Day special for son of WWII veteran

November 11, 2005

Spectrum\Vic Kohring

Sixty years ago, my father was a cannoneer in the 14th Armored Division in World War II, the world's most cataclysmic war. Like thousands of GIs, he plowed his way across France and Germany from 1944-45. Since he is a modest man, I had to ask him to reveal what he did and saw &#8220over there.” This briefly, is his story.

Born in Canada in 1921 of German immigrant parents, my father, Heinz Herbert Kohring, grew up in Chicago. During that prewar era, many German immigrants believed Hitler was a hero for re-establishing Germany's economy and pride.

When my grandfather, Karl Kohring, learned of Hitler's real activities, he despised and rejected everything Der Fuhrer stood for. But up until then, my grandfather was known to come home &#8220with facial evidence of a disagreement with someone, probably over the war,” according to my Dad.

Dad wished to fly with the Army Air Force and volunteered after the war began. The written and physical tests were no problem. Then they asked him if he ever had difficulty sleeping, and he told them &#8220no,” but once walked in his sleep.

He was bounced on his ear. Following that, the Army drafted him.

He entered the Army in December 1942 in Chicago. He was sent to Fort Sheridan, Ill., for uniforms and then to Camp Chaffee, Ark., where he heard rumors that southerners were still unaware the Civil War was over.

The Army had problems finding size 15 boots for Dad, but eventually prevailed. He was assigned to Battery A of the 501st Armored Field Artillery Battalion, 14th Armored Division, as a gunner on an M-7 self-propelled tracked vehicle.

The M-7 was a 26-ton monster of a 105mm howitzer on tracks, complete with turret for the .50-caliber machine gun. Dad learned all aspects of driving it and shooting the guns through most of 1943 in Arkansas.

The 105 would shoot a 30-pound shell up to 10 miles. The M-7 self-propelled gun was very popular with the U.S. Army and the British.

During WWII, 3,490 of them were built by the American Locomotive Company in Schenectady, N.Y. Oddly, this mobile artillery machine was nicknamed by the British the &#8220Priest” for the circular turret that housed the .50- caliber machine gun, which looked like a priest's pulpit.

The British went on to name variants the &#8220Abbot” and the &#8220Sexton.” My Dad was also taught the use of a .30 caliber M-1 carbine. He remained a cannoneer for the rest of his time in the Army.

After many more months of advanced training at Murfreesboro, Tenn., the 501st set off by train for Europe via Camp Shanks, N.Y. Dad boarded a Liberty Ship, the SS Jonathan Trumbull (0137), named after a Revolutionary War participant, on Friday the 13th, October 1944.

He said he never saw New York City on that trip but finally managed to catch a glimpse of the Statue of Liberty from the ship. It appeared to be an inch high in the distance.

For two weeks, his 40-ship convoy sailed east, passed the Rock of Gibraltar and saw Africa to the right. Then into the Mediterranean Sea, to southern France and to the port of Marseilles. There, the Trumbull, anchored by a sunken ship, laid down a gangplank and the troops disembarked to solid ground.

After a 10-mile hike in a light rain to their bivouac, they stopped to regroup, clean the cosmoline from their weapons and get on trains for the front, which was 400 miles north of Marseilles.

Between November 1944 and May 1945, my father and his battery fought the Germans through Alsace to the German border and, according to the official 14th Division history, &#8220On Easter Sunday, 1 April 1945, the 14th moved across the Rhine on a pontoon bridge near Worms, and continued pursuit of the retreating enemy through Lohr, Gemunden, Neustadt and Hammelburg. In its final thrust, the Division raced to the Danube, crossed at Ingolstadt, and pushed on across the Isar River to Moosburg, where over 110,000 Allied prisoners were liberated. Division artillery fired its last rounds of the war on 2 May 1945 in an action along the Inn River not far from the Austrian border. The 14th was busy processing German prisoners when the war in Europe finally came to an end on 8 May 1945.”

During these battles, my father told me, he never was in a position to actually see the enemy. His howitzer could lob shells 10 miles, so only the forward observer in a light plane could actually see what happened. As his battery moved forward, they would see the results of their work, destroyed buildings, enemy tanks and dead Germans.

After the Germans surrendered, Dad's division became an army of occupation. During this time, he volunteered for the Pacific and waited to be ordered to get on a troop transport back to the U.S.

While waiting at one camp, he was offered a free pass to visit Paris if he helped clean kitchen stoves. He cleaned the stoves but didn't get the pass, so he acquired a blank pass through a friend, filled it out himself and visited Paris by hitchhiking there.

Several months later, he was finally ordered to get on the ship that would take him to the U.S. and then on to the Pacific war. Dad got on another troop ship named after a Revolutionary activist, saw the white cliffs of Dover, and sailed into the Atlantic.

Halfway across the Atlantic, word came that the Japanese had surrendered. The troops on his ship were to be discharged.

The ship docked in Boston, and before he could board the train for Camp Chaffee, he was questioned by a woman at a desk who asked everyone if they had brought pornographic material from Europe. Dad told her, &#8220No, lady I don't even have a pornograph!”

When Dad was discharged Nov. 30, 1945, he had been in the Army since December 1942, one month short of three years. He helped liberate a continent, won battle stars and theater ribbons. He was never wounded.

I asked him why he volunteered for the Pacific. He told me he wanted to help end the war as soon as possible. Had he ever met famous officers like Ike or Monty? No, but he saw Patton once, who scowled at him as his M-7 almost slid into Patton's vehicle while rounding a curve on a slippery road.

Dad married a young woman named Dolores Marshin in 1950 and had five kids with her. Our family came to Alaska in 1963 and made a home in Chugiak. Dad didn't talk much about &#8220his” war. But he stated clearly the U.S. should stay out of other nations' business and &#8220keep the troops at home.”

When my time came to join the armed forces in 1986, like my father before me, I wanted to join the Air Force. They turned me down because of lumbar disc disease. My Dad told me at the time, &#8220Don't worry, son, if it's necessary, I'll go for you if that will help.”

I'm sure he meant it because he never lies. Audie Murphy got all the medals, but my Dad is my hero.

Rep. Vic Kohring serves Wasilla and the Mat-Su in the Alaska Legislature.