Morris Barrett: A brush with Patton, and with mortality

I graduated from James Monroe High School in the Bronx in June, 1944 and was drafted in August, 1944 into the Army at age 18.

I was sent to Camp Blanding, Florida for my military training where I was taught to fire a M1 rifle, a Browning Automatic Rifle (BAR), and was selected to attend an Information Sound Locator School . Upon the completion of my military training, I was shipped overseas to as a rifleman assigned to the 5th Infantry Division, Third Army.

I was assigned to fire the BAR, which I strongly rejected because of the high mortality rate for BAR carriers. The captain of my battalion insisted that I remain with the BAR because of my basic training. My first assignment with the 5th Division was guarding the bridge across the Mozelle River .

On my third tour of duty I noticed a group of Jeeps with American flags attached to the doors. The fourth Jeep had a flag with three stars imprinted. This Jeep stopped at my side and a general opened the window and asked me how I was doing. I answered the general that I was fine. As the jeep left the bridge, he said, "Good luck, soldier." I found out later that the general was George Patton.

About a month later, my company was informed that we were to attack a wooded area fortified with German soldiers. I was instructed by my lieutenant to remain next to him up front and fire the BAR upon command. As we approached the wooded area, gunshots were heard coming from the Germans. The lieutenant told me to begin firing my BAR. I began to pull the trigger, but the gun did not fire. Again, the officer yelled at me and said, "Fire the damn gun." As often as I tried the BAR did not fire.

The lieutenant grabbed the rifle from me and shouted, "Get the hell to the rear of the soldiers!"

As we came closer to the wooded area, the lieutenant was shot and killed. I was told that I had the safety catch on which was not released. To this day, I wonder if I had released the safety catch, would I have been able to tell this story. About two months later I was wounded and received the Purple Heart.


Larry Owens: What Vietnam taught us about Iraq

Every war extracts the good and the bad from human nature: courage and cowardice, honor and disgrace, sacrifice and self-preservation. Wherever the battle is fought, at any place in time, the things that have always been the same vastly outweigh the things that have been different.

And with rare exceptions, those called to do the fighting are regarded with the gratitude of those who are not. The citizenry are the benefactors of the sacrifice and the warriors are due every heartfelt measure of reverence they receive.

Those of us who served in had a different experience. To be sure, some exaggerated claims survive that war: I was never spit on, and no one ever called me "baby burner" to my face. But other vets did have those encounters, and it happened enough times to them to crystallize things for the rest of us. We knew where we stood at home: unpopular strangers coming back to a lions’ den of either overt hostility or unspoken rebuke.

So we hid our pride of service, or else be accused of endorsing an unjust war and siding with corrupt men who lied to justify the slaughter of innocents. Patriotism was thought to be misguided, and not to be worn on the sleeve.

No matter one’s opinion of the current war, it seems we’ve learned a lesson: our sons and daughters should never be seen as the enemy. In recent years vets have received some sincere expressions of overdue gratitude. But to this day, I can’t help thinking that belated thankfulness doesn’t seem enough for those who never came back.

Barbara Ann Tarvydas: On borrowed time

This story took place during World War II. My father Alfred had joined the Air Force (then still part of the Army) in 1940 before the entered the war. Once the was involved in the war, he was assigned to a Tail Gunner position. On this one particular occasion he was to fly in a particular aircraft. At the last minute plans were changed and a different person was assigned to my father’s aircraft and he flew with another group. Both planes took off but at the end of the flight it was learned that the man who switched places with my father had been killed, along with his crew, when the plane was shot down.

From that point on my father always felt that he was living on borrowed time.

Richard S. Coben: Healthy enough to be a cook

In 1943, my grandfather was drafted into the US Navy. He always joked around that it must have been an act of desperation because, at the time, he was 33 years old, he was the sole support of a wife and two daughters, he had flat feet, he was deaf in one ear, and he was 100 lbs. overweight.

He became a cook on an LST in the South Pacific.

Kurt W. Ritterbusch: Offering healing in Iraq

The media has shown the war in in a negative light. It shows the war as a bloodbath, where American soldiers are needlessly dying. What you don’t ever see or hear about is all the good that the troops are doing for the Iraqi people. Having been mobilized with the 2nd Battalion, 23rd Marines H&S Co, COC Bravo in January of 2003, I saw firsthand what the Marines accomplished on their way up into Baghdad . After crossing the desert, we proceeded up Route 7 through several small towns. As we approached these towns, it seemed like every person from that particular town was waiting to greet us. We were greeted by smiling, cheering townspeople waving flags shouting, "Bush good!" But what we also saw was the aftermath of combat.

When we came into the towns, we were treated like celebrities. People would approach us, thanking us for what we had done. Being a Navy Hospital Corpsman, it was my job to ensure that my Marines were ready for combat and to care for them if they were sick or injured. Unfortunately, I was also called up to care for those innocent civilians that were caught in the crossfire. Once the town elders heard that there was a medical person in town, the injured were brought out on carts or carried by neighbors to our position.

One of the most memorable patients I cared for was a 10 year old boy that had suffered second- and third-degree burns. He had found an unexploded RPG and was trying to take it apart when it "flashed," causing severe burns. His older brother had brought him to a security post down the street and after the Marines cleared them, sat them down waiting for me to get to them. When I got to the post, I found this Iraqi boy with burns to both of his hands, forearms and elbows. The right side of his face was burned so badly that his eye was swollen shut and his ear totally burned off. The flash had been so hot that the skin between his fingers had fused together. With the skin fused, both hands resembled lobster claws.

