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 Letters from Camp White Letters 1942-43 from a
44-year-old WWI-vet draftee to his 40-year-old girlfriend.
The writer is George L. Darrow, 1898-1985; the addressee is Margaret J. Schomehl, 1902-1998, 616 Arlington Place, Chicago. They married in 1950 and spent the rest of their lives together. Original letters are now in the collection of the Southern Oregon Historical Society. Medford,
Oregon 1942
Sunday, November 22nd Absence makes the
heart grow fonder.
Dear Margie,One hundred hours to sit and ponder. Absent more I could not be I love you to the "Nth" degree. We arrived at 10:00 a.m. this Sunday morning. With sun trying to come through a murky sky. The hills around this vast level plain have their heads in the clouds. This valley of the Rogue River is called Agate Desert, and [a] vast camp of avenues and barracks constitute Camp White, a Service of Supply non-combatant engineer regiment #353 to Company "B," of which I was assigned. I have been interrupted many times, and the last was for dinner of roast beef and mashed potatoes, corn and lettuce with cocoa. I am feeling fine, although we are in quarantine for two days because typhoid broke out in Camp Grant just after we left. Since I wrote you a week ago a great many things have happened. We got our clothing issue. Took our intelligence questionnaire and signed up for insurance and allotment, all on Monday, and then on Tuesday took a short physical examination for insurance and then reported for drill, which was simple stuff, and ended up in a hike down on to the Rock River, where we loafed for a couple of hours. Wednesday morning 11/18/42, 152 of us, but neither of the Grange fellows that I came with, got on the Burlington shuttle train at 7:30 a.m. and went to Aurora, where after some delay we boarded Burlington #45, four cars for us, and went right back past camp to Savannah and St. Paul, where at midnight our cars cut off and took Milwaukee Road equipment diner and locomotive and headed due west through Minnesota, South Dakota, North Dakota and Montana. At Mobridge, South Dakota, crossed the Missouri River 11/19/42 at 8:00 a.m., thence through monotonous country to Harlowton, Montana 11/19/42 7:30 p.m., where we were electrified. Ours then was a six-car trolley train, and we were traveling first-class Pullman with good meals in diner. The mountains were lofty and snow covered. Then at Avery, Idaho, 8:20 a.m. the following morning Pacific Time we left our electric and took on steam locomotive 4170 feet elevation in the Bitterroot Range. We rode all day and night (porter made up berths for one above and two below). Lou Trackman took the upper in our section and Joe Klobucher, both of Joliet, and I slept lower. We arrived in Spokane at 10:30 a.m. Friday morning 11/20/42 and found snow on the ground when we got off for a short airing. We were then 950 miles from Chicago and 338 to Tacoma. At Othello, Washington, 1039 feet elevation 1:15 noon we were again electrified and crossed the Columbia River that afternoon at 2:20 p.m. At Cle Elum, Washington, saw three coaches tipped over across on the NPRR tracks running parallel through the gorge. Reached the Skibowl full of impounded water about sundown and soon after the three-mile Snoqualmie tunnel, elevation 2564 feet. At 6:30 we were 130 miles from Seattle and black[ed] out our train, arriving 8:30 p.m. Although we didn't leave until midnight, we didn't get off the train. We dropped our diner for Northern Pacific equipment, but Saturday morning at 6:00 a.m. had not arrived in Portland, nor had we a diner. It was raining, and we passed our second wreck of five boxcars and engine at Kelso, Washington. We again crossed Columbia River at 11:00 noon and arrived in Portland where at 2:30 p.m. broke fast with Oh Henry! bar. A diner was finally found, and at 3:00 p.m. ate breakfast and at 3:30 were turned loose in the depot, but decided not to write until assigned to an outfit with permanent address. Left Portland on Southern Pacific equipment, same coaches, @ 8:00 p.m., and then had supper in the diner. 170 men of another group were hooked onto our train with their own diner. We saw nothing of Portland, although we were there al day. Due south to Medford, Oregon. A great many pear and peach orchards, and foliage just turning and pheasants and quail in the grass. We are eight miles south of Medford, a lumber town with large sawmill. I love you with all my heart. Private George L. Darrow, Company B, 353 Engineers, Camp White. Phone Mother. Camp White
Dear Margie,Medford, Oregon Wednesday evening 11/25/42 Your 1st letter followed me here from Camp Grant We have been apportioned to companies so that 24 of our 152 came to "E," which too was my old company. Also another 350 This you know is a brand-new regiment, so that when we arrived found only a cadre of eight noncoms per company, who had come here from the 36th Engineers Plattsburgh barracks and Fort Bragg, North Carolina, last September. I will describe our coat of arms as soon as I'm familiar with it. This is newly designed, and are being cast for our lapel ornaments. We worked today, changing from O.D. to fatigue clothes half a dozen times. Fall in! Fall out! On the double! all day long. I worked alone, laying the border on sidewalk around the mess hall. Changed again to stand retreat with music, but no arms. They never will make retreat here look so nice as our old formations. This evening we are confined to quarters, because one of the new arrivals came down with something. Hope it doesn't interfere with our plans to go to town to the football game tomorrow. Our regiment plays the engineer regiment from the 91st division across the track on the other side of camp. Theirs is a complete combat division, while ours is but a regiment recruited for noncombatant duty. I saw four cases of turkeys unloaded from a general purpose car to our company mess hall this afternoon so look forward to something to eat anyway. We haven't had coffee here at all, and now the cocoa has run out and we are working on a cherry drink. Ham loaf and scalloped potatoes for supper. Last evening we had a typical last war slum stew which no one could eat; maybe it was saved over from then. Yesterday afternoon was designated as haircut day, so I took advantage and while there had some beer (after 4:30 p.m.) at the newly opened Post Exchange. Saw a swell butterscotch sundae made there, but was afraid of spoiling my appetite, and now I wish I had it. After supper Louie and I went over to the Service Club and sat in the lounge listening to some gal sing with piano accompaniment. Fine voice. She sang in German Brahms' Lullaby and Ich Liebe Dich. In the library there saw a picture of our Meuse River bridge. This afternoon the clouds lifted from the tall peak to the east of camp, and the ever-present clouds gave us a beautiful sunset. It rains here off and on several times a day, and yesterday saw a swell rainbow. The moon is bright each morning when we fall in for Joe's wife telegraphed she would arrive Saturday. I was interrupted last evening, so take up this Thursday morning after breakfast 11/26/42. Your second letter followed me here from Camp Grant this morning before breakfast, also one from Halsey. Now I have heard from him twice and Mother once and you twice, making me top letter man in the barracks. Found out the reason for our confinement and constant checking over was because we had a man come with the second increment not on the company roster. Similar names or something, even the Colonel concerned. We have an unusually swell bunch of officers and noncoms (original cadre), although the first sergeant ate my head off when I reported on Joe Klobucher. Joe and I slept together in the lower, and with Louise Trackman, both from Joliet, in the upper have been kicking around together. Joe is a ready wit, and between him and your letters [I] have been kept buoyed up swell. To get back to Joe, I went back to our original barracks to see him late afternoon of our apportionment to Company "E." We left him sick in quarters and reported to the top sergeant that he was well but lonesome there. "What kind of man is this Joe? What sort of guy are you, whining because of lonesomeness. Look at me--three thousand miles from home and lonesome too, but I don't complain." And so he went until I felt like a baby just being weaned. He had an audience of officers in the orderly room, and found out later that he just put on for them. Our platoon sergeant is a dis, dat, dem and dose guy and real fellow, and our platoon commander, Lieutenant Weismann, is swell and human, with a great deal of understanding. He drills us in simple facing and formations. Hoffman, of the newly organized second platoon, and Cook, our commanding officer, too are swell. They chased us out of the company day room to clean it up, but it was too noisy anyway so came back to sit on my bed, which is O.K. on holidays. We wash no dishes, but make our beds with one sheet (all to be had), pillow with case, two blankets and comforter in roll. I have long since forgot my eye, which is good as new now, and hope that your ankle comes out as well. Heard from Halsey, who addressed me as Dear 36,602,986, thinking there are 36½ million soldiers in the army, but serial numbers must start with the Revolution and continue on through to present. Found out that had I enlisted could have had old number back again 1,394,000, but not so, having been drafted. --
Continued at the "Service Club" --
Have been interrupted several times, once for church and upon returning
for dinner, unusually well cooked and lots of it, with variety. Turkey
drumstick, sweet potatoes, peas, dressing, raisin bread and butter on
our plates as we filed past, and on the table coffee, pumpkin pie, ice
cream, soup and tomato juice, celery and ripe olives, cream, nuts, both
salted and in shells, and cookies, of which I filled my pocket.
Some of us then left for the bus into town town to the football game. The constant rain made the going bad, and our team was outplayed each of the four quarters. My company commander Cook showed up well, and platoon sergeant Armstrong was in every defensive play. [A printed program was enclosed with the final score inscribed: 13-0.] Got back in time for supper of turkey salad, coffee again, soup, peas and corn with celery in the salad, and then after supper Louie and Joe and I walked through the rain to the Service Club, but the jukebox is too noisy so we are going home. Good night, lover-baby, yours Pvt.
