Major Winters at Ease
The heart he kept . . . a secret to the end from all the picklocks of biographers.
—STEPHEN VINCENT BENÉT, JOHN BROWN’S BODY
As I reflect upon these vignettes, I am reminded that these are the stories that Dick enjoyed telling when he was most at ease. These are the tales that produced a twinkle in his eye and a smile across his face. These are the memories that he shared when he was in the company of his friends.
* * *
To truly understand Dick Winters, one merely needs to examine his personal letters from the time he entered the U.S. Army in the summer of 1941 until his return to the United States in November 1945. As with many soldiers, he began keeping a diary to record his military experience. At the same time, he developed a platonic relationship with DeEtta Almon of Asheville, North Carolina. Dick had met DeEtta in November 1941 when he accepted an invitation to join a Mr. Hazard, the director of the local YMCA, to attend religious services. After church, one of the good families demonstrated the truth and goodness of the fabled phrase “Southern hospitality.” They invited the director and young Private Winters to their home for a Sunday dinner. The following week two Asheville girls approached Hazard for the names and addresses of some soldiers who might be appreciative of a package of brownies and fudge. According to Dick, “His friend Trent and I became the two lucky soldiers who received the benefit of the girls’ goodwill toward the soldiers in the armed services.”
Dick immediately sent a letter of thanks to the girls and mentioned that he would like to return to that lovely “city in the sky” and thank them personally. What evolved from that exchange was a wonderful friendship with DeEtta. In Dick’s own words, “Between November 1941 and January 1946, when I was discharged from the army, she was my best friend and pen pal. She replied to every letter I wrote, and if I did not write, she continued to send letters. She kept me on the ball and helped me keep my head up.” They would meet once after the war ended, to say good-bye. Both went their separate ways, their previous relationship a victim of a time and circumstances that had passed them by.
As Dick described it to me, there things lay until December 1995, fifty years after the war, when he received a telephone call one evening. The voice on the other end of the line was one of a young lady.
“Mr. Winters?”
“Yes.”
“Band of Brothers?”
“Yes.”
“Do you remember a girl by the name of DeEtta Almon from Asheville, North Carolina?”
“Oh, my goodness. Yes! I have many good memories of DeEtta!”
“I am her daughter Hazel.”
That telephone call led Dick to reestablish contact with someone from his past whom he had held very dear. They exchanged several calls and letters, and in January 1996 DeEtta sent Dick two large scrapbooks that contained 117 letters that he, his father, and his sister Ann had written to DeEtta over the course of World War II. Dick and Ethel read each letter and later joined Hazel and DeEtta for a joyous reunion on May 14, 1996, DeEtta’s birthday. “There was nothing improper in the letters. Our friendship was strictly platonic. I had nothing to hide from my wife,” he told me. Dick and Ethel found the letters not only interesting, but also fascinating because the early correspondence revealed a period piece, a tableau of that innocent time before the war immeasurably altered Dick’s life and that of the nation that he served. As Dick read the letters for the first time in fifty years, he remembered why the correspondence had been so important to him during the war. “For the biggest value a letter holds for me,” he wrote DeEtta, “is that it takes my mind off my work and back to the land we dream of all the time. I like to hear how tough it is to get along back home. It makes me feel good to think of returning to that type of life someday.”
DeEtta died in February 2001. Dick reminded me several times how much he regretted that she did not live to watch HBO’s Band of Brothers.
When my own father passed on Memorial Day 2009, my mother asked me to clean out his desk in the back room of their home. I sorted through old papers and folders, most of which were yellowed by age. As I tossed one folder into the garbage, several sheets of carbon paper fell to the floor. Taking a closer look, I discovered the papers were actually copies of letters that Dad had sent to his mother during his first year in the navy. Most of us think of our fathers as we remember them in later life. Seldom does one have the opportunity to gain an insight into a father’s past, when he was a young man with the entire world at his feet. As with Dad’s thirty-four letters from 1938 through 1939, Dick’s letters to DeEtta reveal a young man in his early twenties, coping with the realities of military service during the time of the greatest war of the twentieth century. As Dick informed me when he provided me a copy of “Letters to DeEtta,” “These letters remind me of an innocent time when I was young and carefree, before the war changed me, and how I became the man I am today.”
