"My Time in the Army 1943-1946"

When we became involved in World War II, every young man who turned 17 years old had to sign up for the draft. I was working at the Picatinny Arsenal when I turned 17. I did not enlist but waited until I was drafted (as did most young men). No one really wanted to go into the army until war broke out and, then, most waited until they were called as I did.

On March 1943, I was drafted into the army. The old American Legion Headquarters, located on Speedwell Avenue in Morristown, New Jersey, as our departure point. We went by bus to Newark, New Jersey. I didn’t want my parents to come down to see me off as I knew what the scene would be like - many parents crying and carrying on. I was surprised when I saw so many fellows that I knew through school and community. Newark was the gathering place for the many draftee groups who would be moved to the different army posts throughout the country. Our destination point was Fort Dix, New Jersey. Many of my traveling companions were real sick puppies as they had been out drinking and celebrating their last night of freedom. Many others looked sad and frightened. God, none of us knew what to expect. We just followed the guy ahead of us, hoping he knew where he was going. Excitement and confusion filled the air. Upon our arrival at Fort Dix, we were lined up and marched away. For the first time, we realized that we, no longer, had control of our lives. Our lives were about to change.

We went through different lines to get our clothing. We were never measured so you can imagine how some of us must have looked. Most of the clothing was just thrown at you by a soldier who, more or less, judged with a quick eye, what size you wore. Shoes were the only item in which the military personnel supervised and measured. Every new recruit, quickly, learned why. Blisters were a no, no in this man’s army. Medical shots were given in another location. Many guys never had a shot before and had to be picked up off the floor.

Our stay at Fort Dix lasted about a week at which time all types of medical tests and interviews with personnel took place. During this time, we had our heads shaved just in case someone had lice. Another reason for shaving the head was to break a person down and make them more susceptible to discipline. This really happens. It’s not just the movie version of army life. We were, also, introduced to the army’s favorite project - KP. I was the only one who did not have to pull KP simply because my records showed that I had been a butcher, years ago - age nine, and knew how to cut meat. Remember, I grew up in the depression years when children were expected and allowed to work at an early age. My work project while at Fort Dix consisted of cutting all types of meat, especially, pork chops. Even today, when I see pork chops, I can’t help but think of my first job in the army. They kept me busy. I never had to do any of the garbage details.

Quite a few of my friends were still at Fort Dix as well as many who came from the Morris County area. Even if we didn’t know them, personally, we knew the area where they came from and that, single fact, made us a team. Its funny how something like that can make people feel close. I guess it’s the need of sharing something in common when you are amongst so many strangers.

Eventually, as new recruits, the processing to other training camps throughout the country began. It was during April when my orders came. I was headed south on an old cold burning train, nothing like the present day trains. Grit, dust, cinders, and dirt was everywhere. I don’t think any of the cars were ever cleaned. The train only carried couch cars which meant one sat and slept in the same sit. If no seats were available, then, it was the floor. Many troops traveled along with civilians and this was hard on everyone. During the war, many couch trains had to be diverted off the main tracks until an on-coming troop train passed through. Troop trains received top priority over any other type of train. This caused constant delays in traveling. We were diverted several times, making the trip twice as long. Trains were not equipped with air conditioning or heated cars as they are today. I was still wearing my winter uniform (OD’s) and my “wool” OD’s made me about as uncomfortable as one could get.

We, finally, arrived in Savannah, Georgia and were, immediately, moved to Camp Stewart, approx. 35 miles away. Our barracks were new, one story buildings which were made out of sheet-rock. Each Battery had two/three barracks with a mess hall, a supply building, and a Company Battery Headquarters. They were set up on piles in order to keep snakes, unwanted vermin, and the awful dampness out. The buildings were not air conditioned nor heated, except for a large pot belly stove which stood in the middle of a large room. Bunk beds lined up on both sides of the room with foot lockers at each bunk. There was nothing in that room which reminded any of us of home. The showers and latrine were separate from our barracks. There were no sidewalks leading to it, just dirt, and most of the time - mud. I always made sure that my trips to the wash room were absolutely necessary.

At this time, we had more medical shots as well as being quarantined just in case someone had some type of disease which could spread throughout the camp. Measles, chickenpox, smallpox, mumps, TB (lung disease), etc. were some of the more common ones that would show up.

I was placed in the 561st Anti-Aircraft Battalion. In each Battalion, there were four Batteries -
A, B, C, and D. There were two/three barracks in each Battery with a mess hall, a supply building, and a Company Battery Headquarters. Each Battery was named according to a certain number of guns. I was placed in a mobile Battery. We drove the large trucks which towed our guns and equipment. We had 50 caliber machine guns (a very heavy gun) and 40 millimeter automatic weapons/canons. We were trained to be ready to load and unload everything onto these trucks within two, three minutes. This called for breaking the guns down, hooking them back up as well as learning to operate the different guns. This involved a great deal of training. Our days, also, included the usual training and chores, necessary in operating an army of men. There was, of course, the endless walking, walking, and more walking - exactly the way the movies always portrayed it.

Anyway, we put in our training by going out on the range to practice firing the guns at a particular target. The range was always located way out in the woods and/or swamps. Every tree was cut down in order for us to have a clear target to shoot at. Between the heat, dirt, dust and every other uncomfortable thing, each day was endless. It would have been impossible to fire these guns within the camp because they would have killed everyone in it. They used airplanes which towed targets behind them. They would go down the range with their targets waiting for our response. We weren’t the only guns set up. There were 3 or 4 miles of guns set up with all the different Batteries in the camp. Someone got the bright idea of shooting at the airplane instead of the target so that, if we were lucky, we wouldn’t have to stay there. It worked because the pilot managed to cut the cable which held the target away from the plane. He turned his plane and headed for home. For days, the mystery of who shot at the plane was never revealed or discovered. This was our life, the army way!

During October, we began maneuvers. This is where they would get different branches of the army together (infantry, tankers, engineers, communications, medical corps, etc.) so they could learn to work together as a unit. This was the entire purpose of maneuvers. A necessary evil but absolutely top priority. An army must be trained to work as a unit regardless. (This was one of the downfalls of the German Army) Fortunately, our unit was sent up into Tennessee. It was nice for a while, as our maneuvers taught us how to operate under many different types of terrain. Once again, we put together and took apart our guns and learned to aim and shoot at the many targets under all types of conditions and situations.

We were on maneuvers for about six weeks. However, during this time in the field, I became ill with an appendicitis attack. I was taken to our Medical Unit (field hospital) where I was, eventually, operated on. They were stationed in the field as well, living and working in tents, movable at a moment’s notice. They were always within a close range of their unit. My bed was a folding cot (made to be uncomfortable so one would not want to hang around any longer than necessary). There was no heat, no floors, no air-conditioning, and no TV. The latrine was also outside. My shoes were the only item I was supposed to keep, just in case I needed to go to the latrine. However, no sooner was I admitted when the other patients advised me not to turn in my uniform - “keep it under your mattress.”

While in Tennessee, I met a young farmer, during my off hours of wandering about the area, and we became friends. At night, some of us would leave the field hospital with our clothes in hand and walk over to his home. He was married and had a small child. This couple allowed us to change into our uniform and, then, we would take off for the small town that was near by. It was called “Strawberry Plains.” Not much to do in the town as it was wartime. I often wondered why we ever bothered to do that. Anyway, because it was fall, it was hog-killing time and we would help him slaughter his hogs. His wife always fed us a good meal. Compared to our army food, this was as good as it could get. I was still recuperating from my appendectomy when the maneuvers ended. I was left behind when my Battery got the word to move out.

