Letter 235- September 9, 1945

September 9, 1945 (est.)
(Stuttgart, Germany)

Dear Mudder and Dad,

I am now in the 51st Evacuation Hospital in Stuttgart, but don’t get excited because all I’ve got is a case of the worms and expect to go back to my company tomorrow. Big things are really beginning to pop right now so I hate to be away even if I am living the life of Reilley here in the hospital. If I make some funny mistakes on this typewriter don’t be surprised. This is a German model and it has got some of the damnedest things on it- άöüδζ and so forth. Things are still in the balance as to whether I go home with the Division or whether I am stuck over here in the closing out forces or some bloomin’ thing like that. All I know is that this is no time to be in the hospital. They sure are determined to feed my worms well before they knock the so and so’s off. We get ice cream at least once a day and often as not twice, but still I don’t like it. In a hosp. one feels like an invalid even if there isn’t anything wrong with him. Oh well, I’ll probably be out of here in a day or two so it doesn’t make any difference. If they count the points right I could be home by the first or November but if they don’t it’s hard to tell. At any rate I’ll know when I get back to the company.

The hospital is on a high hill overlooking all of Stuttgart. From here one would never know the city is merely an empty shell of what it once was. From my window I can see the entire thing as it sweeps around the more or less horseshoe like valley in front of me. It looks like any other prosperous town and I must admit that there is a great deal of activity going on everywhere. The weather has been bad for the last week or so and one can already smell the scent of Fall in the air. The mornings are often chilly and I imagine that by the first of October the frost will have begun to set in. In the country the people are working rather hard at the harvest, or the women are I should say. It would seem that the men do very little here in Germany but start wars. Everyday now I see long trainloads of troops passing through on their way toward the coastal ports and every time I see one I get as homesick as the devil.

Well that about does it.

Best Love,
Bill

Letter 26- November 15, 1943

November 15, 1943
(Camp Abbot, Oregon)

Dear Folks,

Well, I haven’t got anything to do tonight so I can get off a pretty good letter. Everybody else has guard duty tomorrow, but I’ve got K.P. Kitchen Police sounds bad, but around here nobody minds it because it’s easier than training. Today was pretty soft, however, because we went to the show about 4 times for training and orientation films (orientation is another word for propaganda). The Lieutenant asked who could carry a guidon today and I said I could although I had my doubts. I came out all right though because I could remember enough of what my guidon carrier at Harvard did to get by. This morning with a smirk on his face the Sgt. called me out to lead the exercises. This is considered one of the toughest ways of drilling an outfit, but it was just my meat. I think the impression I made on the Lt. & Sgt. was pretty damn good. We had boxing but I wouldn’t do it because of my broken snozzle. That’s why I got the phys. Tr. But it was good to give a few commands instead of taking them-and with the officers present-well.

Today I walked around the corner, and ran “smack dab” into a private in the German Army—gray-green uniform—coal scuttle helmet and the whole outfit including a Mauser rifle. For a moment I was stunned and I almost beat him over the head with my Garand. Then I realized that he was one of my corporals. There were several of them wandering around the camp to show the soldiers what a German uniform looks like and to find out what the reaction of the troops would be. The corporal said that 99% of them thought the uniform was British (what jerks.)

I don’t know if it means anything or not but the rumor that the war in Europe is almost over continues to gain momentum around here. One fellow in our barracks got a letter from his brother in Italy saying that he would be very surprised if the war lasted until the 1st.of the year. I saw the letter myself. I’m sending you a clipping from a San Francisco paper. Has the news been along this line generally, lately? (bad English)

We’re learning “Judo” up here right now. I already know how to kill a guy in 50 different ways (all dirty) and can throw a man over my head with a flick of the wrist. (pleasant, huh?)

According to weather reports a cold wave is going to hit this region tonight sometime. The weather’s been beautiful for over a week and I was afraid it couldn’t last. Even with the nice weather colds have been terrible. The hospital is full of pneumonia, flu, and cold cases and now the mess halls are handing out hot lemonade every night. I’ll bet this camp folds up the by the first of the year. One thing that makes us think the war is almost over is the number of medical discharges that are coming through now. Men are getting CDD’s without having a hell of a lot wrong with them. Of course, that doesn’t mean a hell of a lot.

I haven’t heard anything about the A.S.T.P., but I’m going to get an interview with Capt. O’Grady about it as soon as I’ve made a good enough impression.

