My Two Years On The Right Of The Line

"ON THE RIGHT OF THE LINE, 1935-1937"

Lester B. Cundiff, 6882733

PROLOGUE

This account of my two years in the Regular Army was written, I think, primarily for my own amusement, but also with a view to providing my children with a look at this phase of their father's life, if and when they become interested. I remember that it was only after it was too late that I began to wish I had asked my parents more about their early live. As I researched and wrote this memoir, however, I began to think it should accurately portray the life I and my fellow "dog-faced soldiers" lived in the Army of that era. So I sent draft copies to several of the soldiers named herein and asked for their memories and their corrections of any inaccuracies they detected, I received compliments from all on having written the account at all. I also received some excellent suggestions, especially from Bill Martyniak and Tony Ottaviano, which have been incorporated in this final (I hope) version.

My sources were my diary, my photo album, various memorabilia I saved from those years, and an imperfect memory, plus the suggestions mentioned above.

LET THE STORY BEGIN

Early in 1935, I was advised by Professor Burt, my music teacher, to join the Regular Army and apply for admission to the Army Music School. At the time, I was selling Fuller Brushes door-to-door and doing reasonably well, but I didn't like it much. By early June, I had decided to join the Army and went to the Recruiting Office in Roanoke. Sgt. Pittman told me that the way to go was to enlist for Infantry Band, Panama, the only place where there were band vacancies. (It turned out he didn't know the real situation.)

Mom and Dad reluctantly approved and I got their signatures and a reference from Dr. Lucius H. Polhill, Pastor of the Vinton Baptist Church, and went to Richmond to enlist. I was still a member of the 116th Infantry Band, Virginia National Guard, so my discharge from that obligation and my enlistment in the Regular Army occurred on the same day. In Richmond I was one of a group of about five or six enlisting that day, That night, we were put on a train to New York, with tickets to New Rochelle. Early the next morning, the train arrived in Pennsylvania Station where a sergeant met us and walked us rapidly to the shuttle to Grand Central Station. It interested me that we went under New York City but never did see the surface. At Grand Central we caught the train to New Rochelle and walked down to the dock where we took the ferry to Fort Slocum. The ferry dock was very near the Glen Island Casino, where many of the big bands played, and that excited me. The country boy was going to town.

Upon arrival at Fort Slocum, we were issued uniforms of the old World War I choke-collar type, underwear, and bed clothes. All of us were assigned to a platoon commanded by a Sgt. Garrison, who promptly began to teach us to salute and do military drill. We also were briefed on the Articles of War and heard the first of many lectures on venereal disease. We had the fourth of July off from duty and spent much of the very nice day watching the hundreds of sailboats on Long Island Sound, and in the evening, fireworks at Glen Island Casino. A few days later we were given a partial pay (about four dollars for me), loaded onto an Army boat at the Fort Slocum dock, and transported west on the Sound and down the East River to the Brooklyn Army Base. (I was impressed with how dirty the water was in the East River, with all sorts of flotsam, including condoms by the hundreds, yet there were kids swimming in the river.) Our ship was to sail for Panama the next morning, but we were allowed to leave the base on pass until 6 AM. In the early evening, my old high school classmate Chester Wright and his brother Jasper, who then lived in NYC, showed me around New York. Then several of us new soldiers went to Coney Island. I don't remember anything special that we did except that I did have my picture taken in a little automatic photo kiosk. I've long since lost track of the picture, but it showed me in the old WWI uniform.

The subway from New York City to Coney Island passed the Brooklyn Army Base, and cost five cents to ride as long as one could stand it. When my money was down to six cents, a buddy I was with and I took the subway back to the Army Base. It was probably two or three o'clock in the morning and both of us went to sleep on the train and slept long past the Army Base stop. Fortunately, we had learned that as long as you didn't exit the station, you could keep riding, so we crossed over to the other side and caught the next train back to Brooklyn. This time we were awake and got off at the right place. By missing breakfast, I managed a couple of hours sleep before time to board the transport to Panama.

Our ship was the U.S. Army Transport Chateau Thierry. We approached the ship alphabetically in single file and, upon reaching the foot of the gangplank, had our last names called out by a sergeant. Upon hearing your last name, your proper response was to call out your first name, middle initial, and serial number. For example: CUNDIFF --Lester B. 6882733. Once aboard, we were assigned bunks, and I promptly fell asleep in mine, missing lunch. I did wake up for supper, and by then we were out at sea.

It was a most enjoyable voyage. The ocean was incredibly blue, and dolphins and flying fish were an interesting sight to see. Some of our fellow soldiers became seasick, and I especially remember Stephen Bereznak (later a friend in company M) lying on the deck with his head hanging over the scupper almost all the way to Porto Rico. There was a Post Exchange on board where one could buy candy and other snacks, but I had spent all my money in New York except one cent, and the cheapest item in the PX cost a nickel. So I had no snacks, but I hung onto my penny.

When we docked at San Juan, the 65th Infantry Band was on the dock to greet the Chateau Thierry. Since the 65th Inf. was an all-Puerto Rican organization consisting of two companies and a band, they were probably not getting any replacements but they were getting supplies. A crowd of kids was swimming around the ship diving for coins that were tossed into the water by the soldiers. (I still held onto my penny.) We were in port at San Juan only 19 hours, but we were taken ashore for a walk ground the city, walking rather than marching, but always in single file. During the tour, a man approached the column selling five limes for a penny, so I parted with my last cent. The limes were sour, but I seem to remember enjoying them.

After a couple of days sailing across the Caribbean Sea, the Chateau Thierry docked at Cristobal, on the Atlantic side of the Canal Zone. All the soldiers aboard, except some prior service personnel who had enlisted for specific units elsewhere, ware unloaded at Cristobal and transported to Fort Davis, where we were divided into three groups of equal size and assigned to Companies D, H and M of the 14th U. S. Infantry. These three companies were the three machine gun companies of the regiment, and had recently been authorized to increase their strength from two platoons to three platoons per company. I was in the group assigned to Company H, even though my enlistment was for "Infantry Band, Panama", The insignia of the 14th Infantry bears the inscription: "The Right of the Line".

One of the first things that happened to us at Fort Davis was the turn in of the woolen olive drab WWI uniform and the issue of the proper uniform for Panama, which was sand tan khaki.  I was impressed by the amount of clothing issued us, and remember writing home about now having 15 suits of underwear among a whole list of other things. I'd never had so much clothing in my life. I also got my "dog tags", which were different from the embossed stteel ones with a neck chain I use during WWII, These were aluminum disks, about the size of a half dollar with my name and the initials "USA" on the front, and my serial number on the back. The two tags were tied together with a narrow cloth tape, and a similar cloth tape was used as a necklace for the tags.

We had a number of different uniforms to wear for different occasions. The formal uniform, used for guard duty, parades, and reviews, consisted of sand-tan cotton twill shirt, riding breeches, high quarter shoes, wrap leggings, black necktie tucked into the shirt under the second button, and a campaign hat (such as is now worn only by drill sergeants. Many soldiers had bought a tailor-made formal uniform for a better appearance, and topped it off with a purchased Stetson hat. Our fatigue uniform was all blue denim, including trousers, jacket, and floppy hat. Out on maneuvers and field problems, we wore a woollen shirt, riding breeches, canvas leggings, and (usually) our oldest campaign hat. For drill, range firing, etc., the uniform was usually tan cotton shirt, fatigue pants, and canvas leggings, with a campaign hat. For off-duty wear, some bought cotton twill slacks and a garrison cap. We had been issued a uniform jacket with brass buttons, but I don't remember ever wearing it except to have my picture made.

Company M was commanded by Capt. Graeme G. Parks, with Lt. Joseph K. Dickey as the only other officer, and Sgt. Thomas Petro as Acting First Sergeant. Capt. Parks decided to put all his recruits in the new third platoon, rather than distribute them throughout the company. He selected Sgt. Diago Batlazar as our platoon leader and gave "Bat" his pick of the best corporals and acting corporals to be squad leaders, We were lined up by height, with the tallest nine men going to the 9th squad, the next tallest nine to the 10th, and so on. I was tall enough to be in the 9th Squad under the tallest squad leader, PFC and Acting Corporal Joseph G. Delvecchio. The new third platoon was assigned to the third floor of the barracks, with the first and second platoons on the second floor. The cooks, buglers, and other special service personnel were also on the third floor.

