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Soldier's Stories Recollections of
WWII |
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We are going to start to collect and print some of the personal recollections that many of you have sent in. Most of these stories have appeared in previous Mail Calls, and are just being reprinted here. We are not going to do any fancy editing here. The words speak clearly for themselves.
We look forward to receiving many more stories from you all. Send your stories to Ben Barrett at: mailcall@517prct.org
Bob and Ben Barrett
Subj: August 15,1944 - Jump into Southern France
Date: 11/26/2001 5:49:54 PM Eastern Standard Time
From: Joe
Mackiewicz
Ben, I can vividly remember the morning of August 15, 1944 when we jumped into Southern France. It seemed that no sooner than I got the opening shock from the chute opening I was in the tree tops. It was black as hell and I couldn't see anything nor did I hear anything. There I was hanging in the trees and wondering what to do next. I spilled my reserve. (It was white - the main canopy was camouflaged.) The reserve seemed to spill out and down to about what I thought to be about fifteen feet down. In my anxiety to get the hell out of my predicament, I took my jump knife and began cutting the shroud lines on my main chute. When I got down to the last one, I realized that this is not what I should be doing. My intention was to pop the release and climb down the reserve. Well to make a long story short , I cut the last shroud line and prepared myself to fall ten or more feet to the ground. Well guess what, I only fell about six inches and was on solid ground. WOW what a feeling that was. Then to make matters worse, I lost my trigger housing group to my M-1 and couldn't find it right away. I searched around for almost an hour before I found it, it was dark and I was scared all to hell. Incidentally, the reason the reserve fell so far is that the tree was on the edge of a terrace and it missed the edge going down. That was only one of many times that I was scared to death.
Joe Mackiewicz
The Story of the Lost Dog Tags
I don't know exactly where to start. This story has been around a bit and I think that I have read two versions on your Mail Call. Where they came from I can't be sure. I know the Museum in Loveland, Ohio has info about the story and the Albuquerque Journal printed a piece on it, but what I have read on Mail Call isn't exactly right, so let's start from the beginning.
I did hit the ground hard in total darkness and along with a few other boys found the company about noon. We got into a tight spot near Les Arcs, and dug in near a house and watched the Germans massing in the valley below and expected the worst until our mortars and artillery swamped that valley at about 5:30. We had been under fire for two or three hours, but after those big shells cleared the valley, the battle was over. We were extremely tired, so we dropped to the ground around the house and slept. I soon missed my dog tags and got new ones. In 1978 Fred and Colette Sayes, who live in the house, were cleaning their yards when Colette had my dog tag grab her rake. Much later I learned that she called it a small metal plaque. They tried to find me in the Draguignan Cemetery and by writing to the address on the tag. No success so they placed it in an envelope and placed it in a drawer.
In 1989 a group of 517 vets returned to the area. Among the group were two men who knew me, Ben Adams and Dick Jones. The group were hanging out in the plaza in Les Arcs, when Fred Saeys approached Ben and asked, "If he, per chance, knew Eugene Brissey". Ben said "yes" and called Dick. Fred told them that he had Eugene Brissey's dog tag. They talked, took pictures, and Fred gave them his address. When they returned home they called me. I wrote to Fred and after several letters it was apparent that they wanted to keep the tag, which was OK with me. I requested that they send it to me so that I could see it. With some reluctance, perhaps, Fred said that he would send it because "it would be more special to them after it had been in my hands". I kept it a few weeks and I suspect that they never expected to see it again. I sent it back stating that I wanted them to keep it because I had it for about 14 months and lost it while they had kept it safe in a drawer for about 11 years. They then informed me that the wanted to return it to me. Then they urged my wife, Edie, and me to visit them, saying that the wine was fine in October. After considerable thought we accepted their invitation and met them in Nice on Oct. 21 1990 and within a few minutes we were relaxed friends. We met several of their friends and a few French vets. They took us on tours through our battle grounds. They then presented me the tag in a brief ceremony at their home. During our stay, Nice newspaper reporters came to their home, took pictures and wrote a story of the "Saga". It was an unbelievable chain of events. They are great people and we had a very special five day visit.
-- Gene Brissey, March 6, 2001
Dear Ben:
Fred Beyer sent me this message about Frank Dallas. Several of my acquaintances credit Frank with saving their lives with the keen eyes and quick reaction to a disastrous situation. Fred didn't send you a copy so I'm passing it along for those who may be interested, including Frank's family.
"I can only think of Frank Dallas, Sgt. Dallas. A few days ago you wrote a piece about Sgt. Dallas killing five Germans and wondering about how much ammo he had in his rifle. His first shot was from his 45. I was with him at the time. That night he said, 'Beyer, you and I are sleeping out on the point tonight.' We went out and piled some brush around us and went to sleep. In the morning we got up and to our surprise a German was coming at us. I guess he was just as surprised as we were. My rifle was on the ground by my bed roll. I couldn't get it quick enough but Sgt. Dallas had his 45 out and shot him. Then looking down the road, we saw five Germans around Capt. McGeever's and Pvt. Woodcock's bodies. This is when the Sgt. started shooting them. In the meantime, a patrol of Germans was coming up along the side of the mountain. Our platoon took care of them. When Sgt. Dallas shot the first one he saved me cause I couldn't get my rifle fast enough. From that time on, the one that came at us, that he shot, was known as the bread man, cause he had a loaf of bread under his arm. I hope Col. Dallas's son or wife reads this to him. I am sure he will remember the bread man. Fred Beyer"
Howard Hensleigh
Subj: Pearl Harbor Day
Date: 12/7/2001 1:14:34
PM Eastern Standard Time
From: Roy Herren
To: Ben517
On DEC 7.1941 I was a new 23 day (one year draftee). Just got drafted on the 14th of Nov. 1941. They hauled us out of bed at 3:00am in Camp Croft, South Carolina and issued us full field packs and ammunition M1's and Enfields. Hell ! I didn't hardly know what to do with it. Eat it or make love to it. Scared to death. We were all green as Hell. They thought they were going to invade the East Coast too. It was my birthday present as I was 22 on the 5th of Nov 1941. Also my younger sister was born on that very day Dec. 7.1941
From The Sunny south,
Roy Herren
Subj: Santa Rosa Trip
Date: 12/13/2001 2:23:32
PM Eastern Standard Time
From: Gene Brissey
Ben, those of us who shared the ship with WACS obviously have a few stories, especially if we were lucky enough to have a lady to share the long days at sea. Those who did had little time to go to the ships store to buy gum, candy, etc. So my good friend Roger Bender and I went into business. With five dollars each we bought about 300 items at three cents each and strolled the decks selling them for five cents each. This business continued for about 12 days resulting in a profit of over $100.00 for each of us. Those young folks sure liked to chew and eat candy or what ever else we could find to eat. Too bad we couldn't sell blankets because the cool night air must have been uncomfortable.
Gene Brissey
Subj: Re: MAIL CALL NO. 204 517TH PRCT
Date:
12/25/2001 1:39:24 PM Eastern Standard Time
From: Howard Hensleigh
Dear Ben, It is Christmas. Although our thoughts are with our loved ones close at hand, we see service men separated from their families, as we were in 1944. Our thoughts are also with those Belgian families who were driven from their homes on that Christmas. We came into one home where Christmas preparations had been made, a cake on the table. Although we ate the cake with relish, it was with mixed emotions -- sadness for the family who had left it behind. We hoped they would survive and return for many family Christmas reunions, with a look upward and thanks for the outcome of the battles that lay ahead. We trust that they are there today surrounded by loved ones rejoicing the miracle of Christmas. For those younger generation 517ers, I will try to express the satisfaction we older generation members have in the fact that you are interested. Each soldier was a part of a unit, a squad, a platoon, a company, a battalion, a regiment, and the whole darned Army (including the Army Air Corps). Then there was the Navy, all participating in the effort to make a better future. Each one of us was a small peanut in a big bag of peanuts. Sometime we knew what was going on and sometimes we just followed the man ahead of us, hoping that the guy in the lead knew where he was going. Sometimes on the trucks in the Bulge, we were so cold that time stood still. A glance at a watch found that the hands had not moved and it was a long time 'till morning. When we were in combat our view was limited to just what we could see. We didn't expect anyone to see what we did in the face of withering fire. Sometimes we were awarded for our acts of courage, and most of the time we were not. There was too much to do to be concerned about that. What we had was the respect of our buddies. That was enough. Least of all did we expect those at home to know what it was like, or to appreciate it in a detailed understanding way. When we got home there were the celebrations in New York. But, the American civilians could not understand us as well as the European civilians, and we didn't understand them. Was it really a hardship to go without nylons, so we could have parachutes, and to be limited in purchases by rations books for everything from gas to food? Now, after over fifty years, they are building monuments in Washington and even places like Des Moines, in recognition of our contribution. Books like the Greatest Generation add to that. One of the most gratifying recognition's though, comes from you younger people who are interested in a detailed way in what your fathers, brothers, uncles and their buddies accomplished. You have thanked us; now we thank you.
Merry Christmas
Howard Hensleigh
Subj: Mail Call No. 164
Date: 10/12/2001 4:49:00
PM Eastern Daylight time
From: Mike Spano
To:
Ben517
Ben, You asked for personal stories. Here's one I will never forget. I know that thousands of eerie events happened to lots of guys that made them believe in a guardian angel. Here's mine.
It was in Manhay. I was with I Company, Third platoon. We led the attack and were right in the middle of our own massive artillery barrage. That night we all jumped into already dug foxholes. The next morning, one of the guys in the foxhole only a few yards away asked me if I would switch foxholes with him. Can't remember his name, but he was a B.A.R. man. Without hesitation I said "sure", and made the switch. It was late morning, I believe, when a P38 lightning flew overhead. Because of its twin fuselage, it was one of the few planes I could recognize, so I jumped out of the foxhole to take care of a personal matter. Suddenly, the P38 dives and drops a 500 pounder. I dove back in the foxhole. That's when I heard that awful scream. I popped my head up just in time to see the guy with whom I had switched foxholes running with no right arm. Just shreds hung down from what remained of his shoulder. I slumped down in disbelief. If I didn't switch foxholes with him, that would be me. Neither he nor his buddy survived just that one bomb. Friendly fire did it to us again. For quite some time I suffered what is called survivor's guilt. Manhay wasn't the only rime my guardian angel was looking after me. I'll tell you about another incident in which I was shot when leading an attack as pointman at a later time. It boggles my mind. Incidentally, if the trooper who was with me in the foxhole is among our members, please write me.
Mike 517
Date: 10/13/2001 10:00:42 AM Eastern Daylight
Time
From: Fred Beyer
I was in Manhay, and will never forget the artillery barrage the night before I lost my arm from that P38. It could be the one you are talking about. I was in a foxhole with Cleo Browning and believe he was killed. I do remember that Lt. Stott was killed that night.
I don't remember any one named Mike off hand. Refresh my memory, will you?
Sunday October 14, 2001
Fred Beyer
Date: 10/13/2001 10:51:06 PM Eastern Daylight
Time
From Mike Spano
Hi, FT Beyer...
I was astounded to hear that you survived the P38 attack. When I saw you running, I thought you would never make it with all the blood loss. God bless you. It was either you or your buddy who switched foxholes with me prior to the attack. Do you remember? Believe me, the switch happened. Was it you or your buddy who was the B.A.R. man? Please let me hear from you. However, we are driving to Florida tomorrow to our winter home and need a week to get my PC turned on there. I can't believe it. All these years I thought you were dead. I don't think we knew each other very well, so I didn't expect you to remember me when I couldn't recall your name either. But I'll never forget the incident. I was in the foxhole next to you.
