. . . Summer 2001

Part 2 of 3
By Joan Elmouchi
Photos courtesy Joan Elmouchi

Abe Herman traveled throughout the country procuring accounts for his hat business, and when possible he visited Harold in Ann Arbor. Knowing his father would be in Ohio, in October 1917 he urged him to "try and make it November 10, the day of the great Cornell game." On October 27 he wrote, "Yea Michigan! Yea Michigan! We beat Cornell in football yesterday 42-0. Some game! Was very sorry papa could not attend."
Harold was unprepared when his father did visit in November of 1917. Abe was apparently not pleased with what he found, for an apologetic Harold wrote:
I am attending to all things you spoke about in your letter. I took a haircut and shave. If I see a good pair of shoes in Detroit I get them tomorrow. Today I cleaned up the room and it looks spic and span. Your letter indeed is meant well but you must consider you caught me just at a time when my mind was only on examinations. I know that had you come after the exams or a few weeks before you would have found things the way you desired them. So bear in mind that the unsettled room and the things not in their proper places was due to my not having my mind on those things at that time. If you came today you would have seen the difference. First, I feel better, have a smile on me, my room clean, everything in its place.
One of Harold's Bayonne friends, Dave Racoosin, had family in Detroit who welcomed visits from the Bayonne Boys. In early December of 1917 Harold traveled to Detroit to visit his Uncle Meyer, who was staying at the Ponchartrain Hotel:
After I left Uncle I went to Racoosin's house where I had a wonderful dinner of steak and other good eats. I certainly did enjoy that meal. ... After supper I attended a dance given by the YMHA [Young Men's Hebrew Association] of Detroit at the Shaarey Zedek. I met many Detroit Jewish boys and girls. This was the first time I danced since I left Bayonne. I slept at Racoosin's and next a.m. we woke up at 5 o'clock and we came back in time for our 7:30 classes. That was a good little enjoyment for me. It ought to keep me until Christmas.
Harold's first winter in Ann Arbor was an eye-opener. On January 14, 1918, he wrote:
Friday night we had a snowstorm and believe me, some storm! The snow was about fourteen inches high, the temperature all day on Saturday was 22 degrees below zero and the wind blew at 40 miles an hour. All traffic and communication was stopped because everything was snowbound. Our room was very warm as our landlady kept putting more and more coal on the fire. We have enough coal to last the winter.
By February 4th he didn't sound as confident:
The weather in Ann Arbor as well as other places is frigid. We have enough snow. Today we have a wonderful day, the sun is shining at its best but it is as cold as the North Pole. Coal is as scarce as diamonds. However our landlady has a supply that will last the winter-we hope. It was so cold today at the examination that the professor excused us from answering the whole test. The University is only opened during the daytime. Certain parts of buildings are closed entirely. This is because the University, which has enough coal, is helping out the city, which is without any at all. The closing rules are very strictly observed. Today all stores are closed.

In December of his freshman year Harold wrote his father that he received his exam grades in rhetoric. "In the first I got a C+ and in the second, B. Since the others in the class got low marks, mine are among the best in the class. It is therefore I feel good in spirit." However, in January he was dismayed to learn that the University had notified Abe that his work was below par:
I was unaware that you had been notified or were to be notified. I had a conference with the Dean, and he treated me well and told me that my marks in geology and Spanish are not satisfactory. He told me to brace up and see my professors.
Always anxious to please and impress his father, Harold used his letters as a means of winning Abe's respect. He wrote often about his social and academic achievements, his patriotism and especially his adherence to Orthodox Jewish observance and tradition. He was sick with worry upon discovering that U-M had sent his father a negative report, but was reassured after Abe sent him encouraging words:
Your letter acted as an inspirator. Your kind, friendly and instructive words I am thinking about constantly. It gives me encouragement to know that you believe in me and have faith in me. It is needless to tell you that I am working hard at my studies. I did not feel any too good due to the notice, but now I feel much better.
On February 4 Harold wrote about a special event:
Teddy Roosevelt is speaking in Detroit this week and a great parade will take place. The University has called all those who wish to hear him to go in a body, which will be 1,000 men led by the famous Michigan band and faculty. Ripps, myself and Racoosin, also some of the other Bayonne boys, are going since we have no school and can hear Teddy-but most of all because a couple of good meals are awaiting us at Mrs. Racoosin's.
By the end of March 1918, the deep freeze ended and Harold wrote that "the weather is wonderful. Bright, sunny, warm-lovely weather." He was looking forward to March 24, when he would be in "as a guest of Temple Beth-El. Eleven o'clock we will have divine services in the Temple. One o'clock we have home hospitality-that means some members of the swell Temple Beth-El bunch will have me as their dinner guest. Swell stuff."

