Dear James, 

Back in 2005, my father adopted your grave at the Netherlands American Cemetery in Margraten. At the time, I was two years old and you were a name on a white cross, on a hillside in the south of the Netherlands. My dad, having a background as a history teacher, wanted to pay his respect by adopting your grave and often told me about it.  

Years later, while taking a course in American studies, I started wondering who you were. So, I decided to take over the adoption responsibilities myself, and started to look for answers. 

My starting point was the information on your grave and on our first adoption certificate: James G. Carwile, service number 35044988, Private First Class, 638th Tank Destroyer Battalion, Kentucky, December 6th 1944.  

With that information, I was able to find a lot of things which let me follow in your footsteps.

At first, it was just a name and a unit. But slowly, through documents, places and people, you became a real person to me. 

Born on October 11th 1919 in Bewleyville, Kentucky, you were the son of John Carwile and Katie Rigsby Carwile.

Your parents named you after your uncle, whose full name was James Guthrie Carwile, but who was called Gus by the family. His official name became your full name: James Guthrie Carwile.  

At the time you were born, you had one older brother named Harvey. In the years following, more brothers were born into the Carwile family, including John Lewis, George, Sidney, William and Charles.

The Carwile line originally came from Virginia in the 1700s and later settled in rural Kentucky. 

This rural Kentucky was the border area between Breckinridge County, Meade County and Hardin County, about 45 miles southwest of Louisville.

In all of your documents, these counties regularly come back. That is because the farms you lived on were close to the small town of Big Spring, where these three counties come together. 

US Census records, which recorded where people lived, of 1920, 1930 and 1940, show your family living on several farms between those decades.

Your family did not own land. I checked that with county clerks while attempting to find the exact locations of the farms you resided and worked at.  

That was one of the first things that told me about your life before the war. You were not just from Kentucky.

You were from a rural farming family that moved, rented, and worked on farmland. 

While searching for those exact addresses, I got in touch with churches, schools, and any institutions I could find in the area. That resulted in a big surprise.

A genealogy researcher named Ann Sipes got a hold of my research, and put me in touch with your great-grand niece Jennifer Carwile Hutchinson. 

Jennifer and I connected very quickly. As it turned out, she had also been researching the Carwile family history. She provided me with the following context that made documents I found feel much more real.

The Carwile family was poor, and you and your brothers were among the first in the family to learn to read and write.

Your father John could not read or write in earlier Census records, and your mother Katie died young, in 1938, from tuberculosis. She never had to receive the news that two of her sons would die in the war.  

Growing up, living and working on several farms on what is nowadays KY-333 / Big Spring Road between Bewleyville, Big Spring and the end of Big Spring Road west of Vine Grove, you went to grammar school for four years.  

That school was very likely a small rural school, possibly a one-room school, after which you started to work on the family farm. 

Growing up as a country boy in Kentucky, your responsibilities included driving a tractor and helping out wherever necessary on the farm. 

The environment of growing up in a poor family, very likely struggling to make ends meet, also led to a certain image around the family name, according to family stories. 

Apparently, some Carwile men had a rough reputation and were not always remembered as easy men. 

Later in life, your brothers would prove to not always follow a straight and expected path. This all happened after Harvey came back from being enlisted in the Army, because he survived the war. 

Given the fact that your mother passed away when several of you were still young, I can imagine it was not always easy growing up. 

Seeing the area where you came from and hearing the stories in person during my trip to Big Spring, helped me shape the closest character description I could ever get of you. 

A hard-working country boy from rural and hilly Kentucky, probably with some rough edges, who had to learn early how to stand his ground. 

On the day I was in the Big Spring area, I was joined by Jennifer and Ann to show me Big Spring Road; the road you and your family lived on.

Along that road, we stopped by a gentleman named Bobby Priest, who knew a son of your brother Charles personally.  

Bobby pointed out the site of a farm where one of your homes once stood. It was very special to see the roads you used daily in person and I can assure you, the area is still beautiful. 

During that day, I also got notification from the adoption foundation of the American Cemetery in Henri-Chapelle, Belgium.

They informed me that the grave of your younger brother John Lewis Carwile, service number 35689409, did not have an adopter yet.  So, they granted me the adoption of your brother’s grave as well. 

