A Piece of the Greatest Generation

By Harrison C. Scranton

Harrison Charles Scranton was a Connecticut native that at age 16 with his family moved to Southern California. His interest in flying provided the original motivation for writing this book as described in the first page. Read his various exploits during his time in the Service. Find out what it was like being in the Army Air Forces in the early days. See how changing from the Army Air Forces to it's own branch of service the United States Air Force changed the mission and responsibilities. Find out how the average "joe" used to behave during this time frame. Laugh and cry at the many stories that are told about his everyday activities. Be with him as he was swept up in the events of December 7, 1941. Find out how he managed to get along with his new assignment in the Northeast Air Command, with time spent at Thule, Greenland. Find out what it was like to plan for your retirement and the many hurtles that had to be jumped for that to occur. Last but not least, be with him at his retirement parade that an Officer in the USAF receives if requested. This is a true account of a service man's experience in the Service of his country for 30 years.

Robert (Bob) Scranton son of Harrison Charles Scranton

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Mar 7, 2024
• ISBN: 9781665578011

Harrison C. Scranton

Harrison Charles Scranton in 1928 was a typical youth doing various odd jobs while he went to school. He quit school after the 10th Grade to work as a steeple jack for his father in his business. A steeple jack, paints and repairs tall objects such as church steeples, public buildings, flag poles etc. This is where he learned to tie life saving knots in rope. Great story in the book about this. He did not particularly like that work and was looking to do something different. With his interest in flying, and his interest in serving his country, he joined with some friends the U S Army that had a segment (Signal Corps) that flew airplanes. With that interest, he chose to join up and the book details his various activities. He really wanted to be a pilot, however he did not have a college degree, so he became a mechanic, bombardier and finally taught bombing to new recruits coming into the service. He finally did end up getting his GED while in the service. He had many other duties as most service guys do. He really loved being around any of the Aircraft that the Army Air Corp had especially the bombers. The many pictures in the book depict this interest.

Book preview

© 2022 Harrison C. Scranton. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or

transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse  03/06/2024

ISBN: 978-1-6655-7800-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6655-7801-1 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2022923123

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in

this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views

expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the

views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

The picture numbering sequence does not appear in order as they were taken

from his original album where all of the pictures were not used.

CONTENTS

Preface

Foreword

Chapter I:In The Beginning

Chapter II:March Field, Riverside, California

November 24, 1927, to December 1, 1933

Chapter III:Hamilton Field, San Rafael, California

December 2, 1933, to February 24, 1940

Chapter IV:Hickam Field, Territory of Hawaii

February 24, 1940, to October 25, 1944

Chapter V:Wright-Patterson Air Force Base

Dayton, Ohio

October 27, 1944, To July 13, 1953

Chapter VI:Pepperell Air Force Base

St. Johns, Newfoundland

July 15, 1953, to February 4, 1954

Chapter VII:Selfridge Air Force Base

Mt. Clemens, Michigan

February 4, 1954, to May 31, 1957

Epilogue

Appendix A

Appendix B

Appendix C-1

Appendix C-2

Appendix D

Appendix F

Appendix H

Appendix I

Appendix J

Appendix K

Appendix L-1

Appendix L-2

Appendix L-3

Appendix L-4

Appendix L-5

Appendix M-1

Appendix M-2

Appendix N

Appendix O

Appendix P

Appendix Q-1

Appendix Q-2

Appendix R

Appendix S

Appendix T

Appendix U

Appendix V

PREFACE

As long as I can remember I have been interested in airplanes. Made little models from pieces of wood when I was about ten. They had no kits in those days. I got close to airplanes whenever I could. Paid $5.00 for my first airplane ride in July 1927. That was with the Bates Flying Circus when they came to Wallingford, Connecticut with their Curtiss JN-4 ‘Jennys’ and put on an air show.

Just after my eighteenth birthday I found the opportunity to be around airplanes by enlisting in the Army Air Corps. Without two years of college, I could not become a cadet and learn to fly in the Army. I could be a mechanic, work on and around the airplanes, and fly in them as a crew chief or a member of a flight crew. As this is written, I have actually been up in the air almost thirteen hundred hours.

I tell friends stories about things that happen in the military service, to me and others. I also tell them the things I did there. They seemed to be interested. Maybe others would still like to hear about it all. There are not too many of us left who were in that old Army over fifty years ago. I still have fond memories of those old days. I thought I would put these memories and stories on paper as I recall them. It has actually been over sixty-five years since the first things given herein occurred. Maybe some of the memories have dimmed. Others are as clear as the day they happened.

To make the narrative a little easier to read I am going to use names in most cases. Most of the names will be correct. Where I do not want to embarrass a friend, I will use a fictitious name. If I don’t know a name and one should be used, I’ll make one up. I will know the difference, but the reader may not, and shouldn’t really care.

Many of the details herein are quite accurate as to names and dates. I obtained a Pilot’s Book a few months after entering the service. I then recorded therein every flight I ever made, the type of aircraft, the pilot where known, and the destination and duration of the flight. In the front of the book, I recorded the dates and places of assignments. In the back I entered all the promotions. All these items were put there when they happened, so I am sure of their accuracy.

Although my military service career spanned a period of thirty years my flying career wasn’t that long. There were times when I didn’t leave the ground for two years or more. Then at other times I was flying almost every day of the week. The last ten years of service was simply a regular eight to five office job. Any flying done was just a business trip, some military and some commercial.

