They are remembered as the “Greatest Generation.” These men and women grew up in the Great Depression, fought in World War II, or assisted in keeping the country operating on the home front during the war.

Local newspapers often printed letters from men and women serving their country in World War II. 

Montour County Historian Helen “Sis” Hause had five uncles who served in World War II. One of her uncles, Tony Kosinski, was a field artilleryman, a forward observer, serving with the 7th Army under General George S. Patton. “Sis” received letters from Tony throughout the war and has shared some of those letters in her weekly newspaper column, Moments in Time.

Kosinski was also friends with Mac McCloughan, editor of the Danville Morning News, and wrote to Mac, who published some of them in the local newspaper. Tony’s letters reflected a no-nonsense, straightforward look at World War II through the eyes of someone who experienced the hardships.

MOMENTS IN TIME JULY 13, 2018 

July 1943

Mac:

“How well I remember once upon a time you mentioned something in one of your letters, the fact that I must have seen a lot of sights. Well, tonight is that sort of night I just feel like talking about what I’ve seen. It’s black as pitch out, it is raining, and it is cold. I’m fed up and really feel like griping.

Ten days past, June 8th, made an even 18 months that I walked aboard ship. We sailed past the last shores of Virginia. To describe the feeling one has upon seeing the land he once knew as home, perhaps never to see it again, is impossible.  The boys lined the rails of the ship, but yet the best of friends had not a word to say to each other. I’ve wondered many times since, and still do if I will ever see home again.

 The transport we were on was rather a large ship. Yet there was hardly room for a man to sleep. Below deck, it was hot, as hot as hell, and believe me it was agony. The food given us was not of the best, not by a long shot. Before very long the boys were thinking, what a treat it would be to fight a war, if it meant only to get off that ship. We were very soon to find out that war is far, very far from being a treat.

June 28. We docked in North Africa, a dry run. Once there we were given some extra training that lasted a full week. Before we knew it, we were again aboard ship heading out to sea for an unknown destination, knowing the next land we saw meant the chips were down.

July 10, 1943, will long live in my memory as we lay off the shores of Sicily, in that pitch-black darkness of dawn before daylight. We heard our bombers and battleships pounding beaches, which meant the softening up for our landing. At the very first sight of daylight, we hit the beach. Gee! Writing about it now seems easy, of course, but when the ramps of our invasion boats went down, and we were face to face with the beach, a million and one things shot through our minds. Yes! There was a prayer on each and every one of our lips. Even the hard guy that was hard as nails said a little prayer; then he hit the beach with the rest of us.

As you know, Sicily was only a warm-up for what was to come in the future. Take my word for it, because I have seen men die in Sicily, plenty of them too. In fact, death paid its first visit to a friend of ours. People will say Sicily was a push over, but yet we saw plenty of war-torn mangled bodies. However, Sicily I must admit was a tea party in comparison to what we have been through since then.

(The Allies suffered 23,000 casualties in their conquest of Sicily.)

About three weeks after Sicily, we once again boarded a ship. This time it was to take on to the mainland, Salerno, Italy. Every time I think of the battle of Salerno, I get that funny feeling in my guts. It was bloody, bloody as hell and we had to take it on the chin for there was no turning back. There too I saw dead men, lots of Americans. We soon found out the value of a foxhole, but to live in a foxhole is another story. I’ll come to that later because it is a story in itself. With the fierce battle of Salerno in the past (Sept. 3-16) we pushed on not knowing what was to come.

You of course, never heard a machine gun open up, knowing it was aimed at you. Nor have you ever seen an enemy tank boring down upon you, running down men, and sometimes over them. You haven’t heard the sickening crunch of a Jerry artillery shell exploding but a short distance from you, many times killing and wounding men. For sure you never saw the women walking down the road, clutching her young child in their arms, running from danger, only to have a Jerry shell come in and blow both mother and child to Kingdom come. Nor have you ever seen enemy planes bomb and machine gun the hell out of things.

Mac, I don’t mean you personally. I mean you the civilian, the American civilian.

There were many more battles between the time we pushed out from Salerno and the time we reached the Cassino Mountains. But they would take a week to tell you about them all. However, we did get to the mountains in November, the season for rain. For the entire month of November, I believe it rained every day. The mud that came as a result of the rain was awful. December was a month mixed with both rain and snow. December, our first Christmas to be spent overseas, and away, far away from that place called home. Did you ever see men cry? Well, I did and maybe I cried a little too. Yes, it was on Christmas Eve, a few of us were near a radio that night and we heard the song, Silent Night, Holy Night. It was beautiful and awful at the same time. At midnight, the Eve of Christmas, Jerry tossed in an artillery barrage that was the worst we ever were under in the past. We called it a Christmas present from Jerry for us. A few civilians were killed that night while attending Midnight Mass.

