Читать книгу Home Front to Battlefront - Frank Lavin - Страница 16
ОглавлениеSo Carl was inducted into active duty, joining millions of Americans who were being called up for war.
The good news: the new soldiers were going to serve their country and join a noble cause. The bad news: the army was coming out of the Great Depression and wasn’t ready for a war.
In 1940, the War Department had announced that the use of the sabers by officers on duty with troops “will be discontinued.” In 1941, the department announced that the army had just supplied itself with 20,000 horses, the most since the Civil War. The army had to sprint to grow from some 225,000 regular troops in 1939 to 1.5 million troops just two years later.1 The incoming recruits had to sprint, as well—enduring basic training in the Texas sun as they prepared for combat.
Carl was shipped to Camp Hood (now Fort Hood) for basic training. The base, located some 160 miles southeast of Dallas, had been established just one year earlier. Set upon 108,000 acres of converted farmland, Camp Hood was used to train soldiers, instruct anti-tank units and hold prisoners of war (POWs). When it first opened, 38,000 soldiers occupied the base; by the next year, 95,000 were there, Carl being one of them.2
Basic training is not meant to be fun. It can range from physically demanding to tedious. The rules can be arbitrary. And the weather was downright unrelenting. Those were just a few reasons why Carl wanted to get out of the infantry. Camaraderie offered a bulwark against what one writer called “this drab khaki world” with its “boredom, cold, exhaustion, squalor, lack of privacy, monotony, ugliness and a constant teasing anxiety about the future.”3 So while making the best of Texas during wartime, Carl contemplated transfers to Officer Candidate School, West Point, or a college-based program called the Army Specialized Training Program (ASTP).
Yes, Carl was keen to find a way to bypass the infantry. All he needed was time—and a little creativity.
. . .
May 31, 1943
Dear Mom,
This makes two weeks that I have been an active member of the armed forces, and tomorrow the activity starts. So far I haven’t done a thing—altogether about 14 hours’ work in 14 days. It’s just been like going to a boy’s camp with a bunch of college men, for that is all I’ve associated with so far. I’m still learning some more bridge. Oops—they just turned the lights out and I’m writing this in the dark. There are a few things I would very much like to have. First of all at least six to eight coat hangers as soon as possible. Very important—I also need some of that Upjohn’s foot powder.
I have to take eight weeks of basic training before I can get into officer’s school or specialized training. I believe I got into something pretty good. It is connected with none of the 13 branches of the army and entirely new. In fact this camp officially opened the program.
I may not have much of a chance to write from now on as I’m going to be very occupied.
Love Carl
. . .
June 6, 1943
Dear Mom,
So far I’ve been writing you that the army is a vacation. Since last Tuesday, however, I have definitely changed my mind. Every minute of every day is taken up in either instruction or exercises. We are taking a 13 week basic training course and a Basic Unit Training Course at the same time in eight weeks, so you see we are pretty busy. Wednesday we took 50 minutes to march 3 miles in 90 degree heat with full pack. But I’m living through it good enough so don’t write any letters to my company commander telling him what a sensitive boy I am.
In our barracks we have 11 E.R.C. men and 23 hillbillies from N. Carolina—all in their teens. And we really have some time together! We fight the Civil War over every day. Yesterday was a holiday and Ohio played N.C. in a ball game. We beat them 35 to 9! By the way, three days ago the banks were all closed in Texas—Jeff Davis’s birthday! But that didn’t affect us much because all new men are put in quarantine for two weeks. That means we can’t associate with anyone but ourselves—no PX, no movies, no passes.
When I wrote last that I asked for eight hangers, and I presume you already sent them. However I’ve found out that I’ll really need twelve so please send the rest right away. I also need some cord and a few nails and a box to keep my stationery in. Just get me a dozen or so nails from the cellar and about 30 feet of good cord. And it would be a very good idea to send some fudge in that box. I don’t want a subscription to the Rep. but please cut out all articles that might interest me and send them along. I won’t need that foot powder because they have some here—G.I. and good. But I do need an electric plug—you know, one of those things you screw into a socket. You can’t get any around here and I can’t use my electric razor. Better send 2 or 3 of them. There aren’t any good candy bars here so if you can find some way to pack them so they will keep cool send me some Forever Yours and Milky Ways.4 By the way I suppose you know that I can get a 10 day furlough if the Canton Red Cross is convinced that there is a sufficient emergency at home. However, don’t get me one! I know you would have tried, but this training is very important and if I missed 10 days of it, that would very likely be the thing that would keep me out of O.C.S. So don’t try anything because I know what is best, and I will let you know if anything turns up. This is us—the Tank Busters.5 We are the toughest outfit in the army next to the paratroopers. I think I’m pretty lucky to get in this, because it’s new and growing. I can’t get into OCS until I’ve been in the army for three months and they’ve cut down the quota pretty much, but I’m going to try. If not that I’ll try A.S.T.P. which would send me to a college—Bye now and write.
Love, Carl
. . .
June 13, 1943
Tuesday
Dear Mater,
This will have to be short, and sweet, I hope. I stayed in tonight although we could get passes because I wanted to write some letters and do some washing. So since I didn’t get a pass they chose me as one of the guys for a special detail. We worked for two and a half hours—until lights went out. But I’m fooling them—I’m writing anyways. Four men could have done the same work in the same time that we eight did it—four guys were always standing waiting. But we all had to stay there. Now isn’t that stupid and unfair? Here I and several others had planned this evening, the only time we have to ourselves, in a certain way, and they take this time away when it isn’t even necessary. It’s really terribly unjust. And if you will remember, it is injustice in any form or manner that affects me the strongest and irks me the most. I can stand anything but injustice. That I cannot stand.
BUT—It didn’t bother me at all! That has been one of the most surprising things about army life that that I have seen. It’s so terribly unfair, and yet you don’t mind it because the army is unfair to everyone. You see unfairness so often that you become used to it. It is only humorous, nothing more—and that because it is out of place. That’s what real humor is, you know, misplacement. That’s why the New Yorker cartoons are so good. They realize that and capitalize on it.6
Received your cookies and candy today. Very good, very good. We’ll have to finish them all tomorrow because we’re moving out into the woods Thursday. No electricity, no plumbing—but swimming.
Lots of love from Carl
. . .
