insearchofbud

2007 Christmas Narrative

Daniel Struckman

12/19/2011

I bought a camera similar to one my son-in-law Brian had, an Olympus point and shoot with powerful optical and digital zoom.  Penny and I had tickets to France in 2007 for Christmas.  I got the camera specifically to document our pilgrimage from Montana to the watery expanse out on the English Channel as close as possible to where Carl R. Bonde Jr. died.  Our aim was to dump a few ounces of Montana soil into the water over the wreckage of the SS Leopoldville, his doomed troopship.  He died just 5 miles from France and his body is still there, as far as anyone knows.  Some of his buddies were on deck where they could see the lights of Cherbourg when the torpedo struck.

Oh, I thought about it a lot.  We both did, Penny and I.  We prepared and rehearsed several years for our ritual on the Channel Christmas Eve, 2007.  (Carl died Christmas Eve, 1944, about 6 pm.  The exact time has been stated to be 5:55)  My wife Penny and I ordered passports, of course, but we also had to get the dirt.  That was Penny’s idea, putting a bit of Carl’s home into the English Channel.

Not just get it, but get it in the right way from near a house in Kalispell, Montana, Carl’s home.  I think I already told about scooping up the dirt from a driveway on the edge of town.  Did I mention that I tore the hell out of my fingernail?  Well, I just had a torn nail.  Did I tell how we were in town decorating graves and our visit to Bud’s home to get dirt was our second try?  The first time no one was home to ask permission.  People do this sort of thing all the time, don’t they?  My impulse was to just get out of the car, get dirt, and leave.  But no, I had to actually ask permission.

May was warm in 2007 when we visited Kalispell.  Once we got the baggie with probably 4 ounces of dirt, gravel, pine needles and my fingernail—well I remembered to take along a plastic bag for the dirt, but it did not occur to me that I might also need a tool of some sort to gather up the soil.

The question was:  how does someone transport a bag of soil to France?  I had asked that question of Bud’s Army buddies at the reunion the year before.  Army mortar man Maurice O’Donnell recommended putting it into a woman’s face powder container, or the like.

Instead, I practiced taking a dummy bag of dirt with me on the airplane when we flew to visit our son Todd and his family in Seattle.  Well, I even took the dirt from our yard, and it was very clay-ey and even heavier.  You know, a quart-sized zip-lock bag maybe one quarter filled with dirt, labeled and rolled up.  I managed to get the baggie to Seattle and back: once in our checked luggage; another time as a carry on.

Turns out taking the dirt to France were no big deal at all.  I just put it in my carryon suitcase. My guess is people do that sort of thing a lot.

Allan Andrade, an author and expert on the SS Leopoldville disaster, helped me connect via email with Bertrand Sciboz, a French treasure hunter.  I did attempt to phone Sciboz, but got an answering message in French that sounded like French jibberish.  By email, Bertrand told me to bring a thousand euros in cash for the trip.  Cash, to avoid paying a value added tax.  I got euros from the bank across the street from where I worked.  Of course I had to order them in, pay the exchange rate, plus a percentage fee.  I got five 200 euro notes, big, maybe 4 x 6 inches, colorful, and crisp.  I folded them and put them in my money pouch with the passport.  Later I got another couple hundred euros to pay for a wreath that I sort of got talked into getting because my Uncle’s body was among about 300 others that were not recovered from the wreckage.

With our computer, I studied maps and photographs of Cherbourg.  It sits on this prominent two-lobed peninsula on the Northwest corner of France, the Normandy coast, looking a little like a snail’s head with two eyeballs.  It is situated a little west of Utah and Omaha Beaches.

I learned about Cherbourg from Jacquin Sanders’ book,  A Night Before Christmas.  The US Army and Navy established forts and headquarters there after liberating France from the Germans.  The Google Earth pictures showed the huge breakwater and the port of Cherbourg.  Also, you could see the giant pier where ferries take people to England.  A hotel is located near the north end of the jutting land, the Hotel Mercure.  Our AAA travel agent arranged for our stay Christmas Eve and the night before.  She also arranged for a round trip train ride from Paris to Cherbourg.  She arranged a hotel in Paris, a place near Gare d’l’Est for the days before and after our Christmas eve expedition.

December 22, when we arrived at the Charles De Gaul Airport, were marched through customs, and herded into a small shuttle, an middle-aged drunk menaced us with his fly wide open as if welcoming us to Paris.

“Get away from him,” Penny said to me.  Soon we bought tickets for the RER train into Paris, a cold, breezy place with confounding streets running in all directions.  One cannot see far because the buildings are the vertical kind and set right up next to the sidewalks.  Many of the streets are only 20-30 feet wide with 5-10-story buildings making dark canyons.  This made the December darkness even darker.  Other places had many wide boulevards converge on acres openness with wild traffic surging constantly.  Such places were difficult to cross, especially lugging and pulling luggage.  Again, the wind was blowing and even with hat, gloves, and a warm jacket, the cold pinched the ears and nose.

Our trouble was that we didn’t know where to go for our hotel.  Sure, we had the name and address.  I had no sense of direction.  I asked a lady at our station, Gare du Nord.  She gave us a map or Paris with the word Printemps.  We knew the address of our hotel.  It was the Villa St-Martin on Rue de Recollets.  Therefore, we boldly set out to find it by walking aimlessly and reading the bright blue and white street signs fastened to the buildings at every street corner.  Many of the streets had  military references, such as the Rue du 8 Mai 1945 and another for Dunkirk.  If we were anywhere near the Rue de Recollets, we couldn’t tell.  An intersection in our home town usually has two streets.  One in Paris often has 3, 4, or even 7 or 8 streets.  Of course, we eventually had to ask directions, so we went into a restaurant and asked a man.  He didn’t speak English and didn’t know where our street was.  He told us anyway, but I couldn’t understand him, so we were even.  Penny and I wandered from one street to another until noon.

The second restaurateur gave us the usual indecipherable shrugs and instructions, so we wandered for another 20 minutes until we found a hotel with a man who helped us find our hotel.  Just as well, too, because our hotel, the Villa St-Martin, didn’t allow anyone to check in until 2 pm.  The clerk put us on the third floor.  This translates to the fourth floor.  In France the first floor is what we consider to be the second floor.  We rode the elevator with purple lighting inside and mirrored walls.  The elevator was 2 feet deep and perhaps 4 feet wide, but the mirrors made it look larger.

We were dead tired.  Afternoon, Paris time, was about the same as the wee hours of the morning back in the Montana.  Somehow we missed a lot of sleep, but we were determined to venture out into Paris to explore the neighborhood of our hotel.  It’s just that we felt sort of—gamey or maybe just exhausted.  Nonetheless, have sick, we walked about.

Our street, Rue de Recollets, was only three blocks long, quite narrow.  To the East was the Canal St-Martin with several gracefully arched pedestrian bridges with wrought iron railings.  Once when I crossed I was holding the rail and it had what seemed to be an infant’s poop on it.  Another time a man in front of us stepped off the last step at the bottom, turned to his right, and unzipping his fly (this time) and started urinating.  Peeing in public was evidently okay in Paris.

To the west of our hotel was a corner where many streets met.  One could see a very old cathedral out to the left and to the right, perhaps 200 yards away was the very stately and ornate Gare Du l’Est train station.  This was one of the rare places where one could see very far at all, that is, where buildings did not obstruct the view.

On the corner before the intersection, on the same block as our hotel, was our landmark:  a store that sold guns, knives, ammunition, brass knuckles, switchblades, spray paint, and sported a sign that read in English, “Bomb Your City.”

I was grateful for the guns and ammo store.   It served as a landmark.  Funny how the landmarks were the really annoying establishments, such as the crappy tourist trap restaurant with the “American Indian” theme.  I’ll bet they did not pay royalties on their “generic Indian” photographs.  I bought French toast there for, like, 10 euros, and it turned out to be dry, unbuttered toasted Wonderbread.  Served by—you get the point, and I don’t want this to turn into a catalogue of bitching.  You can see how grateful I am, because the “Indian” restaurant turned out to be an easily identified landmark, just like the guns and ammo store.

Paris was cold but not snowy.  Likewise the shops and businesses also tended to be unheated but not so cold as to freeze your fingers.  We both wanted to make the most out of the short time we would be there, so our routine would be to make quick visits to our hotel room, do our business, put on our coats, head back out.  We decided to visit the Louvre.

“Ou es le Louvre?” I asked our hotel clerk, who replied in perfect English, “Why don’t you ride the Metro?”

“We want to walk, if it is not too far,” I replied.  She grabbed a tourist map that said “Spring time” on it.  In French, of course.  She showed us the streets to walk, so we bravely marched out.  I started taking photographs willy-nilly.  [I wonder if I will ever find any trace of those photographs?  The computer they were on was eventually stolen on a Paris train about 3 years later.]

