FOR AL SCHAEFER 1924-1944
(to hear the poem recited click here)
Al Schaefer cleaning his rifle, Texas, 1944
They called me to the army in nineteen forty three.
My other friends were still in school and so I thought, why me?
That first night in the barracks, three thousand miles from home,
Was filled with fifty strangers and yet I felt alone.
But just before the lights went out, I saw another face,
A homesick glance, a friendly glance, in that far off place.
His name was Al and we became good buddies from the start.
We marched and trained in the Texas sun and seldom were apart.
We tipped a few and reminisced, he told me of his dreams,
A girl he loved, a mom and dad, his whole life plan it seems.
Our basic training over, off to college we were sent
Texas Aggies we became, both engineers, hell bent.
But fate had other plans for us, each time we were assigned
Every order brought us closer. Our paths were intertwined
From the classrooms desks at A&M to the infantry platoon
We ended up together as rifleman and soon
It was off to France by train and ship and still I wonder why
But Al was there to steady me, weren't we too young to die?
England in October, we docked at Liverpool
South by train to Salisbury Plain, the weather turned to cool
A few short weeks of waiting and then the order read
Across the English Channel and to Le Havre they said.
We moved up to the southern front in the Seventh Army zone
Al by my side, from time to time, we talked of folks back home.
That first long month of action was bad enough it's true,
But most survived and wondered why, I think that Al did too.
The winter it was bitter on that cold Alsatian plain
And every bit of frozen ground was difficult to gain.
Both Al and I seemed lucky, among the chosen few
Who looked into the jaws of war and somehow made it through
But one dark night we dug in, Al forty yards away,
A few remaining riflemen to wait the light of day.
The first hours seemed so quiet and it had ceased to snow
The attack was centered on Al's hole, just why I'll never know
I knew he'd stand and do his best, I heard him fire his gun
But the enemy had broken through, his position overrun.
We found him in the morning, he'd lasted out the night
We acted brave and joked a bit that things would be alright.
But we both knew the end had come and though I'm sure he didn't know
Why it was he, not someone else, there dying in the snow.
The medics came to move him back, I said my last goodbye,
They tell me that the good die young, they never told me---why?
-William Waddington 1990