Place Ducale, Charlesville France

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Charlesville France was a 75th Infantry Command Post as the troops were moved up into the Netherlands after the Colmar Pocket Campaign in the south of France. The 75th Infantry troops arrived in Panningen Netherlands on February 15, 1945 about 2 days before 1st Lieutenant Arthur Thorspecken might have arrived in Europe. Losses were great after the Battle of the Bulge. Of the over 200 men of the 75th Infantry who went into that battle only 21 men came put alive. Replacements were still desperately needed after the battles in Colmar.

I am assuming Arthur Thorspecken would have reported to a command post before joining his men in the field. There were 5 command posts between Colmar France and Panningen Netherlands, so I sketched each. I can not confirm yet if Arthur was at one or all of these cities leading up into the Netherlands. I am assuming the command post would be packed up each day and moved to a new city.

That is how this sketch trip has progressed. I would arrive in a city, sketch and stay overnight and then pack up and drive to the next city. With finances in question due to my bank refusing to allow access to funds after  a fraud charge on my card, the trip always felt like jumping without a parachute. If I could not get lodging, I could always sleep in the car for a night, but that hasn’t happened.

What I remember about this Charlesville Town Square lunch was that a fly wanted to drink my Coke more than I did. I finally gave up swatting him away and moved the bottle as far away as I could to let the fly sip to his hearts content. There were also hoards of children wandering the streets. Why were they not in class? There was a puppetry museum on the corner of the square, but that wouldn’t relate to 1945, so I let it pass.

After lunch, I went to Winston Churchill Square to sketch a war memorial. I found an odd quote from Winston in a small cafe. It said, ‘You should do something good for the body so the soul enjoys living in it.” – Winston Churchill.  Now Winston was not known for being a fitness buff, so he must have been referring to food and drink.

Charlesville was occupied by Nazi Germany and the military crossed through the square in 104 was part of the Battle of the Ardennes but the square suffered little damage. Charlesville was liberated on August 31, 1944 during the rapid Allied advance through France. The British 2nd Army liberated the city. The city was firmly under Allied control in early February of 1945 when Arthur Thorspecken may have entered the city.

Rhemes France: Koboom

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After the Clamerey, France American WWII Camp Reconstruction, I drove north to Rhemes, France. Between Rhemes and Mourmelon, France My father helped run a Cigarette Camp. Cigarette Camps were set up after Germany surrendered to help troops what would be shipping out back to America. The camp the Arthur Thorspecken helped run was Camp Cleveland. I don’t thing Cleveland is a cigarette brand but other camps had names like Lucky Strike and Marlboro. Other camps were also named after major US Cities.

Since the Cigarette camps were at the last phase of the war, I will post the actual sketches done of the location at the end of this series of sketches. My goal should be to keep the order of the sketch chronological as much as possible. However sketching while I wait for a meal to arrive is basic tourist fare and separate from the other sketches being done. Solders who ran Camp Cleveland did get leave on occasion to go to Paris and Rheims France. Some solder in uniform might be seen in any of the local cafes at the time.

In Rhemes France German General Alfred Jodl signed the act of unconditional surrender of the German Wehrmacht to the Allies on May 7, ending WWII in Europe. The signing took place at General Eisenhower’s headquarters in a building now known as Musee de la Reddition. It is a rather dull looking municipal building which is now a museum. Eisenhower really should have had the surrender signed in a grand palace of which there are many. Rhemes often played a prominent role in the coronation of kings of France. My focus wasn’t on the surrender since my father was not there at the signing. Instead I focused on what I could find of the Cigarette Camp he helped run along with C-Company of the 75th Infantry Division.

Oh, for dinner at Kaboom, I had a delicious Pad Thai and a good old American Coke. The guy I sketched noticed me still sketching as he left. He took a photo before heading back out on the street. The section of the city I was in was pretty swanky with a casinos and very fine dining. I am sure it was very different in 1945.

WWII Americans Break Down Camp

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It was getting late in the day of day what the Clamerey France WWII American Camp Reconstruction. The sun was setting and the light turned golden. I was tired but could not stop sketching. I didn’t want to do any more large sketches, so I turned to my small pocket sketchbook. I love this sketchbook, I picked up when I met an author up in Gainesville Florida. On the front of the sketchbook, it says “ The Creative Ramblings of a Restless Mind.” I love that.

