Francis Carroll, Company C, 48th Engineer © Bn. died 22 September, 2005.

Yet another great engineer sits with his friends in heaven. Rest in Peace Francis!

Of the 350,000 trucks used by the motorized German Army as of 1942, roughly one-third were Ford-made.

cadetat6

This story is about two air cadets who were both , only ten rooms apart in " OLD DORM " Gettysburg College for 1943 Christmas. They did not know each other until 2003 when they saw these story's on the internet

Almost AWOL Christmas

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.

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

Sent to me by Al Kincer 48th CE.

Sgt. Lester Flory, Headquarters & Service Company, 48 Engineer © Battalion died 22 November, 2005. Lester was a member of the Defiance Ohio VFW.

Rest in peace our dear engineer!

Veterans recall time in groundbreaking WWII unit

Web-posted Nov 11, 2004

'Black Panthers' battalion consisted of black soldiers drafted into war effort

By CAROL HOPKINS

Of The Daily Oakland Press

When Rufus Taylor and Gloucester Stephens were soldiers traveling on troop trains during World War II, Army officials would pull the shades so they wouldn't be seen.

"They didn't want white people to see us on those trains," Taylor, 91, said, noting a fear existed then that people might throw bricks into the train.

On this day set aside to honor veterans for their service, the two African-American veterans of World War II look back on the years of their service with mixed feelings - but they feel times are changing for the better.

Taylor and Stephens, 79, both of Pontiac, served with the 761st Tank Battalion, also known as the "Black Panthers," a unique unit of young black men drafted to fight in the war.

The 761st fought in six European countries and participated in four major Allied campaigns, enduring a casualty rate of nearly 50 percent. In recent years, it has begun to receive long overdue credit.

Records indicate the unit - whose motto was "Come Out Fighting" - captured, destroyed or aided in the liberation of more than 30 towns, several concentration camps, four airfields, three ammunition supply dumps and thousands of weapons.

Taylor, drafted in 1941, worked as a vehicle mechanic and Stephens, drafted in 1943, was assigned to supplies.

The 761st experienced 183 days of combat in Europe during the fall and winter of 1944-45. Instead of fighting on the front line for two months before rotating out, the 761st was kept on the front line for six months.

"No other groups did that," said Stephens, seated in Taylor's den, a mile from his own home.

Stephens said his unit faced intense racism. Some soldiers in the racially segregated Army wanted to "wipe out the unit."

Taylor nodded. "At the time, the perception was the Negro soldiers were not intelligent enough to man artillery trucks and machinery operated in the war, but we proved we were."

One man who welcomed the first black armored unit was Gen. George Patton. Taylor clearly remembers Patton addressing his company in Europe:

"He came to us in an open field and stood up on a half-track (vehicle). He said, 'I don't care what color you are, as long as you can go out there and, excuse me, kill those German SOBs.' "

Taylor chuckled, "He always used a little profanity. We thought a lot of Patton. He was always up in front of us, not behind."

Taylor's most vivid memory of the battlefield was a day he had to help move five dead soldiers out of a tank, victims of a nearby explosion.

"Blood was coming out of their noses and ears, but they were all just sitting right in position," he recalled, "just like nothing had happened. I had nightmares after that for a long time."

That incident led to soldiers leaving hatches open to eliminate the pressure.

Stephens still questions whether German prisoners of war were treated better than black soldiers by the U.S. military.

He recalled a concert when singer Lena Horne performed for the troops. When she saw German prisoners seated in the front and the black American soldiers in the back, "She walked out," he said.

The men - who both returned to Pontiac to live after the war, and wound up working in a General Motors plant - do say recognition of their war service has increased in recent years.

Taylor pointed to NAACP awards.

Stephens said when alumni of the 761st hold reunions, host cities often roll out the red carpet.

This week, officials at the Warren-based U.S. Army Tank Automotive and Armaments Command honored the veterans with a tour and short ceremony.

"So many people think African Americans were just support units in the war," said Oakland Circuit Judge Fred Mester, who helped arrange the tour. "These were men who fought bravely and with courage."