Blizzard

   My parents commented that I was born at a time the weather was freezing cold, but I always assumed it was typical seasonal weather for mid-January.  Today I came across a page.  I’ve no idea where it came from, but it told a somewhat different story.

   The edge of the page is marked “1949”, the year I was born.  It was apparently called the Great Blizzard of ’49.  Here it is.

Possible Snow Flurries

   Nobody, not even the Weather Bureau, knew it was coming.  They reported ‘possible snow flurries.”  Whistling down from Alaska on January 2 came ‘snow flurries’ that lasted seven straight weeks. It turned out to be the worst storm in history.

   Wyoming and Colorado were hit first.  The blizzard spread like a cold white blanket over North Dakota, South Dakota and Montana. It crossed the Rockies and struck Utah, Idaho and Nevada. It sent icy fingers down to sunny Arizona and New Mexico.  It spread eastward into Kansas and Oklahoma. Houses were buried to the roof as the storm raged on. Blinded by snow, cattle crowded together and died.

   By the middle of January, thousands of people were nearly without food. The strong winds blew powdery snow into cars and barns. Some livestock smothered in barns, buried under snow. Sheets of ice like iron covered feed supplies. Deer and elk, looking for food, flocked along the roads where snowplows had opened paths.

   The blizzard lasted from January 2 to February 19. On 25 of the 48 days there were big storms. The temperature dropped to 50 degrees below zero.

   Many tales of courage were told about rescue work. A bus driver named W. L. Owens saved many motorists. He found people asleep in cars and woke them up by slapping and rubbing them. On one of his rescue trips he had 96 people in a bus built for 40.

   Air Force planes dropped food, blankets and medical supplies to people and feed for animals. Radio stations told people to signal for the airplanes with lines in the snow. A single line in the snow meant a doctor was needed. Two lines called for medicine. An ‘F’ called for food.  “L” stood for fuel. And “LL” meant “we’re okay”.

   Luckily the right kind of weather followed the blizzard.  There are no floods, and the melting snow brought plenty of water for irrigation in the summer.  In the Great Blizzard of ’49, acts of human courage matched the power of nature.

   After reading this article, I realized that weather forecasting has greatly improved!  Snow plowing has improved but still is not up to the task of keeping Wyoming open in winter, and though helicopters had been invented, they were not in general use in 1949, which is why they used planes to drop emergency supplies to people.

    My parents may have understated the severity of the weather that winter.  It makes me even more impressed with my father who walked (they had no car) to downtown Lawrence, Kansas, and back to the hospital just to bring my mother the Spudnuts she loved.

   It was only 2 years later that they got to experience the Great Kansas Flood of 1951!

   The article must have come from some sort of yearbook telling events of various years.  Also included with the blizzard information came 2 more small articles as follows:

Presto!

   The Polaroid Land camera went on the market for $89.75.  This new invention produced a picture in just 60 seconds.

Television Rates Big

   When the 40s began, television was new. World War II nearly stopped the growth of American TV. Electronics factories were needed for war arms and equipment. But when the war was over, TV production took off. In 1946, the United States government lifted its wartime ban on the manufacture of new sets. Between 1949 and 1951, the number of TV sets in America jumped from one million to ten million!

Our family was not part of that ten million.  It was about 5 years later that we got our first television set.

The Bridge

The Bridge  by Nancy

   I am the bridge; the link of memories between Here She Comes and There She Goes. I am lucky enough to remember two great-grandmothers.  It’s hard for me to fathom that I was acquainted with people born in 1857 and 1871. My life interfaced with them only briefly.  I’m sure they had lifetimes full of memories, but my memories of them are just brief snapshots in time. My children never met them.  
   Great-grandma Freeman sat on a porch swing, making French cut green beans.  In her late 90s, her steady hands cut fully two times down the length of each bean. Her road began in 1857, 165 years ago. When she spoke she sounded different.  Instead of saying ‘again’ like I do, she always said ‘a-GAIN’ with a long a sound, probably a result of living the first 40+ years of her life in England. How was it for her getting to America?  I only know she was seasick.  Was she afraid?  I’ll never know.
    Great-grandma Clark lived in a small house behind her daughter’s.  I was intrigued as I was told she was blind.  At that time I assumed that meant she could see nothing.  In retrospect she probably had some vision, but was considered legally blind.  At least three of her grandchildren had similar vision problems.  My only real memory of her home was a sort of crocheted, ruffled doily.  The ruffles were not even on each side, but I thought it incredible that a blind person could crochet at all.  When did she know she was going blind and how did she feel about it?  No idea.
   Because these are my only memories of these great-grandmothers, they are the only memories I have to share with my descendants.  Maybe they will remember those brief memories, but more likely they will be lost.
   One generation closer to me are my grandparents.  I have more memories  of them but in my memories, they are all old people
with white hair.  When I saw the joints in Grandpa Freeman’s fingers I really thought nothing of them until I saw the same hand formations in my mother. I look at my hands and wonder, “will that be me someday?’
   I have fond memories of waking in the middle of the night to help my grandpas take their water turns.  I lived in Indiana as a child, where water simply fell from the sky.  My children grew up in Alaska where rain also took care of watering the lawn and garden. They didn’t know the magic of watering by moonlight with the water appearing when the gate was pulled up.  It’s a first hand memory that will be gone when I am gone.
    Of course, I have many years of memories with my parents. I remember them with dark hair, sewing, gardening, hiking, and serving.
My children only know them as elderly people with mobility and hearing problems. Unless I share my memories of them, they will never know of the hours they spent helping old Sister Welch, transporting us to swimming lessons, sewing clothes for us, helping with school assignments and all the things parents do for their young children. My children will more likely remember them sitting in their La-Z-Boy recliners and moving slowly. I have trouble imagining them as kids, eating the hated mush for breakfast, picking up blocks of ice for the ice box in their little red wagon or playing Halloween pranks.
   Of course my kids have lots of memories of me, but I’m sure my childhood is mostly a mystery to them other than  some stories I have written.
    My memories of them are mostly when they were young and still lived at home.  As they grew older and moved away, our memories diverged as they made memories with their own children.
   Now I have grandchildren, who I know and love, but I was not with them as much when they went to school and grew up. Our memories together are only a few.
    Last of all I have Reid and Leah, my great-grandchildren.  Reid playfully jumps everywhere he goes and chatters on and on.  He only knows I am one of many grandmas.  His sister Leah is still young enough she is still learning about the world, oblivious to anyone except those who care for her on a regular basis. How on earth did I get to be a great-grandmother?
    Here I am in the middle of all these seven generations, wondering what went on before me and what is happening after me. I am the bridge or link between them all.
   

The Making of Ilosone...starring Jim, Murph and Steve

 

 by Nancy

I knew these men as Jim, Murph and Dad, although at work, Dad was called Steve.  This article is from a November-December 1958 article in The Lilly Review.  I used to babysit for Jim's children.  I got into trouble with Murph's son because he assured me we were allowed to color on the white sheets on his bed.

Jim, Murph and Steve went on to collaborate on a number of other medicines which earned their company some great profits...and treated my frequent ear infections.

