tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83951860672856615462024-03-18T21:47:26.723-07:00Al's AutobiographyElisa Kay Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12799520611077133253noreply@blogger.comBlogger40125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8395186067285661546.post-73986480967867097112020-11-11T11:39:00.004-08:002020-11-11T11:39:43.023-08:005.3.2:The Mexican Field School<p>
</p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Copperplate Gothic Bold"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">THE MEXICAN FIELD
SCHOOL</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">The
Murrays talked us into participating in Sam Houston's "Mexican Field
School" at the University of Puebla in the summer of 1950. Jesse Burleson,
Head of the Foreign Languages Department [Spanish and French], had spent many
years in Mexico and was head of the field school. If you were
"selected" for the faculty, you attempted to hustle enough students
to pay your salary with their fees. I convinced enough of my students [Jim Dan
Hill, Harvey Sabara, Thurman Patterson, Jack Smart and several others] to sign
up and, more importantly, put up the cash. The Korean War had just broken out
so, as a brand new Second Lieutenant, I had to obtain permission from Fourth
Army Headquarters to leave the country. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">The day
we were to leave, I went to the college-owned home of the President, Dr. Harmon
Lowman, to pick up the state car I was to drive to Puebla. He was a florid, fat
little man with a mane of beautiful white hair whom Tom said had not been able
to tie his own shoes for years. He was a nice man who looked and acted like the
president of a state teachers college ought to look and act. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">We
left, in caravan like settlers going west in covered wagons, with Jesse
Burleson, the trail boss, leading the way. We were at the rear of the convoy,
with two female students in the back seat, a position I regretted when the
motor began complaining before we got to Houston. Somewhere in the pack were
the Murrays in another state car, Harvey Sabara in his new green ford with a
truck air horn mounted on the side, the Kuhls in an old second hand Cadillac,
and several other student-owned cars. Students who drove their own cars and
transported other students got some reimbursement in addition to having the
freedom that personal transportation provided for fun in Mexico. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">We made
it, as intended, to Brownsville, Texas the first day. The next morning we
cleared customs in Matamoros and drove to Valles. That evening the sixty or so
of us sat at tables in the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">zocallo</i>
[town square] smiling back at the friendly locals and smelling the tropical
flowers. We drifted off to sleep while listening to the tree frogs outside in
the fragrant gardens. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">The
third day we arrived in Mexico City in mid-afternoon and, for the first time,
experienced Mexico City traffic. No one but Jesse knew the way through the
city, so we tried to stay in convoy. "Fat Chance". It seemed that
every macho Mexican in Mexico City who owned a car was determined to isolate
every car with a Texas license plate. Somehow, we all made it through Mexico
City and, in various states of hysteria, reassembled on the highway to Puebla.
We reached Puebla around dark and checked into the Hotel Colonial, across the
street from the University of Puebla, completely exhausted. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">The
next morning Mr. Sparrow, an administrator and our contact at the University,
took Pat and me to a private home to look at a place to rent. I had learned
French in New Caledonia <br />
by living in French homes where no one spoke English, so I thought that would
be a good way to learn Spanish while we were in Puebla. All the students and
other faculty stayed in the Hotel Colonial. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">When we
entered the house, Mr. Sparrow introduced us to Senorita Fontange, a maiden
lady in her sixties. Without thinking, I said "Je ponce ca sais un nome
Francais, pas Espanol, <br />
n'est pas". That was the end of the Spanish lessons. Mme. Fontange had not
spoken French after her father had died many years before. We rented the room
[actually several rooms with a <br />
private bath]. We also received our meals as part of the arrangement. We had a
private dining room overlooking an enclosed patio. Although we ate alone, Mme
Fontange would almost always join us as we were finishing our meal for some
after dinner conversation. We didn't learn any Spanish but I had a great review
of my French. Pat, who had taken a year of French in college, was too shy to
enter into the conversations but understood everything I said well enough to
correct all my exaggerations. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">The
food was excellent; we were the only ones on the trip who never got sick. Mme
Fontange somehow learned of my birthday and baked me a cake. For many years we
received a Christmas card and a birthday card on my birthday from Mme.
Fontange. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Puebla
was our first taste of luxury. We lived about six blocks from the University of
Puebla and the Hotel Colonial, where I taught my biology class. I walked to
class each morning, <br />
stopping at a barbershop for a shave, hair trim, and a shoe shine. The cost of
the whole thing, including tip, was two pesos, which at 8 pesos to the dollar
came to almost twenty five <br />
cents. At Mme. Fontange's place we not only had all meals prepared and served,
there were no dishes to wash, no beds to make, no bathrooms to clean, and even
our dirty laundry <br />
disappeared to reappear cleaned and ironed, including underwear. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Teaching
the class was fun for me as well as the students. I did not have any formal
lesson plan or textbook. I just talked about whatever biological subject came
to my mind as I walked to work. We held the class in one of the hotel lobbies,
all sitting in comfortable chairs and talking biology. In retrospect it was
probably one of the best seminars I ever participated in. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">After
class I would walk home, have lunch followed by a siesta, then back to the
Hotel Colonial either for a field trip, mostly collecting lizards, or playing poker
in the penthouse of the hotel. Pat was justifiably annoyed with me for the
poker; she and the Murrays spent most of the afternoons visiting museums, art
galleries, historical sites and other cultural activities. Harvey Sabara
skipped the poker sessions to take the women anywhere they wanted to go; he was
particularly valued because he spoke Spanish fairly well. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Our
social life was with the Murrays or the students, mostly at the Hotel Colonial
or nearby bars and restaurants. Early on some of the students discovered a
resort on the edge of town called Agua Azul. There was a nice bar and swimming
pool and it became our daytime party place. The owner, Senior Baratega, liked
all of us, but he was infatuated with Lane Murray. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">With
Lane as bait, we and the Murrays were entertained royally, both at Agua Azul
and his hacienda, by Senor Baratega. On one memorable occasion, we all sat in
the huge living room while servants brought his favorite horses in for us to
see [the floors were stone]. Lane went along with the deal so long as we never
let Baratega get her alone. He told us he had previously been married to a
blonde Norte Americana, so I guess he had developed a taste for Anglo women.
Poor man, he must have been terribly frustrated. He spent much of the summer
contriving situations for his planned seduction, but one of the three co-
conspirators always spoiled his plans; we worked in relays to thwart him. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Weekends
were mostly for trips. We spent several weekends in Mexico City, usually at the
Hotel Reforma. Our entertainment was varied but always culturally uplifting. We
spent hours in the Palace of Fine Arts, where all the contemporary as well past
Mexican painters were well represented: Orizaba, Tamayo, Rivera, et cetera (we
even watched Diego Rivera painting on one of his famous murals). Other cultural
events included our first filet mignon at the Cadillac Bar--that eventually
cost a lot more money than the price of that dinner, and live nightclub acts at
places like the Uno, Dos, Tres [1,2,3] Club and the Catacombs. The latter was a
spooky place, pitch dark except for a single candle at each occupied table. It
had to have been the inspiration for the song "Hernando's Hideaway"
in the Broadway musical comedy "Pajama Game". Robert Mitchum
purportedly went there to smoke marijuana [if you had said "pot" back
then people would have thought he was smoking in the toilet]. We didn't wonder
why Robert Mitchell didn't stay in the safety and comfort of his hotel room or
even back in Los Angeles rather than risk arrest [which rumor had it occurred
to him in the Catacombs] as a "Dope Fiend". </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">One
Friday morning we all left by car for a field trip to El Cordoba. We, along
with two or three others, rode with Harvey Sabara. The route took us south on
the 5,000-foot high Mexican Plateau, an arid plain mostly devoid of both plant
life, except for an occasional cactus, and evidence of human habitation. There
were, however, cones of numerous extinct volcanoes rising from the plain to
break the monotony of the bleak moonlike landscape. About 10:00 AM we arrived
at the edge of the plateau and could see the Central Valley of Mexico far
below. We dropped, via a succession of terrifying switchbacks, almost a mile
straight down to the valley floor, with both the vegetation and the temperature
changing from high desert to tropical as we <br />
descended. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">We
stopped for "coffee", mostly beer or cocktails after the terror of
the descent, at a hotel in El Fortin des Flores. We sat at tables beside a
swimming pool covered with gardenias. The odor of the flowers, floating on the
surface of the water, was almost overwhelming, but no one complained. Jesse,
after several attempts, finally got us out of the bar and back on the road to El
Cordoba. We arrived there in time for lunch as guests of the local Rotary Club,
probably the major, if not the sole, reason that Jesse, a Rotarion, had
arranged the field trip. After lunch, we toured a local cigar factory, for
which EI Cordoba was famous. I was into cigars then in the forlorn hope they
would help me cut down on cigarettes. (They didn't, I had to have a cigarette as
soon as I finished a cigar.) I bought several boxes, especially some huge ones,
thick and about eight inches long, that Winston Churchill made famous by
frequently being photographed with one of them clamped in his English
Bulldog-like jaws. He ordered them in bulk from Cordoba and apparently never
ran out even during the problems with the German U-Boats during World War II.
"First things first", you might say. Those cigars were amazingly mild
and because they took so long to smoke, probably did cut down on my cigarette
consumption. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">When we
got into the car for the return to Puebla, someone, probably Harvey, said
"lets go to Vera Cruz for the weekend; it's only a couple of hundred
miles". As we approached Vera Cruz in the late afternoon, we passed a
large complex of buildings on the beach with a large sign saying "Hotel
Mocambo". We stopped, asked at the desk if they had vacancies, and
registered when the answer was affirmative. After washing up, we regrouped in
the bar. Not only did they have vacancies, we were the only patrons in the bar.
After a delicious dinner, again the only guests in the restaurant, we sat out
on the balcony, drinking Daiquiris and watching the moon come up over the Gulf
of Mexico. Through the palm trees we could see the surf breaking gently on the
deserted white beach. We felt RICH. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Not
having expected to be away overnight, let alone for the weekend, no one had
pajamas, clean underwear, a change of clothes or toilet articles, even a toothbrush.
We showered a lot, slept nude (at least Pat and I did--didn't enquire into the
others' room arrangements or sleeping attire). We went into Vera Cruz the next
morning and toured the city; we found everyone friendly to the crazy Gringos. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">We
spent most of the weekend chasing Iguanas for our lizard collection. The
Iguanas were huge, three or four feet long including tail. They were <u>everywhere</u>:
in trees, on the ground or on mounds near their burrows. We soon learned why
they were so numerous; they could run like deer, climb like monkeys, dig like
badgers and fight like tigers. Also, when apparently trapped, they would lash
out with their tails like alligators. Equipped as they were with scales and a
dorsal crest of spines, the tails were formidable weapons. Although we had our
hands on several, I don't think we captured even one the entire weekend. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">We
sweated profusely in the midsummer tropical sun and, with no change of
clothing, no deodorants, and a three day growth of beard on all the men, we
were a motley and pungent crew when we arrived in Puebla on Sunday night. We
all agreed, though, that it had been one of the greatest weekends any of us had
ever had. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Another
group had decided to go from Cordoba to a newly opened Resort in the small town
of Acapulco on the Pacific Coast. The Vera Cruz veterans were fired up to go to
Acapulco the next weekend, but the group that had gone there discouraged us.
The roads were terrible, mostly unpaved and lots of mountain driving, there
weren't many people and the ones they saw all looked like banditos, and there
was only one hotel and nothing to do in Acapulco. Instead, we, accompanied by
the Acapulco survivors and others who had heard our stories, returned to Vera
Cruz the next weekend. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Several
car loads of us checked into the Hotel Mocambo on Friday night, probably making
it their biggest weekend of the summer. This time we were not the only guests;
there were two or three friendly Mexican families who along with the hotel staff
treated us like old friends. This time we had clothes, bathing suits, toilet
articles and all the other accouterments for staying in a luxury hotel. The
service was again superb, the food and drinks outstanding, and the moon
appeared on schedule over the Gulf of Mexico. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">During
the week between trips to Vera Cruz, a friend from Baytown, Texas joined us for
her vacation. Goldie Faye Harper was from northwestern Louisiana and she and
Pat were sharing an apartment in Baytown when I returned from World War II.
Goldie was a beautiful girl; she had a thick mane of the most beautiful dark
red hair I have ever seen, alabaster skin and a gorgeous figure, despite the
fact she could put away more food than any field hand I ever knew. Goldie Faye
was a lot of fun, but I doubt she would have been a serious candidate for Phi
Beta Kappa if Northwestern Louisiana College had had a chapter. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Goldie
accompanied us to Vera Cruz and loved it. After dinner on Saturday night, we
were in our accustomed place on the balcony overlooking the Gulf, drinking in
both the ambience and the booze, when Goldie suddenly announced "I think
I'll go brush my teeth". Pat got up and said "I'll go with you".
Pat returned from the restroom a few minutes later and, in an incredulous voice
said, "She actually is brushing her teeth". Everyone thought Goldie
had something else in mind, but Goldie Faye didn't deal in euphemisms. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Most
times an attempt to repeat a pleasurable event results in, at best,
disappointment or, at worst, disaster, but the second trip to Vera Cruz was
better than the first. We were, because of careful planning and advanced
technology (shovels and a .22 rifle and shot shells) even successful in
collecting some iguanas. And Goldie brushed her teeth after every meal and <br />
sometimes in between. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">We took
Goldie to Mexico City for our last weekend before returning to the prosaic life
of an assistant professor at a small East Texas teacher's college. Actually, we
were on our <br />
way back to Huntsville; the back seat was vacant because the two girls in the
back on the way down who didn't say anything had either learned how to say yes
or couldn't say no and had <br />
established lasting relationships with two of the male students. (the
relationships lasted through the summer and the trip back--I don't know if they
led to more permanent arrangements). </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">We
checked into the Hotel Reforma, either in a two room suite or adjoining rooms,
left our bags, and went out to show Goldie the sights of Mexico City. After
tiring of yet another <br />
visit to the Palace of Fine Arts, the Plaza de la Reforma, and the leather and
other tourist shops, Pat and I went back to the hotel for fun and games
followed by a siesta. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">When we
awakened we were surprised that Goldie was not in her room. We checked several
times, then, really worried, checked with the front desk. Goldie was a guest of
the hotel; on returning to the hotel she had asked for her key, the right room
number but the wrong floor. When she entered the room her luggage had
"disappeared" we were not in the room next door and Goldie was
abandoned in Mexico City. She apparently panicked and when she contacted the
front desk in a state of hysteria, they sent the Hotel Physician to her room.
He assuaged her fears (we never asked for details, but it at least included
dinner) and would not accept our contention that we had not changed floors and
taken Goldie's luggage with us. Dr. Alvarez gave his medical opinion with
emphasis "Miss Harper has had a traumatic experience and should remain in
the hotel, under my care, for several days". </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">The
next morning we had breakfast in the hotel coffee shop, where Goldie, despite
professing to be "sick as a dog", was able to put away a full order
of Huevos Rancheros and the Crepes Suzettes that were called Pancakes and
Strawberries on the menu. I loved them, even though they were sickeningly
sweet-strawberry jam inside rolled up small pancakes. During breakfast, I
decided Goldie was well enough to travel and got her, along with Pat, into the
car and on the road to Texas before Dr. Alvarez found us. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">The
return trip was uneventful. We spent one night in Ciudad Victoria, a dirty
little town populated mostly by scowling Pancho Villas. I never let Goldie out
of my sight except for bedtime and discouraged all would-be Latin Lovers who
approached us at meals and rest stops. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> </span></p>
<p><style>
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{page:WordSection1;}</style></p>Elisa Kay Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12799520611077133253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8395186067285661546.post-10507505876484430972020-11-11T11:38:00.004-08:002020-11-11T11:38:47.288-08:005.3: Sam Houston State Teacher's College, Teaching and Friends<p>
</p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Copperplate Gothic Bold"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">SAM HOUSTON STATE TEACHERS COLLEGE </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">After
receiving my Master of Science Degree in Biology, I accepted a job as an
Assistant Professor at Sam Houston State Teachers College (now Sam Houston
State University) in Huntsville, Texas, about 65 miles east of College Station.
We obtained college housing, for students and faculty, at Country Campus, a
former World War Two Prisoner of War Camp ten or so miles east of Huntsville. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">The
first night in our new quarters the lights suddenly went out. As we, Pat and I,
Donner and Schatzie and Bianca, huddled together in the dark in our new
surroundings, there was a knock at the door. Our neighbors from across the
street, Lane and Tom Murray, were there with candles. They explained that the
electricity frequently failed at Country Campus and candles were a necessity.
We invited them in and, as we got acquainted, talked far into the night. That
activity was repeated frequently over the next two years with two of the most
fascinating, fun <br />
people we have ever known. We could make a bottle of sloe gin, mixed with 7UP
for sloe gin fizzes, and a couple of packs of cigarettes into an all night
serious discussion of literature or <br />
hilarious comedy, depending on the mood of the moment. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Lane
Murray grew up on a cotton and wheat farm outside Muleshoe, Texas near Lubbock.
She and Tom met while undergraduates at Texas Tech, then college--now
university, in Lubbock. The story we heard was that, at a college area soda-
coffee hangout, Lane responded to some ridiculous statement with- "anyone
who believes that stand on their head and throw me a half dollar". Tom,
overhearing from the adjacent booth, immediately did both and gained her
attention--and he never lost it. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Upon
graduating from Texas Tech, they went to New York where Tom earned a Master of
Education degree from Columbia, while Lane worked to support them. They then
moved to Boston where Tom was a PhD candidate at Harvard; they had returned to
Texas without the degree a year before we met them. Their presence at Sam
Houston was a commentary on their relationship. Tom had somehow scheduled two
job interviews for the same day, one at Sam Houston and another at East Texas
State Teachers College in Commerce, Texas. They decided the East Texas State
position was the one they wanted, so Tom went there for the interview and sent
Lane to Sam Houston to substitute for him. He was not offered the job at East
Texas, but the interviewers at Sam Houston were so impressed with Lane's
presentation they offered the job to Tom. Subsequently, the both earned Doctor
of Education degrees from the University of Houston. Tom has been a full
professor for many years and Lane, unable to teach at Sam Houston because of
the State of Texas' nepotism law, became the first female school superintendent
in Texas-- of the Texas Prison System Schools. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Tom was
fastidious: I never saw him sweat, in our World War II, non-air-conditioned,
former POW Barracks converted to College Housing, or even on the nearby College
owned Golf Course (no greens fees for students and faculty) when the
temperature topped 100 Degrees Fahrenheit. He always shaved before anyone,
except possibly Lane, saw him in the morning and smelled like after shave
rather than how men were supposed to smell. He wore a suit to work every day
and sent each to the cleaners after one wearing. He became a sort of role model
for me, as far as the way a college professor should dress, and we occasionally
traded ties to add variety to our wardrobes. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Tom
also introduced me to the "Book Club Scam". All book clubs offer
enticements to join: they also reward members who recommend potential members
who subsequently join. Tom would recommend me to BOOK OF THE MONTH CLUB,
receiving bonus books when I returned the application. As a bonus for joining,
I would receive several bonus books (all six of Winston Churchill's classic
volumes on World War II, for example) with a commitment to buy at least four
selections within one year. Tom, after receiving his bonus for my joining and
buying his four books, would drop out. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">I
would, after a suitable waiting period, recommend him for membership, receive
my bonus books, complete my commitment for the purchase of four books. GUESS
WHAT! new BOOK OF THE MONTH club member Thomas Murray would recommend one
Albert K. Sparks for membership and the cycle continued. We carefully studied
the Sunday Supplements, magazines and other advertising media for the current
best deals. We kept several revolving at a time, including, in addition to BOOK
OF THE MONTH CLUB, the BOOK FIND CLUB, the LITERARY GUILD, The CLASSICS BOOK
CLUB, and several others. We built up fantastic libraries at little cost. (It
has probably cost more to ship them in our subsequent migrations than <br />
it did to buy them.)</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">The
Murrays had three small children. Mark, the oldest, was in First Grade. Joyce
and Mike [?], the latter still in diapers, were still at home. Joyce always had
a runny nose and Mark a dirty diaper. When either of them approached Tom, he or
Lane, would say "don't get Daddy's clothes dirty". When Lane's
mother, Mrs. Stone, visited, she would always buy new clothes for Joyce. It wasn't
that the Murrays didn't love their children, and I don't think they <b>really </b>neglected
them, but they were not their entire lives. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Lane
and Tom were then, and still were in our last contact with them, so wrapped up
in their relationship and what they were doing at the time they had little
commitment to anyone else. Their children were probably the better for the lack
of over protection, but it was impossible to maintain a lasting relationship
once you left their immediate vicinity. "Out of sight out of mind". </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 0in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list 0in; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> </span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Copperplate Gothic Bold"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Copperplate Gothic Bold"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Copperplate Gothic Bold"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">TEACHING and Friends AT SAM HOUSTON</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Teaching
at Sam Houston was a fabulous learning experience. Both years [1949-1951] I
taught a two semester course in Vertebrate Comparative Anatomy [the primary
reason I was hired], Histology, Embryology, Parasitology, Natural History and
Taxonomy <br />
of the Lower Vertebrates [a combination of Ichthyology and Herpetology in one
semester], Ornithology, and Farm Wildlife Management [primarily the building,
stocking and management of farm ponds for Agriculture majors]. Because all
undergraduates were required to take a full year of General Biology, I also
taught at least one, usually two lecture sections each semester. <br />
At least I was spared the boredom of teaching Gen. BioI. Lab.-- that was the
only course in which I had a teaching assistant. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">The
faculty of the Biology Department was an interesting mélange of personalities.
The retiring chairman, who hired me, Dr. S. H. Warner, was a forester of some
repute and had had in <br />
the past much influence on the affairs of what was still an incredibly inbred
institution. The heir apparent, Mr. Cowan, was a former lineman on the
University of Texas football team and had <br />
been working for years on his PhD. in Zoology there on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">sarcophagid</i> flies--that's blowflies to the non-entomologist. In
addition to doing most of the administrative work, Cowan also taught General
Zoology and Entomology. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">The
eldest was Miss McKinney, a spinster who lived in an ancient pioneer home with
her spinster sister. Their father had. administered the last rites to Sam
Houston, the Father of Texas <br />
Independence, victor of the defeat of Santa Ana at the Battle of San Jacinto,
the first President of the Republic of Texas, for whom the College was named. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">There
was also Miss Norman, middle aged and another spinster. Both of them taught
General Biology primarily, but each probably had other courses as well. Claude
MacCleod taught most of the Botany courses and Bill Dacres taught Microbiology
and was my biggest headache in the department. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Teaching
was a full time job. I was in class, lecture or lab, an average of six hours a
day. Because I was teaching all the courses for the first time, I barely stayed
one lecture ahead <br />
of the class with lecture notes the entire first year. The second year, during
which I repeated all courses taught the first year, seemed like stealing
instead of earning my salary. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">During
that second year I shortened my Master's thesis and submitted a manuscript
"The Helminth Parasites of the Largemouth Bass in Texas" to the
Editor of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Transactions of the
American Microscopical Society</i>, Dr. Frank Eggleton. It was accepted, with
an embarrasing number of typographical and grammatical errors corrected by Dr.
Eggleton. When I received the galley proofs of my first publication, I proudly
showed them to Dr. Warner, probably hoping to impress him. In a fatherly tone
he said "Sparks, I have no objection to your doing research, I've <br />
published some myself, but don't tell everyone. If the administration finds out
you have time to do research, they'll want to increase your teaching
load". I think that was the exact moment that I began to wonder if Sam
Houston was the place I wanted to spend the rest of my career, even though we
had wonderful friends and loved Huntsville. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">The
Andersons </span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Shortly
after we arrived in Huntsville, Jack Anderson called me at my office. He had
heard that I had been hired and, as any good Aggie should, welcomed me. Jack
had a B.S. and M.S. in Agronomy from Texas A&M and taught in the
Agriculture Department at Sam Houston. I had known him during my Cadet Corps'
days, but only vaguely. He, along with Henry Crew, was a bouncer at a notorious
"Beer Joint" [Tavern] on Highway 6 on the north side of Bryan. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Jack
immediately took me under his wing; taking me to all his favorite fishing and
hunting spots and advising me on campus politics. I soon learned that his
knowledge of places to hunt and fish was superior to that of college politics.
Jack was a good looking, even handsome, man. Big, but not fat, with straight
jet-black hair, and huge hands. He was also the most opinionated man I have
ever known in my life. Probably because of that, he was an excellent teacher,
especially for those East Texas farm kids majoring in Agriculture at Sam
Houston. There was only one answer to any question and Jack knew it. Nothing
was controversial in Agronomy-there was one best crop and one best fertilizer
for a particular soil and locality--and Jack would tell the students what it
was. Unfortunately, that characteristic extended to other areas. Anyone who did
or liked anything different from what Jack did or liked was "crazy".
"Anybody who doesn't drink cream in their coffee is crazy";
"anybody who doesn't smoke mentholated cigarettes [Kools] is crazy";
"anybody who plays bridge, golf or goes to plays, or drinks mixed drinks,
et cetera is crazy". </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">When
the Government magnanimously decided to pay World War II veterans for all their
unused leave time, I got a bundle. I had spent seven months in the U.S. and 27
months overseas with only a five day "Delay in Route" furlough on my
way overseas. When I received that unexpected "Manna from Heaven",
Pat and I drove to Houston to invest it wisely. Having worn only uniforms from
September of 1941 until February of 1946, followed by three years of minimal
income while going to college, I lacked what Pat and I thought was appropriate
clothing for a college professor. I bought three suits, several white shirts,
and a bundle of ties. I also bought a "starter set" [1 and 3 woods,
2, 5, 7, and 9 irons and a putter, plus bag] of Johnny Bulla golf clubs. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">When I
told Jack Anderson what I had bought, he was incredulous "What would
anyone possibly want with <u>three</u> suits? You can't wear but one at a time.
What are you going to do with <br />
the others?" Jack always wore a khaki shirt, with tie, and khaki pants to
class. (I don't know if even owned a suit; I never saw him in one, but he must
have had one for funerals). I suppose <br />
that was appropriate for an Ag Teacher, but it seemed inadequate for the rest
of the faculty. When he heard about the golf clubs, Jack was even more vehement
"Golf Clubs; <u>Golf Clubs</u>! Anybody that spends good money on golf
clubs is crazy. Anybody that hits a little white ball with a stick and then
goes and hits it again is crazy". I didn't agree with Jack then, but there
have been a lot of times since that I've wondered what the hell I was doing
hitting a little white ball with a stick and then hitting it again and again.
Maybe he wasn't too far off on that one, but he sure missed the boat on a lot
of others. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">The
Anderson's lived in one of the big old houses typical of Huntsville, along with
various other renters. They had an apartment on the bottom floor, off the main
hall. One morning I arrived before daylight to pick Jack up for an early bass
fishing session. (He had previously told me that they never locked their door
and if I ever stopped by for him and he wasn't awake, to "just come on in
and wake me up"). I knocked softly on the front door; getting no answer I
entered the apartment and went to the open bedroom door. After quietly calling
"Jack, Jack" several times without result, I moved to the side of the
bed and touched him on the shoulder. In action too quick for me to follow in
the dim light, Jack's hand snaked under the pillow and I was suddenly looking
down the business end of a cocked .45 caliber US Army automatic. Careful not to
make any sudden moves, I slowly and quietly said "Jack, it's me, Al, put
the gun down." I don't remember the results of the fishing trip, but I'll
never forget the sound of that pistol cocking. Needless to say, I never entered
the Andersons’ bedroom again. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">We
couldn't find bridge players in Huntsville, so we played lots of penny ante
poker, mostly with the Andersons and various others. Pat had never played
poker, so I told her all things to do and not to do to play winning poker,
"<u>never </u>draw to an inside straight"; "<u>never </u>draw
two cards to a flush"; "<u>never </u>hold a kicker"; along with
the odds of making a straight open on both <br />
ends compared to open on one end only, making a flush with a one card draw, a
full house drawing to two pair, three of a kind drawing to a pair, etc. I also
told her the general rules of <br />
when to stay in and, most important of all, <u>when to get out</u>. Using my
system better than I did [she never played hunches] she won $10.00 to $15.00
every time we played. Both the Andersons <br />
continually talked about how "lucky" Pat was. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Part of
the reason for our consistent winning or, at least Netta Anderson's losing was
their son Douglas. "Dougie" would sit in his mother's lap, playing
with her chips and occasionally <br />
flinging a few into the pot or across the table. "Don't play with Mommie's
chips, Dougie" would eventually culminate in "God Damn it, Douglas,
leave Mommie's chips alone". Douglas was two<br />
years old when we moved to Huntsville, but looked four. He was huge, but
amazingly precocious. At two he could talk and get his bottle from the
refrigerator. After Netta put him down for playing with her chips, Dougie would
soon 'be tugging at her skirt, saying "Momma, I want my bottle". The
invariable reply was, "God Damn it, get it yourself, you know where it
is". Doug would then go to the refrigerator, get his bottle, climb into a
chair and stay out of everyone's hair for a while. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">One
Saturday night while we were playing poker on the kitchen table in the
Anderson's apartment, Jack's younger brother suddenly and unexpectedly
appeared. He had served one enlistment in the Army before starting college at
Sam Houston. Jack, who was the Commanding Officer of an Infantry Company in the
Reserve 22nd. Armored Division and an active recruiter, talked him into joining
the Reserves as an easy way to make money while going to <br />
school. He joined as a corporal or sergeant, so a day's pay for a two hour
drill once a week wasn't bad, and two weeks of Active Duty during summer
vacation was icing on the cake. Unfortunately for the younger Anderson, the
Korean War broke out and he was called to Active Duty as an individual,
something the Army had promised not to do. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">"<u>You
Son of a Bitch</u>", he said to his big brother. "It was a honest
mistake, but it seemed like a good idea at the time" was Jack's reply.
That, along with a number of Jack's other classic <br />
lines, became part of our family humor. Most of the time when I really "screw
up", I can get off the hook by saying very slowly and sincerely, "It
was A honest mistake, but it seemed like A <br />
good idea at the time". Pat will try to keep her frown of disapproval, but
usually breaks into an involuntary laugh as she recalls that ludicrous scene. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Jack
was instrumental in getting a Medical Detachment of the 22nd. Armored Division
authorized for Huntsville with me as the C.O. I simply transferred all my
enlisted men, at the same rank, from my previous unit, deactivating the old one
while activating the new [actually, of course, the local Army Reserve Office
did it]. After I won the Division Ml [rifle] championship during our first
summer Active Duty at Fort Polk, Louisiana, Jack tried to talk me into
transferring from the Medical Service Corps to the Infantry, assuring me that I
could never get higher than 1st. Lt. in the Medical Service Corps. Fortunately,
I knew more about the Army than Jack's brother, so I didn't fall for that. Jack
was astounded when he later returned from a job in the Caribbean and learned
that I was a Captain and the Tactical Officer for one-fourth of the Texas
A&M Cadet Corps. I don't know what rank Jack attained before dropping out
or retiring from the Army Reserves, but I can't help laughing about his reaction
if he ever learns that I retired as the senior full Colonel in the Medical
Reserve Corps. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Johnella
Sparks </span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Shortly
after we arrived in Huntsville, we decided that a High School Teacher's
certificate and a Master's Degree in Chemistry would be an excellent insurance
policy for Pat. She came home from the first meeting of one of her Education
courses and said the girl assigned to the seat next to her was also named
Sparks. It turned out they had several classes together and <br />
always sat next to one another. When time came for quizzes, they studied
together and teamed up for several class projects and term papers. Because of
those initial contacts related to their courses, we became better acquainted
and were soon good friends. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Johnella
was a Journalist and had just been hired as Head of Publicity for Sam Houston
(I believe it was a one woman shop--the college was pretty small time then).
She was somewhat younger than us, unmarried, attractive and had a great sense
of humor. There were several other young, attractive, unmarried females and a
corresponding number of males of the same category on the faculty. We quickly
became involved in a busy social relationship with that group. Some of us had
Masters degrees, but no one had a Ph.D. and Assistant Professor was the highest
<br />
academic rank in the group. The Murrays were part time participants, the
Andersons never. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Katherine
Blankenship was in the Art Department. She was beautiful, had been a Redbud
Princess at TSCW and probably a lot of other awards for her looks that we
didn't know about. She also wore gorgeous clothes; I'm not sure whether the
clothes made her look better or vice versa. She, like Johnella, had a room at
the McKinney's beautiful old house. She was from New Orleans, had black, short
hair, beautiful complexion, but was short and plump. However, she had, as the
old cliche goes, "a great personality". </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Ken
Grubbs was in Economics; he was originally from Denton and obtained his
Bachelor's degree from North Texas State Teacher's College. He had a Master's
in Economics from the university of Texas. Ken was slender, dressed like a male
<br />
fashion model, and drove a new Olds 88. He was mad about Katherine and spent
all the time she allowed with her, but she had a "crush" on Roy Toma.
