Soldiers – Chris Gibbons: Soldiers, Space, and Stories of Life

The Giants of June 6, 1944

By Chris Gibbons

(Excerpt from his book, Soldiers, Space, and Stories of Life. This story was originally published in the June 4, 2004, Philadelphia Daily News)

“They were chosen by fate and circumstance to represent us on the beaches that day.” (Filmmaker and historian Charles Guggenheim)

On June 5, 1944, Dwight Eisenhower casually walked among the young paratroopers of the 101^st Airborne Division who were preparing themselves for the D-Day invasion. He had just given the order for the invasion to commence early the next morning and the soldiers, with their blackened faces, rifles, and assorted equipment, momentarily stopped their preparations to talk to the General. The men were understandably apprehensive, and Ike tried to calm their fears. He told them not to worry, and that he had confidence in them. “We ain’t worried, General,” a young sergeant said. “It’s the Germans that ought to be worrying now.”

Eisenhower watched all of the big C-47 transport planes carrying the paratroopers take off that night. He often affectionately referred to the soldiers as “my boys”, and it was feared that the 101^st would suffer 70 percent casualties. As the last plane left the runway, the General had tears in his eyes.

Although the Allies had meticulously planned every detail of the operation, the success of the invasion was by no means a given. Eisenhower and the other Allied generals knew that all of the planning in the world couldn’t compensate for the courage and improvisation necessary for the invasion to succeed. Ultimately, it would all come down to the performance of the various combat units and their soldiers that would decide the outcome.

The individual acts of bravery on that day were astonishing. Despite witnessing several soldiers die in failed attempts to cut through barbed wire that had his platoon trapped on the beach, Sergeant Philip Streczyk of the 16th RCT ran through a barrage of German machine-gun fire to cut the wire, and then waved the rest of his troops through. Paratrooper Sgt. John Ray landed in the middle of a Ste.-Mere-Eglise town-square full of alarmed German soldiers. Shot in the stomach and dying, Ray still managed to shoot a German soldier who was about to kill two other American paratroopers. Technician John Pinder, shot twice and terribly weakened by loss of blood, continually waded back into the surf to retrieve vital communication equipment. While struggling back out of the water, Pinder was shot for a third time and killed, but not before he had retrieved a workable radio.

Various allied combat units also performed brilliantly that day. The textbook capture of the critical Orne River Bridge by British paratroopers is still marveled at to this day by military strategists. The destruction of the German gun batteries at Brecourt Manor by the outnumbered 101^st Division’s Easy Company was immortalized in the HBO miniseries, “Band of Brothers.” And the sacrifice of that day was epitomized by the 29^th Division at Omaha Beach. Of the 35 soldiers in the 29th from little Bedford, VA, 19 died in the first 15 minutes and two more died later that day. Fittingly, Bedford is the site of the National D-Day Memorial.

These are just a few of the heroic individuals and military units that distinguished themselves that day. To list them all would surely require every page of this newspaper.

The grave of Charles “Dunnie” Keenan, Roman Catholic High School – Class of 1943, at the Normandy-American Cemetery

It’s so easy to forget and take for granted what happened on the Normandy coast 80 years ago. Had the invasion failed, the resulting consequences to civilization would have been appalling. Accordingly, most historians regard D-Day as the most important day of the 20^th century. However, its true meaning to each subsequent generation of Americans has been gradually diminished by the passage of time. Sadly, this 80th anniversary reveals the steadily thinning ranks of “Eisenhower’s boys.” So, if you happen to know a veteran of the D-Day invasion, take a moment while you have the opportunity to thank them for what they did. They represented us on the beaches that day, and all of us should feel privileged to have known them and lived among them. We are obligated to preserve and honor their legacy for all future generations to come.

AFTERWORD

The inspiration for this D-Day essay was Steven Spielberg’s epic war film, “Saving Private Ryan”, and I wrote it shortly after seeing the movie for a second time on HBO. It is still the most intense experience I’ve ever had while watching a movie in a theater. I was so moved by the film that shortly after seeing it for the first time, I wrote a letter to the Philadelphia Daily News that was published in the August 8, 1998 edition. Parts of the letter follow, and it still sums up my feelings quite well: “I was unprepared for the intense and realistic depiction of the Normandy invasion in “Saving Private Ryan.” Throughout the first 25 minutes of the movie, my fists were clenched so tightly that my palms still have fingernail impressions. How, I thought, could those American soldiers face such a murderous barrage of machine-gun and mortar fire and continue to assault that beach? What was it that kept them moving forward? Fighting in a war thousands of miles from home, a generation of Americans was tasked with helping to liberate Nazi-occupied Europe. A madman, whose crimes against humanity were not yet fully known, had to be stopped. How well these men fought would determine our country’s fate. I wondered if they realized that that they were not only fighting for those alive then, but also for those yet to be born? I shudder to think of what might have been if Hitler had pushed the Allies back into the sea that day and the war had been delayed long enough for the Nazis to develop atomic weapons before the United States did. Most of us would not be here today.”

No Better Place to Die: Lost Among The Many Legends of D-Day – The Battle for the Bridge at La Fiere – by Chris Gibbons

(Originally published in the Philadelphia Inquirer)

The little bridge sits in a quiet, bucolic area of western France, about 2 miles west of the town of Ste. Mere-Eglise. It spans the scenic Merderet River, and thousands of tourists flock to the area every year because of its rich history and beautiful scenery. Right next to the bridge is the charming “a la Bataille de La Fiere Bed and Breakfast”, which was built in 1180 and originally used as a grain mill by Viking settlers. For those looking for a quiet vacation in a beautiful, historic setting, this area is the perfect destination. But when the tourists are told the story of what happened on this little bridge over 70 years ago, and how significant that event was in WW II history, many are stunned. Those from the U.S. will often beam with pride or are moved to tears.

Although it is described by renowned military historian S.L.A. Marshall as “the bloodiest small unit struggle in the history of American arms”, the heroic saga of the battle for the bridge at La Fiere from June 6 to June 9 in 1944 has now become lost among the numerous legendary stories of D-Day. But it was at this bridge that a small group of lightly armed U.S. 82^nd Airborne paratroopers waged one of fiercest fights in the annals of U.S. military history, and in doing so, likely saved the lives of thousands of U.S. soldiers who landed at Utah beach on D-Day. The bridge was one of only two in the Utah beach landing area that would enable German armor to cross the river. If the Germans could get their tanks and infantry to the beach, they could wipe out the U.S. forces on Utah beach. The 82^nd was given the difficult task of seizing and holding the bridge.

