Memorial

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Pvt Michael Yevich was a truck driver before he enlisted on 13 March 1944 in Fort George Meade, Maryland.

His grandson, Mike Yevich, wrote the following:
He was in his later 30s, a dry cleaner from Scranton, Pennsylvania with a wife and two sons. Memories of him recall a well-dressed, social gentleman known more as a talker than a fighter. He was drafted into the army as WWII was raging in Europe, and after a brief basic training took a weeklong miserable boat ride across the Atlantic in August 1944. He spent September and October in France and Belgium, holding defensive lines and protecting ground that had been hard gained. He moved up to the edge of Western Germany and joined a unit that was decimated in brutal forest battles in the Hürtgen. After weeks of training in a relatively safe area they were alerted that they were moving to the front, where they quickly found out they were to engage in an offensive push for the Roer river . . . He loved to write letters home, and did so almost daily. They were well written, somewhat flowery with a hint of formality. He tried to convey positivity and show greater concern for his wife rather than his own situation, yet the further east he served the weaker the optimism became. In one of his last letters, written on the day they moved to the front across terrain that it was readily apparent heavy, fierce combat had recently occurred, he wrote “We passed through some towns that are a sight, nothing left of them. You should see all the cattle lying dead in the fields. I don’t know why there should be anything like war in this world. “ . . . His stay at the front was brief. The Fighting Falcons of the 39th took Merode and Schlich, and the 3rd Battalion jumped off on December 12th to take Derichsweiler and neutralize the longer range mortar and guns therein. Across a relatively open, flat farm terrain they advanced. His injuries, as described in the official letter to his widow which followed the heartbreaking telegram, leads one to believe that the mortar or artillery was his Grim Reapers’ scythe. His final resting place is alongside 7986 comrades who met similar fates, 7986 additional stories, lives, hopes, and dreams laid at the altar of freedom. 7987 stones laid meticulously in sweeping arches across a wind swept hill on the Belgian landscape. Henri Chapelle American Military Cemetery is impressive, humbling, reverent, and will move your emotions as you stand in its presence. Once you have paid your respects there, the idea of Memorial Day will never be the same to you . . . never.
I was named after this particular soldier, my grandfather Michael Yevich. My thoughts are for him often, not just on Memorial Day. It’s not because I knew him, obviously I didn’t. It’s not because his story is so unique or sadder than the rest, I don’t think it is. It is because the thought of his sacrifice, what he endured, what he left – is almost incomprehensible to me. My wife and I walked the forest, crossed the exact field, wept at the cemetery. The price of our freedom was paid by these men, and so many others, and paid for with their blood and suffering. There are many times I wish I could be at Henri Chapelle to once again say thank you, but only my thoughts can be there. 3759 miles away from my safe home and cushy life. My cushy FREE life ! 3759 miles