Raymond A. Pearson
Era: World War II
Military Branch: Army
Raymond A. Pearson Raymond Pearson served in World War II in the European Theater. He joined the U.S. Army on April 17, 1944, and was assigned to Company C, 65th Armored Infantry Battalion, 20th Armored Division.
He was discharged on April 21, 1946. His rank was Private 1st Class.
Mr. Pearson was decorated with the: Combat Infantryman Badge, Distinguished Unit Citation (65th Armored Infantry), European-African-Middle East Campaign Service Medal with one battle star, and the World War II Victory Medal.
His unit was also recognized by the United States Holocaust Memorial Council for their role in helping to liberate Dachau Concentration Camp.
Mr. Pearson was born in 1926 in St. Paul, Minnesota, the son of Clarence and Ethel Pearson.
Source: Veterans’ Memorial Hall veteran history form; original entry on VMH website, and excerpt from his autobiography, written for his children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren (below)
Original entry on VMH website:
Raymond A. Pearson entered the Army on April 17, 1944. He was a Private First Class with Company C, 65th Armored Infantry Battalion, 20th Armored Division, which landed at Le Havre, France, in December 1944. He was in Munich on VE Day.
He says: “Our company was ambushed twice in two days prior to war's end. We rode in boxcars after the war from Germany to Camp Lucky Strike on the coast of France. During the train trip we were in a head-on collision north of Weingarten, Germany, in the early hours of Friday the 13th. Several GI’s were killed.
“We guarded SS troops waiting to stand trial in Nuremburg."
The battalion saw service with the 1st, 3rd, 7th and 15th armies. He received the Combat Infantryman Badge, Distinguished Unit Citation (65th Armored Infantry), European-African-Middle East Campaign Service Medal with one battle star and World War II Victory Medal. He was separated on April 21, 1946.
The War Years
"In total, I spent two years and three days in military service. I volunteered for the draft and was inducted on April 17th, 1944 and was discharged on April 21st, 1946.
"A friend, David Anderson, and I left Park Rapids at about noon on a sunny spring day via Greyhound bus, and traveled to Fort Snelling (St. Paul), where we took an oath to faithfully serve our country. Here, we received the first part of a series of shots (tetanus, smallpox, and diphtheria), were issued our uniforms, and about three days later, we boarded a troop train headed for Camp Hood, Texas.
"My father and Dave’s dad saw us off. Both Mr. Anderson and dad had served in WWI, so they had a good idea of the life we were about to enter. They were both sad and proud. Proud that their sons were serving their country, but they were nevertheless sad because we were leaving and would possibly face some tough times in the days ahead.
"Thirteen weeks of basic training in Texas culminated with an intensive two-week long special training session that took place at a place appropriately called Killer College. The two-part curriculum was simple: learn how to kill and learn how to defend yourself under many different kinds of combat circumstances.
"Basic training culled the fit from the unfit. We were under the total control of hardnosed, in-your-face non-coms (noncommissioned officers) who let us know in no uncertain terms that we were nothing but unfit raw recruits.
"We rolled out of bed each day at 5 AM and were marched to an open compound for an hour of rigorous physical conditioning before breakfast. Following breakfast, we spent the morning hours in a variety of activities, which might include a trip to the rifle range, running an obstacle course, bayonet drills, open field classrooms, close-order drill practices, and more calisthenics.
Tough Training
"Within a few weeks, we were beginning to toughen up, but not enough in the eyes of our captain. He had come to us from overseas and had extensive combat experience. He was resolved that none of his men would go into combat until they were in top shape physically. He would personally lead us on seven mile long forced speed hikes, where we had to cover the distance in a specific time frame. He told us that if we didn’t beat the clock, we’d have to turn around and hike back. We always finished under his allotted time. Our captain never let up. After a typical hot day in the Texas sun, we would march back to camp exhausted, hungry, and eager for a drink of water. We stood at attention in front of the captain’s quarters. Every day as we came into camp we could see a canvas Lister bag of cold water hanging from a tripod. Every man could see the sweet sweat of the water glistening on the bag’s surface. The temperature was in the 90 to 100 degree range. We knew that we could drink as soon as we were dismissed.
