You’re in the army now, you’re not behind a plough
You’ll never get rich you son of a witch
You’re in the army now.
Graduated from Valparaiso High School in May of 1914 at the age of 18 years, attended Valpo University for one semester at the end of which I obtained a job weighing mail for three months with the U.S. Railway postal service. The pay was 90 dollars a month. Following this experience I worked as a sort of janitor and special delivery letter carrier for the Valparaiso U. S. Post Office. In 1916 I took a civil service examination for the postal service passed with a grade of 85 and became a substitute postal clerk at the Valpo Post office. My duties were to carry the mail when any carrier was on vacation, lugging that leather bag around up hill and down, walking ten fifteen miles a day, and delivering parcel post with a horse and small wagon when the parcel post carrier was on vacation. The horse was a small roan colored animal, well trained to stand and wait for me while I was delivering the parcel, but every now and then he would get hungry I guess and if I was away from the wagon for a while he would take off and go home. His home was a barn on Garfield Avenue south of Union Street and back of old Stiles Hall. Whenever I returned from delivering a parcel and found him missing I always knew where to go to find him. He usually was reluctant to return to the job and I had to watch him constantly thereafter. That dad ratted nag caused me a lot of extra walking and headaches believe me. Late in 1916 I became a little fed up with local postal work and transferred from the post office to the Railway Postal Service. This work was much more exciting and I loved it. I was only 21 years old and hadn’t been away from home very much and riding the trains was an exciting experience for me. I worked rather steadily, running on the Santa Fe, various small lines in southern Michigan and quite frequently on the Grand Trunk Railroad. I was assigned to the 9th division of the service with headquarters in Chicago. For some reason the assistant chief in the Chicago office, a man old enough to be my father, took a shine to me and treated me like a son, advised me, overlooked my mistakes. An assistant chief clerk was a big man in the postal service, just one notch from the top man in the division. He gave me good assignments and kept me working most of the time, for which I was thankful, much better than pitching hay on a farm. Of course I was a substitute clerk and my salary as a substitute and later as a regular clerk unassigned was 75 dollars per month with a few dollars per week, possibly 5 as eating money.
One afternoon in December 1917, our mail car attached to the afternoon passenger train on the Grand Trunk, left Port Huron Michigan bound for Chicago. There were three other men, all married, and older than I working with me. All of them were fine fellows, friendly and accommodating. The United States had just entered World War I. At that time postal workers were exempt from the draft. I hadn’t had much time to think about the war but on this particular day all the way down the line from Port Huron to Chicago these wise guys kept prodding me with such remarks as “If I was unmarried and was your age (22) I’d be in that war.” That prodding and other remarks got under my skin a little. I thought it over, slept on it and the next morning while in Chicago and before my train left, I started looking for recruiting stations. The first one I stopped at was for Engineers. They didn’t want any part of me. The next one was Ordnance and the clerk at the desk asked what my occupation was. After I told him he yelled out “Do we need any postal clerks?” Some joker yelled back “Yeah, just one!” Boy oh boy am I lucky I thought, little did I know what the army was like. A man who was an expert at shoeing horses would probably be the mail clerk and this proficient mail clerk who was eager to do his duty as best he knew how, would wind up doing K.P. duty, digging ditches, building latrines et cetera -- but being a farm lad I had also had experience in these enterprises -- so what's the difference -- Mr. Innocence signed on for the duration. My mother was terribly upset but secretly I think my Dad was proud of me. So from December 17, 1917, until July 19, 1919 -- I was a 30 dollar per month (33 overseas) warrior for my Uncle Sam. I must admit it was a complete change from my usual way of life but I learned a lot, traveled considerably at no expense to me and the whole experience was worthwhile. In my opinion the present voluntary army is a mistake -- a couple years of old time army training and discipline would be good for the youth of to-day, like it or not they would benefit from what they could learn, it might even make up for certain training they didn’t get at home.
We shipped out the evening of December 20, 1917, in rickety old wooden railroad coaches from the 12th Street Station in Chicago. Our diet consisted of hard tack and cold canned tomatoes. We learned later that the mess Sgt. (an old timer) pocketed about half of the grub money and fed us like a bunch of pigs. About 24 hours later we arrived at an old Army Post in Columbus, Ohio, and were marched to the mess hall where we got a good meal. Then the ordeal began --- an endurance contest --- standing in line for medical shots, vaccinations, issuing of uniforms (which didn’t fit) taking the oath, et cetera. We didn’t get any sleep for about five days (Sunday thru Thursday) and to this day whenever I see people standing in line I avoid the area like the plague.
