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    A Soldier’s Story -- World War II and The Battle at Sessenheim, France
    A Soldier’s Story -- World War II and The Battle at Sessenheim, France
    A Soldier’s Story -- World War II and The Battle at Sessenheim, France
    Ebook103 pages1 hour

    A Soldier’s Story -- World War II and The Battle at Sessenheim, France

    By John T. "Jack" Scannell

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    About this ebook

    "A Soldier's Story -- World War II and the Battle at Sessenheim, France" offers a gripping personal account of one soldier's combat experiences on the bloody battlefields of France and Germany during the months preceding the Allies' 1945 victory in Europe.  John T. "Jack" Scannell was a staff sergeant with the 411th Infantry Regiment of the 103rd "Cactus" Division.  He was decorated with the Silver Star for his heroic rescue of wounded US soldiers from a French farmhouse under siege of German fire. Defying a threat of court martial and braving enemy attack, he returned to the farmhouse where the wounded men had been left behind, honoring his promise to them that he’d come back.  Five decades later, after relentless searching, one of those men would locate him and be able to thank him finally.

    The author currently lives in Michigan with his wife, Norma.  He is the father of twelve children, and the grandfather (so far) of fifteen grandchildren.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherWord Haven Media INC
    Release dateDec 10, 2011
    ISBN9781467990110
    A Soldier’s Story -- World War II and The Battle at Sessenheim, France
    Author

    John T. "Jack" Scannell

    "A Soldier's Story" was transcribed from audiotapes of John T. “Jack” Scannell’s recollections of his WWII infantry service in Europe, supplemented with contemporaneous conversations. It is offered as one soldier’s personal narrative of an historic war that profoundly affected a generation whose experiences pre-dated the automatic recording and routine documentation of day-to-day life that we now enjoy in this internet age. "A Soldier's Story -- World War II and the Battle at Sessenheim, France" offers a gripping personal account of one soldier's combat experiences on the bloody battlefields of France and Germany during the months preceding the Allies' 1945 victory in Europe.  John T. "Jack" Scannell was a staff sergeant with the 411th Infantry Regiment of the 103rd "Cactus" Division.  He was decorated with the Silver Star for his heroic rescue of wounded US soldiers from a French farmhouse under siege of German fire. Defying a threat of court martial and braving enemy attack, he returned to the farmhouse where the wounded men had been left behind, honoring his promise to them that he’d come back.  Five decades later, after relentless searching, one of those men would locate him and be able to thank him finally. The author currently lives in Michigan with his wife, Norma.  He is the father of twelve children, and the grandfather (so far) of fifteen grandchildren.

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      Book preview

      A Soldier’s Story -- World War II and The Battle at Sessenheim, France - John T. "Jack" Scannell

      A Soldier’s Story

      World War II

      and

      The Battle at Sessenheim, France

      by

      John T. Jack Scannell

      Staff Sergeant, L Company

      3rd Battalion of the 411th infantry Regiment

      of the 103rd Cactus Division

      ––––––––

      Edited by Kate Scannell

      Copyright © 2011, Kate Scannell. All rights reserved.

      This book was transcribed from audiotapes of John T. Jack Scannell’s recollections of his WWII infantry service in Europe, supplemented with contemporaneous conversations. It is offered as one soldier’s personal narrative of an historic war that profoundly affected a generation whose experiences pre-dated the automatic recording and routine documentation of day-to-day life that we now enjoy in this internet age.

      This is a work of nonfiction. Names, characters, places, incidents, commodities, and events are recalled by the author in good faith and to the best of his recollection.

      Published in the United States of America by Word Haven Media, INC. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or any other means without permission is illegal.

      ISBN-13: 978-1467990110

      ISBN-10: 1467990116

      DEDICATION

      This book is dedicated to

      the 821 members of the 103rd Infantry Division

      who did not make it back,

      and

      to my loving wife, Norma.

      ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

      I have so many people to acknowledge and too many to name who have been part of my life, my story, my attempt to publish this memoir. I hope I have let them know how important they have been to me.

