WHAT AM I DOING HERE? by Dr. LeRoy Maleck O.D. is Book III and potentially the most moving of his life experiences. This book contains the recollections of that time in life when a 22 year old army combat infantry medic was forced to rapidly mature and change forever. The author's first person style and account clearly comes from being there. This book chronicles his entry into the army as seen by a new recruit. The true account continues through basic training, continued training and the introduction to army life and situations that seem as a satire and have humorous moments. Follow his journey with the 137th Infantry Regiment, aboard a troop ship to England. Then in early July, D Day + 28 Days, his Regiment is on Omaha Beach. Roughly 11 days later he, with his unit is engaged in something his training could not prepare him for, combat with a determined, entrenched enemy. Follow the exploits of war through the eyes of a combat infantry medic who went through, survived, and helped others survive of some of the most brutal battles faced by the U.S. Army in World War II, Including the Northern France Campaign and the Battle of the Bulge. In addition to an army combat medic's first person account of his participation in World War II, the author has included a sorry about a rather amazing four legged friend, Speed. Speed was his Uncle Bill's dog, companion, and often hunting partner. In contrast to the War chronicles you may find this amazing heartwarming and just a great sorry about a truly amazing dog.
WHAT AM I DOING HERE?
TRUE ADVENTURES WHILE SURVIVING 1172 DAYS IN THE U.S. ARMY DURING WW-IIBy LeRoy R. MaleckAuthorHouse
Copyright © 2009 Carl Brice
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4389-7906-9Contents
Introduction..................................................71. Induction Day, Day One.....................................102. Deep in the Heart of.......................................173. Officers and Gentlemen.....................................274. Hollywood Commandos........................................345. Assignments and Realizations...............................426. Eastern Bound..............................................537. The Normandy Campaign......................................678. The Breakout...............................................1149. The Northern France Campaign...............................120P. Photograph Section.........................................16110. The Ardennes, The Battle of the Bulge.....................17811. The Rhineland.............................................201Prologue......................................................230Photo and Source Credits......................................291Special Thanks................................................292Book II "SPEED"..............................................233
Chapter One
Induction Day, Day One
Monday morning, August 17, 1942, bright eyed and bushy tailed, I left the house at 2718 No. Whipple Street, and headed for the elevated train terminal in Logan Square.
It was quite warm, and I wore the minimum amount of clothing, I had already given most of my clothes to my older brother Art, as he could fit into some of them. My destination was the US Army Induction Center, located just outside of the Chicago Loop area. I think it was a converted clothing factory, about six stories tall, and covered most of the block.
Breathing deeply, I took one last, long, lingering look at the area, as I felt that I would never pass this way again. After entering and signing in, the well known "hurry up and wait" routine of the Army began.
Along with hundreds of draftee's and enlistee's clad only in their under shorts, I was given an "intense and personal" physical examination. A lot of "sick" jokes were passed around. If you are warm and can move, why you are in! When they used the otoscope to shine the light in your ear, you are in, so long as the light didn't pass through the head, and shine out the other ear! It was also rumored, that they had once inducted an armless man and a totally blind man. They were paired together for water pumping duty. To avoid wasting manpower, the blind man worked the pump handle, and the armless man was to observe, and tell when the buckets were full! This is the Army!
After about an hour of the "hurry, and wait" we were led to a quieter area and were "sworn in". The oath you swear is very much like the one the President makes on inauguration day. We were then marched about two blocks to the LaSalle Street railroad station, where we boarded some antique passenger cars behind an old steam engine. We were headed for Camp Grant, which I believe was near Rockford, Illinois.
It was very hot, so the train windows were opened to catch any breeze. What we got mostly, was smoke and hot cinders from the steam engine's boiler. We passed through many small towns and saw a lot of farms. I guess the residents knew where this train was headed, as they waved to us very vigorously.
Our train slowed down, and we did some switching maneuvers, and when we stopped, it was on a long side track, in the middle of Camp Grant.
