Tuesday

Dear Miss Blaney,

I haven’t much time to write now as I am at Camp Devens for the holidays. A Merry Christmas + Happy New Year to you.

I shall write to you just as soon as I can.

Nick Coracci

[Transcription ends]

HEADQUARTERS
23RD QUARTERMASTER TRUCK REGIMENT
OFFICE OF THE COMMANDING OFFICER

In reply refer to:

Camp Barkeley, Texas
17 May 1943

Dear Miss Blaney,

I have just written to Dr. Jacobs asking him to write a letter of recommendation for me as I have just made application to attend the Adjutant General’s School at Fort Washington, Maryland. Since I have not yet answered your letter nor thanked the Bryant Service Club for the cigarettes which I have received and smoked, I thought that it was about time that I took care of my obligations.

The BSC should be proud as a new father of the very fine job that they are doing. It makes a feller stick out his chest as he replies to the many questions he is asked about the package which he ahs just received “that package is a carton of cigarettes send to me by my Alma Mater.” The BSC has a right to stick out its chest, too.

As you can see, we are back from maneuvers down in Louisiana and are now at our home station. The weather here is getting very hot and when I say hot I mean hot in the real sense of the work. Every night I feel as though I had just been to a Turkish Bath. The evenings, however, are very cool and conducive to a good night’s sleep if we are lucky enough to retire early. I have not been one of the fortunate ones.

We are still as busy as bees and I did not leave this office until two o’clock this morning. It goes on like that for weeks and then one night, Praise Allah, imagine! I get the opportunity to depart this headquarters at about eleven o’clock.

This is not one of my eleven o’clock nights, Miss Blaney, but I did want to say hello again. I have had to change typewriters three times, so please excuse the different shades which you find in this letter.

Say hello to all my friends at Bryant for me please and inform them that if I don’t write, I at least think of them often.

When I arise for Reveille this morning, I will have had two and one half hours of sleep. That will give you and idea of how late we work in this headquarters.

Top of the morning to you.

Nick Coracci [Transcription ends]

HQ & HQ DET, 201 GAS SUPPLY BN
Camp Barkeley, Texas

3 January 1943

Dear Miss Blaney,

Just a few lines to let you know where they finally sent Uncle Sam’s chubby nephew. As you can see from the heading, it is just a stone’s throw from home.

I miss the East very much. In Texas, the days are rather warm and the nights very cold. Especially at this time of year, there is a great deal of wind. There is not a tree in sight on the Post and outside the Post there is just scrub. The only hills one sees are the plateaus. No flowers, no green grass, nothing but plain flat land.

My work so far has been varied. I am connected with Regimental Headquarters and work with the Personnel Officer and the Colonel’s Adjutant. However, I expect a change very shortly as there are new orders coming in.

We are going to school to learn how to be clerks and also the administration of this particular corps. While we are going to school in the evening, we will also be working in the field receiving our basic training one day and clerking at Headquarters the next day. I can understand now why some of the boys did not answer the BSC’s letters and gifts. I even work on Sundays.

I should appreciate it very much if you would say hello to everyone at Bryant and especially the BSC.

I have just been ordered to drive the Adjutant around the Post this afternoon so I must end this letter before he calls me. You see we do everything here at Headquarters. The orderlys [sic] are all busy and so one of the clerks must drive him. I have been elected.

I shall be very glad to hear from you. I have just been called, so “Bye now.”

Nick Coracci [Transcription ends]

HEADQUARTERS
Third United States Army
G-3 Section
APO 403
c/o Postmaster
New York, New York

5 January 1945

Bryant Service Club
Bryant College
Providence, Rhode Island

Dear Members,

Well, you are certainly around my neck this time. Your lovely gift package was handed to me today. The scarf is grand and something I needed for a long time. The weather here, “Somewhere in Luxembourg,” is not cold enough for an overcoat, but it does call for something around your neck.

Thanks a million and I shall wear it every time I go outside. I desire to thank the person who took all the time and trouble to knit so that I might have a scarf. She did a grand job of it and deserves more than my humble thanks.

Also please thank the person who donated the wool which went into the scarf. To give up so much wool when it is so scarce shows that the person was not selfish.

In fact, that is the theme of this letter. Please give my thanks to all the unselfish people who gave of their time, efforts, and material to give us fellows over here a taste of Christmas as we in America know it.

Turkey and all the “fixin’s” were served us on Christmas Day and we sure did justice to it. I’ll bet I gained about ten pounds and if you have ever seen me, you will know that I cannot stand putting on an ounce.

Please forgive me if I do not write a long letter this time as we are very very busy. I am sandwiching this letter in between many jobs which I have to do.

Please remember me to all my good friends at Bryant.

A Happy New Year to you all and again--many many thanks for the lovely scarf.

Sincerely,
Nicholas C. Coracci [Transcription ends]

CAMP BARKELEY, TEXAS

Thursday, Jan. 28, 1943

Dear Miss Blaney,

I’m sitting on my bunk in Hutment (?) No. 9 writing this note at about 2:15 P.M. The reason I am here and not drilling is I am on the sick list. When I first arrived in Texas, I caught one of those Texas colds as did most of the boys from the East. Today is the first time mine really got the better of me. However, this is not supposed to be a “sob” letter.

The package from the B.S.C.’s Cigarette Committee came last week, but this has been my first opportunity to write and express my sincere thanks for it. I wish I could really put into words how a gift such as the one from B.S.C. makes a soldier feel. I am not a soldier as yet, but still in the processing stage, however they call us soldiers.

