Repo Depo


Pvt. Roy N. Van Arsdall 15306087

R.C. #9

Jefferson Bks., Mo.


April - May 1944



April 25, 1944


Dear Mother,

    Here I am parked in the USO in the Union Station in St. Louis.

    We left camp and came to Oklahoma City. We left there about 4:30. Had Pullman tickets, but they were no good. Soldiers, women, and civilians were piled on the floor. We were lucky to get a seat at all.

    First we hit a truck, which caused a short delay, and then during the night we had a two hour delay for some reason or other. Were supposed to report at J.B. at 10:00, but the train didn’t get in till 10:25. We called up and they wont be after us till about 3:00. Just messing around meanwhile. (And boy, am I tired. Not too much sleep on that train.)

    There are only three of us. I never saw either of the others before a week ago.

    One is a sergeant in the armored forces. He was in class 44-J. He flew 35 minutes and turned in his resignation.

    The other fellow is a corporal in the infantry. A radio operator in a headquarters company. He was really hurt about being put out.

    So, I don’t know a darn soul but I guess it wont take long to learn some more.

    Does seem queer, though, that when you know guys like I did the fellows, just to shake hands and walk out, knowing darn well that you’ll never see any of them again. They were all better friends than I ever had at college, or anywhere else, and I think we knew each other better, too.

    I was talking to an infantry officer on the train. He’d just come off maneuvers with the 102nd and was headed for Maryland and POE.

    He was pretty disgusted. Said he’d had only one delay enroute in 19 months, no leaves. He said there were thousands of fellows coming back to their old outfits from the air corps. And you know they sent all the ASTP’s back to the infantry.

    I don’t know how long they’ll keep me out here, nor where I’ll go. I doubt if I’ll ever get anything out of this mess now, though. About all I want right now is a discharge when the war is over. I can get along OK till it is because everybody else is in the same boat. Not so bad when you think what I did get extra.

    I had the clothing department at camp send my box express. Hope you get it OK. No telling what’s in there.


Love,

Roy




April 27, 1944


Dear Dad,

    I guess right now I’m among the few unfortunate who had to go back to the infantry. There are thousands who were washed out, but they were either in some other branch before or in civilian life. They have a chance.

    All they did was look at our papers and say “infantry”. Records and past performance mean nothing. Just a basic replacement soldier.

    They’re putting us directly in some division. We’ll get more training I guess, but I don’t know how much.

    I’d have given anything to stay in the air corps, but they wouldn’t take us for anything at all. You never saw a more disgusted and heart-broken bunch than the guys who were just put out of CTD’s without a chance to fly at all. Just about as much chance to get through as us.

    Be a much brighter feeling here, but we’re in with a bunch from overseas that got furloughs. They’ve been in from 2 to 3 years and just happened to be the lucky 1/2 of 1 percent that got to come home. They’re still not a happy outfit.

    If I’d known before I got in here the way they were going to do us I’d certainly have stayed on the farm. We all thought they’d give us a chance to work like we were qualified, but I do 16 words code, and they train a rookie in code. All we’ve gotten is a screwing in the long run. We’d certainly quit at the least chance, but I guess there just isn’t a chance. They’ve killed all incentive to so something, and then this infantry stuff. I hate that. Well, bye.

    I’d like to be in Hugh King’s shoes with his opportunity of getting out last fall. Boy, he was a nut. Of course last year I was all for the outfit, but the guys all feel different now.

    We came down on a very crowded train. Was civilian, and soldiers and civilians alike were piled in the aisles.

    I did my best everywhere to get a furlough, but no, they just wouldn’t do it. I lay around here four days, this close to home, and they wouldn’t even let loose a 3 day pass. Oh, they let us out from 1 PM till 4 AM, but there’s not one thing to do. All we do is get up and clean up and sit around till 1 PM. That’s what gripes me most is not being able to come home.

    Not any of the guys here are in the infantry. I don’t think that branch of the service gets to come home. They say the infantry boys catch all there is to catch, too.

    It’s mostly all my work gone to nothing that bothers me, and then to get the deal I got. Boy, some of these days somebody’s gonna catch up with some of the causes for all these messes. Would I like to quit and let them have all their deals.

    Don’t let Mother worry about me, because I’m not hurting. It’s just that I’m fed up with what I got and there’s nothing good coming. I’ll probably leave here tomorrow, so no use writing here.


Roy




April 29, 1944


Dear Mother,

    Just another day. Got here this close to home for a whole week and couldn’t get away. And all we do is get up and sign the pass book for the afternoon.

    And I’m headed back to Texas again. Be fun with summer coming on.

Robert should have stayed on the farm. He didn’t know what he was getting into, but maybe he’ll get a good deal in the navy.

    What I’m mad about mostly is not getting to come home. And of course I guess the little pilot business goes along to help morale matters.

    There’s not a person here in St. Louis that I ever saw before. It seems to be a nice town. Water is way up, though.

    Don’t let any of this foolish chatter bother you, because that’s all the army does is gripe. Makes us feel better.

    It’s just the way things all turned out. The whole cadet program went on the blink, but that still doesn’t console me.

    My next camp will probably be OK after I’m there awhile.

    Some of these days they might give me a furlough. Since I didn’t get paid you may get a wire most any time asking for some money.


Be good and Love,

Roy




April 29, 1944

Telegram


Dear Mother,

    Broke. Ship soon. Send $25.00 care USO 14th and Market. Will telephone tonight.


Love,

Roy




May 1, 1944


Dear Mother,

    I’m going to Camp Howze, Texas. Don’t know whether that’s how to spell it or not. It’s near Dallas, I think. I’m going into the 103rd Division there.

    Saturday night at the USO, where I was when I called you, I met a couple nice girls. We danced and even played pool some. Yesterday we went to the zoo. It’s huge, so we couldn’t see it all, and it was pretty hot, too.

    Don’t know whether I’ll leave tomorrow or not, probably so. I think I’ll get paid first, though.

    Instead of sending the money back now I’m gonna try to save a little for a potential furlough.

    Tell Dad to see what the story would be on taking a guy out for farm work. I think it’s practically impossible, but I’d like to know.

    Probably wont write till I get there so,


Love,

Roy




Recollections……


    A traveling stranger lost among strangers. In one moment I went from officer and gentleman to infantry grunt. Unfortunately, I’d been a grunt before.

    The girl from the USO did her best to keep a happy face and show me a good time in St. Louis, but she was mourning the recent loss of a brother. Killed in combat? No, he was killed in an accident on an army base in Oklahoma. She named the place. I recognized it as being close to Mustang Field.

The army still had a considerable number of horses. Her brother was attempting to move them to another range when a plane buzzed the herd. There was a stampede. Her brother was thrown from his horse and trampled to death. 

I expressed my sorrow and said no more. I knew full well that one of my cadet friends was probably responsible for that stampede. Once a guy soloed and could go out on his own most anything was fair game. Dive bombing flocks of ducks on a lake with empty coke bottles was a standard. And yes, they bragged about the thrill of mock strafing runs on cattle or horses. That still saddens me.