Once, Carl’s unit was taken to a military prison to learn how not to behave. They were shown prisoners who broke the rules. This soldier didn’t come back from leave on time. That guy got in a fight with his sergeant. That sort of stuff. The moral: You disobeyed the rules and you got tossed in the hoosegow.
Even the men who found themselves in the stockade didn’t need a lecture about why they were in the army. After Pearl Harbor it was universally accepted that we were attacked, and we are at war, and war is all-out war. The national sentiment was that there was only one thing to do and that is to defeat the enemy. Everyone hung flags and draped bunting. Parents placed a star in their window for each boy in the service. Dorothy and Leo had two stars in the window.
Everyone you talked to was for military action; Carl and everyone else were very patriotic, even the soldiers in prison—no matter if the prisoners’ purpose was only to serve as a bad example.
. . .
June 18, 1943
Dear Mom,
I’ll have to make this brief because it’s late and there’s an ugly rumor going around that we’re having a nine mile hike tomorrow.
Thanks for the stuff but you overdid it a little in places. I wanted about six nails, not six pounds; and just a little cord, not enuf to start a rug factory with. But you show the right spirit. I can hardly wait to get that fudge. I’ll expect it at least in carload lots.
Hey! Where’s my shoes? And be sure to send trees with them. Also as soon as possible send all my sweat socks. Most imp.
Didn’t you get that picture I sent you from Columbus? It cost me 10 cents. As soon as I can get to town I’ll have some good ones taken.
Just last night I saw The Ox-Bow Incident.7 I suppose it’s been to Canton a long time ago. If it hasn’t or if you missed it once, be sure to see it. I firmly believe that it is one of the few outstanding pictures of the last few years. If you did see it tell me what you think of it.
Went out in the firing range yesterday and I didn’t even get killed. By the way, don’t worry about my visiting the German prisoners. I should just try to get closer than 30 yards to the camp. We also have some Italians and a few Japs. They caught two more of the escaped prisoners, also by the way.
Don’t forget the shoes and socks.
Love Carl
. . .
To deal with prisoners of war, camps were set up across the United States. Texas held many such camps due to “available space” and because the state possessed the same climate as North Africa, significant because the Geneva Convention stipulated that any POW must be harbored in a climate that was approximate to the place of capture.
From over 150,000 of Rommel’s surrendering Afrika Korps to the tens of thousands of soldiers who gave up toward the end of the war, the United States housed up to 425,000 enemy combatants during World War II.8
. . .
June 18
Sat.
Dear Folks,
Here is what we did yesterday. Got up at 0500 (5:00 a.m. to you) which was not too unusual since we’ve been doing it every single day; Reveille at 5:15 to 5:25; Chow at 5:30 to about 5:50; then try to get washed, make your bed, clean out your barracks, prepare for inspection, put on your leggings, fill your canteen (the water is no good here and has to be medicated), and police the area in about 45 minutes. Then we march off to the training area with pack and guns, either a 1917 model Enfield or Thompson sub-machine gun. From 0700 to 1100 we have classes of 50 minutes each, separated by a two minute “wind sprint” and an eight minute rest period. The classes are on first aid and gas, mostly, so far, but we’ll be having many more different ones. We just started motor maintenance and driving, and we’ve also had military courtesy, the Articles of War (I can be put up for life for not shining my shoes—A.W. 94—Conduct Unbecoming a Soldier) and map reading. Then there is an hour of drill and formation exercising. From 1200 to 1330 we eat and have a rest period, most of which is taken up in waiting in line to get some food, waiting in line to get seconds, and waiting in line to wash your mess gear. To 1730 we have some more classes sometimes. Usually the last hour is spent in doing something a little more exerting, like yesterday we had a hike. I believe I wrote before saying how hard it was marching 3 miles in 50 minutes with a pack in 85 degree heat. Well yesterday we marched five miles in 45 minutes with a pack and a rifle in 90 degree heat! If you don’t know how fast that is, there was a guy ahead of me that was about 5’5” and his legs weren’t long enough to go that fast. He had to run about a third of the time. But the most fun of all was when we double-timed the last hundred yards. Those marches are really the only thing that I don’t like about the army. And I have a violent hatred of them. They are nothing but torture from the first step to the last and there is no deeper discouragement than to have your leg muscles paining and your shoulders rubbed sore, and come to some rough or sandy ground and realize you still have four more miles to go, but can do absolutely nothing but continue to march, and march at top speed. Then towards the end your eyes start to smart from the sweat washing through them, and you hope you won’t stumble because you’re sure you won’t be able to start up again. But the funny thing is once you’re back and you put down your pack and gun, the relief takes all the tiredness away and you don’t throw yourself down on your bunk as you so ardently desired out on the hike. You lay down for two or three minutes, drink a quart and a half of water, usually, and start joking about the hike. Yesterday we got a big laugh out of the company commander riding past in a jeep saying “all right, men; close it up.” That is we got a laugh out of that back in the barracks; it wasn’t very funny while it happened.
However, we are very fortunate in our company officers. All we have is eight second lieutenants. One of them will be a captain soon and several will be first lieuts. They are all excellent men, and the older soldiers who were transferred from some other branch all say so too.
I did start to tell you the daily schedule, so I’d better continue it; when we get back to the barracks we have chow, retreat, mail call and then we are off til nine-fifteen, or I should say 2115, when the lights go off, theoretically, that is. So far in two weeks, I’ve just had that period off on three different days. Somebody always gets an idea to do something, like the night before last the sergeant had us up til about eleven (2300) drilling because he didn’t like the way we looked. That, of course, didn’t help our condition out any on the hike yesterday. And then we were in quarantine until yesterday (2 wks) and had to go to medics and be inspected every night. And then there were many other things such as waiting in line for three hours to get a G.I. haircut (Didn’t I tell you I decided that as long as I could only have an inch and a half of hair I might as well do it up good? I now have a slight buzz on top of my cranium and look like a fugitive from SingSing.) and taking a lot of tests. By the way, they picked about 1/10 of our company to register for A.S.T.P. and I was one of those chosen. I won’t know for some time though if I’m accepted or not, so don’t go telling anyone. I have another cheerful note—about a week ago one of the lieutenants called three of us from the company and told us we would “probably see a better side of the army” and to be sure and get nothing on our records.
I hope I haven’t surprised you by what I said about the marches. They aren’t going to hurt me. Besides I have been in perfect health ever since I got in and if it wasn’t for the lack of freedom I would like this just as much as school. I’m happy, healthy, and wealthy enough.
