Tony's War: One soldier’s entire WWII experience, written as it was happening

Epilogue

Prologue

EDWARD ANTHONY ZAHN was born March 31, 1921 to Ed and Marie Zahn. His father, an MIT alumnus, was working as a project manager for Thomas Edison in West Orange, New Jersey, but had taken his pregnant wife to Boston so their child could be born near their families. The birth was life-threatening to Marie, so Ed vowed that he would not put his wife’s life at risk again. Their son was to be an only child.

When he was 10 years old, little Eddie’s mother offered him a dime - a fortune at the time – if he would allow her to call him Tony. The name stuck. He would be known as Tony for the rest of his life.

When Tony was four years old, his father was hired as an executive with Western Electric, a subsidiary of AT&T. The family moved to 29 Salibury Avenue, Stewart Manor, Long Island, New York, commuting distance to Ed’s Manhattan office. This was to remain the family home until after the war.

Both parents doted on their son. In 1927 they took him to nearby Roosevelt Field to watch all of the takeoffs of aviators who aspired to be the first to make a solo transatlantic crossing, many of whom were never heard from again. Tony was there to see Lindbergh take off.

Tony grew up in a wholesome, traditional American household of the 1920s and ‘30s. He was a Boy Scout (Troop 134, Stewart Manor), a classically trained pianist, and, like his mother, a talented artist. He had a passion for photography and a professional understanding of cameras and developing techniques. He was an accomplished sailor, having learned those skills on the yachts of his father’s colleagues. Also a skilled roller-skater (a very popular activity during the 1930s and ‘40s), he was a regular attendee of the Mineola skating rink.

From frequent outings to Manhattan, Tony came to know the island intimately. His father had not speculated in the stock market so did not suffer from the crash of 1929. The family was financially well-off and frequented sophisticated establishments.

So Tony developed into an urbane, witty, confident gentleman. After graduating from Sewanhaka High School in 1938, he attended Tilton Junior College in New Hampshire, where he was on the staff of the school’s newspaper. Tilton was to have been preparatory to applying to an Ivy League University.

In the summer of 1941, Tony’s father secured him a job with Western Electric in Mount Holly, New Jersey while they considered what universities he would apply to. But the events of December 7th changed the plans of the entire nation. By July, 1942, he had shopped around to all but the Marines, when an offer came through that men who had worked for Western Electric, if they enlisted, based on knowledge and skills, could go in as a T5. This was a rank in the US Army and Army Air Force in WWII that stood for Tech 5. It was equal to a corporal in pay but lacked the command of a corporal. Tony accepted that offer, went through the process, and on the day he was leaving to get sworn in at Whitehall Street, his draft notice was in the incoming mail. So he went to his induction, then contacted the draft board to notify them that he was already in. Thus, the boy who had never been west or south of New Jersey or north of Boston, was about to embark on a life-changing experience to faraway places.

Tony’s WWII Army career is recorded in 256 detail-packed letters sent home to his parents over the course of 38 months, as he lived through the experience. His cosmopolitan upbringing, profound sense of humor, and extreme intelligence shine throughout his writing. His skills as an artist, photographer, and musician played a part in his military career. His drawings and photographs supplement the text of his letters.

CHAPTER 1

Beginnings—A Soldier in

the Making

1941 December 7—Japanese attack Pearl Harbor on the island of Oahu, Hawaii, a territory of the US. All eight Navy battleships were damaged, four sunk, as well as three cruisers, three destroyers, an anti-aircraft training ship, and one minelayer destroyed or sunk. 188 aircraft were destroyed, 2403 Americans killed, and 1178 others wounded

December 8—The United States and Britain declare war on Japan

December 8—10—Japan invades the Philippines, Thailand, and Malaya

December 11—Hitler declares war on the United States

1942 February 15—Singapore surrenders to the Japanese

February 19—President Roosevelt signs Executive Order 9066, also known as the Japanese-American Internment Order. This order places citizens of Japanese descent in internment camps

