Grace Under Fire

by Andrew Carroll

  His policy now means utter ruin, not only to the Jews, but to the whole of Germany itself. He can no more injure the Jews of Germany without seriously depriving the nation itself of all its wealth and position than he can cut off his nose without detriment to his Charlie Chaplinesque physiognomy. I see no hope for our kinsmen abroad. Germany’s loss, however, is our gain for expulsion of the Jews from Germany means that many of the greatest Jews alive today will emigrate to America and greatly promote the development of Jewish culture in this country. As long as their lives are not injured it will be a gain to American Jewry to have these Jews here. There should be no difficulty in the way of their entering America. This country will be glad to have them.

  There I go veering off at a tangent. I am grateful to this letter indeed because it has caught my interest and made me lose sight of my own mood, blue as blue can be, of an hour ago. I think I feel better now. May my slumber be as peaceful as I hope yours will be tonight…so with a tender caress…..goodnight. Alex

  In 1934, Alexander Goode and Theresa Flax married. Four years later they had a baby daughter, Rosalie Bea. An extremely patriotic young man, Goode had volunteered for the National Guard in high school, and, when war was declared in December 1941, he enlisted in the U.S. Army. After completing his orientation at Harvard University’s Chaplain School, Rabbi Goode, age thirty-two, was ready to deploy overseas. Right before he embarked for Europe in early January 1943 on a troopship named the USAT Dorchester, he quickly wrote a letter to Theresa.

  Darling:

  Just a hurried line as I rush my packing. I’ll be on my way in an hour or two. I got back yesterday afternoon just before the warning. Hard as it was for us to say goodbye in N. Y. at least we could see each other before I left.

  Don’t worry—I’ll be coming back much sooner than you think.

  Left to right: Fr. John Washington, Reverend George Fox, and Reverend Clark Poling

  Take care of yourself and the baby—a kiss for each of you. I’ll keep thinking of you.

  Remember I love you very much. Alex

  These were the last words Theresa Goode ever received from her husband. At 1:00 a.m. on February 3, 1943, the Dorchester was torpedoed one hundred miles off the coast of Greenland by a German submarine. As soldiers aboard the sinking ship began to panic, Goode, along with three other chaplains—George Fox (Methodist), John Washington (Catholic), and Clark Poling (Dutch Reformed)—did everything they could to calm the frightened men and help the wounded put on their life jackets. But only minutes later they made a horrendous discovery: There weren’t enough life preservers for everyone on board. According to eyewitnesses, once the chaplains made this realization, they quickly removed their own preservers—which meant they would almost certainly drown—and gave them to the first soldiers they could find. The last anyone saw of the chaplains was the four men, locked arm in arm, praying together as the ship went down, taking them and 672 other men to their graves in the icy waters of the Atlantic. The bodies of the chaplains were never found.

  An American Serviceman Describes to His Mother in Harrowing Detail What Happened When His Ship Was Attacked

  Very little personal information is known about the writer of the following letter—the original copy ended up in the hands of someone with no connection to the man’s family—except that he endured a terrifying ordeal while at sea. But even in the most dire circumstances imaginable, he firmly held on to his faith. (There is no signature to the letter, and the blank spaces indicate where it was edited by military censors.)

  September 29, 1942

  Dearest Mother:

  Don’t think I’ll have an opportunity to mail this to you and even if I did it would probably take months and be strictly censored, but I do want to let you know what’s happened and what I’ve been thinking about the last little bit. Know you’ve probably done a lot of worrying because you haven’t heard from me in a long time. Well Mother—your son’s a survivor. Yes, now I know how it feels to lay in a life boat and on a raft for long long days and nights. The story actually starts about a week and a day after we left Halifax. It was Sunday. The day was warm for an ordinary North Atlantic Day in Mid-Winter….