No, I don’t need anything else. In fact I don’t even need what I asked for. They gave us some coat hangers, we have foot powder. I managed to get an electric plug at Camp Hood when I went to the hospital there (broke my glasses and that’s the only place I can have them fixed—no they won’t fix them—I take that back—they’ll give me two more pairs) and my new shoes probably won’t fit me. At least my old ones don’t. The army knew what it was doing when it gave me a “D” width.
I can get magazines here so don’t send me any. I won’t have a chance to read them anyways. No, I didn’t get anything from Aunt Dodo, and I’ll write everybody very soon. Don’t forget to keep tearing interesting articles from the Rep. They told us to watch out for those German prisoners, but I haven’t seen any yet. Send me some gossip. A very happy birthday, Fred. Love –Carl
. . .
Carl was discovering what every GI discovered. As described by military historian Peter Kindsvatter:
During the tearing-down phase, the recruit, for the life of him, could not see what any of this unpleasantness had to do with preparing him for combat. Learning to shine shoes, march, salute, pull kitchen duty, and make a bunk in a military fashion did not strike him as useful skills. After several weeks of such training the recruits hit a nadir. They were demeaned, frustrated, and angry. They had worked hard but received little in the way of positive reinforcement, and they certainly did not feel like soldiers. . . . Yet just when the trainees’ frustrations hit a high point and their morale a low point, things began to change, albeit almost imperceptibly at first. The tear-down phase ended and the buildup began.9
. . .
Wednesday June 23
Dear Mom,
I was on guard duty for the first time—two hours on, four off, and so on for twenty-four hours. It wasn’t bad, but I wouldn’t like to do it too often. I’m getting to be a seasoned soldier now. I’ve had K.P. too. It was for officers’ mess and I really left a mark for myself; first by knocking over a stack of dishes, and, secondly, by running the entire length of the mess hall with a dish of mustard for one of the officers before I found out that while I was in the kitchen getting it, the major had gotten up and was giving a talk. Oh well, it’s little adventures like that that make life worth living!
Fred, your daily schedule is exactly like mine—two days a month. The other two Sundays I either go into town or they think of something for us to do to keep us from getting homesick. Five of the six weekdays this week I got up at 4:30 instead of 5:00. We’ve been firing on the range and it takes a lot of time. A score of 134 is what we have to have to qualify. I got a 131 but if I ever get my glasses fixed, I’ll get about 150. The only trouble is the noise. It’s hard to hear anything for about 12 hours after we shoot. Can you imagine the noise 200 guns all shooting at once would make?
I’ll probably be transferred to another unit here at camp in a week or two for A.S.T.P., Lt. E says. It’d better be soon because every week the hikes are getting tougher. We had an eight miler Thursday and it’s been very warm the last few days. This time eight guys fell out. Before the hike we had some tactical maneuvering and our squad got lost and had to ford one river three times. We arrived fifteen minutes late and didn’t get a rest at all before the hike and then at the beginning of the hike we had to run across a 300 yard bridge, so with the wet shoes, no rest, and all that double-timing we weren’t in too good a shape to march eight miles. But we did.
If you take any snapshots send them to me. I don’t have any pictures at all of anyone. We get paid in a week and I’ll get some pictures taken of me then.
By the way, I wasn’t one of the seven soldiers killed by the truck here, in case you’re worrying. Five of them were Ohio boys, but none that I knew.
Fred, as soon as you start in your life as a sailor, write and tell me all about it. I want to know what it’s like.
I’m sending this airmail so you should get it before you leave. I hope you all enjoy yourselves.
Love Carl
. . .
They say the one name you remember in the military is the name of your drill sergeant. But the name never stuck with Carl. What Carl did remember was that basic training was basic training. He spent a lot of time on ten-mile marches and fifteen-mile marches. Those were terrible.
Basic training included physical conditioning, close order drill, parades. The first reaction was, what’s the point of this? Why do we have to march in parade—we’re going to be in combat? And yet it sank in. There was a parade every Saturday. At first it was ridiculous. But then the more Carl did it, the more it sank in, the more he got the feeling of being part of the group.
A postwar study by Walter Reed Army Medical Center described basic training as a process of “learning carried out simultaneously on two levels. In the narrower sense, basic training was a straight-forward process of teaching the trainee specific combat skills. In the broader sense, basic training was an ‘acculturative process’ in which the trainee learned ‘the basic mores, canons, and customs of the military subculture, and the arts of living and cooperating with a large group of his fellow men.’”10
That didn’t mean that Carl, like any teenager, stopped cutting corners. Back in Canton, Carl enjoyed doing some carpentry work, almost as a hobby. He had done a bit of it before. And he could see that some carpentry work needed to be done around the place and he talked the first sergeant into appointing him battalion carpenter. Carl got razzed a bit by the other guys for it, but it spared him from some of these long marches with a full field pack.
. . .
Thursday, July 8, 1943
Dear Mom,
My Independence Day was a little bit drier than yours. I went to Dallas with G and we had what could be classified as a glorious fourth. Sat. night we saw Sweethearts in the “Operetta under the stars” and wandered around the amusement park that is around it. Sunday we saw Southern Methodist and the rest of Dallas. These two events were interspersed with steak dinners (but good), running into guys we knew from Miami, milk shakes, and sleeping in a good hotel bed. It took ten hours and 300 miles of traveling to get there and back but it was worth it.
I’m glad that you’re having such a grand time up there. In spite of the fact that it’s a little obvious, I’m going to say that I wish I were with you. Did the old man keep to his plans and go back to Canton yet? According to the good time you’re having, I don’t suppose he did. If you are still there, pop, I want you to tell me what is going on with Sugardale? How does it differ from what it was six months, one year, and two years ago in respects to the quantity and quality and price of the products, as well as the employees?—also what’s happening with subsidies and what’s the outlook for the future? What do you have to do exactly with the ration stamps and how are you handling them? How does the profit and loss sheet and balance sheet compare to what it was three months ago, in percent? Etc. I’d really like to know, pop.
Don’t worry about my glasses. I’m getting two pair of G.I.s free, but not in a hurry. There was a mix-up and now I’m supposed to get them tomorrow. As soon as I do get them I’ll send my pair back to be repaired (one lens is out) because no matter what is wrong with one’s glasses the govt. won’t fix them—they’ll give you two new pairs instead.
