The summer of "40" was shot because the National Guard sent us to Louisiana for two and a half months training, rather than the normal two weeks.

I stored my skis at the hotel and reported to Fort Tuthill just a couple of miles out of Flagstaff. We were loaded aboard trucks and down the road we went, stopping every hour to relieve ourselves. At night we'd bivouac in a large field alongside the highway and pitch our pup tents to sleep in; two guys to each tent.

When we stopped outside of Dallas Texas, a buddy and I hitch hiked back to Dallas to go dancing. After the dance we tried to hitch hike back to the bivouac area. From 1:00 am until 7:00 am, no cars came by. By the time we got back, our company had left. We had thoughts of being shot for being AWOL, or at least a year in the brig. So we stayed with the guy that picked us up and caught up with them at noontime when they stopped to eat. Our buddies that we shared a tent with, had picked up our gear and taken it with them. Thank heavens they never had roll call that morning.

We arrived at Shreveport Louisiana for briefing on the upcoming Blue and Red War games. From there on, it was walk, walk, walk. We walked and bivouacked all the way to New Orleans, about 200 miles.

Lord, it was hot and humid but what really surprised me was the poverty throughout the state. Everyone was living off the land.

Half of the time, the mess cooks were late, or got lost. One time when they failed to show, Big Morino (Ephfram) discovered a wild pig out in the countryside. We chased that little porker around until I finally dropped him with my trench shovel, and then kept whacking him until he stopped squealing. Big Morino, who had worked in a slaughter house, had that baby cleaned, gutted and over a fire in ten minutes. As hungry as I was, I couldn't touch it. Just the thought of it made me think of eating a football. The rest of the guys loved it.

The only encounter we had with the Red Army was really frightening. Six of us were out on patrol and all of a sudden, there were the God awful lest sounds we'd ever heard. We had no idea that we would ever see a tank, but there it was. I jumped behind a tree, but I could see that the tank was knocking down trees bigger than the one I was hiding behind. We all took off running across a ravine and up a steep hill. When the tank got down to the bottom of the ravine, he got stuck. A couple of us went back. I stuck a log in his treads, and when the driver stuck his head out, Little Morino (Big Marino's younger brother, Abel) slugged him on the head with the butt of his rifle.

Referees were supposed to be all around, but none showed up. We waited for a good hour before we took off. An hour later, here comes that damn tank again. The squad took refuge is a church way out in the boonies. I was running for the door, but I was running by so fast, I missed it, and had to go around again. That tank was only about 15 feet behind me. I was hollering like hell for them to open the door. I was amazed at how easy that tank could corner without slowing down. If I hadn't made the door, or would have fallen down, that bastard would have ran me over. The tank held us at bay for two hours waiting for a referee to show up, then he took off probably because it was dinner time.

The only time it cooled off was when it rained. We bivouacked near the bottom of a long low hill which had a lot of pine trees on it. I remembered my dad telling me that if you gather a bunch of pine needles and put your blanket on top, you'll have a soft mattress. I gathered enough for a 6-inch mattress, put them on my side of the pup tent, and fell asleep. About three in the morning, it started raining like mad, a real cloud burst. The water built up as it rolled down the hill and by the time it reached me, it was about 3 inches deep and floated my mattress and me right out of the tent into the rain. It was a long night for the whole company; we were all sopping wet. The next time we camped on a hill, I dug a "V" pointing uphill in front of the tent to divert the water.

On our way back to Flagstaff, we stopped outside of Dallas again. This time though, we took a taxi back after the dance.

A week later, in August 1940, we learned of the beginning of the draft and that the President, Franklin D. Roosevelt had called up all National Guard Units for one year.

I notified my parents that I was to be called up on September 16, 1940. My brother Stuart, who was attending Long Beach JC and a good friend of his came up to Flagstaff to see me off. While they were there, I took them into the armory and signed them both up for their one year. I guess misery loves company. A couple of days later, we were back on the trucks heading for Fort Sill, Oklahoma.

Eighty percent of Company I of the 158th Infantry were college kids from Flagstaff. Whenever there was a parade, we'd put all the big football and basketball players up at the front of the company. We really looked awesome; invariably the band would strike up "The Ruptured Duck", a real snappy marching song.

