Lest We Forget

On the 20^th of April 1945, the 42d Reconnaissance Squadron of the 2d Mechanized Cavalry Group liberated the city of Aš (rhymes with gosh) in Czechoslovakia. In the engagement, they sustained eight casualties, three of whom remained behind at Fiddler’s Green when the unit moved on. Soon thereafter, an iron curtain descended across the continent of Europe and remained in place for over forty years. Shortly after that curtain finally went up, the day before the 45^th anniversary of their liberation by the 2d MCG, the people of Aš dedicated a monument to those 8 troopers.

As part of its continuing mission to preserve the history of the Regiment, the 2d Cavalry Association wants to help maintain this monument. Since I live in Germany, the president asked me to go there. On August 16^th, I cranked up my Targa and headed to Aš. Unfortunately, very few Aš residents speak German and almost nobody speaks English. After walking back and forth between government buildings, I finally found the “monument man”: Deputy Mayor Matala, who speaks a little English and excellent German. He wasn’t really interested in financial assistance, but he needed another kind of help, which–thanks to our Stateside members–I was able to provide. He wanted details and official documentation of the American soldiers killed or wounded in the liberation of Aš and the surrounding area.

 The Aš city authorities have embarked on an ambitious project to renovate and relocate the monument to a place of honor in front of the city hall, where it will be flanked by the Czech and US flags. A new plaque listing the names and units of all US soldiers killed or wounded in the Aš area will be affixed to it. Their goal is to dedicate the monument at its new location on the 20^th of April 2025, the 80^th anniversary of the liberation. On behalf of the Association, I will continue to monitor this operation and provide assistance as needed. Lest we Forget.

Paul Liebeck, Bamberg, Germany

The First Memorial: 2^nd Dragoons in Florida

By J Mark Jackson

2/2 ACR, Bamberg, Germany (1984-1987)

Silence, broken only by the sound of a fresh, strong breeze off the ocean, across the bay and finally vigorously rustling the palm trees. And the light clanging of the halyard against a flagpole, like a slightly discordant windchime, attached to the American flag, snapping as taunt as a kite. The National Cemetery in St. Augustine, Florida is a short distance from the historic, bustling downtown of America’s oldest city. Straining hearing very hard, the sounds of Jimmy Buffet music lilts, almost inaudible. But the two places feel a universe apart.

The rows of ubiquitous white headstones in perfect rows are familiar to all national cemeteries. But the three 18’ coquina pyramids in the left quadrant of the cemetery seem to say, “we are something different, uniquely worthy of our place here.” Beneath these three pyramids lie the remains of 1,468 soldiers who died during the Second Seminole War, 1836-1842. 123 of them were 2^nd Dragoons.

The 2^nd Dragoon Regiment was raised in 1836 expressly to fight the Second Seminole War. Infantry was too slow and cumbersome; cavalry to light to inflict damage on the Seminoles. The 2^nd Dragoons represented mobility and firepower. However, fighting the Seminoles entailed fighting disease, the Seminoles’ proverbial 12^th man on the field. Most dragoons lost in the war were lost to dysentery and fever (malaria). A random look at 25 of the lost dragoons is a look at the face of America in aggregate during the 1830s-1840s. They were from Germany, Denmark, France, Ireland, Britain, Scotland, and Poland. They hailed from New York, New Jersey, Ohio, Michigan, Virginia, Maryland, Massachusetts, and Georgia. They were the patchwork quilt that was American society.          

These 2^nd Dragoons were of medium height, for the day, and wiry; the average height was 5’7”. An exception, the blacksmith and farrier, Grafton Ray, was 5’11” and brawny from his work with the hammer. But it was no defense against the disease that killed him. Of the 25 random dragoons reviewed, only four were killed in action: 2LT John McNeal, and Privates William Aller, Isaac Childs and John Hodge. Sickness took the majority, but several drowned, one succumbed to tuberculosis, two from accidental gunshots and one suicide.             

Duty in Florida was dark, dangerous service. Before there was Disney World and the Gulf of Mexico resorts, there was only impenetrable forests and swamps. The dragoons were parsed out to remote outposts in inhospitable terrain across all of Florida. The environment was like combat in Burma or Vietnam without the benefit of roads, communications, or modern medicine. Their uniforms were impractical for the Florida climate; wool or at best heavy cotton, and a unique folding leather shako hat.    

Yet, these dragoons enlisted. They were young men, naturally: The average age was 23 years old. For probably a quarter of the dragoons reviewed, soldier was their listed vocation. The rest were farmers, shoemakers, couriers, hat makers, clerks, barbers and even a self-proclaimed gentleman-CPL James Rawson. They were looking for a start, or a re-start in their lives. The 2^nd Dragoon provided adventure and opportunity, but in the end yielded only space under the three pyramids. The National Cemetery in St. Augustine is sacred ground and a memorial to the rich, diverse history of the 2^nd Cavalry.

               Toujours Pret, lads, Toujours Pret…

When Pursuing a Service Connection:

A few steps to simplify the journey.

You served honorably and proudly and now you would like to take care of yourself to enjoy

life as productive and high functioning as possible but you find that there are certain things that prevent you from mastering the civilian sector which have nothing to do with your smarts but more to do with the amount of time you require to rest or to attend medical appointments to manage symptoms from various exposures you endured while serving. This article will provide you insight into how to properly explain to Veterans Benefit Administration injuries and conditions you must now spend time managing and how it relates to your time in uniform. There are five key components to get you on your way to compensation.

1. Keep your appointments with your provider.

The scenario may go something like this: You ask a friend or your medic about something that has been bothering you and this trusted source says something like “You should have that checked out” or “I would go see the Doc”. This is sage advice. At your next opportunity make that appointment and keep it! Hopefully there is nothing serious going on. If you are young you will probably bounce back in a couple of days but if your are older or as you age this may turn into a recurring situation or a chronic illness that you now must spend your valuable time managing. I have no doubt that you will be successful in managing what ails you, however, you aren’t the one with the highly valued medical degree so make sure you properly seek out the advice of one of these individuals to obtain a professional opinion.

2. Know how to access your records or how to have your records sent to you.

Now that you have the opinion of a professional, make sure you have access to a written copy of that recommendation. Most facilities these days have electronic medical record keeping and can easily provide you with online access to this information or can easily print out a copy of the written report and hand it to you. You are the one who has to keep these things organized and together because the records are about you! Providers keep records to facilitate their business but it is your responsibility know your own narrative. Have a system to keep these things in a safe place so that if you should need the information at a later date you have it!

3. Did something happen in the middle of nowhere and there is no medical record or you didn’t take the time to see your provider because of more pressing responsibilities at the time?

