Even though the military was segregated at the time, I don’t recall Dad ever talking about incidents of prejudice because he was Mexican-American. I think he always fit in well with the rest of the guys.
Dad wasn’t one of the original Toccoa men. He trained stateside then was shipped to England and arrived just before the D-day invasion. They kept the newer replacements out of that jump, holding them back to replenish the ranks when the invasion forces returned. He remembered being on the bus coming into the camp area and seeing the other guys gearing up for the invasion. It was quite a way to join Easy Company, he said.
Market-Garden was his first combat jump. He jumped, battled all through Holland with the other men of Easy, and continued on with the company through the end of the war.
In the “Crossroads” episode, the miniseries shows a scene where Easy was about to attack a German machine-gun nest at night. My dad was shown firing a rifle but was actually on the mortar squad with Skip Muck and Alex Penkala. Muck and Penkala were setting up the mortar tube, and the mortar squad was so close to the enemy that it looked like the mortar tube was practically straight up and down. My dad remembered thinking, “If there’s any wind, that shell’s gonna come right back down on our heads.” Fortunately, there wasn’t, it didn’t, and the shell took out the German machine-gun nest.
The next morning they were off the top of the dike and had taken cover at the base of it. Dick Winters decided that they should attack the Germans and had the men fix bayonets. A close-up is shown of my dad as he’s putting the bayonet on the end of his rifle. When my dad saw the scene, he said he remembered the exact moment back in 1944, and recalled that at that moment in his past he had thought, “This kind of stuff only happens in the movies.” How ironic.
In a later episode, during the mission to cross a river and capture German prisoners, the miniseries shows him and some other men falling into the river near Haguenau. Dad told me he was actually in the first boat going across, and they got across okay. But after they got to the other side, one of the following boats capsized: the one with the group’s lieutenant. Times like these, my dad’s sense of humor tended to show up, although it wasn’t the best timing. You can picture it: a cold, dimly lit night, and my dad’s on the far bank of the river with the other guys from his boat. The lieutenant comes up the bank, soaking wet, and my dad, being a smart-ass, whispers, “Hey lieutenant, you fall in the water?” The comment probably didn’t get a very good reception. Another detail he remembered about that mission was that he helped clear out some buildings. He had three grenades with him but dropped one, losing it in the mud, gave one to another guy, and tossed the last one into a cellar. It was also on this mission to get prisoners that he managed to collect a couple of souvenirs. After the patrol brought the German prisoners back to their quarters, my dad took out his bayonet and approached one of the prisoners in order to cut off some German patches. My dad remembered how the German’s eyes “went wide when he saw me walking towards him with me holding that knife.”
My dad apparently could make situations a little lighter without intending to. Once, after the major fighting of the Battle of the Bulge had taken place and Easy was moving away from Bastogne, the men were in the woods getting shelled. His buddy Les Hashey got hit by a tree splinter while in his foxhole. Hashey yelled out, “Hey Tony, I’m hit. I need help.” Dad asked, “How do you know?” Hashey yelled back, “My shoulder’s bleeding.” My dad felt pretty silly for asking the question. He and Hashey were the closest of friends, but my dad didn’t take too much to Hashey’s constant volunteering for patrols. I remember him telling us about one time Hashey was trying to get my dad to go along with him on a patrol, and my dad jokingly telling him, “You’re crazy. Get away from me.”
In the wintery cold of Bastogne, Dad was jumping across a stream while carrying an ammo bag containing six rounds of mortar ammunition. He misjudged the distance, broke the ice, fell into the stream, and got soaked. By the time the men reached the next town, his clothing had frozen, causing a crackling sound as he walked. There were no clean or dry clothes to change into, and the incident kept him out of duty that night because the men didn’t want to risk the noise. That was the only good thing about walking around in ice-covered clothes all day, he said.