George L. Darrow
353 Regiment Engineers "E" Co. Camp White, Oregon [Drawing of new coat of arms
for 353rd Engineers]
Three transits make
the digit 3
Five stripes make up the digit 5 Three double-bitted axes digit 3 Over the shield is a heraldic barber pole representing hard road, and on the road is a power shovel. And under all is the motto "By a Strong Hand." That's us. Sunday afternoon
11/29/42
Dear Margie,Camp White, Oregon Just finished dinner of a generous slice of turkey roast, mashed potatoes, dressing, gravy, bread and butter and ice cream with cherry drink on the table. I'm afraid the coffee has gone again, this time for good. Forgot apple and cherry salad. Seconds on ice cream. We awoke this morning at 7:15 a.m. to a breakfast of two fried eggs, bread & butter, grapefruit and choice of Kellogg's dry cereal with milk & sugar. It rained shortly after, and now at 2:30 p.m., 14.30 army time, it is clearing up again. Tomorrow we start our basic training of twelve weeks, which brings to mind the one Joe Klobucher pulled into the Post Exchange the other night. We stood there drinking near-beer and Joe remarked that he'd like the crackers he'd been accustomed to at home where he put them up against the roof of his mouth and broke 'em with his tongue. Joe has nice teeth, but I remarked that was because he hadn't any. The bartender overheard and showed us his lower jaw and said he'd been without teeth for twelve weeks now, and Joe said, "Your gums have had their basic training then."
The word passed
around that we'd have Saturday afternoon off, but not so. I got on a
detail with Sergeant Collins putting up some drying racks for the
mattresses at the third platoon barracks. Down below twelve inches of
red clay is washed gravel, some of which is as large as an indoor ball,
and took a crowbar to go down another twelve inches.
In our mess line and formations I keep hearing Indiana dialects. Upon inquiring find that the third and last increment came from the corps area next east of ours. Indiana, Ohio and Kentucky comprise ours, and the next arrival was Chicago-inducted. Listened to Jack Benny this afternoon until the mess line formed at 4:25 p.m. Mess sergeant wanted to get away early, so we had Krap cheese, summer sausage and liver sausage, potato salad, bread without butter, and on the table was our cherry drink made into jello, and found that I was wrong about the coffee, it was there. Joe and I strolled over to the Post Exchange this late afternoon but had no thirst so he drank two bottles of so-called beer while I strolled around visiting. Last evening I had that butterscotch sundae I'd been dreaming about so long. I always dream about sweet things, and you're one of them. With all my love Private George L.
Darrow
"E" Co., 353rd Engineers Camp White, Oregon [enclosure: sprig of mistletoe]
Friday
evening 12/4/42
Dear Margie,Camp White, Oregon Your letter came this noon, and thank you for the Service Prayer. I will acknowledge your letters in rotation: Yours of 11/17 followed me from Camp Grant and arrived supper time Monday 11/23/42. Yours of 11/20/42 received Thursday before breakfast 11/26/42. Your letter #3 Tuesday 11/23/42 received Wednesday 12/2/42. Your letter #4 dated 1/30/42 received Thursday noon 12/3/42 direct and your letter #5 12/2/42 air mail received Friday noon 12/4/42=1¾ days in transit. Your letters are grand and keep me going strong. Keep 'em coming. I have a small snapshot of you standing on a bridge dated 1934, so for Christmas wish that you'd have another made with margins bled down to this pocket size. That title General Service Regiment means the equivalent of last war's labor battalion, and is noncombatant and not attached to a division or corps but to the Service of Supply. For you and Mother and other worriers that is a fair explanation, but to the fellows in my old regiment I've told them nothing, and to the gang in the Legion I've represented this as a rifle regiment training for combat. Today we drained the poorly laid pavement over at the motor pool and then came back and dressed for retreat by battalions. At the close of formation the top sergeant read off my name, along with half a dozen others, as having signed the payroll wrong, so was told to report to the mess sergeant after supper, who put me to work cleaning the icebox outside only. In the meantime the balance of platoon was sweeping, dusting and mopping barracks for tomorrow's showdown inspection, so I came out to the good and during the same formation he asked for drummers, but no one volunteered, so he at random nominated two. What a hell of an army. The mess sergeant was quite surprised to see me, because I'd been there to wash the windows the night before. Returning from drill and before falling out the top sergeant asked who'd like to play basketball and who'd like to play volleyball, but I was so tired from our four-mile march around the perimeter of the camp and movie (our instructions are done by sound movies) and found myself shaped to the chair with fanny dragging, so there were seven of us left in line, and just then the mess sergeant came by and asked for additional help for Friday's mess hall inspection, so we seven were tagged. Joe's wife is here now, so Eddie Driscoll took his place and we whacked up the work and got it done quickly. Found out that windows here are not washed from the outside because of airplane glare. Made me a milkshake of quarter of milk, egg, vanilla, sugar, salt and nutmeg with swell big cheese sandwich. Came home with pockets full of nuts and five apples, so think I came out ahead there too. Continued Saturday afternoon supper. This morning we got up to find snow on the ground, and after breakfast drilled in it, with calisthenics too, in fatigue overalls and leggings. After an hour we came in and changed to olive drab dress uniform slacks (no leggings) with overcoats for inspection by battalions. Open formation, where the Ο
Ο Ο Ο Ο
Ο Ο Ο Ο
Ο Ο Ο Ο
Ο Ο Ο
corporal
Ο Ο Ο Ο Ο Ο Ο Ο Ο Ο Ο Ο Ο Ο Ο Ο corporal Ο Ο Ο Ο Ο Ο Ο Ο Ο Ο Ο Ο Ο Ο Ο Ο corporal guide Colonel marched through the ranks inspecting the men and equipment of our platoon by platoons of all six companies. He asked Joe where he'd seen him before (was it regimental headquarters?). Of another he asked his age and civilian employment. He might have asked his serial number, which we have to memorize, along with the general orders pertaining to interior guard. he might too have asked how he liked the army or anything that entered his head. One guy had time only for one glove, and another came out without them, so ours was the only platoon to be called. After noon dinner of Swiss steak we got into fatigue clothes again, this time with leggings, raincoats, although it wasn't raining for a change. Cartridge belts and gas masks and in hastily organized formation ran south to the open dispersement area, almost a mile across, five damn deep ditches and ankle-deep ooze similar to our plowed corn fields, only red clay standing full of undrained ponds. We all followed our company commander, who had us fall prone and take up positions of anti-aircraft and rifleman deployment. I got lost in the second platoon but reached our objective with my squad after my second wind. Fell exhausted on a knoll, but company commander said I made too nice a target and had to roll down into a puddle and lie there. Two fellows vomited, and another got a nose bleed. Too much too soon after eating. On returning we ran into gas (imaginary) and put on our masks for a short route march back to barracks. There we left our raincoats, masks and belts and fell in again to march to the movies, reconnaissance and map drawing, for which I have spoken, was the subject. We were soaking wet, and the coughing sounded like a pneumonia ward, but after five reels, through which most of the guys slept (very interesting to me, and I drank it all in), we marched back to dry clothes and supper of stew and hominy. I have been to the Post Exchange with the gang (since starting this) for a strawberry sundae and some candy bars. This answers another of your questions. I've taken up candy between meals and also for dessert. Guess I'm still a "chocolate soldier." I hear tattoo sounding now, so will close. With all my love, your Private George L.
Darrow
"E" Co. 353 Engineers Camp White, Oregon Monday
evening 12/7/42
Dear Margie,Camp White, Oregon Your swell letter #6 arrived this noon airmail, three days in transit. Thank you too for the enclosure. We did have coffee for supper of well-baked beans and bacon belly, corn and sauerkraut with frosted spice cake. The cake was all gone when I left, but Lieut. Hoffmann saw me scrape the pan for frosting, so offered me his. There is some talk around here that we will move soon into Louisiana and complete our training attached to some outfit instead of unattached as we are now. The training is damn strenuous, but just what I need. Kicked off my ever-wet shoes and socks and am sitting here after supper contemplating another air raid similar to the one we had last Saturday noon. This is the anniversary of the dirty lousy navy getting caught sleeping, but I've got my overalls, sox and wet shoes ready with raincoat and gas mask right here to slip into like a fire horse, only this night the fire horse is going to sleep in his underwear. This morning after breakfast of roast beef hash and jello (Sunday's failure) we marched to the movie for sound instruction on demolition and then marched out into the dispersement area (saw a Canada goose) for a practical demonstration but was disappointed, as no explosion. The chemistry and methods are an improvement on last war, but still within my grasp. And through this medium and reconnaissance and map drawing I believe I can be helpful to my new outfit. After noon dinner of pork chop and mashed potatoes we took off for the movie again for barbed wire stringing instructions, which too is an improvement on last war. We then marched back to the motor pool and saw display of our pioneer equipment, complete carpenter tool kit for each platoon, stone mason's, lumber jack's, rigger's blocks and tackle with the physics of mechanical advantage explained. Then fifteen-minute instructions on fifteen-hour subjects. Gasoline shovel, road grader, bulldozer, pneumatic pump on Studebaker truck to operate spade, star point, circular saw, chain tooth saw, nail hammer, tamper, and grease gun, all pneumatic. At 9:00 p.m. all clear is sounded. We were still dressed and weren't called out of the barracks, so nothing to it only the confusion of tardy ones dressing in the dark putting on equipment. Last evening Montana and I walked over into the 91st division and saw a movie (You Were Never Lovelier) on 24th and "C" streets, about two miles due east. It was light and musical, just what I needed. Good night, dear. I love you with all my heart. Private George L. Darrow Sunday
morning 12/12/42 9:30 a.m.
