In France, Wednesday 10 July 1918
My dear Mother & Dad:
I hope you'll pardon my delay in writing to you for the past week or so, but I've got some great news to report -- I've got a wonderful new job - and it's absolutely a positively, a sinecure (and that's hard to come by in the Army). I'm now waiter to the commanding officer's table. My sole duties are to set the table and serve three meals per day to Col. Foreman and his staff. The rest of the time is my own. I started this job a week ago last Monday, and it all happened this way:
I was standing in the mess line last Monday (July 1st). I noticed Capt. Donovan standing near and eyeing the fellows in the line. About 10 minutes later Sgt. McCarthy came up to me saying Capt. Donovan wanted to speak to me. So I stepped out of line and reported to him. He had known me at Camp Logan briefly when he was Officer of the Day and I was on Guard Duty. He asked me if I would like to have a nice soft job with plenty of good things to eat, smiling as he said this. Of course I answered "Yes" immediately. So he summoned an orderly, meanwhile telling me what my duties would be -- that I would me mess orderly to the Commanding Officer's Table and would serve 3 meals daily to him and his staff. He gave me a few brief instructions and told me to always be punctual and to always be on hand when the Colonel came in for his place at the table, etc. Well, the orderly brought me to the Cafe de la Poste, where the Staff eats, introduced me to Joe Chicoine, the Staff Officer's private cook and ten minutes later I served the Colonel and his staff their first meal by me. After the Colonel and his staff had departed, Captain Donovan came back and congratulated me saying, "Fine work, keep it up." The Captain then told me that Colonel Foreman is a difficult man to please and that he's fired the last 3 waiters in the past couple of weeks -- especially when he's in a bad mood and has had a few too many drinks. So, you can see what I'm up against. I told Capt. Donovan that I'd be extra careful and that I'll try to be as punctual as possible and to always be on hand to greet the Colonel at every meal and he appeared to be highly pleased.
Joe Chicoine, the cook, is a nice guy, a French-Canadian and formerly was chef at the Auditorium Hotel in Chicago and he also worked on dining cars on the railroads. We have our own room upstairs of the Cafe. The kitchen is in the rear of the main floor of the Cafe adjoining the Colonel's private dining room. When the weather is agreeable, I set the table outside under the porch roof. Vines cover the entire front from ground to roof of the porch and you can well imagine how pleasant the surroundings are. I am now on "detached service" from the Battery and hope the job lasts until I'll have to report back to the Battery whenever we must go to the front. As I sit out on the porch writing this I can see a group of German prisoners working on the water mains in the street under French military guard; and more prisoners are coming in daily - on their way to the prisoner's compound. On the Fourth of July, the Staff Officers gave a banquet and the mayor of the town and the local padre were the guests of honor. Being the Colonel's waiter, I had the pleasant task of picking assistants to help me wait on table and so I picked out 10 of the neatest looking guys - all friends of mine - and assigned them to the various tables and gave them some simple instructions, such as the proper side from which to serve each guest and to always keep the champagne glasses full to the brim. I then instructed each chap to leave a good quantity of the wine in each bottle, telling them that we must reserve some for our own little private party after the banquet. The whole thing was done up in good style and very successful - according to Captain Donovan, who was highly pleased. Joe Chicoine did a marvelous job in preparing the dinner which consisted of chicken broth, roast chicken, roquefort cheese with rye bread, baked potato and cream gravy, fruit salad and mayonnaise, peach pie and demi-tasse, French cognac and coffee and of course, many bottles of champagne of excellent quality. And oh yes, another delectable delicacy that was served was Joe Chicoine's specialty - Russian canope - a delicious sardine paste or hash, served on hot toast. And Jo made the whole meal - all by himself. He's a marvelous cook and so adept at no only cooking the main dishes, but all the little side dishes and salads that taste so wonderful.
After the banquet, Captain Donovan gave me 50 francs to distribute among the waiters - which automatically gave them 5 francs each. Then he gave me 15 francs for myself and congratulated me on doing a good job in handling the serving end of the affair. I'm certainly getting my fill of delectable food, thanks to Joe's wonderful cooking. Captain Donovan hinted to me that perhaps later on, I may be in line for the job of Mess Sergeant for the Staff Officers when I become increasingly familiar with the procurement of supplies for the table etc. and their costs. As it is, I make out weekly expense bills now and Capt. Donovan told Joe and me yesterday that if we keep the cost of meals within the bounds of 6 francs per day per officer, we will each receive 2 francs daily as our commission. Not so bad, eh? But somehow I don't know if the job would appeal to me that much, for I'm beginning to miss my buddies in the Battery - my old squad - and the daily excitement of signal work, coordinating with field gun fire.