As for my weight, it’s 159 with clothes on, which would be about 155 or 156 without. They weighed me in at the induction center at 152. Hard work can only make you lose weight by sweating and burning up fat. You can drink all the sweat loss back, and you can regain the energy loss by eating the right food. Regular eating and sleeping hours is what is keeping me in shape.
Where’s the pictures of you around the Lodge?11 Do they still have those dances over the lake to an orchestra? I suppose it’s too late to tell you now, but remember that sun. I went out in it for an hour and a half the first time and was burned sore for five days.
Lots’a love Carl
. . .
Saturday, July 17, 1943
Hi pop,
So you finally broke down and wrote a letter! Well, I appreciated the gesture even if I couldn’t read the words. I gathered that you were worried about the recoil of the big guns and about my ambition and progress in progressing. Well, my ambition is to get into A.S.T.P. or O.C.S. Since O.C.S. has been about 80% eliminated and more experience is required, I’m trying now for A.S.T.P. which stands for the Army Specialized Training Program. It is a nine months course at a college and it also gives college credit. You have to pass three interviews to get in and complete your basic. I have passed the first one so far, about two or three weeks ago. All I can do now is wait. You know the old army byword—“hurry up and wait.” Anyways you have to complete your basic before you can get into A.S.T.P., which means another month or so for me.
We moved out into the woods a few days ago, by the way. It’s pretty good, if you don’t mind the dirt and the lack of water. There are five guys with us in this tent, all from Ohio. Three are from Akron, one from Alliance, and one from Warren. All are college boys and we get along pretty well together, and have a pretty good time.
There are two things that I’m pretty much in need of. One is a pair of shorts or a bathing suit. The other is an old worn out bag to keep my toilet articles, writing stuff, etc. in. I think there is an old gym bag around that’s about one foot by two feet by a foot and a half. If so, send it on please; or any other bag of that general size. A bag is the only thing we can keep things in—a box won’t do.
Pop, if after the war you can get hold of some G.I. trucks, for God’s sake do it. We went on a cross-country convoy and I was in a loaded 2-1/2 ton White truck. That 2-1/2 ton job went up places that no car and few motorcycles would climb. Very hard to slide or overturn and impossible to wreck.
Yesterday we dug slit trenches and machine gun emplacements all day. The temperature was 110 in the shade—and we weren’t in the shade!
Don’t worry about gun recoils pop. We don’t get big guns for a while yet anyways and if that was all I had to worry about in the way of danger it would be nice. I’ve learned to keep my eyes open.
On night maneuvers three days ago I was in a tactical situation where I had to lie in one spot for two and a half hours. The next day I learned that that spot was a poison ivy patch. It sounds pretty funny, but it’s not to me. I haven’t been able to hardly sleep since. We’re having some more maneuvers tonight. This time I think I’ll burn out any area first that I have to lie in.
Tell me how Sugardale is doing, old man. Take it easy.
Love Carl
. . .
After hot Texas runs, Carl’s sweat and body salt would leave a u-shaped stain on his shirt. He was thirsty and could use a cold Coca-Cola from the drinks cooler provided at the end of the run. But since he was not usually in front of the pack, no Cokes remained. The only soda left was Dr. Pepper, a Waco drink that was a novelty for a midwestern soldier. Even decades after the war, Carl wouldn’t drink the stuff. All those years later, he still associated its taste with his runs in the desert.
. . .
Sunday, July 25, 1943
Hi, Family! –
This letter is doing a big job. It’s answering about three of yours. But our free time here in bivouac is even more limited than in the barracks. It’s next to impossible to answer letters at any time other than weekends.
Hey, pop, there’s just a couple of things I’d still like to know—what percent of the mortgage do you still have to pay? And what percent of normal meat sales are you selling? By the way, there isn’t very much of a shortage of meat down in Texas. It’s not hard at all to buy a large steak at a restaurant, although I still haven’t found one yet that had the quality of Birdseye.
What do you think of my going to West Point? There’s an opening for sixty-two men from the eighth service command (about two million soldiers). You have to have an aptitude test of 135 (mine is 141), be 19 to 22 (I’m 19), be in the army one year by July 1, 1944 (thirteen and a half months by then) and sign up for eight years. You go to a college from Sept 1943 to July 1944 and then take the test to enter West Point. It’s something I’d like to get into, because the peacetime army is much freer than this, and the army interests me more than any business I know of. Of course the chances of my getting in are just about aren’t, but I can try. I’m going to speak to the first sergeant about it as soon as possible. Don’t say anything about this to anyone by the way.
You know it made me feel good to receive both of your last letters; you both seemed so happy. Are you still going around with the Canadian smart set, mom? And are you still under-trimming the pork loins, pop? Do you still have as many fights as you used to? I’d really like to see how just the two of you get along together.
I’ve been telling the fellas about your love-making efforts.12 They’ve been getting quite a kick out of it. Does it take you back to your younger days? But no kidding, I’m glad you did. She seems to be a pretty swell kid. I’m still waiting for her picture, and I’m still waiting for a lot of yours. I still haven’t any of me; and I’m not too sure you’d like to have me take one for awhile with my hair a quarter of an inch long, my face swollen and covered with medicine from poison ivy, and not having chewed in four days for the same reason - also a young mustache which I am experimenting with.
Excuse the status of this paper, s’il vous plait. They’re Coke stains and Coke is too valuable around here to throw away. I’ll just have to send it on.
Our basic training should be over in about two weeks. It’s supposed to end with a sixty-five mile march (I can hardly wait) and then we’ll be moved out of here. A.U.T.C. (advanced) will probably be in main Camp Hood and that’s where I’ll most likely be unless I start hearing something from A.S.T.P. By now you’ve probably gotten the idea that all you do in the army is wait. Well that’s the right idea. That reminds me—I’ve finally gotten my G.I. glasses—seven weeks after they were promised me. They’re pretty good, but they don’t look so hot. Oh well, they’ll blend in with the general gruesome effect of the G.I. Carl Lavin.
I guess I’ve been doing a lot of griping, but I’m actually quite happy here.
Remember what you said about the army being a glorious adventure? Well it is a glorious adventure—in living. I’ve been with every type of person there is—and I’m fascinated in having some of the highest types for tent-mates, the kind you were just writing about, mother. Well, s’all for now.
Love Carl
. . .
