To Be a Soldier: Military Memoirs 1927-1960

By Ivers L. Funk

Ivers Leonard Funk’s memoirs follow an Ohio farm boy around the world from Fiji to Paris. Funk’s vivid descriptions of people and places will fascinate both lovers of military history and civilian readers of adventure and human interest stories. From a soldier’s experience of battle to an officer’s life in post-War Europe, Funk’s life has it all.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Nov 30, 2021
• ISBN: 9781794755154

Book preview

Dedication

This account of my military life is dedicated to my son David Leonard Funk, who has long since surpassed my modest military accomplishment. He shared much of my life in the Army, good and bad. Perhaps something he saw caused him to choose Army life as well. I’m sure I didn’t knowingly urge or influence him in this respect.

So, Dave, here are some of the highlights if my life in the military, as I recall them. Much has been left out in the interest of brevity or to relieve monotony. Some readers’ minds will be bored in spite of these attempts, but some of the incidents are somewhat historical, and who knows what matter like the Garmisch roster might mean to some historian.

It has been a major effort on my part at this late date, taxing my aging memory and my two-fingered typing ability. If I could recommend anything to someone who might wish to do something like this in the future, I would save anything like important orders, scraps, and bits of trivia and the like in a systematic file. I would also have kept a diary in some form, perhaps on a small tape recorder. Many of my records were too incomplete.

I did not mention the passing of our beloved Fiji, which occurred in the spring of 1960, from old age. Also, the death at an early age of Dolly in 1963 and my subsequent marriage to my dear wife Betty Jane, both of which were after my retirement. Though I consider the Army my principal career, my life since retirement as well as later retirement from civil service has been most enjoyable. B.J. and the children have served to keep my life active and anything but boring.

Credit must also be given for some of the information in the text to the 37th Division History of World War II, the 1938 and the 1940-41 Pictorial Histories of the Ohio National Guard, and to the Teammates, a record of the 7th Infantry and the 10th Field Artillery Battalion at Fort Devens, Massachusetts in 1949.

Ivers Leonard Funk

Introduction

If you’ve ever wondered what happened to Huckleberry Finn after his adventures on the river with Jim, we might have an answer here. Like Huck, Leonard Funk came from a small riverfront town in middle America. Leonard managed his escape by lying about his age to join the Ohio National Guard and lit out for the territory when the Guard was called into active service in 1940. Every picaresque hero needs his faithful companion, and Leonard married his high school sweetheart Dorthea Zill, later known as Dolly, in 1934.

Dolly and their son David followed Leonard to most of his assignments. This meant some uncomfortable living arrangements, from small apartments to trailers. For one summer in Oklahoma, they lived in a little cabin with no windows. Finally, though, Dolly got her reward when they lived for three full years in Garmisch, Germany. Somehow, Leonard got assigned a large home on twelve acres of land, the former residence of a Nazi doctor. With help from her housekeeper, Erika, Dolly played golf, entertained, and traveled for those stable years of family life.

Leonard’s many moves before and after World War II meant that Dave often went to two or even three schools in one year until he got to high school. As a little boy, he just took this all for granted. In fact, he learned to love the Army during their first assignment at Camp Shelby in 1940. When he could, Leonard spent weekends in town with Dolly, leaving little Davey in his tent at Camp Shelby in the care of soldiers. This started him at age five on the brats to brass path that took him to the rank of Brigadier General. He, too, benefitted from their three years in Garmisch, where he attended the excellent Department of Defense boarding school in Munich and made lifelong friends.

Ivers Leonard Funk was an Ohio farm boy born in Coshocton County, Ohio, in September 1911. Known by his preferred name, Leonard, he embarked on a life of travel and adventure at age fifteen by adding two years to his age on a National Guard application. Readers will see that this penchant for bending the rules stayed with him all his life. His good looks and practical intelligence saved him from many scrapes that would have gotten another man into deep trouble.

More than just a rascal, though, Leonard was curious and observant. His descriptions of people and scenery he encountered throughout his military career charmed me into transcribing and publishing this memoir. Although I never met Leonard in person, I feel as if I know him, not only because I am married to his equally peripatetic son, but also because he tells his own story with such frank enjoyment.

