Trumbull – Dear Convalescents (2) – Extract Of Guion (Marian And Dave) – July 16, 1944

This is the second half of the letter I posted yesterday. It includes excerpts from Marian and Dave. He also includes his usual round-up of happenings in Trumbull and what is going on with friends and neighbors.

Marian (Irwin) Guion, Mrs. Lad

Extract of MIG.  (Marian Irwin Guion) Wish I could report some definite plans that the “roving Guions” have made but so far everything is very much up in the air. We might be here two days, two weeks or even two months – – we just don’t know. However we have tried to make a few tentative plans, subject to immediate change if necessary.

1.  If it is at all possible I am going to drive the Buick by way of Orinda (California, where her parent’s live)  back East to our new destination. We have received permission from the C.O. to get gasoline for the trip.

2. I would love to come and stay at Trumbull. I really love it there and could think of no nicer place that I would like to be. One is not supposed to apply for gasoline for a move any oftener than once every six months so I may be with you longer than you anticipated. In that case I would probably get a job in Bridgeport. It remains to be seen just what will happen but maybe I’ll have a chance to spend a winter where it snows, yet.

3. One of the other wives is planning on going East with me, and before we get started there may be more. But at least I know I’ll have company. With two such recommendations as yours and David’s, we decided that we must see “Between Two Worlds” so we went yesterday. It was a very unusual picture, wasn’t it? We both enjoyed it very much. Lad is still in Camp Haan and although he gets home for dinner every night, this business of getting up at four o’clock every morning is no fun.

David Peabody Guion

Extract of DPG: (David Peabody Guion) While I am waiting orders to be moved, I’m working in the supply room of the company. They were short of men – – the supply clerk being on furlough – – so the first Sgt. asked me if I would mind working here instead of going to school. I said I would (or rather wouldn’t mind) and so I’m living the life of Riley, as you can see (I’ve got time to get off a few letters). I like this work – – you never know what is going to come up next. The supply sergeant is out in the company area most of the time making an inventory of all the company equipment so that leaves me in charge of the supply room.

Now for a few unexciting home commonplaces. It has been very hot and humid here for about three weeks steady, no rain, so that the grass is parched and brown like you may recall it has looked in times past in the middle of August. Today however, we had a brief windstorm with a small shower. This cools the air off but it is still humid.

I suppose you read about the terrible Barnum and Bailey fire at Hartford where the tent caught fire and because of the gasoline-paraffin waterproof mixture used in waterproofing, burned so completely and quickly that many people, including children, lost their lives – – some so badly disfigured they were buried unidentified. The circus has returned to its winter quarters in Florida. I mention this because just a few weeks previously Elizabeth took her two youngsters to the same circus held in the same tent here in Bridgeport.

It is Jean’s (Jean (Mortyensen) Guion, Mrs. Dick) birthday tomorrow but we celebrated it here in the usual manner, today, Biss being in attendance with her two little boys. (Zeke was attending a company outing).

Barbara (Plumb) has recently had a furlough in Italy and is now a Corporal.

Jean (nee Hughes) is home again in Trumbull.

I recently disemboweled the extracting mechanism of the furnace Stoker and found the two worms that eject the ashes have worn down to such an extent that the spiral fins are almost nonexistant, being worn practically flush with the axle which turns them. I have ordered new worms but your guess is as good as mine whether I’ll be able to obtain them at all, or at least in time for the winter season. Toward the last of the season the firebox was continually filled with ashes and if the worst comes to the worst, I may have to put back the old grates and use the blower again.

Carl (Wayne) is on a big new tanker that has just taken a load of oil or gas to the far Pacific (Australia or New Zealand) and is on his way home again. The Bushey’s have moved into the little house opposite the Green where Danny Wells used to live. Coming down the hill approaching the Merritt Parkway overpass on Reservoir Avenue the other afternoon on my way home, and rolling at about 35 or 40, my right front tire suddenly blew out, twisting the wheel sharply to the right, so that I almost hit two posts guarding a culvert. Unfortunately I had no jack, so I had to walk some distance before I could find a phone and ask Ed Dolan to send his emergency car to the rescue. Now I am applying for a new tire. No jacks seem to be for sale anywhere in Bridgeport and the ones I have evidently are beyond repair, so California or Mo. P.X., please take notice.

Aunt Betty sends love, so does Jean, and as for me, well, you might know what to expect from                                        DAD

Tomorrow and Sunday, more Special Pictures.

