Chapter 3 dealt mostly with recollections of my experience related to my work in the Signal School, more specifically in the Signal Officers' Basic School. This chapter deals with recollections of other experiences during this same period of time, both on duty and off duty. The title is Barracks Life because at least a third of every day was spent in the barracks, but this chapter is not limited to the barracks.
The picture above is that of modern army barracks. I've lived in similar barracks and dissimilar barracks. The difference between the similar barracks and those in the picture is that those in the picture are three stories while I always lived in two story barracks. The dissimilar barracks were also two stories but were of World War 2 vintage and were all wood. As I said in Chapter 1, I spent Basic Training living in 5 man huts.
At Fort Monmouth I mostly lived in the main part of the barracks. This is the part of the barracks where most of the troops live and has anywhere from 20 to 30 bunks in one big room. There are also private and semi-private rooms used by senior Non Commissioned Officers and those with odd working hours, such as cooks.
When I was a student in the Signal School, I lived in the main part of the barracks with the other students. When I was pulled from school to be assigned as part of the permanent staff, I was moved into a semi-private room in the same building. My roommate was a cook who was married and lived off base with his wife, but needed a room because he worked odd hours when he was on duty. He was rarely there, and when he was, he usually went to bed very late or got up very early. It was nice, because often when he came in late after working a long shift, he would bring me a hot sandwich.
When the cook was transferred, I was lucky enough to have a room to myself for a while. I was so appreciative that I wanted to show that I would keep it spotless. One Saturday morning I decided to scrub all the old wax from the floor and rewax it. That was a mistake. I never could get all the old wax off and for a while it looked horrible. Fortunately a couple of good wax jobs over a couple of weeks brought the floor back to looking almost as good as it had before I started.
It was while I was living in this room that I had a brush with the lieutenant that was in charge of these barracks. Every once in a while an alert would be called, meaning that nobody could leave the base. I was under the impression that this only applied to the students in training and not the overhead that was also living in the barracks. One Saturday I had made plans to meet my dad in Washington, DC where he was visiting his sister. As I was about to leave, I was told that the company was on alert and that I could not leave. I protested that I had already scheduled a family reunion in Washington, DC, and the Lieutenant sarcastically said that I was in the Army and couldn't always do what I wanted and said he hadn't seen his dad in a year either.
So I called my aunt in Washington and told her I wouldn't be able to make it after all. After a couple of hours the alert was called off and I was free to go. I called my aunt again, and she told me that my dad was already driving to Fort Monmouth to visit me. I just wanted to get away from the base before they changed their minds again, so I did something that wasn't the brightest thing I've ever done. I told the company clerk that I was going to New York and that when my dad arrived to meet me to tell him to meet me in New York on the corner of 34th Street and 7th Avenue outside of Pennsylvania Station. I figured that would be an easy place to find as it was near the Holland Tunnel, which is the only way to get directly from New Jersey to midtown Manhattan. In my hurry to get away, I hadn't considered the fact that my dad didn't know New York that well and that there would be a lot of people on that corner.
I waited on the corner of 34th Street and 7th Avenue from about 2PM till 8PM. Then I checked into the Soldiers', Sailors', Marines' & Airmen's Club and spent the night. The next day I went to the baseball game in Yankee Stadium, thinking that my dad would figure out that that's where I would go. Of course he never showed up, and I returned to Fort Monmouth Sunday evening to find my dad waiting there for me.
When he had shown up at the base early Saturday afternoon and received my message about going to New York, he proceeded to go to visit his cousin, in Ridgewood, New Jersey and returned to Fort Monmouth Sunday afternoon. Of course he was a little annoyed with what I had done and rightly said that I hadn't been thinking clearly. However, he was happy to see me and we went to dinner and a movie. I still remember the name of the movie we saw. It was "The Court Martial of Billy Mitchell".
After spending time in the student barracks and then in a semi-private room in the same barracks, I was assigned to the barracks where I spent the remainder of my tour at Fort Monmouth. These barracks were for enlisted personnel that had permanent assignments at Fort Monmouth. This is where I lived for approximately the last year of my two years in the army.
