National World War II Museum

On March 29th and 30th, I was blessed with the opportunity to volunteer at the National World War II Museum in New Orleans. Fourteen veterans from Memphis, Tennessee arrived Tuesday morning, and as they filed into the briefing room, they were greeted by several World War II reenactors in uniforms and 1940s-era civilian clothes. They expressed happy surprise that young people were present. The men ranged in age from 90-99. When they were told that wheelchairs would be available, Mr. John (turning 100 in June) spoke up and said, "Who said anything about wheelchairs? I came to dance!" And with that, he began to tap his feet. For the next two days, he pushed a wheelchair around the museum; I never saw him sitting in it. His spunk was a sight to behold!

After the briefing by a member of the museum staff, we departed the conference room and figured out which way everyone wanted to go. I ended up following a few of the veterans who had not brought family members with them. Our first stop was the Pacific Theater exhibit, newly opened in January.

As we made our way around the museum, several people asked about reenacting and how I had gotten started. A few young people (and by young, I mean a decade younger than me--late teens/early college, which makes me feel very old at 28) commented that they had never seen reenactors before and would love to get involved. I encouraged them to research local reenacting groups and told them about area events. Mr. Pratt's name was mentioned frequently. He is the reenactor I met at an event on campus when I was a sophomore in college nine years ago. He noticed I knew all the names of the people and battles in one of his World War II albums, so he came over and said I should consider reenacting because there were not very many women who participated. I didn't need any convincing---World War II, vintage vehicles, camping out, listening to veterans' stories---sign me up! Mr. Pratt generously gave me a 1943 army nurse's uniform, and the rest, as they say, is history.

This map was carried by a marine during the battle on Tarawa. He was injured, but kept the map with him for the next 60 years. His bloodstains are still visible.

Willard and his wife kept their wartime marriage a secret in order for his parents to remain the primary beneficiaries on his life insurance policy. Reading the letters he wrote to his folks back home made my heart ache. Of all the exhibits I visited, the glass case with mementos from a young marine is the one that made me cry. It was personal and such a stark example of the terrible cost of war. 

Dear Mom,   Feb. 6, 1944
Received two more letters from you today. Mom I sure am glad you write me lots. I've been busy all day today and am pretty tired but never too tired to write to you. So you and James Lee cleaned up my bicycle. Well I guess it really needed it. Ha. Gosh I sure would like to see Mack milk. Ha, Ha. I'll bet he really looks funny on one side of the cow and Dad on the other. Ha, Ha. No Mom I haven't seen Elliott yet. I haven't had time to look him  up yet but maybe before long I can. I'm glad to hear that you all went over to Mrs. Walker's and also glad Margaret looks well. Gosh Mom I sure would like to see all of you. I guess I'm a little homesick tonight. Ha. Well Mom this is all I can think to write.

Love to all,
Willard

Dear Mom,    March 21, 1944
Received your other package the other day and also several letters. Gosh was I glad to get it. The lighter was just the kind I wanted. It's brass and won't rust and that counts a lot over here. I'm writing with the new fountain pen now. The old one of mine that you sent was no good. The little rubber filler had a big hole in it. But one is all I need anyhow. Gosh you must think I'm going to take lots of baths. That makes five washrags I've got. Ha, Ha. I gave my buddies one of them.
I opened one can of cookies today and gave several of my Sgts and friends some. They said they were the best cookies they ever ate and Mom they were sure right. Boy they were good. And they stay so nice and fresh in those cans. I wish you would send me some.

[That is where the letter ended. Three days later, Willard was killed in action during the Bougainville Campaign in the Solomon Islands.]

Marines take shelter during the fighting on Okinawa. They are shielding a young child they found on the island.

