Just the way it is

A Stodghill Says So blog:

Every night he'd sit straight up on his bunk and scream for a minute or two, a piercing cry of horror at something he had seen or something he had done. The rest of us would get up and stand quietly watching as the sweat streamed down his face, knowing that even though his eyes were open he was unaware that we were near. No one ever touched him or called his name because we sensed that doing so would not be the right thing to do. Eventually he would lie back down and sleep silently the rest of the night. In the morning he seemed to have no recollection of the screaming. No one ever mentioned it to him.
He was a big man, six-three or -four, and like the rest of us in that summer of 1945 he had been assigned the job of military policeman protecting an ordnance company. We called him Lou, although I don't know if that was his real name, and he had come from the 82nd Airborne. All of us were from first-line infantry divisions - the 1st, 4th, 9th, 29th or the 82nd. Like Lou, we all had spent many months in combat so there was that special bond that only combat infantrymen feel for each other. I was 19, Lou about 25, the oldest among us 39. No age barrier existed because we all were old beyond our years.
Lou, a South Dakota farmer, never had much to say. He'd sit listening to the stories, nearly all humorous, about crazy events in the military or escapades in civilian life. He'd smile or laugh and when something was especially amusing he'd lightly punch the nearest man on the arm and say, "Aw, you guys!"
When he would tell a story it was in a faltering manner and more often than not he'd get a little lost along the way. We'd all laugh and tell him he was a big dumb ox and things like that. He'd be pleased because he knew he was just one of the boys, just part of a group of men who had built walls and would let no one but their own kind inside.
One day he was called into the commander's office and reprimanded. The commander had received a letter from Lou's mother saying he hadn't written home for two years. He was told to do so but he never did.
Lou was the first to be sent back to the States to be discharged. He didn't want to go. When his duffel bag was packed and everyone had gathered around, his eyes were moist as he stammered. "I . . I'm gonna miss you guys."
We knew that. We knew that never again would he feel the same kinship, the same closeness and acceptance. Family couldn't provide it because they would never be able to penetrate that wall in his mind. They'd never understand him the way we did because they hadn't been there. They'd utter the usual platitudes and cliches, tell him that everything would be great from then on and all the rest of the drivel civilians say to a man who had left some piece of his mind behind on the battlefield. No matter how they wished to get beyond that wall, it could never happen. That privilege was reserved for others who had seen the things he had seen and done the things he had done. When people say it's like some other experience, they are wrong. Nothing is comparable. That's just the way it was, just the way it is.

You are the second person I have read who can put the stink of war to paper. The other was Ernest (Ernie) Pyle...1900-1945

Thanks Dick. Memories like that can never be forgotten.

I was preparing to write a manuscript about one of my uncle's experiences as a Marine Sniper during the WWII Battle of Okinawa. I gathered every book I could find on the battle. Most of them were out of print. In the more recent books written by historian types I kept running across a reference to a certain book touted by the authors as perhaps the best book ever written on what WWII combat in the Pacific was like for a rifleman. The book is Eugene B. Sledge's With the Old Breed at Peleliu and Okinawa.

I read the book and was mesmerized at his descriptions of what was happening to and around him. It gave me insight to what my uncle was going through because Sedge's 5th Marines were going down the Island alongside my uncle's 7th Marines. If anyone wants to know as much as they can what combat is like without experiencing it this is the best book I've ever read.

Ken Burns said, "In all the literature on the Second World War, there is not a more honest, realistic, or moving memoir than Eugene Sledge's. This is the real deal, the real war: unvarnished, brutal, without a shred of sentimentality or false patriotism, a profound primer on what it actually was like to be in that war. It is a classic that will outlive all the armchair general's safe accounts of - not the 'good war' - but the worst war ever."

This is an excerpt of a Kansas City Star article dated June 17, 1945: (My uncle is Morris Dolan and he was badly wounded on June 18.) ". . . A five-day fight had reduced the companies of the 2nd Battalion of the 1st Marine Division (normally about 290 men each) to pitiful compliments of seventy-five, forty-six and forty-eight men.

Sergt. John D. Langly, Greenville, N.Ca and pvt. Max C. Lowe, Atlanta, Ga., said F Company's three most blood thirsty men on Kinishi were Cpl. John Doherty, St. Louis; Morris Dolan, Brimson, Mo., and pvt. Victor J. Dahle, Seattle, Washington.

Doherty, a former St. Louis policeman, killed eleven Japanese. He was so provoked that Dolan nosed him out with thirteen that he wanted to remain on the line for a day or two longer. . ."

