Letter from T/5 Lloyd 'Dick' Kemp, A-80:

Subject: A Pleasant Day In Deutschland! March 28, 1945,
Date:     9 June 2000
From:     Lloyd 'Dick' Kemp

This story is about the first medium tank in the 8th Armored Division to drive across the Rhine River on the treadway bridge. The cast of this drama from the 80th Tank Bn. were Lt. Donald Martin, platoon leader, Willie Glenn Beckner, gunner, Willard Bean, loader, Donald Elshire, asst. driver, Dick Kemp, driver. The men from the 58th AIB were, and I could be in error, the four lead scouts from Co 'A', Meyers (Meirs?), Petroze, Buchett and Albert O. Hardenburgh. Of the latter I am sure for he is listed as KIA in the book "In Tornado's Wake".

If you will look in the book about page 171 you will see 2 pictures. The tanks that are parked are not firing. These tanks were from 2nd Platoon, Co.'A' 80th Tank Bn. At about 0700 I was driving the tank furthest back, "Avenelle". We were waiting for 88th Recon Bn. to move out of the way. We were not firing, or going to fire, because we would never have lined up with a row of trees 20 some odd feet in front of us and between us and the enemy. That would be just plain stupid. A hit on one the trees with HE ammo would have done more than give us a headache.

We had moved out at 0600 as it states in the article. Our objective was Kirschellen. We had just bypassed several Tellar mines hidden on the road when orders from our Task Force Commander, Major George Artman, came over the radio, "Bypass your recon." By 0725 in the town of Kirschellen we were in the basement of the house that the 58th Armored Inf. Officer was observing. The smoke he saw was coming from behind the house (Pg171) and was our tank, "Avenelle", burning. It was not as stated an enemy observation post.

I shall never forget that house! When the command came, "Avenelle" moved out from behind a large building marked as a hospital because Lt. Martin wanted to draw enemy fire. The other 4 tanks and the infantry remained concealed. We were about 200 yards. into the open when the German 88mm fired. The tank rocked and white hot steel was flying everywhere inside. Fire started almost immediately. Don Elshire and I flew out through our hatches. The sandbags on the front were being ripped with machine gun fire as we jumped over the side.

I had Pfc. Hardenburgh by the hand and was trying to pull him off the back deck when another 88 skimmed the back deck killing him. Then Meyers hollered, "There's your officer in the middle of the road!" Martin had made it out, ran about 20 ft and collapsed, bleeding from a large piece of shrapnel in his chest. The white-hot steel had cauterized the wound. Part of the thumb and index finger on his left hand were gone. Meyers ran to him along with Elshire. Under enemy machine gun fire, they carried him back to safety beside the tank while I was crawling out from under Pfc. Hardenburgh.

God bless Meyers, he had a real presence of mind. I never was too bright! I hate to say this, but the fourth Infantryman; Buchett (I believe) was also swept off the back deck. The tank was really burning and starting to explode. We grabbed the Lt. and ran to the house. We left Buchett for dead but I found out later that he was just badly wounded and I think he lived.

We were trapped in the upper basement with about 90 German civilians in the lower bomb shelter basement, while Panzer Grenadiers searched for us. They could smell the burning bodies of Cpl. Beckner and PFC Bean and could see the body of Pfc. Albert Hardenburgh, 58th AIB, and I believe that Buchett was still there at that time. There were five of us trapped in the basement until 1830 that evening when the town was retaken. The two 58th AIB soldiers with us along with Hardenburgh and Buchett had been riding 50 cal shotgun on the back deck. Damn fine soldiers.

Lt. Martin was close to death so we, with the aid of a very lovely young German girl, did all we could to keep him alive. He made it and did not return to the outfit until we were in Czechoslovakia, some months later. The girl not only nursed him, but held the flashlight on his Wollboster while I put it in a Mason jar to go grum-grum. He was too weak to raise his hands. His mouth however kept saying, "Kemp – I'm going to kill you, not now, but someday." Other words he used were unprintable. It did as I hoped – made him too mad to die. He had made his fiendish plans for me!

