Currently viewing the tag: "WWII"

Veteran Spotlight

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by Priscilla Rall

During WWII, evacuation hospitals were located only miles behind the front lines. As our troops moved, the hospitals followed them. One young woman from Thurmont was among these brave nurses giving aid to our wounded.

Mary Catherine Willhide was born on July 8, 1915, to Ross Henry and Elsie Catherine Robinson Willhide of Thurmont. She had two sisters, Helen Willhide Flanagan and Lela “Chubbie” Willhide Lillard. Mary graduated from Thurmont High School and then worked as a nurse at the Frederick City Hospital. Later, she attended Charity Hospital in New Orleans, training to be an anesthetist.

Mary enlisted in the Nurses Corp as a lieutenant, and these excerpts are taken from a letter she sent her family on May 25, 1945. Her big adventure began in October 1943, when she sailed from Boston Harbor aboard the Mauretania. For the first day out, Navy blimps escorted them, alert to any menace from German submarines. After that, they were on their own. The captain zig-zagged to avoid subs, and Mary recorded that the “waves were two stories high.” Three days out, the passengers were told that there was a sub following them, but to everyone’s great relief, nothing happened.

British officers and crew manned the ship. Because of the danger, the captain never left the bridge. The ship held four general hospitals, 400 nurses, and 10,000 mostly American troops. Mary slept in a cabin with eleven other nurses. The cabin had only 10 bunks, so one nurse had to sleep on the floor. The ship arrived at Liverpool on October 16. In the pouring rain, the nurses disembarked, carrying their musette bag, gas mask, and blanket roll. According to Mary, they were “tired, cold and wet.” Then they took a train to their hospital, arriving there October 18. After spending several days resting, rolling bandages, and unpacking their instruments, they opened the hospital November 1. Everyone in her unit was from Texas and very cliquish, so Mary decided to volunteer for an evacuation hospital. Not until April 3 did she learn that she was assigned to detached service and to the 67th Evacuation Hospital near Bristol. There, all hands were just “waiting for the invasion.”

“Never will I forget June 6.” She had been up since daybreak, watching the C-47s with their gliders pulled behind them. They were going over in groups of 100. “The sky was black,” and they were flying just far enough apart as to not hit one another. “Then later we saw them coming back. Some OK, and others with pieces of wing missing or other damage.”

D+9 (June 15) was the day for us to go to the marshalling area. Mary sailed from Weymouth and boarded an L.C.I. (landing craft infantry). Her commanding officer had taken in the 29th Division on D-Day, telling them that the dead were floating as far as two miles from the shore. Mary landed on Omaha Beach on June 17 and was fortunate to leave the L.C.I. on a small motor boat. Her unit spent the night sleeping on the floor at the 91st Evac Hospital. “The artillery and the ack-ack sounded like the 4th of July all night long. All along the road, the infantry was marching to the front. Some sight!”

The next day, they traveled to Sainte Mere Eglise. The soldiers were fighting just a few miles away. “I was most scared when a German plane strafed a cub plane field right beside of ours, killing three soldiers. “Never before have I seen so many mangled bodies. Never did I ever think I would actually walk in human blood, but that is what happened.

“From June 13 at 3 PM until July 17 at 12 noon we admitted over 5,500 patients and operated on more than 2,500. In other words, in 28 days we averaged 90 operations every 24 hours.” They had six operating room tables and six nurses shaving and getting the patients ready for surgery. Fortunately, Polish former POWs carried the stretchers in and out. “Many times we didn’t have enough blood, we needed it so badly.” The hospital was severely overcrowded. One nurse oversaw 30 unconscious patients at a time. Each nurse had a ward of 40 patients with two or three corpsman for each 12-hour shift. “Doctors were so busy, we nurses did the doctors’ work too. We gave blood, plasma and medications… ordered or not.”

“We often say that if the soldiers had not been so patient and good in taking it all, we never could have done it. Sometimes it made you want to cry, especially when we saw one with his legs wounded helping one in the next bed with wounded hands.”

Courtesy Photo of Mary Willhide, Taken in Belgium

Seek, Find, and Destroy

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by Priscilla Rall

The mission of the “Silent Service” is to “Seek, Find, and Destroy.” 

Raymond Lloyd, from near Ladiesburg, lived that mission during WWII. He started in humble beginnings, born in Hanover, Pennsylvania, to Raymond and Mary Catherine Neller Lloyd in 1921. He was the oldest of three children. His father was a machinist, but during the Great Depression, he found little work. Mary Catherine slaved at a clothing manufacturing plant, sometimes returning home in tears as the work was so hard. The family ate a lot of hominy and mush. Raymond was often sent to the store with an empty jar to get filled with dark molasses for five cents rather than the six-cents lighter variety. Sometimes, the family lacked the money to pay the electric bill and their power was cut off. They made money nipping green beans for the canning factory. They would get several large bags of beans and sit in the yard, nipping off the ends. Mary Catherine bought lots of oatmeal, as the boxes had dishes in the bottom and she prized those. In those days, Hanover had no sewage system and everyone had outhouses! There were no buses to take students to school. So, when the snow was deep, Raymond’s mother wrapped newspaper around his legs and tied them in place with twine. To help his family, young Raymond helped deliver milk, getting up at 2:30 a.m. to put the milk jars on porches and collect the empties. He also had a newspaper route in the afternoon, riding his bicycle around town. Raymond graduated from high school in 1939 and first started working with his father in a machine shop. Then, Raymond went to York, Pennsylvania, to a munitions plant, making 20-mm guns, working 7 days a week, 10 to 12 hours a day.

On December 7, 1941, Pearl Harbor immediately changed the United States. Raymond was upset about it, as were all Americans. He decided to join the U.S. Navy, although his parents were not too happy about his decision. He went to Baltimore and enlisted for six years. After six weeks of basic training, Raymond volunteered for the submarine service. His first test was to hold his breath for two minutes. After passing that test, he was sent to New London, Connecticut, where a psychiatrist examined him. After that, Raymond was tested to see if he could endure 52 pounds of pressure. Then it was off to a huge water tank, 100-feet deep. To pass, one had to be able to go up 100 feet without going too fast and getting the bends. Passing that difficult test, he was off to sub-school and became Seaman 2nd Class. After a number of boring assignments, he finally was assigned to a submarine, the USS Gunnel, which was just back from North Africa and led by Captain McCain, the father of the late Senator John McCain. It held 72 enlisted men and 7 officers. Lloyd’s job was to man the periscope shears and look out for anything in the air or sea and report immediately to the captain. After three days, the Gunnel left for war patrol. His parents knew nothing about his assignment or even the name of the submarine.

