Sidney D. Light's WWI Diary, Postcards & Letters, 329th Battery Book Accounts

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Please feel free to add comments in this section if it concerns the 329th, individuals mentioned, or history concerning events mentioned in the articles directly. General remarks about WWI may be made under the modem entitled Reader's Interest in and Comments about WW I

Battery B and E accounts are representative of most units. In the end, I transcribed far more of the book than I originally intended.  The original book has now been returned to my uncle, but the bulk of material is now available to family members and WWI enthusiasts.

This fabulous book (the 329th Barrage, 1917-1919) was written shortly after the war, printed and distributed to the men who returned home. There is no indication of publisher or publishing date. I believe my great-grandfather (Sid's father-in-law), who ran a book-binding shop, may have helped in turning these men's accounts of a soldier's life into a printed book. 

I have resisted changing grammar, spelling or punctuation. However, I have taken the liberty of dividing a single entry of the Battery's experiences into sections, to allow readers to locate specific sections that may be of most interest. In places where there seemed to be typos in the book itself, the words are enclosed {as such}.

Foreword

Masters, the load was heavy;

Ye whom we served were hard;

Your young men come

With laughter home,

But all are bruised and scarred.

Masters, we met the summons

And you shall say how well;

But now, meanwhile,

It’s ours to smile

At what we do not tell.

Masters, we gave our chances

To build our lives full true;

And so we bled

To build instead

A decent world for you.

Masters, we laid foundations

Your unborn wits shall test;

But we are done

With blood and gun–

Permit us now to jest.

–Cpl. G.C. Channing

Battery E

On September 5th, 1917, the following men of Ward No. 4. Detroit–Charles H. Price, Wilfred A. Gustafson, Nathan I. Balter, Sidney D. Light, Harry T. Dickey, Stanley C. Stacy, Russell W. Lally, Hazen P. Aiken, Montgomery Parsons, Willian N. Coleman, John P. Maher, Charles A. Parker, George N. Mumley, Joseph C. Dierich, and Gordon K. MacEdward–formed at the Trowbridge schoolhouse at 9:00 a.m., boarded the Brush street car to the Detroit Armory, and after a sumptuous repast at Al Smith’s Lunch Room, Cadillac Square, returned to the Armory, where they formed for the parade. The route of the parade was as follows: Bates St. to Jefferson Ave., to Woodward Ave., to Elizabeth St., where cars were boarded for the Michigan Station. It was a gloomy day–almost a counterpart of the sort we were destined to get used to in France–but nothing could dampen the ardor of the send-off given this first little group of Uncle Sam’s "Selects." They were cheered at every corner, handkerchiefs waved, and every now and then some lad would yell, "Go to it, Jack; I’ll be with you soon." They went to it and at the Michigan Station boarded the train for Camp Custer.

The Camp Receiving Station was reached at 4:00 p.m. The first picture of this famous station was a never-to-be-forgotten one. It was still raining. When the boys got a look at the big open place with its numerous little "sheep-pens’ and more officers than had ever been gathered together before, they mentally decided that they could never go through that labyrinth and come out a civilian. They took a deep breath and plunged in. Here they were questioned as to their previous experience, classified, and assigned to Battery "B," 329th Field Artillery. An officer led the way to building No. 399.

There the whole skeleton regiment ate its first army meal, and spent its first night in the service of Uncle Sam. This night before "retiring," as Private Aiken called it, Private Dickey remarked, "Hell, you ain’t in civilian life now, you’re in the army and are just going to HIT THE HAY." (Take it from Private K.P. Onthespot, we never had to forget we were in the army after that–even the bugler took up the refrain.) Of course we remember Private Stacy with his pink pajamas and Private Lally with his home-made nightcap, as he remarked, "I don’t see how I can stand these woolen blankets." While just around our partition, our Saginaw Kid (Sidney D. Light) was arguing with String Bean Dierich as to the proper combination for reducing his six feet of glorious manhood into the confines of a four-foot bed. At the other end of the row of bunks a distinguished looking "buck," whom we learned from his conversation, was Private John J. Maher, the brilliant and prosperous Detroit lawyer. It was his delight to harangue his fellow private and in particular one named Nathan I. Balter, who always appeared to be intensely interested but who it transpired was fast asleep most of the time–except when it came to the matter of shaking hands, when he was awake in both eyes.

