My dad served with the 292nd Combat Engineer Battalion. A Co. I am a lifetime WWII history buff who is always looking for answers.

Almost AWOL Christmas 1943

Christmas Season 1943. I had been away from my fiancee for only 4 months

when I arrived at Gettysburg College as Air Corps Cadet. I was a homesick

fly boy. I called my Charlotte (Micky) and told her I missed her and was going

A.W.O.L. and come home to see her. Bang!! I got a stern voice saying, "No

you stay there†and she would come to see me. On Friday Dec 24 Micky came

with my mother and father. I met them at 9 A.M. The next three days were great.

But the nights were something else. This was the only hotel in Gettysburg, old and creaky

Micky was afraid to be alone in this old hotel., so I had to sit next to the bed

All lights on all night and door left wide open. I watched the door for Abe or the

Headless horse man to arrive, but no-one ever came.

Sunday night I walked (Gettysburg was only a couple of blocks in those days)

them to the Bus Stop. I said goodbye and slowly walked back to "Old Dorm."

which was our barracks and as the old song said "tears flowed like wine."

A fellow cadet Don Murray story

This really isn't a Christmas story so much as a Christmas parable - call it The Parable of the Rash Judgement and What Befell Him Who Exercised It.

In December, 1943, I was one of about 100 pre-aviation cadets assigned to the 55th College Training Detachment at Gettysburg College, Pennsylvania. As Christmas approached, it was decided to grant a few days' holiday leave to a limited number of men. I was not one of the lucky few. Rashly, I refused to accept a lonely Christmas in Gettysburg. With or without a three-day pass, I would go home for Christmas in New York.

It matters not how I managed to slip away undetected from Gettysburg on the morning of Christmas Eve. I boarded a bus for Harrisburg, caught the first train for New York and was on my way. No sooner was I in my seat in a car full of Christmas travelers - some in uniform like me, most in mufti - than in strode two MP's, their white Sam Browne belts and black armbands generating terror in my guilty soul. I prepared to surrender quietly and be shipped to Leavenworth.

But they were not checking for passes and furlough papers. Filled with the Christmas spirit, they greeted each serviceman cheerfully as they moved down the aisle. They didn't notice my ashen face and trembling hands when they passed my seat and wished me Merry Christmas. They did not return during the remainder of the three-hour trip, but I never unclenched my fingers until the train stopped at Penn Station.

Boarding the Long Island Railroad train I became aware that I was drenched with sweat. By the time I walked in the front door at home, I was weak and dizzy. My mother, an RN, hustled me off to bed and called the family doctor. I had a fever of 102. "Flu," said the doctor. "Stay in bed for the next two or three days," he said. When he had gone, I confessed. "Dad," I said, "I can't stay beyond tomorrow. I'm AWOL." To my Spartan father, a doughboy in World War I who never broke a rule, I might just as well have admitted to murder.

I don't remember Christmas Day, except being sick and remorseful. My father raged quietly about my shameful escapade. I was a pariah in my own home. Toward the end of the day, I began to feel a little better, and Dad and I discussed how to get me back to Gettysburg alive and, if possible, without arriving under military arrest. Despite my feeble protests, he said he was going with me. On the morning of December 26th, we boarded the LIRR for Penn Station. An hour later we were on a train for Harrisburg. I took the window seat; Dad took the aisle and opened the NY Times as if it could serve as a curtain concealing his dishonorable son. I pulled my GI overcoat up to my neck and feigned sleep, remaining in that position for the entire miserable journey. Again the car was filled with holiday travelers, again MP's roamed the aisles and again I was not accosted. I began to think I might get away with it. We left the train at Harrisburg, boarded the bus for Gettysburg and arrived late in the afternoon - but in plenty of time to get to the college in a taxi, safe at last. ..

An hour before cadets on pass had to report back, my father and I stood on the steps of the college Administration Building as he prepared to leave for the bus station. He was quiet for a few moments, then he stuck his hand out and said "You'd better see a doctor." I nodded. We shook hands, and I said, "I'm sorry for what I did, Dad, but thanks for coming with me." He looked at me for a long time and then turned to go down the steps to the cab. And then, to my surprise, he looked back, smiled and said, "Take care of yourself, son." He didn't hear my whispered "Merry Christmas, Dad" as the cab drove off.

That evening as I sat wearily on my bed, the staff sergeant who served as barracks chief stuck his head in the door. He was not a favorite with us. "Hey," he barked, as I looked up expecting the worst. Since I had never been authorized to leave on Christmas Eve, I had not dared to report back. Did he know?

