His breaking point with me came when he, in his office, told me that I had done a terrific job in raising my speed on the dot dash key from 18 words a minute to over 35 words a minute and teaching myself how to type.
As a reward the Lt. wanted to promote me to PFC, with a pay raise from $50 a month to $54 a month. I told the Lt. that having been a private longer than any other private in the outfit, making me the ranking private in the outfit, made me special and I didn't want to to be one of the fucking mob.
I also told the Lt. to give the fucking PFC stripes and the extra $4.00 a month to someone who needed the money. My refusing the promotion really pissed off the Lieutenant but I thought, fuck him and the horse he rode in on. The $4 a month could fit nicely, stuck up his ass.
The Lt. actively disliked me, which wasn't a bad trade, since my opinion of him was lower, if possible, than his opinion of me. He really thought that he was clever. I thought he was operating above his deserved pay grade and totally full of shit. He thought that his silver bars made him special. I thought that they made him even more of a self-important asshole.
How that schmuck became a second lieutenant didn't really surprise me. The bar was pretty low in wartime. After all, Lieutenant Hamlin could walk, talk and chew gum at the same time.That seemed to be the qualifying requirement. His being promoted to first lieutenant proved that success in the service sometimes had little to do with talent.
The lieutenant had fat lips. Probably got larger from puckering up for sincere ass kissing. A practice not restricted to officers but certainly a specialty of theirs. Me kissing a Sergeant's ass would have been as useful as tits on a boar pig.
The Lt. was the ultimate people pleaser and wanted everyone to like him, except enlisted men like me. I, on the other hand knew, even at 19, that if everyone likes you, you are one innocuous son of a bitch. Not having a filter between my brains and my mouth kept me from being innocuous and helped generate some sincere dislikes of me.Which suited me then, as now, fine.
So when I asked to be transferred to an outfit that was going overseas Lt. Hamil was all over that request like a clam in mud.Or more like a pig in shit. A genre that I grew to know all too well while farming.
So less than 60 days after telling the Lt. to stick the army's $4 a month where the 'sun don't shine' my Jewish ass was on its way to Fort Lewis and the 241st Signal Corp Co.with its cadre of Boston Scollay Square Irishmen. They invented tough and nasty. It was out of the frying pan into the fire. As Oscar Wilde said, 'While it is disagreeable to be frustrated the real disasters in life begin when you get what you want'.
It only took 10 minutes of having my first chow in Ft.Lewis to realize that the 241st was loaded with anti Semites who talked about Yids and Kikes which in turn forced an 'I am Jewish' chip on my shoulder. I promptly, sincerely, in a loud voice, announced my Jewishness and that if anyone took exception to me that I was ready to step outside. So they mostly kept their hate in tow. Got into a few fist fights. Won some, got the shot kicked out of me as well.
After a few days in Ft. Lewis there was this guy packing up his duffel bag. Naturally, I asked him where he was going.
'Got a 10 day furlough.' he said.
Having been turned down, I erupted and went to the company office to confront Captain Gooch, a filling station operator in civilian life who rose to captain in the National Guard, a very lightly regarded group, in those days.
Once in his office, I earned the undying hate of Captain Gooch by threatening to go over his head and complain if I didn't get my fucking furlough.The threat and my grating voice (I'd been through puberty.) pushed that genius over the side and I got the 10 day furlough.
Back in the barracks while packing my duffel bag, I was having multiple orgasms knowing that I would see my special girl, who I later married in Minneapolis. Went back to the Bronx after a year and a half. You can take the guy out of the Bronx never the Bronx out of the guy.
But getting to New York City by way of Wyoming and Minneapolis, for a GI, in wartime 1944, really took some doing and being a street smart Bronx Jew helped like crazy. Wasn't at all like a blind hog finding an acorn. It took effort ....an adventure for another time.
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