As we celebrate this year’s Veterans Day to honor those who have served in all our wars and especially those who have given “the last full measure of devotion,” I’d like to mention those who served in our longest war. World War II? The Korean War? The Vietnam War? The Gulf War? No, the war that lasted from the end of World War II until the infamous Berlin Wall came down.
Does anyone actually know the name of this war? Well, to jog your memory, this was known as the Cold War. The bulk of those who served from the end of World War II were draftees — you know the guys (no women were drafted) who received a “greeting from the president of the United States.” There was a small cadre of long-term professionals and some volunteers. Since the end of the Vietnam War, the guys and gals have been volunteers.
In any event, when there was not shooting war, all these soldiers — as a generalization for all military personnel — interrupted their private lives and plans and stood at the ready 24 hours a day in the event shooting started. Too many of us think of service in this period as a lark, a freebie at the behest of the government.
Yes, I was a draftee proud to have been called to serve my country. My parents were quite worried having had relatives who served in both World War I and World War II. When I eventually found I was to be shipped to Europe, I was indeed excited. Who could afford a European trip in the 1950s? To stand at the ready should the Soviets decide to attack west and also to get a chance to visit a different culture. Still, there was always the pervading concern we could stand in harm’s way.
My first taste of what could happen was during basic training. We were in the target pits at the firing range in Fort Hood, Texas. All of a sudden, one of my fellow trainees from Louisiana fell to the ground. A scary moment to think he had been hit. As it turned out, this was not the case — he had had a seizure. But, it was the first experience of what could happen should we be at war.
Among other events was the hospitalization of a close friend as the result of a jeep crash in Bavaria, Germany. Then there was the time on a maneuver in Grafenwohr, Germany, when a helicopter piloted by a young lieutenant — we were all young then — landed near our squad of jeeps. He asked in what direction our headquarters was located and took off. We learned some time after that shortly after takeoff, the helicopter crashed and he was killed. And at another training area in Wildflecken, Germany, another kid from Indiana with whom I had been in basic training, after coming off guard duty, was killed when the pistol he was cleaning discharged.
Then, some six months after I was released from the Army in September 1960, my unit was again at Grafenwohr based in the same tent city at which we had been based twice before. During a practice artillery barrage, someone put too much powder behind a live shell. It landed right in the midst of my former platoon. Sixteen casualties — dead and wounded — were reported including a kid from Hamburg, New Jersey, and others with whom I as acquainted.
And, close to home, there was the Nike missile silo explosion in April 1958, right here in Middletown. A local friend who served with the Nike batteries just missed being in the silo when it exploded. Some bodies were never found, having been vaporized in the explosion.
Yes, we did not serve in a shooting war, but we stood by at the ready subject to daily military dangers.
We can’t be members of various veterans organizations, and the state of New Jersey doesn’t consider us to be veterans. Well, without us, the world situation would be a lot different.
Here’s to you guys and gals. Hold your heads up high. Feel the pride. God bless you.
Eugene DiSanto, of Middle-town, formerly served in the 12th Cavalry, 3rd Recon Squadron, 3rd Armored Division
Eugene DiSanto
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