Letter 252- November 3, 1945

November 3, 1945

Vailhingen, Germany

Dear Mudder and Dad,

It’s been quite some time again since I’ve written you but please don’t hold it against me. I’ve been terribly busy and what’s more I haven’t received mail from you in days. I don’t know what’s wrong this time but it doesn’t seem like the army can ever do anything right for over five minutes at a time.

“Der Blitzen ist Kommt”. It’s come at last. I’m being transferred out. I’m leaving on the 6th but as yet I don’t know where I’m going. I may go to Rhiems, France as an M.P. or Stuttgart as a labor gang supervisor or possibly to Military G0vt. I can go practically anywhere but those are the most likely.

The entire point system has been changed around again so that when the Division sails on Dec. 15 there will be only men with between 60 and 65 points going with it. That leaves almost no one of the “Old 100th” in the division as it stands now.

Immediately upon arriving at my destination I’ll send you my new address.

By far the best deal in the army today is the M.G’s (Mil. Govt.). Those birds live like kings. There’s only one drawback. They’ll probably have to stay here longer than anybody with the exception of the permanent army of occupation. That ain’t good.

More men are signing up every day for the Regulars. That’s good. The more sucker—‘er, ah, patriotic citizens who do that the sooner I get home.

There’s not a helluva lot more to write. Things are about the same here as ever. This is a monotonous life. The weather’s cold and sloppy. The only entertainment I get is the movies. I go practically every night.

“Yank” magazine had quite a story about “Mad Man Muntz” this month. That screwball is getting world famous.

They’re beginning to talk about Thanksgiving and Christmas over here now, and “Ye Olde Morale is beginning to take a nosedive into the sewer. This will be my 3rd Christmas away from home. Well, anyway it will be better than the last Christmases. I think I will write a little story about last Christmas and send it to you about that time of year. I think you’ll be interested in it.

That does it I’m afraid.

Best Love,
Bill

Letter 247- October 16, 1945

October 16, 1945
(Stuttgart, Germany)

Dear Mudder and Dad,

The last time I wrote I said that I was on detached service. Now I’m on detached service from detached service. I’m driving in Stuttgart for the “Century Sentinel” the divisional newspaper.

Here it is difficult to believe that 30 miles away in Derdingen a line company that actually fought and shed blood is living in relative discomfort with nothing in the way of amusement or convenience. Tonight I had a long talk with Ralph Taylor, an old combat man from my squad and he gave me a pretty comprehensive picture of the situation. It’s rotten throughout. While lower echelon units are crying for men divisional headquarters is packed with men doing nothing but live like Turkish Sultans. Officers and enlisted men alike live in mansions like the one in which I write this letter. This is Stuttgart’s most fashionable district. There’s not a house around here that has less than 20 rooms. Here they live amidst all this splendor with their myriads of servants, personal autos, convenients or mistresses or whatever you will, all of which are currying the favor of the conquerors. They sit in their sumptuous offices and award one another various awards and decorations for valorous and meritorious achievement (Division Headquarters was never closer than 40 miles from the front lines). They eat excellent food and can easily obtain any of the luxuries that the line outfits are so tightly rationed on—candy, cigarettes, liquor, gifts—anything--! And this is what I fought for, what men gave their lives and limbs for. There’s a lot of bitterness welling up in me and the rest.

I guess you can forget about my Bronze Star. The Public Relations Officer’s third assistant pencil sharpener got it instead. Of course he never heard of a gun or saw a Kraut, but he’s so much more important and I such an excellent procurer for the officers that well---. Today they again approached me to see if I would re-enlist. Ha!

I received two more packages from you this week; the one with the T-shirts and another with food. They were swell. I especially enjoyed the tuna. We never get fish at chow and I’m very fond of it.

The weather here has taken an amazing turn for the better recently. We’ve had warm sunny days and since I must be driving an open jeep it’s been a Godsend.

It seems now that I’m going to be transferred out of the Division. I’ve managed to stay much longer than most but I’m about at the end of my rope—there’s almost no one left. There are several places I might go—3rd Div., 78th Div., 386th Div., AAA (anti aircraft ), or military govt. It’s hard to say. The 78th is in Berlin.

