Mrs. Cordie's Soldier Son : A World War II Saga [1 ed.] 9781603443951, 9781603440295

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MRS. CORDIE’S SOLDIER SON A World War II Saga

Number Sixteen: Sam Rayburn Series on Rural Life Sponsored by Texas A&M University–Commerce M. Hunter Hayes, General Editor

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MRS. CORDIE’S SOLDIER SON A World War II Saga

ROCKY R. MIRACLE

Texas A&M University Press College Station

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Copyright © 2008 by Rocky R. Miracle Manufactured in the United States of America All rights reserved First edition Th is paper meets the requirements of ansi/niso z39.48-1992 (Permanence of Paper) Binding materials have been chosen for durability.

Library of Congress Cataloging–in–Publication Data Miracle, Rocky R., 1953– Mrs. Cordie’s soldier son : a World War II saga / Rocky R. Miracle. — 1st ed. p. cm. — (Sam Rayburn series on rural life ; no. 16) Includes letters written by D.C. Coughran to his family. Includes bibliographical references and index. isbn–13: 978-1-60344-029-5 (cloth : alk. paper) isbn–10: 1-60344-029-1 (cloth : alk. paper) 1. Caughran, D. C., 1921–1989—Correspondence. 2. World War, 1939–1945— Prisoners and prisons, German. 3. World War, 1939–1945—Personal narratives, American. 4. World War, 1939–1945—Campaigns—Western Front. 5. Prisoners of war—United States—Biography. 6. Prisoners of war—Germany—Biography. 7. Prisoners of war—United States—Correspondence. 8. Prisoners of war— Germany—Correspondence. I. Caughran, D. C., 1921–1989. II. Title. d805.g3c62656 2008 940.54'173092—dc22 [b] 2007037675 Frontispiece: Mrs. Cordie and her son, D.C. Caughran Jr.

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To Sarah, Jennie, and D6G1

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CONTENTS Series Editor’s Foreword, by M. Hunter Hayes

ix

Foreword, by Lewis H. Carlson

xi

Preface

xv

The Beginning

1

Camp Wolters

12

“Over Here”

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32

Northern France

52

Clervaux

68

First Snow

78

December 16

83

Dearest Junior

96

The Long Walk

102

The Camps

113

Going Home

127

Ward 168

136

Discharge and a Civilian

146

Epilogue

148

Notes

159

Bibliography

165

Index

169

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SERIES EDITOR’S FOREWORD M. Hunter Hayes

Since its inception

in 1997 the Sam Rayburn Series on Rural Life has provided an array of textual images—snapshots, as it were—that capture and chronicle life in the East Texas region. To date we have published volumes on the cotton and cattle industries, outlaws and vigilantes, and other subjects that illuminate the diversity of life in the area. At the heart of these individual volumes and the series as a whole lie the stories of the men and women who have emerged from the region to effect lasting impacts on their communities and at times to build legacies that have created broader influences at the state and national levels. These stories and histories provide an engaging synthesis between personal life and public life. For these and other reasons, Rocky Miracle’s Mrs. Cordie’s Soldier Son: A World War II Saga makes a fine and an invaluable addition to the series. While firmly rooted in the East Texas region, Mrs. Cordie’s Soldier Son is an expansive narrative that moves from the small town of Chisholm, Texas, to France and the Ardennes and into Germany, describing along the way places such as Mineral Wells in northern Texas. Rather than interpreting for his readers many of the episodes in D.C. Caughran’s life as a civilian, soldier, and prisoner of war, Rocky Miracle allows his father-in-law to speak for himself. This inclusion of primary materials such as Caughran’s letters home to his family creates a vibrant, multifaceted narrative in which colloquial expressions, quotidian details, and objective commentary recapture the essence of Miracle’s subject. The experiences of war have been passed down through a seemingly timeless legacy of oral narratives and literature. Historians,

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novelists, playwrights, poets, filmmakers, and others have long grappled with the difficulties of describing events that words are often inadequate at relating accurately, whether to those who experienced battle or those who would never have to face the inherent brutality of war. However, what the British First World War soldier-poet Wilfred Owen famously termed the “pity of war” becomes clear from personal accounts. In Caughran’s letters to his parents, for example, readers have the rare privilege of seeing one man protecting his family from the grim realities of warfare and his own dire predicament. These letters also grant readers the opportunity to encounter the unembellished human reality of war—from the mundane details of daily life to events of historical significance. As Lewis H. Carlson astutely observes in his foreword, in modern warfare individuals often become anonymous figures subjected to forces beyond their control and line of vision; with Mrs. Cordie’s Soldier Son, Rocky Miracle has preserved for future generations Caughran’s individuality. In doing so, Miracle has crafted a book that I am pleased and honored to include in the Sam Rayburn Series on Rural Life.

x

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FOREWORD Lewis H. Carlson

The myths engulfing

what it means to be a combat soldier or a prisoner of war both reflect and influence our popular culture. The result is a collective memory of how men at war are supposed to act. Consider, for example, the immortal words of Alfred, Lord Tennyson: “Theirs not to reason why, / Theirs but to do and die.” Although his “Charge of the Light Brigade” provides an inspirational message for a stirring novel or a flamboyant Hollywood fi lm, it is not very satisfying or even rational for those doing the dying. Must the heroic soldier truly fall on his sword when all hope is gone, or are there also more practical choices? Several years ago I gave a talk at a military installation based on the experiences of former POWs I had interviewed. After I finished, the general in charge asked me who my personal heroes were. I was taken back by his question. Anyone who works with combat veterans and POWs always wonders how he would fare under similar conditions. Because my service time did not involve combat, I really cannot answer that question, although I do know that I am no John Wayne. For that matter, no one is, not even the Duke, whose military heroics were accomplished on the silver screen rather than on the fields of battle. My response to the general was simple: “Anyone who survived is my hero.” America’s cultural heroes are always self-sufficient, larger-than-life, act-alone individuals who stand tall in the saddle, no matter what the odds. Nothing puts the lie to such heroics more quickly than the reality of modern war, where the individual often becomes a faceless nonentity, battered by forces he often never sees and certainly does not control. He

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quickly recognizes the capricious whims of Dame Fortune, who far too often seems to reward serendipity or chance rather than personal bravery. In contrast to most fictional portrayals, combat soldiers and POWs soon discover that they cannot stand alone. Mutual dependence and even a degree of humility are important survival tactics, but these are difficult lessons for most American men, who have been raised to believe it is a sign of weakness to need the help of another human being. Prisoners of war are especially caught between what society expects of its soldiers and the reality of their captivity. The general who said, “Becoming a prisoner of war is a failed mission,” embraced the conventional wisdom, but lofty platitudes do not help those who have just been captured and are experiencing a series of devastating and debilitating shocks. One moment they are ostensibly independent agents fighting for their country. The next, they are reduced to helpless objects at the mercy of their enemies, wondering whether they are about to be executed. Hungry, sleepless, and sometimes wounded, they often feel an element of shame about the capture itself or even survival when so many buddies have died. Mrs. Cordie’s son, D.C. Caughran, also endured a long march, after which he and his fellow prisoners were locked in freezing boxcars and assaulted by friendly fire from Allied planes. Finally came the long, enervating months in a German stalag, characterized by stifling boredom, agonizing hunger, bitter cold, and minimal health care. The fortunate, such as D.C. Caughran, received supporting letters from home. Not so the poor soul whose wife wrote him, “Even though you are a coward and a failure, I still love you.” There is also the seldom-told account of families and friends back home. What is the effect of going weeks without hearing from a loved one at the front or, worse yet, receiving the dreaded notification that he is MIA or has become a POW? As told so well in Mrs. Cordie’s Soldier Son, these families, desperate for news, searched through official and unofficial records, sought out returning veterans, and formed support groups of families in similar circumstances. The fact that there remain more than seventy-eight thousand American World War II MIAs means that tens of thousands of families have never reached closure. Finally, there is another part of a soldier’s or a POW’s life that is seldom addressed in popular culture. Fictional portrayals of war usually xii

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Foreword

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end with either glorious victory or noble defeat. But in truth, the cessation of hostilities and liberation are not the end of the story. Indeed, these men will be mentally playing out their battles or captivity for the rest of their lives. I have interviewed more than two hundred former POWs from World War II and Korea, and only two insisted that their POW experiences had no negative effects on their subsequent mental well-being, and in each case the wife disagreed. I truly admire Rocky Miracle’s Mrs. Cordie’s Soldier Son for the contribution it makes to the literature of World War II. This is history from the bottom up, told by or about men whose stories too seldom receive a public hearing. It is also a welcome antidote to the bloated, myth-laden war stories so frequently found in popular fiction, movies, and television. Using oral histories, personal letters, and newspaper accounts, Mrs. Cordie’s Soldier Son reminds us that real men fight and die, are captured and liberated, the consequences of which affect more than the soldiers themselves. Above all, D.C. Caughran’s wartime experiences admirably illustrate the sacrifices that thousands of proud Americans made for their country. These men endured—under the most adverse of conditions. They are all heroes, and so is Rocky R. Miracle for doing such a wonderful job on his father-in-law’s story.

Foreword

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xiii

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PREFACE I have written and rewritten this preface several times, and no matter how often I rework it, I doubt that I will ever be satisfied. This document started out as a “telling” of the World War II experiences of my sons’ maternal grandfather. However, as I proceeded, it became impossible to tell the whole story because I doubt anyone knows the whole story. It has its beginnings in the tiny town of Chisholm, on the East Texas prairie, which set the stage for the life and the world of D.C. Caughran Jr. From this rural community, D.C.’s world expanded to include his U.S. Army induction and training at Camp Wolters, Texas, his service through Europe, capture and imprisonment, and his eventual return to Texas for an uncertain stay in an army hospital. In several of D.C.’s letters home he promises that upon his return he will tell about where he has been and what he has seen. However, his experiences later became so troubling that he never told all of the stories. Even when relating a pleasant anecdote, he ran the risk of recalling a painful memory that he had suppressed for a long time. These recollections of D.C.’s time in the army are not meant to comply with official U.S. Army records or recorded history; rather, they are his personal memories and impressions of the events at that point in time. From my conversations with him and in particular from the letters he wrote during the war (which his mother kept), I believe I have pieced together a significant portion of the stories that he was never able to fully tell. These stories became Mrs. Cordie’s Soldier Son. While many writings revolve around the romantic aspects of war and the resulting triumphs, this book deals more with an only son

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leaving the comfort of home and family and becoming part of the same adventure that so many other Americans were about to undergo. Although these experiences are those of D.C. Caughran Jr., this could be the story of almost any soldier in any army, in any war—a citizen soldier who later became a husband, father, and grandfather. The letters also give us an insight into the home front. The talk of the war, the anxiety of not knowing whether your loved one was safe, and the hope that everyone would return home soon were the overriding thoughts. I am D.C.’s son-in-law, as I am married to his older daughter, Sarah. I decided to write down what little I knew of D.C.’s early years and some of his wartime experiences somewhat out of respect but mostly because his grandchildren would never really have an opportunity to know what an incredibly fine person he was and what some of the factors were that developed his character. His quiet nature, pride in his family, and sense of fairness were passed down to his own children and their children. After making an initial draft of this document, I asked D.C.’s sister Mildred Barr to review it for any inaccuracies, clarification, or additional insight she might have. It is with the latter that she was of special help. My wife, Sarah, was kind enough to carefully read my last few drafts to ensure clarity and continuity. I could not have written this without her. In addition, when I thought the draft was nearly completed, I obtained the letters that D.C. mailed home to his family. Originally I was under the mistaken impression that only a half-dozen pieces of mail existed. As it turned out, there were dozens of letters that could fill a woman’s hatbox, along with other items that D.C.’s mother, Cordelia, had saved. From the time D.C. received his draft notice in the summer of 1942 through his stay at the U.S. Army’s Ashburn General Hospital in McKinney, Texas, and finally his discharge at Fort Sam Houston in San Antonio, Texas, in late 1945, Cordelia attempted to maintain every connection possible with her only son. My own research concluded with a pilgrimage to Clervaux, Luxembourg, to see for myself the quaint village and the geography of the Ardennes and to meet the people with whom D.C. felt such a bond. It is perhaps to Mrs. Cordie that I owe the biggest thanks for preserving all of these letters and memories of the son that she nearly lost. —Rocky R. Miracle xvi

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Preface

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MRS. CORDIE’S SOLDIER SON

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THE BEGINNING Weighing approximately 160

pounds, D.C. Caughran Jr. was five feet, ten inches tall. With his somewhat wavy brown hair, blue-gray eyes, and quick smile, he easily made friends. This ability was due in large part to his role as the youngest sibling and only son, as well as three, very protective older sisters. On December 22, 1921, D.C. was born in Forney, Texas, to D.C. Caughran Sr. and Cordelia Johnston Caughran. He was raised in the neighboring, and much smaller, Chisholm, a community about twentyfive miles east of Dallas. While Cordelia had given birth to his older sisters at home, D.C. was the first in his family to be born in a hospital. His sisters were Dorothy Dee (born in 1914 and often referred to as DD), Mary Alice (born in 1917) and Mildred (born in 1920). Because only eighteen months separated D.C. and Mildred, they were close emotionally. When Mildred started school, she often came home before the end of the school day because of some unknown “ailment.” Moments after returning home and walking in the door, she would become oblivious to her prior ills and start playing with her little brother. The land surrounding Chisholm is primarily prairie, with some hardwood timber located throughout the area. Most of the farms were relatively small (approximately fifty acres) and grew cotton as the primary source of income. Several of D.C.’s letters home refer to the cotton crop, in particular the current price and the weather. In one letter he even stated that, once he got out of the army and returned home to Chisholm, he might plant a cotton crop. On more than one occasion he mentioned how he wanted to invest the money he was putting away in

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war bonds. To many people from rural Texas, cotton farming seemed like a logical investment or even a career choice although I never really imagined D.C. as a farmer. During D.C.’s youth, Chisholm, an unincorporated town in the southeast corner of Rockwall County, had a population of about seventy-five people. The black land along this stretch of Texas State Highway 205 was well suited for cotton farming. Although located in Rockwall County, most of the business outside of Chisholm was conducted in nearby Terrell, in Kaufman County. Terrell was a larger community than Rockwall, and although farther away, it provided more business opportunities (e.g., banking, feed mill, picture show, cafés). However, when it came to keeping up with the local news, D.C.’s newspaper of choice was the Rockwall Success. The majority of D.C.’s “growing-up” years took place during the Great Depression. Life was hard for most people then, both financially and physically. Most of the children did not recognize the difficulty, however, because they knew little else. The town of Chisholm boasted two general stores. The Tapp family owned one, and D.C.’s parents operated the other, which was known as the Caughran Brothers. (D.C. Senior had two brothers, Tom and Denny, both of whom owned an interest in the store.) The Masonic Hall was located above one of the general stores, while the other general store housed the post office. As most general stores during those times, Caughran Brothers sold piece goods, school supplies, and groceries. Cordelia kept the books and posted the records about once a week. Later, while still a young boy, D.C. took over the task of record keeping and preparing the bills since many of the customers came in once a month to pay what they could. The small community also had a cotton gin, a blacksmith shop, two churches (Methodist and, of course, Baptist), a Masonic lodge, and a new five-room brick schoolhouse. Unfortunately, shortly after the new school was built, it was decided that the older students would be bused to the high school in Rockwall, thus negating the need for at least three of those rooms. However, they were put to good use for community events and provided outstanding storage for the teachers and students. On a not-so-long-ago Saturday morning in Terrell, Texas, I was in 2

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the comfortable old City Barbershop. Today it no longer offers bath facilities for its customers as many barbershops did decades previously, especially for those male patrons who came to town once a week on Saturday or even less frequently. Not many of those present that particular Saturday morning knew me since I did not grow up in Terrell, and my own barber (who by chance was also my cousin) in Wills Point had recently retired. Although I have not lived in neighboring Wills Point for more than thirty years, I continued using the same barber, F. G. Hardy. Thus as a new customer, I enjoyed a certain anonymity while listening to the stories that bounced off the walls of the venerable establishment. Especially in a small town, men are more prone to change their doctor than their barber. It’s a very personal relationship. Even as one loses his hair, he keeps his barber. Also, I still like the idea of the barbershop as primarily an all-male business with the customary dated Field and Stream magazines lying about and an occasional roughly folded local newspaper. During my visit, one of the more senior patrons, perhaps in his mid-to-late seventies, wore a relatively new ball cap that designated him as a World War II navy veteran. He talked about attending Rockwall High School and playing football against some of the surrounding communities near Chisholm, including Wills Point. Near the end of his monologue and at an appropriate point, I told him that my father-in-law was from Chisholm. It was logical to assume that, since he and D.C. would have been close to the same age, they would have known one another. He asked who my father-in-law was, and I told him. He did not say a word at first. In fact, I think he forgot to breathe for a brief moment. He just looked at me with his mouth slightly open, and you could tell that he was trying to decide how to respond. I had said something that he had obviously not expected. He did not seem shocked by my statement. It was just unanticipated. A flood of memories that had not been summoned in many years must have suddenly rushed by him. In a somewhat awkward moment, I proceeded to introduce myself. He then told me that his name was James Lovell. With eyes that appeared more intense than a moment earlier, Mr. Lovell informed me that he not only knew D.C. but had attended my The Beginning

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wedding to Sarah almost thirty years earlier. Yes, he knew D.C. and knew him well. He told me that D.C. had helped him find his first real job sometime after returning home from the navy and World War II. (After D.C.’s discharge from the army, he had worked for the Texas Employment Commission (now the Texas Workforce Commission) in Terrell, where he focused initially on placing veterans in jobs.) Lovell said that, upon his relocation to Terrell after leaving years earlier to work in grocery stores in East Texas, D.C. often came by to visit in Lovell’s store, usually later in the evening when business was slow. Of course, D.C. went to the store under the pretext of needing a loaf of bread or some other miscellaneous item. On one particular visit, as D.C. entered the store, he motioned to Lovell, as he often did, to meet him at the back of the store when he had a moment. After Lovell finished with a customer, he made his way to where D.C. was going through the motions of contemplating goods on the shelf. On this occasion and after the initial small talk, D.C. mentioned that, at the start of each month, Lovell’s father was always the first or second person to pay his bill at the family’s general store in Chisholm. Not everyone did that—or could. Obviously this little trait of the senior Mr. Lovell touched D.C. because it was an indication of his integrity and character. Especially during the Depression era, it seemed that, with no money, reputation was all that people could call their own, and that is perhaps why business was done with a handshake and a person’s word. We have lost so much of that in today’s world. James Lovell then related to me that, when he was in grade school in Chisholm, his teacher told him that he needed ten cents to buy a school notebook. Young James went home and told his dad. Unfortunately, money was tight, as it was for everyone. The elder Lovell did not have the money, but he told James to go to the general store and see Mr. Caughran, who would advance him the dime. The next morning James was at the store even before Mr. Caughran. When Caughran arrived at the front door, young Lovell told him why he needed the dime and asked whether he would charge the Lovell family’s account for the ten cents. Before James even walked through the door, Mr. Caughran looked down at him and of course said yes. Caughran reached into his 4

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pocket, handed James the dime, and never said another word about it. That was the type of community Chisholm (and most of rural Texas) was more than two lifetimes ago. Neighbors took care of each other. Much of the surrounding area was made up of people who, like the Lovells, made their living off the land but lacked the benefit or satisfaction of ownership. These sharecroppers’ primary goal was to put food on the table in the short run and to someday own the land they worked day after day. The life of a sharecropper knew no barriers of race. Although many people think of only African Americans as sharecroppers, many whites also shared that distinction. Their plight was similar: They worked land they did not own. They shared the crop production with the owner and literally had sweat equity in their endeavors. In many cases, as partial compensation for their labor, the owner provided a house for the sharecroppers on the same land they worked. With outdoor toilet facilities and limited indoor plumbing, the house met only minimum standards, however. A garden provided fresh vegetables that were shared with neighbors. Although the typical family regularly “ate out of the garden,” living within any kind of budget was nearly impossible. In fact, there was no budget. One had to have money to plan a budget, and this was just not the case. Fortunately, seldom did the children recognize their predicament. The adults persevered, and, often over time, many earned enough money to purchase their own farm. In addition to the general store, D.C.’s parents owned a small gasoline station directly across the Terrell-to-Rockwall state highway, which by today’s standards was nothing more than a road. Some days D.C. worked both locations at the same time—without assistance. On one such occasion, while trying to rush from the store to the fi lling station to service a waiting car, he was struck by an oncoming vehicle as he ran across the road. It happened quickly: At the last possible second he jumped onto the car, rolled over the hood, and kept running—with little break in stride. Young D.C. was very fortunate that cars did not travel at the speed they do today. He was more worried about what his father would say about not paying attention (i.e., looking both ways) than about almost getting killed. The Beginning

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Other than the cotton gin and general stores, Chisholm witnessed little other business activity on a daily basis. However, D.C. enjoyed working in the family store and seeing all the folks that came through town, usually on their way to either Rockwall or Terrell. For tiny Chisholm, these establishments were the center of the universe. With the exception of a family outing to the larger neighboring towns, the townspeople needed little else. Once D.C. told a story of a family car trip to Rockwall. The car was of the vintage that was very open, not closed in like the more popular sedans of the late thirties. For her only son Mrs. Cordie had purchased a cloth cap that went very nicely, she thought, with his Sunday clothes, which were also worn when they went to town to shop or visit friends. Unfortunately, D.C. could not convince his well-meaning mother that this cap was not appropriate for a boy of his advanced years (he was not yet ten). As you can imagine, in the open car on its way to Rockwall, somehow (when his parents were not looking) that cap left his head with a vengeance and ended up alongside the road. Upon arrival in Rockwall, D.C.’s mother noticed that his lovely store-bought cap was missing. Distressed at the loss, she tried to convince D.C. Senior that they should immediately turn around and hunt for the cap. However, Junior could not remember exactly where it blew off his head and suggested that a return now would be a futile exercise even though he too was “disappointed” and would miss the fine-looking cap. Certainly someone would already have found it. The family would be much better off finishing their business in Rockwall and looking for it on the way home. The good news is that D.C. did not have to wear the cap again. The bad news was that his mother might buy another one. D.C. never did admit to his parents that, when no one was looking, he took that cap off and threw it as hard as he could away from the moving vehicle. He did not want to see it again, and he certainly did not want to be seen in it. Sometimes when D.C. was bored on Sundays and especially during the hot, sticky summers, he opened up the store and sold soft drinks and a few grocery items. At this time in Texas, dry goods were not allowed to be sold because of “blue laws,” which prohibited such sales on Sunday. Since not everyone had iceboxes for soft drinks, on hot afternoons, 6

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going to the general store was a way of sharing the discomfort and occasional boredom with friends and neighbors. One unique talent of D.C.’s was his ability to mentally add a series of four-digit numbers as fast as one would normally talk and give the correct total on the spot. I occasionally tested him on this gift, sometimes throwing a dozen numbers at him, and he was never wrong. I asked him whether anyone had ever questioned his totals when working in the store, and he said not that he could recall. Later on, D.C. graduated from Rockwall High School. A great deal of evidence indicates that D.C. Senior (often referred to as D-Boy or just D by family and friends) did not have profit as the primary motive in some of his business ventures. He once obtained a franchise to sell farm implements. Money was difficult to come by for D.C. Senior’s neighbors, and some of the farmers paid their bills only once a year—after their crops “came in.” In order to help them out, he sold this needed equipment to them at cost. This practice did not last long, however. Once the farm implement company discovered that he was drastically undercutting the prices of their other dealers in the area, the company pulled his franchise. Nevertheless, D.C. Senior never regretted his actions. In the early years of the Depression, D.C. Senior lost two farms. One was near the small community of Fate, in eastern Rockwall County, and the other north of Chisholm, closer to Rockwall. This was the result of his custom of giving so much credit to his customers. Although some of them could not pay their bills, D.C. Senior still had to pay his suppliers. The vendors were not as lenient in extending credit. It is hard to know—or appreciate—what this sacrifice meant to the Caughran family or their neighbors. From a psychological standpoint, losing land is not an easy thing. For those that work the land, finally owning a piece of it means becoming a part of it. The land is almost sacred, and the only thing more important is family. (Although I never saw it with the Caughrans, some people believe land and money are more important than family or friends.) The goal was to accumulate land—and almost never to sell it. For many of that generation and even the next, land defined people and even gave them, at times, a quiet status. The Beginning

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For D.C. Senior to lose his farms so others could continue to meet their basic needs with items from the general store was more than an act of kindness. Fifty and even sixty years later someone would mention to D.C.’s sisters, Mildred and Mary Alice, how much D.C. Senior had helped them during the Depression. Without his generosity they would not have had food on the table or thread to mend the worn-out overalls. After graduating from Rockwall High School, D.C. attended John Tarleton Junior College (a member of the Texas A&M College system) in Stephenville, Texas. From Tarleton, D.C. often hitchhiked home. During those years, it was common to hitchhike, which was quite easy, especially for a boy in uniform. At Tarleton, D.C. was a member of the U.S. Army Reserve Officer Training Corps (ROTC), which was mandatory for all male students. The young men were required to wear uniforms at all times on campus and at school functions. They also frequently wore the uniform when traveling to and from school. While at college, D.C. wrote a composition about what was to become his last hitchhiking experience. In 1939 this was the sole means of transportation for many of the male students in Erath County who were attending John Tarleton Junior College. Although the travel schedule was somewhat uncertain, most of the students eventually got to their intended destination. Hitchhikers also met a variety of characters. Some were families; others were farmers, businessmen, doctors, or lawyers going about their various activities. Up to this point, D.C. had always considered himself lucky in the rides he received. Some of those who picked the students up even expected the hitchhiker to drive. This was especially true of men who had been driving for a long period of time and wanted to rest. In this way D.C. had an opportunity to experience several types of cars. If a tire went flat, the hitchhiker would normally fi x it or at least help; this type of mishap always seemed to happen when D.C. was in his biggest hurry to get home. On one of those Friday evenings D.C. left the campus around sundown but thought he could still get home at a reasonable hour, especially if he got a ride quickly and they drove fast enough. After patiently sticking his right thumb out for the world to see and after several vehicles

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had left him standing in a shroud of dust, a car finally stopped, well after dark. The man behind the wheel pulled over suddenly and told D.C. to get into the car. At this time of the evening, the air was turning cold, and the ride was most welcome. After several miles D.C. realized that perhaps he had caught a ride with the wrong person. The driver had a revolver stuck in his belt and another within easy reach elsewhere in the car. Rifles and sidearms were not all that uncommon, but if you carried a weapon, seldom did you pack more than one. Although this was not the Old West, the days of Bonnie and Clyde were still fresh in many people’s memories in this part of the state. The driver eventually told D.C. that the police were looking for him and that he wanted D.C. to ride with him through the towns along the way so that he would not attract any attention. Because D.C. was in his army ROTC uniform, the car and its driver were thus less suspicious to any law enforcement officer who might be observing cars traveling through the area. The man did not say what towns he wanted D.C. to ride through or how far he was going. They were at least headed toward Fort Worth at the moment, and that was the right direction. After passing through Weatherford, Fort Worth, and other towns several miles away, D.C. began thinking about an exit strategy for his current predicament. As they continued east and passed through Dallas, they stopped for gasoline. When the driver went into the filling station to hopefully pay for the gasoline, D.C. grabbed his small bag and ran. He was not sure where he was headed. He was just running from a situation that had the potential of turning into a really bad day. As soon as he could, he reported the driver to the police but never heard what became of him. After that incident, D.C.’s hitchhiking days were over. That night in Dallas he caught a slow bus for the remainder of his thirty-five-mile trip to Terrell. When thinking about the future, D.C. was unsure what he wanted to do for the rest of his life. All of his sisters became schoolteachers. Mildred and Mary Alice graduated from East Texas State Teachers College in Commerce, Texas (now Texas A&M University– Commerce). After two years of college at John Tarleton, D.C. transferred to the University of Texas (UT) in Austin. Although Commerce was much closer to

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Chisholm (about fifty miles to the northeast), he did not want to teach, and even though he could have majored in business, D.C. found the buzz of the state capital and of course the much larger university a good deal more interesting. While attending UT, D.C. lived in a boarding house near campus. He enjoyed the social aspects of school, while academics were a secondary consideration at the time. By today’s standards, “social” in this context was very low-key. Except for the two years in Stephenville, D.C. had spent his whole life in Chisholm, and the sheer size of Austin presented numerous opportunities to meet new people and have fresh experiences. During this time D.C. also became an avid sports fan, especially when it came to football. In his letters home while in the army, he often referred to the success of the UT football team. Unfortunately, not too long after D.C.’s enrollment at the University of Texas, World War II began for the United States. As expected, D.C. received the following greeting from the government: “June 29, 1942— From the Selective Service, 1st National Bank Building, Rockwall, Texas, D.C. is now classified by the Local Board as ‘1-A.’ His Order No. is 10,164. M.W. Briscoe.” I do not know exactly how D.C. reacted to this small and, on quick glance, insignificant post card. However, World War II was different from prior and even later conflicts. In the

A confident D.C. Jr. with his mother and sister Mildred a few days before his induction into the U.S. Army.

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This photograph of D.C. Jr. with his sister Mary Alice, nephew Dan, Mildred, and Dorothy Dee was taken immediately prior to his departure for induction into the U.S. Army.

latter days of the Vietnam War, I received a similar postcard. Although I knew it was coming, that 1-A classification nevertheless evoked a feeling of uncertainty and discomfort. Later the order came to report for a military physical. D.C. knew that his world was about to change significantly. Before the end of summer 1942 D.C. was drafted into the U.S. Army. He never returned to UT to finish his degree.

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CAMP WOLTERS The first notice

to the family regarding D.C. and his entry into the U.S. Army was a standard-form postcard: July 23, 1942, Cordelia Coughran [sic] at General Delivery, Chisholm, Texas, receives notice from the Dallas, Texas, Induction Station (War Department, the Adjutant General’s Office) that D.C. (Army Serial No. 38,119,554) is accepted for active military service. He has left this station en route to a reception center at Camp Wolters, Texas, where he will remain for a short time and then be sent to another station. As he will be in transit for the next few days, it will be difficult for mail to reach him. It is therefore requested that no attempt be made to communicate with him except in an emergency until you receive advice as to the address to which mail for him should be sent. Camp Wolters near Mineral Wells, Texas, was D.C.’s first duty station in the U.S. Army. This was not exactly far from home, and, for the time being, that suited D.C. just fine. Mineral Wells is about 125 miles west of Chisholm. In fact, D.C. sometimes traveled through Mineral Wells while attending John Tarleton Junior College in Stephenville. In the beginning, D.C. considered this whole situation (the war, the U.S. Army, and even Camp Wolters) an adventure. Even though he was relatively close to home, he was periodically homesick while in Mineral Wells. The U.S. Army was somewhat more restrictive than college life,

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and D.C. could not even phone home when he wanted because of the frequently long lines at the few public telephones around the post. The initial arrival at Camp Wolters was uneventful. After signing a few government cards and forms for processing purposes, D.C. was released for chow, which he had to buy for the fi rst couple of days. (The new inductees were not yet in the administrative system of the U.S. Army; thus they had to pay for their own meals.) The next day he was issued uniforms and everything else he would need to begin life as a soldier. If he could not carry what few possessions he had brought on his back, they had to go. In addition, restrictions on the retention of civilian clothing were strict. The uniform of the U.S. Army was worn at all times, both on and off the post. His civilian clothes were sent home at government expense. As he himself had been informed, D.C. told his parents that he expected to be at Camp Wolters no more than a few days. After the issuance of uniforms and other gear, additional visits to medical, and testing at the reception center, most of the new soldiers were sent to other U.S. Army posts for training. The two-story barracks, D.C. related, were made of “lumber wood,” and each held about one hundred troops. The first evening was spent getting settled. Most of the men were lying around, talking, writing letters home, or listening to the radio—free time. Since little time was available in the early morning, D.C. was learning quickly to get as much done in the evening as possible, including showering and shaving. While D.C.’s mother was careful to pack every possible item her son could need (and then some), she forgot towels, so D.C. used his undershirts until he was issued a towel. He was not alone in this multipurpose use of his underclothing. Camp Wolters had first-run Hollywood movies for the soldiers up until 11:00 p.m. However, D.C. was not sure how to get around the lights-out orders for 9:00 p.m. He later learned that the permanent post personnel and the recruits had different schedules. In no time D.C. became a prolific writer. This was due in part to homesickness since it helped stave off depression at not having the freedom to come and go as he pleased. Perhaps most of all, these letters comforted his parents and sisters. He knew they were worried about their only son, and the letters were his way of telling them that Camp Wolters

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everything was all right. Periodically D.C. attempted to call home, but the public phones were often located outside in the elements, where one stood in lengthy lines awaiting a turn. This was complicated by a need to be in other places at certain times (after all, he was in the U.S. Army) and uncertainty as to whether the party he was calling was even at home. In one letter to his parents he mentioned that he had waited in line for an hour to use the phone but finally gave up. In his first letter home, D.C. described the quality of his quarters, access to “picture shows,” and his daily activities. August 11, 1942, Camp Wolters, Texas Thursday Night. Dear Everybody: Well, I made it here O.K. Got here about 1:45 or 2 o’clock. We only had to sign a few cards and get our beds issued & etc. We ate at 4 o’clock today—but it is usually at 5 o’clock. We are really not at the real camp although it is real large. It’s the reception center. Our food taste good this evening. We had to buy our own meals at dinner as we were by ourselves all day. We will not be here over 4 days. I don’t think most of us won’t. Will get uniforms in the morning. I have liked everything about it so far. We are living in lumber wood houses which holds about 100. Everyone is laying around talking or writing or listening to radio. There are army picture shows on the grounds which we can attend until 11 o’clock at night although lights go out at 9 o’clock. I’m going to send a lot of junk home until I get stationed or for keeps such as undershirts. They issue everything I have heard & I might have too much junk to carry on my back when I move. Think I will take a shower which is down stairs & shave as we don’t have time in the mornings. Then I might go over to the show. They say pictures are here before Dallas gets them. Forgot what was on to-nite. Well I’m making it fine. As I said I haven’t seen anything bad about it & I watched them drill this evening too. Of course guess it’ll get worse although what I mean surroundings are nice—shows, games of all kinds & etc. We had one more good time on the bus today. Didn’t realize I 14

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had gone & I still don’t realize that I’m locked up out here & can’t come home. Will write you again to-morrow night. Hope you get this Fri. as I’m mailing it now. It’s Free too. On my paper this evening I saw Limited Service in red letters on them. I’m in Co. C—Write if you want to although I doubt whether I get it. Told us to tell everyone not to write as we would be here only short time. Love D.C. Jr. One thing I need which I didn’t bring was a towel but I can use undershirt like everybody else until I’m issued some in the morning. Camp Wolters was a U.S. Army reception center where soldiers were sworn into the U.S. Army, tested, provided uniforms, taught how and whom to salute (new privates saluted everybody). In the preceding letter, much of the situation was not yet clear. D.C. stated that he was not used to being “locked up” and that he could not come home whenever he wanted. In addition, his mother must have cringed over his using his undershirt as a towel, whereas his dad got a chuckle. It was the simple and innocent sentence that let them know everything was fine. As D.C. mentioned, many soldiers did not remain long at Camp Wolters, which was also a training center for many infantry recruits (i.e., infantry replacements) and a limited number of soldiers for other branches of the U.S. Army, such as the Signal Corps. For some of these, the stay was extended. At Camp Wolters, D.C. went through basic training, which lasted thirteen weeks—longer than he had originally expected. A few weeks earlier, a future war hero had entered the U.S. Army soon after his eighteenth birthday. Audie Murphy, from the Celeste, Farmersville, and Greenville area (not many miles north of Chisholm) completed his basic training at Camp Wolters a few weeks after D.C.’s arrival. It is not surprising that they never met there, considering the thousands of soldiers that were processed through the U.S. Army post. However, they met a few years later. Camp Wolters