I was just rereading your letter and I came to the part “where you are.” Right now I am 12 miles from Abilene, Texas, but we had our first overseas alert Monday and probably within a month we will be enroute for parts unknown, at least to us. It gave us all a funny feeling, but we all agreed that we were a little bit anxious to get over. So you see it will be a little difficult to keep you posted. I shall do my best though to drop you a card once in awhile.

My duties, as I guess I told you, are taking dictation from our Regtl. Commander, Col. McCoy, an old World War I soldier, Major Whitsett, the Executive Officer, and Lt. Writner, the Adjutant. They keep me busy and up till Tuesday night, I worked until 1 or 2 o’clock in the morning. You see it is the largest Truck Regiment in the Army and as a result this Headquarters is BUSY. We have about 4 companies on maneuvers and several more in active duty. The remainder is at Cp Barkeley (Cp is abbrev. for Camp).

It is nice working at Hq even though the hours are long. Every officer in the Regiment drops in and the Military Correspondence is interesting. I have this advantage over most of the boys as I take all the confidential “stuff” but of course I am sworn to secrecy.

The Military abbreviations and the set-up of Military Correspondence is, of course, quite different from civilian life and it is a fine thing that Bryant installed a course in the Military this year. By the way, a fellow with a working knowledge of Shorthand “gets places” in the Army.

We have just had a cold spell here and it looks as though we were [sic] in for a hot spell now. The weather here is more changeable than in New England. I heard you are having quite a storm there. I feel sorry for the folks back home--what with no oil--rationing of food stuffs, etc.

You see in the Army we get everything--even butter. There is also a great deal of waste which is unnecessary. Our three meals are very large, so much so that I have given up eating breakfast. (I can stand it.) I am losing weight, not so much as I thought though.

I just purchased a San Antonio paper, The San Antonio Light, and the War news is very encouraging. San Antonio is about 2 - 3 hours ride from here, I think. Our American fliers are doing a nice job over there in the Rhineland.

The news in your letter was also interesting. And I certainly shall feel free to ask for anything. That was very very nice of you. I always did feel very much at home at Bryant.

Please remember me to everyone at Bryant and especially the B.S.C. and pray for all the boys in the Service.

Very sincerely,
Nick Coracci [Transcription ends]

My most grateful thanks for my gift. Last year I did not know how it felt to be the recipient of one of Bryant Service Club’s gifts, but this year I am. It puts a lump in one’s throat and an extra beat in one’s heart to know that one is not forgotten. The boys at Headquarters are envious of my connections with the B.S.C. Thanks a million.

Nick Coracci
[Feb. 2, 1943] [Transcription ends]

SGT. N. C. CORACCI
HQ THIRD U.S. ARMY
APO 9563, c/o POSTMASTER
NEW YORK, NEW YORK

MISS CLARA C BLANEY
BRYANT COLLEGE
PROVIDENCE, RHODE ISLAND
U. S. A.

11 FEBRUARY 1944

Dear Miss Blaney,

It is about time that I have written to you, isn’t it. You can tell from the V-Mail letter that I am no longer in the States. However, I can not [sic] inform you of my whereabouts at present as we are not permitted to divulge our location or the country in which we are stationed. Perhaps in a month or so I shall be able to give you more information about what has taken place since I last wrote to you.

How is your new position shaping up? Do you mind doing two jobs in one? You must be really busy now considering how busy you were with just the publicity. I always did say that if you wanted anything done, give it to a busy person. You are she.

How is the enrollment this year? Have you any boys at all attending? It really must be as Mr. Allan says--a girls’ seminary. I really think all the boys are in the services. Some of the young men whom I have seen here are no more than youngsters. I feel like an old man along side of them.

The locale in which our camp is situated is very picturesque. Another chap and I were given last Sunday afternoon off and we strolled all over the place. It was lovely. Imagine that they are just full of antiques. There are two antique shops in the town near our camp which I hope to get into some of these days. I do not know just when as we work seven days a week here. I am sure that I could pick up some nice pieces if I ever have the opportunity to visit its shops.

I have been able to eat several meals in the hotel in the town. They were very good and I enjoyed the atmosphere. It is a very old hotel and it also is filled with antiques. You would be amused at the pictures on the walls of one room. They are supposed to be funny and the sayings under them are termed witty. However, none of us can see the humor in them. The pictures themselves are on the style of Godey.

The countryside is very lovely and I imagine in the summer time it is just grand. I hope that I am here when summer comes around so that I can enjoy the beautiful scenery. The town just sets in the middle of all this scenic beauty and is very quaint. It looks like something out of a book. It is just as peaceful as though it were in a world all by itself. Ironic isn’t it. In the midst of this terrible war to be sent to someplace that that [sic] has all the earmarks of a New England town nestled in the valley away from the hustle and bustle of the city. A place, perhaps, where the natives have never journeyed beyond the boundaries and do not know that there is turmoil on the outside. That is just the impression I had when I walked around this town last Sunday afternoon.

Well, Miss Blaney, I guess I will end now. Please remember me to everyone at the college and to the Bryant Service Club. I believe that I owe them an acknowledgement of a package. Please inform them that I have received it quite some time ago.

Sincerely,
Nick [Transcription ends]

HEADQUARTERS
Third United States Army
G-3 Section
APO 403
c/o Postmaster
New York, New York

22 April 1944

Bryant Service Club
Bryant College
Providence, Rhode Island

Dear Members,

A very cheerful note was delivered to me yesterday--one that brought back fond memories and happy hours. Yes, it was the Bryant Service Club’s letter to Bryant Alumni. A courier of glad tidings and news of my Alma Mater.

When a fellow receives such a note from a group of people like you--people who are practically strangers to him and yet people who are the friendliest of his friends who exert all their efforts to keep him in good spirits in this period of his life--you can feel sure that your mission has been thoroughly accomplished. I am certain, too, that the other boys must feel as I do about your letters.

