Fires in the Wilderness Page 2

  As our train passed by the hobo jungles, I thought about how lucky we were. We were getting paying jobs that would support our families back home. Yet none of us knew what tomorrow was going to hold—or the days after that.

  Chapter 3

  Camp Custer

  We arrived at Camp Custer in Battle Creek in the early afternoon. An army sergeant had us line up and called out names. When we heard “Sokolowski,” Squint and I said “Here!” at the same time. He placed two checkmarks on his chart. We were then taken to a building that had medical gear, doctors, and nurses for physical examinations before we could join the CCC. The army people called the building the “infirmary.”

  Camp Custer was jammed to the gills with guys who were enrolling in the CCC. We stood in long lines waiting to have our teeth inspected, eyes examined, and bodies poked and prodded. Pick, Stosh, Yasku, Squint, and I stayed together, avoiding Big Mike O’Shea and his buddies. We talked nervously as we stood in the slow-moving line waiting our turn.

  “What are you going to do with the money?” Squint asked, breaking the silence.

  At the mention of the word money, Yasku spun around to face Squint. “What money? I didn’t get no money.”

  “You dope,” Squint said as he punched Yasku playfully on the arm, “we’re gonna get paid for working in the CCC. I’m talking about the $30 we get every month. What are you gonna do with the money?”

  “We don’t get to keep that much,” Pick laughed. “The CCC sends $25 back home each month. We get to keep $5.”

  “Still, that’s a lot of money,” I said.

  “At first I was thinking that I’d buy a horse, but I changed my mind. I’m gonna save up to buy an automobile,” Squint said with a chuckle. Our conversation was interrupted as the line moved forward a few steps.

  “You need a lot of money to buy one of them,” Stosh chimed in after a time. “And who are you going to get to drive it, Squint? You don’t see good enough to drive. You’d kill somebody.”

  “You wait,” Squint responded. A wide grin crossed his face. “I’m gonna save up a couple thousand bucks and buy a brand new LaSalle Coupe—a convertible. They make ’em in yellow. That automobile looks like sunshine rolling down the street.” Squint sighed and looked around to make sure that he had everyone’s attention. “When I get my LaSalle, I’ll hire Jarek to do the driving.”

  The guys laughed and slapped Squint on the shoulder. “That was a good one, Squint,” Pick said, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. “Maybe I’ll buy a LaSalle and get Yasku to drive it for me.”

  As we got closer and closer to the infirmary, we were split up and sent to different areas for examination. A dentist looked at my teeth first. You had to have four good teeth top and bottom to be in the CCC. You couldn’t be too tall or too short. You couldn’t be too skinny or weigh too much. Doctors checked us all from top to bottom—our ears, eyes, and noses.

  The physical was a breeze except for the shots. I’d never been to the doctor or had a shot in my life. The needles were big and long. One of the guys ahead of me howled. Another fella fainted and they left him laying there right on the floor. We had to step over him as we approached the doctor with the needle. The doctor didn’t seem to care; he just shoved and pushed the plunger, one in each arm. They felt like the hardest punches I’d ever taken.

  I rubbed my arms as I left the infirmary. Outside I found Squint sitting on the steps; the few things he had brought with him that day were neatly stacked at his side. His face was streaked with tear tracks.

  “Squint,” I asked, “what’s wrong?”

  “I washed out, Jarek. They’re sending me home.”

  I was puzzled. “What do you mean, washed out?”

  Squint turned away so I couldn’t see his tears. “I didn’t make it. The doctor told me that my eyes are too bad for me to be in the CCC. The train back home leaves in an hour.” Squint stood up and faced me as he wiped his eyes with his sleeves. I didn’t know what to say. He put his arms around me and talked to me in Polish. “Now it is you who must be a man, Jarek.” He sniffled quietly before continuing. “I won’t be around to protect you from Mike O’Shea and others like him. Don’t risk your job by fighting. Your work with the CCC is very important to our family. Promise me that you will work hard and stay out of trouble?”

  The news was like a punch in the gut. I blinked away tears. There was only one word I could say—“Promise!”

