12 July 1945

438^th AAA AW BN

APO 513 % Postmaster, N.Y.

12 July, 1945      0930

Nancy

My dear fiancée –

For the first time in a long while I had an interesting evening last night. I dropped down to the Officers’ Club with a couple of fellows and by pure chance – met a Salem Hospital nurse who is with the 304th Station Hospital outside of Metz. She’s a Miss Greenough – about 35 and she’s aged quite a bit since I saw her last. The peculiar thing is that she was with another nurse – from the Beverly Hospital – whom I didn’t remember, but who remembered me. Well, darling, it sure was nice to sit down and talk about old times and old friends. Both of these girls had seen me intern and they reminded me of a good many major and minor escapades in which I had a part. Incidentally I learned that Frank Morse is in Charlours – the town we were supposed to go to. It’s about 100 miles from here and I’m going to try to get down to see him the first chance I get.

Both nurses, by the way, have been overseas for 23 months and yet have points in the 50’s and so they and their hospital are sweating out the C.B.I. They do think they’ll get a trip home first, though.

1110

Sorry, darling, I got busy and I’ve just got back. It’s strange having the battalion all together again. We haven’t been this way since Sherborne – and we’ve never been in one building. Sick-call attendance always picks up in such a set-up because the Dispensary is so easy to visit.

Boy – I didn’t get any mail yesterday – but I wrote “boy!” because I keep referring to a letter of yours 25 June – in which you speak so nicely of marriage. You really got down to facts and figures in discussing the probable date in September, the days in which we couldn’t get married, etc. Yup – late September would be nice and the fall and winter in which “we could keep each other warm” – sure sounded nice. Dammit – I wish I knew when it would be. One thing about being back here and not with a Corps – we don’t get any rumor anymore, good or bad. One day is like another. The only good news is the speed with which they’re getting troops out of the Continent. Every division that leaves means we’re that much nearer our own day for sailing. Almost all of us could pack up right now and take off. What I mean is that we’ve gotten rid of most of the junk we’ve carried all over France, Belgium and Germany; we’ve thrown away a lot, sent the rest home and we’re all ready. I’ve got the equivalent of one or two packages more of clothing I could send home but I’m waiting to see if I’ll need it or not. And thanks for having offered the space in your home, darling, but I’m not going to clutter you up anymore than I already have. I can send it to my Dad’s place of business. You’ve got enough junk as it is – unless I’m mistaken. That reminds me – I still have a sword I never sent out. I don’t know what to do with it.

But I know I must stop now and get going, sweetheart. All this talk doesn’t tell you I love you dearly and that’s really what I want to say. I do, darling, very, very much and never forget it. Just think how nice it will be to tell you that instead of writing it.

All for now – dear – Love to the folks – and all my sincerest love – ever –

Greg

* TIDBIT *

about Mining India's Coal to Fuel the C-B-I Theater

The following article was published in the India-Burma Theater's Roundup on 12 July 1945.

Vol. III   No. 45         Delhi, Thursday,  July 12, 1945          Reg. No. L5015


ASSAM COAL PRODUCE AIDS U.S. ARMY
By Sgt. JOHN McDOWELL   Roundup Staff Writer


Sargaent John McDowell (center, standing)

LEDO, ASSAM - I've just returned from a two-mile hike along the biggest little supply line in the India-Burma and China Theaters of Operation. The supply line extends through a labyrinth of tunnels nearly eight miles into the side of a jungle-matted mountain. Traffic along the line consists of chains of squat, wooden gondolas, powered by cable-drive, which carry ton after ton of coal from the depths of the primordial Assamese earth to supply the American fighting machine.

For 70 years prior to World War II, the British worked the rich Assam coal deposits, building a rail line from Calcutta to carry the precious fuel to the outside world and bringing mining experts from the coal-producing centers of England to manage the mines and train Indian technicians.

RAIL LINE
Today, the rail line which once hauled coal and tea from Assam and brought back civilian luxuries and everyday necessities for those whose job kept them in the jungle on the "edge of nowhere" is now the vital link in an American supply line which stretches 14,000 miles from the United States to ever-growing war depots in the interior of China.

And the coal mines of Assam are diverting 80 percent of their production to this American supply line and to American installations. Working on a round-the-clock schedule, the mines have upped production 30 percent during the war years to an annual figure of 270,000 tons.

The fuel powers the trains which bring war materials from the docks of Calcutta to Hump cargo plane bases in Assam or to convoy assembly depots in Ledo at the beginning of the Stilwell Road.

POWERS BOATS
It powers the Brahmaputra riverboats which carry troops and supplies up that great inland waterway to the beginning of the meter-gauge rail line in Assam. It fires the boilers which run the generators, the laundries, the ice plants in hundreds of American Army installations in India and Burma. It fires the stoves in countless G.I. kitchens.

This was the story - the story of the supply lines that reaches into the heart of a mountain to bring fuel to a military lifeline that extends halfway around the world - that brought Sgt. Frank Shearer, Roundup photographer, and me to the grimy office of one of Assam's largest coal mines early this rain-tinged morning.

We were met at the office by A. G. G. Maltby, general manager of the mine who greeted us with a chuckle and said, "So you want to make a trip into the mine. It's bloody hot, you know. Bloody uncomfortable. You'll sweat like bloomin' pigs."

TIRED MINER
A South Wales coal miner with 19 years' service in Assam behind him, Maltby is as huge as the mountain he mines. This morning he was dressed in a tattered undershirt covered with an open jacket, khaki shorts, heavy boots and British Army leggings and a steel mine helmet that balanced above his large florid face like an inverted saucer.

We followed Maltby into the main mine tunnel, stumbling along the narrow cable car tracks in the path of dim light from our small miner's lanterns. For a quarter-hour the going was easy. The tunnel was broad and high and reinforced with brick and steel and timber.

As we got deeper into the mountain the air become more humid. Moisture dripped from the arched brick ceiling, and as our lamps cast eerie shadows in the gloom, bats stirred in dim crevices.

The broad brick and steel-reinforced section of the tunnel ended abruptly and we entered a section scarcely five feet high where rough, blasted rock walls funneled sharply down to the edge of the tracks. Heavy timbers supported the tunnel here and as we pushed forward at an awkward crouch, we received more than one bump on the head by forgetting to duck low hanging support beams.

