Corporal Ron of the 362nd

Corporal Ron of the 362nd*

By Venice F. Anderson

"Camp Lewis! Well, this is a of a place."

Unconsciously the boy's feet dragged and he lessened his

pace. A sickening feeling swept over him, accompanied by an

intense longing to bolt and avoid it all. From the time that he

had waved a half-hearted good-bye to his family and quasi-

friends at his little home town station, he had realized that this

feeling was growing on him; now it seemed to usurp his whole

being. Mechanically he plodded on, only partly aware that he

was moving.

Poor Ron! he had been a restive spirit in Glen Cove. He

was the proverbial black sheep in a respectable family. His

fame as a young terror preceded him from the grammar school

into high school before he had any chance to establish a reputa-

tion. Guilty or not guilty, for years past he had been consid-

ered the leading spirit in any village disorder which took par-

ticular meanness or cunning. In fact, if he was ever known to

do anything which could not be construed into a misdemeanor,

the good villagers attributed it to some freak in his nature

rather than to any benevolence on his part. No one ever ex-

pected Ron to do anything good, and all opportunities for such

conduct were carefully removed from him. He had been pains-

takingly forced to assume the role of village scape goat, and in

order to maintain his personal dignity he was taking his part

well.

His reputation was growing to an alarming extent when his

twenty-first birthday overtook him and the draft bill passed

Congress. Ron's was a lucky number. The village breathed a

sigh of relief. His kind friends went out of their way to tell

him that he would get what was coming to him in the army. So

often and with such harrowing details had he been informed

of this, that he had a secret but intense fear and loathing of

everything military.

As if to fulfil prophecy, the dreaded process started as

soon as Ron stepped off the uncomfortable train which had

brought his contingent of the draft army to the lumber shanty

which served temporarily for the American Lake station. An

over-bearing sergeant who had just received his chevrons at-

tempted to shove Ron into line. Instantly his lax muscles tight-

*Thi8 story was awarded first place in the February Era story contest.

490 IMPROVEMENT ERA

ened into bundles of cords, for Ron had muscles worthy the

name and he had fought every inch of his life. A cold light,

which any boy in Glen Cove would give his pet dog to avoid,

came into his eyes; and then he remembered that he was in

the army, and turned sick all over. The sergeant considered it

wise, however, to find immediate work further up the line.

Without further fuss, the weary march for Camp Lewis com-

menced.

It was one of those gray days at the camp, when the chill-

ing fog creeps over the ground and rises steadily until it en-

shrouds everything in a cold, gray cloak. Even the pine trees

seem to merge into one another as if huddling for warmth. The

sky comes down to meet the earth, in a cold mist. The huge

parade ground which extends through the heart of the camp

between the endless rows of painfully similar barracks build-

ings, seems a lake of floating grayness, through which sounds

and objects penetrate in an uncanny, subdued manner.

Across this weird lake the latest arrivals began their irreg-

ular march. As they advanced the icy fog bit into their very

bones, the "any old thing" in clothing which they had been

advised to wear giving them poor protection. The "old timers"

who were drilling in squads on the field, watched the hetero-

geneous group of strangers with a mixed feeling of compassion

and mirth. They had been in the same condition themselves

too recently to feel like giving vent to their amusement. In-

stead, on such occasions they would call out cheerily, "Where did

you come from?" If they received a civil answer to this ques-

tion, they would enquire sardonically, "Where are you going?"

And they were quite accustomed to receiving the polite answer,

"Ah, go to ."

On the other side of the parade ground, Ron and his com-

panions were marshaled like so many sheep into a long, lumber

building where they were doled out two blankets, a towel and

a straw-tick. Inside the squad room of Company , 362nd

Infantry, the men looked round the clean, empty expanse with

a view to finding proper places for their straw ticks. Very soon

they were ordered with pointed emphasis to put them on the

floor. The cots, they were informed, had not yet arrived.

Ron, huddled cross-legged on his flat, hard bed, thought

of the rocking chairs and grate fire in the cozy living room at

home, and suffered real agony. After minutes which seemed

hours of waiting, the mess call sounded. The men crowded

into the mess hall and ranged themselves round the long, bare

board tables. A tin plate, a quart cup, a short, pointed knife, a

broad fork, and a tin tablespoon were their implements. The

food arrived later, passed along on oval platters.

