Upton’s
Transformation Over ’17 Is Revelation to a World War Vet
“Now this,” observed a
visitor, waving a hand at Camp Upton’s new Administration building,
“is nothing at all like it was in ’17, I trained here with the old
77th,” he continued, biting the end from his cigar, “the
307th Infantry. Boy, which was an outfit.”
The Lieutenant
nodded understandingly, his eye on the Legion button worn proudly in
the visitor’s lapel.
“More than 20
years ago, young fellow, but we turned out soldiers in those days.
Haven’t been back since then, but I just got a hankering to drive
out and see the old place once more.”
“Of course,” he
continued patronizingly, “headquarters was located about a mile from
here, headquarters Hill we called it – you ask any of the old 77th
Division men, they’ll tell you all about Headquarters Hill. Up there
overlooking the barracks.
“We had big round
bellied stoves in each barracks – the same as now I suppose – and
cracks so wide in the walls the wind would blow your socks off. Why
I remember – “
The Lieutenant
interrupted gently, “I’m afraid, Sir, you’ll find conditions a
little changed since your time, but suppose we take a look around
camp, and you can see for yourself.”
“Now this,”
explained the Lieutenant a few minutes later “is one of the Selectee
barracks. Each building is heated by an individual furnace with the
temperature thermostatically controlled. Upstairs is the sleeping
quarters for 63 men.”
He cast an
appraising eye over the comfortable living quarters and snorted.
“Looks like you’re trying to make sissies of those boys, this isn’t
soldiering, this is luxury.”
The Lieutenant
piloted his companion to the huge processing building just across
the road, where the trainees receive uniforms and equipment on their
arrival at Camp Upton. The Old Timer watched the outfitting of a
selectee with open eyed amazement.
“Beats all,” he
muttered, as a tall ungainly farm youth was told that specially
tailored trousers would be issued him because his size was not
carried in stock, “in my day we only had two sizes in the Army – too
large and too small – and you took it and liked it.” He paused and
pointed a curious finger at a small packet being issued. “What’s
that?”
“Toilet kit,”
explained the Lieutenant. “It contains a razor, tooth brush, tooth
paste, soap and a comb.”
“Humph,” grumbled
the visitor, “back in ’17 I was here three days before I had a
chance to comb my hair. Say, what’s the idea of all these little
booths?”
“Personal
interviews are given each man,” explained the Lieutenant, “today’s
Army is trying to utilize the special talents of each individual.
There are trained interviewers in these booths to determine just
what service each man can best render his country.”
The visitor shook
his head distrustfully, “That’s no way to run an Army. Why, I
remember back in ’17 our top kick had a famous trumpet player
detailed as a truck driver and all the time the Captain was looking
for a bugler.” The visitor laughed at the incident and then
sobered, “just don’t seem right,” he muttered, “the idea – letting
every man do the job he knows best.”
“Now over here,”
said the Lieutenant proudly, “is one of the new 1000-man mess
halls. We have two of these and one 500-man mess hall. Let’s look
through this one.”
The visitor
brightened. “Mess hall, hey” Boy, do I remember back in ’17 – slum
gullion in a mess kit; K.P. duty every fourth day. Sure will make
me feel homesick to see the boys peeling spuds. I’ll bet the mess
sergeants are just as tough as the used to be.”
The visitor fell
in line with the trainees and was handed a shiny new tray, divided
cafeteria style into compartments. He passed before a modern steam
table and was served portions of food by a white uniformed
attendant. He returned to the long clean table with a dazed
expression. “Sissies,” he grumbled, “who ever heard of mess cooks
wearing clean white coats?”
“Well anyway,”
said the visitor, “these trays may be an improvement over eating
from a mess kit, but they’re harder to wash. Why, “he went on
warming to his subject, “we used to have two G. I. cans of boiling
water to douse the mess kit in, and by the time the last man was
ready the water looked like soup. Must be that much worse with
these big trays.”
“Not exactly,”
corrected the Lieutenant, “as a matter of fact, once the men finish
eating they just turn their trays in and they are electrically
washed by a machine for that purpose.”
“Hah! Electric
dish washers. I supposed you’ll be telling me that you have
electric potato peelers and electric potato mashers and electric
water coolers.”
The Lieutenant
nodded. “That’s right, we have. No reason why the Army mess
shouldn’t be as modern as the average hotel kitchen, is there?”
“Well, no. But it
just isn’t soldiering. A man ought to expect hardships in the Army
– makes a better soldier out of him.”
The visitor
watched the approach of a pair of stalwart men. They swung along
the road with purposeful stride. Their salute was given with snap
and precision. “Now that’s what I mean,” said the visitor, “those
old timers know their stuff.”
The Lieutenant
nodded. “Those men,” he said, “arrived at Camp Upton for their
first military experience just five days ago. Labor saving devices
in the mess halls releases more men for military training. Your can
see the results.”
The visitor nodded
slowly. “Maybe I’m wrong,” he mused, “maybe those days back in ’17
weren’t so good after all.”