John
F. Mickey was American, he was 35 in 1944 and lived in Michigan.
He did enlisted in september 1943, he thought he could do
some "job" in this war. When he enlisted he was
not expected for that kind of life : the long separation from
loved one, the horror of war, and even hunger and thirst.
All along the fightings he took notes, and many years later
he decided to write about sixty pages. John F. Mickey passed
away in 1989. With his son's permission, his memories are
told there. It is the experience of a "common" man
who believed in some human valours, and who fight for them
from the beaches of Normandy to the Hurtgen forest, in Germany,
where he had been wounded.
(John
F. Mickey's memories - 1944/1945) |
Meeting
Ernie Pyle
One night the company was on the move, we are walking down
a narrow dirt road. The rain is coming down in sheets and
there is no let up. Some of us do not have a rain coat, but
our jackets some water repellent over our wool undershirts
keep us somewhat dry. We slip and slide in this mud that is
over ankle deep. There is no talking, the only sound is the
tropical rain and the slush sound of our boots, and the noise
of the gear we carry. We have been walking for hours stopping
often to lean against the hedge to rest. It is hard to make
time walking in the mud. How much farther and will the rain
ever let up, we ask in a whisper. Like coming out of a tunnel
looking ahead we see open space and colour. From a distance
I thought we were nearing an Indian reservation. What looked
like a lot of tepees were stacks of hay in a large open area.
The rain has slowed down some, we are told to take cover until
day break. In no time we all dug out a niche in the hay stacks.
I did not see what others had dug out, mine was a niche scratched
out so I could lean back though standing up. A new type of
fox hole. At dawn we move out again, the rain stopped but
the road is muddy. After some two hours we again reach an
open area, where we meet up with another company. We stopped
for a break here. This is where we saw Ernie Pyle with whom
everybody want to talk with. The jeep had a rough time in
this deep mud. We wondered how tanks and trucks would make
it through. Once out of the mud we were able to move faster
on harder surface.
At the end of August we enter Paris riding atop our tanks
through the Arch de Triumph. We were stopped in the streets,
a man coming out of the bakery holding two long loaves of
bread gave them to me. I broke the bread sharing it with the
others just like in the last supper. The man shouted : “
merci, Américain ”. I heard the first English
words, the madam said : “ I pay good price for American
cigarettes ”, I said do I. We searched a place for the
night, we did not know we were in the red light district
To the victor go the spoils
The chaplain begged us not to damage personal belongings.
He said he had seen locked drawers and cabinets broken into,
the working parts of a grandfather clock removed, a violin
shattered... I saw damage done inside of homes by our own
men. An expensive desk in the office of one home was broken
into with the bayonet by one fellow looking for something
of value, never thinking if he will survive to bring home.
Entering a building in a big town two of us were in an apartment
searching it. My partner whom I did not known, tried to open
a cabinet door. Unsuccessful he kicked in the panel. Opening
it there was nothing worth taking of the broken glassware.
France has been caught in the middle the second time devastated
by both sides. We were told that United States will be compensating
this country for years to come. Our people will assess all
damage and take inventory of dead livestock and personal belongings
for which we will pay. “ Wait until you get to Germany
and take it out of your system ”, the chaplain said.
After destruction comes rebuilding. Our tractors, trucks,
bulldozers and engineers work around the clock moving away
debris of damaged buildings, using it to widen the roads and
doing repairs of bridges.
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