"But we stood, and we stood, and we stood! Agonizing minutes went by, but we still stood at parade rest. All was quiet and hot. Men quietly licked their parched lips, eyeing that Lister bag. Then we’d hear the familiar sound of a rifle hitting the ground as one of the men fell to the ground, unconscious. At that time, the captain would shout to one of the officers, “Get that man’s name! No soldier in my outfit is going to pass out on me!” The poor guy was revived and assigned extra duty after chow. Meanwhile, the rest of us were dismissed. After the rush to the Lister bag, we went to our barracks to rest a bit before going to the mess hall to eat.
"This routine went on hot day after hot day. Every day, the wait was longer. Finally, the day came when no one dropped. I think each man said to himself, “That son of a bitch is never going to get me to drop!” And the captain smiled. “Well done,” he said. And that was the last we saw of that practice.
"Killer College, the last two weeks of basic training, was intense. Every aspect of our training was jumped up a couple of notches.
"During an open classroom on handling live grenades, the instructor explained that the grenade was safe as long as the pin was in place, and even if it was removed, it was still safe unless you released the handle. If you released the handle, he said, the grenade would explode in five seconds.
“With a live grenade like this,” he explained as he rolled it from hand to hand, “you need to be extra careful. I’m going to remove the pin to show you how you can reinsert it.” He pulled the pin. Suddenly, the grenade was rolling on the ground. “Take cover!” He shouted. Except for one man, we scattered. He picked up the grenade and tossed it like a baseball away from the troops. The grenade was a dummy–it contained no explosive. The instructor praised the man for his bravery and then made the point that being careless can mean death.
"We ended our stay at Killer College with a forced field march forty miles back to camp with a full field pack, rifle, and bayonet. We broke camp at about 8 PM and arrived back early the next morning. Typical of our Captain, we dogtrotted the last two miles to Camp Hood. I think he was pleased because all but two of the 250 men in our company made it back. One man severely sprained his ankle, and the other had an attack of appendicitis.
Advanced Training
"Advanced training was held at Camp Campbell, Kentucky. It was here that I met Patrick Edward O’Connell. We were all new to camp, having arrived there from a number of basic training camps. Several of the men were arguing about who came from the best state, and Patrick was holding his own, arguing the merits of Texas. He spotted me and asked how come I wasn’t arguing for my state. “Hell,” I said, “I don’t care who gets second place.” O’Connell grinned, and that day a friendship began that still continues to this day. We phone each other occasionally. He now lives in Austin, Texas. Pat weighs about the same as he did in the Army and can still get into his uniform.
"Most memorable of our stay at Camp Campbell was the Expert Infantryman Test. This field test, which lasted three days, consisted of a great variety of skill tests: handling weapons, such as the carbine, Thompson sub-machine gun, the BAR (Browning Automatic Rifle), the bazooka, and firing .30 and .50 caliber machine guns. We also had to show proficiency by demonstrating first-aid skills, map reading, land mine detection, night scouting, and daytime reconnaissance, where you learned how to blend in with the background, thereby gaining cover and/or concealment.
"We dogtrotted unmarked trails. Cutout targets in the shape of a man popped up from behind rocks or small mounds of earth. They also sprang up in tall grass, sometimes right in your face, or became a sniper in a nearby tree. Your job was to hit the ground, fire at the target, roll, and get off additional rounds at another target.
"We were judged on the speed of our reaction and the accuracy of our shooting. I remember thinking, “Hey, if I’m getting off a round or two against the guy on my left, what’s the guy on my right doing during those four or five seconds?” The answer of course was that was the reason for the quick roll after getting off your shots. Never, we were told, give the other guy a sitting target.
"Modesty aside, I did well on this aspect of the test. I was very comfortable with my rifle, having earned the Expert Marksman medal on the rifle range. I also had the advantage of having learned to shoot from my dad. He spent hours with me on the rifle range in the local armory in Park Rapids (He was in charge of the armory during the war). He taught me to respect a gun, how to hold the gun in all kinds of positions (prone, sitting, or standing) and how to breathe slowly while squeezing off the shot.
"Those of us who passed the three-day field test received a $5 raise. My new pay rate was $26.00 a month.
