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Wonder What Life Is Like at C.C.C. Camp? Cleveland News, March 30, 1935 By Ned Moss The top-kick leaned back in his chair and surveyed me with a practiced eye. Well, buddy, we hope you like it here," he said. "No reason why you shouldn't. We'll treat you right and expect you to be fair with us. We don't care for tough guys. If your name was Bad Bill on the outside it'll be Sweet William here. We expect our boys to act like gentlemen. And we expect them to learn to love and respect that flag out there." He pointed through the barracks window at the Stars and Stripes rippling lazily in the early-morning breeze. "That's about all I have to say to you," he concluded. "Wait a minute. I'll see that you're outfitted." And that was my introduction to the Civilian Conservation Corps. I spent a day at the CCC camp at Euclid, living the boys' routine, eating with them, working with them and watching their activities. I had, somewhat to my surprise, an excellent time. Hard Work, But Leisure, Too The work at the camp is hard, but one has plenty of leisure time and many opportunities for recreation. Most of the youngsters, I found, are satisfied. The camp itself is situated in a pleasant little valley on Highland Rd., Euclid, about 500 yards south of Euclid Ave. Five barracks, a mess hall, a recreation building and several administration buildings form the camp proper. The day starts at 6:30 a.m., when first call is sounded. At 7 a.m. comes mess call and an hour later the boys assemble in the open square to prepare for the day's work. From the camp they are whisked away in trucks to the locations of five projects where the Euclid Creek and North Chagrin reservations of the Cleveland metropolitan park system are being improved and beautified by CCC boys. My day's work really did not begin until after the noon mess. After I was introduced to the top-sergeant by Lieutenant R. H. Wilt, second in command, I had to be outfitted. Here the top-kick, after taking my name and address, walked to the door of the barracks. He called to a young fellow crossing the camp square. The 'New Punk' Is Outfitted "Hey, Hook," he shouted, "I've got a new punk here. Fix him up." I went over to the supply barracks with "Hook" and was given my outfit. It consisted of a folding iron cot, mattress, two sheets, four blankets, pillow and pillow-slip, underwear, heavy army brogues, wool sox, regulation breeches, puttees, shirt, coat, heavy wool cap, thick leather gloves, mess kit, soap and two towels. I had to carry the entire outfit over to number one barracks. After fixing up my cot and experimenting with the fit of the breeches, puttees and shoes, I was called to the dispensary, located in one of the administration buildings. Here the camp medical officer thumped my chest, tested my reflexes and, altogether, put me through a thorough medical examination. "O.K.," he said, "you'll get your shots in the morning." It seems that all new enrollees must be inoculated when they arrive at the camp. Just before noon the boys began to pour in from their various details. As they came into the barracks they noticed the "rookie." "A new punk, eh?" one said. Looks like 'dubbin' tonight." Rookie Escapes Camp "Dubbin" "Dubbin," it seems, is part of the initiation most newcomers receive at the camp. It consists mainly of rubbing shoe blacking and coal dust on the "punks." I escaped it. My work day began right after the noon mess. With about 20 others I rode in a truck to a quarry about three miles from camp. Here our detail was constructing a stone retaining wall for the trail through the reservation. The stone is hauled from a nearby quarry, rolled into the valley in which we were working, and carried by hand a distance of about 100 yards, to the wall. Here it was cut, chipped and placed, all by hand. My job was to help carry the rocks to the wall. The rocks are carried on crude "carriers," each manned by two men. Both "leaders" of the detail, although they were unaware of the fact that I was a newspaper reporter, took pains to see that I didn't work too hard. "Take it easy," they said. "You've got to have a little time to get used to this." Needless to say, I was grateful. Food Is Rough But Wholesome At 4 o'clock we returned to camp. At 5 came the "salute to the colors, " with the entire camp in formation, and then mess. At the last mess we had chili, apple butter, coleslaw, bread and butter and coffee. All the food I ate at the camp was rough but wholesome. Lights are out at 9:30. After the last mess the men are free to go anywhere until the time they must report for work the next morning. Their pay is $30 a month, of which $25 goes to their families. Directing the camp of 204 boys is captain H. E. Dungan. I found an excellent spirit in the camp. Many of the boys have enrolled several times. However, very few of them go into the army from the CCC camps. "If any of them go into service," one boy told me, "it's usually the navy. I guess it's because they want a change." Witness to the depression that has thrown countless youngsters into a world devoid of jobs is the fact that many of the CCC camps are just stopping-off places until things get better. Others say "We'll stay with the CCC until they do away with them."
This article is from the CCC file in the Cleveland Press Collection, at the Cleveland State University Library. Thanks to Special Collections Graduate Assistant Wyleane for typing it. The images accompanying this story were not included, due to their poor quality. Created September 6, 2000
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