Your letters are as welcome as the sun over here in England. Old Sol does not get out very often in the land of John Bull. O, he does stick his head out in front of the fog every once in awhile, but he is disinclined, I think, to cope with the inclemency of the weather over here.

However, in spite of the atmospheric conditions existing in the UK, the country is a very beautiful one--everything which Shelley, Byron, Shakespeare, and all the other great English authors have written about it is true. It is quite relaxing to stroll over the terrain and past old churches and graveyards--you just know what Thomas Gray was trying to put across about the latter.

Meandering through the sanctum sanctorum of God’s animals, you feel that you are walking about the countryside of New England--the rolling landscape, green green grass, daffodils, etc. You just know that the next person who speaks to you will have a New Hampshire drawl, or a Maine patois, or the provincialisms of Vermont. Instead, you hear a bright “Cheerio” which, of course, puts you right back in the United Kingdom.

The natives here are very friendly and try everything in their power to keep the Yanks happy. No matter how amicable they are, though, they cannot take the place of the folks back home. The inimitable “Hya Joe” or “Hello, Bryant Alumnus” cannot be supplanted by their “Cheerio” however bright it may be.

And speaking of the “folks back home,” please remember me to Dr. Jacobs, Mr. Gardner Jacobs, Mr. Allan, Miss Blaney, the faculty and clerical force, and the student body of Bryant. I think of them all quite often.

As you can see from the heading of this letter, I am a member of an Army headquarters and because I am a part of such an organization it is best that I do not attempt to inform you of anything I might do. I am sure you will appreciate my reticence. I can tell you that I am secretary to the Colonel who is at the head of our section.

Quite a number of you are looking forward to your graduation which will take place soon. May I admonish each one of you “that the cemeteries are filled with indispensable men” and that when you do enter the business world or the professional world, you are just about to begin your life of study. That which you have just completed is the preliminary period which is requisite prior to the actual undertaking of your career. Everything will be new to you--study everything thoroughly, learn to make quick decisions, and above all give your very best to the employer who has placed his confidence in you. Great rewards will be forthcoming, but they will be commensurate with your efforts. May success always accompany your endeavors.

Good luck to all of you at Bryant and thanks from the bottom of my heart for remembering me.

I have not received your package as yet, but when I do I am sure I shall enjoy its contents immensely.

Au revoir, my friends,

Sincerely,
Nick Coracci [Transcription ends]

HEADQUARTERS
Third United States Army
G-3 Section
APO 403
c/o Postmaster
New York, New York

GERMANY
9 May 1945

Dear Miss Blaney,

I am thoroughly ashamed of myself for not writing to you sooner, but I am sure you will forgive me. We have just completed the heinous job of conquering the Germans and everyone here is mighty glad that it has ended. There have been no celebrations, but we certainly feel great and trust now that it will not be very long before departing these parts for the United States.

After spending three very nice, but suspenseful, months in the beautiful, picturesque city of Luxembourg, capital of the Grande Duchy de Luxembourg, we received orders to prepare for movement into Germany. It gave me a rather funny feeling for up to then we were fighting in liberated countries. None of us knew what to expect, but I assure you we did not look for anything good. Our orders came and we loaded the trucks during the afternoon of 26 March. The following morning we assembled and were briefed and instructed to man all guns in case of an air attack and left our CP at 0800.

The weather was rather cool and cloudy and I am happy to relate that the trip was uneventful, but enjoyable. Driving along the Moselle River into Trier, we passed countless vineyards on the hills and in the plain country. As you can guess, this area is the home of the famous Moselle Wine. The hills were very steep and the vines ran up and down, in some of the places almost straight up. Every so often you would see a path winding around the hill and disappearing in the distance.

Parts of Trier (the oldest city in Germany and probably in Europe) had been badly damaged by artillery and air poundings, while other parts were undamaged. On the whole, though, there was very little of the city which could be considered in good condition. Our air pulverization policy was quite thorough and played no favorites.

The fields throughout the section of Germany that we have traveled so far are laid out very symmetrically. They have very few fences--just open fields stretching great distances until suddenly interrupted by high hills. Every available piece of land is used for agricultural purposes; even high up on the sides of the hills, otherwise covered by brush, there are small plots of plowed ground.

A common sight in the fields were the teams of oxen and cows--horses are a rarity now. Women have replaced the men who went to war.

Our first stop in Germany was at Idar-Oberstein. Our CP was located in the showplace of the German Army. The Caserne was built on top of a plateau--the highest spot in town. The buildings were very well built. The foundations were of colored stone, the upper wall a dark green stucco, and the roofs red tile.

This Caserne was used for publicity purposes throughout Germany to induce German youth to enlist in the Wehrmacht before conscription was put into effect.

We could overlook the city of Oberstein from our office window as it was built in the valley between very high hills and extended for several miles on either side of a small stream. It was a pretty little town and clean except for the rubble caused by bombings.

The CP remained in Idar-Oberstein for one week, then drove deeper into Germany after crossing the Rhine River, going through more typical countryside and climbing higher into the hills. Our new CP was located at Frankfurt am Main.

Passing through Mainz while en route to Frankfurt, I saw not one building standing intact. The city was completely and utterly destroyed, apparently sometime ago by the RAF. It was just one huge mass of rubble. In spite of that fact, the people were well dressed and seemingly in good health. At least, they looked healthy enough. Throughout Germany, for the most part, the older people just stand and stare whereas the smaller children feebly wave. Some of the youngsters ask for cigarettes and chocolate as we pass by, but never receive any.