</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Roy was
a handsome man; dark complexion, black wavy hair and a good, but not
spectactular, physique. He was pleasant, but I do not remember him as having
much of a personality--good or bad. I don't recall anything about his
background, he was in the <br />
Chemistry Department. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Charlie
Schmidt was fairly short, but well built, and nice looking. He was in Drama and
Music and, I believe, shared an apartment with Roy Toma at one time. Charlie
was also a 2nd Lt. <br />
in the Armored Division. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Thurman
Patterson </span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">One of
my favorite people in Huntsville was Thurman Patterson. I met him when he was a
student in my General Biology class. Somehow we discovered we shared a passion
in common, <br />
Bass Fishing. Once we were fishing a farm pond near Conroe that I had
permission to fish because the owner's daughter was also one of my General
Biology students. After a fruitless hour <br />
or so using various bass lures popular in that section of East Texas, I put on
a "Bomber", a deep running lure designed for use in the big
reservoirs of North Texas like Lake Texfoma. Thurman <br />
ridiculed my Bomber while I was attaching it to my line, but on the first cast
into the roots of a drowned tree left in the pond I hooked a nice bass. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">I had
another Bomber in my tackle box and offered it to Thurman as soon as I landed
my fish. Haughtily, he refused, "that was a accident, you'll never catch
another East Texas Bass <br />
on that damned thing". A couple of casts later I hooked another one:
"Thurman, the price for that Bomber just went up to $5.00". There was
no response. After the third fish, the price went to <br />
$10.00. When I landed the fourth bass, Thurman, still without a strike, rowed
to the bank and, without a word, got into his car and drove away. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">About
an hour later he drove back into the pasture and parked. I paddled to the bank,
tied up the boat, and along with about 10 bass, got into the car. Halfway back
to Huntsville, he <br />
uttered his first word since the first fish "if you <u>ever</u> outfish me
again I won't come back for you". </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Thurman's
father worked for an oil company [the Texas Company, I believe] and they lived
in "The Camp", a well kept group of houses with big screened porches,
huge pecan trees, and manicured lawn near Silsbee, Texas. We drove down from
Huntsville one weekend for a fishing trip. Mr. Patterson had an old Touring Car
of ancient, but indeterminate age that was his <br />
"fishing car". We packed the fishing car, top down, and headed out
for what Thurman promised "some REAL bass fishing". I don't remember
the fishing as particularly <u>goo</u>d, but the food was <br />
spectacular. Mrs. Patterson had barbecued ribs, fried chicken, corn on the cob
and every conceivable East Texas gourmet dish waiting when we returned from
fishing. We ate it, accompanied by lots of cold beer, on picnic tables under
the pecan trees at the camp. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Dan
Rather </span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">All
undergraduate students were required to take, rather pass-- since some <u>took</u>
each course more than once, a full year of General Biology. This was a direct
result of the influence of <br />
Dr. Warner, the outgoing Department Head who had once been Acting President of
Sam Houston. I taught one or two sections each semester. It was usually boring;
almost all enrollees (I'm at a loss for a descriptive noun--they certainly
weren't students and most weren't participants) had an abysmal lack of
knowledge and even less interest in biology, including the anatomy and physiology
of their own bodies. A lot of them were interested in the anatomy and
physiology of other student's bodies; that, combined with their lack of
knowledge, led to occasional unexpected pregnancies. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">On
those rare occasions that a semblance of interest was shown, it really stood
out. I remember going home during the first semester and telling Pat "I
have a winner in my General <br />
Biology class, his name is Dan Rather." The next year I was the Faculty
Advisor or sponsor of a student men's club, the "Ravens". There were
no fraternities or sororities at Sam Houston; the <br />
clubs were a substitute for them. The Ravens were named for Sam Houston whose
Cherokee name was" The Raven". Dan was a Raven and, as their sponsor,
I got to know him better and my opinion of him didn't change. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Another
men's club, the xxxxxxxxx, challenged the Ravens to a charity football game,
the proceeds of which would go to a fund for needy students. The kicker was
that the members of the xxxxxx were mostly varsity athletes and the Ravens were
the nearest thing to intellectuals there were on the campus. Although the
challenge stated that the varsity football players would not play, most of the
baseball and basketball players had played high school football. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Upon
receiving the challenge, the Ravens called a meeting and asked me for advice.
"Those jocks will kill us and, besides, they'll show us up in front of the
whole college" was their consensus. "That's not the point" I
pontificated, "the point is raising money for needy students." The
Ravens then nailed me to the cross by pointing out that I was bigger and had
played more <br />
football than any of them and that they would play if I would play with them. I
said the other club probably wouldn't agree to that, but I would if they agreed
and if the other club's sponsor, <br />
Bill Dacres played for them. I couldn't have been more wrong; most of the kids
in the xxxxxx had taken or were taking my General Biology course. They all
wanted a shot at me. Bill <br />
Dacres was too smart to agree <u>to</u> anything so stupid (I would have liked
to have had a shot at him), but I was stuck. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Both
teams practiced in shorts for a week or two before: my big mouth had got me
into trouble again; I was in no condition to play football--especially to play
end; and the one or two weeks of practice was not going to be enough for me to
get in shape. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">We
borrowed uniforms and equipment from the Sam Houston Athletic Department. We
played before almost a sellout crowd at the Huntsville High School-Sam Houston
Stadium. Because I was the largest [also the slowest] player on our team, I
played tackle and Dan played the end next to me. We got off to an early lead
because, I'm convinced, everyone on the other team was concentrating on hitting
the "professor" rather than playing football. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">I
played the entire game except for the second half kick- off. I was pretty sure
that if I had to run forty yards on the kick-off, they would have to carry me
off the field on a stretcher. Dan Rather was fantastic! All we did on offense
was throw the ball to Dan and he caught everything he touched. I'm sure he
caught more than twenty passes in the game, but we lost, I believe, by one
point. We did win a lot of respect, though. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">While
we were undressing and showering after the game, Puny Wilson, the Sam Houston
Football Coach, came into the locker room and offered Dan a football
scholarship. Dan's deprecation of his athletic ability in his own books amuses,
and, I must admit, slightly irritates me. He was, I later learned, an All City
end at Reagan High School in Houston, Texas. Best of all, though, whatever he
did, he did well. </span></p>
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{margin-bottom:0in;}</style></p>Elisa Kay Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12799520611077133253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8395186067285661546.post-69688653564102434642020-11-11T11:36:00.004-08:002020-11-11T11:36:48.247-08:005.2.5: My Father's Death<p>
</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> </span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Copperplate Gothic Bold"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">My
Father’s Death</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Fortunately, we had to face
reality on leaving River Oaks. On her feet from eight to five, Pat worked in
the Biochemistry Lab and carried a heavy course load without a black cook and
only Elsie May Watson, a skinny 16 year old black school girl who charged 25
cents an hour for house cleaning (Pat alienated several of the neighbors in
Veterans Village by giving Elsie May 35 cents an hour) </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">My
father visited us in Munnerlyn Village and was in obvious poor health; he had
lost a lot of weight and had diarrhea, a condition that was impossible to
conceal in the tiny, one <br />
bathroom, unsound-proofed Dallas Huts comprising Munnerlyn Village. I
attributed it to inadequate diet and increased consumption of cigarettes and
beer subsequent to my mother's <br />
death. He was in and out of the hospital several times with intestinal problems
and jaundice, but without a definitive diagnosis. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Eventually,
in the Fall of 1948, he was scheduled for exploratory abdominal surgery. We
drove to Fort Worth, where I dropped Pat off at her parent's place and I drove
on to Wichita <br />
Falls, to be with my father before and after his surgery. I sat in the lounge
off the operating room for much longer than the estimated duration of the
surgery. The surgeon's expression when he finally appeared confirmed my
suspicions that all was not well. He said, "your father has cancer of the
colon; it has spread to his liver and all through his abdomen. I just tied off the
transverse colon and connected the ascending colon to the descending colon and
left the transverse colon in place. He has about six months to live." </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Although
I was not too surprised, it was a load. After talking briefly to my father in
his room, I went to the nearest cafe for a cup of coffee. I lit a cigarette
and, after the first drag, raised the cup for a drink. Just as it reached my
lips, I had the urge to sneeze. Rather than blow coffee all over the counter, I
suppressed the sneeze and "slipped" a lumbosacral vertebral disc.
Almost passing out at every movement, I somehow managed to walk back to the
hospital, up the steps and to my father's room. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">I told
his private nurse what had happened and asked her to get a doctor for me. My
father's surgeon and an orthopedist appeared almost immediately (the nurse had
put me on the bed in the next room). The orthopedist confirmed my diagnosis and
said, "don't tell the Medical Association, but I'm going to do a
chiropractic manipulation to get the disc back in place. It'll hurt like hell,
but you'll feel better when it's over." He turned me over on my side, put
one of my knees over his shoulder and did something to my back with both hands.
He was right; it did hurt like hell and I did feel better afterward. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">After a
day or two in the hospital, I called Mrs. Page, Marjorie’s mother. She came to
the hospital and took me to the Page residence. Every move was torture, getting
into and out of <br />
the car. Once inside, she asked me if I would like some lunch; I said,
"no, just some ice cream that I'll eat from the top of the
refrigerator." That eliminated the agony of slowly easing myself into a
chair and out of it when I had finished eating. While I was eating the ice
cream, either Mr. or Mrs. Page asked me a question and when I turned my head to
answer, I fainted from the excruciating pain. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Somehow
the Pages got me into the bed in what had been Marjorie's bedroom. I stayed
there several days except for occasional EXPEDITIONS to the bathroom for
essential body functions. It would take an interminable time to get out of the
bed, make my way to the bathroom, carefully lower myself on to the toilet, and
try to relax the proper sphincters. Several times my efforts resulted in such
intense pain that I would faint and falloff the commode. Mrs Page would hear me
fall and come help me back to the bed. She finally said, "I don't like <br />
emptying bed pans, but you're too heavy for me to carry, so use a bed pan until
you can make it to the toilet and back to bed." I doubt I ever told Mrs
Page how much I appreciated her taking care of me when I really needed it. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">After
about a week I was well enough to travel. Pat came up and drove me to Fort
Worth and then to College Station. I spent most of both trips lying down as
best I could in the back seat. <br />
It was difficult for both of us; Pat was never a long distance driver and I
couldn't get into a position that wasn't painful. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">We made
several trips to Wichita Falls as my father wasted away. Somewhere along the
line he married one of his nurses, who I realized at the time knew he was
terminal. She kept him <br />
virtually free from pain through her connections with sources of morphine, for
which I was grateful. On one of the trips, I sold the house for him; he split
half (our mother's half) between all <br />
the children, our share was about $600 each. I threw a rod in our 1946 Hudson
on the way back to College Station and the replacement engine cost $800. That
took care of my inheritance; the new wife's lawyer drew up a new will, leaving
everything to her and she wouldn't even give me my father's railroad watch. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">I was
notified of my father's death while I was taking my last final exam in the
course work leading to my MS. We drove to Wichita Falls for the funeral. I was
a spectator; the grief <br />
stricken new wife of a year or so, along with her grown children from a
previous marriage, occupied the mourner's bench. Pat, my brother and I sat in
the next row. After the funeral, Pat, my brother, and I had a couple of beers
at a tavern and we drove back to College Station to finish up the last details,
like the Oral, for the Master's Degree. The latter was a snap; George Potter <br />
and Richard Turk were real nice and Sewell Hopkins handled the Exam
masterfully. He did sock it to me with a couple of questions at the end to
which I could only respond "I don't know". I'm sure he was just
letting me know that I did not know everything. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">I was
appointed an Instructor my second year in Graduate School and had several
courses of my own, including the lectures. One was HUMAN ANATOMY AND
PHYSIOLOGY, a two semester required course for all Physical Education majors,
i.e. varsity athletes. My best student was Wally Moon, who subsequently was
National League Rookie of the Year (beating out Hank Aaron) with the St. Louis
Cardinals and National League All Star Left Fielder for the Los Angeles
Dodgers. Wally was actually interested in learning anatomy and physiology--
most of the other "jocks" just wanted to get a passing grade. One
even offered me a full set of golf clubs and a leather bag he had won for a C
in the course if he didn't have to take any of the exams. I just laughed at
him, even though I didn't own a set of golf clubs, let alone a leather bag. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">All the
jocks were proud of their athletic ability and thought they could do any sport
better than a college teacher. I had been playing handball for years and none
of them had played <br />
the game before coming to A&M. I LOVED whipping their butts on the handball
court-- that was a blow to their ego that got their attention so I could get
through to a few in the classroom. <br />
Incidentally, none of them ever beat me at handball, even though they were all
much superior to me athletically. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">One
afternoon George Potter entered the Comparative Anatomy Lab where I had a lab
section going-- he was accompanied by an elderly man to whom he introduced me.
He was Dr. S. H. Warner, Head of the Biology Department at Sam Houston State
Teachers College in Huntsville, Texas. He was in the market for someone to
teach Comparative Anatomy and George Potter was Mr. Comparative Anatomy in
Texas. Dr. Potter recommended me and, after talking for a while, Dr. Warner
offered me the job as an Assistant Professor of Biology. I told him I was very interested,
but I would have to discuss it with my wife. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">I
thought Pat might not want to go to Huntsville-- I was REALLY wrong on that
score. She welcomed the opportunity to quit working and didn't care at all that
my salary would not equal our combined salaries at A&M. The appointment was
to begin September 1st and since they also wanted me to teach Embryology, we
spent the summer at A&M so I could take Embryology and we would have an
income. I accepted the position at $300 a month, but was soon notified that the
State Legislature had authorized raises that brought my salary to $380. We
could live with that-- we bought a 1950 Plymouth, the first new car we had
owned, and carried everything we owned in it to Huntsville. </span></p>
<p><style>
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{page:WordSection1;}</style></p>Elisa Kay Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12799520611077133253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8395186067285661546.post-20841474937586941782020-11-11T11:35:00.002-08:002020-11-11T12:11:39.488-08:005.2.4: The Georges<p>
</p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Copperplate Gothic Bold"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The Georges</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I didn't realize what I was getting into when I married
into the George Family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The matriarch of
the family was Muddie, actually named Dora, who was one of the strongest and
meanest people I ever met.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While still
a young girl she was married to Joe George, an itinerant Baptist preacher, and
as quickly as the biological processes permitted had five children: Paul,
Bessie, Dode, Nellie Jo, Jessie, and twins that didn't survive. The Reverend
Joe George died of the flu and was buried in Old Dime Box, Texas (not New Dime
Box which is five miles away) twenty six miles west of Bryan, leaving a young
widow with no money and five small children to support. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9IAPdIutqdN5bTVvfblRjgDakt1XheRmh8kpB3riQkHcEWygGZgAQitjM8I5kSMS2bnT3ZXEnaGd2-YxaV_bCN1jebYJieHDJWRqiCT_-7Jf0e6aV4m9_TMof5VXaGUBnOTaUUZU4H54V/s2048/2011-04-24+16.33.43.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1530" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9IAPdIutqdN5bTVvfblRjgDakt1XheRmh8kpB3riQkHcEWygGZgAQitjM8I5kSMS2bnT3ZXEnaGd2-YxaV_bCN1jebYJieHDJWRqiCT_-7Jf0e6aV4m9_TMof5VXaGUBnOTaUUZU4H54V/s320/2011-04-24+16.33.43.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Muddie<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">She and
the children, with their few possessions and $1,000 contributed by the members
of the churches her husband had served, went by wagon to Belton, Texas probably
in 1901.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There she opened a boarding
house, bought with the thousand dollars, for students at Baylor Belton, a
branch of the Baptist operated Baylor College in Waco for females.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Probably with her resident students and
certainly with her children, she was a martinet; everyone had chores and she demanded
instant obedience, enforced with a leather belt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Obviously it was a hard row to hoe, but she
never made it a secret that all her love had been buried in Old Dime Box.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Many years later, Paul, Pat's father,
reported that he had heard her say more than once "I'd rather have dug the
graves of all my children with a spoon than bury my husband".</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDqfVn-X_vjYQmIAv5JPHZ2prIN6B7dF0Tns7qg4Vw-5KH7EFzV398K_W0us9-cOb206nsUEndXst3tmOim4atQH3cQhhmvbRlFoI1xOWO4aHag35LJVbI6Ka49e4R5hsqgclvIYQkXXV4/s2048/2011-04-24+16.34.16.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1530" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDqfVn-X_vjYQmIAv5JPHZ2prIN6B7dF0Tns7qg4Vw-5KH7EFzV398K_W0us9-cOb206nsUEndXst3tmOim4atQH3cQhhmvbRlFoI1xOWO4aHag35LJVbI6Ka49e4R5hsqgclvIYQkXXV4/s320/2011-04-24+16.34.16.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Five George Children<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Almost certainly because of their
relationship with Muddie, the George children, at least the ones I knew and
those I heard about, grew up with serious<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>motional problems.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They all had a
love hate relationship with her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bessie
apparently became pregnant while young and Muddie made the defoliator marry
her; she then soon died of tuberculoses.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> <br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dode got her Bachelor's degree from Baylor Belton and was accepted by
the Graduate School at Columbia, where she earned a Master's Degree.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She returned to Texas and worked in Dallas,
where Nellie Jo and Muddie had moved.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There
she lived with a Miss Cloud for a while until she and Nellie Jo had a major
confrontation, after which she moved to Southern California to live with
"Miss" Cloud and her husband, a wealthy business man from
Philadelphia.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Subsequently, she became
one of the first female pilots, a friend of Amelia Ehrhart, and participated in
cross country races and other pioneering women's events before the term
"Women's Lib" was coined.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She
and Nellie Jo, had no contact for more than 30 years (those Georges did know
how to hold grudges). <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She and the rest
of the family-- Muddie, Paul and Jesse -- continued to correspond.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Somewhere along the line Dode developed
severe high blood pressure and had to spend most of her time in bed, in the
home of "Miss Cloud" and her husband.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She and Nellie Jo were reconciled via the telephone prior to her demise
and Nellie, Paul and Jessie visited her shortly before she died.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I suspect that she and Miss Cloud were
lesbian lovers and that Nellie Jo discovered it, causing the estrangement, but
no one even hinted at such an immoral relationship by the daughter of Baptist
minister</span><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">[This seems to be true.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Many years later, my Aunt Barbara went out to
California and found Dode’s grave; she was buried next to Miss Cloud and
another female friend. EKS]</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdr7Qe454ek8tt2mIQzcY6appPjAMswdaU32FJP5JZdLvRJX7s0kxzOxZYRPJYwJs06PqnDEhs7a1xYXoA7_AauRZudvWikMvxCK3EROSWLQ7g7zs65vUf65X-frlRGp-7Q8-sr_ecriwb/s1280/auntdode.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1092" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdr7Qe454ek8tt2mIQzcY6appPjAMswdaU32FJP5JZdLvRJX7s0kxzOxZYRPJYwJs06PqnDEhs7a1xYXoA7_AauRZudvWikMvxCK3EROSWLQ7g7zs65vUf65X-frlRGp-7Q8-sr_ecriwb/s320/auntdode.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Aunt Dode </td></tr></tbody></table></span></span><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">Paul
bailed out as soon as he could; apparently Muddie gave him a particularly hard
time as the senior male in the household at ten years of age. He got a job
working at a creamery in a <br />
nearby town at thirteen and moved out; at sixteen he was managing it and had
bought it before he was twenty. He often told me tales of making butter and, especially,
ice cream--to which he was addicted until he died. He left the creamery in the
stewardship of the local Baptist preacher when he was drafted in World War I,
and always claimed the preacher stole it from him while he was away to the war.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Actually, I have the feeling that Paul had an
absolute genius for not trusting the right people and trusting the wrong
people. He missed a lot of opportunities because of mistrust and lost a lot of
money because he trusted people who eventually ate his lunch. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">Going
away to war was not arduous. He reported to a camp in Waco, Texas, less than a
hundred miles from Belton, and never left it. Because he had been fascinated
with the newly invented automobiles, he had spent all his spare time learning
about them; not only driving them but also taking them apart to see what made
them work. He was immediately assigned to the Motor Pool where he repaired cars
and trucks and even assembled them from parts shipped in from the factory. Paul
told me that he never wore his uniform; life in the army was no different
except it was easier and he had more privileges. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">Having
lost the creamery, Paul joined the migrant workers in the developing Texas oil
business. With his talent with all things mechanical, drilling oil wells was a
natural for him. They started out moving essentially water-well digging
equipment to lease sites by teams of horses and wagons and providing power for
drilling the well with steam engines complete with boilers <br />
fired by wood. Paul told me, and I don't know whether it's true or not, that
one night while waiting for the steam pressure to build up enough to begin
utilizing it the thought occurred to him that "if I ran a belt from the
can shaft to the drill shaft, the car engine would provide the power".
Whoever thought of it, that was the end of steam driven power in the oil industry;
as a minor result my father, a boiler maker and fireman, went to work for the
Fort Worth and Denver City Railroad as a fireman, still shoveling coal into a
fire that powered a steam engine. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCbTLWBaJjQySOxIx6heggVNZCflKpvqPPYDXDmVnZ0W8KdNs4TBtrb7ZyqhAFF9YjqOuLSgzxgKKqBgYddectUqTbR9AFotCqxXgA9_S_E-wWW885CX5lDO_LWV0r6MCAWCiuPe7DSODJ/s640/PaulNellieJo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="478" data-original-width="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCbTLWBaJjQySOxIx6heggVNZCflKpvqPPYDXDmVnZ0W8KdNs4TBtrb7ZyqhAFF9YjqOuLSgzxgKKqBgYddectUqTbR9AFotCqxXgA9_S_E-wWW885CX5lDO_LWV0r6MCAWCiuPe7DSODJ/s320/PaulNellieJo.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Paul and Nellie Jo<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">Nellie
Jo was unquestionably the PICK OF <span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">THE
LITTER<b>. </b>I </span>don't know much about the early days in Belton, but she
moved to Dallas as soon as she could manage it. There she met and married a Bob
Tarrant. Muddie didn't like him and the marriage didn't last long. Muddie soon
moved to Dallas to "take care of Nellie Jo"; that relationship,
although always tense, lasted for more than 30 years. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">Nellie
worked for the Dallas Automobile Club (AAA) for many years, virtually running
it as Executive Secretary for much of the time. She was the first person I knew
with real CLASS; she loved beautiful things and spent all her money on the
BEST: clothes from Neiman Marcus, jewelry from Linz, Steuben Crystal, sterling
silver flatware and serving dishes, Havilland China, lovely porcelain
"knickknacks", and beautiful furniture. Nellie Jo was also the most
generous person I have ever known; she never forgot a birthday or anniversary
and her gifts were always perfect. Her gift list was not confined to the
family, but encompassed a wider circle of friends than the family knew. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">She
ALWAYS, with rare exceptions, prepared Christmas Dinner for the George Family.
But first, there was the opening of gifts--most from beneath Nellie's
exquisitely decorated Christmas Tree and provided by her. Paul, Nellie's big
brother, always got the most, but, as the first male to marry into the family,
I was a close second for a few years. Nellie always overdid it for Paul and he
responded by sneaking outside and nipping from his pint of bourbon until he was
half crocked and resentful that he could not reciprocate. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">We
didn't drink in Nellie's home for years because Muddie didn't approve. I think
I broke that barrier by bringing my own bottle and calmly fixing myself a drink
while talking to Muddie. I don't think she was educated and certainly not
amused when I reminded her of Jesus's encouragement of the custom of drinking
wine and noting that if they had known how to distill liquor back then, he
probably would have put in a good word for whiskey. I'm sure I was an enigma to
Muddie; I was the first one in the Family who was not intimidated by her. All
her children and their spouses observed her restrictions in her presence; I
decided I was not going to let a warped old woman control my behavior in her daughter's
house. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">Christmas
Dinner, itself, was a pageant. No one seemed aware that Nellie Jo had been up
since 4:00 AM to put the turkey on, basting it every half hour while she
prepared the Waldorf <br />
Salad, baked sweet potatoes, rolls, various vegetables, fruit salad, giblet
gravy, pumpkin pie, pecan pie, and other desserts. In between, she set the
table: Irish Linen table cloth, napkins in napkin holders, crystal water
glasses, silver flatware, serving dishes and spoons, demitasse cups for after
dinner coffee, china for each course. Everyone sat down to dinner at Nellie's
summons; the turkey came out of the oven golden brown, stuffed and surrounded
by delicious dressing (that had taken a little time, too), all the vegetables
and the rolls were hot, the butter, salads and the drinks were cold, and
everything arrived on the table simultaneously. It was just ACCEPTED; it was
there and perfect like everyone expected from Nellie. We took the seats
assigned by Nellie Jo and enjoyed the meal, unless Paul tried to spoil it by
going into one of his tirades. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">Nellie
Jo had a "boy friend", Earnest Thornton, of long standing when I
joined the family. Muddie didn't approve of him, either; he had been married
and DIVORCED twice and had two <br />
children from the second marriage. I don't know how faithful he had been to his
former wives, but he was always waiting in his car to take Nellie Jo to work
and bring her home in the afternoon. He took her to all the SMU home games
during the football season and less cultural events like plays and symphonies
that Nellie wanted to attend. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">Nellie
Jo and Earnest took a "vacation" together every year: Colorado
several times, Mexico, Chicago for the World's Fair, Lake Louise. I'm sure
Muddie, if she thought about it at all, assumed they had separate rooms, but I
never believed it for a minute. I prefer to believe they celebrated a couple of
weeks of freedom from Muddie with all sorts of sexual experiences. In addition to his unflagging devotion, Earnest gave Nellie Jo numerous material
gifts: a mink stole, diamond bracelets, etc., all viewed with a frown and sniff
of disapproval by Muddie. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">Earnest
was probably the nicest man I ever met, aside from the fact he could stand on
his head. Also, as I learned much later, he was an avid deer hunter, sharing a
lease in the "Hill Country" with several friends for many years. He
always drove the newest car and wore the latest clothes, neither of which ever
had a wrinkle. He was always cheerful, unflaggingly courteous to Muddie despite
her blatant disapproval of him, and obviously totally in love with Nellie Jo.
Even Paul liked him, but he maintained a low profile at Christmas and, I
assume, other times when he was allowed inside the house. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">Jesse
was the STAR of the George family; he was a gambler from childhood until he
lost his last bet to disseminated prostatic cancer. He was the most exciting,
fun person I have ever known. According to Paul, he was playing high stakes poker with the
bankers and leading businessmen of Belton, smiling and taking their money,
before he was sixteen years old. He was a freshman in the first class at Southern
Methodist University (SMU), but left to join the Lafayette Espadrille in World
War I. He was one of the first US Military Pilots; I don't know whether he saw
combat in World War I, but he knew all the right people and they remembered
him. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">I don't
think Jesse went back to college after the war, but he got a job with the Gulf
Oil Company as a geologist, probably smiling while he took their money, and was
sent to Tampico where he met Girlie. They soon returned to Houston, where he
was a midlevel executive with Gulf Oil Company, living in a modest house and
having three children. The eldest, a son, was drowned while attending summer
camp and the two daughters, Ray and Mary Jo were subsequently over-protected
and over-indulged. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">Jesse
was always the big spender; his Christmas presents were spectacular: Pat and
her sister Barbara each received Hartman luggage one Christmas and diamond
studded watches <br />
another. He and Girlie took Ray and Mary Jo to Dallas every year to shop for
school clothes at Neiman Marcus. They always had a suite at the Baker Hotel, at
least after I knew them. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">Gulf
Oil was not big enough for Jesse; in the mid-thirties he opened an office as an
independent oil operator and in 1937 or 1938 bought a house in River Oaks, then
and still <b>THE </b>EXCLUSIVE residential area in Houston. He also joined the
Houston Club where, with his personality, he was one of the most popular
members. He took me to lunch there a couple of times, once with Eddie Dyer who
was Manager of the St. Louis Cardinals and several important Houston citizens
he wanted to show me off to. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">Jesse
told me once while we were having lunch that he had made more money playing
bridge at the Houston Club the previous year than from his oil business. I'm
sure he kept them laughing while he was taking their money, and I'll bet they
didn't mind. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">Jesse
loved sports events and he never missed an important one. The entire Jesse
George family went to the Kentucky Derby every year; he was an avid football
fan, following Rice mostly but liable to turn up at important A&M games
after I married into the family. He always had at least a half dozen 50-yard-line
tickets for every game, including the Cotton Bowl. For years during my graduate
school times and spending the holidays in Fort Worth or Dallas, he would call
and offer me from two to a half dozen tickets--50 yard-line, of course--to the
Cotton Bowl. I'd take a few friends and sell the rest of the tickets outside the
Cotton Bowl. Jesse would never accept any money for the tickets he gave me,
even for the ones I sold. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">When
he, and the rest of the Houston Georges, came to Dallas for the Cotton Bowl,
they would have a suite at the Baker Hotel-- he did it for the Texas-Oklahoma
Game some years. All the family would be invited to their suite for dinner;
Jesse would order for everyone: sirloin steak or prime rib, always rare, plus
salad and appropriate vegetables and catered by black skinned white coated
waiters. Only Jesse and I ate much of the rare beef, with the blood running
before you speared it, all of us had grown up on chicken fried veal steak and
only Jesse and I had learned how good raw meat could taste.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">Jesse
was ALWAYS the center of attention, ordering and officiating at the catered
dinners at the Baker Hotel, at the rare visits to Nellie Jo's for Christmas,
and in the exact middle <br />
of the 50 yard-line at football games. He was like Robert Preston in THE MUSIC
MAN, almost hypnotic and always entertaining, but he cared about people, too,
or at least put on a good show. He appeared, unannounced, when I was awarded my
Master's Degree--the first person to congratulate me after I came off the
stage. I didn't even know he was aware I was getting the degree, so I was surprised to see him. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">The
Christmas at Thompsons was special. Jesse had taken on the role of the
cattleman and the place was set up to meet his concept of the 20th Century Gentleman
Rancher. The huge old house and yard must occupy almost five acres; the kitchen
was staffed by several black women who, I believe, were descendants of Mr
Thompson's slaves and had never left the property. They were in complete
control of the kitchen. Interestingly, Girlie had never cooked a meal in her
life; they had a full time cook and housekeeper in Houston, probably one of the
black women from Thompsons. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">The
lush Gulf Coast Coastal Prairie around the mouth of the Brazos River supports
the highest cow-to-acre ratio in Texas and Jesse had the property loaded to
capacity with Hereford cows bulging with the spring crop of developing calves.
Some of his friends in the Houston Club gave him a bull or a heifer or two to
welcome him into the cattle business. Jesse obviously enjoyed taking the men
around in a jeep to view the bulls and pregnant cows; after all, what Texan
wouldn't--especially Texans who had grown up dirt poor. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">Pat and
I drove from College Station to Thompsons in our new second hand 1947 Hudson.