The Gunnel left New London and went south through the Panama Canal, then on to Pearl Harbor, and finally to Midway Island. Lloyd’s position had him high in the air, and if the captain ordered the boat to dive, he had 15 seconds to get down the hatch before it was closed. The Gunnel was sent to the Yellow Sea and Tokyo Bay. Their mission: to seek, find, and destroy any and all enemy shipping. Once Raymond sighted a camouflaged Japanese plane flying low, and he gave the warning. Raymond got through the hatch in time and the boat dove. Then, they heard a number of depth charges go off. The sub escaped unharmed. Another time, the boat’s sonar picked up a signal, and Lloyd saw a light on the horizon. He reported this to the captain, who fired three torpedoes. One hit and exploded, but the other two didn’t explode. The Navy was plagued with defective Mark 14 torpedoes, which they blamed on the captains’ errors. At least two subs were destroyed by their own torpedoes, which made a U-turn and sunk the American subs. Captain McCain then fired two more torpedoes, but only one exploded. The Japanese freighter started sinking as its crew began firing at the Gunnel.

Later, the Gunnel picked up two heavily loaded ships on radar, riding low in the water, plus three destroyer escorts. From the surface, the Gunnel fired four torpedoes, running according to the captain, “hot, straight, and normal.” Then, someone yelled, “Oh my God, they are leaving a smokescreen.” The Gunnel started to dive as the torpedo hit the freighter, and it exploded. The enemy destroyers started dropping depth charges, and the diving officer told the captain, “We’re in trouble.” The sub submerged to 300 feet, as depth charges exploded on both sides of the boat. They knocked out the lighting system, and the Gunnel starting springing leaks. Lloyd said that they stayed submerged for “hours and hours,” as the captain ordered “silent running.” They had almost used up their battery power and oxygen when the captain ordered her to surface. Lloyd immediately climbed the periscope shears and sighted two enemy ships, and he fired two torpedoes “shot right down the throat.” One ship exploded into pieces as the Gunnel submerged. This turned into a harrowing time for the Gunnel’s crew as they could hear what sounded like grappling hooks sliding over the Gunnel, trying to grab her and bring her to the surface. They stayed submerged for two days. The temperature in the boat was 120 degrees, the emergency oxygen was about empty, and they had just enough battery power to get to the surface. Cpt. McCain called a meeting of all the crew. “We have two choices: we can surface, then flood the ship and take our chances that we’ll be rescued, or we can surface with our battle crew ready and all guns on deck.” With one voice the crew answered, “We’ll fight it out!” So, they surfaced, ready to do battle…but the seas were empty! A heavy fog concealed their position, and they slowly crept away back to Midway.

After a 30-day pass home, Raymond returned to the Gunnel, and they left port, going south of Tokyo Bay. One night, they picked up a target and moved in. Firing torpedoes, they hit and sunk the enemy ship, but suddenly there was a destroyer heading straight for the Gunnel. Diving quickly, they counted 30-depth charges as they took to “silent running.” After things got quiet, they went to the surface and found another target, a high-masted trawler; it could be a trap. As Lloyd was on the periscope shear, he saw strange bubbles coming straight towards the Gunnel. “My God, it’s a torpedo… My God it’s another!” McCain immediately shouted, “All ahead flank rudder.” The crew watched as the torpedoes went past them, only feet away from the sub. Much later, Lloyd was given credit for saving the crew and the sub with his sharp eyes.

Lloyd was now Yeoman 1st Class, and he spent five months on Midway, keeping track of crew members and doing office work. What he remembers most is the gooney birds, or albatrosses, on the island. His next assignment was in San Francisco, censoring letters. He was then sent to Philadelphia for sub maintenance on the USS Moray, which was getting ready to be commissioned. When she was ready, Raymond sailed on her, again through the Panama Canal and on to Saipan, where they were put on lifeguard duty, picking up any airplane crew that had gone down. But, then they located a target, fired two torpedoes, and hit dead on. The freighter exploded in a ball of fire!

Then, it was back to Midway to keep a lane clear for the scheduled invasion of Japan. The atom bombs made that unnecessary, and Raymond was finally cleared to go home, except for a pesky x-ray that revealed that he had T.B. He then spent 11 months in a Navy hospital before it cleared up. His son, Jim, was born while he was in the hospital. Tragically, his first wife developed multiple sclerosis and soon passed away.

Back home, Raymond decided he wanted to go to college. First, he went to Gettysburg College and then to Johns Hopkins. Eventually, he began work as the assistant commissioner, Division of Labor and Industry, retiring after 16 years. He married Evelyn in 1953, and they moved into a home they built near Ladiesburg.

Raymond certainly followed the mission of the submarine corps to seek, find, and destroy. Few Americans know how much the submarines did to win the war in the Pacific. Fifty-two submarines were lost and 3,600 sailors did not survive. Out of four submariners, only three returned home. Remember the Silent Service when you celebrate our victory in WWII. They certainly deserve our praise.

Courtesy Photos

Raymond Lloyd

The USS Gunnel

Insignia for the USS Moray

Honoring Our Veterans on Veterans Day

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On Veterans Day 2020, Grace Eyler with The Catoctin Banner had the honor of joining the Hoke Family in the Church of Incarnation in Emmitsburg to honor our Veterans. Becky Hoke diligently rang the church’s bell for over three minutes while family helped by keeping a timer and prompting her pulls on the bell rope. The bell is rung annually at five minutes before 11:00 a.m. in honor of the anniversary of the signing of the Armistice that ended World War I at 11:00 a.m. on the 11th day of the 11th month in 1918.

Becky’s father, Tom Hoke, recalled being 13 years old when his father had taken over as the ringer. Since then, the Hoke family has performed this tradition at this church for over one hundred years (except while Tom was in service in WWII, then Fred Wolf did it). Tom celebrated his 97th birthday in November!