Penny and I started walking in a roughly southward bearing through a street filled with shops of interest to Blacks and their hair.  Of course, this is big business, and we were fascinated.  Block after block in the gathering darkness of evening, one fancy hair place after another.  We only had to walk about 8 or 9 blocks and we soon reached cross streets that would likely take us near the Louvre Museum.  We hiked around in one of these, that had numerous restaurants, brightly lit, with people dining on what looked like Chinese chicken dishes, or other brightly orange colored food.  Seems to me we ate something at one of them.  Then we were back.  Now walking westward, then we turned the corner and went south again for a couple of blocks.  No sign of the Louvre, but we did see a large greenish fancy building to the west, that looked like a palace.

At one opportunity, we saw a sign that said “Louvre” something something and an arrow pointed down some stairs or an escalator.  It was not a train station, so we walked down.  The day after Christmas, the place turned out to be a huge underground shopping mall, simply packed with shoppers of all races and descriptions.  We turned around, found an up escalator, got back to the street.  After another block, we found a cylindrical old roman style building and a sign nearby that said Louvre.  Penny said that such a small building couldn’t possible be the Louvre.  I said, “why would it have a sign on it that said “Louvre?”

We walked around the cylinder in about 30 seconds.  Then we asked someone.  The same old song: “Ou es le Louvre?” I asked.  The person answered this time in French and gestured down the street.  We went on and on this way in one building and out the next.  Ultimately we found the Louvre.  Ultimately we found out how to get out of the Louvre.  Ultimately we made our way back through the Hair District and back to the Munitions shop, around the corner, back to our hotel, back to bed.

The breakthrough came when I sent an email to retired New York police officer Allan Andrade telling him I was Carl R. Bonde Jr.’s nephew.  The following text copies of the email traffic and my notes from the reunion in Sarasota Florida of Bud’s army outfit tell the tale of the men.  Just the ones who survived the U boat torpedo Christmas eve, 1944, that is.

Appendix D Bud’s Army Reunion

 

I discovered a web site devoted to the SS Leopoldville, so I emailed Allan Andrade  (Note that I use my spouse’s email account):

 

—– Original Message —–

From: PENNY STRUCKMAN

To: agandrade37@msn.com

Sent: Thursday, November 10, 2005 3:10 PM

Subject: SS LEOPOLDVILLE

 

Sir,

 

My uncle, PFC Carl Ralph Bonde Jr., Co E, 262nd Inf Regiment, was probably

killed instantly by the torpedo, I am told.  Bonde was the only boy in my

mother’s family, so I heard much about him while growing up, and I played

with his belongings at my grand parents.  He died 5 years before I was born,

but I feel close to him anyhow.

 

I want to visit the site of the SS Leopoldville sinking near Cherborg and

deliver to my uncle’s body some soil from his Kalispell, Montana, home.  I

got permission to collect the dirt from a 10-year-old boy who must have

thought I was crazy, especially when I started to cry while trying to

explain.

 

If I can find anyone willing, I would really like to meet and speak with or

write to a survivor from the Leopoldville sinking.

 

Thanks for lifting up these people.  It was war, after all, and we know what

happens!  However, I don’t want any one from the Leopoldville to be

forgotten!

 

Sincerely,

 

Dan Struckman

215 Burlington Ave

Billings, MT 59101   406-256-3588

 

 

From:

Allan Andrade (agandrade37@msn.com)

Sent:

Thu 11/10/05 5:22 PM

To:

PENNY STRUCKMAN (pstruckman@hotmail.com)

 

 

 

 

 

Hi,

Your uncle, Pfc. Carl R. Bonde Jr., serial #39616683, was assigned to Co. E, Weapons platoon, 262nd Regiment, 66th Infantry Division. There were 10 survivors from his platoon of which 3 were hospitalized. No bodies from Weapons platoon were recovered. Your uncle’s body was among the 23 from his platoon never found. They were quartered near where the torpedo struck the ship. Stats are from my copy of National archive official army Leopoldville casualty list prepared on 12/29/1944.

 

I have been in touch with most of the survivors from his platoon. Unfortunately, a number of them have passed away including the 2 Lieutenants from his platoon who I were in contact with. I will need some time to phone the numbers I have for the others to see if my numbers are still correct & they are alive.  

 

I will also need time to check the boat charter I knew in England that takes charters to the wreck site.

 

There is a Leopoldville Memorial Association (LMA). They will have a reunion of survivors & relatives of soldiers killed at the Holiday Inn in Harrisburg, PA from 10/12-10/15/2006. You & your family would be welcomed to attend. I am the LMA’s historian.

 

Have you visited my web site? http://www.msnusers.com/ssleopoldville I would welcome a photo of your uncle, if available, which I will post on the site In Memoriam page. Also any info about him you can provide for my research files.

 

If interested, I have just published a picture book about the disaster.  You can view the cover & selected pages from the galley proofs on my “pictures page”.

 

In Meantime, suggest you contact the following survivors who I know will be happy to speak with you.

 

Jack C. Randles, Fallston, MD #410-879-8403

Vincent Codianni Waterbury, CT #203-754-5360

Walter T. Brown Lynn, MA #781-593-0627  (Sgt. Brown was assigned to Co. F, 262 Regiment which was quartered where the torpedo struck the ship. Of 175 men assigned to Co. F, Walter was one of only 19 survivors.)

 

Please e-mail me again.

 

Allan Andrade

Leopoldville Disaster Author/Historian

 

—– Original Message —–

From: PENNY STRUCKMAN

To: agandrade37@msn.com

Sent: Friday, November 11, 2005 12:55 PM

Subject: Re: SS LEOPOLDVILLE

 

Mr. Andrade,

 

I will always be grateful to you.  I phoned Mr. Bill Moomey immediately and

had a good talk with him.  Happy Veteran’s day.  Of coincidence, I am on my

way to the funeral of a soldier who served on the honor guard which

dedicated the cemetery in France with the Wall of the Missing.  I hope to

participate in some get togethers with the survivors and family of the 66th

Division.

 

I will contact the 4 other boys and 1 neice of Carl R. Bonde and I know they

will be greatly pleased.

 

Sincerely,

 

Daniel Struckman, nephew of Carl Ralph Bonde Jr.

 

Hi,

Glad I could help.

Suggest you contact Jane Ferentzi-Sheppard in England who lives near former base where 66th Division stayed while stationed there. Recently 800 trees were planted on the site as a living memorial to the soldiers of the 66th who were killed. When you make your trip to Europe to scatter the dirt from your uncle’s home ground on the waters over the wreck site, I know she would be a great resource in planning your trip & meeting with you during your stay in England.

Also suggest you contact Bertrand Sciboz who is a French research diver who has dived the Leopoldville wreck.  I know he would want to meet you & could help you in getting a charter boat to take you to the wreck site.

 

Allan Andrade

 

 

 

 

 

 

Eventually I was invited to a reunion of Carl Bonde’s army Company E so I flew to Sarasota, Florida and remained there four days.

 

“The 66th in ’06”

WW II Reunion

 

Company E

262nd Regiment

66th Black Panther

US Army Division

 

Sarasota, Florida November 2-5, 2006

 

            [I made notes at the reunion onto a yellow paper pad; I copied them verbatim with notations and with subsequent corrections by William Moomey, added July 29, 2010 when my sister Carol and great-niece Katie Angel and I paid him and his wife Doris a visit.]

 

            Nov. 2, 2006, Sarasota, Florida:  I met veteran survivors of Company E, 262nd Regiment, 66th Division (Panthers), US Army.  This was Carl R. Bonde, Jr’s [Bud’s company, so these people were his intimates during the last year of his life!  Bud was in the machine gun section within the weapons platoon of Company E.  [NB: They did not refer to their company as “easy company” (As in Band of Brothers, by Stephen Ambrose.)] 

            *Hank Anderson was a buck sergeant in the mortar squad, a Leopoldille survivor, and said he remembers Bud.  Hank’s wife is Mary Esther.

            *Al Salata played baseball for the Army and he was the mortar section sergeant [and the oldest of the group.  He died about 2 years later.  He was a Leopoldville survivor].  Bill Moomey was there with Doris, his wife.  Wally Merza was there with his wife, Martha.  They live in Chicago.  Bob Carroll and his wife, Colleen, set up the reunion.  Portly gentleman [Maurice O’Donnell] drove from Flint, Michigan, to Sarasota.  Southern gentleman [Randall Bradham] came from South Carolina.  He wrote a book about this unit.  He went to army basic training in Missouri.  They call him Randy. 

            The women seem to know the histories verbalized by the soldiers of Company E, 66th Div., every bit as well as the men.  Mary Esther, particularly, knows the details of Hank Anderson’s stories as well as or better than he does.  I would guess Hank is a minister, retired.  He wore his old Army uniform jacket when we went to the Bone Fish restaurant that first evening.  He and Mary Esther shared a glass of pink wine.  Several of the men were non drinkers, and one or two had a whiskey or similar strong drink.  When we returned I went to a nearby grocery, bought a phone card, some cough syrup, and a bottle of Barefoot Merlot.  Oh yes, and a cork screw. 

            Maurice O’Donnell  The Great Generation Tom Brokaw.  Flags  Lt Donald MackWilliams, Lt.  Good, from West Point.  Allan Andrade – Detective, New York writer.

            11/4/2006 6 am, Sarasota, Florida.