  Chapter 4

  New Duds

  After we all completed our physicals and shots, we were told that we would have twenty-four hours of rest before starting our training. I wandered around aimlessly, lost in my thoughts and already missing Squint.

  That afternoon, an army officer ordered us to assemble on the parade grounds, a large open area. An American flag stood tall at one end. The parade grounds were just outside of our barracks. Like everything else at Camp Custer, it was clean as a whistle. Rocks around the grounds were painted white. The lawn was cut low and well trimmed. There wasn’t a loose paper or piece of trash to be seen.

  We formed into neat rows and columns to take the Oath of Enrollment. My mind wandered as the words were repeated in broken chorus. “I agree to remain in the Civilian Conservation Corps for the period of . . . I will obey those in authority and observe all the rules and regulations thereof . . . any articles issued to me by the United States Government for use while a member of the Civilian Conservation Corps . . . I further understand that any infraction of the rules or regulations of the Civilian Conservation Corps renders me liable to expulsion therefrom. So help me God.”

  At Supply Headquarters, we were issued a steel cot, a cotton mattress, a pillow, two pillow cases, four sheets, mattress cover, three blankets, and a cotton comforter. They also gave each of us a mess kit. The kit contained a pot with a lid, a pan with a handle, and a cup, all contained in a nice, neat package kept in a canvas bag.

  Stosh wondered aloud about the mess kit he was issued. “It don’t make no sense. Everything round here is so clean, why would they want us to make a mess?”

  None of us was about to argue about getting free things. So, we just took our mess kits and moved on down the line picking up more gear.

  The stuff kept piling up. We were issued a canteen, four undershirts and drawers, a heavy jacket, two suits of overalls, two flannel shirts, two pairs of wool trousers, two pairs of shoes, a working hat, and a dress cap. It was like Christmas, but the gifts kept coming. We got a raincoat, overcoat, belt, necktie, six pairs of socks, working gloves, a toilet kit, towels, and a duffel bag to hold all our new gear.

  The denim work clothes, shoes, and uniforms they gave us were left over from the war and were available in two sizes . . . too big and too small. Pick’s arms and legs stuck out of his clothes. Yasku looked like an empty sack tied in the middle. When we complained, the army supply officer just growled and told us to trade. Stosh was just happy to get new shoes, no matter what size.

  Before hauling armloads of supplies to our barracks, Stosh threw his old, holey shoes in the trash. “No more hand-me-down shoes for Stoshu Campeau,” he said. “I won’t get no rocks between my toes no more.”

  Our bunks for the night were inside old green army barracks. The barracks were a collection of long rectangular buildings lined up side-by-side. Though the buildings themselves were old, they were neat and clean. Not a speck of dust was anywhere to be found, and they smelled freshly washed. Each building housed about sixty guys. Beds were placed against the sidewalls and a potbellied stove squatted in the center of each building. The olive drab woolen blankets were scratchy, but the steel cots were comfortable.

  As we were getting organized, a sergeant came by the barracks and taught us how to make our beds. Some of the guys complained that they already knew how to make a bed, but the sergeant set them straight. Blankets had to be tucked perfectly and so tight that you could drop a nickel on them and it would bounce. We were expected to make our beds first thing each morning. The sergeant inf
ormed us that beds and belongings would be inspected daily. “Your mothers won’t be here to pick up dirty clothes and straighten your things for you,” he said. “Any questions?”

  Pick shuffled his feet nervously. “Any idea of where we’ll be assigned? Do you think it’ll be near Grand Rapids? It’d kinda be nice to go home from time to time.”

  “You won’t be goin’ nowhere near Grand Rapids,” the sergeant said. “Most of the first enrollees are being sent to the Upper Peninsula.

  “The Upper Peninsula?” someone asked. “What’s it like there?”

  “It’s freezing cold. Winter all the time,” the sergeant said in a spooky voice. “They got moose with big teeth and huge, pointy antlers. Them moose like to eat boys, ya know.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” Yasku asked nervously.