Led by Lieutenant John Dolan, the paratroopers assaulted and eventually took control of the bridge in the late morning hours of D-Day. They set mines and pulled a disabled truck onto the bridge to help block the inevitable German counterattacks. The fields surrounding the causeway (raised road) that led to the bridge had been flooded by the Germans prior to the invasion, and the men could see the parachutes and backpacks of dozens of drowned paratroopers floating in the water. The sight likely served as a reminder to them of what was at stake, stiffening their resolve.

The Germans still controlled the high ground of the western causeway leading to the bridge, and late in the afternoon of June 6, they sent three tanks, followed by infantry, rumbling across in their first attempt to seize it. Private Lenold Peterson stood with his bazooka, bravely exposing himself to the enemy machine gun fire. He took out the two lead tanks, and forced the third to retreat back with the German infantry.

The following morning, the Germans launched an even heavier assault against the paratroopers. The brutal, close-quarters combat that followed reduced Dolan’s force to only 14 men, but the paratroopers held. The fighting was so bloody, that the Germans asked for a truce so that they could retrieve their wounded. When Dolan’s men asked if they should fall back, he told them that they were staying. “I don’t know a better place to die”, he said, and his words lifted the morale of the decimated platoon.

On June 8, Dolan’s men were finally reinforced by the 507^th Paratroop Infantry Regiment. U.S. tanks from the 4^th Infantry Division had also arrived but couldn’t cross the bridge until the Germans had been cleared from the western end. The paratroopers attacked across the bridge and down the causeway in a suicidal frontal assault. The first wave of men was cut down, and those following behind dropped to the ground, paralyzed with fear. Lieutenant Bruce Hooker, shot in both legs, turned to his men as he lay on the ground and tried to urge them on. “Come on…get up!”, he shouted. As the dead and wounded piled up, the chaos on the bridge mounted.

Just when the battle seemed lost, a group of some 90 men led by Captain R.D. Rae charged across the bridge. Again, many were cut down, but this time, many more kept moving forward. They ran down the causeway and started taking out the enemy positions. The tank commanders then seized the opportunity and streamed across the bridge, destroying the remaining German opposition. The Americans had finally secured the bridge, but at a terrible cost: 60 paratroopers were dead and 529 wounded.

Tom Hanks is Executive Producer for a film project titled “No Better Place to Die”. It is being written and directed by actor and former Marine, Dale Dye. Although the film project has faced a number of hurdles, Dye still hopes that it will soon resume full production and finally reveal to the general public the gallant story of the U.S. paratroopers at the La Fiere Bridge.

Take a moment today to remember the American paratroopers who courageously decided during a pivotal battle that began on D-Day that there was no better place to die than the bridge at La Fiere.

Roman Catholic High School: Veterans Day Remembrance – 2022

Edward A. Duff – Class of 1903

Edward A. Duff hailed from St. Francis Xavier parish and graduated from Roman in 1903.

After graduating from Roman, he was ordained a priest and later served in Europe as a Naval Chaplain during World War I aboard the USS Nevada. He was also aboard the U.S.S. Olympia during its famous voyage from France to the United States in 1921 to deliver the body of the Unknown Soldier. Duff was also decorated in 1920 by the king of Italy with the Chevalier of the Crown of Italy for his service aboard the Italian battleship Puglia in the Adriatic, and was promoted to captain in 1925. In 1937 he was named Chief of the Navy Chaplain Corps, the first Catholic to hold that position. His lectures on the Unknown Soldier were estimated to have been heard by over 300,000 people. Unfortunately, a heart ailment forced his early retirement and he died in Philadelphia at the age of 58 in 1943.

John R. Corkery – Class of 1936

John R. Corkery hailed from St. Anne’s parish and following graduation from Roman in 1936, he served in the U.S. Army during World War 2.

During the Battle of Rapido River in 1944, Corkery courageously battled under furious artillery, mortar, and machine gun fire for more than 10 hours, to establish position so he could maintain constant communications with his battalion. Over 1,300 U.S. soldiers would lose their lives in the battle with more than 600 captured. Corkery was later wounded in Italy. For his actions in battle he was awarded 2 Bronze Stars, an Oak Leaf Cluster, and a Purple Heart.

Following the war, Corkery would go on to raise a family of 11 children with a highly successful career with the VA. He also established himself as a great CYO basketball coach with St. Anne Parish in Port Richmond, and was founder of what became the Port Richmond Boys Club by starting their football program. He died at the young age of 52, and is beloved by a generation of boys in the neighborhood who to this day speak with love and reverence for him.

Bernard Donahue – Class of 1941

Bernard Donahue grew up on Park Avenue in North Philadelphia, hailing from St. Malachy parish. He graduated from Roman in 1941.

After high school, Bernard worked at John Wanamaker’s before enlisting in the Army as an Aviation Cadet. Ultimately, he earned his wings as a B-17 pilot and flew 26 combat missions over Germany and Austria. Among other honors, then 1st Lieutenant Donahue was awarded the Distinguish Flying Cross for returning his crippled bomber from a raid over Berlin.

In 1944, he married Rosemary Kirwan, a Hallahan graduate. He returned to Rosemary, Philadelphia and Wanamaker’s after the war. Bernard and Rosemary had 7 children, including an Air Force Colonel and a Navy Chief Petty Officer. Bernard later became vice president of a men’s’ clothing retailer here in Philadelphia. He died at age 54 from complications from diabetes. He was buried with full military honors in Holy Cross Cemetery in Yeadon.

Francis J. E. Ampthor – Class of 1942

Francis Ampthor hailed from St. Mary of the Assumption parish in Manayunk and while at Roman he was a member of 1942 city championship crew team, as well as the school band and Cahillite staff. He attended St. Joseph’s College for one year, then enlisted in the U.S. Navy during World War 2.

