Basic Training

The regular hours and exercise must have been good for me, because I gained twenty permanent pounds in my six weeks of Army basic training. Since I was always a little on the skinny side anyway, I didn't really mind.

I'll admit that rising at 5:30 A.M. took a little getting used to, but since we were in bed by 9:00 P.M. most nights, we got enough sleep. Some nights we were up later because we were on either guard duty or bivouac.

Basic training is particularly difficult for recruits who wear glasses. Weather makes no difference in your schedule; if you are slated for drill practice at 11:00 A.M., come rain, snow, sleet, whatever, you have drill practice at 11:00 A.M. On one occasion it was raining so hard you couldn't see more than 10 feet ahead. The drill field was a dirt field normally; on this day it was a mud flat with three inches of water on top. Those who didn't wear glasses had a hard enough time; those with glasses were flying 99.9% blind. It was a most miserable hour.

The first time we had training in defense against poison gas, we never heard the cry "gas" until the tear gas was released, and by the time I got my glasses off and my gas mask on, I was hurting badly. I was told I would get a gas mask with the eyeglass prescription built in, but like so many promises the Army made, it never happened. Of course it didn't really matter, because I never needed a gas mask outside of basic training anyway.

The Army had the idea that you couldn't become a trained killer unless you shaved every day. For most seventeen and eighteen year olds, every week is often enough. However, if you were caught not shaving daily, you were required to shave in the middle of the company street without benefit of such niceties as water or shaving cream. Take my word for it, it's not fun.

When we got on the firing range, I discovered why we were taught to keep the sling on the M1 rifle really tight. I had a hard enough time trying to fire a right hander's weapon with my left hand without worrying about the damned sling. When the weapon recoiled, it hit me on the lip, and produced a swelling the size of a golf ball. I was lucky, I guess; some of the recruits had an "M1 eye" which was swollen so badly that they could barely see out of it for a week.

In addition to how to march, how to assemble our weapons, how to shave whether you needed it or not, and other survival techniques, we were supposed to learn the phonetic alphabet the Army had developed so that communications could be clarified in the event of static, noise, etc. The one time I used it to spell my name over the barracks intercom (which garbled everything), I caught hell for being a smart ass. Since I had memorized the phonetic spelling of "Grunenberger", I was able to say it very rapidly, and when the clerk on the other end heard "George Roger Uncle Nan Easy Nan Baker Easy Roger George Easy Roger," I guess he was caught unprepared.

One day we were notified that band tryouts were to be held that night, so of course I tried, and though I had not touched my instrument for six weeks, I was accepted. The warrant officer in charge told me I would receive orders to be transferred to the band training unit as soon as basic training was finished. When my orders came through, they had assigned me to the infantry in Korea. This in spite of the fact that when I enlisted I was told that after basic I would be assigned to the glider corps in Europe.

I thought this was really unfair, so I talked to the Inspector General (who was really a major) and told him I thought I should be assigned to the band as had been promised. His investigation into the affair found that the band warrant officer had mistakenly noted that I was in basic training company D8, while I was actually in D2. He told me not to worry, that my orders would be changed, but that it would probably be rather late, and I would have to go the staging area with the rest of my company.

On the morning we were to ship out, 5,000 newly trained GIs reported to the Fort Knox railroad station for assignment around the world, me among them. In view of the Army's record of keeping its promises, I was a little nervous, however, this time they came through. Of the 5,000, one other GI and I were told to return to our barracks for reassignment. Of course I couldn't stay in the barracks alone, especially since a new group of recruits was coming in the next day, so I was quickly assigned to a "casual" company until my orders for the band were cut. I was there for six weeks.

First Pass Home (17K)

To The Top

My Favorite Christmas

I went into the Army on September 17, 1946. After completion of basic training in November, I was assigned to a "casual" company until orders came through for my next assignment. New recruits are busy with basic training, while soldiers permanently assigned to a post are busy with their regular jobs. Routine, non-technical jobs are usually assigned to the men waiting for orders.