I’m sure glad my cold’s breaking up now. The ambulance is down at number one barracks right now dragging off a flu or pneumonia case. It’s the regular guidon bearer. Looks as if I may have his job for quite some time now. What a “jernt”. If this keeps up, there’ll be so few in the Company they’ll have to make me a non-com.


Best Love to the
Best folks in the World,
Bill


(sketch here)

About Letter 6

A rumor is going around that Camp Abbot will close during the winter. It is snowing outside and Bill expects that they will soon have him “shoveling snow off the roof of the hospital.” Bill is given a clean bill of health by the doctor but does not expect to get out for weeks” due to the red tape.” Midway through the letter he abruptly stops writing to exclaim, “Hold it. I’ve got to go and scrub the walls.”

Letter 6- October 21, 1943

October 21, 1943
(Camp Abbot, Oregon)



Dear folks,

I’m still in the hospital, but yesterday the doctor gave me a full medical examination and said that I was O.K. Even so it’ll probably take weeks for me to get out due to the red tape.

It’s snowing here and it seems as if we’re going to have a tough winter. There’s a rumor going around that Camp Abbot will close up during the winter and the 4th. Engineers will go down to California. It’s still just a rumor, but it’s pretty logical since there will be so much snow and cold that training will be limited. Already there are a lot of fellows in the hospital with arthritis and cracked skin on their feet. (Hold it. I’ve got to go and scrub the walls) So it seems that if we move out we might go somewhere near home.

As soon as I can manage it I’m going to get some engineer insignia of some sort and send it home. Some of it is not exactly G.I. and so it can be worn by civilians. They have some little Engineer turrets that make swell jewelry for women’s dresses.

Just now it’s beginning to snow really hard outside. I can see myself already shoveling snow off the roof of the hospital.

So far I haven’t received any mail. Write soon. I’ll write again tomorrow if I have the time. Oh, another thing, they say that during the first 2 weeks a guy doesn’t have time to crap much less write, so don’t be surprised if for a while the letters are few and far between. Write soon.

Love,

Bill



P.S. I think I’m still in A.S.T.P.

Letter 5- October 20, 1943

October 20, 1943

(Camp Abbot, Oregon)

Dear Mudder and Pappy,

I was so sure that this would be my last day in the hospital that I went to the supply room this morning and got clean bedclothes (this is necessary before one can leave). The shock was terrific when the nurse said, “Too bad but you ain’t on da list.” I couldn’t figure it out until I read the work list, but then it was perfectly clear. I was given the great honor of mopping the floor, again. I’m positive that they’re keeping me here because I’m the only one in the ward that is strong enough and willing enough to do any work. (war is hell)

I’m perfectly convinced a this time that the Army is the most inefficient organization in the whole wide world. If a person works hard and gets a job quickly it gets him “nottin’”. As soon as he finishes one job they hunt another for him. Here’s where the great art of “goldbricking” comes in the Army. One is shirking your duty so the other fellow has to do your work. That is bad. The other is merely stretching a job out until it takes all day. That’s good. Well, although at home I was a first class goldbrick of the latter type, here I’m a rank amateur. It’s too cold to loaf on the job. Therefore, they’ve got me spotted as a good worker. That’s bad.

Well that’s about all. Outside it’s raining, hailing, sleeting, and snowing all at once.

Bill

About Letter 4

Bill is still in the hospital but he finds it tolerable due to a radio brought in by "one of the jerks here". The best radio reception is from a station in Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan, Canada. Moose Jaw is an 825 mile AM radio transmission from Camp Abbot. The station Bill listened to was probably CHAB 1220 kHz AM. CHAB was affiliated with the Canadian Broadcasting System and began broadcasting in Moose Jaw in 1933.

Letter 4- October 19, 1943 (Camp Abbot, Oregon)

October 19, 1943
(Camp Abbot, Oregon)


Dear Folks & Ity.

I am writing to tell you that at long last I’m going to get out of the hospital, I think. It was a hard fight against great odds buy now I’m getting an upper hand.

The other day one of the jerks here brought in a radio and now I’m getting a little caught up on the news. It’s a pretty good set and we can even get Los Angeles sometimes. The station that comes in best of all, however, is one at Moosejaw, Canada.

This morning the weather is a little warmer than it’s been before but it’s pretty cloudy so we might get some real snow. We’ve had quite a bit of hail lately & an occasional flurry of snow.

The food here is very good, but not as good as it was at MacArthur. I think that we don’t get enough vegetables & milk.

Well, that’s about all. You can’t write much when all you do is sit around in the hospital.

Write soon.