I think that’s one of the ways my dad survived—by choosing to see things in the most positive light he could. He certainly saw the difficult experiences, too. In Bastogne he remembered seeing a horse in the snow with one of its legs shattered by a shell fragment, which he later wrote Stephen Ambrose about. The incident is mentioned in the book.7 Fortunately, one of the noncoms put the horse out of its misery. The incident affected my dad deeply. Consistently, he talked about how he couldn’t believe how brutal the war was. It didn’t matter who or what got in the way of shelling—men, buildings, horses—it was all destroyed in the end.
Family Man
After the war, Dad reentered high school in a different program and got his diploma. He graduated from high school in 1948, at the same time as his youngest sister. Although he attended a different school than she did, she remembers him as a popular guest at her senior prom. She was deluged with requests from her girlfriends for him to dance with them. He was a good looking “older man” to them, and a war hero. He was also an excellent dancer. He had excellent rhythm, and he and our Aunt Carmen used to enter and win dance contests. He enjoyed dancing throughout his life, and at the 2002 Easy Company Reunion in Phoenix, it was a real treat to see him and Aunt Carmen “cutting a rug” to some swing music, smooth as ever.
Dad spent about a year and a half at university. He drove a cab in San Francisco back then. In 1951, Dad left school to reenlist for the Korean War, along with his brother, Emilio, who we knew as Uncle Jay. Dad and Uncle Jay served in the same unit while in the Army. He was in the Airborne again, but not with the 101st, since it had been deactivated at the end of WWII. He had been a private during WWII, but was a sergeant in Korea because of his experience in WWII. Dad never talked about why he reenlisted other than he enjoyed the discipline of the Army. It was probably also out of a sense of duty, or even fun and adventure.
He didn’t talk a lot about that period of time, either. About the only story he ever told was on the humorous side. He was in the barracks with his brother, Uncle Jay, when a runner from headquarters came in, stood at the door, and yelled, “Hey Garcia, the lieutenant wants to see you.”
Dad yelled back down the length of the room: “Which Garcia? Ya gotta be more specific.”
The orderly said, “Doggone it, I don’t know,” left, went back to HQ, then returned to the barracks and said, “Sergeant Garcia.”
Dad yelled back down again, “Which Sergeant Garcia?” (He and his brother were both sergeants.)
The orderly shrugged again, went back to HQ to check again, then finally came back to the barracks and yelled, “Sergeant Tony Garcia.”
My dad yelled a simple “Okay—be right there,” and went to see the lieutenant. It wasn’t like there was a whole bunch of other Sergeant Garcias in the outfit (just the two of them); they were just messing with the guy for fun.
After Korea, Dad returned to San Francisco in the late 1950s and lived in a boardinghouse where he met our mother, Nancy, who lived in the same boardinghouse. During their dating, my dad, being somewhat presumptuous, said to my mom, “So, after we’re married . . .” and continued on with the conversation they were having. That was how he “proposed.” They were married in December 1958 at St. Dominic’s Catholic Church. Dad was working for Macy’s then as a warehouseman. He moved furniture around, stocking and restocking, and enjoyed the physical nature of the work. He stayed with Macy’s for about twenty-five years until he retired in the early 1980s.
Mom had been born in 1938, so there was fourteen years’ difference between them, but the age difference never seemed to affect my parents. Mom wasn’t of Mexican heritage, either. She was of English, Scottish, Irish, and Cherokee ancestry, and had been born and raised
in Little Rock, Arkansas. She moved out to San Francisco with her good friend in 1957 where they both worked for Pacific Bell. Growing up, we mostly weren’t aware of our mixed heritage. San Francisco was a strong collection of ethnicities even then, so we weren’t much different than most other families in our community.
Mom was the classic American housewife. She took care of us kids while Dad worked. She had been very active in high school, played basketball, and was a high school homecoming queen. As we grew older, she worked outside of the home for Pan Am, at the San Francisco International Airport, first in the statistics office, then she switched to being a PBX operator. Dad was a bit slower to adjust to her working outside the home. Once, Mom was working swing shift, and Dad was in charge of making dinner, which he almost never did. He set the table, boiled the spaghetti, and grated the parmesan cheese. He looked so proud. But then when he called us for dinner, he realized he forgot to make the sauce. We got to go to Pan Am that night and have an automat-style dinner with Mom.
