On the first of June I received a promotion to Jr. Clerk at $1440 or $120 per month. The following month, 16 July 1943, I transferred to Pyote Army Air Base and received another raise to $1620 or $135 per month.
      Another girl and I left at the same time and rode the bus together. It was mid-July and blistering hot when we pulled up in front of the drug store and the driver announced, "Downtown Pyote."
     There was a filling station, a drug store and a restaurant that served short orders. Directly across the highway was the Santa Fe depot, west of it.
     The driver allowed us to ride about a quarter of a mile farther west to the entrance gate with the words, RATTLESNAKE ARMY AIR BASE, emblazoned along the side. Aptly called because of the number of rattlesnakes killed during the construction and still housed themselves there. We were cautioned to be careful. The cowboys told of how the ground would echo and sound hollow when riding their horses across the pastures at a steady gait. It was in these honeycombed and porous chambers below where the snakes lived, bred and came to the surface especially when disturbed.
     A young lieutenant took us to our assigned trailer house on the eastern edge of the base next to the fence where a GI was posted with a guard dog. It was a small streamlined metal affair with a gasoline cook stove that had to be pumped up to burn. A couch at each end that made a bed was next to an ice box (not a refrigerator), then a tiny closet along the wall. On the opposite side was a fold down table and for privacy, a folding partition next to it that could be stretched across the center. A temporary building in the center of the complex of about twenty or so trailers housed several showers and rest rooms. Work had begun on dormitories and a cafeteria for the incoming female workers.
     We were shown the location of the enlisted men's mess hall where we would be taking our meals and then escorted to our respective offices and introduced to our new fellow workers.
     We returned to our trailer to unpack and prepare for the next day. I had bought a set of luggage, two bags and a cosmetic case for the move. These held all my earthly possessions. The lieutenant loaned me a pair of sheets for my bed. We were housed together only because we arrived together and were never really friends. She worked in a distant office from mine, was soon disillusioned and returned to San Angelo.

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     The mess hall was probably a quarter of a mile from the trailer complex but there was always someone to walk with. The food was excellent and there were mountains of it. I had never seen so much food. At first it turned my stomach to see stainless steel containers almost as large as washtubs full of gravy, mashed potatoes or whatever. I would have to look away and just watch the person doing the serving or else I couldn't eat. I came to the conclusion that we were served horse meat at times. It was a course dark red with wide flat ribs, larger than any I had seen on the farm animals we killed, but it was well prepared and tasted good. Later, when I described it to Gilbert, who was a mess sergeant, said most likely it was horse meat. My favorite was the barbecued pork they served.
     The place livened up considerably at night as there was a lighted patio with tables and chairs where the GI's came to socialize, watch the stars and drink beer. We walked over from the office right after five o'clock and ate early in order to avoid the beer drinking crowd.
       I received my mail on base and it was delivered to my office. There was little reason to walk to Pyote for anything but occasionally we did. It was just a short distance from my trailer through the barbwire fence and once I took that route on my way home. I made it fine until I got right to the spot where nothing but the fence separated me from my trailer and a guard saw me make the crossover. He said, "You know not to do this, but if you eve try it again, by all means don't wear a red coat."
     I had on the one Mrs. Duke had made for me.
   I went to the restaurant only a couple of times. It was an old frame building that had been added to in order to accommodate the influx of personnel from the base. It was owned by a man and his wife who operated on their own schedule: when they got tired they quit. Because they sold beer they were always open at night. It didn't matter if it were day or night, if you had just come in or if you were waiting for an order. They would announce they were tired and were closing up. If no one stirred they turned out the light.
      The drug store had the Denver Post on Sundays. The owner, also a local, almost never had what you asked for because of wartime shortages, but always had something just as good.
     The Post Office was a tiny one-room affair with boxes for the locals and presided over by an older woman who had been there for years. When all this mail from Washington and elsewhere started coming in addressed to Sub-Depot, Army Air

