Originally published in June of 1961 (War Game Digest, Book V Volume II); a bit of an autobiography.
By Joe Morschauser
To begin with I was born. I have no way of knowing this for sure since I was too young to remember, but they tell me it happened on December 25, 1924 in a hospital in New York City. Then shortly thereafter, I was removed to a comfortable house in Poughkeepsie, New York. This was my home for the period usually known as childhood.
My early years were quite average and to all but myself, dull, thus I will pass over them quickly. It’s enough to say that I attended grade school, had the usual childhood sicknesses and problems and friends. Then, in the summer of 1934, I vacationed with my maternal grandmother in Poughkeepsie, Long Island, New York while my parents visited Europe. They returned late in August and this was the beginning of my real trouble. For with them, they brought a huge box of soldiers, straight from W. Britains in England. Backyards, side-yards and living-room rugs soon began to resemble battlefields. And the soldiers one by one became casualties of misplaced feet, knees or a caved-in trench.
In the 8th grade, I went away to school, first to Newman School in Lakewood, New Jersey (now defunct) and later to Hotchkiss School in Lakeville, Connecticut. But all the while I never lost my interest in soldiers. And I found among my childhood playmates those who shared my love of little wars. First and foremost (and still) there was Herb Roig who presently bears the title of Sir Horatio H. Roig, VC (meaning Very Confused). Then there were the “enemy”. Herb and I fought a number of battles with them as well as those we fought against each other.
In early 1943, I had to give up little wars and go join the millions who were fighting a big one. I had always had an interest in tanks and armor and in fact had done much studying and reading on the subject. So, I was placed in the Infantry. For 17 weeks, I carried the tube of a 60mm mortar around the confines of that garden spot, Camp Blanding, Florida. Then, a miracle happened. I was called into the Captain’s office, told to turn in all my equipment, given my records and a ticket and sent to Fort Knox, Kentucky. Arriving at Knox a day or so later, I found that no one knew anything about me, or why I was sent or where I was to go. A kindly Major interviewed me, and ASKED ME WHAT I WANTED TO DO. I should have said, “go home”, but fearing later trouble I stared around the room, spotted a picture of an M5 light tank and said, “I want to be in one of those”. So I spent another 17 weeks basic training in light tanks.
Knox was miserable place in some ways with training ranges knee deep in mud. But I actually had a ball there. You see, I was crazy enough to really enjoy roaring around in a tank. Then, too, on free time I got the chance to inspect some old WWI relics, study some history of tanks and get occasional passes into Louisville.
From Knox, I went home for a three weeks leave during which Herb Roig and I fought Smitty again in what now call, “the Maginot Can Blunder” or “Go ahead and send the damn tanks through the pass”. Someday I’ll relate the story of this battle against Smitty in his basement, but for now, it’s enough to say it was a disaster for our side.
After leave, I joined the old 713th Tank Battalion on the west coast and with it went to Hawaii and the Pacific. We just missed the Saipan-Guam operation because of delays in routing ships due to President Roosevelt’s trip (or so the story went). Thus for a number of wonderful months, we sat in a cane patch on the big island of Hawaii, eating steaks (Hawaii has one of the biggest ranches in the world), growing fat, lazy and finally bored. Then disaster, and we were not bored anymore. Back to Oahu we went, got a quick overhaul and training and set out for Okinawa as the 713th Armored Flame-Throwing Tank Battalion Provisional. (Try and get that on shoulder patch). For several months we rocked around in LSMs, LSTs and transport ships visiting such beauty spots as Mog-Mog (sand, sea and two cans of warm beer). Then April 4th, we landed. I must say I much preferred Smitty’s cellar!
Okinawa as some know and lot don’t was the last big land battle of WWII. The Japs were so deeply dug in it’s a wonder the whole island didn’t sink because of undermining. And flame throwers, especially armored flame throwers were the only thing which could get them out of their holes. Our Battalion split up by companies and served with both the Army and Marine divisions on the island. It wasn’t much fun, but we kept inching south pouring 300 gallons of Napalm out with each squirt. We had some casualties and a lot of near misses. One bunch got their M-4 medium punched with a big shell which went clean through the tank, filled the inside with Napalm but otherwise did no damage. And all the time, I kept wondering if the Army would consider transferring me to something more fitting to a coward.
When the war ended, we were put in squad tents on the side of a hill and sat there until one typhoon had past by and another was impending. Then they embarked us on LSTs and right through the worst typhoon in the area’s history, we went up to beautiful Korea. (Did you know that an LST can bend like a fishing rod?) Arriving at port we embarked on rapid transit (trains?) and ended up in some Japanese Cavalry barracks near Seoul.
From here on it was “how many points do you have” and “are they shipping you home tomorrow”? But to relieve the gloom we marked time training new recruits from the States in “tank warfare”. This consisted of taking the kids down to the river (which was way down to a little steam leaving wide sandy beds on either side) and racing around in the tanks. We were back using M5 lights again having left most of our “Zippoes” (editor note: M4A3R3 “Zippo”: Sherman tank ) on Okinawa so our Battalion stood some chance against the Infantry AT group which M36s, or Hellcats. This latter vehicle could turn on a dime, but it did not have the high speed of the old M5 so the 713th won a lot of “unofficial” races.
From Korea I went home, went to Brown University for a year, transferred to Bard College and got married to a hometown girl. Herb (who is bit younger) was off in Germany as an MP and I was much too busy for little wars anyway. In 1950, I graduated from Bard, tried Law School for a while, photography school then got a job on LOOK magazine as a researcher. I’ve been here ever since.
Two years ago Herb wrote me about starting-up the soldiers and war games thing again. Since that time we have had a number of battles, the latest of which was fought on February 4th involving 300 Britains.
At the present time I have a good job, a loving wife, two fine kids and about 1500 54mm rounds. I also have (together with Herb) about 200 to 300 Scruby 30mm rounds part of which are painted and being painted. I’m mulling the possibility of 20mm rounds and intend to get some flats (editor note: In later years Joe was quite taken with flats) from Europe too (why limit yourself). My war game (printable) names are Sultan of Hauser and Sultan Ragbag of Hauser and am usually supported in games by William MacKenzie (Bonnie Prince William OR Loonie Prince William, as the case may be). My main periods of interest are “Frontier” or Sudan 1890 and Ancient-Medieval.
54mm W. Britians owned by Joe Morschauser engage in a Colonial war game
Recently I managed to sell the Editorial Board of LOOK on an idea for a story on soldiers and this story appeared in the December 20, 1960 issue of the magazine. I hope in time to try for two…