| Russell Dunham Hero in our eyes November 9, 2007 - 9:31 AM By LAURA GRIFFITH The Telegraph |
Russell Dunham, 87, of Jerseyville is one of fewer than 35 living Medal of Honor recipients from World
War II.
But he doesn’t consider himself a hero. He was just doing his job, he says.
“I don’t feel like a hero even yet today; I just don’t feel like I’m a hero. I just did what I had to do, and that
was it,” he said. “You got your responsibilities and, naturally, you don’t want to lose any more men than
you have to.”
In August 1940, Dunham, his older brother, Ralph, and a friend went to Peoria to look for a job and
found themselves enlisting in the U.S. Army.
He entered the service and eventually served as a technical sergeant with the Army, Company I, 30th
Infantry, 3rd Division.
“When they first picked me to be a sergeant, I turned it down, but then they threatened to court-martial
me if I didn’t take it,” he said. “I’m glad I did. (Then) I had other things to worry about besides myself,
which was good.”
Dunham first saw action in North Africa after arriving there Nov. 8, 1942. From there, he went into
Sicily on July 8, 1943, and then into Southern Italy. He and his comrades landed at Anzio, Italy, on Jan.
22, 1944.
Afterward, they pulled back and went to France.
Over the course of their battles, Dunham lost many men, including some friends.
“After awhile, you get so used to it, you don’t pay that much attention to it,” he said. “We expected to
lose people. We just went on; it just was no big deal.”
On Jan. 8, 1945, Dunham and his men found themselves on a hill ahead of their artillery near
Kayserberg, France.
Dunham had 42 men under his command, many of whom he was close with, which he said helped,
because he knew what kind of men he was fighting alongside. They were called storm troopers,
because they were always the first ones into battle, he said.
“Our main thing was to accomplish our mission,” he said. “We knew that if we didn’t get up on that hill
high enough that our own artillery would come in on us.”
According to Dunham’s citation on the U.S. Army’s official Web site, about 2:30 p.m. on Jan. 8, he
single-handedly assaulted three enemy machine guns with his platoon behind him.
Despite being shot, Dunham continued on, killing nine Germans, wounding seven and capturing two,
firing about 175 rounds of carbine ammunition and expending 11 grenades, spearheading a
successful diversionary attack.
Dunham described being shot in the back.
“It was actually like a burn,” he said. “When I rolled down the hill, I didn’t really know how much I was hit
until the medic came over. He wanted to send me back, and I said, ‘No, I’m not going back.’ So I went
on up the hill.”
He remembers most of his experiences from the war vividly and even has a book in area libraries
(written by D. Ray Wilson as told to by Russell Dunham), titled “Episode on Hill 616.”
“I will say this — you never forget when you kill somebody,” Dunham said. “When you’re off in a
distance, it don’t make that much difference. But when you’re right up close, that’s when. You’ve just
got to forget it, that’s all.
“Actually, your whole lifetime, you never forget it.”
Dunham received the Medal of Honor at Zeppelin Stadium in Nuremberg, Germany, on April 23,
1945, with four other men he knew. According to Dunham’s stepdaughter, the Allies had blown up a
giant swastika that had adorned the building just before the presentation.
Dunham said he felt a bit let down by the ceremony.
“They didn’t make no mention of all the people we had lost and had killed and wounded and
everything,” he said.
So many people died because they didn’t have proper training, although the Dunham brothers went all
the way through from North Africa until the end of the war, he said.
At the same time, he has to be proud of what he did, Dunham said, and of his medals and
accomplishments.
“Words can’t describe it, really,” he said.
Receiving the Medal of Honor shaped who Dunham became for the rest of his life, he said.
“The Medal of Honor carried a lifetime job with it; that was the main thing,” he said.
President Harry Truman had passed a law that all Medal of Honor recipients were guaranteed jobs
with the Veterans Administration, should they accept it, which Dunham did after leaving active duty.
He worked as a veterans’ representative for 30 years, explaining vets’ benefits in several foreign
countries, until he retired at 55.
For the most part, Dunham has said he would like to see wars forgotten — not necessarily put out of
history, but not glorified, he said.
