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Waldo.Pepper
01-22-2008, 05:47 PM
Credit where credit is due, posted to a.b.p.m. by contributor Bill Brown. 1/18/2008.

Milton Wolff
(1915-2008)

Milton Wolff, the last commander of the Lincoln-Washington Battalion
consisting of the North American volunteers in the Spanish Civil War and an
iconic leader of the Veterans of the Abraham Lincoln Brigade since the war
ended in 1939, died of heart failure in Berkeley, California on January 14.
He was 92.

"Nine men commanded the Lincoln and Lincoln-Washington Battalions," wrote
Ernest Hemingway at the end of the war; four were dead and four were
wounded. The ninth, Milton Wolff, was 23 years old, "tall as Lincoln, gaunt
as Lincoln, and as brave and as good a soldier as any that commanded
battalions at Gettysburg. He is alive and unhit by the same hazard that
leaves one tall palm tree standing where a hurricane has passed."

Born in Brooklyn on October 7, 1915, Wolff stood six feet two in bare feet
and a few inches higher in the muddied brown boots he had picked up after
swimming across the swollen Ebro River during the great retreats of 1938,
just a few months before Hemingway wrote his profile. He had a loud,
gravelly voice that was pure Brooklyn. Later, he claimed that was the reason
he was picked to lead the Lincoln volunteers at the age of 22, but Wolff
knew-he always knew but it embarrassed him-that he possessed a tremendous
charisma that won the love of men and women throughout his life. And what
all of them also knew was that Milton Wolff was a very intelligent man.

The author Vincent Sheean, who like Hemingway, wrote about the Spanish Civil
War for various U.S. newspapers, had witnessed Wolff's unexpected return
after being lost six days behind enemy lines and had seen him enter the
small hastily-built shelter that served as battalion headquarters after the
recent defeat. "You built this thing pretty low," Wolff had deadpanned. "I
guess you guys didn't think I was coming back." Then he had taken a plate of
garbanzo beans cooked in olive oil, grabbed some long-delayed letters from
his girlfriend in New York, and disappeared into a deep silence. "Now he sat
doubled up over his beans and his letters," observed Sheean, "his gaunt
young face frowning in concentration. I think he knew how glad they all were
to see him, and he wanted to ignore it as much as possible."

Wolff described his childhood in an autobiographical work, slightly
fictionalized, titled Member of the Working Class (2005). His was an
ordinary story, tempered by a curious mind confronting hard times. Coming of
age in the Depression, a high school drop-out, Wolff took the opportunity to
enroll in the New Deal's experimental Civilian Conservation Corps, a
military type operation that brought unemployed city boys to work on
forestry projects. He loved the physical activity and camaraderie and
developed some skill as a first aid assistant. But he also witnessed a
bureaucratic indifference that led to the death of one of his friends. For
protesting conditions there-his first political act--Wolff was not permitted
to reenlist.

He returned to Brooklyn, hung around with neighborhood kids, and found a job
in a millinery factory in Manhattan. As part of their social activity, some
had joined the Young Communist League and Wolff followed them into the
ranks. As he later explained, his political development was rudimentary, but
when the Spanish Civil War began in 1936 and one of the YCL organizers asked
if there were any volunteers to join the fight, Wolff raised his hand. He
planned to serve as a first-aid man.

He sailed for Spain in March 1937. Wolff recounted his experiences as a
soldier in the autobiographical novel, Another Hill (1994). Moved by the
enthusiasm of the other volunteers, he switched from a medical assignment to
serve in a machine gun company in the newly formed Washington Battalion and
went into action at Brunete in July 1937. Men inches away from him were
wounded and killed, but he emerged without a nick.

A few weeks later, while on leave in Madrid, his captain, Philip Detro from
Texas steered him to the Café Chicote on the Gran Via. There he met Ernest
Hemingway. The 21-year old Wolff was not impressed. "Ernest is quite
childish in many respects," he wrote to a friend in Brooklyn. "He wants very
much to be a martyr...So much for writers," he concluded. "I'd much rather
read their works than be with them."

