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James Mcnamara
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My father was drafted before WWII. He used to joke that that was the only lottery he ever won. He served in the Yankee Division (Massachusetts National Guard). Once the war began he requested a transfer to either the Airborne troops or the Army Air Corps for duty on bombers (waist gunner). He was accepted into the Airborne and went to jump school at Ft. Benning Georgia. He was then assigned to the 82nd Airborne, 1 Bn, Regimental Headquarters Company 504th Parachute Infantry as a scout observer . He was stationed at Ft. Bragg NC. He loved being a paratrooper and jumping. He did not care much for the spit and polish of being a soldier. However, he loved jumping and the physical training. He had worked at the College of The Holy Cross' Field House and was an avid basketball enthusiast and that helped him get through the physical part of training (he graduated in 1940 with a B.A. from Holy Cross).
He shipped off to North Africa, with the rest of the 82nd Airborne, in 1943. When he was in North Africa , in a small town 40 miles from where he was bivwacked (Ojhda), he remembered, "they had nice shops there and their leather work was really good. I stopped there because my brother Billy was in the Boy Scouts then and they had beautiful leather knapsacks there. The woman who ran the shop spoke English very well. She was in her 50's. We got to talking and she said to me, "What are you Americans doing over here?!" I said, "That's an odd question, I thought we were rescuing you." She said, "You're not rescuing us!". "Well, by the time we got through talking, I found out why she was talking that way. She didn't think we were going to win the war because the Germans looked more business-like than we did. Secondly, she was perfectly satisfied with the Nazis."
One of the things he always mentioned when talking about North Africa was that the Arabs tried to steal everything. The heat from the desert wind (siroco) were awful and everyone had disentary.
The 504th then was in for its first Combat jump in Sicily. The following is taken from "Drop Zone Sicily" by William B. Breuer. "Shortly after bailing out of their C-47 along the Southeastern Coast of Sicily on the night of D-Day plus two, PFC.James M. McNamara and his close friend PFC. Joseph Hart were huddled in scrub brush in the darkness trying to gain their bearings. They had jumped from the same plane, along with the rest of the stick, without waiting for the green light. The C-47 flying at only 500 feet, was raked with machine gun and .20 millimeter gunfire.
McNamara and Hart conversed in hushed tones and agreed that they had no idea where they were. They did realize they had landed within 150 yards of the sea and would have drown in their parachutes had they lept out only three seconds earlier.
As the pair of troopers pondered their next move above the roar of the anti-aircraft guns, they heard on a nearby loudspeaker blare out in English, GERMAN PARATROOPERS HAVE JUST LANDED ALL AROUND US!
Unsure if the greatest danger lay with enemy troops or friendly ground forces, McNamara and Hart edged into a ditch and began crawling away from the panicky voice on the loudspeaker. Presently, they heard American voices in the darkness and determined that these were members of a Quartermaster Company stationed along the beach.
Crawling closer and spotting several shadowing figures,the pair of troopers decided to take the risk and make their identity known. McNamara got out of the ditch, stood in the open and shouted,"WE'RE AMERICAN PARATROOPERS!"
Several moments of silence followed and then a burst of automatic weapons fire from the bivwack area sent McNamara diving back into the ditch. As the two friends contemplated their next action, McNamara whispered to Hart, "you know, Joe, I think we should have stayed in the States as latrine orderlies." (The C-47 they were in was shot down by the U.S. Navy in a case of mistaken identity. Twenty three other planes were lost and over 400 more troopers lost their lives."
Following taken from tape: Sicily--"When we started on that march, it was a hot day and I remember the first one was about twelve miles or so. The first town was one of those small medeival towns up on a hill. I said, "Jesus, look at that. It's going to be murder!" So we fired a couple of mortar shells into it. All of a sudden white flags pop out of every window.
Then there were a bunch of Italian soldiers marching down the road toward us begging to be taken prisoner. We had orders to just keep them moving. Then we got to the next town, walking another ten miles. It was a hot day! Every machine gunner and mortar man had no ammunition. They were so exhausted that they were throwing them on the side of the road. We got to this next town--no shots were fired; The white flags just went up. Italians would pile out of the town and we would just push them along.
By the time we got to the third town,we were exhausted. This Italian commanding officer comes out of the town and wants to surrender, tomorrow. He wants to get his papers in order. So, we we're so tired, we could not have captured a bunch of Boy Scouts. Tucker said, "Sure". That night, we're in town -504 guys and our enemy, The Italians-drinkin' up.