We left Columbus and shipped out to Des Moines, Iowa (Camp Dodge), a good camp. The winter of 1917-18 was a real cold one. The mercury registered somewhere between 0 degrees and 20 below through the three months I was stationed there. It was pretty rugged. Reveille was about 6 A.M.. We dressed as fast as we could, went out on the parade grounds for about ten minutes rather lightly clad and had calisthenics after which we stormed the mess hall, hungry as wolves. Every day we went on a three or four mile hike and learned to march like soldiers. Weather made no difference 0 degrees or 20 below -- dressed in warm wool uniforms and overcoats sometimes carrying packs on our backs, sometimes not. Back from the hikes we went through the manual of arms time after time until we got it down pat. We had a fine Captain, a 90 day wonder as the old timers called them. Actually they were men who had attended officers training school for 90 days of rigid training and the old timers didn’t like them much especially the 1st Sgts. who had to take orders from them. Out 1st Sgt. really was a character, probably had spent most of his life in the army. He didn’t coddle us one bit, he would open the barracks door and let out a bellow that could be heard for a block, ATTENTION you blankety Blank so and so’s -- FALL IN, Right face, forward march et cetera, day after day for three long months and if I say it myself at the end of that period we were real soldiers. We weren’t exactly afraid of the fellow but we really stepped to his music and I must say he really took good care of us.
While in Camp Dodge I found one of my boyhood pals, Maurice Ellis, in the barracks next to ours so I had some company for the three months. I also met a first cousin of mine on the street one day, Theodore Conover. I used to see him in Bradford, Illinois, as a child when we went there to buy groceries. He was a pretty nice chap, so I thought probably a year or two older than I. So what did he do, he borrowed twelve dollars from me, probably about all the money I had, and I haven’t seen him since. That was 56 years ago.
We did our share of guard duty, mostly watching for fires since at one time or another a few barracks had burned to the ground. Each barracks had a large latrine and shower area in back of it and each area had a big stove in it with a roaring fire at all times. One night when my turn came to walk guard it was 20 degrees below zero. I wore my wool uniform plus a warm wool army overcoat over which I donned a big heavy teamsters overcoat. I had a such an abundance of heavy clothing that I could hardly navigate the beat assigned to me, which consisted of a line of about five barracks. Around and around this area I trudged stopping in at each latrine on occasion to punch up the fire and to get warm. Near the end of my tour of duty, snow being on the ground, I began walking in slush. I couldn’t believe my eyes, slush at 20 degrees below 0. I made a telephone call and reported my findings. The next day we learned that the big reservoir that held the water for the entire camp had sprung a leak, probably because of the awful cold weather and the water was running down the hill and around the barracks. The leak wasn’t reported until I had called in because it was later reported that the man on guard at the reservoir had froze to death on the job.
We also learned our way about a kitchen sometimes serving meals to our betters and sometimes washing greasy pots and pans --- a very good lesson in humility. During my stay at Camp Dodge my mother, father and sister paid me a visit braving that awful cold weather and it was a very good morale builder for yours truly.
Along about the middle of March 1918 on Thursday I came to the conclusion I was getting the mumps. I asked the 1st Sgt. if I could report on sick call. He asked me why and when I told him he said “I think you are gold-bricking” and refused. The following Sunday A.M. the company doctor stopped by so I went to him. He confirmed my original diagnosis and gave the Sgt. hell, I had been drilling for two days rather painfully and by this time I was getting in bad shape. He told the Sgt. to get an ambulance and take me to the hospital at once. I’ll never forget that mile ride over the bumpy frozen roads. They put me in bed and worked over me like beavers. I was there for 10 days and was released rather weak and shaky -- placed in a convalescence barracks and 3 days later reported back to my company which was to be shipped to the east coast and sent overseas.
I forgot to mention that the hospital where I was confined was very near a giant assembly hall at Camp Dodge where I had attended a huge assembly of soldiers to hear a speech by William Howard Taft, the then Chief Justice of the U.S.A. It was a great speech but the thing about it that I remember the best was a little mannerism he had while talking, a sort of chuckle, that kept his audience in stitches most of the time.
And so about the middle of March 1918 we left Camp Dodge and headed for the east coast. Our company doctor went with us and he put me in an upper berth, told me to take it easy and excused me from drill until further notice. We arrived at the embarkation camp about two days later with yours truly still a bit wobbly lugging heavy barracks bag et cetera. Next morning we were ordered out for a hike and drilling. Following the doctor’s orders I didn’t go but instead went 🗌out to the showers and took a bath. Right in the middle of the bath our 1st Lt. poked his head in the door and wanted to know why I wasn’t out drilling. I explained -- he asked if I had reported on sick call -- I told him no, explaining the doctor’s orders. He then said “Report to the 1st Sgt. for extra duty!” Fortunately the 1st Sgt. was the same one who had called me a gold-bricker at Camp Dodge and knew all about my troubles, so he said “Sit down in that chair by the furnace and let me know when it needs more fuel.” I guess he felt a little guilty. The next day we sailed for France on the Northern Pacific, a fine passenger boat from the west coast and impounded by the government as a troop carrier.
