
now a part of the European Theater of Operations. Your conduct here
will be vitally important in bringing victory to our forces against
the German Tyranny. God Bless you and the American Army." He,
finished with, "Always remember, when off duty, that you are here as
conquerors, not to be conquered by the harpies of the streets." He
ended with a military salute that would have made Gen. Eisenhower,
himself, proud. Dr. Lebowitz had transformed himself into a military
conqueror and satisfied his deepest longings, which, I`m sure, he
usually only carried out in his fantasy life.
After several long and boring days, punctuated by crap games and
other "intellectual pursuits", the quarantine was lifted and we were
given an opportunity to visit Bournemouth. Immediately, the office
was filled with G.I.s requesting passes. As long as you knew your
name rank and serial number the request was granted.
Mac and I were among the first to get in line, receive our passes,
and board the truck for town. Dressed, as finely as we could, in our
dress uniforms, we joined in the, rather ribald, singing as the truck
bounced along taking some very enthusiastic, young and virile, men,
into the city. The word virile is used very purposefully since the
thoughts on all the passenger's minds concerned speedy liaisons with
the local girls.

Mac, who seemed ever knowledgeable about such things, steered me into
the lounge bar of a local pub. The lounge bar was a cut above the
part of the pub that served only the men. The lounge was for social
gatherings and included the more refined women and men of the
community and the occasional military Officer as well as a few
enlisted men.
Once, comfortably ensconced, in a neat little booth, Mac began to
size up the situation and decided to make his move. He moved, with
great suavity, to the table of two lovely, young ladies and soon had
them seated with us in our booth. Although I do not have a good
recollection of the young lady Mac was interested in, I shall never
forget the charming and petite girl I was partnered with. Doreen
Hazelwood, her real name, was everything one thinks of when we hear
the term, "English Beauty." The charm of her English accent was not
lost upon me and our conversation soon consisted of little details
about where we called home and our particular interests.
The barkeeper, having called, "Time, please." which was the signal
for closing, brought the usual query, "May I see you home?" Both
girls, having informed us that they would rather go home together,
had made it quite clear that their parents, mothers in particular,
did not have a fondness for soldiers when their daughters were
involved. Doreen did agree to meet me the following day and give me a
tour of Bournemouth. Always the tourist, and in this case, a quite
enthusiastic tourist, we arranged a place to meet. The following day
we met at the appointed meeting place. Doreen seemed eager to do her
duty in making a lonely G.I. welcome and this lonely G.I. was only
too eager to accept her services.
Doreen proved to be an excellent tour guide and knew all the places
of interest. Her knowledge of the history of Bournemouth was quite
extensive. She delighted in showing me all the sights and made my
stay in Bournemouth a quite pleasurable experience. One of her
favorite places was an old church of historical importance and it was
there that I came to realize how much different an American`s concept
of time differed from the British. During our visit I noticed a
beautiful brass spread eagle that served as the podium for the
Minister. The cleaning lady was polishing it and I made the remark
that it was a beautiful podium. She smiled and said, "Oh, this was a
gift from our late Pastor in the early 1700s." Being a "Yank", I
thought of the 1700s as ancient history. This gave me pause, and made
me realize how young our beloved country is.
My way of thanking Doreen was to have my mother send her a gift. As I
recall, she did receive a lovely blue sweater, was delighted, and
said she would treasure it.
Meanwhile the war on the continent was raging on and my unit moved to

a new location near Tidworth, a city located southeast of Wilshire.

It shares its eastern border with the Salisbury Plain, the site of
the famous archeological find, Stonehenge. Here we carried on our
duties caring for the soldiers, who were receiving tender loving care
from our beautiful nurses.
It was not only the nurses who brought smiles to our patients. The
Red Cross and the Salvation Army both sent some very lovely ladies to
visit with the soldiers. One incident that stands out clearly
happened during one of those visits. A young man of about twenty
years old, was in the hospital for a rather extended stay. He was an
avid reader and kept us busy supplying him with books from the
hospital library. During a routine visit from the Red Cross volunteer
he requested of her to get a copy of Pygmalion, a book he had
acquired in London, signed by the author. The lady explained that it
was next to impossible to obtain the autograph since this author was
quite elderly and ill and had a reputation of not being friendly to
autograph seekers, so the task would only end in failure.
That closed the subject until the Salvation Army lady made her visit
and the same request was made of her. Her reaction was somewhat
different. She, in a very motherly fashion, said, "Give me the book
and I`ll see what I can do." A week went by and the same lady
appeared and was eager to see the young soldier. Upon greeting him
she said, "Wait till you see what I have for you." With that. she
unwrapped a package and there was the soldiers book. She opened the
book to the flyleaf, and there, in boldly handwritten words, was the
following note, as I remember it, "If I signed every book for someone
who thinks I am the greatest writer since Shakespeare, I'd be doing
nothing but signing my name." Then, written with a flourish, was the
signature, George Bernard Shaw, This incident comes to mind every
Christmas when I make my donation in a Salvation Army kettle.
Mac and I were eager to see more of England and find a place free
from the ever present G.I. Having this in mind, we decided to take
leave and get as far away from places inhabited by people of our ilk
as we could. This led to us catching a bus and traveling as far away
from camp as we could .
Our bus ride took us to a town which seemed completely bereft of
servicemen. As all G.I.s do, we immediately found the nearest Pub and
settled in comfortably to enjoy a pint of beer. We were the only
customers and after a few moments of waiting, no one appeared to wait
upon us. Mac finally called out for service. Soon, a young lady
peered around an open door and said, quite breathlessly, "Oh, you are
Americans." I said, "We sure are, what did you think we were"? Her
reply was that she and her parents had observed us from the kitchen
and, just catching a glimpse of our boots, thought we were Germans.
We knew we had found the right spot and enjoyed a great afternoon
free from the hub bub of G.I. activity. This place showed no signs

of ever having been host to an American soldier. After an hour of

friendly chatter with the barkeep and his daughter we decided it was
time to get back to camp.
Before boarding the bus I looked around for a rest room.. Spotting a
toilet, I entered and went to the urinal to relieve myself. There,
written in bold letters on the wall was that old familiar refrain,
"Kilroy was here." There was no way in the world that one could find
a place in England that had not been visited by American soldiers.
We returned to our unit, ready to resume our duties but, as usual,
Mac and I were ready for our next outing and this time, we both
agreed, it was to be London, the capital of Great Britain, and one of
the great historical cities of the world.
The week following our bus trip had been exceedingly busy. Two guys
had been admitted for broken limbs and another for a severe case of
appendicitis. Between scheduling them for operations, working out a
schedule for the ward boys and covering for a nurse who had gone on
leave, as well as attending to my other duties, I had my hands full.
Mac also had experienced a hectic week and both of us were ready to
get a pass for the weekend and our trip to London.
Having secured a three day pass and arranged for one of the ward
boys, who was "Bucking for Corporal,", to cover for me, I was ready
to head for London. Mac had obtained a pass, too, although he had to
do some fast talking to get his.
In London, we went to Paddington Station. Across the street from the
station was Dickens Tavern, one of the many historic pubs in London.
As we entered the pub, Mac noticed a ,very old, lady with a small
glass of Guinness, half full. With his usual charm and savoir faire,
he walked over to her and inquired, "May I get you a drink, mother?"
To the delight and laughter of all around, she replied, as loudly as
she could, in a her high pitched, shrill voice, "I`ll have a `pint."
After a couple of "pints" we decided it was time to get to the Red
Cross Club in Piccadilly Circus, the Broadway of London, and settle
down for the night.
The Red Cross Club in Piccadilly, also known as Rainbow Corner, was
the headquarters for all G.Is when they visited London. A huge
building of several stories, with all kinds of hospitality available,
it was a magnet for all of us seeking rest and relaxation.
One of the attractions was the little office presided over by Adele
Astaire, sister of Fred Astaire, where she wrote letters to the loved
ones of the G.I.s telling them of her visit with their sons,
daughters or sweethearts. It was a very thoughtful way to support the
war effort and was highly appreciated by all of us. "Rainbow Corner"
also played host to such celebrated personages as Gen. Theodore
Roosevelt, Gen. Eisenhower, George Raft, Jimmy Stewart, Irving Berlin

and many others. Glen Miller did a broadcast there and also, Artie
Shaw, who performed there for the soldiers. Little wonder that this
was the most favored place visited by G.I,s when on leave in London.
Mac and I had just settled down for the night on the top floor of the
club with the sound of "Pom Pom" guns above us on the roof of the
building. "Pom Pom" was the name the British people called the antiaircraft guns that responded to the, almost, nightly bombings. Just
as sleep was taking over, we were aroused by a mighty explosion
accompanied by the intense shaking of the building.
In a matter of moments we were out of bed and dressed, prepared to
leave the building. Once out on the street, we observed the reason
for the blast. About four buildings down the street from the club a
V1 rocket had hit a building, tearing it apart, as though a giant
fist had come down on it. In no time at all, ambulances were on the
scene, and people covered in blood, crying out in pain, were being
removed from the wreckage. In that terrible moment I became aware of
the resilience of the British people. There was no panic, no
screaming, only a dogged determination on the part of the volunteers
to assist the wounded and bring order out of the chaos.
This should have been enough to spoil our weekend but, being young.
and feeling, indestructible ,we were undeterred and, after all, the
old Windmill Theater was still in business and the girls were still
there, awaiting the G.I.s.
The Windmill Theater, famous for never having closed during the worst
of the bombing of London had, by the time of the war, became a
burlesque house and a premier attraction for British and American
soldiers while on leave. The old theater has an interesting history
and has been portrayed on the screen in a film called, Mrs. Henderson
Presents,
It was one of those rare evenings in London, when the air was soft
and warm, ideal for outdoor relaxation. This, I mention, because it
was a tradition at the theater, when the weather was good, that the
patio at the rear of the house was open and customers and dancers ,
between acts, could enjoy a drink and conversation. Needless to say,
Mac and I took full advantage of this opportunity to "schmoose" with
the show girls.
Ensconced comfortably at one of the patio tables, we awaited the
arrival of the girls. They usually arrived as soon as the first
performance was over, still heavily "Made Up" with grease paint and
those long artificial eye lashes in place. To my unsophisticated
eyes, this was the very zenith of feminine glamour.
Two "ladies" strolled by and, with great admiration, I watched as Mac
beckoned to them, and with a skill, usually observed only in the
movies, brought them to our table. After a moment of "sweet talk" by
my adroit companion the girls settled in comfortably. I was highly

impressed as he deftly proffered cigarettes to our "lovely"

companions. Within a moment, his Zippo lighter appeared, the cover
thrown back, and with a flick of his thumb, the flame appeared and,
it was at that moment, Mac's sophistication ,"went up in flames". The
streak of fire from the lighter rose fully four inches and licked at
those long artificial eye lashes. This was followed by a stream of
four letter obscenities from the young "lady" that would have made a
drunken sailor blush. So endeth our London trip, so endeth Mac's,
highly acclaimed "savoir faire", but it was only one of many trips
that we took to that great and historic city.
On another occasion, Mac and I had the privilege of visiting the
Royal Opera House, in London's Covent Gardens. Impressive as this
may seem, hundreds of" Yanks," nightly, made a pilgrimage to this
historic place of culture and refinement, not to experience the
opera, but to meet the girls and dance the night away.
Sometime during the war a decision had been made to convert the opera
house into a dance hall for the entertainment of the thousands of
military personnel in the city. The stage was prepared for the
accommodation of the large swing bands that would appear there and a
dance floor installed. In effect, this historic place had become a
night club. For the price of two shillings and six pence one became a
member of the club and entitled to free admission when in town on
leave. I can still hear, in my "moments of recollection." the music
of Ted Heath and other bands of renown, and those tender moments on
the dance floor, with a lovely English girl in my arms, as we swayed
to the music and, for a few shining moments, forgot the shadow of war
that always hung over us. There were other times when we were
"jitterbugging" or dancing to a love song and the wail of the siren
would be heard alerting us to a bombing and, if we so desired, retire
to an air raid shelter. Very often, the young\
lady in my arms would whisper in my ear, "Oh, lets just keep on
dancing."
Upon our return to the hospital we found that the 306th had received
a new arrival. This was a surprise because no one new had ever been
assigned to our outfit, unlike combat units who were often getting
replacements due to casualties suffered in battle. We were curious to
know why the young soldier had been sent to the 306th.
He was busy getting his gear in order when we introduced ourselves.
In our chat with him we found out his home was in Dayton Ohio. We
asked him how he became assigned to our outfit. His answer was, " I
don`t know." He went on to say he was doing guard duty at a place in
Alamogordo, New Mexico and he was in town in a bar when a civilian
struck up a conversation with him. As he told it, "This guy asked me
what duty I was performing in the army." He said he told him,
"Nothing important, I just stand guard duty at a gate to some damned
compound outside Alamogordo." He added, "Hell. I don`t even know

what the Hell is going on there." "At that point two other civilians
walked up, took me by the arms and walked me outside to a waiting
car, drove me to my outfit and turned me over to a Lieutenant." The
Officer simply said to me, "Stow your things in your duffle bag and
follow me. Following his instructions, I finished up stowing my gear
and with that the Lieutenant took me to a car and to the airport and
sent me here, Hell, up to this moment, I don`t know what happened and
why I`m here." I guess he never did know until the war was over.
This incident brought home to all of us how serious the military was
about security. "Loose lips, sink ships," had real meaning for all of
us and we were constantly on guard when chatting with anyone,
especially civilians.

Chapter 3
The patients were not the only ones to appreciate the charms of those
Lovely nurse Second Lieutenants' but we knew better than attempt to
socialize with Officers, a `sin,' requiring drastic action by
Superior Officers, if ventured by a lowly enlisted man.
My duties kept me in close contact with nurses and doctors, arranging
schedules for the "Ward Boys," schedules for medications and
assisting doctors and nurses during their rounds. It was impossible
to not become familiar with the nurses, and one beautiful young nurse
by the name of Rosemary, last name deleted, caught my eye to the
point that I broke through that invisible barrier and arranged a date
with her. Mac, never much concerned with rules, also arranged a date
with his favorite nurse and a double date was about to take place
that would have the inevitable consequences.
The bus arrived for the short ride into Salisbury. Mac and I found
our seats, discreetly separated from our dates so as not to appear to
be accompanying Officers. Shortly thereafter, arriving at our
destination, we proceeded to the nearest pub, and, with our dates,
began imbibing the best of what British brewers had to offer. Our
conversation gradually became more stimulating and our relationships
becoming ever more intimate, we were off to a wonderful evening. At
just before 11:00, the booming voice of the bartender resounded
throughout the pub. "Time please", the dreaded call, that meant we
could order only one more drink before the bar closed. This was

usually followed by a rush to the bar by the patrons, many of whom

still had unfinished drinks at their tables.
Knowing the rules of the game, we decided to move to one of the pubs
that catered to Officers and remained open after the usual closing
hours. The local officials were well aware that, "rank has its
privileges." The man at the door listened patiently as Mac explained
how the young lady with me had nursed me back to health from a
serious illness, "And now, my buddy John, and Rosemary, the lovely
nurse with him, are celebrating their engagement". Mac's story so
impressed the doorman that he made no objection to our presence in
the club.
Although Mac and I were the only non-Officers in the room, no one
seemed to notice and our evening continued on until closing time. As
we made our way through the crowd exiting the room, our arms
encircling our dates, I looked up and, catching my eye, was the
Company Commander. His look of disapproval, I knew immediately, was a
harbinger of things to come.
The results of having encountered the Company Commander, the night
before, under the previously mentioned circumstances, were not long
in coming. Mac was the first to heed a call to the Office immediately
after Mess., and upon his return to the barracks, informed me he had
been told to pack his belongings and leave on the truck parked
outside the Commander's office. He knew not, where he was headed.
Mac packed his gear and we both walked over to the waiting truck.
Before he climbed aboard, we shook hands and wished each other well.
I never saw Mac again, until we were discharged and home, once more,
in Kalamazoo.
I was the next to get the call to meet with the Company Commander.
His directive was quick, brusque and direct. "Tomorrow morning, be at
the roadside with your belongings in your duffle bag and meet the
truck when it arrives." "Do you have any questions, Corporal?"
My answer was quick, brusque and direct. "No Sir," followed by a
salute. The answer was a snappy salute and a, "Dismissed, Soldier."
Feeling somewhat, depressed at having lost my buddy and being sent to
"God knows where," I climbed aboard the truck the following morning
with a number of other "F***Ups, "but damned glad I hadn't lost my
stripes.
The truck rambled on for several miles until the driver pulled over
and hollered back at us, "You guys wanna stop at this pub and have a
beer?" The question was, of course unnecessary, and we all
disembarked , much heartened by this magnanimous gesture.
Along with the other guys, I dropped to the ground, faced forward,

and lo and behold, there was Capt. John Hummer, leaving his seat
alongside the driver. Capt. Hummer was one of the enlisted men's
favorite Officers and a resident of my hometown. His greeting to me
was, "John, what the Hell are you doing here?" I replied, "I might
ask you the same thing, Captain." Such was the informality that
existed between he and the enlisted men with whom he was well
aquainted. He was an excellent doctor, a fine Officer and a real
gentleman.
Once, inside the pub the G.I.s quickly received their "pints" and
were noisily swapping stories. Capt. Hummer and myself, knowing each
other well and, having come from the same outfit, as well as both of
us being residents of Kalamazoo, took a booth, and over a pint of
Guinness, began our stories of how we came to be on this particular
journey. I recounted my encounter with the Commander regarding
fraternization with Officers and the penalty I suffered. Capt. Hummer
laughed and said he had even a better story to tell. As he recounted
it, he and another officer had been on a date with two nurses and had
imbibed a little too much of "Old john Barleycorn," and upon
returning to camp one of the party dared him to go to the Commander`s
quarters and awaken him. He said," Having had one too many, and
taking the dare, I went into his hut, shook him, and with my
flashlight, blinded him and backed out. Unfortunately, I was unable
to stifle a laugh. Big mistake! The Commander, now fully aroused,
recognized my laugh, and bellowed out, "John Hummer, you S.O.B, I`ll
make you pay for this," "So here I am with the rest of you "F***ups."
He went on to assure me that we were not only assigned to the same
place but were going to Torquay, on the south coast of England, to
care for an encampment of soldiers training for the invasion. We
would be responsible for their day to day medical problems. He said,
"This is going to be dammed good duty, since this is one of the best
spots in England, as close to tropical weather as you will see over
here, and we will be on our own, to do, as we see fit".
After dropping off the guys on the truck at their assigned
destinations, we finally arrived at the lovely seaside town of
Torquay, to this day, stll known as an integral part of the "English
Riviera." It is no wonder that the famed British author, Agatha
Christie, chose to live most of her life here in this, almost,
tropical like paradise.
Wartime Britain was in no position to have its beaches inhabited only
by vacationing sun bathers and the long stretches of barbed wire that
covered those beaches stood in stark testimony to the fact that
England was at war and fighting for its life and freedom.
In Russia, soldiers were being sent to the Eastern Front for
improper behavior and Torquay was our, "Eastern Front." Of course,
being `good and obedient soldiers," we would do our best to cope

with the cards life had dealt us.

The encampment, covering several acres, was located on the outskirts
of town. The troops were housed in tents. We soon found our spot, a
large Quonset hut, neatly made up, sleeping accommodations for six
and an office and lab. This was to be our home and workplace until
further notice.
We quickly staked out our cots and proceeded to make our areas as
comfortable as possible. Capt. Hummer and I took an inventory of the
things we required in the lab and then we sat down over a cup of
coffee to discuss our routine.
Each morning we would take care of the needs of the soldiers on "Sick
Call." He explained that, at times, he would not be available as he
would, undoubtedly, have connections in town that might require him
to spend the night there. He said he was sure that I could handle the
routine cases by myself but he would leave me a telephone number
where I could reach him in case of an emergency. I was well aware of
the fact that one did not question a Superior Officer about his off
base activities. He then went on to say that he would arrange a, not
too early, sick call. He then instructed me to tell the Mess Sergeant
that he would like to confer with him.
The Sergeant, a large bulky man, heavily tattooed, and florid of
face, responded quickly, and gave a proper salute to Capt. Hummer,
which was returned in proper military manner. Capt. Hummer began,
"Sergeant, We are here to care for the personnel stationed here and I
want my men, and soon there will be more of us, to get plenty of
rest, so it would be appreciated if you would have breakfast for them
even if their arrival is somewhat late, thus giving them time for
some extra sleep time in the morning." The Sergeant assured Captain
Hummer
that this would be no problem but he had a favor to ask of him. The
Captain, knowing, "Quid pro quo," said, "Mention it, and it's done."
He then explained that he often suffered from a severe hangover in
the morning and would appreciate a doctor approved remedy. With that,
Captain Hummer made up a concoction and showed me how to prepare it
for the amiable Sergeant. As I recall, it had a very solid base of
codeine, and later received a very favorable reaction from the
Sergeant.
Our discussion continued, and being curious about his remark that
there would soon be more of us, I said, "Captain, Will we be
receiving some additional help?" His answer came in the form of a
question. "John, I`m sure you will be making some social connections
in town, and wouldn't it be nice to have some "wheels?" Without
hesitation, he received an affirmative answer. He then went on to say
that he was ordering an ambulance and driver. "I'll make sure that
the driver will understand that the vehicle is at your disposal at

all times," He said, with a smile. "I told you this would be good
duty, didn't I?" "Let's make the most of it."
The ambulance did arrive and it served me well as I became more
acquainted in the community. The driver, a Private First Class, was
a fine young man and fitted in very well with, our, rather "laid
back," style of living. We did, however, have one incident which
challenged our unmilitary behavior.
For some unknown reason, and, maybe, it was because the army had no
other place to put him, another Captain doctor appeared one day and
showed Capt. Hummer his transfer. We now had two Captains and two
enlisted men. That seemed a little heavy with rank.
It wasn't long before our new arrival, a young, "spit and polish"
Officer, made it known, in no uncertain terms, that our unkempt beds
and generally, sloppy housekeeping was not in line with what he
considered military demeanor. Dr. Hummer, I`m sure, considered this
an insult to his management and approached him a couple of days
later, after one of his rants about unmade beds. Confronting the
young Officer with fire in his eyes, he said, "Captain, "What was the
date of your commission"?
Without a moments hesitation he blurted out the date to Capt. Hummer.
The response was almost immediate, Capt. Hummer said, "Captain, my
commission is of a much earlier date and this puts me in complete
command here, and furthermore, my staff and I are quite satisfied
with our lifestyle. Is that perfectly clear"?
The young Captain Answered with a quick, "Yes Sir."
I am still of the opinion that the young Captain`s transfer to
another location the following week had something to do with this
clash of opinions between the two Officers.
Another incident, which I recall with great relish, happened one
evening when we were seated outside of our hut chatting. A Sergeant
from one of the infantry outfits showed up, rifle in hand, and
joined us. He said, "Wanna see a demonstration of how we train the
men in rifle handling?" He then proceeded to break down the rifle
into its separate parts. "Now watch this", he said. He closed his
eyes, and in a flash, put the rifle back together in record time.
Capt. Hummer, without verbal response, reached over and took hold of
the rifle. In a few short seconds he then proceeded to dismantle the
piece. He closed his eyes, and with a few deft movements, much faster
than the infantryman, reassembled the rifle. Then, breaking his
silence, Capt. Hummer said, "Soldier, I learned this little maneuver
in the National Guard, long before being sent over here. Not all
medics are unfamiliar with firearms."
Not all duty here was "fun and games", and meeting the day to day
needs of the troops kept us busy. There were plenty of situations
which required our response, although most situations were not of a
highly serious nature. These were highly trained combat troops,

having been already trained for battle before arriving at this

station. They were not engaging in maneuvers which resulted in severe
injury or worse. Most of our cases were merely first aid, although we
did have occasional situations in which, after initial treatment, we
took the patient to a nearby hospital.
We did have some inkling that important moves in the war were about
to take place. Often at night, in the darkness, German reconnaissance
planes would appear overhead and shoot tracer bullets, hoping for
return fire, thus establishing the location of the troops. One night
they dropped a small personnel bomb which landed on a china shop on
the outer perimeter of the encampment. What we saw in the morning
would have had a collector of "fine China "climbing the walls."
Just to be on the safe side, we dug a small trench and when a plane
appeared overhead we would climb in until all activity ceased. One
night, Capt. Hummer and I took to the trench for cover. During our
descent into the trench I brushed against something and received a
small cut on my wrist. Upon seeing the bloody wrist, Capt. Hummer
said. "OK, John, now I can put you in for a Purple Heart."
I, of course, declined the offer. The Purple Heart is given to those
wounded in battle as a tribute to their sacrifice and heroism. I am
sure, Captain Hummer was speaking in jest, knowing I could not, in
good conscience, accept his offer.
Monitoring the news every day, we were very much aware of the
mayhem being carried on across the Channel. Hitler had subdued most
of Europe and was keeping a wary eye on Britain where more and more
American, British, Canadian and allied forces were training for, what
he knew, would be the invasion of the continent.
Being in such close contact with these soldiers, who would be among
those to storm the beaches, made us very aware of the tremendous
responsibilities our nation had placed upon their shoulders. Many of
these young soldiers would be laying down their lives to keep alive,
what was left of, law and order in Europe. We were also aware of the
other Allied forces, in camps such as these, who were also called
upon to keep alive freedom and democracy. We were young, but not too
young, to know that what happened on those beaches would make Europe,
either free or slave and, in time, threaten the security of the
United States. For those of us who would not be compelled to make
that trip across the English Channel and face the carnage of the
invasion, it strengthened our resolve to care well for our brave
combat soldiers.

Chapter 4
The year was 1944 and the Stars and Stripes, the GI. newspaper, kept
us fully informed of what was happening across the English Channel.
Hitler's 1941 invasion of Russia, known as "Operation Barbarossa",
had proven a disaster and the attack on Pearl Harbor by the Japanese,
bringing in the Americans, had the German forces on the defensive.
Everyone realized that a turning point in the war had been reached.
The world held its breath awaiting the invasion.
Preparations for the invasion of the Normandy coast in France had
been made in 1943. President Roosevelt and Prime Minister Winston
Churchill had selected Gen. Dwight D. Eisenhower as Supreme Commander
and gave the plan the code name, Operation Overlord. The Allied
powers were now set on a course that would result in the greatest
military operation in the history of the world.
The Allies assembled a force of three million men and stored sixteen
million tons of ammunition and supplies in great Britain. The Allies
had five thousand large ships, four thousand smaller landing craft
and more than eleven thousand aircraft.
All along the south coast of Britain staging areas were set up for
the accommodation of the thousands of troops preparing for the
invasion. Torquay was one of these staging areas.
I remember clearly, getting up one morning, prepared to go to town

and meet the young lady with whom I had become acquainted. I stepped
out the door and it became crystal clear to me that I was not going
anywhere. This huge encampment was completely surrounded by British
and American soldiers bearing automatic weapons. From that moment on
security was absolute and complete. It was then that I realized why
large circus tents had been set up in the last few days and Officers
from all the outfits had been seen coming and going. Briefings were
being held, prior to, what all of us expected to be, the launching of
the invasion. What, I did not know, was that the invasion had been
set for June 5, but weather conditions in the channel were so bad
that the mission had been postponed until June 6.
In the wee hours of the morning of June 6,1944 we became aware of
frenzied activity in the camp. The sound of barked orders, the roar
of truck engines and the sound of booted feet made us realize that
the time had come. The invasion of the European continent was about
to become reality. Many young men would perish that day on the
beaches of Normandy, but many more would go forward into the heart of
Germany, in what Gen. Eisenhower dubbed, "A great Crusade."
The greatest armada in all of military history had been unleashed
that morning and a grateful world , to this day, pays homage to the
brave men who were willing to sacrifice their lives to wipe from the
face of the earth the evil empires of Germany, Italy and, ultimately,
Japan.
The Order of the Day. June 6 , 1944 from Supreme Headquarters Allied
Expeditionary Forces, as stated by General Dwight Eisenhower, Supreme
Commander was as follows,
Supreme Headquarters
Allied Expeditionary Force.
"Soldiers, Sailors and Airmen of the Allied Expeditionary Force!
You are about to embark upon the Great Crusade, toward which we have
striven these many months. The eyes of the world are upon you. The
hopes and prayers of liberty loving people everywhere march with you.
In company with our brave Allies and brothers-in-arms on other
fronts, you will bring about the destruction of the German war
machine, the elimination of Nazi tyranny over the oppressed peoples
of Europe and security for ourselves in a free world.
Your task will not be an easy one. Your enemy is well trained, well
equipped and battle hardened. He will fight savagely.
But this is the year 1944! Much has happened since the Nazi triumphs
of 1940-41. The United Nations have inflicted upon the Germans great
defeats, in open battle, man to man. Our offensive has seriously
reduced their strength in the air and their capacity to wage war on
the ground. Our Home Fronts have given us an overwhelming superiority
in munitions and weapons of war, and placed at our disposal great
reserves of trained fighting men. The tide has turned! The free men

of the world are marching together toward victory!

I have full confidence in your courage, devotion to duty and skill in
battle. We will accept nothing less than full victory!
Good luck! And let us beseech the blessing of Almighty God upon this
great and noble undertaking."
With this directive from the Supreme Commander and the hopes of all
free men, our troops went forward into battle. Before the day was
over, the events that took place on the beaches of Normandy would
herald a "new "Birth of Freedom" for the "Oppressed people of Europe"
and a new "Sense of security for ourselves" in a free world.
An eerie quiet now settled over this huge staging area. The sound of
bugle calls, the barked orders of the Sergeants and the noisy rush to
the mess hall by hundreds of hungry soldiers had suddenly become
stilled. The sounds of the camp had been transferred to the beaches
of Normandy and became the whine of bullets, the flash of rocket
fire, the explosion of heavy artillery and cries of pain from the
wounded and dying, as these brave troops struggled forward to free a
continent from the evil stranglehold of Nazi tyranny.
The only personnel left in the encampment was Capt. Hummer, myself
and the young Private who drove the ambulance. Our mission was
finished. Together, the Private and myself did a "Walk-through" of
the tents before they were struck and removed by the Quartermaster
Corps.
Left behind by the troops were those things they would not carry into
battle, bits of this and that they had acquired while on leave,
magazines and books they had been reading and the bric- a-brack that
magically collects around us as we move about.
One bit of memorabilia did catch my eye. lying on a cot, was a red,
hardbound copy of Tolstoy`s War and Peace, possibly the last book
this young soldier would ever read. With this thought in mind, I
picked up the book and there on the flyleaf, was the soldier's
signature, Jack C. Barnett. Through the years, this has been one of
my treasured mementos and I have tried repeatedly, to no avail, to
locate Jack, or his family, to return this bit of his wartime life to
its rightful owners.
The
the
our
for

Quartermaster Corps, with its usual efficiency, arrived toward

end of the day and removed the tents and all Army property except
quarters.. We would spend the night in our Quonset hut and wait
our orders.

Not having access to a mess hall, Capt. Hummer, the ambulance driver
and myself clambered aboard the ambulance, drove into town and had a
meal of fish and chips and returned for our last night in Torquay.

The following morning, Capt. Hummer called us together, and, now

having our orders in hand, informed us that we were to return to the
306 Station Hospital and the Private was to return to his outfit. A
vehicle would arrive to transport the Captain, and myself to the
hospital. I remember him saying, "Now, all we have to do is get back
and ready ourselves for the casualties that will be arriving from
Normandy. It won`t be long before we see what the term, "War is
Hell," really means,"
The hospital was now located outside the town of Cheltenham. The
Quonset huts were lined up neatly, concrete sidewalks connecting the
ward buildings. A mess hall was in place, barracks, quarters for the
Officers, a laboratory, sanitary facilities, and flying from a tall
flagpole, "Old Glory." The hospital was located on an area of
undeveloped land which provided the opportunity to carry on a
military program without disturbing the civilians who lived nearby. I
found the barrack
to which I was assigned and Capt. Hummer, being an Officer, had a
building which he shared with another Officer. We settled in for the
night wondering what tomorrow would bring.
The one thing that struck me was that the hospital had no patients
and that meant we were prepared for the arrival of casualties. It was
now well into the invasion. We had received word of the heavy
fighting and that the beachhead had been established and our troops
and the Canadians, as well as other forces, were now firmly
entrenched in Normandy.
Unlike the old 306th, the hospital had Military Police surrounding
it. It didn`t take long to find out that our patients would not be
American casualties, but instead, , German prisoners of war.
With the arrival of the new patients, a whole set of new problems
were encountered. All of this meant additional training.. We had to
become familiar with the rules of war, under, what was to become, the
Geneva Convention, regarding the treatment of enemy combatants, learn
to communicate with people of a foreign language and abide with
enhanced security regulations.
I was extremely busy for the next few days, assigning my men to their
wards, arranging duty schedules, and generally getting in sync with
the doctor I was working with, as well as getting to know the various
routines followed by the nurses.
Our first batch of patients arrived by train and we worked late into
the night getting them into the proper wards, taking care of their
medication needs and showing them, by our actions, that they had
nothing to fear. These were men who had been in the thick of battle,
weary and confused, not knowing what fate had in store for them, in

the hands of the enemy. Many had received severe wounds, others only
wounds severe enough that they could not function well enough to be
left unattended. The one thing they had in common was that most
would soon be ambulatory. Their quick removal to a hospital in
England must have been the need to get them across the channel and,
in case of escape, not having them return to duty.
While few of the prisoners spoke English and few of us spoke German,
it became apparent to us, quite quickly, that we had to teach each
other our languages. Out of this emerged a mixture of German and
English that, strung together in half sentences, allowed us to
communicate, if not fluently, at least well enough to function.
The one thing most of these men shared in common was their disdain of
Hitler and their nonparticipation in Nazi activities. Their
participation in the war was the result of the Draft and the now
familiar refrain, "I was only taking orders" defense. They uttered
it, we ignored it. There were exceptions, of course, and, as time
went by, some really did turn out to be anti-Nazi.
Our treatment of the prisoners was strictly according to
international law, in spite of our dislike of these," Nazi Supermen."
They were not forced to work, had food comparable to that fed our own
soldiers, allowed religious activities and housing equal to that
provided American patients. Treatment of their medical needs was of
the highest order of the time. Doctors, nurses and enlisted personnel
gave their level best in caring for their patients. Needless to say,
we had no escape attempts.
There were, however two types of prisoners. Combat soldiers had, very
visably, marked on their shirts, PW. "Prisoners of War," Medical
personnel had on their shirts, the marking, PP ," Protective
Personnel."Their non-combat status, allowed them special status under
the firmly established rules of war, later to become known as the
"Geneva Convention."
German medical personnel, Officers and enlisted men, were given the
opportunity to work with us in caring for the patients. Our doctors
now had additional help with the assistance of the German doctors and
my men had, much needed, help in carrying out their duties.
Life soon settled down into a daily routine. Many of the patients,
now ambulatory, seemed quite satisfied with the conditions we
provided for them and presented no problems for us.
Among the patients there were a few who were complete fanatics,
usually young and thoroughly "brainwashed." One such ,was a twenty
year old infantryman who. over and over, professed his loyalty to
Hitler and the Nazi doctrine. He had been severely wounded and was
scheduled for an operation.

At his scheduled time we wheeled him into the operating room. It soon
became apparent that he would need a blood transfusion. Since all the
American personnel had records on their "dog tags" of their blood
type, and many Germans had lost theirs, time being of the essence, it
was decided that one of the "ward boys" would "volunteer" to donate
the needed blood.
At the conclusion of the operation. He was returned to the ward. I
stood by him until he recovered from the effects of the anesthesia.
It was then that I gave in to an impulse that possibly could be
construed as "torture," and in violation of the rules of war. In the
best German I could muster ,with my limited fluency, I informed him
that he was now a Jew. His immediate response was, "Nein, Nein, which
in English is a very emphatic, "NO. NO!" I managed to get across to
him that one of the American soldiers had given him blood and that
the soldier was Jewish, therefore, he now had Jewish blood. I am sure
his reaction to my fabrication did not lead to his swift recovery.
The fact that the young man who donated his blood was not Jewish and
my deliberate attempt to cause this, "Hitler Youth," anguish, I
consider to this day, a contribution to the war effort, and more
deserving of a commendation than a rebuke. Thankfully I received
neither, for having inflicted a severe sense of discomfort upon a
"patriotic warrior" of the German Reich.
Many of the Germans had acquired quite substantial amounts of French
money and this was not lost on us as to the good times we could have
if we were to obtain this currency and convert it to British Pounds.
The Germans seemed eager to part with this booty, which they had
cleverly concealed when captured, in exchange for American
cigarettes. Having plenty of cigarettes we soon had pocketfuls of
French money, and now the trick was to make the conversion to British
currency. The post office had been ordered to make known, sums of
money beyond the amount Uncle Sam so generously showered upon us,
being sent home. The army seemed always watchful for G.I.
indiscretions. Since sending the cash home was not our first
priority, that was not an option we had considered.. The second
hurdle was to get an American Officer to sign off on our transaction
when we were on leave.
As soon as passes became available, Joe Feld, a good drinking buddy,
and a fellow Michigander from Detroit, and I took leave and headed
for London. Our first stop, the Red Cross Club in Piccadilly Circus,
to freshen up, change our francs for pounds and prepare for a
memorable weekend.
In the lobby of the club we spotted a young Second Lieutenant, with
all the earmarks of a "Ninety Day Wonder," and convinced him to sign
off for us, making it possible to make our currency transaction.

With a generous amount of the royal cash in our pockets

find the finest hotel in London that would admit a pair
enlisted men. The need to be free from being surrounded
G.I.s, of lowly rank, was a passion that engrossed most
while on leave, and we were no exception.

we set off to
of lowly
by fellow
soldiers

Although my memory fails me as to the exact hotel we settled upon, I

do know that all the military guests, except us, wore marks of rank
upon their shoulders. The secret to acceptance here was, not rank
but, an adequate amount of the "King`s Sterling."
We were escorted to our room by an elderly "Bell Boy," who treated us
with all the respect given to any of the guests, and graciously
accepted his tip with a "Thank you." and a salute. Having, at one
time, in civilian life, held the same position as he, I could not but
marvel at the fact that I was on the receiving line of this timeless
little ritual.
Our room was, indeed, first class and more luxurious than I was
accustomed to. Joe, seemed much more blas and was not as impressed
as I was. After a call for room service and having a couple of
drinks, quickly brought to us by a room attendant, we decided that
after a shave, s**t and shower we would "Do the town."
This was rapidly accomplished and we were soon on the street.
After hailing a cab and getting aboard, Joe instructed the driver to
take us somewhere where good food and drink was available as well as
some "action." He then placed a five pound note on the seat beside
the driver, which was hastily retrieved and an assurance given that,
"He knew exactly the right place." That much British currency,
roughly translated into twenty American dollars, a very hefty sum at
that point of time. "Money Talks."
After
fence
place
found

a short drive the cab pulled up

which cordoned off a bombed out
to begin our carousing. The cab
and opened a makeshift door and

in front of a construction
site. This seemed an unlikely
driver, without hesitation,
bade us, "Enter.

Once inside, we entered an opening into a bombed out building and

found a party was in "full swing". A rather nice bar, given the
circumstances, was doing a hectic business. There was plenty of food
in sight and a small band was playing for the dancing couples on the
floor. Eyeing up the single girls, we knew immediately that "action"
was available. It was, and Joe and I got back to our hotel very late,
or early, depending on how one looks at the clock. Our weekend came
and went, as did our "easy money." One thing we did learn was that
the "Black Market" was alive and well and almost anything was
available.

Chapter Five
Back at our duties, our natural impulse for fun took over. To liven
up the evening we acquired from the lab a quantity of pure alcohol.
Having plenty of grape juice on hand, we mixed the two together to
give the grape juice, "added flavor". The result was a delicious
refresher which, after inducing the nurses to join us, and noting
their lustful expressions of delight, we dubbed the cocktail, "Purple
Passion." I shall not belabor this yarn further.
As the war on the continent heated up we received word that the
bombing over Germany and the victories on land were taking its toll
to the point that Hitler began the recruitment of the very young and
the old. It was then that we received contingents of prisoners that
consisted of boys, some not even in their teens, and men well into
the latter stages of middle age.
Among these older prisoners was a man, in his late fifties, elderly
to me, who was assigned to me for ward duty. He was a very mild man,
somewhat confused as to why he was in the army. I kept him busy with
light duties and, to the degree possible, we became friends.

One late afternoon I walked into the office and found him sitting at
a table, his head in his hands, bent over the table and sobbing. I
walked over to him, placed my hand on his shoulder and
inquired, ,"What`s the matter?"
He raised his head, tears running down his cheeks, and lifting a
photo from the table. replied in his broken English, "This is a
picture of my wife and sons, all killed in the bombing." This
incident and the sight of these old men and very young boys, caught
up in a war, not of their making, caused me to realize that the
tragedy of war strikes both sides with equal vengeance,
It was now late into 1944 and the 306th had been in the UK for over
two years. This was not lost on the mind of our Company Commander. At
a Company meeting with him he broached the idea of having a little
celebration commemorating our service. He informed us that he had
obtained a spot in Cheltenham where he would set up a bar and social
area where, when off duty, we could go and, with our fellow G.Is,
celebrate our anniversary. His, much appreciated gesture was met with
a sincere round of applause.
Having an afternoon free of duty, I decided to invite one of the MPs
to accompany me. When we arrived the house was full , the Company
Commander made a toast and congratulated us on a "Job, well done."
After a moment or two of, "He's a Jolly Good Fellow," we settled down
to consuming the free beer.
My companion and guest, an extremely large and imposing MP, had just
told me how lucky we were to have such a fine Officer in charge when
the Commander walked over to where we were sitting, handed me am MP
arm band, and said, "Corporal, put this on and if any guys come in,
not a part of our outfit, tell them this is a private party and tell
them to leave." I said, "Sir, I am not an MP." His response was,
"Soldier, you are now," and walked away with a grin on his face."
Faced with this unpleasant duty, I remarked to my companion, "Damn,
I`ll get killed if I try to throw any of those infantrymen out."
He laughed and said, "John, if they come in just walk over to them
and tell them to get out."
"To hell I will. You want to see me get
killed?" I replied.
He said, "You don`t get it, do you?" He went on, "Tell them to get
out and then stand between them and the door and if they give you any
crap, invite them out to settle the matter." I said, "You've got to
be nuts." At this my friend was suddenly consumed with laughter.
After recovering his composure he said, "When you invite them out,
I`ll go out the side door over there, don't worry, You`ll be
alright."
As if on cue, two guys wearing combat boots and infantry insignia on

their shirts, walked over to the bar, obtained mugs of beer and
seated themselves. For me, Armagaddon had arrived. "Undaunted and
fearless", I approached them and gave them the message that they were
not welcome since this was a private party. Completely ignoring the
MP badge on my arm, they answered with a " Screw you, you f******
medic." Having faith and confidence in my companion, with some
reservation, I invited them outside. My invitation was immediately
accepted.
I walked to the door, my legs a bit wobbly, followed by the two
combatants. My friend, at the same time, went out the side door. Once
on the street, all Hell broke loose. Out of nowhere, one of the G.I.s
got a fist squarely in the face and the other a kick in the pants and
both moved rapidly down the street. My friend returned to the side
door and entered. Still, a bit dazed, I returned to my place at the
table where, my buddy was already seated, gave a salute to the
startled Commander, and sat down. I am sure, to this day, that
Officer is still wondering how that skinny kid managed to evict two
combat soldiers with "Chips on their shoulders."
As one of my duties was to have the wards ready for Saturday morning
inspection, I made my rounds on Friday afternoon. On one particular
Friday, I was summoned to the bedside of a patient who spoke fluent
English. He informed me that a patient, and he named the bed number,
was not getting a full portion of food and was always complaining
that he was hungry. I, immediately confronted the patient and, he
informed me that, Hauptman, a POW, that that had been a medic in the
German navy, and whom I now had serving the food in this ward, was
refusing him a full portion of food. From the look of him, I didn`t
doubt his word.
I headed back to the office, found Hauptman, and confronted him with
the fact that a patient was being denied his full portion of food.
Hauptman made no attempt to conceal the fact that he gave this
patient only minimal portions. I asked him why he would do such a
thing and got an immediate response. "Unter' Officer, that man is a
Waffen S.S. soldier, Look at the insignia on his uniform." All S.S.
had a "Black Patch Waffen SS" insignia on their uniforms. He
continued, "You take care of the office, I take care of the "SS,"
spoken in surprisingly good English. Needless to say, I sympathized
with his motive, but explained that we had to treat all patients the
same.
Saturday morning inspection went off without any problem, the
soldier in question had been given the proper amount of food and made
no complaints. The inspecting Officer, having given us an OK,
immediately departed and we went back to business, as usual. I was
ready for some leave time and knew Joe would be in line with me for a
pass and a trip to London.

Usual procedure before going on leave was to be sure all duty was
covered in my absence. I finished arranging schedules for the on duty
enlisted personnel and returned to the wards to see that all was in
order. Having determined that everything was shipshape, I turned to
the Private, on duty, and was discussing special needs for certain
patients when a terrific explosion shook the building Both, the
Private and I were knocked off our feet and some patients had been
thrown out of their beds.
Our immediate concern, after picking ourselves up off the floor, was
to ascertain the condition of our patients and determine the damage
done to the building. As soon as it was determined that no injuries
were suffered by the patients and the building seemed intact, I went
outside to see if I could discover the cause of the explosion.
An ambulance had arrived and a bomb crew, off in the distance, was
surveying a place where a huge cloud of smoke had formed. After
informing the driver that everything was alright with us, and
clambering aboard, we headed out to the bomb site. What I saw made
"my hair stand up straight." What if that bomb has landed on the
hospital, was my first thought.
The crater seemed big enough to have swallowed a large building. The
bomb crew soon left the scene, after taking note of the situation I
reflected upon what I had just seen.. Could this have been one of
Hitler's V2 bombs Could this have been one of the last V2s. that
found its way to England? It has been said that the V2 was a failure
and hit more uninhabited places than occupied areas but, at that
moment, it seemed a deadly weapon to me.
Never deterred by last minute interruptions, Joe and I headed for
London on a two day pass which we spent in "cultural pursuits." One
interesting few moments occurred while we were on a short train ride
to a place just outside of London, highly recommended by a fellow
G.I. as a great place to indulge ourselves.
Seated directly across from us in the train was a small British
gentleman, British trains have these little compartments, so much
like those seen on stage coaches in Western movies. We exchanged
pleasantries, and in so doing, he asked me where I was from, "In the
"States." I told him, Kalamazoo, Michigan. His face broke into a
smile and he said, "Oh I know that part of the country well." He went
on, "several years ago, I was in Chicago, looking for a shop where I
could construct neon signs and not having any success."He continued,
"I was eating in a little Italian restaurant and got talking to the
waiter and telling him of my problem." He reached into his pocket,
withdrew a business card, scribbled his name on it, handed it to me,
and said, "Here, take this card to the hotel named on it, stand in
line on the stairs until you are ushered into the room at the top of

the stairs. Give the man at the door the card, and you'll be taken
care of. I did as he suggested the following day. When I was finally
ushered in I saw a long Board of Directors table, and there, at the
head of the table was, none other than, "Scar face" Al Capone. I
recognized him immediately, having seen his picture in the newspaper.
I tell you, my knees were buckling and I was one scared little
Englishman." He went on to say that he was "taken care of," but it
was an experience he would never forget.
On another occasion, on one of those train rides out of London I
experienced a very enlightening moment while talking to a civilian.
The man sitting across from me struck up a conversation with me and
remarked, "I certainly admire the spirit of you `Yanks." He went on
to say, " I was taking this same train and a "Yank" was sitting
across from me and I inquired as to his destination. The train was
just beginning to move and I inquired as to his destination. He told
me and I told him he was on the wrong train, going in the opposite
direction. Without further ado, he simply grabbed the leather strap,
dropped down the window, jumped out onto the platform and
disappeared. That`s the kind of immediate action that will win this
damned war, Thank God, you are on our side."
On December 16, 1944, we received word that the Germans had mounted a
huge offensive, had broken through and created an extensive bulge in
the Allied lines. This was Hitler`s last desperate attempt to change
the course of the war and became known as the "Battle of the Bulge."
Although fighting was fierce, it was to no avail, and the end of the
war was now in sight, although peace would not come until May of
1945.
The New Year arrived and while we managed to celebrate in the local
pub it was a time when one felt very homesick, wondering if this
damned war would ever end, an emotion one felt every night when the
bugle sounded, Taps., signaling, "Lights Out."
The year 1945 seemed much like every other year, the same old
routine, the same "bitching" in the barracks and the same old duties
in the wards looking after the needs of the wounded enemy.
Spring had arrived and with the coming of April, we were on one of
our `voluntary' long hikes to condition ourselves before settling
down to the business of the day. It was a chilly day in April and we
were just approaching camp when a Sergeant came running over to us
shouting, "Have you guys heard the news?" Before we could respond, he
shouted, "The President just passed away." There was a moment of
complete silence among the group. As the portent of this shocking
news settled upon us, we all fell silent and tears arose in the eyes
of all six of us. We were the young men who grew from children to
adults, never having known another President, and one so dearly loved
by all of us. He was the leader who took us through the "Great

Depression" and led us in time of war. "He was always the "Master of
his Realm", and will always be remembered as the "Captain at the
Helm." April 12, 1945, "Now he belongs to the ages," to borrow a
phrase from Secretary of War, Stanton, upon the death of Abraham
Lincoln during the Civil War.
What had seemed just the beginning of a new year, suddenly turned
into a year filled with surprises. We knew that the Allies had agreed
to demand "Unconditional Surrender." We also knew that Hitler had
committed suicide and that this meant sure victory for the Allies. In
spite of all this, we were taken aback, when on May 5, 1945 the
surrender of Germany brought an end to the war in Europe. On May 8,
the surrender was signed. It was VE Day! The guns were silenced and
a war torn continent was, once again, at peace. The "Captain at the
Helm," had not lived to see us "Gain the summit of the hill."
Celebrations broke out throughout the United Kingdom and this meant
passes were being issued very liberally and it made it possible for
us to join in the celebration. Needless to say, Joe Feld and I were
now ready for a trip to London. London was in a high state of
euphoria when we arrived. People, everywhere, were still celebrating,
days after the war ended, and American G.I, s were treated as
heroes. Joe and I basked in the glory of it all, even though we had
not fired a single shot in anger throughout the war.

Chapter 6
After returning from leave I was making my rounds in the wards when
my Sergeant approached me and said, "John, looks like you have a new
assignment." I replied, "The Hell I do, I haven't done anything
wrong." He laughed and said, "No, its not punishment, you are going
on detached service to Belfast, N. Ireland with a Private to set up a
prophylactic station, you lucky dog." He continued, "That's a dammed
nice duty assignment."
May 8, 1945, I arrived in Belfast with Bill, my assistant, moved
into our new quarters and for the next couple of days made the place
"ship-shape." My station was set up in a storefront not far from the
center of town. It consisted of quarters for two and a facility to
service the soldiers before their return to camp. This was my station
and I was in complete charge, far from the commands of demanding
Sergeants. My subordinate was a young Private who hailed from the
Appalachians, a"Hillbilly," if you will. To my delight he even stood
in awe of a lowly Corporal. Needless to say, we got on very well.
Belfast is the largest city in Northern Ireland. N. Ireland is a part
of the United Kingdom and was fully involved in the war. It was here

that the Titanic was built in the shipyards of Harland and Wolfe. For
many decades many of the great ships of historical importance were
built there. Belfast also has a long history related to the linen
trade and it was known all over the world for its fine linen
products. Then, during the war Belfast had another claim to fame,
along with other cities in the United Kingdom, and that was its
surplus of "Yanks." The term, "Yanks," was a token of friendship
except when it was used by the mothers of eligible girls in the
community. In spite of this bit of "bigotry" the young maidens
seemed to find the "Yanks" good company and the dance halls were
constantly creating many "social relationships."
There were still enough "Yanks" to go around even though the war in
Europe was over. There was an Air Force base called, Langford Lodge
just outside the city and the troops were busy dismantling the base
and removing equipment while awaiting orders for their next
assignment. With the war still raging in the South Pacific, there was
little doubt as to where that would be. Needless to say, I was
wondering about the destination for the 306th, but for now, at least,
I was safely tucked away in Belfast. I did know, however, that since
we had not been in combat, the South Pacific might be our next
location and a combat area there.
My assistant was not eager to wend his way through the large city,
preferring to stay at our station, in the evening writing letters to
his girlfriend and parents. This made it possible for me to have the
evenings to myself. During the day there was little to do and it was
then I became acquainted with civilians on the street outside the
facility. One elderly lady and I had several interesting chats. On
one occasion, she told me she was a seamstress and invited me over in
the next street to see her shop. Not wanting to seem uninterested, I
walked with her to the shop. She was very proud of it and showed me
all her creations. We chatted for a few minutes and then she said,
"Would you be staying for Tea?" With that, she pulled aside a curtain
and there in the next room was a neat little restaurant. Her
smuggling connections in the Irish Free State, which was neutral in
the war, provided her with all the food and drink she needed to run
this fine little lunch room at this time of severe food rationing in
the United Kingdom. I could not know it at the time but this tiny
sliver of the "Black Market," would mark a turning point in my life.
Having heard of a dance hall, not ordinarily frequented by Americans
I decided to give it a try. Hoping to find some feminine
companionship, I sauntered into the club, approached the bar, ordered
a drink, and surveyed the scene for a possible conquest. There,
sitting at a nearby table with a young British Naval Officer, was the
loveliest Colleen I had ever laid eyes upon. Much as I wanted to ask
her for a dance, I couldn`t chance a rejection with that "Limey"
seated at the table with her. I bided my time and after a few short
minutes her date excused himself and left the table. Siezing the

moment, I strode over to her and asked her for a dance. Surprisingly,
she accepted my invitation and for several wonderful minutes I held
her in my arms as we danced to the romantic music the band was
playing. The dance, having ended, I escorted her back to her table.
The young Officer had returned and as we approached, the damned
"Limey," in his phony, uppercrust accent, said, "I presume, Peggy, my
dancing is too old fashioned for you." With that, he stood up and
strode off. Now, I knew her name, had vanquished her boyfriend and
had her to myself. This didn`t seem to bother Peggy, who seemed
almost glad to see him leave. I sat down with her, took her hand in
mine, and from that moment on, I was in love.
I wanted very much to escort her home but she made it quite clear
that her mother would not welcome me and it would cause her more
trouble than she was willing to bear. Before seeing her to the bus we
agreed to see one another the following evening. I was in "Seventh
Heaven," and felt, very much, like the character Gene Kelly played in
that wonderful dance sequence in the movie Singing in the Rain. It
seemed that all these events were taking place as though following a
movie scenario. I had been in Ireland for such a short period of time
and, here I was, already in love.
We met the following evening, and by the end of two weeks of ,every
night dating, had become a "Couple." We both realized that our
affair was more than just a "Passing Fancy." None of this would have
been possible without the collusion of Peggy`s sister, Betty, who was
always ready with an excuse for Peggy`s late nights.
It soon became quite clear to both of us that we were in love to the
point that we wanted to spend the rest of our lives together,
although I had not yet, "Popped the Question." The difficulties to
overcome seemed too overwhelming. Peggy was from an Irish Catholic
family. I was a Protestant, with ties to the Dutch Reformed Church,
the church of the most hated, King William of Orange, and, to top it
off, I was a "Damned Yankee" and a soldier from a far off country.
Then, and even today, in Belfast, Catholics do not marry Protestants
and, most certainly, not Protestants with ties to the Dutch Reformed
Church. Secondly, and even more disqualifying, was the fact that her
parents would be losing a beloved daughter and sending her abroad,
maybe, never to return. All this we knew, but two people in love are
blinded by their emotions to the extent that they are insensitive to
the feelings of others affected by their union.
One late Friday afternoon, after a stroll through the shops and a
light dinner in one of the many little curbside eateries that dot the
downtown streets of Belfast, we walked up the steps of the City Hall,
found a seat close to the great columns that grace that stately
building and sat down to chat. It was early evening, a light rain had
fallen during the day but the evening, was quite pleasant.

I told Peggy of my love for her but emphasized that if I could not
meet her parents it would be better to call the whole thing off
before we both got hurt in the process. She said nothing for a
minute, and then, with tears in her eyes, said, "OK, John, let`s go
home, right now."
Dusk had fallen, with a bit of chill in the air, as we walked up
Rockville Street and entered number 31, one of the little brownstone
houses that line the streets of Belfast. The tiny living room was
warm and cozy, heated by a neat little fireplace that threw long,
flickering shadows on the papered walls. A piano, sofa and chair
graced the room . All these homey images gave me a feeling of warmth
and security I had not experienced for a very long time.
No one being home, Peggy busied herself with making a pot of hot tea
and then went to the piano and played an old Irish tune. As I sat and
basked in the beauty of the scene, I kept thinking how much I would
love to spend the rest of my life with this lovely Irish girl.
The peace and tranquility of this heavenly moment was shattered as
Peggy`s mother arrived on the scene. Mrs. McKenny, although not a
large lady, to my eyes presented a very imposing figure. Peggy
introduced her mother to me. Mrs. McKenny, very graciously, shook my
hand, and then, with a pleasant smile, uttered the words, so often
spoken to young men in my position, "So, you are the young man who
has been keeping my daughter out to all hours of the night." My
response was, " Yes, Mrs. McKenny, I must plead guilty to that."
The evening was continuing splendidly with Peggy`s mother querying me
about all things Catholic. I was responding with many things I had
read about the Church and throwing in the names of a few Catholic
clerics. Fortunately, I had read so much history that included the
Church that I felt I was coming off quite well. Never once, did Mrs.
McKenny ask me if I was a Catholic, although Peggy told me later that
her mother concluded that I was a "Fallen away" Catholic.
The evening was getting late and then Peggy`s mother issued the
"Coup de Grace,"
"I know you boys always enjoy some home cooked food. Would you like
something with your tea?"
I answered, "Certainly Mrs. McKenny, I`d
like that very much, thank you." Then she said, "Well now, I have
some lovely fish and some delicious chicken, which would you prefer?"
It was then, I made my first mistake. I chose chicken, completely
forgetting it was Friday. I was served a delicious plate of roast
chicken , completely oblivious of the error I had just made.
Not all was lost, for I was invited back and spent all my evenings
there getting to know Peggy`s mother, father, sister and brother.

Peggy`s father was a quiet little man who worked for a local bakery.
He was very easy to talk to and we became friends very quickly,
spending some time at the local pub getting better acquainted. He was
a very broad minded man, certainly not a part of the religious
bigotry that consumed so much of Northern Ireland, and best of all,
not prejudiced toward American soldiers. I came to know her sister,
Betty, a lovely young lady, with a great sense of humor, and Peggy`s
ally in whatever Peggy wanted to do. Her brother, Seamus was the
typical teenager, unconcerned with his sister`s problems and more
concerned about my supply of "Yankee goodies." Mrs. McKenny and I
soon became good friends and my frequent visits with her during the
day, while Peggy was at work, sharing many laughs together, cemented
my relationship with the McKenny family.
Though I did spend many daytime hours away from my station, I did
cover for my assistant on those occasions he wanted to go to town. As
far as night time activities were concerned, he preferred to spend
his time reading or writing letters home.
As was to be expected, soldiers being at their base during the day,
we had few guys showing up at the pro station during daylight hours.
However there was an occasional G. I remember one such instance
because it had such a sad ring to it. A young man came into the
station and asked me if he could use the facility to shower and
shave. He said he was being married in a few hours and wanted to get
ready for the wedding. Upon receiving an affirmative answer, he
proceeded with his grooming and left, looking in great shape for his
plunge into matrimony.
Several hours later a lady and her daughter arrived and asked if I
had seen a soldier fitting the description she gave of him. I knew
immediately it was the G.I. I had seen earlier and confirmed that he
had been here.. I knew something was amiss by the sad look on the
girl`s face. Her mother then blurted out, "I knew this would happen.
That damned "Yank" never showed up for the wedding, damn his soul."
It was the end of June, 1945 and my whole venture almost came
crashing down. I received a visit from a Captain and a Lieutenant to
make an inspection of the facility. I wanted to get the inspection
behind me because I felt I wouldn't have another inspection until
around the end of July, 1945.
After a quick "walk through," the Captain said, " Nice job, Corporal,
everything seems in order." I then invited them into my quarters for
a drink, which they readily accepted. The Lieutenant glanced at a
portrait of Peggy I had placed near my bed and said, "Pretty girl,
your girlfriend or your wife, back home?" I replied, rather naively,
"No Sir, "That's a young lady I met here in Belfast and hope to marry
before I go home. Oops! Bad mistake! I well knew of the Army`s
disapproval of soldiers marrying girls they met while stationed
overseas, The Captain smiled and said, "She is a beautiful girl. I

can readily understand why you would like to take her home with you,
Corporal, but probably, not a good idea. Maybe its time we got you
back to your outfit." That remark hit me like a lightening bolt. I
could not imagine being separated from "The love of my life," and
being put in a position where marriage would be impossible. I felt
trapped, and no way out. Then, suddenly, I remembered a bit of wisdom
Captain Hummer had given me. He had said, "Never ask for anything
without being prepared to give something in return, "or, "Quid Pro
Quo."
Regaining my composure and having hit on an idea, I replied to the
superior Officer, "Captain, that's for you to decide, Sir." I
followed that with, "Sir, its almost lunch time, would you and the
Lieutenant like to join me for a nice meal of steak and eggs?" The
Lieutenant spoke up and said, "Where in the name of Hell can you get
a meal like that with all this damned rationing?" Realizing that I
was on to something, I replied, " If you gentlemen will follow me,
I`ll be glad to show you." With that, we all got up, walked to the
door and started up the street.
When we arrived at the dress shop of my old friend, the seamstress. I
beckoned them in. I noticed a look of puzzlement on the faces of the
two Officers as I approached the lady at the counter. After a moment,
I introduced the Officers, and she escorted us to the magic curtain,
pulled it back and ,Voila, we were in "Food Heaven."
The steaks were done to perfection, the eggs, a perfect complement,
to the steaks, "over easy", and presented beautifully on fine china
plates. The "piece de resistance' was a tasty peach cobbler topped
with whipped cream. This, and steaming cups of hot coffee brought
smiles of satisfaction to the faces of the two Officers. It was then,
I made my move. Addressing the Captain, I said "Sir, I would really
appreciate it if you could have my assignment here extended." The
Captain, with a broad, knowing smile, replied, "Well, Corporal, I
suppose a little more time Could be arranged, maybe another month.
Plan on being back at your outfit in England on July 30."=== "Quid
Pro Quo."

Chapter
7
Realizing how transient my stay in Belfast was going to be, I made
up my mind to, "Bite the Bullet," and ask Peggy to marry me.
One evening Peggy and I were invited to take a drive along the
beautiful, scenic Antrim Road with a couple she knew who owned a car.
This was a special treat because, at that time, few people in the
U.K. owned cars. The car was a cute little roadster with seats for
four, two of them in a cozy little rumble seat, perfect for two
people in love. After a short drive, the car was pulled over and
parked. It was a beautiful, starlit night, a warm breeze coming in
from the ocean, the sound of waves lapping the shore and a gorgeous
moon overhead. A film director could not have set up a better scene
for a romantic moment in the film he was directing.
I held Peggy in my arms, kissed her luscious lips and then uttered
the following clumsy proposal, "Peggy, "Would you consider becoming
my wife?" Of all the opportunities to use romantic phrases, this was
one, but I was so tongue-tied I was lucky to get this much across and
on top of all this, I didn`t even have an engagement ring ready..
After a short pause, Peggy, with tears in her eyes, said, "Yes, John,
but you know, its going to be difficult to manage. My mum and dad
will be awfully hard to convince" This was followed by a lingering
kiss which I will always remember unto the end of my days.
Now that we were engaged, I said to Peggy, "Sweetheart, I know this
is going to be difficult for your parents but I think we can convince
them that they should give us their blessing. Now we have to find a
good time to tell them of our intentions." To this she replied, "I
know, but lets wait for the proper time. This is not going to be
easy."
For several days we said nothing to anyone about our engagement. We
knew we had to find the proper moment to broach the subject to
Peggy`s parents. Our procrastination finally came to an end, forced
upon us by a call I received from my unit, informing me that my stay
in Belfast was to end on July 30,1945 and to close down my facility
and return to the 306.th It was now July 2, 1945 and having, roughly,
only four weeks left in Belfast, we had to end our procrastination
and , "Face the Music" with Peggy`s parents.
Our opportunity to have a quiet evening with Peggy`s parents came
shortly thereafter. Peggy`s sister, was out on a date, , her brother,
was busy elsewhere, and Mr. and Mrs. McKenny were having a quiet
evening at home. Peggy and I had been in town and decided this was
the perfect time to break the news of our engagement.

Peggy was at the piano accompanying her father as he played a lively

jig on his fiddle. Having laid down the violin and returned to his
place on the sofa next to Mrs. McKenny, he said, "Peggy, did you have
something to tell us?" He continued, "You certainly didn`t have your
mind on the music," Peggy hesitated and seemed at a loss for words.
Sensing it was my turn to say something, I began, "Yes, we do have
something to tell you, Peggy and I are engaged to be married, and
now, all we need, is your blessing." There was a moment of silence,
which, to Peggy and I, seemed an eternity, and then her mother spoke
up. She said, "Seeing how the two of you get on, a person would have
to be blind not to see that this was coming, even if you have only
known each other for such a short time." Peggy`s father seemed
content to let Peggy`s mother continue the dialogue. She said, " Now,
John, you know Peggy is very young and this is a serious move the two
of you are thinking about. John, you are a long way from home and
sometimes it is easy to forget someone you care for back there." She
went on, "There is also the need for you to get settled, have a job
and ready to begin a family." Peggy`s father then spoke up. "I think
what "Minnie" is trying to say is that marriage, while you are still
in the army, is not possible." "Minnie" was the name everyone used
for Mrs. McKenny. After a short pause. Minnie began, "John, you are a
nice boy and I know Peggy really cares for you but she is also our
daughter and we want her to be happy. You told me that you must
return to England soon and the war is not yet over for you. We think
that it would be best for you to wait until you are out of the army,
have a job and no one back there you may have forgotten, and then, if
you and Peggy still feel the same about marriage, we will consider
it." Without waiting for my response, Minnie said, "Now, I think we
should have some tea." Knowing Mrs. McKenny, I knew the last word had
been given and we simply accepted her dictum.
After a nice cup of hot tea and a delicious Irish scone, liberally
covered with jam, I realized it was getting late and, with our
mission accomplished, I arose and prepared to say good night. I shook
hands with her dad, gave Peggy a goodnight kiss, turned to Minnie and
said, "Mrs. McKenny, After I do get home, you will be hearing from
me. I am a very stubborn Dutchman, you know."
During the following days Peggy and I spent every moment together we
could. The only shadow hanging over our romance was that I would
soon be returning to England. We had long conversations about the
life we would live in America. Peggy asked me countless questions
about how Americans lived. We were in a constant state of euphoria
over the idea of being married and starting a family. I knew I had
found the right mate for a happily married life. I had met Peggy only
a little more than two months ago but, in my heart, I knew I had met
the girl God had chosen for me.
On the evening of July 29, the day before I had to return to my
outfit, we spent our last hours together at Peggy`s home with her

parents. That night, when I departed, our hearts were heavy at the
thought of my leaving but we both pledged our troth to each other and
agreed to write every day until we were reunited in America.
On the morning of July 30, 1945, Bill, my assistant, and I boarded a
cross channel ferry and left Belfast behind. I had asked Peggy not to
be there, not wanting to have an emotional good bye. Arriving in
England, we boarded a train and soon were back at the old 306th.
When we arrived back in camp excitement was running high. Everyone
had been "sweating" the news about the action in the Pacific, and
rumors had been circulating that the 306th was scheduled for
deployment . The news coming out of the Theater of Operations in the
Pacific was on every ones minds but, as a result of so many
disappointments in the past, not always believed. Absolutely no one
is as skeptical of news reports as a G.I. in a time of war.
By the middle of July, 1945, most of the important battles in the
South Pacific had been won. In spite of this the Japanese still
carried on, refusing to accept the inevitable, with the loss of
thousands of military and civilian lives. Thousands of tons of bombs
were raining down all over Japan.
During the rest of July the newspapers carried stories of the
impossible resistance of the Japanese. By July 30 the naval forces of
Japan had been almost completely wiped out. Despite all these signs
of defeat the Japanese continued to boast that they were capable of
repelling any enemy attack against the homeland. This air of bravado
continued, even after having experienced, what has been called, "the
greatest air raid in history," having just had six thousand, six
hundred thirty two tons of bombs dropped on their oil refineries and
cities.
By August 3, it was obvious that Japan was doomed but the American
bombers continued to blast their railroads and warn them that the
end was near. They still continued to resist. Even after August 5,
when a dozen cities were added to the "surrender or die" list they
stubbornly clung to the idea that they could recover and continue the
fight.
Listening intently to the radio, we heard the news but still felt
that deployment to the South Pacific was in the offing. It was on the
6th of August when we received news that President Truman had
unleashed a bomb, two thousand times more destructive than a
blockbuster, which had been detonated over Hiroshima.
This announcement got our attention. We were glued to the radio but
censorship was in place. Bombing by the Flying Fortresses continued.
No word from Japan in reply to an ultimatum that had been given for
them to surrender was made. While no news of the destruction caused

by the bomb was being released we sensed that it must have been
horrendous. Then, on August 9 word came through that a second bomb
had been detonated over the city of Nagasaki.
We, along with the rest of the world, awaited word of the Japanese
surrender. Then the word came through that the Japanese were willing
to surrender as long as the Emperor was safeguarded, but no offer of
capitulation. The Allies then offered to leave the fate of the
Emperor up to the direction of the Allied nations. The Japanese
continued to delay and the killing continued. The Japanese were given
a warning that renewed atomic bombing was possible if Japan continued
to delay surrendering.
Finally on August 14 word was received that the Japanese had
surrendered but no official proof was given. Having received no
official word the Americans continued to shell and bomb Japan.
At long last, we all heaved a sigh of relief as word came through
that in Bern, Switzerland on the 14th that the Japanese minister had
delivered a note to the Foreign Office from Tokyo . This was quickly
followed by a radio report from Washington. "Tokyo radio said today
that Allied terms for Japan's surrender had been accepted by Emperor
Hirohito." More than twelve hours later no official confirmation was
given and the fighting in the Pacific continued.
On August 15, 1945, the one word the world had been wanting to hear.
"PEACE," appeared in newspapers all over the world. In no matter what
language the word appeared, the families of loved ones gave thanks to
their God for the end to this brutal war. The world was now at peace
and the tyranny of the brutal dictators in Italy, Germany and Japan
had come to an end, thanks to the sacrifices made by the soldiers of
the Allied nations and their loved ones at home.
On September 2, 1945, Gen. Douglas MacArthur, delegates of the Allied
powers and the Japanese delegates met on the deck of the battleship
USS Missouri in Tokyo Bay and formally signed the document accepting
the terms of surrender by the Japanese. The world was, once again, at
peace and the blessings of freedom and democracy had been secured for
the nations dedicated to those principles.
Each of us, in our own way, responded to this news with thoughts of
what the future would bring. My mind immediately returned to
thoughts of my Peggy, and how soon we would be reunited. We had been
corresponding every day and now my letter, this day, would be filled
with joy and optimistic words about our being together and the life
we would be living in America.
For those of us in Britain the scenario now became a waiting game.
Individuals would be going home based on a point system. Length of
time served, the type of action the soldier was involved in and the
decorations he had received, would be taken under consideration in
giving points. Since the members of our outfit had served for about

the same amount of time. had collected no medals for valor in combat,
and our service had been a "Walk in the Park" compared to the ones
who had suffered the horrors of combat, we were in for the "Long
Haul."

Chapter 8
It was now the beginning of October, 1945 and repatriation had not
yet taken place for the POWs in the hospital, although, by this
time, almost all were ambulatory and able to work thus relieving us
of many duties.. Our work in the hospital continued as usual but on a
much more relaxed basis. We were in a "holding pattern" and really
only biding time until we could be go back to the United States for
demobilization.
Somewhere along the line of command an idea emerged to keep the
anxious troops happy. The army set up a number of tours to which the
troops could sign up for and, for all practicality, make us

"tourists." This attention to our concerns was enthusiastically

accepted, especially when a trip to a brewery was scheduled.
On the Company bulletin board was the following notice, "SIGN UP FOR
A VISIT TO THE STROUD BREWERY. The bus will leave at 0900 hours
tomorrow."
Needless to say there was no problem in getting a busload. Joe and I
were at the assigned location to meet the bus at exactly 0900 hours.
It seems promptness was not an issue when all that free beer was in
the offing.
At exactly 0900 hours we were seated on the bus for the ride to
Stroud. .The ride was of short duration and we were greeted by a tour
guide, who, by the look on his face, did not relish guiding this
group of. "Bloody Yanks,"
He gave us the usual speech as he guided us through the brewery,
although we made it difficult for him with our crude remarks and lack
of attention. Finally we arrived in the cellar, surrounded by huge
vats of beer and were invited to sample the wares. This got our
immediate attention and we showed our affection for Stroud beer by
consuming all that the attendant provided.
The tour over, we boarded our bus and pulled out for home, with waves
of goodbye from the employees, The, now somewhat inebriated
"tourists," showed their gratitude by blowing up condoms, tying them
off into neat little balloons and tossing them out the windows. Is
this where the term, "Ugly American," first surfaced? Was this our
contribution to millions of tourists who were to visit England after
the war? On the other hand, would this not be viewed as merely the
exuberant joy of a lot of war weary G.I.s anxious to return home to
families and friends?
There were several other trips that caught my attention and turned
out to be experiences to be remembered. One of the most treasured of
these was a trip that was posted as, "A TRIP TO A STATELY BRITISH
MANSION." Needless to say, this particular tour was not as popular as
the brewery trip but I and five other guys signed up for it, hoping
to see how the "Other Half" lived in this "Class ridden" society and,
just maybe, a chance to view a place connected with the history of
England. There was agreement that I would speak on their behalf when
we arrived at our destination.
At the appointed time we boarded a small van and headed down the
road. The colors of autumn, the trees splendid with their bouquet of
red and yellow leaves, brought home to me mental pictures of Michigan
and, for just a moment, engulfed me in pangs of homesickness, an
emotion, I`m sure, was felt by my companions. The ride took only a
little over an hour. It always amazed us at how short distances
between places in Britain were. Americans never could get over the
small size of this island country.