Judy Guion

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Trumbull – My Dearest Son – And Of Course That Means YOU (1) – Dave’s Mishap – July 9, 1944

Alfred Duryee Guion, sitting in the Alcove typing his weekly missive

Tumbull, Conn., July 9, 1944

My dearest son:

And of course that means YOU. I have been sitting here in sort of a trance trying to think of something interesting to write to you. The fact of the matter is I am all written out. I have been owing so many letters for so long that this afternoon, in spite of the muggy heat (perhaps because of it and my disinclination to do any “sweating” work) I decided to put procrastination to flight and catch up on some of my back correspondence, knowing from experience that if I wrote you boys first I would have neither time nor inclination to write to others. In consequence, I have just finished letters to the Larry Peabody’s, the Kemper Peabody’s, the New York Peabody’s, Elsie, Red Sirene, Barbara Plumb, and Sylvia Ward – Campbell, mostly about you boys, your locations and your doings.

Mrs. Richard (Jean) Guion

Another week has passed without word from Ced or Dick. Jean says as to the latter she is kidding herself trying to imagine the failure to hear from Dick lies in the fact that he is on his way home, he having written some weeks ago that there was a 50-50 chance that sometime during July he would be shipped back to the states. As to Ced, my natural optimism tells me that no news is good news, that he is still a civilian, that he has burned down no more Anchorage fixtures, and that he is quite well and busy. I just wish he’d get a little busier to the tune of a postal at least telling me he has successfully passed his pilot’s examination, or something. I have not had a chance yet to grow anxious about Dan, having received a letter from him last week. My oldest and youngest, however, have each come through with welcome letters, which I shall now share with you.

David Peabody Guion

Dave writes he is back in camp “safe and sound in one dilapidated piece. “The train I came down on was the dirtiest train I’ve ever been on. Leaving St. Louis for the last leg of my journey, I got myself in a comfortable position and fell asleep. The next thing I knew the conductor was shaking me and asking for my ticket. He took one look at it and calmly said: “We just left Neosho, you should have gotten off there.” Boy! I had visions of dragging my bags behind me into the orderly room sometime this morning. Then I thought of OCS and the CO putting through my application for OSC before I even got started. But, thanks to that luck that’s been following me all the way, I made good connections back to Neosho, got into bed about 2 AM, reported first thing this morning and no questions asked.”

Tomorrow I’ll post the rest of this letter with possible news of Lad’s future.

Judy Guion

Trumbull – Dear Alfred, Dan and Ced – Dave Writes To His Older Brothers – August 11, 1940

David Peabody Guion

Sun.,   August 11, 1940

Dear Alfred, Dan  & Ced:

I find that our dear father has mentioned the forming of the new dramatic club in Trumbull. Here’s the lowdown: about two weeks ago there was a dance given by the newly formed Recreation Council. I happened to be there. Why?  I don’t know, but I saw Mr. Davis and asked him if he thought the Trumbull Recreation Council would sponsor a dramatic club if they were approached on the subject. Instantly he seemed to become interested and called Mr. Lynch (the Recreation Supervisor, hired by the state for this town) over and introduced him to me. Mr. Lynch (he wishes to be called Tom) and I made a date the following day and discussed the matter more thoroughly then. I learned that Tom was a professional dancer and that because of the small crowd at the dance, he decided to give free dancing lessons to those who were interested. I am one that is interested and am now enjoying dancing lessons. Next week I am going to Winnipesaukee with the scouts.

Last night I played Bingo and won an electric mixer and beater. It is a cheap one but serves the purpose.

In spite of flunking Latin and Algebra, I am looking forward to the opening of school in three weeks. I will enter Bassick, which will seem like heaven compared to the hellhole they call Whittier……

Well so long…..

Dave

Tomorrow and Sunday, I will be posting more Special Pictures. 

Judy Guion

Trumbull – Dear High School Graduate (1) – Dave’s Graduation And News From Dan – June 25, 1944

We are now at the beginning of the summer of 1944.  Lad and Marian are back in Pomona, California; Dan is in London; Ced remains in Anchorage, Alaska; Dick is in Brazil and Dave is home in Trumbull for a few more days before he heads back to Camp Crowder, Missouri.

