Updated
30 November 2016

-- the fourteen days of rain at Wellfleet when we were all sure the guns would wear out from cleaning?

-- when Cpl Waters dashed into the supply room, rifle in hand, ready to turn it in for a pistol and parachutist's rope, under specific instructions from Dooley, kaufman, & Co?

-- when Zimmardi delivered his famous lecture on "military coitesy" to the battery? As recorded by Col. Pence, who stood concealed behind the instructor, it went something like this:

"Military coitesy -- me from Fort Hamilton! What the -- do dey tink I know about military coitesy? Present arms! So what? So it's Private Zimmardi! ..."

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THE BATTLE OF MTP

Old Mother Army was smoothly delivering litters of battalions, divisions, and even armies in late 1942 and early '43, but with her baby the 137th she had trouble. Some said the baby was "snake-bit" at birth, and there can be no doubt that she felt pretty sick at times. But her fine showing in the pinches proved that she had more than her share of health, too.

The original officer cadre of twelve was formed at Camp Davis on New Year's Day 1943 and was designated the 58th Provisional Gun Battalion. This cadre included a CO, Lt Col Pence, some staff, and battery commanders. They chose to activate this new unit at Camp Haan, but were sent to Camp Stewart, their last choice. Then followed months of uncertainty. The unit almost activated at Camp Stewart as the 133 AAA Gun Battalion, but in the nick of time orders arrived indicating Camp Edwards as our birthplace and the 137th as our name.

In early June at Camp Edwards, various elements that go to make up a unit began to arrive -- trucks, filler officers, an enlisted cadre from Camp Davis which included Top Drieslein and S Sgt Waldron (he didn't have all those stripes then), food, and orders of every type and variety. On 10 June we activated. "A" Battery became a fact, with a BC, a mess hall, barracks, and a cadre. Still there were no men, but the immediate task was to make all the cadremen into army-style college professors. The going was pretty rough and learning to teach was a tough subject for the old timers. Many fell by the wayside. In all there were thirteen weeks of pre-MTP cadre training.

The monotony of this work brought on a longing for troops who could bring an end to student teaching and get us on our way to combat. In July this longing was partially satisfied by the arrival of 57 (the famous 57) recruits. In "A" Battery's share there were such notables as Bova, Szysh, Warhol, Waters, Weinberg, and Zeisler. The 57 were slapped into air-tight quarantine, with specially selected non-coms and Lt. Kendall to nurse them into the army. Nice bright young men, we thought, and they were, too. It was a joy to have someone to talk at after being talked to for weeks. Eventually the quarantine was lifted and the bright young men saw the open air again. They too joined cadre training, did KP, took the hikes, and went swimming at the Old Silver Beach.

Time went on, and again worries and rumors arose about the location of the rest of the battalion. Finally word arrived that our shipment of troops was in, and we found at the railroad siding that Camp Upton had disgorged the rest of the 137th. Then MTP -- the 21-week mobilization training program -- began. At the end of the 21 weeks we expected a boat. Read on to see what happened, if you don't know already.

Shortly before the arrival of the fillers, an event took place which profoundly affected our daily lives. This was our transfer to a different group and the inauguration of the "Reign of Terror". The Reign of Terror, timed as it was, appeared identical with MTP. This was not true, and every-one with a good memory need only undergo MTP again to appreciate the storminess of our early training days.

Before we could undergo effective training, we had to be properly clothed. Many of the fits from Camp Upton were not by the snappiest New York tailors. Trousers and sleeves had to be shortened. AA patches had to be sewed on. It had to be done right away -- immediately -- at once, but there weren't enough tailors, thread or needles. Still the job was done, and in a few days we had some smart looking soldiers. It was awfully hard to fall out on time. Making bunks, getting into those loggings, and handling the many small barracks duties constituted a big job to be done by breakfast, and we got up earlier and earlier to finish everything. And we were hungry. Those first days in the army there was never enoughchow. We didn't know that no-one can eat as much as a new soldier.

Then came basic training. By way of introduction we had a county fair, displaying antiaircraft material and equipment. Many will remember ex Sgt Brown's lecture on field latrines and the doughnuts from the demonstration field kitchen. Then came the classes in basic subjects -- groups of 12, thousands of groups of 12. The men sat in semi-circles, all neatly dressed, most with fresh haircuts. They always listened to instructors with blackboards, instructors who had an eye cocked for the next inspector. There were officers everywhere, supervising, checking, correcting. We were glad when night came in those days -- that is, we were glad until night training was inaugurated.

Some time during basic training we began to discover the better features of Camp Edwards. We found three special trains to New York, which we could take on too infrequent week ends, The Service Club, the Coonamesset. Some of us even found friends -- fair, soft and fluffy -- in Falmouth and Buzzards Bay.

There were some aching muscles in those first few weeks. Battle Conditioning, Jude (will you ever fear a burglar on a dark night again? -- perhaps), and the like. What sick calls we had on the mornings before hikes! But we usually had to go anyway. Some men never got over the hikes, but they left us early. Some of the hikes were pretty grueling, and the old feet and legs got stiff; some men even rode home in the dog wagon in shame. All in all we did get in shape, and the hikes and exercises grew easier. When the physical proficiency of "A" Battery was checked at the end of MTP. we were 97% Charles Atlas'.

