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Useless Trivia The world's first passenger train made its debut in England in 1825.
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Member Biographies :
Member Biography
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| Title: |
NAVY DAYS - CHAPTER 1 |
| By: |
John Prichard
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MY TIME IN THE U.S. NAVY |
| Bio: |
Hearing my extemporaneous expansion of "Navy Exploits" at the Corona Old Man's Coffee Clatch, my friend, Herb Spiegel, suggested, half in jest, I suppose, that I set down in writing my Navy Stories, (Sea Stories, as we then young Navy Officers, would say.) Strange! I've written a lot about myself, but never sea stories. At the outset, I adjure that my time in the U.S. Navy was perhaps the best time of my life. I was extremely lucky. The theme of this account should be, and should show how lucky I was.
In 1951, at age 27 I was Chief Resident at the Riverside County Hospital in Riverside (Arlington), California. This was, what we called then, a General Residency. The Doctor Draft was on, in, The Korean War was on. I had had to register for the Doctor Draft in 1948-49 when I was an Intern Physician at St. Monica's Hospital, (Now called Memorial Hospital). Phoenix, Arizona, then was the home of my Draft Board. I was a Phoenix Guy, a Phoenix Doctor. I had not heard from the draft board for two or three years, until the Spring or Summer of 1951. "Report to Phoenix for enlistment as a private in the Army, unless you have accepted a commission elsewhere". A dire missive. --- Back to the County Hospital at Riverside: (Spring-Summer, 1951) I was Chief Resident; Rear Admiral Joseph J. A. McMullin, (Retired) had just assumed the role of Hospital Administrator, following some interim administrators who had recently come into play after Dr. Staley had been fired, for what reason, I never knew. The interim administrators,. incidentally were Mark Hendrickson, a Corona Orangeman, and Dr. (Pop Gardner), a charismatic character of regional fame or perhaps notoriety. Pop was a surgeon of the old school; minimal training and maximum chutzpah, who gravitated into urological surgery for the most part as he grew older. Dr. McMullin, a retired Rear Admiral in the United States Navy Medical Corps, was a superb administrator. He knew my plight; he suggested that I join the U.S. Navy Medical Corps. He would help me. The problem, The dilemma: The rule, the law stated that one, such as me, under the pressure of the Doctor Draft, could only join the Regular Navy, (ie. could not join the Navy Reserve) This meant twenty years instead of two. For me it had become a triangulated process. Brother in law, Bill (Eggert) suggested I call his old Montana childhood pal, Steve Anglan, who was the legal advisor to the Secretary of the Navy in Washington, D.C. Steve said, a memorable saying, one I have not forgotten: "Don't close the door on anything". Start the process to join the regular Navy. The law is going to change. implying that by the time I took the oath, the law would allow me to join the U.S. Navy Reserve Medical Corps. I wont tease your curiosity. It did happen that way, but it was a "Hairbreath Harry" experience getting there. As follows: Esther and I a young couple, drove our 1936 Dodge Coupe, the same green auto, purchased from Burnie King in Washington, D.C. the same vehicle which I as a fourth year medical student, with reckless temerity, rebuilt the motor, the same vehicle which Esther, as my young bride, and I first traveled west from Washington, D.C. to Phoenix, Arizona, thence, after a year back to Washington, D.C., thence back to Riverside California. (The Riverside County Hospital); the same auto, (Pardon the digression ) which we now drove to Los Angeles, so that I could sign up for, take the physical for, joining the regular Navy. I had not signed the final papers, as my exhortation from Steve Anglan was: "Do not close the door on anything". Memory is a funny thing. Fuzzily, I remember the blue uniforms, the location: 6th and some cross street in downtown Los Angeles. But my memory is clearer on a busy little restaurant nearby, where I had a delicious piece of Pecan Pie. That done, we returned home to our little cottage on the grounds of the Riverside County Hospital. There were no freeways then. The route home was more picturesque, passing by Signal Hill and the square of downtown Orange. Intervening were Orange Groves. My future path was grooved to the Regular Navy. My two year term as Resident at the County Hospital would end on September 1, 1951. Esther and I, and by now Little Jane would go home, back to Washington, D.C. The antithesis between Draft and Navy was unsettled. Back home in Washington I would be able to manage this dichotomy better, or so I believed. Just before embarking on this odessy, in August perhaps, I received a commission in the United States Army Medical Corps. I called Steve Anglan. "Don't close the door on anything. I believe the law will change". Finding courage in that reinforcement, Esther, Janie and I embarked for the Washington, D.C. taking the Northern route. We had purchased a 1941 Lincoln Zephyr, from Dr. Rimmer, a successful Riverside Dentist in those days. Dr. Rimmer had purchased this vehicle from Dr. Adams earlier. Dr. Adams was a Riverside physician. The original bill of sale indicated that the cost of this auto, brand new, was $1700. Often, one hears old people say "I wish I had that one back". This is the one I wish I had back.
