William Alexander Thompson

" What did you do in the great World War II?"

"Greetings from the President" began the draft notice. He should have/could have been exempt. He was 24, married with 3 children and expecting the 4^th. But Dad claimed "the war [WWII] had dragged on and was going rather badly so they needed men who were experienced in fighting — married men." Dad was injured the day before Christmas 1944 and every year around that time he would talk about his experience. Over the years we learned his story bit by bit.

Dad’s 80^th Blue Ridge Division was transported across the USA in boxcars. Some soldiers couldn’t resist mooing like cattle. They had the same accommodations across southern England then were shipped across the English Channel to the Utah landing on Normandy Beach. Although it was about 4 months after D-Day the beach was still littered and only designated areas had been cleared of mines. One soldier in his company was scared spitless going down the side of the ship on rope ladders and dropped his rifle into the surf.

Many infantrymen suffered frostbite marching in that cold, muddy winter. Dad bought an extra pair of wool socks from the PX. In the toe of one sock was a slip of paper with a ladies name and address who had knitted and donated them to the Red Cross. Every night Dad washed a pair of socks in his army helmet and pinned them inside his shirt to dry to help prevent frostbitten feet.

Taking possession of pillboxes was difficult; invariably one German soldier would hole up in there firing on them and never consider surrendering. They rotated taking point—the first man in the pillbox. Once the soldier on point in front of Dad broke into uncontrollable shaking sobs so Dad took point. Dad said, for him, the worst sight in all the war was the look in a man’s face when he completely lost it. Marching into little villages was a challenge because a sniper usually sat in some church steeple relentlessly shooting them. They were coming into one village at a fast trot and kept taking cover at the sound of shots. After a few times of diving for cover they discovered a big Texan in their company was firing his bazooka (on the run) at the steeple-snipers.

Although they defended each other in battle, when they were behind the lines they could get on each other’s last nerve. At an abandoned farm Dad found a couple potatoes, an onion and a fresh goose egg. He sliced the potatoes and onion, fried them in his mess kit then scrambled the egg into it. His mouth watered in anticipation. Some soldier walked by and snorted, "That looks like slop." Dad backed him against the barn door with dire threats to his person and made him take it back.

Patton’s 3^rd Army moved across Europe so fast that supply jeeps couldn’t keep up. Sometimes they marched by night and dug in foxholes by day. The 80^th Division are famous for their 150-mile march in 36 hours into Luxembourg despite the mud and mines. In addition, their field pack weighed 40 pounds and Dad’s BAR (Browning Automatic Rifle) weighed 18.5 pounds. As Patton’s Army pushed forward the German army swung around behind them and drove a bulge 60 miles wide and 45 miles deep into American lines — the Battle of the Belgium Bulge. Dad’s division had advanced into Luxembourg, had dug in, a supply jeep brought supplies and had just left. At that point the Germans knew their location and opened fire with all they had—tanks, mortars, machine guns. Dad and his partner, Frank Carratelli, were sitting on the side of their foxhole when the firing began. The impact of a shell exploding beside them caused Frank to scream, "Bill, I can’t see! I can’t see!" Dad could only answer, "I can’t either." Frank was temporarily blinded and had a permanently messed up knee. Frank died at home October 1968 one year before Dad. Only the walking wounded could be rescued during such heavy combat. The young medic dragged Dad to the shelter of an old barn with the solemn promise "I’ll be back for you, Bill."

Consciousness came and went and Dad lost track of time. He felt his eye laying on his cheek and rolled his clean pair of socks and stuffed them in his empty socket to staunch the flow of blood. He felt the shattered femur sticking through his mangled leg and made a tourniquet of his army blanket. Once he heard soldiers take cover in the barn but couldn’t see if they were friend or foe so played dead — he looked the part. It was about 48 hours before firing ceased enough to resume medical evacuations. Lee Fridd, the young medic in Company B, kept his promise, got Dad to a MASH unit, donated blood and they forged a bond beyond blood and camaraderie. Lee died November 24, 2001 the day my granddaughter, Caitlin was born — the circle of life.

A shortage of medicine and too many critically wounded made mercy killings common in MASH units. Lee Fridd said Dad was such a pleasant guy when he was conscious that no one had the heart to put him out of his misery. It’s no wonder one of Dad’s sayings was "there are lots of things worse than death". Dad was hospitalized 4 months in Liverpool, England. During that time he got his eyesight back. Dad developed a taste for corn fritters until he could see them then threw an fit and the corn fritters. Also he grew a mustache that some nurse took a disliking to. She peroxided half the moustache while he slept—and Dad kept it! He was awarded his Purple Heart sitting in a wheelchair with a ballcap pulled low to shade his eye, a moustache that was half dark brown and half bleached blond—he made no attempt to stand or salute with his bandaged hand. He chuckled over that many times. He was shipped home via Glasgow, Scotland to Springfield, Missouri. He was discharged from Battle Creek, Michigan where Post Cereal Company had converted some factory buildings into Percy Jones Hospital Center.

Aunt Bertie was with Mother when she got the first telegram that Dad was "missing in action". Several days later she received another telegram stating he was "injured in action". Information on the extent of his injuries came in small bits. Aunt Bertie said when Mother got the first telegram—and subsequent ones—she worked off her anxiety with laundry, baking, cleaning, etc.

