LEE R. CHRISTENSEN'S WWII DIARY

By Way of Explanation

     I started my diary 8^th December 1941.  Not because that is the day after Pearl Harbor, but because that was the day the 2^nd Battalion 222 Field Artillery Regiment was scheduled to leave for the Oakland (California) Port of Embarkation and the Philippines Islands, code name “Plum.”

     The attack on Pearl Harbor 7^th December drastically altered the schedule but it was 3 days before new orders were issued.  In the meantime, we left Camp San Luis Obispo on schedule, motored to San Francisco, crossed the Bay Bridge and spent 4 days at the Oakland Army Base waiting for new orders, unloading our equipment and moving out to a new assignment.

     When this diary starts, I’m a gun Sgt in Btry “D”, 2^nd Bn 222 FA Reg. 40^th Division.  When the army modernized the Infantry Division in early 1942 Btry “D” became Btry “A” 204 FA Bn-a separate FA battalion.

     Btry “D” (which became Btry “A”) was a Utah National Guard unit federalized 3^rd March 1941 and from Mt. Pleasant, Utah.  It was still 65% men from in and around Mt. Pleasant on 8^th December.

     I don’t know how good an Army unit had to be to be sent to the Philippines fall of 1941.  But I’ve always thought being selected to go 6 months after going on active duty was commendable recognition.  However, after passing the GHQ tests and being selected, all our over age-in-grade officers were reassigned, one of whom was my father, Major Lee R. Christensen.  We lost the officers’ who made us good.

    The officers we lost went on to lead service units overseas.  The Battalion, at the 204^th, regrouped, lost many men to other services, OCS, Air Force, and Cadres but earned 5 battle stars in the ETO.  (European Theatre of Operation.) By then they had modern equipment; radios, jeeps, machine guns and a 155 howitzer that was not a rusting relic of WWl.

I need to thank the people who devoted their time helping me decipher my handwriting from a journal kept 75 years ago.  Thanks to Tracy, my daughter and David, her husband. 

I would also like to thank Les Christiansen who shared many of the photos you will find in the diary.  His father, John M. Christiansen, was from Pleasant Grove, Utah.  He was with the 222^nd/204^th-sevice battery.  He was training at the Yakima Firing Center at the same time I was with the “D” Btry of the 222^nd FA which became the “A” Btry of the 204^th FA in February 1942.  He served with them thru out the war; San Luis Obispo, Yakima, Tennessee, and Europe.

John as written a tribute to his father John.  You can read it by googling

“My Father in WWII”; by Les Christiansen.

Tracy added the pictures to my diary and also the occasional explanations which are in italics.

Also, all photos used with permission or public domain.

Diary                                                                                          

Monday, December 8, 1941

The very forming of the day, caught me awake, pacing the floor in front of a telephone.  I had been trying since early Sunday evening to reach Mother, but was unsuccessful till early this morning.  After assuring her that I was not being bombed on the high seas, I sought my bed.

With the “rise and shine” shout of the first sgts in my ear, I awoke.  The hour was early, but early hours are the rule in war.

Eight-thirty found me packed, loaded and headed for San Francisco where I hope to sail for the war zone.

I heard the President’s speech and couldn’t help but feel he had what he wanted, War.

(Link to President Roosevelt’s speech)  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YhtuMrMVJDk

 

      

The trip to San Francisco was not unlike other army trips.  They couldn’t seem to decide rather to go or stay home.  It seems that we can’t hurry even in war.

Most of the men took on new life at the thought of actually seeing action.  All they talk about is the “dirty, squint eyed japs”, and how they would like a shot at one.  There are still a few who even now aren’t enthused.

San Francisco was blacked out.  Searchlights were sticking their fingers into the moons business.  It was a beautiful night, warlike as it was.         

They bunked us down in an old warehouse in Oakland.  There I found rest for my tired bones.

Tuesday, December 9, 1941

Three am saw a still tired soldier awake with a curse, find his gas mask, put it within easy reach and pass again into peaceful slumber.

The forenoon was spent in close order drill, under the critical eyes of Major White, who seems to think we were rookies till he took over.

I spent the afternoon shivering in the “barn”.  Everyone awaits word of an American victory in the Pacific.  I can’t conceive of this being war as nothing has happened and indecision is still present in everything we do.

We had a blackout for supper.  These blackouts are treated as a joke for some of us feel that no enemy can be very close.