 

 

Vietnam - My Homefront by Nancy

    As I started high school in 1963, I didn’t even know where Vietnam was. By 1965 that all changed as ground troops began to be deployed. We watched the daily body count on the news. By graduation in 1967, the boys of my class had real concerns about their futures.  I never saw any anti war protests at that time, but they could have happened somewhere else.. We lived just 6 minutes from Fort Benjamin Harrison, so there was a strong military presence in our part of town.  Just outside the gate were the usual sleazy strip malls full of tattoo parlors, fast loan places and other businesses to lure in the young servicemen.
    During earlier wars, old wooden barracks were built and were still in use during the Vietnam era. A number of military schools were at Fort Harrison, which meant a fairly transient population as soldiers arrived and left the various schools, which included the Army Adjutant General School, Army Finance School, Interservice Postal School and DINFOS (Defense Information School).
Because so many of the schools were administrative, it was sometimes called ‘Uncle Ben’s Rest Home”.
    While the young soldiers lived in the old wood barracks and other types of housing, the more ranking officers lived on base sometimes in the old 3-story red brick dwellings built many years before when Ft. Harrison was first started.  The buildings were so old, that the 3rd floor was actually condemned as a fire hazard.
    We knew we had to watch the time whenever we went to visit the fort. First thing in the morning and around dinner time in the evening traffic ground to a halt as the MPs who directed the traffic stopped everything for raising and lowering the flag while  a solitary trumpet played.  All military personnel piled out of their cars, saluted and stood at attention while the flag was raised and lowered.
    By my senior year of high school, Fort Harrison was full; busy training the soldiers in their specialties.  Many of them were just young men not much older than I was, often away from their homes for the first time.
    We often met them when they found their way to church on Sunday morning. They seemed to relish the respite from the military life.  I think Dad and Mom could see them struggle, so soon our family had a new routine.  On Saturday we helped clean the house, though I think the brunt of that fell on Mom.  She usually found a large roast or ham for Sunday dinner after church. She also prepared side dishes such as jello salad, tossed salad, potatoes, several vegetables and desserts such as pies or banana cake.  We never knew who the dinner was for, but at church Mom would quietly gather up all the visitors and invite them to our house for Sunday dinner.
    Our kitchen was long and narrow..a galley kitchen with a table at one end just big enough for our family, but the living room was quite large.  The dining room table was on one end and could easily seat 12 to 14 people.  We had other smaller tables we could set up as well if needed.  Those young men soaked in the atmosphere of home and enjoyed those Sunday meals.
    Usually after dinner, rather than heading back to the barracks, they hung around, visiting, playing games, and shooting baskets at the hoop out on the driveway.
     For the most part we only saw them on Sunday as they were busy with their training the rest of the week.  Late one Saturday night the doorbell rang.  It was eight of our young soldier friends.  They explained their plight.  Apparently, the sergeant didn’t like people going to church.  He figured anyone trying to attend church was just sloughing, so he’d come around about 5 AM on Sunday mornings and assign church goers to KP for that day.  These fellows got wind of the plan and left on Saturday night.  They asked if they could sleep on our floor that night so they wouldn’t be there at 5 AM for the sergeant to wake them up.
    Many of them began to think of Mom as a sort of surrogate mom, coming to her for advice with their various concerns.  
    We had a lot of fun entertaining these boys.  One day Mom made a variety of pies for dessert.  She asked each person what kind of pie he wanted.  One of them answered, “Round!”  She served him an entire pie and made sure he ate the whole thing.
     One Sunday a military bus showed up at church filled with 30 soldiers.  They were from a Utah National Guard Unit there for two weeks of training.  Of course, Mom invited them all home for dinner.  I’m sure the neighbors wondered about the military bus parked on the street in front of our home.
     Sometimes if a soldier was assigned to Fort Harrison for a longer time, he would bring his wife along and children if they had them.  Of course, there wasn’t enough housing for everyone, so they had to find affordable apartments elsewhere.  Mom also helped with that.  Many of the young families stayed with us briefly until they could locate a place.
     After getting to know so many of them, the hard part was when they left….usually to Vietnam.  Some wrote letters and some we never heard from again.  Some became lifelong friends.
     One family served a couple of tours at Fort Harrison.  During their last tour there they lived in one of the three-story brick houses as he was a Colonel by then. (Also they had 12 children!)  My senior year of high school, he was our early morning seminary teacher.  In our seminary there was no slouching about!  Everything was in order.  He thought the perfect remedy for sleepy students was for one student to play the piano (usually me) and all the other students to stand up and conduct the opening song together.  By the end of the school year, every seminary student could lead the music.
     In spite of the happy times, the war and uncertainty of the future always lurked in the back of our minds.  All the boys had to register for the draft when they turned 18.  Some served willingly, some served unwillingly.  Some managed to join the national guard which was not being sent to war.  Some moved to another country, such as Canada to avoid being drafted.  Some found they could not be drafted if they were college students.  Eventually they went to a lottery system of drafting people.  They did it by birth date, so there were 366 possible draft slots.  If September15th was the first number drawn, all those with that birth date were to go first.  We watched on tv with trepidation as the numbers were drawn.  Sometimes those numbers decided who lived or died…or who had their plans take a back seat to a stint in the military.
     Popular music also reflected the war with songs like “Ballad of the Green Berets” and “Leaving on a Jet Plane” by Peter, Paul and Mary.
     It was in 1967 or 1968 that I saw my first war protest.  It was organized by a group called Students for a Democratic Society at Utah State University.  There were maybe ten or twelve students marching in a circle on a small sunken plaza near the union building while chanting anti-war slogans.  Mostly the
students stood around the edges of the plaza just watching them.
     A friend whose husband was in Vietnam confided her worry to me when she hadn’t heard from her husband for over a month. Finally she received a letter, but was not happy about the contents.  In place of a message, there was just a single long line down the length of the paper.  At the end it said only, “Just thought I’d drop you a line.” She was not happy!
     Skipping ahead a few years to 1972, I had graduated from USU and was embarking on a Masters program at BYU.  As I was a foreign language major, I was required to take another language as well, so I chose Russian.  Our beginning Russian class had lots of opportunities to practice conversation and get to know one another.   After class one day, one of the other students asked me on a date.  He was different from most of the students…more mature, not as carefree.  He always wore a military field jacket.  As I got to know him, I realized a couple of things.  He was a Vietnam vet home from the war.  He was from  a farm family that was not particularly well-to-do, which is maybe why he wore that field jacket.  I think he didn’t have another coat.
    Even though he’d been home from the war for a year, the after effects were still with him.   We really didn’t know that what he had was called PTSD.  When the kids on the floor above him threw firecrackers out their window that blew up just outside his window, he yelled, “INCOMING!” and dived under the bed.  I’m sure his roommate wondered what was going on.
    While studying in the library one day, some jets flew low overhead.  He got some funny looks as he crawled out from under the table.
     Eventually we got married and he even got a new coat.  One day I asked him, “Did you ever kill anyone?”  His answer shocked me.  “I hope so,”  he said.
     In 1973 we didn’t have a TV, but we listened sadly to the radio as they described the fall of Vietnam.  
     Though he talked about his time in the military over the years, he really only talked about inconsequential things.
     It was 1998 when we realized that Vietnam was still present in our lives when it reared its ugly head in the form of an early heart attack as a result of exposure to Agent Orange.  A few years later, his best friend from Vietnam succumbed to ALS, also caused by Agent Orange.  The loss of his friend started to unlock the years of PTSD when he realized he couldn’t tamp down the memories any longer.  The Vietnam War wound its way through our lives for over 50 years.

