Don writes —
Me at my American Legion Post in front of the Hall just dedicated to me. Part you can't see says MEMORIAL HALL.
The ladies are members of the Auxiliary who helped me get my latest book published -- "One Foot in the Grave: My Life on an Artificial Leg".

Oak Orchard Riverdale American Legion Post 28, 31768 Legion Rd, Millsboro, Delaware

A CLOSE CALL
By Don Addor, 10th Armored Division, 20 thAlB, HQ

This was our second night in the crossroad town of Noville, Belgium. I had been sent here with Team Desobry to hold the town from the Germans at "any or all costs", while the defenses for Bastogne were being set up.

I and three buddies serving in the 20th AIB Headquarters of the 10th Armored Division were told to stand by with the major's half track in a three story old stone house on the corner of the main intersection in the town. The house was built on a slope so that in the back the first floor was at ground level, but in the front was one story up looking out over the "main street."

This gave us a great view of the row of stone houses across the street, but beyond that the fog was too heavy to see anything. During the day we had taken quite a pounding from the enemy's artillery and tank fire. The row of buildings and barns out front had been hit so often that only the burned shell remained by nightfall.

I should say here that we had chosen to sleep in a small vegetable cellar that made for lumpy, but safe sleeping as the thick stone walls were under ground. Now there were nice double beds up stairs in this house. They even had clean sheets and blankets on them. Whoever had lived here had left in one big hurry as there was even a nice dinner laid out on the dining room table.

That night I had volunteered for the first shift of guard duty. The rest of the guys went down in to the vegetable cellar and their sleeping bags laid out on a large turnip bin and the cobble stone floor. Not very comfortable but safe!

I pulled a big overstuffed easy chair over in front of the big window facing the row of burning houses across the street. I was far enough back that I could not be seen. We had a sniper some place in town. However, I had a great view of the foggy, misty night outside. I thought it was kind of like watching a big movie screen from a seat in the balcony.

The houses out there reminded me of huge jack-o-lanterns lit up by the flames inside. The fires reflected on the wet cobblestone street making an eerie and haunting sight. There were several vehicles also burning at the side of the street to add their bit to the dancing reflection from the houses. The house across from where I was seated was a burned out shell, but flames still leaped from the debris that had fallen to the first floor. The entire roof was gone, leaving two stone peaks facing me. The peak closest to me had a few layers of stone missing and laying in the street below. The point of the rear peak was complete, right to its pointed end.

The whole scene seemed unreal, but an occasional burst of gunfire and a shell exploding somewhere not too far away, reminded me that this was the real thing, not a Hollywood set. As I gazed out the window mesmerized by the flames a shell hit the rear peak and blew it away.

Almost simultaneously these thoughts ran through my mind: Wow!; If that peak had not been there the shell would have landed in my lap; they hardly ever sent just one shell at a time. I leaped out of my comfy chair and headed for the safety of the root cellar.

About eight feet from the cellar's door I hear that second shell tear through the stone outer wall and come crashing across the floor above me. I took a dive and entered the storage room head first plowing down about 12 wooden steps. When I hit the floor ever one was awake. The shell had not exploded, but still had made a lot of noise crashing across the floor and through the furniture.

We all hunkered down with fingers crossed waiting for the explosion. We waited and waited, but none came. We thought that maybe the shell had a proximity or time fuse so no one ventured out of our little "bunker" until daylight. By then we were fairly sure that there would be no explosion, but wondered what the Hell had happened. With the sun shining through the windows up stairs things did not seem so grim. Actually it wasn't sunshine we saw, just its light that had filtered through the still dense fog. Everything was alright in the living and dining room. I told Sarge that the shell had come through the wall upstairs. I added that as I was sliding across the floor on my nose that I could hear it smashing things above me.

I volunteered to go up and take a look. Sarge said that he would come with me. When we looked into the front bedroom we saw a mess. There was a shell-shaped hole cut right through the stone wall just a few inches above the floor. A small table and a chair lay in splinters. The big bed had been split right down the middle and there it was buried halfway into the interior wall.