  Things went quiet for a while then there was a big storm. Waves three times the height of the ship rose and fell, luckily not too many breaking on us. The convoy Commander decided to head the Convoy into the storm to try and ride out of it. Our ship was never built for such weather and was in no condition at the time to do it. Our deck cargo was becoming loose from the rolling of the ship. We kept on with the storm but next day it had not abated, and we tried to turn but snapped our steering cable. Late that afternoon it was repaired. The next day we turned again and in the late afternoon we turned again and managed to ride the storm a little better.

  All the thinking I tried to do during that storm. Sea sickness is just mental—I thought. From Sunday until Wednesday I couldn’t hold anything. Kept trying to say that the rainbow that I could see in the spray meant for us as God promised Noah, that the storm would soon be over. By Sunday night the merchant crew and the gun crew quarters were awash back aft. So they all packed into the captains’ room, the mates and everyone else, including our two by four shack, which I kept thinking would be washed off the deck.

  Living conditions up until that time were bearable but these new conditions made them miserable. I feel quite confident that if I’m ever assigned to another ship quite like the I’ll resign and join the Navy or the Coast Guard. The money and officers’ uniform are attractive and shiney but they aren’t worth it. Our alley ways were three to four inches deep in water, the mess boys were sick and frightened and refused to work. I had sprained my ankle a day or two before all this happened and between my incessant wretching and the pain, was really feeling low.

  Monday night the little kid in the gun crew who had gotten put in jail in Halifax for disturbing the peace, was washed overboard. The ship even lacked line enough to throw to him. The boys that were on deck with him all hoped that he was knocked unconscious but the cold water probably brought him to. They say his hand was stretched up in the air for help but nothing could be done for him. The storm was too rough for us to risk the boat to save him. Losing him had a strange effect on the crew.

  Wednesday the eventful day, September twenty-third—in the afternoon a sub fired two shells at us. The first fell short and the second ran under us as we rode a wave. We fired our 4'' gun, aft (not much ammunition was left for it because of water getting into the storeroom) and thought we came real close to the sub. By now we were not in sight of a ship. Then at 9:53 when I was on watch we were hit. I had just rushed up to the ice machine to get some cold water and continued on up when hearing the alarm. We had lost our port lifeboat, and two rafts in the storm, leaving just the starboard life boat and two rafts.

  Because I had a rubber suit on I was supposed to get on a life raft and the gun crew were to get into the lifeboat. I got in as far as the lifeboat but couldn’t see the rafts and jumped into the boat. No one was practised enough and all too excited to do a good job. Someone cut the falls allowing the boat to drop into the water. It’s strange, the boat that leaked when we left New York was the one that was not taken by the storm.

  There was much confusion, the boat overloaded, and the plug had been put in, and the skipper was giving a fast stroke. We finally got away from the ship, which took seventeen minutes to go down. We found the other two life rafts. There were only two missing, one able bodied seaman and a mess boy. The A.B. Seaman was crushed between a raft and the hull of the ship, the mess boy was pulled aft and into the propeller blades.

  As we watched her go down some laughed, some cried. One little wiper on a raft was in such bad shape he had no control over himself and just shook violently. The last minute before she sank the fog whistle blew first a couple of times faintly and then at last real lustily.

  Writing this is like living it all over again. Before we abandoned ship Sparks had sent three SOS’s, the last one was
acknowledged. The next day when no help came we thought it may have been the sub that acknowledged the message, but now looking back it couldn’t have been.

  When I went over I thought I had just about everything I wanted real badly but now think of small things I could have taken. All I had under my rubber suit was a set of work clothes, pair of woolen socks, two sweat shirts, two sweaters (one of which Mrs. Van Buren knitted). In the water proof pocket I had my pen and pencil, papers and wallet. Forgot my flashlight and had no gloves.