At Fort Sill it rained, and then again it rained. We got very little drilling or maneuvers. A lot of our time was spent in squad tents. Not so bad because they had wooden floors and a stove for heat.

Little Morino asked me to be his sparring partner as he was going to enter a boxing tournament. He promised me he wouldn't hurt me, but would teach me how to box. We both weighed 145 pounds and it sounded like a good way to kill time. So for the next two months, we'd find an empty tent and boxed. True to his word, he never tried to kill me, but he taught me so well that I could have entered the tournament. I took on half of the kids that were on the boxing team at college.

If we didn't go into town on Saturday afternoon, which was no big thing, we'd get out in the street and box.

The town of Lawton, Oklahoma, near Fort Sill, had its share of army personnel. Before we arrived, I'll bet that 50 percent of the enlisted men in the regular army were dropouts from society, or had joined the service to beat a rap. The first sign I saw in Lawton was "Dogs and Soldiers Keep off the Grass." We weren't allowed to attend any of their social dances or picnics. I did meet a few real nice girls at church, but that's as far as it went.

Only once did I get stung while boxing. Big Morino and I were having fun sparring, he was pulling his punches but this one time, he hooked me in the head with his left hand. He immediately stopped and apologized but it was too late. My head rang for three hours.

Stuart could always beat the heck out of me, so I coaxed him into putting the gloves on with me. This time it was different. I kept my left jab in his face until I could see he was getting angry. So I gave him a good body blow then faked an injured hand. I wasn't about to jeopardize my chances of borrowing money from him again. The month before, I lost my pay check in a crap game and had to borrow money for just the basic necessities. Thirty dollars a month never did last me very long.

In January 1941, the entire US Army 45th Division, which I was then a part of, moved to Camp Barkley, near Abilene Texas. In contrast to our earlier experience, Abilene's townsfolk welcomed us. Thirty thousand soldiers meant a lot of business for the town. It was a "dry town", so if anyone wanted liquor, they had to go about 50 miles to Lubbock or Sweetwater.

The weather was great, so we got in a lot of soldiering, especially out at the firing range. All we had were old Springfield rifles from WWI, and boy did they kick. My nose was skinned and bleeding so bad that when I qualified for Sharp Shooter, I ended up firing the last five shots from my hip.

Since our company was swelling up with new draftees, Captain McCreary decided to give a written test to all of us Privates First Class to see if we should be promoted to Corporal. A week later the Captain called me in and said the only reason he was promoting me to Corporal, was that I scored the highest on the test. He didn't particularly like me because I didn't get up and go back into the football game after I was hurt. Thank heavens the Lieutenant and the First Sergeant vouched for me. It meant more money in my pocket and no Kitchen Police (doing the dishes and peeling potatoes).

Stuart predicted that there was going to be a war. Why don't we apply for the Air Force, he suggested, then we wouldn't have to hup-two-three all around the parade grounds? I said no way. I'll be getting out in September 1941, and I'm going back to school and study this time. He said "I'm sure they are going to keep us in, and by gosh, I'm going to transfer." He and his buddy, Bill O'Hara applied and were sent to Flight School. Boy, was I dumb. Stuart ended up as a flight instructor and never left the states during the entire war.

To keep busy in the evenings, I sent to the International Correspondence School for lessons in accounting. After I had completed about half of the course, I went over to Headquarters to see if they could use me as an accountant. They immediately put me on Temporary Duty with their Service Company. I was to run a new Post Exchange.

This didn't set to well with Captain McCreary, but he did sign the transfer. From there on, it was a piece of cake. No more roll call, no more drilling, no more 25-mile hikes. I finally lucked out.

They had just opened a new P.X. with people who knew nothing about bookkeeping. They turned over $5,000 in cash to me, but after I took inventory, I discovered that they were short $3,000 in additional monies. I set up the books and made them balance. The Colonel thought I was a genius.

I had no secure place to keep large amounts of cash overnight. I wasn't about to carry the money to my tent at night, so I hid the money all over the PX, which was inside a large tent. One time though, I had put about $100 in change in the garbage bucket. I didn't miss it until I opened the doors for business the next day. I went to the bucket and it was empty. I had let the garbage collector in earlier to pick up the trash. I immediately notified the Colonel and we went out to the dump. It was too late. They had already fired it up. A week later, lots of blackened coins showed up in town, which the local merchants took with no explanation.

