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The "war to end all wars" was over, the welcome
home parades and merriment of the returning servicemen had long
come to close; finally it was time to get back to "normalcy."
A whole new era was commencing. The country had returned to civilian
employment and thousands of ex-service persons sought education
in the higher institutions under the GI Bill of Rights. Lacking
further personal interest in academic achievements, I declined
the use of this gratuitous extraordinary veteran's benefit and
my pursuits soon turned to other interests.
The weeks passed by rapidly and soon turned to months. I knew
that I was drifting aimlessly without a goal or motivation. Something
was missing. For some, myself included, the return to civilian
life had become very dull and boring. After having seen New York
City, London, Paris, Berlin and other European places that I
had only read about, Racine was a dismal place to think of spending
the remainder of my life working in industry with a two week
vacation every year. I yearned to see the Pacific Ocean, Hawaii,
Los Angeles, San Francisco, the Rocky Mountains, the Great Northwest
and other parts of the world. The wanderlust in me wanted to
escape, but I needed to find the resources.
My meeting with the local Army Recruiting Sergeant at our
VFW Club was more than just circumstance it had to be fate. This
was to be my means to depart from this rust belt industrial small
hick town. The nomadic military life and camaraderie once again
beckoned. I heard the "Lorelei's call" and I made what
many thought was a questionable decision to re-enlist in the
Army to become a Military Escort on special assignment.
The Sarge had informed me of a new Army program about to be
set into motion. The 80th congress in May 1946 and passed into
Public Law No. 599 in a repatriation program for soldiers who
had been temporarily buried overseas during the war. The families
and next of kin were given these options:
1. Internment of the remains in a permanent American Military
Cemetery overseas.
2. Returning the remains to the United States for internment
in a private cemetery.
3. Return of the remains to the United States for interment
in a National Cemetery.
4. Interment of the remains in a private cemetery overseas.
Among the notables buried in overseas cemeteries are: General
Patton is buried in Luxembourg among his troops. General Maurice
Rose is buried in Margraten, The Netherlands. Lieutenant Colonel
Benjamin Mart Bailey, Jr. is buried at St. Laurent, Omaha Beach,
Normandy, France. Today the Military Cemeteries overseas hold
thousands of the fallen soldiers lost in WWII in which the families
declined to have their remains returned home: Brittany, France
4,410; Cambridge, England 3,812; St. Laurent-sur-Mer, Omaha Beach,
Normandy, France 9,386; Netherlands 8,302; Henri-Chapelle, France
7,989; Ardennes, Belgium 5,328; Luxembourg 5,076; Lorraine, Moselle,
France 10,489; Epinal, Vosges, France 5,255; Sicily-Rome, Nettuno,
Italy 7,862; North Africa, Carthage, Tunisia 2,841; Rhone, Var,
France 861; Florence, Italy 4,402 and in the Pacific the Manila
Cemetery 17,206. In addition to the World War One cemeteries
in Belgium and France.
Once you cross the Rubicon, there is no return.
A new session of my life was about to begin; but soon after
reporting for duty at Fort Sheridan, Illinois, in reality it
almost seemed as though I had never left the Army. The post war
Regular Army had now been drastically reduced in numbers evolved
from the millions of men called to duty via the Selective Service
call up. The draftees had all been discharged and those who remained
in uniform were now all volunteers. It was a radical experience
to compare the two time periods. All military branches were ordered
to become integrated. Gone were the 90 day wonders and misfit
officers. This "new army" would thankfully never take
on the appearance of the pre-WWII "old army"; also
the hectic days of WWII were also a part of history. However,
this new peacetime Army was very much the same as the old Army
SOP (Standard Operating Procedure) that I knew during the war,
in one respect "hurry up and wait." The more things
are said to change, the more they appear to be the same. Only
the pace, at times, was much slower and unhurried. These people
were marking time until the next call to arms; it would come
sooner than anyone expected, June 25, 1950 on the Pusan Peninsula
of South Korea.