I had gone to Kentucky to understand where you and John came from, and while driving down the roads of your childhood, it all came together. 

After cruising up and down Big Spring Road a few times, getting out at several spots to take pictures, I decided to stop at a nice view along the route.

I picked up two rocks from a field close to where I believe your last home stood before you got selected and brought these with me. I took them to both of your graves on the Sunday before Memorial Day. 

The previous time I visited both you and your brothers’ grave was 24 March 2026, exactly 84 years after you enlisted in the Army. 

Your brother John was called up later in 1942, on December 2nd.  

John eventually got assigned to the 309th Infrantry Regiment, 78th Infantry (‘Lightning’) Division, after enlisting to the Army in Louisville. 

He was 20 at the time, had blue eyes, was 5-foot 7 tall, 135-pounds with a ruddy complexion, and had blonde hair. 

You entered the Army at Fort Benjamin Harrison in Indianapolis, Indiana, at the age of 22. 

There, the Army started turning you from a young man from Kentucky into a soldier on paper: medical checks, records, signatures, fingerprints and classification.  

You entered the Army at 5-foot 8 tall, 135-pounds, with blue eyes, a light complexion and blonde hair. I’d like to believe you and your brother looked alike.  

Basic training lasted for a few weeks, after which you got assigned to the 638th Tank Destroyer Battalion which operated with M18 Hellcat tanks. 

Those M18 Hellcat tanks were a new kind of tank. They had the task of quickly counterattacking and destroying opposing tanks on battlefields.  

Once you were assigned to the 638th TD Battalion, you followed an extensive training process with the Battalion.

Your records and the Battalion history connect you to Camp Shelby in Mississippi, Camp Hood in Texas and Camp Livingston in Louisiana.  

Other camps from the Battalion route, such as Camp Claiborne, Camp Carrabelle, the Desert Training Center, Camp Gruber and Camp Kilmer, are also very likely part of your story, because you spent a lot of time with your Battalion. 

After about a year and a half with your Battalion, you got promoted from Private (PVT) to Corporal (CPL) in September 1943. However, about a month later, your rank was set back to Private (PVT) again. 

The jumps between ranks happened about a year before you got shipped over to Europe. Your step to Private First Class (PFC) came in June 1944, followed by the Battalion arriving in France in early September 1944. 

The Battalion was moving toward Germany, where it would eventually fight in the same farmland I visited in March after seeing your grave and your brother’s grave. I wanted to see the combat area for myself.

I also wanted to figure out what exactly your task was in those battlefields. 

During months of trying to figure out what exactly your role was in the Battalion, my visit to Fort Benjamin Harrison in Indiana, just 10 minutes down the road from where I personally spent a lot of time in the US, turned out to be very helpful.  

Two reenactors and military experts there, Chris Schneider and Dale Lane, helped me understand the intensity of the fighting going on in the area you were heading into.  

They helped me understand that, given your military specialty code, (SSN) 745, you were likely a support soldier who gave coverage to the M18 Hellcat tank destroyers.  

That later got confirmed through someone else, whose name is Bill Casassa. Mr. Casassa served in the same 638th Tank Destroyer Battalion as you and is now 100 years old. I had the honor of talking to him by connecting with his neighbor Sean Winn. 

Bill was in was in Company A, 2nd Platoon. He did not remember you personally, because he came into the Battalion later as a replacement. But he is still the closest living link I could ever find to the world you were in. 

Bill himself served on an M18 Hellcat. When I asked him about SSN 745, he confirmed that you were most likely part of the security section.  

He explained that the men in that section had their own vehicles and protected the M18s from the ground. The Hellcats were fast, but vulnerable. They had an open turret and thin armor, which meant men like you were needed around them to keep enemy soldiers from getting too close. 

All of that information turned out to fit the same direction Dutch WW2-experts Huub Janssen and Ben Savelkoul gave me as well. It finally made me understand your role within the Battalion better. 

And the jump in ranks I mentioned? Bill explained to me that this was very likely company punishment. I cannot prove exactly what happened, but given your Kentucky background and family stories I learned about, it did not sound impossible to me.  

Maybe you had a strong opinion sometimes, or maybe you were not always the easiest man to command. I do not know that for sure.  

But honestly, that only made you feel more real to me. Maybe we are alike in that way. 

