For the past several weeks, this series of articles on World War II has featured the stories and recollections of my friend Jerry. It is truly amazing how his close bond to his brother Ike could not be severed throughout the war, from training in Maine and Hawaii, to their first invasion of Guam, to the Philippines, and finally to post-war Japan. What is most inspiring about their story is how the two dodged military protocol in order to stay together, fighting side by side and sharing a foxhole in the midst of some of the most hellish fighting in human history.
I had the pleasure of spending an afternoon with Jerry in his home, and at the conclusion of our interview he gave the most apposite summary of his time in the service with Ike, and even a glimpse into how small the world truly is:
"February 22, Washington's birthday, (Ike and I) were inducted. Over in Hawaii we met three boys - one of them was our eighth-grade schoolteacher! Ike and I were about 19, so he was probably 30 or so. You know, I'll tell you - I was kind of slow, in that I didn't get around like my brother did. Well, when we were in Maine, Ike liked to go to town and talk to the French girls. We'd each get a pass maybe once a week so I'd always give him my pass, so he could go on leave, and the guards never knew the difference. So Ike would use his pass, then I'd give him my pass, and he'd get to go into town all over again, time for another date! And then in the morning when (the camp) had reveille, sometimes Ike wasn't there - which he should have been. They'd call my name, I'd say 'here!' They'd call Ike's name and I'd make a different sound, 'here!' So I'd cover for him, see? We had reveille in morning about six o'clock. But you see, I'd help him, and then he'd help me. I always covered for him when he was out running around on dates when we were in Maine."
As Jerry and I wrapped up the interview, he remarked on the friendships that have endured, how throughout his life he will help someone, who in turn reciprocates the gesture. As a fitting end to our talk he observed, "That's the way you've got to live in this world - you've got to work together for one another."
The next individual to be featured in this series is a man who actually sought me out, rather than the other way around. He brought to light what has been the biggest challenge of this series for me; namely, getting it right. Whenever I compose an article I always try to double-reference the facts, for accuracy.
Thus, one afternoon I found myself having a phone conversation with a man who had a deep and personal connection to some of the events I was referencing in the WWII series. Having never met, and having only spoken over the phone just this once, Carl agreed to spend an afternoon with me - we would meet up at his house and talk about his service as a U.S. Marine.
I pulled into the driveway of Carl's home on an unseasonably warm winter day - the kind of day where snow sloshes underfoot and there is a slight hint of spring in the air. As I parked my truck I noticed a red shield, bordered in yellow, with a bold yellow "V" superimposed with a black spearhead - the proud insignia of the 5th Marine Division - hanging above the garage. Clearly I was at the right house.
Carl introduced himself and let me in. As we sat down at the table, I flipped through a photo album. In the beginning were aged, but clear, black-and-white photos of smiling, youthful Marines. Some pictures showed the boys swimming, while others depicted prankish-type circumstances. Turning the pages, I noticed a sudden contrast - now, the pictures depicted scenes of burned wreckage and severe carnage. The difference could not have been more intense.
Now, it was Carl's turn to express amazement: "You mean that little thing can record?" He gestured toward my Sony digital voice recorder, able to capture 18 hours of conversation in multiple files. The recorder is smaller than a pack of chewing gum. "I can't believe it", he shook his head and laughed.
Carl was born in 1923, up in Columbus County to a father who was a cheese maker by trade. In 1929 when the market crashed, Carl was 6 years old - just old enough to remember factories being closed, "one after the other." The family moved to Monroe in November 1929, and his father found work for the telephone company, followed by a job at the Courthouse, and then as a shipping clerk at the Borden's cold storage facility.
Before the war Carl found work around Monroe: "I worked one year for 50 cents an hour pulling up ice for the Icehouse - there was a little pond (we called) Hyde's Pond. I worked there pulling ice, sliding it around and putting it in storage, and then we'd put sawdust over the top of it. I worked there with Archie Gibbons for one day - we left (after that); it was too cold! Then Archie and I went to work for Swiss Colony. Well, we knew we were going to be called up anyway, so we decided to join the Marine Corps."