We gave it a good looking over, but didn't touch anything. We also put our ears close to it, but could hear no ticking sound or anything else. Even though it looked mean and nasty stuck in that wall, we both came to the conclusion that it was a genuine dud. We had been getting a lot of them lately.

Sarge and I went back down and told the guys what had happened and that there seemed to be nothing to worry about, at least from that shell. We did not stay in Noville much longer, but I never sat in that chair in front of that window again.

Don Addor, Author

You may enjoy a full account of Don’s Noville experience outside of Bastogne in his book, “Noville Outpost to Bastogne: My Last Battle”, by Don Addor.
   Softcover, ISBN 9781412034005 or Hardcover, ISBN 9781425156428

Also authored by Tiger Don Addor...

One Foot in the Grave My Life on an Artificial Leg
  Softcover, ISBN 9781426968150 or Hardcover, ISBN 9781426968167

Hallelujah: Featuring: "You're Not Dead Yet"
  Softcover, ISBN 9781426945342

Obituary
Donald J. Addor, Legion Post 28 founder

Donald J. Addor, 89, died peacefully at Bayhealth Medical Center Milford Memorial Hospital in Milford, Thursday, Sept. 18, 2014. The cause was heart failure.

Born July 12, 1925, in Washington, D.C., to Jules and Genevieve Addor, Don graduated from Calvin Coolidge High School. He enlisted in the U.S. Army July 4, 1943, at the height of World War II, receiving basic infantry training at Camp Croft, S.C. After shipping overseas with the 20th Armored Infantry Battalion of the10th Armored Division, part of Patton’s Third Army, he saw action in the Saar-Moselle Valley and in the defense of Bastogne, where he was wounded during the Battle of the Bulge. He was awarded the Purple Heart, the Bronze Star, the Presidential Unit Citation, the Combat Infantry Badge, the Belgian Croix de guerre, and the Medal of a liberated France.

Following the war, Don attended the University of Maryland and received a degree in journalism and public relations. He worked as a public information officer at Walter Reed Army Medical Center, and later as the assistant editor on All Hands Magazine, the official publication of the U.S. Navy.

After retirement in 1970, he moved to Rehoboth Beach, where his parents had owned a summer home for many years. As a life member of the Veterans of Foreign War, he served as the commander of Rehoboth Beach VFW Post 7447 as well as commander of District 4. He was also a life member of the American Legion and commanded legion posts in both Rehoboth Beach and Millsboro. His proudest achievement, however, was being the founder and first commander of the Oak Orchard Riverdale American Legion Post 28, which has become one of the largest legion posts nationally.

Don held lifetime memberships in many other organizations too, including the Disabled American Veterans, the Military Order of the Purple Heart, and the Sigma Chi Fraternity. He belonged to the American Society of the French Legion of Honor as well as to the Sons of the American Revolution. In service to his community, he was a member of the U.S. Coast Guard Auxiliary Flotilla 12-09 and a life member of the Indian River Volunteer Fire Co.

An avid reader of mysteries, he still found time to write three autobiographical books of his own. In the ’50s and ’60s, he was an amateur sports car racer who belonged to the Sports Car Club of America. Later he became an antique automobile aficionado who ran a restoration shop in Millsboro. He maintained memberships in both the Eastern Shore Region Antique Automobile Club of America and the Historical Vintage Car Club of Delaware. Cartoonist, watercolorist, oil painter - he was even once a freelance photographer for The Washington Star newspaper and later the manager of a country-and-western band. Widely known for his quick wit, when recently served some unusually small Harvard beets for lunch, he was heard to say, “Those don’t even look like they graduated high school.”

In 1985, Don was preceded in death by his beloved wife, Veronica. He is survived by his son, George Addor and daughter-in-law Deborah Addor; stepdaughter, Sharon Day; four grandchildren, Christian Addor, Victoria Addor, Leah Addor, and David Addor; and great-granddaughter, Isabelle Addor. He will long be remembered as a loving father, stepfather, grandfather, and great-grandfather. Thanks to the staff and volunteers at the Delaware Veterans Home for making his stay so nice over the last three years.

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