It was getting well into December when they, finally, sent me back to Camp Stewart. I traveled by train which ended up as the most round- about- way to get from Tennessee to Camp Stewart. Now, you must remember that it is wartime in the USA. Trains were the main transportation for most everything. However, in that secluded area in Tennessee, trains did not run that often and so it took several trains and many tickets plus meal tickets (like 4" thick just to get from one location to another location), to get me back to my camp. The conductor always knew which tickets belonged to him. None of these small railroads had Pullman passenger cars for sleeping overnight. Once again, they were couch cars and you sat and slept where ever you were sitting. A meal ticket had a value of $1.00 and, if you ate more than that amount, you had to pay extra. A dollar back in 1943 was considered a fair amount as compared to today’s standards.

I arrived back in Camp Stewart around Christmas time and learned that the truck which carried all our clothing and personal belongings had run off a bridge. Everything in the truck washed away. While I was still in the field hospital, a statement of charges was issued to each man. Everyone declared what they had lost and was able to replace their clothing and personal items, at no cost. I wasn’t so lucky. I had to pay for all my clothing as well as a $10.00 charge to the Red Cross. They took that money out of my pay. That was the beginning of my being disillusioned when it came to the “great” American Red Cross. You live and you learn.

It was cold and wintery - 1944 . Training had slowed down. Occasionally, we would go to Savannah but, our pay was only $50.00 a month. Out of that money, if a soldier wanted life insurance, he had to pay $6.50 a month which I did get. We had to pay for our laundry which was $3.00 or $4.00 a month. We had to pay for any bonds taken out of your pay. I figured I was going to live forever so I had an allotment sent home every month. The government provided this so I took advantage of the offer. I had about $8.00 - 9.00 to live on, after all deductions were taken out. Anyone could see that there wasn’t much left over. The army kept us pretty strapped down. We had to pay for all our personal items such as cigarettes (at that time, a $1.00 a carton), shaving cream, razors (had to shave everyday), and, of course, beer. We could buy these items at the PX which sold them at a cheaper price than if we brought them on the outside. Movies would cost us about .10 cents if we wanted to leave camp and go to Savannah.

Spring time - 1944 - still at Camp Stewart. We knew that our air superiority was increasing. More and more German bombers were being shot down by our Allies and our air force was bombing many of their factories. The American forces had well-trained anti-aircraft units who slowed down the German planes from entering our terrain.

My Battery was sent up to Fort Bragg in North Carolina (near the coast) where we spent the summer and a little of the fall. It was nice. I liked the entire area. The city of Wilmington became our stumping grounds. It was in this city that I got my tattoo (an Eagle with spread wings) on my right arm. This camp was used as a training area for all the young would-be officers in the anti-aircraft groups. We were fortunate as we were called School Troops. We were the ones whom they would take out in the field and supervise in the many problems that would arise from training as well as actual war-type situations. They would tell us what to do and we were expected to do it. They had special instructors over-seeing the would-be officers. The instructors would grade these young men according to their decisions (right or wrong) in solving the problems that they encountered. This either made them an officer or put them down in rank. Because we, the school troops, were constantly being trained in all types of situations, we knew more than our would-be officers. If we liked the person who was working with us, we would do it the right way regardless what orders he threw at us. In this way, we helped him by doing it correctly even though he gave us the wrong order. If we didn’t like him, whatever orders he gave us, we would follow them, knowing that they could make him look foolish and bad in front of the instructors.

I want to tell you something about the different guns, etc. There were 40 mm. guns in the anti-aircraft. These were not quite adequate (even though they were the thing of the day) as the airplanes were getting faster and more movable. These guns were losing their usefulness. It was, mainly, luck, even with the 50 calibers, if you actually shot down a plane or hit a plane. It really was just a whole lot of metal being shot into the sky in hopes that somebody, up there, would run into it. The guns were just getting outdated as they were not advancing like the airplanes were. That is why they, eventually, had to go to rockets to get any results. Anyway, these were good guns in their day. They were well made and rugged. You could really pump out a lot of rounds when you got a good crew on them. The 50 calibers were the same basic 50 caliber that they used in all phrases of the army. We started out with single mounts, just one gun and a mount, and you were firing basically by tracery control, every 5th round was a tracer bullet. It burned as it flew through the air. You could keep track of your line of fire. In that way, the idea was to get ahead of the airplane and let the airplane run into the bullets. If you aimed at the airplane, the airplane was long gone by the time the bullets got there. The idea was to get ahead of the airplane and let the airplane run into the bullets. We, eventually, ended up with a trailer that had a machine which had a motor and ran on batteries. The motor constantly charged the batteries. There were four 50 calibers which you could raise and lower and, then, run the whole business in a 360 degree circle so the fire was unlimited. You could go up, down, or all the way around. It was a potent weapon as you could put all four of them on one target and that’s a lot of fire power. They were also very effective against ground troops because a 50 caliber is a very heavy bullet. They, too, went out of style.

We also had a 90 millimeter (mm) gun which was considered a very large gun, equivalent to the German 88 mm gun. It was very efficient. One could use it as an artillery piece, anti-aircraft or direct fire like shooting at a tank, making it an all-purpose gun. It was radar control (radar, at that time, was in its infancy stage) and not yet proficient. The fellows, who were operating it, didn’t have any specialized training on its mechanics on operating it and learned only by using it on a daily basis.

A little story comes to my mind which I will tell you. When we were school troops down at Camp Davis, NC, we had to put on demonstrations when the big wheels from Washington DC would come down to check out the base. Our firing range was located on the North Carolina coast which was similar to a baseball stadium as it had stands and spotlights, etc. We would trot out with the 90 mm guns, the 40 mm guns, the 50 caliber guns, including the radar and our searchlights to create the pending spectacle. At night, we would have these firing demonstrations which involved small airplanes, controlled by radar. They could fly up or down, fast or slow. The idea of it was to synchronize each action. (The radar would pick up the plane, put the searchlights on it, making it possible to control the plane. Then, we would start firing at it. Well, anyway,

I better get on with my story. One night, we received orders to put on an exhibition. We were given a half track, a real antique piece of equipment. It was a 37 mm gun, smaller than a 40 mm gun. I have only seen one of these - it was, only, a picture in a gun book. The 37 mm was mounted on the half track which also carried two twin 50 caliber machine guns as well. Everything was oriented, zeroed-in-together, with all three guns. All the bullets would go to one point. We had little practice with this gun as no one used it anymore. The officer, in charge of the event, put our team at the beginning of the line, expecting to use the 37 mm as an interesting comparison to the more powerful guns to be presented in the show. We had no radar hook-up as we just fired over open sites. The officer placed the big guns (90 millimeters) in full view of the stands. Not us, however, we were placed, slightly, out of view but we were still the first gun in line. Well, the games began. The radar control came down the range and everybody had their field of fire. Being the first line, we fired away, taking down the plane. Three more radar-controlled planes passed over, we fired away, taking down one after the other. The big guns were still unable to fire. There was nothing for them to fire at. By now, the demonstration was a disaster as the oldest gun (the one lest thought of) had become the main attraction. We were so accurate in our shooting, the big guns never had a chance to show off - not even one shot, much to the chagrin of the officers. They took us off the line and wouldn’t let us participate any more. It was really a funny scene; one that I can still think about and laugh.

Another gun that I want to tell you about is the 57 mm anti-tank gun. This is an extremely powerful gun. It had the capacity to throw a seven pound solid steel projector or shot for a distance of nine miles. That’s along ways. The whole round, the projectile and the propellant, was about 2-1/2 to 3 feet long. That’s a big bullet. It was a towed vehicle.

They, also, came out with a round called “APC” - Armor Piercing. This round was suppose to pierce the armor, going inside and then explode. This type of gun proved to be a good one against tanks. However, the solid shot was just as good, especially, if you hit the target in its tracks, something had to give. I had a round projectile for many years which we used as a door stop but your grandmother got rid of it. I never wanted to know what she did with it as I was afraid of the answer. Anyway, it was just another missing item.

