Honoring Those Who Served: Today Is Veterans Day

Photo: Gary Firstenberg

It hasn't always been called Veterans Day. It originated as Armistice Day, proclaimed by President Woodrow Wilson in 1919 to mark the end of World War I, which ceased with an armistice at the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month in 1918. The day commemorated the war’s conclusion and honored the fallen. 

In 1954, after World War II and the Korean War, President Dwight D. Eisenhower signed legislation renaming it Veterans Day to recognize all veterans, living or deceased, from every conflict.

World War II claimed over 70 million lives, including countless artists, thinkers, and innovators. Many who perished were not soldiers but civilians, resistance fighters, and creators whose work continues to define the human story of courage, suffering, and loss. Benny Goodman, Antoine de Saint-Exupéry (author of The Little Prince), and John F. Kennedy's brother Joe Jr. were among the memorable who perished.

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The haunting 24-note bugle call played at military funerals and flag ceremonies is called Taps. This solemn tune was birthed in July 1862 during the Civil War’s Peninsula Campaign. Union Gen. Daniel Butterfield, dissatisfied with the harsh “Extinguish Lights” call, worked with bugler Oliver Norton to revise a softer French signal, “Tattoo.” Butterfield lengthened notes and reshaped the melody for a more mournful tone. First sounded at Harrison’s Landing, Virginia, it quickly spread to both armies. It honors the day’s end, fallen comrades, and the final farewell. Lyrics added later—“Day is done, gone the sun…”—reinforce its meaning: rest in peace.  

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My father-in-law, Wilmer A. "Bud" Wagner, kept a diary throughout his 3+ years in the army during WWII. These diary notes later became the basis for a 500+ page book about those years. This is an excerpt from his book And There Shall Be Wars. 

Portion of the WW2 Memorial in Washington DC
showing some of the cities where Wagner served. 

Had to go to all battalions at midnight with firing orders. Moonlight so I didn't mind too much. Slept through breakfast. Were shelled twice here today. My nerves aren't able to take it anymore as well as they used to. Some shells came close enough.

     151 moved tonight; I moved with them to the other side of San Pietro, a rubbled mess, a battlefield, to be sure. Back here at 10:00, just got nicely to sleep when the guard called, "Wag, get to Message Center," so there was another Firing Order to all battalions. It must have been after 2:00 when I got back.
Friday, January 7, 1944

San Pietro and San Vitorre were two towns literally blown off the face of the earth. There were many trees around that were totally devoid of all branches, and were just sticks left from all the shell fire. The city itself was piles of concrete rubble. I didn't see life of any kind left any time I drove through. About this time the II Corps took Mts. Porchio and Chiaia, two objectives necessary for our Division to have before our ultimate objective of Cassino.

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Veterans Day, observed annually on November 11, honors all U.S. military veterans for their service and sacrifice.  Today, it’s a federal holiday for reflection and gratitude.

Veteran's Day: The Book "And There Shall Be Wars" Speaks Volumes

Bud Wagner in North Africa
Anti-aircraft machinegun operator

My father-in-law Wilmer A. "Bud" Wagner was the second man in Northern Minnesota to be drafted into World War II. He carried a small pocket camera and kept a diary from beginning to end, from Camp Claiborne to Ireland to North Africa and the Italy Campaigns. 

When Susie and I were dating in the 1970s, Bud brought out his diaries and asked me to give an opinion as to whether they would be of interest to anyone. At the end of the weekend I gave him my verdict: "Yes!"

So began his journey toward becoming an author. His keen day by day observations were then amplified with a lifetime of research and reflection to provide readers with important insights through the eyes of a young soldier from rural Minnesota.

Bud Wagner -- cook, machine gunner and company agent -- had the privilege of being on the first convoy to make its way across the Atlantic for the European theater. And the good fortune of having survived the duration of the war without becoming a casualty in North Africa and Italy, which included beachheads at Anzio and Salerno.

The book is a joint project involving the research skills and memoirs of WW II veteran Bud Wagner and his son Lloyd Wagner (Masters in Literature). When I encouraged to amplify his diaries and make a book of them I had no idea of how invested he would become in this project. He greatly exceeded my expectations and, with Lloyd's able editing, he has produced a fascinating manuscript that includes a large quantity of original photos and other documents.

When the manuscript was published, he sent a copy to retired General John W. Vessey, former head of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Vessey's name appears four times in the book, including a diaryentry noting that John Vessey's promotion to Captain took place in Bud's "peep." (It was only after the war that the learned these all-purpose vehicles were called jeeps.)

Here is General Vessey's letter to Bud regarding this memoir titled And There Shall Be Wars.

"Dear Bud, ... Thanks not only for the copy of the book, but also for putting those wartime notes into a permanent record. It is an important addition to all the "stuff" historians record. I couldn't put the book down once I got into it. It brought back a lot of memories reading about times, places, and people from 55+ years ago." 

