PART II

Thank you all for the kind comments for my dad.

P.S. Dad was 5' 10" and was assigned the BAR, go figure. Maybe he was the shortest in his squad.

At one point, my dad received a leg wound*. After a stay in the hospital he was redeployed to the front. For some reason only the army could explain (most likely the demands of war at that moment), he was assigned to another unit as a radioman. He was also given an M1 carbine, much lighter than a BAR but almost impossible to sling on a shoulder when you already had a backpack radio hanging from your shoulders. And he rarely got to use it. He asked the quartermaster for a 1911 Auto pistol instead. Nope, it wasn't 'regulation'.

At first he thought he wouldn't have the "target on his chest" like when carrying the BAR. But he soon found out different. As the radio man he was generally right next to an officer. He did get a lot of jeep rides but he found that officers were targets as well!

He was usually kneeling down to operate the radio, sometimes in foul weather he was under his poncho, also at night so the lights on the radio dial didn't draw enemy fire. On two different occasions his Captain and a Lieutenant were killed right over his head. Until a Corpsman (medic) arrived, he was administering first aid, after removing the Captain's pistol belt and opening his coat.

The medics spirited the mortally wounded Captain away on a stretcher and there on the ground lay his belt and holstered 1911 auto. You guessed it, an M1 Carbine quickly replaced it. Later in another firefight the Lieutenant was killed; that was the one that gave my dad nightmares for years. He never forgot having the Lieutenant's brains splattered all over him.



A much less grisly memory was pulling guard duty one night at the recently re-captured Berretta Factory in a mid-winter snow storm. He and another squad member took refuge in a warehouse, also not to be a sitting duck for a German's bullet. They kept vigil thru shell holes in the building.

At one point they covered up to light a smoke crouched down near a packing crate and got curious about what was in it. A quick investigation revealed boxes, each filled with two dozen brand new Berretta 380 pistols. It just so happens that when they were relieved in the morning, the warehouse inventory was short two dozen pistols. They were happy to have the large pockets in their army trench coats, etc. Needless to say, they lived like king’s for the next couple of weeks with such desirable “trade goods”. When shipped back to the states, many GIs were flown home in stripped out B17s sitting on the floor, a most miserable flight, but completely overlooked because the ride home was accepted with glee! Each GI was limited to one small ditty bag. His had his shaving kit, a change of skivvies and souvenirs, i.e., a 380 Berretta, a Luger, a Norwegian 1911 45 auto, and a Mauser 9mm Broom handle.

The broom handle had its own story: in a small Italian town that dad’s outfit was re-occupying, he was leading a squad armed with a Garand. His #2 man carried a Thompson. They snuck into a building and found a German Colonel feverishly burning classified documents (presumably) in a barrel. He made it known in broken English, he wanted an officer to surrender to, not my dad, a sergeant, who turned to his #2 with the Tommy gun and said, “If he doesn’t give me his sidearm right now, shoot him!” Quickly, off came the pistol belt with the beautiful broom handle, not just any Mauser, but one with Persian stamps. Not until years later did dad fully appreciate its rarity and later collector value.

Just a note, I’m the oldest of his sons and was almost retired before any of these WW II anecdotes were shared with me. We lost him within 10 years after that.

* One bronze star came to the house in the 1970s; the other one and the purple heart showed up in the late 1980s.

__________________
Jim
S&WCA #819