We were on the crest of high ground at the edge of a forest A sportsmen’s club was there, with a chain-link fence all around. Our company commander set up his headquarters in the building, and the medics, that was their place too. When we looked out, we could see this little German town in front of us — Steinshardt. That’s what we were going after. It was the town the Germans were shooting at us from. We were supposed to have support on both our flanks, but there were no other outfits with us — a goof on somebody’s part. You never saw a bunch of guys dug foxholes so fast as we did that morning with shells coming our way. But it was quiet in die afternoon from about 2 o’clock on. And it was a nice day — clear, not cold. 

We were supposed to have support on both our flanks, but there were no other outfits with us — a goof on somebody’s part. You never saw a bunch of guys dug foxholes so fast as we did that morning with shells coming our way. But it was quiet in die afternoon from about 2 o’clock on. And it was a nice day — clear, not cold. I was equipped with a sound-powered telephone that I could keep in touch with the guys in charge. I got this message to come over to die building, and I went over and they gave us the orders for what we were going to do that night. Get into groups and set up a guard.

Then I went back to where the guys were dug in, about 20 different places, and I told those guys what the boss wanted them to do. After that, I went back to my hole to relax for a while. It was about 4 o’clock. I didn’t relax too long. I sat down with my back against the dirt wall, completely underground, pushed my helmet back and lit a cigarette — I believe it was a Lucky Strike. I don’t know if I even had tone to put the lighter down. That’s all I remember till I came to and found myself on my hands and knees outside of my hole, blood flying everywhere. My blood. I looked up and one of the closest guys to me — about 50 feet away — ran over and said: “Stay put, don’t move. I’m gonna get an aid man.” He came back with one in a hurry. The aid man said, “We gotta get you out of here.” Both of them took a hold of me and we went aver to die headquarters where die captain and die medics were. I wasn’t in pain, I had no problem walking. And I could hear and understand what they were saying. But I couldn’t answer them. My lower jaw was gone.

There was just one big open hole, and I was bleeding all over. The interior of my mouth was all busted out Half my tongue was gone, and all but three of my teeth that were all the way back in the upper right. It was shrapnel that got me. An artillery shell shattered in the trees. It happened so fast this fella who was the closest one to me, Oakley Honey, said it burst right overhead when: I was. He told me the Germans put a few shells over the top — they were realty chopping roc trees down — but no one else was hit. 1 expected to see you going around to make sure everybody was OK,” Honey said. “I didn’t hear anything out of you, so I got up and I was on my way over and there you were on your hands and knees.” He said he heard some noise like a chicken squawking, and it was me.

The Germans must’ve had an observation post out there someplace and were watching us. I think they saw me go over to that building and then go around to where the other guys were dug in. They must’ve figured I was some kind of a leader and thought there’s a guy we need to hit. At the first aid station, I was hurting. They gave me something for the pain and bandaged me. The medic, Fred Tate, took one look and came over, and there was a chair, and he told me to sit down. He said to take my hands on both sides and press my fingers behind my jaw, put pressure on the arteries and the bleeding will stop. I had to do it, he said. If I didn’t, I was going to bleed to death. That was the first I realized how bad it was.

The captain was there and I can hear him yet. “I thought you knew better to keep your head down,” he said I knew he was kidding me. He laughed when he said it. I couldn’t answer but I thought: Yeah, keep my head down, but that’s where I had it. Tate said I only stood one chance of getting out of there, and that was walking out— he knew how robust I was, and in good shape. They had 16 or 17 casualties waiting to be taken out by vehicle and they couldn’t do that because the Germans had us covered in the rear,

He told the captain there wasn’t much choice if I wanted to live. “If we don’t get him out of here, he’s not gonna make it” The captain asked me: “You want to go?” I nodded. Tate reminded me to keep my fingers on the two points behind my jaw. “I’m gonna send somebody with you,” he said. “If you get back to when; we took off from last night, you’ll be OK. Now get going!” The way we went the night before was like starting out in Easton and coining all the way up to the top of Morgan’s hill in Williams Township}. That was a couple miles.