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The reference to “Limited Service” in D.C.’s letter pointed to his physical qualifications (i.e., poor eyesight) for a combat role. With this limitation, an alternative for D.C. and others in similar circumstances was to be discharged from the U.S. Army and have their skills put to use in a wartime-critical industry as a civilian. The latter was not something that D.C. wanted; however, he did not fully understand the implications or ramifications of such a decision. About this time a former accounting instructor of D.C.’s from the University of Texas was kind enough to write a letter of recommendation that might help him at least perform clerical duties and remain in the U.S. Army. The amount of food and clothing available to the new inductees was something few of these boys had ever seen, especially considering the living conditions brought about by the Great Depression. Both D.C. and the others were continually amazed: Dear Folks, Well, I have been through a big day today. First thing we did was march about 7 blocks to breakfast after getting up at 5:45. I ate more breakfast than I ever did. Next we took 2 intelligence tests. I think I did good on them. We ate at 12 o’clock—but first of all we were issued our uniforms. I have never in my life seen so much junk which they issued me. Overcoats, raincoats, 2 pair of shoes, all winter supplies, canteens & I mean everything. Meals are good I think. You get more than you can possibly eat. They haven’t assigned me anything yet but I think I’ll get some kind of office work. We had personal interviews but they weren’t with the big boys. But I gave them my complete record. They gave me a typing quiz right then. I told them I wasn’t too hot at typing but I could. He said that he wanted to place me through that means if he could & then change me. Type about 35 or 40 words a min. So I know nothing certain yet. We have to drill everywhere we go—to eat & everything. It’s all but that we can’t get mail or that you can’t have visitors. We can get mail. I listened at mail call this evening just hoping I’d have a letter but of course I couldn’t have possibly got one by now. Visitors can see us too while we are here at 16

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reception center. Telephones are also handy. A drug store is about 50 feet from here where you can buy anything you want. Ice cream, coca colas everyday—one good thing about the army. Pardon the writing as you know I don’t have a desk, just a knee. Am going to ship all undershirts, Handkee, shorts, my razor & brush as I got one just like I had. We got 5 shorts, undershirts & etc. issued to us. Am about to learn how to make up my bunk. I also got my dog tag as they call it which you have to wear around your neck all of the time. Has name, no. & mother’s name & address on it. Have had no shots yet—will get them tomorrow. Will write you again soon. They are coming in daily & leaving daily most of them to California. You all don’t come out Sunday because I’ve told you everything. I’m guessing I’ll be here till next week anyway. If I get job will be here longer. I hope. Everyone is awfully friendly & nice. Am fi xing to read my neighbor’s newspapers “Star Telegram.” Still can’t realize that I’m really in the army. Like everything is O.K. although they did nearly walk us to death this morning. Love D.C. Jr. The idea of having two pair of shoes just did not seem an efficient use of resources. Few of these boys had ever owned more than one pair (and in some cases not even that). The U.S. Army was spending money on them that was difficult to comprehend, and on top of having the new clothes and all the food they could eat, they were getting paid. Men who could type 35–40 words per minute were not common. This was at least a respectable rate. This “change” (in anticipated military training) referred to by one of the individuals who was processing D.C. was significant. His office skills, in combination with his “Limited Service” designation, were key factors in establishing his military occupational skill. Early in his stay at Camp Wolters, D.C. was issued his dog tags, as he mentioned in the preceding letter. Later, the dog tags also included information on the soldier’s religion and blood type. Care was not always taken with these critical pieces of information, and the dog tags were not always verified for accuracy, even by the wearer. For example, Camp Wolters

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when my own father received his dog tags, the blood type they stated for him was incorrect. If he had been wounded and required a blood transfusion, it would probably have been fatal. Throughout the soldier’s stay away from home, the most important item was not the USO, post exchange (PX), or any other amenity; it was the U.S. mail. Letters sustained the soldiers and reinforced their connection to family and home. In one letter home D.C. commented with disappointment how the much-anticipated daily mail call was eventually stopped on Sundays. Camp Wolters was considered a good duty station (but perhaps only by those from the southwestern part of the United States), as long as you were not on a military exercise in the field between July and September. However, it was still a U.S. Army training post, and the recruits had to be there. The sergeants’ only job was to make your life difficult, and the officers seemed to show up only when there was an inspection; perhaps their biggest concern was whether you made them look bad. This, of course, was the impression of every soldier in the first few weeks of U.S. Army life. Training involved harsh conditions, and D.C. commented that he did not believe there was a hotter place anywhere. Texas has a unique history and a certain mystique. Soldiers who were new to Texas or the Southwest had to deal with the dirt, periodic winds (often punctuated with sand from West Texas), “blue northers,” scrub brush, rattlesnakes, and living away from home for an extended period of time. Also, this was the first time since Reconstruction that many Texans had had to deal with Yankees on such a large scale. Camp Wolters constituted a new experience on several fronts. For instance, the added bulk and weight of the gear the recruits had to carry when “in the field” made even walking across the terrain dangerous at night, especially with the sudden rocky drop-offs and miles of mesquite trees. However, D.C. always was positive in his letters home. A piece of letterhead D.C. used included a preprinted description of the Camp Wolters area: The broken lands of Parker County, Camp Wolters location, saw more hair-lifting than any other part of the Texas frontier. General John R. Baylor, leader against the hostiles, established a fire18

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eating newspaper called the “The White Man” at Weatherford. Here he once brought in nine Comanche scalps, hung them with other trophies, including a white woman’s scalp recovered from a slain warrior, on a rope adjoined citizens in a war dance underneath. During the Civil War he seized Arizona for the Confederacy, later subdued outlaws, ranched, hunted lost Mexican mines, enjoyed being one of the most daring frontiersmen Texas ever produced. Camp Wolters was established in 1925 and named for Brig. Gen. Jacob F. Wolters, commander of the 56th Brigade of the Texas National Guard. Initially designated as a summer training facility for his units, the post now covered approximately 2,300 acres. After the U.S. Army designated Camp Wolters as an infantry replacement center in 1940, the facility increased to 7,500 acres, with a troop capacity that reached a peak of approximately twenty-five thousand. Less than a year after the end of the war, the camp was deactivated. However, the U.S. Army later redesignated it as Fort Wolters, and it remained in active use by the U.S. Army until 1975. A dominant feature of this part of Texas is the mesquite tree, which to the uninitiated is not much of a tree, at least by North Texas standards. It grows to various sizes and uneven shapes, depending on the soil and rain. The tree produces a bean that early Native Americans once ground into flour; if eaten by itself, however, it may cause severe stomachaches. Livestock sometimes ate the beans as fodder, but cattle typically did not want to deal with the thorns on the tree’s scrawny, low-hanging limbs. They found it a lot easier to work the food chain that was closer to the ground. Although the early Native Americans used the mesquite bean as a source of food, the invading Europeans did not adopt the practice. Mesquite did not have the qualities that “modern man” demanded, such as tobacco. However, the good news is that we eventually learned to cook a very nice steak with the wood. The largest of the thorns on the particular type of mesquite so prominent in North Texas was easily the circumference of a man’s smallest finger. One could penetrate the sole of a boot if stepped on incorrectly, as I can attest from personal experience. The North Texas version of the Camp Wolters

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tree often grows 10–12 feet high, and the trunk is as large as a mediumsized fence post. Cattle occasionally scratch themselves on these trees when the summer flies hover by the hundreds on their backs and other parts of their bodies and the irritation becomes unbearable. Rubbing against a tree is often the only temporary relief they can find in the summer heat. The chaps that cowboys wore in the cow-punching, cattle-drive Westerns were to a large extent a protection against the mesquite. Seldom did it grow as a single tree; rather, the mesquite formed thickets on the open range. If a cow or calf wandered into this dense growth, it took a major effort to extract the less-than-cooperative animal from its haven. If the brush was too dense to allow the cowboy to get his horse into it without injury, he had to dismount and force the animal out. On the open range, the mesquite was often the preferred (and sometimes only) material for the construction of a makeshift corral; besides, its thorns were a natural barrier to livestock and man. The unfortunate fact, however, was that construction of such a barrier was difficult and hazardous work. The cowhand usually came away with a few more holes in him than the Lord intended. In later years, people began cooking outdoors and used mesquite wood chips to enhance the flavor of meat. However, for D.C. and countless others, the trees were mainly painful obstacles. The last thing D.C. needed was to lose his balance during a night exercise and slide off a hillside into a mesquite thicket. His family would never hear from him again. This may be somewhat of an exaggeration, but Camp Wolters did have a few drawbacks. On the back of one of his letters to his folks, D.C. sent an untitled, typed poem that described the general feelings of the non-Texans about Camp Wolters. The same poem was also found on the Big Bend National Park website. Titled “The Lone Ranger Laments,” it was credited to former Big Bend National Park Ranger Oren P. Senter. The poem humorously described the difficulty of adjusting to the Texas rain, sun, sand, and desert. The only difference in the two poems is that, in Senter’s case, it was the Park Service that sent him to Texas, and in D.C.’s case, it was the U.S. Army. Mineral Wells is not in desert country. Moreover, it had what was once considered a very fine hotel, which covered an entire city block. 20

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The twelve-story, now grayish brick Baker Hotel, which could perhaps be described as Spanish Renaissance, was probably the nicest such establishment between Dallas and California. It first opened its doors in 1929, at the start of the Great Depression. This fashionable, eight-sided spa had detailed stone carvings on its outside walls, as well as a large observation deck and a ballroom on the top floor (appropriately named the Cloud Room). In contrast, the ballroom overlooked the small rocky hills and scrub brush that marked the beginnings of West Texas. Over time, guests of the hotel included Will Rogers, Judy Garland, Marlene Dietrich, and others. Rumors circulated that even the infamous outlaws Bonnie and Clyde frequented the Cloud Room. While not exactly a resort, some nonmilitary people considered Mineral Wells the next best thing. It was unfortunate that the soldiers could not take the hotel and restaurant with them into the field to serve as a respite from the rigorous training. Camp Wolters was home (if only temporarily) to a large population of troops from Texas. One of my uncles, Robert Rockenbaugh (married to my mother’s sister, Dorothy), spent most of his time there as a member of the military police (MP). Although Uncle Robert later saw service with the Corps of Engineers in New Guinea, Australia, and the Philippines, it was his job as an MP that gave him insight into the inner workings—and sometimes creativity—of the newly minted soldier. My mother tells of a trip she made to the Baker Hotel as a chaperone to my Aunt Dottie, who visited Robert before they were married. Uncle Robert gave explicit instructions to my mother that she was not to open the door of their hotel room unless she heard his voice on the other side. It turns out that soldiers from nearby Camp Wolters would typically wander into the hotel and knock on the guests’ doors in the hope of meeting some young, unattached females. On more than one occasion, Robert, in his role as an MP, was called upon to escort some of these errant soldiers back to the post. On this particular trip, my mom and my aunt did not have any unexpected visitors, but they did have to exit their hotel room in a hurry when a fire broke out in the hotel kitchen. Their room was near the top, and they had to walk down several flights to the main floor. The U.S. Army was called to assist in the emergency since the town did not have adequate resources to deal Camp Wolters

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with a major fire, especially in a building that was several stories high. The fire caused little actual damage, but the smoke ruined my mother’s and my aunt’s clothing. Nevertheless, the gathering on the main floor, with the local fire department, U.S. Army emergency support personnel, and displaced hotel guests dressed in a variety of attire provided for an interesting, and perhaps even pleasant, social event. The ruined clothes were another matter. The regimentation at Camp Wolters was not characteristic of what D.C. was accustomed to. As an only son, he received more than his fair share of attention from his parents and sisters. In college, while he did make his classes and grades, the formality was just not the same. In the U.S. Army he received a considerable amount of attention, but this time it was from a first sergeant. However, the post’s proximity to Chisholm was not lost on D.C., nor were the frequent movies. Letter postmarked October 12, 1942, 7 PM. Monday (Dinner). Dear Folks, Just a line to say, got home O.K. Came on a Recruit Special to the Rec. Center. Left 5 min after you all left. Got here, before 10. Haven’t any news. Am going to a Free show at open air theatre to-nite. Although D.C. did not realize it at the time, he was witnessing the beginning of the drive-in. However, in this case, patrons did not yet have the vehicles—and certainly not the dates—to go with the outdoor movies. Even though D.C. was apprehensive about his military skills, his anxiety was unwarranted. He was becoming a soldier and was even offered an opportunity to attend Officer Candidate School (OCS) if the Limited Service issue could be resolved. Although a couple of his friends attempted to talk him into accepting a transfer to OCS, he declined. The school was nowhere near his current location, and Mineral Wells was much closer to family and friends. A transfer would entail too much uncertainty. Perhaps he also had other reasons, but, if so, he never discussed them. Although the war was a long way from Texas, it 22

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was still a reality, and at the moment, the confl ict was not going well for the United States and its allies. Interestingly, an enlisted man with whom D.C. was acquainted prior to his final departure for England did attend one of the U.S. Army’s officer training programs and later returned to the same unit (D.C.’s). In many of the divisions, it was not the normal policy for an enlisted man to return to his previous outfit as an officer. The U.S. Army felt that it would be difficult for an officer to exercise leadership and authority, especially in combat, over men with whom he had once worked and trained as an equal. Before the war’s end, this particular lieutenant would have a significant impact on the unit and its members. As an enlisted man, D.C. completed his training and was placed in the Signal Corps because of his typing and administrative skills. He never gave another thought to an officer’s commission. Another anecdote regarding D.C.’s stay at Camp Wolters involved his anticipated “shipping out.” As luck would have it, D.C.’s affluent, older cousins, Claud and Marie Hamill, from the River Oaks section of Houston, came to visit for a weekend. Claud had made his fortune in the oil fields of East Texas and married the first cousin of D.C.’s dad. Claud and Marie Hamill later became important philanthropists. Since D.C.’s unit had orders to ship out the next morning, he knew that this visit would probably be the last time in a long while that he would be able to see friends and family. None of the members of his unit had any idea where they would be going since that information was almost always classified. Troops at Camp Wolters were leaving every day for both Europe and the Pacific. On what was to be his last evening at Camp Wolters, D.C. said all of the appropriate good-byes during a very nice farewell dinner hosted by his cousins at the Baker Hotel. He was unaware that his cousin’s husband, Claud, and the camp commanding general were old friends. While D.C. assumed the worst, his cousin knew all along (from the commanding general) the location of D.C.’s next assignment and destination. In the early morning, D.C., with his packed duffel bag, weapon, and assorted “battle rattle,” lined up in formation. The unit was brought to attention, a right face was ordered, and they picked up their gear and Camp Wolters

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marched—a couple of hundred yards—and stopped. D.C. had arrived at his next duty post. To say the least, he was very pleased. He would spend the next year and a half at Camp Wolters as part of the post’s regular cadre. During this time D.C. trained as a clerk typist and learned other office skills, which he had first acquired not without a certain amount of pain, both his and his instructor’s, while at John Tarleton Junior College. However, since he was in the U.S. Army, he also learned basic small-unit tactics, methods of living in the field, the use of small arms, and how not to get in the way of the “real” warriors. Unfortunately, what D.C. did not realize at the time was that anyone who put on a uniform was a real warrior and must be prepared to conduct himself accordingly if the situation required it. Some soldiers just have to exercise that fact more often than others. This was a reality he and many others learned before the war’s end. Part of D.C.’s routine as a member of the permanent duty staff included working in the Headquarters Detachment 1866 Unit, 8th SC (i.e., Signal Corps). Members of the cadre were also processed for other duties, including promotions. In D.C.’s office, the sergeants strived for appointments as warrant officers, and the corporals became eligible for the sergeants’ positions. In fact, because others were promoted, D.C. also became eligible for newly vacated slots. As a sidebar to these food chain shifts, a warrant officer is an officer but often comes from the enlisted ranks. Warrant officers are very skilled technicians and often worth their weight in gold. While lieutenants are higher in rank, warrant officers— due to their maturity and expertise—often receive more respect than freshly minted “butter bars.” This is true in today’s military as well. In late 1942 D.C. became a corporal, and in early 1943 he attained the stripes of a U.S. Army sergeant, thanks in part to the promotion of the existing cadre of sergeants. However, there was a question as to whether D.C. would be promoted to sergeant after the selection of two other sergeants in his office to warrant officer. In a January 13, 1943, letter to his parents, D.C. commented that his promotion to sergeant was assured as long as the colonel left (he was due to transfer at any time). There is no explanation of why a colonel would hold up D.C.’s promotion, except for concern over his eyesight and whether he was 24

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actually going to be able to stay in the U.S. Army. Advancements in rank have been withheld for much less. Upon receipt of that promotion, D.C. was very proud of those three chevrons on his sleeves even if he did have to shell out almost seven dollars to have the changes made to his uniforms. Superstition is not uncommon among service personnel. In one letter home, D.C. stated that 22 was perhaps his lucky number. He was born on the 22nd, had begun work at headquarters on the 22nd, was promoted to private first class on the 22nd, and was elevated to corporal on the 22nd. He was also at the stage of requesting furloughs on the 22nd, with the hope of more time off or just approval of the highly coveted leave chits. Fortunately, D.C. was able to go home to visit his family on a regular basis. He usually took the three-hour bus ride to Terrell, which normally included a stop in Dallas, with his final delivery in Terrell on the old Dallas highway. There he was picked up by his anxious parents and driven the few miles north to Chisholm. As far as his family was concerned, he could not come home on furlough often enough. The USO was a mainstay to U.S. service personnel. This was true in the days of World War II, and it remains the same today. While on the post D.C. regularly attended the USO shows. They received firstrun movies, which cost all of fifteen cents to attend, and there was always the PX, which boasted a soda fountain. A soldier could purchase personal items and arrange for dancing lessons in order to impress the young ladies that he met along the way. Several times prior to his departure for France, D.C. attempted to buy a wristwatch at various post exchanges but was never successful. However, after his arrival in France, he acquired his watch, probably through a very active barter system that developed among service members. The PX and USO also had stationery for writing letters home, which was a major source of relaxation for the troops. The USO even provided preprinted Mother’s Day cards to the soldiers. In 1943 D.C. sent one such card to his mother. He noted that he did not pick the card himself, but one was given to every soldier. He wrote, “I’m taking advantage of mine [the Mother’s Day card] to write you.” On more than one occasion, the question of whether D.C. would remain in the U.S. Army resurfaced. Because his eyesight was not very Camp Wolters

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good, he had to qualify for combat (which meant overseas duty) to remain in the military even as a clerk typist. It was during this time that the male clerk typists were largely replaced by female civilians and the newly formed Women’s Army Corps (WACs) in noncombat locations. Once the WACs assumed their duties, these men were assigned to similar tasks, which sometimes put them in harm’s way. The primary purpose of utilizing women in all branches of the service and the war industry was to free up the men for combat. I do not believe that D.C. entertained the prospect of leaving the U.S. Army under these circumstances. Across the country, citizens still held the belief that it was everyone’s duty to participate in the war effort, and D.C. did not relish the idea of his friends staying in the military while he was sent home to work as a civilian, even in a war-critical industry: Dear Folks, They are now counting the men that can be replaced by the WACs. Practically everyone will go in the near future or will get discharges to go into some industry if physically disabled to do combat duty. Am trying to find out my status but have been unable so far. You can never tell for sure I may be here much longer. This letter, written by D.C. in October 1943, reflects the constant thoughts of the men regarding their eventual transfers. Once cleared for combat by the U.S. Army’s bureaucracy, D.C. did not believe he would remain at Camp Wolters much longer. Dearest Folks, I haven’t heard any more about the WACS. I think you all are worrying about that more than I am. I’ll probably be here quite a while yet. At this army post in near-West Texas, D.C.’s social life was better than most. (In fact, it was better than most anywhere he was posted.) His letters told his folks about the movies he and his date had seen, the places they had gone, and other activities, including evening walks to the top of the hills in Mineral Wells, which at certain times of the year 26

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were “cool & nice.” There was privacy and a chance to become better acquainted, which was not always possible in a town that one shared with several thousand other soldiers. It was also common to have one’s photograph taken with that special date. For some reason, none of these photos survived with the multitude of letters and other keepsakes in Mrs. Cordie’s box. When writing home, D.C. also reported the frequency of his dates: Dear Folks, After having 28 dates out of a possible 31 last month, I’ve been quite lost running around & laying around by myself for the past week. Although D.C. was often homesick, he was seldom lonely. All of the soldiers had the opportunity to see early-run movies. In one letter home, D.C. noted that the movie Stormy Weather had an “allNegro cast” and stated that it was “different, therefore good.” However, the U.S. Army, like most of the country, was still segregated, so the social activities were also kept separate. The U.S. Army remained segregated, for the most part, throughout the war. In addition to movies and local entertainment, D.C. and others still followed college football and were able to attend games in Fort Worth and Dallas. At the Dallas Cotton Bowl game, a serviceman could attend for $1.10, while general admission for civilians was $2.50 to $4.40. An example of recruit training appeared in a small newspaper article that D.C. sent home from Camp Wolters. As D.C.’s training in typing and office work was an asset to him, different training was beneficial to other soldiers. The citizen soldier brought a multitude of skills to the modern U.S. Army. Although the reference to Shakespeare and Hamlet in the following article is a stretch, the point is clear: Shakespeare Could Have Used Him in Hamlet Fifty-sixth Battalion recruits, getting their first practical demonstration in field fortifications, watched with awe as one of their number literally made the dirt fly with a pick and shovel as he Camp Wolters

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took his turn at digging a machine gun emplacement. Someone thought to ask Pvt. Tony Sechelski what his civilian occupation was, and the answer cleared up matters considerably. “Back home in Anderson, Texas,” he replied, “I was a grave digger.”  In D.C.’s letters home, there is a distinct note of pride in the description of his work on the firing range. He qualified as a marksman with the M1 rifle and was then allowed to wear the designating device on the left breast-pocket flap of his uniform. Considering D.C.’s poor eyesight, this was no easy task (nor was it for any soldier). He spent many hours at the rifle range, thanks to his Sergeant Walters. The hikes up and down the hills of Parker County produced sore muscles in the recruits. How critical this training was to D.C. personally, he never said; however, as distasteful as these exercises were, the physical training and the practice in marksmanship may have saved D.C.’s life and, just as important, that of one of his fellow soldiers in the months to come. Dear Folks, Here I am at the USO just before my date. Thought I would write you about how I did on the range as the biggest part is over. I fell down a little and didn’t get sharpshooter or expert as I expected but I will still get a medal for rifle marksmanship which is pretty good it self [sic]. I made 160 points and sharpshooter is only 168 so I’m really a little disappointed at coming so close. We fire on the range again Thurs. but it doesn’t count as we will be firing against airplanes. Out of 70 men only 5 or 6 beat me and I was shooting left handed. A Lt. said that I had the steadest [sic] nerves of anyone he’d seen. Well I’ll be at home this weekend if nothing happens. Am a bit tanner but not at all brown as I expected. I really enjoyed every day of it. I’m not at all sore now. I was the first day or so. Later a newspaper article was clipped from the Dallas Morning News. It described one of the training areas of Camp Wolters, affectionately known as Hell’s Bottom. In this particular exercise, the soldiers were 28

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taken to an area at night, where approximately a dozen courses awaited them. Every soldier had to master each task before becoming a replacement for an infantry unit. The courses included obstacles where .30-cal. machine-gun bullets were shot two feet over your head while you crawled on your stomach. The soldiers then worked their way over 65–85 yards of an infiltration course through mud and brush and under barbed wire. With mud and the addition of rains at certain times of the year, the soldiers were completely covered as they stumbled along the tough route. Other training included firing ranges and instructions on the use of hand grenades. The latter was described as a combination of throwing like a baseball catcher, making a halfback pass, and heaving like a shot putter, all rolled into one. Throwing the hand grenade was short on art and long on effectiveness. During a couple of these evenings in Hell’s Bottom, the soldiers might be offered an opportunity to view open-air movies, but most opted for sleep. They could always see the movie later. In Hell’s Bottom, the soldiers learned to fight dirty, whether with the bayonet, rifle butt, or bare hands; it really did not matter. If something was worth fighting for, it was worth fighting dirty. There was no reward for coming in second, and there would not be a second chance. Rolling in the sawdust of the training course was a common occurrence as survival skills were developed. Unfortunately, most of the terrain they later experienced was not so soft. In D.C.’s words, he was “demoted to Technician Sgt.,” whereby he then wore a “T” below the three chevrons on his sleeves. He referred to his new rank as a “Model-T Sergeant.” This was a disappointment to him but only because of the perception of his peers. The pay for tech sergeants was the same as that for sergeants, but D.C. probably saw the change as a demotion since the tech hierarchy did not necessarily include the “command” aspect (and perhaps respect) of the typical sergeant or officer. I am sure that the new designation was the result of his position as a clerk typist and his not having a Military Occupational Skill (MOS) more specific to the command of troops in the field. Years later the U.S. Army changed the tech hierarchy to “specialist,” which is still used in today’s U.S. Army. D.C.’s routine included working in the office, dating (often more Camp Wolters

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than once a week), writing letters home, waiting for letters from home, waiting for a decision on whether a WAC was going to replace him, and finding a wristwatch. Today wristwatches are so common that I had never considered the difficulty of finding one before or during World War II. The WACs also constituted a form of entertainment for the new soldiers. The women were new to the U.S. Army, and the U.S. Army was new to the WACs. Just as the men, many of the women were away from home for the first time. An undated story in the Camp Wolters newspaper, The Longhorn, told of a new WAC complaining to other female soldiers that someone was constantly leaving the door of their barracks open. She asked one of the guilty women, “You are leaving the door wide open. Were you raised in a barn?” The reply was, “Yes, I was, and I’m reminded of it every time I see your face.” Regardless of whether this really happened, it points out that everyone was making adjustments. While D.C. dated several girls on a regular basis, he seemed to settle on Stella, who was a civilian employee of the U.S. Army and worked on the post with D.C. They spent most of their off-duty hours together. Stella also visited D.C.’s family and sisters in Chisholm. After his departure for Europe, Stella and D.C.’s family corresponded regularly, and there is no doubt that she loved him. Her constant letters and the attention she showed him, when so many other soldiers were around to occupy her time and interest, are testament enough. At Camp Wolters, no professional soldiers were among D.C.’s group, but this was little different from the rest of the U.S. Army. Only months earlier, most of the soldiers in his unit had been farmers, factory workers, gas station attendants, or students. They had just developed a new set of skills and were about to experience a great adventure, in which a series of events occurred that they could never have anticipated. For these men, a song heard for the first time in months or years or perhaps a certain remembered smell might be relived for the rest of their lives. In the first years after the war, sleep was not always a given. However, even though time did not heal all of their wounds, new memories helped the more painful ones fade. Unfortunately, the trauma of the coming events was so intense that 30

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only in later years did the soldiers talk about their “great adventure” to nonfamily members. Their stories were the most personal imaginable. Knowing how concerned a family was for their son’s, brother’s, or husband’s welfare, the returning veterans often told their story only once, if at all. Shortly after his return, D.C. made a similar declaration to his family. He told them of some of his experiences, with the understanding that he never wanted to talk about them again, and for the most part he did not, especially to his wife and daughters. Over time, some of the events were discussed, especially the more cheerful memories. However, if these war experiences were ever recounted, they were told to others who had lived through similar events. Thus, a special bond existed because you were a member of “the club.” If you were not a member, the veteran opened up only if he felt a certain level of comfort with you. I do not believe that D.C. ever felt that type of bond with others or would have cared about a club. Fortunately, he was comfortable enough with me to periodically talk about his time in the U.S. Army, especially the pleasanter stories. When D.C. talked, I listened intently—waiting to ask questions but always aware that such inquiries could stop the story. The few times I asked a probing question, I got an answer, but the story ended shortly thereafter. I thought of using a tape recorder but was concerned that it might inhibit D.C. from the spontaneity of our talks. Besides, if either of us had thought that I would write down his stories, the conversations might have been too stiff and may never have happened. Perhaps it was better this way.

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“OVER HERE” At Camp Wolters, D.C. was replaced by a WAC. His eyesight could not be corrected with or without glasses; however, he qualified for a combat unit and remained in the U.S. Army. Several times D.C. attempted to obtain government-issued eyeglasses (in fact two pairs), but the U.S. Army would not issue glasses unless they resulted in improved eyesight. As a result, he wore his civilian glasses. Because D.C. had good office skills, he received additional training to work in the Civil Affairs department, which went along with the U.S. Army’s advancing units as they moved through newly occupied territory. Depending on the circumstances, the purpose of Civil Affairs was to free up the U.S. Army to carry on its tactical and strategic mission; it was also to provide food, health care, housing, and security for the civilian population and to restore civil control in the newly occupied areas.  Civil Affairs was not considered a front-line assignment, but it was close enough. At the end of January 1944, D.C. left for Camp Reynolds, Mercer County, Pennsylvania, to begin training with other officers and enlisted personnel who would become part of this new and expanded function within the U.S. Army. Camp Reynolds was an assembly and training facility for the newly established Civil Affairs units of the U.S. Army; there they received their initial assignments for Europe or other destinations. For those who had not had extensive military training, as D.C. had at Camp Wolters, these soldiers also received small arms and basic military instruction. Depending on the background of the individual soldier, some of the personnel considered a significant portion of this preparation boring

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and even a waste of time. The U.S. Army had not yet worked out the details of preparing people for civil affairs. For some time, D.C. was not sure what his role would be once he reached Europe. In the U.S. Army’s Civil Affairs units, several of the officers had received direct commissions immediately from civilian life. Many of the soldiers in these new units were classified as “Limited Service” (e.g., eyesight or age), as was D.C. While at Camp Reynolds and prior to his inevitable departure overseas, D.C.’s letters were perhaps typical of other soldiers’ letters. Though the men had to deal with the mundane, they were fed the best meals the military could provide. Camp Reynolds, Pennsylvania, was not far from Youngstown, Ohio. With some leisure time available, many of the soldiers went to Youngstown whenever possible. Their duffle bags were checked and rechecked, letters were written, and paperwork such as insurance beneficiary designation was filed, especially if it had not been done before their arrival at Camp Reynolds (or more importantly, if the soldier had changed his mind after leaving the replacement depot; absence and the sudden reality of one’s circumstances cause one to rethink such matters). Also, ever present in their thoughts was a concern that the mail had not caught up with them after departing, and they wondered whether it would ever find them. From his “upper-story bunk” D.C. wrote the following: Dearest Folks I’ve just eaten my noon meal which consisted of chicken, potatoes, slaw, coffee, ice cream, and another unidentified food. It was real good I thought. We had to get up this morning for reveille but since then we’ve done nothing but lye [sic] around. I’m fi xing to go to the latrine & shower room to clean up. I’m really dirty. The sun is out today—really the first time since I’ve been here. A boy has just come from the shower he said the water was 43° below. Everytime [sic] I clean up its [sic] about that way. (about freezing here) I’ve packed all of my extra clothes in my little bag & am going to send them the first time I go to town. Had to send my new shoes, woolens, shoes, sweater, scarf, leather gloves I found, “Over Here”

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D.C. Caughran Jr., sometime during his stay at Camp Reynolds.

socks, underwear & towels. Daddy can wear them all I imagine. I hope he can. I’ve written DD, Mary Alice, Stella, Mary Anne, Doris, and you all this week. I should get some mail next week. Only 1 letter has been received in my barracks. That was to a boy who lived here close. All we do here is guard, KP, and wait for orders to get ready. I haven’t done anything but wait so far but I’m not bragging as I might catch it anytime. We have no interviews by officers or enlisted men. No men are trfd [transferred] from here except for overseas unless of physical condition. No furloughs. I wouldn’t want to be stationed here under no condition. Because of their Limited Service designation, the soldiers were still evaluated for their ability to serve in uniform, and those who remained continued to prepare for shipment overseas by sending home non-government-issue items and other personal articles that were un34

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necessary for overseas service, including excessive amounts of underwear. From Camp Reynolds, D.C. and every other soldier mailed home his khaki uniforms and any civilian clothes he had retained as these items would not be required in the field. Since he was clearly going overseas, probably to a combat area, he also prepared himself for the possibility of seasickness. While at Camp Reynolds, D.C. was assigned to the European Civil Affairs Division, 6901st Regiment (provisional). Because of the frequency of their moves and transfers prior to deployment overseas, it became almost impossible for D.C. to keep track of the other boys from Camp Wolters that he had come to know so well. After Camp Wolters, only a couple of chance meetings with his friends from Texas took place in England. In the winter of 1944, D.C. left on a troop ship for England, although his exact city of embarkation is unclear since D.C. seldom talked or wrote about this phase of his great adventure. The ship was crowded, but so were all of the troop transports. D.C.’s was part of a large convoy that sailed to England by way of the North Atlantic. The soldiers had no opportunity to enjoy the soft roll of the waves that under normal circumstances could lull one to sleep since, at this time of year, the weather was less than optimal; consequently, seasickness was common. Standing on the open deck and allowing the wind to hit your face while you focused on the horizon best addressed this condition; somehow this lessened the sick feeling that spread over your entire body. However, when the seas were rough, nonessential personnel were not allowed on deck. Once the seas became heavy, the U.S. Army personnel stayed in their designated areas and tried to concentrate on anything that might keep them from getting sick. The pungent smell in closed, cramped quarters only made the situation worse, however. The troop ships were not the military’s largest vessels, and in the North Atlantic even the most experienced sailors suffered. In addition, many U.S. Navy squids prided themselves on their ability to avoid seasickness and continue to perform their duties. However, when the sea was churning, seasickness was almost inevitable. Just a smell or thought caused a person to lose what might be left in one’s stomach. Everyone knew, at least according to the newsreels, that German submarines (U-boats) were attempting to choke the life out of England. “Over Here”

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However, most of the soldiers and sailors crossing the Atlantic had a much simpler concern: They could not see the enemy, and what they could not see could kill them. And even though they could not see anything, that did not mean that a U-boat was not there. The sea was large, deep, and dark, and nothing about it was welcoming. There would be no mail for quite a while. Roy Johnston (Mrs. Cordie’s brother and therefore D.C.’s uncle) had been a crew member on the USS Wyoming (BB 32) during the Great War almost twenty-five years earlier. The Grand Fleet, which included the USS New York, USS Florida, USS Delaware, and the Wyoming with Uncle Roy, had traversed these same waters on their way to address the threat of the German High Seas Fleet. On November 21, 1918, the German fleet surrendered off May Island, Scotland. There is little doubt that Uncle Roy’s own war was in D.C.’s thoughts as he sailed the ocean blue, which was really not all that blue. Wartime procedure dictated that, if one member of a convoy was torpedoed, the ship and its survivors were on their own in the vast, freezing, winter waters. Moreover, immediately upon detection of an enemy submarine, the ships were under orders to disperse. If a ship stopped to help the survivors of another vessel that had been struck, the rescuer might then need its own savior since it would become a prime and stationary target. In addition, the troop transports were not allowed to return to a previous location since the enemy might be lying in wait. Survivors would be picked up only after an engagement by the warships, if any, that were escorting the convoy. While I do not recall whether it was from his personal experience or simply a story passed along from the mess deck, A. L. Newburn, a U.S. Navy radar operator on a Navy supply ship, told me about one particular incident. One evening when the sun had set, all of the ships in a convoy were moving steadily through the North Atlantic toward England. However, when everyone awoke the next morning, no other ships were in sight. A heavy fog had set in, and in order to avoid a collision, the ships had been ordered to disperse. For several days their ship was all alone, but just as mysteriously as the convoy had disappeared, it reappeared one morning. While maintaining radio silence, the convoy

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had reassembled at a predetermined rendezvous point. Everyone at least had the feeling that there was safety in numbers. The tense nature of such a crossing is reflected in a story told to me by Ralph Wisenbaker, a friend of mine who was a sailor on a destroyer escort (DE) for several of these crossings. The captain of one of the merchant ships in the group believed that they were caught in the middle of a “wolf pack” (a squadron of German U-boats). What the captain believed was the tower (or sail) section of a surfaced submarine (which would be only partially visible in very rough seas) was actually a very small U.S. destroyer escort. Not having any significant armament, the captain of the larger vessel attempted to run over the tiny destroyer escorts. Some time elapsed before anyone could calm down the captain, who had panicked and lost control of his faculties. However, in his terror, he had run over one ship and seriously damaged another. As a result, U.S. sailors had died needlessly. Crossing the North Atlantic took about a week. Upon arrival at their port of entry in England, D.C. and the other soldiers were issued a booklet titled “A Short Guide to Great Britain,”  which was published by the U.S. War and Navy departments. On the back cover of the booklet that D.C. soon sent home are the words “Je T’aime” and “Je Taime” [I love you] in his handwriting. He appended no translation, but obviously he was practicing key phrases for the anticipated invasion of France, which would allow him to have a more meaningful interaction with the French femmes. Clearly D.C. was preparing to enjoy France. This booklet was for military personnel only. The short guide to Great Britain provided instructions (or guidance) to the U.S. soldier: No Time To Fight Old Wars. If you come from an Irish-American family, you may think of the English as persecutors of the Irish, or you may think of them as enemy Redcoats who fought against us in the American Revolution and the War of 1812. But there is no time today to fight old wars over again or bring up old grievances. We don’t worry about which side our grandfathers fought on in the Civil War, because it doesn’t mean anything now.

