2.   A NEW CHALLENGE AND A HARD ADJUSTMENT

I took a train out of 30^th Street Station of Philadelphia, with this first leg of my journey taking me to St. Louis, Mo. A rather lengthy layover here allowed me a chance for a shower at a local YMCA and a steak dinner at Cassellas Restaurant. Some of my Fort Riley barracks buddies had gotten on this same train, and those such as Don Shomper of Lykens, Penna. Were all headed for the "Thundering Herd" Division. During our layover, we got a supply of rum, so when we transferred to our next train, we kept a game of pinocle (pinochle) going as we sipped rum-cokes. It was a good thing we had the rum to pacify us, cause this next train that would take us directly to Leesville, LA was known as the "Flying Crow", and believe me, there must have been a very good reason for it being so named. We got so dirtied from the soot that I though the train conductor was going to make us sit in the rear car. We finally arrived at the Leesville Station on an extremely hot and very humid day and a fast assessment of our new surroundings didn't exactly do anything to build our morale. That particular month, Life Magazine ran an article on the cities that had been hard hit with venereal disease, and Leesville, LA had the highest rate per capita of venereal disease in the entire country.

After we had gotten into a reasonable formation at the station, a roll call placed us into our assigned groups. I was put into the 7^th Armored Infantry Battalion and became a member of Company A. Others of my Fort Riley buddies who were also put into Co. A were: Manny Krampf of Fairlawn, NJ; Jack Rockmore of L.I.N.Y.; Alvin Sweeney of Pawtucket, R.I., and Rex Voss of Bassett, Va. All of us remained with Co. A throughout the war and ultimately returned to the states intact. Sweeny and Voss had been hospitalized for awhile as a result of frozen feet on the Siegfried Line during Jan. of 1945, but they were returned to the Company A later.

Camp Polk proved to be a distressing place to me, and by comparison, it was a far cry from Fort Riley. The barracks were merely placed on ugly clay soil that was eroded by the heavy rainstorms over the years, unprotected by the absence of plant life. The hot summer sun allowed its rays to beat upon you during the day, and any physical activity would promote excessive perspiration where at one time, I literally was able to wring out the moist perspiration from my shirt and pants. At Fort Riley, the food was excellent, and it was served by means of an orderly chow line. Here at Polk, the food was always in short supply, and its quality was often very questionable. It was served family style, and it appeared to be every man for himself as you rushed to get to a food dish before it got emptied. In this absence of discipline, I found it very necessary to learn the angles and tactics of getting enough to eat. However, as time went on, things became a bit better as I learned to cope with my new surroundings.

The Eighth Armored Division had been in training for well over a year, and when it would be considered combat ready as a unit, the orders from Washington would alter the usual path of procedure. Instead of the Division being sent overseas, it became a replacement well of manpower, and thousands of men were taken from the Division and were sent to other Divisions already in the European Theatre of Operations, or else to Army Division in the South Pacific. Some of the men I had joined with in my new Co. A had been on maneuvers twice already, so I really didn't know what to expect. Over half of the men in Co. A at the time of my arrival had just preceded me. A great many came from Army Special Training Programs (A.S.T.P.), and they were in the first and second years of college.

We now embarked on a special training program as a new Division, and we were told that this time, we would be sent overseas as a complete unit. Overseas could mean one of two places, and our special training indicated we were headed for the South Pacific. I might break in here to mention a personal problem I was encountering during the latter part of the summer. I had mentioned that I had gained 30 to 35 pounds while at Fort Riley (good food, good winter climate, etc.), but after my arrival at Polk, the hot weather caught up with me, and I lost every single pound of weight I had gained at Fort Riley. I mentioned this to our Battalion Surgeon, Capt. Sidney Grau, and he put me into the Post Hospital for tests. The tests proved negative, and the Surgeon General, a full Colonel, called me into his office for a consultation. I told him that I couldn't take the hot humid weather, and this was why I had lost my weight. He agreed, and he urged me to consider going to Officers Training School; he suggested this as a means to get me away from Polk. I then said that I wasn't certain I would be eligible to attend O.C.S. since the requirement was to have had a grade of at least 110 on the Army I.Q. Test I had taken at the Induction Center. He laughed at my remark, and then he said, "you had a mark of 129 on the test, equal to a college graduate." I then said that I really preferred to stay with my unit, and besides, we were now getting into the fall weather.

Rumors started to make their rounds about our Camp, stating that our orders are changed, and we are now definitely headed for the E.T.O. Our ground forces were being hard hit in the E.T.O., and with the Battle of the Bulge anticipated, it was becoming very evident we'd be needed. Our warm weather clothing was being turned in for an exchange of winter type battle attire, and the rumor was now confirmed. We were only a few weeks away from heading for our Port of Embarkation in New York when I received a telegram telling me that my dad was in the hospital with a Rectal Carcinoma. The Red Cross gave me $50.00 for an emergency furlough. My time was limited to being able to know he successfully underwent his operation; I then returned to Camp Polk. I was back in Camp but a couple of days when another telegram told me of his death due to a postoperative blood clot. When I had returned from my first emergency furlough, I gave $50.00 back to the Red Cross. When the second emergency furlough came, they were again very quick to give me another $50.00 for my trip back home for my dad's funeral. I wasn't able to return that $50.00 on my return as my finances were extremely tight. My wife and twins were given a monthly allotment of $50.00 during my two years of service; added to this, I now had a widowed mother, so with an additional deduction taken from my base pay, I was able to get her a $50.00 allotment. After my return to civilian life, in due time, I was able to make a substantial donation to the Red Cross in appreciation for what they had done for me. In all of my time in the service, I found the Red Cross to be a first class organization. We paid a minimal cost for our coffee and donuts in England, but the Red Cross was compelled to do this because of a strict English government regulation.

(Correction) My wife received $50.00 a month plus $25.00 for each child a month.

About a month before we were to break camp, I was transferred to Hdqs. Company of the 7^th A.I.S. and placed in a Reconnaissance Squad under a S/Sgt Klaus. In combat, this would be considered a suicide squad and certainly gave me cause for concern. I was qualified for this squad because of my knowledge of armor, and I was also an Expert Marksman, especially at long range with a Scoped Enfield Rifle. However, my Platoon Leader (a Lt.) had me sent back to Co. A when he learned of my family, etc. Everyone else in the Rec. Sqd. was unmarried except for Klaus.

Co. A was located just across the area field, and I reported to the Co. A Commanding Officer who was Captain Joseph Sill Finley, better known to his men (behind his back) as 'Gin Mill Joe'. He welcomed me back, but he seemed a bit puzzled as to what he should do with me. As he perused his M.O.S. (job) List, he noted that only one job was open. He said, 'Bopp, you are now the Company A Bugler!' I replied with the question of 'what the hell does a Bugler do, because I'll be damned if I can blow a single note on a bugle!' He told me that the bugler keeps his eye on the C.O., meaning himself in this case, and that I would carry a sniper rifle and act as a sort of protecting valet. He added that I might make a special effort to keep him in good supply of sipping whiskey. I got to know Capt. Joe real well in the short time we were together short, because he was wounded during our first week in combat on the Siegfried Line. I saw him on a few occasions after the war. He had a good job with "Good Housekeeping Magazine".