Homer,
I’ve been waiting until Christmas Eve to reply to your question about which part of Patton’s Army my dad served in. I’ll let his words tell the story. While he lay in the hospital dying, he decided to dictate his life story. He was a college boy who wore glasses, therefore he was not drafted until the very end of WWII when the Army needed more recruits. They were not planning to put him in the infantry, but when he arrived in Wales, he was told that at Fort Dix the issue should have been resolved....so...
“...I went overseas with Company E of the 290th Regimen, 75th Infantry...Around November (1944), we were tranported to a big field and stored our duffel bags for later delivery. Suddenly in December the Germans mounted a serious attack on the Belgium-German border...It was at that point the 75th Infantry Division joined the battle... we were trucked up to an area to try to stem the attack. On Christmas Eve in 1944, we hiked the last 5 miles at night and then finally sat down to rest until daybreak. then at daybreak, my Company E, my Squad, was directed to proceed to attack a town that was being occupied by the Germans. We left our knapsacks in the woods and proceeded with our rifles to a roadway that was supposed to lead to the town. The Major was there because this was going to be the first attack by any portion of the 290th Regimen and Company E, specifically, of which I was a part. As we stood by the road the Major said, “Ok, well that’s the place to go” and then he stood around and waited for somebody to do something. Finally, I stepped forward and said, “Well, fellas, if we have to go, let’s go.”. The minute I walked down the road, the Lt. [sic] came running up and walked beside me and we began walking down this road....[this is characteristic of my dad]. The Squad came under heavy fire from field artillery and so the Lt. directed us to encamp in a hillside wood and dig foxholes until we could notify the Major where we were and perhaps get some rescue teams. I didn’t like the idea very well because I didn’t like the idea of being in the wood with .88 Howitzer shells blasting all around and most assuredly wasn’t happy about having to sit there and dig foxholes in the hard dirt because it was Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. [He was a son of immigrant Jews, btw]. It was my job to be the Communications between the Lt. and the Major, for which I had a walkie-talkie. Unfortunately the walkie-talkie didn’t work, so I volunteered to go back...the Lt. said, “No, it’s too dangerous, I can’t let you do it.”. I said to the Lt., “Well, Sir, I have a pretty good sense of direction. I think I know where the Major would be stationed so please let me go.”. ..so he said, “Well, all right if you think you can make it.”. So I set off and finally found my way back to the Major. As it turns out, that night they had been bombarded incessantly so when they were rescued the next day, everyone who was in the encampment had to go back to the base camp because they were so shellshocked. As for me, I wandered around in the woods looking for the rest of my Company and I finally fell asleep under a tree. I was so tired This was the night of Christmas Day. When I woke up the next morning, they told me there had been a heavy bombardment in the woods where I was, I never got a scratch, I never knew a thing, I was so dead tired, I just slept right through it. Finally I found the Major who told me they were going to rescue the rest of the Squad. It was very cold Christmas Day 1944 and unfortunately we did not have adequate protection. The result was it started raining, my feet got all wet, and within a few days my feet were so sore that I had frozen feet...I was sent to a hospital in Leige, Belgium, where they were going to amputate some of my toes. There I lay on a cot with my feet exposed so that perhaps the air would allow my circulation to begin again, which it did. The difficulty with being in this hospital is that the Germans had a rocket called V-2 and one had hit the hospital just the week before and created tremendous damage.”. He told me the next part of the story because I suspect laying in a hospital was bringing back this memory. He sais that laying for a week in the hospital in Leige listening to the rockets overhead was the most frightening experience of the War. So much so that he convinced the doctors that he was well enough and needed to get back to his Company, and they reluctantly let him go early. While his Company was fighting in France, his glasses got caught on a tree branch and broke, so he spent the last part of the fighting back at the Base waiting for replacement lenses. His Squad eventually crossed into Germany where my father was tasked with convincing the reluctant German citiizens to leave their homes [he spoke Yiddush, not German]. One old lady told him she renounced Hitler, but he saw her hide a photo of Hitler under her arm while being escorted out.
This is his story. He had some stars which he never spoke about. He revered Patton. That is the strongest emotion he communicated about his service in the War, Patton was his hero. Merry Christmas.
