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Raymond is the son of Sergeant Ray Teske, Sr.
B Troop, 121st Squadron,
106th Cavalry
Memorial Day took on a very special meaning for me and my wife, Jane, this year. I have been a professor of criminal justice at Sam Houston State University since 1973, and I frequently travel to Europe to do research at the Max Planck Institute in Freiburg, Germanny. Freiburg is within several hours of some of the places where my father, Raymond Sr. served during World War II with the 106th Calvary Group.
Jane and I have visited the villages, homes, and even crossroads where my father served. In past years we had visited two of the American cemeteries: Epinal, located in Epinal, France, and the Lorraine Cemetery, located at St. Avold, France. We elected to attend the Memorial Day ceremony at the Lorraine Cemetery on the last Sunday in May. We were not disappointed--despite the occasional drizzle and rain shower. Following the ceremony, when all but a few had departed, the assistant director, a French woman who organized the ceremony, went with us to visit some of the graves. There are special rules for family members only--but some of these men, including from other troops, are like family to me. I was with them as a child at Camp Hood, and I heard about them all of my life from my father. The assistant director treated us like family, taking us to two graves we wanted to visit; putting the sand from Utah Beach, where my father landed, on the graves so the names would stand out in gold; and taking our photographs. We stood for a while at the grave of Tom Klump, an identical twin, who was killed on April 25, 1944, near Tagmershiem, Germany. He was in the lead that morning, and his twin brother, Jim, was two vehicles behind. My father (pictured above with the twins) was further back. I informed the woman and my wife that the first time I visited Sgt. Klump's grave I stood for a long time, with tears I could not hold back, and talked to him--among other things bringing greetings from my father. You have to reconcile the fact that the trooper laying there is not in his eighties, but rather that his life ended at the age of twenty-four. The woman told me that she walks among the graves every day and talks to her "children." And in the morning she stands looking over the graves and says, "Good morning, my children."
I have a cherished photograph, taken in France, of my father with his arms on the shoulders of Jim and Tom Klump. Two years ago, Tom's nephews--Jim, Jr. and Tom--and I remade the photograph. Like quite a few children of the troopers, we keep in contact with each other. Jim Klump Jr. told me how difficult it was when they returned with their father to visit Tom's grave. Two years ago my wife and I stood on the place where Tom was killed. The mayor of Tagmersheim took us to the exact place. We also visited the grave of Pvt. Carmen Picardi, who was killed on the night of December 2, 1944, fighting a large contingent of Germans while wounded and alone in his foxhole. His body was not found for twenty months, and I have spent hours helping his granddaughter learn more about her grandfather. Several times my wife and I have visited the place at Wimmenau where he was buried by the Germans in an unmarked grave. As we walked among the graves, my wife and I discussed the terrible tragedy and pain associated with each soldier buried there--even more so, perhaps, the unknowns and the names listed on the wall of the missing. Twenty-eight pairs of brothers are buried side-by-side in the Lorraine Cemetery. When I read the correspondence between the military and the families of the deceased troopers, I can sense the tremendous pain they experienced--and continue to experience.
Last spring a Frenchman we know found the dog tags of one of the soldiers listed on the wall of the missing at the Lorraine Cemetery. The soldier's family and former fiancée, who is now ninety years old, were contacted by our French acquaintance, as was the American military. A contingent of family members traveled to the Parroy Forest from America last year to visit the site where he died--on the date he was killed. Seldom do any Americans come to visit the graves--certainly, family members, if any remain, cannot come regularly. As we have done in the past, we read the guest books at the cemeteries. We were impressed by the many French who come to pay their respects, walking quietly among the graves. The Dutch go out of their way to visit American cemeteries. The citizens of Belgium come as do other nationalities. One from England saw our name in the past and wrote my father a letter thanking him. In Belgium each school child is assigned to an American grave to care for it and regularly place flowers. A village in France pays someone in California to take care of the grave of one of my father's fellow troopers and to have flowers regularly placed on his grave. They have not forgotten the great sacrifice made by the Americans who died liberating them from the oppression of the Nazis.
My father died in March 2005 at the age of eighty-eight and is buried at Oakwood Cemetery in Waco. At his graveside service, a sergeant stepped out with a caparisoned horse and followed him to the grave, leading my mother and the family. The sergeant stood at attention with the horse throughout the ceremony. We were surprised--no one had informed us that the military was sending the sergeant and horse (pictured above) from 120 miles away. The honor guard consisted of three soldiers who had just returned from Iraq. We believe it was their first time to serve as an honor guard, and it was quite evident that they were both moved and proud to have the opportunity to bury a combat veteran. My father always said that he was not a hero. He would say, "The heroes were left behind in Europe."
Dr. Raymond H. C. Teske, Jr. can be reached at 304 Elkins Lake, Huntsville, Texas 77340,
(936-295-6274), or by email at rteske@suddenlink.net
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