This may seem a different writing for Veterans Day. Anyone who has followed this page over the years knows my strong feelings about our veterans, both living and those no longer with us. I’ve written about its history on this Day, first called Armistice Day. November 11 has been Veterans Day since 1954. The date marks the anniversary of the end of World War I, which officially ceased with the signing of the armistice agreement on November 11, 1918, at 11 a.m.—the 11th hour of the 11th Day of the 11th month.
Before beginning, I always mention Memorial Day, an extremely sacred day. I mention it to clear up the confusion between it and Veterans Day. While both holidays honor military service, Memorial Day explicitly remembers those who died in service, whereas Veterans Day celebrates all who have served.
I have the greatest of reverence for all who have served. We owe a debt to our veterans that we can never repay except by living free in liberty. We have a duty to them; we seem to fail in it. As a nation, we need to better care for and provide services for those who sacrificed a portion of their lives for us.
Today, I choose to write about my dad, Cpl. Edward Thompson. He served during WWII in the European Theatre of Operations. When I brought it up as a kid, he told me fun or silly stories. I knew one horror story, but not from him. He shared it with my mom, and she later shared it with me.
Recently, I had a bronze plaque from the VA affixed to his stone at the cemetery. In doing so, I needed his discharge papers, his DD-214. I have several documents he had in his possession: his draft card, Army manual, battle extracts, pass, license to operate an ambulance, and a unit citation. The manual is interesting. It covers every aspect of being a WWII soldier.
So, I decided to do some research. My dad was a corporal. During WWII, he was a non-commissioned officer (NCO). After the war, the designation was changed not to include corporals. Since my dad spoke of nothing of import but had one story from my mom, I will piece it together as best I can.
My research includes history books, numerous memoirs, and now AI. I’ve tried not to embellish, but it would be easy and tempting. Every kid wants his dad to be a hero; to me, he was. But here, I risk the accusation of stolen valor on his behalf, not that it could ever be proved. The problem is, I could be wrong, but I should be close.
He was in the Ninth Army Air Force, specifically the 438th Troop Carrier Group, a crucial unit that carried troops into battle by planes and gliders. I know about this because I subscribed to the newsletter, which is now defunct. My best computation is that the youngest member catching the war’s end would be 96/97 today. If my dad were still alive, he’d be 104.
A note of clarification is necessary. There was no separate air force during WWII. Officially, the United States operated one known as the United States Army Air Forces (USAAF or AAF).
The 438th carried troops into battle by planes and gliders. The Unit Citation is for engagement on June 5, 6, and 7, the invasion of Europe, D-Day. The battle extract is with this. For those remembering East Company in the television mini-series The Band of Brothers, the 101st Airborne parachuted behind enemy lines several hours before the amphibious assault. The 82nd Airborne was part of the initial invasion, too.
While it’s possible he was on one of the flights from England to France the first night, I doubt it. A better guess is if he arrived on the 7th or later. So, we need to back up.
As a corporal during World War II, he was a non-commissioned officer (NCO). That’s no longer the case, although I’m not sure when it ended, it seems with the war’s end.
The research described NCOs as the “backbone” of the military due to their essential role in leading and training enlisted soldiers. The only things I remember my dad telling me he led were calisthenics and did some boxing, but most soldiers boxed as training. Like I said, he spoke little about his service time, which I understand is common.
During the war, a corporal was the lowest NCO rank. Corporals took on leadership roles over small teams or squads, providing guidance, training, and discipline. They ensured discipline, conducted training, and led troops in combat. I could go into more detail about everything here, but not now. But that’s the textbook version, but I can’t say anything about combat except speculate.
Was he near or on a battlefield? I think so. According to the DD-214, he was a surgical technician. Plus, he had a document to drive an ambulance. Back to research, a surgical technician had special training. My dad did his at his at Ft. Harrison, Indiana. It is followed by BGH, which means Base General Hospital.
A surgical tech assists in surgeries and performs medical procedures other than actual surgery, including pre-op and post-op. There’s more to it than that. One part that would be difficult is triage work, meaning my dad would have to make decisions on who could be saved by surgery and those who likely would not make it, so would be provided comfort, probably morphine. That’s a difficult decision for a young man with limited medical training.
The BGH adds information. This training would have been part of a broader effort by the Army Medical Department to ensure that medical support was more extensive so he could handle the injuries seen in combat zones.
