I guess you had given up on me by now, although I have intended answering your letter all along. I did send the confirmation to the army a month or so ago verifying your account of that eventful night. Possibly you have heard from them since then. I made the following addition; "There is no doubt that Orville B. Iverson should receive the Purple Heart Award. I remember his injuries very well."

Ivy, it seems that I used to call you "Orv" in the service. Seems that I want to write that every time I write "ivy." Either will do I suppose--just one of those recollections, right or wrong.

Anyway, every time I have started to answer your letter I seem to go through a short period of depression, and then I procrastinate again. Maybe I have some delayed PTS, ha. you'd think it wouldn't bother us old folks any longer, but I have relived the Battle of the Bulge many times, especially that night, the night before we retreated to Liege and the first night in Liege. There was also that night near Isigny, on Omaha, when there was a false gas attack signal given; everyone was shooting at everyone thinking they were German infantry. Another GI tried to get in my foxhole, thinking it was his own. He was looking for his gas mask and couldn't find his own foxhole in the dark.

I'll now try to give you my account of the night in question. As you can see I'm a little long-winded when I finally do get started.

As I remember I had been on duty for a long time and was very tired; you remember the long hours, I'm sure. There was no one in my room in the school house except Olin Fritz, although there was ordinarily about five or six in a room. The rest were on duty. I believe it was dark when I got there to get a little rest, but I believe Fritz was already bedded down in his sleeping bag. I got in mine and proceeded to try to get some sleep; we were just both on the floor, no bunks.

I noticed that there were an unusual amount of buzz-bombs coming in that night. Do you remember the air raid siren that blew for the next one coming in? It was practically next door, I think. Joe Watson and I had discussed those buzz-bombs many times, as to where the safest place would be when they seemed to be getting too close. Since they exploded on contact, we decided that it would be safer underground no matter how shabby the building was. We also decided that our outfit was in a pretty good target area, if indeed the Germans did have a military target other than just hitting the city. I believe we were stationed pretty close to the bridge on the Muse River --I'm not sure of the spelling; maybe you have a good map of Belgium.

There was a basement in the building, and Joe, Charlie Harris, and I had explored it; not all of it, but just down the steps to the first room. I believe it was a furnace room, but I don't believe the furnace was in use. Anyway, it was below ground level, just barely. I remember that the ceiling was just supported by wooden posts about four inches in diameter; not very substantial. Anyway, we decided that was the best place to be, if it became necessary to go below ground.

Around one or two o'clock A.M. a bomb hit so close that it tore the windows out of the room where Fritz and I were. They had been coming close all night as I remember, but this one made a believer out of me. I tried to get Fritz to go to the basement with me, but he said he'd just take his chances upstairs; Fritz would never run from anything. We dug him out the next morning, you know. I'm sure he died instantly; I doubt if there was a bone in his body that wasn't broken. We didn't open his sleeping bag.

I don' t remember when Joe and Charlie went down, but they were there. Also Ivy, I seem to remember that that was the early morning of Dec. 29, not the night of Dec. 28. Correct me if I'm wrong. I had it in my little black book that I carried with me that on Dec. 28 at 2:38 a.m. we had a direct hit from a V-1 bomb.

I didn't take anything down with me except my sleeping bag and some blankets to throw over me. I had my clothing on as I remember, including my shoes. The next thing I remembered was that we were coughing and choking and looking for a way out; the stairs had been completely blocked by debris after the explosion. I think that initially we had all three been knocked unconscious, especially me because I was just under a vent to the outside. The vent was also blocked. Then a Belgian civilian came in from someplace and led us through some kind of passage under the building and finally to the street outside. If it hadn't been for that Belgian, all three of us would have died there. Our theory proved to be right about being below ground though; none of us were injured externally.

Someone gave me some clothing as I was about to freeze. The bodies and injured were being brought to the building next door, a library I found out later. I guess someone determined that I wasn't hurt too badly and decided it was OK for. me to help try to find the others. This is probably when you and I got together. Do you remember the little Mexican cook who was thrown against a stove? We could hear his screams but couldn't get to him. I also remember a Belgian who came to get his wife; they had an apartment next to the school. She and a GI had died together in bed; I'll never forget his distress and how sorry I felt for him.

After my discharge in Dec. '45, I started doing a little rabbit hunting. My ears would ache awfully on a cold damp day, so I went to a doctor about it. He examined me, and asked if my ears were ever injured in any way. I told him about the bombing. He said he could have guessed it because my eardrums were scarred and stretched like a tight drum; they were also convex to the opening where ordinarily one's eardrums are concave to the opening, hence the pain in cold weather. I feel lucky though because I hear very well compared to most my age. I just can' t stand much noise because my ears can't tune it out like others. I hear everything at once and it's very irritable at times.

Well, Ivy, that's my account of that night. Maybe I gave you more than you asked for or were expecting. Then again, maybe it was good for me to go over it again.

I hope you have gotten over your injuries from the accident, and that you and Mary and your children are all OK.....(personal information snipped from letter text) .....

Jim Monger
December 15,1988