So this Regimental Supply Sergeant (I think his name was Smith)- he was a cagey guy. So, we were sitting there at the table eating whatever they had and he comes in. "I need you guys." I asked, "what for?" "There is an artillery Garrison up on the top of that hill." I said, "So what.". He said,"Pistols,they got pistols". We said, "sure" and went up and knocked on the door. We go in and there, all sitting around the table, are about fifteen Italian officers. They all get up and salute. Smith sharply returns it and asks if anyone speaks English. A couple say yes. "Well, I have orders from Colonel Tucker, 504 Parachute Infantry Regiment, to relieve you of your sidearms." So, there is a big conference going on. They each want to surrender, individually to Tucker himself. He says, "Oh no, I have my orders. McNamara,(and so forth) collect all sidearms". So we go around and collect mostly Berettas. One officer has a brain storm--the Colonel wants a receipt.
Smith takes out a message form and he writes out:
Taken from Colonel So and So
# of pistols
Lt. Joe Blow, 504 Parachute Infantry
We get to the door and he turns around and salutes. They all click their heels and return his salute. We all walk out the door, barely being able to hold our sides from laughter. We're loaded with Berettas. Well by this time, Tucker and his staff are fighting on who's going to get the Italian officers' Berettas.
When it comes time to surrender, no one cares about the surrender, they want their Berettas. Where are they? The Italians respond, "We gave them to your emisaries." He brings out his receipt signed by Lt. Joe Blow. Tucker went off in a tirade! "If I find the So and So, I'll shoot him, I'll kill him!!! We got a chuckle out of that.
The following is also taken from William Breuer, "Drop Zone Sicily". Colonol Tucker ordered that details of paratroopers be secreted near telephone lines about the countryside, with the mission of nabbing the saboteurs in the act. PFC. James McNamara and his close friend Joseph Hart were among the pairs assigned to the task.
McNamara and Hart secreted themselves near a grove of trees. A few hours later, two Sicilian men drove up in a donkey cart to a nearby telephone line. The Americans looked on as one of the men began to wind telephone wire over his arm. McNamara leaped from his hiding place and shouted in his best Italian, "Alto!" (Halt).
The frightened Sicilian broke out in a run; McNamara fired shots over the fleeing man's head. Grinding to a halt, the native threw his arms into the air. The Paratroopers approached the shabbily dressed peasant who was shaking violently, expecting to be shot on the spot. One look at the pitiful , quaking figure asssured McNamara and Hart that this was not a trained, sinister saboteur, but merely a poverty-striken native pilfering a few yards of wire which he hoped to sell or barter.
The two troopers called Regimental Headquarters and a warrant officer was sent to the site. Hart and McNamara gave the new arrival a quick rundown on the situation and the Warrant Officer telephoned Colonel Tucker, reporting the apprehension of a "saboteur".
Now a large number of excited and worried Sicilians, men and women had heard the commotion and gathered around. The Warrant Officer hung up the telephone and said to Hart and McNamara, "Colonel Tucker said to shoot the saboteur."
McNamara and Hart had no intention of shooting an unarmed native whose only offense was one of petty theft. They were convinced Colonel Tucker did not fully understand the stuation.
"If you want him shot, shoot him yourself," McNamara said to the Warrant Officer." I'm sure as hell not going to do it."
The Warrant Officer pulled out his Colt .45. Sensing what was about to occur, the Sicilian peasants who had gathered about began a aloud chorus of weeping, wailing,screaming and hollering. At this cruicial point, the village priest happened by. Hhe vigorously protested the apparent imminent execution of the peasant caught stealing the telephne wire.
The Sicilian priest insisted on talking to the regimental Catholic Chaplain. Capt. Edwin J. Kozak was held in high regard by troopers of the 82nd Airborne. A forceful man, Kozak had always spoken up to generals when he felt they were not acting in the best interests of the men in matters not related to combat operations.
"This is not a saboteur," the Sicilian priest explained to Captain Kozak, "he's just a poor ignorant peasant who was taking some telephone wire. Now your men have been ordered to shoot him." "Put the warrant officer on the line," Father Kozak rasped. When the warrant officer picked up the receiver, the chaplain stated firmly, "Don't harm the Sicilian, bring him in here proptly - alive!"
At regimental Headquarters, Colonel Tucker took one look at the non-descript quaking saboteur and cancelled the order to shoot him.