April 8—Bataan, Philippines surrenders to the Japanese

May 6—Corregidor Island, the island fortress at the entrance of Manila Bay, falls to the Japanese

June 4-7—Battle of Midway. Six months after the attack on Pearl Harbor, the U.S. preempted and countered Japan’s planned ambush of its few remaining aircraft carriers. The Americans sank a heavy cruiser and four fleet carriers–the entire strength of the task force with 322 aircraft and over five thousand sailors. American losses included 147 aircraft and more than three hundred seamen

August 7, 1942—February 9, 1943—Battle of Guadalcanal, Solomon Islands. The first major offensive and a decisive victory for the Allies in the Pacific theater. U.S. Marines launched a surprise attack in August 1942 and took control of an air base under construction, thus halting the Japanese island-hopping advance towards Australia

9:00 pm, October 1, 1942—Dear Folks, The first leg has begun, and along with it have come many other firsts. I am now a member of the Grand Order of Eaters and Manipulators of Consommé in Dining Cars. The preliminary exam was something of a trial, but after a few shots one begins to get the hang of the thing. The trick seems to be to fill the bowl with the zwieback, which is supplied. After that it is a simple matter to rush from bowl to mouth between bounces. The rest of the meal is a pushover with the exception of the coffee, which requires special attention.

My handwriting, poor at best, is further rendered unreadable by the motions of this club car. Although a swanky affair, it is usually tenanted by portly souls enjoying a cocktail between highballs. Must be Western Electric men going to Hawthorne.

We are now approaching Pittsburgh or some place in that vicinity—I’m not sure where. The trip promises well, however, so I shall go to bed shortly and be fresh for a day in Chicago tomorrow. So long for now.—Tony

PS—Thanks, again, for my watch. It’s swell and I’m ever so grateful.

Oct 3, 1942 (post mark Newton KS)—Dear Folks, Just beautiful country full of corn, corn, corn. Not hills, not flat. More like a ground swell at sea. All the gasoline you want! Love, Tony

Oct 3, 1942—Dear Folks, Maybe you get to wondering why I write so much. Well, I’m afraid that although it comes in a rush, it’s got to be the last for a while. I’m afraid that when I get all of the needles in me the urge to be active will sort of leave me for a while.

We’re getting further and further west and will shortly get into Oklahoma. The country so far has been just like all the pictures we’ve seen with grain elevators and cattle loading platforms and oil fields. The local yokels wear mostly overalls and a few of them have modified versions of the ten gallon hat. At all of the stations recently, genuine Indian made curios have been on sale—a dude’s paradise. To date have seen no Indians and train has not been held up. Hope it will stay light long enough to see a little bit of Texas, but it’s doubtful. As you can no doubt tell, the train is moving. Love, Tony

Oct 4, 1942—Dear Folks, Indians! And cowboys, too. Not the dude variety, but the more practical type. Of particular interest in this section (don’t know if it’s New Mexico or Arizona—right near the border) are the houses. They are of typical pueblo construction, being made of mud over a framework of sticks with flat roofs and poles projecting through the side walls to hold the roofs up. When set against the cliffs they are practically indistinguishable.

The vegetation is thinning out and we ought to be in the desert shortly. Already it’s very dry and the soil very dusty. Lots of seemingly wild horses—noble looking animals.

So much to write about but still I have to keep one eye out of the window to make sure I don’t miss anything. As a consequence my continuity won’t be so hot, but I guess that you’ll get the general idea.

For miles I haven’t seen a soul, now. It seems like an awful lot of land going to waste. At the last station there were a number of old Indians hawking their wares. Just like the movies! In fact, everything here is pretty much just like the movies so that I always know pretty much what to expect. More later—Tony

Oct 6, 1942—Dear Folks, This is the Army! And this is the desert. If ever there was a jumping off place of Creation, this is it.