"Plainspoken war correspondent Ernie Pyle came to the Pacific in February 1945 after years of reporting from Europe. Pyle was enormously popular among both service personnel and readers at home. He wrote about B-29 bases in the Marianas, then joined US troops fighting on Ie Shima, a small island west of Okinawa on April 16, 1945. Two days later, he was killed by a Japanese sniper. A simple monument at the site declares, 'At this spot the 77th Infantry Division lost a buddy.' His final column, found on his body, revealed the deep toll war and death had taken on him." -Information on museum sign

"Lieutenant Commander Joseph O'Callahan, a navy chaplain recently assigned to the USS Franklin (CV-13), received the Medal of Honor,  for his actions after the vessel was struck by a Japanese bomber on March 19, 1945. Amidst raging fire, smoke and carnage, O'Callahan personally organized and led a damage control party into the main ammunition magazine to unload shells and prevent a catastrophic explosion. On the slanting and exposed deck of the carrier, he administered last rites to the dying and provided comfort to the wounded. The Franklin's executive officer called O'Callahan's actions "a soul-stirring sight." -Information on museum sign

"In World War II, 59,000 women voluntarily risked their lives for their country as U.S. Army nurses. When the war began, some of them had so little idea of what to expect that they packed party dresses; but the reality of service quickly caught up with them, whether they waded through the water in the historic landings on North African and Normandy beaches, or worked around the clock in hospital tents on the Italian front as bombs fell all around them. 

From the North African and Italian Campaigns to the Liberation of France and the Conquest of Germany, U.S. Army nurses rose to the demands of war on the frontlines with grit, humor, and great heroism. " -And If I Perish: Frontline U.S. Army Nurses in World War II, by Evelyn M. Monahan & Rosemary Neidel-Greenlee

It was an honor to follow the veterans around the museum, listening to their stories and memories. In this photo, Mr. Boyd is showing us the different places he served as a B-25 bomber co-pilot in the Pacific. Mr. Jack (on the left) also served in the Pacific in the navy. 

[For the sake of the content, I will type the veterans' stories as they were told to me. Keep in mind, I was asking questions throughout the conversations, so there were breaks and pauses that cannot be indicated in written form. I took notes and have attempted to keep the stories as close to the original conversations as possible. There were many tears shed as the memories were retold.]

We had just finished lunch when I was approached by Mr. Vince. He commented that my uniform looked great and brought back many memories; namely that of Dinah Shore who was wearing the same type of uniform during a USO show when she sang to all the Tennessee boys (Mr. Vince is from Memphis). I asked him where he had served, and he quietly replied, "I served on a place called Omaha. I would like to tell you my story if you want to hear it."

Mr. Vince was in the 29th Division and landed on Omaha Beach, June 6th, 1944 in the second assault wave. He was eighteen-years-old, and recently married. He and his girlfriend decided to go ahead and get married because he figured he would not make it home alive. They were married for 64 years. One of his best friends was in the initial assault, and was killed in action.

Mr. Vince: "Have you ever seen the English Channel?"

Me: "Yes sir, I have flown over the Channel on my way to Romania."

Mr. Vince: "You know then that it is a beautiful shade of blue, but on the day I landed, it was blood red. The LST captain had to stop the landing craft out in the water for fear of running aground, so when our commander shouted, "29, let's go!", we jumped into the water and it came up to my neck [Mr. Vince weighed 111 pounds. His gear weighed close to 100 pounds] Thankfully I remembered to hold my rifle above my head as I waded ashore, but so many of those young boys were struggling to stay afloat and their rifles got wet., making them [the rifles] as useless as clubs. It was horrible. Dead bodies were bumping my legs as I waded ashore. I will never forget the screams of those boys as they lay there injured and dying, crying out for their mamas. None of them cried for their daddies; they were screaming for their mamas. I made it ashore and continued to fight. I didn't take off my clothes for six months. When I took off my pants, still soaked in dried blood from D-Day, they stood up on their own. I survived the Battle of the Bulge; that was the coldest I have ever been in my entire life. I still have leg problems from the frostbite. I also saw Dachau and the concentration camp survivors. Don't let anyone tell you the Holocaust didn't happen. I saw it with my own eyes. War is a terrible, terrible thing, but World War II had to be fought to stop evil men. I am 92-years-old, and I would fight for my country to this day. I love this nation."

Me: "What did you do when you came home from the war?"

