Well, I should preface this by explaining my tradition & tribute in regards to the military men of my family. In addition to having a special picture up on the wall in our dining room, I make sure to find a special way to tell their story. Now let me give a really long first example before I even get to Papa. I had framed for Grandpa, Mom, April, & I four huge montages/collages backed with American Flags of my Grandfather's experience in World War II (of which my Grandfather's version contained the entire following essay much of which I dictated onto toilet paper and napkins as Grandpa Whiskers stayed up until 2 AM telling me his story one evening, . . . ever so proud to have served in that great war). Here is the piece:
The Tribulation and the Triumph of the Fifteenth Army:
The World War II Account of Master Sergeant John Henel
One wonders whether the men drafted into the Fifteenth Army ever contemplated the significance of the eight ball, for it would be forever considered their symbol. In the game of pool, the player who inadvertently pockets the eight ball before pocketing the others immediately loses the game. And if you are “behind the eight ball” in slang terms you are “in a very unfavorable position,” considered to be “incredibly unlucky,” and forever deemed “a loser.” With that symbol in mind, here follows the story of the Fifteenth Army and the story of my grandfather.
Early in 1944, John Henel was drafted into the First Army. The first part of his story centers around John’s fight to stay with his buddies through to the Second Army. He wasn’t even afraid to ask his superior to keep them together. The result of moving to the Second Army was heaven: soldiers eating eggs light over easy and falling asleep to the light laughter and music of ladies dancing. It was from there to the Fourth and then the Eighth Army in which John moved all the way up from private to Master Sergeant: a noncommissioned officer of high rank in charge of moving troops, food, and shelter. He was moved around from army to army, a group of approximately one thousand men, until he wound up first in General Patent’s army and then in the Fifteenth Army.
As a Master Sergeant in the Fifteenth Army, John noticed that the snooty, commissioned officers had five full trucks of booze only for their personal “officer’s mess.” That just wouldn’t do, so John, taking full advantage of his rank as Master Sergeant, moved them and unloaded the “extra” fifth truck in the wine cellar of where he chose his men to stay. That night, Master Sergeant John Henel had a very brief, but very poignant discussion with his men. “Every night you will get one bottle of wine with dinner. Drink it. Sell it. Bathe in it. But if I have one problem with any of you, this little escapade is over!” Of course, the soldiers never gave him a lick of trouble. They wanted their wine.
After extensive training in Texas at Fort Sam Houston and New York at Fort Slocum, the soldiers were ready to be deployed to Europe to join the fight. On November 15, 1944 Master Sergeant John Henel and his men boarded the S. S. Aquatania en route to Scotland with a menu that, again, left the enlisted men wanting. The officers ate fish while the enlisted men ate baloney. From there they marched to England and set up the base of the Fifteenth Army. By November 24, 1944 they were at Doddington Hall in Cheshire England, but by Christmas they had moved their camp to Southampton, England which was affectionately called “Camp Beastly” because of the digestive horror story that ensued. The entire shipment of Christmas turkey was spoiled. Every single man was violently vomiting and having diarrhea at the same time both at “Camp Beastly” and on the train to the Southampton dock. A Christmas present worse than coal. What a horrible mess! All of the soldiers stripped down to the bare minimum and threw soiled clothes away. They kept clothes clean by simply taking them off.
With everyone still suffering the effects of the spoiled Christmas turkey, two days later they boarded the S. S. Empire Javelin to travel across the English Channel to Le Havre, France on their way to the Battle of the Bulge, which had already begun. The Germans knew more troops were coming, and they were ready and waiting for the Fifteenth Army.
Master Sergeant John Henel will now and forever say that a cigarette saved his life. It was nighttime on December 28, 1944. The S. S. Empire Javelin was scooting calmly across the English Channel. John went out on deck because he desperately needed a smoke, and the captain wasn’t too keen about him smoking below deck. Right as he was taking a drag, a German submarine, watching malevolently below the water, torpedoed the S. S. Empire Javelin. John was thrown from his feet with unspeakable force, not even knowing what hit him. One moment he was having a smoke and the next he was lying there on the deck, bruised. All of his buddies, those he fought so hard to remain with, were killed. Four hundred and seventy were lost when the torpedo hit the hold where the soldiers slept soundly within. But reality wouldn’t hit until later. With John’s cigarette thrown far from him with the force of the torpedo, he focused his energy on being rescued.
