Soldiering for Freedom: A GI's Account of World War II

Chapter 10. Returning Home

Chapter 10 280 chapter 10 Returning Home MY JOURNEY HOME officially began at the Second Reinforcement Depot in Namur, Belgium, a huge, nineteenthcentury Army garrison with dozens of four-story brick barracks that had been upgraded with indoor plumbing, heat, and showers. As on previous reinforcement depot assignments, I did little at Namur except eat, sleep, read books—and await further orders. Next stop was a “cigarette camp.” Before Camp Lucky Strike was fully operational, seven similar (but smaller) tent cities were built near Le Havre. On my homeward trip I was processed through Camp Philip Morris, a mid-sized camp built for thirty-five thousand soldiers. In 1945 and 1946 three million soldiers were processed through “cigarette camps” going either to or from the European Theater. Other than the fact that it was also a tent city named for a cigarette brand, Camp Philip Morris in March, 1946, bore little resemblance to Camp Lucky Strike a year earlier. At Philip Morris all of the tents had wood floors, electric heaters, electric lights, and beds with mattresses. Some even had doors. The roads were asphalt or concrete. Three hot meals were served daily on steel trays in mess halls. Throughout the camp the latrines had flush toilets and showers, and we had access to enlisted-men’s clubs, PXs, barbershops, and movie theaters with first-run films. Where secrecy, mystery, and rumor were part of Lucky Strike’s mystique, a large, illuminated twentyfoot -long shipment schedule listed when ships would leave port, as well as the anticipated arrival time of boats from the United States. Returning Home 281 Soldiers were prepared for their return to the United States at “cigarette camps.” These camps were upgraded after V-E Day to include enlisted men’s recreation halls, paved roads, tents with floors, and showers. I was processed at Camp Philip Morris, outside Le Havre. A billboard-sized, troop movement and departure schedule near the enlisted men’s recreation hall at Camp Philip Morris was updated many times each day. Chapter 10 282 Troopship travel is never luxurious or fun. Still, there was a vast difference between crossing the North Atlantic in peacetime and doing so when German U-boats challenged Allied control of the sea lanes. I returned on the Colby Victory, one of a special class of troopship built in 1945 and 1946 to hasten redeployment. Designed to sleep 1,597 men, it had few, if any, empty spaces. We still slept in four-high racks suspended from pipes, but we were able to sit down at meals and roam the decks freely both day and night. There were no restrictions on smoking, leaning on railings, or using flashlights. Most nights a movie was shown on the aft deck. The warm welcome the Colby Victory received when it entered New York harbor was totally unexpected—and a happy finale to soldiering. By then the war had been over for seven months. Battle-scarred warriors and long-serving soldiers had been brought home months earlier. We were unexceptional, nonvalorous, routine GIs who had earned the right to return home after long service in the European Theater. I expected to disembark unceremoniously at an obscure Army wharf. This ship was cracked in two by a mine in Le Havre harbor. On April 1, 1946, almost a year after V-E Day, it still had not been cleared away. Troops at the port of embarkation said the ship was part of the first convoy to enter the port in January, 1945. My troopship had been part of that convoy. Returning Home 283 Instead, New York greeted us as heroes. A tugboat with a five-foot high banner across its wheelhouse shouting “Welcome Home—Well Done” escorted the Colby Victory through the harbor. Each ship we passed saluted us with its whistles and foghorns. When we passed near the Statue of Liberty, the Colby Victory used all of its horns and whistles to blow a salute , and the returning soldiers spontaneously began singing “God Bless America.” As we approached the Army’s Staten Island pier, a band played martial music. A colonel stood at the end of the gangplank and saluted each soldier individually as he stepped onto U.S. soil. I was formally discharged at Fort Dix, New Jersey, on the afternoon of April 10, 1946, a few hours before my family was scheduled to celebrate the Passover Seder, the world...