Ho! Ho! Weekend Warrior

By Paul Borick

THIS IS A HISTORICAL NOVEL CONCERNING MILITARY RESERVE UNITS FORM POST WORLD WAR II DAYS TO THE PRESENT. CAREERS, ATTITUDES, ASSIGNMENTS AND PERSONAL LIFE ARE REPRESENTED. LIVES AND TIMES IN THE RESERVES ARE TRACED THROUGH THE KOREAN CONFLICT, THE BERLIN CRISIS, THE CUBAN FIASCO AND FINALLY VIET NAM.
THE RESERVISTS, THE WEEKEND WARRIORS ARE SHOWN IN THEIR DUTIES, INTERESTS, THEIR WORK, THEIR LOVES, BOREDOM AND PREPAREDNESS FOR THE FUTURE. WEEKENDS AND WEEKDAYS SPENT AWAY FROM HOME LEAD TO JOYS AND FRUSTRATIONS, BECAUSE OF WORLD CONDITIONS.
RESERVE MILITARY PERSONNEL AND NATIONAL GUARD, AS WELL AS REGULARS WHO EXPERIENCED THESE ACTIONS WILL SEE THEMSELVES IN THE VARIOUS ROLES DEPICTED IN THIS STORY.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Oct 26, 2005
• ISBN: 9781462828067

Paul Borick

DR. PAUL M. BORICK RECEIVED A B.S. IN BIOLOGY AND CHEMISTRY FROM THE UNIVERSITY OF SCRANTON. HE EARNED HIS M.S. IN BACTERIOLOGY AND PHD IN MICROBIOLOGY FROM SYRACUSE UNIVERSITY. HE TAUGHT MICROBIOLOGY AT SYRACUSE, LE MOYNE COLLEGE AND COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY. HE SPENT 37 YEARS IN RESEARCH AND DEVELOPMENT IN THE PHARMACEUTICAL AND MEDICAL-SURGICAL INDUSTRIES WHERE HE WAS INSTRUMENTAL IN THE INTRODUCTION OF MANY NEW MEDICAL AND DRUG PRODUCTS. HE WAS A MEMBER OF VARIOUS SCIENTIFIC SOCIETIES AND SERVED AS PRESIDENT AND NATIONAL COUNSELOR FOR THE NEW JERSEY CHAPTER OF THE AMERICAN SOCIETY FOR MICROBIOLOGY. HE IS THE AUTHOR OR COAUTHOR OF OVER FORTY SCIENTIFIC AND MEDICAL PUBLICATIONS INCLUDING A TEXT ON “CHEMICAL STERILIZATION.” HE SERVED IN THE ARMY AIR CORPS IN THE PACIFIC THEATRE DURING WORLD WAR II AND RETIRED AS A LIEUTENANT COLONEL FROM THE AIR FORCE RESERVE. HE HELD VARIOUS MILITARY ASSIGNMENTS DURING HIS CAREER AND WAS AWARDED NINE CAMPAIGN RIBBONS FROM THE U.S.A. AND PHILIPPINES. PAUL AND HIS WIFE JOAN HAVE SIX CHILDREN AND FOURTEEN GRANDCHILDREN.

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Prelude

I am proud to say that I was a member of what Tom Brokaw, Tim Russert and others have referred to as the Greatest Generation. After two years of an accelerated war time program during World War II at the University of Scranton, I volunteered for cadet training in the Army Air Corps. After basic training in Greensboro, N.C., I was sent to Sioux Falls, S.D. for radio operator training, onto Yuma, AZ then to Reno, NV to qualify as a flight radio operator. I was then sent to Nashville, TN where I was to be assigned to a crew on C-54s to fly the Hump—the Himalayas in India.

However, my sister, an Army Air Corps nurse, was being sent overseas to Europe. I was granted a furlough to join her at home in Olyphant, PA before her departure. On my return to Nashville, my orders were changed and I was sent to Ogden, UT, then to California for assignment to the South Pacific. We crossed the equator where the sailors gave us a water dunking and made us official members of King Neptune’s party—a sailor’s tradition.