Because there were so many anti-aircraft men by this time, rumors and stories began to circulate amongst us. They would take an entire Battery and ship them overseas. Then, they would peace-meal three fellows from one company, three fellows from another company, to replace men who were killed or wounded in the different Infantry Companies already involved in warfare. They would just stick the next few men where they needed them, regardless what Battery they had been in or what type of training they had. None of these fellows knew each other so it was like starting all over again to find out who would be your buddy. I didn’t want any of this. You could always volunteer for something worse but you could never volunteer for something better such as the Air Force which, at that time, was fairly easy. The Infantry was considered the bottom of the barrel or the worse assignment of all. Next came the Anti-aircraft Battalion.

I was assigned to an Infantry Division out in Wisconsin, Camp McCoy. It was the 76th Infantry Division, 304th Regiment so I would be traveling by myself. I had to carry my personal records with me as it was my responsibility to hand them in once I arrived at Camp McCoy. Unfortunately, I had put my personal records in my duffle bag along with my clothing. To make matters worse, I had the bag tagged and shipped to Camp McCoy. I carried only a small furlough bag and a change of clothing. Because I had to stop in New York and change trains, I decided to go home to Morris Plains and not catch the next train leaving for Wisconsin. They allowed 2 to 3 days for traveling between camps so I knew I would not be considered AOL. At that time, trains stopped in Morristown on their way to Chicago. This was convenient for me. However, no one told me that this train went into Canada, down into Buffalo, New York, before we would arrive in Chicago, Illinois. It was a long, tiring trip because, at that time, highways and railways were not like they are today. I, finally, arrived at Camp McCoy. I went down to the baggage depot and found that my duffle bag with my orders/records/clothing had not arrived. I had no idea where it was or where it went.

In the meantime, they assigned me to an Anti-Tank Company - just for a bed and meals. It is called Rationing Quarters. All they do is feed you and give you a bed. They do not carry you on their roster at all which means you are free to come and go as you want. I did not have to report my whereabouts to anyone. I didn’t have to fall out for roll call either. I was there for at least a week. My baggage still had not arrived with my personal files.

My duffle bag arrived about a week later. I brought my personal records up to the Regiment and waited to be assigned to a Company. Because I was already settled in an Anti-Tank Company, the Regiment asked me if I would like to become a part of that particular Company. I said, “Yes, it’s as good as any.” So, fortunately for me, they assigned me to that Company. It was better than being assigned to a Line Company. As an Anti-Tank outfit, we had one Platoon group called “mine people” with us as well. Their job was to sweep fields and roadways for enemy mine fields. I enjoyed being in this Company as I found it interesting. During summer, we learned had to handle, unload, load and shoot 57 mm guns. I was still stationed at Camp McCoy during this period of time. This gun was considered a tow gun as it was towed behind trucks which carried all the necessary ammunition for it.
Pictures 1 and 2

We had a general assortment of rifles but when I went into the Anti-Tank Company, I received a
45 mm/caliber pistol. I preferred a rifle because it carried a lot further and the bullets were heavier. The 45 pistol was a good weapon for close shooting - Example, when we had to go into towns and into houses. Once, we went overseas and ended up on the front lines, we found that there were plenty of guns and ammo around. If a soldier was down and out, he had no more need of his gun or ammo, so it was picked up by many of us.

A story comes to my mind which involved one of our night training practices while at Camp McCoy. We were in the middle of nothing but woods. There were no roads. Remember, it is night and pitch black. One of our guns got stuck in the mud. We could not turn the base of the gun around. In order to be in a correct position to hook up the gun, the driver drove the truck to an area where he could turn it around, enabling him to proceed with the hook-up. I stayed down with the gun as did another fellow. He was quite heavy and strong as a bull. We decided to try to turn the gun around so it would be easier to hook up. We locked one brake on one wheel and, then, this heavy guy got up on the other barrel of the gun (which was very long) to try to counter-balance the gun. I picked up the end that hooked onto the truck. It started to turn it around, spinning on one wheel, when I stepped into a hole. My leg buckled underneath and the spade part of the gun (looks like a big shovel which digs into the ground when the gun goes into recoil) dug into my leg. I dropped the trail when the spade part came down on my leg. I couldn’t move. The truck came back down and saw I was in trouble. They got me free and took me to the hospital. I had chipped a bone and tore the large bottom muscle in my leg. I was admitted. It wasn’t bad at all as I wasn’t sick - just couldn’t walk until my leg healed.

After 2 or 3 weeks, I was released. Upon returning to my Company, I found that we were in the process of being shipped overseas. I had to hustle to catch up on all the different things that I could qualify for before shipping out. Many times, I went out to the rifle range alone. It was nice as no one bothered me. I would qualify and, then, go back to my barracks. Everything that I wanted to be qualified for worked the same way.

It, finally, came time for us to leave Camp McCoy. We had a pleasant surprise, however. We boarded our train and found it carried several Pullman cars for our convenience. The bottom bunk was larger than the top bunk. Because of this, they would take two smaller guys and put them on the lower bunk and take one of the bigger guys and put him on the top bunk. I ended up in one of the lower bunks which weren’t too uncomfortable.

We traveled east which meant we were going to Europe. If we traveled west that would have meant we were headed to the Pacific. Thank God, for that. We arrived at Camp Myles Standish, near the Boston, Massachusetts’s harbor, our Port of Embarkation. Our orders to board the USS Brazil came on Thanksgiving Day, 1944. It had been a cruise ship from South America. Approximately 5,000/6,000 men and a large number of nurses boarded. I will never forget the faces of the men lined up along the railings of the ship. Each of us shared the same feelings as we pulled away from the docks. It was a bitter cold day as were our spirits. We were sent down into the hole (a large room with steel bunks, one on top of another - 8 to 10 bunks high. Those who had top bunks had to climb up and, if one fell, he would have been killed. I was lucky as I got a bottom bunk.

I volunteered for a job in the ship’s kitchen, cutting bread, along with 5 or 6 other fellows. You figure with all the thousands of men on board, a lot of bread and food was going to be devoured at each meal. There were slicing machines for the bread which always had to be sliced before the next meal - allowing plenty of time for defrosting. There were large freezer lockers where much of the food was stored including all the bread. It had been baked long before we were shipped out. We used huge baskets when we went down to these lockers and loaded them with bread. These lockers were 3 to 4 decks below the kitchen area so we did a lot of hiking when you consider the many levels of this ship.

As we crossed the Atlantic, the weather only got worse - rough seas and bitter cold. I, quickly, realized that I was not meant to be a sailor. To my surprise, I never got seasick. My kitchen job kept me busy. I didn’t have time to get sick. However, lots of fellows did. What a mess! What a smell! The cooks were good to us. They nicknamed us “the dough boys.” One day, while slicing bread, I accidentally sliced one of my fingers. Nothing bad but, it bled a great deal and the cooks remarked, “Dough boy, we don’t serve red bread on this ship.” So, they sent me to the ship’s hospital for some stitching up. We could have anything to eat, anytime. The cooks told us that by eating, we would not be seasick. We didn’t believe them but, none of us got seasick.

The stoves which the cooks used were humongous. The kitchen floor always had at least 3 or 4 inches of water covering it. Whenever they cooked the morning eggs, the grease would slop around on the stove, catch on fire, sliding down into the water. Because grease stays on top of water, it just kept burning. Our small work room was adjacent to the kitchen. It had a step-up of 6 or 8 inches off the floor so none of the water, grease, or fire bothered us. We were lucky. It was funny to see the cooks jumping up and down as the burning grease would hit their pant legs. No one knew where the grease was going to slide next because the ship was rolling, badly.

During our trip across the Atlantic, the cooks made a belated Thanksgiving Dinner. They cooked up a mess of turkeys. They would carve the turkeys, then, throw the meat in bushel baskets. They had to do all of this a head of time. These baskets were stacked outside the door of our work room. I’m sure you know our reaction to that. We had a feast. The meat was still hot and tasted really good. We were in the right place at the right time. A large supply of ice cream bars were also kept in the freezers. They were similar to the Good Humor ice cream bars with vanilla ice cream and chocolate coating. We were told that they were for the GIs (enlisted men) but we were never told to distribute any to them. We gave most of the ice cream to the guys who were seasick and couldn’t hold any food down. It was the only thing that seemed to help them.

