I read the first chapter of Stephen Ambrose’s Band of Brothers that described the soldiers that would be central to the book’s story. The platoon commander was a 1st lieutenant whose history included West Point. Bud’s platoon commander, Lt. Donald G. MacWilliams, was a good one, according to Bill Moomey. He was from West Point, too. I remember that one of the guys at the Company E reunion — Wally Merza, I think — said that the soldiers tried to locate their commanding officer after the war and that they had a lot of trouble doing so because he was a very private person and that West Point did not give out the addresses of its graduates or of its faculty members.
That led me to check the internet for Donald G. MacWilliams. He was born March 14, 1922, graduated from West Point in 1944, trained with the 66th Division, Company E, 262nd Infantry Regiment, survived the torpedoing of the SS Leopoldville, and went on to become a faculty member of West Point. He taught chemistry at first, then became chairman of the department of physics and chemistry. He went on sabbatical in the 1970s to study biochemistry and retired after 34 years of service as a Colonel in 1977. He died in 2001. Bill Moomey told me how Lt MacWilliams was an exceptional leader. When they were training in the field, the lieutenant made sure to get to know each member of his unit personally. Bill said that when the soldiers all paired up to dig shelter for the night Lt MacWilliams paired himself up with the smallest, weakest member of the platoon.
This all led me to wonder if Tad Henningsen’s brother, who graduated from West Point in about 1965, would remember his chemistry professor and if that had been MacWilliams, probably a major or lieutenant colonel by that time.
I called Tad today, who promised to give me Tim Henningsen’s number this weekend when he was home. Tim retired from the army and now lives in Hot Springs, South Dakota, where he teaches and coaches. Again, I cannot get to know Bud personally, but I expect to be able to meet people whose lives he touched, or in this case, to meet people who knew people whose lives he touched. I feel as though I am jetting backward and forward in time.
I found an article in the January 16, 1945 Spokane WA Spokesman Review under the headline: March of Dimes Drive Begins. The (non-sequitur) paragraph 6 reads: Mr. and Mrs. Carl Bonde Sr. received word their son, Carl Bonde Jr., has been missing in Europe since December 26. An infantryman, he was attending college when he went into service.” The next paragraph in its entirety, said, “A.P. Williamson, charged with drunken driving, paid a $100 fine here.”
Bud is the middle right person. This is his senior picture before graduation.
May 19, 2013
We went to Kalispell. Had trouble finding Conrad Memorial Cemetery itself. Had to ask at convenience store and use bathroom. Graves were easier, except Carol Catherine Bonde’s. But Penny found it.
Then library. I got the Flathead Co. High annuals for 1937 thru 1941. Went through all of ’em page by page. All but 2 had inscriptions. I found an inscription by my Aunt Carol Judd in the 1938, when she was a senior. I took a photo. Carl Ralph Bonde, Jr. was a freshman and I found his pic x 2 or maybe 3. In 1939 found a Carl Ralph Bonde, Jr. pic x 1. The 1940 had no inscriptions. The 1941 had a photo of Carl. Also he was listed as having been a member of several organizations: Marionettes 1, 2. Band 1 [I could not find him in any band picture or list of members], Freshman and Sophomore assembly (?) and one other I can’t remember now. A librarian, who probably didn’t like the way I helped myself to the materials by her desk in the back, wasn’t particularly helpful either. I found a 1941 Polk City Directory that listed Carl T. Bonde as living at the S end of 5th St. W. I found an historical list of houses for that street, but I couldn’t identify one for sure. I did find one that had a fire and then had subsequently been moved. For one reason or another I didn’t think that was the one. I got no real information except the lack thereof.
Penny drove through Seeley Swan to Missoula. We bought flowers at Safeway (lilies) and took them to the Struckman and Orr graves at the Missoula City Cemetery. I then drove to Lolo Hot Springs. Getting late, hadn’t eaten.
By 7 or 8 hard to tell because our phones didn’t work to tell us the time we reached the site of a raucous techno pop music festival. We checked into a room across the highway. Women in bright pink and green. Men wearing black. Hula hoop. Drunk-acting cursing women. Laughter. We ate at the only available place: a bar half-full of cursing women and smoking. Penny and I sat on either side of Katie, as protection against the vile and filthy clientele. A drunken waitress brought three pieces of German chocolate cake and in a slurred voice apologized for her behavior and told us she was sorry and here is some cake baked by her with her grandmother’s recipe.
