This is a place to reflect on history's greatest conflict. You'll see stories about soldiers, sailors, Marines, airmen and civilians, people I've been privileged to meet as a reporter for Louisiana's largest daily newspaper, The Advocate. You're welcome to share stories of your own by posting a comment or emailing the author at email@example.com.
Anderson Wilson served in the ‘Ghost Army’ that tricked German soldiers into believing the U.S. Army had significant forces in areas that were lightly defended. (Photo by Scott Threlkeld, used by permission of The Advocate, Baton Rouge, Louisiana)
By George Morris
Like many veterans, Anderson Wilson joined the American Legion and Veterans of Foreign Wars following his service in World War II. Before long, he quit going.
“All those fellows wanted to do was talk about what they did in the Army, and I couldn’t talk about that,” 94-year-old Wilson said.
It wasn’t until 1996 that Wilson, who lives in Slidell, could say he served in the 23rd Headquarters Special Troops — now known as the Ghost Army.
A.C. Thomas recalls crossing the Rhine River over the Ludendorff Bridge, which German defenders had failed to destroy, with the U.S. 9th Armored Division. (Photo by Travis Spradling, used by permission of The Advocate, Baton Rouge, Louisiana.)
By George Morris
In its desperate final months in World War II, Germany inadvertently left a door open in its defenses. A.C. Thomas, of Central, Louisiana, is one of those who went through it.
Thomas, then a halftrack driver in the U.S. Army 9th Armored Division, had been with the division in the Battle of the Bulge and in its drive into western Germany. But a major obstacle, the Rhine River, stood in the Allied armies’ path, and the defenders destroyed every bridge the Americans, British and French could use.
It’s not every day I get asked to help locate someone, not knowing whether or not he is even alive. But when it involves returning a lost dog tag to a soldier? I’m all in.
In 2007, Elena Branzaru and her nephew, Zachary Trussell, were spending Memorial Day in downtown Baton Rouge, Louisiana, when they wandered to the edge of the Mississippi River.
“We were just messing around because we were on the levee,” Branzaru said. “We didn’t know what we were going to find.”
Lying amid broken glass, weeds, litter and driftwood near the Interstate 10 bridge was a dog tag that had been issued to Clarence A. Burke when he enlisted shortly after Japan’s Dec. 7, 1941, attack on Pearl Harbor. Burke, we would discover, hadn’t lived in Baton Rouge in more than a half-century.