Mike Spano
Date: 10/19/2001
From: Bill Gearon
Subj:
Manhay
I related the story of Mike Spano and Fred Beyer to my uncle, Lt. Ray Gearon. He remembers the incident with the P38 and the losses from the friendly fire. He was the platoon leader of the 3rd platoon, Co. I, 517th, and Lt. Stott ("Stozie" he called him) was the platoon leader of the 1st platoon. He relates that when it came time to move into town, the shells were coming in very heavy and falling short. My uncle wanted to wait, Lt. Stott did not. Stott left and my uncle followed him about a minute later. When the third platoon caught up to the first platoon, he found "Stozie" dead. He recalled the P38 dropping the bomb and strafing the encampment.
He related a story about Lt. Stott. They were in Nice and a number of children with no money were watching others on a merry-go-round, unable to participate. "Stozie" bought a roll of tickets and he told the operator that all of the children could ride.
My uncle also related another story. He had a man in his platoon (he could not remember his name) that always complained that "he was the last man in the last squad, in the last platoon in the regiment, and the first to go out as a scout."
God bless you all!
Bill Gearon, nephew of Lt. Raymond D. Gearon
From Howard Hensleigh
Tom Cross articulated what all of us feel about Mail Call. The fact that Dick Seitz, Bill Boyle and he are still with us and with it, provides some of the original leadership of all three battalions. Tom's original connection was with the 2nd, but from our last stay at Joigny he was CO of the 3rd. Mel Zais and Forrest Paxton both bowed out early for the 3rd. Col. Graves hung in there for a long time. The 460th is well represented although we lost Cato somewhere along the way. Bob Dalrymple has been there for the Engineers.
As always, the outfit has not been lacking in leadership springing up whenever it was needed, both in combat and in peacetime. When Frank Longo and I came back to get our jump casualties, we entered a small Southern France village. The German burp guns let us know they were still there. A couple of paratroopers who hadn't found their unit moved down the street with a bazooka. The next thing I heard was the "blam" of the bazooka and that was the end of the burp guns. These guys were fighting their own war and for the moment providing their own leadership. That is the way it was and still is with the outfit. Leadership in small or large groups has always been there when needed.
From Howard Hensleigh
I have read Band of Brothers. I recommend it to anyone who wants to know how it was. Although about a different outfit, it will strike home for all 517thers and will be a learning and understanding experience for those of our extended family.
After going through the Bulge again with those Screaming Eagles, I appreciate a warm house and clean sheets. In the middle of one of those cold, endless nights on open trucks taking us to another hole in the dike in the Bulge, we looked off the side of the truck and saw the most miserable hut with some smoke curling out of a make shift chimney. You could imagine that if the guy had anything to eat it would be thin soup. One of the troopers in appreciation of this sight said, "There must be the happiest man in the world". This is humor only Bill Malden and the rest of us dog faces could understand. To be warm and dry on a night like that would be nothing short of heaven.
Date: 1/13/2002 12:20:34 PM Eastern Standard Time
From: Howard Hensleigh
Here is one for Tommy Priest if he is out there somewhere. His two stalwarts [William] Webb and JK Horne were laying wire. Webb saw some Jerries and grabbed his M-1, leveled it and was asked by JK what he intended to do. He replied that he could shoot a couple of Germans who were within rifle range. JK said that if he fired the Germans would fire back and they wouldn't get the wire laid; Lt. Priest and Captain McGeever wouldn't like that. They laid the wire and saved the day, communications being one of the chief elements of organizational coordination. We know that the infantry's job is to close with and destroy the enemy, but sometimes the primary mission takes priority. I got this story straight form our friend Webb at one of our reunions. He led me to believe the communications section was well instructed by its leaders.
Date: 2/1/2002 12:30:06 PM Eastern Standard Time
From: Howard Hensleigh
Dear Ben,
This is a response to one of the sons or grandsons who had read Battling Buzzards, wondering what we thought of it, and queries from Tom Reber about the accuracy of the aid station account mentioning his Dad on page 273. During the War, we knew we were doing something special. We realized that no one would ever know how it was without going through it as we did. I wasn’t sure anyone would take the time to attempt to lay it out in a book. Because of that I have appreciated any author who made the attempt and am particularly appreciative of Gerald Astor. First, this is an excellent book written by a dedicated author who took the time to interview many of our members. He no doubt accurately reported what they said. In general he got things right. However, whenever I read an account of something where I know the details or the people well, I frequently find discrepancies. In associations with people throughout our lives we run into soul mates. In the Army we called them buddies. Dan Dickinson and I spent hours together in combat and for example in a 40 & 8 on the ride from S. France to N. France. There is no way Dan Dickinson would have listened to a braggadocios Kraut with hand injury with Bob Reber standing in line waiting his turn for medical assistance. Nor, do I think Bob was able to stand or lean against a pole. When we carried him down the hill on the door of a Belgian building, I wasn’t sure he would make it to the hospital. Some of you who saw him in Chicago struggle to his feet, refusing assistance, on the dance floor after receiving an award, might believe that in spite of his paralyzing injuries, he would have pulled himself up and told Dan to patch him up and send him back to his mortar platoon. He was that kind of a guy, but I don’t think he was capable of that until he had a lot of VA rehab.
Another of my buddies was "Woody" Woodhull of the 460th. We patrolled together many times in S. France. After a successful combat patrol, Woody would call in artillery to finish the job and keep the enemy troops from deciding to follow us as we withdrew. He was killed by a burst of machine gun fire not more than three feet from me at Bergstein. We were doing our "damnedest" to assist the attack with artillery, probably a little too far forward for an OP, which was usual with Woody. Red Meline and I directed artillery fire to wipe out the machine gun nest after his death. His radio man, I believe a Sgt. Riddle, previously was wounded in the lower leg by a burst of the same gun. That burst went between my legs miraculously not even nicking me. He was standing just behind me and was evacuated. Woody and his observers weren’t killed by mortars as reported on page 292 of the Book, and Woody was the only fatality. Gerald Astor got the drift of Bergstein, which was a heart rending diversionary attack – our last taste of combat and a bad one. A diversionary attack is just that though – an attack to fool the enemy into thinking your main thrust is from one direction, when you really intend to get him from another. If you tell the attacker to put on a good show and not take too many casualties, it probably won’t fool the enemy and won’t be successful. In an attempt to remove some of the bitterness we feel in our enormous losses at Bergstein, personal as well as organizational, we must credit ourselves with the fact that it was a successful diversionary attack. When that outfit swept in from the right with tanks and artillery, they rolled. They rolled because of what we did in that diversionary attack.
Howard Hensleigh
Subj: Santa /Rosa
Date: 1/29/2002 5:36:14 PM
Eastern Standard Time
From: Hal Roberts
Ben,
The way I remember the dead-in-the-water
episode is like this. The convoy was gone and we were on deck with life jackets
on. The nets were over the side and they said that there was a sub in the area.
On the horizon I saw three black spots which became streams of smoke and then
they were on us and around us . They were doing figure 8's off our stern with
depth charges being launched. Soon the ocean had water columns going 50 ft up .
They then broke away and the word was ALL CLEAR and I thought ------'those damn
sailors aren't so bad after all' .
Subj: Re: MAIL CALL NO 119 517TH PRCT
Date:
1/22/2002 5:32:25 PM Eastern Standard Time
From: Howard
Hensleigh
Note to Al Sperry -- Your story reminds me of two things: Make up jumps at Mackall and Lille.
At Mackall just before we pulled out for Patrick Henry, there were a number of troops who hadn't gotten all the jumps in and wanted to make up for lost time. These were what we called glamour jumps with no equipment and no problem to follow. We jumped one morning and many of us were on the ground, including the riggers who had packed the chutes. One man jumped and his chute did not open. His descent accelerated and we all started yelling "Pull your reserve!!", especially the riggers. He did pull it and his chute opened when he was just a few feet from the ground. I thought he would be injured, but he was not. I figured out later what happened. His chute popped open and the strain on the risers caused them to stretch down. They were stretching back up when he hit the ground giving him a little extra lift and a softer landing. I don't mean to say it was soft, but it wasn't quite as hard as it would have been. I took the guy back up and jumped him again so he wouldn't have that jump to look back on when we jumped next, which happened to be in combat. I'd like to know that man's name too.
Lille may be remembered to you as the place you befriended a telephone girl. If you remember, that tent camp we were in outside Lille was where we prepared for a top secret mission. There was barbed wire around the place and armed guards instructed to shoot anyone trying to get in or out. They trusted me to go to Brussels for a truck load of beer at a brewery run by the Brits with all the work done by Belgians. I had the right papers and got the load of beer back to camp without sampling it on the way. The Allies rolled past our intended drop zone and the prize scientists we were to capture for return to the States. I was never sure whether they were jet engine experts or the ones who invented the buzz bombs that devastated London and Antwerp. At any rate, this freed up the outfit to take turns to visit Lille.
Here again they trusted me to be in charge of the MPs in town. Officially, Capt. Bill Young was in charge, but we never saw him from the time we got there until we pulled out. The MPs were not really MPs, but just 517thers with MP armbands. Our guys wouldn't pay any attention to an MP who didn't wear jump boots. So there we were. The trucks rolled into town at noon and left at midnight. Our job was to see that the boys did not tear the place apart. I had a jail and keys to it so it could serve as a temporary lock-up. It was underground and resembled a mediaeval dungeon. Everyone was really pretty good. The bars, dance halls, and other establishments of entertainment flourished. I watched the trucks unload so I would know who was in town.
There was a guy named McQuade form I Company who was one of our best men in combat. In some of the Southern France attacks he helped cut a hole in enemy lines to allow I Company to get on with its mission without severe casualties. He shot Germans like he shot rabbits back home, and he loved to hunt. The were stories that a judge in Chicago let him out of jail if he would join the paratroops. Paxton never approved a medal because of his out of combat extra curricular activities. When he had a few drinks he didn't know who was the enemy. He shot an Italian in Italy and was saved by Mel Zais just before the jump into S. France, as is covered in Battling Buzzards. Zais put the fear of God into him by telling him that if he got into any more trouble Zais would skin him alive and drum him out of the outfit. This was a real threat to McQuade, because he loved the outfit. It was honorable, patriotic work and he loved being with his I Company buddies who were somewhat in awe of him.
When I saw him get off the truck, I alerted my MPs to keep an eye on McQuade and to bring him to me before he got into serious trouble. At around 1500 hours two of my guys brought me a very drunk McQuade. He had just started to tear a bar apart. I took him down to the dungeon and locked him up. He was mortified and unashamedly crying. I left him there until about twenty-three thirty when I let him out and took him back to the trucks. I told him that I would not prefer charges against him and made a friend for life. The next time I noticed McQuade was when the high point men marched down to the train in Joigny. The route to the train was wet with McQuade's tears. He was crying his eyes out because he didn't wasn't to leave the outfit. With the War over, the I Company C.O. moved this combat hero on to some unsuspecting 82nd Airborne CO and as far as I know, none of us ever learned the rest of the McQuade story.
That wasn't the end of the Lille story. The War in Europe ended while we were there. Everything in the town stopped to celebrate the victory. The Marselle was belted out from the town square so that it could be heard all over town; it played non stop for three days and three nights. The street car operators stopped their street cars right where they were in the middle of the street, got off and joined the celebration. Farm families walked into town sometimes pushing wheel barrows full of farm produce to be shared with city relatives. Every one loved us and for once it appeared that some of the French actually appreciated what we had done in liberating the place.
