Your Dad’s Life Story

I was born August 7, 1895 on Dad’s farm and grad­u­ated from Pleas­ant Hill coun­try school. I attended Nor­mal Acad­emy and the two year Nor­mal Meth­ods’ course there and grad­u­ated from both, then took a spe­cial sum­mer five weeks’ course at Stout Insti­tute at Menomonie, Wis., but due to a sur­plus of teach­ers didn’t get a school the first year after grad­u­a­tion, so I worked at report­ing for the Macomb Bystander for a year. I had worked night and morn­ing for them out of school hours for two years before, also on Sat­ur­days, as well as dur­ing the sum­mers. The sum­mer of 1916 I had con­tracts from 4 dif­fer­ent school prin­ci­pals in a many states before me at one time, but chose to go into a large school sys­tem at Louisville, Ky., where I was one of 11 Man­ual Train­ing teach­ers in the pub­lic schools there.

I was drafted into the Amer­i­can Army with orders to entrain Sep­tem­ber 20, 1917 to go to Camp Dodge, Ia., ten miles north of Des Moines. About 200 young men were on that train, headed for Camp Dodge, which we reached after mid­night on a foggy morn­ing. Most of us looked like bums as we had worn our old­est suits in antic­i­pa­tion of throw­ing them away as soon as we drew our uni­forms, but were treated like heroes all along the way. At Gales­burg, Ill., we stopped for lunch and the good ladies of the large church where we were fed and toasted, out­did them­selves for us with their lun­cheon. Our rosy dreams were blasted on arrival at the Camp Dodge sta­tion, as we looked at an 8-foot height barbed wire fence, 20 feet from the train.

We were marched to a mess hall of a bar­racks, where we were fed onion soup, bread, but­ter and cof­fee and ques­tioned as to our past, then assigned to Com­pa­nies or Bat­ter­ies. As a 22-year-old ex-teacher, I was assigned to Head­quar­ters Com­pany of 339th Field Artillery, while most of the train­load were sent to Bat­tery B of the same reg­i­ment. Pro­mo­tions were fast at the start of the war so in sixty days cousin Mer­rill of Bat­tery B and I of Head­quar­ters Com­pany were made cor­po­rals along with about 40 oth­ers. The next May vol­un­teers for the Fourth Offi­cers’ Train­ing School were asked for and I with two oth­ers from Hdqr. Com­pany joined it and started Boot train­ing again which we had been teach­ing to new sol­diers dur­ing the win­ter, but that is the army.

About July 1st the bud­ding Artillery offi­cers were ordered to entrain for a Cen­tral Artillery school hop­ing to be offi­cers. The first sergeant who was in charge of the army per­son­nel on the train was heartily dis­liked by the men but I sat and chat­ted with him for most of the way from Des Moines to Louisville as a way to pass the time. When we were lined up on the side of a road on a steep hill, he came to me and told me in an under­tone to move up near the head of the line as about 15 per­cent of our train­load were to be placed in a bat­tery which would grad­u­ate first, two weeks ahead of any of the oth­ers, so I lugged my bar­racks bag to near the top of the line and was assigned to the advanced battery.

As he said, the 200 aspi­rants who were placed in that bat­tery were vis­ited about August 1st by men who mea­sured us every­where for our hats, uni­forms, and boots and shoes, then upon pay­ment of money we got the offi­cers’ uni­forms, com­plete with brass bars for the shoul­ders, two days before the grad­u­a­tion day of August 17, 1918. We put them on in the bar­rack build­ing, our quar­ters, and paraded around salut­ing each other, but Harry Barnes of Texas sneaked out in full uni­form and went to Louisville from our Camp Zachary Tay­lor to col­lect a few salutes on the streets. He must have had a large evening as he couldn’t get his brand new boots off when he returned, so slept with them on his feet. The next morn­ing they took him to the infir­mary where they cut his $35 boots off of him.

We received our com­mis­sions at noon August 17 with a pass for a week and orders where to report at the end of that. I was attached to a Camp Tay­lor bat­tery until we young offi­cers were ordered to entrain for Fort Sill, Okla., the Artillery School of Fire with the prospect of becom­ing first lieu­tenants or cap­tains before the end of the war, how­ever, as we passed through St. Louis, Mo., we received news the Armistice had been signed so the war was over. I reached home Decem­ber 14, 1918, a civilian.

Grace Mer­rill and I had met at Nor­mal School and were mar­ried March 4, 1921, going imme­di­ately to live on and oper­ate Dad’s farm, which I had pre­vi­ously oper­ated for two years. We moved from there three years later to Prairie City for two years, then to Air­drie, Alta., to the Mer­rill farm for three years, after which we bought a cot­tage in Air­drie, where we raised our fam­ily to matu­rity. We have been blessed with three sturdy sons and three beau­ti­ful daugh­ters all of whom have mar­ried to just as sturdy men and beau­ti­ful women, and all have helped us build our retire­ment home, a two bed­roomed cot­tage which we have occu­pied since Feb. 20, 1961.

We have glo­ried in the birth of 17 grand­chil­dren, one of who, Stephen Lee Switzer lies at rest in the Olds ceme­tery, the vic­tim of enteri­tis and col­i­tis, as were his grand aun­ties Grace and Win­nie Switzer, fifty years before. He was a won­der­fully strong child, but was taken from us quite sud­denly by the babies’ dis­ease. He is mourned by us all.

Although edu­cated as a teacher and expe­ri­enced as a news­pa­per­man, a nose which has seemed to be aller­gic to every­thing indoors has dic­tated out of doors employ­ment, so I have fol­lowed that as at times I could not work because of fre­quent heavy colds, so bad that at times I could not work and had to lie down. I worked at what­ever I could find to do between the two Wars then enlisted in the Cana­dian Army May 28, 1940 for the dura­tion of the sec­ond World War. I rose from a private’s sta­tus to be dis­charged a Bat­tery Sergeant Major, and have been fol­low­ing out­door work since then. Now at 71 I with Lit­tle Moms am work­ing sum­mers on our lit­tle home and am try­ing to keep my weight down in the win­ter, while I nurse arthri­tis and other ailments.

Lit­tle Moms and I are thor­oughly fond of our retire­ment home, our needs are taken care of finan­cially and with our util­i­ties all that is nec­es­sary is to bring gro­ceries and cloth­ing in to our home. We are happy in the knowl­edge we have one of the finest fam­i­lies which have ever left Air­drie to go into com­mer­cial chan­nels and succeed.

Next: Our Twelve Children

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