Here Is Your War–The Complete List

Here is the list of military personnel and their street addresses from Ernie Pyle’s <span style="text-decoration: underline;">Here Is Your War</span>, which I’ve just finished reading.  I started with Flying Fortress bombardier Lt. Anthony Coreno, an Alpha Phi Delta Ohio State alum.  Lt. Coreno’s information appears on page 119, which is the point at which it occurred to me to keep track of the full names and street addresses Pyle listed for some of his warrior friends and others.

I went back through and re-read pages 1 through 119 to complete the list.  Now, I’ll have to see about creating a Google map that marks all the addresses found and will have a look at Street View feature to see where these people came from and the condition into which the nation has fallen since (most of) these men and women served in World War II. 

Names and addresses found:

Page

Rank

Name

Street

City

State

Assignment

30

Unknown

Ben Smith

620 S. 5th St.

Terre Haute

Indiana

Pharmacist’s Mate

70

Warrant Officer

Luke Corrigan

816 Hemlock St.

Scranton

Pennsylvania

Supply

81

Private

Israel Tabi

245 Broome St.

New York City

New York

Arabic Interpreter

81

Private

Abraham Casper Leon Saide

343 ½ Seneca St.

Buffalo

New York

Arabic Interpreter

86

Private

Thomas Doyle

1422 Woodward Ave.

Lakewood

Ohio

Waiter

87

Corporal

William C. Barr

1314 Logan Ave.

Tyrone

Pennsylvania

Corpsman

92

Lieutenant

Gordon Carlisle

14 Cass St.

Exeter

New Hampshire

Message Center

93

Private

Frank T. Borezon

631 Payne Ave.

Erie

Pennsylvania

Message Center

93

Private

Julius Novak

1613 Avenue V

Brooklyn

New York

Message Center

93

Private First Class

(First Name Unknown) Doomchin

1944 Unionport Rd.

Bronx

New York

Message Center

93

Private

Gerald Kelly

22 Central St.

Elkins

West Virginia

Message Center

93

Private

William J. Harrington

908 Greenfield Ave.

Pittsburgh

Pennsylvania

Message Center

93

Private

George Murphy

172 Grand St.

Lowell

Massachusetts

Message Center

93

Private

Ed Sailor

2542 N. 31st St.

Philadelphia

Pennsylvania

Message Center

94

Corporal

Russell T. Harrell

902 E. Burlington St.

Fairfield

Iowa

Message Center

94

Private

Primo de Carlo

255 N. 7th St.

Steubenville

Ohio

Message Center

94

 

Mrs. Sara Harvey

227 Natchez Pl.

Nashville

Tennessee

Wrote Letter to Pyle asking him to look up her husband and “tell him to hurry up and get the war won and get back home to her”

95

Sergeant

Burt Thompson

3660 E. 151st St.

Cleveland

Ohio

Medical supply; assembled on his own initiative a small medical kit for fighter pilots to carry

107

Lieutenant

Jack Ilfrey

3122 Robinhood St.

Houston

Texas

Fighter Pilot

119

Lieutenant

Victor Coreno

11002 Woodland Ave.

Cleveland

Ohio

Bombardier

130

Lieutenant

Davey Williams

3305 Williams St.

Fort Worth

Texas

Navigator

134

Sergeant

Ray Aalto

4732 Oakton St.

Skokie

Illinois

Unknown

146

Sergeant

James Bernett

1541 Cheyenne St.

Tulsa

Oklahoma

Jeep Driver

150

Corporal

Edward Dudek

8322 Vineyard Ave.

Cleveland

Ohio

Cook

159

Sergeant

Vernon Gery

305 W. Navarre St.

South Bend

Indiana

Unknown

176

Sergeant

Donald Schiavone

666 4th Ave.

Brooklyn

New York

Unknown

180

Corporal

William Nikolin

1105 W. New York St.

Indianapolis

Indiana

Aide

181-182

Sergeant

Walter Hickey

401 76th St.

Brooklyn

New York

Unknown

184

Corporal

Lester Gray

2443 Farwell Ave.

Chicago

Illinois

Laboratory Technician

187

Unknown

Mildred Keelin

929 Ellison Ave.

Louisville

Kentucky

Nurse

187

Unknown

Eva Sacks

1821 N. 33rd St.

Philadelphia

Pennsylvania

Nurse

187

Unknown

Kate Rodgers

2932 Wroxton Ave.

Houston

Texas

Nurse

217

PFC

Joe Fox

4513 Filmore

Pittsburgh

Pennsylvania

Headquarters Officers’ Mess

Table Waiter

279

Private

Bill Connell

183 Menahan St.

Brooklyn

New York

Unknown

279

Private

Bill Connell

251 Grove St.

Brooklyn

New York

Unknown

279

Unknown

Unnamed German P.O.W.