During my six weeks in the casual company, I was assigned to, among other things, KP several times a week, picking up trash from the parade ground, hauling furniture, preparing unused barracks for use, and other exciting "busy-work."

I spent my first Thanksgiving away from home while awaiting orders. After having spent considerable time on KP, I was amazed at the ability of the Army cooks to take good quality food and transform it to its most indigestible form. Holidays, however, were completely different. It was as if they decided to make up in one day for all the glop they served the rest of the year. We had roast turkey, candied sweet potatoes, mashed potatoes and gravy, creamed onions, cranberry sauce, all kinds of fruits and vegetables, and pie a la mode for dessert. Everything was delicious!

I had become reconciled to spending Christmas in the barracks, and two days before the big day I was again on KP. About three in the afternoon one of my buddies stuck his head in the mess hall door and said, "Grunenberger, what are you doing here? You've been on furlough since noon." The Army had decided that half the men in the company could go home for Christmas, and the other half would be on leave over New Year's day.

I quickly reported to the Company Clerk, received my papers, and hurried to the railroad station.

The long train ride home was not without its small compensations. For example, it was the first time I had seen the famous horseshoe curve near Altoona, Pa. It's quite a sight to look across the ravine and see the back end of your train coming down the hill in a northerly direction, while the front end is headed south. But mostly, the trip was tiresome and boring, although of course I was quite charged up with anticipation and excitement.

While I was on the bus on the way home from the railroad station, snow began to fall. I arrived home just after dark on Christmas Eve.

As I looked in the window I could see the Christmas tree in its usual place in the corner of the living room. My mother was playing the piano and my father was reading. When my father answered the doorbell you can imagine the scene that followed: hugs, kisses, laughter and tears.

The snow continued to fall throughout the night, and the next morning dawned with the kind of white Christmas that everyone dreams about. It was by far the most wonderful Christmas of my life. I was home.

To The Top

The Band Training Unit

The first time the Army wanted to ship me out of Fort Knox, I missed the train by getting my orders changed. The last time I almost did it again, not by getting the orders changed, but by my own carelessness.

I didn't have any idea what a "casual" company was when I was transferred to one, but I soon discovered it is a company of GIs who are awaiting orders to report to a permanent assignment. New recruits are heavily involved in basic training, while men permanently assigned to a post are busy with their regular jobs. Routine, non-technical maintenance jobs are usually assigned to the men in the casual company.

During my six weeks in the casual company, I was assigned to, among other things, KP (fairly often), picking up trash, hauling furniture and preparing unused barracks for use. One advantage of this assignment was that the Army was liberal with weekend passes, so I got to see quite a bit of Louisville, Ky.

I spent my first Thanksgiving away from home while awaiting orders. After having spent considerable time on KP, I was amazed at the ability of Army cooks to take good quality food and transform it to it's most indigestible form. Holidays, however, were completely different. It was as if they decided to make up in one day for all the glop they served the rest of the year. We had roast turkey, candied sweet potatoes, mashed potatoes and gravy, creamed onions, all kinds of fruits and vegetables, and pie a la mode for dessert, and everything was delicious!

Two days before Christmas I was again on KP. About three in the afternoon one of my buddies stuck his head in the mess hall door and said, "Grunenberger, what are you doing here? You've been on furlough since noon." The Army had decided that half the men in the company could go home for Christmas, and the other half would get New Year's Day off. I quickly reported to the company clerk, received my papers, and hurried to the bus station. After a ride of almost twenty-four hours, I arrived home on Christmas eve. Since I was completely unexpected, it turned out to be a very merry Christmas.

Just after the first of the year, my orders came through to report to the Band Training Unit (BTU), also located at Fort Knox. I was delighted to get back into the music world. Although we still had to stand reveille at 6:00 A.M., the hours between 8:00 A.M. and 5:00 P.M. were spent in band rehearsals, individual practice, music theory classes, and of course, marching. And there was no more KP!