"I’ve spent a little extra time describing this particular test in order to show the high standards our leaders expected of 18 year olds. In wartime, you trained as if your life depended on it. And, of course it did.
Europe Bound
"Following advanced training in Kentucky, we boarded troop trains for New York, and embarked from the harbor there for France on a troop ship named the USS Barry.
"My memory still holds sharp images of thousands of young soldiers marching up the gangplank, with full field packs on, to board the ship. We’d been issued barf bags to use in case of seasickness. Most who became ill did so during the first two days at sea. I was not among them, but I will admit that I felt a bit queasy a time or two while getting my sea legs.
"The day I marched up the ship’s gangplank, I was 5’9” tall. My fighting weight was just under 140 pounds. This may seem light, but it was all muscle. I was very strong for my weight.
"A troop ship is not a cruise liner. We were packed into the hold of the ship in canvas sleeping hammocks. The butt of the man above you was merely inches from your face. Every man knew that there would be no escape if a torpedo hit the ship. There was simply no way for that many men to reach the deck in time if that happened. The sleeping area had the odor of an ill-kept locker room. Most men spent the day on deck and especially those who were subject to claustrophobia. Fear was kept in the background. Each man kept a cheerful outlook and most of us simply put the thought of this dangerous situation out of our minds.
"Our trip across the Atlantic took thirteen days. It would have been several days shorter if we had sailed in a straight line, but because of the ever-present danger of German submarines, we zigzagged across the ocean.
"Despite the crowded conditions aboard ship, it was a tremendously exciting experience. The Atlantic can be pretty rough in the winter, and we did face some stormy days, but the ocean is also magnificent in its vastness and special beauty. I spent several evenings standing at the rail of the deck, watching the rolling waves, awed, as would any kid be who came from a landlocked town in the Midwest. I can still feel the sense of power of that great body of water. Few things have gotten and retained such a grip on my mind as that sight.
A Glimpse of War’s Reality
"Our landing at LeHavre, France was uneventful. As Pat and I stood on the deck, all we could see for miles was absolute devastation. There was not one single building left standing. A few scattered telephone poles were the only upright structures that were immediately visible. Then, Pat did a strange thing. He lifted up his left leg, grabbing it at the ankle. He explained that he was trying to get a sense of how it would feel to be an amputee. It was at that moment that we accepted that we could be in for some unpleasantness.
"Disembarking would have been uneventful, except for the fact that dysentery had swept the ship. We were sick, cold, weary, and wet. We were then herded into trucks like cattle, with standing room only, and carrying our full field packs. We struggled to keep from falling as the trucks jolted along rutted roads for some forty miles until we reached a small village called St. Andre.
"The trip through bone-chilling mist - sick, exhausted, bent like old men under our heavy packs - was the worst military experience of my life to that time. Cursing was rampant initially, but very quickly each man stood quietly in his own misery, calling on his reserve of strength to keep himself standing. The captain’s mission paid off. He would have been proud. No man passed out.
"Our task while in St. Andre was to clean the cosmoline off of our equipment and get our gear ready for combat. Cosmoline was a thick grease that was used heavily on tanks, trucks, half-tracks, and weapons to protect them from ocean spray.
Moving Out
"The time eventually came when we were ready to move out. Captain Jack saw to it that we did so in style. He ordered our company to assemble in our full dress (Class A) uniforms about 300 yards from our chateau, and also, as it turned out, quite near a 12-hole outdoor latrine that we had built to serve the men of Company C.
"At Captain Jack’s command, a young soldier stepped out of the ranks and read a poem about how faithful the latrine had been to the men. Captain Jack then ordered the Master Sergeant to throw a firebomb at the latrine to set it on fire. The sergeant then signaled a soldier, who was about a half a football field away, to start playing Taps. As the latrine burned and Taps played, we were called to attention and ordered to present arms. There we stood, 250 young soldiers and their officers, offering a rifle salute to the outhouse as it burned. The men couldn’t restrain their grins. Captain Jack quickly ordered us to “fall out”, and we tumbled to the ground laughing. On that morale-boosting gesture, we mounted half-tracks and headed into combat.