Private Gustafson, better known as the QUAKER SWEDE, who afterwards developed into a tar-paper manufacturer "at certain times and places," finally cast aside his pinch-back suit and was about to hit the hay when in blew Private Politician Price with one of his Cinco "Ropes," of which he seemed to have a never {faily} supply. Finally our candles gutted out and darkness reigned supreme–but not for long, as Custer witnessed the worst electrical storm of the season during the next two hours.

After that all went well until reveille, when the boisterous voice of Lieutenant Carnahan (he was then acting "Top Kick") was heard at the top of the stairs saying, "Everybody out for roll call in ten minutes!" This ten minutes was crowded with the frantic efforts of recruits trying to do in the allotted time what usually took them from thirty minutes to an hour. And when a second call was made "asking" us to hurry, the whole mob rushed madly down stairs in all stages of negligee. They thought it was a Mess call but to their sorrow it was a line-up for the then mysterious rite called reveille. Solemn-faced Private Mumley thought that reveille was a religious ceremony and came out with his little Y.M.C.A. testament under his arm. When attention was called, Privates Light and Dierich, not knowing what it meant, continued to discuss the question as to who was to be cook. Private Balter in the rear rank was busily engaged in shaking hands with Private Price in the front rank, as Nate was firmly convinced that such was the passport to the aforesaid Cinco cigars.

After several vain attempts the line was formed and roll was called. No "Here" in response to Private Lally’s name. Whereupon Stacy volunteered the information that they only had one powder puff between the two of them, and "Ten minutes, Sir, didn’t give us both time to use it." Question Sir: Lieutenant Sir (This from Private Dickey): "What time will breakfast be served?" The question was answered with one word. "DISMISSED."

Drill, Drill, Drill, Hike, Hike, Hike, was the order of the day for the time. The camp was more or less picturesque and attracted many visitors. It swept in a huge half moon, through what had once been a rolling cornfield. The streets were wide, dusty tracks, cut with gullies and ditches and ruling off a seeming confusion of buildings–barracks after barracks, looking like factory buildings, long storehouses, officers’ quarters like overgrown box houses, big and little buildings of every conceivable use. The unfinished state of the camp explained why we did not find the place homelike. We had boys there who pined for mother’s home-made biscuits and who held themselves aloof from their fellows. But they were getting just what they needed when they were put in the field and compelled to drill with the other boys.

On September 16th we moved to barracks No. 419, and our officers were assigned to the Battery. They were:

Captain Cecil A. Frazier, 1st Lieutenant Paul M. Bowen, 2nd Lieutenants C. Dale Curtiss, William Shields and V. Downing Dukes and William F. Gregson. For the next two days we were kept busy arranging the barracks for the Sept. 19th draft. We had boys in this first section of sixteen men who were capable of drawing a lead pencil but when it came to drawing a car load of straw and a car load of steel cots, there was quite an argument as to the advisability of hiring a truck. However no one had the nerve to make the suggestion to Lieutenant Curtiss until our pet military college graduate Montgomery T. Parsons volunteered to take the matter up through military channels. Lieutenant Curtiss told him that it would not be advisable, as the matter was not covered by the drill regulations. So a detail was formed and we carried the two car load lots on our backs in true military style.

By Sept 19th the men of the first five per cent considered themselves veterans in the old army game and were all set to receive the "rookies" as they called them. Between the 19th and the 22nd, one hundred and eighteen men were assigned to our battery.

Most of the men who came to camp in the first draft were filled with the "Spirit of ‘76"; a few were filled with spirit of a most ardent nature but more recent date. All of course were dressed in civilian clothes; and what a wonderful picture they presented as they made their entrance into Uncle Sam’s service–men of every shade of political opinion, and every class of society and yet they all met on common ground with the same object in view, and that object the subjection of a common foe. They were all imbued with patriotic fervor, but had a very hazy idea as to who was who and what was what in the army. The burning question of the hour seemed to be, "Must we salute the sergeant or not?" and everyone was afraid to ask him. The difficulty experienced by all rookies was clearly shown by Private Doyle’s experience. He had just discovered that the top-kick is a being of importance in the Battery and had heard him asking if anyone had seen the Colonel. Shortly afterward he heard the Colonel asking for the first sergeant and Private Doyle said "Yes. He’s in the barracks and you had better get a hustle on for he has been looking for you and will give you H---- for keeping him waiting!"

