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

The Real Heroes

In a perfect world, I would have followed my Dad's "Tracks Across Europe" as he did them.  Day by day.....from England, to France, to Belgium, Holland and Germany, back to Paris and then to Czechoslovakia (now known as the Czech Republic), where he ran a displaced persons camp after the war, until he was sent home in late 1945.   The real world awaited him when he returned, and the real world awaits me.  I leave Europe the day after tomorrow.  Although I am not going to make it to Germany, where Dad fought for the Remagen bridge, or the border of Belgium and Germany, where he fought in the Hurtgen forest - I will leave here a changed person because of what I experienced.   Today, was nothing short of amazing and honestly, might be one of the very reasons I was supposed to come on this trip.  But I'll get to that in a minute....

Seventy years ago today Dad's unit, the 467th, had already been moved from the area of Omaha Beach to Gruchy, France to defend and hold bridges, and fuel and ammo dumps.  By the end of July, they were further south, defending the 959th Field Artillery Battalion and helping the Allies break through German lines at St. Lo, France.  The 29th Infantry unit, of which the 467th was a part, led the charge. Because of its strategic location, the town of St. Lo was almost completely destroyed during the war.  My visit there on Sunday confirmed that only a few pre-war buildings still exist.
(St. Lo - July 1944 - Photo courtesy of Wikipedia France)

After the victory at St. Lo, the 467th became attached to the 2nd and 1st Army Divisions and fought throughout France, Belgium, Holland and into Germany.   According to a letter on the "Commendation on Performance of Duty" in the Normandy, Northern France, Ardennes, Rhineland and Central European Campaigns - the 467th  had "151 aerial engagements, destroying 14 hostile planes; had over 60 ground engagements, destroying innumerable armored and motor vehicles, killing over 150 enemy troops and capturing 350 supermen", a term given by the German's to describe their soldiers.

But today, I visited the graves of some REAL Supermen....

I started out the morning in Bastogne, Belgium at the WWII Museum there.  It has recently reopened after a year long renovation.  It's not the biggest museum, nor does it have the biggest collection, but it is absolutely one of the best museum experiences I have ever had.  If you are a historian or a WWII history buff, place it near the top of your list.

The museum uses the real life stories of four people to bring different perspectives on the war and give you a narrative as you look through the collections.  The subjects are:  a young boy, who lived in Bastogne during the war and who's father owned the local bike shop.  A twenty-something woman, who was both a teacher during the war and a bike messenger for the resistance;  and two soldiers, one German and one American, from Savannah, Georgia.  You must get the audio tour to experience this completely, but it's worth the extra few dollars.  Additionally, there is a 3D experience and another move that really bring it to life.

For some reason, this is the one museum that I didn't do a lot of research on before I left, so imagine my surprise when I walked outside and saw the massive memorial that the Belgium people had constructed to say "thank you" to their liberators.  It was simply beautiful.

The museum and a few towns that Dad's unit had visited were really all that was on my agenda today. That is, until yesterday, when my sister Melissa, who really spent the most time with Dad visiting and seeing the sights in Europe, reminded me that two men from Dad's unit were buried in the Henri-Chapelle American Cemetery north of Malmedy, Belgium.  I knew then I was going to make that trip.

Sitting on top of a hill and overlooking a lush, green, rolling Belgium landscape,  the Henri-Chapelle Cemetery is lesser known than Normandy, but offers a peaceful and beautiful setting nonetheless.  As with all of the American Battlefield Monument Commission cemeteries, it's landscaped perfectly and the familiar rows of crosses and stars of David have an immediate, gut wrenching effect of reverence and silence.  Seeing the almost 8,000 graves of American soldiers buried here, on top of seeing 9,400 graves in Normandy - made me realize once again, the herculean efforts the US went through on behalf of our Allies  It also struck me that each cross represents far more than the name on the front.  It represents the entirety of families back home who never got to say good-bye and who will always remember their loved one as forever young.

Robert (Bob) Vocker and Dad met at Jefferson Barracks, Missouri.  They went through basic training together, landed D-Day together and became friends.  Dad told my sister that Bob was the best fox hole digger in the entire unit.  Leslie Farr was from Michigan and came to the 467th as a replacement after D-Day.  Replacement soldiers were brought in to fill in for another soldier who was killed or wounded.