"A half-track is a vehicle that has tires on the front and tank tracks on the rear. It is essentially a troop carrier. The reason half-tracks were used instead of regular trucks was because half-tracks could travel across fields and other places where a truck would bog down. Armor-plated sides protected the riders of the half-track from small-arms fire.
"It is important for me to state that we did not spend a great deal of time in combat, perhaps only 60-70 days. The war was in its final stages, and our main job was to root out pockets of resistance, secure towns, and hunt down German soldiers, killing or capturing them.
"Still, we found out early on that death was a constant companion. We would leave our half-tracks and climb on tanks or follow the tanks into combat. We rode tanks, not to get a better view, but to help protect the tank from being hit by a German soldier hiding in the weeds or brush with a bazooka, waiting to take the tank out. Our job was to keep a sharp eye on our surroundings and spot the enemy before he could inflict any damage on us. When you ride a tank under these circumstances, there is a strong likelihood that you will meet resistance, and subsequently, gunfire.
The Fighting Begins
"We lost our Master Sergeant early on. We were told that he’d been shot while standing beside a tank. He actually crawled up on the tank, apparently to get a better look around. Twice he was shot off the tank, and twice he climbed back on. The story we had heard was that he had taken several direct hits before he died. A giant of a man, his death sent the message that anyone could get killed. No one was invincible.
"In stark contrast to our Master Sergeant’s death was the death of a young soldier who, only days earlier, had entered a battalion entertainment contest as a hula dancer. Here was a man who loved the arts, was a stranger to violence, and likely never knew roughhousing while growing up. Years after the war, my daughter Andrea gave me a book titled Some Men Are Too Gentle To Live Among Wolves. That would have been a fitting obituary for that young soldier.
Two Anecdotes
"Before we leave the village of St. Andre, I’ve got two more stories to tell. While there, my best friend Patrick O’Connell and I met a young Frenchman named Orlone DeVoure. His mother owned a tiny shop in the village. The three of us were about the same age.
"His father and brother had both been killed while serving in the French underground resistance movement. Orlone’s English was broken, but adequate enough for us to be able to understand each other. One night, Pat and I were invited to his home, which consisted of only two small rooms at the back of the store, for dinner.
"We noticed that Orlone’s mother closed the wood shutters over the windows before she lit the candles on the small eating table - a habit learned from living under German occupation. She served us dandelion soup and French bread. It was a fine evening and a nice break from our military lifestyle. I’ve wondered over the years about how these two people, separated by age but pulled together by family, survived the post-war years.
Pat’s Confidence
"Patrick and I were inseparable buddies. He was bright, supremely self-confident, and Irish Catholic. I was shy, Swedish, quietly confident, and Protestant. We were about the same height, but I outweighed him by at least five pounds.
"His self-confidence had first become evident during our advanced training in Kentucky. Our company had an arrangement where, if you could successfully answer ten out of twelve questions on a written test, you could qualify for a weekend pass. Patrick would only complete the first ten questions. He never failed to qualify for a pass.
My Favorite Story
"My favorite story about Patrick is when he and I were assigned guard duty. Rumor had it that the Germans had sent soldiers to infiltrate our lines at night to cause turmoil and inflict casualties. We were warned to keep an especially careful eye out for any suspicious noise or activity. The password that night was “banana” and the countersign was “Betty Grable.”
"I took my post near the roadway, while Patrick stayed concealed a few yards away. A half moon gave dim light to the area and I had a clear view of the road from both directions. It was about 1 AM when I heard the low talk of men approaching. I stepped out, commanded them to stop, then proceeded to give the password and ask for the countersign. Instead of giving the countersign, they continued coming toward me, pretending to be intoxicated. By now, I could make out that they were officers. I repeated my command to halt, but still they continued their advance.
"There was a moment of complete silence. I was about to issue my third and final command, when, from out of the dark, I sensed a slight motion. Patrick had stepped out of the shadows of the night. I heard the sound of a cartridge being slipped into the chamber of a rifle. All that were present knew that the rifle was now only a squeeze of a finger away from being fired. Then the silence was broken by a quiet, slow Texas drawl. “I reckon when that boy says halt, he means it! Give the countersign.” As quickly as they could get it out, they half shouted: “Betty Grable!” The officers then came up to us and congratulated us on our diligence. They said that they were just testing the camp’s security.