Sgt. Batlazar was probably the best sergeant I ever saw in almost forty years of military service. He was very protective of his new recruits, and wouldn't let us visit on the second floor, nor would he let any of the first and second platoon members visit the third floor. In so doing, he hoped to insulate us from contact with the few "guard-house lawyers" who were in the other platoons until we learned enough to be resistant to their advice, Sgt. Batlazar also selected about 8 or 10 of us (by what criteria we never knew) for extra training on Sunday mornings. He would take this group out away from the company and teach us some things that we wouldn't ordinarily learn until much later, such as how to use the clinometer, the lensatic compass, the prismatic compass, and the range finder. Sgt. Batlazar's prime dictum was: Don't ask (or give) a favor in line of duty. It was OK to ask for or to give a loan, but not to ask the Charge of Quarters to forget you were absent from bed check. Our first five weeks were devoted to recruit training, where all of us who had come on the Chateau Thierry were marched to the baseball field, known as Nelly Field, every morning for four hours of drill, lectures (while seated in the grandstand), and physical training. This was a period which I remember as very trying, but looking back now, see as most beneficial. When I enlisted, I was 5' 9 1/4" tall and weighed 135 pounds. After five weeks of straining to get the small of my back and the back of my neck to touch (at the same time) the vertical wall of the grandstand, I was 5/ 11 1/2" tall. The rigorous activity stimulated my appetite enormously, and by the time recruit training was over I weighed 155 pounds. After the morning training, we were marched back to our companies where we had lunch and about half an hour to rest before marching back to Nelly Field for more recruit training.

Infantry close order drill was rather complicated in 1935 compared to the simple drill formations that were introduced in 1939. When we were learning to drill, a squad of eight men would form with four in the front rank and four in the rear, and would retain these relative positions in all close order drill movements. The four squads in a platoon would form on the same line, so there were 16 men in the front rank and 16 in the rear. To change to a column formation, with 4 men in each of 8 ranks, the order was "Squads Right, MARCH". At this command, the front rank of each squad would pivot on the No. 1 man in each squad, who would march in place until the No. 4 man was abreast of No. 1. Meantime, the four men in the rear rank were mowing to position itself behind the four in the front rank. Each of the eight positions in the squad required a different movement to accomplish "squads right", and each recruit had to learn all eight, since he could conceivably be in any one of the positions. Then there was "squads left", a mirror image of "squads right", but with each of the eight men having to make different movements than for "squads right". It took an awful lot of practice for some to learn even these movements. Then there were "right by squads" and "left by squads" and other movements which had to be learned.

One of the lessons we learned during recruit training was to police up the area by picking up EVERYTHING that didn't belong on the ground. Among the cigarette butts, match-sticks, and other litter was an occasional button. These I saved in a cigarette can (cigarettes also came in cans of 50 in those days) in my foot Locker. Soon I had the button to replace almost any missing one in Company M and my button can was a unit treasure. (Two years later, when I was ready to leave Panama, there was competition for my button can,)

As recruits, we took our First road march of five miles on a Saturday morning. All of us had filled our canteens and made sure we had drunk all the water are could before we got to Nelly Field that morning. Surprise! The first thing the sergeant commanded was to empty our canteens. So we marched the five miles without any water to drink. When we got back to Nelly Field and fell out, a couple of the recruits double-timed around the running track to show that they were still full of vinegar. The sergeant took this as impudence, and ordered them to run a second lap.

While we were still on recruit training, we had a day off for Regimental Day, an annual event when the history of the 14th Infantry was celebrated. It started the afternoon of August 13, when we recruits were presented to the colors, followed by a retreat parade. On August 14, the official Regimental Day, the day began with the band playing as it marched around the quadrangle at reveille. At a morning convocation in the post theater there were speeches, then the most memorable event, the presentation of a set of solid silver spearheads for-the regimental colors. They were donated by Peter B, Kyne, a celebrated novelist, who had once been a private in Company L, 14th Infantry. (I visited the Commander of the 14th in Hawaii in 1976 and asked him about those spearheads; he'd never heard of them. My guess is that they were stolen while the regimental treasures were in storage during WWII,) At noon there were special dinners in all messes. In the afternoon and evening there were showings of a free movie: Mae West in "Going to Town".

I didn't think much about getting into the band during recruit training, but upon being "turned to duty" in the company, I started to inquire. I found that the band was at full strength, and that most of the members were very accomplished musicians, many of them professionals who joined the Army because the depression had them out of work. So it became obvious that I would not play the trumpet for Uncle Sam. However, Joseph Simpson, one of the buglers in Company M was due to return to the States soon, and I was appointed to replace him.

While we were on recruit training, changes were occurring in Company M, Captain Parks was promoted to Major and was replaced as Company Commander by Captain Jefferson B. Willis. First Sergeant William M. Goodwin arrived from another assignment and Sergeant Petro was returned to his former position as Platoon Leader. Captain Willis was a veteran of WWI whose record showed him to have risen from private to lieutenant during the war. His promotion to captain had taken the better part of 17 years, but that was par for the course in those days. Our other officer was 1st Lt. Joseph K. Dickey, who had been commissioned from ROTC.

The regimental crest, or insignia, was a red, gold, and blue enamel badge with a representation of the great wall of China and a gold dragon (for service during the Boxer Rebellion), and the words "The Right of the Line" (to remind us of the words of General Meade during the Civil War "Take the right of the line. The Fourteenth has always been to the front in battle and deserves the honor"). As recruits, we were not permitted to wear this insignia, but upon graduation from recruit training we proudly wore it. The crest was not an icon, however, and was irreverently referred to as an "iguana", the name of the large lizard so common in Panama.

Immediately after recruit training was over, and before I became a bugler, I did duty with the 9th Squad. The first such duty I remember occurred on a practice road march. The trained mule leaders packed out the mules, of which each squad had two, and led them for the first hour of march. At the first break, we recruits were given some instructions on how to lead the mules, then we took over as mule leaders. I drew the mule "Butch" who I later found was renowned as the most ornery mule in the regiment. All went well for the next two hours, and we arrived at our lunch stop. The Stable Sergeant, Sgt. Arthur J. Schwoyer, put up a picket line of very heavy rope between two large trees, and we were taught how to tie a mule to the picket line. Then we had lunch.

The mule leading instructions we had received earlier were basically these: 1. Hold the lead rope with the right hand just under the mule's chin and hold the remaining coil of rope in the left hand, and 2, DON'T LET GO THAT ROPE. After the lunch, the First Sergeant gave little talk about how the mule was more important than the individual soldier, since the unit was more dependent on its supplies than on any one soldier. Then we were told to untie our mules from the picket line to lead them to water. I was among the first to untie my mule and was holding Butch properly while waiting for the group to be ready to go. Suddenly and without warning, Butch took off and I lost my right hand grip under his chin. But I did hold onto the long end of the rope and Hutch's back feet caught me in the stomach, knocking the wind out of me and removing me altogether from the rope. As I lay there in the ditch trying to get my breath, almost the whole company took off to catch Butch. Only after he was back under control did anyone wonder if I was OK. The First Sergeant's words had been underscored.

Another experience that remains clear in my mind after many years occurred during my first tour of interior guard, and before I became a bugler. I was assigned to Post No. 5, which patrolled the Atlantic Sector Motor Pool, located about 3/4 mile from the guardhouse. Post No. 5 was a "night only" post, manned from 6 PM to 6 AM, I was assigned to the third relief, so my hours on post were from 10 PM to midnight and from 4 to 6 AM. About 11 PM, I was walking my post in the dark when a slight noise ahead attracted my attention. In the very dim light, I saw a man standing very still, with one foot a stride ahead of the other, as if he had heard me coming and stopped in his tracks, I was as scared as ever in my life. With heart in throat, I loosened the .45 cal Colt automatic in my holster, and advanced slowly and fearfully to get a better look. The man didn't move and when I got close enough, I saw that "he" was a little Royal palm seedling about six feet tall, with one frond broken down to look like the advancing leg I thought I saw. I began to breathe again.

I had never liked coffee much, but the cooks always sent a big container of coffee and plenty of sweet rolls to the guardhouse about 9 or 10 PM when the company was on guard. It tasted so good that I've liked coffee ever since.

