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.

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:

Battle Exacts Heavy Toll Upon the Alumni of Famed Philadelphia High School by Chris Gibbons

On September 26, 1918, the soldiers of the 28^th Division, many of them from Philadelphia, nervously glanced at their watches as dawn approached. The massive artillery fire from their gunners which had begun hours before had finally ceased. H Hour was nearly upon them, and as the men in the trenches awaited the signal to “go over the top”, the macabre paradoxes of war found many shaken with fear, yet strengthened by courage while stalked by Death.

For 28^th Division Lieutenant Daniel Lafferty of the 109^th Infantry Regiment, and Sergeant Bernard Breen of the 108^th Machine Gun Battalion, both alumni of Philadelphia’s Roman Catholic High School, the moment was all too familiar as they had already experienced heavy fighting during the summer. Indeed, Lafferty was slightly wounded just a few weeks before, but had returned to his regiment. It’s likely that their thoughts were for the men that they would soon lead into battle, as Lafferty and Breen were well-respected Army veterans, admired for their leadership qualities. Both had served on the Mexican border in 1915, and Lafferty had received his commission a few months prior to the battle, while Breen had just been recommended for his commission. They knew that the success of the attack, and the lives of their men, depended upon how well they would lead them into battle.

A rolling fog crept through the Argonne forest as the officers told their men to get ready. Helmet straps were tightened. Field packs, gas masks, rifles, and ammunition were checked. Fighting was expected to be at close quarters, and a final order was barked to the infantry: “Fix bayonets!”

_ _ _

On the morning of September 26, 1918, at 5:30am, following a 6 hour Allied artillery barrage from over 2,700 guns, the largest and deadliest battle ever fought by American soldiers began: The great Meuse-Argonne Offensive. Its primary objective was to capture the Sedan-Mezieres railroad hub, Germany’s main supply and communication link, which was located between the River Meuse and the Argonne Forest. The Allies believed that capturing this crucial railway hub would result in a German withdrawal from France and force them to capitulate. It would not be an easy task. Opposing the attacking Allied soldiers along this front just north of Verdun were 40 German Army divisions.

The bitterly-fought battle lasted 47 days, and ultimately resulted in the end of the Great War. It involved 1.2 million American soldiers, and by the time that it concluded, 26,277 U.S. troops lost their lives, with another 95,786 wounded – the highest number of casualties for any battle ever fought by American soldiers. Newspaper accounts of the great battle captivated an American public anxious for news from the front lines. Worried families of the soldiers agonized as they read these dispatches which not only provided horrific descriptions of the battle, but listed the mounting casualties as well.

Perhaps the most sobering revelation of my now 9-year search for the alumni of Roman Catholic High School who gave their lives in World War 1 has been the terrible suffering that was endured by Philadelphians, both the soldiers and their families, during the Battle of the Meuse-Argonne. Newspapers from that era, such as the Philadelphia Inquirer, the Philadelphia Public Ledger, and the Catholic Standard and Times, have been my most valuable resource in this search, and it was while poring over these newspapers from 1918 that I noticed a gradual, yet significant, change beginning with the early days of the Meuse-Argonne Offensive. The number of names on the daily published casualty lists, as well as the number of ominous stories from the front lines, slowly began to increase. In the Public Ledger, pictures of the dead and wounded soldiers, with their accompanying short biographies, sometimes covered a full page. The grim casualty lists which had previously been a half-column in length, gradually expanded to 3 columns.

There were also numerous heartbreaking stories of parents receiving news that two of their sons had been killed, or that a previous notification of a son’s death was incorrect. And due to the archaic communication flow of that era, there were also stories of parents receiving a letter from their son after already being notified that he had been killed in battle. My two sons are the same age as the soldiers I was reading about, and many times I had to stop reading the articles to gather myself.