My uncle was one of the gentlest men I've ever known and I know for certain he never slept through the night the rest of his life. Before he died I obtained seven hours of recordings of his story on Okinawa and four hours of his best buddy, Frank Moody's story.

Frank Moody was frustrated that people didn't know what combat was like and his last words when I was recording him are, "We was helping the Graves Registration Service people. We stacked up eighty dead guys and then they made us guard them until the next morning. So we had to sleep and eat right there with them. It was really horrible. I've always wished that civilian Americans would have spent a night like that with us. They would find out what war was really like and everyone should know what it's like! I wish they could have spent just one night like that and they would know what we went through!"

Phil Dolan

One of the best books I have ever read is Miracle at St. Anna, an historical novel about the blacks who fought in Italy.

And then there are the stories of civilians and others subjected to war.

Everyone who can should walk above the Omaha beaches, go to Verdun, read all they can, listen to veterans and others who were there.

My husband and I are going to do our duo on the Civil War for our town reenactment. We can't forget these things that happened. Hopefully by not forgetting they won't happen again, but that hasn't worked well, has it?

Carol

Phil, you might want to get a copy of Dick Stodghill's Normandy 1944, a Young Rifleman's War. I found it quite informative and not filled with gore or artificial heroics.

Maybe his nghtmares arose from his homelife.

Thanks Zada, but I was only reading war books about Okinawa as research to write a book re my uncle's experiences in that particular battle. Otherwise, I don't read war books. I just got a little carried away with my post.

I know exactly what combat is like but it was in a different war in a different country.

Alice, my uncle told me about his nightmare, He had the same one every night. It had nothing to do with his homelife.

Phil Dolan

Alice, I'm afraid you missed the point if you believe his homelife could have been responsible.

Phil,

Some of the best books on World War II in Asia are the two volumes of The Rising Sun by Toland, published in 1970.

They are written largely from the Japanese point of view. In the beginning is the question:

"Why did a country the size of California launch a suicidal attack on Pearl Harbor which involved it in a death struggle with an enemy ten times stronger?"

and. . .

"Was war between the two nations, which today find so much in common, inevitable and essential?"

"Did the winning of that war perpetuate American involvement in Asian affairs?"

He speaks of the books as a factual "saga of people caught up in the flood of the most overwhelming war of mankind, told as it happened—muddled, ennobling, disgraceful, frustrating, full of contradiction and paradox."

And I have so much respect for those who have fought in any war. I agree with Dick and Don. I cannot really know, but I sure want to get as close as possible when I write about war.

Carol

Dick Stodghill wrote:

Alice, I'm afraid you missed the point if you believe his homelife could have been responsible.

Dick,

I know war is unspeakable--I began to wonder when he didn't want to go home--also refused to write home.

I am sorry I said it.

Which brings up a question. What about those at home? What can they do to support those away from home, how can they welcome them on their return, how can they help the soldier heal?

Carol

Carol,

It depends on those who are home and those coming home.

In the case of my brother, there could have been no happier folks on earth to welcome him than our family.

His fiance married him even though he had written her not one letter in an entire year.


Counseling would have been nice before his discharge--I hope that has changed.

I am very glad my Navy doctor son-in-law is going into psychiatry. I think he is needed and will do well. It means he'll spend the next eight years in the Navy but that is all right and my daughter does not mind. He will probably stay in Virginia, but Peggy said they were getting homesick and were looking at the possibility of Great Lakes Naval base. Probably a VA center would be good as well.

The Red Cross is also getting involved with helping returning veterans and families. Oh, I wish I were a bit healthier. There are people willing to help and who care.

Carol

There is a reason they say war is hell. Perhaps it is because it is.

Carol Troestler wrote:

Phil,

"Why did a country the size of California launch a suicidal attack on Pearl Harbor which involved it in a death struggle with an enemy ten times stronger?"

l

Carol, Japan was not overawed by the prospects of a war with America because of two reasons. The first; because they followed the "Mahon" doctrine of naval warfare. The doctrine was published by a 19th century American naval tactician (named Mahon) that espoused the theory that a Pacific war would be decided by one all out naval battle. Thus, a long and drawn out war was not planned for by Japanese leaders, so sure were they that Mahon was right. So, industrial capacity and population didnt come into thier planning. They wanted a short and brutal all out war, one big battle, and a mop up deal. They almost got it that way too.

Japanese leaders figured that if they reduced the US Navy at Pearl Harbor, then they would have evened up the numbers of ships available to the USN with units brought over from the Atlantic Fleet to get that one chance at winning a Mahonistic style deciding victory. They were trying for it at Midway, but it didnt work out for them.

