Going to War

Memory of an 18 Year Old Going to War

By Michael Mogell
Resident of Rose Schnitzer Manor

Michael Mogell read aloud his personal experiences at Cedar Sinai Park’s Annual Memorial Day Program on June 1, 2010.

The year was 1944, July. I was eighteen years old and drafted to report to Grand Central Station with other men. We boarded on trains going west. On one of the many stops the train made, we were pleased to have young women offer us donuts and coffee. They were volunteers for the USO.

We proceeded to Fort Sill, [Oklahoma], our basic training station. The weather was raining and we were soaked, but stood in line to receive our clothing, carbine rifle and bayonet. We were assigned barracks. Our barrack sergeant taught us how to make our beds and stow our supplies and rifles. We learned to clean our weapons and break them down and put them back together. After a while, at times, we did this blindfolded.

Next time we went to the firing range and practiced firing our carbines. I might mention we had carbines and not M-1 rifles as we were in the field artillery and not infantry. In between we had many obstacle courses and forced marches with full gear. I learned to climb poles and run wire from point to point. One day as we were cleaning our rifles in the barracks, one rifle fired and passed through a wall. One of my friends was wounded. We were very upset to say the least. The shooter was transferred and my friend went home. It really took a toll on us. We were still young soldiers.

The Oklahoma rain never let up. But being young we managed to get by. We trained on 155 Howitzer guns. The town was nearby and we had one day passes. The restaurant was called the Coney Island Diner. It had steaks and other fine food, but what bother[ed] me most was the sign on the church grounds, which said “No dogs or soldiers allowed”. This was a bad feeling we all shared. Here we were going to war and yet, there were people like that, prejudice[d] against us.

My basic was over and we went east on the train this time. We arrived at Camp Upton in Upper New York State. I was assigned to the 535 Field Artillery Battalion. They had just spent three years in Alaska and they were all regular army men. We were headed to Europe. I was a replacement assigned to headquarters battery. I received my corporal stripes in communication. I went on leave to see my family for a few days and enjoyed it immensely. On the return to Camp Upton, we went overseas to La Havre, France. The first sergeant was named Wexler. He and I were the only Jewish men in the outfit. I had no problem with prejudice. Remember, I am still eighteen years old.

On the ship, we were gambling. I had never gambled before in my life. A soldier from my outfit told me to get out of the game, and he would play with my money. We won! He told me never to gamble again unless I learned ho.

I had my first experience with drinking. It was vodka and I got deathly sick.

I pulled a lot of [kitchen patrol], which I liked because I could eat whatever I wanted. It was dangerous, as one day I drank tomato juice from an open can and got food poisoning – ptomaine. I was in the dispensary for two days.

When we landed in La Havre, France, we joined the fifteenth army. We followed General Patton’s tank corp by way of Belgium. In one of the roads where we stopped, some people asked us for food. We gave them our K-rations and fresh oranges. We proceeded to Germany. On the way, we received a newspaper The Stars and Stripes. The headline [said] President Roosevelt had died and the new president was Harry Truman.

The Battle of the Bulge was just over, but we had our guns sighted on Cologne and Dusseldorf. We leveled Cologne. The only thing left standing was a smoke stack saying “Rhineland”. We ended up shooting point blank over General Patton’s tanks and infantry. General Patton was killed in an accident on the [Autobahn]. We attended his funeral.

When the war was over, my first sergeant said to me, “We are going home because we have enough points, but you don’t. So, where would you like to go?”

I replied, “There is a mechanical drawing school in Eschwege, Germany on the Russian border.” He made it happen. I went there. There were two things I was told not to do. After 3 p.m., don’t go on the streets because the Russian Cuzzacks would come on horses with machine guns and kill anything that moved, even American soldiers. My stay there was short and I became eligible to go home. The year was 1946 and I was 20 years old.

I have good memories and bad memories of the eighteen months I spent in Europe. I was grateful to come home, in one piece, to my family.