Paul and Agnes were there, as were Nellie Jo, Ernest, and Muddie. We were in
Jessie's house and he defied Muddie by making liquor openly available and
encouraging its consumption by setting a stalwart example. Jesse, especially,
but aided and abetted by Paul and Nellie Jo, raked Muddie over the coals. They
talked about the good times and the bad times of growing up in Belton, mostly
the latter, and how mean Muddie was to them. I'm sure that was one of the most difficult
times she ever experienced, but that old woman showed no emotion; I didn't
particularly like her, but I must admit she had more guts than most people I
have known. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">The
meals, especially Christmas Dinner, were great; breakfast reminded me of
growing up: hot biscuits and ham or sausage or bacon or all three and eggs
prepared exactly the way <br />
you wanted. The other meals were as good or better. I would have been more than
willing to stay there for an indefinite time.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">Jesse,
who had lied about his age to get into World War I, had not stayed in the
Reserves and had not kept up with his flying; but when World War II broke out,
he HAD to be in it. He <br />
went to Washington and met with some of his cronies from World War I, all of
whom were generals, and some Texas congressmen and returned to Houston as a
Major in the US Army Air Corps. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">Fortunately,
they didn't let him fly, but put him into Administration. He was Executive
Officer at a couple of Air Bases, and soon a Lt. Col. and Commanding Officer of
the base at Recifie, Brazil where he hosted, among other celebrities, Eleanor Roosevelt and
Madame Chiang Kai-Shek. According to Jesse, Mrs. Roosevelt was not a problem
but Madame Chiang Kai-Shek, often known as the Dragon Lady, did have some
special requirements. She had to have satin sheets and they had to be changed
in the morning and after her afternoon nap. Jesse was not enamored by either of
them, but I'll bet he charmed them both. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">Meanwhile
back in River Oaks, Girlie had a problem. Not only had she not ever paid a
bill, she had never written a check in her life. She had an expensive home, two
daughters, one or <br />
more servants and not the foggiest notion of how to run the house or pay the
bills. The family attorney came out and showed her how to write a check;
actually, he took care of everything but the groceries. Girlie was not stupid; she had just been sheltered all her life
like many southern women in her time. She was the most gracious lady I ever met
and worked hard to instill her social graciousness into her daughters in the face of Jesse's gaffes. She
must have been terribly embarrassed many times by Jesse's extroversion, but she
never criticized him. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">As soon
as the war was over, Jesse let his friends in the right places know he was
ready to go home and was soon awarded a medal or two and relieved from Active
Duty. I'm surprised they didn't promote him to full Colonel as a going away
present; I'm sure if they had, all the Georges would have known. Still, he
didn't do too bad for someone who hadn't hit a lick in more than 20 years--just
a born leader, I guess. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">The
Jesse Georges invited Pat and me down for the weekend a couple of times while I
was finishing off my BS and working on my Master's. That was gracious living;
black women who prepared the meals also served them and removed the dishes,
sheets turned down in the guest room, several kinds of liquor on the bar in the
family room--it was like being in a movie, and I loved every minute of it. If
Jesse had offered to adopt me, I would have accepted on the spot. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"> </span></p>
<p><style>
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{page:WordSection1;}</style> <br /></p>Elisa Kay Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12799520611077133253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8395186067285661546.post-32342400120661869282020-11-11T11:34:00.000-08:002020-11-11T11:34:01.013-08:005.2.3: Dog Days and First Car<p>
</p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Copperplate Gothic Bold"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Dog Days</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">We
were "dog people" for more than 30 years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>During that period we met a plethora of
fascinating real "dog people" and more importantly, even more
fascinating dogs: Dachshunds, Boxers, Dobermans, Min Pins, Schipperkes, Labrador
Retrievers, and many, especially our final favorite, Hungarian Viszlas.<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We did not have a dog when we moved
to College Station in, 1946.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We moved
into a furnished room in a lovely home owned by a Mrs. Blumberg, the aunt of a
classmate of mine, Kent, while waiting to move into college housing provided to
World War II veterans. However, shortly after we moved into a Quonset hut
apartment in "Veterans Village" we kept a pair of dachshunds, Fritz
and Trudy, for a couple while they went on vacation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The DeVolds were instructors, or perhaps professors,
of language at Texas A&M, he in German and she in French.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A few months after they returned from
vacation, Fritz produced a litter of puppies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We got "pick of the litter" for $50.00 and took him home a
couple of weeks early because we could wait no longer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our Donner was a lovely puppy and we loved
him dearly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We came home at lunch time
each day to take him for a walk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That was
a couple of miles round trip and was in addition to walking to work or class in
the morning and back home in the afternoon. Suffice it to say, neither of us
had weight problems in those days<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">We made fudge one night when Donner was about 12 weeks old;
it "surgared" and we dumped the entire batch into the garbage
can.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We must have overslept the next
morning for we forgot, for the first time, to put the garbage out of the dog's
reach. When we arrived home that noon he was obviously ill.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We quickly found the raided garbage and took
him to the Small Animal clinic at the Texas A&M School of Veterinary
Medicine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was sent to the hospital
where, after three or four days, he died, attending veterinarian, Dr.
"Fuzzy" Knight, told us of acute liver damage because chocolate was a
potent poison to dogs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Interestingly, in
1987 we read an article that warned against feeding chocolate to their dogs
because it contains a bromide that dogs cannot metabolize.<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">We were devastated by his death, but were determined to get
another dachshund puppy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We attended a
dog show put on by the Valley Kennel Club in the Animal Husbandry Pavillion on Texas
A&M Campus where we were entranced with a lovely dog owned by the Cox's,
well known dachshund breeders from Worth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>On our next visit to Pat's family [by bus, of course] we visited the
Cox's to see whether if they had any available for sale.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They didn't, and we almost certainly could not
have come up with the money to buy an offspring of the sire, who finished his
AKC championship in the minimum three shows. They were lovely people who
graciously entertained a couple of youngsters with tales of how they were first
into raising and showing Great Danes but were unable to cope with the amount of
food they required.<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">They suggested we contact a Mr. Plummer, whom they told us one
was of the top Dachshund breeders in the country.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We took their advice and the next day were in
Mr. Plummer's home looking at a puppy sired by his famous champion, Kurt
von.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We wrote him a check for $100.00
for the puppy; it was a good sign of our love for dogs because I was receiving
$105.00 a month on the G.I. Bill and Pat was making $280.00 a month as a
technician in Biochemistry and Nutrition Department.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don't remember how we got the pup back to
Fort Worth, but I'll never forget how we got Donner, the name we quickly agreed
on, to College Station.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We obviously
couldn't use public transportation and, of course, didn't own a car.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We checked the newspaper section for a "share
a ride" to College Station, a means of transportation during the automobile
shortage post World War ll. Following a phone call to make the arrangements, we
were up at Pat's parents' domicile shortly after noon to be met by two young
men who looked, and subsequently talked, like a couple of guys rejected from
the 'Dead End Kids' because of authenticity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We sat in the back seat, Pat cradling “our Donner" in her lap,
while the two hoodlums bandied about their imagined escapades.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although I had learned in the army to subtract
a sliding scale "fudge factor" from the tales of braggarts, I was
happy to get out of their car at Veteran's with my wife unviolated, the dog
unharmed, and my wallet in my pocket.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Pat, who had never been exposed to that sort of people was even more
relieved.<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Our life at 20A Veteran's Village, though not idyllic, was
pleasant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I got up first, took a cup of
coffee and a lighted cigarette to Pat and, without speaking, cooked breakfast.
She was so exhausted from walking to and from work, more than a mile each way,
plus working hard all day as a laboratory technician that an unkind word could
bring tears.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">We took Donner everywhere we went on foot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One afternoon we walked a few blocks to the
grocery store at South Gate with him, about six months old at the time, on
lead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When a cat that apparently had
kittens somewhere in the store, pounced on what she perceived to be a threat to
her young, and bit his head, I rescued him as quickly as I could, but he was
terrified of cats, even tiny kittens, for two to three years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, when he overcame that fear he was a terror
on cats.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">One of the most shocking --and to us -- unfair rulings we
had up to that time was an arbitrary announcement that after a certain date no
dogs would be allowed in Veteran's.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>There was no limitation on the number of children, a point that, even
then, infuriated us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We probably would not
have bought Donner if we had had any inkling of the ban on dogs in college
housing, but once we had him there was no way we were going to give him
up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, moving out of college
housing caused a lot of hardship and cost a lot of money.<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Somehow, I found a Dr. Barger, head of the Economics at
A&M, who was building an apartment behind his house for rent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was finishing up my B.S. in Wildlife
Management and been accepted to Graduate School in the Biology Department.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>An impending Teaching Assistantship and GI
Bill stipend plus Pat's salary made it possible to move out of college housing
and buy the car we thought we had to have to live at Barger's.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was on Highway 6, between Bryan and
College, and more than two miles from the A&I Building where Pat worked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In our new affluence, we decided it was too
far to walk.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"> </span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Copperplate Gothic Bold"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">First Car</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Shortly after moving into Barger's
apartment we made a trip to Fort Worth to buy a car Pat's father had found for
us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don't remember how we got there --
not by public transportation; we took Donner with us -- but I'll never forget
the return.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The car was a 1937 Hudson,
an earlier model of which had run over me, owned by an elderly couple who only
drove to and the grocery store.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We paid
$600 for it, $100 down and$100 a month for five months with no interest.<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Paul George, Pat's father, suggested we go
downtown and see it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I said I had a friend
in College Station who was a mechanic and I thought I'd give him the
business.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Paul said, "You do
whatever you like, Sparks, but I wouldn't drive it off the lot if it wasn't
insured."<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That sounded good to me,
and so we did as he suggested.<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">We, Pat, Donner and I, left for College Station after
Sunday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After about 50 miles, the heat
gauge suddenly went off into the red and the radiator boiled dry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I walked to a nearby farm, pumped enough
water from a well to refill the radiator and we continued our journey.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fifty miles later it happened again; by then I
was experienced enough to take extra water along. When I limped into a service
station, the attendant said, "your fan belt is busted; I'll take it out if
you want me to".<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I told him that I,
indeed, wanted him to take it out. Of course it, cost a few dollars, and that
hurt because we were playing close to the vest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>All went well until we were between Bryan and College, less than a mile
from our apartment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Someone driving on
Highway 6 waved frantically and pointed to the front of the car as we met.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>About then, smoke began coming up from our
feet and from beneath the dashboard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pat
said, "Stop, the car's on fire".<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I replied "I'm going to make it to that filling station where there's
water to put it out."<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"Not
with me," she said and, holding the dog and her purse, she bailed out in her
high heels onto the shoulder of the road.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Deserted, I lost my nerve and
pulled off the road just as flames erupted around my feet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A couple of drivers with fire extinguishers stopped,
raised the hood and began spraying foam on the burning engine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Someone had also called the fire department; they
put out the fire, but only after considerable damage. I walked the short
distance to the apartment, leaving the burned car on the shoulder of the
road.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was NOT a happy time.<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">The next morning a young insurance adjuster arrived, prepared
for a "buy and burn insurance scam".<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He took one look at the car and said, "It's totalled, you can have
your $600 back".<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I said "can
we have it fixed instead".<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He said
we had that choice, but he advised against it -- by then he realized we were
too dumb to be involved in any kind of insurance scam and was trying to help
us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unfortunately, I was too stupid to take
his advice. The Insurance Company put the repair job out for bids and a family
in Bryan, the Scardinos, made the lowest bid.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>In addition to having the local Hudson dealership, they also owned a store.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don't know if the Mafia had penetrated the College
Station area, but they operated with mob-like ethos. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were always polite -- "sorry the car
isn't ready like promised, but we've had some problems".<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The estimated two-week repair time stretched
into something like two months.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When the
car was finally ready, it looked like hell; the Scardinos had let their kids
repaint the dash board for "show and tell".<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was so tired of dealing with the slippery
Scardinos and or riding the bus everywhere we went that I accepted the mess without
further argument.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pat cried when I
brought it home.<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">We joined the Brazos Valley Kennel Club after seeing an ad to
enroll in an Obedience Class in the local paper.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This opened a whole new world to us; we made
many new friends, human and canine, and learned about the Dog World.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mrs. Stewart<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>raised and showed Boxers; she owned Tree Cedar's Kennel, the one Boxer
kennel in the Southwest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her Chris, a
fawn, was a famous champion and Cactus, a brindle, was well on his way when we
met Mrs. Stewart, and he soon won the requisite number of points in AKC
sanctioned shows.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mrs. Stewart was
obedience training Chris so that she could make him both a conformation and
obedience champion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was not only
gorgeous, he was smart; she took him through the Trials in almost record time. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">The other side of the coin was Mrs. Clark, a lovely elderly
woman, and her unregistered Dachshund, Trudi.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>In between were people and their dogs, drawn together by one common
factor -- a love of dogs and the compulsion to educate them so we could communicate
with them to the maximum possible. We were encouraged to show Donner by other
Brazos Valley Kennel members and entered him in the Puppy Class at the next AKC
Brazos Valley Kennel Club sponsored show.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Despite the fact that I didn't know how to show him, or even to groom
him, he did well enough in the Puppy Class to go to the next round.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There both of us were outclassed, though all
the Dachshund fanciers recognized his father: "Kurt always throws that
gorgeous head".<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The problem then
was my inexperience in the show ring, and always was that we did not put any
weight on him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In retrospect, I'm confident
if we had had the money to put him with a professional who also kenneled him
between shows, he would have become AKC Champion in a short time. <span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">After we got our ugly duckling car back, we were happy at Barger's
apartment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Everything was new and it was
the nicest place either of us had ever lived, except for the short stay at Mrs.
Blumberg's.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We settled down to enjoy it
at least until I got my Master's Degree , but after only a few months, Dr.
Barger informed us he had other plans for the apartment and that we would have
to move.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We were devastated; we had been good tenants, paid the rent
on time, kept the place immaculate, didn't have wild parties and didn't even
make noise-- we were so tired we slept most of the time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have no idea why he evicted us -- perhaps
for a student in his department or the idea he could get more than wee were
paying (he was close with money); but when I asked him why, he pointed out that
he didn't have to explain his reasons.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It was his apartment and he wanted us out of it; life WAS different
then.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Having to move created a serious problem; with all the
veterans there was a monstrous housing problem in the Bryan Station.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Texas A&M had been a military school
prior during WWII; virtually all undergraduates lived in college and there were
few graduate students.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was no housing
in College Station and very little in Bryan, a few miles away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The returning married veterans, many of them
with children, were far too numerous to be accommodated in college and quickly
overwhelmed the local rental market while waiting their turn for college
housing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Texas A&M worked
desperately to build more student housing for married veterans, but they
couldn't keep up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The only place we
could find to rent was in Munnerlyn, a collection of World War II Quonset Huts
bought surplus and thrown up by Mr. Ford Munnerlyn to help alleviate the
housing shortage AND make a lot of money.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Once again we were in WWII prefab housing, but these weren't put
together nearly as well as Veteran's Village, the rent was much higher, and we had
Donner and, by then, Schatzie, a choice of litter from Donner's first stud
fees.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">It was not a happy time; the rent was more than we could afford,
the curtains stood out from the closed windows when the winter winds blew and
we couldn't generate enough heat to get the place acceptably warm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I put up a chicken wire fence which was
supposed to contain the two dogs, but Donner "swam" the soil beneath
the fence and Schatzie followed him through the excavations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I'd search the neighborhood for them; when
they saw me they would head for home, trying to keep me from seeing them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By the time I got back they were always safely
in the pen happily waiting to greet me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
thwarted them once by blocking their exit with a board and catching them
outside the pen, but it never worked again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Donner dug another tunnel before I could get home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We abandoned the pen when one of the neighbors
complained that Donner was eating their pet Bantam chickens.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Actually, we didn't believe gentle, sweet
Donner would do such a vicious thing until he brought one home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Fortunately, we were able to escape Munnerlyn Village fairly
quickly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Howard Joham, an instructor or
assistant professor in the Biology Department, took a year's leave of absence
to go to finish his PhD and offered to lease us their house at a very
reasonable rent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were delighted with
the offer, though there were some stipulations such as the dogs being kept to
the kitchen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mrs Joham carefully
oriented Pat as to where everything was and EXACTLY how she wanted everything cared
for.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Retrospectively,
it was pretty funny, but didn't seem so at the time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The house was fairly new, all wood, and plain
and small by present day standards.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
separate garage had a dirt floor, and I'm pretty sure the driveway was unpaved,
but I think street was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was in a new
addition between Bryan and Station; even the street name, Chocalaco, was new.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, it was the first house the Johams
had and, from the perspective of Munnerlyn Village, it seemed like heaven to
us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was nothing behind us until
the dam at Fin Lake, about a quarter of a mile away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although Joham was a botanist, there was no
yard to keep; I'm not sure that it had been sodded with grass.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">The year we lived there was tranquil and productive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pat was happy in her job, I was doing well in
Graduate School and teaching, and we were luxuriating in living in a real house
of our own with even an extra bedroom for guests.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We usually ate at a small table in the
kitchen, but there was even a separate dining room.</span><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></p>
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{page:WordSection1;}</style></p>Elisa Kay Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12799520611077133253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8395186067285661546.post-41425337851893803922020-11-11T11:32:00.003-08:002020-11-11T11:32:38.493-08:005.2.2: Family and Friends 1946-48<p>
</p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Copperplate Gothic Bold"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">FAMILY
AND FRIENDS 1946-1948</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>When we moved into 20A Veterans Village in September of
1946 we had instant friends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All of us
were in approximately the same academic and financial situation: undergraduates
dependent on the GI Bill, about the same age, married with varying number of
children, but all sharing the most important common bond of being survivors of
WWII.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because we didn't have much (like
no) money for entertainment, we made our own.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The wives played a lot of bridge, the men mostly studied.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A lot of the wives, like Pat, worked, so they
couldn't stay awake for late bridge.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Norman and Mary Joan Strange lived across the sidewalk
and became our best friends in Veteran's Village.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Norman and I had met before the war, on the
football field; he caught the pass for Masonic Home that beat us in the season
opener our senior year in high school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
don't remember knowing him at A&M before the war. Despite his growing up in
an orphan's home, they were much more affluent than we were.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He had been an officer in WWII and had saved
some money; they had a car and Mary Joan didn't even have to work, she stayed
home and took care of "Little Mary Joan". We kept in contact with the
Stranges for many years. Norman earned his CPA, opened his own business and,
like the good Catholics they were, had several other children, a couple of whom
were largely running the business at our last contact.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Henry
and Phyllis Crew lived at the end of the row. He was a Wildlife Mgt. major,
class of '43 and had also been an officer in the war.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had known him prior to the war, maybe in
the then Fish and Game Department but mostly as a bouncer in the toughest
honky-tonk in Bryan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Henry was pretty
adept at handling troublemakers, but he was famous for having an English
bulldog at he called on when necessary.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The bulldog solved a lot of problems without bloodshed.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He had met his wife, Phyllis, in Oregon during the war
and she was blond and beautiful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They
had a daughter, Chris, who was precious.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I don't know whether Phyllis adapted her vocabulary to Henry’s or they
had been attracted to one another by their speech mannerisms.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whichever, obscenities dripped from their
lips like honey from a hive and, especially, epithets were spit out like
machine gun bullets.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pat was horrified
the first time she heard Phyllis say "God Damn it, Chris, brush your teeth
and go to bed". Henry was even less gracious; we stopped by their place
one night just as Henry was finishing dinner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He had just finished off ten of the dozen biscuits, along with gravy,
mashed potatoes and pork chops, that Phyllis had made for dinner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She asked "do you want me to save the
biscuits?; Henry belched and said "throw 'em to the hogs, they ain't fit
to eat".<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>NOW, THAT'S GRACIOUSNESS.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Henry and I did a lot of things
together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I went with him to his home in
Orange, Texas for some hunting before the fall semester began.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I loved his family; his father was manager of
the fruit and vegetable section of a large grocery store and his mother
specialized in cooking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lots of
vegetables from the store found their way to the Crew's kitchen; beef, pork and
chicken, too, but the men preferred to kill their own meat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>As soon as we got out of the car to hunt, we'd all load
up with chewing tobacco; within minutes Mr. Crew would disappear into the
bushes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I soon discovered that he threw
up on his first "chew" of the day, "had been for thirty
years".<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dove season always opens on
September 1st in Texas; the favorite way to hunt them is to take a couple of
stools and a tub of iced down beer to a waterhole where doves come for their
evening drink.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You place the stools on
each side of the tub and sit, drinking beer, while waiting for doves to fly in
for their own drink.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The drier the area,
the more productive this system is because of the scarcity of watering sites.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thirty nine years later we used the same
technique on sand grouse in Kenya, except we didn't have the stools or the
washtub of cold beer.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>After the hunt one afternoon in Orange, Mr. Crew and I
were sitting in the kitchen drinking beer while Henry took his mother
shopping.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I fetched two more beers from
the refrigerator, but we had depleted the supply to the extent they were still
warm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I opened my bottle, I
inadvertently sprayed Mr. Crew.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
immediately put his thumb over the mouth of his bottle, shook it and expertly
got me full in the face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I retaliated;
when our bottles had lost all their fizz, we grabbed new warm ones from the
case and continued the battle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When
Henry and Mrs. Crew returned, we were sitting at the table, convulsed with laughter
and with everything in the kitchen, including the ceiling dripping beer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mrs. Crew didn't think it was very funny, but
she felt a lot better about it when she got a complete kitchen remodeling out
of it.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Henry and I took almost all our classes together our
senior year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My mother had given me a
typewriter for my birthday and I edited and typed up my notes every night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because Henry had taken me home with him and
hunting and fishing in College Station, I made a carbon copy of my notes for
him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That gradually evolved into an
annoyance; he soon learned he was going to get a typed set of notes from each
lecture, so he quit taking notes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
just sat and listened and sometimes got things I missed while writing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>THEN, he would sometimes make a higher grade
on a quiz than I did, even though I was smarter than he was and he was using MY
notes to beat me.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The culmination of my frustration came with a reading
assignment in one of W.B. Davis' courses, Ecology.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He had told us to read Matthews'
"Climate and Evolution" and made it clear he was going to cover it on
the next exam.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I read it from cover to
cover, taking careful notes as I read.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Actually, it was fascinating, providing some concepts that had never
occurred tom me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I typed up my notes but
didn't make a carbon because I assumed Henry would read it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The night before the exam Henry showed up at
20A Veterans and asked, "Where are OUR notes on “Climate and
Evolution"?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was so annoyed that
he hadn't bothered to read the book, depending on me to provide him with the
critical information, that I balked. I said, "Henry, these are MY notes,
and you can't have them; I will loan you a copy of "Climate and
Evolution" if you want to read it before the test".<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After a few pointed comments about my
legitimacy, loyalty and integrity, Henry took the book and probably stayed up
all night reading it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He bombed the test
and I aced it, but things were never the same between us afterwards.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">We lost
track of the Crews; the second time Phyllis became pregnant, he told her, in
our presence, that if she didn't have a boy he was going to divorce her (Henry
didn't do real well in Genetics; he couldn't accept the fact that the male
determined the sex of the offspring).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She didn't and he did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She went
back to Oregon with her two daughters.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">After
graduating, Henry got into, among other things, the pest control business.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He has been dead for many years; I heard he
lit a cigar inside a sealed house he was fumigating, blowing up the house and
himself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A couple of things I have to
say about Henry, he was never boring and he was a hell of an artist with a
shotgun.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Veterans
Village was about a hundred yards from Kyle Field; all the men were totally
hooked on football and the women faked it REAL GOOD.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pat worked and I had classes on Saturday
mornings when we had home games, but we hurried home to get ready for the
game.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I'd take Donner for a disappointly
short walk while Pat fixed lunch, usually a can of "Beenie Wienes" (I
had problems accepting that real people actually ate that stuff and called it a
meal; it was about the level of C Rations and not as good as 10 in 1
Rations).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then we would walk over to
Kyle Field and stand up through the whole game, exulting when we won and
despondent when we lost.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Actually in
retrospect, I don't think Pat gave a damn whether the Aggies won or lost; she
just wanted to get back to our place and get some rest.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>In early October of 1946, my parents came down for a
game; neither of them had ever seen a college football game, but they handled
the excitement well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They had gone to a
lot of high school football games when I was playing so it wasn't totally
foreign to them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a really nice
weekend; A&M won the game so we didn't have to go through some sort of pagan
rites of sacrifice for defeat; my parents seemed to enjoy themselves and
appeared to be completely relaxed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The following weekend was the "Corps Trip" to
Dallas to play SMU.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We gladly accepted a
ride with someone gracious enough to offer it on Friday afternoon and were
sound asleep on the couch in Nellie and Muddie's living room (Pat's favorite
aunt and grandmother) when Nellie waked us to tell me I had a long distance
phone call.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How they found us I don't
know and I've forgotten who called, but the message was clear; my mother had
died, apparently of a stroke.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Pat and I were on the next bus to Wichita Falls.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My father was devastated, but holding up well
especially considering that he had returned from a "Railroad Run" to
find her comatose and, besides, didn't handle emotional crises
effectively.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He had tremendous physical
courage, but was an emotional coward.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
knew he really needed me for support because I was the only one he had.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All my sisters and my brother were there from
California, but they were his stepchildren and had never accepted him as part
of THEIR family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We were each consumed with our personal grief, but
certain items of business had to be done by SOMEBODY; as the baby of the
family, I suppose I felt I should have been protected.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Instead, I went to the safety deposit box
with my father for the insurance policies; I picked out the casket and arranged
the funeral (because I had worked in a funeral home).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although I wasn't too happy with the
responsibility at the time, I'm sure it was excellent therapy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was too busy and too exhausted to crack up.
To me, once we buried her that was it. I tried not to waste time and energy
grieving.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although I can't imagine
loving a mother more than I did her, I have never visited her grave and I don't
remember the date of her death or when she was buried.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The IMPORTANCE and IMPACT of my mother was
the influence she had on me and all her other children (and grandchildren); not
her death, but her life. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>After the funeral, marked by a respectable but not
ostentatious casket, a steel vault insisted upon by my sisters, a sermon by a
new preacher at my mother's long time 10th and Austin Street Church of Christ
who obviously didn't know her, many friends and more than a few flowers, Pat
and I rode the bus back to College Station.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I was acutely aware that I had lost the most important person, to that
point, in my life, but I had missed a week of classes and had a lot of work to
make up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We
spent the Christmas of 1946 with Nellie Jo and Muddie in the apartment on
Columbia Street in Dallas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In
retrospect, I suppose that was when I threw in my lot with the Georges.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My mother was dead, my father was not much
comfort and all my sisters, my brother and all my nephews and nieces were in
California and apparently didn't give a damn about me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once our mother died, I no longer existed.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>That was my first Christmas at home after three overseas,
two in New Caledonia and one in Korea.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>In addition to being a returning "war hero", I had a lot of
other things going for me: none of Muddie’s children had produced a male
offspring, and I was the first to marry into the family; they couldn't do
enough for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn't have any clothes
except for the good brown suit Sol Laskie had saved for me and a high waist
pair of green slacks. The Georges, mostly Nellie, tried to give me EVERYTHING
and I graciously accepted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were
more ties than I bothered to count, white shirts, socks, and even handkerchiefs
with my initials on them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I suppose I
thought it was always going to be like that in the George Family.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Then
we had the first, for me, of many of Nellie Jo's Christmas Dinners.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>EVERYTHING was PERFECT; she got up at 4:00 AM
to put the turkey on, basting it every 15 minutes while she made the dressing,
baked the rolls, cut up everything for the fruit salad, cooked the sweet
potatoes and mashed them before whipping the cream to top them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In between, she "set the table":
Silver Serving Dishes, sterling silver knives and forks, crystal glasses.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was obvious I had married into a family
with CLASS. It took me a while to realize that NELLIE JO was the class act of
the George Family.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Back in College Station, life went on inexorably.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pat had to work and I had to study.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once I went to Loupot’s place at North Gate
and told Loupot "I need some money, do you have a job I can do?"<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Loupot said, "How much do you need, I'll
loan it to you."<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I said, "Lou,
I don't want to borrow any money; I'd have to pay it back; I need to MAKE some
money, do you have anything going?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
said "the only thing I have going is picking turkeys and you wouldn't want
to do that, all the turkey pickers are “nigger women".<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I said "Lou, some of my best friends are
nigger women, how much does it pay?"<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He gave me a price and then said "I need a turkey killer too, I’ll
pay you extra if you will slit their throats when we hang them up on the line.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I said, “Lou, you have found your turkey
killer, I love to slit the throats of young turkeys, especially for money.” </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Actually, that was not too bad a job; those
"nigger" women were not stupid.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>They accepted me, the only male and the only Caucasian, into the line of
stripping the feathers off turkeys dipped in steam.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We sat and gossiped while we worked; I loved
them and I think they accepted me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All
of them, including Loupot, were sorry to see me go when I accumulated enough
money to get out of the turkey plucking business.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A lot of Texas Aggies have said a lot of bad
things about Loupot (Judson E. Loupot, class of 1932), but he probably loaned more
money without security to Texas Aggies than anyone.<br />
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Matt and Aubey Whisenhunt were
good friends of the Stranges and friends of ours.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Matt was also a Wildlife Management major and
we took as lot of courses together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
had gone frog gigging with him, in his Model T Ford, before we were called to
active duty.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He and Aubey were from
Idabelle, Oklahoma, a small town near the Arkansas border.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Somehow, they had enough money to buy a house
rather than live in student housing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>One Sunday morning, Matt dropped in on us and the
Stranges in Veterans Village.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After a
while he said, "I came to ask you all over for Sunday Dinner".<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was obvious when we arrived at the
Whisenhunt residence that Aubey was just as surprised at the invitation as we
were.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She dropped the bottle of Scotch I
had brought along to liven things up before dinner (that was a catastrophe with
our incomes), but she valiantly stretched one small steak into dinner for
six.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We and the Stranges were acutely
embarrassed, but Matt seemed oblivious that anything was amiss.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Whisenhunts were divorced a few years
later, reportedly because Aubey couldn't have children and Matt wanted a
family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I'll bet she would rather have
killed him than being divorced that Sunday afternoon.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Through
the Stranges, we met Betty and Leon Gibbs; Norman and Leon had both been at
Masonic Home, the orphanage for children of members of the Masonic Lodge in
Fort Worth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Leon was in Veterinary
School, but he had been a major on General Macarthur’s staff so they also had
enough money to buy a house. They also had three daughters and subsequently a
son.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Betty worked like Hell being a
mother and wife, but didn't have time for outside employment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now THAT was affluence, a real house of their
own (not rented), three children, all on the GI Bill and savings not bad for
someone who had grown up in an orphan's home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We played bridge with them frequently for many years; Betty was one of
the most gracious and lovely ladies I ever met. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>During the three years of my completing the BS and
working on the MS, we had a lot of social relationships with Pat's associates
in Biochemistry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her boss, Dr Paul
Pearson, occasionally had us over for dinner; Bernie Swaggert had us over for
parties; and Russell Couch was big on chicken barbecues, with chickens
(hopefully controls) from the experiments.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The graduate students in Biochemistry weren't too shabby either; H. O.