The Salerno Jump was a tough one for my father. He landed near the ancient ruins of Paestum. As he was decending in his chute, he saw to his horror, tracer rounds from an anti-aircraft battery fire to the left and right of him. This was proabably an American Battery. He did not know when one of those rounds was going to zero in on him. He carried a 9 mm Belgium Browning he had scored off some German Paratroopers in Sicily. He also had his .45 which he said was hard for him to fire because he had a small hand. He tried to curl up into a ball to make himself small in his harness. He then made the choice that he was not going to die without shooting back. He took out his two pistols and fired back which was pretty futile if you know anything about pistols. The rounds going both left and right of his head at the same time. He landed hard not paying much attention to getting ready for the shock. Adrenalin got him through the night and the next morning his knee blew up like a melon. All through his life he had trouble with his knee in cold weather. It would just give out on him.
In 1985, I was fortunate to take a trip to Italy with my father so he could relive some of his wartime experiences. He particularly wanted to go to the area of the Volturno River near Fornelli to the little town of Rochetta where he had a close brush with death. As we de-planed, I recognized a woman from my hometown that ran an Italian Restaurant. I said, "hello" and she immediately recognized my father. He told her we had come to Italy to go to some of the places he had been during the war. She smilled and told us she was just remarried and that she was on her honeymoon. It turned out we were at the same hotel in Rome. We said our goodbyes and went our seperate ways. As we were walking away my father said, "boy that was funny bumping into them." I agreed. We had come from a town of under 25 thousand and to meet someone you know that soon into a trip is quirky. He said, "More than that, her 1st husband Joseph (Govey) Baird, we went into the 82nd together he was 1st Sgt. Third Bn.
We got a guide and a car to take us up into the Volturno Mountains. If you know anything about Italian drivers, not driving there was a smart thing to do. On the way you can't help but see Monte Casino, which commands your attention rising high into the range. The monastery (rebuilt after it was destroyed) looks more like a fort than a place of religious contemplation. Knowing nothing about military science I could easily grasp why this German stronghold had to be taken. We began ascending into the mountains' beautiful rocky views and unique Italian umbrella pines. It seemed like time had forgotten this area. We arrived in Rochetta and immediately drew the attention of the locals who were playing cards or dominos in the square. I was struck by the lack of cars in the area and the donkey drawing carts with rubber tires.
My father had remembered being on a combat patrol with a unit of 12 - 14 men. They had come to a three-story white stucco farmhouse. They stopped to hold up in and around this house in the early afternoon. He also observed a cemetery immediately behind the house. All of a sudden one of the men on watch yelled out, "Krauts!" A German Heavy Weapons Platoon had just moved into the square. My dad said, "We were caught with our pants down. We were in a poor position and the Germans outnumbered us more than three to one. We sat and prayed they would take the other road in the square.? Just at this moment a small Italian man with a cap (like an Irish derby) came into the square. He walked up to what looked like a German Officer and pointed to the Stucco building. To my father this man looked a little slow, the village idiot type. Well the Germans started down the road not taking this man too seriously. Several Krauts headed for the front door of the building and kicked it in when all hell broke loose. The combat patrol found it; they immediately gave the Germans many casualties. The Germans regrouped and poured fire into the building. My father remembers shooting out a window with his M-1 when a Pfc. (I believe it was Gutterman) shouted, "I got the bastard." Then he yelled, "The bastard got me". He was shooting through a window sitting on the stairs his body had cover but his foot dangled below the stairs and was visible to the outside from the first floor window. He was shot through the in-step. My father was waiting for the inevitable German assault when he heard a thud in front of the windowsill he was shooting from. He peered out to see if it was a Kraut. He then realized it was a concussion grenade. He pulled back too late. The sill exploded sending shrapnel and slivers into his temple, neck and chest area. He was thrown back and stunned. He felt something warm on his face so he reached up instinctively and when he looked at his hands, he found they were filled with his own blood. He went to the medic who wiped his face off. He asked him if he thought he was going to make it. He handed him his rifle and said, "Don't know if any of us are going to make it. Now get back and start shooting."