After retiring from the Army in 1960, Leonard worked for the Internal Revenue Service for another sixteen years. His first wife Dolly died at fifty-two in 1963. Later, Leonard took on a new family of teenaged children when he married his second wife, Betty Jane, a decorated Army nurse. With them he continued travelling; they explored the United States on road trips from Alaska to Florida, but that is another book. Major Ivers Leonard Funk is interred beside Betty Jane at Arlington National Cemetery.

Karen Funk

Note on Editing

Rather than lose Leonard’s voice, I have chosen to edit his memoir very lightly, retaining terms for the enemy common in the 1940s but now recognized as pejorative. I apologize to any readers who might well be offended. In particular, I’ve left his many lists untouched. Like Walt Whitman, Leonard Funk clearly savored life in all its particulars. He remembers and revels in wonderful amounts of detail in personnel, materiel, flora and fauna, making his observations into celebrations. Part of Leonard’s purpose in writing was to memorialize the people who crossed his path, whether fellow soldiers or civilians. His lists of names mentioned in the text are in Appendix 2 and the Index.

The original photocopies of his memoir include copies of documents throughout Leonard’s career. These begin with an Honorable Discharge from the National Guard in 1933 showing his age as twenty-four, although he was actually only twenty-one, followed by his induction into active service in 1940. The latter traces his military experience from January of 1927 when he was not yet sixteen. He includes maps, military service orders, promotions and commendations, correspondence, school records, and even transcripts. In the interests of space, I have omitted this material, but it is available for interested scholars.

Prologue:

Off the Farm

1927-1940

––––––––

The Embryo

My earliest recollection of F Battery, 134th Field Artillery, Ohio National Guard, was when I was about twelve years old and our family visited my mother’s uncle Cash Stafford in Dresden, Ohio. He took us over to the Armory, which consisted of a large barn in the vicinity of the present Jefferson High School. They stabled about thirty horses and had supply rooms for uniforms, equipment, harness, and saddles. They would also have had the French 75mm guns, but I don’t recall seeing them at this time.

After our family moved from Warsaw to Coshocton in 1926, we found that the Battery had moved to town that year, too. My brother John enlisted soon after the summer camp that fall. I would accompany him to night drills, watching and yearning for the time I could join. I was about six feet one and weighed about 140 pounds but had just turned fifteen.

When Captain Rolla Cochran saw my interest and asked if I would like to join, I said, Yes, but I’m only fifteen, sir. He suggested that as I looked old enough, I could just give my birth date as September 15, 1909. So I was transported from the Art Hall at the Fairgrounds downtown to the second floor of the Chacos Building, where the Battery Office was. I gave my first initial as I and my middle name as Leonard, which I went by, but they didn’t like this and so moved the I to the middle. As this was written, the clerk typed it as a C, so I was enlisted as Leonard C. Funk. I didn’t care. I was floating on air just to be in the Guard. It was January 17, 1927, four months before Charles A. Lindbergh few solo across the Atlantic Ocean and eight months before my sixteenth birthday.

I was assigned as a driver, as I loved the horses and rode them on weekends with my brother John and others. The driver rode the near (left) horse and handled both the near and off (other) horse in their harness, which included saddles. Most of the members of the battery were city boys and feared the horses, so country boys like me who could handle them were at a premium. At the first summer camp in 1927, I was sometimes a lead driver with the first gun section, and at other times drove the reel cart with the field telephone wire. Some of the other drivers I recall were Norman Nelson, Ray Schlarb, his brother Glenn, and my brother John. Most of those who drove were from the Dresden area, like Fred Powell. They soon dropped out because of the commuting distance.

Captain Cochran also soon dropped out, and Captain Thomas A. Carton became our battery commander with Lieutenant Albert Able as the executive officer. We had various other officers, including Ralph Wheeler, Floyd Powelson, and Paul Rutherford. The first sergeant when I enlisted was Joseph Henderson. I think the next one was brother John, and then an ex-sergeant from the 3rd Field Artillery, who was also our caretaker at the armory. Other caretakers at the stables were Sergeant Wilmer Cochran, an older brother of Captain Cochran; Frank Hauke, who took over when Wilmer dropped out; Wilfred Emerson; John Howell; and Earl Callentine, who served as third man from time to time. The horses were stabled in one of the barns at the county fairgrounds. Soon after I enlisted, a new armory building was erected at the fairgrounds. It contained a battery office, supply and locker rooms, latrines, and space to assemble the sixty-three men and four officers.