~ retired General John W. Vessey, 

former head of the Joint Chiefs of Staff

Just today I was forwarded an email from one of Susie's classmates who just finished reading Bud's diary/memoirs. Her comments were so poignant I requested to share them here. She wrote:

Bud and his mud-covered "peep"

This is Sarah Grandson (Sundberg). I have a copy of your father’s book that you gave me at the 50th reunion in July, and just finished reading it. What a treasure!! You and your family are so fortunate that your father kept a diary. You had asked me to let you know what I thought, so here goes.

1. He kept a lot of his personal feelings to himself, so I thought it interesting how affected he was by the death of one of the fellows who he wasn’t as close to when they were fighting in Italy (don’t remember the name), but I suppose after seeing so much death and destruction anyone would really start questioning the purpose. It was amazing how well he actually handled all the destruction around him.
2. I was surprised how poor the quality of the Army “peeps” were as his was always breaking down, a certain amount due of course, to the conditions. You can feel his frustration with it. 
3. It’s amazing at how adaptable the human species are. To go from a tight, secure family environment to preparing for war, then to the thick of it, and handle the emotions as well as your father did, is remarkable. 
4. Those men suffered so much and complained so little. Hunger, cold, heat, lack of a safe place to sleep, danger of losing their life, etc, etc. they truly were the “greatest generation”.

Disabled German tank.

Here's another response to the book, this one from James Wiita, a friend in the local music and arts scene who completed his own first book this past winter, Rock On, Duluth!

Reading Bud is like a daily talk with someone, though one sided. You can pick right up where you left off, it’s so personal it shows his human characteristics, and what to anticipate with each entry.

It seems to show every aspect of “army life “ -- the important details and accuracy mixed with the training -- moments with friends and music, faith, along with frequent headaches and  times of boredom.

* * * 

One of the surprises for me was Bud's love of poetry. There are numerous poems included in the book. One of my favorites is titled, "You're A Machine Gunner Now." Another is titled "A Battalion Agent" which you can find in this blog post titled "War Poems Tell Stories."

https://pioneerproductions.blogspot.com/2022/01/a-battalion-agent-war-poems-tell-stories.html

When I was in Italy last year my visit coincided with Italy's Liberation Day. On that day Italy celebrated the Allies victory over fascism. There were nationwide expressions of gratitude to the U.S. for its role in defeating Mussolini. You can read about my experiences here:

https://pioneerproductions.blogspot.com/2023/05/liberation-day-italy-celebrates-victory.html

One last link

Various Ways of Looking at History with Commentary (and a Book Offer)

https://pioneerproductions.blogspot.com/2023/04/various-ways-of-looking-at-history-with.html 

Uprooted: Part XIV

These Saturday blog entries are devoted to a serial novel titled Uprooted, a story about Ralph Kand, a young crippled man from Estonia during those difficult and challenging years from 1939-1945. As the Red Army approached Tallin, capitol of Estonia, Ralph secured a spot on the very last boat of exiles fleeing their Homeland. When the boat neared Gdansk in Poland, a Nazi patrol boat brought them to port where they were placed in a refugee camp. He and another man slipped away during the night to continue west toward freedom.

TO WROCLAW

After a fitful sleep in the countryside the two men woke to continue in the direction of a railroad of some kind that would enable them to make better time. As they came to clearing they saw a farmhouse below a series of wheat-colored rolling hills hemmed by neatly assembled rock walls. Hans picked up the pace and Ralph limped along behind.

The rutted tractor path led to a set of small outbuilding. Hans slowed, allowing Ralph to catch up, then proceeded as if they were nonchalantly passing through. As they came around to the south side of the house they were startled to find an old man sitting out front on a stool whittling. The old man lifted his eyes indifferently, showing no sign of either surprise or fear, or even curiosity. Hans asked how far to town, but the man just looked at them.

"This is Poland," Ralph said and he berated Hans for addressing the man in Estonian. Ralph looked at the man and asked, in German, whether he had any food.

The farmer now studied the two strangers with more seriousness. "Where are you from? What do you want?"

"We are Estonians. We are looking for a new homeland where we can be free. The Red Army has overrun our land."

Hans elbowed Ralph. "Ask if he has food."

Ralph glared at his travel companion. "I asked already."

The old Polish man opened his mouth and began to speak. "The Nazis took our corn and potatoes to feed their armies. We can feed you but it won't be much. What are your names?"

After introductions were made the men were invited inside the small wooden house. There was an oilcloth covered dining room table where they were invited to sit. Ralph noticed diced vegetables on a cutting board at the counter, evidence that someone else was in the house. The farmer turned and barked something in Polish. A woman wearing a loose apron emerged, nodded to the guests and went back to her business of preparing vegetables for the cabbage stew.