Mr. Vince: "I wasn't able to work for the first year because I was diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder. I cried and didn't want to leave the house. My wife told me she would work and do whatever was necessary to help me get better. She loved me through it. I still jump out of my skin when I hear loud noises."

Mr. Vince was part of an artillery team, and he started spitting blood because the shock waves from the artillery were literally tearing him apart from the inside out. He was moved further away from the gun site, per doctor's orders. He faced a court martial one time when he was given outdated shells from World War I to fire in a World War II era artillery piece, and refused to fire them. He knew the shells were too small and had the potential to explode in the gun, or be off target and kill innocent civilians. He said, "I had never seen so much brass in all my life as during that court martial. They set up a table in the field and brought in everybody."

His fellow soldiers backed up Mr. Vince's story and stated that he knew what he was doing and had made the right decision. The court martial was thrown out, and the top brass had said, "Leave that young man alone. He knows how to do his job well."

After our first day at the museum, we returned to the hotel where our group stayed up until 10:00 p.m. listening to stories, asking questions, and getting to know each other. There was laughter and there were tears. As one of the veterans put it, "There were some good and funny times during the war, but there were also some awful times we will never forget."

During the evening discussion back at the hotel, I struck up a conversation with Mr. Bill, a 95-year-old former prisoner of war. This is his story.

"I landed at Normandy after the initial invasion. I was twenty-three-years-old. There were dead bodies everywhere, and the water was red. It was terrible. When we were fighting in France, I found two Guinea pigs in an abandoned house. I knew they would starve to death if I left them there, so I found some wire and scrap wood and made a cage for them. I carried them with me for the next four months until I was captured. They reproduced rapidly, so I had a lot of Guinea pigs. When we had free time, we would take them out of the cage and play with them. One time, there cage bounced off the sidecar. When we reached our resting place for the night, I asked my officer if I could use the jeep to go back and get them. They were sitting in their cage beside the road waiting for me. In the same town where I found the Guinea pigs, I came across a really nice German foxhole. We were warned against using abandoned enemy foxholes because they were often booby trapped. This one was so nice and deep, though, with tree branches across the top, I decided to chance it. It was fine and I claimed it. Later that night when I was on duty, one of the guys in the unit thought it would be funny to set an alarm clock he had found and bury it beneath my bed roll. That thing went off just as I was falling asleep, and let me tell you, I had never jumped or ran so fast in all my life. I waited for the foxhole to explode, but when it didn't, I went back and found the clock. None of the guys would own up to who had buried it, but 35 years later when I was getting a hair cut, the barber, who had been in my unit, slipped up and mentioned the name of the culprit because he had forgotten I had been the victim of the prank. The barber said, "I can't believe I told you his name! I swore I would go to my grave without telling anyone." I just laughed and told him it had taken over three decades, but the truth was finally out. You know, of the 12 men in my squad, I was able to locate 10 of them after the war. The other two had already passed away. I went to every funeral for the other 10. Those men were my family.

I was in combat until I was captured the first night of the Battle of the Bulge. Our commander had sent us on ahead to take shelter for the night in a town in Belgium. We saw a bunch of troops coming in the opposite direction, and wondered where they were going. We didn't know they were retreating. We rolled into town that night, and our commander turned around and left. We never saw him again. I think it is because he didn't have the guts to look us up after the war and admit that he had left us behind. The next morning, a young soldier came running up the stairs in the house where I was sleeping and exclaimed, "Get up! There are Germans everywhere!" I kicked him and he didn't stop rolling until he landed at the bottom of the stairs; I still feel kind of guilty about that. I might have hurt him. A few minutes later, another soldier came upstairs and said we might as well give up because the Germans were all over the place. That's when I realized the first man had been telling the truth. We filed outside and the Germans surrounded us. Come to find out, they had been there all along and heard us roll in the night before. The Germans said they had just decided to wait until daylight to capture us. They began marching us up the road when we were fired upon. Bodies were falling all around me. I dove into a ditch, but it still felt like every tracer was aimed directly at me. We marched for 29 days to a POW camp high up on a mountain. I was there for six months. The lice were so bad, we could hear them rustling around in the corn husks that were stuffed in the mats on the floor. We were cold and hungry. I eventually was placed on a work detail. One day, two of the guards came up and told me and another prisoner we would be in charge of cooking for them and all the prisoners. Well, I had never cooked a day in my life. I could see the other man was getting ready to step forward and say the same thing, so I caught his eye and shook my head to keep him quiet. I took him aside and said, "It doesn't matter that we don't know how to cook. If they give us food, we will learn how to cook it!" And you know, we cooked and never received any complaints, not even from the German guards. I thought about trying to escape, but the other guys backed out, so we just stayed in the camp until the war ended."