His older brother spoke some English, so he acted as our interpreter, explaining what we were doing to help his brother. When I got to him and saw the extent of his injuries, I was really surprised at how quiet and calm he was. As I treated his burns with Silvadene cream, he was more interested in the Marines and the 7-ton trucks passing by. One of our sergeants standing by had a rosary from home around his neck at which the boy kept pointing to. While talking to the older brother, we were informed that they were Christians. Once the sergeant found this out, he took the rosary off and placed it around the boy’s neck. He was so happy with the gift that he kept smiling and lifting up the cross to show his brother. This made it a little difficult in finishing bandaging his hands.

With the burn treatment completed, I started an IV to give him some fluids to prevent dehydration and to give him some antibiotics to ward off infection. The Marines stopped a passing Iraqi pickup truck, explaining that there was a boy that needed transport to a local hospital. The civilian agreed and we got the boy and his brother on board for transport. They started to drive off when the truck suddenly stopped and the brother ran back to us. With tears in his eyes, he thanked us over and over again. Then he ran back, got into the truck and sped off. To this day, I still wonder what ever happened to the brothers.

If the media would show more positive things our troops are doing, then maybe the American people would have a better understanding of what it is they’re doing for the people of . Americans are constantly being told of all the atrocities that are troops are going through, making the ’ presence in unpopular. But if more positive stories are brought to light, it would show and the rest of the world that we are making a difference. If this ever does happen, then maybe more Americans will support our troops and give them the recognition they so richly deserve.

Caroline Loughlin O’Connor: A secret wartime marriage

I am an eighty-nine year old lifelong resident of Fishtown in the city of Philadelphia . When World War II was on practically every family in this community had someone serving. We used to hang a little flag in the window with a star or stars showing how many from that home were serving. From our small parish church alone, The Immaculate Conception, four hundred and forty men went.

In the 1930s Adolf Hitler was on the march across Europe . His Nazi troops were taking over and destroying everything they touched. We here in were just getting out of the Great Depression and were having a little breather. Sad to say, we the kids who were growing up in the Depression years were the young men and women who were going to fight the big war.

When the war rumors became reality President Franklin D. Roosevelt decided to have a draft of young men. It was supposed to be that those drafted would serve for one year. The song, "Goodbye, Dear, I’ll Be Back in a Year" was being sung across the country. This was 1941.

The man I was to later marry, Frank O’Connor, was called up in that draft. Frank was one of the first to go from our neighborhood. He worked at Nicholson’s File Company which is where I met him. I still remember how so many of our workmates thought it was such a big joke that he was called but little did they know, they would all soon be called for the war. Frank went into the Army at Fort Meade, Maryland , and was to come home the following March.

Frank and I married in August of 1941. People laugh at me when I tell them that it was the rule at Nicholson File that you could not be married if you were a woman working there. So we had to be married in secret. It was also funny because I worked that day and got wed at about 5 p.m. The notice had been kept out of the papers and no one was there but my sister, Frank’s younger brother, and the priest. And we only found out at a much later date that Frank’s older brother had also been there in back of the church. When all became known about a year later he said that he was just not going to miss it.

The next funny thing was that we were going to Atlantic City for our honeymoon and we had our bags and went up to the El platform and who was standing there but two girls I worked with. Of course they did not know that we were just married so this was a big scandal that we were going away together and not married. This secret was kept for a long time until my brother met a neighbor who told him people were talking that my "boyfriend" was staying overnight. Something had to be done.

So I went into work and told my boss that I had gotten married but I that needed the job. To my relief, he told me that I could keep my job as long as I wanted. I was the first "known" married girl to work at Nicholson File. I worked there all through the war.

From Fort Meade, Maryland, my husband was sent to Fitzsimmons General Hospital in Colorado where he was trained for the operating room of the 93rd Evacuation Hospital Unit, to which he was attached all through the war. This was the hospital where General George Patton slapped the soldier for decrying his own situation.

When Frank was finished that training he went back to Fort Meade and was able to come home on weekends when he had a pass. It was our custom for me to meet him at 30th Street Station and we would go to a bar and grill across the street and have something to eat.

I remember very clearly the weekend of December 5th because it was my sister Frances’ birthday and we were going to celebrate. We all lived in a big brownstone house and on Sunday morning my mother was cooking us breakfast in the kitchen. The breakfast room was right beside. A big console radio stood between two windows and we could hear it so clear. All at once we heard the voice of President Roosevelt announcing the bombing of Pearl Harbor and advising all military personnel to return to their bases. I never saw anyone move with such diligence as did my husband. He quick ran upstairs, grabbed all his belongings, brought them down, threw them on the studio couch, and dressed as fast as he could while listening to instructions ­and like that he was out the door. I will never forget the speed with which he operated. All I could hear my mother scream was "We are at war!" and I think she cried all day.

When March came, the same month my husband was to have been coming home as his year was up, instead he was going overseas.

Frank came home on leave - this was to be his last time, as his unit was moving out with so many others. His mother’s heart was broken. She cried and cried and when his shoes and personal belongings came it was worse. She dropped dead the next day. It was all so unbelievable. Frank was still at Fort Meade with no passes at all for anyone for any reason. His sister called him and said that something was wrong with mom. She didn’t say she was dead. But he dropped the phone and ran out of camp. He was AWOL and the army police came after him. But when they saw what had happened they stayed with him until after the funeral. It was a sad, sad time. He left for overseas when he went back to the Fort. I did not see him again until four years later.

Over sixty years have gone by and nothing has had such a profound effect on my life and probably the world than those war years.