James E. Henschel letter to Leopold H. Henschel - May 24, 1918
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Private J.E. Henschel, American Mission, M.T.D., Am.E.F., Prov. Co. "A", Convois Autos, Par B.C.M., France. May 24th, 1918. Dear Dad: An enormous shipment of letters arrived today, bringing among them your letter, acknowledgeing receipt of my card. This of course gave me great pleasure. First to business and then to news, such as it is. To come to a point shortly, I have been recommended for admission to a training school for officers here in France. My incomparable qualities have at last been appreciated; my shining lantern seems to have been seen from afar. But be all that as it may - and to return to the serious - the fact remains that in all probability I shall report to the school a X- - - some time before June the first, shall be there for about six weeks, after that shall wait some months before a command is found so far capable of running itself that the powers that be will not be afraid to entrust it to me - and then - perhaps - I shall be given the privileges, etc., of second loot. Perhaps, always to be borne in mind, for it was never more true that there's many a slip. In fact, I have weathered a good many of them already, and by virtue of close observation, and some slight experience, am all prepared to bump up against a good many more. But (and here's the catch) should all of these things come to pass in due order, and December or so find me staring a pair of gold bars in the face, could I call on you for a loan of something like $200.00 to purchase officer's equipment, said sum to be repaid from the pay of a young but efficient and striving officer. You see, contrary to expectations, I am still rated private, first class, although I have to all effect and labour been a couple of sergeants for some time, and my wage is still computed at $33.00 per, minus $6.60 insurance, minue $15.00 Liberty Loan, third, to be delivered to you December 31st or as nearly thereafter as the army sees fit. Hence you can understand that it will be practically impossible for me to save anything like $200 from the pay that is left. Strange to say (and really I'M not unappreciative at all) I am not wholly enthusiastic about this commission business. To be frank, if I thought that there was a chance in the world for a transfer to some other branch of the service to be approved I would not hesitate for a minute to decline the opportunity, with all due gratitude and conceit. But, since it would seem that we are here for life, perhaps it would be better to accept the favors
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of the gods and say less than nothing except "Yes, sir". Really I suppose that the facts of the case are that I am so tickled to have the opportunity as to have momentarily at least lost my sense of proportion and the appropriate. Also I suppose that no matter where one is placed in the army he will never be satisfied. It's not the nature of the beast; a soldier just isn't built that way that is to be contented. At any rate, the school will be at least a change and by that token will be more than welcome. It could not possibly any more work, and by the time it is completed (the course, of course) quien sabe? Perhaps they may need a general or two, and Mother's ambitions realized. Or the guerre may need some one else to do a little fighting. You are right in your letter about the times and so on. We have had some mighty interesting and more mighty fatigueing work during the recent trouble, as everyone in France has had. Being a Reserve, our particular work is much more mobile and covers more and larger fields than other transport would be able to take care of. We have had a number of exceptionally long convoys, a few fairly dangerous ones, and on the whole conducted ourselves so ably as to have drawn praise for our work from the officer at the head of the reserve. (Which is modesty itself). The success of our work of course depends entirely upon the drivers, their ability and determination to stick to it and "keep the old eyes open" and the "bus rolling" hour after hour. I can tell you that this means real work, and requires something more than mere physical capabilities. It's the endless grind - on and on - when one's eyes play out and won't stay open any longer, and strange visions come up before him that takes the heart out of a driver, and the minute that it is gone - why, the only things that has kep him going at all has departed. One trip of some twenty-five or thirty - (pretty [ms illegible: 1 wd]) hours behind the wheel in uninterrupted travelling will pretty nearly show what isn't in a fellow that ought be there. It would surprise one to note the difference in performance between the old Field Service boys and some of the new draft men, and the difference is all one of attitude. There are times that I would give our boys my last pair of shoes, and then again there are times that I would like to lick the whole blooming aoutfit. On the whole, as soldiering goes, they are right there with the goods and give one everything that could be desired, but as I have said above, it is the unusual that brings out the difference. There is an intangible something about the proposition that is certainly maddening at time. For instance, if there is a horribly long and difficult bit of work to be done, the Field Service boy would have felt slighted if he had been left our of it, whereas a many of these boys would not have cared particularly one way or the other. Either one would have done the work - but the way he went about it would have made all of the difference in the world. The same thing is true of any routine job of the more of less disagreeable and unpleasant sort. The Field Service boy would have grinned, acknowledged that he was "stuck" and dig his hole, with a lot of good natured grumbling, but the point is that he would dig it. Whereas, some of these New York taxi thugs and would-be thugs have become nasty, and done a lot of grumbling that was
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neither good-natured nor nice. In the Field Service there was absolutely nothing by which a man could be compelled to do anything, yet I never heard of an order being disobeyed. Objections, yes, and the old "gripe" and plenty of it, especially if there was a stretch of a few days without convoys, but the outfit could have been depended upon to have accomplished their job somehow. There have been more accidents since it has been a court martial offense to have an accident than ever we had in the old days when one could wreck all of the cars that he wished without any particular trouble. There are two peacocks quartered some twenty years from my happy home that keep up a regular cat fight at all sorts of ungodly hours. Of course they are supposed to be a very beautiful bird and all that - but, oh, I guess that I never did care a great deal for pea-cocks. They are even more conceited than I am, and one hates competition, you know. Also they are the source of a baffling mystery that once I had hoped to solve, but now have given up in despair. Before letting out their hateful shriek, they emit a noise, a sort of a cross between a duck's honk and a cheap motor horn. The mystery - how it is done? I have watched then for twenty minutes at a stretch, during which time of course they maintained a staid and sober silence quite unlike their usual racket, but the minute that my back is turned - "honk" - and away goes the contest. Any bird that can wreck sleep as completely as a peacock deserve either a good massacring or some sort of a medal. This is not a particularly cheerful letter, as I notice u upon glancing over it, but you must not judge from it that there is nothing cheerful of which to write. The fact is that at times one becomes so depressed and "low" that he has to shriek like the peacocks and make himself disagreeable generably before he is satisfied. To be really truthful, most of the news that I have to tell is either in Mother's latest letter or in the first part of this letter headed business. News there is not. I continue well and well fed as usual (I make out the menus, and I like to eat, or used to) Things keep going on and we carry on when ever there is any carrying on to be done. When there is no carrying on to be done, we don't do it just as well. My love all of the home folks as always, especially to you and to Mother. Ned
Details
| Title | James E. Henschel letter to Leopold H. Henschel - May 24, 1918 |
| Creator | Henschel, James E. |
| Source | Henschel, James E. Letter to Leopold H. Henschel. 24 May 1918. James Edward Henschel Collection, 1917-1919. 1996.51. The National World War I Museum, Kansas City, Missouri. |
| Description | In this letter dated May 24, 1918, Henschel wrote his father concerning his recommendation to attend a training school for officers. Henschel also noted that there have been more accidents since having an accident was deemed a court martial offense. |
| Subject LCSH | American Field Service; Missouri. National Guard; United States. Army. Motor Transport Corps |
| Subject Local | WWI; World War I; Officers Training School |
| Site Accession Number | 1996.51 |
| Contributing Institution | National World War I Museum and Memorial |
| Copy Request | Transmission or reproduction of items on these pages beyond that allowed by fair use requires the written permission of the National World War I Museum and Memorial: (816) 888-8100. |
| Rights | The text and images contained in this collection are intended for research and educational use only. Duplication of any of these images for commercial use without express written consent is expressly prohibited. |
| Date Original | May 24, 1918 |
| Language | English |