CCC Reflections
by Curtis O. Greer. Jr.
Contributed by Jean Caddel
In the spring of 1939, our family had some real financial needs. I don't
know how she did it, for I was under age, but my mother got a wuota for me
to go into the CCC. I left Fort Worth with several other fellows on the train
and we were sent to Cleburne for processing. This was an all day deal (today
I can drive it in about 45 minutes). They were building the state park there
and were working on the dam which would contain the lake. They had the large
40 man barracks and a wonderful mess hall. I had never tasted food as good.
The minimum weight was 110 pounds and I checked in at 109, so they sent me
to the mess hall to eat a pound of food (mostly bananas) so I could meet
the requirements. Today I tell people that was 57 year and over 100 pounds
ago! We didn't stay in Cleburne long. They sent us to the soil Conservation
Camp at Waxahachie.
After work hours we reverted to Army control. Our Commanding Officer was
Captain Robert Evans. He was short of stature, but long on Military discipline.
He was strict but fair. I was impressed with the Reveille and Retreat formations.
We ate family style. Everyone entered and sat down, then the signal was given
to start eating. We had platters and bowls of food at each table. Table waiters
would refill them as necessary. I learned very quickly that
SHORT-STOPPINT' was a real No-No, especially if committed by a "ROOKIE."
If someone at the far end of the table asked that an item be passed, it went
directly to him. You didn't stop it in between and put some on your plate.
We all took our turns serving as kitchen police (KP) and table waiters. This
was done by roster.
We were only a mile from town, so we didn't have a Doctor. We did have
a dispensary and a Medical Technician. About every 6 months, a traveling
Dentist would come through and everyone sweated out his dental surve and
hoped no cavities were present. He had an assistant with him whose job was
to pump a pedal which turned the drill bit. You can imagine how slow the
RPM was. We didn't get deadening shots either! I still get the HE-BE-GEE-BEES
when I remember those dental visits.
I had the usual "ROOKIE" tricks and joke pulled on me, such as asking
at each barracks for the key to the playground and searching under the seats
of the trucks in the motor pool for the double-clutch. Later I would enjoy
pulling this tuff on newly arriving enrollees.
Today the name "CHICKEN" means you are a coward, but in those days, any
very young, inexperienced fellow was called "CHICKEN." I carried that name
for years and thought I would never get rid of it.
An enrollee was paid $30 a month. He kept $8 and $22 was sent home to
his family. After my 18 months of duty, I transferred to the Army and took
a pay cut to $21 a month. I still sent $10 a month home. An Assistant Leader
made $36 a month and a Leader earned $45. My Leader was Charlie Brock. He
was like a father to me. I worked hard for him. He was like Captain Evans,
STRICT but FAIR.
We were working one cold winter day near Ennis, TX. A turning plow had
prepared the soil and we lined up on our knees and would shake the dirt from
the grass. It would be placed in piles and later loaded on trucks, taken
to Camp and wet down. The next day it would be planted in terraces which
had been constructed in other locations in the County to fight soil erosion.
A Texas blue, norther had blown in and it was COLD, COLD. About 10 AM seven
guys stood up and said they wanted to be taken back to Camp. They couldn't
work any longer in that cold. Charlie obliged them. When we returned to Camp
that afternoon, they were gone, along with their DISHONORABLE DISCHARGES
rendered by Captain Evans. There was no long drawn out trial or defense,
no review of workers' rights, no postponement, no suspended sentence, no
excuses. The facts were they had violated the terms of their contract by
refusing to work. Now, there were seven quotas available which were immediately
filled. I've thought about that experience a lot and I'm proud that I stuck
it out and did my job, although I was only 16 year sold. They were grown
men and didn't stick it out. I think I became a man that day.
CCC Camp Life
One of our first duties when we arose in the morning was to beat the
dust out of our GI (Government Issue) blanket - although there really wasn't
any dust. We used this instrument with heavy wires attached to it and a handle
to hold it by. Something like a heart-shaped tennis racket. This would make
a loud popping sound when we hit the stretched blanket with it. With about
200 boys doing this all at once, it sounded like machine gun fire. Years
later I talked to some people who lived near the camp and they remembered
the popping noises coming from the camp. In fact, they could set their watches
by it. You could always tell a "rookie" blanket because it still had the
fuzz on it, but a veteran's blanket was thread bare from the many beatings
and the US that was stenciled on it was hardly legible.