After about eleven days, we docked at Southampton, England. I believe it was on December 4th, 1944. As we were approaching the docks, we saw many British warships, destroyers, and light cruisers anchored. It looked strange to me. It was the first signs of a war area. It gave me goose bumps.

We were taken by trucks to the town of Bournemouth, a famous resort on the southern coast of England. As we approached the area, we saw the beaches covered with barbed wire. It was used as a protection against a possible German invasion. Again, more goose bumps. We were put up in one of the many hotels. Our barracks consisted of a single room with bunks for 6 to 8 men, nailed together.

There was no central heating but, at least, we were sheltered from the cold. Every room had a small fireplace. I volunteered for the coal detail. In other words, I would take one of our trucks and drive to the coal yards. I, quickly, learned that the British kept Italian prisoners at this particular site. Their job was to load the coal onto the many waiting trucks. They were captured during the North African campaign and transferred to England. They never said a word. They never looked up. They just worked. It made me think about my own freedom and how lucky we were. I would, then, drive back to the hotels and deliver it. When it came to our hotel, I had the fellows who shared my room, waiting at our windows, where I would throw up chunks of extra coal. We had the warmest room in the hotel. We had more coal than the coal mine!

Another detail that I had was gun cleaning. These guns came over on ships and had a thick coating of grease, called cosmoline, to keep the salt water from deteriorating the gun metal. The only way we could remove this grease was with gasoline. The gasoline ran out into the catch basins where it would catch fire as the public always threw their lit cigarettes into them. Once it hit water, it just sat on top, and burned until it emptied into the town sewer. It caused quite a commotion by the town’s people but it was their own fault.

Bournemouth was nice. The double-decker buses were a novelty for most of us. The only times we saw one was in a movie, magazine, or newspaper. The town provided good entertainment for the GIs. Dances were frequent. What really fascinated me were the vaudeville shows as they consisted of comedians, dancers, sing-a-longs, etc... It was fun no matter which show I attended. There were lots of women around the area which, naturally, made our life more interesting. One young girl, in particular, was a money taker on one of the buses and, of course, we got to know her. We were not allowed to go out at night but, being young, we always found a way to break loose. We would climb out our window, up the roof, then, onto another roof, until we would find a tree or a drainpipe which we could use as a way to get down.

We also went up to London but I didn’t think much of it. The buss bombs, both the V1s and V2s were terrible. They had destroyed so much of the area. There would be nothing left of a person or anything else, once it hit. The screeching of these bombs was frightening. One never forgets that sound - first, a swirling buss sound, next - a terrible silence, and, lastly, the explosion with its deadly force. The subways were used for people to live in or to run to when the area was being bombed (bomb shelters). They consisted of several levels, extending deep under the ground, each level holding a large number of people. These areas provided cots, blankets, and the other necessities during any air-raids. If you didn’t know your way around, it was very easy to get lost. I preferred Bournemouth, however. I knew the town by this time. I was comfortable in this small English Channel resort town. I never forgot my introduction to the English version of Fish and Chips. They served it wrapped in newspaper. I was very impressed. It was always a hot meal with a flavor that still remains with me.

Eventually, our orders came to pack up and prepare to leave. Once again, we were headed for more boats. Only this time, we would be crossing the English Channel. We knew what that meant. In the ship’s belly were tanks, trucks, guns, and many more troops. I preferred to stay up on top where the smells would not be as bad. If I were to get sick, I would, at lest, be able to lean over the rail. The boat we were on was designed to pull right up to the shoreline or close to it.

We arrived at Le Havre, France where we began a long trudge up the steep cliffs which overlooked a small town. We walked about 10 miles that night in a blinding snowstorm. It was very, very cold. We came to a large open field where we were ordered to stop and pitch tents. Each man had half of a tent in his roll. He would join up with another man, making it two in a tent. However, we had three men to our tent. We used the other half of our tent to put down on the snow and ice as a little insulation in between. We had a big, heavy guy who was very fat and had an overcoat that was about three times bigger than anybody else. We slept like logs. Morning came and we had to take down our tents and roll everything up before we moved out. However, our body heat melted the snow, leaving our overcoats soaked from the slush that now covered the ground. We began the day with hot coffee and bread. Much to our surprise, a pile of canned Spam, partially covered with snow, was sitting in the middle of this open field. (It was considered the most popular canned meat in the USA, at that time.) One of the men had a chopping block and an axe. Every other man was lined up and given a can of Spam. He took it to the man with the block and axe who chopped it in half. That way every man got half of a can of Spam to eat. Of course, it was frozen, making it impossible to eat. However, most of us saved it for later, not knowing if we would have any food at that time. A large convoy of trucks arrived to take us further into France. We rode all that day. It was cold, very cold, riding in the back of those open trucks. We, finally, came into the area surrounding Yerville where our units were scattered about the farming areas, billeting peasant barns. Over in Europe, at that time, they built their barns so that their cattle were on the bottom or on the first floor. The hay mow was up above. This barn was filled with cows and the hay was as warm as toast with all the body heat coming from the cattle. This was a new experience for most of us. It was warmth appreciated by all. The heat never felt as good as it did that night. I was as warm as a bug in a rug.
Picture 5

My bottle of Cognac - It was in this area of France that I came across a small, unusual-looking bottle of cognac. I managed to save it for many years. I never opened it until Paul and Kevin came across it when they were going through my old war trunk. They asked me to open it just to see if the cognac had evaporated over time. Naturally, it was vile. What liquid remained had to be thrown out but I kept the bottle as I felt it was a part of my history. It reminded me of events, long gone but never forgotten. I, finally, gave the bottle to Mindy as she was interested in the story behind it. Today, it sits on top of her china closet.

Our orders were to move on until we came to Auffay where a train with box cars was waiting to carry us across northern France. Forty (men)-and-8 box cars was our way of traveling. Years ago, this type of transportation was called “40 Hommes, 8 Chevals” meaning “40 men bedded down with 8 horses and beds of straw. However, we didn’t have any horses. We had 40 men to each box car with lots of straw. We were warm if nothing else. It was not meant for comfort but it was better than walking. I believe some of the towns we passed through were Beauvais, Compiegne, Soissons, and Reims. When our train arrived in the small town of St. Hiliare le Petit, we were ordered to set up temporary quarters around the vicinity. We were told that another convoy of trucks would be arriving to take us into Belgium, all the time, moving us closer to the front. In the meantime, we had a chance to eat a hot meal, rest, and get warm. Those few hours of rest and food made a big difference. We were ready to move out when our orders came.

Another story - When I was in France, my boots and feet got soaked from the snow and slush.
While I was drying them out, one of the fellows shot a rabbit. He skinned it and cooked it over an open fire. I put my boots by the fire to dry out. You should never do that with leather. They shrunk up so I could not use them. I had to take my galoshes and stuff them with straw and wear those with a couple pairs of socks. Every so often, when we came to a barn, I would replace the straw. It was impossible for me to get a new pair of boots so I had to wait until an opportunity came along. By the time we reached Germany, I, finally, found a pair of boots. I knew the young German soldier would have no more need of this item. The boots were well-worn but they fit as good as one could expect. That was all that mattered. I can’t describe how much my feet hurt, wearing those galoshes. I can’t describe what it’s like to remove a fallen soldier’s garments just to keep warm or able to walk. The cold and the snow forced many of us to do things that we would never do otherwise. It was all part of war. Survival was the name of the game. C’est La Guerre!