Finally, looming ahead of us was a huge, sprawling mansion The

massive, graveled covered area in front of the entrance provided
ample room for a large number of vehicles. I had a feeling of having
been here before, probably the result of having seen scenes such as
this in the movies. It was a truly impressive sight.
The driver, a young English girl, who had remained silent all during
the trip, completely ignoring our ribald remarks, turned to us and
said, "Here you are genlemen, Blenheim Palace, ancestral home of
Prime Minister Winston Churchill, enjoy yourselves."
Here we were, a group of awe struck Yanks, who had never seen such a
glamorous residence. As grandiose as was the palace, and grandiose it
certainly was, the sheer size of this magnificent home simply
overwhelmed us and, for just a moment, I was so taken aback that I
could not find the entrance. Then I realized that the huge door that
I was facing must be what I was looking for.. Hesitently, we
approached,, but before I could reach the front door, a lovely young
lady opened it, or had it opened for her, its size seemed too huge to
be opened by such a gentle young lady, and greeted us as though she
were awaiting our arrival. Her greeting was, "You must be our
American guests." I replied, "Yes Mam, My name is John," and then
introduced my companions. She, in turn, introduced herself, but
memory does not allow me to recall her name. I do remember, very
clearly, that her name was preceded by the title, "Lady." She bade us
, enter and her easy banter made us feel right at home. To tell the
truth, we were overwhelmed at the granduer of the entrance and we
must have seemed to her, a group of yokels, as we stood in awe of the
sheer size of the place and the gorgeous oil paintings, of long gone
ancestors, that graced the walls of this magnificent entrance.
In a very informal manner the young lady steered us into the study, a
beautifully appointed room, furnished with some of the finest leather
seating that any of us had ever encountered. We, no longer were
seated, than a butler approached us, said, "Gentlemen, what can I
bring you." After ordering our drinks, and the lady ordering hers,
the butler retreated and the usual remarks about the beauty of the
home were uttered by each of us. The lady was giving us a history of
the palace when suddenly a middle aged lady and gentleman appeared on
the scene.
We were introduced, but again, my memory fails in recalling their
names. I do remember the gracious manner in which they joined in the
conversation. I, for one, was amazed at how easily we were accepted
and treated as though we were important guests. In the meantime, the
butler arrived and served our drinks, much more elegantly than the
way we were accustomed to being served. The gentleman went on to
describe the estate. He said, "I`m sure you men would like to know a
little about the historical place you are visiting." He went on to
say that the mansion was located on twenty one hundred acres and the

house was built in the eighteenth century and the gardens were added
in the nineteenth century. He said, "the palace was designed by
Vanbrugh, a noted architect of that period and was the nation`s
reward to the First Duke of Marlborough for his victories over Louis
1V. The gardens were designed by Henry Wise, in an Anglo-Dutch
Barouqe manner." He went on to say that we would appreciate the skill
of the people of that period when we took a tour of the grounds.
It was now approaching noon, and as interesting as the conversation
had been, we began to feel the need for sustenance. As if our wish
had been heard, the butler arrived and said, "Tea is being served."
All six of us knew that meant food, even if we didn`t understand
"Dutch Baroque."
We were seated at a long table in a magnificent dining area
overlooking a finely manicured garden resplendent with the hues of
autumn.. "High Tea", is usually served between three and five in the
afternoon but from the look of the spread on the table they must have
made an exception, knowing they were feeding a group of hungry G.I.s.
For a group of guys who thought meat and potatoes was a feast, this
menu overwhelmed our imaginations.
The main entre consisted of smoked salmon with cream cheese. Also
gracing the table was egg, mayonnaise, sliced cucumber, and if one
was partial to meat, Wilshire ham and mustard. Thinly cut slices of
bread and scones were placed before us with homemade jam and all of
this to be followed by our choice of several scrumptious looking
desserts. Oh, there was tea, of course, but coffee was available and
this was to be followed by champagne. Knowing how severe rationing
was, these wonderful, hospitable people must have strained their
ration coupons to the limit to make all this possible. Oh, to have a
mess sergeant, with such a creative mind and generous spirit.
Having demonstrated our liking of this delicious meal, by our over
enthusiastic consumption of its contents, we were invited to tour the
gardens by our lovely hostess. As I remember, a pram, or baby
carriage, was produced, occupied by a delightful baby whose gender I
cannot recall. Our hostess, now guiding the pram, was giving us a
delightful account of the history of the gardens. At this point I
offered my services as driver of the carriage. The offer was readily
accepted and I found myself responsible for the safe transportation
of a, very young, British aristocrat. The tour continued and even a
group of uncultured Yanks could not help but express admiration for
the artistry in creating such beauty. Suddenly, a young RAF Officer
appeared on the scene. After a perfunctory hug and a peck on the
cheek of, his wife, our hostess, he introduced himself and bade us
welcome. Turning to me, guiding the pram, he said, "Do you know who
you are caring for in the pram." I replied, "No Sir, we haven't been
introduced, as yet." He smiled and rattled off a rather long series
of names, strung together by centuries of aristocratic familial ties.

As I recall, he did mention the child`s relationship with P.M.

Winston Churchill, but by this time. I was only able to grasp enough
of our conversation to know that I was, indeed, personally
experiencing a bit of English history.
To describe the beauty, creativity and attention to detail displayed
in those gardens would require another book and descriptive powers
beyond my meager talents. Suffice to say, that all members of the
American group took away great admiration for the social and
botanical skills of our English cousins and their ability to bring an
air of formality to the wonders of nature and social etiquette. The
less formal approach to the physical world, by we Americans, stood in
stark contrast and underscored how time had created a people much
different than our forbearers. Different we had become, since those
Colonial days, but never having lost the values and basic principals
we shared as a people.

Chapter Nine
October now turned to November, with cool, chilly days, signaling
the beginning of winter, The repatriation of German prisoners was now
taking place. Daily, our patients, mostly ambulatory, were leaving
the hospital behind and returning to occupied Germany.
Then, one grand day in December we received word that our unit was
scheduled for deployment. We were going home! Oh Dear God, the day we
had long wished for had now become reality. The order to be ready to
pack our belongings and prepare to leave was the most precious order
we had ever received. My letters to Peggy now were full of the utter
elation I felt at the thought of our being united and sharing our
lives together as lovers and man and wife.
Christmas 1945, was a much more festive affair than previous
Christmas` and the dinner of turkey and all the fixings, prepared for
us by the kitchen crew, seemed much more tasty, given the fact that
we soon would be on a troopship headed for home. The high level of
morale was evident as we all envisioned being in our own home towns
with those we loved. I, could not contain my feelings of happiness at

the thought of being in a position to send for my Peggy and having

her with me in Kalamazoo to begin our life together.
A happier New Year was never more welcomed than the year 1946. We
celebrated, not only the new year, but the knowledge that we would
soon be back in the "Good Old United States." You can well believe,
that we were on our best behavior, not wanting any complications to
mar our departure for home.
Then, on or about January 7, 1946, the order came. "Pack your gear,
climb aboard the awaiting trucks for the trip to Southhampton to meet
the troopship that will carry you home." Not a single soul in our
outfit had any misgivings about carrying out that order.
The trip to Southhampton was more like a holiday event than the
movement of army troops. The singing of the soldiers had a very
upbeat quality about them and the joy of being on the way home was
evident in the spirit of the men as they relished the thought of
going back to wives and sweethearts. My mind was entirely focused on
getting home and sending for my Peggy.
Having arrived in Southhampton and on the dock awaiting our
embarcation orders, we were assembled in military order. Officers
were in their own assemblage, and all of us, enlisted and Officer
rank, in a highly festive mood. We were ready to board the giant
aircraft carrier, the USS Lake Champlain.
Once on board, all units, mostly infantry, were given assigned areas
and each told where to place their gear. Shortly thereafter, a
Sergeant called us to attention to receive an order from the Captain
of the ship.
In a voice, almost identical to that of Franklin Roosevelt, the
Captain addressed us over the public address system. As I recall, he
said, "Now hear this. This is the Captain speaking. My name is
Captain Logan Ramsey. I want to welcome you on behalf of myself and
the crew of the Lake Champlain. This ship is part of Operation, Magic
Carpet. I would, personally, like to take this opportunity to to
thank you for your service. You have done a wonderful job in bringing
this war to a successful conclusion. From this moment on, you are our
guests. We ask only that you keep your area in a neat condition.
There will be no reason to make up your bunks in the morning. This,
and all other housekeeping duties will be performed by the crew. You
will find question boxes at various places around the ship. If you
have questions or queries for me, feel free to place them in the box.
I will try to answer you in my nightly address to you. Additionally,
I have given orders that snacks be placed at various points around
the ship, in case you feel hungry between meals. The United States
Navy and this ship in particular, as a part of Operation, Magic
Carpet, will do everything we can to provide for your comfort on your

trip home. I thank you again. for your dedicated service, You will
soon be home with your loved ones. God Speed and God Bless you."
This eulogy, with its words of praise and welcoming, left us
breathless. Never, during our term of service, had we been spoken to
in such a manner. In addition to our joy at going home we were now
going there under the most favorable of conditions.
We were soon underway and, before long, it became evident that the
weather was not going to be one of the favorable conditions that we
were to experience. We had no sooner cleared the harbor than storm
clouds appeared on the horizon. As the weather worsened and the waves
loomed larger and larger it became evident that even a ship as large
as this aircraft carrier could have problems coping with the whims of
"Mother Nature."
That first night on board was a rocky one as the ship plunged through
the angry waves of the North Atlantic. Although many of the
"landlubbers" on board grappled with seasickness, we made it through
the night into a day of calm seas.
True to the Captain`s promise, the crew did arrive, made our beds and
performed the other housekeeping duties. We were still in a state of
wonderment at these services being performed for us. Breakfast was a
delight, with fresh eggs, hash browns, bacon, sausage and plenty of
hot coffee. In spite of the army derision of the navy, we had to
admit that when it came to food, the navy was in a superior position.
The weather having cleared, the day was an absolute delight. We were
able to walk the decks, enjoy a snack at one of the tables scattered
around the ship, observe the activities of the crew and, if one
chose, spend some time reading or writing letters back at our bunks.
Captain Ramsey had, indeed, made this a pleasure cruise, God Bless
him.
As time wore on, the weather worsened and, during his nightly address
to us, the Captain made it clear that we could expect this to be a
frequent occurrence since this was January and the North Atlantic was
a stormy place in the winter. He also assured us that we were not to
worry about our safety since ships, such as these, were built to
withstand all that nature could throw at them.
The third night out, after mess, the familiar voice of Captain Ramsey
sounded on the P.A. system. "Now hear this, this is the Captain
speaking. We are well on our way to home and I trust you are enjoying
the voyage. I have little to report and so I have chosen to read a
couple of the questions you have posed for me. This first one is from
Sgt. ?? Of the ?? Infantry. The good Sgt. asks if this was a banana
boat before the war." The Captain, his voice tinged with just a touch
of irritation, replied, "Sgt. First let me remind you that this is
not a boat. This is a ship. A ship carries boats." He went on, "

Sgt., As a matter of fact, I would like to inform you that this ship
was paid for by the people of the United States and is entitled to
the respect it deserves, having been made possible, by the
contributions of the citizens of of our great nation."
The weather continued to be bad and the consumption of the snacks the
Captain had placed around the ship had diminished due to the
incidents of sea sickness experienced by the G.I.s. Bad as the
weather was, the crap games continued on as usual, although
frequently interrupted by the hasty departure of one or more of the
players, due to sudden "illness." This situation was not lost on the
Captain and provided a moment of humor on his next nightly address.
As usual, we were assembled, ready to hear the Captain`s report. "Now
hear this. This is the Captain speaking," came the now familiar
refrain.
This night he chose to make comment on the weather conditions,
informing us that during the night conditions were so bad that they
had been unable to respond to a cry of distress from a Liberty Ship
in the vicinity. He went on to tell us that during his entire career
he had not experienced weather this difficult to contend with. Then,
he changed the subject and went on to answer a question from one of
the question boxes. He said, "I have a question that deals with a
problem experienced by PFC ?? " It seems that the good Private was
involved in a crap game and a considerable amount of money was in the
pot. He says that a Petty Officer arrived on the scene, broke up the
game and departed with the money. His question is, "Can we get back
the money?" There was a short pause, and then, with a chuckle in his
voice, he answered the Private's question, " Private, my cabin is on
deck--. Standing outside my door will be a Marine. Tell him you wish
to see me. In order to answer your question more directly, the answer
is that the Petty Officer has deposited the money in the Seamen's
Fund. If you still desire to have the money, so inform me when we
meet, however I would like to read you the Article of War, regarding
gambling on ships of the United States Navy." After reading the
Article, he finished with, "I hope this answers your question." The
roar of laughter from the troops clearly indicated their appreciation
of this bit of backhanded humor.
The high morale aboard the Lake Champlain was evident in stories told
to me by the crew. One such tale seemed to sum up the reason for this
high regard for their Captain. One seaman related to me how their
Executive Officer insisted that the crew in the engine room wear
white socks, although there was clearly no need, given the duties
required of them. He said this particular Officer also gave orders
that crewmen could not have their uniforms altered for better fit.
When word of this reached Captain Ramsey, a curious thing happened.
When the ship reached the next port a new Executive Officer was
assigned to the ship.

Finally, after ten days of bad weather and superb treatment by the
Officers and crew of the USS Lake Champlain, we arrived in New York
harbor on January, 17, 1946. It was a cold January day, warmed
considerably by our sight of the Statue of Liberty, standing tall and
proud, the torch of freedom still firmly in place, pointing to the
Heavens as a testament to the valor of all the Armed Forces,
soldiers, sailors, airmen and our civilian Merchant Marine. It was
our military and, even us non-combat soldiers, who had struggled so
valiently and secured our way of life, now and for generations yet
unborn.
Awaiting us on the dock as we disembarked, was a cordon of lovely
ladies representing the American Red Cross and the Salvation Army.
Their beauty was enhanced by the smell of hot coffee and doughnuts
and the hot dogs and hamburgers sizzling on the BBQ. Never, before or
since, have I had a hot dog that could compare with the one I so
relished that morning, on that frigid, but wonderful day. The
presence of those caring ladies added luster to the joyous moment we
were experiencing at being, once again, on American soil. It is in
moments, such as these, that one knows the tremendous value of being
a free American citizen. We were home, home at last, and I, for one,
was looking forward to a life of happiness with, my, now to be,
beautiful Irish bride.
My joy at being back in the United States had made me almost
completely unaware of the great number of troops crowding the dock.
True to its tradition of military efficiency, the army had a long row
of buses standing ready for our departure to the train depot and our
journey to Camp Atterbury, Indiana for our transfer to civilian life.
The bus trip very quickly brought us to the depot and by the time we
had checked our duffle bags the day had turned to night and in spite
of our weariness our spirits were high. Nothing could dampen our
utter joy at being on the way to becoming civilians, once again, and
being with family and friends.
After checking our duffle bags and boarding the train, the
festivities began. Although beverages of an alcoholic nature were not
provided, mysteriously, some very stimulating drinks began to appear
and voices were lifted in song. No blackout curtains, no planes
buzzing the train and no Officer lecturing us of the consequences of
improper behavior were part of this journey. Although some did manage
to catch a little sleep, the majority of the passengers were in too
celebratory a mood to notice the fatigue that engulfed us.
Some fifteen or so, hours later the train pulled in to a depot
situated at Camp Atterbury. In spite of some hangovers and lack of
sleep our Company was still in a joyful mood and hardly anyone
complained. We went through the routine of getting our baggage,
hearing the barked commands of a Sergeant directing us to our

barracks, and generally getting the treatment we were so accustomed

to. On the other hand, no damned Sergeant could lessen our happiness
at being at the place that would hand back our freedom and make us,
just plain, American civilian citizens..
Camp Atterbury was a very busy place. As a separation station it
served some 561,000 troops, arranging discharge from the Service at
the rate of 3000 per day, so it was not not surprising that it was
January 22, before our outfit was called to go through the separation
process.
In the meantime, we had plenty of time to write letters, make phone
calls to home and explore this sprawling installation.
January 22, 1946. "A date that will live in memory," at least my
memory, for that was the date of my separation from the Army of the
United States.
At the appointed time the 306th gathered in a huge assembly hall and
there, each of us, listened carefully for our name to be called.
When, an obviously bored Sergeant, bellowed out my name I was
immediately on my feet. Making my way to the registration table was
the sweetest hike I had ever taken. After going through the necessary
paper work, a young 2nd Lt. beckoned me to an open door. He said,
"Good morning soldier, step inside and place your chest against the X
ray panel, and , Oh by the way, if you intend to join the Reserves,
have them raise the panel to the level of your head." Even, given my
limited intellectual powers, it seemed to me that he was sending me a
message that it was not in my best interest to join the Reserves. It
was probably because of this encounter that I was able to follow the
later events that took place in Korea from the comfort of my home,
eyes glued to the TV screen. Unpatriotic as this may seem, I felt,
at this time, this new action could be handled by another generation
of young Americans.
Seated comfortably in my homeward bound train, still wearing my
uniform, I was beginning to feel more and more like a civilian,
almost but not quite. This would come when I arrived home surrounded
by family and friends. Still, there was one nagging problem to solve
before I would feel secure and comfortable and that was, bringing my
Peggy to Kalamazoo and walking down the aisle with her.
While in Atterbury awaiting discharge , I had penned off a letter to
Peggy telling her that I was almost a civilian and to start getting
her mum and dad prepared to have her daughter become a married woman
and acquiring a son in law. I put as much humor in the letter as I
was able to muster up, but not unaware, of the emotional problems I
was placing on the McKenny family.

Chapter 10
I was met at the station in Kalamazoo by my mother and father. Dad
had insisted that this moment belonged to Mom and He, accounting for
the tiny welcoming party. Dad gave me a "bear hug" and an emotional
"Welcome home, Son." My Mom, tears in her eyes, simply said, "Thank
God, you are home and safe." Never had I felt so close to my parents.
At the house, all my family members and a goodly crowd of friends and
neighbors had gathered for a welcoming home party. It was hard for me
to believe that this moment had arrived. The rest of the day was
spent in eating good home cooked food and answering a thousand
questions about my experiences. Often my mind wandered as I
contemplated on the thoughts of Peggy and wishing she could be a part
of these festivities. My brother Henry, was home from the navy,
having arrived a week earlier. My brother Charles, having been
disqualified for service due to a ruptured ear drum, was curious
about the things I had done and seen. My sister Anna Mae, now an
experienced welder because of a defense related job, also peppered me
with questions about my time in the service. It was a time of good
cheer and thankfulness and, I must admit, I was enjoying being the
center of attention.
That night, in the comfort of my bed, I pondered on the days to come.
I had not disclosed to mom and dad the fact that I was engaged.
Now ,the shoe was on the other foot." All the adjustments, in
religion and culture, to our pending marriage had been discussed in
full with Peggy`s parents and now it was time to work things out with

my mother and dad.

During the ensuing week I had many discussions with my dad and mom
about my return to civilian life. Dad had secured a job for me with
the Kalamazoo Stove and Furnace Co. ,where he was employed The plant
had been closed in order to revert back to civilian production,
having been engaged in producing war materials and, would soon
reopen.
Finally, I had my opportunity to discuss my pending marriage. It was
one of those cold winter nights and I was enjoying an evening alone
with mom and dad. During a break in the conversation, I said, " I
guess this is as good a time as any to share some news with you." I,
immediately had their attention. Dad was the first to speak. He said,
"I hope it`s good news, Son." I replied, "I think it is, I hope you
will feel the same." Mom said, "Get on with it, John." I simply
blurted out, "I`m engaged to get married." Both looked at me in
amazement and then Dad said, "Getting married, you have only been
home for a week and, as far as we know, you don`t even have a girl
friend." Realizing their quandary at this startling announcement, I
said, "Well, let me explain it to you." At this precise moment I
became aware of how unprepared I was to explain fully, the situation.
For the next few minutes I had full attention from mom and dad. I
said, "Maybe I should have told you this earlier but, here it is."
Now my mind was racing, but I went on with the story, hoping I would
not encounter any negatives. I said, "The girl I am marrying is in
Ireland. I met her in Belfast. Her parents are aware of our
engagement and I hope she gets their approval to come to the States
to be married. She is a lovely girl, from a good family. She is
nineteen years old but will be twenty by the time of our marriage."
At this point, I pulled from my wallet, a picture of Peggy and both
studied it for a moment. Mom said, "She sure is a pretty girl." Dad,
looked up and said, "Do you know what you are doing?" My reply was,
"Dad, I`m almost twenty six years old and perfectly capable of making
my own decisions." That seemed to end the discussion and then Mom
said, "John, If this is your wish, we have no objection and will
welcome her with open arms." With that, I decided to fill out the
rest of the story. I said, "Now let me "drop the other shoe."
"She is an Irish Catholic girl and I have decided to join the
Catholic Church." This resulted in a stunned silence for fully a
minute. Then my dad reacted in a fashion truly his own and, left me
incredulous. He said, "Ev", that was Dad's nick name for Mom, "Get
your coat on and, John, you do the same and get out to the car, we
are going for a ride." Not wanting to make a fuss, we both did as he
said.
Dad wheeled the car skillfully over the icy streets and pulled up in
front of St. Augustine Catholic Church. Without another word we left
the car and dad walked up to the residence of the Priest and rang the

doorbell.
The door was answered by an elderly lady, the housekeeper, and dad
asked to see the Father. She replied, "You mean Monsignor Hackett?"
Dad simply stated, "Yes Mam, that's whom we would like to talk to."
We were invited in and given a seat in the parlor. I was utterly
flabbergasted since I had no idea my dad even knew the location of
the church and had no idea of what he was up to.
In a few moments a tall, dignified man with a full head of grey hair
entered the room. He looked around and, in a thick Irish brogue said,
"Good evening, I am Monsignor Hackett. What can I do for you?"
Now, absolutely confused, I said nothing. Dad came right to the
point. He said, "Father", and pointing to me, "This is my Son, John
and he is just home from the army. He is engaged to an Irish girl in
Ireland and wants to join the Catholic Church." A broad smile
appeared on Monsignor Hackett's face and he sat down to hear the rest
of the story.
As I explained the situation, giving him all the details of our
meeting and the subsequent romance that followed, Father Hackett,
nodded approval, and said, "John, this is one of the nicest things I
have heard all year. It only goes to prove that there is always
something good coming out of a tragedy like war." Wanting to get
directly to the reason for our visit, I said, "Father, I know that as
a convert, I need to attend some classes to to understand the
procedure of conversion. Please tell me when I can attend." Again,
with a cheerful smile, he replied, " Aw, to Hell with the classes,
you won`t be attendin them, you'll be meeting with me for private
sessions here in my study. Young man, You are marrying a girl from
the "Ould Sod", and that requires some special attention." All this
was said in his thick Irish brogue, and at that moment, I felt very
special. With that he called for some tea. Over cups of hot tea the
conversation turned to filling out all the details. All this time,
Mom and Dad had little to say but joined in the conversation and I
knew that all would be well. There was no bigotry here and I felt
very proud of my parents and their easy acceptance of the situation.
Having written Peggy and told her to get ready to come to the United
States, I was anxious to receive a letter telling me all was well and
arrangements were being made for her journey. Each day I waited
patiently for the postman, and feeling depressed when no mail was
forthcoming. After several days of anxiety a letter did arrive and,
anxious as I was, I was almost afraid to open it, fearing the worst.
When I did open it and read the first few words I was ecstatic.
Peggy`s mother and dad had accepted the inevitable and were helping
Peggy to make arrangements. From the inquiries regarding passport,
visa and transportation that had been made in Ireland, it was to be,
at least, six months before she would arrive in the United States. I
couldn't wait to reply and rushed to get paper and pen.

By this time I had been employed at the Stove Co. and had met a
fellow worker named James O`Meara. When I told him that Peggy would
be arriving in about six months he said, "John, that will give us
some time to give her a real Irish welcome and I`m going to see that
you have some real Irish folk to greet her."
James called me one day and asked if I would like to meet some Irish
people who would love to meet Peggy. He said that they were an
elderly couple that would take Peggy, "Under their wings." The Irish
certainly know how to express the most mundane things in a beautiful
way.
The Fitzpatricks were, in my mind, the ideal couple to make my
peggy feel at home in America. Pat and Mary Fitzpatrick were typical
Irish, even though neither had set foot in Ireland. Pat and Mary were
each, only about five feet tall, beautiful grey hair and as
eloquently Irish in their speech as though they had just arrived in
the U.S.A. Their home reflected everthing Irish, including a green,
white and gold flag prominently displayed in the hall.
Over a cup of hot tea I learned that they had thirteen children, had
always wanted to visit Ireland, and would be thrilled to meet a
colleen from the "Ould Sod." Where had I heard that term before?
That meeting was the first of many that James arranged. and included
a young Irish priest, Fr. King, who was to become a good friend and
"buddy," if one can truly be a "buddy" with a Priest. Fr. King was
the Chaplain at Borgess Catholic Hospital in Kalamazoo and not too
popular with the Nuns, due to his liking for alcoholic spirits.
Although he did enjoy a drink, now and then, he did not drink to
excess.
A moment I remember with relish was the time Fr. King and I were
enjoying a hamburger for lunch. Halfway through our meal, Fr. King
paused, and said, "John, do you know what day this is?" Without
giving a thought to what the Fr. Was implying, I replied, "It's
Friday, Fr., why?" Then, with a smile Fr. King said, "I know we
shouldn't be eating meat on Friday but it is also a sin to waste good
food." Without further ado, he made the sign of the Cross and said,
"I grant absolution." Such was our easy going relationship.
Although I was anxious awaiting Peggy`s arrival I was also busy
making arrangements for our wedding and making new friends among the
Irish community. I was introduced to a Mr. and Mrs. Heflin by Fr.
King and was immediately made welcome to their home. Mrs. Heflin, in
true womanly fashion, was excited about the coming wedding and did
much to help me prepare. There were several parties at her house and
Fr. King, minus his collar and wearing a sport shirt, always gave two
hours absolution at midnight on Saturday, so that "No food and drink
was wasted," due to the late hour.

One day when Fr. King and I were conversing in his quarters at the
hospital he broached the possibility of he performing the Mass and
wedding ceremony. He went on to say that we should discuss the
matter with Msgr. Hackett. He said, "I`ll give him a call and see if
we can arrange it."
Fr. King, after explaining to Msgr. Hackett, that since we had become
close friends, he thought it would be appropriate for him to perform
the wedding ceremony. I remained absolutely silent, awaiting Msgr.
Hackett's response. There was only a moment's pause and then Msgr.
Hackett addressed Fr. King in, what I thought was, a rather
condescending tone of voice. He said, "Father, Just as in the army,
"rank has its privileges." "I will be saying the Mass and performing
the wedding ceremony." Although this dictum was said with a smile,
Fr. King seemed to feel that he had received the final answer to his
query

Chapter 11

About the middle of June, 1946 a telegram arrived that informed me of

the day and time as well as the flight number of the American
Airlines plane that was to bring my Peggy to the United States. To
say that I was overcome with joy is an understatement. The days that
followed were filled with excitement and planning for her arrival.
On the scheduled day, my cousin, Bud, my dad, and I headed for
Chicago to meet the plane and reunite me with my Peggy. Arriving at
O`Hare airport, well ahead of time, we waited anxiously for over two
hours. Finally, the arrival of the plane from Dublin was announced
and we hurriedly proceeded to the announced gate. The gatekeeper
opened the gate and we proceeded onto the tarmac where the plane was
parked.
In those, still early, times of domestic and transatlantic flight,
people met the arriving passengers on the runway and the they
departed the plane down a long portable gangway. My anxiety was at
fever pitch as I silently prayed that Peggy would soon appear. Person
after person descended the gangway, and then, a small figure in a
lovely blue dress, walked down the stairs, made her way to where we
were standing, and in that unforgettable moment, Peggy was in my arms
and I thanked God for the blessing he had bestowed upon me.
Midst all the happy chatter on the way home, it was quite apparent
that my dad had bonded with his, soon to be, daughter in law. Peggy
snuggled in my arms, chattered on about the great adventure she had
just experienced and how happy she was to be in America with me and
the life we would have together. Our reunion was complete, and now
many busy days were ahead as we planned our wedding.
When we arrived home, my mother and sister had refreshments ready
and, in spite of all the excited conversation, another bonding had
taken place. My mother and my Peggy, it seemed, were kindred souls.
The days ahead were filled with activity as my mother, sister and
friends planned for the wedding that was to make Peggy my bride.
Peggy and I spent many hours with the many members of the Irish
community. The Fitzpatricks took an immediate liking to Peggy and
became almost like parents to her. The Heflin family, especially Mrs.
Heflin, became fully involved in seeing that Peggy had a truly
Catholic wedding.
At long last the great day arrived, July 4, 1946. The date had been
arrived at because there were only two dates available in July. Msgr.
Hackett offered Peggy a choice and she chose July 4 as a very
appropriate day for her to become an American, This, and the fact
that her mother insisted that she was to be married at the first
available date, settled that issue. "Minnie," like most Irish
mothers, did not easily relinquish control.

The morning of July 4 began very early with my mother and sister
preparing for the wedding and the reception that was to follow.
Peggy, somewhat nervous but glowing with excitement, with the
assistance of my sister, were making sure that the wedding gown
fitted properly and all was set for her big moment when she would
walk down the aisle and become Mrs. Margaret DeRoo. My brothers,
Henry and Charles were dressed in their best, "Sunday go to meeting
clothes." My sister, Anna Mae, having finished helping Peggy, was now
dressed and "made up," for the big moment. My dad, standing in for
Peggy`s father, was more "dressed up" than I had ever seen him, and
my mom, the picture of loveliness, in the beautiful dress she had
acquired for the wedding. I was dressed in a dark blue business suit,
sporting a carnation in my lapel and was as ready as I could be for
the realization of all my dreams.
Finally, the climax of all this preparation arrived. Seated in the
pews of St. Augustne Church were my relatives and friends. Adding a
moment of unreality to the occasion was the fact that my relatives,
all Protestants, most of whom had never been inside a Catholic
Church, were seated side by side with devout Catholics. Surely, this
was a sight, unbelievable to my Peggy.
Msgr. Hackett was at the altar, having concluded Mass, Fr. King at
his side, and organ music filling the church, signaled the beginning
of this sacred ritual., my mother was quietly wiping the tears from
her eyes as the bridesmaids made their way down the aisle. Then, all
eyes were focused on the lovely bride on the arm of my father,
standing in for Peggy`s father. The strains of "Here Comes the
Bride," filled the church.
Msgr. Hackett, having concluded Mass, was standing beside the altar,
as Peggy and my dad arrived at the prescribed spot. Solemnly, Msgr.
Hackett intoned the age old question, "Who gives this woman in Holy
Matrimony? My father replied, "I do. " The best Man produced the
wedding band, I placed the band on her finger and we bowed before the
altar.
Msgr. Hackett pronounced the wedding vows, ending with, "I now
pronounce you husband and wife." "Now you may kiss the bride."
I wonder, to this day, whether Peggy uttered the words, "I promise
to love, honor and obey," Certainly, she would never admit to having,
said, "Obey." Looking back to that moment in time, I still wonder how
we managed to overcome all the obstacles and bring this dream to
reality.
Our wedding was a High Mass,
neither of us could remember
excitement we felt had a way
in that magical moment. I do

with all the ceremony that implies, but

all that was said and done, for the
of shutting out all that surrounded us
remember, however, very well, when we

were told, "Now, I pronounce you Husband and Wife,"

A milestone in the lives of my Peggy and me had been reached and our
future lay ahead of us. For me, this was the climax of my transition
to civilian life and a more than happy ending to my experiences in
the "Great War,"
It has been said that all things happen fast in times of war. As I
look back to that time, which seems so long ago, when I first heard
the announcement over the radio that Pearl Harbor had been attacked,
I must agree, that little truism is correct. In a matter of less than
four short years, my life had been completely altered as had the
lives of so many of my fellow compatriots.
These are my personal memoirs encompassing a critical period in the
history of my country and how it affected me personally, as well as
millions throughout the world, for good or ill. Thank God, so many of
my fellow American citizens and citizens of allied countries were
willing to, if necessary, make the ultimate sacrifice to make
possible lives of freedom for future generations , free from the
tyranny of evil dictatorships, and, hopefully, the terrible scourge
of future wars.
THE END

G. I. MEMORS
Introduction

be, Throughout the history of World War 2, countless stories

have been told recalling the feats of bravery by those who fought in
those many, hard fought, battles. This is, as it should but left
untold are the experiences of those support forces who served behind
the lines and helped make possible the victories won by our troops,
now so celebrated in our books and films.
This humble effort is an attempt to chronicle the way in which
W.W. 2 shaped the life of one young American and provide some insight
into the pathos and, sometimes , ludicrous hilarity, that he
encountered while caring for the sick and wounded, as well as off
duty hours while on leave. The following antecdotes, hopefully, will
provide some insight into the experiences of Support Service G.I`s as
they plodded through. what to them, seemed a never ending war.
This is my story, as I lived it. This is not the story of a hero
but simply the memoirs of one who saw the results of the horrors of
war and encountered some of the more humorous aspects of life and
then made the transition back into civilian life. It is the story of
millions of youhg Americans who answered the call to duty when their
country called.
December 7, i941, I was having coffee with my buddy in a
neighborhood diner and trying to decide what we would do for the rest
of the day. The radio was on and the music of a swing band was
playing in the background. The waiter suddenly turned up the volume
and shouted for us to listen. The announcer, his voice solemn,
informed his audience, "This morning, December 7, 1941, Pearl Harbor,
in Hawaii, was attacked by air and the harbor has been severely
damaged. It is estimated that there have been many fatalities and the
loss of many of our ships and aircraft. From the markings on the
attacking aircraft, it has been determined that this was an attack by
the Japanese. Make no mistake about it; this was an attack against
the Territory of Hawaii and therefore an act of war against the
United States. We will keep you informed as additional information
becomes available."
My first reaction to this startling announcement was, "Where
the Hell is Pearl Harbor?" In that long ago time this was a question
on the minds of most Americans. Hawaii, and Pearl Harbor, in
particular, was a far distant place, few had ever given much thought
to, or visited. This was to change radically in the days ahead as
America entered World War 2. The following day, along with my family,
I listened, spellbound, as President Franklin D. Roosevelt addressed
the nation and the nation`s Congress. His familiar voice, now
forceful with outrage and determination, proclaimed the sentiments of
his fellow countrymen. "Yesterday, Sunday, December 7, 1941, "a
date which will live in infamy", the United States of America was
suddenly and deliberately attacked by the naval and air forces of the

Empire of Japan," Briefly, the President, explained the background

of the events which culminated in the attack, ending his speech with
the following, fateful, request to the Congress of the United
States. "With confidence in our Armed forces-with the unbounded
determination of our people- we will gain the inevitable triumph-So
help us God. I ask that the Congress declare that since the
unprovoked and dastardly attack by Japan on Sunday, December 7, a
state of war has existed between the United States and the Empire of
Japan."
Almost immediately Congress declared war on Japan and three days
later, December 11, Germany and Italy declared war on the United
States. We were now fully involved, along with the British Empire.
The Republic of Ireland declared neutrality. Russia had been at war
with Germany since June and, although never officially, became an
ally of the United States. America and its allies were now at war
with the axis of Germany, Italy and Japan. World War 2, had begun in
earnest.
I, like other young Americans, living in different parts of
the country and having little in common except our American
citizenship, faced a future that would affect the remainder of our
lives. This, I held in common with untold numbers of other young
Americans. I was twenty one years old when America entered the war. I
was nine years old, the eldest in a family of four children, at the
time America entered the era of the Great depression. Like so many
Americans, my family suffered through those trying years thinking
that poverty was here to stay. This was about to end, as America
tooled up for war, and the factories began to hum.
I was exactly the right age for military service and aware that I
would be hearing from my local Draft Board and soon be inducted into
the army. Like so many other American young men, I was eager to do my
duty and welcomed this call to serve. Kalamazoo was not the most
exciting place in the country and, I must admit, military service
appealed to my adventurous nature almost as much as my patriotic
fervor.
I lacked a college education and was inducted into the United States
Army with the grand rank of "Buck Private". The following is my
memory of induction into military service. On August 13, 1942, after
months of waiting, I was called to the induction center. There must
have been fifty of us, all standing there, "buck naked", damned glad
it was August and not a cold Michigan day. One by one we were called
before a doctor to see if we were breathing and send us on to be
processed and made "Government Issue", or for short, "G.I. A few
minutes later we took the oath and were officially in the Army of the
United States. A Sergeant took us aside, told us we were being sent
to Fort Custer, Battle Creek, Michigan, on August 27. I had just two
weeks left to be wearing civilian clothes.
At Fort Custer I was outfitted with an Army uniform and assigned to a

barracks with a lot of other raw recruits. A very unfriendly Sergeant

called us to attention, told us what poor specimens of humanity we
were and, from this time on, our scrawny bodies belonged to him until
we were shipped out for basic training. In the words of a popular
song of the era, "This is the army Mr. Jones, no private rooms or
telephones. You had your breakfast in bed before, but you won`t have
it there any more." Whoever wrote those lyrics must have spent time
in the army, as a Private.
It was there at Fort Custer, I received my first duty assignment. I,
along with two other "rookies," were handed gunny sacks, neatly
arranged for hanging over the shoulder, and each a stick with a nail
protruding from one end and told to "police" the area. We spent most
of the morning stabbing at litter on the ground and neatly placing it
into our sacks. One of my fellow "Sanitary Technicians" was a guy,
somewhat older than the rest of us, and exceedingly
short and
paunchy. With "great sensitivity," we kept ourselves amused by
badgering the poor soul with various terms alluding to his lack of
manly stature. Later, during a coffee break, we discovered that he
was a member of the Michigan legislature. This was the first time I
learned the valuable lesson, to not judge my fellow soldiers by their
appearance or ethnic identity.
After a short, miserable stay at Fort Custer we were shipped out to
Camp McCoy, Wisconsin for basic training. Camp McCoy, then, was still
under construction and being used, mainly, for the housing of "Enemy
Aliens", Germans, Italians and Japanese, as well as being readied for
the thousands of troops who would be trained there, many to go on for
the invasion of Europe. When American troops arrived for training, it
was then, we came in contact with the 442nd Infantry Regiment
comprised of Japanese Americans, most of whom, had families living in
the territory of Hawaii.
As usual, the army gave us no indication as to what service we were
assigned to. We were told that we were temporarily assigned to the
M.P.E.G, Military Police Escort Guard. As a matter of fact, we were
neither Military Police nor Escort Guards. Our sole duty was to stand
guard over the Enemy Alien camp at night and go through basic
training during the day.
It was here that young Americans, like me, first learned that it was
wrong to judge people by the color of their skin or by their
ancestry. If the army taught us anything, it was that we, young
Midwestern boys, had to face the realities of life and adjust our way
of thinking if we were to succeed in life, in the army or as
civilians. One night on a bus, returning from a night out in La
Crosse, I was seated next to a young Japanese American guy from the
442nd. We were discussing an incident that had taken place recently.
It seems that two of the Japanese- Americans from his unit had been
found murdered and an investigation was underway. The "scuttlebutt"

was that they had been killed by some guys from an infantry unit. He
went on to say that he couldn't understand how American soldiers
could harbor such hate for one another. He explained that at the time
of the Pearl Harbor attack they were in training at "Pearl" and had
not yet been given any rifle training. At the moment of the attack,
they were called to duty, issued rifles, and told to fire at those
f****** ""Japs." He said, "Not one of us hesitated, because we were
American soldiers, defending our country".
We were taken through basic training by a "Sergeant from Hell." He
marched us until we dropped, had us do target shooting until we could
no longer see the target, had us peeling potatoes until we hated the
sight of the damned things and, in general, made life absolutely
miserable for us. We had no inkling of what we were being assigned to
until the Sergeant introduced us to a new cadence marching verse. As
I remember it went something like this, "Eyes right, a** holes tight,
Foreskins to the rear, we're the boys from Camp McCoy, and we've got
gonorrhea."
When we asked him what all that meant, he replied, "It`s God damned
appropriate for all you f******* medics. " Now we knew we were in the
Medical Corps. and wondered what experiences lay ahead for us in the
days to come.
As all "good" things" do, basic training came to a finish. Our basic
training period had been short and we all hoped we would be up to
whatever lay ahead. The Sergeant called us together before our
graduation march, told us we were now soldiers and that he was proud
of us. Somehow, all our ill feelings vanished and we came around to
thinking he was a "great guy."
Immediately, I was assigned to the Camp McCoy Station Hospital,
became a "Ward Boy", and wound up doing all the, less attractive,
duties that the Officer nurses chose not to do, and doing it with a
with a smile and a salute. Along with my other duties I was assigned
to a number of classes taught by the doctors and other personnel.
It was during these sessions that I met my best buddy, Glen McQueen,
whom I was to serve with during much of the war. We all called him
"Mac." He was one of those guys who truly had "savoir- faire." Six
foot tall, a good physique and a somewhat handsome face, topped by a
full head of black, wavy hair. "Tall, dark and handsome," fitted his
description exactly. Since I was not exactly the most sophisticated
guy on the planet, Mac, always ready with a smooth line, "took up the
slack," and made our social life more pleasant. We became known as
the "Gold Dust Twins," since we always traveled together. It is this
sense of camaraderie in the service that makes war time friendships
so special.
Our training fo medical duty consisted of courses which would make us
valuable as aides to the nurses and doctors and also consisted of

training for the field. One lesson that made a strong impression on
me was the proper way to remove a wounded soldier from a disabled
tank. It was this course that made me wonder if we were soon to be on
the battlefield. Unlike the movies, most of my buddies and I, did not
long to be assigned to the infantry for heroic combat duty.
One day while off "ward duty" Mac and I were chatting with a Captain
with whom we had become familiar. All doctors held the rank of
Captain or higher. He asked if we would like to assist him during an
examination. We knew by the way he asked and the twinkle in his eye
that this was to be a farce of some kind. He was known for his love
of practical jokes, many not always in line with medical ethics. The
examinee was a member of the Women`s Army Corps. in for a
gynecolological exam. Clad in white surgical gowns, looking much like
young interns, we stood by as the Captain performed his examination.
This was followed by a burst of hilarity after the "Doc" dismissed
her. Such lack of insensitivity was rare and not typical of the
behavior of Officers or enlisted men. Later that day we passed the
young lady in the main corridor. She took a very contemptable look at
us in our enlisted mens uniforms and, in a very unladylike manner,
called us "dirty bastards," a not "Ladylike" expression for a not
"Gentlemanly like" incident.
One of the "off the cuff", lessons we received during training was
from an Officer in the office of the Adjudent General. Along with
legal advice, he often gave us bits of "army wisdom." Concerning our
demeanor, he advised us that, while walking on the hospital campus,
to carry, very conspicuously, a sheet of paper and walk, very
briskly, as if on an errand. This, he emphasized, would save us many
hours of extra duty being assigned to us by an overeager Seargant.
Finally, after two weeks of training by doctors and nurses we were
assigned to the wards. I was given a promotion to T/5, CorporalMedical Technician, a rank I continued to carry throughout the war.
After going overseas, the old lyric kicked in, "There will be no
promotion this side of the ocean." I was assigned the duty of
supervising eight Privates for ward duty. This was my first
experience in supervision and led to an incident which gave me much
satisfaction. During basic training I had committed some
"unforgivable sin" and was banished to the kitchen for a week of
Kitchen Police, better known as "KP." As all old soldiers know,
"Police" had nothing to do with this inglorious assignment. This was
simply a means for some damned Sergeant to "vent his spleen" and for
the kitchen to get extra help. I believe that in the sixteenth
century many ships were manned by a "shanghaied crew." This was the
Army`s way of getting extra hours of a soldier`s time without any
reward for extra duty and punishing him for his indiscretions. For
that unforgettable week I took orders from a Mess Sergeant who ground
out orders like meat going through a sausage grinder. The tiniest
infraction of his rules like taking a glass of milk, without his

permission, would result in the full force of his temper coming down
on one like a full blown hurricaine. He was truly, "The Devil, In
Chef's Clothing`.
Now, that I was an NCO, with all the "authority" that implies, I was
regularly checking into the ward, soldiers who had fallen ill or who
just found some reason to be assigned to the hospital, many, just for
some time away from the duties of the day and a chance to relax. One
day, "When what, to my wondering eyes should appear," but my old
"Comrade in Arms", the Mess Sergeant, with nothing but a bad head
cold. The Army had, a ,not so technical, name for his distress. The
term "Goldbricking" is far too tame. The other crude term is better
not repeated here. I was very happy to accommodate my old comrade and
immediately assigned him to a bed. With a smile on his face, he
settled in for some rest and relaxation. Much to his chagrin, he soon
found out that this was not to be the case. Vengeance was in my heart
and this was my golden opportunity to even up the score. He seemed
utterly unawaware that in the hospital he was duty bound to take
orders from hospital personnel, regardless of inferior rank.. As an
ambulatory patient he had to perform whatever housekeeping duties
assigned to him. I had no problem in finding a job for him to take
his mind off the boredom of the day. For those of you, former
soldiers, who are thinking, "Latrine Duty", I can only say that you
are so right in your speculation. I armed him with a toilet brush, a
mop and bucket and gave him immediate employment. It was apparent
that he had no desire to perform these menial tasks and informed me
that I should remember that he held the rank of Sergeant. With joy in
my heart, I, very authoritatively, pointed out to him that there were
no stripes on his bathrobe and that his immediate concern was to have
the latrine ready for Saturday morning inspection, "Vengeance is
mine, sayeth the Lord," but, for this one shining moment, "Vengeance
was mine", and I enjoyed every damned second of it.
With the compliance of the Captain, we kept him in the hospital for
a few extra days. I`m sure he was more careful about his treatment
of other lowly privates he held sway over. He had just experienced
the old adage, "What goes around, comes around."

CHAPTER 2
As the days wore on, life was a series of daily routine duties and we
were becoming somewhat restless. Although the time we had spent in
the army was short our youthful outlook made the days seem endless.
Many of the units on the base were moving on. This made us hope that
we would be next and go on to some other experiences. We had no idea
what things awaited us but anything was better than spending the war
in the Army at Camp McCoy, Wisconsin as "Ward Boys." Didn't Gen.
Patton say to recruits that they didn`t want to have to tell their
grandchildren t they spent the war shoveling horseshit at an Army
Cavalry base?
We didn't have to wait for long for we suddenly got the news that the
306 Station Hospital was being sent overseas. With typical Army
retisense to tell the enlisted man anything, we were told absolutely
nothing except to pack our belongings and be ready to move. With the
enlisted man`s penchant for finding out everything, we soon found out
that we were headed for the European Theater of Operations, or for
short, the E.T,O..
On October 31, 1942, Halloween being an appropriate day, we received
our shipping orders. Everything we possessed was crammed into our
duffle bags, and we were on our way to the train station, all "very
comfortable," in a "luxurious" army truck. Arriving at a train depot,
we hastily boarded a car that looked as though it had seen service in
the Civil War. Once on the train, we eagerly awaited some legitimate
information as to our destination. True to army form, none came.
Finally, after many hours, card games and an occasional snooze, we
arrived in Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada. The year was 1942 and the
war in Europe was in full force. Britain was in a state of deadly
peril and the arrival of the "Yanks" was considered a blessing to
their hopes of defeating the Germans. In any event, we were now about
to board a troop ship and make the dangerous crossing across the
North Atlantic to relieve our British Allies. That America was fully
engaged in this war was borne out by the hundreds of thousands of
American soldiers waiting to board the many troop ships crowding the
harbor.
Upon our arrival at the harbor, we boarded the RMS Mauritania for our
trip across the North Atlantic to Great Britain. We boarded the ship

in the late afternoon. After a "fine meal" of "good" mutton stew, we

were told to choose a spot on the long mess table for our gear. This
is where we would sleep and, "Be sure to be out of there as soon as
reveille is over because the RAF will be using the table for
training classes."
We were allowed to roam around and get acquainted with the ship. Mac
and I ventured into an area where a number of RAF {Royal Air Force
guys} were singing Bless `Em All, which was a popular British wartime
song. The lyrics, "Bless `em all, the long, the short , and the tall"
,etc. were constantly repeated with the "Bless" almost always
replaced with another four letter word, better not repeated here.
Soon we were joined by more fellow "Yanks." American- British unity
was already beginning to take place. As the Mauritania got underway
we were engrossed in making friends and having a "Jolly good time, as
the "Limeys" would say,
After a nights rest on that hard table, we got the signal to clear
out, which we did without hesitation. Gazing out a porthole,
expecting to see the open ocean, we found out that we were back in
port. As we gazed out at the harbor, Mac turned to me and said, "What
the hell is this? "I thought we were underway." It didn't take long
to find the answer to that query. It seems that during the night we
had run into a "Wolf Pack." That was the name, Admiral Donitz, the
Commander of the German navy, gave to his submarines, which hunted in
packs, awaiting Allied shipping. We were traveling without a convoy
and were a likely target.
Before long we, once more, got underway. With the unbounded optimism
of youth and a feeling of invincibility, we never gave another
thought to the danger we faced in crossing the North Atlantic without
a convoy, depending only on the speed and maneuverability of this
great ship. Ships capable of traveling fast steered a zig zag course,
without accompanying vessels, making them difficult to target.
True to British tradition, a daily shot of rum was provided to all on
board. As I recall, we approached a small makeshift bar and were
doled out our portion. The only "fly in the ointment" was that the
U.S. Navy did not permit drinking on board its ships. Even though
this was a British ship, American personnel were bound by American
Naval rules. This was handled very neatly by the British by simply
doling out a portion of ginger beer, a British soda pop, to the
Americans. Never to be outdone, we simply accepted the soda pop,
exchanged our soft drink for rum by handing a couple of cigarettes to
our British brethren and accepting their gracious exchange of rum for
ginger beer.
Another bit of culture shock was the difference in what the "Limeys"
thought of as tasty cuisine and what we thought of as "good grub."

The, too frequent, serving of mutton stew did not bode well for the
"Yanks", and resulted in a considerable amount of grumbling on our
part. Other than that, and similar differences, the next few days or
so went off without incident and a surprising amount of goodwill
developed between us and the "Limeys."
Finally, after several days of boredom and bad food we arrived in
Great Britain and were hastily put on a waiting train for our final
destination.
We were all anxious to see what England looked like but we were
traveling at night and the windows were blacked out in compliance
with "blackout" regulations. The British strictly enforced these
rules because of the possibility of giving the Germans a target on
their nightly flights over England.
Our Executive Officer, Capt. Lebowitz, a balding man, somewhat
overweight and a chain smoker, had preceded our arrival, having
boarded the train at Southampton to accompany us to our destination.
He soon appeared on the scene to address us when suddenly a loud roar
was heard directly above the train. Certain that the plane would hit
the train, we all hit the floor, "scared, out of our wits."
The only one standing was Capt. Lebowitz. With a big smile on his
face, he said, "Gentlemen you have just been welcomed to the United
Kingdom by the U. S. Army Air Force."
At long last, the train came to a stop, somewhere, just outside the
city of Bournemouth. We were immediately trucked to an Army camp,
given a barracks and told to get a good nights sleep. We found our
bunks and then the "bitching" began. On the bunk was a rather plump
mattress but when one lay down, it suddenly became apparent that what
appeared to be a mattress was, in reality, a bag of straw. Later we
found out that the British had arranged this for us since it was a
part of the "Lend-Lease" arrangement America had made with the
British. The whole damned camp was a British creation, and not one to
become fond of. The upshot was that we were so damned tired that we
slept as though we were sleeping on the best mattresses money could
buy.
Without regard that we were all in need of more rest after our long
journey, reveille, sounded as usual. After standing for roll call we
were dismissed for "Mess." Although we had been severe critics of
army food, the sight of good old American style bacon and eggs,
tended to soften our criticism, at least for the moment.
After "mess" The Company was called to order and we were given the
"Orders of the Day.' It seems that we were in a "holding area" and
quarantined for several days, during which time, we would be
responsible for housekeeping duties. The Sergeant then introduced
Capt. Lebowitz, our never to be forgotten, Executive Officer. What
followed was so damned comical, coming from this balding, overweight

and pompous, unmilitary like Officer, that I am sure every G.I.,

there at that moment, will remember it to his dying day. I`m sure, I
will. The Captain addressed us, as I recall it, "Gentlemen, you are
now a part of the European Theater of Operations. Your conduct here
will be vitally important in bringing victory to our forces against
the German Tyranny. God Bless you and the American Army." He,
finished with, "Always remember, when off duty, that you are here as
conquerors, not to be conquered by the harpies of the streets." He
ended with a military salute that would have made Gen. Eisenhower,
himself, proud. Dr. Lebowitz had transformed himself into a military
conqueror and satisfied his deepest longings, which, I`m sure, he
usually only carried out in his fantasy life.
After several long and boring days, punctuated by crap games and
other "intellectual pursuits", the quarantine was lifted and we were
given an opportunity to visit Bournemouth. Immediately, the office
was filled with G.I.s requesting passes. As long as you knew your
name rank and serial number the request was granted.
Mac and I were among the first to get in line, receive our passes,
and board the truck for town. Dressed, as finely as we could, in our
dress uniforms, we joined in the, rather ribald, singing as the truck
bounced along taking some very enthusiastic, young and virile, men,
into the city. The word virile is used very purposefully since the
thoughts on all the passenger's minds concerned speedy liaisons with
the local girls.
Mac, who seemed ever knowledgeable about such things, steered me into
the lounge bar of a local pub. The lounge bar was a cut above the
part of the pub that served only the men. The lounge was for social
gatherings and included the more refined women and men of the
community and the occasional military Officer as well as a few
enlisted men.
Once, comfortably ensconced, in a neat little booth, Mac began to
size up the situation and decided to make his move. He moved, with
great suavity, to the table of two lovely, young ladies and soon had
them seated with us in our booth. Although I do not have a good
recollection of the young lady Mac was interested in, I shall never
forget the charming and petite girl I was partnered with. Doreen
Hazelwood, her real name, was everything one thinks of when we hear
the term, "English Beauty." The charm of her English accent was not
lost upon me and our conversation soon consisted of little details
about where we called home and our particular interests.
The barkeeper, having called, "Time, please." which was the signal
for closing, brought the usual query, "May I see you home?" Both
girls, having informed us that they would rather go home together,
had made it quite clear that their parents, mothers in particular,
did not have a fondness for soldiers when their daughters were

involved. Doreen did agree to meet me the following day and give me a
tour of Bournemouth. Always the tourist, and in this case, a quite
enthusiastic tourist, we arranged a place to meet. The following day
we met at the appointed meeting place. Doreen seemed eager to do her
duty in making a lonely G.I. welcome and this lonely G.I. was only
too eager to accept her services.
Doreen proved to be an excellent tour guide and knew all the places
of interest. Her knowledge of the history of Bournemouth was quite
extensive. She delighted in showing me all the sights and made my
stay in Bournemouth a quite pleasurable experience. One of her
favorite places was an old church of historical importance and it was
there that I came to realize how much different an American`s concept
of time differed from the British. During our visit I noticed a
beautiful brass spread eagle that served as the podium for the
Minister. The cleaning lady was polishing it and I made the remark
that it was a beautiful podium. She smiled and said, "Oh, this was a
gift from our late Pastor in the early 1700s." Being a "Yank", I
thought of the 1700s as ancient history. This gave me pause, and made
me realize how young our beloved country is.
My way of thanking Doreen was to have my mother send her a gift. As I
recall, she did receive a lovely blue sweater, was delighted, and
said she would treasure it.
Meanwhile the war on the continent was raging on and my unit moved to
a new location near Tidworth, a city located southeast of Wilshire.
It shares its eastern border with the Salisbury Plain, the site of
the famous archeological find, Stonehenge. Here we carried on our
duties caring for the soldiers, who were receiving tender loving care
from our beautiful nurses.
It was not only the nurses who brought smiles to our patients. The
Red Cross and the Salvation Army both sent some very lovely ladies to
visit with the soldiers. One incident that stands out clearly
happened during one of those visits. A young man of about twenty
years old, was in the hospital for a rather extended stay. He was an
avid reader and kept us busy supplying him with books from the
hospital library. During a routine visit from the Red Cross volunteer
he requested of her to get a copy of Pygmalion, a book he had
acquired in London, signed by the author. The lady explained that it
was next to impossible to obtain the autograph since this author was
quite elderly and ill and had a reputation of not being friendly to
autograph seekers, so the task would only end in failure.
That closed the subject until the Salvation Army lady made her visit
and the same request was made of her. Her reaction was somewhat
different. She, in a very motherly fashion, said, "Give me the book
and I`ll see what I can do." A week went by and the same lady
appeared and was eager to see the young soldier. Upon greeting him
she said, "Wait till you see what I have for you." With that. she

unwrapped a package and there was the soldiers book. She opened the
book to the flyleaf, and there, in boldly handwritten words, was the
following note, as I remember it, "If I signed every book for someone
who thinks I am the greatest writer since Shakespeare, I'd be doing
nothing but signing my name." Then, written with a flourish, was the
signature, George Bernard Shaw, This incident comes to mind every
Christmas when I make my donation in a Salvation Army kettle.
Mac and I were eager to see more of England and find a place free
from the ever present G.I. Having this in mind, we decided to take
leave and get as far away from places inhabited by people of our ilk
as we could. This led to us catching a bus and traveling as far away
from camp as we could .
Our bus ride took us to a town which seemed completely bereft of
servicemen. As all G.I.s do, we immediately found the nearest Pub and
settled in comfortably to enjoy a pint of beer. We were the only
customers and after a few moments of waiting, no one appeared to wait
upon us. Mac finally called out for service. Soon, a young lady
peered around an open door and said, quite breathlessly, "Oh, you are
Americans." I said, "We sure are, what did you think we were"? Her
reply was that she and her parents had observed us from the kitchen
and, just catching a glimpse of our boots, thought we were Germans.
We knew we had found the right spot and enjoyed a great afternoon
free from the hub bub of G.I. activity. This place showed no signs
of ever having been host to an American soldier. After an hour of
friendly chatter with the barkeep and his daughter we decided it was
time to get back to camp.
Before boarding the bus I looked around for a rest room.. Spotting a
toilet, I entered and went to the urinal to relieve myself. There,
written in bold letters on the wall was that old familiar refrain,
"Kilroy was here." There was no way in the world that one could find
a place in England that had not been visited by American soldiers.
We returned to our unit, ready to resume our duties but, as usual,
Mac and I were ready for our next outing and this time, we both
agreed, it was to be London, the capital of Great Britain, and one of
the great historical cities of the world.
The week following our bus trip had been exceedingly busy. Two guys
had been admitted for broken limbs and another for a severe case of
appendicitis. Between scheduling them for operations, working out a
schedule for the ward boys and covering for a nurse who had gone on
leave, as well as attending to my other duties, I had my hands full.
Mac also had experienced a hectic week and both of us were ready to
get a pass for the weekend and our trip to London.
Having secured a three day pass and arranged for one of the ward
boys, who was "Bucking for Corporal,", to cover for me, I was ready

to head for London. Mac had obtained a pass, too, although he had to
do some fast talking to get his.
In London, we went to Paddington Station. Across the street from the
station was Dickens Tavern, one of the many historic pubs in London.
As we entered the pub, Mac noticed a ,very old, lady with a small
glass of Guinness, half full. With his usual charm and savoir faire,
he walked over to her and inquired, "May I get you a drink, mother?"
To the delight and laughter of all around, she replied, as loudly as
she could, in a her high pitched, shrill voice, "I`ll have a `pint."
After a couple of "pints" we decided it was time to get to the Red
Cross Club in Piccadilly Circus, the Broadway of London, and settle
down for the night.
The Red Cross Club in Piccadilly, also known as Rainbow Corner, was
the headquarters for all G.Is when they visited London. A huge
building of several stories, with all kinds of hospitality available,
it was a magnet for all of us seeking rest and relaxation.
One of the attractions was the little office presided over by Adele
Astaire, sister of Fred Astaire, where she wrote letters to the loved
ones of the G.I.s telling them of her visit with their sons,
daughters or sweethearts. It was a very thoughtful way to support the
war effort and was highly appreciated by all of us. "Rainbow Corner"
also played host to such celebrated personages as Gen. Theodore
Roosevelt, Gen. Eisenhower, George Raft, Jimmy Stewart, Irving Berlin
and many others. Glen Miller did a broadcast there and also, Artie
Shaw, who performed there for the soldiers. Little wonder that this
was the most favored place visited by G.I,s when on leave in London.
Mac and I had just settled down for the night on the top floor of the
club with the sound of "Pom Pom" guns above us on the roof of the
building. "Pom Pom" was the name the British people called the antiaircraft guns that responded to the, almost, nightly bombings. Just
as sleep was taking over, we were aroused by a mighty explosion
accompanied by the intense shaking of the building.
In a matter of moments we were out of bed and dressed, prepared to
leave the building. Once out on the street, we observed the reason
for the blast. About four buildings down the street from the club a
V1 rocket had hit a building, tearing it apart, as though a giant
fist had come down on it. In no time at all, ambulances were on the
scene, and people covered in blood, crying out in pain, were being
removed from the wreckage. In that terrible moment I became aware of
the resilience of the British people. There was no panic, no
screaming, only a dogged determination on the part of the volunteers
to assist the wounded and bring order out of the chaos.
This should have been enough to spoil our weekend but, being young.
and feeling, indestructible ,we were undeterred and, after all, the

old Windmill Theater was still in business and the girls were still
there, awaiting the G.I.s.
The Windmill Theater, famous for never having closed during the worst
of the bombing of London had, by the time of the war, became a
burlesque house and a premier attraction for British and American
soldiers while on leave. The old theater has an interesting history
and has been portrayed on the screen in a film called, Mrs. Henderson
Presents,
It was one of those rare evenings in London, when the air was soft
and warm, ideal for outdoor relaxation. This, I mention, because it
was a tradition at the theater, when the weather was good, that the
patio at the rear of the house was open and customers and dancers ,
between acts, could enjoy a drink and conversation. Needless to say,
Mac and I took full advantage of this opportunity to "schmoose" with
the show girls.
Ensconced comfortably at one of the patio tables, we awaited the
arrival of the girls. They usually arrived as soon as the first
performance was over, still heavily "Made Up" with grease paint and
those long artificial eye lashes in place. To my unsophisticated
eyes, this was the very zenith of feminine glamour.
Two "ladies" strolled by and, with great admiration, I watched as Mac
beckoned to them, and with a skill, usually observed only in the
movies, brought them to our table. After a moment of "sweet talk" by
my adroit companion the girls settled in comfortably. I was highly
impressed as he deftly proffered cigarettes to our "lovely"
companions. Within a moment, his Zippo lighter appeared, the cover
thrown back, and with a flick of his thumb, the flame appeared and,
it was at that moment, Mac's sophistication ,"went up in flames". The
streak of fire from the lighter rose fully four inches and licked at
those long artificial eye lashes. This was followed by a stream of
four letter obscenities from the young "lady" that would have made a
drunken sailor blush. So endeth our London trip, so endeth Mac's,
highly acclaimed "savoir faire", but it was only one of many trips
that we took to that great and historic city.
On another occasion, Mac and I had the privilege of visiting the
Royal Opera House, in London's Covent Gardens. Impressive as this
may seem, hundreds of" Yanks," nightly, made a pilgrimage to this
historic place of culture and refinement, not to experience the
opera, but to meet the girls and dance the night away.
Sometime during the war a decision had been made to convert the opera
house into a dance hall for the entertainment of the thousands of
military personnel in the city. The stage was prepared for the
accommodation of the large swing bands that would appear there and a
dance floor installed. In effect, this historic place had become a
night club. For the price of two shillings and six pence one became a
member of the club and entitled to free admission when in town on

leave. I can still hear, in my "moments of recollection." the music

of Ted Heath and other bands of renown, and those tender moments on
the dance floor, with a lovely English girl in my arms, as we swayed
to the music and, for a few shining moments, forgot the shadow of war
that always hung over us. There were other times when we were
"jitterbugging" or dancing to a love song and the wail of the siren
would be heard alerting us to a bombing and, if we so desired, retire
to an air raid shelter. Very often, the young\
lady in my arms would whisper in my ear, "Oh, lets just keep on
dancing."
Upon our return to the hospital we found that the 306th had received
a new arrival. This was a surprise because no one new had ever been
assigned to our outfit, unlike combat units who were often getting
replacements due to casualties suffered in battle. We were curious to
know why the young soldier had been sent to the 306th.
He was busy getting his gear in order when we introduced ourselves.
In our chat with him we found out his home was in Dayton Ohio. We
asked him how he became assigned to our outfit. His answer was, " I
don`t know." He went on to say he was doing guard duty at a place in
Alamogordo, New Mexico and he was in town in a bar when a civilian
struck up a conversation with him. As he told it, "This guy asked me
what duty I was performing in the army." He said he told him,
"Nothing important, I just stand guard duty at a gate to some damned
compound outside Alamogordo." He added, "Hell. I don`t even know
what the Hell is going on there." "At that point two other civilians
walked up, took me by the arms and walked me outside to a waiting
car, drove me to my outfit and turned me over to a Lieutenant." The
Officer simply said to me, "Stow your things in your duffle bag and
follow me. Following his instructions, I finished up stowing my gear
and with that the Lieutenant took me to a car and to the airport and
sent me here, Hell, up to this moment, I don`t know what happened and
why I`m here." I guess he never did know until the war was over.
This incident brought home to all of us how serious the military was
about security. "Loose lips, sink ships," had real meaning for all of
us and we were constantly on guard when chatting with anyone,
especially civilians.

Chapter 3

The patients were not the only ones to appreciate the charms of those
Lovely nurse Second Lieutenants' but we knew better than attempt to
socialize with Officers, a `sin,' requiring drastic action by
Superior Officers, if ventured by a lowly enlisted man.
My duties kept me in close contact with nurses and doctors, arranging
schedules for the "Ward Boys," schedules for medications and
assisting doctors and nurses during their rounds. It was impossible
to not become familiar with the nurses, and one beautiful young nurse
by the name of Rosemary, last name deleted, caught my eye to the
point that I broke through that invisible barrier and arranged a date
with her. Mac, never much concerned with rules, also arranged a date
with his favorite nurse and a double date was about to take place
that would have the inevitable consequences.
The bus arrived for the short ride into Salisbury. Mac and I found
our seats, discreetly separated from our dates so as not to appear to
be accompanying Officers. Shortly thereafter, arriving at our
destination, we proceeded to the nearest pub, and, with our dates,
began imbibing the best of what British brewers had to offer. Our
conversation gradually became more stimulating and our relationships
becoming ever more intimate, we were off to a wonderful evening. At
just before 11:00, the booming voice of the bartender resounded
throughout the pub. "Time please", the dreaded call, that meant we
could order only one more drink before the bar closed. This was
usually followed by a rush to the bar by the patrons, many of whom
still had unfinished drinks at their tables.
Knowing the rules of the game, we decided to move to one of the pubs
that catered to Officers and remained open after the usual closing
hours. The local officials were well aware that, "rank has its
privileges." The man at the door listened patiently as Mac explained
how the young lady with me had nursed me back to health from a
serious illness, "And now, my buddy John, and Rosemary, the lovely
nurse with him, are celebrating their engagement". Mac's story so
impressed the doorman that he made no objection to our presence in
the club.
Although Mac and I were the only non-Officers in the room, no one
seemed to notice and our evening continued on until closing time. As
we made our way through the crowd exiting the room, our arms
encircling our dates, I looked up and, catching my eye, was the
Company Commander. His look of disapproval, I knew immediately, was a
harbinger of things to come.
The results of having encountered the Company Commander, the night
before, under the previously mentioned circumstances, were not long
in coming. Mac was the first to heed a call to the Office immediately
after Mess., and upon his return to the barracks, informed me he had

been told to pack his belongings and leave on the truck parked
outside the Commander's office. He knew not, where he was headed.
Mac packed his gear and we both walked over to the waiting truck.
Before he climbed aboard, we shook hands and wished each other well.
I never saw Mac again, until we were discharged and home, once more,
in Kalamazoo.
I was the next to get the call to meet with the Company Commander.
His directive was quick, brusque and direct. "Tomorrow morning, be at
the roadside with your belongings in your duffle bag and meet the
truck when it arrives." "Do you have any questions, Corporal?"
My answer was quick, brusque and direct. "No Sir," followed by a
salute. The answer was a snappy salute and a, "Dismissed, Soldier."
Feeling somewhat, depressed at having lost my buddy and being sent to
"God knows where," I climbed aboard the truck the following morning
with a number of other "F***Ups, "but damned glad I hadn't lost my
stripes.
The truck rambled on for several miles until the driver pulled over
and hollered back at us, "You guys wanna stop at this pub and have a
beer?" The question was, of course unnecessary, and we all
disembarked , much heartened by this magnanimous gesture.
Along with the other guys, I dropped to the ground, faced forward,
and lo and behold, there was Capt. John Hummer, leaving his seat
alongside the driver. Capt. Hummer was one of the enlisted men's
favorite Officers and a resident of my hometown. His greeting to me
was, "John, what the Hell are you doing here?" I replied, "I might
ask you the same thing, Captain." Such was the informality that
existed between he and the enlisted men with whom he was well
aquainted. He was an excellent doctor, a fine Officer and a real
gentleman.
Once, inside the pub the G.I.s quickly received their "pints" and
were noisily swapping stories. Capt. Hummer and myself, knowing each
other well and, having come from the same outfit, as well as both of
us being residents of Kalamazoo, took a booth, and over a pint of
Guinness, began our stories of how we came to be on this particular
journey. I recounted my encounter with the Commander regarding
fraternization with Officers and the penalty I suffered. Capt. Hummer
laughed and said he had even a better story to tell. As he recounted
it, he and another officer had been on a date with two nurses and had
imbibed a little too much of "Old john Barleycorn," and upon
returning to camp one of the party dared him to go to the Commander`s
quarters and awaken him. He said," Having had one too many, and
taking the dare, I went into his hut, shook him, and with my
flashlight, blinded him and backed out. Unfortunately, I was unable
to stifle a laugh. Big mistake! The Commander, now fully aroused,

recognized my laugh, and bellowed out, "John Hummer, you S.O.B, I`ll
make you pay for this," "So here I am with the rest of you "F***ups."
He went on to assure me that we were not only assigned to the same
place but were going to Torquay, on the south coast of England, to
care for an encampment of soldiers training for the invasion. We
would be responsible for their day to day medical problems. He said,
"This is going to be dammed good duty, since this is one of the best
spots in England, as close to tropical weather as you will see over
here, and we will be on our own, to do, as we see fit".
After dropping off the guys on the truck at their assigned
destinations, we finally arrived at the lovely seaside town of
Torquay, to this day, stll known as an integral part of the "English
Riviera." It is no wonder that the famed British author, Agatha
Christie, chose to live most of her life here in this, almost,
tropical like paradise.
Wartime Britain was in no position to have its beaches inhabited only
by vacationing sun bathers and the long stretches of barbed wire that
covered those beaches stood in stark testimony to the fact that
England was at war and fighting for its life and freedom.
In Russia, soldiers were being sent to the Eastern Front for
improper behavior and Torquay was our, "Eastern Front." Of course,
being `good and obedient soldiers," we would do our best to cope
with the cards life had dealt us.
The encampment, covering several acres, was located on the outskirts
of town. The troops were housed in tents. We soon found our spot, a
large Quonset hut, neatly made up, sleeping accommodations for six
and an office and lab. This was to be our home and workplace until
further notice.
We quickly staked out our cots and proceeded to make our areas as
comfortable as possible. Capt. Hummer and I took an inventory of the
things we required in the lab and then we sat down over a cup of
coffee to discuss our routine.
Each morning we would take care of the needs of the soldiers on "Sick
Call." He explained that, at times, he would not be available as he
would, undoubtedly, have connections in town that might require him
to spend the night there. He said he was sure that I could handle the
routine cases by myself but he would leave me a telephone number
where I could reach him in case of an emergency. I was well aware of
the fact that one did not question a Superior Officer about his off
base activities. He then went on to say that he would arrange a, not
too early, sick call. He then instructed me to tell the Mess Sergeant
that he would like to confer with him.

The Sergeant, a large bulky man, heavily tattooed, and florid of

face, responded quickly, and gave a proper salute to Capt. Hummer,
which was returned in proper military manner. Capt. Hummer began,
"Sergeant, We are here to care for the personnel stationed here and I
want my men, and soon there will be more of us, to get plenty of
rest, so it would be appreciated if you would have breakfast for them
even if their arrival is somewhat late, thus giving them time for
some extra sleep time in the morning." The Sergeant assured Captain
Hummer
that this would be no problem but he had a favor to ask of him. The
Captain, knowing, "Quid pro quo," said, "Mention it, and it's done."
He then explained that he often suffered from a severe hangover in
the morning and would appreciate a doctor approved remedy. With that,
Captain Hummer made up a concoction and showed me how to prepare it
for the amiable Sergeant. As I recall, it had a very solid base of
codeine, and later received a very favorable reaction from the
Sergeant.
Our discussion continued, and being curious about his remark that
there would soon be more of us, I said, "Captain, Will we be
receiving some additional help?" His answer came in the form of a
question. "John, I`m sure you will be making some social connections
in town, and wouldn't it be nice to have some "wheels?" Without
hesitation, he received an affirmative answer. He then went on to say
that he was ordering an ambulance and driver. "I'll make sure that
the driver will understand that the vehicle is at your disposal at
all times," He said, with a smile. "I told you this would be good
duty, didn't I?" "Let's make the most of it."
The ambulance did arrive and it served me well as I became more
acquainted in the community. The driver, a Private First Class, was
a fine young man and fitted in very well with, our, rather "laid
back," style of living. We did, however, have one incident which
challenged our unmilitary behavior.
For some unknown reason, and, maybe, it was because the army had no
other place to put him, another Captain doctor appeared one day and
showed Capt. Hummer his transfer. We now had two Captains and two
enlisted men. That seemed a little heavy with rank.
It wasn't long before our new arrival, a young, "spit and polish"
Officer, made it known, in no uncertain terms, that our unkempt beds
and generally, sloppy housekeeping was not in line with what he
considered military demeanor. Dr. Hummer, I`m sure, considered this
an insult to his management and approached him a couple of days
later, after one of his rants about unmade beds. Confronting the
young Officer with fire in his eyes, he said, "Captain, "What was the
date of your commission"?
Without a moments hesitation he blurted out the date to Capt. Hummer.
The response was almost immediate, Capt. Hummer said, "Captain, my
commission is of a much earlier date and this puts me in complete

command here, and furthermore, my staff and I are quite satisfied

with our lifestyle. Is that perfectly clear"?
The young Captain Answered with a quick, "Yes Sir."
I am still of the opinion that the young Captain`s transfer to
another location the following week had something to do with this
clash of opinions between the two Officers.
Another incident, which I recall with great relish, happened one
evening when we were seated outside of our hut chatting. A Sergeant
from one of the infantry outfits showed up, rifle in hand, and
joined us. He said, "Wanna see a demonstration of how we train the
men in rifle handling?" He then proceeded to break down the rifle
into its separate parts. "Now watch this", he said. He closed his
eyes, and in a flash, put the rifle back together in record time.
Capt. Hummer, without verbal response, reached over and took hold of
the rifle. In a few short seconds he then proceeded to dismantle the
piece. He closed his eyes, and with a few deft movements, much faster
than the infantryman, reassembled the rifle. Then, breaking his
silence, Capt. Hummer said, "Soldier, I learned this little maneuver
in the National Guard, long before being sent over here. Not all
medics are unfamiliar with firearms."
Not all duty here was "fun and games", and meeting the day to day
needs of the troops kept us busy. There were plenty of situations
which required our response, although most situations were not of a
highly serious nature. These were highly trained combat troops,
having been already trained for battle before arriving at this
station. They were not engaging in maneuvers which resulted in severe
injury or worse. Most of our cases were merely first aid, although we
did have occasional situations in which, after initial treatment, we
took the patient to a nearby hospital.
We did have some inkling that important moves in the war were about
to take place. Often at night, in the darkness, German reconnaissance
planes would appear overhead and shoot tracer bullets, hoping for
return fire, thus establishing the location of the troops. One night
they dropped a small personnel bomb which landed on a china shop on
the outer perimeter of the encampment. What we saw in the morning
would have had a collector of "fine China "climbing the walls."
Just to be on the safe side, we dug a small trench and when a plane
appeared overhead we would climb in until all activity ceased. One
night, Capt. Hummer and I took to the trench for cover. During our
descent into the trench I brushed against something and received a
small cut on my wrist. Upon seeing the bloody wrist, Capt. Hummer
said. "OK, John, now I can put you in for a Purple Heart."
I, of course, declined the offer. The Purple Heart is given to those
wounded in battle as a tribute to their sacrifice and heroism. I am
sure, Captain Hummer was speaking in jest, knowing I could not, in
good conscience, accept his offer.

Monitoring the news every day, we were very much aware of the
mayhem being carried on across the Channel. Hitler had subdued most
of Europe and was keeping a wary eye on Britain where more and more
American, British, Canadian and allied forces were training for, what
he knew, would be the invasion of the continent.
Being in such close contact with these soldiers, who would be among
those to storm the beaches, made us very aware of the tremendous
responsibilities our nation had placed upon their shoulders. Many of
these young soldiers would be laying down their lives to keep alive,
what was left of, law and order in Europe. We were also aware of the
other Allied forces, in camps such as these, who were also called
upon to keep alive freedom and democracy. We were young, but not too
young, to know that what happened on those beaches would make Europe,
either free or slave and, in time, threaten the security of the
United States. For those of us who would not be compelled to make
that trip across the English Channel and face the carnage of the
invasion, it strengthened our resolve to care well for our brave
combat soldiers.

Chapter 4

The year was 1944 and the Stars and Stripes, the GI. newspaper, kept
us fully informed of what was happening across the English Channel.
Hitler's 1941 invasion of Russia, known as "Operation Barbarossa",
had proven a disaster and the attack on Pearl Harbor by the Japanese,
bringing in the Americans, had the German forces on the defensive.
Everyone realized that a turning point in the war had been reached.
The world held its breath awaiting the invasion.
Preparations for the invasion of the Normandy coast in France had
been made in 1943. President Roosevelt and Prime Minister Winston
Churchill had selected Gen. Dwight D. Eisenhower as Supreme Commander
and gave the plan the code name, Operation Overlord. The Allied
powers were now set on a course that would result in the greatest
military operation in the history of the world.
The Allies assembled a force of three million men and stored sixteen
million tons of ammunition and supplies in great Britain. The Allies
had five thousand large ships, four thousand smaller landing craft
and more than eleven thousand aircraft.
All along the south coast of Britain staging areas were set up for
the accommodation of the thousands of troops preparing for the
invasion. Torquay was one of these staging areas.
I remember clearly, getting up one morning, prepared to go to town
and meet the young lady with whom I had become acquainted. I stepped
out the door and it became crystal clear to me that I was not going
anywhere. This huge encampment was completely surrounded by British
and American soldiers bearing automatic weapons. From that moment on
security was absolute and complete. It was then that I realized why
large circus tents had been set up in the last few days and Officers
from all the outfits had been seen coming and going. Briefings were
being held, prior to, what all of us expected to be, the launching of
the invasion. What, I did not know, was that the invasion had been
set for June 5, but weather conditions in the channel were so bad
that the mission had been postponed until June 6.
In the wee hours of the morning of June 6,1944 we became aware of
frenzied activity in the camp. The sound of barked orders, the roar
of truck engines and the sound of booted feet made us realize that
the time had come. The invasion of the European continent was about
to become reality. Many young men would perish that day on the
beaches of Normandy, but many more would go forward into the heart of
Germany, in what Gen. Eisenhower dubbed, "A great Crusade."
The greatest armada in all of military history had been unleashed
that morning and a grateful world , to this day, pays homage to the
brave men who were willing to sacrifice their lives to wipe from the
face of the earth the evil empires of Germany, Italy and, ultimately,
Japan.