Then Ron made his first military faux pas. In the army

CORPORAL RON OF THE 362ND 491

there is never enough of any one kind of food for a man to fill

up on. The corn beef hash reached Ron first. With hoodlum

bravado, he piled high his plate. The man at the other end of

the table found himself minus the meat course, and did not hes-

itate to comment about it. Rice pudding arrived soon after.

Rather than be bullied by any "guy," Ron repeated his former

conduct. Nothing was said, but all along the line the men eased

up on their helpings and Ron was put down as an undesirable

citizen.

Next morning, after a hurried wash in cold water, over a

long tin trough, the men were called in to breakfast. The meal

consisted of coffee, creamed and sugared before hand to suit

some one else's taste, and of hot cakes whose toughness rivaled

sole leather itself. By the time the recruits had managed to

swallow three or four of these, they were ordered to line up in

double rows outside the barracks before their captain. "Count

off from one to four," came the order. "One, two, three, four,"

one after another the men blurted out their numbers. "Number

fours are acting corporals," announced the captain, briskly. Ron

experienced a peculiar feeling, a mixture of joy and dread: he

was a number four. He risked a side glance at the seven men

who would be under him. Number two was the man whom he

had cheated out of corn beef hash the night before. Instantly

all traces of joy vanished, and he was ready to give his chance

at being a corporal with a vote of thanks thrown in.

Gradually the concise, cheery voice of the captain pene-

trated through Ron's gloom. The officer was talking to his men,

telling them that the army was the best place in the world in

which to make good, that every man there would have a chance

to rise just as fast as he could prove himself worthy. He, their

captain, expected every man under him to make an A No. 1

soldier, and he would continue to expect this until forced to

believe otherwise. The men just appointed acting corporals

would be made real corporals just as fast as they could do the

work. They had been given a trust and were to deliver the

goods.

As Ron listened, his loathing of the army slipped away.

In its place he was seized with an intense desire to make good,

to please his captain and to be liked by his men. No one would

ever know just how it had stung his boyish heart to realize

that everyone in Glen Cove save his dear old mother was glad

to have him leave home, to go anywhere just so he got out.

Way down in his heart he knew that he could have been a

decent sort if he had not started wrong, and if anyone had ever

expected anything except meanness out of him. Now his chance

had come, even luck was with him, and by all the gods he would

keep his trust. Boylike, he was already seeing himself with

492 IMPROVEMENT ERA

two silver bars on his shoulder, when the order to "march"

was given, and the recruits set off for the parade ground. The

process of making him into an intelligent machine with thor-

ough military efficiency had commenced.

The next few days of Ron's life still remain more or less of

a blank to him. They were filled with endlessly repeated

"squads right" and "squads left," "present arms," "shoulder

arms," goose step, quick step, double time, left oblique, head

exercise, back exercises, leg exercises, neck exercises, trunk exer-

cises. He stood far ages at attention until his back bone felt

like a red hot cord or a piece of brittle steel. He ate three meals

a day, always in a hurry, and never got quite enough to satisfy

him. Every day it rained just enough to keep his clothes feeling

like so much soggy wool. He was forever cleaning shoes, and

they were forever muddy. His hat shed the water like a sieve

and his toes began to poke through his socks. The chief joy

in the morning was to get up in the gray darkness when the

moon was as large as a dish pan and the sun a mere memory,

to fall into dank clothing and report present at revielle. In the

evening he who had claimed all Glen Cove as his own to do with

as he chose, now went to bed at nine because there wasn't a

blamed thing else to do.

Just when he was so miserable that nothing, he thought,

could add to his cup of misery, one morning the sun came out

with the intention of staying for a time. At breakfast the usu-

ally cheerful men received the order that they were to report

immediately at the hospital for examination, inocculation and

vaccination. Ron was told to take his squad over at once. With

many misgivings they set out. They arrived first at a long

lumber room, where each was given a card assigning him to

his place in the national army. From here they advanced to

another room, where each was asked the following cheerful

questions:

"Name, please? Age? Your parents' names? Your birth

place? In case you are shot, to whom shall we send your sal-

ary? In case that person dies in the meantime, to whom do you

wish it sent?"

