A bread slicing and wrapping machine at Fort Dix, NJ caused some of my fondest, funniest, albeit frustrating times during 1953/54 while on active duty in the Army. I was a young, green second lieutenant, aspiring for promotion to first lieutenant when I was assigned to the post bakery. Upon reporting for duty, my boss, Captain Harold T. Singer, Commissary Officer, wisely instructed me not to interfere with how two NCOs, Master Sergeant Cummings and 1st Sergeant Adams, supervised the bakery, but be there to provide higher authority in case either of them felt the need to invoke it. Our bread slicing machine was ancient; it frequently broke down and caused us to distribute our daily output of 20,000 loaves to 100-plus mess halls un-sliced and unwrapped. That made us the bane of mess sergeants, who were forced to do all the slicing by hand. The Post Engineers were in charge of all machinery repair, but to be frank, their interests ran more to building bridges, roads and dams rather than repairing bread machines, so they usually assigned our job to their lowest ranking, most inexperienced recruit, who usually didn’t fix it quite right and the machine continued to break down regularly. Complaints from mess halls became so loud they reached all the way up to Post headquarters, where the Commanding General demanded to know what was going on. The Post Engineer, a Colonel, said those people down in the bakery didn’t know how to operate the machine properly, while the Post Quartermaster, Colonel Burgheim, told him the Engineers didn’t know how to fix it. The issue was finally resolved by deciding to purchase a new bread slicing and wrapping machine. The new machine cost $50,000 … quite a sum in those days and the CG was irritated at having to spend that much and was further inflamed when the manufacturer wanted an additional $500 for installation. In accordance with Parkinson’s Law, the CG couldn’t dispute the $50,000 charge, but he sure could dispute the $500, saying our Post Engineers certainly were capable of installing a new machine. Cummings, Adams and I were aghast, knowing the job was sure to be mishandled, which it was. A slicing and wrapping machine’s components must be perfectly aligned if the machine is to operate correctly. The young GI who was called upon to do the installation, a recent graduate of MIT who had never actually poured concrete, assembled the machine and set it in concrete, with slicing and wrapping components about a half an inch out of line. Bingo, when we ran the machine, loaves got jammed between slicer and wrapper, the machine had to be shut down, bread was sent out un-sliced, mess hall sergeants again complained loudly , the CG was furious and wanted to know, “Who the hell is in charge of that bakery?” My prospects for promotion were rapidly diminishing. Colonel Burgheim came to my rescue and convinced the CG the machine needed to be re-installed by the manufacturer’s technicians. Unfortunately, our Post Purchasing Officer then negotiated the $500 fee down to $250, for which the manufacturer would provide us only one day of a mechanic’s time. The mechanic arrived and was a joy to watch. All his movements and adjustments were painstakingly precise as he gradually brought all parts closer into line. At the end of the day, the machine was working smoothly, with only one small matter un-perfected. The mechanic explained he had to leave one heel of each loaf slightly larger than the other, because further correction would have necessitated breaking out and re-setting the machine in its concrete base, which he couldn’t do in the one day the manufacturer was allowing him to stay. Sergeants Cummings and Adams and I talked it over and agreed we could live with the slight discrepancy between heels as long as the machine sliced and wrapped the bread, and we thanked him profusely. Indeed, the machine did work properly. Each and every day, we baked, sliced, wrapped, and distributed 20,000 loaves to the mess halls. Mess sergeants were making no complaints and I began to think I might have a chance to make first lieutenant after all. The idyll lasted about two months before trouble arrived in the form an incentive program wherein soldiers were encouraged to submit suggestions for improving efficiency and in turn were rewarded with cash prizes. A recruit in basic training noticed the thicker heel at one end of our loaves and submitted a suggestion to 1st Army Headquarters in New York City that the thick heels be sliced in two, thereby increasing the number of slices per loaf and thus supposedly saving the army thousands of dollars annually. The folks at 1st Army HQ thought that was a fine idea and dispatched a Colonel to Fort Dix to see it was implemented. I tried to explain to the 1st Army Colonel how the thick heel had come about and that adjusting the machine might cause more problems than it would solve, but he was adamant, demanding we have the Post Engineers come re-adjust the ‘goddam’ machine and do it immediately while he was there so we‘d ‘stop wasting all that bread.’ Fortunately, the engineer who came this time knew something about machines, and he made some readjustments that reduced the thickness of the one heel without causing the machine to break down. The adjustments, however, involved trimming the thick heel, thus causing crumbs to fall down beneath the machine, and leaving the number of slices per loaf unchanged. Nevertheless, when we showed the 1st Army Colonel the thinner heel, he didn’t bother to count slices and left to report that he’d solved the problem. Cummings, Adams and I decided to leave well enough alone and we put a bin underneath the machine to collect the crumbs and began offering them to mess sergeants, who were more than happy to receive them. Another idyll of smooth operations lasting several months ensued, during which, as happens in life and the army, things changed. Colonel Burgheim and Sergeant Cummings retired, I was reassigned to be the post laundry officer, and Sergeant Adams was given charge of the bakery. A few months later, our new Post Quartermaster, Colonel Gaw, came by to inspect the laundry, and while he was there, Sergeant Adams came to see me, visibly upset. The Post Fire Control Officer had come to inspect the bakery and pronounced those bread crumbs were a fire hazard and were not to be tolerated. Sergeant Adams was at his wits end, at a loss for what to do because there was no way he could stop the crumbs from being generated without jeopardizing the smooth operation of the machine. Colonel Gaw proved himself to be both a fine officer and a gentleman. He asked us what was going on, we told him the whole story, he laughed, muttered something about, “Only in the Army,“ and told us not to worry about it; he knew the Fire Officer’s boss and he’d get him to call off his dogs. So, there finally was a happy ending, and last I knew when my tour of duty was up and I went off to graduate school at UConn, the machine was still running and the bakery was delivering 20,000 sliced and wrapped loaves to mess halls every day … along with some bread crumbs. Plus, Sergeant Adams was promoted to Master Sergeant and I made First Lieutenant. (It turned out Colonel Gaw had been impressed by my having been the one that a sergeant with 18 years in had come to for help!) :-) :-)
Posted on: Thu, 12 Sep 2013 04:22:34 +0000
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