Worst Job. - Roger

Worst Job -  Roger

Like everyone else, over the years I have had many jobs. Some good and some bad. A job is what you make it. If you decide to have fun you usually have fun and if you decide to be miserable you usually will be miserable. Some people go through life having glorious fun at every job they have and others spend 40 plus years in misery. There are exceptions. Let me tell you about my worst job. A job that no amount of good attitude could change.

In the interest of good taste I will do my best to speak delicately. At bases in Vietnam the disposal of solid waste was a problem. The problem was exacerbated by the lack of running water. Sanitation was extremely important. If it wasn’t taken care of it could cause health problems that would quickly incapacitate a military organization. Hollywood war movies never seem to show anyone taking care of this unheroic but certainly necessary task.

Outhouses were set up at several locations around the compound. They were not built over a hole as in the traditional rural American style but rather had a cut off 55 gallon drum about six inches high placed underneath each seat to serve as a tray. Usually there were four seats. A door was conveniently built into the back of the outhouse to facilitate the removal of the trays.

Sooner or later all lower ranking enlisted Marines could expect to have a turn, lasting about a week, at solid waste disposal. My turn came in the middle of the hot Southeast Asia summer. Five of us were on the crew. We were given a jeep to pull a flat bed trailer, spare pans, shovels and of course detailed instructions. Off we went to do our patriotic duty.

The first step was to remove the four pans from beneath the outhouse and empty the contents into a larger pan carried on the trailer. Fortunately the pans all had handles welded on them to make things a little easier. It didn’t take long to learn how to dump them into the larger pans. The pans also had a goodly supply of giant crawling insects of all descriptions as well as an infinite supply of maggots.

The stench was overpowering and very soon everyone became nauseous. Some of the troops lost their breakfast; some even lost last week’s breakfast. We started out wearing T-shirts but because of the mess quickly put on jackets. Of course this only made the heat worse.

We went from outhouse to outhouse collecting solid waste. As I recall there were probably twenty or so. By this time an unbelievable large cloud of flies of every description had accumulated. They landed on everything and crawled everywhere. We ended up putting on bandanas in a useless effort to keep the smell out of our noses and the flies out of our faces. Soon no one wanted to ride on the trailer. One person drove the jeep and everyone else walked along side. In a few hours after all the waste had been collected it was time to dispose of it.

We drove to a specially located area and began the final phase. First the cut off 55 drums were unloaded. They probably held 20 gallons or so if they were full. Usually they were only about half full. After being placed on the ground about three to five gallons of diesel fuel was poured in and stirred with a shovel. After a nice sludge of toilet paper, maggots, bugs, solid waste and diesel was made it was time for the disposal process. A piece of paper was lit and tossed into the mess. A nice hot fire started and a cloud of black oily smoke rolled skyward. An entirely new smell was added to the area. Coupled with a 120 degree day it did not make one think of ice cream sodas.

Now all we had to do was wait for it to burn out. As it was lunch time we headed for the mess hall on the other side of the compound. Upon arriving at the mess hall everyone found something in common; no one was hungry. Somehow all that work just didn’t cause anyone to develop an appetite like other work did. For lunch we just sat on a log.

After lunch the mess had pretty much burned itself out. We went back and stacked the pans to prepare for tomorrow. One little benefit of this detail was that when finished you were excused from further work for the rest of the day. Not a small benefit in the U.S. Marines. We went back to our living area and tried to clean up and scrape the smell off. It didn’t do much good as it started over again the next day.

I don’t know what lesson can be learned here. Perhaps it should be remembered that there are people who do this every day in order to live. Whenever I have to do a job I don’t particularly like, I remember this and realize that no matter what happens I have already done my worst job.

Memories

   Before everyone left to return to their homes, they helped me with several projects around the house.  One of those was to decide what to do with Roger’s clothing.  The pall bearers at the funeral all wore (and then kept) one of his ties.  The girls wanted to do something with his shirts, so we salvaged the fabric and put it aside for the future.
   Some weeks later some of the girls came back.  While everyone was working on various projects, Kathleen took out the fabric pieces and made squares out of the shirt sleeves.  Then she laid them out with sashing between the squares and sewed the quilt top together.  We even found a little Alaska Grown patch on one of his hats that we made part of the quilt.  Before she left we put the quilt on the frames.

 

   Jana embroidered the message on the back of the quilt.

   While I was taking Kathleen to the airport, Joey and Robert arrived.  While they were visiting, they helped me  tie the quilt.  

   Once the binding was done, I mailed it to Roger’s mom up in Alaska in his memory.

 

 

 

    Eventually we will make 6 more quilts from the shirt scraps that are left…one for me and one for each of the children.
  