There was something unusual near Carl’s barrack—a group of barracks of men going through Officer Candidate School, and they were all African Americans. At that time, America was still largely segregated, and the military was no different.13
There were a few all-black units. There was a black tank battalion. There was a black fighter wing—the Tuskegee Airmen. But Carl’s most common sighting of black people was in transportation units. They were truck drivers. Large numbers of African Americans also served in engineer and quartermaster units, among others, but there was hardly any mixing of races. Occasionally, Carl would see some black and white MPs. The camp made it a point to have one black and one white MP go out together.
It was at Camp Hood that Carl first encountered African Americans in a professional capacity, and what he saw impressed him greatly. In barracks next to his was this group of black men training to be officers. They were polished, smart, and smart-looking. Carl’s conclusion: In the face of segregation and societal pressure, those soldiers had to be twice as good as the white soldiers in order to get ahead. They were accomplished, professional, elite. They were a crackerjack group.14
. . .
July 30,’43
Dear Mother,
There’s nothing new to report, except that I’ve been having a very easy time of it lately. That poison ivy I told you about hasn’t left me yet, so they put me on light duty. I’m not supposed to do anything that makes me sweat, because that’s what spreads and irritates it. Yezzer, I’m leading the life.
Believe it or not, we’ve had a rainy spell for two days now! The temperature has gone down to 90, which actually feels quite cool, and every night we have rain, which feels exhilarating in the tents.
I guess I forgot to tell you about the long-horn I sent you. I happened to see it when I was in town and I thought it would go good with the dog and the bear on the radio. Does it?
I’m still waiting to hear something from A.S.T.P. Rumor has it that our basic will be over pretty soon. Only encouraging sign so far is that I’ve been made assistant squad (10 men) leader which isn’t a damn thing.
Yes, I got a letter from Betty K. Can’t tell much from it—seems to be pretty decent, intelligent, etc.
I received the shorts. Thanks a lot. I didn’t expect you to buy some, though, with all the bathing suits around. They’ll come in very handy. I’ll still need a bathing suit though. How about sending me that blue pair? I didn’t get the bag yet, though. If you have time and points will you make me some fudge, please? How about the Repository? Write soon.
Love, Carl
. . .
Aug 2, 1943
Sunday
Dear Mom,
Right now I’m having a good time doing nothing but existing. It feels damn good to do nothing and have nothing to worry about. We got paid yesterday so practically the whole company is out on pass. As a result there’s a lot of extra food, which is always good on week ends, and I think I must have gained five pounds this week end. I’m using it also to get rid of my poison ivy. They told me that the sun would be the best thing for it, so I took a sunbath yesterday in the nude. After an hour of battling gnats, half-inch flies, quarter-inch ants and various and sundry other members of the animal kingdom I began to get quite warm in certain generally unexposed sections. And then when two buzzards started circling overhead I decided it was time to end the sunbath. It worked pretty good though, because I slept good last night for the first time since I’ve gotten it, and that’s probably why I feel so good today. All a matter of relativity.
How is everything getting on now back in Canton? Any riots, floods, fires, or explosions? Any of the kids home on furlough? By the way, send me my chess set please. I think it’s around there somewhere. Never mind the board.
Take it easy. Love Carl
Figure 2-1. Tank Destroyer Center letterhead, Camp Hood, Texas, July 30, 1943. Author collection.
. . .
Wednesday August 4, 1943
Dear Mother,
Don’t worry, I still have not signed my life away or at least that eight year stretch of it. I don’t believe you read my letter very carefully in which I told you about getting into A.S.T.P. This is the procedure—1st – two or three interviews—2nd – assignment to a “STAR” unit, which determines which part of ASTP you are “best qualified” for—and assigns you to it regardless of your choices—3rd – preliminary ASTP which consists of 3 twelve week courses separated by a week of furlough—4th advanced ASTP which consists of from 1 to 4 twelve week courses or more. Now this kid whose letter you sent me was assigned to a medical ASTP at his STAR center because they thot he was best fitted for that, whether he wanted it or not. And that’s what will happen to me—I’ll be tested and assigned to what they want me. If it’s something that has advanced training and if they want me to, or decide I’m good enough to, I’ll get advanced training later.
Now, as for West Point. As I said, the odds are 100,000 to one against my getting in. If I’m lucky enough to get into the preliminary training course I’ll have until next June to decide if I want to really take West Point and eight years. You said that if I got into that I’d have eight years away from civilian life and consequently would not know how and be afraid to conduct myself in it again. I would have wasted eight years, not be able to marry, and not be able to make a living for myself. You said my best bet would be medicine.
Well, I think you’re wrong. Who are the important men of twenty years from now going to be? Not scientists—they were taken over by industry in the last war, not industry, or capital, or business—they are all being taken over by government in this war. When peace comes the military heroes will hold the offices, we will retain a big army which will have a large say. The army leaders will also be leaders of public opinion. Government will be the big thing and the army will be the big thing in government. Let’s look at it in a less general way now. My eight years will be three years of excellent training (four, in peace) followed by five or four years of the best practical training in the world in handling men. Now if that wouldn’t be enough to get any really good civilian job, I’d like to know what is. But I probably wouldn’t want to get a civilian job. I’ve talked to men who were in the peacetime army. They worked from seven to five each day with weekends off at Saturday noon. You don’t even have to wear a uniform off duty. Of course, the pay isn’t too good, but there’s plenty of room for advancement and it’s a well established firm. Now if I take medicine I undoubtedly won’t get there in five years because the war won’t last that long. In peacetime it would be ten years plus a year of internship plus two or three years of setting up a practice before I could get married; I could get hooked, though, on my pay after graduating from West Point—not that I see that that is any criteria. Anyways I still love you. Think it over and tell me what you think.
Love Carl
. . .
Aug 15, 1943
Saturday
Hi Mom!
I’m writing this letter in a 1935 Chevrolet traveling on a typical Texas highway, so you’ll have to excuse the hydrographical appearance.
I’ve been waiting to write this letter until I received yours in response to the one I wrote about A.S.T.P. and West Point, and I still haven’t but anyways. (It may take a little concentration figure out that last sentence.)
I understand that the first sergeant never handed in my name, and it’s now too late. (That’s the way the army is run) I’m not sure because he’s on furlough right now.
I’m hitch-hiking now from Waco to Dallas. I called up Betty K in Waco and have a date all fixed up. She sent me her picture. Not bad at all—but not too good either. But with no date in three months I should be choosey?
Time has been going very fast lately. Days are cooler, work is more interesting, and the guys I go with are swell. I really feel like an old soldier now. Got my bathing suit and fudge. Love Carl
. . .