The Order of the Day. June 6 , 1944 from Supreme Headquarters Allied
Expeditionary Forces, as stated by General Dwight Eisenhower, Supreme
Commander was as follows,
Supreme Headquarters
Allied Expeditionary Force.
"Soldiers, Sailors and Airmen of the Allied Expeditionary Force!
You are about to embark upon the Great Crusade, toward which we have
striven these many months. The eyes of the world are upon you. The
hopes and prayers of liberty loving people everywhere march with you.
In company with our brave Allies and brothers-in-arms on other
fronts, you will bring about the destruction of the German war
machine, the elimination of Nazi tyranny over the oppressed peoples
of Europe and security for ourselves in a free world.
Your task will not be an easy one. Your enemy is well trained, well
equipped and battle hardened. He will fight savagely.
But this is the year 1944! Much has happened since the Nazi triumphs
of 1940-41. The United Nations have inflicted upon the Germans great
defeats, in open battle, man to man. Our offensive has seriously
reduced their strength in the air and their capacity to wage war on
the ground. Our Home Fronts have given us an overwhelming superiority
in munitions and weapons of war, and placed at our disposal great
reserves of trained fighting men. The tide has turned! The free men
of the world are marching together toward victory!
I have full confidence in your courage, devotion to duty and skill in
battle. We will accept nothing less than full victory!
Good luck! And let us beseech the blessing of Almighty God upon this
great and noble undertaking."
With this directive from the Supreme Commander and the hopes of all
free men, our troops went forward into battle. Before the day was
over, the events that took place on the beaches of Normandy would
herald a "new "Birth of Freedom" for the "Oppressed people of Europe"
and a new "Sense of security for ourselves" in a free world.
An eerie quiet now settled over this huge staging area. The sound of
bugle calls, the barked orders of the Sergeants and the noisy rush to
the mess hall by hundreds of hungry soldiers had suddenly become
stilled. The sounds of the camp had been transferred to the beaches
of Normandy and became the whine of bullets, the flash of rocket
fire, the explosion of heavy artillery and cries of pain from the
wounded and dying, as these brave troops struggled forward to free a
continent from the evil stranglehold of Nazi tyranny.
The only personnel left in the encampment was Capt. Hummer, myself
and the young Private who drove the ambulance. Our mission was

finished. Together, the Private and myself did a "Walk-through" of

the tents before they were struck and removed by the Quartermaster
Corps.
Left behind by the troops were those things they would not carry into
battle, bits of this and that they had acquired while on leave,
magazines and books they had been reading and the bric- a-brack that
magically collects around us as we move about.
One bit of memorabilia did catch my eye. lying on a cot, was a red,
hardbound copy of Tolstoy`s War and Peace, possibly the last book
this young soldier would ever read. With this thought in mind, I
picked up the book and there on the flyleaf, was the soldier's
signature, Jack C. Barnett. Through the years, this has been one of
my treasured mementos and I have tried repeatedly, to no avail, to
locate Jack, or his family, to return this bit of his wartime life to
its rightful owners.
The
the
our
for

Quartermaster Corps, with its usual efficiency, arrived toward

end of the day and removed the tents and all Army property except
quarters.. We would spend the night in our Quonset hut and wait
our orders.

Not having access to a mess hall, Capt. Hummer, the ambulance driver
and myself clambered aboard the ambulance, drove into town and had a
meal of fish and chips and returned for our last night in Torquay.
The following morning, Capt. Hummer called us together, and, now
having our orders in hand, informed us that we were to return to the
306 Station Hospital and the Private was to return to his outfit. A
vehicle would arrive to transport the Captain, and myself to the
hospital. I remember him saying, "Now, all we have to do is get back
and ready ourselves for the casualties that will be arriving from
Normandy. It won`t be long before we see what the term, "War is
Hell," really means,"
The hospital was now located outside the town of Cheltenham. The
Quonset huts were lined up neatly, concrete sidewalks connecting the
ward buildings. A mess hall was in place, barracks, quarters for the
Officers, a laboratory, sanitary facilities, and flying from a tall
flagpole, "Old Glory." The hospital was located on an area of
undeveloped land which provided the opportunity to carry on a
military program without disturbing the civilians who lived nearby. I
found the barrack
to which I was assigned and Capt. Hummer, being an Officer, had a
building which he shared with another Officer. We settled in for the
night wondering what tomorrow would bring.
The one thing that struck me was that the hospital had no patients
and that meant we were prepared for the arrival of casualties. It was

now well into the invasion. We had received word of the heavy
fighting and that the beachhead had been established and our troops
and the Canadians, as well as other forces, were now firmly
entrenched in Normandy.
Unlike the old 306th, the hospital had Military Police surrounding
it. It didn`t take long to find out that our patients would not be
American casualties, but instead, , German prisoners of war.
With the arrival of the new patients, a whole set of new problems
were encountered. All of this meant additional training.. We had to
become familiar with the rules of war, under, what was to become, the
Geneva Convention, regarding the treatment of enemy combatants, learn
to communicate with people of a foreign language and abide with
enhanced security regulations.
I was extremely busy for the next few days, assigning my men to their
wards, arranging duty schedules, and generally getting in sync with
the doctor I was working with, as well as getting to know the various
routines followed by the nurses.
Our first batch of patients arrived by train and we worked late into
the night getting them into the proper wards, taking care of their
medication needs and showing them, by our actions, that they had
nothing to fear. These were men who had been in the thick of battle,
weary and confused, not knowing what fate had in store for them, in
the hands of the enemy. Many had received severe wounds, others only
wounds severe enough that they could not function well enough to be
left unattended. The one thing they had in common was that most
would soon be ambulatory. Their quick removal to a hospital in
England must have been the need to get them across the channel and,
in case of escape, not having them return to duty.
While few of the prisoners spoke English and few of us spoke German,
it became apparent to us, quite quickly, that we had to teach each
other our languages. Out of this emerged a mixture of German and
English that, strung together in half sentences, allowed us to
communicate, if not fluently, at least well enough to function.
The one thing most of these men shared in common was their disdain of
Hitler and their nonparticipation in Nazi activities. Their
participation in the war was the result of the Draft and the now
familiar refrain, "I was only taking orders" defense. They uttered
it, we ignored it. There were exceptions, of course, and, as time
went by, some really did turn out to be anti-Nazi.
Our treatment of the prisoners was strictly according to
international law, in spite of our dislike of these," Nazi Supermen."
They were not forced to work, had food comparable to that fed our own
soldiers, allowed religious activities and housing equal to that

provided American patients. Treatment of their medical needs was of

the highest order of the time. Doctors, nurses and enlisted personnel
gave their level best in caring for their patients. Needless to say,
we had no escape attempts.
There were, however two types of prisoners. Combat soldiers had, very
visably, marked on their shirts, PW. "Prisoners of War," Medical
personnel had on their shirts, the marking, PP ," Protective
Personnel."Their non-combat status, allowed them special status under
the firmly established rules of war, later to become known as the
"Geneva Convention."
German medical personnel, Officers and enlisted men, were given the
opportunity to work with us in caring for the patients. Our doctors
now had additional help with the assistance of the German doctors and
my men had, much needed, help in carrying out their duties.
Life soon settled down into a daily routine. Many of the patients,
now ambulatory, seemed quite satisfied with the conditions we
provided for them and presented no problems for us.
Among the patients there were a few who were complete fanatics,
usually young and thoroughly "brainwashed." One such ,was a twenty
year old infantryman who. over and over, professed his loyalty to
Hitler and the Nazi doctrine. He had been severely wounded and was
scheduled for an operation.
At his scheduled time we wheeled him into the operating room. It soon
became apparent that he would need a blood transfusion. Since all the
American personnel had records on their "dog tags" of their blood
type, and many Germans had lost theirs, time being of the essence, it
was decided that one of the "ward boys" would "volunteer" to donate
the needed blood.
At the conclusion of the operation. He was returned to the ward. I
stood by him until he recovered from the effects of the anesthesia.
It was then that I gave in to an impulse that possibly could be
construed as "torture," and in violation of the rules of war. In the
best German I could muster ,with my limited fluency, I informed him
that he was now a Jew. His immediate response was, "Nein, Nein, which
in English is a very emphatic, "NO. NO!" I managed to get across to
him that one of the American soldiers had given him blood and that
the soldier was Jewish, therefore, he now had Jewish blood. I am sure
his reaction to my fabrication did not lead to his swift recovery.
The fact that the young man who donated his blood was not Jewish and
my deliberate attempt to cause this, "Hitler Youth," anguish, I
consider to this day, a contribution to the war effort, and more
deserving of a commendation than a rebuke. Thankfully I received
neither, for having inflicted a severe sense of discomfort upon a
"patriotic warrior" of the German Reich.

Many of the Germans had acquired quite substantial amounts of French

money and this was not lost on us as to the good times we could have
if we were to obtain this currency and convert it to British Pounds.
The Germans seemed eager to part with this booty, which they had
cleverly concealed when captured, in exchange for American
cigarettes. Having plenty of cigarettes we soon had pocketfuls of
French money, and now the trick was to make the conversion to British
currency. The post office had been ordered to make known, sums of
money beyond the amount Uncle Sam so generously showered upon us,
being sent home. The army seemed always watchful for G.I.
indiscretions. Since sending the cash home was not our first
priority, that was not an option we had considered.. The second
hurdle was to get an American Officer to sign off on our transaction
when we were on leave.
As soon as passes became available, Joe Feld, a good drinking buddy,
and a fellow Michigander from Detroit, and I took leave and headed
for London. Our first stop, the Red Cross Club in Piccadilly Circus,
to freshen up, change our francs for pounds and prepare for a
memorable weekend.
In the lobby of the club we spotted a young Second Lieutenant, with
all the earmarks of a "Ninety Day Wonder," and convinced him to sign
off for us, making it possible to make our currency transaction.
With a generous amount of the royal cash in our pockets
find the finest hotel in London that would admit a pair
enlisted men. The need to be free from being surrounded
G.I.s, of lowly rank, was a passion that engrossed most
while on leave, and we were no exception.

we set off to
of lowly
by fellow
soldiers

Although my memory fails me as to the exact hotel we settled upon, I

do know that all the military guests, except us, wore marks of rank
upon their shoulders. The secret to acceptance here was, not rank
but, an adequate amount of the "King`s Sterling."
We were escorted to our room by an elderly "Bell Boy," who treated us
with all the respect given to any of the guests, and graciously
accepted his tip with a "Thank you." and a salute. Having, at one
time, in civilian life, held the same position as he, I could not but
marvel at the fact that I was on the receiving line of this timeless
little ritual.
Our room was, indeed, first class and more luxurious than I was
accustomed to. Joe, seemed much more blas and was not as impressed
as I was. After a call for room service and having a couple of
drinks, quickly brought to us by a room attendant, we decided that
after a shave, s**t and shower we would "Do the town."
This was rapidly accomplished and we were soon on the street.

After hailing a cab and getting aboard, Joe instructed the driver to
take us somewhere where good food and drink was available as well as
some "action." He then placed a five pound note on the seat beside
the driver, which was hastily retrieved and an assurance given that,
"He knew exactly the right place." That much British currency,
roughly translated into twenty American dollars, a very hefty sum at
that point of time. "Money Talks."
After
fence
place
found

a short drive the cab pulled up

which cordoned off a bombed out
to begin our carousing. The cab
and opened a makeshift door and

in front of a construction
site. This seemed an unlikely
driver, without hesitation,
bade us, "Enter.

Once inside, we entered an opening into a bombed out building and

found a party was in "full swing". A rather nice bar, given the
circumstances, was doing a hectic business. There was plenty of food
in sight and a small band was playing for the dancing couples on the
floor. Eyeing up the single girls, we knew immediately that "action"
was available. It was, and Joe and I got back to our hotel very late,
or early, depending on how one looks at the clock. Our weekend came
and went, as did our "easy money." One thing we did learn was that
the "Black Market" was alive and well and almost anything was
available.

Chapter Five
Back at our duties, our natural impulse for fun took over. To liven
up the evening we acquired from the lab a quantity of pure alcohol.
Having plenty of grape juice on hand, we mixed the two together to
give the grape juice, "added flavor". The result was a delicious
refresher which, after inducing the nurses to join us, and noting
their lustful expressions of delight, we dubbed the cocktail, "Purple
Passion." I shall not belabor this yarn further.
As the war on the continent heated up we received word that the
bombing over Germany and the victories on land were taking its toll
to the point that Hitler began the recruitment of the very young and
the old. It was then that we received contingents of prisoners that
consisted of boys, some not even in their teens, and men well into
the latter stages of middle age.
Among these older prisoners was a man, in his late fifties, elderly
to me, who was assigned to me for ward duty. He was a very mild man,
somewhat confused as to why he was in the army. I kept him busy with
light duties and, to the degree possible, we became friends.
One late afternoon I walked into the office and found him sitting at
a table, his head in his hands, bent over the table and sobbing. I
walked over to him, placed my hand on his shoulder and
inquired, ,"What`s the matter?"
He raised his head, tears running down his cheeks, and lifting a
photo from the table. replied in his broken English, "This is a
picture of my wife and sons, all killed in the bombing." This
incident and the sight of these old men and very young boys, caught
up in a war, not of their making, caused me to realize that the
tragedy of war strikes both sides with equal vengeance,
It was now late into 1944 and the 306th had been in the UK for over
two years. This was not lost on the mind of our Company Commander. At
a Company meeting with him he broached the idea of having a little
celebration commemorating our service. He informed us that he had
obtained a spot in Cheltenham where he would set up a bar and social
area where, when off duty, we could go and, with our fellow G.Is,
celebrate our anniversary. His, much appreciated gesture was met with
a sincere round of applause.
Having an afternoon free of duty, I decided to invite one of the MPs
to accompany me. When we arrived the house was full , the Company
Commander made a toast and congratulated us on a "Job, well done."

After a moment or two of, "He's a Jolly Good Fellow," we settled down
to consuming the free beer.
My companion and guest, an extremely large and imposing MP, had just
told me how lucky we were to have such a fine Officer in charge when
the Commander walked over to where we were sitting, handed me am MP
arm band, and said, "Corporal, put this on and if any guys come in,
not a part of our outfit, tell them this is a private party and tell
them to leave." I said, "Sir, I am not an MP." His response was,
"Soldier, you are now," and walked away with a grin on his face."
Faced with this unpleasant duty, I remarked to my companion, "Damn,
I`ll get killed if I try to throw any of those infantrymen out."
He laughed and said, "John, if they come in just walk over to them
and tell them to get out."
"To hell I will. You want to see me get
killed?" I replied.
He said, "You don`t get it, do you?" He went on, "Tell them to get
out and then stand between them and the door and if they give you any
crap, invite them out to settle the matter." I said, "You've got to
be nuts." At this my friend was suddenly consumed with laughter.
After recovering his composure he said, "When you invite them out,
I`ll go out the side door over there, don't worry, You`ll be
alright."
As if on cue, two guys wearing combat boots and infantry insignia on
their shirts, walked over to the bar, obtained mugs of beer and
seated themselves. For me, Armagaddon had arrived. "Undaunted and
fearless", I approached them and gave them the message that they were
not welcome since this was a private party. Completely ignoring the
MP badge on my arm, they answered with a " Screw you, you f******
medic." Having faith and confidence in my companion, with some
reservation, I invited them outside. My invitation was immediately
accepted.
I walked to the door, my legs a bit wobbly, followed by the two
combatants. My friend, at the same time, went out the side door. Once
on the street, all Hell broke loose. Out of nowhere, one of the G.I.s
got a fist squarely in the face and the other a kick in the pants and
both moved rapidly down the street. My friend returned to the side
door and entered. Still, a bit dazed, I returned to my place at the
table where, my buddy was already seated, gave a salute to the
startled Commander, and sat down. I am sure, to this day, that
Officer is still wondering how that skinny kid managed to evict two
combat soldiers with "Chips on their shoulders."
As one of my duties was to have the wards ready for Saturday morning
inspection, I made my rounds on Friday afternoon. On one particular
Friday, I was summoned to the bedside of a patient who spoke fluent
English. He informed me that a patient, and he named the bed number,

was not getting a full portion of food and was always complaining
that he was hungry. I, immediately confronted the patient and, he
informed me that, Hauptman, a POW, that that had been a medic in the
German navy, and whom I now had serving the food in this ward, was
refusing him a full portion of food. From the look of him, I didn`t
doubt his word.
I headed back to the office, found Hauptman, and confronted him with
the fact that a patient was being denied his full portion of food.
Hauptman made no attempt to conceal the fact that he gave this
patient only minimal portions. I asked him why he would do such a
thing and got an immediate response. "Unter' Officer, that man is a
Waffen S.S. soldier, Look at the insignia on his uniform." All S.S.
had a "Black Patch Waffen SS" insignia on their uniforms. He
continued, "You take care of the office, I take care of the "SS,"
spoken in surprisingly good English. Needless to say, I sympathized
with his motive, but explained that we had to treat all patients the
same.
Saturday morning inspection went off without any problem, the
soldier in question had been given the proper amount of food and made
no complaints. The inspecting Officer, having given us an OK,
immediately departed and we went back to business, as usual. I was
ready for some leave time and knew Joe would be in line with me for a
pass and a trip to London.
Usual procedure before going on leave was to be sure all duty was
covered in my absence. I finished arranging schedules for the on duty
enlisted personnel and returned to the wards to see that all was in
order. Having determined that everything was shipshape, I turned to
the Private, on duty, and was discussing special needs for certain
patients when a terrific explosion shook the building Both, the
Private and I were knocked off our feet and some patients had been
thrown out of their beds.
Our immediate concern, after picking ourselves up off the floor, was
to ascertain the condition of our patients and determine the damage
done to the building. As soon as it was determined that no injuries
were suffered by the patients and the building seemed intact, I went
outside to see if I could discover the cause of the explosion.
An ambulance had arrived and a bomb crew, off in the distance, was
surveying a place where a huge cloud of smoke had formed. After
informing the driver that everything was alright with us, and
clambering aboard, we headed out to the bomb site. What I saw made
"my hair stand up straight." What if that bomb has landed on the
hospital, was my first thought.
The crater seemed big enough to have swallowed a large building. The

bomb crew soon left the scene, after taking note of the situation I
reflected upon what I had just seen.. Could this have been one of
Hitler's V2 bombs Could this have been one of the last V2s. that
found its way to England? It has been said that the V2 was a failure
and hit more uninhabited places than occupied areas but, at that
moment, it seemed a deadly weapon to me.
Never deterred by last minute interruptions, Joe and I headed for
London on a two day pass which we spent in "cultural pursuits." One
interesting few moments occurred while we were on a short train ride
to a place just outside of London, highly recommended by a fellow
G.I. as a great place to indulge ourselves.
Seated directly across from us in the train was a small British
gentleman, British trains have these little compartments, so much
like those seen on stage coaches in Western movies. We exchanged
pleasantries, and in so doing, he asked me where I was from, "In the
"States." I told him, Kalamazoo, Michigan. His face broke into a
smile and he said, "Oh I know that part of the country well." He went
on, "several years ago, I was in Chicago, looking for a shop where I
could construct neon signs and not having any success."He continued,
"I was eating in a little Italian restaurant and got talking to the
waiter and telling him of my problem." He reached into his pocket,
withdrew a business card, scribbled his name on it, handed it to me,
and said, "Here, take this card to the hotel named on it, stand in
line on the stairs until you are ushered into the room at the top of
the stairs. Give the man at the door the card, and you'll be taken
care of. I did as he suggested the following day. When I was finally
ushered in I saw a long Board of Directors table, and there, at the
head of the table was, none other than, "Scar face" Al Capone. I
recognized him immediately, having seen his picture in the newspaper.
I tell you, my knees were buckling and I was one scared little
Englishman." He went on to say that he was "taken care of," but it
was an experience he would never forget.
On another occasion, on one of those train rides out of London I
experienced a very enlightening moment while talking to a civilian.
The man sitting across from me struck up a conversation with me and
remarked, "I certainly admire the spirit of you `Yanks." He went on
to say, " I was taking this same train and a "Yank" was sitting
across from me and I inquired as to his destination. The train was
just beginning to move and I inquired as to his destination. He told
me and I told him he was on the wrong train, going in the opposite
direction. Without further ado, he simply grabbed the leather strap,
dropped down the window, jumped out onto the platform and
disappeared. That`s the kind of immediate action that will win this
damned war, Thank God, you are on our side."
On December 16, 1944, we received word that the Germans had mounted a
huge offensive, had broken through and created an extensive bulge in

the Allied lines. This was Hitler`s last desperate attempt to change
the course of the war and became known as the "Battle of the Bulge."
Although fighting was fierce, it was to no avail, and the end of the
war was now in sight, although peace would not come until May of
1945.
The New Year arrived and while we managed to celebrate in the local
pub it was a time when one felt very homesick, wondering if this
damned war would ever end, an emotion one felt every night when the
bugle sounded, Taps., signaling, "Lights Out."
The year 1945 seemed much like every other year, the same old
routine, the same "bitching" in the barracks and the same old duties
in the wards looking after the needs of the wounded enemy.
Spring had arrived and with the coming of April, we were on one of
our `voluntary' long hikes to condition ourselves before settling
down to the business of the day. It was a chilly day in April and we
were just approaching camp when a Sergeant came running over to us
shouting, "Have you guys heard the news?" Before we could respond, he
shouted, "The President just passed away." There was a moment of
complete silence among the group. As the portent of this shocking
news settled upon us, we all fell silent and tears arose in the eyes
of all six of us. We were the young men who grew from children to
adults, never having known another President, and one so dearly loved
by all of us. He was the leader who took us through the "Great
Depression" and led us in time of war. "He was always the "Master of
his Realm", and will always be remembered as the "Captain at the
Helm." April 12, 1945, "Now he belongs to the ages," to borrow a
phrase from Secretary of War, Stanton, upon the death of Abraham
Lincoln during the Civil War.
What had seemed just the beginning of a new year, suddenly turned
into a year filled with surprises. We knew that the Allies had agreed
to demand "Unconditional Surrender." We also knew that Hitler had
committed suicide and that this meant sure victory for the Allies. In
spite of all this, we were taken aback, when on May 5, 1945 the
surrender of Germany brought an end to the war in Europe. On May 8,
the surrender was signed. It was VE Day! The guns were silenced and
a war torn continent was, once again, at peace. The "Captain at the
Helm," had not lived to see us "Gain the summit of the hill."
Celebrations broke out throughout the United Kingdom and this meant
passes were being issued very liberally and it made it possible for
us to join in the celebration. Needless to say, Joe Feld and I were
now ready for a trip to London. London was in a high state of
euphoria when we arrived. People, everywhere, were still celebrating,
days after the war ended, and American G.I, s were treated as
heroes. Joe and I basked in the glory of it all, even though we had
not fired a single shot in anger throughout the war.

Chapter 6
After returning from leave I was making my rounds in the wards when
my Sergeant approached me and said, "John, looks like you have a new
assignment." I replied, "The Hell I do, I haven't done anything
wrong." He laughed and said, "No, its not punishment, you are going
on detached service to Belfast, N. Ireland with a Private to set up a
prophylactic station, you lucky dog." He continued, "That's a dammed
nice duty assignment."
May 8, 1945, I arrived in Belfast with Bill, my assistant, moved
into our new quarters and for the next couple of days made the place
"ship-shape." My station was set up in a storefront not far from the
center of town. It consisted of quarters for two and a facility to
service the soldiers before their return to camp. This was my station
and I was in complete charge, far from the commands of demanding
Sergeants. My subordinate was a young Private who hailed from the
Appalachians, a"Hillbilly," if you will. To my delight he even stood
in awe of a lowly Corporal. Needless to say, we got on very well.
Belfast is the largest city in Northern Ireland. N. Ireland is a part
of the United Kingdom and was fully involved in the war. It was here
that the Titanic was built in the shipyards of Harland and Wolfe. For
many decades many of the great ships of historical importance were
built there. Belfast also has a long history related to the linen
trade and it was known all over the world for its fine linen
products. Then, during the war Belfast had another claim to fame,
along with other cities in the United Kingdom, and that was its
surplus of "Yanks." The term, "Yanks," was a token of friendship
except when it was used by the mothers of eligible girls in the
community. In spite of this bit of "bigotry" the young maidens
seemed to find the "Yanks" good company and the dance halls were
constantly creating many "social relationships."
There were still enough "Yanks" to go around even though the war in
Europe was over. There was an Air Force base called, Langford Lodge
just outside the city and the troops were busy dismantling the base
and removing equipment while awaiting orders for their next
assignment. With the war still raging in the South Pacific, there was
little doubt as to where that would be. Needless to say, I was
wondering about the destination for the 306th, but for now, at least,
I was safely tucked away in Belfast. I did know, however, that since
we had not been in combat, the South Pacific might be our next
location and a combat area there.
My assistant was not eager to wend his way through the large city,

preferring to stay at our station, in the evening writing letters to

his girlfriend and parents. This made it possible for me to have the
evenings to myself. During the day there was little to do and it was
then I became acquainted with civilians on the street outside the
facility. One elderly lady and I had several interesting chats. On
one occasion, she told me she was a seamstress and invited me over in
the next street to see her shop. Not wanting to seem uninterested, I
walked with her to the shop. She was very proud of it and showed me
all her creations. We chatted for a few minutes and then she said,
"Would you be staying for Tea?" With that, she pulled aside a curtain
and there in the next room was a neat little restaurant. Her
smuggling connections in the Irish Free State, which was neutral in
the war, provided her with all the food and drink she needed to run
this fine little lunch room at this time of severe food rationing in
the United Kingdom. I could not know it at the time but this tiny
sliver of the "Black Market," would mark a turning point in my life.
Having heard of a dance hall, not ordinarily frequented by Americans
I decided to give it a try. Hoping to find some feminine
companionship, I sauntered into the club, approached the bar, ordered
a drink, and surveyed the scene for a possible conquest. There,
sitting at a nearby table with a young British Naval Officer, was the
loveliest Colleen I had ever laid eyes upon. Much as I wanted to ask
her for a dance, I couldn`t chance a rejection with that "Limey"
seated at the table with her. I bided my time and after a few short
minutes her date excused himself and left the table. Siezing the
moment, I strode over to her and asked her for a dance. Surprisingly,
she accepted my invitation and for several wonderful minutes I held
her in my arms as we danced to the romantic music the band was
playing. The dance, having ended, I escorted her back to her table.
The young Officer had returned and as we approached, the damned
"Limey," in his phony, uppercrust accent, said, "I presume, Peggy, my
dancing is too old fashioned for you." With that, he stood up and
strode off. Now, I knew her name, had vanquished her boyfriend and
had her to myself. This didn`t seem to bother Peggy, who seemed
almost glad to see him leave. I sat down with her, took her hand in
mine, and from that moment on, I was in love.
I wanted very much to escort her home but she made it quite clear
that her mother would not welcome me and it would cause her more
trouble than she was willing to bear. Before seeing her to the bus we
agreed to see one another the following evening. I was in "Seventh
Heaven," and felt, very much, like the character Gene Kelly played in
that wonderful dance sequence in the movie Singing in the Rain. It
seemed that all these events were taking place as though following a
movie scenario. I had been in Ireland for such a short period of time
and, here I was, already in love.
We met the following evening, and by the end of two weeks of ,every
night dating, had become a "Couple." We both realized that our

affair was more than just a "Passing Fancy." None of this would have
been possible without the collusion of Peggy`s sister, Betty, who was
always ready with an excuse for Peggy`s late nights.
It soon became quite clear to both of us that we were in love to the
point that we wanted to spend the rest of our lives together,
although I had not yet, "Popped the Question." The difficulties to
overcome seemed too overwhelming. Peggy was from an Irish Catholic
family. I was a Protestant, with ties to the Dutch Reformed Church,
the church of the most hated, King William of Orange, and, to top it
off, I was a "Damned Yankee" and a soldier from a far off country.
Then, and even today, in Belfast, Catholics do not marry Protestants
and, most certainly, not Protestants with ties to the Dutch Reformed
Church. Secondly, and even more disqualifying, was the fact that her
parents would be losing a beloved daughter and sending her abroad,
maybe, never to return. All this we knew, but two people in love are
blinded by their emotions to the extent that they are insensitive to
the feelings of others affected by their union.
One late Friday afternoon, after a stroll through the shops and a
light dinner in one of the many little curbside eateries that dot the
downtown streets of Belfast, we walked up the steps of the City Hall,
found a seat close to the great columns that grace that stately
building and sat down to chat. It was early evening, a light rain had
fallen during the day but the evening, was quite pleasant.
I told Peggy of my love for her but emphasized that if I could not
meet her parents it would be better to call the whole thing off
before we both got hurt in the process. She said nothing for a
minute, and then, with tears in her eyes, said, "OK, John, let`s go
home, right now."
Dusk had fallen, with a bit of chill in the air, as we walked up
Rockville Street and entered number 31, one of the little brownstone
houses that line the streets of Belfast. The tiny living room was
warm and cozy, heated by a neat little fireplace that threw long,
flickering shadows on the papered walls. A piano, sofa and chair
graced the room . All these homey images gave me a feeling of warmth
and security I had not experienced for a very long time.
No one being home, Peggy busied herself with making a pot of hot tea
and then went to the piano and played an old Irish tune. As I sat and
basked in the beauty of the scene, I kept thinking how much I would
love to spend the rest of my life with this lovely Irish girl.
The peace and tranquility of this heavenly moment was shattered as
Peggy`s mother arrived on the scene. Mrs. McKenny, although not a
large lady, to my eyes presented a very imposing figure. Peggy

introduced her mother to me. Mrs. McKenny, very graciously, shook my

hand, and then, with a pleasant smile, uttered the words, so often
spoken to young men in my position, "So, you are the young man who
has been keeping my daughter out to all hours of the night." My
response was, " Yes, Mrs. McKenny, I must plead guilty to that."
The evening was continuing splendidly with Peggy`s mother querying me
about all things Catholic. I was responding with many things I had
read about the Church and throwing in the names of a few Catholic
clerics. Fortunately, I had read so much history that included the
Church that I felt I was coming off quite well. Never once, did Mrs.
McKenny ask me if I was a Catholic, although Peggy told me later that
her mother concluded that I was a "Fallen away" Catholic.
The evening was getting late and then Peggy`s mother issued the
"Coup de Grace,"
"I know you boys always enjoy some home cooked food. Would you like
something with your tea?"
I answered, "Certainly Mrs. McKenny, I`d
like that very much, thank you." Then she said, "Well now, I have
some lovely fish and some delicious chicken, which would you prefer?"
It was then, I made my first mistake. I chose chicken, completely
forgetting it was Friday. I was served a delicious plate of roast
chicken , completely oblivious of the error I had just made.
Not all was lost, for I was invited back and spent all my evenings
there getting to know Peggy`s mother, father, sister and brother.
Peggy`s father was a quiet little man who worked for a local bakery.
He was very easy to talk to and we became friends very quickly,
spending some time at the local pub getting better acquainted. He was
a very broad minded man, certainly not a part of the religious
bigotry that consumed so much of Northern Ireland, and best of all,
not prejudiced toward American soldiers. I came to know her sister,
Betty, a lovely young lady, with a great sense of humor, and Peggy`s
ally in whatever Peggy wanted to do. Her brother, Seamus was the
typical teenager, unconcerned with his sister`s problems and more
concerned about my supply of "Yankee goodies." Mrs. McKenny and I
soon became good friends and my frequent visits with her during the
day, while Peggy was at work, sharing many laughs together, cemented
my relationship with the McKenny family.
Though I did spend many daytime hours away from my station, I did
cover for my assistant on those occasions he wanted to go to town. As
far as night time activities were concerned, he preferred to spend
his time reading or writing letters home.
As was to be expected, soldiers being at their base during the day,
we had few guys showing up at the pro station during daylight hours.
However there was an occasional G. I remember one such instance
because it had such a sad ring to it. A young man came into the
station and asked me if he could use the facility to shower and

shave. He said he was being married in a few hours and wanted to get
ready for the wedding. Upon receiving an affirmative answer, he
proceeded with his grooming and left, looking in great shape for his
plunge into matrimony.
Several hours later a lady and her daughter arrived and asked if I
had seen a soldier fitting the description she gave of him. I knew
immediately it was the G.I. I had seen earlier and confirmed that he
had been here.. I knew something was amiss by the sad look on the
girl`s face. Her mother then blurted out, "I knew this would happen.
That damned "Yank" never showed up for the wedding, damn his soul."
It was the end of June, 1945 and my whole venture almost came
crashing down. I received a visit from a Captain and a Lieutenant to
make an inspection of the facility. I wanted to get the inspection
behind me because I felt I wouldn't have another inspection until
around the end of July, 1945.
After a quick "walk through," the Captain said, " Nice job, Corporal,
everything seems in order." I then invited them into my quarters for
a drink, which they readily accepted. The Lieutenant glanced at a
portrait of Peggy I had placed near my bed and said, "Pretty girl,
your girlfriend or your wife, back home?" I replied, rather naively,
"No Sir, "That's a young lady I met here in Belfast and hope to marry
before I go home. Oops! Bad mistake! I well knew of the Army`s
disapproval of soldiers marrying girls they met while stationed
overseas, The Captain smiled and said, "She is a beautiful girl. I
can readily understand why you would like to take her home with you,
Corporal, but probably, not a good idea. Maybe its time we got you
back to your outfit." That remark hit me like a lightening bolt. I
could not imagine being separated from "The love of my life," and
being put in a position where marriage would be impossible. I felt
trapped, and no way out. Then, suddenly, I remembered a bit of wisdom
Captain Hummer had given me. He had said, "Never ask for anything
without being prepared to give something in return, "or, "Quid Pro
Quo."
Regaining my composure and having hit on an idea, I replied to the
superior Officer, "Captain, that's for you to decide, Sir." I
followed that with, "Sir, its almost lunch time, would you and the
Lieutenant like to join me for a nice meal of steak and eggs?" The
Lieutenant spoke up and said, "Where in the name of Hell can you get
a meal like that with all this damned rationing?" Realizing that I
was on to something, I replied, " If you gentlemen will follow me,
I`ll be glad to show you." With that, we all got up, walked to the
door and started up the street.
When we arrived at the dress shop of my old friend, the seamstress. I
beckoned them in. I noticed a look of puzzlement on the faces of the
two Officers as I approached the lady at the counter. After a moment,
I introduced the Officers, and she escorted us to the magic curtain,
pulled it back and ,Voila, we were in "Food Heaven."

The steaks were done to perfection, the eggs, a perfect complement,

to the steaks, "over easy", and presented beautifully on fine china
plates. The "piece de resistance' was a tasty peach cobbler topped
with whipped cream. This, and steaming cups of hot coffee brought
smiles of satisfaction to the faces of the two Officers. It was then,
I made my move. Addressing the Captain, I said "Sir, I would really
appreciate it if you could have my assignment here extended." The
Captain, with a broad, knowing smile, replied, "Well, Corporal, I
suppose a little more time Could be arranged, maybe another month.
Plan on being back at your outfit in England on July 30."=== "Quid
Pro Quo."

Chapter
7
Realizing how transient my stay in Belfast was going to be, I made
up my mind to, "Bite the Bullet," and ask Peggy to marry me.
One evening Peggy and I were invited to take a drive along the
beautiful, scenic Antrim Road with a couple she knew who owned a car.
This was a special treat because, at that time, few people in the
U.K. owned cars. The car was a cute little roadster with seats for
four, two of them in a cozy little rumble seat, perfect for two
people in love. After a short drive, the car was pulled over and
parked. It was a beautiful, starlit night, a warm breeze coming in
from the ocean, the sound of waves lapping the shore and a gorgeous
moon overhead. A film director could not have set up a better scene
for a romantic moment in the film he was directing.
I held Peggy in my arms, kissed her luscious lips and then uttered
the following clumsy proposal, "Peggy, "Would you consider becoming
my wife?" Of all the opportunities to use romantic phrases, this was
one, but I was so tongue-tied I was lucky to get this much across and
on top of all this, I didn`t even have an engagement ring ready..
After a short pause, Peggy, with tears in her eyes, said, "Yes, John,

but you know, its going to be difficult to manage. My mum and dad
will be awfully hard to convince" This was followed by a lingering
kiss which I will always remember unto the end of my days.
Now that we were engaged, I said to Peggy, "Sweetheart, I know this
is going to be difficult for your parents but I think we can convince
them that they should give us their blessing. Now we have to find a
good time to tell them of our intentions." To this she replied, "I
know, but lets wait for the proper time. This is not going to be
easy."
For several days we said nothing to anyone about our engagement. We
knew we had to find the proper moment to broach the subject to
Peggy`s parents. Our procrastination finally came to an end, forced
upon us by a call I received from my unit, informing me that my stay
in Belfast was to end on July 30,1945 and to close down my facility
and return to the 306.th It was now July 2, 1945 and having, roughly,
only four weeks left in Belfast, we had to end our procrastination
and , "Face the Music" with Peggy`s parents.
Our opportunity to have a quiet evening with Peggy`s parents came
shortly thereafter. Peggy`s sister, was out on a date, , her brother,
was busy elsewhere, and Mr. and Mrs. McKenny were having a quiet
evening at home. Peggy and I had been in town and decided this was
the perfect time to break the news of our engagement.
Peggy was at the piano accompanying her father as he played a lively
jig on his fiddle. Having laid down the violin and returned to his
place on the sofa next to Mrs. McKenny, he said, "Peggy, did you have
something to tell us?" He continued, "You certainly didn`t have your
mind on the music," Peggy hesitated and seemed at a loss for words.
Sensing it was my turn to say something, I began, "Yes, we do have
something to tell you, Peggy and I are engaged to be married, and
now, all we need, is your blessing." There was a moment of silence,
which, to Peggy and I, seemed an eternity, and then her mother spoke
up. She said, "Seeing how the two of you get on, a person would have
to be blind not to see that this was coming, even if you have only
known each other for such a short time." Peggy`s father seemed
content to let Peggy`s mother continue the dialogue. She said, " Now,
John, you know Peggy is very young and this is a serious move the two
of you are thinking about. John, you are a long way from home and
sometimes it is easy to forget someone you care for back there." She
went on, "There is also the need for you to get settled, have a job
and ready to begin a family." Peggy`s father then spoke up. "I think
what "Minnie" is trying to say is that marriage, while you are still
in the army, is not possible." "Minnie" was the name everyone used
for Mrs. McKenny. After a short pause. Minnie began, "John, you are a
nice boy and I know Peggy really cares for you but she is also our
daughter and we want her to be happy. You told me that you must
return to England soon and the war is not yet over for you. We think

that it would be best for you to wait until you are out of the army,
have a job and no one back there you may have forgotten, and then, if
you and Peggy still feel the same about marriage, we will consider
it." Without waiting for my response, Minnie said, "Now, I think we
should have some tea." Knowing Mrs. McKenny, I knew the last word had
been given and we simply accepted her dictum.
After a nice cup of hot tea and a delicious Irish scone, liberally
covered with jam, I realized it was getting late and, with our
mission accomplished, I arose and prepared to say good night. I shook
hands with her dad, gave Peggy a goodnight kiss, turned to Minnie and
said, "Mrs. McKenny, After I do get home, you will be hearing from
me. I am a very stubborn Dutchman, you know."
During the following days Peggy and I spent every moment together we
could. The only shadow hanging over our romance was that I would
soon be returning to England. We had long conversations about the
life we would live in America. Peggy asked me countless questions
about how Americans lived. We were in a constant state of euphoria
over the idea of being married and starting a family. I knew I had
found the right mate for a happily married life. I had met Peggy only
a little more than two months ago but, in my heart, I knew I had met
the girl God had chosen for me.
On the evening of July 29, the day before I had to return to my
outfit, we spent our last hours together at Peggy`s home with her
parents. That night, when I departed, our hearts were heavy at the
thought of my leaving but we both pledged our troth to each other and
agreed to write every day until we were reunited in America.
On the morning of July 30, 1945, Bill, my assistant, and I boarded a
cross channel ferry and left Belfast behind. I had asked Peggy not to
be there, not wanting to have an emotional good bye. Arriving in
England, we boarded a train and soon were back at the old 306th.
When we arrived back in camp excitement was running high. Everyone
had been "sweating" the news about the action in the Pacific, and
rumors had been circulating that the 306th was scheduled for
deployment . The news coming out of the Theater of Operations in the
Pacific was on every ones minds but, as a result of so many
disappointments in the past, not always believed. Absolutely no one
is as skeptical of news reports as a G.I. in a time of war.
By the middle of July, 1945, most of the important battles in the
South Pacific had been won. In spite of this the Japanese still
carried on, refusing to accept the inevitable, with the loss of
thousands of military and civilian lives. Thousands of tons of bombs
were raining down all over Japan.
During the rest of July the newspapers carried stories of the

impossible resistance of the Japanese. By July 30 the naval forces of

Japan had been almost completely wiped out. Despite all these signs
of defeat the Japanese continued to boast that they were capable of
repelling any enemy attack against the homeland. This air of bravado
continued, even after having experienced, what has been called, "the
greatest air raid in history," having just had six thousand, six
hundred thirty two tons of bombs dropped on their oil refineries and
cities.
By August 3, it was obvious that Japan was doomed but the American
bombers continued to blast their railroads and warn them that the
end was near. They still continued to resist. Even after August 5,
when a dozen cities were added to the "surrender or die" list they
stubbornly clung to the idea that they could recover and continue the
fight.
Listening intently to the radio, we heard the news but still felt
that deployment to the South Pacific was in the offing. It was on the
6th of August when we received news that President Truman had
unleashed a bomb, two thousand times more destructive than a
blockbuster, which had been detonated over Hiroshima.
This announcement got our attention. We were glued to the radio but
censorship was in place. Bombing by the Flying Fortresses continued.
No word from Japan in reply to an ultimatum that had been given for
them to surrender was made. While no news of the destruction caused
by the bomb was being released we sensed that it must have been
horrendous. Then, on August 9 word came through that a second bomb
had been detonated over the city of Nagasaki.
We, along with the rest of the world, awaited word of the Japanese
surrender. Then the word came through that the Japanese were willing
to surrender as long as the Emperor was safeguarded, but no offer of
capitulation. The Allies then offered to leave the fate of the
Emperor up to the direction of the Allied nations. The Japanese
continued to delay and the killing continued. The Japanese were given
a warning that renewed atomic bombing was possible if Japan continued
to delay surrendering.
Finally on August 14 word was received that the Japanese had
surrendered but no official proof was given. Having received no
official word the Americans continued to shell and bomb Japan.
At long last, we all heaved a sigh of relief as word came through
that in Bern, Switzerland on the 14th that the Japanese minister had
delivered a note to the Foreign Office from Tokyo . This was quickly
followed by a radio report from Washington. "Tokyo radio said today
that Allied terms for Japan's surrender had been accepted by Emperor
Hirohito." More than twelve hours later no official confirmation was
given and the fighting in the Pacific continued.

On August 15, 1945, the one word the world had been wanting to hear.
"PEACE," appeared in newspapers all over the world. In no matter what
language the word appeared, the families of loved ones gave thanks to
their God for the end to this brutal war. The world was now at peace
and the tyranny of the brutal dictators in Italy, Germany and Japan
had come to an end, thanks to the sacrifices made by the soldiers of
the Allied nations and their loved ones at home.
On September 2, 1945, Gen. Douglas MacArthur, delegates of the Allied
powers and the Japanese delegates met on the deck of the battleship
USS Missouri in Tokyo Bay and formally signed the document accepting
the terms of surrender by the Japanese. The world was, once again, at
peace and the blessings of freedom and democracy had been secured for
the nations dedicated to those principles.
Each of us, in our own way, responded to this news with thoughts of
what the future would bring. My mind immediately returned to
thoughts of my Peggy, and how soon we would be reunited. We had been
corresponding every day and now my letter, this day, would be filled
with joy and optimistic words about our being together and the life
we would be living in America.
For those of us in Britain the scenario now became a waiting game.
Individuals would be going home based on a point system. Length of
time served, the type of action the soldier was involved in and the
decorations he had received, would be taken under consideration in
giving points. Since the members of our outfit had served for about
the same amount of time. had collected no medals for valor in combat,
and our service had been a "Walk in the Park" compared to the ones
who had suffered the horrors of combat, we were in for the "Long
Haul."

Chapter 8
It was now the beginning of October, 1945 and repatriation had not
yet taken place for the POWs in the hospital, although, by this
time, almost all were ambulatory and able to work thus relieving us
of many duties.. Our work in the hospital continued as usual but on a
much more relaxed basis. We were in a "holding pattern" and really
only biding time until we could be go back to the United States for
demobilization.
Somewhere along the line of command an idea emerged to keep the
anxious troops happy. The army set up a number of tours to which the
troops could sign up for and, for all practicality, make us
"tourists." This attention to our concerns was enthusiastically
accepted, especially when a trip to a brewery was scheduled.
On the Company bulletin board was the following notice, "SIGN UP FOR
A VISIT TO THE STROUD BREWERY. The bus will leave at 0900 hours
tomorrow."
Needless to say there was no problem in getting a busload. Joe and I
were at the assigned location to meet the bus at exactly 0900 hours.
It seems promptness was not an issue when all that free beer was in
the offing.
At exactly 0900 hours we were seated on the bus for the ride to
Stroud. .The ride was of short duration and we were greeted by a tour
guide, who, by the look on his face, did not relish guiding this
group of. "Bloody Yanks,"
He gave us the usual speech as he guided us through the brewery,
although we made it difficult for him with our crude remarks and lack
of attention. Finally we arrived in the cellar, surrounded by huge
vats of beer and were invited to sample the wares. This got our
immediate attention and we showed our affection for Stroud beer by
consuming all that the attendant provided.
The tour over, we boarded our bus and pulled out for home, with waves
of goodbye from the employees, The, now somewhat inebriated

"tourists," showed their gratitude by blowing up condoms, tying them

off into neat little balloons and tossing them out the windows. Is
this where the term, "Ugly American," first surfaced? Was this our
contribution to millions of tourists who were to visit England after
the war? On the other hand, would this not be viewed as merely the
exuberant joy of a lot of war weary G.I.s anxious to return home to
families and friends?
There were several other trips that caught my attention and turned
out to be experiences to be remembered. One of the most treasured of
these was a trip that was posted as, "A TRIP TO A STATELY BRITISH
MANSION." Needless to say, this particular tour was not as popular as
the brewery trip but I and five other guys signed up for it, hoping
to see how the "Other Half" lived in this "Class ridden" society and,
just maybe, a chance to view a place connected with the history of
England. There was agreement that I would speak on their behalf when
we arrived at our destination.
At the appointed time we boarded a small van and headed down the
road. The colors of autumn, the trees splendid with their bouquet of
red and yellow leaves, brought home to me mental pictures of Michigan
and, for just a moment, engulfed me in pangs of homesickness, an
emotion, I`m sure, was felt by my companions. The ride took only a
little over an hour. It always amazed us at how short distances
between places in Britain were. Americans never could get over the
small size of this island country.
Finally, looming ahead of us was a huge, sprawling mansion The
massive, graveled covered area in front of the entrance provided
ample room for a large number of vehicles. I had a feeling of having
been here before, probably the result of having seen scenes such as
this in the movies. It was a truly impressive sight.
The driver, a young English girl, who had remained silent all during
the trip, completely ignoring our ribald remarks, turned to us and
said, "Here you are genlemen, Blenheim Palace, ancestral home of
Prime Minister Winston Churchill, enjoy yourselves."
Here we were, a group of awe struck Yanks, who had never seen such a
glamorous residence. As grandiose as was the palace, and grandiose it
certainly was, the sheer size of this magnificent home simply
overwhelmed us and, for just a moment, I was so taken aback that I
could not find the entrance. Then I realized that the huge door that
I was facing must be what I was looking for.. Hesitently, we
approached,, but before I could reach the front door, a lovely young
lady opened it, or had it opened for her, its size seemed too huge to
be opened by such a gentle young lady, and greeted us as though she
were awaiting our arrival. Her greeting was, "You must be our
American guests." I replied, "Yes Mam, My name is John," and then
introduced my companions. She, in turn, introduced herself, but

memory does not allow me to recall her name. I do remember, very

clearly, that her name was preceded by the title, "Lady." She bade us
, enter and her easy banter made us feel right at home. To tell the
truth, we were overwhelmed at the granduer of the entrance and we
must have seemed to her, a group of yokels, as we stood in awe of the
sheer size of the place and the gorgeous oil paintings, of long gone
ancestors, that graced the walls of this magnificent entrance.
In a very informal manner the young lady steered us into the study, a
beautifully appointed room, furnished with some of the finest leather
seating that any of us had ever encountered. We, no longer were
seated, than a butler approached us, said, "Gentlemen, what can I
bring you." After ordering our drinks, and the lady ordering hers,
the butler retreated and the usual remarks about the beauty of the
home were uttered by each of us. The lady was giving us a history of
the palace when suddenly a middle aged lady and gentleman appeared on
the scene.
We were introduced, but again, my memory fails in recalling their
names. I do remember the gracious manner in which they joined in the
conversation. I, for one, was amazed at how easily we were accepted
and treated as though we were important guests. In the meantime, the
butler arrived and served our drinks, much more elegantly than the
way we were accustomed to being served. The gentleman went on to
describe the estate. He said, "I`m sure you men would like to know a
little about the historical place you are visiting." He went on to
say that the mansion was located on twenty one hundred acres and the
house was built in the eighteenth century and the gardens were added
in the nineteenth century. He said, "the palace was designed by
Vanbrugh, a noted architect of that period and was the nation`s
reward to the First Duke of Marlborough for his victories over Louis
1V. The gardens were designed by Henry Wise, in an Anglo-Dutch
Barouqe manner." He went on to say that we would appreciate the skill
of the people of that period when we took a tour of the grounds.
It was now approaching noon, and as interesting as the conversation
had been, we began to feel the need for sustenance. As if our wish
had been heard, the butler arrived and said, "Tea is being served."
All six of us knew that meant food, even if we didn`t understand
"Dutch Baroque."
We were seated at a long table in a magnificent dining area
overlooking a finely manicured garden resplendent with the hues of
autumn.. "High Tea", is usually served between three and five in the
afternoon but from the look of the spread on the table they must have
made an exception, knowing they were feeding a group of hungry G.I.s.
For a group of guys who thought meat and potatoes was a feast, this
menu overwhelmed our imaginations.
The main entre consisted of smoked salmon with cream cheese. Also
gracing the table was egg, mayonnaise, sliced cucumber, and if one

was partial to meat, Wilshire ham and mustard. Thinly cut slices of
bread and scones were placed before us with homemade jam and all of
this to be followed by our choice of several scrumptious looking
desserts. Oh, there was tea, of course, but coffee was available and
this was to be followed by champagne. Knowing how severe rationing
was, these wonderful, hospitable people must have strained their
ration coupons to the limit to make all this possible. Oh, to have a
mess sergeant, with such a creative mind and generous spirit.
Having demonstrated our liking of this delicious meal, by our over
enthusiastic consumption of its contents, we were invited to tour the
gardens by our lovely hostess. As I remember, a pram, or baby
carriage, was produced, occupied by a delightful baby whose gender I
cannot recall. Our hostess, now guiding the pram, was giving us a
delightful account of the history of the gardens. At this point I
offered my services as driver of the carriage. The offer was readily
accepted and I found myself responsible for the safe transportation
of a, very young, British aristocrat. The tour continued and even a
group of uncultured Yanks could not help but express admiration for
the artistry in creating such beauty. Suddenly, a young RAF Officer
appeared on the scene. After a perfunctory hug and a peck on the
cheek of, his wife, our hostess, he introduced himself and bade us
welcome. Turning to me, guiding the pram, he said, "Do you know who
you are caring for in the pram." I replied, "No Sir, we haven't been
introduced, as yet." He smiled and rattled off a rather long series
of names, strung together by centuries of aristocratic familial ties.
As I recall, he did mention the child`s relationship with P.M.
Winston Churchill, but by this time. I was only able to grasp enough
of our conversation to know that I was, indeed, personally
experiencing a bit of English history.
To describe the beauty, creativity and attention to detail displayed
in those gardens would require another book and descriptive powers
beyond my meager talents. Suffice to say, that all members of the
American group took away great admiration for the social and
botanical skills of our English cousins and their ability to bring an
air of formality to the wonders of nature and social etiquette. The
less formal approach to the physical world, by we Americans, stood in
stark contrast and underscored how time had created a people much
different than our forbearers. Different we had become, since those
Colonial days, but never having lost the values and basic principals
we shared as a people.

Chapter Nine
October now turned to November, with cool, chilly days, signaling
the beginning of winter, The repatriation of German prisoners was now
taking place. Daily, our patients, mostly ambulatory, were leaving
the hospital behind and returning to occupied Germany.
Then, one grand day in December we received word that our unit was
scheduled for deployment. We were going home! Oh Dear God, the day we
had long wished for had now become reality. The order to be ready to
pack our belongings and prepare to leave was the most precious order
we had ever received. My letters to Peggy now were full of the utter
elation I felt at the thought of our being united and sharing our
lives together as lovers and man and wife.
Christmas 1945, was a much more festive affair than previous
Christmas` and the dinner of turkey and all the fixings, prepared for
us by the kitchen crew, seemed much more tasty, given the fact that
we soon would be on a troopship headed for home. The high level of
morale was evident as we all envisioned being in our own home towns
with those we loved. I, could not contain my feelings of happiness at
the thought of being in a position to send for my Peggy and having
her with me in Kalamazoo to begin our life together.
A happier New Year was never more welcomed than the year 1946. We
celebrated, not only the new year, but the knowledge that we would
soon be back in the "Good Old United States." You can well believe,
that we were on our best behavior, not wanting any complications to
mar our departure for home.
Then, on or about January 7, 1946, the order came. "Pack your gear,
climb aboard the awaiting trucks for the trip to Southhampton to meet
the troopship that will carry you home." Not a single soul in our
outfit had any misgivings about carrying out that order.
The trip to Southhampton was more like a holiday event than the
movement of army troops. The singing of the soldiers had a very
upbeat quality about them and the joy of being on the way home was
evident in the spirit of the men as they relished the thought of
going back to wives and sweethearts. My mind was entirely focused on
getting home and sending for my Peggy.
Having arrived in Southhampton and on the dock awaiting our
embarcation orders, we were assembled in military order. Officers
were in their own assemblage, and all of us, enlisted and Officer

rank, in a highly festive mood. We were ready to board the giant

aircraft carrier, the USS Lake Champlain.
Once on board, all units, mostly infantry, were given assigned areas
and each told where to place their gear. Shortly thereafter, a
Sergeant called us to attention to receive an order from the Captain
of the ship.
In a voice, almost identical to that of Franklin Roosevelt, the
Captain addressed us over the public address system. As I recall, he
said, "Now hear this. This is the Captain speaking. My name is
Captain Logan Ramsey. I want to welcome you on behalf of myself and
the crew of the Lake Champlain. This ship is part of Operation, Magic
Carpet. I would, personally, like to take this opportunity to to
thank you for your service. You have done a wonderful job in bringing
this war to a successful conclusion. From this moment on, you are our
guests. We ask only that you keep your area in a neat condition.
There will be no reason to make up your bunks in the morning. This,
and all other housekeeping duties will be performed by the crew. You
will find question boxes at various places around the ship. If you
have questions or queries for me, feel free to place them in the box.
I will try to answer you in my nightly address to you. Additionally,
I have given orders that snacks be placed at various points around
the ship, in case you feel hungry between meals. The United States
Navy and this ship in particular, as a part of Operation, Magic
Carpet, will do everything we can to provide for your comfort on your
trip home. I thank you again. for your dedicated service, You will
soon be home with your loved ones. God Speed and God Bless you."
This eulogy, with its words of praise and welcoming, left us
breathless. Never, during our term of service, had we been spoken to
in such a manner. In addition to our joy at going home we were now
going there under the most favorable of conditions.
We were soon underway and, before long, it became evident that the
weather was not going to be one of the favorable conditions that we
were to experience. We had no sooner cleared the harbor than storm
clouds appeared on the horizon. As the weather worsened and the waves
loomed larger and larger it became evident that even a ship as large
as this aircraft carrier could have problems coping with the whims of
"Mother Nature."
That first night on board was a rocky one as the ship plunged through
the angry waves of the North Atlantic. Although many of the
"landlubbers" on board grappled with seasickness, we made it through
the night into a day of calm seas.
True to the Captain`s promise, the crew did arrive, made our beds and
performed the other housekeeping duties. We were still in a state of
wonderment at these services being performed for us. Breakfast was a

delight, with fresh eggs, hash browns, bacon, sausage and plenty of
hot coffee. In spite of the army derision of the navy, we had to
admit that when it came to food, the navy was in a superior position.
The weather having cleared, the day was an absolute delight. We were
able to walk the decks, enjoy a snack at one of the tables scattered
around the ship, observe the activities of the crew and, if one
chose, spend some time reading or writing letters back at our bunks.
Captain Ramsey had, indeed, made this a pleasure cruise, God Bless
him.
As time wore on, the weather worsened and, during his nightly address
to us, the Captain made it clear that we could expect this to be a
frequent occurrence since this was January and the North Atlantic was
a stormy place in the winter. He also assured us that we were not to
worry about our safety since ships, such as these, were built to
withstand all that nature could throw at them.
The third night out, after mess, the familiar voice of Captain Ramsey
sounded on the P.A. system. "Now hear this, this is the Captain
speaking. We are well on our way to home and I trust you are enjoying
the voyage. I have little to report and so I have chosen to read a
couple of the questions you have posed for me. This first one is from
Sgt. ?? Of the ?? Infantry. The good Sgt. asks if this was a banana
boat before the war." The Captain, his voice tinged with just a touch
of irritation, replied, "Sgt. First let me remind you that this is
not a boat. This is a ship. A ship carries boats." He went on, "
Sgt., As a matter of fact, I would like to inform you that this ship
was paid for by the people of the United States and is entitled to
the respect it deserves, having been made possible, by the
contributions of the citizens of of our great nation."
The weather continued to be bad and the consumption of the snacks the
Captain had placed around the ship had diminished due to the
incidents of sea sickness experienced by the G.I.s. Bad as the
weather was, the crap games continued on as usual, although
frequently interrupted by the hasty departure of one or more of the
players, due to sudden "illness." This situation was not lost on the
Captain and provided a moment of humor on his next nightly address.
As usual, we were assembled, ready to hear the Captain`s report. "Now
hear this. This is the Captain speaking," came the now familiar
refrain.
This night he chose to make comment on the weather conditions,
informing us that during the night conditions were so bad that they
had been unable to respond to a cry of distress from a Liberty Ship
in the vicinity. He went on to tell us that during his entire career
he had not experienced weather this difficult to contend with. Then,
he changed the subject and went on to answer a question from one of
the question boxes. He said, "I have a question that deals with a
problem experienced by PFC ?? " It seems that the good Private was

involved in a crap game and a considerable amount of money was in the

pot. He says that a Petty Officer arrived on the scene, broke up the
game and departed with the money. His question is, "Can we get back
the money?" There was a short pause, and then, with a chuckle in his
voice, he answered the Private's question, " Private, my cabin is on
deck--. Standing outside my door will be a Marine. Tell him you wish
to see me. In order to answer your question more directly, the answer
is that the Petty Officer has deposited the money in the Seamen's
Fund. If you still desire to have the money, so inform me when we
meet, however I would like to read you the Article of War, regarding
gambling on ships of the United States Navy." After reading the
Article, he finished with, "I hope this answers your question." The
roar of laughter from the troops clearly indicated their appreciation
of this bit of backhanded humor.
The high morale aboard the Lake Champlain was evident in stories told
to me by the crew. One such tale seemed to sum up the reason for this
high regard for their Captain. One seaman related to me how their
Executive Officer insisted that the crew in the engine room wear
white socks, although there was clearly no need, given the duties
required of them. He said this particular Officer also gave orders
that crewmen could not have their uniforms altered for better fit.
When word of this reached Captain Ramsey, a curious thing happened.
When the ship reached the next port a new Executive Officer was
assigned to the ship.
Finally, after ten days of bad weather and superb treatment by the
Officers and crew of the USS Lake Champlain, we arrived in New York
harbor on January, 17, 1946. It was a cold January day, warmed
considerably by our sight of the Statue of Liberty, standing tall and
proud, the torch of freedom still firmly in place, pointing to the
Heavens as a testament to the valor of all the Armed Forces,
soldiers, sailors, airmen and our civilian Merchant Marine. It was
our military and, even us non-combat soldiers, who had struggled so
valiently and secured our way of life, now and for generations yet
unborn.
Awaiting us on the dock as we disembarked, was a cordon of lovely
ladies representing the American Red Cross and the Salvation Army.
Their beauty was enhanced by the smell of hot coffee and doughnuts
and the hot dogs and hamburgers sizzling on the BBQ. Never, before or
since, have I had a hot dog that could compare with the one I so
relished that morning, on that frigid, but wonderful day. The
presence of those caring ladies added luster to the joyous moment we
were experiencing at being, once again, on American soil. It is in
moments, such as these, that one knows the tremendous value of being
a free American citizen. We were home, home at last, and I, for one,
was looking forward to a life of happiness with, my, now to be,
beautiful Irish bride.

My joy at being back in the United States had made me almost

completely unaware of the great number of troops crowding the dock.
True to its tradition of military efficiency, the army had a long row
of buses standing ready for our departure to the train depot and our
journey to Camp Atterbury, Indiana for our transfer to civilian life.
The bus trip very quickly brought us to the depot and by the time we
had checked our duffle bags the day had turned to night and in spite
of our weariness our spirits were high. Nothing could dampen our
utter joy at being on the way to becoming civilians, once again, and
being with family and friends.
After checking our duffle bags and boarding the train, the
festivities began. Although beverages of an alcoholic nature were not
provided, mysteriously, some very stimulating drinks began to appear
and voices were lifted in song. No blackout curtains, no planes
buzzing the train and no Officer lecturing us of the consequences of
improper behavior were part of this journey. Although some did manage
to catch a little sleep, the majority of the passengers were in too
celebratory a mood to notice the fatigue that engulfed us.
Some fifteen or so, hours later the train pulled in to a depot
situated at Camp Atterbury. In spite of some hangovers and lack of
sleep our Company was still in a joyful mood and hardly anyone
complained. We went through the routine of getting our baggage,
hearing the barked commands of a Sergeant directing us to our
barracks, and generally getting the treatment we were so accustomed
to. On the other hand, no damned Sergeant could lessen our happiness
at being at the place that would hand back our freedom and make us,
just plain, American civilian citizens..
Camp Atterbury was a very busy place. As a separation station it
served some 561,000 troops, arranging discharge from the Service at
the rate of 3000 per day, so it was not not surprising that it was
January 22, before our outfit was called to go through the separation
process.
In the meantime, we had plenty of time to write letters, make phone
calls to home and explore this sprawling installation.
January 22, 1946. "A date that will live in memory," at least my
memory, for that was the date of my separation from the Army of the
United States.
At the appointed time the 306th gathered in a huge assembly hall and
there, each of us, listened carefully for our name to be called.
When, an obviously bored Sergeant, bellowed out my name I was
immediately on my feet. Making my way to the registration table was
the sweetest hike I had ever taken. After going through the necessary
paper work, a young 2nd Lt. beckoned me to an open door. He said,
"Good morning soldier, step inside and place your chest against the X
ray panel, and , Oh by the way, if you intend to join the Reserves,

have them raise the panel to the level of your head." Even, given my
limited intellectual powers, it seemed to me that he was sending me a
message that it was not in my best interest to join the Reserves. It
was probably because of this encounter that I was able to follow the
later events that took place in Korea from the comfort of my home,
eyes glued to the TV screen. Unpatriotic as this may seem, I felt,
at this time, this new action could be handled by another generation
of young Americans.
Seated comfortably in my homeward bound train, still wearing my
uniform, I was beginning to feel more and more like a civilian,
almost but not quite. This would come when I arrived home surrounded
by family and friends. Still, there was one nagging problem to solve
before I would feel secure and comfortable and that was, bringing my
Peggy to Kalamazoo and walking down the aisle with her.
While in Atterbury awaiting discharge , I had penned off a letter to
Peggy telling her that I was almost a civilian and to start getting
her mum and dad prepared to have her daughter become a married woman
and acquiring a son in law. I put as much humor in the letter as I
was able to muster up, but not unaware, of the emotional problems I
was placing on the McKenny family.

Chapter 10

I was met at the station in Kalamazoo by my mother and father. Dad

had insisted that this moment belonged to Mom and He, accounting for
the tiny welcoming party. Dad gave me a "bear hug" and an emotional
"Welcome home, Son." My Mom, tears in her eyes, simply said, "Thank
God, you are home and safe." Never had I felt so close to my parents.
At the house, all my family members and a goodly crowd of friends and
neighbors had gathered for a welcoming home party. It was hard for me
to believe that this moment had arrived. The rest of the day was
spent in eating good home cooked food and answering a thousand
questions about my experiences. Often my mind wandered as I
contemplated on the thoughts of Peggy and wishing she could be a part
of these festivities. My brother Henry, was home from the navy,
having arrived a week earlier. My brother Charles, having been
disqualified for service due to a ruptured ear drum, was curious
about the things I had done and seen. My sister Anna Mae, now an
experienced welder because of a defense related job, also peppered me
with questions about my time in the service. It was a time of good
cheer and thankfulness and, I must admit, I was enjoying being the
center of attention.
That night, in the comfort of my bed, I pondered on the days to come.
I had not disclosed to mom and dad the fact that I was engaged.
Now ,the shoe was on the other foot." All the adjustments, in
religion and culture, to our pending marriage had been discussed in
full with Peggy`s parents and now it was time to work things out with
my mother and dad.
During the ensuing week I had many discussions with my dad and mom
about my return to civilian life. Dad had secured a job for me with
the Kalamazoo Stove and Furnace Co. ,where he was employed The plant
had been closed in order to revert back to civilian production,
having been engaged in producing war materials and, would soon
reopen.
Finally, I had my opportunity to discuss my pending marriage. It was
one of those cold winter nights and I was enjoying an evening alone
with mom and dad. During a break in the conversation, I said, " I
guess this is as good a time as any to share some news with you." I,
immediately had their attention. Dad was the first to speak. He said,
"I hope it`s good news, Son." I replied, "I think it is, I hope you
will feel the same." Mom said, "Get on with it, John." I simply
blurted out, "I`m engaged to get married." Both looked at me in
amazement and then Dad said, "Getting married, you have only been
home for a week and, as far as we know, you don`t even have a girl
friend." Realizing their quandary at this startling announcement, I
said, "Well, let me explain it to you." At this precise moment I
became aware of how unprepared I was to explain fully, the situation.
For the next few minutes I had full attention from mom and dad. I

said, "Maybe I should have told you this earlier but, here it is."
Now my mind was racing, but I went on with the story, hoping I would
not encounter any negatives. I said, "The girl I am marrying is in
Ireland. I met her in Belfast. Her parents are aware of our
engagement and I hope she gets their approval to come to the States
to be married. She is a lovely girl, from a good family. She is
nineteen years old but will be twenty by the time of our marriage."
At this point, I pulled from my wallet, a picture of Peggy and both
studied it for a moment. Mom said, "She sure is a pretty girl." Dad,
looked up and said, "Do you know what you are doing?" My reply was,
"Dad, I`m almost twenty six years old and perfectly capable of making
my own decisions." That seemed to end the discussion and then Mom
said, "John, If this is your wish, we have no objection and will
welcome her with open arms." With that, I decided to fill out the
rest of the story. I said, "Now let me "drop the other shoe."
"She is an Irish Catholic girl and I have decided to join the
Catholic Church." This resulted in a stunned silence for fully a
minute. Then my dad reacted in a fashion truly his own and, left me
incredulous. He said, "Ev", that was Dad's nick name for Mom, "Get
your coat on and, John, you do the same and get out to the car, we
are going for a ride." Not wanting to make a fuss, we both did as he
said.
Dad wheeled the car skillfully over the icy streets and pulled up in
front of St. Augustine Catholic Church. Without another word we left
the car and dad walked up to the residence of the Priest and rang the
doorbell.
The door was answered by an elderly lady, the housekeeper, and dad
asked to see the Father. She replied, "You mean Monsignor Hackett?"
Dad simply stated, "Yes Mam, that's whom we would like to talk to."
We were invited in and given a seat in the parlor. I was utterly
flabbergasted since I had no idea my dad even knew the location of
the church and had no idea of what he was up to.
In a few moments a tall, dignified man with a full head of grey hair
entered the room. He looked around and, in a thick Irish brogue said,
"Good evening, I am Monsignor Hackett. What can I do for you?"
Now, absolutely confused, I said nothing. Dad came right to the
point. He said, "Father", and pointing to me, "This is my Son, John
and he is just home from the army. He is engaged to an Irish girl in
Ireland and wants to join the Catholic Church." A broad smile
appeared on Monsignor Hackett's face and he sat down to hear the rest
of the story.
As I explained the situation, giving him all the details of our
meeting and the subsequent romance that followed, Father Hackett,
nodded approval, and said, "John, this is one of the nicest things I
have heard all year. It only goes to prove that there is always
something good coming out of a tragedy like war." Wanting to get
directly to the reason for our visit, I said, "Father, I know that as

a convert, I need to attend some classes to to understand the

procedure of conversion. Please tell me when I can attend." Again,
with a cheerful smile, he replied, " Aw, to Hell with the classes,
you won`t be attendin them, you'll be meeting with me for private
sessions here in my study. Young man, You are marrying a girl from
the "Ould Sod", and that requires some special attention." All this
was said in his thick Irish brogue, and at that moment, I felt very
special. With that he called for some tea. Over cups of hot tea the
conversation turned to filling out all the details. All this time,
Mom and Dad had little to say but joined in the conversation and I
knew that all would be well. There was no bigotry here and I felt
very proud of my parents and their easy acceptance of the situation.
Having written Peggy and told her to get ready to come to the United
States, I was anxious to receive a letter telling me all was well and
arrangements were being made for her journey. Each day I waited
patiently for the postman, and feeling depressed when no mail was
forthcoming. After several days of anxiety a letter did arrive and,
anxious as I was, I was almost afraid to open it, fearing the worst.
When I did open it and read the first few words I was ecstatic.
Peggy`s mother and dad had accepted the inevitable and were helping
Peggy to make arrangements. From the inquiries regarding passport,
visa and transportation that had been made in Ireland, it was to be,
at least, six months before she would arrive in the United States. I
couldn't wait to reply and rushed to get paper and pen.
By this time I had been employed at the Stove Co. and had met a
fellow worker named James O`Meara. When I told him that Peggy would
be arriving in about six months he said, "John, that will give us
some time to give her a real Irish welcome and I`m going to see that
you have some real Irish folk to greet her."
James called me one day and asked if I would like to meet some Irish
people who would love to meet Peggy. He said that they were an
elderly couple that would take Peggy, "Under their wings." The Irish
certainly know how to express the most mundane things in a beautiful
way.
The Fitzpatricks were, in my mind, the ideal couple to make my
peggy feel at home in America. Pat and Mary Fitzpatrick were typical
Irish, even though neither had set foot in Ireland. Pat and Mary were
each, only about five feet tall, beautiful grey hair and as
eloquently Irish in their speech as though they had just arrived in
the U.S.A. Their home reflected everthing Irish, including a green,
white and gold flag prominently displayed in the hall.
Over a cup of hot tea I learned that they had thirteen children, had
always wanted to visit Ireland, and would be thrilled to meet a
colleen from the "Ould Sod." Where had I heard that term before?

That meeting was the first of many that James arranged. and included
a young Irish priest, Fr. King, who was to become a good friend and
"buddy," if one can truly be a "buddy" with a Priest. Fr. King was
the Chaplain at Borgess Catholic Hospital in Kalamazoo and not too
popular with the Nuns, due to his liking for alcoholic spirits.
Although he did enjoy a drink, now and then, he did not drink to
excess.
A moment I remember with relish was the time Fr. King and I were
enjoying a hamburger for lunch. Halfway through our meal, Fr. King
paused, and said, "John, do you know what day this is?" Without
giving a thought to what the Fr. Was implying, I replied, "It's
Friday, Fr., why?" Then, with a smile Fr. King said, "I know we
shouldn't be eating meat on Friday but it is also a sin to waste good
food." Without further ado, he made the sign of the Cross and said,
"I grant absolution." Such was our easy going relationship.
Although I was anxious awaiting Peggy`s arrival I was also busy
making arrangements for our wedding and making new friends among the
Irish community. I was introduced to a Mr. and Mrs. Heflin by Fr.
King and was immediately made welcome to their home. Mrs. Heflin, in
true womanly fashion, was excited about the coming wedding and did
much to help me prepare. There were several parties at her house and
Fr. King, minus his collar and wearing a sport shirt, always gave two
hours absolution at midnight on Saturday, so that "No food and drink
was wasted," due to the late hour.
One day when Fr. King and I were conversing in his quarters at the
hospital he broached the possibility of he performing the Mass and
wedding ceremony. He went on to say that we should discuss the
matter with Msgr. Hackett. He said, "I`ll give him a call and see if
we can arrange it."
Fr. King, after explaining to Msgr. Hackett, that since we had become
close friends, he thought it would be appropriate for him to perform
the wedding ceremony. I remained absolutely silent, awaiting Msgr.
Hackett's response. There was only a moment's pause and then Msgr.
Hackett addressed Fr. King in, what I thought was, a rather
condescending tone of voice. He said, "Father, Just as in the army,
"rank has its privileges." "I will be saying the Mass and performing
the wedding ceremony." Although this dictum was said with a smile,
Fr. King seemed to feel that he had received the final answer to his
query

Chapter 11
About the middle of June, 1946 a telegram arrived that informed me of
the day and time as well as the flight number of the American
Airlines plane that was to bring my Peggy to the United States. To
say that I was overcome with joy is an understatement. The days that
followed were filled with excitement and planning for her arrival.
On the scheduled day, my cousin, Bud, my dad, and I headed for
Chicago to meet the plane and reunite me with my Peggy. Arriving at
O`Hare airport, well ahead of time, we waited anxiously for over two
hours. Finally, the arrival of the plane from Dublin was announced
and we hurriedly proceeded to the announced gate. The gatekeeper
opened the gate and we proceeded onto the tarmac where the plane was
parked.
In those, still early, times of domestic and transatlantic flight,
people met the arriving passengers on the runway and the they
departed the plane down a long portable gangway. My anxiety was at
fever pitch as I silently prayed that Peggy would soon appear. Person
after person descended the gangway, and then, a small figure in a
lovely blue dress, walked down the stairs, made her way to where we
were standing, and in that unforgettable moment, Peggy was in my arms
and I thanked God for the blessing he had bestowed upon me.