Photo by Grace Eyler

Veteran Spotlight

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Joseph Hooker Clabaugh

20 Years of Service

by Priscilla Rall

Joe Clabaugh’s life is woven into our community’s history beginning with his grandfather, J. Hooker Lewis, from the Garfield and Foxville area, who owned five local orchards. He bought one from a German family whose house was located where Mountain Gate Restaurant is now. It was part stone, part log, and the German family kept their animals in the lower level of the home! When J. Hooker’s daughter, Carrie, married Joseph Elmer Clabaugh, this young family moved into the old farmhouse. J. Hooker and his wife moved into a home where the Kountry Kitchen is now.

The farmstead had a smokehouse where the Clabaughs cured hams and bacon from the hogs they raised and butchered, and a springhouse where they kept the milk, cream, and butter from their milk cows.

Carrie and Joseph had 10 children, but in 1929, their oldest daughter, Carrie, tragically died at four years old when she was hit by a car at the end of their lane. Their son, Richard, 13, died from blood poisoning when he was swept over the dam at Bentz’s pond and cut his leg. This was before antibiotics.

Their son, Joseph Hooker Clabaugh, was born in December 1919. Young Joe was kept busy bringing firewood into the house to feed the kitchen’s cookstove and the chunk stove in the living room. All the kids carried water from the well in the front yard into the house, as they had neither running water nor electricity.

Joe recalled riding their milk wagon to deliver the farm’s milk. Bob, the old black horse, knew all the stops by heart and never missed a one. Joe’s father never did drive a tractor or a car. He hewed to the old ways. His mother was “the best cook that ever hit this world.” She was well known for her homemade noodles and pot pie.

When Joe finished seventh grade, he quit school. He lied about his age and joined the Civilian Conservation Corps (CCC). He worked in the camp at Green Ridge, 30 miles from Cumberland, just across the river from Paw Paw, West Virginia. His two older brothers joined the CCC as well. They all earned $25 a month. The government sent $20 home, and they kept just $5. After he left the CCC, Joe worked on a farm in Hansonville.

In 1937, he joined the U.S. Army. He trained at Ft. Belvoir in Virginia with Company D, 5th Engineers. He was discharged after suffering from a severe cut to his hand. Then he worked at a foundry in Baltimore, along with his cousin, Charles “Stud” Lewis, making piston rings. Later, he worked for Herman H. Fisher, driving a fuel truck from Baltimore to Detour.

During WWII, Joe attempted to enlist five times but was rejected due to his injured hand and classified 4F. It was a bitter blow to the family when his cousins, Gordon and Raymond Pryor, died while in the service. Cousin Harry “Buck” Lewis was shot and then captured on the Battle of the Bulge. Amazingly, he survived his captivity but was down to 100 pounds.

Joe then worked for several years at Hammaker’s, setting tombstones. In March 1946, the Air Force finally accepted him. By the first of April, he was on his way to the Philippine Islands. He was assigned to the motor pool in Manila. He saw first-hand the terrible destruction of this once beautiful city. There were still 40-50 ships sunk in the harbor, and most of the buildings were empty hulls. Later, he was assigned to the Field Police at Hickam Field, but was soon sent to Guam to serve in the Fire Department. From there, he went to Andrews Air Force Base, where he served for five years. He got home in February 1948, and in May, he married Shirley Long from Creagerstown.

Joe’s next orders were to Greenland, leaving his family, that now numbered three children, home. Greenland was quite a new experience for Joe. They often had “wind warnings” when you had to stay indoors or be blown away. No planes could land then, either. After 13 months, Joe was sent with his family to Forbes Air Force Base in Topeka, Kansas, as a fireman, where they spent two-and-a-half years. They experienced severe ice storms with large hail that put dents in everything exposed.

Finally, Joe got a wonderful assignment in Upper Hayfield, England, just 60 miles from London. He was able to take his daughter, Chris, to Holland for a memorable trip to a tulip festival.

In 1959, Joe was transferred to Bunker Hill, Indiana, where the “big boys,” the B 58s, were stationed. They carried the “big bombs,” but Joe refused to say anymore. “I ain’t telling you nothing.” This was the era of the Cold War, and Joe remembered a “hot day” when the airbase had 47 B57s lined up during the Cuban Missile Crisis, and they were on “high alert.”

Tech Sgt. J. Clabaugh retired from the Air Force in 1963, after 20 years and 1 month of military service. “I’m done!” The family returned to Thurmont, and Joe worked on the farm until George Black, the fire chief at Fort Ritchie, offered him a job. He worked there and at Site R for 17 years (9 years in the tunnel). During this time, the family lived in Shirley’s home with their five children, Chris, Jerry, Dennis, Billy, and Jimmy. Work was second nature to Joe, and after all of those years at Ft. Ritchie, he worked at Mount St. Mary’s until he finally retired for good.

The family moved from Creagerstown to New Cut Road and then finally to Longs Mill Road in Rocky Ridge. Joe and Shirley have been active volunteers at St. John’s Lutheran Church in Creagerstown, the Rocky Ridge Fire Department, and the American Legion in Thurmont. His volunteering only ended with his death in 2009. He earned his rest. Thank you for your service, TSgt. Clabaugh, and may you rest in peace, dear friend and neighbor.

If you are a veteran or know a veteran who is willing to tell his or her story, contact the Frederick County Veterans History Project at priscillarall@gmail.com.

Photos were taken in Manila after WWII while Joseph Clabaugh was stationed there.

Veteran Spotlight

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by Priscilla Rall

Military Intelligence Service at Camp Ritchie

When WWII began, it was apparent that the United States did not have plans to train intelligence gatherers, which would be vital for our armed forces. One intelligence organization that was soon formed was the Military Intelligence Service (MIS), and it took over Camp Ritchie from the Maryland National Guard in early 1942. The men recruited for this organization were immigrants to the United States from Europe, mostly Jewish, whose native language was German, Hungarian, or French. They became known as the “Ritchie Boys.”

Henry Marcus was a Ritchie Boy who was born in Vienna in 1915. His father fought in the Austrian Army in WWI and was injured several times. His mother was born in Czechoslovakia.