At this time the wash rooms and shower baths were not complete, consequently shaving done in the early morning with cold water, baths taken in a nearby stream where there were six inches of water and twelve of mud, and daily pilgrimages round the barracks policing up scrap lumbar and other building refuse are happenings which always live in the memories of those men whose privilege it was to be at camp in the early days of its history.

As civilians we had always imagined that artillery was intimately associated with horses and guns, but to our surprise we found these were conspicuous for their absence. Captain Frazier evidently had the same ideas that we had on the subject, and set out to remedy the deficiency to the best of his ability. He managed to get the loan of an ancient member of the equine family and the 1917 class in "Horseology" was formed. The class was intensely interested in horses, as some of the questions proved. Private Doyle was very anxious to know which was the horse’s head, as his father was in the livery business and had advised him to become a stable sergeant in the army after learning all the parts of the horse. Private Daw, being greatly interested in the general appearance of the genus equus, asked how the horse kept himself clean. A little later he was introduced to a currycomb and brush and found the answer. Day by day the horse lectures continued and we gradually became full-fledged horsemen, as far as pictures and the drill regulations would permit.

When it came to the matter of guns, it was a different case. We were unable to beg, borrow or steal anything that even looked like a gun; but, between the competence of our officers and the policing ability of the men, we constructed some rare and beautiful fixtures which took the place of the 3-inch guns on which we were supposed to drill. The greatest problem of the intelligent young cannoneers, Lieutenant Dukes found, was to "Call off" correctly; and, when it came to changing posts, the result reminded one of a mob of grasshoppers gone crazy with the heat. During the change-post exercise, many arguments took place between Privates Lucker and Giftopolus, the latter would insist that the number following five was four. However Lucker was very accommodating and after a short while assumed the attitude of a frog just about to jump, so that if he saw a vacant post he was always ready to hop into it.

After "picture horse" lectures, "tar paper" gun drills, squads right and squads left, our athletic officer, Lieutenant Dukes, known as the fastest walker in the battery, decided that some four or five mile hikes would be beneficial to our brain development; and after one of these each afternoon, we called it a day–unless new recruits came in. In this event we were entertained by the Captain, who read us a few selections from that surprising book known to all soldiers as "Such penalty as a Court Martial may direct."

When we came to camp we found that Guard Duty was being done by a detachment of the 32nd National Guard. Their removal to a southern camp made it necessary for the recruits to take up guard duty and being the best posted officer on the subject, Lieutenant Curtiss was assigned the task of making us familiar with the manual of interior guard duty. We well remember going out on the parade ground to practice on various piles of scrap lumber. After each man had proved his ability to recite the general orders correctly, we were put on regular guard duty.

One night Lieutenant Curtiss was inspecting the guard as Officer of the Day and was commanded to halt by Private Colacicco–"Colly" of subsequent wind-jamming fame. Curtiss halted, expecting the regulation question "Who is there?" but it did not come. Instead he was commanded to halt a second time. Thinking Colacicco was just nervous, he attempted to prompt him by asking "Well, what comes next?" Like a flash came the answer, "I will call halt the third time and then fire." Needless to say, Lieut. Curtiss was very glad he butted in when he did without waiting for developments.

About this time we were assigned to our new barracks at the extreme western edge of camp and, as they were not quite ready for occupancy, we sent out a detail to guard them each night. After a few nights–every one of which was wet--we came to the conclusion that {altho} it was called "interior guard duty" it was done very much outdoors. During our period of guard duty at the new barracks it was orders to challenge all civilians in order to locate any booze they might be bringing into camp–as we did not wish them to drink it all themselves. At least that was the way Private May looked at it when he rounded up a civilian carpenter who was bringing in two quarts of the "very best." May thought it would come in very nice for the use of the guards. But Acting Corporal Price convinced the acting sergeant of the guard–Gustafson–that the only thing we dare do was test the quality by a deep inhalation and turn it over to the Captain, as we were told that the Medical Dept. had use for the same. Just then a call came in, "Corporal of the Guard, Post No. 9." At double time Dickey and Price made their way to the aforesaid post and were just in time to rescue Private Sullivan from one of the many latrine excavations located around the barracks. When questioned as to what he was doing down there, "Sully" explained that he was taking charge of his post and all government property in view and, as the bottom of the hole was not in view, he was investigating. At last Private Sullivan was walking his post in a military manner and, in the stillness of the night, we overheard the Officer of the Day asking the sentry on post No. 8 if he "had" his general orders. If you remember Private Reading–and we all do–you will not be surprised to learn that he took them from his pocket and handed them to the O.D.

