Posts Tagged ‘Anzio’

Amazing adventures in Washington DC Part One: We visit the Army Art Archives and see my father’s WWII art


2012
02.10

Anzio Beach by Edward Reep

Above:  bombs fall in the harbor at Anzio Beach in World War II as Edward Reep paints on the spot.

To start at the very beginning we’d have to go all the way back to WWII.  My dad enlisted in the army as so many people did in what is now called the Greatest Generation.  My father, however, was an artist, and while he was trained as a soldier and an officer at Camp Roberts and Fort Ord in California, he was asked to be a war artist.  This meant that he fought the war with paintbrushes as well as guns.

In a previous post, where Ben Clarke recalls how my dad saved his father’s life by rushing onto the battlefield and rescuing him, you can read what it meant to be a war artist.  That’s not what this is about.

This is about the amazing chance my husband and I had to see all the paintings and drawings my dad did in Italy, which are now property of the Department of the Army.  The story gets a little convoluted here and I’ll spare everyone the details. Suffice it to say that through a series of coincidences, odd circumstances and luck, we made contact with the Army art archivist in Washington D.C. and were able to see her during our visit.

We rented a car and drove to Fort Belvoir and again realized how grateful we are to live in Bakersfield, California where the air is bad, the literacy rate is low, but the traffic is light and it’s easy to get around.  But it was nostalgic to visit Fort Belvoir because my parents were married there in Chapel #6 in 1941, and in the ’70s we drove to Fort Belvoir and took our picture outside of Chapel #6.  Today, the fort has been restructured and that little chapel is no more.

So.  The art.  It was a thrill to be in a state-of-the-art building full of art that was not just art but primary source historical material.  It is truly priceless.  The army cares for its art meticulously and with reverence and respect which was comforting and reassuring. The real thrill was seeing my dad’s work.

This work has been reproduced in books and lent to various galleries across the country for shows but for the first time we saw it all and it is spectacular.  In the same way that a black and white photo is oddly more realistic than a color photo, even though the world is in color, a painting of the war can seem more realistic and emotional than a photograph.  Seeing the body of work all together was emotional, and knowing it was my father’s work elicits feelings I can hardly articulate.

My pictures are distorted because the paintings were flat, but I’ll show some anyway and explain.

The Bath

This painting is very well known and popular.  This particular soldier wanted a hot bath and had gasoline dripping over an open flame to heat water.  My dad was afraid it would blow up any instant!  The painting was shipped home during the war, shown in New York, and Eleanor Roosevelt came to the exhibit. She paused in front of this painting, which was captured by the Movietone News.  When my dad’s parents went to the movies in Los Angeles, they were surprised and so proud to see Mrs. Roosevelt, whom they greatly admired, looking at their son Edward Reep’s painting!

These are all from the Italian front.  The soldier bathing is in Anzio.  These soldiers are on a normal patrol, if anything can be called normal in war, and the army archivist mentioned how interesting she found it that artists could capture the natural beauty that existed among the horror of war.

The Italian winters were harsh.  Tents and guns were painted white to blend in with snow.  Supplies had been stashed and buried with cans put on sticks so they could be located, but the cans were painted red.  My father feels this is one of his finest war paintings.

This painting is of the front line.  Dad said that since seeing the movie All Quiet on the Western Front, he had wondered what the front line was like. He described the final scene where the character Paul is back on the front lines and sees a butterfly, a thing of beauty.  He stands to see it better but is too exposed and is shot and killed.  And here it was.  The Front – a line with white tape stretched across it, mines on the other side. Allies on one side, Germans on the other.

This very powerful drawing is of a mule train in the Apennines in Northern Italy.  It was cold and wet; the mud was 14 inches deep and very sticky.  Dad fell face down and almost could not free himself.  He thought he was going to die there.  Finally, he managed to free one nostril enough to breathe and then was able to calm down and work himself out.  He had to draw and not paint because the watercolors would freeze overnight and melt in the mornings.

The leading art critic of the time called Dad one of the six best pen and ink artists of his day.

These are only a few of a large and remarkable body of work.  My husband and I consider this visit a highlight of our adult life and a privilege.  How lucky we are – how lucky I am – to have this history as part of our lives.