Within a month, Wolff was fighting on the Aragon front, leading a section of
the machine gun company at Belchite and Quinto. By October, he commanded the
machine gunners at Fuentes de Ebro. At Teruel, in January 1938, Wolff was a
captain and an adjutant. Two months later, when a direct hit destroyed the
battalion headquarters and killed the leadership, Wolff became the
commander. He led the soldiers through the treacherous retreats, avoided
capture, and wandered alone behind enemy lines until managing to swim across
the Ebro.

Wolff assumed responsibility for rebuilding the broken battalion. During the
training period, Robert Capa, the legendary photographer, captured Wolff
standing next to Hemingway, a visual contradiction: Hemingway, stocky, an
adventurer in his half-opened zippered jacket; Wolff, lanky in uniform, a
beret covering his thick, dark hair, but shy, hands in his pockets, face
turned downward, impatient to get on with the war.

A few weeks later, the photograph appeared in a New York Yiddish newspaper.
To her surprise, Wolff's mother finally discovered what her absent son was
doing in Spain. Not, as he had reported in his letters, working in a factory
so that a Spanish worker could fight for the Republic, but leapfrogging
through the military ranks. A "nobody at home," the soldier-poet Edwin Rolfe
wrote about Wolff in his diary; "leader of men here."

Wolff led the Lincolns back across the Ebro during the summer of 1938, held
them in the lines of the violent Hill 666 in the Sierra Pandols, until
ordered to turn over the battalion to Spanish officers as the government
arranged for the withdrawal of foreign troops in 1938. In a ceremonial
transfer of authority, Wolff was promoted to the rank of Major.

It was then that the prominent American sculptor Jo Davidson was making clay
busts of the Spanish leaders and proposed including an American face. When
he saw Wolff's shaggy hair and gaunt features, Davidson asked him to model.
Misunderstanding the image he projected, Wolff first had a haircut and
shave, nearly causing the furious sculptor to cancel the session.

The resulting clay composition inspired Hemingway's eulogy to Wolff, in
which he compared him to Lincoln. "He is a retired major now at twenty-three
and still alive," wrote Hemingway, "and pretty soon he will be coming home
as other men in age and rank came home after the peace at Appomattox
courthouse long ago. Except the peace was made at Munich now and no good men
will be home for long." Wolff, of course, admired the elegant prose. But his
heart and soul was always with the rank and file. Back in New York, some of
the returned veterans of the Lincoln Brigade read the reports from Spain
with amusement: "Hemingway and [Herbert] Matthews say he looks just like
Lincoln. Wonder when they saw Lincoln."

After Spain

Wolff's iconic stature kept him at the forefront of the struggle to save the
Spanish Republic, even after General Francisco Franco claimed military
victory in 1939. He participated in street protests in New York, urging
Washington officials to lift the embargo on shipments to Spain and to
provide assistance for the Spanish refugees trapped in French concentration
camps. When the French government threatened to deport these victims of war
back to Franco's Spain, where many would face summary execution, Wolff
joined other Lincoln veterans in demonstrations outside the French consulate
in New York. He was arrested in 1940 for this activity and served fifteen
days in jail.

While in court, Wolff was abruptly subpoenaed to appear before the House
Un-American Activities Committee in the spring of 1940, the first of many
tangles with the government's anti-Communist crusade. Although Wolff had
joined the Young Communist League before going to Spain and had nominally
joined the Communist Party of Spain during the war, he always insisted he
had not joined the U.S. Communist Party even though he sympathized with its
policies. To the government, it was a distinction without a difference, and
Wolff's movements would be monitored closely by the FBI and other government
agencies for decades. Meanwhile, when faced with government inquiries, he
answered questions selectively.