MARSHALLING YARDS
Suddenly the cable which ran up the center of the tracks became taut and started to hum. "A load of coal is coming out," Maltby said. "We'd better get clear of the tracks."

A few yards further on we came to an indentation cut into the side of the tunnel. We crowded into the opening. The humming became louder then was replaced by an increasing clatter. Then from the black recesses of the tunnel a chain of 15 or 20 small wooden gondolas which the British call "tubs," flashed into the radius of our lamplight with their cargo of coal. An Indian miner, clinging to the last tub, blinked in the sudden light, then disappeared in the blackness which lay between us and the outside world. The clattering diminished, replaced by the humming which gradually became fainter. Then all was silent. The cable slacked. The chain of tubs had reached the unloading point outside.

An hour after entering the tunnel we reached the marshaling yards, two miles into the mountain. Here, for the first time, we realized the magnitude of the network of rail lines necessary to bring the coal to the surface.

From the marshaling yards, lighted by powerful lamps, tracks branch out from their converging point into a series of sub-tunnels. In each of the sub-tunnels smaller marshaling points are located in areas where jigs (connecting shafts between levels) lead up to higher levels of the mine.

NERVE CENTER
The various levels of the mine, which step up toward the top of the mountain, are connected with the main marshalling yards by cable lines which ease the loaded tubs down the steep jigs to the main yards and pull up empties to be loaded.

Thus, the main marshalling yards is the nerve center of the mine. It is here that loaded tubs from all working sections of the mine are formed into chains of up to 25, hooked to the cable and pulled to the outside. And it is here that chains of empty tubs from the outside unloading point are broken up and dispatched to various points in the mine, ready for reloading.

In all, the transportation network in the mine is comprised of approximately 16 miles of trackage and nearly the same amount of cable.

Long years of working in the mine's low tunnels had formed Maltby's posture into a permanent stoop. Even when standing upright his torso, neck and head leaned forward as if he were constantly on the verge of plunging into the darkness of a low-timbered mine passageway.

G.I. NEOPHYTES
But Shearer and I were unconditioned to life under the earth. By the time we reached the marshaling yards we were soaked with perspiration and our legs and backs ached from walking through the low-ceiling tunnel in an unaccustomed crouch. And we still hadn't seen a miner at work.

But when Maltby reminded us that the going was "bloody well tougher" before we got up to the actual mining operations, we could last as long as the big Welshman.

Maltby's prediction of "tough going" soon proved to be a choice example of British understatement. We walked along one of the sub-tunnels to a jig which led up into the mountain at a 70-degree slope. The cable leading up the jig was moving slowly and Maltby motioned us back from the jig entrance.

COMING DOWN
"A tub's comin' down," he warned. "Sometimes the blasted cable breaks and there's bloody hell to pay. Had a man killed here last week."

We got back. Way back. Slowly the loaded tub inched down from the jig to the mine level and rolled to a stop. Natives uncoupled the cable and hooked it onto an empty tub. One workman struck a steel gong a sharp blow. At that signal, the cable tightened and the empty tub was pulled up into the black mouth of the jig. Other natives pushed the loaded tub down the tracks toward the main marshaling yards.

When the cable had slacked again, indicating that the tub was uncoupled at the next level, Maltby rang the gong three times. "That's a warning that we're coming up the jig," he said. "Otherwise we bloody well might find ourselves face to face with a blinkin' tub coming down."

JIG'S POSITION
The jig seemed almost perpendicular. It stretched up into the mountain for more than 200 yards like a dark, narrow gopher hole. Crude steps were cut in the coal floor of the jig beside the tracks. We clawed our way up the jig, stopping every 40 or 50 yards to gasp for breath. The humid temperature of 85 degrees which we had cursed on the main mine level seemed cool in retrospect. The temperature in the jig, Maltby told us, was approximately 90. It became even hotter as we got farther into the mine.

That was just the beginning. At the top of the jig we paused for breath, then stumbled along the timber-supported tunnel of the second level, passing through a series of iron doors which mark the midway point in the mine's ventilating system. Fresh air is drawn into the mine through the main tunnel which we had followed. Stale air passes out of the mine through another series of tunnels. Beyond the last of the iron doors, we found ourselves in the stale air portion of the ventilating system. The air was heavy and breathing was difficult. Water, tinged heavily with sulfur, lay in pools along the floor of the tunnel.

AVERAGE AGE
We struggled up three more jigs, varying from 30 to 100 yards in length, before reaching the level where Bhutan miners were working a large pocket of coal. Bhutans, short, muscular men from India's north frontier country, and Nepalese make up the majority of the mine's 2,000 native workers. Their pay is two rupees per nine hour work day.

Average age of the miners is 26, although some of the sirdars (mine superintendents) have spent most of their lives in this one mine. The four head sirdars have spent an aggregate of 130 years in the mine. Mussa, a white-haired, gnome-like old man is the veteran with 40 years service. Pahala has spent 34 years in the mine and Kesoo and kali Bose have records of 30 and 26 years respectively.

We had to crawl on all fours up a narrow tunnel, know as a chauri, to reach the pocket where the miners were at work. The pocket was approximately 50 yards in diameter and the ceiling was better than 30 feet high. The coal, Maltby explained, is blasted off the walls and ceiling of these pockets with charges of dynamite. Some pockets are as large as 75 to 100 yards in diameter with 100-foot ceilings.

As we stood on the edge of the pocket, watching the Bhutans work the coal in the light of two giant lamps, a trickle of coal dust sifted down from the high ceiling. "Cabadar!" one of the miners shouted. In an instant the miners scattered to the edges of the pocket and in their wake a shower of coal thundered down from the ceiling and echoed in the silence as it fell where the miners had been working.

ALMOST SERIOUS
"Could have been damn well serious," Maltby said when the excitement died down. "Good thing these miners develop an uncanny instinct. When the one Bhutan saw the dust filtering from the ceiling he knew what was coming and shouted the warning - cabadar, which means 'clear the bloody hell out.'"

The trip back was fast and comparatively easy. Leaving the 98 degree heat of the coal pocket, we picked our way cautiously down jigs which had been closed to rail traffic two weeks earlier by a series of cave-ins. In places we had to squeeze through narrow spaces between collapsed timbers. When we reached the main level, Maltby said, "I brought you back that way so you could see one of the mine's danger areas."