            Yesterday morning I slept in till 8:40 am.  (The night before I had watched TV — Boxing, mostly.  I watched a guy named Gonzales from Boise (Caldwell, actually) beat a guy from the midwest.  Both Hispanics.  3 knockdowns.  Both very tough fighters.  So — Friday at 0900 we gathered at the meeting room.  This room was little.  The motel is being painted and the big room is closed.  Therefore, the gave us an itty bitty room with very small tables ~ 24″ across and noisy metal patio chairs that scrape on concrete floor.  A guy named Roger, also a military veteran, runs the place.  He has a little shrine with war mementos and relics.  A letter signed by Colin Powell.  Roger is not part of the group, kind of like me, in a way, but still interacts.

            The group is very civil and polite, with the mildest of humorous jabs, one with the other.  Great conversation.  I feel I know these guys better, now.

            Briefly, we ate the continental breakfast, although the coffee was gone by 9 and there were just a few pastries.

            I ended up speaking with Maurice O’Donnell and Bill Moomey and Randy.  Bill had brought a photo album and I got a little acquainted with the story of a member of their company, Cuny,  a Sioux from South Dakota, still living, who could not make the reunion.  Mary Esther seemed to know Cuny, as she seemed to know many of the absent ones, and fondly.

            These guys have been back to France several times.  When the war ended each man was assigned duty, mostly involving taking care of POWS, Germans in various parts of France. 

            Al Salata played 2nd Base in a division baseball team.

            Hank Anderson, a tall man (wears size 16 shoe) was in the Elite Constabulary and they were supposed to impress the German civilians.  Hank said his uniform was well padded about the upper body to make him look bigger and stronger.  The idea was that the Elite C. would convince the Germans that they had lost to a superior army.

            Bob Carroll took eight of us to lunch — the 5 women went shopping and to an Estee Lauder party.  This was evidently in preparation for the supper club party hosted by Wally Merza and his wife Martha.  I’m better at the men’s names now.  They are Henry Anderson, presbyterian minister, Maurice O’Donnell, fireman, Bill Moomey, farmer; Randy Bradham, cardiovascular surgeon and blueberry farmer and writer, Al Salata occupation? from New York, Walter Merza, wholesale carpet salesman; Bob Carroll, and me.  Women:  Al’s wife Mary, Bob’s wife Colleen, Mary Esther, Martha, and Doris Moomey.  Of the men, three were survivors of the Leopoldville.  Bill, Hank, and Al.  Al climbed down a net on the side of the sinking ship to safety.  [The other two jumped to the deck of a ship that pulled up alongside.]  Hank said jumping to the other ship was the single bravest thing he ever did, although not the best thing.  Hank was a squad leader for mortars and he felt it was his duty to set the example for his men.  Bill Moomey said the distance from the Leopoldville to the deck of the Brilliant was 20 feet.  When Hank jumped, he was not even sure it was the right thing to do or if it was possible to jump without serious injury or death.  Remember that some of the men had been told by loudspeaker that the ship was in no danger of sinking.  In fact it was sinking and would eventually take hundreds of men to their deaths.

            All the veteran 66’ers have trouble getting into and out of cars.

            We spoke of many things from ipods and cell phones to WW II war stories.  Lots of war stories.  The veterans who shot mortars were deaf and had big serious hearing aids.  The machine gunners did not suffer from hearing impairments.  Three of the men had to have coronary artery bypass surgeries, although when I asked the group about the surgeries, Hank Anderson raised his hand along with Maurice, Bob and Bill.  Turns out Hank was deaf and though I was asking to find out who wanted some ice cream.

            Walter and Martha Merza.  Wally and his wife live 6 months in Sarasota, 6 months in Chicago in a condominium both places.  He was a sergeant in Company E, 262nd Regiment.  Martha is ill with myasthenia gravis, but at the reunion she seemed totally well.

            Wally looks fit, maybe a little overweight, or maybe not.  Hard to tell.  He is certainly not a couch potato.  I think I overheard him say that he and Martha visit the Y every day for exercise.

            He had been a wholesale carpet salesman, so he had charisma.  In other words, you just wanted to hang around with him and listen to him talk, tell him stories, because Wally loved to hear stories too.  Naturally I told the guys my experiences of my 7 years in the Marines.  They were interested in my military stories about delivering newspapers, getting into trouble with the officers, fixing volkswagens, having children, going overseas.

            Wally bought an antique Lionell electric train set “O” Gauge (stands for “original”) for Martha from a relative of his for $800.  He showed me the locomotive, still in its original box.  It was beautiful green and black and quite heavy and large.  Perhaps 14″ long unless you include the coal tender, and then it would be 24″ long.

            He had a squad member in his machine gun unit, Jimmy Roselli, who went on to become a professional singer.  Wally said Jimmy sounded like Tony Bennett or Frank Sinatra, only Wally said Jimmy had a greater vocal range than either of the others.  Wally had a book about Roselli, Titled He made the Wise Guys Cry.    Because his singing could do that to the mobsters.  Wally said the book was going to be made into a movie, starring John Travolta, but Travolta wanted to sing, and Roselli disagreed with that, so the project never went forward.

            Wally had had a computer, but it was bought used, and it froze up the first time he turned it on.  He figures he broke it and is still looking for a new replacement when he figures out the best kind to buy.

            Wally and Martha (a professional dancer and stage producer) bought us a prime rib supper at a Sarasota night club.  Then they took us to their Sarasota condo afterward.  What a great pair.

            Randy Bradford, the smallest physically of the group, is a retired cardiovascular surgeon.  He got his medical degree from the University of Michigan after the war.  During the war he was a machine gunner and rifleman.  When embarking from Southampton, he was in the part that got separated from the other Company E men and went across the channel on the HMS Cheshire.  So did Maurice O’Donnell, Wally Merza, and Bob Carroll.  Randy said he heard the explosion on the Leopoldville and even saw the torpedo trail on the water.  Maurice said after the explosions the men of the Cheshire went to general quarters and he was stationed on the far side of his ship and could not see the Leo.

I inherited the 1940 High School Year Book that had belonged to my uncle Bud (Carl Ralph Bonde, Jr.)  I have searched its contents repeatedly, finally transcribing the whole of all of the inscribed comments.  Remember, Bud did really lousy in school, intelligent as he was.  He lived another 4 years.  One of those as university student, most of the rest of the time in the army.  They trained hard, I’m told, in places in Alabama and Arkansas.  My mother said Bud found his experience, “very rough.”  

Appendix A

Inscriptions from Carl Bonde’s 1940 The Flathead high school annual

The following 69 notes written to Carl Ralph Bonde Jr in a copy of the high school annual The Flathead 1940 were copied verbatim by DS 1/4/2011.  Names are in boldface. These names were rechecked against a list of students published on the web by Gayle Collins, and annotated 1/14/2011 by DS.

First Page Spread autographs in approximate order clockwise toward the center:

Remember History & Lit. Classes Albert Keenan “41”[1]     Don’t forget Biology Romolo Pettinato

Good “luck” to a swell guy.  I’ll see you next year.  Chester Mahugh “41”

I hate to admit it but you’re really a good mathamatician Carl Bob Bryan

The good old Biology class we will not forget. Lawrence Johnson[2]            Well Carl you will probably always be a silly kid, but good luck I’ll see you next year Alton Lee.

OK Bonde — You Win.  To bad you did about same as Me in Bozeman — Better Luck next time. Allan  Crumbaker – ’41

Lotsa Luck to a swell kid Bob Jystad

Good Luck, Carl. Neoa  [Neola Shepard?]

Dearest Carl hope you get to stay in the Library for at least a couple of weeks next year Bruce Johnson

Didn’t you have fun in Great Falls? I sure did too.  Will have a good time this summer. Bertha-May Simon

Don’t forget the trip Bozeman. Vernon Johnson

Don’t play those machines any mo’ “Luck” Art Anderson

Rudolph Bergstrom ’41

Lots of Luck next year Don Bolton

Good luck to a Biology pal Mary Ellen Dyer

Lots of Luck remember Reeves classes Hope I see you next year. Carlene Wilke

Remember the trip to Bozeman and heres wishing you lots of luck in the future.           Bill Ulrick

Best wishes for next year Flora Brownback

Carl Bonde Best wishes, Carl Bryce[3]

Remember Bozeman Ralph Asbridge

Ransom H. Brown

Lots of Luck Robert Swenson

Remember Reeves and the Circular sitting in am. Lit and History George Rhodes

As one duck-hunter to another — ??!! Ernie Brooner [does not appear in annual]

Remember biology and me Harold Groot Class of “42” [does not appear in annual]

Lots of luck kid and don’t be so onery next yr. Andy McClelland

Good Luck to you. Elfred Martinson “41”

Second page spread autographs:

You’re all right when it comes to math Carl good luck Buck “41” [Walter?]

Loads of Luck, Carl. Janett Newell

Hope you have Loads of Fun during vacation. “Best Wishes” Dorothy Jean [Berry?]