It’s sure murder with these strikes, etc. these days. We don’t know if we’ll ever get home. The Germans claim that we’re cynical—small wonder.

Well, I’ll close now with a request--2 bottles of Sergeant’s Mange Cure and 2 bottles of Fitch Shampoo. It did my hair good last time and maybe it’ll save some of it now.

Best Love,
Bill

Letter 246- October 9, 1945

October 9, 1945
(Vailhingen, Germany)

Dear Mudder and Dad,

Well, for awhile anyway I’m doing a little work. I’m now on detached service from “A” Company working at bn. HQ. I’m driving for the motor pool. So many drivers are shipping out that they had to call on the line companies for help. I don’t know how long I’ll be here but probably until we clear the area. I’m still with “A” co. officially though and all my mail, passes, etc. go through there. This is pretty easy work but when it gets a little colder we’ll all freeze on the road.

We received it officially last night that the Division would be home by Christmas. That means the sailing has been moved up again. This time we are supposed to sail December 5 so by the 15th we should be in New York. The only thing marring that beautiful picture is the very remote possibility that I might get shipped out of the outfit. I don’t see why I should but I don’t want to be too optimistic. I’ve been in the army too long for that.

It’s nicer here in Vailingen than it is in Derdingen. We live in a house right next to the movie. We have good laundry service. All in all it’s a lot better setup. Another thing is that now I’m in an essential job for battalion and am much more likely to stay with the division no matter what happens. The division is supposed to go home with 45-59 points. I’m keeping my fingers crossed.

I’ll probably get mail tonight so I’ll have more to write about tomorrow.

Best Love,
Bill

Letter 111- July 19, 1944

July 19, 1944
(Somewhere on East Coast)

Dear Mother and Dad,

The plot thickens. I’m somewhere on the East Coast. That’s the sum and substance of what I can tell you. It sounds like a mystery thriller doesn’t it, but it’s really necessary. I don’t know whether or not the envelope shows it, but this letter has been censored. If I have written anything wrong it will have been pointed out to me in no uncertain terms.

It’s not half bad here although most of these poor souls around this place don’t realize it. The food is excellent although we have to eat out of our mess gear. You’ll notice that I overwork the word although. That’s the trouble with the army, too many althoughs.

Well, I don’t know what’s going to happen; you may hear from me tomorrow or you may not hear from me for quite some time.

All the love in the world,

Bill


Pvt. Wm. W. Taylor, Jr.
19203811
C.E. Co. “M” A.P.O. #7946
℅ Postmaster New York, N.Y.

Letter 109- July 10, 1944

July 10, 1944
(Camp Reynolds, Pa.)

Dear Mother and Dad,

For the last half hour I’ve been trying to write you a letter with this pen. I hope this time I have a little success. It’s beginning to look as if I may be getting out of here before very long. There are supposed to be 2 overseas shipments within the near future. I don’t know exactly where but soon and I imagine I’ll be one of them. We got some of the lowdown from a troop-transport commander the other day and it must be quite a picnic. We get on the train here fully equipped except for primary weapons—rifles, carbines, tommy guns, and go to P.O.E. There we get weapons, any new equipment that may have been introduced and a little training. As soon as the boat (banana boat) arrives, we are dragged with everything on our backs to the ship, given bunk numbers, chow numbers, and introduced to ship routine. It’s just like a post. We get 2 meals a day and have various drills frequently. In wherever we are going they dump us on a train, give us some “K” rations and send us to a reception center where we start training all over again just like we did when we came in the army. How I love it! --------. If I go to Europe I get 12 hours in New York before going to the P.O.E.!

I haven’t sent in my Education form yet but that’s only because I haven’t got to the post office to get a money order. While I’m waiting for my lessons to arrive I’m going to attend conversational classes and try to brush up on what little German I know.

The routine around here is driving me screwy (nuts). They don’t have any imagination at all—every day is the some damn thing. Tomorrow I’m afraid they’re sending us out on another overnight bivouac. Unfortunate, isn’t it? I’ll close now before this gets gruesome.