It may have been a danger area, but it was a short-cut. We didn't complain.

We rode back from the main marshaling yards to the outside world in empty tubs. It was a weird trip. Crouching low in the tubs so our heads would clear the low ceiling and timbers of the tunnel, we trained our lamps on the sides and ceiling of the passageway. The chain of tubs clattered down the tracks at eight miles per hour, but in the close confines of the tunnel it seemed as if we were careening along at a mile a minute at least.

OUTSIDE AGAIN
Suddenly pale traces of daylight drowned the light from our lamps and then we were on the outside, half-blinded in the unaccustomed light of day.

The chain of tubs left the jungled mountain behind. We passed a large corrugated iron factory building where small coal (coal dust) is mixed with pitch, lime and spoiled rice and molded into brickets which are utilized as fuel by Army installations. We passed tattooed Bengalese women shoveling coal or carrying it in large baskets on their heads. Then we came to a stop at the unloading shed where the newly-mined coal was dumped from the tubs onto conveyor belts.

As the coal passed down the long conveyor belts, Indian women picked out the slag. The coal was then sifted and loaded into large railway cars, ready for delivery to the United States Army.

11 July 1945

438^th AAA AW BN

APO 513 % Postmaster, N.Y.

11 July, 1945      0840

Nancy

Good morning, sweetheart –

Well – we’ve been in this town for a little over two weeks – and my poor detachment is moving for the 3rd time – but we’re so darned used to it – we’re not concerned very much. We’ve finally attained a large building which will house the whole battalion and everyone is moving in today – except Able battery which will remain in Metz – at least for now. The general set-up will be good, because the building is downtown and will be very convenient for the men when on pass. So in about an hour or so, after sick-call, we’ll be moving once more.

Yesterday I got two letters – none from you. Both letters, though, were interesting. One was from Lou Rogol – a fellow I’ve told you about – who was with 5th Army in Italy and was sent home on rotation. He’s happy, of course, having been married and having a wife with him; but he’s still being shifted around. This time he wrote me from Ft. Meade, Maryland, and he believes that should be fairly permanent now. He had been at Ft. Sill, Oklahoma – before then.

The other letter was quite a surprise. It was from ‘that Blonde’ German woman I defended in Stolberg. I’ll be darned if I know where she got my address, although it would have been easy enough. The letter was addressed to me by a Lieutenant whom I don’t know – with his return address on the envelope. As she explained in the letter, he is a ‘friend’ of some of her friends and she asked him to mail the letter. He stuck his neck out, too, because if the letter were opened, he’d really be in trouble. What she had to say was that she thanked me for my troubles in her behalf last winter, that she had finally been cleared of all charges (I had left before I knew that for certain.) She wanted to know how I was, if I had gotten thru the war safely and would I visit her and her mother if I had the chance. Well – needless to say, dear, it was all rather surprising. I told the boys about it and got quite a ‘riding’. Of course I won’t answer it.

Say – in the letter I got from you the day before yesterday, you mentioned the possibility of your dropping over to Magnolia and visiting the Casino. You brought back memories of my Beverly days, dear. We used to go there often – and it’s one of the nicest spots to go dancing and dining that I’ve ever been to. I wonder if Ruby Newman still runs it. We got to know him fairly well. I know the fellow who did – and still does his arrangements, a Roy Anderson who majored in music at Harvard. He directed the Band the years I played in it.

From the Post Card:

The beautiful Casino at Magnolia. Scenery which offers all the beauties of the North Shore with its historic Reef of Norman's Woe, immortalized by Longfellow's poem, "The Wreck Of The Hesperus"; and the famous Reef Chasm. Naturally cooled by Gloucester Harbor breezes. Unsurpassed cuisine - Ruby Newman's delightful music for dancing.

Gosh sweetheart how I’d love to be taking you to a place like that! It’s so romantic – although I know I can be romantic with you anywhere and anytime. Just give me the chance! Jeepers – I sure could do with a little of your loving, darling! I’m really missing you these days, more than I’ve let you know. I’ve mentioned before – that with the tension of combat gone – I have more time to think of you and us – and more time to regret our continued being apart. But they are moving men out – way ahead of schedule – and sooner of later – they must come to us – or me. I’m waiting and praying for that day – and so hard! I love you dearly, sweetheart – and I want so much to show you what I mean.

Gotta stop now and clear out. Hope to her from you today – but things will be a bit mixed up because everyone’s moving – including the mail clerk. My love to the folks, dear, regards to Mary – and remember – you have and will always have

All my deepest love and devotion –

Greg

* TIDBIT *

about Roy Anderson

Greg mentioned that Roy Anderson was doing arrangements for Ruby Newman's band during the war years. Here is more about Greg's former Harvard Band director.

Anderson with the Harvard Band in 1929

Leroy Anderson (Leh-ROY', not LEE'-roy; 29 June 1908 – 18 May 1975) was an American composer of short, light concert pieces, many of which were introduced by the Boston Pops Orchestra under the direction of Arthur Fiedler. John Williams described him as "one of the great American masters of light orchestral music."

Born in Cambridge, Massachusetts to Swedish parents, Anderson was given his first piano lessons by his mother, who was a church organist. He continued studying piano at the New England Conservatory of Music. In 1925 Anderson entered Harvard University, where he studied theory with Walter Spalding, counterpoint with Edward Ballantine, harmony with George Enescu, composition with Walter Piston and double bass with Gaston Dufresne. He also studied organ with Henry Gideon. He graduated with a Bachelor of Arts degree in 1929 and Master of Arts in 1930.

Anderson continued studying at Harvard, working towards a PhD in German and Scandinavian languages. Anderson spoke English and Swedish during his youth but he eventually became fluent in Danish, Norwegian, Icelandic, German, French, Italian, and Portuguese. During this time he was also working as organist and choir director at the East Milton Congregational Church, leading the Harvard University Band, and conducting and arranging for dance bands around Boston. His arranging work came to the attention of Arthur Fiedler in 1936 and Anderson was asked to show Fiedler any original compositions. Anderson's first work was Jazz Pizzicato in 1938. Fiedler suggested that a companion piece be written and thus Anderson wrote Jazz Legato in 1938.

