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4 September 1944
The village of Taintignies, Belgium
Why is it around our house after consuming the typical family
Thanksgiving feast that the conversation invariably turns to
a discussion of leaner days that occurred long ago? Somehow or
other, we each like to recall our own personal experiences of
past years. So it seems inevitable that long before the dessert
is being served that someone at the table has to needle me about
my old "brown shoe" army career and the field rations
at the time. When one hears the expression "Army Chow"
do I think of the Mess Sergeant nicknamed "Mama" Gosher
and his idiosyncrasies; First Cook Al Jordan's green apple pies;
the Spam, mutton stews, chipped beef on toast (better known as
"Shit on a Shingle" to the troops)? I cannot honestly
think it is anyone of them in particular, but taken together
they represent the cuisine served during the war years for me
of 1943-45 while serving as a member of the US 2nd Armored Division
in the European Campaign.
Strangely enough, I guess the one single food item that I
associate with that period of time is (don't laugh) "C"
rations! Why those damn things you ask? For one thing, they were
our daily diet for many days and weeks on end prior to and once
we landed in Normandy for the invasion, spelled by the combat
"K" rations. An important part of this food memorabilia
is due to the fault of one Staff Sergeant Tommy Speirs, plus
my own non-conformists and rebellious ways. This incident occurred
right after the frantic chase across northern France and our
heralded entrance into Belgium as the first Allied troops to
cross their border and commence the liberation of their country
on 2 September 1944.
Sergeant Speirs hailed from Picayune, Mississippi, and served
as the CCA radio half-track commander and, as an Old Army man,
was known as a no-nonsense soldier. The rest of his crew was
comprised of Vern Evans from New Orleans, Bill Truett of Indiana
and Harold Zappendorf of Chicago. We stuck close to them in bivouac
areas, for they had a power generator on a trailer they towed
and that gave us needed electric power when necessary. In addition,
together we were the only enlisted signalmen assigned to CCA
Headquarters. Misery loves company. We all had become accustomed
to the K and C rations long before we had the luxury and experience
of dining on the new 10-in-one rations, or when in a static position
the field kitchen came up to serve a decent meal. No one that
I can recall cared much for the can of hash in the C's or the
can of lemon powder and hardtack crackers it came with. It finally
got to the point where we would throw them away or else set them
aside for when we were really hard-pressed for food, which happened.
When the division had out-run our supply lines, we also ran
out of gasoline to move the division. September 4, 1944 was my
22nd birthday and it found me underneath an apple tree in an
orchard concocting a scheme to dispose of a case of hash and
lemon powder to the unsuspecting Sergeant Speirs. Perhaps it
was boredom or else hunger pains that motivated me to swap a
case of unopened C's off the side of Speirs half-track for a
case of "duds" of hash & lemon powder. I collected
all the hash & lemon cans I could find in our two wire vehicles
and packed them into an empty C ration box. I then carefully
re-nailed the boards back on top and then re-wired the retaining
wire to where you could not easily tell it had been repacked
with the "duds." Making sure I wasn't seen, I then
swapped this bogus case for a virgin box stored in the rail on
the side of Speirs half-track. I figured it would take the "dit-da-dit"
crew a few days to come across the switched box of C's. However,
that very same day one of the crew selected that box among those
on the rail and the howls that were heard alerted Speirs. After
viewing the switch rations, the old cavalry man said, "What
low life horse's ass would do a thing like that? I am going to
kick someone's ass if I find the @#$%^&* who did this!"
With common knowledge that the whole wire crews were practical
jokers, he naturally accused us. When Joe Elfer, our Cajun from
New Orleans and one of Speirs' drinking buddies, was questioned
by Speirs, Elfer spilled his guts and said, "Tom, only a
damned Yankee would pull such a stunt." With that Speirs
gaze fell on Veno from Wisconsin, Hull from Massachusetts, Donahue
from Michigan, Waldroop from Oklahoma and I from Wisconsin, rounding
out those north of the Mason-Dixon Line. Because by now they
knew, they all turned and looked at me with big grins and guffaws.
I knew the jig was up and my goose was cooked and started getting
to my feet not a moment too soon as Speirs was headed my way
with his eyes blazing. Back in those days I could outrun any
sergeant and he soon gave up the foot race in the orchard.
Later when cooler heads prevailed and we all shared a good
laugh, I had to swap him a fresh unopened case of C's that he
personally inspected for the case of "duds" that I
tried to palm off on him. He promised to keep a close watch on
me thereafter. So when soldiers of yesteryear start reminiscing
about Army Chow and its shortcomings, I will always recall my
Sting of the rebel sergeant and swapping the two cases. Even
today, I find pleasure in rehashing this old story. Now tell
the truth, before you complain too loudly, wouldn't you rather
hear stories about coping with the old field rations instead
of all the old stories I had to hear about the guys cleaning
out the stables at Fort Riley in the prewar days?
A condensed and edited version appeared in
Issue #1, 1986, of the 2nd Armored Division Association Bulletin.
Publication or reproduction, in part or whole,
is prohibited without written permission from the author, Don
R. Marsh. All rights remain the sole property of The Marsh Family
Trust.
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