October 9, 2024 • 10 mins
On this episode of Our American Stories, Marilyn Jensen tells the harrowing story of when her father went on a supply run amidst a German bombing.
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Speaker 1 (00:10):
And we continue with our American stories.
Speaker 2 (00:13):
And not long ago we spent some time at our
great flagship station Who in Des Moines, Iowa, of giant
stick in the middle of this great country, at iHeart station,
and we've been on that station for.
Speaker 1 (00:26):
Years and telling stories. We decided to have a storytelling
contest and asked folks to send in their stories. We
drove up to Des Moines and.
Speaker 2 (00:35):
Well we did it in a beautiful restaurant with a
few hundred people. And we feature right now one of
the women who submitted her story to that event about
her father, Cecil Wax, who had a surreal encounter during
World War II. Here is Marilyn Jensen.
Speaker 3 (01:00):
My dad, Cecil Wax, was the family story teller. He
had an endless supply of stories about scratching life from
the muddy hills of southwest Iowa. He passed on to
my brother Bill and me the wisdom and laughter that
can improve almost any situation. He sprinkled humor like salt
throughout his tails. Dad rummaged through his memory for any
(01:24):
scrap of wit from his months of service in World
War Two. He tagged that bleak era as Uncle Sam's
all expense paid trip to Europe. His blue eyes would
twinkle and his dimples dance as he shared memories of
times when he and his war brothers laughed together, like
(01:45):
the night a delayed fusebaumb went off, his buddy Hastings
jumped into a ditch for protection, and later discovered it
was a trench left over from World War I, which
the Germans had been using as the latrine. Dad would
grin and say, talk about Odor. We asked him to
sleep alone in the truck cab for the rest of
(02:06):
the night. But this story lacks that dash of comedy.
This is the account of how a scared farmer turned
soldier conquered a dangerous mountain road at the height of
one of the most decisive battles on the European continent.
(02:29):
He referred to this as the night I found out
there as a god. Clouds of dark memories would covered head,
sparkling eyes. He cleared his throat, stare deeply into the past,
and then begin. It was December of nineteen forty four.
(02:54):
General George Patten's Third Army included a group of over
eight hundred men called the eighteenth Tank Destroyer of Battalion.
The eight eighteenth was engaged in the bloody siege called
the Battle of the Bulge. Dad would shiver at the
very mention of those chilling words, the scene of that
epic blood letting of the winter of forty four and
(03:16):
forty five, when temperatures plummeted as low as six below zero,
that nightmare battle which splattered pristine white snow drifts with
the blood of over nineteen thousand American men. He'd shake
off darkness like a layer of snow from his shoulders
and continue. All the tanks, trucks, and soldiers of the
(03:37):
eight eighteenth were concealed in some mountain foothills in the
dense forest of the Ardane in Luxembourg. Cecil's job was
to drive one of the many supply trucks, providing rations
for the hungry soldiers, gasoline for the thirsty tanks, and
shells for their begging gun chorrets. An officer approached Cecil
(04:00):
late one afternoon. It was hard to tell what time
it was. The forest was thick and light seldom broke
through the trees. Umbrellaed with snow, Cecil recalled. He ordered
me to drive down the mountain with supplies for company.
A they needed gasoline and ammunition. I asked, when do
we leave, sir? The commander looked me straight in the eye. Immediately, Soldier,
(04:25):
You're going alone, just your truck and a lieutenant. As
the truck's cold engine ground to a start, Cecil set out.
The word alone was still blowing through his ears like
the bitter wind swirling around the half tone trunk. No
tanks rumbling ahead, breaking the path and chewing up the ice.
Just one solitary truck feeling its way along. Clinging to
(04:48):
the side of the mountain. The heaterless cab was frigid.
Cecil drove down that winding mountain trail with the windows down,
giving him at least a little visibility. The truck's cat
eyed black out lights blinked helplessly against the swirling whiteness.
The surface was so slick that if he even touched
(05:11):
the brakes, the front wheels would slide. The truck groaned
under the load of ninety cans of gasoline in many
rounds of three inch shells. It lost his footing a
couple of times in skidded sideways, but saplings on either
side of the road waved him back to the center.
(05:31):
Cecil knew that the men were depending on him his
army buddies. Suddenly, a loud, shrill howling ripped open the
deathly quiet of the forest another German assault. Cecil believed
he was going to die. He was praying every slippery
inch of the way, but as he said, nothing was happening.
(05:57):
On one dangerous hairpin curve, it happened. The heavily loaded
truck skidded on a patch of black ice and slid
out of control toward the void. Cecil believed then that
he was about to die. The supply truck bearing two
American soldiers was about to crash into oblivion. Time seemed
(06:19):
to flow in slow motion. He saw a vision of
his mother, Nora, on her knees, with her elbows sunk
deeply into her patchwork quilt. Tears were flowing down her cheeks,
and her lips were moving in fervent prayer. As he
struggled to bring the truck out of its skin, Cecil
(06:40):
realized that his mother was praying for him in terror.
Cecil prayed, too, please help me. The boys need ammunition.