In 1942 Leroy "Roy" Anderson joined the U.S. Army, and was assigned to Iceland as a translator and interpreter. Later in 1945 he was assigned to the Pentagon as Chief of the Scandinavian Desk of Military Intelligence. But his duties did not prevent him from composing, and in 1945 he wrote "The Syncopated Clock" and "Promenade." Anderson was a reserve officer and was recalled to active duty for the Korean War. In 1951 Anderson wrote his first hit, "Blue Tango," earning a Golden Disc and the No. 1 spot on the Billboard charts.

His pieces and his recordings during the fifties conducting a studio orchestra were immense commercial successes. "Blue Tango" was the first instrumental recording ever to sell one million copies. His most famous pieces are probably "Sleigh Ride" and "The Syncopated Clock", both of which are instantly recognizable to millions of people. In 1950, WCBS-TV in New York City selected "Syncopated Clock" as the theme song for The Late Show, the WCBS late-night movie. Mitchell Parish added words to "Syncopated Clock", and later wrote lyrics for other Anderson tunes, including "Sleigh Ride", which was not written as a Christmas piece, but as a work that describes a winter event.

Anderson started the work during a heat wave in August 1946. He finished the work in February 1948. The Boston Pops' recording of it in 1949 was the first pure orchestral piece to reach No. 1 on the Billboard Pop Music chart. "Sleigh Ride" became the signature song for the orchestra. The orchestra has also recorded the song with John Williams, their conductor from 1979 to 1995, and Keith Lockhart, their current conductor. Lyrics, about a person who would like to ride in a sleigh on a winter's day with another person, were written by Mitchell Parish in 1950. Leroy Anderson recorded his own version of "Sleigh Ride" in 1950. This recording hit the Cashbox magazine best sellers chart when re-released in 1952.

Although "Sleigh Ride" is often associated with Christmas, and often appears on Christmas compilation albums, the song's lyrics never specifically mention any holiday or religion (apart from certain recordings, such as those by the Carpenters, Walter Schumann and Air Supply, that substitute "Christmas party" for "birthday party" in the song's bridge). In fact, the mention of "pumpkin pie" in the last verse might suggest an association with Thanksgiving rather than Christmas.

According to the American Society of Composers, Authors and Publishers [ASCAP] review of Christmas music, "Sleigh Ride" consistently ranks in the top 10 list of most performed songs written by ASCAP members during the Christmas season worldwide. The song retains its appeal. ASCAP named "Sleigh Ride" the most popular piece of Christmas music in the USA for the consecutive years, 2010 and 2011, based on performance data tracked by airplay monitoring service, Mediaguide, from over 2,500 radio stations nationwide. The most performed artist version of "Sleigh Ride" was the original instrumental version as recorded by Leroy Anderson.

According to author, Steve Metcalf, in his book, Leroy Anderson: A Bio-Bibliography (Praeger 2004),

"Sleigh Ride" ... has been performed and recorded by a wider array of musical artists than any other piece in the history of Western music."

Here are Roy Anderson's two signature songs, "Sleigh Ride" (instrumental and with voice) and "Syncopated Clock".

Sleigh Ride (Instrumental)
as conducted by Leroy Anderson:

Sleigh Ride (with Vocals)
Sung by Amy Grant:


Syncopated Clock
performed by Arthur Fiedler's Boston Pops:

10 July 1945

V-MAIL

438^th AAA AW BN

APO 513 % Postmaster, N.Y.

10 July, 1945 

Nancy

My dearest Sweetheart –

Gee – I got a letter yesterday from you, Dad B and Dad A – all postmarked 2 July and that’s not bad at all. I think from here in the mail service ought to be continuously good. I hope the service in your direction, dear, is just as good.

So you are now in the unemployed class! I’ll bet it’s a relief – although my bet is you’ll probably be missing it soon. But it will do you good – getting a rest and relaxing. The fact is, darling, that for the past couple of months or so you have sounded a bit tired – although I know several factors were involved.

Say, dear, I didn’t know Dad B was so tired out. Has he been working too hard, and how do you happen to know his pulse is always fast? For pity’s sake – have him take it easy. And by the way – how is Mother B? I guess I should drop them both a note – but damn it – I seem to have less time now than I did when we were in Combat. And don’t you overwork either, sweetheart! Mowing all that lawn etc. is too much for a girl to do – remember that! And incidentally, I love you, darling – so take care of yourself for me. Love to the folks and

All my love,

Greg

* TIDBIT *

about The Mystery Surrounding U-530


U-530 in Argentina

In his blog "History's mysteries and other thoughts", Pilar Bertuzzi Patagonia posted an article, U-530: The Mystery U-boat of Patagonia, on 3 April 2011. Here was that post:

On 10 July 1945, two months after the end of WWII, German submarine U-530 surrendered to the Argentinian forces at Mar del Plata, south of Buenos Aires. Oberleutnant Otto Wermuth, the ship’s captain, did not explain why the crew on board carried no identification and could not account for the ship’s log, which was missing.

U-530 Commanding Officer
Lieutenant (j.g.) Otto Wermuth

On 17 July 1945, Reuters reported that according to Argentinian newspaper, Critica, the Argentine police were searching the coast for any person that may have disembarked from the U-530. Critica argued that there were doubts as to whether Otto Wermuth was the ship’s real captain and introduced the possibility that the real crew, together with high-ranking Nazis may have been off-loaded before the ship’s surrender on 10 July. On 23 July 1945, Time magazine wrote that an Argentine journalist reported

he had seen a Buenos Aires provincial police report to the effect that a strange submarine had surfaced off the long, lonely, lower Argentine coast, had landed a high-ranking officer and a civilian. They might have been Adolf Hitler and his wife, Eva Braun, in man's dress.

Could Hitler and Eva Braun have escaped Berlin days before their alleged suicide on April 30, 1945?

This possibility was first introduced by Stalin at Potsdam on 17 July 1945 and was compound by the fact that the Soviets, who occupied Berlin in May 1945, had difficulties in locating the bodies of Hitler and Eva Braun. In Argentina, the Navy Intelligence service had been investigating mysterious German U-boat landings since April 1945. In a report filed by navy investigator, Niceforo Alarcon, a copy of which can be retrieved from the Coordinacion Federal under the number CF-OP-2315, landings had been taking place since 1943, with Navy Lt Rudolf Freude and Eva Duarte (Eva Peron) as principal activists. The U-boats landed at a secluded spot near the village of San Clemente del Tuyu. According to author Ladislav Farago, the U-boats unloaded gold and counterfeit currency, part of Martin Bormann’s plan to fund the future survival of the Third Reich.

