November 11, 1943

On the alert to move in a few hours, was the story on Nov 8. I find the record of the past 7 1/2 weeks abortive. I shall try to summarize the high spots, first pointing out that fact that my letters to Doris constitute a running summary of chief events. In the early days, about Sept 29, we fixed up the tent fairly well, had a trench dug, wooden slots put in as a floor. The alerted outfits, Capt. Lewis, Fantus, Joe ? etc, finally left after a false alarm alert, about 2 weeks after their arrival. Went on to New Zealand as they suspected, leaving 5 platoons desolate and forlorn, at the mercy of the 8th Gen. Then began anew the Battle of the 8th Gen. the arid, disintegrated aspect of the place, as evidenced by no one meeting us on the grounds when first we came, the hurried ever busy air of everyone, lack of congeniality was rather amazing, and contrary to all the levels of camaraderie usually established by countrymen on foreign shores. 30 31 Of course, our immediate necessity was totally American, and the town was overrun by us. Thatched barracks were a-building. Let me divide the account into its most impressionable aspects. Colonel Miller proved an unmitigated louse, and the most unpopular CO ever in my experience. And this conclusion was personally drawn by Kelly and me long before its corroboration. It seemed that I had left the tent ward about 2:15 after doing some history and physicals and clearing up rounds. I was very sleepy and took a nap. Kelly came in and was outside when I heard the Col. bawling him out for not being on the ward in no uncertain terms. I hastily arose, eyes sleep drenched. The Col. went up and down tent row looking for more trespassers – found me. He was almost apoplectic, with suppressed rage. Immediately to the wards! We went without a word and because we talked with each other about his disproportionate anger over such a matter came the parting of our paths, at which we lingered in earnest discussion. Up pops the Colonel again, full of disgusting rage about our delay en route. This time we really went. Spoken to next day by Capt. Riehm, my immediate boss, about it and about. We sure tread easy around there after that. Of course we achieved a violent dislike, based on our prejudiced attitude. But the expressed opinion of so many was quite abusive and amazingly frank at times. Let me mention the category of ineptitudes I have compounded thru discussion. The treatment of us platoons was most miserable, the responsibility being his, since betterment could have come from there. Co. Miller was living in his splendidly isolated thatched hut, with running water, shower and orderly service, and his 2 subordinate Lt. Cols, both elderly men also, were still in tents, still had to chase after water do occasionally minor washing in helmet. The garden about the hut was reclining. The enlisted men hated him most violently because he had never done anything for them – always to them. They had no place to foregather of on an evening except their barracks, (same thing with officers – we all stuck to our tents!). Swimming in the Donbra River was a treat, and one of the real advantages of the place. How simple to improve the approach, or provide a platform, a line perhaps, or diving board. This was done, but not directed by official action – made by the men thru their ingenuity, and ingenuity it was to make a small diving board and a trapeze hanging from long ropes from an overhanging tree, which carried them from the board, from other trees on shore a long, swinging arc over the water, release hold and dive in. The mess was poor. The cooking was pretty good, but the wherewithal was missing. One of the worst messes on the island, by those with a variety of experience. The PT was also bad, finally improving to a pallid mediocrity, from tent to building of its own. Smallness, during Sat morning inspection, running finger above the window ledge, and pointing to dust, in a dusty atmosphere where walls have not been completed as yet, where even one end of the ward was on earth floor, where construction activity was still violent and feverish, where ward staffs were inadequate. These are signposts. There are many more. Lt. Col White was bitter in his hatred for him, and displayed it openly for all to see. Come the denouement, when Col. M was relieved, his inner circle organized a public (and appropriate following day) function of farewell for him. Some eulogies, a poor song dedicated to him, and the Cols tearful speech of gratitude, even mentioning from an overburdened conscience about Cpl. Stokes, whom he had denied access to OCS despite his intelligence, zeal, and courtesy, and who, he declared was much happier in his new found religious experience as assistant to the Chaplin. This reference turned the mental stomachs of most of those present, as I found out later. The acid and bitter comments later expressed were most amazing. I can only say that those who he had not swayed by the largesse of promotions he had made (not Capt. Sailer, head nurse, in only 3 months, Capt. Eccles, Maj. Williams) respected only his rank, and not the man. The Col. explained his new assignment as a response to his volunteering