The snow and the cold were terrible. My feet were frozen. Most of the time I couldn’t feel them at all. We came upon another farm where we stopped. We were not allowed to smoke inside any of these barns as we could start a fire very easily. If we wanted to smoke, we had to go outside but, few felt the need for a cigarette under such excruciating conditions. As a rule, peasant barns were billeted for our units. Orders came that we were to be trucked as far as Bastogne, Belgium. It was difficult to keep the trucks on the road due to the icy conditions. We were now traveling into areas famous for their battlefields Names familiar to many of us. I felt as if I was going back in time, walking in the same shoes as soldiers of the past experienced. Bastogne is in the “Ardennes Forest” area. During World War I, a famous battle took place within this forest. This area was famous for “The Sedan” where the French surrounded to the Nazis as well as the “Battle of the Bulge.” We were in the northeastern part of France, headed toward Luxembourg, and Beausaint in the southeastern part of Belgium.

The awful destruction of war became our constant companion, always reminding us that we were walking in the shadow of death. One Belgium village after another laid in ruin. It was almost ghost-like, the villagers being forced to go elsewhere. Where would they go? God, nothing was left! We were looking at the results of war, knowing that we, too, would be creating the same destruction within a short period of time.

We came upon a very old and large farmhouse. Its roof was almost all blown away. The area that was still protected from the weather is where we stopped and set up our unit. This farm sat in the middle of nothing - surrounded with spacious, innocent-looking fields. Unfortunately, they were loaded with mine fields. The house became an observation area. We were not allowed to walk outside during the day, only at night. Mortars were frequent but this is where we were supposed to be. One night, three men, pulling guard duty, wandered into the mine fields and the next thing we heard were two explosions. We knew what had happened. Two of the men were never found. The third man had been badly injured, unable to move. A young medic and the Colonel ran into the field to try to get him. There were more explosions and we knew no one was coming out alive. It was my first time of seeing such bravery. I never heard of a Colonel risking his own life by trying to save one of his men. I admired his courage as his rank did not call for such an act of bravery. The young medic showed me the real meaning of being a hero.

No trucks could move or any activity could take place during the day. Meat supplies and some canned vegetables were trucked in at night, whenever they felt it was safe to move the food. Most of the time, we survived on potatoes which we found in the cellar of this farm. I was the cook, believe it or not. At nighttime, we would have a guard at our door and a one man patrol going from one post to the other. We could hear him a mile away. I’m sure the Germans heard him as well. The house was a large, two-story building. For the first time, we felt lucky. We were able to move about more freely. Even our sleeping quarters had improved. It felt good to sleep on something solid other than cold, hard ground.

One night, another young fellow, John Nagy, came off guard duty, didn’t clear his weapon/gun and, somehow, he pulled the trigger. The gun went off. The bullet went through my blanket where I had just been laying. Thank God. I was in the small kitchen, upstairs, boiling water as some of the men wanted coffee. It just goes to show you how stupid things can happen. John felt terrible and was so thankful that he had not, accidentally, killed a buddy.

Another guy in our unit was Hyman Kay who came from Long Island. He was on guard and I was in the kitchen when I heard a burp gun go off (like a Thompson gun only a cheaper model/also called a grease gun. There were about 25 rounds in a clip. I had my 45mm/caliber pistol hanging up on the wall. I grabbed my gun and belt and ran down by the barn. All of a sudden, a cow came running out of the barn. I could hear Hyman hollering that something was coming toward me. Hyman was out of control as he began shooting before he really knew what he was shooting at. The inside of the barn was riddled with his bullets. Thank God, none of our men were in there. They would have been dead before Hyman realized what a stupid thing he did. I dropped down on the ground, pulled out my 45 mm/caliber pistol, and gave the cow a full clip (about 7 rounds). I didn’t know if I hit him or not. All I saw was meat. By now, we deserved a few decent meals. Meat and potatoes sounded good to a tired bunch of guys. The excited beast went up into the orchard and none of us were about to go after him because of the mine fields. Eventually, everybody calmed down. The next morning, we found the cow (he apparently lived there before the battle of the bulge) and had returned. No one could figure out how that cow managed to stay alive. He should have been blown to pieces. Again, I fired my 45 mm/caliber pistol into the frontal part of his head with no fatal results. I realized that he was not going to drop as his skull was too thick for 45 mm bullets. I got to the side of this cow and put him down with one shot in the back of his head. It fell dead, providing us with a good source of meat. We put the meat that we didn’t need to eat right away upstairs where the roof was blown away. The cold weather preserved it and we cut away only what we needed. We gave some of the meat to some of the other squads and we were all happy. Just a note of interest, after the war, another young fellow who was in our Company, became the script writer for “The Honeymooners.” (I can’t remember his name, however.) This was a popular TV series for many years back in 1950s. Today, after all these years, the program continues as re-runs.

One day, I was cutting the carcass when I cut my hand, right between my left thumb and forefinger. I ran down to the medic who bandaged it. It was a severe cut and the bleeding would not stop even when I tried to keep my hand elevated. In the meantime, another fellow who was a loader for one of our anti-tanks was in the process of firing his gun when the breech bashed him in his face. The poor bloke was a mess. There was blood all over. There was nothing anyone could do for him until they could get a clearance for a vehicle to move both of us down to the Battalion Aide Station. The road was under fire by the Germans, stopping us from going, even though we had a couple of emergencies. As soon as it was dark, we were given a jeep and headed out. It was cold, bitter cold, riding in that open-aired jeep. The poor fellow screamed all the way to the aid station. Between my blood and his, the jeep needed a wash-down. I’m sure he must have been disfigured. I couldn’t put my one glove on at all because of the severity of the cut. My hand felt froze. The cold made it numb. It was better than any anesthesia. I hoped that the other guy’s face felt as numb as my thumb and hand. We, finally, reached the aid station where the medics cleaned it with water and sulfa, and, then, sewed it up while other medics began to clean and sew up the fellow’s face, the best they could. (The last I heard they had shipped him back to a Military Hospital. I often wondered if he pulled through.) They put a huge bandage on my hand, making it impossible for me to wear my glove. What I did was I cut off the end of a blanket, making a big mitten out of it. I was able to just stick my hand into it. At least, I was able to keep the hand warm. Because I couldn’t lift anything heavy or get the hand wet or dirty at all, I was no longer able to keep my position as “cook”. I, then, joined the ranks of pulling guard duty. Fortunately, I was right-handed as it was the left hand that was cut.

Several weeks went by. We were on the move, again. We had taken a villa and held camp there for several days. In the back of the villa was a huge fire area which held a large, black iron pot. We filled this pot with water and fired it up. For the first time, we were able to wash, shave, and give each other hair cuts. Living like this can really make you appreciate the feeling of being clean. It felt great but what we really needed was a shower and some clean clothes. We had a constant flow of coffee as well. That old, black iron pot was well used for everything we needed.

Again, orders came to move out. We had to go about 5 miles north in order to cross the Sauer River, putting us on German soil. However, in order to cross the river, a tragic scene was about to take place. Two of our sister regiments (the 417th and the 385th) were going to make the crossing. First, they had to have the engineers get a line across in order to make a bridge made out of boats and platoons. That was all well and good except for the fact that the river with all its melting snow had risen very high and was flowing extremely fast. The engineers were having trouble getting the boats across. They decided that they had to put a life-line across in order to anchor the boats. In the meantime, the Germans were shooting at all these guys involved in putting together this bridge. We were just sitting, waiting, and watching all of this as this was the 304th’s Engineers job (Company A of the 301st.) They would manage to get a line in, a couple of boats anchored, a platoon down, and, then, all hell would break loose as the Germans would shell the area. They would hit one of our life-lines or sink one of the boats, etc. as we watched everything go down the Sauer River. What the engineers started to do, then, was to build a second bridge a couple miles further up the Sauer River and kept working on both bridges. Now, we are about 3 to 4 days behind schedule. They were just about finished working on the first bridge when a disaster occurred. Suddenly, word came that the second bridge had let loose and the whole thing was headed down stream. It came smashing down upon the first bridge, knocking it completely out. The only thing left to do was for the engineers to start all over again at the site of the first bridge. Many of our men were killed as they tried to cross the river with their life-lines. Many were killed trying to anchor the boats in order to get the platoons down. Many were killed and washed down river as they tried, desperately to get the bridge together for us to cross. I had read some where’s that the Sauer River (approximately 200 feet across), during this encounter, had a rapid flow of about 17 miles per hour. Now, that’s what I would call a real challenge.