They had four children together, two boys and two girls. We were a typical American family in many ways, just growing up eating macaroni and cheese, watching TV, always having fun among ourselves. One of my sister’s favorite memories is when we were little and went to the city swimming pool. All of us kids took turns climbing on Dad’s shoulders to jump off. He was tireless and could play like that for hours. Dad could be strict on the exterior, but he was mostly a softy inside. If us four kids got loud at the dinner table, his method of discipline was to say, “One more word out of any of you, and you’ll go eat dinner sitting at the top of the stairs.” The view from the top of the stairs wasn’t too bad, according to my sister Kelly. He could be hard on us, but it was all in the hope of keeping us out of danger. My sister remembers getting in trouble as a kid a few times, but no matter what she did wrong, whenever the punishment or fight was over, Dad would tell her that she was still his little princess. She always loved that he said that.
Dad enjoyed working with his hands. He enjoyed woodworking and kept a full workbench of tools and assorted paraphernalia he accumulated over the years. He’d rather fix something than buy it again.
He was an involved father and helped out with us kids. My brother and I joined the Boy Scouts. Dad also joined and went with us to Scout meetings and on hiking/camping trips. He helped us make Pinewood Derby cars, which we still have and are treasured possessions. One of my all-time favorite memories I have about my dad is when he built plastic models with my brother and me. I still have one of the first models I ever built.
You could say our religious life was fairly average. We were regular churchgoers at St. Elizabeth’s. We kids all took our first Holy Communions there, and my sisters went to the Catholic grade school for a couple of years. Mom grew up Baptist, but converted to Catholicism because my dad was Catholic. Both of my sisters were also married at St. Dominic’s, and my parents renewed their vows after my sister Kelly’s wedding ceremony.
In 1972, along with many other families in the neighborhood, we moved out of San Francisco to the suburbs in San Bruno, about twelve miles south of San Francisco. Dad kept the same job, transferring to a newer location in Colma, CA.
Dad always seemed well adjusted to us. He never succumbed to addictions or disturbing behavior. Except for the nightmares, the war never really showed outwardly. Essentially, he put the war aside and moved on with his life. He went to reunions and was heavily involved with the Northern California Chapter of the 101st Air Division. He was president of the chapter for a year. He went to the occasional Easy Company reunion, more so early on. It was harder to go when he was raising a family, and later while taking care of my mom. Dad had a strong network of friends and especially kept in contact with buddy Les Hashey, who lived in Maine. Periodically he phoned or wrote his commanding officer, Dick Winters.
I’m thankful we never had to worry about an insecure family life. What helped promote that? I think it’s because he came from a large, supportive family in the first place. He had a healthy, down-to-earth childhood, and learned to appreciate things because he went through the Depression as a kid. He had a good marriage to our mom, that’s for sure. And he was sure of himself. There was a real confidence about him. It’s as though he always knew what to do, and never had problems deciding on one course or another.
Dancing to the End
When the book Band of Brothers came out, Dad was very proud of the book and gave copies to friends and family. When the miniseries came out he was even more excited. We all were. We met Doug Spain, who came up from LA to meet us and to get to know my dad, the character he’d be portraying in the miniseries. That was one of the first times I ever heard dad talk openly in detail about the war. My parents didn’t have HBO, but they subscribed to it just to watch the miniseries. Doug Spain drove up from LA when the fourth episode aired to watch it with us. We had a big gathering with friends and neighbors to watch the episode.
HBO held premieres in various cities, with one in Sacramento. At first my dad didn’t want to go because of the difficulty of transporting, housing, and caring for my mom, but arrangements were made with the help of HBO and he decided to go. At the theater, after watching part of the first two episodes of the series, the four vets in attendance were invited up on stage and each given a plaque of appreciation by a local state representative.