The flying part of my career, which this whole thing is mostly about, can be divided into seven distinct periods. These were the periods of much air activity between the lulls. Specifically, they are:

# 1 June 1929 through April 1930. Here I was working on the line as a Crew Chief on the PT-3 airplanes. Flew quite a bit in those. Then there were some good flights in the Fokker C-2A Trimotor. Had about 68 hours, 50 minutes flying here on 150 flights.

# 2 February 1937 through January 1940. This was the period at Hamilton Field when I was an instrument and automatic-pilot mechanic. Had to make many test flights. C-33 and B-18 airplanes mostly. 100 hours here with 53 flights.

# 3 March 1940 through May 1941. Became a Bombardier and a regular member of a flight crew as soon as I hit Honolulu. Now I was flying almost exclusively in the Douglas B-18. 192 hours and 84 flights.

# 4 May 1941 through December 6, 1941. The B-17 airplane arrived in the islands at Hickam Field now. I was a regular crew member and bombardier here too. Had many test flights in other planes working on their automatic pilots. Put 192 hours in the air on 79 flights. Eight of these were in the old B-18. This period also had the two high points of my flying career. Just from July through October I had 51 flights for 177 hours. The real peak was hit in August 1941. That one month alone I put 60 hours 30 minutes in the air on 18 flights.

# 5 The month of December 1941. After the Japanese sneak attack on Hawaii on the 7th, I had 5 flights that took 31 hours and 40 minutes.

# 6 November 1942 through September 1943. I made 47 test flights with the pilots from the Hawaiian Air Depot. B-24 planes this time.

# 7 January 1945 through July 1947. Various kinds of test flights trying out many new things at Wright Field. 100 flights in all.

In August 1947 I was officially grounded by the Flying Review Board. I hadn’t flown enough recently, and my job no longer required flying. After that my flights were strictly for business purposes.

As of this writing I have logged a total of 1,293 hours in the air. I have made 772 flights in forty different kinds of airplanes. During my flying days I dropped a total of 762 bombs of various types.

The Douglas B-18 and the Boeing B-17 tried to outdo each other for my attention. I had more flights in the B-18 but more time in the B-17.

It was close. 341 hours fifty minutes and 158 flights for the B-18 and then 345 hours on 152 flights for the B-17. I’ll call it a tie. I love them both.

So, for you who do look through this stack of paper, and at the pictures in the album that will be with the original, just enjoy it half as much as I did writing it. It is now twenty-four years this month, May 1981, since I last wore the uniform of the United States Air Force. From a recruit buck private in the rear rank to a Lieutenant Colonel in thirty years of service isn’t all that bad.

A Piece of the Greatest Generation

By: Harrison C. Scranton

Lieutenant Colonel

United States Air Force Reserve (Retired)

FOREWORD

These are my Dad’s words. He wrote it directly from his notes, memory, and diary. Harry, as family and friends knew him, had a remarkably interesting life in the service of his country. The manuscript and pictures depict a timeframe from November of 1927 until May of 1957. During this period, our country saw a great depression, World War II, Korean conflict, and the advent of the cold war. As you read through the book, you will get to know his likes and dislikes, meet a lot of people, and find out what it was really like to be in the Army Air Corp, later Air Force, during that time frame. You will also be fascinated by what went on in the life of one service man stationed at Hickam Airfield on that Day of Infamy, when the Japanese bombed the Hawaiian Islands on December 7, 1941. You will also learn a little of what it was like to live in those decades. Funny stories, serious stories, life in general; it will take you back to a time of innocence, and when people were thoughtful of each other.

CHAPTER I

In The Beginning

I ran harder. That thing was still up there in the sky. I just had to get home fast. Down the grade, across the bridge, through the yard at the Drum Corps, around the house and to the fence. Two steps to the top of the fence, another step up and I was on the roof of the chicken coop. I’d gained at least six more feet in altitude. What a vantage point. Sure enough, it was an aeroplane up there. I could see it so much clearer this high up.

001_a_img.JPG

#1 This is how that first plane looked from that distance. Not much detail available in this picture.

It had wings and everything. Of course, it was at least a mile to the east of me, and about a thousand feet up in the air, but there it was, my first sighting of a flying machine I had heard so much about. This was in the early spring of 1918 you see. There were already lots of ‘Model Ts’ and Chevys and Buicks around. But an aeroplane right over my hometown, that was something.

Seems like I’d been climbing trees, and anything else that would take me ‘up’ since I was a little kid. My Dad had rigged a block and tackle way up in the top of a big hickory tree in our backyard when I was seven. I got the other kids to pull the rope so I wouldn’t have to work so hard to get to the top. Some days I would sit on the bottom limb of a tree that hung over the driveway next door. I’d drop onto the seat of the delivery wagon when Butch Bateman went on his rounds in the morning. He owned the store on the corner. He used to call me ‘Squirrel.’ Climbing always came easy to me. Maybe I got it from my dad. He was a steeplejack for years.

2.JPG

#2 I guess you call him a steeple-jack because he climbs up a steeple. This is my dad back in 1916.

It was now becoming time for me to look higher than that tree, too. I’m growing up. I’ll be nine years old come next November.

