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The boys so far from home By Bill Miller Jan 01, 2023 12:30 AM A A Be careful what you wish for, they say. In early January 1942, after months of negotiations and lobbying, Jackson County officials officially learned of their success. The War Department in Washington, D.C., had agreed that an Army training camp would be built less than 10 miles north of Medford. Suddenly, the 11,000 residents of the county’s largest city began to realize what that actually meant. All at once, a large company of strangers was coming to town, but no one really understood just yet how many others would be following. First came the construction crews in early spring, drawn to Oregon by national newspaper advertisements and the headline, “3 Months Steady Work.” “Wanted 500 CARPENTERS @ $1.30 Per Hour,” the ads said. “500 BUILDING LABORERS @ 82½ cents Per Hour. 6 Days per Week with Time and One-Half for Saturdays, or over 40 hours.” Initially 9,000 construction workers and their families arrived, with an additional 3,000 civilian and military personnel and their families. County and local city officials worked together with residents on the problems of finding enough housing and providing schools, sanitation and recreational opportunities for their new neighbors. With wartime speed, the Camp White Cantonment was ready and officially dedicated Sept. 15, 1942. Already Medford’s population had increased to nearly 17,000. Three months after the dedication, almost everything was going well and residents were adjusting to their new world. “Of course,” said city Superintendant Frank Rogers, “the entire complement of the camp is not here yet. But I don’t see the increased numbers will make any difference. We like the soldiers. We went out after the cantonment, and we got it.” Chamber of Commerce secretary Frank Hull was also supportive of the troops, even though every day he was faced with a stack of letters asking about everything from cantonment housing to gasoline and even bicycles. There had been some worry about crime and the morals of this sudden influx of khaki-clad Army boys receiving a military pass and coming into town. “One of our answers,” said Medford police Chief Clatrous McCredie, “is the 10 p.m. curfew law for young people, which we’re going to enforce. I won’t say everything’s been lily white and pure. We’ve had a few cases, but you’re bound to. We’ve had a slight pickup of crime, but not in proportion to the great increases in population we’ve had.” Soldiers were good for business. There were few complaints from merchants. Grocers were just as happy as the woman who ran the candy stand. Even the shoe repair man had to admit Camp White was boosting his profit. True, the beer parlors were always crowded, but on the other hand, so were the soda fountains and lunch counters. That’s where one note of complaint came from a young woman frantically rushing from customer to customer. “That cantonment!” she said. “I’d like to never see another soldier. They’re in here so thick I never get a second’s peace.” For many of the unmarried women in town, the new source of male companionship was a potential paradise, although with some reservations. “Well,” one woman said, “I like the soldiers all right — most of them — but, you know, there’s bound to be some fresh guys when you get that many all piled up together.” Overall, the concern about “fresh guys” never stopped the crowds of soldiers meeting up with young women who were flocking to Medford’s USO club for dancing and conversation over a soda pop. Some things never change. A number of couples found each other and married, either before shipping out or after the war was over. Maybe even your mom and dad. It was an exciting time, and Jackson County residents did their best to welcome and support the boys so far from home. Writer Bill Miller is the author of six books, including “Forgotten Voices of WWI.” Reach him at [email protected].