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...from “I’ve Got To Write a Book!”
by Ira Wiggins




Army Days

As my internship drew to an end I was the recipient of good news and bad news. The good news was that I had attained my dreamed-of goal and was now a full-fledged doctor. The bad news came in the form of a telegram from the adjutant general in Washington, D.C.:

“Jan. 2, 1944-
First Lt. Ira Woodrow Wiggins-
Proceed January 5 Camp Barkley, Texas. Report commanding general Medical Replacement Training Center for temporary duty six weeks, thence to another station.”

This was heart-rending news for Betty and for me. The tears flowed, for we knew we would be separated for an indefinite period of time. Although we had not discussed marriage, we both knew in our hearts that it was inevitable.

My solitary ride on the train from Chicago, Ill. to Camp Barkley, Texas took some 14 hours, as I recall. I rode coach class. It was not only lonely, it was mighty painful. The night before I had started to develop a thrombosed hemorrhoid (a clot in a rectal “pile”) and it was at its peak of discomfort when I boarded the train. With each jolt of the train I felt as though someone was goosing me with a serrated paring knife. I spent a good part of the ride standing up and forever after have had more than the usual amount of sympathy for anyone similarly afflicted. On my physical examination prior to entering medical school, hemorrhoidectoey had been advised but I had the feeling that the examining doctor (a resident) simply wanted some practice, so I declined. Besides, they had never bothered me.

In Camp Barkley, I was assigned to a class of similarly recently inducted doctors. We were outfitted with fatigues, leggings and back-packs as well as dress uniforms. We lived in wooden barracks (a wind-storm once deformed one to a 45 degree angle), slept on iron-frame beds lined up in a double row (“hospital corners and blankets tight enough that I can bounce a quarter on ‘em,” the sergeant admonished), arose in the dark, ran from class-room to drill to field-exercises and were kept too busy to have much time for thoughts of home. Marching and field-exercises were essential. No one escaped going through the “infiltration course”: getting into a trench, then, at the order “go”, belly-crawling under barbed wire and around obstacles, while “land-mines” exploded around us, showering us with dirt, as machine-gun bullets whizzed overhead. The machine-gun muzzles were carefully propped up with a V-shaped board so that the bullets were kept reasonably high. I suspect that, in the case of the doctors, they might be using blanks. We heard rumors of accidents occurring: “This guy saw a snake, jumped up and bang!” “The prop fell out from under the muzzle. Wow!” “This one gunner decided to shoot a little lower over the students.” I never saw any firsthand evidence of them. I suspect they were rumors started to keep life more interesting for the students.

The closest we came to receiving any medical training, other than army paperwork, was the participation in demonstration of the effectiveness of the gas-mask. After being taught to use the gas-mask we donned it and entered a tear-gas filled building. No problem. Then we were required to remove the mask and exit the building by a circuitous route. We were adequately impressed by the effectiveness of the mask as we stumbled from the building, tears streaming from burning eyes, coughing, gagging and running for fresh air. The odor clung to our clothes throughout the next day.

Although I was unaware of it at the time, one of the doctors in this training period with us was to later be the supervisor of the clinic when I worked for the Panama Canal Company in the Republic of Panama. In fact I never remembered meeting him at Camp Barkley; it was only through the comparing of notes while we were in Panama that we came to realize that we had gone through basic military training together.

Near the end of the six weeks we were given a paper to fill out on which we were to indicate our choice of specialties in which we would like to be further trained for the next six weeks. Because I thought it might provide some rest, I checked “radiology” (x-ray) and, to my surprise, was sent forthwith to Torney General Hospital in Palm Springs, Calif., where I was assigned to the radiology service to study under a certified radiologist. My guess had been correct. It proved to be my easiest tour of duty for the duration of my service in the army. There was plenty of time to explore the surrounding area and to hike in the near-by foothills.

But the weather at times was torrid and our barracks had no air conditioning. I can remember on more than one occasion going to bed nude with a large, wet towel spread over me, using the cooling effect of evaporation to make sleep possible.

With room, board and clothing being provided, even on the small salary of an army first lieutenant I was able to save money and, during me two and a half years of army service, started to gradually repay my father. Even so, when I left the service there was still a substantial amount remaining to be repaid.

*****

On 3 April 1944 I left Palm Springs bound for two days of “processing” at Hampton Roads Port of Embarkation near Newport News, Virginia. Travel time of three days was provided as well as a ten day “delay en route”- time for a pleasure-pain meeting of several days with Betty. The pain, of course, was in the leaving. She was still pursuing her studies at the Grace Hospital School of Nursing in Detroit.

