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Upstarts
It became a fad to wear parachute nylon as a scarf around the neck, knotted in
anyone of a variety of styles. I thought it was pretty silly, and it was certainly not an
authorized part of the uniform, so I did not wear mine. I tended to go "by the book" in
case of doubt, and anyhow my own little rag would look pretty skimpy alongside some of
the flowing pseudo-ascots being worn. At this time we were in Normandy, struggling
through the hedgerows.
About the time we got into the Foret de Mont Castre, I noticed that not only had
no one expressed official disapproval, but that a number of senior officers were sporting
parachute neckwear. So I got mine out, put it on, and tied it with a sort of rakish four-in-
hand knot under my right ear.
As if by magic, within days after I started wearing my scarf, the war opened up.
No longer bogged down in the hedgerows, we broke out and roared across Northern
France, and except for the period where we ran out of gas in Champagne, continued to
roar toward the Moselle River and the Franco-German city of Metz.
Sometime in September a person in authority - possibly General Patton - noticed
that American troops were beginning to look like the soldiers in Bill Mauldin's cartoons.
Fearing that the French civilians might think we were a bunch of ragged bums, he issued
a decree that we would shape up our uniforms and stand tall. There was a long list of
forbidden garments, and one of them was any scarf or neckwear other than a GI
(government issue) necktie.
Regretfully, I removed my rag of parachute cloth. By then I had become attached
to it. And we moved into the position near Gravelotte where we stayed for a
month and a half. Then, after taking part in the crossing of the Moselle River and the
liberation of Metz, we slogged through the autumn mud to the Saar River, forced a
crossing, and were stopped in our tracks again, this time by the German troops occupying
the pillboxes of the Siegfried Line. [I
understand we broke a world's record for the length
of time a bridgehead has been held without ever getting in a bridge for resupply or
reinforcement.]
Finally we withdrew, not to lick our wounds, but to rush north to help stem the
massive German counter-offensive in what was called the Battle of the Bulge. Here we
were fighting, not only the Germans, but the weather, the deep snow, and the abysmal
excuses for roads. Our efforts were successful, but slow and painful. The weather was so
cold that everyone piled on all the clothes he could bear, without much regard for
uniform regulations.
Then, when the Bulge had been eliminated, we turned again and fought and
wormed our way through another segment of the Siegfried Line. Noticing the current
laxness in uniform codes, I ventured to put on my neck-cloth again, and immediately we
burst through the Siegfried Line, plunged across the Moselle River [again], on to the
Rhine, across it, and into the heart of Germany.
By this time it was spring, the weather was bearable, and there was no excuse for
piling on clothes. [Except for me. Being cold-blooded, I had bought a tanker jacket and
pants with heavy woolen linings. They were part of the uniform, at least for tankers, and I
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