He served on the battleship U.S.S. Missouri in the Gunnery Department, witnessing the surrender of Japan in Tokyo Bay on September 2, 1945. He received the Victory Medal, the American Theater Ribbon and the Asiatic-Pacific Theater Ribbon with 2 Stars. After the war, he was part of the U.S.S. Missouri’s goodwill tour of the Mediterranean Sea region.

Following the war Ampthor was a chemical engineer at Rohm & Haas for nearly 44 years, helping farmers to formulate herbicides and pesticides, and later helping to develop fiberglass panels for Ford and Chevrolet cars. For many years, he taught Organic Chemistry Lab at night at St. Joseph’s University, was active in Cub Scouts and Boy Scouts, and in retirement drove the Roxborough Hospital patient shuttle and volunteered at St. Bridget’s Church in East Falls. He died in 1993.

Charles Fuller – Class of 1956

Charles Fuller hailed from North Philadelphia and graduated from Roman in 1956. Following Roman, he then studied for two years at Villanova University.

Fuller joined the U.S. Army in 1959 and served for 3 years overseas in Japan and South Korea.

He later graduated from LaSalle University and was a co-founder of the Afro-American Arts Theater in Philadelphia. Fuller became a noted playwright and in 1982 he won the Pulitzer Prize for drama for “A Soldier’s Play” that centered on the murder of a Black Army sergeant and the search for the culprit. The play would later make it to Broadway and win two Tony Awards. The movie version received three Oscar nominations. He was a member of the Writers Guild of America and wrote numerous short fiction and screenplays, as well as worked as a movie producer.

In 2015, Fuller was named one of Roman Catholic High School’s 125 Men of Distinction. He died on October 3, 2022.

Al Zimmerman – Class of 1965

Al Zimmerman graduated from Roman in 1965, hailing from St. Bridget’s parish. Following graduation, he joined the U.S. Army in 1966 and was selected to attend Officer Candidate School.

During the Vietnam War, Zimmerman served as a Helicopter Pilot, Platoon Leader, and Operations Officer with the 1^st Air Cavalry Division. In 1969, during an operation to rescue wounded U.S. soldiers, Zimmerman’s Cobra helicopter was hit by enemy fire and forced down. He was later picked up by another helicopter crew, where Zimmerman manned a gun and placed suppressive fire on the enemy and called in air strikes against the enemy positions. The action resulted in the decimation of a large enemy unit, and Zimmerman was awarded the Silver Star for his actions. His other awards include: four awards of the Distinguished Flying Cross for heroism, the Bronze Star, the Purple Heart, and 27 Air Medals. Zimmerman is believed to be one of the most decorated alumni in Roman’s history and he was recently inducted into the U.S. Army Ranger Hall of Fame.

Edward Seeburger – Class of 1940

Edward Seeburger was born in Philadelphia and was a member of Our Lady of Mercy parish. He graduated from Roman in 1940. Following graduation, he immediately enlisted in the Marines and fought in the Pacific during World War II.

Seeburger also served as a First Lieutenant in the 1^st Marine Division during the Korean War. During the Battle of the Chosin Reservoir, in temperatures that plummeted to minus 20 degrees, Seeburger was leading the remains of his Unit as they desperately fought their way south. Of the 220 Marines originally in his Company, only about 20 were still fit to fight. Out of seven officers, only Seeburger remained. His unit was ambushed by the enemy and, although bleeding profusely from a bullet wound in his leg, Seeburger was able to direct his tank gunners as to where to fire at the enemy positions which wiped out the enemy and enabled his convoy to escape. For his selfless act of courage during the battle, Seeburger was awarded the prestigious Navy Cross, just one grade below the Congressional Medal of Honor.

Following the war, Seeburger retired from the Marines and returned to Philadelphia, where he and his wife, Helen, raised a daughter, Dolores. Seeburger worked as a park police officer and then as an engraver for 32 years at Becks Engraving Co. He died in 2007 at the age of 85.

Adrift in a Sea of Dissention by Chris Gibbons

When I arrived at Fernwood Cemetery in Lansdowne, Pennsylvania in the early afternoon of January 6^th, 2021, it was colder than I had anticipated, with a biting wind, and, although I had a cemetery map with the specific Section and Grave number that I sought, I knew from previous searches of old gravesites that having this information didn’t always guarantee success.

Despite the cold, I was content to be there that day. Historic research has become a rewarding activity for me over the last several years, and I knew that the protests planned for that day in Washington D.C. would be another gloomy reminder of our sharp national divide, so I purposely chose that day to revive my dormant research interests in the hopes that it would not only serve as a welcome diversion, but also lift my spirits a bit. For the grave that I sought to find was my great-great grandfather’s, a former Philadelphia police officer. I’d just recently discovered that the New Jersey State Archives had mistaken him for a Marlboro, N.J. man with the same name buried in a New Jersey cemetery, and I was eager to photograph his gravestone.

Although a cemetery employee had confirmed the grave’s location over the phone prior to my visit, I didn’t have any success finding it. Unfortunately, the cemetery office was closed that day, so I decided to head back home, but vowed to return and resume my search with the help of the cemetery personnel.

____________________

As dawn broke on April 9^th, 1865 at Appomattox Courthouse in Virginia, Major General George A. Custer maneuvered his 3^rd Division troops on a ridge overlooking the Confederate positions and prepared to attack Confederate General Robert E. Lee’s once vaunted, but now badly battered, Army of Northern Virginia. Among the Cavalry units in Custer’s 1^st Brigade was the 3rd New Jersey Cavalry, commanded by Colonel Alexander C. M. Pennington. Just the night before, the 3rd New Jersey, along with other cavalry units of the 1st Brigade, attacked the Confederate cavalry positioned in the woods a half-mile from Appomattox Station. In the fierce hand-to-hand fighting that followed, Custer’s victorious troops seized 24 cannon, 5 battle flags, 200 wagons, and taken 1,000 prisoners.

A murmur soon arose among the Union soldiers as a Confederate staff officer, Major Robert Sims, under escort by a Union officer, approached Custer while carrying a white towel on a pole. Sims told Custer that General Lee requested a suspension of hostilities. As chronicled in Custer by Jeffry D. Wert, Custer “replied that he was not commander on the field and could not halt the attack unless Lee announced an unconditional surrender. Turning to Chief of Staff Edward Whitaker, Custer directed the lieutenant colonel to return with Sims to the enemy lines and to wait for a response.”