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Base, she was overwhelmed with work and had to hire a  helper. She wanted to know who on earth this Mr. Sub-Depot was that commanded such a following and was only too happy when a post office was set up on the base for him.
    In contrast to my former roommate, I was delighted to have such a wonderful job and enjoyed working with Marie Devine, my immediate supervisor in Purchasing & Contracting. She was older and had married her sweetheart when he was on leave to their home state of New York. He was sent to Pyote and she came to be near him. She had worked a number of years and was adept at handling anything the civilian officer, Don Forrest, didn't catch. Prior to my arrival her only help had been the GI's that came and worked until they had to go drill, do KP, clean the grounds or some other duty. She seldom had the same one twice and had to explain everything over to each one. More often than not their typing and spelling left much to be desired. If they had a gas attack drill they came to work wearing their masks and couldn't remove them until the attack was over. The GI's continued to help for some time after I came to work.
     Pyote differed from Goodfellow in that they flew the   high altitude B-17 Flying Fortress bombers whereas Goodfellow had only small basic trainer planes. After the B-29 Superfortress  bombers were perfected, they began coming in and by the time I left, some were flying every day. The famous B-29, Enola Gay, that dropped the bomb on Hiroshima, was stationed there after my departure.
     After several months we moved from the trailers into the dormitories and had our own cafeteria. What a jolt!
     We were quickly thrust back into civilian life. Breakfasts were terrible and got worse all the time. It was here that I got turned off of grapefruit for breakfast -- forever. I never drank coffee but there usually was lukewarm milk. Our choices were limited to grapefruit, an egg (when available), fried on a griddle without any fat of any kind and accompanied by dry toast. No jelly, no sweet rolls, no butter or margarine. We could walk across the base to the PX and by cookies or maybe chocolates but we seldom did.
     Because I liked privacy, I had a double room with 2 beds, 2 chests, 2 desks and chairs. I removed one desk and chair and was happy to pay for the extra space and privacy. Mr. rent was deducted from my salary each month.
     The dorm had three long wings with a central hall in each wing and rooms on either side. The windows were just below the roof line. My room was near the middle of the north wing on the east side of the hall. At the juncture of the halls was a large sitting room backed by a hall that led to the showers, lava-

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tories and stalls with commodes that almost never had paper. Paper goods were critical and drives were held often to gather every scrap. There was never any hot water even in bitter cold weather. Posters proclaimed that hot water took energy and energy was needed for the war effort. These were facts of life and it was a great improvement over the trailers.
     When Marie's husband shipped out she returned to New York and I fell heir to her responsibilities. Shortly after that, Don left to work in the nearby oil fields and I was promoted to Purchasing Clerk at $1800 or $150 per month. At age 21 I was now responsible for maintaining a constant supply of breathing oxygen and airplane tires. The planes were not pressurized and oxygen was required for  high altitude flying.
     By this time I was familiar with all the office procedures and the companies with whom we did business locally. If an item was not available locally it could be purchased anywhere as long as the company didn't hold government contracts. This was often a real challenge.
     Our office was in a huge hanger located on the flight line. One could step out the side door onto the runway that reached 120 degrees during the heat of the day. The line crew once demonstrated this by frying eggs on it. There was no air-conditioning or fans We just opened u everything and let the air flow through. By 10:00 a.m. it was often 110 degrees. If anyone complained or griped they were reminded that "war is hell."
      It was also a place of much excitement and activity and we were the first to know about it. Everything was abuzz once when we heard a WASP (Women's Air Force Service Pilots) had radioed in for a landing in a big bomber. All the pilots and crew members that were free lined the runway as this was what they did every day and they felt she was invading their territory. They all came back flabbergasted. They couldn't believe a tiny little female barely over five feet could handle such a plane so gently that she didn't make a bobble when she touched down.
      My position now was much more serious as records were kept religiously about no flying time lost due to lack of parts, accidents, etc. Flying went on 365 days a year, 24 hours a day and woe to the person who broke the record that kept a plane on the ground.
     The hanger had a partition partially across the center that divided it into two sections. Each section had several offices grouped about without any walls or dividers of any kind. Everyone could see and hear what everyone else was doing. I was always hassled about talking so much as I was always on the phone.