Primrose 43 Signs Off

 Primrose 43 Signs Off

   2020 wasn’t my favorite year ever with earthquakes, fires, floods and then the appearance of the dreaded Covid-19 virus.  Suddenly we had to stay home all the time and learned a new term, “social distancing”.   If we had to go out, we were encouraged to wear masks.  People lost jobs, businesses closed, school ended two months early. Still, we congratulated ourselves on being able to endure life better than many.  Because we were retired, we didn’t worry about jobs and income.  We didn’t have children in school, so we didn’t have to take on home schooling with everything else.  It was certainly an inconvenience, but not a large crisis in our lives.
  When we started social distancing in March, little was known about how the virus was spread or how it was best treated.  We were used to running errands whenever we wanted, but now tried our best to find other ways to do things. We ordered our groceries online from the local grocery store and picked them up in the parking lot. We tried to adjust to shopping online for other things, too.
   I kept two lists on the kitchen counter; one for items we needed to buy and one of projects to be done. I tried to put household projects on the list a few at a time.  We planted and weeded the garden. We picked the strawberries, We painted the shed. We started a long term project of clearing out the herb garden because it was becoming too much for me to take care of.  
   One day we drove to the family cabin near Mantua where we did a socially distanced hike with my sister and brother-in-law, Eileen and Clark.  Another day we stopped by the cabin to visit and found Eileen and Clark digging up a hawthorn tree or bush.  Roger started helping with it and started chopping away at it with a dull chain saw and a shovel.  While digging, he lost his balance and ended up on his back on the ground.  He got right up and started working again.  
   When summer came, working outside was more pleasant in the morning before it got too hot.  I wanted to dig up a pot of lemon balm for a friend, but I couldn’t get it out, so I went to my usual source for help.  He had already gone out walking earlier that morning and was relaxing by watching some sort of documentary in his recliner, but paused it so he could come out and help me.  After looking over the situation, he went to the shed and came back with a shovel.  The plant was actually in a plastic five gallon bucket we had sunk down into the ground, so he had to slip the edge of the shovel blade down the inside of the bucket before jumping on it to push it down further.
   Have you ever tried one of those exercises where an event happens and different people are interviewed to find out what they observed?  Everyone observes something different.  It’s harder than it looks, just because it is so unexpected.
   It happened so quickly.  I thought I saw him jump on the shovel.  I heard a popping sound and then he fell, his body curved around the shovel like a comma.  In my memory, it is like a short video that plays over and over in my mind.  He landed with his shoulders and head on the sidewalk, but I couldn’t tell where he hit.
    He might have been knocked out briefly, but I don’t even know that.  I asked if he was okay, but when he tried to say something to me, it seemed like his tongue was too thick to speak clearly. He tried to get up a couple of times, but I urged him to rest there a bit as I was afraid if he got up, he’d fall and really hurt himself.  
    I debated whether I should call for help.  If it was like his fall a few weeks earlier, he’d likely be unhappy that I called 911, but when I pulled my phone out, he didn’t object.  As I talked to the dispatcher he looked so uncomfortable there, that I ran into the house and grabbed a pillow and quilt from the couch. He raised his head so I could slip the pillow under him.  As we waited for the ambulance, a few raindrops started to fall, so I ran into the garage and got an umbrella out and put it over him to shield him.  
    Shortly before the ambulance arrived he turned himself onto his right side.  His arms were still clinched up near his chest….and they shook as if he was having a small seizure.  As the EMTs came, he was nauseated and had huge drops of sweat all over his face.
   Months later this is still the movie I see over and over in my mind as he falls over and over.  I start to second guess myself.  I shouldn’t have asked him to dig up that plant.  I should have stood behind him. I should have called for help without waiting a few minutes.
   It seemed like forever for help to arrive, but really it was just 12 minutes.  It was Wednesday morning, so one of the neighbor kids was mowing our park strip.  The EMT who got out first suggested she go mow somewhere else so they could hear.
   While one EMT started to check him out, the other asked me what had happened.  He wanted to know if I wanted them to just check him out or if I wanted them to transport him.  I was a bit surprised by that question.  Why would I call them if I didn’t want them to transport him? Out of the corner of my eye, I could see him respond once to the EMT, but after that he stopped making any sounds.
    They loaded him up and took him away while my neighbor tried to console me by telling me some less ominous things it could be.  I gathered up my things and went to the hospital.  I was hopeful.
   At the hospital I quickly parked in the lot nearest the emergency department but was stopped at the door to use hand sanitizer and have my temperature taken because the hospital was locked down due to the pandemic.  
   A lady was walking down the hall toward me, asking for me by name.  She introduced herself as a hospital social worker as she showed me into a small waiting room.  I said, “oh, this is bad!”  I remembered this scene from 1996 when I walked into Providence Hospital in Anchorage, when we were ushered into a similar small room….only to be met by a hospital chaplain, who told us my father-in-law had died.
    Still I hoped.
     The social worker said I could go back in a few minutes, but right now there were so many people in the room working on him and then he had to go have a CT scan.  As I was hearing these things, my optimistic nature was thinking that he had endured so many things and always popped back.  He had four heart attacks of various strengths due to his exposure to Agent Orange in Vietnam, resulting in four stents and finally double bypass surgery from 1998-2013
    Eventually she returned to take me to see him.  Before I could enter the room I was swathed in an enormous yellow paper gown and a mask.  She urged me to move closer.  I wanted to stay out of the way for all the people taking care of him, but then she said a most horrifying thing, “Go talk to him.  They say hearing is the last thing to go.”   The last thing?
    After just a few minutes by his side, the ER doctor asked me to sit down with him.
    “I’m sorry I have to be so blunt, but you need to make a decision, and you need to make it quickly.  Life Flight has already been called and they are only one minute out, so you have to decide what to do in that one minute.”  Life Flight?  That is for critically ill  people!  “He has a skull fracture and internal bleeding in his head.  If he stays here he WILL die.  If he goes to McKay-Dee, the neurosurgeon there could operate possibly depending on what he finds.  If they do surgery, he could be impaired.”
   How do you decide something like that?  I understood the urgency.  I thought how hard he worked to be healthy after all his heart problems…exercising and changing his diet.  He had said many times, when he died he hoped to go in the blink of an eye.  He was horrified at the thought of being impaired so someone else would have to take care of him.  Was I being selfish in wanting them to fix him?  To give him a chance?
   The room suddenly filled with the Life Flight  people.  There was no time left, so I agreed to have him transported.  Before I knew what was happening, we were out the door of the emergency room, running and rolling him down the sidewalk and across the road to the Life Flight helicopter.  It was so small!  How could they all fit?  They put him in first, having to turn him 90 degrees, then pushed me close to the door to tell him goodbye.  Was it goodbye until later or was it really goodbye for good?   The flight nurse wrote down my phone number and promised to call when they landed.  I felt a giant hole inside as they lifted off.
   The doctor had told me if they did surgery they wouldn’t know how successful it would be for at least 72 hours, so I hurried home and grabbed enough clothes to last me for three days.  I couldn’t leave the house because the phone kept ringing.  First a social worker from McKay-Dee called to ask some questions, then the flight nurse called to let me know they were safely in Ogden.  Of course, I was also trying to update the children.  Then neurosurgeon #1 called, followed minutes later by neurosurgeon #2.  They were united in their opinion.  Nothing could be done.  There would be no miracle surgery.  There would be no bouncing back.  They agreed to keep him under observation until the inevitable happened, so by the time I left the house, I already knew the ending.
  When I arrived at McKay-Dee he had been moved to the ICU.  Two of the children were there.  The other three were on their way, but had further to travel.  The goal was to help him stay with us until the children could get there to say goodbye, but even that couldn’t happen.  Because of restriction caused by Covid-19, the maximum amount of visitors to a patient was four, and only two at a time. We have five children.  Counting me, that was six potential visitors.  On top of everything else, they wanted me to choose which two of my children would not be allowed to tell their father goodbye!
    Knowing our situation, the nurses were kind, asking if there was any way they could help us.  The one help I wanted couldn’t be given.  When they asked again, I told them they couldn’t help because of the limit on visitors, but I so wanted him to have a blessing.  The nurse said she would look into it.  When she left the room, the doctor told me that if she couldn’t make it happen, he and the next doctor coming on duty would do it, for which I was most grateful.  It wasn’t long before the nurse brought in a CNA and a hospital security guard who gave him a blessing.
   Perhaps that is why the hard choice was removed from me.  It was shortly after that the nurse came in and said his blood pressure and heart rate were unstable; that sometimes that meant the patient was ‘transitioning’.  They had the monitors in his room turned off so we couldn’t see them, but they were monitoring him from the hall just outside his room.  Just as the nurse finished what she was saying I saw her glance at the hall and say, “Oh!”  The doctor hurried into the room and took his pulse, then looked at the nurse and said, “time of death, 18:45.”
   Blaine hadn’t made it to Las Vegas yet.  Bethany and her family were somewhere in Wyoming.  Kathleen’s flight wasn’t until the next morning.
   Maybe it was the blessing or maybe it was just meant to be.  I didn’t have to choose who could see him.  Instead he just peacefully slipped away…about the closest thing to the blink of an eye that could be imagined. Primrose 43 signed off for the last time.

Proud to be an American

Today has been a little bit hard…our country’s birthday.  He loved his country and served for many years, first in Air Force ROTC, then active duty as a Marine in Vietnam, with the Navy Reserve and finally retiring from the Alaska Army National Guard.  He suffered frostbite, broken ribs, camped out at -60F, walked patrols at 120F and was exposed to Agent Orange, He proudly saluted the flag.  This is the first 4th of July he has missed since 1947.