David Peabody Guion

Trumbull Conn., June 25, 1944

Dear High School Graduate:
There are certain reoccurring events in the life and progress of my children that serve as period stepping stones, aside from birthdays – – such as turning you over to the Shelton draft board, and, what I have immediately in mind, graduation. I saw the youngest of my sons receive his diploma last night and it brought back memories of that same occasion for each of you. As far as I can recollect, however, the whole affair, as managed the other night at Bassick (Bassick High School, Bridgeport)  was arranged and conducted in a more satisfactory manner than any of the previous ones – – and that opinion has nothing to do with the fact that Dave had any part in it. To be sure he was one of three out of a total of 26 who had joined the armed forces who was on hand to receive his diploma, and thereby caused a little special ceremony to be enacted. Most of these affairs are too long. This was not. There was no tedious reading of each name and waiting for that person to come forward to receive his parchment to the accompaniment of reiterated and tiresome applause. Each received his diploma in silence as they walked out. All names were printed on the programs given to each of the audience. Speeches were not overlong. The whole affair, with a satisfying aftertaste, was ended by 9:30. So Dave became the “Last of the Mohicans”.

Dave got home much earlier than we expected him. He walked into my office Monday, his Army uniform plastered to his body by a naughty shower that hit him walking from the station. He looks about the same, healthy but with no additional weight. He seems much interested in the Signal Corps work and hopes, but is not banking on it, of getting a chance at O.C.S. He goes back Tuesday. Red Sirene is also home on furlough and he too goes back Tuesday. Jean’s married brother, in the Marines, is also on furlough and he too goes back on Tuesday.

Daniel Beck Guion

I don’t suppose any of you have had the experience of a 300 pound object resting on your chest, but perhaps you can imagine the relief when he gets off. In that case you may have somewhat of an idea how I felt when I received a V-mail letter from London dated June 6th, as follows:

“Today the war seems much nearer to its conclusion than only yesterday. For so long have we been working towards this day that it began to seem that it would never really happen – – that it was just a distant  “certainty” which we all took for granted – – that never quite realized! This morning I heard the first “rumor”, third hand, by word-of-mouth. ‘Allied paratroops had landed in France’. The false reports had already been spread days ago, and a glance out of the window at the streets of London failed to reveal any abnormality. No church bells, no horns blowing, just the normal traffic – – both vehicular and pedestrian. London was characteristically undisturbed on the surface, but by noontime when I went out to eat, I found that the newspapers had been sold out immediately and the invasion was the predominant topic of discussion. At a Red Cross Club I listened to the radio over which the BBC was broadcasting recordings of the opening stages. Later in the evening the radio was the center of interest. Never have I seen so many of the boys so interested in a newscast. I suppose each of us realizes how, by a stroke of fate, we might have been one of the men going into France on ‘D’ day! I am on duty tonight which prevents my finding out how London is spending the evening but I suspect there will be little hilarity because most of the people have friends and relatives in the invasion armies. The fall of Rome created scarcely a ripple of excitement, and the staid BBC announced that item in its regular laconic fashion. The newspapers permitted themselves rather large headlines, but certainly not in the manner you could call sensational. I believe today marks the great speeding up of the tempo that will carry this degenerate Martian Symphony to a brief but perhaps terrible coda. Then – – peace! and home! and a convalescent world turned toward the healing sun of hope”.

Tomorrow I will be posting the rest of the letter with some news from Dick and Marian. Grandpa closes the letter with his usual imaginative style. On Wednesday, another letter from Grandpa, Thursday, a letter from Lad and on Friday, a letter to Ced from Rusty.

Judy Guion

Early Years – Memories of David Peabody Guion (10) – 1930 – 1946

After my Uncle Dan (Daniel Beck Guion) passed away in 1997, I realized that first-hand accounts of this particular “Slice of Life” would only continue to diminish over time. I needed to record the memories of my Aunt Biss and her brothers and share them with the family. This culminated in the idea of a Blog so that I could share these memories with anyone who would be interested in the personal histories of some members of The Greatest Generation.

Over a period of several years, whenever possible, I recorded the memories of my Dad and his siblings. 

In July of 2004, I sat down with my Uncle Dave and recorded his memories. With the other siblings, the memories were recorded in a somewhat chronological order, but with Dave, after a few early memories, he went right to his Senior year in high school when he made the decision to enlist in the Army. The conversation continued through his service, from Basic Training and his posts in Okinawa and the Philippines until he came home after World War II was over. I then led him back with questions about his childhood. I will present his memories as they were recorded.  

