FRED H. GIBSONS'S MEMORIES OF 1935 CIVILIAN CONSERVATION CORPS

I lied about my age so I could join the CCC with my bosom buddy who was about a year older. I had just turned 17 in November 1934. We signed up and boarded a truck which hauled about twenty of us Southern Idaho boys to Boise, Idaho to the Army barracks to spend the night. After 'light out' we were in our bunks half asleep when someone turned on the lights, and the Bed Bugs could be seen scurrying back to their respective cracks in the wall and ceiling. We did not have a good night sleep.

Next morning we were loaded up and on our way by 8 a.m. we stopped at Homedale for lunch at a small cafe. We arrived Riggins about 6 p.m., and stayed at that camp until morning. Most of that camp was boys from New York and New Jersey area. Next morning around 7 we were hauled by truck to a bridge which was under construction a few miles above Riggins. We crossed to the right bank of the river there and walked up a mountain trail, over a hump and down to a pack bridge where we crossed over to the left bank. We were told it was only 12 miles, but I'll bet some of the 'tender votes' thought it was a hundred-twelve. My buddy and I helped two out of shape fellows, who said they would never have made without our help. A truck picked us out from there and hauled us to the French Creek camp F-108 and F-109. We were assigned to company 1348. We had no more than settled in when a Forest Foreman chose my buddy and I to drill a few holes for a bridge anchor. Both of us had been exposed to jackhammer work before this, but it was drilling down not horizontal like this job. We could see why he picked us, two big strong ranch raised boys. We did it and soon saw why the New York and New Jersey boys didn't like it or were unable to do it.

When we were released from that job the Foreman told us we could do some real drilling on the rock ledges on the mountain road to Bergdorf. Lucky Us. Anyway we got to learn to handle dynamite. An interesting experience, until one of the crew was blown to smithreens. We learned fast, the tricks about dynamite. We started at this road and built a pack trail up that creek to a place called Squaw Meadows. Thirteen miles of trail. Eight boys and a Forestry Foreman named Mr. White. I don't remember his first name. He was a jewel of a person, and gave us our special instructions on how to handle dynamite, pull a ribbon saw and make special cuts with a double bitt axe.

In the last of May we were ordered to prepare to move the entire company to McCall, I don't remember the exact date, but it may have been the first part of June and it was still cold there. I camp was been constructed on the shore of Payette Lake. We didn't realize, until we were unloading at the lake shore, what a wonderful place had been arranged for us to spend the summer. We didn't go right to the lake and go swimming, as there was still ice within ten feet of the shore. Within a week or ten days the ice was gone, but the water would make you catch your breath if you went too deep or too far from shore. It seemed there was a foot a warmer water just at the surface. We helped finish a log building and some other structures for the Forest Service offices and storage. Our Army Captain was named Goetz, or medical officer was named Lt. McQueen. I don't remember the Adj. Lt. He didn't impress me, as he was a little Military Martinet. Nobody like him. I remember two other Forest Foreman, Art Donica and are red headed fellow we called Pop Neilson. Capt. Goetz and Mr. Donica had daughters about my age, I suppose that is why I remember them so well.

Three weeks after we arrived in McCall we were sent to hauled another group of boys to our old French Creek camp. They were in New York City and Trenton, New Jersey boys. They unloaded off the train and immediately commenced throwing the gravel and rocks available. They probably had never seen rocks and had to make out with pieces of brick. We hurriedly got unloaded and out of town before they broke out all the near windows. A week later my buddy drove the Ambulance and hauled back the body of a boy who went swimming in the cross currents below where French Creek enters the Main Salmon River. He paid no attention to the warnings of the locals. Stating he had swam in the Atlantic Ocean and no pissley little river could compare with that. The next day we hauled him to the morgue in Boise.

And older fellow, thirty or so, named Allen Rowe asked me if I would like to help him drive piling for a pier at the camp lake shore. I agreed as it would be something new and useful to learn. We took four other boys, a 1-1/2 ton truck and drove to Lake Fork to pick up an old wood frame pile driver. We took it apart as much as possible and loaded it onto the Chevy truck. We were loaded so far behind the balance point, the four other guys sat on the front fenders to keep the wheels on the ground and give us steerage way. Allen Rowe, was an excellent teacher and a fine companion. We spent three weeks driving the piling and setting the caps. Another crew with George Newcomb, the camp carpenter, placed the stringers and decking. I remember when a Carnival clip joint took George for most of the $130.00 he had saved for his wedding the next week. We found out about it and went in force to the Carnival and demanded it be returned. We got it back. It seems the town Police and the Sheriff's office no love for Carnivals and just turned their backs during that encounter.

The fire season started and we were immediately sent out on the New Meadows fire, where an entire crew were trapped and almost lost. A few of the men suffered burns. I was then chosen to be flown into a fire near the Chamberlain Basin. It was under control, and we went back to the Chamberlain airport, where I became acquainted with an aircraft mechanic named Gibson. While helping him repair Tom McCall's Travelair I met Tom and was asked if I would like to fly with him and push bundles out of the plane to fire fighters on the ground. I was in Hog Heaven. I also made a trip or two with Chick Walker and his Ballanca doing the same. I did this without benefit of a safety belt. Years later I would have been appalled at such an unsafe operation. I felt safe as long as I had one hand on a longeron, strut or frame member. I learn to fly with those two very special people.

As the fire season continued, when I wasn't flying, I hauled men and supplies into the Big Creek fire. What a road, trail? With the fire season over I was transferred to the Boise headquarters group. I hauled loads to CCC camps within a radius of a hundred fifty miles.

Mid-November found me home for my eighteenth birthday and Thanksgiving. In that seven months I grew up in learned many things. I have said I wouldn't trade that experience for the winning of the lottery. I have since changed my choice.

Fred Gibson