One thing that I had plenty of opportunity to do but never did was to go to the horse races. Monmouth race track was within walking distance of Fort Monmouth, but I never got around to going there. I've lived near race tracks all my life but never went to a horse race until 1997. I had gone to a few greyhound dog races in North Sioux City, South Dakota, though.
Weeknights were spent on the base, watching TV in the dayroom or having a beer at the PX. Once in a while we would go into Red Bank, NJ and see a movie. Also there was a movie theater on the base where we could go for 25 cents and where they showed many movies even before they were released to civilian theaters. For a while, I worked part time taking tickets at the base theater. Occasionally some of the guys would go into Asbury Park, NJ, a resort town, and hit the bars and look for women. I wasn't yet 21 and looked young for my age, so I didn't go along on these excursions, although I did visit Asbury Park on an occasional weekend. I also played on the battalion softball and basketball teams. That was an interesting experience, which I'll go into more later.
I could get a beer whenever I wanted one because all military personnel could drink beer in the PX (Post Exchange) on the base, beer was occasionally available in the mess hall with dinner on special occasions (this was rare), and at the time the age limit for purchasing alcoholic beverages in New York City was 18. I really didn't drink much, but liked a cold beer once in a while. All this being said, I looked forward to my 21st birthday when I would be able to buy a beer in New Jersey off the base legally and on occasion go to Asbury Park with my friends. When my 21st birthday came, it was raining cats and dogs, and none of my friends wanted to go anywhere. So in this rain I walked off the post and into the closest bar in Eatontown, New Jersey. Wouldn't you know, they didn't even card me.
Occasionally I had to pull CQ duty. When one pulled CQ duty, he stayed in the orderly room all night and had to stay awake the entire time. I read the entire book "The Bridges at Toko Ri" one night while on CQ. The CQ was relieved when the first person that worked there arrived in the morning. This would be most often the company commander, the first sergeant, or the company clerk. Then having been up all night, the CQ was excused from his regular job that day and usually would sleep for six to eight hours.
One time, after I had pulled CQ duty, I was in my bunk in the barracks trying to sleep. The battalion commander, a major, pulled a surprise inspection and was escorted into the barracks by the company commander and the first sergeant. Seeing me in bed, pretending to be asleep, Lt. Sattler asked the first sergeant, "Was Haakenson CQ last night?". The first sergeant replied, "Yes, sir!". This was to implicitly explain to the major why I was in bed. The funny thing about this was that Lt. Sattler knew I had been CQ and the first sergeant had no idea who had been CQ. The whole charade was for the major's benefit.
I played off and on for the Student Battalion softball team. I was mostly a pitcher, but also played some outfield and first base. As a pitcher I had excellent control, but not much else. I wasn't fast and had no curve ball. The only reason they let me pitch was that nobody else could consistently get the ball over the plate. My ability as a pitcher was more suited to slow pitch softball, which had not yet become a separate game, than the "fast" pitch game that I was playing. There were some good athletes on our team though. Probably the best was a guy named Francois Bello. Bello was an interesting guy, worth some discussion.
Francois Bello was from Panama with a mixed ethnic background. He told me he was 1/4 black, 1/4 Spanish, 1/4, French, and 1/4 Inca Indian. He looked black, similar to many people who have moderately dark skin and features like many African Americans. He was listed as Caucasian on his personnel file, because his Spanish and French blood were dominant over the other two races. Bello became one of my good friends, although we had our ups and downs. He was a good friend of Hector Lopez, a Panamanian who played for the New York Yankees at the time.
Bello was quite the ladies man. One evening he had CQ (Charge of Quarters). CQ is a duty where an enlisted man is in charge of the orderly room and surrounding area when the company commander, first sergeant, and company clerk are off duty. The base also has a Duty Officer (OD) who comes around periodically to ensure that everything is all right. On this particular evening, I was sitting with Bello in the orderly room in civilian clothes listening to the Yankee game on the radio with him. A WAC (Women's Army Corps) came in and Bello said, "hold the fort for me, Hawk" and the two of them went into the company commander's office and closed the door.