Armistice Day

Another mystery came to light today.  I suppose it will never be solved as the people involved have both passed on.

I came across a handwritten poem today.   The author of the poem is given at the bottom as Kay Freeman, who is my uncle, but the handwriting I believe to be that of Kay's mother, my grandmother, Ruby Kotter Freeman.

Kay was born in 1921, not long after World War I...or The Great War as it was called at that time.   His school years came along well before World War II, so as a young person, World War I was the part of history he would have probably heard a lot about.  His father had returned from France just a couple of years before he was born.   Did he write this poem for school?  Why did his mother copy it?
Does the original even still exist?  We may never know.

I don't know if the spelling mistakes were Kay's or Ruby's.  I don't know how old Kay was when he wrote it. I would imagine him as a school boy.

I have kept the original spelling.

Armistis Day

1.
Armistis day, you will remember
Comes on the 11 of November
This sure was a day of Joy
For every single soldier boy

2.
The whistles blew, the glad bells rang
And every where the people sang
The Boys were coming home at last
And everyone hoped very fast.

3.
But some of the boys were left behind
Their graves somewhere in France you’ll find
Marked with a cross of snowy white
Mid poppies red is a wonderful sight.

4. 
To these brave boys we owe so much
Who saved us from the Germans cluch
And so each year on this glad day
Honor to these boys we pay

Kay Freeman

The Spanish Influenza and World War I

The Spanish Influenza and World War I - seen through the eyes of the Freeman Family


At this time I have been thinking a lot about my great-grandparents, George Richard Freeman and Euphemia Jane Carter Freeman.  At the time of this writing, our schools and many other events have been canceled during a pandemic....something the Freeman family also experienced a little over a hundred years ago.  It was a time before many modern medical treatments were available.  In addition to living with the Spanish Influenza, they also had to worry about two of their sons who were serving in the military.

They must have been resilient people to carry on in those uncertain times.  May we take courage from their example as we undergo our own uncertain times.

These excerpts were taken from letters written by members of the Freeman family, mostly to one of the sons, Ernest, who was in France at the time and some of his responses to them.


                                                                    Ernest Freeman

25 October 1918 - France
I suppose you will be able to smell the gas in this letter because it is so strong.  It is the kind that makes you want to cry, too.   We are still in quarantine, but hope to be out soon.  - Ern

2 Novembre 1918 - France
We are still in quarantine.  We are all OK here.  Hope the “Spanish Influenza” has passed over your section of the country by now. It seems to be quite deadly over there, in many cases.  I’m glad I didn’t get it. - Ern

5 November 1918 - Brigham City, Utah
 For almost a month past, we have had no school in this part of the county on account of the Flu (Spanish Influenza) It sure has been going some here and is going yet, but so far all is well with the family as far as Flu is concerned.  We haven’t much doing now everything is closed on account of the Flu.  Haven’t been to church for seems to me an age. - Wilford - brother

7 November 1918 -  Camp de Rouge, France
It seems like the “Spanish Influenza” has made quite a complete trip around the world and it isn’t hard to see where it has been.  Needless to say, it was here, but has completely gone now.  Our quarantine for the “Influenza” was lifted last night, after about 5 weeks had passed.  We have learned to stay “home”, now.  Just like chickens, lock them up for a while and they will “hang around.” - Ern

11 November 1918 - Brigham City, Utah
They talk of opening the schools a week from now, all going as it is at the present time.  I hope that you will not get a taste of the flue, although they say it is all over the world.  - George Richard Freeman - father

11 Nov 1918 - Brigham City
Albert Anderson’s step mother is dead…died of the flue.  - EJ Freeman - mother

16 November 1918 - France
A few days ago, my cousin in England wrote  that her husband had just been killed in action. (October 29).  You know her younger brother was also killed a couple of years ago. - Ern

17 November - Brigham City, Utah
I let W. Bott read your letter.  Him and his folks have all had the flue.  Places are still closed  They talk of opening up about 25 November if all goes well.  Earl W. is home on furlough to get his strength normal as the flue leaves them so weak.  We surely had a time here last Monday beginning at 3:50 AM in the Sugar Factory and Cement Plant and fire whistles were blowing for nearly an hour, then Mayor Peters gave a speech at 4:30 AM.  They had a big parade…cars of all kinds, the new truck, and quite a bunch walking with the town band.  It was decided to erect a monument west of the Court House in honor of the boys of Box Elder Co.  - George Richard Freeman - father

17 November 1918 - Brigham City, Utah
This being Sunday and all church gatherings prohibited on account of the influenza, I thought I could spend my time no better than by dropping you a few lines.  It seems very peculiar not to be able to go to a meeting of any kind, but it gives one plenty of time to read the newspapers and keep posted on what you fellows are doing over there.  Last Monday at 4 AM the shriek of the fire siren and the ringing of the fire and Presbyterian bells announced the signing of the armistice.  Immediately the streets were filled with people and a bonfire was built on Main Street where Mayor Peters  explained to the people the terms of the armistice.  As this was too early to have a real celebration, 9:30 was fixed as the hour.  At this time, the people came out and celebrated in grand style.  All business was suspended and everybody declared it was the most glorious day of their lives. - M.L. Nichols - friend



18 November 1918 - Brigham City Utah
The Flu has been and is very bad here.  The schools and public places of all kinds have been closed for 5 weeks at this writing and no hopes for anything to open before December 1st anyway and it certainly has taken toll.  Nobody knows who’s next, but I don’t care for my turn.  We have 4 Docs in town and 3 of them were down at once, leaving the town and surrounding country for 1 Doc and had it not been for Dr. Weymuller getting his discharge from the army about a week or 10 days before they took down, we would have been doctorless.   - Harry F. - brother

23 November 1918 - Camp de Rouge, France
You were wondering if I got the “Spanish Flu.”  Decidedly not.  I haven’t time for such things.  I would be in the best of condition when most of the boys were on their backs.  If you have had the disease there for six weeks, you should be about thru with it by now.  I think you are all out of luck for turkey this year.  It looks like nearly all of the turkeys will be sent over here and the ducks, geese and chickens will be left for you folks. - Ern

24 November 1918 - Brigham City
We started your box (Christmas box) off last Friday.  Hope you will get it ok.  I wish it had been twice the size but we did the best we could with all public places closed and everyone has to wear a mask to go in a store or clerk in one.  It is quite amusing to see people around with a piece of gauze over their mouth and nose, but they have to do something as lots of people are sick and quite a few dying around and some in Brigham.  Sister S. lost her boy last Friday with the flue.  He was about 8 years old.  It is surely a terrible thing.  We have escaped so far but cannot tell who will be the next one.  I hope that it is not so bad in France.  I see by the paper that several of the boys in the band were down with it.  Hope they are all well by this time.  Everybody is glad the 145th are coming home again.  - George Richard Freeman - father

2 December 1918 - Brigham City, Utah
We see an account in the paper about the flue, but among the troops over there and I often thought about you boys.  Today’s paper tells us how to treat it if it should come our way.  It was written by a soldier from Salt Lake who belongs to the 145 F.A. (145th field artillery).  I am very thankful to say we haven’t had it - up to this writing, but it has been very bad in many places.  The people here have to wear masks when they go in any of the stores.  It sure seems funny not to go to Sunday School or meeting for about 6 weeks.  We don’t know what to do with ourselves.  - mother