Wednesday, December 10, 1941

The air raid siren brought me from dreamland at 2 am.  I dressed in the cold morning air and awaited the explosion of enemy bombs.    None came.  I still think someone is having pipe dreams, as I can’t imagine Japs over San Francisco.  I undressed and went back to bed before the “all clear” had been given, cursing all the army “bull”.

The forenoon brought more foot drill.  “Column Right” and “Column Left” could be heard all around this morning.  The men showed excellent form in their manual of the rifle.

Our truck drivers reported back to us in the late afternoon. 

                                    They were certainly a happy bunch.

  Very few truck drivers liked the “penned up” feeling of Angel Island.

It now looks as if we’ll be headed back for San Luis Obispo by tomorrow sundown.

Thursday, December 11, 1941

The Japs stayed home last night insuring a good nights sleep for us “forgotten” boys.  The winds of rumor have shifted since last night and we’re not headed back to San Luis.  Tonight, so the rumors go we’re going to Plum, “Plum to Hell”.

The time between breakfast and dinner was spent playing cards, with but one interruption, that being an examination for “society dandruff”. 

(An inspection for “Pubic Lice” and Venereal Diseases-also called “Short Arm” inspection)

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Short-arm_inspection

From dinner till supper, I did even less.  We did get three trucks loaded back up with our equipment.

         

Following supper we were issued the Service Gas Mask. 

Possible Likeness 

It is much larger and easier to breathe through than the training mask.  I have a diaphragm in mine so as to be heard when I talk.  It seems I can’t find anything to shut me up.  I now feel confident that we U.S. soldiers with this mask have the best protection offered against gas.

The American forces in the East, made a showing today.  Many of us here would like to be with them.

Friday, December 12, 1941

Seven hundred old gas masks were disinfected under my supervision this morning.  It was done in customary army style, which means sloppy as hell.  I think at least half the masks will be rotted before they’re issued again.

The word came suddenly, catching me and my squad in the gun park reloading trucks.  We immediately returned to the barrack. 

There, everyone was packing bags, folding cots, and in general, getting ready to leave.  The Battalion was being split up.  Battery “D” was sent to Benicia Arsenal for guard duty, the length of stay unknown.

Two hours after getting the word we pulled from the “barn” (all eyes dry) and under cover of darkness turned our noses toward Benicia Arsenal.

An air raid warning caught us on the road.  We drove for a number of miles without light.  Finding the going too dangerous, we stopped (one truck smashing up) and let the raid blow over.

We reached our new home shortly before midnight.  A relief of men went on guard, the others found beds and slept.  We relieved the 134^th infantry.

 https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Benicia_Arsenal 

Saturday, December 13, 1941

Our new home was in need of cleaning and clean it we did.  The men who weren’t on guard spent the morning mopping.  I lived in the upstairs portion of a barracks with forty-one other men.  Being a Sgt. I have a room separated from the privates.  Sgt. Hansen shared it with me.  There are four Cpls. And they have a room together.  It is good set up but not so good for a diary.  I’m not apt to have anything to do but one day a week as that’s all I’ll guard.  The privates walk guard every other day, the Cpls. about every third day.  This seems like a soft life for me.

Sunday, December 14, 1941

I wouldn’t have believed it’s Sunday if the calendar hadn’t confirmed it.  Nothing newsy.  No murders, suicides, air raids, nothing.

Monday, December 15, 1941

Today’s routine was changed by a trip to the powder magazines.  I saw a few bombs, the largest being six hundred pounds.  An empty magazine would be just the place to go in an air raid.  I wouldn’t think they make better shelters than they offer.  Most of the munitions were crated so we saw very little.  Lt. Col. Daniels (BN commander) and staff visited the barracks during the morning.  We had just finished mopping as a result they found the place very clean. 

The weather is very changeable raining off and on.  Not so good for walking guard.

Tuesday, December 16, 1941

Another day has passed into oblivion.  Another day has passed to take its place beside the days that will never dawn again.

Today was just another day.  Another day that I can add to the all ready too numerous ones on which have accomplished nothing.  Nothing gained but age, nothing lost but time.

Wednesday, December 17, 1941

Major Christensen paid a visit to this post today.  He has been transferred to San Jose.

Major Christensen 

 I inspected my 155 howitzer and did some additional grease work on it.  It appeared to be in good condition.     

(the 155 mm howitzer was the 1917 Schneider)     

I hit guard duty at 4 pm.  I’ll be on till 4 pm tomorrow.  Nothing other than routine has happened up till now.