Bill

About Letter 3

Bill has been in the Camp Abbot hospital for 5 days with "G.I.Stomach" and his frustration is beginning to show. He gripes about the medics in the hospital, the lousy country at Abbot, the lousy weather, and the volcanic dust . For the first time he is homesick.

Letter 3- October 18, 1943 (Camp Abbot)

October 18, 1943
Camp Abbot, Oregon


Dear Folks,

I really have nothing to write about because I’m still in the goddamn hospital waiting for the goddamn medics to make up their goddamn minds that there’s nothing wrong with me. Every day I’ve got to scrub the floor or clean out the latrine, and if I’m well enough to work like that I’m well enough to go back to my company. I feel swell and am eating like a horse. This is my main reason for writing. I don’t want you to worry. Besides my disgust with the medics there’s this lousy country and weather. Every day a little hail, sleet, and snowfalls-only enough, however, to stir up the six inches of volcanic dust that covers the ground. I think they built this camp here with the expressed purpose of making everybody miserable and homesick. As yet I’m not miserable, but I’m sure homesick.

Pardon this poor writing. I have no table.



Lots of Love,
Bill

Letter 2-October 15, 1943 (Camp Abbot)

October 15, 1943
(Camp Abbot, Oregon)

Dear Mother and Dad,


Please excuse me for not writing sooner. I really couldn’t help it though because for the last two days I’ve been in the hospital. Don’t worry though, it’s nothing serious-just a bellyache. Already I feel swell but I think that I’m going to have a hard time getting out. This is because I’m such a good floor mopper, sweeper, etc.

You must have been pretty surprised when you received my telegram saying that I was in the engineers-so was I when I heard the news. It seems that I did best in my mechanical aptitude test and so it was the engineers for me. So far I’ve been unable to find anybody who knows whether I’m still in the A.S.T.P. or not-I might be in the engineer end of the program-I hope.

The engineers-Phyyyttt (the bird)-The Army Medical Corps-Phyyyttt. This is the way I feel at the present time, but you’re the only ones that I’m letting know it. There’s an awful lot of 1st. class gripers around here-as well as goldbricks- and they aren’t very popular.

You probably want to hear my whole story, so here is or are, rather, the gruesome details.

When I got up Monday morning and they read the shipping list, I was on it as was the rest of my gang (with the exception of Alarcon-the fellow we took home-and Clark-the fellow from Van Nuys.) I wanted to call you up but they don’t tell you where you’re going until you leave. We got our gear together and by means of truck and P.E. we arrived at the Union Station downtown. From there I could have called you up, and you could have come down and seen me off, but I was afraid that I couldn’t take another goodbye and that’s the truth. One fellow’s mother came down to see him and it only made both of them feel worse.

We left the station about 8:00 (0r should I say 20:00) and started North. We slept double in lower berths and nobody got any sleep all night long-It took us 8 hours to go between L.A. and Bakersfield. The goddam Pullman was not ventilated so we had all the windows open when we went through that long tunnel up along the Ridge Route. Needless to say, I damn near choked to death. After a boring day of riding and eating 15c Southern Pacific Railroad meals which happen to cost the Army $1.00 apiece, we arrived in Klamath Falls, Ore. At 12:00 P.M. We spent the rest of the night on the floor of the station (pleasant huh?)
The next morning we got a pretty good breakfast at a nearby café (which reminds me-some people sure treat you lousily just because you’re a soldier. It reminds me of that poem by Kipling-“Tommy"-remember? They seem to think that just because you wear a uniform, you’re a bum. Well, after breakfast we got on a bus and rode 145 miles to Camp Abbot. The camp is east of the part of Oregon that we know-just at the edge of a desert. The altitude is about 4, ooo ft. ; it’s too damn cold; and it’s about the dustiest place in the world. A lot of small pine trees grow here but the soil is so light that they blow over before they get very big, and as a result, the ground is littered with myriads of rotten trees. What a hole!

About an hour after I arrived at the camp, I got sick and had to ride in an ambulance because it was too far to walk to the joint. So far I’ve been living the life of Reilly here-except that I’ve got to work pretty hard. Nearly everybody here in my ward had “G. I. stomach”-ulcers to civilians and they’re a pretty sorry sight.

I sure miss you and everything else at home, but they keep me busy enough that it doesn’t get too bad. I’ll have to close here because I can see some work coming.

Because I was in camp so short a time before I got sick I’m not sure what company or battalion I’m in, but I think that if you send mail to the address on the envelope it will get to me. My next letter will have the right address on it for sure.


All the Love in the World,

Bill