Contributed by Russ Vaughn

It is my sad duty to inform you that we have lost one of our Old War Dogs, one of our precious few remaining from WWII, John D. Werntz, and, as a retired professor from Columbia University, one of the most erudite and academically accomplished Dogs in this motley pack. So typical of the warriors from his time, John downplayed the importance of his role in that great conflict. Yet like so many of those who came home to an America finally at peace, minimizing their contributions as they put this horrible war behind them, John had actually been an important participant, a key warrior in a huge, historical, military event, the invasion of France and the conquering of Nazi Germany.

Read some of John’s contributions to this site and you will find him saying that he did nothing more than help a jumpmaster push a stick of paratroopers out the door over Normandy, failing to mention that while he was performing that supposedly ho-hum task, deadly German flak was bursting within and all around that invading fleet of C-47’s that carried the paratroopers and towed the glider troops who would disrupt German operations and allow the main American forces to break out of the beach heads. Many of the planes around John and his crew went down, but of that he makes no mention.

I don’t know the actual attrition figures for John’s unit, the 72d Troop Carrier Squadron of the 434^th Group of the 9^th United States Army Air Force, but they were substantial in that initial airborne assault and in the subsequent airborne operations that kept our allied invasion forces pressing ever eastward until Germany capitulated. John wrote of his pilots wrestling with the controls of the aircraft trying to maintain formation over hot drop zones but minimized his essential contributions as aircraft navigator to that effort. It matters not your crew position in an aircraft being shot at by antiaircraft guns, the right round kills all of you.

But true to his character, the only casualties John ever wrote about on this site were the infantry soldiers that his planes ferried back to hospitals in England. And even in those writings, John was humbled by the sacrifice of those ground soldiers and, as always, downplayed the role he and his fellow airman played in saving the lives of so many of those grievously wounded infantrymen by lifting them out of the combat zone and whisking them back to the intensive care they needed in military hospitals in England.

In writing of these medical evacuations, John did cite some members of his unit as heroes: the air evacuation nurses who provided the emergency in-flight medical care those wounded soldiers needed to sustain them until they arrived in England. Somehow or another, I just have this image in my mind of a selfless, young LT. Werntz, back there in the cargo compartment of a C-47, doing everything in his power to support those nurses and their missions of mercy in every way he possibly could.

I never met John Werntz and yet I have a tightened throat and tears backing up in my eyes as I write this because this man with whom I exchanged witty, sometimes biting, emails represented to me a personal contact into the Greatest Generation that I am losing in my own family, as all but one has succumbed in that final battle. I wish that I could have met John at one very special place: the World War II Memorial in Washington, D.C. Somehow I think that John could have made a visit there something very special with his wit and insights. I would urge anyone reading this, if you have a WWII veteran in your family, take them to see their memorial. You will never regret the sacrifice of time and money. Just do it! Your reward will be the joy in their faces in seeing the tribute their country has belatedly bestowed upon them.

My greatest regret at this very moment is that I did not write this when John could still read it so that he would know how much this veteran of a later war admired his “Aw shucks, I didn’t do anything,” humility.

I know, all too well, that is the mark of a real warrior.

Russ Vaughn

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Bill Faith adds:

I won’t pretend to have Russ’s gift with words but I was also saddened to learn yesterday of the death of a true friend. A brief excerpt from the email I received from his niece:

Just a short note to tell you that Old War Dog John Werntz a/k/a “John “72nd TCS” Werntz” died yesterday, June 22, 2008.  In circumstances typical to elderly individuals, John took a fall, fracturing his pelvis. He was taken to hospital in Scranton, Pa. where they operated on him, inserting a pin in his hip. Shortly after, he was transferred to a facility in Wilkes Barre, Pa. As he was suffering from both a heart condition and emphysema, the slippery slope was also very short. I did manage to spend the afternoon with him on Friday and, although he had been in some pain, he was deep in a drug induced sleep when I left. The staff informed his best friends, [Mr. and Mrs. “Gene Harrison”], that he died in peace.

Read the bio John sent me when he consented to join become a charter member of the Old War Dogs pack here. There’s also a slightly different version of his bio on this page.

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Promoted from the comments:

Posted by: Mike Connelly aka The Gray Dog

I join with Russ and Bill (and all others who knew John) with feelings of loss and sadness intermingled with an appreciation for having had the opportunity to know and correspond with this cleverest of the Old War Dogs.

