On July 14, 1941 I was inducted into the army and assigned to Fort Niagara, N.Y. for my staging area. There were perhaps a dozen from our group in Dunkirk. All but one were deferred college students, most from Fredonia Normal School. We were outfitted, lectured and interviewed on the first day. Early on the second day our one non-college inductee was shipped out to the artillery. He was happy; he had feared, since he was a six-foot muscular specimen, that he would be sent to a Military Police unit.

On the fourth day, all but two of our remaining group were sent to various infantry camps. Since they had come out of a teachers college, what better use could they be than teaching new recruits how to read and write! The rate of illiteracy among the draftees was much higher than any of us suspected.

The two of us that remained compared notes. I had told my interviewer that I was studying to be an engineer. Great! We’ll get you into the Army Engineers. The other fellow had made his preference for Special Service – Army Band (he played clarinet). No one gave him much more a chance than the proverbial snowball in Hell, but he got his assignment to the US Army Band on the same day that I was told that the Engineers didn’t need me but that there was an opening for Ordnance. So, off I went to the Aberdeen Proving Grounds, Maryland for basic training and Instrument Repair (non-electrical) School.

Basic training was the standard close order drill, learning discipline, bivouac, hikes, etc., etc., but gratefully, of shorter duration than what the foot soldier went through.

At the school sessions we were all, to a man, put through elementary essentials of repair education. We had a master welder who could burn a perfect circle in a half-inch sheet of steel. He, with the others in his class, had to spend the first week learning the names, proper care and uses of welding tools. We had a master machinist who joined his fellow students in reducing a 1 ½ inch cube of iron to a one inch cube, using only a vice, a pair of files, and a micrometer. He spent two days cursing the stupidity of the job while he shaved off layers of metal.

In groups of six or eight we were taught the use of tools. Example: "This is a screwdriver. It is not a pry bar. It is not a chisel. If you use it as a chisel or a pry bar it will soon not be a screwdriver and you won’t be able to use it as a chisel or a pry bar!"

Mercifully, the basic instruction lasted only a week. Then we learned a quick but thorough theory of optics, the parts of optical instruments, how to disassemble, clean, lubricate, and reassemble binoculars, artillery aiming devices, telescopes and other optical (non-electrical) instruments. Each instrument had an SNL – a Standard Nomenclature List. The SNL was an amazing bible. It showed the instrument complete, followed by several exploded views with every part down to the last screw pictured. Each part, down to the last screw again, had an army part number, complete dimensions and each screw or screw hole was notated with the thread class and threads per inch as well as all dimensions.

Our barracks, a two story wooden structure, was inhabited by what was probably a typical group of recruits at that time and situation. We did have one or two who stood out from the crowd.

One was a professional magician – a tall, handsome fellow who was quite good at his trade. He kept us entertained for about two weeks after which he was medically discharged because he had a severe allergy to the army pillows and mattresses!

The second was the company "goof-off." He could start correctly on his left foot at the command of "March!" and in three steps be out of step with everyone else. He baited the first sergeant as often as he could and spent much time on the K.P., Garbage Detail, or Guard Duty.

One Saturday morning we were to have our weekly barracks inspection and he was assigned the duty of latrine cleanup, probably as a "reward" for some goof-off.

By chance, I was assigned as "Barracks Proctor" or some such title. My job was to stand at the barracks door and watch for the inspection party: all the officers, the First Sergeant and the Barracks Sergeant. As soon as they entered the door (which was just a step away from the latrine entrance), I had to shout "Barracks A: Attention!" to alert everyone that the inspection was starting.

I heard a loud command from the latrine orderly: "Toilet Seats, Attention!" He had rigged strings over the steam pipes and attached them to each toilet seat. With the command, he pulled the strings and there was a straight, smart line of toilet seats standing at rigid attention!

The barracks sergeant and first sergeant had been the first into the room. The four officers made a hasty retreat, hands over mouths to make the guffaws inaudible. The sergeant’s faces were beet red from a combination of stifled laughter and intense anger.

After all four barracks had been inspected, we four Barracks Proctors had to report to the commanding officer that each barracks was "secured." This simply meant that we acknowledged that the inspection had taken place and all was in order.

When I got to the headquarters office, all the officers and the sergeants were still laughing heartily. I heard one sergeant say: "Funniest damn thing I’ve ever seen but we can’t let him get away with it! Even putting him on permanent latrine duty wouldn’t be enough. If anyone has a good idea, let me know!"

At the completion of the instrument repair school I was sent to a "casual company" to await assignment. The company consisted of nine soldiers waiting to learn where we were assigned, a lieutenant, a few office staff and a mess staff (cooks, etc.). This, at least, was what was in residence. There was also a group of 120 soldiers and staff on the road doing PR work: explaining to the taxpayers what an Ordnance Company did. There had been a traffic accident with a civilian fatality on their return trip to Aberdeen and the entire group was required to stay close to the accident scene until an investigation was completed.

The casual company drew rations for the fifteen or so in residence at Aberdeen plus rations for the 120 who might be back any moment. The cook would plead with us: "Eat up. How about another steak? More ice cream?" I never ate so well in my life.

Assigned to 22^nd Ordnance Co. (Medium Maintenance) at Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri (near Jefferson City). 140 man roster – Co. Commander Capt. James Coyle. Company was 50/50 regular army/draftees. Coyle was ROTC from Texas and smart enough to let the first sergeant and the section chiefs (all regular army) run the company.

The company had an excellent esprit du corps. To a man, they thought the "double deuce" was unbeatable. "Espirit" doesn’t really describe it either. There was no: "We’re No. 1," rather an attitude that "You’re expected to do a top job every time, so you’ d better do it." This earned the company a Meritorious Unit Citation for a job we did in New Caledonia.

The Company was divided into sections:

Administrative & Clerical
Supply & Mess Hall
Automotive Repair
Artillery Repair
Small Arms Repair
Instrument Repair
Machine Shop

Most of us stayed in camp after work hours (we were being paid, as the song said, 21 dollars a day, once a month). There was a post theatre, a post exchange, and barracks buddies to pass the time.

Pearl Harbor threw everything into a turmoil. All leaves cancelled (I was to make it home for Christmas), rumors, guesses –