The train got into Freda at the first light of dawn, and what a sight! An armored division was unloading from flat cars after maneuvers and consisted of all forms of tanks, etc. We were evidently not expected so they served us breakfast in the officers’ mess. By this time our clothes were covered with dust, which is about all there is out here. When I send them home you’ll see what I mean because I couldn’t get it all off. After breakfast our battalion, which is on maneuvers in the desert, sent a truck for us, and upon arrival were amazed that we should be sent way out here without any uniforms or equipment. The only thing to do was to pile us all back in the truck again and take us to a large camp. We were outfitted here and took away a fortune in clothing and equipment. No wonder we are urged to buy so many bonds. After an open-air shower we donned our fatigue suits and fibre helmets, shoes, and accessories, and for the first time looked like shiny new soldiers. Yesterday was rather warm—110 degrees—so nobody dares to be caught in the sun without a helmet. Today looks like it will be as bad.

Eating in the field from a mess kit is an accomplishment in itself. We haven’t had much experience as yet but we’re getting used to it. Another thing that is going to be very hard to get used to is the water. It’s all brought in from the outside and tastes very strongly of sulphur and other salts.

After supper last night, which was eaten between sage brushes, we spread our blankets out on the ground under the stars and went to sleep. With two blankets on top it was still cold.

Duty calls so I’ll write more later. You have my address now, so a letter will reach me. Better send airmail. Love, Tony

Chow in the desert; Wind and dust storm tears up bivouac

near Desert Center, Calif.

Oct 7, 1942 (postmark Indio, CA)—Dear Folks, I don’t understand why they’d send us here. This whole area is on maneuvers in the desert so we got sent along. We’re the Blue Army and all we’ve seen of the Reds so far are their planes which come about 20’ above our heads at 200mph. Nothing for us to do—we’ve been eating and loafing for two days and sleeping in pup tents beside the cactus. The days are hotter than and the nights are colder than. Love, Tony

Oct 10, 1942—Dear Folks, Time marches on and we still don’t know where we are at in this man’s army. So far we’ve enjoyed ourselves, in that we haven’t done any work. This morning we broke up our bivouac and moved the whole works down the road about twenty miles where we set the whole thing up again. We’ve just finished lunch and I’m lying in my pup tent with next to nothing on, trying to beat the heat. It’s about 120 degrees out here—on the level—and never rains or clouds up. Just the sun beating down all day. As fast as we can drink water we sweat it out, so there’s no profit in it.

There aren’t any maneuver problems on at the moment, so we’ll have movies tonight. They have a sound motion picture outfit which they set up under the stars and show fairly recent pictures.

I finished up the roll of color and will send it to you. Take it to a regular photo dealer or any developing agency and they will send it on to Eastman. We can’t send it there ourselves. Order one print of each and when you get it back look them over and send them on to me, but keep the film and put it with the others on my closet shelf. I would send it myself, but we jump around so much that no matter what place I took them to we would probably be gone before they could get back. I’ll send my civvies, too, when we get some place that has a post office.

After the 16th of this month my address will be Co. B, 99th Sig. Br., Sunnyvale, Ca. That will be when the maneuvers will be over.

In closing I’ll have to repeat that it’s hot—just in case the idea didn’t get over. Damn that guy, Greely! Love, Tony

Oct 15, 1942—Dear Folks, Here I am, still in the desert, but about 200 miles from where I was a couple of days ago. Until yesterday morning we were at Desert Center, which is a gas station and a fork in the road. At four o’clock yesterday morning, however, we were routed out, given breakfast, and set to work breaking camp. After all of the stuff was packed we set out for a fifty mile truck ride. Here we made camp again and stayed all day there, only to pack up again and start off once more last night. The ride up here was freezing cold, but luckily we only had to put up with it for 150 more miles. Arrived about 1 am and just spread our blankets on the ground and went to sleep without further ceremony. This morning I found us to be in a different type of desert. It’s still sandy, but the sage has a very delicate and delightful scent. Also there are numerous bushes which look like palm trees—about 9 feet high with a palm trunk and two foot leaves covered with white tendrils. I could go on and on about the wonderful country and botanical life but enough for now.