Carl takes a slightly different tone when writing a similar letter to his brother.
. . .
Saturday AUG 15, 1943
Dear Fred,
Right now I’m between Waco and Dallas in a 1935 Chevy on a typical Texas highway. That explains the handwriting. I’m going to Dallas for my first date in three months. The party of the second part is Betty K, Helen Kaven’s [Carl’s cousin, the daughter of Elizabeth Kaven] roommate’s sister (at Wisconsin). She goes to Texas A & M and of course she’s an AEΦ—I still remember my alphabet.
I’ve been writing to her and she sends me her picture. Has possibilities. Did the family tell you about Mugsey in Muskoka? The mater, determined to strike up a romance, got her to write to me and we’ve been corresponding since. Seems really O.K. Sent me some pictures, one in a two piece bathing suit and a pin-up girl pose (flat on her back) which she did justice to.
I’m starting to get a kick out of the army. We haven’t had hardly any more hikes these last four weeks (although we’re going to finish up our basic in a week with a hundred mile one). Things have been more interesting with tactical maneuvering, night problems, and convoy work. I drove a half-track the other evening. Remember the ones that passed through Canton all the time? That’s our basic weapon, with a .75 mounted on it. Pretty nice to drive. By the way, it is now Wednesday evening, and this is the first time I’ve had to myself since the weekend.
That date I mentioned earlier turned out next to perfection. She’s one of those girls that you have to put in your application for three weeks ahead of time in school if you want a date. (Lucky for me there’s a war going on—ha.) Perfect dancer, wonderful personality, very good-looking, good sense of humor AND she has a car. Called her up and she picked me up at the U.S.O. We went to the Plantation Club—open air night club and about the best in Dallas. Good orchestra and full moon. And now I am back in the woods.
I think I’ll get called to A.S.T.P. in about two weeks now. Who knows, maybe I’ll be sent to Ohio State. Boy, am I an optimist!
So how are things going with you? Did you get your uniform yet?
Yesterday marked the end of three months of the soldier’s life (Only three more months and then I’ll just have to visit for the duration, as one of the guys said.) Only three more months and I’ll be eligible for a furlough—and then probably six more and I’ll get one. Have you been home on a weekend yet? Or are you studying like you should? Write soon.
Love Carl
. . .
August 19, 1943
Wednesday
Dear Mother,
You make me feel like a heel, writing all those letters when I haven’t been sending very much at all. But you make me feel very good too—so keep it up. Please understand that my time is very limited. It’s practically a matter of choosing between going out on weekends or writing letters. The last two weekends I’ve been going out so I haven’t been writing much. But after two in a row, both my budget and my body are tired—so I’ll stay in this coming week-end. About two out of three evenings, when we’re supposed to be on our own time, are taken up by something or other. F’rinstance Monday night they picked twenty-five of us to learn to drive half-tracks. They’re the armored trucks with wheels on the front and tracks on back, that pass through Canton all the time, with a .75 mounted on it. They’re pretty nice to drive and it looked good to see “Diebold Safe & Lock” stamped on them with “Canton, Ohio” below. By the way, are they still passing through? I mean the one with tracks, not the four wheeled ones. I am very interested in knowing if they’re still making them. They are being replaced with a new (restricted) vehicle and I’d like to know if they have stopped making half-tracks yet. You’d better ask Pop.
Tuesday evening we had range shooting for those that didn’t qualify before. Remember I told you I missed it by three points? We fired from four different positions at 200 and 300 yards. Out of a possible 210 we had to get 140 to qualify—I got 164 so I was quite happy about the situation. We used Springfield instead of Enfields, which may account for a lot of that. The Springfield, which is a 1903 model, is supposed to be the best army rifle in the world—including Garands. Seems funny, doesn’t it? But it is more accurate than the Enfield, a 1917 model. Ask L.B.L. [Leo Lavin] about it—he should still remember. And when you’re asking him questions ask him his estimation of the percentage of meat sold in the black market. I’d like to know.15
Those half-tracks have the same gear shift as the big Sugardale trucks, so I guess I got some good out of my work there. They weigh twice as much, though.
One week from tomorrow we go out to a dam near here, where we will stay in pup tents for three days, and which will end our basic. It’s a regular park there with swimming, etc. Shortly after that I imagine I’ll get shipped someplace to a S.T.A.R. unit.
Of course I won’t know for sure until about 12 hours before I go, but you can always piece together all the rumors you hear and get a fairly accurate picture. You don’t understand what the word “rumor” means until you get in the army. Write soon. Love Carl
. . .
August 24, 1943
Saturday
Dear Mom,
First of all, as for the ambiguity I was referring to West Point when I said I didn’t think the 1st sergeant had turned in my name. As I said, he is on furlough so I can’t ask him about it. The acting serg. says he thinks it was turned in.
As for A.S.T.P., I can’t get into that until basic is finished, one week from today. Then we start a 65 mile hike to our advanced training. Don’t know if we’ll be called before or after that hike. There is nothing I can accomplish by “pushing” it, except make myself obnoxious.
Now for my date with Betty. The reason I hitch hiked is because it is the fastest and also the cleanest way of getting from Waco to Dallas. I have never heard of anyone yet that took along a change of clothes on a weekend pass. I showered and washed several times at the U.S.O. so don’t worry about my being clean. My manners were exemplary. My God, woman, stop worrying! I’ll admit that I did commit one or two social faux pas in my first year at dance class. But since then I have made a few improvements. I think the last time you saw me on a date was when you drove me. Try to remember that I am not a kid anymore. That old maternal instinct wants to remember me as one, but it’s wrong. I will not be treated as a kid anymore. I am capable of handling my own affairs and forming my own opinions and judgments and I intend to do so.
Anyways, that date was a perfect one. She picked me up in her car at the U.S.O. and we went to the Plantations Club, the best night club in Dallas. An open air one, with a full moon and a good orchestra. She is a perfect dancer, wonderful conversationalist, good looking, etc. So all in all I had a perfect time.
Could you send me some caramels or some salt water taffy? Or some nuts? Just giving suggestions. How about sending me some lollypops—no kidding. There are six of us here who like them, in spite of the fact that we’re big, husky, fearless T.D.s.
Well, s’all for now. Take it easy. I still love you - Carl
. . .
August 25, 1943
Sunday
Dear Mother,
I just went over your letter again and I realize that there were a few things I left out of mine.