All the troops were planning to go out for drinks and dinner after they were done packing up. In this sketch the father was breaking down a large piece of equipment while his son broke down the 50 mm machine gun.  Actually this family was going to stay in camp one more night so they never took down the tent.

A tent did come down behind me and it took three people to fold and flatten the heavy thick canvas. Once folded and rolled up it was placed in a troop carrier truck. The American flag kept waving on the flag pole as the sun set.

Before it got too dark, I was asked to pose with all the troops in front of one of the military vehicles. Every one shouted out the local military drinking song which involved clapping your hands and shouting the lyrics as you rotated your wrists while waving your hands above your head. I sang along, although I didn’t know what the lyrics mean. We all shouted and laughed and then the photo was taken. Look at the light in the photo, it was warm and golden. Such amazing people. I’m in love either way each and every one of them.

Entrance to the Clamercy France American Camp

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After sketching the memorial at the Clamerey church, I made my way over to the entrance to the American camp. There was a sentry on duty and two re-enactors stood in conversation on the side. An American flag was always raised on the center of the camp. Radio broadcasts played the lively upbeat music of the era. Since everyone was French I didn’t think they understood the lyrics fully. Actually every person who spoke with me knew far more English than I knew French. I have been studying German, but it didn’t seem to fit to speak German in the American camp.

Many people from the ceremony were having wine and pastries in a tent to my left. One of the soldiers asked if I would like a drink and he brought me a cup of wine. He then stopped over several times with plates of pastries. All were delicious. The local mayor continued to circulate in the crowd and shake hands.

People often stood behind me and commented. I would always have to apologize and put my hand to my heart and say I am an American. Nine time out of ten, we would the have a short conversation in English. I need to make it a goal to learn more French. I am studying German with Duolingo but progress is slow. Learning new names and picking up a new language come slowly for me.

Every moment of this American encampment was pure gold. I didn’t stop sketching for a moment, other than walking to a new location. The real magic however came in meeting the soldiers and support staff who ran this camp. They all made me feel truly welcome, like I was one of the troops. If I had brought the WWII helmet from my father then I would have fit in even better. That thing however is heavy. I can imagine carrying it around in my pack. The laptop and iPad I am carrying now are already too heavy.

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WWII Memorial Ceremony

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On the second day of the Clamerey, France American Camp Reconstruction,there was a ceremony at the memorial in front of the town church. I sat in the blocked off street before anyone arrived and started to sketch the scene. One American officer was making sure tat no traffic entered the staging area. I was set up and sketching next to one of the steel street barricades.

Then with a thunderous roar of engines, all the military vehicles from the encampment rolled through the town and parked in a row alongside the memorial. All the World War II soldiers piled out of the vehicles and stood at attention beside the memorial. A gentleman in a blue suit must have been the town mayor and he shook hands with everyone.

A procession of French flag bearers lined up across the street and when the moment was right they marched across the street towards the memorial. Men in suits followed closely behind. The mayor stepped up to the microphone and said a few words.

The crowd from behind the barrier moved in front of me, so I was faced with sketching a row of butts. Several people let me scooch forward sitting in front of them. I forgot my pencil case in the rush and a man kindly placed it beside me.

A young girl in her early teens stepped up to the microphone and she read the names of the people from this small French town who had died in World War II. He mom was leaning against one of the street barricades and filming her daughter with her cell phone.

With this ceremony complete, the flag bearers moved off towards the Church of Saint-Cyr and Saint Julitte Cemetery and the crowds dispersed. I followed into the cemetery curious to see what might happen next. The world war II era trucks rumbled off back to camp.

Clamerey France American Military Camp 2

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Once at the Clamerey, France American Military Camp, I could not stop sketching. This large open tent encampment felt like it was for a higher rank officer. There was a poster of Charles De Gaulle, and the French flag was on the flag pole. De Gaulle was he French leader in exile during World War II. One man passing through the camp was the spitting image of the French leader in his crisp clean uniform.

For this sketch I had to sit in the direct sun light. I am something of a vampire so I am always concerned about being burnt to a crisp. I put an eraser on the edge of a tree shadow to my left and after a few minutes noticed that the shadow would be moving towards me as I sketched. I decided to bite the bullet and hopefully the shade would reach me before I became a cinder.

A photographer was joking with me in English. He said, “you can pick any color, as long as it is green!” He was right. I almost emptied out my green pan of color on my pallet. My choices were, warm green, cool green dark green and light green.

