The final call to all officers and men was issued on June 1, 1917, to report at the Municipal Pier in Chicago for active service, to begin basic training and to prepare for an early departure for Europe. Some of the men had arrived as early as May 25, and EP Dudley arrived about this time. On June 7 he began his diary, which was to document his life over the next seventeen months.

Thursday, June 7, 1917
Reached barracks 3:00 p.m. Smithy and I. No uniforms to fit. Drilled all day. Watched steamboats. Walked up town at night. Bed at 9:00 p.m. Not what I’ve been used to but “it’s a man’s game.”

Friday, June 8, 1917
Bert came over to pier. We got leave, ate steak at Dearborne Cafe. Some meal. Slept like a log last night at barracks. Chuck good. I like this soldier’s life. Got telegram from Cecil today. She’s my pal. Smithy and I went all over Chicago. Nothing doing. Some village. Bed at 11:00 p.m.

Saturday, June 9, 1917
Reveille at 5:15 a.m. Breakfast 6:10 a.m. Drilled and trained all morning until noon mess. Officers school at 11:00 a.m. Training goes tough on a fat man. Nothing doing this afternoon. Wrote Cecil a long letter. Smithy and I ate supper at Boston Oyster House. Bed 9:30 p.m.

Sunday, June 10, 1917
Slept late Sunday. Breakfast 7:00 a.m. Sat on pier with Smithy until 10:00 a.m. Watched ships through binoculars. Took shower at 11:00 a.m., changed clothes. Went to game in the afternoon. NY beat Chicago (NL) 5 to 3, sure some joke. Stopped at hotel and wrote her. Went to church at YMCA at 7:30 p.m. Taps at 9:30 p.m.

Monday, June 11, 1917
In charge of quarters today. Made application for Master Engineer of 2nd battalion. Haven’t heard from it yet. Pays $85 here, $101 abroad. Got two letters from her. First one since I’ve been gone. In charge of quarters all day. Taps at 10:00 p.m.

Tuesday, June 12, 1917
Reveille at 5:15 a.m. Received equipment this morning, sixty pounds to a man. Guns, kits, etc. School all day. Letter from Cecil this morning. Dinner at 6:00 p.m. at Boston Oyster House with Smithy. Oh you violinists.

Wednesday, June 13, 1917
Rained all night. Slept like a log. Sore arm this morning. Gave me too much first shot. Supper uptown. Taps at 10:00 p.m. Capt. just told me I was selected as Master Engineer Regimental HQ.

Thursday, June 14, 1917
Appointed Master Engineer today, battalion Sergeant Major. Haven’t moved to HQ yet. Posted on boards. Drills, etc. Taps 10:00 p.m.

While EP’s diary was rather perfunctory, his memoirs written much later in life detail some of the color of the training in Chicago. He said, “The training of this regiment in Chicago in the heat of the summer by hard boiled regular West Point army officers was the toughest physical ordeal I ever passed through. They set out to make a regiment of real soldiers out of a rather soft living group of young fellows who had met life under their own terms. We drilled from morning to night. I was a private and served my time in the latrine squad and the kitchen police. It was a welcome relief to get a few hours off from drilling in the hot sun to peel potatoes in the hot kitchen, where one could at least sit down. We made our own beds of blankets on cots and, if there was one half inch variation in the fit of the blankets from precision, together we made it a dozen times over in punishment.”

But it was not without its humorous memories. My favorite is this:

There was a small group of the men enlisted in these companies who had served a four-year hitch in the regular peacetime army before entering railroad service and these were quickly spotted, promoted to corporals and used to drill the rest of us. Some very competent drill masters came out of this arrangement. These men were both experienced soldiers and experienced railroad men, so they had a great advantage in the new world opening up for us. They knew all the tricks of the trade in the army and they took full advantage of their superior knowledge.

One of these drill masters was a locomotive engineer from Chicago named Red Murphy, a typical Irishman who had served a hitch in the army years before and knew the ropes. He was quickly made a corporal and drilled the squad in which I was a private. One hot afternoon, with dozens of squads drilling on the parade grounds, Red marched us down an alley to the rear door of a saloon, then broke ranks and we all entered the back door and had a couple of glasses of cold beer which Red ordered us to pay for, including his own. It became his duty to get us all back on the parade grounds before we were missed and without being seen emerging from the alley. Here Red met with misfortune.

He put us in formation and at the alley entrance paused to reconnoiter. Seeing a gap open and the coast clear he boldly marched us out of the alley to the parade ground, but it so happened the captain adjutant of the regiment, Roger Black, a tough West Point soldier, turned the corner from the adjacent street and saw the move. He stopped his car and halted the squad. Red gave him a masterful salute and the captain asked him what the squad was doing in the alley. Red quickly replied that he was making a surprise move up the alley to teach us how to attack an enemy sniper on a side road. At this, we all broke out with a belly laugh and Red’s doom was sealed.

The last soldier in the world a recruit can hoodwink is a regular West Point officer. They have the finest background of training of any men in the army and they can read a soldier’s mind like a book. They are trained to have the best understanding of human nature of any group I ever have met anywhere. And they are trained leaders of men.

The captain ordered Red to return the squad immediately to regimental headquarters. On our arrival there, he met us with our company captain, a railroad superintendent without military experience himself. Red would probably have been able to convince our own captain of his laudable purpose, but it was his hard luck that he had encountered the regimental adjutant instead. We stood at attention and the adjutant had our captain take out his pen knife and cut the corporal’s chevron off Red’s arm, thus demoting him back to a private — not even first class. He then told our captain to put Murphy back in a squad and “drill the hell out of him and let him take his chances on some sniper in the alley killing him off.” Thus, Red lost his chance to become a field marshal in World War I merely by a tough break. He always maintained his strategy was sound but he made a tactical error in handling his troops. He was without doubt the most popular man in our regiment and I cannot think of him without a deep affection.