The Westerner
Homer,
Yesterday, I posted the story of a green recruit, my father, on this auspicious day in 1944. I’m copying it here with formatting. I want to thank whoever added the story of another infantry man who stated that my dad’s squad saved his own, but suffered “tragic losses.”. Yes, the few things my dad said about his war experience is that almost all the men in Company E were “shellshocked” badly and my dad was spared. I have often wondered whether my dad was cowardly or simply smart for what he decided to do on Christmas Eve, 1944, in some Belgian town in WWII? Here is his story in his own words:
At the age of 75, as he lay in the hospital dying, he decided to dictate his life story. He was a college boy who wore glasses, therefore he was not drafted until the very end of WWII when the Army needed more recruits. They were not planning to put him in the infantry, but when he arrived in Wales, he was told that at Fort Dix the issue should have been resolved....so...
“...I went overseas with Company E of the 290th Regimen, 75th Infantry...Around November (1944), we were tranported to a big field and stored our duffel bags for later delivery. Suddenly in December the Germans mounted a serious attack on the Belgium-German border...It was at that point the 75th Infantry Division joined the battle... we were trucked up to an area to try to stem the attack. On Christmas Eve in 1944, we hiked the last 5 miles at night and then finally sat down to rest until daybreak. then at daybreak, my Company E, my Squad, was directed to proceed to attack a town that was being occupied by the Germans. We left our knapsacks in the woods and proceeded with our rifles to a roadway that was supposed to lead to the town. The Major was there because this was going to be the first attack by any portion of the 290th Regimen and Company E, specifically, of which I was a part. As we stood by the road the Major said, “Ok, well that’s the place to go” and then he stood around and waited for somebody to do something. Finally, I stepped forward and said, “Well, fellas, if we have to go, let’s go.”. The minute I walked down the road, the Lt. [sic] came running up and walked beside me and we began walking down this road....[this is characteristic of my dad].
The Squad came under heavy fire from field artillery and so the Lt. directed us to encamp in a hillside wood and dig foxholes until we could notify the Major where we were and perhaps get some rescue teams. I didn’t like the idea very well because I didn’t like the idea of being in the wood with .88 Howitzer shells blasting all around and most assuredly wasn’t happy about having to sit there and dig foxholes in the hard dirt because it was Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. [He was a son of immigrant Jews, btw]. It was my job to be the Communications between the Lt. and the Major, for which I had a walkie-talkie. Unfortunately the walkie-talkie didn’t work, so I volunteered to go back...the Lt. said, “No, it’s too dangerous, I can’t let you do it.”. I said to the Lt., “Well, Sir, I have a pretty good sense of direction. I think I know where the Major would be stationed so please let me go.”. ..so he said, “Well, all right if you think you can make it”.
So I set off and finally found my way back to the Major. As it turns out, that night they had been bombarded incessantly so when they were rescued the next day, everyone who was in the encampment had to go back to the base camp because they were so shellshocked. As for me, I wandered around in the woods looking for the rest of my Company and I finally fell asleep under a tree. I was so tired. This was the night of Christmas Day. When I woke up the next morning, they told me there had been a heavy bombardment in the woods where I was. I never got a scratch, I never knew a thing, I was so dead tired, I just slept right through it. Finally I found the Major who told me they were going to rescue the rest of the Squad.
It was very cold Christmas Day 1944 and unfortunately we did not have adequate protection. The result was it started raining, my feet got all wet, and within a few days my feet were so sore that I had frozen feet...I was sent to a hospital in Leige, Belgium, where they were going to amputate some of my toes. There I lay on a cot with my feet exposed so that perhaps the air would allow my circulation to begin again, which it did. The difficulty with being in this hospital is that the Germans had a rocket called V-2 and one had hit the hospital just the week before and created tremendous damage.”.
When I visited him in the hospital, he told me the next part of the story because I suspect laying in a hospital was bringing back this memory.... He said that laying for a week in the hospital in Leige listening to the rockets overhead was the most frightening experience of the War. So much so that he convinced the doctors that he was well enough and needed to get back to his Company, and they reluctantly let him go early.
Some time later, his Squad was fighting in France, his glasses got caught on a tree branch and broke, thus he spent the last part of the fighting back at the Base waiting for replacement lenses. His Squad eventually crossed into Germany where my father was tasked with convincing the reluctant German citiizens to leave their homes [he spoke Yiddush, not German]. One old German lady told him she renounced Hitler, but he saw her hide a photo of Hitler under her arm while being escorted out. And that’s all I know. He reproached me that day for never asking about his war experience. What he forgot is that like all soldiers, he wouldn’t say much when asked.
He had several stars in his bureau drawer he wouldn’t talk about. The one thing that was clear was he revered Patton. That is the strongest emotion he communicated about his service in the War, Patton was his hero. His pride in serving under Patton instilled in me a lifelong love of my country and the brave men throughout our history who fought for Her.
Merry Christmas.
The Westerner