CAMP ROBERTS CALIFORNIA
At Camp Roberts I was assigned to the 85th
Infantry training battalion. My cousin went to the artillery
battalions. I figure that his mathematics were better than mine but then
there was another factor in my M.O. I was a musician. In The 85th Infantry
Training Battalion, our platoon was to be a bugler platoon. The Battalion
commander asked for the next group to be musicians so he could develop a bugle
corp. We trained all the same but we were given a bent up bugle to hang over our
bayonet on our packs. We were to learn 27 bugle calls. We were
lucky because we had free time away from some drills and marches to sit under
the oak trees and bleat out the calls until we learned them by heart.
Some calls were difficult to remember so there were words you were given to
remember to help you do the call. For example, the sick call--it
goes--"Look at his eyes look at his asshole" It's kinda like
tuning a ukulele--MY DOG HAS FLEAS. Another call for mail was. " I
got a letter, I got a letter you got a god damned postal card".
No doubt you've heard ,"I can't get 'em up, I can't get 'em up this
morning". and of course the most haunting call of all, is "TAPS".
At Vet's funerals it'll break me up every time. That's a lonely
call!
We buglers had to stand guard at the guard house
in those days and blow the calls into a huge
megaphone. In one direction and then the other on the largest USA parade
ground it was said--Camp Roberts. Our training was all infantry.
The bayonet drills and calisthenics so vigorous that my muscles in my legs
were cramping. I used to say that I could crack walnuts on my leg muscles. I
can't see how much more vigorous our training could be. We marched miles
after miles and did the duck walk endlessly and went through many gas
attacks in the night to teach us how to put on the mask in the shortest
time. I think they used tear gas on those drills. Real mustard was used in
at least one drill. On one of those hikes I developed a nose bleed. I
couldn't stop it. On the critique I told the Sergeant and he allowed
me to lay down and rest. All of a sudden some one hollered "GAS!!"
and they had forgotten about me. But I heard it and I had my mask on just
as fast as anyone, blood or not. Then I heard someone say, "Hey
what about Mohar?" I was patted on the back after the Sergeant
apologized ever so slightly to me.
Our drill sergeant also was a musician. His name
is Don Herda. He was with the 7th infantry of the 3rd Division but
was siphoned off to the Camp Roberts as part of the training cadre. He was a
tough sturdy guy and overcame his Mel Tillis syndrome which came out now
and then--I remember him at the top of his lungs yelling, "Let's get
o-o-o-o-on the b b b all", I hope he will forgive me if he ever reads this.
I found him after the war because I had a fondness for the guy who showed
me the way to being a good soldier. We had all the training of
the infantry. Bayonet, grenades and dirty hand to hand combat. We
were introduced to explosives. We went to the rifle range often. I
made expert on the rifle when I did the practice but for effect, I dropped
off a bulls eye or two. I hated that.