Volume 14 , Issue 26

Capt. Miles W. Kelly's Year In Alva (1944-45)

Captain Miles W. Kelly's Year in Alva, September, 1944-September, 1945, written by Bruce A. Kelly. The doc file can be viewed at okielegacy.net/WWIIpowcamps/Alva Year.doc -

After service in North Africa and Italy during World War II, my father, Dr. Miles William Kelly, MD, was stationed at the prisoner-of-war camp in Alva, Oklahoma from September 28, 1944 to September 17, 1945. He was one of the medical officers at the facility. For the most part, this account is based on the letters he sent home to my mother.

At least one local history, newspaper articles, and a small amount of government documents also added much to this narrative. Before relating his story, however, a few words must be said regarding the history of the camp itself. The subsequent description is based on the following sources. Some of it is largely a paraphrase of a section on the camp in Alva, Oklahoma: The First 100 Years, 1886-1986 (1987) by Seekers of Oklahoma Heritage Association. Also used here are various government reports based on visits to the camp. The first followed a September 21-22, 1943 visit by Rudolph Fisher, representing the Legation of Switzerland in charge of German interests and does a good job of describing some of the physical layout of the camp. The report, written by Carl M. Marcy, Special Division of the U.S. State Department, who accompanied Fischer on the tour, chronicled the visit which took place less than two months after the first prisoners arrived and thus at a very early stage in the camp's development. Another report of more uncertain origin (there is a line in the report alluding to it possibly being a Red Cross visit) adds a little information about the camp. This one followed a visit by Mr. Paul Schnyder on September 27, 1943, a few days after the above-mentioned one. Who he was and for whom or what he was visiting the camp is not shown. A January 26-28 visit resulted in a February 19, 1944 reported written by Major Frank L. Brown, CMP, but it doesn't indicated who he was. Fischer evidently came back for another visit February 9-11, 1944, though this report is referenced little here. The report of an April 18-19, 1945 visit obviously came later. Visiting the camp then were Mr. Othon Goetz, representative of the Department of German Interests of the Swiss Legation, accompanied by Mr. Van Arsdale Turner of the American State Department. It is hereafter referred to as the Goetz-Turner report.

Though there were other prison camps in Oklahoma during the war, the one at Alva was thought by many as being the most important. Known as the "Nazilager," it has often been referred to as the Alcatraz or Devil's Island of such camps, that is to say known for its rigorous conditions. These conditions eventually gave rise to complaints among prisoners of Alva being a "punishment camp." Many felt they had been moved from another camp to Alva as a form of retribution for their behavior in the from which they were transferred. A 1943 report discussed later argued that German spokesmen at other camps "are evidencing a tendency to be fearful that they may be sent to Alva." This could in turn affect the manner in which prisoners were treated once they arrived at Alva. The report "noted that the American officers at Alva realize that they are receiving men who are not wanted at other camps and, therefore, have a justifiable tendency to view their prisoners with more suspicion than ordinarily." Thus, some American personnel might come to view the prisoners as "criminals" rather than prisoners of war. This could result in all sorts of difficulty somewhat unique to Alva.

Containing German prisoners, generally Nazis, the prison camp to which my father was assigned was located some two-and-one-half miles south of Alva on the west side of Highway 281. The Alva Regional Airport and the Woods County Fairgrounds currently occupy the location where the camp stood nearly sixty years ago at this writing. The only remains of the camp today are a brick chimney, a building now used as a VFW post, and a large concrete conduit-type structure serving as a base for the water tower. Authorized on June 30, 1942, the camp was envisioned to house 4,800 prisoners, though the eventual capacity was 5,910. The scheduled opening date was December 15, but no prisoners were there then. In late-1942 and early-1943, military police units began to arrive to guard the eventual population of the camp. The first nineteen prisoners did not appear until July 31, 1943, while the camp was still under construction. Though the first prisoners were likely trucked in, later ones were brought to Alva by train and marched out to the camp. By February 23, 1945, as the war was ending, 1,002 officers, 2,477 noncommissioned officers, and 1,478 enlisted men occupied the camp, they being guarded by five companies of MPs. The camp contained four POW compounds, three for noncoms and enlisted men and another, furthest toward the east and built later, for officers. Each of the compounds for the noncoms contained thirty-two one-story wooden barracks and a mess hall and other buildings. Each barracks could hold fifty men. The eventual officer prisoners' compound contained one-hundred-and-fifty buildings, about three times as many as each of the others, though they were fewer in number. A large amount of space is the privilege of rank, it would seem. Although there were escape attempts, eight-foot high fences and thirteen guardhouses successfully contained the best of the remnants of Rommel's Afrika Corps, among others. In organizational terms, the camp was under what was called then the Eighth Service Command which was headquartered in Dallas, Texas. Dad mentions it periodically.

Though V-E Day brought the release of many prisoners, 2,192 of them remained on September 16, 1945, the day before my father left Alva. By October 1, only forty-five were left. The last camp commander, Harold H. Richardson, Colonel, Infantry, announced on September 20 the camp was to close. All of the POWs were gone by October 15, and the camp was officially decommissioned on November 15, 1945. Thus, the camp existed for only two months after my father left, though for all practical purposes it was no longer functioning thereafter. As a result, this brief history will comprise the last year of the camp's existence. When one considers, however, the camp's "real" existence was a two-year and two-month period from the time the first prisoners came in late-July, 1943 until it was closed essentially in September, 1945, my Dad's tenure there comprised nearly half of the camp's entire life span.

While the prisoners' compounds were located south of the still extant water tower, the quarters for the American personnel and the administrative buildings were essentially north of it. As mentioned above, the only building remaining today is used as a VFW post. The history from which this information is taken identifies the building as having been the Officers' Club, with their quarters located across the street to the east. Some newspaper articles this writer has found, however, claimed the building was actually a mess hall. A large recreation building, eventually moved to Kiowa, Kansas, stood near the abovementioned building.

Though somewhat lengthy, the following excerpt from the report of the September 21-22, 1943 visit by Rudolph Fisher, does a good job of describing some of the physical layout of the camp. Marcy began his report by describing the camp as

an independent establishment situated about two and one-half miles south of Alva, Oklahoma. The terrain in which the camp is located is flat and predominantly agricultural. The camp is at an altitude of 1,454 feet; the average temperature in July is 84 degrees; the average temperature in January is 38 degrees and the average annual precipitation is 32 inches.

The military reservation covers an area of one square mile. The prisoner of war enclosure which forms a part of the reservation is divided into three compounds, 680 feet by 1025 feet, each compound being designed to accommodate four companies of 250 prisoners each. Construction has just begun on an officers compound which will accommodate 1,000 prisoners. At the time of the visit the officers were held in Compound A in which the ordinary type of enlisted men's barracks have been altered to provide five three-room apartments to each barrack building. Each compound has a work shop and each company within the compound has a recreation room.

Barracks are of theater of operations construction, 20 by 120 feet, and are faced with sheet rock covered with tar paper. The principal differences noted between the interior of the barracks at this camp and at other camps was the fact that the ceilings were somewhat lower than elsewhere. The result was that the upper bed of the double bunks, which are now used, was so near the ceiling that a prisoner can not sit upright on his bunk without hitting the ceiling. Another variation in the layout of the barracks was the fact that the beds were placed horizontally by the 120 foot axis of the building rather than cross-wise as at other camps. This gave the barracks a very crowded disorganized and unattractive appearance resulting in narrow aisles and in general unsatisfactory to the prisoners. The representative of the Swiss Legation after consultation with the prisoners suggested that a trial be given to rearranging the beds in one of the barracks to conform with arrangements which have been seen at other camps in the belief that such arrangements would prove more satisfactory. The camp authorities said, however, that they had instructions from higher authority on this matter and that they could not vary this internal arrangement.

This was the only camp of five visited by Dr. Fischer in which bed sacks had not been issued to the prisoners. Dr. Fischer pointed out that failure to issue sacks caused the comforters to soil and that they are very difficult to clean.

The September 27, 1943 Paul Schnyder report noted the officers' area was separated from that of the non-commissioned officers and enlisted men by barbed wire, though the 1945 Goetz-Turner report did not indicate this was still the case then. Also, the Schnyder report went on, each of the "apartments" for the officers contained a bedroom and a small living room. The prisoners have access to hot and cold water "at all times." According to this report, each "sector" (compound) contained 4 buildings for showers, toilets and basins; 4 buildings for kitchens and mess halls; 1 building for the canteen; 1 building for the infirmary; and 1 building for the recreation hall. With regard to the mess facilities, the Schnyder report said "the kitchen and mess halls are in the same barracks, separated by a counter to which the prisoners come to serve themselves. Everything is immaculate."

The Marcy report went on to say the camp's water supply came from city wells and the city also took care of sewage. There were twenty-four lavatories for each company of 250 men, and thus the latrine facilities were "considered adequate." The laundry facilities were "inadequate," however, as there were only two wash tubs available for each company. The Schnyder report indicated the "soldiers do their own laundry in large concrete tubs located in the shower barracks." The sheets belonging to the officers are washed outside of the camp, but their linens are done by soldier prisoners for which service they are paid. With regard to the dining facilities, prisoners considered the food to be satisfactory, though they expressed a desire for more potatoes and bread. "The kitchens were well equipped," the Marcy report concluded, "with the exception of metal pitchers." It is difficult to determine if these were wanted or not wanted.

The prisoners had adequate clothing then, the Marcy report went on, though the reader will recall the camp's population was still small at the time. Winter clothing was then being issued. The 1945 Goetz-Turner report reported excess clothing, especially civilian clothing, was confiscated. This produced complaints on the part of some prisoners who had actually bought the clothing and saw its confiscation as a "hardship."

The Schnyder report said there were also canteens in the camp, though Marcy pointed out there were separate ones for officers and enlisted men. The Marcy report states these canteens were first opened on September 3, 1943, so they had been open for less than three weeks when the visits took place and were thus "inadequately stocked." The Schnyder report noted the prisoners could buy "paper, pencils, tobacco, and toilet articles" in the canteens. Those for the American guard personnel were better stocked than the others, and it was the source of goods for the prisoners' canteen, though they complained they were not able to buy such things as sweets, writing materials, art supplies and clothing items. This seems in partial conflict with the Marcy report. The prisoners evidently bought their products with something called "canteen checks."

The Goetz-Turner report made an interesting comment on what prisoners could not buy. What was called Regulation Change No. 6 to the Prisoner of War Memorandum No. 1 dated March 31, 1945, the report tells us, "prohibits the sale by canteens operated for non-cooperative, non-commissioned officers of war of beer, candy, soft drinks and manufactured cigarettes after present stocks of these items are exhausted. Enlisted men and officers other than non-commissioned officers are allowed a few cigarettes and a bottle of beer each week."

Prisoner officers and enlisted personnel had also been provided with tools, which were being used to build furniture.

In terms of prisoners' recreational opportunities, the September, 1943 Marcy report revealed such activities "have not been greatly developed." This was doubtless partially because the camp was relatively new. However, this report tells us the undeveloped condition of such activities was because "there has been plenty of Class II labor." What this means is unclear at this point. Schnyder reported the prisoners had "some alma games, Chinese checkers, cards, etc. but they do not have many diversions yet as they have not so far been able to organize theatrical performances or concerts." According to his report, the prisoners had also asked to have "moving picture shows." The report showed the prisoners had "several small fields," but the equipment was not adequate for the number of prisoners. The report of the April, 1945 visit, again occurring seven months after my father had arrived, pointed out each compound had a "sports field and highly organized recreation program." Each compound had a theater, though the one in the officers' compound lacked benches, the 1945 reported noted. As you'll see, Dad appears to bear this out, as he mentions sitting on a box to watch movies.

There were books in the officers' compound but "practically none" in the enlisted area, though according to the Schnyder report, there was no library. Though the prisoners had no access to newspapers with a national circulation, they were able to read the local Wichita paper "at irregular intervals." The Schnyder report related, perhaps with a certain amount of humor, "(t)he prisoners would also appreciate receiving the New York Times." Interestingly, books on the history of ancient art were prohibited by censorship regulations, for whatever reason. The lack of books doubtless retarded any educational efforts, at least at first. The Schnyder report revealed only English and French classes were under way when the September, 1943 visit took place. This had apparently changed by the time of the April, 1945 visit. "School work has been organized by the prisoners of war," Goetz and Turner observed, "and a number of flourishing classes are in swing."