If Meyers could be located, Col. Artman could probably see that he is awarded the Silver Star. This combat infantryman was one helluva soldier He held us together and helped drag our wounded tank officer to safety under heavy fire. I don't know if we could have made it without him. Damn fine men, those fighters of the 58th. Elshire and I received the Silver Star, but Meyers should have been #1.

It was after we were hit, that the Task Force withdrew and did not retake the town until dark. In the confusion we did not realize that our concealed tanks had laid down a rather heavy layer of smoke with 76 mm smoke shells and smoke mortars. They said they also blew cigarette smoke in our direction.

We could have taken a Sunday stroll back. TOLD YA! I never was too bright!! The Germans were not the only ones fooled since all of our own men thought we were dead, until we crawled out of that basement at 1830. The men I owed cigarettes and money to all cheered. The rest looked discouraged!

T/5 Lloyd 'Dick' Kemp
Co. 'A'., 80th Tank Battalion
6/9/00

Subject: "Forget me not!"
Date:     April 28, 2001
From:     Donald 'Don' Wolff

(This story is about a couple of Dutch kids and two GIs.)

It was February 2^nd, 1945 we had just driven from the Metz/Pont a Musson region in France through Luxemburg and on to a staging area close to Maastrich, Holland. We, the Assault Gun Platoon of Headquarters Company 80^th Tank Battalion were assigned the small town named Vilt in the County of Limburg.

We "parked" our tank, a M-4, in the front yard of a small Dutch cottage. The little Dutch home had miraculously avoided being destroyed by bombs or shellfire and we turned it into a tank parking lot.

Now things being the way they were, the war and everything; we immediately performed "First Echelon of Maintenance," as all good soldiers should and would.

Fuel?     Check!
Oil?       Check!
Ammo?   Check!
Etc., etc.,etc.,?   Check! Check! Check!

Born and bred in Brooklyn, New York and stocky like a pit bull, Pfc. Joe Constantino, and I noticed two young children who were intently watching our every move. The young boy gathered up nerve and asked me, "Du bliben mit uns?" Which after our short time in country I translated ineptly as "You sleep with us?"

Joe and I both responded in unison "Nien! Nien!" Then taking our hands and leading us toward the cottage door both children chimed in together chanting "Du bliben mit uns?"

As the door opened, there was their mother who promptly handed us a pair of brightly yellow painted wooden shoes before we took another step in her house. The children's father, a veteran of WWI made an invalid from mustard gas, sat quietly near a fireplace struggling for each breath. "Momma" explained that they had been under German rule since 1940 as she started preparing potato soup and dark brown bread for our dinner.

There wasn't enough to feed the four of them let alone us too. But they were determined to make us feel "welcomed" and we did. After dinner while we tried to help Momma with the dishes we were motioned to go sit down. As we started to sit Joe glanced at me with a twinkle in his eyes and said, "Don, I think it's time for a little moonlight requisition!" I nodded and when it was finally dark we politely excused ourselves for a moment.

The requisition list was conveniently filled thanks to a kitchen truck left "unattended," and the next evening we all enjoyed corned beef, dehydrated mashed potatoes and fruit cocktail. It beat warming our C-ration beans on the Sherman's manifold watching them closely so they didn't over heat and explode all over us. Breakfast was a surprise too! We had also found some powdered eggs, peanut butter and "white" bread.

That night, Joe and I spent very restful slumbers on a real feather bed. The next morning Momma insisted that we attend early Mass at the church with her family…and we did. It was time for us to join up with the rest of the battalion and relieve the "First Commando Brigade" located northwest at Venlo. While the M-4 was warming up, the children Peter and Ellie gave me two snapshots of themselves. On the back they wrote their address and the words: "To my Ami, friend, Peter & Ellie, Forget me not."

After crossing the Rhine on a pontoon bridge we moved on to Recklinghouse in Germany. It was there that Joe, was killed by a mortar shell. I'll always remember him as a "good sport."

Fast Forward 53 Years   -   May 1998

My wife Bonnie and I, along with another couple, spent the month of May in Europe. I planned the trip, arranged all the maps and itineraries. The trip was to include a stop in Holland at a small town named Vilt.

In retrospect, October 1944 it took the English ship "Ocean Mail" eight days before she docked at Cardiff, Wales. This vacation however, non-stop from Phoenix, Arizona to Dusseldorf would take only eleven hours. Once we got our bags and cleared customs we were on our way to Margraten and a visit to the US Military cemetery. It was very impressive and yet, so very sad.

