When I found that my draft board had reclassified me from 1B to 1A, I decided that it would be a good idea to loaf before my entry into the Army. It puzzled me to learn that I was fit to be drafted into the same Army that wouldn't accept me when I tried to enlist. Later on, I would be puzzled about the Army twenty-four hours a day.

On the morning of May 15, 1942, my father and my friend, Charles, accompanied me to Draft Board 23 not far from my home in the Frankford section of Philadelphia. Did the Army think of the psychological effect of having the draft board in a police station? After the usual flag-waving orating, another draftee and I were put in charge of a large group en route to the U.S. Army Recruiting and Induction Station for the final physical exam.

For the first of many, many times I viewed the tricks Mother Nature had played on us when she handed out the various representative parts of the male anatomy. Up until then, I had been rather modest about my nakedness, but the Army soon took care of that.

We lined up in single file and the parade was on. The doctors grunted and mumbled as they pushed us hither and thither. We were so confused that we didn't know just what they wanted to look at next. And when they mumbled instructions to do several things one right after another, the result was more hilarious than the Marx Brothers at their zaniest. After being slapped, pinched, stabbed and probed, they finally tagged us and shook their heads sorrowfully. Then, we were sent to be finger printed.

Throughout the day, someone would holler "All those who haven't eaten, outside." So several of us, when we had nothing else to do, would fall in line every time. I think we had one breakfast, three lunches and three suppers.

At 4:30 p.m., they separated the black and white men before they swore us in without mental reservation and sent us on our way to the train at the B&O Station half an hour later. On the way to the station, some guys' suitcases flew open, spilling underwear, bottles of liquor and etceteras on the pavement. One poor fellow had to pick his things up three or four times, until he finally growled "Ah, the hell with it!" And there it may still be lying.

After separating those going on the train from those who were just there to say good-bye, we finally shoved off for Fort Meade, Maryland. There were naturally a few drunks whooping it up, so we didn't get a chance to feel blue. Frankly, I was still confused from that merry-go-round at the armory.

Buses met us in Baltimore, and so, thence to camp. The first thing we did was line up along the wall, with our pants down at our ankles. How easily I blushed in those tender days. After a quick bite of cold spaghetti and an introduction to the G.I. coffee - battery acid - we trotted off to bed at last. The barracks had at least three times the number of men that it was built to hold, but who cared. I was so tired I thought I could sleep immediately, but I hadn't reckoned with the night sounds of the men. Somehow, Morpheus and I got together.

The next day, the rat race started. Anyone in a uniform was at least a four-star general. And how those privates made us step. They ran us here and there, then back again all day in the rain until the sergeants began to go crazy - I mean even more so. We saw movies, attended lectures, took mental tests, had interviews and then were issued uniforms.

Since much has been said, written and drawn about the fit of Army clothes I need not add my ravings. I'll merely pause to nod in the affirmative.

It amused me to watch an officer approach a group of new men. Some men would take off their hats, some would salute and others just rolled their eyes and gulped.

Before each meal, we lined up in three ranks in front of our barracks. We noticed that for breakfast, the first rank led off to the mess hall, then, at noon, the second rank led and, at night, the third rank led us off. So several of us began to fall in the particular rank that led at first. It worked the whole time we were at that camp.

I must set down at this point our experiences with the various needles with which we were tortured. A private led us to a long low building and when we were herded inside, someone hollered "Strip!" So we did. The medics were lined up on either side of a narrow passageway. As men passed, various parts of the their bodies were daubed with alcohol. I stopped at one point and a G.I. jabbed me with a knitting needle, but after the first twinge it didn't bother me. The next stop was between two sadists who very quickly gave me the works. I took two steps and thought someone had hit me in the back with a sledgehammer. When I got out into the air I felt much better. From a vantage point, I waited for the color to come back into my face and watched them carry out five or six big men, six-footers all.

In May, we boarded a train for destination unknown number one. I was certain that I was a cinch for quartermaster because the interviewer was so enthusiastic about my civilian experience. Oh how disillusioned I would soon be.