I wish I knew as much about Geometry as you do. Good luck. Dorothy Nees

“Leslie Cornelius” [not in annual and underlined, near the following inscription and in Donald Swanberg’s handwriting

“Good luck” Donald Swanberg “1940” [does not appear in print in annual]

Listen you drop in the bucket if you don’t quit picking on me and taking me on those crazy boat-camping trips I’ll I’ll . . . I’ll, Oh forget it. Bob Huck [a caricature below, titled “you”]

good luck  Lawrence Sonstelie

Don’t forget the ducks, Bonde, Douglas Penrod

Luck to you in your Geometry, next year Taking it over aren’t you K Jr.

Good luck to a fell History Scholar Lloyd George

Well Carl We had fun in our Hist & Lit classes. Don’t forget the chalk erasers grrrr. Beverly Hinman 41′

Good luck to a good Geom student & a “nut” You & Bob H. [Huck?] made a great pair of comedians. Carol Clark

Here’s luck Brother Bonde Alan Aggson

get along. Bob Evans

Maybe some day I’ll say it. Mabe Luck BJ Libert

Good Luck to a swell classmate A pal of ’42 Vergen Ainley

Confidentially I don’t know what you mean when you say what happened at my house. Betty Lou Nelson PS Do you remember Terman the Pigion

 

Third page spread autographs:

Luck to a good student – Bill Newell ’42

Lots of luck to you. Remember good old Hist & Lit. Evelyn Zimmerman “41″.

Hello Carl, Don’t work too hard. I’ll be on that camping trip in a few days. Don’t forget geometry off Thompson either. God, you know what. Don Huck

Bonde, Lots of luck to swell kid. Don’t forget your famous yodel when you learn to play Black Jack come around shorty [unsigned note]

Autographs throughout the remainder of the annual:

[Dedication page] Well Hi Carl, Say boy here we are going to be Juniors — Hope you are in some of my classes next year. Luck, Yvonne Johnson

[page of football players’ heads in star cutouts] I’d look more natural if there were bars over this but — Good Luck D. Christiansen Christy

[opposite Principal’s Message] Dearest Carl, The next time you lose a dollar to me I’m going to collect it in one piece Roger Baldwin

[Page 14 on faculty page by Lee Thompson mathematics athletics] Lee Thompson Geom Boseman

[Page 40 on junior student photos page] Here’s looking at a tough classmate but a friend I hope Johnny Rhone “41”

[Page 54 track and field page] Best Wishes Pat Talley

[Page 57 student council page] Luck to you Bonde. And that means that the “big ones” don’t get away (as always before) Dick Wendt

[Page 71 opposite senior and all school play page] Remember those rides to school with Turman last year? Fun? Yes. We still have one more year. Oh joy! Betty Bailey

[Page 76 on page with Baton Twirlers, opposite Pietro Yon “world-famous organist and composer.”] Good Luck – See you next year O[pal] Moe

[Page 83] Good Luck Russ Zobel

[Page 98, last numbered page in the annual] Lots of luck to you. Hope you get to go to Bozeman again next year. Dorothy Calvert

I’ll admit girls giggle alot but your just as bad as any of them. Virginia Clark

Goodbye you fast thing! Alfred Pedersen

Last page spread in annual:

Carl, Don’t forget Geometry.  How can you.  It’s great stuff!  Bob “Riggs” Orser

Best wishes to a swell kid.  Haven’t seen much of you this year.  “Nadine”

Hi Elsie Garey

Leave the Wimmen in distant towns alone – You were just lucky – Best wishes – Harry Anderson

Good luck next year, Bonde. Dean M[arquardt].

Hope we’re together in some class next year. Tom La Samaire

Carl apparently liked to clown in some of his classes, and enjoyed geometry and history and literature class.  He hunted and fished and camped, and went on a school-sponsored trip (mathematics related?) of some kind to Bozeman.

Carl Ralph Bonde Jr., born September 15, 1923, was named after his father, Carl Tosten Bonde, and his maternal uncle, Ralph Wickstrom.  A surprisingly small amount of information was available about his life.  I learned most indirectly, by the void left by his absence.  He lived to be 21 years old.

He was born in Kalispell, Montana, the youngest of five children.  His siblings were all girls.  His parents were Norwegian; in fact his father spoke it fluently.  Many people in Kalispell spoke Norwegian, and his father was a wholesale grocery salesman.  They moved several times within the city before moving to five acres just outside Kalispell

His family called him “Buddy,” and his parents probably knew him better than his sisters, who were all much older than he was.  In fact, they were 3, 11, and 13 years older, respectively, so his youngest sister moved away when he was entering puberty.  His fourth sister died of pneumonia during the flu epidemic before he was born.

We know he was very intelligent and excelled in mathematics.  He had excellent scores in the Army intelligence and the college aptitude tests.  He owned a chess game and his high school friends who wrote in his annual mentioned his ability in math (Appendix A). He passed his courses the first term he attended college.  He was selected for the ASTP Army Specialized Training Program that reportedly required an IQ of at least 150 (Appendix D).

Carl’s sisters said that he enjoyed outdoor pursuits like hunting, fishing, and camping.  We have photographs of him with a hunting rifle and with some ducks someone had shot.  I inherited a collection of shotgun shells.  Notes in his high school annual mentioned camping plans.  His sister Corinne said that as a teen Carl worked three summers as a fire lookout in Glacier Park.

Just a little man, Carl grew to 60 inches tall when he entered the Army, and slim.  We have photographs and Army records.  Unfortunately, a fire at St. Louis destroyed his Army records in 1973 (Appendix H).

His college transcript from the University of Montana said that he had graduated in the lowest third of his high school class.  He also received D’s and F’s after his first college term.  He was anything but good at school.  He was graduated from high school in 1941.  He entered the university in Missoula in January 1942 and attended just three terms.  He joined the Sigma Nu fraternity.

I think he had lots of friends.  The copy of the 1940 annual for Flathead County High School in Kalispell had 69 autographs for Carl, but his photograph or name appears in print nowhere.  Although one of his older sisters said Carl joined Boy Scouts he apparently didn’t join anything else, except the fraternity in Missoula.

Carl was drafted into the Army March 4, 1943.  After basic training he gained admission to the ASTP program in Grand Forks, North Dakota, at the University of North Dakota.  He attended just two or three semesters before the ASTP program was abolished and Carl was made a private and assigned to the infantry in the 66^th Army Panther Division at Fort Robinson, Arkansas.  The 66^th moved after a few months to Fort Rucker, Alabama.  Carl was further assigned to the machine gun section, weapons platoon, Company E, 262^nd Infantry Regiment (Appendix C).

In October 1944, after months and months of grueling training in Southern Alabama, near the Gulf Coast, the 66^th Division deployed to New York.

Carl’s sister, never one to be overly modest, said that he visited Oswald Veblen in New Jersey.  Oswald Veblen, noted mathematician, was a distant relative by marriage of his father’s Bonde family back in Minnesota.

The 66^th Division with company E and the weapons platoon with Carl crossed the Atlantic by ship during the latter part of November.  They celebrated Thanksgiving on board the George Washington troopship.  They landed at Southampton in England.  At first the war seemed to be over and the troops anticipated Christmas (Appendix B).

A letter home from Carl’s friend Bill Loughborough told how they went from their camp Piddlehinton near Dorchester into London during liberty.  When they returned to camp they had to pack to move out—immediately!

The troops, including Carl and those with whom he had been training the past year, had to carry, or drag on the ground, all of their gear miles to a train station the night of December 23.  Early the next morning they waited on the docks at Southampton to board a troopship, the SS Leopoldville.

The ship sailed with the tide Christmas Eve day, part of a convoy of destroyers and another troopship, the HMS Cheshire.  A submarine had been seen recently, so the convoy zigzagged.

Just five miles from their destination, Cherbourg, France, a German U-Boat was sitting on the bottom of the English Channel, just 150 feet below the surface.  The captain of U-486, Lieutenant Gerhard Meyer, fired two torpedoes.  The first missed but the second struck the SS Leopoldville on the starboard side aft below the water line.

PFC Carl Ralph Bonde, Jr. apparently was killed in the explosion.  Bill Loughborough said the weapons platoon was quartered on F deck in 4 hold, exactly where the torpedo hit.

Although the hold where Carl was one of perhaps 60 men trying to rest after a night of travel was dark and a jumble of bodies and equipment, his friends who survived said they believed he was in there.  Bill Moomey knew Carl well because they were in the same machine gun section.  Bill said he was starting to feel nauseated because some of the others were vomiting from seasickness and from poor quality rations.  Bill went topside and met up with a handful of other men from their Company E who just wanted fresh air.  That’s when the torpedo hit.

Carl’s buddies escaped death by climbing down or leaping from the tall troopship to a low destroyer that pulled alongside.  Carl’s body was never found and his friends supposed that he went to the bottom of the Channel with the ship.

I grew up not knowing what happened, exactly.  Now I know where his body is, under about 150 feet of water in the English Channel, about 5 miles out of the French port of Cherbourg. Two Christmases ago my nephew Jon and my son Bob were about to dig into a plate of lutefisk, resurrected from family lore and the local Tiger IGA, microwaved and drenched in butter to be barely palatable.  I wanted to make a speech about the reasons why we would of should eat such a thing.  (I had a piece of paper with reasons:  it could be seen as a sort of sacrament + other reasons.)  