Though the Marcy report mentioned nothing about religious services, the Schnyder one noted in late-September, 1943, a Protestant service was held each Sunday. There was at the time no Catholic service, however the report indicated "from the following Sunday," mass would be said by a Catholic priest who would come to the camp, presumably from Alva. The following Sunday would have been October 2, 1943, and thus we can assume the Catholic services began then. By February, 1944, when the Frank L. Brown report was written, religious services were being conducted "in a building which is outside of the compounds but within the fenced area," though it doesn't seem to make clear if both Protestant and Catholic services were being held in the same building. At the time of the 1944 visit, there was a German chaplain and "several priests" in the camp to provide services. "Supervision of religious activities," the 1945 Goetz-Turner report explained, "is given by the American chaplain of the camp and by a civilian Catholic priest from the town of Alva." In addition to church services, the report indicated a "theological study group is active." A January 28, 1944 officer roster mentions there being an American chaplain, the position then being held by Lieutenant Verner T. Jordahl. Dad's mid-October, 1944 letter mentions a chaplain, but it's hard to know if this was Jordahl. Another roster dated September 17, 1945, about the time the camp was closing, listed no chaplain. As an editorial note, from now on these rosters will be referred to as the 1944 and the 1945 ones. Remember, though, these rosters are not necessarily complete nor really reliable. In passing and for future reference, the following are the only officers who were on both rosters, thus the only ones there during the entire period from January 26, 1944 to September 17, 1945. They are listed here with their ranks according to the 1945 roster: Captain Walter W. Rollins, Captain Bennett C. Lambert, Captain Thomas Laughlin, Jr., Captain Roland J. Howe, 1st Lieutenant Garnette Janssen, and Captain Merle Kay.

The camp hospital where my father worked was located just north of the prisoner compounds and west of what was referred to as Washington Avenue, now Section Line Road. According to the 1943 Marcy report, it was a "regular, completely equipped, cantonment type hospital." There were then "five wards set aside for prisoners of war with a total of 151 beds." Another ward comprising 26 additional beds was authorized, and, indeed, the report of the April, 1945 visit identified six wards, though at the latter date, three were unused for reasons not explained. This would seem to bring the hospital up to a capacity of nearly 180 beds. The latter report indicated each ward contained "ten private rooms and twelve beds in an open ward." The hospital was fully-equipped, including X-ray equipment, operating rooms, and dental facilities. The 1945 report also mentioned "out-clinic and laboratory" facilities, though it is difficult to say if these were added later on or simply not mentioned in the earlier report. There was also an infirmary in each compound, and they were open twenty-four hours a day. We'll get to Dad's description of the medical facilities later.

In terms of medical personnel, the September, 1943 visit found there were three American medical officers and one dentist in the camp. Though it doesn't mention who the other physicians were, the camp surgeon was Colonel Cecil E. Tolle, and the dentist was Major I. W. McQuone. There were no German doctors in the camp then, though thirteen German enlisted men worked as orderlies in the hospital. When the April, 1945 visit took place, there were four American doctors, including my father by then, and a dentist. Though the name of the dentist was not included in the report, the "medical officer" was shown to be Major Arthur D. Sewall, of whom more is mentioned as this story progresses. Among the reports I have, Tolle was last listed as the camp surgeon in February, 1944, and Major McQuone was still listed as the dentist then. In a February, 1945 letter, Dad mentions a dentist by the name of Captain Berry. More will be related specifically on the names of the medical personnel when we get into my Dad's letters. As of April, 1945, there were also four German prisoner doctors working in the hospital and four others working in the compound infirmaries. At the time, there was also a German enlisted man working as an optometrist. This writer could only wish his father were alive today, as his prodigious memory could add much to the above description of the camp and its personnel, especially regarding the hospital.

Before relating my Dad's story, some caveats must be made. First of all, he was at Alva during roughly the last year of the camp's existence, so his experience there reveals nothing about its first one-and-a-half years or so. Second, he was a medical officer, and therefore many other aspects of camp life would not be revealed in any detail in his letters. This also means he related very little of the activities of the enlisted men other than as a doctor. Third, whatever he included in his letters home would comprise his perceptions of events and people, and other people present at the time would possibly differ with his view of things. Lastly, he was not as detailed and descriptive in his letters as my mother was in hers to him, and thus what he does say should not be viewed as containing exhaustive information about even his area of the compound. With all of these qualifications in mind, my father's contemporaneous observations of Alva can be a valuable, if limited, glimpse into life there. Following his North African and Italian service, Dad was stationed for a short time at Camp Barkley, Texas, his duty there extending from May 31, 1944 until his transfer to Alva in September. He first informed my mother of his impending move to Alva on September 15 of that year. The next day, he wrote, "it doesn't sound like too good an assignment but it is in the U.S.A. and not Camp Barkley." His first letter from Alva recounted leaving Abilene, Texas on Wednesday, September 27, staying overnight in Kiowa, Kansas, about twenty-two miles north of Alva, and arriving in Alva at about 10:30 on the morning of Thursday, September 28, 1944 by staff car. A late train accounted for his circuitous journey to Alva. His September 29 letter contained his first impressions of the camp:

It is a large P.O.W Camp and has at the present time about 4000 prisoners. We have a very nice small hospital (about 200 beds) to which I have been assigned. Counting myself there are four medical officers, one dental, one veterinary, two medical administrative and two nurses. The CO is Lt. Col. Gill and (he) seems to be very nice. Capt. Greenfield and Lt. Wichman are the other two. Altogether there are about forty officers here at the camp, most of whom are married and have their families in Alva. We have a very nice club, average quarters and mess, god (sic., good) theater and a very good post exchange. . . . Everyone is very friendly and I'm sure I'm going to like it. Haven't had time to check on the housing situation although have been told it isn't too good. There has been a rather rapid turn over in medical officers and it is difficult to know how permanent this assignment will be.

The Lieutenant Colonel Gill mentioned above, of whom more is written hereafter, is not listed on the 1945 roster, doubtless the last roster before the camp closed. He was probably gone by the time it was compiled, thus, I cannot give his first name nor any other official military information on him. Also, Google came up with nothing on him. Dad mentions him as this narrative goes along, which would place him there during at least some of the time Dad was at the camp, but it's impossible to be very specific in terms of when he was there. It should be emphasized here Gill was the CO at the hospital not over the entire the camp.

An October 4 inspection tour gave Dad the opportunity to describe his new duty station more:

The camp is divided up into four compounds each enclosed in barbed wire. In each compound there are four companies of prisoners and (each) contain(s) 100-1200 men. Two of the compounds are for non-commissioned officers, one for officers and one for privates. They have three square meals a day, a good place to sleep and only the privates do any manual labor outside the compounds.

When he used the 100-1200 figure above, it was likely a mistake, and he probably meant 100-120.

In a letter written on September 30, he identified his duties as "ward officer on two wards, and responsible for all of dispensaries in the camp area and the sanitation of the prisoners' area." His responsibilities being mainly supervisory, he went on to write he wouldn't be as busy as those duties might indicate. He suggested there were about twenty German doctors in the camp who did almost all of the medical work on the prisoners, however the February, 1944 report said there were only four. Dad was to oversee them in their work. His two wards included only American patients. The opportunity to once again practice medicine appealed to him after having had so many essentially administrative jobs before. In an October 1, 1944 letter, he went into some detail describing the hospital, writing the following:

There is a good surgery, X-Ray, Pharmacy, laboratory and Dental clinic. It is built on the same general plan and type of buildings as the new hospital at Fort Devens and is much better constructed. The floors including the corridors are all oak and they keep them waxed. With all of the prisoners there is plenty of help and everything is kept spotless. It is a pleasure to see a place so clean after some of the places I have been in.

In describing what I assume to be the officers' club, he wrote in early-October, "(w)e have a very nice club for a small post. One large room with easy chairs and bridge tables and the mess is out on a glass enclosed porch. There is a small bar, pool tables, piano and is quite attractive." In his October 27 letter, he made a parenthetical reference to the library being in the colonel's office. It will be recalled the 1943 Schnyder report revealed there was no library. In his May 31, 1945 letter, he commented "(o)ur tables in the mess hall hold ten each."

He had been at the camp for a month before he got around to describing for our mother the town of Alva and the surrounding country. Its population, he estimated, was about 5,000, and the town was "not very attractive." Though there was "a fairly good G.I. bus service," he saw little point in going into town. It was about two miles from the downtown to the camp, he explained. In describing the area surrounding the camp, he felt "(t)he country here is 'not so hot.' It is mostly flat as you might expect and not very pretty. It is good farming country and the people seem quite well off." With regard to his difficulty in finding a place for the family to live in Alva, he added, "the people are quite particular about children as usual," though this seems unclear. His October 28 letter described the community's "strong feeling against renting to people with children." As we will see, he would ultimately not find accommodations in town for his family. The first chance he had to actually see the town of Alva came on October 6, ten days after his arrival. His main objective in going into town was to find a place big enough for his family to join him. Again, he was unsuccessful, as all he was able to locate were two- and three-bedroom apartments, too small for his family of six.

In describing the hospital commanding officer and the other medical staff, Dad wrote that Lieutenant Colonel Gill, the hospital head at the time of his arrival, let the physicians "do what we think is right and he doesn't interfere in any way." The surgeon, Lieutenant Wickman, was described by Dad as "quite competent in general surgery." Regarding the camp psychiatrist, Dad blended a little humor with some anti-Semitism in writing, being a psychiatrist, Captain Greenfield "is a bit screwy. . . . I guess they have to be a bit nuts to take up that field of medicine. He is a typical Jew although a bit better than average and I get along with him very well." As you'll see, though, this will change. In a subsequent letter written on October 26, he said Greenfield "is not liked very well." Neither Wickman nor Greenfield are listed on the 1944 nor the 1945 roster, and therefore I cannot give detailed information on them. But, it does narrow down a bit when they might have been there.

The camp seemed to have a good deal in the way of entertainment. Dad described the camp theater as a "rough old thing" which showed movies on Tuesday, Thursday and Sunday. It was not air-conditioned, which made for uncomfortable movie-watching in the summer. On October 1, 1944, he suggested he might go to see Greenwich Village, which he indeed did. This was a 1944 film starring Carmen Miranda, Don Ameche, and William Bendix, among others. In terms of other forms of entertainment, he informed his wife on October 3 they were to have a U.S.O. show that evening in addition to a movie. The next day, he opined the show "wasn't too bad but would have never gotten to Broadway." The movie on October 5 was Arsenic and Old Lace with Cary Grant, Peter Lorre and Raymond Massey, and Dad said he "laughed myself sick." On October 7, there was a dance at the officers' club with a juke box substituting for an orchestra, though Dad didn't go. Attendance at such events was compulsory, but, he explained, "I have been in the army too long to be told how to conduct my purely social activities." The movie on October 12 was Since You Went Away, which starred Claudette Colbert, Jennifer Jones, Joseph Cotton and Shirley Temple, among many other contemporary stars, though Dad didn't go to this one. It was too long and sad, he concluded. "My spirits aren't too high anyway and would rather not be depressed artificially."

He also played bridge a good deal, as well as chess. On the evening of October 16, he mentioned playing bridge with a Major Draper, whom he identified as one of the compound commanders; a Lieutenant Loughlin; and Captain Greenfield, the psychiatrist. Draper is not listed on either of the officer rosters, and a Google search came up with nothing on him. With regard to the second name mentioned, the 1945 roster identifies a Captain Thomas Laughlin, Jr. In his letter, Dad refers to him as "adjutant at the hospital." The Laughlin listed on the 1945 roster was identified as Registrar, Station Hospital, among other duties. These two names are very likely one and the same, despite the spelling difference. He was also listed on the 1944 roster as a 1st Lieutenant and was then also Adjutant at the Station Hospital, so he was apparently at Alva during much of its existence doing pretty-much the same job. "Lieutenant Loughlin is very good (at bridge) having played a good bit of tournaments around Philadelphia," Dad opined, "the rest (being) average." In an October 20 letter, Dad made reference to the "usual foursome," so it seems likely the above four men played bridge frequently. They played two or three times a week, an October 24 letter indicated, though occasionally others joined in. He also reported playing pinochle. His October 24 letter claimed he was "about eight dollars ahead."