“Over Here”

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The booklet also discussed money and currency several times: Don’t Be a Show Off. The British dislike bragging and showing off. American wages and American soldier’s pay are the highest in the world. When pay day comes, it would be sound practice to learn to spend your money according to British standards. They consider you highly paid. They won’t think any better of you for throwing money around; they are more likely to feel that you haven’t learned the common-sense virtues of thrift. The British “Tommy” is apt to be especially touchy about the difference between his wages and yours. Keep this in mind. Use common sense and don’t rub him the wrong way. The booklet covered “indoor amusements” as well. The focus was on time spent in the pubs, English women, and money (again): Not much whisky is now being drunk. The British are beerdrinkers—and can hold it. The beer is now below peacetime strength, but can still make a man’s tongue wag at both ends. You will be welcome in the British pubs as long as you remember one thing. The pub is the “poor man’s club,” the neighborhood or village gathering place, where the men have come to see their friends, not strangers. You will naturally be interested in getting to know your opposite number, the British soldier, the “Tommy” you have heard and read about. You can understand that two actions on your part will slow up the friendship—swiping his girl, and not appreciating what his army has been up against. Yes, and rubbing it in that you are better paid than he is. While the U.S. military had female officers, there were obviously also British female officers, who were visible and deserved respect. The following excerpt from the booklet related to these military officers: British Women At War. A British woman officer or noncommissioned officer can—and often does give orders to a man 38

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private. The men obey smartly and know it is no shame. For British women have proven themselves in this war. They have stuck to their posts near burning ammunition dumps, delivered messages a foot after their motorcycles have been blasted from under them. They have pulled aviators from burning planes. They have died at the gun posts and as they fell another girl has stepped directly into the position and “carried on.” There is not a single record in this war of any British woman in uniform service quitting her post or failing in her duty under fire. Now you understand why British soldiers respect the women in uniform. They have won the right to the utmost respect. When you see a girl in khaki or air-force blue with a bit of ribbon on her tunic—remember she didn’t get it for knitting more socks than anyone else in Ipswich. It is doubtful that many of the U.S. personnel knew or even cared where Ipswich was. The Civil Affairs soldiers arrived in England, and most of the officers assembled in Shrivenham, which was between London and Bath. Upon completion of their training in this unique and evolving military/civilian discipline, the officers and certain enlisted personnel were sent to Manchester for final disposition to their tactical units. Prior to D.C.’s departure for England, his parents received the following information from their son: I do have definite news about my duties: Am going over in civil affairs control & supply. Will not be in combat but will be right close behind. We will all be armed—most of us with pistols. The only time we’d be in combat is if the enemy were to recapture a town and then I might be proud of how well I can shoot. We go on the range Sunday or Monday to fire again—a different gun this time. We have all been issued German language books (pocket size & very simple) that we might need in questioning Germans. So it’s definite I’m going to Europe & might end up in Berlin. It’s a good deal I imagine & it’s the first group to be sent for that purpose in Europe or Germany. So things must be fi xing to happen soon. Someone said we might have some “Over Here”

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schooling—but not in US—in England. You might interpret this as the army of occupation but if it is they can’t keep us there any longer than anyone else. Will write more when I hear more. The Civil Affairs detachment D.C. was assigned to was small. The unit varied in size but normally consisted of seven to ten officers and men; however, it was sometimes augmented by another officer or two, depending on the circumstances and location. Each person had a specific function, and, as D.C.’s letter mentioned, his primary role was to be in Civil Affairs Control and Supply. He was assigned to Civil Affairs detachment D6G1. The Civil Affairs detachments’ primary mission was to establish some form of order and government in a specific area (e.g., village) that was in the process of being captured (or liberated) by Allied Forces. While attached to the tactical unit, the Civil Affairs activity, in concept, would free up the combat arms to focus on their mission. Civil Affairs established military control and government, which included medical services, civilian supply needs, utilities, and similar infrastructure functions until the local civilian government could take over. Civil Affairs was (and still is today) considered a combat support role. In addition to these provost marshall duties, the unit also performed the initial interrogation of enemy prisoners and even civilians when necessary. While intelligence gathering was not a primary function of the civil affairs detachments, when persons of interest were identified, they were sent to regimental intelligence (S-2) or comparable units. Most of the members of this small group consisted of college-educated soldiers. Because of their intelligence and capabilities, most of these men would have qualified as officers. The greatest limiting factor was either age or some other characteristic that designated them as Limited Service. The individuals in D.C.’s unit included not only interpreters but also a chaplain and an attorney from civilian life. His unit worked closely with the tactical Regiment and Division Headquarters. Before their ultimate assignment in Europe, Lieutenant Bowdery, a “butter-bar” second lieutenant, returned as an officer to his old unit. The commanding officer, George Johnson, was a former captain in the field

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artillery. The younger members of the group considered well-liked Captain Johnson an “old man,” although he was not yet forty years old. Johnson’s Civil Affairs unit was attached to the 110th Regiment, 28th Division. This particular division was originally part of the Pennsylvania National Guard, which traced its roots to 1747, when Benjamin Franklin organized a battalion of “associates” in Philadelphia. As the oldest organized U.S. Army unit in history, the 28th Division saw action in World War I, where it was called the “Iron Division” by General John J. Pershing. The 28th was again ordered into federal service on February 17, 1941, and its assigned area of operation took it to many of the same regions that it had fought in during the Great War. One of D.C.’s first letters from England mentions the lack of mail received from home, which was never the result of a lack of mail sent; rather, delivery was often uncertain because of the detachment’s constant movement. As before, D.C. always let his parents know that he was doing well: March 20, 1944 Dearest Folks I hope you don’t feel that I’ve neglected you by not writing more, but it’s been a problem finding the time. Am doing quite a bit of work, more than I’ve ever done in my life but it’s not too bad as everyone else is too and we are all well and getting lots to eat. As I told you I think, I’m close to a large city in England. I’m about to get use to their money, wrong side of road and etc. I’ll have so much to tell you after the war that I’ll never get through. I’m real anxious to hear from you and it’s been over a month since I’ve heard. Hope you received my cable. When my mail gets to coming I want you to send me a box of candy— milky way Hershey, and etc. but don’t yet until I send the request which you must have from me. I’ve never felt any better in my life. I’d be as happy as could be nearly if I’d received only one letter. Since it’ll probably all come at once, just write every 2 or 3 days if you’d rather instead

“Over Here”

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of everyday [sic] as I imagine you are doing. I know it’s hard to write as often as you did. I think about all of you everyday [sic]. Take care of yourself and don’t worry about me because I’m OK. Will write again soon. Love, D.C. Mail from home was the one constant in D.C.’s life. It was his connection to the reason he was in England and his assurance of the life he wanted after the war. The significance of such letters is evidenced by the V-mail he sent on March 24, 1944: Dearest Folks Haven’t but a minute but just wanted to say I received 16 letters today. I’m just thrilled to death. Included was a telegram sent in February. Am feeling fine. Write more tomorrow. Tell DD her letter of Feb 25th was received also. Lots of Love D.C. Not surprisingly, D.C. commented more than once about his need for a variety of items, particularly candy, which flowed continuously from Texas to the Caughrans’ favorite son. The packages of candy from home were necessary since D.C. was known to go through his two-week allotment of sweets from the U.S. Army in less than two days. His preferences were Milky Way, Forever Yours, Mounds, Baby Ruth, Hershey, and caramel sticks, and if none of these were available, he requested peanut brittle. The Brits did not seem to eat so many sweets, and the war meant that they were fairly unavailable in any event. His letter of March 25, 1944, discussed a purchased flashlight, letters, and of course the latest movie, which he had seen with his British girlfriend: The first thing I purchased here was a real good flashlight. I’m on duty again tonight, but I don’t imagine I will be much longer. I still think I’m going to like everything fine. We have much better food here than in the states. 42

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By the way my girl and I saw “Now Voyager” with Betty Davis. I had seen it before but I didn’t tell her as everyone thought it as a good show. Have been wanting to go to church but have worked every Sunday so far. Write me all about your business, farms, etc., whether you’ve received my allotment yet? Received long letter from Davis with the 16 yesterday. No more time—gotta go—never felt better in my life. Don’t worry about me—just keep well so I can be happy & not worry about you all. I’m sure I’ll be OK. Till tomorrow good bye. While stationed in England, D.C. developed a liking for fish-and-chips. He had eaten a lot of fried catfish (and sometimes bass) and french fries in Texas, but this was different. From street vendors he purchased a meal of fried fish and fried potatoes that were placed in a rolled-up cone made from an old newspaper. This fish tasted much better than the bottom-feeding catfish to which he was accustomed. For a short time, D.C. and his unit were billeted in the zoo at Manchester, which indicated either the overcrowded situation in England or the Brits’ concept of an appropriate place to keep the Yanks. When D.C. tried to have his family guess the location of his quarters, his Uncle Elmer Caughran guessed that he was in a British subway. The following letter refers to his unusual accommodations, but he had already developed a soldier’s attitude toward them. As long as his lodgings were warm and dry and he had hot food to eat, he felt there was little to complain about since so many soldiers were facing a much more difficult situation. The following letter is dated April 4, 1944, from “Somewhere in England”: Dearest Folks, Have just got out of bed, not at 6 am but 12-noon. Got to sleep this morning since I worked last night. Haven’t had much time to get homesick although it gets me sometimes, especially when I’m not working. Will I be glad when I get to march down 5th Avenue once again. When I get some air-mail stamps when “Over Here”

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and if I do, I’ll send you a regular letter for a change. Just plain “Joes” [difficult to read] ones I’m sure are much slower. Haven’t had but the one mail call, I’m still reading them. I’ve learned not to stroll down the street eating like I use to in Mineral Wells, I got too many laughs when eating a pie yesterday. Over here they have nothing cold like drinks, ice cream, & etc, in fact you can hardly buy anything. After this war is over and I tell you where I am now stationed, you’ll laugh till your sides hurt. You’d never guess. We do have a warm building & hot water so why should I care. P.S. It is now April 4, this letter was returned to me for alterations as I said a bit too much the first time. Got paid last night. Have over a hundred dollars now, no opportunity yet to send pay home but I’m not worried about losing it. Hope you have a nice Easter. Lots of Love Caughran Many of D.C.’s days were intense, especially those prior to his unit’s departure for France. However, he could never discuss his activities in these letters, and he always stated that he would “tell all” upon his return. Much of this time was an adventure. He saw sights and had experiences (besides eating pie while walking along a street) that he wanted to share with his family, but of course that would not be possible for some time. Several times he mentioned that he hoped to meet with his cousin Walter Brown Caughran (an officer in the 82nd Airborne Division), but that also never happened, even though they were frequently only a few miles from one another. The following letter describes some of the Sunday morning routine after D.C. became settled in appropriate quarters: April 2, 1944 Somewhere in England Dearest Folks, Here it is Sunday and I don’t have to work. It sure suits me. Weather is keeping me from church as I had planned. 44

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I’m still in the same place and have learned to like it OK, it could be much worse. Food is still OK, I’ve never eaten so much in my life. I go back for seconds nearly every meal. This morning for breakfast we had French toast, Bacon, Cereal, tomatoe [sic] juice, coffee, and syrup. Last night we ran the clocks up one hour. It must be about 5 Hrs. difference in mine & your time now. We do nearly all of our washing, in fact I’ve done all of mine. The Red Cross does some for the boys. The Red Cross is always there. Before I left the States, they gave me doughnuts, hot coffee, candy, [illegible], little bags of essential articles, pocket books, cards, stationary [sic] and many other things. I was ashamed of my small contribution. They gave me 16 packages of cigarettes which I gave to my friends. Cigarettes are only a nickel a package here, 50¢ a carton. Well Folks, I’ll close, and if I catch no details (work) this evening, I’ll probably write again to-night. Happy Easter, Lots of Love. D.C. Despite difficulty with censors, D.C.’s lengthiest letter to date described his routine, newfound financial freedom, sweets, and social endeavors (e.g., girls). It appears that he read that previously mentioned government-issued booklet on Great Britain thoroughly: Dearest Mother, Daddy, & Sisters, Well here I am with a few more air-mails & just lots of time so just relax and I’ll tell you what news there is. Of course you surely know that I can tell you but little, but other I’m remembering. First of all please note my new address, I’ve moved from Co. F to Co. G, was quite surprised with that move. I really feel fine as I’ve had a day & a half of rest due to the trfd  [transferred percentage] etc. So my address now is: Co. G, 6901st E. Civ. Aff. Regt. APO 179, c/o PM, NY, NY “Over Here”

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Now down to the real news: I received fifty two (52) letters yesterday and today. I was so happy I nearly cried & it was very funny also. I came out of our mail room with all of that mail and boys from everywhere began to run toward me thinking it was “mail call.” They were all very jealous of me. As I got this mail just before the day’s work began, I of course didn’t have time to read it, so I crambed [sic] it in my pocket and everytime [sic] we had a 10 min. break or rest, I’d hit the ground & start reading. The 52 letters were from everyone: Mother, Stella, DD, Mary Anna, Doris, Mildred, & nice Easter Card from Mary & Dan. Included in one of Stell’s was a real nice picture tinted in a very nice little leather folder with my name on it in gold. The picture was extra good of her. So as you see, I at last got the “old mail” and also some as recent as 12 days ago. I’m very happy over hearing from everyone. It is a lot you’ve asked about in your letters which I’m not allowed to tell as I’ve already told you. Such are my duties, weather, my trips, & etc. Believe it or not I’ll nearly have so much to say as Mr. Mitchell Brown of McClendon did after I get home again. Since I am now in a Theater of Operations, I can wear the ribbon which represents that. Last night I thought I’d go to a movie, “Let’s Face It” with Bob Hope. So I did, but intended on coming right back to write you all. Well when coming out of the show, I met another GI who had 2 cute English girls. Of course he wanted to get rid of one, so after him asking me, I cooperated without him twisting my arm too much, & took her home. Therefore I didn’t get in till too late to write, so to-night I’m staying in all night to write everybody. I can now write better letters since I’ve heard. Shall I now switch the subject over to finances. Well don’t you worry a minute about that. I get paid oftener it seems here than over there. I now have 25 lbs. 10 shillings, & six pence which is equivalent of one hundred two dollars and ten cents ($102.10). Last month I spent $18.00 so I’m well fi xed & another payday

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soon. I’ve been wanting to send some home but haven’t had the opportunity. If I ever do I’ll always keep enough to last 3 months. Mother the Red Cross does my cleaning & laundry now. Laundry is free but cleaning there is a charge. I’m still just tickled pink over the nice surroundings, food, & everything we have. Nothing like it in the states. I’m living like the King. The people are very nice as a whole and I am now among the highest & nicer class. You spoke of Brown visiting Parliament. Sure would love to see him. This is a small island but I’m sure we are a long ways apart. I forgot to tell you I’ve received 2 letters from Uncle Tom. He’s very funny. Also received one from Ted. I’ll answer both to-night if I have time. My work here is not as much as it was, so now I’ll probably have more time to see the country. The grass is beautiful here, in the country & city, it looks as if it has just been mowed but of course it’s damp here & it’s just getting a good start. I’ve got to shine shoes & look my best tomorrow as I’ll be in a parade, I’d much rather march down the streets of New York, but I must look my best for the USA. I’ve decided that it’s impossible to write everyday but I’ll continue to write just as often as possible. If I miss a couple of days don’t worry & if there’s a week or two still don’t because it will surely happen in the near future. Every one at the mess hall to-day was asking who’s birthday—the reason we had such extra good meals. By the way, I’ve never gotten a watch yet & it is impossible to get one here. I was late for Reveille one day for that, consequence was extra duty. I’d give anything for one, you find out & if possible to send one overseas, get me one with my doe [sic]. Of course I’m not expecting it because post-master might think it too risky. Of breaking & etc. but if you’ve ever heard of it OK. I’d give $5 for an alarm clock—can’t buy any type here. The place where I stay, there’s no bugler to awaken you.

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Well folks I’ve done my best to give you all the news, do stay well so I won’t have to worry about that. Don’t send any cables, I’ll do the sending, your letters are grand. Mother I was mistaken about you writing all V-mail. I notice most of your [sic] air-mail. Sometimes one is faster, the next time the other, just suit yourself but be sure to tell me everything. Lots of Love D.C. P.S.: Hope to write again to-morrow. I’m trying to manipulate a date for the weekend. Be glad when I’m in New Jersey again. During this time D.C. visited Liverpool, Oxford, and Swindon. He never saw London. All he would say about the various cities he visited was that the communities seemed nice enough. Despite what the newsreels and newspapers said, not everyone was glad to see the Americans. I suppose this is somewhat like having a good friend as an extended houseguest. It’s great to have them for the first few days, but after a while you are happy when they leave. This is supported by an often-quoted saying of the time by the British men (and sometimes women) about the Americans, “They’re overpaid, oversexed, and over here.” Because the American soldiers were paid much better than their Allied counterparts, the local women were much more apt to give their attention to their cousins from across the pond. Besides, the Americans, with their difference in speech, customs, and experiences, were, if not interesting, at least entertaining. The young British males did not necessarily receive the same appreciation: April 27, 1944 (night) Somewhere in England Dearest Folks, I’ve just come from chow & mail call. Food is still exceptionally good & mail call is even better. Today I received 6 letters, 2 dated as late as April 17th. Among those was one from DD, thanks a lot. I still haven’t received the candy but I’m sure it takes a long time for packages to come. Will be good I’m sure when it gets here. 48

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A few things I’d like to answer which I’m sure I can, some though I can’t. I’m not in the army of Occupation. Can’t say anything about movements & etc. I am now living in a private home with civilians, real nice section, of course house is brick as all are. My roommate is really a swell fellow. None of Camp W. boys are with me now. Your guesses of where I am now [the next 3 words were deleted by the U.S. Army examiner], I figured you would guess [the next word was deleted by the U.S. Army examiner] after I thought about what I’d told you in previous letters. Where I am now stationed is simply wonderful and I’m really enjoying myself as I’m sure it won’t last. Received 3 letters from Stella telling me that she was expecting Doris & Mildred. Write me about it. Was glad to hear that cotton was higher. My job is an outside job so I’ll have to learn to type again after the war I guess. Still have a good reserve of cash on hand, hope to send some home soon. This is my last air-mail so I guess the others—Stella & Mary A. will have to accept a V-mail. The people are still very nice to us. Have just got back my laundry from Red Cross [here the handwriting is difficult to read]. They do it free for US soldiers. Haven’t overslept anymore. My landlady has given me an alarm clock. Sometimes have to get up at 5, other times at 5:45. The old man is also nice, has offered to loan me money anytime I need it. Think I’ll go to the show to-night. I’m very restless & have no date. Maybe I can see news of USA. That’s 90 [of the] reason I go over here. Real glad to have all your letters but air-mails of course are my favorite. Very few V-mails are received over here. I get a kick out of a few expressions the British have & they do out of us too. For instance when you go somewhere you always go by trams (street cars) or double deck busses & when you line “Over Here”

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up, they say Q [sic] up. The other night I was with an English neighbor girl & we were fi xing to line up to come home when she said, “Let’s Q [sic] Up.” I stood rather dumb until she explained. They seem to like Americans OK but some say we are too forward. I had the wrong opinion of them before I got here, I felt as if they’d be snobbish or like but few are that way. Of course it’s natural, some British soldiers are jealous because Americans can go with any of their girls. I guess you’ve read about the comparisons of pay of US & British soldiers. Of course we are very quiet about it as we don’t want to rub it in. As you know the US private draws $60. Over here compared with the British $15, so we draw approximately 4 times their wage. I wear leggins everyday [sic]. At first it use [sic] to take me forever to put them on but now it’s very easy & short. Have just read the evening paper, I find little US news today. Hope Henry Ford’s prediction is right about war being over 27th of next month, seems impossible doesn’t it. Is my bond & allotment still coming? No more news for to-night. Better write Stella a short note I guess & go to the movies. Enjoy your many letters. Love to All D.C. Tell Dan Hello. Was real glad to hear of the new stove, hope you paid for it with my money, would be OK. Never did receive Stella’s cable so don’t ever send one. Don’t be surprised if I send one regular though because I’m sure mine goes right on through. While the British adult male population was not always appreciative of the U.S. soldiers’ presence, the children had their own desires. The U.S. Army introduced chewing gum to the general population. The sweet, chewy substance, which lasted much longer than candy, was a favorite. However, after you had chewed a stick of gum for too long a time, it seemed to chew back. A common response by soldiers when asked for gum by the younger civilians was, “No gum, chum.” As a result, 50

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several of the U.S. Army’s trucks and jeeps had names such as “No Gum Chum” stenciled on them. Similar to the tradition in the U.S. Army Air Force of naming its aircraft, the U.S. Army also named some of its vehicles, often for the soldiers’ girlfriends. Stella’s name was submitted by D.C. as a nickname for their unit jeep, but, in a drawing, “Susie” won. I never knew who Susie was, but she was remembered on a quarter-ton military vehicle that rambled across Europe. On weekends D.C. found opportunities to attend first-run movies and socialize with the English, in particular the women. A portion of the following letter provides insight into the true appreciation the British felt for these Yanks: Dearest Folks, I went to a show “Alexander’s Ragtime Band” an old one, the other night. I enjoyed it though. The March of Time which I cared nothing about in the States, was wonderful to me now. Of course it was all about the USA and the British cheered all the way through. It made me feel wonderful that I was an American. I’ve had experiences I’d never dreamed of & will be glad I get to tell you about everything. Am real anxious for my old mail to get here. I’m looking for them every day. Lots of Love DC Since D.C. spoke to me only briefly about his time in England, most of the information about that experience comes from his letters. He was there a few months before D-day.

“Over Here”

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NORTHERN FRANCE As the invasion of continental Europe approached and the soldiers were consolidated into tent camps closer to the southern English coast, the “soft life” that D.C. and others had enjoyed in the last several weeks was gone. They now had to do their own laundry, and they used their mess kits daily for U.S. Army-produced meals. The Red Cross gave each soldier a little bag to hang around his neck so his eating utensils and other personal effects could be more easily carried (and not lost in the routine of camp life). These living conditions were not expected to last long. Anxiety was experienced all over the world in anticipation of the Allied invasion of Europe. Most people understood that the success or failure of the invasion would dictate the timing and degree of difficulty of the war’s conclusion. A successful invasion could shorten the war, whereas a failed or stalled offensive would lengthen it. Regardless of the outcome, the casualties would be high on both sides. Shortly before the Normandy invasion D.C. wrote to his mom: I noticed in the paper today where the “Statute of Liberty” would be lite [sic] the date of invasion. You mentioned all churches being opened for people to pray on that day, that certainly seems to be the right & good way to start things off. Am very glad to hear that Daddy & all are attending church. The preceding sentence confirms the hints from earlier letters that his dad’s attendance at church indicated to D.C. that his father was

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concerned not only for D.C. but also for all of the soldiers. Everyone was worried and anxious for news. The world knew the Allies were on the brink of invading the European continent. Stella, D.C.’s girlfriend from Camp Wolters, wrote to his parents: 2 June 1944 Dear Mr. and Mrs. Caughran, I just can’t tell you how very much I appreciated Mr. Caughran’s call yesterday morning, for I was eager to know if you had heard from Caughran since I had. There are several girls here in camp headquarters whose husbands, brothers, or sweethearts are in England, and we checked to see what was the latest date which anyone had heard, and the 19th of May was the most recent letter it seems that anyone had received . . . since Caughran’s last letter was of that date. I feel sure that the mail must be restricted until after the invasion. I am listening to every possible news report and reading each bit of news in the paper which I think concerns the troops where Caughran is. Should I learn anything of importance I’ll let you know right away. With love, Stella Just before D.C. left for northern France, he saw one of Hitler’s “flying bombs” go by. In a letter he said, “It was too close for me to feel comfortable for a long time.” Of course, this only added to the distress as they all waited for their own part in history and the invasion of Europe. The Normandy invasion took place on June 6, 1944. The Allied invasion of the European continent was the most anticipated battle in modern history. Everyone in the United States seemed to understand the importance and the consequences of this battle for Europe. General Eisenhower issued a message to the soldiers, sailors, and airmen of the Allied Expeditionary Force. D.C. sent home a copy of this message with a handwritten note on the back: “June 6, 1944 save this for me.” Eisenhower and most of the world recognized that this was the Allies’ Northern France

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great crusade. Everyone was a participant in this massive endeavor, including the home front. The following illustration shows a letter from Dwight D. Eisenhower to the Allied forces on the eve of the Normandy invasion. Eisenhower also made reference to the “United Nations” and their struggle against the Germans. This was not the first use of the term, however. Its first official use was in the Declaration by United Nations in 1942, when twenty-six countries, led by the United States and the United Kingdom, initially signed a joint declaration. The historic document subscribed to the principles of the Atlantic Charter, signed in August 1941 by President Roosevelt and Prime Minister Churchill. Specifically, the declaration pledged cooperation among the signatories, including their full resources, in their common struggle for victory over Hitlerism. President Roosevelt continued to use the United Nations moniker when he drafted his design for an international body that would one day aid in stopping another world war. My mother explained that on the day of the invasion little work was done in Dallas (and probably around the country). Everyone’s ears were glued to the radios. There were even broadcasts of some of the military radio traffic from the battle area. There were smiles and joy that the invasion had finally started, but everyone was worried about their brothers and friends who were in the fight. Thus one anxiety was replaced by another. As one of D.C.’s letters mentions, because of confinement to their operational area, the Allied soldiers who remained in England did not know much about what was occurring on the other side of the channel on June 6. Like so many people back in the States, they had to rely on news reports and letters from home: June 6, 1944 Somewhere in England Dearest Folks, I imagine you will be very glad to see the “Somewhere in England” on this letter. All news I’ve heard so far has been good. I hope my mail isn’t held up because I want you to hear from me as long as possible. 54

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Letter from Dwight D. Eisenhower to Allied forces on the eve of the Normandy invasion.

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Am very anxious to get the morning paper to read the particulars. As close as I am to the “big show,” I guess you know more about it than me. Remember & tell me about it when I get home. Ha Ha. Well I’ll close for to-night. Lots of Love to Everybody D.C. In July D.C. and his unit arrived in northern France with the 28th Division. They had missed the initial Normandy invasion. However, a good deal of the war was still waiting. The 28th Division was known as the Keystone Division by the U.S. Army and later as the Bloody Bucket Division by the German army. The latter was an indication of the bucket shape of the keystone and the red color of the shoulder patch. Of concern to some of the soldiers was the replica of the red keystone patch that was painted on the front of the steel pot helmet that members of the 28th wore. Although it was the size of the shoulder patch, it was nevertheless a large and inviting red target for any interested German, even one with poor eyesight. July 2, 1944 Somewhere in France Dearest Folks, Can now officially tell you that I’m somewhere in France, but of course I’m sure you knew I had been here sometime. I am now lying in my tent, it’s raining outside. I keep my gun close by now & yes it is fully loaded. Hope I don’t need it. I just can’t give you any details & experiences & moves which you’d like to know, but I’ll remember them & tell you someday. Yesterday I received about 20 letters from Mother & Daddy, Stella, D.D., Mary Alice, Mary Anna, Mary Fowley, [and] the pastor. Was really happy over them all. I’ve really seen things lately—it would make anyone of you very optimistic.

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Red keystone patch of the 28th Infantry Division.

I’m feeling fine. As far as I know, the French are OK, they greeted us with waving & smiles. Some old women 80 years old wave as we pass through. Well, guess that’s all to-night. Will try to write more often in the future if possible. Don’t worry about me—I’ll be OK. Lots of Love D.C. Combat in northern France and western Europe was intense. As mentioned earlier, D.C. and his group spent their time moving into the various villages immediately behind the frontline troops, often setting up shop even before the towns were cleared of Germans. He wrote of one instance when they entered a village (Clervaux, Luxembourg) the same hour as the infantry. That was a mistake—and a bit too close for comfort. In order to assist in the coordination with British troops near their area of operation, D.C.’s unit now included a British officer, and later a Canadian officer was added as well. A French officer also joined their detachment to assist with translations, to coordinate with the French resistance and military, and to establish military rule in the French villages. One of the unit’s own sergeants handled the initial interrogations of German prisoners. This particular sergeant had learned

Northern France

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German from his parents, who were Jewish and immigrated from Germany sometime before the war. As a matter of course, the interrogations by the civil affairs detachment were very brief. Only in extreme circumstances was the information gleaned considered significant enough to forward to a higher command. Much of the intelligence consisted of logistics around the area of operations, which local farmer might provide the most reasonable produce, and what the civilians’ greatest needs were (e.g., electricity, fuel, medical assistance, water). However, the detachment also kept detailed and critical records of which citizens worked with the Allies. Soon after arriving in France, D.C. and his unit were bivouacked in an area that had witnessed a good deal of fighting in the last few days. Interestingly, D.C. described the summer nights as the darkest (and at times the quietest) he had ever known. Somehow when you are in unfamiliar surroundings, the senses are magnified, and the nights are always dark, not only when you need to find your way but also when you want to be somewhere else, such as home. On one particularly black night D.C. needed to go to the latrine. With his M1 carbine as a close companion and the trigger safety off, he quietly and nervously found his way to the latrine, which suddenly seemed a lot farther away than before. He took care of his immediate needs, all the while concerned that he would make too much noise. When he was ready to return to his tent or foxhole, D.C. could not remember the way back with absolute certainty. To make matters worse, he could not clearly see the uneven ground, which was somewhere below his unsteady knees. To mistakenly wander into the wrong area or to call for help could mean a bullet from friend and/or foe. D.C. was thinking so hard that he was afraid that someone would hear all the noise going on inside his head. Although he was scared, he kept his senses and finally decided to crouch quietly in some nearby brush. There he spent the rest of the night, listening for anything and worrying about everything. He never slept for a second. At the first hint of light, he made his way back to his assigned area after using the latrine again. From that time on, D.C. never let the sun set without knowing his way to the latrine—and back—in the dark. This incident was the first indication of D.C.’s survival skills, although he did not realize it. 58

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By not panicking, he found a way out of his predicament. He was a survivor. When it came to remembering birthdays and special days back home, D.C. probably did a better job than most soldiers, perhaps because he missed those occasions and wanted desperately to be with his loved ones. In August 1944 D.C. wrote his mom and asked her to take the enclosed money order and buy herself something for her birthday. It was not that he did not want to take the time to buy a gift himself. He just did not have the means to go shopping. In many cases the villages were off limits, with the exception of the one his unit was occupying at any particular time. Even when he was in an occupied village in the early days of the invasion, there was nothing to buy. Many of the towns and much of the countryside were not places that could provide an appropriate gift for his mom. Most of the communities did not even have the bare essentials for themselves. They were in a war zone. While in northern France, D.C. and a couple of his buddies acquired a captured German command car, similar to the Volkswagen “Thing” that was produced for the general public in the 1970s, except this earlier model was made with a lot more metal. The vehicle provided a certain amount of relief and recreation for the group, as well as some personal risk, which was twofold. First was the fact that they were driving through the countryside (not far from the front lines) in a German vehicle. Any nervous Allied soldier could have mistaken them for someone who should not have been there. However, this concern was minor compared to the manner in which the car was driven, usually by Pvt. Harry Duncan of Tennessee (their captain’s driver). The vehicle had a slight problem. Specifically, the accelerator did not work. In order to provide the proper amount of power, an individual (other than the driver) had to lean over the rear of the vehicle—in a very precarious and exposed manner—to gain access to the accelerator and engine from the back seat, while the command car was moving erratically. Of course, the accelerator could have been repaired, but that would have taken away all of the fun. In addition, the person in the back could not see what was going on behind him (i.e., in front of the vehicle), so he had to adjust the speed based on the yells of the other passengers (or the poor souls whom they passed). At times the Northern France

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“assistant driver” spent more time out of the car than in it. He expended a great amount of effort and displayed exceptional skill just by hanging on. Sometimes his buddies secured him to his precarious position as he swung wildly from side to side, all the while bent over the back of the car operating the accelerator by hand. On a couple of occasions they inadvertently cleaned out various roadside ditches both before and after the vehicle rolled. The Germans certainly knew how to build a car that could take a pounding. Fortunately, no one was seriously hurt in these few incidents when the driver and passengers made unorganized and abrupt exits. I never learned what ultimately happened to the car, but I got the impression that it eventually forayed into the French countryside one too many times and was no longer usable. Around this time some of the headquarters or staff soldiers slowed down for more personal needs such as haircuts. Unfortunately, this tonsorial diversion came at a price, which was usually about thirty cents (fifteen francs). Since there was no way to go to a barbershop or post exchange while at the front, soldiers often performed this service for each other. As you can imagine, the soldier with the worst haircut was probably the best barber—or someone who had not bothered to pay the barber. During D.C.’s stay in northern France, he felt fortunate when they had a few extra days in the same place, even if he spent much of the time in a foxhole or small tent. The countryside varied, primarily because some places had not experienced war at all, whereas others had been, in D.C.’s words, “completely wrecked.” Although a significant amount of rain fell in the early days of the invasion, the summer quickly turned warm. In D.C.’s area, dust kicked up by moving equipment became a particular problem. A bath was a luxury, and he felt lucky when he could make daily use of a running creek. He even found a local farmwoman to do his laundry as long as he supplied the soap. During July D.C. and his civil affairs detachment also spent some time with the U.S. Army Air Force. I never knew the specifics, but he reported that he enjoyed himself while temporarily removed from the fighting. According to D.C., several Hollywood movie stars came through their area with the USO. He had several photographs taken with 60

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Edward G. Robinson, but no one ever saw the pictures in the newspapers or magazines. Several weeks later he wrote that he saw Marlene Dietrich when she performed for an hour and a half. He noted that she was quite good looking. (Not much got by D.C.) At the end of July 1944 the 28th Division participated in the infamous hedgerow fighting in northern France. The liberated towns included Percy, Montbray, Montguoray, Gathemo, and St. Sever de Calvados. One well-known photograph depicts members of the 1st Battalion (of which D.C. was not a member), 110th Regiment, marching in a battle parade down the Champs Élysées in Paris. With no time to take advantage of the recently liberated facilities in the City of Light, the division proceeded with its own “parade” directly to the front lines without even stopping. It averaged several miles a day across France. On September 11, 1944, the 28th Division claimed the distinction of being the first U.S. ground unit to step onto German soil. After the liberation of Paris, D.C. and many of his friends were

Troops of the 28th Infantry Division march down the Champs Élysées, Paris, in a “victory” parade. (U.S. Army photo.)

