It was an emotional few days, filled with laughs, tears, and revelations about the past of this unique character that I had never fully appreciated.
I came away from the trip with several stories about my Grandfather told by my Dad, Aunts and Uncles, but one that stood out to me was the story of his time served in the 7th Army, 3rd Infantry Division under Gen. George Patton. You can read a bit about the Division known as the "Blue and White Devils" in that hyper link.
My Grandfather fought as a Captain in an Artillery Unit, but later rose to the rank of a Major, a significant achievement in its own right.
From a letter he wrote to my Grandmother that we uncovered at his house earlier this week, I know that he spent time waiting and training in Ireland and Scotland, before being deployed to the front in Northern Africa. He fought in Algiers and Tunisia before crossing the Mediterranean to fight in Sicily and finally Italy.
My Grandfather was wounded in Italy during the Battle of Cassino, one of the fiercest battles with the Germans in the Italian theatre.
It was in the mountain approaches to Cassino that the division met its toughest opposition and displayed its greatest offensive prowess. Heavily reinforced, the Germans sat on Monte Rotundo, Monte Lungo and Monte la Difensa, ringing Mignano on the north, determined to hold at all costs.
Every foot of the way was heavily mined. Jeeps were replaced by pack mules. Men died who might have lived if they could have been transported over the long and tortuous trails to aid stations. Co. K, 7th, once had 23 casualties from AP mines while climbing a hill to relieve another company. Mules were forever straying off the paths, exploding mines and wounding badly needed men.
My Dad and Uncle shared with me that he was placed as a forward observer when shrapnel from an artillery shell that landed near his position lodged into the back of his leg severing a major nerve running the length of his leg.
As my Dad tells it, his post was so far in advance of the Allied line, and the battle was so back and forth, that he remained out at his post for three days before he could be evacuated by Allied Medics.
During that three day period, he was visited and treated by both US and German medics on foot who would administer morphine, and make note of their treatment on a "scorecard" that would stay on my Grandfather's person.
The wounds themselves were not life threatening, but over three days of waiting to be pulled from the battle field, and only receiving minor treatment on the wound, and more help with dealing with the pain, he lost a significant amount of blood, to the point of unconsciousness.
As my Uncle read during the memorial service, when Allied forces were finally able to secure the area my grandfather lay wounded, he was presumed dead, and was strapped to the back of a mule train that was headed to a graveyard where the fallen US soldiers would be buried.
If not for a slight twitch by my Grandfather that was witnessed by a soldier, he may have been denied proper treatment for too long to make it, or worse yet, buried alive.
He was able to receive medical treatment and make a near full recovery, over time regaining feeling in his foot as the nerve regrew, and was only left with a slight limp.
During the days that he remained wounded on the battle field as the line of advancement ebbed and flowed, he was classified as MIA and was presumed KIA.
A letter was written to my Great Grandmother informing her of the news of his missing status, but luckily, my Grandfather was able to phone my Great Grandmother in advance of her receiving the letter while in a hospital to save her from the grief that letter would place upon her.
For his wounds received in the Battle of Cassino, he was awarded a Purple Heart. This Purple Heart was something I asked my Grandfather a few years ago if he minded me inheriting some day. Though I have not seen the Purple Heart, my dad has it in his possession, and it will be making its way to me in a couple of weeks along with other pins, patches, and medals we were able to retrieve over the last week.
At the memorial service, an Army Honor Guard was there to honor my Grandfather with a three gun salute, the playing of taps by a bugler, and the folding and presenting of the American Flag.
This flag was presented at the ceremony to my Aunt, his oldest child, but was given to me to be displayed in my home.
As my Uncle read during the memorial service, my Grandfather never spoke of the fighting he saw, always instead telling stories of humorous encounters or of ironic happenstance.
One I recall was the time he got back from a march in the hills of N. Africa where he walked through some old Roman ruins during a heavy rain. Back at his camp, as he took his boot off, he realized that embedded in the mud in the arch of his boot was an old Roman coin which he gave to a friend who had been collecting rare coins as they moved throughout Europe and N. Africa.
Hearing these stories and the contents of letters uncovered gave me a glimpse into my Grandfather's past. It is a past filled with amazing stories. Definitely worthy of a novel. This part of his military past is but one of many I enjoyed rehashing with family over the weekend.
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