They Marched Into Sunlight by David Maraniss Page A

before October 5 for his bride to qualify for official dependent travel accommodations when they left for Europe. The proper arrangements were made, and the wedding was held on October 2. Jean wore a gown of candlelight peau de soie and lace, with a scoop neckline and a Victorian-style skirt with a chapel train. Her face was covered by a butterfly veil of illusion held by a small crown of orange blossoms. As her father, James Hart Ponder, escorted her down the aisle, he whispered, “If you don’t want to do this, it’s not a problem.” She kept walking toward Captain Terry de la Mesa Allen Jr., who awaited her in his dress blues. At his side stood the best man—his father.
    After a honeymoon on the Riviera, Jean Ponder Allen found herself in a quaint place called Bad Kreuznach in an alien country where she knew no one and barely knew her own husband, who worked long hours in any case and usually took the car. She was utterly ill prepared for the life she faced, a beauty queen from upper-class El Paso accustomed to nothing beyond the privileged society of her youth. Her landlady, Frau Schmidt, whose husband had fought for the Nazis, took pity on her and taught her some German. She made daily strolls around the village. And in less than a year she had a baby daughter. Terry wanted to name her in honor of his Spanish grandmother, but he somehow confused the name, so it came out Consuelo instead of Conchita. In a letter to her mother-in-law in September 1962, Jean seemed to be adjusting as well as could be expected. “Terry is in the field again—for 10 days,” she wrote. “Everyone is a little nervous around here, as in four days five Eighth Division people were killed. Two in an auto accident, one jumping, and a sergeant shot a captain and then killed himself! All of this took place in Mannheim—is B.K. next? Last night I played Bingo—and won ten dollars. I thought of you all night—playing with six cards! Colonel and Mrs. Peevely Rury are here and know you quite well. She says you gave a party for them when they left Fort Bliss…. Oh, Mary Fran, if only you could see your granddaughter now. She is cute enough to eat. She has discovered her hands now, and spends hours looking at them. This house has been blessed with a wonderful maid. I’m so delighted.”
    Another daughter, Bebe, named for Jean’s aunt, arrived fourteen months later, and within a year of that came Mary Frances, named for Terry’s mother. Jean was barely twenty-two, the mother of three little girls, overwhelmed and overtaken by postpartum depression. She was also now without the help of Frau Schmidt, the family having moved to Stuttgart and then Augsburg following Terry’s assignments. His mind was very much on making it to the top. Without saying it aloud, he and Jean worked on the common assumption that someday he would be a general. His father, of the same mind, was always willing to offer advice on how to get there.
    “Your considered counsel has always been a great deal of help to me,” Terry Jr. acknowledged in a letter to his father in September 1963 from Seventh Army headquarters. “I agree with your present evaluation of the situation in Vietnam as being more politically oriented. It seems to be coming even more so. My choice selection now would be to try to receive an assignment as an infantry battalion executive officer although not necessarily limited to Germany.”
    The old man, delighted to get that letter, fired off a reply. He recommended that his son make the move from a staff position to command duty because “extensive practical experience in troop leading is an essential basic need for any combat officer.” And he concluded with a few bits of advice on the characteristics of good commanders. They “must be able to call the signals with clarity and foresight. And they must be able to imbue in their soldiers the will to fight, and the will to get the job done come hell or high water.” The dutiful son moved up to become