Another gentleman was admiring what I was doing, and he introduced me to his grandmother. She whispered to me, “magnifique.” Merci, I replied. This was the first French word I picked up. I said it to every person who stopped to make comments that I could not understand.  Te son later explained that his grandmother had been just a little girl when the Americans came to liberate the city she was in. She vividly remembers a G.I. giving her a candy bar.

The encampment was on a magnificent old French estate. The building was built of stone and the tiles on the roof looked like they had been there for hundreds of years. There were hints of the oncoming fall. The golden sun light illumined the far trees a rich orange color. Some trees were as dark as a coal mine, and other were bright like a lantern.

By the time this sketch was done, I was getting hungry. I started to wonder if there were any restaurants in the small provincial town. I hadn’t noticed any as I drove in from my hotel down south near Dijon. France. I had tried to book an air B&B in a tent but that booking was interrupted when my bank told me my debit card had been hacked. I drove across France not sure if I wold find a place to stay when I got there. The tent air B&B was full when I got there. I sat in the parking lot of a hotel for several hours trying to get funds to cover hotel expenses. The hotel where I made those calls was completely booked. I was advised to stop down the road and thankfully that hotel had a room where I could camp for the night.

Le Havre France: Aub Art

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I stayed in Le Havre, France for several days. The first night I arrived late and just crashed. The second evening I went out to the restaurant right next door called Aub Art.It is a newer restaurant that has a bar and some games as well as fine dining. Photos exhibited on the walls were by the father of the woman who opened the fine dining establishment. I was told there is often live music.

There is a second floor as well which seems to be a lounge area. The dining room was empty except for me. I started a sketch thinking people were sure to sow up and fill in the scene at some point. They never did. I dined alone.

The appetizer was a delicious tomato, Mozzarella, Basel dish with balsamic vinegar. That was delicious. The main course was a baked salmon that was also quite good. Water comes in tiny bottles in France and I always seem to be parched so I had several bottles.

After dinner I had to book a room at my next destination. It was while booking that room that I found out my credit card had been hacked. I didn’t loose the card. It never left my sight, but a plane ticket purchase was attempted to Amsterdam. Since I have no plans to fly to Amsterdam, I had to admit to Seacoast Bank that their card had been hacked. Though I told Seacoast bank that I was on vacation, they have been treating me like I am the criminal rather than the victim of fraud. That battle is still ongoing. I still do not have access to the savings that were put aside for this trip.

The plane ticked was purchased in the states. I had a hot dog at the airport and purchased a train ticket to Le Havre and then this dinner at Aub Art. I cant figure out how the card was hacked with so few uses on the trip. Each evening is a series of calls trying to get past robots and pointless questionnaire loops that lead to no solutions. I had Seacoast Bank mail the new credit card the bank sent out to my brother in the north east. He is sending the card to a distant cousin who lives in Germany. In a few days I will be driving to that cousin to pick up the card. Without that piece of plastic I am assumed to be a criminal.

About February 17, 1945 Le Havre, France

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Traveling to Le Havre, France by train from Paris was a challenge. Le Havre is the French port city that the 75th Infantry history notes at the port troops arrived at from South Hampton, England. I might be flying to England later in this trip to sketch South Hampton and to buy several weeks away from Schengen European countries so that I can attend a huge WWII reenactment in Belgium which features the 75th Infantry. I have 90 days to finish this project and I might need to extend the time spent by skipping away to England for a time.

I got several hundred dollars in Euros at an ATM machine in the airport for emergencies. Today at a restaurant the waitress told me they don’t take credit cards. I tried a credit card, a debit card, and neither worked. Thankfully I still had a few Euros inn my pocket. I spent an afternoon trying to get Euros from Western Union but was tld, they can not use a credit card to exchange money. It has to be cash to cash. I don’t have much American cash, s I am stuck.

My first day in Le Havre, I sketched this WWII Memorial, called the Monument Aux Morts. It was built in 1924 to honor the dead from WWI but later plaques were added t honor the dead from WWII. This monument would have been standing when my father, Arthur Thorspecken first arrived in Europe. It commemorates the 6,638 residents of Le Havre who gave their lives in the first World War, the Second World Wat and in Indochina and Algeria. One plaque was a tribute to the resistance fighters of Le Havre who were deported and died for France during WWII. Another plaque was for the Soldiers who died for France between 1939 and 1945. Another plaque was for the civilian victims who died during theh bombings of Le Havre during WWII.