For example: As military personnel we may be sent places with very limited resources and it is usually the case that things happen in these situations. Thankfully, you are here, but now you have a situation as a result of this service. You can make a personal statement in this regard as you seek service connection. You can also request a buddy statement to attest to events that led to your current condition. This is valuable information that the Veterans Benefit Rater will review.

4.Stay involved in the process.

Once you submit your claim for review stay involved and stay focused. You can review the status of your claim through the VA website or APP. If you think your claim is moving too slowly, check in and ask about the status of your claim. There are also hotlines where you can call to have an inquiry made to check on the status of your claim to find out why it is not moving along in the process. Be aware of emails sent from the VA or one of their service representatives. You may be required to attend various appointments to be examined. As grueling as ANOTHER doctors appointment is, it is important in the processing of your claim to attend these appointments and undergo yet another evaluation. It is certainly not an easy process but YOU CAN DO IT!

5.Be resilient and do not give up.

This process can be more like a marathon. If you are organized in your approach, knowledgeable about your conditions, and provide the details of how you came to have these conditions, you will be well on your way to as smooth a process as possible.

Having to manage a chronic illness or injury as a result of service to your country can be a job in and of itself. The process of pursuing connection can also be challenging. There are many benefits which make pursuing service connection worth the effort. This is not a process that you have to endure by yourself. You can research and assign a VSO to your case assist you to manage the process and to stay on top of things. As always, if you have difficulty or have additional questions you can always contact one of your buddies from 2D Cavalry Association.

T. Mary Smith

Dear fellow Dragoons!

I’m sitting here as Thanksgiving ebbs into memory, and the hustle and bustle of the Christmas season is not quite yet upon us, I’m glad to be a Dragoon for Life, and to be able to share some reflections with you.

We’ve had a busy year we’ve deployed to Annapolis as a group, several of us met at Fort Moore to inspect the monument, the collection, and the classroom. After retreat, we may have sampled some of Kentucky’s finest and basked in the glow of camaraderie. Several deployed to Germany to spend time with the Regiment; and lately Tim and I spent some time at Norwich University researching our World War I past. We have a busier year ahead.

We still need to raise money to pave the walkway into our memorial with the names of our noteworthy, our fallen, and our friends. We need to continue to raise funds for support of the Association and the active Regiment. We need to greatly expand our memorialization of our history and remind our current Troopers and our Army of our storied past. Two more things that were heavily focused on this year will be branding which will include the integration of Dragoon Base and the ubiquitous deployment of the Dragoon for Life sabers and crest as our corporate logo.

I’ve been asked to develop an OPLAN and lead a return of Dragoons to Europe next fall where we intend to commemorate the battle of Luneville, cruise the Rhine, dedicate a Cold War memorial in Hof, visit Mödlereuth and spend a little time with the 2d Cavalry Regiment in Vilseck.

Tim already mentioned our history writers, I would also like to thank Mary Smith for her work on navigating the Veterans Administration, and Joe Deskevich who was agreed to be Tacoma Dave’s successor shepherding Dragoon Base into its new era, and of course Dave Gettman for his extraordinary leadership with the legacy platform.

In addition to the pleas we’ve already made for marketing experts, history writers, and researchers. We are now looking for somebody who’s already certified as a Veterans Service Officer to provide VSO type guidance, information, and support to our active troopers, and our veteran troopers.

Lastly, let me introduce you to Dragoon Base. Very shortly we will use it to manage our membership database, our registrations, our donations, our e-commerce, our personal histories, and more. It will continue to be a social media platform that ultimately we hope will replace Facebook, twitter, Instagram, or whatever else you using to communicate with fellow Dragoons.

From my perch overlooking the Hudson I wish you a happy Christmas season, however you celebrate, and a prosperous, healthy, and joyous new year.

Dragoon for Life!

John MacEnroe

Adjutant

Remembrances of the Cold War

James S. Mathison

Thursday, October 1, 2020

I spent 23 years on active duty in the U.S. Army, from my graduation from West Point in 1961 until my retirement at Fort Leavenworth in 1984. During that time, a dominant influence was the threat that we perceived from the Soviet Union. One has only to read the literature of the era to see how pervasive was this influence. My purpose in writing these “remembrances” is give the reader some insight into how some of us new to the Army were affected by the events of the sixties, and perhaps give a little peek into how we lived and what we were like.      

My original inspiration to start writing these paragraphs came from an appeal in the VFW Magazine for vignettes about the Cold War. I sent them a couple of pages, but have periodically gone back to the project as I have thought of something to add. The stuff in here is in no particular order, except that I do start at the beginning, that is, my assignment to Germany as a second lieutenant.

           Caveat – “The Army is not like it used to be. In fact, it never has been.” Retired General Bruce C. Clarke in a speech I heard him give in 1971 quoted these words. He was applying the quote to the remembrances of his career that he was about to recall in the speech. I caution the reader about my recollections the same way. Some memories are crystal clear, but some are fading. I am writing this now while I can still conjure up what I believe to be fairly accurate stories.

To Europe

The Berlin Wall went up in August of 1961 while I was in the Armor Officers’ Basic Course at Fort Knox, Kentucky, and many people were convinced that the long-threatened war with the Soviet Union was imminent. A good friend learned the day we graduated from the course that the Third Armored Cavalry, to which he was being assigned, was being shipped to Germany almost immediately to bolster the troops there. I went to airborne school at Fort Benning, GA, after the basic course, finishing just before Thanksgiving. I was scheduled to go home on leave and depart for Germany in January 1962. The Army had other plans, however, and I received a change in orders to report to McGuire AFB on 20 December. I drove my car to Brooklyn Army Terminal to have it shipped, and then caught a bus to McGuire. I was not happy about leaving home just before Christmas, and the music on the radio didn’t help. It seemed that every other song was either “I’ll be home for Christmas,” or “There’s no place like home for the holidays.”

The trip to Rhein Main Airbase in Frankfurt, West Germany, was better than I had expected it to be, at least with respect to speed. In this era, most flights of military personnel were on Air Force transports, and most of the fleet was still propeller-driven. We had been told to expect a flight of over 20 hours, with a stop or two along the way. It was a pleasant surprise to find that we were booked on an Air Force C-135, the military version of the Boeing 707. It wasn’t luxury, but it was fast.

One of the other passengers on the plane was Hans Wagner, a West Point classmate who had been born in a German community in Romania just before the Second World War. This was my first time in Europe, and I don’t believe that Hans had been back since he left as a 9 or 10 year old. (It turns out I was wrong about this. He had gone to Germany while he was a cadet as part of one of our training programs.) We went our separate ways to different cities, but were to be reunited a year and a half later when both of us were transferred to Bamberg.  Hans and I were destined to pop in and out of each other’s lives for the rest of our careers.