It was at Mainz where we crossed the Rhine River over a ponton bridge. It was the longest tactical ponton bridge ever constructed--1896 feet long. The site chosen for the bridge had evidently been a ferry site for on both sides of the river were decorative gateways and steps leading down to the water. The main bridge further downstream and the railroad bridge upstream had, of course, been destroyed.

It was a beautiful, sunny day for our move. We drove through the destroyed city of Frankfurt to our new location on the north side of the city. F.W. Woolworth had a large store in this city. This time we were located in a German Cavalry School. There was a large equestrienne statue on the gatepost and a majority of the buildings were stables. The buildings were gray stucco and in bad repair. As a matter of fact, they lacked everything--even water. Our engineers quickly remedied that, however, and the next day we had running water. We found a training schedule dated March, 1945, posted on a bulletin board on the first floor of the building we used as billets for the enlisted men.

Leaving Frankfurt on 11 April, we traveled on the Autobahn (super highway) to Hersfeld. The day was chilly, but the sun was very bright and warm. During the entire trip, there was a steady stream of 047s shuttling back and forth carrying supplies to the front and evacuating wounded and liberated PWs to the rear. These transports were certainly a great aid in this war and did a number of varied jobs other than what they were intended for.

Driving along the Autobahn just out of Frankfurt via a cloverleaf turn, we were amazed to find that it was in fairly good shape. We drove on this super highway for approximately 75 miles. It is a double-lane highway divided by a narrow strip of grass. It is not so well groomed as our Merritt Parkway at home, but quite a pleasant change from the ordinary type of road. Extensive use is made of bridges and overpasses so that we did not have to cross other roads. Several bridges had been blown and in one instance we had to pass over a bridge which had partially dropped down into the river bed yet was strong enough to allow us to drive over it. There were very few gasoline stations except at road junctions. The highway encircles the station, giving them pumps at all the intersections. Most of them had been burned or damaged by bombs.

The Colonel, Captain, and I took a side road in order to visit a military cemetary [sic] where one of the officers of this headquarters had been buried. He had been killed on a trip, having been ambushed by the Krauts.

At that cemetary [sic] I saw dead men with no heads, arms, or legs. It was a sight that made you hate every German who was able to walk or breathe. Fortunately, I do not know how else to express it, there were not many dead being brought in.

Finally, we arrived at our CP in Hersfeld. It was one of the better-class Casernes of Germany. Perched on top of the gate was a large steel German eagle which General P immediately had taken down. The buildings were of tan stucco and in excellent shape. Once again, we were situated high on a hill.

For the first time in all our moves across France, Luxembourg, and Germany, we had PWs to unload and carry our equipment for us. It was a great help as “moving day” is quite a strenuous one.

The Autobahn was just a short distance away and the traffic was never ending. Almost every night, the convoys would be strafed and on one night a lone German plane bombed the highway at a spot not very far away from us.

Nestled in the valley by a small stream, an Evacuation Hospital was set up in tents and up on the hill, just south of us, was the Liaison squadron. The Squadron has Piper Cubs which are used in conjunction with our Liaison Section. Our Liaison Officers use them to fly to their headquarters and back to Army in order to expedite the dissemination of information. On several occasions, our only communication with an outfit was by plane. The “Grasshoppers” could be seen landing and taking off all day long. We were also on the main route of the C47s and from the first ray of dawn to the last streak of sunset, you could hear and see them flying back and forth between the rear and the front lines.

It was at Hersfeld that we saw our first movies in Germany. They are a wonderful aid in helping us to relax and we all missed them.

We were told that we were to move to Weimar. Weimar is just about five miles from the notorious Buchenwald Concentration, or more aptly called, extermination camp. Everyone was making the trip and coming back with some horrible stories. The Colonel came in and asked me if I would like to see the camp and of course I said I would. A day off would benefit me a great deal. So on the morrow, we were to drive to Buchenwald.

The narrative I am about to write will not be a very pleasant vehicle to read. In fact, I shall do a very poor job of expressing in words that which I saw with my own eyes. It will be very difficult for you to visualize or conceive of the things about which I shall write. My words or even the words of the most competent author could not completely portray the scenes which I witnessed. Anything I might state on the ensuing pages will be most inadequate. The pictures that you will see and the stories that you will hear are no exaggerations of the actual conditions that existed.

It was a beautiful day and we drove along a super highway most of the time. This is certainly a beautiful country and for the life of me I cannot understand the attitude of these people. Hitler sure did catch them during a weak spell to be able to abrogate whatever good principles (if they ever had any) for which they strove before he became the power.

As I mentioned above, the day was lovely and the road a good one . . . such a contrast to the horrible pictures we were to see. The scenic beauty of this country on either side of the highway was magnificent. God’s handiwork very deftly accomplished. The grass was green and the foliated shrubbery and trees proudly boasted of their splendor as they wearisomely swayed in the gentle breezes. Despite these implications, however, everything seemed so much alive and very happy about it. Occasionally--especially while driving through a town or city--you were aware that some holocaust had been or was taking place. Out in the country, the only signs of war were the many women who were doing the work which would have otherwise been done by the men--absentees, who would (I boldly imagine) much rather be tilling the soil.

We consumed our K Ration in just such a spot. The birds were chirping happily in the trees and the only other sounds we heard were the hoarse, gutteral [sic] voices of the women giving directions to the animals (horses are replaced by cows and oxen). We spent about thirty minutes in that tranquill [sic] setting and then proceded [sic] to our destination. As I look back on our journey to this place, it was a shame to continue.

