Camp haan

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Bogen Camp, Haan. 59 likes. Bogenschießen zum Kennenlernen. Interesse am Bogensport und noch keine Erfahrung gesammelt. Hier gibt es eine Einführung. Bogen Camp, Haan. 59 свиђања. Bogenschießen zum Kennenlernen. Interesse am Bogensport und noch keine Erfahrung gesammelt. Hier gibt es eine. Das Unternehmen Bogensport Haan bietet in Kursen eine fundierte Ausbildung im Bogensport an. Für erfahrende Schützen werden weiterführende. Kaufen Sie Camp Haan Armee Boden – Riverside, California Lizenz Rahmen im Auto & Motorrad-Shop auf angelicaz.se Große Auswahl und Gratis Lieferung. Kinder + Jugend Summer Camp. Das Camp für alle Kids und Jugendlichen von 6​ Jahren. Geboten wird eine Woche voller Sport: Der Schwerpunkt ist Tennis.

Camp haan

Hier findest du Öffnungszeiten, Adressen und mehr zu Geschäften der Modemarke CAMP DAVID in Haan und Umgebung. CAMP DAVID produziert. De Haan aan Zee:Residenz "Boonenhove". Alleinstehende, ruhige Lage, verkehrsberuhigte Zone, 1 km vom Meer, 1 km vom Strand. Supermarkt m, Bar. Bogen Camp, Haan. 59 likes. Bogenschießen zum Kennenlernen. Interesse am Bogensport und noch keine Erfahrung gesammelt. Hier gibt es eine Einführung.

We knew there was not going to be any kind of a lasting relationship to come out of this because their officer's code forbade them from socializing with us in off hours.

There would be no three-day passes together or even a glass of beer while sitting side by side at a bar in the nearby town. And, so, the bridge between enlisted men and officers was being built on a fallacious foundation that resulted in a strained relationship between the two groups the entire time we were together in the service.

While we were critical of the officers, we were also jealous of them; of the privileges they enjoyed, the prestige involved, even the pay they received.

We were jealous of their dress uniforms with the hand-tailored jackets, gray-pink pants, brass buttons, and, most important, those metal symbols of power attached to their collars or set at the outer reaches of their shoulders.

In our periods of fanaticizing, we would gladly have changed places with them. When the officers or cadre members gave us orders it was like a judge handing down a sentence to a criminal, except there was no appeal process.

Any attempt to plead our cases or to even comment on them produced a harsh reprimand. There was no excuse good enough for not obeying a command instantly, no matter how implausible it might be.

We were threatened with dire consequences for "getting out of line. The punishments would lead to extra KP duty, cleaning the latrine, extra guard duty, walking around the battalion area for hours wearing a full field pack, or being restricted to the barracks.

Later in our training, we would be threatened with how more serious violations of something called The Articles of War would lead to further discipline.

The articles would include the phrases "court-martial," "dishonorable discharge," "imprisonment," or even "death by firing squad. We had all experienced discipline from our parents, teachers, and employers before entering the service but nothing like this.

We were now subject to complete mind control with the requirement of immediate reaction to commands and total subjugation to authority.

In many cases, it appeared they were more interested in degrading us than in teaching us anything about military discipline. The aim of the discipline was to break our wills to resist and to think on our own.

To a great degree they succeeded. All but a few of us soon learned to keep our mouths closed and follow orders, even when they drove us beyond our normal physical endurance or made no sense to us at all.

We had to obey. We had to accept their ways, and we could not question. But, in the back of our minds, we knew we were civilians at heart, and we would only have to endure these inequities for a given length of time.

The war would not last forever, and we would eventually be free of this caste system. Many years after the war, a movie came out that included a great line which really condensed the feelings we had as enlisted men in the United States Army.

It stated, "The Army is in the business of defending democracy, not practicing it. A few men still had minds of their own even after our training period resulted in the rest of us being beaten into subjective sheep.

They regularly challenged the high-ranking noncoms and tested the officers' decision-making process. Then those in charge decided on one of two alternatives.

Was the violation serious enough for a court martial or should it be met with some kind of severe penalty right there in the battery? While the rest of us often griped about our conditions, we avoided confrontation authority figures.

The first two months after we arrived in camp were considered basic training. During that time, they kept us busy six days a week from sun up to sun down.