I got entirely rid of my poison ivy about two weeks after I got it. I still haven’t had my picture taken—and I don’t know how or when I can get one. We’re supposed to have a company picture taken pretty soon. So I’ll send you a copy and you can see both what I and my environment look like. O.K.?
I won’t say anything more about what you said concerning my not knowing how to act. But I did become annoyed all over again by just rereading it. My God, Mom!
The other A.S.T.P. interviews come at the S.T.A.R. center. I don’t believe I mentioned that.
That’s good news about Fred. I guess he really decided to work. I should talk.
Love Carl
P.S. I’m hungry.
. . .
August 27, 1943
Wednesday
Dear Mom,
I’m on guard duty right now, and it has come at rather an opportune time. Yesterday we had that twenty four hour problem I told you about and, since we went on guard at 18:30, we didn’t have to go and got the whole day off. Proof that there’s good in everything.
You’d better not expect much mail from me in the next week and a half as I doubt that I’ll have much opportunity to write any. It finishes our basic and we’re going to pretty damn busy. I’ll let you know just as soon as I hear anything, though. I’ve noticed in quite a few of the magazines lately that they’ve shown the M-7 Assault Gun, nicknamed “the Priest,” as a Tank Destroyer. It has an 105mm howitzer mounted on it and the T.D.s use only flat trajectory weapons, mainly the 75mm and the three inch. Just thought I’d clear it up for the record.
How has the heat been in Canton lately? Those very hot days here all over with, I hope. It only gets up to around 105 now instead of 115. There might not seem to be much difference between 105 and 115, but believe me, there is.
I read in the Sunday Rep about that tornado you had. Why didn’t you say anything about it? According to the paper the path of the storm was just about directly over the plant. Was there any damage done to it?
From all the trouble Spitzy seems to be having I guess that old age is really leaping up on her. Tsk, tsk.
We are out at McCannon Dam right now—about fifty miles from camp and where we will remain until Saturday. This is a sort of half-vacation for us. We just got done with two hours of swimming in the Colorado River—about three miles wide here, and blue and wonderful after three months of dust. The scenery around here is rocky like Canada, only more so. More like the movie Texas.
So—let me know how things are going on at home.
Love and kisses Carl
. . .
Tuesday 9/1/43
Dear Mommy,
Remember that hike I was telling you about? Well, we’re having it. They were sweet enough to cut it down to 45 miles, which we are taking in easy stages. Today we hiked about 15 miles—or rather this morning we did. This afternoon we’re resting up.
However, they’ve got me down here at the battalion Command Post as a runner and in that capacity I’ve gone another three miles so far.
But this is really more of a vacation to us than work. We only work four or five hours a day and have the rest of the time free. Of course whenever I mention free time, you’ve got to subtract 1/4 to 1/3 of it for details.
Tsk, tsk—where did you ever get such a metaphor: “. . . when your mother flutters around her chicks like a wet hen.” Sounds like something from the New Yorker.
That good news you were waiting for hasn’t shown up yet. But don’t worry, there are about 30 or 40 men in the battalion who are trying to get in so I don’t think they’ll forget about us. The army always takes two or three weeks longer than is necessary in things like this. It didn’t take me three and a half months to learn that.
The STAR unit is a sort of induction center for the ASTP and works the same as the induction center.
How are you getting along with the new gas rationing? Has it curtailed your Jewish Center Activities any? Are you taking good care of the Chevy for me?
I just got a letter from Fred. He seems to be pretty happy and getting along well. He wrote me all about his campus life and he’s happy about the whole thing.
By the tone of your letter you seemed to be rather happy too. I hope you stay that way.
I suppose that there’s a slight possibility that I might get a furlough before A.S.T.P. but don’t count on it at all. I’m not.
Still happy and healthy.
Load of love Carl
. . .
September 7, 1943
Dear Mother,
After that hike we were supposed to move right into the barracks at Camp Hood, but the battalion that was supposed to move out to give us room couldn’t get transportation. So we have been living in our pup tents like babes in the wilderness for over a week thus far. It’s rained five out of the last six nights, mostly combined with a 20 to 30 mile wind, which was not too conducive to drowsiness.
. . .
Thurs Sept 9’43
Had to cut short this because I was called out for a dramatic turn. I was one of 15 men from my company picked to see it. It was a demonstration of the firepower of our infantry battalion (The T.D.s and the infantry work together). There were about 3000 men watching all together. They had all guns going at once, arcing tracers at night. Most impressive. The .30 caliber machine gun crossfire was one solid stream of flame. Impossible for any living thing to get through, apparently.
Still waiting for A.S.T.P. and still waiting for our battalion to move into Camp Hood. A few more weeks of this animal living and I’ll become entirely untamed.
They had a few of us out driving half-tracks today. Went over quite rough country and through woods. Boy, did I have fun! See, that wild driving I did in the old Plymouth really stood me in good stead.16
I got those two boxes of candy you sent. Very good and very much appreciated.
What’s happening to those Sunday Reps you were sending? Haven’t received one for three weeks. And do me another favor, please. Send me the Sat. Eve. Post. Get a subscription. Haven’t been getting very many letters from home lately. Keep me posted on all that’s going on, willya huh? Goodbye mom and Love Carl
. . .
September 13, 1943
Sunday
Hi, Babe [Mom]!
Back to civilization! We moved into Camp Hood (not North Camp Hood) yesterday and got set up in our barracks. After two weeks of pup tents, dirty clothes, walking 300 yards to wash, and going to bed with the sun this place is heaven. Cots, electric lights, floors—I can’t get over it!
I had a lot of fun coming down. I believe I told you I’ve been assigned as a driver, didn’t I? (Anyways, I was. That’s why I had that training on driving half-tracks.) Well, one of the M-10s had to be repaired (same as an M-4 medium tank but has an open turret and a 3 inch gun) so it was driven down here earlier yesterday and another guy and I went along as assistant drivers. I climbed on top of the back end of the gun and found that because of the recoil mechanism it is just the same width as a horse. So I rode the whole ten miles horseback. No kidding, it felt exactly the same as one, especially in going over ruts and ditches where it was the same as a bucking horse. It certainly reminded me of home and those times I used to go riding with the kids.
I finally heard the good news. I leave for ASTP this Thursday. I haven’t received any official notice as yet but have received the info from what you might term “generally reliable sources” or, as it is expressed in the army, a shit-house rumor. But from my four month experience with army rumors, I can term this one as correct.
