CHICAGO IN THE WINTER OF 1942

Scooter had been taking his evening meal down at the diner where Rose worked. He used to call the evening meal supper and called the midday meal dinner. But up here they say lunch at noon and dinner at night. Scooter was working hard to shed the Mississippi slave "n....r" skin he inherited so he could become a respectable Colored man in the Windy City. He had been watching and listening how everybody acted and spoke. Colored folks had respect up here in Chi-Town. None of that "yes Sir Mister John and thanks you Sir for that fried chicken back" jive-ass talk Colored folks had to use to get by in Mississippi.

Scooter sudddenly realized," Hell, I ain't even seen a fried chicken back or a gizzard up here. Down home for breakfast, you would be lucky to have biscuits and red eye gravy with grits. A piece of fried fatback was only for special occasions. Damn them grits. I ain't never eating no more grits ever again. I am going come back up here after the war and go to work hard so I can serve my family white folk's food like the boss man, and the house "n....rs" eat down home."

Scooter was taking a crash course in Colored Yankee city life.

He had worked up the courage to ask Rose out after a couple of weeks. He knew the unit was preparing to move out soon, and he had to court Rose proper like. Scooter had almost waited too long. Rose was being to wonder if he was interested at all. On their first date, Scooter was about as nervous as he could ever recall. He started two or three times to hold Rose's hand but chickened out at the very last minute. Rose had seen his attempts and was flattered Scooter was such a gentleman. City Colored men would take you out to a juke joint and fill you up with cheap gin. Then they would be all over you touching your private parts through your dress and trying to make out with you on your first date. If you attempted to resist, he would make a big scene talking about you being a tease and all. Yes, Rose Porter had found the man who would be her children's father. He was a little rough around the edges but inside he was gold plated.

Although he had an unfortunate beginning, his Mamma had raised him with good manners, a good work ethic and faith in God. Yes, Sir, she was going to hang on to this man.

The draft board had done let this Colored country boy off of the plantation, and he was not going back. He now called himself Aaron after Rose had told him Aaron was a name that commanded more respect than Scooter. He didn't care how many Japs or Nazis he had to kill, war couldn't be any worse than life for a Colored man in the 1940s Mississippi.

Aaron had been trying to figure out where the hell their unit was going. About every hour somebody had come up with a new location. Would they go the Pacific or go to Europe. There had been fighting in Africa, so maybe that's where we will go, not that Aaron knew where any of the places was. Being raised in Mississippi, one thing he was damn good at was doing what he was told. In the Army, they call it following orders. I'll be damn; Aaron thought, I been getting ready for this war all my life.

The unit had been spending a great deal of time down at the railroad yard, loading big equipment like bulldozers and road graders. It was more to this mission than Aaron had ever known. The NCOIC (non-commissioned officer in charge) of loading quickly recognized that you only had to show Aaron Park how to do something once. After that, he not only would do his job flawlessly but would jump in without being asked to show the others how to do something. The officers and senior NCOs in Aaron's unit were all white since Army doctrine at that time reasoned that Southern Negros did not have the mental capacity to supervise anyone or the ability to work in cold climates. But there existed a language and cultural gap that only a trooper like Aaron could span. Without realizing it, Aaron had become his outfit's official liaison between the white NCOs and officers and the Colored Southern troops. They now only had to deal with Sgt. Park and they were sanguine that the job would get done right. Aaron was already an acting jack (temporary E-5) or Buck Sergeant. He didn't get any extra money, but he was proud of his new position and responsibilities. All the other men in the unit rallied behind Sgt. Park. He had a natural ability to lead. Some people said it an acquired skill, but some just have "IT." Sgt. Park had that presence about him which military leaders called "IT."

Aaron and Rose had been regularly dating and spent a great deal of time talking about family and values. Aaron shared his deepest secrets with Rose. He told Rose that he knew he lacked some of the education and social skills she and her family had. But Aaron promised if she would give him the time he would make her proud. If Rose Porter wasn't already in love with this country boy then, she was madly in love now. It was no way on earth she was going to let this young man go.

Aaron and Carrie, his baby sister, had been brought up attending the AME (African Methodist Episcopal) Church in Wren. Three times a week, once on Wednesday night for prayer meeting and twice on Sunday for morning and evening sermons, the Park family would settle down in the third pew on the right. This location was the pew where three generations of Park had sat for worship. Now, you had to want some religion to endure the hot steamy midday heat inside the AME Church in Wren, Mississippi. The Colored Funeral Home in Aberdeen (all communities big enough to have a Post Office had a Colored funeral home) always kept them supplied with big cardboard fans stapled on a flat stick. The flat stick made it possible to hold on to it even after your hands were wet with sweat. On the front would be the parlor owner's picture in color, a must for Colored Funeral Parlor Directors I reckon. On the back would be some words that were there to console you and the remaining family members in your time of grief on the passing of a loved one. Aaron, Carrie, and their Momma would always be in church, but their father had a more spotted attendance record. Even the times he did attend, the deacons would call a meeting, and the men would retire to the big oak tree outside in the gravel parking lot to drink rotgut whiskey.