Henry watched as the Nazis invaded Austria and saw Hitler several times at rallies. After six months in the Austrian Army, he got a passport and a one-way ticket to Baltimore, where his aunt and uncle lived. Fortunately, he met Mr. Rosenstock, a lawyer in Frederick, who helped him travel to Frederick and introduced him to the vibrant Jewish community there. He eventually met Rebecca Sclar and her family, and he and Rebecca were married in 1942. Together, they had one son, Ralph.

Henry joined the Maryland National Guard in 1941 and worked as a cook for Col. Markey. Instead of going with the 29th Division on the Carolina Maneuvers, Col. Markey asked him to go with him to Camp Pickett in Virginia. He was there six months when MIS recruited him and sent him to Camp Ritchie. He recalled the intense instructions on photo interpretation, deciphering, interrogation techniques, the German Order of Battle, and even classes on close combat and silent killing.

Just before D-Day in Normandy, the first group of Ritchie Boys was sent to England. Many of them went to France on D-Day, and one even made a drop with an airborne unit, although he had never jumped before. Si Lewen used a megaphone to broadcast propaganda and convince Germans to surrender. Guy Stern improved the army’s propaganda leaflets that encouraged the enemy soldiers to surrender.

Henry travelled to France in September 1944, where he worked with the Army Air Corps interpreting aerial photos and identifying the locations of German gun emplacements. Later, he was assigned to the 8th Armored Division with the Third Army. He gathered intelligence for the Battle of the Roer River, and later his team directed the entire division across the Rhine River. According to his discharge papers, he worked with the Counter Intelligence Corps in Germany and Czechoslovakia.

Some of the men spent three months in Aachen, and then they were sent to the Hurtegen Forest area. According to the Ritchie Boys, they had clear evidence of a large build-up of enemy troops and went to corp headquarters to report the danger. No one believed them, but that night the Nazis attacked in what is now called the Battle of the Bulge.

Most of the Ritchie Boys escaped, but Germans captured Philip Glaessner. He spent three months in Stalag 9A. The enemy soon located the headquarters of the MIS unit called the IPW (Interrogation of Prisoners of War). In a rage, the Nazis murdered them all. Because many of the Germans were passing themselves off as GIs, the Ritchie Boys were often stopped, and because of their foreign accents, had trouble explaining themselves. One was killed although he gave the correct password. It was assumed he was German because of his accent.

SSgt. Marcus’s most dangerous mission was when he was sent to gather intelligence from the Germans for an upcoming Allied offense. He had to don a German uniform and listen to the Germans in their nearby camp. This is something that the government told him never to disclose, as it is against the Geneva Convention, but after 60 years, he felt it was time to tell his story, which he had never shared before his interview for the Veterans History Project. When asked what he said when in the middle of the enemy encampment, he replied, “Not a damn thing!” The most-difficult part of his mission was returning to the American lines. He was stuck in a large shell hole for two days before he could safely return with his hard-won intelligence.

The OSS (Office of Strategic Services) is better known, eventually becoming the CIA, but few Americans know anything about the MIS and its training center in the Catoctin Mountains. Barney Kandel, Henry’s brother-in-law, told me I should interview Henry, and I am very glad I did. Henry Marcus died in 2006, three months after his interview. The Jewish immigrant Ritchie Boys willingly returned to Europe at the risk of their lives, gathering intelligence vital to the Allied victory. They deserve to be recognized as the heroes they all were.

If you are a Veteran or you know a Veteran who is willing to tell his or her story, you can contact the Frederick County Veterans History Project at priscillarall@gmail.com.

Henry Marcus and his wife, Rebecca.

Our Neighborhood Veterans

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by James Rada, Jr.

The Living History of Chuck Caldwell

Chuck Caldwell and his father, George, came to Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, on the last day of June 1938 for the 75th anniversary of the Battle of Gettysburg. The town decorated with banners, bunting, and lights, and was so crowded that the Caldwells couldn’t find a room to stay in and spent their first night sleeping in a chicken coop. Chuck, who was fourteen years old, didn’t mind because he had made it to Gettysburg.

Chuck and his father visited the Veterans’ Camp, which had been constructed on the north end of Gettysburg College and some adjacent private property. Union Veteran tents were located on lettered streets, from Biglerville Road to Mummasburg Road. Confederate Veteran tents lined numbered streets, from Mummasburg Road to the Reading Railroad. Only about 2,000 Veterans had made it to the reunion, although tens of thousands more people were in town.

“It was a thrill to be able to see both armies together at one time,” Chuck said. “It was just too much. I would have walked from home to be there.”

When Chuck met a Veteran, he would get the man to sign his autograph book and write down his hometown and unit. Chuck also had his picture taken with the Veteran. Chuck later added some flourishes, such as a Union or Confederate flag. When he was finished, he had nearly fifty autographs in the book.

It’s a priceless piece of history that he still cherishes.

 

A Talent For Art

Chuck was born in Princeton, Illinois, in 1923. Because his father was a minister, the Caldwells moved from town to town each time he took a new job. Although both Chuck’s father and grandfather were clergymen, Chuck didn’t want to follow in their footsteps. That was obvious from a young age.

“I was a pew climber in church,” Chuck said. “I just wouldn’t sit still.”

With George preaching at the front of the church, it fell to Ellen Caldwell to keep her ears open to the sermon and her eyes on young Chuck, as he would crawl over, under, and across the pews, disturbing nearby churchgoers.

His mother finally stopped trying to make her son sit down. Instead, she gave Chuck paper and a pencil and let him draw, hoping to focus his attention elsewhere.

It worked. Chuck became so focused on creating something on the sheet of paper that the only part of him moving during the service was his hand. He still wasn’t listening to the sermons, but at least he wasn’t disturbing everyone around him.

Chuck won his first art competition at the 1940 Wayne County Ohio Hobby Exposition, with a diorama of the railyard scene in Gone With the Wind. The display featured four hundred different clay figures, in addition to the ones he had drawn into the background scenery. The piece was so popular that a local department store displayed it in their window to help attract customers.

 

Becoming a Marine

Chuck wasn’t large enough to play football, but he was a huge fan of the game, especially the University of Alabama team. Because of this, Alabama was his only choice for college when he graduated high school in 1941. He even became the freshman football team manager.