A few hours later, at the home of Wilmer McLean, Lee surrendered his army to Union General Ulysses S. Grant. A poignant moment occurred as the terms of the surrender were being finalized. General Grant took the opportunity to introduce Lee to the Union officers in attendance. One of them was Lieutenant Colonel Ely S. Parker, a Seneca Indian who served as adjutant and secretary to Grant. As recollected by Lt. Col. Parker in The Life of General Ely S. Parker: Last Grand Sachem of the Iroquois and General Grant’s Military Secretary, by Arthur C. Parker, “Lee stared at me for a moment…he extended his hand and said, ‘I am glad to see one real American here.’ I shook his hand and said, ‘We are all Americans.’”

As word of the surrender spread among the Union troops, jubilant cries erupted along their lines. In the days following the surrender, New York Times war correspondent, E.A. Paul, reported that even the Virginia citizens in the very heart of the Confederacy were joyous: “As Custer’s cavalry column passed through the country…the people flocked to the roadside, waved handkerchiefs, and at several places actually clapped their hands to express their happiness. At the house where Gen. Custer made his headquarters last night, the people made a particular request that the band play the Star Spangled Banner – an unheard of event during the last four years.”

For the men of Custer’s 3^rd New Jersey Cavalry, many of them from Philadelphia, this moment must have been bitter-sweet. Although 157 of their fellow soldiers had given their lives for the Union cause, they were likely heartened to see that their sacrifice was not in vain and America would now finally unite again.

_______________________

When I arrived home after my unsuccessful search at Fernwood Cemetery, the attack on the Capitol Building was well underway, and I was stunned by the violent images on my TV screen.

But there was one photo among the hundreds shown on the news programs that day that truly shook me. It was a photo of one of the rioters, and he was carrying something that now permanently marks that day as one that I’ll always remember for its sad and striking irony. For on the day that I tried to find the grave of my great-great grandfather, James H. Baird, a Union sergeant in Company B of the 3^rd New Jersey Cavalry, and who was there at Appomattox when Lee surrendered to Grant, a rioter walked through the halls of our Capitol carrying a Confederate flag. If the man had been armed with a gun instead of that flag, he wouldn’t have been as deadly, for his brazen act symbolically slayed the remaining, feeble hopes for American unity.

And if those from the left side of the political spectrum proudly tout this photo as evidence of their greater allegiance to traditional American values, they need to be reminded that there are also photos from the 2020 summer riots of numerous monuments dedicated to Union soldiers and abolitionists that were defaced by leftist extremists.

Although the Civil War ended over 155 years ago, America is now once again adrift in a sea of dissention. I can’t help but think that if my great-great grandfather, in the early days of the post-Civil War era, had somehow been miraculously transported forward in time, and then viewed these same photos, that he would have wept.

As we mark the one-year anniversary of the attack on the U.S. Capitol, a time of unprecedented division in which we could be witnessing the initial stages of the dissolution of our union, remember the brave Union soldiers who fought, and died, to preserve it.

AFTERWORD – A few months after my initial visit to Fernwood Cemetery, with the help of the cemetery staff, I did find my great-great grandfather’s grave. Interestingly, nearby was the grave of another Civil War veteran, Thomas H.L. Payne, a Medal of Honor recipient.

More stories of the veterans of America’s wars can be found in the new book by Philadelphia writer, Chris Gibbons: “Soldiers, Space, and Stories of Life”. Amazon.com link is below:

A Soldier Considers His Fortune

Excerpt from the book “Soldiers, Space and Stories of Life” by Chris Gibbons. Originally published in the December 7, 2011 Philadelphia Inquirer.

It was Sunday, December 7, 1941, just a few minutes before 8am, and a large formation of planes was traveling west in the clear, blue Hawaiian sky, towards the U.S. Naval Base at Pearl Harbor. Initially, Army Tech Sergeant Dave Coonahan of Philadelphia didn’t think there was anything unusual about the planes. He was riding in a truck with some fellow soldiers headed for Sunday Mass, and planes were always taking off or landing at Kaneohe Naval Air Station, so Dave assumed it was just normal flight traffic. But as the drone of the planes grew louder, Dave thought the situation was somewhat odd. He looked up and was puzzled not only by the large numbers of planes, but their strange shapes as well. Suddenly, a voice came over the truck radio: “This is not a drill…this is not a drill!” Then one of the men shouted, “They’re Japanese Zeros!”

The droning engines of the Zeros changed to a terrifying whine as they quickly dove down into attack formation. The truck stopped and the men scrambled out, but they were totally unprepared for what was happening. “We had our guns and rifles”, Dave said, “But no ammunition.” Although the men were a relatively safe distance away from Kaneohe when the attack started, they could see and hear the devastation that the Zeros were inflicting on the air station.

“An older sergeant finally retrieved some ammunition, but by the time he brought it back, the Japanese had already destroyed over 32 planes at Kaneohe,” Dave recalled. “Some of our planes got off the ground and got a few of the Zero’s, but they gave it to us pretty good that day.”

After neutralizing Kaneohe, the Japanese then focused their assault on their main objective – destroying the U.S. naval fleet at Pearl Harbor. When the infamous sneak attack was over, the U.S. fleet was in ruins with over 2,400 Americans killed and nearly 1,300 wounded. 20 Americans were killed at Kaneohe – 2 civilians and 18 sailors.

That night, Dave’s battalion was ordered back to the beach at Kaneohe to defend against a Japanese amphibious assault. Although the attack never came, the battalion remained on the island for months. “If they decided to attack after our preparations, we were ready,” Dave said.

Dave grew up in North Philadelphia and graduated from Northeast Catholic High School before he was drafted into the Army. Prior to the attack on Pearl Harbor, Dave’s 34^th Combat Engineer Battalion helped with the construction of the Army fortifications on Oahu, and built the soldier’s barracks near Kaneohe. The men were initially quite pleased with their assignment in Hawaiian “paradise”, as they called it, and Dave thought the “luck of the Irish must be with me.” But his luck wouldn’t last as the dark clouds of war soon dimmed the army life he once knew.