This was my first time at sea and I kept wondering how I would make out. What with the rolling of the ship and watching my fish-feeding buddies lining the rail I thought that perhaps the psychological effect would compel me to join them but my stomach behaved like a champion and there was no ill effects. About three days out from Brest, France, we suddenly received an alert. Orders were to stand quietly by our bunks until further orders and there was an officer standing at the entrance of the bunk room flourishing a big 45 and we knew he meant business. We had entered the submarine zone. There were three shiploads of us, about 9,000 men. Three well-placed torpedoes by the Huns would mean 9,000 less men on the front lines. My bunk was right by a port hole and looking out I could see an object on the horizon approaching the ships. Many thoughts raced through my mind, maybe this is it, perhaps that approaching object was the long hairy arm of King Neptune reaching up for us. At any rate it was a tense moment. There was a big gun on each end of our ship and both of them had been fired a time or two up until this moment. Pot shots at some object like a barrel I guess -- they took no chances, watching for periscopes. What kind of army is this? One of our own officers standing at the entrance of out bunk room waving a big 45. Then through the port hole I saw another something or other creeping up on us, then another and another, seven in all. Pretty hard to keep your cool in a situation like this until I saw a stars and stripes flag flying from them and man was that a beautiful sight. American sub-chasers -- thats what they were -- little devils that could turn on a dime, racing in between, out and around all three transports constantly for the next three days and until we reached the harbour at Brest, France. The sailors waved to us with an assurance that told us we were among friends and they must have had stomachs made of cast iron, the way they bounced around on the water. Nothing else happened as we were allowed to come out on deck for a smoke but not at night -- no lights showed at night -- three giants plowing through the sea in complete darkness.
We arrived in Brest harbour and disembarked on March 19, 1918. Each man carried a pack, wore a heavy wool uniform plus a heavy wool overcoat and lugged the rest of our belongings in a barracks bag weighing about 40 pounds. First we had to get rid of our sea legs and learn to navigate on solid terra firma. We hadn’t exercised for about ten days and were not in the best of condition. The Captain lined us up and we took off up hill. After the first mile we were all puffing and blowing and about fagged out. On occasion we stopped for a short rest then off again always up hill. Now and then after the short rest some of the recruits especially the ones with excess avoirdupois would stay behind for a longer rest period. They were the smart ones --- a truck followed the company to pick up the stragglers.
After about two and one-half hours and approximately five miles we came to a halt in front of a big gate of a stone walled area containing a number of buildings. It turned out to be Pontonazen Barracks, an old dilapidated French Army Post. We were assigned to barracks and what a place it was. Old broken down double decker wooden bunks with here and there a straw mattress probably full of cooties. First thing we did was haul out the straw mattresses, put them in a pile and set a match to them. Everybody was hungry by this time. Another delicious meal of hard tack and canned tomatoes in all probability, I don’t really remember. There was a French Canteen on the grounds but we didn’t have any money. However they didn’t have anything to sell that interested us but one joker in the outfit had a pocket full of United Cigar Store coupons. Being a good salesman he convinced the proprietor of the Canteen that the green coupons was American money so the proprietor sold this soldier a few things. I guess it served the French man right, he seemed to be just a big a crook as our joker buddy.