2 December 1918 - Brigham City
Ida (Ernest’s sister) was up to nurse Leonora R.  She died at 10 0’clock this morning.  She came home to wait upon her father who had the flue.  They are all down with it now.  There is surely lots of sickness this fall.  They talk of opening school on Monday December 9.  It has been closed since October 20.  Quite a long recess.   Everyone is compelled to wear a mask who goes to work in a store or any public place.  It surely looks funny to see people around with their mouth and nose covered up but it is alright if it will do any good.  It’s surely a terrible thing if people are not careful.  We hope and trust that you will not come down with it. - George Richard Freeman- father

9 December 1918 - Brigham City, UT
We are all ok at present for which I am very thankful as there is so much sickness around us all the time.  Sister Kotter had all of them down with the flue, but I think they are getting along ok now, so Henry told me the other day. Will told me that Homer had got it up north.  It seems to be all over now.  There has been over 350,000 die in America since it started.  I am still doing mail as schools are still closed.  They opened churches and places of amusement in Salt Lake this week to see how they could make it, although they have quite a lot of the flue there at present.  People want to know when you are coming home.  We tell them we do not know.  Mrs. North has not heard any news from her boy since July. 
-George Richard Freeman -father



9 December 1918 Brigham City
I did hope you boys would not come back ’til the flue had gone, but we must hope it will be gone by then. It sure has been terrible.  It has took Jerry Shaw, the conductor on the O.L. and I.  I have a good time nowadays.  School has been shut up for the last 8 weeks and it don’t look like they will open this side of Christmas.  Meetings, pictures shows and everything is shut up on account of the flue.  We have to stay home nowadays so I am making plum puddings and mince pies ready by the time you get here.  Ida has been  very busy in Salt Lake with the flue patients.  She was here in Brigham looking after Leona Reeder.  It is Dave Reeder’s daughter, but she died so Ida went back to Salt Lake.  Leona was a nurse like Ida…took her training at the LDS.  Leona took care of Joseph F. Smith.  After he died she came home to Brigham to take care of her father with the flue and she took it and died. - mother

12 December- Camp de Genicart, France
We are not rushed with work because we are now in quarantine and the weather is very wet, with plenty of mud to go with it. - Ern

15 December 1918 - Brigham City, Utah
I have started a fire at the school today.  They expect to open this coming week.  It has now been two months since we quit.  It is surely a great thing to go around these days when there has been so much sickness, but I think the worst is about over now.  They are sure discharging  (the soldiers) quite fast now.  They want to bring the 145th to Salt Lake before they disband. - Geo. R. Freeman - father

18 December 1918 - Camp de Genicart, France
During the past few days a big fence has been placed around the camp and we have been placed in quarantine.We have also had our physical inspection and there is nothing holding us now, only lack of transportation.  Tomorrow we have an inspection and make our packs, and get ready to go, so I guess we will sure get out in a few days.  This will be my last letter written from France.  - Ern

1 January 1919 - on the ocean
We left Bordeaux the day before Christmas.  You should have seen our happy faces the morning we left.  It hardly seems possible that we are on our way home.  I suppose we will be there in a few weeks. - Ern

7 January 1919 - Camp Merritt, New Jersey
We arrived here after spending about 13 days on the ocean and landed in Hoboken, NJ on January 5. - Ern

We have no date for Ernest's exact return home.

26 March 1919 - Cheyenne, Wyoming
I had to leave home (Brigham City) in a hurry.  I didn’t know about it until just before noon and had to get out on the 3:30 car.  The train traveled very slow, but I got here just before noon and went right up to the fort where I got to see Bert (Ern’s brother who was in the army at Ft. Russell).  He looks quite sick and he is very sick.  He has pneumonia, an after-development of the “Flu” but he is much better now than he was a day or two ago, so he must have been ‘some sick’.  He is getting pretty good treatment and at present they are trying to break up his cold.  There is nothing I can do, only go and see him, and they will only let me stay about 30 minutes.  I can see him twice a day. I think he will be out of bed in a few days, or probably a week. - Ern

27 March 1919 - Fort Russell, Wyoming
Today Bert took somewhat of a back set and he isn’t in as good condition today as yesterday.  However, he has a good fighting chance.  His heart is very good and his fever not high, but his pulse is a little high and his lungs are affected.   I don’t know when I shall come back, but I cannot come for some time. - Ern

                                                  James Bert Wallinger Freeman   "Bert"


28 March 1919 - Fort Russell, Wyoming
Bert died today.  Ern  (Ernest accompanied Bert’s body back home to his family in Brigham City.  When the family got the telegram about Bert’s illness, they chose Ernest to go be with Bert.)

Roma Freeman - World War II - The Homefront

--as told by Roma

    When I was a senior in High School, my father was called up to active duty and sent to San Luis Obispo. He had problems with his ears as a result of his service in the artillery in World War I.  Because of this, he was eventually given a medical discharge. He got home from being discharged the day of my graduation from high school in 1941. He got into Ogden by train in the afternoon, so we went down and picked him up
    After graduation I worked in the summer at a cannery peeling tomatoes. I was determined to go through college, so I wanted to earn some money for that. We peeled dishpans of tomatoes for 8¢ a pan.  It bothered my hands, so I had to wear rubber gloves. We’d walk about a mile and a half each day to the cannery.
   Later in the war I worked at the cannery as a timekeeper. Each day a busload of POWs was brought to the cannery to work.  They were from the POW camp in Tremonton. I had to keep track of them. Since my office was closest to the working area, I caught most of the First Aid problems. I remember that one of the POWs cut his hand one day and had to be taken to Bushnell Hospital to have it stitched. 
   One of the POWs painted a picture of me, but I couldn’t really pay him for it as money wasn’t allowed in the camp, so I could only pay him 2 packs of cigarettes.  Most of the  POWs didn’t speak English, but the guard spoke a little German I think. He usually left his gun I’m my office during the day. After the war they were all sent home.