A month or so later there was a bigger adventure. A whole flight of three airplanes flew right down my street, just about five hundred feet up. They were ‘Jenny’s’ from the National Guard up at Hartford. My hometown? That’s Yalesville, Connecticut, just about fourteen miles north of New Haven. It is also the hometown of World War I ace Major Raoul Lufbery. These three planes had flown down to drop wreaths on the roof of his house, about five blocks down the street from my house. Major Lufbery had made a rush take-off when a German plane had attacked his airfield. He had just gotten into the air when his plane was hit and caught fire. He jumped out at two hundred feet and was killed. The day was May 19, 1918. Major Lufbery was a member of the famed Lafayette Escadrille.

Later that summer there were two Jenny’s that landed up at the sewer beds, just a few blocks north of my house. There was a nice long flat field up there. (That field was to become the Meriden Airport. In 1945 I landed there in a C-45, a twin-engine Beechcraft. Someone told me that it was the biggest plane that had ever landed there.) It was a big thrill for me to see those Jenny’s with their big wings, and the big engine way up there with the big propeller on it. I even got to touch the wings and the struts. I held my breath when I watched them take off. That was for me. Someday I too would fly off into the blue.

Now it’s 1921 and I’m living in Groton, Connecticut. In the summertime I do a lot of caddying at the big country club there. Sometimes I go over to the Griswold Hotel down on the river and watch the boats. I even carry baggage from the dock to the hotel for the rich folks who spend months there. One day a flying boat came to the beach in front of the hotel to take up passengers. The pilot saw me standing there looking and asked me if I would like to be an ‘assistant pilot’! Would I? Nuff said. My job was to take those two empty five-gallon cans up to the gas station about a block away, get them filled, and bring them back. If I did a good job, I was to get a free ride at the end of the day when he had finished with the paying passengers. I don’t know what kind of a plane that was, but it looked just about like the one here in Photo #3.

002_a_img.JPG

#3 This is the type of seaplane I carried gas to all day to get a free flight. I did not get it as the plane sprang a leak.

I don’t remember how many trips I made with those cans that day. They were heavy. Now just before I was to get my free ride the plane wore a hole in the bottom from running up on the gravely beach. So much water got in the plane he had to stop flying. I didn’t get my ride, or anything else, either.

Around the first part of September 1924, I actually saw those three Douglas World Cruisers fly by. They were quite a ways off but they were big enough to see. They had been in the news a lot and we knew that they were going to be coming our way. That was a piece of aviation history for me.

In 1925 I was living in Wallingford, Connecticut with my folks. I went to work with Dad as a steeple Jack. The first job he gave me was to paint the roof on a water tank at the Armstrong Tire and Rubber Company in New Haven. Only 255 feet up. After that, I painted a 150-foot-high smokestack on the City Hall in New Haven. The base of the stack came out of the roof of the boiler room only ten feet above ground level but then it had to clear the top of the ten story telephone company building next door. The job of painting the 75-foot-high steel flagpole on the Village Green in Wallingford really gave you a ride.

And speaking of flagpoles, I’ll never forget the lesson I learned the very first time I helped my Dad. It was when I was twelve years old. We went over to Mystic to paint the pole at a schoolhouse. It was only about twenty-five feet high. We laid out the block and tackle and Dad told me to fasten the upper block to the rope and pull it to the top of the pole while he changed his clothes. There was a nice loop in the rope, so I just hooked the block in that and hoisted it away. When Dad grabbed the ropes to shinny up the pole, he only got up about three feet when the block up top pulled loose. It just missed him before it hit the ground.

What kind of knot did you tie in that line? He hadn’t been hurt and didn’t sound too cross.

I just used the eye that was already in it. I explained.

And you see what happened. Let that be a good lesson to you. Never, and I do mean never, use anyone else’s rope unless you inspect every inch of it and re-tie all the knots. You know all the knots and how to tie them. I’ve told you the best and safest kind to use in this work. Your life depends on them every time you go up.

I still remember that good advice to this day. I’ve never had a knot slip on me again. Dad did though, which only goes to show that we can all make mistakes. We were taking down a great big elm tree right on the main street in Middletown. Dad was up top tying the limbs to a rope and then sawing them off. I was right below with the other end of the rope around a cleat nailed to a light pole. Dad tied a ‘false’ timber hitch. When the limb came off and hit that rope it just flew loose. I had my eye on it of course. When the limb hit the street, I was up in the next block, long gone from right below.

I worked on a lot of other jobs with Dad. Then I got a job in the New York Insulated Wire Company. There I ran the machine to test the wire for breaks in the insulation. Kept that job about a year. After that I went to work for a Louis Kazaza as an electrician. We wired old and new houses. Did a lot of antenna work too up on roofs. They had a new gadget out called a radio. It took a lot of outside wire, as high up as you could get it, to bring in the signals.

On June 15, 1927, came the event that was the highlight of my life. The Bates Flying Circus came to town. They used a field right alongside Old Colony Road just north of town. I could hardly wait to get up there where they were to put on their show. They had three old war surplus Jenny’s, just like those I’d seen nine years before. Those planes aren’t built for stunting, but they seemed to do some anyhow. Then there was the wing walker, and the guy who changed planes in the air. It was quite an exhibition, and a lot of people enjoyed it.

After the air show part was finished, they called for people to buy a ride in their planes. I was right up there in the front of the line. I paid my five bucks and climbed into the front cockpit with another passenger. We taxied to the end of the field and then swung around. The pilot gunned the engine. Down the field we bumped. When the bumping did stop, I knew that we were in the air. We got up to maybe 400 feet and made a big circle of the field. Got quite a view of the country from way up there. I enjoyed that ride just as much as if he had taken us up to over a thousand feet. Came around and made a real nice landing and taxied up to the crowd for more passengers. Maybe we were in the air for ten minutes, to be generous. Now I too was an aviator. I had flown in a flying machine. And to this day a Jenny is one of my favorite planes, right along with the DeHavilland DH-4. Those planes have plenty of wing, upper and lower, and lots of wires for the wind to whistle through.