We de-trained and were quickly hustled to a barracks, and were told to remain inside, until further ordered. It was stifling hot inside, and even worse outside in the bright sun. We didn't have to wait very long for further orders to arrive. A high pitched loud voice from a partly opened door demanded that we "fall in" to the nearby black cinder covered drill field. Those black cinders were giving off shimmering curtains of torrid air, distorting the view of the buildings across the field.
That loud voice came from a mean three striped uniform clad body that was quick to inform us that he was a Sergeant, and was our "boss". We are to do as we are told, and without question, and then, maybe, just maybe we might get along in this man's Army.
He also said that he can't make us do anything, but he sure as hell could make us wish we had! I could see disaster in the making, and wanted no part of it. The attitude of some of the draftees was very different than the more patriotic, volunteering enlistee.
We marched to a long white wooden building where we were given written 'Intelligence Quota' tests. There were two separate tests, each had 150 questions with 5 multiple choice answers. The first test was titled "General Intelligence," and the second was "Mechanical Intelligence"
We had an hour to complete each test. I was able to finish each test, with time to spare, much to the bewilderment of the soldiers monitoring the room. They wanted to know why I wasn't working on the sheets, instead of gazing out the window. I informed them that I had finished.
Weeks later, I found that I had done rather well. Out of a possible 150, I had gotten a 143 on the General, and 139 on the Mechanical.
Then it was back to the drill field. We were then given the basics of "short order" drill on those black smoldering cinders.
The blistering heat penetrating the soles of my sneakers was almost unbearable. We were instructed how to use the right or left arm and fingertips to establish the proper distance from each other when "falling" into a formation and to form straight rows of bodies.
To stand at "attention" you put your heels together, toes apart, arms at your sides, stomach in, chest out, chin in, shoulders back and eyes straight ahead. He also made some attempts at teaching "right face", "left face" and "about face". I was surprised at learning how many boys or men that didn't know "right" from "left"!
We were then given a "crash" course in Army rules, regulations and terminology. The toilet was now a latrine, where you slept, was the barracks, where you ate, was the mess hall, and the camp store was the PX! The dispensary is where you go when you are sick or injured.
Soon we were ordered to "fall out" and follow a one striped private to the dispensary where we were given in rapid succession, Tetanus, Typhoid and Small Pox immunizations. It was in the front door and out the back!
Some of these big, tough and burly looking guys didn't make it to the back door. They just "passed out" at the sight of those syringes and needles. No problem however, when they hit the floor, they were then given their quota of "shots" and then dragged out of the rear door and placed on the lawn in the hot sun.
We received our "shots" as our names were called, alphabetically. My last name, starting with an "M", sort of put me in the middle of the melee. When I finally made it out the rear door, there were about a dozen bodies stretched out on the grass.
We rushed back to our barracks to wait until we all had our "shots" and they revived those at the back door. After a quick roll call, we "double timed" (ran) to the warehouse to get our issue of clothing.
The long low sheet metal building with the "tin roof" could have been used to bake bread. There were no windows, only a few doors at the ends. The dank smell of the woolens and shoe leather was very strong.
Upon entering, I was given two large blue denim bags with draw string closures, and was urged to move forward. At each numbered station were several men that measured different parts of my anatomy and shouted them to other men behind a counter, who threw the clothing and shoes to you, to be placed in the denim bags. Everything was "Tailor made".
From the shoes to the hat, we were totally outfitted in about ten minutes. The crowning touch came when we had to put on, and completely button up the long woolen winter coat, before we could put them in the bags. They gave no reason, this is the Army.
These bags were heavy now, and we waited in the hot sun, until our whole group completed the clothing issue. Then we hurried back to the barracks.