Every five years, to commemorate the liberation of southern Holland, the Dutch hold a celebration in Eindhoven and invite the allies who had served there to join them. My dad started going to those events in the 1980s. The vets are treated like royalty. They are featured in parades, taken on bus tours of where they had fought, and invited to participate in ceremonies at war memorials. Dutch children come up to them to get autographs and hear stories. The Dutch hold a commemorative jump for those vets who want to jump again onto the drop zone that they jumped on for Operation Market-Garden. Several times my dad did his pre-qualifying jumps here in California, then jumped again with the vets in Holland. His last jump was in 1999, when he was 75. We were all a bit concerned for that one. As soon as he landed safely, my sister Stephanie ran up to him and gave him huge hugs of relief. I called my mother to let her know (and my Aunt Carmen and Uncle Bill, who had come out from Virginia to be with her) that he had jumped and was fine. He was one of about half a dozen vets to jump.
My mom retired in the early 1980s after she was no longer able to work due to multiple sclerosis. My dad retired in the late 1980s, basically to care for her full-time. He took on her care as his new life’s work. Her disease grew progressively worse. Eventually she lost the ability to use her arms and legs. He dressed her, fed her, bathed her, kept the house clean, and cooked meals. Even though my mom was confined to a wheelchair, my dad would still “dance” with her, moving around the dance floor. Dad always called mom “his girlfriend.” His devotion and loyalty were total.
Dad passed away first. In 1993 he had a mild stroke. Fortunately it didn’t affect him much physically, but he found it harder to put words together, and you could tell it was very frustrating for him. Plus, his hearing was starting to go. Then, he had a major stroke in August 2005, and he died twelve days later of complications. Dad was almost eighty-one when he died. I was on my way to work when my sister Kelly called me with the news. Dad was in the hospital when he passed. One of the last communications I had with him was shortly after he went into the hospital. I told him I loved him and was proud to be his son. His eyes were closed and he wasn’t able to speak, but he squeezed my hand in response, which meant the world to me.
We held a memorial service for him. It was touching to hear so many people talk well about him. Former coworkers from Macy’s talked about him having a good sense of humor. Several others talked about how they didn’t even know he had been in the military. The president of the Northern California 101st chapter spoke, “Taps” was played, then he gave my mom an American flag. It was a fitting tribute to his life.
My mother died as a result of the MS. Her bod
y had gradually grown weaker as happens with MS. She died in October 2006. Both he and my mom wanted to contribute even after they had passed away and had made arrangements to have their bodies donated for scientific research. Their ashes sit next to each other in the home where they spent so many years in San Bruno.
As for the war, sure, there were bad memories there for Dad, but he was able to put them aside and not let them jeopardize or seriously affect the rest of his life. He was devoted to raising a family and taking care of his wife and kids. I think that focus helped him a lot. He didn’t make a lot of money. He never became an executive. He worked with his hands his whole life, but I would still call him successful. Dad had a tough exterior, but was truly a softy inside. He was a selfless father and loved his family deeply. He was a good man, a man who truly loved his family and worked so hard to keep us safe and happy. He was always a gentleman and could laugh so easily.
One of my favorite memories comes from when we were little kids; we would take turns playing “airplane.” Dad would lie on his back on the floor, we would stand over him and he would put his foot on the middle of our chests and raise us up in the air, holding our hands, so we could pretend we were flying. That’s the picture of success I hold today. Tony Garcia was a man who loved his country, loved the men he fought with, loved his wife, and loved us kids. He loved us all to the end.
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PAUL “FRENCHY” LAMOUREUX
Interview with Jerry Lamoureux, son
We had never heard anything at all about the Band of Brothers.
I was doing some genealogy research at the beginning of 2001 and asked my father for his discharge papers. Out of curiosity I typed in “Easy Company 506th” on the Internet and found out about the book, that they had just made a movie, and that they were looking for veterans of Easy Company. I told my father, and his only comment was “Oh yeah?” I bought him the book, and, after he read it, he couldn’t sleep for a week. Literally. All those memories flooded back to him.
A Company of Heroes Page 3
