Biology Reference
In-Depth Information
Military life can be brutally anonymous yet highly personal, as I would also learn,
and some aspects of Henry's experience are best described in his own words. “In late
1942 the Victory ship
Kokomo
carried five thousand of us across the stormy North At-
lantic in quarters that were crowded, dirty, and reeked of sick odors because of lack
of adequate ventilation. We were part of a large convoy and had destroyer escort. The
hold was partitioned into many compartments that could be used as air space to keep
the ship afloat after torpedo strikes, and the unannounced and frequent testing of the
electronically operated sliding doors that sealed our compartments was a grim and per-
sistent reminder of the expendability of the individual in times of war.” His medical unit
was stationed in Wales, then after D-Day moved to a Scottish base to attend to combat
casualties from the continent. “We were often routed out of bed during the middle of
the night to carry the wounded into our hospital or transfer them onto another plane or
train.”
Boredom is an inevitable challenge of soldiering, and whenever possible Henry in-
dulged his passion for zoology. During training breaks in Texas he collected Chihuahua
Desert reptiles for M.V.Z. On the way to Europe, as his vessel “wallowed through stormy
seas of the North Atlantic, auks suddenly broke through the side of a wave, sleek and
dripping, and skittered off over the ocean surface, their narrow wings and shallow wing-
beats seemingly barely adequate to keep them out of the water.” Back on land there
were plenty of distractions for a naturalist happily out from under the deck of a troop-
ship: “Along the coast of Wales were large colonies of nesting seabirds on a long rocky
peninsula, a great place for bird watching. On weekend trips to London I frequented
the zoo, British Museum, and many bookstores. The infamous 'buzz bombs' were a haz-
ard and I heard many explosions, but none was ever very close.” Henry passed his last
months overseas in France and Germany, where he delighted in seeing animals like the
slow worm, a snakelike relative of alligator lizards.
In November 1945, after almost five years in the army, Henry was discharged at
Camp Beale, California, and he passed his first night of freedom hitchhiking to the fam-
ily ranch in Oregon. Right away he attempted to regain a position at the San Joaquin
Range—draftees were guaranteed their previous jobs by presidential decree—but was
initially frustrated. The Bureau of Biological Survey had been renamed Fish and Wildlife
Service, and Henry was told that although his job no longer existed, the Soil Conserva-
tion Service could employ him for vertebrate surveys in the central United States. “Con-
siderably irked” at the government for breaking a promise to soldiers, he declined and
threatened to return on his own to the Range for whatever could be salvaged. Within
weeks, funds were “mysteriously found” and he was reassigned to the California study
site.
That first night after Henry arrived back in Medford there was a party for soldiers
at the Rogue River Inn, and his sister-in-law arranged a blind date. Virginia Ruby Pre-
ston, vivacious and eleven years his junior, had moved from Los Angeles in high school
and earlier dated his brother, Chester. Henry noticed that she'd “matured very pleas-
ingly,” and his fatigue from the trip and “spastic dancing style” notwithstanding, they
had a magical evening. He soon returned to work in California and, despite parental
disapproval on both sides, kept in touch with Virginia by mail and weekend meetings.
They married in Nevada on September 6, 1946, writing field notes and reading page
proofs on their honeymoon, and set up housekeeping in a little place near the Range