to go up north, near the front lines, to relieve any worthy, war weary C.O. 32 33 He had been accepted. His actual reluctance to go was well known. Surprise 1 week after departure, when Col. Miller enters the 8th Gen Hosp. as a patient with goiter? is boarded, and is waiting for plane transportation to states. We now come to Capt. Richman, my boss, a little, grey haired man with marked Hungarian accent, aged about 48, married 8 years, of considerable intelligence, of a philosophical disputatious nature, that was superior. He was a good physician, knew his medicine, as well as his specialty of allergy, taking the exam for Bd. Of Int. Med. He could be nice. But his natural professional instinct, combined with his function of command made slaves out of his staff, of whom I was one. Even my internship was loaded with more responsibility, and less detail, administrative flunkey type of attendance. He threw up his hands at the overmuch amount of paper work required by the hospital and proceeded to add much more of his own in his effort to systematically organize the care of all his pts. He was systematic and thorough, I grant you and knew about all the pts in his service, but this he could do only by driving the chariot, with Frank Stevens, Kelly, for awhile (later left Captain Tachou) and I in harness. It was disgusting to be told to cut rounds short and do histories and physicals, neglect the patient for the paperwork, which was behind any way. Added to this he held court at 8:00 AM every morning, first to make sure we were there on time and secondly to parcel out the particular work he expected to see done that day. An odious way of doing such. Then he wanted a 7:00 o’clock conference to discuss administrative problems of certain patients, usually dictating while Stevens (or I when I couldn’t help it) wrote it down. A damned secretary. It was true that he was ever busy with something. In fact his office in Ward 15 really looked occupied. The walls were covered with lists of numerous categories. There were at least 15 lists, including the asthmas, the skin cases, the C.V. cases, those requiring an EKG, those needing a spinal tap (which was done entirely by me), those to be boarded, those having been boarded, the N.Ps, those upon whom casual cabins would be requested, those newly admitted; those to be shifted around to lump similar cases, those to be fluoroscoped, etc., the constant keeping up to date of which was transferred from our indifferent care finally, to a battery of aides culled from ambulatory patients , about 6. 1 of them acting as a sub-secretaries. It was an effort to get the Capt. to acquiesce in a day off, tho its feasibility, right, and necessity was recognized by him. The height was reached one Sunday afternoon at 4:00 PM when he, with considerable large, and grandiose clarity told us we’d all knock off for the rest of the afternoon. Withal it was far better to work alongside of him rather than for him. He was Hungarian (Budapest), 8 yrs married, a small round shouldered little man with iron grey hair, flashing large eyes, and a manner that distinctively derived from his sense of his philosophical aristocracy. He had written a book once centering about his boyhood, in which his Aunt Julia was a unique character, whom he described in terms of awe, understanding and appreciation. She apparently was forceful, was versed in herb practice and empiric remedies of a sternly living people, and had long since learned of her superior wisdom and strength of character over her relatives. Of the Frenchman, Gaston, with his one arm and charming manner, letters home have described the dinner, his habitat and perhaps his mind, which once had flared open at the innocent question in our halting French as to his relation to the Colonial government. He had once been Mayor of the town, which was a primitive town of whites. Of Major Porta and his medical sub Dept., gratitude belongs equally to Val and Dot, who had made his acquaintance back in Camp Stoneman, or some other place. He had been on E.M. in the last war, becoming therein an officer, and having been in France. He it was who advanced friendship with Gaston. He was very friendly, fraternal even, and was just the type of C.O. one would want. His unit was intensely loyal, yet respectful withal. He certainly went all out for Val and Dot, being exceptionally nice to them and purely in a benevolent 34 35 manner. I shall remember Maj. Porta with respect and gratitude. The type of incident that constitutes an anecdote. Introductory to it concerns Watts, who was colored and appeared to me either confused or quite dumb even exuding the usual Negroid stolidity. Diagnosis was n.p. and for one reason or another it was several weeks before I got to take his history and physical. I was on the verge several times. Anyway, I had progress noted him as apparently having a low IQ, slow and complaining without explanation, yet interrogation of post history disclosed him to have been student at Alabama State Teachers College and having taken electrical engineering at night for awhile. At any rate, to go on, one hot day several of [5 ½ pages blank]

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