      411th Infantry Regiment

      103RD Cactus Division Shoulder Patch

      Contents

      DEDICATION

      ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

      FROM THE BOWLING ALLEY TO FORT CUSTER

      AT FORT CUSTER — A LONG, LONG WAY FROM HOME

      OUT OF THE COOKING VATS AND INTO CAMP CLAIBORNE

      YOU’RE IN THE INFANTRY NOW

      REVEILLE

      BASIC TRAINING

      OFF TO CAMP SHANKS, NEW YORK

      BOARDING THE USS MONTICELLO FOR MARSEILLE

      THE FORTY-AND-EIGHT TO SAINT-DIÉ, FRANCE

      MAISONGOUTTE, FRANCE

      BOBENTHAL, GERMANY AND THE SIEGFRIED LINE

      THE BATTLE AT SESSENHEIM, FRANCE

      ENGWILLER, NANCY, AND GUNGA DIN

      LANDSBERG, GERMANY

      ONWARD TO INNSBRUCK AND BRENNER PASS

      AFTER THE WAR

      THE JOURNEY HOME

      AFTERWORD

      FROM THE BOWLING ALLEY TO FORT CUSTER

      ––––––––

      ON SUNDAY, DECEMBER 7, 1941, I was in Jack Millet’s Bowling Alley on Trumble Avenue in Detroit playing with a league from St. Dominic’s Parish—a church at the corner of Warren and Trumble and just a few blocks south of the alley. St. Dominic’s league bowled there every Sunday after the last mass. Besides having alleys, Millett’s also had pool tables—eight of them—that were occupied by the young folks who, for the most part, were the offspring of the adults who belonged on the bowling league.

      Like in any other bowling alley, you heard the usual sounds of people cheering each other on, and the hard balls hitting the alleys and then crashing into ten pins at the ends of the lanes, and the clicking of the ivory billiard balls on the pool tables. But all of a sudden, the noises stopped and everybody stood quietly in stunned silence, dropping everything they were doing at the time. A radio announcer had come on and announced that the Japanese were attacking Pearl Harbor, Hawaii.

      Everybody stood still for quite some time, but, eventually, a low murmur began. Then people returned to their bowling and shooting pool, although their cheering was muted and their conversations were more subdued. In the early evening, everyone finally went home, probably like me, to further contemplate the meaning of what had just happened that morning at Pearl Harbor.

      The next day—Monday, December 8, 1941—President Franklin D. Roosevelt declared that we were at war with Japan, and that the day would go down as a date that will live in infamy. I had found out that the recruiting office, at least for the Navy, was located at the Federal Building in downtown Detroit—although they may have called it the McNamara Building at that time, named after a Senator from Michigan. Regardless, I was down there fairly early in the morning on one of the upper floors, and, as I entered the room, I removed my hat and topcoat and held them in my left hand. Nobody back then asked me to hang them up because in those days, in the 1940s, whenever you went somewhere like the Federal Building, a church, a nice downtown theatre or a nightclub, everybody dressed up. You wore the best you had, and that usually included a decent hat. By way of comparison, today you could probably go down there in tank tops and nobody would give you a second look. That’s how things have changed regarding dress codes.

      After being tested with eye charts for color-blindness, I joined a moving line of young men. Standing at the front of the line was a dentist and, as each man came up, the dentist would look into his mouth and then go on to the next guy, one at a time. When I got up to the dentist, he opened my mouth and said simply, Sorry. He was not going to qualify me because of my teeth. He told me in so many words that the reason for my being rejected was that I had two molars missing. After I registered some disappointment, he said, Well, don’t worry about it. Somebody will be in touch with you. You’ll be called again.

      Sure enough, like the dentist said, within two or three months I was called down for a physical again—this time, for the army. However, again, I was rejected—now because of sugar being detected in the urine test. In those days, most of the young men would spend their evenings in bars and bowling alleys, drinking quite a few Cokes and mixed drinks and so forth—so that, undoubtedly, was the reason they found the urine sample to contain sugar.

      So, here again, I was somewhat disappointed. But the guy at the recruiting center again said, Don’t worry about it. They will be calling you.

      Several months later, they did call again. This time, I was to appear at the Draft Board located in Redford on Grand River Avenue, across the street from the Redford Receiving Hospital. I met a fellow there by the name of Harold Foxley. Although he lived in that area, we belonged to the same draft board.

      We were ordered to take another physical in an abandoned corset factory, and I will never forget that event as long as I live. There must have been a hundred men in a line against the perimeter walls of this rather large room, and the only thing they were wearing were shoes and socks. There was even a piano in the room, and some young fellow—also naked—was really banging away at the god darned ivories. It was comical as hell.

      At any rate, I passed the examination and so did this guy, Foxley. And somehow or other, we both got notices to show up at the Michigan Central Depot which, at the time, was a very beautiful building located down at the foot of 14th Street, just off Michigan Avenue. From the Depot, we were supposed to board trains heading for Fort Custer, the large induction center for our area.

      Meanwhile, I had an uncle by marriage who owned a bar named Wood’s Clay Pipe on

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