The Troubled 43rd

Inside the gate at Camp Pickett, deep in the dusty Virginia pine barrens, a soldier stood methodically thrusting copies of a neat, mimeographed pamphlet into the hands of arriving draftees. The cover bore the grape-leaf emblem of the 43rd ("Winged Victory") Division, and the first page carried a message from its commander: "You have just joined the best outfit in the Army ... I expect to see you doing your jobs as soldiers in the best division in the best Army in the world. (Signed) Kenneth F. Cramer, Major General, Commanding."

The 43rd, a National Guard outfit from Connecticut, Vermont and Rhode Island, had left New England last September filled with high patriotism and thoughts of past glory (four Presidential Unit Citations, 987 Silver Stars, 75 D.S.C.s and two Congressional Medals of Honor in the Pacific area in World War II). On paper, it figured to be a good division. More than 70% of its officers had combat experience, 74% of the men were high-school graduates, 18.4% had attended college, 90% of the division was under 26.

But last week, after nine months of training, the 43rd Division was far from being one of the Army's best. The Pentagon had set April 1 as the target date at which the 43rd would be fully trained and ready for combat. But two months more had passed and the division, even by its own reckoning, was still only about 40% combat-ready. And its morale was scraping rockbottom.

Coal Smoke & Mud. Everything had gone wrong from the minute the 43rd arrived at Pickett, 8,000 strong. Buildings, roofless and rickety, abandoned since World War II, dotted the landscape. Dirty green camouflage paint hung in peeling festoons from the barracks. Windows were smashed, hot-air heating ducts rusted and broken, the ancient latrines filthy, the mess halls flooded with water from leaky pipes.

They would work hard, General Cramer had told his men. There would be little time to see their families. The 43rd got to work rebuilding the camp. There were few mops, little soap, few towels, not enough garbage cans. The men put in requisitions, but they bogged down in red tape. There were few recreation areas. The supply sergeants never had enough uniforms. Men lived out of footlockers which they bought themselves, wore civilian shoes, frequently ate food prepared by ill-trained cooks, supervised by ill-trained mess sergeants.

General Cramer, obviously determined to give the division a military air, issued orders for everyone to carry rifles or sidearms and wear steel helmets. He also canceled all passes for the division except for 36-hour passes every other weekend. Even the division's staff officers could only see their families in nearby Blackstone (pop. 3,500) for a few hours every other weekend. "We really thought we were going to have a mutiny on our hands," recalls one officer.

Back in Harness. Then Cramer made an exception about dependents on the post: he moved his wife into his quarters. She took her meals, and still does, at the staff officers' mess, the only woman to do so regularly. Men whose families lived in overpriced, ramshackle off-post homes two miles away spent their evenings in overcrowded barracks, playing poker and cussing General Cramer.

A prosperous Hartford, Conn, coal dealer, Kenneth Cramer, 56, has been a part-time soldier in the National Guard since 1917. He has also, like many National Guard generals, been active in his home state's politics; he served four terms in the state legislature. A veteran of World War I and a brigadier general with the 24th Infantry Division in World War II, he had an excellent combat record, won four Silver Stars for gallantry in action. In 1946, after demobilization, he was made commander of the 43rd when it was returned to National Guard status. A few months later, regarded as a top National Guard officer, he got full-time duty as chief of the National Guard Bureau in Washington. Taking the job, he made one thing plain: if his division was called up, he wanted to go along as its commander. The 43rd was understrength for two months; then the Pentagon suddenly overwhelmed the division with 10,000 raw draftees, many of whom had the draftee's stock resentment at being sent to a Guard division. The 43rd had some fine officers and noncoms, tough, able soldiers who could teach men how to fight, but there were not enough to handle the job. Too many officers were old and incompetent; as in many Guard outfits, the 43rd's regimental rosters were topheavy with state politicos.

The Pentagon added its bit to the 43rd's troubles. Instead of the required 150 tanks, the division got but 44, and many of them were inoperable for lack of parts. Those that ran had to be driven 90 miles to another base before their 76-mm. guns could be fired--Pickett had no ranges long enough. Regiments had to pool machine guns. There were no cleaning rods. Ammunition was scarce. Instead of six shots with the 2.36 bazooka, recruits were allowed only one--enough to startle them, but not enough to train them.

"CryBaby Division." Somehow, the 43rd pushed its draftees through eleven weeks of basic training. To save time, three weeks of training (overhead artillery firing, combat in cities, infiltration courses) were lopped off the schedules. Then the Army raided the division, levied 3,400 recruits for combat in Korea. The 43rd frantically rushed them through final training, and in return got another batch of men fresh from induction centers as replacements. The 43rd began to wonder if it hadn't been quietly shunted into a training role. Officers & men wrote letters to the Pentagon, their Congressmen and New England papers. Privately, the Pentagon labeled them the "crybaby division" and sent inspectors to check up. Soon, hundreds of inspectors--from Second Army, VII Corps, Army Field Forces, Congress and the Pentagon--roamed Camp Pickett.

Orders went out to clean up Pickett. In Washington, Lieut. General Van Fleet, then Second Army commander, told a Congressman that he had ordered Cramer to straighten out his division, that if Cramer didn't get busy within 24 hours, he, Van Fleet, would issue the orders under his own name. Things got a little better. The leave-policy was eased a bit and some overage officers were relieved of command. But Cramer stayed on and the barracks were still unpainted. "Our day room looked so grimy," said one company commander, "that we painted it ourselves. It cost us a hundred bucks." The division still has but 50% of its equipment. Flamethrowers don't work, there are not enough rifle grenades, the one recon company has only ten of its 27 jeeps.

Last week the Army still had 59 inspectors combing the post. A recruit of ten weeks flopped down on the pine needles at lunchtime and stared disgustedly at his mess kit. He had just spent the morning running through a combat-in-cities course.

In his mess kit was a quarter-inch of greasy beef stew and lima beans. "If it wasn't for the food my mother sent me, I'd starve," the recruit said. "Eight lima beans. Count them, eight." The mess corporal was sorry: "I would like to give them more to eat, but there isn't enough to go around. I got to feed 15 or 20 more than my ration every day.

Ask for more rations? You ever seen Army red tape?" The lieutenant was sorry too: "We had a little bad luck . . . The first group got through a little early, so they got seconds. By the time the second group came through, we had to go a little light." Said General Cramer: "We are not concerned with morale here. The only time I worry about esprit de corps is when a soldier gets in the front line."

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