Warm welcome in Belgium

Jack's infamous "Micheline" photos, front and back. 

As the 474^th crossed the French border into Belgium and moved farther into the over-run country, it received an enthusiastic welcome from the Belgian people, who lined the roads cheering. The crowds were so dense at some points it was next to impossible to move the half-tracks through. One Belgian man was even standing on a sidewalk with a fancy decanter and a liquor glass, dispensing free drinks to the troops.

The down side of this was that there wasn’t much privacy for the GIs. In fact, meals weren’t very enjoyable because hungry-looking kids would gather around as soon as one of the men got the 10-in-1 burner going and started to cook chow.

On Sunday, families came out in groups to look at the tracks and the guns and talk to the “American Soldat.” One such family—an elderly father and mother, a young daughter and her boyfriend, who were arm in arm—drew attention. The boyfriend used many American expressions and finally admitted to being a downed Canadian flyer. This family was one of the units in the underground that hid such people and ferried them back to freedom.

Another apparent civilian came up to a half-track and asked for some rations. The fellows gave him some K-rations, but he asked for a box of 10-in-1s instead. It turned out he was a downed American flyer, but he had no plans to return to his outfit. He liked it in Liege.

Jack and A Battery were stationed in Liege beginning Sept. 9, and eventually the rest of the battalion and battalion headquarters moved there as well. Jack remembers the warmth of the Belgian people, the open arms they welcomed the Americans with and their documented disdain for Hitler and the Nazis who had overrun their country.

Liege had lots of pretty women, too, and…

 On Sunday a group went to mass in the cathedral in Liege…It was an incongruous lot that filed into the large church, as they parked their M-1s against the pillars and knelt down. As they left the church they were mobbed by the other worshippers in the vestibule of the church and finally a prelate, who Dave Pearlman, of Boston, still claims was the Cardinal of Liege, came out and distributed medals. Pearlman, who is Jewish, and Harry Anderson of Roanoke, VA, were asked why they went to mass. “To meet the girls,” they replied, “all the girls are Catholic.³¹

Apparently, meeting girls wasn’t too difficult in Liege. If you were the least bit shy, they came and met you. Jack has two photos in his collection of Micheline Sottiaux, a young woman from Liege. One photo of her with a friend has her address written on the back, while the other of her alone says, “I love you.” Jack says he hardly knew her, that she was passing out similar pictures to other GIs as well and that the love she proclaimed was for the American liberators.

He does, however, admit to trying to go see her at her home when he returned to Liege a few months later. “Her house had been buzz-bombed,” he recalls. “Her mother answered the door and wasn’t very friendly. She showed me a picture of Micheline with her fiancé and sent me on my way.”

Jack’s wife, Wilma, whom he met and married after the war, never did like it that he kept those two photos and never was sure whether to believe his story. But it was probably true, because the unit was only stationed in Liege about a week or two and by Sept. 20 had moved into Germany—hardly enough time to begin much of a relationship, especially with a guy who just a few months earlier was making money in England laundering other guys’ trousers so THEY could chase women.

Jack’s gun crew also saw tanks doing battle in Belgium, from the top of one side of a deep valley. “We had to keep out of sight, of course. A farmer who lived close by cooked steaks and fried potatoes for all seven of us. I think he gave us some wine also.”

Homeward bound

In the midst of the shelling of Duren, Mookie went into heat and had a 
bit of a mating mishap. She and her partner got stuck together, and their 
squealing in the middle of the night woke up the gun crew, who had to pour 
cold water on the hapless pair to part them. Nine weeks later, Boots and 
Joker were born. All three dogs went home with members of the gun crew.

At the cessation of hostilities on May 8, 1945, it was D-Day plus 336. Three days later, the 474^th’s various batteries were assigned to new areas, with A Battery and Jack going to Hettstedt.

At midnight June 11, the VII Corps became nonoperational and was relieved of its command by the XXI Corps of the 9^th Army. Not long afterward, the 4^th Cavalry relieved the 474^th, and the outfit started on a long trek back to an area south of Frankfurt.

On July 2, the 474^th moved again, this time to Burstadt, and then 10 days later to Sandbach. Even though part of the Army of Occupation, there was little soldiering to be done. “For the next month or so we played a lot of ball,” Jack says.

