The Malmedy Massacre, The Wereth 11, and Dad's meeting with the General

Wednesday, June 11th

After a long and emotional day at the Belgium cemetery, I spent Tuesday night at a small, boutique hotel in Malmedy, Belgium.  Dad always mentioned Malemdy as a town he loved.  So.....Malmedy it was.  It also helped that it was perfectly positioned between the cemetery and a few other sites I needed to see today, my last full day of trekking through Europe (for now).

Besides being known for it's geographic beauty, friendly people and quaint downtown, Malmedy will unfortunately always be linked to a horrific wartime event.  The "Malmedy Massacre" is often referred to as one of the worst atrocities against prisoners of war during WWII.  

On December 17th, during the Battle of the Bulge, approximately 120 Americans were captured by the brutal 1st SS Panzer division of the German army.  They were made to give up their weapons and told to stand together in a field.  For reasons no one knows,  either frustrations with the inevitable outcome of the war, or because they were ordered to do it by superiors, the German soldiers opened fire killing 84 of the unarmed Americans.   When the firing began, the shocked soldiers ran and scattered as best they could.  Some were able to survive with the help of Belgian farmers, and their identical accounts are what make up the history of this sad, yet hallowed ground. 

Today, a small memorial stands on that very spot,  at the junction of the N23 and N32 roads, known to locals as the Baugnez crossroads.  As the crow flies, it's two miles from the small village, but in juxtaposition of the beauty, calm and peaceful village - it is miles apart.

On that same day in 1944, not too far away from the Malmedy massacre, another prisoner of war tragedy occurred. It's less known, but nevertheless, just as tragic.  I heard about it by accident as I was flipping television channels one night in May,  prior to leaving for Europe.  The Military Channel was showing scenes from the Battle of the Bulge, in a story that was highlighting the "Wereth 11".  Wereth refers to the tiny town in Belgium, about 25 kilometers south of Malmedy, where a group of 11 unarmed Americans were also tortured and killed by German soldiers.  

The 333rd Field Artillery Battalion arrived in Normandy in late June of 1944 and saw quite a bit of combat in the lead up to the Battle of the Bulge.  What made this story unique is that these soldiers were part of the then, segregated Army, and were an all African-American battalion.  In reading newspaper reports, this tragedy is sometimes referred to as "The Forgotten Massacre".  

Photo of the 333rd, Courtesy of the US Army

Because of a large enemy advance these 11 men became separated from their unit, and walked for hours in the bitter cold and snow to avoid the Germans.  They came upon the farmhouse of Mathias Langer.  Langer, a supporter of the Allies, welcomed the freezing soldiers into his home.  His son, Hermann, who was 12 years old in 1944, sat in the kitchen as his father gave them coffee and bread.  After a short while, thanks to a tip from a local German sympathizer,  the SS showed up.  The Americans walked out of the farmhouse with their hands up.  After some discussion, the German soldiers made the men run in front of their vehicles and then savagely killed them.  It was Hermann, in 1994, unable to forget these tired, exhausted soldiers, who put up the first small cross on the spot where they were found. I knew before I left for Europe that I was going to drive out to Wereth.  These men and this site, although less celebrated than other WWII monuments, deserve our same recognition and respect.  

Without exaggeration, this small monument was in the middle of NOWHERE.   I mean that, literally.  I actually drove by it before the little woman who lives inside my Google maps said, "make a legal U-turn".  Thanks to her,  I found it.  

The memorial was set up a slight hill with a small fence encircling it. I walked up the grass covered lane to the marker, said a prayer and took all of it in.  I looked around and saw nothing but farmland, wheat fields, hay bales and cattle.  On this overcast, but humid day, I tried to imagine this area snow covered and freezing, like it was on December 17th, 1944.  I thought about what it must have been like to be in a foreign land, and walk for miles in a place you've never been, to avoid an enemy fortified with tanks and more.  I thought about the 11, walking up to a farmhouse door and knocking, not knowing if the person on the other side was friend or foe.  Although I tried to imagine it, I know I didn't even come close.

The Wereth 11 Memorial has been self-funded up until this point, first by the Langer family, then by some other members of the Wereth village.  Family members of the eleven soldiers, remaining members of the 333rd, veterans of the Battle of the Bulge and the general population have also now contributed.  Below you will find a link to some videos and more information on the memorial.

After leaving Wereth, I grabbed a coffee in St. Vith, Belgium on my way to Luxembourg City.  I HAD to visit Luxembourg,  as Dad went there during the war and mentioned more than one time, that he was sure "that town was full of spies".  I don't have a clue WHY he thought that, but he did.  I arrived in  Luxembourg but didn't see a spy in sight.  But then again, how would I know?  I did see a city with beautiful architecture of the past, surrounded by new, modern construction.  It was odd, because at the same time, it seemed both old AND new.  It appeared to be a city very proud of it's history and heritage, but metropolitan and chic as well. 