After a delightful night, sleeping on the wooden slats, fully clothed, overcoats and all with barracks bags for pillows we had a scrumptious breakfast of something or other, probably black coffee and hard tack, again I don’t remember. This is the army Mr. Jones, remember that old song? It kept running through my mind. Actually, we weren’t suffering any. We were all young and full of pep and it was really an adventure, something to write home about, but the grub was terrible, just about enough to keep soul and body together. After breakfast the Captain lined us up and took us for a hike. This time we left packs and barracks bag behind the barracks. We probably hiked about five miles. After about three miles the Captain halted us, told us to fall out and sit down. He then gave us a little speech, told us that at present he didn’t know where we were going and that we would be near the front within a couple of days, all of which was very reassuring and from that moment on I think we were all listening for cannon booms. Another night on the wooden slats and next morning we loaded up again with packs and Barracks bags. Hut, two three four --- for about an hour and we arrived at a French Railroad yard where there was a train standing on the tracks ready to pull out. Box cars -- they were, each being the sign 40 Hommes or 8 Chaveaux meaning 40 men or eight horses. By the time my turn came to climb aboard the cars were packed full of men, packs, barracks bags et-cetera. I kept on hunting for a spot and finally came to the car behind the engine which was a sort of passenger car, resembling a San Francisco street car, open on both sides but it had seats. Yes, I was lucky, rode all the way sitting down while those other guys were packed in like sardines in the horse cars. We rode all night with that squeaky French engine whistling about every five minutes and sounding like the cry of a banshee or werewolf. What a ride. We pulled into a small French village about mid morning -- Mehun Sur Yev Chere. Translated it meant Mehun on the River Chere. We unloaded, marched about two miles and arrived at an American built camp of approximately fifteen barracks, one of which was occupied by Chinese coolies and five by American Engineers in uniform. About a mile from the barracks were four or five structural steel skeletons of buildings, all quite large, which had been erected by the engineers. We were assigned to barracks, same old wooden double decker bunks, two conical wood stoves, rather small for heating and no fuel. Remember this was the latter part of March and quite cool. The terrain around us was a sea of mud and there were probably ten pairs of boots in the camp, for officers only you might say. The rest of us were pretty well shod also, hob nailed cowhide shoes but not too appropriate for 2 or 3 inch mud. The first few days were pretty tough until we got organized. Many of the troops found supplies of Vin Rouge and Vin Blanc (red and white wine) followed by much nausea and gastronomic turmoil and upheavals. So much for the first few days in camp. The food got a little better, not much --- we lived on canned fish and slightly mouldy bread for a while. Each day three truck loads of bread came into camp in gunny sacks and three or four Chinese coolies riding on top of the sacks, muddy shoes and all. We named the canned stuff Goldfish --- it was supposed to be canned salmon but it wasn’t, it must have been carp, the cooks just couldn’t disguise the taste. On Sunday we were treated to oatmeal with a little sugar on it and that was something. There was a Y.M.C.A. canteen in the camp, full of candy and other goodies but we hadn’t been paid for three months and since the Y demanded cash on the barrelhead we didn’t get any. My opinion of the Y.M.C.A. dropped about 95% and has stayed there from that time on.
A week after we arrived the whole company was assigned to the task of putting a roof and siding on the skeletal buildings the engineers had erected. The material used was corrugated steel, each piece about seven feet long and two one half feet wide. I was assigned to the roof and believe you me, we had to be careful, a misstep meant a thirty foot fall and no knowing what you might hit when you landed. As I recall we lost two men that way. One day rather unexpectedly the bugler sounded pay call and glory be --- we got paid off after three months of empty pocketbooks. Rumor had it that the 2nd Lt. of the company being a rich man arranged the pay for us because he felt sorry for his boys. He was a nice guy and I hope he got his money back which I suppose he did. Anyhow he was top man in the company from that time on. That turn of events put a little life in the camp. Beaucaux (French for many) poker and crap games, various and sundry libations containing John Barleycorn found their way into camp, such as Red and White wine, cognac et-cetera and livened things up a bit. Since my education along these lines of merriment had been neglected I managed a pass to the village of Mehun about three miles from camp. North of the the camp about a quarter of a mile there was an old French canal still in use. On each side of the canal there was a well worn path, used by the donkeys that were used for pulling the barges. Since the canal passed through Mehun, we always walked along the paths on our way to town. Our camp was located east of the village and there was another Ordnance camp on the east side. Somehow or other I never did visit that other camp.
Two months after we had settled down in our camp, eight out of the ten trucks that we had with a driver and one other man on each truck were ordered to pick up a load of ammunition and proceed to the front. I tried to be the extra man on one of the trucks but there were too many ahead of me. This was the occasion of the American drive to stop the Germans from taking Paris at Chateau Thierry. Of course, as you remember, this was the turning point of the war. Maybe I was lucky in my failure to volunteer as part of the convoy, some of the boys didn’t come back.