004_a_img.JPG

#4 This is just like the first plane I ever had a ride in. This particular plane belongs to a movie company. See the camera. This picture was taken at March Field in 1928.

005_a_img.JPG

#5 This is another picture of the JN-4 Jenny. This one was modified. See the struts holding up the outer ends of the top wing. Not too many like this. This picture was taken at March Field in 1928. #6 This is a good aerial view of March Field just as it was in 1927. My barracks were opposite the last hangar up the line.

I had been talking to the folks about going to California. I had about decided to get a bicycle and go it alone that way. From what I know today, about distance, and my lack of knowledge then about anything more than fifty miles from where I was born, I don’t see how I could possibly have made it. But the folks decided that they would all go to California. Dad bought a 1922 Stutz seven passenger touring car. We fixed it up and about the 15th of August we started out. That trip is a whole story by itself. Twenty-one days later we landed in Los Angeles.

It was hard for a seventeen-year-old to find work out there. I went all over trying to get a job as an electrician. Dad, and the folks we knew there finally got me a job putting on roofing. The first day on the job, working all alone, the board slipped, and I slid to the edge of the roof and then I jumped. It was only about twelve feet to the ground, but that ground was baked awfully hard. I broke something in my left foot and was on crutches for a few weeks.

It was on the fourteenth of November that I was strolling along on Main street down around Third. It wasn’t the kind of place then that it is now. I didn’t have anything to do so was sort of daydreaming. Right out of a clear sky a voice said to me, How’d you like to fly?

Who? Me? And Fly? Can’t you just see the lights come into my eyes? I looked around and there beside me was a man in a uniform. What the uniform meant I didn’t know. I had had no contact with men in uniforms.

What’s this about flying? I asked.

We have a couple of vacancies in the Air Corps. he replied. It may be that you can become a pilot later on.

What’s it all about? I asked again. I never heard of the Air Corps.

Sure, you have. It’s the same one we had during the war. Right now, I have some vacancies out at March Field.

Where’s March Field? I was just full of questions.

It’s about seventy-five miles from here. Out in the desert, just the other side of Riverside.

And here I thought I knew where Riverside was. We had come through San Bernardino on the way out and Riverside wasn’t too far from there.

How old are you? he queried.

I’ll be eighteen tomorrow.

Come on in the office a minute. And he led me into a small store front office. I noticed the lettering on the window then. United States Army Recruiting Office. So, the Air Corps must have something to do with the Army in some way.

I can’t sign you up until you are eighteen. he said. I’ll give you some papers now. Take them home and get your parents to sign them. Then bring them back here and I’ll see what I can do for you. He put the papers in an envelope and handed it to me.

On the way home I tried to think of how I would break this news to the folks. There just didn’t seem to be any easy way to do it. There had never been any talk about the Army in the house that I knew of.

We all sat down to supper. I didn’t say a word until everyone was through eating. Then I casually remarked, Guess I’ll join the Army Air Corps and do some flying.

There was nothing but silence for a minute or two, then Dad said, Are you sure about this?

Now no one in our family had ever been in the Army. Probably that is why I had never heard talk about it. Dad had worked in the shipyards at Groton during the War as a riveter.

Yes, I’m sure. I’ve thought about it and there is nothing I’d rather do than to be around airplanes. If I can’t be a pilot maybe I can be a good mechanic and fly that way.

There was discussion, both pro and con. No one really knew what it would mean if I joined the Army. Where would I be sent? Would I be able to come home now and then? After a while they decided that if that was what I really wanted they wouldn’t try to stop me. I’d be eighteen tomorrow anyhow. They signed the papers.

The next day I took the envelope back to the Recruiting Office. There I learned that those three stripes on his sleeve meant that he was a Sergeant. I would soon learn about a lot of other stripes too. He took the envelope and then said, I’ll have some more men here next Monday. You get just a few things together and be here at eight sharp. You won’t need much as you will be issued a complete uniform right away.

So, I went home to have some of my birthday cake. I would be walking around in a daze for the next week. I’d keep wondering what Army life would be like and if I’d really get to fly an airplane. I knew nothing at all about this Air Corps, but I was willing to learn. Now if you want a little idea of what it was about the Air Corps that I didn’t know just take a look at Appendix ‘A’. Maybe I missed a few things there too. And it has taken me over fifty years to realize all the things I didn’t know at that time, and I have probably still forgotten some even yet.

I put a few things in a small bag. Things I thought I would want and didn’t know if they would be furnished. By Monday morning everything was ready. I said all my good-byes and got over to the corner to take the streetcar downtown. I arrived at the office about a quarter to eight. This was November 21, 1927, a day to remember.

There were three other fellows already in the office. I was introduced to them. Paul Davies, Dan Richardson, and Floyd Maples. They were all going to March Field too. I would get to be very good friends with all of them over the next few years. I liked them right away.

The Sergeant gave each of us an envelope with our papers in it and a little ticket. He told us to walk a couple of blocks around the corner and there take the big red cars to San Pedro. I had no idea where that was. Turned out to be where the harbor for Los Angeles is located. We found the Big Red cars. They were the Pacific Electric inter-urban cars that ran all over the Los Angeles valley area. It was about a five-mile ride on the car to the station at San Pedro.