253 Grove St.

Brooklyn

New York

Unknown

286

Private

Walter Wolfson

714 W. 181st St.

New York

New York

Military Policeman, Ninth Division

287

P.F.C.

Joseph Lorenze

963 Holly St.

Inglewood

California

Unknown

292

Private

Patrick Fitzgibbons

315 W. 97th St.

New York

New York

Unknown

 

Pyle, Ernie. Here Is Your War. 1. New York: Henry

     Holt and Company, Inc., 1943. Print.

Another Saturday on Dry Land

For the past couple of weeks I’ve been helping family members move things, carry things as they’ve gone through the belongings of the oldest surviving family member.  He has realized that he will not be living independently again, and has given the go-ahead to clear out the home he had built in about 1973 and had lived in up until a few months ago.  In his right mind, this 96 year-old man now resides in an assisted living facility and, although he complains a little about the quality of food served there, has expressed in my hearing no other complaint

I drove over to the house early Saturday morning after staying up until nearly the stroke of midnight to meet a deadline.  Unshaved and unwashed I drove through Stepford at a time when most of the town’s residents are still in their pajamas or thinking about eating fattening convenience foods they can microwave.  Hot as heck already by 7:20 or so a.m.  Workman were resurfacing one of the main routes across town, and I had a longer than usual stop until a flagman waved me past after the asphalt truck had gone by.

I drove past three big mainline denominational houses of worship.  One of these is the First Big Southern Denomination meeting house.  As I drove by, I wondered whether, if I showed up there one Sunday morning, I’d recognize anything that happened under the building’s roof as particularly Christian.  Not.  Probably not.  But I may be too critical of the religious practices of others who, like me, claim to be Christian.

After spending a couple of hours helping my mom move some stuff out into the garage for the auction people to haul off, I drove out to the Pot County seat Administrative Plaza to visit a friend who works over there on Saturday mornings, then drove back to Stepford (which, oddly enough, is not the county seat) to put gas in the XC before returning to the house.

At home, I found my son and wife had already eaten breakfast.  My wife went to the store, and I made a bowl of oatmeal.  While it cooled, I watched the last part of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang with Seventy-Six.  He didn’t want to watch the part where Caractacus, Truly, and Benny Hill visit with the kids in the watery cavern under the castle, and asked me to fast-forward to part where Gert Frobe and Anna Quail sing a comically lethal duet, which never fails to amuse the child.  I shared my bowl of oatmeal with my now 3 1/2 year-old son while we sat in bargain faux-wicker furniture in our somewhat dilapidated sunroom.  Second breakfast for him.  The boy is exceedingly tall for his age (95th percentile height, 75th percentile weight), and when he jumps (cannon-ball, knees-first) on my back if I’m lying on the carpet reading a book, the impact is no joke.

After my wife came home from the store with the week’s groceries, I got my shower and changed.  We ate lunch as a family – BLT sandwiches, while good tomatoes are in season and available.  My little boy only wanted grilled cheese, but was willing to eat a piece of low-fat bacon.

Shortly after lunch, I called my friend, neighbor, and relative by marriage, John T., to ask whether I could borrow his small pickup truck to carry off some things from the house across town.  He said, sure, come on over.  I walked over to his house and as I approached observed him pulling the truck out and parking it in the shade of a tree in the driveway.  We exchanged greetings and he asked whether I could use any help.  Any time a super-intelligent 88 year-old World War II veteran with a realistic sense of humor, and whom you’ve known all your life asks whether you’d like his help, the right answer is “Yes.”

“You drive,” he said.

We made a couple of trips.  Hot all day, the small truck has no air-conditioner, so we drove with all the windows open, including the wind-wings.  Cars now don’t have them, but they permit one to direct a flow of wind toward the car’s interior as it is driven.  I sometimes wish my 850 had them.

Jeep-Jockey

I’ve been reading Ernie Pyle’s Here is Your War, only the copy I’m reading came out of a rural Indiana farmhouse and was published in 1943 or 1944.  The cover is present, but not worth mentioning as it is ragged, the insides of the hardbound cover at front and back have yellowed newspaper clippings pasted into them in the style of old fashioned scrapbooks.  About a dozen to 20 other clippings are stuffed into the middle of the book, and notes handwritten in pencil on a folded seed-company mailer postmarked dating from 1944.  I’m using the seed-company mailer as a book mark.  I’ll read the clippings after I’ve read the book.