Two weeks after this episode, along about the first of June, a dozen of us were called into headquarters and told to pack our bags and that we were going on guard duty in Mehun. In the center of the village there was an old French pottery factory surrounded by a high stone wall. The army had taken it over as a storage area for food for the two camps and was also starting a bakery there. There had been quite a bit of thievery of food and the army not taking kindly to this state of affairs, decided to place a guard around the place. We pitched tents inside the walls for sleeping and cooking and started our tour of duty which was mostly night work. I had a few funny experiences. On one occasion after an especially hot day I was patrolling my beat and about 1 A.M. there was quite a loud explosion about 20 feet from where I was walking. Of course I jumped about a foot off the ground, brought my rifle to the ready and thought the Germans were coming for sure. It turned out that some lazy nut had left several cases of canned beans out in the hot sun and a can of them blew up. Its a good thing they all didn’t blow -- we might have thought we were being attacked. There was a real dark alley on the north side of the building which we were to watch very closely and on another occasion in the wee hours of the morning just after I had come out of that pitch dark alley I heard a noise like someone running, back in that alley behind me and coming in my direction. I yelled halt in the loudest voice I could muster and he still kept coming. Turned out to be a pet goat we had around the place -- guess he couldn’t understand English. A few nights later more steps in that dark alley, another challenge by yours truly, this time I received an answer! “Officer of the Day” -- “Advance and be recognized” Well I was glad I wasn’t asleep in a corner somewhere. My old grandad was caught asleep in the Civil War by the officer of the day and escaped a firing squad only by the goodness of the officer. Grandad told me that he hadn’t had any sleep for about 48 hours and that he was only going to close his eyes for a couple of minutes. If that officer had been a tough guy I wouldn’t be here to tell about it. Another experience I had on that tour of duty was a bad one and strictly my own fault. In back of the old factory there was an old open well with the winding apparatus, rope and bucket. We only had canvas bags of chlorinated water hanging around here and there and the stuff tasted awful. Of course we had strict orders not to drink anything else but this old open well tempted me so I let down the pail and drew up some nice cool water. It tasted fine and I guess I drank quite a bit. Two days later I became real sick, vomiting all over the place, diarrhea and feeling miserable. I couldn’t work and we tried some home remedies but nothing worked. They finally took me to the hospital back in our old camp and found out that I had Amebic Dysentery. I was quizzed a bit and finally confessed to drinking from the old well. I was told that it served me right for not following orders, and I guess it did. It was ten days before I could go back on the job and I was lucky. While at the hospital I was told that an awful lot of soldiers who had come into the camp after we did had died from the flu. There was a bad epidemic of influenza that spring. I guess we were lucky to be on guard duty, living in tents, sleeping on cots, weather warm and the grub was good, the life of Riley you might say.
In August we were all on the move again. This time the whole company boarded a train and headed east. Now what and where? After an all night ride we found ourselves in Issoudun, France, where there was a big Air Force camp and air field located but we marched out of Issoudun in a different direction and after about three miles of hayfoot, strawfoot we came to another camp practically completed with only a labor battalion of negroes present. The camp had 21 warehouses, railroad tracks, a branch of which went to each warehouse, barracks and a big wooden water tank for the switch engine. The camp was located on high ground, a French double-tracked railroad ran alongside the camp, below which was a little valley through which ran a beautiful small stream of crystal clear water. Being a little on the grimy side by this time we all went down to the stream and had a bath in the altogether which must have been quite a sight. The water was quite cold even in August and we also needed water in camp for drinking and cooking. Our Captain soon tackled the problem by assigning a detachment to build another tank and the rest of us to a ditch digging job, so a pipeline could be laid to pump the water to the new tank. There was considerable bellyaching about the pick and shovel detail, it was hard work and we were pretty well bushed by nightfall. I guess I spent at least two weeks on this detail and then one day a lone soldier joined the company. The only empty bunk left was the one directly over mine so I got acquainted with him right away. In the course of our first conversation he told me that he had been assigned to our company as chief clerk. He next quizzed me about how much education I had. I told him that I was a high school graduate plus a couple semesters in our local college, all of which he deemed adequate, then he wanted to know if I had any buddies with equal qualifications. He needed four helpers and said he would take my word for it. (Incidentally he was from Detroit and after the war was over I looked him up while in school at Ann Arbor and he also called on Sadye and I at 1103 Franklin Street once after that. He was a fine chap) I rounded up three of my pals and they all gleefully accepted, anything to get out of that darned ditch digging. One of them was a freshman in the University of Pennsylvania, another was a fine chap from St. Louis and I don’t remember the third man but I guess he was from New York and we will hear more about him later. We then learned that our camp was to be a spot where the army was going to store all kinds of ammunition, 21 warehouses full of it --- trainloads of it coming in and going out to wherever it was needed. We began thinking about bombing raids but didn’t worry much about it since the Air Force didn’t play much of a part in bombing in World War I. we needed a typist so we recruited a young Jewish boy from Detroit. He was from an Orthodox jewish family and the things he told us amazed me. We also needed someone to keep the place cleaned up so they assigned us a young negro boy. He knew how to work and run errands but that was about all. I became a little ashamed of the tricks that were played on him. The boys in one of the warehouses sent him to our office to get a pail of steam and we sent him back to them asking for a sky hook and on another occasion a hypnotist came to camp to entertain us and when he asked for volunteers we sent the negro boy to the stage. He was wearing rubber boots and the hypnotist told him that his boots were full of bumble bees. That was the meanest trick of all, he about went crazy getting those boots off and dancing around. He knew about bumble bees alright.
