Verhovayak Lapja, 1943. január-június (26. évfolyam, 1-25. szám)
1943-04-08 / 14. szám
April, 8, 1943 Page 2 ---------------------------------------Verhovayak Lapja Yerhoyay Branch 372 — Passed by U. S. Army Examiner Somewhere in North Africa March 10, 1943 It was in November, 1942, that I last submitted my contribution to the Journal, and when I composed my column, it was in the good old United States; so now I am continuing my recollections of Army life from where I left off; but this time I am overseas, this is the only difference in the situation. I continue my narration from the time I arrived at Camp Perry, Ohio, on April 1st, 1942. We arrived at Camp Perry on Wednesday, April, 1st, 1942, and retired to our bunks for the night before “lights out”; and, had a good night’s sleep. We were awakened at 5:45 A. M. Thursday by the Charge of Quarters; and it wasn’t exactly what you would call a pleasant experience, this being awakened at such an early hour; we had to force ourselves to tumble out of our bunks, in the early dawn chill, and get into our clothes, and wait our turn down in the wash-room, to wash and shave, etc., then hurry upstairs and get the broom, bucket of water and mop, and sweep and mop under and around our bunk area. Then we had a rest of two minutes or so, until pur call for Mess was sounded. We all lined up Into a haphazard formation and were marched off to the General Mess Hall, to have breakfast. Then came some more waiting, this time, waiting our turn to eat; that seems to be the way of the Army. Always wait, wait and wait; and again, it was not a pleasant experience to have to stand out in a long line, in the bitter chill for about 20 minutes, which seemed more like 2 hours. Then, finally, we gained the shelter of the Mess Hall, and keeping in line, worked our way up to the serving counter. After getting a tray and silverware, we ate our breakfast. When we had finished eating, we all proceeded to our barracks, which yours truly did. After I got there, I heard us new rookies would be marched over to the General Supply Building, to be outfitted with our G. I. clothing. (Government Issue, to you civilians). Arriving at the Classification Bldg., and after our classificationing, we were lavishly showered with clothes and equipment of all kinds, which we cheerfully accepted. (But which, to our sorrow, a couple days later, we all as one, were urged by our thoughts, to do away with them.) We received our O. D. uniforms, khaki uniforms, caps, hats, fatigues, (the first time I got one in my possession, it reminded me distastefully of K. P. and other sundry details), shoes, leggings, etc. Then after emerging from the Supply Bldg., dressed in our new O. D. uniforms and carrying our two each, of fullyladened barrack’s bags, we labored with our bags over our backs to our respective barracks. After what seemed agonizing minutes, I reached my barracks and bunk upstairs, and immediately took off my overcoat and blouse, and set to work repacking my two barrack’s bags. By the time I had finished with my task, it was time for the noon Mess, so again the long line and waiting our turn to be served. After noon chow, we all returned to our barracks and were ordered to stand by for our processing. After about a half hour, we were all summoned in front of the barracks and were marched off to the Post Dispensary to receive our immunization injections against those horrible “bugs”; as our dearly beloved late “Bugs” Horvath used to express it. One shot or dose was for typhoid, and the other was the vaccination for smallpox. When we arrived at the Dispensary, we were all instructed to strip to the waist and line up for our shots. I calmly got into line after stripping to the waist, and set to “sweating” out the line, as we call it in the Army. After about 20 minutes wait, and creeping up with the line slowly toward the Medics, who were officiating the needle jabbing, word came down the line that so far, at least four boys had passed out on the spot, from the effects of the shots. As it made some of the boys uneasy to hear such news, yours truly didn’t make much of it, as I had been immunized before in my school days, so — when it came my turn, I boldly stepped up to the Medic, who was weilding the needle and syringe for the antityphoid serum — he jabbed the needle into my arm and pushed the plunger — and alas! the fluid remained in the glass tube — instead of entering into my arm where it should have gone. He ruefully shook his head, and said, “Plugged needle, I’ll have to pull this one out and screw on another cap.” He withdrew the needle — and then yours truly began to get a sick sensation — the Medic unscrewed the plugged needle cap and put on another fresh cap, and tested it before jabbing it into my arm to make sure the needle was not plugged. He again jabbed the needle in, and this time the operation was successful, after the late unhappy “dry run”. Then I went up to the next Medic, who was administering the vaccine against smallpox, and after a couple of seconds of digging into my arm and nerves with the multineedled glass tube, and every second I began to feel worse, I went through the corridor to the room from which I had left only about 25 minutes ago, and began to don my shirt, and noticed I was growing more ill as time went on; 1 had only completed buttoning up my shirt front and was about to tuck the tails into the top of my trousers, when all of a sudden, my vision became zero. I knew my eyelids were open, but I was as if in a dark void, and the voices of the other boys who where near me, dressing, were receding and grew faint. The next thing