Subj: My Favorite Belgium Bulge Snow Story
Date: 1/18/2002 12:14:28 AM Eastern Standard Time
From: Gene
Brissey
I've seen several good stories about our time overseas so, decided to send one.
In mid January 1945 some where between Trois Ponts and the Hunnage and St. Vith area we were struggling through the snow toward a forest. We were in groups by battalion or company. In any case when we approached the forest we formed into platoons and entered the forest. It was completely dark and with a few bullets flying around we became separated and our platoon, in single file stopped and tried to figure out what to do next. I was following the platoon leader who stopped us and directed me to hold the platoon in place until he found the other troops. He took off and never came back. After 30 minutes or so while a few bullets were still flying overhead I heard troops walking to our right. I had no way of knowing who they were but after a few more minutes I told the trooper behind me to pass the word back that we were moving out but not to tell them that we had been deserted. I walked forward a few yards and almost fell into a trench which had been made by the troops going by in the deep snow. I felt that there was but one logical assumption to make. This "trench" was made by our troops. Since it was pitch dark I could only lead the way by feeling with my feet and legs. We walked this ways for a long time. Dawn finally came and we could see the tracks. We began walking fast and soon caught the troops ahead of us who were ours.
Immediately words were passed back asking if the third platoon was back there. "If so send them forward." We went up the line until we found a couple officers who ordered us to go into the forest to determine if there were any Germans. About a hundred yards later we encountered a bunch but could barely see them because of the dense forest. We had two guys in the platoon who could speak German. We started to negotiate. Neither side would surrender so shots were fired and all hell broke loose. We chased them out, didn't capture any and never found any bodies. We regrouped with the outfit and moved a short distance and dug in. Shortly thereafter I received word to report to some officer who wanted to give me a snow suit. I told him that some of the troops did not have a suit. "That's OK " he said, "after what you did this morning I don't want to lose you." He didn't say a word about what I had done and I never ever heard another word about my favorite Bulge "snow go."
Gene Brissey
Subj: Recollections
Date: 2/16/2002 11:33:27 AM
Eastern Standard Time
From: Gene Brissey
During those long weeks overlooking Sospel, my squad and I were on forward outpost for 30 days. We had turned our slit trenches into nice under ground condos. I even had a straw mattress and a phone in mine. We were located between Col de Braus and Luceram. We would make frequent patrols to the Col de Braus area to make contact with the troops on hill 1098, Col de Braus or wherever in the heck they were. We were shelled daily but the only casualty was a squirrel which I shot while on patrol. We boiled it in a tin can but I didn't get a bite. The squad members ate it all before I knew it was cooked.
Since those long ago days I have visited Col de Braus and the Sospel area twice, the last time was 1999. It's much the same, a few destroyed buildings just as we left them in '44. There are a couple new spots placed there, no doubt to grab some tourist money. That road up to Col de Braus is still a series of curves or switch backs but a lot easier to maneuver than back then. You can see a good picture of that road in the last THUNDERBOLT. John Krumm Jr. and his wife and my wife and I made the '99 trip. John and I wanted to find that old outpost site so we turned on a logging road and traveled to Luceram. On the way we found the outpost where his dad and we other squad members spent that long 30 days. The remains of our "condos" were very evident, still shallow trenches and many rusted ration cans. That brought chills up my back! Many stories could be told about that period but not now.
Gene Brissey, E CO.
Subj: Recollections
Date: 2/16/2002 11:33:27 AM
Eastern Standard Time
Part of Mail from Howard
Hensleigh
Welcome aboard to Herb Jeff, Jr. Please don't think I have total recall. Some of this was refreshed at Ft. Benning in a conversation with Herb, but I do remember the incident clearly. We were in Pierra Cava, I believe. Herb Jeff was Woody Woodhull's right hand man in relaying artillery adjustments to the 460th gun crews over his radio. Col. Cato put out an order stating that all the radio men would also be orderlies for the artillery liaison and observers. I really don't pin this on Col. Cato, but one of his staff probably had the bright idea. Herb approached Woody and told him from then on he could carry his own d-----d radio. Woody sensed the difficulty and told Herb that they would continue as they had in the past -- satisfactory to both. They were a team anyone would like to have on a patrol and they were always with us. Not only did they help us accomplish our missions, but if the Germans were on our trail as we withdrew, they kept a few rounds between us and them. One thing I didn't know was that he and Woody often discussed how great it would be to be in the infantry and be entitled to wear a Combat Infantry Badge. Those guys deserved one. When we meet up, I'm going to make Herb an honorary member of the "Queen of Battle".
Howard Hensleigh
Subj: About Your Grandfather Max
Long
Date: 10/31/2001
From: Gene
Brissey
Dear Kristen:
I read your notes in the 517th Mail Call. As I write this, I have before on my keyboard a great picture of Max Long of Company E, who was a friend and also in my squad. If I had to pick out one man as a model for a paratrooper, I would pick Max Long. he stood tall, straight, and strong. He was pleasant, a good friend and a great soldier. I don't know where to start or where to stop, but I will try.
I met Max in our early training period. we were in the same squad of 12 men in the third platoon of Company E. we were together from training camp to a cold and terrible day in Belgium. Please let me work up to that end and be as brief as possible. Of course, Max and I shared the same barracks and we boys would sometimes have fun boxing matches, with large 16 ounce gloves. One day Max and I were having a friendly match, which wasn't very wise of me because he was much larger and stronger. We were doing OK until he hit me in the left temple and knocked me flat. this, of course, caused NO hard feelings between us. We trained hard and he became a machine gunner and I eventually became a squad leader with him in my squad, I am proud to say.
We went to Italy in May 1944 and were in combat around Rome for a while. then we jumped into France on August 15th 1944. Max and I were in combat there for 43 straight days. we were then sent to Northern France for a rest and Christmas party in early December 1944. the rest was short because the Germans broke through in the Ardennes in Belgium. Our outfit was sent immediately to fight in the battle of the Ardennes, which became known as the Battle of the Bulge. We were in horrible weather and terrible combat. Max and I, with the 517th, moved forward as we drove the enemy back. One memorable night, we were near the front lines and were permitted to make beds for the night. Beds were any combination of materials that we could get our hands on from the load of stuff dumped from a truck in our midst. we slept for a short while and then told that we had to go farther toward the front and that we could carry our beds with us if we had the strength. Max, being a machine gunner, could not carry the gun and "bedding", so I told him to take the bedding and I would take the gun. He objected, but as squad leader, I insisted and he grabbed some bed stuff and I took the gun and we stumbled through the snow for an hour or two until we were told to dig in again. Max started digging into the snow and some young man came up to me and gave me a little bed roll.*
Max and I decide to bunk together as we stayed alert for action if we were needed. Max took his boots off and we went to sleep. the next morning we were completely covered by snow when we were told to get up and move out toward the front. Unfortunately, Max found that his boots were frozen and he could not get them on. we worked for several minutes to warm and soften them. He finally got them on and we moved to the front and into battle. In the afternoon, we were in a forest when a large German artillery shell burst in the trees above us. I was knocked out, but not hit by any metal. When I woke up, Max was beside me with a large ash down his right shoulder and back. The shell burst also wounded Lt. Quigley and several others.
I never saw nor hear from Max again. I was able to continue and help liberate Belgium, and moved into Germany where, on February 8th, in the last battle of the war for the 517th, I was wounded. I never returned to the 517th or to another company after the 517th was reassigned to other paratrooper units.
Sadly, I heard a few years ago that my good friend Max had passed away. This is very brief and does not nearly cover the experiences that we had. If you have any questions, please feel free to contact me.
Gene Brissey
* What followed was one of the "warmest" things that happened to me during combat. As I stood there wondering how I was going to sleep, the company radio man came up to me and said, "I saw what you did back there and I brought you this." He handed me a small sleeping bag which was the warmest thing I had ever seen. [...] We moved on but the memory of that young man bringing me that sleeping bag will never move on from my memory.
Date: 11/3/2001
From: Gene
Brissey
Ben,
As jokes sometimes do, a story in Mail Call usually reminds one of a similar story. Reading Howard Hensleigh's story about sleeping in a house brings back two of my sleeping-in-a-bed stories during the Battle of the Bulge.
First, I slept in a great bed in Trois Ponts for two nights. During this time we requisitioned steaks and butter from a butcher shop. Cooked in butter, those steaks were even better then tan?in ones. Next, when we entered the village of Hunnange (now called Hunningen), our platoon leader assigned each squad a street with instructions to clear the houses and then we could pick one in which to sleep. I took my squad to the first house on the street where a sliver of light was showing from a window. I told most of the squad to go to the rear of the house and two other men and I would chase the Germans from the house. With the two men backing me up, I knocked on the door. the door flew open and a big guy jumped out and grabbed me. I thought that I was in trouble for a spit second until a woman jumped out, grabbed and hugged me. I immediately told the squad that we would spend the night here. the Belgian family fed us fried potatoes, the only food they had. We gave them some of our rations and prepared for sleep. We were in their basement. I went to the first floor bed room and crawled into a beautiful bed. However, this did not seem like a good place to sleep, since the Germans were shelling the village from the St., Vith area. I retreated to the basement and slept with whoever could get in there. The next morning, four of us went out to see what we had failed to clear out. A group of women were screaming "Bosche", or something like that and pointing to a nearby basement. we went in and captured a German officer and seven men and a radio vehicle. the officer wanted to go to the vehicle. we finally let him do so. He reached in and pulled out five bottles of schnapps. May not have spelled that right, but we knew it was German booze. We tried a little of it and sent the Germans to the rear and soon joined the tanks and headed for St. Vith which was a mile away. The enemy cleared out. I think though, some other outfit went into town and we took off for Stavelot for three or four days of rest. the Bulge was straight again.
Gene Brissey
Date: 11/2/2001
From: Howard Hensleigh
Re: Sleeping Bags
When I read Gene Brissey's account about the care we took of each other and the sacrifice, it stirs my own memories on the same subject, with a slightly different twist. Some of the things that happened are a bit brutal, but in the context of what we went through, they are understandable.
Grant Hooper borrowed my sleeping bag in that snow-strewn attach south of Stavelot which lasted several days. This was unusual, but I let him have it. We were in the cellar of a house to lessen the effect of the artillery fire. Without a sleeping bag, I said to hell with it and went upstairs, took my boots off and slept like a baby in a big bed with a warm set of bedding. That was the best night's sleep I got during the whole Bulge. I had to patrol early next morning. By night, the outfit had moved out on the attack. I went to Hooper expecting that he had recovered his own sleeping bag by then. He had. I asked him for mine and he said he expected me to come around to where he slept and pick it up. From then on, I slept somehow without a sleeping bag. In Manhay, there was a badly wounded German lying in the street. He had a blanket and lasted for several days. We didn't try too hard to get him out because the SS bastards put our meat wagon under artillery fore whenever we evacuated casualties. On the third or fourth night Red Meline came to me and said that the German had died and gave me his blanket.
That I remember this today means that I really appreciated how considerate Red was. Warm feelings for Hooper, though, didn't materialize.
My best to all,
Howard Hensleigh
Date: October 1, 2001
From: Randolph
Coleman, Company Headquarters, 2nd Battalion, F Co,
From the beginning, April of 1943 to the fall of 1944, I was a proud member of this gallant company of heroes. I still am proud. I'll never forget my first day at Camp Toccoa when then Major Sietz told me "We take you in as boys, and send you home as men". Further checking me out, he asked me what I would do if he ordered me to punch a hole in his office wall. I, without any hesitation, said I would do it. I guess he thought if I was crazy enough to do that, I would fit right in. Some things I said or did yesterday, I forget... but, I have not forgotten anything from 1943 to 1945!