Kunkel was Dean of Agriculture at Texas A&M for many years, Mack Prescott
was Dean of Arts and Sciences at Texas A&M, and Don Hood was Director of
the University of Alaska Institute of Marine Science.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Pearson became Head of Biochemistry,
then Dean of the Graduate School while still holding on to his Professorship
and research grants AND Chairmanship of the Department of Biochemistry and
Nutrition.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He did all the jobs superbly
and without wrinkling his suit or his face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Pearson left Texas A&M to become head of Biology and Medicine for
the Atomic Energy Commission in Washington, DC, but he left his dog, a lovely
Boxer named Bianca, with us. Russell Couch was the consummate big time
operator; Pat did not enjoy working for him after Dr. Pearson left.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In contrast to Pearson, Couch seemed to be a
lot more interested in getting the work done than whether it was done accurately.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While Pat was working for him, his wife
became pregnant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remember her telling
everyone at one of Couch's chicken barbecues that she had been to the doctor
that day; "that God Damned Russell has to overdo everything, I'm going to
have twins."<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The two teen-age Couch
children were not thrilled at the prospect; the daughter, especially, was
acutely embarrassed as her mother's pregnancy became increasingly more
obvious.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Pat
really liked working for Bernie Swiegert; actually, it was working WITH rather
than FOR him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was usually in the lab,
helping Pat and Frances Panzer run the assays.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Much of the work done in Pearson's and Swiegert's labs was classic at
the time: Biochemistry was booming.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pat
was excited with her work and some of it rubbed off on me; Bernie loved to
explain the significance of their research over a few drinks at their
house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Swiegert also had a distinguished
post A&M career.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was head of the
American Meat Institute, head of Biochemistry at Michigan State and at the
University of California at Davis. <span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">We had
almost no social relationships with the faculty of Wildlife Management while I
was finishing up my BS or Biology while I was working on my Master's.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Neither department was fun oriented; I
slightly regret that I didn't have the opportunity to know my professors as
well socially as I did those in Biochemistry.<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">We
spent Christmas of 1947 at the Jesse George's place at Thompson’s, Texas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Actually, it was Jesse's wife's, Girlie’s
place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Girlie was orphaned by the
Galveston Hurricane (known in Texas as the Galveston Flood) of 1900 in which
more than 5,000 people drowned.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A friend
of her family, Mr. Thompson adopted her and took her to his plantation near the
mouth of the Brazos River.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jesse George
met and married her while Mr. Thompson was the American Consul in Tampico,
Mexico. It's the end of the line for the railroad; there is no town but there
is a post office, Thompson’s Texas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
lovely old house that Girlie grew up in is still there, but a problem to
maintain after the slaves were freed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The house is surrounded by lawn and shaded by the biggest pecan trees I
have ever seen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To a former
sharecropper, cotton picker, Western Union boy, and buckass private, it was
impressive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></p>
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{page:WordSection1;}</style></p>Elisa Kay Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12799520611077133253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8395186067285661546.post-5322181386417695422020-11-11T11:31:00.002-08:002020-11-11T11:31:17.475-08:005.2.1: A&M 1946-9, MA in Bass<p>
</p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Copperplate Gothic Bold"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">TEXAS
A&M (1946-1949)</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I returned to Texas A&M when the Summer Session began
in June, 1946.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The plan was for me to go
to summer school, after which we would decide whether Pat would leave her good
job with the Humble Company in Baytown and try to find work in College Station
or I'd forget getting a college degree.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The first course I signed up for was the first half of Comparative
Anatomy, a potentially academically suicidal move. Comparative Anatomy was the bane
of all Wildlife Management majors.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It
was required for graduation and some took each of the two courses several
times.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was taught by Dr. George
Potter, whom all Wildlife majors were convinced discriminated against us. Why I
started out with that killer course rather than something more reasonable, I
have no idea, but it was a real test of both my ability and desire.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>That first six weeks term I slept in a nearby dormitory,
but I ”lived” in the Comparative Lab in old Science Hall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I received a C+ for the first course and was
convinced I had earned a B. However, I had learned a couple of worthwhile
lessons: I could cut it in even the tough college courses, and Potter wasn't
the ogre I had been told.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After seeing
my grade, I went to see Potter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>"Dr. Potter", I said, "I guess I deserved that grade, but
I didn't do better because I was scared of you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I'm not scared anymore and I'm going to make an A in the next
course." Potter smiled and said, "I hope you do, Sparks".</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>By the time the second summer session began, Pat had
already quit her job in Baytown and moved to College Station.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was able to really concentrate on the
comparative anatomy and I aced it. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I led
the class the entire course and was off and running academically.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>During
the next two semesters, I took almost all the advanced Wildlife courses,
including Ornithology, Mammalogy, Herpetology, Ichthyology, Ecology, plus such
crib courses as Systematic Botany, Advanced Technical Writing etc.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One semester I got off 26 credit hours -- 22
hours plus making up a four-hour incomplete from my last semester before
reporting for Active Duty in WW II.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
also accumulated more grade points that semester than in my entire prewar
career.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was in class between 40 and 44
hours a week (we had classes on Saturday mornings).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My mother had given me a typewriter for my
birthday and I typed up all my day's notes every night.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Those Wildlife courses were excellent!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At one time I could identify on sight every
species of vertebrate native to Texas and correctly spell it's scientific
name.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could also do the same with most
of the native plants.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was particularly
fortunate in taking Herpetology from Hobart Smith, one of the top Herpetologists
in the US and the author of the definitive book on lizards, and Mammalogy from
Bill Davis, one of the leading Mammalogists in the country.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Gary Soule taught the fish courses and Bill
Haight taught Ornithology.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Both of the
latter were there for only a year or so and I haven't heard anything about either
for at least 40 years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hobart Smith left
for the University of Illinois after a few years where he taught Comparative
Anatomy and Herpetology for years and eventually moved to the University of
Colorado as Chairman of the Department of Zoology.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Our decision for Pat to remain in Baytown was not viable.
We had been separated for so long by the war, over which we had no control, we
found we could not accept a self-imposed separation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I went to Baytown or Pat came to College
Station every weekend, always by an interminable bus ride.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On one of her visits to College Station she
interviewed for a job with Dr. Paul B. Pearson, Professor of Biochemistry and
Nutrition.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was offered the job as a
Laboratory Technician in Dr. Pearson's Lab at about $165.00 per month.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That was a pay cut of about $20.00 per month,
but we jumped at it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With the $105.00
per month I received from the G.I. Bill (plus tuition and books), we could manage,
but we were on a tight budget.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Pat was a meticulous bookkeeper and I reported every cent
I spent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For years, she was never off
more than 10 cents for a month.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were
frugal, but not stingy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We both smoked
lots of cigarettes (a pack each every day), but spent little on food or entertainment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pat had not discovered booze; I had a beer or
two every evening, but a bottle of whiskey was for a party.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We seldom went out because she was tired, I
had to study, we didn't have any money, and no car to go anywhere to spend it
if we had any.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nevertheless, I believe
that is where we developed our basic philosophy and family expression, "if
you can't go First Class, stay home" We didn't do anything we thought we
couldn't afford, but if we decided we could, we didn't try to do it on the cheap.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>If, in retrospect, those times seem austere, it's
probably because they were.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However,
neither of us had ever had it easy and, most importantly, we were together after
almost four years of separation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could
see that I was going to be the first, and probably the only, member of my family
to get a college education and I possibly could become a professional
(”somebody”) instead of a worker.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
don't remember us giving each other inspirational speeches, we were too tired
or busy most of the time, but it must have been in the back of both our minds
or we wouldn't have done it. I didn't have any doubts and if Pat did, she kept
them to herself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In view of my High
School and previous College undergraduate under achievement, she was either
blindly in love, saw something in me that no one else (other than my mother)
had or didn't know how to get out of a bad situation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whatever the reason, I'm glad she stuck with
me.</span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Copperplate Gothic Bold"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> </span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Copperplate Gothic Bold"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Next
Step into Academe: MS and Bass</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>In early 1947, several professional Boy Scout executives
put on a three-day course to train people to be Scoutmasters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had benefitted so greatly from the Boy
Scouts I thought I would eventually want to be a scoutmaster, so I signed up
for the course.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The professional
executives were so impressed with the knowledge that Bill Delaney, another
Wildlife Management major, and I had of natural history, they offered the two
of us appointments to the Boy Scouts of America training school for professional
scout executives.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were selected for
a session in September, but sometime in the spring I was invited to an interview
in Okmulgee, Oklahoma for a position as the Assistant Regional Scout Executive
following completion of the training program.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Pat and I rode a bus to Dallas, flew to Tulsa, then
another bus ride for the fifty or so miles to Okmulgee.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We stayed at the home of Ken Strong, the
Regional Scout Executive, and I met all the local volunteer Boy Scout leaders.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was offered the job and accepted.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>One day during the Summer Session I was walking from
class to meet Pat for lunch and, to get out of the hot sun, walked through
Science Hall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dr. Potter was in the hall
and I spoke to him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He had encouraged me
to apply for admission to Medical School after I did so well in his Comparative
Anatomy course; he was the Premed Advisor, so his recommendation virtually guaranteed
acceptance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"Aren't you about to
graduate?" he asked. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">"Yes Sir, in August"
I replied.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">"What are you going to
do?" </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">"I have a job as a Scout
Executive in Okmulgee, Oklahoma" I answered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His response to that was "What a God
Damned waste of brains".<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He asked
me what my salary would be and I told him I was going to make $200.00 a
month.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Dr. Potter then made me an offer I could not refuse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"I have never had a Teaching Assistant
in my Comparative Anatomy courses because I never trusted anyone to handle the
labs, but with all the veterans returning I'm going to have to set up two lab
sections.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The assistantship pays $110.00
a month, you get $105.00 a month on the G.I. Bill, so you'll be making $15.00 a
month more than you would in the Boy Scout job and working towards a Master's
degree.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Besides, your wife has a good
job with Dr. Pearson in Biochemistry and I don't think there are many jobs for
chemists in Okmulgee, Oklahoma."</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>When I told Pat about Potter's offer, she was
ecstatic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was not thrilled with the
prospect of living in Okmulgee, but, in the role of supportive wife, hadn't
said so.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was one problem: even
though I had made almost all A's in my postwar academic career, I was still a
little shy of the B average required for admission to Graduate School.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dr. Potter assured me that if I applied he
would see to it that I was accepted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Sure enough, I did and he did.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>In September 1947, I began the most intellectually stimulating
and academically rewarding two years of my life. Somewhat to my surprise, Dr.
Potter gave me complete freedom to teach the Comparative Lab.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On the rare occasions that he needed to enter
the lab, via the connecting door to his office, while my lab section was in
session, he would always knock before entering and ask if it would disturb
anyone if he came in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I also assisted
Dr. Arthur Schipper in the two Introductory Zoology courses that were
prerequisites for Comparative Anatomy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>That was ironic; I had D'd both of them (the second a going away to war
gift) under Art Schipper in my illustrious prewar academic career.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Although the idea of becoming a college professor had
never entered my mind, within a couple of weeks I was hooked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Never reluctant to be the center of
attention, having a captive audience that had to not only listen to you but also
memorize what you said was a real ego trip.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Almost from the beginning, I was completely at ease, enjoying, I'm sure,
the teaching far more than the students taking the courses.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Knowing nothing of graduate school protocol, I informed
Dr. Sewell Hepburn Hopkins that I was his new graduate student and that I was
going to do my Master's Thesis on the helminth parasites of the largemouth bass
in Texas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I'm sure he was appalled at my
temerity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sewell Hopkins was a true
Southern Gentleman.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was born and grew
up in "Tidewater" Virginia, on the banks of the North River in Gloucester
County.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Katherine Hepburn was a first
cousin and a frequent visitor when he and his brother were growing up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Dr. Hopkins earned his Bachelor's Degree from The College
of William and Mary and was a graduate student for a year at Johns Hopkins
University, named for his great uncle who left the bulk of his fortune to found
the University and Johns Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore, Maryland.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He then "went west" to the
University of Illinois to do graduate work under Dr. Henry B. Ward, the
"Father of American Parasitology".<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Ward was Head of the Department of Zoology, other faculty members
included Harley J. Van Cleave (Systematics, especially of the Phylum
Acanthocephala, and Invertebrate Zoology), Waldo Shumway (Embryology), Charles
Zeleny (Genetics), L.A. Adams (Vertebrate Anatomy), Victor Shelford (Ecology),
and Richard Kudo (Protozoology).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They
were then and continued to be for many years, the leaders in their respective fields.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Equally stimulating were his fellow graduate students,
whose names read like Who's Who in American Parasitology.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Justus Mueller had just left, Sewell was
awarded the research assistantship vacated by him when he received his
Ph.D.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fellow students were H.W.
Stunkard, George LaRue, William Cort, Harold Manter, George W. Hunter III,
Wanda Sanborn Hunter, Paul Beaver, Harry Bennett, and John G. Mackin.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Sewell, who was Ward's research assistant from 1928 to
1933, described Ward's character as complex, even contradictory<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Parasitology at Illinois, 1928-1933.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>unpublished, privately circulated essay.).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was quite proud of his "New England conscience,"
but he frequently lied without shame, even delighted in it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was also vindictive and demanded absolute
loyalty from his staff and students.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>However, he was fanatically loyal to his students, even long after they
left Illinois.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hopkins noted that there
was no such word as "former student" in Ward's vocabulary.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To him that would have been equivalent to
"my former sons and daughters".<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He often referred to his students as his "intellectual sons"
and their students as his "intellectual grandsons".<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In that perspective, I am one of Ward's
"intellectual great-grandsons" and my graduate students are his
"intellectual great-great-grandsons".<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>If one of his students experienced financial difficulty,
a frequent occurrence in those depression days, Ward loaned or gave them money,
insisting that he had obtained it for them from a special fund even though
Hopkins knew the money came from Henry B.'s own pocket.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Despite the fact that he was well off financially,
Dr. Ward was proud of his frugality (part of his "New England"
heritage).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He had a succession of large
powerful cars, all of which were bought second hand. He freely loaned his car
to his favorite students, but they knew better than to return it without at
least replenishing the gasoline they had used.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He also frequently took students with him on trips, most of whom were
too poor to travel on their own.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>With his students, Ward maintained the kind of warm relationship
he had with his professors during his graduate study in Germany.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He entertained them occasionally in his home
and frequently at picnics, always at his own expense.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Despite my brash, and probably offensive Texan ways, Dr.Hopkins
agreed to be my major professor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
other members of my graduate committee were Dr. George Potter and Dr. Richard
Turk, Head of Veterinary Parasitology.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Turk
was a fine parasitologist, even though he insisted he was "just a country
veterinarian who's interested in worms".<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He was "deaf as a post" and couldn't afford a hearing aid
until he graduated from Veterinary School. He got through school reading lips
and as a professor took great delight in reading the lips of whisperers in his
lectures and, especially, during exams.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>"Johnson", he'd say to a student two thirds of the way up the
Veterinary Medicine Ampitheatre, "if you want to know the answer to the
fourth question, don't ask Jackson, ask me, he doesn't know any more than you
do".<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That usually put an end to any
collaboration in that particular course.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I shared an office in Foster Hall, across the street from
Science Hall, with E.H. Hughins.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ernie
was from Bryan, but had graduated from Baylor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He was also a student of Sewell Hopkins so we took many courses together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was an excellent student but a
worrier.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I would finish an exam in about
forty minutes and Ernie would keep going over his paper until the professor
took it away from him at the end of the hour, or later if the prof was not
assertive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When we got the tests back,
Ernie would have a 98 and I would have a 95; I just couldn't see that the extra
three points were worth the additional twenty minutes.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Together, we took George Potter's graduate course in Comparative
Anatomy (I worked out the anatomy of the largemouth bass and Ernie that of the
cotton rat); Parasitology and Protozoology from Jim Mangrum; Helminthology from
Sewell Hopkins; Vertebrate Histology and Advanced Invertebrate Zoology from Jim
Mangrum; and I took Embryology from Howard Gravett.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Ernie subsequently got his Ph.D. in Parasitology under Lydell
Thomas at Illinois, with his dissertation on the life cycle of a trematode
parasite of the double crested cormorant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He has been a professor at North Dakota State University for many years
and visited us while on active duty in the Naval Reserve at Sand Point Naval
Air Station in Seattle.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Ernie did his Master's thesis on the helminth parasites
of the cotton rat,” <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Sigmodon hispidus</i>;
I occasionally suggested to Ernie that he work on the parasites of the common
Norway rat. There were enough of them in Foster Hall for a thesis; collecting them
would eliminate both our rat problem (they came out and stared at you when you
were working at night) and the need for field work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I thought Ernie's thesis problem was boring,
perhaps because of my experience in rodent collecting and control in New
Caledonia.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The research for my thesis was a lot more fun.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I, most of the time accompanied by Pat, drove
all over the State of Texas fishing for bass, unfortunately at our
expense.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Early on I explained to Pat
that you had to collect bass by angling because conventional methods such as seining
wouldn't work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The bass would swim
faster than people could pull a seine and, when driven into a cul-de-sac, would
jump over the top of the seine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The only
recourse was catching them on hook and line; artificial lures were much more
effective than bait and top water plugs or fly rod floating bass bugs were the
most effective of all collecting devices.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Relatively early in the project, Pat (to whom research consisted of
analyzing some substance –petroleum hydrocarbons, blood, urine, etc -- in the
laboratory) decided, or perhaps realized, she had been had.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was going to get a Master's degree for
fishing all over the State of Texas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She
really thought I should work harder and suffer more rather than enjoy doing my
field work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I've always, then and now,
believed that if you had fun doing research you could stay with it longer and
do a better job.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although I have not
always succeeded, I've tried to become involved only in research that I really
wanted to do and would enjoy doing.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">My <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">modus operandi</i> went something like this,
we would arrive in a small town in a locality from which I needed material. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After checking into a motel, I would go to the
local Sporting Goods store, or to the Hardware or General store if the
community was too small to support a separate Sporting Goods store.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"I'm doing research on the largemouth
bass and need to catch some.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Who is the
best bass fisherman in town?"<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
would almost always get one name, rarely two.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I would ascertain where he worked or lived and find him. "I'm
doing research on bass all over the State and I need some from here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I understand you are the best bass fisherman
in this part of the country and I'd sure appreciate your help."<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It never failed to work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They would take me to their favorite spots, frequently
saying "I ain't never brought nobody here before, but this is the best
place in these parts."<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"I'll
never tell" I'd say --and I never did-- but I did have some fabulous bass
fishing, oops, bass collecting, experiences.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Once, while fishing an oxbow lake with a local expert near Silsbe in
deep East Texas, I saw the biggest largemouth bass of my life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I had walked out over the water on a large fallen tree
for better access to potential locations of bass; casting with a bait casting
reel and underwater plug to tree stumps and other "fishy" sites.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had retrieved the lure to within a foot of
the log on which I was standing and, just as I was about to lift it out the
water for another cast, the monster bass came out from beneath the log and engulfed
the lure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With the rod tip down and less
than a foot of line, she simply took the bait, rolled over and snapped the
line, all in slow motion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, I
clearly saw that the characteristic stripe along the side was wider than my
extended hand-- palm to middle finger-- and it was at least three feet
long.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I made my way back to the bank and
sat down on a log, still shaking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My
"guide", realizing something was amiss, joined me and asked what had
happened.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"I just lost a world
record largemouth bass", I replied quaveringly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Two cigarettes later I was no longer shaking,
but I had no desire for further fishing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>That fish had to have weighed over twenty pounds; I've caught a lot of
big bass since, but none were half the size of THE EAST</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">TEXAS MONSTER.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Another time I parked by a tavern below the dam at Eagle Mountain
Lake near Ft. Worth (I have no idea why it was named Eagle Mountain, there were
no mountains within 500 miles and no eagles in the last 100 years) and went to
the nearby fish hatchery to try to talk the hatchery superintendent into
letting me catch a few of his brood stock.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I frequently tried that ploy, but it seldom worked; the superintendents
were emotionally involved with their brood bass. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, when I could talk one out of a four
or five pound mature fish, it would be loaded with helminth parasites.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most superintendents would turn me down, then
offer to let me catch all the younger fish I wanted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was not very challenging, one cast into
the hatchery pond, one fish, whether five pounders or ten inch yearlings, but
it did provide data and beat seining by a wide margin.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>In that particular incident, the superintendent allowed
me to catch a half-dozen juveniles but would have killed me if I had thrown
anything with a barbed hook on it into the pond with his precious brood
fish.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I put the small ones on ice in a
cooler in my car trunk and thought "what the hell, I'll go up on the dam for
a few casts and maybe get lucky".<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Carrying my casting rod with a Heddon Pumpkinseed on a swivel at the end
of the line (and nothing else), I trudged up the wall of the dam.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like most artificial reservoirs in Texas, the
lake side of the dam was covered with a layer of imported rocks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As usual there was a typical Texas fisherman
on the dam: blue overalls, 12 foot cane pole and live minnows.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(I'm not being condescending-- that rig can be
deadly on both bass and, especially, crappie under the proper conditions).</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I asked the cane pole fisherman if he minded my making a few
casts and was welcomed to the fishing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
made a long cast as near the rocks as I could and, after about three turns of
the reel, had a solid strike.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The fish
hooked itself and, after a short but powerful fight, I landed it by wading out
and grasping it by the lower jaw as it lay on its side on the surface.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn't bother to take the lure out of its
mouth there and started back over the dam to the car.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The resident fisherman asked "aren't you
going to fish anymore?"<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"No, I
just needed one", I replied.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>After depositing the five-pounder in the ice chest, I
went into the tavern for a beer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
cane pole fisherman was there, having a beer and enlightening the other
customers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"I just seen the God
Damndest thing I ever seen in my life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>This guy with one of them short poles with a reel on it and a artificial
fish on the end of it throwed it out one time and caught the biggest damned
bass I ever saw.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He knew exactly what he
was doing!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I asked him if he was
quitting", he said " I only needed one".<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fortunately, I was in a booth in a dark
corner and he didn't notice me so I didn't have to explain how the world’s greatest
bass fisherman knew how to catch a five pound bass on the first cast at a new
site.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The best fishing of all, however, was at Lake Texhoma, a
new reservoir created by damming the Red River at Dennison, Texas. The Red
River is the boundary between Texas and Oklahoma for most of northeast Texas
and southern Oklahoma, hence the name Texhoma. The biologist for the Texas
Department of Fish and Game was Homer Buck, a fellow Wildlife major and classmate
at A&M.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He fished the lake every day
and knew all the best fishing spots.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
think I limited (10 bass) every time I fished with Homer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My most memorable experience was a Sunday
morning on Platter Flats, my first Lake Texhoma fishing trip.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I spent Saturday night at Homer's apartment and we were
up well before dawn.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While we were
having breakfast at a local cafe, Homer mentioned that he would like to get back
for 9:00 o'clock Mass.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had a sinking
feeling that I was facing a shortened fishing trip, but I did not realize
either the numbers or voraciousness of the Texhoma Bass nor Homer's knowledge
of their whereabouts.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We put the boat in the water and headed out, at top
speed, into the darkness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After a run of
20 minutes or so, Homer cut off the motor and we glided into a surrealistic,
almost erie, scene.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Wisps of fog were
rising from the water and clinging to numerous emergent dead tree limbs; in the
half-light of dawn, it looked like the opening scene of a black and white
horror movie.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"This is Platter
Flats", Homer said, "it's shallow and these drowned trees provide a
fantastic habitat for bass.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We'll catch a
lot of them, but you have to fish for them in a special way."</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Homer handed me a bass plug (artificial lure) I had not
seen before, a Heddon Chugger Spook.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>"Cast this out as far as you can, jerk it hard, and reel in as fast
as you can."<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I knew he was putting
me on; everybody knew you cast a topwater bass plug to an appropriate spot, let
it sit while you lit a cigarette, then gently twitched it to entice any waiting
bass to attack the crippled creature.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Therefore, not taken in by Homer's con, I cast to a likely spot by a
protruding tree limb, let it float while the ripples from its splash slowly
expanded.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Meanwhile, and before I could
light the mandatory cigarette, Homer cast into the open water and began threshing
the water with the Chugger, sending up a plume of water three feet into the air.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just as I was thinking "that's the craziest
thing I ever saw", I saw several V-shaped bow waves converging on the
rapidly moving lure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The first to arrive
intercepted it, engulfed it, and when the hooks were set erupted into the air. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I immediately got the picture and began
"horsing" my own Chugger, with the same result.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We got back to Denison with plenty of time
for Homer to make 9:00 O'clock Mass and two limits (20) largemouth bass, all
looking like littermates at almost exactly three pounds each.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Upon returning to College Station with a collection of
bass, I would move them from the cooler to a refrigerator until I could "post"
them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The postmortem examination was
initiated by an incision from beside the anus to the gills.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The entire digestive tract was removed and
placed in a vessel containing Ringer's Solution (a salt solution at about the
salinity of blood).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After examining the
body cavity for encysted or free-living worms, the urogenital system (kidneys,
ureters, and urinary bladder; gonads and gonadal ducts) were treated similarly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then the gills were removed and placed in
Ringer's.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Finally, the skin, fins and muscles
were examined for encysted helminths.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>All organs were opened, the G.I. tract from esophagus to anus, and examined
with the aid of a stereoscopic microscope.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>All helminths, of which there were many, were carefully removed,
"fixed" in appropriate fixatives for subsequent staining.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Looking for the helminths was even more fun than the fishing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was nothing in the literature on the
parasites of the largemouth bass in Texas, so everything I found was new information.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had carefully assembled all the published
reports on bass parasites by requesting reprints from the authors after locating
the original articles in journals in the library.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At Sewell's suggestion, I wrote a personal
letter rather than using a printed reprint request form.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That was prior to the days of Grants, so
everyone had to pay for reprints out of their own pocket.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As Sewell pointed out, someone would be far
more likely to send you an expensive reprint if you explained why you needed it
for your own research.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>An important side
benefit was that I became acquainted, via the U.S. Postal system, with some of
the foremost parasitologists in the United States.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Several times in early 1949, Dr. Hopkins said
"Sparks, you'd better get started on your thesis, it's going to take a lot
of time and you're not going to finish in June if you don't get</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">busy".<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I would always answer, "I'm working on
it"; I was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was thinking about
it, but the truth was that I hadn't put the first word on paper.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I did have Camera Lucida drawings of each
species of worm, and my postmortem records on each fish I had examined.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>One Friday afternoon in the Spring of 1949, I took all my
records and drawings and a couple of pads of lined paper home with me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I sat down at the dining room table, in the
Joham's house on Chocolaco we were leasing, and told Pat I was going to write
my thesis.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mid-afternoon on Sunday, I
said, "would you like to go to the movies?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I’m finished".</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I took the pencil copy to Mr. Richardson, in charge of Equipment
and Supplies for the Biology Department, who had agreed to type my thesis at a
reasonable fee.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The G.I. Bill paid most of
the cost of thesis typing, but some came out of your pocket.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He looked at it and said, "This is in
pretty good shape, if you want to gamble we may be able to save you some
money.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I'll skip the rough draft and
type it in final form, with all the carbons<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>(photocopying had not been invented, or probably not even thought of in
those Paleolithic days. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You'll break
even if I have to retype half of it, anything less and you're ahead."<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A few days later he brought me the original
and required number of carbon copies on onion skin paper.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I took copies to Potter, Turk, the Graduate School member
of my committee and Hopkins.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dr. Hopkins
appeared surprised.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"You really
have been working on it", he said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>In less than a week I had all copies back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>George Potter insisted on some picky change that
necessitated the retyping of one page; everyone else returned with no changes
requested.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I learned an extremely valuable
lesson that helped me immeasurably with my own graduate student's theses and
manuscripts: People are reluctant to deface a pristine page that appears to be
in final form. The same reviewers, editors, etc will savagely attack a document
with even one penciled-in correction on it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was particularly amazed that
Hopkins did not find more to change; he was a real scholar and savored the
English language.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I never told Sewell
Hopkins, or anyone at Texas A&M, that I wrote my Master's Thesis over part
of a weekend and had the final draft typed from the handwritten first draft.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Neither he nor the other members of my
committee would have believed it, but Pat knows it's true.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></p>
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{page:WordSection1;}</style></p>Elisa Kay Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12799520611077133253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8395186067285661546.post-57248823120218831172020-11-11T11:27:00.001-08:002020-11-11T11:27:17.306-08:005.1: Transition, Funeral Business, Fishing and Vet Work<p>
</p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Copperplate Gothic Bold"; font-size: 20.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Chapter Five: Texas A&M Redux</span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Copperplate Gothic Bold"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">THE TRANSITION</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>After a week in Wichita Falls, we rode a Greyhound Bus to
Houston and a local bus to Baytown, about 40 miles but at least two hours
away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pat's roommate, with whom she was
sharing a garage apartment, was kind enough to absent herself for a few days
for us to get reacquainted but she did want her apartment back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Goldie Faye Harper was from northwestern
Louisiana and liked her comfort, especially eating, and apparently wasn't faring
too well in the local restaurants.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> </span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Copperplate Gothic Bold"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The Funeral Business</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I read an ad in
the Baytown Sun of a job at the Paul U. Lee Funeral Home that included a rent-free
apartment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I applied and should have
been alerted by the alacrity with which they hired me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The apartment was nice, over a garage that
housed seven vehicles--ambulances, hearses and limousines to carry the mourners.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I soon learned that a major part of my job
was to keep ALL of them washed, polished, vacuumed, and serviced.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I did the hard work, then took them to a
nearby service station for gas and oil.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Pat and I had been married for almost three years and had
spent about six weeks together; moreover, we were too dumb to engage in
premarital sex.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our hormone levels were
at their peak and we had a lot of "catching up" to do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unfortunately, I soon learned why we got the
"free" apartment; I had to drive an ambulance for any emergencies after
normal working hours.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was a
"bitch box" over our bed over which whoever was handling the
telephone could call "Sparks, there's an emergency at Buffalo Bayou".<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I sometimes wondered how they knew when we
were in the most intense part of the sex act; they never missed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I learned all the frustrations of
"Coitus Interruptus" as a married man, leaping from the bed, throwing
on my clothes as I ran down the stairs and driving at unsafe speeds to pick up
some turkey who had gone through the windshield and was bleeding to death
because he was too stupid to stay home drinking his own whiskey and screwing
his own wife.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I must admit, though, that we knew more about what was
happening in the Tri-Cities (Baytown, Goose Creek, and Pelly) than almost
anyone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One morning while Pat was riding
the bus to the Humble Company, a woman said "Did you hear about the man
who ran off the ferry slip last night?"<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Pat, in all innocence, said "I guess that's where my husband was
last night".<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It didn't occur to her
until later that the woman's shocked expression indicated she thought Pat's
husband was in the car.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Actually, Pat
was right; that's where I was, fishing for the car with grappling hooks, we
hooked it about 9:00 AM.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I had worked hard most of my life, but the funeral home
was the toughest job I ever had.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In
addition to the vehicle maintenance and emergency driving, I also had to
participate in the</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">lucrative part of the business:
FUNERALS, that was where the money was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I was soon told that, at a wreck you pick up the dead ones first; if you
don't get the funeral you will at least get</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">the ambulance fee and probably
the embalming and that's $150 for a dollar and a half worth of perfumed
formalin and a couple of hours’ work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>If you got the funeral the real work began.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was as naïve as most people in the pain of
the disposition of loved or unloved ones, but not those people in the funeral
business.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were professionals; they
knew how to turn on the sympathy and how to steer the next of kin through the
casket selection.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They had a pretty good
idea what the family could afford in the way of coffins and services and they
were willing to extend a certain amount of credit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After all, "we don't want to be stingy
when our own flesh and blood is going to the Holy Land".<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Burying people in their own clothes was discouraged;
the ones sold at the funeral home were already open down the back and they cost
more than a tailor made suit, but who noticed.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The bereaved were ushered into the large showroom, where they
were shown caskets that an Egyptian Pharaoh would not have been uncomfortable
in down to a fairly plain box for the poor folks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whatever they settled on, I was given the
number of it and sent to the warehouse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The casket selected was ALWAYS at the back, meaning I had to move dozens
of crated three hundred pound objects all by myself to get it out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I then removed it from the crate, disposed of
the container and muscled the coffin down to the embalming room where we eased
the body into the satin-lined final resting place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The next day, we would move the body to the church, or
preferably into the mortuary (we could charge for its use), and the pagan rites
would begin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some families actually hired
photographers to record the event for posterity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By this time I was in my brown Hart,
Schaffner and Marx suit, escorting family and friends to their seats.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After the sermon and as the audience filed
down to view the remains, we began loading the flowers for transport to the
cemetery: walk decorously with a wreath in each hand until you were out of sight,
then run like hell and dump them in the back of an ambulance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had to move all the flowers from the funeral
service to the gravesite and arrange them before the funeral procession arrived.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Have you ever wondered why funeral
processions drive so slow?)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes it
was nip and tuck; I never sweated as much in my life, but you couldn't look
like you were sweating.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>After we had had seven funerals in four days, besides picking
up most of them, I was getting in some well deserved sack time when Mr. Lee
called me on the "Bitch Box", "Sparks, we got a car that needs
washing."<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I very slowly said,
"Mr. Lee, if you want that God Damned car washed, you can wash it
yourself".<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I looked out the
window, he was washing it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We started
looking for another place to live, but the Lees didn't realize there was a
problem.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I guess they fought like that
all the time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Anyway, we found a furnished room on the far side of
Goose Creek.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It wasn't convenient; Pat had
to take a bus to work and I joined the 52-20 Club.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That was one of the things a grateful government
had done for the returning veterans; we could draw $20.00 a week for 52 weeks
while we were "readjusting" to civilian life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I bought a casting rod and reel and a few
bass lures and began "readjusting".</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> </span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Copperplate Gothic Bold"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Fishing and Vet Work</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Pat and I would take our lunches out of the refrigerator
and catch the bus.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She would get off at
the Humble Company and I would stay on the bus to the end of the line--Highland
Reservoir.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I'd spend the day wading the
reservoir and fishing for bass, with an occasional break for a cigarette and a
cool beer carefully concealed under a tree stump.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I made sure I took a full hour off for lunch,
couldn't cheat the government on the 52-20 club.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The bus driver would honk for me before
starting his run that would pick up Pat at the Humble Company.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Most of the time I released the fish as soon as I caught them,
but one time I caught a nice one of about three pounds and thought our
landlords might like it for dinner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
soon caught a couple more about the same size and took the three of them home on
the bus.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I offered the fish to
them, the husband said "where did you catch these?"<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I told him, he said "will you take
me fishing?" and I said "sure, when do you want to go?" "Right
now" as he headed for the garage to get his rod and reel.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He parked where I told him and followed me as I headed
for the reservoir.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although the reservoir
was mostly shallow enough to wade, there was a deep irrigation ditch alongside
it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We climbed the bank of the irrigation
ditch, with my guest behind me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You
crossed the ditch on a slightly submerged 4X12; unfortunately, I forgot to tell
him about it and he chose the exact moment I started across the ditch to move
alongside me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I heard a splash and
looked around to see a straw hat floating on the water.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then a rod tip rose like a periscope,
followed by a head and shoulders; both the eyes and mouth were round and wide open.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He sank completely from sight again, but I
was alert enough to snag him on his next emergence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He was a good sport about it, accepting my apologies as
he spread the contents of his wallet on the dashboard of his car to dry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We did catch a few bass, but the excitement
seemed to have gone out of it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don't
think he believed I did it to him deliberately, but he never suggested going
fishing again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It would have probably
been better if I could have kept from laughing, but that floating straw hat and
the fishing rod rising from the depths were more than I could handle with a straight
face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don't think he thought it was
quite as funny as I did.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>One morning I decided to take the day off from fishing
and slept in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After walking down the
highway to a cafe for breakfast, I stopped in at a Veterinary Clinic, for lack
of anything better to do, on the way back to the room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I figured the veterinarian would be a Texas
Aggie (almost 100% of veterinarian in Texas are) and I might know him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was, but I didn't know him; his name was
Naylor and he was a few years older than me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I couldn't help noticing that his cages and runs were filthy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just to help out a fellow Aggie, I put on
some rubber boots and hosed down the runs, then cleaned all the cages before</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">I went home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was tired of fishing alone, so I went back
the next morning, and the following one, too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Soon I was feeding the patients, in addition to cleaning up after them;
Dr. Naylor was delighted to learn I had been an army clinical lab technician
and could do stool samples, identify heart worm microfilaria in blood smears
and all sorts of useful chores.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
explained to me that his latest kennel man had quit and he was waiting for his longtime
helper to be discharged from the army.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>On Friday of the second week, (I had been hanging around about
ten days) Naylor handed me some money as I started out the door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was just helping out, but he insisted I take
the money.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course, I then had
responsibilities; I walked over on Saturday and Sunday to clean the cages and runs
and feed the animals.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All the patients
