Alfred F. Mellow

Photo: 1st Sgt. Alfred Mellow, October 1941, Camp Claiborne, Louisiana Photo 2, written on back: "Capt. John Gormely and Al. Mellow in front of the place where Herb Berg and Gomerly had the punch out." Photo 3: Alfred Mellow is second from right (seated) Photo 4: Alfred Mellow and John Arotta, Anzio, Italy

Alfred F. Mellow served in World War II in the European Theater. He served in the U.S. Army.

Mr. Mellow trained at Fort Lewis, Washington, and Camp Roberts, California, in light field artillery. He and a friend requested and were allowed to transfer to the 125th Field Artillery Battalion, part of the 34th (“Red Bull”) Division They traveled to Camp Claiborne, Louisiana, to join the unit. Once the United States entered the war, Mr. Mellow served in North Africa and Italy.

His rank was Warrant Officer.

Source: An excerpt from The Autobiography & Life During World War 2 of Warrant Officer Alfred F. Mellow & His Tour of Duty by Alfred F. Mellow (pp. 67-88), (see below)

The Autobiography & Life During World War 2 of Warrant Officer Alfred F. Mellow & His Tour of Duty by Alfred F. Mellow

"But it is too late now because the first of March 1941 I am going into the Army, I thought for one year, but was not to be, because it was nearly five years later before I got back to Cave Junction.

"The first groups of draftees are leaving Grants Pass on the train heading for Portland, Oregon. I am one of the group but they have listed me as a volunteer, because I have bumped on other draftee out of the group so that I could go early. After my separation from the service after World War 2, I look back at what had happened to me and for me, since that day that I went into the service and I can truthfully say that I had made a smart decision to go into the service when I did. A few hours in Portland for a fast physical then we are off again, by train, to Fort Lewis, Washington. Will spend about ten days here, get uniforms, shots, take tests, attend lectures and lots of close order drill, then we will be shipped to training bases at different locations. I along with a number of fellows from different places in the North West are being sent to Camp Roberts, California, for our eight weeks of basic training, our training will be on Light Field Artillery. Camp Roberts is located about thirty miles north of Paso Robles and just a couple of miles from the little town of San Miguel. This is a new camp and is still under construction, the main streets and the parade ground are paved but the side walks are not in, and the barracks are not even cleaned up, so we must clean floors, wash windows, build wooden walks and clear mud.

"Regular Army personnel were doing the training here and being that we were the first new bunch to arrive here, they were sure making it tough on us, lots of close order drill, training on the 105 MM artillery piece, fire control communication, truck driving, (army style) clerical, and even cooking. After eight weeks of training, nearly all of our groups are being shipped out to different units in the United States, except me and nine others within the group. The plan is that we are to remain here and be assigned as first cooks in the camp, and would be part of the training cadre. I and another fellow by the name of Fred Mogaleen didn’t like this set up, so we did get permission to talk to our unit commander and did ask to be transferred to a non-training unit. He did give us the green light and said that when requests for personnel came in that we could pick wherever we wanted to go. Shortly after this a bulletin appeared on the board, of units wanting personnel, one of these was the 125th Field Artillery Bn., which was part of the 34th Inf. Div. Located at Camp Claiborne, La. Right away, my friend Fred Mogaleen decides that we should go to that outfit because he has two brothers in the 125th QM section which was part of the 34th Inf. Div. And being that they were both officers, he figured he could get transferred in to their units. There were quite a few troops coming to this camp, so we traveled from Camp Roberts to here by troop train, even had one big car made up as a kitchen so the train didn’t have to stop, we just ate on the run. Upon arriving here we were all ushered into a big day room where we would get our assignments and be greeted and talked to by the Commander of the 125th Field Artillery Bn., Major Edwin Body. I never knew it then, but that was one name and man I would never forget as long as I lived.

"This Major Body was a tough Army Officer and he gave us one hell of a talk about what was expected of us and he also informed us that we could expect no promotions because this 125th FA Bn. was an old National Guard outfit and that the old guard boys came first. Well he didn’t hold the line one that statement because in the four and a half years that I was under his command, he was the one that signed all the orders that took me from a Private, to Corporal, to First Sgt., to Warrant Officer, and then to his request for my field commission as a lieutenant.

