At Fort Benjamin Harrison

   AT FORT BENJAMIN HARRISON         

     During the Korean War, graduates of the Army's clerk-typist schools were sent to Fort Benjamin Harrison, located outside of Indianapolis, Indiana, for a 16-week course in shorthand and typing.  After that, they received their permanent assignments, some in the States, some in Europe, some in Japan but most of them in Korea.  Going to Korea was no picnic, what with high casualty rates and the rigors of the Korean winter.  And even clerk-typists were apt to find themselves on the front lines. 

Party Night 

     Everyone else had gone over to the WACS' barracks where the WACS had organized a party to celebrate reaching the halfway point of their 16-week course.  Paul Weiss had chosen to stay behind by himself; the thought of celebrating anything connected with being turned into a glorified secretary for the Army repelled him. 

     He'd hated being sent to Harrison, had hated the course from the first day and had nothing but contempt for his classmates who thought that, if they had to be in the Army, spending four months learning shorthand was the best thing that could have happened to them.  He was a college graduate, from Columbia in New York City, and had planned to get his master's and then doctor's degree there before embarking on a college teaching career.  Now he was wasting his time hammering on a typewriter and writing little squiggles in a notebook. 

     He was huddled in a blanket in his bunk; the furnace had broken down once again and the barracks was freezing.  Muckluck the Eskimo, who was supposed to operate the furnace, was nowhere to be seen.  He'd probably gone to the party, also. 

     Paul was writing in the journal he'd decided to start when he found he was stuck in Harrison.  It gave him an outlet for expressing his feelings, mainly his anger and frustration.  He was describing some of his classmates.  Sergeant Walters, he wrote, is the only noncom in our class and so is our barracks leader.  It's hard to imagine him being a secretary.  He's a short, stocky rough-looking guy, maybe 30, who likes to drink beer and play poker. 

     Himmelman, from somewhere in the swamps of New Jersey, is tall, pale and spotted, with a nervous disorder that has him jerking his head back and forth like a neurotic pigeon.  His buddy is Neil Petrillo, an Italian who can be launched into an emotional tirade by the slightest thing.  What a pair. 

     Jim Nugent is a Northwestern graduate and seems to be an intelligent guy.  He's tried to be friendly; he wanted me to go to the WACS' party tonight, but I've been feeling too lousy to be friends with anyone. 

     There's a romance in our class, between Darnell, who graduated from some little college in Texas, and one of the WACS.  I can't imagine what he sees in her; I guess she can be called pretty but she's only a high school graduate and they say she's part Indian. 

     Paul heard a sound and quickly closed his notebook.  A soldier had come into the barracks and was looking around.  "Are you Weiss?" the soldier asked him. 

     "Yeah, why?" 

     "Where's everyone else?" 

     "They all went to a party." 

     "Oh, yeah.  Well, anyway, you're the one I wanted to see." 

     "What about?" 

     "I'm Grudin, Herb Grudin."  He held out his hand.  "I'm from New York, too." 

     Paul shook Grudin's hand.  "How do you know about me?" 

     "I'm a clerk in Personnel.  Christ, it's freezing in here." 

     "Yeah.  The furnace is always breaking down." 

     "Anyway, your class is shipping out in eight more weeks. How'd you like to be assigned to someplace in the States, maybe even New York?"

         

     Paul sat up and the blanket fell off his shoulders.  "That would be great.  What would I have to do?" 

     "Nothing," said Grudin.  "I have access to the orders and I can swing it.  I've done it before, for other landsmen.  It's taking a risk, of course, and I'd have to get some compensation for it." 

     "Oh.  How much compensation?" 

     "Say $500." 

     "That's quite a bit.  I don't have that kind of money." 

     "How about your father, the dentist?  He should be able to handle that to make sure his son doesn't go to Korea." 

     So Grudin knew his father was a dentist.  He must have gotten that from Paul's personnel files.  "I don't know.  Let me think about it, okay." 

     Grudin shrugged.  "Sure.  But don't forget, you might wind up in Korea and that's even worse than being here in Indiana." 

     After Grudin left, Paul put the blanket around him again.  In his journal, he wrote:  Someone named Grudin who works in the personnel office was just over here and wants $500 to cut me orders for the States.  I don't like the idea of bribing him, but then there's the thought of going to Korea.  I don't know.

     Later, Paul's barracks mates came back, noisily.  Jim Nugent, who had the next bunk, said, "You should have come over.  It was a good party.  Darnell and Judy announced their engagement.  They're going to get married after the course is over.  Is the furnace out again?  It's freezing in here." 

