One of my favorite television programs is the CBS Sunday Morning, a video-journal with very interesting segments covering a wide range of topics. A recent report focused on “The Ritchie Boys,” a semi-secret group of German-Jews who were part of the U.S. Military Intelligence Service which, during WW II, interrogated Nazi prisoners on the front lines and played a significant role in U.S. counter-intelligence efforts. Many of these servicemen had been born in Germany or Austria and, being familiar with the language and culture of their native lands, were extremely valuable assets for our own war efforts. All of these military specialists had received training at Camp Ritchie, located in rural Maryland.
It was then that I recalled Camp Ritchie had been part of our own family history, one recorded in diaries my mother had kept from 1943 through 1981. Several years ago, I had transcribed her hand-written entries onto my computer files. I easily confirmed that my Uncle Joe, my father’s oldest brother, had been drafted into the Military Intelligence Service stationed at Camp Ritchie. He had been assigned to this service, since he was fluent in Italian and English, skills of high interest to the U.S. military.
Uncle Joe, however, did not take part in the front-line interrogation of Italian prisoners-of-war. My mother’s diary indicates he came home every month on a three-day pass to be with the family. I do not recall any of his stories about those years (November 1942 – September 1945) when he was stationed as Camp Ritchie. I doubt, given the cultural and linguistic differences, that he had any contact with those secret “Ritchie Boys.” Nevertheless, I find the at-a-distance connection to be fascinating. I also find the military service for Joe’s brother, Fremont, to be of interest.
Uncle “Free” loved to tinker, especially with anything that was electrical. This hobby led him to volunteer for the “Seabees,” those who served with one of the U.S. Naval Construction Battalions. I have no idea where he was stationed; but since he apparently had only one leave during his enlistment, it’s unlikely he was as close as Uncle Joe had been. I have no recollection he went outside of the continental U.S., even if I might envision him among the cast for “South Pacific.” My only tangible evidence for my uncles’ military careers are photographs of the two of them in uniform, when they were on leave at the same time.
After the war, Uncle Joe returned to the family painting and wall-papering business. Uncle “Free” maintained and repaired a lot of pin-ball machines, one of which was a source of amusement when I would “go-up-the-hill” and be allowed access to one housed in the family-storage-room. It was rigged so I could play for hours with only a single quarter to initiate the process.
According to my mother’s diary, another paternal uncle, Isadore, also served. She writes that he went off to camp in August 1943. There is no record of the branch in which Uncle Izzy served. I have no recollections of him in any uniform and was surprised when I read the entry in her journal. She also records that her brother, Bill, went for a physical, but he never did enter the military; I’m sure of that. My father did not serve in the military. Being a steelworker at the time, he had an exemption from the draft.
I, myself, was never drafted. I registered for the draft when I turned eighteen. My own diary records the day when my friend, George Davies, and I went into Warren to register and how the day became a holiday outing for us. He was drafted during the Korean War; I was exempted, since I had enrolled in college and maintained my grades. The demands of the local draft board were readily met by volunteers, whose only alternative was employment in the steel mills of the Mahoning Valley.
From time-to-time, I have wondered what my life would have been like if I had served in the military. The physical training would, no doubt, have had a significant impact on my non-athletic body. I’ve never played on any team for anything! My phys-ed requirement at Kent State was fulfilled by classes in folk dancing, ball-room dancing, archery, beginning bowling and golf, and a swimming class where I finally learned how to float! Boot-camp would have been an interesting, and (no doubt) very beneficial experience.
Then there is the military comradery aspect of life. From all I’ve read and heard, this is a significant result of being in combat. Having one’s life depend upon that of the man next to you, and his life depending upon yours, present experiences I’ve never had – but have pondered late at night.
My own two sons have registered for the draft, as the law requires. But they have not experienced the anxiety of listening to life-defining-numbers being called on the radio. Who knows what lies ahead for my six grandsons or my three great-grandsons? And given our current culture, there is no reason to exclude my granddaughters or great-granddaughters from future equations.
I’ve lost track of the military events which have occupied American thoughts since my birth in 1935. Thus far, members of my immediate family have “dodged” the so-called “bullet.” But with the rapid devastations of the planet associated with climate change, dodging bullets has become a routine activity. Meteorologists, as well as those who report on political and societal events during evening newscasts, may be equally inaccurate. I would prefer to remain with the video-journalism of “Sunday Morning,” with which I began this essay; but, unfortunately, CNN and Al-Jazeera have other, more troublesome, points-of-view.