Yes, our journey’s end brought us to the Buchenwald Concentration Camp. We over here have read and heard tales of the events which took place at such a camp, but in order to have an unrestricted conception of the atrocities which took place you really must visit one of these “centers” in order to possess the full realization of how these people thought and worked. They are beasts and nothing more.

We approached this concentration camp driving along this beautiful road and saw what was once a large modern factory. In fact, there were many such buildings--munitions factories. On our right was the camp with a high barbed wire fence around it and many guard posts located at evenly spaced intervals.

With problem of parking our vehicle settled, the three of us received passes and entered the camp proper through huge heavy gates. Once inside, you immediately felt like turning around and leaving. The Colonel asked one of the prisoners--liberated by our troops--to be our guide. We hesitated a moment to take a panoramic view of the camp. There were many buildings used as barracks or blocks as the Germans called them and many prisoners were strolling aimlessly about the grounds….freed, but still bound by a year or two or three and perhaps longer of conditioning to the German yoke.

Our guide thought it best to proceed to the right and walk down to the rear, across the rear and back up on the left to the gate. Before we began the “tour,” we were told of everything that happened in the different buildings.

The first building was a small one and located within a very high fence which made it quite intriguing and we all wondered what occurred within such an enclosure. We soon learned. Inside the fence, we walked to the building, which was constructed something similar to a cottage. We descended a flight of stairs and found ourselves in a spotlessly white room with absolutely nothing in it but five hooks in the wall near the ceiling, a very heavy mallet, and an elevator. The hooks were used to hang the prisoners--two on a hook--and the mallet used to complete the job if the hanging proved ineffective. The elevator was then put into motion to carry the bodies upstairs to the crematorium.

There were twelve ovens in this crematorium, each large enough to accommodate a very tall person or a very stout person. They were huge things encased in brick and meticulously in order. However, when we overran the camp, these fiends did not have enough time to remove three charred bodies, each one in a separate oven. They were mute evidence of what happened to the helpless dead. I began to get a funny feeling inside of me. Just then the Major motioned to me to look out of the window. I did--and I could not believe my eyes.

Just outside the window, stacked like so many crates, were the naked bodies of about fifty dead men. What a sight! Horror and fright written on every face. These men died the previous night from “natural” causes. Yes, from natural causes such as starvation, maltreatment, etc. The prisoners were made to carry these bodies from the blocks and place them outside the crematorium all ready for the final stage of this diabolical pattern.

The guide informed us that their meals consisted of 10 grams of oleo at about 0800. Their next “meal” was served at 2000 and it was just a very small slice of dark bread. In about an hour or at 2100 hours, they were given one-seventh of a tin of corned beef. Sometimes they would receive just the oleo and nothing else. Oh, yes, they were given a cup of water during the day, also, but never with their meals.

Even though we moved away from that horrible building, the scenes I had witnessed remained in my mind and will for a long time to come. We walked down one of the streets lined with barracks or blocks as they are called and among the inmates. Some were dressed in gray uniforms with vertical green strips. These were the “honored” ones and were permitted to work in the armament factories (now just a mass of rubble) across the road. Others were clad in what was once a white uniform with vertical blue stripes. These people never left the camp, but did the menial chores about the place.

By the way, their clothing--for all seasons--consisted of one pair of trousers and one shirt….no shoes, stockings, underclothing, or winter clothing such as an overcoat, gloves, etc. They could never launder these articles as they were all they received.

The blocks were constructed of wood and in bad repair. Living conditions were miserable, filthy. You cannot conceive, no matter how vivid your imagination, of the existence these humans endured. The bedding was the same issued to them the first day they entered the camp. Since most of the prisoners had been there for at least two years, and some longer, you can guess the status of the bedding. However, our troops had given some of them clean bedding the day before our visit. The guide told us that these buildings were considered fine barracks compared with Block #61. I thought they were awful and really did not care to go any further. We began to get whiffs of a stench which is beyond description.

It seemed miles to Block #61. It was set off by itself in another section with a barbed wire fence all around it. The stench was terrific. I cannot ever remember seeing such a filthy place. The prisoners were walking about--that is, those who were strong enough to walk….skeletons, with flesh tightly pulled over their bones. They were horrible sights, but through no fault of their own. Most of them were simple-minded individuals now--their mouths open wide and their eyes fixed in a stare.

Inside Block #61, there were hundreds in bed. To call shelves beds is a misnomer. Yes, there were shelves all along both walls up to the ceiling. I think there were four or five shelves stretched out the entire length of the building. These men were placed on these shelves like bottles of wine--about six men to an area six feet wide. I do not know how they got in or out as I did not observe that feat performed. I assure you, however, that the majority of them were too weak to move and remained in their beds (shelves) all of the time.

The stench was getting worse all the time. I thought I would be overcome by it. Any minute now and I would be a sick man. Subtly, I tried to hurry the two officers in the party without exposing my condition, but I am afraid I was not successful.

Human fecies [sic] was all over the place--in their beds (shelves), on the floor, and in the area outside the building. These poor people were not to blame; there were no facilities available. How any human being could survive in such a filthy environment is difficult to understand. Some of these men will live because of the care given them by our medics; not because of the treatment they received in the hands of the Germans. Others are too far gone and will pass on to their Maker. I finally got outside into the fresh air if you can call it that with this nauseating stench permeating it. I was not sick, but I shall never be able to explain why I was not.

The next building we came to was a stucco one. We did not go inside this one, but looked through the windows. What we saw will explain why we did not go in. This was filled with more dead bodies and these were all covered with lye. I do not know how many there were, but I am sure there were at least twice as many in this “pile” as there were in the other. We did not linger very long there and were walking once more toward the gate. Our guide informed us that these men had also died the previous night.

