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.

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The Arn children grew up in Wooster, where their father’s alma mater and employer was an important part of their lives. From left: Pam (Kell), Kit, Heidi (Steiner); Ben, and Tim. Not pictured is adopted daughter Kathleen (Brenan).

Arn wrote of his memories of August 6-13, 1944, in the Battle of Mortain in France:

We were pinned down for hours, on one occasion in tank crossfire in a hedgerow field, as enemy and American tanks fired point-blank at each other. I remember I tried to pull one of our men out of one of our tanks, but he was dead and I dropped him back into the tank. I got out of there. The steady thud of shrapnel outside my hole created complete and engulfing fear in my heart. To be pinned like that in a foxhole is a terrifying experience. Militarily, one is quite useless.

Dubbed the “old man” because of his age, Arn developed a protective concern for “his boys” that became stronger than almost any other emotion. Here, he describes his solution to a debilitating disease:

Contrary to some of the movies about the Battle of the Bulge, the ever-present wet snow was often waist-deep. We suffered almost as many casualties from trench foot as from enemy firepower. Trench foot is a disease peculiar to soldiers fighting in winter conditions. A combination of dirty, sweaty, water-soaked shoes, wet socks, and cold weather resulted in the creation of blisters, deep sores, and finally, infection in the feet. Many men had to be evacuated because of the problem. One of our men who had been sent back because of trench foot, returned fully recovered to tell us of seeing an oil drum full of amputated feet in a military hospital in Liege.

I developed a solution to the problem in Fox Company. I had several pairs of socks issued to each of our people. I still don’t know how our enterprising supply sergeant discovered an ample supply. I then put out an order that whenever the situation warranted, each soldier was to remove his wet socks, put on a dry pair, and then place his wet socks inside his fatigues and against his warm, bare, skin. Body heat would dry the socks and they would be used again, not clean but at least dry. This system helped a great deal in Fox Company.

And finally, at the conclusion of the war in Europe on May 7, 1945:

Tonight I should be gloriously elated. Perhaps I should be doing something which would indicate that I know these ghastly nightmares are over. But, Mother and Dad, I look about me and there is no elation. These men have really won this war in Europe and yet they show no signs of that touching fact. We have news that Times Square in New York City is teeming with humanity, delirious people almost mad with joy. Here, we can only remember the men who are not here with us tonight; the heat and the dust of St.-Lo; the cracking limbs and falling leaves above me as I crouch behind those wretched hedgerows; the ominous, stubborn pillboxes of the Siegfried Line; the cold unhappiness and black shell holes against the unfeeling snow of the “Bulge.” These are only a few of the reasons why we are silent tonight. I swear I will never gloat over the laurels of victory. In this hour I humbly thank God for my life and for both of you.

“Old man” Dad

While it was filled with love, Ed Arn’s return to the states and to his parents was low key. “I suspect that when a civilian in uniform returns to communal life, he should reenter as unobtrusively as possible,” he wrote.

At age 39, he married Pat Rolph.Twelve years and five children later, he again found himself older than other men in a similar role. But the fact that their dad was older than most other fathers is not what Ed Arn’s children remember.What they remember is a father who filled their home with fun, love, and encouragement.

“He could make a game out of anything,” remembers fourth child Kit Arn ’76. “He was remarkable at tucking you in at night. He’d tuck you in and turn around and walk into a wall on purpose and pretend he had broken his nose, or stubbed his toe, and we’d yell, ‘Do it again, Dad, do it again!’

“Dad wasn’t one of those dads who had to leave early to commute. So we’d linger over breakfast. He had a little man who lived in his teacup. If one of us kids had a challenging day ahead, my father would drop saccharin into his tea, and it would bubble, and the Tea Man would come to life. The Tea Man would have a conversation with Dad about how to be positive about what we had to do that day,” remembers Kit.

The Arn home on Pearl Street was only a few blocks from where Ed Arn worked at The College of Wooster. “We’d all come home for lunch,” remembers daughter Heidi Arn Steiner, “and Dad would take a nap. And then we’d walk him down the alley, and where the alley ended we’d kiss him and tell him to have a good day. He’d go to work and we’d go to school and it felt good. It was all good.”

The Arn children’s earliest memories of their father’s military persona affirmed their ideal of him as fun-loving. “To keep us organized, he’d turn into Captain Arn,” remembers Kit. “We’d make up songs and march in time, and before we knew it we were across Beall Avenue in one piece.”

They remember “silly” phrases—“Get those men out of the sun!” and “Come on soldiers, get up! Time to get vertical.”When the American flag was flown at parades and sports events, the children watched their father and knew it was important.

As they grew older, they began to learn other ways that the war had shaped their father. “If there was a snowstorm, I remember him pacing in the middle of the night. He’d be up, looking for his guys, trying to fix Fox Company under fire,” remembers first-born Tim. “ I was in Boy Scouts, and we were supposed to camp in the winter with our dads. But it was below zero, and it took him back to his men—his other kids—and a situation he didn’t want to return to. He only camped with me twice.”

Arn, who had questioned authority in the military when it was necessary to protect his men, taught his children to be independent. “ There was no stepping in line, just because Dad said to,” remembers Kit.

But when Tim rebelled against the Vietnam War in the early ’ 70s, it caused a serious, eight-year rift with his parents.When Tim helped organize a bus of Wooster student demonstrators, tension between father and son mushroomed to conflict between student and administrator. “Dad was alumni director at the time and it was just too much,” remembers Tim. “We were all college-age punks; what could we know about war?”

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