Civilians at Wakeman General Hospital

June Bell DeSpain

It was 1944 and 16-year old June Bell wanted to do her part for the war effort.  She went to work at Wakeman General Hospital at Camp Atterbury, where wounded soldiers came by the thousands for treatment and rehabilitation.  She got to know many of the soldiers and preserved those memories through her hobby of photography.  More than 50 years later, she still retells the stories of the many soldiers she met.

Some were missing eyes, ears, arms or legs.  Some were badly scarred and mangled.  Deep cuts and crushed bones contorted many of the once-handsome young faces of the patients of Ward 2B.

Her blue eyes seem not to see the bandages and wounds of the men in the photographs.  Softly smiling, June lays each picture down carefully as she gives detailed descriptions.

"Now this is Gordon Lavin.  Here he looks like he's macho and mean, but he's really just horsing around.  He's a southern boy, very peaceful, polite.  This, this is Marion Ballweg.  He's always cutting up.  He's just walk into a room and in no time have everyone laughing, just really good-natured."

She knows the hometowns, the wives, sweethearts and family situations of each of the wounded soldiers in her pictures.  She speaks as thought it was just last week, but it has been more than 50 years since she has seen or heard from any of them.

It was 1944, and she was just 16 when she decided to take a job at Wakeman General Hospital at Camp Atterbury.

"I thought it would be a great adventure," says June, laughing at the memory of her naivet�'.

The gruesome realities of World War II combat were then far removed from the rural Indiana communities of Hope and Hartsville where June grew up.

"Night and day, the war was all everybody talked about," explained June.

Movies and posters about the war were everywhere.  In a flurry, older brothers and cousins put on military uniforms and went away.  Daily, young pilots from nearby military airfields flew their planes low over the towns and farms, dipping thier wings and waving to the people below.

Nor far from June's home, just on the other side of Columbus, Camp Atterbury was hastily built in 1942 as a massive military training post.

The Atterbury Station Hospital was built at Camp Atterbury as a hospital to treat soldiers injured in routine combat training.  Soon after completion, however, the hospital was expanded to receive patients transferred from other military hospitals around the world.

Renamed Wakeman General Hospital, by 1944 the hospital had become a huge complex spanning the area that is now Johnson County Park.

Providing treatment for thousands of soldiers injured in overseas combat, it was the largest hospital in the nation during World War II.  The facility specialized in neuro-surgery, plastic surgery and bone reconstruction.  More than 85,000 patients were treated in 1945 and 1946.

An urgent call for civilian employees to support the furiously busy hospital was made throughout the surrounding counties.

"When I heard they needed help at Atterbury, I decided that was the place for me," says June.

She quit high school and was hired to work in food service.  Daily she joined hundreds of area civilian workers commuting to and from work at Atterbury via the Tree City Bus Lines.

While working at the building 1037 Mess Hall, June was assigned to take food steam carts into the hospital wards, an experience that changed her perspective of the war.

War Hits Home

As she recalls the experience, her cheerful expression disappears and, for a moment, her eyes seem far away and sad as she remembers the young girl's first exposure to the ravages of war.

"I didn't understand until then what our boys had been going through.  I just didn't know," she says, slowly shaking her head.  "I don't think any of us really could know, not really.  The battles were far from us.

"After seeing them (wounded soldiers) like that, I did understand, a little  better, the seriousness of the war."

Her new awareness led June to transfer from the mess hall to work in the wards, directly with the patients.  She was assigned to Ward 2B, the facial Plastic surgery ward.

"The doctors were always making new ears and noses, and taking bones from one place to rebuild eye sockets, jaw bones and reset teeth," she says.   "The burn cases were the worst.  They could not do much for them, but over all, I thin the hospital did a good job to help the guys.

June describes how one phase of the skin-grafting procedure involved attaching a tube of living tissue from the underside of the patient's arm and then to the patient's face.  To keep the tube in place, the arm was put in a cast and positioned up and over the patient's head and held there, immobile, for about eight weeks.

"The most traumatic times for me were watching them (injured soldiers) go to surgery, because I knew when they came out they would be so sick and uncomfortable.

"You know it had to be hard for them because it was their faces and that is so personal.  But you could not grieve too greatly for them because they wouldn't let you," says June.

"I don't know how they did it, but they were always so up, always clowning around and keeping each other up.  Maybe they were just glad to still be alive."

Preserving Friendships

Beginning what would become a lifelong hobby, June often took her camera to work with her.  She photographed her co-workers, the patients and the hospital grounds, documenting an era soon to disappear.  She has kept those photos for more than 50 years.

The war ended and eventually, Wakeman Hospital closed.  The remaining patients of Ward 2B were transferred to Valley Forge, Pa., for continued treatment.  June retuned home to resume normal lives.

One summer evening, June and her family went to a town celebration at Hope.  There, June saw her friend Ruby's older brother, Delbert.  He was happy to be home from the war and singing with his friends on the town square.