Then there was a gradual reduction until our schedule was changed to five and a half days a week, with the evening meal signaling the end of the day Monday through Friday and the parade on Saturday.

However, that did not mean all duties stopped for everybody at those times. There were often special assignments like KP, guard duty, penalty duties, and night operations thrown in to keep us on edge.

While there was no typical day at Camp Haan, every day started the same at Sergeant Monteleone awakened us for first call as he walked down the street between the huts with his mouth spewing one-liners like an open sewer.

On the way back to the orderly room, he would stop at certain huts, bang the screen doors open and shut a few times as loudly as he could, and shout at anyone still in bed, with all his shouts peppered with obscenities and dirty expressions only he thought clever.

The first thing we did was to pull on our shoes and fatigue pants. We grabbed our shaving gear and hurried down to the latrine in hopes of beating some of the crowd.

There, we shaved, washed, showered, and used the toilet facilities. Returning to our huts, we finished dressing, made our bed, and straightened up the huts.

As part of dressing, we had to lace up our cloth leggings. At , one of the staff sergeants would come down the street continually yelling, "Fall out!

Monteleone would be standing out in the street facing the place we were to line up in formation. He would be shouting at a constant cadence, "Fall in!

Fall in! We lined up in two groups with each representing a platoon. Each group had four rows, each row being a fifteen-man gun section.

We stood there in our prescribed location but not at attention. When everyone was in place, Monteleone, who was still standing facing us, would shout, "Atteeen hut!

There were more shouts of "Straighten those lines! Roll call consisted of each of us responding "Here! The section leader took roll call for each gun section, and they in turn reported to the platoon sergeant.

The two platoon sergeants would then take turns shouting to the first sergeant, "All present and accounted for!

Monteleone would then turn back to us, expound a couple of obscenity-laced threats, then yell, "Dismissed! Then it was back to the huts and wait for breakfast to be served.

About fifteen minutes after being dismissed from formation, one of the cooks would stick his head out of the mess hall and shout, "Chow call!

If you were really hungry, you lined up before the call so you would be near the front. There were three full meals a day that most of us looked forward to with great anticipation.

Army food was high in starch and everyone, including me, put on weight despite the great amount of physical activity we were doing.

When we entered the mess hall, we picked up plates and silverware. The food was spooned out of large cooking pans by the cooks who filled our plates as we passed them.

We then sat at wooden picnic tables to eat. We always picked a buddy or two to sit with during the meal. The person in charge of the mess hall was Staff Sergeant Frank Emerling.

In civilian life, he had been a chef at a major hotel in Los Angeles. He was really good at his trade, and when he was around we ate well-prepared food.

However, Emerling had one propensity, which turned out to be a detriment to us as well as to himself. He hated the Army with such a passion that he would go AWOL a lot and be punished with the loss of his stripes.

No matter who took his place, the quality of the food would deteriorate badly. It was amazing to see the change in the quality of meals we got, even though the rations going into the kitchen remained about the same.

For example, without Emerling on duty, beef would be served only as hamburger or stew meat and the desert would go from homemade sheet cake with chocolate frosting to fruit cocktail out of a can.

It did not take long for the officers, who ate with us but at separate tables, to tire of the second-rate food, and Emerling would be back in charge of the kitchens with his staff sergeant rank restored.

That sequence happened three times in the course of our training and then again when we were overseas. We kidded him about having zippers on his stripes to make them easy to remove and put back on again.

After finishing our first meal of the day, we picked up our dishes, scraped them into garbage cans, and stacked them for the KPs to wash later. We then went back to the huts or to the latrine for last-minute cleanup.

At , to the sergeant's command of "Fall out," we lined up in formation out in the street again. Every morning, at this first formation after breakfast, anyone who was sick or felt something was wrong with him would be told to assemble in front of the battery office, called the Orderly Room.

Their names would be entered in the sick book. Later, these men would be marched to the dispensary to be inspected by a doctor or a medic.

The procedure was referred to as sick call. Out of the five or six guys who reported being sick, several would be there almost every day.

Their malady usually consisted of something not readily discernible to the medics. A common one was, "I have this awful pain in my back. These men were known as the goof-offs of the outfit who would do anything to get out of a day's work.

I don't remember anyone in our gun crew ever going on sick call because we were all in the best physical condition we had ever been in.