Dad gave a number of examples of the medical cases with which he dealt. On September 30 at 9:30 PM, he was called to the hospital to deal with a German complaining of stomach pains. Dad "(f)ussed around with him until about midnight and finally decided that he didn't have appendicitis." At around midnight on October 1, "a drunk came in and needed a few stitches after having been in a fight. He was one of our American personnel and a bit difficult to handle." On October 12, he mentioned an operation that morning for the removal of a tumor, though he didn't indicate if the patient was a German or an American. Two "small operations" took place the following morning, the beginning of a "very busy day," and they "got along very well."

Related to the weather, he mentioned on October 2 it started raining "pitchforks and hammer handles" in the morning. One of the enlisted men loaned him a coat so he could get to breakfast relatively dry. "It stopped during the day," he added "but is still quite cold and it will feel good when we can get into wool clothes again about the 15th (of October)." Indeed, the following day, Lieutenant Colonel Gill and Lieutenant Wickman went to Enid to procure winter clothing. "I suppose that we will get some more warm weather before winter sets in," Dad thought, "but it certainly looks like fall now."

Judging from his letters, my father had O.D., Officer Of The Day, quite frequently, giving him the opportunity to write letters. For those untutored, this duty involved him staying at the hospital all night.

The first bit of excitement after Dad arrived came on October 5. As he described the incident, during the 5:00 prisoner count, one of the German enlisted men was discovered answering for one of the officers. The missing officer caused the siren to blow. A "complete shake-down count" resulted, and the officer was located in one of the other compounds around 8:00 that evening. Two men were still unaccounted for, and "it is thought that they are hiding out in one of the compounds. . . . I got pretty hungry," Dad confided, "by the time we could finally go to supper."

There was a change of command in the camp on October 4, 1944, when Lieutenant Colonel Harold H. Richardson took over. The September 17, 1945 roster of the camp identified him as Colonel Richardson, so either Dad had his rank wrong, which I would doubt, or he was promoted during his tenure as commander. The post commander from at least September, 1943 to at least March, 1944 was Colonel Ralph Hall, Infantry. An April 8, 1944 Army memorandum, however, identifies Murray F. Gibbons, Colonel, Infantry, as the post commander. According to sources on the Internet, he may have been the commanding officer of the Roswell, New Mexico Prisoner of War Camp earlier. It would seem likely this was the officer whom Richardson succeeded, but more research needs to be done.

Shortly thereafter, Lieutenant Wickman's name was submitted in response to a request from higher headquarters for a medical officer qualified for overseas service. His departure would leave the compound with only three medical officers until Wickman could be replaced. It would also leave them without a surgeon, Dad commented, meaning a civilian one from Alva would be summoned in case of emergencies. Wickman left the evening of October 10, though he had not received his orders yet. He was able to get ten days leave, which, Dad commented, "is quite important because he is going over-seas and his wife has recently had a baby that he hasn't seen yet." On October 10, Dad and the chaplain were invited to the home of 1st Lieutenant Dorst F. Baumgartner, Assistant Executive Officer, for dinner. "His wife," Dad opined, "is rated as a very good cook." Baumgartner is listed on the September, 1945 roster so evidently was there when the camp closed, though he wasn't on the 1944 roster. Dad subsequently gave no details of the evening's activities. Throughout his letters, Dad never identifies the chaplain by name, but it might have been the Verner Jordahl mentioned earlier.

In mid-October, Dad had what seemed at the time a good opportunity to see his family in upstate New York. Though it didn't work out, it is more interesting because of how he made the announcement in his October 12 letter. "I have a little good news," he began. "We have an officer prisoner of war who went insane the other day." Though Dad was doubtless not euphoric at the man going insane, he did see it as a chance to get home for a while. It was planned for a medical officer to accompany the man to Mason General Hospital in Brentwood, Long Island for treatment, and Colonel Gill said Dad might be able to go. This was a psychiatric hospital operated by the War Department from 1944 to 1946 mainly to deal with American soldiers suffering from psychological problems related to war. He planned to meet our mother in New York (City?) and then go on to Avoca if it all worked out, which it didn't. The prisoner was not taken to New York after all.

In his October 20 letter, Dad made reference to there being an "officers' school" at 7:00 (AM?) every Monday and Friday. Officers apparently took turns discussing different sorts of topics. His subject that day was to "review the current events for the week," a rather vague description. Though he was evidently prepared for his presentation, "(s)everal of the officers asked to be excused to go to a football game and at the last minute they called the meeting off entirely so yours truly was lucky."

On Tuesday, October 17, Dad was invited to dinner at the home of Captain Arnim and his wife. An inspection tour required Arnim to postpone the dinner until the following Thursday. According to the 1945 roster, Victor T. Arnim, Corps of Engineers, was the post engineer, the same designation Dad used in his letter, though he wasn't there when the 1944 roster was complied. He described Arnim and his wife and the dinner in some detail:

They are both very nice, in their early forties and have no children. I'm sure that you would be very surprised to see Mrs. Arnim because she could be a twin sister of the girl Kitty who worked at the I-R (ED: Ingersoll-Rand plant in Painted Post, New York). She has the same premature grey hair, facial expression and jovial manner. Incidently (sic) she is a very good cook and we had an excellent meal. Roast beef, brown potatoes, cauliflower, black-eyed peas (beans to us damn Yankees), hot biscuits and a baked apple (pie?) for dessert. We sat around and chewed the fat until about eleven and they brought me back to camp.

Dad mentioned in his October 20 letter, "the past week or so" had been very busy. Colonel Gill had evidently been away often, leaving just two medical officers to keep up with the work. On that evening, a new officer arrived, probably Wickman's replacement. He was a major, and Dad identified his name as Goeth though pronounced Gate. He was a surgeon, and though only having seen him for a few minutes, Dad commented "he seems very nice." The September, 1945 roster mentions no one with anything like his name, so he was probably gone by then. Three days after Goeth arrived, Dad was invited to Colonel Gill's for a chicken dinner "and all the fixings." However, he was called back to the camp in the afternoon to help with an appendectomy on a German prisoner. "It was Major Goeth's first operation (since arriving)," Dad observed, "and he did a very nice job. From first appearance we are going to like him a great deal." Needless to say, Dad appreciated his presence, because it cut down on the work for all of the medical staff.

In his October 23 letter, Dad talked about vague problems with some of the GIs. "We have a good bit of America personnel that (sic) aren't much good for anything," he declared, "and we are going to try to get rid of some of them." The officers' board convened to deal with these men was composed of Major Goeth, Captain Greenfield, and Dad. Nothing else came through about the matter in his letters.

Something with which people, both civilian and military, had to contend during the war was the limited supply of certain commodities. Much of the country's productive capacity had to be diverted into war production. As many know, one of the restricted and scarce items then was rubber. Most of the available rubber was used to make tires, treads, etc. for military use. This meant such things as rubber bands were hard to find. Dad included a few of them in his October 24 letter to my mother. "Some of them are off the edge of rubber gloves," he explained; "(o)ne of the nurses gave them to me and said that they were better for holding hair in place because they are smooth." He sent more to her on later occasions.

October 26 was a busy day. In the morning, Dad had to follow a sanitation inspector around the camp. In the afternoon, the board of medical officers had to examine some "supermen," i.e., Germans, who had requested repatriation back to Germany under the Geneva Convention. Later in the day, he had to make his last rounds at the hospital before going to bed.

On November 9, Dad's October 27 letter reported, they were expecting a demonstration by the prisoners commemorating Hitler's 1923 Beer-Hall Putsch, his failed attempt to take power from the Weimar government. "Tomorrow morning," he revealed, "it is planned to have a big shake-down inspection of all the compounds to see what preparations they have made for the celebration." No serious trouble was contemplated, but it was better to be safe, they felt. It was at this point, he explained "(t)his camp has the reputation for having the worst element of the German army," a statement oft repeated in other descriptions of the camp I've read, as indicated above. He went on:

This is due to the fact that when they have trouble with a prisoner in another camp he is transferred here. On the whole they are very easy to handle and don't cause much trouble. One has to be here awhile in order to sense the undercurrent of subversive activity and it is fairly strong. When you first arrive it is calm and peaceful and you have no idea that there is anything going on. As far as I can see there is nothing to be afraid of and it never worries me in the slightest.

His October 28 letter related they had one more medical officer than they were entitled to, and one of them would probably be transferred soon. He went on to say, "(s)ince Capt. Greenfield is not liked very well (he is the only Jew here) and if they simply request any one officer he will probably go." Needless to say, Dad hoped any transferring of medical personnel would result in him being closer to home, which did not happen.

There was a dance at the officers' club on October 28. Dad didn't go, as he rarely did, if his extant letters are an accurate indication. Major Goeth was OD but was anxious to attend the dance, so Dad said he would take Goeth's calls so the major could go. "That gave him the opportunity to tie one on for himself and from all reports he did a good job of it," Dad recalled later. He went on to explain the dance was a birthday celebration for Colonel Richardson, the post commander. Colonel Gill also evidently tipped a few. Goeth wanted to tell Gill Dad was taking his calls so he, Goeth, could go to the dance. Consequently, Goeth told Gill there had been a change in the O.D. roster. "Without waiting for the explanation," Dad related, "the colonel immediately said, "Gosh, you didn't put me on call tonight, did you?'" Later the same evening, one of the cooks, a sergeant, invited Dad over to the mess hall "for a snack," which turned out to be a tenderloin steak sandwich, coffee, two glasses of milk and cookies. Dad worried about his weight if too many such repasts took place.

The last movie of October, 1944, on the 31st, was National Barn Dance.

As October, 1944 drew to a close, Dad reported they were having wonderful fall weather. "The days are warm," he described, "with plenty of sunshine and the nights cool enough for good sleeping."

At this point, an editor's note must be made. While Dad sent Mom a letter nearly every day during October, 1944, thus providing much of the detail for this narrative thus far, for some reason there are few letters for November extant. There are specifically only three, those being for November 3, 9, and 11. Given my mother's penchant for saving letters, where the others are, I cannot imagine. Part of the reason for the paucity is Dad was evidently on leave during much of late-November. Nevertheless, scant details of the month's events were the result. The reader should not conclude from this little was happening in the camp. Indeed, much may have been going on but the details cannot be drawn from Dad's letters. Though not as plentiful as in October, letters from December are numerous enough to give some details.

Other than mentioning it rained all day and a nice fall was becoming what appeared to be a cold winter, Dad's November 3 letter related nothing of interest about the camp. The rain was the first since shortly after he arrived in late-September. He indicated he had tried to get leave to come home for Christmas, but Colonel Gill had arranged his leave for then which meant Dad would have to come home before then.

On November 9, the medical staff had to examine some new German prisoners who were officers fresh from France and who had come directly to the camp. In this regard, it might be mentioned the September, 1943 Marcy report indicated "(a)ll prisoners are given a physical examination at the time of their arrival and are given a check-up examination once each month thereafter." Echoing what he had said before, Dad explained their arrival directly from France "is a bit unusual because we usually get them here after they have caused trouble in some other P.W. camp." Interestingly, he described the medical examination given to them as "the same type as we did the other day" and "is highly secret." He told my mother she would learn more about it when "I don't have to put it down on paper." Being so hush-hush, it would be interesting to find out what the nature of the examination was. As far as I know, he never mentioned to our mother what the secrecy was all about.

Only two items of any note appear in Dad's November 11 letter relating to non-personal matters. First of all, he agreed to take Colonel Gill's O.D. that evening so the colonel and his wife could go to a dance at the officers' club. Gill said he would take one of Dad's the following week. The other item in the letter was a rather cryptic reference to a "rather sick boy" on his ward, whose ailment he had thus far been unable to diagnose. The reader will recall Dad was on leave for much of the remainder of November, and thus there are no letters to describe the goings on at the camp before early-December.

The narrative regarding Alva picks up again with Dad's December 7 letter, evidently the first he'd written since arriving back from leave. That evening, he reported, there was an alert caused by two missing men. The identity of the two men was known, Dad went on, but "they are pretty good at hiding." There were rumors, however, they had been killed and secretly buried, by the Germans he seems to imply, though he doesn't say. While he was away, two other men were picked up by the FBI even though the camp authorities did not know they were gone. "All of this doesn't set very well with the C.O.," Dad revealed, "so that is the reason for all the search. Confidential."

On Saturday, December 9, Dad got what appears to be his first non-leave opportunity to get away from Alva. He had written on the 7th of a need to go to Glennon General Hospital fifty miles southeast of Tulsa to deliver a "Kraut Colonel" as a patient there. A Google search today brings up nothing on this hospital. It was a six-hour ride, and he planned on being back on Sunday. "Will get six dollars a day extra for the trip," he commented, "and can ride in a nice staff car." He arrived back in camp about 4:00 Sunday, afternoon, December 10 and the trip went well. His return found the weather "has turned quite cold here and there is a little snow."