After the battery was assembled, the cannoneers went to the Art Hall to drill with the guns, caissons, and limbers. The drivers were marched to the stable to learn nomenclature and care of the harness and how to harness and unharness the horses. We also learned grooming and care of the old horses. In nice weather, we would hook up the limbers with their guns and caissons to hold joint drills with the other sections.

We were especially proud of our battery’s white draft horses. Other batteries had horses of various colors, but all of our draft pairs were white. Most of our singles, ridden by officers and NCOs, were blacks, bays, mixed, and the like. It was a rule that one of the caretakers had to be with the horses all of the time. This was easy during the day when at least two of them were on duty, but evenings and weekends also had to be covered. There was a small building close to the stable with a cot, heating stove, desk, telephone, and a few chairs. This served as the night man’s living quarters. Hauke and Emerson both lived close to the fairgrounds.

Our regular drills were held on Monday evenings from 7 to 9 p.m. They usually ran overtime, but we who enjoyed them didn’t mind. We went to Camp Knox each summer for two weeks’ training, always returning on the Sunday before Labor Day. One of the caretakers had to accompany our horses two weeks early, so they could be used by the 38th Division from Kentucky and Indiana. The caretaker went right along with them in the railroad stock car to be sure they were well treated. In return, we used the 38th Division’s horses during our two weeks at camp.

The battery would be loaded on sleeping cars at a siding by the old ice cream plant between Chestnut and Sycamore Streets, and we usually pulled out on Saturday evening, as I recall. The cooks would prepare food in the baggage car, mostly cold, and bring it through to the troop cars. They rigged up a wood-burning field stove in a box of soil to heat coffee and perhaps eggs for breakfast. We would get to Knox on Sunday afternoon, unload, and set up in the World War I wooden barracks. If time allowed, we would go to the straw barn and fill our bedsacks (ticks) with straw. No mattresses were available. We learned to fold our shelter halves on the cot springs to keep the straw from messing up the floor under our bunks.

––––––––

Camp Knox

Camp Knox¹ in 1927 was a lot of wooden barracks just north of the small town of New Stithton. There are a few houses, a church, and a school in the area south of the present traffic circle. There were also warehouses just south of this area. The 3rd Field Artillery Regiment, which was stationed at Fort Benjamin Harrison, Indiana, would come to Knox each spring by road march with their French 75mm guns, caissons, and escort wagons, all horse-drawn. They came to fire their weapons and to support the training of the national guard, reserve, and ROTC cadets who came for summer training. Though we came to Knox because of the artillery ranges, the remainder of the 37th Division trained during the same period at Camp Perry, Ohio.

I well remember the outdoor movie theater just north of the present traffic circle, also the PX and the Kirkpatrick Photo Shop in the same area. I got a well-deserved lecture from an MP one night for thoughtlessly flipping a lighted cigarette from the bleachers into the crowd at the front of the theater. I recall the Station Hospital, just across US-31 from the railway station. At this writing (1977) it is still in use as a billeting office. My friend Bunny Foster had an emergency appendectomy there in 1929. Our barracks area was about a half mile north of the circle east of the railroad. The horse stables were across the rail spur to the north of our barracks area. Our materiel park was beside the horse stables to the east. Our training area stretched to the north and east, out Wilson Road and the Old Dixie Highway. We held mounted parades north of the stable area along the L & N Railroad on what had been a grass airstrip in World War I. This area is now (1977) the Post Airfield.

Captain Thomas A. Carton, owner of the best shoe store in Coshocton, really made F Battery catch on in Coshocton. He was able to get the Main Street merchants to donate from five to six hundred dollars each year for the good of the battery. A good portion of this was used to supplement the mess at camp, but each year in the late twenties, Carton would charter the steamer America, a side-wheeler, at Louisville for a Sunday voyage up the Ohio River as far a Rose Island and return. He would also get from one of the Roman Catholic parishes about fifty or more girls to bring box lunches for two. He would get an orchestra from the 134th Regimental Band for dancing in the ballroom the boat. While we still had the horses, we went by bus, but later used our trucks for transportation to Louisville. One year we went by bus over to Bardstown to visit the cathedral and the Old Kentucky Home, where Stephen Foster wrote the song of the same name.