* * *
Shortly before my marriage in 2003, I brought a visitor to meet Dick Winters, my fiancée, Mary. By then, my routine of visiting Dick had fallen into a familiar pattern. I always arrived ten minutes early for my scheduled time at 4 P.M. Dick would say, “Military men are always early. I like that.” Ethel would merely smile and then roll her eyes. We would then talk for an hour in Dick’s upstairs office before departing to a local restaurant for dinner. Following our meal, we returned to the house for some lively after-dinner banter.
Since Mary was accompanying me on this occasion, I was anxious for her to meet Dick and Ethel. Dick had already arranged for a lovely dinner at the Canal House in Hershey, where the owner always reserved his private table in the alcove. Still, Mary was not sure what to expect and could not believe we were driving four hours to get together with someone whom she had never met and were going to dinner with a couple about whom she had only heard. Before departing New York, she asked, “Are you telling me that we need Dick Winters’s permission to get married?”
“Wouldn’t hurt, hon,” I replied. Now familiar with my idiosyncrasies, Mary gave me an unadulterated smile.
On arriving in Hershey, I immediately pulled into the car wash four blocks from Elm Avenue and began washing the car. Mary, who had never seen me perform this task, seemed perplexed. Too polite to say anything, she was incredulous that after I finished washing the car, I pulled in to the station to vacuum the interior. After I cleaned the driver’s side, I tossed the vacuum hose to Mary and asked her to do the passenger’s side. That was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Unable to control her laughter, she said, “You know, Cole, we are not picking up the king and queen of England!”
Remembering my first encounter five years earlier, when Ethel had remarked about my car’s dirty windows, I replied, “Maybe not, Mary, but I will never pick up Ethel in a dirty car again.”
Our visit and the dinner at the Canal House were fabulous, and Mary passed Dick’s inspection, but not before she felt a moment of discomfort. After helping her to her seat, Dick looked her square in the eye and said, “Tell me about yourself!” Mary, used to standing before a high school class, could only stammer a response, which in turn produced nervous laughter. More questions followed and I received more than one kick under the table. To make a long story short, Dick granted his “approval” for us to marry. In the future, Mary and I made numerous visits to Hershey, but her initial visit was the one she considered the most memorable.
Damian Lewis, the British actor who played Dick in the HBO miniseries, tells a wonderful story about how he received the role of Major Winters. He likened the role to “a needle-in-the-haystack piece of casting. I had no real sense of who this guy was.” Lewis was in his late twenties and had done nothing on this scale before. During the second audition, he began reading for the role of Winters. Following the final audition in London, he was invited to Los Angeles to meet Steven Spielberg and Tom Hanks. In L.A. he met Ron Livingston, who eventually played Lewis Nixon. Since they thought they had time on their hands, Lewis, Ron, and others went out on the town and partied until four in the morning. Three hours later, Lewis received a call from Spielberg’s secretary notifying him that “Steve will see you at ten o’clock.” In ninety minutes, Lewis claims, he consumed six cups of coffee and took three showers to get sober. When he arrived at Spielberg’s office, several other actors were present, all of whom were vying for the coveted role. As Lewis recollected in a radio interview two months following Dick’s passing, “I still don’t know why I got the part. One of the actors looked exactly like Major Winters. It was uncanny how much he resembled the major, but fortunately, I got the part.”
As the production of the HBO miniseries began in earnest, People magazine dispatched Lewis to Pennsylvania to meet the real thing. Dick, in turned, called Bob Hoffman and invited him to join Lewis and a reporter who was writing the feature article. It was a very upbeat day. Dick was extraordinarily pleased with the way that Lewis portrayed him in the series, but this was his initial meeting with the actor, and at first he was somewhat skeptical.
