A STORY
of
THE 305th MACHINE GUN BATTALION
77th DIVISION
A.E.F.
By
HENRY W. SMITH
The Medical Detachment
The Medical
Detachment
By CHARLES V. LEWIS
LTTLE has been said of the work of the
"Medicos" attached to the Battalion except in
jest. While it is true they did not shine outwardly in
drill formations and on the line of march, yet, in their
own field, their accomplishments were such that they
always gained and kept the respect of all with whom they
came into contact.
Our own little
Detachment is no exception. It consisted of one
commissioned officer, a captain and fourteen enlisted men
- a sergeant first class, a sergeant, a private first
class and eleven privates.
The history of our
Medical Detachment dates back to June, 1917, at Fort
Benjamin Harrison, Indiana. Fort Benjamin Harrison was
used as a training center for the Medical Department
where officers and enlisted men received their basic and
military training prior to assignment to definite
organizations and units. Skeleton units of enlisted men
are called cadres and are intended to train recruits. It
was here that Dr. Willard D. Preston who was to become
the Bat-talion Surgeon met with Whitey Lindner, Arthur
Baldwin, Willie Christian and Johnny Butler. These men
formed the enlisted cadre as did Joe Mickle, Homer
"Nigger" McGee, Harry Sneff, Bill Russell, Pop
Schaeffer, Sgt. Goldstein, Sgt. Lafferty and others for
the other companies of the Battalion.
Captain Preston and
his men arrived in Camp Upton shortly before the arrival
of the draftees, begging your pardon, selective service
men. Following closely on their heels came Clarence King,
Max Hershkowitz, Sid Hyman, Kossin, Romeo Nichols and
Charlie Lewis, as well as one or two others whose names
do not come to mind.
It is interesting
to note the qualifications of the men who were destined
to take care of the health of the Battalion. Captain
Preston relinquished a lucrative practice in Attica, N.
Y., where he held positions of County Physician of
Wyoming County, surgeon for the Erie Railroad as well as
affiliations with the leading hospitals in Buffalo and
Batavia. That, dear friends, is giving up something by
way of an income in order to serve his country in the
time of its need. The answer was, possibly, that he had
an attack of "war fever" for the reason that he
had seen prior service in the Philippines and never got
it out of his system. It should also be stated that, at
that time, he had a wife and two small children. Lindner
came from 14 somewhere in New Jersey" and was an
electrotyper; Baldwin was a chiropractor from Fort Wayne
Ind.; Willie Christian was supposed to be a deputy
sheriff from the hills outside Richmond, Va.; Johnny
Butler, a chauffeur from Richmond, Va.; King, a shoe
salesman from Boston, Mass.; Hershkowitz, Hyman and
Kossin were licensed dentists practicing in New York
City; Nichols, a dirt farmer from the "hillbilly
area" in West Virginia, and Charlie Lewis owned a
drug store in Brooklyn, N. Y.
Hyman and Kossin
had applied for a commission before being selected"
by Uncle Sam and, in a short time after arrival in camp,
their commissions came through and they went to Camp
Gordon as First Lieutenants. King turned to being an
amateur detective and remained behind as a witness in a
supposed spy case which he claimed to have unravelled.
That is another way of not going overseas.
That is the way the
personnel of the Detachment remained until a few days
before we went overseas. At that time the Battalion
received men from outside to fill in the vacancies that
existed according to the tables of organization. The
companies received their "filler ins" from
Cortland, Tioga and other counties in Central New York,
but the Medical Detachment, to be different, received
theirs from Camp Devens, Mass. What men they were!
Orlowski, Kizarsky, Kalnek, Keawalsky and a couple of
others with about the same basic training. They first had
to understand you and then the next step was to
understand them, but, bless their hearts, could they
"yeat" bread. Nothing else mattered to them. In
civilian life they were factory workers and farmers and
that is where they should have remained.
The story of how
Butler and Christian enlisted in the Army should be told.
It seems that, at this time, they were both in the ranks
of the then unemployed and went on a binge in Washington,
D. C. While strolling along, they observed that famous
wartime poster captioned "Uncle Sam Needs
You!". It had a patriotic effect upon them and, when
sobered up, why, they just found themselves members of
this man's army.
In December, 1917, under the supervision of the Division
Surgeon, written and oral examinations were held for
promotion to the grade of Sergeant, Medical Department.
This was open to all Medical Department personnel in the
Division. Lindner, Baldwin and Lewis participated and all
three were successful. That makes it one hundred percent.
Either our candidates were good or the examinations were
easy. At any rate, we now have three sergeants. Christian
was appointed private first class by Captain Preston and
also became his orderly.
The duties of the
Detachment, while in Camp Upton, were mainly routine.
