Cy Johnson in World War II

Short stories told by Cy Johnson, transcribed by his son,
Chuck Johnson, from a taped recording of his recollections.

Prelude by Chuck Johnson

Dad didn’t tell these stories often. I remember him telling the stories at the camp in Hillsdale, NY. This was probably because he built the camp with some of his buddies from the war, most notably, Henry Brandt. Dad didn’t dwell in these stories. He told them to us because he was proud of the time he spent in WW2, proud of his country, and proud of the friendships he forged during that time. I also think Dad realized that there were a few good lessons to be learned in these experiences, and telling these stories was a good, subtle way to get them across. I know I learned a few.

D-day, the day America chose to invade Normandy and play a major role in the land war in Europe, was an amazing day in American history. I don’t know as much about it as I would like to, but I have learned enough to know that when you meet someone that was there, you have met someone special. In fact, someone special enough to shake their hand and say “Thank you”.

I don’t think I ever thanked Dad for what he did in the war, but I guess a son doesn’t have to.

I recently visited the D-day Memorial. It’s a beautiful monument designed to remember those that sacrificed so much for this country. The monument was placed in Bedford County less than 15 minutes from Mom and Dad’s house. This location was chosen because Bedford provided a company of soldiers, Company A, to the 29th Infantry Division when the National Guards 116th Infantry Regiment was activated on February 3, 1941. On D-day, 30 of these men were still serving the country when they were sent to attack Omaha beach. By the end of the day, 19 of these men had died. This massive loss, and others lost from Bedford on other battlefronts, gave Bedford the highest per-capita loss in the country, thus landing Bedford a permanent place in history, and an amazing monument to those efforts.

While at the monument, I was looking down over the beach scene with Alec and Brock trying to explain what had taken place on that beach, when an elderly man walked up to us. He started to explain how the scene was just like it was on D-day, right down to the sand that was used in the concrete that formed the simulated beach. The sand, he said, was taken from Omaha beach and delivered to Bedford to make the monument. When I asked him if he had been there on D-day, he replied “I was the first American to set foot on Omaha Beach.” His name is Boyd Wilson. Boyd is near 80 years old and was part of Company A that attacked Omaha Beach. He went on to explain how the sculptures in the water represented two brothers that had died on the beach about 2 minutes apart. He knew the brothers because they were from his hometown and part of his Company. There was also another friend of his that lost his twin brother on that beach. I said to Boyd, “My Dad was the head of an ambulance group that went in on D-day plus 6. He had it easy because of you guys.” Boyd replied, “No, he didn’t have it easy. I have more respect for those men than any others in the war. They came in, sometimes to the front lines, and hauled us out, the wounded and the dead.” Before I forgot, I shook his hand and said “Thank you”.

