Home at Last

I received an honorable discharge after four year of service in the war, and returned home to a changed world. I went to work as a news reporter on my home town newspaper, the San Angelo Standard Times, but I was not allowed to print my personal opinions. The department stores did not have any clothes although a clerk indicated that I could buy under the counter. The automobile dealers did not have any new cars, although it was hinted that for enough money they could find one. Most of the people in my home town had worked hard in the war effort and were honest and respected. But our society had been infected with hustlers who would steal the money off a blind man's eyes to repeat an old adage. Although I was restricted in what I could print, I was able to tell many of these rascals off when I encountered them. Finally, the soldiers and sailors who returned home after the war made such a public outcry that Congress passed a piece of legislation called the GI Bill. It sent me a cash payment which helped my bank account and it provided loan help for a new house which I bought when Marie and I got married. I have an idea that a similar bill might be indicated for the veterans who are still fighting today. President Franklin Roosevelt closed the banks and made them reorganize when he took office. President Obama will inherit a financial cesspool when he takes office, but he will need the help of Congress to help reform the economy. Congress has been overpaid and over indulged in recent years and it is time for some new programs. Yes, it is time for a change.

The Atomic Bomb

Millions of citizens of the United States were involved in the war, either as soldiers in the military or as plant workers or in other way. Hundreds of thousands of army and navy personnel were poised on the West Coast to strike at Japan. The Japanese warlords, desperate for success, had created the suicide aircraft strikes, known as Kamakazi. Our navy, poised to invade Japan, was being attacked by the Kamakazis. It was estimated that millions would die on both sides.It was into this tense atmosphere that President Harry Truman dropped the atomic bomb. I had torn the bulletin off the Associated Press machine and was busy reading it to the troop stationed at Victorville Air Force Base in California. Ordinarily when I finished a newscast there was a scramble for the door as the soldiers burst out of the room. But when I finished telling them about the Atomic Bomb there was a deep silence. They were waiting for me to tell them what was an atomic bomb. I could not tell them what I did not know. Finally I fell back on a standard Army statement: Dismissed. The official bulletin had described how U.S. pilots flying a B-29 bomber at high altitude had dropped an atomic bomb on Japan and had killed thousands of people. The pilot described a mushroom cloud rising from the blast into the atmosphere. Shock waves from the explosion had rocked the plane. The Japanese did not immediately surrender so Truman ordered a second bomb to be dropped. At that point the Japanese emperor took charge and announced surrender and the stubborn warlords began to commit suicide by stabbing themselves in the stomach. It was obvious that the war was over. It was some time before details about the creation of the atomic bomb, which had been done in secret, were revealed. To this day the bomb remains a controversial subject. But to the soldiers waiting to invade Japan and perhaps die it was a welcome happening. I was one of those who was glad it happened.

Foggia Valley, Italy

One thing about the military, they do move you around. The next thing I knew I was in Foggia Valley, Italy, close to Naples. The number of B-24 bombers there almost blew my mind. In less than two years the United States workers, women and men, had produced thousands of bombers and tanks, rifles and ammunition and uniforms as well as establishing bases. The warlords in Berlin and Tokyo had underestimated the basic character of the people of our nation. Every morning a group of B-24s took off from Foggia, followed in short order by another group, hour after hour. Late afternoon saw most of the bombers returning, minus maybe four or five. We were bombing Germany out of existence. In North Africa I had felt that Germany was winning but here in Southern Italy I felt that Germany was doomed. And the credit was due to the people of the United States who went to work with zest. The war in the Pacific was a naval war, with our battleships and cruisers and aircraft carriers meeting the Japanese in places that most of us had never heard of. Finally the Japanese warlords, fanatical to the end, started using suicide pilots, called kamikaze. By that time I was in Victorville, Calif., along with thousands of others, waiting to go to Japan. It has been estimated that we would lose more than one million troops, and that the Japanese would lose maybe two million people, including soldiers, when we invaded. Franklin Roosevelt had been succeeded by Harry Truman. It was Truman who decided to use the atomic bomb. I had been assigned to the news desk at the Southern California air base and was giving eight news reports a day to thousands of soldiers who marched to the base theater to hear them. Early one morning the Associated Press machine began ringing bells for what seemed forever. The message was that we had dropped an atomic bomb on Japan. I called the base commander, who was wide awake. and read him the bulletin. He thanked me and hung up. I still did not know what an atomic bomb was. Next I will tell you the reaction of the troops concerning the dropping of the bomb.

