Recently I came across some photos I snapped at the military museum in Vincennes about two years ago.
There were a few images of my great niece Karder Rose standing by different displays in the museum. She loves history and her eyes lit up seeing all the aircraft, uniforms, vehicles and tanks at the museum.
She agreed to stand by a Sherman tank to show its size. That brought back a memory about Uncle Butch, who was in a tank crew during World War II.
Sixty years ago, my family was visiting Washington, Ind., a city in the county where my mother grew up with her 11 siblings. I remember going to Eastside Park and discovering the best playground ever. My brother and I ran toward a decommissioned Sherman tank and crawled inside, pretending we were taking on imaginary Germans.
Many towns had military equipment serving as play equipment and memorials to veterans for years. Even today, children crawl up on the Civil War cannon on Effingham County Square. Nowadays, kids climb atop the Stuart tank in Grimes Park at Mattoon and the same is true with the Patton tank in Mount Carmel’s community park. Of course, safety regulations required welding old tanks shut long ago. Some have received new paint jobs to cover up the rust.
My brother and I were in a pretend paradise as we sat inside the old tank that warm summer day years ago. Our parents eventually coaxed us to emerge back into the real world.
Uncle Butch stood back, offering a slight smile. But I noticed he didn’t come close to the tank. Years later I determined why he kept his distance.
I eventually learned that in 1943, Walter “Butch” Williams was part of a Sherman tank crew with the American Army advancing in North Africa. The German Afrika Corps was being squeezed between the American and British armies in Tunisia that spring.
Butch was part of a tank unit deployed as support to American infantry during the fight for Hill 609. That number was based on the height in meters of the rocky summit near the town of El Krada. In northern Tunisia.
Historians claim four Sherman tanks were hit by German anti-tank fire during the assault. Butch was in one of those tanks. There were more than 2,000 casualties among American forces.
A nickname for the early Shermans was “Ronson,” the brand name of a popular cigarette lighter with the metal casing and flip-top lid. An old advertisement for the Ronson was it “lights up on the first hit” or the first stroke on the flint wheel. Due to thin armor around the fuel tank, a penetrating first hit would light up the Sherman tank. The Ronson nickname was a fine example of military dark humor.
Uncle Butch barely escaped from the burning tank. He was badly burned on much of his body. The war was over for him and he faced multiple surgeries with skin grafts and other procedures.
Back in Indiana, mom’s family must have feared receiving a telegram telling of Butch’s death. There were already blue stars on display in the window honoring the boys of the family in military service. Would Grandmother Williams have to display a gold star, symbol of a family member’s death in the war?
Butch would come home to Indiana. We visited his family different times. He never talked to us about the war. In fact, I did more talking around the dinner table than anyone during those visits. It was good to see him laugh at my stories.
I wonder if the tank in Eastside Park reminded him of that terrible day. Did he remember the screams of his comrades as the tank was burning? Or did he just want to forget all the pain he suffered during the battle and through the operations?
I do remember at one family gathering Uncle Butch was wearing a suit jacket. I noticed a small purple rectangle pinned on the lapel. I wondered what it stood for, but declined to ask him.
I later learned it was a Purple Heart ribbon. It was fitting that he wore it because he paid dearly for that honor.