So far, we had covered the right side and the rear of the camp with the left side remaining to be seen. I thought, “Will we never get out of this place.”

Walking back toward the gate, we passed a group of stucco buildings. These, too, were enclosed in a barbed wire fence. We asked the guide what it all meant and he told us that these blocks housed the strongest of the prisoners and that they were used as human guinea pigs. Also, that these men were doomed to die for the glory of the German race. Yes, from these men was to be extracted serums to combat the deadly germs of typhus, etc. These strong prisoners were given injections of infectious diseases so that they would contract that disease and later give up the precious serum necessary to fight these fatal ailments. We civilized people use animals for this purpose, but not the Germans. They use humans.

Near the gate, we entered another building--the office of the camp commander. We entered through a sort of laboratory, I guess, although I could not see any use for such an elaborate set-up. Anyway, there were jars of all sizes which contained every organ of the human body preserved in alcohol. The first one I saw contained the head of a human being. It had been shrunk a little and was slightly discolored. I walked to the opposite side to see the left of the face, but it was not there. They had cut the head in two and you saw the structural make-up of the cranium. As far as I was concerned, there was absolutely no reason to experiment.

The wife of the camp commander was very fond of lamp shades so her husband made her an extra special one. We did not see it as we did not have the time, but it was there to be seen. It was made from the flesh of one of the prisoners. Can you imagine going to that extent to satisfy a desire? These people are not human--they are fiends.

That is the end of the story--a true story. I know that I did not adequately express in words what I had seen, but it is sufficient to give you an idea of what we witnessed. If I did not see it myself, I am sure that I could not believe it, but it is true. How any of God’s creatures can become so diabolically inhuman is beyond my comprehension.

By the way, one of our lower headquarters marched 5,000 German civilians through the day before we visited the camp. I believe they should march every German through one of these concentration camps to show them just what their leaders were doing. I am positive that they were and are oblivious to such things. Perhaps it would make no difference, but it is worth the trial at least.

Instead of moving to Weimar, we turned south, but as yet not enough time has elapsed for me to write about it so I shall have to end here.

Now VE Day is here and all of us are turning our thoughts to home in the United States. Most of us, however, will not return for some months to come. I cannot get home fast enough, but I am afraid I shall be over here for almost another year, at least.

Please forgive me for writing a “mimeographed letter,” but I owe so many people letters I could never catch up if I did not resort to this. Now that this thing is over, I shall be able to devote more time to correspondence and should not get in arrears again.

Thanks for bearing with me.

There sure have been many changes made at Bryant. Golly, I will not know the College when I return to the States, however, I am afraid that that will not be so soon.

I have not heard from many of the old “gang” recently; perhaps it is because I have not written many letters. Now that we have subdued the master race I expect to have more time and will surely be able to answer every letter I receive.

I have met a number of men from home, but so far not one from Bryant. It seems so strange, too, as Bryant has so many men in the Service. It really is great to see someone from home.

[paragraph obscured with black marker.]

Well, Miss Blaney, au revoir and I trust I shall soon be seeing all my good friends in Providence. Please say hello to everyone for me.

Sincerely,
Nick Coracci

[Transcription ends]

HEADQUARTERS 23RD QUARTERMASTER TRUCK REGIMENT
Office of the Commanding Officer
Camp Barkeley, Texas

28 June 43

SUBJECT: Receipt of Gift

TO : CHAIRMAN, Cigarette Committee, Bryant Service Club, Bryant College, Providence, Rhode Island

1. I have come to the conclusion that I should have a form letter made up to send to the Bryant Service Club every month to thank the members of the Club for the cigarettes that I receive at almost regular intervals. It is an honor that I am sure I do not deserve, but one that I very greatly appreciate.

2. We in the Services certainly are appreciative of anything you kind people back home do for us and I can truthfully say that to be the recipient of a gift such as those the Bryant Service Club so willingly sends out makes a fellow feel that this old world isn’t so bad after all, in spite of all the cataclysmic uprisings taking place all over its face. Your fine gifts have the happy faculty of raising the morale of those who are fortunate enough to receive them.

3. May I take it upon myself to thank the BSC in behalf of all the men who received gifts from the Club, but who were unable to acknowledge them. At times it is very difficult to take even a minute to write a note or a card. Here in my own organization, we labor for seven days a week and eighteen hours a day. As a matter of fact, this letter is being written at 2:30 in the morning. You can readily understand why your gifts were very often not acknowledged.

4. You are accomplishing something that no writer can completely describe. I trust that you will continue to get the wholehearted support of the student body of Bryant College which you have had in the past.

5. THANKS A MILLION!

Nicholas C. Coracci
Sergeant, 23rd QM Trk Regt [Transcription ends]

HEADQUARTERS THIRD ARMY
Office of the Commanding General

Fort Sam Houston, Texas
17 September 1943

SUBJECT: Receipt of Gift

TO : CHAIRMAN, Cigarette Committee, Bryant Service Club, Bryant College, Providence, Rhode Island

1. I am indeed sorry to have to admit my guilt in not acknowledging receipt of the gift which the BSC was so kind to send to me. It goes without saying that I ENJOYED every cigarette. I also ENJOY the honor the BSC bestows upon me in remembering a former member.

2. It gets pretty dull at times around an army camp and the gift from the BSC has that enchanting spark which brightens everything up for the recipient. Believe me, it is a gift, though at times we fail to acknowledge receiving it, which will always remain in our memory garden and planted so deep that it will take more than a few Japs or Germans to uproot it.

3. I enjoyed your letter and the list of addresses immensely. In fact, the list gave me a few addresses I was looking for. No matter what the BSC does, it helps the men in the Services.

