Presented Here - July 11, 2004, 10:54 PM

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I was seventeen on 29 July 1945.

And here it is the last week of January 1946, and I still have not done anything with my life. I've already missed out on the war. My brothers, Melvin and Reid, are due home from the Navy soon. I'm not looking forward to facing them after all they had been through, seen and done. Even though I had such strong misgivings about myself, I really did want to see them terribly bad. I just felt so left out. All I've been doing is sitting here at home, working on the railroad, working in a furniture store, clerking in a grocery store and stupid things like that. My heart aches to be doing something really important like, fighting in the war and killing some Japanese and Hitler. Everybody keeps talking about the war all the time....

Well, the day after Ground Hog's Day in February of 1946, I finally got my chance. Mom asked me to go by the Post Office on my way to Friedman’s Furniture Store where I worked and mail a postcard to Aunt Goldie. I forgot that morning that I had her postcard but, right before noon, I remembered and I trotted over to the Post Office from the store.

When I walked in the Post Office that morning the first thing I saw was a desk setting in the middle of the lobby with a big United State's flag draped from a staff on each side of it. I was surprised to see the desk and flags as they hadn't been there before. Next to the desk stood an old guy, probably 30 years old at least, in a Army uniform talking to a couple of young fellows I'd seen around Edwardsville. I remembered talking with one of the fellows in the City Park a while back. I called myself knowing him. As I stood there studying the situation, the Army guy looked over his shoulder at me and caught my eye. He beckoned for me to come on over. I did. He said hello - hello my friend. If you got a couple of minutes, you may want to hear what I am saying. Well, I did. So, I listened.

It went something like this. Men, I have some good job openings that you fellows need to consider. And if you want one of these good jobs, all you need to do is sign up for the Army. You'll be paid while you learn a good trade, and you'll get to see the world at the same time. Starting pay is fifty dollars a month with your clothing, a place to sleep and all you can eat, furnished. Following that he asked if we were all at least seventeen? The fellow next to me and I both said, yes. Then the Army guy went on to say, just take this paper home, fill it out and if you are not eighteen yet, have your mother or father sign under the statement on the back of the paper. Bring the paper back to me tomorrow morning.

Well, my friend Kleve Roland and I soon found ourselves in the Army . On the day we joined up, we talked and laughed every chance we got and then some. We just knew without saying, that we would stay together in the service. Well we did for that day and part of the next. I've never seen him again since. Funny thing happened though just in that short time. We both ended up with the same Army Serial Number. We just weren't smart enough or maybe just to joyful to pay good attention to what was going on. To "caught up" with ourselves probably, or maybe the people handing out the serial numbers, goofed. Any way, it didn't hurt much as I didn't find out about the problem until nearly two years later when I was out of the service looking for a job. The error was corrected then. Anyway, our newly spawned friendship didn't end that day but our contact with each other did. I kept an eye out for him as the days, months and years passed. I felt strongly during that first year in the service that I'd run into him again, but I never did. Six years had passed when I did see Kleve's name, again. It was the day after Christmas 1951. I was stationed at a base called K-9, located ten miles from Pusan, Korea. My job there was driving sem-i's and heavy earth moving equipment. But, on this particular day I was pulling an extra detail that involved moving bodies in body bags and wounded personnel from one plane to another. As I was handling some of the paperwork, I saw Kleve's name on a causality shipping order. He was not in the group of wounded that we were handling that day but, according to the shipping order, he had been wounded in the groin and spine from small arms fire some time in the near past. From that day forward, I always expected to see him, but I didn't.

Later on in 1952 I was shook up pretty bad and had a slight concussion in a land mine incident and was sent to a hospital ship docked off the coast of Korea. One day while there I was talking to a patient and happened to mention Kleve. A nurse overheard me say his name and stopped by later to tell me that she remembered a patient named Kleve from sometime back. The nurse couldn't remember much. She said the only reason she remembered Kleve Roland's name at all was because of how he insisted on going back to regular duty in Korea instead of being shipped back to the States.