Catania Sicily

The next move was to Sicily where the Allied forces were taking over the country. This was a prelude to invading Italy. We ended up in Catania, once Roman, once Greek, and now Italian. It was an ancient city with walls 12 feet high. When we marched into the city one of the first things I noticed was that none of the people smiled. They were almost sullen. We set up a base outside the city and overlooking part of the Mediterranean and in the shadow of Mount Etna, a volcano. We could hear the sounds of the invasion of Solarno Beach in Italy, about 40 miles away. Every morning a barefoot Sicilian boy wearing a felt hat came to our base selling wine. That was where I first started drinking wine. At irregular internals a young man drove a team of horses pulling a wagon into our base trying to sell us something. He was wearing a pistol which I hesitated to take away from him. He and the barefoot boy both had some connection to the Mafia, about which I knew nothing at that time. But it was the Mafia which had helped us drive out the Germans. It was a world which had not been covered in my U.S. history studies. It was a beautiful part of the world but had many problems, not the least was the mosquitoes which swarmed at sundown. I had once read about Hannibal, the Carthagenian general who invaded Italy from Sicily, but that had been many centuries ago. At any rate, we used Sicily to invade Southern Italy and soon we were in Foggia Valley, near Naples. I had felt that the Germans were going to overcome us, but shortly after my arrival in Italy I knew better. It was then that I became confident we were going to win the war. I will tell you more about this next Tuesday when I resume this account.

Abortion Arab Style

I need to advise reader discretion for this report-not just minors but for anyone faint of heart. My outfit was in Casablanca and was not under a lot of pressure. So like soldiers everywhere we boarded a truck and headed for a whorehouse. This was in a suburban village about 15 miles south. When we got there a segment of my outfit decided to have group sex. I was not ready for that so I broke away and toured the premises. In a large patio I found the madam and one assistant building a fire. Then they rolled out a wagon wheel and started tying one of the young prostitutes to the wheel, spread eagled so the girl's hands and feet could be tied separately. Next the madam put some large stones, round and smooth, into the fire. It was fascinating to watch and a bit puzzling. Finally they spread a thin blanket over her stomach. She was completely naked. At that point the madam took a pair of tongs and reached into the fire and dropped one of the hot stones on the girl's stomach. The girl winced with pain but did not cry out. They repeated this a second time and I could not stand to watch any longer so I left. A little later on in a Casablanca bookstore I found a pamphlet written in English which described the founding of the whorehouse, the Arab tribe involved, and the name of the home village which was not far away. Many years earlier, for economic reasons, the leaders of this tribe decided to create the brothel and to furnish the girls. Before leaving for the whorehouse the girls were betrothed to a young man in the village. This future husband was to accumulate livestock and a site for living quarters. The girls would return after a period of sevice with a dowry based on their earnings and two or three children born in the brothel. She would join her husband to create a domestic life. The children, usually of Arab origin but some of partial French and English descent, would inject new blood into the tribe. The article which I read seemed authenic and it explained that the longer a young woman worked at the brothel without getting pregnant increased her dowry and her productivity. It was rather startling to read such a graphic account of the adjustment to a new social culture. By the time I arrived the program had been in existence for decades and the culture was well established. The barbaric adoption procedure dated back to a previous time and was accepted without reservation. After witnessing the hot stones procedure I went back into the whorehouse and chose a young prostitute for a sexual liaison. She went through an ancient procedure which included clapping me on the back which almost knocked the wind out of me.