Driving at breakneck speeds on the Autobahn I realized that we would probably be driving on some of the same roads that Joe and I rolled over in 1945. I couldn't help remarking to my fellow vacationers that "tooling around in this rented Mercedes is sure smoother and quieter than that old M-4 Sherman Tank."

When we arrived at Vilt I found a small shop with a sign that featured the same family name as Peter and Ellie. I went in and asked the proprietor if he knew of there whereabouts and if they might be related. The name he explained was similar to "Smith" in the United States but strangely enough he knew them! Peter, the young boy in the snapshots had died in 1975. Ellie, his sister lived right across the street from the shop. I hurriedly crossed the street and rung the doorbell; there was no answer.

That evening we drove to Valkenburg to spend the night in a hotel; we returned to Vilt the next morning. I rang the bell once more but still no answer. I left a note and the snapshots I had saved from so long ago. We continued on with our itinerary and at the end of May flew back to Phoenix.

In mid-June I received a letter post-marked from the Netherlands. Eagerly I opened the envelope to find a letter from Ellie's son. In perfect English he expressed on behalf of his mother her regrets for not being at home in Vilt when we had stopped by in May. He wrote of his Uncle Peter and of his mother's family and her five sons. Ellie relayed through her son that she warmly remembered that day in 1945 and treasured the pictures of she and Peter from so long ago.

We are now e-mail buddies! One of her sons, who currently lives in England, sends mail and pictures to us regularly. Amazing when you think of it over fifty years and now another generation and like dinner that first night, we are sharing together once again.

This is just one of so many stories that I could tell. If there is any interest in reading more of them please let me know. I also enjoyed the other stories from contributors on your site.

Hope you enjoyed this little bit of nostalgia. I'm hoping that the 8th Armored will place it on the web site and if people like it I'll tell some more…before the ol'memory gives way!

Don Wolff
519 East Tam O'Shanter Road.
Phoenix, AZ 85022
Phone: 602-789-1701
e-mail: bltw01@juno.com

Subject: A Stamp Collectors Craziest Dream
Date:     June 7, 2001
From:     Donald 'Don' Wolff

Our company was camping in Pilsen, Czechoslovakia after VE Day. We were all keeping busy turning in our ammo - turning in our AMMO? Duh! It didn't make a lot of sense since we had orders to keep a sharp lookout for little werewolves who were still trying to save the Fatherland.

We discovered shortly after that, that the 8^th was being broken up and the personnel re-assigned to different divisions. Some of the luckier guys were being sent back to the world other less fortunate folks were to become part of an amphibious tank outfit. Then there were those re-assigned to the 26^th Infantry Division that famous Yankee Division and the 83^rd Infantry the Ohio Division.

As it turned out it was my good fortune to be sent to Austria with the 83^rd. Our Post was in Ebensee, Austria; high in the snow capped Alps. We were billeted in the Hotel Steinkogler a sport hotel near the infamous Ebensee Concentration Camp. When we arrived the converted concentration camp was home to over 50,000 German SS prisoners of war.

My job, while I was stationed there, was to drive a 2 1/2 ton "Jimmy" to the camp each day to pick up a work crew of about 25 German SS prisoners and bring them back to the hotel. They fired the boilers, ran the generators, cleaned rooms and scrubbed floors. Among these prisoners I found excellent cooks and a world class pastry chef from Vienna. Being of Danish ancestry I have a fondness for desserts. Since some of these guys were among the best chefs in the world I figured I had finally found "great duty."

The "no fraternization" order was cancelled and I met some of the civilian population. One young man in particular, a shoemaker by trade and about my age, a worldly 22 years, spoke excellent English and we became fast friends.

He told me how his grandfather was the Game Keeper at Emperor Franz Joseph's hunting lodge that was located in the mountains a short distance from Ebensee. He arranged for Corporal Preston "Rawley" Rawlins from Welleston, Ohio and myself to spend the weekend with he and his family at the lodge.

Having been a stamp collector as a youngster I loved learning about the geography of the place from which a stamp was issued. I also was interested in all those staunch faces that the different stamps from around the world featured so prominently. Oddly enough, I had some Austrian stamps and I knew that the Old Bearded guy on those stamps was Emperor Franz Joseph, the King of Austria.