Thanks for the memories and God Bless you all.
Randolph Coleman
Date: 12/24/2001 2:00:16 PM Eastern Standard Time
From: Jim Mortensen
Boom Boom [Alicki]'s comments about Joe Brown caused me to dig into my library.
Our forward observation group included a radio operator named J.G. Ward Jr. I think I may have tracked him down though I haven't had a response from the address you gave me, Ben.
We had a rifleman attached to our small group as we
crossed those damned mountains on the way to Col de Bras. Though I can't recall
his name, I'll never forget the day we were resting behind a farm house about
lunch time. There wasn't much to eat! All of a sudden we heard this big todo and
I heard him yell "get out of here you sonsabitches," and out he came with 3
German prisoners in tow. He was armed, since he was out hunting chickens not
soldiers, with only a trench knife! We never got over it.
Mentioning Col de Bras brings back another memory and then I'll quit. My forward OP (and my daytime residence) was a stack of stones on top of the mountain. It offered a sweeping view of the valley below. Nothing could move without my seeing it. It was a long hike straight up from the cave at the base. I'm sure you remember the cave if you were in the vicinity. It was near the road and we called it home in between passes to Nice. Anyway, most mornings began with a duel between one or more of our 75MM howitzers and the mortars hidden in the fortified mountain just across that funny saddleback. It was sort of routine. The 75's couldn't do much damage to the concrete bunkers but it scared the heck out of them. Their mortars had a hard time zeroing in on my fortress. Then, one morning they got a little closer and started dropping rounds just behind me and, all of a sudden one hit the edge of the pile of stone. There was no time to duck and I heard a lot of steel go whizzing by my exposed head. Unhurt, I began to look around and picked up the binoculars which had been hanging around my neck so I could try once again to find that doggone mortar.
The glasses didn't feel right, and they didn't see right either. The upper lenses had been cut off as neatly as if someone had taken a jeweler's saw to the job! By my calculation I missed losing my heart (instead of my 7X50's) by about 3 1/2 inches. I couldn't find a trace of the glass or anything else. Lucky day.
I drove through Col de Bras many years later and had a chance to look at that fortified mountain of theirs. It was a mini-Maginot line! Anyway, it reminded me why I was not unhappy when we started down the mountain, went across the valley and on to greater glory in the Bulge.
And HAPPY HOLIDAYS TO ALL!
Jim Mortensen
Date: 2/15/2002 7:11:40 PM Eastern Standard Time
From: Howard Hensleigh
Ludlow Gibbons gave Mr. Astor a brief account of his and Mel Zais’ encounter with the Rangers in Paris. It appears on pages 299 & 300 of "Battling Buzzards". I don’t know what Lud told the author and he didn’t contact me. Here is what happened. Although he did play poker with him, Lud didn’t go to Paris with the Lt. Col. He went with another lowly Lt., namely me. Neither of us liked what the troops called Pig Alley (no French spelling mistakes here), a section of Paris known for certain types of entertainment. So, we went out to the Quarter Master Sales Store and bought some clothing, insignia etc. There we made the acquaintance of a very presentable WAC Lt. When we asked if she would like to see some of the night life of Paris she readily agreed. Lud selected a horse drawn carriage for two. He was fast on his feet and rode with the young lady – I on top with the driver. Seems to me that I paid the fare too. We ended up at a posh dance hall and soon found that Mel Zais and Bob McMahon had selected the same spot for the evening. The young lady brightened up the booth and the conversation. Soon two husky Ranger Lts. caught sight of our WAC Lt. and became a little bothersome in trying to strike up a conversation with her. Mel promptly said "OK, Boy Scouts, move on!" One of the Rangers lunged at Mel. Mel came up with one from the floor sending the Ranger skidding on his back across the dance floor into several dancing couples. We determined that this type of activity should be carried on outside. Bob kept the young lady company and all five of us hit the exit. The wounded Ranger immediately paired off with Mel and the other with Lud. In two minutes Mel had knocked his man down three times and Lud had his man tied in knots, pinned flat on his back, saying "uncle". Rumor was that Lud had been a New Jersey State wrestling champ and it was obvious that Mel had learned to use his fists in Fall River and elsewhere. The Rangers recognized talent when they saw it and offered to buy us drinks at the bar. I must give Mel credit. He said, ""No, it will be much better if you go your way and we go ours". No sooner had we settled comfortably back in our booth (not a hair out of place) than a five man MP contingent arrived demanding to know where the Rangers and Paratroops were that were having a riotous battle. We said we hadn’t seen them and suggested that they were probably outside. Mel’s quick thinking undoubtedly kept us from spending the night at least in the brig. Those rear echelon MP's were death on combat troops and paid homage to their quartermaster bosses who ended up in Paris against Ike’s orders with the self imposed mission of protecting Paris and the Parisians from destruction at our hands. Further the deponent sayeth not.
Howard Hensleigh
I would like to get Lud's version of the episode.
Ben Barrett
Date: 2/16/2002 12:05:44 AM Eastern Standard Time
From: Gene Frice
Ben,
Maybe we should put the “SS Santa Rosa”
back in service. Among the many who were traveling on the Santa Rosa was one
individual who had to be one of the more fortunate members of the 517th. That
individual was me.
For some reason I encountered the displeasure of one of my company officers and I was placed on one of those “lists.” My occasional disagreement with buddies had led to physical combat. I did not always win (they cheated). For what ever reason, I was placed on a work detail and assigned to the Santa Rosa Merchant Marine crew for supervision -- meaning swab the decks, polish the brass and, I guess, clean the latrines .
As everyone recalls, eating and sleeping for the troops (enlisted that is) was somewhat of a challenge. Meals were twice daily and the lines took up the balance of the day.
In view of my “felony” conviction, the crew decided I was not such a bad guy. I certainly did not want to fight them and they took me under their wing. I had one of their bunks, ate with them, and was issued a pass for almost the entire ship. They did actually assign me various duties. All in all it was a pleasure.
Now, consider that I was a tender 17-year-old buck at the time and a Pfc. at that. I was able to meet several very nice other members of that other Santa Rosa touring group who also sympathized with my work sentence. Those others were, in fact, nice people -- no pun intended.
Being somewhat of a environmental kind of a person, I spent a great deal of time, day and night, at the stern or the fantail, sometimes accompanied by my new found friends (as in the Titanic). It was a beautiful sight watching the phosphorescence of the water and the surfing marine life as the ship cut through the water. It was even more pronounced as we neared the Mediterranean. I wondered at the time if the Luftwaffe could spot the phosphorescence wake from the air.
I do recall the overnight shut down of the engines and what a beautifully quiet picture, or target, we presented in the AM. We were fortunate a cruising sub did not locate us as the single destroyer would have had difficulty defending itself much less rescuing the Santa Rosa. Ray Hess recently described our basking duck in our 517th mail call. Soon, as we all recall, we then were on our way at good speed-not zigzagging as the rest of the convoy before us.
Necessarily, I must describe one allegedly exotic (erotic) portion of the trip. This involved the ingenious, or perverted, planning of the military. You may recall, or maybe would rather not, the passenger manifest included a large contingent of WAC’s aboard the Santa Rosa with a large contingent of over-sexed parachutists (primarily commissioned ranks as such conduct is not authorized for enlisted personnel). I still don’t know if the unit selection for transport was simply poor planing, was a major strategic goof to present a target for German subs, or intended as a weird benevolent present to those that may soon die.
I do recall the daily physical training program that was conducted on deck under the cloak of a GI blanket. One day during the course of my duties on the Bridge (swabbing decks, I guess), I overheard the comment of the Captain (God bless his soul), “If I thought my ship was going to turn into a sea-going whore house, I would have scuttled it in Newport News.”
I have not again had the pleasure of such an enjoyable cruise .
Gene Frice, F Co, 517th
Date: 2/26/2002 6:29:59 PM Eastern Standard Time
From: Howard Hensleigh
Note to Irma -- Trois Ponts -- When we attacked south of Stavelot, all the farmers had left, except one family that stayed in spite of the danger. They gathered all the cows of the neighbors and milked them night and morning. We had not had anything but powdered milk for about a year. The farmer's ten or 12 year daughter poured milk into our canteen cups. A long line of troopers formed for this operation. I have often wished that we could say thanks to that family and that little girl who was a charmer. If you have a chance to do that, we will be grateful.
Howard Hensleigh
Subject: My Friend And Comrade Rocky
Coiner of Co. D, 517 PIR and 11Abn Div PM Co.
Date: 2/26/2002
11:39:05 PM Eastern Standard Time
From: Tom
Cross
[ Ben: You can publish my e-mail message to Brenda Coiner regarding Rocky Coiner providing she has no objections. It might start a wave of correspondence to and about Rocky that might be of interest to all who knew him. He was a real character and a good paratrooper but Dave Armstrong had to keep him on a "tight rein" because he was about as rough and tough as they came in the 517 PIR. Dick Seitz and I knew him well, as did the MP's. Regards, Tom]
-----------------
Dear Brenda: Please pass the following message to Rocky.
Hi Rocky: You will remember me as "Black Tom" (Tom Cross) former Company Commander of Co. E and Executive Officer of the 2nd Battalion of the 517 PIR and as the 11th Airborne Division Parachute Maintenance Officer. I am glad that I have been able to finally catch up with you and to let you know how much I enjoyed serving with you in the 517th and the 11th Airborne Division prior to our retirement.
Here are some of the things that I recall as fond memories of our service together. As you know I used to make frequent visits to Co. D to see Capt. Dave Armstrong and to stop by the Company Supply Room to check on whether you really knew all of the M-1 Rifle Numbers from memory. These visits were a must on Mondays as I wanted to hear from Dave Armstrong about your active weekends and whether you had made the MP Blotter that weekend. I confess I was also curious to see if you had earned your customary black eye from what Dave Armstrong used to call "red blooded paratrooper activities" from engaging "legs" or other un-airborne types in physical combat thereby saving the honor of Co. D, the 2nd Battalion, and the Regiment. Those were great days for us all and we were a great team. Whether you knew it or not Dave Armstrong, Dick Seitz and I kept an eye out for your interests as best we could for you were well liked and respected.
I was happy to have you with me in the 11th Airborne Division Parachute Maintenance Company. I believe that there were five of us from the 517th in the 11th PM Co. These are the names that I recall: Coiner, Pafford, Sutton, Tager, and Cross. The 11th PM Co. was an outstanding organization and one of the reasons was because we followed the same high standards that we used in the 517th.
Am glad to be back in touch with you once again. It was a pleasure to have served with you in two outstanding organizations.
Best wishes, Tom Cross
Subj: Memory
Date: 3/3/2002 3:11:36 PM Eastern
Standard Time
From: Jim Mortensen
Yes, I remember the mule going over the side of the mountain. No way can I recall exactly where it was but it was a wonder that a few of the human types didn't go over the side as well.
But the story I wanted to relate had to do with one of those happenings during the Bulge. At some point (please don't ask for dates or location) our observer group went to the 7th Armored Combat Command (about the same as our Combat Team) to coordinate locations, etc. They were in a rather pleasant farm house in the midst of fields buried in snow . . . and it was colder than the Yukon.
We finished the briefing and then, since we couldn't leave until dark a few hours later, asked where we might hang out for a few hours. With no space on the first floor, the colonel pointed to the attic. The three or four of us crawled up the steps and were reasonably comfortable. Someone decided we should play a game of hearts so out came the cards. For some reason I don't recall who was ahead when we the game ended.
