SUMMER 1944
Red McConnell, my high school friend
called today and said, “Spang’s Steel Mill was hiring school kids to work this
summer.” I told him that I wasn’t 16. He said, “your big enough, God you have
been shaving since you were 10” So I called Spang’s and they said to report to
work in the morning. I was off to work
with no idea of what I got myself into, scared as hell, but I was going to do
my best. The work was hard, hot and dirty. At the end of my first 2 weeks, it
was payday.80 hours of work at 55 cents an hour came to 44 dollars minus 4
dollars for assorted items. I felt
great, a 15 year old kid with 40 dollars in my pocket. I got home as fast as I
could, to show my Mom the money and gave her 20 dollars. Life was great, I had
a job, money that I earned and was doing something for the war effort.
God, life was good!
MARCH 1945
On the 17th of
March, Saint Patrick’s Day, I celebrated my 16th birthday. Right
after school I hurried down to the Jones and Laughlin Steel Corporation was given
a physical and was told to report for work after school tomorrow the 18th.
The J.L. Steel Corporation was started in
God, life was good!
The war in
God, life was good!
AUGUST 14, 1945
World War 2 was over,
Japan surrendered and J&L was a totally different place to work, no more
making parts for bombs. All of it’s energy went into the building of civilian
products, just as it had in the making of those damn bombs, hour after hour,
week after week and month after month, year after year. I have no idea how many
parts of bombs the Seamless Tube produced but it had to be in the hundreds of
thousands. The girls were gone too and I went back to school and back to just
working week ends.
April started spring
training for the high school baseball team. In 1945 the team finished number
two in the state. I said to myself, “go for it.” and so I did. I was always a
half decent hitter. During an inter team game, a sailor home on furlough who
pitched in the minor leagues before going into Navy was pitching against us.
Damn didn’t the first time I came to bat I hit a double off him! I made the
team and what a team it turned out to be. We won the Western Pennsylvania
championship; one of our players was picked to play for the U.S. All Stars. The
game was to be play at Polo Grounds, the home of the New York Giants.
The businessmen in
Aliquippa decided that the whole team should go to New York; they paid for the
transportation, hotel rooms, and meals and gave us spending money. A
seventeen-year-old kid in New York, could life be any better? We went on to
play for the State Championship at Scheib Park, the home of the Philadelphia
Athletics. It was a 3 game series, we won the first, they won the second and
third. It was still a great summer, one that I’ll never forget. I only worked
the weekends but that still put money in my pocket. It was time to go back to
school, and working 3 nights a week as a hooker and pushing a broom on the week
ends.
God, life
was good!
1947
The men from the
military started to come back to work and I was cut back to working just the
weekends. There were over 50 of the high school guys, plus the G.I.’S that were
attending college who also worked the weekends. What an enjoyable time to be
alive. One of the ex Sergeants would give us close order drill. We used our
brooms and shovels as if they were rifles. The ex Sergeant would shout out
“right shoulder arms, left shoulder arms, present arms” and on and on. Then it
was time to learn to march. There wasn’t enough money in the world to see the
laughter and entertainment we had on those weekends. The best part was the
Sergeant was serious. He was going to whip us worthless dumb ass school kids
into the best broom and shovel marching unit in J&L. I think he was
certifiable insane but I treasured his friendship.
June came at last and I
was out of school forever. I began to work 5 days a week at one dollar an hour.
However it was back to being a hooker, (I despised that word), working three
shifts, one week of 8 AM till 4 PM, a week of 4 PM till 12 PM and a week of
12AM till 8 AM. This turn was a killer. I had never stayed up all night in my
life. I did all right till about 6 AM and then it was a continuous struggle to
keep from falling a sleep. In November I spoke to Joe Allen, (my brother Marv
worked for him at one time), or I should say pleaded, cried and begged to get
me off this job. I told him “being called a hooker the rest of my life was more
of a burden than I could manage.” Mr. Allen was the head of all the clerks in
the Seamless and the Welded Tube Mills. Talk about fate he said, “ I have a 74
year old man who was finally going to retire and the job pays one dollar and
twenty five cents a hour, 10 dollars a day! Lord I thought I died and went to
heaven.
I went to Bull Neck and,
in Ape talk, I grunted, “ I won’t be able to take the supervisor’s job that you
felt I was going to acquire in 25 or 30 years.” The new job was wonderful. I
had a stand up desk, a pencil, a piece of paper and a scale that could weigh
10,000 pounds and a bench made of wood that I sat on to eat my lunch. All I had
to do was weigh every 10th pipe and then write the weight on the
piece of paper.
God, life was good!
AUGUST 1948
Things were going great
till one night when I was working the 12 to 8 shift, about 2 am in the morning,
I started to think about how many more years I had to work before I would be
eligible to retire. With my trusted genuine # 2 brown in color J&L pencil I
wrote the figure 65 down (the youngest age you could retire) and under that,
the figure 19, (my age at that time), subtracted both numbers and came up with
the 46. This number plus the 3 years I had previously worked, and the number 49
was staring at me. After I picked my ass up off the floor I said to myself
“Lewis get your ass out of here and into the Army.
At 9 am I was standing
in front of the Recruiting Station. I signed the required papers, the recruiter
checked my height and then my weight 127 pounds, 3 pounds too light. I asked,
“What can I do?” His answer was “go home and eat bananas.” I bought 10 pounds
and stuffed myself. An additional benefit was not moving my bowels for two
days. That was on Friday I went back on Monday, got on the scale. It registered
131 pounds. I never went back to tell Joe Allen I resigned or say farewell to
my buddies or even clean out my locker. That oversight would never happen
again.
AUGUST 15th 1948
I got on a train in
Pittsburgh to Fort Breckinridge, Kentucky to start basic training. I arrived
very late at night. As I got off the train and lined up to be marched to the
Mess Hall, I felt something touching my face it was so dark I had to hold out
my hand to see what it was, it felt like shrubbery. I assumed the engineer must
have stopped the train in the wrong place. We marched to the Mess Hall and went
in one at a time, picked up a metal tray, knife, fork and a coffee mug. I
noticed a very large pot, actually the largest pot I had ever seen, with lots
of steam coming out of it. I slid my tray down the line and a man dressed in
white stuck a huge fork into this large pot. He pulled out 2 very white boiled,
not broiled, pork chops. I said to the man in the white suit, “No thank you,
I’m not hungry.” He looked in pain at my refusal to accept his disgusting white
pork chops. Actually, I was starved. Later in my Army career, I found these men
in white suits had many names, none good, but the one I thought was a mark of
distinction was Belly Robbers!
The next 3 weeks did not
get any better. The camp closed down just before WW 2 ended. The things that
were touching my face the night before, turned out to be grass that had not
been cut in 3 years. There had to be 1,000 men in that Camp and only 1 Mess
Hall. I thought things couldn’t get any worst, they did. No uniforms! That
meant the clothes that I was wearing the extra pair of socks, and under shorts
was all I had to wear for 2 weeks. We finely received our clothing, but another
problem came up, no hangers! But our sergeant solved this problem by selling us
hangers for 5 cents each. Great guy when you consider he could have charged 10
cents for each one.
At that time and place
the Army decided we only needed 6 weeks of basic training. That was only enough
time to be trained to march, fire a rifle and make a bed the Army way. I never
fired another weapon or saw one fired. Basic was over in early October. It was
time to see the Sergeant Major and find out what school I was going to attend.
I went into his office with another man who happened to be from my hometown.
The Sergeant said, “I have 2 openings for Meat Inspector’s School, that is a 6
months course in Chicago.” Fred, the man who was with me, took it. I told the
Sergeant “ No thank you, I want to go to parachute school.” He looked at me in
disbelief. In hindsight, I should have gone to school with Fred. He spent 25
years in the Army and the heaviest thing he had to pick up was a stamp that
said, “PASSED, U.S. GOVERNMENT INSPECTED”. When Fred retired from the Army, he
went to work for the Armor Meat Packing Company. That was the first of 3 huge
mistakes I was to make in my life.
While waiting to go to
jump school, I was given the privilege of keeping the stoves fired in a number
of Mess Halls. This job proved to be great; by the time I left to go to school
I weighted 160 pounds. I was living in a barracks with 5 screwballs that were
getting out of the Army as Section 8’s (mentally unsuitable for service.) The
place was a mad house. It had no heat, no water, and we slept with everything
the Army issued plus 2 mattresses on top of us. To give an example of the
people I was living with, one day after firing the stoves, I came into the
barracks to find one of the nuts with his ear against the wall. After 30
minutes of watching, I went to get the First Sergeant and told him about the
mad man with his ear against the wall. He came back with me and asked the nut,
“ Just what the hell are you doing?” The man replied, “listening,” and gestured
for the Sergeant to put his ear against the wall. The Sergeant did after a full
minute; the sergeant said, “I don’t hear a damn thing.” The nut replied, “ I
know, it’s been like that all day.” The Sergeant and I both laughed so hard we
damn near fell on the floor. This is a true story.