Incredibly, Pearl Harbor wasn’t the worst of what Dave would experience. He fought throughout the Pacific for 47 months without receiving one furlough. His unit participated in the invasion of Saipan in June 1944, and he was part of the initial invasion of Okinawa in 1945. During my interview with him, Dave choked-up a few times as the bitter memories of Okinawa came flooding back. “It was awful there,” Dave said. “My worst memories of the war were at Okinawa.” When the Japanese finally surrendered in 1945, Dave’s unit was preparing to invade the Japanese islands of Kyushu and Honshu. “Thank God that never happened. It would have been a nightmare,” he told me.

When Dave finally returned to Philadelphia, the city buses were running hopelessly late, and he had to pick up his heavy barracks bag and walk home. I asked Dave if he thought the “luck of the Irish” had deserted him again that day, but he laughed and said, “Oh no, it was with me. I was home.”

Dave and his late wife, Mary, raised 4 children, and he worked for the Prudential Insurance Company for 33 years. He’s now 92 years old, and still resides in the same Oreland, Pa house where he raised his children.

On that fateful morning in December 1941, Dave never did make it to church. But when I asked him if he had anything special planned to mark the 70^th anniversary of the attack, I wasn’t surprised by his response: “I’ll just go to church and pray for those who died that day.”

AFTERWORD

Dave Coonhan’s daughter, Kate, set up my interview with him at her home, and, like so many of the war veterans that I’ve interviewed over the years, Dave was humble, unassuming, and proud of his wartime service. I was unaware until the interview that Dave also fought in the Battle of Okinawa following the attack on Pearl Harbor. He kept his emotions in check when he spoke of Pearl Harbor, but the memories of Okinawa must have been his most haunting as Dave became visibly emotional when discussing them. The fact that he spent 47 straight days on the battle-lines is almost unimaginable. Dave was also a member of Sandy Run Country Club in Flourtown, Pa. for 69 years, and I was informed by a fellow member that shortly after my essay was published, it was framed and hung on a wall for all the members to see, as most knew nothing of Dave’s service during WW II. He died in January, 2016, and I sincerely hope that Dave’s story still hangs on that wall at Sandy Run.

More stories of World War II veterans, as well as veterans of World War I and the Korean War, can be found in the new book by Philadelphia writer, Chris Gibbons: “Soldiers, Space, and Stories of Life”. Amazon.com link is below:

Goodwill in Wartime by Chris Gibbons

It was December 20, 1943, just five days before Christmas, and the 21 year-old pilot of American B-17F bomber Ye Olde Pub, First Lieutenant Charles “Charlie” Brown, was desperately trying to keep his heavily damaged plane aloft in the skies over Germany.

As recently chronicled in the 2012 award winning book, “A Higher Call” by Adam Makos (with Larry Alexander), the Pub had just completed its bombing run of a Focke-Wulf airplane manufacturing plant in the German city of Bremen, but it was attacked by a swarm of Messerschmitt fighter planes, as well as ground based anti-aircraft guns. The crew fought back as best they could, and even shot down one of the German fighters, but they clearly absorbed the worst of the fight. The bomber’s nose, wings, and fuselage were riddled with gaping holes, and it was leaking oil and hydraulic fluid. Half of its rudder was missing, and one of its engines was out. When Brown asked for a damage report, one of the crew replied, “We’re chewed to pieces.”

Nearly half the members of the Pub’s crew were wounded, their blood splattered throughout the interior of the bomber. The ball turret gunner, Hugh “Ecky” Eckenrode, was dead, his body slumped over the machine gun. His dripping blood formed icicles in the freezing air that now rushed in through the shattered turret’s Plexiglas.

At one point, Brown told his crew that he was going to try to fly the damaged bomber back to England, but he gave them the option to bail out while they were still flying over land. They all decided to stay with their commander. Brown knew that their chances of making it back were slim, but he still had hope.

As the bomber limped towards the North Sea, a dark shape just off the right wing of the B-17 caught Brown’s attention. He looked through the cockpit window and was terrified by what he saw. It was a German Messerschmitt Bf-109 fighter plane, piloted by Luftwaffe ace Franz Stigler. The fighter plane was so close that Brown could clearly see Stigler’s face. The co-pilot of the B-17, Spencer ”Pinky” Luke, said, “My God, this is a nightmare.” Brown responded, “He’s going to destroy us.”

When Stigler initially encountered the B-17, he was prepared to fire. He was not only just one more air victory from qualifying for the prestigious Knight’s Cross, but Stigler also sought vengeance for his older brother August, who had been killed earlier in the war.

But as he closed on the stricken bomber and surveyed the damage, he couldn’t believe that it was still flying. Stigler could clearly see the dead tail gunner and his blood stained jacket. The holes in the fuselage were so large that he could even see the Pub’s crew caring for the wounded.

Stigler, a Catholic who once studied to be a priest, placed his hand on his jacket pocket and felt the rosary beads that were inside. His thoughts turned to his brother, and he also remembered the words of his former commander, legendary German Luftwaffe fighter ace Gustav Rodel, who once told him: “You follow the rules of war for you — not your enemy. You fight by rules to keep your humanity.” Stigler decided that he could not shoot and “would not have this on my conscience for the rest of my life.”

Stigler pulled up alongside the bomber and tried to get Brown’s attention. He was waving his hands and mouthing the word “Sweden” in an attempt to get the American pilot to land his severely damaged aircraft there, as Sweden was a neutral country and only 30 minutes away. But Brown and Luke couldn’t understand what Stigler was doing. They still thought that he was going to attack, and were determined to go down fighting. Brown ordered one his gunners to prepare to fire.

Finally realizing that the Americans would never understand, Stigler saluted Brown and said “Good luck, you’re in God’s hands.” Brown was puzzled, and the image of Stigler saluting him before he peeled away stayed with him for the rest of his life.

Fortunately, the crew of Ye Olde Pub made it back to England that day and survived the remainder of the war. Brown eventually married, raised two daughters, and worked for the State Department for many years before retiring to Florida. But that day in 1943 always haunted him. In the 1980’s, Brown started to have nightmares about the incident, and decided to try and find the German pilot. He diligently searched military records, attended pilot reunions, and placed an ad in a newsletter for former German WW II pilots with the story of what happened.