Because we were off duty on weekends, and since several of the members of the unit lived relatively close by in Ohio, I spent some very enjoyable times visiting in their homes.

One weekend the Stan Kenton orchestra was appearing in Louisville. Kenton was rapidly developing a following for his "progressive" jazz, and several of us had become fans of his music, so we were seated at a front row center table an hour before the music was to begin. It was just as wonderful as we had anticipated.

The BTU program ended early in March, and several of us were assigned to the 19th. Special Services Company in Fort McPherson, Ga. It had rained intermittently the night before we were scheduled to leave, and the day dawned cold and gray. As the day wore on, the intermittent showers became a steady, heavy drizzle, and the temperature hovered around 40 degrees. About 2:00 P.M. we were bused to Louisville, and were given instructions as to the train departure time.

Since we had several hours to spare, a few of us decided to find a fine restaurant and have a good meal. We found one that had such things as Chateaubriand, Scampi and other non-Army type foods on the menu. The server was very attentive, and kept encouraging us to eat more. The food was delicious, and the piece de resistance was the dessert; a block of ice cream covered with a flaming mixture of brandy and chocolate. Partly because of the contrast between the miserable weather outside and the warm, comfortable atmosphere inside the restaurant, we soon forgot about the passing of the time.

Suddenly we realized that our train was due to leave in half an hour and we were several blocks from the station. We must have broken some kind of record in paying the check and rushing out.

The railroad station was situated so that for trains originating in Louisville, the last car was backed up to the street, which was separated from the tracks by a wrought iron fence. The Army had hired a Pullman car, which happened to be the last car on the train, for the trip to Fort McPherson, and so the rear platform of the car faced the street. Splashing through the rain and the puddles, as we approached the station we saw some of our classmates on the platform, frantically urging us on. The instant we boarded, the conductor sounded his "all aboard," and the train left. Our buddies had actually held up the train for us until almost ten minutes past the scheduled departure time. If we had missed the train, we would have had to be declared absent without leave, which could have had serious consequences.

As it was, we were young, had just finished a fine meal, and were starting out on a new adventure. All's well that ends well.

To The Top

The 19th. Special Services Company

When we left Louisville bound for Fort McPherson, Ga. early in March, 1947, the weather was cold, rainy and miserable. On arrival in Atlanta we found Spring in the air; the temperature was in the 70s, the sky was bright blue and the daffodils were blooming. But the change in the Army's expectation of us was no less remarkable than the contrast in the weather between Kentucky and Georgia.

Our company area consisted of a barracks for the twenty of us, a company office, and a large rehearsal hall and day room, which was located directly across the street from the barracks. East of the day room was a parking lot which held the company vehicles: a large troop carrier, two smaller trucks and a jeep. The parking lot was shared with a few vehicles from the fort's motor pool, which was located on the north side of the parking lot. Just west of the day room was the PX.

Our duty consisted of organizing a dance band to play for a dance at the fort's service club on Tuesday nights. We were also expected to play for a dance at another Army installation on alternate Thursday nights. Period! That was it! Other than that we were off duty! Our Class A (off the post) passes were stamped as OK for both normal and special off duty hours. In other words, we were allowed to be off the post 24 hours a day, seven days a week as long as we were there for the dances.

Since for various reasons we often got in rather late, and the mess hall stopped serving breakfast at 8:00 A.M., we usually ate at the PX, which was open all day. Of course, they served primarily junk food, but we were young; what did we care?

We usually held a daily three hour rehearsal. This was the era of the big bands, so there was lots of music available. We had a fairly sizable music budget, so we spent quite a bit of time in Atlanta looking for new music. A few of us also wrote arrangements. After the rehearsal some of us went swimming, did some individual practicing, or climbed into one of the company vehicles and explored Georgia. Some of the men even bought their own cars for their explorations.