(My father?s wounds were not life threatening but the face and neck area is very prone to bleeding and looked worse then it was.) Things were dire as my father explained. The Germans and us would take prisoners. It was a good thing to be known to take prisoners. However, we had already inflicted heavy casualties on them. An unwritten rule was that you didn't do that and then surrender. We were fighting for our lives. At this time Sgt. Ted Bachenheimer who was also a Scout with Regimental Headquarters dashed out of the house and ran through a hail of enemy fire for reinforcements. He used a cemetery and its wall that was in close proximity to the house to give him some cover. The Sgt. Later Pfc.Bachenheimer had already distinguished himself in combat in Sicily. He was a German Jew whose parents had emigrated from Germany in the early 30?s. Had been captured in Sicily overheard some high-ranking German officers and escaped to provide detailed information to Headquarters. On Anzio he was a curse to the Germans with his Scouting adventures deep behind enemy lines. In Holland he organized Dutch Guerilla group that harassed the Germans and saved British Paratroopers escaping back across the Rhine to the Allied lines after the disaster at Arnham. My father always spoke well of men who rated it with him. Ted Bachenheimer always had a special reverence when he discussed him with other 504 vets. He was simply in his opinion the best scout and one of the bravest soldiers in WWII. All 1st BN 504 Vets that I have met have a similar view. His deeds spoke louder than words .While Sgt. Bachenheimer was gone things got worse at the farmhouse. The troopers had to retreat upstairs to the second and third floors; several Germans set up a machine gun and sprayed the house. Others tried to get in. With every attempt they were repulsed with a hail of return fire by the surrounded paratroopers. Concussion grenades came in the windows; the Americans ducked into other rooms to wait out the explosions. The young Lt. In charge of this patrol leaned out a window to throw a grenade into the midst of a German detail: a bullet killed him. Finally the Calvary in Sgt. Bachenheimer returned with 1st Bn reinforcements, the fight was over. The Germans died in their own trap. They had killed approximately twelve Germans, wounded about ten and captured one.
As my father and I approached the villagers close to the square, we tried to ask where the building was. An elderly Italian gentleman with an (Irish type of cap on his head pointed to my father and said, "tedesci". Which I found out later meant German. We were in the same square where the Italian man had dimed out my father's patrol all those years ago. A look of anger came over my father's face. As we walked towards a cemetery he said, " You know, I think that is the son of a bitch who gave us up all those years ago." We found the building, took pictures in front of it and in front of the cemetery gate. I also took some pictures of the reservoir.
On another day, we went to the Anzio Beach area. We also went to the American Cemetery at Netuno. Seeing "Saving Private Ryan? reminded me of the moment my dad and I shared. We walked through the acres of white crosses and Stars of David. The beautifully well-groomed grounds added to a sense of peace and serenity. We walked into a large chapel/monument in the cemetery. My father began searching the wall of remembrances for names he knew. I remember that guy. I knew him and him. He then came across a name and said,? I never knew what happened to him, I thought he made it out wounded." His name was not on the KIA list my father had at home. He was a great guy. I could hear my dad's voice crack a little. As we walked out of the cemetery, I looked at the crosses differently. Not just bleached white stone markers but as soldiers, men who gave their lives for their country, our freedom and forfeited the liberty of growing old having a family and living life. I have always treasured that trip.
My father's next combat stop was Anzio. He told me that from the day he got there till the day he left, "I didn't have a shower or anything". Bob Waldron his pal remembered, if you had a temperature of 103-you could not go to the hospital. If you had a temperature of 104-you had a choice. If you had a temperature of 105 -they sent you back. My father remembered light resistance at first steadily increasing into a stalemate.
He remembered that one day Captain Roe came up to our outpost. You could see the Jerries; We were not that far apart. We would not fire on them unless we were attacked or so forth. We figured, why disturb them and get them aggravated. So they got kinda careles--one day, there were a couple of them out sunning themselves-you know, eating a sandwich or something.
Some crazy loon calls it to the attention of Captain Roe. He comes tearing up to our outpost and he gets Sgt. Weeks, a mortar man. So the two of them are conversing. Roe asks, "do you think you can get the range and then a barrage." This Weeks is pretty good. Anyway, he fires a quick smoke and yells a command, "adjust so and so then barrage!" The Germans are running around like Chickens with their heads cut off. Roe and Weeks are laughing their sadistic asses off. Wen the next thing you know, "womph,womph", German mortar shells are fallling all around us!
I'm at the bottom of my trench-- Weeks on top of me and Roe on top of him! So, I'm bullshit by now. I asked Roe if he liked messin up a perfect day at Anzio Beach. They gave us what we asked for. Under construction
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