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Mr. Leidenheimer and the 507th Parachute Regiment
Webmaster note: We wish to thank our good friend
and supporter Chip Dodson for contributing this passage from Mr.
Leidenheimer. It is a great addition to the site!
I was born October 23rd, 1922 on Frenchman Street in New Orleans, Louisiana. I went to first grade at McDonough 14 on Jefferson Avenue. Mrs. Leckert was the principal and played martial music as we marched up the stairs. On the first day of school, when we were allowed to go out on the schoolyard for the 10:00AM recess, I scaled the seven-foot board fence and went home. It was Monday and Mom was washing clothes. She gave me lunch, red beans and rice of course, and brought me back to school at 1:00, instructing me to stay there! I stayed for two years, and then transferred to Lafayette Grammar School for the 3rd and 4th grades on Carrollton Avenue. Because dad could not pay the rent, ($25.00/month,) we moved to the Irish Channel. I transferred once again and attended Redemptorist Catholic School on Constance Street for the 5th and 6th grades. Interestingly, I learned all the four-letter words that I wasn't supposed to repeat in that Catholic environment!
On a Christmas Eve while I was a student at Redemptorist, Dad went fishing and brought home fish and some small feisty crabs. I took two of those little crabs and placed them in the holy water font at St. Alphonsus Church before midnight mass. My friends and I watched in delight as a lady wearing white gloves dipped her gloved hand in the lavabo and came up with a crab attached. If dad had ever learned that I was the culprit in that escapade, he would have killed me!
Seventh grade found me enrolled at Live Oak Grammar School, where I graduated in 1936. They didn't have an eighth grade so I moved right on to S. J. Peters High School on South Broad Street. It was there that I started playing football at the urging of my Spanish professor, Adrian Martinez. During his college career at Jefferson College, (later Manresa Retreat House,) he had played the quarterback position. I played end for four years and ran track. I would have also played basketball, but mom was sick with the flu for two consecutive years when its practice began. As the oldest child, I had to go home early to take care of mom and my three siblings. I cooked, washed clothes, and cleaned the house until dad arrived home. On Saturdays and vacations, I worked in the H. G. Hill Stores. I earned $2.50 each Saturday for 16 hours work and during summer vacation, I was paid $10.00 per week for 72 hours work. I really wanted to play football for LSU, but the college interested in my football abilities was Southwestern Louisiana Institute in Lafayette. So I didn't go to college. I played for an independent team in New Orleans for $10.00 per game!
So instead of college, I went to work for Hormel Meat Packers as a salesman. When Pearl Harbor was hit, I immediately went to the U.S. Army's recruitment center to volunteer for parachute duty along with a good friend, Emmett Zimmerman. We were called to service on April 14th, 1942. I was sent to Camp Livingston. They wanted to keep me to play on their camp team, but I declined and went on to Camp Walters, near Mineral Wells, Texas.
The first day at Camp Walters, we went on an
eight-mile hike. Some of the men came from desk jobs, and tired
easily, so I carried their 1903 Springfield rifles. The first
sergeant ordered me to "stop acting like a silly schoolgirl" and to
give their rifles back. Of course everyone snickered and I was
embarrassed. As we pulled into the company street, I asked the
sergeant if we got off at noon on Saturday. He stuck his chin out
and said, "Yeah. Why?" I told him to meet me at the boxing ring and
I'd give him a boxing lesson. (He said that he would, but he failed
to show up.) Then I walked back to the company with my "followers"
and the company clerk looked at me while he posted something on the
bulletin board. I asked him to make up a pass for me to go to town
and he said, "You're Leidenheimer, aren't you?" He suggested that I
look at the board. Names for Sunday's K.P. were posted and mine was first. I took off after him; he ran into the orderly room and locked the door. I pounded on the door and yelled, "You tell that sergeant that I want to see him." Of course, the sergeant had hauled ass!
At 4:00AM the next day, I reported to the mess hall. The Mess Sergeant asked, "Who's Leidenheimer?" When I responded he told me, "The First Sergeant said to put you on pots and pans." All of the utensils had a ¼ inch crust of black grease on them, but by 6:00PM, the Mess Sergeant told me, "They look like they just came out of the factory!" The following Sunday, I cleaned the pots in a couple of hours and asked the Mess Sergeant what to do next. He replied, "The Sergeant said for you to do the pots and pans, you got them clean again, so come tell me about New Orleans." That's how it went for the next five weeks.
During the week though, I'd get the First Sergeant away from witnesses and insult his mother; ask him if everyone from Georgia was as yellow as he; and other provocative questions. I felt no remorse…he was bigger and heavier than me. Boy, I'd have been surprised if he were a Golden Glove champ.
The next part of my training was Morse Code School. A classmate, Reed, and I climbed over a building and with fake passes, made our way to town. We met some girls, took them to a movie, and like gentlemen, kissed them goodbye and returned to camp. I had the picture included with this summary taken at this time of my training. I sent it home to my mom.
By now I was off to the Parachute School at Fort Benning, Georgia in June 1942.
Our class of 500 guys, including a contingent of Canadians, was the largest ever. The Canadians' major was given the honor of jumping first out of the lead plane. Unfortunately, the following plane clipped the major, hitting between his body and his canopy. He was flipped 100 feet into the air. I saw the indentation where his body hit the ground on Lawson Field. This delayed the jump schedule so several of us volunteered to jump twice on Tuesday to catch up. We thought we were pretty tough! Nowadays, kids make up to one hundred jumps in a day!
Half of our jump class filled up the 505th
Parachute Regiment and the other half started the 507th Parachute
Regiment. Zimmerman went into the 505th and I went into the mighty
507th. The 507th formed up in the "Alabama Area" which was across
the Chattahoochee River from Ft. Benning, about twenty miles from
Phoenix City, reportedly the "toughest town in the USA." From there,
we moved on to Barksdale Field in Bossier City, Louisiana. We had
practice missions there and jumped over the Red River. I was
captured and escaped during the maneuvers.