It was now late October
and, with orders in hand, I was off to Fort Benning in Columbus, Georgia.
I got off the train, on
a bus and got off at the Parachute School Office. I walked into the office, up
to the desk and gave my name, rank and serial number to the best dressed
soldier I seen in the short time that I’ve been in the Army. The Sergeant
assigned me to a barracks. As I walked out of the office door, another Sergeant
took one look at me. He decided he didn’t like what he saw and said, “Leg get
down and give me 10.” (Leg is any non-jumper and 10 were push-ups). As I was
going through school someone was always screaming, “Leg give me 10.” By the
time I graduated, I had figured the reason it was always 10 was that neither
the Officers nor the Sergeants who ran the school were able to count past 10!
At the time I went to
Jump School it was 6 weeks long. The 1st week was glider training
learning, how to lash down all kind of Army equipment from jeeps, ammunition,
75 MM pack howitzers and everything else that could be squeezed into that
glider (CG 4A). It was also used to carry 15 men. On Friday of the first week,
I took my first glider ride I was to have two more during my Army career. I
won’t try to describe what the ride was like but the front of my pants were wet
but I still blame the man sitting next to me.
The next 5 weeks was
running, push-ups and more physical training. It was much more then you would
ever need, unless your plans were to someday run around the planet. Next was
jumping from a 34-foot tower that was built to resemble the back-end of an
airplane (C-47). You were strapped into a parachute harness, which was attached
to a 15-foot rope (static line) that, in turn was hooked to a cable and pulley.
You then jumped, falling 15 feet. At the end of the fall I thought I lost my
manhood. You did this over and over, too many times to count, I was told more
men dropped out of parachute training because of the 34 foot tower than any
other part of the 6 weeks of training. Next was the 250-foot tower. Up till
that time that had to be one of the great excitements in my life, pure fun!
Next was learning to pack parachutes, 5 of them. Were talking some very, very
serious business, no horse playing around because the chute you were packing
just maybe the one you jump with. Your had to sign the log book that was stored
in it’s own pocket on the chute. If the chute failed to open, kiss your tail
end good-by of course you still did more push-ups, running and an abundance of
physical training.
The last day of the week
before you made your 5 jumps to qualify for your wings was out and out torture.
You had a physical training test that separated the men from the boys. It
consisted of 21 pull-ups, 50 push-ups, and 60 sit-ups 75 squats jumps and then
run ˝ mile in a matter of a few minutes. You did all this in full combat gear
with out a brake or a drink of water.
We jumped on Monday from
a plane (C-82) doing 100+ MPH. You jumped and fell at least a hundred feet and
with good luck, your chute opens, (this approaches tearing you head off.) but
once the chute opens you’re in for the ride of your life. Tuesday is jump
number 2. Wednesday jump number 3. Thursday jump numbers 4 and 5. School was
done; the despicable Sergeants turn into enjoyable great guys. The very first
thing you did was to go to the Post Exchange and purchase a pair of genuine
Corcoran jump boots (airborne troops still buy them).
Saturday afternoon, in
a uniform stiff as a board from the amount of starch put in them, boots shined
to a high gloss, the Army band playing and the General trooping the line, the
school’s 1st Sergeant behind him put Glider Wings in your left
pocket and platinum Wings on your chest. The pride you have at that time,
knowing that your about to become a member of one of the highest trained men in
the world, could only be described as magnificent. There was a beer bust that
night. You said goodbye to your friends Sunday morning and to your fellow
troopers, the ones who finished the course. Often the course had a 30% drop
out. I was assigned to the 82nd Airborne Division at Fort Bragg,
North Carolina.
God, life was good!
DECEMBER 1948
I got off the train in Fayetteville,
got on a bus for Fort Bragg, only 5 miles down the road. As the bus entered the
Fort, there was a very large sign painted Red, White and Blue, which said,
“Fort Bragg home of the 82nd Airborne Division, America’s Guard of
Honor”. During WW 2, the 82ND was a very highly decorated division
that made 3 combat jumps, Sicily, France the night before D-Day and Holland.
With a lot of hard work and a lot of luck I was going to be a member of this
very proud division. The bus took me to the 82nd Replacement Center
and, after a series of questions; I was assigned to “C” Battery of the 456
Airborne Field Artillery Battalion. I got on a truck that left me off at
Orderly Room of Charley Battery. I walked in and saw a very tall thin man
dressed in a starched uniform, (I soon learned everyone wore starched
everything, and that included under wear for inspection), that fit him as if it
was sewn to his body. He stuck his hand out and said, “my name is Benny G.
Turner, I’m the 1st Sergeant of Charley Battery and glad to have you
join us.” what a change from every Sergeant that I met up to that time. I found
out later that Benny G had been a schoolteacher before WW 2 and, when the war
started, he enlisted. When it ended, he decided to stay in the Army. In the
same room was a man sitting at a typewriter. I introduced myself and he said
his name was “Earl Ray Baker”. He spoke in some strange dialect of the English
Language from some were in Virginia. From that moment, (after getting a interrupter),
Baker was to become as close to me as my two brothers. Benny G sent me to the 1st
Platoon. I obtained a bunk and proceeded to hang up my clothes. The Platoon
Sergeant, Ray Riggins, came by to say hello and to welcome me to the 1st
Platoon. I don’t think Riggins ever got over WW 2. As long as I was in C-
Battery, every weekend he would lock himself in his room and drink. He didn’t
even come out to eat, but come Monday he was a very inspiring soldier and knew
his job. It was now time for me to be given a job. So the Battery Commander,
Captain Buck Davis, who you could write a book about and was absolutely
worthless, sent me to Survey School that was on the Main Post. I lasted 4 days.
That’s when the school started to teach geometry. The teacher of the class
suggested I maybe better suited for the Motor Pool, not as a vehicle driver but
to wash them.
It was back to the
Battery with my tail between my legs. Sergeant Thomas G. Clark came to my
rescue. He took me under his wing and tutored me in the use and operation of
the Army Radio SCR-619 that could be mounted in a Jeep or carried on your back.
Its weight was 33 pounds and had a range of 5 miles. You needed to be up high enough like Mt
Everest for it to reach 5 miles. This radio was to be my second great mistake.
It was my first pay day
since coming back from jump school, and the practice was for you to lined up in
front of the Day Room, walked up to the desk were the Pay Officer counts out
your money. Then you sign for it. I told him he made a mistake and gave me 50
dollars too much. The Officer looked at me and must have thought where do these
guys come from and why me? He said “Son that extra 50 dollars is your jump
pay.” I saluted, turned and walked outside when every man in and outside of
that office started laughing. I said to myself, “You mean I get paid to jump”.
Hell I would jump for the fun of it. In January I have been in the Army for 7
months. It was time to go home.
God, life was good!
JANUARY 1949
I got a train out of Fayetteville
to Washington D.C., then a plane, a DC-3 (Army version C-47) to Pittsburgh,
(cost $16.00). It was terrific seeing my Mom and Dad again, eating good home
cooking and going out with old friends. I think I spent half of my furlough at
my brother Milt’s home watching a new appliance called television. At that time
very few homes had them and you only received one channel (Dumont). I didn’t
care, the cartoons were great and they weren’t too much for my brain to
comprehend. All too soon my 10 days were up and it was time to get back to Fort
Bragg.
The 82nd was
drastically under manned at that time. In C- battery we had 76 men, a little
more then half the men the unit called for. There were no promotions. Jobs that
called for Sergeants, Corporal’s were doing, Privates were doing Corporal’s
jobs and it didn’t get any better. routines were, to lash ropes to the Pack 75
MM Howitzers and run all over camp pulling the damn things, guard duty and
helping in the kitchen (KP). There were Division Parades for every politician
including President Truman and assorted Dignitaries from all over the World
with the 82nd Band playing a song written for the Division by none
other then the late great Irving Berlin. The chorus went like this “ we’re all
Americans and ---proud to be -----we are the soldiers of liberty-----some ride
the gliders to the enemy----others are sky paratroopers and on and on. I was
singing that song in my sleep. Hell I was singing it when I was awake, and I’m
still singing it! In you spare time, if you had any, it was spit and polish;
your work clothes were sent to the cleaners and came back with so much starch
in them that, before you could put them on you had to run your hand down inside
the legs and arms. You would never see a trooper with a wrinkle in his work
uniform. You don’t need too much of an imagination to see what our dress
uniforms looked like. Another example was to take your trucks and Jeeps to an
area where special ramps were built. You would put a front and back wheel on
the ramp, drive up till the truck was tilted and proceed to wash the bottom
with a mixture of gasoline and oil to make it shine. And it worked. As I
reflect back, all this served a purpose. It was to give you self-esteem in
yourself and the Division.
