Talk to Wooster
Spring 2006
Ed Arn: Patriot, Father, and Wooster Man
In many ways, the story of Ed Arn’s long and well-lived life follows the plot line of the Successful All-American Male.
Email Story
Born
in 1909 in Cleveland to working class parents, Arn ’31 majored in English
at The College of Wooster at the urging of a high school teacher and Wooster
alumna who recognized his potential. A scholarship, odd jobs, and a loan saw
him through hard times. In spite of the Depression, following graduation he
became a successful salesman, honing skills that would serve him well when
he returned to his alma mater as fund- and
friend-raiser.
The chapters of his life read predictably—loving husband, beloved father, passionate and loyal employee. But in addition, four extraordinary years shaped Ed Arn. A decorated front-line infantry officer from 1944-1946, he saw, recorded, and remembers the horrors of World War II.
Today, at age 97, he does not retreat from the mantra he has repeated ever since. “War is hell. There’s got to be a better way.”
“Old Man Arn”—Captain
Perhaps it was because he was a born writer. Perhaps it was because he was, at age 34, a more mature and reflective soldier. Perhaps it was because he was so close to his parents.Whatever the reason, Ed Arn wrote 312 letters to his parents during his wartime service. The letters are the basis of Arn’s recently released book, Arn’s War: Memoirs of a World War II Infantryman, 1944- 1946, edited by Jerome Mushkat and published in 2006 by the University of Akron Press.
Words written in the midst of war can seldom glorify it. Arn, who was decorated with eight awards for valor, wrote about fear, horror, and anger. A captain of Fox Company, 199th Regiment, 30th Infantry Division who fought in hand-to-hand combat in Northern France, the Rhineland, and the Battle of the Bulge, he wrote about death lacking in dignity. Here, for example, is his description of the friendly fire that resulted in six dead and a dozen wounded solders in his company.
The awesome “crr . . umph” of the 500-pounders could now be felt through the tremors in the earth beneath our feet. Instantly, I felt a chill run up and down my spine. Those babies were falling behind us, 10 miles behind us, we found out later. We were about to be pounded by our own air force. . . Bombing attacks, whether friendly or enemy, knock out telephones, radios, and various other forms of communication. Chaos follows. No one controls anything.”