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given a short leave for some much-needed rest. In one of his letters home, he attempted to tell of his visit to Paris while still avoiding the wrath of the censors: In the past I’ve visited a large city in France. Really liked it— some of the most beautifullest [sic] sites I’ve ever seen. Can’t mention the city at this time but I’m sure you can guess with one guess. Daddy remember the grocery company up above Greenville, thought of it. This letter to D.C.’s parents, dated September 3, 1944, was probably one of the easiest coded letters that he sent home. The grocery company D.C. referred to must have been located in Paris, Texas, near the Red River, which is north of Chisholm and Greenville, Texas. On one envelope D.C. scribbled that he had visited Caen, Lassay, Laon, Corbell, Saint Michel, and other places. In Paris and Saint Michel, D.C. purchased several picture postcards. Of the historic sites he took in, Versailles, according to D.C., was perhaps the most interesting. The postcards appear to have been printed around 1920. In a later letter D.C. wrote this about Paris: Well I’m a long ways from Paris now. Maybe see it again when I make my round trip back home. I can easly [sic] realize now why Paris use [sic] to be or still is the style center of the World. Although it is war, girls are the prettiest of any city I’ve been in (compares with States) & they dress very nice & cute. The family back home in Chisholm was of course following the progress of the war with great interest. The local Methodist church even published a small newsletter that included information on the entire community and was probably handed out at church. Copies were sent to the local boys in uniform. In many instances, references to individuals were by first name only. Chisholm was small, and one did not always need a last name to know who was meant. More than two-thirds of the one-page newsletter covered the local boys in service and any other information the church might have. From a personal standpoint, it is 62

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interesting to read and to note references to the members of D.C.’s immediate family and cousins. The following are excerpts from one issue: Chisholm Chaser, September 4, 1944 (vol. 1.1, no. 2) Editorially Speaking “It’s Labor Day in Chisholm.” Yep! It is really Labor Day! As I sit here in the church I can hear the gin running, with Fatty, Onis, Dink, Woodrow, Mr. Aiken, and Mr. D. hard at work. The stores are all open and cotton pickers are at work. We are glad to be able to tell you fellows that we are in operation on this day and that we are backing you up. The Chisholm School opened Sept. 4—Teachers, Mrs. Mabyl Rives and Dorothy Dee Lewis. Rachael and Mildred also started their school. Rachael at McLendon and Mildred at McCreary. Doris will attend East State Teachers College at Commerce this year. The preacher and his wife spent the last two weeks in August in Wichita, Kansas, visiting their families and friends. This vacation was made possible thru the kindness of the two churches— Chisholm and College Mound. They enjoyed seeing their folks after being gone from home for two years, but they are glad to be back. Scuttlebutt Sgt. Elmer Frank Caughran is still in North Carolina. . . . Congratulations to Taylor Lowrie on his promotion to Master Sgt. . . . Arch (Brother) Edwards is being missed around Rockwall—he has been at sea over fifteen months. . . . Buddy Burnside is home on furlough from San Diego, Calif. . . . Sgt. D.C. Caughran writes from France that it is swell sleeping on a bed again after three months in a nice soft fox-hole. . . . Last word from Capt. Walter Northern France

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Brown Caughran was that he was back in England on business. . . . R. A. Williams is still on Saipan. . . . Exact location of Jr. Lovell is unknown, but his family hears from him often from South Pacific. . . . Cpl. Ted Tapp has bought a bicycle in England. Said he knew he’d get killed learning to drive on the left. Cpl. R. M. Valentine states in his letter that he visited the Dole Pineapple Co, and said it was very interesting—how about a few cans of that stuff, R. M. . . . S/Sgt. Grady Isbell also sends a letter stating that he is corresponding with 21 girls. Be careful, son, don’t get your letters mixed. . . . A nice letter comes from Lillian and Pfc. Hollis Hindman saying they appreciate the “Chaser” in Topeka, Kansas, very much. Sgt. Marshall W. Williams is back in San Francisco after another trip to Hawaii. . . . Lt. Paul V. Deaton, now stationed in Florida, where [he] will soon finish his combat training and report to a California base. . . . Lt. Marshall Brown is now home on furlough from Panama. . . . Thomas Jr. Nichols is home visiting his parents after being in Laredo for several weeks. . . . Pfc. Lloyd Archer is stationed somewhere in France—he has recently been in the hospital with malaria. . . . Cpl. Earl Collins, somewhere in the South Pacific, tells of an exciting experience in killing a large deer. . . . Billy Sebastian left Camp Carson, Colo., last week for Ft. Bragg, N. Carolina. . . . Sgt. Joe Frank Woolridge is now in France after being in Italy for so long. . . . S/Sgt. Grady Isbell is still in the Hawaiian Islands—all of us remember his prowess as a ball player. He’s still pitching over there. Captain Walter Brown Caughran, D.C.’s cousin, was reported to be back in England on business. I never met Brown, but he must have had a great sense of humor. As an officer in the 82nd Airborne, he parachuted into Normandy in the early morning hours of June 6. After weeks of intense fighting and harassing German troops, his division was pulled back to England for rest, resupply, and replacements. Yes, he was back in England on “business.” In one letter to his parents, D.C. expressed concern that Brown was back in England and thought that perhaps Brown had been injured. 64

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While in northern France, D.C.’s experiences were not necessarily negative. In an attempt to project an appearance of well-being, he did not write about events that had proved difficult. As long as D.C. had his letters from home, a dry place to sleep, someone else to do his laundry, periodic hot food, and of course a steady supply of candy, he was happy. He knew that his circumstances could be much worse. An edited portion of one of D.C.’s letters describes the situation not long after his arrival on the European continent: July 16, 1944 Somewhere in France Dearest Folks, Well I’m happy in the Service now because I’m getting mail regularly again. It sure makes a difference too because I was really getting home sick until came yesterday I received a long letter from Stella telling me in detail everything that Mildred, Rachel, Doris & she did over the weekend of the 24th. What was some weekend—all the things they did & Stella said she had never enjoyed anything so much. Also received a short letter from Uncle Tom yesterday. I’ll enclose it. Tickled me about saying “fine” every letter. And of course I’ve received your many letters which I’ve really enjoyed. Today has been a beautiful Sunday. I had the day off as far as work so I’ll tell you of my experiences. Two of my friends, both French interpreters, & I went for a walk in the country. As we were in search for a farm lady who would do our washing—we took along all our dirty clothes. About 2 miles from our tents, we stopped at a farm house & the people just would have us come in & sit down. As soon as we sit down—the old man brought out a large bottle of wine & started serving us. They were very friendly & took our laundry. We carried along soap, candy, cigarettes & etc. & gave to them. They can’t get such items. When we were about to leave they gave us 2 large bottles of wine—just made us take it. The other boys could understand & talk to them very well & I have picked up enough that I can do a little. I really did enjoy the afternoon. Coming back we Northern France

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stopped at another house & bought some eggs. We have powdered eggs at our chow so those will really taste fine. Daddy the people over here have fine white face cattle—many more than you’d find in our section of Texas. The country is full of hedges which makes it bad for combat I have heard. July 14th was a big day here. I passed by one church where the American band was there playing for the French. So far I’ve seen nothing but a friendly attitude among the people. Our chow now is a bit better than at first when we had individual rations. There is no PX here but the Army sends every company and detachment “free” PX goods. We received ours tonight. Am now eating some candy. The other day I was issued new socks, shoes, & field jacket. Before we came to France—we turned in our overcoat, blouses, caps & etc, so now I have nothing but what they call the combat uniform—no blouse or cap. I have kept my ribbons though. Have to wear steel helmet all of the time. Was heavy at first but am use [sic] to it now. Didn’t go to church today but might get a chance to go next Sunday. I have something for you to guess at. It was a funny experience the last time I was at church—it wasn’t in US, England, or France. You guess & let me know. Had my gun on one shoulder & something else on the other. Mother as I’ve no way at this time to send money to the church, I want you to write a check on my account for $10.00 & give it to them. I thought I would do it for a long time but am afraid I won’t get the chance. That should be enough for 1944. And about the candy you’ve been sending me, the 3 boxes, I also want you to check so much out for them, because it’s enough for you to do to wrap & send them & not have to pay for them. Since I’m sure you want to do as I want done, I’m expecting you to do that. I believe I enjoyed the Milky Ways best of all them [sic] were wonderfully good. Well I think this has been one of my longest letters. The wine I drank this afternoon must have given me the writing spirit. I didn’t like the stuff but they wouldn’t have understood & wouldn’t have liked it if I hadn’t have [sic] drunk any. I now have 66

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over 3 cartons of cigarettes. All were given to me. I’d pass them on to some one who likes them. The English & the French all like American cigarettes much better than their own. Will close for this time. Tell “the sisters” this is their letter also & tell Dan, Fat, Woodrow & all “Hello.” Don’t guess Ted will catch me. When he came [sic] to France I’ll probably be in [censored]. Hope I am soon. Love to Everybody D.C. Jr. The wine had been hidden from the Germans. Today the French countryside no longer shows the signs of battles fought in decades past. Eventually D.C.’s letters and stories prompted me to make a trip to Europe—but not under the same circumstances. The drive across northern France from Paris is spectacular. East of Paris are vast, rolling valleys and massive fields that have been cultivated for centuries. Periodically one passes deep, lush forests that give travelers the sense that the land continues to hold mysteries from the First World War. The modern autoroutes across France are expansive tollways that remind me of our own interstate highway system. The speed with which one can traverse eastern France nowadays causes one to bypass much of its history. The names on the maps and road signs—Argonne, Verdun, Metz—are those our grandfathers mentioned, but in most cases that is all they are today: just names. Driving east, we eventually turn north from Metz into Luxembourg. We cross the border between France and Luxembourg, which was not manned this day. No additional stamps are added to our passports. Not long after entering Luxembourg, we easily arrive in the northern town of Clervaux in the Ardennes, a region composed of a series of hills and forests that extend through portions of Belgium, Luxembourg, and France. Our travels across France into Luxembourg focused on discovering the past, whereas D.C.’s earlier journey determined his future.

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CLERVAUX The Grand Duchy

of Luxembourg is no larger than many of the counties in the United States. It is largely bordered on the east by Germany, on the south by France, and on the west and north by Belgium. When the war in Europe began, Luxembourg, with its fourhundred-man army, declared its neutrality. Unfortunately, Hitler had other plans and “absorbed” it into the Third Reich on May 10, 1940. Overt resistance was not a consideration. In addition to Luxembourg’s token army, Germany required all Luxembourg males born between 1921 and 1927 to join the German army or perform some other approved service for the Reich. Upon joining the Wehrmacht, these men were required to swear an oath to Hitler, not to Germany. A number of these men refused to pledge allegiance to the invading dictator, however, and sixty of them were executed. Many of the young men refused to report for induction and thus became “nonpersons.” Anyone who provided them assistance was subject to the death penalty. Of the Luxembourg men who served in the German army, most served on the Russian front. Approximately twenty-three hundred Luxembourgers serving in the Wehrmacht perished. Luxembourg was liberated by the Allies in September 1944. In the north, D.C.’s civil affairs detachment and the headquarters company of the 110th Regiment of the 28th Division established themselves in Clervaux. Prior to the war, Clervaux was a spa-type resort town where people came in the summer months to relax in the town’s several hotels. The setting was quite picturesque, with tall trees that hugged the sides of the steep hills surrounding the village. Meandering through

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Luxembourg, 1944.

the center of town’s narrow cobblestone streets was the small Clerf (or Clerve) River. On November 2, the 28th Division, including most of the 110th Infantry Regiment, went to the Hürtgen Forest of Luxembourg to force the enemy farther east into Germany. Not unexpectedly, D.C. never Clervaux

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discussed any of this. His detachment was billeted in nearby Clervaux, in the southern portion of the Ardennes, and did not participate in this action. The Hürtgen Forest is a belt of rolling woodlands about twenty miles long and ten miles deep. German pillboxes were numerous and well hidden. The area’s deep gorges also included icy streams. The Germans had carefully mined foxholes and ditches, places that would later be occupied by unsuspecting Allied personnel moving through the enemy’s previous positions. In the forest, exploding artillery shells shattered the pine trees and turned them into much smaller, lethal wooden projectiles. These were referred to as “tree bursts.”  At the conclusion of this campaign (around November 10), other units of the 28th Division were also sent to Clervaux for a much-needed rest. While the division was resupplied and replacements joined them, the troops hoped that they could wait out the winter (and perhaps the war) here. It had been almost four months since their landing at Normandy. With rest, the Hürtgen Forest and their recent ordeals were put on hold. Clervaux was often known as Clerf and Cliärref. Although the village suffered damage during its liberation in late September 1944, its facilities offered the troops a welcomed respite. Besides, it was winter. The townspeople were friendly, and the setting was relaxed, so D.C. considered his stay in Clervaux a pleasant bonus. However, a war was still raging, and this was the Ardennes. The 28th Division also fought in the Ardennes in the First World War. My maternal grandfather, Claude Reed, by a strange twist of fate, saw combat as a member of the 110th Regiment (Company E) of the 28th Division. The odds of such a coincidence cannot be overstated—that two boys from Texas were assigned to the same regiment (a Pennsylvania National Guard unit) in two different wars. At the end of WWI, my grandfather spent a great deal of time not far from Luxembourg near the old fortress city of Metz, in what is now France. In fact, D.C.’s travels tracked much the same route as my grandfather in the Great War. Unfortunately, since neither man discussed his time in the U.S. Army with the other, this connection was not discovered until a few years ago while I was researching old photographs and letters. The Time-Life Books series on World War II contains a publication 70

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Front row (left to right): Captain Sablieve (Canadian); George Koener, hotel owner in Clervaux, Luxembourg; Lieutenant Wykes (British); back row (left to right): 1LT George J. Bowdery, New York; Pvt. Harry H. Duncan, Tennessee; T/3 Edwin Bokor, New York; Capt. George R. Johnson, commanding officer, Wisconsin; PFC Milton C. Kornetz, Massachusetts; T/4 D.C. Caughran Jr., Texas; PFC James H. Creamer, Ohio.

on the Battle of the Bulge. After ordering the book, D.C. was excited to find a picture of the hotel in Clervaux where he was billeted. The photograph shows members of the 28th Division standing in a very long line outside the door of a small hotel, while checking in for billeting assignments. That building, where a company-sized group of soldiers is all lined up, still with their packs and weapons, was thought to be D.C.’s hotel. The Koener family owned the small, quaint establishment, including a café. Neighboring businesses included a garage, other hotels, and restaurants along the narrow street, which consisted mostly of three- and four-story buildings. However, D.C. was wrong. The photograph that generated so much excitement was actually taken from the Hotel Koener. The hotel in the photograph is a few feet from the Koener, and both still exist today. When I interviewed Luxembourger Frank Kieffer, he described how, as a boy of about eleven years, he welcomed the young American GIs, who seemed to have boundless supplies of chocolate bars. As the soldiers rolled into Clervaux in their jeeps, they asked the children, “Do Clervaux

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you have any sisters? Do you have whiskey? Do you have any pistols?” At the time, Frank’s English was limited, but with assistance from a school teacher he understood the GIs’ questions. Upon spotting a group of soldiers again, he was asked the same question regarding sisters. Quickly he answered in English, “I have three.” He was immediately called over and given chocolate and then asked to join his newfound and very lonely friends. Periodically whiskey was found, and pistols (specifically German Lugers) were souvenirs that were used for barter. Compared to earlier assignments, the duty in Clervaux was limited and relatively easy since the soldiers were given every opportunity to relax (Clervaux was the division’s designated rest area). The general feeling among the service personnel was that the war would soon be over. Military historian Hugh Cole stated, “In mid-September the Western Allies had felt imminent victory in their hands.”  Allied troops had actually stepped onto German soil elsewhere. Winter was starting in earnest, and everyone on both sides desperately needed an extended break. In the days prior to launching their last major counteroffensive, the Germans curbed their combat activity, at least in comparison to what the Allies had experienced in recent weeks. The occupation by the Americans was different from that of the Germans. Most of the Luxembourgers who had resisted the German conscription came out of hiding. Moreover, some of the GIs were billeted outside the village on farms and in homes, where they even helped with the family chores. The Germans had not done this, so the Americans’ assistance endeared many of them to the Luxembourgers. This personal attachment to the families helped relieve the soldiers’ homesickness, especially if the family had a daughter. Overlooking Clervaux was a ridge that often experienced German activity. Movements by German tanks in particular made a great deal of noise that was caused by metal rubbing against metal, which was due to the lack of lubrication. In good weather, one could look up to the road on the ridge, see the enemy, and even hear their vehicle activity when they wanted you to hear it. In the evening the Germans sometimes came down into the town, set demolition charges, and blew something up. One particular explosion included a portion of the train

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depot in the northern part of Clervaux. On another occasion, D.C. borrowed a set of binoculars to look up to the ridge above town and he observed a German looking back at him through binoculars. Historian Charles MacDonald described the porous lines that existed during this stressful winter. A German patrol might hit an American facility in the rear of the line, lay a few land mines, or provide other reminders that the Germans had not totally abandoned their desire to keep their grip on the Luxembourgers. Very few soldiers went out late in the evening. When they did, each one carried his weapon at all times, held his rifle with the safety off, and kept his finger inside the trigger guard. At least the finger was supposed to be inside the trigger guard. They were so nervous—and in the latter days of the war the weather had turned so cold—that it would have taken little stimulus to inadvertently jerk the trigger and discharge the weapon, not knowing whether the cold had caused a muscle to contract or one had simply reacted to a sudden noise or movement. This was a rest area, at least in comparison to being “on the line.” Back home in Texas, D.C.’s dad expressed his concern about Junior having to carry the rifle with him so often. In Clervaux there was just as much worry about being accidentally shot by one of your own people, who might be overly excited, as by the Germans. The German soldiers were still probing the American lines, but overall, this time in Clervaux was perhaps D.C.’s happiest while in Europe. Evenings were much like gatherings depicted in the old movies. In the hotel parlor was a piano that someone played while the others sang. Conversation was not always about the war, but, in particular, those who gathered together discussed what they would and would not do after the war. For example, no one wanted to even think about camping out and sharing a tent again. Clean dry socks were at the top of the “I want” lists. During the day, when off duty, it was not unusual to find a couple of soldiers sitting on the steps outside the hotel. A harmonica was common, and all that was needed was someone to sing the popular songs of the times. This was a chance to relax, and D.C. continued to exhibit a sense of humor. The following portion of a letter sent in September

Clervaux

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1944 demonstrates the precarious nature of his location and the way he relates this to his parents: Went for a ride today on business & was taking a short cut we thought. After running up on a whole bunch of medics, I ask where I was going (the town). They said that I was exactly ½ mile from Germany, so me not wanting to invade Germany, turned around and as Hitler says, “Retreated according to Plan.” This situation was similar to the time D.C. became lost after utilizing the latrine not long after his arrival in Normandy. The local drug store, just a few feet from the Hotel Koener, was owned by the Molitor family, who had a daughter named Marthe. From D.C.’s description, Marthe, along with other family members, brought something of a real home atmosphere to Clervaux. Moreover, D.C. dated Marthe somewhat. A makeshift movie house was open periodically, and D.C. took her and her father to whatever was showing. Only once was D.C. allowed to be alone with her for any length of time. Strict social protocols were still in force, even in a country that had seen two wars and enemy occupation in a little more than two decades. In reality, he shared the entire Molitor family with the members of the 28th Division. To his sister Mildred, D.C. wrote that he had met a girl who “speaks English.” He was disappointed that her folks looked after her “like a hawk,” and if her parents were not sitting in the room with them, they were very close by. He was amazed that this young girl went to Catholic Mass every morning at 6:00 and again at 5:00 in the evening. This was a new experience for a Protestant from the East Texas prairie. It was also a family joke, although they never knew whether it was true that Marthe’s brother was the local priest. If Marthe’s father did not escort them, her brother did, so D.C. got away with nothing. However, D.C. pointed out that he had a very good time with her (and her parents) because it broke the monotony and helped keep him from feeling so homesick. At the local post office D.C.’s detachment set up its operations. Since the civil affairs office was the center of military government in 74

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the village, they saw most of the local population at some point. In addition, several Luxembourg families showed their appreciation to the U.S. troops. Small dinners and parties were common throughout northern Europe when there were no specific concerns regarding enemy action. In his letters D.C. wrote about how warmly they were welcomed and how they enjoyed the people of Luxembourg. In early October 1944 D.C. related one such affair: My Dearest Folks, Well here I am back at my writing again. This time I have to tell you about my weekend. It was this way—Yesterday, Luxembourg patriots invited my det. (officer & enlisted men) to a dinner or banquet at a very nice hotel. So at 12 o’clock noon, we all walked over. First I must tell you that the people in Europe hardly drink anything except wine, champagne, & etc. When we got there at 12, we sat at a small table in the lobby & had 3 glasses of red wine. Then about 12:30 we were taken to the long table for our meal. And another thing people over here (also France) take from 3 to 4 hours to eat (can you imagine that). First we were brought chicken cooked in balls of crust. Then second course was roast beef, peas, lettuce, carrots, & several other vegetables. Then they brought French fries. After eating all of this one of our patriots made a speech praising the American Army & our presence in the town. Then they played “The Star Spangled Banner,” & the British & Luxembourg anthems. Feel so sorry for one old man (about 75) whose 3 children the Germans had taken. He began to cry in the midst of it. After this the next course was fresh ham, tomatoes, wine. Then our Capt. made a very good little speech telling of what good friends & people we had found here & gave a toast to Luxembourg. Then about 3:30 or 4 they brought out some of the best cake I’ve ever eaten. Coffee also. By this time it was about 4 o’clock. We then had white wine & champagne. Then about 4:30, they brought out their Luxembourg whiskey (called fire water) & before I started the meal I told them I wasn’t sure if I’d make it home after all that, but to be very diplomatic—you Clervaux

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can’t turn it down. By this time it was 4:30 or 5 & we were still listening to beautiful music & setting at table when they brought in several girls (nearly all could speak some English) & we danced until 10 PM. The people in this country speak mostly German but some French. I can say right now I’ve never been entertained in such a royal way since coming to Europe. Daddy I’m sure you’d have laughed if you’d seen me—In such a banquet & just had to take on more of that wine than I really wanted. My roommate said when he got in bed last night he felt as if he were in a merry-go-round. It was a very small group of us & it was really all very nice. None of us could dance very well to their music but I danced with every girl there—also cut in on my Captain. So my lunch lasted exactly 10 hours. So much for that, day before yesterday I received your letter written Sept. 18 when you were taking Aunt Ada to the bus. It really came fast. Just receiving the one letter & the others (letters) were no later than Sept. the 3rd I don’t know anything about why Aunt Ada was there or anything. So I have a 15 day gap of letters. Hope to get them soon. Glad you got the $90. check. Am now at my headquarters listening to Fred Waring. Very beautiful & very nice radio. I’m feeling fine. Have been looking at Reader’s Digest (August issue) if you get one—read about the invasion planning & etc—very good & true. Well folks must close. Hope I can write again soon. Lots of Love To All D.C. The mention in D.C.’s letter about the elderly man who cried when he remembered how the Germans had taken his three sons was not uncommon. Luxembourg had a population of approximately 250,000 nationals. Of these, nearly 50,000 were removed by the Germans. The Germans often took the younger men, as well as village officials, and subjected them to forced labor. In some cases they inducted them into the German army. Europe suffered greatly from the German occupation. 76

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On a lighter note, one of the items that was in short supply in Clervaux (and throughout Europe) because of the war was soap. It would have been awkward to offer soap openly to the proprietors of the hotel, so as D.C. and his friends left the parlor and departed for their rooms in the late evening, he periodically placed a bar or two of soap out of the way on a table in a corner of the room or some other inconspicuous place where the Koeners would be sure to find it. After every such gift D.C. found a bottle of wine outside his door the next morning. Nothing was ever said about the exchange. There was no need. Even with all of the soap that D.C. had access to and left with the Koeners, he never developed a taste for wine. Sometimes I wonder what he did with all those bottles. In October 1944, while the U.S. soldiers followed the box scores from the baseball World Series, in which the Saint Louis Browns played the Saint Louis Cardinals, General Eisenhower issued Proclamation No. 1 to the people of Germany. It said in part: We come as conquerors. This time there is to be no coddling of the enemy, no escape for guilty Nazi Party leaders, the Gestapo and others. And GIs will note that all resistance to our entry— i.e., snipers and others—will be ruthlessly stamped out. There were two messages in this proclamation, which was also published in the U.S. Army’s Stars and Stripes. One was that the enemy was not necessarily the German people but rather the Nazis, who controlled the country and Europe for so many years. However, if the German population opposed the Allied forces, they would be dealt with as any Nazi Party member. They should make no mistake that Germany was going to be treated as a defeated nation. The second message was to the U.S. fighting man: The war was not over. The soldier should not take comfort in his accomplishments at this time. He still had a job to do and sacrifices to make.

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FIRST SNOW On November 9,

1944, Clervaux got its first snow. It was a snow that got heavier with time. The staff soldiers were glad they were not in the field and knew how fortunate they were. They did not realize that northern Europe was about to experience one of its worst winters in decades. Shortly after this, D.C. got a pass for a two-day trip. Their French officer took members of the unit to Paris for a “night on the town”: Bet you can’t imagine such a trip but I did. I really saw it good this time & was entertained royally by a French Lt. now attached to my Det. Can very easily see why Paris is known as “Gay Paree.” Ate in very nice place when there was also floor show & etc. Had time of my life. Rode subways for miles also. (First time) My friend & I really looked funny in Paris, we had steel helmets, leggins, guns, & etc &, the boys in Paris (stationed there) wear just what I use to in the States. Man that was a cold trip & a long one but really enjoyed it after I got there. The soldiers went to restaurants and nightclubs, and the French officer did not allow them to pay for anything, perhaps in his excitement over the recent liberation of Paris. The men in D.C.’s detachment knew the evening was expensive, and they felt very awkward at such overt

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generosity, but these feelings went away a few days later when they learned that the officer had a royal title and was actually quite wealthy. The men really appreciated the officer’s generous hospitality. Periodically D.C. also had access to a jeep, which was one of the benefits of being in a civil affairs detachment. He wrote that this amazing quarter-ton vehicle had “four wheel drive” and that it was nearly impossible to get it stuck, even off road. It seemed like the perfect vehicle for those roads in Rockwall and Kaufman counties back in Texas. If it were not too expensive, D.C. told his parents, he was going to buy one after the war. My father had a similar appreciation of the jeep. He later acquired one and painted it red. However, he did not keep it long after having his first child. D.C. did not mention whether the jeep he used in Luxembourg still carried the name Susie. As the holidays approached, D.C.’s parents asked him what he wanted for Christmas. He responded: In your letter (last one) you asked me to tell you what I’d like for Christmas. Well I had to think about spending a Christmas here, & your letters is [sic] a Christmas present for me. Depression set in on the troops, even those who regularly received letters. They did not want to spend another Christmas away from home. The memories (and letters) kept them as close to home as possible. Stella, the girlfriend that D.C. had left at Camp Wolters, still wrote every day. However, his affection for her was not the same as before. In a letter to his parents, D.C. wrote the following: I still receive a letter a day from Stella, she’ll probably slow up a bit because I haven’t written her in 2 weeks. I lose interest in writing anyone except you. Wrote & told her once that I guess the letters I’d sent her must have been sunk. Even with D.C.’s letters “sunk,” Stella still wrote. It is difficult to say what might have happened if D.C. had not been so far away or if he had not been distracted by the circumstances. The war was hard on

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everyone, and emotions and commitments were unpredictable. One popular radio commentator at the time was Gabriel Heater. His programs were extremely optimistic, to the point that the soldiers generally discounted what he had to say. He frequently began his broadcast with, “Ah, there’s good news tonight . . .” Once D.C. commented that he and the boys in his detachment all wondered how long ago Gabriel Heater had won the war. The boys were anxious to go home. In the postscript to one of his letters D.C. expressed his frustration and homesickness: P.S.: Heard from Ted. He’s in France, Had just received 2 cans of fried chicken & 32 letters. Said he would be glad to go home on a raft. I’m to the point I’d do the same, because the closer the war is to being over, I guess the more anxious I get. However, even with the overwhelming desire to return to the States, the troops did not waiver in their conviction. In late October 1944 D.C. wrote that he had read in the Stars and Stripes that the Dallas Morning News was supporting Dewey for President. To this news D.C. said, “I would have stopped my subscription, if I’d had one.” Also in the Stars and Stripes was an article that noted how many of the troops now in Europe would be sent to China to help with the war against Japan once Germany surrendered. Information such as this also contributed to the soldiers’ homesickness. With the war seeming to slow down, the troops found more time to reflect on their own situation. At this point D.C. was a tech sergeant. It appeared that the Civil Affairs headquarters personnel were all promoted to staff sergeant. None of those located with the detachments at the regiment level, such as D.C.’s, had been promoted. In D.C.’s words, “Headquarters always get [sic] the best of everything.”  The anticipation of Christmas in Europe with the villagers was a blessing. While on duty one evening D.C. took the time to describe one event: Well Santa Claus over here is really something different from that in the States. I told you of our Det. giving the town “Santa 80

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Claus” gum, candy & etc. Well here’s the way they do it. This afternoon one lady dressed as Santa Claus & two girls about 20 came in our office jinging [sic] bells & with switches (large ones size of a Christmas tree nearly). Well I didn’t see them & I was in our small office with the Captain. When I heard the noise I walked out to see & was met by these 2 girls dressed & painted black & they immediately given to whip me with the bushes & I began to run. Then they got one of the other boys I haven’t yet learned what the spanking was for—will write when I do. Then they left us a whole sack full of the best cookies & etc. Th is was in the afternoon & they visit every child’s home to carry the candy, cakes, & etc & to whip them too I guess. Some way to play Santa Claus. As Christmas also approached in the States, D.C.’s mom made every effort to send what her boy might need, even if he had not yet thought of it. Early in December she sent him “wash-rags.” (For those of you not so educated, they are also known as washcloths. They were far from being rags.) She also sent him a sweater, and although he had just mentioned that the U.S. Army issued “the best sweater—the nicest looking something & warmest thing” that he had seen, he was still glad to have the one from home. I have often wondered whether he was wearing it when he was captured. In one of D.C.’s last letters home that December, he mentioned that the snow on the trees was quite beautiful and that it was “fairly” cold. Even now, D.C. and the others were tired of the constant cold and snow. Fortunately for D.C. and his friends, they were not living and working in the field. The date of D.C.’s last letter prior to his capture was December 10, 1944, and it said nothing unique. It covered his routine and the more-than-adequate meals. Of more interest is a note on the envelope, probably added by Mrs. Cordie, that it was his last letter home. The paper was very well worn—evidence that it was read and reread for the slightest hint of how D.C. was doing. Along with other members of the 28th Division, D.C. worked and relaxed in the relative comfort of Clervaux. However, the Germans First Snow

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were finalizing preparations for the Nazis’ last offensive. “As the grenadiers and panzers moved into their jump-off positions for their last major counter-offensive in the west, expectation was high, and success appeared in close range.” 