In the summer of 1949
the Division joined in the largest maneuvers since WW 2. We were using the new
C-119’S (Flying Box Cars). In this airplane you no longer had to use the 75
MM’S. We could put our much larger 105MM Howitzers on wooden platforms and then
put them in inside the plane along with the entire gun crew. It was dropped out
of the backend of the C-119 attached to 3 massive parachutes. This was a brand
new procedure. I jumped with about 40 pounds of equipment and 35 pounds of
parachute. The 105’s and I landed and neither the guns nor I received a
scratch. In my 33 jumps I never came close to having an accident. The only
thing worth mentioning about the two weeks in the woods of North Carolina was
that it was hot. No it was very hot. Charley Battery fired Artillery support
for the 3rd Battalion (all Black Paratroopers) of the 505 airborne
Infantry. The Army at this time was still segregated. Our four-man team jumped
with them, sleep with them but best of all, we ate with them. I swear they had
the greatest cooks in the Army and for sure the best of 505th
Airborne Infantry Regiment. One day I had my radio set up close to a road. A
Jeep came speeding down the road with a cloud of dust flying behind it. As it
approached me, I gestured for the driver to slow down. He not only slowed down
but also stopped and put the Jeep in reverse he stopped in front of me. An
officer got out, I saluted and he asked, “How long have you been in the
Division?” I told him and he said, “Then you should know better then have your
jacket outside of your trousers.” (There will be another time 3 ˝ years later
where a part of my uniform decided my Army career.) with that, he was back in
his Jeep, again speeding down the road. The man I was with Corporal Golden, who
was in charge of our 4-man team, asked “Do you know who that officer was?” I
shook my head no. He said, “That was the Regimental Commander of the 505th,
Colonel Westmoreland.” The same William Westmoreland who was in charge of all
the forces in Vietnam. Later the Chief of staff of the United States Army. No
wonder we lost the war in Vietnam. I’m playing war in North Carolina and this
jerk is worried about my uniform. The advantage of the end of maneuvers was
that in groups of 500 men, the Division would send you to Myrtle Beach for 5
days. In 1949 Myrtle Beach had one hotdog stand and one house owed by the
writer Mickey Spillane. Our 5 days were up and it was back to Fort Bragg.
My friend Earl Ray
Baker lived in Norfolk, Virginia, just a few hours from Bragg. On a number of occasions,
he asked me to come and spend the weekend at his home. Not only was his Mom a
gracious Southern Lady, but an incredible cook. Earl Baker’s and my life were
so similar it was astonishing. Some examples. We were both born on March 17th,
both had two children and both were about the same height and weight. Neither
of us drank, both were picked to go to Ranger School, put in the same squad,
both wounded twice and on the same days. We both worked for the Post Office
and, the best was, without knowing it, both bought Green Ford Pintos. We were
both put in jail in his hometown, and on and on. Hell he wasn’t my brother he
was my twin.
We had a number of
characters in Charley Battery. One was Thomas Patterson from New York City. He
came from a family of wealth. He was a medical school drop out and ate Army
food only when he had too. He preferred to eat dinner in the base cafeteria and
never alone. He would ask me and if I was not available, he would take someone
else. He was also one of the few men that did not needed to do very much to a
uniform to look great. He was also picked to go to Ranger School.
Sergeant Mc Nelly could be put in this group but for a very
different reason. He was a terrific guy and loved by every one. He was a short
man and probably didn’t weigh more then 135 pounds. Two stories I like to tell
about Mc Nelly. The day after Pearl Harbor, Mac was sent to the meat market by
his wife for a pound of pork chops, four years later he came he came in the
front door of his home with a pound of pork chops as if it was just a few
minutes since he left. I think that’s a wonderful story. Mac spent the entire
war (WW 2) in Charley Battery and was still in it.
The other story about Mac includes me and is very thought
provoking. I was getting off Guard Duty and the Sergeant of the Guard asked me
to turn in his gun belt to the our Supply Room. It was too early in the morning
for Supply to open so I went up to Mac’s room sat on his bed and waited till he
came up from the latrine were he was showering. While waiting for him, I pulled
the 45-caliber pistol from its holster. I was looking at it and, just as he
walked into the room, I pointed the gun at the outside wall and pulled the
trigger. The damn thing was loaded. Out came the bullet, through the wall, hit
the chimney and back into the room it slid across the floor and stopped at
Mac’s feet. I’m about to dirty my underwear and all he said was, “I hope you
learned something from this.” Needless to say, I certainly did. On no account
ever assume a weapon is empty. Mac was also picked for the Rangers and served
as my Platoon Sergeant in Korea. I was delighted to have a leader who was
excellent under fire. (Especially fire from me!)
God, life was good!
SEPTEMBER 1949
The 2nd
Battalion of the 505th Airborne Infantry, along with ‘B’ Battery
of the 456th Airborne Field Artillery, was selected to
go to Eglin Air Force Base in Florida for 9 weeks. This was for something
called Air Indoctrination Course II for ranking members of the Army, Navy,
Marines and the Air Force. Additionally we were joined by 150 West Point cadets
and 300 R.O.T.C students a week, and, of course, Slim Jim Gavin the ex Division
Commander of the 82nd during WW 2 (and for a few months after I
joined the Division). Slim Jim Gavin, made two combat jumps during the war,
always carried a rifle and was always upfront with his boys. This was the 3rd
time I had been close by to this larger then life man. I can bring to mind that
one time before a jump, he walked down the line of plans and called many of the
old timers from the WW 2 by their first names. That impressed me. He and George Custer of the Civil War fame
were the two youngest men in this nation’s history to be promoted to the rank
of Brigadier General at age 37.
We lived in tents and
sand was in our boots, beds and even our underwear! There were 660 men from the
505th and 100 from “B” Battery. I was filler from Charley Battery
because “B” was short of men. We were jumping at least twice a week, dropping
from 800 to 900 feet. The 660 men from the 505th used 22 C-119’S and
were out of those 22 aircraft in exactly 100 seconds. Baker Battery jumped in 6
C-82’s with 4 Pack 75 MM Howitzers, ammunition and men. We were out of the
planes in 45 seconds (you had to be out of the aircraft rapidly since they are
speeding along at 125 MPH. If you did not get out immediately, you would be
miles from the Drop Zone. Lastly came 8 heavy gliders. After WW 2 all the
Glider Pilots we either discharged or became Fixed Wing Pilots. Subsequently, regular
Air Force pilots who thought flying these canvas-covered oddities with no
motors was groovy, and a challenge, to fly the Gliders. I made 18 parachute
jumps plus two Glider rides while I was at Eglin. One of the Gliders was a
snatch pick up (I will describe it as another time I wet and dirtied my
underwear!) A Glider is parked under two poles with a rope hung loosely between
them. A Troop Carrier (C-47) would fly in at 100 feet off the ground with a
hook hanging from its back end. The hook seized the rope and, that in turn,
seized the Glider. In 11 seconds you went from 0 to 100 miles an hour. I never
again made another GLIDER SNATCH!
One of the benefits at
Eglin Air Force Base was, on weekends you could put your name on a manifest for
a flight. Planes were flying out of there every 20 minutes for all parts of the
country. They also had a Jet with two seats in it that you could sign on for a
ride. After my experience with the Glider Snatch I passed on the Jet ride.
I and 12 other jumpers
got a (B-17-Flying Fortress) to New York City, the B-17 was very cold and had
nothing to sit on other then our parachutes. It took 10 hours to get to the
city. The plane landed at Mc Guire Air Force Base in New Jersey, just across
the river from New York City. The pilot told us to be back at 1300 Sunday.
Billy Williams and I got in a taxi with the pilot and co-pilot two nice guys;
they even picked up the cab fare. I asked the pilot where he thought we should
go. He replied, “Try Greenwich Village.” With that they got out of the cab and
we headed for a bar in the Village. We found a Bar with so many good-looking
women that I said to Billy, “Quick, see if I’m still breathing.” I saw this
stunning blond sitting with her girl friend. Williams and I walked over and asked
if we could buy them a drink. When they said yes, again I almost wet myself.
After a few drinks it was dance time and when I put my arms around this
gorgeous, dazzling, female, I said to myself, “O’ LORD thank you.” She was tall
and probably about 125 pounds. After a few more drinks and more dancing the
girls had to go to the Lady’s Room. The bartender came over to us, killing
himself laughing and asked, “ You two young Paratroopers like those two
beauties?” With our tongues hanging out and some very heavy breathing, we
answered in unison, “Yes, Yes” He said, “ That’s too bad, they’re both men.”
Williams didn’t care he wanted to get married anyway. I would have loved to
taken them back to Fort Bragg, just to watch the troops kill themselves trying
to get a date with one them.
It was back to the plane and back to Eglin Field. I made Williams
take an oath that he would never tell anyone about what happened in the
Village, and of course, as soon as I got back, I told one and all. That weekend
was hilarious and I still chuckle about it to this day.
