While a sophomore in college, I was subject to the draft. Wanting to continue my education, I joined the Army Reserves in December 1942. I was allowed to finish my sophomore year but was called into active duty on June 4, 1943. I was sent to Camp Roberts, California for my basic training. Near the end of basic training, we were interviewed to determine our next assignment. Because I had two years of college, I was assigned to go to "Army Specialized Training Program" (ASTP) at Montana State University in Boseman, Montana. At the end of the first semester they asked for volunteers to lessen the number of students for the next semester. Those that volunteered went to the Signal Corps. The rest of us thought that we would continue school, but shortly after we were informed that the schooling was being closed down except for the advanced students. As a result of that, we were all sent to the infantry near Corvallis, Oregon. I was placed in a weapons platoon, which consisted of three machine gun squads and two mortar squads. I was assigned to a mortar squad, which consisted of a squad leader, mortar gunner and three ammunition bearers, I was the mortar gunner. It was my duty to set up, aim and fire the mortar. Since it was my duty to carry the mortar I was only armed with a 45 caliber pistol. The squad leader had a M-1 rifle and the ammo bearers had a carbine which was much smaller than a M-1 rifle. While at this camp I got poison oak which I believe was from them burning the branches in clearing an area in October of 1943. On April 11, while we were on a three day maneuver, I got an infected heel and was in the hospital for two weeks. It was then that I started to smoke because of lack of anything to do. In May of 1944 I was given a furlough and it was then that Rita and I got married on May 10. Rita went back with me and got a room in Corvallis. We really got married on a shoe-string. When we boarded the train in Kankakee we only had $60.00. Rita put $30.00 in her shoe and I put $30.00 in my shoe so that nobody would steal it from us. My mother and grandma Farber made our lunch for us of ham sandwiches and large sugar cookies with a half walnut on it. I don’t remember how often I got into town but I think it probably was on the week-ends only. Since money was tight and jobs were scarce, Rita picked cherries a few times to get extra money. I think Rita was there only a couple of months when our whole division was sent to Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri for some more training prior to being sent overseas. Rita returned to Kankakee on a train while I was being transferred with the army. On the train ride home she experienced severe pains in her abdomen near Minneapolis but continued on home and on arriving in Kankakee she was taken straight to the hospital where she was operated on three hours later for appendectomy.

While at Fort Leonard Wood, wanting to see Rita as much as possible before I was shipped over, I would get a weekend pass. I would only be home for a few hours but I thought it was worth it to be with Rita. Later in the year, after Rita recovered from her operation, she went to Missouri and got a room in a nearby town but within a few days I received orders that we were being shipped overseas. So I received a furlough.

We were sent to the east coast and then overseas on the SS America, which was the U.S.s largest luxury liner. We were fed only twice a day because of the vast number of troops being sent. On the first morning, after we had left, I had greasy sausages and eggs for breakfast and then went up to the deck. Unfortunately due to the rocking of the ship, I lost my breakfast and went to my bunk and stayed there for days as far as I can remember. Our sleeping quarters were three canvas bunk-beds high and just enough room to walk in between with our full field packs around our beds, so we were crowded. We landed in Marseilles, France around the middle of December.

Our first assignment was a holding position for three days on the Rhine River and ran through Christmas day. The Germans were on one side and we were on the other. We would each lob a mortar shell or fire a machine gun every once and awhile to let the other know we were still there. We were relieved after three days and got the Christmas dinner we missed.

Our next assignment, because we were still new troops, was supposed to be another holding position at Phillippsbourg, France. We went into the hills outside of the town, dug shallow trenches according to our training in case of enemy fire, and waited to go back into town in the morning. Somehow the Germans had advanced during the night and we had to fight our way back into town. We must have been fired on as we had to take cover off the road. We were deployed by five or more yards apart, as per training, so as to cut down causalities in case of a bomb or mortar shell. Several platoons were pinned down and our Lt. Platoon leader passed the word back for our squad to come up. Everybody was laying on the ground and we probably had to go two or three blocks out in the open, subject to enemy fire, to get where the Lt. wanted us to set up the mortar. My squad leader went forward for me to line up on him and shout the distance to me. The first target he gave me was some trees and after shooting my first shell our Lt. Yelled back "not here" that’s our troops, so the squad leader picked out a house and I sighted on him again and determined how many charges I needed for the distance he called. Now in training we had a base plate for the tube and levels to help, but we had only taken the tube that night because we didn’t expect any trouble, so I had to pound the tube into the frozen ground to anchor it. Well the first shot hit the house and so he called back for three more for effect. That house evidently was what was holding the troops down as the order was given to advance and everybody got into the valley into the trees. I received a "Letter of Commendation" for that action and I would imagine others in our squad did to.

We had captured 2 Germans one was wounded and he was pretty tall. One of our men who could speak German asked them "Do you want to be an American prisoner?" and I was told that they said "We are American prisoners". We had to go up and down several hills, some pretty steep, to get back to town. The shorter prisoner had to help the wounded one and they knew they had to keep up or suffer the consequences. We got back to town and spent the night in different houses.

That night our platoon leader lent our mortars to "I" company. The next day, January, 3 we encountered some gun fire from across a field. Our Lt. had gotten a machine gun and given it to Sgt. Kline, my squad leader. And I had gotten an M-1 rifle.