THE TRIP: One must recognize that my projected future (Draft or Navy) was at a hiatus. The trip back to Washington, D.C. filled that hiatus and provided a sure direction to my goal of joining the Navy Reserve. Steve Anglan had given me assurance and I was headed to the seat of power where I might work things out for myself. I was comfortable with this.
Whereas little Jane rode in a "Basket" on the back shelf of our old Dodge Coupe on our first trip to San Francisco, December, 1950, she now rode in a "Portacrib" comfortably situated in the back seat of our newly purchased Lincoln Zephyr. (September 3, 1951= Date of the start of our trip home) Oh!! what a smooth driving touring car: 90 miles per hour with ease in "Columbia Overdrive".
Frugally, I had planned to eat "Out" on most days of this journey. I had purchased, (Cheaply) a Sterno Stove. Sterno is a gel of gasoline. For our first day's evening meal I had purchased from Rudy, our meat man in Arlington, California, a wonderful Porterhouse Steak to be cooked on my "Sterno Stove". Early packing and tender "Goodbyes" gave us a late start. We picked a lovely green glade at eventide to stop and eat our first meal "Out". I believe it was near the San Joaquin River as it flows with others from the majestic High Sierra Mountains of California. I should note that the rivers of the Western Slopes of the High Sierra were in massive flood stage. (For accuracy here, I must admit that this flood stage memory could have been two years prior when we made our first trip to San Francisco with Little Jane in the basket.) What is absolutely clear to memory is that on that dinner stop in the lovely green glade near the San Joaquin River, the mosquitos were terrible. Our wonderful steak dinner; out first out, ruined by mosquitos. We spent our first night in a motel at Redwood City, California. Our next day, must have been September 4, 1951, we drove unceremoniously up the ramp to the parking lot of the Mark Hopkins Hotel, where we, with Little Jane in a basket, had lunch "On Top of the Mark". Quickly, Northward, through the Costal Redwoods to the Oregon Border. Just across the California-Oregon border in a little place whose name I forget we "Moteled" for the second night. Next morning in the deep dense fog, a road paralleling the Umqua River through Eugene, Portland, I believe, to our next motel at the Dalles, Oregon. Cliffs, overlooking the spacious, stately Columbia River. Next day, we watched the Indians catch Salmon as they maneuvered upstream over precipitous falls. On through Coeur d'alene, beautiful Lake and mountain scenery to Great Falls, Montana, where we spent a day or two with Clara and Bill Eggert. (My brother in law, Bill's parents. Memorable because it was here that Little Jane took her first steps. From now on Jane walked.Visited the Great Falls of the Missouri, where the Lewis and Clark expedition spent so much time in canoe portage. Across the upper Plains, (I remember going through Bismarck, North Dakota) to Chicago, where we visited my sister, Gladys and her husband Bill Eggert, a lawyer in Chicago, working for the U.S. Railroad Retirement Board. Finally, like a barn headed horse, we went home to Washington, D.C. Here we had two homes: mine at 310 Varnum Street, N.W. and Esther's in Glenmont Village. Esther's brother Jack Beatty had arranged for the purchase of this home in 1947 or 48. The whole Glenmont Village was a "Just Built Community" and a very large tract of white, wooden frame homes. Glenmont Village is in Wheaton, Maryland, a suburb of Washington, D.C. It was now time for me to work out my dilemma. The distance between the two homes was about twelve miles.Our little family alternated between homes. It's always pleasant to be home. It must be a mental regression toward the childhood state where firm masculine independence and bread winning was not required. All four parents were alive and well. Indeed my Grandmother, Margaret Trumbower, was a house guest at 310 Varnum. . We have a lovely picture of my Grandmother and little Jane in the enclosed back porch. Jane is toting one of my ice skates, the skate as big as she. As indicated above, she had just learned to walk. This in an 8 mm. movie picture.
