I’ve always believed that I inherited my gift for words and love of reading from my mother. We share the same affinity for expressing ourselves through writing. As Veteran’s Day approached, I kindly asked her to share a story about my grandfather D. Dale Wooledge. His courageous service during World War II has always been a point of family pride. The following is my mother’s story, and at heart, his story:

“From my early childhood, I’ve always known that my father was in the army and was sent to Germany towards the end of World War II. But like many other veterans, he did not tell much of his story until he was an old man.

I had a very rosy view of my dad as a soldier.  Dad had a chest with his army memorabilia. We kids excitedly sorted through the photos of army mates and smiling girls, uniform pieces and souvenirs. There were even a few medals.  Most fascinating was an armadillo shell he saved from his basic training in Texas. (We don’t have armadillos in South Dakota, so it was very exotic to us.) But Dad never seemed too interested in talking about the things in that chest.

Dad always talked about his time in Europe as if it were one big adventure.  He spoke of being in Holland, Belgium, Italy and finally Berlin, a long way from home for a South Dakota farm boy. He joked about kissing German girls who thought American soldiers were a great catch. He told me, “If I’d brought home one of those girls, you would have been a little German girl” (or Dutch, or Italian, as the story changed frequently). I had this picture of my dad romping through Europe with his friends, women sitting on his lap, handing out cigarettes and chocolates as they passed through the liberated towns. 

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Dad never actually talked about being a soldier. I knew he was trained as a tank driver, but he often told how the army discovered that he was the only one in his company who knew how to type, so they made him company clerk. He implied that this assignment kept him safely behind the battle front.

It wasn’t until Dad was in his late seventies that he began to share his war experiences. He finally told how he was sent to Europe just in time for the Battle of the Bulge. That he was a tank driver in a reconnaissance unit that went ahead of the troops to scout enemy positions. His unit was trapped across enemy lines, facing almost certain death or capture. They continued to fight and held on until they were finally rescued by General Patton’s troops.

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Dad described how a sharp shooter’s bullet went right between him and a friend, narrowly missing them. And how one of his best friends was killed by a sharp shooter’s bullet the very next week. It turns out that he was not made company clerk until the very end of the war, and only for a short time.

Dad believed that God had His hand on him, even as a wild young man. He was on guard duty one night, and foolishly leaned his gun against a tree, feeling pretty safe with the war winding down. Then he heard a rustling in the bushes, and someone saying, “GI Joe! GI Joe!” He grabbed his gun and called out for whoever was there to show themselves. Out came three German soldiers with their hands up.  He said they were exhausted, and knew they were on the losing side and wanted to surrender. Dad ended the story by saying, “Any one of those guys could have shot me from the bushes in the dark. I didn’t even know they were there. But God protected me for some reason. I just hope I have lived my life in a way to please God. There were so many who never made it home, and I know how blessed I am.”

Every veteran has stories to tell, good and bad. Things they regret and things they are proud of. Whether they choose to share their stories or take them to their graves, every veteran deserves our gratitude for risking their life for our freedom.”

Desmond Dale Wooledge
1924-2012

Love,
L.N.