From New Guinea we proceeded via transport with Convoy to the Philippines. On Palm Sunday, in the Mariannas, we watched a Marine pilot doing a series of aircraft maneuvers—loops, turns, and spins, etc. He lost control of the Grumman Avenger, crashed into the side of our ship killing two sailors in that compartment. His plane with him and his passenger immediately sunk into what is considered one of the deepest parts of the Pacific Ocean, some five to six miles deep. Their remains are probably still in that plane to this date.

On Leyte in the Philippines I was assigned to the 8th Photo Reconnaissance Group—P-38s and B-25s which took the photographs of targets prior to and after the bombings. Our outfit moved to Luzon then onto Okinawa. We took the first pictures with our aircraft after the dropping of the atomic bomb. We were very much concerned of the consequences as Tokyo Rose said on the radio that the Americans would be wiped off the island. We felt the only way the Japanese could retaliate was to gas us. We lived with our gas masks, and would not go from the tent to the mess hall without them.

After serving as occupation troops in Japan, I returned to receive my Bachelor of Science degree in chemistry and biology at the University of Scranton in Pennsylvania. This followed with my Masters degree in bacteriology and my doctorate in microbiology at Syracuse University. During this time, I accepted a commission as a second lieutenant in the new Air Force Reserve, Medical Corps. Monthly and weekend drills were then continued, wherever schooling and work took me. These included Syracuse Reserve Center; Camp Kilmer; Mitchell Air Force Base; Newark Reserve Training Center; Naval Reserve, Brooklyn; Dover Air Force Hospital; Armed Forces Institute of Pathology, Washington, DC; Wright Patterson, OH; Pope Air Force Base and Shaw Air Force Base.

The twenty-five years spent in the Air Force Reserve, retiring as a lieutenant colonel, was a heartening and rewarding experience, and was an inspiration for writing this book. Although fictional, it represents many of the experiences our present day reservists and National Guardsmen as well as the regulars encounter. I salute them, wish them well and thank the Good Lord on their behalf in the cause of freedom.

Summary

This is a historical novel concerning military reserve units from post World War II days to the present. Career, attitude, assignments, personal life and history in various reserve units are traced in the person of Cliff Corlins who finds himself discharged from the Army Air Corps only to accept a civilian assignment in the new Air Force Reserve.

The lives and times of Cliff and his associates are traced through the Korean Conflict, the Berlin Crisis, the Cuban fiasco and finally the Vietnam struggle. The reservists, the Weekend Warriors are shown in their duties, interest, their loves and boredom, ever on the alert only to find their preparedness and lack of it unwanted. Weekends and in some instances weekdays and nights spent away from home led to joys and frustrations as a result of developing world military conditions.

People who have experienced these actions, the Army, Air Force, Navy, Marine and Coast Guard Reserve personnel will see themselves in these roles cheering the mouse rather than the cat, looking forward to keen anticipation to words of wisdom from an incoming Commanding Officer only to be instructed in the manner of G.I.ing (disposing) of a cigarette butt.

They will appreciate the satire and humor of airmen trying to outwit their officers and commanders and the court martial of Airman Marks, the first reservist tried for refusing to salute the flag. There will be admiration for the singular involvement of a reservist to attempt to resolve the Vietnam War. They will admire the athletic qualities of Brunhilde Schmidt as this nurse helps the officers defeat the enlisted men in the wing ding ball game after years of trying.

Personnel, now in the military, as well as the civilian populace will appreciate the antics and activities of various groups in the reserve program and will gain an insight into the duties and activities of The Weekend Warriors.

Chapter 1

POST WORLD WAR II

World War II is over and Private First Class Cliff Corlins is looking forward to the happy civilian life he dreamed about during the past years’ tour of duty in the South Pacific, the Philippines, Okinawa and, finally, as part of the occupation forces in Japan. The Army Air Corps was interesting and he had plenty of buddies, but now all he wanted was that piece of paper that said honorable discharge, and he would forget about the military or any part of it. Hell, why take all that crap when a man didn’t have to. It was nice to know you fought to defend democracy, but now it will be even nicer to be able to enjoy the freedom you’ve won.

