Truax Field, Madison, Wisconsin, was a training ground for radio operators and mechanics in World War II’s Army Air Corps. The Beam, a kind of “year book” for the soldiers at Truax, offers this introduction at the start of this book about all aspects of the Truax Life:
“Thousands and thousands of Radio Operators and Mechanics have left this post well founded in the fundamentals of communication systems, and after advanced training, are taking their places with pilots navigators, bombardiers and air mechanics in forming plane crews which are blasting the enemy out of the skies in all parts of the world.”
With each letter I post during Frank’s training at Truax, I’ll include photos and copy from The Beam, which presents a vivid
overall picture of life at the field.
This is Frank’s first letter to his mother from Truax Field, describing his inauspicious arrival.
That was close but now I’m 15 minutes late for bed check so I ran most of the way back to the barracks and caught the Sgt. Taking the names of the fellows not in their bunks so I was all right after giving him a sob story of how the bus was late and handed him a chicken sandwich which fixed everything swell.I got here with a little trouble but everything will work out OK.
The bus got into Madison at 10:25 and I grabbed a cab and got to camp about 10:40 where my trouble started. I handed the M.P. My pass and started to walk away when he called me back with the familiar, “Hey Soldier.” Right then and there my heart was tangled with my shoe strings. He beefed about being 40 Minutes late and how would I like to be on the front out of ammunition for 40 minutes—and then said, “Pass.” Phew!
It’s a good thing you gave me too much to eat. Those nuts were good and I haven’t had too many. I had a good night’s sleep and woke up this morning feeling like a millions dollars. The bus I came back on was a barn on wheels, but I had a good time because the driver was quite a comedian and was kidding 2 girls who sat in back of him.
Well, I’m going to quit now as I’m in class and I had better do a little work—so till I write again I remain,
Your Loving Son,