They had been in there about 15 minutes when the Duty Officer walked in. I immediately snapped to attention, saluted, and said, "Sir, PFC Haakenson reporting to the Duty Officer - the CQ is inspecting the company area". It was obvious to him that I wasn't CQ since I was in civilian clothes. About that time Bello and the gal came out of the office, disheveled. Bello's uniform shirt tail was out and had lipstick all over it. I was concerned because I was due to be separated from the army soon and didn't want anything to happen to delay that. The OD apparently had a sense of humor though, or maybe he didn't want to have to fill out a report. He merely said, "inspecting the company area, huh?" and then left. I was still nervous though and was happy that nothing came of it.
Bello did have one problem though. He couldn't handle alcohol, and for that reason he rarely drank. When he did drink, he became mean. One night he came into the barracks drunk and we got into an argument over something trivial. He wanted to fight, and discretion being the better part of valor and the fact that he could have wiped the floor with me, I said, "dammit, Bello, you know I can't fight". That sort of broke the ice and had everyone, except Bello and me, in stitches. I never lived that down. The sergeant in charge of the barracks reported the incident to the company commander who interviewed me. Most sergeants wouldn't have done this, but this guy was gung ho. The company commander asked me what punishment Bello should receive. I replied, "sir, it was no big deal - he should receive no punishment at all", and that was the end of it.
One day Bello borrowed $5.00 from me and said he'd pay me back payday. He didn't pay me back for nearly a year, and I repeatedly nagged him about it. I guess the nagging finally wore him down because eventually he did repay me.
Getting back to softball, I quit the team in mid season when I couldn't find my glove after a game. I looked all over for it and asked around and nobody knew anything. I thought it had been stolen and was pissed. After two or three weeks, Bello asked me to return to the team because they were short handed. I said that I didn't have a glove. He said I could borrow one. I said I needed a left handed glove and there were none around. He took me to the supply room where the equipment was stored, and my own glove was there. To this day, I have no idea what had happened with that glove, but I did return and play out the season.
One thing about playing sports in the military, the rule about officers and enlisted personnel not socializing and the military discipline of interaction between various ranks is put on hold. One example of this occurred on our team. The catcher was the company clerk, a Spec 4 which is equivalent to a corporal. He was also the team leader. The first baseman was the company commander, a first lieutenant. During one game the first baseman, Lieutenant Alan Sattler, made a mental error, and after all these years I don't remember specifically what it was. But the catcher got all over his case. The first baseman said, "remember I'm a lieutenant". The catcher said, "not on this field, you're not".
I also played on the battalion basketball team. Our player coach was Lt. Bemis, who had graduated from Texas A&M, a quasi-military university. We weren't that good a team, and got beat quite often by teams packed with former college basketball players. My big claim to fame was a picture in the Fort Monmouth newspaper of me sinking a jump shot from the corner. The picture was captioned, "Unidentified player - - - -". I did get my name in the box score in the paper though.
In Chapter 5 I go into some detail about the many weekends I spent in New York City. Often I would get back to the base late on a Sunday evening and often I was mad at myself for not coming back a little sooner. I did want to get my sleep. Late one Sunday night I got back and was walking through the dark barracks toward my bunk when a guy jumped out of the shadows and came toward me. Two or three guys had short sheeted my bunk and tried to scare me. They succeeded. I reacted by punching the first guy right in the jaw, which was very unlike me. It was Don Keegan, a fellow Iowan. I thought to myself, "aw shit, now I'm going to get the crap beat out of me". But Don just got up from the floor and went to bed, as did everybody else. I felt bad about it and apologized the next day. He said not to worry about it, no big deal.
As I remember Don Keegan, I remember most of the rest of the guys that I lived with in the barracks. We lived on the second floor. I didn't know the guys on the first floor as well, but do remember one guy. He was from California and we had a bet on the NCAA basketball finals, where the San Francisco University was playing the University of Iowa for the national championship. I had seen many of the Iowa players in high school basketball and thought they would win. They didn't. San Francisco had a couple of players named Bill Russell and KC Jones.
I remember most of the guys on the second floor and some of their names. It was a good cross section of America with black, white, and Native American representation. Also Latino representation with Panamanians such as Bello. Only Asians were missing from our floor. Also, various economic and educational backgrounds were represented. For the most part we all got along very well, although the army had only been integrated since President Truman's executive order seven years earlier, and the progress of the next 40 years in civil rights and race relations had not yet happened.