God, life was good!
DECEMBER 1949
I got back from Florida
the first week of December and it was terrific being among friends again. I
went home with Baker the first weekend and, again Mrs. Baker treated me as one
of her own. Back at Bragg it was the same schedule. K.P. for one week then one
week of Guard Duty and then duplicate it week after week. I received a 10-day
Christmas furlough and it was wonderful to be home for the holidays for the
first time since I left
home. My two brothers, their wife’s and children, my Mom and Dad,
what could surpass a day like this?
I was invited to a New
Years Eve party; little did I realize that night that two of my friends who
were there would die in the coming year in a country that neither they nor I
ever heard of. Nor did I think of the sanity of dying for no reason other than
old men deciding that Korea was the place to stop Communism. Hell, I didn’t
even know what the word meant, but they would start this war like every other
war, but neither they nor any of their family would be sent to fight and die in
it. This was a very ferocious war but if you think about it all wars is.
Someone just wrote a book called “THE LAST GOOD WAR.” This man needs his head
examined. He is talking about WW 2, where close to 500,000 Americans died. He
calls that a good war, SHIT! If that war was a good war I sure would hate to be
in a bad one. This would be the last Christmas I would gather around people
whom I loved and would prove to be especially valuable to me in the next four
years.
JANUARY 1950
This was the start of a
period that would change my entire way of life, not only mentally, the way I
thought about life, the way I choose the people I wanted to be with and those I
did not, the things I thought that were priceless in my life and found that
they didn’t mean a damn. I was to learn that to exist, you needed very little
but when the time came you better have that very little.
I got back to Bragg the
5th of January 1950 and read the notices on the bulletin board there
was an opening for Battery/Battalion mail carrier. I applied for the job and
got it. Life was good again! This was the job description. The Mail Room was in
the Day Room, in the office I had a bunk, desk, chair, sorting case and two
keys. One of the keys was for the office door and the other to open the mail
sacks. I took an oath to guard the mail with my life if required and when I
went to the post office at Division, I had to go to the supply room and strap
on a 45-caliber pistol. I got up in the morning after everyone else, so I had
the whole shower room to myself. Then I went to the Mess Hall where I again had
breakfast by myself, then to the Motor Pool to a get a Jeep. Then I drove to
Division Mail Room, picked up the
Mail for the 456th and dropped off the mail for A, B,
and D (Battalion S4 Supply). Then it was back to Charley Battery where I sorted
the mail and delivered it. It did not take me long to find out I was the most
popular man in the Battery; hell everyone loved the mailman. At 10:00 hours I
was done with my job. Now, for the best part of this job. We had a Coke and
three pinball machines in the Day Room. For filling the Coke machine, the Coke
man gave me 6 dollars a week and the pinball machine owner 4 dollars a week to
keep the guys from pounding the machines to death with anything they could find
useful. I was supplementing my pay by 40 dollars a month, which were only 10
dollars a month less then my jump pay. Up till this time, oh hell, it was the
best job I was to ever have. You know how some guys always have all the luck,
not this time; you could call me ‘Lucky Lewie’, no more K.P. or Guard Duty. I
was a man of wealth, a man who demanded respect, a man with a title, ‘Letter
Carrier’.
The winter and spring went very quickly. On Sunday the 24th
of June, in a country called Korea, the North invaded the South. In 1947 Korea
held an election to unite the north and the south. In the U.N. supervised the
election, the south lost, but backed out of uniting the country. Three years
later, 36,000 Americans, 500,000 North and South Koreans and 1,000,000 Chinese
would die because of politicians. Korea is a peninsula (600 miles long and 135
wide). The South was much weaker militarily and, in my opinion, lead by a
dictator who had not been in Korea for 30 years, The North was communist and
had a strength of character to fight, not so the South. The North crossed the
soon to be famous 38th parallel, and in one week it took the capital
of South Korea, Seoul. On July 1st the U.S. sent in the first unit
of 406 men, it was decimated. It will be followed by many hundreds of thousands
in the next three years.
By the end of July, I
could scarcely recognize old Charley Battery. We had less then 40 men to a
Barracks in May. We now had stacked bunk beds and more then 80 men in each of
the two Barracks. Things were not good, too many men in too close quarters.
These extra men were draftees and sent to Bragg till there was room at other
camps to start basic training. There were arguments, fights and thievery. It
was difficult living like this; I had to get out of Bragg. Fate again was to
step into my life. On the 15th September, the request went out for
volunteers for a new unit being formed and to be called Airborne Rangers, to be
trained at Fort Benning, Georgia. According to the camp newspaper, an estimated
5000 men were interviewed for a little over
400 openings, to this day, I cannot figure out what the
qualifications were that they were looking for. I can remember I went to the
post theater where three Colonels sat at a table. When your name was called you
went before the three officers. You were asked three questions. They said
that’s all, you will be notified if you are chosen. Five days later, I along
with Earl Ray Baker, (I still wonder about the credentials needed.) I was a
mailman and Baker a clerk/typist. We are on a truck, headed to the train
station in Fayetteville and on to Fort Benning. Before I got on the truck a
fellow, who joined the Army with me from my hometown came to say good-bye. He
too was interviewed for the Rangers but was not accepted. After he got out of
the Army, he went to collage and became an Engineer and went to work for
General Electric Corporation. It wasn’t hard to figure, intelligence was not a
quantification to be a Ranger.
OCTOBER 2nd 1950
Training started today,
none of the immature things like screaming in your face or the silly push-ups;
I could never understand how that bullshit made you a better soldier. It was
much better to be treated like a man. Baker and I were assigned to the 1st
Company, 1st Platoon, and 1st Squad. A Ranger Company at
that time had 5 Officers and 107 enlisted men; by comparison a regular line
Infantry Company had 6 Officers and 180 men. A Ranger Company had 3 Platoons of
33 men each. The Platoon was further
divided into 3 Squads of 10 men. Each Squad had 2 Browning Automatic Rifles
(BAR) 4 M-1 Rifles and 4 M-2 Carbines. The Company had 36 Submachine Guns. Crew
served weapons included nine 3.5 Rocket Launchers, nine 60 MM Mortars, three 57
MM Recoilless Rifles and three 30 Caliber Air Cooled Machine Guns. Every Squad
had 5 Sergeants 4 Corporals and 1 Private. What a difference in training. The
Officers, Sergeants, Corporals and Privates, all training together and all
being treated the same, that’s the way an Army should function. The training
was to take 6 weeks; a few of those weeks were up to 60 hours long. The courses
taught were sabotage, hand to hand combat, communications, how to use U.S. and
foreign weapons, land navigation and, my favorite, demolitions. The training
was long and challenging. One of the Rangers was asked by a newspaper reporter,
“What is a Airborne Ranger?” His
response was “tired”. There are two stories that stand out in my
mind about the Ranger School. One night we were taken to a lake and told to
swim to the other side We had a water course earlier on how to take 2 ponchos
strapped together, then put all your equipment in the middle, plus your rifles
and ammo. Hell we’re talking about over 125 pounds and 2 men holding on to the
sides. Needless to say we made it, barely. The other man holding on was friend
Baker. The temperature of the water could not have been much over 50 degrees,
remember it was November. The punch line to this story was neither Baker nor I
could swim a stroke! Talk about two dummies. The other story concerns land
navigation. The squad was taken out at night by truck, given a map, a compass
and sent out to find different areas in the woods of Georgia. It didn’t take
too long to find out that our leader Sergeant Mike Moriarity, who served in the
11th Airborne in the Pacific during WW 2. Rumor was that he was a
Recruiting Sergeant till he joined the Rangers. Baker and I were killing
ourselves being amused on all of these night maneuvers, watching this man who
was going to lead us, making all these mistakes. On one of these maneuvers,
Baker and I, again laughing at our leader, made a very grievous mistake; he was
standing behind us while all this merrymaking was going on. Baker and I were to
pay dearly for this, not his stupidly, but ours.
On November 13th
training was over. Two days later, the 15th,with boots shined,
uniforms pressed, standing proud and ramrod straight, the band playing, we were
presented our 1st Company Guidon featuring the parachute and the
word Ranger. Each of us was awarded Ranger shoulder insignia. At the end of the
ceremonies a train was parked just a few yards away, we go on board and left
Fort Benning for San Francisco Port of Embarkation. The 72nd Army
Band was playing the song “Now is the hour” as the train departed.
God, life was good!
The train was
first-class; we slept in Pullman Cars and our meals were served in the diner,
white tablecloths, and waiters in white jackets and aprons. The ride was
magnificent; you can appreciate the vastness of the country when you travel by
rail. One of the most inspiring things that happened on the ride West was when
the train pulled in to the Kansas City station. The Company was to get off the
train to have dinner in the station dining room. We disembarked the train,
lined up in a column of two’s. The 1st Sergeant called us to
attention, right face, forward march; all 107 Rangers stepped off in unison. A
group of over a hundred people was observing all of this. They were watching
our every move; they applauded all the way into the dining room. The people who
were eating stood up and applauded. I was swollen with pride, first in my
country, second in the people that lived in it, third in the 1st
Ranger Company.