Without notice or noise of any kind, there was suddenly a 12 inch hole in the roof and the attic floor . . . and then there was a terrible explosion out behind the house. A delayed fuse saved our lives for we weren't even scratched. But the guys standing outside the back door, and there were several, took the direct hit as the shell hit the ground. The scene has been blotted from my memory, but I knew at the end of that day that I had a life to live!
I'm curious to know if there are any other veterans of our card game on the roster.
Jim Mortensen
HQ Battery
460th
Subj: Maria.Gaspar's.story
Date: 3/4/2002
11:08:18 AM Eastern Standard Time
From: Irma Targnion
Dear Ben,
You will find here a story about the
evacuation of people of Bergeval during the battle of Bulge. Please, excuse me
for the mistakes and please, correct them as my english is not very good. Next
week, I shall send my souvenirs as we spent a certain time in the cellar during
the battle. Irma.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
From
Maria Gaspar - President of C.A.D.U.S.A Trois-Ponts (US
AIRBORNE RECEPTION COMMITTEE)
In September 1944, we have knew an incredible
joy and we cried for joy when the American soldiers liberated us from the
enemy. We should have wished to touch those heroes, the first soldiers arriving
were a patrol jeep. They seemed to come from an other world, a world of freedom
and we lost our freedom for a long time. I have to say that the Germans just
left us during the night before and the English language was so soft to us after
the screams of the SS. The German soldiers told us as they left : "We went away
but we shall come back for Christmas". My mother was very impressed and in spite
of the general euphoria, she stayed anxious. All of us, young people, we were so
happy until December 17th when the American troops retreated. On the day after,
Peiper and his armoured division arrived in Trois-Ponts and the bridges began to
blow up, so they could not cross the river Salm and follow to Ličge. On December
20th, the 505th was on the left bank of the river Salm and we could hear the
noises of the battle. We still hope to escape but the 505th retreated during the
Christmas Eve. On the Christmas Day, we decided to go to the church, big
surprise, the village was crowded with German soldiers. We went back to home and
we spent a hard and painful day. We stayed in a cellar with a solid and strong
vault, afraid and worried. On January 1st, a German officer told us that we must
leave the village, he gave us 2 hours, he said :"Go to Rochelinval". We left, it
was so sad to see all the inhabitants leaving home while the shells blew all
around. It was miraculous nobody was wounded. I have a funny souvenir (funny by
now). As we arrived on the hills, we heard a burst of machine gun, everybody
jumped into a ditch. Later, all clear, we could see on the road the baby
carriage - with the baby alive - that my neighbour forgot on the middle of the
road.
As we arrived in Rochelinval, a German captain asked us, "Where are you going? You cannot stay here. It is more dangerous than Bergeval. Go to Farničres". We walked hours and hours through the woods. On this day, just a little snow, the snow came during the night and the days after. At least, we arrived in Farničres. A Salésiens School, (Don Bosco) There were 798 refugees. The battle for this place lasted 3 nights and 2 days. The American soldiers arrived on January 7th, they were dirty and tired (like all of us) men from 504th and 551st. They all were thinking that they were in Germany, so they were not very happy to learn that they were still in Ardenne. On January 9th, I wanted to go back to Bergeval with a neighbour. Bergeval was freed by 517th on January 4th, those American soldiers just stayed a few hours in Bergeval for a little rest and they followed the battle on the hills around the village. It was in those woods that Bill Boyle and Charles LaChaussee were seriously wounded and many others, the 517th had considerable losses.
I cannot describe the state of shock I was as I saw my village -- houses burned, killed animals, German material, guns, grenades, mausers, wandering cows looking for food. Desolation, grief and sorrow. It was on my way from Farničres to Bergeval that I could see all the young American soldiers killed along the way. I was really shocked and 57 years later I am still traumatized and I feel guilty because they died for me and my country. They always will be in my heart. When we went back to Farničres, the Americans had begun the evacuation of the civilians. On January 10th, we were evacuated to Charneux near Herve, a long and cold trip of 5 hours. People of Charneux were very kind to us to feed and warm us. We stayed until February 12th. When we came back in Bergeval, we could live in our devastated houses, the life was hard but we were in good health and free. Unhappily because of the great sacrifice of those valourous young American men who died and suffered for our Liberty. I shall never forget.
Maria Gaspar
"What I learned from that jump", by John Alicki, Regimental Headquarters
All these years no one ever asked me what happened.
My thanks to Monte Schroeder and Lamar Davis for tracing the whereabouts of Jim Hewitt who was my partner in the daring jump from the 34 foot "Mock Tower".
Unfortunately, since Jim passed away in August 1992, I know that his spirit will assist me in telling the untold daring Mock Tower jump episode in Toccoa.
In the Spring of 1943, as you recall, we were in the process of forming the best parachute fighting force ever under the leadership of "Cockatoo" Lou Walsh.
As one of the original cadres, my job was to greet the incoming parachute volunteers, give an impromptu challenging and motivating talk, help screen the undesirables, interview and escort them to the towering 34 foot Mock Tower.
It was at the Mock Tower that the saga of the Big Jump began. We were very busy all day with about 150 volunteers, and this was the last group to be tested for the day. Jim and I were up on the Mock Tower. His job, to put on the harness and hook up the volunteer. My job, to observe the reaction of each volunteer when given the Command to 'Stand in the door' and 'Go' signal.
We successfully completed the last group without any failures. This left both of us still on top of the Mock Tower.
Now a word about Jim Hewitt. Jim was recently recruited from the Parachute School for eventual assignment to the Third Battalion. He was intelligent, well built, proficient in Parachute physical training and operations. He was only temporarily attached to the In and Out Platoon.
Back to the Mock Tower. Normally when two were up on the tower, one could climb down the ladder and the other would harness up and jump out of the mock tower, and upon landing tie the harness to the pole.
I was about to climb down the ladder when Jim mentioned that while he was at the Parachute School, some of the instructors to the Mock Tower jumped together to keep the other from climbing down the ladder. I then said, "Let's try it. If this was done at the parachute school why not here at Toccoa".
He agreed, and prepared the harness in a loop which was placed around our rumps then placing my left am around his shoulder, and he with his right arm on my shoulder followed by holding the harness with my right hand, and he the harness with his left hand.
In that position we jumped simultaneously. The going down was okay only to a point. We underestimated the power of the cable. At the point of the final downward lunge of two bodies, the cable reacted like a huge recoiled spring which suddenly was released, catapulting both of us up into the air. We separated and scattered by the force of the cable. Jim going one direction, I another direction, and feeling like the man of the Flying trapeze but without the trapeze.
The last thing I remembered was looking up with the ground suddenly and swiftly coming at me. Then a big flash, lots of stars bursting, then blackout. At that split moment my reflexes automatically responded to the sudden impact of the hard ground by rolling my body with the fall thus alleviating any serious injury.
Both of us were momentarily knocked out, but due to our excellent physical condition and training, came to our senses and stood up on our feet.
About the time when all this was happening, the last group of volunteers were still in the mock tower area and apparently saw what happened. I can still visualize their eyes lit up in amazement, wondering what daring nuts these paratroopers were to hit the ground so hard and still be able to get back on their feet.
Little did they know both of us were hurting. Every bone in our bodies ached.
By this time someone on the ground got the medics and transportation to take Jim and me to the Clinic. I hurt so bad and refused to ride and walked instead.
Major Vella examined both of us, gave each an injection of morphine and arranged to send both or us for further observation to the city of Toccoa hospital. At the hospital, after being examined thoroughly, I was told nothing was wrong and could be released the next day after a good rest. However because it rained the following day, I was confined for another day as an added precaution.
While in the hospital I inquired about the status of Jim's injury only to receive vague answers.
After my release from the hospital, I lost contact with Jim. Later, I heard along the grapevine that Jim hurt his back.
Years later, while we were preparing publication of Paratroopers Odyssey in 1985, Clark Archer gave me Jim's Toccoa telephone number. Since then we kept in touch until his mail was returned to me with "No Forwarding Address".
So much for this past daring stunt, and hopefully may dispel any exaggerated assumptions that might have existed these past [fifty-nine] years. Also after this Toccoa episode, there were no more double exits from the Mock Tower at the Parachute School.
In closing, there was an investigation and reprimand for attempting the risky stunt.
John Alicki
Subj: Another tale
Date: 3/9/2002 10:52:01 AM
Eastern Standard Time
From: Jim Mortensen
I'm surprised at the response to the shell-through-the-roof story. There are still a lot of our gang out there who have good memories!
Another time, another story. This happened sometime before Bergstein. I'm certain of that because Bertgstein was the end of the war for me. Except for being pulled out of the hospital in St. Quentin twice (for a few hours each time) for the planned jump over the Rhine, I was away from the 517th. After leaving the hospital I went through the repl-depl and joined the 82nd a few weeks before I flew with the advance party to Berlin.
Back to the story. It was a clear, very, very cold night illuminated by a full moon. We were to meet the tanks at a "T" intersection, then head east with them for an early morning attack. The tanks were to come down the road from the north, turn east and away we would go.
We got there early and stood around in the woods to the south of the intersection and stomped our feet or jogged in hopes of not freezing to death. It was a close call. There was only one form of entertainment. Buzz bombs came over our site in a fairly steady stream as they headed for Liege or the channel ports. They weren't state of the art even then, I suppose, but they impressed us nonetheless. Oh, unmilked cows across the road might count as a second form of entertainment, but not many exhibited much interest in their plight.
The tanks let us know they were coming long before they arrived. The sounds of their tracks on frozen roads carried a long, long way that night. Finally, the first tank approached the intersection. Very slowly, he edged out into the middle and tried to turn left. We then realized that the road was like an ice skating rink and the poor tank driver had zero traction. As he tried to pivot, the tank started to move toward the shoulder of the road. Every time he tried another maneuver he came closer and closer to the ditch. And, finally, slipped over the edge without so much as a whimper.
Tank number two thought he could correct for those mistakes. But in a matter of moments, even at a snail's pace, the second tank suffered a similar fate. Now, the road was blocked. So much for tanks.
So, we went on about our business without, once again, the tank support we had hoped to have. And we disappeared in the night!
I hope some others remember this one, too!
Jim Mortensen
HQ Battery
460th
Date: 3/11/2002 10:51:32 AM Eastern Standard Time
From: Howard Hensleigh
Ben--I think you and I are talking the same time frame. Tom and the other 2nd Bn. men were hit several days earlier. If Tom Cross had been wounded again in the one I remember, I would have made a mental note of it and put in my cryptic notes. At this time the three Bns. were fairly close together rather than being split up and attached separately to every outfit on the front. In my notes I speak of Jackson and that meant H Co. because where Jackson went H Co. went. Here is a quote:
"Next day we went in around Bergeval; got there with H Co. around 0130. Got up at 0400 to get Jackson to stop a counter attack. Went up with I Co. later and got it stopped. We were in the 1st Bn. CP. when there was a direct hit on it. Broken glass, plaster etc. hit all over, but my helmet stopped all that and it bounced off me."
That was several days after the 1 Jan farm house hit that Tom Cross and Dick Seitz remember so well. From what I can deduce it was the 4th or 5th. Possibly some 1st Bn men can fill us in. I know it was an incident to remember, because of the casualties and the fact that the group in the house survived without more than a scratch or two. And, I know you remember the 4th as a pivotal day in your life.
I'm not trying to keep this one alive, but I'm sure we have clarified a number of things. I hope we aren't boring anyone. It wasn't boring at the time.