Morning sick call was the most important. It was their
duty and function to see that the men of the 305th
Machine Gun Battalion remained in good health for the
reason that only the healthy were eligible to become
cannon fodder. This was done with the aid of crowbar
needles shooting all kinds of injections, experimental
and otherwise, and the administration of those dear old
standbys, iodine and compound cathartic pills-C.C. pills
to you. What wonders these two items! Remember the
fractures, fallen arches, sore throats, etc., that were
cured by them? Many a man came to the infirmary for some
"pills" and did not want any of those damn C.C.
pills. He didn't get them - but ask the wise guy what he
did get. They forgot Charlie Lewis was a pharmacist and
knew his pills. Yes, they would then come back and ask
for the dear C.C. pill again. Personal inspections once a
month but more about that later. Inspections of the
barracks, quarters and mess halls. Instruction to the
companies on first aid and the use of the first aid pack.
To separate the able-bodied men who preferred bunk
fatigue to squads right, details, and stump pulling
expeditions from those actually indisposed was quite a
problem at times. A sore back or muscle is not being sick
but just being a softie and this hardening process is
just training. While the men of the Detachment pulled a
couple of stump roots it was not part of their training.
They just weren't sissies. They did some drilling, mainly
a hike out beyond the vision of the barracks to a nice
shady tree and there enjoyed a smoke and felt sorry for
the rest of the Battalion for the hard work they had to
do. It was very sad.
Nothing special,
other than routine, happened in camp. There was a slight
epidemic of mumps and we lost two men on account of
pneumonia. For the severe winter of that year we were
most fortunate. No history can be complete without some
mention of the Cleaver Club. It happened shortly after
midnight on a Saturday. It was a cold night. The curse of
drink had its effect. The drinkers wanted food. The
soldier on guard did not approve of it. Kitchen knives,
cleavers and blows of the pelvic bone of the steer cut
the air. Result: the guard woke up Charlie Lewis for
first aid. Due to the absence of Captain Preston, Captain
McKibbin, of the 306th Machine Gun Battalion, its surgeon
was sent for and gave Charlie Lewis his first real
experience in first aid. It took something like twelve
stitches on the scalp to stop the bleeding of one of the
injured. No, the man did not die. The net result of that
episode was two men sent to the hospital, a flock of
court martials and one man dishonorably discharged from
the service.
Going over on
H.M.S.S. Megantic first started its real work in the
rendition of first aid. Quite a number of the warriors of
the Battalion buckled in the knees, lost their appetites,
gave up whatever they had or what they should have had
over a small matter of fresh, invigorating sea air that
was coupled with only a few waves that did no more than
lift the boat out of the water, wash the decks and break
the chinaware. The Detachment rendered first aid as best
it could -which, modestly, was nobly done -but when some
of them wanted to have their hands held because they
thought they were going to die, well, that was expecting
too much of a purveyor of C.C. pills. It simply wasn't
dignified.
The Detachment,
being a part of Headquarters, was the first to board the
boat. When they got on board they kept on going, going
and going right down to the bottom of the boat where the
ship's sweat is simply ship's sweat and where rats are
rats. The first shall be last and the last shall be
first. Our dignity was lost.
In the training
area the Detachment really had an easy time of it. The
men were in good health, took to their training seriously
and morning sick call was at a minimum. It was a long
walk to the infirmary.
Then came the now
famous battle of Watten. It was the first real march with
a full pack and equipment as well as personal belongings.
Farewell to the fancy sweaters, mufflers and socks that
Sister Susie made. That extra baggage took its toll but
not so bad that it couldn't be properly handled by the
first aiders, as we were now called. It was a grand
lesson not to carry a piano in your pack.
The Detachment was now split up, two or three men going
with each of the companies; Nichols had charge of the
water wagon and Sgt. Lindner at Headquarters with Captain
Preston.
An added duty of
the Detachment was that one of its members had to be part
of the advance party in selecting new sites for billeting
for the purpose of making a chemical analysis of the
water for its fitness for drinking and cooking purposes.
No water could be used unless so passed upon. Water was
delivered by the horse-drawn water cart and stored in
Lyster bags and then only after proper chlorination. Who
wants some freshly chlorinated water?
On the Baccharet
Sector another change in the status of the personnel
occurred. The Division Surgeon held another examination
but this time for promotion to the grade of Sergeant
First Class. Charlie Lewis made it. With this new rating
he earned the title of "Doc", became the First
Sergeant and came back to Headquarters from Company D.
Incidentally, Charlie Lewis, with his new rating, became
the highest-paid non-com in the Battalion. Shortly
thereafter Baldwin made it and, since only one was
permitted by the table of organization, he was
transferred to the second echelon in charge of a
prophylactic station. Boys will be boys.