The pullman cars were rather crowded, but we were so excited that we didn't mind it. For after all, how were we to know that overcrowding was standard procedure in the Army. Every time the train jerked we all hollered "Jesus Christ". There was no liquor aboard this time and I had no smokes. It was a lot of fun despite the guard duty and no chances to wash. We learned that we were headed for Camp Shelby, Mississippi, by looking at the tags on the sergeant's duffel bag. For some unknown reason, we went through eight states to get there. From Baltimore, we went through Pennsylvania, Ohio, Illinois, Indiana, Kentucky, Tennessee and thence to Mississippi.

On arrival, we were jammed onto a truck and whisked away to a large tent theater. There we were sorted out according to our new companies and our little group from Frankford began to disintegrate. Some of them I would never see again, they're still in Italy.

When we settled in tents in our company area. I asked a sergeant on the cadre "What quartermaster outfit is this?"

His face lit up with a diabolical smile as he replied "This is the infantry."

There and then I knew that my country had betrayed me.

The next day, our training exercises took us off the easy road marked "Civilians Only" and started down a narrow, winding, rocky road that finally led back to the civilian road. Some of the best men who started out couldn't keep up with us.

Our company commander, Captain V.P. Yletchko, was a West Pointer. He was a soldier from head to toe, and it didn't take an act of Congress to make him a gentleman, either. Right from the start we knew he was the boss. Each morning he'd stop in the mess hall and as soon as he reached company area he'd proceed to bawl out the mess sergeant. As a result, we had the best chow in the regiment.

The days following were all cut from the same pattern. Calisthenics, close-order drill, shots, clean tents, clean rifles, clean this and that and so on, far into the night. Everything was by the numbers, in other words, all together and at the same time. We had lectures and movies by the dozens on military courtesy, sex, discipline, insurance, and everything pertaining to the Army. The Company Commander stressed close-order drill more than anything else. As a result, at the 4th of July parade we were the best drilled outfit in the division. We even got a commendation from the Assistant Secretary of War who was in the reviewing stand at the time.

At the end of June, we went out to the rifle range for the next phase of our training. Our first experience was sleeping in pup tents on the ground. Boy, was that rough. We hiked ten miles to the range and were all tired on arrival, but we worked far into the night setting up the camp. Since I was picked for the wire section, in my spare time I put out the phones necessary to run the range, helped lay the wire and at night I was graciously permitted to operate the switchboard. They were so nice to me.

I had never fired anything bigger than a 22 rifle on the Boardwalk at Wildwood, so I looked forward to firing my M1 rifle as a dubious pleasure. Several men were knocked flat from the recoil and others got black eyes from not ducking the bolt fast enough. I was ready to apply for a bow and arrow - and I was sure I could convince them. However, after the first few shots I began to enjoy firing the cannon. My final score was enough to permit me to wear the marksmanship badge, but rarely did I wear it for I have a horror of badges and buttons. Someone might mistake me for a Boy Scout or something.

Upon returning to camp, we found ourselves in another area; a real barracks now. And a new company commander, too. Capt. "Mad Russian" Yletchko went to a hospital for an operation. Sure hated to see him go, though he was tough and strict, his first thought was the health and comfort of his men. Once, when he thought we weren't getting the proper food, he hollered all the way up to the commanding general of the division. We got the food and he got ten days restriction by the Regiment Commanding Officer.

By now we were really beginning to work on our specialties. Some of the guys were wiremen and some in the intelligence platoon. Our training started to take shape now. I was attending a communication school, run by the division signal corps, for instructions on wire and switchboards ever since the beginning of July.

Our new Company Commanding Officer became Lieutenant Smith, who later became a Third Brigadier Executive. Lieutenant Hubert P. Speck, "The Speckled Bird", was our commanding officer and right from the start confused us beyond measure.

We took our first long hike sometime in August, twelve miles. The poor timing and general conditions caused more than 500 men to fall out before we finished.

In the fall, our field training began. The officers got lost more often than we did; need I say more. Gradually, the training lengthened from one day to two weeks in October. We started to become more proficient in our appointed jobs.

