Name Problem Acute In Combat Team

What's in a name?

Not enough, according to 2nd Lt. Elmo M. Massengale, postal officer of the Japanese American Combat Team at Camp Shelby.

Here are some of the problems the postal officer and these clerks have to cope with:

There are 69 sets of identical names in the Combat Team, with two or sometimes three different individuals distinguishable only by serial numbers, or, more readily by the units to which they are assigned.

There are 46 Nakamura's in the Combat Team. Among them are three whose first name is Takashi and who have no middle initial. There are three Tadashi Morimotos, all without middle name or initial. And there are three George Oyamas, and three Fred Matsumoto's.

If Nakamura is the Smith of the Combat Team, Tanaka is the Jones. There are 40 soldiers named Tanaka, three of them named Thomas without middle initials and two more Thomas T.s, and for good measure a Thomas R. The Yamamoto's come in 3rd, with 33 represented. Not far behind are the 31 Matsumoto, the 27 Satos (two Eddies without middle initial) and 26 Oshiro's, two of them chancing to be Henry M.

14 Of The Same

Pvt. Ishikawa had his glasses repaired in nearby Hattiesburg. When they were ready the optician mailed them simply to “Pvt Ishikawa.” There are 14 Ishikawas scattered among ten companies. There was no other identification, not even a serial number to help. The clerk sought out each of the 14 Ishikawas and the 14th was the one waiting for his glasses.

Serial numbers are of course the last word, the ultimate in army identification. A letter bearing the serial number will always find the man — if the serial number is correctly written. But trained postal clerks usually are good enough to locate a man even when there's a transposed digit or two in a serial number. Mail clerks never quit trying — like the Northwest Mounties — until they get their man.

Misspelled names are of course more frequent, and the spelling of Japanese American names is not always easy for their Caucasian correspondents, but the mail clerks become adept in deducing the Japanese name intended from the euphonic attempts. The clerks say that local girls who have taken to corresponding with Combat Team soldiers of the poorest in spelling their names correctly.

Incidentally, one girl is writing faithfully to four different soldiers, fortunately all in different units, and the mail clerks like daisies never tell.

Mail clerks, in fact, don't talk. They see too many things not to be repeated, including official orders transferring men and involving troop movements. More than that, they see possibly the entire gamut of human emotions as expressed on the outside of letters and packages and on the faces of soldiers as they hastily open and read messages of love or tragedy.

Mail clerks see, and sometimes wonder, about packages done up by loving hands of parents containing little luxuries like clothes hangers, sometimes the family alarm clock and musical instruments. Sometimes there are photographs of the girl back home, of parents, or of a graduating class. Going the other way, they note soldiers who save up candy bars, purchased two at a time at the Post Exchange, and send to parents in Relocation Centers.

Soldiers in the Combat Team from Hawaii and their families are in a reverse situation compared with other soldiers. It is the families who are "overseas" and in a "war theater” while the soldiers are "at home" in continental United States. While they still were in Hawaii, the soldiers had a 6-cent airmail privilege but while they are here it costs them 20 cents to air-mail letters back home.

Stamp Fund

The Combat Team’s post office is not authorized to handle stamps. The ordinary Army unit rarely uses stamps on account of the franking privilege allowed to soldiers. But the men from Hawaii are prolific writers and correspondents. On the first day in camp two companies sent mail orderlies to the nearest civilian post office with collections amounting to more than $1000 to buy stamps, principally 20 cent airmail stamps.

Outgoing mail is always heaviest on Mondays, for the obvious reason that the soldier does most of his letter-writing on Sundays.

There is no steady flow of incoming mail. A few days after a ship from Hawaii has docked the Combat Team post office is swamped. Between boats the volume falls to nearly nothing. On one day the mail clerk will come in from the base post office with the mail for the entire regiment in one hand — the next day a truck and a trailer will make two trips to handle the mail.

When a boat has been in — unusual news for inland Mississippi — the word spreads through the companies and nothing flat and mail orderlies from the companies come on the double.

Mail clerks have to put on the old poker face when they are hounded daily for special letters that don't show up. Sometimes officers waiting for paychecks fall in this class. The clerks noticed them nervously walking up and down in front of the post office. Clerks also noticed that home-town newspapers are held in high esteem, and there's grumbling when arrivals are late.

On the post office wall is a photograph of a regimental post office on Attu Island — pinned up by Lt. Massengale for his clerks to look at when they are inclined to complain about the heat of Mississippi.