Harry Shearer, like Don Keegan, had enlisted in the army right out of high school for a three year tour of duty. He was from Chico, California and would lie down on his bunk after lunch to take a short catnap before returning to work. The funny thing about it was that he slept very soundly and was hard to awaken. When he did awaken, he jumped right to his feet. One day, Don Keegan tied his shoelaces to the end of his bunk and then awakened him. He jumped right up as usual and the fell flat on his face with his shoe still tied to the bunk. He was not hurt, and we all had a good laugh.
All of us except Malcolm Davis, who didn't think it was funny and thought we were all cruel for laughing at the incident, and chastised us. Davis was from Boston and was a mixture of African American and Native American heritage. He was older than most us and was a career soldier. He was also an alcoholic who rarely drank but would occasionally go on a binge. When he did, he would return to the barracks and was no longer Malcolm Davis, but was "The Shadow".
Another career soldier in the barracks was an African American and was a truck driver. He was also older than most of us, though not as old as Davis. I don't remember his name, but he was the one who laughed the hardest when I told Bello that I couldn't fight, and never forgot it and never let me forget it.
The other African American in our barracks was from Philadelphia and was an attorney who had been drafted. His name was Smith and he was the most intellectual of our group. He had a dry sense of humor and would invite me to go to Philadelphia on the weekend, but teased me about being afraid to meet black women. He was in the bunk to my immediate right.
To my immediate left was a Tennessee hillbilly named Stapleton, whose nickname was "Davy Crockett". He was a career soldier, but wouldn't admit it. He claimed that when this tour was over, he would get out. One evening, before the lights were out, Stapleton was asleep and was snoring with his mouth wide open. Someone caught a live fly and put the fly in his wide open mouth, which of course awakened him. He was pissed and demanded to know who did it.
Probably the best athlete of our group, maybe even better than Bello, was a short, but muscular blond haired guy from Philadelphia who had been a minor league baseball player in the Philadelphia Phillies organization before being drafted into the army. He played on the Fort Monmouth baseball team. He hated to wake up in the morning though. We would be awakened at 5:30 each morning and have a half hour to shower, shave and all that stuff. At 6:00 we went to the mess hall for breakfast, and after breakfast back to the barracks to make the beds, straighten out our areas, and finish getting ready for work. This guy, whose name I don't remember, would not speak to anybody until he had had his first cup of coffee. Anyone trying to speak with him would get the same response, "fuck you!". After his first cup of coffee he was as congenial as anybody.
In the bunk directly across the aisle from me was a guy named Troyer. He was quiet and pleasant, and I believe he was also a three year enlistee. Unbeknownst to most of us, he was an epileptic. His illness had been in remission for several years. and he had not had a seizure since he was a boy. Wouldn't you know, one night we were all awakened by Troyer making a horrible noise in his bed and falling to the floor twitching and squirming. In the next bunk, a guy named Mulligan, who was the only one in the barracks that knew of Troyer's condition, yelled, "Troyer's having a fit, make sure he doesn't swallow his tongue.". When it was over, Troyer was helped back into bed and fell into a deep sleep. The next morning when he awakened, he said, "oh, shit!". This was unusual because he NEVER used off color language. He remembered nothing about the seizure but knew what had happened because his whole body was sore and he was extremely tired. He was unhappy because he thought the last seizure he had as a boy would be the last, period. He went on sick call and spent about three days in the hospital undergoing tests. The he was released and came back "fit for duty".
I don't remember much about Mulligan, other than he was the one aware of Troyer's condition. Mulligan was just a regular guy that I believe was from upstate New York, as was Troyer. He had a good sense of humor and played along on the rare occasions when Malcolm Davis assumed his "the Shadow" persona.
Henry Stoner was from New York City and a graduate of New York University. He was a draftee and was very naive for a college graduate. He's the one that I referred to in Chapter 3 as having a crush on the civilian secretary. He's also the one in Chapter 5 who shared a ride with me to New York given by a Signal School lieutenant. What I remember about that is that he had to go to the bathroom, so I told him to go into a bar and use their rest room. He wasn't sure he should do that. He got out near his parents' home and I don't know if he took my advice. As I say in Chapter 5, my ride went on to Grand Central Station.