"This Louisiana country isn’t my ball of wax, hot and sticky, lots of jiggers and ticks to bite on you. No barracks in this camp,, it is a tent camp, wood floors with four foot walls, then the tent, four men to the tent, but the administration and service buildings were constructed of wood. During the process of being assigned within the Battalion, I managed to get my classification changed from cook to supply administrator, so I am assigned to the Supply and Ammunition Battery as the Battery Agent. The Battery Commander is a Captain Karl Beshenbossel, if I thought Major Body was tough, I was wrong because Captain Beshenbossel was really tough. My duties kept me in the Battery HQ most of the time so I was doing a lot of work for the 1st Sgt., like making out his morning reports, sick call reports, made up rosters on the men so that he knew where any one was at any time, etc. After a month in this outfit, the Captain seen what I was doing, so he requested that I be promoted to the rank of Corporal, which I was, but I found out later that the Battery Agent was suppose to have the rank of Corporal anyway. Not much training here because we don’t have any weapons, most of the time we have classes but we do go on maneuvers for a month in the southern part of the state.

"It is getting close to December of 1941 and I have been in the service nearly eight months, so I have arranged for a thirty-day furlough so that I can be home for Christmas. This furlough will start on December 10th, but that never happened because the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor on December 7th. All furloughs and passes are canceled, all men on leave are called back to their units and within twenty four hours we are on our way to Pensacola, Florida, where our unit will set up to defend the beaches if an envasion should be made. Prior to December 7th the Master Sgt., in the Bn. motor pool was separated from the service, due to age, Master Sgt., “Pop” Watts was over thirty eight years old so he had to go, no enlisted man could be in if he was over that age. 1st Sgt. Al Anderson, our Battery 1st Sgt. was advanced to replace Watts, so now the Bn. Motor Sgt. was Master Sgt. Al Anderson. Capt. Beshenbossel had called me into his office and had a long talk with me, said he didn’t have one Sgt. in the Battery that he could recommend for the office of Battery 1st Sgt. So he was submitting my name for the job. He told me I didn’t have a choice and that the orders would be down from Bn. HQ and when I got back to the Battery I was surprised to see all my stuff moved into the 1st Sgt. tent and a Sgt. Mark Lannigan had sewn 1st Sgt. Chevrons on most of my shirts and jackets. At the first assembly the Capt. Spoke to men about what he expected of them in regards to the new 1st Sgt. and then I said my little bit, then I was over-whelmed with the applauding and the congratulations extended to me, this I did not expect. Even when we went to the Mess Hall for dinner that evening there the cooks had baked a big cake for me and had it all decorated up with a big welcome to the new 1st Sgt. on it. It is real nice here in Florida, even if it is the month of December, nice beaches, pretty flowers, and lots of sunshine. Got to fly around over the gulf in a seaplane as an observer looking for enemy subs or what not. Our units weren’t too well equipped to hold off any attacks because all we had were rifles and pistols, we were an artillery outfit but we didn’t have any artillery pieces. The people here, were very good to most of us and went so far to have some of us to their homes for Christmas dinner, another Sgt. and I scored real good, we were invited to a home of a man and wife that had a son in the Navy and he would not be home for Christmas, so they really made our day. Shortly after January 1, 1942 we are on our way back to Camp Clayborne, where we will be loading our trucks and equipment on to rail road cars and then shipped to Fort Dix, N.J., here the Battalion will be brought up to full strength of troops, equipment and supplies, with the exception of artillery Pieces and ammunition. The word is out that we will be going to North Ireland, and that we will be issued British Artillery after we get there. This is a real busy place around here, getting every thing to New York so it can be loaded on to ships, lots of the fellows wanting week end passes, even some of the parents are coming here to see their boys before they leave for over seas, but the one I can’t figure out is that some of the fellows are having their girlfriends come here and they are getting married, spend a couple of days together then the wife heads back home and the soldier boy gets ready for over seas. We are finally all loaded up and we head out for sea, not too many ships now, but we go up to Halifax, Nova Scotia where we join a large group of ships then two days later we start out and join a larger group already out at sea, must be fifty ships or more.