I was home. Washington, D.C. Still the confrontational: Draft vs. Navy. I called Steve Anglan. He arranged an appointment for me with General Hershey, the head of the Draft Establishment in Washington, D.C. Meanwhile, I had received a commission as first lieutenant in the Air Force Medical Corps. Now, I had a commission in the Army Medical Corps and the Air Force Medical Corps as well as the threat of being drafted as a "Buck Private" in the Army, this threat coming from my Phoenix, Arizona draft board. Still, I adhered to Steve Anglan's Rule: even though I certainly could feel the heat: "Don't close the door on anything". Well and good, until one day when the mail arrived with a letter from my draft board. REPORT TO SOME ARMY BASE IN PHOENIX, ARIZONA BY SOME IMMEDIATE DATE. You have been drafted as a private in the Army. A hurried, fiery call to Steve. He returned my call and told me to go see General Hershey today. (That day).
People, the public, think of Government, the U.S. Government headquartered in Washington, D.C. as big, expansive, rich, marble buildings and dedicated monuments. That may be so today, but in early 1953 I visited General Hershey, the head man for the draft or conscription or whatever they called it then in a frame structure at about 18th or 19th and Pennsylvania Avenue in Washington, D.C. I walked up the steps to the second floor where his office was situated. No elevator in this small frame structure. General Hershey, head man for all the Draft, the Draft Boards, conscription or whatever, was out to lunch. I saw his Deputy, second in command, Colonel Eanes. We had a pleasant conversation ending with: "You want to join the Naval Reserves? Go to the Old U.S. Naval Hospital at twenty first and Pennsylvania Avenue and see Captain -- . I forget his name." I reminded him of the rule; a person in my category must join the regular Navy, whereupon he reminded me that the rule had just changed. The Naval Captain at the old Navy Hospital was head of the recruitment board for officers in the Naval Medical Corps. He took me to lunch, signed me up for two years in the United States Naval Reserve Medical Corps. He arranged my first duty station at the United States Navy Hospital at Bethesda, Maryland, a suburb of Washington, D.C. I told him that my wife, Esther was pregnant; he gave me a grace period before reporting to duty in April, 1953. Of quixotic interest, Later when we moved into an apartment near the Navy Hospital at Bethesda, (Kensington, Maryland), we moved right next door to Colonel Eanes son. Finally, I am in the Medical Corps of the United States Navy Reserve. Did the fine legal hand of Steve Anglan have anything to do with manipulating this "Law Change?". Interestingly enough, the week after I had "Signed up" A Navy Warrent Officer visited my home at 310 Varnum Street looking for me. I was not home at the time; on hearing from my mother that I had just joined the Navy Medical Corps, he breathed a sigh of relief, saying that he had orders, emanating from Admiral Jos. J. A. Mc Mullin to find me. He said that he had been looking all over Washington for me. He was to expedite my "Joining the Navy". He was relieved to know that I had. His mission was done. My mother told me this story. She was not given to exaggeration. I cite this as, what I consider to be a repeated theme in my long life exemplified by the old saying: "It's not what you know, but who you know". As a corollary, I add "It's best to know both, "What and Who".
So, now, I'm in the Navy. It seems that I should have a clear memory of that first day in April 1952 when I reported for "Duty" at the United States Naval Hospital, Bethesda, Maryland. But, I don't. Capt. Robert Brown, M.C. U.S.N. was chief of Surgery at Bethesda. Before his joining the Navy Dr. Brown was Professor of Surgery and Head of the Department of Surgery at the University of Pennsylvania. in Philadelphia. I will suppose that I reported to him as I was to fill the role of a Ward Surgeon at Bethesda. Somebody directed me to a downtown uniform shop where I was to be uniformed. I believe it was a "Navy run" uniform shop. Here my memory lightens up a bit. There was a "Face-lifting" anticipatory joy which I felt in getting the Uniform of a Navy Doctor. I remember dimly the fitting, the frugal aspect of using the brown shoes which I already had. The fitter said that was OK. I purchased a Navy Blue and a Navy Brown uniform. He told me that I did not need to get Navy Whites or any formal accouterments, not necessary for me to purchase a sword. I did need to get my emblematic pins, my silver bars as an Lieutenant Jr. Grade, my collar pins designating that I was in the Navy Medical Corps. (Oak Leave Clusters). I had to buy a hat, brown and blue. I was joyful; I was proud.
