Radio Days

"With guys like you in the army, no wonder we're losing this fucking war!" the First Sergeant of my outfit "lovingly" said to me for no particular reason. He just looked at me and reacted. He was “Regular Army", which generally meant that he had gone into the service during the Great Depression or earlier. Those regular army guys went into the service to get a job and make a living. Pragmatism not patriotism combined with a ton of prejudice were at the core of their beings. So when I returned from radio operator school, he sent my ass to Camp Hayden out on the Olympic Peninsula near Port Angeles….knock out place. The radio shack overlooked the Straits of Juan de Fuqua and Crescent Beach. The big thrill was that I got to drive the jeep from the camp to the lookout installation.

I taught myself how to type and became a high speed radio operator. As a reward the Lieutenant wanted to promote me to Pfc and get $4 a month raise. I really pissed him off by telling him to give the $4 a month to someone who really wanted it. After all, I had been a private longer than anyone in my outfit. I didn't want to lose the distinction of being the ranking private in the barracks.

I should go back to my radio school days which were fairly brutal. The mornings started with reveille and the sergeant screaming "Drop your c..ks and grab your socks!" He was a barrel of laughs. Every fucking Saturday we went on a 15 mile forced march loaded with full gear. If you were on or near the end of the line, you always running to keep from getting your ass chewed out for falling behind. And hot? Heat in the low hundreds and that after spending the night in tar roof barracks which was like spending a night in a sauna. The camp had previously been a Japanese detention center. A truly terrible facility.

No three day passes, so I did every thing imaginable to get the hell out of there including grinding my heel into the lens of my glasses. The camp had no way to replace it, so I got a three day pass. Worked for the three days at an almond packing plant (constipated for a week). I unloaded freight cars for the Southern Pacific working at the foundry for 16 straight hours for $1.00 an hour for the first eight hours, $1.50 an hour for the second four hours and $2.00 an hour for the next four hours.

I then went back to camp with new lens and enough money to be able to shoot craps and to get plastered on my next overnight to Sacramento. I was a great craps shooter. Made money almost all the time.