The Battalion history lists the 638th TD Battalion entered combat around mid-November 1944, as part of Operation Queen. Bill confirmed this to me as well.

The Battalion moved through the towns and fields of Geilenkirchen, Prümmern, Gereonsweiler, Apweiler, Beeck, Leiffarth and Lindern.  

At that last place, Lindern, Company A was relieving positions held by Company B during the darkness of 6 to 7 December.  

Company A was one of the Battalion’s smaller fighting groups, made up of several platoons with tank destroyers, crews and supporting soldiers. The memory Bill had from Lindern was that it was “a very bad place”.  

While the companies switched positions, you were very likely scouting, covering ahead or helping secure the area from the ground. That is where you got hit and were Killed in Action (KIA).  

Given the insight I got on this likely stressful and chaotic situation, the fire might not even have been aimed at you directly.

It could have been artillery, machine-gun fire, small-arms fire, or fire into a movement area during a relief.  

Maybe you were scouting. Maybe you were covering. Maybe you were moving between positions with your platoon. I will never know that exact moment.

But given the vulnerable position you were in, and the heavy fighting going on in the area, it meant you sacrificed your life on the night of December 6th 1944 at the age of 25. 

A few days later, on December 16th 1944, a little more to the south, the Germans started the Battle of the Bulge to attempt to change the course of the war. 

Your brother John and his division were fighting in Germany around Kesternich, as part of the 78th Infantry Division.

Three days later, on December 19th 1944, John was also Killed in Action. He was only 22 years old. 

Your brother John was buried at Henri-Chapelle in Belgium, while you remained in Margraten in the Netherlands. That may sound like a small detail, but in reality, it makes your story very unusual. 

After the war, the Army tried to give families a final choice about where their fallen loved ones would rest. When siblings were buried overseas, the Army usually tried to place them together when possible. That did not happen with you and John. 

The exact reason is still unclear, but what I do know is that your father specifically requested for John to stay in Henri-Chapelle.  

Your father may simply not have understood how close Margraten and Henri-Chapelle actually are. From rural Kentucky, Belgium and the Netherlands must have sounded like two distant places in Europe. He had already lost his wife, and now two of his sons.  

That is what makes this part of your story so remarkable. Two brothers from the same poor farming family in Kentucky, killed within thirteen days of each other, both buried overseas, but not next to each other.

That is one of the things that hit me the hardest during this project. You and John were separated by war, by paperwork, and by decisions made from far away. But now that I know both of your stories, I will always see them as one. 

Once you found your final resting places at these American Cemeteries, you both got awarded the Purple Heart decoration. That award is for service members who are wounded or killed as a result of enemy action. 

Your father got sent two Purple Heart medals, as well as compensation for the things both of you were carrying while at war.

Your brother had some money on him, while you carried a photograph of someone called Aileen Singleton with you.  

The photograph of Aileen got stained while sitting in your wallet, and listed an address on the back. The address is not far from the Big Spring area. In consultation with Jennifer, we’d like to believe Aileen might have been your girlfriend.  

There was also one small coincidence with Bill that I will not forget. In the Battalion book, made after the fighting in Europe ended, Company A was listed alphabetically. When Bill looked up your name, he found his own name directly next to yours. Carwile, James G. and Casassa, William L. 

A picture of you James, and your brother John, is the only thing that I could not find. Understanding your whole story now, I have come to believe that there simply may not be a photograph of you and John.  

You headed into farm life early; your family had little money, and military records did not have any photographs on file.

At first, that frustrated me. But later, it only motivated me more. Because if there is no picture of you, then the story becomes even more important.  

Thank you for your sacrifice, but namely, thank you for sending me on this adventure. 

I came looking for the story behind your name, and I found a person I will never forget. 

Your friend, 

Lucas. 

Special thanks to:  

Armand Lejeune, Jennifer Carwile Hutchinson, Kristin Carwile Skeens, Bill Casassa, Sean Winn, Ann Sipes, Huub Janssen, Ben Savelkoul, Chris Schneider, Dale Lane – Museum of 20^th Century Warfare, David Hardin – National Archives St. Louis, Derrick White, Jacob Monninger, Max van der Boorn, Susan Masterson, Gabe Chapman, Meade County School Community, Stichting Adoptiegraven Margraten, The American Overseas Memorial Day Association Belgium & all (online) sources.