All the way, Howard Hensleigh
Hi Howard,
Not sure if the house that you
mentioned is the one that I was involved with. I remember leaving Trois Ponts on
Jan 4,1944 going up a hill to Bergerval and was put up in a church (church may
have been in St. Jacques) Sometime shortly after we were awakened because the
Germans were shelling the area. (January 5 ) Ground was frozen, couldn't dig in
and and therefore many of us sought shelter in a sunken driveway. Perfect
protection except for a direct hit. Don't know what happened but have heard
later that a shell hit a building behind us. Seventeen of us were wounded and two
were KIA. I think all were from H company .
Regards, Ben Barrett
Date: 3/11/2002 8:16:46 PM Eastern Standard Time
From: Howard Hensleigh
Should we wear 5 stars or one with our Indian Head for the S. France jump? When I got home there were a few civilians around who wished to impress on us soldiers that they knew about awards and stuff. I got tired of explaining that although I only had one star on my ETO ribbon we were in 5 major battles, so I went back to 5. It saved a lot of chatter.
What did we carry on us when we jumped? Everything, but we had equipment bundles too. I led a machine gun section out. We first tossed out the equipment bundles with machine guns, bazookas and ammunition for both inside. Then we were asked to carry a lot of extra machine gun ammunition. When the opening shock popped my chute open, my musset bag was so heavy it ripped loose and I lost all the extra ammo as well as all my rations etc. This is not news to you troopers, but might help answer the question asked. In short we were loaded so as to be able to survive until resupply became available.
My best to all you Buzzards, the descendants and other well wishers, Howard Hensleigh
Subj: Demolition Inquiry
Date: 3/11/2002
10:11:07 PM Eastern Standard Time
From: Al
Goodman
The answer regarding what the demolition people
carried is correct and coincides with what the Engineers carried. We were
careful to keep the caps well separated from the explosives and among our group
carried enough to prepare a couple of bridges which was our mission on the jump.
My group was with the 3rd Battalion and landed far from the drop zone so never
carried out the assignment. I don't remember what we we ended up doing with the
material but doubt we carried it all the way back to Le Muy. I believe that our
Headquarters Platoon did drop some equipment bundles but don't know if they
retrieved them. My platoon got plenty of demolition experience later at the Nice
airport.
Al Goodman
Date: 3/12/2002 4:14:00 PM Eastern Standard Time
From: Howard Hensleigh
Chris--The 517th came home in August 1945 on the Madawaska Victory [and the Oneida Victory*]. They dropped an A-Bomb the day before we left France and another when we were on the high seas. The War was over by the time we reached New York City. Before we reached sight of land, there was a big rock sticking out of the water; painted on it were the words, "Well Done, Welcome Home". They met us in the harbor with small boats carrying entertainers who put on a show right there in the harbor. The Red Cross was on hand with milk which we drank by the gallons. As we sailed up the Hudson to Camp Shanks on smaller ships, horns and whistles blew and people waved sheets, pillow cases and towels from the apartments along the shore. At Camp Shanks there were Italian POWs in the mess hall serving food like we hadn't seen for a year and one half. Then we hit the trains for home after processing. They gave us 30 days at home before we were to go the west coast and on to Japan. Then telegrams came to stay 15 more days. By then all the west coast stuff was off and we returned to Ft. Bragg or the discharge centers. It was a great way to end the war. Those of us who were headed for Japan beat the ones who went to other units home by several months.
My best, Howard Hensleigh
* Correction: I thought we all came home on the Madawaska Victory. Captain Berry steering that ship, made sure we arrived on time and even in the fog it was full speed ahead. Col. Graves and his staff were on that ship as was 3rd Bn. On page 171 of Paratroopers' Odyssey I find that Clark Archer says we loaded onto both ships you mention, Oneida Victory also. No one should dispute Clark's word. On page 132 of the recent publication we all sent biographies which shows the Madawaska Victory with the Battling Buzzard emblem draped over the side. -- Howard Hensleigh
I don't remember if all the combat team came home on the same ship, but know for certain that the 2nd Battalion came home on Oneida Victory, landing on 22 August, The men of the battalion painted the big canvas 517 banner which was hung over the side of the ship when we docked in New York, The photo of the banner and ship was published in the New York papers. -- Dick Seitz. [Note: See the news clipping with photo on the website Photos page]
The Oneida Victory and the Madawaska Victory were
both involved in transporting the 517th PIR back to the USA. We staged through
Camps Lucky Strike and Phillip Morris starting in August 17, 1945. Page 171 of
Paratrooper's Odyssey refers.
Clark Archer said that he
would forward info taken from the 517th Morning Reports that would officially
settle the varied discussions relative to what Belgian farm house was hit and
when it was hit plus the results therefrom. As has already been mentioned, more
that one farm house was involved in these discussions.
Regards, Tom Cross
Date: 3/16/2002 9:25:17 AM Eastern Standard Time
As concerns Willard Wyatt's story about blasting the armored full colonel. I remember the time and situation very well. It was about the 20th of January when the 2nd battalion while attached to CCA 7th Armored Division. We were attacking Auf der Hardt, a critical objective in the 7th Division to capture St Vith. The 2nd battalion was making the main attack. Prior to this operation, I had been criticized by regiment that I relied too much radio and should use more wire. I put the word out. Lieutenant White, the Commo officer "lay more wire." So Willard and his crew were laying wire, per orders in the attack to capture Auf der Hardt and had just finished when the CCA commander, Colonel Triplett came through in his command tank and tore out all the wire that Willard had jus finished laying. Willard's natural response was to blast the hell out of that big guy sticking his head out of that God damn tank. As I heard the story, Colonel Triplett's reply was "Get the pliers, son, get the pliers." My response would be, "Willard, a big well done to you and your crew."
517th airborne all the way.
Dick
Seitz
Date: 03/04/2002 12:13:48 PM Eastern Standard Time
From: Tom Cross
I am forwarding Dick Seitz's latest message regarding the farmhouse incident described in the above referenced Mail Call. I talked to Dick a few minutes ago and we jointly were able to bring some more facts to light on this subject. Here are our latest recollections:
The date of the incident was January 1.1945. The S-3 of Headquarters 2nd Battalion that was conferring with Dick and Dave Armstrong was 1st Lt. Peche. They were conducting a map reconnaissance of the proposed forward assembly area in preparation of our coming attack in the Trois Pont area. When the enemy round exploded in the rear of the farm house, I was in the act of briefing the advance party prior to moving to the Trois Pont area. This party consisted of company guides from each of our three Rifle Companies and our 2nd Battalion Headquarters Co. The entire party consisted of approximately 12 individuals. We were going to use two jeeps for transportation and they were loaded and ready to go. The enemy round came in and exploded in the midst of our group. Corporal Archie Brown who standing beside me was instantly killed. I remember the timing as I had just passed my map case to him when the shell exploded. The force of the explosion knocked us all down. I was the first person to get up and saw that the others were still on the ground. When we recovered we found that almost the entire group had been wounded with some wounds more serious than others. 1st Lt. Jack West, the 2nd Bn. 81mm Mortar Platoon Leader was one of the group more seriously wounded than the others. Our Battalion Surgeon Capt. Harold Megibow MD had us moved to the basement of the farmhouse where he worked on us and prepared us for medical evacuation that came later in the afternoon. Being wounded was bad enough but we had our two jeeps wounded too. This put Dick Seitz in a bind as he had already received orders to move at a designated time and a new reconnaissance party had to be formed and new transportation found. Fortunately we had a few stolen jeeps on hand that were pressed into service.
We were medically evacuated to a nearby Armored Division's Medical Clearing Station and from that point on I lost contact with those of our group that had been together up to this point. My troubles were not over for when I was evacuated to a nearby Medical Evacuation Hospital for emergency treatment, the ambulance driver became confused and took the wrong route that headed us for the enemy lines. Fortunately a Military Policeman stopped him at the last minute before crossing into danger and we were rerouted to the Evacuation Hospital.
That was a busy day for me because in the course of
my travels I had visited the XVIII Airborne Corps Forward CP. for directions to
the 517 PIR CP and from there to the CP of the 2nd Bn and then on to the medical
evacuation journey. Two memories of this incident remain. I often wondered
whether Dick Seitz missed me more than he did the loss of the 2
jeeps. Fortunately I never asked. Secondly, I was impressed with our medical
personnel and treatment facilities that were located nearby where they could
quickly and effectively service the wounded. Needless to say every New Year's
Day from 1945 to the present brings a moment of self reflection and
thanks.
Would appreciate your adding this to the farmhouse story and passing
this on to Jim Mortensen.
Regards, Tom
Cross
Subj: Colonel Zais..A Great Guy
Date: 3/7/2002 12:20:11 AM Eastern Standard Time
From: Lud
Gibbons
Hi Ben...You asked for my version of the occurrence at
the "posh dance hall" in Paris. I've told this story at a number of reunions and
the Colonel always enjoyed it. Here is what happened:
While at a table in a restaurant in Paris with Cols. Zais, McMahon, Lt. Hensleigh and a WAC Lt. having a Coke or two or more, the WAC Lt. saw a couple of Ranger Lts. about to pass our table and she called out asking them what outfit they were in (she had a friend that was a Ranger). One of the them said "We are Boy Scouts". Col. Zais stood up and told them that they looked like Boy Scouts. With that the talker made some kind of a impertinent remark to the Col. Instinctively I went after him. The fight began but almost immediately someone yelled "MPs!" and that stopped everything dead. A while later as I was coming out of the men's room the two Rangers where waiting and told me to tell those two Cols. that they where waiting for them. When I got back to the table I said, "Those two Rangers are waiting for two of us and I'm one of them". Col Zais jumps up and said, "I am the other one!" When we got outside, the four of us agreed that we should find a quiet, peaceful place, so we could do this without being interrupted. While the four us where walking down the street looking for a site, which took a little time, the Lt. next to me kept telling me and telling me, what a tough, rugged, mean guy the Col. was up against. We found a dark quiet alley. After going up the alley a little way my guy and I stopped while the Col and his friend kept on going. I took my guy down (I wrestled in H.S.) and was kind of sitting on him, giving him time to realize that the fight was over and he wasn't going to get up until I was ready to let him up. While sitting on him I heard foot steps running down the alley, coming from the direction the Col. had gone. I remember thinking "Boy, am I in big trouble now!!!" It was Colonel Zais!! In a short time the Ranger Lt. shows up. He tells how as soon as they faced off and put their hands up the Col. knocked him down, how as soon as he got up, the Col. knocked him down again, this happened three or four times before he got the message, "Maybe I would be better off if I didn't get up." Now that that was over, we decided to go back to the restaurant and have a drink together. When we got out to the street where there was some light and you could see that the Ranger Lt. had gotten up at least once too often. He was bloody and we all agreed it would be best if they didn't go back with us.
Lud Gibbons
(See page 371 in the paperback copy of Gerald Astor's "Battling Buzzards".)
Date: 3/16/2002 4:12:26 PM Eastern Standard Time
From: Russ Miller, 3rd Platoon B Company
My memory is rather dim on WWII days, but will try to contribute my recollection of an event or two anyway. Further, over the years since the war, I've been able to rely heavily on my very good friend, Howard Hensleigh, whose memory continues to astonish me. By the way, Howard and I date back to the U. of Iowa, OCS, jump school at the same time and reported into the 517th together on the same night - then on through the war, Howard in the 3rd Bn and I in the 1st Bn, how about that?