The movie that evening was Thirty Seconds Over Tokyo, but Dad didn't go. "Can't stand war pictures anymore," he concluded.

The socializing among some of the camp personnel continued, and this gives the opportunity to provide a little more detail about some of them. On December 6, Dad and Major Goeth were invited to Lieutenant Wolf's for dinner. Going by the September, 1945 roster, this is a reference to now-Captain James W. Wolf, the compound's veterinarian. He was also listed as the Agricultural Officer. Wolf was not on the 1944 roster. Goeth was unable to attend as he had an emergency surgery on one of the German prisoners. Dad was served what he called a "fine" waffle supper. Both Captain and Mrs. Wolf

are in their middle thirties and after being married a long time they finally had a daughter. She is four months old and they are scared to death that something will happen to her. If she even whimpers the slightest bit in her sleep they both jump to see what is wrong. Most of the evening was spent in answering questions about every phase of baby care. It is very funny to see them.

Judging from Dad's December 14 letter, things had been busy in the camp for the previous few days. The Swiss legation had visited the camp on an inspection tour and to hear any complaints by the prisoners. Any report of this visit is not among the documents in my possession. "They went away satisfied that we are carrying out the provisions of the Geneva Convention and that everything is under control," Dad commented. Soon, thereafter, what he called the Mixed Medical Commission arrived. Composed of two Swiss doctors and one American medical officer, they examined the prisoners for possible repatriation to Germany. At this time, I do not have a copy of the report of the visit either. Some sixty prisoners went before the board, and the medical personnel in the camp had to do what Dad called the preliminary work. He reported only eleven of the sixty were approved for repatriation. All of this, needless to say, added to the medical staff's workload.

There was a bond drive at the camp in December, and Dad bought $100 worth.

As Christmas, 1944 drew closer, it was not surprising all of the officers and men wanted to have it off so they could be with their families. However, this wouldn't have been realistic. Dad's reference to the "smug people" who had decided they would have their leaves at Christmas seemed to be a veiled reference to the camp commander. On December 15, the camp received a letter from the 8th Service Command Headquarters in Dallas informing them, "due to the volume of travel during the holidays, all leaves between Dec. 15th and Jan. 8th would be canceled." Colonel Richardson was going to call to see if this was really serious. "If he can't get it changed," Dad worried, "there are going to be a bunch of disappointed officers and perhaps I was the lucky one after-all." This is apparently a reference to his leave happening earlier. As it turned out, Dad wrote on December 17, "everyone" was able to get their leaves. When the colonel called, he was told the aforementioned instructions had been rescinded. "However," he added, "they called him back later in the day and said that his 15 days had been cut to 10." Needless to say, the colonel was disappointed, however Dad "wasn't particularly sorry for him as you can imagine."

Mid-December saw two humorous occurrences take place, both of which are better told in my Dad's words. The first related to a rather unorthodox medical treatment for an American enlisted man.

A sergeant came in my office and told me he had a stiff neck. It had appeared when he got up in the morning and was causing a bit of trouble. I examined his neck and the muscles seemed all right and the cause was apparently in the spine itself. I took him in to see Major Goeth to get his opinion. He tried to get it back in place and in so doing hurt the boy some. We decided that he needed a heat treatment so walked out leaving the patient standing there. No sooner than we were out of the room and there was a crash and (we) look(ed) back to find the patient had passed out and was lying on the floor. In falling he struck his head on the door. When he got up he found that he could move his head perfectly in any direction and was completely cured. We have taken a good bit of riding from the other officers about our methods of treatment and they all swear that they will never dare come in the hospital.

The other incident related to Dad's efforts to deal with his dandruff.

The other morning I wrote a prescription for some stuff to try to clean up my scalp. When the enlisted man in the Pharmacy gave me the bottle the label read "Capt. Kelly's Sure Shot Dandruff Remover." I thought it was a good joke and had quite a laugh about it. Then I found that he had recommended it to a couple of the other officers and had dispensed it with the same label. Now everyone accuses me of being in the patent medicine business, and don't know whether I can live it down or not.

On the evening of December 17, the film was Together Again with Irene Dunne and Charles Boyer followed the next night by None But The Lonely Heart with Cary Grant and Ethel Barrymore. The latter one was "a bit too long and dramatic for me," Dad criticized, "Would rather see something funny." The movie on December 21 was Meet Me In St. Louis." The next to the last film of the year was Wilson, an epic about the former president starring Alexander Knox. Dad said he would have enjoyed it if it weren't quite so long. The last picture of 1944 at the Alva camp was Something For The Boys starring Carmen Miranda and Phil Silvers. Both of the last two films were in Technicolor, which must have been a treat then.

Colonel Gill left for his Christmas leave December 18, so the remaining medical personnel would be busier and have O.D. more often. Dad explained each would have an O.D. every third day. So many officers being on leave at the same time, the workload on those who remained must have been somewhat great.

The colonel evidently came to the conclusion in December the officers weren't getting enough exercise, and Dad agreed with the conclusion. Colonel Richardson scheduled volleyball twice a week. Dad played some on December 18, though not many other officers turned out. Later during his time at Alva, he mentioned playing softball a good deal.

On December 21, Dad got into some sort of a row with Captain Greenfield. The reader will recall Dad had made a number of comments in his letters regarding Greenfield's Jewish ethnicity. In at least one subsequent letter, Dad used the plural "rows," which seems to indicate this was not the only incident between the two. The argument was "on an old subject of policy and it was a beauty," though Dad wasn't specific about the policy difference. "He called me a hot-head," Dad went on, "and I told him (that) if he had better manners and didn't shoot his mouth off so much he would be able to get along with people."

Christmas Eve was "about the same as any other Sunday night," Dad lamented then. "I am O.D. and things are very light," he added. There was a Christmas dance at the club the previous evening, but he didn't go. "They said the liquor flowed very freely and it turned out to be quite a party," he recalled later. They also had a Christmas party for all of the children on post on the afternoon of the 24th. When telling our mother about the plans, he had written on December 15, "I think they said that they are going to mail presents to the children that aren't here." Christmas carols were sung, and Santa Claus gave out presents to the kids, and "ice cream and cake was had by all." On Christmas Day, he said he could participate in two dinners, one at the hospital at noon and another at the officers' club at 6:00 in the evening.

As will come as no surprise to anyone who has ever been in the service away from home, Dad bemoaned Christmas at the Alva camp "wasn't very exciting." He made his rounds, went to church and then had the two aforementioned Christmas dinners, both of them being turkey. In a subsequent letter, he reported two days before Christmas they received more than 5000 pounds of turkey, "which made a pound apiece for our dear Christmas P.O.W.s." He played pool in the evening and then read. "You can see it wasn't much of a day," he concluded. He was planning to send our mother another package and saw some handbags at the PX she might like.

As is the case wherever armies have gone, Dad had some experience treating GIs for venereal disease. In late-December, a soldier was admitted with syphilis, which he had gotten from a girl in Alva. As a result, Dad and the provost marshal, 1ST Lieutenant Garnette E. Janssen, had to go into town to see the sheriff on the 27th. A local physician had given her a clean bill of health, but this evidently did not end the matter. She came out to the post later in the evening, Dad went on, to find out why she had been barred from the camp. He put the matter into context by writing, "as usual these things kick up a good bit of stink and this one is no exception," continuing with "(i)magine she is married, her husband is overseas and she has five children. The deputy sheriff said he served the warrant when this fellow was forced to marry her when she was fourteen years old. Nice people. Join the medical profession and see how the other half of the world lives." He did not go on to say how the situation was resolved, but it is probable she remained barred from the post.

As the reader will recall, during this general time period the Battle of the Bulge was going on in Europe, and consequently the war news was not good, at least from the Allied point of view. "It is interesting," Dad commented sarcastically on the last day of December, after the German counteroffensive had failed, "to watch their reaction as the news changes from day to day on the western Front. When the news of the German counteroffensive came in they all became quite arrogant, held their heads high and seemed very happy. Right at the present time they are a bit down in the dumps, again and I certainly hope they stay there"

Dad reported on December 29 the hospital had been very busy lately, and he had worked until 10:00 that night. They had to give all of the American enlisted men examinations and classify them according to their physical condition. "We finished about eighty today and have around four hundred yet to do," he explained to Mom. The process went well, and out of the first group only three were qualified for overseas duty, "so you can see the type of soldiers that are here." His January 5 letter gave some more details about the examinations they were doing. He said it had been discussed in that week's edition of Yank magazine. The type of physical exam they were giving was called "The Profile." The purpose of the physical was

to examine the individual in a more or less superficial way and grade him according to his physical ability in each of the following categories: eyes, ears, arms, legs, psychiatric and general physical stamina. In each category he is placed in either Class I, II, II or IV and this is plotted on a rough graph. The resulting line determines whether he is in general service, limited service (either here or overseas) and below the minimum requirements. It sounds as if it were a big job but it is really not too bad, there are just a lot of them to be done.

The year 1944 was to be rung out with a dance at the officers' club, but Dad was O.D. and didn't go. "The party will probably be a brawl," he predicted, "as nothing special has been planned and the music will come from the juke box." It was listed as being informal, the only distinction being in the formal dances, a small orchestra plays. "That is just how tough it is to find entertainment in this neck of the woods," he concluded.

The new year of 1945 began on a busy note. Things were evidently already hectic at the hospital, and Dad mentioned Major Goeth was to begin a fifteen-day leave on January 5, which would, needless to say, increase the workload on the other medical officers. On New Years Day, he "worked until almost eleven (PM) getting ready for our physical examinations today. Tomorrow will see most of that job done and the few that are left we can get from time to time." His January 4 letter explained they

operated all morning until one o'clock, had a late dinner and began physical exams at one-thirty. The rest of the afternoon was full until five-thirty. There is at least four hours work on my desk which I planned to get partly done this evening. Finally decided to chuck it all and relax at the movie. It was "Hollywood Canteen" and good relaxation. I don't know what tomorrow is going to be like. Col Gill hasn't returned from leave. Major Goeth has left and the adjutant is going away for the day. This leaves me in command and under ordinary circumstances it would be alright, however, there is an Inspector General from Washington in camp. He may decide that he wants to take a look around and bother us a while.

Probably as a result of the busy schedule, on January 8, Colonel Richardson ordered the staff not to "take any more half days," Dad recounted, adding, "so we will have to find some excuse to get down town." Presumably this meant they couldn't obtain half-day passes to get off-base.

In early-January, relations between Dad and Captain Greenfield were still "far from cordial" since their argument of December 21. Dad felt the only way to avoid difficulty was for them not to speak at all. "All of our professional contacts are carried on by means of an intermediate officer," he explained. "Have you ever heard anything more childish?" According to Dad, Major Goeth was also fed up with Greenfield and called him "that Jewish bastard." They hoped Colonel Gill would get rid of Greenfield as soon as he arrived back from leave. On January 5, however, Dad reported he and Greenfield carried on a "small conversation," so he hoped the situation might be improving. Three days later, Dad went into another aspect of the conflict telling something about the camp's operation and also affecting the organization of the medical staff and thus Dad's role in it. During one of their "rows," Greenfield had "said that I (Dad) didn't know how to handle Garman P.O.W.s." He said Dad
'

considered them too much and should get more hard-boiled. He was, of course, completely off the beam as usual and today's events were quite ironical. The Colonel called me in as (sic, and) said that due to the fact that Greenfield caused so much friction on the German wards that we were to change places. He will now have the American ward and I well supervise all the German medical wards. I guess he doesn't like having it thrown in his face but there isn't much he can do about it. I'm getting a bit of free amusement out of it and it is very enjoyable. Nothing like a small place to have petty troubles. This evening I came over to get the ward ready to turn over to him. . . .

This is all important for at least two reasons. First of all, it means Dad would have more contact with the German prisoners than had been the case in the past three-and-one-half months. Thus, what we get from his letters might change in terms of its focus. Unfortunately this was probably not the case. Secondly, it raises the issue of a Jewish doctor supervising wards populated with German prisoners. In other words, to what extent was the colonel motivated by the row between Dad and Greenfield in making the staffing change, and to what extent might he have been motivated by the racial-religious issue? This is something almost impossible to clarify now.

