When the Japanese attacked
Pearl Harbor on Dec. 7,
1941, I was
on
reenlistment leave
hunting deer in the mountains of Pennsylvania. When word was broadcast of the
attack I was ordered back to my outfit at Fort Meade and notified that I was
being held for the convenience of the Government, and would not be discharged
while serving in the Medical Corp.
While serving in the Medical
Corps, I became close friends with
a young ward attendant also serving at the Hospital. His name was Arvil Maxwell
(Maxie). War was raging in the European Theater and it looked as though we would
be getting into it. The Army posted notices on bulletin boards asking for
volunteers for the parachute troops; Maxie ripped a copy of the notice from the
board and came to me determined to get me to join the Troopers with him;
needless to say he succeeded. Going to the Commander I requested a transfer to
the Parachute troops; my request was denied; the Parachute troops would not take
married men.
Determined
not to let this stop me, I went to see a friend who was a notary Public. His
name was Jimmy Salyers. Together we concocted a lie and made up papers to claim
non-dependency for my new wife. Needing her signature to validate this claim, I
lied again and told her she had to sign a paper to get an allowance from my
monthly pay. Allowing her no time to read the paper, trusting me completely, she
signed it. This was all I needed for the transfer.
I was transferred to Ft.
Benning, Georgia and started Basic training with the 501st. Parachute Battalion.
Within a week, my new wife was in the Commanders office demanding that I be
taken out of this "suicide outfit." The Commander called me in to his office and
told me to straighten this problem out or he would have to let me go. Determined
not to leave the parachute troops, I met my wife at a Motel in Columbus, Georgia
and during a heated argument gave her a choice the parachute troops or a
divorce.
She decided to let me stay.
We made our qualifying jumps
at Ft. Benning, Georgia. It was during this qualification period that I
witnessed my first chute malfunction. A jumper named McGrath in a moment of
panic pulled his emergency chute as he left the door of the plane, this chute
wrapped around his main chute that had deployed automatically giving him a
"streamer." He fell a thousand feet, hitting the ground about just a short
distance from where I had just landed. The fall broke almost every bone in his
body and the sound he made on impact I shall never forget -- sort of a booming
thud. His chute settled over him as though to hide the horror from the other
jumpers.
Our training started with
body building, push ups, trampoline, rope climbing, tumbling, arm and leg
exercises and running. In fact, none of us were allowed to move outside our
barracks and NOT run. Run to the mess hall, run to the exercise field, run to
the hangar or anywhere on base. There were times while running that I lost
complete feeling in my ankles, but with time I got to a point that I could stay
with the best of them.
As time passed, we started
Parachute training - learning to rig the chute, pack it and finally to jump it.
Learning to land after a jump was done from 200 ft. towers and a mock up door of
an airplane that would allow you to slide down an angled cable, and hit the
ground with forward momentum forcing the jumper to tumble. The final events in
our training were the qualifying jumps. Five jumps were needed to qualify.
Armies worldwide are
"Hurry Up and Wait!" Ours was no different. I wait at Pope Field, Ft.
Bragg, North Carolina. The trooper in front of me is McLemore. The resting
trooper is McCallum. We are waiting for transportation to carry our duffel bags
to the railroad station at Fayetteville. We'll meet up with our bags again in
California.
Having completed training we
were allowed to leave the Post and go into town. Columbus had so many troops
wandering around its streets that we decided not to frequent the town, rather we
went to Phoenix, Alabama here we found a Bar named "The Lonesome Pine". It was
here I watched as Maxie picked a fight with a guy much bigger than he, the two
of them went outside. After a few minutes Maxie came running in, grabbed me by
the arm and stated he had just killed a man.
Not knowing what had
happened I ran outside to see what he had done, his opponent was lying prone on
his back and truly appeared to be dead, as I knelt beside him to check his pulse
I noticed he was trying to gasp. Maxie had inadvertently hit him on the Adams
Apple totally cutting off his breath, I went back inside and told Maxie what had
happened.
Relieved that the man was
all right, we bought a beer to drink on our trek back to camp.
After
training was completed at Fort Benning we moved to Ft. Bragg North Carolina. (We
were the first full Regiment of Paratroopers formed in the
U.S. Army) After approximately 3 months training at Fort Bragg, making
jumps both day and night, on one night jump I had a chute malfunction, and had
to use my emergency chute to break the fall.
My landing was rough, but I did walk away from it.