We watched the horrifying scene play out as the engineers tried desperately to reconstruct the first bridge. Now, you must remember that the water was terribly cold. Anyone falling into it would never survive. Many of our men were either wounded or killed by the Germans as they tried to tie everything together. They fell off the platoons and off the boats, only to have the raging water carry them away. With all their clothing, equipment, etc. on them, once they fell into the river, they never had a chance. Finally, the engineers managed to get the bridge constructed. We were now about one week behind schedule. We received orders to cross the bridge. Once, on the other side, we fanned out, up and down the river, rather than go straight in. We just went up and down the river, clearing the banks in order for our engineers to construct safe bridges for our tanks and large trucks plus all of our equipment to cross.

We moved away from the river, heading in the direction of Ferschweiler, Germany. We ended up shelling the hell out of it until it was just a pile of rubble. We were using our heaviest guns in that small town. We met a lot of action before we crossed over the Prum River. We had to use 57s as well. Once, over the Prum, we found a mess. Dead animals were everywhere. My God, our guns tore everything apart. We moved on to Alsdorf where we encountered more strikes by the German 88s and mortars. As difficult as it was, each man had a sense of unity and few of us backed away from that. We knew we had to depend on each other to survive. If I remember, correctly, it became one town after another until we reached the Kyll River.

It was still pretty much up to the Infantry. There were many German strongholds that we had to attack. The terrain was steep, hilly with thick woods, and hair-pin turns. It was night time as we maneuvered our way down the steep bluffs. This made it even more difficult, trying to keep our tanks with us. The weather was determined to give us a hard time as the heavens opened up. We, finally, found ourselves on flatter land, making it easier for us to run with our tanks as well as moving all our equipment. I believe we were headed toward the town of Kyll.

We crossed many rivers on our journey. However, the Sauer River was, in my mind, the worse. Even now, I can’t believe the terrible sight that we all watched. It is still very vivid to me. I know I will carry that scene to my grave.

We moved on, rapidly, encountering house-to-house fighting, going through one village after another. German snipers seemed to be everywhere. Large scale tank battles were being fought on the many flanks. Our Company came to one town when our officers figured there was going to be a counter-attack. They felt that they didn’t have enough to defend it so they high-tailed it back behind our lines with all the German prisoners that had been captured. No one told Bellini and me that the Company was retreating. We ended up being the only American soldiers left in the town. We weren’t about to go wondering around Herforst or its surrounding woods. It was dark by now and we knew if our own soldiers came across us, they would shoot us as would any German soldiers. We found a place to hold up in - a house and the family was still living in it. They welcomed us with open arms. They gave us one of their bedrooms as we hadn’t slept in two or three days. When I think back on this, I can’t help but think how stupid we were. Either we were so desperate for sleep or just plain nuts by that time. We only took off our shoes as they were full of mud and dirt. We removed our gun belts and laid them by our side. The bed had a huge comforter on it and, once we got wrapped up in it, I think - we died. I never had anything as soft and warm around me for a long time. The next morning we awoke to find our entire armored company with tanks, trucks, etc. right under our window. Before we left, the woman gave us some hot coffee with a little cognac. It was warm and felt good, going down. The family was gathered around the fireplace. It was a scene in which one could almost forget a war existed outside their windows. The family spoke no English and we spoke very little German. We ate some of our K-rations and, then, went out to find our Company headquarters. We, finally, located them as well as our First Sergeant who immediately said, “Where have you guys been? I had to list you both as Missing In Action (MIA) this morning.” Every day, a morning report must be written and handed in involving any wounded, killed, or MIA soldiers. My reply was simple, “Well, Sarge, you won’t have to do it, tomorrow. We’re here.” Then, we had to wait until our Platoon Lieutenant came back to headquarters and took us on up to the front lines. They were preparing to send food up to the lines (thermos-like containers with 3 or 4 compartments to hold hot meat, vegetables, etc) and we offered to take it up in the jeep. We, finally, got up to the front with the food but no one had time to distribute it. The front surrounded a small town where house-to-house fighting was in progress. Our tanks were busy trying to help in clearing the town of German soldiers. We both wished we were somewhere else. Night came. We found ourselves next to this one house where one of our soldiers had been sent to sit in a hole (about 100 yards out front from the rest of us) to observe any activity by the Germans. He had a telephone with him and, if he heard anything, he was expected to call us. Every couple of hours, some other man was expected to take his turn in the hole. Unfortunately, nobody followed through by going out to relieve the poor guy. He was out there all night long. More tanks came into the town and tore up all the telephone lines, making it impossible for this fellow to call for any kind of help or relief. He was afraid to leave the hole. He was mad as hell by the morning but he survived. Occasionally, we were able to make up our own fun at the expense of some other guy’s misery. There wasn’t much to eat as far as food went. We had to scrounge for every thing. We couldn’t drink the water as the Germans poisoned the wells. We could only drink wine. It was wet. It satisfied our need for liquid.

I remember another story. Bellini and I were up near this farm (in Germany). It was a milk producing farm because each cow wore a stanchion around its neck to keep it from moving about the stall. These barns were constructed just for this purpose. The Germans spotted us, sending mortars in our direction. The nearest place for us to go to was the barn. It had a concrete foundation which came up about a foot and half above the ground. The rest of it was all wood. We got down behind the concrete wall, feeling safe from the shrapnel as the mortars went over our heads. The poor cows were getting hit hard as they could not get out of their stanchions. They were frantic as our heads were right along side of some of these milk cows. We were getting kicked and covered with their blood and guts. We realized that we were facing a big decision - to stay in the barn or try to get back to our company. As soon as we realized that the Germans had stopped shooting their mortars, we got out of there. We ran down to the dirt road even though we knew that they could see us. It was a country dirt road with ditches on both sides of road. They started mortaring us again. Bellini jumped into one of the ditches and I just lay down in the road and pretended to be dead. The Germans, apparently, found something more interesting to shoot at as we did not see, hear, and have any of their mortars fly around us. I don’t know how long we stayed there but, it was better to be safe than sorry. Bellini found himself lying in 8 inches of water and was soaked. He had no other clothes. We wore the same uniform for 4 months. Our clothing had not been washed or cleaned in all that time. The only thing I changed were my socks.

By now, we were all battle-worn, in need of rest, badly. We were sent to the regimental reserve where we were able to rest and clean up. A front-line shower (portable showers) is not the place for a shy man. What we had to do was to walk in one end of a tent-like covering, take all your clothes off, throw them in a big pile of clothing, and grab a towel/ washcloth. Then, we had to proceed down a plank-way (if you walked off the plank, you would end up in a ditch where all the dirty water collected). Two pipes with holes drilled in them so water could flow down over each body that passed under them. We were not allowed to stop at all. We washed as we walked. By the time we got to the other end, we were washed. It was just a continuous stream of men. You dried off the best one could. Then, you received a clean uniform, boots, and your personal items/wallet, etc. That shower made each of us feel pretty good as we were starting to feel a little buggy. This type of clean-up was only for the front-line troops.

We were spearheading through the German lines. Many times, we had to use a pincer-like formation to be sure the entire area was free of any German troops. There was no time to rest or shower. The orders were to keep everything going. There was no stopping. Not everyone in the military had to live like this. The men in back of the lines had it a little more comfortable. We had become well-seasoned soldiers as the front lines had become our life. Each of us had become part of the big picture. We saw places and things that were unspeakable. We met many people, good and bad, who suffered severely and said little.