4. Please remember me to every member of BSC and to everyone at Bryant College. I imagine, however, that everyone is a member of the BSC and the latter part of that statement is superfluous.

5. Good luck and thanks a million!

NICHOLAS C. CORACCI, 31274182
Sgt, Hq Det, Third Army
G-3 Section [Transcription ends]

HEADQUARTERS
Third United States Army
G-3 Section
APO 403
c/o Postmaster
New York, New York

9 December 1944

Bryant Service Club
Bryant College
Providence, RI

Dear Members,

It is no use--I cannot think of any other way to say THANK YOU for the lovely Christmas package. I have been trying to discover a new way to express my gratitude in a different manner ever since I received your gift which came this afternoon. After giving the subject much consideration, I must revert to the stock phrase. Sincerely, I thank you very very much for your thoughtfulness and appreciate greatly your remembering me.

Nothing brings us so close to the old gang as something from the old gang. It is a wonderful feeling and one which is very hard to describe. I remember having a small part in the organization of your Club. It afforded me a great deal of pleasure to know that at least I was doing my part, in a minute way, to cheer a “fella” up. Now, I am able to state from experience that the Bryant Service Club is a noteworthy institution which is composed of the very best of morale builders. Your focused efforts are meritorious and worthy of commendation.

We all trust that Hitler’s paranoia will result in his downfall. It cannot take place any too soon for most of us. I make occasional trips to the front and have observed our artillery and air force at work. The bombardment of shells and aerial bombs is terrific and I do not understand how Jerry and his pals withstand it. This fracas cannot last much longer. I wish I had the time to relate some of my experiences, but unfortunately (perhaps fortunately for you) I do not.

Please accept my sincere wishes for a MERRY CHRISTMAS and A HAPPY NEW YEAR and the best of luck in all your endeavors.

Also please remember me to President Jacobs and his staff and all the members of the Bryant Service Club.

Au revoir,
Nicholas C. Coracci [Transcription ends]

HEADQUARTERS THIRD ARMY
Office of the Commanding General

Fort Sam Houston, Texas
30 December, 1943

SUBJECT: Receipt of Gift

TO : Bryant Service Club, Bryant College, Providence, Rhode Island

1. Greetings and Good Wishes for the New Year!

2. I am very sorry that I have to be tardy in acknowledging receipt of your gift package of cigarettes. I am sure, however, that you will forgive me as you know our time is not our own.

3. How are all my good friends at Bryant? I should like to take this opportunity to wish them all a Very Happy New Year. I should be very grateful to you if you would extend my wishes for the New Year to all the boys (and the girls) in the Services in your next Bryant Service Club Letter.

4. It is a beautiful day in San Antonio--just like one of those New England spring days. In spite of the wonderful weather here in Texas, I will be very happy to return to New England.

5. Those of you who were at Bryant when Professor Doug Hammond was there will be interested in knowing that he and I had dinner together on many occasions when he was stationed at Randolph Field which is not far from San Antonio. We enjoyed talking about the “good ole days” at Bryant. (Were your ears burning?) By the way, the steaks we consumed were delicious. (Are you mouths watering?) That was mean, but I could not help it--it just slipped out.

6. Au revoir and thank you very much for remembering me. I really enjoy hearing from you as it keeps me posted on what happens at Bryant.

Nicholas C. Coracci, 31274182
Sgt, Hq Det, Third Army
Fort Sam Houston, Texas
G-3 Section [Transcription ends]

Somewhere in Luxembourg

2 January 1945

Dear Miss Blaney,

At last I have gotten around to answering your letter. It seems to take me a long time to reply to people who have been kind enough to take the time to write to me. However, I am not really to blame all the time. We are kept very busy and time flies by so rapidly.

Yes, Miss Blaney, we fellows are living in a world of our own at the present time, but I am sure we shall all be very happy to return to our former ways of living. I know that I for one shall [sic] be more than delighted to return to it this very minute.

War is a monotonous affair. Oh, it has its thrilling moments and adventuresome experiences, but you soon realize that the lives of men are at stake and wonder about the “why” of it all. Frankly, I am, in the vernacular, all fed up with this old business. The sooner I return to the States, the better I shall like it.

Yes, I have had some very interesting trips. Take the one to Metz, for instance.

My Operations Sergeant was posting some recent reports on the situation map one morning and as I looked at the little red circles (they indicated the forts which encircled the city) I wondered what it was like up there and if I should ever have the chance to see the city and the forts.

My thoughts were interrupted by my boss’s “Say, Nick, we are going to Metz today and will be leaving in a few minutes. Get everything ready for the trip.” By the way, he always calls me Nick instead of Sergeant unless he is angry with me.

Off we go. The country on both sides of the Mosselle [sic] is quite hilly, but a bit farther east it becomes rolling. Most of it is farm country, but there are some large woods. Look at all the water! The rains have flooded all the low areas and the streams are swollen to overflowing.

There is a village ahead of us. It is pretty well shot up, but it should offer us shelter from the rain which is now pouring down upon us. However, by the time we finish our K ration lunch, the rain should have passed.

As we drive into the village, we notice that there is not a soul in sight. The village is as many others in this area--small and generally reduced to almost nothing. This village has been spared most of the destructive bombing and artillery fire, but hardly a house remains which has not been shot up by small arms fire. Someone apparently blew out that loft with a mortar shell. Hardly a pane of glass is left intact in the entire village. And look at those ground level rooms! What a mess. There are broken chairs, tables turned upside down, broken pottery, and other household goods. Oh, there are a few pieces which have come through unscathed, but not many. Ah! There is a relatively clean looking garage across the street. It should offer us a nice dry spot in which to eat our lunch.