Following the processing I was assigned 18 April to 10 June as radiology assistant physician at Camp Patrick Henry Station Hospital in Virginia.

After that things started happening rather rapidly and there was “never a dull moment” for the remainder of my two and a half years in the army.

On 10 June 1944 I was assigned as the Commanding Officer of the 537th MHSP (Medical Hospital Ship Platoon), a position I was to retain for the next nine months. The MHSP was a tiny independent unit consisting of only 15 men - two officers and 13 enlisted men. The medical officer was the commanding officer of this small group; the dental officer was the adjutant. Of the 13 medically trained corpsmen one was the company clerk, supplied with a typewriter and all of the forms of a larger unit, the most persistent of which was the “Daily Report”. The function of this unit was to go overseas and to bring back wounded. For me this added up to 14 Atlantic crossings, never twice on the same ship. For my constant companion on every crossing I had mal de mer, for I was unduly subject to motion sickness. I had access to all of the drugs in the pharmacy and tried them all without benefit: sedatives, stimulants, antihistamines, atropine-like drugs, etc. I also eagerly accepted advice from one and all: eat frequently; don’t eat at all; walk the deck; eat dry crackers; take sips of bourbon; keep cold by dressing lightly; lie down, etc. The only procedure that gave a semblance of relief was getting flat on my back, which I tried to do whenever conditions allowed.

On one trip, in the midst of making “ward rounds”, I literally ran out of the ward to get in the supine position in my room - this, to prevent vomiting. When I sheepishly returned later the nurse informed me that me actions had been a great moral-booster for the patients.

“Glad to do whatever I can,” I muttered.
It was not until after the war that the motion-preventive medications came on the market. For me they were the perfect answer.

*****

11 June 1944 - by train from Came Patrick Henry to “staging area E” of the Port of Embarkation at Charleston, So. Carolina. Tension and excitement were in the air for we knew we were at the jumping-off point for a trip overseas, perhaps to a battle zone. Some of our coresmen had been in battle and experienced the loss of comrades. They were understandably a bit inclined to chide their two green officers.

15 June 1944 - left U.S. shores with other MHSP’s aboard the hospital ship “John L, Clem”. For a long 15 days we sailed eastward with no duties aboard ship, for we carried only the crew plus medical, dental and nursing personnel and coresmen. We spent long hours looking for other ships, discussing the latest rumors, watching flying fish&dolphins and, at night, wondering at the marvelous fluorescence in the bow wave.

These activities soon grew monotonous, so when the pharmacist, a dentist and another medical officer suggested we start a “running game” of contract bridge I eagerly grasped the opportunity. I had learned the basics of the game since being in the army. After supper each evening we would retire to the pharmacy (for privacy), play for about three hours, take a half-hour break for sandwiches then play for another two or three hours. With that type of dedication we couldn’t help but learn a lot about the game. On a couple of occasions we tried playing for money, a tenth or a twentieth of a cent a point. Even at those low stakes, we found that animosities developed and friendships were strained, so we reverted to playing just for the fun of the game.

Near the end of the journey we passed through the straights of Gibraltar, with the Rock of Gibraltar on our left and the shores of north Africa barely visible or our starboard side.

30 June - we arrived at our destination, Naples, Italy, specifically the staging area at Bagnoli, the location of the 225th Station Hospital. The first two days there were boring and uncomfortable, sleeping wrapped in a blanket on a cement floor, eating from our mess kits which we then rinsed in a 50 gallon drum of soapy water followed by a rinse in a similar drum of clear hot water. Well, it was clear for the first few who used it. We spent a month of raging inactivity in the Naples area, the only memorable events being visits to Mt. Vesuvius and the ruins at Pompeii.

20 July to 22 July 1544 we were aboard the U. S. Hospital Ship “Chateau Thiery” en route to Oran, North Africa, there to be attached first to the x-ray division of the 7th Station Hospital, then to the surgical division of the 69th Station Hospital. “Housing” consisted of clusters of tents pitched in a large, open field - four men to a tent, as I recall. Mosquito netting was mandatory. On the one occasion I declined to use it I was awakened by a foraging rat as it scampered across the sheet on my thigh. Toilet facilities consisted of an open trench bridged by a building fitted with board seats with appropriate holes. Lime was added to the trench daily. Routine instructions to all newcomers was the admonition to clear the underside of the rim of the seat with any suitable object prior to being seated - a precaution against the black widow spiders which were said to be inclined to lurk there and to attack sensitive parts of the human anatomy. In all fairness, I never actually saw a case of black widow spider bite.

