Please bear with me for these few minutes as I try to do justice to the tale of my Uncle Olaf.
Dad's baby brother got drafted in late 1943 into the Army, along with his sister in laws younger brother. Together they went through basic training and while there heard a fantastic tale which might keep them out of harm's way.
It seems that early in the war, if a person joined the Paratroopers, yet failed, for whatever reason, to complete Jump School, that individual was transfered to a hash & trash outfit, such as supply or even the MP's. Uncle Olaf and Allen neither were cowards, they just didn't see any future in being cannon fodder.
Off to Jump School they go.
The day of thier first jump, they put their plan into operation. Chuted up and headed to the aircraft. They just could not gather the nerve to climb in and jump. So, happily, the Army transfered them out of the Paratroopers into other units. Never really got all the information on what happened to Allen, but he is still alive and kicking.
Uncle Olaf on the other hand found himself on the way to England and into the replacement pool. On 6 June 1944, he went ashore in the Second Wave assualt on Omaha Beach with the Big Red One as an Infantryman. So much for grand schemes.
Seems the Army had caught onto this scheme for getting out of the Infantry and Uncle Olaf got caught.
Dad was drafted while working as a construction worker building Fort Chaffee, Arkansas, and had been in the Pacific Theater since late 1942. After several island hops, he ended up going ashore in the Philipines with the 11th Airborne.
So Uncle Olaf toured Europe in the mud. From the beaches on Normandy to later cross the Rhine into Germany. And the truly amazing thing is that he never got a scratch on him. To make this tale even stranger, neither did my Father. Both survived those years without being wounded.
About 14 years ago, Dad brought Uncle Olaf over to the house. We own two house next to each other. Dad had told Olaf I had an M1 Garand. I proudly opened the safe, pulled the Garand out, locked the action to the rear and handed it too him. His eyes kinda misted over as he hefted it in his hands. He never shouldered the rifle, just held it.
As he handed it back to me, I heard him say the only curse words I can ever remember hearing him utter. "The Son of a Bitch is just as heavy as I remember it." Then he thanked me and left without another word.
My Father passed away on 15 April 1998. Quietly in his sleep. I miss his humor and wisdom so much.
We laid Uncle Olaf to rest this morning at the age of 81. As kind and gentle man as you would ever meet. And like all the men of my Father's family, a man with a wicked sense of humor and a practical joker.
Allen was there for his last visit with him. Frail, and nearly blind, he was visibly weakened with the passing of his friend. And this was certainly not the time to ask about his time in the Army.
So this in some ways was the tale of 3 soldiers. Dad, Uncle Olaf, and Allen. Kind and gentle men who in their time faced evil and survived the experience. Because in War, there are no winners. Only Survivers.
Rest in Peace Uncle Olaf.
Dad's baby brother got drafted in late 1943 into the Army, along with his sister in laws younger brother. Together they went through basic training and while there heard a fantastic tale which might keep them out of harm's way.
It seems that early in the war, if a person joined the Paratroopers, yet failed, for whatever reason, to complete Jump School, that individual was transfered to a hash & trash outfit, such as supply or even the MP's. Uncle Olaf and Allen neither were cowards, they just didn't see any future in being cannon fodder.
Off to Jump School they go.
The day of thier first jump, they put their plan into operation. Chuted up and headed to the aircraft. They just could not gather the nerve to climb in and jump. So, happily, the Army transfered them out of the Paratroopers into other units. Never really got all the information on what happened to Allen, but he is still alive and kicking.
Uncle Olaf on the other hand found himself on the way to England and into the replacement pool. On 6 June 1944, he went ashore in the Second Wave assualt on Omaha Beach with the Big Red One as an Infantryman. So much for grand schemes.
Seems the Army had caught onto this scheme for getting out of the Infantry and Uncle Olaf got caught.
Dad was drafted while working as a construction worker building Fort Chaffee, Arkansas, and had been in the Pacific Theater since late 1942. After several island hops, he ended up going ashore in the Philipines with the 11th Airborne.
So Uncle Olaf toured Europe in the mud. From the beaches on Normandy to later cross the Rhine into Germany. And the truly amazing thing is that he never got a scratch on him. To make this tale even stranger, neither did my Father. Both survived those years without being wounded.
About 14 years ago, Dad brought Uncle Olaf over to the house. We own two house next to each other. Dad had told Olaf I had an M1 Garand. I proudly opened the safe, pulled the Garand out, locked the action to the rear and handed it too him. His eyes kinda misted over as he hefted it in his hands. He never shouldered the rifle, just held it.
As he handed it back to me, I heard him say the only curse words I can ever remember hearing him utter. "The Son of a Bitch is just as heavy as I remember it." Then he thanked me and left without another word.
My Father passed away on 15 April 1998. Quietly in his sleep. I miss his humor and wisdom so much.
We laid Uncle Olaf to rest this morning at the age of 81. As kind and gentle man as you would ever meet. And like all the men of my Father's family, a man with a wicked sense of humor and a practical joker.
Allen was there for his last visit with him. Frail, and nearly blind, he was visibly weakened with the passing of his friend. And this was certainly not the time to ask about his time in the Army.
So this in some ways was the tale of 3 soldiers. Dad, Uncle Olaf, and Allen. Kind and gentle men who in their time faced evil and survived the experience. Because in War, there are no winners. Only Survivers.
Rest in Peace Uncle Olaf.