Money was always tight in the Park household, but Aaron and his sister never went without any of the necessities of life. They always raised a hog or two for the fall killing and a summer vegetable garden that yielded so much produce they couldn't eat or can it all. Their Momma made a deal with the little store up the road.

When the garden started coming in, she would supply the store with tomatoes, butter beans, black-eyed peas, and okra till fall when all the kids would get new shoes and clothes. It was a lot of work for $50.00 worth of shoes and clothes. If that what it took so that her kids could start school in the fall with new shoes and shirts that fit, so be it. Walking around in the summer with the toes and sides cut out of your leather shoes because your foot had outgrown them was fine.

But no Park kid was going to go to school without new clothes and new shoes. The annual ritual may have been a small monetary goal, but it meant everything to their Momma. Everybody who lived in the small colored community knew all they had to do was just ask, and the Park would fill up your basket with homemade bread and fresh garden vegetables. They even picked and washed vegetables for the white folks that treated them half way right. You see, no white folks was going to be seen in a Colored folk's garden picking tomatoes and peas. Hell, that just wasn't done, don't you know.

The only exception was one white family that lived in a tenant shack right next to them. They always helped out and shared anything they had with Aaron's family. Most of the white folk just called them "White Trash" because of their situation. Poor, ill-educated, with few job skills and most important of all, no pedigree, they were just barely above the Colored folk in the Mississippi racial caste system.

Finally, after many cold weeks in Chicago, Aaron's unit got the orders to move out. The destination and mission were still a secret at least to the troops as he boarded a train for parts unknown.

Aaron broke the news to Rose and her family on last Saturday he was to be in town. The next day Aaron joined Rose and her family as he had done every Sunday for services at the Shiloh Chapel of Jesus Christ our Lord. Rose's family had regularly attended this church for over 60 years. The preacher dedicated a prayer for Aaron and all the troops headed into battle for a safe and quick return. The Reverend Holloway said when evil in this world was recognized, it was up to the God-fearing citizens of the USA to fight and destroy it.

Aaron felt a little prouder after that sermon realizing God had a larger mission on earth for him than picking cotton and hauling hay in Mississippi. The remainder of the evening was quiet and sober, given the unknown status of their soon to be son-in-law.

THE JOURNEY TO ALASKA

The unit was standing in a company formation at the train station at 0500 hours. Sgt. Park was beginning to use the military terms for the time of day as well using some fancy foreign name for the bathroom, the latrine. Hell, the Army can call it anything they want to because it was inside the house and warm. The mess hall had been open 24 hours a day for weeks, so they got a good breakfast of fried eggs, bacon, fried apples, toast and something they called SOS. This concoction was a gravy and beef mixture you put on your toast. Man alive, Aaron thought to himself, they sure to do know how to eat up North. After getting their two boxed meals, they were off to somewhere unknown.

As the sun came up, Aaron could tell the train was headed west because the sun was at his back. The Army had taught him that at Camp Shelby, Mississippi, a place and time that now seemed so far in the past. Most of the troops were playing cards and drinking whiskey they had smuggled on the train. Drinking on duty was against regulations, but Aaron had told his troops he wouldn't be checking. He figured they had worked so hard the past month or so they deserved a little R & R. That's what the Army called rest and relaxation, a break from duty. The men deserved it. They had been thrown together months ago at Camp Shelby from all over the rural South. By now, most had just traveled as far away from their birthplace as any of their family, past and present, had since being chained and put on slave ships in West Africa 300+ years ago. Now they were all friends and would shortly have to rely on their close bond to complete their assigned mission.

Aaron settled into the quiet comfort of the warm day as he listened to the clank of the steel wheel of the train car as it moved them closer and closer to their journey's end. He used this time to write Rose. They had promised to write every day knowing Aaron's location would never be same. Aaron didn't care. He knew Rose's letters would eventfully catch up to him. The CO (commanding officer) had given Aaron an address they could use that would assure the mail would get forwarded. Aaron had written the address down on 38 separate pieces of paper to give to each of his men. He knew many of them couldn't write very well, but it was important they had something to send their kinfolks so they could keep in touch. No white NCO or Officer had told him to do it, but Aaron knew it was important.

After what seemed like a month, the train finally stopped, and they were told to disembark. Sgt. Park formed his men up, dress right dress, all standing at attention with duffle bags loaded with TA-50 beside them. Aaron had transformed into Sgt. Park a day earlier telling the men no more drinking would be allowed. He had told them, "Nobody in this here Army expects much of our unit.