There was adequate medical staff permanently stationed in this area, so we transients actually had little to do other than to observe in the army hospital there. To keep us busy the local commander decided to institute a regimen of morning calesthenics. When I say morning, I mean before daylight. The entire encampment would line up with military precision in an open field. After roll-call those fortunate enough to be in the rear could silently fade away in the darkness and return to the “sack”.

Our encampment was in the vicinity of the local mortuary for the city of Oran. The stench of decay emanating from this edifice was somewhat subtle at our distance from it, but to anyone having occasion to walk nearby, it was overpowering.

When walking about in public the local women wore the traditional white flowing dress, head covering and veil. On the rare occasion when one would lower the veil and smile (a brazen, open invitation, to be sure) it appeared that she was considerably more attractive with the veil in place. Despite the encouragement of prophylaxis the venereal disease rate amongst our troops was of concern. “Quickie” contacts took place in alley-ways and in hall-ways of buildings.

*****

The beaches at Oran on the Mediterranean were delightful this time of year. They were public and were utilized by both civilian and military. I had read of fishermen immobilizing small, edible octopi by giving them a quick bite on the head. It was at one of these beaches that I first saw another clever method used. One of the swimmers caught an octopus the body of which was about fist-size - a table delicacy for most of the local people. A shapely young lady eagerly accepted the vigorously struggling morsel and, with a deft twist of the wrist, seemed to turn it inside out, whereupon it immediately went limp and was easy to handle.

*****

Alcoholic beverages were difficult to obtain in the Oran area. A mixture occasionally used for social occasions was canned orange juice to which had been added an appropriate amount of laboratory ethyl alcohol. It was an effective, if not tasty, substitute for the commercial product.

*****

My first and only air-raid experience was rather unspectacular and deflating. In the middle of the night the sirens began their piercing wail and I immediately jumped from my cot and strapped on my metal helmet and began to dress. This according to official directions. I could see the fingers of searchlights in the distance groping in the blackness of the sky. From another cot came a sleepy grumble from one of the more experienced troops, “Hey, doc, you don’t need to do that. These things are always false alarms.”

In the dark I realized that I was the only one who had reacted. Hesitantly I removed the helmet and climbed back into bed. Sure enough, in a few minutes the din ceased and all was quiet. In the morning we learned that an enemy observation plane had flown nearby. Of course I was the object of a few subtle barbs and good-humored ribbing for being a little “green” and jumpy. In case of a real attack, I was assured, you would have time to put on your helmet after the first bomb fell. Assuming, of course, that the first one didn’t land in your lap.

*****
During our stay here all outgoing letters prior to being mailed were to be censored and signed by the commanding officer or someone designated by him. One of the corpsmen in our unit was a corporal who was chronically rebellious of authority and regulations. When I discovered, in the outgoing mall, one of his letters to which he had signed my name it was the last straw. I reduced him to private, the second time this had occurred to him during his tour of duty in the army. I have often wondered whether what I did was right. Perhaps I’d have been more lenient had I not been far from home, lonely, frustrated and grumpy. Was it just for purposes of “apple-polishing” that two of the men assured me in confidence that they agreed with my actions?

*****

1 Sept. 1944 our Medical Hospital Ship Platoon (537th MHSP) boarded the hospital ship “John J. Meany” and four days later docked at Palermo, Sicily for 24 hours, just long enough for a quick look around the bomb-damaged town. The local urchins were very friendly.

“Wanna go see my sister, Joe?”

Many would walk chummily hand in hand with any g.i. passing down the street. Our men learned to proffer the hand without the wrist-watch on it, for some of the children were very adept at quickly snatching a watch and running like the wind. They were also anxious to beg, steal or even buy American cigarettes which they could readily sell at inflated prices. It was illegal for our soldiers to sell cigarettes but the temptation was too much for many of them and the practice was common.

*****

From Palermo we returned to Naples where, on 10 Sept. 1944, we boarded the U.S.S. “General G. O. Squier”. 102 patients - “litter cases” - were brought aboard for transport under our care back to the U.S. These were non-ambulatory wounded, many in casts and a few in traction - some with dressings that required changing daily. All were in stable condition and actually required little care other than close observation to detect the onset of any complications (wound infection, pneumonia, etc.). I had expected the majority of the wounds to be the result of enemy action. Actually well over 50% resulted from activities not associated with combat - jeep and auto accidents especially. Simple military maneuvers produced some of the casualties, as did fights associated with drinking.