The afternoon passed quickly as the men exchanged stories. News had become unreliable so that these kinds of exchanges were an invaluable means of keeping up with what was going on. Ralph did most of the talking because Hans' German was weak.They learned that the farmer's wife had died the year before and that this was his daughter. He told them how to reach the train station near town. He did not believe that Ralph and Hans would have any trouble getting onto a train. "You will have a problem with the Nazis though when they check your papers."

The farmer told how they should take the train to Wroclaw. "There you can catch another train to Prague. From Prague you can go anywhere."

Ralph wanted to say that Czechoslovakia was not far enough, but here he bit his tongue and thanked the farmer who said, "You'll have to stay the night and get a fresh start in the morning." The two travelers welcomed this unexpected kindness. They were further surprised when the farmer handed them each a palm of coins, "In the name of God and His Son. It won't take you to Prague but it will help you reach the border." Hans made the sign of the cross as Ralph slid the coins into the pocket of his trousers.

The money was not essential for boarding the train. It was assumed as the stepped in that they had tickets. There were no assigned seat. But the farmer was right in predicting a problem with the Nazis. After boarding Ralph and Hans moved quickly to find seats in the last car. Ralph nervously waited for a conductor to stamp his ticket, but the conductors were delayed. A pair of Nazi soldiers had been making their way through the cars instead, checking identification papers.

Ralph tugged on Hans' arm. "We have to go."

"How? Where?" Hans said with his eyes.

The train car had a siderunner like the runners on old American automobiles from the Roaring 20's. They stepped out onto the narrow runner, holding a railing. Ralph pointed up and Hans understood. The weather was nice and they could use the air. Hans helped Ralph climb up on the railing where he was able to get a handhold and pull himself up. He leaned down, grasped the other man's hand and yanked him up with a heave.

"We should have done this at night. They're going to see us here."

"Do you see any other options?" Ralph lay flat on his back, rocking gently with the train. He stared at the sky, disbelieving that only a few days before he had been with his mother urging her to leave with him. It seemed like months ago.

CONTINUED

Uprooted: A Story of Estonia (Part IX)

This story is based on a true account of events in the life of Ralph Kand, a partially crippled young Estonian who survived World War II. For narrative purposes the time frame of these events has been condensed without — this writer believes — violating the spirit of that time.

September 1944: Beginning of the End

Like most people in Estonia, after the Germans had run the Red Army off their land, Ralph wasn't happy about the German occupation but believed it a whole lot better than Stalin's terror-style of rule. The world was at war and though nothing was normal, there was a greater sense of normalcy than before.

In 1942 many Estonian men left the country to fight with the Finns who were still under pressure from the Soviet army. But many more remained in their Baltic homeland to prepare for the assault that would eventually come from the East should the Axis powers fail in their bid for global dominance. Ralph decided to join the Estonian National Guard where he found that nearly all of the volunteers had lost a brother or sibling to the Red Terror. His withered leg had never kept him from anything else he put his mind to, from bicycling to skiing, and he was determined to do whatever was necessary should the Red Army return.

The following year was a famously bitter Russian winter, and the Nazis failed to achieve their aims due to gelled diesel lubricants and fuel in their tanks and transports, and the distractions of formidable Allied forces accumulating in the West and the South. Another problem was that trains in Russia operated on a different gauge railroad track than in the rest of Europe so that for German supply lines to be maintained (by railroads) the tracks had to be widened one mile at a time. It was tedious and time-consuming.

In the fall of 1944 Ralph was with his National Guard unit to the East when rumors began circulating the the Red Army was on the move. He had been trained to disregard rumors, which were often unfounded or driven by propagandists on both side. Nevertheless each passing day brought more stories.

The Estonian National Guard was embedded in the Nazi army at many of these outposts. One morning in the third week of September Ralph was standing near the pitched tent of Nazi headquarters when he overheard the Major giving orders to his captains. This was the second time learning foreign languages saved his life. The Major had just informed his men that the Red Army was indeed drawing near. The German army was being instructed to withdraw so as to have the paltry Estonian Guard put a short-term pause in the Red Army's advance. In other words, Ralph knew that the Estonians were being sacrificed so that the Germans could escape.

When the major and his officers stepped inside the tent, Ralph jumped on the major's motorcycle and drove off as fast as he could get away toward his mother's home on the outskirts of Tallin. He avoided all roads as much as possible, riding trails and paths through the woods and fields, terrified as he tried to sort out a plan in his mind.

Many Estonians had thought about the possibility of this day coming and were prepared to flee the country if necessary. As it turns out a full ten percent of the population abandoned their homeland in a matter of days. Ralph aimed now to be one of them, but he wanted his mother to come with him.