My second tour on Post No. 5 that same night was from 4 to 6 AM, after which the "night only" post would be abandoned. In recruit training we had learned the General Orders for guard duty, one of which was "To quit my post only when properly relieved". At 6 AM, I saw the corporal of the guard about a quarter mile away, motioning me to come on in. I didn't think that was proper relief and was afraid if I did go to meet him, I'd be letting myself in for big trouble. So I waited for him to come up to me and tell me I was relieved. He didn't like having to walk all that distance, but the "chewing out" was mild.

It surprised me to learn that there was a good deal to be memorized in the Army. While still on recruit training we had to memorize the General Orders (for guard duty). The first one "To take charge of this post and all government property in view." sticks with an old soldier all his life. After being "turned to duty" we had to memorize some much longer pieces of information, such as the twelve Phases of Mechanical Functioning of the machine gun; "The trigger being pivoted, a pull on the rear end lowers the front end. The trigger cams engage the sear cams and force down the sear, releasing the firing pin." And so on. Next came the three steps of Immediate Action (to be taken when the gun failed to fire). "Pull the bolt handle to the rear and release it." Each squad leader would have his squad sitting around his squad's gun on the walk in front of the barracks (on stools from the mess hall) and call on the privates in turn to recite one or more paragraphs of Mechanical Functioning or Immediate Action, demonstrating on the equipment. This training became quite boring, but it forced us to learn how the gun worked and what to do when it didn't.

When I became one of the two company buglers (the other was Jesse M. Crawford), my morning duty became bugle practice under the command of "Panama Pete" Argyros. We practiced in a shed at the edge of a field near the main post gate and on the other side of the road from the band barracks. The bugle shack had only a roof and benches on three sides. We were far enough from any other unit's working area that we didn't disturb them. Learning the bugle calls was easy for me, since I'd played the trumpet for about five years. Playing them at the right time was another matter. On my first tour as bugler of the guard, I consulted the list of calls and at the appointed time played "Adjutant's Call", standing at the large fixed megaphone just outside regimental headquarters. As I finished, I heard an officer calling me from the second floor window of headquarters. "Bugler, Come here." I hurried up the stairs and reported to Capt. Thomas F. Bresnahan, the regimental adjutant. He informed me that Adjutant's Call was played only for Formal guard mount.

Payday occurred once a month and was a half holiday. In the morning we prepared for the arrival ~f the paymaster, who, accompanied by his armed guard, would bring his bags of money to one company at a time until he got around. A table covered by an army blanket was his pay table. As the First Sergeant called each name, in rank order, the named soldier would salute the paymaster, who would then count out his pay. A private got $21 per month, less 25 cents mandatory donation to the Old Soldiers' Home in Washington, less also any indebtedness he may have occurred by drawing canteen checks or movie tickets earlier in the month. A private first class got $30, a corporal got $42, and a sergeant got $56 (if I remember correctly). Pay was often in silver dollars or silver Balboas (Panamanian money), which had equal value.

It was difficult to make a private's pay last all month so, on payday, we'd stand in line at the PX to buy a month's supply of soap, toothpaste, shoe polish, cigarettes, and a large bottle of Menticol (a red colored alcohol-water-mentho1 mixture that was helpful in preventing ringworm and Athlete's foot).

On Saturday, October 12, 1935, we were inspected by Major General Lytle Brown, Commander of the Panama Canal Department. The night before, we had scrubbed the barracks floor with oxalic acid to bleach it almost white. On Saturday morning, we made our beds ever so carefully and each man laid out his full field equipment on his bed according to a diagram that was permanently posted on the bulletin board. Each of us stood by his bed as the general and his entourage passed through, coming to attention as the general approached. We had been warned that the general would probably ask each of us a question or two, and had been instructed to SPEAK UP. When the general asked me where I was from, and if I knew John Randolph of Roanoke, I spoke up. One of the general's aides was passing Frank Klassen's bunk as I answered and was heard to say to another, "That kid'll deafen the general,"

Only four days after General Brown's inspection, President Franklin D. Roosevelt transited the canal on the USS Houston, and the whole Atlantic Sector Command turned out at Gatun to see him and be seen by him. I was with the regimental bugle corps at the rear of the regimental band, but I suppose I got a pretty good look at the president, since I noted in my diary that "he is robust and healthy looking", My friends Tony Ottaviano and Bill Martyniak have a different memory of the event. Both were mule leaders with the company and when the 21-gun salute was fired, the mules got nervous and tried to take off in all directions. Bill remembers that he was leading "Jiggs" and that it was a mess for awhile. Those mules were used to small arms fire, but artillery was probably new to them.

The Commanding Officer of the 14th was Colonel Campbell B. Hedges, a very distinguished officer who left in the fall of 1935 on temporary assignment as a member of the Secretary of War's commission to the Philippines. The Executive Officer, Lieutenant Colonel Charles S. Buck, was in command until Colonel Hodges returned in January 1936. These two officers could hardly have been more different in appearance. Colonel Hedges was very handsome, of medium height, quite trim, and always impeccably dressed. Colonel Buck was a rather portly, plain, grandfatherly type, who always had a pipe in his mouth and a riding crop (or swagger stick) in his hand. It was a pleasure to salute him and watch his leisurely return; he would take the pipe from his mouth with his left hand, shift the crop from right to left hand, then return the salute, Lock Guard at Gatun locks was a duty done by whole companies of the 14th Infantry at that time, and.Company M took its turn November 1-14, 1935, We were housed in pyramidal squad tents near the locks. Some of the company remained at Fort Davis to care for the mules and equipment, but the officers and most of the non-coms and privates were at the locks, Besides blowing the bugle calls at the proper time, the duty of the buglers while in the field was to be orderlies for the officers, (The commonly used term was "dog-robber".) About the only duty of this kind while on lock guard was to shine the officers' boots, Sam Browne belt, and sabre. At the end of the tour, we got a tip (about a dollar, I think).

November, 1935, was a very rainy month at Gatun and Fort Davis, with 50 inches for the month. I remember comparing it with the annual rainfall of 30 inches or so in Roanoke. With rain come mosquitoes, and there was always danger of contracting malaria, but we had protection. First, all the buildings were fully screened. When on guard duty, we wore mosquito head nets much like beekeepers' veils. Third, we had "mosquito bars" to protect us while out in the field. The mosquito bar was a fabric net with various reinforcing tapes which could be used to completely line a pup tent, If in a pyramidal tent, T-bars would be used at the head-and foot of the bed to support the mosquito bar, which was then tucked under the mattress to make a mosquito-proof enclosure.

The 14th Infantry celebrated three big holidays every year. In August, there was Regimental Day, in November, Thanksgiving, and Christmas was the third. On these days there was always a big dinner, usually with beer as a beverage, and a cigar by every plate. We wore full uniform. At the Thanksgiving Dinner in 1935, our company officers, Capt. Willis and Lt. Dickey, and their families were invited, as well as our former commander, Maj. Parks, and his family.

On the third floor of M Company barracks, at one end of the squad room, was a small tailor shop, run by and for the company. Since buglers had more free time than other soldiers, Jesse Crawford was the company tailor when I got to Panama. When he left, I got the job. Only khaki uniforms were handled and they were washed in the latrine on a wooden board over a laundry tub, with a scrub brush. They were dried on coat hangers wrapped with toilet tissue to avoid rust stains. If I remember, it cost 10 cents for a shirt to be washed, starched, and pressed, and the same for a pair of trousers. I didn't get rich, but I made a few extra bucks.

I was sitting in a chair in the tailor shop talking with other barracks mates on the evening of November 29, 1935, The lights had been turned out in the squad room at "Call to Quarters" at 9 PM, but would be on in the tailor shop until "Taps" at 11 PM. At 10:23 PM, I felt my chair shaking. My first thought was that someone behind me was shaking the chair, but I quickly realized, as did all of us, that the whole room was shaking. We knew what to do, and evacuated the building promptly, gathering on the edge of the parade ground in front of the barracks. The quake lasted 8 seconds and did no damage on post. The next day we learned that the epicenter was near Gatun, only a few miles away. I don't have a record of how strong the quake was, but I think it was somewhere around 5 or 6 on the Richter scale.

