ROANOKE TIMES
Copyright (c) 1996, Roanoke Times
DATE: Wednesday, December 25, 1996 TAG: 9612260057
SECTION: VIRGINIA PAGE: A-1 EDITION: HOLIDAY
DATELINE: EAGLE ROCK
SOURCE: CODY LOWE STAFF WRITER
As he's learned in the last few months to cope with the effects of Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis - commonly known as ALS or Lou Gehrig's disease, Bill Simmons has become proficient at piloting himself around in a wheelchair.
With an ease that belies its difficulty, Simmons maneuvers through the day-to-day obstacle course of desk and chairs and couches and tables that fill the Eagle Rock Funeral Home he owns and operates with his wife, Myrtie.
If a visitor knew a bit of Simmons' history, he might not be surprised that Simmons has taken to driving this new vehicle with such expertise. After all, a guy who steered a U.S. Army half-track along the front lines into Germany during the last 18 months of World War II isn't likely to be stumped by anything as tame as a chair with wheels.
Yet even a longtime acquaintance might be excused for unfamiliarity with Simmons' combat experiences, since the veteran doesn't talk all that much about them.
But if a visitor were to hear a story about World War II from Simmons, it likely would be the one about Christmas 1945 - a narrative that includes a short, spindly evergreen, a little bowl of sugar cookies, and a measure of the true spirit of the season. |n n| Early in December 1945, thousands of American soldiers were finally on their way out of Germany and headed for Christmas back in the States with their loved ones.
Bill Simmons of Eagle Rock was among those lucky ones.
For a year and a half, his outfit had moved their tanks up and down the front lines to support whatever troops needed them.
That translated into long periods of extended combat.
Simmons once spent a stretch of more than 100 days in which his unit engaged the enemy every single day. For one 30-day period, his boots never came off his feet. He often was posted "like a sitting duck" on a high place to pass radio messages between the front and headquarters.
But now the war was over. Germany had surrendered seven months earlier; Japan four months ago. Home was only an ocean away.
Unfortunately, the ocean wasn't cooperating with the Americans' plans. Rough seas delayed crossings by the ships scheduled to carry the men home.
So, even before his troop train was able to get out of Germany, Simmons found himself with hundreds of other men transferred to trucks and hauled into rural villages. There they were dropped off and told to find local housing until they could resume their journey to the French coast.
Simmons and two other men landed at the door of a little general store. Inside, they found a couple in their late 60s or early 70s.
"We didn't speak any German, and they didn't speak any English," Simmons recalls. "But somehow we made them understand that we needed a place to stay."
The couple let the men know "we could use their house, that they lived in the back of the store."
"So, the three of us moved into their attic," in the house adjoining the store.
Though the village appeared to have been spared the direct ravages of combat, it nevertheless felt the effects of war.
The couple scraped out a meager existence.
Despite the language barrier, the soldiers learned that the husband had once been a conductor on a German railroad. But because he had declined to join the Nazi party, he said, he lost that job.
So, he and his wife ran a little store to serve the village's inhabitants - virtually all of whom were farmers.
Families slept in their homes in the village at night and drove their wagons out to the fields each morning. The women baked bread in a round communal oven, feeding their loaves in and out of its several doors with wide wooden paddles.
And the villagers might stop in at the little store for some supplies. But, as the soldiers noticed, the business was filled mostly with empty shelves. As was the case in many other places, including the United States, even staples - such as coal and sugar - were scarce or nonexistent.
"We talked about it among ourselves," Simmons recalls, "about how little stock they had. We wondered how they could make a living."
Whatever animosities there might have been just a few months before between American soldiers and German civilians seemed to have dissipated by this time.
"We didn't have anything to do while we were there," Simmons recalled, "so every time the old gentleman went out looking for something to burn, we'd go out with him.
"We'd pick up dried cow manure or twigs or anything we could find that would burn," ferrying it back to the couple's home in a four-wheeled wagon.
"Then when the Army brought some coal in and divided it among the different rooms" where soldiers were billeted, "we gave these old people part of the coal we were given."
Their time in the village stretched on and on, and it became evident that the men were not going to get home for Christmas. Despite their disappointment, Simmons and his companions continued to find ways to show their affection for the couple who had taken them in.
"The cooks in the mess outfit would put out cases of unsweetened grapefruit juice. The soldiers wouldn't drink it, so we would take a couple of cans every time they would put it out and give it to these old people.
"And every time that there was lump sugar on the table, we would take a piece of paper with us and wrap two or three lumps of sugar - whatever we could get by with - and take those down and give them to the old lady."
"Then Christmastime came. We told them not to prepare their meal, that we'd bring their meal to them.
"We made arrangements with the cooks - I believe it cost us $10 - to get two meals, and we carried those at Christmastime to those old folks in the store.
"Then we went upstairs to our room.
"We found that the old lady had prepared a little Christmas tree for us. It was a limb off of an evergreen tree - standing in some dirt in an empty grapefruit-juice can.
"It had several balls on it. Some of them were broken and several, maybe, were sycamore balls covered with tin foil.
"And in front of that tree was a plate of sugar cookies.
"The old lady had saved the sugar we had swiped for her and had made some cookies for us."
Over the years, Simmons, who turned 74 Tuesday, has forgotten the name of that little German village. He doesn't believe he ever knew the names of the old couple who welcomed former enemies into their home.
But, Dec. 25, 1945, "is a Christmas that I'll never forget."
LENGTH: Long : 122 lines ILLUSTRATION: PHOTO: CINDY PINKSTON\Staff. 1. Bill Simmons, owner of Eagleby CNBRock Funeral Home, says December 25, 1945, was a Christmas he'll
never forget. color. 2. The 1945 Christmas tree set out and
decorated by a German couple for Bill Simmons and his friends.