  Those next sixty hours I hope never to have to go through again. The next morning the men on the rafts were taken into the boat and we in the life boat went on the rafts. We stayed on the rafts all day and night, then the next day even though the water was rough we managed to transfer again. On the raft we were comfortable but water washed over us and there was no way to break the wind. There was enough food but we wanted to ration it, not knowing how long we’d be out. I couldn’t figure which was more uncomfortable being on the raft cold and damp or in the life boat cramped and uncomfortable but a little warmer. Bailing had to be kept up continually and some of the men really turned out to be heels and others heroes. I was still vomiting. We’d been given a little piece of chocolate, a couple of malted milk tablets and a little water each day. One of the damned mess boys got my half of a package of graham crackers and ate them. I didn’t care much though because I only tossed it up as soon as it went down. Finally I came to the point where I didn’t have anything to toss.

  Thoughts going through my mind those hours sure were something to note. Mostly my thoughts sought God. I thought lots of you saying you were being brave over the phone, of you going to readings, of Aunt Florence, her faith, the Lord’s Prayer, and the twenty-third Psalm. I’d wonder if I’d ever walk through Goldsmiths again and pass the counter where they sold Malted Milk Tablets. Thought of you reading the article in the Digest about those men on a raft for so many days, but then they weren’t in the North Atlantic at a pretty cold season of the year. Things seemed pretty desperate the next day when no help came from Sparks SOS. The gulls in the sky looked like planes, then at night in the raft the lifeboat looked like a distant tanker.

  I kept trying to keep faith in God and remember that whatever was, was His will. It really helped me a lot. Saturday Morning we sighted a ship. The skipper shot flares, attracted their attention and they came for us. It was the Coast Guard boat U.S.S. on which I’m writing this account. The crew and all have treated us swell. We were in the lifeboats and on rafts 60 hours and when we boarded the it was as tho we were in a dream, warm clothes, warm shower, and good soup and coffee.

  Staff Sergeant George Syer, Just Before Shipping Off to Fight, Realizes That He Might Not Return Alive and Leaves Behind a Letter for His Infant Son

  For servicemen and women embarking overseas, saying good-bye to loved ones is heartbreaking enough, but for troops who are parents, it can be especially difficult to leave behind young children. An Army staff sergeant in 1st Headquarters Company, 382nd Battalion, 96th Division, George Syer departed for the Pacific in late July 1944 after spending only ten days with his newborn son, John Paul, at their home in Galveston, Texas. On July 20, Syer wrote John Paul the following letter to let his son know how dearly he loved him.

  Dear son;

  Our son, our first born. I was happy at your coming. Happy that the Lord brought you into mother and I’s realm of love. Before your coming mother and I desired you very much. Our Joy began with the first sign of your coming. We planned for you from that moment. Mother agreed that if you come I should be the one to give you your name. I chose the name John Paul because of my hopes for you. The hope that you will accept the call of the Lord to Salvation and service. The men after whom you are named were kind and dynamic followers of the Lord. None then or since have been greater. No greater life can be lived, even though poverty and martyrdom be the lot of those that follow Jesus.

  I have the natural pride of a father and would have naturally named you George: Which was mother and grandparents desire, had not my desire to influence you to choose the way of life overcome my parental pride.

  Mr. and Mrs. George Syer with their newborn son

  I arrived three days after your birth, then! only because the Lord made it possible, in answer to our prayers. A nation at war doesnt allow its soldiers many priviledges.

  Ten days, mother, you and I were together. Days in which I learned to take care of you, mother at that time being not strong enough. Mother and I loved you with out reserve during those days. Examined each part of you and watched every little change in your growth.

  Then came that day when I was to go leaving mother to be both mother and dad to you. It was hard on mother when I left, but she bore bravely the seperation. One of my hardest farewell was to bend and kiss you good by son. Then I was gone, speeding back to California to take up my duties again as a soldier of my country

  Two months have gone now since you were born. Mother has since sent pictures that I treasure. You are a goodly child such as the child of a Levi parent recorded in the Scriptures

  Yes two months, and tonight I am on the threshold of another adventure of life. Tomorrow we board ship to go overseas. I do not fear to go knowing that I too must share the responsibility of fighting for my country. I have no desire to kill son only to save life, but there are time like these that one can’t understand, but seek to serve God and also my country seems the only true course to take.