Dick, Ced and I, when I could get them to drag me along … There was a whole gang that used to do things together.  I couldn’t understand why they didn’t want me along all the time.  Now I don’t know how they put up with me at all, anytime.  I used to go and do things with them.  Sometimes we go for a walk in the woods, we go to Helen Plumb and Barbara Plumb (Linsley’s) house and play tennis.  One of the fellows that was part of that gang was a guy by the name of Don Sirene.  His father was an architect and he lived in the house that my older siblings went to school in.  I remember one day, we were at his house, and we were having hot chocolate.  I guess it was Don Sirene who was sitting right across from Dick.  Somebody said something funny and Dick had a mouthful of chocolate.  Whether it was Don or someone else, I don’t remember, but whoever it was across from Dick got really sprayed.  Dick couldn’t hold it in.

The big drawl was the player piano.  Each one of us, as we got to a certain age, would have people over and we’d stand around the piano, play a few songs and sing to them, saying to the music.

Eleanor (Kintop) Guion, David Peabody Guion, Doris (Erencrona) Kruschak and Steve Kruschak.

Ellie and I met at the player piano.  Eleanor had a friend named Doris Eencrona and they had been friends since sixth grade or something like that.  One Sunday night after the Young People’s meeting, everybody came up to the house to play the player piano and sing.  Doris brought along her friend Eleanor.  I noticed her that night, thought she was kind of interesting, not having any idea if anything was going to come of it.  This was when we were still in high school, Senior year, just before I went into the service.  Doris went to the meeting and she brought her friend Eleanor Kintop and she and Elinor came up and sang around the piano.  A few days later, I got a call from Doris, and she said, “Bob Jennings has asked me to go to a Halloween Dance at Bassick High School and I’m not going unless we double date because I don’t want to go out alone with Bob.  Would you take Eleanor?”  I said, “Yeah”.  Now I know this is going to sound hard to believe but at 18, I was still afraid of girls.  So, one day we were down at Doris’s house and I remember her trying to talk me into it; “Just call her up. Call her up and ask her.”  I’m sure it had already been arranged but I wasn’t smart enough at the time to think about that.  She must have thought that I was passable enough to be able to take her to a dance.  I said, “I don’t dance.  I don’t even know how to dance.”  “That’s all right, blah, blah, blah.”  I finally called her and she said she’d go.  That was our first date, and then we started dating. That’s how I met her – all because of that good old player piano.

One more thought: When your father, Al, Alfred Peabody Guion, the oldest child and ten years older than Dave) had a gas station in Trumbull.  I don’t have witnesses but I think Ced told the story.  Somebody came in one day, knowing what a great diagnostician your father was, came in and said, “You hear it?  Something is wrong with my car.  Can you hear that noise?”  Your father, without saying a word, turned around and walked away.  “Well, what is this?  Here I am, asking a question, and the guy ignores me and just walks away.”  He was about ready to take off when your father comes back and he says, “I think the problem is …”, But he never told the guy he was going off to think about what to say.

That reminds me of another story, but  it has nothing to do with the family.  I had a friend who had a friend who was MacArthur’s driver, chauffeur, and this guy said that whenever MacArthur went in someplace, he’d always get one of those Oriental houses where there was a porch all the way around the building.  He would have his staff come up and sit in chairs around the building.  He would go up to the first one and say, “Give me your report”.  It might be a question, it might be a problem, or it might just be a report.  Then he’d go around the whole building, see the whole staff, all giving him these questions.  Then he word get in his car and tell my friend’s friend, “Drive me”.  They would drive around and pretty soon MacArthur would say, “OK, let’s go back.”  Then he’d say, “You, – – – blah, blah, blah.  You, – – – blah, blah, blah”.  He went all around the whole thing telling each one of his staff members what to do about his problem.  What a brain.  There shouldn’t be enough room in there for an ego, but there was.

Early Years – Memories of David Peabody Guion (9) – 1930 – 1946

After my Uncle Dan (Daniel Beck Guion) passed away in 1997, I realized that first-hand accounts of this particular “Slice of Life” would only continue to diminish over time. I needed to record the memories of my Aunt Biss and her brothers and share them with the family. This culminated in the idea of a Blog so that I could share these memories with anyone who would be interested in the personal histories of some members of The Greatest Generation.

Over a period of several years, whenever possible, I recorded the memories of my Dad and his siblings. 

In July of 2004, I sat down with my Uncle Dave and recorded his memories. With the other siblings, the memories were recorded in a somewhat chronological order, but with Dave, after a few early memories, he went right to his Senior year in high school when he made the decision to enlist in the Army. The conversation continued through his service, from Basic Training and his posts in Okinawa and the Philippines until he came home after World War II was over. I then led him back with questions about his childhood. I will present his memories as they were recorded.  