Then again 16 years later in 1968, while in Siagon on temporay duty I talked to a soldier there who knew him well in Korea, but he also had lost track of him. I guess my seeing Kleve again was not in the cards.

Anyway, off to Fort Sheridan on my second day in the Army. Fort Sheridan was a staging area for replacements. It was located north of Chicago.

I was there only a couple of weeks, but it seemed like forever. Windy and cold is the best I can say about Ft Sheridan. The snow on the ground was packed hard as concrete by the tramping of thousands of Army boots. It seemed everyone was on a walk to some place.

Our troop train arrived there in the middle of the afternoon. An Army fellow with a couple bright yellow stripes on his uniform sleeve took charge of us right away. We were standing in a group just fresh off the train when he walked up. I knew by looking at him that he was in charge. The way he uttered his first words proved me right.

“Now listen up you guys. I am only going to say this one time. You little fuzzy boys are going to be here no longer than about one week. No longer than two for sure. While you are here, you are going to be processed. (Processed - wow) If you don't screw up, you'll be out of here in short order. So listen very carefully to all I have to say because I don't like to chew my words twice. You are assigned to that barracks right behind you there. Turn around and look at it. Now turn back around and look at me. You there, look at me I said! Okay. The latrine is the one story building right behind the barracks in the central area there. Remember this. Nobody, none of you, zilch, are to ever use that latrine after nine o'clock at night. Taps will be played at ten o'clock. Lights out in the barracks at Taps and bed check shortly there after. The mess hall is building 2409 down the street here and one block over to your right. Soon as this formation is over, we will march down to the mess hall. You will have three minutes to chow down and that includes washing your tray and utensils. Right after you eat, come out and form a group right next to the mess hall entrance door. Then, we will march back here. Nobody gets lost. Is that clear? Tomorrow morning we will have a formation here in this exact spot at five thirty for chow. Then back here again and your processing starts. Right now your first military formation is going to be retreat. Then latrine call, then back here for chow formation. Platoon, atten..-HUT! When I say ' present arms you raise your right hand to your eyebrow, like this. That is a salute. We are going to hold a salute while the flag is being lowered. Let's try it. Present..-ARMS! Hey dummy, your right arm. No, no, the other one. Ok. Order..-ARMS. Drop your arms to your side. That's right. Again. Present..-ARMS! Order..-ARMS! That's right, drop your arms. At-EASE! Oh boy, that is good. That is so good. Hey. HEY! Hey you! Who told you to smoke? Put that butt out. The only time you smoke is when I say smoke. If I say, the smoking lamp is lit, you smoke. If I say, the smoking lamp is out, you strip your cigaret butte. Atten..-HUT! At..- REST! The smoking lamp is lit. Hey there, quick draw!. Let me have your tobacco sack and a paper. Light them up boys. Do any of you know how to field strip your butt? Hey you, smoke nose. Yes you bozo. Who you think I'm talking to? Give me your cigarette. Now! All of you look on here and pay close attention while I ...... ”

Two weeks finally passed and here I am, on a train, on my way to a place called Shepperd Field, Texas. If you would have ask me how I felt, to save my life I would not tell you. I was so homesick for my Mother. I even had mixed emotions about not seeing, at five thirty every morning, that Fort Sheridan Corporal who "processed" us. After meeting that Sheridan Corporal, the word "processed" took on a whole new meaning.

The clickity-clack, clickity-clack of the train wheels lulled me into a half sleep. The things the Corporal had taught me in just two weeks ran slowly through my mind. What stuck out most in my memory was the words he had added to my vocabulary. Latrine, barracks, field-strip, mess hall, chow, reveille, retreat, taps, fall-out, fall-in, to name a few. Also, I learned how to eat in three minutes. I even managed to do it in two minutes sometimes.