Processing in was a repeat performance of filling out forms
and drawing all new uniforms once again. No more living in the
temporary war time wooden barracks, but assignment to the permanent
Parade Ground brick buildings built at the turn of the century
for the Artillery Brigade. These were the very same buildings
in which my father was quartered in during World War One, only
now upgraded with modern conveniences. In the beginning, while
the Escort Company Table of Organization was being nationally
recruited many vacancies remained unfilled. As the nucleus of
the first troops with the Cadre, we were only required to report
for morning roll call and then the remainder of the day was spent
on sports activities and personal free time.
The word had been sent out to all commands across the USA
for qualified applicants to apply for this selective and honored
duty, the need of military escorts to return the bodies of the
fallen soldiers from their overseas temporary burial military
cemeteries to their home of record or a National Cemetery. In
time the Company rapidly filled the T/O vacancies with Regular
Army decorated combat vets. Prior service in a combat unit was
a basic requirement needed to apply. The T/O was not bound by
rank restriction, only numbers. At one period we had thirty-seven
(37) NCOs wearing First Sergeants chevrons on the double over-sized
company roster; with numerous Masters, Sergeants First Class
in addition to Staffs and Bucks. Many had formerly served as
Company Grade officers during the war and accepted grade reduction
to Master, Sergeant First Class or Staff Sergeant to enlist upon
reentry. Former commissioned fighter pilots returned as Staff
Sergeants.
My section of the barracks was the domain of First Sergeant
Lyle W. Stevens, a grizzled Old Soldier in the Old Army who was
captured on Corregidor; where he was awarded two Silver Stars,
a Bronze Star and the Purple Heart all within two weeks before
the island capitulated to the Japanese on May 6, 1942. He spent
the remainder of the war in a prison of war camp at Hokkaido,
Japan. Our Chief of Operations, Master Sergeant Forrest H. Kelly,
had served in the Air Corps with the rank of Lt. Colonel during
WWII. With the post war Reduction In Force in effect, he accepted
the rank of Master Sergeant to complete his 30 year career, for
pension purposes.
Another decorated combat soldier was Sergeant First Class
John R. Rice; "K" Company of the 126th Infantry Regiment
of the famous 32nd Infantry Division, one of few men entitled
to wear 4 stars on the Asiatic Pacific Ribbon. He was a Winnebago
Indian, assigned to escort the remains of the Native American
Indian soldiers as needed. The Army's policy was to assign an
Escort by rank, race and religion whenever possible.
Our Commander, Colonel John L. Turner, Artillery, who had
risen from the ranks after enlisting as a Private in World War
One, conducted the final interview of applicants, which required
his personal approval for acceptance. I'll never forget his final
question after inquiring what combat unit I had served in during
the war. I was standing at attention in front of his desk when
he asked, "Soldier, can you go three or four days without
taking a drink (meaning hard liquor)?" In a firm voice,
I answered, "Yes, Sir!" Drinking, while on assignment
escorting the remains, was a Cardinal sin and would be dealt
with severe disciplinary action we were told.
Having met the basic qualifications and after having passed
the screening process, I was sent to attend a special Fifth Army
school with daily training sessions at the American Graves Registration
Service, Distribution Center No. 8 , Chicago Quartermaster Depot
at 1749 West Pershing Road, Chicago, Illinois. Classes were conducted
in all phases ranging from examining the casket for odors emanating
from the hermetically sealed bronze casket, folding the flag
into a triangle with only the stars on the blue background visible,
maintaining constant exemplary personal conduct, meeting with
the grieving family, obtaining a signature of release on the
government forms and documents, performing functions at the military
funerals and what to expect in train travel. Although the casket
was shipped in the baggage car in a flag draped shipping case;
we were issued tickets for either a sleeping car or coach, depending
on the distance traveled. It was drilled into us that it was
our responsibility to arrive at the destination together. That
meant close coordination with the conductor on every train to
prevent being separated from the baggage car. Wherever that baggage
car went you went, regardless of the time of day or night. Lose
that casket and you were gone!
Just prior to the end of the classroom work we were offered
one last chance to drop out of the course, without prejudice,
due to the potential psychological effect the duty would entail
with the highly emotional circumstances of the assignment. I
successfully passed all school requirements to become a military
escort assigned to the Fifth Army Headquarters in Chicago.