The weekends were wonderful because we were allowed to get passes, but in order to get one the barracks had to be spotless; ditto clothes and rifles. Then, we had to stand in the bus line from one to three hours in order to get to Hattiesburg (a whistle-stop that looked like a honky-tonk sideshow) then onto another train to New Orleans. Pete Mason, a fellow soldier of mine, and I met a very friendly family who we visited which made the weekends were much nicer. We had heard a lot about southern hospitality, but never saw any until we went to New Orleans.

Most of the rebels were loud mouthed, narrow-minded, egotistical morons. Everything they had was better than anything anywhere else, yet most of them had never been more than a hundred miles from home. The Texans were the worse.

The day before Christmas, we were thrilled by the thoughts of a twenty-five mile forced march. Well, we made it in seven-and-a-half hours and I couldn't make up my mind which foot to limp on at the end. And no one in the company fell out. The Regiment Band, which had been with our company, was transferred to Division so there no noise to blast me out of bed in the morning.

On New Years, the entertainment was a fight in which Bill Knott gave John David a lovely pair of black eyes - such pretty colors.

In February 1943, we went on a three-week maneuver period just outside of camp. By now, Lt. Sprague was our commanding officer and Capt. Speck our company officer. Sprague was definitely bucking for captain, so he worked the Hell out of us. He never gave a thought to the feeding or comfort of the men. It was bitterly cold and quite a bit of rain. We thought it was very rugged.

Later that month, we swapped Major General Wade Haislip for Major General John Coulter. We thought the first one was a whip, well, it wasn't long before the CD on the shoulder patch stood for "Coutler's Dogs".

By this time, "Smilin' Jack" was our Commanding Officer, with Lt. Dick Sweeney as Executive. "Big Picture" Sweeney was a regular guy, really an enlisted man with bars. He gave us lots of breaks, too. The Commanding Officer had a reputation for being miserable, so we were ready for him and we handed back just as much as he gave. Our new First Sergeant was a Texan with an I.Q. of fifty, at the most. He was from a rifle company and tried to treat us like a bunch of dogs, but we put him on a merry-go-round that he never did get off.

In April, we went to Louisiana for big maneuvers and our enemy was the 93rd Division. A life of pup tents, dirt, swamps, snakes, man-eating insects and lots of work. We learned to work in blackout, from the book. Later in combat, we threw away the book. We got used to missing meals, sleep and comforts. Of course, you couldn't expect the officers to miss those things. And they didn't. The Regiment Commanding Officer had a special toilet and never had to sleep on the ground or miss a meal. His command car carried a special flag so that he could go behind enemy lines, then, he would come back and plan counter tactics. What a way to fight a war.

Lieutenant Colonel Stanley Lauferski always yelled about men smoking at night in the blackout. Lauferski was nearly as wide as he was high, and his long nose was into everything. One night, he came out of his tent and saw a lot of small lights going on and off. Immediately he dispatched a second lieutenant to make the men stop smoking. After crashing around in the brush, bashing his shins on logs and bumping into trees, the second loot discovered that the offenders were fireflies.

In Merryville, La., we loaded onto trains headed for California and at the last minute we got a reprieve: Sprague was transferred out of the Division. Three days later, we left our bivouac in Texas and rode to Merryville at which point we assembled prior to entraining.

Our assembly area was a pasture used by the cows as well as us, and several boys managed to slip and slide. It was hot and there wasn't too much shade. We took off our equipment and lined up, and that's when the crap and card games started; big ones too, with thirty to eighty dollars in the pot. Pete, Doc Meyers, Richard "Skipper" Gordon and I played some friendly pinochle. That is, we tried. Between every other hand, we'd start on some detail or other, so finally we quit in disgust. After chow, they gave us our clean uniforms - what a job to stuff in our packs.

At 9 p.m., officers started looking for men for guard duty, so I ducked and moved about three hundred yards so they wouldn't find me. Boy, there was a mad dash to get out of details. Men moved faster than they had for months.

In June, we loaded onto a train, by the numbers, then pulled out. The berths were made up and I got a lower. I went on as a car guard at 7 a.m. We passed Silsbee and Cleveland, Texas, before I got off guard at noon. Meals were served using paper plates and cups. After lunch, I played pinochle with Pete, Doc, and William Cook. Porters sure had fun calling to colored gals along the way. The conductor was from Virginia, but he knew the 30th Street Station and Frankford Junction.