“When we were in the service, they always told us this was supposed to be the last war,” he said.
“They said it was the war to end all wars.”
War II.
But he doesn’t consider himself a hero. He was just doing his job, he says.
“I don’t feel like a hero even yet today; I just don’t feel like I’m a hero. I just did what I had to do, and that
was it,” he said. “You got your responsibilities and, naturally, you don’t want to lose any more men than
you have to.”
In August 1940, Dunham, his older brother, Ralph, and a friend went to Peoria to look for a job and
found themselves enlisting in the U.S. Army.
He entered the service and eventually served as a technical sergeant with the Army, Company I, 30th
Infantry, 3rd Division.
“When they first picked me to be a sergeant, I turned it down, but then they threatened to court-martial
me if I didn’t take it,” he said. “I’m glad I did. (Then) I had other things to worry about besides myself,
which was good.”
Dunham first saw action in North Africa after arriving there Nov. 8, 1942. From there, he went into
Sicily on July 8, 1943, and then into Southern Italy. He and his comrades landed at Anzio, Italy, on Jan.
22, 1944.
Afterward, they pulled back and went to France.
Over the course of their battles, Dunham lost many men, including some friends.
“After awhile, you get so used to it, you don’t pay that much attention to it,” he said. “We expected to
lose people. We just went on; it just was no big deal.”
On Jan. 8, 1945, Dunham and his men found themselves on a hill ahead of their artillery near
Kayserberg, France.
Dunham had 42 men under his command, many of whom he was close with, which he said helped,
because he knew what kind of men he was fighting alongside. They were called storm troopers,
because they were always the first ones into battle, he said.
“Our main thing was to accomplish our mission,” he said. “We knew that if we didn’t get up on that hill
high enough that our own artillery would come in on us.”
According to Dunham’s citation on the U.S. Army’s official Web site, about 2:30 p.m. on Jan. 8, he
single-handedly assaulted three enemy machine guns with his platoon behind him.
Despite being shot, Dunham continued on, killing nine Germans, wounding seven and capturing two,
firing about 175 rounds of carbine ammunition and expending 11 grenades, spearheading a
successful diversionary attack.
Dunham described being shot in the back.
“It was actually like a burn,” he said. “When I rolled down the hill, I didn’t really know how much I was hit
until the medic came over. He wanted to send me back, and I said, ‘No, I’m not going back.’ So I went
on up the hill.”
He remembers most of his experiences from the war vividly and even has a book in area libraries
(written by D. Ray Wilson as told to by Russell Dunham), titled “Episode on Hill 616.”
“I will say this — you never forget when you kill somebody,” Dunham said. “When you’re off in a
distance, it don’t make that much difference. But when you’re right up close, that’s when. You’ve just
got to forget it, that’s all.
“Actually, your whole lifetime, you never forget it.”
Dunham received the Medal of Honor at Zeppelin Stadium in Nuremberg, Germany, on April 23,
1945, with four other men he knew. According to Dunham’s stepdaughter, the Allies had blown up a
giant swastika that had adorned the building just before the presentation.
Dunham said he felt a bit let down by the ceremony.
“They didn’t make no mention of all the people we had lost and had killed and wounded and
everything,” he said.
So many people died because they didn’t have proper training, although the Dunham brothers went all
the way through from North Africa until the end of the war, he said.
At the same time, he has to be proud of what he did, Dunham said, and of his medals and
accomplishments.
“Words can’t describe it, really,” he said.
Receiving the Medal of Honor shaped who Dunham became for the rest of his life, he said.
“The Medal of Honor carried a lifetime job with it; that was the main thing,” he said.
President Harry Truman had passed a law that all Medal of Honor recipients were guaranteed jobs
with the Veterans Administration, should they accept it, which Dunham did after leaving active duty.
He worked as a veterans’ representative for 30 years, explaining vets’ benefits in several foreign
countries, until he retired at 55.
For the most part, Dunham has said he would like to see wars forgotten — not necessarily put out of
history, but not glorified, he said.
“When we were in the service, they always told us this was supposed to be the last war,” he said.
“They said it was the war to end all wars.”