I say cleverest, because words were both John’s playground and palette. Playground, because he wrote with a certain whimsey and lilted phrase that made me think back to both an older yet simpler time. He made reading his prose both interesting and fun. Yet, I know he took language very seriously (he corrected my writing more than a few times.) That is why I also say words were his palette. He was an artist that chose each word carefully because it was always the exact word needed to color the particular sentiment he intended.

Given his military and academic credentials, John was not only humble but totally approachable and giving. Having lost my father (WWII Navy vet) almost 20 years ago, there were many time that John’s solid values, wisdom and encouragement served as a surrogate.

I won’t go further, as John would not appreciate my attempts to deify him in this comment section. As Russ indicated, John did not see himself as heroic and he eschewed the notion of the being part of a “Greatest Generation.” Let me simply end by saying “Thank you John for all of the gifts you gave to me and everyone. I will miss you.”

Posted by: OWB

Sharing good stories helps us through our grief. John’s passing has left a serious hole in my heart with only memories to fill that emptiness.

It was a distinct pleasure to spend time in John’s presence. He was exactly as you who did not meet him would expect. The sharp wit. The gentle strength. And always a supportive friend.

In life we each have moments which stay with us not only for being special but defining. In this case, it was a moment which might be described as a capping moment. It was a culmination of many memories, a summary of life experiences, emblematic of all things important in my life.

Memorial Day week-end 2007 many of us who have never witnessed it got together for the Run for the Wall. After sharing a cab ride from our hotel, John, Mr & Mrs Gene Harrison and I took up our position at the DC end of Memorial Bridge for the Run. What a day! The weather was miserably hot. It was loud. We all grumbled. We paced. We fussed. But, we would not budge until every last motorcycle had gone by. Conditions were not ideal for us, but we enjoyed it. We shared stories. We ate. We watched out for each other. We each walked around a bit without supervision. I laughed. It was a wonderful day to share with very special people.

The sadness is mixed with joy in remembering this and other stories shared with John. He was a buddy, a substitute father, and so much more.

Some day I will no longer see an item and try to send it to John. Some day…

Contributed by Russ Vaughn

Softly it whispers, parting air, The edge so sharp, so glistening; And as it strikes beneath your hair, Is anyone still listening? The sword of Islam makes the slice, And your severed head just rolls; You’ve made the final sacrifice, Loyal to your Liberal goals.

When others warned of futures dire, You made root cause excuses; You turned your faces from the fire, Pursued your liberal muses, Ignoring death-fired feudal fires, Luring fools to paradise, Fanatics facing Islam’s spires, Whose sword above you lies.

Back when we tried to warn you, You snickered and you sneered; Imperial fools our view untrue, Dumb dupes, who only feared. Your enlightenment would show us The path to worldwide calm, So Jihadis would not blow us All to hell with Islam’s bomb.

And now these decades later, When Sharia rules our land, Where Christians, disbelievers, Feel the wrath of Islam’s hand, I feel compelled to ask you Libs, As that blade zips out your light, Bloodies your precious, do-good bibs, Might you think it’s time we fight?

http://www.oldwardogs.us/

It all started with an email from Russ Vaughn, which I posted here. That set off a flurry of emails which led to the creation of this site. I’ll let Russ explain more:

Through the magic of the blogosphere it is becoming increasingly evident that there are a lot of old dogs out there mastering the new tricks of this 21st Century phenomenon. While some are technically skilled enough to create their own sites, like your host Bill Faith, far more fall into my category: those who tenaciously hunt and peck out their opinions on war, society and life in general, and have only the basic computer skills requisite to sending those opinions into the ether of this wonderful thing called the Internet.

Old War Dogs is a site designed for these old dogs to practice their new tricks without having to compete with the fluid skills of younger, more technically savvy bloggers. While we may be too old to carry a gun in the ranks, we can still pound these keys. Mao’s dictum that political power flows from the barrel of a gun, while true, predates the blogosphere; and this old dog bets the Chairman would be truly stunned at the power that flows from the keyboard.

Blog on you old mutts!

1st LT Werntz, John D.
72nd TC Squadron, 434th Group
9th USAAF, EAME Theater
1943-1945

John is entitled to wear 3 Oak Leaf Clusters on his Air Medal and 5 stars on his Europe/Africa/Middle East Campaign Ribbon. The webmaster has so far been unable to locate suitable artwork.

See all of John’s Old War Dog posts in one place here.

The youngest of 4 sons, John Werntz turned 18 —choice draft-meat —11 weeks after Pearl Harbor.  His eldest brother, Ted, a telephone technician in civilian life, was already in the Army, fated to find himself installing commo systems in Morocco in late 1942. Lest we forget, North Africa in’42 led to Palermo, then Messina, Salerno, Cassino, Anzio, Rome, Southern France, on up into Germany and all the way to Munich.  But this is about John, not about Ted.

