That's the actual dog tag my dad wore in WW II. What a treasure!
I have several scrapbooks my mom created containing countless photos of my dad while he was in the Army. It has newspaper clippings, patches, brochures from the camps he was in, and trinkets my dad sent to my mom while he
was away for five years.
He was wearing that dog tag the day his unit was overrun in southern France on October 6, 1944.
My dad was a medic. His rifle company got into a big battle with the Huns.
The wounded were carried to the cellar of a farmhouse. My dad went with them as the skirmish
raged.
I'm quite sure he was alone with his bleeding and moaning squad members.
Here's an excerpt of the handwritten letter my dad's tentmate Vance sent to my mom weeks after the battle:
Carter was an aid man with one of the
rifle companies and on Oct 6 there was a big battle in the forests that (Please excuse the two kinds of paper, I didn’t know I was so near out of the other.) lasted all day and up into the night. The enemy broke through our lines and Carter’s Company was surrounded. There were many casualties so Carter and some of the men carried them into a farmhouse and down into the cellar where he could give them medical attention.
About dark that evening the enemy encircled the house and took Carter and the seventeen wounded men prisoners. Some of the other men that were at the house with Carter made a break for it and got away but Carter chose to stay and take care of his wounded buddies who might have died otherwise. Knowing Carter like I do, I don’t believe he would have left those buddies of his under any circumstances
and Jeane, don’t you think any of us has forgot that heroic deed and he will certainly get recognition for it from the War Department.
German soldiers stomped down the farmhouse cellar stairs finding my dad. I have to believe he was terrified.
Would he be shot and die alone never again to see his sweetheart?
No.
God had other plans for him as he did with you. That's why you're reading this newsletter right now.
Below are some other images I thought you'd enjoy.
The first three are the actual telegrams my grandmother received.
The first one is telling her the dreadful news Dad was
MIA.
The second one shares he's alive and a POW.
The third one is filled with joy announcing he's been liberated from the POW camp and back in the hands of the US Army.
The next image is my Dad's Bronze Star. He received it because he didn't abandon his wounded
buddies.
He also received two purple hearts. I just shared with one of them. He was wounded twice in battle tending to injured soldiers.
My Dad was not a coward.
Nor were you.
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