You can learn more about the war art program and combat artists, or about my dad Edward Reep’s art and experiences in the war  here- A Combat Artist in WWII

or here – They Drew Fire

 

 

Saving a life in World War II: an unexpected tale over 50 years later.


2011
12.13

I have not written a post for over four months.  Why? I had nothing to say.  But now I do because I received an amazing email yesterday from someone named Ben Clark.  If I didn’t have a blog, he would not have found me on the internet, and I would not have received his account of this amazing story from World War II involving both of our fathers.

I have permission to share his email.  The video he refers to is this:

The man he refers to is my father, Edward Reep.

And my father tells the story also in a book that he wrote:

Here it goes.

Susan I must start by telling you about my father. His name was Martin Clark.  My father was a boxer as well as a soldier.  He was a world class fighter and was actually promoted to fight Joe Louis the Brown Bomber…

He (Martin Clark) would laugh when telling his stories He told us many stories over and over again, and my friends would come to our house and listen again and again to his telling of his days in the war.  I remember these stories as if they happened to me.

One of his stories was the account of how he was injured at Anzio Beach.  He told us all hell broke loose and every one was scrambling for fox holes.  He was hit in the leg and later discovered that he (his leg) was almost amputated by shrapnel.  His account was as he was laying there a jeep drove up and someone carried him to the back of the jeep.  During that moment he was also shot in the leg.  As the jeep drove down the beach they hit a bump  in the road and one of the men stated that he thought my father was dead.  My dad stated, “The hell I am.  I am not dead.”

56 years later I was nursing a neck injury.  It was Sunday and I could not find my remote; then on PBS came a video about an artist who sketched the war (They Drew Fire).  As I watched I learned of your father who in the beginning tells of the story about a group of men who were in a theater tent that was hit by a mortar.  He stated that he hid  through the night and the next morning felt ashamed and that he was a coward.  He also stated that from that point on he would seek to redeem himself by going to the frontlines.

Now the tape moves to Anzio Beach and as I listened I thought that it would be interesting to hear another perspective about the place where my father almost died.   Your dad said the same things, that all of a sudden all hell broke loose. Then your dad stated, “Then I saw this poor son of a gun with his leg nearly blown off.”   So against his captain’s orders, he left his fox hole and went to the aid of this soldier, not caring for his own safety.  He assisted a medic in getting the soldier to the jeep, and as they drove down the road your dad said they hit a bump in the road and he said that he told the driver he thought the soldier was dead. At that moment the soldier stuck his head up and said, “The hell I am. I am not dead..”

At that moment I was coming out of my recliner, I could not believe what I was hearing… I wrote down the number and ordered the video tape.  I later watched it and discovered your dads phone number via the internet. I finally summoned the courage and called him.  When he answered the phone I told him my name and that I watched his video on PBS. His first words to me were, “I was such a damn coward”…

OH NO, I told him respectfully that I believed that the man he risked his life to save by leaving the fox hole was my father.  I described how he would have looked at the time and your dad agreed it sounded exactly like him. I explained that there was no way he was a coward in my book, and that he was a brave man.  I could tell your dad was choking up a bit so I promised to write him a letter.

 I went on to write you father a letter explaining that because of his bravery my father made it home to his wife for 47 more years of adoring marriage, and that he had four more sons after that injury, of whom I am the youngest of the five.  My oldest brother was a cadet at West Point, my next brother served in the Green Berets, My third brother was in the U.S. Navy, and my other brother and I are family men.  All of us have college degrees and two have masters.  My father up until 2003 lived in Merritt Island, and he lived to see his great grand children.

I attribute the single fact of my existence to one lion-hearted, selfless man:  your father.  I reported this coincidental sighting of the video to a friend/reporter who followed up with a story.  But your dad, like most men of that period, did not say much.

All I can tell you is Captain Ed Reep is my hero. He not only saved my dad’s life but his actions set in motion the life of a family tree.  Surely God was directing your father’s steps that cold January day in Italy.

As for you mom, my heart goes out to you; my father suffered dementia also, and I was vigilant by his bedside the evening he entered into the Kingdom of heaven.

Susan if your father is still alive, please tell him that I think about him every day and that I thank the Lord for him. I just wanted to reach out to you as your dad has been on my heart for many years.  As I searched for him I came across your website.  It gives me great pleasure to share this story with you.