The rescue effort was led by a fast French warship called a corvette. The swells of the ocean were stories high as the French corvette was along side the sinking Javelin. Soldiers jumped from the boat as a swell brought the corvette to the same height as the Javelin. Many men were crushed between the boats and rescued with broken limbs. Others fell in the water between the corvette and the Javelin, and drowned. In twenty minutes time, the crew watched as their ship sank before their eyes. The German submarine had torpedoed it yet again.
On December 29, 1944 the Fifteenth Army collapsed on “The Beach” at Le Havre, France. The Red Cross, unaware of the recent tragedy, was a full mile away and the disheartened soldiers, wounded in body and spirit, were made to walk the mile for aid. Suddenly, in the midst of their mile walk, the troops were startled by German fighter planes flying overhead! The troops, still sick from the spoiled turkey, hid in the trenches. Late on that same night they arrived at what they would call “Pneumonia Palace” in Harfleur, France. From the trenches to this? An abandoned building with no heat in the dead of winter? It didn’t matter. With their bodies dehydrated and shaking, the troops first realized the truth of their situation. They got down on their knees and prayed. That’s when it hit them: that close connection that all soldiers, past and present, share. The sadness of losing friends in such a devastating blast. The joy of being alive.
While trying hard to deal with these conflicting feelings, another member of the Fifteenth Army, J. C. Hazen, Jr., immortalized the experience through his original drawings. Finally, the Fifteenth Army received reinforcements from their counterpart still stationed in the United States. They were housed elsewhere by those in France and even by the friendliest in Belgium before they found themselves in the Ruhr Pocket in the Battle of the Bulge. The snow was as high as their waists. But the Germans were defeated. And the troops were shipped home where Master Sergeant John Henel was awarded the Bronze Star Medal for heroic and meritorious achievement and service in combat.
Yes, the Fifteenth Army often found itself “behind the eight ball.” Many soldiers were lost to German torpedoes. The others were debilitated by sickness. The Fifteenth Army was constantly under siege by German submarines and planes. Even Mother Nature’s harsh winter seemed to be against them. But, one forgets, the Germans lost World War II. My grandfather returned home. Hundreds of men had learned the great value of life, the most precious gift of all. And, of course, my grandfather’s men always had their bottle of wine with dinner. I ask you, were these men unlucky? Certainly not. I leave you with the idea, the inordinate possibility, that the new generation, the children of the late twentieth century, have learned a different meaning behind the eight ball. They know of a toy called the “Lucky Eight Ball” which, after being shaken, tells a favorable future. Was that toy inspired by my grandfather’s Fifteenth Army? Perhaps. And, for me, the granddaughter of Master Sergeant John Henel, the Fifteenth Army will forever be represented by the newest symbol of serendipity: the very lucky eight ball.
BUT Dad has time and time again repeated that he would NEVER want anything like that, . . . in that he does NOT like to be associated with the Vietnam War and that it was the most depressing time of his life. A time when only thoughts of Mom and the "Doo, dee, doo-doo" of the beginning of "Singing in the Rain" could bring a smile to his face. [And, I'll tell you, it'll be interesting to see if you comment on this post, Dad. ; ) ] SO, I decided to put my findings in a simple blog post, . . . after Dad stayed up late one night while we were in Florida (just like with Grandpa) to reveal to me the full story of his experience in the Vietnam War. Anyway, here he is (in the photo hanging in our dining room) as a Navy Seaman and here, my friends, is his story:
The Tale of a Reluctant Naval Seaman in Vietnam
It was 1967, and Dino Anthony Compare was attending Erie County Technical College in Buffalo, NY earning a degree in Restaurant Management. Now, Dino hailed from South Miami Florida, and since both Buffalo & South Miami had a Howard Johnsons, he thought that might be a good summer job in his field. And after speaking to the owner, the job was secured, . . . under the strict orders to be sure to call the owner back when Dino returned to Buffalo. What Dino didn't know was that during that summer, he was scoped out for an elite scholarship in Restaurant Management / Culinary Arts to none other than Cornell University. But because Dino didn't call the owner back the next year or respond to messages, how would Dino have known? And so, if Howard Johnsons remained in the picture, the tale would end right here with Dino off to Cornell with a full scholarship, thus escaping the draft. But that's not what happened, . . .