January, a new year is coming on. It snowed quite a bit up on those mountains, and it was cold. Our foxholes were full of water, our blankets always wet, every inch of ground around us was a mud puddle. We once knew what it was to be clean, but by this time, we just didn’t give a good damn if we did look like hell. When finally, we were pulled off the line, our outfit had more combat days to its credit than any other outfit overseas. So naturally we thought we were due for a good rest. Within two weeks’ time we hit Anzio. Let me tell you something about Anzio, not too much, just a little bit about the place. 

Anzio, the hellhole of the world, when we first landed there, we thought surely the war must be over. It was that easy to land there. That was Jan. 27th.  On Feb. 3rd, the enemy made that world-famous drive to push us into the sea.

Four full months we were at Anzio, and in that time, four months we were bombed and shelled night and day; bombed by radio bombs, personal bombs, and heavy bombs. The Jerry’s had what was called by us, the Anzio Express. It was an artillery gun that fired a shell of 320 pounds. When this shell hit it made a hole in the ground big enough to drive a 4-ton jeep in without trouble at all. Of course, various other types of artillery were used against us. At Anzio it was a known fact that anything living wasn’t safe above ground. So, we all lived in dugouts, more like moles than humans.

At Anzio one had to be on his guard day and night. That meant that there were to be many night patrols. On these patrols we always clashed with the enemy and believe me there were many hot fights. Somebody most always didn’t get back. After coming back from these patrols, we had very little to look forward to, because it meant returning to your hole in the ground. Once there we had to again sweat out the night bombers and shells. Every night without fail they would come, and every night they claimed another victim. Everybody suffered at Anzio.

People back home called Anzio a big mistake. Now I’m going to prove to you why I know it was no mistake. On May 24th, after four months of hell, the big push started. From Cassino clear down to the coast at Anzio our boys at H Hour pushed off. Without the Anzio front giving plenty of trouble to the enemy, the Cassino front push might have failed. As it was, both fronts suffered heavy losses. But once that push started there was no stopping, it had to go through. When H Hour came, I saw young men like myself crying like little boys, the tears running down their hardened faces. Because they realized some of us were not going to pull through alive. How right they were because many men fell never to rise again. Others (were) wounded so that they would never walk again or those never to see the light of day again.

 Whatever the losses, the push was successful. We pushed till we went past Rome and crossed the great Tiber River. Then, (and) only then were we given a rest. I guess it was the nearest to heaven I have ever known, not to be on the line. The rumors spread like wildfire; our outfit was not going to see action again. We had seen what we thought to be our share. But once again we were soon to find out how wrong we were.

We were taken down to Southern Italy for a rest and more training. The training was for the invasion of Southern France. Not two months after we hit the Tiber River in Italy had gone by, and here we were once again on invasion boats. August 15th, 1944, we hit France.

My job was to hit with the first wave of infantry to hit the beach. So that we could observe and give them naval support and artillery support. Do you know what it feels like to hit the beach in face of the artillery and small arms fire of the enemy, not knowing what to expect? Of course, you don’t because most likely you were sitting by the radio at the time in a nice comfortable chair reading the paper. But to us, well maybe our guts had that sickening feeling in them again. Our noses caught the smell of gunpowder, and our eyes were once again filled with water, our lips forever saying a prayer. The ramps for the fourth time once again fell before us and we hit the beach.

The first papers we ever read after the invasion of Southern France had headlines something like this. The invasion of Southern France was like a tea party.  Don’t they know that even one shot is enough to kill an American boy!  My god, my buddies and I saw dead Americans on the beach of Southern France.*

Well, Mac, you know that I am with the 7th Army, and you know where the 7th is at this time. You also know what lies before us. Once again people back home thought we were having a wonderful time drinking wine and meeting very beautiful women. Maybe some men did, but not us because we are combat men.

 Mac, if only people back home understood what this war meant. They send us packages of cookies, and we appreciate it. When we came overseas, we were but boys. Now we have become hard bitter men; men who most of the time don’t give a damn if they live or die. I haven’t told you of the gory part of war, about the smell of the dead, about seeing bodies of men lying in the mud for weeks, sometimes longer without being buried. I didn’t tell you because it’s best to forget those things. Believe me, I saw plenty and will see plenty more in the future.

 I honestly wish I could write, so that I could write a story on the hardships men must endure over here. I believe people back home should know the truth. Looks like I damn near did write a book tonight. Must report for observation duty shortly so will close now.

Best Ever, Tony

Tony survived the war, married, and raised a family. He passed away during the Thanksgiving holiday in Philadelphia in November of 1991, at the age of 71.

*(The Allied Force Headquarters praised the Southern France landing as one of the best-coordinated efforts in all military history. This army fought its way across the Rhine into Germany, capturing Nuremberg and then Munich. They were involved until VE-Day.)

Moments in Time (Danville News) 13 July 2018 Page A2 and 27 July 2018 Page A 2

Photo Credit: Rosie Riveter – Library of Congress (Public Domain)