[The story of my dad's foray into the army during World War II continues. Remember, it's 1942 and the United States has entered World War II. Vance (my dad) is 38 – right at the cut-off age for the draft. Because his job was not considered civil defense, he was drafted. For some reason he transferred from the South Bend, Oregon, draft board to the one out of Quincy, CA – probably because it was closer to Chester where he had been working. Instead of going to Quincy and traveling to Monterey with other draftees, his plan is to meet them at Monterey. He was apparently a "party animal" in those days, so when he figures out that he has a little time in his schedule, he decides to call the sister of a friend in San Francisco, and she and her husband meet him for sightseeing, cocktails and visiting. Already tired from stress, travel, and late night activities, he again gets to bed late, misses his wake-up call, misses the train to Salinas where he was to catch the bus to Monterey. Now we pick up his story at that point from his letter dated Nov. 27-29, 1942:]
. . . it was 8:30 when I woke up. You can imagine I was plenty worried for I was afraid I'd be AWOL if the Quincy gang beat me in. The next train out did not leave till 4 o'clock P.M., so I phoned United Airlines at 9:45 and found they had a plane leaving Mills Field at 11:00. I asked for a reservation and the girl asked if I had a priority. I said No! but that I was due in Monterey at noon for induction and perhaps that gave me an army priority. She laughed and said all the seats had been reserved but that I stood something of a last minute chance if I wanted to get out to the field for often passengers do not show up and that their bus left the ticket office at 10 o'clock. So I tore downstairs from the 7th floor, couldn't get the elevator, paid my bill, bawled the clerk out, and took out for the ticket office which was on the next corner. Arrived to find the bus had left five minutes before, so I grabbed a cab. Mills Field is miles out of town and the cab cost me $3.50. To make a long story short two passengers did not show up and so I got a seat to Salinas and was there before noon as it is about a hundred miles from Frisco. I got to the Presidio about one o'clock only to find Quincy had not got here. In fact I met some of the Quincy guys today and they didn't get here until 1:30 Thursday. Consequently the two of us whose boards were outside Quincy were the only two who got here at the proper time and we were inducted with about forty men from Salinas which is only twenty miles from Monterey. In all my trip to the army has been plenty expensive. ["And whose fault is that?" I ask – and I expect Ina asked, too. Still, he was honest enough to tell it. It's his trip to the army and he's telling it like it is.]
3 comments:
Well, he probably knew it was his last taste of freedom for quite awhile, and he made the most of it! :-) Can't say I blame him.
Yes -- and he didn't know what to expect or what he would be faced with or even if he would pass this way again. I remember talking with my parents about World War I. Mother said when someone left for the war there was a picnic at the park to say good-bye. Suddenly I realized that they didn't know if they would ever see that person again. "We rather thought not," Mother said, except for one young man who was an incessant talker. She said they could harly wait for him to get back from the war because he would tell them all about it. That soldier came back but was no longer an incessant talker. He wouldn't tell them anything. "Shell shock," they called it.
I must say, Kathy, that I find these letters very fascinating. A fine glimpse into the past. Your dad was a fine story-teller.
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