From youthful deception to decades of service, one veteran’s journey through World War II and the Korean War reveals the profound impact of military life and the enduring bonds forged in shared experience. This is a testament to those who served, a story echoing the sentiment: “Together We Served.”
It began with a lie, a common rite of passage for eager young men wanting to join the fight. On February 17, 1944, underage but determined, I told recruiters I was 19, when in truth, I was just 17. With two dollars and the clothes on my back, I left home before dawn, joining others bound for boot camp. New Orleans’ Train Station was our assembly point, the starting line for a journey to Farragut Naval Training Station in Idaho. Boot camp was followed by assignment to the Naval Station in Chicago, Illinois. There, a crew coalesced, and we traveled to Jefferson, Indiana, for the commissioning of the USS LST-707 on July 7, 1944. Our mission: the Pacific Theater.
Our first D-Day unfolded on October 20th in Leyte, Philippines. The harsh realities of war struck quickly; we suffered three casualties in that initial operation. Four days later, we committed our fallen comrades to the sea, a somber ritual in the vastness of the Pacific. Leyte was the first of many landings. We participated in subsequent D-Days at Mindoro, Mindanao, Subic Bay, Lingayen Gulf, and Okinawa, landing on Easter Sunday, April 1, 1945. Following the war’s conclusion, our duty shifted to occupation in Japan from September 6th to the end of December 1945. Returning stateside on February 2, 1946, I was discharged shortly after. Civilian life proved challenging; military skills didn’t translate easily to jobs back home.
Seeking purpose and structure, I re-enlisted, this time in the Army, on April 17, 1946. Almost immediately, I was sent to Germany for occupation duty, serving until September 1950. Upon return to Fort Dix, New Jersey, leave was canceled, and orders sent me to the 289th MP Company at Fort San Houston, Texas. The urgency was palpable; flatcars were loaded with equipment. A brief three-day pass home was a fleeting respite before deployment to Korea. We arrived in Inchon on November 3, 1950, and were rapidly moved north, reaching Pyongyang, the North Korean capital, around November 8th. The tide turned swiftly. Overwhelmed by Chinese and North Korean forces, we were forced into retreat. The conditions were brutal, the fight for survival relentless. Lacking winter gear initially, we layered clothing to combat the biting cold. The retreat to Suwon, about 40 miles south of Seoul, was a costly ordeal, arriving sometime in April 1952. Too many good men were lost.
My company, the 289th MP, was then reassigned to Koje Island, a stark contrast to the mainland combat. Here, we were tasked with guarding 170,000 prisoners of war. It was a difficult assignment in a different way, a world away from the front lines we had wished to remain on. Deployment back to the States came in March 1952. I intended to leave the military, to pursue education. But fate, or President Truman’s extension order, intervened, adding another year to everyone’s service. Orders to France seemed like a mistake, with less than a year remaining, I wasn’t obligated to go. Yet, I went, envisioning it as a break. It was more than that. In France, I met Myriam, my wife. Sixty-four years of happiness followed, a life I owe to that unexpected extension. She passed away seven years ago, leaving a void that time has softened but not filled. Two tours in France preceded my retirement in May 1965, after 21 years of active duty.
Looking back, my military journey was a tapestry of intense emotions. There were tears for fallen comrades, pain from loss and hardship, and hope for better days. There were times best forgotten, etched in memory nonetheless. Yet, through it all, I carry a profound sense of pride in having been a soldier. I gave my best, though the wish to have done more lingers. Now, I simply ask for prayers, for myself and for Myriam, my beloved wife. This story, like countless others, speaks to the shared sacrifices and enduring camaraderie – “together we served,” and together, we remember.
