I marched with patton, p.2
I Marched with Patton, page 2
The church wasn’t so old. It just looked worn. The unadorned white walls had taken on a touch of yellow, and the carpet was made of that cheap gray stuff that looked used even on a good day. With one pulpit in the middle at the front, the rest of the building appeared functional at best. The preacher, in his black suit, stood everybody up when we came in. He looked worn out, too.
The service turned out to be on the mild side, with no loud crying or the preacher yelling about going to hell. A lot of the local folks filled the seats. I didn’t really listen to much of the Bible reading and what the preacher had to say. I stared at that closed casket and wondered what my father would have thought of it. The flowers and all this fuss. He’d always been a down-to-earth sort of guy.
At the end of the service, the piano player started up again with the hymn “In the Sweet Bye and Bye,” and we all marched out to the graveyard. The preacher read some more Scripture, said a few words, and ended with a prayer. People came by to shake my mother’s hand, and most started leaving. I stood there by myself looking at my father’s casket as they slowly lowered it into the red-dirt ground.
Nothing would ever be the same again. The happy days of childhood were gone. No swimming up there at the Rattlesnake Mountains watering hole. Trying to outrun the train crossing the trestle was over. I had to step into Dad’s shoes.
I had to go to work.
3
Hard Decisions
I could see no alternative but to go up to the high school and officially drop out. Everybody already knew what had happened to my father, so there was no explaining to do. The principal didn’t say much, but he expressed his regret and hoped I would come back.
“I understand your situation,” Principal Irwin said. “We’re all sorry about what happened to your father.”
“Thank you,” I replied.
“We’ve had a number of students drop out,” he remarked. “Some of the older boys signed up for the military and that war in Europe. These are certainly tough times.”
I nodded. “I’m afraid so. Everybody is feeling the pinch.”
“What do you think you’ll do?”
I scratched my head. “Well, I don’t rightly know. There’s not much around here locally that pays anything. I’ve got to make enough money to sustain my family.”
“Sure,” the principal said. “The WPA doesn’t pay much, but I’ve got a suggestion that might help you. There’s a special opportunity out in Oakland, California. A quick course at the Okmulgee Tech School will teach you to weld. You get good at welding, you could probably make a hundred dollars a week. That would sure put some bread on your mother’s table back here.”
This was quite a lead. I closed the door to his office and walked out of the building. Principal Irwin’s idea was the first bright light I’d seen so far. Alice Anderson was standing at the corner of the building, waiting for me.
Alice had been part of my life since the second grade. She had long blond curls that hung down to her shoulders and blue eyes that sparkled even in the dark. Her face seemed faultlessly shaped right down to a perfectly rounded chin. I always knew she liked me, even in grade school, when I’d see her eyeing me at recess. In junior high, her girlfriends left hints that I was the apple of her eye. Of course, I didn’t pay any attention to that chatter, but . . .
Alice started to grow on me. By the time we reached our freshman year in high school, I started taking her to the movies. One thing led to another, and we soon thought we were in love, whatever that meant. The truth was that we were serious, and the romance bug that bit us wasn’t going away.
“What did the principal say?” she asked.
“He’s always a nice guy,” I said. “Irwin told me about a possibility in Oakland, California, where I could make a hundred dollars a week.”
“A hundred dollars!” Alice’s mouth dropped open.
“Yeah. That’s what he said. I could learn welding. The brochure Irwin gave me said I could help build ships for the war effort. Now, wouldn’t that be something?”
“Yeah,” Alice said slowly. “But you’d have to move to California.”
“Afraid so. The trouble is that there’s nothing around here. A WPA job wouldn’t pay a third of that salary, and who knows how long WPA might last? Welding would have permanent possibilities.”
Alice nodded. “Frank, I don’t think I could live without you. If you go off to California, I’d die.”
“Look, Alice. We both got to grow up some, but then we could get married, and I’d bring you out to California.”
“Oh, Frank!” She stood up on her tiptoes and kissed me. “Wonderful!”
“We got to keep this under wraps, Alice. No one can know that we’re going to get married until I’ve got everything worked out in Oakland. Right now, I’ve never been out of the state of Oklahoma, and California is a long way off. I must go out there and take a look at the lay of the land.”
“Sure. Frank, you are wonderful. Just wonderful.” Alice kissed me again. “I’ll write you every day.”
“And I’ll do the same. We can make it work, but the putting it all together is going to take time.”
When I walked in the house, Mother was still sitting by the window, wearing her black dress from the funeral. I sat down across from her like I always did, but didn’t say anything. I waited for her to speak. Finally, she turned around and looked at me.
“What did you find out, Frank?”
“I got a good lead while I was up there in the principal’s office. If I went to California after taking a course in welding, I could make a hundred dollars a week.”
Mother stared. “You’re kidding!”
“No, I got a brochure and everything. All we’d have to come up with would be the bus fare.”
Mother shook her head. “Oh my, I don’t know how we’d do that.”
