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By
1942, almost all of the young men in the United States were in uniform.
Most of these men were in hastily expanded training camps, three of
which were located near Saltillo,
the town nearest our farm. Camp
Maxey, near Paris, was
no more than forty miles from us; Camp Cook at Gainesville
and Camp
Fannin near Tyler
were somewhat farther. When I moved to Tennessee in 1970, I learned
that one of my neighbors had been stationed at Camp Maxey during World
War II. He told me that his duty was to guard German prisoners
of war at Camp Maxey. Hardly any of the people living a few miles
from the Camp knew these prisoners were there.
Both my brothers-in-law were trained at Camp Claiborne near Alexandria,
Louisiana, about 250 miles away. My sisters found living accommodations
in Alexandria and worked temporarily as saleswomen. At the Post Exchange,
one brother-in-law bought t-shirts with the statement “My brother
is in the Army” on each and gave the shirts to my younger brother
and me. Influenced by technicalities, I found myself explaining to
those who commented on the shirts, “Well, actually it’s my brother-in-law—not
my brother—who is in the Army.” One brother-in-law was discharged
in late 1942 because of a knee injury incurred while he was training
in the officers’ training corps. The other entered the service in
November, 1943, and served with an engineers’ battalion in France
and Germany. He helped lay the temporary pipelines under the English
Channel and in France so that fuel could be transported to the front
lines.
Although my father was past fifty when Pearl
Harbor was attacked, he was required to register with Selective
Service. I went with him to the Chautauqua School, a frame structure
located about two miles from our farm house. When it was built in
1920, it was a model for other communities planning a new school.
It had four classrooms, a large cloak room and a recessed front porch
that served as a stage when the weather permitted. A year before my
father went to register, Chautauqua School had been consolidated with
the Saltillo School. Classes no longer met there, but there were still
piles of textbooks in one of the rooms. Desks had been shoved into
the corner of the largest room.
I stayed quietly in the background while my father gave a local woman
the information the government needed: date of birth, marital status,
number of dependents, occupation, etc. A few months later I returned
to the same building with my father in order for him to apply for
rationing stamps. Gasoline, tires, and sugar, among other items, were
rationed.
We listened hopefully for news of progress of the Allied Forces from
Gabriel Heatter and Walter Winchell and other sources. Though the
battles took place on other continents, the War loomed near us.
© Robert G. Cowser
Guest
Column, May 7, 2010
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