Besides the dark metal plaques at the foot of the sculpture the large stone base was covered with names of the dead carved into the stone. Lady liberty spreads her wings on one end of the sculpture while the grim reaper bows his shrouded head looking over the names of the dead.

This was a good first day of sketching. At night I ate at a restaurant right in the building I was staying in. Then I went upstairs and started to book a room for the next day. The next stop was several hundred miles east of Le Havre just West of Colmar France. While trying to book a room, Seacoast Bank contacted me and said they suspected fraud with my Debit card. I had only bought a train ticket and several meals. The Le Havre room had been booked from the United States. Looking through the expenses they questioned, everything checked out except an attempted purchase of a plane ticket to Amsterdam. I had no intention of flying to Amsterdam, so sure enough someone had somehow hacked into my debit card account. Maybe I should not have ordered a Nathans Hot Dog at the airport. I still had the card, but was told I had to cut it up. I had a Revolut card that I decided to get for emergencies before I left the states. It now became my life line. Seacoast Bank however is holding my savings hostage and will not let me transfer funds to my Revolut Visa travel card. I also have an American Express card but it keeps failing, when I try to use it. Every day has become a battle, wondering if I will end up homeless in Europe with no access to my bank account. Raymond, a service rep for my bank refused to help saying, “I don’t know anything about that Revolut card and neither does my supervisor.” It seems ignorance is a sad excuse for poor costumer service.  Though the victim of card fraud, I feel like I am being treated as the criminal. Fourteen days into my Europe WWII project and the banking battle continues.  I have started eating fallen pears and apples to keep food expenses down so that the funds don’t run out before a solution is found. I just keep moving forward and hopefully it will all work out.  “Always get there somehow.”

Forest to Mausoleum

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A day or two before I left for Europe to follow in my father’s footsteps in WWII, a roof was thrown up on the home being built next to the Lake County studio I was renting. The lot had been a lush forested area just a few weeks before. The sand mountain the home sat on had been leveled and built up in a day. The cinder block mausoleum had gone p in a day, and now the roof structure went up in a day. This was now the largest home in the area on its own mountaintop/

The roof beams had an interesting inverted series of beams which I suppose are to keep the roof from collapsing inward in the high winds of a hurricane. All the triangular sections were delivered to the job site pre-assembled. They were each lifted int place where workmen quickly hammered them into place.

All the workmen spoke Spanish which made me concerned for their safety in the new hate fueled policies of ICE, seizures and deportations. I have seen photos of rooms filled with workmen still in their uniforms in detention centers, having been rounded up from their work sites.

I am in Europe right now in Northern France about to cross the border into Belgium. Russia has just sent military drones over Poland  and it feels like WWIII is about to break out with Trump, a wanna be dictator, in the White House who is owned by Putin.

80 years ago America helped defeat dictators and bring about world peace. Nuclear bombs were used to stop the war in the  Pacific. That was a questionable decision which I hope is never repeated. It only takes a few petty, power hungry men to break down democracy and embrace autocracy in a lust for land, power and a desire to stay in power indefinately.

Never Again

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I went to a conference with several embers of the staff of the Orange County History Center. Daniel Bradfield and Pamela Schwartz gave a presentation about the History Center’s collection efforts after the Pulse Nightclub massacre, where a gunman entered the nightclub with an AK47 and killed 49 people while injuring many others.

Spontaneous and large memorial popped up of flowers and  memorial items related to the victims. The collecting happened in the hottest months of the summer in Orlando. Flowers quickly wilted an died creating a tench that is quite memorable and perhaps unhealthy.

A few people were angered by the staff collecting at the memorial sites, thinking they were steeling items rather than preserving them for history. If the History Center had not collected items they would have all ended in the landfill.

There have been incredible exhibits each year honoring the victims of the mass shooting which happened on June 12, 2016. I sat in and sketched during the oral histories with survivors and family of the victims. Hearing all these life and death stories can be overwhelming and i helped to talk to staff to try and come to terms with the horrible situations that were presented. I can’t say I have fully come to terms with all that I learned about this and other mass shootings. Americas love affair with guns and mass murder is ard to digest.

I was just at a WWII American Military camp reconstruction in Clamercy, France and on a few occasion there were loud noises that must have been fireworks. Such noises can be triggering, making me think I should look for cover.