That night there was a lot of fighting going on as the Germans had gotten into one end of the town. While moving around through the streets and between houses for positions to encounter the enemy, one of our squad was wounded and put into a small shed. Later there were several men from different companies along side of a building and Kline had gone down a street several hundred feet. There was a guy from another company with him so he called for me to go to him. He was along side a stone fence. While running up to join him, I was fired on (but not hit) from further down the fence row. I hit the ground in the middle of the road and Kline fired his machine gun to make him take cover. In the machine gun, every third or fourth bullet was a tracer round, so it gave away his position. I stayed laying on the ground to see if there would be any more fire when evidently the Germans from another position must have fired a mortar shell which hit somewhere between Kline and me. We were both wounded. He told me later that he was in a squatting position near the stone wall, but he was not wounded as seriously as I was, as he returned to the Company and fighting after his wounds healed.

When I was hit, I was knocked unconscious for a short time. When I came to, I hollered for Kline and not hearing an answer I crawled back to the building where several men were. As soon as I got there they made me lay down as they could see that I had been wounded. After awhile they took me to the shed that the man from my squad who had been wounded earlier was put. While there the man that stayed with us picked up my arm and I was just about to tell him to leave me alone when I realized that he was sprinkling something on my hand (probably sulfa from my first aid kit on my ammunition belt) so I didn’t say anything. We were there quite awhile when a bunch of men came and got us to take us to the first aid station and later to a hospital. I remember walking to get to the first aid station. They took a route to avoid the fighting and at one point we had to cross a shallow creek. There was a Sgt. from another company that I didn’t know who had me get on his back and he carried me to the other side so I wouldn’t get wet. I’m sure I thanked him and I sure appreciated his concern for me and my condition. When the fighting quieted down, the wounded were taken to another area by truck. I was on a stretcher for that trip and then to a hospital.

The explosion had ruptured both of my ear drums, I had shell fragment wounds, right arm, lacerated wound, right hand, toe on right foot. Powder burn face. Right eyelid wound right eye.

I was completely deaf for awhile. In the hospital I had my meals in the ward for a few days before becoming ambulatory and then went to the dining hall. While recovering in the ward my hearing started to come back but I often had to ask for someone to repeat. Sometimes I would hear what was said and I was accused of hearing only what I wanted to hear. I think I ended up in a hospital in Marseilles, France which is where all the operations were performed on me. According to my medical history statement, I believe my right eye was operated on first, possibly on January 6, 1945. I have the piece of shrapnel that was taken out of my right eye with the strongest magnet the American’s had in any hospital over there. The wounds on my arm were probably next. Before February 1st I knew I had two operations still to be performed. My left eye which had shown a foreign body in it and my right hand had to be worked on yet. On February 1, my hand was operated on.  When the day came for the operation I couldn’t eat so I tried to find which operation it was going to be and the nurses wouldn’t tell me. Well I had been to both buildings where they operate so when they pulled up to the building I knew it was going to be my hand. They put me on a rolling table and left me in the hall for awhile. I complained to the nurses that I knew why I was there. It was to take my finger off and I told them I didn’t want them to remove my finger. Later they wheeled me into a closet with medical supplies on shelves on both sides and started to deaden my arm. I complained again. Finally the doctor came in with the x-rays and held them toward the only window in the room and explained that with the amount of bone that was missing I would never be able to move that finger and it would just be in the way. Well I was so doped up by that time I agreed with him so he went ahead with the operation and removed it. Thank God I finally agreed because he did a wonderful job on it. My only complaint was that he didn’t file one bone down when it was open and for several years whenever I hit the bone on the hand I could hit the ceiling. Besides taking the finger off because of the missing bone, the finger next to it was fractured below the knuckle also. To straighten it they put a cast on my arm from the wrist almost to the elbow. Then they took a heavy wire extending out in front of the finger from the cast. They made a notch at the top of the wire and then took a Kirschner wire and bent into the shape of a hook on one end and closed the top of it. They then cut a hole in my finger, inserted the hook into the hole and took plasma tubing to tie the wire above to put traction to pull the fractured bone back into place. It was one of the most painful times in my life.

It took awhile for my mail to catch up to me but it finally did and I had many letters to read then. I had to have a Red Cross worker or a nurse write my letters for awhile and I believe one of them talked me into saying that my finger had been amputated, as I wasn’t going to tell them at home about that. Later I wrote some letters left handed.

While still in the ward over there a small piece of shrapnel started to come out of my nose and the nurse asked me if I wanted her to remove it so I said "yes". I believe she used a needle and she kept asking me if it hurt and I told her to go ahead and get it out, which she did and gave it to me.

After the operation and some healing time they sent me back to the States. I was on a hospital ship called the "Thistle" which I have a picture of someplace. It was a small ship compared to the SS America that I went over on but I didn’t get sick coming back. I’m not sure where we landed but it might have been Charleston, South Carolina. Rita’s cousin was stationed there and I was able to visit with him and his wife for awhile. Within a few days I was shipped to Winter General Hospital in Topeka, Kansas. We had been told they would try and put us close to home and Hines in Maywood would have been close for me so I was disappointed on my assignment. According to my records I got a furlough for five weeks in April and May and I remember on the train singing to myself "Sentimental Journey."

After doing everything they could for me I was discharged on August 21, 1945.

A few years later another piece of shrapnel was removed from my lower lid on my right eye. After retiring and moving to Florida I went to the Veterans Administration and asked them to evaluate my toe and the Doctor ordered the work to be done. I had suggested to him to remove the top two bones and sew the skin over the lower bone but he said " No that wouldn’t look good". They did straighten the bone that came down each side of the lower bone and they only filed the one side. I think it is a toss-up as to which was more painful. The fish hook in my finger or my toe I wouldn’t want to go through either one of those operations again.

P.S. I’ve often said " I know how a fish feels when he gets hooked".

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