Stateside Service: Christmas at Home


The day of departure grew closer and closer and preparations were being made for packing and shipping all our guns (except personal arms), vehicles, equipment; everything conceivable. It was also the time for the last weekend passes and I wanted desperately to get home for Christmas. The hitch was that the passes were limited to two days and within a radius of 250 miles, as we had been officially alerted for overseas movement. The second hitch was transportation. When I arrived at the Henderson RR station, there were hundreds of us waiting to get on the next train which, when it finally arrived late from the south, was already teaming with GIs and it was impossible to get on. Next, we hit the highway to hitchhike but every car that passed was already filled to the brim. Somehow, we got a lift to St. Petersburg and then took a bus to Richmond and I was feeling a little better but that didn't last long. Someone gave us a lift from the bus station to just north of town where Route One continued on to DC. There were hundreds, maybe thousands (or at least it seemed so) of GIs, Sailors and Marines trying to get a lift. To add to our anxiety, it began to snow. Finally, a big, open trailer truck stopped. It barely had a floor and only ropes for guide rails. The driver said it would be rough but he would take all who wished to pile on and a bunch of us were on our way. Others, I think, thought we were committing suicide.

There were several bottles of liquor abroad and we all shared it, literally to keep from freezing. When we were about 40 miles outside DC and still in the countryside, the truck broke down and I though that would finish it as nobody could or would stop where so many stranded and desperate soldiers were assembled. However, I soon noticed a cab going in the other direction heading towards Richmond. It slowed, turned about, and came back to us offering to take all that could fit in his cab to Washington for $40 total. I was one of the first, most of us were numb, to recognize that this was a pretty good deal and was the first to run for the cab, closely followed by the most of the rest-must have been at least 20 to 30 of us. Crowded as the six or seven of us who got in were it helped warm and thaw us out and we were happy as we approached DC and headed for the Union Station. When it came into sight, a majestic building, it was about 11 p.m. and dark. I pushed hurriedly through the doors, through the rotunda, purchased a ticket to New York, and went into the station where the various track entrances were. There another shock awaited me. From one end of the station to the other, it was absolutely packed with people, mostly servicemen. The train to New York, which was to leave soon, was at Track 17 and I stood in front of it but way, way back and to get on seemed impossible. But then, in one of those unexplained mysteries of life, the gates opened, there was a rush forward of those near the gate. This created an unintentional vacuum or pathway that I immediately saw, rushed ahead, and not only got on the train but even got a seat. The Lord was with me.

There were MPs on the train and if they started looking at our passes I would have been sunk since I was now exceeding the 250 mile limit, but it was crowded and I guess it was impossible, or the MPs were just in a good mood. I think the train left about midnight but my memory of the exact time is not clear. When I got to NY, I got on the good old Long Island RR and headed for Baldwin where my mother and aunt were spending Christmas with my grandmother and awaiting for me for Christmas Eve. My dearest Aunt Ada, the world's best Christmas tree decorator, was already hard at work and I was happy to pitch in. It was a joyous and at the same time sad time for all of us. Worst still, while I risked exceeding the maximum mileage limit, I could not risk getting back to Camp Butner after the deadline for we were on "overseas shipping alert". Therefore, on Christmas day I was back on the LIRR headed for New York City. The train to North Carolina and points south, as you might imagine, was almost empty. There were a pair of MPs on duty and I was terrified that having nothing to do they would surely ask for my pass. I guess they thought that no one but a fool would be traveling on Christmas Day if they didn't have to and I was never bothered.

Stateside Service: Moving Overseas


When I got back to camp, preparing, packing, crating and everything else involved in moving overseas was a frenzy of action and excitement was mounting fast. On December 15, the Division advance units had already left Camp Butner and, after a brief stay at Camp Kilmer, New Jersey, left for England. On December 28, the rest of us left by train for our staging area, Camp Miles Standish near Boston. It was a huge, sprawling collection of long, low, one-story tar-papered and snow covered barracks, organized like an immense assembly line. We marched from lectures to movies, to infirmary, to mess hall, etc. Inspection teams went through the barracks, checking equipment and issuing missing items. Rifles were checked. Each man received a sweater, wool socks, towels, and new lightweight gas masks. Next was a round of lectures on poison gas, abandon ship drills, and War Bond allotments, followed by immunization shots against typhus, tetanus and typhoid. After the day's processing, there was more training. We ate in giant mess halls, which fed more than 1,500 men three times a day. The movies, phone booths and service clubs were packed. Some went into Boston on a 12-hour pass but most of us stayed put with our own memories, feelings and near a warm stove. I had a buddy, Bill Richardson, who was in my Battalion and we had both dated girls in Raleigh who lived in the same boarding house. On the bus rides in and back we had become good friends and we met again.

On the clear, zero cold morning of January 10 we packed up, struggled into forty-pound packs, and marched down icy roads to the trains. Thousands of men quickly loaded into day coaches, to the strains of a blaring loudspeaker system. In a little over an hour, we pulled into Boston Harbor. As we piled out, Red Cross volunteers passed out hot coffee and doughnuts and chocolate bars. One lady asked me why we weren't singing like others did and I replied something like "Lady, what in the world is there to sing about?" The entire division, on board five ships, moved out late that day and proceeded south to join its convoy. Bill Richardson and I stayed on the stern until the last glimmer of Boston and the States faded away. I can still vividly picture that moment in my mind. The thoughts, good and bad, must have been racing through our minds.

My group, all 5,400 of us, were packed aboard the Edmund B. Alexander a German ship confiscated during World War I. Life on aboard, to say the least, was severely cramped. There was room for every man but none to spare. Canvas iron bunks were stacked five and six high, with just enough room for each man between, with his pack, blanket roll, duffel bag, helmet, gas mask and rifle. Routine was strict: troops were allowed on deck only at certain times, and after dark, smoking was permitted only in latrines. Because of the huge number of men using limited facilities, only two meals were served daily. Amusements were generally limited to reading, card planning and craps.

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