Jim Medding’s Blog

In my grandfather’s, Walter L. Medding, memoir of WWI is an engaging vignette which reminds me so much of the stories he would tell during our frequent visits with him during my childhood.

We had a hard boiled motorcycle driver who rejoiced in the name of “Spike” Adams. One day Spike took me, in his rattletrap motorcycle & side car, on a trip to Ft. St. Mange. In climbing the long grade to the ridge at the far end of which the fort was located, the motor labored considerably and the exhaust pipe became red hot. Finally a tire went flat and we had to walk half a mile to the Gas School. Here we begged transportation to finish our trip. A Dodge sedan was placed at our disposal and we were warned to hurry as the school was about to start a demonstration with chlorine gas. By the time we turned on to the main road the gas cloud had been turned loose and, as we had no gas masks, the driver increased his speed to about 15 miles per hour. Half way through the cloud a sentry tried to stop us, but we dodged around him and raced on. The cloud resembled a fog and visibility was very low. Suddenly, right in front of us there appeared a motorcycle. It had been stopped by the sentry and had hardly gotten under way again. It was impossible to stop the car and when we hit the motorcycle our driver temporarily lost control. We swerved to the right, bumped through the ditch at the side of the road and careened through the trees of a small woods. Although we avoided hitting anything as we entered the woods, it took 2 days to get the car out again.

Of course, we piled out of the car and rushed to see how much damaged we had done to the motorcycle driver. We found it was Roy McCutchen, who was badly scratched by gravel but otherwise unhurt, so we all hurried out of the gas cloud in the direction of Ft. St. Menge. Apparently the concentration of chlorine was not very heavy, for none of us suffered the slightest effects.

Hmm, it could only have happened in 1918.

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As many baby boomer children did, I frequently asked my father, Richard (Dick) S. Medding, about his experiences during WWII. In my naive way I would ask something like “Did you shoot anybody?” The answers were always terse but once in a while some small detail would emerge. I knew my father had served as a combat engineer but had not seen much combat. He told me once about carrying a flamethrower to a pillbox and when they found it was abandoned, he asked for and got permission to leave the flamethrower behind because “it was heavy.” In my mind, I figured this was like a hiking trip on a warm day with plenty of up and down hills. Otherwise, why leave something awesome like a flamethrower behind?

Over the years a few more details have emerged as my father has been willing to share them. That hiking trip with the flame thrower; well, it was in the dead of winter and the reason for leaving it behind was that the Germans were counter attacking. To repulse the counter attack, an artillery barrage was called in on top of their own position.

When my father sent me the book Visions from a Foxhole, he included a page’s worth of notes on his personal experiences as they related to the book. Many of them were names of towns he remembered, but here are the more important excerpts:

Here is a book about the 94th Infantry Division’s tour in the ETO during WWII… that’s what I was in and where I was… Since I was in the 319th Engineer combat Battalion, rather than the 302nd Infantry, our paths diverged considerably. However, many of the places Foley mentions are familiar to me…

Pg. xvi – St. Nazaire and Lorient – The French cities where we held the Germans while being brought up to strength after losing about one-third strength for over-age. We shouldn’t have brought all these men overseas.

Maps – Several of the towns in Germany where I was working at one time or another. Campholz Woods – I really remember that. That’s where we carried TNT boxes into pillboxes for demolition, and from where we launched an attack on a bunker (I carried a flamethrower). Map of the Saar Bridgehead – My squad was the first to cross the Saar from Taben. My assault boat was the second boat to make the other side safely.

Pg 68 – Tettingen, Butzdorf… description of an attack with engineers carrying flamethrowers (not me!)

Pg 75 – I was also in B Company of the 319th.

Note: this reference is to a description of of an event where engineers who had been “mutilated” by Schü mines while carrying demolition charges up to destroy bill boxes; see comments above about Campholz Woods.

Pg 98, 99 – Description of the Saar River crossing. Foley apparently crossed some time after the first crossing.

P 102 – There were always three engineer troops for each assault boat. Two in front to place the infantry with the paddles and one in back steering. I was the one in back on my crossing.