They put me in charge of Ward 4C, I believe it was 4C. Rectal Diseases and Pilo-nidal cysts. Pilonidal cysts are endemic in young Navy men. The Navy treatment was surgical excision, leaving the wound open. No closing, ie. No sutures for closure of a Pilonidal cyst. This was one of the few strict dictums which the Navy Medical Corps imposed.
The Naval Hospital at Bethesda is the Navy's preeminent hospital. When I was there, fifty four years ago, there were five commands. ie. 1. The Naval Hospital, a Naval Captain, (Doctor) in charge, 2. A Navy Corps School, for the teaching of Navy Corpsman. 3. A Navy Medical Research Center, 4. A Dental School and 5. A Nurses School. I am not absolutely sure about #s 4. and 5. In any event each division was captained, making five Captains and One Rear Admiral over the whole system. This was the top echelon of the "Table of Organization". I could joke here and say that I was the youngest, most junior "Rear Admiral" at Bethesda. With me on ward 4C was Dr. McClendon, a regular and my superior. He was a full Lieutenant. (Two Silver Bars).
Life was good. I had traded in my Lincoln, (The car I wish I had Kept.) for a new 1952 Green Dodge, (Fluid Drive). We were living in Kensington, (As stated above, next door to Col. Eanes' son) in Kensington, Md. Little Jane, about a year and one half, loved to swing in the swing set provided by the apartment complex where we lived. Esther learned to drive; got her permit, squeezing sympathy from the examiner as he directed her to a perfect "Parallel Park" At the time Esther was pregnant with John, our son.
Celebrities: Celebrities visited the Naval Hospital, usually once a week. Dr. McClendon and I would take them on Ward Rounds Saturday morning. Our ward seemed to be the preferred ward (Ward 4C) as our sailors were not very sick, hemorrhoids and pilonidal cysts, hernias do not alter much the cheery aspect of a sailor spending "down time" in the Navy Hospital. Pause: for an introspective cogitation. Why do celebrities choose to visit the sick, the hospitalized Navy man? So they can identify with, and glory with the sacrifice sailors make for the benefit of their country? Perhaps, I really don't know. One Saturday, the ward was abuzz. Mac and I were to escort Eva Gabor through our ward. Eva was a very pretty movie actress. Of interest to Coronans, she married a Corona local boy, Frank Jameson, who became Secretary of the Navy. Frank was the son of a socially prominent Coronan, Mary Gard Jameson. The Navy Hospital at Bethesda had a theater. Henry Fonda played "Mr. Roberts" there, for about two weeks. Shirley Temple (Black) had a baby there. When her Caesarean Section wound dehisced, her Obstetrician, a Captain and head of the department, was transferred to Guam. Captain Brown, Chief of Surgery, operated on Senator Joseph McCarthy of Wisconsin for a hiatus hernia. No problem with that, but with the ensuing toil and trouble, with his Senate Army hearings, poor Joe was back in about two or three years, where he died of Cirrhosis. Forestal, the first Secretary of the Defense Department, jumped to his death from his suite which occupied the whole 17th floor of the Bethesda Naval Hospital. Five star Admiral Leahy occupied the whole of the 16th floor. Adulation of the top brass has always been a hallmark of the American psyche. Occasionally, during this period I would see Shirley Temple Black at the Ship's Store in the basement of the hospital. She recovered nicely. Her husband was a Navy Officer, named Black. In my own field, Surgery, I should mention that Charlie Huffnagel, M.D. one of the pioneers of vascular implants, aortas basically, came to Bethesda to experiment at the medical school's research center, and he would operate at the hospital. Enough of celebrities.