Eventually the band began sounding very good, so the Army scheduled us for a half hour radio show on six consecutive Saturday mornings. We loved every minute.

Within a few months the band began to shrink because musicians kept getting discharged, and new recruits were not that plentiful. However, we kept playing for the dances even when we got down to a group of six. At that point the piano player got discharged, and I had to play that instead of sax and clarinet.

Around the end of 1947, the Army decided that we should become a normal 28 piece marching band. Since there were only six of us left, it meant nothing other than that they moved us into a newer barracks closer to post headquarters. Oh yes, one other change; the new barracks was right next to the mess hall, so we started eating breakfast there.

A week before my discharge date, I was relieved of duty so that I would be available for paperwork processing, re-enlistment and national guard propaganda, etc. On that day, a full marching band complement of musicians arrived, with a new, jazz oriented director. I never did get to hear the marching band, however, on my last day in the Army, I did get to hear the first dance band rehearsal. There were some excellent musicians in the group, and the band sounded great. But not great enough to convince me I should re-enlist.

Tough Fingering (33K)

To The Top

Creating A Big Band

The 19th. Special Services big band did not come into being overnight. When the 16 piece group first got together, the sound was not encouraging. Most of the musicians had played in high school concert and marching bands, and were not familiar with the dynamics of the dance band. Several practices later it sounded a little better, but not much.

The turning point came when a trombone player who had played with some semi-name bands was transferred into the company. Although he was discharged after only six weeks with us, he taught us how to make it work.

He started by having us practice our music individually until we could each play our part. Then came the section rehearsals. Under his guidance we first chose section leaders who were responsible for establishing phrasing; breathing in unison, group volume control, etc. When we finally got back to the full group rehearsals we chose a leader for the band. Someone had to be in charge of the rehearsals and the gigs, determine what tunes to play and how fast to play them. It was his job to start us off together, after which he played along with the rest of us. It was the responsibility of the rhythm section, particularly the drummer, to keep the tempo steady. Very soon it all started to come together.

For a musician, soloing is fulfilling, but there is nothing like playing with a disciplined group blending harmoniously and rhythmically together. When it is not working, the audience will react immediately. When it is working, it is just what the audience expects, but the musicians feel inspired.

To The Top

The Army Pass

On the back of the Army Class A pass were two blocks to be checked by the commanding officer: one box was for those who worked at 8:00 to 5:00 jobs, and was marked "Normal" off duty hours, 5:00 P.M. to 8:00 A.M.; The other box covered soldiers who worked unusual hours, for example, cooks or radio operators who worked nights, and was marked "Special" off duty hours. The passes of those of us in the 19th. Special Services Company and later the Army band had both boxes checked.

An additional three day pass was an item of exceptional value. I received such a pass one Friday morning covering Monday through Wednesday of the following week. At the time there was no way I could know that this particular pass would lead to the high point of my life as a musician.

With my 1st. Sergeant's approval I boarded the train in Atlanta bound for Philadelphia. I arrived home in Pennsylvania early Saturday afternoon.

I had made arrangements to meet a GI friend of mine, who was also home on a three day pass, the following Saturday at his home in New Jersey. So after spending Sunday through Friday at home, I embarked by train to New Jersey, where I met his parents and spent a few pleasant hours. Early that evening we crossed over into New York City, a place I had never visited except for the World's Fair in 1939.

We were headed for the hottest spot in jazz, 52nd. street, and our first stop was at the Onyx, where we heard one set by the young Ella Fitzgerald. The place was crowded, but since the club was small, we were able to see and hear very well. In my opinion she was undoubtedly the greatest jazz vocalist ever.

We discovered that Charlie "Yardbird" Parker and Miles Davis were playing across the street at the Three Deuces. The Bird was number one on my musical hero list, so I really was looking forward to seeing and hearing him. Fifty years later he is considered one of the seminal figures in modern jazz. At the time the young Miles Davis was one of the bright, young, up and coming stars. He is also installed as a giant figure in the pantheon of jazz gods.