An aid man went with me and we got at least halfway back when we heard a motor. ‘Stay right where you arc tin I get back,” the aid man said. He took off and intercepted this guy who had one of these jeeps with a rack to put the wounded guys on. The driver had two people aboard, not badly hurt. “C’mon,” they said, and grabbed a hold of me on each side and boy we took off We went back across me Rhine on a pontoon bridge. My hands were getting numb from pressing the back of my jaw all the time. The only thing that kept me going was that my life depended on it.

We came to a pretty big field hospital, and they got me in there. I’d been holding the points behind my jaw for about an hour. The bleeding had eased up somewhat I got a shot that knocked me out for three days. When I came to, I was bandaged up and had tubes going up my nose. Then they loaded me up and sent me back to another hospital, a real one. A nurse took me for walks outside for exercise. The doctor told me, “You don’t know how lucky you are.”

I got shipped across the Channel to England, and that’s when they first really did some work on me. But they weren’t equipped to do what they needed to do and decided I was belter off going back to (he States, so they flew me to New York. From the time I got hit till when I came home was 30 days.

I couldn’t talk for the better part of a year, but I could write. One day at the hospital where I was staying in New York, a lieutenant told me I should pack up my things because I was going to another hospital, and I wrote down: “Where?” This fella said, “These papers say you’re going down to Mississippi.” I wrote, ”NO WAY” He said, “Why?” Another fella had told me, “If you go to Valley Forge General Hospital, you won’t be far from home.” So I wrote “Valley Forge” on the papers. The lieutenant said, “Its filled up, but I’ll see what I can do,”

My wife and my dad and my sister’s husband came to see me. They were talking to me in my room when the lieutenant came in and said, “I’ve got news for you. Does Valley Forge ring a bell?” That’s where I ended up. I was there for two years and seven months. It was a good hospital. It had everything you needed, and they took care of you in getting you fixed up. But for a while they were afraid they weren’t going to be able to do much of anything for me. My lower jaw had to be rebuilt. They had to do little things in steps. The main thing was to put the framework in first, and that meant replacing the bone So they took chunks of two of my ribs and fastened them to the bone I still had on both sides, and it all grew together. That bone graft took quite a while.

It was something to go through, a little tiresome, and sometimes I wonder how I ever did it But I was good and healthy at the time — I was a country boy. The doctor I had, I wouldn’t exchange for anything. He was so good and kind and would do anything for you. He bad a lot of help from his father, who was a doctor too, and did a wonderful job putting the jaw together—I know what it looked like because I’d looked in the mirror. I’ll tell you how nice a guy the doctor was. He would schedule an operation or whatever he was going to do for Monday morning, first thing. And by the time Friday came, if I felt well enough I could go home for the weekend. Believe it or not, in the beginning I hitchhiked home. I looked awful, all bandaged. People would stop and ask, “Where arc you going?” And I had a pad and I’d write down where. They’d say, “I’m going to such and such. You want a ride?” They were nice people that treated me half-decent. Other people would look at me and say, “Man, what happened?” “You can’t talk? I feel sorry for you.” And some would shake their heads and walk away. All the while, anything I ate had to be liquid. For the longest time, that liquid was going into my stomach through tubes down my nose. That’s the way I ate for the first year. It was even longer than that before I could sip out of a glass.

They couldn’t do anything about teeth, so I don’t have any — the three way in die back weren’t around too long; they went bad. To this day, I can’t eat any solid food. It has to be soft. I can’t chew anything. Oatmeal is what I eat for breakfast. Lots of time for lunch, I’ll have soup. If I want to eat any kind of meat, I have to grind it up. As far as my not being able to talk, my wife, Betty, was terribly concerned about that and it bothered her a whole lot when I was in the hospital- But I ‘wrote that the doctors had a good hope that I would regain my speech.

It was a year-and-a-half before 1 could start to hold a conversation. Oh, I could talk, but it was a crazy type of thing — I couldn’t pronounce things right, but people could understand what I was saying. It took years before 1 could speak like this. Betty told me once that she hadn’t expected to see me looking the way I did. She said it took her the longest time to accept that that’s the way it was going to be. And she said she knew that I could go on, and she was going to help me however she could. She couldn’t do enough for me. My mom and dad helped me all they could, too.

I was never afraid for the future because Betty was here and my daughter Linda was here. I had the feeling that I would have to get to the point where I could take care of them. I felt that I had that responsibility. And as long as the VA was helping me get back to where I wanted to be, I was going to do it.