"It became evident late in 1942 and early 1943 that America was continuing to "draft" additional men to do battle against its World War II enemies. Not wanting to be in the position of being "drafted," and with all the courage I could muster, which, admittedly, was not great, I made attempts at "enlisting." First I approached the Air Force, then the Navy, then the Coast Guard, and I was rejected by all because of my poor eyesight. Great, I figured I'm home free.
But, not so fast! Within weeks I received the infamous "You are hereby notified...." letter from the Army, indicating that I was to report for induction into the United States Army. Evidently, nobody had told them about my poor eyesight. Responding to Uncle Sam's order, I reported to the induction center for testing, examination, etc. Lo and behold, my poor eyesight didn't seem to bother them one bit. Interestingly, when the eye doctor asked me to read the eye chart, I told him that I could not see even what I assumed to be the big E at the top of the chart. He thought I was being a smart one, but I suggested he check the lenses in my glasses. In any case, I passed the physical, notwithstanding my poor eyesight (just think of potential consequences should I be given a rifle as a weapon).
Processed through Govenor's Island (in New York Bay), on a cold, wet, miserable day, I had my first experience of drinking hot coffee, courtesy of the Salvation Army. More to survive than to enjoy, I'm sure I had more than one cup. Then it was off to Fort Dix (new Jersey) for more processing, suffering, waiting and anxiety. Like Abraham of old, I knew I was going someplace but not sure where. Two to three weeks in Fort Dix, with even worse weather, plus mud, is gratefully a thing of the past and is best forgotten. However....
First, loaded upon each poor soul were two heavy barracks bags containing all winter clothing and equipment. Then another physical, including several "shots" in each arm, it seemed. When the man in front of me in line fainted on getting his shots, I merely stepped over him; for all I know he may still be there. Then, with sore, aching arms wrestling with two heavy bags, we were marched clear across Fort Dix, I'm sure. Destination: one small tent, with four cots and a tiny coal stove. Where the coal was I don't know; nobody ever attempted to go out in the cold, wet, muddy area to find it.
I confess that, as a "city boy" all my life, I put on all the clothing issued to me, including the overcoat and raincoat, hats (plural), determined to last the night out. One of the other cots was claimed by a "farm boy" from Idaho, who jumped into his cot with just his longjohns on. He was probably used to that kind of weather. He made one mistake, though; he put his false teeth in a glass of water and in the morning they were iced in solid. If laughter is good for the soul, we were blessed.
When waiting for "orders" at Fort Dix, one learns even simple survival tricks. I learned early on to stand in the center of work formations, inasmuch as assignments were usually made from one end and then the other. Those left generally had to make themselves scarce. But, it was still wet and cold and muddy, and after one experience hauling fifty-pound sacks of potatoes, I figured it was time to look for a better way of life. My chance came when a corporal asked the formation if anyone had worked as a waiter. I immediately said that my father is a butler, and, fortunately, that seemed to sink into the corporal's still forming skull. So, in and out of rain, cold and mud, and into the chow area, where I had the privilege of serving anyone over the rank of private.
Another stint of duty was at a table recording results of physical exams, of which the less said the better. At least it was again out of the weather.
Finally the day came when "shipping our" orders came for our group of sad sacks, the orders not to be opened until one was actually on transportation to wherever.
En route to New York City, I opened my orders....and what do I discover? I'm being assigned to the Brooklyn Army Base! Oh, happy day! I'm sure they felt that was the safest place for everyone concerned, that should I be issued a rifle, with my poor eyesight nobody would be safe.
Actually, that may have been proven when I was at the shooting range at Fort Hamilton (Brooklyn) as part of basic training (for what, I don't know). In any case, when it was our turn to fire the rifle, we learned that ships in the harbor had been warned away from the area. And, when it was my turn to shoot, I feel rather certain that dust was flying all around Brooklyn. But, either because I had a friend recording my shots or they just wanted to get the thing over as soon as possible, I ended up with a score good enough to earn a "marksman" medal.
Along the way, I was assigned to the signal school, to learn Morse code and flag code. The first was interesting, but the other needed good eyesight. I had one scare when being assigned to the radio room on a ship was rumored. Oh boy, I get seasick on the Staten Island Ferry, so think what that would have been in an enclosed room on a rolling ship. So it ended up with just Nana and me dit-dahing and dah-ditting back and forth for practice.
My real assignment finally jelled. It involved working in an office atmosphere serving the Commanding Officer of the Base, together with his staff of Colonels, Captains, Lieutenants, Sergeants, as well as the legal staff of the courts martial section. And that I did for three years, using experience I had gained in the business world previously. I must have served well, because they moved me up in rank to Sergeant Technician. In addition, when the order was received that any GI who had not yet served overseas was to be so assigned, wheels turned quickly to assign me and a few co-GI's to a ship returning foreign field workers to their home countries, we serving as "Military Police." This assignment merited an "overseas" ribbon, we having sailed in dangerous waters to foreign nations, plus an addition $200 on discharge from the Service.
I was fortunate that I could serve my country during the World War II period in my assignment to the Brooklyn Army Base. Twelve months after receiving that assignment, Nana and I were married, and we lived in an apartment in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn. At that point I became, in essence, a "commuter," though I did have to maintain a bed, locker, uniform and equipment at the Base, as well as stand inspections and routine and special formations. We all at the Brooklyn Army Base are proud of the fact that no enemy ever even attempted to challenge us throughout our tour there. Brooklyn Army Base was in good hand!"
If laughter is good for the soul, we were blessed. ~My new favorite saying!
