News, Citizen Profile, Glen B. Norris, Part II, LaSalle Parish, La. ********************************************** Copyright. All rights reserved. http://usgwarchives.net/copyright.htm http://usgwarchives.net/la/lafiles.htm ********************************************** Submitted by: Craig Franklin of The Jena Times, Jena, LaSalle Parish, La. Wednesday, April 11, 2001, page 8B A Times-Signal Feature "Citizen Profile" A Very Special Salute Glen B. Norris - Citizen Profile Rogers soldier kept a detailed record of war Last week, our readers became aquatinted with life-long Rogers resident Glen B. Norris, who most remember around the Jena area for his carpentry work. It was learned that not only was he a great carpenter, but he had also distinguished himself as a decorated soldier in World War II. During the war from 1942 until 1945, Mr. Norris kept a journal which he still has today. The pages have worn and faded, but it is still in remarkable condition, despite the fact that it was carried in his pack the entire time he was overseas. The journal has endured rain, snow, and even had the blood of fellow soldiers spilt on it during those horrific three years of the war. Each week, Mr. Norris as a young soldier in the U.S. Army, would sit down and record his thoughts and events of the past few days. Because this topic is so popular with LaSalle Parish veterans, and because there is a need to educate our youth on the sacrifices that our veterans made so that we can enjoy our freedom today, we are compelled to dedicate this page to excerpts from Mr. Norris' journal from W.W.II. Note: The excerpts are copied as Mr. Norris wrote them as a young 20 year old, often times in a fox hole surrounded by shelling. The writings are wonderfully penned, even though Mr. Norris only obtained an eighth grade education. Many of the writings are even in a style of poetry. Our thanks to MR. Glen Norris for allowing us to print excerpts from the treasures journal. THE OPENING PAGE The men of the 91st Cavalry Reconnaissance Squadron, whose presence with the 5th Army was revealed today, will probably remember North Africa, Sicily, and Italy, as picturesque landscapes continuously framed in rifle sights. That is hardly exaggeration. This unit has been spearheading attacks so long that shooting Germans has become standing operating procedure. Must of this aggresiveness stems from the squadron's commanding officer. He is Lieutenant Colonel Charles A. Ellis, of 150 East 18th Street, Brooklyn, New York. The 91st Calvary Reconnaissance Squad came to Italy in October, 1943 from Sicily. It landed in North Africa on Christmas Eve, 1942, fought through the Tunisian Campaign, then went to Sicily where it further distinguished itself. Shortly after crossing the Messina Straits and moving overland to join General Clarks' Fifth Army nearly a year ago. ABOUT HIS COMMANDER The Squadron's commander demands discipline. A veteran of the Mexican Punitive Expedition and the World War, he had previously seen enough combat to know the value of training. He was awarded the Silver Star for his work in the Fedala, North Africa landing. In Sicily, Lt. Colonel Ellis won the Bronze Star. He has been wounded enough to rate a Purple Heart with two clusters. In fact, between decorations and campaign ribbons, the 91st Commander Officer has acquired a colorful array of silk. He is reluctant to talk about his own achievements, however, he is prone to talk at great length about men of his command who have earned decorations. One of these, Lt. Gerry H. Kester (then a staff sergeant) of Bloomington, Indiana, was the first man in the war to win both the Medal of Honor and the Destinguished Service Cross. AT THE GOTHIC LINE - SEPTEMBER 17, 1944 The infantry men are fighting in the draws, they are fighting on the slopes, they are slugging it out with everything they've got for a foot-hold in Jerry's main Gothic defenses. It's a tough, grueling battle going on here that never stops and never lets up in intensity. There have been no great advances in either direction, but there will be soon. Something is bound to give. From broad plain below the mountains, the front is on top of you, somewhere on the near slopes. There is a line of smoke where our shells and mortars explode all day long. When the smoke line is near the top of the slopes, our men our advancing up. When the line are nearer the mountain's base, the Krauts are shoving us back. Every road, every C.P. is under constant enemy observation. Some places behind the lines exposed than others, but everywhere the mountains are on top of you and the Jerries are on them. Although the German shelling is not nearly and concentrated or prolonged as ours, it is enough in evidence to make dust- raising movement on prolonged exposure extremely hazardous. On the south side of one of the first hills is the Gothic line. There is a battalion C.P. just behind the hill and several thousands yards to the left is a taller one, very heavily defended mountain is drowned in the smoke of exploding American shells. Another such mountain lies to the right of the C.P. These two peaks are the keys to the particular section of the Gothic Line. They have changed hands several times in three days of bitter fighting. Fighting was still going