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DECEMBER 16 Before December 16

both the 28th and the 106th divisions sent reports to U.S. Army headquarters and intelligence groups regarding increased vehicular activity in the German sector. However, little action resulted from the receipt of this information. In fact, the 28th discounted its own intelligence by referencing a similar level of activity three weeks earlier, when an enemy unit pulled out of the area and was replaced by another. The surprise to the Allies in the Ardennes on December 16 was thus almost complete. Early in the morning and well before first light on December 16, 1944, D.C. and the others heard artillery fire, and it was not their own. The Germans began their attack at 5:30 a.m. Sunrise did not occur until 8:29 a.m. in this dreary section of the Ardennes. Clervaux was a main objective of the German offensive, followed by Bastogne and its strategic crossroads. Clervaux had two vital bridges that crossed the Clerf River, which provided access to a major highway, and was therefore critical for the German army and its race to Bastogne. Hitler did not anticipate the fierce, if not fanatical, resistance by the U.S. forces. Individuals formed up with nameless groups and set up hastily prepared defenses. Even the disorganized nature of the U.S. resistance caused the Germans to second-guess the actual situation. The Americans retreated like an army, not a disorganized mob of defeated foreigners. The telephone lines connecting American-held villages in the area were destroyed early in the attack. Radios still functioned, but not in every case. The members of the Civil Affairs detachment hurriedly

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Facing south from the front of the Hotel Koener. The building to the right is the Molitor Pharmacie, where, from the basement, German infiltrators directed artillery fire into the village during the battle to take Clervaux. (Photo by Sarah Miracle.)

reported to their office at the former local post office. Later that morning everyone was ordered into the field, including D.C. With field packs and weapons, they went to a designated area to set up a defensive perimeter. For the first time, D.C. and the rest of the detachment were actually going to function as an infantry unit on the line. This was not compatible with his role as a clerk typist. The typical soldier from the provost marshal’s unit entered the field with his wool shirt, field jacket, leggings, and high-top combat boots. Proper gear had not arrived in sufficient quantity to allow winterizing for prolonged periods in the field. Considering the extreme cold, I am not sure that members of the Civil Affairs detachment could have been adequately winterized. As before, D.C. carried his M1 .30-cal. carbine. The soldiers did not take the time to acquire the normal shelter halves, sleeping bags, or even overshoes. The question that ran through their mind was simply, “Do we have what we need, and do we need what we 84

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have?” There was very little time to give much thought to preparations since the entire German army seemed headed right for them. This was not the Christmas D.C. had expected. Although the Allies did not know it at the time, the Germans were doing more than probing their lines. After D.C.’s unit took up their hurriedly assigned positions outside of Clervaux, they heard artillery fire again. Their commanding officer, Captain Johnson, an old field artillery officer, decided to take his driver, Harry Duncan, and see what was happening. Other than perhaps Captain Johnson, the soldiers had no information, and their field radios had limited range. For example, the frequently used handheld walkie-talkie was normally effective for a quarter mile. The surrounding hills may also have caused some interference for those short-range radios. Leaving Lieutenant Bowdery in charge, Captain Johnson told him that they were not to leave and to wait until he returned. With the snow falling, the captain and Harry left in the jeep, while the Germans fired at them periodically. What D.C. and the others did not then know was that the captain had orders to hold their position at all costs. Their position all along the line was worse than tenuous. Even D.C. knew that not having an opportunity to dig in and prepare a proper defensive position left them exposed. The Civil Affairs detachment and other combat support personnel of the 110th Regiment of the 28th Division were soon surrounded by the Germans, and the enemy was starting to infiltrate their positions. This situation had not been contemplated. After D.C. told this part of the story, I made an unfortunate mistake in the art of listening. I asked D.C. whether, after they took up their defensive position outside Clervaux, he had fired his weapon. He said, “Yes.” It would probably have been all right if I had stopped there, but I then asked whether he had hit anything. He hesitated for a moment and then, almost under his breath, said, “Probably not.” I could tell by the tone of his voice and by the way he looked away from me that I should not have asked. I had no right. Some things are just too personal. I was not there, I had never been in combat, and I could not understand. Shortly after my inappropriate probing, D.C. changed the subject. I never made that mistake again. December 16

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Disabled German tank disguised as a U.S. Army tank. (U.S. Army Photo.)

While preparing this book, I corresponded with Bob Bradicich, who became a member of the 2nd Battalion headquarters staff after he was wounded in the Hürtgen Forest. He was billeted in Clervaux at the same time as D.C. He did not specifically recall D.C., but, because of his assignment, he was certain they had met. Bradicich also knew D.C.’s hotel quite well. He was able to provide some additional details of the action around Clervaux prior to D.C.’s capture. Bob Bradicich and his group, led by Captain Dobbs, were sent to establish a defensive line by a small creek outside Clervaux before daylight. At this line in the darkness on perhaps the second day, a tank came down the road, and the Americans were ready to fire, but the soldiers riding on top of the tank yelled, “Don’t shoot! We’re American, and we’re coming back for more gas!” The tank and its passengers were told to come on through. When the tank was within fifty yards of their position, the men on the tank

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jumped off and started to fire at Bradicich and the others. In addition, the tank opened up with its 88-mm and its machine gun. Yes, they were Germans and they spoke perfect English. Because of the darkness, it had not been obvious to Bradicich and his group that it was a German tank that was pushing down on them. Bradicich’s position was overrun in a matter of moments, and many Americans were killed or wounded in the process. Captain Dobbs ordered a few of the soldiers, including Bradicich, to move up a nearby hill to escape the slaughter. The wounded Americans that were hurriedly left behind cried out for medics. However, shortly afterward there was gunfire—and no more calls for help. These Germans were murdering the wounded. At this point it was impossible to determine whether the Germans were even taking prisoners. Only five American soldiers escaped up the hill. Captain Dobbs asked the remaining four whether they wanted to surrender. Everyone said no to the idea, especially after witnessing the

Clervaux, Luxembourg, 1944. The cathedral is at top left. The castle, or chateau, is in the center back. The post office is behind the castle. The Hotel Koener is located outside of the photograph and to the right. The Clerf River runs near the foreground. (U.S. Army photo.)

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carnage below. Although enraged, the only thing left for the shaken soldiers to do was to infiltrate the now German positions and carefully work their way back to the American lines, wherever they might be. When they reached Clervaux, Bradicich remembered that he had left all of his personal possessions, including his hard-earned Purple Heart, in the house where he was billeted just down the street. He did not want to leave it, especially for the enemy. Alone, he went back and saw some GIs who were still in that part of town. He told them that the Germans, with tanks, were coming, they were already close to town, and the GIs should get out. He told me he did not know whether they had managed to get away safely. Bradicich went to his quarters to collect his personal items and was quickly heading out the door when he saw the Germans coming down the street. He figured that, if he shot at them, he would at least delay them for a few moments. He went back inside to a window and saw a Tiger tank approaching—very close. A crewman was halfway out of the top hatch of the tank. Bradicich took aim. As he strained to aim through the rear sight of his M1, he wondered why an object that had looked so large only a second ago was suddenly too small for a proper sight picture. He tried to mentally adjust the distance to the target and to control his heavy breathing, not to mention the pounding of his heart. Why was it beating so hard and fast? The rifle would not stay steady. He had to remember to s-q-u-e-e-z-e the trigger. It was too much. It all happened so fast, but some parts seemed to go in slow motion. He fired at the half-exposed tank crewman—and missed. He also realized that they saw him because they started yelling, “Amerikaner! Amerikaner!” The supporting German infantry fired back. Bob Bradicich may have missed, but he accomplished his purpose. He slowed them down, if only for a few minutes while they looked around for the maverick sniper. However, he was not going to wait for them to find him. Since he could not go out the front, he ran out the back door and through the backyards to the next street. As he got close to where his friend was supposed to be waiting, he called to his buddy, and they both took off for the center of Clervaux. Later, with a small group of soldiers, Bradicich headed west, dodging German troops along the way, and eventually, located the place where the division 88

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was reorganizing—a few miles away in Wiltz. In the early morning of December 18 Capt. William Dobbs assisted in establishing the new command post for the 110th Regiment at Allerborn and Donnange on the main Clervaux-to-Bastogne highway. This included the remnants of the 2nd Battalion of the 110th Regiment and what was left of the last reserve of the 28th Division. Throughout the Ardennes similar scenes were played out by numerous small groups of U.S. soldiers, who did their best to slow the German advance. Many of them fought until their resources were exhausted. With their desperate action, the overpowered soldiers bought the Allies time. The Germans estimated that Saint Vith (southwest of Clervaux) would fall the first day, which would have necessitated Clervaux’s collapse several hours earlier. However, the small village on the Clerf River was still providing resistance on December 17, although the town was closed off on three sides by 3:00 p.m. German infantry and armor had entered the ancient winding streets of the spa city. After some time had passed, the Americans in D.C.’s unit started bugging out. D.C. and his group tried to talk the lieutenant into leaving before it was too late, but the lieutenant had orders, and they were going to stay put until the captain returned. This junior officer knew how to follow orders. Before too long, in addition to enduring the cold, they ran out of what little food and ammunition they managed to take with them on short notice. Now they had no choice. Hurrying back into Clervaux, they looked for other Americans along the way but saw no one. They did, however, hear gunfire very close by. Avoiding contact with the enemy, they slipped into the village by hugging the sides of the buildings as they raced for sanctuary. Perhaps others were hiding as well, especially the civilians, as small pockets of defense developed. The group decided to occupy the basement of the post office, which was near the twelfth-century castle that dominated the valley. The Germans were not far behind. D.C. and the others could hear them. What the Americans did not know was that two German forward observers were directing gunfire into Clervaux. The enemy soldiers who were providing targeting were operating from the abandoned Molitor pharmacy, which was only one hundred meters from D.C.’s location December 16

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Bronze plaque attached to the castle in Clervaux. (Photo by Ross Miracle.)

and thirty meters from the Hotel Koener. The enemy’s covering fire provided particular assistance to the Germans who were attacking the headquarters company in the old castle and other locations. Shells began falling on the streets of Clervaux as early as the evening of December 16, and, under cover of darkness in the early morning hours of December 17, small groups of German infantry began slipping into town. By 9:30 a.m. the 2nd Panzer Division began addressing the defenses of the castle with a steady fire from the high ridge to the east, overlooking Clervaux. Located in the southeastern portion of the town, the castle helped control access to one of the vital bridges across the Clerf River. The other bridge was to the north, closer to the railroad station. The commanding officer of the 110th Regiment, Colonel Fuller, and his command post tried to direct the fight for the entire regiment. The castle’s defense was organized by Capt. John Aiken, communications officer of the 110th Regiment. His party included members of his headquarters 90

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company and a few infantry stragglers. In addition, a small group of civilians, mostly women and children, were hiding in the basement of the castle, along with fifteen German prisoners of war. A major defense of the castle took place. Before 7:00 p.m. on December 17 Colonel Fuller’s command post was overrun, and before 6:00 a.m. on December 18, Captain Aiken’s headquarters company sent its last radio transmission from the castle. Meanwhile, D.C. and the others were tired, cold, and hungry. Moreover, in their exhaustion they did not believe there was any way to get to the U.S. lines. They were not even sure where those lines were. A few days before, D.C. had received a birthday cake from his Houston cousins, the Hamills. He was saving it for his birthday, which was only a few days away. During his time in the basement and for months thereafter, he often thought of his cake and how the Germans had eaten it. He hoped it had gone very stale—or worse. While at the post office, D.C. and the remaining members of his detachment still had an assignment to complete. They stayed in the basement for what seemed like several days, although it was only a couple. The group was last reported seen on December 19. Holding perhaps a dozen soldiers, the post office was crowded. The dark brick structure and its basement had a half window that allowed the soldiers to look out onto the street if they stretched or stood on something. This unstable sanctuary was located at the base of a hill; at the top of the hill stood the medieval castle. At some early point in the process, the Americans sent tanks back into Clervaux in an attempt to hold (or retake) the town. The Germans had the advantage of elevation from the ridge above the village. Their tanks were larger and outnumbered the American tanks. D.C. and the others watched from the relative safety of the basement’s half window as the Germans destroyed the U.S. armor. The staccato sound of the German shells hitting the tanks ricocheted off the buildings, the ancient streets, and their own fears. A German Panzerfaust team destroyed a Sherman tank near the post office. D.C.’s group saw the wounded American tank crew scramble out of their shattered tank as the armor caught fire and then exploded. They wanted to run out and help, but there was nothing they could do. The Allied tanks never stood December 16

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a chance. The air was filled with the smell of burning fuel and other things unfamiliar to D.C. Later, as things grew quiet, except for the crackling of the smoldering tanks and burning buildings, the German infantry moved into the village. The displaced Americans moved away from the window since they could not risk being seen. They could hear the German soldiers’ hobnail boots striking against the cobblestone street. It was a very unnerving sound, one that D.C. frequently recalled years later. Periodically they heard gunfire or a small explosion. They did not know whether the Germans were actually shooting at something or were simply as nervous and scared as they were. Probably both. The defense provided by the 28th Division in and around Clervaux slowed the timetable for the German army. The fact that the 28th Division was a veteran combat unit had not been factored into the Germans’ plan of attack. Throughout the Ardennes the 28th Division’s refusal to panic against unknown odds provided the time other U.S. Army elements needed to establish a defensive position in Belgium and eventually stall the German counterattack. The small U.S. units and tactical delays became major problems for the Germans and their critical schedule. Although the fate of Clervaux was sealed by December 17, on December 18 or 19 the Germans started systematically checking the buildings for Americans and villagers who had failed to evacuate. Small pockets of resistance still existed in the town and throughout the Ardennes. D.C. and the others knew how the Germans would proceed in securing Clervaux since they had seen their own troops do so as they moved across northern Europe in many of those now-forgotten villages. It was not unusual—and far easier—to either fire several artillery rounds into a building or a room and/or throw a hand grenade into the structure, and then enter, often discharging weapons as they came through a door, window, or whatever opening was available. The original idea when hiding in the basement was to wait until the U.S. forces returned. After witnessing what happened to the American tanks, however, and with the German infantry moving into Clervaux, D.C.’s group realized they might not be able to hold out. It would be only a matter of time before the enemy began to clear their building 92

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and check for soldiers and hiding civilians who had been overrun by the Germans’ quick advance. A small narrow stairway led down into the post office basement. D.C.’s group heard the enemy soldiers going through the building on the ground floor above them. It appeared they were saving the basement for last. Concerned that a “potato-masher”-type hand grenade might be thrown down on them first, their German translator called out to the enemy soldiers to let them know they were there and that they were ready to surrender. The enemy seemed surprised to find so many American soldiers in one place. There was nothing else for D.C. and the others to do. They were tired and hungry and had nothing with which to fight. They were not aware of how some prisoners were treated elsewhere. The Germans were not gentle. They yelled and shoved a great deal as the new prisoners were herded up the dark steps. With their hands held high over their heads, the Americans worked their way to the main floor, out of the building, and into the open air. D.C. said that the only thing going through his mind as he was forced from the building and out into the street, with the muzzle of a rifle brutally jammed between his shoulder blades, was his parents. He knew they would receive a telegram from the U.S. War Department informing them that their only son was missing in action. He wanted to tell them not to worry. He was okay for now. Of the three-thousand-strong 110th Infantry Regiment of the 28th Division, only five hundred were able to break off contact with the enemy and reach the relative safety of their own lines outside Clervaux. The Supreme Headquarters of the Allied Expeditionary Force issued a report that was not made available to the general public at the time. It stated in part: A complete civil affairs detachment, stationed in a Luxembourg town which was engulfed by the German midwinter offensive in the Ardennes is now officially reported missing in action. The detachment, a small one of two officers and five enlisted men working to help restore normal conditions in Clervaux, near the German frontier, fought against the advanced German forces, December 16

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was besieged and shelled by armoured [sic] columns and was last seen defending itself from the Post Office, where its records were being burned. The seven soldiers, which included some of those the U.S. Army designated as “Limited Service,” were Capt. George R. Johnson (Wisconsin), Lt. George J. Bowdery (New York), T/3 Edwin Bokor (New York), Pfc. James H. Creamer (Ohio), Pfc. Milton C. Kornetz (Massachusetts), Pfc. Harry Duncan (Tennessee), and T/4 D.C. Caughran Jr. (Texas). The records they burned probably included details of cooperation with the Allies by local civilians. The enemy would not have been forgiving of such collaboration as they reestablished themselves in Luxembourg. With the reoccupation by the Germans, the civilians were now at personal risk. The Germans’ return to previously occupied territory was the cause for significant concern, if not panic, by the local population. The cooperation they had provided could (and probably would) result in the enemy’s retaliation. “Word of the Wehrmacht return instantly raised the spectre of Nazi vengeance.”  Detachment D6G1 likely saved many civilians’ lives by their desperate actions as the German forces closed on the unit’s position in Clervaux. The heroic actions of Detachment D6G1 were not recognized by the U.S. Army. However, the results are in little doubt. Part of one of D.C.’s letters comes to mind, and I am sure he was thinking these very thoughts in Luxembourg as he later wrote to his folks from the POW camp in late March 1945: Don’t worry about me—just keep well so I can be happy & not worry about you all. I’m sure I’ll be OK. Till tomorrow good bye. Lots of Love D.C. Jr. But as he walked and stumbled, with the incoherent orders of the German soldiers in the background, there was no one he could tell that he would be okay. He was not even sure himself. The war had finally come to him, and this was not the great adventure he had envisioned 94

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or wanted. Of the approximately six military government detachments in the Ardennes and the eastern portion of the western front, the U.S. Army’s Civil Affairs detachment D6G1 was the only unit that was overrun by the enemy. Individual and small-unit engagements by members of the 28th Division took place throughout Clervaux and the surrounding area in those first few hours in the Ardennes. In the U.S. Army’s official account of the Battle of the Bulge, historian Hugh M. Cole stated, “It is impossible to assess in hours the violence done [to] the 2d Panzer Division timetable at Clerf (also known as Clervaux), but it is clear that the race by this division to Bastogne was lost as the result of the gallant action by the 110th Infantry in front of and at the Clerf crossings.”  Outside, it was cold, very gray, and even more uncertain.

December 16

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DEAREST JUNIOR Certainly D.C. was not wrong about how his parents would react to the situation. The news was worse than they could have imagined. They knew nothing of D.C.’s condition, and it was the not knowing that almost killed them. All they knew was that they had not heard from their son in several days. The Germans had mounted a major counteroffensive somewhere near him and had thus probably overrun his position. They did not know whether he was injured, safe somewhere within the Allied lines, hiding, captured, or even alive. However, hope overcame all other thoughts. Cordelia felt that, if she continued to write, then her son would have to be alive. This may not have been logical, but it was all she had to cling to. The thought of her baby boy dead was unacceptable. When the family had not heard from D.C. in several weeks, the lack of news became unbearable. A letter that D.C. never received from his mother indicates the depths of his family’s pain and anxiety: Honey, we are still so anxious to hear but we try to be patient knowing that mail can be held up in battle areas and maybe your [sic] in a different place and can’t write. We try to think of everything—and so hopeful that everything is well with you. We enjoyed your last letters so much—last one the 11th of Dec. You were going to shows—being invited out etc. Your letters were so cheerful. We tried our best to read between the lines where you had gotten some of our Xmas boxes—for I know we sent you some good fruit cake and candies. It was nice of the others to

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share their cake. Maybe your boxes will all come out nice—and you can pass cake around. As far as we know—very few letters have come out of that sector where the Germans attacked. Maybe that will change soon. This offensive has been a terrible thing. We are so anxious to know how near you were to the battles—if you were moved back or anything you can tell us. We listen & read all we can find—the C. Aff. Div. has never been mentioned. Boy seemed to think your unit [sic] all important papers records etc would be moved soon. Thinking of you every moment. You are so dear to us. Although the letter started with the normal pleasantries, it changed suddenly in midparagraph, demonstrating D.C.’s parents’ extreme concern for his safety and welfare. His father, Boy or D Boy, tried to calm D.C.’s mother and sisters by explaining that his unit had probably moved out, considering the importance of the paperwork it was responsible for as the 28th Division moved through northern Europe. Certainly D.C. was fine compared to many of his fellow soldiers; they were just not able to report their whereabouts or current situation. The holidays were full of anxious moments both in the European theater of operations and at home. The Caughran family and many others listened to the war reports on the radio and read and reread the newspapers in case they had missed the smallest piece of information that could give them a clue about D.C.’s unit or even D.C. Most of all they dreaded a visit by the postman who delivered telegrams from the War Department. The family got that visit, however, late on January 10, as the illustration on page 98 shows. Cordelia still wrote to her son on January 12 with only a hint of what the entire family was feeling every moment of every day: Dearest Jr—I didn’t write to you yesterday. The message Wed. night from the War Dept. saying you were “missing in action” almost got the best of us—but I have hope, high hopes, that you are in hiding, can’t get back to your unit to report or are captured, and are safe somewhere. We checked on Horace [sic] Duncan at his home in Knoxville Tenn. Last night—found out Dearest Junior

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Telegram to D.C.’s family, informing them of his MIA status.

his parents have had the same message—so we’ve concluded all of your small Det. evacuated, were captured—and can’t report. Honey, you are in our thoughts now—day and night. We are praying that good news will finally come to us about you. Have faith in God—that has taken such good care of you so far after this. We are going to be just as good soldiers are [sic] I know you are. I know you can’t write now. We will keep writing to you— some of our letters will be delivered I know. Many are praying for your safety and welfare. You are our treasure. Love Daddy—Mother & sisters The Caughran family received letters and words of condolence from several sources. The only problem was that they provided little comfort. Their “treasure” was missing in action. What had been D.C.’s great adventure had now become everyone’s worst nightmare. A network quickly established itself among the families of soldiers,

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and especially among the families of other personnel declared as missing in action and prisoners of war. An example of such encouragement is the letter that came from a couple in Garland, Texas, an eastern suburb of Dallas: January 15, 1945 Dear Mr. & Mrs. Caughran and Family, This is to let you know how terribly sorry we are to hear of the sad news about your son and brother. From the very depths of our heart we do sympathize with you for we know exactly what you are going through. Please don’t give up hoping that your son will come back. The one word “missing” can give you hope and courage to face the dark days ahead of you. Just keep on praying that he will come back and we are sure God will answer your prayers. In Him only will you find comfort and solace. Everyday we will be praying with you for the safe return of your son, and may the Lord be with you in the days ahead. Best regards to each of you. Sincerely G & J Smith The families from D.C.’s detachment did not depend solely on the U.S. War Department or the International Red Cross for information. D.C.’s sisters wrote everyone that they could think of who could possibly provide news. The thought was that what had happened to one member might have happened to another. If one was alive, they might all be alive. Mildred, D.C.’s sister, even wrote his girlfriend in England. The families of the Civil Affairs detachment banded together and were their own support group. Others who had loved ones in similar situations wrote D.C.’s parents and asked for any information they might be able to offer, such as unit, location prior to capture, and prison camps, in the hope that it might spark a ray of hope for their own loved one:

Dearest Junior

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March 5th Bonham Texas Mrs. Caughran I see in the paper where you have heard from your Son that was missing on December 19th. My Son was missing on Dec 19th in Luxembourg and we have never heard a nother [sic] word. Will you please write and tell me what company your Son was in and tell me what prision [sic] camp he is in now I feel like maby [sic] the ones that were captured on that day were maby [sic] put in the same prison camp we hear that some of the Boys that was taken on that day is in Camp Stalag 4B. [I]s that where your Son is. [I]t will help me a lot if you will write me about your Son I am so anxious to find some one [sic] that can tell me a little something My Son went over Sea [sic] in Feb of 1944 and he was with the 707 Tank Bn. With the first [sic] Army. Please let me hear from you Soon. Mrs. J. E. McKissack The Caughran family went through the motions of a daily routine. The general store continued to operate, and the customers constantly asked about D.C. Junior and whether the family had heard anything yet. The answer was always the same. Everyone prayed for D.C. The war news was constantly on the radio in case they could glean some indication of Junior’s fate. Neighbors and friends that were veterans of the First World War offered their own conjectures as to what D.C. was doing and what had probably happened. No one knew what trauma he was actually going through—only the possible outcome; however, everyone who came into the store or stopped at the house had an opinion. The anxiety only worsened. None of the Caughrans’ friends or family had ever experienced a cold similar to that of northern Europe in the winter of 1944 and 1945. They had only seen pictures and heard stories about the Germans’ brutality. They did not yet know the extent of the concentration camps and the genocide that was taking place. It was better that they did not know. It was better that D.C. did not know as well, for nothing 100

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could have prepared him or his friends for what they were about to undergo. Cordelia and D.C.’s sisters continued to write almost every day, with the hope that some of the letters would make it to their son and brother. Their letters provided words of encouragement and hope and a reason to come home. It also gave his mom and sisters a way to channel their frustration. In mid-March, Cordelia wrote Junior: I hope some of my letters reach you for I know how you love to hear from home. We are all well. Just hoping and praying for you to get home to us all some day not too far off. Don’t get discouraged everything will sure turn out right and you’ll be coming in for that reunion you spoke of. Only a couple of these letters ever reached D.C. After the war a publication by the YMCA stated in part that, while governments and various aid societies can provide medicine, food, and clothing to prisoners of war, these things do not make the difference in a prisoner’s survival. More often it is up to the prisoner himself to deal with the situation as best he can. Either he chooses to survive or he gives up. The latter often results in death. Cordelia and D.C.’s sisters only wanted him home close to them. They had hope, but they wanted more. They wanted to hear his laugh and listen to all of the stories that he had promised he would not forget. They wanted to hug him, hold him, and never let go.

Dearest Junior

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THE LONG WALK The reality of

the situation did not hit D.C. until he was shoved from the post office basement out into the narrow street of Clervaux by the muzzle end of a German rifle. Fortunately, the rifle did not have a bayonet on it. The muzzle seemed to penetrate the area between his shoulder blades, but it was more the brutal nature of the treatment and the knowledge that he and the others could expect no gentleness from their captors. There was a lot of yelling at the newly captured prisoners, whose main concern now was to survive and wait to be rescued. They had no idea how badly the Allies had been hurt in this breakout by the Germans. Only a few short days ago they had been anticipating going home. This was not supposed to happen. Surrender had seemed a reasonable alternative to having a hand grenade thrown into the post office basement. As the prisoners were herded out of Clervaux, some of them questioned that option, however, when, on the edge of town, they saw bodies lying in the road ditch. The Germans were apparently shooting prisoners. Were these the same Germans that had captured those Allied soldiers earlier? None of them knew and they dared not ask. D.C. now wondered whether the telegram his parents would receive might say something else. This was his first true realization of his own mortality. During my research in Clervaux, I attempted to gain some clarity regarding the sensitive and very emotional memory of the corpses along the road, which D.C. mentioned only once. According to Frank Kieffer, the Gestapo (German secret police) came into the village almost as soon

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American POWs walking along a muddy road into Germany. (Photo in Hugh M. Cole, The Ardennes: Battle of the Bulge.)

as the Americans were defeated. They already had the names of people who had cooperated with the Allies and were making examples of some of the local citizens. Kieffer believed this is what D.C. had seen. In Clervaux the German SS troops did not take the time to commit these particular atrocities. It was cold, much colder than anything D.C. had ever experienced in Texas, and the march was numbing. He remembered little other than the freezing temperatures, hunger, and a feeling of uncertainty, if not outright abandonment. However, he never lost hope. Even after the devastating tank battle he witnessed in Clervaux, the loss of life, and the inability of the U.S. forces to reestablish their positions, D.C. still believed it was only a matter of time before all of this would be over. In addition, a lot of GIs learned to pray that day and in the many days that followed. As D.C. and the others slowly walked (and were carried, in some cases) into Germany, they were ravenous and exhausted, and many were wounded. A very young German soldier walked along beside them as The Long Walk

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one of their guards and attempted a conversation with the only person in D.C.’s group who spoke German. It appeared that the boy wanted to make friends, but D.C. and the others were in no mood. Whether accurate or not, D.C. believed the young German risked his own life by slipping them black bread. In fact, D.C. felt this bread came out of the boy’s own ration. If the other German soldiers had discovered that the boy was actually helping them, he would have been killed, D.C. firmly believed. Considering the bodies along the road outside Clervaux and the overall situation, it was a reasonable conclusion. Although so much was going wrong, it was odd to see an enemy risk his own life to help them. The bread was not much, but since they could not even remember the last time they had eaten, it was greatly appreciated and perhaps even critical to their survival. Nevertheless, D.C. thought it somewhat sad that their translator played up to the boy, while the boy smiled, nodding his head in agreement to whatever was said in English, the whole time thinking he was making friends with the Americans. All the while the translator encouraged him in German and cussed him out in English. The young German soldier never understood what was said in English, but he still sneaked them the black bread. This selfless act by the boy soldier is probably the reason D.C. never made overly negative comments about the Germans. Either that or he just wanted to forget. At some point along the way, they passed a small farmhouse with a garden, which was frozen and half covered in a shallow blanket of fresh snow. In this garden were turnips and perhaps some rutabagas. The prisoners were turned onto the garden and given a few minutes to gather as many turnips as they could find. Even though D.C. felt sorry for the family that may have lived there, the lack of food drove them to descend upon the ground like rooting hogs. In the frozen ground, with their bare numb hands, they found what they could and stuffed the much-appreciated food, along with the attached dirt, pebbles, and even snow into their pockets. No time was taken to clean them. They ate the turnips, dirt and all, as they walked. The savvier prisoners tried to let the turnips thaw some first; otherwise, when biting into one, you did not know whether you were eating a vegetable or a rock. After that and his stay in the prison camps, D.C. could never face another turnip. 104

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The column of prisoners continued walking. By this time, the group was joined by other prisoners. At some point (D.C. did not remember when) they were stopped. All those who were Jewish were told to identify themselves. Some did. In D.C.’s unit there were three. While I do not know for certain whether one of the Jewish soldiers from his detachment was identified at this time, D.C. stated that he personally knew one of the boys whom the Germans took away. They all had an idea of what might happen since they had heard stories as they advanced across northern France, not to mention the bodies they had seen in the roadside ditch outside Clervaux. Some of the Jewish soldiers even had papers issued identifying them as Roman Catholic, or they had procured dog tags from their dead countrymen in order to disguise their religion. It was snowing again. The flakes were big, almost floating at times. Next to the road where they were walking rose a snow-covered hill. A small group of American Jewish soldiers were led down the road a few yards and around the hill. A few minutes later and not far away, D.C. and the others heard automatic gunfire through the crisp, cold air. These prisoners were never seen again. Then D.C. and the others walked on. For them there was no rest. Another young Texan, PFC Johnie Malouf, a .50-cal. machine gunner with the 106th Division, was northwest of Clervaux and experienced similar weather. His unit was bypassed by the Germans during the enemy’s rapid advance and thus avoided capture. However, his group of sixty to seventy men linked up with the 82nd Airborne Division for the next two months and began their war in Belgium. After several weeks in the extreme elements, PFC Malouf was housed in a private home in one of the villages they occupied in the push east. For the past two months the soldiers had found almost no opportunity to attend to personal hygiene. They had no overshoes, and frostbite was common. Malouf had not changed his socks since the German offensive in December. His socks were frozen to his feet. The kind woman who owned the house where he was billeted took buckets of water and gently poured warm water over his feet to thaw them out. After some time they were able to remove the socks. Malouf had little or no feeling in his feet. The Long Walk

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When the socks were finally removed, the woman cried quietly as she cared for her patient. Slowly she peeled away the socks—along with the skin. Malouf could barely walk, but with the warmth of the home, food, and proper care, he was soon able to function. For many years afterward he could not sleep without socks because the sheets rubbed against his bare feet and irritated the nerve endings in the exposed skin. The weather was the worst imaginable. Not surprisingly, D.C. forgot a lot of what happened on this walk into Germany, probably because of the trauma, the illness that he suffered while a prisoner, and the fact that he just did not want to remember. He was not alone. They walked farther; D.C. did not remember how far they went or how long they were on the road. They just walked until they were told to stop. Unfortunately, they did not have winter weather coverings for their boots, so the boots started falling apart due to the extreme cold, wet, and use. Their walking now was mindless. Their feet had long ago gone numb. By this time, everyone’s feet were frozen, and frostbite was starting to set in. They all knew that frostbite would probably lead to more serious problems, but there was nothing they could do now. At some point they came to a railroad, where a much larger group of prisoners were apparently waiting to be loaded onto boxcars. If this was the case, D.C. did not expect that their captors would shoot them here. The Germans would at least wait until they reached some other destination. It was here that D.C. and the rest of his unit were reunited with Captain Johnson and his driver, Harry Duncan. They had also been captured while investigating the artillery shelling a few days earlier. They were in as good a shape as could have been expected. The prisoners were loaded onto the train and jammed into the boxcars. They had no room to lie down, and any sleeping was done standing up or in shifts. By D.C.’s estimate, each boxcar contained just less than one hundred people. Other than small slits at the top for ventilation, the car contained a small steel barrel in one corner where the men could relieve themselves. The only good thing about the boxcars was that the men were out of the weather and they did not have to walk. There was still no food, dysentery was becoming more of a problem, 106

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and the wounded were not getting better. After a while, the stench in the boxcar began to grow much worse for a number of reasons. As the train moved east, farther into Germany, a guard sat on top of each car, facing the engine. Most of the guards carried machine guns slung over their shoulder and across their chest. Unfortunately, the clouds lifted from time to time during this trip, and trains made great targets from the air. This one was not designated or marked as a prisoner train and thus became a prime target of opportunity for Allied fighters. Although D.C. provided more graphic details, an article appearing in the Dallas Morning News also briefly mentioned an occurrence of Allied aircraft firing on an unmarked prison train on Christmas Eve. When the train was strafed, it abruptly stopped. The guards and all of the German personnel quickly jumped off and ran into the woods. The prisoners were left on the exposed, stationary, and very visible train. The boxcars did not stop the bullets. In addition, some of the planes dropped small bombs (small to the planes, but big as far as those on the receiving end were concerned). In the boxcar chaos broke out as everyone tried to get someplace else, all at the same time. The men knew they had to get off the train, but the doors were locked (and apparently frozen). In addition, snow and moisture were encrusted on the metal tracks and rollers on which the doors normally slid open and shut. As the hardware on the heavy wooden doors was broken, the prisoners started rushing through the opening and running as fast and as far as possible, looking for a brief sanctuary from the new hell they were now experiencing. D.C. never knew how they managed to open the door. He only knew that they did and that they ran. They stumbled and fell through the door onto the ground and into the woods while dodging the planes’ machine guns and bombs and with the Germans firing into their running masses. Obviously, the Germans did not want the prisoners off the train. In order to get them back into the boxcars, the guards began shooting into the door openings as prisoners exited the boxcars. Prisoners were killed by both the Allies and the Germans. The Germans’ method of crowd control worked, and the prisoners eventually scrambled back into the train, crawling over each other, yelling, and even screaming. The injured were pulled into the boxcars. The dead were left behind. The Long Walk

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This scenario occurred on more than one occasion, and the same chaos ensued each time. On one of these strafing runs, when the Germans began to fire into the prisoners to force them back onto the train, one of the soldiers was hit and collapsed in midstride. D.C. and others struggled to drag him back into the boxcar as shots were continually fired into the mass of troops. The wounded prisoner was unconscious, and they did not know how badly he was injured or where the wound was located. Once the train was under way again and the shooting had stopped, they examined him more thoroughly. He was dead. Still, they could not see a wound. To determine what had happened to the soldier, they stripped him until they found entry point. Behind the soldier’s right ear was a small hole in the head. The wound was small but lethal. His head had been pierced either by a bit of shrapnel from the bombs or a bullet from one of the Germans’ smallcaliber machine guns. Because of the clean nature of the wound and absence of tearing, they believed it was from a German small-caliber round. The wound had bled only slightly due to its size and the cold. This small particle of metal had penetrated the brain’s gray matter and then allowed the body to sleep. It appeared to be a peaceful sleep, a sleep in a cold and inhuman situation. The only good thing was that this young lieutenant, who would not get any older, felt no more pain. I am uncertain of the lieutenant’s identity. On one occasion D.C. told me that the dead officer was their own Lieutenant Bowdery. However, in a letter he wrote to his parents while he was still in the hospital after the war, he mentioned that Bowdery “died after his camp was liberated and strafed.” It is quite possible that D.C. was responding to a question from his parents about Bowdery’s status, and since he did not want to allude to the horror of his capture and imprisonment he simply told his parents that the lieutenant died after the camp was liberated. Whatever the true story, their lieutenant, the one who failed to fall back when there was no longer a defensive perimeter to defend, was dead. It was the lieutenant’s intention to be there when their captain returned, and he was probably the individual who ordered the destruction of papers at the post office prior to their capture. At the next stop, as the train traveled deeper into Germany and toward an even more uncertain future, the Germans placed the dead 108

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lieutenant’s body on top of their boxcar. By then it was snowing hard. Later, when they reached their destination, it was still snowing. As they left the boxcar, D.C. and some of the others looked up to where the lieutenant had been placed and observed the perfect silhouette of a laid-out body, completely covered by the snow. This was the last time they saw the lieutenant. Article 7 of the Geneva Convention of 1929 discusses the treatment of prisoners of war and states in part that “Prisoners shall not be needlessly exposed to danger while awaiting their evacuation from the combat zone.”  The Nazis, however, disregarded the Geneva Convention when convenient. Flint Whitlock has described the Germans’ approach to the rules of war: “[L]ike so many other treaties, conventions, and other agreements he broke, Hitler felt free to observe or ignore the Geneva Convention.”  At some point during his transport into Germany, D.C. was wounded. Actually, he was wounded twice, but because of the cold and confusion he was not sure when or exactly how. While it is easy to understand the problems (such as frostbite) the cold caused, it also had benefits. For instance, the cold produced a numbness. When a person was wounded, the temperatures were so extreme that the pain was minimized. Also, bleeding was significantly reduced. For many of the injured, this was a blessing. If the weather had been warmer, many of the wounded would likely have bled to death since no medical assistance was available. According to D.C., one of the wounds probably occurred during the long walk, most likely from a piece of metal penetrating his boot. The other, he believed, occurred during their encounter with the Allied planes and German guards while on the train. Mildred, D.C.’s sister, mentioned that, at some point, D.C. took the boots off of a dead German soldier for his own use. This could have taken place only during the confusion surrounding the strafing of the prisoner train. For one of the wounds D.C. said that he eventually received a Purple Heart, although POWs are normally ineligible if wounded after capture. I was unable to locate either the medal or the documentation of the award, but that means little, except to the family. At the end of the war, soldiers were quickly discharged, and little time was taken The Long Walk

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to issue and present medals or even document a soldier’s eligibility for the medal. As a matter of fact, I never saw any of the medals that were documented in D.C.’s discharge papers, and the Purple Heart could easily have been awarded after his discharge. Although D.C. seldom talked about his experiences during this time, when he did, it was always with a soft pain and a certain sadness. You could see it in his eyes and hear it in his voice. The quietness with which he related some of his stories told me more sometimes than his words. One evening D.C. and I were watching a movie on television. The movie Mrs. Miniver was made during World War II and starred Greer Garson. Set in England before the United States entered the war, the plot followed a British family whose members were dealing with life while their country was at war. One scene placed Garson’s character and her daughter-in-law in a car that was suddenly forced to the side of the road during a nighttime air raid and was subsequently strafed by German aircraft. The audience could hear the plane’s machine gun bullets hitting the roof of the car. Sound effects then were different from those in today’s movies. Typically, movie studios now include the sound of the exploding primer and powder of the machine gun rounds. In other words, the directors want to make sure the audience hears large, multiple bangs in order to impart an appreciation of the destruction. In Mrs. Miniver, the machine-gun fire that hit the car sounded like hail falling sharply on the roof of a house. We were not talking during the movie, just quietly watching. After this scene D.C. casually said, “That’s the way it really sounds.” I asked what he was talking about. He said, “The rounds hitting the roof of that car. That’s the way it sounded when I was in the boxcar on the way into Germany.” I then understood what he was talking about. At times like these he then talked briefly about the war, seldom for more than ten or fifteen minutes at a time, but I listened. Ever since then, Mrs. Miniver has been one of my favorite movies, and every time I watch it I think of D.C. Of course, D.C. knew the U.S. War Department’s notification procedures for informing parents of their son’s capture. First, D.C.’s family was told that he was “missing in action,” with no specifics, only 110

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Letter confirming D.C.’s MIA status.

the theater of operations and the date. Several weeks later, his parents learned that he was a prisoner of war. Eventually D.C. was able to send two or three letters from the prison camp. These were small “V-mail” post cards, with several items the German censors had blacked out. John Cronin of the Terrell, Texas, post office intercepted these letters and, making special trips The Long Walk

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Telegram informing family of D.C.’s POW status.

on Sunday afternoons, drove D.C.’s letters the ten miles to his parents in Chisholm. The first of the following illustrations shows the letter confirming D.C.’s MIA status. The second shows the telegram that informed the Caughrans that D.C. was a prisoner of war. Even though Chisholm was a very small community with only a handful of families, everyone was impacted by the war fought in the Pacific and in Europe, mostly in places no one had ever heard of before. Now, however, they could not get these names of towns, villages, islands, and even countries out of their mind. In fact, they could not get enough information. The families wanted to know whether these places were too hot, too cold, too wet, or too dry. Did they have mountains or swamps that their sons, brothers, and husbands had to deal with in their daily routine or, even worse, their nightmares? One month in late 1944, the tiny community of Chisholm was notified that one of their own was killed, one was wounded, and another was missing in action (D.C.). Even this small piece of East Texas prairie could not escape the rest of the world.