We arrived at Camp
Stoneman, California on November the 18th. We were issued new
fatigues with out any kind of markings. Our Company Commander, Captain John
Striegal (Black Jack) gave 72- hour passes to all of us but warned us to stay
out of trouble. The first night in San Francisco was very nearly our last.
About 15 of us went into an enormous bar and dance hall where the entire place
was nothing but men from the Air Force. Within an hour, all hell broke out and
I contributed what I can do best, I jumped on the stage, grabbed the microphone
and cheered my Ranger brothers on with the Ranger fight song “I want to be a
Airborne Ranger-----I want to live a life of danger, Airborne ----Ranger.
Within minutes a Military Police Major gave us 10 minutes to get off the
streets. I found out military police of San Francisco do not tolerate
hooligans.
The next night Henry
Mansfield, another buddy from Charley Battery and I went out together. We went
to a bar, had dinner and a few drinks. We started a conversation with an older
man who told us he was a make-up artist in Hollywood and invited the two of us
to his apartment. It was just a short walk. His apartment was beautiful. He
brought out his Scotch and soda and two very large photo albums, he was not
lying, he had photo after photo of himself and every movie star I could think
of. After a few more drinks, he brought cheese, grapes and apples. He was a
real gentleman who appreciated the men in uniform. He asked Mansfield to come
into a room where he developed new cosmetics. Fifteen minutes later, the
largest, ugliest women I have ever saw was standing in front of me. I took
another look, and with tears rolling down my face, I was laughing so hard I had
to hold on to the chair to keep from falling down. He was standing there in a
blond wig, high heels, lovely flowered dress and a purse to match. You can
create in your mind this 6-foot, 200-pound burly, mean looking man looking man
(actually if his knuckles didn’t drag along the ground he didn’t look too bad.)
He threatened me with death if I ever told about him in a dress. I swore an
oath that lasted till we got back to camp. I told everyone but not one person
believed me, not even Mansfield.
NOVEMBER 25th 1950
We boarded the
troopship General C.G. Morton at 1630 hours, passed under the Golden Gate
Bridge, and waved goodbye to California. I noticed a lot of the men on board
were older than we were. They were wearing rows of ribbons, all veterans of WW
2. All of these vets surprised me. Actually there were many more of these poor
guys than regular Army troops on the ship. My curiosity was so great that I
stared talking to a few of them and was told that they signed up, before being
discharged after WW 2, into the inactive reserve, with the assurances that
women and children would go before they would. The Korean War started and the
Secretary of War activated them before the active reserve. With only two weeks
of a refresher course, they were on their way to war again. The ship had well
over 2000 men on board but fate again saved me. The 1st Squad was
assigned to the ships laundry. The ship belonged to the Navy but was manned by
the Merchant Marine. The man that who ran the laundry was the original ancient
mariner, and he took an instant fondness to the 1st Squad. The food
on board was just edible but not for us. For the 14 days that the ship took to
cross the Pacific the old man brought the 10 of us breakfast, lunch and dinner.
When we crossed the International Date Line (180th Meridian), the
old man gave each a card stating that we now belonged to The Domain Of The
Golden Dragon, (I still have mine). On December 9th the Morton
docked in Yokohama. Before the 1st Squad disembarked, we made a
special visit to say goodbye to the man who made our trip so enjoyable. We each
in turn, shook his hand, gave him a hug and he wished us well. We all had a
tear in our eye. For me it was like saying goodbye to my father.
The Company boarded a
train to the southern end of Japan to Camp Zama there we completed processing,
received cold weather equipment and went to a firing range to check our
weapons. At 1700 hours on December 16th we departed Japan, traveling
the 150 miles to the port of Pusan, Korea by ferry. We arrived in Korea at 0700
hours December 17th. The Company spent the night in a warehouse. In
the morning the 1st Platoon was flown to Kimpo Airport to help
destroy anything that couldn’t fly or walk. Hell, I’m in the war! The Chinese
were just a few miles up the road and there was nothing between them and us.
With gasoline, bombs and a few hundred feet of primer cord I was about to see a
performance of what I had learned early. We boarded trucks, lit the fuses and
got out of there as fast as the trucks could travel. What a site, it was just
short of an atomic mushroom cloud. My first smell of war was when our trucks
entered a city called Young-Dong-Fo; the burning houses and the smell of death
is something that will never go away. The 2nd and 3rd
platoons took a train from Pusan to the central front and attached to the 2nd
Infantry Division. We were assigned that first night to guard Division
Headquarters and Division Commander General Robert Mc Clure. To assist us was
the ferocious and highly trained 2nd Division Band. The poor souls
haven’t had a rifle in their hands since they were in Basic Training. We spent
about an hour showing them how to load their carbines, but I believe if the
Chinese got that close they were better off throwing their horns and drums at
them. Providence was on our side; that night, the General, his staff, the band
and the Rangers all survived the night. The next few nights we patrolled beyond
the front lines without contacting the Chinese. We were billeted in a schoolhouse
on an incredibly cold Christmas Day 1950. We had a warm dinner, the last we
would have in a very long time. By the end of December the 2nd
Division was back in action, assigned to the Wonju-Hohengson area. Wonju was
the center of the American line, an important rail and road center with five
important supply routes. The Rangers were working in front of the 23rd
and 38th Regiments. The Rangers began a period of daylight patrols;
a 30-man platoon normally went on these patrols with two men about 50 yards to
the front. These two men were called scouts. If contact was made with the
enemy, they were more often than not the first to be shot at. When Baker and I
were in map/compass training and found out our Squad Leader Mike Moriarity
could not read a map, he heard and saw us laughing at him. I also found that he
had no sense of humor; it was now Moriarity’s revenge. “Baker, Villa scouts
out.” He finally went over the edge and was out to get the both of us killed.
Either the Chinese or Mad Mike was going to send the two of us home in a body
bag. On a patrol one day I had just stared to heat a can of C-Rations when Mad
Mike told me to stop what I was doing and get my ass out of that hole and back
to scouting. I never looked up and continued to heat my C-Rations until I heard
him slide the barrel of his 45-caliber pistol back. That weapon was now loaded
and pointed at my head. Now he had my attention. I looked at his eyes and knew
Mrs. Villa was about to get a telegram saying that her baby son Lewis was
killed in action while heating a can of beans. I heard Mad Mike say, “I’m
giving you a direct order” I really never heard the word order because I was
out the hole and 20 feet up the road by the time he got order out of his month.
(At a reunion 35 years later he told Baker and I that in his 25 years in the
Army he never encountered two finer solders! That statement conformed that Mike
was insane.
On New Years Day 1951,
a four man patrol made up of Sergeants King and Grim and Lublinski (a Polish
National) and PFC. Spence were trapped and captured by the Chinese. None of
these men would be seen again. The Russians took Lublinski and the other three
will die in a Prison camp. On January 2nd patrols from our Ranger
Company went six miles west along a railroad line from Young-Dong Station, then
north to ambush a Chinese outpost near a bridge. Sgt. O’Leary was killed while
on a rail-line patrol. On January 7th three Chinese divisions
attacked the 2nd Division positions around the communications center
of Wonju. Fighting a delaying action, the Rangers were doing my favorite thing,
blowing up bridges and rail lines. At 0945 hours on January 9th the
1st platoon, lead by Lieutenant Heath, was on patrol just south of
Chungchon. We encountered an enemy force and engaged it. Five minutes into the
skirmish we realized that our 30-man platoon ran into an estimated 200 Chinese.
We radioed Lieutenant Herman (West Point class of 46), acting company
commander, to come running. He did with the 2nd and 3rd
platoons. The shooting continued into late afternoon when both sides broke
contact and withdrew. A number of the Chinese were seen to fall but the 1st
platoon also had two Rangers wounded so badly that they were air lifted
stateside. We said goodbye to Sgt. Heedt and Nick Delfine, who made three
combat jumps in Europe and never got so much as a scratch. His luck ended in
Korea in a little less then a month.
On January 11th,
while on patrol, we entered a mountain village, Bud Harding approached a women
squatting in front of a hut and he said, “Hello mama-san”. The women fired a
pistol into Harding’s chest, killing him instantly. The village paid
retribution immediately. On January 16th while on ambush about one
mile into the front of the 38th Regiment, we received orders to
advance to the Wonju-Chenchon road until we made contact with the Chinese. A
battery of artillery was moved forward to support the mission. Early in the
operation we were to investigate a report of 40 Chinese in the town of Kirichi.
After entering the town, we radioed back, “No Chinese communist forces, only 40
women, will remain over night.” We continued on our assignment and returned on
the 19th. Starting January 20th to the 31st we
continued the deep patrols by day and night in the vicinity of Sillim-ni.
