It was 1939 and dad and Uncle George were on a train, bound for the CCCs in Wyoming.

Growing up in Illinois during the Great Depression was a tough life. Their family was poor before the Depression, and things just got worse. Grandpa worked in the coal mines of Southern Illinois, but that work dried up. The family moved north to Ottawa, Illinois. Dad’s oldest brother Dave was there, working on construction of the Starved Rock Dam, and the hope was that Grandpa could get a job at the dam as well. Unfortunately, Grandpa was an alcoholic and couldn’t hold a job for very long. What money he did make never made it home, and was instead spent on booze and nights on the town.

The ’30s dragged on and the Halls continued to struggle. In the spring of 1939, Uncle George heard about new opportunities with The Civilian Conservation Corps (CCCs), one of FDR’s New Deal programs to get the country working again. The CCCs had recently lowered its age requirements to “young men” from the ages of 17-25. Uncle George was 17 at the time, but dad was only 15 (he turned 16 in October of ’39). In the CCCs, they would each make about $30/month, but were required to send $25 home. They would keep the remaining $5 and also would be provided with food, lodging, and medical care. They decided to sign up. Dad lied about his age (no one seemed to check very closely), and he and Uncle George both joined.

Although there were over 50 CCC camps in Illinois, they, along with other Midwestern youth, were put on a train heading west for Wyoming. Once there, they transferred to trucks for the last miles of the journey. Finally, they arrived at their destination – Big Piney, Wyoming, one of 30 CCC camps in the state. It turns out that Big Piney was known as “The ice box of the nation”, due to the harsh winters there.

A foreman at another CCC camp referred to their new arrivals this way – “It was the sorriest assemblage of humans since Indian treaty days.” I’m guessing the crew that Dad and Uncle George were in wasn’t much different, as the depression had continued for so long.

At Big Piney, they rotated in with members of the CCCs that were already there. Their work focused on the National Forest where they built roads, fences, fire towers and other facilities. They slept in Army style group barracks and had three full meals a day. Both dad and Uncle George put on weight. It was the best life either had known at that point. Plus, they were pocketing $5 per month in real money, something neither had really seen. The other $25 each ($50 total) was sent home. It was a huge amount for Grandma.

After their six month tour, they signed up for one more six month stint. Finally, after the year was up, they returned to Illinois. Life hadn’t changed any in Ottawa, but they were different. Bigger, and stronger, they had both seen a bit of the world.

For dad, I think it made him restless, especially since conditions hadn’t changed in Ottawa. A few months later, still only 16, my Aunt Ellen lied about his age for him, and he joined the Army. It was August of 1940 when he boarded the train for North Carolina, where he would make $21 a month as a Private in the Army. He would continue to send money home to Grandma. Over the next five years, he would see more of the world, including Morocco, Tunisia and Sicily. His accommodations in those countries weren’t quite as nice as the good ol’ days at Big Piney, Wyoming.

“The craziest weekend I ever had was in October of ’42” Dad said.

Cath and I were visiting my folks in Illinois several years ago. It was summer and dad and I were sitting in the backyard drinking a couple of beers. We were talking about different “festive” occasions in our respective lives. I’d told of some of the Fasching (Mardi Gras) parties over in Germany. Dad talked about some of the evenings out with his old army buddy Noble.

And then he said to me me “Do you know the craziest weekend I ever had?” I stared at him. Who wouldn’t want to hear about that!? He began to talk…

It was October, 1942, and he was stationed with the 9th Infantry Division at Fort Bragg, North Carolina. He joined the Army two years before, when he was 16. Now he was 18, and a Sergeant. Pearl Harbor had occurered almost a year before and the 9th had trained hard since then.   Everyone knew that an invasion in the European Theater was on the horizon, but no one knew exactly when or where.  Then one weekend in early October of ’42, almost their entire Regiment received 24 hour weekend passes, and everyone knew that deployment was imminent

Dad, along with most of the rest of his platoon, headed to the bus station and caught a bus to Charlotte, NC, a couple hours away. They wanted to get away from the local town of Fayettville, and head to the big city of Charlotte. They had no plans, but knew they were going to party their butts off.

Deason, Dad, and Noble. Probably in late ’41 or early ’42.

Dad, along with his buddies Noble Clevenger and Jack Deason liked to start slow and build up to the night time. They found a quiet dive bar, started drinking beers and feeding nickels into the jukebox. No country music for them. They were all confirmed blues, jazz, and boogie woogie boys. They spent the afternoon there, drinking beer and listening to the jukebox. Along the way, they ate a couple of sandwiches. Finally, it started getting dark outside, and they moved on.

They stopped at the recently opened USO Club. It was jammed with GIs, there was music playing, and there were lots of women. Unfortunately, the USO didn’t serve alcohol, so they only stayed awhile. They moved on to Charlotte’s main drag, Trade Street, and started hitting the bars. It was crowded everywhere. They went from place to place, drinking beers and the occasional shot.  

One place had a boogie woogie band and they stayed. A bit later, a fight broke out between some guys in the 82d Airborne and another unit. Dad and his buddies hated the 82d and had a history with them. It probably started when elements of the 82d were relocated to FT Bragg in the Summer of ’42. They actually moved guys in the 9th from their barracks into tents, so the 82d could move into the barracks. They were about to join the fight, when the MPs arrived at the main door.  Dad, Noble and Deason slipped out a side door, and into the night.

As the evening progressed, they weren’t feeling any pain. They  entered a bar that was on the ground floor of a hotel, and ran into some other guys from their unit. From them, they found out that Sergeant Sopa, their Platoon Sergeant, had a room upstairs. They decided to go up and surprise him. They burst into the room, and there was Sopa, laying in bed wearing a smile, and not much else. There was a woman in the bed with him. NO WAIT, another head appeared from under the sheets – there were two women in bed with Sopa! A half empty bottle of whiskey was on the night stand. After giving him hell, they departed the room, and continued partying. At some point in the early morning hours, dad passed out or went to sleep.

When he woke, he found himself on the floor in Sergeant Sopa’s room. There were bottles, beer bottles, plates, and GIs scattered around on the floor. Sopa was passed-out in bed alone.  

Dad found Noble and they went for some food, and then found a bar and started partying again. Eventually, they left for the bus station, but missed the last bus to Fayettville. They ended up hitchhiking back to FT Bragg, where they reported in, late. It turned out that about a third of their unit, including Sergeant Sopa, was still missing. By the next morning everyone made it back. A lot of GIs thought punishment was coming their way, but it turned out bigger things were afoot. 

Dad finished the story. We drifted on to other topics and eventually finished our beers. Inside, I was smiling to myself, thinking of my 18 year old father tearing up Charlotte.

Of course the rest of the story is what makes that weekend of debauchery particularly interesting. A few days after the weekend, on October 14th, their unit was loaded in trucks and moved to the coast and their embarkation point. They boarded the ship, the USS George Clymer, and departed US waters. On November 8th, the 9th Infantry Division took part in Operation Torch, the invasion of North Africa. Dad came ashore at Port Lyautey, Morocco, and would be in combat operations for the next seven months through May, 1943. His next pass wouldn’t happen until June of 1943, after they had fought and beaten the Germans in North Africa.

I’ve recently thought about Dad and that weekend. It wasn’t in the news much, but this past November was the 75th anniversary of Operation Torch. Getting drunk and tearing up a town may not seem like much, but I guess when you are shipping out to parts and futures unknown, every minute and day matters. I like to think Dad lived his life that way.