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“Old soldiers dream of old battles, because, with the sliding of years, memory of terror fades, and what remains is the fond recollection of intensified life, of moments so electric, so bursting that everything after is thin porridge.†Too true! But even amidst the thin porridge, there exist less frequent , less electric moments, which make a sufficient impression to last a lifetime.
I was discharged from the Army in late January 1946 with the rank of Captain, after 3 years of service, 2 years overseas, and 14 months of Infantry Combat in Italy, France and Germany. Well, not discharged, exactly, but rather transferred to the inactive reserve. I had volunteered twice for the Army, once through the ROTC and once through OCS. I had received my BS degree from Rutgers in June 1943, 2 weeks before reporting for active duty. I was now married, age 25, and anxious to begin my civilian career and put the War behind me.
My Regimental CO urged me to stay in the Army. Things are tough on the outside! But Occupation Duty in Germany had thoroughly soured me on the peacetime Army. I had received my BS degree from Rutgers in June 1943, I was now married, age 25, and I had done my patriotic duty, more than most. Staying in the Army held no appeal for me.
After 2 weeks of R & R at home, I visited the Rutgers Personnel Office to solicit job leads, but first, I stopped at the ROTC office to see if there was anybody still there that I knew. I was greeted warmly by Major Cope, my instructor for 3rd and 4th year ROTC. I remembered his 2 favorite expressions, “The Infantry is the Queen of Battles†and “Only in the Infantry, do you have the opportunity to close with the enemy!†He hurried to take off my overcoat so that he could see my “fruit saladâ€, his WWI expression for ribbons, medals and awards, He was suitably impressed. One would think he had earned them himself!†And then he said, “Did you know that Schweiker and Everett “went westâ€? His WWI expression for KIA.
Yes Major Cope, 11 of my 20 Rutgers ROTC-Infantry OCS classmates were KIA. And then I did a despicable thing in view of his middle age. I said, “But I see you are still here “closing with the enemyâ€. He made no reply. Despicable as it was, I have never regretted saying it. We were lambs led to the slaughter by someone who knew better. The KIAs were class leaders and future leaders of our nation! Phi Beta Kappas, fraternity presidents, all-American athletes, yearbook editors, members of Student Council and other honorary societies. These men did not belong in the Infantry! But no knowledgeable person had stood up to counsel them in their naivety. In my opinion , he performed a disservice not only to his students, but to his country!
I went next to the College Personnel Office where I was greeted warmly by the people for whom I had worked part time in my student years. They gave me several leads and I was interviewed and went to work as an engineer for the Curtiss-Wright Corp.
I was the 1st veteran hired by the Curtiss-Wright Engineering Department. I started work on February 29, 1946. The 10 or 12 engineers in my department had all been there (deferred) throughout the War. The atmosphere in the office was strained. They didn’t know how to deal with the situation. They knew I had been an Infantry captain with a lot of combat experience, but they didn’t know what that meant. They, in turn, had avoided the draft through occupational deferments. If asked, they would have said that, given their background, they had served their country in the best possible way. But nobody asked. Samuel Johnson put it this way. “Every man thinks meanly of himself for not having been a soldier.†And I might add, “particularly when in the presence of one who has.â€
During my employment interview, I had been asked to explain what, if anything, in my military experience might apply to my civilian career. I think he was laying a foundation for the salary discussion, was thinking of Infantry tactics, skill with infantry weapons, and their inapplicability to civilian life. My response, instead., related to training and extensive leadership. At Infantry OCS, we were taught to lead by example, how to earn rather than demand respect. How to have subordinates follow orders with enthusiasm out of confidence in our ability and trust in our knowledge, rather than fear of disciplinary action. I had led men in situations involving life or death decisions. I expressed confidence that I could do at least as well in this far less hostile environment.