As yet I have received no word from anyone back home but I rather suspect that this is due to the crazy succession of addresses which have been shoved upon us. The word now is that after the maneuvers (about the 20th) we will go to Fort Ord for a day or two and then on to Sunnyvale. You may count on that to this extent; that is official for the battalion we’re with at the moment but we New Yorkers might go someplace else at any time for basic training. So you see—you know as much about my address as I do. At any rate if you send mail to Sunnyvale I’ll get it eventually but in the meantime I’ll just have to hope that somebody remembers me at least.

I’m getting very healthy out here, I’m afraid. They give us lots of fruit and fruit juices, good meat, and all kinds of jellies and jams. You know it’s a funny thing but I don’t miss my between meal snacks. Even the old mid-morning coffee goes by the boards unnoticed. I’ve gotten rid of that old night club tan and probably won’t have it again ‘till after the war.

Last Saturday night Hollywood put on a show for us at the nearby camp. Notable among those present were Stokowski, Hoagy Carmichael, Ann Miller, Edward G. Robinson, and myself. It was quite good but the lads got a bit restless during Shostakovich’s 7th Symphony and I must admit that so did I. It was just a little too gruesome. Every night when there isn’t a blackout due to maneuvers we have movies under the stars. The feature pictures are about a year old but still good.

For the most part that is the situation here in sunny (Lord! Don’t I know it!) Calif. I get fed and I sleep and all for free so why should I worry? All I hope is that after I’ve seen a bit more of Calif. I’ll get sent back East where it will be easier to get home. I won’t look for mail for a while yet but will sure be glad to get it when it catches up with me. Love, Tony

Oct 16, 1942—Dear Folks, Just a note to let you know that I finally received some of your letters. Three, as a matter of fact. It sure was great to hear from you both. Don’t go getting sick while I’m away, Mom, and don’t keep her and yourself out too late, Pop. Gosh! If I can go to bed at nine so can anyone else except the getting up at five thirty has its objectionable points.

I’m afraid it will be a while yet before I have a picture in khaki. All I’ve worn since coming here is olive green combat suits which were issued to us in lieu of fatigue clothes. Also, none of us have our stripes yet for the simple reason that there aren’t any to be had in 300 miles.

No, I haven’t had any basic training or shots yet and we’re still tagging along as guests of the government with nothing to do and all day for that. We just sit around and get healthy.

Before dinner tonight we caught a baby rattlesnake about two feet long and with a nice diamond back. Cute little feller but we’re just as happy that we ran into him in the daytime. More later. S’long now. Love, Tony

Oct 20, 1942—Dear Folks, Tomorrow we take a nice long truck ride to Fort Ord, just outside of Frisco on the blue Pacific. At least it will be a change from the desert. Most of my stuff has gone on ahead including my writing kit.

Sat. night I got a few hours leave to go to Needles. There was a dance sponsored by the American Legion with free eats, swell band, etc. Most of the bunch I went with got polluted and threw up in the truck coming back. Nuts to that!

Last night they hoodwinked us into loading the switchboards on a freight car. This morning, however, it’s the privates who are sweating while we noncoms take things easy. Address will still be Sunnyvale. Love, Tony

CHAPTER 2

Fort Ord, California, Part 1

Oct 24, 1942—Dear Folks, Eureka! The Pacific at last! Today I had my first sight of it and it’s most impressive. The coast at this point is made up of steep sand cliffs much like Long Island’s north shore and I had a wonderful view of the scene from the top of these. Enclosed are a few grains of sand which I personally filched from the bottom of the ocean.

We left the desert at 5am Wed. for which we had to roll out of bed at 4am and eat breakfast by moonlight. The truck ride wasn’t as bad as anticipated. The trucks only had a fraction of the normal complement of men so that we could loll about the floor on comforters or stretch out on the seats. Thus passed five hundred-odd very pleasant miles. We spent Wed. night in Bakersfield, a big town for this neck o’ the woods. They let us bivouac in the local ballpark and I rolled out my blankets a few feet from third base.