"Lots of Naval Destroyers patrolling the area around the convoy, checking for subs or any other enemy ships. The ship I am on is called Cristobal, it is a rather small ship and it is the front one in the convoy, they say that the convoy commander is on this ship but I never did see him, a sailor on the ship told me that there wasn’t much chance of our ship getting torpedoed because it was small and that the German u-boats would rather go for bigger game. I don’t know how many ships were lost from the convoy but the German u-boats did get some, after a month at sea we finally get to North Ireland off the coast of Belfast. It is a clear day and the countryside is really something, just like a big checkerboard. The fields are all blocked off with briar hedgerows and they are of different color of green. Three of the ships counting the one I’m on are here at Belfast, all of the rest of the convoy dropped off for ports in England and Scotland, our ship is the only one that can dock at the harbor, the other two are too big and must unload by lighters that run back and forth from the port. No flag waving or cheering from the crowd of civilians that is looking us over, they all act like a real curious bunch. Some British soldiers are running the show here; they have us pile our barracks where we are going. We then load on a rickety train and we are off for Portrush, North Ireland, where we will be billeted in empty apartment houses until a camp is available for us. Well, we are about to get a lesson on hospitality from our allies, the British Soldiers. We are assigned quarters here in Portrush when we are told to get our barracks bags that are in the town square, so down we go, and to our surprise every bag has been cut open and everyone’s cigarettes, cameras, and personal stuff is gone. Clothes is all that is left.

"A report of what was happened was made to the Commanding office of the British soldiers but he did nothing about it, said we would have to look out for ourselves. Well the British soldier is about to learn an American style lesson, the first night six British soldiers seen smoking American cigarettes were beat up pretty bad and all the cigarettes, they had were taken along with watches, rings, money, and what not. The local police tried to get involved but they were told to get our stuff back and not to get involved with the American soldiers. After about fifteen British Soldiers getting beat up and robbed, something happened, about seventy percent of the stuff they had stole from us showed up at the local police station, we went and picked up what was there and at that time the local police were told to notify the other British Soldiers and the public that any one caught stealing from the American soldiers or causing them any harm, would be dealt with as the American Soldiers saw fit. Our officers stood behind us all the way, even when the British officers complained about what went on. I didn’t get my camera or a lot of my stuff back but I was pleased to know that the British soldiers learned to not get too smart with the American Soldiers. One thing that is a no-no here is that we don’t discuss religion or politics with any of the people living here in North Ireland, seems that the English and the Irish don’t see eye to eye on this. We are not allowed to cross the border into South Ireland because it is a neutral country. The British soldiers are being moved out of Army camps here in North Ireland; so now after three weeks at Portrush we are moving to a camp near the town of Newtown Stuart, which is located on the southern border of North Ireland. This town is real small, about six or seven hundred people live here, it is situated on the bank of the Straban River.

"This town straddles the main road and has a large wall all around the town with two large gates that can be closed at either entrance on the road. Every two weeks a fair or sale like an event would be held and the farmers all around would bring animals, chickens, and all kind of produce into town to sell or trade. They would have to keep the big gates closed because the animals would get away if they didn’t. Conditions here are not too sanitary, animal crap all over the town, meat markets have the meat hanging out on the sidewalks, no refrigeration, or modern equipment, still back in the stone age, we are restricted from eating any meat or vegetables that are local grown or raised. There are no bars in North Ireland, instead they are known as Pub’s, one of the nicer pubs here was Phil’s Pub, owned by Phil Richardson, the first time I went into this place I was surprised to see a real large picture of Crater Lake hanging behind the bar. Seems that Phil had taken a trip to the U.S. of A, a number of years before and had visited in Oregon, went to Crater Lake, liked it so much that he bought this picture and hung it in his pub. Phil and I got to be good friends, he liked to fish and had all kinds of fishing gear so the two of us would spend a lot of our free time fishing in the Straban River, and I must say we would catch some beautiful fish.

