Bernard S. Kolp
Interviewer: Don Weckhorst

WECKHORST: I am privileged to have an interview with Mr. Bernard Kolp. He is a former Chanuter, and was stationed here in 1935. My Kolp, would you start from the beginning and tell us how you got into the Army Air Corps? From this point on I'll just let you do the talking just as if you were telling the story.

KOLP: Well in the Summer of 1935, jobs weren't too plentiful. I had two friends, Crosby Ives and a Milton Kline, and they had put in for Chanute Field to go to school. They were over at Chanute Field waiting to enlist, so I stopped by one day, sometime possibly in the middle of July 1935, to see them. I got to looking around, talking, and was at loose ends, didn't have anything to do, didn't have a job, and didn't particularly care whether I had a job or not, I'd rather not work than anything else. I decided to wait around to see if I could get in. At the time we were living in some empty barracks the Army gave us. We were sleeping on a mattress with no sheets, or anything else. They were feeding us. There was possibly 25 or 30 men just hanging around there to try to get in. I found out that the possibility of me getting into go to school was rather slim, but after you had been there awhile, you might be able to get into school. I do remember most of the fellows, some were between 18 and 22 years of age. They were very eager to get in and some of them were underweight, and they'd stuff themselves as much as they could just to get their weight up just so they could get in. And I have actually seen kids 18, 19, 20 years old cry because they couldn't pass the physical examination to get into Chanute Field.

WECKHORST: Was this because the jobs were difficult to get, Mr. Kolp?

KOLP: Well, the jobs were rather difficult for a young person. I never was without something to do. I never did look for a job. I scrounged; my dad had a business and I used to work for him if I wanted to. Actually there wasn't much money in it. Prior to 1935, about 1931-1935, the two men who was at Chanute and several others of us ran around all over the United States. We went to Florida in the winter time, or Texas, maybe New Orleans. In the summer, sometimes, we would go to Canada, or we'd go out to the west. One of the fellows' parents owned a ranch out there and we would go out there during the summer. So we just ran all over the country. It was just kind of tough to go to school, for one thing. Most of us didn't have the inclination, or the money, to go on to college, is what it amounted to. At this time at Chanute Field there were, I would say, maybe, one out of every ten men had had some college. One year, two years, maybe even four years. They couldn't find a job, or didn't have a job, so they just decided to go in the Army.

WECKHORST: After you were enlisted, Mr. Kolp, you mentioned in your letter that you were on detail helping to clear the runway. Could you talk about that a little bit. The mule carts and the equipment you operated with.

KOLP: Well, actually the runway was dirt. There might have been a one east/west runway, I don't remember for sure, that wasn't paved but it did possibly have some gravel. They would get "chuck-holes." One of the first things I did, was I had a mule cart and I would take crushed rock and fill the chuck holes out in the runway. We called it the landing pasture. It lasted a couple or three days, all it amounted to. They did have little two-wheeled mule carts that they hauled the stuff around in.

WECKHORST: Did the Army own the mules and the carts.

KOLP: As far as I know.

WECKHORST: You talked about having some details at the Central Heating Plant. Were you in casual status, waiting for a school assignment?

KOLP:That was when I was assigned to Chanute Field. And anyone assigned to Chanute Field was assigned to the post, their chances of getting into the school, was almost zero. They did take certain ones. It was possible. But they had to have an opening in the school. For an assigned person who had his name in for several years. Like I said, those two young men that I went over there to visit, their names had been put in for Chanute Field when they were in High School. They graduated from high school, so their names had been in the pot for six, seven or eight years, probably. So they were assured of going to school, they went in unassigned. Those who hadn't had their names in that long, they were asigned to the post, and you did the work. The other fellows did get some guard duty, but it didn't amount to much. When you were going to school, you didn't have guard duty. You went to school from 7:00 o'clock in the morning to 5:00 in the afternoon. That was school. I remember, let's get back to where we were.

WECKHORST: Could you describe how you managed to get into the school?