Thurs. morning was very cold which means about 40 degrees. Again we set out at five but hadn’t gotten very far before the gas line became clogged and we had to stop. While the rest of the company passed by, the driver fiddled with the engine. They finally found it—a rubber pencil eraser in the gas line. Sabotage! More beautiful mountains with western steer grazing on the sides. It was terrible to watch all that filet mignon wandering around. As we got nearer the west coast it became clouded over and colder. As a matter of fact, it’s like that most of the time here. As far as getting sunshine is concerned it’s either a feast or a famine.

Ft. Ord is quite a place. It seems to be fully as large as the whole city of Trenton. It’s got everything in it—even a darkroom. I developed my films and made very few prints because the only paper that they had on hand was old and all shot. I’m going to get some in town and then we’ll be all set. These will give you a vague idea of what’s going on, though. I’ll send the rest as soon as they’re done.

Mon. we start basic training which is scheduled to go on for three weeks. Now we’ll have to go to work. Always when the company lines up and the 1st Sgt. starts to dole out the work details he prefaces them with: Non-commissioned officers, fall out. After that, most of us newcomers are dismissed to enjoy ourselves. Yesterday, however, I got my first detail. The Sgt. looked at me, said: Corporal, take five men and police the grounds around the barracks, and walked off. Mr. Anthony, what do I do now? By hook and crook I pulled myself together and marched off five privates—most of them about thirty-five. God, did I feel silly!

That reminds me—I finally got my stripes and sewed them on. They look swell and I have to take a picture of them.

This morning everyone in the barracks was set to washing the windows. Then a call came through for some teletype men. Of course they were anxious to get out of the work, as off they went, expecting to do some nice, clean adjusting or something. Instead, they were set to unloading teletype machines from the trucks and uncrating them. Did they get the horselaugh when they got back?

I’m finagling for a 24 hour pass starting tonight. Lotsa shopping to do. If it’s a nice day tomorrow I’ll go to Monterey and go deep sea fishing or something. More later. Love, Tony

Oct 25, 1942—Dear Folks, Doing the town on a 24 hour pass. Went across the Golden Gate Bridge this am. Swell view! A very interesting place, ‘Frisco—you’d have a field day here because everything is so different. Writing from USO on Market St. They’re sure a haven for a stranger. Wish you were here. –Tony

Ft Ord, Oct 29, 1942—Dear Folks, At last a moment to sit down and dash off a letter. So far this has been a swell week with a lot doing. Maybe I’d better start at the beginning which takes us back to last week.

Last Sat. night I got a 24 hour pass to Salinas, a small town some ten miles from here. We bummed around there until the others got tired. They just wanted to go back and go to bed—even before midnight. I didn’t want to waste the pass, however, so I stayed and wandered into the USO, where I remained until it closed. It was about this time that I got the bright idea to go to ‘Frisco. The next bus was 3:55 am, so to kill time I went to a midnight show at a Spanish theatre. The picture was all in Spanish, but it was a musical, so I enjoyed it anyway. A lot of Mexicans around here so they have their own shows, etc. At last I got on the bus and slept through to ‘Frisco.

We pulled into the big town around eight in the morning and I had a steak breakfast around the corner. After a brisk walk down Market St., the main drag, I came to the Ferry Building and the waterfront. I tried to get a ferry to ride across the bay, but they’ve been cut down so much that I might not have been able to get back in time. Instead, I boarded a dinky little trolley to ride out to the Golden Gate. It went through the wholesale market district, a colorful section, then through the International Settlement, a nightclub area of different nationalities, and by a residential section. One remarkable thing about ‘Frisco are the hills. There were some that were all of forty degrees, and these were one-way—down. The trolley must have cogs like Mt. Washington because it would be a long and fast ride to the bottom if the brakes ever gave.