Schindler (I've forgotten his first name) was also from New York City. He had a lot in common with Stoner, both being well educated, Jewish, and from New York City. But unlike Stoner, who was low key and naive, Schindler was a man of the world whose personality bordered on cynical. He had a dry sense of humor that sometimes went over Stoner's head. But they got along well with each other and with the rest of us and seemed to complement each other. I think Stoner learned a lot about the ways of the world from Schindler.
Another guy, whose name I've forgotten, was a draftee from one of the New England states. He had been a distance runner in college, and one evening we decided to go out jogging around the track. We plodded along at a slow pace, until he decided it was time for "real" running. He then proceeded to "lap" me several times. Even though I weighed only about 135 lbs. at the time, I was no match for him. I remember a little less about him because he was one of the first of our group to get out of the army.
I've mentioned Victor Krueger, the German immigrant, in other chapters. The reason he's not mentioned here is that by the time I moved into these barracks, he had served his two years and had been separated. I do remember one incident from the other barracks, though. I got up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom. When I returned, I couldn't resist waking Vic up and saying, "piss call". That was an old joke people played because invariably when you're awakened in the middle of the night, you have to go to the bathroom.
Vic did have an experience that he related to me. He had gone bar hopping with Lt. Zappi one evening, ignoring the taboo against officers and enlisted men socializing. When they returned to the base late one night, in civilian clothes, the MP stopped them at the gate and asked them for their ID cards and passes. Enlisted personnel are required to have a pass whenever they leave the base, although permanent personnel usually carry it with them all the time. Officers aren't required to have passes. So Vic showed the MP his ID card and his pass and Lt. Zappi showed him his ID card only. The MP got on Zappi's case saying, "I said ID AND pass". Zappi said, "Look carefully at the ID". This went back and forth a couple of times before the MP realized that Zappi was a lieutenant. He then said, "I'm sorry, sir" and let them in. Knowing about Lt. Zappi's short fuse, I thought that must have been a funny incident to watch. Vic said that it was very funny, and that he had a hard time keeping a straight face.
Each of us living in the barracks was expected to keep his own immediate area clean and neat. As the old cliche goes, our beds were to be made so tightly that a quarter would bounce of the blanket. On the rare occasions that our lockers and/or footlockers were to be inspected, without warning, they were to be neat and items were to be arranged in a specific order. Every morning a barracks orderly was assigned. The barracks orderly was to make sure everyone had done his job cleaning his area and to finish up by cleaning the main aisle and the latrine, and to not go to his job until the area had been inspected. Usually one barracks orderly was assigned to the first floor and another to the second floor. In most companies the company commander, executive officer, or the first sergeant would perform the inspection. Since our company was a headquarters company with several officers with various specialized duties attached, these officers were occasionally given the task of inspecting the barracks, usually the only military duty they had to perform.
On a day that I was to be barracks orderly I had to do it for both our second floor and the first floor. Our floor was fine, but I noticed as I was sweeping the center aisle on the first floor that nobody had swept his individual area. I was a little bit annoyed and did not cover for them. The lieutenant who came in to inspect was a former University of Alabama halfback whose sole duty during football season, other than to inspect our barracks occasionally, was to practice and play football for the Fort Monmouth team. He immediately noticed that there was dust between the bunks on the first floor and asked me about it. I (mistakenly) replied that it was not my responsibility to clean the individual areas. I hadn't yet figured out that the best thing to do under those circumstances is to accept the blame and go from there. The lieutenant reported my response to the sergeant in charge of our barracks, who immediately ordered a "GI Party" that night. A "GI Party" is a punishment where everyone has to stay in the barracks and clean up to an almost unattainable level.
I had a valid excuse for missing the "GI Party" even though it was my blunder that had caused it. I was scheduled to work in the base movie theater that night taking tickets. When I returned to the barracks late at night, everyone was in bed and the "GI Party" had been completed. I fully expected some retribution from the others, but none was forthcoming. The sergeant in charge of the barracks told me that I was lucky. I guess part of my luck was due to the fact that a majority of the troops were draftees and took everything in stride.