Then training grew more advanced, and we were shifted into regular jobs. Some became cannoneers, some communications men, others trackers and radar operators. The bulk of our training from this point was in our own jobs. "A" Battery was becoming a unit. There was drill, drill, drill in the gun park and maintenance until we thought we would rib the surface off the guns. Other subjects were taught, too, and there was night training, but we were doing things in a bigger way. We put real booby traps in the barracks. We dug foxholes and were run over by genuine tanks. We began to dig in our equipment and started to fill sandbags with the hard Massachusetts earth. After countless tedious hours of rifle drill, aiming and sighting practice, triangulation and dry runs, we took these rifles, our buddies, to the range and our training paid off. 98% of "A" Battery qualified, and there was a liberal sprinkling of experts and sharpshooters. We were issued gas masks and tried them out in the gas chamber. We ran the obstacle course and climbed down the cargo net. We saw all the training films that had ever been released. We launched the new bayonet course. We learned how to drive trucks. Some of us specialized and learned radio, cooking, height finder, radar, director, machine guns, and the 90's. Gradually we became experts, tactically on field problems and as artillerymen at Wellfleet, but these are other stories.

MTP was a confusing period, full of backaches and headaches, but it did change us into soldiers. When we had finished it and began polishing up for Suffolk, we were ready for almost anything. Instinctively we walked with a thirty-inch step and were nauseated by the sight of a necktie not tucked in between the second and third shirt buttons.

Apparently Uncle Sam did not need us in a combat theater then, for, like Tom Swift, we were to have many more adventures in the United States before we killed our first Jap.

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DO YOU REMEMBER --

-- Pvt Weinberg in charge of the battery leaving the Edwards rifle range?

THE BATTLE OF T/E 21

Shades of barracks bags! What in the world is T/E 21? Well, for your edification, T/E 21 is a little booklet put out by the War Department, which, in many cases, governs the issue of individual clothing and equipment to personnel of the U. S. Army.

Some chilly foggy early morning when the bugle cuts into a dream where duffel bags and helmet liners and mosquito gloves and muzzle covers are piled mountain high, don't be surprised if it really isn't a dream; in all probability it will be another frightening nightmarish clothing showdown.

Remember the first one we had---we were but novices then. It was a lovely Friday before the Utopian Saturday pass-day. Thoughts were toward home fleeting on the Sunrise Highway; fancies were playing with Patchogue and tinkling glasses at the Casa Basso. Ah, tomorrow--- would bring passes home and to the less fortunate 50%, just the Cemetery Road.

But little did we innocent pawns dream of the dark clouds gathering. A sheaf of forms in the hands of our Battalion S-4 were an ominous warning of things to come.

And then it happened -- Lt. "Continue with your work" Searles brought the news. Yes, we were invaded---invaded by an enemy more ruthless, more sinister, more diabolical and scheming than the hated Japs, more ferocious than the Maoris in the Philippines. The first attack came at 1000: the bright sun shone no more. The enemy came from the skies and dropped show-down forms in the first wave. Circular 296 threw shattering blows in all directions---our officers were powerless.

And yet on that gloomy foreboding morning, "A" Battery, undismayed, hung on with all its strength, with all its powers and with iron determination, "We shall not pass" was the battle cry. 

When the smoke of battle cleared at noontime, Lt. "Up, Up, Up, Tap Pan" Searles and his White Army of Forms had been utterly routed and whatever semblance of strength he tried to muster no longer could hold out. It can be unequivocally stated that every man who expected to have the wee-end off, did take off, T/E 21 or not.

But, those showdowns are really necessary. The War Department knows that if a soldier is fully equipped and properly clothed before he reaches a Theater of Operations, the over-knotty supply problem will cause less difficulty on that score. Hence, their interest in you. All the forms, all their circulars and all their strange ideas, are really for your benefit. Would you feel right if you hit the Coast of France with one pair of socks?

Frankly, the first T/E 21 check didn't prove too much. Someplace wires were crossed. So, it seems any benefits of doubts were resolved in favor of the Quartermaster. Lately it's been the policy as guided by the War Department to make sure that the enlisted man is happy. If Cpl Warhol got up one morning on the wrong side of bed and decided that his OD shirt wasn't just the right shade, then all had to do was to say to the Battery Commander, "Sir, I am unhappy". Then the Captain would simply send a note to the Supply Sergeant and advise him to mark Cpl Warhol's form as being 1 OD shirt short. About 6 months later by the grace of the BSO gods, Cpl Warhol got his new shirt. Simple, isn't it?

All the clothing showdowns we have had lead to one important conclusion: with cooperation there was little difficulty, and sleepless nights were avoided. It didn't take long for us to get the hang of things, and before may moons passed we were all experts at laying out clothing and equipment on our Simmons innersprings.

A clothing & equipment check is successful when the paper results are converted into combat serviceable gear for everyone in the battery. Somehow or another there was always some demon trying to thwart that result. Something always turned up to jam the works. We thought we were all set at Davis with our flashy field jackets. Look what happened at Haan. AA-4 ruled that these zoot-suit jackets were not combat serviceable; and then they issued us more of the same kind.

One day we did achieve our goal. All forms were correctly filled out. all clothing received, issued, marked, and tucked away in our seaworthy duffel bags. Pincus' and Geoghan's extra large clodhoppers had been shipped by the Quartermaster direct to the Port of Embarkation -- then what happens? Our shipping orders were canceled.

So when the Hart, Schaffner & Marx man comes to your door after the war, you'll be able to greet him with a snappy display on the bed -- from belt, waist, web, Hickok to Zipper, fly, interchangeable.

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