However, in its rifle platoons, casualties exceeded 80%. In his company he was the only one of eight officers to make it all the way to May 1945. He was never injured but received two Silver Stars for valor. He served again in Korea and returned home to become a banker. He and his wife were married for 72 years.
I knew so many men like him as I grew up and through the years. I post this essay annually on Memorial Day and Veteran’s Day to remember them.
Excellent
Reminds me of a neighbor on our street in the 1970s, Mr. Pitney. He had a gentle German shepherd and we kids would gather on his porch to pet the dog, or play tug-of-war with a stick or something. Mostly Mr. Pitney would just sit quietly, smoking his pipe like a character out of Norman Rockwell painting. Slowly though, we would get stories about being a Marine in the Pacific. Stories were about the food, weather, bugs, etc... or general history of the time. Never any gruesome details. I learned later he was at both Tarawa and Saipan.
My Father was in the combat engineers in WWII.
He always admired the infantry and also armor. From what I have read, they returned the feelings.
It’s interesting that the GEOT is such a non traditional war that I have several classmates who have received Purple Hearts and who were under fire every day for months—and yet they never qualified for the CIB; they got the CAB.
No, they were not infantry—I understand the qualifications and why they are set up that way. But these guys were literally under the same rifle, rocket, and mortar attacks as the Infantry—standing next to them.
I was alway under the impression that the CAB was thought of as the unimpressive little brother to the CIB. But the Purple Hearts are equal.
A good friend after his father, a WW-II vet, died found a letter awarding his father the bronze star. His father grew up in a German speaking family in South Dakota. When his infantry unit captured a German soldier he interrogated him and learned the German unit in front of them might be pursued to surrender. This very brave US infantryman, went unarmed to the German lines and convinced the German unit to surrender. For this heroic action he was awarded a bronze star. My friend said his father never talked about the incident and was surprised when he found that citation.
For a good read on the 45th's actions in Europe, I recommend "Rock of Anzio" by Flint Whitlock and "The Liberator" by Alex Kershaw. These civilian soldiers showed the world that they could fight the best of the enemy and win!
Johnny I Hardly Knew You
The Clancy Brothers
When goin’ the road to sweet athy, hurroo, hurroo
When goin’ the road to sweet athy, hurroo, hurroo
When goin’ the road to sweet athy
A stick in me hand and a drop in me eye
A doleful damsel I heard cry
Johnny I hardly knew ye
With your drums and guns and guns and drums, hurroo, hurroo
With your drums and guns and guns and drums, hurroo, hurroo
With your drums and guns and guns and drums
The enemy nearly slew ye
Oh darling dear, ye look so queer
Johnny I hardly knew ye
Where are the eyes that looked so mild, hurroo, hurroo
Where are the eyes that looked so mild, hurroo, hurroo
Where are the eyes that looked so mild
When my poor heart you first beguiled
Why did ye run from me and the child
Oh Johnny, I hardly knew ye
With your drums and guns and guns and drums, hurroo, hurroo
With your drums and guns and guns and drums, hurroo, hurroo
With your drums and guns and guns and drums
The enemy nearly slew ye
Oh darling dear, ye look so queer
Johnny I hardly knew ye
Where are the legs we looked you run, hurroo, hurroo
Where are the legs we looked you run, hurroo, hurroo
Where are the legs that looked you run
But first you went to carry a gun
Indeed your dancing days are done
Oh Johnny, I hardly knew ye
With your drums and guns and guns and drums, hurroo, hurroo
With your drums and guns and guns and drums, hurroo, hurroo
With your drums and guns and guns and drums
The enemy nearly slew ye
Oh darling dear, ye look so queer
Johnny I hardly knew ye
Ye haven’t an arm, ye haven’t a leg, hurroo, hurroo
Ye haven’t an arm, ye haven’t a leg, hurroo, hurroo
Ye haven’t an arm, ye haven’t a leg
Ye’re an armless, boneless, chickenless egg
You’ll have to be left with a bowl out to beg
Oh Johnny I hardly knew ye
I’m happy for to see ye home, hurroo, hurroo
I’m happy for to see ye home, hurroo, hurroo
I’m happy for to see ye home
All from the island of sulloon
So low in flesh, so high in bone
Oh Johnny I hardly knew ye
With your drums and guns and guns and drums, hurroo, hurroo
With your drums and guns and guns and drums, hurroo, hurroo
With your drums and guns and guns and drums
The enemy never slew ye
Oh darling dear, ye look so queer
Johnny I hardly knew ye
I entered the Naval Reserve in 1948, hoping it would get me into Navy ROTC, since I saw no other way of paying for college. I failed the Navy's eye test, but the Air Force ROT C was willing to accept me despite my wearing glasses, but I was barred from flight training. I spent 22 years on active duty, including a tour in SEA 1962 - 1963, as an electronics engineer. Spent some time in Viet Cong territory carrying a then-experimental AR-15, but never fired a shot in anger, nor came under fire. Just as well,from my standpoint. I was much happier designing bomb sights than I would have been getting shot at. Still, it was a very formative part of my life.