John is a veteran of World War II.  A year or two ago, he told me about his Honor Flight tour of Washington, D.C.  It sounded interesting, but I found myself wishing someone had provided such a tour for him and other veterans when they were all younger and more independently mobile.  John said he enjoyed the whirlwind visit to the memorials and monuments honoring the men and women who fought and served in that defining conflict of the mid-Twentieth Century.

I don’t know how, but we got onto the subject of cellular telephones and John said he and Irma, his wife, had been at a movie and the cell-phone of the woman seated next to him rang three or four different times during the film’s showing.  Although annoyed, John didn’t say anything to the woman because, “You never know if it’s someone who’s going to try to shoot you.”  We started talking about the debased state of even semi-rural society here in Southern Middle Tennessee, about how it seems at least 75% of the population is using psychoactive medication with or without medical advice, and another 10% probably ought to be prescribed something.

I asked John, “Is this (motioning with my hand to indicate a mix of current circumstances of place and the things we’ve been talking about) what you guys were fighting for?”

“No,” he said, “it’s not.  We went to war to defeat Hitler and Stalin.  And the Japanese.”  When asked, he denied with a shake of the head any regard for the manner in which the victory of his generation had been spent to build a medicated welfare state.

It’s Friday again as I return to complete this post – the last Friday in July.  After the preceding paragraph, I’d started to write a bit about the following Sunday, but just now returning to it, I’ve completely forgotten what it was I’d wanted to say about last Sunday.  I recall that my family and I skipped worship service and performed all manner of ox-freeing work on the small ‘c’ cultural ‘c’hristian Sabbath for which the Almighty will doubtless not condemn us, the Sabbath being made for Man and not Man for the Sabbath.  And anyway, Sunday’s just the first day of the ancient world’s working week, and Christianity was at first a working man and woman’s religion.  Do not make the mistake of reading any kind of Marxist cant into my remarks thereby missing entirely their various points.

Yesterday, or the day before, an idea occurred to me as I was reading or thinking about Pyle’s book that I’ve mentioned above.  And that idea is this – wouldn’t it be interesting to find some accessible and clear way to contrast the United States of 2011 with the United States Pyle wrote about in 1943.  My copy of Pyle’s book bears the publication date “December, 1943.”

One of the things Pyle did was to report the names and street addresses of some of the military personnel about whom he’d written .  That struck me as odd and an obvious security breach.  How on earth could even a half-sentient military censor allow something like that to pass into print?  I can think of one or two possible “conscious” answers to the question.

But that idea I had is this – Wouldn’t it be interesting to Google Street-View those 1943 addresses in 2011?  The visuals might indicate whether or to what observable degree the United States of America has improved since winning World War Two.

Here’s one I jotted down today (I wish I’d thought of this when I started reading and had kept a list):

Page 119

Lt. Victor Coreno

11002 Woodland Ave.
Cleveland, Ohio

It’s a parking lot on the corner in a run-down neighborhood near public housing projects.  Maybe it’d been a storefront with apartments above, or a two-storey frame house, or just an apartment building like the brick buildings beside or behind it.

Here is another one:

Page 130

Navigator Lt. Davey Williams

3305 Williams St.

Fort Worth, Texas

I wasn’t able to find a Williams Street in Fort Worth using Google Maps.  The address at Williams Avenue is a run-down strip mall in what looks like it is now a run-down commercial-industrial area.

I was able to find a Williams Street, and re-linked the address above.  What I’m finding with Google Maps and Street View is that addresses are so approximate in many instances that the online “service” or whatever it is a lot of the time plants its little orange markers in the middle of intersections.  Still, the entire length of Williams Street is pretty badly run-down.  You’ll note a family group reclining on living-room furniture out by a dumpster behind an apartment building nearby.

Gunners

Today I came home early from work because my head felt like it’s bones were splintering like one of those cinematic werewolf transformations.  Explains why I’ve been cranky last two or three days – coming down with an intractable head-cold that only rest will cure.  Once home, I watched the third and apparently final episode of the BBC Masterpiece Theater “Sherlock” – an updated adaptation of the Arthur Conan Doyle characters and stories from the late 19th and early 20th centuries.  I thought I’d hate it completely, but found that I very much enjoyed the short series.  What bothers me, or that irks at the back of my mind, is that an updated Sherlock Holmes posits a hundred and twenty or so years of history without Doyle’s character embedded, so to speak, in the culture.  Can you imagine a world that’d never heard of or been influenced by those stories and that one particular character?