When we arrived there, we went outside. A soldier came up to us and asked, You the guys that are going to Fort McArthur?

That’s us. we all replied.

Climb in the back of that truck.

And it was really a truck too. Great big high bulky job. Solid rubber tires all around. 1917 vintage no less. It had a row of bench seats down both sides of the cargo space. We threw our things in and climbed aboard.

It wasn’t much more than a mile up the hill and out to the coast. Fort McArthur is a coast artillery outfit located on top of Point Ferman. This was the first time I had ever seen a Fort, or any military installation for that matter. There were the big two-story buildings, barracks they called them, and a number of smaller buildings around. Didn’t see any guns though. They were some distance away, out on the coast looking at the ocean.

We were driven up to one of the barracks. As we got out of the truck another soldier, this one with only two stripes, met us and led us upstairs. We entered a large open room with a row of steel cots down each side. Most of the cots were empty. This was one of the rooms where they put the recruits during their processing. None stayed here very long. The soldier with the two stripes showed us a pile of blankets, sheets, and pillowcases. We each got two blankets, two sheets, and a pillowcase. Then he told us to pick any empty bunk, that’s what they called those cots, and put our stuff there. Each bunk had a mattress rolled up to the head and a pillow laying on that. Then we were called over to watch a demonstration on making up a bunk. He didn’t spend much time on that job as we wouldn’t be there long and would probably learn more about it at our new home. We then all made up our bunks. No two looked alike, or like the one we saw made by our friend. We all had a little different way of doing things. It wouldn’t be too long though before every one of our bunks would look exactly like every other one in the room.

It just occurred to me that things were happening pretty fast. I hadn’t been around the Army even half a day and I had already met two high ranking soldiers. The sergeant with three stripes and now this other man with two. Someone now told me that this one was a corporal. These men were also known as Non-Commissioned Officers. I didn’t know that they had Officers working with recruits like us. Pretty good, eh?

After we had the bunks all done, we just sat around and talked. Time to get to know one another. Where did you come from and what did you do were the most asked questions. Might as well make friends as some of us would be together for at least three years. Several more men had come in on a later train.

While we were talking, some guy outside started to blow a horn. It made quite a noise. It was a bugle, but I didn’t know it then. We looked at each other for a few seconds and then the corporal stuck his head in the door and yelled, Chow time. All you guys down to the mess hall.

We followed him downstairs and into a large room. There was a row of tables along each side. Five stools along each side of each table. Dishes, cups, and silver was all set. We were told to sit anywhere but at the two tables nearest the kitchen door. Those were reserved for non-coms. As we sat down, we noticed platters of meat, bowls of potatoes and vegetables, bread and butter, and a pitcher of coffee. There was also a platter with pieces of cake there too. We could eat all we wanted. If a plate was emptied all you had to do was hold it up and someone would take it out and refill it. For our first meal this sure seemed like a banquet. It was all real good eating too.

In about a half an hour we were back in the squad room again. We were shooting the bull some more when the corporal called us all out front. We lined up and when he barked something we started walking down the street after him. I wouldn’t call it marching at all. We were more or less led into one of the smaller buildings. Inside one of the rooms we found rows of benches. We were told to sit there for a minute.

Pretty soon a couple of men came in wearing white coats. All right, you men, strip. This is going to be your physical.

So, we stripped, and all the way. Some of us had never been in a room with about seventeen other naked men. Made you feel kind of naked, if you know what I mean. We’d get used to that too before very long.

We were then told to line up and the doctor looked us over. Most of that part of the exam went rather fast. Then we dressed again, and they tested our eyes and ears and looked down our throat. We all passed.

We went next to a room filled with chairs and sat there for a few minutes. Of the eighteen there I found out that eight of us were all going to the same outfit at March Field.

Soon another soldier walked in and went up to the front of the room. This one didn’t have any stripes at all. His uniform was different though. And he had some kind of bar on his shoulders. Looked like brass. He turned to us and said, I’m Lieutenant Goodwin. All you men stand up and raise your right hand.

We all stood up and held our right hands in the air.

He spoke up again. Do you solemnly swear that you will defend the United States of America against all enemies, foreign and domestic, to the best of your ability, and that you will obey the orders of all Officers and Non-Commissioned Officers appointed over you, so help you, God? He looked at us a second and continued, Say, I do.

We all said, I do.

Congratulations, men. You’re in the Army now. And Lieutenant Goodwin walked out of the room.

Corporal Rice, that was our man’s name, then went to the front of the room and sat at a table there. Sit down, men. I’ve got to read you fifteen of the Articles of War. He held up a heavy book. You will have these same Articles read to you every six months. That’s just so you won’t forget them. The Articles of War are the Army Bible, the laws under which you serve. Any time you disobey one of these articles you can be court-martialed and sent to the guard house.

Article One. You will-----, And he read on for almost a half hour. Every article ended with what kind of punishment you could receive if you disobeyed it. But I remembered most that almost all of them also had added, or such other punishment as a court-martial may direct. Seems if the court didn’t think the book was tough enough for the crime you committed, they could add as much more as they liked. That made it kind of scary.