So many wonderful stories of courage and commitment. My son served in the Gulf war and God bless - he came home safe and sound.
Most enlisted guys (and gals) retain their sense of humor so I am adding these for the many FReepers who are Veterans:
When the sergeant told our new commander that his driver could not participate in an upcoming field maneuver because she was pregnant, the enraged commander demanded to know just how pregnant she was.
The sergeant’s reply: “Completely, sir.”
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The average age of people living in our military retirement community is 85. Recently, a neighbor turned 100, and a big birthday party was thrown. Even his son turned up.
“How old are you?” a tenant asked.
“I’m 81 years old,” he answered.
The tenant shook her head. “They sure grow up fast, don’t they?”
..........................................................
“Next time I send a damn fool, I go myself.”
—Sgt. Louis Cukela, reportedly said at the Battle of Belleau Wood during World War I
Only with reluctance and humility if at all did they talk of combat, and when they did, they emphasized the bravery of others and the chances and experiences that enabled them to survive. For example, a dive bomber pilot who flew against the Japanese in the South Pacific, attributed his survival to years of flight experience before the war, including work as an instructor. He survived because he learned to dodge at the exact moment when pursuing Jap fighters were poised to shoot, thereby making their bursts of gunfire miss.
A lieutenant in the first wave at Omaha Beach on D-Day got ashore only because he pulled his .45 and threatened to shoot the British sailor who was piloting their landing craft. Otherwise, as Saving Private Ryan showed, he and his heavily-laden men would have drowned after being dumped into water too deep to wade ashore. I know of that story because his son gave my brother a copy of a letter from his father telling him that going away to college was not so bad compared to what he had gone through at the same age.
As I have gotten older, I usually spend Veterans Day thinking of these men and other combat veterans I have known and of the millions of others who fought for our country. I know well that our security and freedom have come only at considerable cost.
This was well portrayed in the biopic of the most decorated American soldier of WW2, Audie Murphy - "To Hell and Back". In one scene, some newbies are griping about how they are being coldly treated by Murphy as their sergeant. They are made to think when one of the grizzled vets gives them the cold hard facts. No one wants to make friends with someone who will likely die in the next week!!! If the newbies live past that, then the others will be more friendly. A fact of battle life!
To my late Uncle Fred, 335th Infantry Regiment, 3rd. Battalion. I Company, 84th. Infantry Division. Wounded on January 3 ,1945 Marche Belgium. Made it home ok. Thanks Unc. God bless you.
Combat is an all in involvement. Its not the Infantry alone, its the CS units that go with them. You will find field Hospitals and communication centers along with Supply and transportation. The other troops should have combat badges for signal, medic,S&T MPs, Engineers if they come under fire direct or indirect. An Infantry Div. takes their 05 Charlies right into the action, along with their 92Bs.
My father was in WWII, 3rd Army, 2nd Armored Division. May I recommend a excellent first hand account of infantry fighting also under Patton:
Amazon.com: Visions From a Foxhole: A Rifleman in Patton’s ...
https://www.amazon.com/Visions-Foxhole-Rifleman-Pattons-Ghost/dp/0891418504
Now, in Visions from a Foxhole, Foley recaptures that desperate, nerve-shattering struggle in all its horror and heroism. Features the author’s artwork of his fellow soldiers and battle scenes, literally sketched from the foxhole
I served in the 1st Bn 52nd Infantry in the 80’s in Germany.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/52nd_Infantry_Regiment_(United_States)
During WW2, the 52nd fought at St Vin, Bastone and captured the critical bridgehead at Ramagan. They wer some tough bastards.