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     I took bids and bought all kinds of items that I had no idea what they were or what they were used for. I just went by the description and stock numbers. Some, I eventually picked up on, others I asked the storekeeper. Sometimes he would bring something in to show me what it was. I learned the difference between male and female electrical plugs and fittings that I had never heard of, also, the difference between centrifugal and centripetal pumps, what fullers earth was for and what a decalcomania was. Although I didn't handle them, I learned about tachometers, altimeters and all kinds of gauges and indicators.
     Soon after I took over my new responsibilities I saw first hand what happened when a critical item was needed and someone had failed to procure it. The supply of high-octane gasoline for the base was assigned to one girl whose desk was next to the center partition of the wide opening some distance across from me Suddenly I heard loud voices and looked up to see this officer leaning over her desk looking into her face, waving his arms and yelling at the top of his voice. His face was livid and he was furious about something. She tried to interrupt him but he continued to revile her.
      I asked someone what on earth was going on and they said she had let the supply of high octane gasoline run out. She tried to explain that it had been ordered but had not come in. He was in no mood to listen or accept any excuses. This was her responsibility and she had no business letting it get so low before ordering more. She began to cry and wring her hands, beg and plead for understanding while alternately burying her head in her hands and walking about with tears streaming down her face. He was oblivious to anything she said or did and continued to rail and trounce upon her and strip her down to nothing. She was a total wreck.
     Right then I made up my mind that no officer from the top to the bottom would eve have the opportunity to do that to me. I might be a 21 year old girl from the country, but I determined if there was a base anywhere in the continental U. LS. that had oxygen and tires, it would be mine. I had seen enough even before this and realized an angry officer in full dress uniform absolutely terrified me Still, no one was going to have the chance to see how quick they could strip me down and bring me to tears. These officers seemed to take delight in seeing just how soon they could accomplish that feat. As one co-worker once said, "They think they have a front seat in heaven because they have a gold bar on their shoulder."

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     Years later when I read in Revelation 19 of Jesus returning to take vengeance on his enemies clothed in royal garments, it brought to mind my dear of an angry person in uniform: I trembled at the thought and still do.
     My first priority every morning was to check the supply of oxygen. I would call Linde Air Products in El Paso and notify them of the number of empty cylinders I was returning and the number of full ones needed At times they would be forced to call another facility and have them trucked to me. I always made sure I had at lest as many empties as I needed full ones There were times when Linde called me to say they were out of cylinders and could I "loan" them some for an emergency. If I had a comfortable margin I did, otherwise I wouldn't part with them As long as they were in my possession I was in control.
     The same went for airplane tires. The demand was daily. With constant flying and landing on hot runways, we went through them like snow on the equator These had to be ordered direct from the manufacturers in Dayton, Ohio, Chicago, Michigan, anywhere I could locate them. The CEO'S soon knew me by name and their first words were always, "What's the weather like down there?" When I told them in mid-winter that it was clear as a bell, 50 degrees and perfect flying weather, they just moaned over how deep the snow was and they hadn't seen the sun in weeks.
      I anticipated as best as I could what was needed and kept a continuous supply coming our direction. Not once did any officer or even anyone from the flight line ever say we were in danger of getting low on either oxygen or tires. However, the finance officer called once to say that I had the highest telephone bill of anyone on the base. Even this didn't slow my efforts. I was determined I would not come up short.
     It wasn't all roses because after all, this was wartime and my job was serious business. An officer from the depot in San Antonio where we requisitioned supplies gave me a call. He was at the boiling point because I had bought something that could have been requisitioned from them. He let me know this was no small time transgression and didn't I know that's what they were there for? Besides, the 2nd Air Force would not be happy if they had to explain to congress why they had gone over their budget. After all, I had a regulation manual to outline what I was permitted to purchase and his office always checked to see if I quoted the proper regulation on my purchase orders.
     I was distraught since I knew it was a borderline case when I placed the order. I went over his head and explained my dilemma to his superior who graciously calmed my fears by stating it was not a clear cut case and the regulation