When Corporal Rice had finished, he took us outside and led us back to the barracks and dismissed us. We went up to our bunks and sat around some more. Do a lot of that in the Army. I took this time to meet the other four who were going to March Field. There was Stuart Maracle, from Batavia, New York. We called him ‘China Boy’ after a while. Something about his eyes. And Lindsay I. Bell, from Illinois, a Robert Gragory who had been in the Canadian cavalry and lastly a George Bullard. He was a P. S. man. See how easy it is to get this Army lingo? ‘P.S.’ means that a man had served in the Army before, has Previous Service. Simple, eh?

At exactly 4:45 the guy outside tooted his horn again. Right in the middle of his song a big bang sounded. I ran and looked out the window. There was smoke coming out the barrel of the cannon on the parade ground and two men were taking down the flag while the bugler finished his song.

Bullard was standing beside me. That’s what’s called ‘Retreat’ and they do it every night at this same time. That’s when they take the flag in. You’d better get to know all those tunes the bugler plays as they tell you what is going to happen. Chow call and Retreat so far. You don’t want to miss Chow, do you? Best of all is ‘Pay Call’ but it only comes once a month. I had to agree that I didn’t want to miss those important calls.

The bugler blew chow call again at five o’clock. We all went down to eat. Evening meal is much lighter than the big noon meal. Plenty to eat though. Cold cuts and left-over meat, salads, coffee, and maybe some dessert if there is any left. We were full again.

After supper a few of us took a walk around the place. There were no restrictions that we knew of, and no one stopped us. Walked out to the point to watch the sunset and see the big guns. Got back to the barracks before it got too dark and went upstairs. At nine o’clock the bugler blew ‘Tattoo’ and the lights were all turned out. I was still awake at eleven o’clock when I heard "Taps’ blown. That is the last call of the day. So now I had finished my first day in the United States Army.

Tuesday morning after a good breakfast of bacon and eggs, potatoes, toast and coffee, cereal if you wanted it, and some fruit, they called us out front again. This time they took us back of the barracks and down a hill to some buildings that looked like warehouses. That’s because they were warehouses. The one we went to was the Quartermaster clothing store.

Inside we first went to a room where some fellows sat with a bunch of forms in front of them. I sat at the table and a form with my name was pulled out. Here they asked all kinds of questions about my clothing sizes. I didn’t know I’d have to have all those figures right at my fingertip, or the tip of my tongue might be better. I guessed at some of those I didn’t know. When he was done, he handed me the paper. Up at the top is your serial number. Memorize it. You’ll need it every time you turn around and you surely won’t get paid on pay day if you don’t know it.

I memorized it real good. Can spit it out right now. X-X-X-X-X-X-X. Later on, this number had to be put on all your things, just the last four digits though. Then they had you put your squadron number in front of the serial number. Mine was 70-8985. I even had it in the top of my razor box years later.

Now we were sent into the large warehouse room. A big, long counter ran down the front of that room. There were men lined up on the other side of the counter. We gave our paper to the first guy. Breeches, 30 inches. he called, and two pairs were thrown on the counter. Rough wool, a sort of dark brown. I learned that this was known as OD, for olive, drab. They were drab alright. Then, Shirt, 15-32, and two shirts were set out. He slid this down to the next man and I followed. Then there was a dozen pairs of shorts and a dozen undershirts, ‘T’ shirts they were, and a dozen handkerchiefs, a dozen white things tied up tight. I was told that these were to wear under the collar of the blouse. That came out next, and the shoes, 9-EEE, and a couple of rolls of wool cloth. Looked like a roll of bandage painted brown to me. These were the wrap leggings. They wound up with the Gillette safety razor, a shaving brush and soap, toothbrush, and some toothpaste.

Now we gathered all this stuff up in our arms and about that time someone threw a couple of big cloth bags on top of the pile. These were called ‘Barracks Bags’ and were to hold all our stuff. We went into another room where there were lots of benches. We were told to take off our civilian clothes and put on the uniform. A couple of soldiers were there to see that we didn’t get too tangled up. It was quite a hassle for some of us. We made it though. Had to lace the legs of the breeches, which took time. Then those shoes of mine looked a little big for me. I thought I’d asked for the right size. The big problem for all of us was those wrap leggings. A three-inch-wide strip of wool about ten feet long. You had to start at the top of the calf, wrap it from the inside of the leg around and around until you covered the top of the shoes. You quickly learned two things about this type of legging. If you got it a little too tight, you’d soon stop anything you were doing and loosen it. If you rolled it a little too loose it would unwrap and drag down the street behind you. It was no trick at all after you had a couple of months practice.

Those wrap leggings were tricky too. After they had been put on for a week or two, they stretched some. You can see that the top would be a little tighter than the bottom on each wrap. So, they became a ‘left’ and a ‘right’ legging. If you put them on the wrong leg, they would be baggy. You always rolled them up tight as you took them off too. That’s so they would be ready to put on correctly next time. You soon learned just how to take them off in complete darkness when you came in late at night.

When we were all dressed, we were lined up down the room. A fine-looking lot we were too. Only one P.S. man in the lot, plus the Canadian cavalry. We didn’t find out for some time that we looked like a bunch of ditch diggers. This uniform could be bought in any surplus store for fifty cents. Cheapest work clothes you could buy. They were our dress clothes. The Army sure took care of its men. But what could they do on the money Congress gives them?

Another Lieutenant came in to inspect us. He’d done it before I guess. At least he didn’t laugh out loud. He must have thought that the uniforms wouldn’t fall off us before we were shipped out, so he made no changes. When he passed me, he looked at my feet. He bent over and pushed a thumb down hard in the middle of each toe. It made a nice deep dent there.