I was luckier than one of
the other jumpers, who landed in a large pond tangled up in his chute and
drowned.
We were picked up at the
jump field by trucks for the return to our barracks, during the ride the
Troopers were singing one of their favorite ego building songs - "Gory! Gory!
What a hell of a way to die" sang to the tune of �Battle Hymn Of The Republic.�
On another night jump,
after my chute opened and I was drifting toward the ground I was straining to
see where or what I was going to land on, and suddenly saw what appeared to be
tree tops. I immediately crossed my legs, stiffened my body, and placed my arms
across my face to protect it as I slid down through the branches. What a
surprise! What I thought was trees turned out to be a field of fully grown corn.
I hit the ground in a vertical position, stowing my legs from my hips to my
feet. I had trouble walking for several days.
The clock was running for us
that sooner or later we would be sent overseas. After making our last jump at
Ft. Bragg, we were told that as soon as we repacked our chutes we could go home
for a three day leave. Well, I never saw chutes packed faster or in so many
different places. They were spread on the barracks floor in the day room outside
on the ground and in the packing shed. I think that within 30 minutes every one
had his chute packed and back in the storage rack. Well, we dressed and headed
for the train station at Fayetteville.
The
train arrived but we were not allowed to board, it being completely loaded. As
it pulled out, Maxie shouted to me to grab on to one of the hand rails
used in boarding. Running to catch up I grabbed the rail and hung on, a short
way down the tracks the train stopped and the Conductor allowed us to board.
After boarding we walked
through the cars looking for a seat. We came upon two young women occupying a
double seat. They were seated facing one another, so I approached them and asked
if we could sit with them, whereupon the one girl moved over and
sat beside her
friend. Maxie and I sat down and we started talked of home towns, sports, and
hobbies. After a while the
conversation dwindled into silence.
After several minutes sitting there and trying to think of something to
say, Maxie suddenly sat erect, pointed his forefinger upward, and spouted
"Poem." Pausing while we sat there wondering what was coming, he related this
verse:
Two
totally embarrassed young Ladies leaped from their seats and in a huff went
rapidly down the aisle away from us leaving Maxie and I, now with enough room to
sleep as the train made it's way on into Baltimore.
After returning to Camp,
word came that we were being sent overseas. Making sure parachutes, weapons and
personal gear were Packed, we boarded a train at Fayetteville, North Carolina
for the trip to California. No time was lost boarding the Ship. After sleeping
quarters were assigned, our ship backed away from the dock and headed into San
Francisco Bay. The ship was Dutch and carried the name "Poelau Laut." Her
Skipper was Dutch and her crew was Javanese. Only the Captain spoke broken
English. Moving out into San Francisco Bay the ship took a heading toward the
open waters of the Pacific. Passing the island of San Quentin Prison I over
heard one of the Troopers comment "I think I would rather be in there than on
this ship." Pondering this in my mind, I concluded that I had to agree, free
room and board, no one shooting at you, and the inmates knew how long they had
to stay.
(Photo:
For Airborne, we sure spent a long time being ship-borne. The Poelau Laut
was a Dutch tub, and we set about to cross the Pacific alone, without escort. We
zigzagged the entire way.)
As the ship left the Bay
area, the Golden Gate Bridge grew larger, I thought to myself, �here is a sight
all Americans should see, the city of San Francisco off our left stern, the land
rising sharply from the Bay on the right, and dead ahead was the Golden Gate
Bridge, glowing with a bright golden glow in the morning sun. I stood on the bow
of the ship and enjoyed the most beautiful panoramic view I had ever seen.
As we passed San
Quentin Prison, my thoughts turned to the prisoners occupying cells there.
Somehow it did not seem fair that so many upright young men would have to die
winning the war and in doing so secure the safety of those radicals who spend
their lives trying to destroy the society that we were committed to protect.
Passing under the bridge I was awed at its size and height, giving me a deep
feeling of pride in the technology that went in to its construction and of the
people who made it all possible.
Moving out into the Pacific,
the ship turned south heading for Panama where we would pick up a Battalion of
troops who had been sent there for jungle training. They would form our First Battalion, making us three Battalions in
strength and changing our identify to the 503rd Parachute Regiment.
Arriving in the Canal Zone,
we anchored off the City of Balboa. Having never been in tropical waters before
I could not help wondering what kinds of fish were swimming under the ship.