Midst all the happy chatter on the way home, it was quite apparent
that my dad had bonded with his, soon to be, daughter in law. Peggy
snuggled in my arms, chattered on about the great adventure she had
just experienced and how happy she was to be in America with me and
the life we would have together. Our reunion was complete, and now
many busy days were ahead as we planned our wedding.
When we arrived home, my mother and sister had refreshments ready
and, in spite of all the excited conversation, another bonding had
taken place. My mother and my Peggy, it seemed, were kindred souls.
The days ahead were filled with activity as my mother, sister and
friends planned for the wedding that was to make Peggy my bride.
Peggy and I spent many hours with the many members of the Irish
community. The Fitzpatricks took an immediate liking to Peggy and
became almost like parents to her. The Heflin family, especially Mrs.
Heflin, became fully involved in seeing that Peggy had a truly
Catholic wedding.
At long last the great day arrived, July 4, 1946. The date had been
arrived at because there were only two dates available in July. Msgr.
Hackett offered Peggy a choice and she chose July 4 as a very
appropriate day for her to become an American, This, and the fact
that her mother insisted that she was to be married at the first
available date, settled that issue. "Minnie," like most Irish
mothers, did not easily relinquish control.
The morning of July 4 began very early with my mother and sister
preparing for the wedding and the reception that was to follow.
Peggy, somewhat nervous but glowing with excitement, with the
assistance of my sister, were making sure that the wedding gown
fitted properly and all was set for her big moment when she would
walk down the aisle and become Mrs. Margaret DeRoo. My brothers,
Henry and Charles were dressed in their best, "Sunday go to meeting
clothes." My sister, Anna Mae, having finished helping Peggy, was now
dressed and "made up," for the big moment. My dad, standing in for
Peggy`s father, was more "dressed up" than I had ever seen him, and
my mom, the picture of loveliness, in the beautiful dress she had
acquired for the wedding. I was dressed in a dark blue business suit,
sporting a carnation in my lapel and was as ready as I could be for
the realization of all my dreams.
Finally, the climax of all this preparation arrived. Seated in the
pews of St. Augustne Church were my relatives and friends. Adding a
moment of unreality to the occasion was the fact that my relatives,
all Protestants, most of whom had never been inside a Catholic
Church, were seated side by side with devout Catholics. Surely, this
was a sight, unbelievable to my Peggy.
Msgr. Hackett was at the altar, having concluded Mass, Fr. King

at

his side, and organ music filling the church, signaled the beginning
of this sacred ritual., my mother was quietly wiping the tears from
her eyes as the bridesmaids made their way down the aisle. Then, all
eyes were focused on the lovely bride on the arm of my father,
standing in for Peggy`s father. The strains of "Here Comes the
Bride," filled the church.
Msgr. Hackett, having concluded Mass, was standing beside the altar,
as Peggy and my dad arrived at the prescribed spot. Solemnly, Msgr.
Hackett intoned the age old question, "Who gives this woman in Holy
Matrimony? My father replied, "I do. " The best Man produced the
wedding band, I placed the band on her finger and we bowed before the
altar.
Msgr. Hackett pronounced the wedding vows, ending with, "I now
pronounce you husband and wife." "Now you may kiss the bride."
I wonder, to this day, whether Peggy uttered the words, "I promise
to love, honor and obey," Certainly, she would never admit to having,
said, "Obey." Looking back to that moment in time, I still wonder how
we managed to overcome all the obstacles and bring this dream to
reality.
Our wedding was a High Mass,
neither of us could remember
excitement we felt had a way
in that magical moment. I do
were told, "Now, I pronounce

with all the ceremony that implies, but

all that was said and done, for the
of shutting out all that surrounded us
remember, however, very well, when we
you Husband and Wife,"

A milestone in the lives of my Peggy and me had been reached and our
future lay ahead of us. For me, this was the climax of my transition
to civilian life and a more than happy ending to my experiences in
the "Great War,"
It has been said that all things happen fast in times of war. As I
look back to that time, which seems so long ago, when I first heard
the announcement over the radio that Pearl Harbor had been attacked,
I must agree, that little truism is correct. In a matter of less than
four short years, my life had been completely altered as had the
lives of so many of my fellow compatriots.
These are my personal memoirs encompassing a critical period in the
history of my country and how it affected me personally, as well as
millions throughout the world, for good or ill. Thank God, so many of
my fellow American citizens and citizens of allied countries were
willing to, if necessary, make the ultimate sacrifice to make
possible lives of freedom for future generations , free from the
tyranny of evil dictatorships, and, hopefully, the terrible scourge
of future wars.

THE END

G. I. MEMORS
Introduction
be, Throughout the history of World War 2, countless stories
have been told recalling the feats of bravery by those who fought in
those many, hard fought, battles. This is, as it should but left
untold are the experiences of those support forces who served behind
the lines and helped make possible the victories won by our troops,
now so celebrated in our books and films.
This humble effort is an attempt to chronicle the way in which
W.W. 2 shaped the life of one young American and provide some insight
into the pathos and, sometimes , ludicrous hilarity, that he
encountered while caring for the sick and wounded, as well as off
duty hours while on leave. The following antecdotes, hopefully, will
provide some insight into the experiences of Support Service G.I`s as
they plodded through. what to them, seemed a never ending war.
This is my story, as I lived it. This is not the story of a hero
but simply the memoirs of one who saw the results of the horrors of
war and encountered some of the more humorous aspects of life and
then made the transition back into civilian life. It is the story of
millions of youhg Americans who answered the call to duty when their
country called.
December 7, i941,

I was having coffee with my buddy in a

neighborhood diner and trying to decide what we would do for the rest
of the day. The radio was on and the music of a swing band was
playing in the background. The waiter suddenly turned up the volume
and shouted for us to listen. The announcer, his voice solemn,
informed his audience, "This morning, December 7, 1941, Pearl Harbor,
in Hawaii, was attacked by air and the harbor has been severely
damaged. It is estimated that there have been many fatalities and the
loss of many of our ships and aircraft. From the markings on the
attacking aircraft, it has been determined that this was an attack by
the Japanese. Make no mistake about it; this was an attack against
the Territory of Hawaii and therefore an act of war against the
United States. We will keep you informed as additional information
becomes available."
My first reaction to this startling announcement was, "Where
the Hell is Pearl Harbor?" In that long ago time this was a question
on the minds of most Americans. Hawaii, and Pearl Harbor, in
particular, was a far distant place, few had ever given much thought
to, or visited. This was to change radically in the days ahead as
America entered World War 2. The following day, along with my family,
I listened, spellbound, as President Franklin D. Roosevelt addressed
the nation and the nation`s Congress. His familiar voice, now
forceful with outrage and determination, proclaimed the sentiments of
his fellow countrymen. "Yesterday, Sunday, December 7, 1941, "a
date which will live in infamy", the United States of America was
suddenly and deliberately attacked by the naval and air forces of the
Empire of Japan," Briefly, the President, explained the background
of the events which culminated in the attack, ending his speech with
the following, fateful, request to the Congress of the United
States. "With confidence in our Armed forces-with the unbounded
determination of our people- we will gain the inevitable triumph-So
help us God. I ask that the Congress declare that since the
unprovoked and dastardly attack by Japan on Sunday, December 7, a
state of war has existed between the United States and the Empire of
Japan."
Almost immediately Congress declared war on Japan and three days
later, December 11, Germany and Italy declared war on the United
States. We were now fully involved, along with the British Empire.
The Republic of Ireland declared neutrality. Russia had been at war
with Germany since June and, although never officially, became an
ally of the United States. America and its allies were now at war
with the axis of Germany, Italy and Japan. World War 2, had begun in
earnest.
I, like other young Americans, living in different parts of
the country and having little in common except our American
citizenship, faced a future that would affect the remainder of our
lives. This, I held in common with untold numbers of other young
Americans. I was twenty one years old when America entered the war. I
was nine years old, the eldest in a family of four children, at the

time America entered the era of the Great depression. Like so many
Americans, my family suffered through those trying years thinking
that poverty was here to stay. This was about to end, as America
tooled up for war, and the factories began to hum.
I was exactly the right age for military service and aware that I
would be hearing from my local Draft Board and soon be inducted into
the army. Like so many other American young men, I was eager to do my
duty and welcomed this call to serve. Kalamazoo was not the most
exciting place in the country and, I must admit, military service
appealed to my adventurous nature almost as much as my patriotic
fervor.
I lacked a college education and was inducted into the United States
Army with the grand rank of "Buck Private". The following is my
memory of induction into military service. On August 13, 1942, after
months of waiting, I was called to the induction center. There must
have been fifty of us, all standing there, "buck naked", damned glad
it was August and not a cold Michigan day. One by one we were called
before a doctor to see if we were breathing and send us on to be
processed and made "Government Issue", or for short, "G.I. A few
minutes later we took the oath and were officially in the Army of the
United States. A Sergeant took us aside, told us we were being sent
to Fort Custer, Battle Creek, Michigan, on August 27. I had just two
weeks left to be wearing civilian clothes.
At Fort Custer I was outfitted with an Army uniform and assigned to a
barracks with a lot of other raw recruits. A very unfriendly Sergeant
called us to attention, told us what poor specimens of humanity we
were and, from this time on, our scrawny bodies belonged to him until
we were shipped out for basic training. In the words of a popular
song of the era, "This is the army Mr. Jones, no private rooms or
telephones. You had your breakfast in bed before, but you won`t have
it there any more." Whoever wrote those lyrics must have spent time
in the army, as a Private.
It was there at Fort Custer, I received my first duty assignment. I,
along with two other "rookies," were handed gunny sacks, neatly
arranged for hanging over the shoulder, and each a stick with a nail
protruding from one end and told to "police" the area. We spent most
of the morning stabbing at litter on the ground and neatly placing it
into our sacks. One of my fellow "Sanitary Technicians" was a guy,
somewhat older than the rest of us, and exceedingly
short and
paunchy. With "great sensitivity," we kept ourselves amused by
badgering the poor soul with various terms alluding to his lack of
manly stature. Later, during a coffee break, we discovered that he
was a member of the Michigan legislature. This was the first time I
learned the valuable lesson, to not judge my fellow soldiers by their
appearance or ethnic identity.
After a short, miserable stay at Fort Custer we were shipped out to

Camp McCoy, Wisconsin for basic training. Camp McCoy, then, was still
under construction and being used, mainly, for the housing of "Enemy
Aliens", Germans, Italians and Japanese, as well as being readied for
the thousands of troops who would be trained there, many to go on for
the invasion of Europe. When American troops arrived for training, it
was then, we came in contact with the 442nd Infantry Regiment
comprised of Japanese Americans, most of whom, had families living in
the territory of Hawaii.
As usual, the army gave us no indication as to what service we were
assigned to. We were told that we were temporarily assigned to the
M.P.E.G, Military Police Escort Guard. As a matter of fact, we were
neither Military Police nor Escort Guards. Our sole duty was to stand
guard over the Enemy Alien camp at night and go through basic
training during the day.
It was here that young Americans, like me, first learned that it was
wrong to judge people by the color of their skin or by their
ancestry. If the army taught us anything, it was that we, young
Midwestern boys, had to face the realities of life and adjust our way
of thinking if we were to succeed in life, in the army or as
civilians. One night on a bus, returning from a night out in La
Crosse, I was seated next to a young Japanese American guy from the
442nd. We were discussing an incident that had taken place recently.
It seems that two of the Japanese- Americans from his unit had been
found murdered and an investigation was underway. The "scuttlebutt"
was that they had been killed by some guys from an infantry unit. He
went on to say that he couldn't understand how American soldiers
could harbor such hate for one another. He explained that at the time
of the Pearl Harbor attack they were in training at "Pearl" and had
not yet been given any rifle training. At the moment of the attack,
they were called to duty, issued rifles, and told to fire at those
f****** ""Japs." He said, "Not one of us hesitated, because we were
American soldiers, defending our country".
We were taken through basic training by a "Sergeant from Hell." He
marched us until we dropped, had us do target shooting until we could
no longer see the target, had us peeling potatoes until we hated the
sight of the damned things and, in general, made life absolutely
miserable for us. We had no inkling of what we were being assigned to
until the Sergeant introduced us to a new cadence marching verse. As
I remember it went something like this, "Eyes right, a** holes tight,
Foreskins to the rear, we're the boys from Camp McCoy, and we've got
gonorrhea."
When we asked him what all that meant, he replied, "It`s God damned
appropriate for all you f******* medics. " Now we knew we were in the
Medical Corps. and wondered what experiences lay ahead for us in the
days to come.
As all "good" things" do, basic training came to a finish. Our basic

training period had been short and we all hoped we would be up to

whatever lay ahead. The Sergeant called us together before our
graduation march, told us we were now soldiers and that he was proud
of us. Somehow, all our ill feelings vanished and we came around to
thinking he was a "great guy."
Immediately, I was assigned to the Camp McCoy Station Hospital,
became a "Ward Boy", and wound up doing all the, less attractive,
duties that the Officer nurses chose not to do, and doing it with a
with a smile and a salute. Along with my other duties I was assigned
to a number of classes taught by the doctors and other personnel.
It was during these sessions that I met my best buddy, Glen McQueen,
whom I was to serve with during much of the war. We all called him
"Mac." He was one of those guys who truly had "savoir- faire." Six
foot tall, a good physique and a somewhat handsome face, topped by a
full head of black, wavy hair. "Tall, dark and handsome," fitted his
description exactly. Since I was not exactly the most sophisticated
guy on the planet, Mac, always ready with a smooth line, "took up the
slack," and made our social life more pleasant. We became known as
the "Gold Dust Twins," since we always traveled together. It is this
sense of camaraderie in the service that makes war time friendships
so special.
Our training fo medical duty consisted of courses which would make us
valuable as aides to the nurses and doctors and also consisted of
training for the field. One lesson that made a strong impression on
me was the proper way to remove a wounded soldier from a disabled
tank. It was this course that made me wonder if we were soon to be on
the battlefield. Unlike the movies, most of my buddies and I, did not
long to be assigned to the infantry for heroic combat duty.
One day while off "ward duty" Mac and I were chatting with a Captain
with whom we had become familiar. All doctors held the rank of
Captain or higher. He asked if we would like to assist him during an
examination. We knew by the way he asked and the twinkle in his eye
that this was to be a farce of some kind. He was known for his love
of practical jokes, many not always in line with medical ethics. The
examinee was a member of the Women`s Army Corps. in for a
gynecolological exam. Clad in white surgical gowns, looking much like
young interns, we stood by as the Captain performed his examination.
This was followed by a burst of hilarity after the "Doc" dismissed
her. Such lack of insensitivity was rare and not typical of the
behavior of Officers or enlisted men. Later that day we passed the
young lady in the main corridor. She took a very contemptable look at
us in our enlisted mens uniforms and, in a very unladylike manner,
called us "dirty bastards," a not "Ladylike" expression for a not
"Gentlemanly like" incident.
One of the "off the cuff", lessons we received during training was

from an Officer in the office of the Adjudent General. Along with

legal advice, he often gave us bits of "army wisdom." Concerning our
demeanor, he advised us that, while walking on the hospital campus,
to carry, very conspicuously, a sheet of paper and walk, very
briskly, as if on an errand. This, he emphasized, would save us many
hours of extra duty being assigned to us by an overeager Seargant.
Finally, after two weeks of training by doctors and nurses we were
assigned to the wards. I was given a promotion to T/5, CorporalMedical Technician, a rank I continued to carry throughout the war.
After going overseas, the old lyric kicked in, "There will be no
promotion this side of the ocean." I was assigned the duty of
supervising eight Privates for ward duty. This was my first
experience in supervision and led to an incident which gave me much
satisfaction. During basic training I had committed some
"unforgivable sin" and was banished to the kitchen for a week of
Kitchen Police, better known as "KP." As all old soldiers know,
"Police" had nothing to do with this inglorious assignment. This was
simply a means for some damned Sergeant to "vent his spleen" and for
the kitchen to get extra help. I believe that in the sixteenth
century many ships were manned by a "shanghaied crew." This was the
Army`s way of getting extra hours of a soldier`s time without any
reward for extra duty and punishing him for his indiscretions. For
that unforgettable week I took orders from a Mess Sergeant who ground
out orders like meat going through a sausage grinder. The tiniest
infraction of his rules like taking a glass of milk, without his
permission, would result in the full force of his temper coming down
on one like a full blown hurricaine. He was truly, "The Devil, In
Chef's Clothing`.
Now, that I was an NCO, with all the "authority" that implies, I was
regularly checking into the ward, soldiers who had fallen ill or who
just found some reason to be assigned to the hospital, many, just for
some time away from the duties of the day and a chance to relax. One
day, "When what, to my wondering eyes should appear," but my old
"Comrade in Arms", the Mess Sergeant, with nothing but a bad head
cold. The Army had, a ,not so technical, name for his distress. The
term "Goldbricking" is far too tame. The other crude term is better
not repeated here. I was very happy to accommodate my old comrade and
immediately assigned him to a bed. With a smile on his face, he
settled in for some rest and relaxation. Much to his chagrin, he soon
found out that this was not to be the case. Vengeance was in my heart
and this was my golden opportunity to even up the score. He seemed
utterly unawaware that in the hospital he was duty bound to take
orders from hospital personnel, regardless of inferior rank.. As an
ambulatory patient he had to perform whatever housekeeping duties
assigned to him. I had no problem in finding a job for him to take
his mind off the boredom of the day. For those of you, former
soldiers, who are thinking, "Latrine Duty", I can only say that you

are so right in your speculation. I armed him with a toilet brush, a

mop and bucket and gave him immediate employment. It was apparent
that he had no desire to perform these menial tasks and informed me
that I should remember that he held the rank of Sergeant. With joy in
my heart, I, very authoritatively, pointed out to him that there were
no stripes on his bathrobe and that his immediate concern was to have
the latrine ready for Saturday morning inspection, "Vengeance is
mine, sayeth the Lord," but, for this one shining moment, "Vengeance
was mine", and I enjoyed every damned second of it.
With the compliance of the Captain, we kept him in the hospital for
a few extra days. I`m sure he was more careful about his treatment
of other lowly privates he held sway over. He had just experienced
the old adage, "What goes around, comes around."

CHAPTER 2
As the days wore on, life was a series of daily routine duties and we
were becoming somewhat restless. Although the time we had spent in
the army was short our youthful outlook made the days seem endless.
Many of the units on the base were moving on. This made us hope that
we would be next and go on to some other experiences. We had no idea
what things awaited us but anything was better than spending the war
in the Army at Camp McCoy, Wisconsin as "Ward Boys." Didn't Gen.
Patton say to recruits that they didn`t want to have to tell their
grandchildren t they spent the war shoveling horseshit at an Army
Cavalry base?
We didn't have to wait for long for we suddenly got the news that the
306 Station Hospital was being sent overseas. With typical Army
retisense to tell the enlisted man anything, we were told absolutely

nothing except to pack our belongings and be ready to move. With the
enlisted man`s penchant for finding out everything, we soon found out
that we were headed for the European Theater of Operations, or for
short, the E.T,O..
On October 31, 1942, Halloween being an appropriate day, we received
our shipping orders. Everything we possessed was crammed into our
duffle bags, and we were on our way to the train station, all "very
comfortable," in a "luxurious" army truck. Arriving at a train depot,
we hastily boarded a car that looked as though it had seen service in
the Civil War. Once on the train, we eagerly awaited some legitimate
information as to our destination. True to army form, none came.
Finally, after many hours, card games and an occasional snooze, we
arrived in Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada. The year was 1942 and the
war in Europe was in full force. Britain was in a state of deadly
peril and the arrival of the "Yanks" was considered a blessing to
their hopes of defeating the Germans. In any event, we were now about
to board a troop ship and make the dangerous crossing across the
North Atlantic to relieve our British Allies. That America was fully
engaged in this war was borne out by the hundreds of thousands of
American soldiers waiting to board the many troop ships crowding the
harbor.
Upon our arrival at the harbor, we boarded the RMS Mauritania for our
trip across the North Atlantic to Great Britain. We boarded the ship
in the late afternoon. After a "fine meal" of "good" mutton stew, we
were told to choose a spot on the long mess table for our gear. This
is where we would sleep and, "Be sure to be out of there as soon as
reveille is over because the RAF will be using the table for
training classes."
We were allowed to roam around and get acquainted with the ship. Mac
and I ventured into an area where a number of RAF {Royal Air Force
guys} were singing Bless `Em All, which was a popular British wartime
song. The lyrics, "Bless `em all, the long, the short , and the tall"
,etc. were constantly repeated with the "Bless" almost always
replaced with another four letter word, better not repeated here.
Soon we were joined by more fellow "Yanks." American- British unity
was already beginning to take place. As the Mauritania got underway
we were engrossed in making friends and having a "Jolly good time, as
the "Limeys" would say,
After a nights rest on that hard table, we got the signal to clear
out, which we did without hesitation. Gazing out a porthole,
expecting to see the open ocean, we found out that we were back in
port. As we gazed out at the harbor, Mac turned to me and said, "What
the hell is this? "I thought we were underway." It didn't take long
to find the answer to that query. It seems that during the night we

had run into a "Wolf Pack." That was the name, Admiral Donitz, the
Commander of the German navy, gave to his submarines, which hunted in
packs, awaiting Allied shipping. We were traveling without a convoy
and were a likely target.
Before long we, once more, got underway. With the unbounded optimism
of youth and a feeling of invincibility, we never gave another
thought to the danger we faced in crossing the North Atlantic without
a convoy, depending only on the speed and maneuverability of this
great ship. Ships capable of traveling fast steered a zig zag course,
without accompanying vessels, making them difficult to target.
True to British tradition, a daily shot of rum was provided to all on
board. As I recall, we approached a small makeshift bar and were
doled out our portion. The only "fly in the ointment" was that the
U.S. Navy did not permit drinking on board its ships. Even though
this was a British ship, American personnel were bound by American
Naval rules. This was handled very neatly by the British by simply
doling out a portion of ginger beer, a British soda pop, to the
Americans. Never to be outdone, we simply accepted the soda pop,
exchanged our soft drink for rum by handing a couple of cigarettes to
our British brethren and accepting their gracious exchange of rum for
ginger beer.
Another bit of culture shock was the difference in what the "Limeys"
thought of as tasty cuisine and what we thought of as "good grub."
The, too frequent, serving of mutton stew did not bode well for the
"Yanks", and resulted in a considerable amount of grumbling on our
part. Other than that, and similar differences, the next few days or
so went off without incident and a surprising amount of goodwill
developed between us and the "Limeys."
Finally, after several days of boredom and bad food we arrived in
Great Britain and were hastily put on a waiting train for our final
destination.
We were all anxious to see what England looked like but we were
traveling at night and the windows were blacked out in compliance
with "blackout" regulations. The British strictly enforced these
rules because of the possibility of giving the Germans a target on
their nightly flights over England.
Our Executive Officer, Capt. Lebowitz, a balding man, somewhat
overweight and a chain smoker, had preceded our arrival, having
boarded the train at Southampton to accompany us to our destination.
He soon appeared on the scene to address us when suddenly a loud roar
was heard directly above the train. Certain that the plane would hit
the train, we all hit the floor, "scared, out of our wits."
The only one standing was Capt. Lebowitz. With a big smile on his
face, he said, "Gentlemen you have just been welcomed to the United
Kingdom by the U. S. Army Air Force."

At long last, the train came to a stop, somewhere, just outside the
city of Bournemouth. We were immediately trucked to an Army camp,
given a barracks and told to get a good nights sleep. We found our
bunks and then the "bitching" began. On the bunk was a rather plump
mattress but when one lay down, it suddenly became apparent that what
appeared to be a mattress was, in reality, a bag of straw. Later we
found out that the British had arranged this for us since it was a
part of the "Lend-Lease" arrangement America had made with the
British. The whole damned camp was a British creation, and not one to
become fond of. The upshot was that we were so damned tired that we
slept as though we were sleeping on the best mattresses money could
buy.
Without regard that we were all in need of more rest after our long
journey, reveille, sounded as usual. After standing for roll call we
were dismissed for "Mess." Although we had been severe critics of
army food, the sight of good old American style bacon and eggs,
tended to soften our criticism, at least for the moment.
After "mess" The Company was called to order and we were given the
"Orders of the Day.' It seems that we were in a "holding area" and
quarantined for several days, during which time, we would be
responsible for housekeeping duties. The Sergeant then introduced
Capt. Lebowitz, our never to be forgotten, Executive Officer. What
followed was so damned comical, coming from this balding, overweight
and pompous, unmilitary like Officer, that I am sure every G.I.,
there at that moment, will remember it to his dying day. I`m sure, I
will. The Captain addressed us, as I recall it, "Gentlemen, you are
now a part of the European Theater of Operations. Your conduct here
will be vitally important in bringing victory to our forces against
the German Tyranny. God Bless you and the American Army." He,
finished with, "Always remember, when off duty, that you are here as
conquerors, not to be conquered by the harpies of the streets." He
ended with a military salute that would have made Gen. Eisenhower,
himself, proud. Dr. Lebowitz had transformed himself into a military
conqueror and satisfied his deepest longings, which, I`m sure, he
usually only carried out in his fantasy life.
After several long and boring days, punctuated by crap games and
other "intellectual pursuits", the quarantine was lifted and we were
given an opportunity to visit Bournemouth. Immediately, the office
was filled with G.I.s requesting passes. As long as you knew your
name rank and serial number the request was granted.
Mac and I were among the first to get in line, receive our passes,
and board the truck for town. Dressed, as finely as we could, in our
dress uniforms, we joined in the, rather ribald, singing as the truck
bounced along taking some very enthusiastic, young and virile, men,
into the city. The word virile is used very purposefully since the

thoughts on all the passenger's minds concerned speedy liaisons with

the local girls.
Mac, who seemed ever knowledgeable about such things, steered me into
the lounge bar of a local pub. The lounge bar was a cut above the
part of the pub that served only the men. The lounge was for social
gatherings and included the more refined women and men of the
community and the occasional military Officer as well as a few
enlisted men.
Once, comfortably ensconced, in a neat little booth, Mac began to
size up the situation and decided to make his move. He moved, with
great suavity, to the table of two lovely, young ladies and soon had
them seated with us in our booth. Although I do not have a good
recollection of the young lady Mac was interested in, I shall never
forget the charming and petite girl I was partnered with. Doreen
Hazelwood, her real name, was everything one thinks of when we hear
the term, "English Beauty." The charm of her English accent was not
lost upon me and our conversation soon consisted of little details
about where we called home and our particular interests.
The barkeeper, having called, "Time, please." which was the signal
for closing, brought the usual query, "May I see you home?" Both
girls, having informed us that they would rather go home together,
had made it quite clear that their parents, mothers in particular,
did not have a fondness for soldiers when their daughters were
involved. Doreen did agree to meet me the following day and give me a
tour of Bournemouth. Always the tourist, and in this case, a quite
enthusiastic tourist, we arranged a place to meet. The following day
we met at the appointed meeting place. Doreen seemed eager to do her
duty in making a lonely G.I. welcome and this lonely G.I. was only
too eager to accept her services.
Doreen proved to be an excellent tour guide and knew all the places
of interest. Her knowledge of the history of Bournemouth was quite
extensive. She delighted in showing me all the sights and made my
stay in Bournemouth a quite pleasurable experience. One of her
favorite places was an old church of historical importance and it was
there that I came to realize how much different an American`s concept
of time differed from the British. During our visit I noticed a
beautiful brass spread eagle that served as the podium for the
Minister. The cleaning lady was polishing it and I made the remark
that it was a beautiful podium. She smiled and said, "Oh, this was a
gift from our late Pastor in the early 1700s." Being a "Yank", I
thought of the 1700s as ancient history. This gave me pause, and made
me realize how young our beloved country is.
My way of thanking Doreen was to have my mother send her a gift. As I
recall, she did receive a lovely blue sweater, was delighted, and
said she would treasure it.

Meanwhile the war on the continent was raging on and my unit moved to
a new location near Tidworth, a city located southeast of Wilshire.
It shares its eastern border with the Salisbury Plain, the site of
the famous archeological find, Stonehenge. Here we carried on our
duties caring for the soldiers, who were receiving tender loving care
from our beautiful nurses.
It was not only the nurses who brought smiles to our patients. The
Red Cross and the Salvation Army both sent some very lovely ladies to
visit with the soldiers. One incident that stands out clearly
happened during one of those visits. A young man of about twenty
years old, was in the hospital for a rather extended stay. He was an
avid reader and kept us busy supplying him with books from the
hospital library. During a routine visit from the Red Cross volunteer
he requested of her to get a copy of Pygmalion, a book he had
acquired in London, signed by the author. The lady explained that it
was next to impossible to obtain the autograph since this author was
quite elderly and ill and had a reputation of not being friendly to
autograph seekers, so the task would only end in failure.
That closed the subject until the Salvation Army lady made her visit
and the same request was made of her. Her reaction was somewhat
different. She, in a very motherly fashion, said, "Give me the book
and I`ll see what I can do." A week went by and the same lady
appeared and was eager to see the young soldier. Upon greeting him
she said, "Wait till you see what I have for you." With that. she
unwrapped a package and there was the soldiers book. She opened the
book to the flyleaf, and there, in boldly handwritten words, was the
following note, as I remember it, "If I signed every book for someone
who thinks I am the greatest writer since Shakespeare, I'd be doing
nothing but signing my name." Then, written with a flourish, was the
signature, George Bernard Shaw, This incident comes to mind every
Christmas when I make my donation in a Salvation Army kettle.
Mac and I were eager to see more of England and find a place free
from the ever present G.I. Having this in mind, we decided to take
leave and get as far away from places inhabited by people of our ilk
as we could. This led to us catching a bus and traveling as far away
from camp as we could .
Our bus ride took us to a town which seemed completely bereft of
servicemen. As all G.I.s do, we immediately found the nearest Pub and
settled in comfortably to enjoy a pint of beer. We were the only
customers and after a few moments of waiting, no one appeared to wait
upon us. Mac finally called out for service. Soon, a young lady
peered around an open door and said, quite breathlessly, "Oh, you are
Americans." I said, "We sure are, what did you think we were"? Her
reply was that she and her parents had observed us from the kitchen
and, just catching a glimpse of our boots, thought we were Germans.

We knew we had found the right spot and enjoyed a great afternoon
free from the hub bub of G.I. activity. This place showed no signs
of ever having been host to an American soldier. After an hour of
friendly chatter with the barkeep and his daughter we decided it was
time to get back to camp.
Before boarding the bus I looked around for a rest room.. Spotting a
toilet, I entered and went to the urinal to relieve myself. There,
written in bold letters on the wall was that old familiar refrain,
"Kilroy was here." There was no way in the world that one could find
a place in England that had not been visited by American soldiers.
We returned to our unit, ready to resume our duties but, as usual,
Mac and I were ready for our next outing and this time, we both
agreed, it was to be London, the capital of Great Britain, and one of
the great historical cities of the world.
The week following our bus trip had been exceedingly busy. Two guys
had been admitted for broken limbs and another for a severe case of
appendicitis. Between scheduling them for operations, working out a
schedule for the ward boys and covering for a nurse who had gone on
leave, as well as attending to my other duties, I had my hands full.
Mac also had experienced a hectic week and both of us were ready to
get a pass for the weekend and our trip to London.
Having secured a three day pass and arranged for one of the ward
boys, who was "Bucking for Corporal,", to cover for me, I was ready
to head for London. Mac had obtained a pass, too, although he had to
do some fast talking to get his.
In London, we went to Paddington Station. Across the street from the
station was Dickens Tavern, one of the many historic pubs in London.
As we entered the pub, Mac noticed a ,very old, lady with a small
glass of Guinness, half full. With his usual charm and savoir faire,
he walked over to her and inquired, "May I get you a drink, mother?"
To the delight and laughter of all around, she replied, as loudly as
she could, in a her high pitched, shrill voice, "I`ll have a `pint."
After a couple of "pints" we decided it was time to get to the Red
Cross Club in Piccadilly Circus, the Broadway of London, and settle
down for the night.
The Red Cross Club in Piccadilly, also known as Rainbow Corner, was
the headquarters for all G.Is when they visited London. A huge
building of several stories, with all kinds of hospitality available,
it was a magnet for all of us seeking rest and relaxation.
One of the attractions was the little office presided over by Adele
Astaire, sister of Fred Astaire, where she wrote letters to the loved
ones of the G.I.s telling them of her visit with their sons,
daughters or sweethearts. It was a very thoughtful way to support the
war effort and was highly appreciated by all of us. "Rainbow Corner"

also played host to such celebrated personages as Gen. Theodore

Roosevelt, Gen. Eisenhower, George Raft, Jimmy Stewart, Irving Berlin
and many others. Glen Miller did a broadcast there and also, Artie
Shaw, who performed there for the soldiers. Little wonder that this
was the most favored place visited by G.I,s when on leave in London.
Mac and I had just settled down for the night on the top floor of the
club with the sound of "Pom Pom" guns above us on the roof of the
building. "Pom Pom" was the name the British people called the antiaircraft guns that responded to the, almost, nightly bombings. Just
as sleep was taking over, we were aroused by a mighty explosion
accompanied by the intense shaking of the building.
In a matter of moments we were out of bed and dressed, prepared to
leave the building. Once out on the street, we observed the reason
for the blast. About four buildings down the street from the club a
V1 rocket had hit a building, tearing it apart, as though a giant
fist had come down on it. In no time at all, ambulances were on the
scene, and people covered in blood, crying out in pain, were being
removed from the wreckage. In that terrible moment I became aware of
the resilience of the British people. There was no panic, no
screaming, only a dogged determination on the part of the volunteers
to assist the wounded and bring order out of the chaos.
This should have been enough to spoil our weekend but, being young.
and feeling, indestructible ,we were undeterred and, after all, the
old Windmill Theater was still in business and the girls were still
there, awaiting the G.I.s.
The Windmill Theater, famous for never having closed during the worst
of the bombing of London had, by the time of the war, became a
burlesque house and a premier attraction for British and American
soldiers while on leave. The old theater has an interesting history
and has been portrayed on the screen in a film called, Mrs. Henderson
Presents,
It was one of those rare evenings in London, when the air was soft
and warm, ideal for outdoor relaxation. This, I mention, because it
was a tradition at the theater, when the weather was good, that the
patio at the rear of the house was open and customers and dancers ,
between acts, could enjoy a drink and conversation. Needless to say,
Mac and I took full advantage of this opportunity to "schmoose" with
the show girls.
Ensconced comfortably at one of the patio tables, we awaited the
arrival of the girls. They usually arrived as soon as the first
performance was over, still heavily "Made Up" with grease paint and
those long artificial eye lashes in place. To my unsophisticated
eyes, this was the very zenith of feminine glamour.
Two "ladies" strolled by and, with great admiration, I watched as Mac
beckoned to them, and with a skill, usually observed only in the

movies, brought them to our table. After a moment of "sweet talk" by

my adroit companion the girls settled in comfortably. I was highly
impressed as he deftly proffered cigarettes to our "lovely"
companions. Within a moment, his Zippo lighter appeared, the cover
thrown back, and with a flick of his thumb, the flame appeared and,
it was at that moment, Mac's sophistication ,"went up in flames". The
streak of fire from the lighter rose fully four inches and licked at
those long artificial eye lashes. This was followed by a stream of
four letter obscenities from the young "lady" that would have made a
drunken sailor blush. So endeth our London trip, so endeth Mac's,
highly acclaimed "savoir faire", but it was only one of many trips
that we took to that great and historic city.
On another occasion, Mac and I had the privilege of visiting the
Royal Opera House, in London's Covent Gardens. Impressive as this
may seem, hundreds of" Yanks," nightly, made a pilgrimage to this
historic place of culture and refinement, not to experience the
opera, but to meet the girls and dance the night away.
Sometime during the war a decision had been made to convert the opera
house into a dance hall for the entertainment of the thousands of
military personnel in the city. The stage was prepared for the
accommodation of the large swing bands that would appear there and a
dance floor installed. In effect, this historic place had become a
night club. For the price of two shillings and six pence one became a
member of the club and entitled to free admission when in town on
leave. I can still hear, in my "moments of recollection." the music
of Ted Heath and other bands of renown, and those tender moments on
the dance floor, with a lovely English girl in my arms, as we swayed
to the music and, for a few shining moments, forgot the shadow of war
that always hung over us. There were other times when we were
"jitterbugging" or dancing to a love song and the wail of the siren
would be heard alerting us to a bombing and, if we so desired, retire
to an air raid shelter. Very often, the young\
lady in my arms would whisper in my ear, "Oh, lets just keep on
dancing."
Upon our return to the hospital we found that the 306th had received
a new arrival. This was a surprise because no one new had ever been
assigned to our outfit, unlike combat units who were often getting
replacements due to casualties suffered in battle. We were curious to
know why the young soldier had been sent to the 306th.
He was busy getting his gear in order when we introduced ourselves.
In our chat with him we found out his home was in Dayton Ohio. We
asked him how he became assigned to our outfit. His answer was, " I
don`t know." He went on to say he was doing guard duty at a place in
Alamogordo, New Mexico and he was in town in a bar when a civilian
struck up a conversation with him. As he told it, "This guy asked me
what duty I was performing in the army." He said he told him,

"Nothing important, I just stand guard duty at a gate to some damned

compound outside Alamogordo." He added, "Hell. I don`t even know
what the Hell is going on there." "At that point two other civilians
walked up, took me by the arms and walked me outside to a waiting
car, drove me to my outfit and turned me over to a Lieutenant." The
Officer simply said to me, "Stow your things in your duffle bag and
follow me. Following his instructions, I finished up stowing my gear
and with that the Lieutenant took me to a car and to the airport and
sent me here, Hell, up to this moment, I don`t know what happened and
why I`m here." I guess he never did know until the war was over.
This incident brought home to all of us how serious the military was
about security. "Loose lips, sink ships," had real meaning for all of
us and we were constantly on guard when chatting with anyone,
especially civilians.

Chapter 3
The patients were not the only ones to appreciate the charms of those
Lovely nurse Second Lieutenants' but we knew better than attempt to
socialize with Officers, a `sin,' requiring drastic action by
Superior Officers, if ventured by a lowly enlisted man.
My duties kept me in close contact with nurses and doctors, arranging
schedules for the "Ward Boys," schedules for medications and
assisting doctors and nurses during their rounds. It was impossible
to not become familiar with the nurses, and one beautiful young nurse
by the name of Rosemary, last name deleted, caught my eye to the
point that I broke through that invisible barrier and arranged a date
with her. Mac, never much concerned with rules, also arranged a date
with his favorite nurse and a double date was about to take place
that would have the inevitable consequences.
The bus arrived for the short ride into Salisbury. Mac and I found
our seats, discreetly separated from our dates so as not to appear to
be accompanying Officers. Shortly thereafter, arriving at our
destination, we proceeded to the nearest pub, and, with our dates,
began imbibing the best of what British brewers had to offer. Our
conversation gradually became more stimulating and our relationships
becoming ever more intimate, we were off to a wonderful evening. At
just before 11:00, the booming voice of the bartender resounded

throughout the pub. "Time please", the dreaded call, that meant we
could order only one more drink before the bar closed. This was
usually followed by a rush to the bar by the patrons, many of whom
still had unfinished drinks at their tables.
Knowing the rules of the game, we decided to move to one of the pubs
that catered to Officers and remained open after the usual closing
hours. The local officials were well aware that, "rank has its
privileges." The man at the door listened patiently as Mac explained
how the young lady with me had nursed me back to health from a
serious illness, "And now, my buddy John, and Rosemary, the lovely
nurse with him, are celebrating their engagement". Mac's story so
impressed the doorman that he made no objection to our presence in
the club.
Although Mac and I were the only non-Officers in the room, no one
seemed to notice and our evening continued on until closing time. As
we made our way through the crowd exiting the room, our arms
encircling our dates, I looked up and, catching my eye, was the
Company Commander. His look of disapproval, I knew immediately, was a
harbinger of things to come.
The results of having encountered the Company Commander, the night
before, under the previously mentioned circumstances, were not long
in coming. Mac was the first to heed a call to the Office immediately
after Mess., and upon his return to the barracks, informed me he had
been told to pack his belongings and leave on the truck parked
outside the Commander's office. He knew not, where he was headed.
Mac packed his gear and we both walked over to the waiting truck.
Before he climbed aboard, we shook hands and wished each other well.
I never saw Mac again, until we were discharged and home, once more,
in Kalamazoo.
I was the next to get the call to meet with the Company Commander.
His directive was quick, brusque and direct. "Tomorrow morning, be at
the roadside with your belongings in your duffle bag and meet the
truck when it arrives." "Do you have any questions, Corporal?"
My answer was quick, brusque and direct. "No Sir," followed by a
salute. The answer was a snappy salute and a, "Dismissed, Soldier."
Feeling somewhat, depressed at having lost my buddy and being sent to
"God knows where," I climbed aboard the truck the following morning
with a number of other "F***Ups, "but damned glad I hadn't lost my
stripes.
The truck rambled on for several miles until the driver pulled over
and hollered back at us, "You guys wanna stop at this pub and have a
beer?" The question was, of course unnecessary, and we all
disembarked , much heartened by this magnanimous gesture.

Along with the other guys, I dropped to the ground, faced forward,
and lo and behold, there was Capt. John Hummer, leaving his seat
alongside the driver. Capt. Hummer was one of the enlisted men's
favorite Officers and a resident of my hometown. His greeting to me
was, "John, what the Hell are you doing here?" I replied, "I might
ask you the same thing, Captain." Such was the informality that
existed between he and the enlisted men with whom he was well
aquainted. He was an excellent doctor, a fine Officer and a real
gentleman.
Once, inside the pub the G.I.s quickly received their "pints" and
were noisily swapping stories. Capt. Hummer and myself, knowing each
other well and, having come from the same outfit, as well as both of
us being residents of Kalamazoo, took a booth, and over a pint of
Guinness, began our stories of how we came to be on this particular
journey. I recounted my encounter with the Commander regarding
fraternization with Officers and the penalty I suffered. Capt. Hummer
laughed and said he had even a better story to tell. As he recounted
it, he and another officer had been on a date with two nurses and had
imbibed a little too much of "Old john Barleycorn," and upon
returning to camp one of the party dared him to go to the Commander`s
quarters and awaken him. He said," Having had one too many, and
taking the dare, I went into his hut, shook him, and with my
flashlight, blinded him and backed out. Unfortunately, I was unable
to stifle a laugh. Big mistake! The Commander, now fully aroused,
recognized my laugh, and bellowed out, "John Hummer, you S.O.B, I`ll
make you pay for this," "So here I am with the rest of you "F***ups."
He went on to assure me that we were not only assigned to the same
place but were going to Torquay, on the south coast of England, to
care for an encampment of soldiers training for the invasion. We
would be responsible for their day to day medical problems. He said,
"This is going to be dammed good duty, since this is one of the best
spots in England, as close to tropical weather as you will see over
here, and we will be on our own, to do, as we see fit".
After dropping off the guys on the truck at their assigned
destinations, we finally arrived at the lovely seaside town of
Torquay, to this day, stll known as an integral part of the "English
Riviera." It is no wonder that the famed British author, Agatha
Christie, chose to live most of her life here in this, almost,
tropical like paradise.
Wartime Britain was in no position to have its beaches inhabited only
by vacationing sun bathers and the long stretches of barbed wire that
covered those beaches stood in stark testimony to the fact that
England was at war and fighting for its life and freedom.
In Russia, soldiers were being sent to the Eastern Front

for

improper behavior and Torquay was our, "Eastern Front." Of course,

being `good and obedient soldiers," we would do our best to cope
with the cards life had dealt us.
The encampment, covering several acres, was located on the outskirts
of town. The troops were housed in tents. We soon found our spot, a
large Quonset hut, neatly made up, sleeping accommodations for six
and an office and lab. This was to be our home and workplace until
further notice.
We quickly staked out our cots and proceeded to make our areas as
comfortable as possible. Capt. Hummer and I took an inventory of the
things we required in the lab and then we sat down over a cup of
coffee to discuss our routine.
Each morning we would take care of the needs of the soldiers on "Sick
Call." He explained that, at times, he would not be available as he
would, undoubtedly, have connections in town that might require him
to spend the night there. He said he was sure that I could handle the
routine cases by myself but he would leave me a telephone number
where I could reach him in case of an emergency. I was well aware of
the fact that one did not question a Superior Officer about his off
base activities. He then went on to say that he would arrange a, not
too early, sick call. He then instructed me to tell the Mess Sergeant
that he would like to confer with him.
The Sergeant, a large bulky man, heavily tattooed, and florid of
face, responded quickly, and gave a proper salute to Capt. Hummer,
which was returned in proper military manner. Capt. Hummer began,
"Sergeant, We are here to care for the personnel stationed here and I
want my men, and soon there will be more of us, to get plenty of
rest, so it would be appreciated if you would have breakfast for them
even if their arrival is somewhat late, thus giving them time for
some extra sleep time in the morning." The Sergeant assured Captain
Hummer
that this would be no problem but he had a favor to ask of him. The
Captain, knowing, "Quid pro quo," said, "Mention it, and it's done."
He then explained that he often suffered from a severe hangover in
the morning and would appreciate a doctor approved remedy. With that,
Captain Hummer made up a concoction and showed me how to prepare it
for the amiable Sergeant. As I recall, it had a very solid base of
codeine, and later received a very favorable reaction from the
Sergeant.
Our discussion continued, and being curious about his remark that
there would soon be more of us, I said, "Captain, Will we be
receiving some additional help?" His answer came in the form of a
question. "John, I`m sure you will be making some social connections
in town, and wouldn't it be nice to have some "wheels?" Without
hesitation, he received an affirmative answer. He then went on to say

that he was ordering an ambulance and driver. "I'll make sure that
the driver will understand that the vehicle is at your disposal at
all times," He said, with a smile. "I told you this would be good
duty, didn't I?" "Let's make the most of it."
The ambulance did arrive and it served me well as I became more
acquainted in the community. The driver, a Private First Class, was
a fine young man and fitted in very well with, our, rather "laid
back," style of living. We did, however, have one incident which
challenged our unmilitary behavior.
For some unknown reason, and, maybe, it was because the army had no
other place to put him, another Captain doctor appeared one day and
showed Capt. Hummer his transfer. We now had two Captains and two
enlisted men. That seemed a little heavy with rank.
It wasn't long before our new arrival, a young, "spit and polish"
Officer, made it known, in no uncertain terms, that our unkempt beds
and generally, sloppy housekeeping was not in line with what he
considered military demeanor. Dr. Hummer, I`m sure, considered this
an insult to his management and approached him a couple of days
later, after one of his rants about unmade beds. Confronting the
young Officer with fire in his eyes, he said, "Captain, "What was the
date of your commission"?
Without a moments hesitation he blurted out the date to Capt. Hummer.
The response was almost immediate, Capt. Hummer said, "Captain, my
commission is of a much earlier date and this puts me in complete
command here, and furthermore, my staff and I are quite satisfied
with our lifestyle. Is that perfectly clear"?
The young Captain Answered with a quick, "Yes Sir."
I am still of the opinion that the young Captain`s transfer to
another location the following week had something to do with this
clash of opinions between the two Officers.
Another incident, which I recall with great relish, happened one
evening when we were seated outside of our hut chatting. A Sergeant
from one of the infantry outfits showed up, rifle in hand, and
joined us. He said, "Wanna see a demonstration of how we train the
men in rifle handling?" He then proceeded to break down the rifle
into its separate parts. "Now watch this", he said. He closed his
eyes, and in a flash, put the rifle back together in record time.
Capt. Hummer, without verbal response, reached over and took hold of
the rifle. In a few short seconds he then proceeded to dismantle the
piece. He closed his eyes, and with a few deft movements, much faster
than the infantryman, reassembled the rifle. Then, breaking his
silence, Capt. Hummer said, "Soldier, I learned this little maneuver
in the National Guard, long before being sent over here. Not all
medics are unfamiliar with firearms."
Not all duty here was "fun and games", and meeting the day to day
needs of the troops kept us busy. There were plenty of situations

which required our response, although most situations were not of a

highly serious nature. These were highly trained combat troops,
having been already trained for battle before arriving at this
station. They were not engaging in maneuvers which resulted in severe
injury or worse. Most of our cases were merely first aid, although we
did have occasional situations in which, after initial treatment, we
took the patient to a nearby hospital.
We did have some inkling that important moves in the war were about
to take place. Often at night, in the darkness, German reconnaissance
planes would appear overhead and shoot tracer bullets, hoping for
return fire, thus establishing the location of the troops. One night
they dropped a small personnel bomb which landed on a china shop on
the outer perimeter of the encampment. What we saw in the morning
would have had a collector of "fine China "climbing the walls."
Just to be on the safe side, we dug a small trench and when a plane
appeared overhead we would climb in until all activity ceased. One
night, Capt. Hummer and I took to the trench for cover. During our
descent into the trench I brushed against something and received a
small cut on my wrist. Upon seeing the bloody wrist, Capt. Hummer
said. "OK, John, now I can put you in for a Purple Heart."
I, of course, declined the offer. The Purple Heart is given to those
wounded in battle as a tribute to their sacrifice and heroism. I am
sure, Captain Hummer was speaking in jest, knowing I could not, in
good conscience, accept his offer.
Monitoring the news every day, we were very much aware of the
mayhem being carried on across the Channel. Hitler had subdued most
of Europe and was keeping a wary eye on Britain where more and more
American, British, Canadian and allied forces were training for, what
he knew, would be the invasion of the continent.
Being in such close contact with these soldiers, who would be among
those to storm the beaches, made us very aware of the tremendous
responsibilities our nation had placed upon their shoulders. Many of
these young soldiers would be laying down their lives to keep alive,
what was left of, law and order in Europe. We were also aware of the
other Allied forces, in camps such as these, who were also called
upon to keep alive freedom and democracy. We were young, but not too
young, to know that what happened on those beaches would make Europe,
either free or slave and, in time, threaten the security of the
United States. For those of us who would not be compelled to make
that trip across the English Channel and face the carnage of the
invasion, it strengthened our resolve to care well for our brave
combat soldiers.

Chapter 4
The year was 1944 and the Stars and Stripes, the GI. newspaper, kept
us fully informed of what was happening across the English Channel.
Hitler's 1941 invasion of Russia, known as "Operation Barbarossa",
had proven a disaster and the attack on Pearl Harbor by the Japanese,
bringing in the Americans, had the German forces on the defensive.
Everyone realized that a turning point in the war had been reached.
The world held its breath awaiting the invasion.
Preparations for the invasion of the Normandy coast in France had
been made in 1943. President Roosevelt and Prime Minister Winston
Churchill had selected Gen. Dwight D. Eisenhower as Supreme Commander
and gave the plan the code name, Operation Overlord. The Allied
powers were now set on a course that would result in the greatest
military operation in the history of the world.
The Allies assembled a force of three million men and stored sixteen
million tons of ammunition and supplies in great Britain. The Allies
had five thousand large ships, four thousand smaller landing craft
and more than eleven thousand aircraft.
All along the south coast of Britain staging areas were set up for
the accommodation of the thousands of troops preparing for the
invasion. Torquay was one of these staging areas.

I remember clearly, getting up one morning, prepared to go to town

and meet the young lady with whom I had become acquainted. I stepped
out the door and it became crystal clear to me that I was not going
anywhere. This huge encampment was completely surrounded by British
and American soldiers bearing automatic weapons. From that moment on
security was absolute and complete. It was then that I realized why
large circus tents had been set up in the last few days and Officers
from all the outfits had been seen coming and going. Briefings were
being held, prior to, what all of us expected to be, the launching of
the invasion. What, I did not know, was that the invasion had been
set for June 5, but weather conditions in the channel were so bad
that the mission had been postponed until June 6.
In the wee hours of the morning of June 6,1944 we became aware of
frenzied activity in the camp. The sound of barked orders, the roar
of truck engines and the sound of booted feet made us realize that
the time had come. The invasion of the European continent was about
to become reality. Many young men would perish that day on the
beaches of Normandy, but many more would go forward into the heart of
Germany, in what Gen. Eisenhower dubbed, "A great Crusade."
The greatest armada in all of military history had been unleashed
that morning and a grateful world , to this day, pays homage to the
brave men who were willing to sacrifice their lives to wipe from the
face of the earth the evil empires of Germany, Italy and, ultimately,
Japan.
The Order of the Day. June 6 , 1944 from Supreme Headquarters Allied
Expeditionary Forces, as stated by General Dwight Eisenhower, Supreme
Commander was as follows,
Supreme Headquarters
Allied Expeditionary Force.
"Soldiers, Sailors and Airmen of the Allied Expeditionary Force!
You are about to embark upon the Great Crusade, toward which we have
striven these many months. The eyes of the world are upon you. The
hopes and prayers of liberty loving people everywhere march with you.
In company with our brave Allies and brothers-in-arms on other
fronts, you will bring about the destruction of the German war
machine, the elimination of Nazi tyranny over the oppressed peoples
of Europe and security for ourselves in a free world.
Your task will not be an easy one. Your enemy is well trained, well
equipped and battle hardened. He will fight savagely.
But this is the year 1944! Much has happened since the Nazi triumphs
of 1940-41. The United Nations have inflicted upon the Germans great
defeats, in open battle, man to man. Our offensive has seriously
reduced their strength in the air and their capacity to wage war on
the ground. Our Home Fronts have given us an overwhelming superiority

in munitions and weapons of war, and placed at our disposal great

reserves of trained fighting men. The tide has turned! The free men
of the world are marching together toward victory!
I have full confidence in your courage, devotion to duty and skill in
battle. We will accept nothing less than full victory!
Good luck! And let us beseech the blessing of Almighty God upon this
great and noble undertaking."
With this directive from the Supreme Commander and the hopes of all
free men, our troops went forward into battle. Before the day was
over, the events that took place on the beaches of Normandy would
herald a "new "Birth of Freedom" for the "Oppressed people of Europe"
and a new "Sense of security for ourselves" in a free world.
An eerie quiet now settled over this huge staging area. The sound of
bugle calls, the barked orders of the Sergeants and the noisy rush to
the mess hall by hundreds of hungry soldiers had suddenly become
stilled. The sounds of the camp had been transferred to the beaches
of Normandy and became the whine of bullets, the flash of rocket
fire, the explosion of heavy artillery and cries of pain from the
wounded and dying, as these brave troops struggled forward to free a
continent from the evil stranglehold of Nazi tyranny.
The only personnel left in the encampment was Capt. Hummer, myself
and the young Private who drove the ambulance. Our mission was
finished. Together, the Private and myself did a "Walk-through" of
the tents before they were struck and removed by the Quartermaster
Corps.
Left behind by the troops were those things they would not carry into
battle, bits of this and that they had acquired while on leave,
magazines and books they had been reading and the bric- a-brack that
magically collects around us as we move about.
One bit of memorabilia did catch my eye. lying on a cot, was a red,
hardbound copy of Tolstoy`s War and Peace, possibly the last book
this young soldier would ever read. With this thought in mind, I
picked up the book and there on the flyleaf, was the soldier's
signature, Jack C. Barnett. Through the years, this has been one of
my treasured mementos and I have tried repeatedly, to no avail, to
locate Jack, or his family, to return this bit of his wartime life to
its rightful owners.
The
the
our
for

Quartermaster Corps, with its usual efficiency, arrived toward

end of the day and removed the tents and all Army property except
quarters.. We would spend the night in our Quonset hut and wait
our orders.

Not having access to a mess hall, Capt. Hummer, the ambulance driver

and myself clambered aboard the ambulance, drove into town and had a
meal of fish and chips and returned for our last night in Torquay.
The following morning, Capt. Hummer called us together, and, now
having our orders in hand, informed us that we were to return to the
306 Station Hospital and the Private was to return to his outfit. A
vehicle would arrive to transport the Captain, and myself to the
hospital. I remember him saying, "Now, all we have to do is get back
and ready ourselves for the casualties that will be arriving from
Normandy. It won`t be long before we see what the term, "War is
Hell," really means,"
The hospital was now located outside the town of Cheltenham. The
Quonset huts were lined up neatly, concrete sidewalks connecting the
ward buildings. A mess hall was in place, barracks, quarters for the
Officers, a laboratory, sanitary facilities, and flying from a tall
flagpole, "Old Glory." The hospital was located on an area of
undeveloped land which provided the opportunity to carry on a
military program without disturbing the civilians who lived nearby. I
found the barrack
to which I was assigned and Capt. Hummer, being an Officer, had a
building which he shared with another Officer. We settled in for the
night wondering what tomorrow would bring.
The one thing that struck me was that the hospital had no patients
and that meant we were prepared for the arrival of casualties. It was
now well into the invasion. We had received word of the heavy
fighting and that the beachhead had been established and our troops
and the Canadians, as well as other forces, were now firmly
entrenched in Normandy.
Unlike the old 306th, the hospital had Military Police surrounding
it. It didn`t take long to find out that our patients would not be
American casualties, but instead, , German prisoners of war.
With the arrival of the new patients, a whole set of new problems
were encountered. All of this meant additional training.. We had to
become familiar with the rules of war, under, what was to become, the
Geneva Convention, regarding the treatment of enemy combatants, learn
to communicate with people of a foreign language and abide with
enhanced security regulations.
I was extremely busy for the next few days, assigning my men to their
wards, arranging duty schedules, and generally getting in sync with
the doctor I was working with, as well as getting to know the various
routines followed by the nurses.
Our first batch of patients arrived by train and we worked late into
the night getting them into the proper wards, taking care of their
medication needs and showing them, by our actions, that they had

nothing to fear. These were men who had been in the thick of battle,
weary and confused, not knowing what fate had in store for them, in
the hands of the enemy. Many had received severe wounds, others only
wounds severe enough that they could not function well enough to be
left unattended. The one thing they had in common was that most
would soon be ambulatory. Their quick removal to a hospital in
England must have been the need to get them across the channel and,
in case of escape, not having them return to duty.
While few of the prisoners spoke English and few of us spoke German,
it became apparent to us, quite quickly, that we had to teach each
other our languages. Out of this emerged a mixture of German and
English that, strung together in half sentences, allowed us to
communicate, if not fluently, at least well enough to function.
The one thing most of these men shared in common was their disdain of
Hitler and their nonparticipation in Nazi activities. Their
participation in the war was the result of the Draft and the now
familiar refrain, "I was only taking orders" defense. They uttered
it, we ignored it. There were exceptions, of course, and, as time
went by, some really did turn out to be anti-Nazi.
Our treatment of the prisoners was strictly according to
international law, in spite of our dislike of these," Nazi Supermen."
They were not forced to work, had food comparable to that fed our own
soldiers, allowed religious activities and housing equal to that
provided American patients. Treatment of their medical needs was of
the highest order of the time. Doctors, nurses and enlisted personnel
gave their level best in caring for their patients. Needless to say,
we had no escape attempts.
There were, however two types of prisoners. Combat soldiers had, very
visably, marked on their shirts, PW. "Prisoners of War," Medical
personnel had on their shirts, the marking, PP ," Protective
Personnel."Their non-combat status, allowed them special status under
the firmly established rules of war, later to become known as the
"Geneva Convention."
German medical personnel, Officers and enlisted men, were given the
opportunity to work with us in caring for the patients. Our doctors
now had additional help with the assistance of the German doctors and
my men had, much needed, help in carrying out their duties.
Life soon settled down into a daily routine. Many of the patients,
now ambulatory, seemed quite satisfied with the conditions we
provided for them and presented no problems for us.
Among the patients there were a few who were complete fanatics,
usually young and thoroughly "brainwashed." One such ,was a twenty
year old infantryman who. over and over, professed his loyalty to

Hitler and the Nazi doctrine. He had been severely wounded and was
scheduled for an operation.
At his scheduled time we wheeled him into the operating room. It soon
became apparent that he would need a blood transfusion. Since all the
American personnel had records on their "dog tags" of their blood
type, and many Germans had lost theirs, time being of the essence, it
was decided that one of the "ward boys" would "volunteer" to donate
the needed blood.
At the conclusion of the operation. He was returned to the ward. I
stood by him until he recovered from the effects of the anesthesia.
It was then that I gave in to an impulse that possibly could be
construed as "torture," and in violation of the rules of war. In the
best German I could muster ,with my limited fluency, I informed him
that he was now a Jew. His immediate response was, "Nein, Nein, which
in English is a very emphatic, "NO. NO!" I managed to get across to
him that one of the American soldiers had given him blood and that
the soldier was Jewish, therefore, he now had Jewish blood. I am sure
his reaction to my fabrication did not lead to his swift recovery.
The fact that the young man who donated his blood was not Jewish and
my deliberate attempt to cause this, "Hitler Youth," anguish, I
consider to this day, a contribution to the war effort, and more
deserving of a commendation than a rebuke. Thankfully I received
neither, for having inflicted a severe sense of discomfort upon a
"patriotic warrior" of the German Reich.
Many of the Germans had acquired quite substantial amounts of French
money and this was not lost on us as to the good times we could have
if we were to obtain this currency and convert it to British Pounds.
The Germans seemed eager to part with this booty, which they had
cleverly concealed when captured, in exchange for American
cigarettes. Having plenty of cigarettes we soon had pocketfuls of
French money, and now the trick was to make the conversion to British
currency. The post office had been ordered to make known, sums of
money beyond the amount Uncle Sam so generously showered upon us,
being sent home. The army seemed always watchful for G.I.
indiscretions. Since sending the cash home was not our first
priority, that was not an option we had considered.. The second
hurdle was to get an American Officer to sign off on our transaction
when we were on leave.
As soon as passes became available, Joe Feld, a good drinking buddy,
and a fellow Michigander from Detroit, and I took leave and headed
for London. Our first stop, the Red Cross Club in Piccadilly Circus,
to freshen up, change our francs for pounds and prepare for a
memorable weekend.
In the lobby of the club we spotted a young Second Lieutenant, with
all the earmarks of a "Ninety Day Wonder," and convinced him to sign

off for us, making it possible to make our currency transaction.

With a generous amount of the royal cash in our pockets
find the finest hotel in London that would admit a pair
enlisted men. The need to be free from being surrounded
G.I.s, of lowly rank, was a passion that engrossed most
while on leave, and we were no exception.

we set off to
of lowly
by fellow
soldiers

Although my memory fails me as to the exact hotel we settled upon, I

do know that all the military guests, except us, wore marks of rank
upon their shoulders. The secret to acceptance here was, not rank
but, an adequate amount of the "King`s Sterling."
We were escorted to our room by an elderly "Bell Boy," who treated us
with all the respect given to any of the guests, and graciously
accepted his tip with a "Thank you." and a salute. Having, at one
time, in civilian life, held the same position as he, I could not but
marvel at the fact that I was on the receiving line of this timeless
little ritual.
Our room was, indeed, first class and more luxurious than I was
accustomed to. Joe, seemed much more blas and was not as impressed
as I was. After a call for room service and having a couple of
drinks, quickly brought to us by a room attendant, we decided that
after a shave, s**t and shower we would "Do the town."
This was rapidly accomplished and we were soon on the street.
After hailing a cab and getting aboard, Joe instructed the driver to
take us somewhere where good food and drink was available as well as
some "action." He then placed a five pound note on the seat beside
the driver, which was hastily retrieved and an assurance given that,
"He knew exactly the right place." That much British currency,
roughly translated into twenty American dollars, a very hefty sum at
that point of time. "Money Talks."
After
fence
place
found

a short drive the cab pulled up

which cordoned off a bombed out
to begin our carousing. The cab
and opened a makeshift door and

in front of a construction
site. This seemed an unlikely
driver, without hesitation,
bade us, "Enter.

Once inside, we entered an opening into a bombed out building and

found a party was in "full swing". A rather nice bar, given the
circumstances, was doing a hectic business. There was plenty of food
in sight and a small band was playing for the dancing couples on the
floor. Eyeing up the single girls, we knew immediately that "action"
was available. It was, and Joe and I got back to our hotel very late,
or early, depending on how one looks at the clock. Our weekend came
and went, as did our "easy money." One thing we did learn was that
the "Black Market" was alive and well and almost anything was
available.

Chapter Five
Back at our duties, our natural impulse for fun took over. To liven
up the evening we acquired from the lab a quantity of pure alcohol.
Having plenty of grape juice on hand, we mixed the two together to
give the grape juice, "added flavor". The result was a delicious
refresher which, after inducing the nurses to join us, and noting
their lustful expressions of delight, we dubbed the cocktail, "Purple
Passion." I shall not belabor this yarn further.
As the war on the continent heated up we received word that the
bombing over Germany and the victories on land were taking its toll
to the point that Hitler began the recruitment of the very young and
the old. It was then that we received contingents of prisoners that
consisted of boys, some not even in their teens, and men well into
the latter stages of middle age.
Among these older prisoners was a man, in his late fifties, elderly
to me, who was assigned to me for ward duty. He was a very mild man,

somewhat confused as to why he was in the army. I kept him busy with
light duties and, to the degree possible, we became friends.
One late afternoon I walked into the office and found him sitting at
a table, his head in his hands, bent over the table and sobbing. I
walked over to him, placed my hand on his shoulder and
inquired, ,"What`s the matter?"
He raised his head, tears running down his cheeks, and lifting a
photo from the table. replied in his broken English, "This is a
picture of my wife and sons, all killed in the bombing." This
incident and the sight of these old men and very young boys, caught
up in a war, not of their making, caused me to realize that the
tragedy of war strikes both sides with equal vengeance,
It was now late into 1944 and the 306th had been in the UK for over
two years. This was not lost on the mind of our Company Commander. At
a Company meeting with him he broached the idea of having a little
celebration commemorating our service. He informed us that he had
obtained a spot in Cheltenham where he would set up a bar and social
area where, when off duty, we could go and, with our fellow G.Is,
celebrate our anniversary. His, much appreciated gesture was met with
a sincere round of applause.
Having an afternoon free of duty, I decided to invite one of the MPs
to accompany me. When we arrived the house was full , the Company
Commander made a toast and congratulated us on a "Job, well done."
After a moment or two of, "He's a Jolly Good Fellow," we settled down
to consuming the free beer.
My companion and guest, an extremely large and imposing MP, had just
told me how lucky we were to have such a fine Officer in charge when
the Commander walked over to where we were sitting, handed me am MP
arm band, and said, "Corporal, put this on and if any guys come in,
not a part of our outfit, tell them this is a private party and tell
them to leave." I said, "Sir, I am not an MP." His response was,
"Soldier, you are now," and walked away with a grin on his face."
Faced with this unpleasant duty, I remarked to my companion, "Damn,
I`ll get killed if I try to throw any of those infantrymen out."
He laughed and said, "John, if they come in just walk over to them
and tell them to get out."
"To hell I will. You want to see me get
killed?" I replied.
He said, "You don`t get it, do you?" He went on, "Tell them to get
out and then stand between them and the door and if they give you any
crap, invite them out to settle the matter." I said, "You've got to
be nuts." At this my friend was suddenly consumed with laughter.
After recovering his composure he said, "When you invite them out,
I`ll go out the side door over there, don't worry, You`ll be
alright."

As if on cue, two guys wearing combat boots and infantry insignia on

their shirts, walked over to the bar, obtained mugs of beer and
seated themselves. For me, Armagaddon had arrived. "Undaunted and
fearless", I approached them and gave them the message that they were
not welcome since this was a private party. Completely ignoring the
MP badge on my arm, they answered with a " Screw you, you f******
medic." Having faith and confidence in my companion, with some
reservation, I invited them outside. My invitation was immediately
accepted.
I walked to the door, my legs a bit wobbly, followed by the two
combatants. My friend, at the same time, went out the side door. Once
on the street, all Hell broke loose. Out of nowhere, one of the G.I.s
got a fist squarely in the face and the other a kick in the pants and
both moved rapidly down the street. My friend returned to the side
door and entered. Still, a bit dazed, I returned to my place at the
table where, my buddy was already seated, gave a salute to the
startled Commander, and sat down. I am sure, to this day, that
Officer is still wondering how that skinny kid managed to evict two
combat soldiers with "Chips on their shoulders."
As one of my duties was to have the wards ready for Saturday morning
inspection, I made my rounds on Friday afternoon. On one particular
Friday, I was summoned to the bedside of a patient who spoke fluent
English. He informed me that a patient, and he named the bed number,
was not getting a full portion of food and was always complaining
that he was hungry. I, immediately confronted the patient and, he
informed me that, Hauptman, a POW, that that had been a medic in the
German navy, and whom I now had serving the food in this ward, was
refusing him a full portion of food. From the look of him, I didn`t
doubt his word.
I headed back to the office, found Hauptman, and confronted him with
the fact that a patient was being denied his full portion of food.
Hauptman made no attempt to conceal the fact that he gave this
patient only minimal portions. I asked him why he would do such a
thing and got an immediate response. "Unter' Officer, that man is a
Waffen S.S. soldier, Look at the insignia on his uniform." All S.S.
had a "Black Patch Waffen SS" insignia on their uniforms. He
continued, "You take care of the office, I take care of the "SS,"
spoken in surprisingly good English. Needless to say, I sympathized
with his motive, but explained that we had to treat all patients the
same.
Saturday morning inspection went off without any problem, the
soldier in question had been given the proper amount of food and made
no complaints. The inspecting Officer, having given us an OK,
immediately departed and we went back to business, as usual. I was

ready for some leave time and knew Joe would be in line with me for a
pass and a trip to London.
Usual procedure before going on leave was to be sure all duty was
covered in my absence. I finished arranging schedules for the on duty
enlisted personnel and returned to the wards to see that all was in
order. Having determined that everything was shipshape, I turned to
the Private, on duty, and was discussing special needs for certain
patients when a terrific explosion shook the building Both, the
Private and I were knocked off our feet and some patients had been
thrown out of their beds.
Our immediate concern, after picking ourselves up off the floor, was
to ascertain the condition of our patients and determine the damage
done to the building. As soon as it was determined that no injuries
were suffered by the patients and the building seemed intact, I went
outside to see if I could discover the cause of the explosion.
An ambulance had arrived and a bomb crew, off in the distance, was
surveying a place where a huge cloud of smoke had formed. After
informing the driver that everything was alright with us, and
clambering aboard, we headed out to the bomb site. What I saw made
"my hair stand up straight." What if that bomb has landed on the
hospital, was my first thought.
The crater seemed big enough to have swallowed a large building. The
bomb crew soon left the scene, after taking note of the situation I
reflected upon what I had just seen.. Could this have been one of
Hitler's V2 bombs Could this have been one of the last V2s. that
found its way to England? It has been said that the V2 was a failure
and hit more uninhabited places than occupied areas but, at that
moment, it seemed a deadly weapon to me.
Never deterred by last minute interruptions, Joe and I headed for
London on a two day pass which we spent in "cultural pursuits." One
interesting few moments occurred while we were on a short train ride
to a place just outside of London, highly recommended by a fellow
G.I. as a great place to indulge ourselves.
Seated directly across from us in the train was a small British
gentleman, British trains have these little compartments, so much
like those seen on stage coaches in Western movies. We exchanged
pleasantries, and in so doing, he asked me where I was from, "In the
"States." I told him, Kalamazoo, Michigan. His face broke into a
smile and he said, "Oh I know that part of the country well." He went
on, "several years ago, I was in Chicago, looking for a shop where I
could construct neon signs and not having any success."He continued,
"I was eating in a little Italian restaurant and got talking to the
waiter and telling him of my problem." He reached into his pocket,
withdrew a business card, scribbled his name on it, handed it to me,

and said, "Here, take this card to the hotel named on it, stand in
line on the stairs until you are ushered into the room at the top of
the stairs. Give the man at the door the card, and you'll be taken
care of. I did as he suggested the following day. When I was finally
ushered in I saw a long Board of Directors table, and there, at the
head of the table was, none other than, "Scar face" Al Capone. I
recognized him immediately, having seen his picture in the newspaper.
I tell you, my knees were buckling and I was one scared little
Englishman." He went on to say that he was "taken care of," but it
was an experience he would never forget.
On another occasion, on one of those train rides out of London I
experienced a very enlightening moment while talking to a civilian.
The man sitting across from me struck up a conversation with me and
remarked, "I certainly admire the spirit of you `Yanks." He went on
to say, " I was taking this same train and a "Yank" was sitting
across from me and I inquired as to his destination. The train was
just beginning to move and I inquired as to his destination. He told
me and I told him he was on the wrong train, going in the opposite
direction. Without further ado, he simply grabbed the leather strap,
dropped down the window, jumped out onto the platform and
disappeared. That`s the kind of immediate action that will win this
damned war, Thank God, you are on our side."
On December 16, 1944, we received word that the Germans had mounted a
huge offensive, had broken through and created an extensive bulge in
the Allied lines. This was Hitler`s last desperate attempt to change
the course of the war and became known as the "Battle of the Bulge."
Although fighting was fierce, it was to no avail, and the end of the
war was now in sight, although peace would not come until May of
1945.
The New Year arrived and while we managed to celebrate in the local
pub it was a time when one felt very homesick, wondering if this
damned war would ever end, an emotion one felt every night when the
bugle sounded, Taps., signaling, "Lights Out."
The year 1945 seemed much like every other year, the same old
routine, the same "bitching" in the barracks and the same old duties
in the wards looking after the needs of the wounded enemy.
Spring had arrived and with the coming of April, we were on one of
our `voluntary' long hikes to condition ourselves before settling
down to the business of the day. It was a chilly day in April and we
were just approaching camp when a Sergeant came running over to us
shouting, "Have you guys heard the news?" Before we could respond, he
shouted, "The President just passed away." There was a moment of
complete silence among the group. As the portent of this shocking
news settled upon us, we all fell silent and tears arose in the eyes
of all six of us. We were the young men who grew from children to

adults, never having known another President, and one so dearly loved
by all of us. He was the leader who took us through the "Great
Depression" and led us in time of war. "He was always the "Master of
his Realm", and will always be remembered as the "Captain at the
Helm." April 12, 1945, "Now he belongs to the ages," to borrow a
phrase from Secretary of War, Stanton, upon the death of Abraham
Lincoln during the Civil War.
What had seemed just the beginning of a new year, suddenly turned
into a year filled with surprises. We knew that the Allies had agreed
to demand "Unconditional Surrender." We also knew that Hitler had
committed suicide and that this meant sure victory for the Allies. In
spite of all this, we were taken aback, when on May 5, 1945 the
surrender of Germany brought an end to the war in Europe. On May 8,
the surrender was signed. It was VE Day! The guns were silenced and
a war torn continent was, once again, at peace. The "Captain at the
Helm," had not lived to see us "Gain the summit of the hill."
Celebrations broke out throughout the United Kingdom and this meant
passes were being issued very liberally and it made it possible for
us to join in the celebration. Needless to say, Joe Feld and I were
now ready for a trip to London. London was in a high state of
euphoria when we arrived. People, everywhere, were still celebrating,
days after the war ended, and American G.I, s were treated as
heroes. Joe and I basked in the glory of it all, even though we had
not fired a single shot in anger throughout the war.

Chapter 6
After returning from leave I was making my rounds in the wards when
my Sergeant approached me and said, "John, looks like you have a new
assignment." I replied, "The Hell I do, I haven't done anything
wrong." He laughed and said, "No, its not punishment, you are going
on detached service to Belfast, N. Ireland with a Private to set up a
prophylactic station, you lucky dog." He continued, "That's a dammed
nice duty assignment."
May 8, 1945, I arrived in Belfast with Bill, my assistant, moved
into our new quarters and for the next couple of days made the place
"ship-shape." My station was set up in a storefront not far from the
center of town. It consisted of quarters for two and a facility to
service the soldiers before their return to camp. This was my station
and I was in complete charge, far from the commands of demanding
Sergeants. My subordinate was a young Private who hailed from the
Appalachians, a"Hillbilly," if you will. To my delight he even stood
in awe of a lowly Corporal. Needless to say, we got on very well.

