History, Up Close and Personal

Our main purpose for making a quick side trip across the Belgium border into the West part of Germany was to locate the spot where my grandfather, Clifton Spendlove, was injured during World War II. Ever since I was a small child, I knew about my grandpa's days in the war. I remember the little bits of German he would speak which he learned on the front lines and his tales of bravery. However, perhaps most poignant, I remember him showing me his deep scar on his right thigh from shell fragments that exploded deep into his muscle as well as the purple heart that hung in a small shadow box in his family room.
We arrived on the banks of the Rhine river with a section of his autobiography that highlighted his life changing events that took place in the tiny town Buderich Germany. I cried when I read it, imagining my Grandfather as a 19 year old, possibly walking in the exact spot where we stood, fighting in the Battle of the Bulge.


Here is part of what we read:
"We spent the night of the 23rd in our cellar. The next day, each man in the squad made his own personal preparations for the coming assault. Knowing that this amphibious assault would be very dangerous and I could be killed or wounded, I spent the day of the 24th sitting in the sunshine of the courtyard writing letters. I wrote a long letter to Carol (his young bride), one to my parents and to my brothers and sisters. I was ready to face whatever came, though I continued to be terrified at the prospects.
Occasionally the Germans would drive us into the cellar with short artillery bombardments. As I sat there in the sunshine, hundreds of B-17 bombers passed overhead on their way to bomb targets on the opposite bank and deep into Germany. About 10:00 in the evening our artillery opened up with a terrific barrage that lasted almost up to our departure time. A constant smoke screen was put up by the U.S. Army. Smoke covered the river, obscuring the view most of the time from either side.
My turn on guard duty which began at midnight was in the doorway of the living quarters of the chateau. When I came off at 1:00 in the morning I was to awaken the squad and move with them about one half mile south of town to where the trucks had come with our assault boats. We were to unload them and place them at the water's edge in preparation for our 3:15 A.M. second assault wave.
Soon after I came on guard duty at about 12:00 midnight, I stood in the doorway facing the river. The smoke screen would momentarily clear and then return as I peered across the river to the German side. To my left front, someone lit up a cigarette in full view of the river. I yelled for them to put it out or I would shoot it out. They immediately did so, but apparently it caused us to draw fire. I heard an 88 mm shell whistle overhead. As I turned to fall to the ground to protect myself a large flash occurred directly in front of me in the street. Thant's all I remember of that night. I was told later that an 88 mm shell had fallen in the street some 15 to 20 feet in front of me. The concussion had knocked me unconscious and thrown me down the hall, out of the back door and onto the pile of manure. That was the 25th of March, 1945 which was one of the most eventful days of my life."