My search for the names of the 32 Roman alumni who died in World War 1 has determined that many lost their lives during the Meuse–Argonne offensive. On November 1, 1918 the Philadelphia Public Ledger reported that Bernard Breen had been “killed in action during the fighting along the Meuse.” The article noted that his brother, Joseph, was an Army Captain, also serving in France.

The December 9, 1918 Philadelphia Inquirer revealed that Daniel Lafferty was “killed in action in the Argonne Forest.” Five days later, the Catholic Standard & Times reported that Lafferty was killed while “bravely leading his men in the early dawn in the advance before Petit Boureuilles, near the Argonne Forest, and edifying his men by his courage…” It also stated that a letter from a fellow soldier was sent to his widow, Mrs. Esther Lafferty, that “pays a glowing tribute to the deceased as an officer and a man.”

Information traveled slowly back then, and my subsequent research found that, although their families received official notifications of their deaths in late October and early December, both men had actually died on September 27 – just one day after the start of the great Offensive.

Sergeant Bernard Breen and Lieutenant Daniel Lafferty, alumni of Roman Catholic High School, who both served in the 28th Division and lost their lives on the same day, are buried in France at the Meuse-Argonne American Cemetery. Their graves are located in the same Plot, just 2 rows apart.

More stories of Great War veterans, as well as an entire chapter chronicling the author’s search for the Roman Catholic High School alumni who died in World War I, can be found in the new book by Philadelphia writer, Chris Gibbons: “Soldiers, Space, and Stories of Life”. Amazon.com link is below:

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:

Deadly Battle’s Final Casualty

Deadly Battle’s Final Casualty (Originally published in the October 17, 2008 edition of the Philadelphia Daily News)

By Chris Gibbons

Charles Whittlesey stood along the rails of the large steamship in the late autumn of 1921, and stared vacantly at the Atlantic Ocean below. Haunted by his experiences during World War I, Whittlesey was consumed by guilt, and his terrible memories of the great Meuse-Argonne offensive had left him with a broken spirit. He probably gazed down at the churning water with a macabre sense of relief as he realized that soon he would no longer have to endure the dreaded nightmares that slowly chipped away at his soul.

– – –

The autumn of 2018 marks the 100^th anniversary of the start of the deadliest battle every fought by U.S. soldiers: the great Meuse-Argonne Offensive of World War I. More Americans were killed during this battle than in any other in U.S. history, as 26,277 Doughboys lost their lives and another 95,786 were wounded. Over 1.2 million American soldiers took part in the 47 day battle in 1918, and it eventually resulted in forcing an end to World War I.

Major Charles Whittlesey commanded 9 units of the U.S. 77^th division. His battalion consisted of 554 men, most of whom were ethnic Irish, Italian, Jewish, and Polish street toughs from New York City, as well as Midwestern farm boys. Whittlesey himself was a Harvard Law School graduate. Because of his social status, one might assume that Whittlesey held himself above these men, but this wasn’t the case. He had the utmost respect and concern for the men he commanded.

On the morning of October 2^nd, the battalion advanced deeply into the Argonne forest of eastern France, but unbeknownst to them, the Allied divisions supporting their right and left flanks had stalled, and they were soon cut-off and surrounded. For the next 5 days the Germans relentlessly attacked the small American force and inflicted heavy casualties. The Americans fought back fiercely and refused to yield. Food, water, and ammunition began to run out as the number of dead and wounded piled up. At one point, the men were mistakenly shelled by their own artillery forces. Newspaper reporters picked up on the story, and dubbed them “The Lost Battalion.”

On October 7^th, a captured American soldier was released with a note for Whittlesey from the German commander. It read in part: “The suffering of your wounded men can be heard over here in the German lines, and we are appealing to your humane sentiments to stop. A white flag shown by one of your men will tell us that you agree with these conditions.” Whittlesey and his second in command, Captain George McMurtry, smiled when they read it because they viewed it as a sign of German desperation. Whittlesey ordered two white panels used to signal Allied planes to be removed lest they be mistaken for white flags. There would be no surrender. Word of the note spread among the men, and some of them yelled, “You Dutch bast****, come and get us!”