Having been successfully born, deprived of loving parents

or wives, and then shot, themselves, Ron and his squad went

into another room, furnished with small booths. Here the men

were ordered to strip to the skin. The atmosphere was a neg-

ligible degree above zero. The physicians in charge sat hud-

dled in their overcoats. The men could have sworn a blue streak

with the best grace in the world. Fortunately the irony of the

situation appealed to Ron's sense of humor. He took the whole

thing as a huge joke. His good nature was contagious. Very

soon his men took it up. Later, when they saw how babyish

CORPORAL RON OF THE 362ND 493

some of the recruits acted, they appreciated the fact that their

corporal was no grumbler.

When properly undressed, the men were lined up along the

wall opposite the officers, where they were put through all man-

ner of foolish antics to get their hearts and lungs to function

satisfactorily. During this process Ron had an almost overpow-

ering impulse to make a center-rush and play foot-ball with

the heads of the officers. Already, however, the military sense

of responsibility was getting into his blood. He realized that

he had to act not only for himself but for his men. Conse-

quently he remained discretely in line, jumping up and down

like an unsual sort of monkey.

As the physician in charge motioned to him, he stepped for-

ward to have his finger prints and all possible marks of identi-

fication taken. This was a particularly pleasing ordeal to Ron,

especially since he could not disassociate it from the similar

treatment given to criminals. He was surprised, however, to

hear subdued exclamations of admiration from the stolid doc-

tors. One of them even stepped up and ran his hand admir-

ingly over the white shoulders and down the symmetrical mus-

cles of the young Hercules. One by one the physicians exam-

ined him, and he was unanimously pronounced "a remarkable

specimen."

All Ron's life he had been strong and healthy until he had

come to take his splendid physique as a mere matter of course.

In fact, at times he had considered it a decided nuisance since

it enabled him to do more work than anyone else on the farm.

Now it was suddenly held before him as a wonderful asset. He

realized something of its value when he turned and saw the

frank admiration in the eyes of his squad. The silent praise

warmed his heart more than he was willing to admit. Thanks

to it, he did not mind the rest of the ordeal. With Stoic in-

difference he permitted his arms to be daubed with iodine

and pierced simultaneously with vaccine and typhoid serum.

He had become quite a hero by the time he returned to his

barracks. He had made a mighty start toward making good

with his men, at least.

Two weeks later, another bright day came along. Ron was

called into the orderly room. The captain was looking for some

one who understood the art of felling trees; he had a rather dif-

ficult job that he wanted done well. Rather against his will,

Ron had been put to felling trees for several summers on his

father's farm. After a time he had made play out of work. It

became a favorite sport of his to bet his friend anything from

a pocket-knife to a saddle horse that he could drop a given tree

within an inch of a given spot. In time, only new-comers would

494 IMPROVEMENT ERA

bet with him. His little trick was to tie a rope in just the proper

position, and then jerk at the right psychological moment.

He explained some of these details rather shame-facedly to

his officer. Rather to his surprise, the captain p- i.iounced him

just the man. He explained that he wished inree particular

pines on the company's practice battle field felled in certain po-

sitions. He wanted to use them, along with the fallen timber

already there, as a barricade against a supposed enemy. The

corporal was to take his choice of rope and axes for the job.

Arrived at the battle field, Ron took a hurried survey.

Ahead of him the country swept off in a broad expanse of fern

and grass land, with here and there a spot of sparkling water,

indicating swamp. To the left and right, huge decaying trees

with their gnarled roots extending up in a pathetic manner, were

scattered about, mute testimony to their haughty brothers tow-

ering above them. A thick blanket of moss covered the living

and the dead with marked impartiality.

Ron knew in a minute that his task was a difficult one. The

fallen and decaying trees encumbered the ground near the spe-

cified pines in an annoying manner. In almost every direction

jagged pieces of wood extended into the air, their pointed edges

only half concealed by the slippery coat of moss. In the midst

of this treacherous debris the men had to work. Ron warned

them very carefully of the danger.