KOLP: Well, I'll tell you about the Heating Plant First. There was six of us on duty at the heating plant. Two of us on a eight hour shift. Our job was to scoop coal. A steam shovel (clam shell) was used to lift the coal out of the railroad cars and dump it into a large room with no roof. This room was connected to the boiler room. There was a miniature rail track from the boilers to this coal storage room. We used four wheel cars (similar, or the same as, cars used in mines) to move the coal from the storage room to the boilers. On a real cold day we would scoop 40 tons of coal in an 8 hour shift. 1935-36 was a real bad winter. It was a miserable job and we were always tired. We didn't have any time off and were too tired to do anything anyway. They kept us segregated from the other soldiers because we were so dirty all the time and the time of day we were coming in and out. We were in what they called a little cadre room. It was possibly, about as big as 10' by 10', possibly a little bit bigger, and it had six bunks in it, and needless to say we weren't particularly clean and didn't give a _____ about how we looked, or how the room looked. It wasn't very neat, we just threw the clothes on the floor, and it didn't make any difference. So, four of us were sleeping in there one day, and of course two of the fellows were on duty and four of us were sleeping, and they had some high brass come in from someplace, and we heard them outside the door and one of the brass comes to inspect and says, "What's in this room?" and the officer showing him around said "Well that's the men from the Central Heating Plant." Well he opened the door to come in and said "_____ what kind of a _____ mess is this? Get this _____ place cleaned up, and throw these guys in the guard house for being so dirty. One of the guys rolled over and said "Good, send us to the _____ guard house, we don't care, it will be better than what we are now." We didn't particularly care, they could of sent us to the guard house if they wanted to, but I'll give the officer credit for that, he turned around and walked out. And that was the last we ever heard of that. They didn't push us a bit, but it was a miserable job. I was still on that job when I finally got into school.

WECKHORST: What school?

KOLP: Radio school. I guess I was still in the heating plant, I'm not sure whether I was or not, I don't really remember. It was summer when I got into school, or spring. Something slipped there and I don't remember exactly, what time it was.

WECKHORST: Would you describe how you managed to get into the radio school?

KOLP: Well this wasn't exactly honest, but I guess the statue of limitations has run out on it! I made a pretty good lick in a crap game, one day. I was awful tired of working in the Heating Plant. I had heard that the Sergeant Major at the school had pretty good control of the school. He was a Master Sergeant, and he had quite a bit to say about it. I heard, or understood that he got into some trouble with some girls. One girl or two girls, and was in need of money, that was a post rumor. So he had a good buddy, and I made this lick in a crap game, and I was standing there with the money, and I had about 110 or 115 dollars. I just thought, well, I'm going to try something. So I said real loud to one of the fellows I had been shooting craps with, "I sure would like to get into that Radio School, "I'd give a hundred bucks to get into that radio school, I've got a hundred bucks here." About two days later, the Sergeanat Major's buddy came over and said, "I understand you'd give a hundred dollars to get into the radio school. I said _____ yes, I'd give a hundred bucks to get into the school. "Well", he said, "I think I can arrange that". So I just gave him the hundred dollars, and next month my name was on the bulletin board to go to radio school. I don't know whether the Sergeant Major of the school got the money or not, I don't care who got the money, but I got into school. It was money well spent.

WECKHORST: Would you describe the KP duties and the food at the time you were at the Chanute facilities?

KOLP: Well, the food as a rule, as I understand it, cost 14-18 cents a day, somewhat in that neighborhood, It wasn't very much, and I didn't do very much, actually, with working in the Heating Plant. Very rarely did I do KP.

WECKHORST: How about the quality of the food?

KOLP: Normally, it was pretty good. There were times when it wasn'tvery good.

WECKHORST: You mentioned earlier, before we turned the tape on, that you heard some rumor about some not above the board dealings with the handling of the mess.

KOLP: Well, yes, the rumor was out. What you could see, the enlisted men weren't getting all the food. The rumor that the two sergeants were sellling quite a bit of it, and I personally saw the Major who was the head Mess Major, I personally saw him take quantities of food and put it in his car, and drive it out to his officer's quarters. So I assume he was taking it home for his own personal use.

WECKHORST: Would you describe the incident on how you ended up in the guard house?