After lunch I made a stop at the Luxembourg American Cemetery located in Hamm, 10 minutes outside of Luxembourg City. This cemetery, another one wonderfully managed by the American Battlefield Monument Commission, is again a beautiful setting that has become quite familiar to me on this trip. This is my fourth American cemetery visit in Europe, with a visit to the British cemetery in Bayeux to boot.    

Hamm has one grave that is visited more than any other.  The marker is the same white cross as every other soldier, but it's location and the service member it represents, are what gives it prominence.  The grave sits just beneath the large brick entry wall of the cemetery, off by itself.  The location gives the appearance that it is leading or looking out over all of the rest of the troops buried there.  Just like in life.  The grave is that of General George Patton.

As we all know, Patton was the larger-than-life General who led valiantly throughout WWII.  General Patton didn't die in battle, but died in a car accident in Europe, December of 1945.  What was interesting to me is that he still has an almost a "cult-like" following in Europe today.  I met more than one young European who mentioned Patton to me and how they revere him.  While I was at the cemetery four young men from the Czech Republic showed up to pay their respects, one, wearing a General Patton t-shirt. I stood off to the side as they silently stood before his grave for quite some time.  One of them even got down on one knee and bowed his head in prayer.  I ended up talking to them for a few minutes and as expected, they knew every detail about Patton and his leadership.

As I have mentioned before, this trip has given me a new perspective on many things.  These young men and the other three I met, all know who Patton was, and what he did for their continent.  In a weird way the impression I got from all of them independently, is that they kind of look at him like a John Wayne character, who symbolized grit and fortitude and who wasn't going to take any crap.  It was sort of like, "Eisenhower, yeah he was great....but Patton was the MAN".  At least that's the impression I got through  broken English and hand gestures. 

Although Patton WAS the colorful General who made the headlines, growing up in my house the one General that mattered was General Omar Bradley.  Dad served under Bradley's leadership on D-Day, Battle of the Bulge and the Remagen bridge and he loved the man.  One of his favorite memories was of meeting General Bradley one day, 70 years ago, on June 12th.  Or as Dad said, D-Day, Plus 6. 

Private Bob Vocker, who I talked about in previous posts, and who was killed less than three months later, came across a German Luger pistol after the landing at Omaha.  As he was inspecting the gun and attempting to check the chamber, he accidentally fired it in the camp, in the close vicinity of other American soldiers.   Because Dad was his Sargent, they were both called into the officers tent to explain what happened.  Dad and Vocker walked in to speak to their commanding officer and there, standing in the tent, was Omar Bradley.  

After Vocker and Dad explained what happened, the commanding officer verbally reprimanded Vocker and dismissed Bob and Dad to leave.  As Dad told it, when they were walking out, Bradley stopped them and asked, "how was it out there?" meaning the landing on D-Day.  Dad replied, "it was rough sir".   Bradley then went on to say that he knew it was bad and told them at one point, had considered pulling everyone off the beach.  Dad replied, "we wouldn't have gone, sir".  Bradley laughed and said "where are you from, soldier?"  Dad said - "Missouri, sir".  Omar Bradley smiled and said, "me too".  Turns out, Omar Bradley went into the service at the same place my Dad and Vocker did, Jefferson Barracks, Missouri.   That conversation and the fact that he was a Missouri boy too, placed General Omar Bradley at the "top-of-the top" for my Dad.  Bradley ultimately retired a 5-Star general, only four other men have achieved that Army honor.

Omar Bradley - photo courtesy of US Army

I spent most of my time over the past two days visiting cemeteries and memorials dedicated to sad and tragic events.  Although I was teary in Belgium at the graves of Vocker and Farr, for what those men meant personally to my Dad, I think the adjective that best described my overall emotion was reverence.  I saw graves and memorials dedicated to both everyday soldiers and celebrated heroes. Their status during the war may have been different based on the color of their skin or the rank on their uniforms, but they all died for a greater cause.  They died as heroes just the same.

The journalist Francis Walker once said, "we come, not to mourn our dead soldiers, but to praise them." That's what I did.  I praised them, I prayed for them, and I thanked them.   

Related Link:

The Wereth 11 Memorial


A few more upcoming blogs before I sign off:
1.)  Connecting the Past to the Present: Stories of individuals with amazing links to the past.
2.)  Patriotic in another Land
3.)  Travel Observations