We were escorted to the bedrooms; Rawley was down the hall. My friend opened the door to the room that I would be staying in; it was the Emperor's bedroom suite. I must confess lying in a King's huge, over stuffed duck-down bed made falling asleep very difficult. I envisioned all sorts of scenarios, ones that included beautiful Blue Blooded ladies and voluptuous courtesans. If only that bed could have talked. Later that weekend we sampled one of the finest wine cellars in Europe and sipped cognac from the Royal Family's crystal.

I still have pictures of the "old" (he was probably all of 65 years old then really old huh?) Game Keeper, Rawley, the shoemaker and his family and myself at the lodge from my craziest dream weekend.

I remained in Austria until February of 1946; then across Europe in a boxcar with only straw for comfort and a case of three star Hennesy. In two days I reached Bremerhaven with only a bottle of cognac left. We were ready to board the good ship Waterbury Victory and head HOME!

In 1998 during a visit to Europe I found "the shoemaker from Ebensee." He was the CEO and owner of a large, very successful shoe factory. He remembered the weekend so long ago at the lodge and was happy to look at the photos I had brought with me. We sat and reminisced over a few of the more pleasant memories of the war.

I will more than likely never sleep in the Lincoln bedroom at the White House (I can't afford it!) but once a long time ago, I did sleep in a REAL king's bed!

Don Wolff
80-HqC

Subject: American Ingenuity

In Czechoslovakia near the end of the war (1945) In Europe a great number of refugees were roaming around looking for relatives, friends, or anyone that would give them food and encouragement. I remember one man in particular, cleaner than most and very persuasive, He wanted to work for us, and managed to convince us that we needed a barber and he was the man. His name was Dionys Kubinyi, a Hungarian born and raised in Bratislava, Czechoslovakia. Soon he was dressed in khakis, combat boots, etc.

We liberated barber tools and Dionys (Dennis) was in business. The 'Pilsen Barber Shop', shave and a haircut - one mark, Business was good for Dennis and he was eating regularly for the first time in years. During this time the 'Eighth' was broken up, and Dennis tagged along with me and the 83rd Infantry Division to Ebensee, Austria. The Hotel Stienkogel, high in the Austrian Alps, was our new headquarters. The hotel had a barbershop in the lobby so Dennis was now really in business.

However, he was depressed as he had not seen or heard of his family (wife, daughter, and mother-in-law) since the 'Stukas' strafed their refugee column in the early 1940's. Through the International Red Cross his family was located in of all places, less than fifty miles away in Linz, Austria. It wasn't all good news as Linz was in the Russian zone of Austria. It is time for 'American Ingenuity' to take over.

All protocol aside, a Red Cross ambulance was borrowed from the motor pool. A;ong with Dennis who spoke Russian, a driver and a one-star general (who shall remain anonymous) drove the ambulance to the camp. It' surprising what a bargaining tool a couple of musette bags full of 'D' bars, 'D' rations, two Zippo lighters and chelsea cigarettes and a dozen cans of 'Dubbing' becomes. I heard the Russians were crazy for the dubbing. It seems some GIs told them it was American canned butter.

The trip back to Ebensee was an unforgettable experience. The one-star general even shed a tear. This family had given up hope of ever seeing one another again. Now they were all together, his wife, daughter who was now eight years old, his mother-in-law, brother and sisterin-law. I enjoyed meeting his family and have many pleasant memories of them.

In January my point number came up and I headed for Bremerhaven and the Waterbury Victory ship for the U.S.A. I corresponded with Dennis after settling down and returning to civilian life. My family sent clothes and C.A.R.E. packages to Dennis and his family until they immigrated to Toronto in 1950. In 1952 my wife Bonnie and I visited them in Canada. To Bonnie's surprise his daughter Gabrielle (Gaby) was wearing a dress that had been one of her favorites, We were happy to have Dennis and Maria visit us twice in Phoenix. Gaby was an honor student and earned a scholorship to Cambridge University and earned a doctorate in medicine.