  “I am straight as a string telling you the truth,” the sergeant said as he crossed his heart. “The Upper Peninsula is full of bears and wolves and mountain lions, too. Every one of ’em is hungry for fresh meat.”

  Stosh swallowed hard. “Bears, too?”

  “That ain’t the worst of it,” the sergeant continued. “I heard tell that the ghost of a crazy lumberjack is wandering around the Upper Peninsula. An enlisted man from this outfit was up there and heard the story of a lumberjack who drowned in a small lake. Whenever it rains, the ghost of that lumberjack wanders around looking for people to chop up with his axe.” The sergeant looked around at us. Some of the guys’ eyes were as big as saucers. “His spirit rises in the rain b’cause he can’t leave the water that drowned him dead.”

  The sergeant eyeballed the group of boys who were listening. Then he took in a deep, raspy breath. His head shook and his tongue wagged as he let out a long low howl. A few of us laughed and walked away. Several guys pestered the sergeant with questions about ghosts and beasts as he left the barracks shaking his head.

  Stosh and Yasku looked a bit spooked. Pick put his arms around them and said, “Don’t you guys worry. Jarek and I will protect you from man-eating moose and lumberjack ghosts.”

  Chapter 5

  Swimmers and Drivers

  The four of us managed to bunk close to each other. Big Mike and his gang were assigned to a different barrack. We took it easy the rest of the afternoon, organizing our things and trading clothes until we found the best fit possible. We had new clothes, new shoes, new socks, and underwear. It had been a long time since most of us had anything new. It didn’t matter that the stuff was left over from the war.

  Later on, a soldier came by the barrack and told us to get ready for supper. We were to report to the mess hall after we had washed up. Mess hall? Mess halls and mess kits were new words for us. Whatever a mess hall was, it didn’t sound like a good place to be having supper. It would take a long time before we figured out all the different words that the military used for things.

  The mess hall was a huge, open building with rows and rows of tables. Practically everything inside and out was painted olive drab, the official color of the army. As we approached the mess hall, the smell of food made our mouths water. “I can’t believe we’re eating twice in the same day,” Stosh said as we were paraded into the hall. “I think I might like this place.”

  “I hope we’re having somethin’ other than baked potatoes,” I said. Yasku laughed.

  As we took our places at a large table, we were told that there was to be no talking during dinner time in the mess hall. Tin plates and military silverware were stacked up on one end of each table. Heaping bowls of mashed potatoes, gravy, and peas were placed in front of us. Bread, butter, and pitchers of milk were at each table. Pieces of golden brown, deep-fried chicken were stacked high on platters. We dug in and ate like never before. The mess hall filled with the clatter of eating. After dinner, there was peach pie. It was heaven.

  One fella at our table prayed long and hard after his meal. A wise guy sitting next to him whispered, “What you prayin’ about?”

  “I’m praying my family don’t hear about what I had or how much food I ate tonight,” the fella replied in a hushed voice.

  His prayer set us all to thinking. Back home there wasn’t much of anything for our families to eat. Each of us felt guilty, yet none of us could pass up the piles of food. I especially thought about Squint. I was sure that he would be going to bed hungry tonight.

  As the sounds of eating slowed, a shrill whistle pierced the clatter. “Listen up,” shouted the army officer we’d seen earlier. The room went silent. “My name is Lieutenant Campbell. You are going to learn a lot about military ways over the next several weeks. Let me start out by saying that the Civilian Conservation Corps isn’t the army. However, when you address an officer, you are to stand at attention, eyes straight ahead, and arms sharply to your sides. Salute an officer crisply, and the officer will return your salute. You are to address officers by their rank and surname. Or, you may just refer to an officer as sir.”

  Lieutenant Campbell glanced around the room to make sure everyone was listening closely. “I know you’ve been given a twenty-four-hour rest period to recover from your shots. However, I have a few special jobs to offer, and I’m looking for volunteers.”

  Stosh leaned over and whispered, “I heard we shouldn’t be too quick to volunteer.”