   I was a freshman in college when the war started. We were in church on Sunday, December 7th, but as soon as church was over the news spread like wildfire!  Pearl Harbor had been attacked.  After my freshman year, I worked as a messenger at Bushnell Hospital while they were building it. Bushnell General Military Hospital was an Army World War II hospital in Brigham City, Utah from August 1942 to June 1946. It specialized in treating amputations, maxillofacial surgery, neuropsychiatric conditions, and tropical diseases. It was also one of the first hospitals to experimentally use penicillin. Bushnell was a regional facility for wounded solders from the Mountain States that provided quality medical care to patients.
   Another summer I had a job at Hill Field near Ogden.  I carpooled with several other workers, including my brother Kay who could not join the military for health reasons, and also my cousin, Wayne Freeman who was also exempt for health reasons.  The people who worked at home also helped the war effort.  My job at Hill Field involved keeping track of planes that were out of commission and finding where the parts where so they could be repaired and sent back into service.
   Rationing soon became necessary because of the amount of goods needed for the war effort.  That was a problem for my parents as they had quite a few fruit trees and depended on canning those things for food.  They had to apply for extra sugar rations during the canning season in order to be permitted to buy the required sugar.
   Gas was also rationed which meant no traveling for pleasure.  Once a friend was able to get a motorcycle, but it was in Salt Lake City, so he was given an extra ration of three or four gallons of gas so he could go get it.  Even though Logan was not that far from Brigham City, we couldn’t get enough gas to go back and forth much, so  stayed in Logan the whole time except for summer vacation when I went home to work.
   My older brother, Dean, was in ROTC at USAC.  When he graduated in the spring of 1942 he was not able to wear the traditional cap and gown.  He graduated in his military uniform and was commissioned a second lieutenant as well as a call to active duty. He also got married in September of 1942.
   Dean  received his overseas orders in 1943 and was sent to England.  We had maps of the various areas where people were stationed, so we had a rough idea of where he might be, but we couldn’t know for certain because of censorship.  He participated in Exercise Tiger. We later found out that he was part of the D-Day invasion,  landing on “Utah Beach.”  While Dean was away, his first child was born in December 1945 at Bushnell Hospital.  He didn’t see  his son until  he was almost 2 years old. At home, we couldn’t be sure just where he was, but we suspected where he was and listened to the news of the war as well as following the progress of the Allies on a map.
   At school (Utah State Agricultural College)  I started on the Smith-Hughes program which was vocational home economics to train teachers. It entailed me taking 18-20 credits per semester. It was during school that I first met a young man named Verlin Stephens. After the first 2 years of college, Verlin left for the Army.  I finished my last two years while he was gone. We had dated about 18 months before he had to leave. We got engaged on February 25, 1943.
   When Verlin left for Fort Douglas, I planned to go see him the next weekend, but he was already gone by then and didn’t know just where he was going.

   We saw very little of each other from 1943-1946.  I taught school during the 1945-6 school year at Plain City.  I was hired to teach Home Economics. I taught 7th, 8th, 9th and 10th grades.  There were 3 Home Ec classes as well as a 7th grade Physical Education class. On the noon hours I coached an adagio dance team.
   I went home one weekend after the end of the war and happened to read in the newspaper that the troop ship Olmstead was scheduled to dock that day in Oakland. I knew Verlin had ridden it from Guam to Saipan, so assumed that he would be on it, so I went back home early, assuming that he would call.  I was home only a short time before I got my call.
   Once Verlin was home, we planned to get married in August 1946,  but housing was really scarce just after the war.  The only decent place we could find was available in June.  If we wanted it, we would have to pay two months rent just to hold it, so we decided to go ahead and get married in June.

November 22, 1963--a memory from 56 years ago

 When I left home for Arlington High School on Friday, November 22, 1963, it didn’t seem an extraordinary day.  School went normally until afternoon when I was in Reading Lab.  This was a required nine-week course for Freshmen, to help us increase our reading speed.  I didn’t mind the class, because we got to spend most of our time reading library books of our choice in special reading carrels where a light shined on the lines of the book at increasingly rapid speeds to force us to speed up.
   I was deeply engrossed in a good book when the school PA system came on.  This was unusual since most announcements were made during homeroom before third period.  After a short burst of static, the principal usually came on to give us whatever announcement he had, but this time, nothing came on except screaming and sounds of hysteria.  We couldn’t figure out what was going on.  The teacher was as confused as we were.  Several minutes later, an intelligible voice at last rose above the uproar and said, “President Kennedy has been shot”.
   In disbelief, we listened hopefully for word that his injuries were being successfully treated.  Schoolwork was forgotten for the day as we sat in stunned silence.  Later it was confirmed that he was dead. 
   On the day of his funeral, school was cancelled so we could stay home and watch the events of the day on television.  What a solemn occasion it seemed.  In many ways, he was such an idealistic president, and when he died so tragically and suddenly, it seemed like part of the American dream died with him….or, perhaps it was just the rose-colored glasses of my childhood being cast aside.

Verlin Clark Stephens - WW II

Verlin Clark Stephens - WW II

Pearl Harbor

   World War II began in the fall of 1939.  I was then 16 years old and felt that it would be over soon enough for me to avoid it because of my age.  By the time the US entered the conflict, I was 18 years old and of prime age for military duty.  The day of the attack on Pearl Harbor, I was washing dishes in the Utah State Agricultural College (USAC) cafeteria and kept hearing bits and pieces of news all day.
   The next summer jobs were plentiful and I got a job at the Quartermaster depot in Ogden. After a month there I got a chance to get a better job as a lookout for the Forest Service. However, the only way I could quit the QM job was with a doctor’s certificate which I got easily because I had lost my voice due to an allergy or infection.
   The year 1942-43 was a very important one for me.  When I returned to school it appeared evident that being drafted very soon was a very real possibility.  However, we were told that we could join the reserves and remain in school until we were really needed or graduated, so I signed up for the Naval Reserve in November.  In December, doctors from the various services came to give physical exams.  Shortly thereafter I was informed that I had failed the Navy exam due to a heart murmur.
   In April they decided the time had come to need the reserves, so they were all called to active duty—except me.  I got notice to go to Bushnell Army Hospital (in Brigham City) for another physical.  I guess I passed because I soon received a notice to prepare for a call by the Army.  I rushed around finishing school early so I would be ready  When school finished I still expected to be called up anytime and was very reluctant to take a job, so I stayed at school doing odds and ends.

Reporting for duty

   Finally I was ordered to active duty on July 16, 1943, at Fort Douglas. I was there for a few days. I didn’t know where I was going, but I thought it would be Fort Old, California, since that is where the other reserves had gone. Three days later we arrived at North Camp Hood, Texas.  It was 116ºF and the camp consisted of black tar paper covered buildings.  The buildings were all new. Our training field had corn stalks in it from the previous years’ crop. The water supply had just been condemned, so what water we used came from lister bags hanging in the sun and containing a generous portion of iodide.  When we were finally assigned to a company for training, our new commander made a bit hit by providing our lister bag with a chunk of ice.
 
Training

   I won’t go into details of basic training since it didn’t markedly effect subsequent events. Everyone in the unit was scheduled to go back to school under the Army Specialized Training Program (ASTP).  Somewhere along the line we were again given more tests and then an interview. I was told that I had qualified for the Junior year of engineering and could take my choice of electrical, civil or mechanical.  Also we were asked three states where we would want to go to school. I asked for Utah, Idaho or Colorado, and since I had no previous engineering, it was agreed (I thought) that I would be assigned to a one term review course.  When the time came to leave, we were all going to be separated and sent to the schools we had requested. We went almost straight north out of Texas, through Arkansas and the eastern edge of Kansas, and continued north finally into Canada, then southeast to our destination—New York City, which was far from the states I selected.  We were all assigned to Pratt Institute and lived in a public housing project near the Brooklyn Navy Yard.  My roommate was a young fellow named Burt Schultz and he was from New York City.  At the first opportunity we went to see his mother. She lived in a large apartment on Central Park West. I soon learned how the other half lived.  Burt’s father was vice president and general manager of Raytheon Corp., and in my eyes, they were rich. During World War II, Raytheon employees contributed to the war effort. They supplied 80 percent of the magnetron tubes used in U.S. and British radars and developed parts for the crucial proximity fuse in antiaircraft shells, among other equipment. Raytheon met urgent production needs for magnetron tubes used by Allied forces for radar defense, and produced the Sea Going (SG) microwave surface search radar that went on U.S. Navy ships. The SG provided vital situational awareness in the major battles in the Pacific and helped eliminate the submarine menace in the Battle of the Atlantic.
   The other good friend I made there was Harold Rasmussen. Harold was from Westfield, New Jersey. After he took me to his home for a weekend, I almost became a member of his family.  For the next two years I spent my weekends there whenever possible. They, too, were fairly wealthy by my standards, since Mrs. Rasmussen’s father had invented the disposable paper cup, and a holder for them. He had then established a company to make them. It had gradually expanded to make napkins, place mats, wall plaques, etc.
   As I mentioned, being assigned to advanced engineering turned out to be important for me. After one term, the ASTP program was closed and all those in the first two years and the review course were sent to the 86th Infantry Division on maneuvers in Louisiana.  The 86th was sent to Europe  and into combat on December 24th, 1944 during the Battle of the Bulge. A very large portion were killed in the first few hours. My friend, Harold Rasmussen, was wounded. He recovered and returned to combat for a few hours, only to be shot again—through the forearm. He lost most of the use of his wrist and was discharged but eventually recovered completely.

