Me, Dad and Rick at Rick's house in Massachusetts in the early Summer of 1991
A Southern Gentleman He was born on the Eastern Shore of Virginia (Flag Day, June 14, 1925) in a small town called Belle Haven. George Edgar Haggerty II was the first of three boys (George, William and Andrew) of George Edgar, Sr. and Bertha Duer. George, Sr. was a Catholic, a conservative, a strict disciplinarian and a businessman from North Albany, NY. Bertha was a kind and gentle Christian woman from Belle Haven,Virginia where George, Jr. was born. She instilled in the young George southern gentlemanly manners, a respect for authority, a gracious sense of hospitality and an undeniable respect for women. It was dad that taught me "never hit a woman", a strong sentiment he said came from his mother. He also never, and again I mean never, used foul language or yelled at us in the home. He used to call me over and lecture me about his disappointment if I'd done anything wrong. He was excellent at making me feel incredibly small when I was 'not myself.' So small that it'd be a very long time before I did anything similar again. He was actually so good at lecturing, there were times I would rather be spanked even though he did spank me once and I still remembered how it felt. |
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Me, Dad and Rick at Rick's house in Massachusetts in the early Summer of 1991 |
He spent most of his childhood growing up in Albany, NY with summers back in Belle Haven, VA with his mother's family. At ten years old, in the summer of 1935, he made the trip on the train without an escort . That adventure, coupled with his unusually high IQ, would help establish his early maturity and responsibility in the family. The untimely death of his father when he was only sixteen further contributed to his leadership role in the family. Those early experiences would serve him well as a leader in the European campaign. The living conditions during the campaign in Southern France weren't unlike those in Italy a year earlier as recounted by Lieutenant General Truscott: |
Except for what men could carry, there were no changes in clothing, no heavy underwear, no extra shoes, no overcoats, and far from enough blankets to keep men comfortable. p277 Hot food was out of the question. Incessant cold rain not only added to discomfort, it reduced visibility to almost nothing, interfered with the scheduled air support, and vastly increased the difficulties of the attacking troops.It was during this period that trench foot, which was to plague us thereafter, first began taking its toll. p282 Their assault, which continued through the Vosges winter campaign of 1944, saw the troops of the Third Division constantly on the offensive. It was not only against the Germans but against mother nature as well. One night, after a particularly long period of winter fighting, dad and his unit came to a small French farm. Dad knocked on the farmhouse door to ask if they could spend the night in the barn, out of the cold. For several nights, they had been forced to sleep in cold and wet foxholes. The French woman who answered the door insisted that the men spend the night in the beds in her house. Beds that were clean, comfortable and warm, covered with down comforters, etc. My father declined, insisting that he wouldn't want to track all that mud and dirt into her home. The barn would be fine. In comparison to where they had been, it probably was. My dad and his men were the first American troops these French people met. They showed them good manners and respect for their property. In contrast to the dehumanizing experiences of the Nazi occupation, it must have blown their minds. I can just see that French woman bicycling to town or flagging down the Resistance to tell everyone she knew about the wonderful Americans. No wonder the rural French have shown such respect for us, even today.
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