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There are times in everyone's life when it
seems as though the whole world were against him. One of these
times occurred when I was on my way overseas. Our outfit was
moving from Texas to Fort Mead, Maryland. On this journey I passed
through Johnstown, Pennsylvania, my hometown. There I was, so
close to home, still unable to see my folks and knowing it would
be a long time before I'd be so near them again. As the train
approached the town, I saw many familiar landmarks. There was
the Bethlehem Steel Mills to the left of me. Oh, what a thrilling
sight, seeing the blast furnace smoke stacks belching out the
black smoke. It was thrilling because these steel mills were
a part of me, knowing that black smoke was the residual in melting
down iron ore to mold into sheets of steel that would go into
the war effort.
There was the Point Stadium, where I witnessed
many a football and baseball game. The Post Office where my Dad
worked; City Hall, the hub of Johnstown. It made me heartsick.
To me it seemed the train went faster and faster through the
town as though it didn't want me to take a last look at home.
Suddenly, as though my prayers were answered, the train slowed
down. Noticing some workmen along the track, I rummaged through
my pockets, found a piece of paper and a pencil and jotted down
a note. I managed to get to an open window and tossed it out.
Silently I prayed that someone might pick it up and deliver the
message to my parents. The train gained speed and once more I
felt despair at leaving these familiar surroundings.
The note was duly delivered to my parents,
who knew that I was on my way to the wars.
Original note I threw off the train. The note
is dirty and soiled. Probably as the work crew stood around unfolding
it and handling it as they read the note. It is interesting to
note that the date is May 18, 1944, my birthday. I was 22 years
old.
The note reads:
May 18, 1944
Whoever gets this please call my folks
and tell them I just went through the city. Phone number is F43-703.
After you call drop this in a mail box. Tell them I can't say
where I'm going, but they have a good idea.
Thank you,
Bill Ruth
The man who delivered this personally to Dad
was Homer Shaeffer from 422 Woodland Avenue.
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