I'll not soon forget the men who served the food in that mess hall. I was so surprised to learn that they were German prisoners of war. They were the Hitler guys I wanted to kill, remember? But they were nice guys, happy guys and they were young just like me. While I ate I studied those German guys so much they frequently caught me staring at them. I began to have doubts about who I wanted to war with. Well anyway, I still had those Japanese guys to hate because they had killed all those little babies over there in China. I was loaded up with propaganda. Maybe that's what it takes. Didn't Benjamin Franklin say something like, a man must have at least three presence of mind to effectively face the probable adversities of war time conditions. Love his family, hate the enemy, anticipate noble sacrifice.

Here I am headed for Texas and all them cowboys down there. Two weeks and two days have passed since I left that little Illinois town of Edwardsville. Oh how I miss my Mother and home. But for now, my orders read, Army Air Corp. Basic Training Unit at Shepperd Field, Wichita Falls, Texas.

Shepperd Field turned out to be just a big flat sandy pasture with a lot of wooden buildings scattered around the edges and a barb-wire fence about ten feet high. I was there a couple of weeks waiting for training to start, when I found out that we were not going to stay at Shepperd Field after all. We had been rescheduled for S.A.A.C. Field in San Antonio, Texas, because of some trouble at Shepperd Field. A Texan assigned to my outfit told me San Antonio was just a little ways southeast of Wichita Falls. Well, it took the train one whole day to get there. Before leaving Shepperd Field, I learned that flat country was plentiful in Texas. I had always thought that Illinois was pretty flat. I also found out that tornados were not just peculiar to Illinois.

Early one evening as we were marching to the mess hall, a sudden gust of wind licked up a bunch of sand and spit it right into our faces. Looking around and up in the sky all I could see were angry rolling clouds. The Buck Sargent in charge called our formation to a halt, and gave us, at..- EASE. We never got our hats back in the excitement that followed. Some one in the group hollered, "look over there". And about a half or three quarters mile off in the distance was three swirling funnels with their small ends snaking around on the ground sucking up dirt and trash. The funnels looked like they were each trying to get a head of each other as they traveled a long fairly close together. Watching them I was scared and fascinated at the same time. The funnels reaching down to the ground looked like great long snouts sniffing up heavy, dark clouds of dust as they moved towards us. What a dreadful feeling seeing these three tornados coming directly at us. As I looked up at the greenish, yellow hue of the airborne dust and particles of trash, a memory came to me of another time, another place, where I was looking through our kitchen screen door into our backyard watching the dirt, cardboard boxes and sheets of tin roofing flying by, trees toppling over and chickens sailing by like they were jet propelled.

It was late afternoon, eight years ago, in 1938. On that day, my older brother Reid and I were out in the yard threshing some navy beans from their pods and vines. We were doing this on a large piece of canvas. We would pile a bunch of vines up on one end of the canvas and then pull the other end of the canvas over the top of the vines. Then we would run and jump and roll a round on the canvas over the pile, making the beans release and fall out of their dried pods on to the canvas. We were very engrossed in this bean threshing process when Reid stopped and stared at the sky. To me the wind seemed to be gusting less than before. I had no thought at all of a storm. Reid did. He grabbed the canvas and drug it into a nearby shed, and then grabbed me up under his arm and ran towards the house hollering for Mom. At the same time we saw Pop in the wagon coming down the lane to our house with the old black horse nearly in a full gallop. My Pop was standing in the wagon and as he came closer, I saw that he was thrusting his hand up in the air, pointing off into the southwest. I looked where he was pointing and saw a long cloud with a tail hanging down to the ground, the dust billowing all around it. It looked like a huge black catfish in the sky with it's mouth towards the sky and it=s tail on the ground, sucking up everything in it's path and coming right at us. By the time we got into the house, the wagon with my Pop in it was rolling into the yard. Before the old black horse and the wagon fully stopped, my Pop hit the ground running along side and started unhitching the horse and wagon. When the harness hit the ground, he ran the horse into our little barn, and then, almost instantly I saw him bring the horse back out and turn him loose. Then Pop came running towards the house. The horse of course went right back into the barn. We were waiting for Pop just inside the screen door. No sooner had he got into the house when we heard window glass breaking in one of our two bedrooms. Mom heard the crash of the glass and she ran into the bedroom to get the bed things a way from the broken windows and the rain. The sky had started gushing rain by then. As soon as my Mom entered the bedroom the door sucked closed behind her with a loud slam. My Pop and brother Reid ran to the door to open it, but they could not budge the door. I was so scared for my Mom that I could not stand there. I ran back to the screen door thinking that I would go out and around the house to the bedroom windows and climb in the room with my Mom from there. Just as I got to the screen door and looked out, I saw a huge tree in our yard literally jump out of the ground. roots and all, and fall near the chicken house. I stood there looking out the door and just as quick as the wind had started a few minutes before, it now stopped and the rain stopped too. It was very quiet and as I turned from the screendoor, still thinking about my Mom, the bedroom door opened and my Mom walked out. She was not hurt a bit, but plenty scared and plenty wet.