In 1935 there were only two ways to get from the Atlantic side of the Isthmus to the Pacific side: train or ship. Ships were impractical because of cost, but the train sometimes ran excursions from one coast to the other at quite low rates. One such excursion took many of us to Balboa to see the Panama Canal Department Championship boxing matches on December 21, 1935. .It was the first trip across for most of the 3d Platoon, including Frank Klassen, Joseph Platukis, Charles Scoville, and me. My dearest memory of the trip was the sight of thousands of dead trees still standing in Gatun Lake about 22 years after the lake was filled.

Sgt. Batlazar elected not to make the trip to Balboa, but went hunting instead. That night, hunting alone in the jungle, he shot a black panther, which turned out to be a mother with kitten. Bat brought the kitten back to the post and fed it with an eye dropper. It lived and grew up and eventually became the pet of Sgt. John Trangaris. Over a year later, when I was NCO in Charge of Quarters one weekend, I was making my midnight bed check, and entered a sergeant's room not knowing whose, One bed was empty, and as I leaned over and flashed my light to read the bed tag, the now-grown panther snarled at me. Trangaris had tied it to the foot of his bed while he went to town. My flashlight was only inches from the panther when I saw him, but I quickly put plenty of space between me and "Bat's Cat"

The main post at Fort Davis was trapezoidal in shape, with the second battalion building parallel to the headquarters building. The first battalion building and the third battalion building occupied the other two sides of the trapezoid, with both buildings angled away from the headquarters building, Regimental headquarters occupied most or all of the second floor of the headquarters building with troop service functions on the ground floor, These functions included a library, a chapel, a post exchange, the post office, a small restaurant and beer parlor, and an infirmary. The three battalion buildings were identical and each was divided by internal walls into four separate company spaces, The quadrangle on which all three faced had a wide paved sidewalk on which the companies assembled. Across the sidewalk from the buildings was a row of mango trees which yielded fruit in its season, and which I learned to like.

The battalion buildings had wide roof overhangs, and the whole front was screened, not glassed in. On the ground floor were the orderly room, the mess hall, the supply room, and the day room. Behind the mess halt, the building projected back about 25 feet, providing space for the kitchen. The second and third floors each had a large squad room, with two small rooms at each end for the sergeants (and cooks, whose early rising schedule would have disrupted sleep in the squad room). Above the kitchen was a latrine on each floor, including a large shower room. When the Chateau Thierry arrived with our group of recruits, we had only cold water for showers, but civilian workmen were soon in the process of installing hot water heaters, and showering became more comfortable.

I didn't go to the Post Protestant service every Sunday, but I did go enough to get to know the chaplain, Ivan G, Martin, a Presbyterian. He was a very nice, friendly, soft-spoken person, but he didn't get to preach to a large congregation. The Post Chapel, if crowded, wouldn't hold more than about 50, and it was rarely half full. On at least one occasion, Company M was the sponsor of the Sunday service and I believe all the Protestants were required to go. It was probably crowded that day. A recent contact with the historian of the Chaplain School revealed that Chaplain Martin did not become Chief of Chaplains as I had thought.

Relations between the soldiers and the Panamanian civilians were normally quite peaceful, but we usually were prohibited from going to town during Carnival (Mardi Gras) and at election time. Booze at the carnival and political tempers at election time made our presence among the Panamanians undesirable at those times. On February 25, 1936, however, the 14th Infantry Band and its Bugle Corps were invited to march in the parade at Colon Carnival, so a few of us did get a glimpse, however brief, of the carnival.

Late in 1935 or very early in 1936, a recruit arrived who was to have quite an effect on athletics in Company Mi in the 3d battalion, and indeed in the 14th Infantry. His name was Paul F. Herman, and he was a superb natural athlete. I got to know him early on, since he and I both frequented the post swimming pool every time we could. I cannot remember all of Paul's athletic accomplishments, but I remember that he excelled in swimming, diving, baseball, track events, and even in horseshoes. Company M was probably the most dominant company in regimental athletics in 1936, Credit must be given to Capt. Willis and 1st Sgt. Goodwin, who promoted athletics, and to other fine athletes such as Floyd Jennings, Lloyd Oliver, Joseph Cammissa, Joseph Pritchard, Bill Martyniak, and others whose names I failed to record but Paul Nerman must be recognized as the outstanding individual athlete.

I don't remember exactly when the dry season was in Panama, but I do know that it included February, March, and April. Dry season was maneuver time. In February, a number of road marches would be scheduled in ever increasing distances, to get us all in shape for the coming maneuvers. Some were without our mules, but most included the mules, and as the season progressed, some became overnight marches. Early in March, all troops in the Atlantic Sector would participate in maneuvers that would last about a week.

The big deal was Department Maneuvers which in 193~, started March 15. All the line troops of the entire Panama Canal Department went by train to the Pacific side where the maneuver assembled. This time the accommodations weren't the same as the coaches we took to the boxing matches at Balboa, but were banana cars. The 14th camped a day or two at Fort Clayton. I remember that my tent was in an area where mules or horses had run during wet season. Now the ground was dry and brick hard, and retained every hoofprint. I didn't enjoy sleeping on that ground. Before the maneuver began, I made connection with Earl Galford, of Covington, VA., who was one of the brand-new soldiers on the night train ride from Richmond to Fort Slocum. Earl and I went into a coconut grove at Corozal where Earl showed me how to cut a coconut with a machete and drink the milk.

I knew very little of what was going on in the maneuvers, except that we marched and marched. As the company's senior bugler, I marched near the head of the colunn, The other bugler, Victor J. Poulin, marched at the rear. Our duty was to sound a call whenever we were attacked by "hostile" aircraft, then join everyone else in scattering to the side of the road. The officers rode horses, and had to dismount when we were attacked. On maneuvers, as on lock guard, I was a "dog robber" for the officers of the company, serving them their meals on a folding camp table in the shade, if available. Besides Capt, Willis, we had 1st Lt. Paul A. Mayo, who had been assigned to the company shortly before Christmas 1935, and Lt. Lynch, an attached Medical Corps Reserve officer. Lt. Dickey was away from the company, attached to the post Quartermaster Detachment.

If I scarcely knew what was going on, the Post Exchange beer truck drivers knew everything. We never moved into a bivouac area without the beer trucks arriving within a few minutes. I'd never learned to like beer, even when we had it with our holiday meals. But when we pulled into a bivouac area toward noon one day, after marching all night and all morning on one canteen of water, Capt. Willis bought a keg of beer for the company. I was so thirsty I drank a couple of canteen cups full and sat down with a third to eat my lunch. That beer was delicious. When I finished eating, I was so woozy I could scarcely get up on my feet.

On road marches, we marched 50 minutes, covering 2 1/2 miles, then had a ten minute break. Most of us could get nine minutes sleep in each break, lying on the side of the road with the old campaign hat for a pillow. We had full field packs, which included shelter half and blanket, but we more often marched with light packs, while the bedding roll was carried on a wagon to the next bivouac area.

A "shelter half" was half of a pup tent. It consisted of lightweight waterproof (more or less) canvas. Two soldiers buttoned their shelter halves together to form the tent. Each soldier also had one tent pole, one rope, and five tent pegs, so together they had enough gear to pitch the tent. The shelter halves of those days had triangular flaps on only one end, so the front of the tent was open. By WWII, both ends had triangular flaps, so both ends of the tent could be closed.

By March 22, we had reached a place called La Venta where we set up a model camp (tents all in line by companies). We also had a day off to bathe in the fresh water of the Rio Chico and to swim in the ocean at Santa Clara beach. There was a small resort hotel at Santa Clara but we didn't see anyone at the beach except other soldiers. (Santa Clara beach is near where the huge airbase at Rio Hate was built during World War II.)

During the second week of maneuvers, we were transported by truck on some occasions, and enjoyed the relief from marching. We arrived at Fort Amador on or about March 31, and again pitched a model camp, (A model camp was one in which all the tents were perfectly aligned.) Fort Amador was home to a Coast Artillery regiment, and was an interesting place. A long breakwater stretched far out into the Pacific to four interconnected islands referred to as "the fortified islands". Amador Beach was a small strip of sand at the end of a bay, and was protected by a shark net. Monetheless, there was a sign: "WARNING: Bathers use beach at their own risk, including danger from sharks". Many of us took the risk and enjoyed the swimming.