The second thing was that they had attacked Russia in 1904 with another sneak attack, fought a brief but devastating war against the Russians with a sneak attack against the Russian Pacific fleet and regrouped and waited for the Russians to send over thier Baltic fleet. This second Russian fleet sailed around the world to met the Japanese. The Japanese patiently waited for them and beat the Tsars Baltic Fleet at Tshumina 1905 in a large, all out Mahonistic battle and won the war, just as the Mahon doctrine said that they could. Russia is a lot bigger and more populous than even America, and they had pulled that one off with the Mahon doctrine, so why not America too?

They even built some super heavy (bigger than giant) battleships "Yamato" and "Musashi" with just this battle in mind. They held them back for most of the war, waiting for the "big one".

Scarry is the fact that if not for a brokedown seaplane aboard the cruiser Tome, the Japanese would have spotted our fleet first at Midway, and they would have won with the Mahon doctrine again. But, the cruiser was 15 mins late launching that seaplane, ( which was to patrol the area where our flattops were) and so history hung on a mighty small pivot before it swung our way back in 1942. Kind of makes us realize that victory in WWII was by no means a mathematical guarrantee.

If that one seaplane from the cruiser Tome would have flown on schedule, found our fleet before were found them, then the Japanese would have launched an overwhelming air attack on our ships, burned or sunk them before we even knew where they were, and the rest of the Pacific war would have been a mop up for them, ala the Mahon doctrine. Next stop for the IJN...Hawaii and California, with no serious opposition. Scarry, isnt it?

Richard,

I have great respect for your historical knowledge. For some reason I am fascinated by wars and have seen many instances where a small incident had a large consequence.

Carol

Carol Troestler wrote:

Which brings up a question. What about those at home? What can they do to support those away from home, how can they welcome them on their return, how can they help the soldier heal?

Carol

I believe the answer to your question would depend to a large extent upon which war you are discussing and what job any individual had in that war.
Today for the most part they live in base camps and many keep in close contact with people at home because that is possible.
During World War II it was not. Mail was the only contact and it often arrived weeks and sometimes months after it was written. Men in actual combat units lived under unimaginable conditions without a single break. Many men who managed to survive for a considerable period lost any really feeling of reality toward home and life before the war. For the youngest of them it was especially easy to forget and no longer care. I frequently threw letters away without even opening them. What difference did it make to me what people living the good life were doing? My family consisted of the men with me. No one else mattered. The past meant nothing, the future, if there was one, meant nothing. Some older men with children retained deep feeling for those they had left behind. Others did not.
For men in non-combat units it was far different. They were changed little, if at all, by the war.
For me it took 30 years to begin to actually get over the effects of the war. No one who met me could have guessed that, however. I went through two marriages and no one inspired any real feelings in me, including family members from pre-war days. I could take them or leave them. Friends from the war, however, were of great importance to me and for them I had feelings of deep affection.
Since the mid 1970s I have, with the help of Jackie, become more civilized. I still have almost no feeling for family members, however, and basically care nothing about human life. A strange twist is that small and basically helpless animals inspire deep and tender feelings. It may be because they, too, have a tough time surviving.
Today, 65 years after entering combat, I still have a high wall in my mind that prevents anyone or anything from becoming too close to me. I lost too many dear friends on various battlefields to allow it. As the war went on I didn't want to even know the names of new replacements and kept away from them even though they were in great need of support. In that respect I've never changed and only Jackie has been able to partially penetrate the wall in my mind. I enjoy kidding around with people, even care about them, including many on this board, and yet I always expect the worst to happen and when it does, that wall prevents it from affecting me.
Read the last few pages of All Quiet on the Western Front for a good description of how a lengthy period of time in combat affected men in both World Wars. I get by, enjoy doing the things I do, but little has really mattered during the past 64 years. Had I never been in infantry combat I would have been an entirely different person. I'm not sorry, though, that the war changed me as it did. I'm content the way I am. Even so it was a lousy war.

Many fighting men through out the 20th century, and maybe before that, have found it hard to write home. How does someone avoid telling of the horror they have seen, it's just easier not to put pen to paper.

Dick,

My husband never went to war, only deployments of a few months, but his feelings towards his fellow squadron members are strong and they get together often. I spent a day with a group of emotional Marines, some who had been in Vietnam and also had fellow pilots die in peacetime.

I had to smile at your deep feelings for small animals.

Thanks Dick.

Carol

Whew! I am so glad that I am small and insignificant and hamster-like--you will care about me.

On a serious note, thank you for saying that--it opens the windows on my brother and his situaton.

Maybe there is nothing that could have helped him.
We all tried and did not succeed.

I know you have explained very well why.