Dear Margie,Camp White, Oregon Your swell letter #7 dated 12/9/42 arrived after supper Friday 12/11/42 air mail. Another dreary day finds me more lonesome than ever for you. I've left the barracks to come to the Service Club, where it is comparatively quiet. First call got me up at 7:15 a.m. with reveille at 7:20 and breakfast at 7:45. No formations to stand today, so quietly without turning on the lights got everyone interested in breakfast to get up. The meals haven't been very interesting and [I] find that a lot of guys go over to the Post Exchange to eat. However I haven't missed any, and when one is particularly good I let the mess sergeant know it. Yesterday we were aroused at 5:55 a.m. for quick formation by platoons and breakfast, after which we got into our gear for ten-mile hike. We had the night before swept, mopped and dusted the barracks and rolled our full packs of blanket in shelter-half, underwear, socks, handkerchief, tent poles, pins and guy rope, all rolled into tight envelope and in the upper section towel, soap, shaving brush and soap and razor, toothbrush and paste and beside it our raincoat, which we didn't wear for the first time. Everything in this new army has been changed but the antiquated pack, so mine was best and rode nicely well up on my shoulders, which made my burden lightest and I came through in fine shape until upon our return, and in sight of our destination, they wheeled us around for an additional mile, which broke my heart, but I'm way ahead of my story. We formed by companies of three platoons each at 7:45 and at 8:00 a.m. were on our way, three abreast, headed west. The band ahead of "D" company and then us followed by "F." At Pacific Avenue the band broke ranks and piped us out. The first battalion going north toward the Rogue River and Table Top mountain and we [marched] south to the Central Point road and east to Oregon 92 [sic] where we doubled back. By this time we had had two ten-minute breaks along the roadside for cigarettes. I carried a pocket full of pears and orange, pocket of cookies and bottle of water but didn't touch a thing. Unlike the rest I'd been brought up right and remembered my first colonel's advice. We donned our masks once for a gas attack and deployed another time along the ditchside for an air attack. In the last war it was considered foolhardy to shoot at a plane overhead, but not so in this so we all crouched to assimulate [sic] rifle fire. A little farther on the column was closed up and we came together for a sing down. Our company commander had to carry "Fs" on his back for a hundred yards because the adjutant said we lost or tied or something. The bugler blew several calls for us while the battalion commander told us what they were. My favorite is Tattoo, but he was lousy. We soon came in sight of camp and were all ready to cross the little logging railroad, but for some reason whether the band was escorting in the first battalion, or the truck convoy pacing us didn't show enough cyclometer mileage, we put about and retraced our march, getting in this time with music just before noon dinner I took my good old time under the hot shower to give those going to town on pass a chance to sign the payroll first. We had been paid for the last half of November the 11th, so this is for the month of December, with the following deductions:
Class F is my allotment to Mother to which they match $15.00, only making $37.00 to her per month. Now in the last war they deducted $15.00 and matched it with $15.00 more. The company fund is for the junk in the game room and [I] suggested a couple of loads of sawdust for the volleyball court, which is ankle deep in mud and gets all over me while playing vigorously. This insurance stuff is not nice to bring up in a love letter, but it is well for you to know about these things. After Saturday's supper of half-baked beans and raw sowbelly I went to the movie alone (Joe's wife is here in town and I've seen her here at camp some and Joe very little) and saw one of those Falcon pictures and another second-rater (Hedy Lamarr is going to be here tonight, so we are all going in a gang), after which I stopped at the canteen for a bottle of near beer but could drink only half and then went Friday we had two class demonstrations by the medical unit attached to our regiment on stretcher bearing, snake bites and other hooey that we'd all learned in Boy Scouts, another air raid, precautionary, out in the mud at the dispersal area, and a trip through the gas chamber with and without masks. This was tear gas and made my chin raw where I shave. In the last war we got the chemistry and a chance to smell and determine for ourselves what was mustard, chlorine, phosgene, etc., but not so now. They have invented about sixteen new ones grouped as to their functions but will not let us see nor smell them. If you remember I never could stand the smell of Juicy Fruit chewing gum. Well, that isn't on the chart this war. Thursday we marched down to the 510th Engineers, which is a supply and carrier outfit, and saw their pontoons and footbridge equipment. No lack of equipment in this, for which we suffered so [in the] past war. A pontoon of aluminum with bronze fittings costs 1400 smackers, and no engine. The footbridge floats are of hard rubber slabs in an aluminum frame about like a bookshelf in size and buoyancy enough for one man, provided that he doesn't stand still too long. Upstream guys hold the floats in position, as they are assembled and shoved off from near shore in rapid succession. Of course at the far shore the first float has to be detached so that the walkway can be laid on shore. This takes care of the infantry column to follow after the shore defenses have been silenced by assault boat attack. We will paddle assault boats across the river sometime this next week. The pontoons then take care of tank and artillery advance. These are moved on huge trailers, one on the other, piggyback so that for a stream the size of the Rogue it would take about five prime movers of two pontoons and planking each. I'm reminded of our preparations for the "Vaire Wood" stunt where we set up our pontoon bridge across the Somme at Hamel at sundown and [upon] completion found more traffic waiting for us on the towpath than State and Madison sees in a week. Only that night I slept in the vineyard instead of the musty old crummy wine cellar with the rest, and when their artillery commenced to seek out the bridge found myself the center of a swell bombardment. I won't make that mistake again, and we are assured that we won't have to either because ours is a non-combat outfit. That afternoon we hiked as a company down to the Rogue River about 2 and a half miles northwest and there deployed by platoons of three squads. Ours took the course along the rise covered by oaks and walnuts. The first squad took the water side, and squad number two brought up the reserve in middle distance. We sent out our scouts and followed by hand signals, always mindful of our silhouette on the horizon. We advanced upstream about a mile, taking less than an hour for what might have been a two-day stunt. The stream flowed west into the Pacific at the rate of twelve miles an hour, which is about four times faster than anything I ever saw, including the Wabash. Don't know how we will make it in assault boats next week. These trees I spoke of are the only green things on this flat plain of mud and gravel and were all covered with beautiful moss in streamers, and I came onto a grand specimen of mistletoe but couldn't take time to get it for you. We were on our bellies most of the time and crossed a cultivated field standing in water, and I tore my raincoat getting over a stile. By that time I didn't care whether I exposed myself or not, and with all my experience with barbed wire can't seem to make friends with it. Our platoon commander finally hauled us up at the riverside where we broke silence and fell exhausted on the driftwood. Some washed their shoes and leggings, but I saved mine to accumulate [mud] and with scrub brush at the barracks washed them in [the] laundry tub (this is an everyday occurrence). Supper of pork chops and mashed potatoes, and I doubletimed the line and found myself staying till the last cleaning of the bowls of grated pineapple on four tables. Friday night I cleaned up on blackberries, and last night found out that I hadn't done a good job because we had pineapple and blackberry combination with cookies, so stayed to make damn sure, and boy it was coming out of my ears when I left. It was after just such on Friday that I went to the "Day Room" (under the same roof but set aside from engineer supplies and orderly room for recreation) to get your letter. The new moon was in the south sky, and [I] hoped you were watching it too. Your letters do so much for me; don't ever stop writing. The following noon (Saturday) [I] heard from my nephew Larry, who enclosed a fine sketch of the countryside around and asked for me to spot us on it. Which I did and will for you too. [Amazingly, Darrow was allowed to draw a detailed map of Jackson County landmarks--with bearings--on a page of the letter.] He will make a fine reconnaissance man when he grows up, but hope that they won't need him by that time. Thursday we all came over here to the Service Club to a regimental dance and found a group of girls, all ages, from Medford and adjoining villages. The engineer band (now orchestra) was fine and gave us some swell music, although I didn't dance. Montana was on the refreshment committee, so I was well looked after. Joe's wife came out from town (she is here now and we three had luncheon together in the cafeteria), but neither did they dance. My old platoon commander, Lieutenant Weismann, who now is at regimental headquarters as liaison officer in charge of recreational activities, was in charge of the affair and got together the amateur floor show. I told him how we all missed him back in the outfit and took him into the library to see the picture of our Meuse bridge, which by now most everyone has seen, whether they want to or not. A lot of balsam trees are arriving, and a group of women have come to put them up so the library is no longer a place of silence, and to top it all off one of them yips just like you. But I wouldn't trade you for the world, and I love you with all my heart. Your
private George L. Darrow
[postmarked Dec. 15, 1942]
A great
big hug and a lot of kisses to Margie.G.D.