Dick and Hoffman invited Lewis and the reporter to his favorite little restaurant, the Giddy-up Café in Hershey. At day’s end, Dick and Hoffman stood on the curb in front of Dick’s home on Elm Avenue and waved good-bye. Dick was all smiles as they departed, but he then turned to Hoffman and said, “Gee, he’s skinny and talks with an English accent. And they couldn’t even find a guy with blond hair!” Lewis, of course, is a redhead.
* * *
When Band of Brothers premiered in September 2001, the veterans of Easy Company became instant celebrities. Being invited to attend the Emmy Awards ceremony was a personal highlight for Dick. Steven Spielberg and Tom Hanks had personally invited Dick to participate in the onstage acceptance of the Emmy for Outstanding Miniseries, which they were confident was coming their way. Over dinner at a local restaurant, Dick shared the invitation with Ethel and Bob Hoffman, but he was unsure if he should attend. Ethel was reluctant to attend and was skeptical of the wisdom of her husband making a transcontinental trip to California. “No way you are going!” Ethel said, “It will be too much for you.” The conversation became quite muted after that remark.
Returning to the house, Hoffman asked Dick point-blank if he wanted to go. When Dick responded in the affirmative, Bob proposed a scheme. Since he had arranged Dick’s care with a local cardiologist, Bob suggested that if Dick’s health improved, a nurse could accompany him and Ethel to California. That would assuage Ethel’s fears of her husband traveling across the country. Everything progressed as planned until at the last minute, when the nurse cited complications that prevented her from going. The cardiologist then proposed that Dick take Hoffman along since Bob knew better than anyone how to handle Dick’s personal needs. Moreover, Dick had complete trust in him.
As they departed the airport in Philadelphia, Dick pulled Hoffman aside and said, “Hoffman, if anyone in California calls you ‘Doctor,’ just go along with it.”
Bob looked at Dick and said, “Winters?”
“I haven’t misled anyone, Hoffman, but if they are under that assumption, well, that’s up to them,” he quickly added.
From the moment the Winterses arrived in Los Angeles, the writers and producers of the series surrounded them, Steven Spielberg and Tom Hanks included. As Hoffman later recalled, the “closeness and dedication of the Easy Company veterans to their story and to each other was clearly visible. Skilled and famous artists in their own right, they spoke of a unifying spirit that brought all involved together with a single-minded purpose, a bonding which they all agreed was unusual to this industry and to this town.” Hanks reinforced this feeling with remarks he shared with the Winterses following the awards ceremony. His thoughts were sincere, emotional, and private. As many times as dignitaries and famous men and women had courted Hanks, there was something in Dick’s humility that struck a chord with him.
Upon arrival at their hotel in Hollywood, the manager escorted Dick and “Dr.” Hoffman to adjoining rooms. By prior arrangement, and at Dick’s insistence, they did not stay at the same hotel as the Easy Company families, who were staying at Los Angeles’s St. Regis. Dick and Ethel’s room contained a huge floral arrangement, engraved stationery, and name cards personalized for him. Hoffman’s room had a smaller floral arrangement, engraved stationery, and name cards announcing to the world “Dr. Robert Hoffman in residence.”
Dick and Hoffman next attended the HBO banquet for the thirty-seven Easy Company veterans and their extended families. Dick spoke only briefly, since he wanted the focus to be on the veterans and not on himself. “The company belonged to the men,” Dick reiterated. “The officers were merely caretakers.” Following dinner, Dick asked Hoffman to sit at his side to assist him in avoiding the “crush” of veterans and families seeking his autograph. All of the veterans referred to him as Major Winters. Not one addressed him as Dick—great respect and deference. Such admiration was typical of the members of Easy Company. Three years earlier, on the occasion of Dick’s eightieth birthday, which was celebrated at the Veterans of Foreign Wars in Hershey, Pennsylvania, Forrest Guth rose to toast the honoree and felt compelled to seek Dick’s approval. Forrest looked Dick in the eye and asked, “Major Winters, on this special occasion, may I have your permission to call you Dick?” The relationship between Winters and his men was that different.
