The year was 1944, and the world was gripped by war. Like many young men eager to serve his country, I found myself drawn to the United States Navy. Perhaps a little too eager, as I wasn’t quite the 19 years old I claimed to be when I spoke to the recruiters on February 17th. Truth be told, I was just 17, but the burning desire to contribute overshadowed my youthful indiscretion. With just two dollars in my pocket and the clothes on my back, I left home early that morning, embarking on a journey that would shape my life forever.
Our initial destination was the train station in New Orleans. Here, a group of us, all bound for boot camp, assembled to begin our trek to Camp Farragut in Idaho. Boot camp was a transformative experience, forging us into sailors, instilling discipline, and building the foundations of teamwork that would be crucial in the years to come. Upon completion, I received my assignment: the Naval Station in Chicago, Illinois.
It was in Chicago that a crew began to take shape, a group of individuals who would soon become a cohesive unit. Together, we traveled to Jefferson, Indiana, where destiny awaited us in the form of a newly built ship – the LST 707. July 7th, 1944, marked her christening, and from that day forward, she became an extension of ourselves, our home on the vast and often unforgiving Pacific Ocean. We were assigned to the Pacific Theater, ready to play our part in the unfolding drama of World War II.
Our first taste of combat came on October 20th, with the D-Day landing on Leyte Island in the Philippines. This was it, the real deal. The training, the anticipation, it all culminated in this moment. Landing amidst enemy fire, we were part of a massive operation, and while successful, it came at a cost. We mourned three casualties during that operation, a stark reminder of the brutal reality of war. Four days later, we performed burials at sea, a somber ceremony that underscored the sacrifices made as we served together in the Navy.
Leyte was just the beginning. The LST 707 and her crew, bound by duty and camaraderie, participated in further D-Day landings at Mindoro, Mindanao, Subic Bay, Lingayen, and Okinawa. Okinawa, on Easter Sunday, April 1st, 1945, stands out in memory – another intense and crucial operation in the Pacific campaign. Through each landing, each challenge, we relied on each other, a band of brothers united by our shared service in the Navy. Together We Served Navy, facing the unknown and supporting each other through the darkest hours.
Following the cessation of hostilities, our mission shifted to occupation duty in Japan. From September 6th to the end of December 1945, we were stationed there, contributing to the post-war efforts. Finally, on February 2nd, 1946, we arrived back in the United States. Discharge followed shortly after, and I, like many others, transitioned back to civilian life.
However, the skills I acquired in the military didn’t readily translate to civilian employment. Seeking purpose and a path forward, I enlisted in the Army on April 17th, 1946. This decision led me to Germany for occupation duty, where I served until the end of September 1950. Upon returning to Fort Dix, New Jersey, my leave was abruptly canceled, and I was assigned to the 289th MP Company at Fort San Huston, Texas. The atmosphere was charged with anticipation as flat cars were loaded with equipment. A brief 3-day pass home was a fleeting respite before deployment to Korea.
We arrived in Inchon on November 3rd, 1950, and were immediately thrust into the Korean War, heading north to Pyongyang, the North Korean capital, by November 8th. The situation rapidly deteriorated as Chinese and North Korean forces overwhelmed us. Retreat became our only option, a harrowing experience marked by unimaginable hardships. Lacking winter gear, we layered clothing to combat the biting cold. The retreat to Suwon, about 40 miles south of Seoul, which we reached around April 1952, was marked by heavy losses. Too many good men were lost.
My company, the 289th MP Company, was then reassigned to Koje Island, a stark contrast to the mainland battlefields. Here, we were tasked with guarding 170,000 prisoners of war. It was a challenging assignment in its own way, and I often wished we could have remained on the mainland, despite the dangers.
In March 1952, I returned to the States, initially planning to leave the military and pursue education. However, President Truman’s decision to extend everyone’s service for another year altered my course. A seemingly random assignment to France followed. Technically, with less than a year remaining, I wasn’t obligated to go, but I went, naively thinking of it as a vacation. And in a way, it was, for it was in France that I met my wife. For 64 years, she brought me happiness, a blessing I owe to that unexpected extension and, in a strange twist of fate, to President Truman. She passed away seven years ago, leaving a void that time has softened but not filled.
I served two tours in France before retiring in May 1965, completing 21 years of active duty. My military journey was a tapestry woven with threads of tears, pain, and hope. There are times best forgotten, yet amidst it all, I stand tall with pride, knowing I served as a soldier, doing my best, though always wishing I could have done more. Please, say a prayer for me and for my beloved wife, Myriam.