However, the events of Hitler’s last days in the bunker under the Chancellery are well documented by eye witness accounts. The NKVD (Soviet Secret Services) issued a preliminary report in 1946, in which it confirmed that Hitler and Eva Braun’s bodies had been dug up from a spot in the garden outside the Chancellery, where the SS had tried to bury them after setting fire to them. The NKVD funded a further investigation which produced the Operation Myth dossier, presented to Stalin in 1949. This dossier was only released in its entirety in 2005. It is based on thorough interrogations of Hitler’s assistant, Heinz Linge, and his military adjutant, Otto Günsche. The dossier confirms that Hitler and Eva Braun committed suicide on the afternoon of 30 April 1945; Hitler by cyanide capsule and a shot to the temple and Eva Braun by cyanide capsule. These accounts were later corroborated by Hitler’s secretary’s own account, Traudl Junge, who had personally typed the Fuhrer’s last will. Ms. Junge stated that she heard the shot on 30 April, whilst Otto Gunsche confirms that he tried to set fire to the bodies in the garden outside the bunker.

Aside from these eye witness accounts, there is little evidence left of Hitler’s death. The bodies dug by the Soviets in 1945 had been recognized as those of Hitler and Eva Braun by Hitler’s dentist who claimed that the dental remains of one of the skulls matched his memory of the Fuhrer’s teeth. However, the remains had be reburied and re-dug several times until they were finally destroyed in 1970. All that remained of them is the fragment of a skull (cranial vault) and pieces of the couch bearing the remains of Hitler’s blood.

Dr. Nick Bellantoni, state archeologist at the University of Connecticut was allowed access to the evidence at the Russian State archives in 2008. He was able to extract DNA samples from the skull and from the blood stains he collected from the couch fibers. Dr. Bellantoni’s first analysis suggested that the cranial vault exhibited characteristics that do not match those of a fifty-six year old male. Later, the DNA analysis proved that the skull belonged to a woman: it was not, therefore, Adolf Hitler’s as the Soviets had claimed since 1970. The blood was that of a male, but the results were inconclusive since none of Hitler’s surviving relatives accepted to take part in the test.

Some argue that Hitler may have escaped aboard Hanna Reitchs‘ plane that left Berlin on the night of 29 April, although she denied that until her death. There is evidence in FBI filings that the Bureau had been looking for Hitler in Spain, where it believed he had fled to, based on some eye witness accounts and medical files stating that Hitler had been taking large quantities of dope as prescription for tremors that he suffered from.

Whilst physical evidence is inconclusive, eye witness accounts are accurate and all corroborate the view that Hitler did commit suicide on 30 April. Escaping would not have been a choice to a man who had seen the collapse of his empire. The fact that the bodies have not been found matches Hitler’s last wish not to allow the Soviets the satisfaction of parading his remains in public, like the Italians had done with the body of Benito Mussolini in Milan. There is therefore very little chance that the Fuhrer survived the war.

09 July 1945

438^th AAA AW BN

APO 513 % Postmaster, N.Y.

9 July, 1945      0845

Nancy

Good morning, darling –

I’m writing you from our new Dispensary location – which is swell, although temporary. The Colonel still wants a place where the whole battalion will be together, so we’ll probably be here only a while. We have a 16 room mansion – in the better section of town. It’s a fine house and my boys have about 2 rooms each. I’ve got to get a phone installed today and arrange for a couple of more details – and will be all set.

Yesterday p.m. – I had a nice time. I believe I told you already that I had met a couple of nice families thru Dave Ennis. Well I was invited by them to play tennis yesterday at their club. It turned out to be a fairly swank place and definitely not public. We played doubles – the two madames that I know, and a young fellow. It was a swell match and I was thoroughly surprised. One of the women must certainly be in her late forties – and to see her get around the court – was a pleasure. I think in a game of singles she could probably trim me – although I’m no champ, of course. When we were thru – we sat around on the porch of the Clubhouse and drank lemonade. I was surprised when I was asked to become a member. There are no other American members and when I asked if some of the other officers in my outfit might join up – I was told ‘no’; I could because I was proposed by two members. I’ll probably join up – you can join by the month – season – etc and maybe if I can get to know a couple of more members – some of our officers may in turn be invited.

The club – by the way – is situated high up on a hill in the suburbs of town and is really smooth. The courts are excellent – and I’m mighty glad I brought along that liberated German racquet – it’s coming in handy.

The only mail I received yesterday, darling, was one letter from you – 23 June. You seemed a bit tired and fed up with things – and somewhat disappointed where – after 9 days of no mail and hopes that I might be on my way home – a V-Mail arrived at Mother A’s intimating no such thing. I know, sweetheart, how you must feel about things – but heck, dear, I feel just as terribly about it. By the way – what are your plans for the summer? You haven’t mentioned – even in your most recent letter of the 28th. I suppose it will just seem swell not to have to trek into and out of town every day.

You think it would be a good idea if I wrote Phil. I suppose so, dear, although there’s really not much point to it. He’s certainly got enough to do without bothering to answer – and he may feel obligated to write if he hears from me. I’ll think it over some more and perhaps jot him a note of some sort – at a later date.

What I’m more interested in then anything else, darling, is you – and I too – am pretty fed up with being away from you. It’s been so damned long. We’ve just got to hold out a little longer – and I know our love for each other is capable of giving us that ability. Because, sweetheart, I do love you so very very much – that time nor anything else can stand in its way.

All for now, dear. Love to the folks – and

My deepest, sincerest love is yours –

Greg

* TIDBIT *

about Those who were Untrue

This article was published in TIME magazine, Monday 9 July 1945, Volume XLVI, Number 2.

"ARMY & NAVY: They're Always Short"

TIME Correspondent Carl Mydans, who has spent eleven months with U.S. fighting men and 21 months in Jap internment, recently witnessed a scene not infrequent in World War II. He set it down as he saw it.