Ida's face was ashen as Ralph explained what must be done. "I'm too old, Ralph. I can't start again somewhere new."

Ralph pleaded,  then went to the barn and brought the horse and wagon to the back porch. Ida reluctantly began packing. Ralph hastily carried armloads of clothing and goods to the cart.

Suddenly Russian airplanes bore down on them and began strafing. Ralph held the horse as his mother ran inside. A bomb fell nearby and shook the house violently.

"Mom! To the shelter," Ralph screamed.

The shelter was essentially a hole in the back yard with an old door overtop it. As Ida climbed inside Ralph ran around grabbing branches from the trees and pulling shrubs to throw over the top of this makeshift safe place in an effort to conceal it. But no sooner were they in the ground than a banging commenced.

"Open up! Come out!" a high-pitched voice shouted in German. The Nazi soldier seemed but a boy, but his rifle was pointed at Ralph's face and Ralph had no choice but to climb back out into the open. He quickly calculated that the Russian air force was not wasting bombs on Estonian civilians. The retreating Nazi army must be nearby.

All of a sudden the sound of more aircraft caused the young German to turn on his heels, shouting, "Macht schnell!" In an instant he was gone.

Ralph ran to the cart and untied the horse from the post where he'd secured it. He placed Ida on the seat and instructed her to take the back roads into Tallin where they would try to catch a boat out of the country. Meanwhile Ralph, still in uniform, took off on the major's motorcycle, veering back and forth to see where the roads were clear and to make sure his mother was still safe.


CONTINUED NEXT WEEK

This Day In History

Births

Jim Thorpe (126 years ago)
Ian Fleming (104 years ago)
Gladys Knight (68 years ago)

Deaths 

Noah Webster (169 years ago)

Military exercises, World War II

History has always been fascinating to me. It started, I think, when I was in the fourth grade. Years later I would learn that before a certain age children have no concept of time, so they have difficulty grasping stories about history. It makes sense that part of being a young child is wrapped up in "living in the now." Around fourth or fifth grade young minds begin to understand that the past is something back there and the future out ahead of us. 

It was in Miss Morse's fourth grade class at Stafford School that I developed an interest in the Civil War. The chief cause of this fascination was a very large, colorful book (published, I believe, by American Heritage) at the back of the room with maps of every battle. The maps had details of the terrain and showed where the various army battalions were stationed or moving. I remember very little from that year of schooling other than that book at the back of the room, which I visited frequently.

Books of all types are endlessly fascinating, especially biographies and autobiographies. When we read peoples' stories we discover how much we have in common, or how very different our experiences have been.

Chopping onions, Bud Wagner, left.

70 years ago today sugar rationing began in the United States. The war effort was having a major impact on many industries. Sacrifices were being made across the board because something large was at stake. Our young men were now overseas.

In 1999 my father-in-law Wilmer A. "Bud" Wagner published his war memoirs, with notations. Hard to believe it has been 70 years since he was stationed in Ireland, preparing for the North Africa Campaign. Though never a soldier myself I know that the phrase "hurry up and wait" is a common one. The soldiers were assembled, trained and now waiting for marching orders. Many of these men would never see their families again.

Here's an excerpt from Bud's book And There Shall Be Wars. It's an ordinary man's daily observations for three-and-one-half years of service. Wagner was the second man in Northern Minnesota to be drafted into the war. He carried a small pocket camera and kept a diary from beginning to end, from Camp Claiborne to Ireland to North Africa and the Italy Campaigns. His keen day by day observations have been amplified with a lifetime of research and reflection to provide readers with important insights through the eyes of a young soldier from rural Minnesota.

The format of the book is diary entries followed by commentary, designated here by italics.

Wednesday, May 27,1942 

On again this forenoon. Raining on and off. Hurley and I went to Limavady. Got a ride in with an army truck. Went to several places, until 7:30, then we took Nancy and Dorothy to a show, Toppers Return. A fantastic story, but enjoyed the picture. Left the girls at 11:30 and walked to camp. Two letters today.

Dorothy had been staying with Nancy a few days on vacation. They came from Belfast. Both were well-educated, with high standards, and real nice to talk to. Hurley kept in contact with Nancy the whole time we were in Ireland. 

 Irish girls like these two would never think of inviting boyfriends to their apartment after a move. Dorothy and I weren't excited about each other, but I was a good fill-in once in a while, and she gave me a good reason to go to town, instead of just to walk around. 

Thursday, May 28, 1942 

Slept until 9:30. Read a little. Hurley and I were on together this p.m. We hurried through tonight. We each got a pass. I borrowed Don's bike, and we went to Limavady again. We went for a walk with Nancy and Dorothy, across the river and in a park. Dorothy took pictures. She can get film. We just talked a lot, and I had a Time magazine that we discussed. We walked back again. To camp at midnight.