In 1998 Bonnie and I visited Ebensee, staying several days in the same hotel Dennis and Maria stayed in on their visits to Europe. The innkeeper remembered them and was saddended to hear of their passing.

Dennis and Maria owned a barber shop and needlepoint/fram shop in Toronto. They gave Bonnie and I a needlepoint picture with a view of Ebensee and the mountains as seen from the Hotel Steinkogel. So beautiful. Another needlepoint, with a verse Bonnie had given them is very special:
'What we are is God's gift to us -
What we become is our gift to God'.

I'll always remember and cherish the relationship we had with Dennis and Maria and the chance to help a fellow man find his lost family in our troubled war years.

Don Wolff
80-HqC

Subject: A Miracle

I have never told this story in detail before to anyone. My children have, at times, asked questions and I have answered them briefly. Now, 48 years later, and at the age of 67, I feel that I should write the details of how my military service during World War II ended.

It was March 29, 1946. My unit, Company C, 80th Tank Battalion, 8^th Armored Division, had been slowly moving all day with only sporadic resistance from the Germans. It was now five or six o'clock in the afternoon. I am in the last of five tanks that were to enter this German town (either Dorsten or Marl) ahead of the rest of the column to search out possible resistance. We were approaching an intersection where the buildings had been leveled with bombs leaving a wide-open space and large piles of debris.

Each tank had a five man crew. Suddenly, I was alone and the tank was full of smoke. I could see orange flames only two feet away. I immediately realized that the tank had been hit. The Germans had zeroed in on the intersection with an 88 millimeter gun. I had been unconscious long enough for the rest of the crew to escape the burning tank. I knew that I had to get out quickly so I reached for a hand hold near the top of the turret and was able to pull myself to a standing position.

One of the turret hatches had been left open when the other crew members escaped, and standing, my head and shoulders were outside the hatch. At that point, I needed to use my arms to lift my body through the hatch and onto the top of the turret, but as I tried, my left arm would not move. I reached for it with my right hand and lifted it to the top of the turret, but it wouldn't support any weight. I then noticed that I couldn't feel my left leg and it wasn't supporting any weight. There was no way that I could get through the small hole with only one arm and one leg. Had German soldiers been nearby, I would have been an easy target with my head outside the turret. The four tanks in front of me were also burning and I could see no one or any activity as far down the street as I could see. Things got worse. As the fire spread, my clothing caught fire.

Then the miracle happened. A soldier suddenly appeared from behind a pile of debris about 50 feet away. When he saw that I was in trouble, he ran toward the tank. When he had climbed to the top of the tank, he leaned over the hatch and grabbed me under the arms and pulled me to the top of the turret. With his help, I let myself fall to the engine deck. He immediately put the fire in my clothing out. He then jumped from the engine deck and lifted me to the ground.

He took a packet of morphine and gave it to me for pain. He then said, "I'll go find the medics for you." I never saw him again, but the medics came shortly. I pray that he made it home, too. Other than the medics, he was the only other person I saw from the time I regained consciousness until I arrived at the field hospital. If he is still alive, he probably does not know whether I made it either. I have wished many times that I could find him. With a battle developing in that area, I can't understand why he and I were the only two soldiers there. God must have put him there to save my life.

Things apparently were pretty critical as the two medics rushed me from the battle area to the field hospital. While one drove the jeep, the other one was working to stop some of the bleeding. I heard him tell the driver, "I don't think he is going to make it." I remember the tent hospital vividly. The room they took me to was already full of wounded soldiers with perhaps a dozen or more doctors and nurses working frantically. Someone immediately started cutting and stripping my clothing. As soon as they determined my condition, a team of doctors and nurses were ordered off less serious cases to work on me. They put me to sleep and continued to assess my injuries. I knew nothing more until late the next evening when someone was calling my name. I learned then that I had lost my left leg, my left arm was paralyzed, and I had multiple wounds in my right leg and scalp. My eyes had also been burned.

I remained in the field hospital for eight days and then I was moved to the 158^th General Hospital near Salisbury, England where several more operations were performed before I was put on a hospital ship on June 30, 1945, and sent to Charleston, South Carolina and then on to Lawson General Hospital in Atlanta, Georgia. After several more operations, I was discharged on March 20, 1946, almost one full year of recuperation.

Glenn Vance
80-C