Saturday, July 28, 2012
CAMP ELLIOT
YOU COULD GET HURt LIKE THAT
The war had ended, and in the process of going home and being discharged, I was in a place called Camp Elliot in San Diego, along with a lot of other guys headed for home. The barracks were like chicken coops. God knows how many of them were there, but they all looked alike to me. The heads, (navy toilets ), were in separate buildings, as were facilities for washing your clothes
When I went out of the building for some personal matter, I had trouble relocating my own barracks. I solved that problem creatively, I believe. I would stick my head in the door of a barracks and shout Anybody here from Connecticut?” When I got the reply, “Yeah, he just went out to the head, I had the right place.
We had time on our hands since we had no duties to perform and we would hitchhike to Los Angeles which was only 125 miles away. Getting a ride was easy because everyone was grateful we had won the war. The concept of distance, by the way, was different out there. In Connecticut, 125 miles wa a trip and a half. Not there.
One day, several of us set out for L.A. and were picked up in short oder by some guy we didn’t realize must have been drunk. San Diego had several naval stations which were separated from each other, and for reasons unknown, our driver went speeding to another base whose entrance was guarded by armed Marines. Persons wanting to enter the base were stopped by the Marines who admitted those authorized. . Not our driver. He didn’t even slacken speed, but sped right through the gate past the Marines and onto the base. I was sure we would be shot, and slumped down in my seat. For another unknown reason, our driver stopped the car and let us out. We had liberty cards and simply walked back out the gate to resume our trip to L.A, leaving the guy to explain he himself to pursuing Leathernecks. (Marines). Wonder if he’s out of Federal Prison yet.
The war had ended, and in the process of going home and being discharged, I was in a place called Camp Elliot in San Diego, along with a lot of other guys headed for home. The barracks were like chicken coops. God knows how many of them were there, but they all looked alike to me. The heads, (navy toilets ), were in separate buildings, as were facilities for washing your clothes
When I went out of the building for some personal matter, I had trouble relocating my own barracks. I solved that problem creatively, I believe. I would stick my head in the door of a barracks and shout Anybody here from Connecticut?” When I got the reply, “Yeah, he just went out to the head, I had the right place.
We had time on our hands since we had no duties to perform and we would hitchhike to Los Angeles which was only 125 miles away. Getting a ride was easy because everyone was grateful we had won the war. The concept of distance, by the way, was different out there. In Connecticut, 125 miles wa a trip and a half. Not there.
One day, several of us set out for L.A. and were picked up in short oder by some guy we didn’t realize must have been drunk. San Diego had several naval stations which were separated from each other, and for reasons unknown, our driver went speeding to another base whose entrance was guarded by armed Marines. Persons wanting to enter the base were stopped by the Marines who admitted those authorized. . Not our driver. He didn’t even slacken speed, but sped right through the gate past the Marines and onto the base. I was sure we would be shot, and slumped down in my seat. For another unknown reason, our driver stopped the car and let us out. We had liberty cards and simply walked back out the gate to resume our trip to L.A, leaving the guy to explain he himself to pursuing Leathernecks. (Marines). Wonder if he’s out of Federal Prison yet.
# posted by Noonski @ 5:41 PM 