Also, there were some horror stories going around about the dispensing of medicines by medics who flunked out of medical school.

They were probably rumors started by the sergeants to discourage us from going there. Anyone who worked in the dispensary, regardless of rank, was called a pill pusher.

Following sick call, we did calisthenics, which usually took about half an hour. The sergeant would spread us out in the formation by calling us to attention, ordering "right shoulder arms," and then putting us at ease again.

The workout usually consisted of arm exercises, deep knee bends, jumping jacks, and push-ups. Occasionally, the sergeant in charge would get lazy and limit the calisthenics to stretching.

After they were done, we had to police the area. We lined up across one end of our campsite and then walked through the area in one straight line, picking up everything that did not belong there.

The sergeants would be behind us to point out anything we missed. They even had a vulgar expression to "encourage" us to bend over and pick up everything.

The first thing they taught us in our training was how to salute, march in formation, and to do close order drill. We marched all over camp doing many different maneuvers.

The drill sergeant, who was usually one of the cadre members, would be shouting out in cadence; "Hut, …, hut, …, hut, two, three, four, hut, hut, … by the right flank …march, by the left flank …march, to the rear march, column left …march, column right …march, detail … halt …parade rest.

Usually, a sergeant would take us out on the streets, march us around for an hour or so and then double time us back to the battery area.

We began to hear these commands and comments in our sleep. We were taught exactly how and what to wear for what they called, the uniform of the day.

It was one of three types: fatigues, khakis, or dress ODs See Figs. We wore fatigues during the day except on Saturdays when we paraded. In the evening and on Sundays, we wore our khakis or the olive drab dress uniform, depending on the weather.

The dress code made everyone looked exactly the same at any given time. There was no room for individuality. There was no mixing of uniforms and any deviation would result in a shout from some sergeant, "You're out of uniform, soldier.

Every piece of clothing had to be done up as described in some Army manual. Certain buttons were to be buttoned while others were not, the pants were to be tucked into and bloused over the leggings in a prescribed manner, the ties on our dress uniforms were to be tied with a single loop and folded into the shirts between two specific buttons, and the list went on.

Even the overseas caps that went with our dress uniforms had to sit on our heads in a prescribed location. They were to be cocked to the right, and the front end set one-inch above the right eyebrow.

These hats had a red cord piped around the top edge designating artillery. The cadre members had a profane name for this article of clothing that is too vulgar to repeat.

For everything we did, there was the right way, the wrong way, and the Army way. Only the Army way counted. We were taught when to and how to speak to officers and noncoms.

We were even instructed on how to strip and dispose of the butts from cigarettes: to open the paper, scatter the tobacco, roll the paper into a tiny ball, then throw it on the ground.

Every day we spent a lot of time on aircraft identification. If we were going to shoot down aircraft, we had better know the enemy from our own.

Because no one knew at the time where they would be sent to following our training, we had to study planes from both the European and Pacific theaters of operation.

We used movies, flash cards See Fig. Despite the constant drill on this subject, some men never seemed to become proficient in identifying planes.

They could not even distinguish between a fighter and a bomber. That bothered me but nothing was ever done about it other than to repeat the identification drills over and over again.

I became convinced this lack of knowledge could cause serious problems if we got into a combat situation. Would there be time to take a vote if we were attacked?

Was I the only one worried about this? Because I had been studying planes since I was in grammar school, I stood out in this area.

I soon became the one who did the testing and grading of the other soldiers in our outfit. At hours, we were back at the mess hall for lunch or what the Army called dinner.

It would be the main meal of the day. Then, it was back into formation where we were marched off to continue our training.

We went to the gun park where we fieldstripped the 40mm guns to determine how they operated and learned the official names of the many parts.

There was a drill to see how fast we could lower the gun from its traveling position to a firing position and then a reverse of that procedure.

See Figs. More about the 40mm and some of our other equipment was taught with lectures and movies back in the day room. Manuals were studied and we were tested on how well we memorized the nomenclature of major items.

As a Battalion, we were taken to the camp's obstacle course where we jumped over wooden fences, swung by ropes over ditches, crawled through pipe, and climbed knotted ropes.

There was always some kind of a mythical record we were trying to break as a battalion which was to spur us on to be faster and better than other battalions.

While the sergeants tried to transfer their enthusiasm for breaking the record to us recruits, we somehow never got that excited about it.

