NomadNews-Vol.3-No.60

ESCHWEGE, GERMANY, 1945: In Nomad News No. 59, I had just departed Kassel and have now arrived in Eschwege, on the border of the ?Russian and Allies Occupation Zones. I'm not positive, but I believe the British were in control of this Zone. This is where I first saw a Supermarine Spitfire when four of them made Touch & Go landings one day. The Spit was probably the most beautiful fighter plane of that period. It was also the only plane of the Allies capable of competing with the Messerschmitt ME 109 until our North American P-51 became operational. Although I had rejoined some of my 33rd Photo Recon comrades, I still had no duty assignment when I arrived at Eschwege until I discovered Corporal Brandner. Bradner was in charge of the NCO Club, and getting ready to return to the States. He asked me if I would like to take over his job. I wasn't interested until he told me part of the job was going to Kassel each Friday to pick up the beer quota. The next Friday we made the ride to Kassel where I became reacquainted with my Brauereimeister friends who greeted me with a mug of nectar. We hung around there and had a couple of cold ones, because we knew, on the return, we would be too busy dispensing the suds to have any ourselves. A couple of guys had started publishing a weekly mimeographed news bulletin called "The Recon Reporter" so I joined them as News Editor. This gave me something to do. There was also an orphaned Piper J-3 Cub there that no one seemed to know who it belonged to. The military version was designated L-1, I believe. Anyway, Glen Hofferkampf and I took turns flying it. Glen had been the parachute rigger in the 33rd. Toward the end of September, I received orders to proceed to a debarcation camp near Marseille. Mike Miceli, who I had met at Camp Chicago when we were both working on the preparation of rosters for departure, was here, too. I still had a pad of Passes that I kept from my days in the States when I was headquarters sergeant. Wherever I went, I could always write a pass and get off the base at my pleasure. A fictitious Arthur T. Jones, Captain, Air Corps, always signed the pass. We weren't getting paid and I had about $40.00 but didn't want to spend it; not knowing when I would get a pay check. There was a flourishing black market operation in Marseille. We had a lot of surplus clothing we would have no need of in civilian life, so we would take a couple of items, get a pass from "Captain Jones", head for the black market and receive enough money for "a night on the town". One evening, a young French girl strolled in and it was obvious what she was selling. She spoke a few words of English; enough to get her message across, with something like "You want to go with Fifi". (That wasn't her name but I use it here as sort of a generic name). She was wearing a loose-fitting blouse and pulled it up enough to show a tatoo on her belly "Kilroy Was Here". She continued: "Keelroy say FiFi good." I said: "I bet you are but, no thanks." She looked dejected so I gave her a few francs from our newly acquired funds. To the uninitiated, "Kilroy Was Here" was phrase that sprang up during World War II, and it's origin is still being debated. In any event, where American soldiers went, "Kilroy Was Here" went with them. They scribbled the words on anything they could write or carve on. Today, the words are inscribed in two places on the World War II Memorial in Washington DC. There is a sequel to this that I hesitated writing about, but decided to do it anyway. When we returned to camp and related this Fifi episode, one of the guys asked if he could accompany us on our next foray. We agreed. (I'm not going to mention his name because you never know where the information may travel and he, or some of his relations, may still be alive) On our next evening out, we took Smith along and sure enough, FiFi was there and Smith went off with her. A couple of days later, we received orders to depart on the U.S. Navy Troopship "Frederick Lykes". When we boarded the ship, the word was out that Smith was in Sick Bay with gonorrhea. When we debarked in New York, we took the train to Camp Shanks, not far upriver from New York City. Smith's home was not too far from New York. He was on the telephone with his wife for two hours and it ended with her saying she would be down the following morning before we left for Fort Dix, New Jersey. When wifey arrived, she was six months pregnant. End of story.