Seeing the Troop Commander I approached him and asked if there was any fishing
tackle on board. He responded that he had tackle in his cabin, and we headed for
his cabin, where he supplied me with fishing (tackle, rod, reel and pickled
bait. This bait appeared to be either horsemeat or beef cut into one inch
cubes.) Walking to the rail, I
baited and released the lock on the reel and let the bait drop to the bottom. I
waited for about four hours without a strike. Eventually word came that the
troops were loaded and we were ready to leave, so I started to retrieve my line.
No sooner than the bait cleared the bottom, I had a strike. Pulling it in I had
the most streamlined fish I had ever seen. The Javanese chef on the ship
(through the Captain) told me it was a Queen Fish and ask if he could have it.
I had no way to cook it myself, so I gladly gave it to him.
The ship moved back into the
Pacific and we were on our way. Our days were spent practicing the abandon ship
procedure and learning to speak a few words of Japanese, just in case we were
taken prisoner. This made no sense to me at all, as paratroopers were usually
dropped behind enemy lines and were shot as Spies if captured. Nevertheless we
were taught Japanese, learning to say �I am an American,� �I need water�,�I
surrender� and �Hello� (ko-ni-chi-wa). Hello in Japanese was the only word I
mastered, and I considered it to be useless, for if I met a Jap and had time to
say anything, �Good-bye� would be more appropriate.
(Photo: There are 16 men 'traveling by rail' here,
mostly 503d men. Two can be seen wearing life preservers. We also shared our
journey with the 5th Army Airways Communication System. Photo by George Reed.)
Several days out of Panama
the gunners on the ship decided to have Target practice. A small weather balloon
was deployed about 150 yds. behind the ship.
It's altitude was, I estimate, to be about 300 ft. and the forward speed
of the ship caused it to oscillate back and forth, an easy target for the 20mm
gunners. Meanwhile the troops on board had crowded the stern to watch the show.
The forward gun opened fire, firing three rounds, then the aft gun fired three
rounds, neither gun hitting the target. This sequence of firing went on until
about 90 rounds were expended, without a hit. The inaccuracy of the Gunners
irritated the troops watching to the point that they began shouting insults at
the them. One totally frustrated
trooper with his M-1 in hand stepped to the rail, took careful aim and put a
bullet through the balloon. This ended the target practice but not the insults.
Now the gunners were ticked off since they claimed they had not been shooting at
the Balloon but were actually trying to cut the tow line just beneath it.
Not much else happened until
we crossed the Equator. I suppose all ships crossing the equator for the first
time had a ceremony, for each of us were initiated into the "Realm of Neptune."
For the initiation each man stripped naked, had a sticky substance poured over
him and feathers applied, simulating a tar and feather application, then was
forced to climb a ladder and walk the plank. Going off the end of the plank was
about a ten foot drop into a makeshift pool of water. The route to the ladder
was lined with Ship's crewmen armed with paddles. Although we did not realize it
initially, it was the ideal time for them to get revenge for the insults they
suffered during target practice. It was quite humorous to watch the color of a
man's backside change from a normal skin tone to a bright red as he scampered up
the ladder. Until it became my turn,
at which point the humor completely disappeared. I feel sure I broke
every sprint record that had ever been set moving through the line and getting
up the ladder, out of reach of those stinging paddles.
Little happened for the next
42 days and 12,948 miles as we traveled our zig zagging way to Australia,
except for the fist fights and arguing that normally occur when you jam 3000 men
together on a 300ft ship. Those, and an event that took place as the cooks were
preparing Thanksgiving dinner (Nov. 1942).
The turkeys were cooked and
laid out for carving when someone yelled "Whales!" and all the mess personnel
ran to look out the port holes, with their backs to the carving table. Five
turkeys were stolen. The culprits rushed the turkeys into the lower hold where
they were quartered, opened the bulkhead into the ships bilge, wrapped the
turkeys in GI blankets and hid them until the search was over.
And what a search it was!
Anything that looked large enough to hold a turkey was thoroughly investigated.
Luckily no one thought to look in the bilge. Even though dinner was 5 turkeys
short it did not appear anyone suffered from lack of turkey for their
Thanksgiving dinner. Later that day, after the turmoil of the search had
subsided those of us who were in the know enjoyed a full belly of turkey.
Looking back I now feel this was a dirty trick to pull on the men I would soon
learn to depend on so heavily in the near future.
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