|
Editor's note: This is the second and final story in a series about Dean Eliason, of Alpine. Eliason's first assignment in Germany is in Kaiserslautern, West Germany, as an assistant chemical officer.
In Kaiserslautern, I reported to Major General Shoemaker, commander of the 32nd Air Defense Command and an extremely congenial man. In my experience in the military, congeniality seemed to get better with rank. His aide was a major from Utah, and a member of the Kaiserslautern LDS ward. When my new boss, Major Gale, asked where my home was, I answered, "Utah." He said, "Oh, no, not another Utahn." His previous assistant had also been from Utah.
We found a nice apartment in a small village near Kaisereslautern, fairly close to Ramstein Air Base, eager to have German neighbors. As it turned out, however, this town had a reputation as having one of the few government-sanctioned "red-light" districts in that part of Germany. We soon found another apartment in another beautiful little town. There were remnants of an old castle within walking distance, and we often had picnics at that site. Two of our children were born at the Landstuhl Hospital, near Ramstein AFB.
Our evaluation team would go out, unbeknownst to a unit, and initiate an inspection. The missile sites were set up similar to a prison yard, with double fences and guard towers, manned by military police 24 hours a day. I would lob a tear gas grenade over the fence of the unit, then time how soon the unit responded to that chemical attack. I would then check the actions of the specialized nuclear, biological and chemical (NBC) team for proficiency in testing for chemical agents.
After our mock "assault," my team would write up our reports and do an exit briefing with the battery commander and his staff.
I was later transferred to one of our subordinate units as a chemical staff officer. My assignment was to inspect NBC readiness of our men in our headquarters and in the outlying firing batteries. My two assistants and I conducted regular inspections and training.
When I visited our missile site near the town of Pfortzheim (pop. about 120,000), I checked into a gasthaus in town, while wearing my military fatigues. It seemed that everyone in town, especially the older men, gave me the worst hate-stares I have ever experienced. In talking with other GI's, I learned why. About one-fifth of the population of this city had been killed by heavy Allied bombing during WW-II.
Intelligence reports were that some of the Germans in that town had dragged downed allied airmen to death through the streets. The motto for the bomber pilots became, "Save one for Pfortzheim." The pilots would drop all but a few bombs on assigned targets, then, on their way back to England, save the rest for Pfortzheim.
The townspeople created a volcano-like structure from the rubble and put a cross on top of it. It can still be seen for miles. I was told there are still active Nazi clubs in town, and certainly a great deal of resentment.
In 1971, I was asked to be the LDS stake mission president, and I spent a lot of time working with the full-time missionaries.
I was discharged from military duties in 1973 with the rank of first lieutenant. I served in several reserve assignments, including one in Alaska with a colonel who had been in charge of evaluating defoliants in a large tract of jungle in Vietnam. I was also able to take advantage of some great fishing trips.
On an assignment to Fort Stewart, Georgia, I ended up in first class seated next to a gentleman who announced, "My name is Ralph Abernathy" (who had succeeded Martin Luther King as head of the Southern Christian Leadership Conference). He asked where I was from, and when I said, "Utah," we had a most interesting discussion.
Some veterans may wish, on their own, to tape or digital record their memories of military service. These will be transcribed and archived. For instructions on how to do this, e-mail Don Norton, at
This e-mail address is being protected from spam bots, you need JavaScript enabled to view it
|