Captain Carton also usually arranged a dinner for the officers and NCOs on the Friday or Saturday night in camp. The one most remembered was at Doe Run Inn, by Brandenberg west of camp. Beginning in the mid-thirties, he relied on the NCO council to vote approval or disapproval on all prospective new members of the battery. This resulted in a higher quality membership, as most of the time there was a waiting list. No matter how long an applicant was on the list, if he didn’t fit in, he was disapproved. Most entered the battery while still in high school.

––––––––

Ambition

While I enjoyed being a horse driver, it was a dead-end street. I made private first class in my second year at camp, and during the second year at camp I worked as a specialist horseshoer at $22.40 for the period instead of the $16.50 as a PFC. There were other compensations as I never got kitchen police duty because it was too hard to get a driver replacement. We did get guard duty, for it was performed only at night, from 6 p.m. to 6 a.m. with two hours on and four off. It was thought that this gave us enough time to sleep. In fact, we usually got more sleep while on guard than not. But I was ambitious and told the battery commander I wouldn’t re-enlist unless I was guaranteed a transfer after my three years were up in 1930.

So I made gunner corporal in 1931 and sergeant, chief-of-section, in March 1932. Shortly before this, a program was announced whereby enlisted men could earn commission in the guard. The 10-Series correspondence course was for commission, the 20-Series for promotion to first lieutenant, and the 30-Series for captain. Several of us started to take them, but lost interest when it became obvious there was no likely chance for vacancies. 

Back to the horses, it was about 1929 when brother John and I decided it would be nice to ride a pair of them to Granddad Funk’s for Thanksgiving dinner. We were given a pair of draft horses, as they were best for stamina. It was over twenty miles each way, a six-hour ride on each of two days, a real drag for both us and the horses, as the gravel road was muddy in many places. We didn’t repeat this caper again.

It was about this time when we took the battery on a road trip to Keene, Ohio, to fire a salute for the governor who was there to dedicate a monument. It was in 1930, as I recall serving as Number One on one of the crews actually firing the salute. As our column neared the turnoff toward Bouquet’s Camp above Lake Park, a car rushed by, and the right rear door handle hooked into the rump of Don, the guidon horse. It tore into the flesh and ripped off a piece of skin about a foot square. Brother John, riding the horse, was not injured, at least physically. Don was led back to the stables and tended to by a veterinarian, but a few days later he had to be destroyed.

The battery always participated in civic events. especially patriotic parades. They were usually held in the evenings and even though considered an unpaid extra drill, were usually well-attended by the members. Sometimes it was a foot parade, but usually mounted when we had our horses. This gave us a chance to display our bright, shiny materiel, white horses, black harness, and the like.

I recall getting back to the fairgrounds from one of the foot parades. Some of the fellows had been less than military, joking and waving at friends and at girls watching the parade. Our First Sergeant, Milton Harvey Sheppard, was a strict disciplinarian and didn’t like this display. When he had dismissed the battery, he came to Bob Foster in the locker room and said, Bob, if you were not so damned young, I’d beat your God-damned head off! To this Bob replied, Well, don’t let a little thing like that stop you! I never knew either of them to back off an inch from any fight. Bob was probably about nineteen at the time and Milt, a World War I Navy veteran, at least forty, but each respected the other’s ability. Of course, it took several of us to quell the heat.

No old rosters are available, and as it’s been over fifty years since I enlisted, it’s hard for me to recall all the old-timers. I have an early 1938 and a 1940-41 History of the Ohio National Guard, and a record of the 134th in the 1941 Louisiana Maneuvers, but these do not include a number of men I know participated: my brother John Funk, cousin Paul Huff, Carl Ewing, Charles Campbell, Lester Boyd, Joe Henderson, Ward Johnson, Nick Plematis, Warren and Sant Caruso, John Allman, Dan Parks, Vaughn Hauke, Howard Bunny Foster, Max Allman, Ed and Bob Foster, Lester Binning, Kenneth Jennings, Wayne Lapp, Ray Jones, Leonard Ziegler, Vernon Taylor, Kenneth Fortune, Russell Griley, Ray Rice, Fritz Metz, Jack Turner, Clarence Coulter, and Edward A. Bailey. Ed later went to the U.S. Military Academy at West Point and retired as a Brigadier General.