On April 5, 1918, Harold wrote a poignant letter home:
This a.m. I have finished my classes and am now on my spring vacation which I wish was rather the end than the start. I suppose it is foolish of me to say this but it is exactly how I feel, when the day is bright and sunny and the streets of Ann Arbor are filled with smiles and yelling of goodbyes and shaking friends' hands and wishing them a pleasant and enjoyable vacation. They leave for the depot with suitcase in hand and I return to my room and sit down to write this letter and make the best of ten days in a college town on a vacation, which is worse than living in isolation. Even the movies close up, store keepers also close and the thing you do is wish school opens again so the town will lay off its resemblance to a cemetery. So is life in Ann Arbor and such am I now about to embark into for 10 days. If you want to feel blue come to Ann Arbor and see a mob of students leave on the day previous to a vacation when you are not among them.
The next day, the United States entered World War I. U-M enthusiastically supported the war effort, and Harold was wildly patriotic. In his first letter home he wrote:
I desire that you make some arrangement whereby you can forward me fifty dollars of my own money so I can purchase a Liberty Bond. In the first campaign I neglected to purchase one. In this one I insist upon having one. A college campaign is going on and I desire to subscribe from the standpoint of a University student.
Until World War I, the training of military officers was a haphazard affair at best. The advent of World War I's modern weapons and tactics made the need for a reliable source of trained officers critical. So in 1916 the National Defense Act established the army ROTC program. For ROTC's first two years it was known as the Student Army Training Corps (SATC), and Harold was part of Michigan's very first SATC class of 1,800 students. He was enamoured with the idea of being a soldier and even enthusiastic about military drills. "The students are a patriotic bunch, all right," he had written the previous November.
He was especially excited about wearing a uniform, informing his father that regulation shirts cost $3.50, while army shoes would be "$6.50 a pair retail. The shoes we are getting are being partly paid by the State of Michigan and our part is 80¢. Pretty cheap, eh?"
"Our uniforms are in Ann Arbor," he wrote excitedly two months before the US declared war, "and will be given out the week of February 11. They are heavy woolen and keep one exceedingly warm." In March he wrote:
In military drill we now drill in the field and it looks fine to see all the boys in their uniforms marching about the town and campus. I have been detailed as a guide. That means a temporary promotion and is one of the highest non-commissioned offices in the company.
Harold's enthusiasm worried his family, who feared he would leave college to enlist. On March 22 he tried to reassure them:
Yesterday we had a special lecture by the dean and he read a letter from Presidents Wilson, Baker and Daniels requesting that college men not enlist unless they are of draft age. He urged that they devote their time to college and try to complete it in a shorter time. I wrote you before that the camp is not open to freshmen. So don't worry about me signing up. The government has not sent us bullets so we drill with guns minus bullets.
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 Harold Herman with unidentified friend, 1918. |
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But when Harold returned to Michigan in the fall of 1918 for his sophomore year, he plunged right into military life. The war was now a top priority, with 2,700 U-M students enrolled in the SATC. Also of growing concern was the great influenza epidemic, which reached its peak in 1918 and 1919; 500,000 Americans and 20 million people worldwide died of this devastating illness. In his letters of 1917 and early 1918 Harold constantly reassured his family that he was in good health. This became no casual matter as his sophomore year began. On October 8, 1918, he wrote:
At present everything is quarantined here, all the movies, churches and public places are closed. The men all wear influenza masks. Out of our company we have five men in the hospital with bad grippe, while in the barracks we have seventeen men with lesser grippe and colds. Every day doctors come to the barracks and spray our noses with a certain medicine.
Harold made his feeling clear in the same letter, writing, "As to school work I have not attended a single class. We are in the real US Army and not at school. No man thinks of school." Because the flu had decimated the supply of regular army officers, Harold began to rise in the ranks almost as soon as his career began. Within two days he was appointed top sergeant, the highest noncommissioned officer next to the lieutenant.
Yesterday the officers called me in, asked me several military questions and then asked me if I want to go to an officer's training camp. You know the answer. Then he asked me my exact age and that spoiled my joy. "You're too godd***ed young, Sgt. Herman," he said. "You got time in another three months." So you can picture how I feel. Only two other men got recommendations that were asked. They were 20 years old.
Harold was in direct charge of 180 men, "all older than myself. They consist of engineers, law students and pharmics." He was liaison between the regular officers and the student soldiers. "I believe I answer 300 questions a day, about 200 of them foolish ones. Before a private can speak to an officer he must receive permission from me." It was heady stuff for a young man just starting his second year of college. Harold boasted that he had his own desk, a semi-private room and a clothes closet all to himself. "My room is swept out by privates. I have four heavy army blankets and I feel warm. The house I live in [at 1617 Washtenaw] belongs to one of the best frats. It is wonderful." Still, Harold strove to earn the respect of his men:
I try hard to do the right thing by the men and I believe I have succeeded.
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Harold Herman (second row from bottom) in the U-M's first Student Army Training Corps (SATC) class, bound for Waco, Texas, in 1918. |
I am strict but still not hard. If I was rotten I would have heard and perhaps been busted out of my job. Ripps, who is a duty sergeant under me in my company, tells me I am doing good and that the men like me. I pass jokes in the proper place and time. When an error takes place I take the blame where I am wrong. I give them all a fair chance. It's a hard job to keep your authority over men to a certain point where you don't begin to dominate them. The men in my company are all juniors, and here I am a last year's freshman giving them commands.
In spite of his age, less than a week later Harold got his wish and was among the first 63 men in the SATC to be sent to an officer's training camp at Camp McArthur in Waco, Texas.