“This a special night,” I said.  I was thinking about Christmas Eve and lutefisk.  To my surprise, my nephew’s daughter Katie said, “Yes.  Your uncle died on Christmas Eve.  

 

 

 

 

Ambrose, Stephen E. Citizen Soldiers: the U.S. Army from the Normandy Beaches to the Bulge to the Surrender of Germany, June 7, 1944—May 7, 1945. New York: Simon & Schuster, 1997.  This widely read author devotes about a page to the SS Leopoldville disaster, and quotes Henry “Hank” Anderson, one of two living Army veterans who said he remembers Carl Bonde.  Mr. Ambrose’s book survived a most compelling critic:  Gordon Weber, a 96-year-old friend with failing eyesight and dwindling strength,  said he read every word.  Himself an WW II Army veteran of the ETO, Gordon said that he would have been more frightened if he had known then what he learned from Mr. Ambrose.

Andrade, Allan. Leopoldville: Remembrance for Sacrifice. Philadelphia: Xlibris, 2005.  This is a picture book of persons whose lives were changed by the sinking of the SS Leopoldville.  Mr. Andrade has taken on this disaster as his personal crusade.

Andrade, Allan. Leopoldville: Remembrance for Valor. Philadelphia: Xlibris, 2007.  This sequel contains a photograph of Carl Bonde posing with Irvin “Junior” Weaver, prior to his making sergeant.  Somehow the negative got flipped and the Panther Division patch is backward on the incorrect shoulder.

Andrade, Allan. S.S. Leopoldville Disaster: December 24, 1944. New York: Tern Book Co., 1997.  This patriotic book conveys many personal accounts of the tragedy.  Unfortunately it is out of print and very expensive.  It does contain Carl R. Bonde Jr.’s name, but William Moomey’s name is misspelled “Mooney.”

Anonymous. Tactics and Technique of Infantry Basic 8^th Edition: a Text and Reference Book of Infantry Training. Harrisburg, Pa: Military Service Publishing Co., 1939.  A contemporary of Carl Bonde’s, Lieutenant MacWilliams used this book at West Point Military Academy.  I bought it on line.  This book has some resemblance to one Carl left at his parents’ home in Kalispell.  I am thinking Carl got his copy at Missoula or Grand Forks, ND where he took Army training.

Blumberg, Nathaniel. Charlie of 666: a Memoir of World War II. Big Fork, Mont.: Wood FIRE Ashes Press, 2000.  Nathaniel taught me in Missoula aat the School of Journalism in 1967-8 and in 1977-8.  He remembered the sinking of the SS Leopoldville because he was nearby in the English Channel on an LST on the same day in 1944.  Nathaniel devotes some of his book to the sinking of the Leo.  He died Valentine’s day, 2012.

Boy Scouts of America. Handbook for Boys. New York: BSA, ca 1930.  The similarities of the first aid illustrations in the Boy Scout handbook with the book of infantry training are startling.  They suggest a unity of culture perhaps stemming from WW I.  Carl Bonde was a Boy Scout in Kalispell.

Bradham, Randolph. Hitler’s U-Boat Fortresses. Guilford, Conn.: Lyons Press, 2003.  Dr. Bradham belonged to Carl Bonde’s Army Company E, but he was among those placed on the HMS Cheshire in the confusion the morning of December 24.  I met Randy at an Army reunion and we spent several days together.  His book set the stage for our visit to France with Josiah Corson in 2009.  We visited Saint-Nazaire, the site of one of the German fortresses.

Braeuer, Luc. Guide Souvenir: le Grand Blockhaus Musee de la Poche de Saint-Nazaire. Batz-Sur-Mer, Fr.: SPEI-Pulnoy, 2005.  I bought this book in France at a shop near the huge German Bunker, along with the following.  

Braeur, Luc. Souvenir Guide: Saint-Nazaire During World War II. Batz-Sur-Mer, Fr.: SPEI-Pulnoy, 2004.  Although the books have similarities, one is not simply the translation of the other.  We met the author who asked me if I knew about Randy Bradham’s book, previously mentioned above.

Brokaw, Tom. The Greatest Generation.  New York: Random House, 1998.  This gives insight into the aftermath of World War II, and the effect of the returning masses of soldiers.

Evanier, David. Making the Wiseguys Weep: the Jimmy Roselli Story. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1998. It has so many misstatements that it is certainly unreliable.  Example:  the author says that Jimmy fought in northern France against the Germans.  False.  He kept the German U-boat soldiers and sailors penned up in Western France and there was limited combat, according to Wally Mersa, who was Jimmy’s buddy.  It says Jimmy was in Company E, 266th Regiment of the 66th Division.  False.  He was in the 262nd Regiment.  There was no record of any 266^th Regiment. I don’t think the book will give much.  That said, Walter Merza, a veteran whom I met at the Army reunion, who had belonged to Carl Bonde’s Army Company E, absolutely adored Jimmy Roselli.  Wally invited us all to his home and he played some of Roselli’s recordings for us.

Graduating Class of 1928. The Flathead. Kalispell, Mont.:  1928.  Bud’s sister owned this high school annual.  Recall that Bud was born in 1923.  His sister Helen must have asked 5-year-old Bud to autograph it, which he did with a fine scrawl.

Hadden, Alexander H. Not Me! The World War II Memoir of a Reluctant Rifleman. Bennington, Vt.: Merriam Press, 2009.  In NOT ME! The World War II Memoir of a Reluctant Rifleman, in its 4^th edition, originally published in 2007, Alexander H. Hadden told how he was drafted, assigned to A.S.T.P, and was assigned to the 66^th Panther Army Division, same as Carl Bonde.  He described the chicken-shit treatment he and his fellow soldiers received at Camp Rucker, near Ozark, Alabama.  Useless, sadistic treatment and gratuitous orders for no purpose other than to bully and harass:  chicken-shit.  Mr. Hadden’s title Not Me refers to the maxim in the army that one should not volunteer for anything, and if volunteers are requested, just “keep your head down.”

Mr. Hadden described the difficulties the college A.S.T.P. soldiers had when the program was abruptly closed and they returned to GI life as infantry, as private soldiers, and when they faced older noncoms who did not have much schooling.

 

Loomis, Stanley B. My Life – My War – World War 2. Bloomington, Ind.: Authorhouse, 2010.  

Pool, Raymond J. Basic Course in Botany: the Foundations of Plant Science. Boston: Athenaem Press, 1940.  Carl R. Bonde Jr. wrote his name inside the cover of this text.

Roberts, Raymond J. Survivors of the Leopoldville Disaster. Sequel to Survivors of the Leopoldville Disaster. More Tales of the Leopoldville Disaster. Unknown City: Unknown Publisher, 1997.  Mr. Roberts published many accounts of the sinking in the survivors own words.  Roberts himself, though, was nowhere near the disaster when it occurred. 

Sanders, Jacquin. A Night Before Christmas. Cutchogue, NY: Buccaneer Books, 1963.  This is the best account available describing the fate of the men of the 66th Army Division who died crossing the English Channel en route from Southampton, England, to Cherbourg, France.  Note the date of publication.  Mr. Sanders was on a nearby ship and witnessed the men die at the hands of the Germans.  He seems to be an independent, and thorough, historical researcher who amassed lots of information.  The book has 320 pages, hardcover, and cost only about $10 new from Amazon.com in 2009.  Mr. Sanders writes in a narrative style, drawing from extensive research.

Strengths:  This account was the most contemporary of any after the SS Leopoldville was torpedoed and sunk.  Its author was a trained historian and a professional writer and presented the views of many survivors in the late 1950s and early 1960s whose mailing addresses were systematically tracked down, questionnaires mailed out, then many of the responders were carefully interviewed by the author personally.  He also located and reported historical records about the ship itself and researched and interviewed those responsible for the safe passage of its passengers and crew.  One is impressed by Mr. Sanders thoroughness.

The book reads like a novel.  A book about a ship’s sinking is, similar to a train wreck, a book about chaos.  This ship’s sinking was complicated by chaos ashore as well as contradictory information aboard the ship.  Of the three main books written about the SS Leopoldville, this is the best edited and organized chronologically.  The narrative is divided into 16 chapters, starting with the troops of the 66th Division boarding the ship and finishing with a critique of the many investigations into why there was such a large number of casualties. 

Weaknesses:   It has no index nor table of contents, however Mr. Sanders does have acknowledgements in the back, including a list of all of those who responded to his questionnaire, those whom he interviewed, including the relatives of principle figures of the tale and officials in the US, UK, Germany, France, and Belgium.  

Some excellent tales are missing.  Many of the most lucid and complete accounts by persons actually aboard the ship when it was hit and sunk are, through no fault of Mr. Sanders, not in this book.  Absent are the particularly thorough, articulate accounts by E.P. “Bill” Everhard, Bill Loughborough, Bill Moomey, Maurice O’Donnell, Randall Bradham, Henry “Hank” Anderson, Bob Carroll, Al Salata and others that surfaced years later.  