As he sat there in his silent reverie, half dreaming and half listening to the young lieutenant making his pitch about remaining in the reserves, he wondered just what the future would bring. One thing he knew, he wanted to go back to school and finish his education. That was a must. In the post World War era, a man without a college education wouldn’t stand a chance, and with the new G.I. Bill of Rights to help defray tuition costs, a fellow would be a damn fool not to take advantage of the opportunity.

The lieutenant’s voice now came through loud and clear. Men we’ve got to make a place for ourselves in building a better society, we’ve got to assure ourselves that our democratic form of government will give freedom to all peoples. We have to be certain that the principles for which we fought and our comrades died will prevail. One of the ways we can do this is by building a strong reserve. Oh boy! Thought Cliff, here comes the big pitch, the final opportunity to get us to reup.

I don’t mean you have to be a member of an active military force, but you men have been trained by the Army, you now possess knowledge and skills which could be a deterrent to an enemy force. You could be an important number, a statistic. You realize that if Russia or another potential enemy were to look and see that the Americans had a reserve force in excess of two million men, they would think twice before starting any trouble and you could be a deterrent to any future fiascos such as the one we just went through. We must prevent this at all costs.

What the lieutenant says makes sense, but the big question is whether it’s worth my getting involved. Besides, why not somebody else? I’ve given my time. He listened further—there will be no active military involvement on your part, you will be one of a number in a large force. The reserves have always played a vital role in the defense of our country, and in time of national emergency, you would be called up anyway. As I said before, men, a force of two million strong, citing numbers only, will be a tremendous deterrent to any potential enemy action. All you need do is fill in the assigned form and you will become a member of the reserves with no further involvement on your part and you’ll be able to keep your rank. The lieutenant finished his presentation and there was a low, dull monotone of conversation prevalent throughout the room. A buck sergeant with a Southern accent and bedecked with campaign ribbons sitting next to Cliff took the form and began to fill it in. You all realize what the lieutenant says is true, he said to those about him, we need a strong reserve force to support a standing army and we’re just the fellows to do it.

Cliff began to contemplate more seriously whether or not to do so as his initial thoughts regarding his involvement began to wane.

God, he certainly wouldn’t want to have to go through again what he just did and perhaps being a member of a reserve force, a number, a statistic, as the lieutenant put it, might just be a deterrent to an enemy force and prevent another world war—and as I’ve just learned, you can’t always rely on the other guy; so, sign the form—he did.

Discharge papers in hand, he boarded the bus outside the main gate at Camp Kilmer, New Jersey, that was to take him away from all this and back to his family in Plainfield, where he could renew the life he left before entering the service. As he looked out the back window of the bus and saw the Camp Kilmer sign disappear in the background, he breathed a sigh of relief with a feeling of Thank God that’s all behind me now. Free once again.

Reunion with his family was a delight to all. Across the door hung a big sign—Welcome Home Cliff,—this, he attributed to his kid sister which said, Hail the Conquering Hero. After a series of hugs, kisses and hand shakes, he began to relate his experiences and travels across half the world. They were anxious to have him recapitulate every single moment of his experiences since leaving home.

The censor had cut out a part of a letter that was mailed to his mother. With typical female curiosity, she had saved it to find out what was cut out. Upon reading part of it to refresh his memory, it was—Oh, yes, he recalled, that was about the flying fish he had seen in the South Pacific, and since it identified the area where the troop transports navigated, it was censored for any potential identification should it have fallen into the hands of our past enemies.

Well there was a lot of reminiscing to do by all and he and his family sat around for one heck of a long bull session relating the news of the past and getting reacquainted.

Adjustment to civilian life was as the fellows said it would be. Your buddies who were being discharged identified with you, but the civilians did not always appear to be understanding and perhaps in some instances resentful. They gave the impression that they couldn’t care less about your experiences or your efforts.

Perhaps it was their guilty feeling that they didn’t do their share in participating in the war. He’d heard his folks tell about some of the neighbors who made a fortune in the black market by dealing in inferior beef or selling scarce items such as sugar or other commodities which required ration stamps.