After all the officers had left, my 10 waiters and I had our own party, for there was still plenty of food left and about 8 half-filled bottles of Gold Seal Champagne and assorted bottles of Cognac. And so we had a party in the kitchen. Then later on in the afternoon when only Joe and I were left, Lt. Regan came into the kitchen. He's a swell guy and was promoted at Camp Logan from Sgt. Major to 2nd Lt. just before we came overseas. He sat down in the kitchen with us, having bought 4 bottles of champagne in the cafe and between us we had quite another merry little party -- and I must confess that I got plenty dizzy from that champagne. We had a great time and I don't think any of us could feel any pain if we had fallen out of a 2nd story window - yet by the time it became necessary for me to serve the evening officer's meal, I was entirely sober and was able to handle the job without a hitch.
Captain Donovan said that we will get paid tonight - we haven't been paid for May and June.
I'm writing this letter in a vine-covered summer-house on the lawn adjacent to the cafe - quite a lovely place in which to gather one's thoughts before setting them down on paper. As I sit here in this peaceful atmosphere, my thoughts inevitably turn to all the events that have transpired in the comparatively short time since I enlisted on April 10th, 1917 - just a year and a quarter ago. Almost immediately after my enlistment, my introduction to army life at Camp Wampold on Chicago's Lake Front for 2 months, then the transfer of our entire Division to Camp Logan at Houston, then our epic voyage overseas - a half a world away from my home - the rigors of army life and discipline, and now this brief interval of waiting until the call comes for us to move up to the front. I think we all have mixed feelings about that - mostly we are all curious to know just what it will be like to be on the firing line - to be in the midst of daily excitement of battle, yet during those moments of sober reflection, wondering what fate may have in store for each of us...
We're getting our horses now - a big number of them come in every day and they're all fine healthy animals - mostly French.
I hope that all of you are in good health at home, especially you, Dad. I hope that the summer breezes will cure your chronic affliction and your cough. Please tell [sisters] Bess, Ina, and Lib that I'll try to write tomorrow. I've already sent post cards to both aunts and uncles. And now I must bring this to a close. With love to all,
Your loving son
[signed] George
I was standing in the mess line last Monday (July 1st). I noticed Capt. Donovan standing near and eyeing the fellows in the line. About 10 minutes later Sgt. McCarthy came up to me saying Capt. Donovan wanted to speak to me. So I stepped out of line and reported to him. He had known me at Camp Logan briefly when he was Officer of the Day and I was on Guard Duty. He asked me if I would like to have a nice soft job with plenty of good things to eat, smiling as he said this. Of course I answered "Yes" immediately. So he summoned an orderly, meanwhile telling me what my duties would be -- that I would me mess orderly to the Commanding Officer's Table and would serve 3 meals daily to him and his staff. He gave me a few brief instructions and told me to always be punctual and to always be on hand when the Colonel came in for his place at the table, etc. Well, the orderly brought me to the Cafe de la Poste, where the Staff eats, introduced me to Joe Chicoine, the Staff Officer's private cook and ten minutes later I served the Colonel and his staff their first meal by me. After the Colonel and his staff had departed, Captain Donovan came back and congratulated me saying, "Fine work, keep it up." The Captain then told me that Colonel Foreman is a difficult man to please and that he's fired the last 3 waiters in the past couple of weeks -- especially when he's in a bad mood and has had a few too many drinks. So, you can see what I'm up against. I told Capt. Donovan that I'd be extra careful and that I'll try to be as punctual as possible and to always be on hand to greet the Colonel at every meal and he appeared to be highly pleased.