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I had cited would cover it.
     Another time the CEO of a company holding large government contracts accused me of getting him in trouble over something I had bought. The details escape me now but I still remember the company name and order number. Dennison Engineering Company, Purchase Order #328! This took a week of agonizing work calling and checking the manual before DI could convince him I had done nothing wrong. It also contributed considerably to my learning to pray.
     When a troop train came to pick up the men shipping out the whole base turned out to see them off. I went only once, when Marie's husband left. There was a short speech commending them for a job well done and wishing them well on their next assignment - - overseas for the most part. Wives and sweethearts embraced and kissed their loved ones goodbye as they loaded onto the train, car after car. There was a rousing cheer and waving as the train slowly circled in front of our hangar and pulled onto the main track The GI's leaned out all the windows waving and calling out parting words. We watched and waved until the last car passed the Pyote depot then walked slowly back to the dorm as dusk fell. It was a sobering sight in spite of all the outward gaiety.
     Tomorrow would be another day full of responsibilities
     One of the thing I remember about Pyote was how absolutely wonderful the water was. After work I often walked over to the cafeteria for a pitcher of ice and cooled off with that heavenly cold water. When John, my son, went through Pyote once I asked him to bring me some water. Unfortunately, it took on an off flavor after sitting in the back of his pickup in a plastic container with the sun streaming down on it.
     I think of Pyote water when I red of King David longing for a drink from the well at Bethlehem.
     Another thing was the moonlight nights. I have never seen the moon so bright. I would wake up in the night and it was like a bright light shinning through my window. I would get up and stand on the edge of my bed and lean against the wall to gaze and marvel at the beauty.
     During the winter of 1943 we had a really big snowstorm. I don't know the official measurement but the snow was almost mid-calf walking to work and there were deep drifts everywhere. Fortunately, I had a pair of cowboy boots. No. we didn't wear pants, the girls all wore dresses and skirts. The guys from the east and especially New Jersey, just went wild. They rolled each other in the snow, had snowball fights, threw them into the hangar, and ran and played like children. To these homesick GI's it was a taste of heaven. But this was

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Texas and it lasted only a couple of days.
     I knew most of the girls in my dorm and worked with many of them but had only two really close friends, Jackie and Marie. Too bad I didn't write down their last names as they are now forgotten. They were a  bit younger than me and lived in Monahans with their families They rode the bus home on week-ends and once I spent a week-end with Marie. They were clean living wholesome girls that I enjoyed being with and we went almost everywhere together. We walked to the cafeteria, the commissary, the mess hall and even took the bus from the base to Monahans and Odessa shopping. The bus was free and carried military or civilian personnel.
     For the most part the girls were wild, liked to party and drink with the guys and attend the Friday night dances. Jackie liked to dance and did stay a few times to attend but her Pentecostal upbringing always left her feeling guilty.
     The weekly dance was a big thing and the dorm emptied out completely - - except for me and the maids who were mostly in their 60's. It would be as quiet as a morgue but I wrote letters, washed my hair, read, embroidered or did my laundry. I don't mean to say I was the  only one on base that didn't go because, no doubt, there were others that probably felt the same but they went home. Many lived in Kermit, Pecos, Iran, Odessa, Midland and surrounding communities. As for my dorm and especially my wing, there was no one there on Friday nights except myself that I knew of.
     One of the maids came to visit a few times and did some mending for me. She volunteered to do my laundry but I did it in the lavatory like everyone else and could usually chase down an ironing board furnished for the dorm: I remember thinking of my mother and hoped she would not have to work that hard when she was their age.
     I was asked if I didn't get awfully lonely. I can honestly say that I didn't. I kept in touch with my family through letters and wrote to other relatives away in the service as well as many friends. I went home a few times and spent Christmas with Lorene and her family who lived on a farm west of Stanton.
     This was by far the best job I had ever had and it paid well. My living conditions were good and I never considered quitting or looking for a different job. Practically everyone on base, military and civilian, was from somewhere else, often homesick and unable to go home. In a sense, we were like a large family. Everyone liked to get together and talk about where they lived, what it