To us it was just a lot of hard work and our main goal was to get it over with as soon as possible with the least amount of pain.

A lot of time was spent learning about the M-l. They taught us how to carry it in formations, field strip it, put it back together, and maintain it.

We even had to disassemble and assemble it blindfolded. The gun could be loaded with a clip with eight rounds, and it fired semi-automatic.

That meant you had to pull the trigger for each shot. We learned something called the manual of arms, which is the rigid movement of the rifle to different positions while we were in formation.

It included saluting, carrying, moving it to a shoulder position and back to the ground among other movements. There was no ammunition issued for the rifles until later when we had target practice.

We were issued bayonets and learned how to attach them to the rifle and use them as weapons. There were classes in jabbing with the bayonets, hitting with the butt of the rifle, and other ways of inflicting bodily injury to the enemy.

The training was intended to create a martial attitude that would make us more ferocious warriors. We moved through the drills with intensity, but somehow it did not make a lot of sense to most of us.

In our view, the chances of an antiaircraft crewman having to fight the enemy hand-to-hand seemed quite remote.

There was no effort made to sharpen our bayonets and no thought given to them after the drill. They went back in their scabbards where they remained for the balance of the war and, like the gas masks, became just another piece of equipment added to the load we carried everywhere we went.

Later, the bayonet's main function would turn out to be as a tool for opening wooden cartons and ration cans. Most of us believed if you got close enough to the enemy to use a bayonet, shoot him instead.

Learning to use gas masks was one of the most disliked chapters of our training. We were sent into a building and all doors and windows were closed.

Then, they set off tear gas bombs while our masks were still in their carrying pouches. After the discharge, we had to hold our breath, open the gas mask container, put the mask on, and clear the mask to avoid being affected by the gas.

Not everyone was successful, and there were some violent reactions from those who had not done it in time. One fellow in our unit had a temporary breakdown from his experience and had to be sent to the hospital for several days.

We carried these gas masks every day we were training and when we got overseas. It was a real pain in the neck lugging them around, and we soon learned to hate them.

What we were not told, but should have been, was the reason for the emphasis on everyone carrying a gas mask at all times, at least in a combat zone.

During World War I there had been heavy casualties on both sides from the use of poison gasses. During World War I there were 1,, casualties from chemical warfare gasses, 91, died.

This information would have made carrying the masks a lot easier to tolerate. However, the Army was not out to offer us justifications for what they were doing, only to set rules and force us to obey them.

There were lectures and films in the day room. The films were primarily about our equipment, aircraft identification, military procedures, health, and military discipline.

The films always seemed to come on the hottest days, and we were shut in the day room with all of the windows closed so the shades could be pulled to darken the room.

There was no problem keeping our attention, despite the hot and stuffy room, because the sergeants were right there to make sure we stayed awake.

It was intended to be an indoctrination film for new recruits, and it was American propaganda at its best. It was a powerful documentation of recent history and presented convincing evidence why we were fighting a just war.

The films depicted the United States as a diversified nation with lofty ideals joining together with the Allied Nations to engage the dictatorial tyrants of the Axis countries.

There were seven one-hour series and we would be shown a new chapter about once a month. The first three - Prelude to War, The Nazis Strike, and Divide and Conquer - showed the rise of the totalitarian governments, Germany, Italy and Japan, and their ruthless conquering and oppression of neutral countries.

It was exciting entertainment and a great improvement over most of the dull training films we were exposed to. The next three chapters - Battle of Britain, The Battle of Russia, and The Battle of China - depicted the Allied powers making progress as the Axis countries began to go on the defense.

The final chapter - War Comes to America- was more political and purely propaganda oriented, showing the folly of having our country follow an isolation policy like we did after World War I, which the film partially blames for causing World War II.

There were many emotional and exciting episodes in these series. Some of the best footage was taken from Nazi films captured by the Allied Army.

There was one scene in this vein that really stuck in my mind for a long period of time. It showed Hitler, Goering and other high-ranking German officials standing around a large wooden table covered with maps celebrating the surrender of France.

Hitler and Goering were bouncing around the room like a couple of kids in a candy store while Goering was wringing his hands gleefully.

If it wasn't such a serious matter, the scene could be part of a Hollywood comedy with grown men acting like children. I looked forward to each successive chapter of that series and I learned a lot about history, propaganda tainted or not.