on yesterday not only for the two key mountains, but also for several lesser slopes. "I never saw a front like this," said Major Walter Ball Scronton, the battalion executive officer. "Everybody has his own little piece of high ground and everybody is on everybody else's hill." The valley on the both sides of the C.P. was helped by Yanks. They were making their way to the lower slopes of the mountain where other doggies were trying to beat down heavy German resistance. The Krauts still had snipers in the valley and every once in a while the flat crack of their guns would stand out above the noise of the battle. At the Battalion Aid Station down in the valley, the wounded were coming in as fast as they could be handled. The aid men worked quickly and silently not trying to speak about the noise of the mortars set up just a few yards from the station. In one room the stretcher cases were being tagged and waited for a ambulance to take them to the rear. In another room, the walking wounds waited patiently. Then the ambulance came and the bitter cases were loaded. There was room for several walking wounded too. The man with the hole in his head helped his pal into the ambulance and then motioned for some of the others to get in. "I'll wait for the next one," he said. He turned around slowly after the ambulance had left and started back into the station. So the people think the war is almost over and that Italy is the secondary front. I wish they were here now, and they would find out different. We fought at the mountains from 11th to 19th of September before the line was broken. It was a hard battle. Lots of people don't realize what war is. But a fighting soldier know how it is. WAR IS PAINFUL SUFFERING Have you ever laid out yonder with death breath upon your face and you wonder how longer they'll take to lay one in this place? And the next one is much nearer and you look up into the sky. Then you find that life is much deeper. As in helplessness you lie, your thoughts of home get hazy as you struggle to move around. But you feel so doped and lazy you slide back in mud on the ground. You give a start as you waken, can't believe what you have seen. It leaves you there quite shaken. But it is the boys coming up the draw. You yell, "Thank God they've heard you" and you breathe a word of prayer. You know how it feels when they find you, then God help you (you've been there). A DAY IN BATTLE - THE THOUGHTS OF A SOLDIER These are the thoughts of a soldier as he lays in his fox hole out there. His tired, half frozen, hungry and on his lips there is a prayer. He prays for the good Lord to spare him, from the bombs and shrapnel this day. That He'll keep watch over his fox hole and send all the bullets away. When we wiped the frost from our rifle and brush the mud from his hair, we carefully roll up his one blanket in the darkness and cold morning air. If the water that left in my canteen, by chance wasn't frozen last night, we'll swallow a drop with our hard T.C., his crits and we finished our hash before it get light. The dawn breaks across the snowy mountains and the soldier dreams of his home, of his friends, his family, his country, and the girl he's left there alone. In his wallet he carried some picture that he treasures and guards with his life. He smiles as he looks on his family, and the girl he'd left for his wife. Through the day the machine guns are ready, in case of a counter attack, threw the day the rifle man are ready for battle, with his rifle and pack on his back. A shell burst up in heaven and we know that the Jerry is getting in range, the fellows they look up at each other, they know they're luck is going to change. An instant later it happens, a barrage that shakes the whole earth. They'll whistle and scream like a siren, then it explodes and throws up a cloud of turf. Not just one, but many come over, till the sweat come out on your face, the sky are full of smoke, dirt, powder and the shrapnel are running a race. It whines through the air just like bees and cut all your camouflage down, it sprays lead in your fox holes and hunts you down like a hound. You would hear another shell whistle, closer and closer it whines, your heart starts to pound lots faster, you're hot, but there is cold chills running down your spine. It strikes with a deafening explosion that shake the prayers from your lips, you are covered with dirt and depression, and the rifle from the hand slips. You'll lay there and shake for a moment, then planes in the sky we do see, they dive at the enemy strong hold and the good Lord has answered our plea. We watch them when they strike and dive bomb, see Germany ack, ack in the sky, the planes have silenced the Jerries and we would think thank them as they fly by. The medics attend to our wounded and carry them back to the rear, we'll stick to the hill and dig deeper, for we know that the Jerries are near. We had a small radio on the hill side, it keeps contact behind our lines, the shrapnel did cut the antenna, but the boys did patch it up fine. All day long that blasted artillery throws shells on our hill where we lay, more than once your nerves seem to buckle, but most of us boys there to stay. More than once when a shell come whistling and make you crouch low in your