From his wartime friendship with journalist Vincent Sheean, Wolff had
fortuitously met William Donovan, chosen by President Franklin D. Roosevelt
to head the newly formed Office of Strategic Services, forerunner of the
Central Intelligence Agency. During the spring of 1941, Donovan summoned
Wolff to his offices in Wall Street and requested Wolff's assistance in
recruiting Lincoln veterans to work for British intelligence. According to
Wolff and backed by sparse documentary evidence, this conversation occurred
before the German invasion of the Soviet Union and so violated the official
Communist position of non-participation in World War II. Wolff's willingness
to cooperate with OSS reflected his flexibility about ideology: though a man
of great principles and ideals, he avoided dogma and rhetoric, and
appreciated the imperfections of given situations.

Wolff spent the next year working quietly with British intelligence
officials. When the bombing of Pearl Harbor brought the United States into
the war, Wolff sent a telegram to President Roosevelt offering the services
of the Lincoln Brigade in the war effort. He also assisted Donovan's OSS in
recruiting Lincoln veterans for special projects that would later bear fruit
in U.S. victories in North Africa, Italy, and the Normandy invasion.

But Wolff saw himself first as a soldier and wanted to participate in the
military defeat of fascism. In 1942, he enlisted in the U.S. Army, expecting
to serve as an infantryman in battle and to bring his military experience to
speed the victory. Those illusions soon confronted a military establishment
that saw Spanish Civil War veterans as "premature anti-fascists" and so
considered them unacceptable for combat assignments. To his growing
frustration, the Army dropped Wolff from Officer Candidate School and gave
him non-combatant assignments.

While pulling strings to get a transfer, Wolff picked an assignment that
took him to Burma where he saw action under the General Joseph Stillwell.
Soon afterward, the OSS summoned Wolff to Italy, where in joined other
Lincoln veterans he had earlier recruited such as Irving Goff, Vincent
Lossowski, and Irving Fajans in establishing intelligence networks among the
Communist partisans. One of Wolff's proudest achievements was graduating
from parachute school, but he was on the ground when he was sent into
southern France on a secret mission that was never consummated. However,
while there he met members of the Spanish resistance planning to invade
Spain. Wolff's efforts to bring them OSS assistance resulted in his hasty
recall and a transfer back to the United States.

In the post-World War II climate, Wolff and other Lincoln vets continued to
work for Spanish democracy, tirelessly lobbying the State Department to
break relations with Franco Spain, and to gain assistance for Spanish
refugees and prisoners of the Franco regime. At a time when the U.S.
government was creating an anti-Communist alliance that included Franco
Spain, however, Wolff's leadership position alarmed the FBI, which kept him
under constant surveillance. When the Department of Justice classified the
Veterans of the Lincoln Brigade as a subversive organization in 1947 and the
McCarran Act of 1950 obliged the veterans to register with the government,
Wolff emerged as the public face of the VALB. He and Moe Fishman presided
over the defense of the veterans before the Subversive Activities Control
Board in hearings during 1954 and carried the subsequent appeals through the
federal courts. During this period, Wolff also worked for the embattled
Civil Rights Congress, a left-wing organization that defended African
Americans accused on dubious grounds of capital crimes.

As the anti-Communist crusade abated in the 1960s, Wolff remained active in
the U.S. Committee for a Democratic Spain, an organization that lobbied
against U.S. treaties with the Franco regime, assisted the families of
Franco's political prisoners, and advocated for political reform. Wolff also
led the revitalized VALB in demonstrations against the Vietnam War. At one
point, he wrote a personal letter to Ho Chi Minh offering the services of
the Abraham Lincoln Brigade. He also advocated ending the trade embargo with
Cuba and helped provide medical aid to a children's hospital in Havana.

During the 1980s, Wolff and other veterans instituted a campaign to send
ambulances to Nicaragua, an echo of U.S. domestic support for the Spanish
Republic fifty years earlier.

Invited frequently to return to Spain, Wolff was a beloved figure among
Spaniards. In a recent visit, he won cheers when he reminded them that if
they got into trouble in the future, "give me a call."

As he reached his later years, Wolff devoted more time to painting and
writing his memoirs in fictional form. He had recently finished a draft of a
third volume, dealing with his experiences in World War II.