I arrived in Amberg, West Germany, just a couple of days before Christmas of 1961. I didn’t know what to expect, but I knew that activity must be hot and heavy if it was important for me to arrive before Christmas. It was with some trepidation that I reported to the Squadron Commander on my arrival. I must admit to being first relieved and then angry at being told to take a few days off, get settled, and come back for my assignment after Christmas. I would have much preferred to spend the holidays at home!  

Jeep Patrol

Camp Gates

Backing us up was a rather formidable force. The U.S. Army, Europe, consisted of five divisions, the 3^rd and 4^th Armored Divisions, and the 3^rd, 8^th, and 24^th Infantry Divisions. There was a Brigade in Berlin, two more armored cavalry regiments on the border, the 11^th and the 14^th, and the 3^rd ACR back around Kaiserslautern. According to an article in the KC Star, July 29, 2007, US troop strength in Germany peaked at 274,119 in 1962.

 The Cuban Missile Crisis

 The tensest time during my tour in Europe was during the Cuban Missile Crisis in October 1962. Although the site of that crisis was half a world away, there was real concern that the Soviets might do something drastic in Europe. I had become the executive officer of L Troop just before the border tour, and was commanding Camp Gates, with my allocation of about half of the equipment of the troop. 

After President Kennedy announced the quarantine of Cuba, we began to rather quickly increase our alert status. Suddenly, we were able to get repair parts that had been previously unavailable, and the atmosphere around the border camp became less casual. The culmination point came the day that the first Soviet ship was going to either challenge the blockade or turn back. I received a message by courier announcing that we were to double our patrols and OPs along the border and that there were to be no more readiness test until further notice. If the alert horn sounded, it was to be assumed to be the real thing. We were to review the war plan for the border unit. Additionally, we were told to expect a coded message with specific instructions to begin arriving after 1800 hours.

In today’s Army, sending and receiving encrypted messages is routine, but in 1962 at Camp Gates we only had a manual crypto system called the Diana Pad. Anyone who has ever worked with one of these one-time use systems can tell you how complicated they can be, especially the first time you use them. I contacted the local military intelligence representative, Lieutenant Paul Gillespie, and Paul and I spent several hours trying to learn the system. For the record, Paul was an infantry officer with some special training, as the MI branch did not yet exist.

Normally, we showed one 16mm movie in the dayroom every night, but, since no one was interested in sleeping, I authorized the showing of every film we had on hand. All of the officers and NCOs knew about the message that was to arrive, and our anticipation heightened as the hours passed after 1800 with no message. Sometime after midnight, Paul and I retired to the mess hall to drink coffee and speculate about what was going to happen. Finally, about 0130, the message started to arrive over the teletype. The ominous heading of “640 groups of five” told us that we would be working for a long time. 

     Suddenly, about an hour into the task, the alert horn went off! We ran to the operations room to find out what the alert was. They were puzzled, too, having not pushed the button that activated the horn on the roof. We ran outside to find the troops running for their vehicles in various stages of dress. One soldier in particular stands out in my mind. He was wearing his underwear, unlaced boots, and helmet, but was ready to go to war. Finally, we determined that the horn was coming from the area where we parked our alert jeeps.

Camp Gates

Operations Building

Our apprehension turned to anger, when we realized that someone was blowing a jeep horn, and I quickly formulated in my mind the court martial charge sheets that I was going to write for whoever was blowing it. As we approached the line of jeeps, the sound stopped, and we realized that there was no one in the vicinity. When it started again with no one in the vehicle, we determined that the horn had simply shorted out. In 23 years in the Army, I never knew of that happening again.

As an epilogue, the message turned out to be our intelligence officer’s idea of a training exercise. He had sent us the routine corps intelligence request using the Diana Pad just so we could practice.

The crisis wasn’t over, but things were never as tense after that. For a better understanding of just how close we came to war, I recommend the movie Thirteen Days. It really captures the flavor of the times.

Encounter with the Military Police

The Military Police have never been terribly popular, although everyone agrees that they are necessary. The friction between the MPs and the other troops was probably exacerbated during the era of the draft by the feeling that the MPs were elite, while the other troops were just doing their two years. Especially in training areas like Grafenwoehr, the MPs tended to be most unforgiving.

On one of my first border tours, the normal relationship was reversed. As duty officer at the Weiden border camp, I received a call from our permanent OP that overlooked a legal crossing point into Czechoslovakia, reporting that there was a military police jeep at the crossing point. This was in an era when there was a 5-kilometer zone along the border into which U.S. troops and their dependents could not go unless they were on specific duty that required it, as was our case. Additionally, there was a 50-meter zone into which even we could not go. It therefore came as a special surprise that the MPs were there. Somehow they had managed to not see or disregard the many warning signs.

I instructed the sergeant in charge of the OP to apprehend the MP jeep and escort it back to the border camp, as our instructions required. The sergeant called back to say that the two occupants indeed appeared to be MPs, and were quite insistent that they were on an official MP patrol and we had no right to detain them. By the time they reached the border camp, both men were much more contrite and wondered if they couldn’t be let off with a warning. My troop commander told them that he would give them all the same breaks that the Grafenwoehr MPs had given some of his troops the last time we were at Graf for training. Having said that, he called the Graf Provost Marshal and requested that someone come fetch them. I don’t know what happened to the men, but I suspect they received some form of non-judicial punishment, which may have included a reduction in rank.

The Death of a President

There are probably few people who were over a few years old in November 1963 who can’t tell you exactly where they were and what they were doing when they learned of President Kennedy’s assassination. It was truly a significant emotional event for a whole generation. 

In Germany, it was early evening on a Friday and a number of us were beginning to gather in the Bamberg Officers’ Club for Happy Hour and dinner. As I entered the bar, an Irish waitress came running in with tears streaming down her face, screaming “the President’s been shot!” There was no doubt as to who she meant, but we all thought that it couldn’t be true. Surely there was some problem with communication. It couldn’t be Kennedy. He had just been in Germany on a visit. Then someone found a radio and AFN was confirming the news. Back home, everyone was glued to the TV sets, but in those days in Germany only a few areas had American television, so we were glued to the radio.

Soon, everyone’s worst fears were confirmed. The President was dead, struck by an assassin’s bullet in Dallas. Someone said we should go to our units. Who knew what the Russians might do? Maybe it was part of a Soviet plot. So I went back to H Troop, which I commanded at the time. The troops in the barracks were gathered in small groups and turned to me as I walked up, wanting me to tell them that it wasn’t true. Troops on pass downtown returned to the barracks without being told to do so. Only a few people were missing, and when they were accounted for I reported to Squadron headquarters. Soon instructions began to arrive from our higher headquarters, telling us to make sure that key people were located, and told to keep themselves available in case something happened.