Friday, May 29, 1942 

Didn't get to sleep until 1:30. Hurley overslept. I really had to move on the double to get breakfast out on time. We had fried potatoes, French toast, braised beef for dinner. Off this p.m. Had to load all our things, the kitchen truck and leave the kitchen and our hut real clean. Hurley wanted me to go with him to Limavady again, but lucky for me, no passes were given out. I'm just getting tired out.

* * * * *
This matter-of-fact style of daily notation becomes quite dramatic once the war kicks into high gear. Here's a portion of a letter from retired General John W. Vessey, former head of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Vessey received orders of his promotion to captain while in Bud's jeep, his first bump toward the top.

"Dear Bud, ... Thanks not only for the copy of the book, but also for putting those wartime notes into a permanent record. It is an important addition to all the "stuff" historians record. I couldn't put the book down once I got into it. It brought back a lot of memories reading about times, places, and people from 55+ years ago."

And There Shall Be Wars is available at Savage Press. Wagner will soon be 93. His service to his country will be remembered.  

Photos by Wilmer Wagner. Click images to enlarge.

Allies Enter Bologna

I can't say enough about how amazing the Internet is. I once gave a speech comparing the Internet to the building of the transcontinental railroad. Stephen Ambrose, in his book Nothing Like It In The World, details the impact of the railroad in uniting the East and West coasts, and the opening of near instant communication lines. In the same way, the Internet has been connecting the world.

This past week Mario Monastorolo, a historian from Italy whom I have become friends with via blogging, sent me footage of the Allies entering Bologna during World War II. If a picture is worth a thousand words, footage like this must be worth ten thousand.

This is not documentary, it is raw, uncut. The war footage is of special interest here because my wife's father, Bud Wagner, was a jeep driver in the 34th "Red Bull" Division which is rolling through town in these brief but revealing films. I find myself playing a variation of the game Where's Waldo?

The breakthrough at Bologna in April 1945 was a critical juncture in the Italy campaign. The Germans made the Allies fight for every inch as they advanced up the peninsula. As a resulted of a concerted attack by British and U.S. forces, the city fell on the 21st. It was the enthusiasm with which the people greeted their liberators that signalled to Mussolini that he was done for. When the news that you see in this footage was conveyed to Mussolini he attempted to flee to Germany for refuge. He was captured instead by Italian partisans and one week later shot in a public square.

Bud was within a mile of the event, and could have driven in to watch Mussolini's execution, but chose not to. Says he, "I had seen enough blood."

Check out the archival footage Mario sent to us here and here.

Wagner's diaries were assembled and published, with assistance from his son Lloyd, in a book titled And There Shall Be Wars. It is an essential addition to the library of any WW2 buff.

Thanks, Mario, for the fascinating footage. Thanks, Bud, for sharing your observations about this significant segment of history.

From Italy With Love

There are more than six billion people in the world. Each person's life is a collection of stories. What's fascinating is how these stories intersect, diverge and re-connect.

Followers of this blog have been no doubt aware of the ongoing story unfolding here. My father-in-law, who served more than 3 and a half years in the army during WWII wrote a book ten years ago called And There Shall Be Wars. Tomorrow he will be 90, a milestone for sure. He served in North Africa and Italy where his Red Bull 34th division scrapped and slogged for every inch, pushing back the Nazis from 1943 till the war's end.

In April 1945 Cpl. Wagner and the 34th were in Milan when Benito Mussolini and his mistress were slain, their bodies hung upside down and stoned by the peoples. Wagner was within a mile and could have gone to witness this historic event, but it did not suit him. He had already seen enough violence. But of this day he wrote it was one he would not forget. The roads were lined with Italians all waving and cheering.There many in Italy who remember that day.

What's also fascinating to me is how the sharing of Bud's book with my own family lead to my discovering that one of my uncles had been at Normandy on D-Day and another great uncle had been wounded by shrapnel at the Battle of the Bulge. Now we have had the privilege of sharing some of Bud's stories in Italy. This week a new magazine is going to print about the history of Northern Italy. Mario, our new friend over there, helped with its formation. In the process, I think they've all fallen in love with the story teller from Minnesota, Wilmer A. "Bud" Wagner.

Here is an email I received this morning from Mario followed by a YouTube video Birthday Greeting to Bud. Two of the people in this little video remember when the Americans were there in Racconigi. Bud remembers these days in Italy with fondness.

Thank you Ed! Today is Saturday: generally, a busy day for me. Well: busy is not the right world, it's better say: full of strange events, very "normal" in this old-odd country inside old Europe. I just arrived from a small city not far from here (Cherasco) where I was invited to attend the presentation of a Cycling Team (all babies under 10) going to attend the Italian Junior Championship next week. Now I'm leaving, to attend the inauguration of a new Restaurant in an ex aristocratic estate here (!!!). But tomorrow is Sunday!!! And the very important fact is that our magazine will be printed beginning from Thursday.

