The Hex

Joe______, I won't say his last name, was one of my three tentmates in India in early 1945. I said hebeermug WAS, because Joe did not turn out to be one of the 'longer-lived' radiomen on the aerial Hump route to and from China. As I remember, Joe was a good-looking Jewish boy from around the New York City area. He had a black mustache which, along with dark darting eyes and a winning smile, gave the impression that he was a daring Spanish lover who knew all the weaknesses of the feminine heart. That grin of his was mad and devilish and, as later came out, effective too.

I guess I knew Joe for only two and a half months. In that time he imparted that he was single, that he was getting letters from his girl, that his girl was pregnant and that he was responsible. If the fact worried him, it did not show. He was merely undecided as to what course to take. He claimed that he was not averse to the girl but that he could not see committing himself in his current position.

Joe took off on a flight to China one afternoon. I wished him good luck sincerely, along with the usual comic remarks which were designed to hide sincerity and seriousness but which actually emphasized them. (As most soldiers know.) It must have been in the early part of the month because there were only two or three cans of beer missing from Joe's half-case. Joe never had a chance to finish the remainder. Joe never had a chance. Our tent got word a few days later that Joe disappeared in a midair collision between his plane and another in the night soup over Kunming. Joe had no more problems.

Then a sergeant from Quartermaster came to our tent to survey and collect Joe's belongings. We cooperated in pointing out his private property including the untouched brew. The sergeant told us that we could have it but we declined. He then asked if we would object to his taking it for himself. We were generous with Joe's grog. The sergeant said he would come around later to pick it up. He did come around later. Upon further reflection he had changed his mind and no longer wanted the beer. He said he would leave it for us to give to anyone who would take it. However, if it wasn't used, we were to turn it in to the Quartermaster for resale in the PX.

That day five or six more GI's came by our tent to 'shoot the breeze'. To each one we offered the "extra rations". From each one we received the same response. The prompt acceptance, the few minutes of reflective talk about Joe and then the final refusal. The news got around generally that there was a free half-case of beer for the asking but there were no takers. I began to wonder if everyone was superstitious. Silly! We finally took the OPENED HALF-CASE over to the Quartermaster for resale. After that, a tentmate and I bought our half-case beer rations together so that we ALWAYS brought back to our tent an UNOPENED FULL case of beer!

by R.A.Stumpf

WITH A LITTLE LUCK

After completing about 500 hours of flight time on various Hump routes, my tent-buddy and I were ordered to go to rest camp. No doubt this directive was the end result of a finding by a panel of Air Force psychologists. We old-timer airmen were to be "retreaded" for further service. I'm sure in the "early days" if there had been a thought of providing a break for those hard-pressed CBI crews, there had been no easy opportunity to do so. But by now ample replacements had arrived and the Rockpile Airline was hitting its stride.

horseshoe Being at least temporarily expendable, we boarded a work-horse C-47 and were flown to the dusty strip at Sylhet. We were loaded onto G.I. trucks which soon headed for the hills. The local inhabitants using the road were constantly jeopardized by our driver who used the horn in place of the brakes. We had one comfort stop at an open-air teahouse after the rain began. The "air-conditioning" and fly-control system amounted to a large panel of woven grass suspended from the ceiling. This fan was powered by a boy who swung it back and forth by means of an attached rope. The last leg of the trip was a serpentine grind up the forested flank of a mile-high plateau. Four hours and fifty straight-line miles after leaving the airfield, we arrived at Shillong, the rain center of India. We were on site for our "rehabilitation and recuperation".

It didn't take us long to adapt to these delightful surroundings. The almost constant drizzle from the weepy clouds was soon ignored. We were too busy sleeping on real beds, hiking the roads and trails, and bicycling until worn out by the steep hills and thin air. We enjoyed miniature golf, the English club and indoor movies. The whole week was punctuated nicely with top-notch meals which included good meat, bracing coffee and ice cream.

When the authorities were satisfied that seven days of this pleasant environment had worked its magic on our psyches, they put us on the trucks and headed us back to our home base. We surely were reluctant to leave this idyllic mountain-top Eden. Our heavy six-by-six truck, steered by the assigned Indian driver, picked up speed and raced down the wet Macadam pretzel curves.

Time after time we passengers were whipped from side to side as our "chauffeur" rushed us headlong around the snaky bends. He navigated them all but one which he assaulted at 40 or 50 MPH. The rear end of the truck skidded and we ended up with the front bumper against the mountainside. The tailgate was getting a beautiful view of a 150 foot drop. After realizing that we had survived, we cursed the driver up and down for the fool that he was. Another passing truck swung us back parallel to the highway and we set off again. After nine or ten more close shaves, we made it to the Sylhet airfield and the SAFETY of the plane. After this last hair-raising episode, we almost felt like calling our operations officer and saying, "LET ME FLY THE HUMP AGAIN, PLEASE!"

by R.A.Stumpf
 
THE HIGH-TECH JEEP DRIVER

A pilot who had been stationed at an airfield in India during WWII told this story on himself. He had been reared outside of New York City during the Depression. His father had owned a car but may have lost it due to hard times. Anyway, in his middle to late teenage years, our friend missed the opportunity to learn how to drive.