From Barksdale, we boarded a train for Alliance, Nebraska to prepare for a mission in North Africa. The closest city was Denver, Colorado. Alliance Air Field was a great training ground, but I broke my left forearm playing football and was hospitalized for two months. Upon discharge from the hospital the regimental surgeon, Major Vollmar, told me that I could go home on a month's furlough, or take a three day pass to Denver and stay with the 507th. I arrived in Denver on Armistice Day, November r11, 1943, after winning $1000 in a crap game. I went into a bar loaded with about thirty WACs and bought them all a drink. We went bar hopping where I matched up all the WACs with soldiers. Finally only one beauty was left and she was a real pin-up. She posed for war posters. I'd saved her for myself, when she informed me there was only one hour left in her pass. I hailed a cab and rode back to the base with her. We kissed goodbye, the cab was about to pull away, when a cute little blond came running to the cab. After discovering that she wanted to go into town, I invited her to hop in. She had a three-day pass and we had a good time!
When I returned from my Denver trip, there was a letter waiting for me from the girl I'd taken to the movies in Mineral Wells, Texas. She had divorced her lieutenant husband, was working in a defense plant, and had enough money to come live me in Alliance. She had seen my picture in the photographer's window and told him she was my cousin. He gave her my address. That was too close for comfort. Fortunately, we took off for overseas the next day.
We entrained for New York City then boarded the Australian ship, the HMS Strathnaver. It was moored next to the Queen Mary and nearly as big. We endured 21 days of nasty weather crossing the North Atlantic. Every evening we endured a miserable meal of stinking, greasy mutton. The crew was selling us bread for $1.00 per loaf and charging $5.00 for pies. Almost everyone besides me was sick and we were all hungry. One day I borrowed a fatigue jacket without stripes and went down to the galley. A mess sergeant asked me what I was supposed to be doing. I told him that nobody told me to do anything so he suggested that I peel potatoes. As soon as he walked to the other end of the galley, I put a cardboard box on my shoulder and headed through the doorway. He yelled at me and followed. I instructed two of my guys to fake a shoving match in the doorway. One of them fell behind the sergeant and the other pushed him. As I progressed through the second bulkhead, I turned back to see the sergeant's head hit the steel deck. The box contained 4-gallon cans of pork and beans. We devoured two of them immediately. They were delicious! I put the other two cans under my bunk. The next morning, they were gone. Years later, while visiting the third platoon sergeant, Doug Teal, he told me he'd instructed Junior Rogers to steal the pork and beans. I couldn't do anything to Rogers because he had been killed during the Battle of the Bulge. When I fussed at Doug, he said, "You know there's no honor among thieves.
I learned that the Strathnaver was to dock in Liverpool the following day, so late that night; I acquired a crowbar and broke the lock off the galley. While I was breaking the lock one of my guys said, "We're gonna get in trouble." I answered, "What are they going to do, send us into combat?" The irony of this answer was that we were so eager to go into combat against the Germans! It was what we had been preparing for, for the last two years. The real irony was to display itself seven months later when we clashed with the Germans and lost 65% of our regiment in 28 days during the Normandy invasion. The psychiatrist who had interviewed me when I volunteered for parachute duty, said I had a "death wish."
From Liverpool, we transferred to a Liberty ship and crossed over to North Ireland. We then proceeded by rail to the northernmost tip to Portrush, a summer resort. At Portrush, we saved our candy, apples and oranges and hosted a Christmas Eve party for the little Irish kids. Some of the children were six years old and had never eaten an orange. They were so cute with their blond hair, blue eyes, and rosy cheeks. We enjoyed them immensely. Portrush was also close to Bushmill's, the distiller of Irish whiskey. We would take our own quart-sized bottles there and they filled them. It cost about $1.80. We enjoyed that also!
One of the reasons for our being there was to repel the Germans in case they invaded from Germany. Portrush was a summer resort and we occupied vacant buildings that winter. We stuffed hay into mattress covers to make our beds. Northern Ireland is close to the Artic Circle and each room was allotted a ration of coal for heat. We continued to run five miles every morning before breakfast. I'm sure if we hadn't beaten the Germans, we could have out-run them.
We began our combat training there with a three-day exercise in the field, but with only one days food ration. We were to get anything else we needed through our own devices. At first we felt badly about stealing eggs, chickens, and ducks from the Irish farmers, but that guilt was alleviated when we learned they were being reimbursed for their losses. Quite generously it seemed. If we stole one dozen eggs, they reported missing three dozen eggs!
Much of our training was at night by necessity because it was dark from 3:00PM until 9:00AM. One night Company B was pitted against another company from the First Battalion. It was violent. One of our men, Spurlock, bit off his opponent's ear. The opponent then hit Spurlock with a rifle butt, knocking out Spurlock's tooth.
For entertainment, we visited the pubs. The town was blacked out and though I didn't smoke, I'd carry a pack of Red Ball (Lucky Strike) cigarettes. Upon seeing girls on the street, we'd offer them a cigarette, then light it to see whether we'd invite them to join us for a pint of ale. There were nine WRENS (British female sailors) who took care of the lighthouse. I was lucky enough to get a date with the cutest of the group, a little blonde. We went to a movie and returned to the lighthouse billet. I was kissing her in the foyer and she fainted. I picked her up and rang the doorbell with my elbow. The old chief came to the door and asked me what happened, I said, "I was telling her goodnight and she passed out." She opened the door and said, "She's done it again! Lay her here on the sofa." After a few months, we moved to Nottingham, England, a city the size of New Orleans and noted for its beautiful women. (At about this point, reader, you are probably wondering if I was taking a world tour of women, rather than fighting the war!) I dated the prettiest gal in town, Sheila Purdue. Her dad was an M.D. and I think she was his secretary. She loved to dance and one night we won a jitterbug contest with a bottle of champagne as the prize. All was not fun though. We continued to train hard for combat, including one night jump in preparation for Normandy. We sent our trench knives, bayonets and switchblades to Nottingham for honing. The sharpener returned them, razor-sharp, and refused to accept payment. The Brits were always so nice to us, always making us feel welcome. Expecting to go into combat soon, we had a regimental barbecue and invited the public into camp. All had a great time! It took several days to flush all the girls out of the tents.