For some reason the club was not crowded, and we were able to get a table right by the band stand. It was wonderful to me to even be in the presence of these great performers, and when Parker came to the table and sat down to talk to us I knew how the Israelites must have felt when Moses split the sea! He sat with us throughout the entire break.

When the club closed at 2:00 A.M., we went out to Laguardia airport. The Navy had a daily flight to Washington at 7:00 A.M., and since armed forces personnel were entitled to ride free on any military flight which had space available, the price was right.

Our plan was to catch any flight out of Washington that was going in the general direction of Atlanta, and then hitch hike the rest of the way. The best we could get was an early evening flight to Pensacola, Florida, which was a long way from our destination. We arrived in Pensacola about 10:00 P.M. and started thumbing. At 8:00 the next morning we still had 250 miles to go, so we called and talked to the 1st. Sergeant, who told us not to worry, he would take care of it.

We arrived at the barracks late that afternoon. The 1st. Sergeant said that since we had called there was no problem, but if we had not called he would have had to report us AWOL.

At least in special services the Army was very understanding in the use of passes.

To The Top

Moonlighting In The Army

During the fall of 1947, our Special Services company was discontinued and we officially became an Army band. Unfortunately, we didn't have enough musicians to actually form a band, so we had plenty of time on our hands. As a result, some of us who enjoyed playing looked for gigs outside the Army. I wrote a few arrangements for a small, very commercial band in Atlanta, but that wasn't the same as playing.

In December Frank S., a trumpet player from Chicago, and I found work with a dance band out of Rome, Georgia. Rome was a city with a population of approximately 25,000, located about 60 miles from Fort McPherson. It was small in more ways than size, a subject to which I shall return later.

We were able to play just about every Friday and Saturday night in and around the Rome area. Because this was a rather conservative community, there was no dancing on Sundays.

The band leader was Jack K., who owned a music store in Rome. Since we didn't have much responsibility as far as the Army was concerned, we were able to leave early each Friday afternoon, arriving in Rome in plenty of time for the gig. We usually stayed with one of the band members on Friday night, and sometimes Saturday night, although we often drove back to the base after the Saturday night gig.

Saturdays we hung around Jack's store listening to records , or sometimes other band members arranged picnics or other activities for us to pass the time. Since several of the other musicians had really nice guest rooms, and even a guest house in one instance, it was a pleasant way to spend the weekend while earning a little extra money at the same time.

Frank had a 1939 Ford coupe, which was our means of transportation to and from Rome. This was long before the environmental movement, so there was no particular effort on the part of the auto makers to lower the miles per gallon rate of their cars. Since we were only making $100 per day, one day a month, we were always looking for ways to cut costs.

We soon discovered that the gas stations in that area were rather primitive; most of them did not have electric gas pumps. The station owner had to manually pump a handle back and forth to get gas out of his tank into the car. Since we were often on the road at an hour when the stations were closed, we took to pumping their gas into Frank's car without bothering to let the station owners in on the transaction.

We learned as we went along. For example, one night we stopped at a station whose owner was rather clever; he had removed the handle from his pump and locked it inside his station. At the next station we not only removed the owner's gas, we also removed his pump handle and took it with us so that we would not run into that problem again. Another example; we stopped for gas about 2:00 A.M. one night, and were just about to start pumping, when an upstairs window flew open and the muzzle of a shotgun appeared. A rather unfriendly voice said, "Get the hell out of here or you're dead." We thought his suggestion to leave was good advice, and we did so in record time. From this experience we learned never to stop at a station which appeared to have living quarters nearby.

In July of 1948, I got married, and since I was scheduled to l eave the Army at the beginning of August, I took my new wife along on my last gig in Rome. On Saturday afternoon we decided to look around the town, so she donned what we thought was a conservative shorts outfit (the shorts reached nearly to her knees), and off we went. Attitudes were different in small cities from what they were in Atlanta. When we stopped to look in a shop window, two young ladies walked past us. We heard one of them say, "I can't believe anyone would wear something like that in public. She must not have any modesty."

