At the end of the war in Europe, many strange things happened, and none stranger than Corporal J. Negri being put in charge of a Displaced person's camp. The inmates were Polish, Russian and Italian and I was their Commandant. Wow, I was just 20 years old, and you can bet your bippy I exercised all the authority that came with the job. This lasted for about three weeks. Imagine a softy like me pulling morning inspection or supervising a delousing squad. The inmates had to disrobe, both men and women to do the job right. I approached this job like I was a movie director and played my part with a stern face, strutting around camp with a few of my boys, even carrying a swagger stick. I had to keep the displaced persons busy and check to see that they didn't break curfew.
I remember this one Italian displaced person who did break curfew, and I was his interpreter. We appeared before a mean Captain of the military police. That was his name, Captain Meanie, who, incidentally, didn't take kindly to my stumbling interpretations in pigeon Italian. So, he sentenced this bewildered, W.O.P.* displaced person to one week in the cellar.
A few days later, on one of my inspection tours, I passed this little window at the base of a brick building, saw a pair of eyes peering out of a dark cellar. I swear I could hear Corporal J. Negri being cursed in Italian. It wasn't my fault he was imprisoned. The military police had picked him up.
Another time I barged into a room where my Polish Capo was sleeping. He was late for inspection, and I found him sleeping with a woman. It was so funny to watch a naked guy scrambling for his clothes and the gal covering her face. I had to admit my stern face cracked a smile. I entered the Army a virgin and became a 'voyeur.'
I will now close this chapter with the familiar director's call, "Cut!"
The Commandant thing was to have been a lousy detail, but I must admit I got a rise out of it. Without papers*