When wartime arrived, the young patriot joined the Army Air Force. He diligently applied himself and eventually became quite proficient in flying large two-engine transports. As a full-fledged pilot, he safely and efficiently handled those planes which were powered by engines rated at 2000 horsepower each.

Sometime during his tour in the Far East, he was put on duties not involving flying due to a leg injury. While waiting for his leg to heal, he was deployed to help out at flight operations where a jeep was put at his disposal. After a while he was asked to drive over to the camp area to pick up a crew for conveyance to operations.stopsign

With some innate mechanical know-how and much trial and error, the earthbound airman drove the trusty vehicle to camp and loaded on the passengers. As he tried to get back to operations, he nearly motored headlong into a local rice paddy. Being familiar with landing gear brakes, he managed to halt the jeep inches from diving into the pond.

Our hero was so unsure of the where and how of reversing gears that he opted to stay put. He could only imagine what a statement of charges for dunking a jeep would look like on a first lieutenant's personnel record.

Right across the road he spotted a sergeant sitting outside of his quarters reading a magazine. When the soldier looked up and saw something was amiss, he asked the stranded flier how he could help. "Just point this infernal thing the other way, will you?" was the reply. When this maneuver was done, the temporary GI cabbie had no more major difficulties in delivering the crew to the flight line.

He who had mastered the complexities of navigating in three dimensions through the blue yonder at speeds exceeding 200 MPH now looked forward to another challenge. When he returned to the states he would have to pass the test to get his driver's license!

by R.A.Stumpf

PELELIU PARTY

On board the LST before heading for the beach, Marine Lt. Bill S. briefed his platoon on the plans....after getting ashore, the unit was to proceed ahead, get across the airstrip and then set up a defensive perimeter and stand down. The lieutenant had been hoarding a bottle of decent English whiskey. As an added incentive to their personal battle pride, Bill proposed that, when this mission was satisfactorily completed, the contents of his bottle be shared among the participants.
winebottle
After the landing, and while fighting forward, the lieutenant heard an incoming 'whistler' and yelled, "Get down!" He himself was a little late in dropping and the blast sprayed him with fragments, completely removing his backpack and knocking him unconscious.

As the medics worked over him on the hospital ship, they were heard to say he smelled somewhat like a bar room. The offending aroma was the result of an unfortunate collision between the enemy frag and Bill's bottle of Scotch. When he finally got back with his outfit, Bill learned how dedicated his men were to his outstanding leadership. He was told that after the mortar blast, one of his men had screamed, "Where's the lieutenant?". And just as forcefully an older sergeant answered, "To hell with the lieutenant, where's the bottle?"
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KEEP 'EM FLYING

You remember the motto from World War II, used in aircraft manufacturing plants and flightline pep talks-----"Keep 'Em Flying!" Of course the embodiment of this motto in the eyes of most members of the typical aircrew was the Flight Engineer or Crew Chief. His job was to keep the planes maintained in a safe operating condition by following procedures outlined in Army-issued field manuals.

Now the following confession was made to me lately by an otherwise proficient grease monkey of the CBI. My nameless informant says he was called on to make a pre-flight check on a C-54 which was due for take-off in a short time. As he explained to me, the level of oil in a reservoir was to be measured to assure that an adequate supply was on board. To accomplish this simple operation, the "book" called for a prescribed dipstick to be used.

Because of "innate laziness" or because of lost equipment or because it was a shortcut, my soul-baring friend grabbed the nearest screwdriver. As he lowered the tool into the reservoir, it gathered unto itself a will of its own and freed itself from the mechanic's grip. Plopping into the oily depths, the screwdriver presented this engineer with two choices: turn the airplane upside down and shake it or tear the storage assembly apart to retrieve the errant implement. With a plausible explanation presented, this stricken Skymaster was side-lined from the upcoming scheduled fight. The crew chief went to work on its innards.

