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Preface
- University Press of Mississippi
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ireface My service in the Army of the United States in World War II was brief but intense. Inside thirty months, I was a college student in the Army Specialized Training Program, an infantryman in a combat division overseas, a transient in the Army's medical and replacement pipelines , and a message center chief in a division of military government. Not a volunteer but a reluctant draftee, I earned no high marks as an engineering student, won no special medal for valor as a rifleman, and was not promoted to the rank warranted by my position in military government. But my several different Army assignments, though not unique, may have been more diverse and incongruous than those of the average enlisted soldier. Still, why bother to record the military experiences of an undistinguished GI more than half a century later? Chiefly, to help balance in some small way the weightier achievements of statesmen, generals, diplomats, and heroes by describing the ordinary work, rest, and combat of a naive soldier boy. A Marine Corps veteran who fought in the Pacific, G. D. Lillibridge , sees war as "a country no traveler ever forgets," observing that "memories of war cling to the mind with astonishing tenacity . . . because the memories raise so many questions about oneself, particularly the unanswerable one: Why am I the one here to remember?" He suggests that the "ordeal of not forgetting may well be the only heroism of a survivor/' The British officer-poet Siegfried Sassoon opposed the glorification XI of the Great War of 1914—1918, and believed the "intimate history of any man who went to the War would make unheroic reading/' Inspired by these two points of view, I can, as a survivor, recall my unforgotten, truly unheroic participation in World War II to convince my children, grandsons, and others that any reluctance to go to war doesn't diminish patriotism, nor deter serving honorably, even when one quite sensibly does not wish to join the madness. My experiences in the Army long ago remain so deeply imprinted upon my mind and emotions that they doubtlessly shaped me in ways I haven't yet recognized. Remembering those thirty months, even now, provokes heartache, sometimes tears, and the sense that the events contain within them something that has never quite been revealed to me. To plumb my memories for their secrets, if any, I needed to put the happenings in a form more solid than my random mental ramblings . But after the war, my marriage, children, academic career, and the pain of recalling combat and fallen comrades prevented me from writing . Only after retirement did I find the time and the desire to recall and set down my World War II experiences. Perhaps this memoir—I hope in the voice of the youth I waswithout too many ironic observations from the man I became—will help heal my invisible wounds. Maybe the small and fearful events I underwent as a teenage boy who didn't shave, drink, smoke, swear, or drive a car when sworn into the Army can convey once again for a new generation war's boredom, misery, fright, pain, and waste. All the episodes occurred asI have described them, and the invented dialogues are faithful to the spirit of the occasions. In many instances, the names of persons have been changed to protect their privacy. A few books helped me recall, with greater accuracy, the many details of Army training, combat, and military government. Louis E. Reefer's Scholars in Foxholes traces the aim, curricula, and end of the Army Specialized Training Program. The History of the g^th Division in World War IIj edited by LawrenceG. Byrnes, verifies the chronology of my service xii Preface [34.201.19.151] Project MUSE (2024-03-29 09:59 GMT) in Company B of the 3oist Infantry Regiment. Harold Zink's American Military Government in Germany and Franklin M. Davis Jr/s Come as a Conqueror: The United States Army's Occupation of Germany, 1943—1949, confirm many of the official government matters. But the personal details of this memoir are drawn entirely from my memory of observations in garrison and field; any mistakes about dates, places, and persons are mine. I owe my deepest gratitude to my parents who shaped the mind and spirit of the boy appearing in these reminiscences. They blessed my life immeasurably and forever—my mother, Floy Estelle Harrison (née Honea), through her deep Christian faith and devotion, and my...