To me the series was entertainment, because it was a relief from our daily grind. I already knew Hitler and his like were the enemy, so the main purpose of the films in motivating me to go charging out and get him was lost somewhere.

We were also shown sex hygiene films about what happened if we contracted a social disease. The films were really gross, and for the most part they scared the majority of us into behaving ourselves.

I glanced around the room during one very graphic scene and about half of the men in the room were grimacing. The threat of a court martial for anyone who contracted a disease also loomed over our heads.

To make sure we had not contracted one of these diseases, they regularly gave us a physical inspection. About once a month, they would have us all fall out into formation in front of our huts wearing a raincoat, shoes, a helmet liner and nothing else.

The raincoats were rubberized, guaranteeing we would be sweating profusely after a short period of time from the heat of the California sun.

We would then be marched over to the medics building, lined up and, with our raincoats opened, our genitals inspected by a medic sitting on a chair in front of us.

He would look for social diseases, crabs, or something worse. It was known as short arm inspection. According to army regulations, once a month we were to be read the Articles of War, the Army's criminal code governing our actions while in service.

We referred to them as the commandments, only these rules left no room for contrition, only punishment. Any infringement of these laws could lead to a court-martial with the resulting penalties.

For example, they stated we could not be absent without authorized leave AWOL , desert, fail to obey an order, be drunk on duty, show disrespect for a commissioned officer, disobey a noncommissioned officer and so on.

We always got a kick out of the last Article. It stated, in effect, if your conduct was of a nature to bring disrespect upon the Army, you could be subject to a court-martial.

This meant anything you did not to the Army's liking could be included in their list of crimes. It was a catchall if I ever heard one, and I wondered why they bothered to be so specific about some infringements when this one covered them all.

Those in charge of our training would throw out the threat of court-martial on a regular basis.

It was presented in such a forceful manner the mere thought sent fear through us. There could be the court-martial itself, maybe a dishonorable discharge, and even time in jail.

While much of their blustering was little more than threats, we did not know that at the time, and if we did, we did not want to take the chance of being made an example.

If they treated any minor infringement with major punishments, surely they would follow through with the threats associated with more serious items outlined in the Articles of War.

Most soldiers like me lived under the threat of court-martial and we went to great pains to avoid one.

There were many hikes that took us out of camp. The army called them forced marches. We wondered why they used the word forced to describe these activities.

Everything we did was forced on us, so why limit it to marches? We carried a full field pack on a few of them, but on most we just wore our fatigues with gun belts, helmet liners, and gas masks and carried our rifles.

Some hikes were as short as five miles; others were as long as twenty-five miles. On the longer hikes, we would get a ten-minute break every hour to sit down on the ground and rest.

The sergeant in charge would shout out, "Take a ten-minute break, smoke if you've got em. After the ten minutes were up, the sergeant would yell out, "Okay, men, on you feet, stow those butts, and move it out," and we would be off again as men field stripped their cigarettes.

The longer hikes really tested our endurance. Just like they did at the obstacle course, they would pit one battery against another, platoon against platoon, and even gun section against gun section.

It was a contest who would finish first, who would finish in the least amount of time, and who would have the most men finish the longer hikes.

Like the contests at the obstacle course, winning was a lot more important to the officers and noncoms than it was to the rest of us.

The younger men would usually take over carrying the rifles of the older ones in order to lighten their load in hopes they could stay the course and finish the hike.

A Jeep or a weapons carrier followed the hikers and picked up stragglers who could not finish. The sergeants tried to make those who fell out feel as guilty as possible for letting down their unit.

Sometimes, while marching around on the streets in the camp, we would come across Italian prisoners of war doing labor work.

They had been captured by the American Army in the battle for North Africa and incarcerated in an area located in the far corner of Camp Haan.

The men of Italian descent in our outfit would greet the prisoners with the well-known stiff-arm salute: They grabbed the inside of their right forearm with the left hand and then propelled both arms up in the air.

It was always followed with some kind of an oath in Italian only they understood. Even though the rest of us did not know the meaning of what was said, just listening to the emphasis put on certain words and watching the body language produced a lot of laughs from our ranks while the prisoners just smiled without a response.

We bivouacked in open fields outside Camp Haan for several days. There we were introduced to pup tent living See Fig.