At last our new home was sufficiently complete for us to move into it and, on October 30th, 1917, we packed our belongings into our blankets (we had not then been introduced to the haversack) and left 419 for 1291. By this time we were getting into the army way of doing things and it did not take us long to set up the wood stoves, which were the source of heat until the steam plants were completed, and get to "setting pretty."

During November our ordinary drills were supplemented by pick and shovel work and we gained considerable knowledge as to how dug-outs were constructed. An elaborate system of defense work was planned which included dug-outs of sufficient capacity to house an entire battalion. But before this was completed–on one of the coldest days in December–we received an order to draw from the remount station the horses needed to make us into a real artillery outfit and (we thought) relieve us from further infantry drill. The advent of the horses gave some of us who had had no previous experience with them a chance to practice the lessons we had learned by heart from Lieutenant Shields. That great command which will never be forgotten–"Stand to Heel!"–was given for the first time. Private Lenhardt says he had no chance to obey them, as "Whiskey Dick" had a drill regulation all his own which called for a commissioned officer to handle. So, after Lenhardt was picked up, Lieutenant Clarke came to the rescue and TOLD another man how to groom.

With drills of various kinds to keep us busy, the time passed quickly until Christmas was at hand. Of course everyone was hoping that he would be lucky enough to get a pass which would enable him to be with his folks for the festive season; and our feelings can be better imagined than described when an order came through advising that, owing to the congestion of the railroads, no passes over Christmas would be allowed. However, about the time everyone was beginning to feel desperate, the order was changed making it possible for twenty-five per cent of all organizations to be absent at one time. Then there was a wildly exciting time until we found out who would be the ones lucky enough to get the Christmas period. The seventy-five per cent who had to remain in camp were admirably fed up by our excellent Mess Sergeant Russell W. Lally. Following is the menu which he provided for dinner:

Blue Points    Celery    Sweet Pickles     Nuts      Queen Olives

                                         Roast Turkey

                    Sage Dressing                        Cranberry Sauce

Candied Sweet Potatoes   American Peas     Asparagus

                               Salad                                  Saltines

Mince Pie                       Vanilla Ice Cream                        Cake

                             Cigars                                  Cigarettes

After dinner we were provided with music by some friends of his who kindly came out from Battle Creek.

The next event of importance was the famous blizzard of January 11th, 1918. There was never another one like it so far as the weather man was able to find out. Snow fell mountain high in places and the thermometer dropped clear out of sight. Over in front of regimental headquarters the little red column registered 22 below zero around breakfast and was said to have reached 30 during the night. Wild rumors came in of sentries frozen on posts, telephone lines down, traffic blocked and whatnot. We were fairly comfortable in barracks–using everything from shoes to raincoats as bunk covers–and only had one scare when the steam quit for thirty minutes or so due to a frozen water intake. Every once in a while some voyager would return with whatever part of his anatomy had been exposed frozen a bleak white. We ALL got ours when it came to watering and caring for the horses.

It was too cold for even a blanketed horse to stick his head out, so we had to carry water to them in pails. Suffering criminy, what a job! The wind was running wild and our raincoats were soon a mass of sheeted ice. Our gloves caked up and our faces lost all semblance of feeling. But we finally got the brutes filled up and went back to sympathize with the poor stable police. We will never forget that blizzard as long as we live. It took days to get the snow shoveled away and longer than that for camp activities to get back into shipshape again. The only place we could find a jitney for a day or so was stalled somewhere on the road. Those who were out of camp that night had a large time getting back. Captain Bowen, for instance (he was then acting Battery Commander), had a hard time keeping a private A.W.O.L. of his from looking like desertion. Some of the boys on pass got an idea they’d never have a chance to come back.