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I had a favorite uncle who served in Korea. The only story I remember him telling was about his unit once coming under mortar fire. Everyone ran for a foxhole and piled in. The troops were worried about my uncle and were asking what happened to Captain Strickland.

He replied from the bottom of the pileup that he was the first one in the hole and the rest of them nearly killed him jumping in on top. He came home at the end perfectly healthy...Geo

George
Your mention of "Captain Strickland" reminded me of my uncle Troy Strickland who served in WWII and participated in the invasion of Sicily and the Italian campaigns. He was a corporal, was wounded twice, and sent back to the front both times after recuperation; and like most WWII veterans, told very few stories of his experiences. But one story he related very late in life involving the second time he was wounded I'll always remember; it was from the battle of monte casino. It was bitter cold and the battle had devolved into close range skirmishes and hand to hand combat. Occasionally a truce would be called and during that time both sides would gather dead and wounded (he said corpses would be stacked like "cord wood"); and often during these truces German and American troops would visit each other and the Americans would trade cigarettes and chocolate for items the Germans had. He said these visits were always friendly, but as soon as the truce period ended both sides went back to killing each other. During one of those skirmishes, he was shot thru the leg by a German gunner he could clearly see about 30 yards away; the bullet broke his leg, and he was saved by another trooper who pulled him to safety. But the thing I remember most is what he said about the German who shot him. Said he held no grudge or animosity towards the man, as he knew the only reason he was there shooting at him was for the same reason he had to be there; because his government gave him no other choice.

Hoping it will not be too far off topic I will relate a story told me by my Grandfather, who took me in as a partner on the farm at about the age of 22, despite my youthfulness and inexperience.

During WWII there were German and Italian prisoners of war housed in Waynesboro, GA, our county seat. They were allowed to leave for the day and work on farms in the county. Grandaddy would drive to town, pick up a truck load of them, and work them all day before returning them to camp in the evening. He related that the Germans were all former soldiers from Rommel's Afrika Corps, and were very handsome and physically fit men. They kept themselves very clean, worked hard, had great attitudes and were in "heaven" if they were assigned to work around or on a piece of machinery. They traded cigarettes to Grandaddy's hands for soap. He said they could never get enough soap.

The Italian prisoners (apparently German sympathizers) were just the opposite. He related how they were lazy, complained of thirst constantly..... crying out "Acqua! Acqua!". They would not do their work properly. One result was that the peanut vines they were stacking would not be shaken free of the dirt before stacking on the poles and when it rained the peanuts would sprout and ruin. Grandad soon got enough of the Italian POWs, but always spoke very admirably of the German ones.

SRH

Interesting, Stan. In some small way, perhaps, relates to how the Italian Army under Mussolini "fubared" the African campaign, and Hitler had to send Irwin Rommel and his storied Afrikan Korps to bail out the Italians. One of many stories about Rommel's leadership- sort of akin to USMC General Lewis B. Puller's words" Officers always eat last"-- In the African campaign, one of Rommel's staff- Oberst-Colonel captured a case of fine brandy from the British Officer's mess (before "Monty" replaced Auginclauch as C.O) and was going to hoard it for the top ranked officer's- Rommel told him that each enlisted man in his command was to receive a small glass of that brandy that evening after supper- or else Rommel would line them up on a mess table, clear the dining area, and with his Walther, use each one for target practice and watch the rare liquor drip down into the sand. Rommel was not a drinker, by the way. Great C.O., wish the Limeys had him on their side instead of Monty.

Ted, paralleling your experience at your dad's funeral, after dad died one of the men under him told me an account between him and my dad during the war.
Dad was a 21 year-old 1st Lt. leading an infantry heavy weapons platoon (81mm mortars and machine guns) post D-Day in the push through France into German territory. He never spoke much about the war. After attending mom's brother's (KIA/MIA) unit reunion in our hometown, he asked me to locate his �runners� which were enlisted men who would relay messages when radio or wire communications broke down. He was able to speak with one, Pete, before he died. After he died, I spoke with Pete. Pete�s last memory of dad was when Pete was hit by shrapnel from an 88 mm shell. The German 88 mm made a lot of Christians out of GI�s. Being supersonic, there was usually little or no warning of incoming. His platoon was engaged between the Germans and the main line of US forces. He said dad scooped him up and ran like a deer towards the rear where medics carried him in a jeep to the safety, the whole time Germans taking pot shots at them. That was the last time Pete saw dad and didn�t speak with him until I located him about 17 years ago. The day after Pete was wounded, dad was wounded for the second time and spent 16 months in hospitals in England and the US recovering from a severe leg wound which gave him a noticeable limp for the rest of his life. It ended his football days; he had been a scholarship starting end for Clemson and left school for the war after his sophomore year. He completed his education after the war, returning to Clemson for a degree in architecture. I was born his last year at Clemson, the first of my parent�s ten children. Gil

A bunch of history that will never be retold, Gil. Thanks.

Best,
Ted

Up until the 1950s, Clemson was a military school, one of two in S.C.; the other was The Citadel. Here's the team photo from 1942. Dad's the right end. Franklin and Rothell, the starting backs, according to dad's penciled in writing on the annual, were KIA. Gil