Finally, our time came. We moved to the airport where we studied sand tables of our target jump area. We slept in the hangars for several days. We listened to "Axis Sally" whom we called "The Bitch of Berlin." She broadcast from Germany and always played the latest American hit records rather than the stodgy classical music aired on BBC. One day Axis Sally announced, "All of you 82nd Airborne guys are going to miss your warm blankets tonight, but we'll have a hot reception of 88s for you." She was referring to the classic 88mm all-purpose field gun used by the Germans. We emplaned on the evening of June 5th. The air armada flew into the Atlantic to a rendezvous radio signal on a submarine. Then we turned east toward the coast of the Cotentin Peninsula. I slept until someone awakened me. I looked out just as we crossed the beach. Lt. Alderton was our jumpmaster and wanted me to jump immediately behind him. At first we flew through a thick fog or dense smoke. Leaving the smoke, puffs of antiaircraft explosions and colorful streams of machinegun fire greeted us. The German tracers were red, blue and green. American tracers were only one color. Every now and then, a bullet would zip through the floor and out the top of the plane. The port engine caught fire and flames flashed by our jump door. Apparently the fire extinguisher doused the flames and the engine continued. Then the starboard engine caught fire at about the same time that we saw the green light. The green light signal to JUMP! It was about 2:20AM.
I jumped after Alderton and observed a German fighter plane following, firing at our C-47. (After returning to England, General Eisenhower let us check on the status of our plane…it didn't make it back.)
We jumped at what I estimate was less than 300 feet, because I oscillated only once before hitting the deck. I was fired upon by machine gun on the way down. I was cutting my harness off with my trench knife when a machine gun opened up again. I accidentally dropped my knife and hauled ass down a road. A German challenged me: HALT! I jumped into the gutter and ditched the anti-tank mine that was slowing me down. Two Germans chased after me, firing their rifles. I came to an eight-foot fence and ran through an open gate. The German soldiers were on the road in plain sight about twenty feet away. I should have killed them both, but we had been ordered not to fire until daybreak. So I fixed the bayonet on my rifle, expecting them to follow me. I knew that I could take them both since the gate was only wide enough to let one through at a time. However, they wouldn't leave the road and I got tired of waiting for them and left the area.
Next I found Richard Guscott who had oscillated into a stonewall, bruising his ribs. I hid him in a hedgerow and promised to return for him. Later I found Joe Sienko and several other guys. I told Joe to go open an equipment bundle out in the field. He gave me a blank, "1000 yard stare" so I slapped him with an open hand. "When I say move, go!" I shouted at him. He moved. We set up two machine guns, a mortar, a case of grenades and plenty of ammunition in a dug-in German position. By then, it was daylight so I told the guys that I was going to find Guscott. After walking only fifty yards, an MG42 opened up on me. Winston Churchill said after to Boer War, "There's nothing more exhilarating than to be shot at unsuccessfully!" I suppose I felt that same exhilaration, but I was too busy hitting the ground and scanning for the source of the gunfire to notice it. I saw two 500-pound bomb craters in the middle of a large open field. The machine gun's presence indicated that there was probably a squad of ten men in one of the two craters. I placed an extra clip of eight rounds in front of me. This would give me sixteen shots in case they rushed me.
I heard a noise behind me. Turning around, I saw a German Sergeant pointing a Schmeisser machine pistol at me. I stood and put up my hands, while nine Germans came out of the closer crater. The young blond who fired at me was shaking like a leaf. No wonder he missed me! Looking back at my men, I thought that if I took the machine gun away from the German and hit the ground, my guys could open fire on them. However, all I saw were the backs of their helmets. Their attention was elsewhere.
The Germans escorted me to a small building where a group of captured American paratroopers were already assembled. I was really happy to see Guscott, but not necessarily under those circumstances! A German lieutenant who spoke perfect English came in and asked for everyone's names. After Louis Pfeiffer gave his name, he asked if Pfeiffer spoke German. Pfeiffer lied to him saying, "No." When he got to me, I gave him my name, rank and serial number. He saw my sergeant stripes and asked how many paratroopers jumped in France. I told him loudly, "Look, Bud, I told you my name, rank and serial number and that's all I'm gonna tell you." I was trying to impress everyone to reveal only the required information. We had been warned not to lie to the Germans. We were told that they were smart and if several men lied, the Germans would be able to sort out the lies and come up with the truth.
The German lieutenant looked at me, red-faced, clicked his heels and said, "Stand at attention when you speak to a German officer, and don't call me 'Bud'!" I refused to stand at attention and just glared at him with folded arms. He sputtered, "Turn around and face the wall!" Turning away slowly with my eyes on him, I unzipped the secret pocket on my chest and held my switchblade in my hand. The lieutenant turned and spoke to the guard. I thought he was telling the guard to shoot me. If the guard had raised his rifle, I was going to cut the guard's throat. He didn't shoot me, the lieutenant left, and I sat down next to Guscott. Gus was trying to light a cigarette, but the guard came and slapped it out of his hand and confiscated the cigarettes.