[enclosure: a big sprig of
mistletoe]
Thursday
evening 12/17/42
Dear Margie,Camp White, Oregon Service Club #2 Your swell letter #8 arrived this noon 12/12/42 to 12/17/42, five days air mail. Louis Trackman, who came with Joe and me and is now mail orderly, reported much confusion at central post office and too at regimental headquarters. There is to be a formal dance here tonight at this Service Club, so at 7:15 p.m. I'm out dusting off the mold of the barracks. An order went through today to keep us out of the water because the hospital is filled to overflowing with pneumonia (I am tough as nails once more and in the pink of condition, so don't worry.) so this morning at 8:00 a.m. we marched to the movie and saw several reels of British Gaumont spy pictures of German equipment and learned how to detect it in the field. Their shock and motorized attacking forces in action and ultra-fine machine gun and rifle, troop deployment over actual terrain and not just tactical problems. Our hostess just came up and said "Hello Santa," but when I stood up she saw that I wasn't the guy picked for the job of handing out programs. To go back to the movies, we saw three types of German and three types of English and two types of French tanks and also armored cars with distinguishing features and vulnerable parts pointed out by arrows for S.A. (small arms) and A.T. (anti-tank) and A.A. (anti-aircraft, pronounced Ak Ak) fire. An "M" type and also MA2 with guards hiding tractor tracks is called "Emma with apron," much the same as telegraph operator pronounces P.M. afternoon "pip emma," and I say na"ST"y "37" toothpaste. Those mounting Vickers 30- and 50-caliber machine guns and those mounting 35mm cannon (1½ inch) one mounts a 77-millimeter stub-nosed rifle (3 inch) and exposed part is no longer than a trench mortar. None however get up to speed of Halsey's "one-pounder," which was 54 shots per minute with French-type breech block. Their half-inch air-cooled machine gun had to change barrels every 200 rounds, and at the same time the crew of three changed over to new firing position. [sketch of vulnerable parts of a
tank]
The gals
in formal attire have arrived and music started, so will finish later.Sunday
morning 12/20/42
That was a
nice party, and the music and floor show was good. Although I didn't
dance I doubletimed the refreshments.This morning breaks a week without rain but looks as though the sun would like to come through now. 49 rifles were issued yesterday afternoon, and our platoon will have them for two days and then pass them down through the other two platoons and so down through the regiment. Mine is an Enfield, much like my old Lee-Enfield of last war and is made by Winchester, Model 1917. #27900, easy to remember this number in case "officer of the day" feels tough. Yesterday early after calisthenics we marched to the "Recreation Hall," which is at the foot of our company street and much closer than the big movie, and saw several reels on "knots and lashings," just like I'd learned in Boy Scouts, and then from there marched to CMC4 (Civilian Medford Cantonment) for classroom demonstration on erecting gin poles and tripods. Under other conditions we might have gone out into the mud to work. [sketch of how to erect a tripod]
Just got
back from noon mess of frankfurters, sauerkraut and cold potato salad
& peaches. For breakfast we had grapefruit, Rice Krispies, two
eggs fried short order (that is, stand and wait while they are fried to
your liking), bread and butter and coffee. (I always manage to grab the
top cream off the bottle.) Coffee and butter are back again, and had
some for dinner too. Found Joe and his wife eating at the noncoms table
when I got there (first) so called out what the kid in my old outfit
had written home, "Dear Ma, I am now eating with the sergeants." The
closest Joe will come to promotion because he After dinner Louie called out the mail and found your fine four-pager for me #9 dated 12/15/42 air mail. Also one from Halsey wanting me to come home and a card from niece Jeane and Bill Taylor. Halsey thinks that all I have to do is turn in my equipment and come home, but the C.C. read over the articles to a dozen of us Saturday between formation and chow proving that it was no simple thing for our own convenience, but affidavits from employer of munitions plant (anyone working for himself would be out of luck and too in my case now being worked by women) and notarized and sworn to before 9th Corps board of review, who might turn down an approved case from company commander and even though it were approved would hold no guarantee against recall at some future date. So as much as I would like to get home and to see you because I love you dearly I believe with my engineer training I will be of most benefit right here. With the exception of the Civilian Conservation Corps trained lads, I seem to fit in best, object least and adapt myself to the damn foolishness that goes with it all. For instance, after a day of dressing and changing four times we stood showdown (equipment on our beds just so as pictured in the infantry manual) inspection before four officers including our C.C. Things didn't go so well through the barracks, but mine bore well all their careful scrutiny until a half hour later my platoon sergeant came by and wrote my name on the "gigged" sheet for displaying summer issue sox and said, "No pass to town tonight for you, Darrow." All the rest had displayed winter socks with summer underwear. I was right and the rest wrong, but arguments don't go. My corporal offered to go between, but I let him understand that I could take it. Last evening two of the cadre (nucleus), one a sergeant, came up and broke up our simple rummy game to shoot dice (out of my line), and so after these two had made several passes, always rolling their own dice from one to the other to prevent circulation of the phonies Allen demanded to see what this guy held in his hand. He tried to back out to where he could hide them, but Allen choked him over a bed and took them away from him. The sergeant turned back almost a hundred dollars which was more than enough to pay off losses, but one of the guys insisted upon justice and went to the guard room for the Sergeant of the Guard who in turn said they'd taken him for $38.00 and laid the case before the Colonel at regimental headquarters. The dice are there now, and a court martial will be called sometime this week. Callahan said that in the excitement at headquarters he called the Colonel "mister" and let slip some swear words, but the old man passed them as O.K. He wasn't sympathetic to either side, but the outcome might be prison for the cadremen. Too bad that guys sent here to protect us turn out that way. Friday morning was spent in classroom at C.M.C.4, where we took up demolition from where we left off last week. We went back for early mess and mackinaw issue, which we wore over our field jackets and fatigues (overalls and windbreaker), and at 12:00 noon started off with cartridge belts and water bottle for the demolition area, which is due north about three miles just across the Little Butte bridge. We played around for more than an hour in half squads of eight, setting off dynamite by electrical charge while a detail dug holes for a road crater (the big show). A bulldozer had prepared a dry weather track between the river and a high bank, and it was there that the tanks were to be trapped. [diagram of how to place
and wire explosives]
Half-pound
sticks of 40% dynamite used as prime charge and on top of
which sixty-five others were laid (100 pounds overall) and tamped and
filled with dirt. Then the manual fuse was lighted and we all fell back
a safe distance where the magneto on three reels of double wire was
spun, setting off the electrical detonator, in turn setting off the
PrimaCord (trade name--a clothesline length exploded all at once) which
in turn set off the prime stick, which in turn set off the 33 pounds
each hole. It was a grand sight and looked like this when we went back
to see it.[cutaway diagram of
crater]
In the
march back the C.C. wanted to
make retreat (the guys to be on guard had already gone in to clean up
for guard mount), so we made it back in 45 minutes, a march that had
taken one hour and ten minutes going out. With no smoking in the area
and no break in the march I was pretty much exhausted. A lot of little
roly polies fell out along the road, and loud enough for my company
commander to hear I said that I'd been on a thousand forced marches,
but none so damned silly as this. He's just out of college and never
out of training so doesn't realize how soft we are and how much gear we
are carrying.Monday we spent out in the dispersal area putting up barbed wire. This we did by squad competition and then by best squad of platoon to represent us in platoon task. The losers to carry back the wire and stakes for the winners, but the gang that beat us fudged on their knots and didn't tie them well, so judges declared a draw. [diagram of how barbed
wire was stretched and tied together]
[The] near
side looked like this, only
not so taut nor ties so neat. Spiral posts and stakes screw into
ground, but the ooze wouldn't hold them, and the rocks just below the
surface wouldn't take them. This was set up on a rise lookout over [a]
flat field (now marsh) across a willow-lined brook and commanded the
north bank and was what I thought a good place for a breakthrough and
could be swept by enfiladed
fire lengthwise across the open ends.Tuesday we spent in the same area, only on our bellies deploying across the fields in squad column and platoon wedge attacking a trench built by the cadremen and now full of water. Wednesday we marched due north to the Little Butte, but this time turned off to the left before crossing the bridge, and there just upstream from the confluence with the Rogue we worked with assault boats all day. Two equipment trucks of nested boats (made of mahogany panel and weighing four hundred pounds each) met us there, and we counted off into competitive groups of three engineers and twelve infantrymen met in a rear area and in silence came through the trees and underbrush to the advance area where we picked up our boats, handed out seven paddles, one for the stern, and made our way to the shore where we waded out to our hips, shoved off and jumped over the gunwale, at the same time unfastening our belts and packs. That first shock was a son of a gun, and as an engineer wasn't supposed to paddle but grabbed one away from [the] guy ahead who was making too much noise and filling the boat with water. Some guys knew nothing about paddling, and the current soon took us and the river was swarming with helpless craft. We were the first to deliver our infantry to the far shore and return Nesting those boats back on the dump trucks was quite a job, and then we made out our fires and organized for our march back. Although the song Margie hasn't 4/4 rhythm, it has become the popular marching song and was got off several times on our way. It wasn't until we reached the regimental area that I commenced to feel the pavement from numbness. Took a hot shower and washed out a tablespoon of gravel from my shoes. Don't remember now what we had for supper, but do remember that I had a big appetite and slept like [a] log that night. A guy has to get back early before lights out (unless we've just a day as that with everyone fagged out) because the C.C.C. lads fold up the beds and tie them down. The night of the dance [I] came home to find mine all right, but Factor's was out on the balcony and some others short-sheeted. So good night, lover. I'll see you in my dreams. Private George L. Darrow COMPANY "E"
353RD ENGINEER GENERAL SERVICE REGIMENT CAMP WHITE, OREGON CHRISTMAS, 1942 MENU TOMATO JUICE COCKTAIL LETTUCE AND TOMATO SALAD PICKLES - OLIVES PASCAL CELERY HEARTS ROAST OREGON TOM TURKEY SAGE DRESSING ORANGE AND CRANBERRY SAUCE GIBLET GRAVY SNOWFLAKE POTATOES VIRGINIA BAKED HAM RAISIN SAUCE CANDIED YAMS BAKED DANISH SQUARE FRESH BUTTERED PEAS HOT PARKER HOUSE ROLLS PUMPKIN PIE ICE CREAM COFFEE MIXED NUTS Merry Christmas and Happy New Year Christmas Morning
8:15 a.m.