At the mid level Doctor Officerial level of our rather small Surgical Staff were Commanders Tebow and Stevenson. I'm sure the spelling would be Tebeaux, although I'm not sure. Commander Tebeaux was from Louisiana, a Cajun. Commander Stevenson was a portly fiery redhead. When one had "The Duty" he manned the front desk, situated at the door of the main entrance of the hospital. I remember it well. The Captain of the Hospital, remember I have said there were five Captains and One Admiral at the top. This Captain, a psychiatrist, entered our desk space. Sitting behind the desk, I failed to get up. - a major discourtesy. My only reprimand, however, was a Captain sour look. I got the message. I tell you this because it reminded me that I had "The Duty" when my son John was born at the Naval Hospital, Bethesda, Md. This was the early morning hour of August 7, 1952. Dr. Sands, a Harvard trained Ob Gyn Doctor was Esther's Obstetrician. By this time, I had been transferred to the Orthopedic Service. Chalmers Rankin Carr was the Chief of Service. He was a "Carrd", a genuinely nice man,witty and an excellent Orthopedic Surgeon. These were the days of "Melmac" added to plaster. Made the cast so hard that it was difficult to remove. "Melmac" was a transitory blip when used for orthopedic casts. It was cast aside and later used for dishes. There was No joint replacement then. The closest approach to alleviating an arthritic hip was the "Smith-Peterson Cup". And many of the "Old Boys" were leery of that. The hip surgery "State of the "Art" " in those days was hip pinning for a fractured hip. There were several "Nails" or "Pins" with side plates, used for this purpose. The intramedulary nail had just been introduced, from Germany, I believe. This was used primarily for fractures of the mid third of the tibia and Femur. Capt. Carr asked me to be the junior officer on the "Promotion Board", or maybe I just got the orders. The "Promotion Board" must certify the health of all senior Navy Officers up for promotion. Our Board was three in number: Captain Chalmers Rankin Carr, M.D. presiding, Commander Stevenson, middleman and me, junior officer. I mention this as it shed light on why I forbade my son John to play football. As I recall most all the old time Annapolis graduates who had played football had severe arthritis of the knee. So bad, that if the rule book were followed they would not be promoted. Still ringing in my ears, Chalmers Rankin Carr's big smiling chortle: "Well, Admiral, I see you have a little arthritis in the knees; I'm sure it doesn't bother you, and good luck with your third star". Turning aside to us, "That's what football does to your knees." Injection of Cortisone into joints for pain and arthritis was just coming into vogue. Remember that Kendall at the Mayo Clinic had just produced the chemistry for making Cortisone in 1948. Then as so often happens with new drugs, it was hailed as a cure-all for all sorts of ailments, particularly, Burns. I remember a splashy write-up in Life Magazine in 1948 extolling the wonders of Cortisone and Dr. Kendall. After about four months of duty at Bethesda, I received, what to me were perplexing orders. Dr. Carr informed me that I would be enrolled in the "Basic Course of Naval Medicine". This was a high honor; I did not know why they chose me. Again, in the deep recesses of my mind, I wondered if Adm. Jos. J. A. Mc Mullin had anything to do with it. You see, most Surgeons General of the Navy have been through this course. Almost, it was considered a requirement. Indeed, at least one of my classmates did make Surgeon General. I'll put his name in when I look up the material which I have kept since those days. Right now, I want to do this from my memory alone. THE BASIC COURSE OF NAVAL MEDICINE: = Nine months of intensive schooling, Five in Didactic Subjects, just as we had in first and second year Medical School. Anatomy from the Professor of Anatomy at Georgetown University, Dr. Solinitski. Pathology from Dr. Geschicter, Wallace Yater, Medicine, also Georgetown, Biochemistry from a young Phd from Harvard, Dr. Brady, Entomology from a guy who looked like a bug. Epidemiology from Dr. Gezon, world class epidemiologist at that time, University of Pittsburgh. Physiology, name forgotten, and then we had special lectures: two Doctors from London on Kidney physiology. The head of the Armed Forces Institute of Pathology, I should be able to think of his name as we go along. (His name was Dr. Siliphant.) Dr. Lapp, the physics of the Atom Bomb. Leslie Groves on the Manhattan Project. You get the idea: (*I am looking at my old notebook now, {1/19/2007}, And I am astonished at the number and quality of professors brought into Bethesda in order to teach us.) it was a world class education. The second half (Four Months) was devoted to visiting every nuck and cranny of the Navy where medicine had any role to play. Six weeks with the Marines at Camp Lejeune, I week with the Naval Air Service at Pensacola, Florida. Again learning from the experts. At Pensacola, there was a German Physicist studying Cosmic Rays. (The anticipation was that Cosmic rays might do great harm to astronauts.) We heard his dissertation. Anniston Air Base, Anniston, Alabama for ABCD school. (Atomic Energy, Bacterial Warfare, Chemical Warfare and Disaster Warfare.), New London , Connecticut for Submarine Warfare. Finally, to Sea, to learn to ride the Waves. We flew from place to place in an Admiral's airplane, a D.C.3 whose interior had a luxury revamp. I'll tell you a little bit about each of these places, as that is the uniqueness of my Navy experience. I was to graduate knowing everything about Navy Medicine at that time. (1952-53). I took it seriously; I studied hard; I believe I did the best I could to serve my country. For me: On reflection,this, what amounts to an intense, one year academic, post graduate course in all of medicine, elevated the level of my life-long understanding of medicine, the physician's role in the alleviation of pain. My fellow student and pal, Dr. Spence, a Harvard Grad felt his role was research. Now, to the "Sea Stories" which prompted this paper.