"Have a nice Christmas?" he asked with a grin, adding, "I didn't see you around."

"It was OK, Sarge," I said, "but I think I caught a cold.".

"Better get over to the Dispensary, then," he said and closed the door. I did that. An hour later I was hospitalized with a strep throat infection that would keep me there for a week. .

And that was Christmas, 1943.

cadetat6 Art

Come on,,you all know her. here is some help

she knows how to fly a plane

she signed guest web in Avon Park,Florida

Her father was flight instructor at Avon Park, Florida

She lives in California, with husband Larry

Her married nane rymes with TEEN

Watching the Sky

In loving mermory of my Dad, ,Loren D. Holmes

On currents not seen by the human eye,

A biplane climbs in the sky

Wafting through clouds and over the sea,

It dips wings in salute and waves to me

I watch it pass by on double wing

And my mind wanders away, reminiscing

To another time and faraway place

when the plane and I were a part of that space

To a day long ago, an afternoon in July

floating through the air, my Dad and I

He the pilot and I his crew

cast cares to the wind and away we flew

We lift off the ground on a breath of thin air

then turn and bank, the wind in our hair.

The propeller turns and the engine roars

As we cruise high above the earth’s emerald floor

A journey through time and a sojourn in space

we fly on and on with the wind in our face

Time seems suspended and the day falls away

as we spend precious hours in this magical play

A patchwork below us, sky blue, clouds above

I sit in my jumpsuit, my heart filled with love

for the plane and the man and the privilege

we share, together this day, flying through the air

From that time to this, I remember that day

as I see two wings cross the sky and I silently say

Hello to the man who taught me to watch the sky

for the sight of a biplane – which brings a tear to my eye…

I found this article in my grandpa's November issue of American Legion magazine this evening and thought I would share it with everyone.

Navy Artist killed at sea never to be forgotten:

When Earl Henry Jr. was old enough to appreciate his father’s gift for art, the elder Henry had been dead for years – lost when a Japanese submarine torpedoed and sank the USS Indianapolis in the waning days of WWII.

But his vivid portrayals of birds small and large live on, including the stunning “American Eagle in the Pacificâ€, painted onboard the Indianapolis in August 1944. Undoubtedly the most famous painting by Tennessee artist Earl O. Henry Sr., it pictures a majestic bald eagle with wings spread wide against the background of a US flag. The eagle’s talons clutch a writhing serpent with a torn and ragged Japanese flag on its tail, symbolizing the Allies’ confidence in an eventual victor over Japan.

“I’m especially blessed that my father left so much behind through which I could know him,†says Earl Henry Jr. and Army veteran and member of America Legion Post 5 in Nashville, Tenn. He was six weeks old when his father’s ship went down on July 30, 1945.

Before entering the Navy in 1942, Earl Henry Sr. was a dentist in Knoxville, Tenn, whose first love was birdwatching. Growing up, he collected bird pictures from soda boxes. He spent hours hiking through the woods to match them with birds he saw. Soon he learned to imitate bird calls and to mount birds, later painting life-size duck images for display in a sporting goods store.

His enthusiasm for birds grew after he joined the Navy. At Parris Island SC and the Naval Academy at Annapolis, MD, he observed and painted birds from the shoreline and countryside. He then asked for sea duty, feeling he owed his country a more active role in the war, and was assigned to the Indianapolis as the ship’s dental officer. He continued to paint birds from memory and sent work home to wife Jane. Once during battle while waiting at his post below deck for casualties to come, he painted sea gulls.

Henry earned the admiration of the Indianapolis crew on “amateur night†by performing bird calls. He also had a talent for building models, including a six foot replica of the Indianapolis using wood and dental clay. It was in his cabin when the ship went down.

“I suspect my father never knew what happened.†Henry Jr. says of the sinking, widely considered to be the Navy’s worst disaster at sea.

In July, Henry gave a presentation on his father’s life and artwork at a USS Indianapolis Survivors Association reunion. He played a rare recording of his father doing bird calls, displayed original paintings and sold prints. Naturally, “American Eagle in the Pacific†received the most attention.

For Henry, the long journey to getting his father’s work reproduced has fulfilled a longtime dream of his mother – and brought him closer to the dad he never knew.

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http://www.findarticles.com/p/articles/mi_...501/ai_n9467342

An article from National Rifleman on American Arms of the Battle of the Bulge.

Thanks again Jim Hennessey.