“Wild Bill” Guarnere, the old, one-legged, gravel-voiced paratrooper was incredulous one of his brothers had steadfastly ignored him for so long.
For decades, Guarnere, a hero of the book and HBO mini-series “Band of Brothers,” had called and written Dewitt Lowrey down in Wetumpka, Ala. to absolutely no avail.
“Wetumpka, Alabama!” said Guarnere, repeating Lowrey’s hometown off the top of his head, a name he had scribbled on countless envelopes. The South Philly native chuckled at the sound of it but wistfully wondered why an old comrade would pass up the camaraderie and now the rush of fame and fun.
“Dewitt is one of the lost ones,” said Guarnere.
That conversation took place in 2002 in advance of a reunion taking place in Toccoa, Ga., where men of the 506th Parachute Infantry Regiment trained 60 years ago. And as the decades passed, Guarnere kept together the aging veterans from the 506th’s E Company, helping tend to their collective bank of memories. Guarnere figured he attended reunions for 55 years.
Such a gathering in 1988 hatched author Stephen Ambrose’s book, which detailed E Company’s numerous battles, including its 1944 D-Day jump into Normandy. “If it wasn’t for me there wouldn’t be no damn book; Ambrose walked into a room and there’s 40 people all in one place for him,” the gregarious vet said in our 2002 interview.
Guarnere died a week ago. That left Lowrey and about four other of the 140 men of E Company who marched out of Toccoa in December 1942 still alive.
Ambrose’s book was a best seller, and the 10-part mini-series, aired in 2001, was embraced by an American public hungry for heroes in the days after Sept. 11. Guarnere and his comrades became celebrities, “discovered” a half century after their heroic deeds.
During the publicity tour, many of the vets, then all around 80 years old, were wined and dined on national tours on HBO’s dime. One talked with delight about staying in a $600-a-night St. Regis Hotel room with a sunken bath and “big, thick bathrobes.”
But, as always, Lowrey stayed away.
In 2002, most of the E Company vets, including Guarnere, bypassed the big reunion in Toccoa in favor of their own, smaller gathering a month later. Wild Bill was fresh back from guiding civilians on a two-week, $7,500 package tour that started in Toccoa and retraced E Company’s steps through Europe — England, Normandy, Bastogne (the site of the ferocious winter battle where Guarnere lost his leg) and, finally, Germany.
“It’s been hectic, absolutely hectic,” Guarnere jokingly complained. “I need time to get drunk.”
Lowrey, of course, attended neither event.
Guarnere’s offhand statement about his being a “lost one” meant one thing: I had to find him.
A phone call to his home found a pleasant but guarded widower who spoke for an hour but would not reveal much about his service. His two grown children still didn’t know much of what happened to him.
A year later, and with some coaxing by his daughter, Nancy Crumpton, he agreed to a long interview in his living room. He had a framed newspaper photo from 1942 of the 506th in a 115-mile,three-day march from Toccoa to Atlanta that broke a Japanese army record. In the photo, a lean Lowrey carried a fearsome-looking .30-caliber machine gun on his shoulder and a scruffy stray dog, “Draftee,” in his backpack.
His comrades teased “Alabama” for being a publicity hound. It was the last time he was accused of such a thing.
Lowrey landed in Normandy and was later hit in the head by shrapnel in northern France, ending his war. He spent two years in hospitals, including a year a Massachusetts institution where surgeons drilled three holes in his right temple to relieve pressure on his brain. He spent a year there recuperating, time spent learning patience, humility and hope.
The trauma changed his personality profoundly. After the war, he was a soft-spoken, well-dressed gentleman, content to sell shoes at a high-end Montgomery ladies’ store. At home, he was a devoted, kind husband and father.
It was a far cry from the fearless, rough-hewn country boy Guarnere had known. That guy pulled a knife on a fellow paratrooper after getting teased by bunk mates, slit a surprised German’s throat and killed others with a machine gun.
The new Lowery — whom Guarnere had never met — fought hard to suppress those memories. His daughter, Nancy, became a rehabilitation counselor, she figures because of his ordeal, and has worked with vets returning from Iraq and Afghanistan
The 2003 article brought Lowrey some attention he had long avoided. He dutifully did other interviews and even signed autographs for some who were out to exploit him. Some of those now appear on-line on eBay, advertised for $40 because his reticent nature makes such signatures hard to find.
After the article, Lowrey and Guarnere each wrote to thank me. “Now I know what he went thru,” Guarnere wrote. “So sad he never wanted to come to E Co. reunions.”
Lowrey wrote that he was appreciative of the time spent understanding the nuances of his life. He ended his letter by asking for phone numbers for Guarnere and the buddy he almost knifed. “Who knows, I may go to Virginia this summer (to a planned reunion) to see them,” he wrote.
Last week, I called Lowrey, 91, who now lives in assisted living in Montgomery. A decade ago, he was injured in a car wreck, making a walker a necessity. He knew of Guarnere’s passing, asked about the guy he’d pulled the knife on, and was sad to hear that he’s in a nursing home, unable to speak.
Lowrey never went to a reunion, but he did reach out and call Guarnere — just once. “He brought up a lot of things I didn’t want to bring up, but it was fresh on his mind,” Lowrey said.
At the end of their chat, “Alabama” bid his Philly friend a pleasant farewell and continued on with his quiet life.
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