Even the darkness didn’t stop us, anymore. We were moving into the Moselle River area when we encountered our first big town. I think it was called Wittlich. I don’t believe we were there more than 2 or 3 days. Orders came to move closer to the Moselle River around the town of Platten. Because the lay out of the land was so difficult for the Anti-Tank Company to maneuver their guns, one of us got the idea of taking the wheels off the guns and putting their billets on the bed of a 2-1/2 ton truck, making them self-propelled. Mobility made it possible for us to fire up to seven dozen rounds and, then, move out quickly, eliminating having to hook up the gun. Our Company rotated in areas about the town, designated as places for us to sleep, while the rest of us delivered a massive barrage to the towns on the other side of the Moselle. Our Mine platoon was kept busy as they had to clear the roadway (night time only) of anything that could be a problem for us. We stayed in this area for several days, searching and clearing the area of any Germans and, then, crossed over the Moselle River, heading in the direction of the Rhine River.

We took one town after another. Again, we had to call for the Mine platoon to clear many of the roadways. Our Company used its 57 mm guns to bombard the towns along the other side of the Rhine. With the help, once again, of the 3rd Army Engineers, a pontoon bridge was built, making it possible for us to cross the river at St. Goar. We were kept busy screening the town of Esch as well as the surrounding woods. The Germans began to withdraw before escape became impossible. Many were left behind to be captured. By now, they had no air force left, leaving them with no air cover. We had plenty of air cover, however. They were running out of gasoline for all their trucks, tanks, and armored equipment. They could not move their equipment the way they had been able to do. Without gas, they were falling apart. What we did at this point was form a task force of tanks and infantry and went 30/40 miles down the road as fast as we could, then, make a loop around to join another bunch of troops coming parallel to them and made like a trap so anything inside these lines could not get out. The Germans had no food, no communication, and no orders from their headquarters. One particular incident occurred when Bellini and I were out on patrol. We found ourselves behind enemy lines. We ended up bringing in over 50 German soldiers who, apparently, preferred being with us than being captured by the Russians. Those Germans could have killed us at any point but they, too, were tired of the fighting and killing. They gave us no trouble and we gave them none. I can still see that picture when we came up over that hill with our captors leading the way. God, there was our Company, cheering us on - glad to see that we were OK.

Another story that “came down through the lines” was another example that in war, life is cheap. Life holds no value at all. How true it is, I can’t say but, I do know that in war, men can inflict terrible suffering on other men. The story evolved around a small town in Germany. I can’t remember its name. Anyway, the entire area, outside of the town, had been thoroughly bushwhacked by some of our armed forces. They decided not to move out until the following morning. The local people acted friendly. However, one of the officer’s felt uneasiness within the village. He posted guards throughout the town during the night. The rest of the unit found an open area where they were able to bed down yet still observe the town. Early the next morning, they awoke to the news that all the guards had been killed. The officer, immediately, turned the big guns toward the town and blasted it to “Hell.” The town was flattened and left in a blaze of fire. It just goes to show you that you can’t be nice in war, not even for a brief moment, as it will come back and bite you. I have often thought about that town, its people, and the act - itself. Whether it was true or not it was all part of war as situations like that did happen. No need to say anymore.

Dresden was another story. No military value at all. However, it was declared an “Open City.”

It was known to be “a thousand years old.” The Germans told the Americans and the British that they would not destroy England’s Buckingham Palace so long as we would spare the destruction of Dresden. There were to be no air bombings or troops entering this city. It had beautiful old buildings and antiques that were irreplaceable. We had an understanding with them but, unfortunately, we did not honor it. The Russians wanted revenge for the terrible destruction of their old and beautiful cities by the Germans. They were going to destroy it whether we liked it or not. For three days, non-stop, the British and American planes bombed Dresden, literally, destroying the entire city, killing over 70,000 people. It was near dusk, our Company leader decided to hold up and rest as we were in an open hilly area. It seemed like the sky suddenly turned into complete darkness. We all looked up and saw a never-ending parade of bombers passing over. We knew what we were watching. All I could think of was, “Boy, someone is going to get the hell knocked out of them, tonight!” What shocked me the most when I heard it was the city of Dresden, I realized that my concern was not with the terrible death of the populace but the terrible destruction of those beautiful and ancient buildings and antiques that could never be replaced. I knew, then, that I had become a hardened soldier. I knew the war was taking a toll on me.

The Germans began to surrender by the hundreds. Many times, however, when a GI would come in with only one or two prisoners, they were taken behind a tree and shot. It was easier to do that than hike them all the way back to a POW camp - miles behind the lines. That could be a very long trip for an already exhausted GI. We were just as brutal as the enemy. C’est La Guerre.

One time, when we were going through a wooded area where a road ran through it, we came across a whole line of tanks, armored cars, horses that pulled large guns and ammunition. Apparently, our air force had caught this convoy and shot it to hell. The convoy had run out of gas and for a mile everything was totally destroyed and killed. We knew that we had them on the run.

It seemed, by this time, there was no stopping us. We were moving east at a tremendous pace. We had vehicles that carried a lot of us, making all of this possible while many other troops were busy flushing out the woods, countryside, and the many towns and villages we went through. Our Anti-Tank Company was protecting the regimental rear and flanks.

I remember an incident which occurred on Easter Sunday, 1945. A couple of squads, in which I was a part of , were ordered to clear a large section of woods of any Germans or anybody else. I was walking through the woods. I was patrolling with the other men when I saw a beautiful German luger pistol lying at the base of a tree. There was no holster for it and nobody was around so it became mine. Bellini found a P-38 which was a much cheaper revolver. He carried that revolver everywhere he went. I never carried my German luger on my person because I had my own 45mm pistol which I had to carry. However, one of our Captains had, in his possession, a Luger which he always carried on him. Unfortunately, he was captured by the Germans who found it, presuming that he got it off a German soldier. They put the pistol in his mouth and blew him away so the story goes.

We had spent a lot of our time in France, Belgium, Luxemburg, with the 3rd Army. There were many Armies such as the 1st, 3rd, 7th, 9th, and 12th. They were lined up within a certain area in which they controlled all those people within its confine. However, occasionally, the land, a river, or a situation forced soldiers to go into another army’s controlled territory and they became part of that army. Most of the time, we were with the 3rd Army but, once in awhile, we would end up in another Army for a day or two. They were only on a defensive position with no communication as they would set up a line and stop you.

We were on the move, capturing many small villages and towns, every day, day after day. We had to make sure that these small villages were free of any Germans and if there were any, we were to clean them out, either by taking prisoners or killing them. Our tanks helped to clean them out as well. We encountered civilian snipers for the first time. From that time on, word was out to shoot first, and ask questions later as these civilian snipers were more and more visible. Thank God, we had our tanks. They did a job on them. There were few prisoners taken. You must remember that this was all part of war.

We moved through Langensalza where we encountered more snipers. We advanced into the countryside capturing town after town. Because this area was so flat, it was perfect for our tanks. We moved on, seeing more and more signs of a weakening Germany. They were releasing many of their prisoners of war who were being picked up by our troops or our Allies. I remember the terrible explosions at two of the three bridges that crossed over the Elster River into the city of Zeitz. The third bridge was already blown up by the Germans. The infantrymen worked their way across the river. Fierce fighting took place as we, once again, began house-to-house fighting. It was here that our tanks were lined up to fire point blank with ten armor-piercing shells into the pillars of the fallen bridges, creating a better crossing for our forces.

It was during April of 1945, when we found ourselves on the banks of the Oder River. We were told that the Russians occupied the other side. Orders came “Stop, go no further.” We settled in by taking over the few houses that remained standing and/or lined the banks of this river. At least, we were able to find shelter from the weather even though destruction surrounded the entire area. The Germans, themselves, took no pity on the local people and their homes. It had become an “every man for himself” situation. They were terrified of the Russians. It was turning warm, now, as we waited for the Russians. It was our Company that went the furthest east of any other Company. The two armies finally met. The war ended on May 9th, 1945.