All the people a round there said it was not a real bad tornado, but oh how I remember it. My Momma said it scared her half to death. Me too Momma.

….The Corporal finally said, "run for the mess hall men," and we did. By the time we finished our three minute meal and had started gathering out side, everything was quiet, except for the rain. Only in Texas can it rain so hard. The tornados had missed the part of Shepperd Field where we were.

…On the move again.. After a full day of riding the train, we arrived at S.A.A.C. Field. San Antonio Army Air Corp Field. We were not there but a very few days before we sure became very sure that we were in the Army!! Basic training is nothing you write home about, but there were a couple of lasting memories established. I don’t know how you can be so humiliated, and then slowly begin to realize why… Every day we had different kinds of inspections, but each Saturday morning we had a standby inspection in our barracks. My bunk was on the second floor so when I finished getting ready, I went over and stood near a window waiting for the inspectors. So what is better than a smoke to settle your nerves when you have a little idle time, waiting for somebody. As I was standing there smoking, I heard some voices outside the building. I also heard the screen door close down stairs. I thought oh boy, that must be the Sergeant with the Officer in Charge on their way in. I quickly opened the window screen and through the cigarette butt out. About the time I got to the side of my bunk, I heard the screen door down stairs slam and up the stairs came someone running, taking two or three steps at a time. It was the sergeant in charge. When he stepped off the stairs on to our floor, I was looking right at him. I froze. He stopped and cast a quick glance down the two rows of men and saw me looking at him. When he did, he strolled down the center isle right up to me. He said, "soldier, step out two paces." I said, "yes sir." He said, "yes Sergeant." I said, "yes Sergeant." Soon as I stepped out two paces, he moved right in front of me, pivoted to face me with a loud click of heels, and stood there staring at me for ever maybe. He then stepped to the right side of me and stopped with another click of his heels and stared at the side of me. The air was thick with his contempt. I wanted him to say something. I wanted to say I'll die for you, but please stop staring. I wanted to fall down on my knees and say I was sorry so badly. Momma, I was so scared, but he did not utter a word. He moved to my back, then to my left side, and then he returned to the front of me. Finally he said, "soldier", so loud that I liked to of jumped out of my skin. "Did you throw a cigarette butt out of the window?" "Yes sergeant, I did, but I'll never ..." "Soldier! Immediately after inspection you will change to your fatigue uniform, and meet me at the base of the barrack's steps." "Yes Sergeant. I will, Sergeant. Yes Sir Sergeant." After the inspection I changed to my fatigues as fast as I could and run for the barrack's steps. If someone had told me the firing squad was waiting, I would have believed it. The Sergeant met me at the bottom of the steps, handed me a short handle shovel and told me to go to the area where I had thrown the butt, find it, scoop it up and follow him. I found the butt and hurried back to him. He took me to a desolate place on the compound and told me that he wanted a burial and that I was to perform. He said, "I want the grave to be six feet wide, six feet deep and six feet long. Then he said, "as soon as you have the grave dug, come to my quarters to let me know so I can come back here to look around and say a few words. Is that clear, soldier?" "Yes Sergeant."