With meticulous care our hero dismantled the access plate on the reservoir. The oil level was lowered and a flashlight's beam was aimed at the catchscreen below. And sure enough, there in full view was the lost screwdriver------along with seven more!

by R.A.Stumpf

starsnstripes

RETROFIT AT TINIAN

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Saved e-mail message
From: (Donald�Archbold)
Date: Wed, Aug 29, 2001, 5:04pm
To: (Bob Stumpf)
Subject: Re: C-One Oh Boom �����������������

�Bob. ......... I called my old army Buddy last nite. He was on Tinian and moved all the plumbing [hydraulic. lines] that were in the way to get the atomic bomb up in the bomb bay. They didn't know what it was all about when they were doing it. He was in the 35th service squadron. ........ Don
starsnstripes

LATER AT TINIAN - MORE BEER

datepalm My buddy, a gunner on a B-29 crew, was based on Tinian. Near the end of July 1945 he was sent to a Navy rest camp on Guam. The place wasn't very crowded so only seven of the "vacationers" had a barracks to themselves. Sometime after the Big One was dropped on Japan. it was announced in the camp that all occupied barracks would receive a bonus case of beer for the celebration of the war's end. Knowing that there was an empty barracks next door, three or four of the guys hurriedly transferred their gear into the unoccupied quarters. They turned on all of the lights and added any other touch to make the building look "lived in." Of course when the truck carrying the schnapps came by, a case of the brew was left at each barracks. Consequently, in addition to the end of hostilities, the seven crewmen had engineered one more cause for celebration, which they thoroughly enjoyed even though it was warm.
MAJESTY

Somewhere I heard this story by a vet who vowed to its truth........

Over many years, the British in India had established many hill stations. These sites were used by the "old guard" as cooler vacation spots where they could escape the oppressive heat in the lowlands.

During WWII, many military rest camps were located at or near these hill stations. The locale referred to here had both British and American zones but the movie theater was used jointly.

Officers and men of both forces had filed into the cinema and taken their seats. Before the night's offering was begun, strains of music filled the hall which caused all of the Limies to stand in respect. As the words "God Save the Queen" reverberated to the ears of a half-drunken GI, he stood and yelled at full throat, "To Hell with the Queen!"

Many heads were knocked in the ensuing melee until the house was cleared by a cordon of MPs who escorted many of the participants to temporary lockdowns. The entertainment was cancelled for the evening. So much for how to develop proper relations with your Allies.

R.A.Stumpf

 
SUNSHINE UPSTAIRS

It had done me good to fly that day. For the past five days it had rained continuously in typical monsoon fashion. My tent had been transformed into a canvas sieve. I let the water drip through the roof unhindered. Could it further harm clothing which was already saturated?stormcloud

Sleeping each night was miserable. My bed felt like a wet sponge. Even at noon, beads of dew bedecked my mosquito net. The clothes on my body were cool and damp. A dry towel was not to be had. The smell of mold emanated from many objects. I began to wonder if the birds were dry in their nests. Would the ants in the earth be trapped and drowned? Heavy mud had found its way onto most of the articles in the tent.

After the third day I had tried to read a book in order to forget the incessant water for a while. "Mutiny on the Bounty" was the wrong choice. On the fourth evening I attended the outdoor theater. The first few moments went well but suddenly new torrents came down blocking the screen from view. As I sat in my tent the next day, I had almost lost hope of ever seeing the sun again. I felt that it would rain for the next thousand years.

A messenger entered, disturbing my gloomy thoughts. He handed me a slip of paper which directed me to report for a flight. Quickly I was sped to the airplane. Soon it was thundering down the runway and climbing into the thick cloud layer. As the plane gained altitude, the light in the cabin became brighter and brighter. Shortly we burst into warm, dry, exultant sunshine. Everything was all right. There was the sun. It had been shining all of the time but I had not believed it.

by R.A.Stumpf

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tallestmountain
SALUTE TO HUMP PILOTS
Will you climb over rocks in your flying machine
To deliver the goods for your nation?
Will you challenge such storms as have seldom been seen
And so bring your crew to their station?

On standby for flight in the middle of night,
Will you keep a tight hold on your nerve?
When you learn others might have been lost on the height,
Will you keep on be willing to serve?

"Ah, yes", they replied, "since we're turning the tide
On this front line that's often forgot,
On us they've relied and we still have our pride,
So we'll fly, whether like it or not,"

We look up to you who flew in the blue,
Salute you who criss-crossed the sky.
Depending on you who carried us through,
We came back from old C.B.I.

by R.A.Stumpf
ATCAir Transport Command
 

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THE ARCHAEOLOGIST

pitchinghay
 
He looks for tombs that are world-wide
Where man has always tried to hide
His remnants so that we can see
Just how he's spent eternity.

The Pharaohs wrapped in gauze of old
Slept peacefully in masks of gold.
And Viking chief lay in his boat
It was his crypt that would not float.

The martyred catacombed below
All rest together row on row.
Saints today in mausoleum
Hid away, we cannot see 'um.

Mankind has tried for eons past
To make our poor old bodies last
After the breath of life has gone
To wait rebirth in a new dawn.

But none in ways of preservation
That guarantee regeneration.
It always seems we fall apart
Before we get a heart restart.