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was like, where they worked, their families and particularly, what they wanted to do when the war was over. In fact, visiting was the main diversion and entertainment. Everyone wanted someone to talk to.
      One week-end another girl and I caught the train and rode to Big Spring. It was a delightful trip and we had an enjoyable dinner served on a white tablecloth with RR silver. We didn't do it again as we had to walk across town after dark to the bus station in order to finish our trip to San Angelo.
     I worked six days a week, sometimes seven, and when returning, I always took the last bus back. The lights from the base could be seen for miles on the flat Texas landscape and to me, they were beautiful and the lights of home. I had been more or less on my own since graduating from high school and had learned to depend on myself as my family wasn't able to help me. I was always glad to be back.
     Different squadrons were always having picnics, swimming parties, and activities off base and sent flyers to all the offices inviting the girls. I knew these were nothing more than beer busts and never considered going. The dances were bad enough as I remembered how conscience stricken I was when I attended country dances with my family while growing up.   ( I removed some personal memories here that had nothing to do with Pyote. All of page 15 also.)

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     We moved from the hangar to a smaller office near the headquarters building. More private but nearer the brass. My work was the same but I had the opportunity to watch the men march from my window. I had missed those sounds as I had listened to them from a distance while living in the trailer. From bedtime to early dawn the hup-hup-hup; left, left, left, you left your wife and ninety-nine kids, left, left, left, then they would sing and switch back to left, left, until daybreak.
     There was always the roar of the engines warming up every morning on the flight line. I especially enjoyed seeing the crews quickstep as they came by singing the Air Corps song all dressed for flight in their sheep-lined leather pants, jackets, boots and helmets. They were a dedicated group and studied continually no matter where they were. The radio operators were constantly dot, dot, dashing with their fingers tapping out messages and reading others being sent. They would switch and speak dot, dot, dash, dot, and someone would respond in turn. Each crew member knew how important his job was and they worked in earnest to be the best.
     Those that I worked with were courteous and respectful. One in particular had his office directly behind me separated by a row of filing cabinets. When we moved we somehow got a fan in the deal and I set it on one of the cabinets to make the heat bearable- - when it blew on us. This guy was a very witty outgoing and friendly person, a real stress reliever to have around. I would be busy working and all of a sudden realize it was sweltering hot. I would look, and sure enough, he would have the fan turned around toward his office. He did this constantly, called me Boss Lady" and amused everyone by drawing pictured of me, as he said, "yak-ya0ing" on the phone.
     Not all the GI's were this open or gallant. There were a few times when one I didn't know would rivet his eyes on me starting at my head, go all the way down to my feet while talking. I felt as if he were mentally undressing me and I was standing before him in the nude. I quickly learned to break the spell by turning and walking off without saying a word or sit down at my desk and start to work, ignoring him completely.
     The flagpole was in front of the headquarters building and everyone in hearing distance of the bugle, morning or evening when the flag was raised or lowered, faced the flag whether they could see it or not, and stood at attention;. Military and civilian. I am appalled today to see how carelessly the flag is

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raised and lowered at our public schools and how indifferent and nonchalant the students are.
     The "elephant" was a new service introduced in the early summer of 1944, to the delight of the girls in the dorm. It was a low-slung covered trailer with open sides and long benches for seats and pulled by a jeep. It snaked its way among the buildings, never stopping but going slow enough for anyone to jump on or off as needed. It came by our office just after 5:00 p.m. and we could hop on and ride to the dorm. No more walking in the heat with the sun blazing down on us. This was a royal treat and the best thing yet.
     The WASPS were ferrying in planes quite often now and the guys were adjusting to it more or less. One rather large contingent came in that created quite a stir around headquarters. They had never been in Texas before and were captivated by all the sunshine. They saw it as their opportunity to get a gorgeous tan and promptly spread out blankets on the bare ground with as little on as possible. By the time they thought they had accomplished their goal they learned to their horror they were broiled. Seriously. All had to be taken to the hospital and treated for a week before they could leave.

     After spending three winters in Alaska, Gilbert arrived back in the states on 2 January 1944, and was stationed at Ft. Bliss. After several visits together we were married on the 10th of July. .................. In order to be released from my job at Pyote, I had to resign my civil service commission. No transfers were given during wartime except for the benefit of the government.

     This ends her account of her work at the Rattlesnake Bomber Base.

page created June 30, 2006