Our young art director (Pier) is very interested in fine arts and graphics; he already knows your blog! Good idea, a show in Italy! We only need to begin breathing again!

Carla is 83! A very active woman, a very, very good friend. She is helping us gather people to collect memoirs. Beppe is 84: at 18 he became a partisan! And one thing I forgot to tell while introducing him, is that he is our former mayor (the "first citizen", as we used to say).

When I was in Cherasco two hours ago, I had a touching meeting with a man (about 69, but he looks 50) who was one of my neighbours when I was young. I told him about Bud; he started telling me of his father, who was in the Army in Sardinia at the end of the war; he was some months old when his father had to join the Army so he only knew him as a face on a photo; in 1945, his mother was informed that maybe his husband was dead. When Bud was in Racconigi, the young boy used to reach the railway station every evening, 'cause the only one train arriving from Torino was full of soldiers coming home from all sorts of places. One evening his father arrived and had such a long beard, was so thin and bad looking, that he didn't recognize him. He had reached Naples on an English ship, and had walked (!) from Naples to Turin: look at a map, Ed!

This is the very meaning of "discovering" Bud: there are so many people here, who are astonished in listening to his story. He has opened a sort of "Pandora vase" of memoirs and feelings, that had never been told or written. I've so many stories to tell you!

"Domani è un altro giorno": tomorrow is another day. Bud will be "officially" 90: tell him we are all with you in Minnesota. Ciao, Mario

Thank you Mario, Beppe, Pier, Carla... each of you and all of you.

WW2 Vet Celebrates 90th This Week

"Death was always hovering over you like mud and executed orders. But once you got used to it, you never did get to know the fellows you worked with. When they left you it was for keeps and all they got was a body bag and a place in the cemetery." ~Wilmer A. "Bud" Wagner

We take our freedoms for granted, something no one took for granted sixty years ago.

My father-in-law is celebrating his ninetieth birthday this week. (His actual birthday is Flag Day, the 14th.) He's no slacker. Today he's been out mowing my yard, getting it prettied for his daughter arriving from Texas and a grand-daughter coming home from college this evening. He's planting a few more flowers, working in the garden and occasionally stopping to take a rest. Very occasionally.

On Memorial Day I made reference to his memoirs which were amplified into a book called And There Shall Be Wars. It just so happens that earlier this month Mario Monasterolo, a historian in the region of Turin, Italy, discovered Bud's book through Google and we have been in correspondence. The episode churned up fresh memories for Bud which had not been included in the original story. Here are a few of these.

By the summer of 1940 everybody knew there would be a war soon, except maybe the strong pro-Germans. My grandfather had died that winter leaving four sons, a son-in-law, two daughters and another son-in-law who had a mind of his own.

The oldest son soothed most of the Germans in the family by listening to Hitler speak one night on the radio and said he was real sure Hitler had no thoughts of a global war. However, he was the first one to change his mind as he bought a new Ford car and later a brother moved him to Wisconsin and he had his upstairs loaded with sugar and things that later became rationed. To the rest of the people it was pretty obvious that war was headed our way. You would have had to be pretty stupid to think otherwise. Then the draft lottery started and all the young men had to register. My dad was against that. Not so much of the war, but losing one or more of his two boys to the army.

Well I got a low draft number and got called up in April of 41. The book tells about all I could say about it. Then December 7th came along and we were in it. The hardest things were mock battles, load everything and imagine you are ready to advance or retreat. Cooking was going good and I was satisfied... then the night after Christmas one Battalion moved out. Some of these fellows were on furlough and had to be replaced in a hurry and I was one that had to go with the First Battalion, but still as a cook. Then in a few days we left too and I found out what feeding five hundred men in a moving train was like. Lots of help, but hectic.

Then the following morning it hit me suddenly that we were heading East and it really sobered me up. The thought now was one year for me, it’s for the duration, but I was glad we found out we were going to Ireland. I learned a lot of cooking from Hurlog Soderlung, Don Sternke and others. Then I had the chance to cook for the officers. I made a hit with them as they bought food themselves and had us cook it for them. In the Tynan Abbey camp, the one gardener took me to his home and I met his daughter Peggy. I would walk across the estate almost every night to visit with them and we all had a good time. I had bought the first bicycle I ever owned and rode along the beach with Eva Auald, Don Sternke and his girlfriend. Then we moved and Hurley got me acquainted with his girl friend’s sister who was also a pharmacist. The book covers the time pretty well as we finally got into action and I got out of the kitchen. We made an 800 mile trip three times and then it was Italy for two years.

