WWII’s Band of Brothers down to 30

Story by Bob Welch

SALEM — Shortly before the banquet began, Tracy Compton of Burlington, Wash., was remembering what it was like to grow up as the daughter of Buck Compton, one of World War II’s “Band of Brothers.”

“I’d hear my father on the phone with Don (Malarkey) and they’d be talking about the war. And I’d ask my mom: ‘Why does that man always cry when he talks to Daddy on the phone?’ ”

Soldiers remember their wars not because they necessarily want to. But because they have to. The memories won’t go away.

And so it was that Easy Company, one of the most well-known fighting units of all time, gathered last weekend at the Phoenix Grand Hotel for one of its final reunions.

In 1944, when they parachuted into the darkness above Normandy on D-Day, the men of the 101st Airborne Division, 506th Parachute Infantry Division, E-Company, were 332 strong.

Saturday night, nine were on hand. Only 30 are still alive.

“Let’s take a moment of silence before we begin,” said Herb Suerth, a former sergeant who was one of the nine. “First, for the ones we left in Europe.” Forty-two.

“And those who’ve died since.” Two hundred and ninety.

“And those who’ve died since we met last year.” Four.

“We lost Charles Rhinehart, Jim Alley, Max Clark and Ron Speirs,” Suerth said.

In a banquet room of about 125 people, the heroes made famous by Stephen Ambrose’s book, “Band of Brothers,” and the Tom Hanks/Steven Spielberg HBO series that followed were far outnumbered by those who’d come to honor them.

Which, the men will tell you, was far nicer than being outnumbered by Germans in the Battle of the Bulge. It was there, in the snowy forests outside Bastogne, Belgium, in December 1944 and January 1945, that Easy Company found itself as the proverbial hole in the doughnut.

Surrounded. Low on ammo. And so cold that some, such as Malarkey, were wrapping their feet in burlap bags to stave off frostbite.

It was the bloodiest battle U.S. forces experienced in World War II; 19,000 Americans died in six weeks. Despite the losses, the Allied army staved off the Germans’ final attempt to turn the tide of the war.

“I still have a hard time come winter,” said Malarkey, an 87-year-old University of Oregon alum who lives alone in Salem. “I get cold and stay cold.”

I was at Saturday night’s event because I collaborated with Malarkey on his new book, “Easy Company Soldier” (St. Martin’s Press). He’ll sign copies at 2 p.m. Nov. 16 at Barnes & Noble, 1163 Valley River Drive.

Others, about four dozen, were on hand because they were relatives of the nine men being honored. Some of the rest, I assume, simply realized this was a rare chance to connect with a bit of living history that’ll soon be gone.

“Sgt. Malarkey,” said a man who came up to Don before the dinner. “I just want to say thank you and shake your hand.”

Up front, Suerth later talked of those soldiers who hadn’t been able to attend. “Shifty Powers has health issues,” he said. “Earl ‘One Lung’ McClung couldn’t come because his wife is in poor health.”

It was a bittersweet evening, watching men who had sacrificed so much be honored, and yet realizing that winter is coming — and these guys are, in the spirit of poet Oliver Wendell Holmes, the last leaves on the tree.

But at banquet’s end, the nine stood up front, each holding a small bottle of Calvados, a brandy made from apple cider, and toasted themselves — and their fellow Band of Brothers.

The brandy was a thank-you gift from a French family in Normandy whose village had been liberated on D-Day. A family who, like the men of Easy Company, might like to forget, but cannot.