My Dad has Alzheimer’s and lives in a rest home in Norman. His short term memory has virtually vanished, but barely remembers my brother Jack and me, and at ninety his physical condition is beginning to fail.
Dad’s long-term memory is mostly gone and he no longer remembers about his tour of duty during World War II. Still, he was there and this is an excerpt about him from The Fighting Men of Louisiana:
He served as a code clerk in the message center in Ireland, France, Luxembourg and Germany. He took part in the campaigns of Normandy, Dinard, Brest, the Crozon Peninsula, and Luxembourg. In Germany he saw action at Haertgen, from the Roer to the Rhine, and in the Ruhr Pocket, and was in the Elbe River area on V.E. Day. He has the Combat Infantryman’s Badge, the Good Conduct Medal and the European Theatre of Operations Ribbon with four battle stars.
Dad was always reluctant to talk about his experiences in the War but he retold one particular story enough times that it remains ingrained in my mind. I told the story in my novel Prairie Sunset in the words of eighty-year old John Warren.
John and Attie have met a young married couple, Hulk and Lillie Mae at a campground in a remote valley deep in the Ouachita Mountains. All four people suffer from their own personal demons and during a particularly magical night, their inhibitions lessened by a magical dip in a mountainous pool heated by hydrothermal energy, John is encouraged to tell a story about the War. John’s story is my Dad’s story, exactly as he told me so many times.
John’s (and Dad’s) story from Prairie Sunset
Comforting darkness, piquant chili and pacifying effect of strong beer combined to loosen their tongues. Coaxed by Attie, Lillie Mae and especially Hulk, John told several amusing vignettes from his youth.
Hulk finally said, "Were you in the war, John?"
After hesitating a moment, he said, "Yes, I was."
"Well tell us a war story," Hulk goaded.
Poignant memories flooded John's mind and he smiled sadly, unconsciously grinding his toe against an empty cardboard carton in front of him.
Hulk prompted, "We're you in the Battle of the Bulge?"
Waves of nostalgia crested John's mental bow and he said, "Wasn't supposed to be, but I was."
"Please, John," Lillie Mae said. "Tell us."
John did, beginning slowly, and then warming to the tale. "The Bulge was Hitler's last attempt to turn back the advancing Allies," he said. "For a month and a half the Battle lasted, called the 'Bulge' because Germans failed to break through the line, only succeeding in bending it. I was a radioman in the signal corps, too young to serve but I had lied about my age and joined anyway. One night an old colonel appeared at the communications tent, needing to relay a message to Patton. Since we were out of direct radio communication with the main force he decided to deliver it in person. He conscripted me to drive the jeep for him.
"The night turned bitterly cold. Snow had fallen for days, piled high on both sides of the road. Continuing night and day, the line of battle had spread out many miles, constantly moving like an angry sidewinder. When sun came up the following morning, we realized we had somehow crossed the enemy line.
"Germans, besides many other things, were excellent soldiers. We found ourselves caught, along with an advancing column of American infantrymen, in a crossfire ambush. Fresh from the States, our boys were young, mostly teenagers, barely out of diapers, and none had ever seen a German, much less been under fire.
"Finding yourself caught in the middle of a fire fight is like walking a railroad track at night. Hearing the loud blast of a whistle behind you, you turn and stare into the lights of the monstrosity, twenty feet away, and bearing down on you - the remains of your best friend already chewed up beneath its wheels.
"When the attack began, the noise was frightening and extreme - beyond imagination for the uninitiated. Along with gunfire and violent explosions, steel, dirt and stone whistled randomly around our heads. When our inexperienced boys dropped their rifles and ran for cover, German marksmen began dropping them in their tracks. Blood was running in the ditches, staining the snow crimson, when we reached the center of the column. Unarmed, the old colonel jumped from the jeep and ran directly into the path of the retreating GI's.
"Thrusting rifle after rifle back into the hands of those child soldiers, he admonished them to hold their ground. Around us, the battlefield was alive with explosions, hot lead and the mortally wounded screaming for help. A mortar round exploded near the jeep, spraying me with dirt and shrapnel. When I wiped my face, the blood on my hand was not my own.
"Any one of a hundred Hun marksmen could have dropped the colonel. None did. Maybe they were awed by his bravery and coolness under fire. Maybe a higher force was protecting him. With confused soldiers dying all around him, he coursed the length of that bloody road, exhorting them to turn and fight. One-by-one their youth dissolved in a mire of smoke and torn flesh, and they became men in the hot cauldron of battle. They did turn and fight, hanging on until reinforcements arrived."
John grew silent and Attie squeezed his hand, feeling the intensity of his pain. Finally he chuckled and it drew into a hoarse laugh.
"Know what's funny?" John's rapt audience shook their head without answering. "I remember the Colonel as old, but he was probably no more than forty. Years younger than I am now and I still think of him as an old man. I can't remember his name and I don't suppose you'll ever read about him in any history book, but he did as much as anyone to defeat the Nazis."
Suddenly aware of frogs, crickets and distant owls, John realized no on had spoken for an interminable period. When she saw he had finished the story, Lillie Mae put her arms around his shoulder like a mother comforting a child. Hulk remained silent, torn by his own conflicting emotions.
Having nothing else to say, Hulk and Lillie Mae said goodnight, leaving John and Attie alone beneath a yellow moon and sparkling stars. John hugged Attie, drawing for a moment on her strength before speaking.
"In more than sixty years, I've never told that story to another soul."
Attie patted his shoulder and said, "Some of us hold painful memories inside us until the day we die. Its time you let this one go."
Eric'sWeb
Today is Memorial Day and I visited my Dad at the Norman Veteran’s Center. He will be ninety-one in July and the wrath of Alzheimer’s is beginning to take its toll on him. He is in a wheelchair and no longer very responsive, although occasionally he flashes a knowing smile.