were especially glad to see me on the weekends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
suspect Naylor was a city boy; he was marvelous with small animals but he
didn't really like working with large animals.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I wouldn't say he was afraid of them, but he didn't get any more familiar
with them than necessary.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think he
would have preferred to have only a small animal practice, but he was the only
veterinarian in town.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He usually took me
along in his pick up for large animal calls.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Some of them were hilarious. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Once we went out to a local mule breeder's place to
castrate his stallion jackass.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With
tractors becoming more common, the market for mules was way down and he decided
to go out of the mule business.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
couldn't get that across to the jackass who kept trying to get to the mares to
perform his duties.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The breeder said,
"that jackass has made me a lot of money; I don't want to kill him, just
fix him so he'll leave the mares alone."<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He showed us the jackass and went to the house; he did not want to see
it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Naylor said "Sparks, get a
rope on that animal and put him down."<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>That was easy and I soon had all four legs tied tightly together just
above the hooves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By this time the
jackass had figured out we weren't taking him to a waiting mare and became a
little upset.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Naylor got out the large
ball buster and said "Sparks, this is going to smart a little and he might
bang his head against the ground.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You're
pretty big; do you think you can hold his head down so he won't hurt
himself?"<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wrapped both legs around
his neck and both arms around his head with a firm grip on each ear and the
weight of my body across his head.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When
Naylor cracked down that jackass slammed me onto the ground about one hundred
times in less than a minute.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Another time we went out into the country to give some
kind of shot to a Brahma bull.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When we
got there, Naylor said "The owner is not home, but he said the bull is
gentle as a lamb."<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had met some
of those gentle Brahma bulls in the prewar past so I was not buying all of
it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The bull was standing in the middle
of a pen behind the house, carefully scrutinizing us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Naylor said, "Sparks, can you get a rope
on that bull and get him over here so we can give him his shot?"<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I said "I think so" and walked out
into the pen, VERY cautiously and with my rope and loop ready for action.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I may have marked my laundry when he snorted and pawed
the ground as I approached, but he was a lamb; when I got to him he licked my
face and laid his head on my shoulder.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
put the noose around his neck and led him over to Dr. Naylor who was preparing a
huge syringe and large diameter needle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Naylor said "Sparks, this bull is real gentle, but this shot has
formalin in it and it's going to smart; he may not be so gentle when I inject
it". </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The farmer had the most jerry-built barn I have ever
seen, obviously built of scrap lumber, on one side of the pen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Someone, perhaps one of his grandchildren,
had drilled large holes with a brace and bit all through the side facing the
pen. I led the bull to the side of the barn, pushed him up flush against it and
threaded the rope through the holes and around his neck and body until he
looked like an insect in a cocoon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The bull
seemed pleased with all the attention; he probably would have purred if he had
known how, but he did make gentle lowing sounds as we encased him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>When Naylor socked him with about 50 CCs of hot stuff,
all Hell broke loose.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He bellowed and
took off with the side of the barn still attached.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He did have a little trouble with it dragging
between his legs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He stopped in the
middle of the pen and looked at us reproachfully.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Naylor said "Sparks, we got to get that
barn off that bull and back where it belongs before the owner gets
back."<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With some trepidation I
approached the bull again; he was forgiving.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He stood quietly while I unwrapped him, going back through the holes
with the rope until he was free.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Then we had to put the barn wall back up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Naylor not only didn't have a hammer in his
pick up, he didn't even have a tire iron.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We found a couple of rocks, and those are hard to come by in South
Texas, and rehung the side of the barn with the left over nails.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Occasionally we would collapse in
uncontrollable laughter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We HAD to get
that barn wall back up before the farmer got home; anything less would have
been unprofessional.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It wasn't long before Dr. Naylor's "regular"
kennel man returned from the army.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There
was no problem; he was a young black guy who was so happy to be back at the
Veterinary Clinic that he couldn't stop smiling, and I had just been
"helping out".<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I did keep
going to the clinic to give shots, run lab tests and dock a few tails, but I
wouldn't take any more money.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Naylor did
say to me one day while we were having coffee and a cigarette, "Sparks,
you really have a way with animals; why don't you apply for Vet School at
A&M?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I'll write a letter of
recommendation and they'll accept you because you're a returning
veteran."<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>In one of my all-time DUMB responses, I said, "I
appreciate that, Dr. Naylor, but I'm not even sure I’m going back to college
but I AM sure I'm not going to stay there for five years to get a degree in
Veterinary Medicine".<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"I'm one
year short of a degree in Wildlife Management and if I go back, all I want is
the degree and a job as a waterfowl biologist or running a fish hatchery.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I've been married for almost three years and
it's about time I start making a living and raising a family."<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Actually, there was more than a little question about my going
back to college.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pat, the scholar of the
family, (I was the lover and fighter) had a good job an excellent reputation in
the Research and Development Laboratory at the Baytown Humble Company.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She had numerous friends, many of whom had
been classmates at TSCW, and was less than eager at the prospect of going back
to the poverty of the academic life at the student level.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She correctly pointed out that I had not had
a distinguished record in my two and a half years (a straight C average,
compared to her almost straight A's) at Texas A&M and maybe I should get a
job at the Humble Company.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I applied, and despite the fact that she had a friend
fairly high in management (Augie Kraft who put in a word for me), they didn't
want me--not even as a security guard. Later, when I was a consultant to the
Humble Company and being checked through the gate, I couldn't help smiling at
the irony; if they had hired me in security I'd probably be checking consultants
through rather than sitting there in a Hertz car and making big money.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There
wasn't much else going on in the area; I'd quit the Funeral Home and Naylor's regular
kennel man had returned-- neither of those jobs had much long time potential.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were living in a furnished room without
kitchen privileges, didn't have a car, didn't have any money, I didn't have a
job and didn't have any prospects.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
told Pat, "I know I didn't make good grades at A&M, but I didn't study
at all; I'm sure I can do better.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Besides, with this GI Bill, the Government will pay my tuition, all my
lab fees, buy all my books and pay me $105.00 a month to go to school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It seems like too good a deal to turndown."<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I'm almost certain I would never have gone back to
college if it hadn't been for the GI Bill.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>That legislation probably did more for lower and middle class Americans
than anything since the Bill of Rights.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It provided the opportunity for us to climb the socio-economic ladder as
well as become professionals instead of laborers or, at best, semiprofessionals
like my father, the</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">railroad engineer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></p>
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{page:WordSection1;}</style></p>Elisa Kay Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12799520611077133253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8395186067285661546.post-47782542197462684072018-12-25T15:14:00.001-08:002018-12-25T15:14:09.869-08:004.9.6 Going Home
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Copperplate Gothic Bold"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Going Home</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Finally, in late January of 1946, I was notified that I would
be "rotated" soon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn't
really believe I was going home, but I prepared for it "just in
case".<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One barracks bag packed with
everything you were supposed to have and nothing else --I did take along a
Japanese sword and a Japanese rifle, but I left the Thompson Submachine Gun I
had found on the battlefield</span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">near Shuri Castle and carefully
restored to working order with liberal applications of bore cleaner, oil and
elbow grease, and the 45 Caliber Automatic I had bought from a New Zealand
soldier in New Caledonia (He said he had taken it off the body of an American
2nd Lt. on Bougainville) with our rookie housemate whom I had tried to educate
about gambling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I also left him some contraband,
much of it carefully packed into a large statue of Buddha, that he agreed to
mail to me in the US.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I not only didn't receive the package, I never heard from
him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He probably looted the Buddha
before I got on the truck to the Port of Embarkation and sold the machine gun
and 45 on the black market.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I should
have known better than to trust a replacement; I guess he got even for the $100
lesson with the Pinochle deck.</span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>On the long awaited morning, a half dozen of us,
including<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whiteside and a great
crapshooter from Tishimingo, Oklahoma, climbed into the back of a
"6x6" with our barracks bags for the ride to Inchon and home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don't recall a tear being shed at leaving
our buddies; we were euphoric and a little drunk from farewell toasts and
anticipation.</span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It was all business at the POE, the people there were NOT
going home and were apparently unaware that we were all heroes of the Pacific
War.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The first night we were assembled
in a large room and a Master Sergeant explained the ground rules.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"Before you get on the ship you and your
barracks bag will be searched; I am going to leave this room and anything you
want to leave here willnot be identified."<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The loot deposited was amazing -- guns,</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> tools, battlefield souvenirs
and luxury items "liberated" in Korea that wouldn't pass the scrutiny
of inspection.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The sneakybastards made
their point; we walked on the ship without anyone looking in our bags.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>There
were a large number of us packed like sardines on a large ship, but you
couldn't make us mad; we were supposed to disembark in Seattle, Washington, but
a North Pacific storm</span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">caused a change in plans and we
were diverted to San Francisco.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even a
seagull hitting me in the hair as we passed under the Golden Gate Bridge could
not dampen the joy; after all, I had</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> been shit on for years.
“WELCOME HOME".<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span>
</div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span> </span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> We off loaded (disembarked) on Angel Island in San
Francisco Bay; we could see Sausilito on one side and San Francisco on the other,
but we couldn't go to either.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The only
way to get off the Island was by ferry and transients were not allowed to
board. We might as well have landed on Alcatrez, our nearest neighbor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I guess the Army was afraid to loose us on
San Francisco after our years of deprivation in the South Pacific.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Rape and pillage were not really on our minds;
we just wanted to experience being back in America.</span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The food was FANTASTIC; all the fresh eggs you
wanted,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>however you wanted them, real
milk, bacon or sausage or both for breakfast; fresh vegetables, lettuce and
tomatoes and chicken or beef (not canned) for lunch and dinner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were allowed unlimited access to the long
distance Telephone System.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lines were
long and waits sometimes even longer, but I eventually</span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">actually talked to Pat in
Baytown, Texas where she had gone to work for the Humble Oil and Refining
Company as a chemist after (almost) graduating from Texas State College for
Women. </span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Whiteside also talked to his
wife in Corsicana.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>After a few days we were put on another and last troop
train to San Antonio, Texas to be "mustered out".<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It took about three days but seemed forever
before we arrived in Camp Brooks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At every
stop, and they were frequent, along the way, guys would jump off the train to
buy beer, whiskey and the junk food we hadn't tasted for years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Soon after arriving at Camp Brooks we were given passes; Whiteside
and I took a taxi to the St. Francis, the best hotel in town, where our wives
by prior arrangement had checked in and</span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">were awaiting us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our entrance into the hotel was less than auspicious,
ludicrous would probably be more descriptive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We had never seen plate glass doors and the electric eye door opener had
also been invented while we were overseas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The doors magically opened before our outthrust hands contacted them and
we almost fell on our faces in the lobby.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Quickly recovering, we sauntered up to the registration desk and asked
for the keys to</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> our rooms.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span>
</div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Our wives had somehow made contact and had obtained adjoining rooms.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We didn't see much of
one another, though; there was a lot of catching up to do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I do remember Whiteside knocking on the door
between our rooms and entering wearing his wife's nightgown.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I'm sure that was the first experience in a
first class hotel for any of us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Back at the base we were quickly processed: given our
meager terminal leave pay, our honorable discharges, signed up for the $10,000
GI Insurance, and had our mandatory meeting with the officer or noncom who
tried to sign us up in the Army Reserves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>That was HILARIOUS; they had the odious job of trying to sell enlisted
men with years of being screwed by the Army on the advantages of joining the
reserves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A few guys may have signed up,
but they sure didn't admit it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was
no way I was going to stay in the Army Reserves; I had been down that
road.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I politely declined, took my back
pay and the precious discharge and, accompanied by Pat, caught a bus to Wichita
Falls to see my Momma.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>My brother, Bill, was also there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was a REAL war hero; as a member of our
local National Guard unit, the 131st Field Artillery, he was between Hawaii and
the Philippines on Pearl Harbor Day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Their transport was diverted to Australia, but they were soon sent to
Borneo reinforce the Dutch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
survivors were soon captured by the the Japanese and became the true "Lost
Battalion", everyone in the 131st Field Artillery Battalion was either
killed or captured.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were all
officially "Missing in Action" for between eighteen months and two
years before the Japanese got around to notifying our mother that he was alive
and a Prisoner of War.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>They were transported, under much worse conditions than
our troop transports, to Siam (now Thailand) to work on the China-Burma
Railroad (made famous by the movie THE BRIDGE OVER THE RIVER KWAI).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He somehow convinced the Japanese to transfer
him</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> to northern Hokkaido to work in
the iron mines when it became apparent that all the POWs in Thailand were dying
of malnutrition, tropical diseases and mistreatment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Conditions were much improved in the Japanese
homeland; they were hungry, but so were their captors and the local population,
and they were seldom subjected to physical abuse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had haunted the airfields in Okinawa when the liberated
POWs started coming through on their way home, but he was sent via the Philippines.</span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It was a happy homecoming; our mother, who had had many
of her major internal parts surgically removed over the years and suffered from
serious heart problems and high blood pressure, had made good her vow to live
until both her boys got home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She spent
most of her time in the kitchen, trying to fatten us up and we loved it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We only had about a week before Pat had to
report back to work at the Humble Company in Baytown.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>One day my father proudly escorted me, in uniform because
I hadn't worn civilian clothes since graduating from high school five years
before, to the Hub Clothiers, the best men's store in</span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">town (at least we thought it
was).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My father had bought his rarely
purchased suit there as soon as he could afford one and encouraged me to shop
there; we were such good customers we had a</span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">charge account.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sol Lasky, the manager, met us at the door; "Albert",
he said, "I have something I put away for you in the vault when you went
off to war".<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I'll be damned if he
didn't bring out a lovely, brown, all wool Hart, Schaffner and Marx suit that
fit perfectly, and I wore for years.</span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I was deeply appreciative, whether he had saved the suit
for three years just for me or not didn't really matter; the thought was what
was important.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For the first time I
realized that little bald headed, friendly man was Jewish, Solomon Lasky.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In north Texas, we grew up with our own set
of racial hangups; Yankees were the worst, Indians, especially Comanches, were
the</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> next worst (that created a
problem if you were one--you didn't have to tell everyone), negros (pronounced
nigras if you were being polite) were OK as long as they "kept their
place", and Mexicans were even welcome in
the "white" school system.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We hadn't been taught to discriminate against Jews; antisemitism
just never came up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I knew Moses Rabinowich
was Jewish because his father was a Rabbi, but it never occurred to</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> me that Helen Septowich, my
friend Ben Scheinburg and the gorgeous Esther Rose Persky were somehow
different.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It took World War II, the
monstrous atrocities we gradually learned about and the antisemitism of fellow
GIs from the North, especially New York, to learn about that mental
poison.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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</style>Elisa Kay Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12799520611077133253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8395186067285661546.post-42153560605032183352018-12-25T15:06:00.000-08:002018-12-25T15:06:03.330-08:004.9.5 Korean Culture
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Copperplate Gothic Bold"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Korean
Culture</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I regret that I didn't see and learn more about Korea in
the six months I was there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Unfortunately, I was trapped in the WWII GI mentality; certain that the
Koreans were a bunch of gooks, one step above the Japs, and out to cheat and steal
at every opportunity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At our level that
was largely true, but I blew the opportunity to learn anything of the history,
culture, art or architecture of the country we had liberated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I did become dexterous with chopsticks,
learned to eat any and all Oriental food (including kimchee) and to drink
slowly the first drink out of a bottle-- no matter the label or how well
sealed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The latter proved particularly valuable one night in an
off limits restaurant (off limits to the enlisted men meant that the MPs or
Officers were trying to keep it to themselves) when a</span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">glass of brandy from a freshly
opened bottle churned a bit in my usually receptive stomach.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I excused myself, went to the rest room and
stuck my finger down my throat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our host
from the 7<sup>th</sup> Infantry Division ignored my doubts and spent a week or
so in the hospital with methyl alcohol poisoning before his sight was miraculously
restored.</span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The Army of Occupation was not a particularly happy time
for those of us who had been overseas a year and a half or two years during
wartime.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Korea was hot and stank when we
arrived in September 1945.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were
thousands of refugees at the Seoul Railroad Station, in front of which there
was a mountain of human feces.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
people were suffering from thirty years of oppressive Japanese occupation and
now they had a new army occupying their country; they were hungry for food,
freedom, and self government, and the United States wasn't in position to
provide any of it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>By the time the weather turned cold the relationships between
members of the Army of Occupation and the Korean civilians had also
cooled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had gone from
"Liberators" to another, somewhat more benign, oppressor; worse,
still, their country was now divided between the US and Soviet Armies and the Koreans
couldn't even cross the line to visit friends or relatives.</span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
natives were, indeed, restless; in December of 1945 we had what were called the
"Christmas Riots".<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thousands
of Koreans clogged the major streets of Seoul in protest of what we didn't know,
shouting slogans and demands we didn't understand and waving banners, clubs,
old (hopefully unloaded) Japanese Army rifles with fixed bayonets.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The US Military Government, perhaps correctly,
labeled the protestors "Communists".<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Several Americans were dragged from vehicles and beaten to death.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>US troops were confined to their quarters
except for essential sorties.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I made
one, riding "shotgun", with Whiteside one night to pick up one of his
drivers who had been stranded on the other side of Seoul.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I don't know why I agreed to do anything so stupid,
except my buddy asked for my help.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We
took off in an ambulance, Whiteside driving, a 45 automatic in his lap and me
with a loaded</span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Thompson submachine gun, the
red light on and the siren going full blast.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>When we reached downtown Seoul it was terrifying; the streets were
completely filled by the rioters, but Whiteside</span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">never slowed down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They parted like the bow wave in front of a speeding
boat, there were a few thuds from stones and bodies that didn't move fast
enough.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had a confrontation or two I
won't recount, both because no one would believe and I'm no longer sure of
their absolute authenticity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is
one thing, though, that is still crystal clear in my memory; I have never been
in such peril or as scared in my life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>A few nights later I was Hospital CQ (Charge of Quarters,
the Noncommissioned equivalent of Officer of the Day (OD)), <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>sitting at a desk in Headquarters, and MPs
began bringing in bodies of Korean rioters they had shot under duress.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I kept telling them to take them to the
morgue, that they couldn't leave them in Headquarters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They all said "Sorry, Sergeant, we got
work to do" and dumped the bodies on the floor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Eight to twelve were strewn about on the</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> floor before I could get
someone up to move them to the morgue. The MOD (Medical Officer of the Day) was
no help; he was too busy repairing the damage the troops had done to still
living rioters brought in to Emergency.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span>
</div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I wondered about that philosophy occasionally; our troops
shoot them, bring them to the hospital where we do blood typing and cross
matching, give transfusions, surgically repair the</span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">wounds, nurse them back to
health and send them out to do it all over again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
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</style>Elisa Kay Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12799520611077133253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8395186067285661546.post-84533339991642654782018-12-25T15:02:00.000-08:002018-12-25T15:02:07.337-08:004.9.4 Poker
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Copperplate Gothic Bold"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Poker</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>However, I'm sure I ended up with some black market money
won in poker games.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The best poker
players in the outfit had our own elite game, but first we plucked the
pigeons.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was not the best poker player
in the 31st Station Hospital --John Day was the acknowledged possessor of that
crown -- but I could hold my own with him and the rest of the hawks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> had been playing "Table
Stakes", which is no limit except you can't bet more than you have on the
table, in family poker games since before I was a teenager.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Learning from my brother, brothers-in-law and sisters,
especially Ruby, in marathon weekend games, I had found the quality of poker
unsophisticated at Texas A&M.</span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span> </span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> On payday,there were dozens of
games, but never more than a couple of the hawks in any of them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The new replacements, none of them old enough
to vote or legally buy liquor, eagerly invited the "Old Timers" to
their games and we graciously accepted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>They were</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> universally ignorant of odds
and routinely did the most stupid things imaginable in poker games.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span>
</div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I once bet a kid who had been assigned to our house $100 that
I could cut the cards three times in a row, with him shuffling and holding the
deck, without turning up anything smaller than a nine. (I was trying to counsel
him on not gambling with the veterans).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He said "That's a bet I"ll take" and plunked down his 300
Yon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I won, of course; I wonder how he
felt when he</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> was introduced to the game of
Pinochele ; he didn't even check the deck to see if there were any cards in it
lower than a nine.</span>
</div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Within a week or less, all the gambling money was where
it belonged, in the real game.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was
the best poker game I ever played in: dollar ante and table stakes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The mores were interesting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We started every game with several decks of
cards still encased in their plastic wrappers; stacking the deck was perfectly
acceptable if the player to the left of the dealer was</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> dumb enough to cut to the
crease, but marking certain high cards by "finger-nailing" was
cheating.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Several times a night the dealer
would raise and everyone would suddenly realize he had got a cut to the crease
while telling a good story and throw in their hands.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>More rarely, John Day would stop the game,
spread the deck back up and identify every face card: jacks, queens, kings and
aces.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That deck was torn up and
discarded.</span>
</div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I saw no evidence of collusion, such as one person
stacking the deck, another making the right cut so that one of them or another
partner would win.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had been together
too long for</span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">that, but if we had ever caught
the "finger-nailer" we would probably have pulled his fingernails out
with a pair of pliers. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>John Day always
contended he didn't need to stack the deck to</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> win; he could memorize the
order of cards while they were being shuffled and remember where key cards were
after the cut.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I'm sure he was right; I
saw him call for a specific card on many occasions in stud poker and
either get it or miss by one or two. </span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>But one time I watched him pick up the cards when it was
his deal (for the innocent, that's when you stack the deck) and said to myself,
"if John gets three fours on the deal, he's not above mechanics if the
opportunity presents itself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sure
enough, he raised the opener and drew one card.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I drew to a high pair, caught a second pair on the draw and folded.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The opener, who had also drawn one card,
checked to the one card draw; John Day bet a bundle and on the call laid down
his hand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The opener had two pair, but
guess what, John had three fours; I had him but I never told ANYONE, especially
John.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That was knowledge too valuable to
share with anyone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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</style>Elisa Kay Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12799520611077133253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8395186067285661546.post-61428473847651587212018-12-25T14:57:00.001-08:002018-12-25T14:57:23.133-08:004.9.3 More Parasitology
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Copperplate Gothic Bold"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">More
Parasitology</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I was the new Commanding Officer's driver between the
time we finished the inventory and opened the Hospital for business. He liked
having a college boy for a driver and wanted me to stay on with him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I considered it, but it was getting cold and
we were driving an open jeep and still in khakis.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Besides, I wanted to see what parasites there
were in Korea.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I made sure he understood
that I appreciated his wanting me, but told him, truthfully, I intended to
become a parasitologist after I got home and this was an opportunity to learn
more parasitology.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>When we opened for business, the first professional work
we had done in almost six months, many changes had been made.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don't remember the new Laboratory Officer
(that's indicative of the level of competence of the new Medical Officers, or
at least our evaluation of it).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nick was
now the Enlisted Chief of the Laboratory and ran things.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Montgomery had moved over to Pharmacy and
had five stripes as Chief of Pharmacy; Jackson and I were the senior NonComs in
the Lab., all the old timers had been rotated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The Army soon began hiring Korean civilians as kitchen
help, eliminating KP and one of the joys of the Army of Occupation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By regulation, all food handlers were
required to take a physical examination that included a stool sample for
intestinal parasites.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was assigned the
parasitological evaluation for most if not all the units in the Seoul
area.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every potential</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> food handler, including dish
washers and table waiters, had at least hookworm, ”Ascaris" and whipworm --it
was the other stuff that was interesting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Surprising to me, there was not much <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">E.histolytica</i>
or other protozoan parasites, but they were really wormy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span>
</div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I would submit my reports, listing all the intestinal parasites
each applicant had, and they would all be hired. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"Hell", one Mess Sergeant explained
to me, "the Regulations required that they all had to TAK a physical
examination; they didn't say they had to PASS IT to be hired."<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Besides, with ALL of them loaded with
parasites, we couldn't have hired any Korean civilians and we would have
been<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>back to the EMs doing KP, and that
would have been bad for morale.</span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I soon realized that the attitude towards intestinal parasites
in the civilian kitchen help was reasonable; a much bigger problem was the
prevalence of gonorrhea among the prostitutes and former Japanese Camp
Followers who immediately became available once the Japanese troops were
removed from the action.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had some
turkeys who caught the clap three or four</span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">times from the same woman: in
for a smear, positive diagnosis, a series of massive penicillin injections
followed by negative smears; <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>two weeks
later the stupid son-of-a-bitch would be back</span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">in with a penis leaking like a
hose with worn out washers. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"Where
did you get it this time", we were required to ask, "same place, Doc,
I just can't stay away from her".<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>When Officers came</span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">in with leaky faucets, we asked
"can you give me the addresses where you have recently used strange
toilets"?</span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We had a serious problem with smallpox during the winter;
I believe eight patients died of it in our hospital, all of whom, of course,
had been vaccinated numerous times.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It
was not a</span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">pretty sight watching them go
from a rash to suppurating sores to a crust of scabs over their entire
bodies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because of the virtual
eradication of smallpox in the United States, none of our</span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">doctors had ever seen the
disease.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That made diagnosis of the first
couple of cases difficult, resulting in a lot of us touching them to take blood
samples and various other hospital related chores before they were placed in
the isolation ward. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When the diagnosis
of smallpox got out, there was a long line of everyone who had contacted them
for another vaccination.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We thought the Medical Officers and the Medical Administrative
Corps Officers were pretty dumb, but we loved the new nurses.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The original nurses of the 31st were old
enough to</span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">be our big sisters if not our
mothers, and were strictly off limits to enlisted men.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The new ones were all younger than we "old
timers", some were pretty, and they all respected us more</span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">than the equally green
officers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In addition to more than a few
temporary assignations, some lasting relationships evolved.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nick and a nubile young nurse, Rose Marie,
fell in love and were</span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">eventually married.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We visited them and their several children
south of New Orleans while we were living in Thibodeaux, Louisiana. Phil
Greene, who joined us as a replacement</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> on Okinawa, was engaged to
another for several years before they apparently drifted apart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span>
</div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Some of the cadre, probably remembering the second class
citizenship of the officer-enlisted man relationship in New Caledonia, elected
to seek companionship in the brothels and taxi dance halls that quickly sprang
up in Seoul.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At least one dance hall was
run by the Army, by a sergeant who lived on the premises and who was almost
killed when his pregnant Korean mistress learned he was cheating on her and
slipped a slender but very sharp knife between a couple of his ribs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were a lot of Eurasian women in Seoul,
offspring of White Russian emigrees from the Russian Revolution and Korean or
Chinese mothers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> of them were the most beautiful
women I have ever seen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span>
</div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We landed in Korea in the best of all situations, a liberating
army destroying the bonds of decades of oppression. We were cheered, flowers
were thrown on us as we drove to Seoul,</span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">everyone wanted to give us
everything.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That lasted about a week; things
the liberated populace had been thrusting on us suddenly were for sale, at
whatever the market would sustain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A
lively</span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">and lucrative Black Market
quickly evolved and a lot of guys, who were willing to take the risks, probably
developed their "stake" to go into business when they got home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unfortunately, or more probably fortunately,
I couldn't do it; I could sneak some penicillin to cure a friend's case of the
clap, I could divert a 55 gallon drum of 95% alcohol for personal use, but I
couldn't</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> sell either of them on the
black market.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In retrospect, I'm glad I
couldn't.</span>
</div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
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</style>Elisa Kay Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12799520611077133253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8395186067285661546.post-11850513665453908012018-12-25T14:44:00.000-08:002018-12-25T14:44:16.250-08:004.9.2 New Friends
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Copperplate Gothic Bold"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">New Friends</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>On the long voyage to Okinawa I had made new friends; Ray
Whiteside, J. D. Sheppard and I, along with B.O. Way, (a friend of Whiteside)
shared a house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Things were looking up;
Whiteside was now the Motor Sergeant, a position of considerable influence and
Sheppard was head of Recreational Activities.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Shep was 6'8" and had gone to East Texas State Teacher's College on
a basketball scholarship.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Before we could open the hospital for patients, we had to
get rid of all the Japanese equipment (much of it superior to our own) and
supplies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We couldn't just dump it in
the garbage to make its way onto the black market: first we had to inventory
everything, then take it somewhere to be stored before finding its way to the
black market.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By then I was a Sergeant
(actually a Technician Fourth Grade or T/4) and was put in charge of one of the
crews; Corporal (T/5) Jimmy Maupin was my assistant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maupin was the Hospital barber and had shared
many hours on deck between the winches with us on the cruise.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was convinced that his fiancée was
cheating on him and we almost drove him crazy by making up stories of what was
probably happening.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He would buy it all,
"When I get home I'll shoot that 4F son of a bitch, but not her because
it's not her fault".<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Entertainment
was hard to come by and Maupin seemed to perversely enjoy his misery as much as
we did weaving the story line between three or four of us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Our crew consisted of about a dozen Koreans and we soon
discovered they were stealing us blind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I saw one of them slip a surgical instrument (we were inventorying and
packing up an operating room) inside his clothes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I immediately initiated a strip search and we
discovered there were more surgical instruments hidden in rolls of cloth
wrapped around their bodies under their outer clothes than were included in the
inventory. Before Maupin or I could do anything, the oldest of the Koreans
began hitting and kicking the rest of the crew.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It was probably all show, but we bought it "hook, line and
sinker".<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We made him the "straw boss" over the rest of
the Koreans and our problems stopped.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We
gave him American cigarettes, an occasional beer and a few cans of food from
the mess hall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In return, he ran the
crew with an iron hand; they were happier under a boss they could understand;
he was happy; and Jimmy and I were both happy and relaxed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were probably still stealing, but he was
controlling it at a reasonable level.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>When we got to the Pathology Laboratory and I saw my first Microtome
blade and handle, I appropriated it before the Koreans could steal it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was the best butcher knife/meat cleaver I
had ever seen.</span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We got an entire new set of Officers and Nurses in as
replacements.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From the Hospital
Commander on down to the newest 2nd Lt. Medical Administrative Officer, they
didn't know "rollover from sickum".<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>They relied on us "old timer" enlisted men to run things and
we sure did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We helped them, but we also
helped ourselves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The biggest coup was
"liberating" a 55 gallon drum of 95% ethyl alcohol from the first
truckload picked up at Inchon and convincing the Medical Supply Officer it had
bounced off the truck on the cobblestone roads on the trip to Seoul.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We placed it on a sawhorse beside the diesel
barrel and everyone assumed we just had an extra drum of fuel in case we ran
out in the middle of the night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We ran a
line through the hole in the wall and installed a spigot on the end of it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That was a secret we kept from our best
friends, 190 proof booze available at the touch of a hand.</span></div>
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</style>Elisa Kay Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12799520611077133253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8395186067285661546.post-60763559047142584902018-12-25T14:41:00.000-08:002018-12-25T14:41:28.077-08:004.9.1 Korea: Inchon
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Copperplate Gothic Bold"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Korea</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Copperplate Gothic Bold"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Inchon, Seoul</span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We drove our vehicles into the hollow gut of an LST
(Landing Ship Tank); Whiteside was now the Motor Sergeant and had arranged for
me to be temporarily assigned to the Motor Pool and I drove a jeep aboard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Passenger Quarters were on each side of the
LST; they were not the most seaworthy ships ever designed but at least you
could smoke on deck in post war relaxation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I would not have liked to ride out a storm on an LST; even in relatively
calm seas ours groaned as it twisted from stern to bow and, at the same time,
bent from fore to aft with every swell.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I hadn't realized steel was so flexible, but after a few hours of
corkscrewing through the Yellow Sea I decided we were going to make it to
Korea.</span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>When we arrived at Inchon (called Jinsen by the Japanese)
it was dark; purely by chance my jeep was the first off the LST and as I drove
on to the dock a Japanese Officer got into the front eat and directed me to a
staging area.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were one of the first
ships carrying American troops to arrive in Korea.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were fully armed Japanese soldiers
lined up along both sides of the <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>dock as
we drove off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was not comfortable as
the Japanese Officer and I spent the rest of the night sitting in the jeep,
smoking my cigarettes (he did volunteer that American cigarettes were much
better than Japanese) and immersed in our own thoughts. </span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>With daylight I understood why we landed the night
before; Inchon has one of the largest tidal fluctuations in the world, the
whole harbor was bare mud and the nearest ship a half mile offshore.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Shortly after daylight we left in convoy for
Seoul, the Japanese Officer still in the front seat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Somewhere enroute, he suddenly said "I
went to UCLA".<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I said I went
to Texas A&M, he said "Oh yes, John Kimbrough".<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That was the end of our conversation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was awkward for both of us.</span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We drove through
Yong Dong Po, past Kimpo Air Base, with a few sick looking Japanese airplanes,
and crossed the Han River to the outskirts of Seoul.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My guide directed me to the Keijo (Japanese
name for Seoul) Imperial Hospital on a mountainside overlooking the Han River
that we were taking over.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was an
impressive physical plant, old solid, and fully equipped.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course, that was not good enough for the
US ARMY MEDICAL CORPS. We had to Americanize everything.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It began with the living quarters; we hadn't slept under
anything but canvas at best for almost two years and now we had houses with
indoor toilets (Japanese style porcelain straddle trenches), bath tubs with
running water and a place to heat the water with coal underneath, and even a
kitchen/ dining room in each house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>First, the Army declared the indoor plumbing off limits, reinforced by
turning off the water for the sewage system.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We, just like the Manual said, dug latrines and covered them with tents
and installed diesel stoves to heat them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>When winter came and the temperature plummeted to zero, you REALLY had
to go to bundle up and walk to the latrine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It was even less pleasant when the stove had run out of fuel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Stoves were also installed in all the houses, supplied by
a hose through the wall to a 55 gallon drum of diesel fuel on a wooden rack
outside to diminish the danger of fire.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The stoves blew up occasionally, but, with the fuel outside, it was only
a matter of cleaning up the soot instead of putting out a fire. I don't know
why they didn't shut off the water to the kitchen and the bath tub; both,
especially the latter, were much too good for the enlisted men.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The bathtub was a big iron pot, much like the one my
Mother scalded the hog and made soap in over an open fire when we lived on 26th
Street.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It sat in a wooden frame with a
fire box underneath.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When you wanted a
bath, you filled the tub with water and the firebox with coal, doused the coal
with diesel and threw in a lighted match before slamming the door. I once
burned off my new beard and mustache, plus my eyebrows, eyelashes and the front
part of my hair when I opened the fire door and peered in to see if the coal
was burning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It sure did when it got the
extra oxygen provided by my opening the door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We also had running water in the lavatory so we could wash, shave and
brush our teeth without walking to the latrine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>What luxury.</span></div>
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</style>Elisa Kay Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12799520611077133253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8395186067285661546.post-24765049238134331412018-12-25T14:37:00.000-08:002018-12-25T14:37:22.279-08:004.4.8 Okinowa
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Copperplate Gothic Bold"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Okinowa</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">I really appreciated Whiteside
taking care of me; the longer I could stay on the ship with hot food and a dry
bunk, the better.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We sat on deck that
night after a good meal, feeling sorry for our friends in their foxholes and
eating cold K Rations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then the Air Raid
Sirens sounded.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Everything was, of
course, blacked out and there was no moon, but we could hear the lone Japanese
plane circling low over Buckner Bay seeking a target.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We did get a glimpse of him, shockingly near,
as he passed over us to crash with a tremendous explosion into a destroyer (the
USS Warren we heard) about 400 yards away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The ship sank in less than ten minutes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We set up an emergency room in the Officer's
Mess and the Doctors and Nurses, most of whom were still on board, spent the
rest of the night treating the wounded survivors that were picked up by small boats.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We enlisted men did what we could, which
consisted mostly of carrying stretchers to the Emergency Room and cleaning up
the patients so the professionals could provide for them as best they could
with<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>the inadequate facilities
available.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I had seen trauma cases before, even several at a time
when motor vehicle wreck victims were brought to our Hospital Emergency Room,
but the number of casualties and the severity of many of their injuries were
shocking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We REALLY WERE IN THE WAR NOW.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I suspect it was a sobering experience for
most of the Doctors and Nurses as well.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>After virtually no sleep, we were wakened shortly after
dawn by loud air raid sirens.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were
supposed to stay below decks during an air raid, but after what we had seen the
night before, there was no way Whiteside and I were going to obey that order.