Signal Corps

   Those of us in electrical engineering were assigned to the Signal Corps. We went off to Camp Wood, New Jersey,  and were eventually assigned to school at Fort Monmouth which was only a few miles from Camp Wood. I requested to be in teletype repair school. This was about a three month course, but one could proceed faster. I think I finished school in about half the prescribed time and then became an instructor until the time came to return to Camp Wood.  Soon I was transferred to a signal company which was preparing to go overseas. As more or less a final fling, we were given a two week furlough and so I went home to Utah for the first time in 16 months.
   I had received a seven day furlough in New York, but it wasn’t long enough to go home, since the only practical means of travel was by train, and that took three days each way at best. I spent that time sightseeing and Christmas shopping. It was a very lonesome period, knowing that theoretically at least, I could have gone home.
   When I returned from furlough, I learned that plans had changed, and of five signal companies, only two were to remain.  Surprisingly, all of the teletype repairmen were left, so there were about 21 in our company when there was only need for seven.  All excess people  were transferred to the infantry.  To fill time, I was serving as the company clerk. We were stationed at Camp Edison, which was another small station a few miles south of Fort Monmouth.
   Meanwhile I continued to go to Westfield, New Jersey, for every available weekend, and the Rasmussen’s always insisted that I bring a friend.  There were several of us who enjoyed their love and friendship.
   As mail clerk it was my official duty to pick up orders for our unit each day. One day the orders were to send about 180 men to such and such infantry unit, (there were about 220 in our company at the time), so I felt certain that I would go, but surprisingly they sent nearly everyone but the teletype repairmen.
   Sometime later we all received orders to go to Philadelphia, to a place called Hog Island, and then to a course in radio teletype repair at the Brookline Country Club just west of Philadelphia.  We were returned to Hog Island.  Again we were promised an overseas assignment and sent home on furlough. When we returned, we were told that the plans had changed and most of the group was sent to an unknown destination. There were four remaining, and we were sent back to Camp Wood “to keep their teletypes in repair”.  Mostly we played pool.  We were housed with a company of Japanese interpreters.  One of the fellows decided he knew a way to find out our eventual destination by going to camp headquarters and asking to change his will.  He came back with the information that we were all going to Camp Beale, California, which was a replacement depot for the Pacific area.  Two days later, he left for Camp Beale..alone.  A few days later we were sent to Vint Hill Farms, Virginia, and rejoined most of the people who had left earlier. We found that the past year had been spent in getting top secret clearances and we were to be trained as code machine repairmen.
   After the school. we received furlough home in preparation to go overseas. By then the war in Europe was over, and while we were waiting for assignment, Japan surrendered. Small groups were sent out to various areas to work, and as each group left, they bragged that they would be released long before those who remained. One group was sent to the Far East. About two or three weeks later, we went to the airport at Agana, Guam, and welcomed them to the Pacific area.  They were sent to Seattle and put on a boat.  We left about a week later and had gone to San Francisco by train, then to Hawaii for four days, then to Guam by plane. 

Guam

   We left Hamilton Field about 10 PM on the night of September 2, 1945, which was the day the Japanese war was officially ended. It was my first plane ride in a ‘big’ plane called a C47. It was a new plane going to pick up wounded, so it had no seats. When it became light the next morning, one of the fellows became concerned that one of the wings seemed to be flapping. We assured him that it was normal (of course we really didn’t know any more than he did). We landed at Hickam Field without difficulty. The next day we rode by the airfield and saw that they had removed that particular wing from the plane. We decided that we had been very fortunate.  From Hawaii we flew to Johnson Island, then to Kwajalein and finally to Guam.
   Since the war was over, we never did do any code machine work. We did transfer a large amount of equipment, which had been dropped in a field during the battles to retake Guam, to a warehouse. I would guess most of it is still there.

Going Home

   Early in 1946 we left Guam on a transport ship, the Olmstead, and transferred to Saipan to begin the process of returning to civilian life. The camp on Saipan was on the opposite side of the island from the port. It took about four hours to go through the required processing. Then we waited and waited. There were frequent rumors of ships arriving to get us. Finally after about four days we loaded back into trucks and recrossed the island to find the Olmstead waiting for us. It was a Kaiser built ship and not really luxury. There were 2500 men on board. We slept in the cargo holds on canvas stretched on metal frames. As I remember, each bunk was about 24 inches wide and perhaps six feet long with about 15-18 inches to the bunk above. There were big garbage cans for those who became seasick. Not surprisingly, we spent as much time as possible on deck.
  Before I left for the Army, I had only tasted olives a few times and didn’t like them, but I acquired a real liking for them in the service. When we were getting ready to leave Guam, two of us ate a whole can to keep from throwing them away. A few hours later we were bouncing up and down with very heavy seas.  The propellers were coming clear out of the water when we pitched forward. Then they announced that dinner was ready. Most of the fellows I was with had long since lost their appetite, but I was hungry. By the time I got there, the line into the galley was long. As we moved up slowly, we passed a fellow who was so sick that he had vomited all over the deck and was sitting in it.  I lost some of my hunger but went on and finally reached the galley.  Food was served in trays and one stood at a table about waist high to eat.  As the ship rolled, some food spilled, and a few people added to it so that the deck was slippery and we slid back and forth as we tried to eat. I soon found what it was like to be seasick. I lost my acquired taste for olives and have never regained it.
   After two weeks at sea, we landed at Oakland, California, and in less than a day we were on our way to Utah on a troop train. Thank goodness that was my only experience on a troop train, a box car with bunks similar to the ship.  There was no air conditioning in those days and we had sailed across the Pacific in tropical weather. The train wasn’t really heated and we finally arrived in Salt Lake City in a snowstorm with the temperature near zero. After a day or so of processing, during which they tried to get us to reenlist, we were released from the Army.
   When I went into the Army, the first month or so I got $21 per month plus board and room and clothing. After that, congress raised the pay for a private to $50 per month, and when I was promoted to Private First Class, I got a raise to $55 a month.  Eventually I became a T/5 and got $66 per month for the rest of my time in the Army. 
   In those days there were no credit cards and very few checks. We were always paid in cash and there were no deductions for Social Security or income taxes. In the Army there was an officer assigned as pay officer. We had to step in front of him, salute, and he would count out our pay. We could have an allotment sent home.