Once again German Sturmtruppen (Storm Troopers), some equipped with flame-throwers, attacked the defiant Americans. The battalion was enraged as they viewed these weapons as immoral, and they tore into the attacking Germans, some with only their bare hands. The Germans retreated, but Whittlesey’s men were barely hanging on. Finally, on October 8^th, the battalion was rescued by advancing U.S. troops. The relieving soldiers watched in silence as the battered survivors emerged from the forest. “There was nothing to say,” one of them said. “It made your heart lump up in your throat just to look at them.” Of the 554 men who entered the Argonne, only 194 were rescued. The rest were either killed or missing in action. Whittlesey, McMurtry, and 3 others received the Medal of Honor.

The post-war years were difficult for Whittlesey as he was continually troubled by his memories and the decisions he made during the battle. He was a pallbearer in burial ceremonies of the Unknown Soldier at Arlington in 1921, and a friend said that the distraught Whittlesey “thought that the Unknown Soldier might have been one of his own men.” He had recurring nightmares of the screaming wounded, and once had a disturbing dream in which a young soldier’s “cold in death” face touched his own.

On November 26, 1921, Charles Whittlesey had dinner with the captain of the USS Toloa as it traveled from New York to Havana. Shortly after 11pm, he briefly chatted with a few passengers about his experiences during the war. He then excused himself to go to bed. Whittlesey was never seen again. It is assumed that he jumped to his death from the deck of the ship. A search of his room found 9 envelopes containing letters addressed to his family, friends, and the ship’s captain. Whittlesey’s Will stipulated that the original surrender letter from the Germans be given to McMurtry.

The terrible memories would haunt Charles Whittlesey no more. Over 3 years after its conclusion, the great Battle of the Meuse-Argonne had recorded its final casualty.

The Roman Catholic High School Alum Who Beat The Champ

By Chris Gibbons

Originally published in the September 25, 2014 Philadelphia Inquirer

Atlantic City – September 11, 1926. The kid from Philadelphia looked across the ring at the much feared and seemingly indestructible heavyweight champion, Jack Dempsey, and for the first time in his boxing career he was visibly nervous. Although it was only a sparring session to help Dempsey prepare for his upcoming title defense vs. Gene Tunney in Philadelphia, Tommy Loughran knew of Dempsey’s fearsome reputation for routinely knocking out his sparring partners. “In the corner, (my trainer) looked at me and said, `What the hell’s the matter with you, Tommy?”, Loughran recounted in a 1979 Sports Illustrated article by Sam Moses. “I can’t understand you. You never get excited about fights.’ “I said, `Joe, this isn’t just a fight.’ “`Don’t worry, Tommy,’ he said, `you’ll knock his block off.’ “I said, `Joe. I sure wish I had your confidence.’

– – –

My continuing search for the alumni of Roman Catholic High School who fought in World War I not only revealed the incredible story of Thomas “Tommy” Loughran from the Class of 1920, but it also enlightened me to a remarkable time in Philadelphia’s history when our city was buzzing with excitement.

By September 1926, Philadelphia’s Sesquicentennial International Exposition, celebrating our country’s 150^th anniversary, had hosted millions of visitors, and preparations for one of the biggest sporting events in our nation’s history were in high gear. On September 23, 1926, Jack Dempsey and Gene Tunney would meet for the heavyweight championship in front of a record crowd of 130,000 in Philadelphia’s new Sesquicentennial Stadium, later known as JFK Stadium. The result of that fight signaled the beginning of the end for a legendary, larger-than-life sports personality, but it was a little known sparring session just a few weeks before that foretold the fight’s outcome, and led to the rise of one of the greatest fighters in Philadelphia’s rich boxing history.

