Unsung Valor: A GI's Story of World War II

Mail Clerk-Draftsman: Frankfurt am Main, Germany

Mail Clerk Draftsman Frankfurt am Main, Germany June 8-July 6, 1945 Our big move to Frankfurt am Main started the morning of June 9, 1945. With a truck and driver assigned to me, I made the rounds of State Department billets in a thick mist, collecting luggage for our flight. The heavily overcast morning turned into a rainy day, adding to my anxiety about flying for the first time. I hoped the flight would be canceled and changed to a sunny day. But shortly after noon, on the tarmac at bleak Orly Field just outside Paris, we loaded theluggage on a C-47 and took off in a steady, driving rain. A State Department officer on board who hadn't been to Frankfurt asked crewmen where GIs and foreign serviceofficers could be housed and work in a city reputed to be totally bombed out. As we looked down at the desolate French and German countrysides from our lowflying plane, his question seemed a serious one. Scrunching down in my bucket seat, I watched the scenes passing below through the narrow panes, the raindrops streaking down them like tears on a cheek. The plane flew at an extremely low altitude (I suppose because of the weather) giving us close-up views of the deep craters in the fields, the broken shells of buildings, and the abandoned military equipment—all the scars of old combat skirmishes extending from beyond Paris to the German border. Hearing Germany, a steady succession of foxholes in staggered lines traced the progress of past combat engagements. The C-47*s metal bucket seats were narrow, hard, and cold. But 266 something outside my window was more discomforting. A few rivets near the plane's fuselage were rising from the surface of the wing. Though the old plane's mighty vibrations seemed likely to make them come out, I watched in stunned silence. Finally, when I was almost moved to tell a crew member, the rivets, which had extended far enough to fall out, slowlystarted working back into the wing.Relieved not to have embarrassed myself by revealing my alarm, I watched the rivets return to their proper positions before they started to emerge again. I forgot about them after that. The unexpected play of the rivets in the wing left me eager to land. None too soon for me, we flew in over the appalling devastation of Frankfurt am Main. Although the areas around the airfield were in ruins, the tarmac landing strip was level and clear for our landing. In light rain, our plane taxied safely down the runway and parked alongside several other C-47S already lined up beside each other. Climbing out of the plane, I saw Harry Hopkins standing under the broad wing of the airplane next to ours. The thin figure and gaunt face of President Roosevelt's former special assistant were familiar to me from newspaper pictures and newsreels. He and several civilians and military officers were talking; and when I pointed him out to my companions, they didn't know or care who the sickly-looking man was. But to me, it was exciting to see in person a national personality who had been so important in President Roosevelt's administrations throughout the Depression and the war. A few days later, the Starsand Stripes confirmed that Harry Hopkins had been persuaded by President Truman to come out of retirement to confer with Stalin on the United States' behalf before the Potsdam Conference. Mr. Hopkins, returning from Moscow, was the first of the famous visitors, in politics and entertainment, I would see or meet in Group CC. Drivers in jeeps and army sedans were waiting at the airport to take the military officers and State Department officials to their quarters. As usual, the enlisted men boarded the familiar canvas-covered truck for transport to our new headquarters. We drove through Frankfurt's outskirts, along streets still only partially cleared of rubble from the Frankfurt am Main, Germany 267 bombings. Seeing demolished blocks in all directions, where almost every house on both sides of the street was rubble, I feared that our new office might be in a partially ruined building. The trip from the airport took about thirty minutes, before the truck pulled up in front of an ivy-covered brick building that, in the fading light of a rainy afternoon, appeared unscarred. Our driver said we were...