Kinda big for you, aren’t they? he said.

But he didn’t suggest a change. I had to wear those shoes with the dent until they wore out over a year later.

After the inspection we were told to put everything but what we were wearing into the barracks bag. We were cautioned that everything we had been issued was listed and that we would have to show just that much at any ‘show-down’ inspection we stood. I still had those white-collar liners ten years later, and they had never been untied. That high tight collar on the blouse was scratching my neck already.

Now we were back at the barracks and washing up for dinner. Most of us had to re-do our leggings already. Bullard helped a lot by showing us how to pack that barracks bag, so things didn’t fall out.

After dinner we were taken to the office building again. By now they had more papers on us and wanted to check them all over. They asked some questions about our family, jobs we had worked on, who we wanted notified in case of accident, and other things. This list was to be our ‘Service Record’ and would follow us all over. By the time they had the information from all of us it was time to return to the barracks.

When it got to be about 4:45 P.M. I went out onto a little balcony that hung just outside the French windows. I wanted to watch them fire the cannon tonight. The bugler came out, and the two flagmen. When he had blown his horn a little bit, they fired the cannon with a big boom. As the flag started to come down an arm came around the corner of the window and yanked me inside.

Listen, soldier. You’re not supposed to stand outside during retreat. If you are ever caught outside for any reason you snap to attention when the first four notes of retreat are sounded. You give a salute toward the flag when the cannon sounds and you hold it until the last note by the bugler. And don’t you forget that. The Corporal stood there with his jaw jutting out. He’d caught another raw recruit goofing off. Guess he had that happen quite often around here.

Yes, Sir. I stammered.

He turned to the rest of the guys who had been standing there taking it all in. That goes for all of you. You’d better start acting like soldiers now that you’re in the Army.

I guess I’d have to learn about the Army the hard way. And I did. There would be more times when I would do things wrong just because no one had taken the time to tell me how to do them right. They had never heard of basic training at that time. You were just another soldier, available for any duty that they saw fit to give you, twenty-four hours a day.

Wednesday morning dawned nice and clear, as they all did there in Southern California back in 1927. The bugle sounded at 6:15 A.M. and we got washed and dressed for breakfast. When we came back, we stripped our bed, threw the dirty sheets and pillowcase in a pile, and folded up the blankets and piled them up too. Rolled up the mattress and we were done there. Took our barracks bag outside and waited for transportation.

Today we were going to get a lesson in the Army method of saving money. You ship everything the cheapest way. Time doesn’t count, especially with soldiers. They get paid by the month. They were going to ship eight bodies from Fort McArthur to March Field, a distance of about eighty-five miles, and do it with as little expense as possible.

At about 9:15 the big truck pulled up out front. We threw our bags in there and then all eighteen of us piled in too. Some could sit on the seats and some on the bags. Bullard had been given an envelope with the papers for the eight of us going to March Field. Being a P.S. man he sort of outranked the rest of us. He had been given a little money for our lunch too.

That truck seemed to take forever to get started but we were going down the road eventually. It seemed much further down to the train station than it had coming up to the Fort. We did get there after a while and when the truck stopped, we all bailed out.

Guess we had just missed one train. It was a long time before the next one pulled in. Then it sat there quite a few minutes before the motorman pulled the trolley down and swung it around. We were at the end of the line there. At last, we were all aboard and headed for Los Angeles. The big red car winds all over the place trying to find its way downtown. After an hour or more we arrived at the Southern Pacific Railroad Station. When we got inside Bullard told us that we could leave our barracks bags piled right there in the corner. No one stole anything much in those days. Then he gave us each a buck. Don’t know how much the clerk at the Fort gave him. That’s to buy your lunch. he said. Our train doesn’t pull out of here until four thirty. Be back here by then, or else.

I put my bag with the others and decided I would take a walk uptown. Everyone seemed to have someplace he wanted to go. The center of town wasn’t too far from the station. When I got to Broadway I turned south. I thought I’d drop in at Woolworth’s to say good-bye to my sister Mae. She was a clerk there.

On Broadway I stopped in at a restaurant and got a hot dog and a coke for my lunch. Took my time. I had lots of that. Then strolled down the street toward Sixth. I noticed a lot of people looking at me as they went past. Guess it was the uniform. Maybe they were wondering why it took me so long to get home from France after the war. Or maybe I was an actor out making an old war picture. When I got to Mae’s store I went to her counter. She didn’t recognize me for a minute, then there was a shocked expression on her face. I don’t know what she expected me to look like. Here I was in that wrinkled blouse, high collar tight around the neck, black buttons all down the front, and a cap with a little bill on it almost an inch long. Well, you’ve all seen pictures of those WW-I doughboys over in France. That’s the way I was then. She should have busted out laughing all over the place. I must have looked just plain funny. No two ways about it.

I couldn’t take up too much of her time, she was busy. And in those days, you just didn’t goof off like they do now. You’d be fired real quick.

After I told Mae to let the folks know I was on my way to March Field I walked around a bit. My shoes were too loose, and my leggings were too tight so I thought I would head for the station early and just sit.

My gang was all there before four thirty. Some of the others had left on an earlier train for other places. A couple of them were still around. One was in handcuffs. Seems he had met some friends and they had bought a few drinks. Then he had met some not so friendly and a fight had broken out. Now the police didn’t want their station drunk tank cluttered up with him, so they brought him here. They’d just throw him on the train when it pulled out and they’d be rid of him. There were all kinds of men in the Army at that time, just like there were all kinds of civilians too.