"Sea Stories" carry the inevitable stigma of exaggeration, to which Esther, my wife, believes, I am adept. It's been fifty four years, but I will try to hone to the truth, as I remember it.
WITH THE MARINES AT CAMP LEJEUNE, NORTH CAROLINA.
Dr. Spence drove us to Camp Lejeune. We passed a small rundown graveyard, the site of a Revolutionary War massacre of American Soldiers by British Redcoats. For that British General, an recreant, The Butcher of -wherever it was. (I'll have to look it up). I mention this as, in my Grandfather's account of that portion of his Civil War experience, he passed by and pondered at this same small grave site. This would be March 1865. (W.W. Prichard). *See W.W. Prichard's Diary of the Civil War". **(Insert from Grandfather W.W Prichard's Civil War Diary-- Jan. 17, 2007
March 1, 1665 Camp near Taylor's Crossroads in Lancaster District - 10 miles east of Lancaster: We left Lancaster yesterday A.M. at 10 o'clock; came here last evening at 5:00 PM. Roads very muddy; soil reddish gravel; surface quite uneven; weather, cloudy. Today we laid in camp waiting for something to "turn up", I guess. We are lying within a short walk of a Revolutionary Battle Field, where a regiment of Americans surrendered to a large force of British and Tories, and were afterward massacred in cold blood. The spot of the inhuman murders is enclosed in a wall of quartz stone; in the center is a monument bearing the following inscription: "Erected to the memory and in honor of the brave patriotic American Soldiers who fell in the battle which occurred here on the 29th day of May, 1780, between Colonel Abraham Buford, who commanded a regiment of 350 Virginians, and Colonel Tarleton with a regiment of calvary of the British Army, and a like number of Infantry."
Nearly the entire command of Colonel Buford were either killed or wounded. 84 gallant soldiers are buried in this grave. They left their homes for the relief of Charleston, but hearing of Camden, of the surrender of that city,were returning. HERE, their lives were ended in the service of their country.
The cruelty and barbarous massacre committed on this occasion by Tarleton and his command AFTER the surrender of Col. Buford and his regiment, originated the American War Cry - "Remember Tarleton Quarters". A British historian confesses: " At this battle the virtue of Humanity was totally forgot".
I saw that today and while looking at it, was carried away in a deep reverie to the "Times that tried men's souls" - and could not help contrasting the cause for which those men died and the cause for which so many of their descendants are NOW in arms. The former, fighting for a liberation from a yoke of bondage in reality; the latter, (Their Children), engaged in a four years' bloody struggle for the "ostensible" self same purpose, but really, to enslave others. - to perpetuate a system of the most damnable character of all - SLAVERY. Liberty was their father's watchword, liberty from an oppressive tyranny. Liberty in its broadest sense, Liberty for ALL. Now, their recreant deluded children cry out - "Rights" - "Rights" to hold slaves, "Rights" to secede from a government, that was cemented and sealed by the blood of their fathers, whose watchword of battle was LIBERTY and password in peace, UNION. I feel more and more convinced that we shall triumph in the end. It is very dark. I must close. Good Night.
From W.W. Prichard's Civil War Diary.