The son of Irish immigrants, Loughran was born and raised in South Philadelphia as a member of Saint Monica’s parish. At the beginning of his sophomore year at Roman in 1917, Loughran, just 14 years old, was eager to fight for his country in World War I, and enlisted in the Army without revealing his age. It was many months before the Army realized Loughran’s age and released him from the armed services. Rather than return to school, he found work with a neighborhood blacksmith and also began to hone his boxing skills in the gym. Loughran built an impressive record through the mid-1920’s, and was known for his great footwork, speed, and accurate counter-punching. His style was similar to Tunney’s, and Dempsey personally requested Loughran to spar with him in preparation for the big title fight.

– – –

In the first round of the sparring session, Loughran’s footwork and quickness enabled him to avoid Dempsey’s relentless onslaught and his confidence grew. “He couldn’t hit me to save his life, see, and it made him furious”, Loughran recalled in the SI article. “Ooh, was he mad. I’d stay against the ropes and say, `Let’s see if you can hit me, Jack.’ I’d go this way, then I’d go that way; next time he came at me I’d step back, he’d step forward. I’d step back another way. He didn’t know what to do.”

Emboldened by his first round performance, Loughran became more aggressive in the second round and began to land his combinations. “I let him have it on the nose”, Loughran said. “Blood squirted in all directions. He stepped back and cussed me out loud, and when he did, I grabbed him and turned him around and put him up against the ropes. Gees, I poured it on him, I gave him such a beating. I hit him in the belly, hit him with uppercuts, hit him with a hook, caught him with another. I had his eyes puffy, his nose was bleeding, he was spitting out blood. I had him cut under the chin, and I think his ear was bleeding. I don’t know whatever held him up. He always came tearing back in, no matter how hard I hit him.”

Dempsey’s corner stopped the sparring session before their fighter could absorb more punishment. The sportswriters and spectators were stunned. Two weeks later, Gene Tunney used that same combination of footwork, speed, and accurate counter-punching to defeat Jack Dempsey and become the new heavyweight champion. Paul Gallico, the renowned N.Y Daily News sportswriter, reported after the title fight that Loughran “wrote Dempsey’s finish in letters large enough for all of us to see, except that we, too, were blinded by our own ballyhoo and the great Dempsey legend that we had helped to create.”

Loughran would go on to win the light heavyweight championship the following year, and successfully defend it 6 times before vacating it to fight as a heavyweight. He eventually fought for the heavyweight title and lost by decision to Primo Carnera, but his boxing career was truly extraordinary. Loughran had 169 total bouts and fought many middleweight, light heavyweight, and heavyweight champions in his career, including Harry Greb, Jack Sharkey, and Gene Tunney. As a light heavyweight, Loughran defeated two future world heavyweight champions: Max Baer and James J. Braddock. He was The Ring Magazine’s Fighter of the Year in 1929 and 1931, and he was elected to the Ring Magazine Hall of Fame in 1956.

Tommy Loughran died in 1982, and there is a Historic Marker at 17^th and Ritner in South Philly in his honor. He was posthumously inducted into the International Boxing Hall of Fame in 1991, and he is often ranked among the Top 5 Light Heavyweights of All Time by boxing historians.

The stories that I have uncovered in my search for the alumni of Roman Catholic High School who fought in World War I not only inspire me and my fellow alums, but they also seem to resonate with many Philadelphians. In 1979, Tommy Loughran reflected on that long forgotten sparring session against the great Jack Dempsey, and his words from the SI article not only revealed the key to his eventual success, but they also serve as a reminder to all of us as to how we should confront life’s seemingly insurmountable obstacles: “Those two rounds with Dempsey gave me confidence in myself. I learned an important lesson that day: never to be defeated by fear.”

