In the fall of 2012, my wife and I vacationed in France. Our tour took us to the American cemetery outside the village of Colleville-sur-Mer along the Normandy coast, where we broke away from the tour group to visit to the grave of Owens Yeuell, my father’s West Point roommate. Much later, I discovered that no memorial article exists detailing his life and sacrifice. Owens was killed on July 17, 1944, seventy-five days before my birth. I never knew him. However, my mother named me in his memory. Growing up, I often heard my parents mention Owens. Perhaps because of my middle name, I feel compelled to describe his short life for future generations. Not to do so condemns him to obscurity.
Owens Herbert Yeuell was born in Coblenz, Germany, on February 17, 1921, the son of Army Captain Donovan Yeuell and Newell Van Arsdale. Within months of his birth, Owens, his older brother Donovan, and his parents returned to the United States. As an Army brat, he accompanied his father to a variety of stateside assignments in Kentucky, Georgia, and Pennsylvania. During his father’s tour in Hawaii, Donovan accepted an appointment to West Point, graduating in 1940. Meanwhile, Owens moved from Hawaii to State College, PA, where he graduated from State College High School with the class of 1938. Following a year at Pennsylvania State College and a year at Millard’s Preparatory School in Washington, DC, Owens received an appointment to West Point from Pennsylvania Congressman Herman Eberharter.
Although Owens entered West Point with the Class of 1944, world events conspired to graduate the class a year early in June 1943. One of his classmates wrote of Owens, “His winning personality and good humor coupled with his ability to do a job well has won for O.H. not only many long, lasting friendships, but also the reputation of being a Soldier in every sense of the word.” My mother told me that her brother introduced her to Owens, who was one of his classmates, but she later met and fell for my father, who was rooming with Owens. However true this memory is, it is true that on June 6, 1943, Owens was best man at my parents’ wedding.
Owens spent a year stateside after graduation. Unfortunately, his records at the National Records Center were destroyed in the 1973 fire. There no longer exists a record of his service before his arrival in France. The only evidence I found was a short article in the Gainesville, FL paper which documents a visit to his parents in February of 1944. I can only guess that, like many of his classmates, Owens was assigned to a unit training for deployment to Europe. As the invasion date approached, he was ordered to England and eventually France as an individual replacement.
According to one of his company’s morning reports, Owens arrived in A Company, 330th Infantry Regiment, on July 11, 1944. The 330th was one of three regiments that formed the 83rd Division, which had been fighting continuously since its arrival in Normandy on June 19 of that year. Owens and three other lieutenants replaced officers who were killed or wounded during the previous week’s fighting; that is, every officer in the company. Owens, I’m certain, took charge of his platoon immediately. Over the next few days, A Company engaged the enemy without letup. On the 14th, the 1st and 3rd Battalions of the 330th were temporarily attached to the 9th Infantry Division for a major assault against Remilly-sur-Lozon. During a respite following the move of A Company to its new division, Owens wrote his final letter to his parents. Like most Soldiers, he complains of cold K rations and the lack of cleanliness, but reassures ‘Mammy and Pappy’ that he is “…healthy and all that sort business.”
Owens ends his letter rather ominously: “It’s getting sort of noisy now, so I’ll have to stop. Miss you both an awful lot, Love & Kisses—Owens.” For the next three days, Owens and A Company were engaged in vicious combat among the wet marshes between Remilly and Les Champs-de-Losque. On the afternoon or early evening of Monday, July 17, the company reached the outskirts of Remilly and dug in. During the assault, while trying to knock out a machine gun crew that had his men pinned down, Owens was killed. Remilly fell to the Americans the next day.
What Owens might have accomplished had he survived is only conjecture. Both his father and brother had successful military and civilian careers, hinting at what might have been in store for Owens. I like to think that his would have been a life well lived: that he would have loved and married a wonderful person; that he would have raised bright, successful children; that our families would have remained close through the years; and that he would breathe his final breath surrounded by those who loved him. Alas, it was not to be.
Owens gave up his life for his country, his family, and his friends. Finally today, 70 years after his sacrifice, we can say, “Well Done; Be Thou at Peace. You are not forgotten.”
— Terry Owens Atkinson ’67