Through it all, Milton Wolff saw himself as a man of action. For all of his
thought and intellect, he knew how to make decisions and get things done.
Sometimes, his impulses led to frustrating mistakes, as when he joined the
Army in expectations of organizing an invasion of Spain and found himself
exiled as a potential subversive. But he never doubted the choice he made to
fight in Spain.

In 2005, nearly seventy years after he'd swum the river waters, he stood at
the rail of a boat on the Ebro and paused for a long moment of silence. Then
he evoked the men who had died there beside him-"I call them my dead," he
said-and dropped a bundle of red carnations into the water.

- Peter N. Carroll

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v516/WaldoPepper/Milton%20Wolff/MiltInSpainWhorse3a.jpg

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v516/WaldoPepper/Milton%20Wolff/MiltInSpainX1a.jpg

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v516/WaldoPepper/Milton%20Wolff/MiltInSpainX2a.jpg

Waldo.Pepper
01-22-2008, 05:47 PM
Credit where credit is due, posted to a.b.p.m. by contributor Bill Brown. 1/18/2008.

Milton Wolff
(1915-2008)

Milton Wolff, the last commander of the Lincoln-Washington Battalion
consisting of the North American volunteers in the Spanish Civil War and an
iconic leader of the Veterans of the Abraham Lincoln Brigade since the war
ended in 1939, died of heart failure in Berkeley, California on January 14.
He was 92.

"Nine men commanded the Lincoln and Lincoln-Washington Battalions," wrote
Ernest Hemingway at the end of the war; four were dead and four were
wounded. The ninth, Milton Wolff, was 23 years old, "tall as Lincoln, gaunt
as Lincoln, and as brave and as good a soldier as any that commanded
battalions at Gettysburg. He is alive and unhit by the same hazard that
leaves one tall palm tree standing where a hurricane has passed."

Born in Brooklyn on October 7, 1915, Wolff stood six feet two in bare feet
and a few inches higher in the muddied brown boots he had picked up after
swimming across the swollen Ebro River during the great retreats of 1938,
just a few months before Hemingway wrote his profile. He had a loud,
gravelly voice that was pure Brooklyn. Later, he claimed that was the reason
he was picked to lead the Lincoln volunteers at the age of 22, but Wolff
knew-he always knew but it embarrassed him-that he possessed a tremendous
charisma that won the love of men and women throughout his life. And what
all of them also knew was that Milton Wolff was a very intelligent man.

The author Vincent Sheean, who like Hemingway, wrote about the Spanish Civil
War for various U.S. newspapers, had witnessed Wolff's unexpected return
after being lost six days behind enemy lines and had seen him enter the
small hastily-built shelter that served as battalion headquarters after the
recent defeat. "You built this thing pretty low," Wolff had deadpanned. "I
guess you guys didn't think I was coming back." Then he had taken a plate of
garbanzo beans cooked in olive oil, grabbed some long-delayed letters from
his girlfriend in New York, and disappeared into a deep silence. "Now he sat
doubled up over his beans and his letters," observed Sheean, "his gaunt
young face frowning in concentration. I think he knew how glad they all were
to see him, and he wanted to ignore it as much as possible."

Wolff described his childhood in an autobiographical work, slightly
fictionalized, titled Member of the Working Class (2005). His was an
ordinary story, tempered by a curious mind confronting hard times. Coming of
age in the Depression, a high school drop-out, Wolff took the opportunity to
enroll in the New Deal's experimental Civilian Conservation Corps, a
military type operation that brought unemployed city boys to work on
forestry projects. He loved the physical activity and camaraderie and
developed some skill as a first aid assistant. But he also witnessed a
bureaucratic indifference that led to the death of one of his friends. For
protesting conditions there-his first political act--Wolff was not permitted
to reenlist.

He returned to Brooklyn, hung around with neighborhood kids, and found a job
in a millinery factory in Manhattan. As part of their social activity, some
had joined the Young Communist League and Wolff followed them into the
ranks. As he later explained, his political development was rudimentary, but
when the Spanish Civil War began in 1936 and one of the YCL organizers asked
if there were any volunteers to join the fight, Wolff raised his hand. He
planned to serve as a first-aid man.