Carl Mydans in 1936
War Correspondent and Photographer

Last week he cabled from the Pacific:

The ship's mail had just been thrown aboard, and throughout the destroyer there was that warm excitement, stimulation and laughter which always follows the operation.

The executive officer was a young one and he liked his men — which is saying that his men liked him.

I saw him that morning as we lay off the beach at Tarakan leaning on the rail, an enlisted man beside him, a letter in his hands. He was reading. Then he folded the letter deliberately, put his arm around the sailor's shoulders, and handed him the letter. A moment later he appeared beside me on the bridge. He lighted a cigarette.

A signal man standing nearby whispered: "The smoking lamp is out, sir." He jerked into consciousness, rubbed out his cigarette. He turned to me:

That's the third one we've had this month. And this time it's the best man we've got on the ship. I've watched that kid change slowly from a Middlewest farmer to the best machinist's mate I've seen in the Navy. When we wanted a job done we turned it over to him and that was like saying the job was done. But he's through now. He's through for a while anyway. We'll keep him busy. We'll keep him ticking. But we won't give him anything to do that has any responsibility connected with it.

He was mad. He reached for another cigarette, then jabbed the pack into his pocket. I let him talk:

He just got a letter from his wife. Just came in with this mail. He came up to me and I knew (here was something wrong before he spoke. Matter of fact he didn't say much. Sometimes they talk. But he just couldn't. He just handed me the letter and said: 'This is the first I've had from my wife in six months.' I knew what it was. I didn't have to read it. It was short. They always are. 'Dear James,' it read,

I know you will understand. I've met the only man in the world and I want you to give me a divorce. You can get one through the Navy. They say it's easier through the Navy. You can have Vicki. I hate to lose her but this thing means more to me than anything else in the world.

The lieutenant pointed with his chin: "There he is. He's sitting out there on the fantail alone."

On the black, oily beach a thousand yards off, a strip of LSTs and LCIs lay high & dry. Jap artillery and heavy mortar was splashing around them. Farther inland our naval barrage was laying in some white puffs amid the jungle green. We had been at general quarters since dawn and the machine-gun bursts from the shore side told of men fighting and dying there. But to the machinist's mate sitting alone in the quiet of his anguish, the war and all its noises had faded away. The war had lost its meaning. Everything he had been trained for had lost its meaning. "The best man on the ship" had been sabotaged.

08 July 1945

438^th AAA AW BN

APO 513 % Postmaster, N.Y.

8 July, 1945      1000

Nancy

My dearest darling Wilma –

I neglected you all day yesterday, dear, but I was really on the go all day. I was still looking for billets for my men. So far we haven’t been made to move – but I had to have a place ready. Well – they finally released a place to me that had been reserved for a General who hasn’t shown up for it. It’s a big place – 16 rooms (we need about 5 rooms at the most.) I’m going to hold off moving until I actually have to – because battalion is looking around for a place where we can all be together. We’re spread out too much now.

Yesterday I got another old letter from you – 5 June, but also my most recent one, darling – 28 June – and both were very welcome. The earlier was written in a reminiscent mood and certainly took me back a long long way – to the days when I first was seeing you and falling in love with you. I can remember so vividly the little store in Wellfleet and the trouble I had in putting a call thru to LaSalle; And that week at Hyannis and our experiments with Benzedrine Sulfate and its energy-producing quality. Gee that is a long way back – but so pleasant to think about. But it’s the future that I’m interested in, darling, and living for.

Your letter of the 25th still showed no inkling of our mission and you still talk in terms of my coming home in a matter of several weeks – or at most – by September. Gosh, darling, I dread receiving the letter from you in which you hear that we’re M.P.’s and don’t know how long we’ll be here. But it’s the same with all Category IV outfits. They have a low priority. The one good piece of news is that they’re way ahead of schedule in shipping Divisions out of France and England. As soon as the bulk of the Divisions to do the fighting are cleared out – we’ll get our chance. And – by the way – I almost forgot to tell you. My chances of getting home and staying are better by 5 points more, dear. I got the Bronze Star Medal for “Meritorious Service etc.” in the Campaign thru France, Belgium and Germany etc etc. Of course I was glad to get the medal – but what interested me most was the 5 points – because although it just came thru – it was for the period before the end of the war and therefore it counts. It raises my total to 82 points – which is a pretty good score on the whole – and certainly puts me in a higher than average group.

In your most recent letter you tell me not to be concerned about Mother A worrying about this or that. Heck – I know it doesn’t do any good. As you so aptly put it – if it isn’t about my being overseas – it’ll be about the food – or some triviality. She’ll never change – it’s her nature. I can hope only that she’ll have less and less important things to worry over.

Here in Nancy – things are about the same. There are supposed to be some fine families but we haven’t met any yet. The Colonel met some nice people last nite – one, a French General’s wife and thru him I received an invitation to play tennis this p.m. with her. I guess I’ll go. It’s at 1500 and I have little else to do. If we’re going to be here long, I might as well make some nice friends. How about you, darling? Would you like to meet me? Good! Honestly, dear – I can hardly wait for the day when we can do away with all this bunk and just have each other to think about and love. But I can stick it out if you can and only hope that we’ll make it all up. I honestly believe we can and will. All for now, sweetheart. Love to the folks – and

All my deepest love

Greg

AWARD OF THE BRONZE STAR MEDAL
[Click to Enlarge]

   

R E S T R I C T E D
HEADQUARTERS XXI CORPS
APO 101, U S ARMY

GENERAL ORDERS )                           27 June 1945
NUMBER     117 )

AWARD OF THE BRONZE STAR MEDAL

By direction of the President and under the provisions of Army Regulations 600-45, 22 September 1943, as amended, and Circular 21, Headquarters Seventh United States Army, 17 June 1945, the Bronze Star Medal is awarded by the Corps Commander to the following named individuals, 438th Antiaircraft Artillery Automatic Weapons Battalion (Mobile), United States Army, for meritorious service:

"Greg", Captain, Medical Corps, from 17 June 1944 to 20 April 1945, in France, Belgium and Germany. Entered military service from the State of Massachusetts.