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

More stories of notable Roman Catholic High School alumni, famous Philadelphians, WW I veterans, as well as an entire chapter chronicling the author’s search for the Roman Catholic High School alumni who fought and died in the Great War, can be found in the new book by Philadelphia writer, Chris Gibbons: “Soldiers, Space, and Stories of Life”. Amazon.com link is below:

The Hidden Truths Within a Picture

The Hidden Truths Within A Picture

By Chris Gibbons – Originally published in the Philadelphia Inquirer, December, 2014

“That wasn’t right! My father yelled as his booming voice filled our living room. “You can’t do that to people!”, he shouted at the TV.

“Jesus”, I thought to myself. “What the heck is up with Dad?” It was sometime in the early 1980’s, and a news program had just shown a video of an infamous incident that occurred years earlier, during the Vietnam War.

It’s a chilling video to watch. A North Viet Cong prisoner is standing along a roadside with his hands tied behind his back. A South Vietnamese officer then quickly positions himself next to him, raises his pistol, and fires a point-blank shot to the prisoner’s head. His lifeless body crumples to the ground.

“He’s a God-damned son of a b****! That wasn’t right.” my Dad said again. I was somewhat stunned by his angry reaction. If I hadn’t known better, I would have thought that he knew the man who was shot. I looked at Dad’s hands, and noticed that they were slightly trembling.

2014 marks the 45^th anniversary of the awarding of a Pulitzer Prize for a photo taken of one of the most infamous incidents of the Vietnam War as South Vietnamese general Nguyen Ngoc Loan executed Viet Cong officer Nguyen Van Lem. AP photographer Eddie Adams and an NBC cameraman filmed the execution, and Adams’ still picture of the incident soon appeared on the front pages of newspapers and evening news telecasts across the U.S. The picture outraged the American public, and it seemed to galvanize the growing anti-war sentiment. The picture soon became a symbol of the apparent brutality of the U.S. supported South Vietnamese regime. In 1969, Adams won the Pulitzer Prize for Spot News Photography.

But the picture didn’t tell the whole story, and Adams later came to regret the damage that it did to Loan. The Viet Cong prisoner who he shot was reportedly part of a “death-squad” that targeted the families of South Vietnamese policemen. According to witnesses, the prisoner was captured near a ditch where 34 bound and shot bodies of policemen and their families were found. Adams later said, “I killed the general with my camera. Still photographs are the most powerful weapon in the world. People believe them, but photographs do lie, even without manipulation. They are only half-truths. What the photograph didn’t say was, “What would you do if you were the general at that time?” Adams later apologized to Loan and his family.

General Loan eventually escaped Vietnam, and opened a pizza restaurant in a Virginia suburb. Unfortunately, he couldn’t escape his past. Word got out to an angry public of who he was. Someone once wrote an ominous message on the restaurant’s walls, “We Know Who You Are F***er.” Loan eventually had to close the restaurant because of the negative publicity. He died of cancer in 1998, leaving a wife and five children. Adams sent a note to the family that read: “I’m sorry. There are tears in my eyes.”

As for my Dad’s reaction that day, I assumed that, like so many Americans at that time, the execution in Saigon was the final straw. The Vietnam War had once sharply divided the nation, but by the late 1960’s even its staunchest supporters had seen enough. I concluded that my Dad finally realized this as well, and seeing the video again that day must’ve brought back those bitter feelings of anger and betrayal. I quickly forgot about the incident, and never asked my father about it.

It wasn’t until many years later that I finally came to understand the hidden truths behind the picture, not only the story of general Loan, but my Dad’s story as well. We had a quiet moment alone in 2008 on the 55^th anniversary of the end of the Korean War, and I asked him if he could tell me of his worst experience during the war. He said it would be too difficult for him to tell me the worst, but there was one incident that still haunted him. Shortly after his company had set up a defensive perimeter around their base in South Korea, two frightened and dirty Chinese prisoners were brought before a company sergeant. This sergeant was a WW II veteran who my father and the other young soldiers in his company admired and looked up to. “We were very young, and often scared,” my Dad told me. “But he helped us get through some of the toughest times during the war.”