Stigler, who moved to Canada in 1953, saw the ad and sent Brown a letter in 1990, letting him know that he was the German pilot who spared his crew. As Brown read the letter, tears streamed down his cheeks. When the two finally met in a Florida hotel lobby, they embraced and wept.

Franz and Charlie became great friends, went on fishing trips together, attended military reunions together, and spoke at schools and other events. Charlie even organized a reunion of the crew of Ye Olde Pub that was featured in a CBS This Morning segment in which a video was played for Franz showing pictures of the children and grandchildren of the crew. The message to Franz was obvious, and he broke down in tears. “The war cost him everything,” Makos said. “Charlie Brown was the only good thing that came out of World War II for Franz. It was the one thing he could be proud of.”

Franz Sigler died in March 2008, and Charlie died just 8 months later. Franz once gave Charlie a book with a note he had written on the inside cover, and his words not only reveal his love for Charlie, but also serve as a reminder to all of us of the true meaning of Christmas:

In 1940, I lost my only brother as a night fighter. On the 20th of December, 4 days before Christmas, I had the chance to save a B-17 from her destruction, a plane so badly damaged it was a wonder that she was still flying. The pilot, Charlie Brown, is for me, as precious as my brother was. Thanks Charlie.

Your Brother,

Franz

AFTERWORD

A friend of mine, Pat Mundy, gave me the book, “A Higher Call”, and said “You must read this book. It’s an amazing story and right up your alley.” Pat was right. It truly is a fantastic book that chronicles one of the most incredible war stories I’ve ever come across. An e-mail I received from an Inquirer reader eloquently captured my feelings about the bond shared by Charlie and Franz, as well as my hopes for all of humanity: “Your essay reminds us of our immense capability for love and compassion, but also of our immense capability for savagery, a duality recognized by Abraham Lincoln in his first inaugural address: ‘We are not enemies, but friends. We must not be enemies. Though passion may have strained, it must not break our bonds of affection. The mystic chords of memory will swell when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature.’ Here’s hoping the ‘better angels of our nature’ prevail for all in the coming year. Merry Christmas.”

When the Bulge Almost Broke by Chris Gibbons

(Edited version published in the December 16, 2004 Philadelphia Daily News)

The light snow fell steadily in the Ardennes Forest of southern Belgium during the early morning hours of December 16, 1944. The American soldiers stationed in the area slept soundly that night as the prevailing opinion among the Allies was that the German army was in complete disarray and couldn’t possibly regroup to mount an offensive of any significance. At 5:30am that morning, the stunned U.S. 1^st Army division soon found out how badly they had miscalculated.

Eight German armored divisions and thirteen infantry divisions launched an all out attack. It was the beginning of what came to be known as The Battle of the Bulge, the largest land battle of World War II in which the United States participated. Hitler’s plan was to trap the Allied troops in Holland and Belgium, and push to the key Belgian port city of Antwerp. He believed that the alliance between the U.S. and Britain was already fragile, and that this new offensive would further split the relationship, thus buying him more time to develop his secret weapons and rebuild his depleted and exhausted army. Hitler’s plan was dependent upon speed and extended bad weather to keep the Allied air forces grounded. Hitler also believed he had history on his side as it was in the Ardennes that he launched his successful surprise attack against France only 4 years earlier.

The initial hours of the attack were wildly successful for the Germans. U.S. Army units were surrounded or destroyed by the fast moving Wermacht, and large numbers of G.I.’s were surrendering. Sergeant Ed Stewart of the 84^th infantry recalled the initial chaos and fear among the Americans. “The screaming sound of 288s, which was a major artillery on the part of the Germans, is absolutely frightening, it’s a nightmare”, he said. It seemed that Hitler’s impossible gamble just might succeed.

However, on December 17 the Germans made a fatal mistake. On a road leading to the Belgian town of Malmedy, SS troops committed one of the worst atrocities of the war. Some 86 American POW’s were shot in a snow covered field. Those that tried to crawl away were shot as well. However, some did escape and as word spread of the massacre, the tide began to turn as determined and enraged American soldiers, some cut-off from their units and completely surrounded, began to take the initiative and refused to surrender.

82^nd Airborne staff sergeant Ted Kerwood of New Jersey was one such soldier. His unit was quickly rushed in to the battle, and as they approached a bridge in the Belgian town of Bielsaim on Christmas Eve, they noticed a column of German tanks and infantry quickly closing to cross the bridge. A volunteer was needed to run down and set explosives to blow the bridge before the enemy crossed it. Ted said that he would do it. “We just had to go up there and take care of the situation”, Ted told me in a recent interview. “You’re not really scared until after it’s over. You just have a job to do, and you do it.” Kerwood was awarded the Silver Star for his actions that day. The fierce resistance of the U.S. 28^th, 106^th,and 101^st divisions was also a key factor in delaying the German advance. But the most famous example of U.S. resolve occurred in the town of Bastogne, where the surrounded U.S. troops refused to yield to superior German forces. The stunned Germans were told to “go to hell” when they requested the Americans to surrender.

The tenacious defense across the battlefield by the American soldiers soon caused the German advance to slow, and ultimately signaled defeat for Hitler. As the German offensive ground to a halt, it was destroyed by superior Allied airpower when the weather cleared in late December.

This Christmas Eve, be thankful for the many blessings that we sometimes take for granted. Remember that 60 years ago on this date, in the freezing cold of the Ardennes Forest, a determined group of American soldiers helped to ensure the freedom we have today. They spent that Christmas Eve wondering whether it would be their last, and for many of them it was. During this holiday season, take a moment to remember the veterans of this battle, and those who gave their lives, and raise a glass in salute. Remember, that the likes of these men may never be seen again.

This article is dedicated to the memory of Battle of the Bulge veteran Lawrence W. Summers of Roxborough.

Book Publication: Soldiers, Space, and Stories of Life

My new book, Soldiers, Space and Stories of Life, is now available for purchase in Kindle format at Amazon (link below). It will be available in book/print format by mid-August at my publisher’s website, and then in book/print format at Amazon in early September.

