When John Francis graduated high school in 1942, he had little doubt he would end up in the service, but he knew he also wanted an education. He worked several jobs to earn money for college, including making incendiary bombs for the U.S. Army and clearing ditches for a cross country pipeline. He was not afraid of hard work.
John made it to Penn State University, and joined the ROTC and volunteered for active service at the end of his first semester. He was told one of the benefits of volunteering was he could choose which branch he served. He chose the Army Air Corps.
He finished his freshman year and was sent to Fort Eustis in Virginia for three months of basic training. Having passed all the flying prerequisites, he went to the Army Air Corps initial pilot cadet training at Dickinson College, followed by training on the North American Aviation T-6. Just as John completed his training, the U.S. Army announced it needed more ground troops and fewer pilots.
“It was the worst day of my life,” he said.
Change of Plans
John was transferred to the 66th Division at Camp Rucker in Alabama for more basic training, giving him a full year’s worth of training. While this wasn’t the path he wanted, “later on in France and Germany, I attributed my ability to survive on the battlefield to this extended year of basic training,” he said.
In September 1944, he arrived in Liverpool, England, and sailed across the English Channel, landing at Omaha Beach just three months after D-Day.
“We climbed to the top of a cliff and saw all of the white crosses marking the graves of those Americans who were killed during the landing invasion on June 6, and the ensuing fighting the subsequent weeks,” he recalls. “They just buried them right there.”
He was not assigned to a specific unit but filled in through replacement depots after casualties were lost. As they camped on the beaches of Normandy, they had no food and had to sneak into other units to steal provisions. He and a small group, including his best friend, Pete Francisco, received urgent shipping orders to be transported to Florence, Italy.
John Francis: In My Own Words from Veterans Breakfast Club on Vimeo.
Training Kicks In
He boarded a plane typically used for parachute teams, so it had no seats, just benches. They stopped in Lyon, France, where they managed to find a chicken, which they killed and ate among seven of them. The next morning, as the plane headed to Florence, they received an urgent radio call to gain altitude.
Before the pilot could react, the plane slammed into a mountain.
“I remember flying through the air in the plane, and then nothing after that,” John said. “I woke up with a fractured skull. After I got some memory back, I asked what happened. The fellow next to me said ‘you and two other fellows who were able to walk were pulling the other fellows out of the burning plane.’ That’s where my training kicked in.”
A gas tank on one of the wings had exploded, and as John and the other soldiers were pulling men from the twisted metal, the remaining gas tank exploded. As they left the fuselage for the last time, they dragged out the last unconscious solider, John’s best friend, Pete. Fourteen men lived, with four burned beyond recognition.
Two of the men went to find help, and after much convincing, found several French men to transport the wounded to a monastery that served as a hospital. The doctors “were interested in any chocolate we had, but would not give our injured any morphine,” John said.
About 12 hours later, an American team arrived and transported them out of the region. John had a concussion and skull fracture and permanently lost all hearing in his right ear.
At Home in a Foxhole
John returned to the replacement depot, where he was awarded a Soldier’s Medal. He was assigned to Company K, 398 Infantry Regiment of the 100th Infantry Division, whose mission was to prevent the Germans from advancing during the Battle of the Bulge. For three months, he and two other soldiers manned a foxhole, with one man always on guard while the two others rested, searched for food and tried to keep warm.
“There was a man lost every night to sniper or artillery fire,” John said. “We tried not to get to know the new guys, not wanting to lose more friends as time went on.”
“I can get 10 before they can start shooting.”
In March, his infantry was called behind the front line, and he finally thought he had a chance to rest and shower. Instead, he was handed a new uniform and sent back to the front. He crossed the Rhine on March 31, 1945, where his unit would soon fight its biggest battle at Heilbronn. He was selected as a runner to get more ammunition when needed.
His unit took over a power plant and factory zone in a place called Tower Hill. As his unit advanced on the opponent, he ran to get more ammunition. When he returned, he couldn’t find anyone from his unit, so he went back to headquarters. He and the lieutenant returned to the scene and found an opening in the German fortification wall through which they discovered the German fighting positions were empty.
“We were crouched down on one knee when we heard footsteps and then saw the Germans marching in columns of four to get back into the fighting holes – 40 to 50 Germans,” John said. “I said to the Lieutenant, ‘I can get 10 before they can start shooting. How many can you get?’ He said, ‘We are getting the hell out of here.’
“The two of us backed out through the hole in the wall and went back to report this information to headquarters. Without warning, an estimated 1,000 to 1,200 Germans poured out from every direction, including behind us, through a series of underground tunnels. We were able to withdraw back to the power plant, but those on Tower Hill were surrounded; dozens killed or captured.”
Fighting continued for nine days until the town of Heilbronn fell. John’s battalion earned its second Presidential Unit Citation for its efforts. His company then marched night and day to Stuttgart with little food or rest.
“I had a little tin of chicken tied with a string to my belt,” he said. “I cherished this tin, keeping it so I could eat it when we stopped. It fell on the ground, but I was so tired, I knew if I bent down to pick it up, I could not get back up again by myself.”
He learned of the Germans’ surrender while on Hitler Strasse (Street). With little time for celebration, his company began training for the Pacific Theatre, but fortunately, he never had to go to Japan. His unit occupied Stuttgart for several months until he finally left Europe on a troop carrier with 300 to 400 soldiers. His troubles weren’t quite over when the ship lost a propeller and bobbed in the ocean for several days, making everyone sea sick. He finally arrived back in the United States on Jan. 10, 1946.
As impactful and challenging as his service was, John, a resident of the Masonic Village at Sewickley, does not feel it influenced the rest of his life.
“It was good to be home,” he said. “I pretty much forgot about it after that.”
Without missing a beat, he returned to Penn State to finish his degree. This time, he had the support of the GI Bill, as well as the confidence that he could handle just about anything.