I must mention Sergeant Bill Long, our Regular Army Instructor. He married Lieutenant Al Able’s sister, and they lived in Coshocton until he died. Their only child was killed in an auto accident at a very young age. Bill was the instructor for the whole 134th Regiment but spent much time with us and was very much responsible for the success of our battery over the years. He held a reserve commission and was activated in it during World War II, retiring as a colonel. His wife preceded him in death a few years after the war. No one was more responsible for the success of F Battery.

––––––––

More About Fort Knox

In the summer of 1930, I got permission to drive my new 1929 Ford roadster, complete with rumble seat, to Camp Knox. My buddy Vaughn Hauke also drove to camp in his 1930 Ford roadster. If we were not on guard duty, we could take a load of fellows to Louisville, charging each passenger a dollar for the round trip. We each could take two others in the front as well as two in the rumble seats. So with a full load, we had four dollars for gas and home brew.

This was still in the days of Prohibition, so the home brew was not exactly legal. It was very common, though. Many people, including my father, set batches of malt hops, sugar, and yeast in a twenty-gallon crock in the basement beside the hot water heater, let it ferment for a four-day period, then bottled it with a teaspoon of sugar in each bottle to work in a little fizz. The same process was used on a bigger scale by the bootleg beer joints. In Louisville as in many places, the standard 25 cent beer was sold in a two-handled tin cup that held a quart. 

A few of us were sitting around a table in a walkup flat between Third and Fourth Streets one evening when a couple of fellows came in and announced that the place was pinched. We laughingly ignored them as they went to the rear and started pouring the beer supply down the drain. When one of us ordered another beer, we learned that they were not joking. After they finished destroying the beer supply, they turned their attention to the customers. They had a bail bondsman with them who went our bonds for five dollars each, but we were scheduled to appear in municipal court in a couple of days. This dampened our spirits for the night.

The next day, one of the sergeants who was with us approached Captain Carton, who agreed to talk to the provost marshal on the post. He contacted the city authorities, who agreed to turn our cases over to the military for discipline. We were denied passes for a couple of days and of course didn’t get our bail money back. As I recall, we didn’t stop drinking home brew, but we did get more careful.

The battery traditionally spent much of the second week of camp on the artillery range. The 75mm gun with its high velocity fixed charges had a very sharp crack. Still, some of our midnight heroes could sleep soundly under the caisson right beside the gun while firing was in progress. Each section had a caisson, which held about a dozen rounds, plus the limbers for each gun and caisson, which also held a few rounds. The limbers had a pole (tongue) and a doubletree, to which the wheel pair of horses were hitched. The lead pair was then hitched to the front of the trace chains of the wheel pair. The full complement for war strength also included a swing pair between the lead and wheel pairs. This would have been more necessary with a full load of ammunition, pointer tools, and full equipment in rough terrain. The gun crews rode on the limbers and the caisson, holding on for dear life as the horses galloped over hill and dale. There was a hand brake on the caisson, operated by a man who had to ride the barrel while holding onto the shield to avoid being thrown off. The brakes were vital when descending steep hills with heavy loads.

This is a good place to talk about our uniforms. When I enlisted, the standard issue was all World War I style: two pairs of cotton breeches, two woolen shirts, one woolen blouse with choker collar, two pairs of shoes with leather soles and heels, canvas leggings with half leather inside and a strap under the instep, one raincoat, one woolen overcoat, and one campaign hat. Our weapon was a .45-caliber Smith and Wesson six-shot revolver with a left hand (Cavalry) leather holster suspended from a web pistol belt. The aluminum canteen and first aid kit also went on this belt. About 1930, we finally got rid of the choker blouses, replaced with a nice roll-collar Melton. At this time, we were also issued barracks caps with leather visors, but we retained our campaign hats for summer wear. Finally, we had World War I steel helmets but were rarely required to wear them.