Shortly after crossing the Saar, I was transferred from B Company to H&S Company, into the Engineering Reconnaissance Section as a radio operator. Because of the transfer, I didn’t get much of the action Foley did. While in France, near Chateaubriant, the battalion held a “radio school” to teach several of us Morse Code and radio procedures. That’s why they put me in H&S Co.

Pg. 265 – Ludwigshafen – The end of our attack down the Autobahn.

Pg. 281 – Krefeld – We were near Krefeld when the war ended.

Pg. 296, 297 – The USO show with Bob Hope that I also saw.

Since I didn’t have any decorations, my point total was relatively small, so I had to wait for the entire Battalion to be shipped home. We went from Czechoslovakia to a little town near Munich to wait for our call to come home. We sailed from Le Havre, France on the Victory Ship Chapel Hill, sailing south to miss a storm, and sailed right into the middle of another.

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My father recently sent me a copy of Visions from a Foxhole, A Rifleman in Patton’s Ghost Corps by William A. Foley Jr. Foley had served as a replacement in the 94th ID during the second world war; my father had served as a combat engineer. Many of the places, and some of the events, matched with my father’s experiences so he thought I might enjoy the book.

He was right. Foley has done an excellent job of providing a first person narration of what it was like for an infantryman to fight the war in Europe during some of its worst combat conditions seen by the US troops. He begins by describing a bleak, ominous arrival as a replacement in January, 1945 at the Siegfried Switch Position on the Moselle River. Within hours he’s in a foxhole, in freezing cold conditions with the wrong kind of boots and being shot at.

Foley goes from there to provide a gritty, nothing held back, description of combat. He unapologetically describes dispatching enemy troops simply because it was expedient. And only occasionally does he describe any emotion at the loss of a fellow troop. But as the war begins to wind down, his humanity begins to reemerge. I was particularly taken by his narration of capturing two German soldiers near Krefeld; one in his 50s and the second no more than 16.

All of the narrations provided by Foley are not only engaging but they are also clear, detailed and easy to follow. I’ve read several personal recollections of solders; this has to be one of the best.

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On the 40th anniversary of the Apollo 11 Moon landing it seems as though everybody is participating in the celebration. Well, since I have a web site, I figured I’d pitch in. But what to blog about, that is the question. Yes, I remember (duh, I was 14 at the time) being woken up in the dead of night to watch the momentous event. And since I was a substitute paper boy for the Washington Post, I remember carting the extra (as in extra-large and extra-heavy and extra-try-and-sell-some-more-of-these) editions up and down the many stairs of the apartment complex on my route on what had to be the hottest day of the year.

But, what was so special about that? Everybody my age has the same memories.

Well, sometime later, I did receive something special from the Apollo 11 Moon landing. One day my grandfather came over to visit and I was called out of my bedroom retreat because he wanted to present something to me - a check. Having not been handed too many checks in my life at that point, this was novel, but I was pretty sure there was something missing in the important spaces on the front of the check. And I was pretty sure that the only mark on the check, a signature on the back, was important. I was at a loss as to what I had been given. The front was blank and there was a signature on the back.

After puzzling this for a moment, I blurted out “What’s this? A blank check?”

This generated chuckles from the adults present. Then I was filled in. It was Buzz Aldrin’s signature.

“Who’s Buzz Aldrin?”

“The second man to set foot on the Moon.”

I had my answer; I had the signature of the guy who finished second. But it was obvious that this was impressive. I kept the check, and still have it today. But most important, I’ve been proud to know the answer to a trivia question for 40 years.

Thanks, Grandpa.

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In going through a rather large stack of my grandfather’s black and white negatives, I came across three negatives which stood out from the rest. They are all three informal family portraits which were taken on the family’s trip to Hawaii in the summer of 1931. What I like about the three photos is how the personality of the children, my father and his siblings, jumps out from the image.

The first photo was taken in Yellowstone National Park and has the added wow factor of having the family standing right in front of one of the mineral pools. Notice there’s no boardwalk in the photo.

That’s my dad, Dick, pointing a stick at the camera; Elinor, the youngest, is barely present; Walt is keeping his father close, but not holding his hand; and Mary, the oldest obviously volunteered for the responsibility of taking this important photo.