     "Yeah.  It's always freezing in here." 

     "Well, maybe Muckluck can get it fixed tomorrow.  He was at the party." 

     "That's what I thought."  The barracks lights went out.  Paul closed his eyes and went to sleep thinking about the $500 bribe for Grudin. 
 

A Visit to Town 

     Paul had just come back to the barracks after breakfast in the mess hall.  It was a Saturday morning, two weeks after the party in the WACS' barracks.  A bleak sun was actually shining and for once the wind which originated at the North Pole and then headed straight down for the Indiana plains was not blowing. 

     Paul was writing in his journal when Jim Nugent came in.  "Hey, look what I found," Nugent said.  He was carrying two baseball mitts and an old discolored baseball. 

     "Where'd you get that stuff?" asked Paul. 

     "Underneath the barracks steps.  Come on, let's have a catch." 

     Paul looked doubtful.  "I don't know." 

     "Come on.  Or don't you New Yorkers know how to catch a ball?" 

     "Better than anybody from Chicago." 

     "Let's see." 

     Paul and Nugent went out in front of the barracks.  They threw the ball back and forth, first easily, then harder.  The camp at that time seemed almost deserted.  Already, everyone had headed into town with their weekend passes.  The sound of ball hitting glove was sharp and distinct in the thin Midwestern air.  Occasionally, some soldier would pass by, look at them for a minute, and then walk on.  They continued to throw, now grunting a little.  Paul realized that he was sweating.  For the first time since he'd been at Harrison, he felt warm. 

     After an hour, they went back inside the barracks.  "That felt good," said Nugent. 

     "Yeah," said Paul grudgingly.  It had felt good. 

     "I'm going to hide the gloves and the ball in my locker," said Nugent. 

     "Good," replied Paul. 

     "Why don't you come with me and the guys into town?" 

     Paul hesitated a minute, then said, "Okay."

      

     Nugent had a car, which he'd brought from Chicago to the camp. Sergeant Walters, Darnell, Himmelman and Petrillo were jammed into the car with them.  Nugent drove to the center of town and they all went into the USO building.  While the others headed for the recreation room, Paul went to the library where he found a few recent magazines and settled down to read. 

     The USO provided a supper for the soldiers.  Paul left the library to go down to the large dining room and, after going through the line to get his food, he joined Nugent and some of the others at one of the tables.  Judy, the WAC who was going to marry Darnell, was there, along with one of the other WACS in their class.   Paul found himself sitting next to the other girl. 

    "Hi," she said.  "You're Paul, aren't you?  I'm Ellen." 

     Like most of the WACS, Ellen was a plain-looking girl.  Paul guessed she was no more than 18 years old.  "I envy you," she said to Paul. 

     He was surprised.  "Why?" he asked. 

     "You're from New York City, aren't you?  I've always wanted to go there."  She told Paul she was from a small town in North Dakota.  She'd joined the WACS because that seemed to be the only way to get out of it. 

     "How do you like being in the Army?" Paul asked her. 

     "It's okay," she said.  "But it doesn't really matter.  The important thing is that when I get out I'll have the G.I. bill.  Then I'm going to college.  Maybe I'll even go to a college in New York.  I'm going to make something of myself." 

     Paul noticed that although she was plain she had large bright blue eyes and she spoke with an intensity that was somehow touching.  All of his friends had automatically assumed they were going to college.  Here was someone who looked upon college as a great prize, something worth sacrificing three years in the Army to achieve. 

     After dinner, Nugent said they were going to a bar for a few beers.  Paul hesitated but he'd spent the whole afternoon in the USO library and was tired of reading.  Besides, he wasn't sure about getting a ride back to camp if he didn't go with them.

  

     The bar they found was a noisy and crowded one.  They sat at a table along one wall.  A group of young men sat at a table across from them.  One of the young men, the biggest, said, "Hey, look, there are the typists from Harrison." 

     "What a jerk." Ellen said to Paul. 

     "Yeah," he said.  "Typical ignorant hick.  Just ignore him."  But he could feel himself getting tense.  He knew he shouldn't have come.  Why hadn't he stayed at the USO?  He just hoped that nothing would happen.  If something did happen, he didn't know what he'd do.  He'd never been in a fight in his entire life.  

     One of the other young men whistled.  "Aren't they cute?" he said.  "Do you think that they sit on laps?" 

     Petrillo yelled at them, "Hey, why don't you guys knock it off?" 

     "Oh, she wants us to knock it off.  I'm trembling all over.  Do you want to take some dictation from me?" 