"The camp here is all metal Quonset huts for the men’s quarters, twelve men to a hut, but the kitchen, mess hall, and recreation hall are all large wooden buildings. Lots of rain here and rather cools most of the time, and it is hard to keep the huts warm with a little coal burner stove in each hut and the coal is rationed, so we never have enough. One big hut with shower to take care of so many men and the toilets are out away from the huts, a building with eight or more holes over what we called honey buckets.

"Every day a fellow would come around with his horse and cart with a tank on it and pick up the crap and would be used to fertilize the farm ground. We are in business now because the Battalion has received twelve British artillery pieces, known as the 25 pounders. This Was a pretty good piece, one thing good was that it had a large disk hinged under it and all you had to do when setting up was pull a pin, drop the hinges, pull truck ahead, hinge brings gun off the wheels, then you are in business, one man can spin around in a complete circle with no effort. This is the gun being used by the British in North Africa at this time.

"A new authorization has come down from Army HQ that will allow Artillery Battalions to have two Warrant Officers appointed within their units, one for the personnel department and the other for the Service and Supply department. I decided to take the test for the Service and Supply Warrant, as did five others from the Battalion, was real surprised when I was notified that I had the best grade from the test, guess the classes and training I had at Camp Roberts was paying off, but I was to appear before a board of officers from the Battalion HQ who would either accept or reject my appointment. After being raked over the coals by the board of officers, I was finally appointed Jr. Warrant Officer and was assigned back to my old Battalion. So now I get more money, move into the officer’s quarters, have my own jeep and driver, I’m addressed as Mr., and my title is Ass’t S-4. A Capt. H.I. Moore was the Battalion Officer (S-4) and I would be his assistant.

"We have been in North Ireland a little over seven months now, all the units have been well trained and they are up to full strength with personnel and equipment. Here it is the last of November 1942 and we are getting ready to ship out, we don’t have to guess where we are going because we all know that we are going to North Africa. All the equipment and weapons are shipped off to Liverpool, England where they will also be loaded onto ships. All the personnel will be ferried across the North Sea to Scotland, then by train to Liverpool where we will also be loaded on to ships. The ferry trip from North Ireland to Scotland was the roughest I ever took; I really got seasick, along with nearly everyone else. The train trip from Scotland to Liverpool was something else, every place it stopped the Red Cross girls would be handing out doughnuts, cakes and tea. When we get to Liverpool, I was amazed to see so many ships and all the large balloons hanging up high above the harbor to prevent any chance of German dive bombers coming in to bomb the ships in the harbor. Bad news where our guns are being loaded on to the boat seems that one Artillery gun was dropped and damaged, so it will have to be replaced right away. The closest ordnance depot where one could be picked up was a good days drive from here, The Capt. Or me was the only one’s that could sign for it so off I go in my Jeep with Jimmy Potts, my driver and I took a Capt. Portilla with me, also a truck with two men in it. This depot that we are going to is a real large British Ordnance Depot and little do we know of the scene we are going to cause when we get there. We were all dressed in our O.D. combat uniforms, leggings, red scarfs, helmets, small US Flags and Division Insignia on shoulders, side arms and rank insignias, must say we looked real sharp.

"We get to the ordnance depot and park the jeep and truck in a large parking area, we are immediately surrounded with women and some men, seem that these people had not seen any American troops before. Nearly all the people working here were women because the military had nearly all of the able bodied men in the service. Capt. Portilla and I went in to the administration building to get the paper work done and the orders to pick up the artillery piece. About forty girls and women were working at desks in this large room where we came in, and immediately all work came to a stop, they were sure looking the Capt. Over and me. This didn’t last long though because a British Officer came and took us to an office out of the girls sight, I didn’t think that was very nice of him because I was really enjoying this, never had so much attention before. We finally get back to Liverpool with the field piece late at night, and by the afternoon of the following day every thing and every one are loaded up. The ship we are on moves out from the dock and we sit and wait, in fact we sit on board that ship for over three weeks, even spent Christmas on it, but around the first of the year (1943) we join up with a convoy and we are on our way to North Africa. As we get closer to the North African coast the convoy starts to break up, some of the ships are going to different landing areas, the ships with our equipment and personnel go to the Oran area, looking at the coast where wee are going, through a pair of field glasses, it sure looks like hell. No enemy troops here, only French and Arabs so we get ashore real easy, and most of the ships get to put in at the docks at Oran, making it easy to get all the equipment on shore much easier. Have to be real careful here because these Arabs will steal you blind if your not watching them.