I was sure worried about what else he had on his mind. Of course, it was only further instructions about burying the cigarette butt, but at that time I had forgotten about the cigarette butt. Maybe he intended to bury me.

..The next and last memory making situation that happened during basic training took placed while my flight was out on a five day bivouac. During bivouac we were to under go simulated battle field situations. We slept in little two man pup tents, ate our meals out of cans called C Rations, and all that sort of thing. On the second morning for some reason I awoke up in my tent before reveille was sounded. This was unusual. As I opened my eyes, I saw a little beam of moonlight that was entering through a slit opening in the top of the tent. My eye followed the beam to a little pool of light on the canvas floor. From where my head was on my blanket, that little, uneven splotch of light on the tent floor was about ten inches from my nose. As I looked I thought I saw something move in the light. I started to reach over to see if it was abug or something, and just as I started to move, I recognized the slender shape of a small snake. It slowly turned it's head where the moonlight caught its eyes. They were bright dazzling red. As I stared at those blazing red eyes, the lecture the Training Sergeant made to us when we first arrived at the bivouac site echoed through my mind. "All of you, pay attention to what I have to say. It may save your life. This area we are setting up camp in is infested with poisonous snakes, mostly rattlers, but also some other bright colored snakes called, coral snakes. They are small, twelve to twenty inches long and no thicker than your finger. Some are only eight or ten inches long, but they are still just as deadly. Also, there are pigmy rattlers. They are little buggers too, but if you are bitten by one, you probably will never make it to the doctor. So remember ....

So here I was, laying on this tent floor, looking this little snake dead in the eye. And, about ten inches on the other side of this snake was my tent buddy's nose. Without moving my head I tried to focus on my buddy's eyes, and thought that I saw his eyes open. So I figured he was awake and staring at the snake. I said to him without hardly moving my mouth, "when I count to three, let's jump out of here. I hoped he heard me because he did not answer. However, when I finished the count and jumped, he was right beside me, yelling as loud as he could just like I was. We completely split that tent and tore it off the stakes that held it down. Neither of us were snake bitten but the other five hundred and ninety eight men in the camp sure thought we were. Now everybody, including the Flight Officer and Sergeant was up before reveille. We started trying to find the snake, and by that time the whole camp was in an uproar and gathering all around us. We finally found the snake in amongst our belongings that we had stored in the tent. It was a ten inch coral snake . . ..

Well, we surely survived basic training because here we are on a troop train headed for Utah. Camp Kearns was sure no resort, but it was nicknamed, Kearns Country Club. Another staging area, but a little bigger than the last one. The fenced area of the camp did not amount to much, but within that small compound were sixteen thousand troops awaiting transportation orders for overseas assignments. The four weeks I was there did not pass fast. Those who run the Camp could not keep us busy as there was really nothing to do and to many to do it. This idle time caused problems right from the start. To help us pass the time, we were encouraged to go on pass to town as often as we wanted to. Nobody had any money much. After we went on our first pass, no one had any money. Camp Kearns Motor Pool furnished a bus to take us ten miles in to Salt Lake City, which was the nearest town of any size.

One day one of the guys I was friendly with got some money from home. As soon as he read the letter and saw the money, he ask another guy and me if we wanted to go with him to see his Aunt in a little town in Wyoming. I said, "sure, I go any where and do anything." The other guy said, "me too." So we went and got us a pass. Well late that afternoon we rode the bus to Salt Lake City and there we caught a Greyhound bus headed for a little town on the Utah-Wyoming border called Evanston, Wyoming. When we got off the bus there about eight o'clock that evening, our moneyed friend said, "I'm going give you guys a dollar each, and I'll go see my Aunt. I will meet you both back here at the bus station at eleven o'clock. One dollar and four hours. Boy I thought, WOW! If someone had told me then what all could happen to me with a dollar to spend and four hours to do it in, I would never in the world of believed them. The town of Evanston, Wyoming, as I remember, was maybe three thousand population. To my buddy that was small. He was from Fort Worth, Texas. To me this town was big, very big. I was from Bunker Hill, Illinois, population six hundred and ninety on Sundays.