On the morning of January 5, Dad reported another shipment of prisoners had come in. He explained to our mother that American personnel, possibly including him, had to "go down and pick out the potential Gestapo as I told you about doing before. There were 16 good possibilities out of 70 so you can see the percentage is quite high. Greenfield is doing another bunch that came in tonight."

Dad's failure to write Mom during the four days from January 8 to 12, 1945 was caused by another spurt of heavy work then. He was "going every minute." Major Goeth, the surgeon, was on leave, so Dad had to take the emergency surgeries, and he was not a surgeon by specialty. On the evening of the 11th, a strangulated hernia came in. Dad didn't feel fully qualified to perform the operation, so he called in one of the surgeons from Alva, something apparently not out of the ordinary. The previous night there was an emergency acute appendix, which Dad did with the aid of one of the German doctors. "Everything went off alright," he recalled after all of this, "and the patients are doing very well." He didn't say whether the patients were Americans or Germans, but one might assume the latter. He looked forward to Goeth returning from leave so he could take over the surgeries. "The days have been very full," he commented, "and I'm pooped at night."

On the morning of January 12, 1945, Dad reported there was "a little trouble in one of the compounds," though he wasn't more specific. The result, however, was the entire compound being on bread and water. As a result, all of the American officers and enlisted personnel were restricted to the camp. Colonel Richardson was evidently concerned there might be more trouble and didn't' want to be caught unawares. A further result was the officers' club being unusually full that night. The restrictions evidently also applied to married officers living off post, because in his January 14 letter he mentioned, "(t)he officers are . . . getting a bit anxious to go to their respective homes." "It seems strange," Dad wrote in the January 12 letter, "to see so many officers here in the evening." He casually commented to our mother that everything about which he was writing her was "confidential" but went on to say "there was nothing to worry about. It (is) just the sort of thing that happens every once in a while."

He elaborated on this difficulty on January 14, and I shall let him describe it in his own words. He began by writing, "(t)he following information is confidential and please don't repeat it."

This morning they ordered the Germans in Compound #1 to go to the recreation area in preparation for a "shake down" inspection of their barracks. They (we) had just made a previous inspection about three days ago and the Krauts didn't like to have it repeated. In order to get them out the C.O. mobilized the entire guard and gave each man a good supply of tear gas grenades. At about 10:30 this morning we evacuated all the American patients and personnel out of the hospital so (that) if the wind changed they wouldn't get the effect of the gas. Then the show began and they really turned out in record time. It was fun to see the "square-heads?" making for the recreation area. After they cleared the barracks a very thorough inspection was made and I imagine it will take some time to get them back in order. As a result of the events today the "Krauts" agreed to cooperate and they are back on three meals a day. Never a dull moment in a P.O.W. camp.

Again, he didn't specify the nature of the difficulty, nor did he say what, if anything, was found as a result of the inspection.

On January 18, he told of a German prisoner being admitted at 10:00 AM with abdominal pain. The condition had some of the symptoms of acute appendicitis, but they weren't sure. The next morning his temperature was normal, so he assumed it must have been something else. Major Goeth returned from leave on Saturday, January 20, 1945, and Dad turned all of his cases back to him. "It seems good," he mentioned with relief, "not to have the responsibilities of the surgery on my shoulders. We had an appendix (operation) this afternoon so I guess he got back about in time." Dad felt the strain was beginning to take its toll on him and was glad to have Goeth back.

In terms of entertainment in late-January and early-February, the movie on January 23 was Walt Disney's The Three Caballeros. On the 27th, there was a March of Dimes dance, and they sold chances on a war bond. Proceeds from the event totaled about $70.00. "From all reports," Dad observed, "it turned out to be the worst drunk that has been put on yet so I'm glad I didn't go." While all of those festivities were going on, Experiment Perilous with Hedy Lamarr was playing at the theater. On February 1, the movie was Winged Victory, "strictly corn on the cob," Dad critiqued. The film starred Lon McCallister, Jeanne Crain, and Judy Holliday, among others. "I hope they don't make the poor boys overseas see in it addition to all their other hardships," he commented wryly. The movie on February 4 was Can't Help Singing with Deanna Durbin.

Dad was invited to Lieutenant Carter's for dinner on January 24. The 1945 roster identifies a 1st Lieutenant Floyd J. Carter as the Post Exchange Officer, the same designation Dad put in his letter. He was not listed on the 1944 roster. The occasion was a surprise birthday party for Carter's wife. In addition to the aforementioned Provost Marshall, Lieutenant Janssen, and his wife, a Captain and Mrs. Howe also went. The rosters for both 1944 and 1945 list a Roland J. Howe, AUS. In the former, 1st Lieutenant Howe was POW Camp Canteen Officer, and in the latter, Captain Howe was Personal Affairs Officer in addition to a long list of other duties. A Lieutenant Mack also went. Dad identified him as Special Service Officer. The 1945 roster included 1ST Lieutenant Arthur F. Mack, Infantry, identifying him as the "Cpd O O's Cpd," whatever that means. However, the same roster also listed a 1ST Lieutenant, CAC, Albert C. Fankhauser as Special Operations Officer. There seems to be some confusion here as to who had what jobs. Perhaps Mack was Special Operations Officer then but was reassigned later, and Fankhauser took over the job. Neither Fankhauser nor Mack was listed on the 1944 roster. Google came up with nothing on these men. With regard to the festivities, because his focus was on a migraine he had developed toward the end of the party, Dad mentioned nothing about its activities, only writing they "(h)ad a lovely dinner."

The town being currently off-limits, a significant issue was the availability of various kinds of commodities on the post. In various letters, Dad gave isolated examples of what could be procured, though this recitation should not be considered neither complete. "It is possible for us to get eight (packages of cigarettes) a day, four at the Px and four at the club. Someday that good thing may end," he explained on January 8, 1945. Four days later, he commented "(t)he supply of Kleenex was bought up immediately and hope(d) they get another shipment soon." Judging from the number of times he mentioned it, Kleenex must have been hard to come by. Later, in a March 27 letter, he opined "I am sure it is a very scarce item in the stores." He seems to have sent Mom a good supply over the months. "Our supply (of cigarettes) is still good and you may as well have the advantage of it," Dad remarked on January 12, 1945; "I guess I have about twenty packages at the present time." He also explained he was continuing to get the brand she liked. Two days afterward, "(o)ur Px officer says that he is expecting a new shipment of watches and perhaps there will be something good in the next few days."

In a rather unusual exchange, Dad's January 25 letter recounted asking a Mrs. Weilenmann, whom he identified as the wife of the Commissary Officer, if she could procure some women's hose for him to send to Mom. Though Dad's spelling of this name is questionable, there is no officer on the 1945 roster who bears a name anything similar to it. The roster lists no commissary officer, though, again, Lieutenant Carter was the PX officer. The 1944 roster, however, has a 1st Lieutenant Charles Weilenmann who was Salvage Officer and Sales Officer then, and this was probably the man to whom Dad referred, but he was gone by the time of the January 25, 1945 letter. It is further puzzling why he would direct such a query to the wife of the Commissary Officer rather than to him directly, but there's probably a logical explanation. "This evening she brought out two pairs of 45 gauge," Dad wrote Mom. "She said they looked good in spite of it and will get some 51's when they come in."

Dad was also able to get "a large box" (emphasis added) of Kleenex. He commented in his January 25 letter he soon might find himself in Tulsa, to take another prisoner to the Glennon General Hospital, and would do some shopping there. A two-day school of some kind would take him to Oklahoma City, and he might find some items there, too. A February 5 letter made reference to sending his children some candy. "I can always send more if you want it," he went on, "as there is plenty here although the choice is not too broad." In the same letter, he also reported, "(o)ur Post Exchange has a shipment of "Samsonite" suitcases and are (sic) selling them at quite a reduction from the usual price."

Also in the January 25 letter, Dad gives some illuminating information on Colonel Gill and leads us to a humorous anecdote. Once again, Gill is not mentioned in the September, 1945 roster, so information on him is scant other than being the CO at the hospital. Thus, what Dad includes here is helpful. Gill had begun another two weeks leave after receiving news his mother, "somewhere up in her eighties," was "quite ill" in San Antonio. "He is getting very fed-up here," Dad explained,

and I guess it was a good excuse to get away. I think he is going to stop at Service Command Headquarters in Dallas and try to get a transfer. He was in the Regular Army for several years and apparently has some good connections. He would like very much to be a civilian especially when his brother, a doctor, wrote and said that he had to pay $13,000.00 income tax last year. Well, wouldn't we all like it?

The tax comment is puzzling. Does he mean were Gill a civilian, he would pay less in the way of taxes?

For some time, Dad had been making comments in his letters about the worsening weather as winter progressed. "It snowed quite a bit," he observed of January 27, "and the ground is white this morning (January 28). The sun came out quite warm and it is practically gone now."

In his February 1, 1945 letter, Dad made a parenthetical reference to something he had started that, as far as I can tell, had not been mentioned previously. He remarked of a "soldier's dependent clinic" he had started and which "seems to be growing all the time." He speculated it would probably slowly grow and eventually "become a fair part of my regular work." He enjoyed it, and it also provided him the opportunity to refresh his knowledge of the diseases of women and children. In addition, he was also going to start a small prenatal clinic, though he wouldn't do deliveries. "It's good experience," he concluded, "that is going to come in handy as I was getting very rusty." In other words, when he returned to private practice after the war, the skills he was developing there would be of help.

A February 1 anecdote of a relatively inconsequential nature in itself is important here because it introduced a camp term with which I was not familiar. Dad was eating either in the mess hall or more likely the officers' club. The facility was evidently small and people were closely placed to another, as he said there were but "three good-sized tables." The wife of an officer who was sitting at his table began complaining about the food, causing Dad to move to a different table, sitting with Colonel Richardson. Dad felt the food was not so bad, and the woman was simply a "constant griper." At any rate, he described her as living on "soap-suds row." In parentheses, he identified this with the phrase "former regular army enlisted man" housing. His February 3 letter adds a little in the way of explanation. He begins by mentioning three officers were being transferred. "It is welcome news," he opined, "because they were three old regular army sergeants who had been given commissions." They are more highly paid, Dad said, because of their length of time in the service. "These 'soap-suds row' officers are the poorest group of officers that I've ever seen." Thus, the term evidently refers to enlisted men who were given commissions.

Dad mentions very little in his letters about chapel. He attended services on Sunday, February 4 "like a good boy." The chaplain "has a rather poor turn out as a general rule," and Dad felt sorry for such sparse attendance. You'll recall the 1944 officer roster indicates 1st Lieutenant Verner Jordahl was the chaplain then, though it's hard to know, again, if this is the man to whom Dad is referring here. As you know, the 1945 roster lists no chaplain, though whoever it was when Dad was there, like him, he must have left by the time the roster was compiled.

A new shipment of prisoners came to the camp on the afternoon of February 4, and Dad gave them physical examinations. Immediately after mentioning about the examinations in this letter, he wrote he had "(w)orked up a couple of cases that are to be transferred on Tuesday so guess I'm already (sic, all ready) to start out a fresh week." The assumption here is the "couple of cases" were from among the new prisoners.

There was a U.S.O show at the camp on February 7. Dad didn't provide much detail, though he did like the entertainment. It "turned out a little better than some of the others," he concluded. One of the acts involved doubletalk, and another "did a very good imitation of a "Zort Snit Hep cat(?)." Perhaps this relates to some comedic skit or person of the day, but nothing turned up on the Internet.

On the morning of February 7, the camp veterinarian, Lieutenant Wolf asked Dad to accompany him on an inspection tour of some dairy farms in the area. Even though he had more important work to do, Dad decided to go along. On the way back for lunch, Wolf wanted to visit one more farm, so they took a short-cut over a very bad country road. The car became stuck in the mud, and they had to call the camp to have someone come and pull it out. They didn't get back to camp until 12:45 PM, and Dad once again busied himself with his duties. "It seemed like old times in a country practice," he reminisced of the incident.