We decided no more carrying every thing we had on our backs. We
were not authorized any vehicles, so the company commander sent four of our
Rangers back to Pusan to relieve the Army of four Jeeps. As the Jeeps were
being unloaded from a ship our four Rangers mounted the motor vehicles and
drove to the closest truck repair station and had a 30 Caliber Machine Gun
mounted on each Jeep. On January 28th we passed through the deserted
town of Wonju ‘again’, but this time we noticed a destroyed bank with only its
vault intact. The temptation was too great. With the use of a 3.5 Rocket
Launcher the door swung open and we each shared a very large amount of Korean
money. On the way back, one of the Jeeps was ambushed, Yates was wounded and
Waters captured (he would die in a prison camp).
On the last day of
January, along with a unit of the famed French Foreign Legion, We patrolled an
area East of Chipyong-ni known as the Twin Tunnels. The ground around these
railroad tunnels was fiercely contested; patrolling those long dark passageways
was to say to the least a very freighting experience. On the 3rd of
February we were back in action in the front of the 38th Regiment. A
search patrol made no contact, so we employed one platoon as a decoy while the
other two platoons remained in hiding. The Chinese took the bait. A short,
sharp firefight started. While in pursuit of the Chinese force, several streams
had to be crossed; our feet began to ice up in the intense cold. It was
necessary to break off the contact and return to friendly lines. On the night
of February 4th, we moved into an assembly area near Hong-song. The
move was made to facilitate another operation; a raid on a North Korea
Regimental Headquarters located nine miles behind enemy lines at a town named
Chang-mal. The planning for the raid was jointly planned by G-3 from the 2nd
Division, the 38th Regiment and by our company commander, Lieutenant
Herman. The general plan was that the Rangers would leave around noon and
arrive at Chang-mal well after dark; after the mission was completed we would
return under cover of night by a different route, hiding out in daylight if
necessary.
Communication would be
with a fixed wing liaison plane equipped with an SCR-300 Radio. The plan was
that the plane would pass over our route of march at 1700 hours on the 6th
and 0900 hours on the 7th. We gave specific instructions that the
plane not circle overhead as this could reveal our position. Flights overhead
were to be on a straight pass and on the second pass contact would be made.
.
MISSION TO CHANG-MAL
At 1352 hours, on the 6th
of February 1951, the 1st Ranger Company and our leaders were
informed of the known enemy position; we crossed the line of departure. Moving
with only the use of a compass and map over difficult territory, our officers
did an outstanding piece of work of land navigation. We traveled light; the
greater part of the weight was ammunition. The riflemen carried cartridge belts
and two bandoleers, plus three to six hand grenades. All the ammunition was
tracer. Near the village Song-bau, we left two squads to cover the company from
the ridgeline while the rest moved along the valley floor. On the ridgeline,
the covering force came under attack. While pinning down the enemy, the
remainder of the company moved to the flank of the enemy and annihilated them.
The movement North continued. It was a long and exhausting march in the cold
and deep snow. There were several crossings of ice-cold streams and the fatigue
was beginning to show among the men. As dark closed in, we heard enemy forces
movement but we continued on the mission. A source of constant anxiety was the
barking dogs. As we were nearing Chang-mal, one platoon went forward, circling
as it went to attack from the flank. The remainder of the Rangers was
positioned on a line to serve as a center of fire. A number of lights were seen
in the houses. We were close enough to hear their conversations and also the
beating of my heart. Our interpreter identified them as North Korean. From a
range, at some places as close as fifteen feet, we opened fire. The boom of the
grenades and the roar of small arms fire was not only freighting to the Koreans
but to me along with them. They were completely taken by surprise and they
panicked. We saw them coming out of windows and doors and running in all
directions. The firefight lasted a little over ten minutes. The raid was
completed but fire was coming from the Koreans on the flanking ridges. This
fire was soon suppressed. The official report stated that five machine guns,
three burp guns, twenty rifles and three prisoners were taken in the raid. The
prisoners said their battalion was headquartered in the village and they were
members of the 12th Infantry Division.
Using the alternate route that at times took us deeper into enemy
territory; we began our long and risky march home. We had three men wounded,
two from my 1st squad. Joe Simmons was shot in the arm and Wayne
Sharp was hit twice in the leg. With such a long distance to go and moving
cross-country hampered by the wounded, LT. Herman decided to leave the 1st
squad with
the wounded men near Su-Don. Meanwhile, the rest of the company
made it’s way back to friendly lines. An attempt would be made to come back by
helicopter after the most seriously wounded man. We, (1st Company),
had no radio communications with friendly forces; the plan to communicate with
the liaison had gone amiss when the pilot could not locate the Rangers. The
company got back to friendly lines evading North Korean search forces. Spotting
enemy observation posts overlooking the town of Hong-song, we cut enemy wire
lines in passing and returned to the 38th Infantry positions on
February 7th at 1530 hours. The helicopter to be used to pick up our
wounded came forward to the 38th Infantry positions but developed
engine problems and could not continue.
The stay behind squad consisted of 10 men of the 1st
squad 1st platoon. They were squad leader Sergeant Moriarity, George
Early, Harry Schroeder, Earl Dansbarry, Jim Clopton, Glen Hall, Earl Baker, Lew
Villa and the two wounded men, Joe Simmons and Wayne Sharp. In later combat, four of these men would be
killed in action and all but Moriarity were wounded. Sharp, Baker and Villa
were to be wounded twice. The squad continued to lie low hidden in a Korean hut
that had a family of three men and two women living in it. An outpost was set
up on a hill overlooking the road and the hut. Hall (a American Indian) was to
take the first watch. He was told to observe and report enemy movement and to
take no action that would disclose our position. Baker and I were keeping watch
from the hut; an hour later we were all shocked to hear a single shot ring out
from Hall’s location. Moving cautiously up the hill we were relieved to find
Hall still in position with a smile only an Indian could have. On the road
below him laid a dead North Korean messenger with the wheels of his bicycle
lying beside him. Hall apologized stating it was a target he could not pass up.
We quickly hid the evidence and returned to our positions, again cautioning
Hall to only observe and take no action. A short time later Hall’s rifle spoke
again. Another messenger joined his ancestors; if I was not so damned
frightened I would have found this very amusing. In a later action Hall was
awarded the Distinguish Service Cross. It was time to get Hall off the hill
before he had the whole Korean Army marching down that road. Again a short time
later, Sergeant Moriarity was standing on the road and noticed another Korean
soldier walking towards him. He stepped behind a tree as the Korean passed. He
felt the Sergeant’s 45 pistol in the back of his head. Not a bad days work, two
dead Koreans and one POW. With both the helicopter and the relief force a no
show, it was time for the squad to take action on it’s own.
We made a litter for Sharp and would use the two civilian Korean
men, along with the prisoner and one of our men, to carry him. The prisoner
refused, it was his mistake. The other wounded man Simmons, pulled his 45
pistol, placed it right between the prisoner’s eyes, knowing Simmons we all
thought another Korean was about to meet his dead relatives. The Korean had a
change of heart.
At that moment a
welcome sight appeared. It was 1st Sergeant Castonguay, “Custer” as
we in the 1st affectionately called him, because of his being in the
horse cavalry before World War 2. He joined the Army in 1935 at age 18. When
World War 2 started he volunteered for jump school and was later assigned to
the 517th Parachute Infantry Regiment. He jumped in France and fought
in four major campaigns.
When the war ended he came home and was a 1st Sergeant
in the 505th Airborne Regiment at Fort Bragg till he again
volunteered for the Rangers in 1950. He will also be awarded the Distinguished
Service Cross. He was only 5’6” tall and 140 pounds but the man had no fear, no
fear that would later cost him his life. Not happy with the efforts to assist
the 1st squad and it’s wounded, Sergeant Castonguay came through
enemy lines on his own. Under his leadership the march back to friendly lines
began. In a straight line the distance to return was about six miles, but
nothing in Korea was in a straight line. It took a great amount of physical
exertion to get our wounded through enemy territory that included eight ridge
lines each of which represented a considerable problem.
The raid at Chang-mal
was head lined in the Stars and Strips (an Army newspaper). The Associated
Press wrote that this raid ranks in history with the Roger’s Rangers raid on
the Saint Frances Indians and the WW 2 Rangers raid on the Italian Bersagleri
at Sened Station in North Africa. Each involved a long and difficult march
through enemy territory, a winning surprise attack and a rapid withdrawal.
God, life was good
February 1951 and the
Chinese were on the move South again. The 23rd
Infantry Regiment of the 2nd Division with an attached
French Battalion, were assigned a threefold mission: defend the Chipyong-ni
area, the left flank of the 2nd Division and deny the enemy the use
of the important road network in the vicinity of the town. Chipyong-ni is a
crossroads town in central Korea, located about 25 Northwest of Wonju: the town
is circled by eight hills that reach as high as 500 feet. A single railroad ran
through town.