We looked around some and found a little beanerie. A big bowl of beans and all the cornbread and onions you can eat, ten cents. Who could turn that down? Well I didn't turn it down twice. While eating beans, we ask the counter man what was going on. He said, "right down main street about a mile, there is a rodeo going on." We were dressed in our Army Olive Drabs (heavy wool winter uniform) and the counter man was looking us over good. Finally he said, "where you soldiers from?" We told him that we were just back from overseas and just stopping in this little town for some recreation. My buddy said, "if you know of anything real good going on in this little one-horse town, we would like to know about it." He looked at us for a little bit and then he said, "the best thing for you old soldiers to do is to just walk on down to that rodeo and maybe something there will interest you." We did just that. Little did I know what I was going to get involved with. When we got to the rodeo, I was really surprised. I had been to stock shows but I had never been to a rodeo. There were hundreds of people, and most of them moving about. People were hollering, horses and cattle were grunting and breaking wind, smells of all kinds, paper cups allover the ground and blowing all around, and two loud speakers blasting out what was going on.

THE NEXT EVENT IS ..... The excitement of the place was overwhelming. We found a beer stand and bought two large paper cups of beer for a nickel each and two hard boiled eggs for two cents each. Each of us ate our egg but my friend did not like his beer so, rather than throw it away I drank mine and the rest of his too. We wandered around some and soon came upon another beer stand. This one had a big banner on the tent wall behind the counter that caught my eye.

$ 1 0 C A S H IF YOU RIDE THE "BUD BULL" JUST SIX SECONDS

50 CENTS AND SIGN UP HERE

An old guy about three times my age who was standing behind the counter saw me gazing at the banner and walked over to where I stood. He said to me, "are you a real soldier?" I said, "yes. Yes I was, and this fellow standing right here next to me is too." The old fellow said, "well, how can I help you soldiers?" I stood there thinking for a moment and the thought went through my mind that I really wanted a cold sweet soda, but a soldier would not buy a soda, he would get a beer. No soldier drinks soda. I said, "I'll have beer." My friend said, "me too." Well, my friend could not drink this beer either. So I drank my beer and most of his. I again started reading that '$10 cash' sign. I thought if I had ten dollars cash I could hitch hike home and see Mom if I could get a little short three or four day furlough. Still looking at that sign and day dreaming when the old counter man walked over and said to me, "soldier, have you ever ridden a horse or anything?" I said, "sure, I have ridden everything, but horses mostly." My friend spoke up and said to me, "Roge, ride that bull. You are from the country and riding that bull for just six seconds would be like just getting on him and then it would already be time to get off. Six seconds are like nothing." The counter fellow looked at me and said, "just give me fifty cents and sign up here and I will throw in another beer." He went on to say, "they will call your name over the loud speaker when it is your turn. They will announce your name just like you were a regular rodeo performer." Well, a vision of notoriety back with the boys at Kearns flashed through my mind. And I could just hear the roar of those guys while I rode the bull. This completely overcame any judgment I had. And too, with the beer I had consumed, my judgment was all out of whack. All I could think of was the boys back at Kearns, the roar of the crowd and the story I could tell when I got home on furlough with my ten dollars. How my Momma and brothers would listen in wonder when I tell them about how I rode the BIG BUD BULL in a rodeo in Wyoming. I said, "where do I sign up?"