Now what does a fellow do, who flew as a medical technician aboard air transport planes and only had a year of college behind him? Here it is the spring of 1946 and he can’t reenroll in school until September. With all the fellows returning, there just aren’t that many jobs to be had. In talking to some of the guys who had just formed the Gay Blades Club and asked him to join, you could become a member of the 52-20 club. This was the government’s way of tiding you over until you could get a job. You collected $20 a week for 52 weeks. Everyone was doing it, so why not? He had a few dollars he saved from the Army, plus his discharge pay, but there was no sense in going through all of that. Live off the government as others were doing.

Some of the fellows had joined the American Legion and his brother, who was recently discharged, became a member of the Veterans of Foreign Wars. They both had nice bars and club rooms and at least when you found yourself with a lack of something to do, you could go over and shoot the breeze with the boys or play a few hands of cards. Besides the dues were only $3 a year, so what did you have to lose?

Weather was warming up and people were beginning to talk about vacations. That might not be a bad way to spend the summer. Perhaps he could get himself a job at the Jersey Shore or one of the summer resorts in the Pocono’s. He had a friend who managed a hotel in the Pocono’s and he decided to get in touch with him. Sure enough, they were looking for someone who could run their recreation program for them, a personality boy to help entertain the guests. The job didn’t pay much, but you had free room and board, ate with the guests from the menu. That in itself would be a tremendous improvement over army chow—a gourmet’s delight. Besides Mount Pocono Inn was a lush establishment with a beautiful cocktail lounge and a nightly floor show complete with band and dancing. A good place to work and relax. He took the job.

Early days were spent in organizing various forms of recreation—volley ball, soft ball, swimming and a variety of sports. Games between the guests and the establishment. Then there was always the opportunity to make a few extra dollars by running various legitimate games—bingo, horse racing, roulette—which left the guests entertained and everyone having a good time. There were those, however, who made their own entertainment and preferred to be left alone. The employees let them be and if they didn’t join the fun and organized games, they jokingly remarked that they were too busily engaged in the All American Sport. The hotel hired a group of young college kids and some of the waitresses were real dolls. Not only were there some beautiful girls on the hotel staff, but as guests began to arrive, there wasn’t a week that didn’t go by when some sex starved female appeared on the guest list. The big question from her was, Where are all the men around here? Now here was a real challenge, how to keep these gals happy and, of course, Cliff being the full blooded, handsome, six-foot American male he was, found great demands on his time in his attempts to fulfill their wishes and his obligation to the hotel to keep the guests happy.

The summer, the job, the season, the work and delightful times ended all too soon and he made arrangements to go back to school and finish those remaining years towards his bachelor’s degree. He started at Seton Hall University and thought about transferring to another school, but the Hall was convenient, he could commute, get together with some of the fellows to drive back and forth. Then too he’d already had some credits at the school from past attendance prior to his military service so why not stay with it? Besides the college has a good reputation and he should get the much wanted education. The school had certainly changed since he was last enrolled. There were veterans all over the place and emergency classrooms and buildings were needed to take on the large influx of veterans. Quite a contrast to the early war years when you were lucky to be able to get a half dozen students in a class.

It was difficult to knuckle down and concentrate on studies when you’d been used to a leisurely lazy military life and seen a good portion of the world, but, then, with life at is roughest, you realized that this was a must. Fellows like yourself were in the same boat and they’re all knocking themselves out to get the most out of the education. It was interesting to see those men who took a lackadaisical view of college life previously really dig in and work. If this is any indication of the future, we’re going to have one hell of a competitive world and that old slogan the air corps taught,—the future belongs to those who prepare for it, is certainly apropos. Though you must admit you’ve got to feel sorry for some of these married Joe’s who have to raise a family and work in addition to trying to accomplish their studies.

If you’ve got the dough on the other hand, like Izzy Rosenberg’s folks, you don’t have too much concern about the future. Understand his people are one of the ones who made it big. The old man had a large used car agency and with the fellows anxious to buy scarce autos after the war, he could sell a wheelbarrow if it were mechanized.