"Later on, I asked Pat why he had to put a shell in the chamber of his gun, and why it wasn’t already there to begin with. He said that he had cleaned his rifle earlier that afternoon, and had simply forgotten to advance one shell into the chamber. “Well, Pat,” I said, “you certainly got their attention!”
Combat Is Unpredictable
"Life in combat was one of constant change. Pat and I shared a pup tent - each man carried one half in his pack. It was appropriately called a shelter half. We ate “C” rations or Ten-in-one rations. The latter was most popular because the pack contained a chocolate bar and a small package of Lucky Strike cigarettes. Occasionally, the field kitchen would catch up to us and we would have a hot meal. The most missed thing was having the chance to clean yourself up. It’s tough to get excited about washing in a cold flowing stream.
"Occasionally, we would be greeted at sunset by a German airplane pilot who would come out of the sun and strafe our camp. “Bed-check Charlie”, as we would call him, didn’t bother us for long. After enduring several strafing incidents, our officers contacted the Air Force. A fighter pilot was dispatched to take care of the problem. Apparently, he was successful. Charlie quit coming around.
"It was not uncommon for us to drive at night while under blackout conditions. Actually, we did have lights on the rear of the vehicle, but these were shaded by a cutout tin can that kept the light shining only in a downward direction.
"Driving was difficult under these conditions. One night, the driver of our half-track came to a “Y” in the road. Unable to see the vehicle in front of him, he had to guess which road to take. Unfortunately, he took the wrong road and we spent three days wandering about in Germany before we were reunited with the rest of our unit. The situation was a bit iffy because we were in enemy territory. It’s pretty hard to hide a half-track in daylight.
"In the early morning hours of the second day, our posted guard started blazing away with the .50 caliber machine gun mounted on the half-track. He had spotted a squad of Germans coming toward us from across a field. Several had escaped, but some had been pinned down. We spread out to hunt them down. They made the job easy by surrendering. No damage done, and we turned over three German prisoners when we caught back up to our unit.
"We’d captured another German earlier. He was just a frightened boy in a Home Guard uniform. He was only about 12 or 13 years old. He walked into our midst to surrender and ask for food. Harold Leighton and I accepted his surrender, fed him, secured his hands, and placed him in the half-track. Once he got over his initial fright, he seemed very happy to be a prisoner.
"We caught up to our unit and were welcomed back without fanfare. Fighting was sporadic most days, and sometimes non-existent. When we came to a town or small village, we first secured the main street, before going from building to building in a buddy system, where each man watched the other’s blind spot. The truth is, we rarely met resistance, and when we did it was usually short-lived. That’s pretty much the routine.
"Our last mission was to take the city of Munich. We met with strong resistance and were ambushed twice in two days.
It’s A Very Small World
"In 2002, when Jeanne and I were wintering in Gulf Shores, Alabama, I met a man while out walking on the beach. It turned out that he was from Indiana and worked not far from Dave and Darcy’s town of Rolling Prairie. He asked if I was a veteran. I told him that I was Armored Infantry. He said that he was Infantry. When I told him that I had been with the 20th Armored Infantry, he replied in astonishment, “Hey, you guys were next to us in Munich! We were envious of your new equipment, but not of your position. You guys took a real hit at Munich, didn’t you?”
A Riveting Sight
"Among the most vivid sights of the war took place on a main highway in southern Germany. We were traveling in half-tracks, heading for Munich, when we came upon an amazing sight that revealed the human turnabout of the war.
"On one side of the road were hundreds and hundreds of men and women in the gray-striped uniforms of a prison camp. These people had been freed from concentration camps and were now walking single file back to Germany as free men and women. They were severely malnourished, frail, and weak, but they were also joyful and resolute as they faced the prospect of going back to their homes and starting their lives over again.
"Only 15 or 20 feet away, across the highway, were hundreds and hundreds of German soldiers, who were now prisoners of war, walking single file away from Germany to prison camps in some remote rear area. Here were the previous elite, proud German conquerors, and their former concentration camp prisoners, now in exact opposite roles, with the oppressor now the prisoner. It was a very wonderful, moving, satisfying sight. Without words, it answered the question of why we were fighting. I was very proud of having a small role in giving freedom back to these innocent victims of Nazi brutality.
