During the first major offensive operations of the 10th Mountain Division, L Company of the 86th Mountain Infantry Regiment sustained 83 casualties (20 killed, 63 wounded), a loss rate of almost forty-five percent. These were serious losses in a World War Two unit. Two or three more weeks of such combat would have annihilated L Company. Fortunately, the division was to get a reprieve. The men were sent to a rest area in the rear, and many of them were given leave to visit some of the nearby cities.
1st Sgt. Bill Brown, S/Sgt. Edward “Lucky” Lisciandro and six others were sent to Florence for leave. Lisciandro believed that the company commander had pulled strings for him as a way of thanking him for some of the very difficult assignments he’d been given during the previous weeks. There were a limited number of leaves that could be granted, and Lisciandro was correct, there was a fair amount of string-pulling. Battalion commander Maj. Jack Hay had arranged for L Company’s commander to be given a one week pass to visit Rome with a fellow officer.
All that is known of this leave comes from the letters Capt. Bailey wrote to his wife, Doris while on his trip. Though both were from Vermont, when the 10th Mountain Division left Camp Swift, Texas to head overseas, she had elected to spend the winter in Coronado Beach, Florida with her mother and their infant son, David. The letters describe not only the events of his trip to Rome and the condition of life in the city, but also of the mindset of men separated from their families, not knowing when or whether ever they might be reunited.
March 13, 1945
Dearest Lovely,
I am now in a comfortable villa awaiting transportation to Rome. Just imagine a week’s leave. Vatican City, St. Peter’s Cathedral, beds, tile baths, table cloths, night clubs, no troop responsibility, and most of all lots of time to write to you. How I do wish the Army had a system so you could fly to Rome and meet me.
This, following our other rest, is almost enough to make a fellow forget all about what combat is like.
Four sacks of mail arrived at the company just before I left, but there wasn’t time to pick mine out. Unless I can make unexpected connections, I shall have to wait a whole week before receiving your letters which I know must be there. On this account I was tempted to refuse my vacation, but since people insisted and I knew you wouldn’t be in tears for more than a few days over it, here I am.
Rome is supposed to be the place to see in Italy. All of the veterans around here tell about its being just like the states – almost. My darling how I wish you were the objective of my trip. If I could see you for but five minutes the entire week would be worth a million dollars. Every day or two when we get news I try to “will” the war a little closer over than I dare guess. It can’t be more than three more months organized fighting here – I hope, but how long guerilla fighting will continue is problematic.
All of my Love, Ev
Friday 16 March 1945
Dearest Lovely,
I am staying in a beautiful hotel in Rome. Ernie Fields, whom you may remember, and I have a large room with twin beds, innerspring mattresses, big door type windows opening on to a balcony, a super modern private bath, and the entire hotel reminds me of the moving pictures I have seen of elaborate European hotels. The only thing wrong is that my memory and appreciation work together, and I can’t help but remember our frequent stays in various hotels. When I take a bath in our super grandiose bath tub, I can only think, “If only Lovely were here to scrub my back.” The tub would be a perfect fit for the two of us. The big soft bed and easy chairs and privacy of the place all make my body and soul cry for you.
On the way here I stopped in the little city of Montecatini, of the famous mineral salts, where I had a super-duper hot mineral bath that neither restored my youth or my hair, but it felt fine. Yesterday after I went to what is called a vaudeville here, expecting to see trapeze artists and quartets etc. All we saw were a couple of hams cracking corny jokes in Italian, most of which I missed, and dozens of sexy dames à la Italian, with nothing on except a little lace, attempting to dance in unison. It was almost funny, only too disgusting (don’t think I am prim), because they were always watching one another to see which way to kick next and then once in a while one would remember to smile; then all would call it quits and run off from the stage except generally one or two who didn’t know that they were behind and would remain there, oblivious to it all, spinning or kicking until it dawned on them that they were alone. Even the singing smelled, which in Italy is supposed to be comical. Frankly I have heard darned little good singing since I have been here, but I am going to the opera, Faust, tonight and will tell you more about it later.
Last night I met Bob Linsley, frat brother and classmate at old UVM. (Do you remember him – a big guy) I met him at the ARC Officers snack bar and spent the evening, cocktail hour, dinner and after dinner dance with him. There are a few nurses that are around for cocktails but most are Italian gals looking for a meal ticket to dinner. During the dance phase they strive to auction themselves off to the highest bidder. They have their own apartments and none are allowed in our quarters. Bob was my guide and pointed these facts out to me. Again I was both amused and disgusted, mostly disgusted.
Don’t ever worry about your husband’s extra-curricular amorous activities lovely. What the hell they see in it is more than I know – aside from being dutifully faithful, pure and clean and that stuff.
Don’t think everything about Rome disgusts me though. Today I visited the Vatican, particularly St. Peter’s Cathedral, and it surpassed my expectations. I doubt if man has ever built such a grandiose combination of structural, sculpted, and painted art. Religiously it had very little effect on my senses, for it is as commercial as a bazaar, but historically and artistically I would call it a wonder of the world.