Best Love,

Bill

Letter 103- June 19, 1944

June 19, 1944
(Camp Reynolds, Pennsylvania)
Postcard

Dear Mother and Dad,

I’ve arrived in Camp Reynolds as of 8:00 P.M. last night—about 2 hours before dark—I had spent all day in Greenville, Pa.

“SNIFF SNIFF”

This camp’s not much of a place but God knows it’s better than Crowder. They treat us well but at best it’s still just another army camp, a hot one at that. I still don’t know much about what goes here, but I don’t think I’ll be here much over 3 weeks.

Best Love,

Bill

P.S. HAPPY FATHER’S DAY DAD

Letter 91- April 15, 1944

April 15, 1944
(Camp Crowder, Missouri)

Dear Mudder and Dad,

Here it is the middle of the night and I’ve got another GOD DAMNED detail—that’s exactly how I feel about it. This time it’s night fireman. I’m stoking 5 furnaces & 5 hot water heaters. I’m on all night and will probably get about 3 hours sleep tonight. Nice, huh? Yeah.

Well, here comes the bad news. It looks like I’m going to be transferred out of radio. I know that sounds bad but it may not be. I’ve worked as hard as I know how with it but for the last week and a half I’ve made no progress. I’ll not make any excuses because now they’d merely sound like alibis. However, believe me this radio is not what it’s cracked up to be. I’ve worked hard at it because I wanted my army record to be flawless but if I only knew back at Abbot what I’ve found out since here. Today the two lowest fellows from the Engineers were called up for reclassification. That leaves me the lowest in the class. I have an operating speed of about 6 words a minute. Murphy , who was in my platoon back at abbot, and who has a background in education exactly like mine was offered a course in administration. That’s mainly clerk work but hell, all the clerks end up 1st. sgt. these days.

Your mail is coming through pretty good these days although some old stuff pops in every so often. Those post cards for instance did not arrive ‘till just a few days ago. That’s about all of everything for now. I’ll write you more about this transfer the minute I find out about it. One thing you’ll be glad to hear is I stay in the camp for 12 weeks anyway, whether I take radio or not. At least that’s what they told Murph.

Best Love and don’t worry
about me

Bill

Letter 79- March 11, 1944

March 11, 1944
(Camp Crowder, Missouri)

Dearest Mother and Dad,

I’ve been trying in vain for the last 3 days to telephone you to tell you I was on my way. I should have sent a telegram I know but it always seemed that I’d be able to get through at the next stop—Pocatello, Cheyenne, and Denver, and Kansas City; but it just never turned out right. Tomorrow is Sunday and I’ve got K.P. Nice start, huh? However, if I get half a chance I’ll call home. Really I’m trying hard but circumstances are working against me. I guess me and the Army way will just never get along.

Camp Crowder is really a beautiful place—big 2 story barracks, lawns, sidewalks. In other words Camp Crowder is everything that Camp Abbot isn’t. But! Camp Crowder is what is known by G.I.’s as chickens—t (crude, I know, but pointed). However, the climate is so mild and the camp so nice that no one really has a right to complain.

The Signal Corps is the biggest laugh in the army. The Engineers and Infantry here hold them in the most utter contempt. They are the real Boy Scouts of the Army. They complain to us if they take a five mile hike. They have an obstacle course that is a laugh. In fact, those guys have a lot of nerve even calling themselves soldiers and we let them know it. Sooner or later there’s going to be bloodshed. (they outnumber us about 50 to 1) but, even they realize that their training is a joke.

There are a number of Camp Abbot men here but only 8 of them I know. All in all I believe I’m going to like it here. Of course, anything looks good after Abbot. There are about 50,000 men here, a large Wac detachment as well as many Prisoners of War. Talking about the P.W’s I saw some of “them thar” Nazi “supermen” today for the first time. Har! Har! Har! Hawr! They must have swept the stables to get those birds.

We really had quite a time on board the train coming back here. We had Pullman’s, but R.R. service is so bad now that it’s a laugh. Once we couldn’t get on a train in spite of being under “traveling orders”—some stuff.