“I got picked on by the players because I was small. It was all right, though, because I was part of the team. I was part of the Great Crimson Tide.”

Chuck worked hard and long hours. Unfortunately, most of that time was spent with the football team. As Chuck grew skeptical about his chances of passing his classes, he decided that he needed a plan in case he wouldn’t be returning to the university after the Christmas break.

On December 1, he enlisted in the U.S. Marine Corps. All that was left for him to do was to pass his final physical. He arranged it so that he wouldn’t be inducted until after Christmas.

On Sunday, December 7, Chuck was actually studying when his roommate rushed into the room shouting that the Japanese had bombed Pearl Harbor. Chuck was stunned. He knew from his roommate’s tone that something was wrong, but he wasn’t quite sure what.

“Where’s Pearl Harbor?” Chuck asked.

They had to dig out an atlas to locate Pearl Harbor.

As the realization settled on Chuck that the Japanese had attacked the United States and that the two countries were now at war, Chuck’s first thought was that he now had an excuse to do poorly on his exams. Then as he realized what he was thinking, he felt shame.

Chuck left school on December 15, without even taking his finals. It didn’t matter now. He headed home on the train to tell his parents that he was going to be a Marine.

The physical at the end of December was quick and basic. The minimum requirement for Marines at the time was that they weigh at least 120 pounds and stand at least five feet six inches tall. Chuck became a Marine by one pound and half an inch.

He made it through five weeks of basic training at Parris Island, South Carolina, and shipped out to New Zealand, knowing that he was going to be fighting in the war.

“I wasn’t scared,” Chuck said. “I was going to take part in real history.”

 

WWII

Chuck’s early months in the Pacific involved a lot of sailing, from one island to another, but then on November 2, 1942, he landed on Guadalcanal to reinforce a group of Marines who had been fighting the entrenched Japanese for weeks.

He spent the next five months on the island, fighting occasionally, and dodging bombs from almost daily air raids. Japanese bombers would fly from ships surrounding the island to drop their bombs. The goal was to destroy the runway on Henderson Field, in the hopes of keeping the Marines on the ground.

The raids kept the Marines’ nerves on edge, especially at night when they couldn’t see the planes coming.

Some mornings, they would find odd footprints from people wearing tabis in camp. These were Japanese tennis-shoe-type boots that separated the big toe from the rest of the toes. Chuck realized that the footprints meant that the Japanese had come through their camp unseen.

“It made me think that somebody was not guarding our camp too well,” Chuck said. “That’s when I started sleeping on my back with my K-bar next to me.”

On November 14, Chuck was awakened by nearby explosions, just after midnight. The Japanese ships had turned their large guns on the island and were shelling it.

“Coconut trees were splintered and falling everywhere.”

As the shelling continued, Chuck realized that it was too heavy to stay in the foxhole. He needed to get to the air raid shelter.

He started counting how long it was between the time a gun fired and when the shell hit. The time between firing from the ship and hitting the island was consistent.

When one shell hit nearby, Chuck took off running. Apparently, one of the shells came in quicker than expected. A coconut tree exploded near Chuck, sending wood splinters into his right knee, left chest, and wrist.

Chuck yelled as he hit the ground and rolled. He saw blood, but he wasn’t feeling pain at the moment. He couldn’t rest out in the open. He got to his feet and hobbled on. He would eventually receive a Purple Heart for this wound.

Chuck eventually got off Guadalcanal, but he was transferred to the Second Division Marines and sent to Tarawa a little more than a year after he had arrived at Guadalcanal. Although the fight there was shorter, it was just as fierce as Guadalcanal.

The Marines met heavy resistance as they landed at Tarawa. They reached the beaches, but could barely hold that position. Later waves of Marines took heavy casualties even before they reached the shore. Ammunition ran low, and the Marines had to scavenge ammunition belts from the dead.

The water was chest deep as Chuck started wading ashore. He held his rifle above his head. The Japanese peppered the water with bullets.

“We lost three hundred men in 500 yards,” Chuck said.

Chuck tried to ignore the men suddenly floating face down in the water around him. He dove underwater and swam, hoping to escape the bullets splashing around him.

His job at Tarawa was to offload the ships that made it to the dock with supplies. He and the other Marines carrying supplies were popular targets for the Japanese, because they were out in the open and couldn’t fire back.

Near the end of three days of fighting and almost no sleep, Chuck collapsed. It turns out that he had contracted malaria, most likely on Guadalcanal.

He returned home for a thirty-day leave in 1944, but after another bout of malaria, he wound up extending his time. While recovering in a Navy hospital, he met Jackie Murphy, a WAVE (Women Accepted for Volunteer Emergency Service) nurse, who would eventually marry him the following year.

 

Nuclear Bombs

After the war ended, Chuck earned his art degree and took a job in Oak Ridge, Tennessee, designing displays for the American Museum of Atomic Energy. He eventually transferred to a different department, doing technical drawings, which turned out to be very boring.

Anxious to escape his boredom, he volunteered to spend the summers of 1957 and 1958 in Nevada, setting up atomic bomb tests and collecting data after explosions. He saw dozens of bomb detonations.

Chuck was excited to see his first atomic bomb detonation. He expected an ear-shattering explosion.

“It wasn’t that noisy, but what happened afterwards is that this doughnut rolled out from the center and knocked you on your ass if you weren’t kneeling down,” recalled Chuck.

The doughnut was the concussive force of the explosion stirring up sand as it moved outward from ground zero.

 

On His Own

In 1968, with four children and a wife to support, Chuck decided to strike out on his own as an artist. He quickly found work, including selling miniatures to shops in Gettysburg. The Caldwells moved to Lake Dallas, Texas, in the early 1970s, where Chuck had the promise of steady work.

Things didn’t pan out quite as he had expected, and the Caldwells decided to move to Gettysburg in 1980. Chuck came first and got his small shop in the Old Gettysburg Village established. He had been visiting the town for most of his life and was excited to finally call it home.

Over the years, he has sculpted more than 15,000 miniature soldiers, musicians, and sports figures. This doesn’t even count the thousands of even smaller figures he crafted to fill the stadium models that he built.