At last I arrived at the Golden Gate causeway and had no trouble in thumbing a ride over the bridge. Very nice. Coming back I got a lift from a Chinese chap who took me right into the center of the city. After shopping around (by this time most of the stores were open despite its being Sunday) I went to the main USO where I sent some postcards. From there I dropped by a service club sponsored by the city. It is a new modernistic place with all blue plate glass which gives a very pleasing light inside. In the back of the building was parked a trailer where I made the record. When I said on the record that I didn’t know if I should be there or not, it was because of the pass being made out for Salinas. I found out later that it was alright. At this place they served free sandwiches, chocolate cake, cocoa, and cigarettes. Incidentally, one can smoke anyplace in these California theatres. All things must end, however, so I had to catch the 2:30pm bus back. The daylight ride was swell. We passed orange groves and vineyards and so on, down past the blue Pacific which, by the way, is a lot bluer than the Atlantic.

When I got back to camp that night it as just in time for a free vaudeville show which had some top-notch stuff in it. All in all, I’d call it a most complete weekend.

Monday we started the rudiments of marching. This is not formal basic training, but is just so that we’ll know enough about it to be able to stand retreat in the evenings.

Tues. our long-awaited OD (olive drab woolens) came along and we began to look more like soldiers. I still have to have my trousers shortened a bit, so won’t have my pictures taken till after that. At night, three of us went into town to get a few hangers for our clothes. We only needed six apiece and came back with over sixty—for free.

Yesterday we met our officers who will be with us when the 66th is formed. Among them was this Cpt. Wyatt—a nice guy as they all seem to be. They’ve been out here a few weeks and know less about the army than we do. They think that we’ll be here about six weeks or so, so you can send mail accordingly.

As yet I have not received any mail other than the three in the desert. Also I don’t know if you received my pictures or Kodacolor film yet. In other words, I’m just cut off from the outside world.

We have a lot of opportunity to skate out here, so if you would send along my black pair COD to keep the records straight, I would appreciate it.

That’s about all for the moment from the California sector, so I’ll turn it over to you and you can advise me on the New York situation. Love, Tony

Bedding for new arrivals

Original Cadre, 66th Sig Bn, Fort Ord, Nov 15, 1942 – Bottom row left to

right Vincent, Kober, Leckie, Tony, Second row Connelly, Wild, Gramlick,

Third row Carter, Buist, Wenk, Frank; Taking inventory

Nov 1, 1942—Dear Folks, My first anniversary! And after a month in the army (although it seems like three) I find it to be not such a bad place at all. Of course this outlook is probably fostered by my good fortune in not going in as a private and by the extra luxuries afforded a non-com. But wait till I tell you.

First, a change of address. Just change Co. B to Co. C. Otherwise it’s the same. We were transferred here this week and it’s different as night from day. This company is all made up of new men being trained for the Signal Corps, or at least that’s what they say. Quite an assortment, too. They’re mostly Indians (genuine) and Mexicans who live just this side of the border in Texas. A bright bunch, though, and willing to learn. I have a separate room with another Corporal instead of being out with the men. The officers use this set up because they don’t want us to become too chummy with the men. It would interfere with discipline, they say. At any rate, here I am in my private room, and instead of standing in line for mess with a mess kit, we non-coms just go right in and eat off a plate at separate tables. Not very democratic, I suppose, but that’s the way they want it.

Tony is a soldier

All day yesterday we were out drilling our platoon. We ourselves only had a week of drill last week and now we’re teaching this bunch by memory, by bluff, and by God. It’s a great feeling to think up something for fifty men to do and then watch them do it. A big boost to the ego. I only hope that it doesn’t give me a swelled head. I will have to watch that.

Went to a dance in Monterey last night with cider, gingerbread, and pretty gals in evening gowns, all for free at the USO. That’s a quaint town. Full of palm trees, Spanish architecture, and monasteries. I’ll be back. Love, Tony

Nov 2, 1942—Dear Folks, The most pertinent news of the moment concerns my first casualty of the war. After being bothered during the day and kept awake at night with a toothache, I went to the medic. He looked at it—#6 molar on the left and ‘way in the back, poked around ‘till I was going like a jumping jack,