I’d sure like to see you again. Once in a while I get awfully blue. If at all possible send some pictures of yourselves.

Bestus Love, Bill

P.S Address may be revised but…
(new address here)

Letter 71- February 13, 1944

February 13, 1944
(Camp Abbot, Oregon)

Dear Mudder and Dad,

I just got back from calling you about an hour ago. It was certainly wonderful to hear your voices even if I couldn’t tell what you were saying about ¾ or the time. I don’t know why I can’t tell what you’re saying, or hear rather. Part of it is the noise outside of the booth, I know; but even so you sound faint and indistinct. I asked the operator about it but she said that if you could hear me all right I should be able to hear you. I don’t know but it is too bad.

Well, I guess you’d like to hear about the bivouac. Wot a life that’s been. I’d give almost anything if it were all over. In the first place, they rolled us out about 5:00 last Monday morning, gave us a hurry up meal in our mess-kits and then marched us at double quick time about 5 miles out to a frozen swamp where we were supposed to dig in and set up our camp. As soon as that was done we rushed over to the river and started to construct some foot bridges. The river was frozen over so we had to break holes in the ice in order to put our bents and supports down into the water. Well, you can guess the rest. Four of us were carrying a heavy bent across the ice when a big hunk broke loose and “kerplop!?” in we go. The big hearted bird in charge then told us to go over by the dinky little fire and get dried out. The temperature that day was about 15°. When we finally did get to the area and got dry clothes on we were pretty miserable. To top it off that night it snowed and all the bedrolls got soak(ed) and wet. I was ready to call the whole thing off. The next day we had to tear down a bridge. This was a heavy wood bridge of about 15 tons capacity. It was still snowing and we were still pretty badly off. However, the bird that let us freeze out fell in the river himself under suspicious circumstances which made us all feel a little better.

That night it stopped snowing but I stayed up until 12:30 A.M. drying my bedroll. Then they made us all get up (at 12:30 mind you) and march 14 miles through a foot of snow in the God damned S.O.B dark. I fell down so often I felt like a tenpin. Of course, we were the leading company and as usual we marched at the “C” co. running pace. It wasn’t so tough on us but the other companies who don’t generally go that had a hell of a time. They were passing out all over the road. The meat wagon was packed and they filled up a couple more trucks. I don’t care but I don’t think they should beat men that way. I don’t have any trouble on marches but I know how it feels to be half dead when I’ve come off the obstacle course. We got to the new bivouac about 6 o’clock in the morning and camp was set up by noon. Then I caught up on my sleep. I slept all afternoon and all night. The next day we broke camp and moved 7 miles more. That night I had 4 hours guard duty; the next day we did mine laying all day; and that night I was on road block guard duty all night. God! what a grind! By the time we came in the next morning I was so damned tired.

About 2:00 Sat. afternoon they called out about 40 of the men in the co. for Specialist Training Interview. They called off our names and then put us in groups. One group was under consideration for Ordinance school. The second group was for Engineering school, and the 3rd. group (my bunch) was for signal school. Then they called 3 names of my group for radio repair, 5 for radio operators including me and the rest for electrical school. I was one of 5 for an entire battalion who is being given a chance for radio operator. That would give me 17 more weeks more schooling and probably (sketch of tech sergeant’s stripes here). Well, here’s hoping—I hope, I hope, I hope. (sketch of 4 leaf clover and horseshoe here) I’m going to go after it tooth and nail. It sure beats this God damned pick and shovel work we’ve been doing around here. If I never see another pick, shovel, saw, and so forth again, it’ll be too damn soon.

I’ve got a “hellova” cold now and it’s settled in my jaw. I couldn’t even close my mouth all day. I’m getting awful hungry. It’s getting better tonight but this morning they thought I had the mumps. Heaven forbid!!

I’ll call you again next weekend if they don’t confine us to company area like they did last Sunday.