The last thing we need to do is to prove them white folks right. We are going to be the sharpest, hardest-working and most motivated troops in this United Stated Army. Let's be sharp, be on time and no breaking the regs. I don't know yet where we are going, but wherever we are assigned, I want us to be the best we can be. Doing our best isn't just for our pride and us. Colored folks all across the South need us to shine. We didn't have any opportunities to shine down home because the white folks thought we were dumb. Look at what we have accomplished since basic training started. How many new skills, words, and manners have we learned? Every one of us should be proud, and it ain't putting on airs to show it."

The unit broke into applause and cheers. Never before had anyone encouraged them to shoot for the moon.

As they formed up outside in front of the Pullman coaches at the train station, Sgt. Park' unit was the only one in the correct formation, clean shaven and in pressed uniforms. The CO, Cpt. Taylor looked up and down the large company formation and announced to the entire unit, "If you turn your eyes to your right you will see at the end of the formation is 1 platoon. They are standing at attention, uniforms on correctly and standing tall. If you Colored men want to earn respect, you need to act like you deserve it. Be like 1 Platoon, and you will earn that respect."

Platoon Leaders, take charge of your troops and dismiss them. That is all."

As Aaron prepared his men to move out, he saw the sign on the train depot. It said, Seattle. Aaron had heard the name but had no idea where in America it was. All he knew it was cold and wet.

He could see the other men climbing into big old trucks like folks used to haul cattle and pigs to market. At least, he thought, they were covered. As they approached the trucks, they noticed a big bus just like the Trailways bus folks had up in Tupelo. Just as Sgt. Park started to marshal his men for loading, the Battalion Commander, LTC Noble, walked over to the unit with their CO, Cpt. Taylor.

"Sgt. Park."

"Yes Sir, Col. Noble."

Aaron was as scared as he had ever been because this was the first time anyone above the rank of Captain had spoken to him.

LTC Noble stretched out his hand to Sgt. Park and said,

"Son, I have had my eye on your unit since you arrived in Chicago. Your CO speaks very highly of you and the job this unit has done so far. I believe you boys need a little reward. Sgt. Park, march your men over to the bus and climb on board. Your unit is going to ride with the Officers."

Sgt. Park couldn't believe his ears, but he wasted no time in moving his men over to the bus. As they were boarding, Aaron looked briefly over at the trucks, Deuce and a halves; they called them. It seemed the trucks had positioned themselves so the troops in the back would be facing the bus. As Aaron's men were loading on the bus, he could see the disbelief in the rest of the battalion's eyes or maybe it was their jaws that had dropped to their chins. It seemed the Ole Man had "IT".

As a good leader always does, Sgt Park was the last to load. Most of the Officers were already on the bus and had given the men the thumbs up as if to signal a job well done. The Officers were seating up front, so the unit started filling up the bus from the back.

Being from the South, they were accustomed to sitting behind the white line. No Colored person would ever sit down in front of the line or a white person. It also was the custom for a Colored person to get up and move if a white person didn't have a seat. Well, as far as Aaron and his men were concerned the back was great, and a just reward for a job well done. Baby steps for now Aaron thought one thing at the time. Today ain't the time to tackle bus rides and Colored restrooms. Cpt. Taylor came on board and, even though, many open seats existed, he sat down next to Sgt. Park.

Aaron couldn't have been prouder if President Roosevelt had taken the seat.

The trip would take a couple of hours. Aaron hadn't said a word for 10 minutes. Should I say something? Aaron wondered. I don't want to step out of line after this trophy ride.

Cpt. Taylor knew he had to break the ice. He turned to his Sergeant and said.

"Sgt. Park, you ever been to Seattle before?"

"No Sir, Cpt. Taylor."

"Well, Sarge, we are headed to the Port of Tacoma. We won't be staying overnight here. A ship is waiting to transport us to Valdez, Alaska. From there we will go to Fairbanks, Alaska by convoy. I can't tell much more until the ship sails. Regulation, don't you know.

But what I can tell you is that our mission doesn't involve combat but it as important as any battle that will be fought in this war. This mission will not take over a year, but the results will outlast most things America will do in this entire war. You can tell your men they will be able to tell their children and grandchildren that Pappy did something helped win the war. I must be frank with you and your men; the war is not going well for the Allies'. The Japs, of course, have bombed Pearl Harbor; we have lost or going to lose most every outpost in the Pacific area. The British have lost their outposts in Hong Kong and Singapore. The Germans are bombing the hell out of England. Most of the enemy's success is due to our side myopically planning for peace at a time at a time when the Germans and the Japs planning for World War ll. Bad guys never sleep, Sgt. Park. They are planning to take over as much territory in the world as possible. I am not telling you this to discourage you, but to inform you of the situation our country has gotten itself into. This mission we have been assigned will go a long way to defeating the enemy. As soon as I can arrange a meeting after we board the ship, I will brief you, and the other platoon sergeants and then the Ole Man will address the entire Battalion a little later."