By coincidence, the cast of the television situation comedy Friends, including David Schwimmer, who played the sadistic Captain Herbert Sobel in the miniseries, sat in the row immediately in front of Spielberg, Hanks, Dick and Ethel, and Hoffman. At one point, someone tapped Schwimmer on the shoulder and advised him, “The real Major Winters is sitting right behind you.” Schwimmer turned to Dick and said, “Major Winters, I hope I wasn’t too hard on you in the way I played Captain Sobel.”
Without missing a beat, Dick looked him squarely in the eyes and said, “I assure you, he was much worse than you ever imagined.”
Needless to say, the Emmy ceremony itself was an unqualified success. Accepting the award for Outstanding Miniseries was Spielberg and Tom Hanks. Spielberg said, “Men of Easy Company won this in 1944.” As the camera cut to the actual veterans, Spielberg continued, “These are the real men of Easy Company.”
Dick, too, was energized and walked with a definite purpose as he went to the stage. The night before, he had asked Bob to write some thoughts on his speech. Hoffman did and suggested that he end with a salute. Following an introduction by Steven Spielberg at the awards ceremony, Dick addressed the audience: “Thank you, very much. This evening, I represent all the men of Easy Company who are present and accounted for and all who have passed on. Thank every one of you for your support. I salute you!” Short and sweet. Dick’s speech was overwhelmingly well received and he was given a standing ovation.
Over dinner following the ceremony, Ethel thanked Tom Hanks for allowing Bob Hoffman to accompany them as it had made the difference in their coming. Hanks replied that there was nothing like traveling with your own cardiologist. Ethel, knowing nothing of the “medical masquerade” surrounding Hoffman, replied, “Cardiologist? Hoffman is an architect!” Hanks then spun around and addressed Hoffman, “And here I’ve been treating you with respect!”
The next morning at breakfast with the nine series writers, Erik Jendresen informed Hoffman that Hanks had tapped him on the shoulder at the bar after the Winters party had departed and said, “Did you know Hoffman is an architect, not a cardiologist?”
Jendresen replied, “Of course. I’ve known him since the beginning of the series’ work!”
“Am I the only guy who thought Hoffman was a cardiologist?” laughed Hanks.
Two other events formed an indelible impression on Dick during his final years. In May 2001, the Franklin and Eleanor Roosevelt Institute conferred upon the veterans of World War II the Four Freedoms/Freedom from Fear Award. The Franklin D. Roosevelt Four Freedoms Medals are presented annually to men and women whose achievements have demonstrated a commitment to the four freedoms that President Roosevelt proclaimed on January 6, 1941: freedom of speech and expression, freedom of worship, freedom from want, and freedom from fear. Roosevelt considered the four freedoms essential to a flourishing democracy. Past recipients had included Presidents Harry Truman, John F. Kennedy, and Jimmy Carter; Coretta Scott King; Elie Wiesel; Katharine Graham; and Supreme Court justices William Brennan and Thurgood Marshall. In 2001, the institute selected five servicemen and -women to represent the United States armed forces of World War II. National Broadcasting Company anchor Tom Brokaw presented the actual awards to the five recipients who had served so gallantly during the war. Representing the U.S. Army was none other than Major Dick Winters. He stood in proud company, with navy corpsman Robert E. Bush; Navy Cross recipient William T. Ketcham, Jr., representing the U.S. Marine Corps; U.S. Air Force Colonel Lee A. Archer, Jr., the Tuskegee Airmen’s only fighter ace; and Ellen Buckley, who served in the Army Nurse Corps.
I attended the ceremony at historic St. James’ Church in Hyde Park, New York. Dick and Ethel were unaware that I would be there, but I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. “What in heaven’s name are you doing here,” he asked. “You are supposed to be in the classroom.”
“Dick, I’m here to thank you for what you and these men and women did for my generation and my children’s generation. Thank you for your service to our great country.”