"Within days, the war was over. My squad gathered in our half-track on the evening of VE Day (Victory in Europe Day). We pulled the protective tarp over the top for privacy and toasted the war’s end.
"Visualize, if you will, a dozen young men in battle gear, sitting inside a half-track with only the light of a single candle to give us illumination. We talked, ate a few goodies, and quietly toasted our good fortune that none of us had been killed or wounded. Most of us were only 19 years old. I have never experienced greater affection among a group of men in all my life than was the case on that evening.
Our New Mission
"With the war’s end, we changed our mission from fighting to being occupational forces. We bivouacked in fields on the outskirts of Munich. Every day small, thin children would show up during our mealtime, looking for a handout. The men quickly picked up on this sad situation, and in a very short time they began taking more chow than they could eat. Their “excess” went into the small pans, kettles, and cans that the children carried.
"However, our military duty did not end along with the war’s ending. Within days, four of us were ordered to guard a group of German war prisoners, some of whom were waiting to stand trial in Nuremburg, Germany. The common characteristic of these particular prisoners was that each one was an amputee. Each also had been an officer in the elite German SS troops. Some had lost a leg, while others were missing an arm. A few were double amputees. All spoke English easily. Our task was to keep track of them by taking a head count several times daily at unscheduled times.
"Following that assignment, our unit went to Ruhpolding, Germany, where we were assigned the task of building sleeping decks in railroad boxcars for a trip to France, to a place called Camp Lucky Strike. The two platforms on each end of the boxcar held twenty men and their gear. We left Ruhpolding on Thursday, July 12th, 1945. Several hours after our departure, in the early hours of Friday the 13th, our freight train collided head-on with another train. The impact was so great that the boxcars from each train tumbled off the tracks, and in a few instances one of the cars rammed the underside of the car in front of it.
"I cannot give an accurate account of the number of casualties, as the incident was never officially reported. I do know that some men died and a number of others suffered serious injuries.
"German hospital personnel from Stuttgart came to our rescue and played an important role in administering first aid.
Homeward Bound
"In time, we resumed our train ride and eventually arrived at Camp Lucky Strike. From there, we boarded a troop ship named the John S. Erickson and set sail for New York. From New York, we boarded troop trains and headed for Camp Cook, California. The plan was for us to head for the Pacific for the island invasion of Japan. Fortunately, we were all given a 30-day furlough to spend with our families before embarking on this new engagement. While home, we received news of Japan’s surrender. It was a great relief for the war to end, because we knew how little of a chance we had to survive on the shores of Japan. We learned that the casualty rate for the invasion was projected to be very high, especially in the first weeks of combat. There seemed to be no question that many of us would not be coming back if the invasion occurred.
War’s End
"Military service after that was a piece of cake. We transferred from California back to where it all began, Camp Hood, Texas. While stationed here, I was sent to the supply section, where I supervised about five men in the handling of equipment and supplies.
"From Camp Hood I went to Camp McCoy, Wisconsin, where I received my honorable discharge from the Army.
"For your information, I was awarded the American Theater Ribbon, the Good Conduct Badge, the Expert Infantryman Badge, the European Theater of War Medal, the WWII Victory Medal with one battle star, and the United States Combat Infantryman Badge.
"I should also mention that because of my military service, I became eligible for the G.I. Bill, and that great piece of legislation paid for five years of college.
"Service pay, however, was another story. As a Private First Class, I earned $21.00 a month. This increased to $26.00 after I earned the Expert Infantryman Badge. My pay jumped another $5.00, to $31.00, when I went into combat and earned the Combat Infantryman Badge.
"I consider my military service as one of the most important experiences of my life. It taught me lessons about life that I couldn’t have gotten any other way. I met some great men and saw parts of the world that I would never have seen otherwise. Most important, it taught me how to face obstacles and hardships. I learned that I could walk confidently as a man among men. These lessons shaped my life significantly.
On July 6th, 1946, Mr. Pearson penned a poem about his experiences in WWII:
War’s a Grim Reality