As time went by, the Regular Army issued cotton slacks for summer off-duty wear, and at Fort Knox cotton overseas caps. Many of us purchased the cotton trousers and caps. Cotton shirts were issued for wear under the new blouse. Many of us bought extra shirts and nicer black ties to replace the normal issue roll-up string tie. We eventually agreed to a rule where each man purchased the cotton slacks and overseas cap. As we wanted to look like the regulars, we wore this uniform both for summer dress and off-duty.

We were entitled to service bars for each three years of service. It was interpreted to be a stripe for each enlistment, and as we were allowed to enlist for only one year after the first enlistment, the practice became the rule so we could wear more service stripes on our blouses. Nobody ever forbade us to do this, so the practice continued until we went active.

Our woolen breeches remained the issue uniform when we went on active duty in 1940. These were tight at the knee and laced at the calf. By this time, most had purchased the high leather lace-up boots worn by the mechanized cavalry at Fort Knox. We also wore plain toe brown oxfords with our cotton slacks. They were lighter and more comfortable than the issue, which by this time had rubber heels.

––––––––

Citizens Military Training Camp

No account of my military life would be complete without mention of the Citizens Military Training Camp (CMTC) at Fort Benjamin Harrison in Indianapolis, Indiana. This was a program that made it possible for young men who were unable to join ROTC at a college to get a reserve commission by spending a month each year for four years. I applied and was accepted in 1928. The dates were from June 20 to July 19 that year. We were paid mileage to and from home, so Ray Rice and I thumbed out and saved our travel cash for spending money. Fred Metz was also there that year.

CMTC was a little like basic training with less harassment. We learned the infantry squad, platoon, and company drills. The resident regiment at Fort Benjamin Harrison was the 11th Infantry Regiment, which had been my father’s unit in Wyoming, San Francisco after the 1906 earthquake, and later in Cuba from 1906 to 1908. They furnished the drill instructors, administrative personnel, mess halls, supply rooms, and equipment. Most of us were put up in pyramidal tents behind the old brick barracks lining the parade grounds. Those barracks are still there, though now used for offices.

We went on the rifle range and fired a qualification table on the 100 and 200-yard ranges. I recall firing expert with 191 of a possible 200. This normally would have sent me to the National Rifle Matches at Camp Perry, Ohio, later in the year, but my membership in the National Guard disqualified me. It was their reasoning that I would go with a guard team, but as we were armed with .45-caliber pistols, we couldn’t go. I did get my expert rifleman medal, however.

Those successfully completing the first year became Whitebirds for the second year, Redbirds for the third year, and Bluebirds for the final year. I returned again in 1931 and was awarded Bluebird status, skipping a year because of my maturity, military knowledge and bearing. However, when I applied in 1932, my national guard membership had become disqualifying. By this time the depths of the Depression found many more youths applying that could be accommodated.

During my Redbird year, we were again billeted in tents, but in an area close to newly built brick barracks. Again we used the latrines, showers, mess, and supply rooms of a parent unit on the 11th Infantry. We were still armed with the 1903 Springfield rifle, carrying it with us in all our drills. This year we were thrilled by a visit from a squadron of Army biplanes. About a dozen landed and lined up on the side of the parade group for our inspection. We thought they were a great improvement over the World War I Jennies. I think they were Curtis Falcons, with a radial engine.

––––––––

Strike Duty

During the summer of 1932 a coal mine strike erupted in Ohio. It was so long and bitter that the governor called National Guard troops to help the local sheriffs maintain order and prevent violence. A few were sent from our battery, and I was glad to be included, as we were paid a dollar per day plus food and quarters. We started in a completely empty old hotel in Cadiz, in Harrison County. The state furnished us cots and mattresses. There was a bath on each floor, but it was a project to get hot water. Each of us was assigned to a local restaurant that had a list of our names, and we were required to sign for our meals. Sometimes we would arrange to take only part of the meal and get a package of cigarettes in lieu of the remainder.

Lieutenant Powelson from our battery was on duty, though not in direct charge of us. Some I recall were Fortune, Callentine, Bailey, Caruso, Foster, Plematis, and Ray Schlarb, though there were others. Chalmer Callentine ate at Peck’s Restaurant and there he met Helen, daughter of the owner. He dated her and introduced me to