Ordnance Supply School,
Provisional Co. D.
Camp Hancock, Ga.
Dear Mother:
It is a beautiful morning down here. I am beginning to doubt as to whether they ever have
anything but sunshine. I am told, however, that there are some stormy days. I can see how the
Southerners become so “easy going.” I believe I might as well make this letter a sort of diary:
Sunday—5/5/18.
We had our breakfast at 7:00 o’clock. Then I went on Latrine (Look up that word in
Webster as I do not wish to write the definition) detail until about nine o’clock. Went up to one
of the Mess Halls to a short service conducted by one of the Y.M.C.A. men. I was also painting
signs part of the time. In the afternoon I was on the fly-swatting squad. Our duty was to swat
flies in the Mess Hall. We killed flies most of the afternoon and when we were thru I think there
were almost as many as when we started in. The cracks between the boards seemed to serve as
an inducement to the flies to enter. The day was beautiful.
Monday—5/6/18.
A beautiful day with plenty of hot sun. I loafed most all day. On account of the sun being
so hot, I put in the whole day painting the sign: “2nd Lt. R.M. Schiller, Ord. R.C.” It seems that I
am official sign painter.
Tuesday—5/7/18.
Bright sunshiney day. Did not paint signs today, except a small one for the squad tent.
About five of us were on detail to fill an old Latrine hole. It was sure some dirty job. It was hard
to throw the dirt in so the water would not splash on us. We worked with our shirts off, and as a
result I have a fairly decent coat of sun-burn. That was another job on which we put in the full
day. I think we would have fired a man that could not have filled it himself in a half day. I told
you we were quarantined to our Company Street. Well, in order to get to the Latrine we were
compelled to pass a Canteen were [sic] we always invested in ice cream cones. One fellow ate
fifteen and is still living and apparently not affected by it.
Wednesday—5/8/18.
First cloudy weather since our arrival. I do not know what the day may bring forth. I am
sitting on my bunk writing—using my suitcase as a desk. Our tent is furled around the tentpole—leaving us with the skies as a roof. The microbes have a slim chance here. We furl our
tents and leave them that way all day, and a Southern sun sure hits them hard. If civilians were as
sanitary a [sic] soldiers there would never be a case of disease after three or four years. We keep
these old tent floors scrubbed and swept like a palace floor. Of course the floor is probably not
made of the same quality of material.
Tell Pap that I am very well acquainted with Mr. Nance. He is in our company. He asked
me one day whether I know Tom Hoge. He has traveled over the county with him and seemed to
think a lot of him. He was with Ferris, I believe. He seems like a fine fellow and is liked by the
other fellows of the Company.
Enjoying camp life first rate.
Your son,
Guy.
P.S. We begin our classes next week.