The Souls of Dachau by Chris Gibbons

One of the most infamous concentration camps of World War II was Dachau. This is the story of two Philadelphians who were there the day that Dachau was liberated: one a soldier, the other a prisoner.

Originally published in the April 26, 2015 Philadelphia Inquirer.

Ernie Gross (l) and Don Greenbaum in 2014. Photo courtesy of the Holocaust Awareness Museum and Education Center in Philadelphia.

“All the Dachaus must remain standing. The Dachaus, the Belsens, the Buchenwalds, the Auschwitzes – all of them. They must remain standing because they are a monument to a moment in time when some men decided to turn the Earth into a graveyard. Into it they shoveled all of their reason, their logic, their knowledge, but worse of all, their conscience. And the moment we forget this, the moment we cease to be haunted by its remembrance, then we become the gravediggers.” (Rod Serling’s ending narration for Twilight Zone episode “Deaths Head Revisited”)

On the day the Americans came, it was a Sunday, and unseasonably cold for late April. So cold, in fact, that just a few days later a light snow would fall. Current Philadelphia resident, Ernie Gross, was only 15 years old and had just been imprisoned at Dachau that morning. Weak and resigned to his fate, Gross told me that he was simply “standing in line outside of the crematory waiting to die.”

As detailed in Dachau Liberated: The Official Report of the U.S. 7^th Army, a few of the inmates from the east side of the compound suddenly noticed a lone American soldier at the edge of a field outside the camp, and he was running towards the gate. Then, more U.S. 42^nd Division soldiers appeared behind him. Unaware of what was happening outside the gate, Gross was puzzled when “all of a sudden, the Nazi guard next to us threw down his weapon and started to run.”

Excited shouts in disbelieving tones echoed within the walls of the compound in multiple languages: “Americans! Americans!” A prisoner rushed toward the gate, but was shot by the Nazi tower-guard. Undeterred, more prisoners ran towards the gate. The American soldiers opened fire on the guard tower, and the SS guards surrendered. One of the guards still held a pistol behind his back, and was shot by an American soldier.

“The Americans were not simply advancing; they were running, flying, breaking all the rules of military conduct”, wrote Dachau prisoner and Turkish journalist Nerin E. Gun. The 7^th Army soldiers, primarily from the 45^th “Thunderbird” Division and 42^nd “Rainbow” Division, had been told by newspaper reporters about the camp, and rushed to liberate it. But nothing could have prepared them for what they would find at Dachau.

Philadelphian Don Greenbaum of the 283^rd Field Artillery Battalion attached to the 45^th Division remembers that as his unit approached the camp they were stunned to find numerous abandoned train rail-cars which contained thousands of decaying corpses. He told me that as the soldiers entered the compound, they were “sickened by the sight of thousands of emaciated prisoners who looked like walking skeletons.” As chronicled in The Liberator by Alex Kershaw, soldiers from the 45th Division moved through the camp and found metal poles where naked prisoners had been tied while guard dogs tore into them, a building where prisoners were subjected to sadistic medical experiments, and stacks of decomposing bodies left to rot because the SS had run out of coal for the crematory.

Lt. Col. Felix Sparks of the 45th wrote in a personal account that “a number of Company I men, all battle hardened veterans, became extremely distraught. Some cried, while others raged.” Kershaw’s book described SS guards and prison “informers” being torn apart by the vengeful prisoners with their bare hands. Enraged U.S. troops started to execute the Nazi guards until Sparks forcefully stopped them. Private John Lee of the 45^th said, “I don’t think there was a guy who didn’t cry openly that night.”

Those interred at Dachau between 1933 and 1945 were considered “enemies of the Reich” for one reason or another. Ernie Gross said that he was there simply because he was a Jew. Prisoners were from over 20 different countries and numerous religious denominations: Catholics, Jews, Protestants, Greek Orthodox, and Muslims among others. Thousands died there, but the exact number will probably never be known. General Dwight Eisenhower was concerned that someday there would be those who doubted what happened at the concentration camps. He ordered detailed films and photos taken of the camps and requested that representatives from the major newspapers visit the camps so that there would be “no room for cynical doubt.” American soldiers ordered the German citizens from the towns surrounding the labor camps to view the bodies. After visiting the Ohrdruf labor camp, the town’s mayor and his wife returned home and then killed themselves.

Unfortunately, as we approach the 80th anniversary of the liberation of many of WW II’s death camps, Eisenhower’s fears have come to fruition. Despite the film records, soldiers’ accounts, survivors’ recollections, testimony of former SS guards, and physical evidence gathered, there are millions around the world who believe the Holocaust never happened, or has been greatly exaggerated. In 2005, former Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad said that it was a fabricated legend, and the Palestinian terror group, Hamas, has referred to it as “an invented story.” Here in the U.S., a 2010 Harvard study found that 31 Facebook groups had “Holocaust Denial” as their central purpose. Recent polls in 2018 and 2019 reveal that 10% of Britons, and 4% of Americans believe the Holocaust never happened. “I cannot understand them,” Gross said of the deniers, and Greenbaum added: “I was there. I saw it for myself.”

Amazingly, after all that he’s been through, Ernie Gross still has faith in humanity. He and Greenbaum will often speak together at various organizations as arranged by the Philadelphia Holocaust Awareness Museum and Education Center, and in 2015, they traveled together to Germany for the 70^th anniversary liberation ceremonies at Dachau. Gross told me that he hoped that his presence there might “change the way people think. Every time you hate somebody, it’s not good. It’s better to help somebody than hate.”

If you ever happen to hear the doubters spewing their Holocaust-denial drivel, remember the stories of the Allied soldiers who witnessed it, the testimony of the survivors and the Nazi guards who experienced it, but more importantly, remember the dead who cannot speak. Then hand the deniers a shovel. And if you fail to challenge them, or if you ever begin to doubt the truth of the Holocaust, grab a shovel for yourself as well. Then, after you’ve buried your conscience, pray to whatever God you worship that you’re never confronted by the souls of Dachau.