As I said, it was a small area. I guess we weren't doing as the Romans do.

To The Top

Studies In Female Anatomy

After a long period of research, my amateurish studies of female anatomy finally culminated, somewhat disappointingly, one night in Spring, 1948.

My first exposure, so to speak, was during the common childhood game of "doctor" in a neighbor's tin shop, with his daughter as the patient. We were both ten years old. In this game, it always seems to be one particular part of the anatomy which needs the doctor's attention. Since I did not have any medical instruments, I made do with what I had, and thanks to her blabber mouth, my nickname soon became "Dr. Spoon."

When I was about twelve, my mother was working as a waitress in a restaurant where I ate lunch. The owner's family lived upstairs, and one lunch hour while everyone was busy downstairs, I had an opportunity to continue my explorations with his daughter, also twelve. I found that females didn't change much anatomically between the ages of ten and twelve.

Since my mother was working during most days, including Saturdays, she soon hired a young lady of sixteen to do her weekly cleaning. Joanna and I soon developed a rapport, strictly verbal, although it appeared that very few subjects were off limits. She explained how females are subject to certain periodic problems that boys do not have. In fact, she shared her copy of "What Every Young Girl Should Know" with me, which I believe was distributed by a maker of certain equipment that girls used during the time of "the curse," as it was called.

I had already read the corresponding "What Every Young Boy Should Know," which was filled with dire predictions of physical debility, excess hair growth, and mental retardation in the event of manual stimulation of a certain part of the male body. I soon rejected everything in the book, because I was sure that if those predictions were true, the school and possibly the whole world would soon be overrun with weak, hairy cretins. Consequently I took the revelations in Joanna's book with a grain of salt, until she assured me that its contents were true and accurate.

Things moved along rather slowly for some time, until one night I asked a certain young lady to attend a dance with me. I had borrowed my uncle's car, so after the dance we parked in front of her house for a little conversation, or whatever. She really got into the program, and before she said goodnight I discovered some new and very exciting tidbits of anatomy that I had heard about but never had the opportunity to explore before. I also discovered that those things I had explored before changed drastically between the ages of twelve and seventeen. She took the term "petting" to a new dimension for me.

I asked her to go steady, but she told me she had a boy friend in the service, and she didn't want to be untrue to him. In my opinion she came as close to being untrue as she could possibly get without going over the line. I must admit I felt some small measure of satisfaction when he returned home and married someone else.

My final examination came while I was in the Army in 1947. Another GI and I decided we would engage a prostitute, so we proceeded to a sleazy little hotel in downtown Atlanta. My buddy, who was apparently much more experienced in these things than I was, called the black bellhop and said, "Listen boy, I want you to get us a woman." (Fortunately we don't call bellhops 'boy' anymore, black, white, or polka dot.)

"Yes suh," the bellhop answered, and shortly thereafter a rather ordinary looking young white lady appeared. The fee was $10 each. I figure from the time I went into the bedroom fully dressed, consummated the transaction, and came back out, again fully dressed, I had paid the instructress at a rate approaching a dollar a minute. While it was a new experience, I really hadn't learned much, so I never repeated it. A few months later I got married and lost my amateur status.

To The Top

Club 26

Club 26 was a small Atlanta night club which flourished during 1947 and 1948. Three GIs, Ronnie M., trombone player, Rollie K., tenor saxophonist, and I were frequent visitors to the club because of the excellent music.

The club was located on a small, poorly lighted side street. Inside there was a small dance floor surrounded by tiny tables. After getting the piano, bass and sound equipment onto the brightly lighted stage, there was barely room for two or three musicians to stand.