The first night out it rained, which was rare for southern California, and we soon learned how to dig small drainage ditches around the tent to avoid getting flooded out.

At first we found it all quite exciting, but later we would learn to dislike it because of their cramped quarters.. Our meals were delivered by truck and we ate out of mess kits for the first time.

Back at Camp Haan, we grumbled among ourselves about the rigorous training, never realizing that it was going to get much worse. Our complaining was somewhat tempered by the fact that there were branches of the Army which were a lot harder and potentially more dangerous than an anti-aircraft outfit.

Nobody expected military life to be fun, and, realistically, it was just what we anticipated it to be: hard, miserable, and demeaning.

There was little talk about when the war is over because the way military operations were going overseas, we knew that the end was a long way down the road.

On a regular basis, we were taken over to the camp's infirmary and given tetanus, typhoid, and smallpox shots. While standing in line to be shot, there were always men who would exaggerate about what was going to happen.

There were always a few men who would faint from the shots and we all had some discomfort from them. One shot produced immediate pain, but it went away after several hours.

The next day, the effects of another shot kicked in and caused some discomfort that lasted for about twenty-four more hours.

After repeating the procedure several times, we began to take it all in stride. Every Saturday morning at hours we had an inspection of quarters by an officer.

To get ready, we would start the evening before, scrubbing and readying our hut and everything in it for the big moment. Our bunks were made up in a prescribed method with square corners and OD blankets pulled tight.

We put on our newest uniform that was well cleaned and pressed. Our shoes were given a heavy coat of polish, brushed, and buffed to a high gloss shine with a soft cloth.

As the officer approached the screen door, a cadre member would shout out, "Attention! We would all stiffen into a rigid position of attention next to our cots as the officer and sergeant entered; there we would remain the entire time they were in our hut.

The officer would always find something wrong, and made a big fuss about it. The sergeant would make notes of every shortcoming; extra duties were passed out as penalties in some cases.

No matter how we tried, it was nearly impossible to meet the standards required of us. We soon learned to do our best and then care less about being perfect.

While they threatened severe consequences, such as eliminating passes for a weekend, that was usually a bluff unless there was some flagrant goof-up.

We kidded among ourselves that perhaps they would send us back to civilian life for being inept, but we knew that was not likely.

After all the huts were inspected, we lined up on the street, standing at rigid attention and in formation, where our dress uniforms and M-1 rifles went through further inspection.

The night before, the rifles had been cleaned meticulously, the metal parts lightly oiled, and the walnut stock polished with linseed oil.

The officer would come down the line of men, all with the butts of their rifles on the ground tight against their bodies. As the officer stopped in front of him, each man would bring the rifle up to port arms and then open the bolt, all in a rigid military movement.

The officer would bring his hand up from his side, like a boxer throwing an uppercut, and grab the rifle out of the man's hands.

If you didn't let go of it in time you were in big trouble. The officer would inspect the rifle, even looking down the barrel.

This rifle is filthy. How long have you been in the Army, soldier? Sergeant, take this man's name. Next time, I want to see this rifle sparkle.

The questions and comments by the officer varied from man to man, but they all had one theme-we were not up to his expectations.

The map created by people like you! A few scant foundations are all that remain of a bustling WWII-era antiaircraft artillery training center and Army service depot.

The polygon outlines some of the last visible reminders of Camp Haan in this view. The military reservation, a trapezoidal area about four miles long and three miles wide, comprised some 8, acres, and was named in honor of Major General William George Haan, Coast Artillery Corps, who had a very distinguished Army career during World War I and was awarded a number of American and foreign government decorations.

At first it was mostly a tent camp, but permanent wooden barracks and other buildings were added.

By October of , the Camp had buildings, 2, floor tents, 6 exchanges, 5 chapels, a hospital, 18 miles of sewers, and 28 miles of streets.

By November most of the men who trained here had been assigned to coastal defenses in the Los Angeles and San Francisco Bay area.

When the attack came on Pearl Harbor a month later, and fears of an invasion of the U. However, the entire base always felt temporary.

Robert F. The base was large and spanned across approximately 8, acres. However, it seemed almost impolite to build the base across from March Air Field for soldiers who had hoped to become pilots in the war.