"After a few days hear near Oran the convoy is ready to go, all of the Battalion equipment and personnel will travel east across Algeria to Tunisia, where the war is being fought. I have a advance echelon of two jeeps and a truck, me and Jimmy Potts, Capt. Portilla and his driver, Felix Cotton, and two men in the truck. Felix Cotton can speak French and Capt. Portilla can speak Spanish so I need them along. We are one day ahead of the convoy and have all the arrangements made as to where each unit will park for the night, also where they get their water, fuel, and food supplies. Our whole outfit is on British food supplies, gasoline and ammunition for the guns. Most of this country we are traveling through is pretty desolate, poor road and lots of wind, must wear goggles most of the time due to sand blowing, but closer to the Mediterranean Sea there are some nice big farms, owned and operated by French people, raising grain, oranges, olives, figs, and some cattle. After seven days on the road, we are finally at the war zone where we are contacted by British and American Officers who will inform all of our officers as to the plan of operation, and our Div. HQ will be tied in with Corp. HQ., who will issue all plans and make all decisions pertaining to our units actions. Our first assignment was to retake hill No#609,which was a vital observation point and was now held by the Germans, this was not going to be an easy task for green troops, the 135th Inf. Reg. Got hurt real bad trying to take this hill and our Battalion lost our first officer. (Lt. Jack Rickett) The first war souvenir that I got was at Hill #609, it was a 9MM Germans Lugar that I took off of a dead German officer, I carried this weapon all through the war and did bring it home with me, still have it as a reminder.

"This war business is something else, I’m convinced it is a matter of kill or be killed, and I must say, didn’t have much choice. Some of the things that took place in North Africa makes me wonder if there wasn’t someone looking out for me. Like the day Sgt. Arrotta and I were driving on this old road to go to a gun battery and some one started shooting a machine gun on to the road just ahead of our jeep, we stopped and turned back, luck was with us because we were on the wrong road and if our boys hadn’t of stopped us we would have been into enemy territory, just 500 yards further. Then there was the day that (Jimmy Potts) my jeep driver seen me step over the exposed prongs of a land mine, near an old house, and shouted for me to stop and not move. Lucky for me again, I back tracked out, then we put up booby trap warnings but even after all this, 10 days later some Arabs got in there and got themselves along with the house blown up.

"A Corp. George Chasely is on radio duty this night when just at day break a Stuka Bomber comes over and bombs a village about three miles behind us and when he turns to go back he is passing directly over us, about 300 feet high, our unit is well camouflaged, located in a dry river bed, so the plane crew do not see us, I am awake and I see George running to a 50 Cal. Machine gun we have set up near the radio car, have to stop that guy, if he fires on that plane we will have a half dozen planes back here bombing the hell out of us. Luck is with me again, I get to the gun about the same time as George, and I kept him from letting those Germans know just where we were. Most of our activities are after dark so here I am this afternoon in my covered fox-hole getting a nap when all at once I wake up, here is an Arab stealing my map case right out of my fox-hole, he takes off with it, by the time I get out he is long gone.

"I had my 9MM machine gun and I called a couple of the fellows to come with me, then off to the Arab Village that was next to our unit. I got the chief out, along with most of the camp, got the message to him as to what had happened, told him to come up with the one that stole the map case and that I wanted the case back, all the gun impalements were plotted on the map and I didn’t dare let that Arab get it to the enemy. Wasn’t getting any help from the chief so I opened up with the machine gun and shot a big cactus all to pieces, then told the chief to come up with the thief or what would happen to him. He went over to one of the Arabs and started to beat on him and was jabbering like crazy, this Arab with the chief and a few more of the Arabs went over a clump of cactus and he pulled the case out and gave it to me. I checked it out and seen that everything was in it, then the chief and all the other Arabs moved away from the thief. The unwritten law was that I was suppose to kill him, but in order to save face I beat on him some with the gun, then had the other two guys with me, take him in the jeep back to a POW camp about five miles back, seems like they came back real soon, don’t know if they got to the POW camp or not, and I never did ask. The Germans are working us over pretty good, we have to retreat quite often, this one dark night, we have a truck and we are picking up cans of gasoline we have stashed in a cactus row. Some Arabs seen what we were doing so they came and stole a couple of cans, took them to one of their mud huts to see what they had, they found out alright, all at once the hut was one big ball of fire, that made a good target for the Germans, with the shells flying around we gave up on trying to save any more gasoline, we were long gone, and lucky for us no one got hurt from the shelling.

