Chappie, The Story Continues

Hilter's Guest Glasses

 
My father recorded in his diary, Chappie World War II Diary of a Combat Chaplain, this entry dated 15 March 1945: 

Yesterday we reached Rodert, Germany, which we found to be surrounded by German supply depots. It was here that Hitler built bunkers to create for himself an elaborate operational headquarters in the Eifel Mountains south of Munstereifel. From this fortified shelter, he directed the invasion of Belguium, Luxembourg and the Netherlands.

Upon discovering that some of Hitler's hideaway had been taken intact, Group took it over for their temporary stay. We found the offices and general staff sleeping rooms beautifully furnished, and I was given a room with a spectacular view of the mountains.

While rummaging through the contents left behind, I unearthed a bolt of linen, tablecloth material and a box of Hitler's guest wineglasses, both still in their packing. Hitler won't need those glasses now; so I think I'll send the entire box home to Alice.

He did manage to ship that box to us in Mississippi, and you can image the shock my mother received upon opening the box - turned out to be sets of five, different size crystal, wine glasses with each piece adorned with a small, German swastika. Neeless to say, that was one souvenir that never made its way to our table. She did find a use, however, for the roll of formal, white table linen included with them. Upon his return, my father gave most of the glasses away to family and friends who wanted one. Years later he placed one on a shelf in his library that he filled with sand and small shells that I had brought back to him from Omaha Beach. To him, it was a fitting reminder of that bloody battle.

 

Meet Chappie, my father...

I was seven when my father volunteered to serve as a chaplain in World War II. I might have been too young to understand what "war" meant or who Hitler was, but I do remember the feeling that it was something awful and that my father might be taken away from me. I can still see him standing beside our car, saying his goodbyes to us as my mother drove away from the army base in Florida. We were going back to Louisiana, and he wasn't coming with us. I didn't know it then, but it would be almost three years before I would see him again. I would be ten.

That was July 1942. For the next three years my dad served as a combat chaplain to the same unit of front-line, combat engineers (20th/1340th/1171st Combat Engineers) in North Africa and Europe. For most of those years we never knew where he was, only learning after the battles were won or lost where he might have been, based on that familiar "somewhere in..." that was written in the upper, right-hand corner of his letters. The only exception was during those months leading up to D-day when he was allowed to tell us that he was staying with an English family. After the war ended, he returned home, and like most WWII veterans, he never talked about the tragic details of the war, only about the men with whom he had served and a few funny stories. But, was he ever proud of those young engineers! 

The only time he broke that silence about the reality of the war followed an incident that occurred several months after his return. We had just stepped out of our car in front of where we were living, when, what we later learned was a small, private plane, crashed into a building down the street, resulting in a loud explosion. Without thinking, my dad flattened himself on the driveway in a defensive position. My mom, brother, and I were standing there not knowing what to think. He was embarrassed, and as he stood up, brushing the dirt from his clothes, he said that he was sorry if he had frightened us, but it had been a "gut reaction" to the explosion because it had reminded him of the war. It wasn't until years later that i was to learn the significance of that incident.