The task assigned to me was a very important one. During the last half of August, all of September and October and the first ten days of November, train loads of ammunition were arriving at our camp (Camp Chenivere) almost every day. Everything from 155 mm, 75 mm, artillery shells, 30 -- 30 rifle shells, machine gun ammunition et cetera right down to 12 gauge shotgun shells. The army kept me supplied with large sheets, possibly 36 by 48 inches in size, with every conceivable type of ammunition printed thereon. There was a man in charge of each warehouse and he kept a record of whatever arrived or was shipped out each day. Each afternoon around 5 P.M. each man in charge of a warehouse would submit a report to me of what additions or deletions had taken place in his warehouse on that particular day. It was then up to me to transfer the changes in all 21 warehouses to the big sheet and make a summary of each type on hand at the close of each day. I then had to make a report to General Headquarters by mail, telephone and telegraph. It was usually mid-night before I could accomplish all of this, so my busy time was from 5 P.M. until mid-night.
Then on November 11, 1918, at 2.15 P.M. a very memorable event happened at Camp Chenivere, Issoudun, France. Our telegraph operator handed me a telegram which read as follows: “In accordance with the terms of the Armistice, hostilities on the fronts of the American Armies were suspended at 11 o’clock this morning.” Official Communique No. 117 --- November 11th of this year 1974 will be 56 years ago that this great event took place. I still have the telegram which is beginning to show its age. It is in a small glass covered frame and if ever taken out it would probably fall apart.
Well, we held a minor celebration, of course, but buddies who happened to be in Paris on leave related to us after they returned, what happened there. I guess the whole city went stark raving mad. After I got back home I was told that a false Armistice report was given out a week earlier in the U.S.A.
After a couple of days when things finally settled down we received orders to ship all of the important war making material out of the camp and to destroy all the rest of it. It seemed rather silly not to have some enjoyment out of what we were to destroy, so with everything at hand we arranged a skeet shooting area where everyone could get in some practice for a quail hunt when we arrived home. We shot off probably 500 sky rockets, which were used for signaling devises by the army. You should have seen what floated out as these rockets exploded 2,000 feet up. Talk about 4th of July celebration, these rockets were super-duper. Some of them contained small parachutes with various small colored lights on them. Soldiers were chasing all over the place trying to get parachutes for souvenirs. I managed to get one but it has long since disintegrated.
My work wasn’t finished. I had to check out all of that ammunition and it took a couple of months. After it was all over with the Captain summoned three of us one day and announced that we had been selected for a two weeks leave of absence at an army leave area in Grenoble, France.
I must say that this turn of events came as quite a surprise to the three of us. Further investigation revealed that after the cease fire and peace treaty the army established leave areas in various parts of France and England. They leased hotels and provided train fare, bed and board for enlisted men and urged us to take advantage of the offer. Well, my opinion of the army climbed several notches and we accepted immediately. We left Issoudun by train and headed for Paris where we were to change trains only and move on south to Grenoble. Of course every enlisted mans’ goal was to see Paris but our papers prohibited any stop over. This was of course sensible because if anyone who wished could stop over in Paris the problem for army officials there would have been tremendous. Our New York buddy (who I mentioned before) was one of us on the trip. He had a good working knowledge of the French language. On the train he was talking to various Frenchmen and unknown to us he was hatching up a scheme for a look see at the big city. At the end of his conversations with the Frenchmen we went into a huddle and he told us how we could get off the train in a Paris suburb and escape the eagle eyes of the M.P.s. There being a little of the Tom Sawyer in all three of us, that is exactly what we did. We found a little hotel and bedded down for the night. The next morning the three musketeers set out to see the sights of Paris keeping an eagle eye out for the military police at all times. We thoroughly enjoyed our exploration of the environs of this famous French city and covered a lot of ground --- saw the Eiffel Tower. Notre Dame Cathedral and took a ride on a gigantic ferris wheel located by the Eiffel Tower. In fact the big wheel got stuck with the three of us in the uppermost seat for about ten minutes, a little scary but afforded us with a spectacular view of the city.
All good things must come to an end so about 4 P.M. we turned a corner and ran smack dab into a couple of M.P.s. “Let me see your papers” one of them said. After an examination they told us “You were due out of here last night at the Gare de Lyon train station.” Of course we had a plan in case we were caught which consisted of playing it dumb. “What are you doing here?” they said “You are supposed to go to Grenoble.” “Well, we know that but we wanted to take a look at Paris on the way and we are leaving to-night.” That is what they all say and we will have to take you to the Captain.” Holy Mackerel we had heard about the Captain who was in charge of the military police in Paris. Scuttle Butt had it --- that he was a regular Ogre, a real tough guy, that he put all offenders on rock pile duty for a few days to teach them a lesson. So now if ever was the time to put on the dumb act.