Izzy was a likeable fellow. A real sport. He was 4-F and one of the non-veterans who enjoyed listening to the exploits of the returning G.I.’s. It was not uncommon for him to take the fellows out for an evening of fun and think nothing of dropping a $20 bill for all to have a good time. Needless to say he was a popular lad with the guys who were sadly lacking in funds. Then, of course, if you needed a few bucks in a hurry, you could always depend on Izzy for a quick loan.

His strongest influence on the fellows was that he owned a big, brand new Packard sport convertible at a time when cars just weren’t available, and the fellows not only cruised around town to entice the lasses but he made regular jaunts to Wilkes Barre. This was a fast three-hour drive out Route 22 to Route 611 and onto Jeannie Duffies, the local bordello where a big sign on the gas station read, Always one dollar. Of course with the war and inflation, prices were now $2 and in some houses even as high as $5. The gals were accommodating—24 hours, day or night.

One day one of the fellows who was the organizer of the group, wrote on the religion class blackboard that the Rosenberg special was leaving for Wilkes Barre immediately after class. The priest who was himself an ex Navy chaplain questioned why, with tongue in cheek, to which Steve Slowinski added that it was purely to expand one’s education and get a broad viewpoint. This brought a laugh from the class and a shrug from Father O’Reilly who mumbled something like, what kind of broad?

Once actively enrolled in the university program, there was no thought or concern given to the commitment to the military reserves. There was no formal program for these veterans of World War II who had committed themselves to this operational phase and only an occasional reminder was received via the mails regarding the workings of the National Guard or active military units. These were usually immediately discarded by him.

Cliff and men in a similar category actively pursued their immediate objectives of obtaining a good college education. There was quite a contrast in attending college now versus the time spent prior to entry into military service during World War II days. For one thing, the men were more mature and much more engrossed in the task at hand. They were much more serious minded and although all admitted that it was more difficult to get into a regular course-of-routine study, they could more easily understand why they were in school and what was expected of them. There also appeared to be a more cooperative as well as competitive spirit. They worked together more readily and tackled an assigned task cooperatively, but each man worked harder to obtain the higher grade. You especially noticed this attitude in many of the men who floundered prior to their military service and in some cases those men who almost flunked in their prior enrollments, due to a lackadaisical attitude, turned out to be top-notch students. This was most certainly a more serious minded group then former fellow students and the professors themselves commented that they appreciated the older more mature students.

Then, too, there was a different feeling among the students. Not only did they work harder, the financial security gave them the assurance that they could continue in their schooling. All tuition, books and registration fees were paid by the G.I. Bill of Rights, and with a living stipend of $75 per month, a fellow could live reasonably if he watched his expenditures closely. Furthermore, most of the fellows had some money saved, and in case of difficulty, could rely on the bank account savings. Some had rather tidy sums available, particularly those students who spent time in the Pacific Theatre, where pay had accumulated which could not be spent over a two or three year period or who made some money in the card or crap games aboard ship or even peddling cigarettes or other items in the black markets of Europe and Japan.

Some materials were in scarce supply as these were expended towards the war effort and for sometime thereafter were still in great demand. Not too many men had an extensive wardrobe as clothing was not readily obtainable. Cliff and his buddy Steve wanted to buy new suits for an upcoming college social function. After a visit to a number of men’s clothing stores, he settled on a soft gray suit, with which he was unhappy, after purchase, as he felt it did not fit too well, whereas Steve accepted a green tweed because it was one of the only ones available which he thought fit. The clothing salesman in the latter case, made what he considered a better fit by stretching and pulling at a few seams. They were probably purchased in spite of the shortcomings as anything in color looked good after wearing the dull drab khaki clothing of the service. They later joked about the salesman’s attitude who said, Oh, it’s a little tight, well I’ll take care of that and proceeded to stretch the garment by pulling at the fabric with his large outstretched arms.

College days were both a lot of good hard work interspersed with enjoyable times. As stated earlier, the war veterans were decidedly a more serious and older group in contrast to their younger