"Only a Fool Isn't Scared" | 319th Glider Field Artillery 82nd Airborne

As a 12-year-old I was highly entertained with dad’s “History of the Airborne” book. The inside cover was a spread headlined “Saga of the All American.” It was a collage of cartoon-like caricatures…soldiers, women wearing tight dresses, and airplanes with angry faces dropping bombs on buildings over central Europe.

General “Slim Jim” Gavin

Turning the page I discovered a biography of Major General James M. Gavin, a name dad mentioned several times. General Gavin, also known as “slim Jim,” was a soldiers’ kind of general. One of the youngest generals in the US Army at the time, Gavin was still a regular soldier, a paratrooper who jumped into combat alongside his men. Becasue of this Gavin was revered like a God. All the enlisted men had a favorite “slim Jim” story. And like so many stories, it didn’t matter if it was true or not. Just that it entertained and honored the beloved general. My dad had his own personal “slim Jim” story, which took place in the town square of Sainte-Mère-Église, France.

This following story takes place in late December 1944, in a frozen forest where the 82nd Airborne soliders were fighting a desperate battle to push back a major German offensive. Later named the “Battle of the Bulge,” A-Battery was fighting in the freezing cold, firing their howitzers night and day.

General Gavin made a surprise visit to A-Battery. A man of few words, he simply said “Good job men… and I can tell you the snow is red.” As an inquisitive kid that required no explanation.

Dad’s voice and demeanor would change when he said something important. When he told me the General Gavin story, I knew thats all A- Battery needed to hear were these few words from their favorite general. The men were good for a few hundred more miles of combat. Those soldiers would follow General Gavin to Hell and back. And they did.

*Gen. Gavin and the 82nd returning from the “The Bulge”*

Hell bent for Hitler

The “History of the Airborne” book had black and white photos of paratroopers jumping from C-47s, and gliders being towed into combat. Other pictures included Generals Bradley and Taylor.

The section about Africa caught my eye….photographs of odd-looking characters dressed in robes riding donkeys and camels, all of them sporting beards. One section was entitled “Casablanca and the strange inhabitants of the arid Muslim world.” Some photos drew my eye again and again. One in particular was a soldier sitting on the ground underneath an airplane. He was leaning up against his gear. He’s cleaning his nails with a paratrooper’s combat knife with a “brass knuckle” handle. Above the soldier were the words “ Hell Bent for Hitler.” I always wondered if that soldier survived the war.

The book covered all of the 82nd Airborne’s campaigns: Italy, Sicily, France, Holland, England, North Africa, Belgium, Germany, plus the fun times on furlough in Ireland, Scotland, the French Riviera, London, Paris and Brussels. I couldn’t help but stare at the photos of war-torn cities in Europe. The devastation was beyond description. Photos of dead people in striped “concentration camp” clothing like pajamas, bodies piled up in a doorway at a place called Wobbelin. The 82nd Airborne liberated this concentration camp in the final days of the war.

Operation Holland

Near the middle of the book, I found photographs of soldiers who had just landed in Holland. They were walking with their weapons slung, and dad recognized them. He loved to mark up these photographs with a description or comment. He wrote his own name in red ink to identify himself, along with Billy Cadle, Les Niemi and John Girardin. (see photo) These men were from the Midwest, cities like Rockford, Illinois and Rapid River, Michigan. Another soldier was Jesse Johnson of Natchitoches, Louisiana, a tough Sergeant whose name dad mentioned several times over the years. I could tell he respected the sergeant, or perhaps feared him.

1st SGT Jesse Johnson

Holland Landing Zone

Private Les Niemi’s name was mentioned most often. I knew he was dad’s good friend, and I could tell they were close. Les survived the war. I recall wishing I could meet Les and wanted to see the kind of man my dad looked up to.

I discovered personal photographs, pictures of my dad in Paris near the end of the war. Dozens of times I’ve tried to locate the cafe where he’s seated or the identity of the soldier to his right but with no success. (image below)

Group photo, “Brass of 319th Glider Battalion” taken at the end of the war.