  Lieutenant Campbell walked back and forth at the head of the dining hall. “I need eight boys who like being around water. I prefer guys who can swim, but it isn’t necessary to know how. The job is easy and you’ll be given special training. If it turns out that you like beach detail, you might volunteer to do it all the time. So, do I have volunteers?”

  Hands shot up across the room. Lieutenant Campbell pointed to eight eager faces. He motioned at four of them. “I want you to meet me here right after dinner. I’ll take the rest of you boys to the beach tomorrow after breakfast.”

  I sat back in my seat thinking that maybe going to the beach might be a good job. I regretted listening to Stosh. My thoughts were interrupted when the lieutenant spoke up again.

  “Now, I need four guys who want to be truck drivers. Don’t worry; you don’t need to know how to drive. You will get training on the job.”

  Quickly I stood up to volunteer along with about half the other guys in the dining hall. Stosh tried to hold me down, but I really wanted to drive a truck. Lieutenant Campbell scanned the room, overlooking me and choosing four others. What irritated me most was that the lieutenant picked Mike O’Shea.

  As the dining hall emptied and the guys headed off to their barracks, I pushed through the crowd and walked right up to the lieutenant. “Sir, I would really like to be a truck driver. I know I could do a good—”

  “Next time, kid,” was all he said, “next time.”

  “Yah, punk,” Mike O’Shea said as he put his big hand on my shoulder and shoved me backward, “maybe next time.” A smirk crossed his face as he sauntered out of the room.

  For a moment I wanted to wipe that smile off Mike O’Shea’s face right then and there. But I thought better of it. I’d promised Squint that I’d stay out of trouble.

  Chapter 6

  Volunteers

  After supper, Pick and I were talking on our bunks when Yasku burst through the barracks door. He was doubled over in laughter. “Wait ’til you hear this,” he said, gasping for breath. “Those guys who volunteered for duty on the beach . . . well, they got a chance to work near the water all right. They’re washing all the pots and pans and our dinner dishes. Sounds like beach duty and waterfront jobs mean doing dishes.”

  “See,” Stosh said with a chuckle. “I told you to be careful about volunteering. My father was in the war. He told me of such things.”

  “I’m glad you said something,” Yasku said. “The way Lieutenant Campbell described them jobs, it was mighty tempting to volunteer.”

  We explored Camp Custer all evening, laughing and joking about the beach workers. The camp was like a city. Aside from the barracks, mess hall, and infirmary, they had a store (called a PX),
rifle ranges, training centers, and other buildings too numerous to explore. Eventually we found ourselves in one of the buildings. It had a pool table, and we played pool until they threw us out at 9:00 p.m.

  Lights out was at 10:00, and everyone was expected to be in the sack and quiet at that time. Somewhere nearby our barrack, a horn played a soft, gentle tune. Later we would find out that the horn was a bugle and every night at Camp Custer the bugler played taps. As I lay in my bed listening to the music, I thought about missing my chance to be a truck driver. It still burned me that Mike O’Shea was chosen instead of me. Then I thought about Squint and the words of my father. Back home in Grand Rapids, many, many people were out of work and scratching just to stay alive. I had a job. If my father were here, he would remind me to be thankful, no matter what.

  Soon the night air in the barracks was filled with the sounds of sleeping. Some of the guys snored louder than the bugler. Here and there, soft whimpers could be heard as boys experienced the loneliness of being on their own. Snores and whimpers were sounds we would all have to get used to. Though each of us was lonely, it was the first time in years that we’d gone to sleep without being hungry. In the night, someone lit a fire in the potbelly stove. Though the temperatures dropped outside, the small fire took the edge off the cold inside the barracks.

  At 6:00 the next morning, the bugler played once again. This was different music than we had heard the night before. While we were at Camp Custer, the sound of reveille would wake us each morning. Arms were still sore from the shots we received the day before. Still, we got up to face the new day. Our first job was to make our beds the way we’d been shown, tight and taut. We got dressed, then picked up and organized our things. An army sergeant came around and inspected our barrack. Some boys remade their beds several times until they were “army sharp.”