Dear Margie,Your sweet Christmas card came Wednesday noon, but that wasn't the picture I was hoping for. I am satisfied though that you put more thought and loving attention into my Christmas box than the hundred others I saw and was invited in on. That came Tuesday evening 12/22/42, mailed on the 15th, and so now on Christmas Day even though I'm on guard I'm top man in spirit. I'm sitting here in regimental headquarters writing on the Colonel's stationery watching the officer of the day ride a bicycle down the aisle. The kitchen police roster coming up from the bottom of the alphabet caught Dunlevy yesterday, Deems tomorrow and Darrow and Cuyler Sunday. And the guard roster coming down the alphabet, nine men each with "E" company on Christmas Eve caught Cuyler, Darrow and Deems last evening and today. Yesterday at 3:00 p.m. we marched in from the pontoon area on the Little Butte (same place described in assault boat drill of last week), where we had been assembling floats and duckboards for a footbridge crossing, only this time hip boots were issued to the water crew and a gentle sloping bank on back bay without current was chosen for the crossing. After our assault crossing we doubletimed back and dismantled the pontoon, and it was right in the midst of a second erection that we nine with the corporal of the guard left early and came back for guard mount. The O.D. after the ceremonies chose another guy as best-looking soldier for the Colonel's orderly, which kind of hurt my ego, but my post was better as it turned out later. The sergeant of the guard posted me at the Post Exchange, where there is never a dull moment. My orders were to see that uniforms were buttoned complete (raining like a son of a gun, so most everyone preferred to take off their raincoats), and no one allowed in overalls. Just after I had been relieved the officer of the day walked in on [a] fight at the near-beer bar so brought them into the guard barracks right on my heels. And so because my tongue hung out for watching all this I went back and fell in with a gang who kept two bottles in my hands at one time and ran way over my liquid capacity. At nine-thirty Deems came back, and we were both to sleep the entire night but not so. Every time the corporal wanted Dinglehoffer he woke me up, and it was then that I wished for one of those "Do Not Disturb" signs on my back, and at midnight the guys on pass started coming back from town (third platoon in third barracks over guard room) and [I] presume this was typical of the barracks, for all of a sudden the beds started flying and shoes and equipment all over so I just sat up in bed and smoked and read until things subsided. This morning at seven I got up for breakfast of French toast (went to the pantry for jam), Wheat Crispies, good coffee with top milk and Medford pears (our cooks are swell to me and let me stroll into the pantry or icebox whenever I want and think nothing of it when I walk out with four or five pears or apples or cookies sticking out of my pockets). The full moon in its last phase was out bright and stars shone for the first time in two weeks. And now as I sit here at the sergeant major's desk (Deems and I tossed a coin for morning shift as Reg. Hq. runner) the bright sun is rising over the snowcaps and the moon is setting over "Lower Table Top." 55° F. Our company started a system of flags on Wednesday and changed four times, starting out with red for overcoats, blue for raincoats, green for mackinaws and then back to blue for raincoats. Yellow would have meant field jackets, which I have on now. For guard mount we wore raincoats over field jackets with cartridge belts and leggings over woolen olive drab slacks. We changed from fatigues of denim into dry socks and shoes (alternate shoes daily and even when soaked with neatsfoot oil get wet through). Comparative quiet here now except for acting C.Q. (charge of quarters), who in turn is regimental bugler and was the guy I razzed for starting out last Sunday's chow call with five bars of Tattoo. He is pecking away at a typewriter and trying to acquaint me with the officer personnel of the regiment. Monday we marched down "A" Avenue west to 7th St., and there my platoons (mine is first and held in reserve) deployed south through the scrub growth (saw the rosebreasted grosbeak and his mate) in to the airport about three miles away. We were brought out of reserve soon and thrown into the left flank because of casualties and never did reach our objective. It turned out a fiasco and believe I could have managed better and all we got out of it was wet bellies and mud all over. The following day we ate early and went back to the demolition area off in the other direction and there on the bank of the Little Butte blew down two trees (internal and external charges) and the stump of one and sheared a railroad rail and a motor truck bumper. The bumper didn't want to shear, proving the equation N=8H2XT is wrong. N being trinitrotoluene in pounds or in our case dynamite in half-pound sticks of 40%, H being the height squared and T being thickness. We have done a lot of close order drilling as well as the open order stuff I've told you about, with retreat parades at 5:00 p.m. on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays so that we look pretty good in company mass now. The several company mail orderlies have been in, and I am looking forward to a letter from you. Then too I am hoping for relief because it is darn near dinner time. I saw a printed menu [enclosed, transcribed above] in the mess hall this morning and saw with my own eyes the turkeys and pumpkin pies. The officers and noncoms who live in town and have their families will be there this noon. So far [I] have had no interruptions and have heard the Darlan reports over the radio and seen the headline of local paper. (I miss the "woop ta dee dee pay pah" lad who used to walk down our old company street.) Most of all I miss you, dear, and hope this finds you well. Your private, George L. Darrow Christmas
noon 12/25/42
The dinner
was swell and I'll tell
you about it in my next. Your letters dated Saturday 12/19 mailed 10:30
p.m. and also #11 dated Tuesday 12/22 mailed 9:30 p.m. arrived after
dinner and [I] will acknowledge them later.[enclosure: program for December
27 services,
First Presbyterian church, Medford] Saturday evening
1/2/43
Dear Margie,Camp White, Oregon It seems so long since I've heard from you, but of course I've done no better either, for I've been so darn busy and a lot of which has been on our own time so I've just contented myself with reading your last over and over again. Your last, however, came Christmas Day, numbers 10 dated 12/19/42 10:30 p.m. and 11 dated 12/22/42 mailed 9:00 p.m. air mail. Today has been grand with temperature around 50°, and last quarter moon came in through my window this early morning and bright stars tonight. Since I last wrote I've been on a spree. Montana and I got passes last Saturday (those three days of without formation but not so this weekend) and went to Medford. He had a yen for the stores (so had I for the Liquor Control Store), so we shopped around and then with the aid of local map and directory located the [John E.] Gribbles. He and our neighbor Mr. Winslow roomed together while at Purdue and last summer while on their way east stopped long enough for us to entertain them at the Arboretum and at the Zoo. He is Oregon state forester, retired, and can be helpful to me on reconnaissance and map drawing, and it was then when I got back to camp that I got their telephoned invitation to Sunday dinner. I'm away ahead of my story. At five the state package store opened, and we got in line (some line too, for back of us at our window was my company commander and second platoon commander with his wife; had seen her with wives of other officers and noncoms at the Christmas table) and when I came up on front bought my license for 1942 and two pints of Old Overcoat rye, from which we nipped in orderly fashion (the correct way is to go into a saloon and have them mix and serve your own stuff for a fee), so when I say orderly fashion I mean we went into an alley away from the Military Police and then before supper taped the bottles to our inside shins, because everyone was being frisked that weekend, we learned. So instead of being pigs we still have some left for a cold, wet return from maneuvers. "D" company had a rum issue when they got in from the river the other evening. Seems as though they were working with pontoons and at noon dinner time left them high and dry on the bank and when they came back were no longer captive but away and gone downstream, so it was swim for them, because they cost $1400.00 each and might break up going over the shoals under Bybee bridge (it was there at Bybee bridge where we worked today). We checked back in at 16:30, 8:30 p.m. and the next morning I got up and worked the breakfast kitchen police and then went over scouting for some goldbrick and finally found Factor, who took the other two meals for a buck, so I got dressed and went over to the orderly room for a pass (My platoon commander Lieut. Duncan is a forestry school graduate and was tickled to have me accept their invitation) and got going for the bus station C.M.C.4 at just noon. Kept prodding the driver and we made the eight miles in twelve minutes and then a taxi at the other end (like the mailman made the rounds of town on the way) got me there in time for turkey and lots of fixings. He took me over his yard and cut a swell rosebud for you, but I let Mrs. Gribble put it away in water while we went to the concert and never got it back. In their front yard [at 139 Kenwood] is a California fig tree, Sequoia washingtoniana and a fragrant cedar. Both were planted in 1910 and reach well into the sky. A great many shrubs, and from the myrtle he gave me the fruit (nuts) to plant. Two of those big Comice pears, some apples which later on we ate, and a mulberry. They burn in the fireplace some of the wood that cabinet makers would give their right eye to have. After dinner we got into his car and drove to the Presbyterian church, where we heard the wife of a soldier sing. Do you remember the harpist at the Bandshell who broke his strings playing Estrellita? Well, she did it nicely; in fact, she was fine all through and we then passed through the reception line (first making sure that enlisted men might mingle with officers) and filed past the tea table and sandwiches. After which while it was still light we drove into the foothills to see the finer residences and his Boy Scout cabin (forgot to say that he had decorated the church with Douglas fir, which looks much like our balsam Christmas trees) and fine planting the kids had made. Looking out over Bear Creek and sitting in a tree was the kingfisher, who called and then dove, coming up with a fish. A rosebreasted grosbeak and a whole gang of meadowlarks (theirs say Johnny boy come play with me and is not at all like ours). We soon turned around for their house and popped corn over the now red glow and finished the pie with milk and apples. At 9:00 p.m. he drove me to the bus station and I checked in before Taps and lights out. It was swell to get back to real people again and made me long for you more than ever. This morning we worked out in class several blasting formulae. [diagram and formulae for
blasting a bridge with TNT]
to blow the
abutment N=R3KC,
N meaning number of half-pound blocks of T.N.T., R3
meaning radius cubed. The cross-section measured four feet, and I paced
the road as 25 feet, so with a two-foot radius we would have drilled
six holes.[diagram of placement of
charges on bridge]
K meaning reinforced
concrete factor, which in this case is one and C meaning method of
placing charge, which in our case because we had neither dynamite nor
tools took the hard and complete destruction way of drilling and
tamping, which factor then was one. Had we dug down in back of abutment
through the road the factor then would have changed to three and
blasting radius to four, which would then take instead of sixty sticks
320 half-pound sticks.