Jackie died in 2007, after sixty-two years of marriage, and Chuck decided that it was time for him to retire. He still makes some miniatures from his home.

At age ninety-four, Chuck is still healthy and living on his own in Gettysburg. He still visits with friends and hosts holidays for his family, which has grown to include four grandchildren and two great-grandchildren.

“Our gun crew around the gun after firing all day.” — Chuck Caldwell

Our Neighborhood Veterans

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Pfc. James Aubrey Houck

On January 1, 1923, a New Year’s baby arrived in Johnsville, Maryland. The new baby boy was delivered at home on the farm his parents owned and operated. He was named James Aubrey, and his parents were Roy Walter and Mary (Blessing) Houck. His mother gave him the name Aubrey, because she had gone to a movie and that was the star’s name. She liked the movie so much that she said that was going to be her next boy’s name.

Aubrey grew up helping on the farm and playing with his three brothers and one sister. He really liked feeding and riding the horses, but he wasn’t fond of milking the cows. Of course, he made the best of it all, because he really wasn’t one to complain. The field work was done mostly by horse and hand back then. The most modern piece of machinery the family owned was a thrashing machine.

Aubrey had to cut corn with a sickle and shock it; later, he would come around with the horses and wagon and load it all by hand. The hay was also done mostly by hand, except for the sickle bar mower that was horse-drawn. The hay, after drying, was loaded on the wagons with long pitch forks. When the hay arrived at the barn, it was unloaded and put in the mows by a very large cradle fork that was tied to a large rope, run through a block and hooked to the horses by a singletree and lifted to the hay mow.

Aubrey grew up working and playing on the farm and going to school at Elmer Wolf School in Union Bridge. He was old enough to drive his father’s car by 1939, and his dad would lend him the car so that he and his brothers could go to the local fire hall dances. That is where he met Mary Jean Wantz. They started dating, fell in love, and got married. Shortly after their marriage, Aubrey was drafted into the Army Air Force to fight for our country until the war was over, or our President said he could come home.

Aubrey was only in the service for a short time when he got word that Jeanie (that’s what he called his wife) was pregnant with his child. He was trained as a mechanic and worked on airplanes. He was then sent to Germany and fought in the infantry. Aubrey kept in touch with Jeanie by writing her when he had the chance and reading her letters from home. His son was more than two years old when he stepped off the train and saw him for the very first time. Aubrey and Jeanie lived with her parents for a while after he returned from the war, and he went to work at the Fairchild Airplane Plant. Jeanie’s father worked as a mechanic for the Emmitsburg Railroad Company. One day Jeanie’s father went for a walk in the woods behind his house. He was gone longer than usual, so someone went to see what was taking him so long. He was found sitting on a rock where he had passed away from a heart attack. Shortly thereafter, Aubrey moved his family, including his mother-in-law, to Hunt Valley, Maryland, where he began working for Shawan Farms. Shawan Farms consisted of around three thousand acres, owned by the Miller family. Aubrey began driving a team of mules to do farm work. Aubrey and Jeanie had two more children while there.

The family eventually moved to Taneytown, Maryland, to the Bob Bankert farm and took over the farming for the rent of the house. Aubrey also got a job working at the Cambridge Rubber company making rubber boots. While living and working there, they had another child, bringing the total to four. The oldest son was six years old now, having been born in 1943, and was in first grade. He helped on the farm by putting the automatic milkers together, so that when his dad got off work, he could go right to the barn and start milking. Aubrey was very good at operating heavy equipment while in the army. So, when he heard of a job opening operating a horse drawn grader, and about the money they were paying to operate it, he jumped at the chance.

He moved the family back to Emmitsburg, where he would reside for the rest of his life. Aubrey was a member of VFW Post 6658 in Emmitsburg, American Legion Post 121 in Emmitsburg, and the Indian Lookout Conservation Club. Aubrey and Jeanie finished their family with another son, making the total of children four boys and one girl—the same as his mother and dad. He built a house along the Waynesboro Pike, just one mile outside of Emmitsburg. It seemed there was always someone there for him to work on their vehicle (trucks, cars, and even tractors) and he would not accept anything for it. He would always say, “Maybe I’ll need something some day and then you can pay me back,” but everyone knew he wouldn’t accept anything.

Aubrey had a mild heart attack and the doctors said he should think about slowing down. So, after operating heavy equipment for Hempt Bros. Road construction for over thirty years, he retired. He had another heart attack, and was recuperating to have surgery, when he suffered a massive heart attack. On April 15, 1980, he passed away at fifty-seven years of age, in the CCU of Gettysburg Hospital. His mother had passed in January and his sister in February of the same year.

I am sure by now you know that I am writing about my father (some of you called him Orby, some called him Orvy; he would smile, but he never corrected anyone). I can’t remember ever hearing him say anything bad about anyone. He was the hardest working, kindest, and most giving man I have ever met. I am sure if you had the good fortune of meeting him, you would be in complete agreement. You became his friend instantly upon meeting him.

I didn’t write much about his time in the service during WWII. He never spoke much about it, and when you mentioned something about it to him, he would just smile and change the subject. I do know that he was proud to fight for our freedom and was very patriotic, and that’s enough for me.

God Bless America, God Bless the American Veteran, and God Bless You.

James Aubrey Houck

Destined to Be Together

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Earl A. Rice, Jr. and Mary (Gene) Eugenia (Matthews) Rice were meant to be together. Some of the family members joke that their marriage was an arranged one. Earl and Gene first met in the backyard of the old Rouzer home in Thurmont, from which, the wall paper, now in the Diplomatic Reception Room of the White House, came.  Their mothers—Jessie (Rouzer) Matthews and Helen (Creager) Rice—grew up as next-door neighbors, and were visiting their childhood homes with their first born on the same weekend, sometime in 1924—when someone snapped the above picture. It must have been love at first sight, because they grew up separated by a mountain range and thirty-five miles. They would see each other on occasion during these kinds of weekend visits and dated during their teens and early twenties. They mostly double-dated—the only way Jessie found acceptable—and have many fond memories of those times. Earl sometimes got to borrow his mother’s Lincoln Zephyr, so they got to date in style. Mostly, he came in the Model A that he and his lifelong friend, Henry Steiger, owned together.