We reached Navasota where there were cotton plantations on both sides of the tracks then stopped at Somerville where we drilled and exercised for an hour, then left. The Officers told us we could get out at Temple and see the town. But when the train reached Temple, we found out that we couldn't go more than fifty to sixty feet from the car. We sent a Negro boy to get us some ice cream. Well, when he came back some others tried to get it off him. Boy, what a scramble. Ice cream was twenty-five cents a pint. One fellow gave a boy ten dollars to get him some liquor, but the boy never came back. The Officers eventually let us cross the street to the USO store. I bought some candy and cigarettes. The Catholic Chaplain was really on the ball. He came around with cards and envelopes and collected mail. We stood around singing before the train left. Berths were made up at 10 p.m. and we were in them fifteen minutes later.

On the morning of June 11, we arrived at Sweetwater, a good size town with bungalow style homes and a few clapboard homes. We were getting higher all the time the air was cool and clear. The porter trained us to make and take down our berths. We traveled past oil fields, big refineries, and cemeteries set in orchards. There were lots of potato mounds, small bare hills, and plenty of mesquite bushes. I ate pancakes for breakfast as I watched the rolling countryside. We passed an airfield filled with avenger planes. The weather was dreary.

At Big Spring, we had a close-order drill then left half-an-hour later. Some guys played cards rather than appreciate the scenery as we traveled through the Guadalupe Mountains. There were small ranches with little vegetation and plenty of sagebrush. The scenery was right out of a western movie. Flat-topped hills and small mountains, it was very picturesque. How different it was from the Pocono Mountains.

When we pulled into Big Bend, we sent some kids for ice cream, but they resold it to someone else. What a racket! We kept on going into the mountains and arrived in Sierra Blanca where we played games and did calisthenics in a natural theater formed by mountains. The area was inhabited by mostly Indians and Mexicans and the town was full of adobe houses and hotels. I watched the sunset: what a picture as it sank behind the mountains. Boy, with a foot of snow and a toboggan a fellow could have some fun.

The boys sure got a lot of liquor at the last stop. The car started to jump with the jive. There were about five men in the toilet drinking whiskey without the officers seeing them. It was funny to watch them reel down the aisle as the train lurched from side to side. Every five minutes someone would stick their head into my berth and ask if I wanted a drink. Some of them couldn't find their berths and climbed into every one that was vacant until someone threw them out. We changed to Mountain Time at midnight when we passed through El Paso, but we were all in bed. I woke up in Hachita, New Mexico, at 7 a.m. Boy, do the drunks have big heads.

That afternoon, we stopped in Tucson for a close-order drill. Tucson had a large Army airfield and civilian field with plenty of bombers and huge water towers. It was another modern resort town. Medics wouldn't let us buy ice cream, Cokes or candy. They claimed we were getting diarrhea from it, but it was from the greasy silverware that was carelessly washed on the train. We left at 5 p.m. and passed through Red Rock at 7:35 p.m. and headed for Yuma. I changed into a clean uniform. We continued to climb higher. I watched kids ride a balky donkey as we entered Eloy at 8:30 p.m. The area was inhabited by mostly Mexicans and Indians. I went onto a flat-car for guard duty an hour later.

On June 13, we passed through Ocapo and Gila. I stood guard till 7:30 a.m. It was cold, windy, damp, and lonely on the car. I dozed in a sleep all night. In the morning, a porter on the officers' car brought me a cup of hot coffee. Boy, did that hit the spot. He also handed me some cookies that the officers hadn't finished. It was time to change shifts, so I didn't eat until late. I had to go through the whole train to get the relief guard. Then we had twenty minutes to eat chow.

We detrained at a point about four miles east of Yuma then loaded onto trucks. Our spirits dropped to zero. All we could see was desert and mountains. There were several airbases there. Then our spirits jumped way up again when we crossed the Colorado River into California.