Although this is a weakness of Mr. Sanders’ book, he should not be blamed. Survivor Bill Moomey said that he remembers receiving one or two letters from Jacquin Sanders asking him for his account of the sinking of the SS Leopoldville, but Bill said he discarded them.  Bill (and probably some of the other soldiers who escaped death Christmas eve 1944) did not want to recall and publicly share such a sad event that robbed him of so many of his dear friends only 15 years earlier.

Mr. Sanders lived in the Northeastern US and his interviews of the survivors were a sample of convenience of those living in his vicinity.  Remember that travel and communications was far more difficult, expensive, and slower in 1960.  

Read this one first.  It is readily available, well made, inexpensive, readable, and as well researched as the technology and logistics in 1960 would permit.  This book contains the testimony of some of Carl Bonde’s military acquaintances in Co E:  Medic Cloyd Grubb, mortar men Ole Jensen and George Miller, and possibly others.

 

Sciboz, Bertrand. Epaves Des Cotes de France. Rennes Fr.: Editions Ouest-France, 2000.  Sciboz has dived to the SS Leopoldville and gave the Struckmans a copy of his book, written in French, when they chartered a boat ride to visit the wreckage in the English Channel Christmas Eve, 2007.  Clive Cussler located the SS Leopoldville 50+ years after it went down.

Senior Class of Flathead County High School. The 1940 Flathead: a Year Book. Seattle: Western Engraving & Colortype Co., 1940.  Bud’s copy survived and it contains nearly 70 inscriptions to him from his high school classmates.  They are transcribed in Appendix A. and also on the Internet at an historical website.  This is a rich source of information, albeit written by adolescents in the throes of, well, adolescence. 

66^th Infantry Division (Panther Division), US Army. The Black Panthger. US Government, 1943.  Camp Robinson, Arkansas, hosted the 66^th division until 1944, when it moved to Camp Rucker, Alabama.  Many of the junior soldiers in the photographs in this souvenir publication were shipped out from Camp Robinson to replace casualties in the European Theater of Operations (ETO).    However, when the 66^th was repopulated with A.S.T.P. soldiers, the division trained and shipped out in October, 1944, as a coherent unit under General H.F. Kramer to New York, and ultimately to England in mid-November.

Stokker, Kathleen. Folklore Fights the Nazis: Humor in Occupied Norway, 1940-1945. Madison, Wisc.: Univ of Wisconsin Press, 1995.  Bud’s cousin, Earl Bonde, recommended this book telling of the Norwegian resistance in the early 1940s.

Terkel, Studs. The Good War: an Oral History of World War Two. New York: The New Press, 1984.  Studs was one of the best at interviewing.  One realizes no war is good.

Vonnegut, Kurt. Timequake. New York: Berkley Books, 1997.  I liked the premise behind this book.  In researching and telling histories, one has such an experience.

Wobeck, Earl F. Old Mill Stream: an Autobiography. Victoria, B.C.,: Trafford, 2004.  Earl Wobeck’s book told how he was assigned to the ASTP at the University of North Dakota, same as Bud was.  He attended college in Grand Forks, North Dakota, with civilian students, mostly girls.  The dorm accommodations were relatively new, located, according to Mr. Wobeck, on the Red River plain on the outskirts of town.  He said it was potato country, close to Canada, and quite cold from the wind.  He attended just Fall quarter before the ASTP was disbanded.  Some, like Mr. Wobeck, intentionally failed their classes in order to prevent being sent back to the army as privates in the infantry.  

Mr. Wobeck’s photograph appears several times in his memoir, but I was not able to identify Mr. Wobeck in a photograph of Carl’s Co. B of A.S.T.U 3713 Grand Forks, ND Jan. 1944.

 

 

 

 

 

Bud entered the US army in 1943, through the Armed Forces Entrance Examination Station (AFEES) Butte, Montana.  I went through the same portal in 1969 during the Vietnam era.  I stayed in a seedy hotel, ate a meal at government expense with a coupon, then got a bus ride.  For me it was to the Butte airport.  For Bud, it was probably to the train station.  The following is information about Carl’s records from the army these days.

Appendix G

 

On July 12, 1973, a disastrous fire at the National Personnel Records Center (NPRC) destroyed approximately 16-18 million Official Military Personnel Files (OMPF). The records affected:

Branch	Personnel and Period Affected	Estimated Loss
Army	Personnel discharged November 1, 1912 to January 1, 1960	80%
Air Force	Personnel discharged September 25, 1947 to January 1, 1964 (with names alphabetically after Hubbard, James E.)	75%

No duplicate copies of these records were ever maintained, nor were microfilm copies produced. Neither were any indexes created prior to the fire. In addition, millions of documents had been lent to the Department of Veterans Affairs before the fire occurred. Therefore, a complete listing of the records that were lost is not available. However, in the years following the fire, the NPRC collected numerous series of records (referred to as Auxiliary Records) that are used to reconstruct basic service information.

 

 

 

Bill Moomey’s Account of 1944-5, including the SS Leopoldville sinking.  

[ Bonde’s WW II era experience closely paralleled Bill’s.  They were almost exactly the same age, both born in September 1923.  After their basic trainings and their separate brief college experiences in ASTP (see below), they trained in the deep South with the 66th army division, shipped to England, then in answer to Nazi aggression late in the war, to France.  Of course Bill survived the U-Boat.]

 

I had heard about a program called ASTP (Army Specialized Training Program). If your Army IQ test score was high enough you could apply, which I did.  I went before a committee of officers, and they approved my application and sent me to the University of Nebraska Ag Campus which was a staging area for this program.  We were billeted in the large building at the Northwest corner of the mall or quadrangle or whatever you call that area.  I don’t remember what they called that building, but think I would know if I heard the name.  We also ate there.  We did close order drill, and also went to refresher classes to start our minds thinking about school instead of killing.  The average stay there was about three weeks and then you shipped out to a college somewhere in the United States, like University of Iowa, or Missouri, or Connecticut, or even the University of Nebraska.  I lucked out and was assigned to the downtown campus in Lincoln.

            The U had just completed the new Field House at the North end of the stadium, but had not ben able to use it for athletics yet.  While there we lived in that Field House.  Note that both ends of the stadium were open.  They had not done any seat construction on the ends by then.  On a cold winter day the wind really whipped through there.  Some of the guys lived at Love Memorial Library which was also brand new and had not been used by the university for a library yet.

            We ate at the Student Union in the West end of the building.  During the day when we were on duty we marched in formation to and from meals, and classes.  Each one in our unit had the same classes and same teachers.  We had study halls at night, and those were in the Law building part of the time and military science building part of the time.  Whenever we went anywhere including study hall at night we marched in formation and a cadet leader was appointed for every group.  There was probably twenty or twenty five in each group.

            The purpose of ASTP was to make engineers out of us in two years.  At the end of that time we were to get a commission and assignment to an engineering outfit.  We didn’t take any of the unnecessary courses.  It was math, physics, chemistry, etc.  Only the basic engineering studies.  At the end of three months a lot of our friends flunked out.  They were shipped out to regular outfits and and within a couple of weeks they were writing to us and telling about getting a mail clerk job which was a corporal, supply sergeants, and all sorts of good easy positions.

            The rumor mill was working of course, and we heard stories of how this program was not going to last, so we all tried to flunk out the second three months.  Rumor was right on the nose.  At the end of six months the program was thrown out and we all went to the infantry together.

            The Air Corps Cadet program also gave up their University program and so a whole bunch of ASTP Cadets and Air Corps Cadets from Universities all over the country hit the infantry divisions to bring the up to strength.

            Cousin Dick Black was an Air Corps Cadet at Clemson, and two weeks before he was to transfer to pre-flight school he also was sent from school to the infantry.  He didn’t go to the 66^th but there were many like him that did  General Eisenhower had said that he needed infantry replacements more than he needed pilots or engineers.  As a result ASTP and Air Cadets were sacrificed.  If you had made pre-flight school you were safe.  There were certainly a lot of sad people around the country after that move.

            Many of at U of N were assigned to the 66^th division at Camp Robinson located just North of Little Rock Ark.  The 66^th had just come off of maneuvers.  They had been out in the field for three weeks playing war games and living in tents and they were rough and tough and gruff.  They didn’t take kindly to a bunch of guys fresh out of college.  Not to brag—but the general IQ of the infantry was greatly enhanced at that time.  Training manuals and weapons manuals were written at fifth grade level.

            When we first got to Robinson there were probably fifty or sixty of us timid souls that met up with people like we had never been in contact with before.  There was an Indian named Pat Cuny from South Dakota.  Turned out to be a real nice halfway intelligent guy and knew the ropes of fighting.  He was a squad leader.  There was an Italian from Pennsylvania that they called Dago.  He talked a lot and was funny after you got to know him.  Then there was another kid from New York City that had spent a couple of years in a Bunde youth group that Hitler was managing to influence because the Nazi party was not outlawed in this country.  The Mess Sgt. was also an Italian by the name of Lido Puccinelli.  He was connected to a casino in Elko NV. As a civilian.  I don’t know if he was a dealer, or owner or what but that was his thing before coming into the Army  He eventually became our Machine Gun Section Sgt.