After their courtship, they were engaged, and Earl was off to fight in WWII, training to be a bombardier on the B-29, the most advanced warplane of its time. Gene had earlier graduated from St. Joseph’s College, with a major in home economics and a minor in physics. Her first and only teaching job was at Emmitsburg High School, teaching physics. One of the classes she taught was engine basics.

Not being able to stand the idea of being separated, Earl and Gene decided to marry in California, where Earl was training at Victorville Army Air Base. Gene quit her job and got ready to travel west. Francis Matthews brought his daughter by train on the 2,500 mile trip to bring these two together for their seventy-plus year journey. In keeping with the good customs and scarcities at the time of war, Earl shared a room with Francis the night before the wedding, which he often jokingly asks, “How many men have done that?”  They were married in San Bernardino, California, on February 24, 1945. Francis, after giving away his and Jessie’s most precious daughter, travelled alone back to Emmitsburg.

Earl and Gene lived for a time in California, then onto various assignments, including Pecos, Texas, where these East Coast kids had to contend with such things as spiders and West Texas dust storms.   Earl and his crew had to travel separately on a troop train, while the wives followed with one of his fellow officer’s mother as a chaperone, another sign of a different time. Gene made some lifelong friends, with many of the wives demonstrating the love that has endeared her to all those around her.  Only a short time after their marriage, Earl and his crew were assigned to their B-29 in the South Pacific Island of Tinian. They had to travel on a troop ship to meet up with their aircraft.  Gene headed back home.

At the war’s end, they settled outside Mercersburg, Pennsylvania, where Earl worked at his family’s goldfish farm. In 1952, he decided to take his dedicated wife and two boys, Earl A. Rice III (Gus) and Robert “Scott” Rice, to Emmitsburg to work for Gene’s father, Francis, whose business was struggling at the time. In 1954, they were blessed with a daughter, Mary Ann Rice Clever. Earl’s efforts helped to save the business, for which Francis was always grateful. They have lived in Emmitsburg for the rest of their marriage.

Their time in Emmitsburg during the 50s, 60s, and 70s were dedicated to raising their children, instilling great values in them, and to running a business. As is the case for many marriages, theirs sometimes took work. These efforts were done with their sense of humor and knowing each other to the core. As an example, one time, when the family wanted to do something that Earl wasn’t supporting, Gene said, “Wait until it’s your father’s idea.” She was right.

Their years together blessed them with three children, nine grandchildren, and five great-grandchildren. Those of us who have known them are likewise truly blessed.

Earl A. Rice, Jr. and Mary (Gene) Eugenia (Matthews) Rice first met in the backyard of the old Rouzer home in Thurmont…destiny bringing them together.

New Biography of Moves from the Civil War to WWII into the Age of Nuclear Energy

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Charles “Chuck” Caldwell has talked with Civil War soldiers, fought against the Japanese in WWII, and chased mushroom clouds after atomic bomb explosions. Now ninety-two years old, he had become part of the history that he loves so much.

His story is now the focus of a fascinating new biography by The Catoctin Banner’s contributing editor James Rada, Jr. Clay Soldiers: One Marine’s Story of War, Art, & Atomic Energy takes the reader on a journey from the Civil War to the age of the atom bomb and back again as it follows Caldwell’s adventures in life.

Chuck first came to Gettysburg, Pennsylvania in 1936 on a family vacation and then again in 1938 to attend the 75th anniversary of the Battle of Gettysburg as a fourteen-year-old boy. The 75th Anniversary of the Battle of Gettysburg was the last great reunion of Civil War Veterans. About 2,000 aged men gathered in the fields between the Peace Light Memorial and Gettysburg College. Caldwell was there to meet with as many as he could and ask them about the Civil War. To mark the occasion, he had an autograph book filled with pictures of him with the Civil War Veterans and their autographs, Civil War units, and hometowns. He even has the autographs of the men who turned out to be the last-surviving Union and Confederate Veterans.

Born in Princeton, Illinois, in 1923, Chuck spent most of his youth growing up in Orrville, Ohio. A Crimson Tide fan (still to this day), he was in his freshman year at the University of Alabama in 1941 when the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor. He joined the Marines and was sent to Parris Island for training in January 1942.

During WWII, he served in the Pacific Theater and fought at Guadalcanal, Tarawa, and Guam. He received a Purple Heart for wounds he received at Guadalcanal. That is also where he contracted malaria.

At the end of the war, he married Jacqueline Murphy, a WAVE (Women Accepted for Volunteer Emergency Service) he met in the hospital while recovering from a malaria attack.

After the war, Chuck went back to the University of Alabama on the G.I. Bill, and by the time he graduated in 1949, he had a job waiting for him in Oak Ridge, Tennessee. The city had only been recently loosening its secret status to allow the public more access to the place where the first atom bomb was developed.

Chuck made displays and drawings for the newly formed Museum of Atomic Energy. He worked there about a year, until he was recalled to service for the Korean War. He didn’t have to fight in this war. When he returned home, he decided to switch jobs. He took a job doing technical drawings for one of the plants in Oak Ridge.

He spent the summers of 1957 and 1958 at the Nevada Test Site, setting up sensors in fake towns in the desert. When an atom bomb was detonated, he was part of the teams that would go back into those towns to try and find any of the fissionable material that they had set up for the test.

“I bet I am one of the few people still around who has actually been under an atomic explosion,” Chuck said.

In the early 1960s, Chuck became a full-time artist, sculpting miniatures for a variety of clients, including Major League baseball teams, the Franklin Mint, and the Ringling Brothers Circus Museum. Some of his miniatures were even displayed in the Knoxville World’s Fair.

Caldwell’s story is a fascinating one about an ordinary man who has been a part of so many extraordinary events in history. Rada’s narrative, based mainly on interviews with Caldwell and a review of his personal papers, captures the story perfectly.

Midwest Book Review called Rada “a writer of considerable and deftly expressed storytelling talent.”

Rada is the author of six historical fiction novels and nine non-fiction history books, including No North, No South…: The Grand Reunion at the 50th Anniversary of the Battle of Gettysburg and Battlefield Angels: The Daughters of Charity Work as Civil War Nurses. He also won a first-place award for local column writing from the Maryland-Delaware-DC Press Association in May, 2016. The award was for his “Looking Back” column that runs monthly in the Cumberland Times-News.