Belfast is the largest city in Northern Ireland. N. Ireland is a part

of the United Kingdom and was fully involved in the war. It was here
that the Titanic was built in the shipyards of Harland and Wolfe. For
many decades many of the great ships of historical importance were
built there. Belfast also has a long history related to the linen
trade and it was known all over the world for its fine linen
products. Then, during the war Belfast had another claim to fame,
along with other cities in the United Kingdom, and that was its
surplus of "Yanks." The term, "Yanks," was a token of friendship
except when it was used by the mothers of eligible girls in the
community. In spite of this bit of "bigotry" the young maidens
seemed to find the "Yanks" good company and the dance halls were
constantly creating many "social relationships."
There were still enough "Yanks" to go around even though the war in
Europe was over. There was an Air Force base called, Langford Lodge
just outside the city and the troops were busy dismantling the base
and removing equipment while awaiting orders for their next
assignment. With the war still raging in the South Pacific, there was
little doubt as to where that would be. Needless to say, I was
wondering about the destination for the 306th, but for now, at least,
I was safely tucked away in Belfast. I did know, however, that since
we had not been in combat, the South Pacific might be our next
location and a combat area there.
My assistant was not eager to wend his way through the large city,
preferring to stay at our station, in the evening writing letters to
his girlfriend and parents. This made it possible for me to have the
evenings to myself. During the day there was little to do and it was
then I became acquainted with civilians on the street outside the
facility. One elderly lady and I had several interesting chats. On
one occasion, she told me she was a seamstress and invited me over in
the next street to see her shop. Not wanting to seem uninterested, I
walked with her to the shop. She was very proud of it and showed me
all her creations. We chatted for a few minutes and then she said,
"Would you be staying for Tea?" With that, she pulled aside a curtain
and there in the next room was a neat little restaurant. Her
smuggling connections in the Irish Free State, which was neutral in
the war, provided her with all the food and drink she needed to run
this fine little lunch room at this time of severe food rationing in
the United Kingdom. I could not know it at the time but this tiny
sliver of the "Black Market," would mark a turning point in my life.
Having heard of a dance hall, not ordinarily frequented by Americans
I decided to give it a try. Hoping to find some feminine
companionship, I sauntered into the club, approached the bar, ordered
a drink, and surveyed the scene for a possible conquest. There,
sitting at a nearby table with a young British Naval Officer, was the
loveliest Colleen I had ever laid eyes upon. Much as I wanted to ask
her for a dance, I couldn`t chance a rejection with that "Limey"

seated at the table with her. I bided my time and after a few short
minutes her date excused himself and left the table. Siezing the
moment, I strode over to her and asked her for a dance. Surprisingly,
she accepted my invitation and for several wonderful minutes I held
her in my arms as we danced to the romantic music the band was
playing. The dance, having ended, I escorted her back to her table.
The young Officer had returned and as we approached, the damned
"Limey," in his phony, uppercrust accent, said, "I presume, Peggy, my
dancing is too old fashioned for you." With that, he stood up and
strode off. Now, I knew her name, had vanquished her boyfriend and
had her to myself. This didn`t seem to bother Peggy, who seemed
almost glad to see him leave. I sat down with her, took her hand in
mine, and from that moment on, I was in love.
I wanted very much to escort her home but she made it quite clear
that her mother would not welcome me and it would cause her more
trouble than she was willing to bear. Before seeing her to the bus we
agreed to see one another the following evening. I was in "Seventh
Heaven," and felt, very much, like the character Gene Kelly played in
that wonderful dance sequence in the movie Singing in the Rain. It
seemed that all these events were taking place as though following a
movie scenario. I had been in Ireland for such a short period of time
and, here I was, already in love.
We met the following evening, and by the end of two weeks of ,every
night dating, had become a "Couple." We both realized that our
affair was more than just a "Passing Fancy." None of this would have
been possible without the collusion of Peggy`s sister, Betty, who was
always ready with an excuse for Peggy`s late nights.
It soon became quite clear to both of us that we were in love to the
point that we wanted to spend the rest of our lives together,
although I had not yet, "Popped the Question." The difficulties to
overcome seemed too overwhelming. Peggy was from an Irish Catholic
family. I was a Protestant, with ties to the Dutch Reformed Church,
the church of the most hated, King William of Orange, and, to top it
off, I was a "Damned Yankee" and a soldier from a far off country.
Then, and even today, in Belfast, Catholics do not marry Protestants
and, most certainly, not Protestants with ties to the Dutch Reformed
Church. Secondly, and even more disqualifying, was the fact that her
parents would be losing a beloved daughter and sending her abroad,
maybe, never to return. All this we knew, but two people in love are
blinded by their emotions to the extent that they are insensitive to
the feelings of others affected by their union.
One late Friday afternoon, after a stroll through the shops and a
light dinner in one of the many little curbside eateries that dot the
downtown streets of Belfast, we walked up the steps of the City Hall,
found a seat close to the great columns that grace that stately

building and sat down to chat. It was early evening, a light rain had
fallen during the day but the evening, was quite pleasant.
I told Peggy of my love for her but emphasized that if I could not
meet her parents it would be better to call the whole thing off
before we both got hurt in the process. She said nothing for a
minute, and then, with tears in her eyes, said, "OK, John, let`s go
home, right now."
Dusk had fallen, with a bit of chill in the air, as we walked up
Rockville Street and entered number 31, one of the little brownstone
houses that line the streets of Belfast. The tiny living room was
warm and cozy, heated by a neat little fireplace that threw long,
flickering shadows on the papered walls. A piano, sofa and chair
graced the room . All these homey images gave me a feeling of warmth
and security I had not experienced for a very long time.
No one being home, Peggy busied herself with making a pot of hot tea
and then went to the piano and played an old Irish tune. As I sat and
basked in the beauty of the scene, I kept thinking how much I would
love to spend the rest of my life with this lovely Irish girl.
The peace and tranquility of this heavenly moment was shattered as
Peggy`s mother arrived on the scene. Mrs. McKenny, although not a
large lady, to my eyes presented a very imposing figure. Peggy
introduced her mother to me. Mrs. McKenny, very graciously, shook my
hand, and then, with a pleasant smile, uttered the words, so often
spoken to young men in my position, "So, you are the young man who
has been keeping my daughter out to all hours of the night." My
response was, " Yes, Mrs. McKenny, I must plead guilty to that."
The evening was continuing splendidly with Peggy`s mother querying me
about all things Catholic. I was responding with many things I had
read about the Church and throwing in the names of a few Catholic
clerics. Fortunately, I had read so much history that included the
Church that I felt I was coming off quite well. Never once, did Mrs.
McKenny ask me if I was a Catholic, although Peggy told me later that
her mother concluded that I was a "Fallen away" Catholic.
The evening was getting late and then Peggy`s mother issued the
"Coup de Grace,"
"I know you boys always enjoy some home cooked food. Would you like
something with your tea?"
I answered, "Certainly Mrs. McKenny, I`d
like that very much, thank you." Then she said, "Well now, I have
some lovely fish and some delicious chicken, which would you prefer?"
It was then, I made my first mistake. I chose chicken, completely
forgetting it was Friday. I was served a delicious plate of roast
chicken , completely oblivious of the error I had just made.

Not all was lost, for I was invited back and spent all my evenings
there getting to know Peggy`s mother, father, sister and brother.
Peggy`s father was a quiet little man who worked for a local bakery.
He was very easy to talk to and we became friends very quickly,
spending some time at the local pub getting better acquainted. He was
a very broad minded man, certainly not a part of the religious
bigotry that consumed so much of Northern Ireland, and best of all,
not prejudiced toward American soldiers. I came to know her sister,
Betty, a lovely young lady, with a great sense of humor, and Peggy`s
ally in whatever Peggy wanted to do. Her brother, Seamus was the
typical teenager, unconcerned with his sister`s problems and more
concerned about my supply of "Yankee goodies." Mrs. McKenny and I
soon became good friends and my frequent visits with her during the
day, while Peggy was at work, sharing many laughs together, cemented
my relationship with the McKenny family.
Though I did spend many daytime hours away from my station, I did
cover for my assistant on those occasions he wanted to go to town. As
far as night time activities were concerned, he preferred to spend
his time reading or writing letters home.
As was to be expected, soldiers being at their base during the day,
we had few guys showing up at the pro station during daylight hours.
However there was an occasional G. I remember one such instance
because it had such a sad ring to it. A young man came into the
station and asked me if he could use the facility to shower and
shave. He said he was being married in a few hours and wanted to get
ready for the wedding. Upon receiving an affirmative answer, he
proceeded with his grooming and left, looking in great shape for his
plunge into matrimony.
Several hours later a lady and her daughter arrived and asked if I
had seen a soldier fitting the description she gave of him. I knew
immediately it was the G.I. I had seen earlier and confirmed that he
had been here.. I knew something was amiss by the sad look on the
girl`s face. Her mother then blurted out, "I knew this would happen.
That damned "Yank" never showed up for the wedding, damn his soul."
It was the end of June, 1945 and my whole venture almost came
crashing down. I received a visit from a Captain and a Lieutenant to
make an inspection of the facility. I wanted to get the inspection
behind me because I felt I wouldn't have another inspection until
around the end of July, 1945.
After a quick "walk through," the Captain said, " Nice job, Corporal,
everything seems in order." I then invited them into my quarters for
a drink, which they readily accepted. The Lieutenant glanced at a
portrait of Peggy I had placed near my bed and said, "Pretty girl,
your girlfriend or your wife, back home?" I replied, rather naively,
"No Sir, "That's a young lady I met here in Belfast and hope to marry
before I go home. Oops! Bad mistake! I well knew of the Army`s

disapproval of soldiers marrying girls they met while stationed

overseas, The Captain smiled and said, "She is a beautiful girl. I
can readily understand why you would like to take her home with you,
Corporal, but probably, not a good idea. Maybe its time we got you
back to your outfit." That remark hit me like a lightening bolt. I
could not imagine being separated from "The love of my life," and
being put in a position where marriage would be impossible. I felt
trapped, and no way out. Then, suddenly, I remembered a bit of wisdom
Captain Hummer had given me. He had said, "Never ask for anything
without being prepared to give something in return, "or, "Quid Pro
Quo."
Regaining my composure and having hit on an idea, I replied to the
superior Officer, "Captain, that's for you to decide, Sir." I
followed that with, "Sir, its almost lunch time, would you and the
Lieutenant like to join me for a nice meal of steak and eggs?" The
Lieutenant spoke up and said, "Where in the name of Hell can you get
a meal like that with all this damned rationing?" Realizing that I
was on to something, I replied, " If you gentlemen will follow me,
I`ll be glad to show you." With that, we all got up, walked to the
door and started up the street.
When we arrived at the dress shop of my old friend, the seamstress. I
beckoned them in. I noticed a look of puzzlement on the faces of the
two Officers as I approached the lady at the counter. After a moment,
I introduced the Officers, and she escorted us to the magic curtain,
pulled it back and ,Voila, we were in "Food Heaven."
The steaks were done to perfection, the eggs, a perfect complement,
to the steaks, "over easy", and presented beautifully on fine china
plates. The "piece de resistance' was a tasty peach cobbler topped
with whipped cream. This, and steaming cups of hot coffee brought
smiles of satisfaction to the faces of the two Officers. It was then,
I made my move. Addressing the Captain, I said "Sir, I would really
appreciate it if you could have my assignment here extended." The
Captain, with a broad, knowing smile, replied, "Well, Corporal, I
suppose a little more time Could be arranged, maybe another month.
Plan on being back at your outfit in England on July 30."=== "Quid
Pro Quo."

Chapter
7
Realizing how transient my stay in Belfast was going to be, I made
up my mind to, "Bite the Bullet," and ask Peggy to marry me.
One evening Peggy and I were invited to take a drive along the
beautiful, scenic Antrim Road with a couple she knew who owned a car.
This was a special treat because, at that time, few people in the
U.K. owned cars. The car was a cute little roadster with seats for
four, two of them in a cozy little rumble seat, perfect for two
people in love. After a short drive, the car was pulled over and
parked. It was a beautiful, starlit night, a warm breeze coming in
from the ocean, the sound of waves lapping the shore and a gorgeous
moon overhead. A film director could not have set up a better scene
for a romantic moment in the film he was directing.
I held Peggy in my arms, kissed her luscious lips and then uttered
the following clumsy proposal, "Peggy, "Would you consider becoming
my wife?" Of all the opportunities to use romantic phrases, this was
one, but I was so tongue-tied I was lucky to get this much across and
on top of all this, I didn`t even have an engagement ring ready..
After a short pause, Peggy, with tears in her eyes, said, "Yes, John,
but you know, its going to be difficult to manage. My mum and dad
will be awfully hard to convince" This was followed by a lingering
kiss which I will always remember unto the end of my days.
Now that we were engaged, I said to Peggy, "Sweetheart, I know this
is going to be difficult for your parents but I think we can convince
them that they should give us their blessing. Now we have to find a
good time to tell them of our intentions." To this she replied, "I
know, but lets wait for the proper time. This is not going to be
easy."
For several days we said nothing to anyone about our engagement. We
knew we had to find the proper moment to broach the subject to
Peggy`s parents. Our procrastination finally came to an end, forced
upon us by a call I received from my unit, informing me that my stay
in Belfast was to end on July 30,1945 and to close down my facility
and return to the 306.th It was now July 2, 1945 and having, roughly,
only four weeks left in Belfast, we had to end our procrastination
and , "Face the Music" with Peggy`s parents.
Our opportunity to have a quiet evening with Peggy`s parents came
shortly thereafter. Peggy`s sister, was out on a date, , her brother,
was busy elsewhere, and Mr. and Mrs. McKenny were having a quiet
evening at home. Peggy and I had been in town and decided this was

the perfect time to break the news of our engagement.

Peggy was at the piano accompanying her father as he played a lively
jig on his fiddle. Having laid down the violin and returned to his
place on the sofa next to Mrs. McKenny, he said, "Peggy, did you have
something to tell us?" He continued, "You certainly didn`t have your
mind on the music," Peggy hesitated and seemed at a loss for words.
Sensing it was my turn to say something, I began, "Yes, we do have
something to tell you, Peggy and I are engaged to be married, and
now, all we need, is your blessing." There was a moment of silence,
which, to Peggy and I, seemed an eternity, and then her mother spoke
up. She said, "Seeing how the two of you get on, a person would have
to be blind not to see that this was coming, even if you have only
known each other for such a short time." Peggy`s father seemed
content to let Peggy`s mother continue the dialogue. She said, " Now,
John, you know Peggy is very young and this is a serious move the two
of you are thinking about. John, you are a long way from home and
sometimes it is easy to forget someone you care for back there." She
went on, "There is also the need for you to get settled, have a job
and ready to begin a family." Peggy`s father then spoke up. "I think
what "Minnie" is trying to say is that marriage, while you are still
in the army, is not possible." "Minnie" was the name everyone used
for Mrs. McKenny. After a short pause. Minnie began, "John, you are a
nice boy and I know Peggy really cares for you but she is also our
daughter and we want her to be happy. You told me that you must
return to England soon and the war is not yet over for you. We think
that it would be best for you to wait until you are out of the army,
have a job and no one back there you may have forgotten, and then, if
you and Peggy still feel the same about marriage, we will consider
it." Without waiting for my response, Minnie said, "Now, I think we
should have some tea." Knowing Mrs. McKenny, I knew the last word had
been given and we simply accepted her dictum.
After a nice cup of hot tea and a delicious Irish scone, liberally
covered with jam, I realized it was getting late and, with our
mission accomplished, I arose and prepared to say good night. I shook
hands with her dad, gave Peggy a goodnight kiss, turned to Minnie and
said, "Mrs. McKenny, After I do get home, you will be hearing from
me. I am a very stubborn Dutchman, you know."
During the following days Peggy and I spent every moment together we
could. The only shadow hanging over our romance was that I would
soon be returning to England. We had long conversations about the
life we would live in America. Peggy asked me countless questions
about how Americans lived. We were in a constant state of euphoria
over the idea of being married and starting a family. I knew I had
found the right mate for a happily married life. I had met Peggy only
a little more than two months ago but, in my heart, I knew I had met
the girl God had chosen for me.

On the evening of July 29, the day before I had to return to my

outfit, we spent our last hours together at Peggy`s home with her
parents. That night, when I departed, our hearts were heavy at the
thought of my leaving but we both pledged our troth to each other and
agreed to write every day until we were reunited in America.
On the morning of July 30, 1945, Bill, my assistant, and I boarded a
cross channel ferry and left Belfast behind. I had asked Peggy not to
be there, not wanting to have an emotional good bye. Arriving in
England, we boarded a train and soon were back at the old 306th.
When we arrived back in camp excitement was running high. Everyone
had been "sweating" the news about the action in the Pacific, and
rumors had been circulating that the 306th was scheduled for
deployment . The news coming out of the Theater of Operations in the
Pacific was on every ones minds but, as a result of so many
disappointments in the past, not always believed. Absolutely no one
is as skeptical of news reports as a G.I. in a time of war.
By the middle of July, 1945, most of the important battles in the
South Pacific had been won. In spite of this the Japanese still
carried on, refusing to accept the inevitable, with the loss of
thousands of military and civilian lives. Thousands of tons of bombs
were raining down all over Japan.
During the rest of July the newspapers carried stories of the
impossible resistance of the Japanese. By July 30 the naval forces of
Japan had been almost completely wiped out. Despite all these signs
of defeat the Japanese continued to boast that they were capable of
repelling any enemy attack against the homeland. This air of bravado
continued, even after having experienced, what has been called, "the
greatest air raid in history," having just had six thousand, six
hundred thirty two tons of bombs dropped on their oil refineries and
cities.
By August 3, it was obvious that Japan was doomed but the American
bombers continued to blast their railroads and warn them that the
end was near. They still continued to resist. Even after August 5,
when a dozen cities were added to the "surrender or die" list they
stubbornly clung to the idea that they could recover and continue the
fight.
Listening intently to the radio, we heard the news but still felt
that deployment to the South Pacific was in the offing. It was on the
6th of August when we received news that President Truman had
unleashed a bomb, two thousand times more destructive than a
blockbuster, which had been detonated over Hiroshima.
This announcement got our attention. We were glued to the radio but
censorship was in place. Bombing by the Flying Fortresses continued.

No word from Japan in reply to an ultimatum that had been given for
them to surrender was made. While no news of the destruction caused
by the bomb was being released we sensed that it must have been
horrendous. Then, on August 9 word came through that a second bomb
had been detonated over the city of Nagasaki.
We, along with the rest of the world, awaited word of the Japanese
surrender. Then the word came through that the Japanese were willing
to surrender as long as the Emperor was safeguarded, but no offer of
capitulation. The Allies then offered to leave the fate of the
Emperor up to the direction of the Allied nations. The Japanese
continued to delay and the killing continued. The Japanese were given
a warning that renewed atomic bombing was possible if Japan continued
to delay surrendering.
Finally on August 14 word was received that the Japanese had
surrendered but no official proof was given. Having received no
official word the Americans continued to shell and bomb Japan.
At long last, we all heaved a sigh of relief as word came through
that in Bern, Switzerland on the 14th that the Japanese minister had
delivered a note to the Foreign Office from Tokyo . This was quickly
followed by a radio report from Washington. "Tokyo radio said today
that Allied terms for Japan's surrender had been accepted by Emperor
Hirohito." More than twelve hours later no official confirmation was
given and the fighting in the Pacific continued.
On August 15, 1945, the one word the world had been wanting to hear.
"PEACE," appeared in newspapers all over the world. In no matter what
language the word appeared, the families of loved ones gave thanks to
their God for the end to this brutal war. The world was now at peace
and the tyranny of the brutal dictators in Italy, Germany and Japan
had come to an end, thanks to the sacrifices made by the soldiers of
the Allied nations and their loved ones at home.
On September 2, 1945, Gen. Douglas MacArthur, delegates of the Allied
powers and the Japanese delegates met on the deck of the battleship
USS Missouri in Tokyo Bay and formally signed the document accepting
the terms of surrender by the Japanese. The world was, once again, at
peace and the blessings of freedom and democracy had been secured for
the nations dedicated to those principles.
Each of us, in our own way, responded to this news with thoughts of
what the future would bring. My mind immediately returned to
thoughts of my Peggy, and how soon we would be reunited. We had been
corresponding every day and now my letter, this day, would be filled
with joy and optimistic words about our being together and the life
we would be living in America.
For those of us in Britain the scenario now became a waiting game.
Individuals would be going home based on a point system. Length of
time served, the type of action the soldier was involved in and the

decorations he had received, would be taken under consideration in

giving points. Since the members of our outfit had served for about
the same amount of time. had collected no medals for valor in combat,
and our service had been a "Walk in the Park" compared to the ones
who had suffered the horrors of combat, we were in for the "Long
Haul."

Chapter 8
It was now the beginning of October, 1945 and repatriation had not
yet taken place for the POWs in the hospital, although, by this
time, almost all were ambulatory and able to work thus relieving us
of many duties.. Our work in the hospital continued as usual but on a
much more relaxed basis. We were in a "holding pattern" and really
only biding time until we could be go back to the United States for
demobilization.
Somewhere along the line of command an idea emerged to keep the

anxious troops happy. The army set up a number of tours to which the
troops could sign up for and, for all practicality, make us
"tourists." This attention to our concerns was enthusiastically
accepted, especially when a trip to a brewery was scheduled.
On the Company bulletin board was the following notice, "SIGN UP FOR
A VISIT TO THE STROUD BREWERY. The bus will leave at 0900 hours
tomorrow."
Needless to say there was no problem in getting a busload. Joe and I
were at the assigned location to meet the bus at exactly 0900 hours.
It seems promptness was not an issue when all that free beer was in
the offing.
At exactly 0900 hours we were seated on the bus for the ride to
Stroud. .The ride was of short duration and we were greeted by a tour
guide, who, by the look on his face, did not relish guiding this
group of. "Bloody Yanks,"
He gave us the usual speech as he guided us through the brewery,
although we made it difficult for him with our crude remarks and lack
of attention. Finally we arrived in the cellar, surrounded by huge
vats of beer and were invited to sample the wares. This got our
immediate attention and we showed our affection for Stroud beer by
consuming all that the attendant provided.
The tour over, we boarded our bus and pulled out for home, with waves
of goodbye from the employees, The, now somewhat inebriated
"tourists," showed their gratitude by blowing up condoms, tying them
off into neat little balloons and tossing them out the windows. Is
this where the term, "Ugly American," first surfaced? Was this our
contribution to millions of tourists who were to visit England after
the war? On the other hand, would this not be viewed as merely the
exuberant joy of a lot of war weary G.I.s anxious to return home to
families and friends?
There were several other trips that caught my attention and turned
out to be experiences to be remembered. One of the most treasured of
these was a trip that was posted as, "A TRIP TO A STATELY BRITISH
MANSION." Needless to say, this particular tour was not as popular as
the brewery trip but I and five other guys signed up for it, hoping
to see how the "Other Half" lived in this "Class ridden" society and,
just maybe, a chance to view a place connected with the history of
England. There was agreement that I would speak on their behalf when
we arrived at our destination.
At the appointed time we boarded a small van and headed down the
road. The colors of autumn, the trees splendid with their bouquet of
red and yellow leaves, brought home to me mental pictures of Michigan
and, for just a moment, engulfed me in pangs of homesickness, an
emotion, I`m sure, was felt by my companions. The ride took only a
little over an hour. It always amazed us at how short distances

between places in Britain were. Americans never could get over the
small size of this island country.
Finally, looming ahead of us was a huge, sprawling mansion The
massive, graveled covered area in front of the entrance provided
ample room for a large number of vehicles. I had a feeling of having
been here before, probably the result of having seen scenes such as
this in the movies. It was a truly impressive sight.
The driver, a young English girl, who had remained silent all during
the trip, completely ignoring our ribald remarks, turned to us and
said, "Here you are genlemen, Blenheim Palace, ancestral home of
Prime Minister Winston Churchill, enjoy yourselves."
Here we were, a group of awe struck Yanks, who had never seen such a
glamorous residence. As grandiose as was the palace, and grandiose it
certainly was, the sheer size of this magnificent home simply
overwhelmed us and, for just a moment, I was so taken aback that I
could not find the entrance. Then I realized that the huge door that
I was facing must be what I was looking for.. Hesitently, we
approached,, but before I could reach the front door, a lovely young
lady opened it, or had it opened for her, its size seemed too huge to
be opened by such a gentle young lady, and greeted us as though she
were awaiting our arrival. Her greeting was, "You must be our
American guests." I replied, "Yes Mam, My name is John," and then
introduced my companions. She, in turn, introduced herself, but
memory does not allow me to recall her name. I do remember, very
clearly, that her name was preceded by the title, "Lady." She bade us
, enter and her easy banter made us feel right at home. To tell the
truth, we were overwhelmed at the granduer of the entrance and we
must have seemed to her, a group of yokels, as we stood in awe of the
sheer size of the place and the gorgeous oil paintings, of long gone
ancestors, that graced the walls of this magnificent entrance.
In a very informal manner the young lady steered us into the study, a
beautifully appointed room, furnished with some of the finest leather
seating that any of us had ever encountered. We, no longer were
seated, than a butler approached us, said, "Gentlemen, what can I
bring you." After ordering our drinks, and the lady ordering hers,
the butler retreated and the usual remarks about the beauty of the
home were uttered by each of us. The lady was giving us a history of
the palace when suddenly a middle aged lady and gentleman appeared on
the scene.
We were introduced, but again, my memory fails in recalling their
names. I do remember the gracious manner in which they joined in the
conversation. I, for one, was amazed at how easily we were accepted
and treated as though we were important guests. In the meantime, the
butler arrived and served our drinks, much more elegantly than the
way we were accustomed to being served. The gentleman went on to
describe the estate. He said, "I`m sure you men would like to know a

little about the historical place you are visiting." He went on to

say that the mansion was located on twenty one hundred acres and the
house was built in the eighteenth century and the gardens were added
in the nineteenth century. He said, "the palace was designed by
Vanbrugh, a noted architect of that period and was the nation`s
reward to the First Duke of Marlborough for his victories over Louis
1V. The gardens were designed by Henry Wise, in an Anglo-Dutch
Barouqe manner." He went on to say that we would appreciate the skill
of the people of that period when we took a tour of the grounds.
It was now approaching noon, and as interesting as the conversation
had been, we began to feel the need for sustenance. As if our wish
had been heard, the butler arrived and said, "Tea is being served."
All six of us knew that meant food, even if we didn`t understand
"Dutch Baroque."
We were seated at a long table in a magnificent dining area
overlooking a finely manicured garden resplendent with the hues of
autumn.. "High Tea", is usually served between three and five in the
afternoon but from the look of the spread on the table they must have
made an exception, knowing they were feeding a group of hungry G.I.s.
For a group of guys who thought meat and potatoes was a feast, this
menu overwhelmed our imaginations.
The main entre consisted of smoked salmon with cream cheese. Also
gracing the table was egg, mayonnaise, sliced cucumber, and if one
was partial to meat, Wilshire ham and mustard. Thinly cut slices of
bread and scones were placed before us with homemade jam and all of
this to be followed by our choice of several scrumptious looking
desserts. Oh, there was tea, of course, but coffee was available and
this was to be followed by champagne. Knowing how severe rationing
was, these wonderful, hospitable people must have strained their
ration coupons to the limit to make all this possible. Oh, to have a
mess sergeant, with such a creative mind and generous spirit.
Having demonstrated our liking of this delicious meal, by our over
enthusiastic consumption of its contents, we were invited to tour the
gardens by our lovely hostess. As I remember, a pram, or baby
carriage, was produced, occupied by a delightful baby whose gender I
cannot recall. Our hostess, now guiding the pram, was giving us a
delightful account of the history of the gardens. At this point I
offered my services as driver of the carriage. The offer was readily
accepted and I found myself responsible for the safe transportation
of a, very young, British aristocrat. The tour continued and even a
group of uncultured Yanks could not help but express admiration for
the artistry in creating such beauty. Suddenly, a young RAF Officer
appeared on the scene. After a perfunctory hug and a peck on the
cheek of, his wife, our hostess, he introduced himself and bade us
welcome. Turning to me, guiding the pram, he said, "Do you know who
you are caring for in the pram." I replied, "No Sir, we haven't been

introduced, as yet." He smiled and rattled off a rather long series

of names, strung together by centuries of aristocratic familial ties.
As I recall, he did mention the child`s relationship with P.M.
Winston Churchill, but by this time. I was only able to grasp enough
of our conversation to know that I was, indeed, personally
experiencing a bit of English history.
To describe the beauty, creativity and attention to detail displayed
in those gardens would require another book and descriptive powers
beyond my meager talents. Suffice to say, that all members of the
American group took away great admiration for the social and
botanical skills of our English cousins and their ability to bring an
air of formality to the wonders of nature and social etiquette. The
less formal approach to the physical world, by we Americans, stood in
stark contrast and underscored how time had created a people much
different than our forbearers. Different we had become, since those
Colonial days, but never having lost the values and basic principals
we shared as a people.

Chapter Nine
October now turned to November, with cool, chilly days, signaling
the beginning of winter, The repatriation of German prisoners was now
taking place. Daily, our patients, mostly ambulatory, were leaving
the hospital behind and returning to occupied Germany.
Then, one grand day in December we received word that our unit was
scheduled for deployment. We were going home! Oh Dear God, the day we
had long wished for had now become reality. The order to be ready to
pack our belongings and prepare to leave was the most precious order
we had ever received. My letters to Peggy now were full of the utter
elation I felt at the thought of our being united and sharing our
lives together as lovers and man and wife.
Christmas 1945, was a much more festive affair than previous
Christmas` and the dinner of turkey and all the fixings, prepared for
us by the kitchen crew, seemed much more tasty, given the fact that
we soon would be on a troopship headed for home. The high level of

morale was evident as we all envisioned being in our own home towns
with those we loved. I, could not contain my feelings of happiness at
the thought of being in a position to send for my Peggy and having
her with me in Kalamazoo to begin our life together.
A happier New Year was never more welcomed than the year 1946. We
celebrated, not only the new year, but the knowledge that we would
soon be back in the "Good Old United States." You can well believe,
that we were on our best behavior, not wanting any complications to
mar our departure for home.
Then, on or about January 7, 1946, the order came. "Pack your gear,
climb aboard the awaiting trucks for the trip to Southhampton to meet
the troopship that will carry you home." Not a single soul in our
outfit had any misgivings about carrying out that order.
The trip to Southhampton was more like a holiday event than the
movement of army troops. The singing of the soldiers had a very
upbeat quality about them and the joy of being on the way home was
evident in the spirit of the men as they relished the thought of
going back to wives and sweethearts. My mind was entirely focused on
getting home and sending for my Peggy.
Having arrived in Southhampton and on the dock awaiting our
embarcation orders, we were assembled in military order. Officers
were in their own assemblage, and all of us, enlisted and Officer
rank, in a highly festive mood. We were ready to board the giant
aircraft carrier, the USS Lake Champlain.
Once on board, all units, mostly infantry, were given assigned areas
and each told where to place their gear. Shortly thereafter, a
Sergeant called us to attention to receive an order from the Captain
of the ship.
In a voice, almost identical to that of Franklin Roosevelt, the
Captain addressed us over the public address system. As I recall, he
said, "Now hear this. This is the Captain speaking. My name is
Captain Logan Ramsey. I want to welcome you on behalf of myself and
the crew of the Lake Champlain. This ship is part of Operation, Magic
Carpet. I would, personally, like to take this opportunity to to
thank you for your service. You have done a wonderful job in bringing
this war to a successful conclusion. From this moment on, you are our
guests. We ask only that you keep your area in a neat condition.
There will be no reason to make up your bunks in the morning. This,
and all other housekeeping duties will be performed by the crew. You
will find question boxes at various places around the ship. If you
have questions or queries for me, feel free to place them in the box.
I will try to answer you in my nightly address to you. Additionally,
I have given orders that snacks be placed at various points around
the ship, in case you feel hungry between meals. The United States

Navy and this ship in particular, as a part of Operation, Magic

Carpet, will do everything we can to provide for your comfort on your
trip home. I thank you again. for your dedicated service, You will
soon be home with your loved ones. God Speed and God Bless you."
This eulogy, with its words of praise and welcoming, left us
breathless. Never, during our term of service, had we been spoken to
in such a manner. In addition to our joy at going home we were now
going there under the most favorable of conditions.
We were soon underway and, before long, it became evident that the
weather was not going to be one of the favorable conditions that we
were to experience. We had no sooner cleared the harbor than storm
clouds appeared on the horizon. As the weather worsened and the waves
loomed larger and larger it became evident that even a ship as large
as this aircraft carrier could have problems coping with the whims of
"Mother Nature."
That first night on board was a rocky one as the ship plunged through
the angry waves of the North Atlantic. Although many of the
"landlubbers" on board grappled with seasickness, we made it through
the night into a day of calm seas.
True to the Captain`s promise, the crew did arrive, made our beds and
performed the other housekeeping duties. We were still in a state of
wonderment at these services being performed for us. Breakfast was a
delight, with fresh eggs, hash browns, bacon, sausage and plenty of
hot coffee. In spite of the army derision of the navy, we had to
admit that when it came to food, the navy was in a superior position.
The weather having cleared, the day was an absolute delight. We were
able to walk the decks, enjoy a snack at one of the tables scattered
around the ship, observe the activities of the crew and, if one
chose, spend some time reading or writing letters back at our bunks.
Captain Ramsey had, indeed, made this a pleasure cruise, God Bless
him.
As time wore on, the weather worsened and, during his nightly address
to us, the Captain made it clear that we could expect this to be a
frequent occurrence since this was January and the North Atlantic was
a stormy place in the winter. He also assured us that we were not to
worry about our safety since ships, such as these, were built to
withstand all that nature could throw at them.
The third night out, after mess, the familiar voice of Captain Ramsey
sounded on the P.A. system. "Now hear this, this is the Captain
speaking. We are well on our way to home and I trust you are enjoying
the voyage. I have little to report and so I have chosen to read a
couple of the questions you have posed for me. This first one is from
Sgt. ?? Of the ?? Infantry. The good Sgt. asks if this was a banana
boat before the war." The Captain, his voice tinged with just a touch

of irritation, replied, "Sgt. First let me remind you that this is

not a boat. This is a ship. A ship carries boats." He went on, "
Sgt., As a matter of fact, I would like to inform you that this ship
was paid for by the people of the United States and is entitled to
the respect it deserves, having been made possible, by the
contributions of the citizens of of our great nation."
The weather continued to be bad and the consumption of the snacks the
Captain had placed around the ship had diminished due to the
incidents of sea sickness experienced by the G.I.s. Bad as the
weather was, the crap games continued on as usual, although
frequently interrupted by the hasty departure of one or more of the
players, due to sudden "illness." This situation was not lost on the
Captain and provided a moment of humor on his next nightly address.
As usual, we were assembled, ready to hear the Captain`s report. "Now
hear this. This is the Captain speaking," came the now familiar
refrain.
This night he chose to make comment on the weather conditions,
informing us that during the night conditions were so bad that they
had been unable to respond to a cry of distress from a Liberty Ship
in the vicinity. He went on to tell us that during his entire career
he had not experienced weather this difficult to contend with. Then,
he changed the subject and went on to answer a question from one of
the question boxes. He said, "I have a question that deals with a
problem experienced by PFC ?? " It seems that the good Private was
involved in a crap game and a considerable amount of money was in the
pot. He says that a Petty Officer arrived on the scene, broke up the
game and departed with the money. His question is, "Can we get back
the money?" There was a short pause, and then, with a chuckle in his
voice, he answered the Private's question, " Private, my cabin is on
deck--. Standing outside my door will be a Marine. Tell him you wish
to see me. In order to answer your question more directly, the answer
is that the Petty Officer has deposited the money in the Seamen's
Fund. If you still desire to have the money, so inform me when we
meet, however I would like to read you the Article of War, regarding
gambling on ships of the United States Navy." After reading the
Article, he finished with, "I hope this answers your question." The
roar of laughter from the troops clearly indicated their appreciation
of this bit of backhanded humor.
The high morale aboard the Lake Champlain was evident in stories told
to me by the crew. One such tale seemed to sum up the reason for this
high regard for their Captain. One seaman related to me how their
Executive Officer insisted that the crew in the engine room wear
white socks, although there was clearly no need, given the duties
required of them. He said this particular Officer also gave orders
that crewmen could not have their uniforms altered for better fit.
When word of this reached Captain Ramsey, a curious thing happened.
When the ship reached the next port a new Executive Officer was

assigned to the ship.

Finally, after ten days of bad weather and superb treatment by the
Officers and crew of the USS Lake Champlain, we arrived in New York
harbor on January, 17, 1946. It was a cold January day, warmed
considerably by our sight of the Statue of Liberty, standing tall and
proud, the torch of freedom still firmly in place, pointing to the
Heavens as a testament to the valor of all the Armed Forces,
soldiers, sailors, airmen and our civilian Merchant Marine. It was
our military and, even us non-combat soldiers, who had struggled so
valiently and secured our way of life, now and for generations yet
unborn.
Awaiting us on the dock as we disembarked, was a cordon of lovely
ladies representing the American Red Cross and the Salvation Army.
Their beauty was enhanced by the smell of hot coffee and doughnuts
and the hot dogs and hamburgers sizzling on the BBQ. Never, before or
since, have I had a hot dog that could compare with the one I so
relished that morning, on that frigid, but wonderful day. The
presence of those caring ladies added luster to the joyous moment we
were experiencing at being, once again, on American soil. It is in
moments, such as these, that one knows the tremendous value of being
a free American citizen. We were home, home at last, and I, for one,
was looking forward to a life of happiness with, my, now to be,
beautiful Irish bride.
My joy at being back in the United States had made me almost
completely unaware of the great number of troops crowding the dock.
True to its tradition of military efficiency, the army had a long row
of buses standing ready for our departure to the train depot and our
journey to Camp Atterbury, Indiana for our transfer to civilian life.
The bus trip very quickly brought us to the depot and by the time we
had checked our duffle bags the day had turned to night and in spite
of our weariness our spirits were high. Nothing could dampen our
utter joy at being on the way to becoming civilians, once again, and
being with family and friends.
After checking our duffle bags and boarding the train, the
festivities began. Although beverages of an alcoholic nature were not
provided, mysteriously, some very stimulating drinks began to appear
and voices were lifted in song. No blackout curtains, no planes
buzzing the train and no Officer lecturing us of the consequences of
improper behavior were part of this journey. Although some did manage
to catch a little sleep, the majority of the passengers were in too
celebratory a mood to notice the fatigue that engulfed us.
Some fifteen or so, hours later the train pulled in to a depot
situated at Camp Atterbury. In spite of some hangovers and lack of
sleep our Company was still in a joyful mood and hardly anyone

complained. We went through the routine of getting our baggage,

hearing the barked commands of a Sergeant directing us to our
barracks, and generally getting the treatment we were so accustomed
to. On the other hand, no damned Sergeant could lessen our happiness
at being at the place that would hand back our freedom and make us,
just plain, American civilian citizens..
Camp Atterbury was a very busy place. As a separation station it
served some 561,000 troops, arranging discharge from the Service at
the rate of 3000 per day, so it was not not surprising that it was
January 22, before our outfit was called to go through the separation
process.
In the meantime, we had plenty of time to write letters, make phone
calls to home and explore this sprawling installation.
January 22, 1946. "A date that will live in memory," at least my
memory, for that was the date of my separation from the Army of the
United States.
At the appointed time the 306th gathered in a huge assembly hall and
there, each of us, listened carefully for our name to be called.
When, an obviously bored Sergeant, bellowed out my name I was
immediately on my feet. Making my way to the registration table was
the sweetest hike I had ever taken. After going through the necessary
paper work, a young 2nd Lt. beckoned me to an open door. He said,
"Good morning soldier, step inside and place your chest against the X
ray panel, and , Oh by the way, if you intend to join the Reserves,
have them raise the panel to the level of your head." Even, given my
limited intellectual powers, it seemed to me that he was sending me a
message that it was not in my best interest to join the Reserves. It
was probably because of this encounter that I was able to follow the
later events that took place in Korea from the comfort of my home,
eyes glued to the TV screen. Unpatriotic as this may seem, I felt,
at this time, this new action could be handled by another generation
of young Americans.
Seated comfortably in my homeward bound train, still wearing my
uniform, I was beginning to feel more and more like a civilian,
almost but not quite. This would come when I arrived home surrounded
by family and friends. Still, there was one nagging problem to solve
before I would feel secure and comfortable and that was, bringing my
Peggy to Kalamazoo and walking down the aisle with her.
While in Atterbury awaiting discharge , I had penned off a letter to
Peggy telling her that I was almost a civilian and to start getting
her mum and dad prepared to have her daughter become a married woman
and acquiring a son in law. I put as much humor in the letter as I
was able to muster up, but not unaware, of the emotional problems I
was placing on the McKenny family.

Chapter 10
I was met at the station in Kalamazoo by my mother and father. Dad
had insisted that this moment belonged to Mom and He, accounting for
the tiny welcoming party. Dad gave me a "bear hug" and an emotional
"Welcome home, Son." My Mom, tears in her eyes, simply said, "Thank
God, you are home and safe." Never had I felt so close to my parents.
At the house, all my family members and a goodly crowd of friends and
neighbors had gathered for a welcoming home party. It was hard for me
to believe that this moment had arrived. The rest of the day was
spent in eating good home cooked food and answering a thousand
questions about my experiences. Often my mind wandered as I
contemplated on the thoughts of Peggy and wishing she could be a part
of these festivities. My brother Henry, was home from the navy,
having arrived a week earlier. My brother Charles, having been
disqualified for service due to a ruptured ear drum, was curious
about the things I had done and seen. My sister Anna Mae, now an
experienced welder because of a defense related job, also peppered me
with questions about my time in the service. It was a time of good
cheer and thankfulness and, I must admit, I was enjoying being the
center of attention.
That night, in the comfort of my bed, I pondered on the days to come.
I had not disclosed to mom and dad the fact that I was engaged.
Now ,the shoe was on the other foot." All the adjustments, in

religion and culture, to our pending marriage had been discussed in

full with Peggy`s parents and now it was time to work things out with
my mother and dad.
During the ensuing week I had many discussions with my dad and mom
about my return to civilian life. Dad had secured a job for me with
the Kalamazoo Stove and Furnace Co. ,where he was employed The plant
had been closed in order to revert back to civilian production,
having been engaged in producing war materials and, would soon
reopen.
Finally, I had my opportunity to discuss my pending marriage. It was
one of those cold winter nights and I was enjoying an evening alone
with mom and dad. During a break in the conversation, I said, " I
guess this is as good a time as any to share some news with you." I,
immediately had their attention. Dad was the first to speak. He said,
"I hope it`s good news, Son." I replied, "I think it is, I hope you
will feel the same." Mom said, "Get on with it, John." I simply
blurted out, "I`m engaged to get married." Both looked at me in
amazement and then Dad said, "Getting married, you have only been
home for a week and, as far as we know, you don`t even have a girl
friend." Realizing their quandary at this startling announcement, I
said, "Well, let me explain it to you." At this precise moment I
became aware of how unprepared I was to explain fully, the situation.
For the next few minutes I had full attention from mom and dad. I
said, "Maybe I should have told you this earlier but, here it is."
Now my mind was racing, but I went on with the story, hoping I would
not encounter any negatives. I said, "The girl I am marrying is in
Ireland. I met her in Belfast. Her parents are aware of our
engagement and I hope she gets their approval to come to the States
to be married. She is a lovely girl, from a good family. She is
nineteen years old but will be twenty by the time of our marriage."
At this point, I pulled from my wallet, a picture of Peggy and both
studied it for a moment. Mom said, "She sure is a pretty girl." Dad,
looked up and said, "Do you know what you are doing?" My reply was,
"Dad, I`m almost twenty six years old and perfectly capable of making
my own decisions." That seemed to end the discussion and then Mom
said, "John, If this is your wish, we have no objection and will
welcome her with open arms." With that, I decided to fill out the
rest of the story. I said, "Now let me "drop the other shoe."
"She is an Irish Catholic girl and I have decided to join the
Catholic Church." This resulted in a stunned silence for fully a
minute. Then my dad reacted in a fashion truly his own and, left me
incredulous. He said, "Ev", that was Dad's nick name for Mom, "Get
your coat on and, John, you do the same and get out to the car, we
are going for a ride." Not wanting to make a fuss, we both did as he
said.
Dad wheeled the car skillfully over the icy streets and pulled up in

front of St. Augustine Catholic Church. Without another word we left

the car and dad walked up to the residence of the Priest and rang the
doorbell.
The door was answered by an elderly lady, the housekeeper, and dad
asked to see the Father. She replied, "You mean Monsignor Hackett?"
Dad simply stated, "Yes Mam, that's whom we would like to talk to."
We were invited in and given a seat in the parlor. I was utterly
flabbergasted since I had no idea my dad even knew the location of
the church and had no idea of what he was up to.
In a few moments a tall, dignified man with a full head of grey hair
entered the room. He looked around and, in a thick Irish brogue said,
"Good evening, I am Monsignor Hackett. What can I do for you?"
Now, absolutely confused, I said nothing. Dad came right to the
point. He said, "Father", and pointing to me, "This is my Son, John
and he is just home from the army. He is engaged to an Irish girl in
Ireland and wants to join the Catholic Church." A broad smile
appeared on Monsignor Hackett's face and he sat down to hear the rest
of the story.
As I explained the situation, giving him all the details of our
meeting and the subsequent romance that followed, Father Hackett,
nodded approval, and said, "John, this is one of the nicest things I
have heard all year. It only goes to prove that there is always
something good coming out of a tragedy like war." Wanting to get
directly to the reason for our visit, I said, "Father, I know that as
a convert, I need to attend some classes to to understand the
procedure of conversion. Please tell me when I can attend." Again,
with a cheerful smile, he replied, " Aw, to Hell with the classes,
you won`t be attendin them, you'll be meeting with me for private
sessions here in my study. Young man, You are marrying a girl from
the "Ould Sod", and that requires some special attention." All this
was said in his thick Irish brogue, and at that moment, I felt very
special. With that he called for some tea. Over cups of hot tea the
conversation turned to filling out all the details. All this time,
Mom and Dad had little to say but joined in the conversation and I
knew that all would be well. There was no bigotry here and I felt
very proud of my parents and their easy acceptance of the situation.
Having written Peggy and told her to get ready to come to the United
States, I was anxious to receive a letter telling me all was well and
arrangements were being made for her journey. Each day I waited
patiently for the postman, and feeling depressed when no mail was
forthcoming. After several days of anxiety a letter did arrive and,
anxious as I was, I was almost afraid to open it, fearing the worst.
When I did open it and read the first few words I was ecstatic.
Peggy`s mother and dad had accepted the inevitable and were helping
Peggy to make arrangements. From the inquiries regarding passport,
visa and transportation that had been made in Ireland, it was to be,
at least, six months before she would arrive in the United States. I

couldn't wait to reply and rushed to get paper and pen.

By this time I had been employed at the Stove Co. and had met a
fellow worker named James O`Meara. When I told him that Peggy would
be arriving in about six months he said, "John, that will give us
some time to give her a real Irish welcome and I`m going to see that
you have some real Irish folk to greet her."
James called me one day and asked if I would like to meet some Irish
people who would love to meet Peggy. He said that they were an
elderly couple that would take Peggy, "Under their wings." The Irish
certainly know how to express the most mundane things in a beautiful
way.
The Fitzpatricks were, in my mind, the ideal couple to make my
peggy feel at home in America. Pat and Mary Fitzpatrick were typical
Irish, even though neither had set foot in Ireland. Pat and Mary were
each, only about five feet tall, beautiful grey hair and as
eloquently Irish in their speech as though they had just arrived in
the U.S.A. Their home reflected everthing Irish, including a green,
white and gold flag prominently displayed in the hall.
Over a cup of hot tea I learned that they had thirteen children, had
always wanted to visit Ireland, and would be thrilled to meet a
colleen from the "Ould Sod." Where had I heard that term before?
That meeting was the first of many that James arranged. and included
a young Irish priest, Fr. King, who was to become a good friend and
"buddy," if one can truly be a "buddy" with a Priest. Fr. King was
the Chaplain at Borgess Catholic Hospital in Kalamazoo and not too
popular with the Nuns, due to his liking for alcoholic spirits.
Although he did enjoy a drink, now and then, he did not drink to
excess.
A moment I remember with relish was the time Fr. King and I were
enjoying a hamburger for lunch. Halfway through our meal, Fr. King
paused, and said, "John, do you know what day this is?" Without
giving a thought to what the Fr. Was implying, I replied, "It's
Friday, Fr., why?" Then, with a smile Fr. King said, "I know we
shouldn't be eating meat on Friday but it is also a sin to waste good
food." Without further ado, he made the sign of the Cross and said,
"I grant absolution." Such was our easy going relationship.
Although I was anxious awaiting Peggy`s arrival I was also busy
making arrangements for our wedding and making new friends among the
Irish community. I was introduced to a Mr. and Mrs. Heflin by Fr.
King and was immediately made welcome to their home. Mrs. Heflin, in
true womanly fashion, was excited about the coming wedding and did
much to help me prepare. There were several parties at her house and
Fr. King, minus his collar and wearing a sport shirt, always gave two

hours absolution at midnight on Saturday, so that "No food and drink

was wasted," due to the late hour.
One day when Fr. King and I were conversing in his quarters at the
hospital he broached the possibility of he performing the Mass and
wedding ceremony. He went on to say that we should discuss the
matter with Msgr. Hackett. He said, "I`ll give him a call and see if
we can arrange it."
Fr. King, after explaining to Msgr. Hackett, that since we had become
close friends, he thought it would be appropriate for him to perform
the wedding ceremony. I remained absolutely silent, awaiting Msgr.
Hackett's response. There was only a moment's pause and then Msgr.
Hackett addressed Fr. King in, what I thought was, a rather
condescending tone of voice. He said, "Father, Just as in the army,
"rank has its privileges." "I will be saying the Mass and performing
the wedding ceremony." Although this dictum was said with a smile,
Fr. King seemed to feel that he had received the final answer to his
query

Chapter 11
About the middle of June, 1946 a telegram arrived that informed me of
the day and time as well as the flight number of the American
Airlines plane that was to bring my Peggy to the United States. To
say that I was overcome with joy is an understatement. The days that
followed were filled with excitement and planning for her arrival.
On the scheduled day, my cousin, Bud, my dad, and I headed for
Chicago to meet the plane and reunite me with my Peggy. Arriving at
O`Hare airport, well ahead of time, we waited anxiously for over two
hours. Finally, the arrival of the plane from Dublin was announced
and we hurriedly proceeded to the announced gate. The gatekeeper
opened the gate and we proceeded onto the tarmac where the plane was
parked.
In those, still early, times of domestic and transatlantic flight,
people met the arriving passengers on the runway and the they
departed the plane down a long portable gangway. My anxiety was at
fever pitch as I silently prayed that Peggy would soon appear. Person
after person descended the gangway, and then, a small figure in a
lovely blue dress, walked down the stairs, made her way to where we
were standing, and in that unforgettable moment, Peggy was in my arms
and I thanked God for the blessing he had bestowed upon me.
Midst all the happy chatter on the way home, it was quite apparent
that my dad had bonded with his, soon to be, daughter in law. Peggy
snuggled in my arms, chattered on about the great adventure she had
just experienced and how happy she was to be in America with me and
the life we would have together. Our reunion was complete, and now
many busy days were ahead as we planned our wedding.
When we arrived home, my mother and sister had refreshments ready
and, in spite of all the excited conversation, another bonding had
taken place. My mother and my Peggy, it seemed, were kindred souls.
The days ahead were filled with activity as my mother, sister and
friends planned for the wedding that was to make Peggy my bride.
Peggy and I spent many hours with the many members of the Irish
community. The Fitzpatricks took an immediate liking to Peggy and
became almost like parents to her. The Heflin family, especially Mrs.
Heflin, became fully involved in seeing that Peggy had a truly
Catholic wedding.
At long last the great day arrived, July 4, 1946. The date had been
arrived at because there were only two dates available in July. Msgr.
Hackett offered Peggy a choice and she chose July 4 as a very
appropriate day for her to become an American, This, and the fact
that her mother insisted that she was to be married at the first

available date, settled that issue. "Minnie," like most Irish

mothers, did not easily relinquish control.
The morning of July 4 began very early with my mother and sister
preparing for the wedding and the reception that was to follow.
Peggy, somewhat nervous but glowing with excitement, with the
assistance of my sister, were making sure that the wedding gown
fitted properly and all was set for her big moment when she would
walk down the aisle and become Mrs. Margaret DeRoo. My brothers,
Henry and Charles were dressed in their best, "Sunday go to meeting
clothes." My sister, Anna Mae, having finished helping Peggy, was now
dressed and "made up," for the big moment. My dad, standing in for
Peggy`s father, was more "dressed up" than I had ever seen him, and
my mom, the picture of loveliness, in the beautiful dress she had
acquired for the wedding. I was dressed in a dark blue business suit,
sporting a carnation in my lapel and was as ready as I could be for
the realization of all my dreams.
Finally, the climax of all this preparation arrived. Seated in the
pews of St. Augustne Church were my relatives and friends. Adding a
moment of unreality to the occasion was the fact that my relatives,
all Protestants, most of whom had never been inside a Catholic
Church, were seated side by side with devout Catholics. Surely, this
was a sight, unbelievable to my Peggy.
Msgr. Hackett was at the altar, having concluded Mass, Fr. King at
his side, and organ music filling the church, signaled the beginning
of this sacred ritual., my mother was quietly wiping the tears from
her eyes as the bridesmaids made their way down the aisle. Then, all
eyes were focused on the lovely bride on the arm of my father,
standing in for Peggy`s father. The strains of "Here Comes the
Bride," filled the church.
Msgr. Hackett, having concluded Mass, was standing beside the altar,
as Peggy and my dad arrived at the prescribed spot. Solemnly, Msgr.
Hackett intoned the age old question, "Who gives this woman in Holy
Matrimony? My father replied, "I do. " The best Man produced the
wedding band, I placed the band on her finger and we bowed before the
altar.
Msgr. Hackett pronounced the wedding vows, ending with, "I now
pronounce you husband and wife." "Now you may kiss the bride."
I wonder, to this day, whether Peggy uttered the words, "I promise
to love, honor and obey," Certainly, she would never admit to having,
said, "Obey." Looking back to that moment in time, I still wonder how
we managed to overcome all the obstacles and bring this dream to
reality.
Our wedding was a High Mass, with all the ceremony that implies, but
neither of us could remember all that was said and done, for the

excitement we felt had a way of shutting out all that surrounded us

in that magical moment. I do remember, however, very well, when we
were told, "Now, I pronounce you Husband and Wife,"
A milestone in the lives of my Peggy and me had been reached and our
future lay ahead of us. For me, this was the climax of my transition
to civilian life and a more than happy ending to my experiences in
the "Great War,"
It has been said that all things happen fast in times of war. As I
look back to that time, which seems so long ago, when I first heard
the announcement over the radio that Pearl Harbor had been attacked,
I must agree, that little truism is correct. In a matter of less than
four short years, my life had been completely altered as had the
lives of so many of my fellow compatriots.
These are my personal memoirs encompassing a critical period in the
history of my country and how it affected me personally, as well as
millions throughout the world, for good or ill. Thank God, so many of
my fellow American citizens and citizens of allied countries were
willing to, if necessary, make the ultimate sacrifice to make
possible lives of freedom for future generations , free from the
tyranny of evil dictatorships, and, hopefully, the terrible scourge
of future wars.
THE END

G. I. MEMORS

Introduction
be, Throughout the history of World War 2, countless stories
have been told recalling the feats of bravery by those who fought in
those many, hard fought, battles. This is, as it should but left
untold are the experiences of those support forces who served behind
the lines and helped make possible the victories won by our troops,
now so celebrated in our books and films.
This humble effort is an attempt to chronicle the way in which
W.W. 2 shaped the life of one young American and provide some insight
into the pathos and, sometimes , ludicrous hilarity, that he
encountered while caring for the sick and wounded, as well as off
duty hours while on leave. The following antecdotes, hopefully, will
provide some insight into the experiences of Support Service G.I`s as
they plodded through. what to them, seemed a never ending war.
This is my story, as I lived it. This is not the story of a hero
but simply the memoirs of one who saw the results of the horrors of
war and encountered some of the more humorous aspects of life and
then made the transition back into civilian life. It is the story of
millions of youhg Americans who answered the call to duty when their
country called.
December 7, i941, I was having coffee with my buddy in a
neighborhood diner and trying to decide what we would do for the rest
of the day. The radio was on and the music of a swing band was
playing in the background. The waiter suddenly turned up the volume
and shouted for us to listen. The announcer, his voice solemn,
informed his audience, "This morning, December 7, 1941, Pearl Harbor,
in Hawaii, was attacked by air and the harbor has been severely
damaged. It is estimated that there have been many fatalities and the
loss of many of our ships and aircraft. From the markings on the
attacking aircraft, it has been determined that this was an attack by
the Japanese. Make no mistake about it; this was an attack against
the Territory of Hawaii and therefore an act of war against the
United States. We will keep you informed as additional information
becomes available."
My first reaction to this startling announcement was, "Where
the Hell is Pearl Harbor?" In that long ago time this was a question
on the minds of most Americans. Hawaii, and Pearl Harbor, in
particular, was a far distant place, few had ever given much thought
to, or visited. This was to change radically in the days ahead as
America entered World War 2. The following day, along with my family,
I listened, spellbound, as President Franklin D. Roosevelt addressed
the nation and the nation`s Congress. His familiar voice, now
forceful with outrage and determination, proclaimed the sentiments of
his fellow countrymen. "Yesterday, Sunday, December 7, 1941, "a

date which will live in infamy", the United States of America was
suddenly and deliberately attacked by the naval and air forces of the
Empire of Japan," Briefly, the President, explained the background
of the events which culminated in the attack, ending his speech with
the following, fateful, request to the Congress of the United
States. "With confidence in our Armed forces-with the unbounded
determination of our people- we will gain the inevitable triumph-So
help us God. I ask that the Congress declare that since the
unprovoked and dastardly attack by Japan on Sunday, December 7, a
state of war has existed between the United States and the Empire of
Japan."
Almost immediately Congress declared war on Japan and three days
later, December 11, Germany and Italy declared war on the United
States. We were now fully involved, along with the British Empire.
The Republic of Ireland declared neutrality. Russia had been at war
with Germany since June and, although never officially, became an
ally of the United States. America and its allies were now at war
with the axis of Germany, Italy and Japan. World War 2, had begun in
earnest.
I, like other young Americans, living in different parts of
the country and having little in common except our American
citizenship, faced a future that would affect the remainder of our
lives. This, I held in common with untold numbers of other young
Americans. I was twenty one years old when America entered the war. I
was nine years old, the eldest in a family of four children, at the
time America entered the era of the Great depression. Like so many
Americans, my family suffered through those trying years thinking
that poverty was here to stay. This was about to end, as America
tooled up for war, and the factories began to hum.
I was exactly the right age for military service and aware that I
would be hearing from my local Draft Board and soon be inducted into
the army. Like so many other American young men, I was eager to do my
duty and welcomed this call to serve. Kalamazoo was not the most
exciting place in the country and, I must admit, military service
appealed to my adventurous nature almost as much as my patriotic
fervor.
I lacked a college education and was inducted into the United States
Army with the grand rank of "Buck Private". The following is my
memory of induction into military service. On August 13, 1942, after
months of waiting, I was called to the induction center. There must
have been fifty of us, all standing there, "buck naked", damned glad
it was August and not a cold Michigan day. One by one we were called
before a doctor to see if we were breathing and send us on to be
processed and made "Government Issue", or for short, "G.I. A few
minutes later we took the oath and were officially in the Army of the
United States. A Sergeant took us aside, told us we were being sent
to Fort Custer, Battle Creek, Michigan, on August 27. I had just two

weeks left to be wearing civilian clothes.

At Fort Custer I was outfitted with an Army uniform and assigned to a
barracks with a lot of other raw recruits. A very unfriendly Sergeant
called us to attention, told us what poor specimens of humanity we
were and, from this time on, our scrawny bodies belonged to him until
we were shipped out for basic training. In the words of a popular
song of the era, "This is the army Mr. Jones, no private rooms or
telephones. You had your breakfast in bed before, but you won`t have
it there any more." Whoever wrote those lyrics must have spent time
in the army, as a Private.
It was there at Fort Custer, I received my first duty assignment. I,
along with two other "rookies," were handed gunny sacks, neatly
arranged for hanging over the shoulder, and each a stick with a nail
protruding from one end and told to "police" the area. We spent most
of the morning stabbing at litter on the ground and neatly placing it
into our sacks. One of my fellow "Sanitary Technicians" was a guy,
somewhat older than the rest of us, and exceedingly
short and
paunchy. With "great sensitivity," we kept ourselves amused by
badgering the poor soul with various terms alluding to his lack of
manly stature. Later, during a coffee break, we discovered that he
was a member of the Michigan legislature. This was the first time I
learned the valuable lesson, to not judge my fellow soldiers by their
appearance or ethnic identity.
After a short, miserable stay at Fort Custer we were shipped out to
Camp McCoy, Wisconsin for basic training. Camp McCoy, then, was still
under construction and being used, mainly, for the housing of "Enemy
Aliens", Germans, Italians and Japanese, as well as being readied for
the thousands of troops who would be trained there, many to go on for
the invasion of Europe. When American troops arrived for training, it
was then, we came in contact with the 442nd Infantry Regiment
comprised of Japanese Americans, most of whom, had families living in
the territory of Hawaii.
As usual, the army gave us no indication as to what service we were
assigned to. We were told that we were temporarily assigned to the
M.P.E.G, Military Police Escort Guard. As a matter of fact, we were
neither Military Police nor Escort Guards. Our sole duty was to stand
guard over the Enemy Alien camp at night and go through basic
training during the day.
It was here that young Americans, like me, first learned that it was
wrong to judge people by the color of their skin or by their
ancestry. If the army taught us anything, it was that we, young
Midwestern boys, had to face the realities of life and adjust our way
of thinking if we were to succeed in life, in the army or as
civilians. One night on a bus, returning from a night out in La
Crosse, I was seated next to a young Japanese American guy from the
442nd. We were discussing an incident that had taken place recently.

It seems that two of the Japanese- Americans from his unit had been
found murdered and an investigation was underway. The "scuttlebutt"
was that they had been killed by some guys from an infantry unit. He
went on to say that he couldn't understand how American soldiers
could harbor such hate for one another. He explained that at the time
of the Pearl Harbor attack they were in training at "Pearl" and had
not yet been given any rifle training. At the moment of the attack,
they were called to duty, issued rifles, and told to fire at those
f****** ""Japs." He said, "Not one of us hesitated, because we were
American soldiers, defending our country".
We were taken through basic training by a "Sergeant from Hell." He
marched us until we dropped, had us do target shooting until we could
no longer see the target, had us peeling potatoes until we hated the
sight of the damned things and, in general, made life absolutely
miserable for us. We had no inkling of what we were being assigned to
until the Sergeant introduced us to a new cadence marching verse. As
I remember it went something like this, "Eyes right, a** holes tight,
Foreskins to the rear, we're the boys from Camp McCoy, and we've got
gonorrhea."
When we asked him what all that meant, he replied, "It`s God damned
appropriate for all you f******* medics. " Now we knew we were in the
Medical Corps. and wondered what experiences lay ahead for us in the
days to come.
As all "good" things" do, basic training came to a finish. Our basic
training period had been short and we all hoped we would be up to
whatever lay ahead. The Sergeant called us together before our
graduation march, told us we were now soldiers and that he was proud
of us. Somehow, all our ill feelings vanished and we came around to
thinking he was a "great guy."
Immediately, I was assigned to the Camp McCoy Station Hospital,
became a "Ward Boy", and wound up doing all the, less attractive,
duties that the Officer nurses chose not to do, and doing it with a
with a smile and a salute. Along with my other duties I was assigned
to a number of classes taught by the doctors and other personnel.
It was during these sessions that I met my best buddy, Glen McQueen,
whom I was to serve with during much of the war. We all called him
"Mac." He was one of those guys who truly had "savoir- faire." Six
foot tall, a good physique and a somewhat handsome face, topped by a
full head of black, wavy hair. "Tall, dark and handsome," fitted his
description exactly. Since I was not exactly the most sophisticated
guy on the planet, Mac, always ready with a smooth line, "took up the
slack," and made our social life more pleasant. We became known as
the "Gold Dust Twins," since we always traveled together. It is this
sense of camaraderie in the service that makes war time friendships
so special.

Our training fo medical duty consisted of courses which would make us

valuable as aides to the nurses and doctors and also consisted of
training for the field. One lesson that made a strong impression on
me was the proper way to remove a wounded soldier from a disabled
tank. It was this course that made me wonder if we were soon to be on
the battlefield. Unlike the movies, most of my buddies and I, did not
long to be assigned to the infantry for heroic combat duty.
One day while off "ward duty" Mac and I were chatting with a Captain
with whom we had become familiar. All doctors held the rank of
Captain or higher. He asked if we would like to assist him during an
examination. We knew by the way he asked and the twinkle in his eye
that this was to be a farce of some kind. He was known for his love
of practical jokes, many not always in line with medical ethics. The
examinee was a member of the Women`s Army Corps. in for a
gynecolological exam. Clad in white surgical gowns, looking much like
young interns, we stood by as the Captain performed his examination.
This was followed by a burst of hilarity after the "Doc" dismissed
her. Such lack of insensitivity was rare and not typical of the
behavior of Officers or enlisted men. Later that day we passed the
young lady in the main corridor. She took a very contemptable look at
us in our enlisted mens uniforms and, in a very unladylike manner,
called us "dirty bastards," a not "Ladylike" expression for a not
"Gentlemanly like" incident.
One of the "off the cuff", lessons we received during training was
from an Officer in the office of the Adjudent General. Along with
legal advice, he often gave us bits of "army wisdom." Concerning our
demeanor, he advised us that, while walking on the hospital campus,
to carry, very conspicuously, a sheet of paper and walk, very
briskly, as if on an errand. This, he emphasized, would save us many
hours of extra duty being assigned to us by an overeager Seargant.
Finally, after two weeks of training by doctors and nurses we were
assigned to the wards. I was given a promotion to T/5, CorporalMedical Technician, a rank I continued to carry throughout the war.
After going overseas, the old lyric kicked in, "There will be no
promotion this side of the ocean." I was assigned the duty of
supervising eight Privates for ward duty. This was my first
experience in supervision and led to an incident which gave me much
satisfaction. During basic training I had committed some
"unforgivable sin" and was banished to the kitchen for a week of
Kitchen Police, better known as "KP." As all old soldiers know,
"Police" had nothing to do with this inglorious assignment. This was
simply a means for some damned Sergeant to "vent his spleen" and for
the kitchen to get extra help. I believe that in the sixteenth
century many ships were manned by a "shanghaied crew." This was the
Army`s way of getting extra hours of a soldier`s time without any
reward for extra duty and punishing him for his indiscretions. For
that unforgettable week I took orders from a Mess Sergeant who ground

out orders like meat going through a sausage grinder. The tiniest
infraction of his rules like taking a glass of milk, without his
permission, would result in the full force of his temper coming down
on one like a full blown hurricaine. He was truly, "The Devil, In
Chef's Clothing`.
Now, that I was an NCO, with all the "authority" that implies, I was
regularly checking into the ward, soldiers who had fallen ill or who
just found some reason to be assigned to the hospital, many, just for
some time away from the duties of the day and a chance to relax. One
day, "When what, to my wondering eyes should appear," but my old
"Comrade in Arms", the Mess Sergeant, with nothing but a bad head
cold. The Army had, a ,not so technical, name for his distress. The
term "Goldbricking" is far too tame. The other crude term is better
not repeated here. I was very happy to accommodate my old comrade and
immediately assigned him to a bed. With a smile on his face, he
settled in for some rest and relaxation. Much to his chagrin, he soon
found out that this was not to be the case. Vengeance was in my heart
and this was my golden opportunity to even up the score. He seemed
utterly unawaware that in the hospital he was duty bound to take
orders from hospital personnel, regardless of inferior rank.. As an
ambulatory patient he had to perform whatever housekeeping duties
assigned to him. I had no problem in finding a job for him to take
his mind off the boredom of the day. For those of you, former
soldiers, who are thinking, "Latrine Duty", I can only say that you
are so right in your speculation. I armed him with a toilet brush, a
mop and bucket and gave him immediate employment. It was apparent
that he had no desire to perform these menial tasks and informed me
that I should remember that he held the rank of Sergeant. With joy in
my heart, I, very authoritatively, pointed out to him that there were
no stripes on his bathrobe and that his immediate concern was to have
the latrine ready for Saturday morning inspection, "Vengeance is
mine, sayeth the Lord," but, for this one shining moment, "Vengeance
was mine", and I enjoyed every damned second of it.
With the compliance of the Captain, we kept him in the hospital for
a few extra days. I`m sure he was more careful about his treatment
of other lowly privates he held sway over. He had just experienced
the old adage, "What goes around, comes around."

CHAPTER 2
As the days wore on, life was a series of daily routine duties and we
were becoming somewhat restless. Although the time we had spent in
the army was short our youthful outlook made the days seem endless.
Many of the units on the base were moving on. This made us hope that
we would be next and go on to some other experiences. We had no idea
what things awaited us but anything was better than spending the war
in the Army at Camp McCoy, Wisconsin as "Ward Boys." Didn't Gen.
Patton say to recruits that they didn`t want to have to tell their
grandchildren t they spent the war shoveling horseshit at an Army
Cavalry base?
We didn't have to wait for long for we suddenly got the news that the
306 Station Hospital was being sent overseas. With typical Army
retisense to tell the enlisted man anything, we were told absolutely
nothing except to pack our belongings and be ready to move. With the
enlisted man`s penchant for finding out everything, we soon found out
that we were headed for the European Theater of Operations, or for
short, the E.T,O..
On October 31, 1942, Halloween being an appropriate day, we received
our shipping orders. Everything we possessed was crammed into our
duffle bags, and we were on our way to the train station, all "very
comfortable," in a "luxurious" army truck. Arriving at a train depot,
we hastily boarded a car that looked as though it had seen service in
the Civil War. Once on the train, we eagerly awaited some legitimate
information as to our destination. True to army form, none came.
Finally, after many hours, card games and an occasional snooze, we
arrived in Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada. The year was 1942 and the
war in Europe was in full force. Britain was in a state of deadly
peril and the arrival of the "Yanks" was considered a blessing to
their hopes of defeating the Germans. In any event, we were now about
to board a troop ship and make the dangerous crossing across the
North Atlantic to relieve our British Allies. That America was fully
engaged in this war was borne out by the hundreds of thousands of
American soldiers waiting to board the many troop ships crowding the
harbor.

Upon our arrival at the harbor, we boarded the RMS Mauritania for our
trip across the North Atlantic to Great Britain. We boarded the ship
in the late afternoon. After a "fine meal" of "good" mutton stew, we
were told to choose a spot on the long mess table for our gear. This
is where we would sleep and, "Be sure to be out of there as soon as
reveille is over because the RAF will be using the table for
training classes."
We were allowed to roam around and get acquainted with the ship. Mac
and I ventured into an area where a number of RAF {Royal Air Force
guys} were singing Bless `Em All, which was a popular British wartime
song. The lyrics, "Bless `em all, the long, the short , and the tall"
,etc. were constantly repeated with the "Bless" almost always
replaced with another four letter word, better not repeated here.
Soon we were joined by more fellow "Yanks." American- British unity
was already beginning to take place. As the Mauritania got underway
we were engrossed in making friends and having a "Jolly good time, as
the "Limeys" would say,
After a nights rest on that hard table, we got the signal to clear
out, which we did without hesitation. Gazing out a porthole,
expecting to see the open ocean, we found out that we were back in
port. As we gazed out at the harbor, Mac turned to me and said, "What
the hell is this? "I thought we were underway." It didn't take long
to find the answer to that query. It seems that during the night we
had run into a "Wolf Pack." That was the name, Admiral Donitz, the
Commander of the German navy, gave to his submarines, which hunted in
packs, awaiting Allied shipping. We were traveling without a convoy
and were a likely target.
Before long we, once more, got underway. With the unbounded optimism
of youth and a feeling of invincibility, we never gave another
thought to the danger we faced in crossing the North Atlantic without
a convoy, depending only on the speed and maneuverability of this
great ship. Ships capable of traveling fast steered a zig zag course,
without accompanying vessels, making them difficult to target.
True to British tradition, a daily shot of rum was provided to all on
board. As I recall, we approached a small makeshift bar and were
doled out our portion. The only "fly in the ointment" was that the
U.S. Navy did not permit drinking on board its ships. Even though
this was a British ship, American personnel were bound by American
Naval rules. This was handled very neatly by the British by simply
doling out a portion of ginger beer, a British soda pop, to the
Americans. Never to be outdone, we simply accepted the soda pop,
exchanged our soft drink for rum by handing a couple of cigarettes to
our British brethren and accepting their gracious exchange of rum for
ginger beer.

Another bit of culture shock was the difference in what the "Limeys"
thought of as tasty cuisine and what we thought of as "good grub."
The, too frequent, serving of mutton stew did not bode well for the
"Yanks", and resulted in a considerable amount of grumbling on our
part. Other than that, and similar differences, the next few days or
so went off without incident and a surprising amount of goodwill
developed between us and the "Limeys."
Finally, after several days of boredom and bad food we arrived in
Great Britain and were hastily put on a waiting train for our final
destination.
We were all anxious to see what England looked like but we were
traveling at night and the windows were blacked out in compliance
with "blackout" regulations. The British strictly enforced these
rules because of the possibility of giving the Germans a target on
their nightly flights over England.
Our Executive Officer, Capt. Lebowitz, a balding man, somewhat
overweight and a chain smoker, had preceded our arrival, having
boarded the train at Southampton to accompany us to our destination.
He soon appeared on the scene to address us when suddenly a loud roar
was heard directly above the train. Certain that the plane would hit
the train, we all hit the floor, "scared, out of our wits."
The only one standing was Capt. Lebowitz. With a big smile on his
face, he said, "Gentlemen you have just been welcomed to the United
Kingdom by the U. S. Army Air Force."
At long last, the train came to a stop, somewhere, just outside the
city of Bournemouth. We were immediately trucked to an Army camp,
given a barracks and told to get a good nights sleep. We found our
bunks and then the "bitching" began. On the bunk was a rather plump
mattress but when one lay down, it suddenly became apparent that what
appeared to be a mattress was, in reality, a bag of straw. Later we
found out that the British had arranged this for us since it was a
part of the "Lend-Lease" arrangement America had made with the
British. The whole damned camp was a British creation, and not one to
become fond of. The upshot was that we were so damned tired that we
slept as though we were sleeping on the best mattresses money could
buy.
Without regard that we were all in need of more rest after our long
journey, reveille, sounded as usual. After standing for roll call we
were dismissed for "Mess." Although we had been severe critics of
army food, the sight of good old American style bacon and eggs,
tended to soften our criticism, at least for the moment.
After "mess" The Company was called to order and we were given the
"Orders of the Day.' It seems that we were in a "holding area" and
quarantined for several days, during which time, we would be
responsible for housekeeping duties. The Sergeant then introduced

Capt. Lebowitz, our never to be forgotten, Executive Officer. What

followed was so damned comical, coming from this balding, overweight
and pompous, unmilitary like Officer, that I am sure every G.I.,
there at that moment, will remember it to his dying day. I`m sure, I
will. The Captain addressed us, as I recall it, "Gentlemen, you are
now a part of the European Theater of Operations. Your conduct here
will be vitally important in bringing victory to our forces against
the German Tyranny. God Bless you and the American Army." He,
finished with, "Always remember, when off duty, that you are here as
conquerors, not to be conquered by the harpies of the streets." He
ended with a military salute that would have made Gen. Eisenhower,
himself, proud. Dr. Lebowitz had transformed himself into a military
conqueror and satisfied his deepest longings, which, I`m sure, he
usually only carried out in his fantasy life.
After several long and boring days, punctuated by crap games and
other "intellectual pursuits", the quarantine was lifted and we were
given an opportunity to visit Bournemouth. Immediately, the office
was filled with G.I.s requesting passes. As long as you knew your
name rank and serial number the request was granted.
Mac and I were among the first to get in line, receive our passes,
and board the truck for town. Dressed, as finely as we could, in our
dress uniforms, we joined in the, rather ribald, singing as the truck
bounced along taking some very enthusiastic, young and virile, men,
into the city. The word virile is used very purposefully since the
thoughts on all the passenger's minds concerned speedy liaisons with
the local girls.
Mac, who seemed ever knowledgeable about such things, steered me into
the lounge bar of a local pub. The lounge bar was a cut above the
part of the pub that served only the men. The lounge was for social
gatherings and included the more refined women and men of the
community and the occasional military Officer as well as a few
enlisted men.
Once, comfortably ensconced, in a neat little booth, Mac began to
size up the situation and decided to make his move. He moved, with
great suavity, to the table of two lovely, young ladies and soon had
them seated with us in our booth. Although I do not have a good
recollection of the young lady Mac was interested in, I shall never
forget the charming and petite girl I was partnered with. Doreen
Hazelwood, her real name, was everything one thinks of when we hear
the term, "English Beauty." The charm of her English accent was not
lost upon me and our conversation soon consisted of little details
about where we called home and our particular interests.
The barkeeper, having called, "Time, please." which was the signal
for closing, brought the usual query, "May I see you home?" Both
girls, having informed us that they would rather go home together,

had made it quite clear that their parents, mothers in particular,

did not have a fondness for soldiers when their daughters were
involved. Doreen did agree to meet me the following day and give me a
tour of Bournemouth. Always the tourist, and in this case, a quite
enthusiastic tourist, we arranged a place to meet. The following day
we met at the appointed meeting place. Doreen seemed eager to do her
duty in making a lonely G.I. welcome and this lonely G.I. was only
too eager to accept her services.
Doreen proved to be an excellent tour guide and knew all the places
of interest. Her knowledge of the history of Bournemouth was quite
extensive. She delighted in showing me all the sights and made my
stay in Bournemouth a quite pleasurable experience. One of her
favorite places was an old church of historical importance and it was
there that I came to realize how much different an American`s concept
of time differed from the British. During our visit I noticed a
beautiful brass spread eagle that served as the podium for the
Minister. The cleaning lady was polishing it and I made the remark
that it was a beautiful podium. She smiled and said, "Oh, this was a
gift from our late Pastor in the early 1700s." Being a "Yank", I
thought of the 1700s as ancient history. This gave me pause, and made
me realize how young our beloved country is.
My way of thanking Doreen was to have my mother send her a gift. As I
recall, she did receive a lovely blue sweater, was delighted, and
said she would treasure it.
Meanwhile the war on the continent was raging on and my unit moved to
a new location near Tidworth, a city located southeast of Wilshire.
It shares its eastern border with the Salisbury Plain, the site of
the famous archeological find, Stonehenge. Here we carried on our
duties caring for the soldiers, who were receiving tender loving care
from our beautiful nurses.
It was not only the nurses who brought smiles to our patients. The
Red Cross and the Salvation Army both sent some very lovely ladies to
visit with the soldiers. One incident that stands out clearly
happened during one of those visits. A young man of about twenty
years old, was in the hospital for a rather extended stay. He was an
avid reader and kept us busy supplying him with books from the
hospital library. During a routine visit from the Red Cross volunteer
he requested of her to get a copy of Pygmalion, a book he had
acquired in London, signed by the author. The lady explained that it
was next to impossible to obtain the autograph since this author was
quite elderly and ill and had a reputation of not being friendly to
autograph seekers, so the task would only end in failure.
That closed the subject until the Salvation Army lady made her visit
and the same request was made of her. Her reaction was somewhat
different. She, in a very motherly fashion, said, "Give me the book
and I`ll see what I can do." A week went by and the same lady

appeared and was eager to see the young soldier. Upon greeting him
she said, "Wait till you see what I have for you." With that. she
unwrapped a package and there was the soldiers book. She opened the
book to the flyleaf, and there, in boldly handwritten words, was the
following note, as I remember it, "If I signed every book for someone
who thinks I am the greatest writer since Shakespeare, I'd be doing
nothing but signing my name." Then, written with a flourish, was the
signature, George Bernard Shaw, This incident comes to mind every
Christmas when I make my donation in a Salvation Army kettle.
Mac and I were eager to see more of England and find a place free
from the ever present G.I. Having this in mind, we decided to take
leave and get as far away from places inhabited by people of our ilk
as we could. This led to us catching a bus and traveling as far away
from camp as we could .
Our bus ride took us to a town which seemed completely bereft of
servicemen. As all G.I.s do, we immediately found the nearest Pub and
settled in comfortably to enjoy a pint of beer. We were the only
customers and after a few moments of waiting, no one appeared to wait
upon us. Mac finally called out for service. Soon, a young lady
peered around an open door and said, quite breathlessly, "Oh, you are
Americans." I said, "We sure are, what did you think we were"? Her
reply was that she and her parents had observed us from the kitchen
and, just catching a glimpse of our boots, thought we were Germans.
We knew we had found the right spot and enjoyed a great afternoon
free from the hub bub of G.I. activity. This place showed no signs
of ever having been host to an American soldier. After an hour of
friendly chatter with the barkeep and his daughter we decided it was
time to get back to camp.
Before boarding the bus I looked around for a rest room.. Spotting a
toilet, I entered and went to the urinal to relieve myself. There,
written in bold letters on the wall was that old familiar refrain,
"Kilroy was here." There was no way in the world that one could find
a place in England that had not been visited by American soldiers.
We returned to our unit, ready to resume our duties but, as usual,
Mac and I were ready for our next outing and this time, we both
agreed, it was to be London, the capital of Great Britain, and one of
the great historical cities of the world.
The week following our bus trip had been exceedingly busy. Two guys
had been admitted for broken limbs and another for a severe case of
appendicitis. Between scheduling them for operations, working out a
schedule for the ward boys and covering for a nurse who had gone on
leave, as well as attending to my other duties, I had my hands full.
Mac also had experienced a hectic week and both of us were ready to
get a pass for the weekend and our trip to London.