David Peabody Guion in 1940

My mother and father used to enjoy having parties and when they got to know Rusty, he was always welcome at their parties because he was a lot of fun.  Invariably, now this was when I was very small, he would take me into the other room and show me a nickel.  Now, a nickel in those days was probably like two dollars today.  He’d say, “Now, if you go into the other room and say what I tell you to say, I’ll give you this nickel.”  Then he’d tell me what to say and I’d walk into the room and stand in the middle of all the crowd, and I’d say, “Daddy’s car is a piece of junk!”  And I get my nickel – and daddy’s car was a piece of junk.

We had a Dodge Coupe, it had for a heater a little opening that had a cover on it.  When you removed the cover, the heat from the exhaust pipe would come up and heat you – yeah, some heat!  It had a space, probably a foot wide, that ran behind the front seat, and whenever we went someplace, that was my spot.  Of course, today, you would get thrown in jail, not just arrested, but thrown in jail, for having a kid riding up there, with no seatbelt on.

Later on, when my kids were young, when we went to the Island, I would put a piece of plywood on the back seat and they would be there.  I used to get going pretty fast,  you know, up near Lebanon, New Hampshire, where nobody was around.  I used to get up to about 80 miles an hour with the kids in the back.  Of course, I was only thinking about the fact that there were no cars around.  It never occurred to me that I might hit a deer or a moose.

Where did I learned to drive?  I guess I never did.  I don’t remember.  I don’t think it was in the back lot.  I remember a game the older boys used to play.  Someone would stand on the running board (if you don’t know what a running board is, look it up) and stick their bottom out.  There had to be a little bit of teamwork between the driver and the person on the running board, and they would try to see how close they could come to a tree without getting their bottom ripped off.  That’s all I remember about it.

Here’s a story and that I’ll bet nobody else has told.  You have to realize that back in those days, only the lowest of the low would swear or cuss or use bad words of any sort so what would have been shocking in those days is absolutely nothing today.  My father was Advertising Manager of the Brass Company and Bridgeport Brass had to plants.  The one that was on East Main Street had a great big sign on top that said BRIDGEPORT BRASS COMPLANY.  I don’t know how it fell under Dad’s responsibility, but at any rate, he got a frantic call one night.  “You’ve got to come down to the plant.  We’ve got a big problem.  People are calling in – – – blah, blah, blah.  It seems that the B and the R in the BRASS had failed so what they had was a big sign that said BRIDGEPORT ASS COMPANY.  This was an incredible thing.  Dad managed to square it away by making a few phone calls to the electricians and they quickly found the problem and fixed it.

I remember Rusty picked on Dick a lot.  I don’t know why.  I guess Dick was at the age, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, and Rusty didn’t have much patience.  Rusty was a man’s man.  He wasn’t too much for kids.  I just remember he picked on Dick a lot which should have been very joyful in my life, but I don’t remember.  I just remember feeling sorry for Dick.

Tomorrow, the conclusion of the Early Years with the Memories of David Peabody Guion.

Judy Guion

Early Years – Memories of David Peabody Guion (7) – 1930 – 1946

After my Uncle Dan (Daniel Beck Guion) passed away in 1997, I realized that first-hand accounts of this particular “Slice of Life” would only continue to diminish over time. I needed to record the memories of my Aunt Biss and her brothers and share them with the family. This culminated in the idea of a Blog so that I could share these memories with anyone who would be interested in the personal histories of some members of The Greatest Generation.

Over a period of several years, whenever possible, I recorded the memories of my Dad and his siblings. 

In July of 2004, I sat down with my Uncle Dave and recorded his memories. With the other siblings, the memories were recorded in a somewhat chronological order, but with Dave, after a few early memories, he went right to his Senior year in high school when he made the decision to enlist in the Army. The conversation continued through his service, from Basic Training and his posts in Okinawa and the Philippines until he came home after World War II was over. I then led him back with questions about his childhood. I will present his memories as they were recorded.  

David Peabody Guion in 1939

I have a Log Book someplace that I should give to you, Judy.  It’s the trip, a couple of trips maybe, with the boat that dad named the Helen.  Now, most boats seemed to enjoy themselves lying on top of the water.  Helen seemed to enjoy it most when she was on the bottom, on solid land, even though it was covered by water.  My father would get more phone calls, “Come down and bail out your boat.”  Or “Come down and somehow raise it up.”  It was forever sinking.  It was, as I recall, it was some kind of a – when you’re a kid your perspective gets kind of mixed up – as I recall it was probably something like the infamous – what’s that movie, you know, the steamboat from the – anyhow it had a bow, it had a stern.  It was kind of rounded like a tug boat … African Queen, probably not nearly as big but to me it was big as a kid.  It had an engine but it was not a steam engine like the African Queen but had some kind of engine in the back.  It was kind of fun for the older boys.  I don’t know what happened to the Helen but my guess is that if you drained the Housatonic River, you’d probably find it.