We arrived at Camp Lejeune. Presented our orders; were issued Marine Fatigues (Uniforms for sloshing about.). I still have my Marine Jacket. We took classes; we were lectured in Marine lore; we understood the subtle indoctrination processes of the Marine Corps. We visited the experimental equipment testing site. Warm shoes were uppermost in Marine thinking at that time. The Marines had just retreated from the Chongin Reservoir, where it was bitter cold and frostbite was universal. An example of Marine "Lore". -- "No Marine leaves the battle without accounting for and taking every Marine with him, wounded and dead." At the end of the bridge over the Chongin Reservoir Stood a Marine Sergeant, tally book in hand. Every Marine in that retreat, as the Chinese Army swooped down into the fray, was listed and accounted for. Many a dead Marine over the shoulder of a disastrous retreat. Later, I met such a Marine, when I had the duty at the Naval Gun Factory in Washington, D.C. He had the duty; I had the duty. We would eat dinner in a plain dining room at the Gun Factory. On his Coat, the "Congressional Medal of Honor". Back to Camp Lejeune: - I was quartered in the "BOQ" (Bachelors' Officer Quarters) on the same floor as the Marine Rifle Team, best in the world at that time. This team traveled around the world participating in Rifle Contests. They truly were the best in the world. Their stories, their jargon: Their leader was Captain Jack (Somebody). He advised me about some of the delicate art, the fine points of rifle shooting. How one had to "Click" for the distance, the wind, even the heat of the rifle barrel. He told me that their stiffest competition came from those old guys in the Austrian Alps who used those long rifles. At that time the Marines used the standard Marine Rifle, the M1. A guy named Garand had recently made an invention which improved the firing of this gun. Some called it the "Garand Rifle". Jack told me that blue eyed shooters were better than brown eyed. There was this "Hill Billy", a Lieutenant from the Tennessee Mountains who always, before a match, or shooting on the range, took a shot of Jack Daniel's Tennessee Sour Mash Whiskey. We, Doctors, were required to go to the Rifle Range. We shot 200, 600, and 1000 yards. Our instructors were these same Marine Sharpshooters. The Navy Doctors official "Piece", (armament), however,was a Colt 45 Revolver. This, we did have to shoot for our Navy Record. We were taught to stand sideways, eyes on the target, slowly dropping your arm holding the revolver until the sights lined up with the bulls eye. Then shoot. (Slowly squeeze). I followed instructions; most all the class followed instructions. Of the three classes, Qualified, Marksman, Expert Marksman: Only a few qualified, except for one, the little guy, the senior member of our 22 man group, the one who stood, belly to target, holding the gun with both hands. His score, expert marksman. This guy, whose name may come to me later became Surgeon General of the United States Navy. I was always certain that it was because of this score.
Yes! We were "Under fire"; we had to crawl on our bellies under live ammunition firing overhead, Tracer bullets overhead are not frightening; it seemed like a regressive boyhood fireworks show. Nonetheless, we crawled. We made an Amphibious Landing. The Blue team and the Red team. We took our half sheet or half tent or whatever they called it and fixed them together for a "Pup Tent" for two. Three days in the woods like that, eating K rations and C rations. - One Sunday, (We had Sunday off), I went sailing by myself on the New River. (An unforgettable experience) The New River is rather wide at Camp Lejeune; it soon empties into the Atlantic Ocean. "Do you know how to sail?" I told the Sailboat, Dock Manager, a Marine Sergeant. "Yes, I know how to sail". It turns out, I did know how to sail, squall and all. Several of our class took sailboats out that day on the New. Mostly two in a boat. I was alone. Out there somewhere down mid river a squall came up. My center board was "Up". The danger, blowing over or blowing out to sea. Damn, more danger than I thought. Finally, I had to put the sail line between my teeth while I maneuvered the ropes to let the center board down. I got back to the dock. Three or four of the others had blown over. Marines have a soft spot in their heart for their Navy Doctors. The Dock Sergeant did not laugh, chortle or razz. But more than that, I did get my Official License as a sail boat operator. I still have that license. Spence and I drove back to Washington. He drove; it was his car. We resumed our didactic studies at Bethesda for a short period before embarking on our next "Off Campus" study.- Anniston, Alabama for ABCD School.
My poignant memory of that trip was the initial air flight. We flew in an Admiral's plane. Rather than making this too long, might strain my computer, I am going to start another chapter on another page. I'll call it Chapter two, and pick up where I left off here.
John Prichard, M.D.
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