"This war in North Africa is a learning time for most of us. These Germans are tough, and we had our share of wounded and killed in action, but then we get some air support and the worm turns, the Germans are retreating, and boy are they ever leaving booby traps along the way, any way to injure a person. We along with the British take the towns of Gafsa, Sfax, Subeetla, and Tunis, forcing them to the city of Bizertie next to the sea, where they finally give up, but when the prisoners are taken most of them are Italians, most of the Germans have been taken across the Med. Sea to Italy. The war here in North Africa is over but the cities of Tunis and Bizertie are beat up real bad, even ships have been sunk in the harbors so that they cannot be used until the ships have been cleared out. We now have a little time to relax; I get to see the ruins of Carthage, also the beautiful city of Constantine, in Algeria. With time on our hands I figure out a plan to get even with the Arabs, which I do not like very well because they will steal you blind if given half a chance. All of the men in the service here is issued a single bed mattress cover that you keep with you all the time, so if you are killed this is where your body will wind up. Now the Arabs were always trying to buy these mattress covers, and they would pay one thousand francs for one, the same as ten dollars in our money. Jimmy Potts and I are in business, we take a mattress cover and tie it to the jeep with a rope, then drive out into the desert country side and when we come to some Arabs we start making a deal, Jimmy is driving, I’m sitting in back so the Arabs can’t see the rope, I make the deal, Arab hands me the money, Jimmy hits the gas pedal and away we go, some Arabs hang on pretty good but they finally have to let go. Making quite a few sale a day but finally had to stop, Arabs were getting smart.

"We are all going to be shipped back to Oran, by train, so that we can load on to ships, then into southern Italy. Our equipment will be on other ships and join us at where we go into Italy. This train trip is really something, narrow gauge railroad, small cars, and the bathroom is at the end of each car, only a hole with a place for your feet and two hand holds. All the waste falls on the tracks, not much for sanitization, the train did not have a kitchen so we had to eat C-rations, and I was sure glad of that. We are at a little place called Tlemson just south of Oran near the desert, what a place, lots of wind and sand and no end to the flies had a screened-in place to eat, they were that bad. While here, I got to go to Sidi-Bel-Abbas, where the headquarters for the Foreign Legion is located, got to go through the whole complex, sure was something to see. We are on our way to Italy, didn’t get to stay hear near Oran very long. We go ashore about ten miles south of Naples at a place called Caserta, we are in the third wave so resistance near the beach isn’t too great, but things are sort of confused and the advance units are not moving as fast as planned so our Artillery personal are converted into Infantry and go on a forced march to help hold the front line and protect the beach head, even had to cross the Volterra River by wading it a foot because the Germans had destroyed the bridges. After a couple of days of this, we went back to Naples where we would get our equipment together and be back in business. This city of Naples is sure a dirty place and with the war on that makes it worse, also when the Germans retreated they destroyed streets, docks, power lines, bridges, and lots of the buildings. Some German snipers were still around not helping this matter.