One of the most impressive feats of bravery for any soldier, green or experienced, is a beachhead. The first half hour of Spielberg's Saving Private Ryan did more to illuminate this experience than nearly any film or book I have ever encountered. What is often forgotten is that the 34th Infantry "Red Bull" Division put themselves on the line in not one, but two such beachhead assaults, at Anzio and Salerno.

Over the years, I've frequently been impressed by the details in Bud's re-telling of these landings. This is in reference to Salerno, Bud in his jeep on the Landing Transport.

Let’s go back to just before the invasion. We had our vehicles pretty well waterproofed. Remember, we had to stay on the job until the vehicles were completely waterproofed and checked by an officer. Then there was constant thought as to how we really would do. Strange was all of it to us. As the big doors on the LST, or commonly called the Large Slow Target, would react to the orders to open we had to have the transmission in first gear, the transfer case in low position, and the throttle one third all the way on its permanent setting. Both hands on the steering wheel, and under no circumstances do you move any of your body members any other way. Oh yes, and the front wheel drive lever engaged.

The uncertainty of the whole thing would have me to say read it again. Put yourself in the place of a soldier. The running around to where you weren't quite sure to where you were told to go and not quite sure as to who they were as we were assigned to the 36th Division. It was “do your best and keep moving.”

One of the first things that happened was of course the Krauts left a few parting shots as they usually always tried to do, and our boys were doing the almost impossible thing of firing the 105's without having the trail split or using the gadgets for range and elevation. Easy to pass by on this one with a shrug, but read it again. 105's are made to be fired with the trail spilt and dug into the ground to hold them somewhat in the same position for the next shot. Then remember, too, they had absolutely no information as to what the range or altitude should be so they were shooting at the Krauts point blank and if you don't know much about artillery pieces, the Krauts couldn't shoot back. When you retreat the gun is hooked up to a two and a half ton truck and can't be fired until the truck unhooks the gun and the crew shifts it into firing position. Not an easy task either as they are real heavy expensive things and very heavy to maneuver back into firing position. The unusual thing about one gun is that as the crew was trying to get it back in the firing position, a two star from the 36th Division came and helped the crew get the trails back close enough so that they could get that artillery piece to give the Krauts one more parting shot. But read it again.

You never will get the full benefit of it until you can see the inside of what a tank looks like when they scored a few direct hits. The gun crew sergeant said of the General, he was the highest ranking man I ever had on my own crew. It was a hectic night. We had to do a lot of things on our own initiative. A skeleton crew was there from every detail and as I was going past the service truck the mechanic Louie Day hollered at me to stop and remove some of the waterproofing. I just waved and kept on my way.

The Jeep suffered a lot that day, got hot and really banged up. That’s why they picked me to be the one to be the first messengers there. My plan was to drive it or park it. There was no rest that night but by the next day there was some resemblance, though that changed in a hurry, too. The Krauts weren't giving up just yet. They had a crack division there in a hurry and we had to back up a bit, first time in all our combat. Eisenhower soon heard and had the 82nd Airborne Division from Sicily and some war ships shooting over us.

More stories yet to be told, but if you get a hankering for the book, you can find it here. It's a good read, and most can't put it down.

PHOTO CAPTIONS

Top Right: "This is what the peep and I looked like after a night of trips on the muddy Voltuno River banks, and sometimes between the banks as well. Hand-operated windshield wipers gave a small view. Shifting gears, steering, and windshield wiping all at the same time was sometimes tricky. I'm glad the clutch and gas were foot-operated instead of by hand." November 8, 1943.

Left: Bud today, as in this afternoon, still looking forward to good things as yet unseen.

Lower Right: "These 3 English graves and 1 American were close to Hill 609. No doubt they were booby-trapped. These graves were removed when the rear troops got there." July 25, 1943.

A Memorial Day Reflection

Do you remember when we used to celebrate Lincoln’s Birthday on February 12 and Washington’s on the 22nd? Memorial Day was May 30th in those days. All those midweek holidays were a bit disruptive and the two presidents are remembered on President’s Day, the 3rd Monday in February, and Memorial Day, today, is the last Monday in May.

The origin of Memorial Day goes back to the brutally bloody Civil War. Many communities set aside a day to mark the end of the war as a memorial to those who had died. Originally called Decoration Day (to decorate the graves of the fallen) the name was changed to Memorial Day in 1882. The holiday took on greater significance after World War II, another all-encompassing war that left few untouched or unmoved.

Setting aside a day for remembering has value because some things are too important to be forgotten.

My father-in-law, who served in World War II, eventually wrote a book about his experiences. Bud Wagner was on the first ship to Europe and served for the duration of the war, capturing details, images and keen personal observations that I doubt one can find anywhere.

Here's an excerpt from the introduction.

I began keeping a diary when I was quite young. I have many small books with short entries, and at the time I registered for the Draft in October 1940, when I was 22, I was closing the 5th year in a leather-bound 5-year diary.