To read more about the Helen, you can read my posts under that Category.

My problem, aside from Dick, my biggest problem when I was a kid was keeping different groups of friends apart from one another.  I had lots of friends when I was a kid, no real close friends, but they were diverse.  When I was playing with one and one of the others showed up, I had a problem because the two of them didn’t get along

As far as games are concerned, I was the consummate athlete.  The sandlot game was really an un-organized game when I was a kid.  In a sandlot game, a bunch of kids would get together and two would get to be Captains.  One of them would throw the bat in a vertical position to the other Captain, he would grab it and then they would put hand over hand until they reached the top of the bat, and that was the guy, whoever was the last to touch the bat, he was the one who would pick first.  He would pick the best player, probably, and then the other Captain would pick somebody and they go back and forth like that until it got to me.  I always managed to be the last one picked because I couldn’t hit, I couldn’t catch, and no one wanted me as a ballplayer.  When it came to football, I was too light and too scared, so I was never a football player.  I never learned to ice skate until, after I was married, my wife taught me how to ice skate.  So, you can see, I was the consummate athlete.

Tomorrow, more of the Early Years with Memories of David Peabody Guion. 

Judy Guion

Early Years – Memories of David Peabody Guion (6) – 1930 – 1946

David Peabody Guion

We got down to Ulithi, which was a weird-sounding name, and they started talking about someplace called Okinawa.  They said, “we’re going to Okinawa and were going to invade Okinawa.”  At dawn they were going to send in a flotilla at the center of the island but the real invasion would be on the other end of the island, further up.  I said to myself, “What kind of outfit would do something as stupid as this?  Why did they think the feint would work?”  I was attached to Army Headquarters at this point, at least our company would be when they got there. What happened was that the feint worked so well that we were supposed to go in, I think it was the third day, we were supposed to land.  We didn’t land for ten days because the Americans went through so fast that they left snipers behind and they couldn’t afford to have us valuable people in Army Headquarters get shot.  So, we didn’t get in for some time. (Dave and his group spend those days on a ship in the harbor.)

When we were ready to go in, my Sergeant, who was a buddy of mine, came up to me and he said, “Dave, I have a special assignment for you.”  And I said, “What’s that?” He said, “When we get on land your job is to bunk with and take care of Marvin.”  Now Marvin King was a guy who was so stupid he wasn’t bright enough to get a Section 8 and get out.  I can remember when ever we were on the ship and they called out the anchor detail, he would run to the side and start throwing up.  We hadn’t even moved yet, and he was already seasick.  My job was to take care of him.  When we got to Okinawa, finally landed, we dug ourselves a little two-man foxhole.  I was bunking with Marvin.  My job at that point was to go and get water and the mail – – ho, ho, ho … there was no mail – and bring it back to the company.  Now some time had gone by and Marvin and I were in close quarters.  Needless to say there was not a lot of friendship between the two of us.  So anyway, one night, near dawn, a plane came over and obviously was hit.  It was a Japanese plane, he was hit and so he was jettisoning his bombs which were small twenty-five-pound anti-personnel bombs.  One guy didn’t believe in being in a hole, so he was in a hammock.  When he woke up in the morning, he looked up, put his hat on and realized that half of the visor was gone.  So, needless to say, he decided he was going to sleep in a foxhole.  That morning, when I went to get water, I went alone.  I usually went alone. When I came back the hole that we had dug was now two levels – – one level where I was and one deeper level where Marvin was.  It was very, very easy to dig, like clay, no stones like we get in Connecticut, so it was easy to dig out but he wasn’t about to dig me a place, so I was one level above him.

On August 25th, I think, we were all watching a film in a kind of natural amphitheater and one of the guys from Brooklyn had a buddy, who was also from Brooklyn, and I remember this just as if it was yesterday, he came running over – we had gotten some rumors that the Japs were going to quit – and this guy came running over and says, “The signing has been comfoimed.”  I never forgot that.