What did happen was that Dino, a few months before graduation in 1968, was accepted into the Peace Corps Training Program having passed the entrance exam. So let's focus on the Peace Corps for a moment. What was the reason behind taking this test? Was it undeniable humanitarianism? Was it zest for helping others? Was it a desire to see the world? No, . . . it was all because his girlfriend, Claire Jean Henel, had taken the test as well. Ha! And, as a sideline, it was another avenue without the looming threat of Vietnam. Why not, eh?
Claire was to train for Micronesia (where medical technologists were needed, I suppose) and Dino was to train for Chile and help a village begin a fishing co-op (which I'm guessing they connected fish/food with restaurant management?). So off Dino went to New Mexico and California taking intensive classes in Spanish (which he says he miserably failed) amid outings of hiding, camping, and repelling. His legs cramped. He couldn't learn Spanish. And he hated the "liberal" company. And even thought it was only the third year of the Peace Corps existence, Dino Compare wasn't selected for the Chilean mission. His girlfriend Claire, however, WAS selected and waited to go to Micronesia.
So Dino flew home to South Miami a little sad (but later glad he had missed the whole Chilean Pinochet fiasco). And unfortunately, Dino's father was quite honest with him in saying "Son, you're going to be up for the draft, and very soon." Now, Dino was pretty smart about this and said, "Heck, I'm not going to let the military control which branch I go into!!!" knowing he'd be sent right to the font lines in the Army. SO knowing that this was not going to be a naval war, Dino willingly enlisted in the Navy Reserve. And, of course, it wasn't but a few months later when he was sent to Boot Camp in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. It was boot camp that Dino absolutely hated and would bill it as the "worst part" of the whole experience. Here he was basically taught to "march and take orders without question." (Mom always said you could always spot Dad in formation because his head always bobbed up and down, a marching error that would always get Dino in trouble.) Anyway, because Dino was a reservist, he wasn't assigned to a ship. Instead he put in for commissary school and began studying "Bulk Food Service" in San Diego, CA. Now another smart move was that Dino went to his superior and attempted to make a deal. In exchange for staying in the US, he would go to officer supply school as a result of his extensive background and experience and become a supply officer for one of the bases in the US. The superior agreed, . . . but wouldn't promise he would stay in the US and also required extra years of active duty. Dino knew what that meant: Vietnam. He never showed up at the second meeting and, therefore, never became an officer in the Navy (but also shortened his time in Vietnam by years). So Dino opted to stay a lowly Naval Seaman with the desire to "get out" instead of the desire to "move up" in rank.
So, in the summer of 1969, Dino was assigned to an ocean going, wooden hulled, Mine Sweeper called the USS Leader. It was a small ship, only about 120 feet long which was, right then, dry docked in Long Beach, California. There were 90 people aboard with 3 commissarymen/cooks, of which Dino was one, and he was busy feeding all of those people every single day.
Meanwhile, Claire Henel flew to San Francisco and prepared to depart for Micronesia, . . . until Dino made an important phone call from the Long Beach pier. "Claire, do you really want to go to Micronesia? . . . or would you rather get married instead? I've got two weeks of leave, . . . or we can wait two years until you return from Micronesia and I return from Vietnam." Claire chose to marry Dino and they were married in two weeks on September 30, 1969. (And they would later become, of course, my Mom and Dad.)
But back to the reality of war, Dino had to skip a honeymoon to spend months in four-day increments of maneuvers where they would go out to see and sweep for dummy mines. There were all sorts of mines to sweep the ocean floor for: acoustical mines (that disengaged and exploded as a result of sound waves of an approaching ship), contact mines (that disengaged and exploded on contact with a ship), and magnetic mines (that disengaged and exploded as a result of the magnetic pull of a metal ship, hence the reason for mine sweepers to be "wooden hulled"). At least Dino could live in an apartment with his new wife as long as he reported to the ship when needed, . . . unless he was out on maneuvers.