Too many people in this country NOT worth dying for today. The ones trying to destroy it. Over half.
Not worth it.
If the fight comes to me I fight. not gonna die for some corporate interest or a bunch of socialist assh0les.
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Each year I join a thread and tell the same story in one version or another as a tribute to many men of my family who have served. In all of World War II, Korea, Vietnam and now these endless wars on terror and of hopeless nation building all have come home safely. They have run the range of service from combat medic on a little trip up Papua New Guinea and into the Philippines, the youngest B-25 pilot in the SW Pacific at the start of the war, Navy fighter pilot in the Pacific, small town baker become submariner in the Pacific, destroyer communications officer, Gunny at Chosin, Vietnam door gunner and now F-15E pilot to name a few.
Growing up most days would find me tagging along to work with my engineer Father. Most days we would share a lunch Mom packed or a quart of milk and loaf of fresh baked Italian bread and maybe some Caciocavera cheese. On payday though we would go deposit the check and treat with a chicken fried steak, mashed potatoes, white gravy, green beans and clover rolls.
There were little cards with small lapel poppies at the teller window, you put your quarter in the slot and took your poppy. Each payday Dad would get his poppy. Walking down the street to the usual restaurant I asked him what the poppies are for. They are to remember my buddies that didn’t come home Son. He never did forget them. Neither can we forget them and the ones who serve and served with them.
This is a post I put up every year about my neighbor, Bob.
On observance of Veterans Day...
This is Robert “Bob” Waddell. He is 89 years old. Bob is a good friend, neighbor, and a military veteran of WWII and Korea. Bob is one of the most unassuming and cheerful people you will ever meet, if you ever have the good fortune to do so. Here is his story.
Bob was born in Redlands, CA on 15 September, 1928. He grew up as a child during the midst of the Great Depression and Dust Bowl period of that time. Like so many then, his parents fell victim to the harsh economic situation and the family travelled extensively between California across the Southwest and Midwest earning a living as migrant farm workers ( a whole other chapter worth its its own story). His family remained in California as WWII broke out in late 1941. Bob’s older brother Hal, joined the US Army Air Corps at 18 in early 1944, trained and served as a P-51 fighter pilot in Europe (and later as an F-86 pilot in Korea).
Bob was determined to follow after his big brother and join the military. In October 1944 at the ripe old age of 16 he made his way to the local recruiting station, lied about his age and signed up for the Army Air Corps for flight training. During in-processing, it was discovered that Bob was color blind disqualifying him for training as a pilot. He suddenly found himself attending basic infantry and airborne training at Ft Bragg, NC instead. The situation in Europe and the Pacific was changing rapidly by the time Bob finished his initial training. The Army sent him and some of his fellow trainees to Ft Knox, Ky to train as a replacement tank crewman. Within a few weeks they were pulled out of that training and immediately sent by troop ship for replacement assignment with the Adjutant Generals “school” in London. The war in Europe was rapidly coming to a close as Bob arrived in England.
Spring, 1945. Bob’s first duty assignment on mainland Europe was helping to, as he describes it, “clean up Dachau”. He was part of the post war effort to help bury bodies of dead prisoners left behind by fleeing German SS guards and assisted in repatriating camp survivors. Newly promoted Corporal Waddell then moved from Dachau for a brief stay at Strasbourg, Germany guarding bodies of American soldiers awaiting final burial. He spent the remainder of his time in western France assigned to a Graves Registration detachment with the mission of disinterring hastily buried German war dead for re-burial. His detachment also established designated areas as temporary burial sites for American Dead. This gruesome task came with routinely provided rations of Old Crow and Four Roses whiskey (5 fifths a week) along with the purchase of cheap cognac to gargle the taste of death away. This is also when Bob took up smoking (up to 4 packs a day) to block the smells. Everyone in his detachment sprayed themselves down with DDT at night to mask help the stench of rotting corpses.
