Jim Bailey of Rossmoor
I grew up in an “Odd Fellows Orphanage” for 13 of my early years.
Shortly after my 18th birthday in March, 1943, (Wow! that was 70 years ago) I tried to join the Navy but wasn’t accepted due to my inadequate vision, so I volunteered to join the U.S. Army in Meadville, PA .
My Basic Training was in Mississippi. I was trained to handle chemical warfare weapons.
In August, our Company was sent to San Antonio, Texas, and a month later to Yuma, Arizona, where we started to actually handle real poison chemicals.
In mid-April, 1944, we sailed on a large passenger ship to England. Luckily, we were not attacked by any German submarines. Our duties there were to move gas cylinders from various locations to avoid being hit by enemy bombs.
Unhappy about working with war chemicals, so in August, I volunteered to become a paratrooper, and received more training. I also spent some of my time “tooting my own horn.”
Actually, I used my cornet to sound the various bugle calls. I was a “Bugle Boy.”
In December, our unit boarded an LST (landing ship tank) and crossed over to France to a port where I had never ever seen so much destruction. Soon after our landing, I sensed my first realization of real danger. Nearby, a fellow soldier who had been wounded for his fourth time, was quite nervous, and very certain he would die in his next battle, but he was determined to stay in a combat area.
As we progressed inland, we occasionally rode in railroad boxcars, but mostly we trudged along on foot with a full pack, a rifle and extra ammo, a canteen of water, a gas mask, etc. over unpaved or war-torn roads and fields.
Eventually, our Company was given a short rest period and reassigned to the 345th Infantry, 87th Division known as the Acorn Division that had fought in the “Battle of the Bulge.” Soon after we received new replacements, we began our advance to the front lines.
My first experience of death was on a nearly dark night, as we trudged along in a single column. Suddenly an “88” German shell screamed overhead and exploded in an air-burst, scattering many pieces of shrapnel all around us and wounding some of my comrades.
Instinctively, I hit the ground and lucked-out again, but a soldier who was about 10 feet in front of me was killed instantly. One of our sergeants was also wounded and he ordered me to stay with him until the medics would arrive and transport him to a medical aid station.
Through all these harrowing experiences and others, I learned how to eat my “K-rations,” clean my “mess-gear” with muddy hands; how to try to get some sleep while laying in a slit-trench; and standing guard in the woods, not knowing who or where the enemy was, etc.
I remember the day I was wounded. Early in the morning, we had come out of the dense woods onto a hilltop and I could see a small town in the distance, which was our objective to capture that day. I wondered why the Gerries were firing a few shells in the valley nearby instead of firing directly at us on the hilltop. A few hours later, we were ordered to advance in three single-line columns to the town, through the valley.
As we progressed ahead, a few enemy shells burst nearby and we’d hit the ground. At one point, I got so disgusted of hitting the ground and getting up again; while wearing a long, heavy coat and toting all my gear in my backpack, and a gas-mask, gripping my weapon and ammo, I said to myself, “the hell with it… if I was going to get hit, I can’t stop it.”
I also remembered, earlier in the day, someone said, “Be careful, watch out for booby-traps and land mines.”
So I kept going until BOOM, up I went. My first thoughts were, “so this is what its like to die… and then I realized I wasn’t dead.” I must have been in shock for I didn’t feel any pain.
I could see my right foot was chewed up, and my head hurt somewhat. I injected myself with morphine.
It wasn’t until early evening when the medics came searching for survivors that I was found. In the meantime until then, I had managed to slow the bleeding, but a ridiculous situation occurred while I was trying to get my backpack over my shoulders; my arms got stuck in a way I couldn’t move them so all I could do was lay there quietly.
The medics carried me to an aid station, located in an old barn. They fixed me up as well as they could. Even between the shock and pain shots they injected, I remained conscious and felt no pain.
As I was being carried to be put in a vehicle, another “88” burst nearby. I was dropped to the floor as everyone was “taking cover.” Unfortunately, someone tripped over my left ankle and twisted my foot out of shape,
Over the next few days, when I awakened, it seemed I was in a different aid station. I found that I had casts on both legs, but I felt good and no pain. The shock they did to my body was so severe that I almost died. A nurse sat nearby to make sure I was breathing. She poured liquid penicillin over my legs every few hours.
To get me to eat, they fed me a shot of whiskey, but that stopped when other patients complained they weren’t getting any. (I guess it really cut into the doctor’s supply.)
I learned I had stepped on a land mine when a doctor had pulled a piece of metal out of my right foot.
The war in Europe ended in May 1945. I was loaded onto a ship and sent to a hospital in Thomasville, Georgia where a couple of operations on my left leg were performed. With a sandal for my right foot and a cast on my left leg, I learned to walk with crutches.
In January, 1946, I was transferred to Walter Reed Hospital in Washington, D.C. The head surgeon told me my left leg below the knee needed to be amputated, and to let him know when I was ready. I discussed my situation with another doctor. He had the same opinion. I let them know, “I’m ready.”
By using a new procedure, the recovery time was cut down from three to four months to two weeks. I was fitted with a prosthetic leg…and gradually, I learned to walk again. I learned how to drive a “clutch car.”
I was honorably discharged from the hospital and the Army in November, 1946.
With the great improvement in my legs, I learned to dance. It was while square dancing that I met Shirley who became my wife in 1972. We live in Rossmoor and have been very active in community events. We’re also members of Seal Beach VFW Post 4048.
Bill Thomas of Rossmoor is a Veteran of World War II, and Past Commander of VFW Post 4048, and American Legion Post 857.
Contact Bill at vvbthomasvets@gmail.com
Veterans Meetings
MEETINGS of the Seal Beach American Legion Post 857, and the Seal Beach Veterans of Foreign Wars Post 4048 are held in Building 6 of the Naval Weapons Station on Seal Beach Blvd, (south of Westminster Blvd.) They both have a “Social Hour” starting at 6 p.m. Their “Regular” meetings start at 7 p.m. The American Legion meets on the third Tuesday.
The Veterans of Foreign Wars meet on the fourth Tuesday.
A gate pass is required
For more information, contact Bill Thomas at 562-431-7795, or vvbthomasvets@gmail.com.