Have a question about the enemy howitzer which used to fire flat trajectory shells into our platoon position from its location inside the fortress on Monte Grosso mountain on the Italian border. The huge, concrete reinforced doors would open slowly, the howitzer would roll out on tracks of some sort, blast away at us, pull back inside the mountain and the doors would close. We lost our platoon medic to that weapon. Question: did we ever try counterbattery fire on that gun, or any other tactic to silence it? --- We named that gun "Jake the Barber" as I recall. He fired so often in our direction that almost all the trees in our area had their upper branches sheared off, complicating our night patrol missions down through the draw because just a little wind would cause these branches to make noise and we were spooked every few yards assuming what we were hearing was an enemy patrol approaching us from the other direction. -- Does anyone else recall our taking the Monte Gross terrain and getting inside the fortress?. Some of our 3rd platoon were inside somewhat briefly - it was likely a permanent installation on the Italian side of the Italian French border: It had all sorts of rooms carved out of the mountain and could maintain troops, mess facilities, ammo storage and who knows what else on a continuing basis.
We admired Lt. "Whitey" Hillsdale, Exec Officer B Company, a really good tactician and good with the troops. Our platoon was once assigned a mission to locate and destroy four French howitzers positioned along a ridge line in southern France. A couple of demolition specialists who were to blow the guns if we could locate them accompanied the platoon. Before we departed on mission "Whitey" gave me a card oriented to the side of the mountain we were to climb where the guns were located. The card showed about 6 sectors of terrain which were numbered 1 through 6. If we encountered problems with the enemy, we could call for 4.2 mortar/artillery fire which would land on the particular area we wanted hit. As we moved in a line of skirmishers toward the upper levels of the mountain, we saw about a dozen German soldier, clearly silhouetted walking right along the skyline parallel to our platoon. They saw us about the same time we saw them, began firing and throwing their potato masher grenades which diabolically rolled down the hill toward us before detonating. Using "Whitey's" numbered card, we called for fire and began to withdraw from that position. Seemed to me less than a minute later, if that long, our barrage came rolling in and we heard nothing more from those Germans.
Russ Miller
Date: 3/15/2002 7:18:01 PM Eastern Standard Time
Subject: Ray's mail regarding Hal Jeffcoat
I remember him and knew him well during his tenure with F Co. Also after the war . I don't know about Whitehead, but he sure wore out my catching hand while we were in the volcano crater outside of Rome. My hand still hurts when I think about it. In France, just outside of Luceram, Jeff and I were guarding about 5 prisoners when the Germans laid down a barrage of 88s. While trying to guard these guys, and bravely take cover without their knowing our fear, it was a real rodeo. After that I saw Jeff no more. After the war, while in law school in Tennessee, I noticed his name a a player of the Nashville farm club for the Chicago Cubs. That year he led the Southern Association in batting. After school, I returned to Texas, move to San Antonio. Lo and behold the Cubs play an exhibition game here with the old St. Louis Browns. Jeffcoat had been brought up to the Cubs and played center field. I called him and for the next couple of years when they played their exhibitions we met. Plenty of beer after the games. I still have a baseball autographed by all those guys Yes, Ray is right: Jeff started out as an outfielder and wound up a pitcher. He was one of the fastest runners I have ever seen and had a terrific arm. His batting in the majors left a little to be desired, consequently his change form the outfield to pitching. I do not know where he was from, but for some reason I thought he was from Mass. Best to all . I'll not forget those days.
Randolph Coleman, F Co.
Entry of Mar 19, 2002 at 17:13 [EST]
From:
Gene Brissey , Company E
Subject: What We Carried
I have enjoyed
reading recent mails as well as all the others. Howard provides great items.
Wish I had known that man. Of course all the others who contribute do very much
to make Mail Call a pleasant experience. Robert Cooper and others
discussing what we carried when we jumped has been interesting. I think Flora
Newby, started this line of thought, so this is for, Flora. I remember a few
items carried by most troopers, starting with a canteen of water, a gas mask, an
entrenching tool (shovel) , the main parachute on the back, a musset bag with a
couple hand grenades, food for two or three days, personal items and, God, only
knows what else. This bag was placed over the front and a weapon strapped over
it. Ammo was stuck somewhere. Then the reserve chute strapped across the chest
area. As for me, as demolition man for our company I had 30 pounds of nitro
starch (explosive) strapped to the upper part of one leg and 30 pounds of TNT
strapped to the other. Blasting caps were placed in an upper pocket. Across my
front was a Tommy Gun. With equipment and my not so large body I weighed about
300 pounds. One of the guys took a picture of me and claimed that it weighed
seven ounces. I struggled to the plane but needed two men to drag me up the four
or five steps into the plane. Later, getting to the door and jumping was
extremely difficult. A hard landing in total darkness hurt both legs but this
only slowed me down a bit. I used some of the explosives to remove a German
roadblock and carried the rest for two or three days and then discarded much of
it for which I was strongly admonished by a company officer. Didn't need the
darn stuff again. Gene Brissey
Entry of Mar 23, 2002 at 10:01 [EST]
From:
Bob Cooper , D Co.
Subject: Equipment
A couple of items Gene
Brissey omitted a length of pre tested Safety Fuse a crimping tool and some
wooden matches in a water proof container. I also had a nickel plated steel
mirror in a leather case which I carried in my left breast pocket which I still
have. If my memory still serves me 3rd platoon D. CO. had a mission to move out
to a village or town the name of which I cannot
remember occupy some high ground and wait for B 25 bombers to bomb at 7:00 or
7:30 AM and then move in on a German OCS School. We practiced for that mission
for weeks. Then as we all know we were 5 or 6 miles off our drop zone. I can
remember hearing the bombers but we had no chance to get there. Our drop zone
was supposed to have irrigation ditches running parallel to the azimuth we were
to follow after securing my gear I took a reading on my compass. With all the
fog you could not see your hand before your face. I could hear water running so
I thought I was all right took two steps and fell into one of the ditches
knocking my helmet off I grabbed it put it back on my head water and all. We
managed to all assemble in the corner of the zone we were in. As I remember
quite a few of us were mad we couldn't reach our objective. Hey I got kind of
windy tonight while most all of you are sleeping. If I am wrong I know some of
you Historians out there will set me straight. Still Air Borne all the way
Bob Cooper
Entry of Mar 23, 2002 at 15:41 [EST]
From:
Howard Hensleigh , Hq Co, 3rd Btn
Subject: 25 Mile March
In
looking through the pictures, I saw a number of Chuck Glass of G Company.
Now I am going to relate the story of how G Co. broke the Army record on making
the 25 mile march with full field equipment. I wasn't there. It occurred just
before Russ Miller and I reported in to Major Zais in November
1943. The story was fresh on everyone's mind at that time. As mentioned by
others and as I believe as related in the Odyssey, Col. Walsh selected
different companies to break the Army records. It fell to G Company to break the
25 mile march record. Every man present for duty had to hit the road. Chuck
Glass arrived about 0400 hours on the day appointed fresh from a big time on
furlough. He was present for duty and shouldered his field equipment, which
included the company's light machine guns and 60 mortars. Hour after hour the
Company ground out the march. Chuck in the last mile or two passed out. This was
just another small problem to be solved. Along with the machine guns and
mortars, the Company shouldered Glass and carried him across the finish line to
break the record by several hours. According to the troopers who made the march,
the whole Company was about to expire during the last mile. Then someone started
to sing -- "Airborne we fly the skies, paratroopers do or die............."
Hooper loved that song so it probably was the CO who started it.
Undoubtedly Lt. Steele joined in and he could raise the dead. This perked
up the unit and they crossed the finish line with heads high along with Glass
and the crew served weapons. I am sure Dallas Long and others can add to
this one, or correct me if I am off base. Before I leave Lt. Steele, he
almost got shot in the early pre-dawn hours on Tennessee maneuvers. We had made
another forced March of at least 25 miles without food or water. We bedded down,
but were roused from our pup tents half dead to move out. Steel chose this
occasion to sing "Oh, What A Beautiful Morning"! You won't believe it, but I
loved the Army. Howard Hensleigh
Entry of Mar 24, 2002 at 15:12 [EST]
From:
Dick Hammel , Hq2 & E
Subject: Memories
All this talk about
memories makes me sad. There is so much I can't remember. I remember breaking my
leg in jump school and making my last jump in the last of January. Oh yes, I was
one of the early members of Co E in Toccoa. My 6th jump was into Southern
France. I remember the wet and cold of Tennessee. Eating C rations in a ditch in
Italy beside a dead German artillery horse. The tall white officers with the
short Japanese men of the 442 Inf Regt relieving us in Italy. Jump into the fog
in southern France. Loosening the baseplate of my 60 mortar during a river
crossing. Transferring to Hq 2 and trying to satisfy the Sgt Major and Operations
Sgt with exactness in spelling etc. in typing after action reports. The cold and
snow of the bulge. Late Christmas dinner with so much food for the few of us. I
guess there is a lot that I don't want to remember. Dick
Hammel.
Entry of Mar 27, 2002 at 09:15 [EST]
From:
Ray Hess , F. Co.
Subject: Bergstein
Good Morning Ben: I have
observed that there are not many messages to you concerning Bergstein. The first
night at Bergstein is like a dream that I can still picture in my mind. Three
Battalions crossing one another, in pitch black darkness and pouring rain, mud
up to our ankles, then the Kraut flares going up, the burp guns ending the
silence and then someone yelling, Go Back , and
the 517th retreating and looking like a herd of sheep crossing Hoover Dam. "F"
Co., leading the 2nd Battalion had about a dozen men caught behind the lines and
taken prisoners. When we finally were replaced, I think , if my memory is
correct, had either 13 or 16 men left, no officers, an N.C.O. as Company
Commander. Anybody else have any comments to share on Bergstein? Best Regards to
all R. Hess
Entry of Mar 28, 2002 at 14:59 [EST]
From:
Gene Brissey , F. Company
Subject: Bergstein
Subj: Ref. Mail
Call 263, Ray Hess Note Date: 3/28/2002 1:42:31 PM Eastern Standard Time From:
Genedie77 To: Ben517 Hi Ben, Ray and all Others. Ray, I remember so well the
horrible times you wrote about our misery in and around Bergstein. As I recall
we struggled through the mud into Bergstein, under heavy fire. A German flare
would light the total darkness, we would freeze in place until the flares burned
out and then continue our entry into and beyond what appeared to have been a
town. We fell into ditches over dead animals and humans, no doubt. It was so
dark we could see little except flares and gun fire. I believe this was Feb. 6,
'45. We were unable to obtain our objective. We few moved back into the rubble
of Bergstein. I believe an officer from F Company named Giuchici and some
men were caught behind the German lines. We thought they were gone but somehow
they escaped. On the 7th we hovered in the rubble of Bergstein and tried to dry
our selves. I burned the top of one of my boots, which I still have. Some of us
took shelter in a structure which had only three sides and no roof. A piece of
shrapnel came into the place and bounced off all three walls. Worse things
happened that day but the worst was yet to come. About 9:00 that night we tried
once again to slither through one of the largest mine fields, ever, toward the
Kall River. As we crawled through the woods the Germans threw grenades at us and
finally we had to move back to a cleared hill near the town. We had very few men
left. The only officer that I remember in E Company was Capt. Newberry.
Another Sgt. and I were leading the third platoon which consisted of very few
men. Two men by my side were wounded by mortar fire and my good friend, Sgt.