Those famous all-night marches caused no end of trouble
for the Detachment. During the marches, someone, every
now and then, couldn't take it and would fall out. A
medico would stay with them and trail behind if
necessary. After the march, with everyone pretty tired,
the work of the Detachment really began. It was then the
cry of "First aid!" was really heard. The noble
warriors of the Battalion would be having quite a little
trouble with their feet. Improper fitting of shoes and
Sister Susie's socks would cause many a bad blister. All
they had to do was call "First aid!" and rest.
The Detachment men would respond to the call, render
first aid, and, often, had no rest because it was time to
be on the march again. This was particularly true after
the early marches. The tables were now turned and the
Detachment men were busier than the rest of the
Battalion.
While it is true we
carried no rifles as the rest of the Battalion did, yet
our packs were equally as heavy and cumbersome. We had to
march step for step with them and lost out on the rest
between marches. Were we now being appreciated? We
certainly were! There was no more jesting about painting
one's throat with iodine as a cure for all ailments.
It was also now
part of our work to see that proper latrines and pits
were built and, upon leaving an area, to supervise the
proper coverage of these openings so as to prevent any
disease from being contracted, particularly from flies.
This also included disposal of the remains of the mess,
if a mess kitchen was available, and of the tin cans, if
not.
There is no need of
going into details of the work of the Detachment during
actual combat. Anywhere any of the companies went, two or
three of the medicos were there with them, with the same
risks of exposure, discomforts and danger, doing their
duties as best they could with the result that they won
the everlasting gratitude and goodwill of the Battalion.
Two items of interest should, however, be mentioned.
The first was what
may be termed the Battalion's most serious setback f rom
a point of health and efficiency. This was caused by the
wave of dysentery, which was common to the entire area,
and, unquestionably, due to improper temporary burials,
particularly of animals. Who is there that will ever
forget that stench? The hard part of it was the lack of
available medical supplies to cope with the situation and
the inability to obtain them. Some of the men lost as
much as twenty pounds, not to forget that they were all
non-effective as far as service with their companies was
concerned. Equally unfortunate was the fact that they
could not be evacuated to the rear as some of them may be
lost to their outfits forever. First, the lead and opium
pills ran out, then the paregoric pills ran out, followed
by anything else that could possibly be used to ease the
situation. Finally, in desperation, Captain Preston
ordered men to kitchens, if and when they were available,
to get some burnt toast in the hope that the charcoal
present would be of some help. Sometimes it did help, but
more often it did not.
The other item to be mentioned
concerns sex morality. We all know about the sudden physical inspections
occurring once a month. We also know of the temptations that came across
one's path. The net result was that no enlisted man of the Battalion
contracted any disease that would shock the senses of any of the folks
back home. Bear in mind that the enlisted personnel amounted to 732 in
number. Compare with that the same number of men in civilian life, and
then be proud of that record. No, the Medical Detachment cannot claim
credit for it even though they administered the prophylactic treatments.
The number of treatments were remarkably few and, while they may have
been efficient, one could not continually beat the inspections. No, the
answer is, and was, that the men, as a whole, felt it
their duty to their country and self-respect to remain
clean and efficient.
Sgt. Lewis was
wounded on October third, 1918, and was lost to the
Battalion for the rest of the war. He was replaced by
Sergeant First Class Gilman, from the Division, who
remained with the outfit until after the Armistice, when
Sgt. Baldwin replaced him on his return to the outfit.
Butler was wounded shortly before the Armistice and was
returned to the outfit.
Captain Preston was
ordered back home by the demand of the population of
Wyoming County upon the War Department as being
essential. We must not forget that an epidemic of
influenza was raging in the States at that time and, due
to the number of physicians in the Army, the medical
service was fairly well crippled. This may have been a
good break for the Captain but his absence was felt by
the Battalion. Who is there that did not like the old
"Doc"? His work and esteem must have reached
home ahead of him for, when he ar-rived there, he
received a promotion to the grade of Lieutenant Colonel.
There was nothing honorary about this rank for he was
last paid and discharged as such. After all, the pay does
count.
Nothing but routine
work occupied the attention of the Detachment after the
signing of the Armistice. The old conditions were again
maintained. The companies still had to drill - they now
called it discipline -and the Detachment watched them.
Nothing eventful
happened en route back home or in camp awaiting
discharge, except in that famous parade up Fifth Avenue,
Lieutenant Colonel Preston and Sergeant First Class Lewis
put on the uniforms they had discarded and marched with
the Battalion.
Thus endeth the
history of the Medical Detachment of the 305th Machine
Gun Battalion, 77th Division, A.E.F., with no apologies
and no regrets.
... THE END ...