I thought maybe we could ask the four adult children to chip in. If they’d help with buying the bus ticket, I could scrape up enough to get me started out there. As the principal described it, the government was frantic to find workers.
Mother sat there wringing her hands. Eventually, she said, “Frank, I don’t know what I’d do with you being gone. You’re such an important part of life around here. On the other hand, we desperately need that money. It’s a hard trade-off.”
I’d miss everybody terribly, but I didn’t know what else to do. Mother said she would call the girls.
She got up out of her chair more slowly than I’d ever seen her move and shuffled over to the phone. My father’s death had another effect that I didn’t expect: Myrtle Sisson was turning into an old woman.
4
The Big Turnaround
I’d never been out of the state of Oklahoma, but as the Greyhound bus sailed through Texas and New Mexico, I certainly kept my eyes open. Highway 66 wound through all kinds of towns on the way to California. Most were small and didn’t look that different from Weleetka. Each one had a main street lined with old cars and store windows filled with items they tried to sell to struggling people. Many towns didn’t look too prosperous; I saw a lot of windows boarded up. The flat plains of Oklahoma and Texas blended into the mountains of New Mexico and Arizona. We crossed what looked like the most barren desert in the world and eventually wound up in Oakland. One thought kept returning to my mind. When I turned eighteen, I knew it was possible that I’d be heading to war.
Everybody on the bus talked about the fierce struggle with the Germans. Sounded like the Nazis were swallowing the entire continent of Europe. Poland, Belgium, Norway, the Netherlands, and France had fallen like dominos. Everyone everywhere worried.
I got settled in the Oakland area, and in no time at all, I was in the Kaiser Shipbuilding Company Shipyards with a protective helmet on my head and an acetylene torch in my hand. Day and night, I welded together sheets of steel to fit on the battleships we were preparing for combat. The sparks flew as my torch blazed. Working night and day, I quickly got to like it—and certainly I liked the money it allowed me to send home. If General Patton could have seen me sweating and laboring like a faithful trouper, he would have been proud.
Of course, the letters from Alice Anderson came thick and fast. She kept me up on the goings-on around Weleetka. Not much really happened, but she made it sound exciting. I read them and reread them. Of course, I kept sending replies describing the happenings in the shipyard.
It seemed like my mother was making it okay now. Myrtle Sisson had always been an enduring, hardworking person. Mother was practical and could stretch what was cooked for supper into two more evening meals. We had always depended on my father and never thought Estes Sisson would falter. Even two years later, I still teared up when I thought about him and what had occurred. The pain lingered.
In 1943, as my eighteenth birthday approached, I knew I had business with the draft board. Even though I was in California, my obligations remained in Oklahoma, but I thought I ought to let the locals in Oakland know I would be registering for the draft back home. The draft board people proved to be all business.
“Sir,” I said, trying to sound as adult as possible, “I’m about to turn eighteen.”
“Well, that’s fine,” the rotund registrar said. “We love having boys like you come drifting by.” He chuckled.
The man kept chewing on an unlit cigar. His suspenders held up a pair of pants about to avalanche. The man’s fat, stubby fingers clutched an ink pen poised to fill out a form. The guy wasn’t exactly a poster boy for the military, but he was certainly ready to sign up anyone who walked through the door. He said coldly, “Give me your name and address, son. I’ll start filling out the papers.”
“I’m only working out here because of the Depression. Actually, I’m from Oklahoma.”
“Oklahoma!” the man snorted. “Why, you’re one of those prune pickers come out here to sweeten the pie. You gonna register here or in Indian country?”
“Oh, I’m planning on registering in my home state.”
He switched the cigar to the other side of his mouth. “Don’t you be playing any games with us. If you don’t get your name on the dotted line, we’ll come looking for you. You can’t hide from Uncle Sam.”
“Oh, nothing like that. No, no. I’m not afraid of the military.”
“Well, I’m sure you know you’ll be drafted immediately. That war with Uncle Hitler needs fine young men, and even some who don’t look so fine. Since you been out here in the shipyards, you going with the navy?”
“Sir, I can walk a lot farther than I can swim. No boats for me.”
The fat man laughed again. “If that’s the way you want it, start learning to march. Okay, you get on your way to Okie land, where the wind blows free and the red dust covers farms.” He switched the cigar back to the other side of his mouth. “Good-bye.”
There was no point in waiting around. As soon as I registered, they’d send me off. Getting on the next bus back to Oklahoma seemed to be the only thing to do. I figured I could tell them that I wanted to go to Fort Sill, Oklahoma, for training, and maybe they’d buy that suggestion. If nothing else, I’d be back with Alice after almost three years, and I couldn’t beat that opportunity.
My welding days were over.
5
Coming Back—in Time to Leave
The big Greyhound bus pulled in to the Weleetka station, and people began debarking. I was halfway out of the bus when I saw Alice running to meet me. She jumped up and hugged me for what felt like forever. I could hear several people laughing, and one man clapped. People were watching.
“Must have just gotten back from the war,” someone said.
“Good for you, son.”
I couldn’t talk because Alice was kissing me. Her blond hair swirled around my face.