With confident skill he climbed the first tree and attached

the rope. The axes did their work eagerly. At a warning signal

the men scattered. Ron took a running start, tightened his rope

and jerked. For an instant he paused to see that the tree

obeyed. Satisfied that he was sucessful, he leaped lithely out

of the way. An instant later the forest giant crashed to the

ground bearing everything in reach with it. Wherever they had

been in the way, the rotting trunks seemed to melt beneath the

living weight, but here and there the brown pieces jutted

through the green boughs in unmistakable triumph.

The boys viewed their work with a feeling of satisfaction,

and then fell to on their next victim. It was nearing mess time

when the second giant met the fate of the first. It fell exactly

as Ron had predicted. The men believed thoroughly now that

their corporal knew what he was doing. They settled down to

their last task with confident eagerness.

Their previous work had increased the difficulty of their

last job. Ron warned them that this tree would have to be

felled just right, otherwise it would fall in the wrong direc-

tion and, worse luck, some one might get hurt. With delib-

erate care he climbed the tree and adjusted the rope, testing

its strength by swinging to the ground on it. The men cheered

CORPORAL RON OF THE 362ND 495

as his graceful body rebounded from the earth without the

slightest jar.

For a quarter of an hour the men hacked manfully at the

trunk, while Ron stood back and watched for any indication

of danger. Suddenly a loud crack sounded. The men dropped

their axes and scattered. Ron alone laughingly held his ground.

When they came back, a rather chagrined bunch, Ron was ex-

amining the trunk.

"This looks bad for the home team," he said, rising. "She

is weak on this side, and the captain said expressly to have her

fall the other way."

A dismal silence followed. All the men were eager to please

their captain.

"It can be done," said Ron, finally, after a more careful

examination. "But you'll have to watch your strokes, and

every man of you beat it when I say the word. And for gosh

sake, look out for the dead wood."

The men started work again, this time warily, more than a

little nervous. Each man though he knew just how it would

feel to be pinned to a jagged wood bed with a hundred year old

pine resting across his stomach. To make bad matters worse,

this particular tree had a low-hanging, U-shaped branch which

every man imagined would catch him as it fell and sweep him

into sure destruction.

Unexpectedly, without a moment's notice, in true Wash-

ington fashion, the sun disappeared into a gray sky. A steady

breeze, permeated with fine rain, blew in from somewhere. The

heavy tops of the trees swayed mightily. The battered old mon-

arch groaned through its entire length — quivered — and lunged.

There was a moment of mad scramble, when every boy

obeyed his most primitive instinct. Ron, standing at a slight

distance on the safe side of the swaying tree, felt woefully help-

less. His muscles relaxed. The rope in his hands weighed like

lead. Suddenly, to his horror, one of his men slipped on the

treacherous moss, while attempting to jump a limb, and fell.

His foot caught firmly in the rut of a decaying stump, in the

direct line of the falling tree.

Then quicker than thought, Ron's muscles leaped into ac-

tion. His grip on the rope tightened. He made a sweeping run,

took his position a little to the right of the direct line of the

trunk, and with every nerve poised, jerked the tree toward him.

There was a moment of painful silence, broken only by the

crunching of the splitting wood. Slowly the heavy trunk

swerved ever so slightly. Ron sprang back, tightened his rope

and jerked again. Indistinctly he could hear his men shouting

at him. The muscles of his mouth were tense, but his eyes

calmly watched the downward course of the pine. The mis-

496 IMPROVEMENT ERA

shapen branch was sweeping toward him from the left, just es-

caping the struggling form of his entrapped friend. To the right

there was already a thick network of twisted branches. His

men shouted frantically. Ron smiled at them a trifle wanly,

dropped his rope, cleared his feet carefully, stooped low and

jumped. For indefinite moments he seemed to float in the air

just above the low-hanging limb, then amid the deafening crash

of the fallen monarch Ron disappeared to his waist in a bed of

green boughs.

The tremendous jar released the foot of the imprisoned

man. He was the first to Ron's side. The others came with

equal speed, slipping and stumbling on the uneven footing. Be-

lieving haste the better part of discretion, they attempted to

haul him out bodily. His violent objections, however, put an

abrupt stop to this process. It then dawned on them that he

might be hurt, so they carefully, almost gently, removed the

green branches and broken wood from around him.

When once free, his chief comment was: "My good gosh,

look at my trousers!" His only pair was riddled. From the

torn cloth ten thousand pine needles and splinters were sticking

artistically in every direction.