(along with 8 First Lieutenants and 1 Second Lieutenant)

                  BY COMMAND OF MAJOR GENERAL MILBURN:

R. VAN BRUNT

                                               COL GSC
                                                CofS OFFICIAL:
      [signature]
     WILLIS E VINCENT
         COL AGD
           AG

* TIDBIT *

about the WWII Bronze Star Medal


The Bronze Star Medal

A U.S. Armed Forces individual military decoration, the Bronze Star Medal is the fourth-highest award for bravery, heroism or meritorious service.

Awards may be made for acts of heroism which are of lesser degree than required for the award of the Silver Star. Awards may also be made to recognize single acts of merit or meritorious service. The required achievement or service while of lesser degree than that required for the award of the Legion of Merit must nevertheless have been meritorious and accomplished with distinction. To be eligible for the Bronze Star Medal, a military member must be getting hostile fire/imminent danger pay, during the event for which the medal is to be awarded. The Bronze Star Medal is typically referred to by its full name (including the word "Medal") to differentiate the decoration from bronze service stars which are worn on campaign medals and service awards.

Two years before the creation of the Bronze Star Medal, the "Air Medal" had been adopted to raise airmen's morale. The award that eventually became the Bronze Star Medal was conceived by Colonel Russell P. “Red” Reeder in 1943, who believed it would aid morale of the ground troops if there was a medal which could be awarded by captains of companies or batteries to deserving people serving under them. Reeder felt the medal should be a ground equivalent of the Air Medal, and proposed that the new award be called the “Ground Medal”.

The idea eventually rose through the military bureaucracy and gained supporters. General George C. Marshall, in a memorandum to President Franklin D. Roosevelt dated 3 February 1944, wrote

The fact that the ground troops, Infantry in particular, lead miserable lives of extreme discomfort and are the ones who must close in personal combat with the enemy, makes the maintenance of their morale of great importance. The award of the Air Medal has had an adverse reaction on the ground troops, particularly the Infantry Riflemen who are now suffering the heaviest losses, air or ground, in the Army, and enduring the greatest hardships.

President Roosevelt authorized the Bronze Star Medal by Executive Order 9419 dated 4 February 1944, retroactive to 7 December 1941.

The Bronze Star Medal was designed by Rudolf Freund (1878–1960) of the jewelry firm Bailey, Banks & Biddle. Freund had previously designed the Silver Star. The Bronze Star is 1-1/2 inches (38 mm) in diameter. In the center there is a 3/16 of an inch (4.8 mm) diameter superimposed bronze star. The center line of all rays of both stars coincide. The reverse has the inscription “HEROIC OR MERITORIOUS ACHIEVEMENT” and a space for the name of the recipient to be engraved. The star is suspended from the ribbon by a rectangular shaped metal loop with the rounded corners. The ribbon is 1-3/8 inches (35 mm) wide and consists of white, scarlet, white, ultramarine, white, scarlet and white stripes, in that order.

07 July 1945

No letter today. Just this:

* TIDBIT *

about the Utah POW Massacre

During WWII, over 15,000 prisoners of war were sent to Utah out of the over 425,000 prisoners of war in the United States. About 7000 of these men were Italians while about 8000 were Germans.

Beginning in World War I, camps in Utah were frequently used to house German nationals and prisoners of war. With the 38th Infantry located at Fort Douglas near Salt Lake City, Utah's location seemed ideal for housing German prisoners of war (POWs) following the United States' entry into World War II. Hundreds of German prisoners were held in the camps during the course of the war and often housed in tents due to the limited space available. Guarding the prisoners was not a popular duty for the soldiers stationed at the camps. Due to low morale and the general poor quality of training that the guards were provided, discipline was a continuing problem. According to one well-known history of the Utah prison camps, many of the guards were described as being

of low mentality, non-intellectual, (who) could neither understand nor see the reason for the Geneva Convention. Many drank and went AWOL. They read comic books rather than listening to news. They liked to think of themselves as heroes, their one desire being "to shoot a Kraut".

While guards with more military experience and better training became common towards the end of the war, numerous guards with disciplinary problems still remained.

Clarence Bertucci was definitely one of them.

Born in New Orleans in 1921, Bertucci was a sixth-grade dropout who enlisted in the army in 1940. Despite his long service in the military, he seemed incapable of being promoted beyond the rank of private and was a frequent discipline problem. He never served overseas except for an eight-month stint with an artillery unit in England and, like many other problem cases, was eventually transferred to Fort Douglas to serve as a guard. Despite his pathological hatred of Germans, he seemed to manage his duties well enough. According to later testimony, Bertucci had reportedly felt "cheated" due to being unable to serve in combat. He was also quoted as saying, "Someday I will get my Germans; I will get my turn." If he was upset by the news of the war's end and that the prisoners he had been guarding would soon be going home, he kept it to himself.

It should have been a routine night at the temporary prisoner of war camp that had been set up at the end of Main Street in Salina, Utah. Two months following Germany's formal surrender on May 7, 1945, the 250 German prisoners of war who were still housed at the camp were waiting to be repatriated to their homes. When Bertucci went out drinking on the evening of 7 July 1945, he showed no indication of what he was planning. According to the waitresses at his favorite bar, he simply told them that "something exciting" would happen that night and then he went back to the fort to begin his shift.

A cooling breeze rustled through the tents and the dusty town. At midnight Private Bertucci climbed a tower, relieving the guard. Below him lay the silent tent-city whose occupants, next morning, would be out in the fields, thinning beets. A .30-caliber machine gun pointed into the sky. Private Bertucci picked up a belt of cartridges and carefully threaded it into the gun. He had never been in action, but he knew how to work a machine gun. He lowered the muzzle and, aiming carefully, pulled the trigger. Methodically he swept the 43 tents, from left to right and back again. Screams and strangled shouts came from the tents. Above the screams, Private Bertucci heard an officer shouting at him. A corporal panted up to take Bertucci off the tower.

After Bertucci was taken into custody, he was completely unrepentant about what he had done. As far as he was concerned, the killings were justified because the victims were German. Following his placement in a local hospital for a psychiatric assessment, the military was forced to deal with the political fallout. The killing of nine prisoners by a U.S. soldier was a public relations disaster during what should have been a time of celebration. Ninth Service Command officers admitted that Bertucci's record already showed two courts-martial, one in England. His own calm explanation seemed a little too simple: he had hated Germans, so he had killed Germans. Despite the absence of any real evidence of mental impairment, Clarence Bertucci was declared insane by a military panel and sent to a New York mental hospital. There is little information available on what happened to him afterward or how long he spent in hospital. He died in 1969.