"This is a retreating war, the Germans destroy all the bridges, railroad, and leave lots of land mines, personal mines, and bobby traps making it a slow go for our units. After a couple of months, we are up Italy away, not too far though. I’m Beginning to see just how terrible war can be on civilians, especially children and the younger people. Food and clothing is scarce, the Germans take anything they want, the civilians must hide what they can or they will lose it. The German soldiers abuse the older people, do what they want with the younger women and girls, rape any they wish to satisfy their desires, and force the young men to repair roads that have been damaged by our bombers or artillery, they even go so far as to kill them after they are through with them. If this is the price a country must pay for a war, I hope that it will never happen in the United States. It is winter here now and it sure does rain, the mud is so deep that we are having a hard time getting supplies to the gun batteries, if we didn’t have sand bags around the door where we are staying the mud would come right on in. Well, here it is Christmas, 1943, and not too much to rejoice about except that those of us here are still alive, moral is real low within the battery but there isn’t much one can do to bring it up. The war is still on and a few months later finds us up in the Purple Heart Valley, this is the name given to this valley where the Rapid River runs through and is at the foot of Mt. Cassino, on top of which is the largest monastery over-looking the valley, the Germans have taken over and have a large number of guns and mortars in the Monastery that they use very effectively against any attacks on the mountain.

"The Allied command Headquarters will not allow our units to fire on the Monastery with any weapons what so ever. After a month or more of this, the order came out that the Monastery was to be bombed to rubble, and it was, but after the bombing the Germans had their guns back in the rubble like nothing had happened. The only road going north through these mountains runs through a pass at the of Mt. Cassino and the Germans hold all the high ground. While we were stale-mated here, I had received a letter from home telling me that George Baldwin, a fellow that I had gone to grade school with in Holland, Oregon, and his parents lived just a little ways up the highway from where my parents lived, was stationed here in Italy. They had sent me his unit number which was an Anti Aircraft Combat unit and was located not far from our Battery, so I made arrangements to go look him up and did spend part of a day visiting him. About four days later, when I came back to the Battery here was a Sergeant from George’s outfit waiting for me to inform me that George had been killed in an air raid the day before. All of us here more or less expect things like this to happen but I knew it was going to be real hard on his parents, Raymond and Daisy Baldwin. The Germans are holding us off here, so the big plan now is for the allies to make a landing up north at a place called Anzio, then catch the Germans from the rear, our Artillery Bn. Is to be part of this new beach head. Everyone in the unit will pack all personal items and clothing not needed in this operation, into barrack bags and they will be stored at Naples to be picked up at a later date. This I did along with a nice camera I had picked up in North Ireland, and about two dozen rolls of undeveloped film of the action in North Africa.

"Well I never did see that bag again, lost everything, camera, film, Class A uniforms, and lots of items I had picked up along the way. No trouble getting ashore here at Anzio, no mines, no Germans, a recon. Unit even drove into Rome, we could have moved on to the high ground and even into Rome and cut the main supply route to the Germans at Cassdino, but the plans were that we were to dig in on the flat ground and protect the beach head. That we did and sat there and let the Germans move into the hills around us, then all hell broke loose, we were like ducks on a pond, they were looking down on us, it was necessary to keep smoke pots going all the time so that they could not see us during the day. Most of our activity took place at night or we got all hell shot out of us, this was worse than Cassino, all for a dumb order keeping us here and not letting us move into the high ground when we first landed. A large number of our men and officers were killed or wounded here as were a number of them that cracked up under the strain from the bombing and the shelling, if there ever was a time that I thought I was never going to make it home again, it was here at this damm place. I will never forget the day the Germans were bombing the harbor at Anzio while the rest of us were being shelled, one of the planes coming over my foxhole, started to fall directly on me and a Sgt. Arotto, who was with me at the time, but for some unknown reason the plane slid off to the side and crashed about a hundred feet from us, it was still carrying a bomb, which exploded when it hit and what a hole it made. All we ever found of the pilot was his identification card, some human flesh, and a picture of him with his wife and child. This was enough for me, so Sgt. Arotta and I decided to move out of the hole into a little house, made the bomb shelter under the house.

