BIG BAND
One really memorable and fun thing in my
training life was that all of us in the platoon were
musicians and supposed of higher intelligence. Sgt. Herda organized a
"BIG BAND". They procured a big Bass fiddle for me to play.
We had it all. We could play stuff like Glen Miller. Sgt. Herda was the
drummer. He and I teamed up on a number called "The big sound from WINETKA".
He'd drum on my Bass strings as I fingered the strings , then we'd solo,
then played booming sounds. The band would cut in and play its parts. I
strummed that bass so much I had blisters on all my right fingers till I
developed calluses. That was the fun part of the army--on week ends. when
Mondays rolled around it was more drills and instructions. One of the
training cadre was a Cpl. Beardsley--Billy B. Beardsley--he was Hollywood
material and was hell bent to be in movies. He was an extra in a few
movies. He had a voice like Bob Nolan the guy who sings in the Sons Of
the Pioneers. I could harmonize with him easily. Another trainee was
Harry Dotson from ST. Louis who was very good on the guitar. He
could also sing a third part. We tried to emulate the "Sons of the
Pioneers". We sang around camp in the off hours and week ends. We
were invited to an officers party where I met an actor, Van Heflin. Bill
took us to his wife's folks home in Glendale California where we met
his wife and family. I had a couple of snap shots taken in his cowboy hat
and chaps and a lariat. The folks back home thought that I was
certainly lying about the hard time I was having when they saw the snap shot.
On a day in mid training, an all soldier rodeo was organized. Gene Autry who
was a Sergeant in the army air force at a Texas base was flown there with his
horse, Champion. Fuzzy Knight was also there. Our "Western
Aires" sang the back up for Gene Autry who sang from his horse in the
middle of the rodeo grounds. I was pleased when I heard Gene's voice crack on a
note! Ha! it happens to the best of them! I had a snap shot taken of
me and Fuzzy Knight, Autry's bearded and toothless companion. All of me
that is in the snap shot is my elbow!! After the Rodeo Gene Autry performed in
his weekly Sunday radio show called "Melody Ranch". I watched
the show from the wings of the stage hoping they'd call on me for any goll
danged reason. I was stage struck too, but I realized I was much too
homely for Hollywood--well, maybe I could play a gangster! Or a crook!
On some other occasions, I would be called upon to provide
the Bass back up to a USO show. One memorable show was when a Hollywood star who
was dressed fit to uh hmm uhhh kill, sang "Dancing cheek to cheek" as
she flashed her large eyelashes in a suggestive mode. I always doubted how much
'help' those scantily clad girls provided to love hungry GIs. I think it made it
worse, but on the other hand, it helped us to want to get the damned war over
with. Let's GO!
One fun thing in Camp Roberts were the
Tarantulas -- FUN!? those big ugly spiders which lived in holes in the ground?
We'd pour water from our canteen in the holes and when they emerge, we'd step
on them--squish!! Fun? Mean.
Once I was given the task of repairing bent bugles. I
liked that duty. It was "up my alley."
Sgt. Herda drilled us and drilled us and finally developed us into a drill team.
We performed in front of the "army brass" at parades which were
held as part of our training and maybe to bolster morale.
In all this time I was writing tales of woe to my
Dad and Mother. I asked them to try to get me out of the army.
Get me out! get me out! I wanted to get home to the girl I left behind and to a
life other than army life. I had my fill of dictatorship. My Dad went to a
Lawyer named E.K. Brown in Ellensburg, Washington and initiated action to get me
out on what ever reason they could. I was as home sick as I could
be. It over shadowed my patriotism. I should have remembered the many
times I threatened to 'run away' from home when I was disciplined by
my Dad or Mother. They used the 'heavy hand'--which I don't hold against
them to this day. I wanted to GO HOME! To Mommy! and the other girl I left
behind. The papers asking for my discharge asking to "save private
Mohar" came just as the platoon finished training. All of the
bugle platoon shipped out to the Pacific. Some of them ended up in the
army band in Australia, where my army band dreams might have finally been
fulfilled. I was held back alone in the barracks for days until the
draft board at home decided if the hardship discharge was necessary.
Since I left the farm and was in another job when I volunteered for the draft,
It was determined the hardship discharge wasn't beneficial to the war
effort, I guess. So I was tossed back into the conflict for whatever
fate handed to me.
The word finally came from the Ellensburg Draft office where they
decided (whatever was its proper name) if I would be eligible for a
hardship discharge. It must have been a resounding NO evidently.
I was told to pack up and join another bunch of GIs shipping out for
somewhere. I was hoping that my fate would be to be sent to Europe.
I had fond hopes of somehow going to visit my father's home town of
Lokve, Croatia. It was a far fetched hope but still something to
hope for.
Our troop train left on some day in the middle of
summer. No one knew our destination but we began to get 'the drift'
as the train passed towns we recognized. The road and town signs were a
dead give away that we were heading south--from Camp Roberts! South?
Where really were we going? Maybe to San Diego? Is that the
Port of embarkation? No one knew.
Soon though we noticed that the train was in
the desert and the heat was unbearable in the rail cars. Most of us
stripped down. The sweat poured off of us and there was no shower facility what
so ever. Humanity stinks in confinement--then too. there was just
the one toilet in a car. I think the train rails went along the
Mexican border for a while and up in to Arizona. I remember looking out at the
sandy landscape. There was nothing for miles and miles. Brush
and rabbits and snakes I presume. I remember we were allowed off the
train in Phoenix. There was really a different human atmosphere there. Most
girls that greeted the trains were Mexican and or Indian girls. It was
unusual sight for me. The Mexican girls with so dark shinning hair.
I thought they were beautiful, but I didn't let my thoughts about 'girls' stray
away from the girl who promised to be true--the girl I left behind--I shouldn't
even mention her!
The train finally crossed the great
expanse and we unloaded in Texas. Near Gainesville, Texas on the northern
Border of Texas. The asshole of the world we all called it! Someone said
that it was the only place in the world where you could stand in mud up to
your ass and get sand blown in your face!! Every where I moved was
to a worse place. This was worse than the barracks in Camp Roberts. Now it
was tar paper shacks with plain board walls and wood floors and ugly rickety
bunks one on top of the other as if on a troop ship! And don't
forget the CHIGGERS!
In those days the Infantry still relied on
Bugle calls in the field. I was an extra Bugler. The Bugler in this
company was named BATTERSON. He had a Brooklyn accent. He thought he was a much
better bugler than I was, but that was okay even if he was. I was in no
competition. Batterson thought I was trying to 'edge' him out, but
that surely wasn't so.
The Top sergeant was a neatly dressed strict
sergeant who hated my mustache which for some
reason I was allowed to have. He said to me one day, with his Texas
accent, "Mohair" (I hated that 'hair bit') "Whyna hell you
cultivate that hair under yer nose when it can grow wild 'round yer
asshole"?!! that's what he said! I just had to stand there and take
it. He had the rank and if he had directly ordered me to shave it off, I
would have. I kept it!
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