Letters To Home - November 22, 1950

Fort Dix, New Jersey
November 22, 1950

Very, very busy. Basic training is now turning tough. Had a gas drill the other day. Marched out to the gas chamber, put on our gas masks and went inside. Stayed in for about 5 minutes with the masks on, then 30 seconds with the masks off. Wicked stuff.

Monday evening, in a driving rain, had a little night problem, using compasses. We didn't get lost, either, which surprised us all. We must be learning something.

Yesterday, got up at 3:45 a.m. and marched 6 miles to the rifle range. Started firing at 9:30, and fired until 4:30 p.m., then rode back. Cold and snowy.

My M-1 is quite accurate, but the damned thing does not work right. It is a semi-automatic, gas-operated weapon, but after the second or third shot I have to work the action by hand. Something to do with the gas port, I'm told. We fired 60 rounds to get the feel of the piece, then 30 more to qualify. After the first 60 rounds, my shoulder started feeling it, and by the time I qualified the shoulder was black-and-blue. The M-1, though, is a much milder-recoiling rifle than the Springfield. Must have something to do with the gas-operated action. I qualified high, which pleases me.

This morning we received four hours instruction on firing the bazooka (rocket launcher to the uninitiated). Won't shoot it until next week.

We now have two radios. Ray, my buddy, brought a battery-operated set from home last Sunday, and Tom, another buddy, has an electric one. So, we play Tom's until lights out, then switch to Ray's. We're able to pull in a few New York City jazz stations. Good to hear real music again!