After a ride through the country, we turned right onto a wind swept desert plain called Camp Pilot Knob, nothing but desert. The rest of the day we worked pitching our tents and next day more tents then put in switchboards. Each day we became more and more disgusted with the desert life. There was nothing but heat and sand. Our boards were set up in a tent away from the company, and we lived in that tent. It was a quarter of a mile to chow, but we didn't mind a bit. The whole company seemed to forget that we were around, and at calisthenics time in the morning we were sure glad they had forgotten us although we got caught once in awhile.

The training continued for weeks with the main stress on water discipline. One canteen per day for drinking and shaving, but so many fellows passed out that they had to increase the ration. The next trick was to put so much salt in the water that most of us got sick as dogs. And all that time, the Officers got ice in their water and other drinks. We couldn't understand why the ice was good for them and not for us.

On July 11, I started home on a fifteen-day furlough. It was a wonderful experience riding on the crowded trains, but the seats weren't too comfortable. It was interesting to watch people acclimating themselves. Every G.I. coming into a coach looks around for the nicest girl to sit with, and the girls do the same thing. Unfortunately, I drew a staff sergeant.

In Arizona, a cute lil' blonde six-year-old and her mother got on the train. Little Janet would bring up her comic books for me to read to her. She'd curl up on my lap and we'd have a swell time. They left at Kansas City, but our friendship continued though letters.

From a station near Chicago, I sent a wire home to say that I'd arrive at the 30th Street Station, but I missed the train so I went to North Philly instead. My mom and girlfriend, Annie, were kinda burned up because they were waiting at the other station.

As usual, the furlough didn't last long enough to do the things I'd planned, so I headed back to the concentration camp.

On my arrival back to camp on July 26th, I learned that a platoon had gotten lost in the desert while on a problem. Some of the men were still out there somewhere, so the whole regiment was out searching for them. They had been on a night problem and an officer had given them the wrong compass azimuth. Naturally, they got lost; without water or food. By the time help got to the platoon, some had wandered off. Gen. Coulter ordered the men to complete the problem before they had fully recovered. In TIME magazine, an officer stated that the men begged to be allowed to finish the problem."

Shortly after the fiasco, we moved to another camp deeper in the desert. The nearest town was Indio, but we were twenty-some miles from there. Soon after we got settled, our real maneuvers began. It was kind of warm though - up to one hundred and sixty degrees Fahrenheit. Numerous flash rainstorms kept things from becoming monotonous. Boy, how the rain would pour down off the bare mountains. We felt so sorry for the Officers cause their section always seemed to take the worse beating.

At Camp Coxcomb, we saw demonstrations of strafing and light bombing. One day, the artillery put out a barrage as a sample of things to come. That was the perfect barrage, all outgoing and none coming our way.

In the beginning of October, we were suddenly pulled in off a field problem and found that we had orders to start packing. The rumors had us riding off in all directions at once. A G.I. on the inside told us our next stop was Fort Dix, N.J., before even the General found out the destination Some of the men began to shout and sing at the news.

Before we left, I managed to get a pass to Los Angeles and Hollywood. A few of us made the trip in a station wagon and went sixty to seventy miles per hour through the mountains. Boy, what a ride. I was rather disappointed in Hollywood. It was just a lot of false fronts. We had dinner on Sunday at The Brown Derby where we saw only one movie star - Preston Foster. All the way to California to see a Philadelphia boy. We spent the afternoon on the Palladium. It was a fine dancehall with bars on two levels with Charles Spivakork furnishing the music.

Sunday night was rather hectic for we had to round up several of the boys for the ride back. One fellow from North Dakota persisted to help a newspaperman sell his papers, but half the time he was selling North Dakota to those passing by. He was a very happy drunk. We'd put him in the car, then we'd go off looking for another missing member and come back to find him out selling papers again.

Several days after we returned, the Company Commander, dear Capt. Seizas G. Milner - a southerner - decided to punish us for leaving fifteen minutes early. Pete Mason and I were punished by being restricted to the company area for a week, but there wasn't anyplace to go anyway so who cared.

