it is that regardless of the nobility of the struggle, war is carried out by human beings, with all of their shortcomings and imperfections manifest in the moment. By the same pale light of war, however, we also see some of mankind’s finest characteristics: courage, self-sacrifice, and quiet devotion to duty.
Perhaps this book will serve somewhat as a corrective for the overly dramatic view of war. There is a Hollywood version of World War II, usually based on the heroic moment, and spurred by a love interest. None of this drama is present in this tale. This tale is of an unpretentious young man, dedicated and dutiful yet critical, thrust by events into a world he did not seek. Daily attempting to acquit himself. Attempting to survive.
Historian Samuel Hynes captured this theme when he wrote, “Personal narratives . . . subvert the expectations of romance. They work at a level below the big words and the brave sentiments, down on the surface of the earth where men fight. They don’t glorify war, or aestheticize it, or make it literary or heroic; they speak in their own voices, in their own plain language. They are not antiwar—that is, they are not polemics against war; they simply tell us what it is like.”3
There was nothing uplifting or ennobling about war, despite the noble cause for which the United States stood. This is the World War II world of Carl Lavin, a son, a brother, a soldier, a friend—and my father.
—Franklin L. Lavin
Acknowledgments
Many people contributed to this project over the years. I am grateful to Mary Carey of the Stark County District library who helped with background information on Canton in the 1940s and Lehman High School; Mark Holland, Archivist, and Tom Haas of the McKinley Presidential Library and Museum; Dr. Robert Schmidt, the archivist at Miami University; Chad Daniels of the Mississippi Armed Forces Museum at Camp Shelby; Thomas J. Cleary from the Department of Special Collections and Archives, Queens College Libraries, CUNY, Benjamin Rosenthal Library; Dr. Robin Sellers, Director, Reichelt Oral History Program, Florida State University; and Dr. David J. Ulbrich, Assistant Professor of History at Rogers University, who patiently read the draft manuscript and provided helpful suggestions and critiques. Laura Dozier provided superb assistance with line and graphics editing. Edward Tufte provided the inspiration for the graphics. Megan Harris and the Library of Congress were very helpful in identifying papers and recollections from other members of the 84th Division.
I thank my mother Audrey for her support and advice during this project. Also my sister and brothers, Maud, Carl Jr., and Douglas, who added their ideas, comments, and memories.
This book would not have been written without the persistent help of Dan Kadison, journalist, writer, researcher, editor, and friend, who was my partner and collaborator throughout this project, and Gillian Berchowitz, the director of Ohio University Press, who saw in a partial manuscript the potential for a great book. She nudged, cajoled, implored, insisted, and directed me to do a better job. And she did so with a smile. So I had no choice.
A Note on the Text
This book is organized around Carl’s letters, which occasionally results in some loss of detail. I took pains to keep the letters intact, dropping only extraneous phrases for which no context is provided (e.g., “Say ‘hi’ to Joe”). We corrected spelling errors, but left stylized spelling intact (e.g., “Willya” for “Will you”). The dates for some of the incidents related by Carl can only be approximated. There appear to be one or two letters in which the date in the letter does not line up evenly with the events described or with Carl’s later memories, but we ascribe that possible mismatch to the fact that people occasionally date letters and then add to them, or simply put in the wrong date. We have worked with historical records to match the letters against historical developments. We also are aware that wartime censorship and Carl’s desire not to alarm his family colored the letters, resulting in comments to the effect that there was not much going on or that everything was fine, when in fact there was a great deal going on and nothing was fine.
PART I
Before Combat
Introduction
If I were giving a young man advice as to how he might succeed in life, I would say to him, pick out a good father and mother, and begin life in Ohio.
—Wilbur Wright, 19101
Growing up in the 1930s, Carl Lavin used to play tackle football in weekend pick-up games in his Canton, Ohio, neighborhood. Carl loved the feel of the football, the stiff-arm stops, the slip-throughs, and the straight-away runs.
Being tall for his age, Carl also didn’t mind the aggression of the game or the fact there were no pads or helmets. He enjoyed the rousing sport as well as the camaraderie and the playground heroics that came along with it.
But Carl’s love for the game was to remain on the field. His mother, Dorothy, was a serious pianist. She was an immigrant’s daughter who stood at average height, but wielded a big personality. She lived in a world of manners and modesty, not childish scrapes and stubborn grass stains. She was skeptical of the value of sport, and she was keen to make sure her boy did not injure his hands.
Dorothy had studied piano at a conservatory and played with local classical groups. It was no surprise that Carl was obligated to take piano lessons. Like any carefree boy, Carl never particularly enjoyed the lessons or felt he had any special aptitude for music, but such was his fate.
In 1938, as Carl was entering Lehman High, the school decided to upgrade its football team to compete as an official school sport—Canton was the birthplace of professional football, after all—and Carl asked his mother if he could go out for the team. His mother refused permission, pointing out that the school did not provide helmets or pads, so the game was not safe.
Figure I-1. Carl and Fred with Dorothy, c. 1930. Carl would be around six years old, Fred eight, and Dorothy thirty-five. Author collection.
Carl had a choice. He could tell his mother that he had been playing tackle football without protective gear for some time now, hoping the argument would win approval for school football. Or, if he confessed this activity, he might find that she would also prohibit him playing in the weekend pick-up games.
Carl decided to keep quiet, forgoing the chance to play at school but at least preserving his private freedom to play on weekends.
That was Carl as a teenage boy. He was smart and pragmatic. He was also very funny—and a bit mischievous, too. That tells you a lot about Dorothy as well. Always seeking the best for her boys, even if it did not seem so to them at the time.
Dorothy would practice the piano for hours a day, filling the small house with classical works. But she had smallish hands; her span was limited. There was one particular part of a Chopin étude that required a reach. She would frequently miss the note and stop her practice with a sigh, only to begin again.
Every time Dorothy came to the troublesome point in the étude, she held her breath. Carl would listen as that moment grew near and hold his breath as well. Dorothy tensed and Carl tensed. When she hit the note, they both relaxed. If she missed it, he joined her in a sigh.
Besides football and piano lessons, Carl was poetry editor of the school paper and a voracious reader. While Carl was often casual about schoolwork, he possessed curiosity and imagination.