Joe Chicoine, the cook, is a nice guy, a French-Canadian and formerly was chef at the Auditorium Hotel in Chicago and he also worked on dining cars on the railroads. We have our own room upstairs of the Cafe. The kitchen is in the rear of the main floor of the Cafe adjoining the Colonel's private dining room. When the weather is agreeable, I set the table outside under the porch roof. Vines cover the entire front from ground to roof of the porch and you can well imagine how pleasant the surroundings are. I am now on "detached service" from the Battery and hope the job lasts until I'll have to report back to the Battery whenever we must go to the front. As I sit out on the porch writing this I can see a group of German prisoners working on the water mains in the street under French military guard; and more prisoners are coming in daily - on their way to the prisoner's compound. On the Fourth of July, the Staff Officers gave a banquet and the mayor of the town and the local padre were the guests of honor. Being the Colonel's waiter, I had the pleasant task of picking assistants to help me wait on table and so I picked out 10 of the neatest looking guys - all friends of mine - and assigned them to the various tables and gave them some simple instructions, such as the proper side from which to serve each guest and to always keep the champagne glasses full to the brim. I then instructed each chap to leave a good quantity of the wine in each bottle, telling them that we must reserve some for our own little private party after the banquet. The whole thing was done up in good style and very successful - according to Captain Donovan, who was highly pleased. Joe Chicoine did a marvelous job in preparing the dinner which consisted of chicken broth, roast chicken, roquefort cheese with rye bread, baked potato and cream gravy, fruit salad and mayonnaise, peach pie and demi-tasse, French cognac and coffee and of course, many bottles of champagne of excellent quality. And oh yes, another delectable delicacy that was served was Joe Chicoine's specialty - Russian canope - a delicious sardine paste or hash, served on hot toast. And Jo made the whole meal - all by himself. He's a marvelous cook and so adept at no only cooking the main dishes, but all the little side dishes and salads that taste so wonderful.
After the banquet, Captain Donovan gave me 50 francs to distribute among the waiters - which automatically gave them 5 francs each. Then he gave me 15 francs for myself and congratulated me on doing a good job in handling the serving end of the affair. I'm certainly getting my fill of delectable food, thanks to Joe's wonderful cooking. Captain Donovan hinted to me that perhaps later on, I may be in line for the job of Mess Sergeant for the Staff Officers when I become increasingly familiar with the procurement of supplies for the table etc. and their costs. As it is, I make out weekly expense bills now and Capt. Donovan told Joe and me yesterday that if we keep the cost of meals within the bounds of 6 francs per day per officer, we will each receive 2 francs daily as our commission. Not so bad, eh? But somehow I don't know if the job would appeal to me that much, for I'm beginning to miss my buddies in the Battery - my old squad - and the daily excitement of signal work, coordinating with field gun fire.
After all the officers had left, my 10 waiters and I had our own party, for there was still plenty of food left and about 8 half-filled bottles of Gold Seal Champagne and assorted bottles of Cognac. And so we had a party in the kitchen. Then later on in the afternoon when only Joe and I were left, Lt. Regan came into the kitchen. He's a swell guy and was promoted at Camp Logan from Sgt. Major to 2nd Lt. just before we came overseas. He sat down in the kitchen with us, having bought 4 bottles of champagne in the cafe and between us we had quite another merry little party -- and I must confess that I got plenty dizzy from that champagne. We had a great time and I don't think any of us could feel any pain if we had fallen out of a 2nd story window - yet by the time it became necessary for me to serve the evening officer's meal, I was entirely sober and was able to handle the job without a hitch.
Captain Donovan said that we will get paid tonight - we haven't been paid for May and June.
I'm writing this letter in a vine-covered summer-house on the lawn adjacent to the cafe - quite a lovely place in which to gather one's thoughts before setting them down on paper. As I sit here in this peaceful atmosphere, my thoughts inevitably turn to all the events that have transpired in the comparatively short time since I enlisted on April 10th, 1917 - just a year and a quarter ago. Almost immediately after my enlistment, my introduction to army life at Camp Wampold on Chicago's Lake Front for 2 months, then the transfer of our entire Division to Camp Logan at Houston, then our epic voyage overseas - a half a world away from my home - the rigors of army life and discipline, and now this brief interval of waiting until the call comes for us to move up to the front. I think we all have mixed feelings about that - mostly we are all curious to know just what it will be like to be on the firing line - to be in the midst of daily excitement of battle, yet during those moments of sober reflection, wondering what fate may have in store for each of us...
We're getting our horses now - a big number of them come in every day and they're all fine healthy animals - mostly French.
I hope that all of you are in good health at home, especially you, Dad. I hope that the summer breezes will cure your chronic affliction and your cough. Please tell [sisters] Bess, Ina, and Lib that I'll try to write tomorrow. I've already sent post cards to both aunts and uncles. And now I must bring this to a close. With love to all,
Your loving son
[signed] George
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