The middle brothers, Eugene and Howard, were already noncoms headed for action in the Pacific with the Fleet Marine Force.  John’s dilemma: How to beat the draft without incurring the wrath and scorn of his dog-tagged and chevron-sleeved brethren.  Just in time, the Army Air Corps lowered its standards to permit mere high-school grads to train as aircrew officers.  After months of hard schooling relieved by PT and a modicum of Hup!Toop!Threep!Fawr, this gawky teenager found himself taking the President’s commission and with it a solemn vow of service to the nation.  A soldier?  Hardly.  But a citizen in full.

That was early August of ‘43.  Two months later John’s outfit, which was the first Troop Carrier Group to arrive in England, began to train for the assault on occupied Western Europe.  Please note that John’s official MOS was Aerial Observer (Navigator).  Prior to D-day he racked up well over 1000 hours of air time.  Much of that was spent observing two sweating pilots wrestling with the controls, trying to stay on an even keel and keep proper distance in close formation while wallowing in rotten turbulent air exasperated by propwash and wingwash.  A neat trick, formation flying in an aircraft that was designed to look serene while soaring over the Grand Tetons in lonely splendor.

The rest is history, and John had ample opportunity to observe some of it.  The chaos that ensues when you release gliders, dozens of them in the air all at once, competing for a safe place to set down.  The silent menace of that huge invasion fleet lurking in the pre-dawn mist off the coast of Normandy.  The foreboding when the invasion seemed bogged down in the hedgerows six weeks after D-day.  The euphoria after the breakout.  Loud cheers in the Quonset hut when Patton’s tanks overrun the LZs and DZs of planned airborne ops.  Why ramble on? We all know what happened.  For John Werntz, it all comes down to a tale of 3 first weeks of August.

1943: Newly hatched shavetail, wet behind the ears.

1944: Breakout at St. Lô.  Paris soon liberated.  Rehearse French.

1945: Enola Gay does its thing.  Tear up orders for Okinawa.  Get smashed.

John has mentioned to me in the past that his unit flew C-47s and C-53s similar to the one in the above picture, which he told Small Town Veteran readers more about here, and that he himself flew one mission on that particular aircraft. STV readers first met John in this post.

I was tempted to just write “Russ Vaughn is widely known as the Poet Laureate of the milblogosphere,” but I guess I’ll go ahead and post what he sent me as well:

Russ served in the 101st Airborne Division in varying assignments including combat MP, infantry RTO/driver, fire team leader, and battalion CBR NCO from 1959-1962/1964-1966.  He served in Vietnam with the 2d Bn, 327th PIR of the 101st Airborne. Russ was serving as brigade staff CBR NCO of the 2d Brigade, 82d Airborne Division when he left the Army in 1969. He obtained his B.S. degree from Texas El Paso on the G.I. Bill in 1971 and then entered the health care marketing field, specializing in military medicine. Retiring in 2000, he now travels frequently as a consultant in military medical marketing.

Small Town Veteran has been privileged to post frequent examples of Russ’s writings over the past several months. Click here to see the entire STV Russ Vaughn collection.

“Zero Ponsdorf” was born and raised in West Virginia. He join the Navy Reserves between his Junior and Senior year in high school (1963). Since his father was KIA in Korea he wouldn’t have been drafted, but wanted to ‘see the world’ anyway.

Following high school he went to FT/A school at the Great Lakes Naval Training Center and then to the USS England DLG-22, the first of four ships on which he served. Others were the USS Parsons DDG-33, USS Worden DLG-18, and the USS Mahan DLG-11.

“Zero” made 4 visits to the Gulf of Tonkin, each about 6 months long. The duty while there was varied, from picking up downed aircrew to firing shore bombardment. During rescue missions it was not unusual to exchange fire with North Vietnamese shore batteries.

He was discharged in May, 1969 as an E-5.

After his discharge Zero held many jobs, from driving a cab in San Diego to working for NASA at the tracking station on Kauai. While with NASA he worked on the first nine Shuttle missions.

Now Zero has settled in on his piece of ridge in central West Virginia. He does a little consulting work with computers, and some minor web work for friends.

Zero has been Blogging since 2004, and recently migrated (mostly) from Live Journal to Blogspot [Click here — BF.] He participated in the Kerry Lied rally in DC and is preparing to help Larry Bailey unseat Murtha this fall.

This is my first official self-written post on Old War Dogs and I have to explain something: I am not an Old War Dog.

I am old, yes. Not ancient at 57, but no longer a young pup, by any means.