hole, there would be a deafening explosion, but it would a dud that ruminates your soul. As darkness falls over the lines and our listening post is all out, our patrols go out to get information that is useful in tonight final about. As we stand guard on our machine guns and the bullets are whistling by, you dream of a platter of turkey and you would smack your lips with a sigh. As a shell burst you ask your buddy, how would you like to have some pork chops and cake, some ice cream and a bug round juicy steak. But all your dreams are broken, for he will hand you a can of stew, and say "Quit, you're making me hungry, we'll get that when this war is through." About one o'clock in the morning, we pick up our roll and gun and to try to make it to the next hill before us. We'll be dodging lead and they are not shooting for fun. At last we arrive at the top, as the dawn comes over the hills, we all fell to the ground exhausted, we all would wish those Jerries guns would be still. Like mad we'll dig with our shovels and our fox hole was soon plenty deep, our machine guns are ready for action, but still there is not time for sleep. Once again the shell's started popping, once again they make you get low, this is the life of a fighting soldier, this is the life that us boys know. I've told you our thoughts in a fox hole, when we're hungry and cold on the lines, but some day this war will be over and the sun on us boys will shine. A true story happened on Hill 65 - Started Jan. 4 ended Jan. 12. BASHFUL MAN POEM I am a rangeland rider from Ward 5, I can work till the day is through, But when it comes to courting girls, they say I just won't do. I can rope those wild range bulls, and ride them till they are dead, But when I meet a pretty girl, my doggone face turns red. I met a girl in Texas, her eyes were blue and wide, When I tried to ask her for a date, my tongue seemed to be tied. I'll take my chances with a wild stampede, with a cougar lion, it's true, But when it comes to courting girls, I know I just won't do. Now, if I ever get married, as some cowpunchers do, She'll do the courting for us both, and say "I do" for two. A POEM ADDRESSED TO THE DRAFT DODGER I am writing this short letter, every word of it is true; Don't you look away draft dodgers, for it is addressed to you. You fill at ease and in no danger, back in the old home town; You spend the whole week cooking up some good story, so the draft board will turn you down. You never think of the real men, that leave there day by day; Just think of the girl friends, that you get while we are away. You sit at home and read your paper, jump and yell we'll win; Just where in the world do you get that "we" stuff? This war will be won by men. Just what do you think draft dodgers, what this nation would do; If all men were dodgers, and afraid to fight like you? Well, I guess that's all, Mr. Slackers, for I suppose your face is red; America is no place for your kids, I mean every word I said. So in closing this letter, draft dodgers, just remember what I say; Keep away from my girl you bum, for I am coming back home some day on a run. ABOUT THE FIGHTING GERMANS The Jerries put up a good fight but we capture lots of them. I killed many. The pack mule trains would bring us the ammo and food, but we didn't get to eat much. Our beards were an inch long. But the good Lord was just with us. It was one main road that went through the mountains but we would have to climb and fight from rock to rock before we would get the Jerries out. We would talk to some of them and they said they would win the war yet. We would tell them we had allies in Germany, but they wouldn't believe us. The Jerries is a funny person. He will fight as long as he can and shoot up all his ammo and you will have them cornered. Then they would begin to give up. You hardly see a Jerry give up when he still has ammo. Lots of them will come out with their hands up and a killing smile on their face. Most of them is awful young. Generally run from 12 years to 25. Kids from 12 to 19 will fight awful hard. Looks like kids that age couldn't do much. You will find out when they get you in there sights. THE RIVER FIGHT We took several villages and mountains before we reached the river. The river wasn't very wide. The Jerries was on one bank and we was on the other bank. We would go out on patrol and the Jerries would snipe at us as we crossed the river. It was awful foggy and we couldn't hardly see where we were going. One of our boys walked up in ten feet of a Jerries' machine gun next before they seen him. The Jerries got him. A man never knows what he will run in to. They are hiding and setting there waiting for you to come along. They told us we would have to hold up there at the river until our left side caught up. The English was fighting on our left. We stayed up there and fought until Oct. 17. The night of the 16 they told us we was going to be relieved. Everyone of us began to laugh and talk. But we didn't know for sure we was going to be get relief. The Jerries has shelled and sniped at us all the time. We was awful glad to hear that word "relief". That is one word that makes every fighting soldier happy. We have been on the front every since May. We have had about 15 days off in those six