AFTER SESSENHEIM

            My three months spent in the hospital after Sessenheim offered me a time for reflection. I marveled

at what Jack had done for me and the others. I felt it was a true Congressional Medal of Honor performance

because most truly heroic feats in combat are results of spur-of-the-moment decisions—possibly moments of temporary insanity. An entire incident may be terminated in a matter of minutes. The rarity is the man, who

through some great inner strength, is able to force himself to return again and again to fight against

incredible odds. Our particular ordeal lasted almost 24 hours. This Congressional Medal of Honor

performance was turned into a Silver Star through the incompetence of the person who wrote up the citation.

            As far as I was personally concerned, it was obvious to me that I’d had enough of gunfire. I had

pointed for a career as a rifle platoon leader for several years. I entered combat with fear, particularly

since I was adverse to physical-contact sports as a teenager. My confidence built up through my first four

weeks, and I was convinced I was at the top of my game as a rifle platoon leader. But with the physical

and mental anguish associated with Sessenheim, I was back to ground zero. I was a has-been at 21 after a

four-week career.

            Shortly after I reached the hospital, I received a letter (attached), which has been my most

important keepsake. It certainly helped heal the emotional problems I encountered after Sessenheim.

            I did keep one secret though—I didn’t play eager beaver going out with the patrol. I was requested

by the patrol leader to accompany him in an advisory capacity. I never volunteered for anything. I must

confess as a 21-year-old rifle platoon leader that I had many fears, but the overriding fear was that I

might be responsible for the death of someone under my command.

            I have never discovered who authored this letter. My best guess would be that it was someone

not associated with our first day of combat and the river crossing experience.  If I live to 110, no one

will ever allow me to forget that fiasco.

            It took about three weeks to get to the point where I could wear pajamas and hobble around. My

first surprise was that Santos Garcia was in the same hospital. Santos, of course, was going through the

painful rehabilitation of recovering from his amputated leg. I only heard him complain once and that was

because the nurses babied him. Santos was 18 at the time, but looked no older than 14.

            I finally got the story from others on Santos’ survival. Because of the panic that existed at

 Sessenheim, Santos was forced to save himself. After his leg was blown off, he applied his own

tourniquet and crawled about 500 yards. When he was carried to the aid station, he had apparently turned

black from loss of blood. His performance made my survival look very secondary. The lack of a medal

for Santos’ bravery was another example of incompetence.

            After three months in the hospital, it was decided that I would be placed on limited service—

no combat. I was sent to a replacement depot to await assignment. It was then that I made one of those

insightful decisions that I’ve become famous for. I decided I could outsmart the Army.

            I received word that the 103d Division was in reserve—never to fight again. We knew the war

was almost over. I decided the combat troops would go home first. So I went AWOL (Absent Without Leave). 

Back to the 103d I went. As I checked into the division, they said, “Good to see you back, but you screwed

up the paperwork again.”