Colonel Paul Freeman, commanding officer of the 23rd,
recognized that using the high ground was an ideal defensive positions,
Freeman’s only problem was his 4,000 men were too few to cover the great
distance around the town. Freeman dug his forces in a circle perimeter on the
hills around the town. It was hard digging in the frozen ground and it was
covered with snow.
Freeman had more then enough ammunition for the 37th
Field Artillery but it was a different story for “B” Battery of the 503rd
with their huge 155 MM guns. They needed a lot more ammunition.
On the 9th
of February, the 1st Rangers moved by truck to Chipyong-ni and
attached to the 23rd. Infantry Regiment. We notice on arrival that
the guns of the artillery pointed East, West, North and South. It did not take
a military genius to know we were about to be surrounded. At 1900 hours on
February 11th the company left the Chipyong-ni perimeter on a combat
patrol. The mission was to enter the town of Miryong-ni and then the high
ground to the northwest to find the location of the enemy.
We cleared Miryong at 2150 hours and found the enemy entrenched on
a ridge to the west. A Chinese sentry challenged us; none of us spoke Chinese
so the only answerer we could give him was at the end of a rifle. The firefight
lasted about an hour. The enemy was using heavy machine guns and mortars. We
fought our way into the Chinese positions and seized two prisoners before
withdrawing. Corporal Jim Dance was killed, Sergeants Meanly and Coffee
wounded. We returned to friendly lines at 0140 hours on the 12th of
February.
Another casualty of the
patrol was French correspondent Jean M. de Premanville of the Agency Press; he
was hit by machine gun fire. We tore a door off a school and, with this
improvised stretcher, Baker, two others, and I carried him back to our lines.
His life ebbing from his wounds, de Premanville’s last words were, “I came for
a story and got it.”
On our return from the
patrol we, along with Engineers from ‘B’ Company 2nd Battalion, formed
the Regimental reserve. The reserve positions were under frequent 82 MM AND 120
MM mortar fire. Our squad was inside a hut
making oatmeal for breakfast when a mortar round exploded outside
the door of our hut. George Early was sitting with his back against the
doorway, shrapnel from the exploding round hit him in the head killing him
instantly. He was the first from our squad to die; he will not be the last.
In a clock like fashion
the perimeter was arranged with the 1st Battalion at 12 o’clock, the
3rd Battalion at 3 o’clock, the 2nd Battalion at 7
o’clock and the French from 7 to 11 o’clock. As we prepared ourselves, all the
signs pointed to an increased enemy build up (little did we realize how large a
build up) in preparation for an attack. On the night of the 13th the
Chinese struck. As usual, Baker and I were on an outpost just above the company
area and as usual, Baker was asleep. First came the sound of bugles. This was
the first time we heard them. Then voices singing from all points of the
compass, then the sound of cymbals followed by flairs that lit the sky as
bright as daylight. In a different situation I would have applauded. Just
before midnight a strong artillery and mortar attack began to pound our
positions. One landed not far from Baker and I, this was a bit too close and as
I leaped on top of my buddy Baker, he asked, “What the hell are you doing?” I
responded, “If it’s my turn to die your going with me”, and I met it. (Years
later I changed the tale saying I was on top of him to take the bullet so he
could go home and marry his girl friend Mert.) This was followed by a powerful
assault on the 1st Battalion. The attack quickly spread around the
perimeter. Heavy fighting lasted throughout the night, and, just before
daylight, the Chinese withdrew to escape being exposed to air and artillery
fire. Two full Chinese divisions, 20,000 men were attacking from every
direction.
Early on the night of the 14th, the Chinese resumed
their assault striking heavily at the 2nd and 3rd
Battalions. The Chinese were losing a lot of men yet these brave soldiers keep
coming on.
At several points the perimeter had been penetrated. Hour after
hour Colonel Freeman stayed at his radio asking for air strikes, but no
aircraft appeared. He was not told there were units that were in far more
difficulty then his was, so they got the fighter aircraft. Air supply for our
surrounded town however, began to arrive. The Ranger’s were asked to direct the
cargo planes (C-119). Soon the planes rumbled overhead, dropping tons of
supplies by parachutes. But these were not the type of supplies that Colonel
Freeman needed. A great quantity of artillery ammunition was dropped. However,
the 23rd had more of this then it could use. We badly needed mortar
rounds, rifle and machine-gun ammunition; none of these were among the items
that were
dropped. I sensed the Chinese supply system was much more advanced
then ours; they never give me the impression that they were low on ammunition.
Helicopters did fly in and take out some of the most badly wounded
men. One of the helicopters dropped straight down behind regimental
headquarters. The man who stepped out wore a pile cap with three silver stars
and a set of jump wings. The solders could hardly believe their eyes. There
stood General Matt Ridgeway, the man who parachuted into France on D-Day at the
head of the 82nd Airborne Division. The two commanders sat down to
talk. The story was for Freeman to hold out for one more night and help would
be on the way.
The Chinese had to be saying, you Americans haven’t seen nothing
yet wait till we send in our best troops.
At 03:15 hours on the 14th a single-minded Chinese
assault shattered G company defenses. A hastily organized group made up of the
1st Ranger platoon (30 men) and 28 men from F Company under the
leadership of Captain John Ramsburg from the 2nd Battalion staff. I
will never figure out how command thought that 58 men could take back what 180
men could not hold. We formed up behind a fold of ground; I looked to my left
and my good buddy Baker was there. On my right, to my surprise was old Sergeant
Casonguay; I thought to myself what the hell is that old man doing here, but I
was glad to have them both with me, it stiffened my spine. Some one said go,
06:15 hours and we charged up the hill shouting at the top of our lungs, Baker
went a few steps and was hit in the shoulder, I was hit in the hip and leg. The
Chinese positioned there machine-guns well, interlocking fire raked the men as
they charged up the hill. Rangers Halcomb, Canon, Lutz and Moseley were hit.
Captain Ramsburg was hit in the chest. My platoon leader Lieutenant Heath was
killed. Sergeant Casonguay made it to the top of the hill and captured a
machine- gun nest and killed the four men in it. He continued to man the nest till
he was carried to the aid station. His luck had run out after two wars. He was
fatally wounded, a portion of his face was shot away; he was awarded the
Distinguish Service Cross for his actions. Glen Hall, the American Indian was
another of the few to reach the top of the hill. Under heavy fire he moved to
the flank where the platoon was expected to be. The Chinese occupied the
position. Hall killed five of the enemy in a trench and occupied it. Though
wounded Hall kept up a deadly fire on the enemy keeping them from attacking the
small Ranger force on the hill. Without additional support the handful of
Rangers were doomed. Chinese pressure forced the Rangers from the hill. Later
when the hill was retaken, a body count
of Chinese around the trench
Hall had used lay 11 dead plus the 5 he killed early. He was
awarded the Distinguish Service Cross. He would loss his life in a later
action. Only a handful of Rangers remained, F Company’s platoon suffered
equally. Freeman had to made a crucial decision. He released what remained of
his reserve.
At 08:00 hours the 2nd and 3rd Ranger
platoons along with the engineers from B Company were ordered to attack and
regain the lost G Company position. The Chinese on the hill were being
prevented from following up their success. An artillery officer put a quad 50
halftrack back into action. When assured only the enemy and American dead
remained on the hill, he occupied the gunner’s seat and placed heavy fire on
the hilltop. Three tanks added the fire of their guns. But it was not the
rifles of the infantrymen that held the Chinese out of Chipyong-ni; it was the
terrible fire of the big 155 MM cannons emplaced behind the foot soldiers. The
gunners were shooting shells containing white phosphorus that burned as long as
it was exposed to air. Lowering the howitzer tube almost to the level, they
fired six rounds only the length of a football field, I was in a position to
watch the Chinese running to get over the crest of the hill, it was almost
funny, I would have laughed but I was hurting to badly.
It was now afternoon. By three o’clock it was accepted that
infantry alone would not be able to dislodge the Chinese. The short winter day
was fading fast. The order given, four tanks were to circle around behind the
Chinese position and attack from the rear. The tanks moved out, but they ran
into a minefield. The mines had to be dug up one by one and this took time.
Every hour, every minute, was precious. If the strength of the Chinese was not
broken before dusk, we the men at Chipyong-ni would face a third night of
hell-without aid, with little ammunition and with little hope.
True to General Ridgeway’s word, the cavalry came to the rescue.
Colonel Crombez of the 1st Cavalry and 21 tanks from the 6th
Tank Battalion (new M-46 Patton’s with
90 MM guns) fought their way seven bloody miles, losing two tanks. On their
charge to Chipyong-ni, to meet them was Colonel Freeman. He shouted above the
roaring engines of Crombez’s tank “God, but we are glad to see you!” Crombez’s
answered “God but we’re glad to be in here.”