During that summer of 1941, we got the bad news. We had to stay in for another year. I had a great job, a Jeep to drive around in and lots of free time.

I'd hitch hike to Dallas on Saturday mornings to catch the University of Texas football game, then go to a dance that evening. There I met Margaret Cole, a real nice gal and a good dancer. She wasn't a great looker, but then again, I couldn't afford to be choosey. I'd sleep on the couch while she and her roommate shared their one-bedroom apartment. She was a secretary to some guy in a clothing warehouse. Later on, I thought it was true love.

In the mornings, I'd go over to my old company and let them know who had it made. I'd pass out candy or cigars and kid them about all the drilling they had to do. When they took off for two weeks of maneuvers near Brownsville, Texas, I was there waving goodbye to them.

The colonel called me in and told me to go buy my technical sergeant's stripes. Wow! Twice the money. (Of course, this would only come to pass if my transfer was approved by Captain McCreary.) Now I'm definitely thinking about staying in the army. He said that he'd put in the paperwork for my permanent transfer to the PX, and that I could have a three-day furlough. I decided to go to Flagstaff.

I bought my stripes, put them on, and went into Abilene, about six and a half miles away, where people who were traveling long distances would give rides to soldiers. I picked up a ride going toward Flagstaff, pronto. There were two of us and a girl driving. The girl driver, I swear didn't know how to drive, so I asked the other GI to drive. She sat between us and by the time we got to Amarillo, she wanted to stop and spend the night with me in a motel.

True, I worked fast and was copping a feel, but I was pressed for time. She and the driver stayed at a motel, but I had to get to Flagstaff, because I had only three days. So I caught another ride to Flagstaff. I really went there to see Mr. and Mrs. Schneider, the managers at the hotel where I used to work. Beautiful people. Then over to the college to let them know what a technical sergeant looked like, then back to Camp Barkley, Texas.

I went over to see what was holding up my transfer. The captain said the whole 45th Division was going to be sent overseas in a couple of weeks, and so, much to my surprise, he turned down my transfer. I implored the Captain to sign, but he said: "Bingham, you are not a civilian, you just don't go out and find a job with anyone you wish. You're in Co. I, you're in the army, and you're going to stay with us."

A week later, after being reduced from corporal back to private, I was hup-two-threeing around that damn parade ground again. Two days later, on December 7, 1941, the day the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor, I was out there on that god-damn parade ground, hup-two-threeing around.

Two weeks later, Private Bingham was in New Orleans waiting for a ship to take us overseas. Where, God only knows.

We got to spend a few nights in New Orleans, so off to Canal and Bourbon streets where most of the action was. To heck with the old French Quarter, the live ones were at the Roosevelt Hotel where swing was the thing. I met a petite little French girl, 4 ft 11 inches tall with long black hair and eyes the color of black onyx. We hit it off from the word go. I was her sol-da-do (soldier), so I walked her home, got in a lot of necking and promised to pick her up the next night.

The next evening, I had dinner on Canal Street in New Orleans before I picked her up. The food was terrific. The sauces, Cajun style, are very spicy but mighty tasty. Total cost $ 0.45 including milk and dessert. I'm sure that I've never eaten finer prepared food than what I found in New Orleans.

A big band always draws a large crowd. I was dancing away when Little Morino said he needed my help. A fight was brewing up outside, so I excused myself and out we went. There were fourteen soldiers getting ready to do battle, seven from Company H of the 158th Infantry Division and seven from my company, Company I. They were strangers to us.

Sandy Casanova from Company I said, "Why don't you pick your best man and I'll represent Company I?" After they picked their best man, Sandy reached into his pocket, brought out a five dollar bill and said, "Here's five that says I can take you." Just as the guy reached for his five dollars, Sandy dropped him like a lead balloon. End of battle and back to dancing. Company H went elsewhere.

Again I promised to take her to a movie the next night, but in the morning we received orders to board the ship. On January 3, 1942, about 4000 of us were crammed aboard a ship that was equipped to handle 600 passengers. Over half of us slept on deck.

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