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PRIVATE GROVER PERRY DEERWESTER : 1918 ORIGINAL WORLD WAR I MANUSCRIPT DIARY HANDWRITTEN IN INTIMATE DETAIL BY A SADLY TYPICAL FOR TIMES RACIST AT CAMP JACKSON SOUTH CAROLINA

24mo - over 5" - 5¾" tall. On offer is a very interesting, original 95+ page manuscript relic of World War I being the diary of Private Grover Perry Deerwester [Battery D, 6th Regiment F.A.R.D. (Field Artillery Replacement Depot)] of Bucyrus Ohio handwritten in incredible intimate and graphic detail. It appears that Grover [1888 - 1938] was the son of Commodore Perry Deerwester. The private is at Camp Jackson South Carolina in the Base Hospital and then the Convalescent Hospital. Deerwester on the one hand proves to be somewhat typical of the times and of the sort flinging racial slurs and his thoughts about being in this "hell hole" but he is also a super diarist giving the a long, very sad description of a young man that hung him self in the hospital ward, a sand storm which he almost did not survive, about the men with venereal diseases, and much more. The 2 ½" x 5 ½" book begins with over 2 dozen pages of names, some autographs and addresses of some of his friends with notes as to what happened to them later on in life, for example: "Timothy Dempsey, 240 West 67th St. New York City. Gone over seas in O.A.R.D. from 6th regt. F.A.R.D., Edward H. Germit Napoleon Ohio. RFD #8 Box 55. Transferred from 6th Regt. F.A.R.D. to 4th Regt. Cook in Supply until sent back to Camp Sherman." Another rather startling note is crossed out and by it he writes, "Deserter". The balance of 60+ pages begin in July of 1918 and provide lengthy daily entries about the hospital and his antics and adventures. Here are some snippets: "My Experience in a sand storm. October 18th which I was on guard in the 6th Reg. The moon was shining thru the pines in the Gun Park. It was so light by the moon and the sky was clear. It was a beautiful southern night and as I walked my post I forgot about the war. I forgot that I was in the land of horn toads, sand fleas and sand storms. I suppose I even forgot my general and special orders as I walked along on my post. I was thinking of home, of my old hometown and the people who lived there. I thought of dad and mother and though how I'd like to surprise them by going home on pass. I was also thinking of my little blue eyed blondie. I wondered if they would all look the same as they did when I last saw them……I don't recall what relief was on that night anymore. I think it was the 3rd, the watch from 10 to 12 P.M. I had Post No. 10 and was stationed the farthest away from the guard house and as I walked my rounds thinking over those cherished memories I noticed that a thick fog was gathering then a little breeze sprang up and I thought it was going to rain. I had charge of the gun park and we had to keep a strict watch on them. There were 56 pieces or guns in this park No. 10. Both French and American 75's and the guns and caissons were all covered with heavy tarpaulin covers. Ropes on the covers to tie them down with. It was only a few minutes till it was quite windy…..the air was full of sand and dust, so thick that a man could hardly see. Not saying anything about what it meant to breath….The storm covers a great territory and are much fiercer than our little whirl winds. I walked my post till I could hardly see and breathing seemed impossible and when the full blast struck I dispensed with general orders and everything else. I called "Corporal of the Guard, No. 10 Relief" and repeated the call twice. I heard my calls repeated from other posts but no relief came. I didn't quit my post. I only stopped making the rounds. I took my 45 from its holster and put in a clip of 3 blanks and turned the blanks first for use. But I didn't use them for signal. I had no instructions to use them. So I held the pistol in my right hand, gripped and ready to fire and took off my heavy overcoat and laid flat on the ground on left side and put my over coat over my head so I could breath and covered my pistol too. As I lay there in that fiendish storm, I thought my wind pipes would burst. As I lay there I said my prayers and cursed that sunny southern land. From many a time I was caught in a storm but never one so fiendish as this one was. I thought to myself, so long Ohio, and so long my little Blondie….I'll never see any of you anymore. I guess the gig is up for me and when relief came at last the storm was over and the moon was shinning brightly again…." He also relates how he almost shot his relief because his eyes were nearly swollen shut. He also tells of how his face had patches of blood and sand; he was relieved from duty and taken to the Infirmary. It takes an hour for them to get the sand all out of him and they let him sleep in the Regimental Police Sergeants bunk. They had to help him out of bed the next day and gave him a cold shower bath and rubbed him down, sprayed "some kind of dope" up his nose and sprayed his throat and dropped some "liquid fire" into his eyes. 1918 "July 17th, This date finds me still in the