The house band was composed of the duo of pianist Freddie DeLand and bassist "Red" Wooten. DeLand was a large man; he was well over six feet tall and probably weighed 220-230 pounds. He had dark, slicked back hair and a small mustache, and his huge hands wandered, apparently without effort, over the keyboard like a pair of very agile spiders. He was an outstanding musician.

Wooten was also tall but slim; he had red hair and a pock marked face, and his playing also appeared effortless. He was probably the better musician of the two; he could seemingly make the bass come alive with his strong yet nimble playing. He eventually became the bassist for the Benny Goodman orchestra.

Also on the music scene in Atlanta was the Georgian Terrace Hotel, which featured nightly dancing with the well known "name" bands, which usually played there for a week or two before moving on to the next town. It became the custom for members of these bands to go to Club 26 after the Friday night dancing ended at 11:00 P.M., and jam with DeLand and Wooten into the wee hours. We three GIs usually made a special effort to get to the club on Friday nights, and we heard some really fine music and musicians as a result.

The high water mark of all these sessions occurred when Frank Roselino, a trombone player with the Glen Gray orchestra, came to the club one Friday night. He was young, handsome, and a musician far superior to most of the others we were accustomed to hearing. Since the Gray band had a two week gig scheduled at the hotel, he showed up on two successive Friday nights. On the second of his appearances, just about every jazz musician in Atlanta came out to listen. He played with such technical skill, vibrant tone and innovative style that everyone in the room was spellbound. It was wonderful! He seemed to have everything going for him.

He went on to become one of the giants of jazz. But thirty years later he murdered his two children and killed himself! Such a genius/madman! Such a pity!

When I was discharged from the Army, I left Atlanta for a period of time, however, in 1949 when I was back and working for Morningside Radio Service, I received a call from DeLand asking me to take on a three week gig at Jennings' Night Club with a big band he was fronting. Wooten was also in the band, along with an excellent group of not only Atlanta's finest musicians, but also several that DeLand had imported from other areas in order to insure that the quality of music was only the finest. I was flattered, so of course I accepted.

All the music had been specially arranged by DeLand, Wooten and others in the band, and it was outstanding. Since I was working full time at my regular job, I was exhausted after playing a few nights from 9:00 P.M. to 1:00 A.M., but nothing could have convinced me to leave that fabulous band. I was very sorry the job ran for only for three weeks, and it was certainly the most exciting of the musical events I had experienced, either before or since. And I not only didn't inhale the marijuana DeLand offered me, I refused it completely.

This was my final gig as a saxophonist. I put the horn away for about two years, then one day I took it out to see if I could still play. David had arrived by that time, and at the first note he became scared of the loud sound, and begin to scream. A year later we needed money, as usual, so I sold it for one hundred dollars. I had bought it three years previously for four hundred. Almost fifty years later I wish I still had it.

To The Top

My First Wedding

I met Ann while I was playing for the weekly Tuesday night dance at the Fort McPherson, Ga. service club in 1948. She was one of quite a few girls who came to the club to dance with the soldiers.

She had dated other men in the band, and eventually I got around to asking her out. We had a few movie dates, and then the hormones took over. We had several dates which consisted of full strength petting, including just about everything short of actual sexual intercourse.

Since I had to walk several blocks from her place to the bus line, I was getting back to the barracks after 1:00 A.M. every night. Finally from a combination of exhaustion and frustration I said, "Let's get married," and she agreed.

Since I was in the Army, I had to get permission from my commanding officer. He said, "Well Grunenberger, I know you are a sensible young man, so go ahead." (Little did he know that this young man had stopped being sensible several days before).

We had to wait the usual three days required by Georgia law. Finally we took off after one of the dances with several of our friends. We finally found a Justice of the Peace who was willing to perform the civil ceremony. It was completed about 1:30 in the morning.

Ann had been sharing a room with a girl friend. That night the girl friend slept on the porch swing so that we could be together. My life style was about to change drastically.

Ann Donehoo In 1947 (28K)

To The Top