We were taken outside and ordered to empty our pockets onto tables. I complied, but there was so much confusion, I walked back around the table and put everything back into my pockets. They took us out on the road and we started walking. When American P47s flew over, the Germans would jump down in the ditches lining the road. They shouted at us, "Langsam!" (Walk slowly!) I'd tell the guys to walk fast and we'd leave them behind fighting weeds in the ditches. The officer heard me and jabbed me in the ribs with his Chemise. After the P47s had passed, they'd get back on the road and tell us, "Mach schnell!" (Walk fast!) I whispered for our guys to slow down again the officer jabbed me in the ribs and told me shut up. I worked my way up to our lieutenant to suggest that we overtake the Germans. There were only eight of them and about forty of us. Except for the German officer who was jabbing me with his gun, all the other Germans had their rifles slung. I suggested that the next time he jabbed me, I take his head off. Our lieutenant replied, "The war is over for us." I decided right there that when the opportunity presented itself, I would have to plan to escape alone.
I suffered a slight ankle injury on the jump so I limped all day. I exaggerated its severity because I knew the enemy tends to believe your spirit is broken if you are injured, and they'll be able to control more easily. We walked through Valognes and I could see the French were unhappy to see so many American prisoners. This was encouraging to me because I knew that when I escaped, the French would help. They herded us into a chateau courtyard where even more, perhaps one hundred, paratroopers were gathered. Another German officer ordered everyone from the 82nd to go to an area to his left, and the 101st soldiers to go to another area. Of course, no one cooperated. The officer then inspected arm patches and directed each guy to the area he had designated. When he approached me in the front row, I put on my best "theatrical limp." He asked if I were wounded, I replied, "I think I broke my ankle on the jump." He told me to go sit against a building. I obeyed.
He directed more 82nd guys in my direction and I soon realized that I couldn't see the guards…and they couldn't see me! I crawled into the doorway of the barn, pulled an old wooden butter tub, some rakes, shovels and hoes over me. I removed my bright 82nd shoulder patch. My American flag patch was on my right shoulder, away from the door. I heard them counting excitedly. One German came into the barn and seemed to look directly at me. He left without seeing me. (Months later, I learned from Horace Pendergrass after he escaped, that a young soldier, Harry Dover, saw me crawl into the barn and followed. They beat him in the head with rifle butts. His wife later told me that he had gone blind and committed suicide.)
I heard the officer say that anybody who tried to escape would be shot. Then he said they were going to feed everybody. I was so hungry; I was tempted to postpone my escape. Toward dusk, I crawled out to an open area of the barn. All of the paratroopers were in a barbed wire cage with machine guns mounted on swivels at each end so the cage could be swept in a moment's notice. I was lying there, trying to figure how to get the paratroopers loose, when a command car drove up. I looked out and saw a German general and his beautiful blonde French girlfriend. I was thinking, "You bastard! You are going to be surprised when I slit your throat and bed your gal!"
Before dark, they placed more guards on the chateau and I realized it would be impossible for me to gain access. I tried to go out the back door of the barn. As soon as I got out on the street, I had to retreat because gangs of drunken Germans were coming from town. It puzzled me because they weren't speaking German. [I discovered fifty years later while in Valognes, that they were Georgians (Russians) who had been impressed into the German Army.] I went back into the barn to survey an alternate escape route. The only way out was to cross in sight of two guards. I watched them for a long time in order to see how they walked their posts. I could see no pattern. I had to take a chance. I crawled out on an open lawn, taking what seemed like ages to get to a four foot wooden picket fence next to a tree. The closer guard came within ten feet of me as I climbed up on the fence with my head and shoulders in the tree. Slowly turning my head, I realized that he had stopped and was looking directly at me. That's where my training paid off. In our training games, we learned that the first man who moved was dead. After a seeming eternity, he turned and continued walking his post. I dropped down and moved toward town, scaling several stonewalls that divided the apple orchards. I tried eating an apple but its bitter taste forced me to spit it out.
The Krauts made an error, letting me escape. Later I had 27 sure kills. Coincidentally, I had 27 parachute jumps including Normandy and the Rhine jumps. We spent two months in the "Bulge," but we "jumped" out of rattle trucks around Bastogne for that battle.
Finally, at dawn, I dropped inside the churchyard. All was quiet as I entered a small building alongside the church. On a table were a bottle of wine and half a loaf of French bread. I finished them quickly before I realized it was probably the host and wine for Mass. I walked into the large room under the church and found a room full of sleeping kids and two nuns, who bolted upright in bed. Then I made my first mistake of the day. I said, "Je suis americain." They thought I spoke French and replied in French. I interrupted them saying, "No parlez francais." They brought an English speaking Frenchman and the priest. I told them I'd just escaped and asked to be hidden. They said, "Sergeant, if they find you here, they'll kill all of us." So I thanked them and started to walk out. (I learned fifty years later that the town had been occupied by an S.S. Panzer Division.) The Frenchman said to follow him and hid me in a barn in the back of the churchyard. He was preparing to leave when I told him, "Mangez!" He brought me a poor boy sandwich and a bottle filled with milk. I climbed up in the hay and went to sleep. I heard P-47s overhead, it was 2PM. and I'd had a good nap. The planes were going after the tanks that were nestled near the church. Each P-47 had two 500-pound bombs. The third bomb blew all the shingles off the roof of my building. I now had a seat on the 50-yard line. In total there were eight P-47s that dropped 16 bombs. When the moon went in at 11PM, the Frenchman brought me a map and showed me where the Americans were. I asked him if he had a weapon for me, but he didn't. I asked permission to take a hatchet I'd spied in the churchyard. He nodded. I went to war with a hatchet.
I crossed a road that was loaded with traffic. After I made it across, I headed south on the railroad tracks. I walked along a branch of a river and heard coughing all along the tree-lined banks. My imagination pictured a whole German Army coughing, but daylight proved it to be cows coughing up their cuds. Did I feel foolish at daybreak!
I saw a training film where the soldiers cut the telephone wires so that the enemy would come out and repair them. In this case, I envisioned, I would kill the German and get his weapon. So I climbed the pole, cut the wires with my trusty hatchet, and waited. Nothing happened! The lines had probably been bombed out for weeks.