On the technical side, I was a fast learner and soon impressed my peers and seniors with my ability to focus on the important to to draw timely, meaningful, and practical solutions to technical problems. As an example, the engineers in my department had been working for a year on a problem with “transfer ring assemblies†They were called “pineapples.†Their function was to transmit electrical data signals from strain gages on a rotating aircraft propeller to a stationary recorder. The problem was that brush wear caused leakage paths between the rotating silver rings. They had tried different brush materials, different lubricants on the rings, and other fixes, but nothing worked. I saw the solution immediately! Cut a slot in the bottom of the cylindrical brush housing and the carbon dust will fall out. This change increased the TBO (time between overhaul) by a factor of 10. My stock soared!
On the leadership side, I quickly rose above the crowd. The office environment was not unlike the barnyard or the jungle. Males, subconsciously or otherwise, worked hard at establishing a “pecking order.†My military experience had taught me to earn rather than to demand respect. It gave me a decided edge and contemporaries were soon seeking my approval.
The bullpen in which I worked housed about a dozen engineers, all of whom had been there, draft deferred, throughout the War. In the post-war lull, bull sessions were not uncommon. The draft deferred engineers would move their castored chairs into a circle and discuss current events. One such incident contributed substantially to my upward move in the pecking order.
One of the less popular engineers, (draft dodgers), held the floor in a discussion of the Russian’s early Cold War actions in Eastern Europe. “We shouldn’t be letting them get away with that!†he whined. We should never have brought our Army home from Europe. After beating the Germans, we should have pressed on and driven the Russians back to Siberia while we still had the Army there to do it!â€
As he spoke, my mind recalled the terror and loneliness of almost two years of infantry combat. A parade of names and faces came to mind, comrades and classmates KIA. Lts. Brown, Moeglin, Petropolis, Schweiker, Everett, Potzer, Hutcheon, Stavros, Dupuis and many more. Their faces looked anxiously at me to see what I was going to do about this “blowhardâ€. In a partially controlled rage, I rose and waded into the circle of chairs. I lapsed into the language of an army sergeant.
“You SOB! Who are you to mouth off like that in total ignorance on something you know nothing about! You sat on your cowardly ass in this office throughout the War while I and others like me were fighting and dying for our country! If you want to fight the Russians, drag your fat ass to the nearest recruiting station and share your wisdom with them. They will be glad to see you! So will the Russians and they’ll whip your ass just like they did the Germans! You go! I just got back! In the meantime, you will keep your GD mouth shut.â€
As I spoke, I leaned forward crowding him. He sat in an all wood swivel arm chair with castors and a reclining back. As I advanced, he backpedaled away in his chair. The floor was concrete covered with vinyl tile. As he rolled backward, his castors hung up on the steel cove molding covering the telephone line on the floor. His chair reclined and he went over backwards. Terrified, he lay there on his back in the wreckage, his feet in the air, and his hands in a death grip on the chair’s broken arms.
He looked utterly ridiculous. From across the room came the query, “Did Cloer finally hit him?†And the response, “Naah! He fell out of his chair.†I turned and left the room. I think I saw a vision come back and 3 of the KIAs gave me a thumbs up signal! It wasn’t long after that , that the draft dodger left the company.
A few months later, a second incident occurred. I came to work in the morning to find my desk and chair missing. I was greeted by an empty space where my desk had been and my telephone sat on the floor. I was obviously being tested and I knew the outcome would be important to my future status in the office. The draft dodgers gave the appearance of diligent attention to their work. I could have started to search for my desk. I could have threatened them. I could have complained to the boss. All of which these idiots expected, based on past performance with other victims. I did none of these.
Without a word, I sat down at an empty desk and began to browse through a copy of the NY Daily News which one of the draftsman brought in each morning. Nothing happened for about 15 minutes and then the boss wandered into the bullpen and saw me reading the newspaper. Even he didn’t have the guts to confront me head-on.
“How is your project progressing, Russ?â€
“Just fine, Bob. There could be some delay, however, since my desk seems to be missing.â€
“Have you looked for it?
“No Bob, I haven’t. I don’t feel any responsibility to look for it. As I see it, that responsibility lies with whoever moved it out of the office.â€
“Can’t you work at an empty desk?â€
“I would Bob, but all my work is locked up in the missing desk.â€
“Can’t you work on something else in the meantime?â€
“I would, Bob, but my reading glasses are locked in the missing desk and I can’t do any close work without them. In the meantime, I am just looking at the Daily News headlines and pictures.â€
“I see.†What else could he say? He had to be PO’d at the boy pranksters who had put him in this awkward situation. He retreated to his office.