One of my favorite photos was a group of tired looking A-Battery soldiers freezing in the snow. (Image below) Dad is kneeling in the picture and in true fashion wrote the names of the other soldiers. On the back was written, “Ardennes Sector (Battle of the Bulge) Merry Christmas, - 2 days late.”

Standing far left is John Hardin, then Capt. Howard “Doc” Dibble, Bob Carte, Ted Simpson, Fred Harsh, Ralph “Red” Radosh and Kenneth Hanne. Kneeling left to right, William Bonnamy, Hjalmar “Okie” Olkonen and Fred Fitzke.

A similar “Bulge” picture was part of the 82nd Airborne history book. Near the end of the book it depicts a gunnery section firing a howitzer. (See image below) Dad is the soldier loading the round into the gun, with Les Niemi to his right and Vic Buinowski to his left. Other soldiers present were Al Hein and Fred “Fitz” Fitzke.

Dad’s gun section firing a 75mm howitzer. — *Dad’s gun section firing a 75mm howitzer*

Dad was rather fond of another photo of himself (L) and his friend Les Niemi. He wrote on the back “Les and I the day we left Nijmegen.” The photo was damaged, but I recently noticed that dad is standing with his right foot on his helmet with a paratrooper’s fighting knife strapped to his right calf. Both are carrying an M1A1 .30 carbine with collapsible stock and wearing the newly issued M1943 field/combat jacket. A cross of Jesus, probably a Catholic Rosary, is hanging from the pocket of dad’s field jacket.

“Stand up and hook up”

The photographs were always fun to look at. I would ask dad about the pictures, the other soldiers and what it was like being a paratrooper. He told me he was stationed at Fort Bragg, North Carolina, and had to make five successful jumps to qualify for his “wings.” Completing jump school his military occupation (MOS) was a Gun Crewman Light Artillery, MOS-7844. Dad was quick to say he would have much preferred to parachute into combat than ride in a glider.

When I asked about jumping out of airplanes, his eyes would always light up. I could tell he was proud of his jump school training.

When they got close to the landing zone, the jump master would yell, “Stand up and hook up.” This meant you hooked a metal clasp and hook to a static line. “You didn’t pull your own chute, it opened for you and we would watch the door. Your eyes were fixed on a red and green light, and when it was green you jumped. The jump master would shout “go, go, go, go, go!”

I asked dad, “did you ever want to stop?” He said “Nope, you couldn’t stop. If you stopped in the door, they pushed you out and off you went.” I then learned what really happened on the evening of June 6, 1944.

Flying coffins

I recall looking at photos of crashed gliders. Dad hated them. He called them “flying coffins,” and he told me “They loaded you into a glider with all the equipment. You’re towed by a C-47 transport plane and when you get near the landing zone they cut you loose and the glider crashes to the ground.” At that moment, I realized why dad was so nervous about flying. Mom once laughed about their plane rides to Florida: “Taking off, you don’t want your hand underneath his grip on the arm rest, because he will crush your hand.” Before going to the airport, dad would spend an hour at the bar in our basement having a few drinks. A little liquid courage each time before flying. Who could blame him?

*PFC Steve Pongracic and a CG-4A glider loaded for Holland (Courtesy of Fred Pongracic)*

The subject of gliders seemed to intrigue my dad, and he was willing to talk about it. “In Normandy, we took off from southern England in a British glider loaded with a a 75 mm Howitzer, ammo and a jeep.” As he spoke, I thought about these men and equipment in a glider towed by a C-47. It sounded precarious…hurtling to the ground at over 100 mph, then hopefully skidding to a safe stop. The wheels didn’t seem to help, as the glider would nose-in on landing. The front of the American Waco glider opened for unloading men and equipment. But the 319th’s glide into Normandy was in a British Horsa glider.

As dad spoke, I pictured him nervously waiting while being towed across the English Channel to the Normandy coast. Approaching the peninsula of Normandy, flak and fiery explosions filled the air. As the night sky lit up, dad recalled the pilot saying, “We need to drop down low, we need to go in low.” All of a sudden, their tow line was disengaged. The glider was released and began a slow turn to the right.

