A Veteran's Story

Veterans day was six days ago. I have a story about a veteran of World War II.

Robert LeRoy Bremser was born in Fredericktown, Missouri on January 22nd, 1922. The youngest of ten children, his father, William Edward, was a medical doctor and owned a farm in the Ozark mountains where Robert was raised. When the U.S. became involved in World War II in 1941, Doctor Bremser was put in charge of medical examinations for the area in preperation for the draft. Not wanting to be accused of favoritism, Dr. Bremser made sure all four of his sons passed their physicals. All four were then drafted. Robert was drafted by the U.S. Army, completed his training, and was assigned to a demolition unit.

Robert served several months in France disarming landmines and blowing up bridges. On November 11th (Veterans Day), 1943, Robert stepped on a landmine losing most of his lower left leg. There was heavy fighting in the area between U.S. and German forces and the ambulance carrying Robert was caught behind enemy lines. He and the other soldiers with him were captured by the Nazis.

The German troopers took Robert and his fellow soldiers into a town somewhere in the French countryside not very far from the front. A temporary headquarters and hospital had been set up. The Germans unloaded Robert and the other injured Americans from the ambulance and carried them into the makeshift hospital. Robert recalled how frightened he was as two Germans carried him up a flight of rickety old stairs and deposited him upstairs. A German medic did his best to take care of Robert's wound but he was only a medic and other than stop the bleeding, there wasn't much the medic could do.

As Robert lay their wondering what would become of this Missouri son, two Germans began looking over the POWs and recording their names and serial numbers from their dogtags. As they read Robert's 'tags, the two men became excited. They proceeded to carry Robert downstairs, out of the hospital and behind one of the nearby buildings. Robert didn't understand what was going on. And when one of the German soldiers left, Robert feared the worst. It was only later, after the second German returned with ice cream for the three of them to share, did Robert come to understand what was happening. The reason for the excitement was because one of the German soldiers shared his last name: Bremser! Where the ice cream came from is still a mystery.

A few days later, the U.S. captured the town in which Robert was being held. The Germans, preoccupied with their own lives, left the POWs behind. Robert's ordeal, at least as a POW, was over. But the pain that resulted from his injury would last the rest of his life.

When Robert's father, Doctor Bremser, heard that his beloved son had been seriously wounded and had suffered the loss of his leg, it aged him. Family members around Doctor Bremser at the time recall how the news wearied him beyond his years. Doctor Bremser never forgave himself for, as he saw it, sending his youngest child to war.

After returning to America, Robert was sent to a military hospital in Brigham City, Utah--of all places--to recover. There this 21 year old Catholic boy from Missouri met a 29 year old Mormon girl and volunteer nurse's assistant from Ogden, Utah. They soon married and soon after that, Robert converted to the LDS church. They eventually had two sons and a daughter, and later, eleven grandchildren of which I am one.

To every American veteran--which includes both my grandfathers, my father and two of my sisters--, thanks.