            In the Infantry rifle company at that time there was a headquarters section, three rifle platoons, and a weapons platoon.  The headquarters platoon was rather small and was made up of people to serve the Company Commander, such as First Sgt., Co. runner, Co. Radioman, Jeep driver, Mess Sgt and Cooks, Supply Sgt., Co. Clerk, mail clerk and that sort of personnel.

            Rifle platoon had 3 squads  Each squad had twelve men including Squad leader and assistant squad leader  The squad leaders were Staff Sgts with three stripes up and 1 rocker.  Ass’t squad leaders were Buck Sgts.  With three stripes up and none down.  There was also a Platoon Sgt with three stripes up and two down.

            The weapons platoon consisted of three mortar squads of five men each and two machine gun squads of five men each.  These squad leaders were Buck Sgts.  The mortar section leader and the machine gun section leader were Staffs and then we also had a platoon Sgt.

            The officers were a captain for company commander, a First Lieutenant as executive officer (second in command) and either First or Second Lieutenants as platoon Leaders.  I am sure this is information you always wanted to know but didn’t know where to find out.

            At any rate, when we got to Robinson they separated us new guys from the rest of the company for training purposes, because we essentially had to do basic training over again and they had to get us conditioned physically.  That was tough but I wish I was in that kind of condition today.

After three weeks in Robinson we shipped out by train (including Pullmans) for Camp Rucker which is near Dothan, AL.  That is Army Beattie’s hometown.

            While in Rucker we did the usual disciplinary training such as close order drill, Fifteen mile hikes, twenty five mile hikes nine mile speed hikes, rifle range for target practice and training in the proper use of weapons, KP, guard duty which is to be considered a privilege and an honor not a duty, and an occasional pass or furlough.  We also spent a lot of time on bivouac or if you prefer you can call it maneuvers, or war games.  We would spend anywhere from three days to three weeks out in the field playing war games.  While we were on bivouac we slept in tents, used slit trenches for latrines, and dug foxholes for practice, and of course filled them up when we left.

            If you are in the infantry you carry a full field pack on your back.  This consisted of a shelter half, one blanket, mess kit, and an entrenching tool of some kind.  Either a small shovel or a pick.  Mine was a shovel.  In fact we have a shovel like that in the garage that Mom won by answering some kind of contest on TV.  Sometimes you also included C-rations for one day and most of us carried an extra pair of socks.  All of this stuff was rolled up tightly in the shelter half and then bound into the knapsack, which had shoulder straps When you were moving from one spot to another you had on the field pack and a rifle belt full of ammunition.  The rifle belt had metal eyelets that you could hook other things into the belt for carrying.  You always ad a first aid kit hooked on, which was nothing more than a compress to put on wounds.  Also your canteen, bayonet, and trench knife.  After you get all of that equipment strapped on then you sling an M-1 rifle on your shoulder.  Often times the weapons platoon boys also had a pistol.  Occasionally we had to carry the machine guns which were quite heavy.

            When I think back on that time I don’t know how we did it, except for the condition we were in physically.  You can see why they don’t want anyone but young men for that job.  If you were thirty years old you were an old man.

            When you stopped to pitch camp for overnight two guys would each pair up and each would provide a shelter half.  You would fasten them together and that would become your tent for two men.

            While we were in Camp Rucker we stood reveille every morning and retreat every night.  After reveille it was chow and then off to some kind of drill, or training movie, or hike of some kind.  The Camp Commander at Rucker was not part of our outfit and he didn’t think we should have to take 25 mile hikes, so he issued an order that they could not make us do 25 miles all in one day.  Don’t worry, our high command put us through regular drills in the morning, gave us a little time off till 4:00 or 5:00 and then we went on a 25 mile hike until next morning.  That way it was in two different days, since we passed through midnight.

            When we stood retreat the weapons had to be just so-so.  Because of the proximity to the coast the humidity was high.  After sitting in the rifle racks all night the guns were red with rust, so it was a constant chore to keep the brass happy, but we survived.

            In November 1944 we went to Camp Shanks near New York City.  That was called a Port of Embarkation.  I was happy to be going to Europe instead of the South Pacific, but that was the only thing good about it in my mind.  We did get some passes while there.  One night some of us went into the City and went to a Nightclub.  I don’t remember the name of the club but they had all black entertainers.  We saw the Ink Spots, Ella Fitzgerald, and a guy by the name of Peg Leg Bates.  He was a one legged tap dancer because he had a white peg leg.  One other night we were in Times Square on election night.  What a mass of people.  You absolutely could not move for a while, except when the crowd moved you were forced to move with them.  That is about all I remember about NYC.  We weren’t there long.

            On Nov. 15 1944 we shipped out on a converted luxury line named the George Washington.  It had been used as a luxury liner for overseas transportation to Europe because planes were yet to come on the scene  They converted it to a troopship and I have no idea how many men were on board, but I know a full division of 15,000 soldiers from the 66^th were.

            We were unhappy to find out that Co E was going to be a guard company on the way to England.  We had certain places that we were stationed on the ship.  It turned out to be a good deal, because if you were not in a guard company you had to continue with some kind of training.  Classes, calisthenics, etc.  We also had galley privileges.  We were special people at chow time, and we could go get a sandwich and coffee at the end of our shift if we wanted something to eat.

            This was when I had my first experience with a gay person.  I was stationed on one end of the passageway leading to crew’s quarters and a guy by the name of Vester was on the other end.  The crew was not Navy.  I think they were Merchant Marine sailors.  At least they were not part of the military as far as I know.

            Any way one of the stewards took a liking to Vester and he brought him pies, and cakes and all sorts of goodies.  Then Vester would give me the high sign and we would feast.  Vester was glad to get that trip over with.

            If I remember correctly we were on the high seas eleven days.  I see in another account that I wrote I said it was thirteen or fourteen days, so whatever it was we made it to England.  We were in convoy and we were also zig-zagging as a defensive measure, so it took awhile to get there.  We landed in Weymouth England then went to a camp near Dorchester.

            While at that camp we continued training out in the countryside as well as standing inspection.  Not long before we shipped out from Rucker the weapons platoon got a new platoon leader, fresh out of West Point by the name of McWilliams.  Of course we were perplexed because he was a West Pointer.  He turned out to be the best officer we ever had.  Most of our officers were ROTC or ninety day wonders.  I’ll take a West Pointer any day.  We also got a new regimental commander just as we were leaving the States.  He was a bird Colonel also out of West Point.  He had not seen his troops so we had the inspection routine to go through and our Company Commander Captain Penland was scared silly.  Anyway we had the regimental commander, and his Aides, the Battalion Commander and his Aides and Company Commander looking us over.  The Colonel wasn’t exactly happy with the other platoons in the company, but when they got to the weapons platoon McWilliams called us to attention from Parade rest and every heel clicked as one.  McWilliams reported to him, as was the routine.  Sharp, snappy, and loud enough to be heard across the whole expanse of the company formation.  The Colonel looked at him asked him where he was from and McWilliams told him West Point.  The Colonel turned around to Capt. Penland and told him to get the rest of his Company up to the standards of this platoon.  That night the fourth platoon went on pass and the rest of the Company had a G I Party.

            While in Dorchester that night we came across a guy with a large two wheel cart that he could push around.  (You have seen pictures of them).  He was vending the famous fish and chips that we had heard so much about.  Guess what, the fish tasted like fish and the chips tasted like French fries, and I am not fond of either one.  At the Pub we tried the dark beer which is supposed to be something special.  You know, I never did like beer, and I didn’t like that either.

            While stationed at the camp near Dorchester I got to go to London on a three day pass.  We saw St Paul’s Cathedral, Westminster Abby, Tower of London and Madam Tussaud’s Wax Museum.  I am sure there were other things, but that is what I remember.  We didn’t get to see Buckingham Palace or the changing of the guard.

            As we were going into the Wax Museum there was a Bobbi (Police) standing on a stairway landing, so I went up to ask him directions.  Guess What!! He was a wax dummy.  We finally figured out where to go and upstairs in this one large room there was a desk sitting close to the doorway with a wax dummy sitting there as if reading a book.  Also there was a sign in a basket telling you how much money to put into the basket to get the guide pamphlet.  I went over and put the money in the basket and picked up the guide book, and she said thank you.  She wasn’t a wax dummy after all.  The figures were so real it was amazing, even down to the hair on the backs of the fingers.

            The next day after returning to camp I had KP (Kitchen Police).  About 1:30 or 2:00 that afternoon the Charge of Quarters came down to the Kitchen and told us to get back to the barracks and pack up to ship out.  I was washing some pots and pans and he said to leave them as they are.  Drop everything and get back to the barracks.  SO we did.  We hurried up to get back to the Company so we could wait.  Typical Army routine.

