Stories are more than entertainment. They are life itself. We each live in them.
They are us…
Your story is you. My story is me. Our stories are us. Writing and sharing stories is what we do, aware of it or not. How we write and share them is crucial to our understanding of life. These two short stories are focused on a particular day – 72 years apart.
April 13, 1945. A day of dread for the superstitious as it occurred on a Friday. The small village of Kemper was situated near Cologne in the center of the industrial heartland of the Germany of 1945. By far the most intensely important area to the production of war equipment and materials essential to their survival. A rich prize indeed, and our forces had closed it off from their control. We were on the verge of capturing the whole area entirely.
As we entered the village, we were welcomed with an intense firefight that stopped us in our tracks. Barriers manned with 88 mm cannons, Panzerfausts (a small compact rocket grenade very effective against tanks and half-tracks) and machine guns. We were effectively pinned down for several hours, as the Germans inflicted heavy casualties of both dead and wounded on us. My Platoon Sergeant took a bullet in his leg. I never saw him again.
In a nearby area one of our halftracks was hit with a rocket grenade and it caught fire. Several men inside were burned to death, but one brave infantryman managed to risk his life to go inside and drag out those that he could. Finally, after gathering under our leadership of my Company Commander, Captain Ford, we were able to overcome our enemies and regain our abilities and move forward again toward Cologne. All and all, we in A Company, suffered the most causalities in that one day of our entire combat experiences.
Some of those who attend our 13th Armored Division reunions are children of those who died that day. Most hardly ever knew their dads, some not at all, but they all feel most connected to them when they connect with those of us who were there with their fathers. We were their brothers, which in its own way, made us their uncles. They remember and honor those connections as those of family. Something worth recognizing and preserving.
On July 11, 2017, over 72 years later for me, Steve McAlpin and I revisited what we determined to be the location of that ambush. Steve is a retired Army Major and combat Veteran of two wars. Bosnia and Afghanistan. It was part of our desire to go back and see what had become of those places of hard times and bad memories.
Our revisit could be best described in metaphor. Like seeing two movies. The first a horrific black and white film like Frankenstein, and the second like a technicolor production of scenic beauty. Such a difference. No explosions, no screams, no horror – just scenic beauty, smiling people, and a gentle breeze.
Are there any messages there?
You ask yourself…
April 17, 1945. Four days after the Kemper ambush, a whole different scene. But, one of incredible historical significance.
I was about 150 feet away from a large tree at the head of a long meadow near Mettmann, a city just to the east of Cologne. One of the largest Army surrenders in World War II was unfolding. I was helping supervise a group of German soldiers so large that I could not see where they began or ended.
The order had come down early that morning the entire German Army now bottled up in the Ruhr Pocket (the name of the sector in which we were engaged) was going to surrender. It turned out that there were over 300,000 German troops in that pocket. I, along with every other available solder was tasked with seeing to it that the disarmed Germans were kept quiet and orderly until transport to their ultimate confinement could be arranged.
What was involved was not in the least bit difficult or dangerous. The Germans had been willing and waiting to give up for a long time, but their commanding General, Model, was unwilling to surrender. Somehow, the rest of his Army was not in agreement, and their wishes prevailed, and a surrender was arranged. Model, meanwhile, took along a few officers and managed to commit suicide in a nearby wooded area. So here we were with 300,000 German troops awaiting our high command to formalize the surrender protocol.
As I was now exchanging conversation with the same guys who were trying to kill us a short time ago, I noticed a lot of activity going on under that big tree. I moseyed up closer, and to my surprise I saw truckloads of photographers and their equipment arrive and set up newsreel cameras. My hair-trigger brain informed me that something big was about to happen here.
At the same moment that thought flashed in my head, several large Army command vehicles pulled up, and unloaded people with lots of stars on their shoulders. I thought I recognized General’s Mark Clark and Creighton Abrams (from seeing them on newsreels). With them were some fancy uniformed German officers, who I took for being Generals, as well.
My brain was right on. What was unfolding in front of my eyes was a momentous historical event. I was right there. Such a miracle for a confused and greenhorn 19-year old boy to witness. I had to make the most out of this opportunity.
As the cameras (I assumed them to be from “The March of Time” newsreels so prevalent in those times) began to take in this formal surrender ceremony unfolding in front of me, I took every opportunity I could to place myself where I could be seen in the film. I was all over the place trying to get in as many pictures as they were taking.
Sadly, to this day, I never saw that surrender ceremony on any March of Time newsreel. Further, I don’t know of anyone else who might have. I have searched through what I accessed as sources of that kind of information, but with no success.
I would plaintively beg of you that if you, or anyone you know might have found a playable copy of that surrender ceremony to please let me know where I can find it. I know it’s out there…
But, the more important takeaway from this momentous event was what I mentioned earlier. The sudden change from enmity to connection that occurred that day. It was symbolic of the transfer from evil to good, of reuniting and connecting, and the peace that arises from it.
On July 12, 2017, Steve and I revisited Mettmann. We saw lively green meadows and tall trees. Again the technicolor view, but with one small symbol of the insidious possibility of corruption. As we passed through downtown Mettmann, our camera pictured a flashy decorated tattoo parlor, smack dab in the center of everything.
There are several messages in these stories.
Think about them and compare them to what is constantly going on in the world. Stories hold more than entertainment value, they hold the clues to life.
Stories of service, like Veteran’s services are very important to understand what we have done, and how we can do better.
Everyone has an ongoing story.
Including you…