     The next thing Paul knew Sergeant Walters, seemingly in one bound, was over at the next table and grabbing the big guy by his collar.  One of the others was trying to hit Walters, then everyone was up and milling around, tables and chairs were being knocked over, a woman screamed, there was the sound of breaking glass, someone shoved Paul, he took a swing at the body closest to him, then he felt something like a sledgehammer hit him on the side of the head and after that everything went black.

     

     When Paul opened his eyes he was surprised to see that he was back in his barracks.  Ellen was sitting beside him on his bunk, holding a cold cloth to his head.  Jim Nugent and a few of the others were dim figures standing behind her.  "What happened?" asked Paul. 

     "You're going to have a large bump here," said Ellen, pressing lightly on his head with the cold cloth. 

     "Ouch," said Paul. 

     "Does it hurt?" 

     "Yes.  Who won the fight?" 

     "Well, Sergeant Walters got a good shot in on that big guy.  After that, it turned into a brawl and we decided to get out of there before the MPs or somebody came.  Himmelman and Petrillo kind of dragged you along and got you in the car." 

     "Ellen also helped dragged you," said Nugent. 

     "Yeah?  Well, thanks.  Oh, and Jim, thanks for asking me to go into town with you." 

     

Muckluck Casts a Spell

    

     Paul and Jim Nugent were sitting on the barracks steps.  They'd just gotten back from supper at the mess hall.  It was a warm spring evening.  "Are you going over to the WACS barracks?" asked Nugent. 

     "I guess so," said Paul.  "But I still think it's crazy." 

     With only two weeks left to go, the only thing the class now talked about was where they'd be assigned.  Would they all be shipped to Korea?  Would they be dispersed to Army posts in the States?  Or was there a chance of going to Europe?  Everyone claimed to have heard a rumor but nobody knew anything for sure. 

     Judy, Darnell's half-Indian bride-to-be, had discovered that Muckluck, their Eskimo furnace man, was a shaman, or medicine man.  That night Muckluck was going to cast a spell so that their class wouldn't be sent to Korea. 

     "Anything's worth trying, I guess," said Nugent. 

     "If he's such a great shaman, how come he could never get the furnace to run?" 

     "I understand a shaman is more effective dealing with intangible matters." 

     "Let's hope so."  Paul hadn't told anybody, not even Nugent, about Grudin's offer.

     At eight o'clock the entire class gathered in the WACS barracks.  Muckluck sat cross-legged on one of the bunks.  He was wearing a brightly colored jacket and a headband.  "What's he going to do?" someone asked. 

     "He's going to invoke the good spirits to influence the outcome of our assignments," said Judy. 

     "How's he going to do that?  Are they going to going to get into the personnel computer?" 

     "Shh," said Judy.  "Everyone be quiet now." 

     Muckluck had closed his eyes and, arms folded across his chest, was rocking back and forth, seemingly crooning to himself.  Beads of sweat started to roll down his dark face although it wasn't at all warm in the barracks.  They had all  heeded Judy's request and, aside from Muckluck's crooning, there wasn't a sound.  Paul had to admit to himself that it was strangely impressive. 

     The silence was broken by a crack of thunder.  It came so suddenly that everyone jumped.  Then Paul heard the sound of rain on the barracks roof.  It was only another one of the Midwestern thunderstorms they'd been having all week. 

     Muckluck opened his eyes. 

     "Well?" asked Judy. 

     "Did you contact the spirits?" asked Nugent. 

     "Did the spirits make it rain?" asked Darnell. 

     "Is the rain a good sign?" asked Himmelman. 

     "We're all going to Korea, aren't we?" said Petrillo. 

     Muckluck looked around the circle of questioners.  His face was grave.  Everyone waited for him to speak.  "The rain is always refreshing," he said.  "We will see."  

     "That's it?" shouted Petrillo.  "We will see?" 

     "It didn't work," said Himmelman.  "We're all going to Korea." 

     "Are we going to Korea?" asked Nugent. 

     "Life does not go in a straight line," answered Muckluck. 

     "What does that mean?" asked Petrillo. 

     "Give the guy a break," said Sergeant Walters, asserting his authority.  "Come on, let's all have a beer."

    

     Afterward, going back to their barracks in a light rain, Paul asked Nugent what he thought. 

     "Muckluck's right," said Nugent.  "The rain's refreshing." 

     "Yeah, and wet.  I hear it's always raining in Korea." 

     "Well, next week we'll find out what the spirits have decided." 

     "Yeah," said Paul.  Of course, there were other ways to influence their assignments which might be more reliable than the spirits.  All during Muckluck's performance, Paul had been thinking about Grudin.  He'd have to make his decision soon. 
 