We made our way to my protected spot between the two winches and were treated
to a rare spectacle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was like the
opening few minutes of duck season in a public hunting area near a large city.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Japanese suicide planes were everywhere and
hundreds of ships were firing every antiaircraft weapon they had at them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We would cheer when one was hit and crashed
smoking or in flames into the water.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
didn't see any ships hit; some probably were, but our casualties were not
announced. We were told that 98 Japanese planes had been shot down in the
attack.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>After those two educational experiences, wet foxholes and
cold K Rations didn't sound so bad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We
"lucky" enlisted men selected to stay aboard and unload the boat had
tacitly agreed to stretch it out as long as possible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whiteside, who was good at summing things up
in few words, succinctly said something like "I don't like being a sitting
duck on this boat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Let's get this son of
a bitch unloaded so we can get on solid ground and dig deep holes to hide
in."<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He didn't get any argument
from me or anyone else in the crew.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We soon joined the rest of the outfit;
we were right, they were sleeping in pup tents, in soaked blankets<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(we didn't have sleeping bags) and eating
cold K Rations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The foxholes were only used
when the air raid sirens sounded, usually only once a night --never in
daylight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don't know the conditions
under which the Nurses and other Officers were existing, and never gave it a thought,
but I can't believe they didn't have it better.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It wasn't long before we erected Squad Tents, in a double
row with a company street between them, with folding cots so our blankets
usually stayed dry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The tents were
designed for twelve men, the number in an Infantry squad (hence the name
"squad tent"), but they put all the hard drinkers in one tent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were thirteen of us, so we were a
little crowded but we made do. The company street was a sea of mud and the dirt
floors of the tents weren't much better.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We wore combat boots, often without socks, except when we were in our
bunks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We could depend on at least one air raid alert every
night. The Japanese seemed more interested in keeping us awake than actually
killing us, and we hated them for it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We
would hear the first alert, loud sirens, when the Japanese planes took off from
airfields I much later learned near Kagoshima, on the tip of the southernmost
main Japanese island.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The final, Red
Alert, was sounded when one or more Japanese planes approached Okinawa.
Initially, we would all go to our foxholes at the Red Alert and try to keep our
feet out of the water in the bottom for the hour or so of the alert.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Usually nothing happened and we would return to
our cots after an hour of so in a muddy hole in the ground half-filled with
stinking rain water when the All Clear sounded. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Gradually,
more and more of us would ignore the alerts and go back to sleep.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The cots with dry blankets felt even more luxurious
during an air raid alert.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But one bomb
dropped near enough to shake the ground was enough to send all of us in a frantic
dash for our holes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Closer attention was
paid to the sirens the next night, with compliance gradually tapering off each
night until another near miss got our attention again. Unfortunately, those
"near misses" sometimes got other GIs who were also ignoring the air
raid warnings.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The 31st Station Hospital was never fully operational on Okinawa.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Island was officially declared secure a
few weeks after we arrived and, even though fierce fighting was continuing, there
were enough field hospitals already operating to handle the casualties.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were being held, still packed, to be the
first hospital ashore in the invasion of the Japanese Homeland.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>WHAT AN HONOR; we were really looking forward
to that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mostly we marked time; we set
up a small operation, more like an aid station and dispensary than a
hospital.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>There were numerous remnants of combat around us, burned
out American tanks (sometimes with the incinerated crews still buttoned up
inside them) dead Japanese that the Americans hadn't had time to collect for
burial sprawled around the tanks and elsewhere like swollen, rotting grotesque
dolls with flies crawling in and out of their exposed body orifices.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The area was dotted with the openings to
caves, many of which still contained Japanese stragglers all of whom were eager
to greet any American stupid enough to enter in search of souveniers with a
grenade or sometimes a rifle shot if you ventured within range.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>With little to do, some guys would organize a "Jap
Hunt", checking out a vehicle and extra ammunition.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The chances of finding a Jap were a lot
better than getting a shot at a whitetail buck during deer season, but I
figured I hadn't lost any Japs that I wanted to find.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I accidentally found a couple who took shots
at me when I visited the famous Shuri Castle or the few other remaining tourist
attractions of Okinawa.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like the whitetail
buck, I turned tail and got the hell out of the area as quickly as I could
without exposing myself further.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Mostly, we in the "Drinker's Tent" drank whatever
we could get as long as it was alcoholic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We quickly drank up most of the whiskey we had brought from New
Caledonia that the ship's crew and the Sea Bees that helped unload the hadn't
found.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We scrounged seven
"Jerry" cans on which we neatly stenciled a day of the week.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then we "obtained" raisins, dried
apricots or any other dried fruit, sugar and, most importantly, yeast from the mess
hall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The "Monday" can batch,
with the appropriate mixture of the constituents (a closely guarded secret)
then filled with water was lined up on a neat rack we had built behind our
tent. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Properly prepared and given a week
to "work" the "Rasin Jack"would attain about 10 % alcohol
level.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Each night we drank the "Can of the Day",
washed it and started another batch to be drunk a week later.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bob Jackson found me one day, took off his
2nd Lt. insignia and joined us one night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We put him to bed in a vacant cot and he declared the next morning,
"this is the worst hangover I've ever had"; we were sort of proud of
that, officers couldn't handle our Raisin Jack. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We also found a Black, called Negro back then,
Quartermaster Company that had liberated a Japanese Still.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They sold moonshine or white lightening for
$25.00 to $50.00 a quart, depending on demand and ability to bargain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You brought your own bottle and we carefully
checked out several to get the most "bang for the buck".<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That led to a few confrontations with the
Still operators over the capacity of our bottles, but it was all in a spirit of
good clean fun.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Business was so brisk
that you usually had to place the mouth of your bottle under the end of the
copper "worm"and wait for the alcohol to condense and drip into your
bottle. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You could shoot a little craps
while you were waiting if you were so inclined; you might even pay for the
"White Lightening".<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We drank
it immediately; if it cooled we called it aged.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The officers found enough for us to do to keep us
busy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We dug latrines for the officers,
nurses and enlisted men and covered them with tents, with wooden floors and a
wooden frame for the tent; of course we built seats that consisted of a long
box-like structure open on the bottom and with holes cut in the top to sit
upon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That was a real luxury, to
defecate sitting down and out of the rain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Because there were still a lot of Japanese stragglers around at night,
mostly trying to steal food, we were required to carry a weapon and an
"on" flashlight if we had to go to the latrine after dark (for
olfactory reasons they were some distance from the sleeping quarters).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I occasionally wondered if that made sense:
any Japanese infiltrator had an illuminated target.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We also built a large Mess Hall, shared, I believe by Officers
and Enlisted Men.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There we could sit
down on wooden benches and eat from trays on wooden tables, both the benches
and tables, of course, having been built by the Enlisted Men.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There our C rations were hot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Actually, we had a variety of meat and vegetables,
all canned (even the eggs were dehydrated) but we didn't complain because it
beat the hell out of what we had been eating and what the troops in real combat
still were.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That meant back to KP, but
now everybody wanted it because it was out of the rain and wasn't as much work
as digging latrines or carrying boxes of Hospital supplies, besides there might
be an opportunity to "requisition" some dried fruit, sugar or,
especially, yeast for Raisin Jack.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Much of the hard physical work involved assembling all
the hospital equipment and supplies, most still crated from the New Caledonia
move and laboriously unloaded, sorted and stacked under shelter after our
arrival in Okinawa, for the invasion of Japan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>No one bothered to tell us that the Ryukus, of which Okinawa was the
largest island, were part of Japan<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(we
had already invaded Japan) .<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A lot of us
would have settled for that; we were not looking forward to landing in Japan
with the prospect of every Japanese man, woman and child fighting to the death
for the Emperor and the Japanese Empire.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Nobody asked the Mexican enlisted men under General Santa Ana how they
felt about charging the Alamo, but I'll bet they would have voted to let the
Texans keep it.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The Air Force was doing its best to soften things up for
the invasion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every morning many planes
would take off from the nearby air field, circle until the entire force was
assembled and leave to bomb the Japanese Mainland.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most of the bombers were B24s (Liberators)
because we were so near to Japan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There
were a few B29s, but most of them were stationed on more distant islands
because of their greater range.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were
never told of their targets, the results of their raid, or any loss of planes.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We heard a rumor one morning that a "Super
Bomb", something called an Atomic Bomb, had been dropped on a Japanese
city, Hiroshima, that we had never heard of and that it had wiped out the whole
damned city.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That was just too good to
be true: rumors were the opiate of the troops; reality was nightly air raids
and the certainty of going in on the third wave in the impending invasion. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unbelievably, the Authorities finally told us
something; it was announced later in the day that a new type of bomb, the most
powerful in history, had totally destroyed</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> Hiroshima with unknown but
great casualties.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were happy that a
lot of Japs had been killed, but the suggestion that this meant the end of the
war was near (advanced by a few fellow Enlisted Men) was generally ridiculed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hell, the Japanese LOVED to die for the
Emperor: we had seen it in our own experience.</span>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Two or three days later (we didn't have calendars
available and seldom knew the exact date; it didn't really matter because it
was a different day (we occasionally argued whether it was a day before or
after than in the U.S.) the Air Force dropped another Atomic Bomb, this time on
Nagasaki.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Shortly thereafter the Emperor
announced that Japan was Unconditionally Surrendering.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were understandably ecstatic: no more air
raids and, best of all, no hitting the beach in the third wave.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>When the announcement was made that the Japanese had surrendered
and the war was over, almost everyone got their shovels from their combat equipment
and went out to dig up the last bottle or bottles secretly buried for the hoped
for end of the war or, more likely, to be drunk just before embarkation for the
invasion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The announcement was made
shortly after nightfall and the celebration was highlighted by light: all the antiaircraft
searchlights were probing the sky, almost every weapon in American hands was
emptied into the air, especially<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>tracer
ammunition and rockets that exploded to provide light. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I began hearing "rain" falling
around me and not getting wet, I took my last bottle of Major Larson's Seagram
VO for a last session in my foxhole.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>There were rumors later, almost certainly exaggerated, of hundreds of
casualties from the falling ordinance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Recordings of the Emperor's speech of capitulation and Japan's
surrender were put on vehicles with loud speakers and driven all over Okinawa,
broadcasting the news to Japanese troops holding out and stragglers hiding in
caves or other inaccessible locations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Also broadcast were instructions to surrender and how to do it, dictated
by some Japanese officers who surrendered when they heard the Emperor's
broadcast.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Reportedly, a few Japanese officers
rode around in jeeps with loud speakers assuring the Japanese soldiers that it
was not an American trick.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A date and time
was set for the surrender of the remaining Japanese soldiers on Okinawa; all
were to report with their weapons to a specific location, where General
"Vinegar Joe" Stilwell and a contingent of armed American troops
waited in formation to accept their surrender.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Some of us, vaguely realizing the historical significance
of the event, drove over to witness the ceremony.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was incredible: Japanese troops led by
their officers, in polished boots and Samurai swords, and fully armed enlisted
men in formation marching in to surrender their weapons, then stragglers in
small groups of two or three and even alone, all coming in only because the
Emperor had ordered them to.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We knew
from frequent encounters that there were a lot of Japanese soldiers still out
there, but we could hardly believe what we were seeing. They soon outnumbered
the troops accepting their surrender and the stacks of surrendered weapons kept
growing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I've heard and read various
figures, but apparently more than 30,000 Japanese soldiers surrendered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was almost like the jokes about Custer at
the Battle of the Little Big Horn, "Don't take any prisoners,men" and
then "Jesus Christ, look at all them fucking Indians". </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Shortly after the Japanese surrender we were hit by the
real Kamikaze or "Divine Wind" that had saved Japan hundreds of years
before and could have saved it again if it had come a month or so earlier.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The most powerful typhoon in history hit
Okinawa in Mid-September.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Barometric
Pressure dropped to a low that has not been matched more than forty years
later; winds of more than two hundred miles per hour were recorded before the
anemometers blew away.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Everyone and virtually everything was housed in tents
when the typhoon hit; the tents were blown away long before the winds reached
their maximum strength.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We lay on the
ground, dripping wet with all our rain gear on, holding the tent ropes in a
vain attempt to keep our tent from blowing away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When the wind began to increase we were
thrown about like multiple end men in a giant crack the whip game; those who
were not knocked senseless by being dashed into the ground by the flapping
canvas dropped off as the tent, rent into large sections, became airborne.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Anything loose on the ground became a potential lethal projectile.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Steel helmets (used by field soldiers as wash
basins and for shaving by driving three tent pegs into the ground as
supports--the water could be heated by building a small fire under the helmet) blew
about like autumn leaves; tent poles, cots, and almost anything lighter than a
truck might go sailing by.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Everyone
headed for shelter once the tents were gone; most for the Okinawan tombs
(concrete and built into the hillsides) that offered the safest refuge
available.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whiteside and I, along with
J. D. Sheppard (another Texan) opted for a nearby small stone stable, built into
the corner of a stone wall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had
appropriated it for our own use to stable some horses we had found wandering
about.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We moved the horses out and moved
in for the duration of the typhoon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>There were probably two or three others sharing our
quarters whom I don't remember.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were
reasonably comfortable, with sleeping bags on top of piles of straw and mostly
dry, but we were hungry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After a couple
of days, with the typhoon winding down, we somehow obtained a box of 10 in 1
Rations (10 in 1 Ration was one meal for 10 men).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It included a can of bacon, cans of various
vegetables, crackers, marmalade or jelly, butter, candy and cookies and a pack
of cigarettes and matches. We built a fire in the middle of the floor and were
frying bacon in a mess kit when Lt. Korn, the Motor Officer and Whiteside's
boss entered. He said "that sure smells good; I haven't had a bite to eat
in three days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What is it?"<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was doing the cooking and I forked out a
few slices, put them in another mess kit and handed them to him, along with
some crackers, jelly and other goodies. "It's bacon, Lt. Korn, we got some
coffee, too."<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"I can't eat
that", he said, "I'm Jewish".<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I said something to the effect that I didn't think God would hold it
against a Jew eating pork to keep from starving to death, but if he didn't want
to take the chance, it wouldn't go to waste.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He said, "Sparks, I think you're right, but I'm not going to enjoy
it; it's just for survival".<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From
the look on his face while he was eating, I was pretty sure he was enjoying it,
but none of us said anything.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>When the storm finally subsided, we survivors emerged
from our emergency shelters, bedraggled and homeless, to a scene less
devastated than Hiroshima or Nagasaki but about the maximum destruction that
nature could inflict without help.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nothing
was standing; the wind had leveled everything. Our fancy Mess Hall had been
picked up and deposited, almost intact, over a nine foot fence on top of the
Medical Supplies Depot. Of course, all out sleeping tents had blown away and
our belongings scattered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>There were, of course, no official statements of the
damage other than general statements to the effect that we had survived the
worst typhoon in history with minimal loss of life and property.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We could tell the latter statement was
Bullshit by looking around; THERE WAS TREMENDOUS LOSS OF PROPERTY.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We heard rumors, probably exaggerated, of the
hundreds of ships that went down and the thousands of fatalities on land and at
sea, but I've never seen an authoritative summation of the cost.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Now that the war was over and we did not have to invade
Japan, new plans had to be developed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>First, though, a Rotation System, was set up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Points were awarded for the number of months
spent overseas, for battle stars, and various esoteric criteria.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All the "old timers", Officers and
Enlisted Men, were sent back to the States and suddenly we were the "old
timers". We received replacements, mostly teenagers, but also a few
"lucky" fellows who had been wounded in Europe, sent back to the US,
then ordered to the Pacific Theatre.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Nobody was happy, but they were the most unhappy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had been overseas 20 months and expected to
go home on the next boat once the war ended; after all, we had gone overseas
for "the duration" and innocently assumed that meant for the duration
of the war, not the duration of our lives.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Instead, we bade our Officers and older Enlisted Men farewell and loaded
the boat for Korea.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By then we had all
been promoted at least once and we made sure the replacements did most the
heavy work loading the boat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
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</style>Elisa Kay Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12799520611077133253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8395186067285661546.post-5171765042224255682018-12-25T14:23:00.000-08:002018-12-25T14:23:39.808-08:004.4.7 Finding the War
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Copperplate Gothic Bold"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Finding the
War</span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Just as we were finishing the Amoebic Dysentery Survey, we
were put on alert to prepare to ship out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The Allied invasion of Europe had been successful and the war in Europe
was winding down. President Roosevelt had recently died; that was shocking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could vaguely remember Hoover, but FDR was
OUR PRESIDENT who had pulled us out of the depression and led us in war from
the despair of Pearl Harbor to the liberation of France. Unfortunately for us,
the war in the Pacific Theatre of Operations was still going strong, even
heating up now that some of the efforts in Europe could be diverted to the
Pacific Theatre.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">We carefully packed all the Laboratory equipment and
supplies for the move; especially carefully packed was the whiskey that Major
Larson bought for us as the Officer’s Club went out of business.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Officer’s Clubs were required to donate all
profits to Army Emergency Relief when they closed down for transfer to a new
location, so none operated at a profit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>To avoid it, they sold most or all stock at huge discounts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I paid Major Larson $6.00 for a case of
Seagram’s VO that he bought for me and secreted it among the supplies of the
Parasitology section.</span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Shortly before we were loaded aboard ship, Okinawa was
invaded and Tokyo Rose announced that the 31<sup>st</sup> Station Hospital was
being sent there, giving the name of the ship and the sailing date.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That was helpful for us because the US Armed
Forces was keeping both secret.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Right on
Tokyo Rose’s schedule we drove our vehicles to Noumea, were loaded aboard a
rather small ship and, all alone, left New Caledonia.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some guys were sick before we cleared the
barrier reef, others took a bit longer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I loved the sea, but was a bit concerned about the Japanese submarines
that Tokyo Rose promised us. <span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Two or three days later we docked in Espiritu Santos,
another French Possession, in the New Hebrides where another Station Hospital
was loaded aboard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That filled the ship
and we spent the next two months on a leisurely cruise to Okinawa.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were in <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">NO HURRY</b>; the longer it took, the better because we had a pretty
good idea of what awaited us at the end of the journey. </span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Our next landfall was Einiwetok Atoll in the Marshal
Islands. The Marshals had been captured sometime earlier and there was not a
palm tree standing on the major islands.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Other than one day ashore on a small island, Mog Mog, set up for beer
drinking as relief from confinement on troop ships, we spent several weeks on
board ship while a convoy was being assembled. Other than an occasional KP
detail, there was nothing to do but read, sleep, gamble and talk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our morale did not suffer; we loved it. If
they delayed long enough, Okinawa might be secured before we got there.</span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">We eventually left the Marshals in a large convoy, complete
with destroyers and destroyer escorts to protect us from Japanese submarine
attack. A few days out, the DEs began scurrying about and many of the ships,
including our own, began lofting big garbage can-like depth charges off the
stern.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They would sink to a
predetermined depth and detonate sending geysers of water into the air.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were assured via loud speaker that all
Japanese subs had been destroyed and we made it to Ulithi in the Caroline
Islands without further incident. </span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">At each of our stops, our mail would eventually catch up
with us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pat and I wrote each other
every day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After Mail Call, I would
arrange all her letters in chronological order by postmark before reading
them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, I would read all my other
mail before rereading her letters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Again, we lay at anchor while an even larger convoy was
assembled. The Carolines had been recently secured with terrible casualties on
both sides.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were entertained daily by
navy planes bombing a nearby island that had been bypassed in the campaign.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The boredom was relieved a couple of nights
by Japanese air raids; they were not nearly as entertaining as watching the
navy planes zapping the Japs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wasn’t
sorry to leave Ulithi and we arrived off Okinawa 64 days after leaving New
Caledonia.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">We dropped anchor in Buckner Bay shortly after noon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had finally found the war; it looked like
the whole island was blowing up—explosions everywhere you looked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whiteside sat down by me between two winches
that had become our personal retreat on the voyage and said “they’re
disembarking this afternoon, but I got our names on the top of the list of
volunteers to stay aboard and unload the ship.” </span></div>
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</style>Elisa Kay Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12799520611077133253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8395186067285661546.post-13548282129186154652018-12-25T14:16:00.001-08:002018-12-25T14:20:09.993-08:004.4.6 Parasitology<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoPlainText" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "copperplate gothic bold"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Parasitology</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoPlainText" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Nevertheless, I'm grateful
for their breakdown in field sanitation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It got me out of the Telephone Business and into the Disease Business,
where I've happily spent most of the rest of my life. When I joined the laboratory staff, I learned
to diagnose malaria before we got into the stool survey.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All the lab personnel liked the malaria work,
but they were glad to have me there to do the dirty work on the stool
survey: blood smears are more esthetically pleasant to work with than fecal
samples.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">I
routinely processed up to 300 stool samples a day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were delivered shortly after 8:00 AM by
a driver from the 81st., each in its neat little white ice cream carton
container with name, rank and serial number attached.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We stipulated a few grams of sample, but some
jokers apparently delighted in filling the container.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I would line up the samples in rows, set up small
centrifuge tubes containing distilled water in a series of carriers that each
held ten tubes, emulsify a small sub sample from each sample in the tube and
spin them down in the centrifuge (My recollection is that the centrifuge would
hold 32 carriers- so I could process 320 samples at one time).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I would then pour off the liquid, add Zinc Sulfate
solution, re-emulsify and spin down again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The carriers were then removed from the centrifuge, the samples stirred,
additional Zinc Sulfate<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>added to form a
slight crown at the top of the tube and a microscope cover slip placed on the
top of each tube.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">This
was the Zinc Sulfate Flotation Technique for recovering intestinal
parasites.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The cysts of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">E. hisolytica</i>, other intestinal
protozoans, hookworms, ascarids, whipworms and most tapeworms and trematodes
float to the surface and adhere to the underside of the cover slip.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Meanwhile, a slide, labeled with the appropriate
number for each specimen, was laid out and received a drop of an Iodine
solution.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The appropriate cover slip
was, after sufficient floatation time, removed and placed on the Iodine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then the real fun began; each slide was
scanned under the microscope.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Major
Larson initially did all the diagnosing; but he loved teaching and kept showing
me various parasites.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Soon I
was screening most, then all, cases.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
Iodine stains the protozoan cysts brown, with the nuclei and nucleoli
black.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">E. histolytica</i> cysts have one to four nuclei, each with a regular,
centrally located nucleolus; <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">E.coli</i>
has up to eight nuclei, with eccentrically located, irregular nucleoli.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Major Larson had several Parasitology
Textbooks and I virtually memorized all of them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I would place all the slides with parasites,
along with my diagnosis, on Major Larson's desk for confirmation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">We
saved all the stool specimens until the slides had been read because we did
Iron Hematoxylin stains of fecal smears of all cases diagnosed positive for <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">E</i>. ”<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">histolytica</i>
by the Zinc Sulfate flotation-Iodine staining technique.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That meant I spent all day working with two
or three hundred fecal samples (carefully closed but still odiferous in the
tropical climate) at my elbow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Uncounted
hundreds of soldiers, on entering the Laboratory said, with what each thought to
be clever, but also completely original, "SPARKS, YOU'VE GOT THE SHITIEST
JOB IN THE WHOLE FUCKING ARMY".<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
didn't argue with them, but <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">I</b>
thought I had the best job in the whole army.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I was doing something worthwhile, learning a lot and had my first
mentor; who could ask for anything more.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Besides, my nose had been broken so many times and the nasal passages so
clogged by bone and cartilage, my olfactory epithelium was not fully
functional.</span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">The
Iron Hematoxylin stains of the fecal smears did create a problem; they took a
long time and didn't begin until near the end of the normal work day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was usually in the Lab at least 10 and
often 12 hours before I finished staining and cover slipping the fecal smears
so Major Larson could read them the next morning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I still have some of those slides, more than
60 years later, still clearly demonstrating the parasites, I was working my
butt off and enjoying every minute of it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Added to the problem was the fact that I was "On Call" approximately
one night a week, the Lab representative for emergency cases usually
appendectomies, but sometimes trauma cases (vehicle wrecks, stabbings,
shootings, etc.).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The former called for
a white blood count and differential smear; the latter for blood typing and
cross matching while the MOD (Medical Officer of the Day) and surgeon, if
called for, waited for your results--usually at 1:30 in the morning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">I
learned that <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">E.histolitica</i> did not
respect rank; the Commanding General was loaded. Most people with the bug did
not exhibit symptoms, but we had some acute cases in the hospital that lost
twenty or thirty pounds during the episodes of constant, bloody dysentery.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To the best of my memory, the prevalence was
over 30 per cent for the entire division.<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">While I
was working in the Malaria and Epidemic Control Unit, some <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Aedes aegypti</i> inoculated me with a flaming case of Dengue Fever. I
spent a couple of weeks in the hospital during which (after I realized I was
not going to die) I won several hundred dollars in the running poker game.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That convinced me that when working with
infectious diseases one should be EXTRA careful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I did not pick up <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">E. histo</i>. or any other intestinal parasites while working on the
survey, but several people in the Lab.did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">As a
Private, I had KP Duty often; with the Officer's Mess, the Enlisted Mess
combined with the Patient's Mess (those that were ambulatory), there were a lot
of bodies to cook for and clean up after and, therefore, a lot of mule labor
needed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The demand was so great that
even Corporals had to pull KP-unheard of in the fighting army.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jobs were assigned as requested in the order
of reporting; table waiter was the easiest and pots and pans the hardest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some guys would get up at 4:00 AM to get
table waiter; I soon learned to sleep until 8:00, saunter down for a leisurely
breakfast and accept pots and pans.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">John
Day had the best solution; he was the bartender at the Officer's Club and the
best poker player I ever knew (He told me he had never in his life done
anything but gamble and tend bar and never intended to do anything else).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He simply paid someone else $10.00 to take
his KP; that was a fifth of a month's pay for a buck private, but no problem
for Corporal Day.</span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">The
worst thing about my being on KP was that the stool samples stacked up when I
was not at the Lab.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Major Larson tried
to get me excused from KP because I was so badly needed for the important
survey, but nobody bought that real truth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>However, when he subsequently pointed out (at my suggestion) that I,
working with all those parasites and feces, was not someone they wanted
handling their silverware and was possibly a WW II Typhoid Mary, I was relieved
of KP duty.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The 31st Station Hospital was a real education for
me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had grown up in Texas, incredibly
parochial in the 1920's, 1930'sand early 1940's.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>EVERYONE I knew was growing up in Texas,
children of parents who had grown up in Texas, most of whom had never been out
of Texas except possibly for quick incursions into Oklahoma or Arkansas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My eyes had been somewhat opened by the Boy
Scout Jamboree; but I spent most of the time with other kids from North Texas,
agreeing with them about how "funny" Yankees and other Foreigners
talked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even in college, most people I
knew were from Texas or nearby states; basic training was so intense we didn't
have much time for cross cultural exchanges and, besides, everyone was young,
well educated, and extremely bright.</span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Almost
all the enlisted men in the 31st Station Hospital, on the other hand, had been drafted, most from
New York City.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was an incredible
racial and ethnic polyglot; probably a third were naturalized American citizens
and they ”ALL” spoke with strange accents, racial or Bronx or Brooklyn. Most
were Irish, but we also had Germans, Jews from all over Europe, several from
various Middle European Countries, and even a Russian or two.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most were in their late twenties or early
thirties, and many didn't speak or read English fluently.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Stirred into that stew were some new
ingredients: a Mexican Pachinko and professed professional boxer from Los
Angeles, a Chinese from San Francisco, a High School teacher with a Master's
Degree and a bunch of kids under 22 -- from all over the US. </span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Sgt.