Just then a squadron of American planes flew over and bombed Valognes. I worried about the children, but learned later that their church was not touched.
My hunger was growing to serious proportions so I approached a farmhouse and observed. When a man came out, I called him over and showed him the American flag on my shoulder. I made an eating motion with my right hand. He invited me in and gave me a bowl of hot cream of wheat. He told me that three of my comrades were in the woods nearby. Being suspicious, I told him to go to them and bring back a note. He left and returned with a note by Sgt. Henrichs, 504th Parachute Regiment. I told the Frenchman to lead me to them, warning him not to lead me into a trap because I would be right behind him and bury the hatchet in the back of his head. (What a way to show my gratitude!)
I met up with the three comrades: Sgt Henrichs; a corporal; and a private named Eddie who was from New Jersey. I discovered later that this private was the best combat soldier. I told them that this was my first combat and I knew that this was their third combat. I suggested that perhaps one of them should lead us. They answered that since I was getting paid for the job, I should lead. I advised them if we had time to discuss strategy, we would, otherwise I would expect them to comply, if they didn't, I'd kill them. We were seven miles from American lines and couldn't afford any mistakes. I didn't want to be a prisoner again!
The first thing they asked was if I knew demolitions. They'd been told that "London" had instructed the French underground to silence a German radio tower. Neither the French, nor the 504th men knew how to handle the explosives. That night, D+1, the 504th men cut the German radio operators' throats. Meanwhile I set the composition "C" charges and blew up the 150 foot steel tower. I was hoping Hitler would hear it in Berlin. The French were so happy with that feat; they had a celebration party out in the woods. Finally, there was plenty to eat. When we finished eating, Eddie leaned and said, "Now bring on the Mademoiselles!" A half hour later, four girls from town appeared. We dispersed to the edges of a field and made out. Afterwards, the 504th guys shared their prophylactics.
That night the head of the FFI, (Free French of the Interior), came out to tell us our girls had gone back and told the Germans where we were. So we immediately moved to another location. (On an "Angela Hill" show commemorating D-Day's 50th anniversary, I told this story. When my son, Carey, a pilot for Continental Airlines, heard this story, he said, "Dad, if you made love to a woman, and she then told someone to kill you, please don't repeat the story. You must be a lousy lover!") The next morning we prepared to go find our units. The same French kid who had procured the girls for us went off to fill our canteens. He came running back from the chateau and told me "Boche!" "Cinq?" I asked, showing five fingers. "Dix," he told me. I turned to my men and told them the chateau had the best water in Normandy, but that there were ten Krauts there. Eddie said, "Lets go get the water, if the Krauts get in our way, it'll be their bad luck." I told the French kid, "Show me Boche." He led us into a barn and pointed to a high window. I jumped up on the haymow and peered through the window. Below, lying on the grass were the ten Germans, smoking and eating. I jumped down and told Eddie, "Take the kid with you to the hedgerow, and toss a grenade." When I saw his land, I dropped my grenade out the window. The Germans were not well trained. Instead of rolling on the ground, away from the grenades, they jumped up. By now, I was armed with a .32 revolver, so I leaned out the window and started firing. The German got off one shot at me. When I saw him aiming at me, I ducked knowing he had to lever another cartridge back in the chamber. I aimed at him and pulled the trigger, but to no avail. I was out of ammo. While I was watching the German, a hole appeared in his steel helmet. Eddie shot an armor-piercing slug through his head. I yelled, "Hundes hoch, weiderschund ist zinloss." Their sergeant repeated, "Hundes hoch," and they all raised their hands. I ran outside, grabbed a rifle, levered a fresh cartridge into the chamber. I ordered the Germans who could move, to drag the wounded ones into the courtyard. We went through their pockets and took their sardines. I took the sergeant's Chemise. I considered it one of the best weapons of the war.
Some of the FFI were with us and wanted to kill all the Germans but I told them they couldn't do that. They argued saying, "When the Germans catch us, they kill us. When we catch them, we kill them." I wouldn't allow them to kill the Germans while we were there, but we had to leave. Before we walked a mile, single shots rang out. They murdered their prisoners.
We traveled at night, sometimes stepping over sleeping Germans. We later learned that we had prowled through two German divisions. Finally, my companions got tired of moving too slowly and wanted to start moving during daylight. I told them that was a bad idea, but agreed to try it. The first morning we were walking across a field when I heard whistling. I froze and they stopped behind me. A German was walking on the path on the other side of a tall hedgerow. There was a wide metal farm gate at the end of our field. We knew when he walked past the gate; we would be in his full view. He walked almost past the gate, but at the last minute, he looked at us. Before I could kill him with my Chemise, he took off running, yelling, "Americans!" I ran back and committed the unpardonable sin by asking, "How do you like traveling in the daytime?" Eddie suggested hiding in the hedgerow, but I told him that would be the first place they would look. I leaped over the hedgerow and found a wheat field. I crawled through the eighteen-inch high wheat and the guys followed. We heard the Germans hunting for us, yelling. I made it almost to the end of the field when a steel door opened and five German officers exited. One held a map and was pointing across the open area. I signaled the guys to back up. If the Germans had seen me, I was going to kill them and run to protect my men. But they went back into the pillbox and I crawfished back into the wheat. At that moment, I realized we were at their front line! I planned on sneaking out of the field when it got dark. So we waited until 11PM when I ordered, "Saddle up, we're ready to move." Suddenly, the area lit up like daylight. The Americans were sending up parachute flares and continued to do so until morning. We had to spend another day hidden in the wheat. The scene was repeated that night too, and we were stuck there for a third day with no food, and worse, no water. All of us hallucinated. I would drift off and dream that I was soaking in a tub full of English ale, occasionally reaching out for my G.I. canteen cup, dipping in, and sipping some of the ale I was sitting in!