Boy, he looked tough, he was tough, he didn’t mince words, he didn’t go for the dumb act either at least I don’t think he did. “Where did you leave the train, didn’t you see any M.P.s?” “Sir, someone said this is Paris so we got off and there were no M.P.s around.” We were shaking in our boots by this time and I guess we looked pretty dumb. Either he swallowed part of the story or his hoosgows were already filled or he had run out of rocks in his rock pile --- something saved us. “The three of you had better be at the Gare de Lyon at 7 P.M. to-night and board that train for Grenoble or you will regret it the rest of your natural lives.” The experience was somewhat like escaping the gallows. We high-tailed it out of his presence but fast, we were at the Gare de Lyon, albeit 24 hours late, at 7 P.M. and we couldn’t get on the train fast enough. It was a long train and packed to the roof. French trains and others in Europe I guess, have compartments on the left side and aisles on the extreme right side. There wasn’t a single seat available and we had to stand in the aisle. We couldn’t sit on the floor --- too much traffic. A very tiresome trip and at night. We stood in the aisles for 10 to 12 hours and were pretty poohed out by mornin. Unbeknownst to the other two of us our french-speaking buddy was busily conversing with Frenchmen and had cooked up another scheme of leaving the train at Lyon, a large city about 40 miles north of Grenoble. “My French informants tell me that if we get off at Lyon --- go through the baggage room instead of the main gate, thus evading the M.P.s.” Well, the three musketeers did just that and spent another 24 hours exploring Lyon. Next morning we headed for our train to Grenoble, went through the main gate this time, got a mild bawling out by the M.P.s, got on the train and finally arrived at Grenoble about noon.
Sacre Bleu, we were assigned to a very nice small hotel on the 2nd floor, big double beds, had to climb onto a foot stool to reach the sleeping at which time a person started sinking in the feather ticks and was probably asleep before he reached bottom. Big dining rooms, grub served family style, army food but good, very few restrictions ---- what luxury. Grenoble is a very nice French historical city. The Olympic games were held there just a few years ago. We spent the rest of our leave time there. I could look out of our bedroom window and see snow on the mountain top, beautiful especially at night in the moonlight. The city is located about in the center of the French Alps on the western edge.
We arrived back in Issoudun on the last day of our leave and were met at the station by a buddy with a jeep. First thing he said was “welcome home, Sergeant.” We didn’t pay any attention until he poked his thumb into my ribs. “It’s you I’m talking to, you’ve been promoted while you were away.” Well -- from buck private in the rear rank to Sergeant --- that was something. I didn’t give a hoot about the rank but appreciated the boost in pay. After we returned from our vacation which was about the middle of January 1919, life at Camp Chenevire was somewhat routine and boring. Thoughts of home rambled around in our heads but no one knew when. We built a basket ball court, had a few parties at one of which about a hundred English Wacs came by for a short visit, drilled now and then but “Life gits tedious” as some barnyard philosopher once said. During the five month waiting period before we were moved out of Issoudun I received two more promotions, first to Sergeant of Ordnance and later to Ordnance Sergeant, which is the highest rank in the Ordnance branch of the army for an enlisted man. Of course I was very pleased and the pay was double that I received when I first entered the camp the year before. Then the great day came. We shipped out and were sent back to old Mehun early in June 1919. Mehun was the camp where we were stationed when we first landed in France and was now an embarkation camp for the Ordnance Corps. More waiting, more drilling and more loafing. As a top Sgt. I was placed in charge of a barracks, had to take the gang out to drill now and then which the boys didn’t like much and neither did I, had to take a bed check every night. There were always two or three missing but I didn’t report them until one night two of the late prowlers got caught when they came back to camp. As usual I didn’t report them but the M.P.s reported them to the Captain and I got called on the carpet. Well, our Captain was a real gentleman, he was from Minneapolis, Minn., and he wanted to go home too, so he wasn’t very tough about it. “Don’t let it happen again” he said so we had a little meeting in the barracks that night and I informed the troops that I wasn’t taking any more raps for them. In bed by 10 P.M. or we will keep you here until next Xmas. After that no more trouble. One day while standing in line at the mess hall I received a resounding slap on the back and turning around came face to face with an old boyhood friend from Valparaiso. What a reunion, I hadn’t seen him for several years, didn’t even know he was in the service. His name was Floyd Black and his family lived on a road north of the present runways at our present air-port. As luck would have it we were together from then on until we stepped off the train at Valpo. That was 55 years ago and I haven’t seen him since.