Patrick McNelis was the senior enlisted man in the Lab. He told me several
times in his low, confidential voice of getting off the boat from Ireland in
New York at 16 with $17.00 "in me pocket".<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He became a Lab Technician for DuPont in Delaware,
married and had a couple of children before being drafted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Apparently he couldn’t handle the stress of
being separated from his family; he was the first full blown alcoholic I met.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Many Texans are heavy or "hard"
drinkers, but Pat was a new experience for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">He
would stay off the sauce for a couple of weeks, then find some excuse, almost
always related to his family: bad news, no news, or despondency at not being
with them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He would drink all the beer
and liquor he had, beg all he could from his friends, going all out until he
ran out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He usually ended the binge by
provoking a fight that he never won.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
remember one night with him stark naked in our tent (we had taken him to his
tent and stripped him before putting him to bed in the hope the lack of clothes
would ground him) saying "I'm going to hide in the shadows and when that
Goddamn Mexican comes by, I'm going to pounce on him like a tiger".<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We took him back to his tent, put him back to
bed with the admonition that pouncing on the Mexican was not a good idea. The
next thing we heard was a scream, a sodden thud, then silence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">The
Mexican was apologetic; "I was just going to the latrine and
"something" jumped on my back in the dark; I hit him before I knew
what it was".<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The fight was over,
the binge was over and we didn't see Pat for a couple of days after putting him
to bed one last time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When he finally
appeared at the Lab, he was all contrition and with a black eye.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">We later discovered how he
could keep going after all his friends cut him off. I spilled some of the Lab
95% Ethyl Alcohol over a small cut while setting up a Staining Procedure and it
didn't sting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It turned out to be less
than 10% alcohol; Pat had a key to the Lab and one of the few keys to the
cabinet containing the Lab alcohol.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When
all his other sources dried up, he'd go to the Lab with an empty bottle, pour
off some alcohol and replace it with distilled water.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He would have soon been drinking distilled
water. Major Larson reluctantly took Pat's key to the Alcohol Cabinet and the
quality of our microtechnique improved dramatically.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Although
McNelis was the EM Chief of the Lab, Louden Stanford was the glue that kept it
together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He had a Master's Degree in
Botany and was a High School Biology teacher prior to the war; he taught all
the new replacements, Nick, Jackson, Montgomery and me all the laboratory
procedures.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He also counseled us on a
wide range of subjects.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Joseph Yakaloff
was another of the older enlisted technicians, but I didn't ever really know
him because he never talked to anyone in the Lab except Major Larson and then
only to answer a direct question.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> was told that he had been a
proofreader for a major New York newspaper, but, because of his apparent
"vow of silence", I never learned which one.</span>
</div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">One of
the major members of the Lab Staff was Shit Heel, the Laboratory Cat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He had been given that name because Major
Larson had retrieved him, when he was a tiny kitten, from the bowels of the
Officer's Latrine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He would leap up on
counters and walk among the various samples and equipment without ever knocking
anything over.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He lived in the Lab and
lived well, because everyone brought him goodies from the Mess Hall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
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</style>Elisa Kay Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12799520611077133253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8395186067285661546.post-75957641065071906742018-12-25T14:05:00.002-08:002018-12-25T14:20:00.448-08:004.4.5 Transfer to the 31st Station Hospital<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoPlainText" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "copperplate gothic bold"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Transfer to 31<sup>st</sup> Station
Hospital</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoPlainText" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Unfortunately for me, that idyllic existence ended in early
1945.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The war was finally going well in
the Pacific Theatre of Operations and the US Armed Forces were closing in on
Japan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The 27th Station Hospital was
"Alerted" to ship out and cleared up their rather foggy personnel problems.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They had been a convenient cover for medical
officers and enlisted men needed in other places for years, but once they were
alerted they had to get back to their authorized strength.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Only positions (people) in their Table of
Organization could go into combat with them. I don't know how bloated they
were, but when they got down to transferring buck privates, I suspect some
officers lost THEIR cushy spots.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The first I heard of any of it, was
receipt of orders to report to the 31st Station Hospital, to which I had been
transferred, near Tontouta, New Caledonia about halfway between Bourail and
Noumea.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The enormity of it hit me
immediately: no more Christmas Eve Midnight Masses and Christmas Dinners with
the Renivier Family; no more picnics, no more deer hunting, no more doing our
own cooking of whatever we wanted; I was back in the Army for the first time
since I left the Replacement Depot and would have to wear a uniform, salute
officers and eat G.I. food in a mess hall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It was not a happy time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">One of my associates drove me, with all my clothes inherited
from George Sheldon in the back of the pickup, to the 31<sup>st</sup> Station
Hospital in Tontuta.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had long before
thrown away gas mask, cartridge belt, helmet liner, steel helmet and all other
accouterments of the combat soldier; so, when I reported, I expected a lot of
ass-chewing and possibly a "Statement of Charges" to pay for all the
Army equipment I had discarded.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the
words of Rhett Butler in Gone With The Wind, "I didn't give a damn";
the Army had already done the worst they could do to me. </span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Much to my surprise, the Hospital Sgt. Major to whom I
reported said "Welcome aboard, Sparks; E. J. Nicholson heard you were
coming and asked that you be assigned to his tent." Nicholson and I had
been through Basic Training together and had also shared Ft. Ord, Camp
Stoneman, the troopship and the Repple Depple.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He was a Cajun from just south of New Orleans, had gone to LSU on a
football scholarship, and was one of the most genuinely nice people I ever
met.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Before I could recover from the
shock, Nicholson appeared and helped me load my clothes into the back of a
weapons carrier (a pickup like truck) driven by the</span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Detachment
1st Sgt, Don Finerty, and I was soon deposited, along with all my gear, in
front of my new home.</span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">It was the standard pyramidal tent over a wooden floor,
sides up to about four feet and 2X4's running from each corner to peak at the
top around a central center pole running vertically from floor to ceiling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I soon met my tent mates: in addition to
Nick, they were Wayne Jackson, Robert Hall, and Charles Montgomery. Hall was
from Pierre, South Dakota, Montgomery from Walla Walla, Washington and Jackson
from somewhere in the Midwest, probably Indiana.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because we were all in our early twenties and
inexperienced in the ways of the world, someone painted a sign <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">THE CHERUBS</b> and nailed it above the
entrance to our tent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">All personnel newly assigned to the 31st Station Hospital
went on what the enlisted men called Shit Detail until they were assigned to a
permanent position.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We picked up the
garbage from the Hospital, Officer's Quarters, and Enlisted Men's Area; dug
ditches, pits for new latrines; unloaded supplies and whatever grunt work had
been requested.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although I had made it
known that I would like to be assigned to the Laboratory; Nick, Montgomery and
Jackson worked there and I thought I might learn something useful in case I
ever returned to College.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Instead, they made me a Telephone Operator.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a Racket.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We worked rotating shifts: 8:00 AM to 4:00
PM; 4:00 PM to Midnight the next day; then Midnight to 8:00 AM the next;
followed by a day off, which was really three days off at the end of the
cycle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If, for example, you finished
your "Graveyard Shift" at 8:00 AM on Friday, your next tour of duty
began at 8:00 AM on Monday. This was because all enlisted men, outside of
combat, got one day a week off; we got the extra day because of the hardship of
working nights.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That was, indeed, a
hardship; there was a cot beside the switchboard and calls between 8:00 PM and
8:00 AM were rare.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You simply set the
buzzer and went to sleep at midnight; if anyone wanted to call out or there was
an incoming call, the buzzer waked you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>You usually got an undisturbed night's sleep and waked refreshed for a
three day holiday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had four people
for the three shifts to allow for the "day off"; the other operators
had made a strong pitch for a fourth member because they had been overworked
since one of their crew had been sent back to the States for medical reasons.</span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Instead of fitting into the pattern, I spent a lot of my
“off time” in the Laboratory becoming acquainted with the enlisted men other
than my tent mates and even the two officers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I was fascinated to learn that they did all the diagnostic tests for the
hospital; the Doctors often did not know what was wrong with a patient until
they received the Lab Reports.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It didn't
take long for me to worm my way into an assignment to the Lab.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Head of the Laboratory, Major Evrel A.
Larson, was impressed by my obvious interest and, as a former professor</span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">at
the University of Minnesota Medical School, could probably relate to an
enthusiastic kid wanting to learn about the medical way of doing business.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although the Lab was fully staffed (all their
authorized positions were filled), Major Larson managed to get me assigned to
the Laboratory because they had just been given responsibility for doing a
stool survey of the entire 81<sup>st</sup> Infantry Division.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">The 81st had been evacuated after capturing a small, not
heavily defended island, because of what was believed to be an epidemic of
Amoebic Dysentery during and immediately following the battle. They were
brought to New Caledonia for rest, reinforcement, and training in addition to
being checked for<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Endameba histolytica</i>, the causative agent for amoebic
dysentery.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We thought most of that was a
joke; they reportedly lost only eight men in the invasion because the island
had been largely abandoned prior to their arrival.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I doubt the Japanese were clever enough to
seed the island with <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">E.histolytica</i> cysts,
but it did demonstrate how effective biological warfare could be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>An entire Infantry Division knocked out of
combat (and we were short of Infantry Divisions at the time) by a microscopic
protozoan that is only transmitted by fecal contamination.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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</style>Elisa Kay Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12799520611077133253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8395186067285661546.post-86055300110528352152018-12-25T14:04:00.003-08:002018-12-25T14:19:51.087-08:004.4.4 Farming in New Caledonia<br />
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<span style="font-family: "copperplate gothic bold"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Farming in
New Caladonia</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Meanwhile
on the farm circuit, I met Sgt. V.T. Kallus who was in charge of a small group
of American soldiers in Bourail, New Caledonia involved in a cooperative
arrangement with French farmers to provide fresh vegetables for American
troops, one of three such units in New Caledonia.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Vaclav Kallus was a Czech. from South Texas,
a 1930 graduate of Texas A&M, and a County Agent from Kingsville, Texas
prior to WW II.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Seeing things were falling apart at the Homestead in Noumea
and sensing an EVEN better deal, I volunteered to move from the big city to
help Sgt. Kallus provide fresh vegetables to the troops brought back from
combat if he could swing a transfer for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He was delighted at the prospect of having another Aggie in his group
and somehow pulled it off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remained a
member of the 27<sup>th</sup> Station Hospital, but on Detached Service to the
large Quartermaster organization that provided the fresh vegetables.</span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Now THAT was the sweetest LEGAL deal I ever heard of in
World War II.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In addition to Sgt Kallus
and me, there was Joe Comstock (a nephew of the Comstock of INSECT TAXONOMY
fame), Jim Wiler and<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lewis, (a former
fullback at the University of Georgia).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We lived in a Quonset hut in a coconut grove on the largest farm in the
area, Gabe, owned by someone in Noumea but operated by the Renivier family. </span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
farming was done under contact between the French farmer and the US
Government.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The farmers provided the
land and we furnished seeds, fertilizer and all tractor work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They did the harvesting (all but personal use
going to the Americans) and we arranged for the pickup and purchases.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was all on paper; no money changed hands
and we didn't even get a commission, but we did have a lot of friends on both
sides of the business.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">We had a Farmall F20, a Farmall H, a Ford Ferguson and a
Caterpillar (a bulldozer without the blade) that was used mostly for clearing
virgin land.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Kallus spent full time
managing the operation: working out what should be planted and when; procuring
the seeds and fertilizer; scheduling the tractor work (plowing, disc harrowing,
fertilizing, planting, cultivating and, with root crops like potatoes,
harvesting); arranging for the purchase (by requisition) and pickup by eligible
military organizations and ensuring the crops were harvested, of acceptable
quality, in the quantities stipulated and ready to be loaded on the
trucks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">The latter responsibility was particularly important; none
of the truck drivers and few of the Quartermaster or Mess personnel who
sometimes came along to overview the transaction knew much about either quality
or quantity in fresh vegetables. Besides, it wasn't THEIR money being spent; it
was the Government's and it wasn't REAL money, they just signed a
requisition.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In contrast, the French
Farmers knew it was REAL money and they wanted to sock away as much as they
could while the bonanza lasted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They
were colonials and had been scratching to survive on mostly a subsistence and
barter system (New Caledonia's most important prewar export was deer hides);
now there was an opportunity to make American dollars in amounts they had never
dreamed of.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most were as honest as farmers
anywhere, a few weren't; but if someone wants to overpay you, it makes up for
the times that the crops failed or prices were depressed.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Wiler was the mechanic and spent most of his time working on
the tractors and accessary equipment and the two or three pickup trucks
assigned to our unit, but he filled in on the tractor work when all the
equipment was working or we were under real pressure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lewis spent most of his time on the
"Cat", clearing land for new crops; we had approximately 450 acres
under cultivation when I got there, but it wasn't enough.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I got little time on the Cat, but what a
feeling of power to uproot trees with a huge "brush plow" or pull
even larger ones out of the ground with a cable.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>That left the bulk of the routine
tractor work to Joe Comstock and me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
don't know how he, from an upstate New York and University of Cornell
background, felt about our job; but I knew I had found a bird's nest on the
ground.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With my only previous farming
experience being a Georgia Stock (a single mold board, hand held, walking plow)
and a mule, this was the way farming should be done.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Besides, I was not only not in Guadalcanal or
Bougainville or even downtown Noumea, I was driving a tractor, wearing whatever
I wanted to wear, and watching the soil turn up behind my plow, harrow or
middle buster.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">We ate with the farmer for whom we were working; lunch if it
was a one day job or near enough to Gabe to return to the Quonset hut by
tractor for the night or multiple meals and sleeping accommodations if several
days work were involved. </span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Because
none of them spoke any English, learning French was both a necessity (if you
wanted something at meals or the location of the toilet facilities) and made
easy by total immersion for days at a time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It didn't take long for me to become comfortable in the language, but I
was amazed one day to realize that I was <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">thinking</b>
in French when I was <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">talking</b> in
French.</span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Because we didn't have enough personnel for a cook or
rations, we were paid $2.40 a day per diem (more than my pay as a buck private)
and required to provide our own food.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>That was NO PROBLEM; we had first crack at all the vegetables, our
farmer friends brought us pork or beef when they slaughtered (no one Upcountry
had refrigeration, so there was a short half-life for fresh meat) and chickens
occasionally appeared at our door. Our staple fresh meat, however, was provided
by the resident imported Sambar deer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Someone and I willingly volunteered, had to walk up the mountain with a
rifle, sit down and wait until a deer came walking by, then shoot it fatally
and drag it down the mountain. We could circumvent that by jack-lighting them
at night while they munched on our corn, tomato, or other seedlings; it was
more efficient and about as productive, but not any fun. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Not only did our farmer friends
contribute to our larder, the army organizations with whom we did business were
even more generous.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Almost all of them
brought us cases of canned vegetables, fruit, meat, beer and soft drinks,
bread, etc. every time they came up for fresh vegetables; "we're not
trying to influence you, but we just happened to have more beer or whatever
than we needed and thought our friends up in the country might be able to use
it".<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At Sgt Kallus' suggestion, I
built a commissary behind the Living Quarters: a wooden floor, sides and frame
for a pyramidal tent, and sturdy wooden storage lockers</span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">with
a hasp and lock to store all our supplies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Some visitors from various Officers Messes even brought whiskey and we
had to be sure that was adequately secured.</span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">It was not all fun and games; eight or ten hours on a
tractor seat is work and once I was alone at the Quonset hut when three 6X6's
arrived, loaded with 100 pound bags of fertilizer. One of the truck drivers was
kind enough to drag the bags to the back of the truck, the other two slouched
in the cab while I</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">climbed
onto the bed and dragged the sacks to where I could hoist them onto my shoulder
and carry them to a storage area.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
unloaded, carried and stacked at least 50,000 pounds of fertilizer in two or
three hours.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">The French families liked us or at least felt sorry for us
because we were so far from home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
Reniviers took me in almost as a member of the family; although Msr. Renivier
obviously had some reservations about my intentions in regard to his daughter,
Andre.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could understand that; I also
had some conflicts between my marital commitments and my male hormones.
Fortunately, although I'm not sure I appreciated it at the time, the French
chaperon system (in which NO unmarried female is EVER allowed to be alone with
ANY male, especially a married one) effectively forestalled any test of Andre’s
virtue and my faithfulness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Madame Renivier treated me like the son she never had, there
was an older daughter married to the Sgt Major of the French Army unit in
Noumea.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not only was I often invited to
dinner, they also included me on their frequent picnics where we fished with
dynamite, and shot pigeons, deer and flying foxes (fruit bats). Dynamite
fishing the way we did it was exciting: each of the fishermen waded out into
the lagoon (New Caledonia is almost completely surrounded by a barrier reef)
carrying a burlap bag and a stick of dynamite with a lighted cigar in his
mouth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>When a school of fish appeared on
the surface, we would try to intercept them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>When in range, we would light the fuse and throw the stick of dynamite
just ahead of the swimming school of fish.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>If your timing was perfect, the dynamite exploded near the surface and
in the middle of the school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then you
ran or swam through waist to shoulder deep water to retrieve the stunned fish
before they recovered, grabbing and shoving them into the bag.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most common were mackerel-like fish or some
species of bonito, averaging about five pounds.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Occasionally we had to compete with small to medium size sharks for the
quarry and adding to the excitement was the knowledge that if you held the
stick too long or had a fast burning fuse you could end up at</span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">best
short one hand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You could also use hand
grenades, but they weren't nearly as effective and a lot less exciting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I spent a lot of time wading in the
lagoon, collecting shells and observing the snails, crabs and other
invertebrates.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I really fell in love
with marine biology on the barrier reef and lagoons of New Caledonia.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The mangrove swamps were also fascinating: I
chased mudskippers (a small fish that can breathe out of water) and fiddler and
other shore crabs through the mud with virtually no success.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were no native mammals other than the
fruit bats and possibly a species of black rat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The Norway rat and Sambar deer had been imported and both flourished in
the absence of their normal predators.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The only snake was a burrowing boa that I never saw and I don't remember
any lizards or frogs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I did find a large
female sea turtle that had come ashore to lay eggs on the beach.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She and the eggs were delicious and provided
gourmet food for a lot of people for several days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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</style>Elisa Kay Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12799520611077133253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8395186067285661546.post-19895646844253750312018-12-25T14:01:00.003-08:002018-12-25T14:19:39.307-08:004.4.3 Promotion to Street Cleaner<br />
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<span style="font-family: "copperplate gothic bold"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Promotion to
Street Cleaner</span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Living
in our "private quarters" was, to me, fantastic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had an unbelievable larder of food and
drink in a storage chest, all the fancy canned meats as well as the standard
canned vegetables and fruit, cases of quart bottles of potent Australian beer,
always the best steaks, hams, and bacon on the Island.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We did all our own cooking, except for lunch
or when we went out for dinner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If we
weren't too far away at lunch time, we'd go home for a sandwich and beer and a
quick game of cribbage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As he trounced
me in cribbage, I can still almost hear Bronko sing, "It's still the same
old story, a fight for love and glory, a case of RUPERT'S BEER".<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was in HOG HEAVEN; I'd never had it so
good.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was the "Kid" and they
seemed to enjoy making me an equal member of the group and I responded with
restrained, but I'm sure realized, heartfelt appreciation.</span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">After
a short time in the rat business, I was summoned to the Surgeon General's
Office.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I immediately assumed it had
been discovered that I had been AWOL from my sleeping quarters since shortly
after being assigned them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was going
to protect my benefactors at all costs, so I began concocting explanations in
my mind to explain my AWOL status.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
most appealing to me was that I was living with a French woman who had taken me
in at first sight, but I wasn't confident I could sell that to a full Colonel
who probably wasn't doing all that well himself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">After
I reported, with all the correct military protocol, the Island Surgeon said,
"Sparks, I've been hearing good things about you (that was a surprise; I
would have bet he didn't know I existed), especially about how quickly you are
learning French and the way you get along with the French civilians.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have a job involving French civilians that
I think you can handle".<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>"Admiral Halsey likes to walk to work every morning and he has brought
it to my attention that the streets of Noumea are filthy.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I've arranged for three 6X6's to be assigned
to the Island Surgeons Office, and my office has hired three French civilian
truck drivers and 18 Kanaka’s (Melanesian natives) as street sweepers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I'd like you to take charge of this
operation; find out the route Admiral Halsey walks to work and clean that
first, but I want all streets in downtown Noumea swept before 8:00 AM.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you want the job, you'll have a jeep
permanently assigned to you and full authority and no additional
responsibilities after you clean the streets except taking care of your
workers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Do you want the job?"<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could hardly restrain myself from saying
"Hell yes, Sir", but I answered in a more respectful affirmative.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">WOW,
less than 21 years old and I was City Street Commissioner of the City of
Noumea.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a sweet deal; I got up at
4:00 AM, drove to the compound where the sweepers slept to make sure they were
up, had coffee with them, and watched them climb into the trucks for their
morning street sweeping.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course, I
had to check on each crew several times each morning to be absolutely certain
that Admiral Halsey could neither soil his shoes or have his sensibilities
offended by the sight of trash. I kept those streets so immaculate you could
have eaten off them. </span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>When we were finished and the trash
had been deposited at the city dump, I met briefly with the crews to record
time and attendance, solve any problems and then I was free until the next
morning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For a while it was luxurious to
have the whole day free to sleep, read, study French or be a tourist; but it
soon became not only boring but lonely.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>All my friends were working and I was too committed to the marriage vows
to enter into the world of French marital intrigue and much too inexperienced
to know how to go about it if it had occurred to me.</span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">On
one of my excursions outside the city, I discovered that the American Armed
Forces were buying fresh vegetables from the resident farmers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Many of the truck farmers like the couple
with whom we shared the shower and toilet, were former indentured servants from
what was then French Indochina, later Vietnam, Laos and Cambodia.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They had come to New Caledonia under contract
as indentured servants, house or field; they were provided food and lodging and
a small amount of cash.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, most of
their wages went into an account to be paid when they returned to Indochina at
the conclusion of their contract.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">It
was an arrangement eagerly sought by upwardly mobile Indochinese because they
could return after seven years with, by local standards, a large amount of cash
for investment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The capture of the
entire region by the Japanese early in the war created a problem.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They could not be sent back to Indochina;
some continued to work for their former masters, much like many of the former
slaves in the South after the Civil War, others struck out on their own on
truck farms or other endeavors.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I never
knew if the French Government gave them their accumulated indentured pay, but I
doubt it because none I met appeared affluent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Totally
bored with the City Street Commissioner job (only a short time after I was
flailing to escape going into combat and now I was wheeling and dealing-<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">C'est la Guerre</i>), I requested another
appointment with the Island Surgeon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
reminded him that sewage disposal in Noumea was by "Honey Bucket"
pickup. There was no municipal sewage system; instead all human waste was
accumulated in buckets that were picked up periodically by truck and taken to
the city waste treatment facility (if you think being stuck behind a garbage
pick up truck is</span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">unpleasant,
you should have experienced the rich olfactory experience of following a
"Honey Bucket" truck down the street). </span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">I
didn't know the ultimate fate of the contents, but I reminded the Colonel that
it was traditional in some oriental countries to use "night soil" for
fertilizer and suggested that the Surgeons Office should initiate an inspection
program to insure that American troops were not exposed to parasitic diseases
by eating food contaminated by such practices. </span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">The
colonel smiled and said, "Sparks, I agree and I'll bet you have someone in
mind to do the inspecting".<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A
Sanitary Corps (later part of the Medical Service Corps) Captain, along with an
enlisted assistant, replaced me as "City Street Commissioner" and I
was off to protect the health of American GI's from the dangers of contaminated
vegetables.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">That
was an even better deal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could, and
did, under orders from the Island Surgeon, drive all over New Caledonia
inspecting farming practices and fresh vegetables.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Along with soil samples, I, of course, had to
take large samples of fresh vegetables (and fruit, too, if it was ripe) back to
Noumea for analysis.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The hospital
laboratory that performed the tests never found any evidence of sanitation
malpractice, but I began contributing to the sweet life at our private
quarters. now we had all the fresh fruit and vegetables we could use to go
along with the steaks and Australian beer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">It really was the sweet life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After a short while George was transferred
back to the States; how he arranged that in 1944 when all troopships returned
to the US empty I don't know, but I'll bet it cost him a couple of sides of
"condemned beef". I “inherited” all his clothes, including at least a
dozen suits of khakis, that he couldn't take home and we were down to three.
Bronko was promoted to Sgt. before George left and Staff Sgt. On his
departure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Then things began to slowly disintegrate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ralph became involved with a French woman who
lived across the street. She was the wife of an American Air Force Captain who
was stationed at the Tontouta Air Base, several hours by car up the Island, and
was able to get to Noumea only on weekends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>In a moment of contrition, she confessed her adulterous relationship
with Ralph to her husband, swore by the Blessed Virgin to never be unfaithful
again and, to cement her resolve, told Ralph what she had done.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was not pleased; there were all kinds of
unpleasant things that could happen to us if the Captain wanted to get nasty. </span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">The lady’s contrition lasted about a week before her
hormones regained control.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She knocked
on our door one afternoon and asked Ralph to come to her place that night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He informed her that he was not about to get
caught in her bedroom by her husband sneaking in from Tontouta.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometime after dark there was a knock on the
door, and the whispered words "Ces't moi".<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ralph went to the door and she stuck a 45
Cal. Automatic in his navel, cocked it and said "come with me".<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My bed was directly across the room from the
door, putting me in the line of fire, so I hit the deck when I heard the hammer
click on the Colt 45.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ralph said
"you don't have the guts to pull the trigger" and took the weapon
away from her. After the adrenalin stopped flowing I thought, "he must be
one hell of a lover for a woman to pull a gun on him to get him into bed with
her."<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Bronko became the target of a demure young wife of a French
soldier.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They lived a couple of houses
down the street and the husband, probably at his wife's suggestion, asked
Bronko over for dinner a few times.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She
didn't speak a word of English and Bronko's French was even worse, but somehow
they managed to end up in one or the other's bed when the husband had night
duty.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He soon became suspicious and
eventually filed for divorce.</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
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</style>Elisa Kay Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12799520611077133253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8395186067285661546.post-90742463335365666632018-12-25T14:00:00.000-08:002018-12-25T14:19:29.295-08:004.4.2 Rodent Wars<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "copperplate gothic bold"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Rodent Wars</span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A day or so later, I was summoned to
Headquarters to be interviewed by a Navy Lt., Junior Grade.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After hearing about my 2 1/2 years of
Wildlife Management in college, he asked two questions: could I trap small
mammals and could I do taxidermy?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
quickly told him that I had run a trap line along Holiday Creek for years and
was a Graduate (correspondence course) of the famous Northwest School of
Taxidermy. He informed me that he was in charge of Rodent Control at a Navy
Malaria and Epidemic Control Unit in Noumea and was looking for someone who
could make a collection of South Pacific rodents and he had just found his
man.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(How that EM in Major Parks 'office
found that job in the Navy, I don't know, but I hope he got a promotion out of
it).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just before leaving, the Navy Lt. said,
"By the way, Sparks, you'll have to drive yourself to do this rodent
collection; you can drive, can't you?".<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I thought, "Oh shit, I'm going to be killed because my family never
owned a car".<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I replied, "Lt.,
have you ever met a 20 year old American boy who couldn't drive a car?"