I hope you have a very peaceful and joyous Christmas season.

Peace,

Ben Clark

What a gift Ben gave me with this email.  He gave a gift to my dad also, who is 93 and sill living independently (more or less).  I printed the email and took it to him.  When he got to the part about Martin Clark enjoying 47 more years of marriage and having five sons, Dad was overcome.    He said that maybe he had done something worthwhile in his life.

And Ben found me because of my web page.  That in itself is reason to continue my blog.  Being “found” can lead to unexpected treasures.  I’ll try to write another post before four more months have passed.  Maybe I’ll find my voice again.

Painting World War II: The California Style Watercolor Artists


2010
04.18


Wow.  It was so worth it to drive down to Oceanside for the opening of the WWII art show at the Oceanside Museum.  It’s a long drive from Bako – five hours in traffic, which we had, but as with most events, the payoff is not always where you expect it.

The Oceanside Museum of Art is lovely.  All year and on all floors of the museum they are exhibiting art related to World War II.  Glen Knowles curated this show of California watercolorists who painted WWII, either at home from the perspective of the home front, or as my father did, on the battlefield.  Knowles teaches at Antelope Valley College and he has invented something that may be of interest to you artists out there.  Check it out on the link – it’s the Colorwheel Palette.

We arrived at the museum and it was packed – SO MANY PEOPLE!  Wow.

Of all the artists whose work appeared in the show, my dad is the only one still alive.  That made me the object of some interest and many questions about if he was going to be coming to see the exhibit.  Sadly, my dad can barely made it across town, let alone a five-hour car ride away.

I

I told the story of this painting in a post a couple of days ago.  It focuses more on the soldiers themselves that many of the paintings and really captures the gritty feel of men in trenches.  I’ll tell another story now that I recounted several times at the opening.  It arose when talking about memories and if they became embellished as time went on.  In the case of my father, I know everything he said was as it was.  He would not talk about the war until he wrote a book called A Combat Artist in World War II. I think that is the case for most vets – they don’t want to talk about it.  Then the PBS documentary was made, They Drew Fire, about war artists in which my dad was featured.

In it, my dad recounts how the underground theater in Anzio was bombed, killing many soldiers, but dad was too scared to come out of his fox hole.  To atone for what he saw as his cowardice, in a subsequent battle, one of his fellow soldiers was hit.  Dad ran out into the battlefield to retrieve him while his commander yelled for him to stay under cover.  Dad didn’t listen to the commander, retrieved the wounded soldier, put him in the back of a jeep, and sat with him as they headed off to the medics.  Dad said that at one point in the drive he looked at the soldier and said, “He’s dead.” The soldier responded, “The hell I am.”

That man’s son watched the documentary, tracked my dad down, and said that the soldier dad saved was his father.  The son said that his father told that story using almost the exact same words that my dad used right down to “He’s dead” and “the hell I am.” The son thanked my dad for saving his, saying that he wouldn’t have been born if it weren’t for my dad.

I knew then that the stories my dad told, and probably all other soldiers, were as they happened with no embellishment.  There was no need to embellish war.

War is hell, World War II was as bad as they come, and Anzio and Monte Cassino were the most hellish of battles in that war.  The fact that my father, that any man or woman then or now, fights a war and returns to live a “normal” life is the biggest act of courage I can imagine.

It seems sacrilegious to stand next to a painting depicting something so terrible – and smile.

Someone points a camera and we smile.  But I’m happy that I could loan this painting, that the exhibit exists, and that the viewers can remember and honor all the men and women who served so heroically.

Afterwards, we set out for dinner, found a great Italian restaurant, had a wonderful meal, but before leaving I decided to order a limoncello – our new favorite liqueur after discovering it in Sorrento, Italy in 2007.  (I linked to my travel journal of Italy, but for some reason wordpress would not let me insert photos so if interested you’ll have to go to my web page to see pics.)  As we got up to leave the restaurant, we sat down again with Glen, his wife, and an art collector that loves my father’s work.  Here’s where those unexpected payoffs come in – this gentleman made a wonderful offer to bring this show to Bakersfield after it closes in Oceanside in October.  When we go home I’ll talk to our museum or others if the museum’s schedule is too locked in.

Tomorrow – The Flower Fields and the San Diego Botanical Gardens.  It was a two-martini day.