From the Dallas Morning News (At the Bottom is a hyperlink to the DMN. It shows a photo of his diary while at A&M on the day he heard about Pearl Harbor)
Paul C. Watler: News from the grave filled out my father’s role in WWII
By PAUL C. WATLER
Published: 22 May 2015 06:10 PM
Updated: 22 May 2015 06:10 PM
I received the letter six weeks after my father, Dorcy Watler, a decorated U.S. Army infantry veteran of World War II, passed away last year at age 91.
“This is news from the grave,” I told my brothers in sharing it.
It turns out there was even more to Dad’s wartime story than we knew — exploits he never bragged about that had been lost to the years, adventures that informed the love for art, architecture and great works that he later imparted to his sons.
Of course, what we already knew of Dad’s war experience was plenty to make him our hero.
Along with the men of his platoon of the 232nd Infantry Regiment of the 42nd “Rainbow” Division, my father sailed aboard a troop transport to Marseille, France, docking on Dec. 8, 1944. The trans-Atlantic voyage, with 1,000 other troops, took nearly two weeks.
In Marseille, he boarded a train for a two-day trek north-by-northeast through the Rhône River valley across war-torn France. He traveled in an unheated boxcar during the first days of Europe’s coldest winter in memory. The “40x8” designation of the boxcar conveyed that it was transport for either eight head of cattle or 40 men. The soldiers took turns standing or lying on the straw-strewn, wood-slat floor because there was not room for all to sit or recline at the same time.
The troop train delivered Dad and his comrades to Morhange, France, not far from where the Battle of the Bulge was raging. On Christmas Eve night, his platoon took a front-line position in the small Alsatian town of Gambscheim. They relieved a company that had faced a contingent of Nazi soldiers just across the Rhine River border between France and Germany. As he marched with his men to the front line, local villagers sang “Silent Night” in German in the town’s small church.
My father was 22 at the time. He had been called to active duty in the Army in spring 1943 after less than two years at Texas A&M, where he studied architecture and joined the ROTC Corps of Cadets.
He arrived in France as a newly commissioned second lieutenant — a so-called “90-day wonder” graduate of officer candidate school. He led his platoon for more than three months in combat from the Alsace-Lorraine into Germany.
On Easter Sunday, 1945 — April Fools’ Day — he was wounded in combat in the little village of Breitenbrunn, Germany. A German-fired rocket-propelled grenade struck a truck carrying men of his platoon as they entered the village late in the afternoon. Although wounded by shrapnel in the upper thighs, my father refused medical attention until his more seriously wounded men were rescued and evacuated. The actions earned him the Bronze Star for valor and a Purple Heart. Despite the awards for gallantry, he always said he was proudest of the Combat Infantryman Badge he earned after 30 days’ service in battle.
He was recuperating in a hospital in France when the war in Europe ended on May 8, 1945. After returning to duty to serve in the postwar occupation, he eventually was billeted with his unit in a medieval castle in Bruck, Austria.
My father had related the oral history of his war experience to me numerous times in bits and pieces over the years in response to my questions. As a youngster, having a father who not only served in World War II but also shed blood while saving his men in combat was like having a character from Greek mythology as the flesh-and-blood head of our household.
The rest of his war story, as delivered in that letter, came to us after a dinner I attended in Washington, D.C.
I was seated at a table with Robert Edsel of Dallas. We chatted, and I reminded him that my late law partner had been counsel to his oil-and-gas exploration company for many years. I told him about my father, and he was interested in hearing about Dad’s Army service in Europe.
Soon after my return to Dallas, a package arrived from Robert with inscribed copies of two best-sellers he had written, including The Monuments Men: Allied Heroes, Nazi Thieves and the Greatest Treasure Hunt in History.
Grateful for his thoughtfulness, I made an online contribution to the Monuments Men Foundation of Dallas in honor of Lt. Dorcy Watler.
Days later, a package arrived from the foundation. I opened it to discover much more meaningful content than a formulaic thank-you note. The foundation, interested in knowing the personal history of the World War II veteran I was honoring, searched its own archives. Incredibly, that search produced records that my father worked with the Monuments Men in August 1945.
While at Fischhorn Castle in Austria, he worked with an officer dispatched from Supreme Allied headquarters in Paris. The mission of that Monuments Men officer was to inventory a trove of artwork stashed in the chapel of the ancient castle — treasures that had been looted by the Nazis from the Polish National Art Collection.
Many of the Monuments Men had backgrounds in art curation and architecture. Whether by coincidence or design, the Monuments Men officer cataloging the Nazi loot in Bruck was assisted by a young infantry officer whose architecture studies at Texas A&M were interrupted by the war.
Now, nearly 70 years later, in my hands was a copy of a preliminary inventory from Fischhorn Castle bearing the distinctive signature of Lt. Watler.
Although my father was not a member of the Monuments, Fine Arts and Archives section of the U.S. military, he had assisted the section’s mission of recovering and restoring the cultural history of Western Europe. His exploits have now earned him posthumous recognition by the Monuments Men Foundation as a “First Hand Participant.” My father, my hero in life, stood even taller to me after death.
After the war, dad returned to civilian life, earned his degree from Texas A&M, met and married my beautiful mother and raised a family of three sons. He practiced architecture for 39 years, imparting to me and my brothers, among many other profound life lessons, a love for art, architecture and the great works of Western civilization.
But it was news from the grave that revealed to me and my brothers his small but noteworthy role in preserving that heritage for me, our family and generations to come.