Of course, the Soviets did nothing and our alert status returned to normal. AFN radio played somber music during the entire broadcast day, interrupted only by news. We listened and waited, not quite believing that nothing else was going to happen. Finally there was the funeral. We buried a president and life continued. None of us will ever forget that day, however.

Operation Big Lift

I don’t remember what year it was that we were on the European end of “Operation Big Lift.” This was the first major airlift of troops from the States to Germany to marry up with pre-positioned equipment. An armored division (I believe the 2nd) was flown from Fort Hood, Texas, bound for the area around Kaiserslautern, where they drew a bunch of very old, tired equipment from depot stocks. Troops in Europe were used as controllers and aggressors, but I was on the border and was spared.

My friends who were involved came back after the exercise with nothing but disparaging remarks to make. “They left broken down equipment halfway across Germany,” one said. “Those stateside units aren’t very well trained,” said another. All in all, we lieutenants came to the conclusion that this was one of those good ideas that was never going to work. Those in charge declared it a great success.

In retrospect, they were right and we were wrong. After “Big Lift,” a number of critical decisions were made. Not the least among these was the decision to stock new or relatively new equipment for the troops to draw. Proper storage facilities were built, with humidity and temperature controls. Not only did Big Lift serve as the model for the series of Reforger operations, but also it paved the way for the concept that was employed so successfully during Operation Desert Storm. 

Leaves, Passes, and Curfews

When I first arrived, and for over a year later, there was a curfew in force for all of U.S. Army, Europe, requiring all ranks to be in their quarters at midnight during the week, and at 1:00 am on Sunday morning. The USAREUR commander had decreed this policy to promote combat readiness. A lot of stories surrounded the curfew, many of which may have been what we later came to call “urban legends.” One was of an officer in Munich who was struck by a car while crossing the German street from the officers’ club to his quarters. Legend has it that the investigation declared the accident “line of duty, no”, as he was in the street after curfew. True? I don’t know, but we were all very cognizant of the rule. The BOQ in Amberg was inside the kaserne, while the married housing was outside the wall. One of the married captains in the squadron gave me a standing invitation to come to his quarters if I ever got caught out after midnight. I recall taking him up on it once. The all ranks curfew was quietly removed shortly after a new USAREUR commander assumed command.

Any absence had to be planned well in advance, because of policies on leaves and passes. We had to be able to muster 85% of the unit within two hours of an alert or readiness test. This effectively meant that fewer than 15% could be on leave or overnight pass at any one time. It generally was the policy of units that leaves (except for emergencies) were not permitted during field training exercises, and the border cav regiments had an additional restriction for the troops that were on the border. 

I only took one fairly long leave during my almost 3 year tour. Dennis Kricz, a geographical bachelor officer from the Third Squadron, and I went to Italy and Switzerland in my ’61 Chevy Impala. We had no particular plans, and simply headed out on a Sunday morning for the north of Italy. He remarked when I picked him up that my car seemed to sound louder than usual, but I dismissed the comment.

We had an army pup tent, a couple of cases of “C” Rations for emergencies, and small butane stove. We camped in Italy, except for one night we spent in the BOQ in Vicenza. My only memory of Vicenza was that we were not allowed to eat breakfast in the officers’ club because we weren’t wearing coats and ties. Some clubs in those days were quite formal. When we camped on the beach we attracted a lot of attention with our decidedly makeshift shelter. The Europeans had fancy tents or even camping trailers. We had an olive drab lean-to, with one end rolled up into the windows of the car and the other end staked into the ground.

Every time we started the car it seemed a bit louder than it had the time before. During the trip over the Saint Gothard Pass to Switzerland, we sounded something like a tank with a serious problem. We could stand the noise, but as we climbed, the car began to fill with smoke. We pulled over at a parking area to find that the floor mat on the driver’s side was smoldering. We doused it with water, checked the exhaust system, and found a large hole in the top of the muffler. The hot exhaust gasses were heating the carpet to the point of burning. We continued up the pass with one person driving and the other periodically pouring water on the carpet. When we got to Zurich a couple of days later we simply pulled into a Chevrolet dealer and got a new muffler. That may not sound like much of an accomplishment, but in that era it was almost miraculous.

One other time out of Germany was a long weekend in the UK with Sandy Walters, a West Point classmate who was then assigned to our regimental headquarters. Sandy and I had been platoon leaders together in I Troop in Amberg. On the trip, we spent a couple of days in London, and a day and a night with relatives of his in Southampton. During this era when much of the army was in Europe, I would have been surprised to know that I was not to return to England until 1998.

Living Conditions

I write from the point of view of a bachelor, but I’ll try to include a few observations about the married folks, also. The night I arrived in Amberg I was assigned a room in the Bachelor Officers’ Quarters, the BOQ. Note that I said “room”, not apartment. I had a bedroom with a single bed, a desk with a straight chair, one easy chair, and a bookcase. The room had a sink for shaving, but shower and toilet facilities were shared with another officer. I lived in this room until I moved to Bamberg, where I went to the bottom of the waiting list for the BOQ. After a month or so living in a maid’s room in the attic of a building of family quarters, I moved into about the same type of room that I had lived in Amberg. In spite of the shortage of bachelor quarters, we were not permitted to live off post until toward the end of my tour. My last few months in Bamberg were spent in a downtown apartment that I shared with another lieutenant. If it sounds odd to the present day reader when I talk about not being permitted to live downtown, let me assure you that military regulations were not always lenient and were not taken lightly.

As an example of the above, the troop, company, and battery commanders controlled who in the unit could have a car. As a general rule, our squadron did not permit unmarried soldiers below the rank of E5 to have a car. This was paternalistic, I suppose, but this was an era when a PFC might receive only $80.00 per month after deductions, plus quarters and rations in kind.

Prices were not high, which was good since second lieutenants earned $222.30 per month, plus $47.88 for subsistence. I don’t remember my quarters allowance for the time I lived off post, but I think it was around $100 a month. On post cigarettes sold for $1.20 to $1.50 for a ten-pack carton. Most people that I knew smoked, so cigarette prices were important. A very good bottle of bourbon went for $2-3.00. A steak dinner in the club in Amberg went for $1.65. Off post things were cheap for Americans, with the mark being DM4 to $1. Marks and quarters were interchangeable in quarter slot machines, unless a mark was showing in the window when a jackpot was hit, and then they wouldn’t pay. 

Amberg was a nice town to be stationed in for an introduction to Germany. It was big enough to have things to do, and the locals seemed to appreciate our presence. The closer you got to the border, the more that was true.