Later I was to meet a
tanker of the 6th Tank, Tom Lyke. This was not to be the first time
he came to rescue Rangers, or the last time. The 6th Tank would lose
more tanks in aiding the Rangers. Tom Lyke was to become a life long friend. In
later years he was, and is, the only non-Ranger to be a regular remember of the
Ranger Origination. Crombez’s cavalry arrived at
17:50, hours- only a few minutes before sundown-they had saved the
day.
Then a strange thing occurred all around the perimeter. The
Chinese began to leave their positions and move northwest. A light snow began
to fall, covering thousands of this brave Chinese Infantry. On G Company’s
hills alone lay 1600 intermingled American and Chinese dead.
The siege of Chipyong-
Ni, one of the greatest defensive battles ever fought, was over. To this day
the tactics used are taught at West Point.
The 1st Rangers with their patrol action opened the
battle. Their performance at G Company hill helped stop the enemy penetration
of the perimeter. This was the first defeat of the Chinese forces since they
entered the war in November. The 1st Ranger Infantry Company was
awarded It’s first of two Presidential Unit Citations. The Rangers who were
killed at Chipyong -ni were:
1st
Lieutenant Mayo Heath-----1st Sergeant Romeo Castonguay
Richard Geer Robert Grubb Harold Rinard
Robert Byerly John Knigge George Early
Edmund Mekhitarian
William Graddy John Lutz
Earl Dansberry Jim Galey Bill
Wisnieski
Glen Hall
Carl Halcumb Earl Cannon
Tony Lukasik Cecil Mosley Al Nichols
Bob Geer
Mark Goyen John Miesse
Cletus Colbert Vince Troche Bob Laydon
Tom Simpson Eugene Meyer Ed Meyers
Earl Baker
Lewis Villa Dick Cole
On the 16th a truck convoy took out the wounded. Before
we left Old sergeant Castonquary was on a stretcher between Ranger Tony Lukasik
and me, his last words were “Boys, that was one good fight.”
I was taken by truck to
a M.A.S.H. unit not too far from the front lines, I wasn’t there too long
before being put on a Hospital Train for the trip South. I had a lot of pain
coming from my left foot. I asked the nurse if she would do something to stop
the pain. She took my boot off, looked at my foot, found nothing and turned the
boot upside down and a piece of shrapnel rolled out. The shrapnel hit my wallet
that had a silver dollar in it. The
shrapnel rolled down my leg and into my boot, which in turn was
cutting my foot and causing all the pain.
The train stopped at
the harbor in Pusan. I was put on the Hospital Ship USS Consolation. For the
first time since I left the states I had clean white sheets, a white blanket,
three great hot meals a day with room service. The Navy even washed my clothes.
I can’t remember but I think I had those same cloths on since December; come to
think of it I only shaved twice in all that time. The stay on the good ship
Consolation was not to last. After five days I was put off the ship at Sasebo,
Japan, onto another hospital train that took me to the 141st General
Hospital in a very large city named Fukuoka in Southern Japan.
At this particular time,
with the all wounded coming from Korea, the operations were done on an assembly
line basis. The room I was in had 40 beds, all occupied and all waiting for
everything from amputations, brain surgery or guys like me that needed some
Chinese shrapnel taken out. To illustrate the mass production; the medic that
gave the penicillin shots used one very large hypodermic tube. All he would do
was change the needle, (if he remembered
to or forgot who was the last man to get a shot. If he did, you were lucky and
got two.) soon it was my turn for the operating room. Fifteen minutes before, a
nurse gave me a mixture of something that put me in a dream world with little
blue birds, fluffy white bunnies and beautiful young ladies. I’ve spent a
lifetime trying to duplicate that mix, again with no luck. I was put on a
gurney, wheeled into the operating room and given a spinal. The surgeons
started to repair my left leg. The whole time I was on the table I was
entertained with the story of the great time they had the night before.
I was not healing well but was given a pass once a week. To be out
of that very over crowded ward was marvelous. On my first pass I walked by a
fruit stand with the largest red strawberries I had ever seen. They were
beautiful. I put up six fingers to the little Japanese man, and he put six of
these gems in a bag. I found a park bench nearby, sat down and bit into them. I
let the
juice run down my chin and found these strawberries to be the
sweetest things I had eaten in my whole life.
When I got back to the ward I told the guys about my magnificent
find. A nurse overheard my conversation. She asked if I knew what the Japanese
used to grow those large sweet strawberries. No was my answer and, with that,
she thanked me for giving her the best laugh she had in weeks. She proceeded to
tell me about the Japanese men that go out at night with a pole on their
shoulder and a large wooden bucket on each end. They would go from outhouse to
outhouse cleaning them out, take it home, mix it with water and pour it on
their crops. The name the GI’S gave them was Honey Dippers. On my next pass I
went back to the same shop and asked for six more. I figured he had monopoly on
the best out houses in town.
On the 17th
of March I celebrated my 22nd birthday with a pass. I had dinner,
(don’t know what I ate and was afraid to ask), had a few Japanese beers that I
found I liked, (didn’t ask what they used to make it.), but it was great.
I still was not healing
and the damn wound became infected and had to be drained every two days. On the
25th of March 1951 I was in the sunroom and heard the murmur of
aircraft engines coming from the North. They flew over the hospital and I
counted 102 C-119’s, C-82’s and C-47’s. These are used to drop paratroopers and
I’m in a hospital. All my training and I will not get to make a combat jump,
(this was to be the last mass combat jump in Airborne history.) The next day
the paratroopers of the 187th RCT and the Rangers jumped a few miles
north of the 38th parallel.
All of April passed and
I was still not healing. The 10th of May the head surgeon called me
into his office and said, “I think your going to loose your leg.” I never said
a word. The very next morning I packed my bag, got on a train and headed for
Korea.
The thing I noticed about military police was as long as you were
headed back to war that they never asked for your papers. It was only when you
were headed away from war with no papers that they got very angry and wanted to
practice beating your head with those very long wooden clubs they carried. I
got a train to Sasabo, then a boat to Pusan and a train to the 2nd
Division Replace Company. There I found Sergeants Mike Moriarity (my squad
leader Mad Mike) and Mc Neely, the man I almost shot back at Fort Bragg),
sitting on a box in that warm spring sunshine waiting to be shipped home. They
told
me, I would not be in the company a week before I would be rotated
back to the states. They would be wrong by 2 ˝ years and I was about to make
the second of my three great mistakes.
It was late afternoon
on the 16th of May when the truck carrying me from the replacement
center stopped at a tent that was the 1st Ranger headquarters, or
what left of it, the new 1st Sergeant, Allen Lang, asked for my
orders. I replied, “Have none.” With that he accused me of leaving the company
and going A.W.O.L. A very serious charge during wartime, (in hindsight I should
have let him put me in jail.) He kept up these ear-piercing threats of what he
had in store for me. I was in no mood for more of this weak, paper pushing,
never firing a weapon in combat piece of dung. I looked at him with the
thought, “Mister one more word and your going to meet your maker.” but I said,
“You wouldn’t make a pimple on Sergeant Castonguay ass.” The discussion was
over; I was told to report to the new company commander Captain Charles
Carrier. I got in a jeep and the company clerk drove me to the front lines. The
clerk told me I was right about the first sergeant that he never made a visit to
the front because half the guys there threaten his life. His tent was at least
one mile back from the line.
The first man to meet me was my foxhole buddy Baker; we hugged
each other with the love of brothers. I asked about all the old guys, was told
that not many were left, but we had a lot of new men. The second man to greet
me was Captain Carrier; he asked if I was a replacement? I answered, “ No, I’m
just back from the hospital.” He told to stay with the mortars and not to scale
the hill.
A major enemy attack
was developing, (here we go again), and that the Chinese designed to drive the
UN forces into the sea. The 3rd Chinese Army Group, consisting of 12
divisions, (120,000) men, would first break through the 5th and 7th
ROK divisions. These Chinese forces would then turn west, striking the 2nd
US Division. Designed to destroy the division’s communications and thus cut off
its forward forces.
The 1st Ranger Company was ordered to move forward by
trucks to regain positions originally occupied by the withdrawing Dutch
Battalion. It was past midnight when we moved forward into the gap, as we
climbed the dark slopes we met Dutch soldiers pulling back. Their words were
encouraging “If you go
up that hill, you won’t be coming back.” We continued to climb the hill. On the trail up to the vacated positions we came under heavy fire, Robertson was killed. We dropped our packs and move steadily upward and attacked. We accomplished our mission of retaking hill 710. Throughout the remaining hours of darkness, there was a steady stream of Chinese counterattacks, some of them even were getting in to our trenches. I could hear to my left the Rangers and Chinese in hand-to-hand combat; Clopton from my squad was killed. The Chinese were beaten off. Clinging to our positions, w