In a letter of unusual frankness, Abe Herman wrote his son concerning morality and, more specifically, the specter of venereal disease. Harold replied confidentially, in a letter that he said was not to be read by his stepmother, and explained in detail the physical inspections and other measures that the army took to protect the soldiers (as well as the local female population) from fraternization and possible disease. "If a man gets a disease he is court-martialed," he said. "The army does all in its power to prevent immorality. But it's up to the men themselves."
Not only did the army forbid dating a "girl who does not look just right to the officer," it also told soldiers not to discuss the issue of peace with civilians. "You asked me a question about peace," Harold wrote, "about which we have definite instructions not to speak or write about." He then proceeded to write about it in detail:
Don't get rattled with this Peace talk. It's all newspaper talk. Peace is far off yet. The war is not over and won't be until our allied armies get to Berlin. That is the only Peace a true-blooded American citizen should want. Now is the time to hit and hit hard and our peace will come by victory, which will crush Kaiserism from the earth forever.
How could the war be ending, he wondered, when 1,500 new men were scheduled to arrive in camp, when 6,000 drafted troops had come in the week before and thousands were being sent to France, "train load after train load were sent out. Don't look as if the army authorities are taking a chance on this peace talk, does it?"
Two days after Harold wrote those words, the armistice ending the war was signed, on November 11, 1918. He had been eager to receive his commission and be sent overseas as an officer, and was sorely disappointed that he wasn't to have his opportunity for glory.
When the official announcement came from Washington some of us felt sore, from a personal standpoint and happy because we stopped Germany and the killing ceased. We did not get the news until the buglers played Sherman's Victory March one morning.
With the announcement of the armistice came confusion, and "rumor after rumor was around the camp." Finally "all the student officers were brought together and the General of the camp and the Colonel in charge of the school gave us a talk. This talk was straight dope and cut out all rumor for the time being." The camp was to continue, all classes would graduate and "the men will be commissioned and most of them will see service abroad." A large standing army was needed, and the General was "confident that many of us will be Lieuts. and have charge of the important work of reconstructing Europe, especially Russia."
A couple of days later Harold received his options: an honorable discharge, a commission as second lieutenant in the Reserves with seven years of service or remaining in the SATC and continuing college at the government's expense. In spite of his earlier enthusiasm, and no doubt with pressure from his family, Harold chose "being discharged and being my own boss again. I am proud to know I made a slight sacrifice and furthermore that I was ready and willing to do all that I could for my country."
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