As they got closer, dad said, “the pilot and co-pilot just followed the glider in front of us.” They were looking to see who else was on the ground. If it looked safe, they landed.

Following the lead glider, the pilot yelled “There’s a road. I’m going for the road. Everybody hang on.” The dead silence that followed was an eternity. Then, a loud cracking noise as one of the wings tore off. The glider was sliding sideways and the howitzer flipped over. Before dad knew it, they crashed into the side of a hill after sliding down a narrow road.

“We hit this hill, hit some trees, then we slid down to the bottom of the hill. The 75mm Howitzer broke loose and struck a few men.” The gun was damaged beyond repair. Dad was suddenly outside the glider and checking for injuries. Even though the impact tore off his glasses, the enemy’s “red” tracers in the air were easy to see.

D+1 and the remains of crashed CG-4A glider near Sainte-Mère-Église, France (courtesy of Fred Pongracic, Earl Chadwick and Mike Rybicki)

First thing dad said, “You know son I had three pairs of glasses. I was wearing one pair. I had another pair in my helmet and yet another inside my jacket. Here I am in Normandy, on the ground, it’s night time, I’m being shot at and can’t see.”
*PFC William Bonnamy*

D-Day - the longest day

As a kid I couldn’t imagine a more impossible predicament, but somehow dad found a way to carry on. The pilot, Lt. Winks, was killed on landing. The impact had crushed him. They also couldn’t remove the damaged howitzer or jeep. There was nothing they could do but get away from the glider because it would attract the enemy. Dad said, “We just hunkered down in a ditch nearby, it was dark and close to midnight, and moving around could get you killed.”

Dad recalled, “You could tell the difference between enemy fire and friendly fire. The German tracer rounds were red and ours were green. So if you followed the red streaks you could tell where the shooting was going on.” These men were combat veterans and knew they had to stay put until it was light enough to see.

Later in the evening my dad’s crew heard a commotion behind them. Suddenly, several horses burst out of the woods and jumped right over the ditch dad was hiding in. “We almost shot them, but they were just horses. No riders.” As it started to get light, the men moved out towards a rally point near the town square of Sainte-Mère-Église. Other Allied soldiers were starting to assemble as well. This town square has a rather infamous church, Notre Dame de la Paix, that was later portrayed in a movie, “The Longest Day.”

*This church was portrayed in the movie “The Longest Day.” Red Buttons, the actor, is hanging helplessly from the bell tower of the church. The church was surrounded by large trees at the time.*

Everyone was trying to get a sense of things when a jeep pulled up. General Gavin was in the jeep along with his driver and an MP for security. Gavin jumped from the jeep and began yelling at one of the officers. Apparently, some of the paratroopers who died earlier that evening were still hanging in the trees near the church. General Gavin was furious, screaming at the sergeant, “Cut those men down, get them out of the trees now! ” I have personally visited that church, and although the trees are gone, I’m always humbled by what took place that morning.

Fookeer what?

As I got older, my curiosity about D-Day grew. It became important to me where dad’s glider crashed. I asked many times, but he wasn’t interested in talking about it. Then one day, right out of the blue dad looked at me and said, “Fookerville.” Unsure what he meant I thought to myself Fooker-what? He again said what sounded like “Fookerville” and simply walked away. I got him to confirm it was the name of a small town just north of Sainte-Mère-Église…Foucarville. That’s where his glider came down. Years later I found the location where dad’s glider crashed. Dad never commented about his combat action near Chef-du-Pont, Cretteville, Baupte or Vindefontaine.

The 319th remained in Normandy until July 13, 1944, and sailed to England on a Landing Ship Tank (LST), more commonly referred to as a “large slow target.” The photo below depicts the 319th loading onto the LST 212 on Utah Beach. Near the center of the photo the numerals 212-1 can be seen on a tethered “Higgins boat.” The other photo is a captured German “88” gun on Utah Beach.