Dad said he "crossed the ocean twice and was seasick both times...never again." He came home on the Queen Mary, who with her sister ship, Queen Elizabeth, were the world’s largest luxury liners at that time. Hammocks were strung up so closely the injured were nearly stacked on top each other. The Queen Mary carried the record number of troops at one time...16,683. She and the French ship Normandie exceeded eachother’s record speed. She was so elusive to the German u-boats, that she earned the nickname "the Gray Ghost". When they sailed into New York Harbor it was overwhelmingly emotional to see the Statue of Liberty welcoming them home. Everyone went on deck no matter how crippled. The light fiercely hurt Dad’s eyes, he was unsteady on his crutches, and was seasick so he loaned his crutches to another fellow to go on-deck to see the "Lady". The ship’s captain found Dad all alone and asked why he wasn’t on-deck. Dad told him. So the captain got a wheelchair from godknowswhere, took him on-deck, parted the crowd of men, and took Dad to the railing to see the "Lady". Dad said, "Lady, if you ever want to see me again — you’ll have to turn around."

President Roosevelt died on April 12, 1945; the Queen Mary sailed into port 2 days later. Dad and his shipmates had to wait extra days to disembark because all government offices were on skeleton crew for the mourning period.

It was determined by family consensus that Grandpa Alec and Uncle David would visit Dad at the hospital first to prepare the women. Grandmother Vivian worried (in vain) that Dad’s face was horribly disfigured when he lost his eye. Travel was difficult during wartime so Grandma Vivian didn’t see him until he came home on leave from the hospital. Although blind, the Swedish Grandmother Thilda was still living. She felt Dad’s injuries. Dad was honorably discharged June 19, 1946 ten days before Thilda’s death. Mother’s first visit in Springfield was a bittersweet reunion when Dad offered to release her from their wedding vows "because he was no longer the man she had married". But she loved him still and refused. Dad had been very athletic, set a high school track record and boxed in the Golden Gloves in Chicago. His boxing name was "Wicked Will the Slugger" because he stood toe to toe and slugged them----and often broke their noses. In the Golden Gloves he was matched with a "dancer" and Dad slugged air until he was tired then the infamous "dancer" KO’d Dad. It was Dad’s only time to be knocked out in the ring...Uncle Virgil did it the only time out of the ring. In the last year of his life Dad and Mother returned to Springfield, toured the base, went to the same restaurant, sat in the same spot, ordered the same food, recalled their conversations...a wonderful/horrible trip down memory lane.

Dad spent 3 months in action in Patton’s 3^rd Army and 16 months in army hospitals recovering from injuries. He lost his right eye, his right leg, use of his right hand, his left pupil was split in two giving him double vision, and his left shin bone was a dented mass of scars. Periodically shrapnel would fester and work its way out of his injuries. One piece looked like 1/3 of the lip of a hand grenade. In October 1959 the Veterans Hospital in Chicago thought they would have to amputate his right hand because of infection from shrapnel. At that time he was also issued a new artificial eye. A young discharge nurse noticed the little ivory box it was in and said "I see you did some shopping while you were in Chicago. Is that for me?’ Dad replied, "It’s not for you but you can see it." She screamed hysterically! Dad thought she would have seen different prosthesis since she worked there but he apologized anyway.

On one hospital leave "the brothers" decided to go hunting. It was something they all enjoyed. Dad had once shot two ducks with one shot. He was a decorated rifleman; sharpshooting was his specialty. His "Scorebook for US Rifles and Browning Automatic Rifle" detailed his targets at 200, 300, and 500 yards. A football field is 100 yards. He was very good. But now it was hard to keep his balance walking on uneven ground. His right hand was still in a cast and he had to lay the rifle across it to fire. The reverberation made him nearly pass out. And now he had double vision and his shot missed by a mile. Eventually Dad learned that the little spot where his double vision overlapped was his target. He would go to the woods on his gray Ford tractor and bring back a squirrel occasionally. His friends in Pennsylvania tried to persuade him to get a handicapped hunting license for deer season. He thought it "took the sport out of hunting" and never got one.

Dad loved to read. He would read until he got blinding headaches. Although he quit high school "because the teachers didn’t know anything" he was well read—a self-educated man. During the depression his family moved wherever they could find work and Dad got behind in school. The teacher gave him some books to study to catch up and prepare for the semester exam. Dad scored so high the teacher made him take the test over and he scored high again. He especially loved history. I got my interest in genealogy when I read a letter to him from his grandfather, David E. Harris, addressed to "Bill, the Historian". The handwriting was beautiful script giving information on Rachel Wiand’s parents, Meriam & Gregory Baty MD.

In the closing of his famous address to the Third Army, General Patton said, "Thirty years from now when you’re sitting around your fireside with your grandson on your knee, and he asks you, ‘What did you do in the great World War II?’ You won’t have to say, ‘Well, I shoveled shit in Louisiana’." Yes, Dad had stories to tell ---- and his life was a story to be told.

William Thompson Army Discharge Papers

William Thompson 1920 - 1969 I.O.O.F. Cemetary Marion, Indiana

(This was written by Vivian (Thompson) Davis, daughter of William Alexander Thompson. It is correct as far as she know's and remembers. If there is any other family members that would like to add to the story or has their own stories about William A. Thompson let us know.)