KOLP: Well, the mess officer made a ruling that you could only have one piece of chicken or one piece of meat, whatever the case may be, and you could only have one helping, of anything, and it was just considerably less than what we had been used to. So this one particular day, I went to the mess hall. There was very nicely counted out 12 pieces of chicken, on the plate, for 12 men. Well, I happened to be the last man, and there was this burnt piece of stuff, and I assumed it was a wing and it was about 3 inches long and it was rather burnt, didn't amount to much, there wasn't any meat on it, so I just dumped it out on the table, walked up to the counter to get some more chicken, which was normal. Now that was a normal situation, if you'd run out somebody, the last man, that took the last piece went up to the counter, and got more. That was, what they called; "The rule of the mess hall". Anyway I went up to get more chicken, and this Major, he was an Air Corps Officer, transferred in from Field Artillery (I'm not sure). He was a captain, and was an acting major (I think they called it). Anyway, I went up there and stuck the plate up for more chicken, and he said, "Soldier, I thought I told all you peole you could have only one piece of chicken?" I said "The last piece I got wasn't any good to eat." Well he said, "You aren't going to get anymore." I said "Well if the Major wouldn't take so much of it home for his own personal use, there might be enough left for the enlisted men." Well the old major, he blew his top and hollered for the guard, and had me thrown in the guard house. So, I was in the guard house that night, and he came down looking for an apology, I think the next morning. I was scared, mad and wasn't going to retract a bit of it, so he wouldn't let it lay, and he called the hospital, and said he had a man over there that needed to be "psychoanalyzed", he's crazy. So one of the doctors came over, and started talking to me, and found out what it was ll about, and he started laughing. I didn't know what he was laughing about, but come to find out, the way he would punish the hospital personnel, if they didn't stay in line, he'd force them to come up and eat in our mess hall. So the doctor said, "I can't let you out of the guard house, that has to come from the major who put you in here" but he said, "Give me about ten minutes, and I think you will be out." So about ten minutes later, the guard let me out. So I got called before the mess officer, and he still wouldn't let it lay, and restricted me to the post for a week, I think that was the maximum at the time. Well this thing, blew the lid off the whole thing. They said Kolp was in the guard house, because he didn't get enough to eat, and that kind of stuff. So, finally, this is all rumor, the rumor is they tried the two sergeants and found them guilty, and the rumor was they had done ten years. The major got transferred to another post. That's the way we understood it, but of course this is all rumor. I wouldn't want to swear to it. The only thing I'll swear to is being in the guard house for not getting enough to eat! The food got better right after that, it got back to normal.

WECKHORST: When was this, in 1936?

KOLP: It was before I went to school, it was in the summer or spring of 1936. I don't remember it being cold. I think it was before I went to the heating plant. The heating plant wasn't punishment or anything like that, that was just normal duty.

WECKHORST: Could you describe the barracks that you lived in, the buildings, was it crowded?

KOLP: Well, the barracks to start with, run east and west along the north boundary of the post, and they were the barracks that were built during the later part of World War I, and had been sitting there empty all of this time. We went in there, and as far as I know, there was a rumor that the farmers had raised pigs and chickens in them. Anyway they were rather dirty, and we scrubbed the whole thing, the walls, floors the whole works, and that's what we had to live in. Now, I can't remember, the latrine and showers were in the middle. I can't visuallize how many bunks, but I think there were at least 50 bunks on each side, that would be about right. Now remember this is from memory and is rather vague. The barracks had eight heat pipes along the wall, and they were built exactly like the houses in Hawaii, there was the wood sheating on the outside, and that was the end of it. On the inside there were the two by fours exposed. There was one sheet of lumber between you and the outdoors. It didn't get too warm in there during the winter. In the beginning we weren't too particularly crowded, but then as they started coming in, getting ready for World War II, they got rather crowded so we took the bunks and turned one upside down on the other, put the top of one bunk on the bottom, and the other bunk up on top and that would give us double bunks out of them. We were about possibly 3 feet apart, double deck bunks on each side. I would say that there were 400 men to a barracks. Now bear in mind this isn't anything I would want to eat my words on later, but what I remember, it was rather crowded, but there was never any trouble due to crowding, there was never anything like that. I do remember in the beginning, and I don't know how long this lasted, the first year, year and a half there was never anything stolen. You could take your clothes off, take your billfold, your money, your watch, the whole works throw it on your bunk and spend 30 minutes or an hour in the shower, come back and never have any qualms about that at all, nobody ever touched anything. There was another little thing that might strike a little weird now, some of the fellows would bring their shotguns and rifles and hang them on the wall behind their bunks so they could use them over the weekend when they went hunting. There was never any questions there. At each end of the barracks, possibly, there was six or eight pistols soldiers had in their foot locker, and knives, eight, ten inches long. That was customary. I don't know why, they never cut or shot anybody with them. These were things anyone could have. No one seemed to care or pay any attention to them.

WECKHORST: Have you been back to Chanute in recent years?

KOLP: Once.

WECKHORST: What ws your impression when you came back, did you have any personal memories?

KOLP: Nothing was the same except the name.

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