The second and third photos were taken soon after the family’s arrival in Hawaii. In the first of these two, the family is in a joyous mood. Dad and Elinor are involved in making a face that reminds me of a rat; Mary is bemused by something, probably Dick and Elinor; and Walt is not letting any of this detract from his new found stature as a world traveler. But even Grandma and Grandpa are happy to be in Hawaii.

The third photo was taken soon after the first and I would venture to guess there were probably some stern warnings from the photographer to the children. Elinor has retreated to the safety of her mother’s hand; Dad is making sure his smile can’t be interpreted as anything else; Walt has his head tipped down more so as to not draw too much attention; and even Mary is leaning in slightly.

Maybe I’m just easily amused, but I find these photos delightful.

-Updated 7/18/09 to correct spelling of Elinor

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Browsing through some of my prior postings, I decided to see if I could find some more information about the photos my grandfather had taken at Panmunjom. This was partially prompted by the thought that, other than my grandfather’s short notation on the photo, I have no real proof as to what they are.

A quick search on the Internet and I found this National Archives photo that looks like it was taken from the exact same spot as one of my grandfather’s photo. Hmm, it was either the “only” spot to take the shot or an odd coincidence.

I also found this description of the National Archives photo from the 558th MP Company’s web site:

The 558th MP Co. provided security for the armistice negotiations. To accomplish this mission the company maintained detachments of military police at Munsan-ni and at Panmunjom. In this photo, MPs are guarding the tents of the United Nations delegation [commonly referred to as "tent city."] / Photo courtesy of The National Archives - Still Pictures Branch, Record Group 111-sc-383310

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Uncle Bill was my favorite uncle. Not that the rest were slackers but Uncle Bill was special.

I spent more time with Uncle Bill than any of the other members of my mother’s family. Bill made time to be involved with us because we were family. Like the time he allowed me to bring my neighborhood friends to climb over his helicopter at Fort Belvoir. Or the two summers my brother and I spent at his house because of family issues.

There was a quality about Uncle Bill that demanded my attention. I was too young to analyze what it was about him; perhaps it was the way he talked or what he talked about. I suspect it was his playful zest for life. Like the time that he was eating hot peppers like candy and when I asked him what they were, he told me that they were good and I should try one (I tried one, in spite of the advice of everyone else at the dinner table). Then there was the time when he jumped out of the car to chase down the not so small alligator scurrying across the tank trail at Fort Stewart.

On Memorial weekend, I found a brochure I had been saving on the virtual wall and deicide to go out again and look again at my Uncle Bill’s page. Bill was killed a few days into his second tour in Vietnam. Along with some wonderful remembrances, there was a photo of Uncle Bill from 1966. I have only a few pictures of my Uncle Bill, but since most of them are from his early days they are hardly recognizable as the man I knew.

Seeing him again makes this Memorial Day special.

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When I read a good history book, I’m frequently amazed at how relevant a quote from many years ago is to current affairs. Such was the case when I read the following quote in David McCullough’s John Adams. The time was early in the year of 1776. Belligerent actions had been taken on the part of both sides and the colonies had made numerous attempts to bring about peace all to no avail. Still, some wanted to try again. John Adams had the following to say about these conciliatory measures:

I constantly insisted that all such measures, instead of having any tendency to produce a reconciliation, would only be considered as proofs of our timidity and want of confidence in the ground we stood on, and would only encourage our enemies to greater exertions against us.

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I regularly glance though a lot of RSS feed headlines looking for subject matter of interest but rarely do I find an article that overlaps my interest quite like Jack Ganssle’s article on his visit to Bletchley Park. . In addition to having lots of photos, the article includes a pretty fair description of the historical significance of the place and the equipment itself.

Enjoy.

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So far, I’ve read two books which were truly disturbing – Sheriff David Reichert’s Chasing the Devil and James Bradley’s Flyboys. I mention this to provide context for the following quote from Bradley’s book:

Few people reflect now that samurai swords killed more people during WWII than atomic bombs. WWII veteran Paul Fussell wrote, “The degree to which Americans register shock and extraordinary shame about the Hiroshima bomb correlates closely with lack of information about the Pacific war.”

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