The mighty B-17 bomber

The B-17 bombers flew missions over Europe, deep into enemy territory. Until the P-51 fighter planes came on the scene with the ability to provide long-range fighter support, the bomber crews suffered catastrophic losses.

Medal of Honor Wall: 472 medals were awarded during World War II; 273 of which were presented posthumously.

"The Medal of Honor is the highest award for valor in action against an enemy force which can be bestowed upon an individual serving in the Armed Services of the United States. It is generally presented to its recipient by the President of the United States of America in the name of Congress." -Congressional Medal of Honor Society

Sharing stories

Mr. Arceneaux was a fighter pilot in the Pacific. He said prior to being shipped overseas, he had never been more than 50 miles from home. I asked him why he had chosen fighter planes instead of bombers. His response was, "I didn't want to be in charge of a crew and have their lives in my hands. I wanted it to just be me and the plane." After seeing combat in the skies over Okinawa, he returned home and married his sweetheart. They were married for 69 years. With tears in his eyes, he told me, "I have had such a good life. I had a wonderful wife and great kids. It has been so, so good."

Mr. Boyd was a B-25 bomber co-pilot in the Pacific. The museum has a B-25 on display in the hangar, so Mr. Boyd and I went to the fourth floor viewing deck to see his plane. His crew made it home, except for his top turret gunner. He had been pulled to fly a mission in another plane. It was shot down and he was captured by the Japanese, eventually dying in a prisoner of war camp.

Mr. Boyd's story:

"Most of my missions were low-level bombing runs where the enemy knew we were there after we were already gone. I didn't like high altitude bombing runs because the flak was terrible. You could see those puffs of black smoke up ahead and knew there were thousands of pieces of shrapnel about to hit your plane. During one high altitude mission, I felt something come through the plexi-glass on the roof and hit my sleeve. It bounced off and landed by the fuel tank. It was a piece of flak. It came to rest right against the fuel tank. Had that flak gone any further, the plane would have exploded and we would have died in the inferno. I wouldn't be standing here today talking to you. That's why I hated high altitude flying.

Tarawa was the first place I felt guilt during the war. I landed my plane and looked around at all the destruction and death, and felt so guilty that thousands had died to take that island just so I could land and refuel my plane."

 When he landed his plane on one of the islands, the men were ordered to not leave their tents during the night. The officer said Japanese soldiers would come down out of the mountains at night, but they were not there to hurt anyone. They were starving to death. The American soldiers stayed in their tents and let the Japanese take food from the storehouses. Later on in the war, Mr. Boyd was given the opportunity to serve aboard a submarine for air/sea rescue. He said the food on the sub was the best he had eaten in two years because they had fresh vegetables and fresh milk. He was part of a sea rescue mission that saved the life of a fighter pilot. Saving that pilot's life is a special memory because the man went on to get married and raise a family.

All of the veterans were wearing tags with pictures as they looked 75 years ago during the war.

Mr. Boyd wrote his sweetheart for three years during the war. Her family heard he would be at the air base in Halls, Tennessee before shipping out; they drove from Memphis to Halls so he and his sweetheart could eat dinner together one last time. They didn't see each other until he returned in 1946. His girl wanted a nice wedding, so they waited a year in order to save money. I asked him if it was a pretty wedding and he smiled and said, "Oh yes! It was beautiful!" He then showed me a dog tag he had made for his wife. The inscription read: I love you more than yesterday and less than tomorrow.