"But one night all hell breaks loose, we are being bombed and shelled at the same time, even with a large railroad gun that the Germans have, about twelve miles north of us. We catch hell this time, even our little house got the business, four of us were in the hole we had made under the house, when all at once Sgt. Arotta cracks up and starts screaming and crying like a baby, even calling out for his mother. It sure was sad to see a young macho man like Arotta in this condition, all we could do was get him to the evacuation hospital, where they calmed him down, but he never came back, he was sent back to the States and was later discharged from the service. When I went to Duluth, Minnesota, in 1980 for the Bn. reunion some of the fellows told me that Arotta had passed away in 1978 and that he had really never recovered from what happened on Anzio. Things are looking up now after the months we have been stuck here on Anzio, a Polish unit has cracked the German lines at Cassino and our boys are moving north, a few days later we break out of Anzio and are heading into Rome. We are back chasing after the Germans, going up the Po Valley; we are just above Florence when winter hits us again. Hate these winters here, so much mud, makes life miserable. Batteries are short on men and officers, half the time I’m the only officer in our battery and I’m only a Warrant Officer and our battery calls for a captain, 2 Lt. And me. Hard to get supplies we need and then to get them to the batteries they go to. Here it is again, Christmas day 1944, storming like crazy, mud to our ass. The war has come to a stand still, we aren’t shooting at the Germans and they aren’t shooting at us. I don’t know it yet, this Christmas morning, but this is one Christmas that day that I will never forget. It is raining hard and I am standing in the mud eating my canned turkey dinner out of my mess kit while the water drips off my hat or should I say helmet, into my mess kit. Three of the fellows are sitting in the back of a truck parked near a small hill, eating their dinner, while a truck tarp over them keeps the rain off. They call to me to come get under the tarp with them and not to stand out in the rain. Being too wet to move I said “No thank you, I love the rain”. About five minutes later a bunch of goats came walking along the hillside next to the truck and got into a bunch of personal mines that the Germans had planted there. The truck was only a few yards away from the mines and the three fellows in the truck didn’t have a chance. This was one hell of a mess, but many are the times that I thank God for the wonderful Christmas present he gave to me that day, while I stood there in the mud eating dinner in the rain and said “No thank you” to those boys that had asked me to join them. Well, here it is 1945 and the war in Italy still goes on, senseless killing and destroying, I’m sure getting tired of this life, wish it to be over soon. Going is still rough, got caught in shelling one day, lost the jeep and my driver ended up with one ear ruptured but I came out alright, also the time our outfit is parked in a olive orchard for a rest and we get bombed with personnel bombs, that was when I lost my tent, air mattress, and the clothes I had were so full of holes they weren’t worth fixing. I keep asking myself, how much longer is my luck going to hold out? We have been short of officers for some time and I have had to assume the duties of our battery commander and the supply officer, plus any thing else that the C.O. wanted me to do. So to make things more official, the higher ups decide I should have a commission, so out come the orders that I am now a Lieutenant. All the fellows in the battery were there to congratulate me and extend good wishes.

"I really didn’t think this was such a big deal, as far as I was concerned I was still the same fellow working with some of the best people I was ever with. A few months after this the war in Italy was over, the German 34th Div. Surrenders to the U.S. Army 34th Division, I was there and must say that was something to see. A few weeks later while we are here in San Ramo, Italy, I am no longer to be the Bn. Supply Officer; I am assigned to the Bn. HQ as the personnel Adjutant, and my Commanding Officer will be Col. Edwin Body, the same officer that gave us draft boys the talk back in Camp Clayborn, La. Telling us that we could not expect any promotions because his National Guard people came first. I got along real good with the tough old Colonel and we had many a joke over that speech he made back in 1941. My crew and I are busy cutting orders sending men from the Bn. Back to Naples to be shipped back to the U.S. where they will be separated from the service. We are down to six men and three officers, counting myself, when orders come down from Corp. HQ ordering us all to the 88th Div. At Naples, Italy where we will be shipped back to the U.S. and that I will be sent to Ft. Lewis, Wash. and separated from the service. The railroad in Italy had been repaired so we travel by rail to Naples then by ship to Newport News, Virginia, then we, on the west, coast travel to Ft Lewis, Wash. by trail. After being released from the service I will travel to Grants Pass, Oregon on the 6th of September, if I remember right. This is the year 1945. As I travel across the country from the east coast to my home in Cave Junction, Oregon, I look back to where I had been and recall all of the destruction and destroying of the cities and country, along with the homeless and hungry people, victims of the war."

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