In a rather roundabout way, Carl was first rejected, and then called back. Once inducted, he said, "I never got home for three and a half years."
- Dan Wegmueller is a columnist for The Monroe Times. He can be reached at dwegs@tds.net.
I had the pleasure of spending an afternoon with Jerry in his home, and at the conclusion of our interview he gave the most apposite summary of his time in the service with Ike, and even a glimpse into how small the world truly is:
"February 22, Washington's birthday, (Ike and I) were inducted. Over in Hawaii we met three boys - one of them was our eighth-grade schoolteacher! Ike and I were about 19, so he was probably 30 or so. You know, I'll tell you - I was kind of slow, in that I didn't get around like my brother did. Well, when we were in Maine, Ike liked to go to town and talk to the French girls. We'd each get a pass maybe once a week so I'd always give him my pass, so he could go on leave, and the guards never knew the difference. So Ike would use his pass, then I'd give him my pass, and he'd get to go into town all over again, time for another date! And then in the morning when (the camp) had reveille, sometimes Ike wasn't there - which he should have been. They'd call my name, I'd say 'here!' They'd call Ike's name and I'd make a different sound, 'here!' So I'd cover for him, see? We had reveille in morning about six o'clock. But you see, I'd help him, and then he'd help me. I always covered for him when he was out running around on dates when we were in Maine."
As Jerry and I wrapped up the interview, he remarked on the friendships that have endured, how throughout his life he will help someone, who in turn reciprocates the gesture. As a fitting end to our talk he observed, "That's the way you've got to live in this world - you've got to work together for one another."
The next individual to be featured in this series is a man who actually sought me out, rather than the other way around. He brought to light what has been the biggest challenge of this series for me; namely, getting it right. Whenever I compose an article I always try to double-reference the facts, for accuracy.
Thus, one afternoon I found myself having a phone conversation with a man who had a deep and personal connection to some of the events I was referencing in the WWII series. Having never met, and having only spoken over the phone just this once, Carl agreed to spend an afternoon with me - we would meet up at his house and talk about his service as a U.S. Marine.
I pulled into the driveway of Carl's home on an unseasonably warm winter day - the kind of day where snow sloshes underfoot and there is a slight hint of spring in the air. As I parked my truck I noticed a red shield, bordered in yellow, with a bold yellow "V" superimposed with a black spearhead - the proud insignia of the 5th Marine Division - hanging above the garage. Clearly I was at the right house.
Carl introduced himself and let me in. As we sat down at the table, I flipped through a photo album. In the beginning were aged, but clear, black-and-white photos of smiling, youthful Marines. Some pictures showed the boys swimming, while others depicted prankish-type circumstances. Turning the pages, I noticed a sudden contrast - now, the pictures depicted scenes of burned wreckage and severe carnage. The difference could not have been more intense.
Now, it was Carl's turn to express amazement: "You mean that little thing can record?" He gestured toward my Sony digital voice recorder, able to capture 18 hours of conversation in multiple files. The recorder is smaller than a pack of chewing gum. "I can't believe it", he shook his head and laughed.
Carl was born in 1923, up in Columbus County to a father who was a cheese maker by trade. In 1929 when the market crashed, Carl was 6 years old - just old enough to remember factories being closed, "one after the other." The family moved to Monroe in November 1929, and his father found work for the telephone company, followed by a job at the Courthouse, and then as a shipping clerk at the Borden's cold storage facility.
Before the war Carl found work around Monroe: "I worked one year for 50 cents an hour pulling up ice for the Icehouse - there was a little pond (we called) Hyde's Pond. I worked there pulling ice, sliding it around and putting it in storage, and then we'd put sawdust over the top of it. I worked there with Archie Gibbons for one day - we left (after that); it was too cold! Then Archie and I went to work for Swiss Colony. Well, we knew we were going to be called up anyway, so we decided to join the Marine Corps."
In a rather roundabout way, Carl was first rejected, and then called back. Once inducted, he said, "I never got home for three and a half years."
- Dan Wegmueller is a columnist for The Monroe Times. He can be reached at dwegs@tds.net.