But anyhow, between the time of August 25th and September 7th, when they signed the treaty, I left Okinawa and went down to Manila.  Here I am now – the war is over – all I have to do is go home and they’re shipping me out in a plane to Manila.  The pilot spent about twenty minutes, maybe, trying to start one engine and I said to myself, “I’m going to die in the ocean and the war is over.”  Anyhow, we got to Manila.  That was quite a sight – buildings where the first floor was completely gone and five or six or seven stories would be on top of it, canted … all kinds of destruction.  If you went in to City Hall and looked up, you’d see a room with curtains on the windows.  That was MacArthur’s headquarters.  So he had curtains on his windows and the Filipinos were watching dead bodies float down the river.

I would say I was in Manila for probably six months.  Well it would’ve been August, September, October, November, December, January, February, March, eight months.  I came home in March of 1946.  I got out of the service the day Chiche (Paulette (Van Laere) Guion, who married Dan wile he was in France) gave birth to Arla, Danielle, as the case may be . (Dave got out of the service on May 6, 1946.)

In my Blog Category, World War II Army Adventures, you will find all the letters dave wrote to Grandpa. He was as outspoken as only an eighteen year old can by.

Tomorrow, I will begin a week of letters written in 1940. Lad is working in Venezuela for the Socony-Vacuum Oil Company as a mechanic, working on their vehicles and Diesel engines that run the pumps to get the oil out of the ground. Dan and Ced have travelled to Anchorage, Alaska, where they have found jobs. All three boys  are sending home money to help Grandpa, who is raising the three younger children.

Judy Guion

Early Years – Memories of David Peabody Guion (3) – 1930 – 1946

After my Uncle Dan (Daniel Beck Guion) passed away in 1997, I realized that first-hand accounts of this particular “Slice of Life” would only continue to diminish over time. I needed to record the memories of my Aunt Biss and her brothers and share them with the family. This culminated in the idea of a Blog so that I could share these memories with anyone who would be interested in the personal histories of some members of The Greatest Generation.

Over a period of several years, whenever possible, I recorded the memories of my Dad and his siblings. 

In July of 2004, I sat down with my Uncle Dave and recorded his memories. With the other siblings, the memories were recorded in a somewhat chronological order, but with Dave, after a few early memories, he went right to his Senior year in high school when he made the decision to enlist in the Army. The conversation continued through his service, from Basic Training and his posts in Okinawa and the Philippines until he came home after World War II was over. I then led him back with questions about his childhood. I will present his memories as they were recorded.  

David Peabody Guion on furlough before going to Camp Crowder in Missouri

After Missouri, I got shipped out.  We went over to … Oh, I got another little story.  I was sent to radio school and radio school was – what you had was earphones on your head and there were all these dits and dahs, dit-dit-dah-dit, all this business, and you were supposed to write down these letters as they came out.  I found out they were random letters.  I didn’t want to be a radio operator, didn’t want to hear all those dits and dahs in my head, in my ear.  What I used to do – it’s tough to beat the service, they’ve seen everything – but I managed to get away with this.  I don’t know how, but there was a key that you could send messages, I guess that was the advanced training, and I found out that the messages, the letters, came through that key.  So I used to take a little piece of paper and stick it in a spot where it broke the connection and then when the instructor went by, I would sit and write any letter that happened to come into my head because they were all random letters.  When he moved on, I would switch papers and write a letter to my girlfriend.  Roundabout that time I got the Mumps.  I was in the hospital and when I came back out … I guess it was maybe before I went to radio school I got the Mumps; I guess that’s what it was.  I remember my finest hour – I begged and pleaded with the officer to let me stay in radio school even though I wanted desperately to get out and he didn’t buy my act so they sent me off to Cryptography school.  That was a better deal.  I was encoding and decoding messages and I had to get an FBI clearance and people back home were interviewed, a big fuss was made, but at eighteen, how much trouble could I have gotten into in my life.  So I got into Crypt school and that’s where I stayed and although I didn’t do a lot of encoding and decoding, I was officially a Cryptographer.

So when it was time to leave … We were a company – I can’t get away from radio – we were a company that, when we got overseas, we were supposed to police the other nets, conversations between one company and another or one unit and another.  The guys that were radio operators really hated that. The guys really hated doing that because they felt like they were spying on their fellow soldiers.  

For some reason or other they decided to send an advance party so there were twelve of us +3 officers.  We shipped out quickly – very short notice – and went up to Ft. Lewis outside Seattle.  We went from there to Hawaii.  We were on a different ship after we left Hawaii – and we went down across the Equator.  I got the full initiation when we crossed the Equator.  A tank of water was set up on deck.  You would be dunked over and over again until you yelled, “Shellback”.  A Shellback is one who has crossed the Equator.  Now, I’ve always, even to this day, been afraid of the water.  That was an ordeal for me.  After the dunking, you had to run down a long line of Shellback’s that had paddles or rolled towels and they whipped you as you went by.  I forgot to say you had nothing on but underpants.  So that was my initiation into being a Shellback after having crossed the Equator.