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THE CAMPS Letters and postcards were the only connection between prisoners and their families. The latter received mailing information that stated the importance of using Form 111, which was available at Red Cross chapters and post offices and had free postage. The Red Cross pointed out that for several years the British had used these forms for letters and that the Germans seemed to process them much more quickly than the Japanese. The German officials explained that long letters required additional effort on their part to screen (i.e., censor); therefore, when families did not use the prescribed forms, the letters to prisoners of war slowed considerably due to resource restrictions by the Germans. The Red Cross explained that the German censors were “swamped by letters from the hundreds of thousands of new German prisoners and their families.”  This, of course, was a direct result of the December German offensive. The Red Cross’s explanations gave little comfort to the families. Even though letters from the prisoners to their families seemed to move at a snail’s pace, a letter from D.C. dated January 6, 1945, made its way home to an anxious family. The first sentence was a relief and yet terrifying, all at the same time: “I am a prisoner of war in Germany but am in good health and am being treated OK.” It gave hope, but real fear remained. Knowing that the Nazi guards censored his letters, D.C. was careful not to mention a quick U.S. victory or anything else that might prompt the “loss” of the letter. He referred instead to a “reunion.” In addition, it is insightful that D.C. recognized that his attitude—that he would “look for the good things”—would play a significant role in his survival. His

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First letter received from D.C. following his capture.

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thoughts and intentions, as his letters expressed them, were supposed to put his family at ease. He was not successful. Naturally, Mrs. Cordie was drawn to anything that might give her some understanding of her son’s situation. The Department of the Navy, the War Department, the Red Cross, and the YMCA all sponsored meetings for the friends and family of prisoners of war. Cordelia (and probably D Boy as well) attended these gatherings in Dallas. The meeting places varied. One tour, which visited thirty-one cities, had twelve former World War II POWs available to tell their stories to families. When the venue was smaller and more intimate, such as at a YMCA or Red Cross chapter, the audience received the greatest value. In these smaller gatherings, loved ones were able to exchange information with others regarding specific camps. These former prisoners were recently released through one of the very limited prisoner-exchange programs, which involved life-threatening health conditions. Former POWs often became exhausted during these meetings since they were still recovering from their wounds and illnesses. However, as long as one of these former prisoners remained at a session, the audience would not leave because of the faintest possibility of asking one more question and perhaps gaining even a sliver of information. The Caughrans did everything that could possibly give them hope or an indication of what might make their son’s present predicament more bearable. However, nothing short of a telegram from their favorite son (or worst case, the War Department) could bring them enough comfort. I do not know whether D.C.’s sisters or other family members accompanied his parents to any of these meetings, which today are referred to as “support groups.” However, D.C.’s status (and that of others in the war) was the foremost thought of everyone, not just family or those in Chisholm. Near the end of my review of the documents Mrs. Cordie retained, I discovered the Prisoners of War Bulletin published by the American National Red Cross for the relatives of American POWs and civilian internees. This document was published monthly and provided some insight into the conditions at the various prison camps and the coordination under way regarding cooperation with the International Red Cross Committee. The Camps

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At the Nazi prison camp, the treatment of Allied POWs varied depending on which organization was responsible for the camp’s operation and the German officers and staff who administered them. Allied air force personnel were often held at luft stalags (sometimes referred to as stalag lufts) and were initially under the authority of the Luftwaffe. Army POWs were generally held at stalags, which were operated by the Wehrmacht (German army). The U.S. Navy enlisted prisoners were held at marlags. The Luftwaffe camps often treated their prisoners better than the Wehrmacht. This may have been due to a different attitude among the Luftwaffe personnel, who seemed to respect their captives more, or it may have reflected a sense of chivalry that existed during the First World War among aircrews on both sides. This regard may easily have survived more than twenty years, thus resulting in a higher sense of honor than exhibited by other branches of the Nazi military. During his internment D.C. was in two prison camps. The first was Stalag IX-B near Bad Orb, Germany. While D.C. was a sergeant and should have been placed in a camp with other sergeants, this rule was not strictly followed near the war’s end. Three or four people from his unit were also interned in this camp. He and other Allied sergeant prisoners were moved to the second camp, Stalag IX-A on January 25, perhaps in anticipation of U.S. forces’ movement, to relieve overcrowding at IX-B or to follow the Geneva Convention in at least one area. When D.C. told me about the transfer, he did not remember the camps’ names or numbers, or at least he said he could not remember. It was only from his limited correspondence from the prison camps that I was able to piece this together. The largest city close to Bad Orb was Frankfurt. As stated earlier and to a large extent, the Germans did not follow the Geneva Convention in the last few months of the war. The camp near Bad Orb contained POWs of several nationalities, including Russian, French, Polish, Italian, and Serbian. Approximately forty-seven hundred (25 percent) of the camp’s population were Americans. Most of the Americans were captured during the Battle of the Bulge. Because of the advancing Russian army from the east, the camps became even larger, and the Germans thus moved the Allied prisoners

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December 1944 Red Cross map of POW camps in Europe.

from the east to the west. These camps, in particular Stalag IX-B, were considered some of the worst in Nazi Germany. At most prison camps, enlisted prisoners were required to perform whatever work they were told to do and were able to do. This work was normally agricultural (farming) and mining (salt, potash, coal, and stone quarries). However, in the winter, farming opportunities were limited. Normally, the noncommissioned officers (e.g., sergeants) were required only to supervise. This was not the case at Bad Orb and some of the other camps, however. Both of D.C.’s camps were totally enclosed by barbed wire with wooden guard towers at intervals of approximately 250 feet. The camps were located near large stands of trees along the hilly terrain of Bad Orb. The only source of fuel for the few stoves available in their barracks was wood from the forest. The prisoners were all required to forage for firewood and any food they might find, regardless of the weather conditions. The only

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exceptions for the work details were those who were too sick to work. Often, it seems, D.C. fell into this latter category. Several of the sergeants commented about the Geneva Convention’s requirements regarding work, but the Germans used the excuse that the Allies had to verify the POWs’ rank, which took time, and until that occurred, they must work if they wanted firewood or food. In addition, if a prisoner volunteered to work, his rank was not an issue. Everyone wanted to stay warm, and if food could be found, that was a bonus. It was not that the sergeants were unwilling to work, but they did not want to contribute in any way to the German war effort. At the end of this protest, very few prisoners argued. If you were healthy enough to work, you worked. In Stalags IX-B and IX-A, as D.C. recounted, the Germans constantly attempted to identify the Jews. Although D.C. never mentioned another camp for the Jewish soldiers, some of these “undesirables” were sent to Berga, a satellite of the concentration camp Buchenwald. In its treatment of enemy prisoners, Berga violated the Geneva Convention in every way. Some Allied prisoners were sent to work in the nearby mines. They wore whatever they had on when they were captured. Of the 350 Americans taken to Berga, 25 died or were shot, and another 20 “escaped,” but their whereabouts were unknown. The appearance of the survivors resembled that of the civilian victims of the Nazi death camps. During this time the POWs had very little food. The normal ration was a little thin soup, but later it was only a small cube of black bread each day for each prisoner. A loaf of bread had to feed several prisoners. The bread was of the ersatz variety, which contained a high percentage of sawdust. It had no nutritional value and helped only to fi ll the stomach, but the prisoners were starving. Often D.C. did not know for certain what was in the soup, which at times was supposedly a potato or pea soup flavored with spruce needles, although the prisoners seldom identified any potatoes or peas in the weak liquid. In an attempt to keep something in their stomachs, the Americans even took the leather linings out of their helmets and ate them. These seemed no worse than the ersatz bread or other alternatives. One of the very few of D.C.’s letters that made it to his parents from the prison camp stated, “When I get home, I won’t leave the house for 118

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a month I bet. Will just want to sit and munch on cake, pies & cookies.” In a Fort Worth Star-Telegram article by war correspondent Robert Wear, written shortly after the liberation of Stalag IX-A, one sergeant stated that, when he arrived at the camp in January 1945, the prisoners had no blankets or cover of any kind, not even straw. The newly arrived POWs carefully tore slats off the wall and built fires in their helmets in an effort to keep warm. Their gracious German hosts, of course, did not allow this practice to continue. Medical care was almost nonexistent, and what was available was primitive. Many of the prisoners were wounded, and the only relief came in the form of Red Cross packages, which included a very limited amount of medical supplies, a few food items, and cigarettes. Although D.C. did not smoke, he used the cigarettes for barter. As Angelo Spinelli stated in his memoir, “Cigarettes were the most valuable thing a POW could have. Almost all of the Americans smoked. Some guys even gave up their much needed food to get cigarettes.”  The International Committee of the Red Cross worked as trustees and provided various relief goods. The American Red Cross issued a standing order to deliver to every American POW and civilian internee in Europe one standard food package per week. However, these parcels seldom made it to the intended recipients in these latter months. Incidentally, with regard to Red Cross operations with the Germans and the Japanese, there was little comparison. Moreover, the world was very much aware of the inability of the Red Cross to be as effective in its humanitarian efforts in the Pacific theater. In fact, the Red Cross editor of the Prisoners of War Bulletin made the following statement: “The American Red Cross is fully conscious of the need of prisoners of war in the Far East for supplementary supplies, and constant efforts are being made by all concerned on this side to establish regular shipments. The determining factor, however, is the willingness of the Japanese to cooperate.”  This lack of cooperation by the Japanese continued throughout the war. One former prisoner of Stalag Luft III stated that, while conditions were not considered bad at his camp (under the circumstances), the situation was much worse at other camps, and the prisoners were less likely to receive the desperately needed Red Cross packages. Specifically The Camps

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mentioned as one of the camps with the worst conditions was Stalag IX-B at Bad Orb. The vast majority of prisoners at Stalag Luft III praised the Red Cross during and after the war for “the life-saving food and other items it provided.”  However, later in the war, the camp conditions changed. On January 31, 1945, the relatively well-off prisoners of Stalag Luft III were force-marched from their camp as the Russian army’s advance was about to overtake the camp. With essentially no supplies, prisoners of war died throughout the march that eventually took them to Stalag III-A on February 7, 1945. In his book, Angelo Spinelli stated, “[T]he Red Cross parcels no longer were able to reach us with any regularity, we had very little to eat.”  In an article in the Prisoners of War Bulletin, the director of Relief to Prisoners of War for the American Red Cross, Maurice Pate, stated that the primary route for supplies to American POWs, as of January 1945, was through Göteborg, Sweden. With the recent fighting, the previously used supply routes through southern France and Switzerland were more difficult. Pate reported that nearly three million standard Red Cross food packages were shipped from Göteborg through Lübeck, Germany, and finally to U.S. and Allied camps. Even these were not enough. Upon his release, Sgt. Melvin A. Bradley, formerly of the 42nd Rainbow Division and Stalag IX-A, related to a reporter at Camp Wolters that lice, bedbugs, cold temperatures, and insufficient medical supplies added to the prisoners’ misery. The only medical officer available for the hundreds of Americans was a French doctor; thus most POWs looked to themselves or to a fellow prisoner for medical assistance. A man, even in the best of health, would not last long outside on the run and in the elements; therefore, escape was never a serious consideration. The only thought was to last long enough for the U.S. forces to get to the camp before the Germans moved them again. It is unfortunate, even incomprehensible, what some people will do to each other under the worst of conditions. On one occasion, one of D.C.’s fellow prisoners stole another’s cube of bread, and it was a “lawyer in civilian life” who tried to help decide what to do about it. The results of that trial were long since forgotten by D.C. Some of the barracks, which were originally built to house 120

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approximately 75 men, often held up to 250 people. The prisoners in D.C.’s hut slept on straw mats, and the straw was seldom, if ever, changed. In Flint Whitlock’s book titled Given Up for Dead, James Smith described similar conditions. In particular, Smith commented that it was the large number of people in the barracks that kept them from freezing to death. It was uncomfortable, but they got used to it. As a result of the health difficulties and lack of sanitation, disease was a major problem. Certainly D.C. knew he was not doing well. However, the severity of his condition hit hard when he woke up one morning and the soldier on the straw mat next to him did not. He was dead. There was no real explanation for his death; it simply happened. The same thing could just as easily happen to D.C. the next morning, he knew. Several yards from the camp was the edge of a forest. Here the prisoners went every day to cut firewood, which was used in the individual prisoner huts and throughout the camp by the Germans. The majority of German guards were either too old or suffered from earlier war wounds and could withstand little hard labor. It appeared to D.C. that many of the guards were in almost as bad a shape as the prisoners. Times were hard for all of them, but of course there was never any sympathy for the Germans who deprived them of warmth, food, clothing, medicine, clean sheets, and home. They were at war, and if the prisoners could have taken the camp over by force earlier, they would have shown their captors no leniency. Fortunately, D.C. was not assigned to many of the work details. In addition to the minor wounds he had received, he was in very poor health. At the time of his capture, he weighed approximately 160 pounds. While a prisoner, he dropped to well below 100 pounds. The fact that he was not assigned to work details probably saved his life. In order to regain some strength and stay as healthy as possible, he reported for sick call at every opportunity, no matter what his condition. Unfortunately, all that he was given was one aspirin, but he felt that was better than nothing, and he needed all the help he could get. This was another indication of D.C.’s survival skills. At times the prisoners felt as though they were on their own. They could not understand why the Allies were taking so long to reach them. The Camps

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They assumed that the reason they had to change camps was that the Allied forces were getting close, but they were still too long in coming. The prisoners were uncertain how long they could last under these conditions. During one incident in his hut, D.C. was actually threatened by one of his fellow prisoners. He could not remember what caused the fallingout, but he had made one of his hutmates, a fellow sergeant who was much older than the others, mad to the point that he pulled a homemade knife on D.C. He held it tight against D.C.’s throat and threatened to kill him right then and there. D.C. did not recall what caused him to stop, only that he did. The few seconds of that incident scared him as much as anything the Germans did. Food (or the lack of it) was constantly in their thoughts. Their fantasies revolved around food, and the prisoners even made up recipes. On small scraps of paper D.C. wrote many different and imagined foods. His favorite recipe was a “Milky Way pie,” which consisted of make-believe melted Milky Way bars as the pie fi lling. I am not sure whether it was strictly the food or where the food came from that occupied the prisoners’ thoughts. One of the group said that, if he survived, he would never sleep anywhere else but in his mother’s kitchen, for it not only had the best food in the world but also was always warm. It is difficult to describe the importance of the kitchen to the POWs. Mom’s kitchen represented not only food but also warmth, love, and, most important, security from a situation that was beyond their control. The kitchen was where everyone discussed their activities before the start of the day and often at the end. It was the past, the present, and the future. The kitchen was where you reported to Mom how the day’s sports events at school had gone and where you tried to avoid discussing exams or papers that were due. Mom was always understanding. She always knew how to make bad situations better, even if it was only with a slice of pie or freshly baked cookies. Even if she could not fi x your problems, she still made you feel better. This was a safe haven. The kitchen was full of wonderful memories because it was Mom’s domain. For almost everyone this was the common point of reference. It was where everyone wanted to be. 122

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The recipes and menu items the prisoners developed showed a certain degree of creativity. This is apparent in the compilation that D.C. prepared from contributions by the various participants, and it seems that he was the group’s scribe. These lists, which he brought back with him to the States, were written in pencil on a blank sheet of German POW stationery that was cut into 1 × 2 inch scraps of paper. The fantasies and food recipes included the following delicacies: Egg Omelette Cheese Crackers Melbourne Toast [sic] Marshmellow [sic] Candy Corn fritters Egg Toast French toast & Cinamon [sic] toast Tarts (Royal pudding, Jam & etc) Cream puffs & Donuts (Glazed) Brownies (chocolate cake candy cookie) Peanut Butter cake & cookies Brookfield Link Sausage Hershey melted on Toasted peanut Butter Sandwich Pig in Blanket (Ham, Wieners & etc) Royal pudding with vanilla wafers crumbled within Bosco (chocolate syrup) Boston Cream Pie Bread Pudding Chocolate Graham Crackers Corned Beef Napoleons (Flaky pastry w/custard) Milky Way in Pie Crust Whip condensed Milk Spaghetti & Meat Balls Grated cheese in Potato Patties Oat Meal w/raisins Cream of Wheat w/cinnamon Submarine Sandwich The Camps

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Meat Pies Warm Raised Donuts & rolls in oven Cheese Cake & Cookies Prepared Donut Mixture Corn Meal Mash Upside Down Cake Potato Patties with cheese & Bacon diced up within Pancakes with vanilla & raisins Sprinkle cheese on top of apple pie before covering with crust Put chocolate creams between bread and toast Try Butterscotch & chocolate Royal pudding mixed Try fried eggs between pancakes Try syrup over dry cereals Try Éclairs & brownies Put beat [sic] egg in cocoa or in malted milk The prisoners were obviously concentrating on sweets. Making lists such as this one was a way for them to pass the time. The men were huddled together because of the cold, and while they had no food to eat, somehow talking about it did not make the situation any worse. In fact, it made them appreciate what they had before their capture and encouraged them to look forward to freedom. One day, as D.C. and his fellow prisoners were becoming weaker and food was even scarcer, the guards came through the huts again looking for previously unidentified Jews. Everyone knew what this meant. As several suspected Jews were gathered, D.C.’s friend, who had already passed the guards’ scrutiny, decided he could no longer remain silent. After the Germans left, D.C.’s friend said that he could not let the others go without him. His place was finally with them. Of course D.C. and the others tried desperately to change his mind, but they could not dissuade him. D.C. knew the soldier’s decision was the result of hunger, frustration, and his belief in God. Many of them wondered why they had been spared since, in the last several months, so many others had died. Thus D.C. believed his Jewish friend was overcome with a misplaced guilt that convinced him he could not go on living while others of his faith were taken away. 124

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In the end, D.C.’s friend went with the rest out the gate of the camp, escorted by the guards. D.C. and the others watched as best they could from their huts as the prisoners slowly walked (they had stopped marching a long time ago) beyond the tree line into the forest. After a while they heard automatic gunfire—then silence. No one said anything. They didn’t have to. No one needed to watch to see whether they returned. Although D.C. never told me this prisoner’s name, he said that he knew this soldier’s family but could never bring himself to tell them how their son had died, especially when D.C. himself had survived. From reading D.C.’s letters and in researching the members of his unit, I infer that this was Milton Kornetz. However, the information about Kornetz’s death is conflicting, as we will see later. After the war, the office of the U.S. Judge Advocate General took several affidavits from former prisoners as to the hardships they had faced. The POWs also registered complaints with the Swiss. These charges were indictments against individuals and the entire German POW system. Mentioned in particular were the marches, exposure to hostile fire, and the lack of food and water. Not long after that, D.C.’s camp was liberated. It was Good Friday, March 30, 1945. Ironically, D.C.’s world nearly came to an end near his own birthday and Christmas, but on Good Friday he knew that he would live. On that morning the prisoners got up, and most of the guards were gone. A short time later, the Americans arrived at the gate. This Easter was truly a day of resurrection. When the U.S. troops came rolling into the camp, their jeeps were full of soldiers with Hershey chocolate bars. The soldiers threw the candy in every direction from the jeeps to the starving prisoners. It might not have been a Milky Way pie, but no one complained. As D.C. learned later, Gen. George Patton’s son-in-law, Lt. Col. John Waters, was a POW in one of the German prison camps. In the hope of finding the son-in-law, units of Patton’s army leapfrogged German positions, D.C. told me. However, unknown to D.C. was the fact that, a few days earlier, on March 22, Lieutenant Colonel Waters had been located in Oflag XIII at Hammelburg. Unfortunately, the operation to free Waters and his fellow prisoners had failed. The Germans The Camps

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overtook and captured both the task force and the almost-free prisoners as they tried to fight their way back to their own lines. However, the U.S. Army still pressed the attack to free other camps as the opportunities became available. The prisoners would not have survived much longer under the circumstances. D.C. believed that what got him through this experience were thoughts of his parents. He felt that he had to get through this not only for himself but also for his family. As mentioned earlier, the sanitary conditions were deplorable. Immediately upon liberation, the prisoners went through several levels of cleaning and delousing before they were taken to a facility in Le Havre, France, to begin the recovery process. They also had to be careful with food intake since they had been on poor diets for an extended time, and their systems could no longer digest food properly. This later visit to France was much different from the one D.C. and his buddies had enjoyed in Paris several months earlier as guests of their French officer. Less than two months later D.C. was home in Chisholm, Texas. As a footnote, Amon G. Carter from Fort Worth was also taken prisoner by the Germans, although he was incarcerated in a different camp. The Carters were well known in Texas and even considered very wealthy. The Carter family, owners of the Fort Worth Star-Telegram, took a special interest in American POWs. When D.C.’s camp was liberated, fifteen boys from Texas were rescued, and their names were listed in the Star-Telegram. Of course D.C. was among those named in the paper. Carter had a copy of the paper sent to D.C.’s parents. For many years after the camp’s liberation, D.C.’s parents, along with other families of the former POWs, received a Christmas card from the Amon Carter family. The bond between those families who had experienced the same fear, joy, and relief was a strong, special one.

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GOING HOME Near the end of April, 1945, Mrs. Cordie received the following telegram, which brought the good news that her son had been liberated. At last D.C. was safe. With the family, he was the eternal optimist and was soon on his way home. He hoped to celebrate his sister Mildred’s birthday with her on July 4. April 4, 1945 Somewhere in Germany Dearest Folks, How are all of you I wonder. Will be so glad when I have a return address so I can hear from you. Won’t be long I’m sure. My physical as well as mental condition is improving daily. Good American food will do me lots of good & last night Special Service put on a movie, first I’d seen in ages seems. I don’t want you all to worry about me at all because I’m well & feeling good now. Have lost weight but will gain it back quick I’m sure. I heard that one of my letters should have reached you while I was a PW. Hope you did & didn’t worry. Seems like everything I want to write but just can’t express myself in a letter. Will have to keep notes and tell you of my experiences. Tell Dan, my sisters and all “hello.” Can’t wait to see all of you. Mildred, I’d really like to celebrate the 4th with you— could be possible. Till next time—Lots of Love. D.C. Jr.

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Telegram informing Mrs. Cordie that her son had been liberated.

For D.C.’s return to Texas, several modes of transportation were utilized: an airplane, a hospital ship, and a bus for the final leg of his journey. Many, but not all, of the Allied prisoners who were liberated in the Allies’ race across Germany were left to fend for themselves in getting back to Allied lines and transportation. Former prisoner of Stalag VII-A, Bob Clark, recalled his camp’s liberation by Patton’s army: “The army was totally unprepared for the huge number of prisoners turned loose in such a short time.”  When Stalag IX-B was liberated, the POWs were not allowed to leave initially, and American medical personnel did not arrive for several days. Because of the logistics overload, General Eisenhower more than once ordered the newly freed prisoners to stay put, in part due to the confusion they added to the increased personnel on the roads heading east. In early 1944 the Supreme Headquarters Allied Expeditionary Force had begun planning for the treatment of Allied POWs that would eventually be liberated. However, little substantive work could be done without knowing Germany’s intentions (e.g., surrender). The exceptions to transportation and logistics were the worst medical cases. It was not that the Allies did not care for their own; they simply were neither equipped nor trained to handle 128

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the multitude of liberated personnel, desperate and displaced German civilians, and German prisoners while continuing to deal with a stillactive German resistance. Air transport was provided for D.C. (his first plane ride) and several other former POWs from Frankfurt, Germany, to Camp Ramp (Recovered Allied Military Personnel) in Le Havre, France, on April 10, 1945. Le Havre, with its deepwater port, is located across the Bay of the Seine from Cherbourg in northern France. During the war it was the main logistical staging area for the American push eastward and deeper into Europe. The various camps located around Le Havre were known as the Cigarette Camps and were named Old Gold, Herbert Tareyton, Home Run, Chesterfield, Philip Morris, Pall Mall, Twenty Grand, and Lucky Strike (this last one was the largest). When victory in Europe was declared, Le Havre continued as the primary assembly point for troops and supplies scheduled for redeployment in the Pacific and for the lucky few destined for the States. D.C.’s move to Le Havre was typical of all recently released POWs. Camp Lucky Strike was located next to a large, former German airfield. The air base and available medical facilities made Lucky Strike a logical choice for Camp Ramp. From Le Havre, D.C., other repatriated personnel, and those who were to be redeployed to the war in the Pacific departed from the northern French coast. The repatriated military personnel remained at Camp Ramp for several days while they received immediate medical treatment, food, new clothing, and of course rest. Perhaps the most important thing was food. In a V-mail that was not reduced in size and photocopied for mailing D.C. wrote the following: April 10, 1945 Dearest Folks, Here I am somewhere in France after being flown from Germany. Really enjoyed the ride. Didn’t know the U.S. Army treated anyone so swell. Am receiving the best of attention. I am in good health—actually not a thing wrong with me—just lost some weight is all and the way they are feeding us Ex-PW’s— Going Home

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won’t be long before I’ll gain it back. Will be writing again very soon—maybe this afternoon—Hope to tell you more. Am looking forward to seeing all of you before too much longer—I’m still in the dark as to when. Folks you don’t know how good I feel today—just as happy as can be. Don’t know how to act after getting back to eating again. I still don’t know Stella’s address so send this letter to her—am sure will be able to write her soon. Am sitting in recreation room now—better run to chow— will write again soon. Love to All, D.C. Jr. As always, D.C. presented a positive attitude for his family. They worried, and he did his best to keep them at ease. Stella, his girlfriend from Camp Wolters, wrote him faithfully throughout the war. While her feelings for D.C. were stronger than his for her, she never wavered in her support. Finally D.C. was able to write on a regular basis. In the beginning he wrote every day. In several of his letters he mentioned how much he was eating and how he would be back to his normal weight very soon. His new clothing included socks, so he was at long last able to replace the pair he had worn since mid-December. As you may recall, he was wounded in the foot, and that sock, of course, would have soaked up a substantial amount of blood. Nevertheless, any sock was better than no sock. Not surprisingly, D.C. let his family know that he wanted to forget some things, but it would be a while before that happened: April 11, 1945 Somewhere in France Dearest Folks, Have just come from a good steak dinner and am I full. Looks as if it’s steak or chicken every meal here. I’m still just resting & eating & doing a bit of day dreaming about my possibility of seeing the States before too long. Don’t guess I’ll hear from you while I’m here. 130

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There’s really lots I have to tell all of you. Of course there’s lots I want to forget as quickly as possible. After each meal I’m so full I can hardly walk. This morning had pancakes—first ones since before I was captured. Guess I’ll be back to normal weight before long. Am getting all new clothes. Just threw away a pair of socks I had worn every day [while] I was a PW. Well, no news, will write again soon. Tell everybody “Hello.” Lots of Love D.C. Jr. I am sure D.C. never realized what was said between the hurriedly written lines, but his enthusiasm over being liberated, having clean clothes, and eating good food could not be contained. He was even thrilled at being deloused. Who would have thought that this would be a part of getting dressed up? This letter had to bring a smile, if not tears, to the faces of his family. April 12, 1945 Somewhere in France Hi Folks, Just come [sic] from Red Cross donut kitchen and did I fill up. We eat all hours of the day here—just when you are hungry. Guess you see I have a new address, so you can send me mail now. Am really going to dress up tonight. Am going for a shower & delousing & all new clothes. Am feeling better every day & gaining fast. Was never so anxious to hear from anyone. Hope I do soon. Sure hope you all are all well too. Really no news. I do nothing but eat & sleep here—mostly eat. Bye, till next time. Love Even after D.C.’s release from prison camp, his two wounds never received proper medical treatment, which, unfortunately, was common Going Home

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among the newly liberated prisoners. In addition, he contracted hepatitis. Considering the acute medical care that so many liberated prisoners needed, there was never a mention of his wounds. Both D.C. and the U.S. Army had more serious concerns. No matter what the former POWs did in those first several weeks of freedom, they could not get over the sensation of hunger. Many of the patients were ambulatory at times, including D.C. When they were first on the hospital ship, the medical personnel convinced the ship’s captain to keep the galley and mess deck open twenty-four hours a day for the repatriated soldiers. Even after several days (if not weeks) of freedom and access to food, the human brain could still not register that the stomach was actually full. Sadly, one of the patients ate too many doughnuts and died while at sea. The captain immediately had the galley and mess deck returned to its regular schedule, and medical personnel monitored the patients closely. Although D.C. never mentioned whether he knew the individual who died, he expressed his frustration and sadness that a soldier had survived the horrors of the prison camps only to die in such a manner after rescue. A letter that Mrs. Cordie wrote to D.C. at Camp Ramp was returned as undeliverable, possibly because of the transient nature of the troops or D.C. had already left for the States. The letter expressed the love, worry, and between the lines the fear that his mom and the rest of the family had felt for so many months. In addition, the letter mentioned the fates of boys that the family all knew and had worried about. Not all of the news was good. It is difficult to describe or even imagine the weight that was lifted from their shoulders when they learned that their treasure was alive. The family knew, as did D.C., that they were blessed. Mon. Apr. 30 Dearest Jr.—Well, I sent you a V-mail in haste this morning, just as soon as we got your address—it is grand to be writing and thinking you will get it. I’m sure you never got any of our letters in prison. We are allright [sic]—all of us. We are so happy over your release. We were listening over radio Easter Sunday afternoon and heard your camp called for 132

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liberation—maybe we didn’t jump up and scream. Then seeing your name in the Ft. Worth Star Telegram was another thrill we’ll never forget. The good Lord has indeed taken care of you. We are all so Thankful. Daddy said tell you to take care of yourself from now on— and that he would love to meet you somewhere—and get you the best pr. of shoes you could put on. I’m so glad you are feeling your old self again—good clothes, good food and every attention—all of you deserve it. We have gotten acquainted with the families of some of your friends since Dec. 19. The addresses on the back of a picture gave us the thought. I’ve had letters from Harry’s sister in N.C., Mrs. Bokor in N.Y. concerning Edwin also letters from Milton K. parents. We found out you were all missing—then later you were all prisoners—now I hope all of you are liberated. All I know so far are you, Harry & Bokor. Are any of them with you now & ____ [illegible]. Honey—we have had some mighty anxious moments—but we are feeling good about you now. I know you were shocked over our Pres. Death. Everybody here at home are [sic] hoping and praying for the success of our Conf. in San Francisco. This is a beautiful spring day. Your daddy has been taking gas to the field and over-seeing the digging of a well on the Farm. Mildred’s school will be out in 3 wks.—so will D. Dees. Mary Alice comes often. Dan said when you see him you would say, “Who is that big fellow.” He sure has grown. Stella’s sister is in Dallas working. Their father has been real sick—and she told Mildred she was going home this week-end. Doris comes in often. They hear from Brown regular—last time from France. Arch H is allright [sic]. Elmer F. is now in S. Dakota in training for a radio gunner. We wrote you about Tom Brown being killed in France in Nov. but all of our Nov., Dec. & Jan. letters came back about 60 no boxes though. Your bonds quit coming in Nov. which will pile up more cash for you. The $25 allotment has been coming regular. Wire or phone when you get to N.Y.—tell us where you’ll be going from there. Going Home

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We are so anxious for your time to come to start home. D. Dee said she’ll sure have that cake baked. Your letter today dated Apr. 12—came April 30—18 days. Write again soon. Would send you some money but know you have as much as you need. Buckets of love, Mother & Daddy By the time he arrived in New York, D.C. falsely believed he was feeling much better, and that was probably the case, at least in comparison to his physical condition while in the prison camp. He thought about calling the family of his Jewish friend to explain to them what had actually happened to their son but could not bring himself to do so. He knew they had probably never learned the true circumstances of their son’s fate, but he could not say the words himself. He could not tell them that he and the others had managed to survive, whereas their son had not. Nor could he describe how they had failed to convince their friend to stay in the hut and not follow the others through the barbedwire gates and into the frozen forest. How could he explain these incidents to his friend’s family when he could not even understand them himself? Over the years these questions gnawed at D.C. in the worst way. He was never able to reconcile his misplaced sense of guilt. Other former prisoners described their own similar belief that their families could not possibly understand what they had had to do to survive the cold and sometimes unimaginable danger. They also suffered from the self-inflicted guilt of having survived when so many had perished. The only ones who really understood were other POWs. Theirs is a small club, and we are not members. The reference to the conference in San Francisco and the prayers for success were Mrs. Cordie’s endorsement of a “United Nations,” whereby a war such as they had just experienced would no longer be a possibility. This proposal by a popular—but now dead—U.S. president hoped to offer the world a mechanism by which to provide security against future tyranny. This dream was not lost on the common citizens, especially the mothers of soldiers. The San Francisco conference developed a charter for the future United Nations. 134

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A Prisoners of War Bulletin explained that Uncle Sam was well prepared for the repatriated prisoners, but that was not always the case, at least not initially upon their return to the States. Former American POWs were scattered throughout the United States, and their wounds and corresponding treatment varied. Many times the physical and mental suffering of the former prisoners was not noticed due to the lack of a standard plan for their care. In some cases they were given special attention only when their injuries were severe and easily diagnosed. In others, the soldiers were required to fend for themselves until they received the proper treatment. The government was simply not prepared to meet the urgent requirements of the former POWs, whose numbers were rapidly escalating. When D.C. returned to the States, he notified his parents that he would arrive at the Dallas bus station. He told them that he would come in at a certain time on a particular day, while he actually hoped to arrive earlier and have time to shower and clean up before they saw him. He was still in pretty bad shape compared to the way they had last seen him, so he wanted to minimize the initial shock of his appearance. New uniforms could disguise only so much. On May 25 D.C.’s bus rolled into the terminal on Jackson Street in downtown Dallas—early, as he had hoped. I do not recall the exact time, but I got the impression that it was around sunrise. Even though there was no other activity on the Dallas streets, as you can imagine, his parents and sisters were waiting in the family car outside the bus station. For all of the right reasons, they were anxious to see their son and brother and take him home. Home was a warm kitchen filled with the smell of Mom’s cooking, full of love that would momentarily shield him from the nightmares of those last several months in Germany. These thoughts and the anticipation of going home were so memorable that he told this part of the story to me more than once. He always smiled when he told the part about how they outsmarted him and beat him to the bus terminal. There was no mention of their reaction to his gauntness.

