DOUGLAS (AP) - The most fascinating volumes in the collection of farmer Ron Kramer are two tiny address books, dated from 1917.

They contain the daily diary of his grandfather, Fred Kramer, who served as a Marine sharpshooter during World War I. The brief entries, done in indelible pencil in tiny script, required a magnifying glass to decipher, the grandson said.

"Grandpa wasn't a great speller," Ron Kramer said, "and his writing was so small, plus he wrote French place names and words in the way they sounded. Still it is fascinating reading."

The diary, which begins with Fred Kramer's departure from Quantico, Va., Marine training camp Oct. 24, 1917, through triumphant marches in New York City and Washington, D.C., in August 1919.

Some elements of the diary definitely mark the time as being before 1920, such as getting replacement uniforms with leg wrappings, being issued the first automatic rifles, phrases that are amazingly politically incorrect by today's standards, and his account of seeing a U.S. observation balloon shot down over the trenches by German airplanes.

The young soldier, just 22 when he enlisted, reports being among troops reviewed by Gen. John J. Pershing, commander of American forces in Europe and by Thedore Roosevelt, the assistant secretary of the Navy and later the president. He recounts hearing on Jan. 8 of the death of "Teddy" days earlier.

On Feb. 11, 1918, Fred Kramer wrote: "Tried out automatic rifles. Don't like 'em." However, he went on to be chosen as a sharpshooter and ultimately, in April 1919, to win the automatic rifle competition for the entire expeditionary force.

When he was awarded the sharpshooter medal in August 1918, his laconic entry for the day was "Received star."

He allowed a few extra words after the marksman competition: "Won AEF rifle competition with score of 403, 22 points ahead of nearest competitor," he wrote. "Had to give demonstration shoot next day for General Pershing. Gun jammed. Pershing handed out medals."

Fred's shooting score cards and his medals, including the Purple Heart, are mounted and framed.

He also left for his family souvenirs, including his full dress uniform with hat plus his helmet, decorated with the Indian head design that designated the Second Division of the 97th Company, 6th Regiment of the Marine Corps.

His grandson noted that company regarded itself as the toughest of the tough: taking the most prisoners and territory, having the heaviest casualties. Fred Kramer's hometown paper noted twice in his service career he was "the last man from his unit left standing" after battles.

Fred Kramer's son, Dave, said his father, who was about 5-foot-7, joked that he survived because he was short.

In fact, German fire found Kramer frequently. At one point, an enemy bullet passed through the helmet he wore. His son and grandson thought the shot probably penetrated at an odd angle, but followed the inside the metal helmet. Fred Kramer, knocked out, regained consciousness and, headache and all, re-entered the battle.

While he rarely discussed battles after the war, he continued to enjoy shooting, family members said.

"One of dad's favorite tricks was to stand a kitchen match on a clothesline pole and light it by shooting the head.," Dave Kramer said.

Fred Kramer, born March 4, 1895, at Remsen, Iowa, was already an accomplished marksman, but he could have been discharged after his enlistment May 20, 1917. An appendectomy kept him hospitalized at Quantico, and he was offered a discharge. But he chose to continue and shipped out Oct. 31, 1917, on the Von Stuben, a confiscated German ship. His diary says the small fleet included the heavily armed Von Stuben accompanying three other troop transports, two torpedo boats and a cruiser.

He recounts seasickness, a torpedo passing just 20 feet off his ship's bow, "abandon ship" drills, a nervous Marine mistaking a porpoise for an enemy submarine, and a collision at sea when one of the other ships accidentally rammed the Von Stuben, puncturing the forward bow and smashing all the lifeboats and three guns.

Kramer arrived in France Nov. 17, to face battles, several injuries, death around him and supply lines stretched beyond capacity. Good meals, church services or free time were rare but recorded.

Thanksgiving Day dinner in 1917 was turkey stew, served on a Liberty train.

"Other transport was either wrecked or not available for the huge numbers of soldiers, so they marched everywhere," Ron Kramer said. His father said Fred told people after the war that he didn't like to walk; he had "worn his legs off" in Europe. The few times the Marines were hauled in French buses or by rail, Fred Kramer noted it gratefully in his diary.

The reminders of death were frequent. "Almost got mine," he said June 15, 1918. "Shell exploded a few feet from me," and, on June 22 and June 23, "Bad smells, dead Germans and Marines laying out in no man's land."

On July 19, 1918, he recorded that his unit went "over the top," (out of trenches they dug into the French soil) behind the tanks. "We took three kilometers, suffered heavy casualties," he wrote. "Shrapnel busted a hole in my helmet. Hit three other places, only bruises. Boys falling all around, carried wounded back."

On July 30, 1918, he wrote "Back in woods. Some eats. Only seven of our platoon returned out of 50. God, what a relief to get out of that hell of artillery and machine gun fire. 3rd Battalion lost over 60 percent of its men killed and wounded."

On Jan. 30, 1918, he wrote "Got English and French gas masks" and on April 13 that year, "Germans made a heavy gas attack, about 4 a.m. Got sick from gas, sent to hospital."

He was very sick for several days, beginning with total blindness, and the raspy voice he had the rest of his life was from gas, his family said.

If the young Marine recounted days in rain-filled trenches, with uniforms literally rotting off their bodies, often hungry and cold, his diary also records small pleasures, ball games, mail from home, swimming in several European rivers and, very occasionally, liberty-free time, complete with alcohol.

A reader gets a sense of how young the soldiers were with his poignant account of Paris in 1918: "Back to Paris in box cars but got to loaf in camp and then to town, stayed out all night. Saw Notre Dame. Got lost, got back to camp by myself and ate all the ice cream I could hold."

Kramer's son and grandson noted his Roman Catholic faith was important to the Marine: a prayer card and crucifix are among possessions he left, and he recorded each rare opportunity to attend Mass.

His descendants presume the shooting competitions Fred Kramer won were distractions, along with ball games, boxing and music events, to keep thousands of young soldiers, eager to see home and family, busy while generals and politicians negotiated the peace of "the war to end all wars."

Fred Kramer followed those negotiations in his diary. On Nov. 11, 1918, "News just came in: Armistice signed. All hostilities cease at 11 today."

The soldiers had one more scare coming. On June 17, "Germans refuse to sign peace accord" so the troops were sent on long marches advancing into Germany. Then, June 28, "Hurray! Peace signed at last," just five years after the war began.

Fred Kramer shipped back to the U.S., arriving in New York Aug. 5 to a dance at camp, marching in victory parades in New York and later Washington, D.C.

He returned to Iowa, married his sweetheart, moved to North Dakota in 1930 to an abandoned farm at Douglas and raised their four sons. He retired from farming about 1963, and later moved to Douglas, where he was noted for growing flowers, making rag rugs and teaching himself to paint. He died at the age of 82.