He sailed for Spain in March 1937. Wolff recounted his experiences as a
soldier in the autobiographical novel, Another Hill (1994). Moved by the
enthusiasm of the other volunteers, he switched from a medical assignment to
serve in a machine gun company in the newly formed Washington Battalion and
went into action at Brunete in July 1937. Men inches away from him were
wounded and killed, but he emerged without a nick.

A few weeks later, while on leave in Madrid, his captain, Philip Detro from
Texas steered him to the Café Chicote on the Gran Via. There he met Ernest
Hemingway. The 21-year old Wolff was not impressed. "Ernest is quite
childish in many respects," he wrote to a friend in Brooklyn. "He wants very
much to be a martyr...So much for writers," he concluded. "I'd much rather
read their works than be with them."

Within a month, Wolff was fighting on the Aragon front, leading a section of
the machine gun company at Belchite and Quinto. By October, he commanded the
machine gunners at Fuentes de Ebro. At Teruel, in January 1938, Wolff was a
captain and an adjutant. Two months later, when a direct hit destroyed the
battalion headquarters and killed the leadership, Wolff became the
commander. He led the soldiers through the treacherous retreats, avoided
capture, and wandered alone behind enemy lines until managing to swim across
the Ebro.

Wolff assumed responsibility for rebuilding the broken battalion. During the
training period, Robert Capa, the legendary photographer, captured Wolff
standing next to Hemingway, a visual contradiction: Hemingway, stocky, an
adventurer in his half-opened zippered jacket; Wolff, lanky in uniform, a
beret covering his thick, dark hair, but shy, hands in his pockets, face
turned downward, impatient to get on with the war.

A few weeks later, the photograph appeared in a New York Yiddish newspaper.
To her surprise, Wolff's mother finally discovered what her absent son was
doing in Spain. Not, as he had reported in his letters, working in a factory
so that a Spanish worker could fight for the Republic, but leapfrogging
through the military ranks. A "nobody at home," the soldier-poet Edwin Rolfe
wrote about Wolff in his diary; "leader of men here."

Wolff led the Lincolns back across the Ebro during the summer of 1938, held
them in the lines of the violent Hill 666 in the Sierra Pandols, until
ordered to turn over the battalion to Spanish officers as the government
arranged for the withdrawal of foreign troops in 1938. In a ceremonial
transfer of authority, Wolff was promoted to the rank of Major.

It was then that the prominent American sculptor Jo Davidson was making clay
busts of the Spanish leaders and proposed including an American face. When
he saw Wolff's shaggy hair and gaunt features, Davidson asked him to model.
Misunderstanding the image he projected, Wolff first had a haircut and
shave, nearly causing the furious sculptor to cancel the session.

The resulting clay composition inspired Hemingway's eulogy to Wolff, in
which he compared him to Lincoln. "He is a retired major now at twenty-three
and still alive," wrote Hemingway, "and pretty soon he will be coming home
as other men in age and rank came home after the peace at Appomattox
courthouse long ago. Except the peace was made at Munich now and no good men
will be home for long." Wolff, of course, admired the elegant prose. But his
heart and soul was always with the rank and file. Back in New York, some of
the returned veterans of the Lincoln Brigade read the reports from Spain
with amusement: "Hemingway and [Herbert] Matthews say he looks just like
Lincoln. Wonder when they saw Lincoln."

After Spain

Wolff's iconic stature kept him at the forefront of the struggle to save the
Spanish Republic, even after General Francisco Franco claimed military
victory in 1939. He participated in street protests in New York, urging
Washington officials to lift the embargo on shipments to Spain and to
provide assistance for the Spanish refugees trapped in French concentration
camps. When the French government threatened to deport these victims of war
back to Franco's Spain, where many would face summary execution, Wolff
joined other Lincoln veterans in demonstrations outside the French consulate
in New York. He was arrested in 1940 for this activity and served fifteen
days in jail.