Amberg’s Pond Barracks (or Moehl Kaserne to the Germans) was a one squadron plus a Hawk missile battery kaserne. The squadron commander was the post commander, and there weren’t even any MPs. When an MP patrol came down from Graf, they were required to check in at squadron headquarters.

In Amberg, as well as in most of Germany, unmarried enlisted men lived in former Wehrmacht barracks that we had taken over after the war. The German Army got the best of that deal, building new facilities for the Bundeswehr. Most of the junior people lived in open bays in these old buildings, with very little privacy. Years after this period, it was somewhat ironic that the Army finally spent massive amounts to refurbish or replace them, just before we pulled most of our troops out.

Bamberg had too many American troops for the size of the city. The city had also been the site of the crime in the ‘50s on which the movie “Town Without Pity” was based, and the local folk had not forgotten. Still, it wasn’t a bad place and I’d like to go back to visit some day. The only German Pope is buried there, there was a castle overlooking the area, and the town was famous for its smoked beer. I never cared for the latter.

In March of 1999, I had the opportunity to spend a little time in Amberg. Frankly, the town looked a lot better than I remembered it. I was there on a warfighter exercise and stayed in the local Ramada Inn. Without too much difficulty, I found Pond Barracks. It was barely recognizable, as the old barracks buildings were being converted into apartment buildings. Most of the other stuff is gone. At about where my BOQ room was there is now a German beverage store. Lorna took the photo below during a trip there in 2008. I am standing next to what we called “The Amberg Eagle.” 

This was a chunk out of the wall of the kaserne, right next to the front gate. Note that the swastika that used to be in the wreath is missing. 

Life as a Bachelor

Being an unmarried officer in Germany was interesting, especially for a young man who had never been on his own before. I took 2 ½ years of German at West Point, and could make my way fairly well with the few Germans who spoke no English. In Amberg, there were almost no American girls to date, and one had to be fairly careful about which of the German girls to take out. I did date several, but never had a serious relationship. Speaking German had its advantages in the social area.

The routine of a typical day of a BOQ resident in Amberg did not vary much. During the week I usually got up about 6AM or so, had breakfast in the BOQ kitchen or in the troop mess hall, and went to work. Lunch was usually at the club, where every day they ran a lunch special for about a dollar. The duty day technically ended around 5-6, after which we headed for the club. Karl, the bartender, knew what everyone drank and would have it poured before you got your coat off. Dinner was often in the club, although someone would often suggest that we go downtown to one of the local gasthauses for a German meal. The O-club kitchen generally did not attempt to compete with the German establishments; rather, they offered a US alternative to the local food. As much as I liked schnitzel, wurst, and the like, it was nice to get an American meal now and then.

In Bamberg, there was a fairly sizeable group of American schoolteachers and a few nurses. I tended to date them, and really don’t remember going out with any German girls there. Much of the time we were just a group that ran around together, rather than being paired off as couples. There were a few of the latter, and I recall one or two who married.

One of the best things for the mental health of the young bachelors was the large group of married couples who would periodically feed us. Especially around holidays, those interludes were priceless. In Amberg there was Captain Tom Senn, one of my early troop commanders. 

He and his wife Greta always seemed to enjoy having young officers around. They had no children, and I think they kind of adopted us.

When thinking about this subject, there is one couple that always stands out. They are Nancy and John McKinney. John had been one year ahead of me in my company at West Point, and he and Nancy were stationed in Bamberg when I arrived there. Their door was always open, and if you dropped by after work, there was always a place at their table. Theirs is a friendship that continues till this day, and I know that I am not the only former bachelor who has fond memories of hours at the McKinneys.

About Army Equipment

The decade of the sixties was a time of dramatic transition of Army equipment. I was a participant in many of the changes, especially of the equipment of the armor force.

When I got to the Second Cav, we had gasoline powered M48A2 tanks, which were essentially product improvements of the 90-mm gun tank with which we ended the Second World War. The cav regiments on the border were supposedly the first line of defense, but by 1962 we were the only combat units not equipped with the 105-mm gun, diesel powered, M60 tank. My friends in the 4th Armored Division, with whom we shared a kaserne in Bamberg, never let me forget it. The joke was on them when, in 1963, we finally got the brand new M60A1, which sported the first new turret design on US tanks in many years.

Left: M48A2 Right: M60A1

Our other mainstay of armored equipment was the M113 Armored Personnel Carrier. This infantry squad carrier and its variants made its appearance in the Army about the same time as I did, and was to serve in some capacities well into the 90’s and perhaps beyond. The infantry carrier was the recipient of many modifications, and was the main equipment of the armored force in Viet Nam. That, however, is another story.

M113 APC

My first armored cavalry platoon had 2 tanks, 1 infantry APC, 5 of the then new M151 jeeps (more properly referred to as 1/4 ton trucks), and one of the least reliable machines known to man, the M84 mortar carrier. This vehicle was a derivative of the obsolete M59 infantry carrier, but carried a 4.2-inch mortar instead of infantry. Its biggest problem mechanically was that 2 GMC 6 cylinder truck engines powered it, one driving each track. With 2 of everything – carburetors, distributors, and other things that you have probably never heard of – it was practically impossible to keep running properly. 

M84 Mortar Carrier

Four of the jeeps were for the scouts of the platoon, each having a radio and a pedestal-mounted M60 machine gun. The other jeep was the platoon leader’s vehicle. This probably doesn’t sound like much of a force, but it was the only platoon-level organization that was a real combined arms team, having armor, infantry, and fire support, led by the tactical intelligence gathering scouts.

Army aviation was just beginning its growth toward the formidable arm that it became in Viet Nam and Desert Storm. The aviation detachment of the cav squadron had 1 H13 helicopter and one L19 (later O1) Birddog fixed wing aircraft. The regiment had an aviation company, with a few larger helicopters, but nothing with any armament. Gunships were still a few years away.

When I returned to the Weiden border camp in April 1997, I remembered the first time I ever saw a UH1 helicopter, a Huey. It was in the spring of 1962 during my first border tour. We received an unusual order to go to the Highway 14 crossing to meet the Canadian Air Attaché who was ill and being evacuated home. For some reason, probably known only to the Czechs, permission had been denied to fly him out, and he came by road in the back of a tiny Skoda automobile all the way from Prague. The American doctor who met him on this side of the border radioed back for us to call a medevac helicopter to meet the patient in Weiden. We were expecting an overweight, underpowered H34, of the type that the Regimental Commander flew around in. Instead, this sleek, strange sounding aircraft appeared. It was the first time that most of us had heard a gas turbine engine. Little did I know that I was seeing the helicopter in which I would spend many hours in Viet Nam, and which would always be identified with that conflict.