Chris Gibbons is a Philadelphia writer. He can be reached at gibbonscg@aol.com

Corpses of prisoners found by U.S. soldiers at Dachau (U.S. Army photo)

U.S. soldiers order German citizens to view the corpses at Ohrdruf (U.S. Army photo)

U.S. soldier stands over the bodies of Nazi SS guards shot by American soldiers at Dachau (U.S. Army photo)

More stories of World War I, World War II, and Korean War veterans can be found in the new book by Philadelphia writer, Chris Gibbons: “Soldiers, Space, and Stories of Life”. Amazon.com link is below:

Dunnie’s Red Wagon

By Chris Gibbons

During the early morning hours of Tuesday, June 6, 1944, Philadelphia Mayor Bernard Samuel was awakened by his secretary with urgent news – the long awaited invasion of France by Allied forces had finally begun.

The Philadelphia Inquirer reported that that the mayor, “accompanied by his secretary and a few policemen, went to Independence Hall shortly before 7(am) o’clock. With a wooden mallet he tapped the Liberty Bell 12 times…The tapping of the Bell was carried throughout the Nation over an NBC hookup, and to other parts of the world by short wave.” The Mayor then asked all to pray for a “victorious outcome”, and to “remember the fathers and mothers of those who are fighting on the battlefields of France.”

Word of the invasion spread across the neighborhoods of Philadelphia, and for many families it was the start of a period of great fear and anxiety. Like so many streets in Philadelphia, Stillman Street in the city’s Fairmount section was lined with numerous row-homes that proudly displayed flags with blue stars in their windows, indicating a family member in the service. At the Keenan home, there were 2 blue stars on their flag. “They were for my two older brothers, Joe and Dunnie” Ed Keenan recalled. “I was only 8 years old at the time, but I remember the flags vividly – our’s and our neighbor’s. My brothers, like a lot of the guys in our neighborhood, were alumni of Roman Catholic High School. Joe enlisted during his junior year and was serving in the Pacific. Dunnie enlisted after graduating in 1943, but the last that we heard following his recent Christmas visit home was that he was somewhere in England. On the day of the invasion, and the days that followed, we just kept thinking, ‘Where’s Dunnie? I hope that he’s OK.’”

Unknown to the Keenan’s was that Charles “Dunnie” Keenan’s 330^th Infantry Regiment of the 83^rd Infantry Division was not part of the initial invasion force on June 6th, but was with the second wave of forces that landed at Omaha Beach in Normandy on June 23, 1944. The 83^rd sustained heavy losses during the bitter “hedgerow” battles that followed the invasion as Allied forces tried to push inland. On July 4^th, Dunnie’s regiment began a series of attacks just southeast of the key French town of Carentan. Colonel R.T. Foster, Commander of the 330^th Infantry Regiment, wrote that “we attacked every day for twenty-three straight days, from dawn til dark. We repulsed the enemies’ counter-attacks and we moved forward. We became exhausted, physically and mentally. It showed in our dirty and drawn faces. We lost our closest friends.”

Dunnie’s regiment was met with near-fanatical resistance, as opposing the 330^th were some of Hitler’s best troops: the 37^th and 38^th SS Panzergrenadier Regiments. On July 5th a captured SS soldier from the 37^th informed American interrogators that the Germans were ordered to hold the line “to the last drop of blood.”

Back home in Philadelphia, young Eddie Keenan and his buddies, Billy Lamb, Billy McGahey, and Charlie Czarnecki, wanted to do something to help the war effort. They had heard the radio promotions urging Americans to collect scrap-metal so that it could be recycled for use by the military. “We wanted to try and help the war effort”, Ed recalled. “Some of our older brothers were fighting, and we wanted to do something, too. So we decided to go door-to-door in our neighborhood with my old wagon to collect scrap-metal pieces. But, my wagon was a hand-me-down, and we felt that for an effort like this, we needed to spruce it up a bit. So we got some bright red paint and started to paint it.”

On the day that the boys were putting the finishing touches on the wagon, they were startled by a woman’s voice. It was Billy McGahey’s mother, and she had an odd look on her face. “Eddie,” she said. “You have to go home. Something is wrong with your Mom.” Eddie ran home and found his mother and sister sobbing. Time then seemed to slow down. Words and phrases became jumbled. Something about a “telegram from Washington”…”deepest regret”…”Charles Keenan had been killed in action on July 8^th”. Dunnie was gone, and a gold star would replace a blue.

As grieving relatives arrived to help comfort the family, a despondent Eddie returned to his friends and told them what happened. One of the boys had an idea, and after all of them heard it, they agreed it was a great way to honor Dunnie.

A few hours later, Eddie returned to his home, now filled with relatives and neighbors. He found his grief-stricken father, tugged on his shirt, and said, “Come to the window, Dad. Look outside!” His father walked to the window, pulled back the curtain, and there was the red wagon. Emblazoned upon it, in bright white paint, were the words: “PFC Charles T. Keenan.”

His father closed the curtain, and with sad, red-rimmed eyes, he looked down at Eddie. “Oh Eddie”, he said. “Please take that off. It’s too soon.” A confused and dejected Eddie painted over his brother’s name. “I was just a little boy,” Ed told me. “I didn’t understand then why my father wanted it removed.”

The innocence of childhood is often lost to the cruel indifference of tragedy, and life would never be the same again for Ed and his family. “The red wagon fell by the wayside”, Ed said. “The joy of what we had done was diminished after Dunnie died.”

In the summer of 2019, to commemorate the 75^th anniversary of D-Day, and the death of his brother, Dunnie, Ed Keenan returned to a place he had been once before. It is a place of honor, that’s filled with the names of the fallen. And when Ed arrived there with his son, he sought one name in particular: Charles T. Keenan PFC. There, it is not emblazoned in white paint on a child’s red wagon but permanently carved upon a stone cross. And as Ed looked out among the 9,387 gravestones of the Normandy-American cemetery in France, he remembered the wisdom of his father, a World War 1 veteran who understood that there would be a proper place and time for Dunnie’s name – it would be here at Normandy, forever alongside the names of his fellow heroes.

Grave of Charles “Dunnie” Keenan at Normandy-American Cemetery with Purple and Gold streamers and pin of Roman Catholic High School. Photo courtesy of Jack Dougherty – RCHS Class of ’79

Chris Gibbons is a Philadelphia writer. He can be reached at gibbonscg@aol.com