I didn't even consider stopping with my diary because of my draft status, and I decided that in addition, I would keep a small camera with me at all times I possibly could during my Army service. My intention was to keep all my Army time on record to the best of my ability. On the front page of the 5-year diary I had written the Chinese proverb: "The faintest ink is better than the strongest memory."

There were many times during my Army career when I couldn't make my diary entries on the day they occurred. Days and nights would often run together when we were on the move, and dates were unimportant to me at the time.

Another reason I sometimes couldn't make daily entries is that for security reasons, I tried to keep my diary to myself. There were probably only three close friends who knew I was keeping it. I always carried it in my shirt pocket, and towards the end of the War it was getting to be quite a bulky burden. If I hadn't sent a part of it home before leaving Ireland, I wouldn't have been able to carry it all on my person.

Some of the problems I faced in writing it were (1) no light at night, (2) difficulty in getting ink, and (3) the fact that I didn't even have a real diary at times, but only small notebooks to write in.

There were times when I couldn't get away by myself that I would make believe I was writing a letter -- when actually I was trying to recollect and put in writing what had happened to me during the previous days or sometimes the previous week.

After I returned home in July 1945, the diaries were put into a drawer, moved with me several times, and were all but forgotten until about 1975 when our family was all together one Sunday afternoon. The talk turned to my Army life, and when I mentioned the diaries, everyone wanted to see them.

One of our sons-in-law, Ed Newman, a writer, thought there was potential in it for short stories, a journal, or a book. Our other son-in-law Harrold Andresen, a mechanic, was interested in all the mechanical work that had to be done to the vehicles. Our son, Lloyd, had heard some things about what I had written, and had been studying American and European history, including that of the World Wars, so he was very interested as well.

When Bud turned 79, he called me on the phone and said, “Eddie, I want you to take me to the store tonight to buy a computer. I’m ready to write my book.”

Whoever said you can’t teach an old dog new tricks was definitely mistaken. Bud had been assembling his research for a lifetime and was eager to prepare a manuscript. It was a major undertaking, but one could see the determination there. He also had help with preparing the polished version. His son Lloyd, my brother-in-law, did the “heavy lifting” as regards editing and organizing photos, etc. I did a measure of copy editing. And ultimately, an incredible book was produced called And There Shall Be Wars, a reference to Mark 13:7 in which Jesus said, “And when ye shall hear of wars and rumors of wars, be ye not troubled; for such things must needs be, but the end shall not be yet.”

To purchase your own copy of the book, Bud Wagner's diaries and memoirs of World War Two send an email to ennyman3@gmail.com or visit the Hermantown Historical Society.

This year Wilmer A. "Bud" Wagner turns ninety and he has been looking forward to that 90th birthday party coming up soon. We may have a few surprises for him. For sure I will be returning to this topic again over the next couple weeks.

In the meantime, let us remember all who sacrificed so much to preserve the freedoms we enjoy.

Will I Ever Sleep Again?

So much to experience, so much to comment on. So much to write, so much to read. So much to make... so much to fix. Too much to do, and so many hours devoured by sleep. Ah, but it is the rhythm of life. From the beginning our days have been divided by nights.

This evening, I would like to write about music, about A Whiter Shade of Pale and about the beauty of harmonies and melodies, and the complexity of lyrics that evoke moods despite their ambiguity. But it's not to be. Not tonight.

And I would like to explore the meaning of fanaticism. Today fanaticism is definitely a perjorative. Everything has a pro and con, a positive and a negative feature, as well as many interesting aspects. How is it that today being fanatical is now such a heinous attitude?

OK, I do understand the problematic side of fanaticism, but what is its opposite? Lifelessness? Apathy? If it is a crime to be too passionate, what does this do to our natural desire to yield to total immolation, total self-sacrifice to something more importasnt than ourselves?

Someone once said "Fanaticism today is as rare as the dodo."

I knew an American who once wanted to meet a true Communist so he could encounter someone who was utterly all-out committed to something he believed in. Nowadays, we have a society of people who play it safe. Everything is calculated. Zeal is a posture, not a true heartfelt attitude for most.

OK, so Winston Churchill puts a different spin on it: "A fanatic is one who can't change his mind and won't change the subject." This kind of fanatic is problematic, associated more with bitterness and intolerance than passion for a positive thing. Maybe the issue revolves around what we're fanatical about? Alas.... It would make for a good digression.

And I'd like to write about my screenplay Uprooted, which takes place in Estonia during WWII. And the history of aviation, Howard Hughes, the power of Hollywood, and the mesmerization of the masses.... and...

Well, here I am listening to Dylan and splattering ideas onto my blog. Maybe I should just close up shop and get the rest we all require. Don't let the bedbugs bite.