Canadian Air Attache

The photograph above is one that I took of the aforementioned attaché on a stretcher and being loaded onto the UH1 for transport to the US Army hospital in Nurnburg. When I found this old photo I became curious about who the gentleman was and what happened to him. I contacted the Canadian Air Attaché in Washington explaining the circumstances and asking if he had any way of identifying the man. After some research, he sent me the following:

“I contacted to folks at home to see what info might be available on this incident. As it turns out, not much without an extensive search of the archives. What we were able to determine was the name of the officer in question, Group Captain AM Jardine who was accredited to Czechoslovakia from 1960-63.”

On a hunch, I typed the name into Google and was rewarded with a number of hits, several of which referred to a book entitled Lucky Alex : The Career of Group Captain A.M. Jardine Afc, Cd, Seaman and Airman. I obtained a copy of the book and discovered that this was the correct man. I attempted without success to locate him to send him a copy of the picture.

There was some fine equipment, and then there was the Davy Crockett. The Davy Crockett was intended to give the infantry or armor battalion commander a nuclear weapon that he could employ. The thing was a large recoilless rifle that was mounted on a jeep or carried inside an armored personnel carrier to be emplaced and fired from a tripod mount. The weapon was muzzle loaded much like the rifles of its namesake’s era. First a propellant charge was loaded, followed by a titanium piston just slightly longer than the barrel. The rifle was either a 120mm or 165mm, but the round was 279mm, and shaped rather like the “Fat Man,” the bomb dropped on Nagasaki. The round attached to the end of the insert. The charge propelled the insert, which separated from the round a few hundred yards from the weapon. One of the warnings was to never fire this thing over the heads of friendly troops, as the piston could do considerable damage.

Davy Crockett

Being Loaded

 Why do I know all of this? Because, my first assignment after arriving in Amberg was to be the platoon leader of the squadron’s brand new DC platoon. It seems that my 2-hour class on it in the basic course made me more qualified than anyone else! Fortunately, a technicality in some personnel regulation caused me to be moved to an armored cavalry platoon after only about one month. My brief experience with Davy was to haunt me for the rest of my tour in Germany, however. I was picked to be a key participant in something called a “Technical Proficiency Inspection” every time one was scheduled.

My First Command

In the years immediately prior to my entry into the Army, promotions had been exceptionally slow, and it was not unusual to see captains who were old enough to be my father. The two majors in the Third Squadron in Amberg had both served in WWII, and one had even been in a horse cavalry unit prior to the war. Our troop commanders were either captains or very senior first lieutenants. None of us second lieutenants really expected to become commanders during this first tour. 

As I have mentioned, I started off as the squadron’s Davy Crockett Platoon Leader, and quickly moved to I Troop to be an armored cavalry platoon leader. I was fortunate to take over my cav platoon right at the beginning of a field training cycle, and gained valuable field experience very early. Partially because of that experience, I was selected to become the executive officer of L Troop in the fall of ‘62, while still a butter bar. L Troop was the pits compared to I Troop, but I managed to survive.

The XO commanded the Camp Gates border camp, and right at the end of my second tour there I received a call from my troop commander. “Are you standing up or sitting down?” he asked. “Standing,” I said. “Then sit. You are being transferred to Second Squadron in Bamberg to take over a troop.” He went on to say that I was to report to the regimental commander Colonel George B. Pickett, Jr., on Saturday morning for my instructions before reporting to Bamberg the next day. As I recall, it was Tuesday when I got the news, and we still had to make the road march back to Amberg after the troop was relieved on the border.

The interview with Col. Pickett was interesting to say the least. He began by telling me the story of when he was a major in Italy during the Second World War, and was picked to command the worst battalion in the division. The division commander told him that he had just 30 days to make it the best in the division. At the end of that time, he would either be promoted or relieved. “Well, Son, it took me 45 days, but I was promoted to lieutenant colonel. I’m giving you the same amount of time to turn the worst troop in my regiment into the best.”

The unit was Troop H of the 2^nd Squadron. Colonel Pickett had set the goal for the regiment of qualifying 90% of our tanks in the annual tank gunnery at Graf. H Troop had qualified only 7 of 17, the worst percentage in the regiment. I discovered that a well-liked, very senior captain, who most felt had been made the scapegoat for the unit’s unacceptable performance, commanded the troop. Now I, an extremely junior first lieutenant, not yet 25, was to move to Bamberg and take over this unit. I later learned that I was already known in the 2^nd Squadron as “the colonel’s fair haired boy.”

I felt that nothing in my experience had prepared me for this. In spite of what I may have felt, however, everything turned out well. What did I do? Well, certainly not what a leadership “expert” to whom I related the story years later recommended. He felt that the only viable course of action was to assert myself and let the troops know who was boss. One of the beauties of a military setting is that they know who is boss. That’s not the point. They have to care who is boss. In this situation, they had to be reminded of their own worth. They were down, and felt that they had let my predecessor down. I resolved to try to help them build themselves up. They had been torn down enough. The only specific thing that I remember doing was making an informal talk to the whole troop toward the end of the first week. I don’t remember what I said, but it seemed to have been effective. 

I got my first positive feedback on my first Saturday night in command. The occasion was a farewell party for the man I replaced. Toward the end of the evening, and after a lot of alcohol had flowed, several soldiers sought me out and said something to the effect of “Sir, we didn’t want you here, but after your talk yesterday, we’re with you. We know you didn’t ask to come here, and we’re going to show the Colonel.”

I stayed in command of H Troop for over a year. Things went well. We excelled on the annual general inspection and did well in the field. The next tank gunnery we qualified 16 of 17 crews. I guess some of the good things were because of something I did, but our success was mainly due to the basic excellence of the American Soldier. He (or she nowadays) is capable of achieving anything he is allowed to achieve. Soldiers have to believe in themselves and their unit, and, yes, in their leaders. In the case of H Troop, I made the right calls and it turned out well. This first command was one of the most positive experiences that I had in 23 years in the Army.

The Great Tattoo

During my era at West Point, we spent a lot of time drilling and marching in parades. I marched in parades down Fifth Avenue in New York and in JFK’s inaugural parade. No ceremony ever impressed me like one event in Germany, however. The German Army had a ceremony called the Grosser Zapfenstreich, which went back to Frederick the Great. The English translation of the name is great tattoo, and it was normally held to honor individuals. It was rarely performed, and a foreign military unit had never been honored with the ceremony.

It was after I took over H Troop in 1963 that the Bundeswehr decided to honor the Second ACR as the oldest U.S. unit stationed in Germany. We rehearsed a bit, got all spiffed up in our wool OGs and steel helmets, and went to Nurnberg for the ceremony. The regimental staff, the squadron staffs, and three people from every troop lined up and marched into the old marketplace square, facing the Frauenkirche. The place was packed with spectators.

