As Memorial Day approaches, I can not stop thinking about an email my cousin, Charles Turner, shared with me last year about our great uncle, Sgt. Charles Weller, our grandmother's only sibling, who was KIA in World War II.
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| Sgt. Charles Weller |
The email went something like this:
My connection with Weller was Dartmouth. Several friends from high school had gone to Dartmouth and the coach of the school's national champion basket ball team was an old family friend. On many of the hot, hot, Louisiana nights, too hot to sleep, your uncle and I would sit out on the tiny stoop of the barracks talking about Dartmouth and playing the"did you know?" game.
Fast forward to 1998. I was retired and living at our summer home in Quechee, Vermont, about ten miles away from Hanover, NH, home of Dartmouth. One day I decided to search out the college's monument honoring the sons of Dartmouth who had been lost in WW II. I expected to find the name of my boyhood friend Jim Kelly and your uncle. Kelly's name was on the monument, Weller's was not. I then found out that when the monument was set up, the alumni office had Weller listed as "alive but address unknown." I began a campaign to get his name added. As part of my effort, I produced a little essay which I shared with the current class president (Class of '38) the president of the alumni, and the school historian. It took a couple of years, but Charles Weller's name was added, chiseled in the marble.
A copy of that essay appears below. The soldier who was at his side when he was hit was Pfc. Stuart Geenberg, now deceased, but I shared a foxhole with Greenberg that night of the death and heard Greenberg's story. The sergeant Weller trusted with his effects is Art Woodall. Your uncle's
burial was in the then temporary American Cemetery in Margraten, (near Maastricht) Limbourg
Province, The Netherlands. In 1948, at his family's request, his remains
were taken home to New Jersey for reburial. About two-thirds of the
American dead, through similar requests, were reburied in the U. S.
The Death of Sergeant Weller
Dartmouth, ’38
Sergeant Charles Weller, Jr., United States Army, was killed by a sniper’s bullet near the village of Linne
in southern Holland, February 27, 1945. Although he was a Dartmouth
alumnus, class of 1938, his name does not appear on the college’s
monument honoring its sons killed in World War II because news of his
death did not reach the alumni office until after the monument was
erected. The circumstances of his death have not been known at the
college until now. Weller was just one of the 300,000 American combat
deaths
in World War II, but an unusual circumstance surrounded this particular
tragedy. He died bravely and on the attack even though he had an
unshakable premonition that he would meet his death that day.
He was a member of Company B, 58th Armored Infantry Battalion, 8th Armored Division, as was this correspondent. At the time of his death, we were serving on the extreme left flank of the American forces in Europe. We had relieved a unit of British Royal Marine Commandos on a salient thrust into the German lines on the east bank of the Maas River, twenty miles north of Maastricht, Holland. The enemy held fortified woods across the fields from us, blocking the road to the occupied Dutch city of Roermond and the German border just beyond. After ten days of artillery exchanges and night patrols, an attack on the woods was ordered. Intelligence from our patrols alerted us to the strong, well-manned defenses we would encounter. The dismounted, battalion-strength attack was planned for dawn, February 27, 1945. Late in the evening before the attack, Weller sought out a fellow sergeant in our platoon and gave him his personal effects—wallet, watch, a letter —and asked that they be sent to his family because Weller was convinced he would not survive the next day’s battle. The other sergeant tried aggressively and repeatedly to talk him out of his fear, but Weller persisted. “You will make it through tomorrow;” he said, “I will not.”
Our attack began under cover of a fierce artillery barrage. Three platoons of our company, 150 men, moved forward across the open field, spread out in a line of skirmishers. We advanced less than two hundred yards before we began to receive withering rifle, machine gun, and mortar fire from the woods to our front. A number of our friends, including our lieutenant—new that morning, fell to the first fusillade. We were pinned down, unable to move. Weller and another soldier found themselves relatively isolated in the front rank of our advance. On their own initiative, they began a maneuver called “fire and advance.” The other soldier rolled on to his elbows and rapidly fired off a full clip from his rifle, eight rounds, directed at the edge of the woods. In the eight seconds covered by the fire, Weller rose to his feet and dashed forward for fifteen yards before diving for the earth again. He called to his companion, “Ready?” before rolling on to his elbows to give similar covering fire for his friend. At that moment, Sergeant Weller was struck between the eyes by a bullet from a German sharpshooter. He died instantly.
For several hours, his body lay in the field at the front of our position before medical personnel could reach it. He was carried away to temporary burial in the American Military Cemetery near Margraten, Holland. His remains now rest in New Jersey. His earned decorations include a Purple Heart, Bronze Star, two battle stars, and a Combat Infantry Badge. Weller was one of nine members of our small unit to die that day on the field at Linne and in the woods beyond. Most soldiers who perish in battle believe that they will survive. Sergeant Weller expected his death, yet he had the courage to fulfill his duty and support his fellow soldiers in spite of his terrible premonition. Soldiers die for patriotism, to win wars, to honor families, and in response to the intense loyalty they have to their fellow soldiers. Sergeant Charles Weller performed his duty. He was a brave man in an era of brave men. As a son of Dartmouth, he deserves to be remembered on the college’s World War II Memorial.
Judd Alexander
August, 1998
Many thanks to Judd Alexander to have the courage to retell this tale. I do not believe my grandmother, Charles' sister, ever knew this much.
Thanks to the kindness of Nancy Beckley here are the photos she took of the memorial at Dartmouth College.
Many thanks to Judd Alexander to have the courage to retell this tale. I do not believe my grandmother, Charles' sister, ever knew this much.
Thanks to the kindness of Nancy Beckley here are the photos she took of the memorial at Dartmouth College.