months. A lot of the men was wore out. We came back a few miles to get some rest. We were only there two days. Then they sent us up to do engineers work. We worked there in the mud and rain under shell fire for two weeks, then they told us we were going to get relief. But we didn't. They moved us from there to the fox hole with machine guns to hold a defense line. We lay there in the mud for 14 days. It sleeted, snowed and cold rained on us all the time. We had a tough time. We lost some good men, We was laying in the mud and water like hogs. We couldn't get out of our holes only at night. Then the Jerries sniper would snipe at us. We would go out at night to see what we could find and see. We always find plenty. The Jerries would be hiding and waiting for us. We surprised them lots of times and we would get them first. BEING THE MESSENGER Every night I have to carry messages. There is a trail that worked its way down a steep mountain. We are under shell fire all the time. The trail is named Dead Man Trail. Then I had another trail to go called The Burma Road. They shelled it all the time. I make the trip twice a night on it. I have been lucky so far. I carried messages back to the rear in awful bad weather. We were on the lines through Christmas. It was another bad day. We went out on patrols in the German lines. It was awful dangerous. A man doesn't know if he will come back when he leaves. Some of our boys don't. I have been lucky so far. It is a rough life to live. The Jerries are out to get you, but you got to get them first. I have been a messenger carrier for the last few days. Getting messages through is important stuff. The Jerries are always after the messenger boy, because we carried important paper on us. It isn't easy. We cover twice as much ground as most G.I.s, trying to get the message through. We are still on the front lines. It has been snowing about three weeks now. It is getting plenty deep now. For the last few days, we have dug in and waiting for the Jerries. We go out at on patrol at night to see what we could find and bring back prisoners. I carried messages through the day and I would have a time of getting to the C.P. and back. The Jerries would shell and shoot at me as I would go up the snowy trail on the side of the mountain. Today the 17 of January, 1945, we hear that the Russians had captured Warsaw. That sure did make us boys feel a lot better. GRATEFUL ITALIANS Lots of times we would be ten miles inside the Jerries main fighting lines. On the third night, we was getting enough of it. We was tired and hungry. We didn't take time out to sleep, and we ate awful little. The people was awful good to us. We had our vehicle loaded down with stuff. We would have high as eight on ten dozen eggs at one time. We would eat some of them raw and keep the rest of them and cook them when we get a few minutes of time. The people would cheer and shout when we would take a town and village. They would be so happy that they would hug and kiss us. When we would stop our jeep, the girls would be kissing you on all sides. Some would be shaking your hand. They would be lined up all down the street. Then, as we would start on, they would sing and play music and ring bells. As far as the farmers could hear the church bells ringing, they all would come out to the main road, because they knew we were coming. IN ROME WHEN THE WAR ENDS Every night we would get the days paper and we would all read it and talk about the news and wonder if we would have to go to the Pacific and study about our loved ones back home. Then we would have mail call. Each and every one would gather around to see if they had a letter or not. Some would get mail and some would not. Some would be with a smile on their face and some would be sad. But that is all in a days work. On the 5th of August, the atomic bomb was dropped. When it burst it destroyed a large city four and one-tenth square miles. It was dropped at 9:15 a.m. Sunday morning, August 5. In three minutes the smoke rose 40,000 feet above the city. It was the most powerful bomb that was ever dropped. Japan offered surrender on August 11th. The war was over on the 14th day of August. On the 15th day of August it was announced on the radio at 1:00 Rome time. That was a happy day with us. We have been waiting so long for that day. We had a big celebration. We knew we would be going home soon. Fourteen minutes after the war was over, the Jap's planes attached our ships and they shot down 14 Jap's planes in ten minutes. All the boys would gather around at night and talk about going home and what they were going to do when they get back. The first American soldier landed in Japan home land was on Tuesday, the 28th of August. On the 11th day of September, Tojo shot his self, but he did not die. There is so much more contained in the journal of Mr. Norris, but space will not permit us to print the journal in it's entirety. Presently, Mr. Norris has told us that he is pursuing plans to have the journal published. It would certainly be a valuable asset to the records and history of W.W.II. If you have any information to help him in getting his journal published, please give him a call. Again, our thanks to him for allowing us to print excerpts of this priceless treasure.