Clay Soldiers retails for $19.95 and is available at local bookstores, online retailers, and his website at www.jamesrada.com.

Doughboy Statue to be Back by Mid-March

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James Rada, Jr.

DSCN0993Emmitsburg’s World War I Doughboy statue should be back on its pedestal by mid-March, according to Emmitsburg Mayor Donald Briggs.

The statue, which was erected in 1927 to honor the town’s WWI Veterans, was damaged on June 17, 2015, when a car hit the pedestal. The pedestal was damaged and the statue suffered minor damage. Repairs were slowed at first, because the historic nature of the statue required a specialized company to perform the repairs that was approved by the State of Maryland.

“It took two seconds to knock that thing out and six to seven months to get it back,” said Briggs.

The slow process irritated many residents, particularly Veterans, who did not understand why it was taking so long.

Their ire was further inflamed when some officials and residents began talking about replacing the plaque on the statue’s pedestal to integrate the names of the African-American Veterans into the list of Caucasian Veterans. The names are currently segregated.

The commissioners had heard from residents and Veterans previously about whether the current plaque should be replaced with a new one. The response to that idea was very negative, with even descendants of some of the African-American Veterans speaking out against it.

On February 1, 2016, Commissioner Glenn Blanchard presented some ideas—for discussion only—about adding a second plaque that explained why the names were segregated, a second plaque noting the statue’s rededication with some reference to the segregated names, or interpretative signage in town that explained the statue and Emmitsburg’s role in WWI.

“This is an opportunity to get involved with the centennial of WWI to explain the role of Emmitsburg in WWI,” Blanchard said.

Fred Wood, representing American Legion No. 121, and Gene Lingg, representing VFW No. 5568, both spoke at the meeting, saying they did not see a need for a second plaque. Both also pointed out that while African-American Veteran names would not be segregated today, the statue is historic and that was typical for the time. However, today, that segregation of names can be seen as a “badge of honor,” according to Lingg. Both he and Wood said that it shows that there were African-Americans in Emmitsburg who believed that the country was worth fighting for and did so despite the segregation of the time.

Both men were interested in hearing more about the interpretive signage, and asked that the Veterans groups be included in the discussions.

What is a “doughboy”?

Although the U.S. soldiers of WWI are the ones most commonly given the nickname “doughboy,” it has been used since the Mexican-American War (1846-1848) to identify soldiers. It was even used at the beginning of WWII. The name has also been applied to British troops.

The name “doughboy” itself has applied to fried dumplings that were an early version of doughnuts and a baker’s apprentice. It was also used interchangeably with “doughhead,” a colloquialism for stupidity.

The name first appeared in reference to soldiers during the Mexican-American War. No explanation was ever given as to why the nickname was used, but a number of theories have been advanced over the years. While some are feasible, none have proof to support them.

looking back

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by James Rada, Jr.

How a Goldfish Stand Became the Center of the Free World One Afternoon During WWII

In the midst of WWII, all two of the world’s most-powerful leaders could talk about one Sunday afternoon in 1942 was goldfish.

About eighty percent of the goldfish sold in the United States came from farms in Frederick County, Maryland, in the early decades of the 20th century. Many of those goldfish farms were near Thurmont.

One of those goldfish farming operations was Hunting Creek Fisheries. Frederick Tresselt started the business in 1923. Tresselt was a graduate of Cornell and had worked at the state trout hatchery in Hackettstown, New Jersey.

“In driving around the county with a friend in 1922, Dad was amazed to see all the goldfish ponds in the area,” Ernest Tresselt once said in an interview.

Other Frederick County goldfish farmers included George English, Frank Rice, Earl Rice, Maurice Albaugh, M.H. Hoke, Ross Firor, Sam Eaton, David and Adam Zentz, Walter Rice, Joseph Weller, Richard Kefauver, and Martin Kefauver.

“Every farm that could had fish ponds,” Ernest Tresselt said. “It was a cash crop for them.”

On weekends, Frederick Tresselt ran a retail store next to the main north-south road through the county. According to Ernest, the store had a large pond with a Hunting Creek Fisheries sign in the middle of it. Above the name was a large fantail goldfish painted in bright orange. The area was nicely landscaped with water lilies, shrubs, and bamboo. It was an attractive location and an eye-catching sign, so eye-catching that one Sunday afternoon in 1942, three large black cars pulled off the road and stopped.

A military man stepped out of the car, and Frederick recognized him as General George Marshall, President Franklin Roosevelt’s chief of staff.

“Mr. Churchill and Mr. Roosevelt and I are interested in seeing your operation here,” Marshall said, according to Ernest.

Frederick agreed, and the drivers pulled the cars in closer to the fish house, the storage building with concrete pools and wire vats.

“President Roosevelt looked in the door, but he didn’t come in, since he was handicapped and couldn’t get out of the car,” Ernest Tresselt wrote in his autobiography.

However, Winston Churchill, the prime minister of Great Britain, got out of the car and walked into the fish house with Frederick. They began talking about Tresselt’s unique crop. Churchill showed an interest in the golden orfe, which were fifteen to eighteen inches long. Churchill said he had even bigger ones in his pond in England. Tresselt told the prime minister that he, too, had larger fish in his ponds on Hunting Creek Fisheries.

As the cars with Roosevelt and Churchill departed, a Secret Service agent told Frederick not to tell anyone about the visit.

“This made no sense to Dad because there were already at least a hundred local people out there taking it all in. But Dad didn’t tell anybody, not even us kids,” Ernest said. He found out at school the next day, when everyone but Ernest seemed to know about the visit of the two world leaders.

Ernest said that National Geographic Magazine looked into the story when they did an article about goldfish in the 1970s. The researchers could find nothing that definitely said the world leaders had stopped at the goldfish stand, but they did acknowledge Churchill had been in the United States at the time and visiting the Presidential retreat at Shangri-La, which was located in the Catoctin Mountains near Thurmont.

President Franklin D. Roosevelt and British Prime Minister Winston Churchill are shown fishing at Shangri-La.

Photo Courtesy of the FDR Presidential Library and Museum