I knew I was lying on my back on the floor. I was puzzled as to why the boys were all about me in a circle, and staring down at me. I turned my head to look down at the floor, and discovered that I was lying on the floor. I looked up at the boys, and inquired of them in general, “What am I doing, down here on the floor?” The Non-Com, who had conducted us to the dispensary, replied, “You just passed out Soldier.” I said, “Huh? Passed out!” 1 started to get up and he shoved me down gently, and told me to rest a while, and I meekly took his advice. Lying there, I became more and more chagrined with myself; I, who had always prided myself on not being afraid of teeth extracting, Surgeons and Physicians, lancings and cuttings for treatments, had finally succumbed to the lowly shots, administered by enlisted men of the Medical corps. I became more and more incensed with myself. After lying there about two seconds, those thoughts running through my brain, I finally picked myself up, and finished dressing and left the Dispensary along with the rest of the boys. (We received our stimulant shots recently, administered by Pfc. Abbas of the Medical Corp, who is attached to our Squadron, and some of the boys had learned of my experience at Camp Perry, and they tacked a cartoon on the bulletin board, which is known in Army circles as the “Sad Sack”; the suoject w&o on “shots”. With ink they inscribed “Abbas” for the medic in the cartoon, brandishing the needle, and “Jerk” on the unlucky soldier or victim, receiving the “shot”. Believe me, when I saw that on the bulletin board, I broke out with a laugh, and said to one of my comrades, “Boy! that’s identical of me, when I was at Camp Perry!” I still laugh every time I look at the cartoon.) After receiving our shots, we set about to take a good rest on our bunks at the barracks, but the Army had better ideas for us than that. Again, we were marched away to the General Classification Test Bldg., to take our test, to learn which branch of the service we would be suited for. That was finished after an hour or so, and we were allowed to go back to our barracks; this time we were left alone for the remainder of the day, at “lights out” at 9:00 P. M., Thursday. Wearily, I got into my bunk for a good night’s sleep. Friday, April 3, 1942. We awoke at 4:45 A. M., as usual; and, after the usual routines and having our breakfast, we were called out of our barracks. Then and there, in that cold morning, I got my first idea of what “policing up the area” means in the Army; it is a distasteful, cruel way the Army has of making a whole company of soldiers go all over the grounds, and pick up cigarette butts, match sticks and trash of all kinds; it really is a dirty job, as one does not like to pick up butts of cigarettes, knowing well that some person has some s<?rt of disease in his mouth and probably having “that” cigarette in his mouth. After the policing was done, we were allowed to go back to our barracks — for a while — then we were summoned out again; and taken down the road a ways, and received our first instructions on Close Order Drill. We went through some drills for about two hours; then it began to rain, and we were marched back double time to our quarters, where we remained for the rest of the morning, until our call at noon for chow was sounded. After chow, we spent the rest of the afternoon sweeping up and scrubbing up our barrack’s floors and windows. When we finished up our fatigue duty, some of the boys came up to me, and informed me that my name was on the list on the bulletin board in the Orderly Barraks, among those to be shipped out the following day — Saturday. I rushed down to see for myself, and sure enough, it was there, so I went back to my quarters and checked my barracks bags to see if all were there. At “lights out” I retired with the rest of the boys for the night, and wondered as to were the Army would send me on the morrow. Then I fell asleep. Saturday, April 4, 1942. I wakened at 4:30 A. M., and after hurried abolutions and breakfast, and getting our barracks bags outside our barracks, we were lined up at 6:30 A. M., and after roll call, to make sure no one was absent, we marched to the train waiting for us near the Post Area, and getting aboard the cars allotted to us, we waved good-bye to the boys, with whom we had come into the Army. When the train started at 7:00 A. M., to chuff off toward the west, we asked one another, “Where are we going? What branch of the service would we be trained for?” The train ate up the miles westward, toward our destination, of which I shal' recount to you in the next installment of my column. Fraternally, Sgt. John V. Jerkovich, (The Shadow) Unde Sam’s Verhovays Pvt. CHARLES S-VARGO Member of Chicago Br. 503, Charles is w th a Military Police Battalion at a camp at Glenview, Ill nois. He was graduated from Crane Technical High School and then helped his father run the Huron Tavern, besides working at The Chicago and Trust Company. Charles was born in Csajta, Vas megye, Hungary and came to this, his adopted, land 'n February 1928.--★--FRANK B. PATAKY, Jr. Frank B. Pataky, Jr., son of Mr.and Mrs. Frank Pataky, 474 Harold Ave., Johnstown, Penna., is now a Staff Sergeant in the U. S. Army. Before entering the service, he was a State Police; and, is a member of Br. 8, Johnstown, Penna. --------------v-------------NOTICE Branches 361 and 366 Cleveland, Ohio All members of Branches 361 and 366, who have sons serving in the armed forces, please send their names and military addresses tő the secretary of their respective branch. These names will be placed on an honor roll.