Now, we add the ambulance, which can mean an EMT or paramedic in today’s world. Ambulances were critical for evacuating the wounded from battlefields to medical facilities. Because they transported wounded from a battlefield, would it make a surgical tech, like a medic?
It could, but the design was different. While the surgical technician could and would provide medical aid in the field, the time on the battlefield should be limited.
The ambulance crew was to transport the wounded to a field hospital, out of the way of immediate harm. The field hospital was designed to be mobile and located as close to the front lines as safely possible to provide immediate medical care to wounded soldiers. The idea is to treat patients quickly to save lives, stabilize them, and prepare them for evacuation to more comprehensive medical facilities further away from combat zones.
Let me again clarify here. We start with the medic on the battlefield providing medical care during WWII. There were also stretcher bearers working with the medic. An injured soldier would first be taken to an aid station if necessary. If more was required, to a Portable Surgical Hospital (PSH)—think MASH in Korea and television. A PSH could be close to the battlefield and generally no more than one-half mile behind the front line. A PSH could come under enemy fire, and physicians and personnel received weapons training. A PSH could be taken down and moved in two hours. These tent complexes are where major surgeries were performed.
On the latter, ambulance personnel trained as surgical techs return to their specialist training at the PSH or return to the field to pick up more wounded or injured soldiers. As far as my dad goes, that part remains a mystery to me.
What did my mom tell me? This is a little out of order. My dad hated flying, maybe because of a fear of it. My mom told me a story of a time during the war when a plane crashed in a wooded area. There were 27 men on the plane, all of whom died. Not just dead but burned severely. I can conjure up images since she didn’t go into detail.
She did tell me that he and two other guys had to carry the bodies out. I can’t begin to imagine what that would be like. I never asked him about it—fast-forward to a birthday, or more likely an anniversary. I wanted to get a unique gift then. I finally found one.
Knowing he had been in a troop carrier division, what better gift than a 45-minute ride on a glider they had a year to use? A lot of things could have been better. Using it only took almost a year because I kept asking about it. If I hadn’t, I suspect it would have expired. When I got it, I forgot he hated flying, although he did it occasionally. I forgot about the blackened, burned bodies.
My dad was inducted on October 29, 1942, and discharged almost three years later on September 14, 1945. Others left Europe after Germany surrendered in May 1945. He remained behind in case of an invasion of Japan. Two atomic bombs ended the threat in Japan, but it seems unlikely he would have been part of it. More likely, he remained in Europe as part of an occupation force.
A point of confusion are the medals listed on the DD-214. Like Herbert T. Gillis in The Many Loves of Dobie Gillis, my dad had a Good Conduct Medal. He also had a “Theatre Ribbon w/7 Bronze Stars.” I guess it was ribbons plural, and the 438th participated in seven battle campaigns. AI tells me there are two types of Bronze Stars, and what my dad received was probably for being a member of a division involved in battle campaigns, such as Normandy, Ardennes, etc.
The benefit of growing up is my dad could take care of injuries in a calm way, unlike my mom, who went to pieces. It saved trips to the doctor.
Had I not ordered the plaque from the VA, I would still be clueless about what my dad did during the war. What I read, especially about being a surgical technician and what is involved, adds to my sense of pride. I mean, I was proud of him before, but the fact that he may have been assisting in surgeries to save lives or getting wounded men off the battlefield and out of harm’s way while putting himself at risk gives me another view of my dad.
It may explain something else. Once, my dad needed five references for a court proceeding, nothing criminal, and I still have those written statements. One was from the local bank president. I still remember some of the words. “Ed was restless after the war but has settled down…he’s a fine chap.”
If he had seen things I think he may have seen, it would have made him restless—and he was. He worked several jobs before settling into one, which took him almost ten years. I know he played sports, semi-pro baseball, and basketball, and hung around bars, but that doesn’t mean he was drunk for ten years, just hanging out. I did hear a few stories about him from a good friend of his. I went through the same phase.
There was a positive to hanging around and having a few beers. He met my mom at a bar owned by her parents, where she worked part-time. So, he settled down and got one final job until retirement.
So, Dad, thank you for your service, and thank you for being a great dad!
surprised me because I know our governor as a guy who came out of RINO central casting. Maybe I was wrong, somewhat. Another note: Mehek is now following my page on Meta/Facebook.
surprised me because I know our governor as a guy who came out of RINO central casting. Maybe I was wrong, somewhat. Another note: Mehek is now following my page on Meta/Facebook.
