“Everytime it rains, it rains pennies from heaven” was sung or whistled several times most days by William Schmidt. He was always cheerful and smiling. Nothing ever got him down. The more that others were upset by weather, food, or common adversity, the more likely he was to be trying to help.

He came to the Army from his third year in chemical engineering at a college in Youngstown, Ohio. First, he was in chemical warfare, but he emphasized that this was mop and scrub brush. Then he moved to 4.2-inch chemical mortars. In mid-November, he came to M Company, 347th, with 81-mm mortars. Then, on 29 December, he came to F Company with 60-mm mortars. Schmidt was from the northern edge of Brooklyn, and I was from a small town of 5,000 in upper Michigan. We always had something to talk about, often about chemistry or engineering.

William was always curious about new and different things. In Walsheim, our squad leader had selected the newest, most modern house. Pressed, powdered coal was thought to be mined (booby-trapped), so we burned the furniture and interior doors. The appliances were modern because Hitler did not shut down production of civilian goods. In the Siegfried Line, each bunker had a blower for bringing in fresh air and a system of removing poisonous gas. There was a tapered tube with a float that told when the rate of air movement was enough. Then there was a structure three or four stories deep — a command bunker. William rummaged about every room. In the town of Ripsdorf, we stayed in old houses, and Schmidt was equally interested in them. He knew more about explosives and booby traps than I would ever learn. Schmidt was opposed to carrying anything that he considered unnecessary, so he never picked up anything, except food.

I found the Schmidt neighborhood in November 1946 and returned in July 1947 to visit. One day William’s father took me fishing. In 1948, his father took me for a long walk along some cemeteries and emphasized how the dead interfered with the progress of the living. He did have William’s body brought back from Europe.

“Paul, take the mortar until I get back,” were William’s last words to me. It took me weeks to get over the loss.

U.S. Army Star
F Company, 347th Infantry Regiment

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