What's Not in the History Books

What's Not in the History Books Donald M. Murray As a paratrooper who was in combat in World War II, I saw, but fortunately did not need, the medics who ran and crawled to help the wounded under fire. I saw plenty of riflemen freeze under fire, but not one medic. Infantry war is lonely. Movies give the wrong impression with everyone huddled together under a camera's eye. Soldiers move apart in modern combat so one sheU, one grenade, one raking machine gun pass cannot wipe out a unit. Front Une medics not only heal, they pierce the loneliness ofthe wounded and the dying. The medics I met, however, did more to prepare me for combat than to treat me after I got there. The first infantry lesson to learn is that you are not an individual but one part of a multi-bodied military animal—and any part can be lost, like the arm of a rock crab, and the main body wül keep on moving. I began to grasp this concept at my pre-induction physical in the former CadiUac-Olds building in Boston. We aU stripped—no hospitaljohnnies, no shoes, no shorts, nothing, as we spent the day slowly ascending the floors of automobile ramps that circled the inside waUs of the building. Naked— shoved close together but never, ever touching—shivering, exposed, anonymous human animals we were poked, prodded, questioned, and explored. No orifice was too intimate for public examination. This is the army, son; we own you. Every male who served in the army in World War II has his own memory of the humiliation of "short arm" examinations when long snakes of men, wearing only unlaced combat boots and olive drab raincoats slowly passed before hunched over peering medics, who looked for evidence of venereal disease as we exposed ourselves, puUing back and mflking forward, the ultimate indignity. 92 Donald M. Murray93 I have a special memory of one "short arm" exam. I was near the head of the Une and the medic peered closer and closer, then summoned a doctor who took one look at this private's privates and commanded, "Stand over there." I stood while more than a thousand soldiers passed by snickering, ragging , insulting me. When the examination was over. I was told that I was to be circumcised. I tried my first Army "Why?" "It'll be easier to treat you when you get syphilis." "I don't intend to get syphilis." "No one intends to get syphilis." "I don't think I want one." "It is a general order, soldier." That meant a circumcision or five years in Leavenworth. On the day of the operation, I was given a local as a major arrived at the operating table. No scrubs, he was in field uniform and he carried a worn Army manual with him. He passed the manual to a young medic and commanded him to read the section on circumcisions. I was nineteen and embarrassingly a virgin. But I had plans. My voice cracked as I inquired: "Have you done this operation before, sir?" I emphasized the sir. "Nope. Lie still." "On an adult male, sir? "Not on anybody. Read, soldier." "Have you read the manual, sir?" He ignored me, picking up a scalpel and moving it around in his hand as ifhe were unfamiliar with the weapon. "Sir, what if the next page is missing?" "Shut up, soldier." The medic had a reading problem. He stumbled over the unfamiliar medical terms, but the Major performed the operation by the numbers, one step at a time, not knowing what was coming next. We both heard how to do it as he did it. I have never paid such close attention to a public reading. Those hour-long moments in the operating room helped me develop the attitude offatalism that served me weU in the Battle ofthe Bulge and when I crossed the Rhine with British commandos. Later I was caUed off guard duty and told to report to a müitary dentist. I had no toothache, but it was the army. I reported. The dental officer sat me in the chair and immediately clamped...