We sailed from Naples on 13 Sept. and on 24 Sept. discharged our patients at the Port of New York. It had taken us over three months to perform the first mission of our primary function - to bring back wounded from overseas. Not exactly a model of efficiency. Perhaps they were working the “bugs” out of a new system.

*****

From the Port of New York our unit was sent to Camp Kiemer near New Brunswick, New Jersey - there to languish in inactivity. It had been almost six months since I had seen Betty, and letters, no matter how frequent or how ardent, are a very poor substitute for the real thing. We obviously were not needed and new orders were not in the immediate offing so I scurried down to the camp master sergeant’s office and requested an immediate three-day pass to attend to urgent business beck in Michigan. There was a marked lack of any activity in the sergeant’s office and he apparently intended to keep it that way.

“Sorry, Sir, but we aren’t giving out any passes at the present time.”

The words “stupid, lazy, arrogant, un-American” rushed through my mind in a flash, but I well realized that such words spoken would get me absolutely nowhere. Instead, I found it easy to let my face assume a drawn look and to smile a wan half-smile as I began a rhythmic slight jerking of my head from side to side in a tic-like motion.

“Oh, that’s, —-that’s, —that’s —O.K.” I stammered in a barely audible voice. “I’ll, I’ll,.......I’ll be all right, ———— I, I guess.”

I dropped my eyes to the floor and hung my head down as I increased the rate of twitching. I was thinking to myself, “This stupid, lazy jerk is going to get me out of his hair the easiest way he can and I think I know how that will be.” Sure enough, he suddenly came to life, propelled himself out of his swivel chair and with a hurried, “Just a minute I have to talk to the Lieutenant” he disappeared into the back room. In a few minutes he was back with a signed pass for the poor wretch, who shuffled slowly from the room with downcast head and a muttered, “T-t-thanks.” Nearly bursting with joy and inward laughter I took pains to walk slowly and appear dejected until I was well out of sight, - just in case he had not been entirely convinced and was still watching.

*****

A blissful three-day reunion with Betty.

*****

I reported back to duty on 3 Oct, 1944 and on 7 Oct. our MHSP unit took a train for the Port of Embarkation at Charleston, S.C., at which point we boarded the U.S. Army Hospital Ship “Dogwood”, From 11 Oct, to 2t Oct. we were en route to Liverpool, England - over two weeks at sea with nausea when the weather was rough and playing bridge when seas were calm. On such out-bound voyages we carried no patients. In England we were billeted with the 317th Station Hospital at Ramsden Heath, near Oxford. As in Oran, the hospital was already adequately staffed so our work was essentially nil and there was adequate time for sight-seeing. I eventually wearied of visiting the many cathedrals, each with its own several-hundred-year-long history.

While stationed here, on 2 Nov. 1944 I received official notification of my promotion to rank of Captain and proudly wrote the news to Betty and to my parents in Kankakee, Ill. The additional income was welcome.

*****

On 13 Nov. we boarded the “S. S. Argentine” in the Port at Liverpool and the next day sailed with 22 trauma cases and 24 mental cases. The latter were all well controlled - most by medication - only one, as I recall, with restraints. We were 12 days en route to the port of New York where we again transported the patients to the local army hospital.

After being billeted for 21 weeks at Camp Shanks near Orangeburg, New York we traveled to Charleston Port of Embarkation to prepare for another trip overseas to bring back wounded.

22 Dec. we sailed on the U.S. Army hospital Ship “St. Mihiel” and arrived 3 Jan. 1945 at the port of Avonsmouth, England. We had all seen better holiday seasons than that one; Christmas day was pretty glum. Our unit took a train to Whitchurch, then a bus to the 157th General hospital near Birkenhead. On 8 Jan. we took a train to Swansen, England and the following day boarded the S.S. “Marine Panther” at Milford Haven, sailing on 11 Jan. for (again) the port of New York with 32 surgical litter cases and 23 “closed ward” mental cases, the latter requiring confinement, close attention and no freedom of movement about the ship. There were no unusual incidents and I was pleased to note that the efficiency in “turn-around” time was improving with each trip.

We arrived in New York on 21 Jan. After a short three days in Camp Shanks we sailed on 24 Jan. aboard the well-known “Queen Mary”, which had been converted to a troop transport. Instead of being luxurious and gay, it was austere and efficient. The “Queen” was carrying replacement troops overseas. We were assured that the swimming pools were still there but they had been floored over in order that the space might be put to more practical use. Officers’ quarters aboard ship were quite adequate but, on my one visit to the enlisted men’s quarters deeper in the bowels of the vessel, I found them noisy (from the ship’s engines), smelly (hot oil and sweat) and overcrowded to the extreme. Well, I guess it wasn’t billed as a pleasure cruise.