It was about 4:30 in the afternoon, of the first day, and frankly, I wasn't feeling very well. I had just made up my bunk (bed) with the sheets and blanket I had just been issued. I had to try it out, but no sooner had I settled on it, when that three striper blew his damned whistle, and demanded that we once more fall out on those hot cinders. Things like that could tend to put a person in a foul mood. I didn't run out to make that formation, and was happy to be in the fourth row, distancing myself, from that insulting three striped noise machine.
After being called to "attention", he started once more on his haranguing routine on how we stupid civilians had so much to learn before we could be considered as soldiers.
I seemed to have "had it" with this critter, as I suddenly felt so revolted, that I got dizzy, lost my balance and sort of staggered. He noticed my movement, and asked, "What's the trouble, soldier?" I told him that I felt dizzy. He then suggested that I bend over and lower my head to my knees. I tried that, and that was the last I remembered. I had passed out, that's all.
When I awoke, I was alone, and lying on top of my bunk in the barracks. I said aloud "What in the hell am I doing here?" and vowed that one day I would write a book on the subject. THIS IS THAT BOOK! I cleaned up the title, the Army uses too much profanity, and I have tired of it. It happened that very first day. That Sergeants voice could still be heard from the drill field, so I decided to stay put, and figure out what had happened.
It must have been caused by the upper ninety temperatures, and my hunger, as all I had for lunch was a bologna sandwich and an apple, and it also could have been some reaction from the tetanus and typhoid vaccines. Minutes later, I heard the Sergeant give the dismiss order and soon the barracks was filled with civilian soldiers, the same people that were expected to win a war. The guy in my upper bunk, Jim McCoy, was concerned about my condition and inquired about what had happened, and how I felt now. Wow, the first sign of compassion in this man's Army. One "dogface" caring for another!
On our way to the mess hall for supper, Jim expressed his hunger, "I'm so hungry, I could eat baked sheep manure." Later, when we got into the chow line, he asked the door attendant, what was being served. "Kidney stew" was the answer. Jim exclaimed, "Dammit, they must have heard me!" We got out of the chow line, and hurried to the PX, where we 'garbaged up' on snack foods.
Upon our return to the barracks, we were instructed to try on all items of our clothing, and report any gross fitting errors. There were some, and they created loads of remarks and laughter! There, the term "Sad sack" had full meaning. All clothing had to be folded in a certain manner before being stuffed in our duffel bags. They just announced that "lights out" happened at 10:00pm, or 2200 hours, military time. Most every one headed for the showers. We had no trouble falling asleep.
At 4:30 a.m., that three striped sergeant burst into our barracks blowing his shrill loud whistle and shouting obscenities, turned on the lights. It was still dark outside. We had to dress in our "fatigues" (green twill cottons) and fall out to the drill field, where we did calisthenics for about 20 minutes. We were dismissed, and allowed to wash and shave, and then go to the mess hall for breakfast, where we got introduced to the classic meal of creamed chipped beef over toast, better known as "s- on a shingle". It wasn't too bad, as we were very hungry. Now the stuff they called coffee, left a lot to be desired. It was always thick and strong, and when kept on the hot stove, and served at later meals it was a real challenge to down a cup, and keep it down.
Upon our return to the barracks, we were called to the drill field, with all of our worthy belongings, and our duffel bags, stuffed with our GI (government issued) clothing. We were "shipping out", destination, not disclosed. This is the Army.
(Continues...)
Chapter Two
Deep In the Heart of
As we boarded the train, we were told to lower all the shades. This was a troop train, and that was common practice. Why? I couldn't say, but I'd venture a guess, it probably was a measure taken to prevent any enemy agent from reporting troop movements.
A very smart move indeed! All the regular passenger trains traveled with their shades raised. The troop train which was not to be identified traveled with its shades down whenever it passed through any city or large town. Boy, I'll bet that confused those "enemy agents"!
This was a real troop train, as we carried our own kitchen with us in a special car. For the few men that were bored with all the traveling, they could volunteer for KP (kitchen police) duty.