Paul C. Watler is a Dallas attorney who has represented The Dallas Morning News. He is a partner in the law firm Jackson Walker LLP.
http://www.dallasnews.com/opinion/l...-grave-filled-out-my-fathers-role-in-wwii.ece
Paul C. Watler: News from the grave filled out my father’s role in WWII
By PAUL C. WATLER
Published: 22 May 2015 06:10 PM
Updated: 22 May 2015 06:10 PM
I received the letter six weeks after my father, Dorcy Watler, a decorated U.S. Army infantry veteran of World War II, passed away last year at age 91.
“This is news from the grave,” I told my brothers in sharing it.
It turns out there was even more to Dad’s wartime story than we knew — exploits he never bragged about that had been lost to the years, adventures that informed the love for art, architecture and great works that he later imparted to his sons.
Of course, what we already knew of Dad’s war experience was plenty to make him our hero.
Along with the men of his platoon of the 232nd Infantry Regiment of the 42nd “Rainbow” Division, my father sailed aboard a troop transport to Marseille, France, docking on Dec. 8, 1944. The trans-Atlantic voyage, with 1,000 other troops, took nearly two weeks.
In Marseille, he boarded a train for a two-day trek north-by-northeast through the Rhône River valley across war-torn France. He traveled in an unheated boxcar during the first days of Europe’s coldest winter in memory. The “40x8” designation of the boxcar conveyed that it was transport for either eight head of cattle or 40 men. The soldiers took turns standing or lying on the straw-strewn, wood-slat floor because there was not room for all to sit or recline at the same time.
The troop train delivered Dad and his comrades to Morhange, France, not far from where the Battle of the Bulge was raging. On Christmas Eve night, his platoon took a front-line position in the small Alsatian town of Gambscheim. They relieved a company that had faced a contingent of Nazi soldiers just across the Rhine River border between France and Germany. As he marched with his men to the front line, local villagers sang “Silent Night” in German in the town’s small church.
My father was 22 at the time. He had been called to active duty in the Army in spring 1943 after less than two years at Texas A&M, where he studied architecture and joined the ROTC Corps of Cadets.
He arrived in France as a newly commissioned second lieutenant — a so-called “90-day wonder” graduate of officer candidate school. He led his platoon for more than three months in combat from the Alsace-Lorraine into Germany.
On Easter Sunday, 1945 — April Fools’ Day — he was wounded in combat in the little village of Breitenbrunn, Germany. A German-fired rocket-propelled grenade struck a truck carrying men of his platoon as they entered the village late in the afternoon. Although wounded by shrapnel in the upper thighs, my father refused medical attention until his more seriously wounded men were rescued and evacuated. The actions earned him the Bronze Star for valor and a Purple Heart. Despite the awards for gallantry, he always said he was proudest of the Combat Infantryman Badge he earned after 30 days’ service in battle.
He was recuperating in a hospital in France when the war in Europe ended on May 8, 1945. After returning to duty to serve in the postwar occupation, he eventually was billeted with his unit in a medieval castle in Bruck, Austria.
My father had related the oral history of his war experience to me numerous times in bits and pieces over the years in response to my questions. As a youngster, having a father who not only served in World War II but also shed blood while saving his men in combat was like having a character from Greek mythology as the flesh-and-blood head of our household.
The rest of his war story, as delivered in that letter, came to us after a dinner I attended in Washington, D.C.
I was seated at a table with Robert Edsel of Dallas. We chatted, and I reminded him that my late law partner had been counsel to his oil-and-gas exploration company for many years. I told him about my father, and he was interested in hearing about Dad’s Army service in Europe.
Soon after my return to Dallas, a package arrived from Robert with inscribed copies of two best-sellers he had written, including The Monuments Men: Allied Heroes, Nazi Thieves and the Greatest Treasure Hunt in History.
Grateful for his thoughtfulness, I made an online contribution to the Monuments Men Foundation of Dallas in honor of Lt. Dorcy Watler.
Days later, a package arrived from the foundation. I opened it to discover much more meaningful content than a formulaic thank-you note. The foundation, interested in knowing the personal history of the World War II veteran I was honoring, searched its own archives. Incredibly, that search produced records that my father worked with the Monuments Men in August 1945.
While at Fischhorn Castle in Austria, he worked with an officer dispatched from Supreme Allied headquarters in Paris. The mission of that Monuments Men officer was to inventory a trove of artwork stashed in the chapel of the ancient castle — treasures that had been looted by the Nazis from the Polish National Art Collection.
Many of the Monuments Men had backgrounds in art curation and architecture. Whether by coincidence or design, the Monuments Men officer cataloging the Nazi loot in Bruck was assisted by a young infantry officer whose architecture studies at Texas A&M were interrupted by the war.
Now, nearly 70 years later, in my hands was a copy of a preliminary inventory from Fischhorn Castle bearing the distinctive signature of Lt. Watler.
Although my father was not a member of the Monuments, Fine Arts and Archives section of the U.S. military, he had assisted the section’s mission of recovering and restoring the cultural history of Western Europe. His exploits have now earned him posthumous recognition by the Monuments Men Foundation as a “First Hand Participant.” My father, my hero in life, stood even taller to me after death.
After the war, dad returned to civilian life, earned his degree from Texas A&M, met and married my beautiful mother and raised a family of three sons. He practiced architecture for 39 years, imparting to me and my brothers, among many other profound life lessons, a love for art, architecture and the great works of Western civilization.
But it was news from the grave that revealed to me and my brothers his small but noteworthy role in preserving that heritage for me, our family and generations to come.
Paul C. Watler is a Dallas attorney who has represented The Dallas Morning News. He is a partner in the law firm Jackson Walker LLP.
http://www.dallasnews.com/opinion/l...-grave-filled-out-my-fathers-role-in-wwii.ece