“D-day + 6”, from Dad’s recollections and in his words

We left on this cheap piece of steel, which I’ll call a ship, from Paris England, and landed at Utah beach, Normandy 6 days after the big invasion. We got there late in the afternoon and it seemed to turn dark rather quick. We had to spend the night on this particular small ship. In the hold were all of our vehicles and it needed people who knew how to operate a winch to unload them on a barge. Before we left England, the men had all waterproofed the vehicles, there was a way of doing so that if the engine went under water they would still keep running. As far as I know, none of them conked out in the water when they did get to shore. Come morning, with the inference that the boat crew would unload our vehicles, Captain Legg’s sent me ashore with most all the men, actually half the men, because he needed men in the vehicles to drive them off the barge and up onto the mainland. Early morning came and it was a good clear day. When we got to shore, things were kind of quiet, except now and then, an 88, a terrible, terrible weapon that the Germans had that would blow a tank apart, particularly if it hit it in the bottom, “boom…gone”, if the tank was up (positioned) this way. We had light packs on and K-rations when we went ashore. I had a map of our bivouac area that was in on the beach that we landed on, but, I was told to wait for the vehicles on the beach. Where we waited for vehicles was an ammunition dump, American, US, ammunition dump. All day long, I looked for our vehicles to come ashore, nothing was happening, nothing! All day long, daylight, not a vehicle came ashore, reason for it was, the crew of the ship was drunk, including the captain and they wouldn’t operate the equipment to take us on. So Captain Legg, after all day long, apparently decided, hell he’s got to get these vehicles off. In the mean time, I’m walking down to the edge of the tidewater praying…praying the vehicles would come, and just then, the 88 comes in. Well I run and lay prone against a bulkhead. Man those 88’s are terrible, and I don’t think I wet my pants, but it was close to it! I said, as I looked at my watch, I’m not keeping these troops next to the ammunition dump tonight. I don’t care what the orders are. I don’t care! I looked at the
map and it’s a short hike to where we are supposed to spend the night with the whole company. It’s just about dark when I make the decision “you’ve got to move the troops to the bivouacked area” a short hike. The minute I start out, I’ve gone maybe just a few feet, and an MP says, “Sir, you can’t walk this road, too much traffic at night, you’ve gotta go this way”. ALL the way around! Well I said, “that’s better than sittin’ by that dump”. He said, “you’re right!” So I said, “I’ll take the troops.” So we started off and among us was one of the assistant drivers by the name of Filerton, oh he was a ball-buster, he was a ball-buster. He started a conversation which was really good, cause it kinda kept the morale up “Someone will take an exception to this”, (Filerton proclaimed). I said to myself, I think that’s good. I had half the troops and didn’t want them to feel too bad. Anyway, he kept up this ball-busting conversation, and I’ve seen him since (the war). So, here we are walking in pitch black, no shells unfortunately, going toward the bivouac area, all of a sudden, here comes a jeep. Henry’s in it by himself (according to Dad, they always sent Henry by himself). Henry said “The Captain sent me out to find you. Where you been?” I said, “Well, long story.” He turned around and led us back toward the bivouacked area. In the mean time, Henry had operated a winch, one of the only men in the company that could, some of the other men had to help. Anyway, they had gotten the vehicles off, got them all landed, and we had already started hiking towards the bivouacked area, and I had broke orders by not staying near the dump. Anyway, we weren’t far from the bivouac area, and once we got to the area, we all dug fox holes, pitched up our half army tents. We had a pretty quiet night, although shells were coming in on the beach. That’s how I remember the landing on Utah beach, not a pleasant one.

“Volunteering for Patton”, from Dad’s recollections and in his words

I was assigned to Patton’s group one time, with one platoon. We would follow along behind one of his outfits that was shooting the heck out of something, they would stop and fire, and naturally we would stop. I wasn’t gonna pass them up! We were assigned to him and had to stick with them. That happened quite a bit with us. We were supposed to take Cherbourg again, the island, (Cherbourg is actually a port on the northern coast of the large Contentin peninsula located in Northwestern France)in about a week. The Paratroopers, and whatever else was dropped at the time, but they were there 2 and 3 weeks later, if not more. We were hauling casualties from Division aids stations to the shore, where they would put them aboard hospital ships in the first few days. Then all of a sudden, an order came in, it’s not an order I don’t think, they want volunteer ambulances to go to battalion aid station up towards Cherbourg which we were supposed to have taken 2 or 3 weeks ago. So (the request) comes to our company and the Captain asks for volunteers from the first platoon, so I volunteered my outfit. They give me the map and the layout and so forth...country, country, dead cows and horses and everything all over the ground, man we had spattered the place, soldiers too, Americans as well as Germans hadn’t been picked up for 2 or 3 weeks. I remember there was a unit in the army that picked up casualties, dead people, dead soldiers. Oh, it broke my heart. Here’s a big two and half ton (truck) with big sides, picking up the soldiers and throwing them in like cord wood. Well they had to, they had to. As fast as they could, they wanted to get them cleaned up and buried some place. That wasn’t a good sight. No. So, I had the map to where I should take this platoon to a battalion aid station. The weather was good, dry, open sky. I’m feeling my way along, maybe 20 miles an hour, like some of these hunting roads you know. We get to a crossroad, and just before I get to the crossroad, an 88 comes in pretty much across our spot. I said to myself, “whew, I don’t like that.” I looked at my watch, and I think I timed it and then I waited until another one came in, and I timed that one, I think. Well finally, I said to myself “I can’t sit here, I’m supposed to be hauling troops.” So, I stand up in the jeep and gave the signal, “full speed ahead”. I tell my driver, “let’s get them across as fast as possible”, which we did, and no shells came in, thank god. We got the ambulances loaded up, and got them back to the station, wherever it was we were supposed to take them. I think I only had to make one trip there, one trip, we picked up…, well I don’t remember how many we could carry. If they were sit-ups, we could carry more. If they were stretcher cases, we could carry 6, I think. No, 4 I think, where as we could carry 8 or 10 sit-ups. We didn’t have to go back there twice, through that mess. So, I felt that was a deed well done. Those are two experiences I will never forget.