  I go with faith that the Lord shall bring me back safe from the conflict. However should the Lord decide that my service has ended, and I fall on foreign soil, my faith will be satisfied to its fullest by Him who is wise and better than I could ask or expect.

  The answer to our faith is always complete, even though the answer is not according to your own will. A paradox, yes but that is God’s priviledge and power.

  Will close this letter now son, future days will bring more thoughts

  Love

  Your dad

  George

  Staff Sergeant Syer, who earned two Bronze Star with Valor medals during the war, returned home alive and well.

  Corporal William “Bicky” Kiessel, Fighting in Italy, Explains to Two Friends What Goes Through a Soldier’s Mind Before Heading Into Combat

  &

  Private First Class Albert Kishler Jr. Describes to a Fellow Serviceman Who Has Not Experienced a Land Battle What It Feels Like to Be Under Fire

  “This letter is for your reading only; or to others at your discretion; but under no conditions to my Mother,” twenty-six-year-old Corporal William “Bicky” Kiessel wrote on November 13, 1943, to a favorite uncle who had fought in World War I. Kiessel had just survived the invasion of Italy, and he thought his uncle would understand what he had been through. “We were the first Americans to hit Europe,” Kiessel continued in his hastily typed letter.

  I’ve been bombed, straffed, shelled, chased by tanks, sniped at, machine gunned and everything imaginable—and some not. I got knocked about, bruised and scraped but never directly hit. The closest I came to getting killed, I guess, was having a man on either side of me killed and I was completely picked up and tossed about ten feet. I got in such tight places that on two different times I lost all my equipment and had to pick up dead men’s rifles, packs and canteen.

  “I could go into vivid detail but I’ve said too much now,” Kiessel concluded. “You’d better say a little prayer for me.” (One can understand why he thought his mother might be less than thrilled to read the letter.) Nine months later, Kiessel, who would ultimately survive the war, was preparing for another invasion—this time into France. The letter he wrote to two college friends right before the assault offers a revealing glimpse into the thoughts and emotions of a young man about to charge into battle.

  Dear Florence! And Jerry!

  To you it is glorious history now. You know where, when and how we hit. I mean the Invasion, of course.

  To me, now, it is still a dreaded ominous suspe
nse. Sort of like waiting in the ante-room of a dentist. Only much worse!

  Everything except our absolute essentials has been packed away in a burlap bag and stored. I’ve got the clothes I’m wearing plus one change of underwear and socks and toilet articles.

  We are equipped now for anything and everything; our dog tags around our neck, identification card in pocket and name and serial number inside both shoes in case we come to a parting of the ways. We’ve been issued water proof casing for our rifle, bandolier of ammo, halcyon tablets to purify water, canned heat, a paper sack and sea sick pills. My gas mask is water proofed and I’ve got a knife in my belt, though I have no expectation of using it. In my combat pack (we call them come-back pack) I have rations for three days; 3 “D’s” (concentrated chocolate) and 6 “K’s”. After that we should be able to get “O’s”.

  The last mail in or out is over with for an undetermined period. We have all written our mothers, wives, or sweethearts our last letter for quite a while—or for ever. It was, of course, happy-go-lucky and carefree so as not to worry them or let them suspect our mission. A GI worries more about his folks worrying than he does about himself….

  We’ve separated from most of our friends. Nothing dramatic in parting but a casual “see yuh soon” or a careless “take care of yourself, fella”. But we both feel the sincerity of it and respect each others “meet again” attitude.

  What are our feelings—our emotions? Naturally it depends upon the individual. There is a sense of dullness to the very present. You think a lot about the past. People you know or knew and last associations, of home, though not about big things but a lot of silly little trifles or remembrances pop into your mind and if you were to stop and figure out “why?” you probably would never know. Thoughts that are precious, moments unreturnable flash past. We are different men since we have been fighting. To a great extent, unfortunately, we have lost our sensitiveness, there is a cold calculating air. We have gone through and experienced what men should not. But at times like these we are mother’s sons once more.