Before I could think much more about it, I heard the loud speaker blast out, "Ray Rogers is to be the bull rider in the next event, riding Broad Jump. Gate number 26 folks. Watch gate 26." I climbed the fence at the bull pen and looked down at the muscles twitching on that broad back. Is that a bull? I felt sick. The men there told me to just relax, and maybe it would be better if I remove my jacket. Then one of the men said, " I hear you are an experienced bull rider alright, but I just want to caution you to keep your heels up high on his shoulders as we lower you on him because if you do not, he will mash your legs against the sides of the pen." I shuddered with the thought of mashed broken legs. Soon as they sat me on that bull, they wrapped a leather strap, which was secured to the bull, around and around my right hand. The men finished helping me and they scrambled up high on the fence. Instantly the gate popped open and that bull lunged out of the shoot and while he was in mid air, twisted his huge body two or three times like a snake and came down on all four feet about fifteen feet out of the gate. It jarred me so hard my nose spurted blood and my left arm felt like it came out of the socket. My right arm was numb and I knew it had to be broken , but the leather strap still held it snug. As that bull jumped again my head snapped back and I thought something hit me in the mouth. My buddy told me later that I looked like a rag doll tied by one arm to that bull. By now all I could think of was, how am I going to get off this animal. Getting off turned out to be the most effortless thing I ever did. As the next thing I knew I was sailing through the air and hit the dirt still in a sitting position. My clock time on the bull was three seconds. During that time I split the seat of my pants, wet my self, bloodied my nose, blacked my left eye with my own left hand and nearly bit my tongue in half. It swelled so badly it projected out of my mouth and I couldn’t hardly drink water or eat soup, or make myself understood for the next week. Sitting was not easy either. Of course all the guys who knew me and some who did not, never missed a chance to exaggerate my excellence at bull riding. As time passed in the next couple of weeks the only thing that helped me endure my pain and humility was the scuttlebutt about shipments for Okinawa, Korea and Japan. The word was, you better hope you get Japan. Finally, the day arrived when two thousand or so of us loaded up on a troop train and headed for San Francisco. There we boarded a ship named the Webster Victory, and sailed out to sea headed for the Philippines Islands, Okinawa, Korea and Japan. They did not tell us the ship's destinations until the third day at sea. My orders read Fourth Replacement Depot, Japan. At the time I felt very good about my destination. On the fourth day at sea right after breakfast I was standing on the deck looking out over the white caps thinking how rough the water was becoming. It struck me that this ship, which had appeared so big when we first boarded, was getting smaller and smaller as the seas we were encountering got rougher and rougher. When we first left the port at San Francisco we all set around, some on our bunks, but mostly up onthe deck, talking about how big this boat was and how good the chow was even though only soup was served for the noon meal everyday. Well all this talk petered out as the evening of that fourth day arrived. In addition to the rough sea, the next thing that ended our big talk, was an announcement over the public address system telling everyone to go below deck to their bunks. We had not been at our bunks ten minutes when another announcement told us that the evening meal would be cold-cuts and would be served early, starting at five instead of five thirty. That really sounded great even though it did sort of confirm in our minds that the ship was probably getting into a big storm. Little did we know what was in store for us for the next twenty one days. Before bedtime that evening there was hundreds of troops sick and heaving their stomach contents just where ever because the latrines were constantly full. We had all been restricted to our below deck quarters, so there was no place for the sick fellows to go except to the latrines and the latrines were over flowing. The people in charge brought some big metal tubs into our sleeping areas soon after so many of the guys got sick. It was not very long before each tub was circled with sick troops. Fortunately I was not sick. I helped guys who were sick until one or two o'clock. After that I went to lie down for a bit on my bunk and fell sound asleep I guess because I did not waken until chow call at six in the morning. When I opened my eyes that morning I could not believe the scene that was before me. The entire sleeping room, which was a huge room of about thirty feet wide by fifty feet long, was an evil smelling disaster area. There was vomit everywhere, on the floor, on the bunks, in the passageway to the latrine. The tubs, and there was at least eight or ten of them, were all brimming full of vomit. And the vomit was slopping out of the tubs onto the floor every time the ship dipped and rolled from one side to the other. There were men lying everywhere. Some still hanging onto the rims of the tubs. The latrines had six or seven inches of water on the floors, sloshing around from one end of the latrine rooms to the other, depending on the rolling movements of the ship. And the ship was really doing some rolling do-dads as there was a violent, intense storm raging out side. The ship would roll and shake, and shudder like a tormented beast. All of us who were not sick or at least not showing to many signs of distress had to leave the compartment where our bunks were. Someone said there was a team of medics coming to treat the sick people. I was glad to leave. If I had not I believe the putrid odor would have made me sick too. I thanked God I was not a medic. All of us headed for the dining room. Actually there probably was not over a hundred able to eat breakfast that morning. The storm raged for seven more days. As each day passed, there was a few more coming to the dining room. I was so glad that the sickness, the smell, and filth was clearing up. I was so fortunate as I never got sick, and before our ocean voyage was over, we experienced two more storms that were even worse than the first one. Scuttlebutt was that there were many accidents and deaths and so forth, but I personally only knew of two. One guy with whom I was acquainted was washed overboard and lost at sea, and another fellow I knew broke his back when he slipped as he was going through a hatchway. We were at sea for thirty one days which included one day stops to let some troops off at the Philippines Islands, Okinawa and Korea.