His nine murder victims, ranging in age from 24 to 48, were buried at Fort Douglas Cemetery. Dressed in U.S. military khaki uniforms, they were buried with military honors. Only their common death date and and the inscription on their tombstones distinguish their graves from all the others in the military cemetery. Twenty more German POWs were treated for wounds. These injured soldiers were repatriated once they were declared medically fit for travel. Bertucci's rampage marked a sad end to the otherwise successful internment of hundreds of thousands of enemy soldiers in U.S. territory during World War II and is still remembered as the worst massacre at a POW camp in U.S. history.

One of those killed in the massacre

On Memorial Day, 30 May 1933, a memorial had been erected by the German-Americans of the United States of America in cooperation with the American Legion of the State of Utah. It had been dedicated in memory of the men who had died while interned at Fort Douglas during World War I. In 1988, the German Air Force and the German War Graves Commission funded the refurbishment of the memorial statue at Fort Douglas Cemetery. A moving ceremony was held on the third Sunday in November (the German national day of mourning) and the statue was re-dedicated in honor of all the deceased prisoners as well as all victims of despotic governments around the world.

Memorial to German Prisoners of War who did not make it home
Fort Douglas, Salt Lake City, Utah

06 July 1945

438^th AAA AW BN

APO 513 % Postmaster, N.Y.

6 July, 1945      0900

Nancy

My dearest sweetheart –

Well – another work day in Nancy to get rid of, dear – so that I can be one day nearer you. We’ve been pushing them by us for a long time now. I think I started when I left New York. It seems like such a waste of time – but what can one guy do when he’s bucking a few million others? I’ll just have to take my turn, I guess. But don’t fail to yell out at me, sweetheart, as I finally get by the turnstile.

I ran all over this damned town yesterday looking for a new spot for our Dispensary – and it was impossible to get a thing. I found an available vacant house – but hell, it was high up on a hill in the outskirts of town. It was very nice – but not for us. So I’m going to sit tight for now and see what happens. We’re bound to end up in the right spot, and I’m not going to lose any sleep over it.

Last night was interesting. You remember of course that we’re here on an M.P. mission. Well we have a lot of Airborne troops in town – and they’re as tough and rotten as they come. They’re fed a lot of rough stuff in combat and the trouble is they carry it on right now. Well there have been so many “incidents” – that it has caused a lot of discussion among the French. There have been several brawls between French soldiers and these paratroopers and there’s no doubt that the American Army is losing face every day in the eyes of the French. At any rate – every officer in battalion has to patrol the streets each evening to check on the M.P.’s to see if they’re carrying out their assignments – i.e. – every officer except the chaplain and myself. We went out together just to look around – unofficially. They were picking up G.I.’s by the dozens, and we were surprised to find that the Commanding General of the Airborne division – a two-starrer – was also on patrol.

I got two old letters from you, darling – the 3^rd and 8^th of June. The latter contained the clipping about the smell in Salem and Joe Harrington’s tirade. I know him – and he’s just like that; but he does get results. So you wonder about living in such a place! Maybe it will all be cleaned up by then. Anyway – I don’t even remember smelling anything at all and I lived only a stone’s throw away from the North River.

Say I found your note about this Bob Herfort interesting – not that I knew him but because he was with the 3rd Armored. They landed after we did – by a few weeks as I remember it, and they joined the 7th Corps. We were closely associated with them from that time on until the end of the war; an excellent outfit. I’m glad he’s doing all right and he’s lucky to have landed himself a decent job. I guess with everything I did get out of the war – I lost out on one of the important things – my profession, but it’s much too late to worry about it now. I’ll do something about it at a later date. Hell, I’m still an MD – with a license to practice – and that’s something, isn’t it?

And I have a sweetheart waiting for me – whom I love dearly. How about that? Well, I’ll tell you – that fact is enough to compensate for anything and don’t think I’ll ever forget it sweetheart – I love you, you love me and that’s a swell combination.

Have to stop now, darling. By the way – Pete keeps sending his regards and I’ve been forgetting to mention it. For now – so long, dear, love to the folks –

And all my deepest love,

Greg

* TIDBIT *

about the WWII Victory Medal

The World War II Victory Medal was established by an Act of Congress on 6 July 1945. The medal commemorates military service during World War II and was awarded to any member of the United States military, including members of the armed forces of the Government of the Philippine Islands, who served on active duty, or as a reservist, between December 7, 1941 and December 31, 1946.

The World War II Victory Medal was first issued as a ribbon, and was referred to simply as the “Victory Ribbon.” By 1946, a full medal had been established which was referred to as the World War II Victory Medal. The medal's front depicts Nike standing victorious, holding a broken sword, representing the broken power of the Axis, with one foot upon the helmet of Mars, the Roman god of war, representing the end of the conflict. Behind Nike is a sunburst, representing the dawn of peace. The reverse recalls the "Four Freedoms" speech by President Roosevelt, with a laurel sprig, surrounded by the words "United States of America", and the dates of the conflict, "1941-1945". The edges of the ribbon revisit the multi-colored rainbow ribbon of the Allied World War I Victory Medal. This again honors all the allied nations. The wide red center represents the new sacrifice of blood by World War II combatants. The thin white lines separating the central red band from the outer multi-colored bands represent the rays of new hope, two of them signifying that this was the second global conflict. The twin rainbow stripes, suggested by the World War I Victory Medal, allude to the peace following a storm.

No attachments were authorized although some veterans received the medal with an affixed bronze star which, according to rumors at the time, was to distinguish those who served in combat from those who did not. However, no official documentation has ever been found to support this supposition. Although eligible for its award, many World War II veterans never actually received the medal since many were discharged prior to the medal's institution.

On the other end of the spectrum, there was no minimum service time limit for the issuance of the World War II Victory Medal, and the National Personnel Records Center has reported some cases of service members receiving the award for simply a few days of service. As the Second World War ended on 2 September 1945, there are also cases of service members, who had enlisted in 1946, receiving the decoration without having been a veteran of World War II. The reason for this late date is that President Harry S. Truman did not declare an official end of hostilities until the last day of 1946.