Breaking Bread, WWII

Colonel, can you tell Pete the story of when you had communion before crossing?

That was one of the most dramatic moments of my life. We had been patrolling at night. We would go down when it got dark, and we would take a position on the riverfront, the Sauer River, Siegfried Line on the other side. We would stay there all night, trying to learn whatever we could about what the Germans offenses were. When it came approached daylight we would get back in the Jeep and return to the farmhouse in which we were living, several miles back from the front. I made the decisions during those nights that what we were going to do… A pillbox, 18 inches of concrete, rounded, but it has an aperture like this, with a metal plate on the inside. So that if I could get my antitank guns in position, I would zero in on those steel plates and I could use armor piercing ammunition to blow out those plates. And with that opening, I could fire high explosive ammunition through the opening and neutralize the pillbox. Because those pillboxes were deadly! They had machine guns. We couldn’t get across the river because of the intense machine gun fire. But if I could get those antitank guns in position to neutralize those pillboxes, we could cross the river. Which is what we were, next steps, through.

So I had my mind pretty well made up what I wanted to do. Six days and six nights we patrolled the riverfront and on this particular occasion, I got back and the radio operator had a radio… truck, with a radio in it that would go 45 miles. And so he could be in contact with regimental headquarters at all times. When I got back, radio operator, Sweeney, jumped out of the truck, came over to me and said “Major Michaels wants to see you”. And I knew then, something’s up. Nothing coming over the radio, Major Michaels, S3, Operations Officer, wants to see you.

So I hopped in the Jeep back, away we went, back to regimental headquarters. I knew where Michaels was, I had been there before. He was operating out of a kitchen of a farmhouse.  I approached, the kitchen door was ajar, I knocked on it, he looked up from the kitchen table where he was working, he said, “Come in, Howie”. He always called my Howie, and I always called him Mike. There was no Captain-Major relationship between the two of us, it was a very close relationship. We talked frankly. “Come in, Howie”. So I went in, no salute or anything of that nature, just walked in. He got up from behind the kitchen table as I approached him. And I knew something was up. I knew what was coming, but he had to tell me. Finally he got the words out, “Its tonight, Howie”. That’s all he said. And I shook his hand. He said, “Good luck, Howie”. We had all plans in place for what was to come. The only thing we needed to do was to know when it was to be. And that was a division decision. And they had made it, they told Mike, Mike told me, and that was it. He clapped me on the shoulder and I went out. I got in the Jeep.

I think that Bob Sheer, the driver, must have suspected. We all knew we weren’t going to sit there for the rest of the war. And we all knew that the Siegfried Line was all there. And we knew what we were doing. But we knew that this had to happen sooner or later. I think Sheer was aware. He took me back, didn’t say a word. Took me back, drove me to where the door was. I got out, went in.

I walked in and everybody in the room looked up. They had been sitting in a circle in this sort of a family room type of a kitchen farmhouse. They too, must have known in their head that something was up. Out in the middle there was a big table with a big map that we entered what we knew on that map every night when we came back. I went in. I went to a chair where I normally sat. Sat down. There was a small table beside me. It sat there. I had rehearsed in my mind, many time, what I would say when the time came. I was at a loss for words. I paused and paused and finally it came to me what to say. I just looked at em, probably 10-12 guys all lookin at me, and I just nodded my head. And I said one word, “Tonight”. And they understood. They all knew what I was saying. They were prepared. They were ready. They didn’t need anything more. Sitting here in silence, wondering what else I can say to these men! 200 men came with me overseas, here I am with 12 of them, and I don’t know what to say! Knock on the door.

I looked up and over in the corner of the room was Lemoyne. Lemoyne was my interpreter. He spoke French, Persian, German, Luxemburg, he spoke everything. These guys had the right to go in and out at any time. Why would someone knock on the door? So I nodded to Lemoyne. Lemoyne came down, went to the door, opened it. And I am aware of an exchange between Lemoyne and somebody at the door.

We had in this little town, a priest. Our house in which we lived was next to a church and this priest was in and out of the church. And before we moved in, he had lived in this house, upstairs. And so, this exchange took place between this priest who we all called “Padre”. Now everyone in the unit had a name for everybody else. And this priest was called Padre. How the guys… these GI’s [Government Issued] had a name for everybody. And they had a name for this priest, they called him Padre. The door closes, I hear all of this. Everybody in the room is wondering what happens next. Lemoyne comes over to me. He has a tray. And on the tray is a bottle of wine and an eight-inch loaf of bread. And Lemoyne said to me, “Padre said he thought you might like to share this”.

I sat it on the table beside me. Impulsively, took the bread, broke it, put one half back, broke off a piece of bread, and held if for a moment. Then I passed the balance of the bread to Pete Harrison [pointing to his left]. Pete Harrison was a lieutenant of the first platoon from Washington DC. The method is by faith. You know all these things about the guys! You know everything about them: their family, their religion, their everything. Pete took the bread, and I bowed my head in prayer. Pete did likewise. As he broke his bread, he passed it to Bob Parr, Episcopalian from Columbus, Ohio. Bob did the same thing. He passed it to Danny Kasmay, a Roman Catholic from New Orleans. And so the bread, next to Herbie Marks. And Herbie Marks was of the Jewish persuasion. And that piece of bread went around the room. Each one taking it, bowing in prayer.

It came back to me, I put it there. And I took the bottle of wine. Now, prior to that, if we came across a bottle of wine, you took it and you removed the cork, or something like that, and you put the neck of the bottle up here [in the crevice of your elbow] and you flexed your arm over it, and you twisted it over the bottle of wine. That’s the way you cleaned the top of the bottle of wine! So you could take a swallow! That was the only cleaning process that they bottle went through! So I took the bottle of wine, and everybody knew what I was doing, and I twisted it, it was clean now. Took a sip of it, put it back, twisted it, passed it to Pete Harrison. Pete did the same thing, it may be funny now, but it was realistic then. And that bottle of wine went around the room. And it returned to me and I sat it there.

Finally the silence was broken by airplanes going over our heads. The lift off. See the weather was still bad, and the rest of the night was uneventful. Because our mind was on what was coming, but we had to clean up and get our arms in order, and get ready to go. And so at… oh… I don’t know, 11 o’clock or something like that… we headed over to regimental headquarters, sat in the room. We were within 2 hours of jumping off. General Patton came in and he talked. He knew what was up. He had it all planned. He wished us well and so on. It was none of this rambunctious blustering or anything. He was very, very much a down-to-earth Officer. Talking quietly, talking seriously, and sincerely. And then we went out from there.

I got in the Jeep, went as far as I could, left the Jeep, went down. All the guys were in place. They had the 57mm guns all in position. And when the time came, the artillery barrage provided and starting dropping, dropping, dropping shells and at 1 o’clock we lifted the barrage and we started out. And just as I had anticipated, the opportunities for these pillboxes were open and the machine guns were firing, and at that point we opened up. And the opportunity we had had to resurge was six days. That were unbelievably valuable, because we could spot them right away. And the guns, the 57mm, were in position to start firing right away, not have to move into position, and all that kind of, we were already there.

You ought to run into experience like this if you are ever called. Sometimes you are blessed with good fortune of knowing in advance of what is going to happen. Sometimes you’re not. 

Stay tuned to hear which concentration camp he continued onto... Post to follow in two days.