I am not
sure if I had previously passed this story along
before, but
nonetheless, here it is again…
Many of you
reading this will have had memories of your
time in the
military, and for those of you, like me, who
were
stationed in Germany (especially the tankers, the
artillery
and support units), remembrances of time spent
at Grafenwoehr
will remain fast throughout your lifetime.
As
Headquarters Troop Clerk, I made the trek three times
during my
tour of duty. (The Morning Report and other basic
clerical
functions in accordance with military dictates still had
to be done.)
Three events
I remember so well include the crash and burning
Of PFC
Braswell’s deuce-and-a-half while in convoy from Bad
Hersfeld to
Graf. Thank God no lives were lost in that mishap.
Next, there
was the tragic death of PFC Wayne L. Terry who
was crushed
between the rear duals and bed of his P.O.L tan-
ker while
performing maintenance. Seems that he had the rear
end jacked
up on a sloped rocky bed when it slipped. He was still
alive when
they got him out, but he didn’t last for long. I myself
wasn’t there
at the scene, but I’ll never forget the look of horror
and shock on
the face of Bill Black, one of the medics who atten-
ded to Wayne
in his last moments.
My third
remembrance is much more light-hearted and favor-
able. After
hours one evening, I went to the base E.M. Club to
wash away
the dust, mud and grime of all my anxieties with
the other
guys. (Nothing like several hefty glasses of good old
German brew
to help smooth out the worries of the world.)
At the table
next to ours there was a group of young Bundes-
wehr
soldiers, who like us, were part of the NATO Alliance.
And too,
like we Americans, they were merrily tanking up on
copious liters
of beer. I really liked their unit patch, a black sil-
houetted
lion on a background yellow field. I wanted that
patch something
fierce, it was way too cool.
I struck up
a conversation with one of the Germans and asked
him if he
would trade his big, bad insignia for mine (I believe
we
shouldered the 7th Army patch at the time; I found out
that his was
the 10th German Panzer Division). I offered him
five
dollars, and he cordially refused. I upped my price to ten
dollars; he
smiled and said, nein. My German was advanced
enough to
know that he was again declining.
After some
due diligence on his part, he came back to me
with a
counter offer: If I was to buy him and his buddies a
round of
beer, he would consider that a sign of comradeship
between our
two countries. And in an act of friendship, he
gave me his
unit patch. I jumped at the opportunity which
cost me less
that the five dollars I first offered. That night I
staggered
back to my concrete billets a little tipsy with beer,
yet
extremely delighted with my 10th Panzer Division prize.
I thought
about his willingness to give up his unit patch for
The benefit
of his comrades in arms. Had they all been in
combat
together, I am sure their bond together would be
as
strong. I felt that we American G.I.s
would be proud to
do the same.
Time and time again we have shown our de-
dication to
our buddies in World War II, in Korea and in Viet-
nam. And
today, we continue to mourn the loss of our bro-
thers and
sisters whether in peacetime or in war. It took
that same
heroic dedication from those who helped to
pull the
trapped souls from Braswell’s burning vehicle.
And too, I
remember Wane L. Terry, a friend and comrade,
lost in a
tragic accident while serving his country.
A unit patch
is more than an embroidered piece of material
with a
kick-ass design. It is an imperishable sign of brother
and
sisterhood. I learned an invaluable lesson that day at
Grafenwoehr;
who of us will ever forget, or can put a price
on that?
Chris
Hanch 10-7-15
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