In the girder formula N=¾A, A meaning area in square inches so that all Yesterday we worked in the rain on a warehouse, digging the caissons down through the muck to hard washed gravel and then filling with gravel from the riverbed brought over in trucks. Tamped with LeRoi air hammer and built template to correspond with roof studding and to fit piles. Got back so darn cold and wet didn't feel like dressing for supper, but they let us eat as we were. Got off a letter to Mother last evening, and then went to bed early. Thursday we hiked and then of a sudden deployed and fell back against an imaginary enemy (our third platoon armed with new rifles), where I acted as short-winded runner keeping our company commander and staff in touch with each platoon. When I suggested that zero hour be delayed fifteen minutes while I caught my breath the C.C. laughed. The day before we went to an old bridge site in a ravine where there was a structural steel fitted bridge, which we tried to take apart in sections but couldn't get it up the near bank and so called for a bulldozer to tug on the block and tackle rig and in turn a Caterpillar tractor to pull out the bulldozer. Noon dinner was served out there in the rain, and it was then that we gave up and went to work on construction of a wooden stringer bridge of 10X14 bents, which fell apart just as we finished, and didn't begin to stack up with our Meuse River bridge constructed under enemy fire. Tuesday evening we pitched tents and displayed our full equipment out in the rain where I could almost see my damned issue razor rust in front of my eyes. Clean underwear and towel got splashed along with blanket on raincoat lying in mud, which reminds me that on Wednesday we are scheduled for a thirteen-mile hike with full packs to sleep in pup tents and return Thursday; hope that it doesn't rain. The entire regiment will make it by companies. Thursday noon was pay day and [I] drew $18.75, less 50¢ for company fund, and that evening for supper of red hots and potato salad and chips and peanuts had four half-barrels of beer. It was a nice party, with Lieutenant Duncan representing the officer personnel and top sergeant acting as master of ceremonies just long enough to get Curly Callahan started. Curly had come home sotzed on two occasions and had to flip with the top [sergeant], so this was his way of retaliating. Told Curly that if he didn't make the gang laugh he was scheduled for permanent K.P., so he (Curly) went to work on us. Joe Klobucher got off his carnival barker gag. (Joe can get off more humor than anyone I ever saw, but can't learn his eleven General Orders and thirteen knots in order to get a pass to town) and had me diving off a hundred-foot ladder into a damp washrag. Dunlevy took off a drunken W.P.A. worker on pay day and took down the house. And so we ushered in the new year. Happy new year to you, and I love you with all my heart. Your
private George L. Darrow
P.S. Curly was on K.P. today, and I left a nickel at my place for him.
Suppose he will have by now turned over my bed and I'll have a hell of
a time in the dark. Good night.Thursday evening 1/7/43
Dear Margie,Service Club #2 Camp White, Oregon Your swell letter #13 arrived this noon, but it wasn't until just now that I had a chance to read it. Air mail 1/4/43 7:00 p.m., two and one-half days, good time. We hiked with full packs but no rifles yesterday afternoon for seven miles to the far side (gentle slope) of Upper Table Rock. The second platoon acted as flank guards plowing through the lakes of mud and plowed fields, coming up at rest periods (3) for relief, looking like snowshoes. The third platoon with rifles took over on the return this morning and we, the first, mounted the guard. Mine, the third, stood squad from 6:00 p.m. until 10:00 p.m. but it wasn't until 10:45 that relief got to us. Lyle and I were dropped off away up the mountainside under a large oak constituting post #8. Password was "By a Strong Hand," but I heard (could hear all over entire camp) it called everything else imaginable. Our connecting file Ray stayed with us because traveling between #7 and #8 was not so nice, dropping off smooth piano-size boulders and scratching clothes all to pieces on the undergrowth. We went back with the relief sergeant of the guard and had a heck of a time finding our bivouac, but the balance came back the hard way (the rotation in which we were posted) and didn't get back until I'd been in bed forty-five minutes [and] called out to let them know where they were. We had arrived at 5:00 p.m. and pitched bed shelter halves while still daylight so I got my bearings and compliments on bivouac for promptness, neatness and camouflage art. Lined the damned thing with a six-inch bed of leaves under my raincoat (comforters were brought out and carried back by truck) and comforter. Draughn and I slept individually, I under my own and he under his blanket. My hips are still sore from turning over and damn near got cauliflower ears from gas mask pillow. We observed blackout regulations after 8:00 p.m. but smoked a whole pack of cigarettes while there because camp fires burned, so to hell with orders (anyway no one could sneak up on us without breaking a leg and scratching out both eyes). We the third squad ate supper of stew first and then were posted and at 5:10 a.m. my partner got up, saying that he hadn't slept all night from shivering, and I said to hell I'd lain so still all night so as not to bother him. Well, I got up well ahead of reveille and in the pitch blackness broke camp and rolled my pack, for which I was again complimented by the C.O., who came up from behind and with a hell of a blow nearly knocked me over. Several fell apart when he did that, and some held us up a half hour waiting for them to get packed and others missed breakfast trying to get going. Mayer got lost on connecting file guard, and another guy was up most of the night trying to find his way back from latrine (white tape line strung between trees to and from). I took along small bottle of whiskey, and it came in swell with the damp coldness, because the hilltop was in the clouds all day yesterday and today. We got back with a perfect record for "E" company at 10:30 a.m. and rested until noon mess of ham and at 1:00 p.m. started out for the pontoon area in personnel cars (Diamond T three-axle trucks to seat ten), lucky for me because I'd developed three swell blisters, where on the Little Butte we built pontoons of hard rubber floats and connecting duckboards. We built, dismantled, rebuilt and dismantled and thirdly built again in competition with second platoon. We beat them, crossing and disassembling both, and I worked on the float assembly crew of eight where I could forget all about my blisters, wading in ankle-deep ooze. Some guys on the launching end fell in, and another guy took a belly flopper in the muck. The first sergeant promised another beer party because of the swell spirit shown, and all those making the march (he came on the march but didn't go to work with us this afternoon) could have passes to town Saturday afternoon. We have been working all day on Saturdays of late. Tomorrow we are scheduled to return to the same location (ride?) and work with pontoon boats instead of floats. I was invited to return Sunday to the Gribbles and got there about 11:30 a.m. before their return from church. Her sister Miss Foster suggested I ride with them but didn't want to break into half-finished services and besides Sunday was swell and so I walked the mile and they brought in some kindling and tried to locate the bantam hen's new nest where she is setting. Found he had [a] swell collection of cones, burrs and beautifully grained wood blocks. They got home before 1:00 noon and Miss Foster had dinner prepared (veal steaks, fried) with a nice salad and squash big as a small watermelon. A soldier from the 91st Division side of camp lives there with his wife, and his gang drove up and took pictures and were nice enough to include me. And so after supper of cold cuts, salad and cheese I made my way back. He (Mr. Gribble) walked to the bus station with me, and I caught the 9:30 p.m. bus. There is a dance here this evening, and the orchestra is playing "Pretty Baby" now. They all flock here into the library to smoke and "Coke" between dances. Wish that you could be here to dance, but rather I was there with you. In the past week have dug and constructed tank obstacles, more and more barbed wire and accordion road blocks. Went back one day on constructing the building upon which we started the session last New Year's Day. And now this finds me barely able to hold my eyes open so I must get back to bed. Hope this finds you well and happy. With all my love Your private George L. Darrow
Monday evening 1/11/43