While in court, Wolff was abruptly subpoenaed to appear before the House
Un-American Activities Committee in the spring of 1940, the first of many
tangles with the government's anti-Communist crusade. Although Wolff had
joined the Young Communist League before going to Spain and had nominally
joined the Communist Party of Spain during the war, he always insisted he
had not joined the U.S. Communist Party even though he sympathized with its
policies. To the government, it was a distinction without a difference, and
Wolff's movements would be monitored closely by the FBI and other government
agencies for decades. Meanwhile, when faced with government inquiries, he
answered questions selectively.

From his wartime friendship with journalist Vincent Sheean, Wolff had
fortuitously met William Donovan, chosen by President Franklin D. Roosevelt
to head the newly formed Office of Strategic Services, forerunner of the
Central Intelligence Agency. During the spring of 1941, Donovan summoned
Wolff to his offices in Wall Street and requested Wolff's assistance in
recruiting Lincoln veterans to work for British intelligence. According to
Wolff and backed by sparse documentary evidence, this conversation occurred
before the German invasion of the Soviet Union and so violated the official
Communist position of non-participation in World War II. Wolff's willingness
to cooperate with OSS reflected his flexibility about ideology: though a man
of great principles and ideals, he avoided dogma and rhetoric, and
appreciated the imperfections of given situations.

Wolff spent the next year working quietly with British intelligence
officials. When the bombing of Pearl Harbor brought the United States into
the war, Wolff sent a telegram to President Roosevelt offering the services
of the Lincoln Brigade in the war effort. He also assisted Donovan's OSS in
recruiting Lincoln veterans for special projects that would later bear fruit
in U.S. victories in North Africa, Italy, and the Normandy invasion.

But Wolff saw himself first as a soldier and wanted to participate in the
military defeat of fascism. In 1942, he enlisted in the U.S. Army, expecting
to serve as an infantryman in battle and to bring his military experience to
speed the victory. Those illusions soon confronted a military establishment
that saw Spanish Civil War veterans as "premature anti-fascists" and so
considered them unacceptable for combat assignments. To his growing
frustration, the Army dropped Wolff from Officer Candidate School and gave
him non-combatant assignments.

While pulling strings to get a transfer, Wolff picked an assignment that
took him to Burma where he saw action under the General Joseph Stillwell.
Soon afterward, the OSS summoned Wolff to Italy, where in joined other
Lincoln veterans he had earlier recruited such as Irving Goff, Vincent
Lossowski, and Irving Fajans in establishing intelligence networks among the
Communist partisans. One of Wolff's proudest achievements was graduating
from parachute school, but he was on the ground when he was sent into
southern France on a secret mission that was never consummated. However,
while there he met members of the Spanish resistance planning to invade
Spain. Wolff's efforts to bring them OSS assistance resulted in his hasty
recall and a transfer back to the United States.

In the post-World War II climate, Wolff and other Lincoln vets continued to
work for Spanish democracy, tirelessly lobbying the State Department to
break relations with Franco Spain, and to gain assistance for Spanish
refugees and prisoners of the Franco regime. At a time when the U.S.
government was creating an anti-Communist alliance that included Franco
Spain, however, Wolff's leadership position alarmed the FBI, which kept him
under constant surveillance. When the Department of Justice classified the
Veterans of the Lincoln Brigade as a subversive organization in 1947 and the
McCarran Act of 1950 obliged the veterans to register with the government,
Wolff emerged as the public face of the VALB. He and Moe Fishman presided
over the defense of the veterans before the Subversive Activities Control
Board in hearings during 1954 and carried the subsequent appeals through the
federal courts. During this period, Wolff also worked for the embattled
Civil Rights Congress, a left-wing organization that defended African
Americans accused on dubious grounds of capital crimes.

As the anti-Communist crusade abated in the 1960s, Wolff remained active in
the U.S. Committee for a Democratic Spain, an organization that lobbied
against U.S. treaties with the Franco regime, assisted the families of
Franco's political prisoners, and advocated for political reform. Wolff also
led the revitalized VALB in demonstrations against the Vietnam War. At one
point, he wrote a personal letter to Ho Chi Minh offering the services of
the Abraham Lincoln Brigade. He also advocated ending the trade embargo with
Cuba and helped provide medical aid to a children's hospital in Havana.

