As Phil moved through the military medical triage system, he felt he was on an assembly line. And he was. The remarkable recovery rate for wounded GIs in World War II was based on medicalized, mass-production, assembly-line practices that had been honed to operate like a fine-tuned machine.[1]

Arriving at the field hospital in Épinal, he was quickly X-rayed to be sure there was no fracture, shrapnel, or bullet fragments. He was clear on all counts.

Then, before he knew it, he was spirited off to the operating room.

His surgeons later told him they had explored and irrigated the wound, declaring it a clean, through-and-through wound that had torn up a bunch of muscle but missed any critical structures.

They laid Vaseline-impregnated rags on the wounds so they wouldn’t heal up before ten days—any sooner would have increased the chance of infection and the dreaded gangrene, which could lead to amputation, or even death.

Through the night, between penicillin and morphine injections, Phil’s sleep was interrupted by recurrent, fitful nightmares.

The next morning, he had no appetite and could only hold down juices. He penned this to his mother:

Lt. P. B. Larimore, Hq Co 3rd BN. 30th Inf A.P.O. #3, c/o Postmaster N.Y.C.

Dearest Mother:

I don’t know how to write this letter. But it has to be done. I was shot in the leg on the morning of 27 Oct 1944 at 0300.

But please don’t worry for it was a nice clean wound and now I’m in a warm comfortable hospital, out of the rain and cold and am being well taken care of.

So I beg of you again don’t worry about me. I’m much better off now.

It was in the right leg half way between the knee and hip. It went in one side and came out the other. So there is just two holes.

I’m not going to write much. I just wanted this to get to you before the War Department telegram if possible.

I think it’s swell making up so many Christmas boxes(sic). But the boys over here don’t need smokes, shaving cream, hard candy, & sopa for we get enough of that stuff.

Well honey it’s time I lay down again. So I will stop for now.

With love, Phil

Send me a package[2]

Unfortunately, it was not.[3]

TO BE CONTINUED TOMORROW.

~~~~~

[1] Larimore, At First Light, 167.

[2] [1] Handwritten letter. Post marked, “U.S. Army Postal Service, A.P.O. #3, 30 Oct 1944.” Also stamped, “Memphis, Tenn. (De Soto Sta.) 11 Nov 1944.”

[3/ Larimore, At First Light, 167.

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