I am a dog, yes, according to my wife and friends, at times.

But as for the war part, well, all you have to do is check out my profile and you will see that the only piece of fruit salad up there is the National Defense Service Medal, or what we used to call the “I was alive in ’65” medal. I often joke to people that I am the ultimate Vietnam draft dodger: I sat out the war at West Point and when I graduated, Vietnam was winding down and I never got tapped to go.

It was therefore an honor (and I shouldn’t be surprised at the welcoming attitude of my brothers in arms, but I always am) to be invited to become an Old War Dog. I see that I am not the only former officer on the blog list, but I was first turned on to Old War Dogs by the great Russ Vaughn, as well as through the kindness of Bill Faith, two old NCOs. I note that most of the Old War Dogs are former NCOs, so I thought that as my first act of duty, I needed to expound on one of life’s trueisms: NCOs are GOD!

I don’t mean to be blasphemous in that assertion. I am sure that the Good Lord will be honored that I attribute some of his omnipotence to NCOs. They are good company.

As I note in my bio, I grew up in the Army, where I was taught such common courtesies as answering the phone in our quarters with, “Briscoe residence, Shane speaking.” I was also taught, through observation of my Father and his interactions and just watching what went on on Army Posts around the world, that NCOs rule! I learned that lesson anew when, as a freshly minted Second Lieutenant just out of West Point, I was introduced to my first Platoon Sergeant, Heywood E. Smith, at Ft. Carson, Colorado, in the fall of 1971.

“You’re in luck,” I was told by the outgoing Platoon Leader. “You have the best Platoon Sergeant in the United States Army.”

The French are easy to make fun of, especially these days when they can’t even work up the courage to defend Paras from marauding Muslim teenagers, much less a Nazi blitzkrieg.

Like many Americans since the French betrayed us over the War in Iraq, I won’t visit their miserable little country and I no longer buy French products. No wine, no cheese, no… well, they really don’t have much to offer besides those two items, which is another sign of French irrelevance.

But there is one thing the French do deserve credit for, and we ought to emulate them in this regard: shaving the heads of collaborators.

After World War II, the French went about collecting all the women (I’m not sure about the men, but knowing the French, they probably were too afraid to tackle a man–even a fellow Frenchman–so they concentrated on the girls instead) who slept with or otherwise collaborated with their German occupiers (wait a minute… didn’t all French women sleep with the Nazis?). The French vigilante squads probably roughed up the collaborators a bit. Then they shaved their heads as a mark of shame.

One of these days, we are going to get serious about the War on Terror. One of these days, we are going to start kicking ass and taking names, fighting with a ruthlessness that only comes from the gut when you realize that your entire civilization and way of life–as well as your life itself and your mortal remains–are at risk. I fear that such a day will come, but sadly, only after another 9/11 occurs. We just didn’t seem to get it the first time, but the day a nuclear, chemical or biological weapon goes off in a U.S. city and thousands, or tens of thousands, or even millions of our fellow citizens are murdered, we’ll surely get the message that it is time to take the gloves off. Then woe betide the terrorists and their allies.

I don’t want to see another 9/11 happen. But then, that is what separates me from the Democrats, the Bush-haters and, oh, yes, the French. I would rather go for it now, kill all the terrorists and their supporters and sympathizers today, torture captured terrorists into revealing everything there is to know about their operations before dispatching them to their just reward, where 71 virgins who all look like Helen Thomas are eagerly awaiting their arrival. But I am afraid there will be another 9/11.

After the gloves do come off and we realize we are in a fight to the death with one of the most vile, evil adversaries we have ever faced, public opinion should have shifted enough so that we might be ready to deal with our own collaborators, French style.

It will be time to start shaving heads, only Americans will do the men as well as the women. First, we can start with the Dixie Chicks, then Linda Ronstadt, Alec Baldwin, Sean Penn, Howard Dean, Cindy Sheehan, Dan Rather, Mary Mapes, John Kerry, Jimmy Carter, editors of The New York Times, The Los Angeles Times and other so-called mainstream media personalities… and the list goes on. I would spare Helen Thomas, only because I don’t think the world just couldn’t take her any uglier. As for Michael Moore, I’d give the special treatment, shaving his head even… at neck level, Muslim style.

Many of these American-hating fifth columnists have already seen their livelihoods dry up and their reputations turn sour as people react to their treasonous ways. Good. That’s a start. But when the real day of reckoning comes, there needs to be a badge of shame for all the world to see, and shaved heads really fit the bill.

The day is coming. Until then, my fellow patriots, keep your clippers handy.