In the beginning, I told the guys to chew the wheat to get its moisture and nutrition. By the third day, we had almost eaten our cover! Also on the third day, we were shelled with American airbursts. It was the only time I saw Eddie get scared. One piece of shrapnel went through his jacket while another knocked a chunk off his boot heel. He wanted to surrender, but I told him we were all in it together, and if he gave up, we all would have to join him. I made a deal with him: we wouldn't give up if there were no more airbursts. I prayed up a storm and there was no more artillery. Better yet, the parachute flairs were absent that night. Again I ordered the guys to saddle up and we moved out through the wheat field. We got to a metal gate when I realized "Pappy" Henrichs was not with us. I hid the guys in the bushes and retraced our path. I saw a man stand up, and thinking he was Pappy, I was about to reach up and tap his shoulder, when he turned his head. This man was wearing a German coal-bucket type steel helmet.
I crawled back to Eddie and the corporal, reminding them that I had repeatedly warned Pappy that if kept hanging back behind us, he would get lost. Pappy thought he'd be safe farther back if I were fired upon.
I went over and removed the metal loop holding the gate closed. It swung open and we were about to go through when a German patrol passed through. The last man closed the gate and replaced the loop. Again, I removed the loop and opened the gate. Would you believe it? A third patrol came through, but the last man did not close the gate. I nudged Eddie and we high-stepped with the patrol. My Chemise was pointed at the last man, but he didn't turn around. We heard a German machine gun open up back in the area we'd just left. I think that's when Pappy got killed. I veered away from the patrol, knowing that there would be a checkpoint where we would be exposed. The Germans must have seen us because they started firing in our direction. We dropped down and crawled 50 yards. Shortly after starting to walk, I stepped in a truck rut filled with water. I dropped to my knees, pushed the scum aside and started drinking. Eddie approached and asked if I were okay. I dipped my glove in the water and raked it across his face. Instantly, three of us were slurping water from the ditch like three hogs. The other guys filled their canteens and we proceeded away from the Germans and hopefully towards the Americans. We climbed up on a hill and slept soundly for the first time since leaving England.
The sun awakened three hungry soldiers. We saw smoke coming from a nearby chimney. "One of us should go over there and get some food," I suggested. They both stared at me, so I volunteered. I collected their invasion money and counted about $40 worth of invasion francs. I had to crawl over to the house because we were about 1000 yards from the German lines and could easily be seen with binoculars. When a man came out of the house, I asked him in my broken French where the Germans were. He answered by holding up his index finger, gesturing that a whole finger was one kilometer. The positioned another finger to show half a kilometer. I knew he was being truthful so I asked where the Americans were. He held up his finger again and indicated a short segment, so I knew we were very close. He gave me three large pancakes and I gave him a wad of francs. Only after I got back to the guys, did I realize how expensive those pancakes were! We devoured them.
Eddie suggested, "Laddie, I know you don't like us to move during daylight, but it might prove fatal if we try to cross American lines at night." He was right of course, so we headed in the direction the Frenchman had told us to go. We walked slowly down a path between two apple orchards. All three of us saw a steel-helmeted soldier at the end of the lane and jumped into the ditch bordering the path. We agreed the helmet was black which meant he was a German, or a G.I. who'd been cooking in his tin hat. We looked at each other and I told them to stay in the ditch. I slung the Chemise over my shoulder, swinging it to the back, and walked slowly. I walked fifty yards, keeping my hands in plain sight. An American soldier halted me, asking who I was, what state I was from and other questions. When he was finally satisfied, he directed me to summon my buddies out of the ditch. He'd had his 50caliber machine gun trained on us from the time we entered the lane.
After they fed us, I traded my Chemise for a Garand and a canteen. I told the C.O. that if he loaned me their artillery spotter, I could show him where we had been for three days among the Germans. I took the artillery officer to a vantage point, and showed him the pillbox, their machine gun and mortar positions. I suggested we attack them. He felt they would open fire immediately but I assured him they stayed deep in their holes, only coming out to dig after the moon went in.
We went to sleep then and woke up to the sound of American Howitzers' firing. It was 2AM.
The next day, we were jeeped to our respective regiments. I arrived in time to take charge of half of what was left of Company B. All of B Company's officers were dead, wounded, or captured. We borrowed Lt. Willie Paul McCarty from A Company. Lt. Mac put Sergeant George B. Gillen in charge of the other half of B Company.
That night, we attacked a large chateau located across a small river. It was being used as a German command headquarters. My group laid down a line of fire while Gillen's group attacked first. When Gillen started to go across the river, the Germans opened up with machine guns, mortars and artillery. Being new to the area, I dove into the first slit trench I saw. To my disgust, it had recently been used as a latrine. Luckily, I had gloves on. I bounded out of the trench, shaking my hands and cursing, almost oblivious to the machine gun fire! I had had enough of this, so I led my group across the river. We killed the rest of the Germans who hadn't fled. I missed Guscott. I found him in the chateau's basement, sitting next to a 500-hundred gallon cask of cider and a ten-gallon keg of Calvados. He was drawing from both with his canteen cup. He refused to leave so I broke the end out of the larger cask and he accused me of trying to drown him…but he moved.
Several days went by without losing any men. We pulled up to a town called Pretot and stayed on the outskirts. Our platoon was placed on outpost. It got boring and we sneaked into town, despite being ordered not to. Two paratroopers had been killed there the day before. I took Richard Guscott, Pappy Clark and Andy Susi with me. At the edge of town, an elderly Frenchman invited us into his home to have wine. He seemed overly friendly and I wondered if he had been instrumental in the death of the two troopers. I thought I should kill him, but abstained. We left against his objections and went deeper into Pretot. We entered one of the nicer houses. I moved a picture and exposed a wall safe. I carefully hung a Gammon grenade on its handle and pulled the pin. Any movement could cause the grenade to explode. I went into an adjoining room and fired. The anti-tank grenade blew the safe through its wall, across a room, through a second wall and landed it against the wall in a third room. When we opened the safe, almost everything was shredded, but I did find a French World War I bond. We also found a bottle of cherry brandy. Not much of a take for all that effort!
