Potato Becker

My basic training was with Battery C Antiaircraft Artillery Training Center, Fort Bliss, Texas.
In February 1954 we had a 30-mile march to White Sands, N.M. outpost. The second day included the infiltration course. As we crawled under machine gun fire through tangled barbed wire, I could hear the warning, “Keep your butt down or get it shot off!” I made the 100 yards okay, but I lost my steel helmet so had to go through three times. Keep your helmet on or you may go home in a body bag, we were told. I was famished, weak and in pain. I needed food. In the chow line my plate, as well as my canteen cup, were filled to overflowing with food and mashed potatoes. The lieutenant at the end of the chow line said, “I will be checking to make sure you eat every speck!” The wind was blowing sand, covering all the food. I could not eat it, so I dug a hole between my legs and dumped the food in the hole. My buddies said “Here he comes!” I scooted up, dragging sand to cover the hole. We all stood and snapped to attention with a salute. Then a large wad of potatoes fell from my butt to the sand. “Private Becker, dig all of that food out of the hole and fill your canteen cup. Come with me, on the double!” said the officer. I climbed on to the back of a mess truck as he watched, telling myself to eat every bite. He made sure I ate some and then left. I dumped the rest into a slop can behind me. This is how I became known as Potato Becker.

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