       I Really don't know how to begin this true tale. It concludes in the jungles of Panama but the origin is in civilization on the perimeters. Perhaps it just might be a pregnant idea to just begin at the beginning.
       After joining the Army in March of '39, I was shipped off to Panama for basic training, to be followed by more advanced duty for a total of 2 years of service. The agreement being that in exchange for this 2 years of service in the Canal Zone, I would be credited with a full normal Army tour of 3 years and thus be eligible for discharge upon return to the U.S.
       After completion of about 21 months of the tour in Panama, I found myself being classified as a "Field Radio Operator" with rank of Private First Class, Specialist Sixth... (There was no lower specialist rank than that). The Radio Operator job designation resulted from my memorizing the Morse Code as a Boy Scout. Those who should know now claim there is no more ineffective way of becoming proficient at code than that!
       The 10th Signal Company, the unit to which I was then assigned, was located at Fort Clayton on the Pacific side of the Isthmus of Panama.
       It was sometime in February of 1941 that I was ordered to meet an Infantry Battalion that was at the time engaged in a training march of about 40 miles from the Pacific, through jungle terrain, to the Atlantic side.
       It seems that the battalion had lost radio contact with the outside world - evidently due to failure of their only radio transmitter. They had managed to signify their plight by using visual communications with Air Corps planes. In those days so-called "panels" were used for this purpose. Communications via panels were extremely limited, but the Battalion managed somehow to provide map coordinates to the Air Corps as to the location and approximate time of a proposed rendezvous for pickup of the needed radio. It was at this point that someone was to meet the battalion with a replacement.
       Someone in the chain of command had decided that I was to be the courier to deliver the needed equipment. Orders were then issued sending me to Fort Davis on the Atlantic side. It was at this location that I was to pick up a suitable radio and proceed to the geographical location designated for the transfer. Fort Davis was involved since the rendezvous point was closer to the Atlantic than it was the Pacific.
       Early in the morning, following receipt of my orders, I proceeded to the 14th Infantry Regimental home station at Fort Davis via the Panama Railroad. The 14th provided me with a place to sleep that night, the radio needed by the "lost battalion", and transportation to the point designated for delivery.
       The next morning I began the journey inland. The transportation furnished consisted of a truck ride to the shores of Gatun Lake. There I was provided with another vehicle, this time a motor boat manned by a sergeant and another soldier who was obviously the "Skipper". After about a 2 hour run, the boat pulled up at a very small dock which was located a considerable distance up a winding, narrow stream. At the time, I wondered who would have ever placed a dock at such an isolated location deep in the jungle.
       The "welcoming party" I expected to see was not there. All I noticed that would indicate any kind of life around me at the time was the raucuous call of jungle birds. It was with a forlorn outlook that I remained on that rickety dock with the radio and my field pack while the boat pulled away and disappeared down stream. The sargeant in charge of the boat explained that their orders were to return to base without me if infantry personnel were not at the rendezvous point when he arrived that afternoon.
       It was one unhappy, concerned soldier that remained behind. Was the battalion really going to show? Did the Air Corps planes receive the map coordinates correctly? How long would I be isolated in this God-forsaken place? All good questions.. But no answers.
       I opened the radio package with the idea that I could always radio for help if need be. More disappointment set in when I discovered that the radio could NOT transmit unless a second person were available to crank the generator! As long as the installed dry batteries held out, I could receive messages in Morse code only. This capability would be of little or no help in my situation.
        As I pondered my next move, an Air Corps reconnaissance plane swooped in seemingly not more than 100 feet over my head. I listened on the locally designated emergency frequency and heard the Air Corps operator, using Morse code, ask for a situation report. I prompty stood up and waved to them, indicating with my outstretched arms and pointing to the hand-operated generator that I could not transmit. After circling a few more times, the plane disappeared over the tree-tops. I was hoping that, somehow, the crew of the plane could get word to the Infantry that I was awaiting them at my current location. Plane to ground communications were easily accomplished using message drop procedures. Ground to air was a totally different story.
       Although I was very much concerned about my situation at the time, I was not really frightened; as far as I knew, there were no man-eating cannibals or wild animals wandering about those jungles. I was, however, very concerned about being bitten by mosquitoes. In those days, malaria was rampant. When properly equipped (which I was not), it was always necessary to sleep inside an enclosure, even if it were only a pup tent, with mosquito netting. It was my concern as to how I might safely spend the night in the open without being "hauled away" by those nasty mosquitos.
     Twilight came, then darkness and I was committed to spending the night at this location. As luck would have it, darkness helped me detect a faint artificial light in the distance - it was barely noticeable, but I was sure it meant some kind of civilization!
       The radio, which was labeled "SCR" something or other, was not designed for transport by a single infividual. It was for this reason that I took a chance and left it on the rickety dock while I trudged through the dark jungle in the general direction of the light I had detected. After about an hour struggling through dense vegetation, I noticed a tar-paper covered structure that resembled a temporary barracks of some type! Hoping for the best, I approached the building. Upon knocking on the screen door, I was greeted by a middle-aged man whose clothing would indicate that he was a construction worker. Fortunately for me, he was a friendly type that spoke fluent English. After I explained my predicament, he seemed happy to be of assistance and he even offered to let me sleep in the screened barracks! That was a tremendous break for me as I now could feel a lot more secure from the mosquitoes. Before retiring, I was informed by my kind host that he was a part of a contractor's crew that was involved in a nearby canal project.
       After a surprisingly good night's rest, I was ready the next morning to return to my dilapidated dock and radio. After about 3 more hours of waiting on the dock, I noticed some infantrymen emerging from the dense flora surrounding me! To say they were welcome is to put it mildly. They, too, seemed pleased at the prospects of again having reliable communications with the world outside.
       The first message sent, now that manpower was at hand to operate the generator, was to regimental headquarters to advise of the availability of the radio to the "lost" battalion. Then, at my request, they messaged the 14th Infantry asking them to send the boat to pick me up.
       And that is how it was! An afterthought: If someone had stolen, damaged, or destroyed that radio while I was snoozing in the tarpaper shack, I might have had the opportunity to spend a lot of "sack time" time in the guardhouse! I guess I was lucky afterall!