The camp was bare of any bushes or trees according to Gallagher, but it was superbly clean for a military base. While Camp Haan may have started out as a collection of tents, it eventually had wooden buildings in addition to the 2, floor tents, hospital, chapels, exchanges, sewers, mess halls and streets.

The camp was home to the boys who would be the first line of defense if attacks on Pearl Harbor had moved to California. The living quarters and buildings of Camp Haan were rudimentary according to Gallagher.

They were made from plywood and typically were by feet. They had no insulation, finishing or paint. While the upper part of the buildings often had a screen and awnings, rain storms were particularly dreadful as the only means to protect the barracks was with a plywood sheet.

Most of the barracks contained a wooden floor, potbelly stove and canvas cots with 3-inch thick mattresses. There were six men to each wooden hut. In such small spaces, duffel bags became bureaus.

There were no luxuries in Camp Haan. The main weapons for the soldiers were 40mm guns that fired two rounds per second with automatic but could also be set to fire solitary shots.

Most soldiers spent hours learning how to operate and maintain their guns. Soldiers also learned how to operate 90mm and mm guns. As the war progressed, the base became less useful as a training center.

Space was needed prisoners were taken from the battlefield. The base closed and reopened as a prisoner of war camp in housing Italian and eventually German POWs.

The prisoners worked at Camp Haan and also in the citrus orchards located outside of the camp.

He appears to be answering questions that Anthony asked letters from Anthony are not included in the collection , and is a valuable first-hand account of life at Camp Anza.

Some of the letters contain photocopies of photographs. Both yearbooks are from and provide information about the respective regiments, including group photographs, and a list of the names of servicemen associated with the regiment.

This series contains newspaper clippings photocopies from local Riverside newspapers related to Camp Anza, and are particularly useful during the last six months of and all of This series also contains material about the closing of Camp Anza.

This series contains miscellaneous items related to Camp Haan, including a Letter to the Editor clipping from , an outline of the Camp's history, and photocopies of aerial photographs with handwritten notes.

Patterson, Tom. A Colony for California. Riverside, California. Museum Press of the Riverside Museum Associates. Riverside Public Library Library Home.

The collection consists of one box,. Scope and Content This collection is divided into five series. Folder 1: Letters 4 to Sharon Anthony Series II - Yearbooks of Artillery companies Both yearbooks are from and provide information about the respective regiments, including group photographs, and a list of the names of servicemen associated with the regiment.

The Southwest Branch, U. Disciplinary Barracks, was also authorized for activation at this post. At its peak, Camp Haan had a population of 80, people.

After the war the camp became a separation center and on August 31, was closed. Many of the wooden buildings were sold and moved to other locations and the land was divided.

Some of the land remains unused and a number of building foundations, streets and sidewalks can be seen from State Route Jack Benny at Camp Haan in April www.

Nearby cities:. They had no insulation, finishing or paint. While the upper part of the buildings often had a screen and awnings, rain storms were particularly dreadful as the only means to protect the barracks was with a plywood sheet.

Most of the barracks contained a wooden floor, potbelly stove and canvas cots with 3-inch thick mattresses. There were six men to each wooden hut.

In such small spaces, duffel bags became bureaus. There were no luxuries in Camp Haan. The main weapons for the soldiers were 40mm guns that fired two rounds per second with automatic but could also be set to fire solitary shots.

Most soldiers spent hours learning how to operate and maintain their guns. Soldiers also learned how to operate 90mm and mm guns.

As the war progressed, the base became less useful as a training center. Space was needed prisoners were taken from the battlefield. The base closed and reopened as a prisoner of war camp in housing Italian and eventually German POWs.

The prisoners worked at Camp Haan and also in the citrus orchards located outside of the camp. A hospital with beds was also built to handle the wounded that came in from the Pacific operations, and the Southwest Branch was opened as a U.

Disciplinary Barracks at Camp Haan later that year. After the war ended, there seemed to be little use for the camp as a training center or POW camp.

It was transformed into a separation center, which were used to house soldiers before they were discharged from the Army. Camp Haan would eventually close on August 31, Once the base officially closed, the buildings were sold, the land was divided and sold off as parcels.

Now much of the land is comprised of the General Olds Golf Course. Small parts of the land continue to be unused, which can be seen from State Route He was an assistant to the commanding general of the training command at Camp Haan and quickly rose from private to warrant officer during World War II.

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Camp Anza - World War II Army Staging Camp in Riverside

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