On April 2, there was a Department review at Albrook Field. On the reviewing stand were the Assistant Secretary of War, Harry L. Woodring, other U. S. civilian dignitaries, and officials of the Republic of Panama. At this review, Company M was presented with the Department Commander's Trophy for the best machine gun company, for the second consecutive year. This review officially concluded the maneuvers and we returned to Fort Davis in our banana cars.

Occasionally, the Bugler-of-the-Guard would be instructed to sound the "Call to Arms". This might be at any time of day or night, and was always without warning. At the call to arms, all troops prepared to go into the field as against an enemy. Mule leaders would pack out their mules, the company headquarters muleskinners would bring up the company wagon for the cooks to load their field kitchen equipment, and all soldiers would don field uniforms with full field packs and sidearms. Then we'd assemble ready to move out. Someone was always timing this exercise, and usually when the whole regiment was ready, the move would be called off. There was always grousing about this, but my attitude was that I was glad it was over.

Company M seemed to have more things available for recreation than the other companies. Of course, the post swimming pool, theater, tennis courts, and golf course (such as it was) were available to the whole regiment, but they were nearer our barracks than to any other unit. Company M also had horses and mules which were available for riding on days when they weren't being used for duty. We also had a boathouse and two outboard motor boats, and a cabin at a rest camp down at the mouth of the Chagres River. All companies, of course, had access to the Post Library, to the Panama Canal Company clubhouse at Gatun (for bowling), and the Cristobal YMCA, where they had a swimming pool available nights as well as days. The Y also sponsored other activities such as a glee club, which I joined, and classes in various subjects, such as Spanish. My major regret about Panama is that didn't take those Spanish classes seriously and only learned a few words.

One of the outstanding special events of my tour in Panama was a weekend yacht trip to the San Bias Islands, an archipelago about 100 miles east of Colon, on May 3, 1936. The official name of these islands is the Archipelago de las Mulatas, and the inhabitants were commonly called San Bias Indians. Many of the islands were small and unoccupied, some as small as the familiar cartoon island with a single coconut tree. Several, such as Porvenir and Nargana, were large enough for villages. The people lived in thatch houses, some without one or more walls, and broiled their fish over an open fire. They were friendly, tolerating our invasion of their privacy with good humor, even loaning us their babies to hold for pictures.

The San Bias men wore rather nondescript clothing, and most of the children wore nothing at all, but the women wore very dressy clothes all of a similar type. The skirt was a wrap-around type of blue with white print figures. The blouse was usually handmade of two or more layers with figures cut out of successive layers so as to get a multi-colored figure. They wore numerous strings of beads, sometimes of shells, sometimes nuts, and sometimes silver coins. They invariably had a gold ring in the nose, usually about 3/4" diameter. They covered their heads with a blue and white cotton "shawl" that looked like two oversized bandanas sewn together. The women objected to being photographed, and would defend against the candid shot by yanking the headdress over their faces. (One could buy the privilege of photographing them, however.)

We sailed from Colon on this trip on a boat named "Deborah" about midnight on May 2, and arrived at Porvenir about sunrise on the 3d. The water was somewhat rough and the beer consumed before departure was potent, so a number of us were seasick going out. We toured the islands all day (our longest stop was at Nargana), then sailed back to Colon. Very little seasickness on the return. There was very little (if anything) in the way of souvenirs to be had, but I did take some snapshots.

On post the movies were our best entertainment for the evenings. There was a different movie almost every evening, and a ticket cost 15 cents. If you were short of money, you could be issued a book of ten tickets for $1,50, payable on payday, The theater was a large gym with a screen at one end, bleachers along the sides, and folding chairs on the main floor. Several sows of chairs about the middle of the theater were reserved for officers and their families, but the rest of the theater was open to all, first come, first seated. The walls were of insect screening, and there was usually a good air supply. Smoking was allowed, and even encouraged, to minimize mosquitoes. Frank Klassen and I often went to the movies together, stopping at the refreshment stand on the way in to buy a cherry Coke and a cigar, We saw some great movies, including "Mutiny on the Bounty", with Clark Gable and Charles Laughton, as well as a lot of "B" movies. Going back to the theater ticket books that could be bought on credit--our mess sergeant, Bill Bagby, was willing to pay $1.00 for a whole book, if one really was hard up for cash. Then if anyone wanted to see a movie, Bagby would sell a ticket, on credit or for cash, for 15 cents. Sergeants had ways of making extra money.

One of the ways some sergeants made extra money was to run a crap game on payday. The sergeant would supply the dice and the blanket to cover the table and then take a cut of each pot. Another way was "Six for Five". The sergeant would loan anyone $5.00 to be repaid $6.00 on payday, which would likely be only a couple of weeks away. Both these practices were frowned upon, if not illegal, but the sergeants had sufficient rank that no one reported them by name. OOccasionally, the First Sergeant would learn that it was going on and order it stopped, so the operators would cool it for awhile.

The 14th Infantry did a great deal of parading so the band and bugle corps got plenty of action. There were frequent formal guard mounts and battalion parades, we had an occasional regimental review at Fort Davis, and the regiment marched in the Fanama Canal Department review mentioned earlier and in other reviews, such as the Atlantic Sector review at France Field on June 27, 1936. In this review, the regiment marched by battalions, except that the three machine gun companies marched as a machine gun battalion, and not with their own battalion.

I presume that this was done so that each battalion would be uniform in appearance, since the machine gunners had no rifles, but wore .45 Colt pistols as sidearms. There were no mules in this parade, although the mules did participate in some smaller parades, sometimes with comical results when "Butch" or another ornery one would bolt.

In a small building near the swimming pool there was a Photo Shop, operated by a civilian named Brazeal, and by October, 1935, I had bought a Kodak 620 folding camera and took a lot of pictures while in Panama. I also bought many prints of pictures taken by Brazeal, who had much better opportunities to photograph important events. I bought an album from Floyd A, VanDemark, a barracks mate who had found a source far ordering them, and spent a good deal of time mounting all these pictures. It is this album and the notes made on the backs of the prints, that are refreshing my memory as I write this memoir. One of my third platoon friends, Berman W, Mills, became our company saddler and harness maker; he also made a leather carrying case for my camera, so that it was easy to take on maneuvers and recreational outings.

Sometime early in 1936, Jesse Crawford, the senior bugler of Company M, returned to the states at the end of his enlistment, leaving his PFC slot open (for me, I thought). The first sergeant and company commander had other privates who deserved the rank, however, and I was passed over for PFC but given the rank of private specialist 6th class, which paid $24 a month. I was very disappointed, and remember spending an afternoon alone down at the bugle shack, practicing on my trumpet and nursing my wounded pride. Later on, in July, some new ranks were authorized, and I was made PFC on August I, just in time for Regimental Day on the 14th, but too late for my new rank to show on the souvenir roster. I also retained my 6th class specialist rating for another 45 days, so my salary was $33 per month for awhile.

About that trumpet: someone had sold me a very serviceable brass trumpet for $5,00, and I enjoyed practicing on it. The only problems were that it required very frequent polishing and that I had to go to the bugle shack to practice. When I left Panama, I sold it to someone else for $5.00.

Company M had a boathouse, the only company to have one as far as I know. It was on the sea level part of the canal, but away from the channel used by seagoing ships. To reach it was a long walk down the road passing the guardhouse. Captain Willis owned an inboard motor boat, and the company owned first one, then a second, outboard motor boat, the first one named "Doughboy". Additionally, several members owned kayaks or other craft. John H. Martin, Homer A. Bennington, and I pooled our resources and bought a cayuco for $15.00. A cayuco is a dugout canoe made from a single log. Ours had a socket for a mast and a makeshift sail. It had no keel and no rudder, so we steered it with paddles. We would take it a long way out in Limon Bay, where waves from passing ships would sometimes swamp it. It was so massive, however, that it would still float even full of water and three passengers. We'd then paddle to shallow water where one of us would lift out the mast and sail and the other two would dump most of the water out and bail out the rest. Somewhat later I read an article saying that some of the largest sharks in the world had been caught in Limon Bay.