Roger Bender was killed before orders came to move back to Bergstein. As
we moved back under heavy fire our mortar man threw down our fully assembled
60MM mortar and ran for his life, he made it. I picked up the weapon and headed
for town. I didn't make it on my own. As I approached a large building being
used as the aid station I was hit by shrapnel which tore through every piece of
clothing except my left glove, my helmet and my burned boots. Two men came and
dragged me to the aid station where Capt. Newberry gave me a cigarette and a
medic gave me a shot of morphine. I responded by vomiting on the captains boots.
Soon evacuated and never saw the outfit again. I returned to Bergstein in 1995
which had been rebuilt into a very nice little town. Gene
Brissey
Entry of Mar 28, 2002 at 19:14 [EST]
From:
Howard Hensleigh , Hq. 3
Subject: Battle of the Bulge
Note to H.
Ramsey White, III re: James L. Kitchin I have written about this before,
but will give it a shot because of your message about your grandfather. The
Third Battalion attacked south of Stavelot with 13 phase lines to cross at
certain times, with the 75th and 30th divisions on our right and left, to cross
the phase lines at the same time. We took the high, tougher to take, ground and
reached the 13th phase line on time. We were to make contact then with the
outfits on the right and left. A squad from G
Company and a few of my S-2 men were selected for this mission. Your grandfather
headed the G Company men. We started out in the morning and went across our
entire front in snow knee to hip deep, first to the right and then to the left.
We ran into German defensive positions, but no U. S. troops, on both sides. This
slowed us up; it was an intelligence and contact patrol, not a combat patrol.
The other outfits didn't make the effort we had made with resulting casualties.
We ended up on the left of our front at midnight, about two miles from our
nearest troops, some G Company men. The password (sign and counter sign) changed
at midnight and we didn't have it. We had the choice of struggling back through
the deep snow or taking a road where the snow was packed from German traffic.
Since some of the men were exhausted I was inclined to take a chance on the
road, but that was not the "book solution". So, for the first time, I took a
vote. It was unanimous –- the road. We moved out at a fast clip and after the
two mile hike heard the "sign" loud and clear. The battalion had suffered
several casualties resulting from our own men not knowing the counter-sign. Also
in the Bulge there were many German troops who spoke perfect English. To solve
this predicament, your grandfather in his deep southern accent bellowed, "This
is Sergeant Kitchin and we're commin' on in!" Everyone in G Company knew that
there was only one in the world who talked like that and that he was one of us.
He saved the day and we bedded down in the snow for the night. Many years later
at a 517th reunion, your grandfather collared me and told me that when we ran
into the Germans on both sides, he had asked me what we were doing out there and
that I had replied that we were just out there looking around. Apparently I
didn't want to state before the men that the other troops, who were supposed to
be protecting our flanks, hadn't fulfilled their missions as we had, and that we
we were sticking out there like a sore thumb. Then he said, "Now, what were we
doing out there?" I told him the story substantially as it appears above.
Fortunately we are no longer encumbered with real or perceived notions of
propriety and can say it now as it was. Your grandfather was a great guy.
Howard Hensleigh
Entry of Mar 29, 2002 at 20:05 [EST]
From:
Joe D. Miller ,
Subject: Letter to Chaplain Brown - Feb 1986
February 10 1986
Rev. Charles Lynn Brown
Blowing Rock, NC
Dear Rev. Brown:
Let me introduce myself as the first soldier you met after landing in southern France. That experience was one which I shall never forget and maybe you will enjoy hearing my version of that event.
Reading the recently published history of the 517th Parachute Combat Team entitled, "Paratroopers' Odyssey," prompted me to do so. On page 49, paragraph 3, the following comment is made:
"A mile and half south of Le Muy, Regimental S-3 Major Forest Paxton assembled his stick and waited for daylight. He then moved north, picking up Alicki, some of the demo platoon, and a collection of high-ranking talent including Regimental Surgeon Major Vella, Chaplain Brown, and Major Kinzer of the artillery. Moving west toward La Motte, Paxton gathered up another 75 men from F Company, the 460th, and the Engineers. At La Motte contact was made with Company E. The energetic Paxton then went on to set up the Regimental CP at Ste. Roseline. When Colonel Graves arrived at 1300 Paxton was issuing orders for the removal of anti-airborne obstacles from the Drop Zone."
This statement plus the map on page 42 helped me locate our exact drop zone. If I am correct, you and I landed a few hundred yards north of Highway N7 and either in or on the banks of the Nartuby River. I had touched down safely on the unseen edge of the river bank and, to my surprise, tumbled backwards over the cliff to the edge of the water. In the process, I sustained a fractured right foot and was left hanging by a chute that was caught in the tree tops above the bank.
Although I knew I was not badly hurt, my dangling position made it most difficult for me to get out of the harness and ready for battle. During those awful seconds which seemed like hours, I realized someone was wading the stream and approach in my position. A moment of panic occurred but then I decided to remain very silent with the only weapon I could reach, my jump knife, firmly held in my right hand. It was my intention to defend myself with the knife if this person seemed to be the enemy. Had you moved six inches closer before giving the password, I am quite certain the worst would have happened.
In all the darkness around the edge of the stream, no one could see that You did not carry arms or that you had on a friendly shoulder patch. This I realized as you were helping me climb to the top of the river bank. Shortly afterwards, I realized you were Chaplain Brown and I was embarrassed because I had used some very salty language due to the pain in my foot.
You may recall that as we were moving along the river toward the highway, we were suddenly halted by a booming voice that turned out to belong to a British Sergeant Major, who had already assembled his troops and was preparing to do battle in Le Muy, which was their assignment. I was impressed with the fact that he had his act together so quickly and that we were still in limbo.
All of this occurred while it was still too dark to really see what we were doing. Nevertheless. the two of us moved on to the highway where you scared a Frenchman on a bike half to death by halting him as he approached the bridge. Seems to me that he was suspended in mid air for several seconds while his bike continued toward town.
About that time, we met some others from the 517th and that was the last time I recall seeing you. I was able to hobble several miles that day; but once I stopped and removed my boot, walking was impossible.
The rest of the story nee d not be told and I had only intended to recount an incident of some significance to two strangers who met on a dark, foggy, early morning August 15, 1944.
It would be interesting to hear your accounting of these events. I am certain our stories will differ, but to what extent would be interesting to learn.
Sincerely, Joe D. Miller
Entry of Mar 29, 2002 at 23:21 [EST]
From:
Charles Lynn Brown , 517th Chaplain
Subject: Letter to Joe Miller - May,
1986
May 30, 1986
Mr. Joe Miller
Frankfort, KY
Dear Joe:
Your letter brought back a clear memory -- half frightening, half-humorous. I remember landing, over water as we were told but really over land -- and the exact episode you describe.
The poor French farmer was on his way from his village to his farm outside the town. We were in the ditch by the road. I stopped (!) him and asked where we were. I also asked if there were Germans still in the village. He said "yes" -- squawking like a stuck-pig. I told him to "shut-up" (Tais-toi -- which is French for telling a barking dog to hush.) I have regretted my un-Chaplain-like language. I was afraid of German patrols in the area. When he got up, he started back for his village and I told him to go to his fields but not return "this way".
I am glad you made it back safely. What you may not know is that when I dropped I thought I had sprained my ankle. When we got together with Maj. Vella, he shipped me back to Naples (hospital) with a broken ankle. It was only a small splintered bone. After two weeks in the Naples Hospital -- complete boredom -- I hitched a ride on a "blood plane" to rejoin the 517th... using a cane. Col. Graves merely said: "You have been reported AWOL for the past two weeks". That was the end of that.
I enjoyed the history of the 517th. But it was primarily a "military history". It did not include the personal bits which you have helped supply.
All my thanks! If you are ever this way, please come and see me. Meanwhile, all my best!
Charles Lynn Brown
Entry of Apr 8, 2002 at 14:42 [EST]
From:
Gene Brissey , E Co.
Subject: Premonitions
Subj: Combat Related
Premonitions Date: 4/8/2002 2:23:58 PM Eastern Daylight Time From: Genedie77 To:
Ben517 Mail Call readers may or may not believe in premonitions. I'm not sure
that I do. But, last night sleep was slow in coming and I started thinking of
three close friends and platoon mates who may have had premonitions of things to
come. I would like to share these stories with you and learn if there are any
similar experiences. The following combat friends may have had premonitions.
Charles Lemen, two other friends and I sat talking as we waited to board
the planes to depart Rome for the jump in Southern France. Charles, told us that
statistics indicate that one of the four of us would be killed in or soon after
the jump. During the first combat after the jump, near Les Arcs, Charles took a
direct hit from a tank. He was laid to rest in the cemetery at Draguignan. He
remains there to this day. I have visited his grave site on two occasions.
C.B. Jones, was the first would be paratrooper that I met at Camp Toccoa.
I was alone in the barracks when he and others returned from the firing range.
He was loud and pleased that he had made the highest score of the group. For
whatever reason he came to me and told me of his success with the M-1 and
proceeded to show me how to take it apart and put it back together. We became
close friends. C.B. liked this weapon and had another item which was much of his
life, a 35 mm camera. He handled his camera and the M-1 with great care. He
never allowed the camera out of his sight and took many pictures of the troops
and carried it with him in Italy and the 93 days or so in France. After we
returned from the Alps to our tent city near Nice, he for some reason requested
that I take control of his camera and send it to his family if he did not
survive the war. I carried the camera in my barracks bag from that time forward.
During the first battle, for E Company, in the battle of the bulge, C.B. was hit
during the effort to liberate Mont de Fosse on Jan. 3rd "45. He begged to be
allowed to live but died several hours later in an aid station near Trois Ponts.
To further the hurt I lost his camera and all things in my barracks bag when I
was wounded on Feb. 8th in Bergstein , Germany. C.B. was returned to Landis,
N.C. where he now rests. Roger Bender , and I became best friends when he
and I teamed up to pack our parachutes for our first five jumps. We endured
Italy, France and Belgium through the Liberation of St. Vith. We were then taken
to Stavelot, Belgium for a four day rest in a large brick and stone building.
While there Roger requested that I go see his wife and extended family should he
not make it. In the battle around Bergstein he was killed a few minutes before I
was wounded. From a hospital in England I was returned to a hospital at Camp
Patrick Henry, Indiana, near his home in Bloomington, Ind. I was able to visit
the family. They asked if he suffered in death. No. But I could have said that
he suffered during many close encounters with death along the way. Roger, was
returned and buried near his home in Bloomington. These men may have had some
view of the future. Are there premonitions?
Entry of Apr 17, 2002 at 14:30 [EST]
From:
Ed Flannery , G Co.
Subject: Jim Kitchin
Subj:
James L Kitchin Date: 4/11/2002 1:21:58 AM Eastern Daylight Time From:
edflannery@earthlink.net To: ben517@aol.com Sent from the Internet (Details)
Jim Kitchin's name came up recently in Mail Call. It reminded me of a
quiet Sunday afternoon in Joigny. The barracks were empty and very quiet. I
decided to take a walk. The part of Joigny on the opposite side of the Yonne
river was unknown to me. So I crossed over the arched bridge and turned left on
the road parallel to the river. Hadn't gone very far when I looked ahead and saw
a pair of legs, prone, toes up, sporting a shiny pair of jump boots, protruding
beyond some open garage doors. This sight heightened my anxiety considerably so
I rushed on to see what was happening. As I rounded the open doors I witnessed a
sight that would make any mountain lad homesick. There in front of me was a full
size whiskey still in operation. The smiling Frenchman was processing some mash
from rutabagas to make some eau de vie. The still was cranking, the frenchman
smiling, and Jim Kitchin lying flat on his back, mouth wide open,
catching the output. I asked him what the hell he was doing. He said he had
found a good place to get a drink. With my backg