Why Are We Here?

My younger daughter called from New York and asked: "How are you Daddy?" I replied that I was just fine. This was not really true. I lie awake nights wondering about the big question-WHY. Why is one of the questions I have been unable to answer during a long life of seeking answers. Sometimes I think about Mr. Shakespeare's play "Julius Caesar." Cassius worried if he and his friends were doing the right thing when they killed Caesar. Brutus, on the other hand, had no doubts about it being the right thing. I grew up with the philosophy of Thomas Jefferson, Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness. I am not sure that Mr. Jefferson was a happy man. Why do I go to the Icehouse, is it to stifle my conscience with a beer? No, it is to listen to the conversation. Sometimes even a truck driver comes up with a grain of wisdom.Mr. Schulz, the cartoonist, created Charlie Brown, who never came up with the answer. Lucy, on the other hand, never doubted that SHE was right. Franklin Roosevelt, who nearly got me killed during World War II, said that the only thing we need to fear is fear itself. FDR jerked me out of a pastoral existence into a world of turmoil. I came back from the war opposed to slavery. It has taken a long time, but we seem to be on the verge of abolishing slavery here in the United States. President-elect Barack Obama, who has a bright wife and two daughters, is an honor graduate of Harvard Law School. Yet he turned down a well paying job with a corporate law firm to go into community action in Chicago. Maybe he knows why. My New York daughter is a poet. My older daughter, in Austin, is an attorney. They want to know why. My grandson, who is teaching English in the schools in Korea, wants to know why. Maybe he will find some ancient wisdom in Asia. The answer is that we are here to help create a better way of life in which to live. Sounds simple? Join me at the Icehouse to help me find some answers.+

The French Foreign Legion

Finally the high brass moved us out of our defunct Tunisian base and shipped us to Casablanca. It took a bit of adjusting, but we obtained new uniforms and new equipment and ate in a well prepared mess hall. This beautiful city was spread across a hillside and overlooked the Atlantic. One day my commanding officer, Capt. Thomas Cloward informed me that he and I would be going to Rabat, about 20 miles north, to review the French Foreign Legion. We would join General Cannon, who was the top commander in our area, and other officers. All I knew about the Foreign Legion was a movie that I had once seen. But when we got there it was an impressive sight. There were 500 white Arabian horses who had been chosen so they all looked alike. And there were 500 troopers dressed the same. It was the greatest calvary in the world. The troopers and their mounts passed in front of our reviewing stand in an impressive formation. I had ridden horses most of my life, but in the ranch country of Texas. There was a lull in the program and it was then that Capt. Cloward volunteered me to ride with the Legion. He informed General Cannon that I was a great horseman. This was true in the ranch country but here it was different. But I was stuck. A French officer was summoned and quickly agreed to furnish me with a mount. When I was handed the reins to this horse, I realized that the saddle was next to nothing. I mounted and rode off. In Texas we neck reined out horses, that is we trained them to respond to a tug across the neck. And we used a straight bit in the mouth. But the French Legion used what I thought were cruel bits, joined in the middle, and a pull on the reins which was able to draw blood. However, the horses had been trained to respond instantly and they responded to my pull without faltering. I seated myself and rode out into an open space and did a few turns and twists and galloped a bit and pulled down to a trot. Then, feeling sure that I had control of my mount, I broke into a run and headed for the reviewing stand. Right in front of this stand I pulled my horse up sharply and turned a somesault out of the saddle and landed on my feet with the reins in my hand. It had been three or four years since I had done this maneuver, but I was lucky and it went off well. I handed the reins to the trooper and saluted the officer and returned to the reviewing stand. Capt. Cloward was pleased and General Cannon congratulated me. A few years after World War II (my war) the French Foreign Legion was disbanded. It was a sad day, but the calvary had been rendered obsolete by the mechanization of the military. The German general, Rommel, was one of those who had mechanized the army and it was a major development. In the Air Force, that also changed the way bombers were used. It was a case of learning the hard way.