Photos below also taken July 13, 1944, on the LST 212. PFC Robert Miller (L) of Chicago, Illinois, posing on deck with an unidentified soldier holding a pistol. Note beach landing craft in the background area of the photos, courtesy of Charlotte Sartain Provenza.

The other guy is going to get killed

As a kid, I asked things like “Were you scared that night? Did it scare you?” Dad immediately replied, “Only a fool isn’t scared. What gets you through combat is thinking it’s going to happen to somebody else. The other guy is going to get killed. You always think it’s somebody else. The guys I fought with were heroes, but I was no hero, I just fought for my buddies. You fight to stay alive for your buddies. That’s all you care about.”

“You can’t expose yourself,” he said, “that’s the thing. You just can’t expose yourself. You’ve got to stay down. Don’t let anything stick out or be exposed. I was happy just being a private. Those officers, the lieutenants, they exposed themselves. The lieutenants were a dime a dozen. Because so many of those guys got killed. You’re way better off not being exposed.”

Dad didn’t know it, but his comment exposed himself to me. I just got a glimpse into the heart of this paratrooper. He was tough, but scared, willing to fight for his fellow soldiers but scared enough not to expose himself. He did his part, but desperately wanted to get home. When possible, “staying down” meant digging a deep foxhole. These soldiers were experts at digging holes, often one of the first things they did when arriving in a forward combat zone. Holes were dug at night or in sub-zero temperatures. Near Bastogne, they dug their holes only to find the enemy was nearby. A-Battery pulled up stakes and dug holes again at a new position.

Although brief, my Normandy conversations with dad were fascinating to me. After dad passed away in 1986, I recall asking my mother what, if anything, dad told her. She said that during the early morning hours of June 7th, heading towards the town square of Sainte-Mère-Église, dad encountered a German officer. His remark was, “Evie, it was him or me.” Mom said he took a pistol from that dying soldier. It was a .32 caliber Walther PPK. He called it the “bastard round” meaning the ammo was hard to find.

Dad had one other comment about Normandy that involved Brigadier General Theodore Roosevelt, Jr., the eldest son of President Theodore Roosevelt. General Roosevelt stormed Utah Beach the morning of June 6, 1944, in command of the 26th infantry Regiment. He was 56 years old at the time. Stories circulated about the General standing in the surf, cane in one hand, a .45 pistol in the other. Roosevelt yelling, “Storm the beach, get up closer and get to safety.” Exhorting the 26th Infantry to get off the beach as mortar rounds fell nearby and enemy MG42 rounds screamed overhead.

The biggest guys I’ve ever seen

Because of the strong surf, Roosevelt and his men were now a mile away from their intended landing. When the General realized his location, he was quoted as saying, “Well, we will start the war right from here.”

I always thought it odd that dad would tell me this particular story. But near Sainte-Mère-Église, he saw General Roosevelt and a group of MPs’ interrogating prisoners. “Those MP’s were some of the biggest guys I had ever seen, all wearing tight, black leather gloves.” Roosevelt had an interpreter, and they were trying to get information from the German soldiers. The prisoners were not cooperating.

Dad looked at me and I saw his eyes well up as he said, “Son, I watched those MP’s beat those men like I’ve never seen a man beaten before. They punched, kicked, and beat these men into the ground, drilled them all until General Roosevelt got the information he needed.” Those words really hit home with me… the unvarnished brutality of war.

Sadly, General Roosevelt while sleeping in the back of a truck died of a heart attack a few weeks later. That was on July 12, 1944. Interestingly, he had made a comment about his father, President Theodore Roosevelt, who died at age 60 in 1919 while in his sleep. “Death had to take Roosevelt sleeping, for if he had been awake, it would have been a fight.” And so this 56-year-old soldier died and is buried in the Normandy American Cemetery, awarded the Medal of Honor for his bravery in action on June 6, 1944.

photo courtesy of Carl Kienle

General Roosevelt’s funeral was kept a secret, for intelligence reasons, with only General Omar Bradley and George S. Patton in attendance. A great man and American hero had been quietly laid to rest.