Another Visit from Grudin 

     As if he'd been aware of Paul's thoughts, Grudin appeared in the barracks the next night.  They went outside and walked along the path to the mess hall, now deserted.  Grudin appeared excited.  "The orders for your class have been cut," he told Paul.  "It's Korea." 

     Paul felt as if somebody had kicked him in the chest.  "For everyone?" 

     "There may be one or two exceptions like for the WACS but, yeah, for everyone." 

     "Did you actually see the orders?" 

     "Well, no.  But I have it on the best authority, believe me, from the sergeant in charge of Personnel.  Look, I'm not trying to bullshit you.  I'm not just saying it to get the $500.  I'd really like to help you out, you know, being from New York and being landsmen and all." 

     Paul looked closely at Grudin's swarthy face.  As far as he could tell, Grudin meant what he said.  Well, it was decision time.  "I believe you," he said.  "But I'll take my chances with the rest of my class." 

     "Jesus, are you crazy?  You'll be going to Korea." 

     Korea.  A place he'd never heard of a few years ago and where American soldiers were now being killed, for what?  For an instant, Paul was about to change his mind; he could call his father that night and have him send the money, then he said, "I'll still take my chances."

 

     "Okay," said Grudin.  "Don't say I didn't warn you."  Grudin turned and went back along the path.  Paul stood still for a minute, looking up at the moon which had just appeared over the mess hall.  The moonlight falling over the camp made everything look unreal.  He wondered what Korea would look like and shivered. 

     Back in the barracks Paul took out his journal and wrote in it.  “Grudin was right, I'm crazy.  I've probably just done the most stupid thing in my life.  But I think I've learned something here at Harrison.  As Muckluck said, life doesn't go in a straight line.  I thought mine did and that's why I acted like such a jerk when I was sent here, it was like being detoured to nowhere.  But all experience is a part of your life and who knows, when you look back those at those detours they may turn out to be the most important parts. 

     That's enough profundity for tonight.  I don't know what's going to happen but, whether I go to Korea or not, I'm not so sure now that I want to go back to school after the Army.”   

                  

Shipping Out 

     Paul and Nugent had finished packing their duffel bags.   Nugent was going to drive back to Chicago, dropping Paul off at the airport on the way.  Paul was catching a plane to fly back to New York.  Everyone in the class had two weeks' leave before going to their assigned posts. 

     "Did you hear?" asked Nugent.  "Himmelman did so well in shorthand they're keeping him here to be an instructor?" 

     "You're kidding?  Well, good for Himmelman." 

     "That's what you wanted to be when we first got here, Isn't it?" said Nugent. 

     "Maybe.  It's so long ago I don't remember." 

     Nugent smiled.  "You were really a jerk back then." 

     "I don't remember being a jerk either.  Well, I have to go and say good-bye to Ellen." 

     "Okay," said Nugent.  "I'll meet you outside." 

     Paul caught Ellen just as she was coming out the WACS' barracks.  "Hi," he said.  "I see you're on your way." 

     "Yes.  I'm looking forward to seeing my folks." 

     "Then you're off to Washington, D.C.?" 

     "Yes.  I'm pretty excited about it, a chance to work in the nation's capital.  And after I'm discharged I hope I can get to New York.  Maybe I'll see you there." 

     "Maybe.  I don't know.  Maybe I'll decide to stay in Europe for a while after I get out."  The entire class, with some exceptions like Ellen and Himmelman, had been assigned to Europe. 

     "But I thought you wanted to get back to Columbia and become a professor." 

     "I did.  Now I'm not sure." 

     "You mean your life's not going to go in a straight line?" 

     "Maybe not." 

     "Will you write me when you get to Europe?" 

     "Yeah, sure.  And be sure to write me back.  I want to hear what happens to you.  You know, some guy, a clerk in Personnel, told me our orders had been cut and the whole class was going to Korea.  That was the night after Muckluck invoked the spirits." 

     "Maybe the spirits had some power after all." 

     "Maybe.  It's strange."

     At that moment, Nugent appeared.  "We better get going if you're going to make your plane," he told Paul. 

     "Okay."  Paul bent over and kissed Ellen lightly on the cheek.  "I'm glad I met you," he whispered. 

     Nugent's car moved slowly down the road to the camp's gate.  "Well," said Nugent, "good-bye, Fort Benjamin Harrison."  Paul looked back and for a moment he could see himself and Nugent playing catch in front of the barracks.  Then the car moved through the gate and the image was gone.  

The End