He winced from time to time as his sympathetic friends

brushed him off, but he scoffed at the idea when they insisted

that he was hurt. Nevertheless, on the tedious walk home, he

was forcibly relieved of all burdens. The fellows risked being

late for retreat rather than hurry him.

Finally, arrived at the barracks, Ron fixed up his trousers

as best he could, and rather than cause any disturbance, reported

at supper. He soon found, however, that he had no appetite.

He forced the Mulligan down and when the pie came along he

picked out the smallest piece. For once, the army coffee tasted

good to him. He drank freely of it and took it black. It

seemed to help a peculiar feeling which was creeping over him.

He had had too little experience with sickness to recognize the

sensation as weakness. When the long meal was finally finished

he staggered off to his bunk. His right side was smarting dread-

fully, and he knew it was bleeding. He was planning to sneak

off as soon as possible and to dress it himself. He did not want

to make a fuss about it to the captain.

Unbeknown to him, Ron's squad had been watching him

carefully all the time. As soon as he disappeared into the squad

room, they consulted. A committee of one was appointed to

report to the captain. To put it mildly, the incident lost noth-

ing in the telling.

A few minutes later, to Ron's dismay, he saw his captain

coming toward him. He made a desperate effort to rise, but

CORPORAL RON OF THE 362ND 497

even his endurance had been taxed to the limit. His stiffening

muscles refused to act.

"What's the matter here?" queried the captain, with as-

sumed severity.

"Nothing much, sir — I — "

"It looks like nothing much," remarked the captain dryly,

examining the torn and now blood-stained trousers. "I think

you'll have a little ride to the hospital."

Ron's heart felt like a lump of ice. He misunderstood the

captain's feigned severity, and felt that he had failed miser-

ably somehow. He realized suddenly just what his position as

corporal had meant to him, a new kind of life with respect,

rather than blame, forming a part of it. He had risked his life

to fulfil the trust which the captain had given him. And now

just because he had gotten scratched up he was out of the game.

"Oh, sir," he pleaded, letting his desire get the better of his

pride, "give me another chance. I can make good. This is

nothing; I'll be all right tomorrow."

"My dear boy," said the captain kindly, laying his hand on

Ron's shoulder, "a man never loses out in the army by being

quick-witted and brave. You have already made good."

Ron looked up questioningly. His commander was smil-

ing a perfectly reassuring smile.

When the young corporal awoke, next morning, he was

resting quietly between white sheets. For a time he was unable

to recognize just why he felt so comfortable. Finally it dawned

on him that the sensation was one of freshness and cleanliness.

A pleasurable numbness pervaded his right side from waist

down. He lay very quiet, almost afraid to breathe lest the mo-

tion reawaken the well-remembered pain. He shut his eyes

and tried to recall distinctly the events of the preceding day.

When he again opened his eyes, a slender, black-eyed nurse

was standing beside him with a tray in her hands. When she

saw that he was awake, she smiled what seemed to Ron a most

wonderful smile. He made a violent effort to sit up, ashamed

to greet her in so lazy a position. Instantly streams of fire

darted through his entire right side. Limp and white, he sank

back on his pillow. The black-eyed nurse looked alarmed and

hurriedly put down the tray, while she adjusted his pillow,

scolding gently all the time. Several minutes before this opera-

tion was finished, Ron had decided to make it necessary as

often as possible.

Using an extra pillow for a table, the nurse put his break-

fast before him. Then with a repetition of the marvelous smile

she placed the Tacoma Daily News, carefully folded, in his

hands. Ron glanced at the big, red head-lines: "Young Cor-

poral Risks His Life to Save that of One of His Men." His eye

498 IMPROVEMENT ERA

ran hurriedly down the column. His name and the whole inci-

dent, told in more than glowing language, stared him in the

face.

He looked up to thank his friend; she had suddenly van-

ished. The paper dropped to the bed. He shut his eyes and

gritted his teeth to keep from crying foolishly. He had made

good — a prominent paper thought he had performed a marvel-

ous feat, his men liked him and, above all, respected him, his

captain still had confidence in him, and an adorable girl had

taken enough interest in him to bring him the good news. He

was in heaven itself.

Dupont, Washington.