Discharged: 60 Years Ago!
Title
Discharged: 60 Years Ago!
Creator
Jacob Schlitt
Description
"February 29, 1956. Sixty years ago. A very special day, I said goodbye to Camp Gordon, my buddies at the U.S. Army’s Southeastern Signal School Statistical Division, my neighbors at 347 Myrtle Court, and the city of Augusta, Georgia."
Date
2016-02-29
Format
application/pdf
Type
text
Language
en
Coverage
1945/1956
Identifier
DISCHARGED
Text
DISCHARGED: 60 YEARS AGO!
February 29, 1956. Sixty years ago. A very special day, I said goodbye to Camp Gordon, my buddies at the U.S. Army’s Southeastern Signal School Statistical Division, my neighbors at 347 Myrtle Court, and the city of Augusta Georgia. After months of maneuvering, I was being discharged.
The U.S. Army and I have had a very strange relationship. I turned 18 in December 1945. World War II was over. I had entered CCNY in September. The draft was still on but draft boards gave deferments to college students. I kept going to college for the next four years and I kept getting deferments. Then the draft ended. However, in 1950, we became involved in the “Korean conflict, ” the draft was reinstituted, and I returned to school, and in December 1951, soon after I turned 24, Sylvia and I married.
In the spring of 1954, after two and a half years of working full time, going to school full time, and a little more than two years of being married full time, I notified my draft board that I was no longer a student, and acknowledged that I was subject to the draft. I had a vision of all the members of Draft Board 19 cheering that finally, after pursuing me for nine years, they finally got me.
I entered the Army on June 1, 1954. I was to serve two years. I did my eight weeks of basic training at Fort Dix, NJ. I was then sent to Fort Jackson, SC, where they did not know what to do with me, so they sent me to Camp Rucker, Alabama. I was designated an “Information and Education NCO,” but the job I was given was that of mail clerk. At close to 27, I was one of the oldest draftees around, and with a Master’s in Education and five semesters toward a PhD., overeducated.
Sylvia joined me in Alabama, we found an apartment off post, and settled down, expecting to spend the next year and a half at Camp Rucker, located between the colorful towns of Ozark and Enterprise. Two months later I received orders to go to Camp Gordon. The Army finally figured out what to do with me: make me a Statistical Clerk with the US Signal Corps’ Southeastern Signal School. We packed all our belongings in the new second hand car that I bought, and drove to Augusta, found an apartment, reported to the Signal School, and began what turned out to be a very pleasant assignment among a very pleasant group of colleagues.
Sylvia found a job with the Camp’s Military Police, we made friends with the other GI families at Myrtle Court, visited the Augusta Jewish Community Center, went to all the cultural events Augusta had to offer, and decided to have a baby. Carol was born in October 1955, at the wonderful Army Hospital. Life could not have been better. But it was still the Army. And it was Augusta, not New York.
In the course of my duties, I heard that, though I was drafted for 24 months, I could reduce my army service to 21 months if I was to return to school. Hmm. I was scheduled to be discharged on May 31, 1956. Suppose I apply to return to school for the spring 1956 semester. If I am accepted, I could get out on February 29. There then ensued a flurry of correspondence with NYU, submitting my application, getting accepted, requesting to be permitted to start class late, being told that was not possible, figuring out that by using all my accumulated leave, I could fly to New York, take two weeks of classes, and then return to Augusta, in time to wind up all my affairs, get my discharge on February 29, and load up the car and drive home. And that is what I did. I beat the Army out of 92 more days of servitude.
Of course, as I look back, my days at Camp Gordon were not unpleasant. I was a low-paid clerk required to wear a uniform, and say “Sir” to officers. I viewed it as someone temporarily confined against his will, supposedly serving his country. Compared to what my fate might have been—there is no comparison. It was a remarkable learning experience. I was exposed to a group of people, and a section of the country I might never have otherwise met or seen. But I was happy to say farewell to all of that, 60 years ago today.
2-29-16
February 29, 1956. Sixty years ago. A very special day, I said goodbye to Camp Gordon, my buddies at the U.S. Army’s Southeastern Signal School Statistical Division, my neighbors at 347 Myrtle Court, and the city of Augusta Georgia. After months of maneuvering, I was being discharged.
The U.S. Army and I have had a very strange relationship. I turned 18 in December 1945. World War II was over. I had entered CCNY in September. The draft was still on but draft boards gave deferments to college students. I kept going to college for the next four years and I kept getting deferments. Then the draft ended. However, in 1950, we became involved in the “Korean conflict, ” the draft was reinstituted, and I returned to school, and in December 1951, soon after I turned 24, Sylvia and I married.
In the spring of 1954, after two and a half years of working full time, going to school full time, and a little more than two years of being married full time, I notified my draft board that I was no longer a student, and acknowledged that I was subject to the draft. I had a vision of all the members of Draft Board 19 cheering that finally, after pursuing me for nine years, they finally got me.
I entered the Army on June 1, 1954. I was to serve two years. I did my eight weeks of basic training at Fort Dix, NJ. I was then sent to Fort Jackson, SC, where they did not know what to do with me, so they sent me to Camp Rucker, Alabama. I was designated an “Information and Education NCO,” but the job I was given was that of mail clerk. At close to 27, I was one of the oldest draftees around, and with a Master’s in Education and five semesters toward a PhD., overeducated.
Sylvia joined me in Alabama, we found an apartment off post, and settled down, expecting to spend the next year and a half at Camp Rucker, located between the colorful towns of Ozark and Enterprise. Two months later I received orders to go to Camp Gordon. The Army finally figured out what to do with me: make me a Statistical Clerk with the US Signal Corps’ Southeastern Signal School. We packed all our belongings in the new second hand car that I bought, and drove to Augusta, found an apartment, reported to the Signal School, and began what turned out to be a very pleasant assignment among a very pleasant group of colleagues.
Sylvia found a job with the Camp’s Military Police, we made friends with the other GI families at Myrtle Court, visited the Augusta Jewish Community Center, went to all the cultural events Augusta had to offer, and decided to have a baby. Carol was born in October 1955, at the wonderful Army Hospital. Life could not have been better. But it was still the Army. And it was Augusta, not New York.
In the course of my duties, I heard that, though I was drafted for 24 months, I could reduce my army service to 21 months if I was to return to school. Hmm. I was scheduled to be discharged on May 31, 1956. Suppose I apply to return to school for the spring 1956 semester. If I am accepted, I could get out on February 29. There then ensued a flurry of correspondence with NYU, submitting my application, getting accepted, requesting to be permitted to start class late, being told that was not possible, figuring out that by using all my accumulated leave, I could fly to New York, take two weeks of classes, and then return to Augusta, in time to wind up all my affairs, get my discharge on February 29, and load up the car and drive home. And that is what I did. I beat the Army out of 92 more days of servitude.
Of course, as I look back, my days at Camp Gordon were not unpleasant. I was a low-paid clerk required to wear a uniform, and say “Sir” to officers. I viewed it as someone temporarily confined against his will, supposedly serving his country. Compared to what my fate might have been—there is no comparison. It was a remarkable learning experience. I was exposed to a group of people, and a section of the country I might never have otherwise met or seen. But I was happy to say farewell to all of that, 60 years ago today.
2-29-16
Original Format
application/msword
Collection
Citation
Jacob Schlitt
, “Discharged: 60 Years Ago!,” Autobiographical stories & other writing by Jacob Schlitt, accessed September 11, 2024, https://tsirlson.omeka.net/items/show/382.