The Queen Mary would have been a great prize for an enemy submarine. Because of a devious course, the trip took seven days as compared to the “Queen’s” usual time of three days. Two days from our destination we began a zig-zag course to frustrate enemy subs. That night it was announced that enemy subs were believed to be in the area and we were again briefed in emergency and life-boat procedures and instructed that everyone aboard was to sleep that night fully clothed in order to save time should enemy attack occur.

Three other officers occupied the stateroom with me. We laid for a while with our clothes on, found them uncomfortable, finally said, “eh, what the hell!” and undressed to put on our usual sleeping attire, but keeping our clothes handy. We had bunk-type beds. As the ship made a violent turn in its zig-zag motion it tilted and we were thrown against the bulkhead. A few minutes later, as it turned in the other direction, we had to struggle to keep from being thrown over the edge of the bed and to the deck. This went on all night long, I found that I could get a bit of sleep by putting my back to the bulk head, bending my knees and putting the pillow against my chest and abdomen. Under the circumstances a hammock would have been ideal.

On 1 Feb. 1945 we arrived at Greenock, Scotland and proceeded by train to the 162nd General Hospital at Nocton, England.

*****

Again we had a reasonably quick turn-around, boarding the “Ile de France” at Greenock, Scotland on 14 Feb. and sailing on 16 Feb. with l00 litter cases. This trip to New York took ten days but on about the fifth day out I found my role being switched from that of physician to that of patient. All the symptoms of flu appeared: fever, headache, malaise, aching, slight cough. As the fever rose higher on the third day of the illness I was admitted to the hospital ward aboard ship under the care of a Canadian medical officer. The diagnosis was “fever of undetermined origin”. There I was given an oral dose of paraldehyde every four hours. Now paraldehyde is a foul tasting, foul smelling liquid which is not only nasty to take but which remains or the breath for some time after each dose. American doctors use it for hysteria, malingering, for convulsions or delirium tremors and as a sedative.

After several doses I asked the Canadian medical corpsman on the ward why I was being given paraldehyde and he responded, “Why, for the fever, of course. We use it routinely for that in Canada.” At my request he had the order changed to aspirin.

The following day my cough increased and I noticed some bloody tinge to the sputum I was producing. What a relief. I now knew the diagnosis: pneumonia. The ward physician still could hear no rales in my chest but agreed with the diagnosis and immediately started giving me penicillin.

“Turn over, sir. This is going to hurt you more than it will me. Ho, ho!”

There was an x-ray unit aboard ship but it was to be used only in case of dire emergency, so no x-ray was taken. I was told that enemy subs might be able to “hone in” on signals produced by an x-ray machine.

*****

25 Feb. 1945 we again docked at the port of New York but, instead of overseeing the unloading and transportation of patients I found myself being carried down the gangway in a litter, loaded aboard an army ambulance and transported to the Station Hospital at Fort Hamilton near Brooklyn, New York. Along the way I felt the gaze of many curious faces and knew they were thinking, “I wonder what happened to him.” In a way I felt a bit like a fraud, being transported along with many who had been injured in battle. On the other hand, I was starting to feel a bit better and it wasn’t a bad feeling to have my every need looked after without having to lift a finger.

At Fort Hamilton I was put in a private room. An x-ray was immediately taken and confirmed the diagnosis of pneumonia. Antibiotics were continued and sputum tests were taken three times a day, which I thought a bit unusual. I later learned that tuberculosis was suspected but disproved. Thus the frequent sputum tests and the private room.
On my arrival the Red Cross had sent telegrams to my parents and to Betty saying only that I had been admitted as a patient in the hospital after arrival from overseas. This caused them considerable alarm until they received my following letter explaining the details.

I was appreciative of the tender loving care lavished on me in the hospital but was nonetheless delighted when I was released for a ten day leave on 19 March. I headed posthaste to my parents’ place in Kankakee, Ill., where betty joined us for a few days.

*****

On my recovery I was assigned to the medical service at Camp Shanks Station Hospital in New York - near Nyack, New York - and left for duty there on 29 March. How great it was to once again be in the atmosphere of a stable, well-run, clean, orderly, academically-oriented hospital and to be working with solid floors under my feet - with relief from the devils of nausea and dizziness which had so persistently accompanied the unstable decking of ships. It was a satisfaction to be able to take care of patients from the onset of their illnesses through improvement and recovery, rather than to just be administering custodial type of medical care.

*****



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