Wouldn’t you know that even though the train started from this station it would start late? We were not on our way until nearly five thirty. And of course, the cheapest ticket is on a local, isn’t it? I’ll bet we made at least ten stops, and they were in no hurry to start again, before we finally pulled into Rialto. That is a small town located between San Bernardino and Riverside. We had to get off the train there and change to a streetcar that ran between the two bigger cities. Now it was after seven o’clock by now and during the week they didn’t run many cars at that late hour. We had to wait nearly an hour for our streetcar. Just missed one, I guess. And again, this one was slow. By the time we got to the station in Riverside it was almost nine o’clock at night. There sat a little soldier waiting for us. He was the driver of the 1918 ambulance the base used as a bus.

Where have you guys been? he asked. I’ve been waiting here since four this afternoon for you.

They even saved money by not letting the field know what time we would arrive. No phone call or even a letter. Tell them the day. That’s good enough.

We went around to where our ‘bus’ was waiting and all got in the back. The old machine was cranked up, you don’t think they would put a self-starter on it did you? We creaked through town and then groaned all the way up the grade at Box Springs. Now that isn’t much of a hill for a real car but ours just barely made it. About ten miles out to March Field from town. We arrived there close to ten o’clock. Thirteen hours to go eighty-five miles. Could have walked it faster. As we got out of the vehicle around behind the barracks the supply sergeant met us.

The supply sergeant knew that we were coming in today. He had eight piles of items ready, with the memorandum receipt laid on top. We each got four blankets, four sheets, two pillowcases, two mattress covers and one pillow. A mattress was also listed but that was rolled up on the cot. We signed for the things and put them under our arms, then picked up our barracks bag and went around to the door to the barracks.

It’s after ten o’clock now, the Sergeant said. Lights out was over an hour ago. We can’t turn on any lights now. You’ll have to make do in the dark. Find an empty bunk and turn in. You can straighten out things in the morning.

So, we went in as quiet as we could. Probably sounded like a herd of elephants. We would learn real fast how to enter the barracks after lights out and not make a sound. You’d better learn if you didn’t want to get a GI shoe against your head. We each found a bunk, rolled out the mattress and spread the sheets and blankets. Soon we were all in bed and asleep, even on an empty stomach.

That had been a long day for us. Thinking it over later I decided that the fellows in the offices have a routine they follow, and it goes the same for everyone. Why ship some one way and others some other way? Up at San Francisco they ship out a whole lot of men to Hawaii and the Philippines, Alaska, and Panama. It is just natural for them to write on the orders, Via First Available Transport. Now ‘Transport’ meant a sea going troop ship, not a train or bus. On one occasion they sent a man to Fort Bliss at El Paso, Texas, and probably having written a dozen other orders that day they also sent this man First Available Transport too. You can imagine what that meant to the people in the Fort Bliss area. They had never seen a ‘Transport’ anywhere near there. You can see what a problem it created by looking at Appendix ‘B’.

CHAPTER II

March Field, Riverside, California

November 24, 1927, to December 1, 1933

When I woke up in the morning it was real quiet. There didn’t seem to be any activity. No one rushing around getting dressed. It was daylight and something should be going on. Then I remembered that this was Thanksgiving Day, a holiday, and there was no work.

Laying there for a few minutes I took in that large squad room. There were about twenty bunks down each side of the room. They were steel cots, and actually not a bad bed to sleep on when you got used to them. I had picked out one right beside the door. Nice to be right near the mess hall. I found out later on that it was also nice for the guy going out on a date who wanted to take a blanket along. They took two of mine.

Down at the east end of the room was a short hall. Off this to the right was the latrine. (That’s a toilet to you civilians.) When I walked down there to wash up, I saw that there was a dividing wall down the center of the latrine. On the left was a row of showers. Not stalls of course just an open room with cement floor. Benches along the wall across from the showers. On the other side of this divider was a row of toilets and then there was the row of wash bowls with mirrors above. Not what you’d call private facilities. Years later when I saw the movie No Time for Sergeant’s with Andy Griffith, there was this same type of latrine.

I washed up and shaved, then went back to my bunk. A couple of the fellows there asked me if I was ready for some chow. I thanked them for asking me and we went outside. Over to our right was a long building. It ran sort of between the two barracks type of buildings, set off just a little. We had to go to the far end of that building to enter the mess hall. Now this was another wooden building built in 1918, as were all the others. Inside the tables were lined up just about like those that had been back at Fort McArthur, about ten on each side of the room. At the far end was a large open double doorway into the kitchen. Each table had five places set on each side. Wooden stools to sit on of course. We found empty stools and sat down to eat. Several of the boys who had come with me were now in the mess hall and sat down with us. And there was a good breakfast ready for us. Fruit, cereal, eggs, bacon, toast, and coffee. Milk if you wanted it was also on the table. Sometimes they would serve pancakes or french toast instead of the eggs. I never remember having a bad breakfast in the service. We ate all we wanted, and maybe a little more. Even though we didn’t have to go to work today the help in the kitchen still had their jobs to do so we didn’t linger in there too long.

When we got back to the squad room one of the men who had invited us to breakfast, Ed Garvey, said he would show us how to make up our bunk. He knew we were recruits. Wasn’t hard to tell. And our bunks were sure a mess where we had thrown them together in the dark last night.

Garvey went to my bunk and stripped it. Then he got my mattress cover out. "I’ll show you