My Tour of Hell on Earth

May 1, 2020

On the 75th anniversary of V-E Day, a WWII veteran describes what he witnessed at Dachau

By Charles Palmeri and Columbia staff

May 1, 2020

Charles J. Palmeri, who served in an Army division that helped liberate the Dachau concentration camp, is pictured in uniform in 1946.

The Nazi concentration camp in Dachau, Germany, opened in 1933 for political prisoners and served as a model for camps that followed. Tens of thousands of prisoners — including more than 1,000 priests, seminarians and religious brothers — died amid the brutal conditions there. Dachau was the last of the camps to be liberated, when some 30,000 inmates were freed April 29, 1945, by the U.S. Army’s 42nd “Rainbow” and 45th Infantry Divisions. The Allies accepted the formal surrender of the Nazi government just days later; May 8 marks the 75th anniversary of V-E (Victory in Europe) Day.

Charles J. Palmeri served with the Rainbow Division during the waning months of the war, and he entered the Dachau camp in the days after its liberation. He had attended high school seminary in Buffalo, N.Y., but at age 18 decided to give up his 4-D exemption from military service. He was drafted in June 1944, deployed to France on Jan. 1, 1945, and within weeks was at the front line. The Rainbow Division reached Munich near the end of April and soon discovered the Dachau camp.

Now a member of Our Lady of Mount Carmel Council 15821 in Sarasota, Fla., Palmeri, 94, recently spoke with Columbia about what he witnessed there.

Our division went into Dachau on April 29. I was in Munich at the time, and a couple of sergeants who had gone to the concentration camp told me about the things they saw. I couldn’t believe what they were telling me. “This couldn’t happen,” I said. “Nobody would do that.”

They said, “Well, the military wants our soldiers to see this.” So the next day, I got a jeep ride to Dachau, and the first thing I noticed was the odor; we smelled it from the jeeps. The first thing we saw were about 30 railroad cars just loaded with dead bodies. They didn’t have room for the prisoners in these railroad cars, so they kept the doors closed. And those poor people went for days without water or food. Most of them died in the cars, and the SS had fired machine guns into the cars to kill anybody who was still alive.

Palmeri, 94, resides in Sarasota, Fla., where he is a member of Our Lady of Mount Carmel Council 15821.

Then, we got into the camp, and there were bodies piled, naked bodies — men and women and even some children, just piled up. The camp had run out of fuel, and they weren’t able to cremate them all.

What disturbed me more than the dead — and the dead did bother me, obviously — were the people who were still alive, wandering around and traumatized. As I wrote in my book, they were free but seemed to wonder, “What’s next for me?” They could hardly walk, and their legs were thinner than rails. Some came over to hug us, speaking in Polish or another foreign language that we didn’t understand.

At any rate, it got to be too much for me. I threw up. And I went back to the jeep; I didn’t want to see anymore. That was the 3rd or 4th or 5th of May. I was in Munich on May 8, the day we were informed that the Germans surrendered and the war was over.

Later, I didn’t feel too badly about my weakness, because I heard General Patton did the same thing — Old Blood and Guts threw up just like I did.

I’ve heard so many times that the concentration camps didn’t happen. They did happen, and it was more horrible than you could ever imagine. It was hell on earth.

But despite the atrocities and utter disregard for human life, some Germans at the camp were different. While I was on guard in Munich, military policemen stopped at our intersection with a platoon-sized group of German soldiers. I was told they were guards who had endangered their lives by bringing food, medicine, clothing and blankets to the prisoners. Following behind were two former Dachau prisoners, still in their striped pajama-like outfits. They were there to let the authorities know that these men saved their lives.

In July 1945, Palmeri received a Silver Star for heroic actions during the advance into Germany; on April 8, he had dragged two wounded soldiers to safety during a skirmish in the town of Büchold. In June 1946, he returned to Buffalo, where he attended Canisius College on the GI Bill and also joined the Knights of Columbus (Buffalo Council 184) at the invitation of his father.

He married Norma Cosentino in 1950, and they had three daughters. His wife died in 1991, and Palmeri later married Carol Rodak-Huber, with whom he runs a successful real estate business in Sarasota. He has given talks about World War II at Council 15821 and at local schools, and last year published a memoir — Boy Soldier: Recollections of World War II — to leave a record of his experiences for his grandchildren, greatgrandchildren and others.

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My Tour of Hell on Earth

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