The sergeant needed to understand how these two Chinese soldiers had gotten through so he could fix the weakness in their perimeter. If they escaped and revealed the weakness to the enemy, the lives of his men could be at risk. “Ask them how they got through!”, he barked to the interpreter. The prisoners replied that they didn’t “get through”, but were separated from their outfit, and simply hid in covered fox-holes when the Americans moved into the area. The American soldiers unknowingly piled the dirt and barbed wire right on top of them, and the prisoners simply climbed out later and surrendered. “I don’t believe them. Ask them again!” shouted the sergeant, as he raised his rifle and pointed it at the head of one of the prisoners. My father believed the prisoners and was shaken by the horrible scenario that was now being played out in front of him and his fellow soldiers. Again, the frightened prisoners told the same story.

The sharp sounds of gunshots echoed across the Korean sky, as two lifeless bodies crumpled to the ground.

“It wasn’t right”, my Dad said softly as he remembered the incident and vacantly stared ahead. I looked down and noticed that his hands were slightly trembling.

(Postscript: I originally wrote this story in 2008. I sent a copy to my Dad prior to publication to ensure that my facts were correct. After reading it, he immediately called me and told me that he didn’t want it published because one of the soldiers who witnessed the incident with him was severely traumatized by it. “He was never the same again, he had a lot of issues from it,” my Dad said. He told me that even after they returned home, his friend continued to struggle and the remainder of his life was difficult. My Dad was concerned that seeing the story in the newspaper might adversely affect his friend’s already fragile psyche.

My Dad passed away earlier this year, and before he died I asked him if I could ever publish the story. He didn’t mention his friend this time, possibly because he had passed away. My Dad simply responded, “When I’m long gone.” It was then that I knew that the picture and its hidden truths would now haunt me as well, as I realized that there were actually two young soldiers who witnessed the execution that day who were never the same again.)

Chris Gibbons (gibbonscg@aol.com) is a Philadelphia writer. gibbonscg@aol.com

The Forgotten Hero of the Forgotten War

The Forgotten Hero

By Chris Gibbons – Originally published in the December, 2015 edition of Philly Man Magazine

Although it was 20 years ago, Paul Sweeney still remembers that momentous evening well. On July 28, 1995, the Marine Barracks outdoor facility in Washington D.C. was filled to capacity as the attendees patiently waited for the awards ceremony to begin. Dignitaries in the audience included former Marine aviator, astronaut, and United States senator, John Glenn, Jr. A Marine announcer asked for everyone’s attention. The guests quieted.

“Lieutenant Edward Seeburger, center walk”, the announcer said. The Marine Corps band’s drums beat a military cadence and bugles echoed across the barracks. All eyes then shifted to a gray-haired man in his early 70’s, sharply dressed in a navy-blue suit, as he stood and proudly walked towards the center stage with a noticeable limp, the result of an old war injury. Tears filled the eyes of his family members as they watched Seeburger approach the stage where Marine Commandant Charles C. Krulak waited to present the graduate of Philadelphia’s Roman Catholic High School with the prestigious Navy Cross – only one grade below the Congressional Medal of Honor. “It was quite a moment to see”, Seeburger’s son-in-law Paul Sweeney told me recently, but when you consider what Edward Seeburger did during the Korean War’s Battle of the Chosin Reservoir, it is hard to believe that this award was overlooked and nearly forgotten.

On December 2, 1950, First Lieutenant Edward Seeburger, a veteran of WW II, was leading the remains of his Dog Company Unit as they desperately fought their way south to reach the U.S. held Korean town of Hagaru. Of the 220 Marines originally in his Company, only about 20 were still fit to fight as the rest were either dead or wounded. Out of seven officers, only Seeburger remained. The men were not only fighting the enemy soldiers, but the weather as well. The snow impeded their progress in temperatures that plummeted to minus 20.