Having secured a three day pass and arranged for one of the ward
boys, who was "Bucking for Corporal,", to cover for me, I was ready
to head for London. Mac had obtained a pass, too, although he had to
do some fast talking to get his.
In London, we went to Paddington Station. Across the street from the
station was Dickens Tavern, one of the many historic pubs in London.
As we entered the pub, Mac noticed a ,very old, lady with a small
glass of Guinness, half full. With his usual charm and savoir faire,
he walked over to her and inquired, "May I get you a drink, mother?"
To the delight and laughter of all around, she replied, as loudly as
she could, in a her high pitched, shrill voice, "I`ll have a `pint."
After a couple of "pints" we decided it was time to get to the Red
Cross Club in Piccadilly Circus, the Broadway of London, and settle
down for the night.
The Red Cross Club in Piccadilly, also known as Rainbow Corner, was
the headquarters for all G.Is when they visited London. A huge
building of several stories, with all kinds of hospitality available,
it was a magnet for all of us seeking rest and relaxation.
One of the attractions was the little office presided over by Adele
Astaire, sister of Fred Astaire, where she wrote letters to the loved
ones of the G.I.s telling them of her visit with their sons,
daughters or sweethearts. It was a very thoughtful way to support the
war effort and was highly appreciated by all of us. "Rainbow Corner"
also played host to such celebrated personages as Gen. Theodore
Roosevelt, Gen. Eisenhower, George Raft, Jimmy Stewart, Irving Berlin
and many others. Glen Miller did a broadcast there and also, Artie
Shaw, who performed there for the soldiers. Little wonder that this
was the most favored place visited by G.I,s when on leave in London.
Mac and I had just settled down for the night on the top floor of the
club with the sound of "Pom Pom" guns above us on the roof of the
building. "Pom Pom" was the name the British people called the antiaircraft guns that responded to the, almost, nightly bombings. Just
as sleep was taking over, we were aroused by a mighty explosion
accompanied by the intense shaking of the building.
In a matter of moments we were out of bed and dressed, prepared to
leave the building. Once out on the street, we observed the reason
for the blast. About four buildings down the street from the club a
V1 rocket had hit a building, tearing it apart, as though a giant
fist had come down on it. In no time at all, ambulances were on the
scene, and people covered in blood, crying out in pain, were being
removed from the wreckage. In that terrible moment I became aware of
the resilience of the British people. There was no panic, no
screaming, only a dogged determination on the part of the volunteers
to assist the wounded and bring order out of the chaos.

This should have been enough to spoil our weekend but, being young.
and feeling, indestructible ,we were undeterred and, after all, the
old Windmill Theater was still in business and the girls were still
there, awaiting the G.I.s.
The Windmill Theater, famous for never having closed during the worst
of the bombing of London had, by the time of the war, became a
burlesque house and a premier attraction for British and American
soldiers while on leave. The old theater has an interesting history
and has been portrayed on the screen in a film called, Mrs. Henderson
Presents,
It was one of those rare evenings in London, when the air was soft
and warm, ideal for outdoor relaxation. This, I mention, because it
was a tradition at the theater, when the weather was good, that the
patio at the rear of the house was open and customers and dancers ,
between acts, could enjoy a drink and conversation. Needless to say,
Mac and I took full advantage of this opportunity to "schmoose" with
the show girls.
Ensconced comfortably at one of the patio tables, we awaited the
arrival of the girls. They usually arrived as soon as the first
performance was over, still heavily "Made Up" with grease paint and
those long artificial eye lashes in place. To my unsophisticated
eyes, this was the very zenith of feminine glamour.
Two "ladies" strolled by and, with great admiration, I watched as Mac
beckoned to them, and with a skill, usually observed only in the
movies, brought them to our table. After a moment of "sweet talk" by
my adroit companion the girls settled in comfortably. I was highly
impressed as he deftly proffered cigarettes to our "lovely"
companions. Within a moment, his Zippo lighter appeared, the cover
thrown back, and with a flick of his thumb, the flame appeared and,
it was at that moment, Mac's sophistication ,"went up in flames". The
streak of fire from the lighter rose fully four inches and licked at
those long artificial eye lashes. This was followed by a stream of
four letter obscenities from the young "lady" that would have made a
drunken sailor blush. So endeth our London trip, so endeth Mac's,
highly acclaimed "savoir faire", but it was only one of many trips
that we took to that great and historic city.
On another occasion, Mac and I had the privilege of visiting the
Royal Opera House, in London's Covent Gardens. Impressive as this
may seem, hundreds of" Yanks," nightly, made a pilgrimage to this
historic place of culture and refinement, not to experience the
opera, but to meet the girls and dance the night away.
Sometime during the war a decision had been made to convert the opera
house into a dance hall for the entertainment of the thousands of
military personnel in the city. The stage was prepared for the
accommodation of the large swing bands that would appear there and a
dance floor installed. In effect, this historic place had become a

night club. For the price of two shillings and six pence one became a
member of the club and entitled to free admission when in town on
leave. I can still hear, in my "moments of recollection." the music
of Ted Heath and other bands of renown, and those tender moments on
the dance floor, with a lovely English girl in my arms, as we swayed
to the music and, for a few shining moments, forgot the shadow of war
that always hung over us. There were other times when we were
"jitterbugging" or dancing to a love song and the wail of the siren
would be heard alerting us to a bombing and, if we so desired, retire
to an air raid shelter. Very often, the young\
lady in my arms would whisper in my ear, "Oh, lets just keep on
dancing."
Upon our return to the hospital we found that the 306th had received
a new arrival. This was a surprise because no one new had ever been
assigned to our outfit, unlike combat units who were often getting
replacements due to casualties suffered in battle. We were curious to
know why the young soldier had been sent to the 306th.
He was busy getting his gear in order when we introduced ourselves.
In our chat with him we found out his home was in Dayton Ohio. We
asked him how he became assigned to our outfit. His answer was, " I
don`t know." He went on to say he was doing guard duty at a place in
Alamogordo, New Mexico and he was in town in a bar when a civilian
struck up a conversation with him. As he told it, "This guy asked me
what duty I was performing in the army." He said he told him,
"Nothing important, I just stand guard duty at a gate to some damned
compound outside Alamogordo." He added, "Hell. I don`t even know
what the Hell is going on there." "At that point two other civilians
walked up, took me by the arms and walked me outside to a waiting
car, drove me to my outfit and turned me over to a Lieutenant." The
Officer simply said to me, "Stow your things in your duffle bag and
follow me. Following his instructions, I finished up stowing my gear
and with that the Lieutenant took me to a car and to the airport and
sent me here, Hell, up to this moment, I don`t know what happened and
why I`m here." I guess he never did know until the war was over.
This incident brought home to all of us how serious the military was
about security. "Loose lips, sink ships," had real meaning for all of
us and we were constantly on guard when chatting with anyone,
especially civilians.

Chapter 3
The patients were not the only ones to appreciate the charms of those
Lovely nurse Second Lieutenants' but we knew better than attempt to
socialize with Officers, a `sin,' requiring drastic action by
Superior Officers, if ventured by a lowly enlisted man.
My duties kept me in close contact with nurses and doctors, arranging
schedules for the "Ward Boys," schedules for medications and
assisting doctors and nurses during their rounds. It was impossible
to not become familiar with the nurses, and one beautiful young nurse
by the name of Rosemary, last name deleted, caught my eye to the
point that I broke through that invisible barrier and arranged a date
with her. Mac, never much concerned with rules, also arranged a date
with his favorite nurse and a double date was about to take place
that would have the inevitable consequences.
The bus arrived for the short ride into Salisbury. Mac and I found
our seats, discreetly separated from our dates so as not to appear to
be accompanying Officers. Shortly thereafter, arriving at our
destination, we proceeded to the nearest pub, and, with our dates,
began imbibing the best of what British brewers had to offer. Our
conversation gradually became more stimulating and our relationships
becoming ever more intimate, we were off to a wonderful evening. At
just before 11:00, the booming voice of the bartender resounded
throughout the pub. "Time please", the dreaded call, that meant we
could order only one more drink before the bar closed. This was
usually followed by a rush to the bar by the patrons, many of whom
still had unfinished drinks at their tables.
Knowing the rules of the game, we decided to move to one of the pubs
that catered to Officers and remained open after the usual closing
hours. The local officials were well aware that, "rank has its
privileges." The man at the door listened patiently as Mac explained
how the young lady with me had nursed me back to health from a
serious illness, "And now, my buddy John, and Rosemary, the lovely
nurse with him, are celebrating their engagement". Mac's story so
impressed the doorman that he made no objection to our presence in
the club.
Although Mac and I were the only non-Officers in the room, no one
seemed to notice and our evening continued on until closing time. As
we made our way through the crowd exiting the room, our arms
encircling our dates, I looked up and, catching my eye, was the
Company Commander. His look of disapproval, I knew immediately, was a
harbinger of things to come.
The results of having encountered the Company Commander, the night
before, under the previously mentioned circumstances, were not long

in coming. Mac was the first to heed a call to the Office immediately
after Mess., and upon his return to the barracks, informed me he had
been told to pack his belongings and leave on the truck parked
outside the Commander's office. He knew not, where he was headed.
Mac packed his gear and we both walked over to the waiting truck.
Before he climbed aboard, we shook hands and wished each other well.
I never saw Mac again, until we were discharged and home, once more,
in Kalamazoo.
I was the next to get the call to meet with the Company Commander.
His directive was quick, brusque and direct. "Tomorrow morning, be at
the roadside with your belongings in your duffle bag and meet the
truck when it arrives." "Do you have any questions, Corporal?"
My answer was quick, brusque and direct. "No Sir," followed by a
salute. The answer was a snappy salute and a, "Dismissed, Soldier."
Feeling somewhat, depressed at having lost my buddy and being sent to
"God knows where," I climbed aboard the truck the following morning
with a number of other "F***Ups, "but damned glad I hadn't lost my
stripes.
The truck rambled on for several miles until the driver pulled over
and hollered back at us, "You guys wanna stop at this pub and have a
beer?" The question was, of course unnecessary, and we all
disembarked , much heartened by this magnanimous gesture.
Along with the other guys, I dropped to the ground, faced forward,
and lo and behold, there was Capt. John Hummer, leaving his seat
alongside the driver. Capt. Hummer was one of the enlisted men's
favorite Officers and a resident of my hometown. His greeting to me
was, "John, what the Hell are you doing here?" I replied, "I might
ask you the same thing, Captain." Such was the informality that
existed between he and the enlisted men with whom he was well
aquainted. He was an excellent doctor, a fine Officer and a real
gentleman.
Once, inside the pub the G.I.s quickly received their "pints" and
were noisily swapping stories. Capt. Hummer and myself, knowing each
other well and, having come from the same outfit, as well as both of
us being residents of Kalamazoo, took a booth, and over a pint of
Guinness, began our stories of how we came to be on this particular
journey. I recounted my encounter with the Commander regarding
fraternization with Officers and the penalty I suffered. Capt. Hummer
laughed and said he had even a better story to tell. As he recounted
it, he and another officer had been on a date with two nurses and had
imbibed a little too much of "Old john Barleycorn," and upon
returning to camp one of the party dared him to go to the Commander`s
quarters and awaken him. He said," Having had one too many, and
taking the dare, I went into his hut, shook him, and with my

flashlight, blinded him and backed out. Unfortunately, I was unable

to stifle a laugh. Big mistake! The Commander, now fully aroused,
recognized my laugh, and bellowed out, "John Hummer, you S.O.B, I`ll
make you pay for this," "So here I am with the rest of you "F***ups."
He went on to assure me that we were not only assigned to the same
place but were going to Torquay, on the south coast of England, to
care for an encampment of soldiers training for the invasion. We
would be responsible for their day to day medical problems. He said,
"This is going to be dammed good duty, since this is one of the best
spots in England, as close to tropical weather as you will see over
here, and we will be on our own, to do, as we see fit".
After dropping off the guys on the truck at their assigned
destinations, we finally arrived at the lovely seaside town of
Torquay, to this day, stll known as an integral part of the "English
Riviera." It is no wonder that the famed British author, Agatha
Christie, chose to live most of her life here in this, almost,
tropical like paradise.
Wartime Britain was in no position to have its beaches inhabited only
by vacationing sun bathers and the long stretches of barbed wire that
covered those beaches stood in stark testimony to the fact that
England was at war and fighting for its life and freedom.
In Russia, soldiers were being sent to the Eastern Front for
improper behavior and Torquay was our, "Eastern Front." Of course,
being `good and obedient soldiers," we would do our best to cope
with the cards life had dealt us.
The encampment, covering several acres, was located on the outskirts
of town. The troops were housed in tents. We soon found our spot, a
large Quonset hut, neatly made up, sleeping accommodations for six
and an office and lab. This was to be our home and workplace until
further notice.
We quickly staked out our cots and proceeded to make our areas as
comfortable as possible. Capt. Hummer and I took an inventory of the
things we required in the lab and then we sat down over a cup of
coffee to discuss our routine.
Each morning we would take care of the needs of the soldiers on "Sick
Call." He explained that, at times, he would not be available as he
would, undoubtedly, have connections in town that might require him
to spend the night there. He said he was sure that I could handle the
routine cases by myself but he would leave me a telephone number
where I could reach him in case of an emergency. I was well aware of
the fact that one did not question a Superior Officer about his off
base activities. He then went on to say that he would arrange a, not
too early, sick call. He then instructed me to tell the Mess Sergeant

that he would like to confer with him.

The Sergeant, a large bulky man, heavily tattooed, and florid of
face, responded quickly, and gave a proper salute to Capt. Hummer,
which was returned in proper military manner. Capt. Hummer began,
"Sergeant, We are here to care for the personnel stationed here and I
want my men, and soon there will be more of us, to get plenty of
rest, so it would be appreciated if you would have breakfast for them
even if their arrival is somewhat late, thus giving them time for
some extra sleep time in the morning." The Sergeant assured Captain
Hummer
that this would be no problem but he had a favor to ask of him. The
Captain, knowing, "Quid pro quo," said, "Mention it, and it's done."
He then explained that he often suffered from a severe hangover in
the morning and would appreciate a doctor approved remedy. With that,
Captain Hummer made up a concoction and showed me how to prepare it
for the amiable Sergeant. As I recall, it had a very solid base of
codeine, and later received a very favorable reaction from the
Sergeant.
Our discussion continued, and being curious about his remark that
there would soon be more of us, I said, "Captain, Will we be
receiving some additional help?" His answer came in the form of a
question. "John, I`m sure you will be making some social connections
in town, and wouldn't it be nice to have some "wheels?" Without
hesitation, he received an affirmative answer. He then went on to say
that he was ordering an ambulance and driver. "I'll make sure that
the driver will understand that the vehicle is at your disposal at
all times," He said, with a smile. "I told you this would be good
duty, didn't I?" "Let's make the most of it."
The ambulance did arrive and it served me well as I became more
acquainted in the community. The driver, a Private First Class, was
a fine young man and fitted in very well with, our, rather "laid
back," style of living. We did, however, have one incident which
challenged our unmilitary behavior.
For some unknown reason, and, maybe, it was because the army had no
other place to put him, another Captain doctor appeared one day and
showed Capt. Hummer his transfer. We now had two Captains and two
enlisted men. That seemed a little heavy with rank.
It wasn't long before our new arrival, a young, "spit and polish"
Officer, made it known, in no uncertain terms, that our unkempt beds
and generally, sloppy housekeeping was not in line with what he
considered military demeanor. Dr. Hummer, I`m sure, considered this
an insult to his management and approached him a couple of days
later, after one of his rants about unmade beds. Confronting the
young Officer with fire in his eyes, he said, "Captain, "What was the
date of your commission"?
Without a moments hesitation he blurted out the date to Capt. Hummer.

The response was almost immediate, Capt. Hummer said, "Captain, my

commission is of a much earlier date and this puts me in complete
command here, and furthermore, my staff and I are quite satisfied
with our lifestyle. Is that perfectly clear"?
The young Captain Answered with a quick, "Yes Sir."
I am still of the opinion that the young Captain`s transfer to
another location the following week had something to do with this
clash of opinions between the two Officers.
Another incident, which I recall with great relish, happened one
evening when we were seated outside of our hut chatting. A Sergeant
from one of the infantry outfits showed up, rifle in hand, and
joined us. He said, "Wanna see a demonstration of how we train the
men in rifle handling?" He then proceeded to break down the rifle
into its separate parts. "Now watch this", he said. He closed his
eyes, and in a flash, put the rifle back together in record time.
Capt. Hummer, without verbal response, reached over and took hold of
the rifle. In a few short seconds he then proceeded to dismantle the
piece. He closed his eyes, and with a few deft movements, much faster
than the infantryman, reassembled the rifle. Then, breaking his
silence, Capt. Hummer said, "Soldier, I learned this little maneuver
in the National Guard, long before being sent over here. Not all
medics are unfamiliar with firearms."
Not all duty here was "fun and games", and meeting the day to day
needs of the troops kept us busy. There were plenty of situations
which required our response, although most situations were not of a
highly serious nature. These were highly trained combat troops,
having been already trained for battle before arriving at this
station. They were not engaging in maneuvers which resulted in severe
injury or worse. Most of our cases were merely first aid, although we
did have occasional situations in which, after initial treatment, we
took the patient to a nearby hospital.
We did have some inkling that important moves in the war were about
to take place. Often at night, in the darkness, German reconnaissance
planes would appear overhead and shoot tracer bullets, hoping for
return fire, thus establishing the location of the troops. One night
they dropped a small personnel bomb which landed on a china shop on
the outer perimeter of the encampment. What we saw in the morning
would have had a collector of "fine China "climbing the walls."
Just to be on the safe side, we dug a small trench and when a plane
appeared overhead we would climb in until all activity ceased. One
night, Capt. Hummer and I took to the trench for cover. During our
descent into the trench I brushed against something and received a
small cut on my wrist. Upon seeing the bloody wrist, Capt. Hummer
said. "OK, John, now I can put you in for a Purple Heart."
I, of course, declined the offer. The Purple Heart is given to those
wounded in battle as a tribute to their sacrifice and heroism. I am

sure, Captain Hummer was speaking in jest, knowing I could not, in

good conscience, accept his offer.
Monitoring the news every day, we were very much aware of the
mayhem being carried on across the Channel. Hitler had subdued most
of Europe and was keeping a wary eye on Britain where more and more
American, British, Canadian and allied forces were training for, what
he knew, would be the invasion of the continent.
Being in such close contact with these soldiers, who would be among
those to storm the beaches, made us very aware of the tremendous
responsibilities our nation had placed upon their shoulders. Many of
these young soldiers would be laying down their lives to keep alive,
what was left of, law and order in Europe. We were also aware of the
other Allied forces, in camps such as these, who were also called
upon to keep alive freedom and democracy. We were young, but not too
young, to know that what happened on those beaches would make Europe,
either free or slave and, in time, threaten the security of the
United States. For those of us who would not be compelled to make
that trip across the English Channel and face the carnage of the
invasion, it strengthened our resolve to care well for our brave
combat soldiers.

Chapter 4
The year was 1944 and the Stars and Stripes, the GI. newspaper, kept
us fully informed of what was happening across the English Channel.
Hitler's 1941 invasion of Russia, known as "Operation Barbarossa",
had proven a disaster and the attack on Pearl Harbor by the Japanese,
bringing in the Americans, had the German forces on the defensive.
Everyone realized that a turning point in the war had been reached.
The world held its breath awaiting the invasion.
Preparations for the invasion of the Normandy coast in France had
been made in 1943. President Roosevelt and Prime Minister Winston
Churchill had selected Gen. Dwight D. Eisenhower as Supreme Commander
and gave the plan the code name, Operation Overlord. The Allied
powers were now set on a course that would result in the greatest
military operation in the history of the world.
The Allies assembled a force of three million men and stored sixteen
million tons of ammunition and supplies in great Britain. The Allies
had five thousand large ships, four thousand smaller landing craft
and more than eleven thousand aircraft.
All along the south coast of Britain staging areas were set up for
the accommodation of the thousands of troops preparing for the
invasion. Torquay was one of these staging areas.
I remember clearly, getting up one morning, prepared to go to town
and meet the young lady with whom I had become acquainted. I stepped
out the door and it became crystal clear to me that I was not going
anywhere. This huge encampment was completely surrounded by British
and American soldiers bearing automatic weapons. From that moment on
security was absolute and complete. It was then that I realized why
large circus tents had been set up in the last few days and Officers
from all the outfits had been seen coming and going. Briefings were
being held, prior to, what all of us expected to be, the launching of
the invasion. What, I did not know, was that the invasion had been
set for June 5, but weather conditions in the channel were so bad
that the mission had been postponed until June 6.
In the wee hours of the morning of June 6,1944 we became aware of
frenzied activity in the camp. The sound of barked orders, the roar
of truck engines and the sound of booted feet made us realize that
the time had come. The invasion of the European continent was about
to become reality. Many young men would perish that day on the
beaches of Normandy, but many more would go forward into the heart of
Germany, in what Gen. Eisenhower dubbed, "A great Crusade."
The greatest armada in all of military history had been unleashed
that morning and a grateful world , to this day, pays homage to the
brave men who were willing to sacrifice their lives to wipe from the

face of the earth the evil empires of Germany, Italy and, ultimately,
Japan.
The Order of the Day. June 6 , 1944 from Supreme Headquarters Allied
Expeditionary Forces, as stated by General Dwight Eisenhower, Supreme
Commander was as follows,
Supreme Headquarters
Allied Expeditionary Force.
"Soldiers, Sailors and Airmen of the Allied Expeditionary Force!
You are about to embark upon the Great Crusade, toward which we have
striven these many months. The eyes of the world are upon you. The
hopes and prayers of liberty loving people everywhere march with you.
In company with our brave Allies and brothers-in-arms on other
fronts, you will bring about the destruction of the German war
machine, the elimination of Nazi tyranny over the oppressed peoples
of Europe and security for ourselves in a free world.
Your task will not be an easy one. Your enemy is well trained, well
equipped and battle hardened. He will fight savagely.
But this is the year 1944! Much has happened since the Nazi triumphs
of 1940-41. The United Nations have inflicted upon the Germans great
defeats, in open battle, man to man. Our offensive has seriously
reduced their strength in the air and their capacity to wage war on
the ground. Our Home Fronts have given us an overwhelming superiority
in munitions and weapons of war, and placed at our disposal great
reserves of trained fighting men. The tide has turned! The free men
of the world are marching together toward victory!
I have full confidence in your courage, devotion to duty and skill in
battle. We will accept nothing less than full victory!
Good luck! And let us beseech the blessing of Almighty God upon this
great and noble undertaking."
With this directive from the Supreme Commander and the hopes of all
free men, our troops went forward into battle. Before the day was
over, the events that took place on the beaches of Normandy would
herald a "new "Birth of Freedom" for the "Oppressed people of Europe"
and a new "Sense of security for ourselves" in a free world.
An eerie quiet now settled over this huge staging area. The sound of
bugle calls, the barked orders of the Sergeants and the noisy rush to
the mess hall by hundreds of hungry soldiers had suddenly become
stilled. The sounds of the camp had been transferred to the beaches
of Normandy and became the whine of bullets, the flash of rocket
fire, the explosion of heavy artillery and cries of pain from the
wounded and dying, as these brave troops struggled forward to free a
continent from the evil stranglehold of Nazi tyranny.

The only personnel left in the encampment was Capt. Hummer, myself
and the young Private who drove the ambulance. Our mission was
finished. Together, the Private and myself did a "Walk-through" of
the tents before they were struck and removed by the Quartermaster
Corps.
Left behind by the troops were those things they would not carry into
battle, bits of this and that they had acquired while on leave,
magazines and books they had been reading and the bric- a-brack that
magically collects around us as we move about.
One bit of memorabilia did catch my eye. lying on a cot, was a red,
hardbound copy of Tolstoy`s War and Peace, possibly the last book
this young soldier would ever read. With this thought in mind, I
picked up the book and there on the flyleaf, was the soldier's
signature, Jack C. Barnett. Through the years, this has been one of
my treasured mementos and I have tried repeatedly, to no avail, to
locate Jack, or his family, to return this bit of his wartime life to
its rightful owners.
The
the
our
for

Quartermaster Corps, with its usual efficiency, arrived toward

end of the day and removed the tents and all Army property except
quarters.. We would spend the night in our Quonset hut and wait
our orders.

Not having access to a mess hall, Capt. Hummer, the ambulance driver
and myself clambered aboard the ambulance, drove into town and had a
meal of fish and chips and returned for our last night in Torquay.
The following morning, Capt. Hummer called us together, and, now
having our orders in hand, informed us that we were to return to the
306 Station Hospital and the Private was to return to his outfit. A
vehicle would arrive to transport the Captain, and myself to the
hospital. I remember him saying, "Now, all we have to do is get back
and ready ourselves for the casualties that will be arriving from
Normandy. It won`t be long before we see what the term, "War is
Hell," really means,"
The hospital was now located outside the town of Cheltenham. The
Quonset huts were lined up neatly, concrete sidewalks connecting the
ward buildings. A mess hall was in place, barracks, quarters for the
Officers, a laboratory, sanitary facilities, and flying from a tall
flagpole, "Old Glory." The hospital was located on an area of
undeveloped land which provided the opportunity to carry on a
military program without disturbing the civilians who lived nearby. I
found the barrack
to which I was assigned and Capt. Hummer, being an Officer, had a
building which he shared with another Officer. We settled in for the
night wondering what tomorrow would bring.

The one thing that struck me was that the hospital had no patients
and that meant we were prepared for the arrival of casualties. It was
now well into the invasion. We had received word of the heavy
fighting and that the beachhead had been established and our troops
and the Canadians, as well as other forces, were now firmly
entrenched in Normandy.
Unlike the old 306th, the hospital had Military Police surrounding
it. It didn`t take long to find out that our patients would not be
American casualties, but instead, , German prisoners of war.
With the arrival of the new patients, a whole set of new problems
were encountered. All of this meant additional training.. We had to
become familiar with the rules of war, under, what was to become, the
Geneva Convention, regarding the treatment of enemy combatants, learn
to communicate with people of a foreign language and abide with
enhanced security regulations.
I was extremely busy for the next few days, assigning my men to their
wards, arranging duty schedules, and generally getting in sync with
the doctor I was working with, as well as getting to know the various
routines followed by the nurses.
Our first batch of patients arrived by train and we worked late into
the night getting them into the proper wards, taking care of their
medication needs and showing them, by our actions, that they had
nothing to fear. These were men who had been in the thick of battle,
weary and confused, not knowing what fate had in store for them, in
the hands of the enemy. Many had received severe wounds, others only
wounds severe enough that they could not function well enough to be
left unattended. The one thing they had in common was that most
would soon be ambulatory. Their quick removal to a hospital in
England must have been the need to get them across the channel and,
in case of escape, not having them return to duty.
While few of the prisoners spoke English and few of us spoke German,
it became apparent to us, quite quickly, that we had to teach each
other our languages. Out of this emerged a mixture of German and
English that, strung together in half sentences, allowed us to
communicate, if not fluently, at least well enough to function.
The one thing most of these men shared in common was their disdain of
Hitler and their nonparticipation in Nazi activities. Their
participation in the war was the result of the Draft and the now
familiar refrain, "I was only taking orders" defense. They uttered
it, we ignored it. There were exceptions, of course, and, as time
went by, some really did turn out to be anti-Nazi.
Our treatment of the prisoners was strictly according to
international law, in spite of our dislike of these," Nazi Supermen."

They were not forced to work, had food comparable to that fed our own
soldiers, allowed religious activities and housing equal to that
provided American patients. Treatment of their medical needs was of
the highest order of the time. Doctors, nurses and enlisted personnel
gave their level best in caring for their patients. Needless to say,
we had no escape attempts.
There were, however two types of prisoners. Combat soldiers had, very
visably, marked on their shirts, PW. "Prisoners of War," Medical
personnel had on their shirts, the marking, PP ," Protective
Personnel."Their non-combat status, allowed them special status under
the firmly established rules of war, later to become known as the
"Geneva Convention."
German medical personnel, Officers and enlisted men, were given the
opportunity to work with us in caring for the patients. Our doctors
now had additional help with the assistance of the German doctors and
my men had, much needed, help in carrying out their duties.
Life soon settled down into a daily routine. Many of the patients,
now ambulatory, seemed quite satisfied with the conditions we
provided for them and presented no problems for us.
Among the patients there were a few who were complete fanatics,
usually young and thoroughly "brainwashed." One such ,was a twenty
year old infantryman who. over and over, professed his loyalty to
Hitler and the Nazi doctrine. He had been severely wounded and was
scheduled for an operation.
At his scheduled time we wheeled him into the operating room. It soon
became apparent that he would need a blood transfusion. Since all the
American personnel had records on their "dog tags" of their blood
type, and many Germans had lost theirs, time being of the essence, it
was decided that one of the "ward boys" would "volunteer" to donate
the needed blood.
At the conclusion of the operation. He was returned to the ward. I
stood by him until he recovered from the effects of the anesthesia.
It was then that I gave in to an impulse that possibly could be
construed as "torture," and in violation of the rules of war. In the
best German I could muster ,with my limited fluency, I informed him
that he was now a Jew. His immediate response was, "Nein, Nein, which
in English is a very emphatic, "NO. NO!" I managed to get across to
him that one of the American soldiers had given him blood and that
the soldier was Jewish, therefore, he now had Jewish blood. I am sure
his reaction to my fabrication did not lead to his swift recovery.
The fact that the young man who donated his blood was not Jewish and
my deliberate attempt to cause this, "Hitler Youth," anguish, I
consider to this day, a contribution to the war effort, and more
deserving of a commendation than a rebuke. Thankfully I received

neither, for having inflicted a severe sense of discomfort upon a

"patriotic warrior" of the German Reich.
Many of the Germans had acquired quite substantial amounts of French
money and this was not lost on us as to the good times we could have
if we were to obtain this currency and convert it to British Pounds.
The Germans seemed eager to part with this booty, which they had
cleverly concealed when captured, in exchange for American
cigarettes. Having plenty of cigarettes we soon had pocketfuls of
French money, and now the trick was to make the conversion to British
currency. The post office had been ordered to make known, sums of
money beyond the amount Uncle Sam so generously showered upon us,
being sent home. The army seemed always watchful for G.I.
indiscretions. Since sending the cash home was not our first
priority, that was not an option we had considered.. The second
hurdle was to get an American Officer to sign off on our transaction
when we were on leave.
As soon as passes became available, Joe Feld, a good drinking buddy,
and a fellow Michigander from Detroit, and I took leave and headed
for London. Our first stop, the Red Cross Club in Piccadilly Circus,
to freshen up, change our francs for pounds and prepare for a
memorable weekend.
In the lobby of the club we spotted a young Second Lieutenant, with
all the earmarks of a "Ninety Day Wonder," and convinced him to sign
off for us, making it possible to make our currency transaction.
With a generous amount of the royal cash in our pockets
find the finest hotel in London that would admit a pair
enlisted men. The need to be free from being surrounded
G.I.s, of lowly rank, was a passion that engrossed most
while on leave, and we were no exception.

we set off to
of lowly
by fellow
soldiers

Although my memory fails me as to the exact hotel we settled upon, I

do know that all the military guests, except us, wore marks of rank
upon their shoulders. The secret to acceptance here was, not rank
but, an adequate amount of the "King`s Sterling."
We were escorted to our room by an elderly "Bell Boy," who treated us
with all the respect given to any of the guests, and graciously
accepted his tip with a "Thank you." and a salute. Having, at one
time, in civilian life, held the same position as he, I could not but
marvel at the fact that I was on the receiving line of this timeless
little ritual.
Our room was, indeed, first class and more luxurious than I was
accustomed to. Joe, seemed much more blas and was not as impressed
as I was. After a call for room service and having a couple of
drinks, quickly brought to us by a room attendant, we decided that

after a shave, s**t and shower we would "Do the town."

This was rapidly accomplished and we were soon on the street.
After hailing a cab and getting aboard, Joe instructed the driver to
take us somewhere where good food and drink was available as well as
some "action." He then placed a five pound note on the seat beside
the driver, which was hastily retrieved and an assurance given that,
"He knew exactly the right place." That much British currency,
roughly translated into twenty American dollars, a very hefty sum at
that point of time. "Money Talks."
After
fence
place
found

a short drive the cab pulled up

which cordoned off a bombed out
to begin our carousing. The cab
and opened a makeshift door and

in front of a construction
site. This seemed an unlikely
driver, without hesitation,
bade us, "Enter.

Once inside, we entered an opening into a bombed out building and

found a party was in "full swing". A rather nice bar, given the
circumstances, was doing a hectic business. There was plenty of food
in sight and a small band was playing for the dancing couples on the
floor. Eyeing up the single girls, we knew immediately that "action"
was available. It was, and Joe and I got back to our hotel very late,
or early, depending on how one looks at the clock. Our weekend came
and went, as did our "easy money." One thing we did learn was that
the "Black Market" was alive and well and almost anything was
available.

Chapter Five
Back at our duties, our natural impulse for fun took over. To liven
up the evening we acquired from the lab a quantity of pure alcohol.
Having plenty of grape juice on hand, we mixed the two together to
give the grape juice, "added flavor". The result was a delicious
refresher which, after inducing the nurses to join us, and noting
their lustful expressions of delight, we dubbed the cocktail, "Purple
Passion." I shall not belabor this yarn further.
As the war on the continent heated up we received word that the
bombing over Germany and the victories on land were taking its toll
to the point that Hitler began the recruitment of the very young and
the old. It was then that we received contingents of prisoners that
consisted of boys, some not even in their teens, and men well into
the latter stages of middle age.
Among these older prisoners was a man, in his late fifties, elderly
to me, who was assigned to me for ward duty. He was a very mild man,
somewhat confused as to why he was in the army. I kept him busy with
light duties and, to the degree possible, we became friends.
One late afternoon I walked into the office and found him sitting at
a table, his head in his hands, bent over the table and sobbing. I
walked over to him, placed my hand on his shoulder and
inquired, ,"What`s the matter?"
He raised his head, tears running down his cheeks, and lifting a
photo from the table. replied in his broken English, "This is a
picture of my wife and sons, all killed in the bombing." This
incident and the sight of these old men and very young boys, caught
up in a war, not of their making, caused me to realize that the
tragedy of war strikes both sides with equal vengeance,
It was now late into 1944 and the 306th had been in the UK for over
two years. This was not lost on the mind of our Company Commander. At
a Company meeting with him he broached the idea of having a little
celebration commemorating our service. He informed us that he had
obtained a spot in Cheltenham where he would set up a bar and social
area where, when off duty, we could go and, with our fellow G.Is,
celebrate our anniversary. His, much appreciated gesture was met with
a sincere round of applause.
Having an afternoon free of duty, I decided to invite one of the MPs

to accompany me. When we arrived the house was full , the Company
Commander made a toast and congratulated us on a "Job, well done."
After a moment or two of, "He's a Jolly Good Fellow," we settled down
to consuming the free beer.
My companion and guest, an extremely large and imposing MP, had just
told me how lucky we were to have such a fine Officer in charge when
the Commander walked over to where we were sitting, handed me am MP
arm band, and said, "Corporal, put this on and if any guys come in,
not a part of our outfit, tell them this is a private party and tell
them to leave." I said, "Sir, I am not an MP." His response was,
"Soldier, you are now," and walked away with a grin on his face."
Faced with this unpleasant duty, I remarked to my companion, "Damn,
I`ll get killed if I try to throw any of those infantrymen out."
He laughed and said, "John, if they come in just walk over to them
and tell them to get out."
"To hell I will. You want to see me get
killed?" I replied.
He said, "You don`t get it, do you?" He went on, "Tell them to get
out and then stand between them and the door and if they give you any
crap, invite them out to settle the matter." I said, "You've got to
be nuts." At this my friend was suddenly consumed with laughter.
After recovering his composure he said, "When you invite them out,
I`ll go out the side door over there, don't worry, You`ll be
alright."
As if on cue, two guys wearing combat boots and infantry insignia on
their shirts, walked over to the bar, obtained mugs of beer and
seated themselves. For me, Armagaddon had arrived. "Undaunted and
fearless", I approached them and gave them the message that they were
not welcome since this was a private party. Completely ignoring the
MP badge on my arm, they answered with a " Screw you, you f******
medic." Having faith and confidence in my companion, with some
reservation, I invited them outside. My invitation was immediately
accepted.
I walked to the door, my legs a bit wobbly, followed by the two
combatants. My friend, at the same time, went out the side door. Once
on the street, all Hell broke loose. Out of nowhere, one of the G.I.s
got a fist squarely in the face and the other a kick in the pants and
both moved rapidly down the street. My friend returned to the side
door and entered. Still, a bit dazed, I returned to my place at the
table where, my buddy was already seated, gave a salute to the
startled Commander, and sat down. I am sure, to this day, that
Officer is still wondering how that skinny kid managed to evict two
combat soldiers with "Chips on their shoulders."
As one of my duties was to have the wards ready for Saturday morning
inspection, I made my rounds on Friday afternoon. On one particular

Friday, I was summoned to the bedside of a patient who spoke fluent

English. He informed me that a patient, and he named the bed number,
was not getting a full portion of food and was always complaining
that he was hungry. I, immediately confronted the patient and, he
informed me that, Hauptman, a POW, that that had been a medic in the
German navy, and whom I now had serving the food in this ward, was
refusing him a full portion of food. From the look of him, I didn`t
doubt his word.
I headed back to the office, found Hauptman, and confronted him with
the fact that a patient was being denied his full portion of food.
Hauptman made no attempt to conceal the fact that he gave this
patient only minimal portions. I asked him why he would do such a
thing and got an immediate response. "Unter' Officer, that man is a
Waffen S.S. soldier, Look at the insignia on his uniform." All S.S.
had a "Black Patch Waffen SS" insignia on their uniforms. He
continued, "You take care of the office, I take care of the "SS,"
spoken in surprisingly good English. Needless to say, I sympathized
with his motive, but explained that we had to treat all patients the
same.
Saturday morning inspection went off without any problem, the
soldier in question had been given the proper amount of food and made
no complaints. The inspecting Officer, having given us an OK,
immediately departed and we went back to business, as usual. I was
ready for some leave time and knew Joe would be in line with me for a
pass and a trip to London.
Usual procedure before going on leave was to be sure all duty was
covered in my absence. I finished arranging schedules for the on duty
enlisted personnel and returned to the wards to see that all was in
order. Having determined that everything was shipshape, I turned to
the Private, on duty, and was discussing special needs for certain
patients when a terrific explosion shook the building Both, the
Private and I were knocked off our feet and some patients had been
thrown out of their beds.
Our immediate concern, after picking ourselves up off the floor, was
to ascertain the condition of our patients and determine the damage
done to the building. As soon as it was determined that no injuries
were suffered by the patients and the building seemed intact, I went
outside to see if I could discover the cause of the explosion.
An ambulance had arrived and a bomb crew, off in the distance, was
surveying a place where a huge cloud of smoke had formed. After
informing the driver that everything was alright with us, and
clambering aboard, we headed out to the bomb site. What I saw made
"my hair stand up straight." What if that bomb has landed on the
hospital, was my first thought.

The crater seemed big enough to have swallowed a large building. The
bomb crew soon left the scene, after taking note of the situation I
reflected upon what I had just seen.. Could this have been one of
Hitler's V2 bombs Could this have been one of the last V2s. that
found its way to England? It has been said that the V2 was a failure
and hit more uninhabited places than occupied areas but, at that
moment, it seemed a deadly weapon to me.
Never deterred by last minute interruptions, Joe and I headed for
London on a two day pass which we spent in "cultural pursuits." One
interesting few moments occurred while we were on a short train ride
to a place just outside of London, highly recommended by a fellow
G.I. as a great place to indulge ourselves.
Seated directly across from us in the train was a small British
gentleman, British trains have these little compartments, so much
like those seen on stage coaches in Western movies. We exchanged
pleasantries, and in so doing, he asked me where I was from, "In the
"States." I told him, Kalamazoo, Michigan. His face broke into a
smile and he said, "Oh I know that part of the country well." He went
on, "several years ago, I was in Chicago, looking for a shop where I
could construct neon signs and not having any success."He continued,
"I was eating in a little Italian restaurant and got talking to the
waiter and telling him of my problem." He reached into his pocket,
withdrew a business card, scribbled his name on it, handed it to me,
and said, "Here, take this card to the hotel named on it, stand in
line on the stairs until you are ushered into the room at the top of
the stairs. Give the man at the door the card, and you'll be taken
care of. I did as he suggested the following day. When I was finally
ushered in I saw a long Board of Directors table, and there, at the
head of the table was, none other than, "Scar face" Al Capone. I
recognized him immediately, having seen his picture in the newspaper.
I tell you, my knees were buckling and I was one scared little
Englishman." He went on to say that he was "taken care of," but it
was an experience he would never forget.
On another occasion, on one of those train rides out of London I
experienced a very enlightening moment while talking to a civilian.
The man sitting across from me struck up a conversation with me and
remarked, "I certainly admire the spirit of you `Yanks." He went on
to say, " I was taking this same train and a "Yank" was sitting
across from me and I inquired as to his destination. The train was
just beginning to move and I inquired as to his destination. He told
me and I told him he was on the wrong train, going in the opposite
direction. Without further ado, he simply grabbed the leather strap,
dropped down the window, jumped out onto the platform and
disappeared. That`s the kind of immediate action that will win this
damned war, Thank God, you are on our side."

On December 16, 1944, we received word that the Germans had mounted a
huge offensive, had broken through and created an extensive bulge in
the Allied lines. This was Hitler`s last desperate attempt to change
the course of the war and became known as the "Battle of the Bulge."
Although fighting was fierce, it was to no avail, and the end of the
war was now in sight, although peace would not come until May of
1945.
The New Year arrived and while we managed to celebrate in the local
pub it was a time when one felt very homesick, wondering if this
damned war would ever end, an emotion one felt every night when the
bugle sounded, Taps., signaling, "Lights Out."
The year 1945 seemed much like every other year, the same old
routine, the same "bitching" in the barracks and the same old duties
in the wards looking after the needs of the wounded enemy.
Spring had arrived and with the coming of April, we were on one of
our `voluntary' long hikes to condition ourselves before settling
down to the business of the day. It was a chilly day in April and we
were just approaching camp when a Sergeant came running over to us
shouting, "Have you guys heard the news?" Before we could respond, he
shouted, "The President just passed away." There was a moment of
complete silence among the group. As the portent of this shocking
news settled upon us, we all fell silent and tears arose in the eyes
of all six of us. We were the young men who grew from children to
adults, never having known another President, and one so dearly loved
by all of us. He was the leader who took us through the "Great
Depression" and led us in time of war. "He was always the "Master of
his Realm", and will always be remembered as the "Captain at the
Helm." April 12, 1945, "Now he belongs to the ages," to borrow a
phrase from Secretary of War, Stanton, upon the death of Abraham
Lincoln during the Civil War.
What had seemed just the beginning of a new year, suddenly turned
into a year filled with surprises. We knew that the Allies had agreed
to demand "Unconditional Surrender." We also knew that Hitler had
committed suicide and that this meant sure victory for the Allies. In
spite of all this, we were taken aback, when on May 5, 1945 the
surrender of Germany brought an end to the war in Europe. On May 8,
the surrender was signed. It was VE Day! The guns were silenced and
a war torn continent was, once again, at peace. The "Captain at the
Helm," had not lived to see us "Gain the summit of the hill."
Celebrations broke out throughout the United Kingdom and this meant
passes were being issued very liberally and it made it possible for
us to join in the celebration. Needless to say, Joe Feld and I were
now ready for a trip to London. London was in a high state of
euphoria when we arrived. People, everywhere, were still celebrating,
days after the war ended, and American G.I, s were treated as

heroes. Joe and I basked in the glory of it all, even though we had
not fired a single shot in anger throughout the war.

Chapter 6
After returning from leave I was making my rounds in the wards when
my Sergeant approached me and said, "John, looks like you have a new
assignment." I replied, "The Hell I do, I haven't done anything
wrong." He laughed and said, "No, its not punishment, you are going
on detached service to Belfast, N. Ireland with a Private to set up a
prophylactic station, you lucky dog." He continued, "That's a dammed
nice duty assignment."
May 8, 1945, I arrived in Belfast with Bill, my assistant, moved
into our new quarters and for the next couple of days made the place
"ship-shape." My station was set up in a storefront not far from the
center of town. It consisted of quarters for two and a facility to
service the soldiers before their return to camp. This was my station
and I was in complete charge, far from the commands of demanding
Sergeants. My subordinate was a young Private who hailed from the
Appalachians, a"Hillbilly," if you will. To my delight he even stood
in awe of a lowly Corporal. Needless to say, we got on very well.
Belfast is the largest city in Northern Ireland. N. Ireland is a part
of the United Kingdom and was fully involved in the war. It was here
that the Titanic was built in the shipyards of Harland and Wolfe. For
many decades many of the great ships of historical importance were
built there. Belfast also has a long history related to the linen
trade and it was known all over the world for its fine linen
products. Then, during the war Belfast had another claim to fame,
along with other cities in the United Kingdom, and that was its
surplus of "Yanks." The term, "Yanks," was a token of friendship
except when it was used by the mothers of eligible girls in the
community. In spite of this bit of "bigotry" the young maidens
seemed to find the "Yanks" good company and the dance halls were
constantly creating many "social relationships."
There were still enough "Yanks" to go around even though the war in
Europe was over. There was an Air Force base called, Langford Lodge
just outside the city and the troops were busy dismantling the base
and removing equipment while awaiting orders for their next
assignment. With the war still raging in the South Pacific, there was
little doubt as to where that would be. Needless to say, I was
wondering about the destination for the 306th, but for now, at least,
I was safely tucked away in Belfast. I did know, however, that since
we had not been in combat, the South Pacific might be our next
location and a combat area there.

My assistant was not eager to wend his way through the large city,
preferring to stay at our station, in the evening writing letters to
his girlfriend and parents. This made it possible for me to have the
evenings to myself. During the day there was little to do and it was
then I became acquainted with civilians on the street outside the
facility. One elderly lady and I had several interesting chats. On
one occasion, she told me she was a seamstress and invited me over in
the next street to see her shop. Not wanting to seem uninterested, I
walked with her to the shop. She was very proud of it and showed me
all her creations. We chatted for a few minutes and then she said,
"Would you be staying for Tea?" With that, she pulled aside a curtain
and there in the next room was a neat little restaurant. Her
smuggling connections in the Irish Free State, which was neutral in
the war, provided her with all the food and drink she needed to run
this fine little lunch room at this time of severe food rationing in
the United Kingdom. I could not know it at the time but this tiny
sliver of the "Black Market," would mark a turning point in my life.
Having heard of a dance hall, not ordinarily frequented by Americans
I decided to give it a try. Hoping to find some feminine
companionship, I sauntered into the club, approached the bar, ordered
a drink, and surveyed the scene for a possible conquest. There,
sitting at a nearby table with a young British Naval Officer, was the
loveliest Colleen I had ever laid eyes upon. Much as I wanted to ask
her for a dance, I couldn`t chance a rejection with that "Limey"
seated at the table with her. I bided my time and after a few short
minutes her date excused himself and left the table. Siezing the
moment, I strode over to her and asked her for a dance. Surprisingly,
she accepted my invitation and for several wonderful minutes I held
her in my arms as we danced to the romantic music the band was
playing. The dance, having ended, I escorted her back to her table.
The young Officer had returned and as we approached, the damned
"Limey," in his phony, uppercrust accent, said, "I presume, Peggy, my
dancing is too old fashioned for you." With that, he stood up and
strode off. Now, I knew her name, had vanquished her boyfriend and
had her to myself. This didn`t seem to bother Peggy, who seemed
almost glad to see him leave. I sat down with her, took her hand in
mine, and from that moment on, I was in love.
I wanted very much to escort her home but she made it quite clear
that her mother would not welcome me and it would cause her more
trouble than she was willing to bear. Before seeing her to the bus we
agreed to see one another the following evening. I was in "Seventh
Heaven," and felt, very much, like the character Gene Kelly played in
that wonderful dance sequence in the movie Singing in the Rain. It
seemed that all these events were taking place as though following a
movie scenario. I had been in Ireland for such a short period of time
and, here I was, already in love.

We met the following evening, and by the end of two weeks of ,every
night dating, had become a "Couple." We both realized that our
affair was more than just a "Passing Fancy." None of this would have
been possible without the collusion of Peggy`s sister, Betty, who was
always ready with an excuse for Peggy`s late nights.
It soon became quite clear to both of us that we were in love to the
point that we wanted to spend the rest of our lives together,
although I had not yet, "Popped the Question." The difficulties to
overcome seemed too overwhelming. Peggy was from an Irish Catholic
family. I was a Protestant, with ties to the Dutch Reformed Church,
the church of the most hated, King William of Orange, and, to top it
off, I was a "Damned Yankee" and a soldier from a far off country.
Then, and even today, in Belfast, Catholics do not marry Protestants
and, most certainly, not Protestants with ties to the Dutch Reformed
Church. Secondly, and even more disqualifying, was the fact that her
parents would be losing a beloved daughter and sending her abroad,
maybe, never to return. All this we knew, but two people in love are
blinded by their emotions to the extent that they are insensitive to
the feelings of others affected by their union.
One late Friday afternoon, after a stroll through the shops and a
light dinner in one of the many little curbside eateries that dot the
downtown streets of Belfast, we walked up the steps of the City Hall,
found a seat close to the great columns that grace that stately
building and sat down to chat. It was early evening, a light rain had
fallen during the day but the evening, was quite pleasant.
I told Peggy of my love for her but emphasized that if I could not
meet her parents it would be better to call the whole thing off
before we both got hurt in the process. She said nothing for a
minute, and then, with tears in her eyes, said, "OK, John, let`s go
home, right now."
Dusk had fallen, with a bit of chill in the air, as we walked up
Rockville Street and entered number 31, one of the little brownstone
houses that line the streets of Belfast. The tiny living room was
warm and cozy, heated by a neat little fireplace that threw long,
flickering shadows on the papered walls. A piano, sofa and chair
graced the room . All these homey images gave me a feeling of warmth
and security I had not experienced for a very long time.
No one being home, Peggy busied herself with making a pot of hot tea
and then went to the piano and played an old Irish tune. As I sat and
basked in the beauty of the scene, I kept thinking how much I would
love to spend the rest of my life with this lovely Irish girl.
The peace and tranquility of this heavenly moment was shattered as

Peggy`s mother arrived on the scene. Mrs. McKenny, although not a

large lady, to my eyes presented a very imposing figure. Peggy
introduced her mother to me. Mrs. McKenny, very graciously, shook my
hand, and then, with a pleasant smile, uttered the words, so often
spoken to young men in my position, "So, you are the young man who
has been keeping my daughter out to all hours of the night." My
response was, " Yes, Mrs. McKenny, I must plead guilty to that."
The evening was continuing splendidly with Peggy`s mother querying me
about all things Catholic. I was responding with many things I had
read about the Church and throwing in the names of a few Catholic
clerics. Fortunately, I had read so much history that included the
Church that I felt I was coming off quite well. Never once, did Mrs.
McKenny ask me if I was a Catholic, although Peggy told me later that
her mother concluded that I was a "Fallen away" Catholic.
The evening was getting late and then Peggy`s mother issued the
"Coup de Grace,"
"I know you boys always enjoy some home cooked food. Would you like
something with your tea?"
I answered, "Certainly Mrs. McKenny, I`d
like that very much, thank you." Then she said, "Well now, I have
some lovely fish and some delicious chicken, which would you prefer?"
It was then, I made my first mistake. I chose chicken, completely
forgetting it was Friday. I was served a delicious plate of roast
chicken , completely oblivious of the error I had just made.
Not all was lost, for I was invited back and spent all my evenings
there getting to know Peggy`s mother, father, sister and brother.
Peggy`s father was a quiet little man who worked for a local bakery.
He was very easy to talk to and we became friends very quickly,
spending some time at the local pub getting better acquainted. He was
a very broad minded man, certainly not a part of the religious
bigotry that consumed so much of Northern Ireland, and best of all,
not prejudiced toward American soldiers. I came to know her sister,
Betty, a lovely young lady, with a great sense of humor, and Peggy`s
ally in whatever Peggy wanted to do. Her brother, Seamus was the
typical teenager, unconcerned with his sister`s problems and more
concerned about my supply of "Yankee goodies." Mrs. McKenny and I
soon became good friends and my frequent visits with her during the
day, while Peggy was at work, sharing many laughs together, cemented
my relationship with the McKenny family.
Though I did spend many daytime hours away from my station, I did
cover for my assistant on those occasions he wanted to go to town. As
far as night time activities were concerned, he preferred to spend
his time reading or writing letters home.
As was to be expected, soldiers being at their base during the day,
we had few guys showing up at the pro station during daylight hours.
However there was an occasional G. I remember one such instance

because it had such a sad ring to it. A young man came into the
station and asked me if he could use the facility to shower and
shave. He said he was being married in a few hours and wanted to get
ready for the wedding. Upon receiving an affirmative answer, he
proceeded with his grooming and left, looking in great shape for his
plunge into matrimony.
Several hours later a lady and her daughter arrived and asked if I
had seen a soldier fitting the description she gave of him. I knew
immediately it was the G.I. I had seen earlier and confirmed that he
had been here.. I knew something was amiss by the sad look on the
girl`s face. Her mother then blurted out, "I knew this would happen.
That damned "Yank" never showed up for the wedding, damn his soul."
It was the end of June, 1945 and my whole venture almost came
crashing down. I received a visit from a Captain and a Lieutenant to
make an inspection of the facility. I wanted to get the inspection
behind me because I felt I wouldn't have another inspection until
around the end of July, 1945.
After a quick "walk through," the Captain said, " Nice job, Corporal,
everything seems in order." I then invited them into my quarters for
a drink, which they readily accepted. The Lieutenant glanced at a
portrait of Peggy I had placed near my bed and said, "Pretty girl,
your girlfriend or your wife, back home?" I replied, rather naively,
"No Sir, "That's a young lady I met here in Belfast and hope to marry
before I go home. Oops! Bad mistake! I well knew of the Army`s
disapproval of soldiers marrying girls they met while stationed
overseas, The Captain smiled and said, "She is a beautiful girl. I
can readily understand why you would like to take her home with you,
Corporal, but probably, not a good idea. Maybe its time we got you
back to your outfit." That remark hit me like a lightening bolt. I
could not imagine being separated from "The love of my life," and
being put in a position where marriage would be impossible. I felt
trapped, and no way out. Then, suddenly, I remembered a bit of wisdom
Captain Hummer had given me. He had said, "Never ask for anything
without being prepared to give something in return, "or, "Quid Pro
Quo."
Regaining my composure and having hit on an idea, I replied to the
superior Officer, "Captain, that's for you to decide, Sir." I
followed that with, "Sir, its almost lunch time, would you and the
Lieutenant like to join me for a nice meal of steak and eggs?" The
Lieutenant spoke up and said, "Where in the name of Hell can you get
a meal like that with all this damned rationing?" Realizing that I
was on to something, I replied, " If you gentlemen will follow me,
I`ll be glad to show you." With that, we all got up, walked to the
door and started up the street.
When we arrived at the dress shop of my old friend, the seamstress. I
beckoned them in. I noticed a look of puzzlement on the faces of the
two Officers as I approached the lady at the counter. After a moment,

I introduced the Officers, and she escorted us to the magic curtain,

pulled it back and ,Voila, we were in "Food Heaven."
The steaks were done to perfection, the eggs, a perfect complement,
to the steaks, "over easy", and presented beautifully on fine china
plates. The "piece de resistance' was a tasty peach cobbler topped
with whipped cream. This, and steaming cups of hot coffee brought
smiles of satisfaction to the faces of the two Officers. It was then,
I made my move. Addressing the Captain, I said "Sir, I would really
appreciate it if you could have my assignment here extended." The
Captain, with a broad, knowing smile, replied, "Well, Corporal, I
suppose a little more time Could be arranged, maybe another month.
Plan on being back at your outfit in England on July 30."=== "Quid
Pro Quo."

Chapter
7
Realizing how transient my stay in Belfast was going to be, I made
up my mind to, "Bite the Bullet," and ask Peggy to marry me.
One evening Peggy and I were invited to take a drive along the
beautiful, scenic Antrim Road with a couple she knew who owned a car.
This was a special treat because, at that time, few people in the
U.K. owned cars. The car was a cute little roadster with seats for
four, two of them in a cozy little rumble seat, perfect for two
people in love. After a short drive, the car was pulled over and
parked. It was a beautiful, starlit night, a warm breeze coming in
from the ocean, the sound of waves lapping the shore and a gorgeous
moon overhead. A film director could not have set up a better scene
for a romantic moment in the film he was directing.
I held Peggy in my arms, kissed her luscious lips and then uttered
the following clumsy proposal, "Peggy, "Would you consider becoming
my wife?" Of all the opportunities to use romantic phrases, this was
one, but I was so tongue-tied I was lucky to get this much across and

on top of all this, I didn`t even have an engagement ring ready..

After a short pause, Peggy, with tears in her eyes, said, "Yes, John,
but you know, its going to be difficult to manage. My mum and dad
will be awfully hard to convince" This was followed by a lingering
kiss which I will always remember unto the end of my days.
Now that we were engaged, I said to Peggy, "Sweetheart, I know this
is going to be difficult for your parents but I think we can convince
them that they should give us their blessing. Now we have to find a
good time to tell them of our intentions." To this she replied, "I
know, but lets wait for the proper time. This is not going to be
easy."
For several days we said nothing to anyone about our engagement. We
knew we had to find the proper moment to broach the subject to
Peggy`s parents. Our procrastination finally came to an end, forced
upon us by a call I received from my unit, informing me that my stay
in Belfast was to end on July 30,1945 and to close down my facility
and return to the 306.th It was now July 2, 1945 and having, roughly,
only four weeks left in Belfast, we had to end our procrastination
and , "Face the Music" with Peggy`s parents.
Our opportunity to have a quiet evening with Peggy`s parents came
shortly thereafter. Peggy`s sister, was out on a date, , her brother,
was busy elsewhere, and Mr. and Mrs. McKenny were having a quiet
evening at home. Peggy and I had been in town and decided this was
the perfect time to break the news of our engagement.
Peggy was at the piano accompanying her father as he played a lively
jig on his fiddle. Having laid down the violin and returned to his
place on the sofa next to Mrs. McKenny, he said, "Peggy, did you have
something to tell us?" He continued, "You certainly didn`t have your
mind on the music," Peggy hesitated and seemed at a loss for words.
Sensing it was my turn to say something, I began, "Yes, we do have
something to tell you, Peggy and I are engaged to be married, and
now, all we need, is your blessing." There was a moment of silence,
which, to Peggy and I, seemed an eternity, and then her mother spoke
up. She said, "Seeing how the two of you get on, a person would have
to be blind not to see that this was coming, even if you have only
known each other for such a short time." Peggy`s father seemed
content to let Peggy`s mother continue the dialogue. She said, " Now,
John, you know Peggy is very young and this is a serious move the two
of you are thinking about. John, you are a long way from home and
sometimes it is easy to forget someone you care for back there." She
went on, "There is also the need for you to get settled, have a job
and ready to begin a family." Peggy`s father then spoke up. "I think
what "Minnie" is trying to say is that marriage, while you are still
in the army, is not possible." "Minnie" was the name everyone used
for Mrs. McKenny. After a short pause. Minnie began, "John, you are a
nice boy and I know Peggy really cares for you but she is also our

daughter and we want her to be happy. You told me that you must
return to England soon and the war is not yet over for you. We think
that it would be best for you to wait until you are out of the army,
have a job and no one back there you may have forgotten, and then, if
you and Peggy still feel the same about marriage, we will consider
it." Without waiting for my response, Minnie said, "Now, I think we
should have some tea." Knowing Mrs. McKenny, I knew the last word had
been given and we simply accepted her dictum.
After a nice cup of hot tea and a delicious Irish scone, liberally
covered with jam, I realized it was getting late and, with our
mission accomplished, I arose and prepared to say good night. I shook
hands with her dad, gave Peggy a goodnight kiss, turned to Minnie and
said, "Mrs. McKenny, After I do get home, you will be hearing from
me. I am a very stubborn Dutchman, you know."
During the following days Peggy and I spent every moment together we
could. The only shadow hanging over our romance was that I would
soon be returning to England. We had long conversations about the
life we would live in America. Peggy asked me countless questions
about how Americans lived. We were in a constant state of euphoria
over the idea of being married and starting a family. I knew I had
found the right mate for a happily married life. I had met Peggy only
a little more than two months ago but, in my heart, I knew I had met
the girl God had chosen for me.
On the evening of July 29, the day before I had to return to my
outfit, we spent our last hours together at Peggy`s home with her
parents. That night, when I departed, our hearts were heavy at the
thought of my leaving but we both pledged our troth to each other and
agreed to write every day until we were reunited in America.
On the morning of July 30, 1945, Bill, my assistant, and I boarded a
cross channel ferry and left Belfast behind. I had asked Peggy not to
be there, not wanting to have an emotional good bye. Arriving in
England, we boarded a train and soon were back at the old 306th.
When we arrived back in camp excitement was running high. Everyone
had been "sweating" the news about the action in the Pacific, and
rumors had been circulating that the 306th was scheduled for
deployment . The news coming out of the Theater of Operations in the
Pacific was on every ones minds but, as a result of so many
disappointments in the past, not always believed. Absolutely no one
is as skeptical of news reports as a G.I. in a time of war.
By the middle of July, 1945, most of the important battles in the
South Pacific had been won. In spite of this the Japanese still
carried on, refusing to accept the inevitable, with the loss of
thousands of military and civilian lives. Thousands of tons of bombs
were raining down all over Japan.

During the rest of July the newspapers carried stories of the

impossible resistance of the Japanese. By July 30 the naval forces of
Japan had been almost completely wiped out. Despite all these signs
of defeat the Japanese continued to boast that they were capable of
repelling any enemy attack against the homeland. This air of bravado
continued, even after having experienced, what has been called, "the
greatest air raid in history," having just had six thousand, six
hundred thirty two tons of bombs dropped on their oil refineries and
cities.
By August 3, it was obvious that Japan was doomed but the American
bombers continued to blast their railroads and warn them that the
end was near. They still continued to resist. Even after August 5,
when a dozen cities were added to the "surrender or die" list they
stubbornly clung to the idea that they could recover and continue the
fight.
Listening intently to the radio, we heard the news but still felt
that deployment to the South Pacific was in the offing. It was on the
6th of August when we received news that President Truman had
unleashed a bomb, two thousand times more destructive than a
blockbuster, which had been detonated over Hiroshima.
This announcement got our attention. We were glued to the radio but
censorship was in place. Bombing by the Flying Fortresses continued.
No word from Japan in reply to an ultimatum that had been given for
them to surrender was made. While no news of the destruction caused
by the bomb was being released we sensed that it must have been
horrendous. Then, on August 9 word came through that a second bomb
had been detonated over the city of Nagasaki.
We, along with the rest of the world, awaited word of the Japanese
surrender. Then the word came through that the Japanese were willing
to surrender as long as the Emperor was safeguarded, but no offer of
capitulation. The Allies then offered to leave the fate of the
Emperor up to the direction of the Allied nations. The Japanese
continued to delay and the killing continued. The Japanese were given
a warning that renewed atomic bombing was possible if Japan continued
to delay surrendering.
Finally on August 14 word was received that the Japanese had
surrendered but no official proof was given. Having received no
official word the Americans continued to shell and bomb Japan.
At long last, we all heaved a sigh of relief as word came through
that in Bern, Switzerland on the 14th that the Japanese minister had
delivered a note to the Foreign Office from Tokyo . This was quickly
followed by a radio report from Washington. "Tokyo radio said today
that Allied terms for Japan's surrender had been accepted by Emperor
Hirohito." More than twelve hours later no official confirmation was

given and the fighting in the Pacific continued.

On August 15, 1945, the one word the world had been wanting to hear.
"PEACE," appeared in newspapers all over the world. In no matter what
language the word appeared, the families of loved ones gave thanks to
their God for the end to this brutal war. The world was now at peace
and the tyranny of the brutal dictators in Italy, Germany and Japan
had come to an end, thanks to the sacrifices made by the soldiers of
the Allied nations and their loved ones at home.
On September 2, 1945, Gen. Douglas MacArthur, delegates of the Allied
powers and the Japanese delegates met on the deck of the battleship
USS Missouri in Tokyo Bay and formally signed the document accepting
the terms of surrender by the Japanese. The world was, once again, at
peace and the blessings of freedom and democracy had been secured for
the nations dedicated to those principles.
Each of us, in our own way, responded to this news with thoughts of
what the future would bring. My mind immediately returned to
thoughts of my Peggy, and how soon we would be reunited. We had been
corresponding every day and now my letter, this day, would be filled
with joy and optimistic words about our being together and the life
we would be living in America.
For those of us in Britain the scenario now became a waiting game.
Individuals would be going home based on a point system. Length of
time served, the type of action the soldier was involved in and the
decorations he had received, would be taken under consideration in
giving points. Since the members of our outfit had served for about
the same amount of time. had collected no medals for valor in combat,
and our service had been a "Walk in the Park" compared to the ones
who had suffered the horrors of combat, we were in for the "Long
Haul."

Chapter 8
It was now the beginning of October, 1945 and repatriation had not
yet taken place for the POWs in the hospital, although, by this
time, almost all were ambulatory and able to work thus relieving us
of many duties.. Our work in the hospital continued as usual but on a
much more relaxed basis. We were in a "holding pattern" and really
only biding time until we could be go back to the United States for
demobilization.
Somewhere along the line of command an idea emerged to keep the
anxious troops happy. The army set up a number of tours to which the
troops could sign up for and, for all practicality, make us
"tourists." This attention to our concerns was enthusiastically
accepted, especially when a trip to a brewery was scheduled.
On the Company bulletin board was the following notice, "SIGN UP FOR
A VISIT TO THE STROUD BREWERY. The bus will leave at 0900 hours
tomorrow."
Needless to say there was no problem in getting a busload. Joe and I
were at the assigned location to meet the bus at exactly 0900 hours.
It seems promptness was not an issue when all that free beer was in
the offing.
At exactly 0900 hours we were seated on the bus for the ride to
Stroud. .The ride was of short duration and we were greeted by a tour
guide, who, by the look on his face, did not relish guiding this
group of. "Bloody Yanks,"
He gave us the usual speech as he guided us through the brewery,
although we made it difficult for him with our crude remarks and lack
of attention. Finally we arrived in the cellar, surrounded by huge
vats of beer and were invited to sample the wares. This got our
immediate attention and we showed our affection for Stroud beer by
consuming all that the attendant provided.

The tour over, we boarded our bus and pulled out for home, with waves
of goodbye from the employees, The, now somewhat inebriated
"tourists," showed their gratitude by blowing up condoms, tying them
off into neat little balloons and tossing them out the windows. Is
this where the term, "Ugly American," first surfaced? Was this our
contribution to millions of tourists who were to visit England after
the war? On the other hand, would this not be viewed as merely the
exuberant joy of a lot of war weary G.I.s anxious to return home to
families and friends?
There were several other trips that caught my attention and turned
out to be experiences to be remembered. One of the most treasured of
these was a trip that was posted as, "A TRIP TO A STATELY BRITISH
MANSION." Needless to say, this particular tour was not as popular as
the brewery trip but I and five other guys signed up for it, hoping
to see how the "Other Half" lived in this "Class ridden" society and,
just maybe, a chance to view a place connected with the history of
England. There was agreement that I would speak on their behalf when
we arrived at our destination.
At the appointed time we boarded a small van and headed down the
road. The colors of autumn, the trees splendid with their bouquet of
red and yellow leaves, brought home to me mental pictures of Michigan
and, for just a moment, engulfed me in pangs of homesickness, an
emotion, I`m sure, was felt by my companions. The ride took only a
little over an hour. It always amazed us at how short distances
between places in Britain were. Americans never could get over the
small size of this island country.
Finally, looming ahead of us was a huge, sprawling mansion The
massive, graveled covered area in front of the entrance provided
ample room for a large number of vehicles. I had a feeling of having
been here before, probably the result of having seen scenes such as
this in the movies. It was a truly impressive sight.
The driver, a young English girl, who had remained silent all during
the trip, completely ignoring our ribald remarks, turned to us and
said, "Here you are genlemen, Blenheim Palace, ancestral home of
Prime Minister Winston Churchill, enjoy yourselves."
Here we were, a group of awe struck Yanks, who had never seen such a
glamorous residence. As grandiose as was the palace, and grandiose it
certainly was, the sheer size of this magnificent home simply
overwhelmed us and, for just a moment, I was so taken aback that I
could not find the entrance. Then I realized that the huge door that
I was facing must be what I was looking for.. Hesitently, we
approached,, but before I could reach the front door, a lovely young
lady opened it, or had it opened for her, its size seemed too huge to
be opened by such a gentle young lady, and greeted us as though she
were awaiting our arrival. Her greeting was, "You must be our

American guests." I replied, "Yes Mam, My name is John," and then

introduced my companions. She, in turn, introduced herself, but
memory does not allow me to recall her name. I do remember, very
clearly, that her name was preceded by the title, "Lady." She bade us
, enter and her easy banter made us feel right at home. To tell the
truth, we were overwhelmed at the granduer of the entrance and we
must have seemed to her, a group of yokels, as we stood in awe of the
sheer size of the place and the gorgeous oil paintings, of long gone
ancestors, that graced the walls of this magnificent entrance.
In a very informal manner the young lady steered us into the study, a
beautifully appointed room, furnished with some of the finest leather
seating that any of us had ever encountered. We, no longer were
seated, than a butler approached us, said, "Gentlemen, what can I
bring you." After ordering our drinks, and the lady ordering hers,
the butler retreated and the usual remarks about the beauty of the
home were uttered by each of us. The lady was giving us a history of
the palace when suddenly a middle aged lady and gentleman appeared on
the scene.
We were introduced, but again, my memory fails in recalling their
names. I do remember the gracious manner in which they joined in the
conversation. I, for one, was amazed at how easily we were accepted
and treated as though we were important guests. In the meantime, the
butler arrived and served our drinks, much more elegantly than the
way we were accustomed to being served. The gentleman went on to
describe the estate. He said, "I`m sure you men would like to know a
little about the historical place you are visiting." He went on to
say that the mansion was located on twenty one hundred acres and the
house was built in the eighteenth century and the gardens were added
in the nineteenth century. He said, "the palace was designed by
Vanbrugh, a noted architect of that period and was the nation`s
reward to the First Duke of Marlborough for his victories over Louis
1V. The gardens were designed by Henry Wise, in an Anglo-Dutch
Barouqe manner." He went on to say that we would appreciate the skill
of the people of that period when we took a tour of the grounds.
It was now approaching noon, and as interesting as the conversation
had been, we began to feel the need for sustenance. As if our wish
had been heard, the butler arrived and said, "Tea is being served."
All six of us knew that meant food, even if we didn`t understand
"Dutch Baroque."
We were seated at a long table in a magnificent dining area
overlooking a finely manicured garden resplendent with the hues of
autumn.. "High Tea", is usually served between three and five in the
afternoon but from the look of the spread on the table they must have
made an exception, knowing they were feeding a group of hungry G.I.s.
For a group of guys who thought meat and potatoes was a feast, this
menu overwhelmed our imaginations.

The main entre consisted of smoked salmon with cream cheese. Also
gracing the table was egg, mayonnaise, sliced cucumber, and if one
was partial to meat, Wilshire ham and mustard. Thinly cut slices of
bread and scones were placed before us with homemade jam and all of
this to be followed by our choice of several scrumptious looking
desserts. Oh, there was tea, of course, but coffee was available and
this was to be followed by champagne. Knowing how severe rationing
was, these wonderful, hospitable people must have strained their
ration coupons to the limit to make all this possible. Oh, to have a
mess sergeant, with such a creative mind and generous spirit.
Having demonstrated our liking of this delicious meal, by our over
enthusiastic consumption of its contents, we were invited to tour the
gardens by our lovely hostess. As I remember, a pram, or baby
carriage, was produced, occupied by a delightful baby whose gender I
cannot recall. Our hostess, now guiding the pram, was giving us a
delightful account of the history of the gardens. At this point I
offered my services as driver of the carriage. The offer was readily
accepted and I found myself responsible for the safe transportation
of a, very young, British aristocrat. The tour continued and even a
group of uncultured Yanks could not help but express admiration for
the artistry in creating such beauty. Suddenly, a young RAF Officer
appeared on the scene. After a perfunctory hug and a peck on the
cheek of, his wife, our hostess, he introduced himself and bade us
welcome. Turning to me, guiding the pram, he said, "Do you know who
you are caring for in the pram." I replied, "No Sir, we haven't been
introduced, as yet." He smiled and rattled off a rather long series
of names, strung together by centuries of aristocratic familial ties.
As I recall, he did mention the child`s relationship with P.M.
Winston Churchill, but by this time. I was only able to grasp enough
of our conversation to know that I was, indeed, personally
experiencing a bit of English history.
To describe the beauty, creativity and attention to detail displayed
in those gardens would require another book and descriptive powers
beyond my meager talents. Suffice to say, that all members of the
American group took away great admiration for the social and
botanical skills of our English cousins and their ability to bring an
air of formality to the wonders of nature and social etiquette. The
less formal approach to the physical world, by we Americans, stood in
stark contrast and underscored how time had created a people much
different than our forbearers. Different we had become, since those
Colonial days, but never having lost the values and basic principals
we shared as a people.