We finally loaded up all of our equipment on our backs and marched down to the train station in Dorchester.  I do not recall what time of day or night this happened, but it was a long haul.  Our train took us to Southampton where we again trudged on foot to the pier where ships were waiting to take us to France.  There was a Red Cross truck there with American girls serving coffee and donuts to the troops.  That really hit the spot.  It was the day before Christmas.  For some reason which seems to be unknown Co. E was divided.  Headquarters platoon, and first and second platoon boarded one ship and the third platoon and weapons platoon boarded the other ship that was in dock.  It was a Belgium owned vessel that had been a small luxury liner that was converted to a troopship.  It had a Belgian crew (most of the sailors or crew members were black natives from the Belgian Congo I am told.)  The officers were white men from Belgium.  I think the language was probably French.  The Army Cadre on board, that cooked the meals and looked after the troops were English.

            We took our duffel bags and weapons to our assigned quarters.  Our quarters were well below the water line in a hold a little past midship toward the aft side of the ship.  After dropping off our equipment we went back up to the main deck for a boat drill.  Each group had a particular place to go or as they called it a boat station.  Then it was free time and we were on our own.  I don’t recall what I did right after that.  I remember trying to get comfortable in a hammock.  Up to now we had always had built in bunks that were stationary and solid, but this whip had hammocks that had to be conquered.

            Instead of going to the galley or mess hall to eat we sent two representatives to pick up chow for eight to twelve people.  When they returned it did not smell good nor did it taste good.  I was prepared with a box of Hershey candy bars in my duffel bag so I skipped chow.

            Two guys Tom Bowles and Tony Lemos were almost directly under my hammock doing a great job being sea sick.  My stomach began to be a little queasy after listening to those guys do their vomiting so I decided to go up on deck and get some fresh air.

            As I was going up the stairs I met my squad leader, Irvin Weaver, coming down.  He said it was pretty cold up on deck so he was going after his overcoat.  He told me that some of the guys were up on boat deck which was the very top deck of the ship.  He told me where they were up there and would meet me there in a few minutes.  [I wonder why I didn’t wait for him or even go back with to get his coat.  (No, I really don’t wonder that at all.  I just praise the Lord and give him all of the credit.)]

            After my short visit with Weaver I went on up to the boat deck and found some of the guys.  Bill Loughborough, who was from Mich. At that time and now in Santa Rosa CA., George Miller came from back East somewhere and now in Conn.  Al Salata from New York City and living in Florida.  Ole Jensen, a Dane from somewhere and now is deceased.  Hank Andersen from Omaha and now living on an island in Puget Sound.  Jack Yarbrough from Atlanta GA and is still there.  All of these guys were in the Mortar Section of the 4^th Platoon.  I was the only machine gunner in the group.  These guys were sitting on benches sort of like park benches.  I had just found them and almost immediately Ole decided to get sea sick.  He went t the rail of the ship a little aft of where we were and upchucked.  As he was coming back to the group there was a loud explosion and debris flying in the air at approximately where Ole let go of his dinner.  First remarks were “Ole you have more power than I thought.”  Second remarks were I wonder what hit us.  About that time we noticed three British Destroyers huddled up and going around in a circle.  Of course everyone assumed they were chasing a German U-Boat.  Some one else suggested we hit a mine because of the metallic sound of the explosion.  Then someone else said it wasn’t likely to be a mine in the English Channel where Allied shipping was prevalent and in control of the sea.

            As we were deliberating about what had happened we began to secure our life jackets and decided we should go to our boat station.  We were up on boat deck on the starboard side of the ship and also forward part of the deck.  Our boat station was at least two decks down on the Port side and aft so in effect we were in the opposite corner of where we were supposed to be and two decks above.  We went down to the correct deck and tried to get to our boat station but there was a swarm of men from rail to cabin coming toward us and there was no way we could get to our designated spot, so we just stayed where we were.  The main deck was below us yet and we stood on the forward, starboard corner of our deck looking down on hundreds of men standing shoulder to shoulder below us and extending forward to the bow of the ship which was possibly 100 feet from where we were.

            All of this activity started at dusk, probably around six o’clock.  By this time it was dark and so they turned on the lights which was a no-no in time of war.  What a perfect target if there were more subs or enemy planes around.  Luckily there weren’t.  Since it was Christmas Eve someone started singing Christmas carols and everyone joined in.  It was kind of nice.  Eventually a British destroyer pulled up along the starboard side.  They were able to partially tie up to the Leopoldville, however the sea was pretty rough and high waves made the two ships bob about as corks in a bathtub.  They would come together and then the waves would separate them.  Sometimes when they came together they would do so with a bang.  Occasionally they would not touch.  The destroyer was not as tall as the troopship so we were looking down on them.  There were British Officers on the destroyer shouting directions.  “Climb atop that rail there and when I holler JUMP, give it all you have.  So we lined up and when it was your turn you climbed atop the rail and when they hollered JUMP a whole wave of soldiers were instantly in the air momentarily.  Of course the destroyer was bobbing up as we hit the deck and everyone went sprawling.  Then it was a hustle to get out of the way of the next wave of men.  T was possibly a fifteen or twenty foot drop to the destroyer and when you hit the deck it was quite a blow.  Some were injured.  I was lucky.  I had a sore heel for about two weeks.  Some of the men wouldn’t jump because of fear and some said they haven’t given the abandon ship order so why risk it now.  Some of the jumpers didn’t time it right or didn’t hear the order to jump or for some reason didn’t make it to the destroyer.  They fell in between the two ships and into the water or in some cases were smashed between the two ships.  I had on my steel helmet and when I hit the deck of the destroyer my liner stayed on my head but the helmet went flying.  I think it went into the drink.

            After landing on the destroyer they herded us down to the galley.  Some said they had soup, some said they had pie.  I had a part of a cup of coffee that hit the spot as it had been quite chilly on the open deck.

            We asked the Brits what would happen.  We wondered why they didn’t tow us into port.  They said because of Union agreements, or Port agreements, or some kind of agreements they had to let some tugs or tow ships from Cherbourg Harbor come out after the Leopoldville.

            I have no idea how long it was but eventually the HMS Brilliant went into Cherbourg and dumped us out on the pier.  We were wandering around like lost children not knowing what to do.  Finally we heard someone shouting, “rendezvous by company.”  We got E Company together in one spot.  I am not sure, but I think Jim Grunewald from our platoon joined us at this point, so now we are eight.  Al Salata was the highest ranking non-com in the bunch, as a Staff Sgt.  I know that our Platoon Leader Lt. McWilliams was on the ship but he didn’t show up at this time.

            As we were standing there waiting for other survivors to show up some second looey came by and asked who we were.  He was lost.  He saw a large stack of K-rations in case lots on the dock behind us.  He said, I have no idea when or where we are going, but I know if I were you guys I would leave here with food, and pointed to the stack behind us.  Several of us picked up a case of these rations and took them with us and no one objected.

            I should tell you that K-Rations come in breakfast, lunch, and dinner.  They were packaged in a box about 4”x8”x2”.  Breakfast had a packet of Nescafe.  I don’t think instant coffee other that that had come upon the scene yet.  There was a package of crackers similar to the salad wafers served with salad today, a can of scrambled eggs and ham, a little package of toilet paper, and a package of three cigarettes.  Lunch consisted of the crackers again, a can of cheese, a packet of orange powder for drink, and the supper ration had the crackers beef bouillon for the drink and potted ham, and I am sure that there were some other things in these rations that I don’t recall at the moment.  For the most part they were very tasty and sufficient in spite of all the griping.  They were cold of course.  However, GIs become quite ingenious and would fend for themselves in a remarkable way.

            When we left the docks were taken to a large warehouse area where they gave us blankets and pillows and instructed us to find a spot and stay together and watch for friends.  We ended up at the far end of the building and took turns going back to the entrance whenever a new bunch of survivors came in.  It was very disappointing that none of our group showed up.  Of course you think maybe they were in the hospital, or went to a different place because it was getting pretty crowded where we were.  This went on all night.

            I don’t recall what happened the next day except that in the evening we went to a Port Battalion which was all black for Christmas dinner.  They loaned us mess kits and silver after they had eaten and we had a regular Christmas dinner.  The turkey was fixed ala king in the gravy and put over mashed potatoes, and there was cranberry sauce, and bread and butter and I suppose some kind of a vegetable.  When I stop to think about it that was a pretty amazing feat to serve a nice Christmas dinner to about 800 or 900 unexpected guests.  I have no idea how many of there were but it was a bunch.

            We were then taken to a camp; that had been a fairgrounds or race track.  It had a grandstand the U.S. Army had erected semi-permanent shelter using squad tents.  A squad tent would hold up to twelve people and our eight guys from E Company were assigned a squad tent.  It had wood or some sort of hard stiff material from the ground up about four or maybe six feet.  My memory about that is pretty fuzzy.  We had a little government issue pot bellied stove in the middle for warmth.  You burned whatever you could find for fuel.  The coast of France is cold in the winter time just like it is here in Nebraska.  They had a kitchen and dining hall over in the grandstand.  Having been under severe discipline for so long we sort of took advantage of the sudden lack of discipline.  We slept in every morning and when we got around to it we would break out a breakfast ration and heat it up in mess kits on the pot bellied….