Going Home

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WARD 168 Medically speaking, d.c. was not fit. His hair still felt like straw. His wrists were bony, and his stomach was indented as a result of the severe hunger. After only a few days at home on what was to be an extended leave, he grew much sicker. On Saturday, June 2, D.C. was sent to Ashburn General Hospital in McKinney, Texas, about thirty miles north of Dallas. Established by the U.S. Army in 1943, Ashburn General Hospital consisted of more than one hundred yellow brick buildings with quarter-mile-long hallways. Initially, a 1,500-bed facility, it eventually added another 1,000 beds to handle the influx of wounded U.S. Army personnel. During D.C.’s stay there, Col. James B. Anderson was the commanding officer of the McKinney hospital. The doctors determined that D.C.’s hepatitis had progressed to the point that they gave him little chance to live. The medical staff did not believe that D.C. could fight off the hepatitis while his body was still trying to recover from the months of starvation and poor treatment. For the next several months he was placed in a ward for terminally ill patients—Ward 168. The initial prognosis was pessimistic. The following letter gives a glimpse of the mental depression that D.C. was drifting into and the severity of his overall condition. He told me that he did not know at the time that Ward 168 was for those who were not expected to live. While that designation may not have been accurate, this ward was certainly for some of the more acute cases. He knew he was in bad health, but not to the point of death. Undoubtedly his parents read more into this letter than D.C. intended:

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Tuesday Night 7:30 P.M. Dearest Folks, Received your letter today. Also heard from Mildred & Stella. Today I was marched and told to stay in bed and not roam around any more. In the morning, they take X-rays. My liver I think is too large. I’m still on liquid diet, but don’t get hungry. Am afraid I’ll be here a long time. If I were you, I wouldn’t visit up here anymore, because I’m not suppose to leave bed, but only to latrine, and I’m suppose to keep quite [sic]. Really no more news. I still feel “fine,” better than I did at home. Will write every-night. Love, D.C. It was no longer possible for D.C. to hide his condition from his family. Although they never talked about it openly, they knew the prospects for their son and brother were not good. However, he was close to home. They could talk to him. They could see and touch him. This was certainly a better situation than what might have been. There was always hope. With the following letter in mid-July 1945, that hope grew: Well today the Doc said I was doing perfect and would be out before long. What a change he said. He also gave me the regular menu diet for a try. Just ate my second meal & am feeling fine. Am still not going to mess hall said he was afraid I’d stuff too much. Mary Anna has just left. Enjoyed her visit very much. Tell DD and Mary I really enjoy their letters. Thank DD for the Tribune and Success. Will write any changes. Enjoy your letters Mother. Lots of Love D.C. Ward 168

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Just read where I can wear another Bronze Service Star for participation in Battle of Ardennes. (It has been declared major campaign.) His sense of humor was still with D.C., and I can see him grinning with his friends as they learned that the biggest battle in history was officially declared a “major campaign.” This gave D.C. four battle stars for the various campaigns he was involved in during the war. The routine D.C. now developed revolved around eating, medical checkups and tests, visits to the PX, attention by the ever-present nurses, and of course letters to and from home: Thought I’d get out of here this week, but before I leave I have to go through Dental Clinic. I’ve just been down—teeth in pretty good shape, only for 3 small fillings—so made an appointment to fi x them at 11:10 on Saturday, so probably won’t get out before about Monday. Today I went to mess hall for first time. Mother you need not send checks as Mildred is bringing me some tomorrow—I’m not completely broke, but just bent pretty bad. Mary Anna writes me everyday, & am also getting all of yours & sisters mail. Stella got home OK the other night. Lent her one my handkerchiefs to keep her head dry when running out to the taxi the other night. Made it home at 11 she said. She gave me a very nice book to hold my picture post cards. Will have show in the ward here tonight. Correspondence the next day described more of D.C.’s normal routine, including his newest weight gain. He did not really have extensive needs for money; his government checks were going home, and he wrote checks only occasionally in order to have cash on hand when necessary. Dearest Folks, Mildred, Rachel, and Doris have just left. They really surprised me coming tonight. You know they said they were coming Thursday night. 138

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Well, I’m really getting good food now. Weigh 146 stripped, so I’m gaining weight too. Have to weigh each morning & tell Doc. I got down to 140. Really no news. Mildred brought me some money, so I’m in good shape that way. I carried them to PX where I bought their supper: sandwich, ice cream, & coke. They hadn’t eaten as they left so quick after work. They had show in my ward, so we all sit on my bed and saw the show. They caught bus right at the corner here at 20 mi. till 9, so they had 30 min. to get to their interurben [sic]. See you next week. Only once did I observe some irritation on D.C.’s part. It appears that, at home, mail had arrived from Europe for D.C., and he had yet to receive it. He was anxious to have the parcel of letters and wanted desperately to respond to them. His frustration is evident in the following letter: 19 June 1945 Dear Folks, Have just seen Doctor—said X-rays showed me still not normal, but better. Am sure I won’t get out Wed. or Thurs. In fact, I’ve quit guessing when I’ll get out. Th ink I’ll quit making dates in Denton, as I have to break them all. Have just received your and & DD’s letters, also heard from Mildred. Daddy told me about my card from Luxembourg and I’ve received at least 3 letters mentioning it, but the card still hasn’t reached me. I’m the one who it was sent to, I’m the one who am [sic] very anxious to read it, & I’m the one who wants to answer it immediately, so I wish you’d send it to me. If it wasn’t to [sic] big to come across the ocean, I’m sure you can find a box big enough to send it to me. Am very disappointed I haven’t received it. Ward 168

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About the note from 8th SC, didn’t it come in any sort of envelope, I have to answer thing in writing like that, and I like to know where to send it. I answered it this morning, just sent to 8th SC which I’m sure isn’t a complete address. Don’t look for me till you see me & don’t try to slip in on me, because you might have to come to Denton to see me. Love D.C. Although D.C. was usually positive about the status of his health, in the following excerpt from his letter, a certain anxiety shows. This and the preceding letter, which were written only a day apart, reflected more dejection than any others that I came across during my research. The hospital confinement, the uncertainty of his health, and the possibility of redeployment to the Pacific all contributed to his mental state: Mailed you letter this morning but here goes another. Blood tests showing me in worse shape than last week—still jaundice in blood—so [the doctor] told me would not get out this week. Need not come up or call. I feel as fine as ever, but just know what he said. Will fi x teeth tomorrow & will apply for eye examination in day or 2 since I’m going to be here longer. During this time, Audie Murphy, the most highly decorated soldier of World War II, came through Ashburn General Hospital to meet some of the patients. Murphy had grown up in the area (Farmersville and Greenville), so his visit was understandable. Lieutenant Murphy was quiet, D.C. said, but very personable. His visit was appreciated since Murphy was from the same area and a soldier as well. Besides family and those special female friends, D.C. and the other patients were periodically entertained by the locals. The Oak Cliff Club (located in a Dallas neighborhood in the southwestern portion of the city) put on a stage show, but perhaps the most notable attraction was a visit by the “Neiman Marcus girls.” They came to the Red Cross

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auditorium and put on a style show that included play suits, bathing suits, and other wardrobe items. Medicine is not the only healer. Although D.C. did not mind the idea of staying in the U.S. Army for a while longer, he felt that he had fought his war and did not relish going to the Pacific to fight another. He decided to try to stay in the U.S. Army for the near term, at least until he recovered his health. While a permanent assignment to Ashburn General Hospital was a possibility, it was not a certainty. Health permitting, he would quite possibly rejoin his old 28th Division since preparations were apparently under way for an invasion of Japan: June 27, 1945 I told you I wrote Ft. Sam yesterday. Today I saw personnel officer to ask him about extension. He assured me I’d get what time I was in hospital as it didn’t count against furlough; and he said Ft. Sam would refer to ask Gen Hosp to make or extend orders as I am now assigned here. So the ans. I get will probably be to that effect. In addition, some of the soldiers complained about their situation, but they had not gone overseas or experienced anything even remotely close to what D.C. and the other patients had endured. This did not sit well with the combat veterans. Those individuals were unwilling to do their part when so many had done much more. This was compounded by the fact that many of the troops who had already been through their own hell in Europe were now preparing to join U.S. forces for the war against Japan. In his letters D.C. made only slight references to the fates of his friends. He noted that Lieutenant Bowdery was killed and that Kornetz and the others either died somewhere along the way or were killed in the mines. It was bad enough that he had lost friends while in combat and in the prison camp, but they were also dying in the hospital, so long after their liberation. Here is an excerpt from one of his letters in late August:

Ward 168

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The little boy who was so pale died last night. They put him under oxygen tent last evening. His mother was here. This was all D.C. mentioned about the event. It was apparent that D.C.’s parents knew of the unfortunate soldier who was hospitalized near D.C. Some of D.C.’s frustration over his health continued for several weeks. The following letter was mailed on July 12, 1945: Dearest Folks, Well, I’m a bed patient once again and getting my meals in bed—special diet. The Drs. decided I’d have to stay in bed to ever get well completely, so I might be here another month. Am feeling fine & weigh more than I have since being in England last year—153. Mildred called last nite saying they weren’t coming cause of rain—maybe come tonight. Don’t you all come up because I’m fine as ever—just got to stay here a while yet. In early August, D.C. was still a bed patient, and the doctors told him that he would be in the hospital at least another month. His concerns about going to the Pacific were perhaps interrupted by the dropping of the atomic bomb. His letter of August 8, 1945, asked only the following question: P.S.: What do you think of the “Atomic Bomb”? Little did he (or much of the world) truly understand the magnitude of such a weapon. It would end his immediate need to go to war in another part of the world, even if he regained his health. While D.C. was away and after his capture, Mrs. Cordie did what she could for her son. She seemed more attached than ever to the small Methodist church in Chisholm. Though D.C. was now close to home, he was far from healthy. His mother sought comfort in God and prayed regularly for the doctors to do what they could. The following letter was 142

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apparently written after the writer had received some correspondence from Mrs. Caughran. It describes the feelings of a woman who had grown old but felt blessed with her lot in life and still hurt for those that continued to suffer so much. The fact that the author was more than eighty-six years old means that she had lived through the Civil War, the settlement of the American West, and two world wars: Aug. 20. 1945 Terrell, Texas Dear Mrs. Cordie. Your lovely letter brought tears to my eyes, but joy to my soul. If to have helped others, on the road of life, in a Christ like way, to be stronger, and to endure as seeing Him, who is invisible: then I am blest indeed. And if by admonition, precept or examples, to have influenced some soul to decide for Christ, and the life that is hid in Him, then, I am more than happy. Am so glad, that you have enjoyed the revival services: we always tried to be there at the revival services each time: I never wanted to miss a service. And the Sunday school, we have missed so much. We hear some good sermons over the Radio but we miss the Personal touch, when we hear them, “Its [sic] the human touch in the World that counts more to the fainting heart, than shelter, or bread or wine. For shelter is gone when the night is over And bread last [sic] only a day: But the touch of your hand and the sound of your voice. Sings in my world always.” That is the kind of friendship that endures. “The fateful fingers intertwine. The human love, with love divine.” You cannot know how much pleasure you gave us to be remembered so very sweetly, and how much we appreciated you telling us, we were missed. A few others have told us, that they always thought of us, when entering the church: They missed our presence and thought of us: and that gives me courage to say. “They are not dead, who live in hearts they leave behind.” I want to say also that we rejoice with you that your son, Junior, came home again: and that this terrible War is over soon, the surviving Men and fighting Boys, will be home again, and we Ward 168

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will all be so glad. Life will never be the same to them after the terrible ordeal, they have gone through. Life goes on continuously. So long as it lasts it moves without stopping. There is no such thing as pausing a new start. It does seem, however that we are constantly changing, and finding ourselves placed in new situations, and newer relationships, which offer us a new chance. We are all reasonably well, able to do the household duties that fall to our lot. and while we can no longer go to church, we are very happy at home: I never thought I could be so happy in my old age. But, “Even down to old age, All my people shall prove, my sovereign eternal, unchangeable love, And when heavy hairs [sic] shall their turnfiles [sic] adorn. Like lambs, they shall still in my room be home.” May the Lord bless you and keep you in His loving care: and may your Dear Husband, be brought in to the fold, God is good. I must close. I still love you and all the others to have taught in the Sunday School, and mingled with in the missionary society. I think of you often. Lovingly. Mary E. Howell. Age 86 yrs. 3 mo. This letter offers a lesson in life that few ever comprehend. Fortunately, she had the years and the wisdom to appreciate the world around her. Even she understood that life would never be the same for the men and women who had experienced the horrors of war. For them, there is no new start, only the chance for new relationships and situations. As with so many families, it is the woman who overtly turns to religion to cope with desperate situations, while men often attempt to lose themselves in their work. In this respect, D.C. Senior and Cordelia were no different. During D.C.’s hospital confinement, his spirits were continually uplifted by the nurses. Even though his fellow soldiers were also in the hospital, they recognized the constant (and often special) attention D.C. received. Put more bluntly, they were envious:

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My nurse wants me to take her to [the] opera in Dallas Sat. nite, but sure I can’t get out. She’s from Indiana. She is very beautiful & I might take her some Sat. nite after I get out. She’s worlds of fun. The boys in the ward all tease me about the nurse’s aid [sic]. They ask me just how much do I pay to get her to hold my hand all day & a back rub every day. She does sit here about half the time, although she has more boy friends than a dog has fleas. The nurses and the girlfriends provided his bunkmates and family with an endless supply of stories that they would kid D.C. about for years to come. Moreover, one of his very attentive nurses asked D.C. to marry her. (Perhaps she did not consider him to be as sick as the doctors did.) However, some contend that she changed her mind once D.C. was in better health. True to form, D.C. said that, although the ladies had difficulty resisting his natural charm, he was not ready to settle down. In late August—with the surrender of Japan—D.C. wrote that it appeared he would soon be a civilian again. The news came to Ward 168 late at night, and I got the impression that not many people slept after the announcement. This information came only days after D.C. got a hint that, because he had been a POW, he would be promoted to staff sergeant. This was not because D.C. was special compared to other soldiers or former prisoners, but it had become a policy to promote most of the liberated POWs one rank. In late September D.C. did indeed receive his rocker (extra stripe). With a day pass from the hospital, D.C. and La Verne celebrated his promotion with a “big time” in McKinney. With so much help from family and friends, D.C.’s health continued to improve. The mental depression, which was common with hepatitis, was difficult to overcome, especially when compounded by the loss of so many friends over the last year. Depression affected many of the patients in the wards, but the special attention heaped on them by the hospital personnel cannot be overstated in their recovery, if not their very survival.

Ward 168

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DISCHARGE AND A CIVILIAN In November 1945

Staff Sgt. D.C. Caughran Jr. reported to Fort Sam Houston, Texas, with the express purpose of being discharged from the U.S. Army. Fort Sam was where many Texas soldiers went to obtain their discharge—in both wars. My grandfather, who served in France in World War I, was discharged at Fort Sam Houston, and my father was discharged there upon his return from the Pacific in World War II. During his service, D.C. accumulated seventy-one points, which eventually made him eligible for discharge. However, since he had been a prisoner of war, U.S. Army policy did not allow him to be discharged immediately, no matter how many points he had. The acute infectious hepatitis that nearly killed D.C. in 1945 resurfaced after his discharge. Several years later he fi led a claim for disability through the Veterans Administration but was unsuccessful since, approximately a month before his discharge, he was tested for hepatitis, but the result was negative. In 1954 D.C. was offered an opportunity to refile a claim, but he declined. The last letter that D.C. wrote as a soldier was postmarked November 28, 1945. He expressed his disappointment that he had not yet been discharged, but he went to the PX to buy a few things and gave his folks an idea of the bus schedules back to Dallas, knowing that he would soon be a civilian on his way home. His discharge papers document his separation from the U.S. Army the next day—November 29, 1945. After the war D.C. considered every year that he lived a bonus. To me, an outsider, D.C. had everything a man could ever hope for or

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dream of. The great thing is, he knew it, too. Another former POW, Bob Neary, articulated similar feelings: “I had never fully realized before going overseas just how wonderful this country of ours is. I had always taken for granted my complete liberty, freedom of speech and countless luxuries that I considered my heritage as an American.” He continued, “My year and a day of oppression and want in prison camp have challenged my perspective completely. I think I had learned my lesson well and feel that I shall never forget it. I am an American! And I am grateful.”  In a college English composition prior to the war, D.C. stated that his character did not suit him. He considered himself too serious and felt that he was unable to forget his problems and enjoy himself. He believed that he took his work too seriously and could not rest until it was finished. He stated that he admired a person who could have good times despite the problems that life continually throws at us. The latter is the type of person that he wanted to be. I doubt D.C. ever thought about that long-ago English paper. The day-to-day stresses probably weighed too heavily on him (just as for many of us), but with his family, I know how much he appreciated life. I saw it often with his wife, Mildred Darst Caughran, his daughters, and his grandsons.

Discharge and a Civilian

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EPILOGUE The 28th division survived the Battle of the Bulge. Since its arrival in Europe in 1944, the Keystone Division had participated in five major campaigns: Normandy, northern France, Ardennes-Alsace, Rhineland, and Central Europe. After Germany surrendered, the 28th, along with several other U.S. Army divisions, prepared to enter the war in Asia. However, after Japan’s surrender in September 1945, the division was deactivated from federal service on December 13, 1945. Today the 28th Division continues as a National Guard component of the U.S. Army, and members of its various detachments have served in the global war on terrorism. The civil affairs function is still alive in the modern U.S. Army. In fact, in the global war on terrorism, this work has become a major mission for the United States. While the U.S. military is able to plan and conduct a war, the immediate follow-up of managing the civilian population’s needs for supplies, medical services, infrastructure, and civilian authority is daunting and more vital than ever. In Iraq and Afghanistan the civil affairs needs have taxed the U.S. Army and Marine Corps resources to the point that the U.S. Air Force and U.S. Navy are now putting boots on the ground as replacements for U.S. Army personnel. After the fighting is done, civil affairs work is still required to provide basic needs until a viable government can be established. After World War II the U.S. Army designated Camp Wolters as Fort Wolters. It later became an aviation training facility for the U.S. Army. Aviation training was taken by veterans such as my wife’s uncle,

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Fred Darst, a World War II fi xed-wing U.S. Navy pilot, who accepted a commission in the Texas Army National Guard and became a U.S. Army helicopter pilot. However, with the winding down of the Vietnam War and a reduction in forces, Fort Wolters was deactivated in 1974 and 1975. Currently, Weatherford College and Lake Mineral Wells State Park utilize much of the property and many of the facilities. Certain portions have returned to ranching and agriculture, along with some light industrial and commercial ventures. The Texas Army National Guard has retained approximately four thousand acres for its needs. Military reservists of all branches continue to utilize these facilities in cooperation with the Texas National Guard as they prepare for deployments around the world. The need for mail by U.S. service personnel cannot be overstated, for it plays a critical role in morale. It is their primary connection to what they have left behind and a reminder of why they have to return. While today’s military is fortunate to have the use of electronic mail and enhanced telecommunications service, the U.S. mail is still critical. From my limited personal experience, there is never enough computer time to allow each individual to correspond with a loved one when at sea or on foreign soil. The U.S. mail still provides the most tangible connection by allowing one to read and reread the thoughts and wishes of family and friends. It still possesses some of the intimacy that many people need in difficult times. After years of anonymity, the town of Chisholm has become a fast-growing bedroom suburb of Dallas. Several years after the war Chisholm combined with another neighboring community, McLendon, and incorporated as the City of McLendon-Chisholm. New homes have replaced the cotton fields, and few of the current residents know about the sharecroppers or threshing crews. General stores are relics of the past. In the 1990s the rural United Methodist Church transferred its congregation and membership to the United Methodist Church in Terrell and closed its doors just before the turn of the century. At least for a time, an antique store occupied the building that was once the Chisholm Methodist Church. There is no longer a central gathering spot for the local residents; however, as McLendon-Chisholm redefines

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itself, as Rockwall did several years earlier, this will change. The founding families of Chisholm would be pleased to know that their little community has survived and would be excited about its prospects. Stella McElmurry, the devoted girlfriend, faded into D.C.’s past. He could not show her the love that she deserved. She was always remembered fondly, and, without a doubt, Stella always had a special place in D.C.’s heart. What specifically happened to Stella, no one in the family knows other than that, over time, the letters and visits became more infrequent to the point that Stella and D.C. each went on with their separate lives. Years later D.C. took his family to visit his good army buddy Harry Duncan in Knoxville, Tennessee. Harry, who enlisted in August 1943 at Fort Oglethorpe, Georgia, no longer drove a jeep. Duncan returned to Tennessee, where he became first a cashier and then vice president at the Bank of Knoxville. Harry and D.C. remained in close contact with one another. Harry died of a second heart attack in August 1965, only four months after his first heart attack. Harry and his wife, Wanda, had no children. In his obituary the only mention of his military service was one sentence that stated that he had served in World War II, was captured in the Battle of the Bulge, and was held in a prison camp until the war’s end. Private First Class Milton C. Kornetz, pictured with D.C. and his group in Clervaux, sent his family a letter from prison camp, where he was executed. His U.S. Army records state that he had four years of college and was a model maker or statistician prior to his enlistment. He was single with dependents. PFC Kornetz of Suffolk County, Massachusetts, was buried at the Lorraine American Cemetery, St. Avold (Moselle), France, plot J, row 13, grave 6. First Lieutenant George J. Bowdery’s records tells us he also had four years of college and entered the U.S. Army on August 21, 1941, from the entertainment industry. The lieutenant was single and had no dependents. This native of Queens County, New York, was officially listed as killed in action. There is no record of any personal award—not even a Purple Heart. No place of burial is listed. As a further contradiction, the official records also indicate that the lieutenant was either “Executed, Died in Ship’s Sinking or Result of Ship Sinking, [or] Shot 150

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While Attempting to Escape.” He is listed as being imprisoned at Stalag 13-D Nuremburg (Oflag 73). The killed-in-action notation is inconsistent with the Oflag 73 incarceration. Whether Lieutenant Bowdery died on the train into Germany, in Stalag 13-D, or in the mines, the result is the same. Also surviving the prison camp was T/3 Edwin Bokor of Nassau County, New York. Born in 1905, the Long Island native was perhaps the oldest member of his unit. His records indicated that he was an attorney before joining the U.S. Army in 1942. The last word regarding Edwin Bokor was a letter from his parents to D.C.’s mother, which stated that they had received a telegram from their son after his release. Their own hell was also over. Prior to his enlistment in the U.S. Army in July 1942 PFC James Creamer had completed one year of college before joining up in Cleveland, Ohio. The Ohio native survived the German prison camp at Stalag IX-B. Captain George Johnson, as D.C. and many other former POWs, suffered from jaundice. He remained in the U.S. Army at least for a period after the war. For a short time Captain Johnson attempted to stay in contact with D.C. First Lieutenant Walter Brown Caughran, D.C.’s cousin, was an original member of the 82nd Airborne Division. He served in North Africa, Sicily, Italy, France (including D-day), Belgium, Holland, and Berlin. Upon his discharge from active duty in August 1946 he remained in the U.S. Army Reserve for an additional ten years and rose to the rank of major. During this time he put his electrical engineering degree from Texas A&M to use and joined the Humble Oil and Refinery Company, which later became ExxonMobil. After thirtyfour years of corporate life, Brown retired to Rockwall, Texas. He died in 2004. In addition, the Molitor family survived the war and reopened their drugstore in Clervaux, Luxembourg. Marthe Molitor, the girl that D.C. “dated” those few weeks in Luxembourg, died in 1986. Although D.C. had not contacted the Molitor family since his liberation, in February 1946 he received a letter from John Molitor. It is apparent that, even in a few short weeks in the U.S.-occupied village, D.C. had made lasting Epilogue

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View from the cathedral in a generally southern direction toward the Clervaux castle. (Photo by Sarah Miracle.)

friends who were still concerned about his welfare. Here are excerpts from that letter: My Dear D.C. I can not tell you how glad I was to hear that you are still alife [sic]. When I left you on October 6th 1944 we did not think that things would become so bad for you and for my family. On December 29th 1944 I sent you a message from Luxembourg to your army address in order to have news from you, and I hoped that you could give me news too from the members of my family of Clerveaux. Several weeks later I wrote to you, using your home address, but I never received an answer . . . The only news I heard from you are these: that you have been prisoner of war for several months, but that you are back home now. The whole family is O.K. what I think also from you. 152

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Hotelier George Koener had no children; however, nieces and nephews still live in Clervaux. The hotel business, Clervaux, and the Koener name seem inseparable. George Koener was not the only family member who owned a hotel. His niece, Christiane Koener, who was born after the war, is now the proprietor of the Hotel Koener. The piano in the hotel lobby served its guests for several decades after the war. Only in recent years was it removed. Behind and slightly to the side of the Hotel Koener, a monument to the American soldier was erected by the citizens of Luxembourg to commemorate the sacrifices of their liberators and new friends from the U.S. Army’s 28th Division and other units. The dark waters of the Clerf River run immediately behind the monument. The Château de Clervaux today houses a World War II museum. Its curator is Frank Kieffer. Cordelia Caughran developed a leg infection due to diabetes, and gangrene followed. Her doctor informed her that without amputation she would not recover. She refused to have her leg removed, however.

Hotel Koener. (Photo by Sarah Miracle.)

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Monument in Clervaux to the U.S. soldier. (Photo by Paul Miracle.)

In 1961 Mrs. Cordie died due to complications. In 1963 D.C. Caughran Sr. (D-Boy) died. Dorothy Dee, D.C.’s oldest sister, died a few years later and left one son, David Lewis, a graduate of the University of Texas and a Terrell attorney. 154

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In late 2004 D.C.’s sister Mary Alice died in Rockwall. Mary Alice’s son, Dan, whom D.C. referred to so often in his letters home, became a civil engineer. He served a tour in Vietnam as an officer in the U.S. Army’s Corps of Engineers and later firmly established himself in a career with the U.S. Department of Energy in Dallas, Texas. Mildred and Mary Alice, D.C.’s sisters, spent the majority of their careers with the Terrell Independent School District. Mary Alice taught for forty-two years, and Mildred more than thirty-five. Mildred suffered a stroke only days after the death of her sister, Mary Alice, and in the following months moved to Chicago to live with her daughter, Betty. Mildred’s son, Mark, had lived with his mother but remained in Terrell. Upon discharge from the U.S. Army, D.C. took a position with the State of Texas, where his primary function initially was to assist veterans returning from the war to find employment. Although he gave serious consideration to returning to the University of Texas to complete his degree, the promise of a stable job was too much to resist; moreover, he had experienced so much over the last few years that he was not sure how he could return to life as a university student. In Terrell, D.C.’s job with the State of Texas later became the Texas Employment Commission (now known as the Texas Workforce Commission). He completed his forty-year career as manager of the Texas Employment Commission’s office in Greenville, Texas. He never planted that cotton crop that he wrote about so long ago. Although D.C. thought several times of returning to Clervaux, the emotions were still too strong. However, at the time of his death in 1989, he was planning such a trip. In 1947 D.C. married Mildred Louise Darst. Barely seventeen years old when she met D.C., Mildred was the girl next door, with a resemblance (in my mind) to Audrey Hepburn. She graduated a year early from Terrell High School and immediately began work as a teller at the American National Bank in Terrell. Of course, it was in the bank that Mildred was destined to meet the “older man” from Chisholm. In fact, D.C. was almost eight years older than Mildred. At that age and time there was a significant difference not only in their years but also in their life experiences. Whereas D.C. had been to college and Epilogue

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war (and had seen the worst of the latter), Mildred was barely out of high school and was still quite uncertain about her future, other than it would probably be in Terrell, Texas. After that initial meeting at the bank teller’s cage, D.C. began conducting much more bank business—but always with the same teller. Fortunately, Mildred did not mind. She enjoyed the attention of this very nice and handsome young man, even if he was a great deal older. However, it took some time and convincing before Mildred agreed to go out with D.C. Mildred came from a conservative Roman Catholic family. Her parents (like D.C.’s) had three daughters, and by an amazing coincidence the three girls in both families were named Dorothy, Mildred, and Mary. College was not a consideration for Mildred or her sisters. If it was even an option, it was more often for men since they would have to make a living for their own families. This was not a sentiment held by either Mildred or D.C. In Terrell, D.C. and Mildred’s world revolved around their two daughters, Sarah and Jennie, and their small wood-framed home on Elm Drive. I never knew a couple who were happier with one another and their lives. They were exceptionally proud of their daughters’ accomplishments and of course their very young grandsons. Demonstrating his pride in his young daughters, D.C. would take their school reports to his Greenville office to show his coworkers. Sarah and Jennie each graduated from Terrell High School as valedictorians. He joked that the girls took after their father, but Mildred knew better. Sarah and Jennie also graduated with highest honors from the University of Texas at Austin. Ross Caughran Miracle, D.C.’s oldest grandson, then continued his grandfather’s UT legacy when he graduated from UT–Austin in May 2004. However, grandson number two, Paul Reed Miracle, followed his paternal grandfather and enrolled at Texas A&M University in College Station in the fall of 2004. Sadly, D.C. did not live long enough to know his two later-born grandsons, David Caughran Hamilton and Nathan Andrew Hamilton. In late January 1989, at the age of sixty-seven, D.C. died of a sudden heart attack. His wife, Mildred, never recovered from her loss. She died of cancer three years later. 156

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After Mildred’s death, notes that were found in her handwriting mentioned how much she missed D.C. They said that the pleasantest and most restful sleep she had was when he appeared in her dreams and they would hold each other and everything seemed so right. Then she would wake up alone. But she knew that she was not alone because she had her daughters and grandsons. The abundant love of her daughters and grandchildren gave her much to look forward to each day. Out of love for his country, D.C. regularly flew the American flag on holidays from a small staff attached to the side of his house. Here was a man who had to work to remain in the U.S. Army due to his Limited Service classification. He could easily have qualified for a stateside position or a discharge from the U.S. Army, but he chose to stay and do what he believed was his duty. In his letters or in any of our conversations he never hinted that he would have considered anything else. After the war D.C. never joined a veterans group or a POW organization. I did not ask why. It was as though his time in the U.S. Army and, more specifically, in the prison camps was his personal experience and was not to be shared. We never discussed the Korean or Vietnam conflicts. He had his opinions, but he kept them to himself. He was worried when his nephew Dan did a tour in Vietnam, and he expressed concern to his daughter when I joined the U.S. Navy Reserve several years later. The politics was not his focus. He cared about the individual. Although D.C. and his peers have been referred to as “the greatest generation,” I really do not know whether they were the greatest. What I do know is that, when their country asked them to serve, they did— and with incredible success. Sam Watkins, in his own memoirs from a conflict generations earlier, made an observation regarding his fellow Tennessee soldiers. I believe it applies to this generation as well: “No man distinguished himself above another. All did their duty, and the glory of one is but the glory and just tribute of the others.” 

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NOTES The Beginning 1. Interview by author, Terrell, Texas, 2004. 2. Conversation with James Lovell, Terrell, Texas, 2003. Also, various conversations with D.C. Caughran Jr. from 1975 to 1988. 3. Conversation with Mildred Barr, Terrell, Texas, 1999.