Early in the morning of our thirty second day since leaving San Francisco, our ship was slowly creeping through the harbor headed for a dock on the main island of Japan. I believe every troop on board was up on the deck hanging on the railings. There was hundreds of little Japanese flat deck boats following and nearly surrounding our ship. On each one there were three or more Japanese people, some women but men mostly. The galley sailors on board our ship were dumping barrels of trash over the side and the Japanese were diving from boats to gather the garbage and tossing it to the ones remaining on the boats. Also, every time a GI threw a cigarette butt into the water, one or several of the Japanese would dive or swim over to get the butt. Soon the guys were throwing un smoked cigarettes, and sometimes whole packs to the boat people. None of us knew the value the Japanese put on American cigarettes. Later, as the months passed the guys learned that cigarettes was one of the American GI commodities that the Japanese paid the highest amounts for on the black market. After leaving the ship our next stop was the Fourth Replacement Depot.

Low and behold, if we had known in advance what tragic times were ahead at the Fourth Repo Depot...

This depot consisted of a few ramshackle buildings and hundreds of ten men size tents with connecting narrow board walks. There was no trees, no shrubs or grass of any kind. Just lots of mud as the time of year was the Spring rainy season for Japan. Much like we had it at Kearns, Utah where we spent several weeks, we again had to wait several weeks, this time here in the mud, with nothing to do. We were all concerned as to how we would be treated here in Japan. We had been indoctrinated to hate the Japanese, and also, we were convinced that they hated us. The Americans were their conquerors and that did not make us feel that they were going to exactly love us. However, as time passed, our only enemies turned out to be the damp, chilly weather, the scabies, pleurisy, the lack of any thing to do and last but not the least, ourselves. The damp, cold weather brought pleurisy to many of the us. I believe it is one of the most painful medical conditions there is. The scabies (skin mites) was spread among the majority of us but we did not become fully aware of that fact until a few weeks had passed and we were moved to our assigned stations through out Japan. The lack of anything to do turned out to be our worst enemy. There were arguments and fights and you just name it. Lots of, the best of buddies, fell out over the most stupid of reasons. The monotony of empty time took it's toll and the toll was severe. My best buddy was clubbed to death in a brawl resulting from an argument that I have never fully understood. My friend was dead with out any dignity and the men who did it, could not clearly explain why. These men were court marshaled and sent to prison and my friend was dead. All of this for what reason?

Yokota Army Air Field turned out to be my assignment. It was located a few miles out of Tokyo but, just a mile or so from a little town called Fusa. Something was to happen in this little town of Fusa that would instill an indelible landmark in my memory. Not a happy memory by a long shot…

"more to come"

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