The reception following the ceremony was spectacular. The crowd numbered in the hundreds, and the West Point Glee Club treated the attendees to a medley of patriotic songs from the World War II era. What was most gratifying was to see the young men and women from the Corps of Cadets of the U.S. Military Academy shake the hand of each recipient of the Freedom from Fear Award. Later, Dick called me aside and said, “I know you had something to do with us being here.” I said that was not the case. “You’re here for what you did over there. This is our way of saying thanks to your generation.”
Three years later, Dick received an invitation to speak on leadership at the FBI headquarters in Washington, D.C. Several hundred senior agents were totally engrossed by Dick’s presentation, which addressed a number of leadership challenges that he had encountered during the war. He urged the agents to maintain the highest standards of professional conduct and to always “Hang Tough!” When his presentation was over, Dick received his customary standing ovation. The applause became even more boisterous after FBI director Robert Mueller III presented an award to Dick. In his comments, he referred to a scene from the miniseries in which David Schwimmer portraying Captain Sobel refuses to salute Damian Lewis as Major Winters. Winters then instructs Sobel, “Captain Sobel, you salute the rank, not the man.” Sobel reluctantly acquiesces and Winters smiles to Lewis Nixon. Director Mueller announced to the audience, “Major Winters, we thank you for joining us today. Unlike the scene in Band of Brothers, today we salute the man, not the rank.” First-class.
Dick’s last public appearance was at the Starlight West Room of the Hotel Hershey on February 28, 2007, when he received “the Medal of the City of Eindhoven” from Mayor Alexander Sakkers of Eindhoven, Holland. Dick was in ill health, and Ethel was probably correct in her assessment that the physical strain would be too much for him. Dick, however, wanted to attend the ceremony to express his personal gratitude to the Dutch nation that had endured four years of Nazi occupation. He recounted the reception on September 18, 1944, when members of the 506th Parachute Infantry Regiment, with Easy Company led by Captain Dick Winters in the van, entered and liberated the city of Eindhoven. “We had experienced a tough fight just to enter the city,” recalled Dick. “The people were ecstatic to have their freedom returned. You could see it in their faces. They couldn’t do enough. People would bring out chairs from their homes for the soldiers to sit down. They brought food and drinks. It was so different than anything we had experienced in Normandy. Of course, in France the people weren’t sure we were going to stay, and that they were really liberated. But with Holland, they were sure we were going to stay. They had complete faith in us that we would stick with them—that they were free. If there is a lesson here, it is that freedom is so important that it should never be taken for granted.”
Over a luncheon at the hotel, Mayor Sakkers addressed the assembly and stated that at last year’s celebration in Eindhoven’s city square, more than ten thousand residents gathered to hear Sakkers speak with Major Winters on the phone to announce the awarding of the honorary citizen medal. That conversation was broadcast on live television throughout the country. Sakkers then presented Dick with the medal and the citation conferring on him the status of an “Honorary Citizen of Eindhoven.” He was the first non-Dutch recipient of the prestigious award. “Every citizen of Eindhoven is very proud that you are one of them,” said Sakkers. “Thank you very much for all that you have done.” The mayor continued, “The eighteenth of September will always be symbolic of gratefulness and of freedom that was earned in those days and is so important for everyone, every day.”
True to form, Dick expressed his appreciation for such an honor, but that it was he who should be thanking the people of Holland for the role the Netherlands played in helping the United States establish itself after the American Revolution. Holland was the first European nation to recognize the fledgling United States after the fighting ceased in 1781. “Our actions in 1944 were a way of repaying our debt to you for coming to our rescue in 1782,” Dick said. “Payback was needed and gladly given.”
Dick’s citation read: “The medal is granted for exceptional services rendered by Major R. D. Winters and all Allied Troops who risked their lives to bring about the liberation of Eindhoven and the surrounding region under life-threatening circumstances.” In Dick’s mind, the ceremony was a testament to yet another debt repaid. He was even more pleased when the Dutch edition of Beyond Band of Brothers: The War Memoirs of Major Dick Winters was released on the anniversary of Eindhoven’s liberation.