hospital, still in ward H-3 under the care of Capt. Latin. I will be released from the hospital tomorrow morning or tomorrow July 18th some time. My old comrades of the Smoky City leave for overseas tomorrow morning at 6 O'clock. I trained for the same purpose of going over with this same bunch of Devil May Care lads and now I'll be getting out of the hospital in time to be transferred into some rotten outfit. Any civilized man would call that "Sho Nuff". Some were to pass the artillery exam for overseas. Some had venereal disease and some were flat footed like a duck. My old pal Hudson from N.Y was too short in one end….." "July 18th, Today I will be released from this temporary purgatory on earth. God how happy a man should be to get out of this place alive. It isn't a fit place for the dead. No mentioning the living. Last night another lad ended it all by taking his own life. Oh! I could never do that, never. I'd let them chop me up in 1 inch squares before I'd do that. A lad by the name of McGown, from Ward H-4 next ward to ours or the one I was in. He had some kind of growth in his throat, some thing like a goiter and the surgeons were going to operate on it in a few days and he refused them. Last night the 17th of July he committed suicide by hanging himself with a bed sheet. I don't know how he tore the sheet without his pals hearing him but he took a sheet from his cot and tore it into strips and braided these strips together forming a rope. The head of the hospital cot is about two feet to the top from the mattress. McGown tied the rope like a cord about his neck in a slip knot and then tied the other end to the head of his cot at the top and threw the covers over his head and this morning the orderly found him dead at 4:30 A.M. and his bunk mates never heard him struggle or anything from him last night………" "July 19th, Oh! Yes. One important feature about this here Convalescent camp is that it doesn't matter as to your complexion. You may be red, white, black or blue and you are accepted here. The different races don't sleep in the same tent with the whites but the tents are side by side. One tent has white folks, and the other black. You needn't worry if the cover of your nearest neighbors skin doesn't compare with yours of you don't like niggers you can find em from a "high yallow" to an octoroon. If you don't like that kind you can pick out a wop or guinea. The blacks fall in a line by themselves and start for the patient's mess hall which is a good half mile away from this camp and the whites fall in and march to the mess hall in charge of a N.C.O. Well when we reach the mess hall the walks are all screened in like a penitentiary and we must wait out side until these darn coons eat first. After the shines have had their mess the white birds go in and eat next. Every time we enter themes hall some one says, "The American Eagle won't scream on skimmed milk." "July 21st, The convalescent is the filthiest place I ever got into. Hope it won't be ling that I have to stay here. There are men here who have all kinds of diseases. Some are very contagious and some aren't. There are some here who are quarantined to their quarters who have that dread and very contagious disease called "Meningitis." Nearly every victim of this disease is a cripple after he gets over it, if he ever does. I have seen many of the boys who have had it who are cripples for life. No operation can cure them. Many of them walk with a cane as their legs have been drawn crooked so that they can never walk straight again. Their days of soldiering are limited and they are handicapped for life. The men with this disease have their own quarters and bath rooms and they are not allowed to be out with any of the other men. There is one disease here that should be kept in a place by its self too, that is the "venereal diseases". But they are not. They are allowed to be out with all the other men, eat in the same mess hall, bathe in the same bath house, use the same toilets and all. In this way I think many a lad who is clean and tires hard to keep his body pure from these hellish diseases of a venereal nature, are often a victim by contracting it from the others who have it. Where if these boys were kept in a separate place, they wouldn't be exposing innocent lads to the dread of these awful diseases. These boys who have it are low down, dirty, damn slackers if they don't try to keep a clean lad from getting it." "July 23rd, The bathroom is a little shack here about 8ft x 16ft. All classes bathe here. Once a week, once a month or when ever they feel like it. Venereal's and all in the same latrine. I have never taken a bath here and thank God I don't have to. I take a bath every other night but not here. I go over to the hospital and get permission to take my bath there…..Every lad has a dread for this place. It is so much more like a prison then a detachment of the hospital. It seems more like the mouth of the infernal regions than a place of rest and quiet. We have no freedom here. We can not go to the canteen without falling in

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