Thursday, December 18, 1941

Today has been a long drawn out one.  I remained awake all night, for no particular reason.  I had a very enjoyable time riding around in the “jeeps”.  I tried it on the steep hills, I tried its pick up.  I enjoyed it as a 

kid enjoys a new toy.  

My helmet had its baptism of fire.  I shot at it with my forty-five, the bullet hitting it and glancing off.  I certainly hope it stands up under all its tests still was a helmet.  

To be continued ........

The Physical and Psychic Wounding of Lee R. Christensen

Taken from Lee R. Christensen's book "You Knew Me As Buddy"

1ST LIEUTENANT 229TH FA BATTALION

28TH INFANTRY DIVISION, WWII

I reported for active military duty 3 March 1941. I separated from service 26 December

1945 after 4 years, 9 months, 24 days of service.

Three years five months after reporting for active duty I was on a foreign field face to

face and within artillery range of the enemy. During those 3 years 5 months I trained in the mountains, the desert, the swamps, off landing crafts, with the Navy, against pillboxes; was jumped on by paratroopers, rolled over by tanks.  My primary unit, the 229th FA Bn spent 9 months in combat. I was with them two different times totaling 4 1/2 months.

When the 28th Division crossed Omaha beach 22 July 1944, I was battery executive,

C Battery 229th FA Bn, in charge of the four howitzer crews and their 105 mm howitzers.

C Battery moved into firing position prepared to fire on the enemy for the first time at dusk 30 July. We fired our first combat mission 0700 1 August according to the battalion history.  I had not remembered we fired from this position. Our fire was in direct support of the 112th Infantry Regiment who were to take Hill 210 on the outskirts of Percy, France.  At 1130 I was told to report to Bn Headquarters, prepared to go forward as liaison officer, 1st Bn 112th Infantry.

I shaved, ate lunch, collected my gear, told my howitzer crews to shoot straight and fast and I would have them in Paris in a week. Then I reported to Bn ready and eager to move forward.

At battalion I was told I was replacing Captain Miers who had been wounded. His jeep

was waiting to take me to 1st Bn Headquarters. On the way forward I saw Lieutenant Colonel Huff, 229th FA Bn commander, and Major Hall sitting in the Colonel’s command car and I waved to them. As I drove by 112th Infantry Regimental Headquarters, I saw Captain Ferguson.

Waved but did not speak with him. He was Bn liaison to Regiment. My jeep, it was now my jeep, dropped me off on a sunken, tree lined lane between two hedge rows. I walked the 150 yards to where Murtaugh and Hensley - I knew them from my service in A Battery - were waiting with the radio. I was near the Infantry Bn Headquarters and with either the reserve rifle company or the Heavy Weapons company. There was a single widely spaced column of riflemen moving through a break in the hedge row and up the hill.

On joining my radio crew they told me they had no communications. They had laid

no wire and the radio was not working. I told them that unless we can talk to our Fire Direction Center we’re wasting our time here, I told the radio operator to get the jeep, go back to battalion and get a radio that worked. I also discussed laying wire to Regiment.

About then I heard an incoming shell. I hit the ground face down. I do not recall the

explosion. I do remember the sharp stabbing in my lower left rib cage. I knew I had been hit. I was terrified. I knew I had been hit and remember thinking “I’ve been hit but I’m still alive.”

I got to my feet. In a manner, less than heroic, I asked someone to look at my back.

The commander of the Heavy Weapons Company, I knew him by sight but not by name, said, “I’ll look at you Lee.” He sprinkled sulfur powder on the wound and put my compress bandage over it.

Murtaugh said he would get our jeep and take me to the aid station. I walked part way

down the lane, then stretched out in a foxhole along side a dead German while Murtaugh went for the jeep.

At the aid station I stretched out in the grass - it was in an open pasture - was given

morphine and waited. I recall being moved 2-3 times during the evening. At one point

Lieutenant Colonel Huff came by and saw me. I asked him not to end the war until I got

back. At another stop, probably the Division aid station, a chaplain I knew talked with me.

 By now it was dark. Then there was an ambulance ride, four of us. No one said a word. I do not know who my wounded companions were or of what army. By daylight I was in a field hospital.

At the hospital I was ambulatory. Even ate a few slices of canned peaches.

During the early evening, about 24 hours after I had been hit, I was taken into the

operating tent. As I recall it was a brightly lit tent interior with white sheets along the walls and ceiling making it even brighter. There were 12 or 14 operating tables.