Dear Margie,Service Club #2 Camp White, Oregon Looked for a letter from you today but no luck. I'm desperately lonesome for you tonight. We have started on our seventh week of basic training, although we've been here seven weeks, first doesn't count, and things are toughening up a whole lot. We had Saturday afternoon off for a change, and so for the luxury of it all Nord of the Swedish army and O'Gorman of an Irish factionary group came over here for coffee and doughnuts and then that evening went to the movie punks (Richard Dix). At noon they opened ranks for inspection and went through asking our general orders. "Sir, my second general order is To walk my post in a military manner, etc." Those that failed any one of the eleven had to clean a new shipment of Enfield rifles and got together a gang of thirty eliminated too from weekend passes. I didn't go anywhere but just relaxed with the gang and didn't even get to write a letter. Joe's wife was here and we all visited together and she is again here tonight and brought out a pint for next Friday's march. Thought that [pint] I had last march helped so much in the damp fog atop Table Rock that I thought it a good stunt for next with some left for another to come. This morning Salty Joe Saltis got up at 5:10 a.m. and touched off the spark that got everyone (without watches) else dressing and after the C.Q. (charge of quarters for the day) had turned on the lights at 6:00 a.m. and things quieted down. O'Gorman said "Bejazes Oi wouldn't be supprised aif sum o' thim guys wouldn't go on an overnight hike without being told." This early morning we had class at C.M.C.4 on the nomenclature of the rifle and followed with simple short distance sighting from a stationery point to fixed bullseye, and scores recorded much the same as those pin-pricks on film in the shooting galleries. This is all preparatory to going on the range soon. This afternoon we deployed out in the marsh called dispersal area to the south and worked out some paper problems and flanking movements by half squads in diamond formation. Came in and dressed for retreat in regimental closed formation and then dinner of bacon and beans with coffee and then on our own time after supper formed and marched to the Recreation Hall at the foot of the street for blackboard test on map drawing and reading (once before I scored 14 out of 15 and still contend the one I missed was arbitrary question) and feel O.K. about the whole thing and will let you know the outcome. Friday after returning from the hike of which I told you we worked in the pontoon area at the creek on rubber floats and duckboard walks across a lagoon and Saturday morning (riding of late to and from work) returned to the same site where we dismantled a large pontoon previously constructed by "D" across same lagoon and counted off to carry balkboards [sic] and chests but after noon dinner which was brought out to us I got into a boat section and rowed around all afternoon, having a swell time and with a good imagination was back in Lincoln Park on the lagoon. Would like to be there with you now. Suppose the skating season is on now and that it is colder than thunder there, but I'd trade cold for this damn rain and fog and knee-deep mud. Not a very cheerful letter, but you can read my mood and know that a letter from you will brighten everything. I love you with all my heart. Your private George L. Darrow
Tuesday
evening 1/19/43
Dear Margie,Service Club #2 Camp White, Oregon Your swell letter #16 posted air mail 1/14/43 7:30 p.m. arrived this noon 4½ days. Also #15 dated 1/11/43 came air mail in three days on Thursday evening 1/14/43 and #14 took 4½ days air mail posted 1/7/43 6:30 p.m. getting here Tuesday noon 1/12/43 just after my letter to you. Yes, I received the big fatty #12 written over the holidays and also one in between which I acknowledged #13 posted 1/4/43 7:00 p.m. arrived air mail 1/7/43 Thursday noon. Wish that you knew just what your letters do for me. Next best thing to being with you, which is impossible now. Snow has fallen this late evening, and since supper is a half-inch deep. First that we've had, because it rains here all the while with the exception of the beautiful past weekend. Last evening on our way to the infirmary for blood typing Mt. McLoughlin, which we seldom see, thirty-five miles to the east always wrapped in snow, glowed a beautiful rose color as though it were afire and the southwest sky was grand too. The past two days we've been sighting targets across the parade ground (rapid-fire two clips of dummy bullets making 10 shots for the minute that the silhouette target is exposed) preparatory to going on the range this weekend Friday, Saturday and Sunday. I will point out location of range on the map over near Roxy Ann Peak and the Medford water supply. Yesterday kitchen police caught up with Darrow, Deem, Dillon and Dominick, which is the first time I've been absent from the company (never occasion for sick call) and then only for class at C.M.C.4 on rifle nomenclature and sighting. In the afternoon everyone, and that means everyone, came out for sighting exercise, so that cut my time on K.P. short, and then just at supper time the medics were ready for us to be blood typed so that delayed supper and then Friday evening after a sensibly light supper we filed out with full packs, masks and rifles for an evacuation problem. The entire regiment was to move due east five miles to the Dry Creek area with friendly troops on either side not necessitating a flank guard such as we'd had on the last problem when enemy troops were sighted to the north and west calling for our delaying action. This time the enemy held air superiority and we were gassed coming and going and dispersed beyond the roadside on the way home at Saturday sunup. Well, the second battalion marched five miles due east on "A" Avenue, passing out of camp in an hour and then at dusk past the rifle range away over at the edge of the flat desert up against Roxy Ann. [map of route]
Some bastard came along in a general purpose car
burning a smoke screen and on went our masks and then we filed past a
sulfur candle burning in the center of the road and by this time the
road had petered out to large washed boulders and Dry Creek was raging
where we forded on the way up the hill. We soon rose above the gas and
took off our masks just before drowning from condensation inside (had
to hang onto the man's pack in front to keep on the road). By this time
the moon and stars were bright out, but it wasn't until we reached our
bivouac site that we could stop and appreciate it. We had lost
momentarily our second and third platoons for which the C.C. raved. He
had lost command control, which is inexcusable in military. Unslung our
packs and rifles and with canteen cups got into mess line for coffee
and so-called cinnamon rolls. The kitchen had arrived and was set up,
making one of half-dozen camp fires through the regiment. So too had
the comforters arrived by truck and this time I'd sewed mine into an
envelope and rolled up and tied with your Christmas fruitcake inside. I
invited some of the fellows over with their coffee and we drank to your
thoughtfulness. Forgot to say that I'd saved newspapers for a week and
Wally and I pitched together and at Tattoo got off my wet things and
wrapped in my blanket, slid into the comforter with my head out under
that beautiful sky. I could see the dew settle and freeze like diamonds
and also saw half a dozen shooting stars and the moon set. After a warm
but uncomfortable night the non-sleepers woke me at 5:10 a.m. and it
was then that I found ice in my water bottle. We knocked down the tent
and rolled our packs in numbness and pitch black and then went over to
the kitchen fire for scrambled eggs, farina and coffee. While thawing
at the fire with cigarette after breakfast some goofy guy ran by with a
smoke bomb and we had to put on our masks (ever-present) once more.
While still pitch black we fell in and forded the Dry Creek again on
our way out to the section line road. This was at 7:40 a.m., and I
forgot to say that we could look across to the lights of camp five
miles to the west. There weren't so many boulders nor chaparral as last
hike. We returned the route that the first battalion had taken (we
marched up what they run down) and quicktimed for two minutes and
doubletimed, one doing the mile in six minutes (this damn near killed
me) and then we dispersed at the roadside because of air attack and had
time to look back at a really beautiful sunrise over the east ridge of
mountains surrounding this plain.Got back to camp at 10:30 a.m. and were dismissed for the day. I took a hot shower and lay down for a while. Most everyone else did too, but some drew passes and went to town, and a few went down into California to Yreka overnight. Got up for Sunday breakfast (no, hadn't been abed all that time), which only a few do, and then shaved and dressed to go in to the Gribbles'. Stopped on the Main Street bridge over Bear Creek where Mr. Gribble had told me to take my petrified wood and agates that I'd found while putting up the pontoon bridge last week (will tell you about the bridge later) and for $1.15 he agreed to saw down the large side and polish the wood (25¢ per square inch) and to saw only the agate and then if I like it will polish same for 25¢ inch. Went up to the Gribbles' and found them torn up, painting the dining and living room, and so after dinner put me into coveralls and handed me a can of paint and brush, so it turned out to be a busman's holiday, but we visited while working and I had a swell time (they are humble and warm and friendly) and then at 6:30 p.m. got out the card table in front of the grate fire and popped corn and made cocoa with raspberries grown in the yard and [their] own apples too. Then at 9:00 p.m. I left for the bus to camp. The moon this night was grand too and crisp and clear. Checked in and was in bed before 11:00 p.m. Friday we worked on a "hasty good road," but everyone was saving up energy for the hike that evening, and so I suggested they change the name to something else besides hasty and my sergeant said they couldn't call it good either when we got through with it. First hundred feet were small cleaned branches, on which was laid chicken wire and then this native gravel-filled clay. The next hundred feet was of sandbags of gravel laid brick style in two ribbons at truck tire width and the third and last hundred feet was corduroy outside, cut slabs from the sawmill in town spiked down to planks. Ditched on both sides and culverts for drainage. Thursday we sighted targets and the day before was the day we worked at the pontoon area putting up the big bridge against "D" company's time of 1 hour 33 minutes. We ran halfway across the lagoon on Little Butte Creek and then dismantled it before noon (had marched out with big heavy galoshes and now they were full of water and we were tired just from the march alone, let alone the construction of half span). Noon mess arrived of hot coffee and pork chops and then after a short rest we went to work at doubletime in gangs to beat "D" company, which we did in one hour and twenty minutes with two-minute penalty for bend in far shore sill and approach. The colonel and his staff thought it pretty good, however, and we rode home. They are closing here so I'll plow back through the snow and see you in my dreams. Good night, lover baby. Hope that this finds you well, and I love you with all my heart. Your private George L. Darrow.