Andy Susi had left us to go check up on the platoon. As we walked out the driveway, Guscott pushed me aside and killed a German who was aiming his rifle at me. Then machine gun fire came from behind us. It was like being in a movie. Its bullets made a pattern in the sandy driveway. Yelling at Pappy and Gus to go back into the house, I fired at the machine gun crew, forcing them to stop firing. They retreated behind the house. I ran into the house to see Guscott looking through the French doors that faced the street. He was looking at a German kneeling in a doorway across the street. I snapped the safety off my Garand and Gus warned that it would give away our position. I countered, "If the Krauts don't know where we are, they will now!" I fired at him, but he didn't move from the kneeling position. He was about thirty feet away so I knew I'd hit him in the chest. I nailed him again. He tumbled out into the street and I saw two red patches visible about the level of his kidneys.
When the machine gun had opened up on us in the driveway, Pappy dropped his Luger pistol. I gave him my trench knife and told the two of them to go upstairs while I covered them. When it was my turn to go upstairs, I ran toward the stairs, located next to an exterior open doorway. At the very same time, a big German was running toward the same.
Shellfire started coming in heavily, so we ran down the stairs and out the front door. We retreated to our outpost to discover that it had been hastily vacated. When we reached our front lines, Major Pearson met us. He threatened to court martial me for disobeying orders and going into town. Gus told Pearson, "Sir, we killed two of them. I killed one and Laddie got the other." Pearson's attitude changed. He smiled, suggested I not do that again. As he departed, he turned to say, "At least you avenged the deaths of those two paratroopers."
Andy Susi related they had learned that Pretot was going to be shelled and our platoon was ordered to withdraw. He had started to come in to warn us when the shelling began.
After a few days, we went to Cherbourg, then back to Nottingham. We arrived there at 1:00AM, and although it was supposed to be a secret, the whole city turned out to welcome us. Sheila Purdue was there with her friend, who asked where Lou Francis was. She left crying when I told her that machine gun fire killed him. He was one of the 65% of our regiment we lost in the 28 days in Normandy.
After a brief stay in Nottingham, we moved to Tidworth Barracks in southern England. We were reassigned from the 82nd to the 17th Airborne Division. The 513th Parachute Regiment was already a part of the 17th A.D. The COs bragged about the athletic prowess of their respective regiments. We'd already beaten the 513th in a few events so their CO said, "It's a shame you don't have a football team, ours is excellent." Our CO ordered Pappy Schwartzwalder to form a football team. We possessed only twenty-four uniforms. After only one scrimmage, we beat them 21 - 0. Then we beat another team 21-1. It was ice cold and raining heavily during the next game that we won 20-0. However, I hurt my ankle and came out of the game four minutes before halftime. Coach Schwartzwalder asked me if I could play the second half. I did. After the game, he picked me up and put me in his jeep to take me to the hospital. He chewed my ass out the whole way. "21-0. 21-0. 20-0? That's unsatisfactory!" Only after the X-ray showed a broken ankle, did he let up on me.
Hospitalization caused me to miss the fourth game that we won 43-0. My understudy, Perry, an Indian, who later played at Oklahoma, was bigger but not as fast as I. In those four games, we'd scored 105 points to our opponents' 0. Pappy, when he retired from Syracuse, told me, "I don't think you guys realized how good you were. Nobody passed your 35 yard line." My teammates had played for big teams like Maryland, UCLA, Rice, and Texas. Several had played in Bowl games. One was an All-American. The men were mostly officers; I was one of the few enlisted men. At the time, it didn't seem strange to have officers and enlisted men on the same team.
I was out of the hospital and going to play the Air Force team on Christmas day, 1944. They were European Theatre Champions for four years. We intended to break their winning streak, with the game to be played at White City Stadium in London. It held over 100,000 spectators. The winners would be feted with turkey, the losers with red beans and rice. One of our linemen, who'd played in the Rose Bowl, threatened to tell Pappy not to let me start, or to even play. He joked that I might try to lose the game, just to eat red beans! I wasn't worried because there were only 23 of us and we needed every man. In those days we played both offense and defense.
Unfortunately, Eisenhower committed us to the Bulge and our Christmas dinner was a half can of frozen mackerel and one slice of bread. We thawed the mackerel by sticking it inside our field jackets. It was only slightly warmer there than the zero degrees outdoor temperature. Two feet of snow on the ground didn't make the experience any more pleasant… this was no way to treat a New Orleans boy.
The Bulge was the most miserable two months of my life. Ill-fed and poorly clothed, most of us suffered with diarrhea from eating melted snow. At times we had neither food nor water. I shed thirty pounds, losing down to 175.
We took a position along the Meuse River. Occupying the high ground, I placed the mortar squad behind a hill on which stood a trapper's shack. It was so cold I told them to go inside to warm up, but not to linger. The shack would be the first target for artillery in case of attack. I assigned the biggest guy, Theodore Dome, to the mortar squad because he could carry the most mortar rounds. However, Dome occupied the shack, locked up, and went to sleep. I trudged through the snow and yelled, "Dome." When he opened the door and stepped out, I nailed him on the chin. [A few years ago, I got a long distance call. The voice said, "Laddie, I bet you can't guess who this is. Ted Dome, the guy you knocked on his ass in the bulge." He told me had had been part of the 82nd Honor Guard in Berlin. (I knew they picked big handsome guys.) He also said that he was the 82nd Airborne heavyweight champ. I told him, "You big bastard. Why didn't you tell me you could fight? I wouldn't have hit you!" I was so glad he called because we'd heard that he'd died about two years later.]
