VE Day just passed, and it’s been seventy-five years since very early morning on May 7, 1945 when General Alfred Jodl, representing the German government, surrendered formally at the Allies HQ in Reims, France. A separate treaty was signed with the Soviet Union in Berlin the next day. The war continued for a few bloody months in the Pacific until the Japanese Emperor signed a document of surrender September 2, 1945. That followed the official announcement on August 15, about a week after an Atomic bomb was dropped on two Japanese cities.
The end of the war in Europe was celebrated widely, and most of the people my generation (I just turned seventy-eight) were very small children in during the war. Many more were born within a few years of the war’s end when the US military returned home.
In the family history of both my wife and myself, our fathers’ experiences reflect the “all in” spirit of the United States during WW 2. My wife’s dad was born in 1921. He had enlisted right after high school, prior to the war, was honorably discharged home to southern West Virginia, and then was recalled when the US went to war in Europe. Joe L. Simmons was a West Virginia kid, with only a high school education, and no real job skills yet, other than a willingness to work hard and learn. He became part of an Air Force B-17 crew and flew thirty missions over Europe, each one into the air space over some part of Germany. He was a waist gunner for twenty-nine of these and the tail gunner for his final mission. He and his crew, based in England, flew their missions starting on October 22, 1944 and completed the final one on February 22, 1945. He kept a handwritten log of every mission, with the time-in-air, location of the target, approximate results of their bombing, and description of resistance including flak, anti-aircraft fire from the ground, and German fighter aircraft sent up to intercept them. He also described the US and allied fighter escorts (mainly P-51s but also some P-47s) that accompanied the B-17 squadrons.
His plane suffered no damage from any German fighters, but was hit numerous times with flak and probably some anti-aircraft fire, and had to lag the squadron several times on the way back to England. The plane landed missing one engine at least once. He described seeing several B-17s hit and exploding during their missions. Their targets included tank works, air fields, ordinance depots, gun installations, a coke refinery, railroad junctions, the Herman Goering steelworks, a tank factory, and marshalling yards. They also supported ground troops once; the target was described as “supporting troops over a battlefield.”
Mr. Simmons was a quiet man. He never brought up the war when I was around, and I was never able to discuss his experiences with him. His “log” of the flights was turned over to military authorities before he deactivated and came home, and was returned to his family many years later when such documents were declassified. I saw him angry only once, and that was at me. I deserved it. He was a huge man, with hands that totally dwarfed mine. He had a solid career, working over thirty years at a Celanese plant in nearby Virginia, working on shifts that rotated constantly, and he progressed up from introductory levels to become a widely respected foreman.
My father was active in the war effort in a different way. Dad was born in 1908. He started college and was good with numbers. He never graduated because the family lost their SW Virginia farm in the depression of 1928-30 and he was forced to withdraw from VPI, now called Virginia Tech. Later, he worked as a loan officer for the GMAC finance arm of General Motors. When the United States entered the war, GM stopped nearly all consumer products such as cars and trucks, as well as household appliances, and converted all factories to war vehicles and armament items. Dad was an older man, in his early-to-mid thirties, with one child (me) at the time. He had married a bit later and was around 33 when I was born in 1942. He was transferred from his base in Huntington, WV to Dayton, OH some time in 1943 and as far as I can tell, became the production control manager for a plant there that had been converted from making refrigerators to fifty-caliber machine guns. My sister was born in Dayton in 1945. After the war, GM reverted back to consumer items and cars and trucks, and Dad was transferred back to Huntington. At some time, he left GM with a plan to buy out the business at one of the GM dealers he had gotten to know in Paintsville, KY. That did not work out and (after one more stop in Galax, VA) we ended up in Princeton, WV where Dad ended his career as sales manager at a small Buick-Oldsmobile dealership.
My wife’s uncle, the oldest sibling on her mother’s side, served in the Navy and was lost when his ship was torpedoed by Japanese submarines in the Pacific. He survived the sinking, but was in very cold water for a long time before being spotted and picked up by another US naval ship. The exposure and chilling for an extended length of time turned out to be fatal, as he contracted neural complications and died young.
Another family story comes from a friend of mine in high school, a person of my own grade level and so about the same age. His/her (aha, no clues!) dad must have been somewhat older than the average recruit, and he volunteered at the age of 24 or 25. His wife was pregnant with my friend, so that was a huge decision. He had completed only an eighth grade education, but took a test to become a pilot and train at Texas A&M. He passed the test, but things were so dire in Europe that Uncle Sam shipped all the young men in school there over to France with the US Army. He did well with guns and marksmanship, was considered “older and wiser” by the younger men, and was given a battlefield (brevet) commission promotion to Sergeant. He was in the middle of action and was awarded two Purple Hearts, the second one from a serious leg wound that became infected with gangrene. His leg could not be saved, but he survived. His life itself would have been lost were it not for the new wonder drug of penicillin! Apparently many of his men commented on his heroism to his superiors and his family. Hearing the stories, it’s amazing that he survived.
These short stories are vignettes, among the many from the war. That generation … the men and women both … now are gone… the Greatest Generation. Let’s keep their memories so they are not forgotten.
Comments are welcome and will be published, pro and con without the writer's identity. Make your comments below, or send to me via email at n3bb@mindspring.com
Enjoy life; it's the only one we will get.
J.K. (Jim) George
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