It was daylight when I regained consciousness, back on a stretcher in a ward tent,

fully bandaged from hips to nipples, an IV bottle on its staff above my head, a tube in my left arm. But my most vivid memory on awakening was wondering why my right hand was bandaged. I could not recall being hit in the hand.

It was not until 3-4 weeks later when a nurse decided to replace what by then was a

dirty bandage that I saw the shell fragment that hit me. It was the size of the first two joint of my little finger, ragged, sharp and by now rusting. A keepsake from a thoughtful surgeon.

My field hospital stay is mostly a memory of long days, long nights confined to a narrow stretcher. Occasionally a patient around me would die; then a flurry of activity. 

Nightly a ward nurse would give me a rectal sleeping pill. I don’t recall any meals. Every other day a doctor would punch a long hollow needle between my ribs and suck out the bloody fluid. At one point I was transferred to a second field hospital as my first one packed up to follow Patton.

This transfer caused the most painful incident of my wounding experience. The second

hospital failed to pick-up on my removal and re-bandaging schedule. When at last they

removed the bandage the tape was fused to my skin. As they peeled off the tape it pulled skin and flesh with it.

After three to four weeks I was flown to a base hospital in England, near Perham

Down Salisbury. I remember clearly the pilot who flew me across the channel. He was

dressed for a night on the town except for house-slippers. Had on dress blouse, pinks, visor cap and house slippers. I remember thinking this man is fighting a different war than the one I left. On our arrival in England I forgot to notice if his lady friend met the plane.

My stay in the base hospital was mostly card playing, reading and ping-pong as my

mending accelerated. I was now ambulatory. An indication of my returning health was my first bowel movement in nearly five weeks.

About mid-October I was transferred to a rehab hospital - the Country Club we called

it - to begin the physical conditioning that would prepare me to fight again. We took short hikes, 3-5 miles, did calisthenics, played volleyball, and took cultural trips - one to Stratford- on-Avon. I continued to mend.

One reason for my rapid mending was my desire to rejoin my unit at the front. I was

then and I am to this day embarrassed by my short - measured in minutes - first combat

action. After three years five months of training, I’ve always felt I should have lasted more than 15 to 20 minutes. I owed both my Country and the enemy more than that.

I’ve titled this autobiographical drama, The Physical and Psychic Wounding of Lee

R. Christensen. I’ve described the physical wounding, the psychic is more difficult to define. But if you grew-up, as I did, reading Hubbard’s Message to Garcia, exalting in Lord Nelson’s “England expects every man to do his duty,” heroically fighting to the last man with the Spartans at Thermopylae, then, when your combat time comes you move forward into battle ready to close with the enemy and prevail for Flag and Country.

I was ready. I went forward with anxieties but not fearful. I was as the cliché goes

- gung ho, I lasted 20 minutes.

From the Battalion History

Early in the morning of 30th July the 229^th FA Battalion moved forward to occupy our first combat positions...  At 0700 on the morning of 1 Aug ‘44 the battalion fired its first combat mission, battalion 60 rounds, in support of the 112 Infantry Regiment’s attack on hill 210 northwest of Percy, France. 

Additional Note:  Mt Pleasant’s Battery A 204^th FA Bn was in the neighborhood and had been on the line for about a week. When the 3rd Army was activated at high noon 1st Aug the Bn was transferred to the 3^rd Army and in combat frequently fired in support of the 5^th Inf Div.

From Lee R. Christensen's book " You Knew Me As Buddy"

courtesy of American Press

Dear Historian, Could you:


1. Furnish me with the unit, Division or Lower that took Coblenz Germany in WW II. Probably mid March 1945, Third Army.


2. And if they have a Division Association, its address.


I’m trying to reach members of this Unit and enlist their help in a gesture of Friendship and Peace. I was never in Coblenz but was stationed at Ehrenbreitstein Fortress on the mountain above and across the Rhine from this city in April 1945. Coblenz had been badly damaged but the detail I remember was of a Horse and Rider statue blown off their granite pedestal. I don’t know who the rider was, a Kaiser or perhaps Frederick the Great. But as they lay there, alone, on their sides, in what had once been a dramatic park where the Moselle River flows into the Rhine, they suggested the eminent surrender of Nazi Germany.


Now, some 45 years after that War, the people of Coblenz are making plans to put the Rider and his Horse back on their pedestal. They have waited, I understand, for a reunited Germany.


I would think the members of the Unit who knocked the rider and his Horse over would want to participate.
I thank you for any help you can furnish me.
Lee R. Christensen