We have music with our meals, and tonight, if I don’t have to miss dinner to make the opera, I shall request “La Golondrina” and “La Paloma” and will sit quietly and drown my sorrows in Vino Rosa or Bianca, a couple of friends of mine. Actually to date I have had wine only maybe a dozen times mostly with my meals and mostly the wine was not very good. I get 6 bottles of beer every two weeks and a fifth of whisky each month. Most of the latter is sopped up by my friends, which become very numerous on liquor ration day.
It is difficult to find things that aren’t just plain cheap, but I shall find you something if only as a souvenir. The American GI, as flush as ever, has pushed prices sky high of course.
God only knows how long this will last darling. When will Germany fold? When will the fighting here cease? Will I go to China? Will we be occupational troops? Can you join me over here if we are occupational troops? When will I be home? The only thing I do know is that more than anything else in the world I want to see you again to start our love and life where we left off.
I am about to polish my brass and put on my class As to go to the opera. Of course I can’t make my brass look nearly as nice as you could if you were here, nor will the music be as sweet as if I were holding your hand throughout the lengthy performance of Faust, but never-the-less I’ll do the best job I can and I know the kettle drums will be much more pleasant to hear than the boom of artillery.
Goodbye for now my dearest Lovely, Ev
16 March 1945 11:30 PM
Dearest Lovely,
Just a note before going to bed to tell you how much I love and miss you. I have just returned from the opera via dinner, a bottle of champagne and the local hotel dance hall. (Did I say dance?) Tomorrow I shall have a round of golf in the morning, have lunch at the country club, and the afternoon is open. Would you like to do something?
The opera was beyond expectation. The devil was good, so was Faust and whereas Marguerite was no one anyone could ever want to seduce, she had a nice voice. The stage effects were superior and the valse number was excellent. I have the program, but it is too bulky to send complete in a letter so I will send it like a paper.
Perhaps it is just because I have more time to think about you, or perhaps it is because life here is more like we used to see together, but I miss you ever so much more than before. I wonder if other husbands can love their wives like I love you. I don’t think so: Tonight a girl sang in the floor show. She wasn’t bad, but just thinking of you and how you sing for me made me feel like crying. (No it wasn’t the champagne.) It is always the same when you are not with me, here or in the states. Every time I see people having a good time, I get moody thinking about you and pretty soon I hide myself away in some quiet nook and feel sorry for myself, and pretty soon I write you a letter just so I can cry on your shoulder.
Good night dearest lovely until tomorrow, and pray every night as I do that this separation will soon be “finito”.
All of my love my dearest, Ev
18 March 1945 10:00 AM
Dearest Lovely,
Just having returned from breakfast after a damp Saturday evening just past, I feel a little numb; not from the after effects of the partying, as you might imagine, but rather from this business of trying to enjoy myself when all of the time I know full well that only with you can I know even the slightest pleasure. Only yesterday, on the golf course, could I find any real relaxation, and then every time I saw the distant figure of some gal walking from tee to green, it would give me a start, for a split second, thinking it might be you. It reminded me of the days on Mt. Mansfield so many years ago when I would go out to the practice slope, after searching the Toll House, and search the place with my eyes, watching each descending and ascending figure with my eyes hoping it would be you. I know more each day darling that I have loved you, sometimes intolerably, since the first time I ever saw you. Everything else that I do besides working for you or playing with you has an air of superficiality.
Yesterday Ernie Fields, Dyson Duncan, a couple of other lads that you do not know and I blasted our way around the local country club golf course. It was lots of fun and though the scores ran sky high, we all made it without losing our one golf ball each. According to a previous agreement, every time any of us knocked a ball in the brook he had to buy a bottle of wine for lunch. There were many brooks and many bottles of wine. The club is ultra-high class and like everything else in Rome, very expensive. I have been adding up how best to distribute the rest of last month’s pay and you hadn’t better plan on anything for the kitty from this end right now.
When I see Italian couples walking around the streets here, sitting, talking together in the parks, at the movies, the opera, or on the golf course I am so damned envious of them. We can’t treat them as conquered people. They are our allies. Their young men sit around here doing nothing while we fight, and every time we win a victory they holler viva Americano. The partisans help a little, but generally I detest all continentals already. If we ever travel after the war, I don’t think it will be to Europe. Goodness what a bitter person your husband is Mrs. Bailey. How have you ever managed to live with him all of these years?
Please send me pictures of yourself and of David. They don’t have to be portraits. Just something to keep me constantly reminded of how you look, how you are dressed. Goodbye for now dearest lovely. I am going for a walk and try to get the idea out of my head that at any moment you are likely to walk into this sunny hotel room just as if we had been staying here together all of the time.
All of my love darling, Ev
19 March 1945 1400
Dearest Lovely,
Today is clear, as usual thank God; the sun is very warm and I am reminded of the happy spring weekends we had in Glenwood Springs. I found myself racing up the stairs, fumbling with the lock to burst into this very nice sunny room, but of course it was empty and even the grand chandelier, full length mirrors, ivory finish and all cannot make it one tenth as lovely as some of the little places where you were waiting for me with your eyes shining a message that changed every dark corner and dull furnishing to a vastness of pink clouds with the sun shining on them. Oh my darling such may be the way of young love, but that is the way for our love always.