How is everything going on the home front? Anything happening lately?
Keep your chins up–Love Carl
Figure 2-2. Enlisted Men’s Service Club letterhead, Camp Hood, Texas, September 13, 1943. Author collection.
. . .
Camp Maxey Service Club17
October 12, 1943
Hi, Maw,
Well, I have been here a week and I guess I should have written you before and I still don’t know where I’ll be sent. There is, however, a very nasty as well as persistent rumor that our group will end up in Baylor University, which is right in the middle of Waco, which is just thirty miles from Camp Hood. I can think of no more horrible a fate. But if that’s where they want me that’s where I’ll go. I’ll probably find out this week.
Now tell me all about Chicago. Did either the American Meat Packers’ Association or the Exalted Order of the Hadassah reach any decision? Did you see that play about the Russians?18 Did you have fun? Did anything exciting happen? Tell me what.
I got a three day pass this week-end for Yom Kippur.19 I spent them in Dallas. Had a pretty good time there, too. Stayed with some very nice people that I got through the Jewish center. They had a lot of people around both nights and we all had quite a gay little time of it. Went to two dances at the center which were enjoyable. Found the best steak place in Dallas. In fact I did about everything but go to temple. Tsk, tsk.
About all I’m doing here at Camp Maxey is taking it easy and resting up for my coming college days. Of course, a few things do pop up now and then to interrupt, such as the ten mile hike we had today and K.P. duties.
Did Fred find out yet whether or not he’s going to be staying in Miami for another semester? Tell him he’s owed me a letter for a month now. I ran into a guy in Dallas who was a Frosh at Miami with me and was at Camp Wise with Fred. I forget his name, though. He’s been in about seven months. I told him all about Fred.
Figure 2-3. Camp Maxey Service Club letterhead, Texas, October 12, 1943. Author collection.
I saw For Whom the Bell Tolls while in Dallas. She is a marvelous actor and it really is an exceptional film.20 It’ll probably be named one of the ten best of the year, but I’m not too sure I’d call it that good. I also read a book by Hemingway this week—A Farewell to Arms—disappointing. The only thing I’ve read by him and judging by this one book I don’t like him.
And that’s about all that’s happened to me since you last saw me. Write soon.
Lots of Love –Carl
. . .
Oct 25, 1943
Sunday
Hello Mother,
Glad to hear that both you and the tonsil are better. You still haven’t told me whether the latter has been removed or not. Has it? And you didn’t say whether it was serious or dangerous or not. Was it? If it was, I presume that now it isn’t. Yes? Good.
Stop worrying about my hair, woman. I haven’t been able to find any barber who could pamper and coax it. But it is now at the place where I have to comb it, and a semblance of a wave is reappearing. At the latest sounding for depth it was “mark one—and—a—half.” I’m expecting a “mark twain” at any time.21
Is Fred home yet? If so, hello, Alfie. Do you know what’s going to happen to you? I suppose you’re in the same boat that I’m in (or perhaps I should say you’re in the same M-10 tank destroyer I’m in.)
For about two weeks there hasn’t been a single shipment out of here. While we were here the previous three weeks about twenty shipping numbers went out and they stopped one number short of mine, or rather ours; “ours” meaning the guys that came in with me from 665 and came into Ft. Hayes with me.
But anyways a brief analysis of all the latest latrine-grams (rumors) reveals that this week they will start sending us out once more (Ohio State, Purdue, Brooklyn, West Coast, to name a few locales).
I would like to have seen that first snow you wrote about. Howz the weather now? Many blizzards? It’s pretty cold down here now, about like it was up there when I was on the furlough. We have three field ranges to a barracks and they keep us nice and cozy. In fact one of them is beside my bunk and same is gradually taking on a fairly charred appearance. We’re getting into the rainy season now. And when it rains here I mean the drops come down. Last night while in Paree (Paris, Texas to you—comparable to Alliance) it started to rain. Two minutes later the streets were flooded. Of course, this wouldn’t be something to write home about except that this was the first I’ve seen in three months that didn’t come out of a Lister bag.22
Well, take care of yourself and don’t neglect to have your tonsils taken out if they need it.
We just had our monthly examination for venereal diseases. I passed with flying colors. Thot you might be interested. Still pure as driven snow.
‘Bye—Love Carl
. . .
Camp Maxey, Texas
Friday Oct, 29
Dear Mom,
At last, at long final last, the jolly news has come! I’ve found out where and when I’ll be going! I’m going to Queens College in Queens, N.Y. So it’s not such a bad deal. I’ve never seen the big city yet. And this will be my chance. From what I’ve been able to gather from the guys from N.Y. I’m pretty lucky in getting Queens. It’s got a campus, unlike the other city schools there, and is supposed to be a rather good school and not one of these real tough ones.
I’d guess I’d have a little trouble coming home on week-ends, but it’ll be pretty good for the seven day furlough, which I have only three months to wait for now. Who knows, maybe I can get home for Xmas or New Years.
I don’t know which way the train will go—but if it goes through Chicago I imagine it will also go through Canton—which it probably won’t. If it does, however, I’ll call you from somewhere and I can see you and pop for ten minutes. Maybe you can get on and ride to the next stop and we can have twenty minutes together, but that probably won’t work because you won’t have any way of getting back and also it most likely will be a troop train and civies won’t be allowed on it.23
I may not even be allowed to get off of it so I may not even be able to call you. Soooo, don’t stay at home all week just to wait for a phone call.
By the way, are any of your activities going to take you to N.Y. again? Come on up, I’ll show you around.
But enuf of that. Where is Fred now? Back at dear old Miami? How did he enjoy his furlough? What did he do? Has anything exciting happened in Canton lately?
The Houston Symphony Orchestra played here a few days ago. I enjoyed it very much—for the laughs. I thought Texas had become civilized but I found out how wrong I was. The Houston Orchestra is supposed to be the best in Texas and Texas is quite proud of it, of course, as they are of everything having to do with said state. Well, do you remember how the Canton Symphony sounded a few years ago when they were going strong? That is a favorable comparison with the Houston Symphony. They played Tch’s 5th, some Strauss, some Mozart, Templeton’s parody of Mozart (not bad) and finished up with the “Red, White, and Blue” and “Deep in the Heart of Texas.” More fun.
Keep your chins up—howz your throat?
Lots of Love –son Carl