Monday
evening 1/25/43
Dear Margie,Service Club #2 Camp White Your grand letter #17 arrived Saturday evening 1/23/43 posted 1/19/43 7:00 p.m. four days air mail. Have I acknowledged #16 arrived Tuesday noon 1/19/43 posted 1/14/43 7:30 p.m.? We finished four days on the rifle range this evening, but there are still about 45 guys that haven't fired yet, so I will be on the pits detail for the rest of the week. This is a four-mile hike each way with pack of shelter half, mess gear, cartridge belt and water bottle, raincoat in pack and wore galoshes for the mud, rifles, inside of tin hats made of paper, field jackets and mackinaws. About 60% of the company qualified, that is, 134 or better out of a possible 200 (40 bullets hitting the bullseye for a count of five each). I missed sharpshooter, the next higher calling, for 168 points. Mine was 160, but I've shot the range at Houston before and should do better. "E" company had two experts qualify, which is 178 or better out of possible 200. Neither "D" nor "F" companies in our battalion turned out an expert. We have a lot of Kentucky hillbillies in the outfit, and they are darn good when barefooted but can't understand why they have to make a sling to climb into while firing. I fell down on my favorite position sitting slow fire at 200-yard range (the entire meet was fired from 200 yards at 10-inch bullseyes). 14 out of possible 25 sitting slow fire 21 out of possible 25 kneeling slow fire 36 out of possible 50 standing slow fire 44 out of possible 50 standing sitting rapid 45 out of possible 50 standing to kneeling rapid [diagrams of bullseyes with notes]
Fired all day with Joe Lasek's rifle
#307931 model 1917 Enfield. This gun is not unlike the Lee-Enfield
issued to us when we were attached to the British on the Somme River.After lunch (which was brought out) of stewed chicken, corn, cauliflower, lettuce salad and bread and apple butter (chicken noodle soup was served at 10:30 a.m.), we fired our rapid fire course of two clips of five each from standing to sitting and then ten more rounds at standing to kneeling. [sketch of silhouette with hits
marked]
This silhouette is 19 inches high by 26
inches broad and is black and represents head and shoulders of man in
prone position. Five points for each and four, three and two for
surrounding lines.Antelope Range rifle #307931 zero windage, none, 200 yards range, date 1/25/43 standing to sitting 10 shots rapid fire. Hour 14:40, that is quarter of three. Light dull. Weather cloudy, no wind.
Friday morning at 9:00 after an hour and five minutes' hike we fired 10 rounds from prone position to "zero in" or get the feel of our rifles and found that mine had to be corrected to 400 yards elevation to hit. The first was a bull and [the] other 9 were fours in a good pattern nearby. Sun was bright and no wind. I find in my notes that I flinched on the last five shots. And then after dinner of pork chops (had been served tomatoes and rice soup at 11:00) we shot five from sitting slow fire four fours and one bull and five shots from kneeling three fours and two threes=39 points. This time I raised the leaf sight to 500 yards, light fair, and then at 15:30 with dull light and from standing shot 5 at will getting two fours two threes and a flag and then at 16:00 when the light got dull shot 10 rounds rapid fire from standing to kneeling (all ten including reloading of second clip are shot while targets are up for a whole minute). I got four silhouettes for 20 a four two three two twos and a flag. This was on Berglund's rifle and after the next shoot junked it. The next at 4:30 p.m. when the light was dull kept getting jams because empty cartridges wouldn't eject and so got off only five shots for a score of 17 but didn't protest it for an additional (alibi) run. 159 points for the day. On Saturday we slopped out there in two inches of wet snow and at 9 o'clock with bright sunrise in back of targets and snow background shot 5 from standing. No bullseyes and two flags for score of eleven on new rifle and then at 11:15 with bright sun shot 10 rapid fire with another rifle, getting 46 during the minute run. I raised the elevation to 300 yards and had time for the eleventh bullet. Kneeling. We then ran off 10 more rapid fire from standing to By Sunday I was getting pretty much fed up and suppose you are too but I took [omission] so you've got to. Sunday we got on the range and I fired at 9:20 with dull light and snow background five shots from sitting slow fire, one bull and two fours and two threes for 19 points, and then at 10:00 five rounds from kneeling got three bulls and two fours for 23 points and then next the battalion commander suggested the black center be pasted over. Shot five from standing for 15 and balance with pasteup taken off for 16. Seems as though I was getting worse and drew the attention of battalion commander who is real fatherly and worked hard over me. Lastly we fired 10 rounds rapid from standing to kneeling and I got three balls with total of 36 and 109 for the day out of a possible 150. That was at 14:40 and the sunset in a bright sky and we again slopped home in our damn galoshes and found that some general was to inspect our quarters on Monday so nothing to do but dust and sweep and mop again (always on Friday evening and change of linen). Taps has been an hour earlier, and I feel they will keep it up even through Sundays and holidays. Joe says it's the best army in the world, and still he doesn't like it, and that goes for me too, but I love you, dear, and I've a big day ahead of me and so until later in the week. Good night, lover baby. Your private, George L. Darrow
Thursday evening 1/28/43
Dear Margie,Service Club #2 Camp White Your letter #18 posted 1/22/43 7:30 p.m. came air mail Tuesday evening 1/26/43 close upon those that I'd acknowledged the night before. We've completed our rifle range shoot, which puts me up in the top 20s, but not so high as I should be. The final tally is in, but not announced, and I believe well over 60% of the company qualified and that "E" company is high. I worked in the pits for those who hadn't fired the first four days and today being record day we thirty (two per target) pulled targets for "F" company and they in turn for "D" while another detail from our own company scored tallies for "D" and they in turn for "F." This day we were out from behind the range officer's shanty so that instead of having to look up at the targets I could count those embedded in the far bank. [cross-section diagram of rifle range and target pits]
Cross-section
of range showing targets in stanchions where "A" target or bullseye
counterbalances "C" target. A is for slow fire and is yanked down after
each shot and [a] disc plugged over puncture and whole thing run up
again and then with [a] large disc of proper color and on long handle
spotted right over the plug to denote score and always working one
round behind and when next shot is fired then plug on small disc is
moved to new spot, old one pasted up and target run up again and
long-handled disc again points out mark to man on firing line as well
as his coach, who by this time has dotted his record book right where
riflemen called his shot. Say that I had taken up all the squeeze play
in trigger, not knowing when sear
would release pin and in the pendulum swing would name the place on
target where peep sight and rear leaf sight aligned. This is proof
against chance shooting.After a morning of slow fire we transpose our targets so that silhouette target is easiest to disc and paste up. This series is fired after dinner something like this. Each in his order goes up on the firing line in front of (although he might accidentally fire on another) his target, sits down most comfortably on sandbag or coat and then without changing for position arises and gets into sling and puts second clip of five bullets into cartridge belt, where they can be easily reached and then at the command "Load and lock pieces" load the first clip of five into magazine. And then when pits are ready up goes the red flag. Next order or question is "Ready on my right." Dwn the line coaches hold aloft their hands. "Ready on my left." You think this is hide and seek. "All those not ready holler I." Ready on the firing line is an order by the phones to the men in the pit. The flag then is waved for five seconds and then run down and then at the end of five seconds up go our targets for sixty seconds. By this time the rifleman has unlocked his safety catch and squatted but not so as to be disqualified, always keeping rifle pointed downrange and with the first glimpse of target drops into position and starts firing, all the while not neglecting correct breathing, taking up trigger play and trigger squeeze. My worst fault is taking stock from my shoulder to count bullets left in magazine. The line coach will call off the elapsed seconds and will remind us that by now we should have squeezed off five and be loading our second clip. Along about here in your mad frenzy you get a jam and if you are lucky can demand an alibi run (rerun). I work the bolt back and forth like a metronome and usually have time for another shot. Pit officer blows the 60-second whistle and we yank down the targets and plug them with 10 spotters. If he has shot wild or onto some other target along with the discs in their respective values he gets the red flag for each miss. This flag is called "Maggie's drawers" after the song "Little Old Red Drawers that Maggie Wore," but my platoon commander looks at me with a silly grin and says you got a "Margie's drawers, Darrow." He looks like an overgrown Boy Scout, but knows rifles from A to Z and although he shoots lefty with left hand over rifle to reach the bolt, gets off ten bullseyes in a minute. Eddy yanked my sleeve and said the Captain is behind watching you, and off goes the rifle for a flag and so Montana says he can do better without a coach and dismisses him after which he makes nine bulls and a four. These quotations carry their own cuss words. Turned back to the supply room our mosquito bar, bed, tents and helmet nets, but saw a lot of summer khaki clothes to be issued in exchange for olive drab woolens. Tonight is our night together and I find myself missing you more than ever. I love you so. Your private George L. Darrow
[enclosure: twig of pussy willow]
Saturday evening 1/30/43
Dear Margie,Just in case I'm out in space a Valentine now for my sweetheart forever. Your private George L. Darrow
Last revised April 25, 2025 |
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