As bad as it was to endure such an assignment, Bob did enjoy the occasional pass to Paris and the gourmet meals prepared by the French chef surreptitiously “assigned” to their small group. Soldiers will always somehow find a way for creature comforts.
By January, 1946 Bob was on his way home via troopship. He was discharged from active duty as a Tech-Sergeant in February,1946 and began working in a series of construction jobs in California. He met his first wife, Nancy, and they were married in 1950. Shortly thereafter he received a telegram notifying him of his recall to active duty as a result of war erupting in Korea. Bob reported to his initial duty station and was told he was being assigned to Graves Registration based on his previous military experience. Bob stated emphatically that he would do no such thing (again) and as Bob tells it, “they threatened to throw me in the stockade”. Bob told them, “go ahead, because living in the stockade is far better than digging up bodies”. So, he was assigned to a rifle platoon instead.
After a troopship cruise to mainland Japan, Bob found himself in charge of a 52 man rifle platoon undergoing training for action in Korea. He was subsequently promoted to Master Sergeant and led the platoon without a commissioned officer for the duration of the war. Bob and his platoon went ashore at Inchon, Korea on 15 September, 1950. It was Bob’s 22nd birthday. As American forces moved inland and north up the Korean Peninsula, Bob and a few of his platoon members were temporarily assigned to perform long range reconnaissance patrols to determine Chinese troop movements, unit strengths and activities. His patrol reported numerous large Chinese assembly areas of troops. This indicated a buildup for a future offensive operation to the south into American and U.N. Forces lines.
The Chinese initiated their mass attacks beginning in late October, 1950 through the winter of 1951. Bob’s platoon was a small part of the American and U.N. force that fought against these 300,000 strong Chinese Army human wave attacks. Weather conditions during this time were dismal. Many fell victim to severe frostbite injuries. Bob and his soldiers stacked frozen Chinese and North Korean dead as wind breaks and to provide some cover from small arms fire. Ammunition, food and adequate clothing were in short supply.
He and his platoon fought in numerous fierce small unit infantry engagements on the harsh, mountainous Korean terrain. This included hand to hand combat, artillery barrages and small arms fire. He received, as he described, “minor wounds” several times- once in the leg from rifle fire, several times from artillery shrapnel, and a bayonet wound to his upper shoulder. In one operation, he was blown off a tank he was riding on that hit a mine. He sustained back injuries from that incident that still affect him to this day. On one occasion he single handedly destroyed an enemy machine gun position that had his platoon pinned down. Bob crawled around into a ditch, flanking and shooting the enemy crew in the back. He still has nightmares about that one.
Bob remained with his platoon engaged in combat operations throughout the rest of the war and was finally relieved to be sent home just prior to cessation of hostilities in July, 1953. Of the 52 men originally assigned in Bob’s platoon, only 14 remained by the end of their time there. There rest were either KIA/WIA or became cold weather casualties.
Bob finally returned home to California and picked up where he left off, performing various jobs in construction, sales and factory work. He later attended college and earned a bachelors and masters degree, taught high school for a decade, owned and operated a liquor store, obtained a stockbrokers license and bought/sold investments, worked as a travel agent traveling the world and dealt in commercial real estate. He lost his first wife Nancy to cancer after 48 years of marriage. He married his second wife, Carol, several years later and she too died of cancer here at his current home in Georgetown, Texas. Bob is still quite active, enjoys country and western dancing, belongs to a bowling league, enjoys a good book and still travels from time to time.
Bob says he’s no one special, but he’s pretty special to me and Kathy. The thing is that a lot of us know a “Bob”- a quiet soul, unassuming and of great spirit. A veteran, a good citizen, and a kind, gentle human being that just may have endured hell and lived to tell about it. So, today - remember our veterans, living and dead. Remember our men and women who wore and are still wearing a uniform on our behalf. Remember our “Bobs” and be thankful for them- just ordinary Americans who endured extraordinary circumstances; who pass by you quietly on the street without you knowing the depth of their personal story.
Amazing men.