Meal time was my favorite time of day, When training was stressful, I could tell myself that it was only a couple of hours until lunch. The bugler would sound Mess Call, with its cynical words:

Soup-ee, soup-ee, without a single bean,
Meat-ee, meat-ee, without a streak of lean,
Soup-ee, soup-ee, without a single bean

but the words didn't fit our mess. Our mess sergeant at first was Sergeant William H. Bagby, and we had good meals, even though some soldiers alleged that Bagby spent too much of our ration allowance for vanilla extract, which he was said to like for its high alcohol content. When Bagby left the company, Diago Batlazar took over the mess, and the food got even better. After Batlazar left, Victor M. Pirowski took over and maintained Batlazar's high standards.

At meals we sat on stools at a table for ten, with a non-com at the head of each table. The tables were highly polished bare wood, which wiped clean easily. Service was family style, with the initial dishes of food placed on the table by designated table waiters. When a soldier took all but one serving from a dish, it was his duty to take the dish to the kitchen for refill. On my very first such mission, someone bumped me and I dropped the dish, breaking it. Sergeant Bagby immediately handed me a paper to sign authorizing the cost of the dish to be deducted from my next pay. I protested that it wasn't my fault, but Bagby didn't really care for my excuse and amiably made me go ahead and sign.

In the field we ate from mess kits, and the menu at lunchtime was usually corned beef, pork and beans, and cold canned tomatoes. Even that tasted good, especially the tomatoes, a good source of the extra water we usually needed. At the supper meal, we often had something special: even chicken at one meal I remember.

Soldiers throughout most of the Army had to take a turn at KP (kitchen police), which involved cleaning the pots and pans, hauling the garbage, peeling potatoes, and anything else the cooks needed to get done besides the actual cooking. At Fort Davis, and probably throughout Panama, we were spared that task. Each company hired three or four San Bias Indian men to do KP. Each soldier had to pay 40 cents every month to pay these KPs. They lived in the barracks, bunking at the end of the front hallway on one of the upper floors, and got their meals free. There was a lot of turnover among them, as they'd get lonesome for their islands and go home for a few weeks.

Col. Hedges left the 14th on August 14, 1936, for some other assignment. If my memory is correct, he later retired as a Major General and became president of Louisiana State University. He was replaced on September 9 by Col. John L. Jenkins, whom I don't remember very well.

Some soldiers didn't like to write letters, and occasionally someone's mother would write and complain to the company commander about it. We'd then get a lecture about writing home, and the offending soldier would be ordered to do so. That wasn't a problem for me. I liked to write letters, and almost always wrote to Mom every Sunday, as well as to many other friends, including just about every girl I'd ever dated as well as many I hadn't. It paid off for me with much incoming mail and I loved to hear the bugler sound "Mail Call", with its taunting message:

I got a letter, I got a letter,
You just got a postal card.

Besides writing letters, I did a great deal of reading. I read everything that interested me in the little Post Library, then got a card to borrow books from the Panama Canal Library in Cristobal. I read all the books on music from that library, as well as many other interesting books. (Years later, in college, all that reading and writing stood me in good stead, especially in English classes.)

"Jawbone Mary" was a Panamanian woman who visited the post regularly and walked around the quadrangle selling bananas, candies, pralines, and other goodies to the troops. She also sold in the stable area, and her homemade products were very popular. She got her nickname because she'd sell on credit (jawbone) if the soldier had no money at the moment.

By September, 1936, it began to look like I might amount to something as a soldier. First, Panama Pete Argyros made me his bugler trainer, and told me he'd make me his second-in-command when "Ruby" Bloom left. Then, only a few days later, Sergeant Columbus R. Scott, third platoon sergeant, told me he'd give me a chance to make corporal if I'd get relieved from bugling. Panama Pete (the only corporal bugler in the regiment) had been in the 14th forever, and it looked like he'd be there forever more, so I took Sgt. Scott's offer, and was made acting corporal and leader of the 9th Squad on October 1. 1936. My "Number One" (gunner and assistant squad leader) was Paul F. Herman. Some new corporal vacancies had occurred, and the First Sergeant put eight of us through some tests to see how well we could drill a squad. I was the last to be tested, and the fact that I'd been able to watch one or two of the others was probably what helped me make the fourth best score. So, on October 12, 1936, I was promoted to corporal. If my memory is correct, my friend Antonio F. Ottaviano was promoted to corporal the very next day. Toward the end of my tour in Panama, I was the ranking corporal in the third platoon, which distinction didn't mean much to me until a prior service soldier, much older than I, got obstreperous in the squad room. Sergeant Scott heard the commotion. Did he call in the offending soldier? No. He called for Corporal Cundiff and ordered me to do my duty and quell the disturbance. I don't remember how I did it, but I suppose I did or Sergeant Scott would have had me reduced to private.

It was difficult for the soldier in Panama to meet girls. The parents of the young girls were wary of having their daughters get interested in soldiers. Even the officers and married non-coms apparently discouraged interest in soldiers. In later years, when the sailors in "South Pacific" sang "What ain't we got? We ain't got dames", the sentiment sounded familiar. But there was an exception; the dime-a-dance girls at the cabarets in Colon were easy to meet. The cost of an introduction was modest--ten cents; At about the time I became a corporal, I danced with a very pretty girl at the Moulin Rouge girls several times, She said her name was Helena del CastilLero and that she was from Cuba. She spoke very little English and I very little Spanish, so our communication was somewhat tentative. I made a date with her to take her swimming on a Sunday, but she stood me up. Even the dine-a-dance girls weren't much interested in soldiers, except for their dimes.

As mentioned earlier, the machine gun companies each had a stable and mules and horses. The horses especially were a recreational asset since we could take them for rides on any day they weren't needed for duty, Frank Klassen and I did a lot of riding, and my album also shows pictures of Herman W. Mills, Joseph Lutz, Harold B. Caricari, and Bartley E. Hale out riding. The stables were kept clean and smelled only of hay and grain. I liked the fragrance.

My home town of Vinton was small (1930 census: 3,610) but it was well represented in the Army in Panama. There were four of us in the 14th Infantry: Robert Franklin (E Co,), Harold T, Clark (E), Otto Bradley (L), and myself. Also on the Atlantic side, in the Coast Artillery, was Carl Booth. At Fort Clayton on the Pacific side were Augustus Hill Edmonds, Jr. in the 33d Infantry and Richard Simmons in the 2d Field Artillery. I saw all of them in Panama at one time or another, and saw Gus Edmonds three or four times. Vinton also had several sailors, and I saw my high school classmate Charles Whitmire when the USS Henderson docked at Cristobal.

While I was in Panama, my mother took a job selling corsets from door to door. She and a couple of other ladies would go with the Sales Manager to a nearby town and sell all day. One of the towns they visited was Blacksburg, VA, the home of Virginia Polytechnic Institute, a military college. One day Mom saw the cadets marching to lunch and wished so much that I had been with them that she sat down on the curb and cried. She wrote me about that, and it impressed me. So, in October, 1936, I wrote to VPI for their catalog and started corresponding with them about possibly enrolling in the fall of 1937. Their answers were encouraging about enrolling, but discouraging about 1937, since I had told them I'd have about $250 saved by then. They suggested I work a year or two to get my bank account up to about $1000 before enrolling.

About the middle of 1936, Corporal Royal P. Budd transferred into Company M and became our new company clerk, with rank of Sergean. I scarcely got to know him before I was made corporal, but then I began to do duty as NCO in Charge of Quarters. That duty put me in the Orderly Room in the evenings, and sometimes Sgt. Budd would be working there, so we talked. He told me he was planning to go to college in the fall of 1937, but I don't think he had selected the school yet. Anyway, I loaned him my VPI catalog and he wrote for one. In the end, he did go to VPI, graduating in 1941.

In late November and early December, 193B we were on the range everyday. We finished the series on December and by then had cooked up plans to hold a big beer party that night at the far end of the landing field. So we ate and drank beer most of the night. About mid-evening, our new company officer, 2d Lt. J. D. Wilmeth, showed up for a little while, He told us that he'd gotten married that evening and was playing hooky from the reception to have a beer with us. I never did quite believe that, but the story made him a hero with us. Speaking of beer, soldiers in Panama drank a lot of it. The favorite was Atlas beer, brewed in Panama, and priced at 25 cents a quart. Even a private could afford a lot of beer.

