March 26, 1945 - Rhineburg, Germany.

Willie and I shared a bedroom in a house in Rhineburg. It was in the back of the house. We had electricity, thanks to the Engineers. For the first time we had a bath tub and water heater. We could stand our own smell for the first time in months. In the living room was a large piano. We had a keg of beer and a case of wine. Lt. Donald Martin, our platoon leader came in with 2 bottles of Rotgut Whiskey. It was his liquor ration. He always shared it with the 24 men in his platoon.

Willie Glenn Beckner was great on the piano and for a few hours the fires of Hell grew dim and we were a bunch of happy, drunk 19 and 20 year olds again. Willie had a limited repertoire. It consisted of. "I'm Making Believe," "Somebody Stole My Gal" and my favorite "Lili Marlene." We sprawled around the piano and sang as many of the words as we could remember. Laughing and joking and just plain happy. There was no war, no killing, God was in his Heaven and all was right with the world. Play any of those tunes today and you will see an old man cry. The Cuckoo Clock I bought before Mama died played "Lili Marlene." I shut it down and it hangs silent on my wall.

We had drawn a brand new M4A3 Sherman Tank for my crew, consisting of Lt. Donald Martin, Platoon Leader (Montpelier Vermont) Lloyd Kemp, Driver (Dunsmuir, Calif.) Willie Glenn Beckner, Expert Gunner (Roanoke Va.) Willard Bean, Loader, (Bethel, Maine) Donald Elshire, Bow Gunner(Oneal,Neb.). We knew we were to lead off the Ninth Army Rhine Crossing, but not when. For that one night all was happy, the 19 and 20 year olds were young again. You can't believe how fast killing and watching men die can age you. Lt. Martin was 22. Our CO. Capt. Harold Peterson was 23. Our Task force Commander Maj. George Artman was 30. Most of us couldn't buy a beer or vote. For a few hours we were in total oblivion to Wars and such.

About midnight all was quiet. It was not all velvet the next morning, someone had hit me in the head with an eight pound hammer, leaving no external bruising. Willie was sleeping on the floor, he dropped about 5 feet shy of his bed, but he looked so sweet and peaceful there, that I didn't want to awaken him to join my misery. I shot for the bathroom, but Turcotte, the gunner from #4 Tank was actually sleeping (?) with his head in the toilet bowl. I had seen terrible battles that didn't approach the strewn bodies in that house. There was no need to call the medics, for only time (We didn't have aspirin or Tomato Juice) could heal our wounds(?).

The casualties were heavy, but all recovered, even Roger Turcotte (Maine) He did wear that Toilet rather well. Some people would look undignified like that! Thank God for March 27th, it gave us a day to recover. On the 28th of March at 07:15, 45 minutes after jump off, Willie lay dead in the turret, his head removed by the same 88mm shell that cut Willard Bean in half. The tank was erupting in flame and the thousands of rounds of Ammo was starting to explode. I bade "farewell", until we meet again to my 2 "brothers" with whom I had trained and fought the German foe. The day had just begun, but we shall save that for another time!