Now I am sure that I have found
A fool-proof method that is bound
To keep my shell in shape to last
Much better than we did in past.
 You old-time vets will all recall
That greasiest, stickiest stuff of all
Which covered guns of previous wars
And gave rebirth to rifle bores.

Could this be used on judgment day?
MacArthur said we 'fade away.'
I think this guck could now be tried
To keep our flesh unossified.

So when this soldier cashes in
And falls away from battle's din,
Let me be first to try a way
To keep a torso from decay.

Just brush me with the gooey stuff,
Make sure you pack me in enough
So in the future they will see
That there's real perpetuity.

So when they've finished cleaning me
And ask what lasts eternally
I'll tell what every GI's seen,
"I've been preserved in COSMOLINE!"

And may the saints preserve us from poems like this!!!
R.A.Stumpf - May 2001
COLLECTING CAN BE HAZARDOUS
A Vet's 2005 Memory by John Eicholtz

While serving in the Air Corps in World War II, I was assigned at one time to take new airplanes from factories in the United States to bases in India. Our route included stops in eastern South America, the Ivory Coast of Africa, through central Africa to the southern part of Arabia and on to India. We returned to the States by Military Air Transport and I always made sure it included a stop in Egypt.

Having a life-long interest in primitive weapons, I found both Africa and Asia very interesting and I managed to collect some nice pieces.

On one trip I had a navigator from the east coast who was an over-confident, loudmouth, fast-talking wiseguy, but you couldn't help but like him.

My friend had a fascination for those Sultan's knives, that is, those curved knives with bone handles which were sometimes inlaid with precious stones. These knives were given to certain individuals by the Sultans as a sign of their authority and they were highly prized by the person who owned one. I told my friend that I seriously doubted that money could buy one of these knives, but he replied, "Money could buy anything."

When we stopped at Aden, which is on the southern tip of the Arabian Desert, my friend talked me into going knife hunting with him. We asked around town where we could find someone with one of these knives. We were told there was a staging area out on the desert where camel caravans came to unload their goods and the man in charge would have one of these knives. We asked several cab drivers to take us to this area, but they refused. We sort of got the idea that these people did not like American soldiers very well. Since as we walked down in a crowd you would hear someone spit and when you looked down you would see that you were the target.

Finally one shady looking character said he would take us for a price. We piled into an open 1937 Ford cab and took off. We made our way through the back streets of the town and finally out into the desert. On the way we passed long rolls of barbed wire strung out across the desert and it was dotted with machine gun emplacements and they were facing the way we were going. I began to feel uneasy and questioned my friend. He said, "Not to worry." Finally we saw number of camels off in the distance. Our cab driver stopped about one hundred yards from these camels and told us we would have to walk the rest of the way. Again I was uneasy, but my friend and I walked toward the staging area. When we were about half way there the cab started up and headed back toward town in a cloud of dust.

My friend and I walked over toward an impressive-looking Arab sitting on the back of a camel which looked about fourteen feet tall. In pig English my companion (I could no longer call him my friend), asked about the knife in this man's sash. He showed it to us and you could see that he was very proud of this knife. My companion asked if it was for sale and the Bedouin said, "No," but my companion began to dicker with this guy like you would a shopkeeper. The Arab became very angry. We were immediately surrounded by six or seven Arabs on their tall camels. They were the most ferocious-looking guys you would ever see. There was a low ominous murmuring sound you hear from a crowd when things aren't going well and believe me, we heard it. I was certain we were about to 'Buy the Farm'. I looked up and saw a British recon car come flying up the road with four British Tommies in it and they were shouting, "Get in, get in", and we needed no second invitation. We took off back to town. It turned out the British soldiers had seen our cab go out into the desert and knew we would be in trouble and they reported it to their officers and they came to our rescue. Needless to say, this was the end of my knife hunting in Arabia.

At a later date I was stationed in Northern Burma and there were some old ruins nearby, said to have been from the time of Genghis Kahn. Being a slow learner, I decided to look around and see what was there.

The only hazard I could see was snakes. There were all kinds in this area from the king cobra to a vicious little bugger known as the 'one step', so named for the fact that if you were bitten by one your next step would be your last. But trouble would come from another way.

It so happened that a band of baboons made this ruins their home. While exploring, I got between a mother baboon and its baby which cried out in fright. I was immediately surrounded by a ring of very angry male baboons. They were screaming at me and making false charges and believe me they got my attention. I began to back out of there but they would have none of that. I pulled out my .45 Colt revolver and bounced a round off a rock and they backed off and let me out. It was a good thing that they did because the best chance I would have had of doing any damage would have been by throwing the gun at them because I darn sure couldn't have hit one of them since the front sight of my gun was bouncing around like a rubber ball.

So when you Indian relic collectors are out in the field and the lady of the house says "We don't allow any arrowhead hunting here," or if you run into an unfriendly dog, remember that it could be worse!

Offered June 2003

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