I have been searching Rome for a present for you, but materials are poor and prices are sky high. I finally settled on a photograph, I think it is called a gravure or some such thing, of myself and a charcoal job of both of us together. The latter are being made from your pictures and my sitting, and one is not nearly as good as I had expected. The thing no sketcher can catch is the eyes, which is the most distinctive thing about a person. We will call it a souvenir of war time Italian Art. You will receive two photos, about 12” x 10” and I wish you would pick the one you like best and send the other to my mother. I have to have them sent direct and won’t get to see them. Maybe they won’t be good since the photographer knows I will not see them. If they are such that you wish to keep them both, that is OK too.
Last night I stayed here at the hotel, danced and beat my elbow beginning at 1700 (cocktail hour) and ending at 2400. The girls mostly dance pretty well, but practically all are only waiting for the highest bidder at the end of the dance. Most speak English or French and some are very intelligent. It is in a way pitiful because I suppose many must do it or starve; others simply want enough money to keep well-dressed, which takes a lot of money here. Hank the chaplain takes a different one home every night, and pays her off to find out how she lives and why she is in business. Someday ATW when you are in a morbid mood (that is if you ever have a morbid mood) I will tell you some pitiful stories. My only reaction is to thank God that you are in the United States where things like this cannot happen to you. I would be ashamed to have children if I thought our country would ever have such conditions as Italy has now.
My letters are really broadening out: Philosophy, social conditions, but tonight I think I shall revert to type and write a real scorcher of a love letter. Goodbye for now Lovely. I think I’ll go see Jean Arthur in “The More the Merrier”.
All of my Love Until Tonight, Ev
A photo of one of the images Everett had made in Rome.
20 March 1945 0010 AM
Dearest Lovely,
The rest is nearly over, and it is about time. I am flat broke and with so much time I get increasingly lonely for you. I have danced so much I am dance happy, drunk so much I am practically bonded, sightseen so much I need bifocals and yet I can only think of how I miss you when I am doing these things. How can you stand it? It must be just twice as bad as it is for me.
Every night when I go to bed I think and remember, and hope and pray. In a few minutes I will take off my clothes, brush my teeth, snap the light and crawl in between the sheets. I will think of you and how you are probably giving David his 10:00 PM feeding and will be in and join me in a minute. I can almost hear you as you walk barefooted into the room and slip into bed beside of me; then after a slight pause I will reach over and touch your lovely soft skin, and in a split second we are in each other’s arms. ATW I’ll never let you sleep outside of my arms again my darling. I love you so.
Goodnight my dearest Lovely, Ev
21 March 1945
Dearest Lovely,
I have a short stopover in Montecatini and can think of no happier way of spending an hour than in writing to my beautiful wife. Whenever I start to write to you I turn my memory and imagination loose. At first some crowding of memories of our fishing trips in West Virginia, driving from Vermont back to Elkins, our memorable trip to Texas, coming home to you at Glenwood, Denver, Carmel, Elkins and Austin, how you looked on our wedding day and then I remember such things as the strange happy feeling of riding with you on the bus from Montpelier to Eastern Slopes, of signing hotel registers and for getting to write Capt + Mrs.
My darling, how I look forward to the resumption of that part of our lives. How also do I yearn to once again walk hand in hand with you in the evening down Sandy Creek listening to the frogs or whip-or-wills or perhaps just the bubbling of the stream and to your sweet soft voice and all the time my heart will be singing thanks to God for our life and love.
You would truly have appreciated our travels of the past 36 hours. It was very reminiscent of many trips with you except of course for the lovely companionship of your presence which made up for little things like, flat tires, running out of gas, and getting lost on top of Mt Mansfield. We flew and hitch hiked over most of northern Italy getting here. I was asleep during one of the air legs of our journey and suddenly woke up vomiting all over the inside of a C-47. (Not liquor – air sickness my love) It was most embarrassing to me, and discouraging to the others. However, as always with you, everything turned out all right and we missed neither meals nor sleep.
I have to eat now and take off again, but hope that conditions will not be such as to make writing to you impossible.
Goodbye for now dearest, Ev
Capt. Bailey rejoined his company in forward positions near Gualandi, where they manned a defensive line on a ridge looking down on the positions of the Jäger-Regiment 741. When he arrived, the men were sunning themselves next to their foxholes in the spring sunshine. There was intermittent sniper fire and a few shells fell sporadically throughout the day. No casualties resulted.
L Company of the 86th Mountain Infantry Regiment was heavily engaged during the April Offensive in the Northern Apennine Mountains and around Lake Garda. They sustained a further 62 casualties during these actions (7 killed, 55 wounded). Captain Bailey was not among them, and that autumn he was reunited with his wife and child. They settled in Burlington, Vermont had three more children, and were married for 71 years. Everett passed away in May, 2014 at the age of 96. Doris followed in 2016, aged 94.
This blog is part of a larger body of research culminating in the publication of the book ‘Heroes in Good Company: L Company, 86th Regiment, 10th Mountain Division 1943-1945’ which is available in select bookstores and on amazon.
A photo of one of the images Everett had made in Rome.