The sergeant in charge of our barracks was an unusual guy. He was an Ivy Leaguer, who had a Master's Degree from Brown University. He was an intellectual who chose to make a career in the army as an enlisted man. I was often surprised at the level of education of some of the career NCO's. He was in charge of establishing a TI&E (Training, Information, and Education) seminar for personnel in our barracks. It was voluntary but we were very much encouraged to attend. We often had guest speakers, prominent civilians, high ranking officers, and many others with something to say. During one session, the sergeant was discussing with us the caste system in other parts of the world, where one's role in life was predetermined at birth, and one could not rise above his station in life no matter what his abilities. Members of the various castes were not allowed to socialize together. I asked, "Isn't the army a caste system in that respect?". He replied no, because enlisted personnel had the option of becoming officers if they so chose and had the ability.
During the time that I lived in these barracks I served under two company commanders. I don't remember the name of the first one, because he had completed his military obligation shortly after I was assigned to his company. But I do remember one incident that is typical. As I mentioned in Chapter 3, everyone except my closest friends pronounced my name "Hackenson", even though the correct pronunciation is somewhere between "Hawkenson and Hockenson". At the time this company commander was in charge, he sat at a table full of money on payday, and each of us had to line up and report to him and receive our pay in cash. He usually didn't look up as he was focused on counting money. One payday I walked up to the table, saluted and said, "Sir, PFC Haakenson reporting for pay!". The lieutenant mumbled "Haakenson?", then looked up at me and said, "Oh, "Hackenson"."
The executive officer at that time was Lieutenant Alan Sattler, whom I mentioned before and got to know better because of softball and serving under him for a longer period of time. He was also an ROTC officer, just putting in his time. He became company commander when the other one left. One of the duties of a company commander is to give a reenlistment talk to each soldier about to leave the army. When it was my time to get out of the army, I was ordered to report to Lt. Sattler for my reenlistment talk. It went like this. I said, "Sir, PFC Haakenson reporting to the company commander as ordered." Sattler said, "Haakenson, are you planning to reenlist?". I responded, "are you?". He laughed and said, "good luck in civilian life, you're dismissed". I imagine that was one of the shortest reenlistment talks on record.
For our bunks we had been issued two sheets, a pillow with pillowcase, and two blankets. During the summer one of the blankets was to be folded neatly at the foot of our bed. Several weeks before I was to be released from the army my extra blanket was stolen. I immediately reported that it had been stolen. The supply sergeant said that some sort of investigation would have to be performed. Weeks went by and nothing happened. I was then asked if I had found the blanket, and I said no. He said I'm sure you'll find it, because if we have to have an investigation, it may delay your release from the army. Nothing frightened me more that having my separation delayed. I was beginning to see the situation. So one night I snuck into another barracks and took a blanket. I was scared out of my mind I might get caught. When time came to turn in my stuff to supply, the supply sergeant said, "I knew you'd find it". As I learned, that is "the old army game", and it goes on and on.
The last few weeks before I got out of the army, I was assigned to yet another barracks. The sergeant in charge of these barracks was an older guy and wasn't too bright. He made the troops stand outside for roll call at reveille at 5:30 when we first got up. Most of us hadn't done that since basic training. It is a tradition that those being separated from the army, stay in bed their last day and skip reveille. So a guy named Park and I just did that. This sergeant came roaring into the barracks saying that we would be mowing the lawn outside the barracks that evening. Of course we were long gone by then, and I've often wondered how long this sergeant looked for us to mow the lawn.
On July 9, 1956 I was separated from the army. I don't say "discharged" because that came six years later when my inactive reserve duty was fulfilled. I had processed out by 10:30AM and took a bus to Asbury Park where I would catch another bus to Philadelphia. I couldn't wait to get out of my uniform and I changed clothes in Philadelphia. I then boarded a bus to Washington, DC, where I visited my aunt before catching a train to Sioux City, Iowa, where I would spend a few days before going to Ames, Iowa to enroll in summer school at Iowa State University. Although I hated the army at the time, I feel the experience enriched me and gave me a new perspective on life. I've written a lot of what I recall after these years, except maybe some private details about coming of age. I have some fond memories of the people I've met. I realize that time makes things seem better than they were, and perhaps that's good.
