When Norman Mohar returned from World War II, he was angry and upset but happy to be home. Although he was never officially diagnosed, he believes he suffered from what today would be known as post-traumatic stress disorder.
Now 85 and with several awards for military bravery to his credit, Mohar completed writing about his war experiences in 2002. He wishes he had written about them sooner.
"Had I done this earlier, I wouldn't have had to explain my behavior," he said in a recent interview at his East Selah home.
In his memoir, which is available online, Mohar describes in vivid detail the highs and lows of his war experience.
It is the kind of detailed account that few World War II veterans have ever shared, even with their closest friends and family.
He recalls the thud of his heart when he received the Dear John letter from a stateside sweetheart and the scent of lavender soap used by the German soldiers in their quarters where he captured 18 of them near Gonfaron, France.
But it's another action that Mohar is most proud of.
After pushing German forces "quite quickly" toward the Siegfried line in step to cross the Rhine River into western Germany, Mohar's platoon was pulled off the battle lines for river crossing training. It was early March 1945. For some, the exercise was a refresher course, but for the "replacement" soldiers, it was a basic course.
During that nighttime training exercise for the special infantry, Mohar's squad was given orders to simulate enemy fire as other squads crossed the Moselle River with a rubber raft and the help of a thick rope stretched from bank to bank.
The river water flowed swiftly and was "as cold as the snow and ice it came from," Mohar recalls.
During the exercise, the current flipped the raft with one soldier aboard. The raftsman was unable to hang onto the rope and had to let go. The raft was floating downstream as someone on the other side was yelling to save the boat.
Mohar thought the water was too frigid to jump in and save a $90 raft, but that apprehension left as quickly as the current flowed after he heard the muffled call for help.
There, in the middle of the river, was the shimmer of a soldier's helmet and flailing of arms illuminated only by the dim moonlight. To this day Mohar can't explain why -- aside from a sudden burst of adrenaline -- he was motivated to try to save the guy.
Mohar started running along the bank of the river toward the flailing soldier. As he was running, Mohar shed his pistol belt and reached into the pocket of his fatigues to grab his wallet, which he had stowed in a condom to make it waterproof. As he was fumbling for his wallet, the riverbank ended and Mohar plunged into ice-cold water over his head. He wanted to yell for someone to help him, but no words came out.
"I was programed to go save the guy," he said.
So he did.
Once out of the water, it seemed that no one knew how to resuscitate the soldier, who he later learned was named Butler. The method Mohar was taught had little to no resemblance to the current practice of CPR. He rolled Butler onto his belly, tilted his head and began to shove on his ribcage in a rhythm similar to breathing. Butler started to gurgle and curse, and survived the near-death incident.
Butler was taken to the medics station in the lone jeep on the training field. As Mohar walked off his excitement, the shivers began.
"I was just as wet and cold as he was and started to get the chills," Mohar said.
The soaked private asked to be relieved of duty and had to walk several miles back to base.
When Mohar walked into the medics office, he recalls seeing Butler wrapped in GI blankets with his feet in a tub of warm water. The only words the medic directed at Mohar were, "Did you fall in, too?"
Infuriated that the medics were not told that the incident was a rescue, Mohar turned around and headed for his room. He draped his clothes to dry and nestled in his sleeping bag.
The next morning, while waiting in line for breakfast, Butler -- who Mohar says was a dead ringer for the comedian Bill Bendix, from TV's "The Life of Riley" in the late 1950s -- came up to Mohar and humbly said "thanks."
Mohar hasn't heard from Butler since and has no idea if he ever made it home alive.
For his heroism, not involving an actual conflict with the enemy, Mohar received a Soldiers Medal to accompany his two Bronze Stars and a Purple Heart.
"It seems like I can't get by without these memories," Mohar said. "I wish I could plug into the computer so you could see them all."
* James Joyce III can be reached at 577-7675 or jjoyce@yakimaherald.com.
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