Gwin S - Devotedly

Devotedly, Gwin

Capt. Samuel Gwin Mounger, MD

Devotedly, Gwin

Letters and Drawings from a World War II Surgeon in the Pacific

Captain Samuel Gwin Mounger, MD, to his family

August 27, 1944 - November 21, 1945

Edited by Katharine M. Jones

2012 by the editor of this book, Katharine M. Jones. The editor retains the sole copyright to her contributions to this book. wjones146@comcast.net.

Printed in the United States of America.

Dedication and Appreciation

This book is dedicated to Gwin and Katharine Mounger's grandchildren, Davis, Kathy, Avery, Davis, and Julia; and to all their descendants, in the hopes that this collection of letters will give them a view of Gwin and Katharine's lives and an insight into the times in which these letters were written.

I appreciate the encouragement and involvement of my brothers and their wives, Samuel Gwin Mounger, Jr. and Suzanne, and Whitman Davis Mounger and Elizabeth, and especially their willingness to have these letters which we share published.

As always, I'm especially thankful for the patience and assistance of my husband Bill, who never seems to tire of my projects and has contributed considerably to the reproduction of the drawings and other images in this book.

Also edited by Katharine M. Jones

The Diary of a Southern Lady: Georgina Frances Barrett Devlin 1852-1912

Introduction

In the months following the bombing of Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941, thousands of men and women joined the armed forces. Among these was Samuel Gwin Mounger, MD, who was inducted as a lieutenant on June 23, 1942, reporting for duty in New Orleans on June 25. He had finished his medical training at Tulane University in New Orleans and married Katharine Davis in 1938, and he was established in his medical practice in Yazoo City, Mississippi, as a physician and surgeon. Their daughter Kay was born in 1939 and their son Sam was only two months old when he enlisted in the Army Medical Corps.

Typical of countless other families, three of his brothers, George, Will, and Ed; his sister's husband, Jack Gilluly, and the husbands of both of Katharine's sisters, Jack Bussey and Bev Smith, had enlisted in the 1942.

For two years Gwin served stateside, and his young family were able to remain with him in training in the Medical Field Service School, New Orleans, and at Camp Bowie, Brownwood, Texas, until he left for the Pacific Theater on August 27, 1944. From that point on until the end of the war he was with the 63rd Portable Surgical Unit, at first in New Guinea and then in the Philippines. At the conclusion of the fighting, he was stationed in Japan with the 36 th Evacuation Unit until he was returned home in December, 1945.

After he went overseas, Katharine and Kay, then five, and Sam, then two, moved from Yazoo City to Oxford, Mississippi, to live with her parents, Jennie and Whitman Davis. Soon, however, Katharine and her sister Mary - sometimes called Babe - rented a house across the street from their parents. Mary was married to Dr. Beverley Smith, who was a Army psychiatrist stationed in England, and had two boys, Bev and Tom, just the same ages as Katharine and Gwin's children. Katharine and Mary's younger sister Jennie, whose husband Jack Bussey was also in the Army stationed in England, and their infant son Charles lived with her parents. This was a typical example of how having so many young men away brought about profound changes with their families on the home front.

Through Gwin's years overseas he wrote home almost every day, and sometimes even twice a day. Mail was very irregular in coming, and he pined for letters from home when there were days with no mail. He wrote Katharine and both children, as well as his mother and brothers, and happily almost all these letters have survived. Most unusual, however, are the wonderful drawings that he made to accompany his letters. Though not a professional, he had a certain talent and had taken art lessons in New Orleans from his and Katharine's close friend and a recognized artist, John McCrady.

This collection of letters and drawings presents the life of a surgeon close behind the front lines in the final year of World War II, sharing with us both the tedium and the excitement of war, and the heart-breaking separation from loved ones that war necessitated.

Portable Surgical Hospitals

From the October 2009 Mercury , an Army Medical Department publication.

Mobile Hospitals Saved Lives in WWII

by Dr. Marble Sanders

MEDCOM History Office

In 1942 fighting in the Pacific theater of World War II posed new challenges to the AMEDD: Army units were organized to fight in Europe or the US, not on tiny islands or in dense jungle.

The AMEDD needed hospitals for the scattered small bases being built and for forward surgery in the jungle if the patient couldnt come to the hospital, the hospital would have to go to the patient. Col. Percy Carroll, surgeon for U.S. Army forces in the Southwest Pacific, devised a unit that seemed to answer both of those needs, the Portable Surgical Hospital (PSH). It had four doctors (three surgeons, one internist given a short anesthesia course) and around 30 enlisted men. (Numbers varied depending on time and location.)

In theory, they could carry not only their personal equipment but the 25-bed hospitals equipment, although Carroll had deliberately traded off surgical capability for mobility. With a little more equipment and a few nurses, the PSH could become a 25-bed station hospital, adequate medical support for an isolated small base.

PSHs worked fine as station hospitals, but their more dramatic role was supporting combat. They could work with a division, regiment, or even battalionand sometimes worked in front of the battalion aid station (BAS), in range of Japanese weapons and infiltrators. (One PSH put most of its enlisted men on night guard duty against raiders.)

Despite their name, and being surgeon-heavy, they often saw more medical than surgical patients because they were the only "hospital" around. PSHs were also sent to the China-Burma-India theater (they were the only mobile hospitals there) and even the small PSHs were split up for surgical teams to support separate combat groups.

Through the mens hard work, PSHs saved lives and accomplished more than Carroll had expected, and more than he had intended. (He had not wanted hospitals in front of the BAS for two reasons. First, the BAS would be a triage point so the hospital got surgical patients; second, he did not want post-operative patients recuperating for 3-10 days in range of enemy fire and infiltrators.)

But the unit also had flaws. It was never really portable, needing vehicles, pack animals, or native porters to carry loads. (By 1945, PSHs in the Philippines were man-packing their equipment in support of units that were moving by trucks.) Despite its mobility problems, it still lacked standard surgical equipment. Suction devices could be jury-rigged in the field, but an X-ray machine could not, and Carrolls trade-off of capability for mobility cut deeply into what could be done for patients.

The inability to use blood (due to lack of refrigeration) was another drawback. It was very hard to take the standard of care (a term that did not exist then) to the front lines even when the standard of care was much simpler than it is now.

In 1945 the Army reviewed what had worked in WWII, and decided not to continue the PSH. Forward surgery was important, and would be done, perhaps by augmenting the regimental medical company with a surgical team but more likely by the new Mobile Army Surgical Hospital.