A lot of emphasis was placed on making up your bed properly. The blanket
had to be stretched so tight that if the Inspector tossed a coin on it, it
would bounce right back up. The US had to be in just the right place and
the "white collar" of the top sheet lined up with that of everyone else's
sheet. I think the inspections in the CC's were probably more thorough t6han
the ones I experienced late in my Army career. (Don't tell my ex-First Sergeant
that!)
On the Job
We rode to and from work each day on these green colored trucks. As best
I can remember, they were either Internationals, GMC's or Chevrolets. Being
a truck driver was one of the best jobs at camp. We referred to the trucks
as "State trucks," although I'm sure they belonged to the Soil Conservation
Service for we were a SCS camp. They had stake beds with high sideboards
and wooden benches across the center to sit on. A large wooden tool box was
located up front with an enrollee positioned on the tool box as a look-out.
In case of a low hanging tree or some other obtruction, he would shout a
warning to "duck" or holler "tree limb" or what ever.
Also, no one smoked "ready rolled" cigarettes on the job. Even at a dime
a pack they were still too expensive, so everyone who smoked (unfortunately
most of them did smoke) rolled their own with Golden Grain, Duke's Mixture,
or Bull Durham. "Ready Rolls" were saved for Saturday night and "doing the
town" or going to the picture show. Anyhow, when the truck was moving along
at a good clip, especially if the wind was blowing, it was the guard's job
to shout "Durham in the air!" when someone started to roll o ne up. If the
tobacco got into your eyes, it would burn like fire! So, everyone closed
their eyes until after the crisis passed. When we returned from a hot summer
day's work in the field and the blue denims were steaked with white, we knew
we had a salt loss and had to take salt tablets. Just think, the CCC boys
made "blue nenims" popular. Of course, the loose fitting shirts and pants
we wore couldn't compare with today's designer jeans. Wonder why the floppy hat we wore never became popular?
Work Days
During the noon time lunch break, I had "horse-played" with my buddy.
I noticed the Soil Consevation Service foreman give me the eye every now
and then. After chow, we went back to our duties of constructing the six
strand barb wire fence. The Assistant Leader immediately assigned me to dig
a corner post hole. This assignment was generally given as punishment, or
to someone who had "goofed off." It was much larger and deeper than either
the brace or line holes. This one would really be tough for we were digging
in rock and it was a hot summer day in Central Texas.
Our foreman was a good man and likeable, but he was sort of GI. He was
of the drill sergeant type and wore his hair in a Military type crew cut.
The Enrollees referred to him as "Burr Head," but never to his face.
I was digging away and feeling sorry for myself and said out loud, (but
not to anyone in particular), "Old Bur Head is responsible for me getting
this corner hole assignment." I was in a bent-over position with the post
hole diggers in hand, much like the center on a football team just prior
to the snap. Between my legs and directly behind me, in the quarter back
position, I saw a pair of pants legs. They were of the light green color
of the Soil Conservation Service uniform. I immediately realized it was old
"Burr Head" himself! I just kept working and hoped for the best. Finally,
he disappeared. Nothing ever came of it. I think he felt sorry for me or
was afraid he couldn't keep a straight face if he confronted me.
After Work Week Ends, and Evenings
This was the fun time. We worked Monday through Friday and, if you passed
the Satruday morning inspection, you had the week end off. We were stationed
only one mile from the town of Waxahachie and we could walk that easy. Enrollees
weren't allowed to have cars but, of course, some of the fellows did have
cars and kept them stashed at nearby farm houses. It was a real treat if
one of these guys invited you to take a ride to a nearby town, Hillsbor,
Ennis or even Big "D" (Dallas).
There was a dance hall at Waxahachie and, although I couldn't dance (and
I never learned), some of us would always go to watch and listen to the juke
box. This is where I learned all about the music of Bob Wills and his Texas
Playboys and Ernest Tubb. Also, there was a textile mill in town and the
girls from that area were always having some kind of party for the CCC boys.
(Tree Monkeys) Some of them had brothers or other kin folks in the camp.
