By FRITZ PETTYJOHN
In 1917 Frederick Smith Pettyjohn II was born in a sod house on the White River, just north of the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation in South Dakota. His mother was a devout Irish Catholic, who died in 1931 after giving birth to her ninth child. He fought with his father, ran off and lived on his own, doing men’s work, like driving a team and bucking hay.
In 1941 he was a sergeant in the Army, and when the 82nd Airborne Division was formed he volunteered. In World War II the Airborne’s mission was to jump behind enemy lines and wreak havoc. They were on their own, until the regular infantry could fight its way through enemy lines to relieve them. He fought all the way from North Africa to Berlin, at the tip of the spear.
In September of 1944 he was badly wounded at the “Battle of Arnhem, the Deadliest Airborne Operation of World War II.” The story is in the book. I’ve seen the scars on his back. He’d been hit multiple times by automatic weapons fire. He returned to the States to recuperate, and rejoined his unit, the 505 Parachute Infantry Combat Team, in December for the Battle of the Bulge and the subsequent liberation of Berlin.
The first time I met him was at the Anchorage airport in 1969, when I was 23. I was having a hard time of it, and he and his wife Helen Mary took me under their wing. That summer of 1969, in Anchorage, Alaska, was a turning point in my life. I knew what I wanted now. I wanted to live in Alaska.
I never served in the military, so I missed the Vietnam War. I’d smashed up my ankle when I was at Cal, and I was 4-F, due to that ankle. I didn’t dodge the draft. When I was freshman at Cal in 1962, I joined the Naval Reserve Officer Training Corps. When I was a junior, I was going to take the Marine option and graduate as a 2nd Lieutenant in the USMC, in 1966.
That didn’t happen, and I felt a little guilty for not serving. I told him about it, and he said not to worry about it. “Vietnam is not a good war”, he said about the war, which had by then claimed 40,000 American lives and in that year had its highest number of American troops in Vietnam — 543,000. His words made me feel a little less guilty.
I spent a lot of time with him that summer. He was, among other things, a godfather and patron to the local Hell’s Angels. He hired them to go out in the bush and stake mining claims. Then he’d sell the claims to people who wanted some sort of legal basis for putting up a cabin in the Alaska wilderness. He was making pretty good money at it. I saw him make the sales. He always let everyone know he’d been a paratrooper with the 82nd Airborne.
He told me a lot of stories about the war. Before a jump, like D Day in France, they were meticulous about their equipment. Every strap tightened just right. At Normandy he had 20 pounds of explosives strapped to each leg, to be used in blowing up bridges. In the war he weighed 220 pounds, with a 53-inch chest.
Everything was screwed up when they landed, the entire unit scattered across the countryside. He hooked up with three other troopers, and they spent the next few days wreaking havoc.
The war was the great experience of his life. Nothing could ever compare to it. We can only imagine what it all was like.
Exactly 75 years after he jumped, my second grandson, Cruz Oakley Pettyjohn, was born. Maybe he’ll turn out like the original Fritz Pettyjohn, of the 82nd Airborne, who was my father.
Fritz Pettyjohn was a prosecuting attorney for the City of Ketchikan, Alaska in 1973 and served in the Alaska Legislature in the 1980s. He blogs at ReaganProject.com
Love this story. Thank you Mustread.
Wow, Fritz! I never knew. All those years listening to you on KENI, the original Conservative Talk Show host BEFORE Rush Limbaugh. Thanks for The Rest of the Story, as Paul Harvey would say. Thanks for the Memories, as Bob Hope would say from the past. Please continue to contribute to the Alaskan Story.
Great story, but one would assume the original would be FPJ I. Does he have a story?
Great story Fritz. I am happy that I met him your father on more than one occasion and actually worked on building his house on Strawberry. He could sure tell some great stories. I did not know about the 82nd connection or his WWII exploits. I bet he would be proud about how you turned out.
Just an observation, in 1962 if you were say an 18 year old freshman at Cal, seven years later in 1969 you were 23. That Cal bonehead math class was a doosey I’m sure, but you’d most likely have been 25, unless you’re an overachiever entering Cal at 16. Then there’s 3 years of law school before arriving at Ketchikan Prosecutor’s office…I’m somewhat of a bull-thrower myself sir, but occasionally I like to hear a real professional; please carry on.
I entered Cal at 16
Wonderful story Fritz!
Interesting Fritz. Glad to hear from you. Your dad was a great hero of his time.