Nate and I gave him our names, and then we had to be quiet because Sergeant Mackey was talking again, informally, introducing a guy wearing the denim work pants and jacket that seemed to be the CCC uniform.

Sergeant Mackey said, “This is Leader Reese. He and another junior leader will help you draw supplies and settle into your barracks later on, but right now he’s going to get you some chow.”

Someone said, “I’ll be glad for that. I’m starved.”

“You won’t be for long,” the sergeant said. “One thing about the army—and about any outfit the army runs—you can count on three hots and a cot.” He chuckled at our puzzlement. “Three hot meals and a bed to sleep in.” He turned to Reese. “They’re yours,” he said. “See you later.”

Chapter 7

The mess hall was a large, open-raftered barn of a place, steamy warm with food smells, jammed with guys at long rows of tables. Reese led my group to some tables in one corner, and as soon as we sat down other CCC’ers began bringing us food: pitchers of milk; vast platters of meat loaf and sliced bread; bowls of green beans, mashed potatoes, gravy; dishes with butter and jam. Talk rose at other tables, jokes and laughter, but we sat in stunned silence.

So much food!

A thin guy seated opposite me wore an expression like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “Holy moley! I didn’t know anybody ate like this outside of the movies.”

“You don’t need permission to eat,” Reese said. “Serve yourselves some of whatever’s in front of you and pass it along.”

The thin guy carefully put a small spoonful of potatoes on his plate and then, with a quick glance like he was afraid somebody would stop him, took a second, larger serving. And then up and down the table, others were doing the same thing. In minutes every one of us enrollees was digging into a plateful of food.

The meat loaf and all wasn’t the end of it, either. Thick wedges of pie followed. A freckle-faced, friendly looking boy, lighting into a second or maybe third piece, kept saying between mouthfuls, “Ummm, ummmm, I mean to tell you. I do mean to tell you.”

Finally Reese said, “Okay, listen up, everybody. Once Apple Pie down there is done eating, we’ll head to quartermaster supply.”

The freckle-faced kid waved good-naturedly. “Didn’t want it to go to waste,” he said, forking up a last bite of crust.