You can read Dave’s letters home, which tell a more complete story of his time at Camp Crowder. They are in the Category World War II Army Adventure. Dave wrote home fairly regularly and was quick to express his opinion of life in the Army.

Tomorrow, more of the Early Years with the Memories of David Peabody Guion.

Judy Guion

Trumbull – Dear Brigands Large And Small (2) – Ced’s Fire And Dave’s Furlough – June 11, 1944

This is the second half of a letter started yesterday.

Cedric Duryee Guion

                            

We will have to re-baptize Ced “Arson the Second”. He’s been playing with fire again, the naughty thing. He says: “This time I picked on the poor, defenseless Fleetster, which, however, refused to bend to my will as readily as did the hangar last June. (Instead of June weddings, Ced seems to prefer fires). For myself I fared about the same as before though a little less severely. It all came about through mixing gasoline and static electricity on a warm sunny day (yesterday). Incidentally, the letter is dated May 29th, received June 5th. “Here was I nonchalantly gassing the Fleetster for a trip to Naknek, finishing filling the first tank and starting to move the gas funnel when, wham, here’s me skidding in colossal haste to the ground amidst flaming gas hose, funnel and a loud explosion from the gas tank and sheets of flame. As luck would have it, the danged wing is plywood and wouldn’t catch like fabric, so I lost my chance – – besides my eyebrows, half my mustache, a good handful of hair, and my composure. From now on I think Woodley’s gassing operations will be done only when hose, funnel and plane are grounded. Really, my listeners, you have no idea how fast it can happen. It recalls the time when Pete Linsley had the same thing happen to his old Franklin. Moral: when gassing, see that at least the metal nozzle of the hose touches the edge of the gas tank.”

His school lasts two weeks longer and then comes the test. The pre-induction physical proves his good health and it only remains for Art (Woodley, his boss and the owner of the airfield)  to use his influence (in obtaining another deferment) , or else…

Yes, Ced, you are right about the source of my information being that Kiplinger newsletter, but didn’t you notice at the bottom of their letter where it says “No quotations”, so of course I had to make it sound original. Why do you show up your old Dad in his harmless little mind wanderings? I am sure the Pamonaites (This refers to Lad and Marian, in Pomona, California) did not receive your package from Tacoma, or they would have mentioned it. Make a note to ask me to send you an asbestos suit for Christmas.

David Peabody Guion

I don’t know who is the more delighted, Dave or his sire, but the fact remains that he is coming home on an emergency furlough June 21st, the reason being, from an Army viewpoint, that the legal matters in connection with the settlement of Grandma’s estate will be up for consideration at that time. The fact that his class at Bassick (High School in Bridgeport) graduates two days later, of course, is just incidental good luck. His account of the matter is rather interesting:

“It WORKED!!! I guess I don’t need to say any more than that, but I think you might like to hear the details. I got your letter and was even more relieved than happy – – and I was plenty happy – – you can see I must’ve had quite a conscience. It still doesn’t seem quite right to me to use Grandma’s Will as an excuse to get home. Anyway, this morning I went to see the Captain. He was very informal, gave me the “at ease” right away and I stated my business. I showed him your letter and the documents from the lawyer and at the same time said, “Sir, I don’t know if the Army will consider this of enough importance to grant me a furlough because of it, but my father seems to feel that it is. I thought there would certainly be no harm in trying.” He picked it up and started to read it to himself. There I was hopes high, but common sense telling me: “you’re wasting your time, Dave”. It seemed like a whole night of guard duty before he finally looked up and said: “Yes, we’ve granted emergency furloughs for these things before. I’ll see the Colonel about it and see if we can get one for you.” It was then I realized I had done a good job of holding myself back because I was actually surprised when he said “Yes”. But the surprise quickly led to “sweet ecstasy”. So, even if it isn’t anywhere near definite I think tonight I’m the happiest of all your sons – – yes, even happier than Ced who is celebrating his birthday today, and even happier that Lad, who has the best of wives from all reports, and a furlough besides.

What it is to be young and get such a big kick out of life !

Well, I guess I’ll hobble off to bed.

DAD

Tomorrow  and Sunday, I will post more of the Early Years, with Memories of David Peabody Guion.

Judy Guion