"I had know Delbert all of my life, but something changed that night.  We began dating, and a year later we were married.

Delbert had served in the 1st Platoon, D Battery, 534th AAA Battalion attached to the 103rd Division.  With his unit, he fought through Italy, France and Germany.  Delbert, also interested in photography, took pictures throughout the war.

Before he left for the war, as a civilian, Delbert had helped build Camp Atterbury.  After the war, the Army sent Delbert back to Atterbury as a soldier to be out-processed and returned to civilian life.

"He came home with only one scar on his arm and, after a while, even the nightmares of the war went away.  Delbert was very lucky," mused June.

The De'Spains stored their pictures of the war days and went about their lives.

Delbert returned to his construction trade, building family homes throughout the surrounding counties.  Until the birth of their second child, June worked as the only woman in the drafting department of Cummins Engine Co. in Columbus.

Together, they raised two sons, Steven and Rodney, and were married for nearly 50 years when Delbert passed away.

"We had a good and happy life together," June says.  "I miss him, but he is still alive in my thoughts and memories."

De'Spain Collection to Museum

Soon to be 70, June resides outside Hartsville in the same house she has lived in for the last 37 years.  Her two sons are her closest neighbors.

She remains active, still working part time for Cosco, where she has worked since 1966.  She does volunteer work at Miller's Merry Manor in Hope and is busily involved with Hartsville Methodist Church and her grandsons, Jason and Justin.

And recently, June once again answered a call for assistance from Camp Atterbury.

While rapid construction continues to prepare Camp Atterbury for the future, a museum was being built to commemorate its history.

Learning of the need for artifacts and memorabilia pertaining to the World War II era at Camp Atterbury, June offered her long-treasured collection.  The photographs and other souvenirs are now being displayed in the museum.

"What would our world be like now if Hitler had not been stopped ?," asks June.

"Who else but our soldiers could have stopped him ?  Who else would have ?  I think we must always remember what really happened back then."

Part II
August 8, 1999

The Camp Atterbury Museum is open in time for the 1999 Chapel in the Meadow Celebration.  The building is beautiful, the glass display cabinets are shining clean and full of interesting wartime displays.  The walls are lined with photos and information is framed and hanging.  I have enjoyed helping to get it all ready for the opening.  I feel personal pride in the museum, my Wakeman pictures are on the wall, and my husband, Delbert has WWII pictures in the different cases and an 8" x 10" photo of him, so young, healthy and handsome, taken in Germany.

This is "Chapel in the Meadow" day at Camp Atterbury, the re-dedication of the Italian POW Chapel,  The Catholic Rosary Ceremony is followed by the annual pitch-in meal with many pasta dishes and fresh vegetable dishes form local farmers.  Mr. Puccieni, who carved the entrance Camp Atterbury rock while he was a POW during WWII, is mingling and visiting with all.

Bus tours followed the meal and we saw the camp, old buildings and new and the driver narrated the Camp Atterbury story and answered questions.

The Chapel was open to visitors all day for everyone to visit and take pictures.

A patient from the ward I had worked on at Wakeman Hospital during the war, saw a picture in the paper from the museum wall and recognized himself.  He introduced me to his wife and brought me a copy of the Franklin newspaper to show me which patient he was in the picture.  In all honesty, I have to say that neither of us was able to actually recognize the other after all these years.  His name is Jones and his wife is a lovely person and we had a nice visit.  We compared notes on children and grand-children.  I introduced him to Col. Noel.  We talked about another patient on the ward, MSgt Terbush.  The two of them were friends and I told he and his wife about the first time I fed a patient that had both eyes bandaged.  It was his friend, MSgt Terbush.  The Sgt was a rather stern type man and a very independent person.  When he returned from plastic surgery, both eyes were covered with bandages and I, at 16 years of age, had never fed another person, and I am sure the Sgt wasn't accustomed to being is a position where he could not feed himself.  To make a long story short - he yelled at me.  I cried and the nurses took on the chore of feeding Sgt. Terbush until he was un-bandaged again.  We later became friends, but the incident still remains in my memory.

Mr. Jones remarked that he didn't remembered patients and names really well, and he thinks perhaps he blocked it from his mind purposely.

Henry Benjamin Greenberg

Born:  January 1, 1911, New York, NY

Died:  September 4, 1986, Beverly Hills, CA

Bats:  R  Throws:  R

Despite losing four prime seasons to World War II and another to a fractured wrist, Hank Greenberg still walloped 331 home runs, including 40 or more on four occasions. The MVP in 1935, when he drove in 170 runs for the pennant-winning Tigers, the slugging right-hander drove in 183 runs in 1937. In 1938, he made a strong run at Babe Ruth�s home run record, finishing with 58. Hit .318 in four World Series with Detroit.

Section of the Telephone Room - Wakeman General Hospital - Camp Atterbury, Ind.

This card furnished service men by
the Indiana Bell Telephone Company.