Until, . . . Dino received orders for a transfer from the USS Leader to the USS Constant, . . . with immediate departure for a ten-month stint in Vietnam. For that amount of time without being together, Claire went back home to Buffalo and the couple prepared for a full year apart (or just less than a year, to get technical, so the Navy didn't have to allot "hazardous duty pay"). They were "incognito" for ten days sailing to Hawaii and entered Pearl Harbor right when they were filming the battle scene's for Tora! Tora! Tora! "The captain had warned us not to be scared, but it was pretty intense to be on a battleship and see Japanese planes flying over your head in attack position!" At least some fun tourist outings were in store for at least a few days before it was off to Guam, the Phillipines, and many others (even Micronesia!) with all ports specifically designed for fueling these American Naval vessels. . . . Finally the destination was Vietnam itself.
Dino spent a full ten months off the coast of Vietnam in 1970 in a series of 28-day shifts where they would see the coast of Vietnam every day or two in their flotilla of boats situated about 10-15 miles off the coast. Suddenly, the flotilla would line up in their battle stations, as the USS Constant would sweep around the battleships looking for mines and use the huge 80 mm gun on the front of the boat, shooting at the coast in flotilla. When they weren't in their battle stations, they moved far enough away so the Vietnamese couldn't shoot back. And in that entire ten months, they never found a mine. Not one. Still, Dino's battle station was in the galley (or kitchen), thankfully not really a battle station at all, where he would peek out the back deck and would often see shells fly over the stern, and sometimes even see a battleship hit a weapons storage facility causing an explosion reaching far upward, lighting up the sky. An extraneous job of the USS Constant was picking up "Sampans" or more informally "Junks" which were often simple Vietnamese fishing boats. This meant that the men would pull along side of a "Junk," board it, search it, and sink it if needed. Most of the time it was a simple Vietnamese fishing boat, . . . but other times it was a vehicle transporting weapons for the Vietcong. Dino would hear "Junks" being boarded every single day from quarters.
Dino would describe this time as "mostly boring, a little adventurous, and partly depressing," but it was boot camp that was the worst. And Dino's life revolved around the kitchen, even here in flotilla. On duty for 24 hours. Off duty for 24 hours. One 24 hour shift went like this: cook breakfast, cook lunch, cook dinner, prepare mid rations (around midnight), four hours of sleep, cook breakfast. And in addition to cooking, the commissarymen's job was to polish the brass bell on the very highest level of the ship! And this began some grumbling from Dino's fellow Seamen, . . . knowing Dino was off for a whole 24 hours. Knowing Dino was the only guy on the ship who could shower every day as opposed to once a week (because he prepared the food). Knowing Dino would (on his 24 hours off) sunbathe on the top deck in his bathing suit just lazing around. Knowing Dino sometimes played golf with the Captain on base in Vietnam and got to see the two sides to their main superior, like night and day. Knowing that Dino had a suit and shoes made from scratch in the Phillipines for just pennies in order to get a good job when he got back.
Daily life on the ship was full of songs from the loud speaker. Lots of hits of the day (from the Beatles, for example), . . . anything that the captain approved, anyway. Dino also made a few good friends like George, who had a pilot's licence and a motorcycle Claire and Dino would use after the boat's return, . . . and "one South Vietnamese regular guy" who Dino wasn't sure the name of. He was in the South Vietnamese Navy and acted as a translator. And, of course, there was the "Yeoman" in the Phillipines who helped Dino print out some nice resumes that allowed him to get a job later at the famous restaurant called Anthony's Pier Four in Boston. Then there was one guy who was in the Naval Academy and quit a few days before graduation so he wouldn't have to become an officer.
And if you ask Dino about his very worst day, without hesitation he says, "Leaving Claire, . . . sailing away and waving at the dock" and also knowing that she was still in Buffalo, NY and that, because of money restraints, she couldn't even meet him when he came back! BUT, as soon as the USS Constant finally docked again in California, Dino had only one month left of active duty, so he was released and given his discharge papers. "So I packed a duffle with my new suit and shoes, shed my Navy suit as soon as I was off the dock, . . . and never looked back. I got on a plane from Long Beach to Buffalo and wore my new suit and tie to meet Claire. At home. Away from the Navy. And breathin' easy."
I got some GREAT smiles this evening! What an adorable and well mannered little boy! Such expression he has, and such laughter! This is truly a child who knows he is blessed! : )
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