The second he said that, something like a cool wind
blew on the back of his neck through the blackness.
He heard a voice just like someone said it aloud.
(07:03):
Shut the switch off. Cecil didn't hesitate. He switched off
the motor. The sudden change of momentum allowed him to
guide the toboggan like vehicles safely back onto the path.
When he regained speech, he asked the young lieutenant, did
(07:24):
you hear that the scared officer just tared blankly ahead?
Cecil continued with assurance it was God. And suddenly there
was the landmark he'd been told. Company A was concealed
near a bomb hole on the road just before a bridge.
(07:46):
All ninety gas cans rattled as Cecil tiptoed the truck
across that gaping hole. An incoming flash revealed an arched
stone bridge. They rolled across the bridge and pulled over.
The expectant silence was shattered by the rumble of approaching vehicles.
Cecil would say, I didn't know if they were Germans
(08:07):
or what. He and the lieutenant breathed again. Only when
they could make out that it was American equipment carriers approaching.
Cecil heaved a sigh of relief. When the precious cargo
was safely unloaded, he overheard one grateful tank driver's state
that they had been down to nine shells. The lieutenant
(08:31):
of Company A barked out, get the hell out of here.
The Germans are everywhere, and bring some more ammunition. The
trip back to the security of the base camp began.
The tire tracks marking his recent arrival were quickly filling
in with snow, but the truck gradually retraced the snakelike curves. Soon,
(08:55):
weak lights from the rays of the dawning sun lit
the rest of the journey. In amazement, Cecil could see
that what he thought were young saplings marking the edges
of the trail were in actuality the tops of tall
pine trees rooted in deep valleys below. He thought to himself,
(09:16):
there was somebody who drove that truck besides me. There's
no way any human could drive a truck down this narrow,
icy road in the dark. Cecil's life changed forever when
the voice urged him to shut the switch off. He
knew that God cared enough to guide him, one twenty
eight year old farmer prom Iowa down a frozen mountain road.
(09:41):
He was just one of over sixteen million Americans fighting
for freedom, but God loved him and saved his life.
That night. Cecil Wax lived the remainder of his ninety
four years depending on the knowledge that no one, no
matter how impossible the path, he never traveled alone.
Speaker 1 (10:07):
And just a terrific piece of production by Robbie and
a beautiful piece of writing by Marilyn Jensen. And this
is why we love doing this show, folks, to let
you tell the stories. And that night in Iowa, there
were six remarkable storytellers, and your stories make our American
stories the show. It is the story of Cecil Wax,
(10:30):
the story of courage, and the story of God. Here
on our American Stories
And we continue with our American stories.
Speaker 2 (00:13):
And not long ago we spent some time at our
great flagship station Who in Des Moines, Iowa, of giant
stick in the middle of this great country, at iHeart station,
and we've been on that station for.
Speaker 1 (00:26):
Years and telling stories. We decided to have a storytelling
contest and asked folks to send in their stories. We
drove up to Des Moines and.
Speaker 2 (00:35):
Well we did it in a beautiful restaurant with a
few hundred people. And we feature right now one of
the women who submitted her story to that event about
her father, Cecil Wax, who had a surreal encounter during
World War II. Here is Marilyn Jensen.
Speaker 3 (01:00):
My dad, Cecil Wax, was the family story teller. He
had an endless supply of stories about scratching life from
the muddy hills of southwest Iowa. He passed on to
my brother Bill and me the wisdom and laughter that
can improve almost any situation. He sprinkled humor like salt
throughout his tails. Dad rummaged through his memory for any
(01:24):
scrap of wit from his months of service in World
War Two. He tagged that bleak era as Uncle Sam's
all expense paid trip to Europe. His blue eyes would
twinkle and his dimples dance as he shared memories of
times when he and his war brothers laughed together, like
(01:45):
the night a delayed fusebaumb went off, his buddy Hastings
jumped into a ditch for protection, and later discovered it
was a trench left over from World War I, which
the Germans had been using as the latrine. Dad would
grin and say, talk about Odor. We asked him to
sleep alone in the truck cab for the rest of
(02:06):
the night. But this story lacks that dash of comedy.
This is the account of how a scared farmer turned
soldier conquered a dangerous mountain road at the height of
one of the most decisive battles on the European continent.
(02:29):
He referred to this as the night I found out
there as a god. Clouds of dark memories would covered head,
sparkling eyes. He cleared his throat, stare deeply into the past,
and then begin. It was December of nineteen forty four.
(02:54):
General George Patten's Third Army included a group of over
eight hundred men called the eighteenth Tank Destroyer of Battalion.