Camp Wolters 1. James S. Lanham letter, Aug. 3, 1942, 1LT, Air Corps, Army of the United States. 2. Caughran Jr. letter, no date. 3. Minor, “Fort Wolters.” Also, a preprinted postcard described Camp Wolters as consisting of fifteen thousand acres and seven hundred buildings. The difference may have to do with its original size compared to its peak during WWII. 4. Ibid. 5. Caughran Jr. letter, no date. 6. Senter, “The Lone Ranger Laments.” In the letter D.C. stated, “See my poem— Some of these northerners made it up.” In January 1944 D.C. transferred from Camp Wolters to Camp Reynolds, PA. Park Ranger Senter was transferred from Hot Springs National Park in Arkansas to Big Bend National Park in Texas in July 1944. The poem D.C. shared with his family refers to U.S. Army life in Texas, and it appears that Senter wrote and published a version of the poem prior to his arrival at Big Bend National Park. 7. Baker Hotel, Mineral Wells, Texas, http://www.mineralwells.com/baker.asp. 8. Baker Hotel, Mineral Wells, Texas, http://www.durangotexas.com/eyesontexas/ textour/mineralwells/bakerhotel.htm. 9. Caughran Jr. letter, October 1943. 10. Newspaper clipping, source unknown. The article, which was included in a letter from Camp Wolters, may well have come from the U.S. Army’s Camp Wolters newspaper. 11. Caughran Jr. postcard, Mar. 10, 1943.

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12. Karolevitz, “Prelude to War, That’s Tough Hell’s Bottom Special Battle Practice Course at Wolters.” 13. Caughran Jr. letter, Nov. 16, 1943.

“Over Here” 1. Coles and Weinberg, Civil Affairs: Soldiers Become Governors, 64. 2. Caughran Jr. letter, Feb. 20, 1944. Not all of the civilian items were returned home, as was ordered. 3. At War in the North Sea 1917–1918. 4. Conversation with Ralph Wisenbaker, ca. 1990. 5. Conversation with A. L. Newburn, ca. 1998. 6. A Short Guide to Great Britain, back cover. 7. Ibid., 1. 8. Ibid., 3. 9. Ibid., 13. 10. Ibid., 23. 11. Ziemke, U.S. Army in the Occupation of Germany, 1944–1945, 62. 12. Ibid., 70. 13. National Archives and Records Administration, George R. Johnson. 14. History of the 28th Infantry Division. 15. Caughran Jr. letter, May 11, 1944. The U.S. soldiers did not always have enough chewing gum for everyone. In addition, distributing gum became a safety issue as the kids crowded around the equipment and personnel.

Northern France 1. Caughran Jr. letter, Apr. 2, 1944. 2. Caughran Jr. letter, Aug. 9, 1944. 3. Declaration by United Nations, Jan. 1, 1942. 4. Caughran Jr. letter, Oct. 11, 1944. 5. World War II photos, no. 105.

Clervaux 1. Frank Kieffer, interview by author, Aug. 17, 2006. 2. Ibid. 3. Charles B. MacDonald, Sept. 13, 1944, and D.C. Caughran Jr., Sept. 18, 1944, correspondence. 4. Ambrose, Citizen Soldiers, 169. 5. Goolrick and Tanner, Battle of the Bulge, 29. 6. Ibid. 7. Ibid., 30. 8. Ibid., 36–37.

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9. Ibid. 10. Kieffer interview. 11. Cole, The Ardennes: Battle of the Bulge, 57. 12. Kieffer interview. 13. MacDonald, A Time for Trumpets: The Untold Story of the Battle of the Bulge, 85. 14. Caughran Jr. letter, Oct. 13, 1944. 15. Ibid. 16. Coles and Weinberg, Civil Affairs, 811.

First Snow 1. Caughran Jr. letter, Nov. 9, 1944. 2. Ibid., Oct. 13, 1944. 3. Ibid., Oct. 24, 1944. 4. Ibid., Oct. 15, 1944. 5. Ibid., Dec. 5, 1944. 6. Von Luttichau, German Counteroffensive in the Ardennes: Command Decisions, 458.

December 16 1. Cole, Ardennes, 59. 2. Whiting, The Battle of the Bulge: Britain’s Untold Story, 10; MacDonald, Time for Trumpets, 137. 3. Cole, Ardennes, xiii. 4. Phillips, To Save Bastogne, 135. 5. MacDonald, Time for Trumpets, 269; Phillips, To Save Bastogne, 135–36. 6. Cole, Ardennes, 181. 7. Ibid., 187; Phillips, To Save Bastogne, 73, 137. 8. Bob Bradicich, email to author, ca. 1999. 9. Phillips, To Save Bastogne, 150. 10. Ibid. 11. Cole, Ardennes, 187. 12. Phillips, To Save Bastogne, 148; Cole, Ardennes, 187. 13. Phillips, To Save Bastogne, 135. 14. Whiting, Battle of the Bulge, 26. 15. Ibid.; MacDonald, Time for Trumpets, 137, 269. 16. MacDonald, Time for Trumpets, 269. 17. Phillips, To Save Bastogne, 86. 18. Ibid., 85. 19. Cole, Ardennes, 190. 20. Ibid., 86–87. 21. Ibid., 191. 22. Phillips, To Save Bastogne, 86. 23. Ibid., 136.

Notes to Pages 71–91

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24. Whiting, Battle of the Bulge, 29. 25. Coles and Weinberg, Civil Affairs, 814–15. 26. Ibid., 813. 27. Ibid. 28. Ziemke, U.S. Army in the Occupation of Germany, 154; Coles and Weinberg, Civil Affairs, 14–15. 29. Cole, Ardennes, 192.

Dearest Junior 1. Letter from Cordelia Caughran, Jan. 9, 1945. 2. I Was in Prison.

The Long Walk 1. Kieffer interview. 2. Donaldson, Men of Honor: American GIs in the Jewish Holocaust, 12, 16, 18, 22, 36, 56, 68, 103, 140. 3. Malouf, interview by author, Aug. 6, 2006. 4. Wiant, “Starved by Germans, Yank Prisoners Free,” 4. 5. Prisoners of War Bulletin, vol. 3, no. 2, March 1945, 2. 6. Whitlock, Given Up for Dead: American GI’s in the Nazi Concentration Camp at Berga, 75, 94. 7. Conversation with Mildred Caughran Barr, ca. 1998.

The Camps 1. Prisoners of War Bulletin, vol. 3, no. 3, March 1945, 4. 2. Pate, “A Report to Relatives of Prisoners,” 3. 3. “Tears and Cheers Follow Former Prisoners on U.S. Tour,” 2. 4. Ibid., 3. 5. Whitlock, Given Up for Dead, 97. 6. Ibid., 76. 7. Uhl, Berga: Soldiers of Another War. 8. Ibid. 9. “Noncoms on Work Detachments,” Prisoners of War Bulletin, vol. 3, no. 1, January 1945, 9. 10. PFC Gerald Daub also described the Germans’ attempt to identify the prisoners’ religion at Stalag IX-B. Whitlock, Given Up for Dead, 114. Also see Donaldson, Men of Honor, 44. 11. Whitlock, Given Up for Dead, 122–125. 12. Caughran’s letter to his parents, postmarked Aug. 23, 1945. I was unable to verify his account of this event through reports from other prisoners. However, in his recollection, D.C. was emphatic as to the treatment of the Jewish prisoners. In addition, he

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never mentioned Berga specifically, but, considering his reference to his friend Kornetz and his group dying in the mines, he appears to have been aware that the place existed and that it held American POWs. 13. Whitlock, Given Up for Dead, 171. 14. Wear, “Wear Talks to Freed Prisoners.” Clipping retained by Cordelia Caughran. 15. Ibid. 16. Spinelli and Carlson, Life behind Barbed Wire: The Secret World War II Photographs of Prisoner of War Angelo M. Spinelli, 12. 17. Wasmer, “Moving Supplies to Prison Camps,” 2. 18. Prisoners of War Bulletin, vol., 3, no. 1, 3. 19. Spinelli and Carlson, Life behind Barbed Wire, 12. 20. Ibid. 21. Durand, Stalag Luft III: The Secret Story, 161. 22. Nichol and Rennell, The Last Escape: The Untold Story of Allied Prisoners of War in Europe, 1944–45, 73. 23. Spinelli and Carlson, Life behind Barbed Wire, 153–54. 24. Ibid., 153–56. 25. Pate, “Report to Relatives of Prisoners,” 1. 26. Camp Wolters Longhorn. Aug. 24, 1945. 27. Whitlock, Given Up for Dead, 90. 28. In Whitlock’s book, Leon Horowitz makes a similar comment; Whitlock, Given Up for Dead, 91. 29. Th is would have been PFC Milton Kornetz, based on National Archives and Records Administration information. A similar process of identification was also described in Whitlock, Given Up for Dead, 119. 30. Caughran letter, Aug. 23, 1945. 31. Durand, Stalag Luft III, 336. Durand also refers to entry 321b, records group 153, Records of the Judge Advocate General’s Office, Washington National Record Center, for individual affidavits with regard to apparent violations of the Geneva Convention in the treatment of prisoners of war. 32. Cordelia Caughran, 1945 calendar. 33. Nichol and Rennell, Last Escape, 201. 34. Wear, “Wear Talks to Freed Prisoners.”

Going Home 1. Durand, Stalag Luft III, 356. 2. Donaldson, Men of Honor, 32. 3. Ibid. 4. Durand, Stalag Luft III, 337. 5. Cordelia Caughran, 1945 calendar. 6. “The Cigarette Camps: U.S. Army Camps in the Le Havre Area.” 7. Ibid.

Notes to Pages 118–129

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8. Camp Lucky Strike (Janville, France). 9. The APO (U.S. Army post office for overseas personnel) address for D.C. was APO 562. D.C. Caughran letter, Apr. 12, 1945. 10. Ibid. 11. Spinelli and Carlson, Life behind Barbed Wire, 178. 12. Herbert, “Liberated Prisoners of War from Germany,” 1. 13. Cordelia Caughran, 1945 calendar.

Ward 168 1. Cordelia Caughran, 1945 calendar. 2. Caughran Jr. letter, Aug. 23, 1945.

Discharge and a Civilian 1. Durand, Stalag Luft III, 356.

Epilogue 1. Duncan, National Archives and Records Administration. 2. Kornetz, National Archives and Records Administration, records group 389. The actual description is “Executed, Died in Ship’s Sinking or Result of Ship Sinking, Shot While Attempting Escape.” The fi rst and last items are the most likely choices available to the authorities upon investigation of his death. 3. Kornetz, National Archives and Records Administration, records group 64. 4. Kornetz, National Archives and Records Administration, War Department Files, ID 31297198. 5. Bowdery, National Archives and Records Administration, records group 64. 6. Bowdery, National Archives and Records Administration, War Department Files, ID 01548358. 7. Bowdery, National Archives and Records Administration, records group 389. 8. Bokor, National Archives and Records Administration, records group 64, box no. 0863. 9. Creamer, National Archives and Records Administration, records group 64, box 0922, fi lm reel no. 3.344. 10. National Archives and Records Administration, records group 389. 11. Walter Brown Caughran obituary, Rest Haven Funeral Home, Jan. 25, 2004. 12. Christiane Koener, interview by author, Clervaux, Luxembourg, Aug. 17, 2006. 13. Sam Watkins, Company Aytch, 132.

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BIBLIOGRAPHY Ambrose, Stephen E. Citizen Soldiers. New York: Simon and Schuster, 1997. At War in the North Sea 1917–1918. USS Wyoming. Cruise book, property of F.1CL R. L. Johnston, Third Section, USS Wyoming, U.S. Navy. 1918. Camp Wolters Longhorn, Camp Wolters, Texas, August 24, 1945. Caughran, Walter Brown. Obituary. Rest Haven Funeral Home. Rockwall, Tex. January 25, 2004. Cole, Hugh M. The Ardennes: Battle of the Bulge. Washington, D.C.: GPO, 1965. Coles, Harry L., and Albert K. Weinberg. Civil Affairs: Soldiers Become Governors. Center of Military History, U.S. Army, Washington, D.C., 1992. First printed in 1964 as CMH Pub. 11–3. Declaration by United Nations. January 1, 1942. Pamphlet no. 4. Pillars of Peace. Book Department, Army Information School. Carlisle Barracks, Carlisle, Pennsylvania, May 1946. Donaldson, Jeff. Men of Honor: American GIs in the Jewish Holocaust. Central Point, Ore.: Hellgate Press, 2005. Durand, Arthur A. Stalag Luft III: The Secret Story. Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 1988. Goolrick, William K., and Ogden Tanner. The Battle of the Bulge. Alexandria, Va.: Time-Life Books, 1979. Herbert, Col. George F. Liberated Prisoners of War from Germany. Prisoners of War Bulletin. Vol. 3, no. 6. American National Red Cross for the Relatives of American Prisoners of War and Civilian Internees. June 1945. I Was in Prison. World’s Alliance of Young Men’s Christian Associations. Geneva, Switzerland. Ca. 1945.

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Karolevitz, Sgt. Robert F. “Prelude to War, That’s Tough Hell’s Bottom Special Battle Practice Course at Wolters.” Dallas Morning News, July 23, 1944. MacDonald, Charles B. A Time for Trumpets: The Untold Story of the Battle of the Bulge. New York: HarperCollins, 1985. Nichol, John, and Tony Rennell. The Last Escape: The Untold Story of Allied Prisoners of War in Europe, 1944–45. New York: Penguin Putnam, 2002. Pate, Maurice. A Report to Relatives of Prisoners. Prisoners of War Bulletin, vol. 3, no. 2. American National Red Cross for the Relatives of American Prisoners of War and Civilian Internees. Washington, D.C. January 1945. Phillips, Robert F. To Save Bastogne. Burke, Va.: Borodin0, 1996. Prisoners of War Bulletin. Vol. 3, no. 1. American National Red Cross for the Relatives of American Prisoners of War and Civilian Internees. Washington, D.C. January 1945. ———. Vol. 3, no. 2. American National Red Cross for the Relatives of American Prisoners of War and Civilian Internees. Washington, D.C. February 1945. ———. Use of Letter Form. Vol. 3, no. 2. American National Red Cross for the Relatives of American Prisoners of War and Civilian Internees. Washington, D.C. February 1945. ———. Vol. 3, no. 3. American National Red Cross for the Relatives of American Prisoners of War and Civilian Internees. Washington, D.C. March 1945. Short Guide to Great Britain, A. War and Navy Departments, Washington, D.C. Prepared by Service Division, Army Service Forces, United States Army. No date. Spinelli, Angelo M., and Lewis H. Carlson. Life behind Barbed Wire: The Secret World War II Photographs of Prisoner of War Angelo M. Spinelli. New York: Fordham University Press, 2004. “Tears and Cheers Follow Former Prisoners on U.S. Tour.” YMCA War Prisoners Aid News. Vol. 2, no. 2. War Prisoners Aid of the Y.M.C.A., 347 Madison Ave., New York 17, N.Y. February 1945. von Luttichau, Charles V. P. The German Counteroffensive in the Ardennes: Command Decisions, ed. Kent Roberts Greenfield. Office of the Chief of Military History, Department of the Army, Washington, D.C. 1960. Wasmer, Henry. Moving Supplies to Prison Camps. Prisoners of War Bulletin. Vol., 3, no. 1, January 1945. Watkins, Sam. Company Aytch. New York: Penguin Putnam, 1999.

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Wear, Robert. Wear Talks to Freed Prisoners. Fort Worth Star Telegram. April 10, 1945, 4. Whiting, Charles. The Battle of the Bulge: Britain’s Untold Story. Gloucestershire, UK:. Sutton, 1999. Whitlock, Flint. Given Up for Dead: American GI’s in the Nazi Concentration Camp at Berga. Cambridge, Mass.: Perseus, 2005. Wiant, Thoburn. Starved by Germans, Yank Prisoners Free. Dallas Morning News, April 2, 1945 (AP wire report). Ziemke, Earl F. The U.S. Army in the Occupation of Germany, 1944–1945. Center of Military History, United States Army, Washington, D.C. 1990. First printed in 1975 as CMH Pub. 30–6.

Personal Correspondence and Interviews Barr, Mildred Caughran. Conversation with author. Ca. 1998. Bradicich, Robert. Correspondence with author. Circa 1999. Caughran, Cordelia. 1945 Magnolia Petroleum Company Calendar. Personal notations of key events. Caughran, D.C., Jr. Letterhead stationery from Camp Wolters, Tex. Early 1943. ———. Letter to parents from Camp Ramp (in or near Le Havre, France), April 12, 1945. ———. Letter to parents from Ashburn General Hospital, postmarked August 23, 1945. Kieffer, Frank. Curator of the Musée de la Bataille des Ardennes. Interview by author in Clervaux, Luxembourg. August 17, 2006. Koener, Christiane. Proprietor of Hotel Koener. Interview by author in Clervaux, Luxembourg. August 17, 2006. Lanham, James S. Letter to commanding officer. August 3, 1942. Lovell, James. Interview by author. 2004. Malouf, Johnie. Interview by author. August 6, 2006.

Internet Sources Camp Lucky Strike (Janville, France). http://www.skylighters.org/special/ cigcamps/emplstrk.html. Cigarette Camps: U.S. Army Camps in the Le Havre Area. http://www .skylighters.org/special/cigcamps/cigintro.html.

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History of the 28th Infantry Division, The. http://www.ranger95.com/ divisions/history_of_the_28th_infantry_div.htm. Mineral Wells, Texas. http://www.mineralwells.com. Minor, David. Fort Wolters. Handbook of Texas Online. Texas State Historical Association. June 6, 2001. http://www.tsha.utexas.edu/handbook/online/ articles/FF/qbf53.html. Senter, Oren P. “The Lone Ranger Laments.” http://www.nps.gov/bibe/ historyculture/a_rangers_lament.htm. Ca. 1944. Uhl, John. Berga: Soldiers of Another War. Educational Broadcasting Corporation, 2003. http://www.pbs.org/wnet/berga/print/beyond_camp.html.

Archival Sources National Archives and Records Administration. Bokor, Edwin. Records group 64, fi lm reel no. 2.209. ———. Bowdery, George. Records group 64, box no. 0474, fi lm reel no. 2.138. ———. Bowdery, 1LT George J. ID 01548358. War Department Files. ———. Bowdery, 1LT George J. Records group 389. ———. Creamer, James H. Records group 64, box no. 0922, fi lm reel no. 3.344. ———. Creamer, James H. Records group 389. ———. Duncan, Harry H. Records group 64, box no. 0863, fi lm reel no. 3.285. ———. Johnson, George R. Records group 389. ———. Kornetz, Milton C. Records group 64, box no. 0422, fi lm reel no. 3.144. ———. Kornetz, Milton C. Records group 389. ———. Kornetz, PFC Milton C. ID 31297198. War Department Files. World War II photos. France. Number 105. American troops of the 28th Infantry Division march down the Champs Élysées, Paris, in the “victory” parade. Poinsett (photographer), August 29, 1944. College Park, Md. 111-SC-193197. http://www.archives.gov/research/ww2/photos/images/ ww2–105.jpg.

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INDEX Page numbers in italics refer to illustrations Aiken, John, 90–91 Allied Expeditionary Force, 53, 128 American Red Cross, 115, 119, 120, 135. See also Red Cross Anderson, James B., 136 Archer, Lloyd, 64 Ardennes, 70, 83, 89, 92, 94, 95 Army, U. S., 12, 16–17, 77, 80, 116 Army National Guard, Texas, 149 Ashburn General Hospital, 136 atomic bomb, 142 Bad Orb, Germany, 116, 117 Baker Hotel, 21, 23 Barr, Betty (niece), 155 Barr, Mark (nephew), 155 Barr, Mildred (Caughran) (sister): career, 155; early years, 1, 9; photograph of, 10, 11; support while D.C. MIA, 99 Bastogne, 83 Battle of the Bulge, 71, 95, 116, 148 Baylor, John R., 18–19 Berga, prison camp, 118 birthdays, 59, 91 Bloody Bucket Division, 56, 148 Bokor, Edwin, 94, 151

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Bowdery, George J., 40, 85, 94, 108, 150 Bradicich, Bob, 86–88 Bradley, Melvin A., 120 bronze plaque (in Clervaux), 90 Bronze Service Star, 138 Brown, Marshall, 64 Buchenwald, prison camp, 118 Burnside, Buddy, 63 Camp Ramp (Recovered Allied Military Personnel), 129 Camp Reynolds, 32–35, 159n6 Camp Wolters: as aviation training facility, 148; D.C. and, 12–13, 15, 23, 28–30, 159n6; deactivation, 19, 148; establishment, 19; Hell’s Bottom, 28–29; letters from D.C. from, 14–15, 16–17, 22, 26, 27, 28; regimentation at, 22; renamed Fort Wolters, 19, 148; size of, 159n3 candy, 42, 65, 71, 125 Carter, Amon G., 126 castle (in Clervaux), 90–91 Caughran, Cordelia (mother): concern for D.C., 96; connection with D.C. during war, xvi; death of, 153–54; letters to D.C., 96–98, 101, 132–34; photograph of, 10; support while D.C. MIA, 115

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Caughran, D.C. Jr.: Army career of, 10–11, 22–26, 29, 32, 40, 84, 141, 145, 146; awards of, 138; Camp Reynolds and, 32–35, 159n6; Camp Wolters and, 12–13, 15, 23, 28–30, 159n6; classified I-A, 10–11; in Clervaux, 68–70, 73–74, 81–82; crossing the North Atlantic, 35, 37; death of, 156; after discharge, 4, 155; early years, 1–2; education of, 8, 9–10, 11; in England, 40–52, 54–56; eyesight of, 16, 25–26, 28, 32; food list from prison camp, 123–24; in France, 56–67, 78–79; health of, 121, 132, 136, 140, 142, 145, 146; James Lovell and, 3–5; letters (see letters); liberation of, 125–26; marched by Germans, 102–103, 106; MIA, 97–98, 110–11; photograph of, 10, 11, 34; physical description of, 1; as prisoner, 93–95, 106–107, 116, 118, 121–24; return home, 128, 129, 134, 135; social life of, 26–27, 30, 45–46, 51, 74; travel in Europe, 48; wounds of, 109–10, 131–32 Caughran, D.C. Sr. (father): business practices of, 7–8; Caughran Brothers and, 2; concern for D.C., 52–53, 73, 96, 97; death of, 154; James Lovell and, 4 Caughran, Denny (uncle), 2 Caughran, Dorothy Dee (later Lewis) (sister), 1, 11, 21–22, 63, 154 Caughran, Elmer Frank (uncle), 63 Caughran, Jennie (daughter), 156 Caughran, Mary Alice (later Deaton) (sister), 1, 9, 11, 99, 155 Caughran, Mildred (later Barr) (sister). See Barr, Mildred (Caughran) (sister) Caughran, Mildred Louise (wife), 147, 155–57 Caughran, Sarah (later Miracle) (daughter), xvi, 156 Caughran, Tom (uncle), 2 Caughran, Walter Brown (cousin), 44, 63–64, 151 Caughran Brothers (store), 2

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“Charge of the Light Brigade” (Tennyson), xi Chesterfield (Cigarette Camp), 129 chewing gum, 50–51, 160n15 Chisholm, Texas, 1–2, 6, 62–64, 112, 149 Christmas, 79, 80–81 Churchill, Winston, 54 Cigarette Camps, 129 Civil Affairs, 32, 39, 40, 41 Civil Affairs detachment D6G1: D.C. assigned to, 40; families of, 99; Germans and, 85, 94, 95; as infantry unit, 83–84; MIA, 93 Clark, Bob, 128 Clerf, Luxembourg, 70. See also Clervaux, Luxembourg Clerf River, 69, 83, 87, 89, 90 Clervaux, Luxembourg: action around, 86–92; American defense in, 91, 92, 95; bronze plague on castle, 90; castle, 90–91; D.C. in, 68–70, 73–74, 81–82; description of, 68–71; German offensive and, 83, 89, 90, 92; letters from D.C. from, 74, 75–76, 79, 80–81; monument to American soldiers, 153, 154; 110th Regiment and, 68–71, 90, 93, 95; photograph of, 87, 152; ridge above, 72–73; snow in, 78; 28th Infantry Division and, 81–82, 92 Clerve River, 69 Cliärref, Luxembourg, 70. See also Clervaux, Luxembourg clothing, U. S. Army, 16–17 Cole, Hugh M., 72, 95 Cordie, Mrs.. See Caughran, Cordelia (mother) correspondence. See letters Creamer, James H., 94, 151 Cronin, John, 111 Dallas Cotton Bowl, 27 Dallas Morning News, 28, 80, 107 Darst, Dorothy, 156 Darst, Fred, 149 Darst, Mary, 156

Index

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Darst, Mildred Louise (later Caughran) (wife), 147, 155–57 Deaton, Dan (nephew), 11, 155 Deaton, Mary Alice (Caughran) (sister), 1, 9, 11, 99, 155 Deaton, Paul V., 64 Department of the Navy, 115, 116 depression, mental, 145 Dewey, Thomas E., 80 Dietrich, Marlene, 21, 61 Dobbs, William, 86–87, 89 dog tags, 17–18, 105 Duncan, Harry, 59, 85, 94, 106, 150 Duncan, Wanda, 150 Edwards, Arch, 63 Eisenhower, Dwight D., 53–54, 55, 77, 128 European Civil Affairs Division, 6901st Regiment, 35 1st Battalion, 110th Regiment, 61 food list from prison camp, 123–24 Form III, 113 Fort Sam Houston, Texas, 146 Fort Wolters, 19, 148. See also Camp Wolters Fort Worth Star-Telegram, 118, 126, 133 France: D. C in, 56–67, 78–79; Gathemo, 61; hedgerow fighting in, 61; Le Havre, 126, 129; letters from D.C., 56–57, 65–67, 129–31; Montbray, 61; Montguoray, 61; Paris, 61, 78–79; Percy, 61; St. Sever de Calvados, 61 Frankfurt, Germany, 129 Franklin, Benjamin, 41 Fuller, Colonel, 90, 91 Garland, Judy, 21 Garson, Greer, 110 Gathemo, France, 61 Geneva Convention, 109, 116, 118 Germany: Bad Orb, 116, 117; Civil Affairs detachment D6G1 and, 85, 94, 95; Frankfurt, 129; High Seas Fleet,

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36; letters from D.C., 127; occupation in Europe, 76; offense of, 83, 86–90, 92, 96; tanks, 86, 87; vehicles, 59–60 Gestapo, 102–103 Given Up for Dead (Whitlock), 121 Göteborg, Sweden, 120 Grand Fleet, The (war ships), 36 haircuts, soldier’s, 60 Hamill, Claud, 23 Hamill, Marie, 23 Hamilton, David Caughran (grandson), 156 Hamilton, Nathan Andrew (grandson), 156 Hamlet (Shakespeare), 27–28 Hardy, F. G., 3 Heater, Gabriel, 80 hedgerow fighting, northern France, 61 Hell’s Bottom, 28–29 hepatitis, 132, 136, 146 Herbert Tareyton (Cigarette Camp), 129 Hindman, Hollis, 64 Hindman, Lillian, 64 Hitler, Adolf, 68, 83, 109 Home Run (Cigarette Camp), 129 Hotel Koener, 71, 74, 84, 90, 153, 153 Howell, Mary E., 143–44 Hürtgen Forest, 69–70 Iron Division, 41 Isbell, Grady, 64 Jewish soldiers, 105, 118, 124–25, 134, 162n12, 163n12 Johnson, George R., 40–41, 85, 94, 106, 151 Johnson’s Civil Affairs unit, 41 Johnston, Roy (uncle), 36 Keystone Division, 56, 148 Kieffer, Frank, 71–72, 102–103 Koener, Christiane, 153 Koener, George, 153

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Koener family, 71, 77. See also Hotel Koener Kornetz, Milton C., 94, 125, 150 Le Havre, France, 126, 129 letters: confi rming D.C.’s MIA status, 111; from Cordelia, 96–98, 101, 132–34; from D.C. in Camp Reynolds, 33–34; from D.C. in Camp Wolters, 14–15, 16–17, 22, 26, 27, 28; from D.C. in Clervaux, 74, 79, 80–81; from D.C. in England, 41–50, 54, 56; from D.C. in France, 56–57, 65–67, 129–31; from D.C. in Germany, 127; from D.C. in hospital, 137–42; from D.C. in Luxembourg, 75–76; from D.C. in POW camp, 94; from D.C. in prison camp, 111–12, 113–15, 114, 118–19; from D.C. prior to departure for England, 39–40; from Dwight D. Eisenhower, 55; from G & J Smith, 99; from John Molitor, 152; from Mary Howell, 143–44; from Mrs. McKissack, 100; soldiers and, 18; from Stella, 53 Lewis, David (nephew), 154 Lewis, Dorothy Dee (Caughran) (sister), 1, 11, 21–22, 63, 154 Limited Service, 15, 16, 17, 22, 33, 34, 40 “Lone Ranger Laments, The” (Senter), 20 Longhorn, 30 Lovell, James, 3–5 Lovell Jr., 64 Lowrie, Taylor, 63 Lucky Strike (Cigarette Camp), 129 luft stalags, 116 Luftwaffe, prison camp, 116 Luxembourg, 68, 69, 72, 75–76. See also specific cities MacDonald, Charles, 73 Malouf, Johnie, 105–106 Manchester, England, 39, 43 marlags, 116 McElmurry, Stella, 30, 51, 53, 79, 130, 150

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McKissack, Mrs. J. E., 100 McLendon-Chisholm, Texas, 149–50. See also Chisholm, Texas medical care, of prisoners, 119, 120, 131–32, 135 Mercer County, Pennsylvania, 32 mesquite trees, 19–20, 62–64 Methodist Church, 62–64, 149 Mineral Wells, Texas, 12, 20–21 Miracle, Paul Reed (grandson), 156 Miracle, Ross Caughran (grandson), 156 Miracle, Sarah (Caughran) (daughter), xvi, 156 Molitor, John, 151–52 Molitor, Marthe, 74, 151 Molitor Pharmacie, 84, 89, 151 Montbray, France, 61 Montguoray, France, 61 monument to American soldier in Clervaux, 153, 154 Mrs. Miniver (movie), 110 Murphy, Audie, 15, 140 National Guard, 41, 70, 148, 149 Navy, Department of, 115, 116 Nazi prison camp, 116. See also prison camps Neary, Bob, 147 Neiman Marcus girls, 140 Newburn, A. L., 36 newsletter, Methodist Church, 62–64 Nichols, Thomas Jr., 64 Normandy invasion, 53–54, 56 Oak Cliff Club, 140 Oflag XIII, prison camp, 125 Old Gold (Cigarette Camp), 129 106th division, 83 110th Regiment, 28th Division: Claude Reed and, 70; in Clervaux, 68–71, 90, 93, 95; in Hürtgen Forest, 69; Johnson’s Civil Affairs unit and, 41; surrounded by Germans, 85 110th Regiment, 1st Battalion, 61

Index

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Pall Mall (Cigarette Camp), 129 Panzer Division, 90, 95 Panzerfaust, 91 Paris, France, 61, 78–79 Parker County, Texas, 18–19 patch, red keystone, 57 Pate, Maurice, 120 Patton, George, 125 Pennsylvania National Guard, 41, 70 Percy, France, 61 Pershing, John J., 41 Pharmacie, Molitor, 84, 89, 151 Philip Morris (Cigarette Camp), 129 plaque, bronze (in Clervaux), 90 postcards, U. S. Army, 12 post exchange (PX), 25 post office basement, 89, 91, 92–93 POW camps in Europe, 117 POW’s, American and Allied, 103, 116, 125, 128–29, 132 prison camps: Berga, 118; Buchenwald, 118; food list from, 123–24; letters from D.C. from, 111–12, 113–15, 114, 118–19; luft stalags, 116; Luftwaffe, 116; marlags, 116; Nazi, 116; Oflag XIII, 125; Stalag III-A, 120; Stalag IX-A, 116, 118, 120; Stalag IX-B, 116, 117, 118, 119; Stalag Luft III, 119–20; stalag lufts, 116; stalags, 116; Stalag VII-A, 128 Prisoner of War Bulletin (American National Red Cross), 115, 119, 120, 135 prison train, 106–107 Proclamation No. 1, 77 Purple Heart, 109–10 PX (post exchange), 25 Recovered Allied Military Personnel (Camp Ramp), 129 recruit training, 27 Red Cross: American, 119; Form III and, 113; International Committee of, 119; laundry and, 47, 49; Prisoner of War Bulletin, 115, 119, 120, 135; supplies to

Index

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soldiers from, 45, 52, 119, 120; support for families and, 115 red keystone patch, 57 Reed, Claude, 70 Rives, Mabyl, 63 Robinson, Edward G., 61 Rockenbaugh, Robert, 21 Rockwall Success, 2 Rogers, Will, 21 Roosevelt, Franklin D., 54, 134 ROTC (U. S. Army Reserve Officer Training Corps), 8 St. Sever de Calvados, France, 61 Saint Vith, Luxembourg, 89 Sebastian, Billy, 64 Sechelski, Tony, 28 2nd Panzer Division, 90, 95 Senter, Oren P., 20, 159n6 Shakespeare, William, 27–28 “Short Guide to Great Britain, A” (U. S. War and Navy departments), 37–38 Shrivenham, England, 39 6901st Regiment, European Civil Affairs Division, 35 Smith, G & J, 99 Smith, James, 121 soap, 77 Spinelli, Angelo, 119, 120 Stalag III-A, 120 Stalag IX-A, 116, 118, 120 Stalag IX-B, 116, 117, 118, 119 Stalag Luft III, 119–20 stalag lufts, 116 stalags, 116 Stalag VII-A, 128 Stars and Stripes (U. S. Army), 77, 80 Supreme Headquarters Allied Expeditionary Force, 53, 128 tanks, German, 86, 87 Tapp, Ted, 64 telegrams, to D.C.’s family, 98, 112, 128 Tennyson, Alfred Tennyson, xi

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Terrell, Texas, 2–3 Texas Army National Guard, 149 Texas Employment Commission, 4, 155 Texas Workforce Commission, 4, 155 Time-Life Books, 70 train, prison, 106–107 turnips, 104 28th Infantry Division: in Ardennes, 95; Battle of the Bulge and, 148; in Clervaux, 81–82, 92; hedgerow fighting and, 61; in Hürtgen Forest, 69; Keystone or Bloody Bucket Division, 56, 148; in Paris, 61; reports from, 83; WWI and, 70 Twenty Grand (Cigarette Camp), 129 United Methodist Church, 62–64, 149 United Nations, 54, 134 United Service Organizations (USO), 25 U. S. Army, 12, 16–17, 77, 80, 116 U. S. Army POW’s, 116 U. S. Army Reserve Officer Training Corps (ROTC), 8 U. S. Judge Advocate General, 125 U. S. Navy POW’s, 116 USO (United Service Organizations), 25 USS Delaware, 36

USS New York, 36 USS Wyoming, 36 U. S. War and Navy departments, 37–38 Valentine, R. M., 64 vehicles, German, 59–60 WACs (Women’s Army Corps), 26, 30 Walters, Sergeant, 28 Ward 168, 136 War Department, 115 Waters, John, 125 Watkins, Sam, 157 Wear, Robert, 119 Wehrmacht, 68, 116 “White Man, The” (newspaper), 19 Whitlock, Flint, 109, 121 Williams, Marshall W., 64 Williams, R. A., 64 winter of 1944 and 1945, 78, 100 Wisenbaker, Ralph, 37 Wolters, Jacob F., 19 Women’s Army Corps (WACs), 26, 30 Woolridge, Joe Frank, 64 World War I, 41, 70 YMCA, 115

Index

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