Chapter Nine
October now turned to November, with cool, chilly days, signaling
the beginning of winter, The repatriation of German prisoners was now
taking place. Daily, our patients, mostly ambulatory, were leaving
the hospital behind and returning to occupied Germany.
Then, one grand day in December we received word that our unit was
scheduled for deployment. We were going home! Oh Dear God, the day we
had long wished for had now become reality. The order to be ready to
pack our belongings and prepare to leave was the most precious order
we had ever received. My letters to Peggy now were full of the utter
elation I felt at the thought of our being united and sharing our
lives together as lovers and man and wife.
Christmas 1945, was a much more festive affair than previous
Christmas` and the dinner of turkey and all the fixings, prepared for
us by the kitchen crew, seemed much more tasty, given the fact that
we soon would be on a troopship headed for home. The high level of
morale was evident as we all envisioned being in our own home towns
with those we loved. I, could not contain my feelings of happiness at
the thought of being in a position to send for my Peggy and having
her with me in Kalamazoo to begin our life together.
A happier New Year was never more welcomed than the year 1946. We
celebrated, not only the new year, but the knowledge that we would
soon be back in the "Good Old United States." You can well believe,
that we were on our best behavior, not wanting any complications to
mar our departure for home.
Then, on or about January 7, 1946, the order came. "Pack your gear,
climb aboard the awaiting trucks for the trip to Southhampton to meet
the troopship that will carry you home." Not a single soul in our
outfit had any misgivings about carrying out that order.
The trip to Southhampton was more like a holiday event than the
movement of army troops. The singing of the soldiers had a very
upbeat quality about them and the joy of being on the way home was
evident in the spirit of the men as they relished the thought of
going back to wives and sweethearts. My mind was entirely focused on
getting home and sending for my Peggy.
Having arrived in Southhampton and on the dock awaiting our

embarcation orders, we were assembled in military order. Officers

were in their own assemblage, and all of us, enlisted and Officer
rank, in a highly festive mood. We were ready to board the giant
aircraft carrier, the USS Lake Champlain.
Once on board, all units, mostly infantry, were given assigned areas
and each told where to place their gear. Shortly thereafter, a
Sergeant called us to attention to receive an order from the Captain
of the ship.
In a voice, almost identical to that of Franklin Roosevelt, the
Captain addressed us over the public address system. As I recall, he
said, "Now hear this. This is the Captain speaking. My name is
Captain Logan Ramsey. I want to welcome you on behalf of myself and
the crew of the Lake Champlain. This ship is part of Operation, Magic
Carpet. I would, personally, like to take this opportunity to to
thank you for your service. You have done a wonderful job in bringing
this war to a successful conclusion. From this moment on, you are our
guests. We ask only that you keep your area in a neat condition.
There will be no reason to make up your bunks in the morning. This,
and all other housekeeping duties will be performed by the crew. You
will find question boxes at various places around the ship. If you
have questions or queries for me, feel free to place them in the box.
I will try to answer you in my nightly address to you. Additionally,
I have given orders that snacks be placed at various points around
the ship, in case you feel hungry between meals. The United States
Navy and this ship in particular, as a part of Operation, Magic
Carpet, will do everything we can to provide for your comfort on your
trip home. I thank you again. for your dedicated service, You will
soon be home with your loved ones. God Speed and God Bless you."
This eulogy, with its words of praise and welcoming, left us
breathless. Never, during our term of service, had we been spoken to
in such a manner. In addition to our joy at going home we were now
going there under the most favorable of conditions.
We were soon underway and, before long, it became evident that the
weather was not going to be one of the favorable conditions that we
were to experience. We had no sooner cleared the harbor than storm
clouds appeared on the horizon. As the weather worsened and the waves
loomed larger and larger it became evident that even a ship as large
as this aircraft carrier could have problems coping with the whims of
"Mother Nature."
That first night on board was a rocky one as the ship plunged through
the angry waves of the North Atlantic. Although many of the
"landlubbers" on board grappled with seasickness, we made it through
the night into a day of calm seas.
True to the Captain`s promise, the crew did arrive, made our beds and

performed the other housekeeping duties. We were still in a state of

wonderment at these services being performed for us. Breakfast was a
delight, with fresh eggs, hash browns, bacon, sausage and plenty of
hot coffee. In spite of the army derision of the navy, we had to
admit that when it came to food, the navy was in a superior position.
The weather having cleared, the day was an absolute delight. We were
able to walk the decks, enjoy a snack at one of the tables scattered
around the ship, observe the activities of the crew and, if one
chose, spend some time reading or writing letters back at our bunks.
Captain Ramsey had, indeed, made this a pleasure cruise, God Bless
him.
As time wore on, the weather worsened and, during his nightly address
to us, the Captain made it clear that we could expect this to be a
frequent occurrence since this was January and the North Atlantic was
a stormy place in the winter. He also assured us that we were not to
worry about our safety since ships, such as these, were built to
withstand all that nature could throw at them.
The third night out, after mess, the familiar voice of Captain Ramsey
sounded on the P.A. system. "Now hear this, this is the Captain
speaking. We are well on our way to home and I trust you are enjoying
the voyage. I have little to report and so I have chosen to read a
couple of the questions you have posed for me. This first one is from
Sgt. ?? Of the ?? Infantry. The good Sgt. asks if this was a banana
boat before the war." The Captain, his voice tinged with just a touch
of irritation, replied, "Sgt. First let me remind you that this is
not a boat. This is a ship. A ship carries boats." He went on, "
Sgt., As a matter of fact, I would like to inform you that this ship
was paid for by the people of the United States and is entitled to
the respect it deserves, having been made possible, by the
contributions of the citizens of of our great nation."
The weather continued to be bad and the consumption of the snacks the
Captain had placed around the ship had diminished due to the
incidents of sea sickness experienced by the G.I.s. Bad as the
weather was, the crap games continued on as usual, although
frequently interrupted by the hasty departure of one or more of the
players, due to sudden "illness." This situation was not lost on the
Captain and provided a moment of humor on his next nightly address.
As usual, we were assembled, ready to hear the Captain`s report. "Now
hear this. This is the Captain speaking," came the now familiar
refrain.
This night he chose to make comment on the weather conditions,
informing us that during the night conditions were so bad that they
had been unable to respond to a cry of distress from a Liberty Ship
in the vicinity. He went on to tell us that during his entire career
he had not experienced weather this difficult to contend with. Then,
he changed the subject and went on to answer a question from one of

the question boxes. He said, "I have a question that deals with a
problem experienced by PFC ?? " It seems that the good Private was
involved in a crap game and a considerable amount of money was in the
pot. He says that a Petty Officer arrived on the scene, broke up the
game and departed with the money. His question is, "Can we get back
the money?" There was a short pause, and then, with a chuckle in his
voice, he answered the Private's question, " Private, my cabin is on
deck--. Standing outside my door will be a Marine. Tell him you wish
to see me. In order to answer your question more directly, the answer
is that the Petty Officer has deposited the money in the Seamen's
Fund. If you still desire to have the money, so inform me when we
meet, however I would like to read you the Article of War, regarding
gambling on ships of the United States Navy." After reading the
Article, he finished with, "I hope this answers your question." The
roar of laughter from the troops clearly indicated their appreciation
of this bit of backhanded humor.
The high morale aboard the Lake Champlain was evident in stories told
to me by the crew. One such tale seemed to sum up the reason for this
high regard for their Captain. One seaman related to me how their
Executive Officer insisted that the crew in the engine room wear
white socks, although there was clearly no need, given the duties
required of them. He said this particular Officer also gave orders
that crewmen could not have their uniforms altered for better fit.
When word of this reached Captain Ramsey, a curious thing happened.
When the ship reached the next port a new Executive Officer was
assigned to the ship.
Finally, after ten days of bad weather and superb treatment by the
Officers and crew of the USS Lake Champlain, we arrived in New York
harbor on January, 17, 1946. It was a cold January day, warmed
considerably by our sight of the Statue of Liberty, standing tall and
proud, the torch of freedom still firmly in place, pointing to the
Heavens as a testament to the valor of all the Armed Forces,
soldiers, sailors, airmen and our civilian Merchant Marine. It was
our military and, even us non-combat soldiers, who had struggled so
valiently and secured our way of life, now and for generations yet
unborn.
Awaiting us on the dock as we disembarked, was a cordon of lovely
ladies representing the American Red Cross and the Salvation Army.
Their beauty was enhanced by the smell of hot coffee and doughnuts
and the hot dogs and hamburgers sizzling on the BBQ. Never, before or
since, have I had a hot dog that could compare with the one I so
relished that morning, on that frigid, but wonderful day. The
presence of those caring ladies added luster to the joyous moment we
were experiencing at being, once again, on American soil. It is in
moments, such as these, that one knows the tremendous value of being
a free American citizen. We were home, home at last, and I, for one,
was looking forward to a life of happiness with, my, now to be,

beautiful Irish bride.

My joy at being back in the United States had made me almost
completely unaware of the great number of troops crowding the dock.
True to its tradition of military efficiency, the army had a long row
of buses standing ready for our departure to the train depot and our
journey to Camp Atterbury, Indiana for our transfer to civilian life.
The bus trip very quickly brought us to the depot and by the time we
had checked our duffle bags the day had turned to night and in spite
of our weariness our spirits were high. Nothing could dampen our
utter joy at being on the way to becoming civilians, once again, and
being with family and friends.
After checking our duffle bags and boarding the train, the
festivities began. Although beverages of an alcoholic nature were not
provided, mysteriously, some very stimulating drinks began to appear
and voices were lifted in song. No blackout curtains, no planes
buzzing the train and no Officer lecturing us of the consequences of
improper behavior were part of this journey. Although some did manage
to catch a little sleep, the majority of the passengers were in too
celebratory a mood to notice the fatigue that engulfed us.
Some fifteen or so, hours later the train pulled in to a depot
situated at Camp Atterbury. In spite of some hangovers and lack of
sleep our Company was still in a joyful mood and hardly anyone
complained. We went through the routine of getting our baggage,
hearing the barked commands of a Sergeant directing us to our
barracks, and generally getting the treatment we were so accustomed
to. On the other hand, no damned Sergeant could lessen our happiness
at being at the place that would hand back our freedom and make us,
just plain, American civilian citizens..
Camp Atterbury was a very busy place. As a separation station it
served some 561,000 troops, arranging discharge from the Service at
the rate of 3000 per day, so it was not not surprising that it was
January 22, before our outfit was called to go through the separation
process.
In the meantime, we had plenty of time to write letters, make phone
calls to home and explore this sprawling installation.
January 22, 1946. "A date that will live in memory," at least my
memory, for that was the date of my separation from the Army of the
United States.
At the appointed time the 306th gathered in a huge assembly hall and
there, each of us, listened carefully for our name to be called.
When, an obviously bored Sergeant, bellowed out my name I was
immediately on my feet. Making my way to the registration table was
the sweetest hike I had ever taken. After going through the necessary
paper work, a young 2nd Lt. beckoned me to an open door. He said,

"Good morning soldier, step inside and place your chest against the X
ray panel, and , Oh by the way, if you intend to join the Reserves,
have them raise the panel to the level of your head." Even, given my
limited intellectual powers, it seemed to me that he was sending me a
message that it was not in my best interest to join the Reserves. It
was probably because of this encounter that I was able to follow the
later events that took place in Korea from the comfort of my home,
eyes glued to the TV screen. Unpatriotic as this may seem, I felt,
at this time, this new action could be handled by another generation
of young Americans.
Seated comfortably in my homeward bound train, still wearing my
uniform, I was beginning to feel more and more like a civilian,
almost but not quite. This would come when I arrived home surrounded
by family and friends. Still, there was one nagging problem to solve
before I would feel secure and comfortable and that was, bringing my
Peggy to Kalamazoo and walking down the aisle with her.
While in Atterbury awaiting discharge , I had penned off a letter to
Peggy telling her that I was almost a civilian and to start getting
her mum and dad prepared to have her daughter become a married woman
and acquiring a son in law. I put as much humor in the letter as I
was able to muster up, but not unaware, of the emotional problems I
was placing on the McKenny family.

Chapter 10
I was met at the station in Kalamazoo by my mother and father. Dad
had insisted that this moment belonged to Mom and He, accounting for
the tiny welcoming party. Dad gave me a "bear hug" and an emotional
"Welcome home, Son." My Mom, tears in her eyes, simply said, "Thank
God, you are home and safe." Never had I felt so close to my parents.
At the house, all my family members and a goodly crowd of friends and
neighbors had gathered for a welcoming home party. It was hard for me
to believe that this moment had arrived. The rest of the day was
spent in eating good home cooked food and answering a thousand
questions about my experiences. Often my mind wandered as I
contemplated on the thoughts of Peggy and wishing she could be a part
of these festivities. My brother Henry, was home from the navy,
having arrived a week earlier. My brother Charles, having been
disqualified for service due to a ruptured ear drum, was curious
about the things I had done and seen. My sister Anna Mae, now an
experienced welder because of a defense related job, also peppered me
with questions about my time in the service. It was a time of good
cheer and thankfulness and, I must admit, I was enjoying being the
center of attention.
That night, in the comfort of my bed, I pondered on the days to come.
I had not disclosed to mom and dad the fact that I was engaged.
Now ,the shoe was on the other foot." All the adjustments, in
religion and culture, to our pending marriage had been discussed in
full with Peggy`s parents and now it was time to work things out with
my mother and dad.
During the ensuing week I had many discussions with my dad and mom
about my return to civilian life. Dad had secured a job for me with
the Kalamazoo Stove and Furnace Co. ,where he was employed The plant
had been closed in order to revert back to civilian production,
having been engaged in producing war materials and, would soon
reopen.
Finally, I had my opportunity to discuss my pending marriage. It was
one of those cold winter nights and I was enjoying an evening alone
with mom and dad. During a break in the conversation, I said, " I
guess this is as good a time as any to share some news with you." I,
immediately had their attention. Dad was the first to speak. He said,
"I hope it`s good news, Son." I replied, "I think it is, I hope you
will feel the same." Mom said, "Get on with it, John." I simply
blurted out, "I`m engaged to get married." Both looked at me in
amazement and then Dad said, "Getting married, you have only been
home for a week and, as far as we know, you don`t even have a girl
friend." Realizing their quandary at this startling announcement, I
said, "Well, let me explain it to you." At this precise moment I
became aware of how unprepared I was to explain fully, the situation.

For the next few minutes I had full attention from mom and dad. I
said, "Maybe I should have told you this earlier but, here it is."
Now my mind was racing, but I went on with the story, hoping I would
not encounter any negatives. I said, "The girl I am marrying is in
Ireland. I met her in Belfast. Her parents are aware of our
engagement and I hope she gets their approval to come to the States
to be married. She is a lovely girl, from a good family. She is
nineteen years old but will be twenty by the time of our marriage."
At this point, I pulled from my wallet, a picture of Peggy and both
studied it for a moment. Mom said, "She sure is a pretty girl." Dad,
looked up and said, "Do you know what you are doing?" My reply was,
"Dad, I`m almost twenty six years old and perfectly capable of making
my own decisions." That seemed to end the discussion and then Mom
said, "John, If this is your wish, we have no objection and will
welcome her with open arms." With that, I decided to fill out the
rest of the story. I said, "Now let me "drop the other shoe."
"She is an Irish Catholic girl and I have decided to join the
Catholic Church." This resulted in a stunned silence for fully a
minute. Then my dad reacted in a fashion truly his own and, left me
incredulous. He said, "Ev", that was Dad's nick name for Mom, "Get
your coat on and, John, you do the same and get out to the car, we
are going for a ride." Not wanting to make a fuss, we both did as he
said.
Dad wheeled the car skillfully over the icy streets and pulled up in
front of St. Augustine Catholic Church. Without another word we left
the car and dad walked up to the residence of the Priest and rang the
doorbell.
The door was answered by an elderly lady, the housekeeper, and dad
asked to see the Father. She replied, "You mean Monsignor Hackett?"
Dad simply stated, "Yes Mam, that's whom we would like to talk to."
We were invited in and given a seat in the parlor. I was utterly
flabbergasted since I had no idea my dad even knew the location of
the church and had no idea of what he was up to.
In a few moments a tall, dignified man with a full head of grey hair
entered the room. He looked around and, in a thick Irish brogue said,
"Good evening, I am Monsignor Hackett. What can I do for you?"
Now, absolutely confused, I said nothing. Dad came right to the
point. He said, "Father", and pointing to me, "This is my Son, John
and he is just home from the army. He is engaged to an Irish girl in
Ireland and wants to join the Catholic Church." A broad smile
appeared on Monsignor Hackett's face and he sat down to hear the rest
of the story.
As I explained the situation, giving him all the details of our
meeting and the subsequent romance that followed, Father Hackett,
nodded approval, and said, "John, this is one of the nicest things I
have heard all year. It only goes to prove that there is always

something good coming out of a tragedy like war." Wanting to get

directly to the reason for our visit, I said, "Father, I know that as
a convert, I need to attend some classes to to understand the
procedure of conversion. Please tell me when I can attend." Again,
with a cheerful smile, he replied, " Aw, to Hell with the classes,
you won`t be attendin them, you'll be meeting with me for private
sessions here in my study. Young man, You are marrying a girl from
the "Ould Sod", and that requires some special attention." All this
was said in his thick Irish brogue, and at that moment, I felt very
special. With that he called for some tea. Over cups of hot tea the
conversation turned to filling out all the details. All this time,
Mom and Dad had little to say but joined in the conversation and I
knew that all would be well. There was no bigotry here and I felt
very proud of my parents and their easy acceptance of the situation.
Having written Peggy and told her to get ready to come to the United
States, I was anxious to receive a letter telling me all was well and
arrangements were being made for her journey. Each day I waited
patiently for the postman, and feeling depressed when no mail was
forthcoming. After several days of anxiety a letter did arrive and,
anxious as I was, I was almost afraid to open it, fearing the worst.
When I did open it and read the first few words I was ecstatic.
Peggy`s mother and dad had accepted the inevitable and were helping
Peggy to make arrangements. From the inquiries regarding passport,
visa and transportation that had been made in Ireland, it was to be,
at least, six months before she would arrive in the United States. I
couldn't wait to reply and rushed to get paper and pen.
By this time I had been employed at the Stove Co. and had met a
fellow worker named James O`Meara. When I told him that Peggy would
be arriving in about six months he said, "John, that will give us
some time to give her a real Irish welcome and I`m going to see that
you have some real Irish folk to greet her."
James called me one day and asked if I would like to meet some Irish
people who would love to meet Peggy. He said that they were an
elderly couple that would take Peggy, "Under their wings." The Irish
certainly know how to express the most mundane things in a beautiful
way.
The Fitzpatricks were, in my mind, the ideal couple to make my
peggy feel at home in America. Pat and Mary Fitzpatrick were typical
Irish, even though neither had set foot in Ireland. Pat and Mary were
each, only about five feet tall, beautiful grey hair and as
eloquently Irish in their speech as though they had just arrived in
the U.S.A. Their home reflected everthing Irish, including a green,
white and gold flag prominently displayed in the hall.
Over a cup of hot tea I learned that they had thirteen children, had
always wanted to visit Ireland, and would be thrilled to meet a

colleen from the "Ould Sod." Where had I heard that term before?
That meeting was the first of many that James arranged. and included
a young Irish priest, Fr. King, who was to become a good friend and
"buddy," if one can truly be a "buddy" with a Priest. Fr. King was
the Chaplain at Borgess Catholic Hospital in Kalamazoo and not too
popular with the Nuns, due to his liking for alcoholic spirits.
Although he did enjoy a drink, now and then, he did not drink to
excess.
A moment I remember with relish was the time Fr. King and I were
enjoying a hamburger for lunch. Halfway through our meal, Fr. King
paused, and said, "John, do you know what day this is?" Without
giving a thought to what the Fr. Was implying, I replied, "It's
Friday, Fr., why?" Then, with a smile Fr. King said, "I know we
shouldn't be eating meat on Friday but it is also a sin to waste good
food." Without further ado, he made the sign of the Cross and said,
"I grant absolution." Such was our easy going relationship.
Although I was anxious awaiting Peggy`s arrival I was also busy
making arrangements for our wedding and making new friends among the
Irish community. I was introduced to a Mr. and Mrs. Heflin by Fr.
King and was immediately made welcome to their home. Mrs. Heflin, in
true womanly fashion, was excited about the coming wedding and did
much to help me prepare. There were several parties at her house and
Fr. King, minus his collar and wearing a sport shirt, always gave two
hours absolution at midnight on Saturday, so that "No food and drink
was wasted," due to the late hour.
One day when Fr. King and I were conversing in his quarters at the
hospital he broached the possibility of he performing the Mass and
wedding ceremony. He went on to say that we should discuss the
matter with Msgr. Hackett. He said, "I`ll give him a call and see if
we can arrange it."
Fr. King, after explaining to Msgr. Hackett, that since we had become
close friends, he thought it would be appropriate for him to perform
the wedding ceremony. I remained absolutely silent, awaiting Msgr.
Hackett's response. There was only a moment's pause and then Msgr.
Hackett addressed Fr. King in, what I thought was, a rather
condescending tone of voice. He said, "Father, Just as in the army,
"rank has its privileges." "I will be saying the Mass and performing
the wedding ceremony." Although this dictum was said with a smile,
Fr. King seemed to feel that he had received the final answer to his
query

Chapter 11
About the middle of June, 1946 a telegram arrived that informed me of
the day and time as well as the flight number of the American
Airlines plane that was to bring my Peggy to the United States. To
say that I was overcome with joy is an understatement. The days that
followed were filled with excitement and planning for her arrival.
On the scheduled day, my cousin, Bud, my dad, and I headed for
Chicago to meet the plane and reunite me with my Peggy. Arriving at
O`Hare airport, well ahead of time, we waited anxiously for over two
hours. Finally, the arrival of the plane from Dublin was announced
and we hurriedly proceeded to the announced gate. The gatekeeper
opened the gate and we proceeded onto the tarmac where the plane was
parked.
In those, still early, times of domestic and transatlantic flight,
people met the arriving passengers on the runway and the they
departed the plane down a long portable gangway. My anxiety was at
fever pitch as I silently prayed that Peggy would soon appear. Person
after person descended the gangway, and then, a small figure in a
lovely blue dress, walked down the stairs, made her way to where we
were standing, and in that unforgettable moment, Peggy was in my arms

and I thanked God for the blessing he had bestowed upon me.
Midst all the happy chatter on the way home, it was quite apparent
that my dad had bonded with his, soon to be, daughter in law. Peggy
snuggled in my arms, chattered on about the great adventure she had
just experienced and how happy she was to be in America with me and
the life we would have together. Our reunion was complete, and now
many busy days were ahead as we planned our wedding.
When we arrived home, my mother and sister had refreshments ready
and, in spite of all the excited conversation, another bonding had
taken place. My mother and my Peggy, it seemed, were kindred souls.
The days ahead were filled with activity as my mother, sister and
friends planned for the wedding that was to make Peggy my bride.
Peggy and I spent many hours with the many members of the Irish
community. The Fitzpatricks took an immediate liking to Peggy and
became almost like parents to her. The Heflin family, especially Mrs.
Heflin, became fully involved in seeing that Peggy had a truly
Catholic wedding.
At long last the great day arrived, July 4, 1946. The date had been
arrived at because there were only two dates available in July. Msgr.
Hackett offered Peggy a choice and she chose July 4 as a very
appropriate day for her to become an American, This, and the fact
that her mother insisted that she was to be married at the first
available date, settled that issue. "Minnie," like most Irish
mothers, did not easily relinquish control.
The morning of July 4 began very early with my mother and sister
preparing for the wedding and the reception that was to follow.
Peggy, somewhat nervous but glowing with excitement, with the
assistance of my sister, were making sure that the wedding gown
fitted properly and all was set for her big moment when she would
walk down the aisle and become Mrs. Margaret DeRoo. My brothers,
Henry and Charles were dressed in their best, "Sunday go to meeting
clothes." My sister, Anna Mae, having finished helping Peggy, was now
dressed and "made up," for the big moment. My dad, standing in for
Peggy`s father, was more "dressed up" than I had ever seen him, and
my mom, the picture of loveliness, in the beautiful dress she had
acquired for the wedding. I was dressed in a dark blue business suit,
sporting a carnation in my lapel and was as ready as I could be for
the realization of all my dreams.
Finally, the climax of all this preparation arrived. Seated in the
pews of St. Augustne Church were my relatives and friends. Adding a
moment of unreality to the occasion was the fact that my relatives,
all Protestants, most of whom had never been inside a Catholic
Church, were seated side by side with devout Catholics. Surely, this
was a sight, unbelievable to my Peggy.

Msgr. Hackett was at the altar, having concluded Mass, Fr. King at
his side, and organ music filling the church, signaled the beginning
of this sacred ritual., my mother was quietly wiping the tears from
her eyes as the bridesmaids made their way down the aisle. Then, all
eyes were focused on the lovely bride on the arm of my father,
standing in for Peggy`s father. The strains of "Here Comes the
Bride," filled the church.
Msgr. Hackett, having concluded Mass, was standing beside the altar,
as Peggy and my dad arrived at the prescribed spot. Solemnly, Msgr.
Hackett intoned the age old question, "Who gives this woman in Holy
Matrimony? My father replied, "I do. " The best Man produced the
wedding band, I placed the band on her finger and we bowed before the
altar.
Msgr. Hackett pronounced the wedding vows, ending with, "I now
pronounce you husband and wife." "Now you may kiss the bride."
I wonder, to this day, whether Peggy uttered the words, "I promise
to love, honor and obey," Certainly, she would never admit to having,
said, "Obey." Looking back to that moment in time, I still wonder how
we managed to overcome all the obstacles and bring this dream to
reality.
Our wedding was a High Mass,
neither of us could remember
excitement we felt had a way
in that magical moment. I do
were told, "Now, I pronounce

with all the ceremony that implies, but

all that was said and done, for the
of shutting out all that surrounded us
remember, however, very well, when we
you Husband and Wife,"

A milestone in the lives of my Peggy and me had been reached and our
future lay ahead of us. For me, this was the climax of my transition
to civilian life and a more than happy ending to my experiences in
the "Great War,"
It has been said that all things happen fast in times of war. As I
look back to that time, which seems so long ago, when I first heard
the announcement over the radio that Pearl Harbor had been attacked,
I must agree, that little truism is correct. In a matter of less than
four short years, my life had been completely altered as had the
lives of so many of my fellow compatriots.
These are my personal memoirs encompassing a critical period in the
history of my country and how it affected me personally, as well as
millions throughout the world, for good or ill. Thank God, so many of
my fellow American citizens and citizens of allied countries were
willing to, if necessary, make the ultimate sacrifice to make
possible lives of freedom for future generations , free from the
tyranny of evil dictatorships, and, hopefully, the terrible scourge
of future wars.

THE END

G. I. MEMORS
Introduction
be, Throughout the history of World War 2, countless stories
have been told recalling the feats of bravery by those who fought in
those many, hard fought, battles. This is, as it should but left
untold are the experiences of those support forces who served behind
the lines and helped make possible the victories won by our troops,
now so celebrated in our books and films.
This humble effort is an attempt to chronicle the way in which
W.W. 2 shaped the life of one young American and provide some insight
into the pathos and, sometimes , ludicrous hilarity, that he
encountered while caring for the sick and wounded, as well as off
duty hours while on leave. The following antecdotes, hopefully, will
provide some insight into the experiences of Support Service G.I`s as
they plodded through. what to them, seemed a never ending war.
This is my story, as I lived it. This is not the story of a hero
but simply the memoirs of one who saw the results of the horrors of
war and encountered some of the more humorous aspects of life and
then made the transition back into civilian life. It is the story of
millions of youhg Americans who answered the call to duty when their
country called.

December 7, i941, I was having coffee with my buddy in a

neighborhood diner and trying to decide what we would do for the rest
of the day. The radio was on and the music of a swing band was
playing in the background. The waiter suddenly turned up the volume
and shouted for us to listen. The announcer, his voice solemn,
informed his audience, "This morning, December 7, 1941, Pearl Harbor,
in Hawaii, was attacked by air and the harbor has been severely
damaged. It is estimated that there have been many fatalities and the
loss of many of our ships and aircraft. From the markings on the
attacking aircraft, it has been determined that this was an attack by
the Japanese. Make no mistake about it; this was an attack against
the Territory of Hawaii and therefore an act of war against the
United States. We will keep you informed as additional information
becomes available."
My first reaction to this startling announcement was, "Where
the Hell is Pearl Harbor?" In that long ago time this was a question
on the minds of most Americans. Hawaii, and Pearl Harbor, in
particular, was a far distant place, few had ever given much thought
to, or visited. This was to change radically in the days ahead as
America entered World War 2. The following day, along with my family,
I listened, spellbound, as President Franklin D. Roosevelt addressed
the nation and the nation`s Congress. His familiar voice, now
forceful with outrage and determination, proclaimed the sentiments of
his fellow countrymen. "Yesterday, Sunday, December 7, 1941, "a
date which will live in infamy", the United States of America was
suddenly and deliberately attacked by the naval and air forces of the
Empire of Japan," Briefly, the President, explained the background
of the events which culminated in the attack, ending his speech with
the following, fateful, request to the Congress of the United
States. "With confidence in our Armed forces-with the unbounded
determination of our people- we will gain the inevitable triumph-So
help us God. I ask that the Congress declare that since the
unprovoked and dastardly attack by Japan on Sunday, December 7, a
state of war has existed between the United States and the Empire of
Japan."
Almost immediately Congress declared war on Japan and three days
later, December 11, Germany and Italy declared war on the United
States. We were now fully involved, along with the British Empire.
The Republic of Ireland declared neutrality. Russia had been at war
with Germany since June and, although never officially, became an
ally of the United States. America and its allies were now at war
with the axis of Germany, Italy and Japan. World War 2, had begun in
earnest.
I, like other young Americans, living in different parts of
the country and having little in common except our American
citizenship, faced a future that would affect the remainder of our
lives. This, I held in common with untold numbers of other young

Americans. I was twenty one years old when America entered the war. I
was nine years old, the eldest in a family of four children, at the
time America entered the era of the Great depression. Like so many
Americans, my family suffered through those trying years thinking
that poverty was here to stay. This was about to end, as America
tooled up for war, and the factories began to hum.
I was exactly the right age for military service and aware that I
would be hearing from my local Draft Board and soon be inducted into
the army. Like so many other American young men, I was eager to do my
duty and welcomed this call to serve. Kalamazoo was not the most
exciting place in the country and, I must admit, military service
appealed to my adventurous nature almost as much as my patriotic
fervor.
I lacked a college education and was inducted into the United States
Army with the grand rank of "Buck Private". The following is my
memory of induction into military service. On August 13, 1942, after
months of waiting, I was called to the induction center. There must
have been fifty of us, all standing there, "buck naked", damned glad
it was August and not a cold Michigan day. One by one we were called
before a doctor to see if we were breathing and send us on to be
processed and made "Government Issue", or for short, "G.I. A few
minutes later we took the oath and were officially in the Army of the
United States. A Sergeant took us aside, told us we were being sent
to Fort Custer, Battle Creek, Michigan, on August 27. I had just two
weeks left to be wearing civilian clothes.
At Fort Custer I was outfitted with an Army uniform and assigned to a
barracks with a lot of other raw recruits. A very unfriendly Sergeant
called us to attention, told us what poor specimens of humanity we
were and, from this time on, our scrawny bodies belonged to him until
we were shipped out for basic training. In the words of a popular
song of the era, "This is the army Mr. Jones, no private rooms or
telephones. You had your breakfast in bed before, but you won`t have
it there any more." Whoever wrote those lyrics must have spent time
in the army, as a Private.
It was there at Fort Custer, I received my first duty assignment. I,
along with two other "rookies," were handed gunny sacks, neatly
arranged for hanging over the shoulder, and each a stick with a nail
protruding from one end and told to "police" the area. We spent most
of the morning stabbing at litter on the ground and neatly placing it
into our sacks. One of my fellow "Sanitary Technicians" was a guy,
somewhat older than the rest of us, and exceedingly
short and
paunchy. With "great sensitivity," we kept ourselves amused by
badgering the poor soul with various terms alluding to his lack of
manly stature. Later, during a coffee break, we discovered that he
was a member of the Michigan legislature. This was the first time I
learned the valuable lesson, to not judge my fellow soldiers by their
appearance or ethnic identity.

After a short, miserable stay at Fort Custer we were shipped out to

Camp McCoy, Wisconsin for basic training. Camp McCoy, then, was still
under construction and being used, mainly, for the housing of "Enemy
Aliens", Germans, Italians and Japanese, as well as being readied for
the thousands of troops who would be trained there, many to go on for
the invasion of Europe. When American troops arrived for training, it
was then, we came in contact with the 442nd Infantry Regiment
comprised of Japanese Americans, most of whom, had families living in
the territory of Hawaii.
As usual, the army gave us no indication as to what service we were
assigned to. We were told that we were temporarily assigned to the
M.P.E.G, Military Police Escort Guard. As a matter of fact, we were
neither Military Police nor Escort Guards. Our sole duty was to stand
guard over the Enemy Alien camp at night and go through basic
training during the day.
It was here that young Americans, like me, first learned that it was
wrong to judge people by the color of their skin or by their
ancestry. If the army taught us anything, it was that we, young
Midwestern boys, had to face the realities of life and adjust our way
of thinking if we were to succeed in life, in the army or as
civilians. One night on a bus, returning from a night out in La
Crosse, I was seated next to a young Japanese American guy from the
442nd. We were discussing an incident that had taken place recently.
It seems that two of the Japanese- Americans from his unit had been
found murdered and an investigation was underway. The "scuttlebutt"
was that they had been killed by some guys from an infantry unit. He
went on to say that he couldn't understand how American soldiers
could harbor such hate for one another. He explained that at the time
of the Pearl Harbor attack they were in training at "Pearl" and had
not yet been given any rifle training. At the moment of the attack,
they were called to duty, issued rifles, and told to fire at those
f****** ""Japs." He said, "Not one of us hesitated, because we were
American soldiers, defending our country".
We were taken through basic training by a "Sergeant from Hell." He
marched us until we dropped, had us do target shooting until we could
no longer see the target, had us peeling potatoes until we hated the
sight of the damned things and, in general, made life absolutely
miserable for us. We had no inkling of what we were being assigned to
until the Sergeant introduced us to a new cadence marching verse. As
I remember it went something like this, "Eyes right, a** holes tight,
Foreskins to the rear, we're the boys from Camp McCoy, and we've got
gonorrhea."
When we asked him what all that meant, he replied, "It`s God damned
appropriate for all you f******* medics. " Now we knew we were in the
Medical Corps. and wondered what experiences lay ahead for us in the
days to come.

As all "good" things" do, basic training came to a finish. Our basic
training period had been short and we all hoped we would be up to
whatever lay ahead. The Sergeant called us together before our
graduation march, told us we were now soldiers and that he was proud
of us. Somehow, all our ill feelings vanished and we came around to
thinking he was a "great guy."
Immediately, I was assigned to the Camp McCoy Station Hospital,
became a "Ward Boy", and wound up doing all the, less attractive,
duties that the Officer nurses chose not to do, and doing it with a
with a smile and a salute. Along with my other duties I was assigned
to a number of classes taught by the doctors and other personnel.
It was during these sessions that I met my best buddy, Glen McQueen,
whom I was to serve with during much of the war. We all called him
"Mac." He was one of those guys who truly had "savoir- faire." Six
foot tall, a good physique and a somewhat handsome face, topped by a
full head of black, wavy hair. "Tall, dark and handsome," fitted his
description exactly. Since I was not exactly the most sophisticated
guy on the planet, Mac, always ready with a smooth line, "took up the
slack," and made our social life more pleasant. We became known as
the "Gold Dust Twins," since we always traveled together. It is this
sense of camaraderie in the service that makes war time friendships
so special.
Our training fo medical duty consisted of courses which would make us
valuable as aides to the nurses and doctors and also consisted of
training for the field. One lesson that made a strong impression on
me was the proper way to remove a wounded soldier from a disabled
tank. It was this course that made me wonder if we were soon to be on
the battlefield. Unlike the movies, most of my buddies and I, did not
long to be assigned to the infantry for heroic combat duty.
One day while off "ward duty" Mac and I were chatting with a Captain
with whom we had become familiar. All doctors held the rank of
Captain or higher. He asked if we would like to assist him during an
examination. We knew by the way he asked and the twinkle in his eye
that this was to be a farce of some kind. He was known for his love
of practical jokes, many not always in line with medical ethics. The
examinee was a member of the Women`s Army Corps. in for a
gynecolological exam. Clad in white surgical gowns, looking much like
young interns, we stood by as the Captain performed his examination.
This was followed by a burst of hilarity after the "Doc" dismissed
her. Such lack of insensitivity was rare and not typical of the
behavior of Officers or enlisted men. Later that day we passed the
young lady in the main corridor. She took a very contemptable look at
us in our enlisted mens uniforms and, in a very unladylike manner,
called us "dirty bastards," a not "Ladylike" expression for a not
"Gentlemanly like" incident.

One of the "off the cuff", lessons we received during training was
from an Officer in the office of the Adjudent General. Along with
legal advice, he often gave us bits of "army wisdom." Concerning our
demeanor, he advised us that, while walking on the hospital campus,
to carry, very conspicuously, a sheet of paper and walk, very
briskly, as if on an errand. This, he emphasized, would save us many
hours of extra duty being assigned to us by an overeager Seargant.
Finally, after two weeks of training by doctors and nurses we were
assigned to the wards. I was given a promotion to T/5, CorporalMedical Technician, a rank I continued to carry throughout the war.
After going overseas, the old lyric kicked in, "There will be no
promotion this side of the ocean." I was assigned the duty of
supervising eight Privates for ward duty. This was my first
experience in supervision and led to an incident which gave me much
satisfaction. During basic training I had committed some
"unforgivable sin" and was banished to the kitchen for a week of
Kitchen Police, better known as "KP." As all old soldiers know,
"Police" had nothing to do with this inglorious assignment. This was
simply a means for some damned Sergeant to "vent his spleen" and for
the kitchen to get extra help. I believe that in the sixteenth
century many ships were manned by a "shanghaied crew." This was the
Army`s way of getting extra hours of a soldier`s time without any
reward for extra duty and punishing him for his indiscretions. For
that unforgettable week I took orders from a Mess Sergeant who ground
out orders like meat going through a sausage grinder. The tiniest
infraction of his rules like taking a glass of milk, without his
permission, would result in the full force of his temper coming down
on one like a full blown hurricaine. He was truly, "The Devil, In
Chef's Clothing`.
Now, that I was an NCO, with all the "authority" that implies, I was
regularly checking into the ward, soldiers who had fallen ill or who
just found some reason to be assigned to the hospital, many, just for
some time away from the duties of the day and a chance to relax. One
day, "When what, to my wondering eyes should appear," but my old
"Comrade in Arms", the Mess Sergeant, with nothing but a bad head
cold. The Army had, a ,not so technical, name for his distress. The
term "Goldbricking" is far too tame. The other crude term is better
not repeated here. I was very happy to accommodate my old comrade and
immediately assigned him to a bed. With a smile on his face, he
settled in for some rest and relaxation. Much to his chagrin, he soon
found out that this was not to be the case. Vengeance was in my heart
and this was my golden opportunity to even up the score. He seemed
utterly unawaware that in the hospital he was duty bound to take
orders from hospital personnel, regardless of inferior rank.. As an
ambulatory patient he had to perform whatever housekeeping duties
assigned to him. I had no problem in finding a job for him to take
his mind off the boredom of the day. For those of you, former

soldiers, who are thinking, "Latrine Duty", I can only say that you
are so right in your speculation. I armed him with a toilet brush, a
mop and bucket and gave him immediate employment. It was apparent
that he had no desire to perform these menial tasks and informed me
that I should remember that he held the rank of Sergeant. With joy in
my heart, I, very authoritatively, pointed out to him that there were
no stripes on his bathrobe and that his immediate concern was to have
the latrine ready for Saturday morning inspection, "Vengeance is
mine, sayeth the Lord," but, for this one shining moment, "Vengeance
was mine", and I enjoyed every damned second of it.
With the compliance of the Captain, we kept him in the hospital for
a few extra days. I`m sure he was more careful about his treatment
of other lowly privates he held sway over. He had just experienced
the old adage, "What goes around, comes around."

CHAPTER 2
As the days wore on, life was a series of daily routine duties and we
were becoming somewhat restless. Although the time we had spent in
the army was short our youthful outlook made the days seem endless.
Many of the units on the base were moving on. This made us hope that
we would be next and go on to some other experiences. We had no idea
what things awaited us but anything was better than spending the war
in the Army at Camp McCoy, Wisconsin as "Ward Boys." Didn't Gen.
Patton say to recruits that they didn`t want to have to tell their
grandchildren t they spent the war shoveling horseshit at an Army
Cavalry base?
We didn't have to wait for long for we suddenly got the news that the
306 Station Hospital was being sent overseas. With typical Army

retisense to tell the enlisted man anything, we were told absolutely

nothing except to pack our belongings and be ready to move. With the
enlisted man`s penchant for finding out everything, we soon found out
that we were headed for the European Theater of Operations, or for
short, the E.T,O..
On October 31, 1942, Halloween being an appropriate day, we received
our shipping orders. Everything we possessed was crammed into our
duffle bags, and we were on our way to the train station, all "very
comfortable," in a "luxurious" army truck. Arriving at a train depot,
we hastily boarded a car that looked as though it had seen service in
the Civil War. Once on the train, we eagerly awaited some legitimate
information as to our destination. True to army form, none came.
Finally, after many hours, card games and an occasional snooze, we
arrived in Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada. The year was 1942 and the
war in Europe was in full force. Britain was in a state of deadly
peril and the arrival of the "Yanks" was considered a blessing to
their hopes of defeating the Germans. In any event, we were now about
to board a troop ship and make the dangerous crossing across the
North Atlantic to relieve our British Allies. That America was fully
engaged in this war was borne out by the hundreds of thousands of
American soldiers waiting to board the many troop ships crowding the
harbor.
Upon our arrival at the harbor, we boarded the RMS Mauritania for our
trip across the North Atlantic to Great Britain. We boarded the ship
in the late afternoon. After a "fine meal" of "good" mutton stew, we
were told to choose a spot on the long mess table for our gear. This
is where we would sleep and, "Be sure to be out of there as soon as
reveille is over because the RAF will be using the table for
training classes."
We were allowed to roam around and get acquainted with the ship. Mac
and I ventured into an area where a number of RAF {Royal Air Force
guys} were singing Bless `Em All, which was a popular British wartime
song. The lyrics, "Bless `em all, the long, the short , and the tall"
,etc. were constantly repeated with the "Bless" almost always
replaced with another four letter word, better not repeated here.
Soon we were joined by more fellow "Yanks." American- British unity
was already beginning to take place. As the Mauritania got underway
we were engrossed in making friends and having a "Jolly good time, as
the "Limeys" would say,
After a nights rest on that hard table, we got the signal to clear
out, which we did without hesitation. Gazing out a porthole,
expecting to see the open ocean, we found out that we were back in
port. As we gazed out at the harbor, Mac turned to me and said, "What
the hell is this? "I thought we were underway." It didn't take long

to find the answer to that query. It seems that during the night we
had run into a "Wolf Pack." That was the name, Admiral Donitz, the
Commander of the German navy, gave to his submarines, which hunted in
packs, awaiting Allied shipping. We were traveling without a convoy
and were a likely target.
Before long we, once more, got underway. With the unbounded optimism
of youth and a feeling of invincibility, we never gave another
thought to the danger we faced in crossing the North Atlantic without
a convoy, depending only on the speed and maneuverability of this
great ship. Ships capable of traveling fast steered a zig zag course,
without accompanying vessels, making them difficult to target.
True to British tradition, a daily shot of rum was provided to all on
board. As I recall, we approached a small makeshift bar and were
doled out our portion. The only "fly in the ointment" was that the
U.S. Navy did not permit drinking on board its ships. Even though
this was a British ship, American personnel were bound by American
Naval rules. This was handled very neatly by the British by simply
doling out a portion of ginger beer, a British soda pop, to the
Americans. Never to be outdone, we simply accepted the soda pop,
exchanged our soft drink for rum by handing a couple of cigarettes to
our British brethren and accepting their gracious exchange of rum for
ginger beer.
Another bit of culture shock was the difference in what the "Limeys"
thought of as tasty cuisine and what we thought of as "good grub."
The, too frequent, serving of mutton stew did not bode well for the
"Yanks", and resulted in a considerable amount of grumbling on our
part. Other than that, and similar differences, the next few days or
so went off without incident and a surprising amount of goodwill
developed between us and the "Limeys."
Finally, after several days of boredom and bad food we arrived in
Great Britain and were hastily put on a waiting train for our final
destination.
We were all anxious to see what England looked like but we were
traveling at night and the windows were blacked out in compliance
with "blackout" regulations. The British strictly enforced these
rules because of the possibility of giving the Germans a target on
their nightly flights over England.
Our Executive Officer, Capt. Lebowitz, a balding man, somewhat
overweight and a chain smoker, had preceded our arrival, having
boarded the train at Southampton to accompany us to our destination.
He soon appeared on the scene to address us when suddenly a loud roar
was heard directly above the train. Certain that the plane would hit
the train, we all hit the floor, "scared, out of our wits."
The only one standing was Capt. Lebowitz. With a big smile on his
face, he said, "Gentlemen you have just been welcomed to the United

Kingdom by the

U. S. Army Air Force."

At long last, the train came to a stop, somewhere, just outside the
city of Bournemouth. We were immediately trucked to an Army camp,
given a barracks and told to get a good nights sleep. We found our
bunks and then the "bitching" began. On the bunk was a rather plump
mattress but when one lay down, it suddenly became apparent that what
appeared to be a mattress was, in reality, a bag of straw. Later we
found out that the British had arranged this for us since it was a
part of the "Lend-Lease" arrangement America had made with the
British. The whole damned camp was a British creation, and not one to
become fond of. The upshot was that we were so damned tired that we
slept as though we were sleeping on the best mattresses money could
buy.
Without regard that we were all in need of more rest after our long
journey, reveille, sounded as usual. After standing for roll call we
were dismissed for "Mess." Although we had been severe critics of
army food, the sight of good old American style bacon and eggs,
tended to soften our criticism, at least for the moment.
After "mess" The Company was called to order and we were given the
"Orders of the Day.' It seems that we were in a "holding area" and
quarantined for several days, during which time, we would be
responsible for housekeeping duties. The Sergeant then introduced
Capt. Lebowitz, our never to be forgotten, Executive Officer. What
followed was so damned comical, coming from this balding, overweight
and pompous, unmilitary like Officer, that I am sure every G.I.,
there at that moment, will remember it to his dying day. I`m sure, I
will. The Captain addressed us, as I recall it, "Gentlemen, you are
now a part of the European Theater of Operations. Your conduct here
will be vitally important in bringing victory to our forces against
the German Tyranny. God Bless you and the American Army." He,
finished with, "Always remember, when off duty, that you are here as
conquerors, not to be conquered by the harpies of the streets." He
ended with a military salute that would have made Gen. Eisenhower,
himself, proud. Dr. Lebowitz had transformed himself into a military
conqueror and satisfied his deepest longings, which, I`m sure, he
usually only carried out in his fantasy life.
After several long and boring days, punctuated by crap games and
other "intellectual pursuits", the quarantine was lifted and we were
given an opportunity to visit Bournemouth. Immediately, the office
was filled with G.I.s requesting passes. As long as you knew your
name rank and serial number the request was granted.
Mac and I were among the first to get in line, receive our passes,
and board the truck for town. Dressed, as finely as we could, in our
dress uniforms, we joined in the, rather ribald, singing as the truck
bounced along taking some very enthusiastic, young and virile, men,

into the city. The word virile is used very purposefully since the
thoughts on all the passenger's minds concerned speedy liaisons with
the local girls.
Mac, who seemed ever knowledgeable about such things, steered me into
the lounge bar of a local pub. The lounge bar was a cut above the
part of the pub that served only the men. The lounge was for social
gatherings and included the more refined women and men of the
community and the occasional military Officer as well as a few
enlisted men.
Once, comfortably ensconced, in a neat little booth, Mac began to
size up the situation and decided to make his move. He moved, with
great suavity, to the table of two lovely, young ladies and soon had
them seated with us in our booth. Although I do not have a good
recollection of the young lady Mac was interested in, I shall never
forget the charming and petite girl I was partnered with. Doreen
Hazelwood, her real name, was everything one thinks of when we hear
the term, "English Beauty." The charm of her English accent was not
lost upon me and our conversation soon consisted of little details
about where we called home and our particular interests.
The barkeeper, having called, "Time, please." which was the signal
for closing, brought the usual query, "May I see you home?" Both
girls, having informed us that they would rather go home together,
had made it quite clear that their parents, mothers in particular,
did not have a fondness for soldiers when their daughters were
involved. Doreen did agree to meet me the following day and give me a
tour of Bournemouth. Always the tourist, and in this case, a quite
enthusiastic tourist, we arranged a place to meet. The following day
we met at the appointed meeting place. Doreen seemed eager to do her
duty in making a lonely G.I. welcome and this lonely G.I. was only
too eager to accept her services.
Doreen proved to be an excellent tour guide and knew all the places
of interest. Her knowledge of the history of Bournemouth was quite
extensive. She delighted in showing me all the sights and made my
stay in Bournemouth a quite pleasurable experience. One of her
favorite places was an old church of historical importance and it was
there that I came to realize how much different an American`s concept
of time differed from the British. During our visit I noticed a
beautiful brass spread eagle that served as the podium for the
Minister. The cleaning lady was polishing it and I made the remark
that it was a beautiful podium. She smiled and said, "Oh, this was a
gift from our late Pastor in the early 1700s." Being a "Yank", I
thought of the 1700s as ancient history. This gave me pause, and made
me realize how young our beloved country is.
My way of thanking Doreen was to have my mother send her a gift. As I
recall, she did receive a lovely blue sweater, was delighted, and

said she would treasure it.

Meanwhile the war on the continent was raging on and my unit moved to
a new location near Tidworth, a city located southeast of Wilshire.
It shares its eastern border with the Salisbury Plain, the site of
the famous archeological find, Stonehenge. Here we carried on our
duties caring for the soldiers, who were receiving tender loving care
from our beautiful nurses.
It was not only the nurses who brought smiles to our patients. The
Red Cross and the Salvation Army both sent some very lovely ladies to
visit with the soldiers. One incident that stands out clearly
happened during one of those visits. A young man of about twenty
years old, was in the hospital for a rather extended stay. He was an
avid reader and kept us busy supplying him with books from the
hospital library. During a routine visit from the Red Cross volunteer
he requested of her to get a copy of Pygmalion, a book he had
acquired in London, signed by the author. The lady explained that it
was next to impossible to obtain the autograph since this author was
quite elderly and ill and had a reputation of not being friendly to
autograph seekers, so the task would only end in failure.
That closed the subject until the Salvation Army lady made her visit
and the same request was made of her. Her reaction was somewhat
different. She, in a very motherly fashion, said, "Give me the book
and I`ll see what I can do." A week went by and the same lady
appeared and was eager to see the young soldier. Upon greeting him
she said, "Wait till you see what I have for you." With that. she
unwrapped a package and there was the soldiers book. She opened the
book to the flyleaf, and there, in boldly handwritten words, was the
following note, as I remember it, "If I signed every book for someone
who thinks I am the greatest writer since Shakespeare, I'd be doing
nothing but signing my name." Then, written with a flourish, was the
signature, George Bernard Shaw, This incident comes to mind every
Christmas when I make my donation in a Salvation Army kettle.
Mac and I were eager to see more of England and find a place free
from the ever present G.I. Having this in mind, we decided to take
leave and get as far away from places inhabited by people of our ilk
as we could. This led to us catching a bus and traveling as far away
from camp as we could .
Our bus ride took us to a town which seemed completely bereft of
servicemen. As all G.I.s do, we immediately found the nearest Pub and
settled in comfortably to enjoy a pint of beer. We were the only
customers and after a few moments of waiting, no one appeared to wait
upon us. Mac finally called out for service. Soon, a young lady
peered around an open door and said, quite breathlessly, "Oh, you are
Americans." I said, "We sure are, what did you think we were"? Her
reply was that she and her parents had observed us from the kitchen
and, just catching a glimpse of our boots, thought we were Germans.

We knew we had found the right spot and enjoyed a great afternoon
free from the hub bub of G.I. activity. This place showed no signs
of ever having been host to an American soldier. After an hour of
friendly chatter with the barkeep and his daughter we decided it was
time to get back to camp.
Before boarding the bus I looked around for a rest room.. Spotting a
toilet, I entered and went to the urinal to relieve myself. There,
written in bold letters on the wall was that old familiar refrain,
"Kilroy was here." There was no way in the world that one could find
a place in England that had not been visited by American soldiers.
We returned to our unit, ready to resume our duties but, as usual,
Mac and I were ready for our next outing and this time, we both
agreed, it was to be London, the capital of Great Britain, and one of
the great historical cities of the world.
The week following our bus trip had been exceedingly busy. Two guys
had been admitted for broken limbs and another for a severe case of
appendicitis. Between scheduling them for operations, working out a
schedule for the ward boys and covering for a nurse who had gone on
leave, as well as attending to my other duties, I had my hands full.
Mac also had experienced a hectic week and both of us were ready to
get a pass for the weekend and our trip to London.
Having secured a three day pass and arranged for one of the ward
boys, who was "Bucking for Corporal,", to cover for me, I was ready
to head for London. Mac had obtained a pass, too, although he had to
do some fast talking to get his.
In London, we went to Paddington Station. Across the street from the
station was Dickens Tavern, one of the many historic pubs in London.
As we entered the pub, Mac noticed a ,very old, lady with a small
glass of Guinness, half full. With his usual charm and savoir faire,
he walked over to her and inquired, "May I get you a drink, mother?"
To the delight and laughter of all around, she replied, as loudly as
she could, in a her high pitched, shrill voice, "I`ll have a `pint."
After a couple of "pints" we decided it was time to get to the Red
Cross Club in Piccadilly Circus, the Broadway of London, and settle
down for the night.
The Red Cross Club in Piccadilly, also known as Rainbow Corner, was
the headquarters for all G.Is when they visited London. A huge
building of several stories, with all kinds of hospitality available,
it was a magnet for all of us seeking rest and relaxation.
One of the attractions was the little office presided over by Adele
Astaire, sister of Fred Astaire, where she wrote letters to the loved
ones of the G.I.s telling them of her visit with their sons,
daughters or sweethearts. It was a very thoughtful way to support the

war effort and was highly appreciated by all of us. "Rainbow Corner"
also played host to such celebrated personages as Gen. Theodore
Roosevelt, Gen. Eisenhower, George Raft, Jimmy Stewart, Irving Berlin
and many others. Glen Miller did a broadcast there and also, Artie
Shaw, who performed there for the soldiers. Little wonder that this
was the most favored place visited by G.I,s when on leave in London.
Mac and I had just settled down for the night on the top floor of the
club with the sound of "Pom Pom" guns above us on the roof of the
building. "Pom Pom" was the name the British people called the antiaircraft guns that responded to the, almost, nightly bombings. Just
as sleep was taking over, we were aroused by a mighty explosion
accompanied by the intense shaking of the building.
In a matter of moments we were out of bed and dressed, prepared to
leave the building. Once out on the street, we observed the reason
for the blast. About four buildings down the street from the club a
V1 rocket had hit a building, tearing it apart, as though a giant
fist had come down on it. In no time at all, ambulances were on the
scene, and people covered in blood, crying out in pain, were being
removed from the wreckage. In that terrible moment I became aware of
the resilience of the British people. There was no panic, no
screaming, only a dogged determination on the part of the volunteers
to assist the wounded and bring order out of the chaos.
This should have been enough to spoil our weekend but, being young.
and feeling, indestructible ,we were undeterred and, after all, the
old Windmill Theater was still in business and the girls were still
there, awaiting the G.I.s.
The Windmill Theater, famous for never having closed during the worst
of the bombing of London had, by the time of the war, became a
burlesque house and a premier attraction for British and American
soldiers while on leave. The old theater has an interesting history
and has been portrayed on the screen in a film called, Mrs. Henderson
Presents,
It was one of those rare evenings in London, when the air was soft
and warm, ideal for outdoor relaxation. This, I mention, because it
was a tradition at the theater, when the weather was good, that the
patio at the rear of the house was open and customers and dancers ,
between acts, could enjoy a drink and conversation. Needless to say,
Mac and I took full advantage of this opportunity to "schmoose" with
the show girls.
Ensconced comfortably at one of the patio tables, we awaited the
arrival of the girls. They usually arrived as soon as the first
performance was over, still heavily "Made Up" with grease paint and
those long artificial eye lashes in place. To my unsophisticated
eyes, this was the very zenith of feminine glamour.
Two "ladies" strolled by and, with great admiration, I watched as Mac

beckoned to them, and with a skill, usually observed only in the

movies, brought them to our table. After a moment of "sweet talk" by
my adroit companion the girls settled in comfortably. I was highly
impressed as he deftly proffered cigarettes to our "lovely"
companions. Within a moment, his Zippo lighter appeared, the cover
thrown back, and with a flick of his thumb, the flame appeared and,
it was at that moment, Mac's sophistication ,"went up in flames". The
streak of fire from the lighter rose fully four inches and licked at
those long artificial eye lashes. This was followed by a stream of
four letter obscenities from the young "lady" that would have made a
drunken sailor blush. So endeth our London trip, so endeth Mac's,
highly acclaimed "savoir faire", but it was only one of many trips
that we took to that great and historic city.
On another occasion, Mac and I had the privilege of visiting the
Royal Opera House, in London's Covent Gardens. Impressive as this
may seem, hundreds of" Yanks," nightly, made a pilgrimage to this
historic place of culture and refinement, not to experience the
opera, but to meet the girls and dance the night away.
Sometime during the war a decision had been made to convert the opera
house into a dance hall for the entertainment of the thousands of
military personnel in the city. The stage was prepared for the
accommodation of the large swing bands that would appear there and a
dance floor installed. In effect, this historic place had become a
night club. For the price of two shillings and six pence one became a
member of the club and entitled to free admission when in town on
leave. I can still hear, in my "moments of recollection." the music
of Ted Heath and other bands of renown, and those tender moments on
the dance floor, with a lovely English girl in my arms, as we swayed
to the music and, for a few shining moments, forgot the shadow of war
that always hung over us. There were other times when we were
"jitterbugging" or dancing to a love song and the wail of the siren
would be heard alerting us to a bombing and, if we so desired, retire
to an air raid shelter. Very often, the young\
lady in my arms would whisper in my ear, "Oh, lets just keep on
dancing."
Upon our return to the hospital we found that the 306th had received
a new arrival. This was a surprise because no one new had ever been
assigned to our outfit, unlike combat units who were often getting
replacements due to casualties suffered in battle. We were curious to
know why the young soldier had been sent to the 306th.
He was busy getting his gear in order when we introduced ourselves.
In our chat with him we found out his home was in Dayton Ohio. We
asked him how he became assigned to our outfit. His answer was, " I
don`t know." He went on to say he was doing guard duty at a place in
Alamogordo, New Mexico and he was in town in a bar when a civilian
struck up a conversation with him. As he told it, "This guy asked me

what duty I was performing in the army." He said he told him,

"Nothing important, I just stand guard duty at a gate to some damned
compound outside Alamogordo." He added, "Hell. I don`t even know
what the Hell is going on there." "At that point two other civilians
walked up, took me by the arms and walked me outside to a waiting
car, drove me to my outfit and turned me over to a Lieutenant." The
Officer simply said to me, "Stow your things in your duffle bag and
follow me. Following his instructions, I finished up stowing my gear
and with that the Lieutenant took me to a car and to the airport and
sent me here, Hell, up to this moment, I don`t know what happened and
why I`m here." I guess he never did know until the war was over.
This incident brought home to all of us how serious the military was
about security. "Loose lips, sink ships," had real meaning for all of
us and we were constantly on guard when chatting with anyone,
especially civilians.

Chapter 3
The patients were not the only ones to appreciate the charms of those
Lovely nurse Second Lieutenants' but we knew better than attempt to
socialize with Officers, a `sin,' requiring drastic action by
Superior Officers, if ventured by a lowly enlisted man.
My duties kept me in close contact with nurses and doctors, arranging
schedules for the "Ward Boys," schedules for medications and
assisting doctors and nurses during their rounds. It was impossible
to not become familiar with the nurses, and one beautiful young nurse
by the name of Rosemary, last name deleted, caught my eye to the
point that I broke through that invisible barrier and arranged a date
with her. Mac, never much concerned with rules, also arranged a date
with his favorite nurse and a double date was about to take place
that would have the inevitable consequences.
The bus arrived for the short ride into Salisbury. Mac and I found
our seats, discreetly separated from our dates so as not to appear to
be accompanying Officers. Shortly thereafter, arriving at our
destination, we proceeded to the nearest pub, and, with our dates,
began imbibing the best of what British brewers had to offer. Our
conversation gradually became more stimulating and our relationships
becoming ever more intimate, we were off to a wonderful evening. At

just before 11:00, the booming voice of the bartender resounded

throughout the pub. "Time please", the dreaded call, that meant we
could order only one more drink before the bar closed. This was
usually followed by a rush to the bar by the patrons, many of whom
still had unfinished drinks at their tables.
Knowing the rules of the game, we decided to move to one of the pubs
that catered to Officers and remained open after the usual closing
hours. The local officials were well aware that, "rank has its
privileges." The man at the door listened patiently as Mac explained
how the young lady with me had nursed me back to health from a
serious illness, "And now, my buddy John, and Rosemary, the lovely
nurse with him, are celebrating their engagement". Mac's story so
impressed the doorman that he made no objection to our presence in
the club.
Although Mac and I were the only non-Officers in the room, no one
seemed to notice and our evening continued on until closing time. As
we made our way through the crowd exiting the room, our arms
encircling our dates, I looked up and, catching my eye, was the
Company Commander. His look of disapproval, I knew immediately, was a
harbinger of things to come.
The results of having encountered the Company Commander, the night
before, under the previously mentioned circumstances, were not long
in coming. Mac was the first to heed a call to the Office immediately
after Mess., and upon his return to the barracks, informed me he had
been told to pack his belongings and leave on the truck parked
outside the Commander's office. He knew not, where he was headed.
Mac packed his gear and we both walked over to the waiting truck.
Before he climbed aboard, we shook hands and wished each other well.
I never saw Mac again, until we were discharged and home, once more,
in Kalamazoo.
I was the next to get the call to meet with the Company Commander.
His directive was quick, brusque and direct. "Tomorrow morning, be at
the roadside with your belongings in your duffle bag and meet the
truck when it arrives." "Do you have any questions, Corporal?"
My answer was quick, brusque and direct. "No Sir," followed by a
salute. The answer was a snappy salute and a, "Dismissed, Soldier."
Feeling somewhat, depressed at having lost my buddy and being sent to
"God knows where," I climbed aboard the truck the following morning
with a number of other "F***Ups, "but damned glad I hadn't lost my
stripes.
The truck rambled on for several miles until the driver pulled over
and hollered back at us, "You guys wanna stop at this pub and have a
beer?" The question was, of course unnecessary, and we all

disembarked , much heartened by this magnanimous gesture.

Along with the other guys, I dropped to the ground, faced forward,
and lo and behold, there was Capt. John Hummer, leaving his seat
alongside the driver. Capt. Hummer was one of the enlisted men's
favorite Officers and a resident of my hometown. His greeting to me
was, "John, what the Hell are you doing here?" I replied, "I might
ask you the same thing, Captain." Such was the informality that
existed between he and the enlisted men with whom he was well
aquainted. He was an excellent doctor, a fine Officer and a real
gentleman.
Once, inside the pub the G.I.s quickly received their "pints" and
were noisily swapping stories. Capt. Hummer and myself, knowing each
other well and, having come from the same outfit, as well as both of
us being residents of Kalamazoo, took a booth, and over a pint of
Guinness, began our stories of how we came to be on this particular
journey. I recounted my encounter with the Commander regarding
fraternization with Officers and the penalty I suffered. Capt. Hummer
laughed and said he had even a better story to tell. As he recounted
it, he and another officer had been on a date with two nurses and had
imbibed a little too much of "Old john Barleycorn," and upon
returning to camp one of the party dared him to go to the Commander`s
quarters and awaken him. He said," Having had one too many, and
taking the dare, I went into his hut, shook him, and with my
flashlight, blinded him and backed out. Unfortunately, I was unable
to stifle a laugh. Big mistake! The Commander, now fully aroused,
recognized my laugh, and bellowed out, "John Hummer, you S.O.B, I`ll
make you pay for this," "So here I am with the rest of you "F***ups."
He went on to assure me that we were not only assigned to the same
place but were going to Torquay, on the south coast of England, to
care for an encampment of soldiers training for the invasion. We
would be responsible for their day to day medical problems. He said,
"This is going to be dammed good duty, since this is one of the best
spots in England, as close to tropical weather as you will see over
here, and we will be on our own, to do, as we see fit".
After dropping off the guys on the truck at their assigned
destinations, we finally arrived at the lovely seaside town of
Torquay, to this day, stll known as an integral part of the "English
Riviera." It is no wonder that the famed British author, Agatha
Christie, chose to live most of her life here in this, almost,
tropical like paradise.
Wartime Britain was in no position to have its beaches inhabited only
by vacationing sun bathers and the long stretches of barbed wire that
covered those beaches stood in stark testimony to the fact that
England was at war and fighting for its life and freedom.

In Russia, soldiers were being sent to the Eastern Front for

improper behavior and Torquay was our, "Eastern Front." Of course,
being `good and obedient soldiers," we would do our best to cope
with the cards life had dealt us.
The encampment, covering several acres, was located on the outskirts
of town. The troops were housed in tents. We soon found our spot, a
large Quonset hut, neatly made up, sleeping accommodations for six
and an office and lab. This was to be our home and workplace until
further notice.
We quickly staked out our cots and proceeded to make our areas as
comfortable as possible. Capt. Hummer and I took an inventory of the
things we required in the lab and then we sat down over a cup of
coffee to discuss our routine.
Each morning we would take care of the needs of the soldiers on "Sick
Call." He explained that, at times, he would not be available as he
would, undoubtedly, have connections in town that might require him
to spend the night there. He said he was sure that I could handle the
routine cases by myself but he would leave me a telephone number
where I could reach him in case of an emergency. I was well aware of
the fact that one did not question a Superior Officer about his off
base activities. He then went on to say that he would arrange a, not
too early, sick call. He then instructed me to tell the Mess Sergeant
that he would like to confer with him.
The Sergeant, a large bulky man, heavily tattooed, and florid of
face, responded quickly, and gave a proper salute to Capt. Hummer,
which was returned in proper military manner. Capt. Hummer began,
"Sergeant, We are here to care for the personnel stationed here and I
want my men, and soon there will be more of us, to get plenty of
rest, so it would be appreciated if you would have breakfast for them
even if their arrival is somewhat late, thus giving them time for
some extra sleep time in the morning." The Sergeant assured Captain
Hummer
that this would be no problem but he had a favor to ask of him. The
Captain, knowing, "Quid pro quo," said, "Mention it, and it's done."
He then explained that he often suffered from a severe hangover in
the morning and would appreciate a doctor approved remedy. With that,
Captain Hummer made up a concoction and showed me how to prepare it
for the amiable Sergeant. As I recall, it had a very solid base of
codeine, and later received a very favorable reaction from the
Sergeant.
Our discussion continued, and being curious about his remark that
there would soon be more of us, I said, "Captain, Will we be
receiving some additional help?" His answer came in the form of a
question. "John, I`m sure you will be making some social connections
in town, and wouldn't it be nice to have some "wheels?" Without

hesitation, he received an affirmative answer. He then went on to say

that he was ordering an ambulance and driver. "I'll make sure that
the driver will understand that the vehicle is at your disposal at
all times," He said, with a smile. "I told you this would be good
duty, didn't I?" "Let's make the most of it."
The ambulance did arrive and it served me well as I became more
acquainted in the community. The driver, a Private First Class, was
a fine young man and fitted in very well with, our, rather "laid
back," style of living. We did, however, have one incident which
challenged our unmilitary behavior.
For some unknown reason, and, maybe, it was because the army had no
other place to put him, another Captain doctor appeared one day and
showed Capt. Hummer his transfer. We now had two Captains and two
enlisted men. That seemed a little heavy with rank.
It wasn't long before our new arrival, a young, "spit and polish"
Officer, made it known, in no uncertain terms, that our unkempt beds
and generally, sloppy housekeeping was not in line with what he
considered military demeanor. Dr. Hummer, I`m sure, considered this
an insult to his management and approached him a couple of days
later, after one of his rants about unmade beds. Confronting the
young Officer with fire in his eyes, he said, "Captain, "What was the
date of your commission"?
Without a moments hesitation he blurted out the date to Capt. Hummer.
The response was almost immediate, Capt. Hummer said, "Captain, my
commission is of a much earlier date and this puts me in complete
command here, and furthermore, my staff and I are quite satisfied
with our lifestyle. Is that perfectly clear"?
The young Captain Answered with a quick, "Yes Sir."
I am still of the opinion that the young Captain`s transfer to
another location the following week had something to do with this
clash of opinions between the two Officers.
Another incident, which I recall with great relish, happened one
evening when we were seated outside of our hut chatting. A Sergeant
from one of the infantry outfits showed up, rifle in hand, and
joined us. He said, "Wanna see a demonstration of how we train the
men in rifle handling?" He then proceeded to break down the rifle
into its separate parts. "Now watch this", he said. He closed his
eyes, and in a flash, put the rifle back together in record time.
Capt. Hummer, without verbal response, reached over and took hold of
the rifle. In a few short seconds he then proceeded to dismantle the
piece. He closed his eyes, and with a few deft movements, much faster
than the infantryman, reassembled the rifle. Then, breaking his
silence, Capt. Hummer said, "Soldier, I learned this little maneuver
in the National Guard, long before being sent over here. Not all
medics are unfamiliar with firearms."
Not all duty here

was "fun and games", and meeting the day to day

needs of the troops kept us busy. There were plenty of situations

which required our response, although most situations were not of a
highly serious nature. These were highly trained combat troops,
having been already trained for battle before arriving at this
station. They were not engaging in maneuvers which resulted in severe
injury or worse. Most of our cases were merely first aid, although we
did have occasional situations in which, after initial treatment, we
took the patient to a nearby hospital.
We did have some inkling that important moves in the war were about
to take place. Often at night, in the darkness, German reconnaissance
planes would appear overhead and shoot tracer bullets, hoping for
return fire, thus establishing the location of the troops. One night
they dropped a small personnel bomb which landed on a china shop on
the outer perimeter of the encampment. What we saw in the morning
would have had a collector of "fine China "climbing the walls."
Just to be on the safe side, we dug a small trench and when a plane
appeared overhead we would climb in until all activity ceased. One
night, Capt. Hummer and I took to the trench for cover. During our
descent into the trench I brushed against something and received a
small cut on my wrist. Upon seeing the bloody wrist, Capt. Hummer
said. "OK, John, now I can put you in for a Purple Heart."
I, of course, declined the offer. The Purple Heart is given to those
wounded in battle as a tribute to their sacrifice and heroism. I am
sure, Captain Hummer was speaking in jest, knowing I could not, in
good conscience, accept his offer.
Monitoring the news every day, we were very much aware of the
mayhem being carried on across the Channel. Hitler had subdued most
of Europe and was keeping a wary eye on Britain where more and more
American, British, Canadian and allied forces were training for, what
he knew, would be the invasion of the continent.
Being in such close contact with these soldiers, who would be among
those to storm the beaches, made us very aware of the tremendous
responsibilities our nation had placed upon their shoulders. Many of
these young soldiers would be laying down their lives to keep alive,
what was left of, law and order in Europe. We were also aware of the
other Allied forces, in camps such as these, who were also called
upon to keep alive freedom and democracy. We were young, but not too
young, to know that what happened on those beaches would make Europe,
either free or slave and, in time, threaten the security of the
United States. For those of us who would not be compelled to make
that trip across the English Channel and face the carnage of the
invasion, it strengthened our resolve to care well for our brave
combat soldiers.

Chapter 4
The year was 1944 and the Stars and Stripes, the GI. newspaper, kept
us fully informed of what was happening across the English Channel.
Hitler's 1941 invasion of Russia, known as "Operation Barbarossa",
had proven a disaster and the attack on Pearl Harbor by the Japanese,
bringing in the Americans, had the German forces on the defensive.
Everyone realized that a turning point in the war had been reached.
The world held its breath awaiting the invasion.
Preparations for the invasion of the Normandy coast in France had
been made in 1943. President Roosevelt and Prime Minister Winston
Churchill had selected Gen. Dwight D. Eisenhower as Supreme Commander
and gave the plan the code name, Operation Overlord. The Allied
powers were now set on a course that would result in the greatest
military operation in the history of the world.
The Allies assembled a force of three million men and stored sixteen
million tons of ammunition and supplies in great Britain. The Allies
had five thousand large ships, four thousand smaller landing craft
and more than eleven thousand aircraft.
All along the south coast of Britain staging areas were set up for
the accommodation of the thousands of troops preparing for the

invasion. Torquay was one of these staging areas.

I remember clearly, getting up one morning, prepared to go to town
and meet the young lady with whom I had become acquainted. I stepped
out the door and it became crystal clear to me that I was not going
anywhere. This huge encampment was completely surrounded by British
and American soldiers bearing automatic weapons. From that moment on
security was absolute and complete. It was then that I realized why
large circus tents had been set up in the last few days and Officers
from all the outfits had been seen coming and going. Briefings were
being held, prior to, what all of us expected to be, the launching of
the invasion. What, I did not know, was that the invasion had been
set for June 5, but weather conditions in the channel were so bad
that the mission had been postponed until June 6.
In the wee hours of the morning of June 6,1944 we became aware of
frenzied activity in the camp. The sound of barked orders, the roar
of truck engines and the sound of booted feet made us realize that
the time had come. The invasion of the European continent was about
to become reality. Many young men would perish that day on the
beaches of Normandy, but many more would go forward into the heart of
Germany, in what Gen. Eisenhower dubbed, "A great Crusade."
The greatest armada in all of military history had been unleashed
that morning and a grateful world , to this day, pays homage to the
brave men who were willing to sacrifice their lives to wipe from the
face of the earth the evil empires of Germany, Italy and, ultimately,
Japan.
The Order of the Day. June 6 , 1944 from Supreme Headquarters Allied
Expeditionary Forces, as stated by General Dwight Eisenhower, Supreme
Commander was as follows,
Supreme Headquarters
Allied Expeditionary Force.
"Soldiers, Sailors and Airmen of the Allied Expeditionary Force!
You are about to embark upon the Great Crusade, toward which we have
striven these many months. The eyes of the world are upon you. The
hopes and prayers of liberty loving people everywhere march with you.
In company with our brave Allies and brothers-in-arms on other
fronts, you will bring about the destruction of the German war
machine, the elimination of Nazi tyranny over the oppressed peoples
of Europe and security for ourselves in a free world.
Your task will not be an easy one. Your enemy is well trained, well
equipped and battle hardened. He will fight savagely.
But this is the year 1944! Much has happened since the Nazi triumphs
of 1940-41. The United Nations have inflicted upon the Germans great
defeats, in open battle, man to man. Our offensive has seriously
reduced their strength in the air and their capacity to wage war on

the ground. Our Home Fronts have given us an overwhelming superiority

in munitions and weapons of war, and placed at our disposal great
reserves of trained fighting men. The tide has turned! The free men
of the world are marching together toward victory!
I have full confidence in your courage, devotion to duty and skill in
battle. We will accept nothing less than full victory!
Good luck! And let us beseech the blessing of Almighty God upon this
great and noble undertaking."
With this directive from the Supreme Commander and the hopes of all
free men, our troops went forward into battle. Before the day was
over, the events that took place on the beaches of Normandy would
herald a "new "Birth of Freedom" for the "Oppressed people of Europe"
and a new "Sense of security for ourselves" in a free world.
An eerie quiet now settled over this huge staging area. The sound of
bugle calls, the barked orders of the Sergeants and the noisy rush to
the mess hall by hundreds of hungry soldiers had suddenly become
stilled. The sounds of the camp had been transferred to the beaches
of Normandy and became the whine of bullets, the flash of rocket
fire, the explosion of heavy artillery and cries of pain from the
wounded and dying, as these brave troops struggled forward to free a
continent from the evil stranglehold of Nazi tyranny.
The only personnel left in the encampment was Capt. Hummer, myself
and the young Private who drove the ambulance. Our mission was
finished. Together, the Private and myself did a "Walk-through" of
the tents before they were struck and removed by the Quartermaster
Corps.
Left behind by the troops were those things they would not carry into
battle, bits of this and that they had acquired while on leave,
magazines and books they had been reading and the bric- a-brack that
magically collects around us as we move about.
One bit of memorabilia did catch my eye. lying on a cot, was a red,
hardbound copy of Tolstoy`s War and Peace, possibly the last book
this young soldier would ever read. With this thought in mind, I
picked up the book and there on the flyleaf, was the soldier's
signature, Jack C. Barnett. Through the years, this has been one of
my treasured mementos and I have tried repeatedly, to no avail, to
locate Jack, or his family, to return this bit of his wartime life to
its rightful owners.
The
the
our
for

Quartermaster Corps, with its usual efficiency, arrived toward

end of the day and removed the tents and all Army property except
quarters.. We would spend the night in our Quonset hut and wait
our orders.