Just before Christmas, I had the top fatigue (work) detail of my Army service. I was NCO in charge of four or five men assigned to go to the old Radio School on the road to Gatun and report to a certain officer. When we got there the officer told us to burn down the old, delapidated, termite-ridden building. So we took our axes, cut up enough kindling to get the fire started, and did burn it to the ground. I've always wished I'd had my camera with me that day, because it isn't everyone who can boast that he's legally burned down a schoolhouse.

At Christmas, we had no duty for ten days other than the necessary guard, CQ, and stable duty, A number of Company M men decided to go to Camp Rioline, the 14th Infantry rest camp at the mouth of the Chagres River, where the company had a cabin, It took two boats to make the trip: one to take us from our boathouse at the post to Houston's Landing, and another in the Chagres River for the rest of the trip. John Valicevic was the authorized boat operator. Houston's Landing was a dock on the Chagres at a point where the Chagres was separated from the Old French Canal by only a railroad spur atop an embankment known as Hindi Dike, The procedure was to have one boat on the canal side and another (the Doughboy) in the Chagres, but use only a single outboard motor, shifting it from one boat to the other.

Some of our mates were already at the camp when Frank Klassen, Paul Lunn, and I left Fort Davis on December 27. We had drawn our rations and elected to hike from the post to Gatun and down Hindi Dike to Houston's Landing, where we were to meet Valicevic coming up the river from the camp. We got to the landing, and soon saw Valicevic coming up the river, However, his plans were to leave Doughboy at Houston's Landing and take the other boat back to the post where he would spend the night and bring down a couple of others the next morning. Frank, Paul, and I decided to spend the night sleeping in the Doughboy and wait for Tlalicevic to come back the next morning to take us down the Chagres.

Near the dock was a building mounted on posts about 8 ft high, with a concrete base underneath. Three or four Panamanian fishermen were camped under the building for the night. We made friends with them and watched as they cooked an iguana (a large lizard) for supper. (I don't remember tasting any of it,) After dark, Frank, Paul, and I bedded down uncomfortably in the Doughboy and went to sleep. Sometime during the night we heard one of the fishermen yelling "Wake up, Jock, a big rain is coming", We woke up and could see a wall of rain advancing across the river. toward us. By the time we got the Doughboy covered with its tarpaulin and got our bedding under the building with the fishermen, we were pretty wet. Anyway, we managed to get some more sleep before morning.

Next morning, Valicevic showed up as promised, with a couple more soldiers from Co. M, We loaded all our gear in Doughboy, put on the outboard motor, and headed downriver. It was a beautiful day, and the trip was uneventful except that we spotted an alligator floating on the water about 20 or 30 yards away. A floating alligator isn't easy to see--just two eyes and, about a foot in front, two nostrils. When we got to the camp; we found that there were 17 of us to share that small cabin, Lloyd H. Oliver was elected chief cook, with John M. Martin. as second cook. Besides those already named, my photo album shows Louis E. Narducci, John P, Kilbride,· Joseph P, Pritchard, Alexander W. Saltess, Lester Collins, Harris J.Outzen, Norman L. Richards, and "Sandy" Patterson. I have no idea who the other three were.

Most of the time at the camp was spent lying on the sand, swimming in the Caribbean surf, eating, or sleeping. On Dec. 29th, some of the crew went back to Fort Davis in the morning. A few of us took the commanding view of the mouth of the Chagres and the Caribbean beaches for a considerable distance. For a fort from a long ago time, San Lorenzo was in good shape. A number of stone structures still stood, and cannon balls had been stacked in pyramidal piles like oranges in a supermarket. The oldcannon barrels were lying on the ground or leaning against the parapet, their wooden carriages long since rotted away. There was a considerable amount of vegetation all around, but it wasn't a jungle by any means.

Soldiers in those days (as well as now) spoke their own language. It was basically English but so heavily laced with obscenities that we could have called it "Profaneglish". My language was as bad as anyone's, but as I became a "short-timer", I began to think about how bad that would sound at home. When I left the service, I became so careful about my speech that it may have been a year or more before I said even "damn".

I went on lock guard at Gatun on January 1, 19371 and was assigned as NCO in charge of the third relief at the Gatun Spillway. By this time, individuals rather than units were assigned to lock guard, so I joined up with soldiers from other companies. Only Corporal Bartley E. Hale was from Company M. The NCO in charge of the spillway guard detail was Sgt. John W. Long of Company F. Cpl. Benny Gribbon of Company G became my special friend on the spillway guard, Gribbon was an American Indian, but I don't remember what tribe. Sergeant Long was a heavy drinker, but only beer. He would go to town on his off-duty time and get well-plastered. He was not boisterous when he got back to the spillway, but staggered in quietly, carrying half a quart of beer which he'd put beside his bunk overnight. The next morning, that stale beer was the "hair of the dog" which he said got him going.

When we first went to the spillway, we were quartered in four pyramidal tents mounted on screened wooden platforms with a wooden walkway in front. However, work soon started on a barracks for us, and we moved in on February 13. Our quarters were about a mile from the building where we got our meals, but we had a fun way of getting there--on a railroad handcar. The track went from the barracks across the top of the east side of Gatun Dam to the west side of Gatun Locks. There we'd park our handcar and walk across the lock gates to get to the mess hall. As we approached and crossed the gates, we often saw very interesting ships making the transit, including several Grace liners, the USAT Chateau Thierry, and the SS Rangitata from New Zealand, taking Anzac troops to the coronation of King George VI. There was also a US Navy ship, I think the battleship New York, which hung over the side of the lock and even scraped the wall a little bit as a chorus of sailors on deck moaned "more paint".

There were two guard posts at the spillway; one was on the steel catwalk high above the spillway gates, the other down at the hydroelectric plant at the base of the spillway. On the catwalk floodlights which shone on the water in the lake. A floating boom completely paralleled the curve of the spillway with the objective of snagging any small boat which might approach the spillway, and the lights shone on the boom. Often we would see the silvery side of a large (4-6 ft.) tarpon lazily swimming near the boom. During my 4 1/2 months on guard there, the most excitement came the night the power plant workers observed a small animal climbing above the generators with the danger of causing a massive short circuit. We guards helped get the kinkajou down and took him back to the guard shack where we imprisoned him for a couple of days before taking him down to Houston's Landing and releasing him.

As corporal of the guard, I had to post my relief and stay awake for two hours while the men walked post, then my relief was off duty for four hours. My relief and I were also off duty every other day. While on duty, I read most of the time, and while off duty, I read much of the time. Also while off duty in the daytime, we would swim in Gatun Lake, diving off the concrete wall a few feet from our barracks.

It amazed me that at times the spillway gates had to be opened to let excess water flow down to the Chagres River.  Every time a ship transited the canal, 8,000,000 gallons of water left the lake and entered the oceans, and there were many ships every day, Yet the rainfall on the Chagres watershed was great enough to supply the transits, to generate all the power used in the Canal Zone, and still have water left over to go down the spillway at times.

My original assignment to the spillway guard was for two weeks, but it was extended to cover the maneuver period, presumably because I was a short-timer (less than 6 months to serve). All the other members of the guard were also short-timers, they having replaced any other soldiers who had more time to serve. I was relieved as leader of the 9th squad on February 25, turning the squad equipment over to my replacement, who was, I think, corporal Paul F. Herman. I was finally relieved from spillway guard on April 13.

On my day off from spillway guard on April 3, Frank Klassen and I went on an excursion to the Pacific side for a day, wearing "civvies" and tropical hats. We walked around Panama City, visited the Church of the Golden Altar, and the ruins of Old Panama. We saw the famous "flat arch" among the ruins, and Frank wondered if they might not find some iron reinforcement in it if they looked, Again on June 5, we wore civvies to Panama City, this time accompanied by Charles Scoville, There we met up with Gus Edmonds, my high school chum, and Sergeant August N. Harvieux, who had served briefly in Company M in mid-1936. This time we saw the presidential palace and were impressed with its garden and its courtyard with a fountain and live herons.

June was range firing time when everyone had to fire for record on his principal weapon and any sidearms, Our principal weapon was the .30 cal. machine gun and our sidearm was the .45 cal. pistol. In 1936, I had missed expert on the machine gun by 3 points (and missed an extra $5.00 per month pay for a year). In 1937 I made expert, but didn't collect any extra pay because my enlistment expired before pay could begin. Company M had many men to qualify as machine gun experts, in large part because of the ability of Sgt. Frank M. Williams to make each gun fire very accurately, Sgt. Williams was a tall, thin, very quiet, low-keyed sergeant, but a most effective one. His expertise with shims and other ways to improve the accuracy of the machine guns was legendary.