Due partially to some leaves and personnel changes, early February, 1945 became evidently rather busy for the medical staff. Major Goeth was transferred to Fort Sam Houston and left on Sunday, February 11. Because Colonel Gill was still gone on leave, Dad was the "big boss" at the hospital. The adjutant, according to the 1945 roster a Captain Dwight E. Slavens, was also gone, which made them three officers short. Slavens wasn't on the 1944 roster. The medical officer who was to replace Goeth arrived February 13, he being a Captain Francis X. L. Baurichter. The 1945 roster cryptically identified his primary duty as Ab Sk Borden GH, Chickasha. Though the first part eludes me, the last is in reference to Borden General Hospital. According to the Oklahoma Historical Society website, it was established in 1942. Dad reported Baurichter lived in Ohio and came from a P.O.W. camp in Huntsville, Texas. Dad also said he graduated in 1929, though it's unsure if he meant from undergraduate school or medical school. At any rate, this would make him older than my father who graduated from undergraduate school in 1931 and medical school in 1935. Though I'm not sure what he based it on, Dad observed, "(h)is training is apparently none too extensive so guess he is the average G.P. who did some surgery among other things." In a February 15 letter, Dad commented Baurichter was "a fair surgeon although he probably won't set the world on fire."

In his February 15 letter, Dad identified the dentist as a Captain Berry but doesn't give his first name nor any details about him. The 1945 roster identifies no dentist, though this doesn't necessarily mean he wasn't there. You'll recall the dentist according to the 1944 roster was Major I. W. McQuone. He had probably left by the time of Dad's letter and been replace by Berry. He, in turn, was probably gone toward the end of the camp's life and thus no listing for him in the 1945 roster. In subsequent letters, Dad mentioned dental work Berry did for him for which Dad paid just $5.00.

Colonel Gill, the hospital chief, returned from leave on February 16, and Dad was glad to turn the responsibilities back over to him. As he had predicted, Gill had stopped at the 8th Service Command Headquarters in Dallas, evidently on his way back. Dad thought the colonel had "set the ball rolling" to obtain a transfer (for himself) and thus would not be at the camp much longer. While in Dallas, Gill also talked to "some General from Washington" who told him doctors who had served overseas wouldn't be sent back over again, to the obvious relief of my father who was not anxious for another overseas tour. Any of the other doctors in similar situations doubtless felt likewise. Dad also stated, "a good share of the medical officers will be retained on active duty for some time after the war," which, as you'll see, Dad would be, and some of the other medical officers had probably already reconciled themselves to being away from their families even after hostilities had ended. We will return to this issue later.

In the meantime, on February 20 Dad and Captain Arnim, the post engineer, went to Oklahoma City to attend the two-day school mentioned above, among other activities. Dad's letter of that date was written to my mother from the Will Rogers Air Base in Oklahoma City. They had left Alva about 1:00 PM and arrived there around 5:00. "They let us use the sedan so we had good transportation," he noted. After signing in at the headquarters, they found their quarters. "The room isn't bad," he explained, "and since it only costs $.50 a night we can't complain." It appears dinner for the two of them at the officers' club was only $.45. The conference began at 8:00 AM on the 21st, and they would be there until Thursday night. The only hint of what the conference was about was a comment in Dad's February 23 letter indicating, "(i)t is going to help things here this summer now that we know how to control flies and mosquitoes." Following the conference, they were to go to the Branch Camp at Chickasha for a day's worth of inspections. Chickasha is a few miles southwest of Oklahoma City. Not a very exciting trip but "at least away from Alva," Dad concluded. They arrived back there on the evening of Friday, the 23rd, one day early.

There is a gap in Dad's letters for the rest of February and possibly the first couple of days of March, because he was on leave. Thus, we cannot recount the goings-on in Alva from his perspective during the near-week period. He arrived back in camp on March 6, and a good deal of work had piled up in his absence.

Gill was not back for long before he was indeed transferred. Within no more than three days of his return, he was on his way to Fort Sam Houston. The most immediate result of this from Dad's point of view was the possibility he might be able to get Gill's house and move his family down to Alva. This he thought unlikely because of the children and indeed did not occur. It also raised the issue of who would replace Gill, Dad thinking it might be him, though this, too, wouldn't happen. If I am reading his handwriting correctly, a Major Sunall, M.C. reported on February 19 to replace Colonel Gill. There is no such name on the September, 1945 roster. At first, I thought he had meant Major Sewall, the surgeon, but his actual words were "(a) Major Sunall (spelling?) reported today," appearing not to be in reference to the already present Sewall. The 1945 roster, however, lists Major Sewall as "CO STA Hosp and Cp Surgeon." This remains an area of confusion. In his February 19 letter, Dad expressed some disappointment at not getting Gill's post, writing "that leaves me out again."

In an experience I'm sure many of us could relate to, once he was there, the new major summoned the medical staff to his office and said he was going to make some changes. "He thought the place needed some organization," Dad related, "all though (sic, although) he frankly admitted that he hadn't much experience in operating a hospital." Dad commented he was much too "bull-headed" to understand things would be better left the way they were. Dad informed him of his disapproval of the changes he was making. "Unless he takes a different attitude his days are numbered here," Dad concluded, adding "(t)he service command headquarters (in Dallas) knows that this hospital has functioned smoothly in the past, and if it doesn't in the future the responsibility can be easily determined." If my father's comments are any indication, the new hospital chief was not getting off to an auspicious start. Time would only tell how things would pan out. Regardless, the camp would only exist for a few more months anyway.

In mid-March, Dad took two trips to Arkansas to deliver prisoners, though it is unclear if both trips were to the same place. On Sunday, March 11, Major Sewall was to have taken some prisoners to an unspecified camp in the state. Before he could leave, some inspecting officers came in from Dallas, and Sewall couldn't go. Dad was the only other medical officer available, so he went in his place. He gave no further details of the trip, simply writing it had been a "rough trip." The March 17 letter written during the second trip bore the address "Railroad Siding, McGehee, Arkansas." The town is in the very southeastern part of the state just west of the Mississippi River. Dad described the trip writing, "(w)e left Alva yesterday morning at 10:00 A.M. (March 16) with a special train and 166 P.O.W.s. We delivered them to Jerome, Arkansas about noon and they brought our (railroad?) car back here to await transportation." According to The Encyclopedia of Arkansas History and Culture, a prisoner camp was there which, as of October, 1944, had become one to house Germans, though previously it had been used for the internment of Japanese Americans. It's hard to imagine they made so long at distance in two hours; perhaps he means they arrived at noon on the 17th. In addition to himself, two other officers and seventeen enlisted men as guards went on the trip. "This trip has been much nicer," he wrote on March 17,

as we have the same Pullman (car) both ways. Will wait here until 8:30 tonight at which time a regular passenger train will pick up the car and will take us to Little Rock. We lay over there until 2:00 P.M. tomorrow and will get into Alva Monday evening. It is like having (a) rolling hotel room. No messing around with baggage or changing trains and it is a very easy trip. Now that the prisoners have been delivered there is nothing to do until we get back.

In his March 19 letter, Dad recalled they did indeed leave McGehee at 8:30 PM on the 17th and arrived in Little Rock around midnight. Their car was put on a siding, and Dad didn't wake up until 8:00 AM on Sunday. They didn't leave Little Rock until 3:30 PM, thinking they would go to Wichita. However,

(a) freight train had had a wreck ahead of us and it was necessary to travel over the Frisco Lines (we were on the Missouri Pacific) and were four hours late getting into Grand Junction. We thought that we were going to have to wait until 3:00 A.M. tomorrow morning even to get out of there. Instead they sent down a locomotive and hauled our car to Wichita where we made the same connections on the Santa Fe. There wasn't any time to spare and everything was swell. You would have thought we were very important people the way the railroads took care of us.

Doubtless, such trips were welcome opportunities to get away, but he was also probably glad to get them over. Among the documents I procured from the National Archives, one appears to confirm this trip. Written by Captain Slavens, the Adjutant at Alva, it has the following prisoners being transferred to Camp Dermott on March 16, 1945: Major Kurt Bettlewski, Captain Helmut von Gauerstadt, and 1st Lieutenant Martin Masberg.

Late-March brought a new twist to the matter of Captain Greenfield, the camp psychiatrist with whom Dad had had many run-ins. On March 26, Greenfield received orders transferring him to the Borden General Hospital "as a patient." This may not have been unusual, as Dad mentions at least two other officers being treated for physical problems. "It is felt," Dad surmised, "that Col. Richardson got completely fed-up with him and sent him down there for observation. I've heard him say several times that he thought he was mentally unbalanced." Dad concluded it was rather a "dirty trick," but "I suppose he had it coming." It was not expected for Greenfield to return to Alva, leaving the medical staff one officer short. Captain Baurichter was to go on two weeks leave beginning on March 28, which left Dad and Major Sewall the only medical officers left to do all the work. With regard to Greenfield, Dad's letters don't mention him again from this time until Dad left Alva in September. Thus, presumably Greenfield was gone for good.

Indeed the ensuing days were busy. On March 31, Dad commented, "Major Sewall does a great deal more than I thought he would and it is not too tough. We are O.D. every other night but since we are usually here anyway it doesn't make any particular difference." On April 3, Dad "had to go over to the compound and make a special examination of 250 Krauts. It's the extra stuff that really takes the time." Captain Baurichter came back from leave sometime in early-April, meaning O.D.s only occurred every third night.

In addition to his official duties, Dad also kept himse lf busy with his civilian dependents clinic. On Wednesday, April 4, he saw the pregnant wife of one of the enlisted men. His diagnosis was of a ruptured entopic (tubal) pregnancy, and he referred her to a local Alva physician, presumably an obstetrician. If I am reading Dad's handwriting correctly, the local doctor's name was Franesse. The diagnosis turned out to be correct, and Dad helped him in the resulting operation, which was performed on April 5 at the Alva Hospital. "They have a nice, new well-equipped little hospital and it was a pleasure to go down." he observed; "(i)t seemed almost like being a civilian again." Today the hospital is a museum.

On April 3, Dad was invited to Lieutenant Janssen's, the provost marshal, for dinner. The chaplain was also invited but couldn't go for some reason. After a "delicious steak" dinner, they spent the evening putting together a jigsaw puzzle.

They "had a rather good movie," Dad opined on April 17, "Molly and Me" with Monty Wooley and Gracie Fields that night. It appears from the dates of these films, they were getting first-run ones.

On April 18, the chaplain stopped into Dad's quarters, and they had "a little bull session." As mentioned before, there is no chaplain listed on the September, 1945 roster, and Dad never mentions this man's name. His only comments in terms of the man's personality were he "is very broad-minded and has a good sense of humor." Sometime before then, he, the chaplain, had gone to one of the compounds to talk to a group of Germans. "When he went into the room they all snapped to attention and he asked them to be seated," Dad recalled him saying. After a few minutes of conversation, one of the American guards came in and saw them in a seated posture. According to the chaplain, the guard blurted out, "Hey! You sons-of-bitches, stand up in the presence of an American officer." Both Dad and the chaplain got a kick out of his actions.

It was at this time, April, 1945, the aforementioned inspection visit took place, and the resulting report gives some insights into the camp's operation. Though much of what is related here comes from a report in which my father had no involvement, it still adds meaningful information which describes his year there in fuller terms. They noted little change had taken place in the physical aspects of the camp since the last visit on December 13-14, 1944, but two new guardhouses had been built. The report said the main purpose of the new towers was for "lighting the spaces between the fences which separate the non-commissioned officers' compound and the enlisted men's compound. This has been done to prevent the continuance of fence cutting at night." It went on to say the current prisoner population of the camp was "slightly less than that shown in the last report." When this visit took place, there were 465 officers, 2,505 non-commissioned officers and 1,292 enlisted men.

"The health of the camp has been excellent all winter," the report concluded; "(l)ess than one percent of the prisoners of war have succumbed to illness." No deaths had occurred since the camp was last visited in December, but "a prisoner of war at the Chickasha side camp had committed suicide on November 17 (of) last year." There were no "serious cases" among the 29 prisoner patients in the hospital when the visit took place. The report indicated serious cases were transferred to the Glennon General Hospital at Okmulgee, this borne out by some of Dad's comments in his letters home.