The best part: we watched “Young Frankenstein” after supper. Supper was two orders of chicken strips, one burger. It is certainly helpful to be the only sober one in a room full of drunks, talking with a sober bartender named Jake. “Hey Jake,” I said in a loud voice….
Next morning we could still hear the throb of the techno music.
No news on the Bonde front. Thursday Penny arrived in Clara’s van with George. I walked outdoors to greet them, but he announced that he liked “grandma better than you, grandpa.” I replied lamely that I love grandma too. He continued: “grandma is smaller and she talks differently than you, grandpa.”
Later George was disappearing from the kitchen with a treat that grandma had given him. I observed that grandma is very generous. George replied, “that’s why I like grandma better than you, grandpa.”
It’s Tuesday and the forecast said it would be 101 degrees Fahrenheit today. Penny moves the air around our house with a system of fans and I am quite comfortable.
In 2 days my wife and great-niece and I plan to drive to Kalispell, Montana, to decorate various family graves for Memorial Day, but also to visit the Flathead County Library so that I can view the high school annuals for 1938, ’39, and ’41. These were the years Carl Bonde attended.
September 25, 2012 at 6:37 PM
The late Bill Moomey mailed me a letter telling of Hank Anderson’s death. He noted that this sort of thing is bound to happen more and more often. I am planning to write a letter to Mary, his widow, offering my condolences. Hank meant a great deal to me for a number of reasons. He was a tall man like me, who got in trouble with his Army command for acting decent, like a person ought to. Like I did. He said that he remembered my uncle Carl, and he told me lots of stories. His crowning achievements always involved behaving like the Presbyterian minister he became. Hank truly made me feel like a member of his group of Army buddies. Example: Immediately after the war ended Hank was supposed to intimidate the Germans as a member of the US “Elite Constabulary,” but instead of frightening an old German woman, Hank removed his pistol belt and ammunition, placed them to one side, and spoke with the woman as one person to another. Of course this got him in plenty of trouble! He was escorted from the premises as a prisoner himself by a Military Policeman, the placed under arrest! Hank not only told me about this, but he said this made him the most proud! His commanding officer had him released without punishment or charges within a day or two. I told Hank in turn about my arrest when I was in the Marines during Vietnam. Hank said he was proud of me. I told the same story to Randy Bradham, another from Buddy’s Company E. Randy said I should have been shot.
Last evening at a Zumba dance lesson another class combined with ours and I bravely went to the front. Trouble is, no one but our instructor would make eye contact. Anyway, I really did my best work and today I am sore. I tried to kick out wider, bend my knees deeper, whirl around faster, and do more of the ridiculous “girl” hand motions. I get zero reinforcement from the women who seem to ignore me. Now I have an inkling of how a lone black man might feel among caucasians. I felt practically invisible, even though I am a foot taller than most of the others and the only male among probably 40.
Still, the Zumba music was great, the steps were just tricky enough, and the songs were in great humor. I sweated copiously, and at least Desiree, our instructor, spoke to me briefly as she usually does. I look forward to Zumba and, except for this last time (because I overdid it) I felt better the next day with a better energy level.
What does this have to do with Carl Ralph Bonde, Jr.? My uncle spent from March 4, 1943 to December 25, 1944 in the Army. This was just a few months short of 2 years, about 552 days. Some of that was travel, staging, ASTP, and leave. During that time he did a lot of group calisthenics. I am sure he would have rather done them with 40 good-looking women! I often imagine that I am reaping the reward due him. His sacrifice was his family’s, after all, and there are just 5 of us nephews and one niece left to mourn. Of course I belabor the young ones in our family with stories and they might also be mourning, but it’s hard to tell.
The book about Carl Ralph Bonde, Jr. will not write itself.
Author Bill Yenne photographed me when I was lead guitarist for the band Water. In my family draftees were sent to war and killed. Like my uncle Carl Ralph Bonde, Jr. I sold this old Gibson to buy a ticket to Memphis for Marine training. I got $200 in 1970.
insearchofbud 