He said, "I still love her. She was wonderful. She got sick, and I cared for her at home until she died. It was an honor to be able to take care of her. We were married for 67 years."

On the second day at the museum, we were treated to lunch and a USO show.

The USO singers gave an outstanding performance, and all the veterans received a kiss on the cheek and a dance. Their eyes were shining and they were singing along and tapping their feet. At the end of the show, those of us in the audience sang Irving Berlin's popular war time tune, White Christmas, together. It was as if we had stepped back in time and 70 years had melted away.

99-year-old Mr. John was the star of the show with the performers. He was hugged and kissed within an inch of his life! After the show I asked him how he felt. With a twinkle in his eyes, he said, "Darlin', I felt 19 again! My friend sitting next to me had to fan me with the brochure to keep my blood pressure down!"  

-Visiting with the performers after the show-

I teased one of the veterans, telling him he still had evidence of a kiss on his cheek. He laughed and said, "I won't wash my face for a week! I might not wash it ever again!"

At the end of our final day at the museum as we were getting ready to leave, I met a veteran who was not part of our group. Come to find out, he was from Indiana and knew of the town where most of my dad's family hails from. Mr. Maurice was visiting the museum for the first time with his family. I asked him where he had served, and he replied, "Omaha Beach. It was an awful place. I was 21-years-old. Shortly after D-Day, I commented to a buddy of mine, "Those 88s [German anti-aircraft and anti-tank artillery] sure are getting close. We better get out of here! The shells made a screaming sound. The next thing I remember is waking up in a field hospital with part of my face blown away and my leg messed up. I asked where I was going, and they said I was being shipped to a hospital in England. That was the end of the war for me."

These men survived the worst, most far-reaching, most destructive war in history. They witnessed atrocities, death, suffering, and pain at a level my mind simply cannot comprehend; yet they are not bitter or angry. On the contrary, they are some of the kindest, most gracious, good-humored, grateful men I have ever met. A few days prior to arriving at the museum, my ten-year-old cousin was diagnosed with cancer and had a brain tumor removed; two elderly friends passed away from cancer and kidney failure; and a marriage shattered, leaving in its wake confused, angry, and deeply hurt family and friends. It was 48 hours of one disaster after another that made me want to go live in a cave and burst into tears. I almost didn't go to New Orleans, but God knew what I needed. He sent 14 World War II veterans whose kindness, good humor, grace, and warm hugs eased the hurt and reminded my spirit to have courage and to keep believing and holding on to all that is good and gentle and beautiful in this life.

As I sat and listened to their stories and wisdom, this is what I took away from our time together:

Family and relationships matter. These men did not tell me about their careers, business deals, or the money they earned throughout the years. They spoke of their wives, children, and friends. Of all the veterans I met, not one of them had been married for less than 64 years. They had lost their spouses in recent years, and they all said, "My wife was the best thing that happened in my life and I loved watching my children and grandchildren grow up." They expressed deep gratitude.

The veterans teach that it is okay to cry. Some events are so painful, the wound never fully heals, and it still hurts seventy years down the road. There are sorrows that will not end this side of heaven. Pain and joy exist side by side; companions through life. It's okay to not hold it all together all the time. Tears are not a sign of weakness; rather they are a sign of compassion and a heart that still feels.

And last, but not least, the veterans show the importance of humor and living joyfully, not being constrained by age according to a calendar. They cracked jokes, especially Mr. Jack (we never knew what he was going to come up with next, but it was sure to leave us laughing); they danced; they hugged and expressed their love for others; and they made plans to attend future events, one of them telling me, "I will see you at the event in Linden if I'm still alive and breathing." Another veteran asked me to make sure I stop by and take him out to lunch when I make it back to Tennessee to visit friends and family.

These men are not perfect. Every human on this planet has flaws. However, they come from a time when hard work, honesty, and commitment were not just words in a dictionary; they were a way of life. They possess character qualities that are sorely lacking, if not nonexistent, in my generation.

If the Lord grants me a long life on this earth, I will look back on the times I spent with World War II veterans as some of the very best.