The latter portion of the report gives some interesting detail into the camp's operation. In a section entitled "Discipline," Goetz and Turner note there were no courts martial since the last visit in December. However, he went on,

two are pending, those of Max Wolff and Franz Helm who escaped over a year ago and stole an automobile. These prisoners are now at Tonkawaka but will be brought back for trial which will come up in May. These prisoners have been the source of much trouble to the Camp Commander and the security officers because they went into hiding within the camp shortly after their sentence (sic) last summer and before they could be sent on to Leavenworth. It was only on the Third of March (1945) that the prisoner Wolff was finally found in a tunnel located under one of the buildings in the officers' compound. Another incident described in the report related to the beating of one prisoner by some others "for listening to a radio." Though the report didn't say why the prisoners would do such a thing simply because the man was listening to the radio, it did indicate the incident "will probably lead to a court martial." The incident was being investigated, the report said, and if the actions were repeated, the camp commander would remove all radios from the compound. My guess is it was not so much the man was listening as it was what he was listening to. Goetz and Turner also reported in April, 1945 "all plaques, swastikas and other political emblems have been removed from the compounds" because prisoners had stolen metal in order to make them." Photographs of national leaders had also been removed though this was not the case with personal photographs. When the April visit took place "26 prisoners, including two officers, were in the guard house for minor offenses." Despite all of this, the report concluded "the morale of the camp has greatly improved since the transfer of Colonel Paul Konrad, ace troublemaker, and certain of his colleagues. The appointment of a new spokesman for the officers' compound has also helped." The German listed in the Goetz-Turner report as the camp spokesman was Colonel Joseph Irkens. This may be another one of my many long-shots, but a book entitled Rommel's Desert Commanders by Samuel W. Mitcham lists a Colonel Joseph Irkens and identifies him as "the last commander of the 8th Panzer regiment."

In their "Observations," Goetz and Turner concluded the improved morale in the camp was attributable to the new camp commander's changes in "an unusually troublesome camp." This would seem somewhat of a slight against the previous commander and refuted Dad's suspicions about change. This resulted from both specific policy changes and the removal of "ring-leaders" of difficulty among the prisoners. Still, problems remained, and the camp commander and other personnel were "under an unusual amount of strain which has had its effect upon the atmosphere of the entire camp." Adding to the administrative difficulties was the inability of the camp commander to obtain an Assistant Executive Officer to carry out a "reorientation program." Though I'm not sure to which position they're referring, according to the 1944 roster, the camp's executive officer was a Major H. C. Trembly, and on the 1945, one it was Major Elmer H. Gibson.

On April 20, Dad made some confusing comments about quarters telling a little about staffing and quarters. I'll allow him to explain it in his own words.

We have our rooms back in the hospital again, and it was rather peculiar the way we got them. The nurses' quarters are vacant now that we don't have any nurses. The building is air-conditioned and Colonel Richardson has had his eye on it for some time. He wants to use it for himself and the other officers who don't have their families here. If he could dispose of the medical department there would be just about enough room for the remaining. In order to get it accomplished he gave us authority to come back over here and everything is settled. It will be a good deal for all of us now that the dog in the manger got a bone of his own.

This can be interpreted to mean Dad and the other doctors were consequently living in air-conditioned quarters. Also, it appears from this the nursing staff had been discontinued by this time, though how long the nurses had been gone cannot at this point be determined. Neither the Goetz-Turner report nor the 1945 roster listed any officer nurses.

Going back to the issue of supplies, Dad reported in his April 21 letter cigarettes becoming scarce, and effective May 1 they would be rationed. "We don't know yet how many we are going to be allowed," he explained to our mother, "but they are going to give the (ration) cards out Monday. I'm going to get one for you and think I will probably be able to keep you in cigarettes on about the same quantity as in the past." His April 27 letter, however, said he had been unable to get a card for her. Two packages a day was the limit they could buy, he added. Also, the selection of brands was not broad. He had also alluded in earlier letters to Kleenex being harder to buy. The candy he had been sending back to his kids, he concluded, "isn't very good quality."

April 20, 1945 was Hitler's fifty-six birthday, and his last, though no one knew it at the time. This and other German national holidays were often the impetus behind activity among the prisoners. Dad reported there was no trouble. "Some of them got off in a corner and sang 'Deutschland Uber Alles' and I heard a few 'Heil Hitlers' in the distance," he recalled, "but everything else was under control."

At 6:30 on the evening of April 23, Dad was called over to the hospital, because they had found a dead German. "He was dead on admission," Dad noted the following day, "and we spent the rest of the evening making the necessary investigations and doing an autopsy." There was, he went on, no evidence of foul play, and the man appeared to have died of natural causes.

Late April and early May appears to have been another busy time in the hospital. "My desk is piled so high with files, regulations and other papers that I can hardly see over it," he complained on April 25. An afternoon spent with an inspector from the 8th Service Command Headquarters that day related to a new round of examinations of all of the American personnel being planned. This had been done in December and January, Dad went on, "but they have some new ideas regarding classification." Adding to Dad's work and responsibilities, Major Sewall was at the Glennon Hospital for an unspecified time and didn't arrive back in Alva until May 1. Dad didn't necessarily mind the extra work but didn't want to take the responsibility of making decisions in Sewall's stead. "He is bull-headed," Dad concluded, "and has very little experience." On May 4, Dad reported a German with a broken leg coming in.

Also, in late-April, the entire camp was put under a general alert. Though he didn't write specifically when it started, nothing was mentioned about it in his April 27 letter but was in the one for the following day. Thus, its announcement can be narrowed to this small window. Also, in his April 30 letter, Dad mentions a pot-luck party on Saturday, April 28. They had their meal, but "(d)ue to the alert the party broke up at nine." Thus, we can make a tentative guess the alert began at 9:00 PM on Saturday, April 28. Though he didn't know the exact reason for the alert, "(t)he prisoners were told this afternoon that they can no longer use the Nazi salute, exhibit any Nazi emblems or pictures of any of their leaders." Dad surmised it was a precautionary measure, with the European phase of the war so near its end. The reader will recall the Germans surrendered on May 7, 1945, just nine days after Dad mailed his April 28 letter. The alert was lifted at noon on April 30, and any restrictions on the American personnel were ended. "The prisoners apparently have decided that it is better to obey regulations than live on bread and water," Dad speculated. He went on to write "I think most of them are getting a bit fed-up with their own petty gestapo and being told what they can do."

There was a dance at the club on Saturday, May 5, and Dad took calls so Captain Baurichter could go. "I am told that it was a rather loud affair," Dad recounted secondhand the following day, a Sunday, "and the Colonel began laying down the rules of conduct this morning for the future," this appearing to indicate the attendees must have gotten rather tanked up. There was a good turnout at church the Sunday Dad wrote, though it probably had nothing to do with the party. "More of the officers go now and the enlisted men follow suit. The chaplain is a wonderful man in every respect and it seems a shame that he isn't better supported." Again, it would be wonderful if the identity of this man could someday be tacked down.

The day after Dad sent the Sunday letter, the Germans surrendered, and the war in Europe was over. May 8 was declared to be V-E Day. In his May 7 letter, he makes surprisingly little reference to the event. After writing of playing softball and the occurrence of a thunder storm during the movie, he declared, "the news is wonderful and we are all looking forward to the proclamation of V-E Day tomorrow. It has been a long time in coming and will be very welcome." He recalled in his April 8 letter they had listened to President Truman's speech on the radio, though he had mentioned nothing of President Roosevelt's death in mid-April.

On April 8, Dad reported the Chief of the Surgical Service from the Borden General Hospital in Chickasha came to the camp, and "he saw all (of) our surgical cases." Dad was quite busy and didn't get a chance too see him a great deal. "He appeared to be a rather nice chap," he commented, "and helped Capt. Baurichter out a great deal." Dad went on to say someone from that hospital came up to the camp each month "and it makes it much easier for us."

The movie on May 10 was Without Love with Spencer Tracy and Katherine Hepburn.

On May 10, Dad reported the personnel officer, Captain Howe, was in Dallas attending a conference related to a new point system that had been announced for determining which people would be discharged from the service as the war was winding down. Howe was due back May 13 with details of how the program was to work. "There is a question," Dad pointed out, "as to whether it applies to officers and even more questions regarding medical officers." With the exceptions of some highly-trained personnel, enlisted men who had accumulated 85 points were eligible for discharge, he explained. He figured, based on what he knew at the time, he had 123 points. But, again, it was still up in the air as to whether this new discharge policy applied to officers.

Sometime around mid-May, a new regulation came down regarding cigarettes. Effective June 1, Dad explained, they were to be issued new ration cards allowing them six packs a week. Civilian dependents would also get cards, but he explained in the May 16 letter he didn't know if he could get one for our mother. In his May 31 letter, he admitted he could indeed not get a card for her, so he decided to start smoking a pipe and save his cigarettes for her. "I have about thirty packages on hand," he explained, "and a pound of tobacco so we ought to manage in good shape."

As usual, the movie fare in mid-May included some good and some not so good films. On May 15, it was Enchanted Cottage with Dorothy McGuire and Robert Young, "a little screwy," Dad felt, but he seemed to like it. "Tonight we are going to see the great master-piece of all time, 'Salome, Where She Danced,'" Dad indicated with obvious sarcasm on May 20. "Life magazine reports that it is so silly that it turns out to be rather good entertainment. My hopes aren't very high and I probably won't be disappointed." The film starred Yvonne De Carlo and Rod Cameron.

On Monday, May 21, Dad was to accompany four prisoner patients to Glennon General Hospital. He mentioned in his May 18 letter he would come back the following Tuesday. As Major Sewall had taken the last group down, now it was Dad's turn. "It isn't bad when we can go in a staff car," he added, "but the ambulance isn't too good." One could thus speculate on whether or not this was the normal means through which prisoners were delivered there and elsewhere. Before he left, however, it was necessary to get enough work done so when he returned from the two-day trip he would not be swamped. He later reported leaving about 8:30 AM on Monday, May 21 and getting to Glennon at 3:00 in the afternoon. "Delivered the patients and then came back into Tulsa," he remarked. He stayed in the Adams Hotel there. He then informed Mom he was going to leave Tulsa about 10:30 AM the next morning and mentioned later he had gotten back to the camp around 5:00 PM the next day, May 22. He reported after the fact that "(i)t was a rather hard trip in an uncomfortable ambulance and (that he) was a bit tired around the posterior."

Before he left for Glennon Hospital, Dad recounted a humorous anecdote to our mother in his May 20 letter I will allow him to relate in his own words.

On of the American enlisted men who is a patient in the hospital has been considered as a gold-bricker for some time. He told me that he had had an ear infection about two years ago and couldn't hear with his right ear. I tried him out with various tuning forks and he could (sic?, couldn't) hear any of them. The whole thing looked very fishy so I decided to try him out with low conversational speech at a distance of twenty feet. I asked him to repeat numbers after me and received no response. Finally using the same tone of voice I asked him if he could hear me and he said "No". I hustled him out of the room in a hurry, so that I wouldn't split something trying to keep from laughing. As you can imagine he isn't going to get much sympathy from now on.

On Sunday, May 27, Dad had dinner with Lieutenant Wolf, the veterinarian. Once again, the 1945 roster identifies him as Captain Wolf, and, as we will see, he was indeed promoted. Dad consistently spelled it Wolfe, though the spelling in the roster was Wolf. The meal consisted of fried chicken and fresh peas. Wolf and his wife apparently had a 10-month old daughter, and "she is very sweet," he commented.

In the May 27 letter, Dad made some interesting comments about the kind of air-conditioning they had. That Sunday was evidently especially hot. "The air-conditioners are going full blast," he wrote, "and it isn't too bad in here." When he says "here," it can be only assumed he means in his quarters, though he doesn't specifically say where he was writing the letter. However, in his June 29 letter he does say "(t)he whole hospital is air-conditioned." A July 24 letter states the officers' club was also air conditioned. "This type of air-conditioning," he explained, "consists of a fan that draws air through a dampened screen. The evaporation of the water reduces the temperature quite a bit but obviously raises the humidity." Thus, it worked best when the weather was hot and dry. "At least it does some good," he concluded. The theater was not air-conditioned, so it "is going to be very hot tonight so I may only stay for the news reel and comedy. That is another place that really needs an air-conditioner."

For the first time, on May 23 Dad speculated on the Germans' fate and thus the camp's, the war in Europe being over. "We are all of the opinion," he said then, "that the prisoners are going back to Germany in the not too far distant future but it is anybody's guess when this particular camp closes." Four days afterward, on the 27th, he noted, "rumors are flowing thick and fast" about the camp's fate. "There seems to be well-founded information," he went on, "one (camp) not far from here is closing in a couple of weeks." He repeated this speculation again on June 8 and hoped the medical officers might be considered "not quite so critical."

As June, 1945 commenced, Dad seemed to enter a slow period. His letters mainly talk about playing softball and reading. June 3 was "a very dull day and (I) read most of the afternoon." He went on to explain, "(t)here are very few patients in the hospital and it is the paper work that takes up the time." It would make sense few patients would be there, the camp being so close to closure.