The eight eighteenth was engaged in the bloody siege called
the Battle of the Bulge. Dad would shiver at the
very mention of those chilling words, the scene of that
epic blood letting of the winter of forty four and
(03:16):
forty five, when temperatures plummeted as low as six below zero,
that nightmare battle which splattered pristine white snow drifts with
the blood of over nineteen thousand American men. He'd shake
off darkness like a layer of snow from his shoulders
and continue. All the tanks, trucks, and soldiers of the
(03:37):
eight eighteenth were concealed in some mountain foothills in the
dense forest of the Ardane in Luxembourg. Cecil's job was
to drive one of the many supply trucks, providing rations
for the hungry soldiers, gasoline for the thirsty tanks, and
shells for their begging gun chorrets. An officer approached Cecil
(04:00):
late one afternoon. It was hard to tell what time
it was. The forest was thick and light seldom broke
through the trees. Umbrellaed with snow, Cecil recalled. He ordered
me to drive down the mountain with supplies for company.
A they needed gasoline and ammunition. I asked, when do
we leave, sir? The commander looked me straight in the eye. Immediately, Soldier,
(04:25):
You're going alone, just your truck and a lieutenant. As
the truck's cold engine ground to a start, Cecil set out.
The word alone was still blowing through his ears like
the bitter wind swirling around the half tone trunk. No
tanks rumbling ahead, breaking the path and chewing up the ice.
Just one solitary truck feeling its way along. Clinging to
(04:48):
the side of the mountain. The heaterless cab was frigid.
Cecil drove down that winding mountain trail with the windows down,
giving him at least a little visibility. The truck's cat
eyed black out lights blinked helplessly against the swirling whiteness.
The surface was so slick that if he even touched
(05:11):
the brakes, the front wheels would slide. The truck groaned
under the load of ninety cans of gasoline in many
rounds of three inch shells. It lost his footing a
couple of times in skidded sideways, but saplings on either
side of the road waved him back to the center.
(05:31):
Cecil knew that the men were depending on him his
army buddies. Suddenly, a loud, shrill howling ripped open the
deathly quiet of the forest another German assault. Cecil believed
he was going to die. He was praying every slippery
inch of the way, but as he said, nothing was happening.
(05:57):
On one dangerous hairpin curve, it happened. The heavily loaded
truck skidded on a patch of black ice and slid
out of control toward the void. Cecil believed then that
he was about to die. The supply truck bearing two
American soldiers was about to crash into oblivion. Time seemed
(06:19):
to flow in slow motion. He saw a vision of
his mother, Nora, on her knees, with her elbows sunk
deeply into her patchwork quilt. Tears were flowing down her cheeks,
and her lips were moving in fervent prayer. As he
struggled to bring the truck out of its skin, Cecil
(06:40):
realized that his mother was praying for him in terror.
Cecil prayed, too, please help me. The boys need ammunition.
The second he said that, something like a cool wind
blew on the back of his neck through the blackness.
He heard a voice just like someone said it aloud.
(07:03):
Shut the switch off. Cecil didn't hesitate. He switched off
the motor. The sudden change of momentum allowed him to
guide the toboggan like vehicles safely back onto the path.
When he regained speech, he asked the young lieutenant, did
(07:24):
you hear that the scared officer just tared blankly ahead?
Cecil continued with assurance it was God. And suddenly there
was the landmark he'd been told. Company A was concealed
near a bomb hole on the road just before a bridge.
(07:46):
All ninety gas cans rattled as Cecil tiptoed the truck
across that gaping hole. An incoming flash revealed an arched
stone bridge. They rolled across the bridge and pulled over.
The expectant silence was shattered by the rumble of approaching vehicles.
Cecil would say, I didn't know if they were Germans
(08:07):
or what. He and the lieutenant breathed again. Only when
they could make out that it was American equipment carriers approaching.
Cecil heaved a sigh of relief. When the precious cargo
was safely unloaded, he overheard one grateful tank driver's state
that they had been down to nine shells. The lieutenant
(08:31):
of Company A barked out, get the hell out of here.
The Germans are everywhere, and bring some more ammunition. The
trip back to the security of the base camp began.
The tire tracks marking his recent arrival were quickly filling
in with snow, but the truck gradually retraced the snakelike curves. Soon,
(08:55):
weak lights from the rays of the dawning sun lit
the rest of the journey. In amazement, Cecil could see
that what he thought were young saplings marking the edges
of the trail were in actuality the tops of tall
pine trees rooted in deep valleys below. He thought to himself,
(09:16):
there was somebody who drove that truck besides me. There's
no way any human could drive a truck down this narrow,
icy road in the dark. Cecil's life changed forever when
the voice urged him to shut the switch off. He
knew that God cared enough to guide him, one twenty
eight year old farmer prom Iowa down a frozen mountain road.
(09:41):
He was just one of over sixteen million Americans fighting
for freedom, but God loved him and saved his life.
That night. Cecil Wax lived the remainder of his ninety
four years depending on the knowledge that no one, no
matter how impossible the path, he never traveled alone.
Speaker 1 (10:07):
And just a terrific piece of production by Robbie and
a beautiful piece of writing by Marilyn Jensen. And this
is why we love doing this show, folks, to let
you tell the stories. And that night in Iowa, there
were six remarkable storytellers, and your stories make our American
stories the show. It is the story of Cecil Wax,
(10:30):
the story of courage, and the story of God. Here
on our American Stories
Host
Lee Habeeb
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