During the 1980s, Wolff and other veterans instituted a campaign to send
ambulances to Nicaragua, an echo of U.S. domestic support for the Spanish
Republic fifty years earlier.

Invited frequently to return to Spain, Wolff was a beloved figure among
Spaniards. In a recent visit, he won cheers when he reminded them that if
they got into trouble in the future, "give me a call."

As he reached his later years, Wolff devoted more time to painting and
writing his memoirs in fictional form. He had recently finished a draft of a
third volume, dealing with his experiences in World War II.

Through it all, Milton Wolff saw himself as a man of action. For all of his
thought and intellect, he knew how to make decisions and get things done.
Sometimes, his impulses led to frustrating mistakes, as when he joined the
Army in expectations of organizing an invasion of Spain and found himself
exiled as a potential subversive. But he never doubted the choice he made to
fight in Spain.

In 2005, nearly seventy years after he'd swum the river waters, he stood at
the rail of a boat on the Ebro and paused for a long moment of silence. Then
he evoked the men who had died there beside him-"I call them my dead," he
said-and dropped a bundle of red carnations into the water.

- Peter N. Carroll

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v516/WaldoPepper/Milton%20Wolff/MiltInSpainWhorse3a.jpg

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v516/WaldoPepper/Milton%20Wolff/MiltInSpainX1a.jpg

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v516/WaldoPepper/Milton%20Wolff/MiltInSpainX2a.jpg

leitmotiv
01-22-2008, 06:48 PM
A less enthusiastic picture of the volunteers can be had by reading the excellent: THE ODYSSEY OF THE ABRAHAM LINCOLN BRIGADE: AMERICANS IN THE SPANISH CIVIL WAR by Peter Carroll, or Hemingway's superb FOR WHOM THE BELL TOLLS. Most were die-hard American Communists who ignored the butchery of the anarchists, Catholics, and anybody who was deemed "counter-revolutionary" by the Comintern, and by their Soviet handlers in Spain. Worse, they returned to the U.S. and helped create a mythology about their Soviet handlers, and the tragic, ghastly war. The best quick-and-dirty guide to the betrayal of Republican Spain by the Soviets is in the film LAND AND FREEDOM by Ken Loach. Only recently has interest in the other side been researched---the devout Catholics from the U.S. and Europe who joined the Nationalists to fight Communism. I was involved in an aborted screenplay about volunteers on both sides, did some research, and was left rather cold by the fanatics in the Abraham Lincoln Brigades.

Waldo.Pepper
01-22-2008, 09:44 PM
<BLOCKQUOTE class="ip-ubbcode-quote"><div class="ip-ubbcode-quote-title">quote:</div><div class="ip-ubbcode-quote-content">Originally posted by leitmotiv:
A less enthusiastic picture of the volunteers can be had by reading the excellent: THE ODYSSEY OF THE ABRAHAM LINCOLN BRIGADE: AMERICANS IN THE SPANISH CIVIL WAR by Peter Carroll </div></BLOCKQUOTE>

Those were the less enthusiastic words of Peter Carroll.

leitmotiv
01-23-2008, 12:17 AM
Wondrously incoherent reply!

Waldo.Pepper
01-23-2008, 12:30 AM
I shall be more wordy to be clear. http://forums.ubi.com/groupee_common/emoticons/icon_smile.gif

My original posting, that you typified as over 'enthusiastic' Those words were in fact written by the author (Peter Caroll) whom you recommended to the community. On the basis that he would be less enthusiastic.

You recommended the author whose words I originally posted.

You said in effect - 'Peter Caroll wouldn't write such enthusiastic rubbish like that.'

When in fact he did.

Is that coherent enough yet?

Y0RGO
01-23-2008, 12:33 AM
Is verbile dual, yes?

Waldo.Pepper
01-23-2008, 12:37 AM
No I think just a little bit of a brain hiccup.