Just before dark, we heard the measured beat of the drums in the distance, and then picked up the glockenspiel as the Germans drew closer. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see a line of torches entering the square. All other lights were extinguished. Every movement of the ceremonial troops was accomplished with the utmost precision. We Americans did very little except an occasional present arms. I cannot begin to convey what the atmosphere was like. There was not a sound to be heard from the crowd until the ceremony ended. It was probably the closest that I ever came to understanding something of the German psyche that perhaps helped Hitler gain a foothold in that same city in the 1930s.

Some years later I visited the 2^nd ACR headquarters in Merrill Barracks in Nuremberg. In the regimental museum there was a painting of that night, which I believe

 had been donated by the then Colonel of the Regiment, Colonel George B. Pickett, Jr. This photograph is good representation of that painting. 

A Few More Words on Soldiers

Having introduced the topic above, I think that I should put down on paper some thoughts about soldiers. This piece may be one that I never really finish, as, even as I begin, I remember so much. 

My earliest experiences with troops were with the draft-era soldiers. I believed at the time, and, on reflection, I still believe that the draft wasn’t all bad. A lot of kids who might never have amounted to anything entered the Army via the draft, or they enlisted to avoid the draft. Every unit seemed to have at least a few who had been given the choice by a judge of either joining the Army or going to jail. A lot of these people became excellent soldiers, with many staying in to become NCOs or going to OCS and becoming officers. Of course, there were also those who joined the Army and went to jail. The only General Court Martial charges that I prepared during my time in command were served on a soldier who had been given the jail or army choice.

Many of the NCOs, especially in the combat arms, had relatively little education. By and large, however, they knew their trade. These professionals of the early 60s were to stand in stark contrast to the “shake and bake” sergeants that seemed to be everywhere later during the Viet Nam war.

One of the finest of the NCOs that I had the privilege of knowing was the H Troop First Sergeant, Elton Bradford. He had joined the army in the early 1940’s, and was an original member of the 1^st Armored Division. He had 8 years of formal education and had acquired a GED somewhere along the line. He was fair and honest, and he knew his business. Fortunately, he had a great deal of experience in dealing with lieutenants and was patient with me. He was too much of a soldier of the old school to give me much direct advice, but I always knew when he approved or disapproved of my actions. 

On Having a Defined Enemy

As I re-read what I have written about my first tour in the Army, one of the themes that strikes me is the references to the Soviets. I write this after the Soviet Union has ceased to exist. As we reach the end of the millennium, we don’t know yet how Russia and the other parts of the former “evil empire” are going to turn out. We do know, however, that the threat of World War III seems less now than it did.

This lessened threat has been reflected in what has happened to the Army during the time since the Soviets went away. At the time I retired in 1984, our armed forces were close to their peak of readiness. That peak probably came in the late ‘80s, shortly before the war against Iraq. In my opinion, we were able to be successful in that one in large measure because of the years of preparing to fight the Soviets. The decade immediately prior to Desert Storm was especially beneficial, with its emphasis on rethinking doctrine, and training and equipping our forces.

Maintaining an army in peacetime has never been easy for democracies. We always seem to be too anxious to dismantle the organization that just won a war.  

I suppose that it will always be that way. I just hope that the American version of Rudyard Kipling’s “Tommy” will continue to be there to take up the slack.

Grafenwoehr

As I write this, snow is falling in Grafenwoehr, reminding me of another time in this place. Today, we come here to conduct computer-based exercises, but there was a time when this area – Camp Aachen – served as a billeting area for units in training.

It seemed that the 2^nd Cav always went to Graf in the winter. That was not a far-fetched idea, as the five divisions in USAREUR had priority for the training areas and ranges, and they tried to pick the warmer times of the year.

Now the weather in Graf never seemed to be very good. Before I came the first time, one of my NCOs gave me this description: “Lieutenant, Graf is the only place in the world where you can be slogging through mud up to your knees, while wiping the dust out of your sweaty eyes with your frost-bitten fingers.” He wasn’t far wrong.

Graf Water Tower

Going to Grafenwoehr was a major event, and we usually went a couple of times a year – once for firing, and once for maneuver. Most units had to rail load their equipment, but from Amberg it took only an hour or two road march. Typically, the whole squadron, minus the border troop and a contingent from squadron headquarters, made the trip. We moved all of our equipment, tracked and wheeled, on the German roads, which were not always wide enough for 2 cars to pass, let alone a tank and a car. Accidents happened, but they were amazingly infrequent. Regulations required that a wheeled vehicle, usually a jeep, lead tracks. When I led, one of my techniques in towns was to get far enough ahead of the tanks to stand up in the jeep and wave over civilian traffic. This required precise timing. If you got too far ahead, the Germans would pull out when they didn’t see tanks, often causing a traffic jam, or, perhaps, and accident. Standing up, by the way, was no problem, as we were not allowed to put up the tops of the jeeps, regardless of the weather. The thought was that not having a top made us more tactical. It certainly made us colder.

The winter of ’62-’63 was one of the coldest on record in Germany. Rivers and canals were frozen all over the country, and, in some places, the US Army was helping to move the coal that normally moved by barge. We most definitely had a white Christmas, with several feet of snow on the ground by the end of the year. We had the honor of being the first unit to move into Grafenwoehr after the Christmas break. The main tank trail had been plowed, but not much else. Our tank park was a couple of feet deep in snow, and we only had our VTRs (recovery vehicles) and D-handled shovels to clear anything. (VTRs were not

M88 VTR

designed as snowplows, but this versatile vehicle could do a lot of thing well. As a tribute to its design, the M88 is still in the inventory into the 21^st Century.)

 Stoves, fueled with charcoal briquettes, heated the buildings in the troop areas of Grafenwoehr. There was no plumbing in the billets, so buildings were freezing cold when we moved into them. When fully stoked and banked, the cast iron stoves put out a lot of heat, but they became ornaments if allowed to burn down. The trick in cot location was to locate at the right distance from the stove, so as to be neither too hot nor too cold.

Off-Post Exercises

Unit training of a cav unit was generally split into two types, range firing and maneuver training. Of course, firing had to be done in a training area, but maneuver training was often off post.  The big constraint to this type of training was a thing called “maneuver damage.” In the early sixties, the concept of reimbursing the Germans for damage to their property was still a fairly new concept to a lot of the career soldiers, especially the NCOs. Until the Allied occupation of Germany ended in 1955, our troops had pretty much freedom to train wherever and however they wanted. With the establishment of the Bonn Republic, however, this changed, and we had to pay for any damage that was done by our troops.