Come "chow" time, we grabbed our mess kits and headed to the kitchen car some five or six cars forward. After being served, we returned to our car to eat.
Sometime later, we were called to return to the kitchen where large galvanized garbage cans, filled with hot soapy water were prepared for the purpose of cleaning the mess gear. You paid particular attention to getting them clean and thoroughly rinsed as you didn't need any diarrhea aboard a train with only very limited toilet facilities.
As we soon learned, the Army did many things in strange ways, but for most part with very good reason. I just had to accept the fact that they had been in the "soldier" business a long time, and surely by now, someone must know what the correct procedure is for any situation. The term word, "SNAFU" already had come in to use, it means, "Situation Normal, All 'Fouled' Up". How quickly the Army accepts terminology. I'm sure it saved a lot of time when used in communications.
After a whole day and night aboard that train, we arrived at our new camp late in the afternoon. We "detrained" in Texas, in Camp Barkeley, to be exact. The closest town was Abilene, the home of Hardin-Simmons University, deep in the heart of Texas. It was a small town that did not enjoy, nor tolerate soldiers.
They enjoyed the business and the money the troops spent, but only looked upon us as a necessary evil. In order to enjoy our time away from camp, we took a long bus ride to the town of Sweetwater.
The entire Camp Barkeley was set up as a Medical Replacement Training Center. So we finally discovered what the Army decided to do with us. We were going to be "Medics". I thought that since I had worked as an optician, they felt that I would fit in well as a Medic. As I discussed this with many other of my buddies, I found your civilian occupation had nothing to do with what your training was to be. One fellow figured that he had been selected for medical training, because he was a truck driver for Dr. Pepper! Army logic, who knew?
We were here for our basic training. Besides learning to be a soldier, like saluting, marching and a few twenty five mile hikes, we worked up to a few combat situations. We also spent a lot of time in the classrooms learning a lot of anatomy and what to do for the wounded or gassed soldier under combat conditions.
The medical training was very general, as there were many branches of service where we could be sent to apply our training. We might end up as an orderly or a surgical technician in a stateside hospital, or anywhere in between that and a front line infantry medic. At this point, everything was vague or unknown.
One of our instructors was a movie star, Lew Ayres. His claim to fame before he was drafted was a series of hit movies, where he starred as a "Doctor Kildare". He was a good actor and had a unique winning smile.
He ended up here, not because of his movie role, but he declared himself a "Conscientious objector". Which I think meant that he was against killing people in war time, so he was made an instructor, to teach us medics how to save lives. This is the Army!
His teachings leaned toward training the hospital orderly or male nurse. Changing bedding with the patient remaining in bed, bed pan jockeying, correct hygienic procedures, subcutaneous and intravenous injections, taking temperatures, blood pressure readings and so on.
I had noticed that all the better instructors, injected a bit of humor in their subjects, to keep the students alert and awake. I do remember one that Lew Ayres told. It went like this; the soldier patient in bed, had been in an accident, and had received a broken jaw. In the process of setting the jaw, the surgeon had to wire his jaw tightly shut, to maintain the proper condition for the fracture to heal.
At meal time the orderly approached the soldier and explained, "Since your jaw is wired shut, I shall have to feed you anally. We shall use this rectal tube and funnel. It works very well."
"Now, let's see, would you like some coffee?" The soldier nodded a 'yes'. "How about some cream and sugar?" The soldier nodded a 'yes' to both.
Minutes later, after the tube had been inserted, and as the orderly was slowly pouring the coffee into the funnel, the soldier started slapping the bed, and was making protesting sounds and through his barely parted lips, shouted , "Stop, stop!"
The startled orderly stopped pouring, and asked, "What's the matter? Is it too hot?" The soldier muttered, "No, more sugar!" Well, it was funny in 1942.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from WHAT AM I DOING HERE?by LeRoy R. Maleck Copyright © 2009 by Carl Brice. Excerpted by permission.
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