In we go. We find ourselves in a garage or stable with an earthen floor. It is one of many in this long solid row of houses. Each house is a combination barn-garage (if an automobile was owned) living quarters and the houses are built together as are the row-houses in the States. Most of the people living in these houses are the French peasant farmers, who live in these little villages with their many domestic farm animals and work farm plots in the neighboring countryside.

Well, the place in which we have our Jeep is between the farmer’s living quarters and the barn. To our right is an open doorway through which we can see a rather large room covered with straw. There is a hay loft above. There are traces of farm animals about and over in the corner are some pieces of a doughboy’s equipment--an overcoat and parts of a pack. On the floor is a Jerry’s pair of pants and a belt. We will not investigate closely as there may be booby traps about.

We take all this in as we eat our lunch. We also look into the farmer’s part of the house through the door, but we cannot see very far because the door opens into a hall and not into a main room.

We have finished our lunch and the rain which was quite heavy for awhile has stopped. So off we go.

As we drive out of town we pass a group of refugees coming back to what was once their homes. They are a rather sorry looking lot. The group consists of poorly dressed men and women of varying ages--mostly elderly--and several children. They are all smiles as they wave to us.

Now we are traveling over rolling country. Gosh, look at that field. It is cut up by the tracks of vehicles--possibly some tanks--and there, you see those tracks with the ground scraped off? One of our field guns made that. I saw one towed out last month by a little “cat.” The wheels were completely mired in and it was pulled along with most of its weight carried on its belly.

Now look at that field ahead of us--puddles of water standing all over the place. Do you see those small ridges of dirt? They are spoils dug out of fox holes. We shall see them better as we get closer. Yes, there is one filled with water. What a job those boys must have had fighting through here--wading, crawling, creeping through the mud and water--but they did it and Jerry did not think it could be done particularly by these “soft” troops of the Democracies.

There must have been some tough fighting in these woods. This must have been the location of one of Jerry’s main lines of resistance. Look at those fox holes. Each one is nearly an individual dugout. See the big logs on top for roofs--shelter against artillery fire. Some of them have straw in them and even little stove pipes for fires. Jerry must have thought he was staying for the winter.

Those fallen trees you see at the side of the road were pushed into their present positions by our troops. They were felled across the road for road blocks. Most of them were felled by the use of explosives. You can see the ragged splintered trunks as we drive by. Then there is an entire row ahead all prepared to be felled, but we must have overrun the position before the charges could be blown. Do you see those notches on the trunks about 3½ feet above the ground? A charge of TNT is placed in there and exploded. There are a couple of trees with wire loosely hanging around the trunk. That wire held the charge in place.

Say, turn around and take a look at that low ridge covered with old concrete emplacements. I wonder what they are. They are about the same design as those used in the last war. However, there was little if any fighting here last time. Germany gave up before her troops were driven back quite this far. You know our guns were ready to fire on Metz when the collapse came in 1918.

We continue on down the road. We see a few dead horses and cattle, but not many in comparison to those we saw awhile back in another sector. We also pass some shot-up anti-tank guns and artillery pieces.

Metz is nearly as desolate as many of the villages through which we have passed. It had a large German population and I suspect most of them were evacuated. There are a few people left; in fact, quite a few in some portions of the city. On the whole, though, the city is desolate--almost foreboding.

We drive down the main streets only. Many of the side streets are strewn with broken glass and fallen masonry. Here again, we find hardly a house missed by the effects of small arm fire. However, there is relatively little damage by the heavy weapons.

We pass over several bridges which were reconstructed by our engineers. The engineers have really played an important roll [sic] in this big drama.

Let’s take a look at that big cathedral over there. As we draw near, we see much broken glass; otherwise only minor battle scars on the outside.

I enter first in order to discover booby traps, etc. Well, what do you think of that? The scoundrels have cleaned the church out and have been using it as a storage place for fuel or something of that nature. There are big steel barrels all over the inside. And here is a room in which they must have lived. At least it looks that way. That door to our right looks pretty well cracked up. The shell that took the big chuck [sic] out of the column over there must have come through it.

There is a dead Heinie over there, but we do not get too close to him as he may be booby trapped. Jerry has a way of doing things like that. Looks as though the rats had been chewing on his leg. Guess he has been there a day or two.

After you have seen some of the cruel things they have done, you do not mind seeing them dead. In fact, you rather enjoy it. They are much better off and so is everyone else. He would have killed one of our boys if they had not gotten him first.

We leave the cathedral rather disgusted and drive toward one of the forts--Fort Privat. The shots you hear probably come (from) snipers’ guns. That is why we drive along the widest streets and keep watching the upper stories of the houses.

There are people walking about and some children playing in the streets just as though nothing was happening or had happened.

It is a dirty city. All that garbage and rubbish must have collected during the days of the siege and just before. The Germans had taken away everything they could find that had wheels and forced many people to work on defenses so they have no tools or time for anything else.

We visited the fort amid the din of machine guns and artillery. It was very interesting. Built a long time ago--I could not get the exact date--talk to the commander of one of our units.

We will stay at one of the headquarters in the city and continue with our business in the morning. I do not know just when we will return to our CP.

So you see, Miss Blaney, we do have some interesting experiences, but I am ready to go home. I have been over here for one whole year and feel all burned out. Of course, I have not done one third as much as the boys at the front and I should not feel sorry for myself. I should be and am thankful that I am assigned to an Army Headquarters.

I am always happy to hear from you and about the College activities. I guess I would not know many of the students now.

Please remember me to all my good friends there and wish them all a Very Happy New Year for me.

Au revoir, Miss Blaney.

Sincerely,
Nick Coracci [Transcription ends]