It was September 10th, 1944.  According to the day reports for that day, the Battalion Headquarters and Headquarters Battery were moved to the vicinity of Houppertingen, Belgium.  They established the Battalion Command Post at 1515 hours (3:15).  Battery "C", which was Dad's battery, was shelled by enemy artillery at 2020 hours (10:20pm).  10-15 rounds were fired.  Two enlisted men were killed, three wounded and one of the wounded was evacuated.   The two men killed were Bob Vocker and Leslie Farr.  According to Dad, they were in a field and artillery was called in on them.  

Today when I arrived at the cemetery, I went inside to ask for help locating Vocker and Farr's graves.   A young, handsome Belgium man jumped up right away and offered vases for the flowers I had brought along.  As he looked in the computer system for the location of the two graves, another man came in from a back door.  His name was Bobby Bell, and he is an American and the Superintendent of the Cemetery.  I told Bobby and Lionel, the young Belgian man, the story of Vocker and Farr, and what I knew of them.  Bobby said, "hold on, let Lionel go with you, you'll see why in a minute".
So off we went to find the graves. Me carrying a paper with the locations, the flowers and vases full of water, and Lionel carrying a bucket of sand, two sponges and four flags.  I had no idea why.

We arrived at Plot E and found Bob Vocker's grave.  Lionel said to me, "you said he landed D-Day, right?"  I shook my head yes, and Lionel promptly took the sponge, covered it with some wet sand and began to fill Bob Vocker's etched name with sand.  He then took the sponge and carefully wiped off all of the sand but what filled his name. The result was a much more defined name on the marble cross.  I looked at him inquisitively, and he said, "this sand is from Normandy."  Tears welled up in my eyes. He then took the American and Belgium flags and put them next to the flowers I brought.  I took some photos and he removed the flags and said, "could you please give these to his family.  Please let them know that they flew at his grave in Belgium, and we are thankful for him." Tears welled up again, but I accepted the flags.

We did the same routine at Farr's grave, although I'm not certain one way or the other if Farr actually landed on D-Day.  As I mentioned above, he came as a replacement, but it doesn't mean that he didn't land with another unit.  Sand aside,  Lionel asked me to give the flags to Farr's family as well.  I happily accepted.  It was Lionel's idea to turn one set around so I wouldn't confuse which one flew on which grave.  That was all good....but there was one problem.  I actually didn't KNOW either the Vocker or Farr family.  I had NO idea where they were, who they were or if they were even findable.  But I knew I would do whatever it took to find them and bring them those flags.  Turns out, it didn't take long.

About an hour later, when I got back to Malmedy, I sat down on a park bench across from my hotel.  I pulled out my iPhone and used Google to search Vocker's name with the phrase "KIA".  I pulled up his military records and it showed not only his parents names, but his siblings as well.  Using my old radio producer brain, I started at the first logical place.  Facebook.  Ok, go ahead and laugh, but it worked.  I went to the Facebook search bar and just typed in the last name.  About half way down there was an organization titled "Vocker Family".  It was set up for a family reunion for relatives of Bob.  I reached out and within 10 minutes I received a reply from Bob Vocker's nephew (by marriage), John.  It turns out that only one sister is still living, and the information they have on Bob's time in the service is basic and pretty limited.  I told him what I knew from Dad and encouraged him to check out this blog to find out what Bob was doing on D-Day, etc.  As I mentioned, Dad and Bob were together the whole way from basic and were still together on the day he died.  (As a matter of fact, Bob Vocker also played a role when Dad met Omar Bradley.  That was D-Day plus 6, so that is tomorrow's blog)

I have also started the hunt for Leslie Farr's family, but as of yet haven't been able to find them.  It's only been a few hours, so I'm hopeful that tomorrow might lead me to them.  I want them to have their flags and photos as well.

The part of the story that I didn't tell the Vocker family is the connection that my Dad has had with Bob over the years.  You see, for many years Dad was a State of Illinois Road Scholar as part of the Illinois Humanities Council.  He would travel all over the Midwest speaking and teaching about his war experiences.  On one of his trips back to Europe, I think it was for the 59th Anniversary, my sister brought my Dad and Mom to the Henri-Chappel cemetery to see Vocker and Farr's graves.  Dad used a pencil and took a charcoal etching of the names.  From that moment on, in every subsequent speech, he would hold up those etchings and say "Do you see these two names?  These two guys, who were paid $35.00 per month are real heroes, not some overpaid football or baseball player or high priced actor. These two fine men died for their country. THEY are heroes."

Dad was right.