Money was never a motivational factor to me, so by serving
in this capacity I was giving back to my friends Bob Rosenberg,
Norm Steele and Lowell Dillard who were Killed In Action and
didn't return. Some of my assignments were to escort the remains
of men from my hometown, Racine, Wisconsin and in doing so, I
knew members of the soldiers' families, which made the duty all
the more challenging. I was on the road with another assignment
when my nephew, PFC Gilbert Lindgren, was returned for burial
in Racine, or I would have been assigned that daunting task.
God and the Soldier, all men adore in the time of danger
and not before,
When danger is past and all things righted God is forgotten and
the Soldier slighted. Anon.
At every burial ceremony I witnessed the reopening of the
emotional heart-wrenching pain of the widows, Gold Star Mothers
and family members of the men lost. If requested by the family,
I would attend the burial ceremony if a military funeral were
to be conducted. After the firing squads had fired their volleys,
the bugler would blow Taps; then with the assistance of one pallbearer
I would fold the flag in the blue triangle with only the white
stars visible and present it to the next of kin. The family grief
stricken, sat there sobbing and numb as I placed the flag in
the outstretched hands of the recipient. I had to steel myself
so as not to lose my composure. I always made eye contact as
I said to them by rote, "I present this flag as a token
of appreciation from a grateful nation." Adding my personal
regrets, I would render a sharp hand salute, do an about face
and exit to find the hearse for a ride back to the city and another
assignment. Often new escorts made only the initial trip and
asked to be relieved, unable to handle the emotional and psychological
stress of their first experience.
I would have on average one trip a week, depending on the
distance involved. Local trips in Chicago and suburban areas
were made by an Army ambulance to deliver the casket to a local
funeral home. My assignment trips by rail ranged from winter
bitter cold of the flatlands of North Dakota and Minnesota to
sweltering summer humid heat of south Mississippi and Texas,
plus all the mid-western states in between. Our per diem was
five dollars per day for our meals all three of them! Dining
car stewards would cringe when I handed them the military meal
ticket for a paltry $1.25 per meal, which they were obliged by
law to accept.
During the frequent lulls between receiving boat load/rail
shipments from the overseas military cemeteries to the AGRS Depot,
we were given generous time off as "verbal passes"
for R & R. I was also active on the Post's seasonal basketball
and baseball teams in season to stay in shape. Early morning
physical training workouts running up and down the Lake Michigan
shoreline banks gave us vigorous workouts. That was until the
wife of the Fifth Army Commanding General, Lt. General Walton
H. Walker complained that we shouted cadence too loudly while
passing their lake front residence on Post. Apparently, the lady
was not an early morning riser as we were accustomed to doing.
We rerouted the lake bank drill to accommodate her wishes.
General Walker and the ranking Admiral from the Great Lakes
Naval Station made an inspection of the Graves Registration and
Quartermaster Depot facilities and the hand picked group of military
escorts, including our 5012 ASU Military Escort Company, plus
a large contingent of Marine Corps senior non-coms and another
large group of Navy Chief Petty Officersall former combat veterans.
When the Admiral and General Walker "trooped the line,"
General Walker, having served as a former armored force commander
of the XX Corps in the 3rd Army under General Patton, stopped
when he noticed my Belgian Fourragere decoration and 2nd Armored
Division shoulder patch. He asked, "Sergeant, what unit
were you with in the 2nd?" I replied that I served in Headquarters
Combat Command "A" under Brigadier Generals Rose and
Collier. He said, "Two good men." and moved on down
the line of inspection.
After a few months of this solemn duty under my belt, I wrote
to several of my former ex-Army buddies from the 2nd Armored
Division that I had re-upped, with the intention of becoming
a "lifer." They could not believe it! To a man, they
asked, "What the hell were you thinking?" I could only
answer, "To each his own."
"This is the life we chose." Don Corelone, The
Godfather
Publication or reproduction, in part or whole,
is prohibited without written permission from the author, Don
R. Marsh. All rights remain the sole property of The Marsh Family
Trust.
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