Fortunately, he took the bait, "Sorry, Sparks, that was a stupid
question".</span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">A
couple of days later I was notified at morning formation that I was being
assigned to the 27th Station Hospital in Noumea, detached to the Island Surgeon
General's Office and on special duty to the Naval Malaria and Epidemic Control
Unit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I happily crammed all my
possessions into my two duffel bags and climbed, along with several other
hilarious escapees of jungle rot and combat fatigue in<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>islands we hadn't even heard of, into the
back of a 6by6 (a six wheeled truck with, when needed, six wheel drive-the mule
of World War II) for a ride into Noumea, the Paris of the Pacific. </span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">I reported in at the
Headquarters of the 27th Station Hospital and was officially made a member of
it and spent the night in a transient EM's tent, the only night I spent in my
parent organization in the entire time I was assigned to it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The next morning I was taken to the Surgeon
General's Office for further processing, and then Corporal Ralph Abel drove me
the few blocks to the Quarters, still in tents, of the Island Headquarters
enlisted men. I stuffed my duffel bags under the cot assigned to me and rode
with Ralph Abel to the Navy Malaria and Epidemic Control Unit, where he
introduced me to all the officers and enlisted men.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There weren't many of either and Abel and I
were the only Army personnel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Ralph was in Rodent Control
because he had grown up in a family owned pest control business in Dallas,
Texas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was assigned to the Surgeon
General's Office and detailed to the Rodent Control task with the Navy Malaria
and Epidemic Control Unit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We didn't do
much that day and I rode back to Headquarters Company with Ralph where we had
dinner and I was glad to go to bed, feeling for the first time in months that I
belonged.</span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">The next morning reality reared
its ugly head.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was given my traps and
a "trip ticket" (authorization to drive a specific vehicle) and told
to go trap rats.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had figured I would
be assigned a jeep, small enough I assumed to be easy to drive. When I went outside
to begin my duties, I discovered I had been given a Command Car, a huge
vehicle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I sauntered out to it and
climbed aboard; it seemed to me that everyone in the Unit was standing on the
sidewalk to see if I could drive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My
life was saved by the military's requirement that the gear shift sequence be
permanently attached to the dash.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I got
it into low with the clutch in, started it, and carefully let the clutch out. I
turned right at the first corner, pulled over to the curb and practiced
shifting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I attained sufficient
confidence I headed to the hills to practice steering.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn't trap any rats that day, but I got
back to the Unit with a lot more confidence in my driving ability.</span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">A major part of my job was to
help Ralph in rodent control. The exciting part was blowing cyanide gas down
rat holes and shooting the rats with .22 Cal. shot shells when they came
boiling out of their lairs, usually around docks or major food depots.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mostly, we went to mess halls that had
requested help with their rat problems.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>For them, we mixed Red Squill with canned salmon or tuna.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Red Squill is a ground up root product that
causes any mammal eating it to regurgitate; I've thrown up just mixing it. Its
effectiveness against rats lies in the fact that rats can't throw up--they
choke to death.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were celebrated for
the way we could solve the rat problems at mess halls all over the area.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mess Sergeants almost always invited Ralph in
for coffee and (special) cake before we began our rodent control.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We would then stroll through the area,
randomly dispensing Red Squill-laden canned fish with a big spoon from our
mixture.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Rats loved it and so did the
cats; we were usually followed by at least one mess hall cat, begging for some
of that fish.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not especially caring for
cats, I occasionally slipped one a little and watched it turn wrong side out
after eating it.</span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Ralph knew better than any of
the officers how much we could do in a day's work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I soon learned that he and a couple of
friends had something really great in mind. Relatively early when I worked with
him, we went to a house near the Headquarters Company Quarters to work on
building an apartment in the unfinished bottom floor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It, like many of the larger houses in Noumea,
had the living quarters on the second floor, the ground floor was bare ground
except for a small servants quarters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>There was a frame around the sides and back, but the front was open to
provide ventilation for the living quarters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">The arrangement was for the
American soldiers to provide all the material and labor and build a lower
floor, in return for which they were to live in it as long as they were in
Noumea for a modest rent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was to be
left intact when they left and the property of the owners.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Able had been in New Caledonia for several
years, originally as a member of the 112th Cavalry, a National Guard unit from
Dallas, Texas, and had lots of contacts in the Noumea area.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, the other two members of the
triumvirate were the REAL entrepreneurs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Tech Sgt George Sheldon was the
ranking enlisted man in the Island Command Veterinary Office and (then)
Corporal Bronko Wolitik was his assistant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>They didn't do anything with dogs or cats or even horses, after the
112th Cavalry got rid of their horses and went north into combat with the
Americal Division, but they DID inspect all food brought into New Caledonia for
the US Armed Forces.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That may not sound
like much, but they probably had more power than Admiral Halsey.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One word from them and a shipload of beef
could be condemned.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were constantly
given "gifts" (NOT bribes) from Merchant Marine captains, Officer's
Club managers and various others with interest in food from all sides of the
delivery-procurement spectrum.</span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Once we began working on their
new "Quarters", Army, Navy and civilian trucks began dropping off
brand new lumber (2X4's, tongue and groove flooring, etc), paint, electrical
wiring and light fixtures.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They probably
could have had the Sea Bees build the whole thing for them; we did get quite a
bit from those master scroungers, including some help with the wiring.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was glad to help with the job; they seemed
appreciative and I'd rather do that than kill rats, besides it was screwing the
Army. </span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>When we finished the place, they asked me to move in with
them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That's one of the few times in my
life that I was totally overwhelmed; I had no idea when I was working on it
that there was any chance they'd take a kid, buck private and overseas less
than a month, into their, by enlisted men's standards, palace. Of course the
whole thing was not only illegal, but Court's Martialable for numerous
reasons.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To begin with we technically
were AWOL (Absent Without Leave) every night we didn't sleep in our assigned
quarters without a pass, which was every night. Even if that were overlooked
(and a lot of American GI's were living with French women with the Army trying
not to find out), but <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>explaining where
all the supplies to build the place came from might have been difficult.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It wouldn't have been for me; I didn't have
the foggiest notion how any of it was procured, what's more I didn't give a
damn.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">We
built our own beds with 2X6 frames and strips from inner tubes closely and
tightly interwoven for springs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Mattresses, sheets, pillows and pillow cases in quantity appeared.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Each occupant had a huge wooden storage
locker for underwear and socks under the bed and a hanging space for shirts,
pants and field jackets.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn't need
much of any of that space with my GI issue of two of everything: khaki shirts
and pants, shorts, undershirts, combat boots, pairs of socks,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>fatigues; except field jacket, overseas cap,
helmet liner, steel helmet and gas mask, of which there was only one of
each.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">That
was soon rectified; shortly after we moved in, George Sheldon gave me eight
suits of khaki's, immaculately washed and ironed, with the removed Tech Sgt
stripes leaving a lighter area on each arm and tapered so they fit like they
had been tailor made.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In an offhand
manner he said something like, "if you're going to live here, you can't
dress like that".<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because we had to
maintain the pretense of a presence at our official presence, I moved all my GI
issued clothes and equipment in my barracks bag to my assigned bunk at Island
Headquarters enlisted men's quarters. I made up my bunk, put a pair of shined
combat boots under the bunk, stowed the barracks bag at the foot of the bunk and
left, never to return.</span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">The
three who took me in and under their collective wing, were fabulous, even in
the retrospect of 45 years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>George Sheldon
grew up in Sheldon, Iowa, named for his grandfather who established the
town.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He went to Iowa State on a
football scholarship and on his first play of varsity football, he caught a
pass for a touchdown against Notre Dame.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He told me once that was his thrill of a lifetime, from then on
everything in football was downhill.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>George was quietly impressive; he was big, well built and handsome.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He didn't have much to say, but everybody
listened when he said something. </span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Bronko
Woolotic was a Yugoslavian from the steel mills of Gary, Indiana.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In civilian life, he was a trainer of race
horses.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was mostly an ebullient
person.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He loved to play cribbage,
taught me the game, and told me of his hopes to have a successful race horse
stable after the war; I've looked for his name for years, but he's never won
the Kentucky Derby unless he has changed his name.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Corporal
Ralph Abel was a tall, slender, charming Texan; he knew everyone, especially
the females, in Noumea.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He also knew all
the good places to eat; shortly after I moved in he took me to a family home
restaurant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After talking to them in
French, he informed me that they had eggs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I said, "I'll have six fried and then six scrambled".<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hadn't had a fresh egg in about six weeks;
I ate the whole dozen, along with appropriate accompanying items, to the
astonishment of a hidden audience of tittering French adolescents.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I spent most of my time, when I wasn't doing
my rodent collection, with Ralph.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
spoke better than passable French, all learned in New Caledonia, and
immediately began teaching me key phrases.</span></div>
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</style>Elisa Kay Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12799520611077133253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8395186067285661546.post-52854508675946624202018-12-25T13:57:00.000-08:002018-12-25T14:19:18.984-08:004.4.1 The Pacific War -- The Repple Debble<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "copperplate gothic bold"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">THE PACIFIC
WAR</span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">We were transported from Camp
Stoneman to the Port of Embarkation in the dead of the night and loaded aboard
the General John Pope, with numerous armed MP's in attendance to make sure none
of us made a break for it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After
sneaking us aboard without the Japanese High Command discovering it, we sailed
under the Golden Gate Bridge about 9:00 AM the next morning with everyone on
deck as we bade the USA goodbye for the duration if not forever.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">That troopship was real
hardship; we were stacked about six bunks deep, with no ventilation, salt water
showers and the stench, with a few people seasick, was overwhelming.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We stood in line, deep in the bowels of the
ship, for meals and stood up as we tried to force down unappetizing food (the
traditional Navy beans for breakfast, UGH).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Even the time on deck was rationed;</span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">There were about 4,000 of us
aboard. At sunset, the loudspeaker would announce that "The Smoking Lamp
is out" and no one could smoke on deck.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>There were no other lights above deck, either, because of the real
danger of submarine attack.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We made that
run without destroyer escort, all by ourselves, and we realized for the first
time that this was serious and unpleasant things could happen anytime.</span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">We arrived in Noumea, New
Caledonia in mid-December, 1943, after a seven day voyage and were immediately
trucked to a Repple Depple (Replacement Depot) for assignment to such exotic
places as Guadalcanal and Bougainville.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>My MOS (Military Occupational Speciality) was Machine Gunner, the life
expectancy of which was about seven minutes in combat and who ever heard of a
noncombat job for a machine gunner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Prospects for the future were not promising.</span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoPlainText" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "copperplate gothic bold"; font-size: 14.0pt;">The Repple Depple</span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">We
were welcomed to the Repple Depple by the Camp Commander, introduced as Major
Parks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was red headed and I
recognized an Aggie Ring on his hand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>After we were dismissed, I summoned my courage and went up to him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"Sir", I said, "are you Red
Parks, the C.O. of H Company Infantry, Class of 1941".<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"I sure am and who are you"?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"I'm Private Sparks, Sir, H Company
Infantry, Class of 1945".<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">The
next morning all us replacements fell in after breakfast for work assignments;
names were called for KP, garbage and various other details, but at the end the
Noncom in charge said "Private Sparks report to the Commanding Officer's
Office". The few people who knew me expressed their hope that I wasn't in
real big trouble, avoiding attracting attention was the goal. </span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">I
reported to the Headquarters Tent as ordered, and was ushered into Major Parks’
office. I strode to the front of his desk, clicked my heels and saluted
smartly, "Private Sparks reporting as ordered, Sir".<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Major Parks returned my salute, excused the
Noncom who had escorted me and motioned me to a chair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Camp Commander's Office was not exactly
luxurious; the whole camp was housed in tents, but it was relatively large and
private, separated from the rest of the headquarters staff by a canvas
wall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Actually, after zero privacy for
almost eight months, reception center, basic training, staging for overseas at
Fort Ord and Camp Stoneman, the troop transport, and now the 20 men to a twelve
man squad tent with cots, no sheets and dirt floors at the Repple Depple, it
SEEMED luxurious.</span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Major
Parks wanted to hear about his friends in H Company. All my upperclassmen had
been his underclassmen. He had coffee and doughnuts brought in and we went
through the entire organization class by class, exchanging gossip, as we drank coffee,
smoked his cigarettes, and ate doughnuts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I could visualize myself out on garbage detail or on KP (pots and pans)
when our meeting ended.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like the
mythical condemned prisoner in the Arabian Nights who kept the Caliph amused by
telling stories and delaying his execution, I kept dredging up minutiae to recount.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It turned out he loved it; I was his guest
for lunch, Private Sparks and the Camp Commander like Lady and The Tramp.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was in his office until quitting time; by
then I was into the cadets in G and I Companies.</span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Then it was back to reality, stand
in line for slightly warmed C Rations and back to the crowded tent and dirt
floor. The Noncom, probably a PFC or Corporal, in charge of our tent was Permanent
Personnel and had a real good thing going down in his end of the tent. He had a
few of the amenities of life, a metal cot and mattress, sheets and pillow with
pillow cases; but <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">mostly</b> he had a
table and a Coleman lantern.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With them
and a box of poker chips, he had his own little casino.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He ran the game: he was the banker, set the
house rules, ruled on any disputes, and made sure no one was stacking the deck,
second dealing, or finger nailing selected cards.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes he played, but he <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">ALWAYS</b> <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>made sure one white chip, worth a dollar, went
into a slot in the middle of the table from the ante on <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">EVERY</b> deal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At a dollar a
hand, 365 nights a year, that smart SOB probably went home rich if he was smart
enough to turn down any promotions.</span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At formation the next morning, when work
details were announced, again "Private Sparks was ordered to report to the
Commanding Officer's Office.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I got
there Major Parks said, "Sparks, we've got to figure out some way to keep
you from being sent up North" (Up North meant Infantry, combat,
beachheads, foxholes, firefights, bombing and shelling, Purple Hearts and other
heroic things) "what can you do?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
was tempted to say, "I can shine brass and shoes and make up beds, do you
need an orderly?<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Instead, I said
"I'm not sure I can do anything the Army wants; I was a Wildlife
Management major at A&M".<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Parks
called in an enlisted classification specialist and asked if him if he had any
jobs open for a wildlife biologist.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
EM said, "Can you type?" and, before I could I could answer
affirmatively, Major Parks quietly said, "Wildlife Biology,
Corporal".<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Texas Aggie
equivalent of the British "Old Boy" system was functioning. </span></div>
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</style>Elisa Kay Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12799520611077133253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8395186067285661546.post-72770832778314424142018-12-25T13:53:00.003-08:002018-12-25T14:18:57.415-08:004.3 World War Two: Induction<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoPlainText" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "copperplate gothic bold"; font-size: 20.0pt;">WORLD
WAR II</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoPlainText" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoPlainText" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "copperplate gothic bold"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Induction</span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">In
early May, 1943, I received my orders YOU WILL REPORT TO FORT SILL, OKLAHOMA
FOR INDUCTION AND, AFTER PROCESSING WILL PROCEED TO CAMP MAXIE, TEXAS FOR
THIRTEEN WEEKS BASIC TRAIN ING AFTER WHICH YOU WILL RETURN TO TEXAS A&M IN
THE ASTP PROGRAM. <br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Based
on those orders, we got married on May 15, 1943 in Fort Worth. Because I was
not 21, not even 20 at the time, I had to have my parents’ signed permission to
obtain a marriage license. Pat needed no such permission, females were at 18
legally mature for marriage. We had to have blood tests to prove neither of us
had syphilis (why, I don't know and our exposure had been, unfortunately,
marginal at best). </span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">It was
an unusually austere wedding, even by World War II standards. None of our
friends from High School or College were present, only our parents, and it took
place on a neighboring preacher’s front porch (that turkey didn't even have the
grace toinvite us into his living room). We spent our wedding night (Saturday)
in the Westbrook Hotel in downtown Fort Worth, and I hitchhiked back to College
Station on Sunday afternoon. </span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Two
weeks later the semester ended and I moved to Ft. Worth to await my Induction.
We had a furnished room down the street from Pat's parents. She was working at
Consolidated as a draftsman and R C West gave me a temporary Job at Collier's
Dryer (egg drying--they dehydrated eggs) where I, along with a dozen or so
blacks, unloaded cases of eggs all day. They accepted me as another laborer
trying to make a buck. </span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">On June
5th, as directed, I reported to Ft. Sill, Oklahoma (hitchhiking, of course,
from Ft. Worth). Much to my surprise, several of my High School, but few of my
Aggie, friends were there. We were, indeed, PROCESSED. We were shorn of most of
our hair and issued a full complement of Army uniforms and sundry equipment. It
was no big deal for me after two years as a cadet at TEXAS AIM, but it probably
was the first exposure to culture shock for McCharles (Smoky) Huff and Gene
(Cotton) Hill--both of whom had gone to the University of Texas on football
scholarships. </span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Every
evening after dinner (chow) we went over to the Boxing Ring for fun and games.
Lots of people made real asses of themselves there because of the WW II macho
mentality. One night after a heavy army dinner, several beers, and even a pint
of strawberry ice cream, several of us went to the THE FIGHTS. Much to my
consternation, some fellow TEXAS AGGIE who had seen me fight at TEXAS A&M,
got on the loudspeaker and said "We have <br />
somebody from TEXAS A&M who will fight anybody in the house from 150 to 175
pounds. Immediately a rather cherub-like fellow of probably 180 pounds climbed
into the ring. 'I'm from Texas Tech", he said, "and I can lick any
TEXAS AGGIE". </span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">While
we were having the gloves put on (no mouthpieces, no foul cups, no hand wraps,
no shoes) for a fight not of my choosing, I seeking to establish the odds,
asked my opponent if he had ever boxed. “Yeah, in the backyard on Sunday afternoon;
how about you?” "About the same" I replied, thinking I might get out
it without getting hurt or even throwing up the strawberry ice cream. Sure
enough, he was telling the truth! We met in the center of the ring; I faked
with a right to the head and he took the fake. When he went up with his hands,
I hit him with a left to the body and a right and a left to the head and it was
all over. He went down like he had been shot with a 30.06 and didn't even roll
over. </span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">As I
was pulling off my gloves, some guy from the crowd stood up and said
"Don't leave, I'll fight you." I knew I didn't want anything to do
with anyone who dared to challenge me after that imposing debut. I very calmly
said "I'm through for tonight, maybe we can fight tomorrow night."
The crowd wouldn't let me out of the ring and the challenger climbed in. I was
mostly concerned with surviving: stick and move. He hit me once on the shoulder
and it hurt for a week. We fought a three round draw, with me mostly running.
After it was over, we went to the PX for a beer where he said, "You're
pretty tough, I lost in the finals of the Golden Gloves National Championships
last month on a lucky punch. Maybe we can fight again tomorrow. There was no
way I was going to get in the ring with that killer again. “Sorry, but I'm
shipping out tomorrow"; I almost starved to avoid him. </span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">A few
days later most of us were taken, via trucks and carrying all our possessions
in two barracks bags, to the train station for our trio to Camp Maxie. The
windows and shades on the troop train were closed (to prevent Hitler,
Mussolini, and <br />
ToJo from learning where 50 teenage Americans were going for Basic Training).
Not only did they cross up the BAD GUYS, they fooled us, too--when the train
finally stopped we were in Fort Riley, Kansas. That was the first, but not the
last, time the Army lied to me. Even at the time, 1 suspected the Officers
liked playing war--the sealed orders, closed shades and secrecy of our rail
transport did not amuse me--but 1 was madder than hell to be in Ft. Riley,
Kansas when my orders clearly said I was going to Camp Maxie, Texas. </span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">However,
I must admit that the Fort Riley Basic Training was a "Rich Emotional
Experience". We were one SQUADRON (Battalion, in Infantry terms) of Army
Specialized Training Program (ASTP) basic trainees in one of the most
traditional, <br />
rigid, Army installations in the United States. They were CAVALRY, By God, and
if you hadn't shoveled horse dung (they called it what it was) you had not
really experienced basic training. </span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">We were
really different; of the 1,000 of us, 998 were college students and the other
two were high school valedictorians of the 1943 graduation. We took great
delight in reading the Field Manuals the night before we had something
scheduled and knowing more about it than our Noncoms.. They, our
Noncommissioned Officers, were probably above average, but they seemed a dull
lot to us. We must have been insufferable; I'm sure they would have liked to
kill us at times, but we set all kinds of records at Ft. Riley for everything
imaginable. It was probably the brightest group of people with whom I have ever
been associated. </span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Our
Commanding Officer was 1st. Lt. (later, Cpt.) Jc.seph Diak, about 5-5 and a
former distance runner at the University of Michigan. Like many short men, he
had a Napoleonic complex; most of us hated him, but he was probably the best
possible choice to command the bunch of "Smart Asses" he was given.
Our 1st. Sgt., I think his name was Swearingen, was outstanding-tall, thin,
immaculate in khaki uniforms with razor creases-and always in control. He, of
course, never went on 10 mile hikes, bivouacs, or sprawled on his belly at the
rifle range, but he was a fantastic role model--didn't sweat, didn't smell, and
his hair was never mussed. We had two 2nd Lts., brothers from TEXAS A&M
named Melton, a Sgt. (4th Platoon) who had been a football player at Colgate
but was almost unable to speak intelligible English (I occasionally wondered if
he could read). "These barracks looks like whorehouses" he would say
and then look perplexed when all those smart kids cheered. "You're all
gonna stay here on Saturday and rid scrub these filthy fucking floors--NO
PASSES". "Way to go" we would all shout, and he would belatedly
realize he would have to sacrifice his weekend to check up on us. Besides, most
of us didn't have anywhere to go on the weekend. </span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">The
night before we were to go to the rifle range to fire the Ml (the lovely
Garand, semiautomatic gas operated, shoulder-fired infantryman's best friend)
for record, someone asked me in the latrine if I expected to shoot
"Expert" the next day. Stupidly, Isaid, "if Joe Diak's balls
were on the target, I'd shoot a POSSIBLE" (that's Rifle Range language for
all bullseyes). Then I heard the fateful words from someone sitting on the
stoop shining his shoes, "Someone just took the Lord’s name in vain.” Sure
enough, Lt. Diak strode into the barracks, "whoever said that can admit it
and be in a lot of trouble or not admit it and the whole platoon is in a lot
more trouble". (How he got into hearing range without our carefully
contrived Officer-Noncom security system working, I don't know. ) Several of my
fellow basic trainees surreptitiously signaled me to keep quiet--we knew that
it was us against them and if anyone fucked up, we closed ranks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I must admit I considered keeping my mouth
shut (Pity I hadn’t done it a few minutes earlier) but then I remembered we
we're in fantastic physical condition and HORNY. There was no way I was going to
get the Third Platoon confined to barracks for the next four weeks (they would
probably have killed me). "I said it, Sir", wishing I could , somehow
disappear. "You are Private Sparks, aren't you? Yes Sir. You will report
to my office at 0800 in the morning for a SUMMARY COURTS MARTIAL". I had
been in trouble before, lots of times, but Irealized this might be BIG TROUBLE.
I did not sleep well that night and I reported to the Commanding Officer’s
office at five minutes before 0800.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">When
the 1st. Sgt. gave me permission to enter, I strode to a spot infront of the
C.O's desk, clicked my heels, saluted and said smartly, "Private Sparks
reporting as ordered, “SIR”. Lt. Diak looked up and said, in a rather terse
voice, "Sparks, we are in a war; I am trying the best way I know how to train
a bunch of students to fight and survive against enemies who do not fight
fair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was prepared to tell him all
about my brother who was a Japanese POW, but I felt like such an asshole, I
just said “O understand, Sir, and I won’t give you anymore trouble. That was
not one of my finest hours. I also didn't shoot up to my capability,
undoubtedly as a result of little sleep and emotional tension. </span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">A few
days later we were once again on the Firing Range, this time with the 30
caliber Light Machine Gun. <span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Whoever
named it "Light" never carried one of them as far as I did, but it
was a lovely weapon. The first semester of my Junior Year in ROTC at Texas
A&M had been devoted entirely to te 30 caliber machine gun.</span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">As
usual, we had sat on the first floor of the 3<sup>rd</sup> platoon’s barracks
the night before with a copy of the Field Manual on the 30 Caliber Light
machine Gun.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Does anyone know anything
about this sucker,” asked the leader of the discussion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I know almost everything there is to know, I
modestly asserted. I had memorized the class at A&M on the Machine un.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I spent an hour or so on the Monemclature
(names of part – like barrel, bolt, sear, and sight) and Phases of Function
(how it worked as an automatic).</span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">On
arriving at the Machine Gun Range the next morning, we were, by platoon, seated
ont eh ground in te sun (there wasn’t any shade on the plains of Kansas) to
hear the “WORD” from Weapons Cadre. Some PFC or CPL asked sarcastically in a
Yankee accent, “Anybody here know anything about a machine un?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had already learned not to respond to that
kind of baiting, so I kept my mouth firmly closed. Unfortunately, one of my
colleagues rose to the bair and said “Sparks knows something about it.”
“Where’s Sparks,” he asked. <br />
I’’m pretty sure he went on sick call I volunteered.” He said, “You’re Sparks,
and what do you know?” Reluctantly rising to my feet, I asked, “What do you
want me to talk about?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He nastily said
“How about phases of function.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">I
thought, what the hell – I’m trapped, so why not go down in a blaze of glory –
so I started at the beginning and went through the entire 10 pages or so,
quoting the field manual word for word. The further I went the more
uncomfortable he got, qnd the harder it became for the 3<sup>rd</sup> Platoon
to suppress their mirth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I finished
he said, sort of weakly, “That wasn’t too bad, Sparks.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If he’d had a LOADED machine gun in his
possession, he might have killed me.</span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">I ws totally unaware that the
Lt. in charge of that day’s instruction was anywhere around.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But during out 10 minute cigarette break at
the end of the session, a 1<sup>st</sup> Lt. came up to me and said something
like, “That was pretty impressive; if you would like to be in Weapons Cadre, I
like to have you on my team.” I felt really good about that, and I guess I
“filed it” as an option in case ASTP didn’t work out.</span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">We did
well with the 30 cal. Light Machine un, but I sort of earned the title of “Mr.
machine Gun.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I would have rather
carried an I1, or even a BAT (Browning Automatic Rifle) since bother were
lighter, but I always had the “light” machine gun on 20 mile hikes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wasn’t too crazy about carrying it, but I
loved to fire it. </span></div>
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</style>Elisa Kay Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12799520611077133253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8395186067285661546.post-60705285182056963702018-12-25T13:51:00.003-08:002018-12-25T13:51:40.489-08:004.2 TSCW
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Copperplate Gothic Bold"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">TSCW</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Pat enrolled at Texas State College for Women [TSCW], now
Texas State Women's University, the "Sister School" of Texas A&M,
shortly after I left for College Station.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Her parents could not afford the astronomical $30.00 per month cost of
the "Regular System," so she lived in a "Co-op" where board
and room was only $12.00 per month, and the students assisted in the cooking,
serving and cleaning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The food was
terrible, and there wasn't much of it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Pat lost a lot of weight the first semester and was hungry all the time.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">After
the restrictions of the early part of my freshman year were relaxed slightly, I
hitchhiked to Denton to visit her every weekend I could get a "pass"
[permission to leave the campus].<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Wearing my Aggie uniform, I almost always beat the trains in time
elapsed on the trip.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Money was a
problem, but not an insurmountable one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I needed at least twenty-five cents for the weekend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ten cents was necessary for bus fare through
either Dallas or Fort Worth to the "Aggie Corner" (traditional
hitchhiking location) each way and a nickel for a Powerhouse candy bar for
dinner on the way back to College Station on Sunday night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I usually saved it to eat around the bonfire
at the Aggie Corner on the College Station side of Waco on Highway 6.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Getting by in Denton was not a problem; I could stay
without charge at the Falcon House on the North Texas State Teacher's College
Campus on the opposite side of Denton from TSCW.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a sort of unofficial athletic
dormitory where several friends with whom I had played high school football,
including Bill Oglesby and Felton Whitlow, lived. <span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I could also stay in the home of one of Pat's professors,
Prof" Jackson.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had met his son,
Bob, at one of the Aggie Corners</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">during one of my early treks to
Denton.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He asked me where I was going,
then where I planned to stay, and, finally, if I would like to stay at his
father's house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For some inexplicable
reason, I was always afterward welcome to a spare bedroom whether Bob was there
or not.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I even took Paul Kelly there a
few times.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Prof Jackson was a lovely man. He was rather short and
round -- fat, I suppose.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His wife had
died some years before, but with Bob off at Texas A&M, he was probably
lonely and welcomed my company -- even the short time between Pat's
"sign-in" time and bedtime.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
taught "Government" and was, of course, totally objective.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One of his favorite classroom truisms,
according to Pat, was "it is better to vote for the worst Democrat on the
ticket than the best Republican".<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Although I sat in on several of his classes, I didn't hear that pearl of
wisdom -- but it seems more reasonable as time goes by.</span></div>
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</style>Elisa Kay Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12799520611077133253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8395186067285661546.post-43138889799991239832011-07-26T16:58:00.001-07:002018-12-25T13:46:22.612-08:004.1 Texas A&M 1941<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwEhXxcn3trC7S0iQk0afrlkJxqNEkOjoPK_dX7vD9CzK95nJW9mPu9jZASs4V5LWCvIm9Dn1udGvmuNTdf-m7EBiwk-Q4A4JcypjcGij8Me_5F6lKDJ4cQiC6aIa4ajRtDoUc7TgKLtup/s1600/texas-am.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwEhXxcn3trC7S0iQk0afrlkJxqNEkOjoPK_dX7vD9CzK95nJW9mPu9jZASs4V5LWCvIm9Dn1udGvmuNTdf-m7EBiwk-Q4A4JcypjcGij8Me_5F6lKDJ4cQiC6aIa4ajRtDoUc7TgKLtup/s1600/texas-am.gif" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "copperplate gothic bold" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 16pt;">Texas A&M (1941)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"> I'm not sure why I went to Texas A&M. Bill Boling first touted me off on it (he subsequently went to Rice Institute now Rice University on a football scholarship). The Aggies were the mythical National Champions of college football in 1939 and were 9 and 0 and number one in all the polls when they played the University of Texas in Austin on Thanksgiving Day in 1940. In he first minute of the game, Pete Layden scored a touchdown for Texas and the Aggies spent the rest of the game futilely trying to score. I'm surprised I didn't give up on them then.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"> However, after I graduated from High School in the spring of 1941, my friend Frank Morgan visited me in Wichita Falls after completing his freshman year at A&M. He introduced me to a classmate, Vincent de Paul Kelly, whose family had recently moved to Wichita Falls. Frank and Paul, had been freshmen together in H Company Infantry in the Cadet Corps the previous academic year. The three of us went out to drink a little beer a few times before Frank returned to his grandparents' home in Sweetwater, Texas. Before leaving, he and Paul had me completely sold on Texas A&M. At his suggestion, I requested H Co. Infantry when I applied for admission. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"> Shortly after Frank left, Paul Kelly called and asked if I would like to double date with him. He said he had had a few dates with a girl who lived across the street from his parents. He picked me up, then my date, Pat George, before picking up his date. He escorted her to the car, and turned on the dome light before introducing us. His date, Marjorie Page, and I both burst into laughter; we had been in the same Sunday School class before we went to grammar school and had even "gone steady" a few times between other boy and girl friends.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"> The four of spent a lot of time together that summer when Paul and weren't working on the construction of Sheppard Field, a major "Air Corps" training facility outside Wichita Falls. I saved a lot of money, in 1941 dollars, for my tuition and room and board at A&M from the summer's work. However, we did find time for frequent dates, always in Paul's family's car since my family did not own one. We didn't spend much money, probably because neither of us had much and we both needed all we could save for college. Mostly, we just parked and necked (it may be that is just the part I remember). One time Paul and I tricked the girls into a Navaho" or "blanket party". We had a tub of beer in ice, carefully covered with a thin layer of cokes. The girls were furious when the beer was revealed.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Probably as a result of that summer's "pair bonding" Paul retuned to and I enrolled in Texas A&M and Pat and Marjorie went to Texas State College for Women (now Texas Women's University), the "Sister School" of Texas A&M. Like geese, the pair bonding was permanent; both couples have now been married for more than 60 years. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilQ3gFZYhESwOAuG6uj_Jfw6WLUl2IPaADuVlYtzJXUVZIhh93oHH7OQPj95bfjyHPeSqFStlAa0iv6usLUGSNPbFsyf44Kubc4kg4GUtw-t0MpBF4b-UTq0P2gkgcw9qhn1OS0TewQIvO/s1600/corps1942.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="259" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilQ3gFZYhESwOAuG6uj_Jfw6WLUl2IPaADuVlYtzJXUVZIhh93oHH7OQPj95bfjyHPeSqFStlAa0iv6usLUGSNPbFsyf44Kubc4kg4GUtw-t0MpBF4b-UTq0P2gkgcw9qhn1OS0TewQIvO/s320/corps1942.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"> After completing the summer working at Sheppard Field, I left for Texas A&M in September. I was assigned, as I had requested, to H Co. Infantry. As freshmen "fish" at Texas A&M, I soon learned that life was cruel. All undergraduates wore uniforms to class and we marched to meals by military organization. ROTC (Reserve Officer's Training Corps) was required for all freshmen and sophomores who could pass the physical examination (including almost everyone). Most juniors and seniors who did not receive "Contracts" for advanced ROTC continued to live with their military organization, march to meals, and participate fully in cadet life except they did not take Military Science courses.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"> “Fish” were readily identifiable by the white "fish stripe" on the left sleeve of uniform shirts and blouses. Fish had to speak to everyone they met on campus (so did upperclassmen, but Fish did it first and with a much louder "Howdy"). Fish "whipped out" when they encountered upperclassmen of their organization with someone they didn't know: "Howdy, Mr. Grote," to your</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">upperclassman, then, with a slashing thrust toward the midriff of the accompanying stranger with the right hand, "Fish Sparks is my name, SIR, glad to know you, Mr. Goldman, SIR. Where’re you from, Mr. Goldman, SIR? What outfit you in, Mr. Goldman, SIR?" All the while pumping Mr. Goldman's hand and forearm vigorously. The next time you saw Mr. Goldman walking with Mr. Grote, you were expected to burst forth with a " Howdy, Mr. Grote, Howdy Mr. Goldman”. If you didn't remember Mr. Goldman's name, you "whipped out" again, repeating the same ritual. If, before you could introduce yourself, Mr. Goldman said "Hello, "Fish Sparks," you were in a lot of trouble and could expect to be summoned to Mr. Grote's room on your return to the dormitory. That happened more than occasionally because a Fish would probably "meet" more than a hundred strangers each day the first month or two at Texas A&M. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK-4WAJ2D7_A61SAYpaLfx2fyHZ1Khc3lq5Vqr_zzuYRyUgTaMnBT7gvUsupsSppBqcrlLt-3qyctb37j4nVoDTjUo-Fqr8qy9abbxe32-sgHKPuoxNuFkqtZLo5M3KwBO6vh-h9cNx1Vw/s1600/A%2526Mregis1941.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="259" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK-4WAJ2D7_A61SAYpaLfx2fyHZ1Khc3lq5Vqr_zzuYRyUgTaMnBT7gvUsupsSppBqcrlLt-3qyctb37j4nVoDTjUo-Fqr8qy9abbxe32-sgHKPuoxNuFkqtZLo5M3KwBO6vh-h9cNx1Vw/s320/A%2526Mregis1941.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A&M Registration 1941</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"> Aggie freshmen were required to learn the full name, classification, home town, and major (Animal Husbandry, Petroleum Engineering, etc.) of everyone in their "outfit." So, sometime in October all H Infantry Fish were herded into a couple of rooms and given a pencil and blank sheet of paper by the "Piss Heads" (Sophmores) who monitored the examination. We then listed all the above for each member of the organization. All errors were corrected by the correct information being "spelled out," one letter at a time, on your butt with a "board." Before Thanksgiving Holidays we had a similar quiz covering everyone in the dormitory.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"> The methods were barbaric by modern day mores, but there were some worthwhile results. I learned to remember people's names and trivia that is important to them -- a skill that has</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">helped me greatly, both professionally and socially. I'm not sure that it has any value, except possibly for barroom bets, but if anyone mentions the name of any town in Texas I automatically</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">recall the name, class, and major of one or more A&M former students who originally came from there. </span></div>
Elisa Kay Sparkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12799520611077133253noreply@blogger.com0