With the war over and the fate of the camp in doubt, he evidently began to think about requesting a transfer. Colonel Richardson was in the hospital on June 8 and suggested to Dad it might be a good time to request one. Dad wrote it out then and "laid it on pretty heavy." It wouldn't happen, though.

He also decided to ask for a leave in July, but it was open to question when he could take it depending on who else had requested leave. Major Sewall's father died sometime in late-May to early-June, and they thought he might take a leave to go to the funeral. He decided, however, to take his leave when he had originally planned, around June 20th. According to Dad's June 8 letter, Captain Berry, the camp dentist, was also on leave. His June 20 letter indicated Major Sewall would be on leave from roughly June 30 to July 16. At this point, Dad was planning his leave for about July 18, though as the reader will see shortly, circumstances would change things. In a June 23 letter, he mentioned Sewall actually left that day and "was fortunate enough to get a plane to New York City."

On Wednesday, June 13, as Dad was leaving the hospital, Lieutenant Wolf called to invite him down for the evening. Wolf's sister and he wanted Dad to enjoy some homemade ice-cream. Her husband was the regional manager in Texas and Oklahoma for Sharp and Dohrne Chemical Company, and, odd as it made sound, he "carries a gallon ice cream freezer with him wherever he goes and it seems to be a custom." Dad and Wolfe had also planned to go to Fort Reno, near Oklahoma City, to a horse show. "It is an old cavalry post," Dad described, "and now a remount station. I haven't the slightest idea what it is going to be like." Colonel Richardson was going along too but changed his mind. They evidently had government transportation to the event.

Dad's June 23 letter reported some problems with the prisoners regarding food. "The Krauts are complaining a great deal about the lack of food," he commented critically.

At first I thought it was only the transition from too much food to too little but there is a very apparent general weight loss (among the prisoners). Of course things will never get as bad as it was for our boys in German prison camps, but they now know how well off they were at the time. The call us cowards behind our backs because we waited until V-E Day to put the new program into effect. Sometimes I think they are not far from the truth.

In late-June came the opportunity, ultimately successful, for Dad to not only get away from the camp but also to see his family. His June 25 letter reported two German prisoners were to be transferred to Mason General Hospital in Brentwood, Long Island. Dad's family was living in upstate New York at that time. He was to transport the prisoners there by train and take ten days leave during the same time. "This will be my leave," he expressed gleefully, "and Uncle Sam will pay the transportation." The transportation officer called him on June 27 to say he was trying to arrange the reservations for July 7. Though Dad doesn't mention his name, the transportation officer listed on the September, 1945 roster was Captain Edward G. Dechant, CMP, whose primary duty was as quartermaster. Dad does mention the name in a later letter, though. He was not listed in the 1944 roster. On July 2, Dad reported more firm plans for this trip. He was to leave at 8:04 PM on Saturday, July 7 and arrived in New York, via Chicago, at about 4:00 PM on Monday, July 9. He would deliver the prisoners to Brentwood and then be with his family in Addison, New York on Tuesday morning. The trip concluded, he arrived back at the camp on July 22. Nothing was mentioned in that day's letter to our mother about the trip or the prisoners whom he was delivering, doubtless because he had told her about the trip when was home and saw no need to repeat it in this letter.

The day before he left for New York, Dad mentioned "two rather large groups of P.O.W.s (are) scheduled to leave this camp in the next few days but I don't know what is in the wind." He felt they were going to be shipped back to Germany rather than to another camp. This would make sense, the war being over by then.

The movie on Thursday, June 28 was Wonder Man with Danny Kaye and Virginia Mayo. "It was completely impossible," he critiqued, "but funny and good entertainment."

On June 29, he reported Captain Baurichter was to leave for Fort Sam Houston the following day and would be gone until Thursday, July 5. Dad expected to be rather busy until he returned.

By late-June, Dad's request for a transfer had not been returned, which he took to be a positive sign. If it were going to be denied, it would probably have happened relatively quickly, he doubtless assumed. Given the war's end in Europe, many servicemen were probably hopeful about separation from the military relatively soon. Apparently referring to medical officers, Dad indicated, "(t)he Surgeon General has stated that between 2000 and 3000 will be returned to civilian life by the end of the year. The first priority will be given to those 50 years of age and the rest will go out under the point system." At the time, Dad would have been thirty-five years old. His first letter after arrival back in Alva from the New York trip did, however, give the bad news. His request for a transfer had been denied, the reason given being, the adjutant told him, the lack of a replacement. He told our mother she needn't be too disappointed, as he would probably be out of the service in four or five months, anyway.

In late-July, they were once again short-staffed, and thus busy, as Dad and Major Sewall were the only ones there. Captain Baurichter had gone down to Borden General Hospital as a patient due to eye problems. Lieutenant Wolf was also there, he to be operated on for a cyst in his mouth. Captain Laughlin was escorting "another P.O.W. 'nut' to New York and (to) see his family in Philadelphia." The New York reference makes me wonder if this was the Brentwood, Long Island facility he's mentioned before. This meant Dad would be working harder and thus be tired when he got off. "We have eighty patients in the hospital," he explained on July 27, "and I'm seeing a large number of civilian dependents that is an accumulation from my time on leave." Four days later on July 31, he exclaimed, "(o)ur big thing now is discharging eligible enlisted men and getting the sufficiently able-bodied ones overseas." Needless to say, this was leaving the camp short of personnel. He still had no concrete idea as to what was going to happen to the camp.

He had good news to report in his August 2 letter to his wife, however. Captain Howe, the personnel officer, showed him a letter from Washington indicating "all Medical Officers with an Adjusted Service Rating (Points) over 120 would be immediately reported as excess to the Army. My 122 puts me in this class and am so being reported today." Howe indicated to Dad he might go to the Separation Center before the end of August.

Dad was invited to Lieutenant Baumgartner's to have dinner and spend the day with his family on August 5. Baumgartner, again, was the Assistant Executive Officer. "It was good to get away from camp for a while," he lamented the following day "and have a home-cooked meal." This appears to imply Baumgartner was living off post then. In the evening, they came back out to the post and saw Her Highness and the Bell Boy, starring Hedy Lamarr and Robert Walker. It was "better than average," he commented and enjoyed it despite the hot theater.

On Tuesday evening, August 7, an inspector general team arrived, "and they have been bothering us constantly since, sticking their noses into all the corners." In addition, a psychiatrist was there on temporary duty, "and we are profiling the men for what I hope is the last time for me." This psychiatrist must have replaced Greenfield, at least on a temporary basis.

He mailed a letter to our mother on V-J Day, August 15, 1945. This would have been the day after the Japanese surrendered. The following, somewhat subdued, represents his activities as a result.

Last evening Lt Wolfe invited me down for dinner and just as the bus was pulling out the news was broadcast. By the time I got down town all the horns and whistles were blowing and everyone beginning to celebrate. They don't do any drinking and about 9:30 I came back to camp cold sober. I had one drink in the club and then started for the hospital to go to bed. In the process I was waylaid by Capt DeChant (Quartermaster) and along with four other officers taken to his apartment against my will. We sat around and drank beer until about one-thirty and then came back to camp. All the rest had been drinking all evening but I didn't try to catch up. The dinner date was very fortunate because I got a good meal and didn't have a hang-over this morning
Dad's letters have contained relatively little regarding the official goings on in the camp since around June. Things were probably on the slow side anyway, and he was doubtless preoccupied with the end of the war and his impending separation from the service. However, this limits the amount of information we can glean from his letters about the camp. Very little has been mentioned about the Germans during this time compared to the relatively large number of anecdotes mentioned earlier. And, much of what he does mention is essentially social in nature. Thus, we must be careful about assuming nothing was happening with them simply because they are not mentioned in his letters. As any historian knows, you are always the captive of the sources you have. If anything big had happened, though, I'm sure Dad would have mentioned it.

On the morning of August 19, Lieutenant Thurow took "four of us" down to Woodward, Oklahoma to see a rodeo. Relying on the September, 1945 camp roster, this is in reference to Harold F. Thurow, 1ST Lieutenant, AUS, who was the intelligence officer. Thurow was not on the 1944 roster. "We got there an hour early," Dad recalled of the trip, "but even at that there were no box seats or grandstand seats. We sat in the bleachers near the chutes and had a very good view of the whole show." They saw the typical fare of rodeo events.

With the war over and the camp's closing a near certainly, they once again began to get busy. "I thought," Dad ruminated on August 24, "when we got all of our own enlisted men examined that we would be through with mass examinations. Now we are examining all of the P.O.W.s (about 3500) in order to determine what kind of duty they can perform." He went on to say it had to be done by the following week and was going to be "quite a job."

Evidently Mom had read something in the news media about the Army being short of doctors and had thus become concerned. Dad sought to quash the idea and reassure her he would probably be getting out of the service in due time. He used this as an opportunity to express his feelings on the use of medical officers during the war. "The waste of medical officers will be one of the big disgraces of this war," he concluded, and it would be interesting to know what he meant specifically. To reassure her, he mentioned he had been "declared excess and (I) don't see why my separation should be held up."

"Saturday was a big night in Alva," Dad remarked on August 27, the following Monday,

There was a party at the Officers' Club and I went for a change. I don't suppose I can really say that I went to the party. I happened to be there when it started and it moved in on me. About six o'clock Major Sewell (sic) and I began drinking highballs and when the people began to arrive we were well on the way. Things were going so good that we decided that we might as well continue. It was a good thing that nothing happened in the way of sickness, etc. because we were neither in any shape to take care of an emergency. Everyone seemed to get a kick out of my being tight because it was their first opportunity to see it. Incidentally it will be the last. Yesterday afternoon I went down to the Baugartners (sic) for dinner and then came out to the show. I'm ready to settle down to my formerly quite existence.

Sometime in late-August, Lieutenant Wolf, the veterinarian, finally received the aforementioned promotion to captain. He must have been waiting for it for some time, because Dad wrote, "he was becoming very discouraged." About then, Dad went with Wolf and his family to another rodeo, this one at a county fair in Hardtner, a small town just across the state line in Kansas. In detailed letters to two of his children, he described the events at the rodeo very nicely.

At about 6:30 PM on Tuesday, September 4, the colonel called an alert, Dad wrote the following day, "because there was some trouble brewing in the (P.O.W.) officers' compound." Though he doesn't give any details on what the threat was, Dad simply revealed, "in order to forestall any incidents they took out 150 of the ones they suspected and moved them to an unused compound." If I understand what he wrote in his September 5 letter, they had to set up a dispensary, got kitchens opened, etc. in order to accommodate them in their new compound. "Nothing happened," Dad concluded, "and everything is under control."

The day before, Monday, September 3, Major Sewall "left to take three prisoner patients to Camp Forrest, Tenn." This left Dad the only medical officer in the camp. He had been "going pretty steady" as far as the work was concerned as a result of the periodic absences and would have an easier time of it when Sewall returned even though the latter "doesn't kill himself working."

Dad reported the good news about his impending separation from the service in his September 6 letter. "It won't be long before I will be home with you," he expected. The Service Command needed some additional information on him, and then they would contact the separation center, "and then the orders will be published." He hoped to receive them by the middle of the following week. If his replacement didn't come soon enough, Dad feared, he may have to wait until Major Sewall was back, which, he said, was September 14. In any case, he expected to be home within two weeks. His separation center, he predicted, would be Fort Dix, New Jersey, which proved to be the case. His orders arrived Friday, September 14, and he was to report to Fort Dix on September 26. His replacement was 1ST Lieutenant Richard D. Day, Jr., who arrived September 13 and is listed on the September, 1945 roster. The camp would close soon, so his tour there would be quite brief. Major Sewall got back to the camp on September 14, which would take a little of the pressure off regarding staffing in the hospital.

At the camp, "(t)hings have been going hot and heavy here for the past few days," Dad explained on September 14, this relating to its shutting down. "They received instructions that this camp will close on Sept. 30th and we are frantically trying to get things in order to accomplish it." As of Monday, September 17, Dad reported, only about 1500 prisoners would be left in the camp, and "the rest will go out soon."

It appears from a second September 14 letter Dad mailed later in the day, he would leave on Monday, September 17, 1945. "I will get the early evening train," he wrote, "and will be in Addison (New York) sometime Wednesday." This would give him a week at home with his family before reporting to New Jersey for separation. Thus ended very anticlimactically Dad's year in Alva. Nothing in his last letters from Alva exhibited any reflection nor hesitation regarding his stay there.   |  View or Add Comments (0 Comments)   |   Receive updates ( subscribers)  |   Unsubscribe

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