A few minutes later, his secretary entered the bullpen, walked up to the senior draft dodger and said, “John, Mr. Froling would like to see you in his office.â€
I paid no overt attention, but thought this is a good time for me to disappear for awhile. I returned the Daily News to its owner and said, “I’ll be down in the lab for about a half hour. I want to check on a test they are running for me.†The dummies were now faced with the boss who they had put in an awkward situation. Good! Let them suffer!
In the lab, I had a cup of coffee and chatted with the lab techs to kill a half hour. I returned to my office to find my desk, chair and telephone in their normal place. I sat down, unlocked the desk, removed my papers, put on my reading glasses and went to work. Not a word was spoken then or later about the missing desk! I had clearly won that little skirmish before a capacity crowd.
Some months later, a second veteran was hired in my department. He had been an Air Force Major (Administrative). I sized him up and judged him to be a complete axxhole. He with a couple of file clerks and was responsible for time cards, labor distribution cards, and other such non-productive paper-pushing. I didn’t like him, but I tolerated him in the interest of peace and harmony. He in turn, felt a need to demonstrate his former rank. He irritated me particularly by wearing his Air Force uniform and insignia to work on the days when he claimed to have an evening Reserve meeting.
One such day, he came strutting down the aisle in front of my desk (in uniform) and as he passed my desk, without a word, he deliberately brushed 3 rolls of oscillograph paper from my desk to my lap, said nothing, and kept walking. I reflexively grabbed one of the 2 lb. rolls as I would a football and threw a perfect pass which hit him squarely in the back of the neck as he reached the doorway 10 to 15 feet away. He staggered, turned, and said petulantly, “What did you do that for!â€
I replied coldly, “Don’t you ever touch anything on my desk again.†In the Army, leaning on or even touching another person’s desk was not tolerated. He and I were the only people in the room who knew that. He, too, left the company shortly thereafter.
My status in the “pecking order†was now firmly established and I was promoted to the title of Assistant Project Engineer. I was moved into a separate office with 2 other APE’s. We called it the Ape House.
One day, I heard unusual laughter and hilarity from an adjacent bullpen occupied by Engineering Assistants, young women with degrees in math or science, hired during the War, to perform some of the more routine engineering work.
One of my fellow engineers entered and I said, “Hey George, what’s with all the partying in the Analysis Room?†“Ohâ€, he said, “One of the girls who worked here during the War came in for a visit and they’re reminiscing about old times. Her name is Clarissa Rahill.â€
I was suddenly very attentive. I had an Army buddy named John Rahill and he was from Caldwell, N.J. where I was now working. We met at Ft. Meade, both infantry replacement officers, part of a shipment of 5,000 replacements headed for Italy. We became quite close in that impersonal mob, because we were both from N.J. and had similar backgrounds. We shared the same cabin on the troop transport, the same pyramidal tents at Repple Depples in Casablanca, Oran and Naples, illegally broke out and toured Casablanca, and Pompei together, shared the same 40 and 8 crossing the Sahara Desert, and were separated forever when I was assigned to the 7th Infantry on the Anzio Beachhead in Italy. Wouldn’t it be great to see him again and compare experiences over the 2 years following our separation?
“Does she have a brother named John Rahillâ€, I asked?
After a pause, he said, “She did, but he was killed in action in Italy. Did you know him?â€
I was stunned! I should not have been surprised to hear that he had been KIA, but the War was over, the killing had stopped, and this was NOW! This information was mind boggling! George was perceptive and realized what was happening to me. After a further pause, he said softly, “Would you like me to introduce you?â€
My mind raced. What can I tell her! I wasn’t with him when he died. I don’t know where or how he died. Those are the things she would want to know. She is enjoying this moment of happiness. Why dredge up those painful memories of his death, which time has healed, at least in part.
And I said, “No George. Let it rest.†He understood and never mentioned it again. But I wonder to this day if I did the right thing?
Russ Cloer
