The Old Ball and Turkey Corps
CC member Frank Walker and his wife, Karen, reside in Costa Rica. Periodically he sends updates on their lifestyle to friends. He and Karen have been on several of the CC cruises. In this, he relates the experiences of his Marine dad in World War I.
Frank Walker's father, Anan Walker
My dad, Anan Orville Walker, as a Sergeant of Marines served with Company “B”, 11th Marines, American Expeditionary Forces during WWI. He never talked much about his experiences in the Corps but you could hear the pride in his voice and could see that certain gleam in his eyes when he did. This was his favorite story:
Shortly after the Armistice which was signed on November 11, 1918 Company “B” found itself ordered to settle in on the out skirts of a small French village. The 11th Marines were a machine gun outfit back then, not the artillery outfit they are now.
An army unit was also ordered to the same village but someone was thinking and put the doughboys in a field on the opposite side of town.
Things remained fairly peaceful because of this arrangement until a stevedore unit was brought in and set up camp on another side of town. Remember, in those days the military was segregated. Stevedore units were all black except for white officers.
As fate would have it one day some of the stevedores and some of the doughboys got into it in town. Guards from both units were called out but couldn’t get things under control.
Then Gendarmes from the local constabulary arrived, took one look and decided their services were greatly needed elsewhere.
Finally, someone called on the Marines for assistance. My dad was Sergeant of the Guard that day and the Officer of the Day told him to fall out the guard and go see what could be done. The OOD then promptly went back to doing what ever it was he was doing before the call for assistance came in.
Well, my dad fell the guard out, gave the command to fix bayonets, gave them a facing movement, brought them to port arms and double-timed them to the site of the disturbance. Shortly after arriving things were under control, at least according to my dad.
A few days later my dad’s name came up on the liberty list for a pass to go into town for a few hours. As he was walking down the street to what apparently wasn’t a sanctioned USO place of entertainment he happened to be walking behind two doughboys.
One looked like he had been involved in the disturbance a few days back: limping somewhat, swollen ear, a cut above an eye and some bruising. My dad overhead this one say to his friend, “Ya know, I’m damn glad we were fighting them Boche fellows instead of them fellows with that turkey and ball on their hats. God almighty damn could those sons bitches fight.”
As an aside, my dad was promoted to sergeant on 1 March 1919. Forty-seven years to the day later on 1 March 1966 I was promoted to sergeant. It was also my 22d birthday.