By RODNEY HART
Herald-Whig Staff Writer

William Sacadat stopped going to the reunions in Chicago some years ago.

"Too many of us gone, in wheelchairs, not able to go," says Sacadat, sitting in his northside Quincy home surrounded by his World War II books and memorabilia. "But I will tell you one last thing."

Sacadat served in the 132nd Infantry and fought in the bloodiest of the Pacific World War II battles. Names like Guadalcanal, New Caledonia, Bougainville and Leyte ring aren't familiar anymore, and with 1,500 World War II vets dying a day, there won't be many left to tell the stories.

Sacadat will talk about World War II any time, to anybody. He's 91, sharp as a tack and not hesitant to share stories of heroism and sacrifice.

"I will leave you with this," he says. "There were no heroes in our company. We were just doing what we had to do ... We had a job to do for our country, and we did it to the best of our abilities."

'Leave me, save yourselves'

Sacadat was 22 years old and a baker living in Madison, Ill., when Pearl Harbor was bombed. He received a high draft number and knew it would be called.

He entered the service on Jan. 21, 1941. He did basic training in Tennessee and shipped out from New York with a rank of first cook a year after being drafted.

Three days out of port and still along the U.S. coast, Sacadat was on a small ship loaded with bananas and soldiers when he heard a voice cry out over the intercom, "Torpedo, starboard side!"

"We could see the wake (of the torpedo)," Sacadat says. "The ship turned around and went the other way, and it missed us, 100 yards, maybe 150 yards."

It was a German submarine, and several destroyers went after it. "They dropped depth charges, and it shook our ship," Sacadat remembers.

They went through the Panama Canal and were in the middle of the Pacific Ocean when Gen. Douglas MacArthur warned all ships to stay away. They were at sea 39 days until docking in Melbourne, Australia.

After that, it was on to New Caledonia, a steaming jungle island formerly run by the French. Though Sacadat was a cook, he became a regular soldier and manned a machine gun nest as soon as he arrived.

Many of the residents were pro French Vichy, meaning they supported Adolf Hitler's Germany. Sacadat remembers marching through the narrow streets and being spit on by the locals.

There were few close calls in New Caledonia, but things heated up when Sacadat and his Army buddies reported to Guadalcanal to relieve the Marines. That's where he got his first bronze star, at a place called "Bloody Ridge," which overlooked an airstrip built by the Japanese.

Sacadat tells the story while fingering his dog tags.

"We had two tags. One they nailed to the white cross, and the other they sent home to the widows, the families," he says. "Fortunately I still have mine."

Sacadat was on the ridge when he heard a fellow soldier cry for help. He'd been hit by mortar fire, and Sacadat crawled over to help the man.

"The Japanese would shoot at the legs, because they knew you'd come to help. That way they could get two for the price of one," he says.

The thud of bullets crashing into the trees above was all Sacadat heard as he pulled the man back over barbed wire and to a stretcher.

"I'll never forget it," he says. "He said, 'Leave me, leave me, save yourselves.' It was one of the saddest things I've ever heard."

Sacadat never did find out who the man was, but he was saved, at least for the time being.

Losing a buddy in Bougainville

On Christmas 1943, Sacadat found himself burrowed in a foxhole in Bougainville, another notorious island where many American lives were lost. He was ordered by "the old man," or captain, to make his famous crullers and coffee for the troops.

So Sacadat rounded up a few of the boys, went back to free range where there were cooking supplies and made a batch of the doughnut treat. Ignoring mortar and rifle fire, Sacadat returned to the front lines with the goodies and drinks, and his efforts earned him another Bronze Star.

On Bougainville, he was ordered to head out on patrol when six soldiers were reported missing. One of them was his buddy, Jim McGraw of the Chicago area. Sacadat says there were stories about the Japanese being so low on food that they were resorting to cannibalism.

He found out the stories were true after he found McGraw's body while on patrol.

"Terrible thing," he says as he's momentarily lost in time some 66 years ago.

Another time Sacadat was with two brothers, one of either side of him, when one was hit by mortar and lay bleeding to death. He and other soldiers had to hold off the other brother from trying a futile rescue, as the Japanese fire was too intense.

Medics found him dead the next day.

"His brother said, 'What do I tell mom?' " Sacadat recalls. "We sent him to the back of the lines after that."

Difficult to say good-bye

Sacadat has been married since December 1945 to Evelyn and moved to Quincy in 1952. They are leaving in a few weeks to live with their daughter in West Virginia, and it will be difficult to say good-bye to Quincy.

Sacadat plans to spend Veterans Day morning at a local restaurant offering free breakfasts to veterans. He'll meet up with old buddies and they'll swap stories, and the memories will come flowing back.

"I know all of his stories backwards," Evelyn says, and she rolls her eyes and laughs.

He and Evelyn went back to the Pacific a decade ago and revisited many of the old battlefields. He even found the site of his old foxhole on one island, many years after the jungle vegetation covered it up and altered the landscape.

Sacadat does have a simple request today.

He wants everybody to know how many people gave their lives and fought for their country.

"You know, I used to lecture to high school kids and even to college kids about the war," he says. "I say, 'Have you ever heard of New Caledonia, Guadalcanal, the Philippines?' And they don't know anything about it. They should, because their fathers and grandfathers died over there. It's a sad state of affairs, really."

So he'll talk to anybody who will listen about the war, the bloody battles, the days and nights wondering if he'd come home alive.

Doesn't matter if it's Veterans Day or just another day with somebody who will listen.

"The real open wounds of battle are gone," he says quietly. "But the scars remain. You never forget it."

-- rhart@whig.com/221-3370