I don't remember exactly when Captain Willis left and Captain Henry I. Kiel took command of company H, but it was sometime shortly before June 21, 1937. I didn't get to know Capt. Kiel in the month or so I served under him, but my vague recollection is that we didn't like him much. Why, I don't remember. We spent a lot of time in June and July doing fatigue on new roads leading to the new theater and the new beer hall being built on top of the hill about 400 yards back of the 3d Battalion barracks. Even with such work to be done, we still had to pull guard, and the duty on June 28 was the most exciting since my very first night on post. Sgt. Schwoyer was Sergeant of the Guard and I was Corporal of the 1st Relief. We were walking toward the theater to check out things there when we beard a shot from the area of Post No. 10, an outpost in the range area. As we ran toward Post No. 10, we were nearly run down in the dark by a mule coming from that area. We found that Private Jackson had shot at something, which we assumed was the mule which nearly did us in. Later in the night, a man jumped or fell overboard from a ship in the canal near our boat house, and this required sending a search pasty to the area, As far as I can remember, we didn't find him.

We were really getting to be short-timers on July 11, 1937, when the company held a special dinner for us. Almost all of us had come down on the USAT Chateau Thierry in July, 1935. One of our number, however, was Sgt. Royal P. Budd, who had been in the 14th for three years. At the dinner, 1st Sergeant Goodwin made a short speech praising Sgt. Budd for his diligence in saving his money and for his plans to enter college. Not all the Chateau Thierry recruits were going home, however. A couple extended their tour for a year, and a couple more had "bad time" (time in the guardhouse or time in the hospital due to venereal disease) to make up.

Venereal disease was a big concern of the Army and its horrors were drilled into us frequently. Contracting it not only would cause personal suffering, but also bad time to be made up. The possibility that syphilis could be contracted from a contaminated toilet seat or other inanimate object was always brought up, but the educational emphasis was on protecting oneself. Protection measures taught included abstinence from sex, visiting only the "legal district", visiting the Prophylactic Station in Cristobal after exposure, and avoiding use of the "venereal only" hoppers in the latrines. The principal detection measure was the monthly "short arm inspection" in which a Medical Corps officer watched a parade of naked soldiers and looked for evidence of infection, All this education frightened me. I did not expose myself to it, but I was so afraid that I might have contracted syphilis from some inanimate object that, as soon as I got back home, I went to a hospital and took a Wassermann test, which relieved my mind.

On July 19, the USAT Republic (the largest of the Army transports) sailed from Cristobal for New York, after coming from Hawaii and picking up casuals from the Pacific side of the Canal Zone. My buddies Earl Galford and Gus Edmonds were among them. We followed on July 21 on the USAT St. Mihiel, which was about the same size as the Chateau Thierry. I don't really remember, but I like to think that the night before we left, the 14th Infantry Bugle Corps ended the day by playing "Echo Taps", with half the bugle corps outside the quadrangle echoing the other half who were inside:

Day is done, Gone the sun,
From the earth, from the hills, from the sky,
All is well, safely rest,
God is nigh.

On the day we sailed we became privates again, since the ranks we had held belonged to Company M, not to the Army. However, we were authorized to wear our NCO insignia, and were treated as NCO's on the ship. I was NCO in charge of Kitchen Police the first day out, and was as seasick as could be. The rest of the trip was much like the voyage down, except that we didn't stop at Puerto Rico.

When we arrived at the Brooklyn Army Base on July 27, we found that it was so full of the casuals who had arrived on the Republic two days earlier, that we could not be accommodated on the base. However, to give us a better situation, they moved us onto the Republic, a larger and more comfortable ship, where we marked time two days before moving into the base to be processed for discharge.

The processing required six days. During this time I was on KP two days, but otherwise had a lot of free time. One evening I went to Coney Island with Charles Scoville and Stanley D. Savicki. On another evening, Frank Klassen, his cousin Henry "Hack" Schmidt, and I went to Central Park to hear a concert by the Edwin Franko Goldman Band. On a third evening, my high school friend Chester Wright and his brother came over from their home in East Orange, NJ, and took me home with them, then brought me back to base. I was impressed by going through the Hudson Tubes.

On the evening before my discharge, I went to the Radio City Music Hall to see "The Toast of New York" and a good stage show including the Rockettes. Then, on the morning of August 4, I was discharged. My Honorable Discharge certificate records that my final pay was $64.52. I believe that in addition, I received a Greyhound bus ticket to Roanoke, VA, Saying goodbye to all my friends, most of whom had gone to Panama on the Chateau Thierry as strangers two years before, took quite a time, but when that was done, I checked in at the Hotel Mansfield Hall, near the Greyhound terminal.

Next morning at 6:10 AM, the bus left for Philadelphia, where I spent two days with Uncle Edd and Aunt Mary Brown. Then Greyhound took me to Washington, where I spent three days with my cousin Velma Johnson. Finally, on the evening of August l0, I arrived in Roanoke and rejoined my family.

EPILOGUE

The 14th Infantry left Panama during WWII and became part of the 71st Division, fighting in Europe. Fort Davis has, I believe, been largely unoccupied since the 14th left. A letter from Tom Gordon (Company D) told me that in 1955, there was only a caretaker detachment present, housed in the old Quartermaster barracks across from where the old guardhouse once was. Toslalso wrote that while passing through the canal zone in l967 he visited Fort Davis and found the 1st Battalion of the 20th Infantry there, occupying all three of the barracks that housed three battalions in 1935-37.

I have had only limited contact with the men of Company M since I was discharged from the Regular Army in 1937, but there are a few:

* Sgt. Budd, as mentioned, attended VPI from 1937 to 1941, and I saw him fairly frequently in his first two years when he would visit Vinton. I saw him almost daily in his second two years, since he and I were both members of Battery N. He was Battery Commander in his senior year. I had no contact with him since 1941 until 1993, when we exchanged letters.

* Lt. Paul A, Mayo went on to become a Major General and Chief of Finance of the Army. In 1961, I was executive officer of the 415th Chemical Group participating in Exercise LOGEX 61 at Fort Lee, VA. Gen. Mayo was scheduled to visit during the exercise, and kindly visited my group headquarters. I have a photo of the two of us looking at the old panoramic picture of Company M, which photo was published in the Army Times and the Wilmington Evening Journal.

* Frank Klassen was my closest friend in Panama. We were out of touch during WWII, but re-established contact after the war and have corresponded occasionally since, mostly with Christmas cards. In 1970, I had occasion to pass through Ashland, PA, and stopped to visit him and his wife briefly.

* In 1984, I saw a small note in the magazine of the Reserve Officers Association from WO S. South, asking that anyone who served with him in Company M in 1935-37 please write him. "Sammy" South was aiming at an awfully small target, since there were probably no more than 300 or so different soldiers, in the company during that time, and only a few became officers, and still fewer were alive and members of ROA. Anyway, his shot in the dark hit me, so I wrote him and we corresponded occasionally from then until his death in 1991.

* Sam South had maintained contact with several men from the company and sent me their addresses. This led to occasional correspondence with Bartley Hale (until his death in 1990), Jennings, Bill Martyniak, and Tony Ottaviano, Floyd One Grant N. Gilray (who was in Company M in 1939-41) began organizing a reunion of 14th Infantry "Jungleers" for October-1993 and sent me the address of Paul Herman, which has led to a recent exchange of letters.

* Some might think that two years in the Regular Army were wasted, but I don't see it that way. During those two years, I changed from boy to man and began to learn about the larger world and its people that this small town boy had never thought of. The Army discipline trained me to be much more orderly in my personal habits. Much more important, however, was that I achieved the desire to go to college, and began to believe that I could do it. And the army experience made it easier for me to achieve a measure of success in a military school, It also led me after the war to stay in the Army Reserve, and thus have an alternate career which I enjoyed.

THE END

Thanks to Terry Bender, 1/14th Inf, for making this document available and for his dedicated efforts to preserve the history of the 14th Infantry Regiment.



Panama Canal Zone:  My Two Years On The Right Of The Line
Copyright © 2012  14th Infantry Regiment Association
Last modified: November 01, 2012