Along about the first of July a small train of freight cars was backed into the camp. Each car had a layer of nice clean straw on the floor so we could ride in comfort. We lucky ones climbed aboard, waved good bye to the unlucky ones, commiserated with them, hoping that they would make it to the States by next Xmas. with several squeaky whistles from the dinky French engine we happily took off. We rattled through the French countryside for about 36 hours. I was a little skeptical. It was a much longer ride than the one we had when we first came to Mehun. We finally were informed that we were in Marseilles, France, which is on the Mediterranean Sea. So we were going home at last even though it was going to be the long way.
Next morning we were marched down to the dock and pulled up along side an old Austrian ship. A man on the upper deck waved down at us and one joker in the gang yelled up to him “Hey you spaghetti twister” -- He replied “me no twista spagetti, me liva Noo Yark twenty tree years.” The ship sailed after everyone and every thing was aboard and after three days and nights we arrived at the big rock -- Gibraltar. The ship had to coal up. That was the term they used and after we docked a small army of men began carrying coal in bushel baskets and dumping it in hold. This took three days and during that time an excursion boat stopped along side and a lot of the boys took a trip across the straits for the look at a town in North Africa. For some reason I didn’t go, I guess I was afraid the ship might leave without me.
After the three days we took off again through the straits and headed northwest. Our trip was more or less uneventful and it took a long time, about ten days as I remember --- yes we were going home the long way. We didn’t encounter any storms but we passed through an area of so called land swells, mountainous waves. We hit them head on and the bow of the ship would come clear out of the water then would drop into the trough and the stern would rise up so high that the propeller would come out of the water and shake the whole ship. A lot of the men stripped down to their shorts and headed for the bow for a free bath and they sure got one. They had to hang on for dear life and it is a wonder that we didn’t lose some overboard. A lot of others were feeding the fish and I felt a little woozy so I went downstairs and climbed into my bunk which by good fortune was in the center of the ship. I still think that we were lucky the ship didn’t come apart but that old Austrian Skow was tougher than I thought.
Then on bright sunshiny morning with everybody on deck we sailed into New York harbor and I got my first look at our great lady holding the torch on high. I didn’t see her when we sailed out 16 months before because we left at night under tight security.
We finally began to realize that there was a terrific din going on, flags were flying everywhere, every whistle in or near the harbor going full blast, people on shore waving flags and shouting, bands playing patriotic tunes, tug boats moving close to the ship and throwing newspapers aboard. What a welcome, I will never forget it as long as I can draw a breath and brother it made us very proud to be Americans. Naturally the lacrimal glands began working a bit. I don’t think there was a dry eye on the ship.
It didn’t take long for us to get back on dry land and who do you suppose was waiting for us at the foot of the gangplank? The good old Salvation Army --- that’s who. Each man was given an ice cream bar, something we had not seen for nearly two years, plus a card on which to place the name of your nearest relative so they could send a telegram home announcing our arrival. I still have the wire they sent for me.
A train was waiting for us and after getting aboard we were soon back in the camp in New Jersey where we had formerly embarked for France and you would never guess who formed a greeting line to welcome us. That same bunch of sour doughs to whom we gave the horse-laugh and commiserated with when we left Mehun two weeks before. Now it was their turn. “Where have you been, what kept you?” I guess they left a day or two after we did, went straight to Brest and straight across the pond, a much shorter trip than ours.
Of course the entire camp was from different parts of the country and we were soon separated into units and sent to certain centers closest to our homes to receive permanent discharges from the army. My unit was sent to Chillicothe, Ohio, near Columbus where I was first inducted. First thing that happened was a trip through the de-lousing department. I’m sure there were no lice on me but the army made no exceptions. The weather was pretty warm so we shed our old heavy wool uniforms and overcoats for kaki summer outfits. We were allowed to keep most of the things we acquired from the army. We were soon given our discharge papers plus a 60 dollar bonus and soon climbed aboard a train bound for Columbus, Ohio. At Columbus we boarded a train on what we call the Pan Handle railroad, a branch of the Pennsylvania running from Chicago to Columbus. When we passed through Kouts I felt like jumping off since home was only seven miles north of there but we had to go on to Chicago.
It didn’t take long to get a train for Valpo since both lines came into the Union Station and it didn’t take long to get off at the same station where we had climbed aboard 19 months before to start our adventure. I bid good bye to my old friend Floyd Black and made the important phone call to my folks. Old dobbin made the three mile trip along Smoke Road to Valpo in record time and after a rather tearful reunion the soldier boy was:
Home again, home again, Farmer John
Gee it feels good to get my old clothes on
Up jumped the dog, get down you pup
Are you so glad you would eat me up
So endeth the saga of the farmer lad who joined the army to help save a Nation who many years ago had helped his country to achieve independence.
