A Time for Decision


On day, when glancing at the bulletin board outside our mess hall, I noticed an announcement that the Division would accept applications, from enlisted men only, to take several three-month courses for credit at a special American University being temporarily set up in Shrivenham, England. It would operate at the undergraduate level and offer courses in most major fields. (A similar University was established in Biarritz, France.)

With the war suddenly over, the Army was faced with keeping over five million men occupied and out of trouble while waiting to be returned to the States and discharged. College appealed to me, particularly after my ASTP experience at OSC and the recent passage of the GI Bill of Rights providing post war educational benefits to veterans.

Shortly thereafter, while on guard duty at a gas pipeline quite a way outside of Rouen in a rather desolate area, I found myself on the midnight-to-four a.m. shift, and it was sometimes difficult to stay awake. To occupy my mind, and in view of this remote but possible opportunity, I tried to think just what I wanted to be when returned to civilian life. By a torturous and not necessarily logical process of elimination, I decided on being a foreign correspondent, combining my war-related interest in the social well being of mankind (big thinking at the time) with some slightly demonstrated ability to write. It was as good as anything, except engineering and the sciences which I had enough of at OSC. The bulletin board announcement said there were two positions in journalism allocated to the Division so I immediately applied on the "nothing ventured nothing gained" theory but with my previous luck in the Division, expecting nothing.

I soon forgot about it. During my street patrols, I met a very pretty young lady and invited her to our EM Club. She accepted but with the stipulation that Mama had to accompany her. Strange, but what the heck we set a date. Because there were practically no civilian cars running in Rouen, the Club provided a vehicle that would transport us and our dates from our billet to the club and return at midnight. Off we went and Mama had a great time dancing with all the older men, mostly top Sergeants and other gray beards, of course. But eventually, the clock chimed at midnight and it was time to take the small, one and a half ton truck back to the barracks. When we arrived at the truck some disturbance was in process. It seems the driver was dead drunk and insisted on driving which would have been the death knell for all of us passengers. Eventually it became clear that the only option was to remove the guy from the truck and he was no small man. Finally, since no one else volunteered, I started to pull him out and he got stuck in the spare tire mounted on the fender of the driver's side. He was furious and I had to slug him until eventually he was subdued by some of his friends and another driver took over.

The next morning at breakfast, this incident was the main topic of conversation and several GI's warned me that he was looking for me and had threatened to get even so I should be very careful. Having seen this guy's demeanor, I had no doubt he meant to harm me and was duly alarmed. Well, the Lord works in mysterious ways. Honest to God, leaving the mess hall, I glanced at the bulletin board and, lo and behold, there was the list of applicants selected for Shrivenham and I was awarded one of the two journalism slots. Even more welcome was the instruction that I should immediately pack all my belongings in my duffle bag and be ready to leave after lunch chow. Despite the short notice, you can be sure I was ready and waiting when the truck came to pick me up.

<< Rouen | England >>