If damage was done, the dreaded maneuver damage process began. The German farmer, for example, would file a claim, which went up some administrative channel, finally arriving back at the unit level to be assigned to an investigating officer. Amberg, especially, got a lot of investigation requests because of our location between two major training areas. Usually, a junior officer or a senior NCO would be given a stack of requests and would proceed to the areas of damage with a driver and an interpreter. Some of the claims were straightforward, and could be investigated in short order. Others took a lot of time and paperwork, and could occupy several days. In the end, part of the frustration was that we almost never knew what the result was. 

Things Administrative

The Army exists to fight the nation’s wars, but much of the day-to-day activity is administrative in nature. In many ways, that hasn’t changed much over the years. Paying, feeding, and keeping records on soldiers have always been a part of the equation. With the advent of word processing, copiers, and computers, however, the way we do these things has changed.

One of the commander’s responsibilities that had to done right was paying the troops. In this era, almost all enlisted men were paid cash on the last day of every month. There was a direct deposit option and a check option, but relatively few enlisted men took either. An Army tradition was reporting to the pay officer each month and receiving pay in 20s, 10s, 5s, and 1s, down to the nearest lower dollar. (The odd cents were carried over until the following month.)

Many, if not most, commanding officers personally paid the troops in any month that he was available to do so. The first couple of troop commanders that I worked for did this, and, when I became a commander, so did I. The nearest finance office was Nuremberg, and the squadron appointed a Class B Agent to go there and pick up the pay for the entire squadron. When he arrived back in the squadron area, the troop/battery pay officers assembled to pick up their unit’s payroll. Each would then go to a designated area to count his cash, an often nerve racking process. Some pay officers had the nerve to pay off the stack, but I always separated each soldier’s pay and put it into an envelope.

On payday, the soldiers lined up alphabetically by rank and approached the pay table and saluted. “Sir, Private First Class Harvey Schmedlap, Serial Number RA1234567889, reports for pay.” The pay officer returned his salute, counted out his pay, and required that PFC Schmedlap count it again, Schmedlap then signed the payroll, and proceeded down the line where several people, usually NCOs might be waiting to sell savings bonds, collect an amount for the troop tailor, or some other thing to relieve Schmedlap of some of his money. In those days, the pay of an unmarried soldier living in the barracks was often less than a hundred dollars!

Paying by cash often consumed an entire day, but every effort was made to ensure that every person got his pay as close to payday as possible, often going to great lengths to get it done. For example, once we had a soldier who was in school in Bad Tolz, a distance of some 250 kilometers one way. I was able to get an L-19 Birddog, a 2 place fixed wing aircraft, and a pilot(1Lt Carl Weaver, the I Troop XO) to fly me down to pay him. (Normally, arrangements would have been made to pay him by check, but he had been a last minute selectee for his course of study.)   In any case, it was a memorable flight, including almost sliding off the frozen runway at BT, and having momentary engine failure on the way back.

Time to Stop

 As I indicated at the beginning, this could go on forever, but there comes a time to stop. I will include one more story, the beginning of which for me, was the Spring of 1962, but is one of those stories that must be told over and over, “Lest we forget.”

A Place Called Flossenburg

 “I moved here after the war.” “We had no idea what was going on.” “Arbeit macht Frei.” “…the final solution….”

In the small village of Flossenburg, in northern Bavaria, in the area called the Oberfaltz, lies one of the most profoundly moving places that I have ever visited. When I first went there in 1962, relatively few Americans had been there or even heard of the place. One of the primary reasons for this is that the village was located close to the Czech border, and in the days of the Cold War, neither US troops nor their dependents could visit there.

I first stopped there almost by accident. In those days we ran patrols and operated observation posts almost continuously on both the Czech and the East German borders. I was making my first visit to the border and, in an effort to learn the business, I went out on a regularly scheduled patrol. We had two border camps in our sector, and one of our tasks was to make contact with a patrol from the other camp. I had written down the map coordinates from the patrol briefing, and was finding the location on the map. The sergeant who was the patrol leader said, “Don’t worry about finding the location, LT. The contact point is in the Flossenburg parking lot.” “Does the town only have one parking lot?” I asked. “We mean the Flossenburg Concentration Camp parking lot,” he replied.

I had heard of Dachau, Bergen-Belsen, Auschwitz, and other camps, but had never heard of a place called Flossenburg. We arrived early for our meeting with the other patrol, and my sergeant took me on a tour. It was a cold day, and rather late, so there were no other people to be seen. The quiet was almost overwhelming – just our footsteps on the gravel paths and the rustling of the wind in the trees. That day I began my education about this darkest chapter in the short life of the Third Reich – this darkest chapter of 20^th Century human history.

Oh, sure, I had heard of the 6 Million Jews who were killed. I had seen the pictures of the camps and heard my dad’s story of one of his comrades who had been to one in 1945. Perhaps it was the immensity of the event. Or, perhaps it was the lack of personalization. For whatever reason, the holocaust had never seemed real to me. I don’t mean that I did not believe it, but I had trouble grasping it. That all changed that day at Flossenburg.

The records say that somewhere in the neighborhood of 73,000 souls died in Flossenburg, which was a labor camp, rather than an extermination camp. A good number of the fatalities were Jewish, but other groups – gays, gypsies, an others who had committed offenses against the Nazis – made up the majority of the population. The most famous victims were seven of those implicated in the plot to kill Hitler, who were executed on 9 April 1945 as American troops were approaching the area. Admiral Canaris and Pastor Bohnhoeffer are probably the two most familiar names.

Some of the original buildings remain, including the headquarters, shown below as it is today, and as it was in 1945.

In the headquarters is a visitors’ center, but it closes around 4 PM, and I’ve only been inside once. At the time I was there, there was a movie that gives an overview of the camp, but it was in German only.

Two memorial chapels have been built since the War – Christian and Jewish. Both are open during visiting hours. There are a couple of guard towers, part of the fence, the cremation oven, and various memorials. Probably the most impressive single thing is this pile of what looks like dirt.

In reality, the ashes, bones, and other remains of the bodies that the Nazis were trying to dispose of were piled here, and the site has been kept as a mass grave

The grounds have been maintained as a memorial to those who died, and it is in an almost park-like setting. For a number of years, I went to the Grafenwoehr Training Area for BCTP exercises almost every year. Hardly a year passed that I did not visit the camp. Sometimes I took colleagues, and once I took my Jewish boss, who, in spite of having spent several years in Germany, had never visited one of the camps. I found, however, that I preferred to go alone, and, if possible, toward the end of the day, just like on that first visit so many years ago. I could sit and listen to the wind in the trees – or is the voices of the victims that I hear, telling us that we must never let such a thing happen again.

NEVER FORGET!