Seeburger was near the lone tank at the front of the convoy when it was suddenly attacked by well positioned Chinese troops with small arms, automatic weapons, rockets, and mortars. “One minute there was no action, and then there was artillery and mortar fire,” Seeburger said in a 1995 Philadelphia Inquirer article. ”We couldn’t move. Everybody stopped.”

The Marines took cover, but the American tank gunners could not see where the enemy fire was coming from. The convoy was being decimated. Seeburger knew that he had to do something or he, and his men, would die on the frozen Korean hills. He climbed on top of the lead tank so that he could locate the enemy positions, exposing himself to the enemy fire. “Somebody had to give them some direction,” he said in the article. “We were being hit from both sides and the front. I told them to open up with their weaponry to help our men out.”

Seeburger’s direction was working as the tank’s guns began to neutralize the enemy positions. Suddenly a bullet tore into his right knee, knocking him to the ground. The soldiers advised him to go back with the other wounded, but Seeburger refused. The official Navy Cross citation reveals what happened next: “With well-entrenched machine guns defending a roadblock to the front, and with his ranks depleted by eight further casualties, and he himself painfully wounded and unable to walk, he staunchly refused evacuation, and directed his men in an enfilade movement which wiped out the obstruction and enabled the entire column to move forward. By his great personal valor and dauntless perseverance in the face of almost certain death, First Lieutenant Seeburger saved the lives of many Marines…”

For his actions, Seeburger was immediately recommended for the Navy Cross by his Major, James Lawrence. However, unknown to Lawrence, the paperwork was destroyed when a regimental building burned down. Lawrence long assumed Seeburger received the award but was stunned to learn over 40 years later that Seeburger never received it. Lawrence then spoke to Navy officials and his recommendation was approved.

Edward “Bud” Seeburger from the R.C.H.S. Class of 1940 proudly received the Navy Cross that night in 1995, and it also coincided with the formal dedication that day of the new Korean War Veterans Memorial in Washington D.C. How fitting it was that on the day that the “Forgotten War” was finally recognized, one of its forgotten heroes was finally honored as well. Sweeney told me that Seeburger never really talked about that night in Korea until he received the award. “It couldn’t have been in a better setting,” Seeburger said in a 1995 Philadelphia Daily News article. “It was quite an honor. My daughter and grandkids are able to see me get this award whereas, 45 years ago, they would not have been around for this…it’s amazing to me.”

Seeburger worked as a park police officer, and then later as an engraver for 32 years at Becks Engraving Co. After retiring, he and his wife moved to Ocean City, N.J., and he worked part-time for the Claridge Casino in Atlantic City. He died in 2007 at the age of 85.

Philadelphia’s Roman Catholic High School, founded in 1890, is still thriving today. In one of the classrooms at the historic school are various plaques honoring alumni who distinguished themselves in battle, and one of those plaques bears the remarkable story of Edward Seeburger. They serve as a reminder to the students of the proud legacy of their school, which is the only Philadelphia Archdiocesan high school, and one of the few in the country, whose alumni have served in the Spanish-American War, WW I, WW II, Korea, Vietnam, the Persian Gulf, Iraq, and Afghanistan. Over 150 alumni have given their lives in these conflicts. On March 8^th of this year, several of these veteran alumni were honored during Roman’s 125 Year Anniversary celebratory banquet where the school formally recognized Roman’s “125 Persons of Distinction”. The Seeburger family was there to accept the award on behalf of their father. Roman’s Alumni Association felt that it was important to remember and recognize men like Edward Seeburger, whose actions and achievements are so remarkable that they reveal, not only to fellow alumni, but to the rest of our country as well, those quality characteristics that Roman has always strived to instill in its students.

(Chris Gibbons is a freelance writer and a 1979 graduate of Roman. His recent book, “Soldiers, Space and Stories of Life” is available at Amazon.com – link below)