Subject: Letter to a Friend
Date: March 16, 2000
From: Clarence Lally, C-58
To: * * * * * *
Hello * * * * * *,
You are the best teacher that I ever had the pleasure of listening to. You are very kind and generous with all of your material and you never embarrassed us by letting our lack of knowledge appall you. Thank you very much. I am greatly enjoying your presentation of Jesus.
I am the guy who started crying when you spoke of Vietnam. I was not in Vietnam but I was a combat soldier in WW 2. I was discharged from the army fifty-five ago. Why am I crying? I did not cry after the war and I could talk about and enjoyed relating the incidents. Trouble was I had never really left the scene behind me. The War was always yesterday. There were no high-lights in my life that put a space between me and the War. Neither four years of college, nor state boards, nor twenty years of marriage nor four children, was big enough to create a space between me and that Armored Division that I was a part of. There was no terror involved or any anxiety that I am aware of, just that I was still there and vulnerable. I could not sit by a window because of snipers and I was acting "brave" if I sat at a table in a restaurant without my back to a the wall. I was quick to react to sudden noises. I walked only at night because the darkness shielded-me. That feeling persisted for 25 years.
About 1968, a Chiropractic procedure greatly relieved some of my nerves and that was the first time I realized that I was living the War. A year later my family and I received the Baptism in the Holy Spirit and with that came much healing. Gradually I could sit in public without having my back to wall and I could walk in the daylight and my every thought did not have something to do with of dangerous possibilities. Now it is year 2000, fifty-five years since I was in combat. I no longer live the war but it is still strong in my memory.
After the class last Tuesday I still keep feeling a demand to cry but I didn't.
When I went to bed I asked the Lord, "Why am I crying?" He seemed to say: "You're not crying from fear. You're crying from grief'.
Oh... that made sense to me. That explained it to me. I don't have to be embarrassed about crying. Grief is deep inside me and I did not recognize it. I can cry if I have to.
When I first came into our home after the war and was unloading my duffel bag, one of my younger brothers said: "Where are your souvenirs? Don't you have any souvenirs?"
I answered: "I'm the only souvenir I want"
My dad said: "That's for sure".
For souvenirs I could have taken "Junior's" helmet that had a bullet hole in it that began at ear level and pierced the helmet about 1 inch above. It nicked his scalp but did not knock him out.
I could have taken Paul Clare's boot sole. It had been torn off by shrapnel when his boot was 3 inches from my head. It cut off the sole without touching his foot. I could have taken the German helmet that had a exit hole in the back, with chips of bone and hair, where my bullet to his face exited his skull. I don't need those kind of souvenirs.
I did not have time to grieve when (Russell G.) Fretz and (Wyman J.) French, our two dear 19 year old machine gunners. Killed the first day.
J.W. Burns was shot in the back as he mistakenly turned his back on the machine gunner who later got a bullet in his face.
I did not have time to feel bad when Hollis got three machine bullets that pierced both his right arm and his right leg. We were all being attacked by the same gunners.
I tried to show sympathy to (Albert R.) Neves and (Charles M.) Shepherd when they, at separate events, got shot in the legs and feet. They wouldn't accept my sympathy. They both said that they were the lucky ones because they we're getting out of there.
I heard that (?) Skienberg got a bullet through the face and his jaw dropped down. He tied a handkerchief under his chin and over his head to hold it up until he could get back to the aid station. Don't know if he made it.
Three miles upstream on the creek that we had waded in all day yesterday, we found (?) Giggs, dead and lying face-down. He had been hit in the hand and started for the aid station when they hit him again.
I felt bad when Shultz (Laverne E. Schatz?) got killed. He had already been injured and could or should have been in the hospital, but he was helping us with our machine gun when an artillery shell hit in front of the half track and the shrapnel killed him. He was a good friend but I did not have time or emotional strength to grieve.
Most of the replacements who got hit, I did not even know. Nor did anyone else. The war was so close to the end I felt sorry for the German soldiers that were foolish enough to fire on us. I let some of them escape. They were just kids like we were.
* * * * * *, now that I know why I cry, I feel better. I felt that my crying was being taken as a mental break down of some kind or other, some kind of stigma that was not pleasant to be around, a weakness or damaged personality in some way. Now that this has been revealed to me, by the Lord, I believe, I feel relieved. I have an idea that I may still cry but at least I'll know why and I accept it.
Thanks for listening.
Clarence K. Lally
(Co. C, 58th AIB, 8th Armored Division)
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