You could go to the movies for a dime, (if you bought your ticket at
the canteen at the Camp's Recreation Room), and a hambuger and a coke were
a nickel each. It was a real treat to go to the midnight show. Satuday night
was the only night of the week that we didn't have bed check at camp, so,
we didn't have to worry about being late for that.
All of the farmers (and their daughters) would come to town on Saturday
to do their shopping and visiting. The fall time was the best time of the
year, because everyone had extra money from picking cotton. (In 1939 a picker
was paid 65 cents for 100 pounds of cotton). You and your girl friend would
just walk around the Courthouse Square with nothing to do. If you got tired,
you just sat down in someone's car and rested. Everyone left their cars unlocked
in those days (can you imagine that?). If they returned and you were in their
car they didn't seem to mind.
On some weekends my friend and I would hitch hike to nearby towns just
for the heck of it. This was a lot of fun. One time we couldn't catch a ride
and we had to walk 15 miles back to camp.
We had a company ball team and we often played in town. Trinity University
was small then and located in Waxahachie. (Today it is a large University
located in San Antonio). If we beat them our season was complete and successful.
I was a substitute, however, did get to play one night. Although I struck
out both times I came to bat, I felt good for I had played in my very first
night game. By today's standards the lights were terrible.
We had several educational programs and our advisor was a Mr. Knight.
I was interested in typing and I took this course. This helped me in later
years to get a good job during my Army career. The classes were held on weekday
nights. We used an old Underwood typewriter with covered keyboard. The keyboard
chart was placed on the wall at eye level and you practiced in this manner.
The CCC Camp at Waxahachie was a Soil Conservation Service Unit and it
was built on private property. Our barracks were the small type, (six man,
I believe) and were covered with tar paper. A pot-bellied stove dominated
the center of the room. The camp has long since been torn down and a beautiful
Interstate Highway runs almost where it once stood. I still drive down there
every now and then with my wife and children and grandchildren (or anyone
else who will listen) and do a bit of reminiscing.
A Source of Do It Yourself Discipline
In the CCC we chopped brush, built a fine six-strand barb wire fence,
and terraced and sodded grass on soil eroded farm land. We left things in
much better shape than we found them. The old campsite has long since been
abolished in favor of a beautiful Interstate Highway, however, the evidence
of our labor still exists in some of the work projects. Also, in the lives
of many of us. This is the end result of young men who needed a break in
life who filled the ranks and were trained, disciplined, and taught to accept
responsibility. Men who developed strong morale and esprit de corps as members
of the Civilian Conservation Corps. These qualities carried on through World
War II.
To some degree, we disciplined ourselves and one of the tools we used,
as many of you will recall, was the dreaded belt line. If you broke one of
the safety rules and regulations and the Assistant Leader, Leader, or Foreman
took your name, you would pay for it. Examples: driving staples without wearing
goggles, working without gloves, failure to take the daily salt tablet, working
without a shirt, thus inviting sun burn, participating in horse play while
riding on the work truck, and a host of others. There was no pardon nor reduction
of the punishment. The price was paid monthly as the entire work crew formed
the belt line in two rows. Each man was positioned about 3 feet apart and
had in had the folded web belt. We weren't allowed to hit with the tip of
the belt or the buckle. These men were more than willing to carry out the
punishment phase of the sentence - in fact, they delighted in it! Meanwhile,
the poor horrified rookie enrollee who faced this situation for the first
time never wanted to do so again.
There were no comments made as to the worker's rights being violated or
the danger of a law suit being filed against the government. Neither did
we hear charges being raised about abusive parents being the cause of it
all.
The object of the one being punished was to cover his private parts with
both hands as best he could, and then move as quickly as possible from one
end of that line to the other, thus reducing exposure time to the physical
abuse of his body, namely the buttocks area.
Could our present day generation hack something of this nature? Many
of you think not. We're the ones who have spoon-fed them and we are to some
degree responsible for their actions. If push came to shove, I think they
could. I believe our young people are stronger than we give them credit for
being. I base this statement on the results of Granada, Panama, Desert Storm,
Somalia, and Viet Nam.
Wouldn't it be great if we could organize a belt line today to be used
specifically for the benefit of the Graffiti artists? Just thinking of that
possibility pumps me up and excites me! Old men can dream can't they?
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