It was in Sandbach that Gen. George C. Marshall announced every soldier with 85 points was eligible for discharge—one point for each month of service, with an extra point for each month overseas and five points for battle stars and medals. Soldiers with 80-84 points were sent to replacement centers, and new recruits with no experience would be brought in to replace the “old” guys.

Jack didn’t have 85 points, but he was one of the first to be sent to a replacement center. “I ended up in Chateau Thierry, just outside of Paris,” he recalls. “Those months were the nicest months I ever spent in the Army: no discipline, no ‘chicken,’ all kinds of passes to Paris and other nearby towns, etc. I worked sometimes for a master sergeant, usually doing some typing, especially when the regular clerk got drunk.”

Early in August, word came over the radio that the United States had dropped atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, Japan. And on Aug. 14, Japan surrendered. “The war ended and wow!” Jack says. “We knew we’d be going back to the states pronto. Everyone was on their good behavior now and had everything packed and ready to go. The Army has its own speed, though. But looking back, they did pretty good.”

The group Jack had been placed in at the replacement center had 30 to 35 men and was sent to Camp Lucky Strike in LeHavre. “We boarded the train in the evening and arrived at our destination the next day,” he recalls. “I had to sleep on a steep stairway in the caboose but didn’t care because I was going home.”

Jack outside his tent at Camp Lucky Strike

The camps set up for soldiers in transit were named after cigarettes, and German prisoners of war were used to staff the chow lines. “One day one of the German servers flicked the mashed potatoes into the mess gear of one of the guys in our group,” Jack says. “The American soldier hit him in the face with the mess kit and then took off. Later, the major in charge of us called us together to inform us that the German would be going amongst us to see if he could point out the soldier who hit him. We were told that if we snitched, we would never get back to the states, ‘Is that understood?’ ‘Yes sir!’ The German soldier never pointed to anybody! I wonder why?”

A 23-year-old Jack left for the states from LeHavre on a Liberty ship on Oct. 24, 1945. The ocean voyage back to the states brought yet another storm at sea, pushing the boat off course and down near Spain. “But after that it was smooth sailing,” Jack says.

He met a soldier on the ship who was an accountant, and the talks they had got Jack interested in pursuing accounting as well. Also on board were guys who had been MPs in Paris, breaking up the black market rings and hanging deserters. They talked about how they treated American deserters worse than any enemy prisoner. “They used to put them in dug-out pits and spray water on them in cold weather,” Jack recalls.

The ship arrived in New York City Nov. 5, and the soldiers went on a troop train to Camp Kilmore, NJ. "After a few days there, we went by train to Indiantown Gap, PA, near Harrisburg,” he says. “It took about five days before we got our discharge and pay.” The maximum discharge pay allowed was $500, and Jack received a claim statement for $445--$10 for each of 13 months of domestic service and $15 for each of 21 months of foreign service. He wouldn’t receive the actual check until six weeks later. His discharge papers are dated Nov. 9, 1945.

Not sure where this
was taken, but judging
by the big smile, maybe
he just learned when
he was going home.

“They gave the Pittsburgh area soldiers a train ticket, put us on a civilian train, and we were homeward bound,” Jack recalls. “The train stopped in Greensburg, PA, so I got off, thumbed a ride to New Kensington, and walked several blocks to my home at 316 Fourth Ave. Dad was in the kitchen, so I knocked on the window and told him to unlock the front door. I’ll never forget that moment: Home at last! There are moments in your life when you know that your family really does love you, and this was one of mine!”

It was love of family, along with faith, that kept most of the men—including Jack—going during their months overseas. “I would be remiss if I didn’t mention the personal reliance on the many silent prayers made by myself and many other soldiers,” Jack recalls. “At one time, there were three faiths represented among the seven guys in our own gun crew. I don’t remember having any deep or extended discussions on religion, but I assure you that none of us missed a chance to attend services with the chaplain when such services were available.

“There were many times that faith alone seemed to be the only reliable protection available. I mention all of this because God was a constant thought of each of us, especially under severe combat conditions. This story would be incomplete without noting that.”

This "home movie" clip shows conditions at Camp Lucky Strike near LeHavre, including an unbelievable chow line: