Still waiting --xii

The advent of spring must not have changed much. Chaplain Van's bunch were still in a holding pattern down South, still doing exercises to build discipline and readiness for a future they all knew would offer them each moments of life or death.

An old friend, an army nurse, started her WWII tour of duty at Palm Springs, California. Sounds east street. Gets worse. The army had taken over a big resort to treat a certain difficulty--the numbing fear that so many young men felt at this particular time, a time when they were driven each day by endless training that wasn't sufficient to ease their fears. Some went around the bend, far enough, in fact, to fill a resort/hospital.

In March, Chaplin Van took a weekend off, a short leave that didn't make life any easier for preacher. 

March 5:

The regiment finally arrived at Beloxi, Mississippi, located on the Gulf of Mexico. The colonel called a meeting of all the officers and placed the entire regiment in the hands of the chaplains [of which Van was head]. The soldiers, after their hectic march, will be given a two-day vacation at Beloxi, Pasagola, and Gulf Port.

I told the chaplains that our mission will be to keep the soldiers out of trouble with the police and the civilians. I placed Chaplain Howington at Gulf Port, Chaplain Fiedorcyck at Pasagola, and myself at Beloxi.

Some of the soldiers in these places went on a drinking spree and became drunk. The MP helped us. They went into the taverns, picked up the drunks and threw them into any nearby Army truck. When the truck was filled with drunks, the MP brought them back to the bivouac area and placed them in bed in their pup tents. Walking the streets of Beloxi, I saw some  of the most cockeyed salutes I have ever seen. 

I worked that night until two in the morning.

If my military discipline is accurate, by this time Chaplain Van was a captain, and would be recognized as such--as an officer!-- by GIs lower on the military totem pol. Drunk as skunks, they would have had to salute him the moment he got into their view--and they knew it. So they did, some of them "cockeyed."

Let's be clear here. Chaplain Van Schouwen was not a big man, not even husky. While it's true that I knew him only when he was an old man, it's fair to say that he was hardly a formidable human specimen. What I'm saying is that as an enforcer, he was blessed by his place in the chain of command. Here's what I see. 

It's 1:15, Chaplain Van walks into a bar down on the coast. When he does, his men scramble to their feet. Some don't, but those who do stand as tall as they can to salute him. Van doesn't giggle, but inside he's falling all over himself at their antics.

I like the image. I would have loved to hear him tell stories.

March 12: 

I spoke with a number of officers about adultery, divorce, and the evils of liquor.

March 25:

Thursday I took the 8:15 a.m. Illinois Central train to Camp Shelby [he'd been given leave to go home to Chicago for a weekend classis meeting]. Our regiment has received a large number of ASTP men. These men had received specialized training in various colleges and universities but were now transferred to the infantry. The Army needs a lot of soldiers for the impending invasion of Europe.

The designation ASTP was given to certain GIs who scored especially high on whatever tests were then administered. These men went to school at universities around the country after being drafted or having enlisted. Their training may have been so specialized that they that training, at least initially, made them unique among recruits. The Chaplain is right: The need for infantry meant that ASTP people, no matter what their flashy skills, were brought to places like Camp Shelby simply because people like Eisenhower--the top military brass--had no doubts about needs, once the invasion of Europe would begin. The Army--the U. S. of A.--needed its own "boys," thousands of them, even millions, for D-Day, whenever that would be.

Like all of them, the inevitable lays out there, just beyond their campfires. They know what's coming, but can't really identify it. In many ways, what they see out there beyond them is death itself.

To me, it seems that it would have been impossible to live with that reality, but they did--thousands of them.