We, then, had to pull Military government because there was no authority at all in any of these towns. No police at all. The army had to take over to protect the people from any sabotage by any German soldiers who refused to surrender. There were a lot of Germans who were not reconciled to the fact that they loss. We also had to round up many German soldiers who were just wondering around not knowing what to do or where to go. These German soldiers were taken to different compounds where they were all sorted out and kept until they were released by our armies. They were being pulled in by the hundreds, day after day. We had to patrol and check out the small villages and towns just to make sure that there were no longer any local problems such as murderers, thieves, or dislocated and confused people lurking around. Every one had to be checked out.

Everything was going pretty well. We had no real complaints. Orders came to move up to a large air field. I am not sure if it was near Altenburg or near Chemnitz. This was a huge compound where they kept thousands of German prisoners. These men were gathered from all over the area and kept until we could separate them, according to German towns where each one called home. This was very interesting. We set up large convoys of trucks, each convoy going in different directions in order to transport these prisoners to the area closest to their homes. They were crammed in these trucks, standing up. Then, we would get the trucks going as fast as we could and slam on the brakes, and the poor guys in the back would all fall forward, making room for another 10 or 20 guys. Some of these trucks were unbelievably overloaded but none of these guys seemed to mind as they were going home.

Our accommodations were great. Our barracks were clean. The mess hall had tables and chairs for us to sit on and the kitchen was well stocked with all kinds of food. We felt lucky to have been sent to this location. While I was at this camp, before they started shipping the prisoners out, I went to work in the supply room. This kept me from having to pull any guard duty or KP. There really wasn’t much to do. The supply sergeant spoke pretty good German and he was always off some place interpreting for somebody. He left me in charge so I would go down to the compound and get a German prisoner to help me. I would break each gun apart and give him the job of cleaning all the different parts of the guns. Most of the guns had a lot of rust in the barrels and each one had to be cleaned. I learned, quickly, that all I had to give the prisoner was some chow. I would go back into the chow line and bring him a large plate of hot food. One of the prisoners that I would try to get as often as possible was about 35 years old. He could understand what I needed done - he knew how to work and was easy to get along with. We stayed in that area until all the prisoners had been trucked out and, then, our orders came.

Before we left this area, however, I was assigned to the 8th. Regiment 4th Division. It was located at Camp Butler, North Carolina, near Raleigh. It would be quite awhile before I reached my new assignment as I was still in Germany. It is June of 1945 as thousands of us were being moved out by trains. We were crossing one country into another in box cars. Back then, they just put people in box cars and shipped them around. We went back across Germany and down into France. A lot of the railroads were in need of repair because many had been bombed out. It was a slow journey. These trains consisted of miles of box cars. The weather was, now, really beautiful and a lot of the fellows would climb out of the box cars, pulling themselves up on top, just to enjoy lying in the sun. If you had a friend who was 3, 4, or 10 cars down, you would walk along the top until you came to his car and drop down to see him. One day, this one fellow was walking along the top of one of the box cars, (they had a lot of tunnels with very little clearance between the tunnels and the top of the box cars. If you lay down you were all right but, if you were standing, you had a big problem.) Anyway, this fellow was walking along the top of the boxcars with his back was to the tunnel. Eventually, one of the tunnels and he met up and, of course, he was splattered all over the top of the train and the landscape. That ended our sitting on top of the box cars. It’s strange that this fellow went all through the war without a scratch and, then, this happen to him just when he was going home. It’s strange what life deals a person. C’est La Guerre!!!

Anyway, we got down to what we called the “Cigarette Camps.” They used different brands
of cigarettes to designate the camps we were each assigned - the “Lucky Strike Camp,” the “Pall Mall Camp,” etc. In that way, it was easy for us to remember where we belonged as there were thousands of men staying in the many, different camp sites. Every man had to be checked over to make sure he didn’t have any stolen goods on him. It was more or less a formality because they just, quickly, looked in to your bag, and gave the OK to move on.

I was sent back to England (I don’t remember the ship I was on when we crossed the channel but it wasn’t very big) and, immediately, sent to a camp located in the middle of England.
Every day we were suppose to check if our name was on the board and if it wasn’t, you had nothing to do. Finally, my name came up. Bellini was still with me as he was assigned to the same company - the 8th Division. We left London on a liberty ship, a quick built ship made during the war to carry a couple hundred men. However, we were packed in like sardines in a can. There were a lot more than just a couple hundred men by the time they finished. I assume what kept the number down were the facilities for preparing food. The kitchens were built to handle the number of sailors it took to operate the ship. When they put the troops on board, they were governed by the ability of the kitchens to turn out enough food to feed everyone.

It was now the end of July, beginning of August, of 1945. Finally, our orders came and we boarded our ship. I remember one fellow who had been waiting to go home, all this time, no sooner boarded the ship when he broke his leg. He was taken off the ship, back to the camp’s hospital. Because these ships had no real medical facilities, anyone who had a medical problem, had to wait till it was OK to travel. We sailed from London and the weather was beautiful. We spent most of our time on deck as well as sleeping on deck. During the day, we would watch the porpoises playing along side the ship. They followed us all the way over.

We arrived in New York. We were the first ship to dock in New York after VJ day (Japan surrendered). They had all kinds of fire boats shooting water in the air as a celebration of our return. An army band greeted us with lots of music. It was a nice welcome home. We were, then, put on a train and sent to Fort Monmouth, New Jersey. First thing they did when we got off the train was send us up to the mess hall for a steak dinner. It didn’t make any difference what time of day or night it was. Everyone got steak, regardless. After that, we got processed as well as given some money (what was due us) and sent home for 30 days. I did the usual, running around, etc. Had a good time and, then, went back. We were shipped down to Camp Butler, North Carolina. It was part of the 8th Regiment 4th Division. By now, the war was over. There wasn’t much to do. There was no training, anymore. I was getting treatment for my knee as it was swelling up quite bad. They gave me a jeep to drive around because of my knee.

I met a lot of people during my service time but the one who I never forgot was Dominic Bellini.
We were buddies who looked after each other regardless of the situation. I just wish I could see him, one more time, before I die. We had become not just buddies but soul partners. He covered my back and I covered his! With all the tragedies and all the horrors of war, we survived by each other’s sense of humor, a flashing smile, a slap on the back, and eyes that met at an unexpected moment which said it all. If you ever have to pick a buddy be sure you know he will always be there when you need him.

My army years became an experience I never forgot. I had a lot of company as there were approximately 16 million men in all. I just hope you will never have to go into war. The next war will probably be push-button and over in just a few days. Win or Lose! Again, I just want to say that I wished I had made these tapes many years ago. My mind does not work as smoothly as it once did. I hope that my memories, whether they have been enhanced, diminished, embellished, or whatever by re-telling and re-living, will help in understanding a little bit of me as a young man who became a man overnight and who still lives with the pains of war hidden deep within my soul and mind.

On January 18, 1946, I received an Honorable Discharge from the service. My Army Serial Number was 32-917-171. During the 1950's, in St. Louis, Missouri, a huge fire enveloped one of the military buildings which held millions of veteran’s records. It took many years before the Military was able to put together new records on thousands of veterans. Sections of veterans records (example: G through M, etc.) were lost. Battle reports were collected from the different services in order to establish new files. The 15th Army (known as the Paper Army) was responsible for all the old battle records. In 1984, I was officially informed by the Military that I should have been awarded the Bronze Star as well as several other medals. The long delay was due to the St. Louis fire as my service records were amongst the thousands that had been destroyed. By 1986, once the battle records were retrieved and official reports approved, I received the Bronze Star, the Combat Infantry Badge, the Victory Medal, The European-African-Middle Eastern Ribbon w/3 Campaign Stars, the Good Conduct Medal. Battles and Campaigns included the Ardennes, Rhineland, and Central Europe.

I hope that my memories, whether they have been enhanced, diminished, or embellished, will help in understanding the tragedies of war and the pain of those who felt its rage.
“C’EST LA GUERRE” - “MOI LA GUERRE”

THE END

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