Not having access to a mess hall, Capt. Hummer, the ambulance driver
and myself clambered aboard the ambulance, drove into town and had a
meal of fish and chips and returned for our last night in Torquay.
The following morning, Capt. Hummer called us together, and, now
having our orders in hand, informed us that we were to return to the
306 Station Hospital and the Private was to return to his outfit. A
vehicle would arrive to transport the Captain, and myself to the
hospital. I remember him saying, "Now, all we have to do is get back
and ready ourselves for the casualties that will be arriving from
Normandy. It won`t be long before we see what the term, "War is
Hell," really means,"
The hospital was now located outside the town of Cheltenham. The
Quonset huts were lined up neatly, concrete sidewalks connecting the
ward buildings. A mess hall was in place, barracks, quarters for the
Officers, a laboratory, sanitary facilities, and flying from a tall
flagpole, "Old Glory." The hospital was located on an area of
undeveloped land which provided the opportunity to carry on a
military program without disturbing the civilians who lived nearby. I
found the barrack
to which I was assigned and Capt. Hummer, being an Officer, had a
building which he shared with another Officer. We settled in for the
night wondering what tomorrow would bring.
The one thing that struck me was that the hospital had no patients
and that meant we were prepared for the arrival of casualties. It was
now well into the invasion. We had received word of the heavy
fighting and that the beachhead had been established and our troops
and the Canadians, as well as other forces, were now firmly
entrenched in Normandy.
Unlike the old 306th, the hospital had Military Police surrounding
it. It didn`t take long to find out that our patients would not be
American casualties, but instead, , German prisoners of war.
With the arrival of the new patients, a whole set of new problems
were encountered. All of this meant additional training.. We had to
become familiar with the rules of war, under, what was to become, the
Geneva Convention, regarding the treatment of enemy combatants, learn
to communicate with people of a foreign language and abide with
enhanced security regulations.
I was extremely busy for the next few days, assigning my men to their
wards, arranging duty schedules, and generally getting in sync with
the doctor I was working with, as well as getting to know the various
routines followed by the nurses.
Our first batch of patients arrived by train and we worked late into
the night getting them into the proper wards, taking care of their

medication needs and showing them, by our actions, that they had
nothing to fear. These were men who had been in the thick of battle,
weary and confused, not knowing what fate had in store for them, in
the hands of the enemy. Many had received severe wounds, others only
wounds severe enough that they could not function well enough to be
left unattended. The one thing they had in common was that most
would soon be ambulatory. Their quick removal to a hospital in
England must have been the need to get them across the channel and,
in case of escape, not having them return to duty.
While few of the prisoners spoke English and few of us spoke German,
it became apparent to us, quite quickly, that we had to teach each
other our languages. Out of this emerged a mixture of German and
English that, strung together in half sentences, allowed us to
communicate, if not fluently, at least well enough to function.
The one thing most of these men shared in common was their disdain of
Hitler and their nonparticipation in Nazi activities. Their
participation in the war was the result of the Draft and the now
familiar refrain, "I was only taking orders" defense. They uttered
it, we ignored it. There were exceptions, of course, and, as time
went by, some really did turn out to be anti-Nazi.
Our treatment of the prisoners was strictly according to
international law, in spite of our dislike of these," Nazi Supermen."
They were not forced to work, had food comparable to that fed our own
soldiers, allowed religious activities and housing equal to that
provided American patients. Treatment of their medical needs was of
the highest order of the time. Doctors, nurses and enlisted personnel
gave their level best in caring for their patients. Needless to say,
we had no escape attempts.
There were, however two types of prisoners. Combat soldiers had, very
visably, marked on their shirts, PW. "Prisoners of War," Medical
personnel had on their shirts, the marking, PP ," Protective
Personnel."Their non-combat status, allowed them special status under
the firmly established rules of war, later to become known as the
"Geneva Convention."
German medical personnel, Officers and enlisted men, were given the
opportunity to work with us in caring for the patients. Our doctors
now had additional help with the assistance of the German doctors and
my men had, much needed, help in carrying out their duties.
Life soon settled down into a daily routine. Many of the patients,
now ambulatory, seemed quite satisfied with the conditions we
provided for them and presented no problems for us.
Among the patients there were a few who were complete fanatics,
usually young and thoroughly "brainwashed." One such ,was a twenty

year old infantryman who. over and over, professed his loyalty to
Hitler and the Nazi doctrine. He had been severely wounded and was
scheduled for an operation.
At his scheduled time we wheeled him into the operating room. It soon
became apparent that he would need a blood transfusion. Since all the
American personnel had records on their "dog tags" of their blood
type, and many Germans had lost theirs, time being of the essence, it
was decided that one of the "ward boys" would "volunteer" to donate
the needed blood.
At the conclusion of the operation. He was returned to the ward. I
stood by him until he recovered from the effects of the anesthesia.
It was then that I gave in to an impulse that possibly could be
construed as "torture," and in violation of the rules of war. In the
best German I could muster ,with my limited fluency, I informed him
that he was now a Jew. His immediate response was, "Nein, Nein, which
in English is a very emphatic, "NO. NO!" I managed to get across to
him that one of the American soldiers had given him blood and that
the soldier was Jewish, therefore, he now had Jewish blood. I am sure
his reaction to my fabrication did not lead to his swift recovery.
The fact that the young man who donated his blood was not Jewish and
my deliberate attempt to cause this, "Hitler Youth," anguish, I
consider to this day, a contribution to the war effort, and more
deserving of a commendation than a rebuke. Thankfully I received
neither, for having inflicted a severe sense of discomfort upon a
"patriotic warrior" of the German Reich.
Many of the Germans had acquired quite substantial amounts of French
money and this was not lost on us as to the good times we could have
if we were to obtain this currency and convert it to British Pounds.
The Germans seemed eager to part with this booty, which they had
cleverly concealed when captured, in exchange for American
cigarettes. Having plenty of cigarettes we soon had pocketfuls of
French money, and now the trick was to make the conversion to British
currency. The post office had been ordered to make known, sums of
money beyond the amount Uncle Sam so generously showered upon us,
being sent home. The army seemed always watchful for G.I.
indiscretions. Since sending the cash home was not our first
priority, that was not an option we had considered.. The second
hurdle was to get an American Officer to sign off on our transaction
when we were on leave.
As soon as passes became available, Joe Feld, a good drinking buddy,
and a fellow Michigander from Detroit, and I took leave and headed
for London. Our first stop, the Red Cross Club in Piccadilly Circus,
to freshen up, change our francs for pounds and prepare for a
memorable weekend.
In the lobby of the club we spotted a young Second Lieutenant, with

all the earmarks of a "Ninety Day Wonder," and convinced him to sign
off for us, making it possible to make our currency transaction.
With a generous amount of the royal cash in our pockets
find the finest hotel in London that would admit a pair
enlisted men. The need to be free from being surrounded
G.I.s, of lowly rank, was a passion that engrossed most
while on leave, and we were no exception.

we set off to
of lowly
by fellow
soldiers

Although my memory fails me as to the exact hotel we settled upon, I

do know that all the military guests, except us, wore marks of rank
upon their shoulders. The secret to acceptance here was, not rank
but, an adequate amount of the "King`s Sterling."
We were escorted to our room by an elderly "Bell Boy," who treated us
with all the respect given to any of the guests, and graciously
accepted his tip with a "Thank you." and a salute. Having, at one
time, in civilian life, held the same position as he, I could not but
marvel at the fact that I was on the receiving line of this timeless
little ritual.
Our room was, indeed, first class and more luxurious than I was
accustomed to. Joe, seemed much more blas and was not as impressed
as I was. After a call for room service and having a couple of
drinks, quickly brought to us by a room attendant, we decided that
after a shave, s**t and shower we would "Do the town."
This was rapidly accomplished and we were soon on the street.
After hailing a cab and getting aboard, Joe instructed the driver to
take us somewhere where good food and drink was available as well as
some "action." He then placed a five pound note on the seat beside
the driver, which was hastily retrieved and an assurance given that,
"He knew exactly the right place." That much British currency,
roughly translated into twenty American dollars, a very hefty sum at
that point of time. "Money Talks."
After
fence
place
found

a short drive the cab pulled up

which cordoned off a bombed out
to begin our carousing. The cab
and opened a makeshift door and

in front of a construction
site. This seemed an unlikely
driver, without hesitation,
bade us, "Enter.

Once inside, we entered an opening into a bombed out building and

found a party was in "full swing". A rather nice bar, given the
circumstances, was doing a hectic business. There was plenty of food
in sight and a small band was playing for the dancing couples on the
floor. Eyeing up the single girls, we knew immediately that "action"
was available. It was, and Joe and I got back to our hotel very late,
or early, depending on how one looks at the clock. Our weekend came
and went, as did our "easy money." One thing we did learn was that
the "Black Market" was alive and well and almost anything was

available.

Chapter Five
Back at our duties, our natural impulse for fun took over. To liven
up the evening we acquired from the lab a quantity of pure alcohol.
Having plenty of grape juice on hand, we mixed the two together to
give the grape juice, "added flavor". The result was a delicious
refresher which, after inducing the nurses to join us, and noting
their lustful expressions of delight, we dubbed the cocktail, "Purple
Passion." I shall not belabor this yarn further.
As the war on the continent heated up we received word that the
bombing over Germany and the victories on land were taking its toll
to the point that Hitler began the recruitment of the very young and
the old. It was then that we received contingents of prisoners that
consisted of boys, some not even in their teens, and men well into
the latter stages of middle age.
Among these older prisoners was a man, in his late fifties, elderly

to me, who was assigned to me for ward duty. He was a very mild man,
somewhat confused as to why he was in the army. I kept him busy with
light duties and, to the degree possible, we became friends.
One late afternoon I walked into the office and found him sitting at
a table, his head in his hands, bent over the table and sobbing. I
walked over to him, placed my hand on his shoulder and
inquired, ,"What`s the matter?"
He raised his head, tears running down his cheeks, and lifting a
photo from the table. replied in his broken English, "This is a
picture of my wife and sons, all killed in the bombing." This
incident and the sight of these old men and very young boys, caught
up in a war, not of their making, caused me to realize that the
tragedy of war strikes both sides with equal vengeance,
It was now late into 1944 and the 306th had been in the UK for over
two years. This was not lost on the mind of our Company Commander. At
a Company meeting with him he broached the idea of having a little
celebration commemorating our service. He informed us that he had
obtained a spot in Cheltenham where he would set up a bar and social
area where, when off duty, we could go and, with our fellow G.Is,
celebrate our anniversary. His, much appreciated gesture was met with
a sincere round of applause.
Having an afternoon free of duty, I decided to invite one of the MPs
to accompany me. When we arrived the house was full , the Company
Commander made a toast and congratulated us on a "Job, well done."
After a moment or two of, "He's a Jolly Good Fellow," we settled down
to consuming the free beer.
My companion and guest, an extremely large and imposing MP, had just
told me how lucky we were to have such a fine Officer in charge when
the Commander walked over to where we were sitting, handed me am MP
arm band, and said, "Corporal, put this on and if any guys come in,
not a part of our outfit, tell them this is a private party and tell
them to leave." I said, "Sir, I am not an MP." His response was,
"Soldier, you are now," and walked away with a grin on his face."
Faced with this unpleasant duty, I remarked to my companion, "Damn,
I`ll get killed if I try to throw any of those infantrymen out."
He laughed and said, "John, if they come in just walk over to them
and tell them to get out."
"To hell I will. You want to see me get
killed?" I replied.
He said, "You don`t get it, do you?" He went on, "Tell them to get
out and then stand between them and the door and if they give you any
crap, invite them out to settle the matter." I said, "You've got to
be nuts." At this my friend was suddenly consumed with laughter.
After recovering his composure he said, "When you invite them out,
I`ll go out the side door over there, don't worry, You`ll be

alright."
As if on cue, two guys wearing combat boots and infantry insignia on
their shirts, walked over to the bar, obtained mugs of beer and
seated themselves. For me, Armagaddon had arrived. "Undaunted and
fearless", I approached them and gave them the message that they were
not welcome since this was a private party. Completely ignoring the
MP badge on my arm, they answered with a " Screw you, you f******
medic." Having faith and confidence in my companion, with some
reservation, I invited them outside. My invitation was immediately
accepted.
I walked to the door, my legs a bit wobbly, followed by the two
combatants. My friend, at the same time, went out the side door. Once
on the street, all Hell broke loose. Out of nowhere, one of the G.I.s
got a fist squarely in the face and the other a kick in the pants and
both moved rapidly down the street. My friend returned to the side
door and entered. Still, a bit dazed, I returned to my place at the
table where, my buddy was already seated, gave a salute to the
startled Commander, and sat down. I am sure, to this day, that
Officer is still wondering how that skinny kid managed to evict two
combat soldiers with "Chips on their shoulders."
As one of my duties was to have the wards ready for Saturday morning
inspection, I made my rounds on Friday afternoon. On one particular
Friday, I was summoned to the bedside of a patient who spoke fluent
English. He informed me that a patient, and he named the bed number,
was not getting a full portion of food and was always complaining
that he was hungry. I, immediately confronted the patient and, he
informed me that, Hauptman, a POW, that that had been a medic in the
German navy, and whom I now had serving the food in this ward, was
refusing him a full portion of food. From the look of him, I didn`t
doubt his word.
I headed back to the office, found Hauptman, and confronted him with
the fact that a patient was being denied his full portion of food.
Hauptman made no attempt to conceal the fact that he gave this
patient only minimal portions. I asked him why he would do such a
thing and got an immediate response. "Unter' Officer, that man is a
Waffen S.S. soldier, Look at the insignia on his uniform." All S.S.
had a "Black Patch Waffen SS" insignia on their uniforms. He
continued, "You take care of the office, I take care of the "SS,"
spoken in surprisingly good English. Needless to say, I sympathized
with his motive, but explained that we had to treat all patients the
same.
Saturday morning inspection went off without any problem, the
soldier in question had been given the proper amount of food and made
no complaints. The inspecting Officer, having given us an OK,

immediately departed and we went back to business, as usual. I was

ready for some leave time and knew Joe would be in line with me for a
pass and a trip to London.
Usual procedure before going on leave was to be sure all duty was
covered in my absence. I finished arranging schedules for the on duty
enlisted personnel and returned to the wards to see that all was in
order. Having determined that everything was shipshape, I turned to
the Private, on duty, and was discussing special needs for certain
patients when a terrific explosion shook the building Both, the
Private and I were knocked off our feet and some patients had been
thrown out of their beds.
Our immediate concern, after picking ourselves up off the floor, was
to ascertain the condition of our patients and determine the damage
done to the building. As soon as it was determined that no injuries
were suffered by the patients and the building seemed intact, I went
outside to see if I could discover the cause of the explosion.
An ambulance had arrived and a bomb crew, off in the distance, was
surveying a place where a huge cloud of smoke had formed. After
informing the driver that everything was alright with us, and
clambering aboard, we headed out to the bomb site. What I saw made
"my hair stand up straight." What if that bomb has landed on the
hospital, was my first thought.
The crater seemed big enough to have swallowed a large building. The
bomb crew soon left the scene, after taking note of the situation I
reflected upon what I had just seen.. Could this have been one of
Hitler's V2 bombs Could this have been one of the last V2s. that
found its way to England? It has been said that the V2 was a failure
and hit more uninhabited places than occupied areas but, at that
moment, it seemed a deadly weapon to me.
Never deterred by last minute interruptions, Joe and I headed for
London on a two day pass which we spent in "cultural pursuits." One
interesting few moments occurred while we were on a short train ride
to a place just outside of London, highly recommended by a fellow
G.I. as a great place to indulge ourselves.
Seated directly across from us in the train was a small British
gentleman, British trains have these little compartments, so much
like those seen on stage coaches in Western movies. We exchanged
pleasantries, and in so doing, he asked me where I was from, "In the
"States." I told him, Kalamazoo, Michigan. His face broke into a
smile and he said, "Oh I know that part of the country well." He went
on, "several years ago, I was in Chicago, looking for a shop where I
could construct neon signs and not having any success."He continued,
"I was eating in a little Italian restaurant and got talking to the
waiter and telling him of my problem." He reached into his pocket,

withdrew a business card, scribbled his name on it, handed it to me,

and said, "Here, take this card to the hotel named on it, stand in
line on the stairs until you are ushered into the room at the top of
the stairs. Give the man at the door the card, and you'll be taken
care of. I did as he suggested the following day. When I was finally
ushered in I saw a long Board of Directors table, and there, at the
head of the table was, none other than, "Scar face" Al Capone. I
recognized him immediately, having seen his picture in the newspaper.
I tell you, my knees were buckling and I was one scared little
Englishman." He went on to say that he was "taken care of," but it
was an experience he would never forget.
On another occasion, on one of those train rides out of London I
experienced a very enlightening moment while talking to a civilian.
The man sitting across from me struck up a conversation with me and
remarked, "I certainly admire the spirit of you `Yanks." He went on
to say, " I was taking this same train and a "Yank" was sitting
across from me and I inquired as to his destination. The train was
just beginning to move and I inquired as to his destination. He told
me and I told him he was on the wrong train, going in the opposite
direction. Without further ado, he simply grabbed the leather strap,
dropped down the window, jumped out onto the platform and
disappeared. That`s the kind of immediate action that will win this
damned war, Thank God, you are on our side."
On December 16, 1944, we received word that the Germans had mounted a
huge offensive, had broken through and created an extensive bulge in
the Allied lines. This was Hitler`s last desperate attempt to change
the course of the war and became known as the "Battle of the Bulge."
Although fighting was fierce, it was to no avail, and the end of the
war was now in sight, although peace would not come until May of
1945.
The New Year arrived and while we managed to celebrate in the local
pub it was a time when one felt very homesick, wondering if this
damned war would ever end, an emotion one felt every night when the
bugle sounded, Taps., signaling, "Lights Out."
The year 1945 seemed much like every other year, the same old
routine, the same "bitching" in the barracks and the same old duties
in the wards looking after the needs of the wounded enemy.
Spring had arrived and with the coming of April, we were on one of
our `voluntary' long hikes to condition ourselves before settling
down to the business of the day. It was a chilly day in April and we
were just approaching camp when a Sergeant came running over to us
shouting, "Have you guys heard the news?" Before we could respond, he
shouted, "The President just passed away." There was a moment of
complete silence among the group. As the portent of this shocking
news settled upon us, we all fell silent and tears arose in the eyes

of all six of us. We were the young men who grew from children to
adults, never having known another President, and one so dearly loved
by all of us. He was the leader who took us through the "Great
Depression" and led us in time of war. "He was always the "Master of
his Realm", and will always be remembered as the "Captain at the
Helm." April 12, 1945, "Now he belongs to the ages," to borrow a
phrase from Secretary of War, Stanton, upon the death of Abraham
Lincoln during the Civil War.
What had seemed just the beginning of a new year, suddenly turned
into a year filled with surprises. We knew that the Allies had agreed
to demand "Unconditional Surrender." We also knew that Hitler had
committed suicide and that this meant sure victory for the Allies. In
spite of all this, we were taken aback, when on May 5, 1945 the
surrender of Germany brought an end to the war in Europe. On May 8,
the surrender was signed. It was VE Day! The guns were silenced and
a war torn continent was, once again, at peace. The "Captain at the
Helm," had not lived to see us "Gain the summit of the hill."
Celebrations broke out throughout the United Kingdom and this meant
passes were being issued very liberally and it made it possible for
us to join in the celebration. Needless to say, Joe Feld and I were
now ready for a trip to London. London was in a high state of
euphoria when we arrived. People, everywhere, were still celebrating,
days after the war ended, and American G.I, s were treated as
heroes. Joe and I basked in the glory of it all, even though we had
not fired a single shot in anger throughout the war.

Chapter 6
After returning from leave I was making my rounds in the wards when
my Sergeant approached me and said, "John, looks like you have a new
assignment." I replied, "The Hell I do, I haven't done anything
wrong." He laughed and said, "No, its not punishment, you are going
on detached service to Belfast, N. Ireland with a Private to set up a
prophylactic station, you lucky dog." He continued, "That's a dammed
nice duty assignment."
May 8, 1945, I arrived in Belfast with Bill, my assistant, moved
into our new quarters and for the next couple of days made the place
"ship-shape." My station was set up in a storefront not far from the
center of town. It consisted of quarters for two and a facility to
service the soldiers before their return to camp. This was my station
and I was in complete charge, far from the commands of demanding
Sergeants. My subordinate was a young Private who hailed from the
Appalachians, a"Hillbilly," if you will. To my delight he even stood
in awe of a lowly Corporal. Needless to say, we got on very well.

Belfast is the largest city in Northern Ireland. N. Ireland is a part

of the United Kingdom and was fully involved in the war. It was here
that the Titanic was built in the shipyards of Harland and Wolfe. For
many decades many of the great ships of historical importance were
built there. Belfast also has a long history related to the linen
trade and it was known all over the world for its fine linen
products. Then, during the war Belfast had another claim to fame,
along with other cities in the United Kingdom, and that was its
surplus of "Yanks." The term, "Yanks," was a token of friendship
except when it was used by the mothers of eligible girls in the
community. In spite of this bit of "bigotry" the young maidens
seemed to find the "Yanks" good company and the dance halls were
constantly creating many "social relationships."
There were still enough "Yanks" to go around even though the war in
Europe was over. There was an Air Force base called, Langford Lodge
just outside the city and the troops were busy dismantling the base
and removing equipment while awaiting orders for their next
assignment. With the war still raging in the South Pacific, there was
little doubt as to where that would be. Needless to say, I was
wondering about the destination for the 306th, but for now, at least,
I was safely tucked away in Belfast. I did know, however, that since
we had not been in combat, the South Pacific might be our next
location and a combat area there.
My assistant was not eager to wend his way through the large city,
preferring to stay at our station, in the evening writing letters to
his girlfriend and parents. This made it possible for me to have the
evenings to myself. During the day there was little to do and it was
then I became acquainted with civilians on the street outside the
facility. One elderly lady and I had several interesting chats. On
one occasion, she told me she was a seamstress and invited me over in
the next street to see her shop. Not wanting to seem uninterested, I
walked with her to the shop. She was very proud of it and showed me
all her creations. We chatted for a few minutes and then she said,
"Would you be staying for Tea?" With that, she pulled aside a curtain
and there in the next room was a neat little restaurant. Her
smuggling connections in the Irish Free State, which was neutral in
the war, provided her with all the food and drink she needed to run
this fine little lunch room at this time of severe food rationing in
the United Kingdom. I could not know it at the time but this tiny
sliver of the "Black Market," would mark a turning point in my life.
Having heard of a dance hall, not ordinarily frequented by Americans
I decided to give it a try. Hoping to find some feminine
companionship, I sauntered into the club, approached the bar, ordered
a drink, and surveyed the scene for a possible conquest. There,
sitting at a nearby table with a young British Naval Officer, was the
loveliest Colleen I had ever laid eyes upon. Much as I wanted to ask

her for a dance, I couldn`t chance a rejection with that "Limey"

seated at the table with her. I bided my time and after a few short
minutes her date excused himself and left the table. Siezing the
moment, I strode over to her and asked her for a dance. Surprisingly,
she accepted my invitation and for several wonderful minutes I held
her in my arms as we danced to the romantic music the band was
playing. The dance, having ended, I escorted her back to her table.
The young Officer had returned and as we approached, the damned
"Limey," in his phony, uppercrust accent, said, "I presume, Peggy, my
dancing is too old fashioned for you." With that, he stood up and
strode off. Now, I knew her name, had vanquished her boyfriend and
had her to myself. This didn`t seem to bother Peggy, who seemed
almost glad to see him leave. I sat down with her, took her hand in
mine, and from that moment on, I was in love.
I wanted very much to escort her home but she made it quite clear
that her mother would not welcome me and it would cause her more
trouble than she was willing to bear. Before seeing her to the bus we
agreed to see one another the following evening. I was in "Seventh
Heaven," and felt, very much, like the character Gene Kelly played in
that wonderful dance sequence in the movie Singing in the Rain. It
seemed that all these events were taking place as though following a
movie scenario. I had been in Ireland for such a short period of time
and, here I was, already in love.
We met the following evening, and by the end of two weeks of ,every
night dating, had become a "Couple." We both realized that our
affair was more than just a "Passing Fancy." None of this would have
been possible without the collusion of Peggy`s sister, Betty, who was
always ready with an excuse for Peggy`s late nights.
It soon became quite clear to both of us that we were in love to the
point that we wanted to spend the rest of our lives together,
although I had not yet, "Popped the Question." The difficulties to
overcome seemed too overwhelming. Peggy was from an Irish Catholic
family. I was a Protestant, with ties to the Dutch Reformed Church,
the church of the most hated, King William of Orange, and, to top it
off, I was a "Damned Yankee" and a soldier from a far off country.
Then, and even today, in Belfast, Catholics do not marry Protestants
and, most certainly, not Protestants with ties to the Dutch Reformed
Church. Secondly, and even more disqualifying, was the fact that her
parents would be losing a beloved daughter and sending her abroad,
maybe, never to return. All this we knew, but two people in love are
blinded by their emotions to the extent that they are insensitive to
the feelings of others affected by their union.
One late Friday afternoon, after a stroll through the shops and a
light dinner in one of the many little curbside eateries that dot the
downtown streets of Belfast, we walked up the steps of the City Hall,

found a seat close to the great columns that grace that stately
building and sat down to chat. It was early evening, a light rain had
fallen during the day but the evening, was quite pleasant.
I told Peggy of my love for her but emphasized that if I could not
meet her parents it would be better to call the whole thing off
before we both got hurt in the process. She said nothing for a
minute, and then, with tears in her eyes, said, "OK, John, let`s go
home, right now."
Dusk had fallen, with a bit of chill in the air, as we walked up
Rockville Street and entered number 31, one of the little brownstone
houses that line the streets of Belfast. The tiny living room was
warm and cozy, heated by a neat little fireplace that threw long,
flickering shadows on the papered walls. A piano, sofa and chair
graced the room . All these homey images gave me a feeling of warmth
and security I had not experienced for a very long time.
No one being home, Peggy busied herself with making a pot of hot tea
and then went to the piano and played an old Irish tune. As I sat and
basked in the beauty of the scene, I kept thinking how much I would
love to spend the rest of my life with this lovely Irish girl.
The peace and tranquility of this heavenly moment was shattered as
Peggy`s mother arrived on the scene. Mrs. McKenny, although not a
large lady, to my eyes presented a very imposing figure. Peggy
introduced her mother to me. Mrs. McKenny, very graciously, shook my
hand, and then, with a pleasant smile, uttered the words, so often
spoken to young men in my position, "So, you are the young man who
has been keeping my daughter out to all hours of the night." My
response was, " Yes, Mrs. McKenny, I must plead guilty to that."
The evening was continuing splendidly with Peggy`s mother querying me
about all things Catholic. I was responding with many things I had
read about the Church and throwing in the names of a few Catholic
clerics. Fortunately, I had read so much history that included the
Church that I felt I was coming off quite well. Never once, did Mrs.
McKenny ask me if I was a Catholic, although Peggy told me later that
her mother concluded that I was a "Fallen away" Catholic.
The evening was getting late and then Peggy`s mother issued the
"Coup de Grace,"
"I know you boys always enjoy some home cooked food. Would you like
something with your tea?"
I answered, "Certainly Mrs. McKenny, I`d
like that very much, thank you." Then she said, "Well now, I have
some lovely fish and some delicious chicken, which would you prefer?"
It was then, I made my first mistake. I chose chicken, completely
forgetting it was Friday. I was served a delicious plate of roast
chicken , completely oblivious of the error I had just made.

Not all was lost, for I was invited back and spent all my evenings
there getting to know Peggy`s mother, father, sister and brother.
Peggy`s father was a quiet little man who worked for a local bakery.
He was very easy to talk to and we became friends very quickly,
spending some time at the local pub getting better acquainted. He was
a very broad minded man, certainly not a part of the religious
bigotry that consumed so much of Northern Ireland, and best of all,
not prejudiced toward American soldiers. I came to know her sister,
Betty, a lovely young lady, with a great sense of humor, and Peggy`s
ally in whatever Peggy wanted to do. Her brother, Seamus was the
typical teenager, unconcerned with his sister`s problems and more
concerned about my supply of "Yankee goodies." Mrs. McKenny and I
soon became good friends and my frequent visits with her during the
day, while Peggy was at work, sharing many laughs together, cemented
my relationship with the McKenny family.
Though I did spend many daytime hours away from my station, I did
cover for my assistant on those occasions he wanted to go to town. As
far as night time activities were concerned, he preferred to spend
his time reading or writing letters home.
As was to be expected, soldiers being at their base during the day,
we had few guys showing up at the pro station during daylight hours.
However there was an occasional G. I remember one such instance
because it had such a sad ring to it. A young man came into the
station and asked me if he could use the facility to shower and
shave. He said he was being married in a few hours and wanted to get
ready for the wedding. Upon receiving an affirmative answer, he
proceeded with his grooming and left, looking in great shape for his
plunge into matrimony.
Several hours later a lady and her daughter arrived and asked if I
had seen a soldier fitting the description she gave of him. I knew
immediately it was the G.I. I had seen earlier and confirmed that he
had been here.. I knew something was amiss by the sad look on the
girl`s face. Her mother then blurted out, "I knew this would happen.
That damned "Yank" never showed up for the wedding, damn his soul."
It was the end of June, 1945 and my whole venture almost came
crashing down. I received a visit from a Captain and a Lieutenant to
make an inspection of the facility. I wanted to get the inspection
behind me because I felt I wouldn't have another inspection until
around the end of July, 1945.
After a quick "walk through," the Captain said, " Nice job, Corporal,
everything seems in order." I then invited them into my quarters for
a drink, which they readily accepted. The Lieutenant glanced at a
portrait of Peggy I had placed near my bed and said, "Pretty girl,
your girlfriend or your wife, back home?" I replied, rather naively,
"No Sir, "That's a young lady I met here in Belfast and hope to marry

before I go home. Oops! Bad mistake! I well knew of the Army`s

disapproval of soldiers marrying girls they met while stationed
overseas, The Captain smiled and said, "She is a beautiful girl. I
can readily understand why you would like to take her home with you,
Corporal, but probably, not a good idea. Maybe its time we got you
back to your outfit." That remark hit me like a lightening bolt. I
could not imagine being separated from "The love of my life," and
being put in a position where marriage would be impossible. I felt
trapped, and no way out. Then, suddenly, I remembered a bit of wisdom
Captain Hummer had given me. He had said, "Never ask for anything
without being prepared to give something in return, "or, "Quid Pro
Quo."
Regaining my composure and having hit on an idea, I replied to the
superior Officer, "Captain, that's for you to decide, Sir." I
followed that with, "Sir, its almost lunch time, would you and the
Lieutenant like to join me for a nice meal of steak and eggs?" The
Lieutenant spoke up and said, "Where in the name of Hell can you get
a meal like that with all this damned rationing?" Realizing that I
was on to something, I replied, " If you gentlemen will follow me,
I`ll be glad to show you." With that, we all got up, walked to the
door and started up the street.
When we arrived at the dress shop of my old friend, the seamstress. I
beckoned them in. I noticed a look of puzzlement on the faces of the
two Officers as I approached the lady at the counter. After a moment,
I introduced the Officers, and she escorted us to the magic curtain,
pulled it back and ,Voila, we were in "Food Heaven."
The steaks were done to perfection, the eggs, a perfect complement,
to the steaks, "over easy", and presented beautifully on fine china
plates. The "piece de resistance' was a tasty peach cobbler topped
with whipped cream. This, and steaming cups of hot coffee brought
smiles of satisfaction to the faces of the two Officers. It was then,
I made my move. Addressing the Captain, I said "Sir, I would really
appreciate it if you could have my assignment here extended." The
Captain, with a broad, knowing smile, replied, "Well, Corporal, I
suppose a little more time Could be arranged, maybe another month.
Plan on being back at your outfit in England on July 30."=== "Quid
Pro Quo."

Chapter
7
Realizing how transient my stay in Belfast was going to be, I made
up my mind to, "Bite the Bullet," and ask Peggy to marry me.
One evening Peggy and I were invited to take a drive along the
beautiful, scenic Antrim Road with a couple she knew who owned a car.
This was a special treat because, at that time, few people in the
U.K. owned cars. The car was a cute little roadster with seats for
four, two of them in a cozy little rumble seat, perfect for two
people in love. After a short drive, the car was pulled over and
parked. It was a beautiful, starlit night, a warm breeze coming in
from the ocean, the sound of waves lapping the shore and a gorgeous
moon overhead. A film director could not have set up a better scene
for a romantic moment in the film he was directing.
I held Peggy in my arms, kissed her luscious lips and then uttered
the following clumsy proposal, "Peggy, "Would you consider becoming
my wife?" Of all the opportunities to use romantic phrases, this was
one, but I was so tongue-tied I was lucky to get this much across and
on top of all this, I didn`t even have an engagement ring ready..
After a short pause, Peggy, with tears in her eyes, said, "Yes, John,
but you know, its going to be difficult to manage. My mum and dad
will be awfully hard to convince" This was followed by a lingering
kiss which I will always remember unto the end of my days.
Now that we were engaged, I said to Peggy, "Sweetheart, I know this
is going to be difficult for your parents but I think we can convince
them that they should give us their blessing. Now we have to find a
good time to tell them of our intentions." To this she replied, "I
know, but lets wait for the proper time. This is not going to be
easy."
For several days we said nothing to anyone about our engagement. We
knew we had to find the proper moment to broach the subject to
Peggy`s parents. Our procrastination finally came to an end, forced
upon us by a call I received from my unit, informing me that my stay
in Belfast was to end on July 30,1945 and to close down my facility
and return to the 306.th It was now July 2, 1945 and having, roughly,
only four weeks left in Belfast, we had to end our procrastination
and , "Face the Music" with Peggy`s parents.
Our opportunity to have a quiet evening with Peggy`s parents came
shortly thereafter. Peggy`s sister, was out on a date, , her brother,
was busy elsewhere, and Mr. and Mrs. McKenny were having a quiet

evening at home. Peggy and I had been in town and decided this was
the perfect time to break the news of our engagement.
Peggy was at the piano accompanying her father as he played a lively
jig on his fiddle. Having laid down the violin and returned to his
place on the sofa next to Mrs. McKenny, he said, "Peggy, did you have
something to tell us?" He continued, "You certainly didn`t have your
mind on the music," Peggy hesitated and seemed at a loss for words.
Sensing it was my turn to say something, I began, "Yes, we do have
something to tell you, Peggy and I are engaged to be married, and
now, all we need, is your blessing." There was a moment of silence,
which, to Peggy and I, seemed an eternity, and then her mother spoke
up. She said, "Seeing how the two of you get on, a person would have
to be blind not to see that this was coming, even if you have only
known each other for such a short time." Peggy`s father seemed
content to let Peggy`s mother continue the dialogue. She said, " Now,
John, you know Peggy is very young and this is a serious move the two
of you are thinking about. John, you are a long way from home and
sometimes it is easy to forget someone you care for back there." She
went on, "There is also the need for you to get settled, have a job
and ready to begin a family." Peggy`s father then spoke up. "I think
what "Minnie" is trying to say is that marriage, while you are still
in the army, is not possible." "Minnie" was the name everyone used
for Mrs. McKenny. After a short pause. Minnie began, "John, you are a
nice boy and I know Peggy really cares for you but she is also our
daughter and we want her to be happy. You told me that you must
return to England soon and the war is not yet over for you. We think
that it would be best for you to wait until you are out of the army,
have a job and no one back there you may have forgotten, and then, if
you and Peggy still feel the same about marriage, we will consider
it." Without waiting for my response, Minnie said, "Now, I think we
should have some tea." Knowing Mrs. McKenny, I knew the last word had
been given and we simply accepted her dictum.
After a nice cup of hot tea and a delicious Irish scone, liberally
covered with jam, I realized it was getting late and, with our
mission accomplished, I arose and prepared to say good night. I shook
hands with her dad, gave Peggy a goodnight kiss, turned to Minnie and
said, "Mrs. McKenny, After I do get home, you will be hearing from
me. I am a very stubborn Dutchman, you know."
During the following days Peggy and I spent every moment together we
could. The only shadow hanging over our romance was that I would
soon be returning to England. We had long conversations about the
life we would live in America. Peggy asked me countless questions
about how Americans lived. We were in a constant state of euphoria
over the idea of being married and starting a family. I knew I had
found the right mate for a happily married life. I had met Peggy only
a little more than two months ago but, in my heart, I knew I had met
the girl God had chosen for me.

On the evening of July 29, the day before I had to return to my

outfit, we spent our last hours together at Peggy`s home with her
parents. That night, when I departed, our hearts were heavy at the
thought of my leaving but we both pledged our troth to each other and
agreed to write every day until we were reunited in America.
On the morning of July 30, 1945, Bill, my assistant, and I boarded a
cross channel ferry and left Belfast behind. I had asked Peggy not to
be there, not wanting to have an emotional good bye. Arriving in
England, we boarded a train and soon were back at the old 306th.
When we arrived back in camp excitement was running high. Everyone
had been "sweating" the news about the action in the Pacific, and
rumors had been circulating that the 306th was scheduled for
deployment . The news coming out of the Theater of Operations in the
Pacific was on every ones minds but, as a result of so many
disappointments in the past, not always believed. Absolutely no one
is as skeptical of news reports as a G.I. in a time of war.
By the middle of July, 1945, most of the important battles in the
South Pacific had been won. In spite of this the Japanese still
carried on, refusing to accept the inevitable, with the loss of
thousands of military and civilian lives. Thousands of tons of bombs
were raining down all over Japan.
During the rest of July the newspapers carried stories of the
impossible resistance of the Japanese. By July 30 the naval forces of
Japan had been almost completely wiped out. Despite all these signs
of defeat the Japanese continued to boast that they were capable of
repelling any enemy attack against the homeland. This air of bravado
continued, even after having experienced, what has been called, "the
greatest air raid in history," having just had six thousand, six
hundred thirty two tons of bombs dropped on their oil refineries and
cities.
By August 3, it was obvious that Japan was doomed but the American
bombers continued to blast their railroads and warn them that the
end was near. They still continued to resist. Even after August 5,
when a dozen cities were added to the "surrender or die" list they
stubbornly clung to the idea that they could recover and continue the
fight.
Listening intently to the radio, we heard the news but still felt
that deployment to the South Pacific was in the offing. It was on the
6th of August when we received news that President Truman had
unleashed a bomb, two thousand times more destructive than a
blockbuster, which had been detonated over Hiroshima.
This announcement got our attention. We were glued to the radio but

censorship was in place. Bombing by the Flying Fortresses continued.

No word from Japan in reply to an ultimatum that had been given for
them to surrender was made. While no news of the destruction caused
by the bomb was being released we sensed that it must have been
horrendous. Then, on August 9 word came through that a second bomb
had been detonated over the city of Nagasaki.
We, along with the rest of the world, awaited word of the Japanese
surrender. Then the word came through that the Japanese were willing
to surrender as long as the Emperor was safeguarded, but no offer of
capitulation. The Allies then offered to leave the fate of the
Emperor up to the direction of the Allied nations. The Japanese
continued to delay and the killing continued. The Japanese were given
a warning that renewed atomic bombing was possible if Japan continued
to delay surrendering.
Finally on August 14 word was received that the Japanese had
surrendered but no official proof was given. Having received no
official word the Americans continued to shell and bomb Japan.
At long last, we all heaved a sigh of relief as word came through
that in Bern, Switzerland on the 14th that the Japanese minister had
delivered a note to the Foreign Office from Tokyo . This was quickly
followed by a radio report from Washington. "Tokyo radio said today
that Allied terms for Japan's surrender had been accepted by Emperor
Hirohito." More than twelve hours later no official confirmation was
given and the fighting in the Pacific continued.
On August 15, 1945, the one word the world had been wanting to hear.
"PEACE," appeared in newspapers all over the world. In no matter what
language the word appeared, the families of loved ones gave thanks to
their God for the end to this brutal war. The world was now at peace
and the tyranny of the brutal dictators in Italy, Germany and Japan
had come to an end, thanks to the sacrifices made by the soldiers of
the Allied nations and their loved ones at home.
On September 2, 1945, Gen. Douglas MacArthur, delegates of the Allied
powers and the Japanese delegates met on the deck of the battleship
USS Missouri in Tokyo Bay and formally signed the document accepting
the terms of surrender by the Japanese. The world was, once again, at
peace and the blessings of freedom and democracy had been secured for
the nations dedicated to those principles.
Each of us, in our own way, responded to this news with thoughts of
what the future would bring. My mind immediately returned to
thoughts of my Peggy, and how soon we would be reunited. We had been
corresponding every day and now my letter, this day, would be filled
with joy and optimistic words about our being together and the life
we would be living in America.
For those of us in Britain the scenario now became a waiting game.
Individuals would be going home based on a point system. Length of

time served, the type of action the soldier was involved in and the
decorations he had received, would be taken under consideration in
giving points. Since the members of our outfit had served for about
the same amount of time. had collected no medals for valor in combat,
and our service had been a "Walk in the Park" compared to the ones
who had suffered the horrors of combat, we were in for the "Long
Haul."

Chapter 8
It was now the beginning of October, 1945 and repatriation had not
yet taken place for the POWs in the hospital, although, by this
time, almost all were ambulatory and able to work thus relieving us
of many duties.. Our work in the hospital continued as usual but on a
much more relaxed basis. We were in a "holding pattern" and really
only biding time until we could be go back to the United States for
demobilization.

Somewhere along the line of command an idea emerged to keep the

anxious troops happy. The army set up a number of tours to which the
troops could sign up for and, for all practicality, make us
"tourists." This attention to our concerns was enthusiastically
accepted, especially when a trip to a brewery was scheduled.
On the Company bulletin board was the following notice, "SIGN UP FOR
A VISIT TO THE STROUD BREWERY. The bus will leave at 0900 hours
tomorrow."
Needless to say there was no problem in getting a busload. Joe and I
were at the assigned location to meet the bus at exactly 0900 hours.
It seems promptness was not an issue when all that free beer was in
the offing.
At exactly 0900 hours we were seated on the bus for the ride to
Stroud. .The ride was of short duration and we were greeted by a tour
guide, who, by the look on his face, did not relish guiding this
group of. "Bloody Yanks,"
He gave us the usual speech as he guided us through the brewery,
although we made it difficult for him with our crude remarks and lack
of attention. Finally we arrived in the cellar, surrounded by huge
vats of beer and were invited to sample the wares. This got our
immediate attention and we showed our affection for Stroud beer by
consuming all that the attendant provided.
The tour over, we boarded our bus and pulled out for home, with waves
of goodbye from the employees, The, now somewhat inebriated
"tourists," showed their gratitude by blowing up condoms, tying them
off into neat little balloons and tossing them out the windows. Is
this where the term, "Ugly American," first surfaced? Was this our
contribution to millions of tourists who were to visit England after
the war? On the other hand, would this not be viewed as merely the
exuberant joy of a lot of war weary G.I.s anxious to return home to
families and friends?
There were several other trips that caught my attention and turned
out to be experiences to be remembered. One of the most treasured of
these was a trip that was posted as, "A TRIP TO A STATELY BRITISH
MANSION." Needless to say, this particular tour was not as popular as
the brewery trip but I and five other guys signed up for it, hoping
to see how the "Other Half" lived in this "Class ridden" society and,
just maybe, a chance to view a place connected with the history of
England. There was agreement that I would speak on their behalf when
we arrived at our destination.
At the appointed time we boarded a small van and headed down the
road. The colors of autumn, the trees splendid with their bouquet of
red and yellow leaves, brought home to me mental pictures of Michigan
and, for just a moment, engulfed me in pangs of homesickness, an
emotion, I`m sure, was felt by my companions. The ride took only a

little over an hour. It always amazed us at how short distances

between places in Britain were. Americans never could get over the
small size of this island country.
Finally, looming ahead of us was a huge, sprawling mansion The
massive, graveled covered area in front of the entrance provided
ample room for a large number of vehicles. I had a feeling of having
been here before, probably the result of having seen scenes such as
this in the movies. It was a truly impressive sight.
The driver, a young English girl, who had remained silent all during
the trip, completely ignoring our ribald remarks, turned to us and
said, "Here you are genlemen, Blenheim Palace, ancestral home of
Prime Minister Winston Churchill, enjoy yourselves."
Here we were, a group of awe struck Yanks, who had never seen such a
glamorous residence. As grandiose as was the palace, and grandiose it
certainly was, the sheer size of this magnificent home simply
overwhelmed us and, for just a moment, I was so taken aback that I
could not find the entrance. Then I realized that the huge door that
I was facing must be what I was looking for.. Hesitently, we
approached,, but before I could reach the front door, a lovely young
lady opened it, or had it opened for her, its size seemed too huge to
be opened by such a gentle young lady, and greeted us as though she
were awaiting our arrival. Her greeting was, "You must be our
American guests." I replied, "Yes Mam, My name is John," and then
introduced my companions. She, in turn, introduced herself, but
memory does not allow me to recall her name. I do remember, very
clearly, that her name was preceded by the title, "Lady." She bade us
, enter and her easy banter made us feel right at home. To tell the
truth, we were overwhelmed at the granduer of the entrance and we
must have seemed to her, a group of yokels, as we stood in awe of the
sheer size of the place and the gorgeous oil paintings, of long gone
ancestors, that graced the walls of this magnificent entrance.
In a very informal manner the young lady steered us into the study, a
beautifully appointed room, furnished with some of the finest leather
seating that any of us had ever encountered. We, no longer were
seated, than a butler approached us, said, "Gentlemen, what can I
bring you." After ordering our drinks, and the lady ordering hers,
the butler retreated and the usual remarks about the beauty of the
home were uttered by each of us. The lady was giving us a history of
the palace when suddenly a middle aged lady and gentleman appeared on
the scene.
We were introduced, but again, my memory fails in recalling their
names. I do remember the gracious manner in which they joined in the
conversation. I, for one, was amazed at how easily we were accepted
and treated as though we were important guests. In the meantime, the
butler arrived and served our drinks, much more elegantly than the
way we were accustomed to being served. The gentleman went on to

describe the estate. He said, "I`m sure you men would like to know a
little about the historical place you are visiting." He went on to
say that the mansion was located on twenty one hundred acres and the
house was built in the eighteenth century and the gardens were added
in the nineteenth century. He said, "the palace was designed by
Vanbrugh, a noted architect of that period and was the nation`s
reward to the First Duke of Marlborough for his victories over Louis
1V. The gardens were designed by Henry Wise, in an Anglo-Dutch
Barouqe manner." He went on to say that we would appreciate the skill
of the people of that period when we took a tour of the grounds.
It was now approaching noon, and as interesting as the conversation
had been, we began to feel the need for sustenance. As if our wish
had been heard, the butler arrived and said, "Tea is being served."
All six of us knew that meant food, even if we didn`t understand
"Dutch Baroque."
We were seated at a long table in a magnificent dining area
overlooking a finely manicured garden resplendent with the hues of
autumn.. "High Tea", is usually served between three and five in the
afternoon but from the look of the spread on the table they must have
made an exception, knowing they were feeding a group of hungry G.I.s.
For a group of guys who thought meat and potatoes was a feast, this
menu overwhelmed our imaginations.
The main entre consisted of smoked salmon with cream cheese. Also
gracing the table was egg, mayonnaise, sliced cucumber, and if one
was partial to meat, Wilshire ham and mustard. Thinly cut slices of
bread and scones were placed before us with homemade jam and all of
this to be followed by our choice of several scrumptious looking
desserts. Oh, there was tea, of course, but coffee was available and
this was to be followed by champagne. Knowing how severe rationing
was, these wonderful, hospitable people must have strained their
ration coupons to the limit to make all this possible. Oh, to have a
mess sergeant, with such a creative mind and generous spirit.
Having demonstrated our liking of this delicious meal, by our over
enthusiastic consumption of its contents, we were invited to tour the
gardens by our lovely hostess. As I remember, a pram, or baby
carriage, was produced, occupied by a delightful baby whose gender I
cannot recall. Our hostess, now guiding the pram, was giving us a
delightful account of the history of the gardens. At this point I
offered my services as driver of the carriage. The offer was readily
accepted and I found myself responsible for the safe transportation
of a, very young, British aristocrat. The tour continued and even a
group of uncultured Yanks could not help but express admiration for
the artistry in creating such beauty. Suddenly, a young RAF Officer
appeared on the scene. After a perfunctory hug and a peck on the
cheek of, his wife, our hostess, he introduced himself and bade us
welcome. Turning to me, guiding the pram, he said, "Do you know who

you are caring for in the pram." I replied, "No Sir, we haven't been
introduced, as yet." He smiled and rattled off a rather long series
of names, strung together by centuries of aristocratic familial ties.
As I recall, he did mention the child`s relationship with P.M.
Winston Churchill, but by this time. I was only able to grasp enough
of our conversation to know that I was, indeed, personally
experiencing a bit of English history.
To describe the beauty, creativity and attention to detail displayed
in those gardens would require another book and descriptive powers
beyond my meager talents. Suffice to say, that all members of the
American group took away great admiration for the social and
botanical skills of our English cousins and their ability to bring an
air of formality to the wonders of nature and social etiquette. The
less formal approach to the physical world, by we Americans, stood in
stark contrast and underscored how time had created a people much
different than our forbearers. Different we had become, since those
Colonial days, but never having lost the values and basic principals
we shared as a people.

Chapter Nine
October now turned to November, with cool, chilly days, signaling
the beginning of winter, The repatriation of German prisoners was now
taking place. Daily, our patients, mostly ambulatory, were leaving
the hospital behind and returning to occupied Germany.
Then, one grand day in December we received word that our unit was
scheduled for deployment. We were going home! Oh Dear God, the day we
had long wished for had now become reality. The order to be ready to
pack our belongings and prepare to leave was the most precious order
we had ever received. My letters to Peggy now were full of the utter
elation I felt at the thought of our being united and sharing our
lives together as lovers and man and wife.
Christmas 1945, was a much more festive affair than previous
Christmas` and the dinner of turkey and all the fixings, prepared for
us by the kitchen crew, seemed much more tasty, given the fact that

we soon would be on a troopship headed for home. The high level of

morale was evident as we all envisioned being in our own home towns
with those we loved. I, could not contain my feelings of happiness at
the thought of being in a position to send for my Peggy and having
her with me in Kalamazoo to begin our life together.
A happier New Year was never more welcomed than the year 1946. We
celebrated, not only the new year, but the knowledge that we would
soon be back in the "Good Old United States." You can well believe,
that we were on our best behavior, not wanting any complications to
mar our departure for home.
Then, on or about January 7, 1946, the order came. "Pack your gear,
climb aboard the awaiting trucks for the trip to Southhampton to meet
the troopship that will carry you home." Not a single soul in our
outfit had any misgivings about carrying out that order.
The trip to Southhampton was more like a holiday event than the
movement of army troops. The singing of the soldiers had a very
upbeat quality about them and the joy of being on the way home was
evident in the spirit of the men as they relished the thought of
going back to wives and sweethearts. My mind was entirely focused on
getting home and sending for my Peggy.
Having arrived in Southhampton and on the dock awaiting our
embarcation orders, we were assembled in military order. Officers
were in their own assemblage, and all of us, enlisted and Officer
rank, in a highly festive mood. We were ready to board the giant
aircraft carrier, the USS Lake Champlain.
Once on board, all units, mostly infantry, were given assigned areas
and each told where to place their gear. Shortly thereafter, a
Sergeant called us to attention to receive an order from the Captain
of the ship.
In a voice, almost identical to that of Franklin Roosevelt, the
Captain addressed us over the public address system. As I recall, he
said, "Now hear this. This is the Captain speaking. My name is
Captain Logan Ramsey. I want to welcome you on behalf of myself and
the crew of the Lake Champlain. This ship is part of Operation, Magic
Carpet. I would, personally, like to take this opportunity to to
thank you for your service. You have done a wonderful job in bringing
this war to a successful conclusion. From this moment on, you are our
guests. We ask only that you keep your area in a neat condition.
There will be no reason to make up your bunks in the morning. This,
and all other housekeeping duties will be performed by the crew. You
will find question boxes at various places around the ship. If you
have questions or queries for me, feel free to place them in the box.
I will try to answer you in my nightly address to you. Additionally,
I have given orders that snacks be placed at various points around

the ship, in case you feel hungry between meals. The United States
Navy and this ship in particular, as a part of Operation, Magic
Carpet, will do everything we can to provide for your comfort on your
trip home. I thank you again. for your dedicated service, You will
soon be home with your loved ones. God Speed and God Bless you."
This eulogy, with its words of praise and welcoming, left us
breathless. Never, during our term of service, had we been spoken to
in such a manner. In addition to our joy at going home we were now
going there under the most favorable of conditions.
We were soon underway and, before long, it became evident that the
weather was not going to be one of the favorable conditions that we
were to experience. We had no sooner cleared the harbor than storm
clouds appeared on the horizon. As the weather worsened and the waves
loomed larger and larger it became evident that even a ship as large
as this aircraft carrier could have problems coping with the whims of
"Mother Nature."
That first night on board was a rocky one as the ship plunged through
the angry waves of the North Atlantic. Although many of the
"landlubbers" on board grappled with seasickness, we made it through
the night into a day of calm seas.
True to the Captain`s promise, the crew did arrive, made our beds and
performed the other housekeeping duties. We were still in a state of
wonderment at these services being performed for us. Breakfast was a
delight, with fresh eggs, hash browns, bacon, sausage and plenty of
hot coffee. In spite of the army derision of the navy, we had to
admit that when it came to food, the navy was in a superior position.
The weather having cleared, the day was an absolute delight. We were
able to walk the decks, enjoy a snack at one of the tables scattered
around the ship, observe the activities of the crew and, if one
chose, spend some time reading or writing letters back at our bunks.
Captain Ramsey had, indeed, made this a pleasure cruise, God Bless
him.
As time wore on, the weather worsened and, during his nightly address
to us, the Captain made it clear that we could expect this to be a
frequent occurrence since this was January and the North Atlantic was
a stormy place in the winter. He also assured us that we were not to
worry about our safety since ships, such as these, were built to
withstand all that nature could throw at them.
The third night out, after mess, the familiar voice of Captain Ramsey
sounded on the P.A. system. "Now hear this, this is the Captain
speaking. We are well on our way to home and I trust you are enjoying
the voyage. I have little to report and so I have chosen to read a
couple of the questions you have posed for me. This first one is from
Sgt. ?? Of the ?? Infantry. The good Sgt. asks if this was a banana

boat before the war." The Captain, his voice tinged with just a touch
of irritation, replied, "Sgt. First let me remind you that this is
not a boat. This is a ship. A ship carries boats." He went on, "
Sgt., As a matter of fact, I would like to inform you that this ship
was paid for by the people of the United States and is entitled to
the respect it deserves, having been made possible, by the
contributions of the citizens of of our great nation."
The weather continued to be bad and the consumption of the snacks the
Captain had placed around the ship had diminished due to the
incidents of sea sickness experienced by the G.I.s. Bad as the
weather was, the crap games continued on as usual, although
frequently interrupted by the hasty departure of one or more of the
players, due to sudden "illness." This situation was not lost on the
Captain and provided a moment of humor on his next nightly address.
As usual, we were assembled, ready to hear the Captain`s report. "Now
hear this. This is the Captain speaking," came the now familiar
refrain.
This night he chose to make comment on the weather conditions,
informing us that during the night conditions were so bad that they
had been unable to respond to a cry of distress from a Liberty Ship
in the vicinity. He went on to tell us that during his entire career
he had not experienced weather this difficult to contend with. Then,
he changed the subject and went on to answer a question from one of
the question boxes. He said, "I have a question that deals with a
problem experienced by PFC ?? " It seems that the good Private was
involved in a crap game and a considerable amount of money was in the
pot. He says that a Petty Officer arrived on the scene, broke up the
game and departed with the money. His question is, "Can we get back
the money?" There was a short pause, and then, with a chuckle in his
voice, he answered the Private's question, " Private, my cabin is on
deck--. Standing outside my door will be a Marine. Tell him you wish
to see me. In order to answer your question more directly, the answer
is that the Petty Officer has deposited the money in the Seamen's
Fund. If you still desire to have the money, so inform me when we
meet, however I would like to read you the Article of War, regarding
gambling on ships of the United States Navy." After reading the
Article, he finished with, "I hope this answers your question." The
roar of laughter from the troops clearly indicated their appreciation
of this bit of backhanded humor.
The high morale aboard the Lake Champlain was evident in stories told
to me by the crew. One such tale seemed to sum up the reason for this
high regard for their Captain. One seaman related to me how their
Executive Officer insisted that the crew in the engine room wear
white socks, although there was clearly no need, given the duties
required of them. He said this particular Officer also gave orders
that crewmen could not have their uniforms altered for better fit.
When word of this reached Captain Ramsey, a curious thing happened.

When the ship reached the next port a new Executive Officer was
assigned to the ship.
Finally, after ten days of bad weather and superb treatment by the
Officers and crew of the USS Lake Champlain, we arrived in New York
harbor on January, 17, 1946. It was a cold January day, warmed
considerably by our sight of the Statue of Liberty, standing tall and
proud, the torch of freedom still firmly in place, pointing to the
Heavens as a testament to the valor of all the Armed Forces,
soldiers, sailors, airmen and our civilian Merchant Marine. It was
our military and, even us non-combat soldiers, who had struggled so
valiently and secured our way of life, now and for generations yet
unborn.
Awaiting us on the dock as we disembarked, was a cordon of lovely
ladies representing the American Red Cross and the Salvation Army.
Their beauty was enhanced by the smell of hot coffee and doughnuts
and the hot dogs and hamburgers sizzling on the BBQ. Never, before or
since, have I had a hot dog that could compare with the one I so
relished that morning, on that frigid, but wonderful day. The
presence of those caring ladies added luster to the joyous moment we
were experiencing at being, once again, on American soil. It is in
moments, such as these, that one knows the tremendous value of being
a free American citizen. We were home, home at last, and I, for one,
was looking forward to a life of happiness with, my, now to be,
beautiful Irish bride.
My joy at being back in the United States had made me almost
completely unaware of the great number of troops crowding the dock.
True to its tradition of military efficiency, the army had a long row
of buses standing ready for our departure to the train depot and our
journey to Camp Atterbury, Indiana for our transfer to civilian life.
The bus trip very quickly brought us to the depot and by the time we
had checked our duffle bags the day had turned to night and in spite
of our weariness our spirits were high. Nothing could dampen our
utter joy at being on the way to becoming civilians, once again, and
being with family and friends.
After checking our duffle bags and boarding the train, the
festivities began. Although beverages of an alcoholic nature were not
provided, mysteriously, some very stimulating drinks began to appear
and voices were lifted in song. No blackout curtains, no planes
buzzing the train and no Officer lecturing us of the consequences of
improper behavior were part of this journey. Although some did manage
to catch a little sleep, the majority of the passengers were in too
celebratory a mood to notice the fatigue that engulfed us.
Some fifteen or so, hours later the train pulled in to a depot
situated at Camp Atterbury. In spite of some hangovers and lack of

sleep our Company was still in a joyful mood and hardly anyone
complained. We went through the routine of getting our baggage,
hearing the barked commands of a Sergeant directing us to our
barracks, and generally getting the treatment we were so accustomed
to. On the other hand, no damned Sergeant could lessen our happiness
at being at the place that would hand back our freedom and make us,
just plain, American civilian citizens..
Camp Atterbury was a very busy place. As a separation station it
served some 561,000 troops, arranging discharge from the Service at
the rate of 3000 per day, so it was not not surprising that it was
January 22, before our outfit was called to go through the separation
process.
In the meantime, we had plenty of time to write letters, make phone
calls to home and explore this sprawling installation.
January 22, 1946. "A date that will live in memory," at least my
memory, for that was the date of my separation from the Army of the
United States.
At the appointed time the 306th gathered in a huge assembly hall and
there, each of us, listened carefully for our name to be called.
When, an obviously bored Sergeant, bellowed out my name I was
immediately on my feet. Making my way to the registration table was
the sweetest hike I had ever taken. After going through the necessary
paper work, a young 2nd Lt. beckoned me to an open door. He said,
"Good morning soldier, step inside and place your chest against the X
ray panel, and , Oh by the way, if you intend to join the Reserves,
have them raise the panel to the level of your head." Even, given my
limited intellectual powers, it seemed to me that he was sending me a
message that it was not in my best interest to join the Reserves. It
was probably because of this encounter that I was able to follow the
later events that took place in Korea from the comfort of my home,
eyes glued to the TV screen. Unpatriotic as this may seem, I felt,
at this time, this new action could be handled by another generation
of young Americans.
Seated comfortably in my homeward bound train, still wearing my
uniform, I was beginning to feel more and more like a civilian,
almost but not quite. This would come when I arrived home surrounded
by family and friends. Still, there was one nagging problem to solve
before I would feel secure and comfortable and that was, bringing my
Peggy to Kalamazoo and walking down the aisle with her.
While in Atterbury awaiting discharge , I had penned off a letter to
Peggy telling her that I was almost a civilian and to start getting
her mum and dad prepared to have her daughter become a married woman
and acquiring a son in law. I put as much humor in the letter as I
was able to muster up, but not unaware, of the emotional problems I
was placing on the McKenny family.

Chapter 10
I was met at the station in Kalamazoo by my mother and father. Dad
had insisted that this moment belonged to Mom and He, accounting for
the tiny welcoming party. Dad gave me a "bear hug" and an emotional
"Welcome home, Son." My Mom, tears in her eyes, simply said, "Thank
God, you are home and safe." Never had I felt so close to my parents.
At the house, all my family members and a goodly crowd of friends and
neighbors had gathered for a welcoming home party. It was hard for me
to believe that this moment had arrived. The rest of the day was
spent in eating good home cooked food and answering a thousand
questions about my experiences. Often my mind wandered as I
contemplated on the thoughts of Peggy and wishing she could be a part
of these festivities. My brother Henry, was home from the navy,
having arrived a week earlier. My brother Charles, having been
disqualified for service due to a ruptured ear drum, was curious
about the things I had done and seen. My sister Anna Mae, now an
experienced welder because of a defense related job, also peppered me
with questions about my time in the service. It was a time of good
cheer and thankfulness and, I must admit, I was enjoying being the
center of attention.
That night, in the comfort of my bed, I pondered on the days to come.
I had not disclosed to mom and dad the fact that I was engaged.

Now ,the shoe was on the other foot." All the adjustments, in
religion and culture, to our pending marriage had been discussed in
full with Peggy`s parents and now it was time to work things out with
my mother and dad.
During the ensuing week I had many discussions with my dad and mom
about my return to civilian life. Dad had secured a job for me with
the Kalamazoo Stove and Furnace Co. ,where he was employed The plant
had been closed in order to revert back to civilian production,
having been engaged in producing war materials and, would soon
reopen.
Finally, I had my opportunity to discuss my pending marriage. It was
one of those cold winter nights and I was enjoying an evening alone
with mom and dad. During a break in the conversation, I said, " I
guess this is as good a time as any to share some news with you." I,
immediately had their attention. Dad was the first to speak. He said,
"I hope it`s good news, Son." I replied, "I think it is, I hope you
will feel the same." Mom said, "Get on with it, John." I simply
blurted out, "I`m engaged to get married." Both looked at me in
amazement and then Dad said, "Getting married, you have only been
home for a week and, as far as we know, you don`t even have a girl
friend." Realizing their quandary at this startling announcement, I
said, "Well, let me explain it to you." At this precise moment I
became aware of how unprepared I was to explain fully, the situation.
For the next few minutes I had full attention from mom and dad. I
said, "Maybe I should have told you this earlier but, here it is."
Now my mind was racing, but I went on with the story, hoping I would
not encounter any negatives. I said, "The girl I am marrying is in
Ireland. I met her in Belfast. Her parents are aware of our
engagement and I hope she gets their approval to come to the States
to be married. She is a lovely girl, from a good family. She is
nineteen years old but will be twenty by the time of our marriage."
At this point, I pulled from my wallet, a picture of Peggy and both
studied it for a moment. Mom said, "She sure is a pretty girl." Dad,
looked up and said, "Do you know what you are doing?" My reply was,
"Dad, I`m almost twenty six years old and perfectly capable of making
my own decisions." That seemed to end the discussion and then Mom
said, "John, If this is your wish, we have no objection and will
welcome her with open arms." With that, I decided to fill out the
rest of the story. I said, "Now let me "drop the other shoe."
"She is an Irish Catholic girl and I have decided to join the
Catholic Church." This resulted in a stunned silence for fully a
minute. Then my dad reacted in a fashion truly his own and, left me
incredulous. He said, "Ev", that was Dad's nick name for Mom, "Get
your coat on and, John, you do the same and get out to the car, we
are going for a ride." Not wanting to make a fuss, we both did as he
said.

Dad wheeled the car skillfully over the icy streets and pulled up in
front of St. Augustine Catholic Church. Without another word we left
the car and dad walked up to the residence of the Priest and rang the
doorbell.
The door was answered by an elderly lady, the housekeeper, and dad
asked to see the Father. She replied, "You mean Monsignor Hackett?"
Dad simply stated, "Yes Mam, that's whom we would like to talk to."
We were invited in and given a seat in the parlor. I was utterly
flabbergasted since I had no idea my dad even knew the location of
the church and had no idea of what he was up to.
In a few moments a tall, dignified man with a full head of grey hair
entered the room. He looked around and, in a thick Irish brogue said,
"Good evening, I am Monsignor Hackett. What can I do for you?"
Now, absolutely confused, I said nothing. Dad came right to the
point. He said, "Father", and pointing to me, "This is my Son, John
and he is just home from the army. He is engaged to an Irish girl in
Ireland and wants to join the Catholic Church." A broad smile
appeared on Monsignor Hackett's face and he sat down to hear the rest
of the story.
As I explained the situation, giving him all the details of our
meeting and the subsequent romance that followed, Father Hackett,
nodded approval, and said, "John, this is one of the nicest things I
have heard all year. It only goes to prove that there is always
something good coming out of a tragedy like war." Wanting to get
directly to the reason for our visit, I said, "Father, I know that as
a convert, I need to attend some classes to to understand the
procedure of conversion. Please tell me when I can attend." Again,
with a cheerful smile, he replied, " Aw, to Hell with the classes,
you won`t be attendin them, you'll be meeting with me for private
sessions here in my study. Young man, You are marrying a girl from
the "Ould Sod", and that requires some special attention." All this
was said in his thick Irish brogue, and at that moment, I felt very
special. With that he called for some tea. Over cups of hot tea the
conversation turned to filling out all the details. All this time,
Mom and Dad had little to say but joined in the conversation and I
knew that all would be well. There was no bigotry here and I felt
very proud of my parents and their easy acceptance of the situation.
Having written Peggy and told her to get ready to come to the United
States, I was anxious to receive a letter telling me all was well and
arrangements were being made for her journey. Each day I waited
patiently for the postman, and feeling depressed when no mail was
forthcoming. After several days of anxiety a letter did arrive and,
anxious as I was, I was almost afraid to open it, fearing the worst.
When I did open it and read the first few words I was ecstatic.
Peggy`s mother and dad had accepted the inevitable and were helping
Peggy to make arrangements. From the inquiries regarding passport,
visa and transportation that had been made in Ireland, it was to be,

at least, six months before she would arrive in the United States. I
couldn't wait to reply and rushed to get paper and pen.
By this time I had been employed at the Stove Co. and had met a
fellow worker named James O`Meara. When I told him that Peggy would
be arriving in about six months he said, "John, that will give us
some time to give her a real Irish welcome and I`m going to see that
you have some real Irish folk to greet her."
James called me one day and asked if I would like to meet some Irish
people who would love to meet Peggy. He said that they were an
elderly couple that would take Peggy, "Under their wings." The Irish
certainly know how to express the most mundane things in a beautiful
way.
The Fitzpatricks were, in my mind, the ideal couple to make my
peggy feel at home in America. Pat and Mary Fitzpatrick were typical
Irish, even though neither had set foot in Ireland. Pat and Mary were
each, only about five feet tall, beautiful grey hair and as
eloquently Irish in their speech as though they had just arrived in
the U.S.A. Their home reflected everthing Irish, including a green,
white and gold flag prominently displayed in the hall.
Over a cup of hot tea I learned that they had thirteen children, had
always wanted to visit Ireland, and would be thrilled to meet a
colleen from the "Ould Sod." Where had I heard that term before?
That meeting was the first of many that James arranged. and included
a young Irish priest, Fr. King, who was to become a good friend and
"buddy," if one can truly be a "buddy" with a Priest. Fr. King was
the Chaplain at Borgess Catholic Hospital in Kalamazoo and not too
popular with the Nuns, due to his liking for alcoholic spirits.
Although he did enjoy a drink, now and then, he did not drink to
excess.
A moment I remember with relish was the time Fr. King and I were
enjoying a hamburger for lunch. Halfway through our meal, Fr. King
paused, and said, "John, do you know what day this is?" Without
giving a thought to what the Fr. Was implying, I replied, "It's
Friday, Fr., why?" Then, with a smile Fr. King said, "I know we
shouldn't be eating meat on Friday but it is also a sin to waste good
food." Without further ado, he made the sign of the Cross and said,
"I grant absolution." Such was our easy going relationship.
Although I was anxious awaiting Peggy`s arrival I was also busy
making arrangements for our wedding and making new friends among the
Irish community. I was introduced to a Mr. and Mrs. Heflin by Fr.
King and was immediately made welcome to their home. Mrs. Heflin, in
true womanly fashion, was excited about the coming wedding and did
much to help me prepare. There were several parties at her house and

Fr. King, minus his collar and wearing a sport shirt, always gave two
hours absolution at midnight on Saturday, so that "No food and drink
was wasted," due to the late hour.
One day when Fr. King and I were conversing in his quarters at the
hospital he broached the possibility of he performing the Mass and
wedding ceremony. He went on to say that we should discuss the
matter with Msgr. Hackett. He said, "I`ll give him a call and see if
we can arrange it."
Fr. King, after explaining to Msgr. Hackett, that since we had become
close friends, he thought it would be appropriate for him to perform
the wedding ceremony. I remained absolutely silent, awaiting Msgr.
Hackett's response. There was only a moment's pause and then Msgr.
Hackett addressed Fr. King in, what I thought was, a rather
condescending tone of voice. He said, "Father, Just as in the army,
"rank has its privileges." "I will be saying the Mass and performing
the wedding ceremony." Although this dictum was said with a smile,
Fr. King seemed to feel that he had received the final answer to his
query

Chapter 11
About the middle of June, 1946 a telegram arrived that informed me of
the day and time as well as the flight number of the American
Airlines plane that was to bring my Peggy to the United States. To
say that I was overcome with joy is an understatement. The days that
followed were filled with excitement and planning for her arrival.
On the scheduled day, my cousin, Bud, my dad, and I headed for
Chicago to meet the plane and reunite me with my Peggy. Arriving at
O`Hare airport, well ahead of time, we waited anxiously for over two
hours. Finally, the arrival of the plane from Dublin was announced
and we hurriedly proceeded to the announced gate. The gatekeeper
opened the gate and we proceeded onto the tarmac where the plane was
parked.
In those, still early, times of domestic and transatlantic flight,
people met the arriving passengers on the runway and the they
departed the plane down a long portable gangway. My anxiety was at
fever pitch as I silently prayed that Peggy would soon appear. Person
after person descended the gangway, and then, a small figure in a
lovely blue dress, walked down the stairs, made her way to where we
were standing, and in that unforgettable moment, Peggy was in my arms
and I thanked God for the blessing he had bestowed upon me.
Midst all the happy chatter on the way home, it was quite apparent
that my dad had bonded with his, soon to be, daughter in law. Peggy
snuggled in my arms, chattered on about the great adventure she had
just experienced and how happy she was to be in America with me and
the life we would have together. Our reunion was complete, and now
many busy days were ahead as we planned our wedding.
When we arrived home, my mother and sister had refreshments ready
and, in spite of all the excited conversation, another bonding had
taken place. My mother and my Peggy, it seemed, were kindred souls.
The days ahead were filled with activity as my mother, sister and
friends planned for the wedding that was to make Peggy my bride.
Peggy and I spent many hours with the many members of the Irish
community. The Fitzpatricks took an immediate liking to Peggy and
became almost like parents to her. The Heflin family, especially Mrs.
Heflin, became fully involved in seeing that Peggy had a truly
Catholic wedding.
At long last the great day arrived, July 4, 1946. The date had been
arrived at because there were only two dates available in July. Msgr.
Hackett offered Peggy a choice and she chose July 4 as a very
appropriate day for her to become an American, This, and the fact

that her mother insisted that she was to be married at the first
available date, settled that issue. "Minnie," like most Irish
mothers, did not easily relinquish control.
The morning of July 4 began very early with my mother and sister
preparing for the wedding and the reception that was to follow.
Peggy, somewhat nervous but glowing with excitement, with the
assistance of my sister, were making sure that the wedding gown
fitted properly and all was set for her big moment when she would
walk down the aisle and become Mrs. Margaret DeRoo. My brothers,
Henry and Charles were dressed in their best, "Sunday go to meeting
clothes." My sister, Anna Mae, having finished helping Peggy, was now
dressed and "made up," for the big moment. My dad, standing in for
Peggy`s father, was more "dressed up" than I had ever seen him, and
my mom, the picture of loveliness, in the beautiful dress she had
acquired for the wedding. I was dressed in a dark blue business suit,
sporting a carnation in my lapel and was as ready as I could be for
the realization of all my dreams.
Finally, the climax of all this preparation arrived. Seated in the
pews of St. Augustne Church were my relatives and friends. Adding a
moment of unreality to the occasion was the fact that my relatives,
all Protestants, most of whom had never been inside a Catholic
Church, were seated side by side with devout Catholics. Surely, this
was a sight, unbelievable to my Peggy.
Msgr. Hackett was at the altar, having concluded Mass, Fr. King at
his side, and organ music filling the church, signaled the beginning
of this sacred ritual., my mother was quietly wiping the tears from
her eyes as the bridesmaids made their way down the aisle. Then, all
eyes were focused on the lovely bride on the arm of my father,
standing in for Peggy`s father. The strains of "Here Comes the
Bride," filled the church.
Msgr. Hackett, having concluded Mass, was standing beside the altar,
as Peggy and my dad arrived at the prescribed spot. Solemnly, Msgr.
Hackett intoned the age old question, "Who gives this woman in Holy
Matrimony? My father replied, "I do. " The best Man produced the
wedding band, I placed the band on her finger and we bowed before the
altar.
Msgr. Hackett pronounced the wedding vows, ending with, "I now
pronounce you husband and wife." "Now you may kiss the bride."
I wonder, to this day, whether Peggy uttered the words, "I promise
to love, honor and obey," Certainly, she would never admit to having,
said, "Obey." Looking back to that moment in time, I still wonder how
we managed to overcome all the obstacles and bring this dream to
reality.
Our wedding was a High Mass, with all the ceremony that implies, but

neither of us could remember

excitement we felt had a way
in that magical moment. I do
were told, "Now, I pronounce

all that was said and done, for the

of shutting out all that surrounded us
remember, however, very well, when we
you Husband and Wife,"

A milestone in the lives of my Peggy and me had been reached and our
future lay ahead of us. For me, this was the climax of my transition
to civilian life and a more than happy ending to my experiences in
the "Great War,"
It has been said that all things happen fast in times of war. As I
look back to that time, which seems so long ago, when I first heard
the announcement over the radio that Pearl Harbor had been attacked,
I must agree, that little truism is correct. In a matter of less than
four short years, my life had been completely altered as had the
lives of so many of my fellow compatriots.
These are my personal memoirs encompassing a critical period in the
history of my country and how it affected me personally, as well as
millions throughout the world, for good or ill. Thank God, so many of
my fellow American citizens and citizens of allied countries were
willing to, if necessary, make the ultimate sacrifice to make
possible lives of freedom for future generations , free from the
tyranny of evil dictatorships, and, hopefully, the terrible scourge
of future wars.
THE END

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