After the Bulge we lived in tents. In the middle of the first night, 1st Sergeant Jeep Gillen awakened me with his groaning. He said he had a bellyache. When I touched the right side of his abdomen, he almost leaped out of bed. Figuring he had appendicitis, I set out searching for a jeep to take him to the hospital. I couldn't find an officer with one, so I had to "steal" one from the motor pool. We drove around searching for a hospital, finding it just in time for an emergency appendectomy.
As acting 1st Sergeant, it was my duty to straighten out the Morning Report. We were carrying a bunch of KIAs and wounded. For two weeks I wrote letters to the next-of-kin, making sure the guys all died heroically. Before sending their belongings home, we removed girlie magazines and discarded condoms. Eventually Major Vollmar caught up with me and sent me to the hospital to recuperate from the Bulge-induced malaise. Duty-wise, it turned out okay because that same day a first sergeant came to take charge. He was from Louisiana, which automatically meant he was a fine person. He was startled though, when after introducing him to all the officers and non-coms, I shook his hand and told him I was going to the hospital.
After several weeks in the hospital, I regained most of my weight and began exercising daily. When I heard that my 507th was going to make a combat jump. I asked a medical officer on our ward to discharge me, but he refused. He agreed to give me a pass to go see my men. I quickly dressed, leaving my pajamas on underneath. When I arrived at camp, trucks were lined up to take us to the airport. I changed into combat clothes, still keeping the PJs on. When Captain Brown asked what I was doing there, I told him I had been discharged. He insisted that I go see "my friend" Major Vollmar. Vollmar called the hospital and told them to take me off the patient list. When I told him that Capt. Brown wanted a "signed permission slip" for me to make the jump, he reluctantly complied saying, "This could be the end of my being a 'career officer'." I took the note to Capt. Brown who read it and placed it on table in his tent. When he turned around to continue packing his gear for the jump, I picked up the note and trashed it to destroy any evidence of the incident.
The Army knew the war was winding down and they wanted to test recoilless rifles in combat. They flew twenty of them to us, making the 507th the first to use them when we jumped across the Rhine into Germany. We were happy to have them because there were four German tanks in our drop zone. Bazookas would not have done the job of knocking them out.
We made the jump and on D+2, we captured a large German pillbox. I went down into it to make certain all the Germans were dead. I asked my men to cover me from outside the pillbox gun ports. I was getting hot, so I finally removed my PJs.
That afternoon, we were attacking again. I heard a German tank in the road and headed to get the recoilless rifle - I wanted a tank bad! However, a big 240mm mortar shell blew me up in the air, thereby ending my combat career along with the careers of Guscott and seven other men.
The first person I saw after being wounded was Major Vollmar. He told me he was relieved that my only injury was shrapnel in my right elbow. If I had been killed, he told me, then he would have been court marshaled. He gave me a glass of Scotch whiskey, looked at my wound, and sent me to the hospital. I stayed there until the day after VE Day. At the Replacement Depot, the chow whistle blew and I ran down the stairs. A big Tank Sergeant, one of Patton's men, told me, "Nobody goes to chow until I do." I dropped my mess kit and smoked a right to his chin. Up to that time, whenever I punched someone, they went down and usually stayed down. However, I forgot that my arm had been in a sling for six weeks and was devoid of strength. I hooked him with my left several times, cutting his face in several spots. Then he grabbed me, threw me down, and started beating my head on the concrete floor. Just then my hero, Guscott, was coming down the stairs. He threw his mess kit down, bolted down the rest of the steps, and belted the Tanker in the head. When we returned from chow, he was still lying there. I don't know what happened to him.
My platoon was now in Essen, Germany and when I returned, the old guys chided me about coming back "after the war was over." The new kids in the platoon were more tolerant. Nine of us were flown on a special mission to Nice, France. The U.S. Quartermaster was selling a "duck" load of foodstuff to Black Market for 10,000 American dollars, cash. We brought that operation to a halt in short order. We flew back to Essen to participate in a program to give every paratrooper a three-day trip to Evian, France on Lake Geneva. I met up with Eddie of Normandy fame on the first day and we had a much better time together. I regret not learning more about him. He was one of the few men I have known whom I would label "WARRIOR."
Then I returned to the 507th. In order to keep us occupied, they had a spelling bee. Every enlisted man in the 507th was invited to compete. I was the lucky winner. One of our officers, Lt. Paul McCarty, encouraged me to compete for a scholarship to Cambridge or Oxford. I won a scholarship to Cambridge; however, after being overseas two years, I declined and sailed for the USA. I wanted to see my momma.
While at Camp Lucky Strike, our CO, Captain Browne said, "Laddie, it's a shame that you have only 184 points. You need only one more point to be shipped home." I told him I only had 179 points and needed six more points to get out. I figured I was headed for Berlin. Captain Browned informed me that my Silver Star was worth five points. I told him I didn't have a Silver Star. He directed me to go to 82nd Headquarters to look into my personnel records and get the citation. I brought it back to him, (it had been signed by Gen. Gavin,) Browned told me to go to Supply and secure the medal. I showed the supply sergeant the citation. Normally when you are awarded a medal, the band plays while a general pins it on your chest. My award ceremony was different. After reading the citation, the Supply Sergeant reached up on the shelf and threw the box containing the medal on the plain wooden counter. No band, no general, not even a nice counter! C'est la guerre!
The major at the Separation Center at Camp Shelby, Mississippi looked at me and said, "Sergeant, I see you have a Silver Star, the Purple Heart, were recommended for a battlefield commission, and participated in four major battles. You're the type of guy we'd like to have stay in service." When I declined, he asked me why. I told him that I liked to look a man in the eye and tell him to "Go to hell. And I can't do that here, can I?" He signed the discharge immediately on September 29, 1945.
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