Best Love
Bill

Letter 51- December 25, 1943

December 25, 1943
(Camp Abbot, Oregon)

Hello Mother and Dad,

Well, I just got through speaking to you on the phone about a hour ago. Since then I’ve had a fair Christmas dinner and have had my picture taken by one of the fellows in the barracks. I sure wish I could have heard you a little better on the phone but there was so much noise in the Telephone Building and I couldn’t hear you so well anyway that it was a little tough. (Daddy’ll say that last sentence is awkward –won’t you?) It was swell to hear your voices anyway. I haven’t received any mail for 3 days and although I know you’ve written it takes the pep out of a body anyway.

If you don’t mind the cost I’d like to call you again when there isn’t such a rush.

As I was telling you over the phone it doesn’t look anymore as if we’re going to get out of here- right away at any rate. They’re shipping in winter uniforms right now and they’re some stuff. Fur lined coats, pants, shoes, heavy wool lined field jackets. Tough coats that are reversible with O. D. (olive-drab) on one side and white on the other. These have hoods too. In short we’re getting all set for a hard winter. I guess it can’t be helped.

I still haven’t been able to find out anymore on A.S.T.P. Transfers are becoming very hard to get for engineers but here’s the lowdown on that transfer I was telling you about. My pal, Blair Hamilton’s father is Naval Construction engineer down at San Francisco, and he has connections with a lot of big Army and Navy officers in charge of the port. Blair wanted to go in the Navy but couldn’t make it because his eyesight is rotten. He then thought he’d be turned down by the Army- but wasn’t. Now for about the last week his father has been trying to arrange a transfer to a small branch known as Shore and Harbor Patrol. It’s more or less an M.P. job—you’re sure to be located near a big city—maybe L.A.—and you’d probably be permanently stationed. Blair said his father might be able to arrange it for two and I told him to go ahead and try. I imagine my chances are pretty slim but I can’t lose anything.

I’m enclosing a note to Mr. Van Vorst. With my usual dumbness I misplaced his address and got myself all messed up.

I hope my coughing over the phone didn’t scare you too much. Everyone up here is hacking the same damned way. I really don’t feel half bad now and as I told you I’ve gained back all my weight.

Best Love, Bill

(sketch here) ---Me in winter uniform

Letter 35- December 3, 1943

Dec. 3, 1943
(Camp Abbot, Oregon)

Dear Folks,

As I write this it’s after reveille Friday morning so as you can probably imagine I haven’t got a hell of a lot of time, but I’m beginning to worry so I thought I’d better write. I haven’t received any mail from you for over 4 days now, so you can see the reason for my anxiety. I know I haven’t been writing regularly, but I’m going to try and get back on the old one day schedule starting right now. Not getting your mail makes me see clearly what it’s like not to get any for awhile. I know that you‘ve been writing steadily and it’s just the fault of the damned post office, but you know how it is. I just can’t help worrying.

Still nothing about my status in the god damned army. I’ve been trying to interview with the Company Commander, but my success has been nil. I’m telling you. It’s not a matter of what you know around her, but who you know. The birds who go out and get drunk with the non-coms on Saturday evening are the ones who are acting corporals and so forth. All I’m hoping for now is a transfer. Maybe if I get somewhere else I’d have a chance to get somewhere. You can’t do your best when you know it’s not going to get you a damned thing. Actually, I know damned well a lot of the cadre here and that includes officers who dislike me because on some subjects I know more than they, and I haven’t been a know it all either.

Well, write soon. I sure wish I could see you.

Best Love to the best Folks,
Bill

Letter 17- November 2, 1943

November 2, 1943
(Camp Abbot, Oregon)

Dear Folks,

I’ve only time for a short note tonight. It seems my worst fears are realized. I’ve been set back. Now I’m in the 54th., 2 whole weeks behind my old outfit---Hell! Don’t worry about the mail. I’ve made arrangements so I’ll be sure to keep getting my mail. My new address is as follows:

Pvt. William W. Taylor, Jr.
A.S.N. 19203811
Co. “C” 54 bn.

(5th. barracks)
Camp Abbot, Oregon

I’m back in quarantine HELL!

I hope you will write a lot during the next couple of weeks. I’ll be feeling pretty low and won’t have a damn thing to do. Gosh, I feel as if I’d flunked a grade in school.

All the love in the world,

Bill

P.S. This was the only paper and envelope available