“You’re home!” Alice gushed. “Thank God, you’re finally here.”
I took her hand, and we walked away from the bus station. “Seems like it’s been forever,” I said.
“Oh, an eternity!” Alice hugged me. “Does your mother know you’re here?”
“No, I wasn’t sure when I’d arrive. You’re the only one that I told.”
“I been waiting for you forever. I sat there on that old wooden bench for at least two hours. I couldn’t do anything else.”
I stopped and kissed her again.
“Thank you for all those letters,” I said. “They helped me deal with feeling homesick. Every now and then, the ache would come back. That’s when I’d sit down and reread everything you had written.”
“Oh, thank you for yours,” Alice said. “I got the picture of what that Alameda wharf looked like. What you were doing. Welding on those huge ships and all. What an adventure!”
“I’ve got to put that behind me now. I’ve just turned eighteen, and the draft will ship me out immediately after I sign up. I guess I won’t be here long.”
“Please don’t leave me again,” Alice begged.
“Sure don’t want to.”
We stopped right there on the main street of Weleetka and kissed again.
On the surface, the town looked exactly the same. People still drove the same old 1930s cars because the automobile manufacturers were now making primarily military vehicles. The stores on Main Street were just like I’d left them. But something was different. At first, I couldn’t put my finger on what it was.
It took a while, but I slowly realized that what was different was me. I’d left a boy trying to help his family survive; I’d come back a man who’d learned how to make his own way in the world. The calendar said I hadn’t lived that much longer, but in my head, I knew that I had matured. The army would soon slap a rifle in my hand and send me out there to die for my country. If that wasn’t becoming a grown-up, I don’t know what is.
The local draft board proved to be far more personal than that one in Oakland had been. Though some memories were fading, people remembered my father, Estes Sisson, and still had a good word for him. I told them that, if possible, I wanted to do my basic training in Fort Sill, three hours west of Weleetka by bus, and it was arranged.
The family all came in to see me before I left for the front. Fern had become a grown woman. Ruby showed up, as did Mildred. Buck and Bob were no longer little boys. They all gathered around and slapped me on the back. Mother had tears in her eyes when she told me what the funds I’d sent had done for the family. Alice couldn’t be there; she had left with her family on a long trip. Her absence was a painful omission. On Sunday, we had a big outdoor picnic, talking and laughing all afternoon. Nobody asked about what I’d do next, because they all knew.
Ruby was not only the oldest but also probably the most thoughtful. Finally, near the end of the afternoon, she brought it up. “All we hear on the radio is about the war,” my sister said. “Sounds frightening.”
Nobody said anything.
“Somebody’s got to go over there and kick Hitler in the seat of the pants,” I piped up.
They all laughed, and that broke the tension.
“What do you suppose you’ll be doing?” Ruby asked.
“I’m going to Fort Sill, where they do artillery training. I suppose I’ll be shooting them big guns. Can’t say for sure, but they tell me that when I finish there, they’ll probably send me down to Camp Bowie in Brownsville, Texas.”
“What’s the difference between a fort and a camp?” Buck wanted to know.
“A fort is permanent,” I said. “A camp isn’t.”
We finished up on some apple pie Mom had made. Laughed a little more, and then soberness set in. Ruby hugged me and left with tears in her eyes.
“Thank you for all you done for us,” Fern said, holding me tight. “God bless you, Frank. God keep you.” She turned and hurried away.
One by one, they came by and shook my hand or thanked me. And then it was over. My homecoming had turned into an emotional exit. Seemed like I’d just said hello to Alice and then good-bye. Once again, Greyhound did the trick, and when I next got off the bus, I was in Fort Sill and a private in the army. The lowest of the low.
Just as the officials at the draft office had promised, after four months at Fort Sill, I went to Camp Bowie for instruction in shooting the big guns. We learned how to fire the cannons and also what we would be facing in return. At first glance, there seemed to be little difference between the artillery branches of the U.S. Army and the German Wehrmacht. The American guns were a bit heavier than their German counterparts and generally had a longer range. The German 105-millimeter guns were almost like the American 105-millimeter howitzers, with little difference in range of firing. They told us there were enough similarities overall between each army’s guns to allow the U.S. Army to equip two of its field artillery battalions with captured German equipment and take advantage of the enemy ammunition stock captured in France.
Though the weapons were alike, we learned that our army had the superior system. American artillerymen did not try to combat the Nazis’ artillery by building bigger guns. The approach from the beginning was to build a better system of weapons, and it was working.
We were so busy learning the details of how to fire artillery that I had little time to write home or send letters to Alice. They ran my tail off and had me doing more exercises than I knew existed. I learned all there was to know about rifles and communications. By the time I finished training, I knew I was ready to go to war.
The thought of joining up with General Patton’s Third Army left me with eager anticipation. From everything I heard, this was the general to serve under. Only later did we get a clear picture of what had been happening with Old Blood and Guts, as he was nicknamed, during this time. To say the general’s butt was in the sling was an understatement.