Shortly after this, we went back into the mountains to begin another Battle of the Pass. We had no sooner started on the problem when orders came through to return to camp. Division passed the word down that the fighting has ceased, return to base. One of the boys misunderstood and spread word that the war was over which created quite a bit of turmoil until the rumor was straightened out.

By November, we boarded a train for the east and it was a lot of fun all the way. Lt. Col. Lauferski's Bugle Corp was on the train with us and every time we stopped in a small town, he would assemble his boys - and puffing like a locomotive - led them, and us, all over town in an impromptu parade.

This time we saw another part of the country, for our route took us through Albuquerque, St. Louis, Cleveland, Pittsburgh, and Philly. We made several stops in Philadelphia near Crown Can and the Frankford Junction. A couple of us had a hard trying to keep from jumping out.

We finally cleared into our regiment area in Fort Dix and a rush started to get the best beds in the two-story barracks. Several other noncommissioned officers and I got a room to ourselves and set up housekeeping to the tune of much sneering and jeering by the privates.

Just as we settled down to enjoy our comfortable surrounding, Capt. Milner decided that we should scrub the barracks. The outfit who preceded us in that area had scrubbed the buildings from top to bottom, but since it was against the regulations for us to rest we had to make with the soap and water. The first floor was scrubbed, then we started on the second. Halfway through, someone discovered that the water had leaked through and soaked all the beds below. So we had to move everything outside and then finish the second floor. The next day, the Captain inspected the buildings, but they didn't satisfy him. So, we had to do it all over again. Naturally, all this helped to further endear him to the men.

Now came a period of lecture reviews on all subjects covered so far in our training. And each morning saw us rolling around on the ground doing toughing-up exercises. Guess I wasn't so tough because I fractured my right elbow. The next day, we had to throw grenades and that really fixed me up. For the next few weeks, I went to the boneyard for physiotherapy treatments three times a week, but I didn't mind too much because it got me out of calisthenics and hikes.

The Commander General decided to give us a course on the rifle range and it rained almost every day. The object being to make every man a marksman on paper; because even though a man couldn't hit the target he still passed. The weekend passes made up for the little irritations during the week. It was nice to be able to shove your legs under some home cooking.

During this time, the Officers kept telling us to make out our wills and take out the full $10,000 insurance. Since the war hadn't become real to us yet, we treated it as a joke.

We worked to get our equipment cleaned and packed for overseas shipment. We also got re-outfitted in the clothing line. And the inspections. Every day we'd lay every stitch out on the bed for inspection and the officer would merely walk in one door and out the other.

In December, we boarded a train for the Port of Embarkation at Hampton Roads and Newport News in Virginia. That move sobered us a little, although it still seemed like an adventure. We got off the train at Camp Patrick Henry. Our new homes were buildings with double-decker bunks instead of beds.

The inspections continued and we were issued gasmasks and Allied equipment. We saw a number of combat training films, rather gruesome but true.

For a Christmas present, the company drew guard duty, kitchen patrol, and prisoner of war searches. I drew the P.O.W. assignment. Fifty of us were loaded on a bus and taken to Hampton Roads. They landed five hundred Krauts on the pier and we had to search them for concealed weapons. At first, we were a little nervous because we thought they were all tough and ferocious. We were surprised to find that they weren't any different than us. After we had finished, we went to a delousing station, thence to a kitchen for a big turkey dinner. The boys on guard had it tough, it snowed all day.

On December 30, we packed our duffel bags and rolled our packs. The next morning found us on a train headed for the boat. And still we were wise cracking boy scouts. We filed up the gangplank to head for who knew where. There were no bands playing and no crowds to see us off. Just a few gray ladies serving black coffee to the tune of drizzling rain pattering on the tin roof of the pier.

The ship was the H.M.S. Andes, of the British Royal Mail Line, and had been launched only two years prior to the war. Before we settled down in our compartment on the F Deck, we made a tour of the ship. Our guide got lost.

We spent New Years Eve on board, and pulled away from the pier at 10:30 a.m. on January 1, 1944. As we stood on deck watching the United States of America slip away from us, old familiar faces and places went past our eyes in a kaleidoscope of memories. After we could see the shoreline no more, we looked out across the ocean toward the imaginative question mark in front of us.