War stories

[fbhjr]

My father was in the army in the 1940’s. He did not like it. And, the evidence indicates the Army didn’t much like him either.
Since it is Memorial Day, I thought I’d write down some of the stories my father told me about his time in the second World War.

He and his (first) wife had been at the movies in Boston when Pearl Harbor was attacked. When they came out he said there were paperboys on the corners of the street shouting “Extra! Extra! Read all about it!”
He said that for all the times he had seen that in movies and later on TV, that is the only time he ever saw it happen in real life.

He worked for the power company and was sent to a hydro electric plant on the Connecticut river. When he got there, they told him to get up on the roof and look for Japanese planes.
This plant, here in New England, is just about as far away from the Pacific Ocean as you can get and still be in the United States.
But, no one knew what was going on, or how big the attack was going to be. The idea it might go coast to coast that night in December 1941 was not as absurd as it sounds now.
Of course, my father had no weapon of any kind.
So, they gave him a pile of stones and told him to throw rocks at any Japanese planes he saw.

Despite this, my father did not sign up for the service. He was 26, married and not in any way a fighter.
He went as far as to write to his uncle, who was in charge of the US draft, and ask to have his name taken off of the list.
His uncle responded “that wouldn’t be fair.”
His cousin joined the merchant marines to avoid being drafted. He had 3 ships torpedoed out from under him by German subs in the North Atlantic, but still got through the war OK.

Finally in 1943, my father got his draft notice.
He said “I really live in Connecticut” and gave his work address down there.
A few weeks later, the draft notice showed up there and he said “I really live in Boston.”
Two weeks later, the notice came back to Boston with the note attached “show up to an induction center this week or we will come and get you”.
So, he showed up to the on in Connecticut near where he works. In Hartford Connecticut there is a big monument to everyone from there who served. My father’s name is on it even though he technically didn’t live there.

During his basic training my father had his shoulder dislocated. They were being taught how to flip a man over your shoulder and he was the test subject. He decided to make it hard from them, and the instructor just pulled harder.
My father was sent to the infirmary where after more than a month they told him they could operate on it, but it as 50/50 for making it better. He didn’t have the operation.
The folks he had started with in basic went on to be in the invasion of Anzio (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Operation_Shingle) and some of the wounded came back to the hospital while my father was still there.

To make room for what he was told were “real wounded people” they kicked him out and had him go mow lawns around the base.

He continued that for many months and his shoulder eventually healed on its own.
Then he made what he later said was the biggest mistake in his life.
He went up to his sergeant and said “My shoulder is better now, is there something I should do other than mow lawns?”

It was 1944. There were other things to do.