The Sonntag Military Tradition

This year is the anniversary of famous Civil War battles (150 years) WWI battles (100 years) and WWII battles (70 years). It is also around the 50th anniversary of the Viet Nam war really getting hot. All of this talk of famous battles – The Battle Cry of Freedom – The War to End All Wars – The Greatest Generation – (What was the slogan for Viet Nam?). All the talk of war has led me to ponder the military tradition of my own family.

On my mothers side, ancestors were Englishmen and Danes who joined the Mormon Church and immigrated between the 1840s and the 1870s to gather to Zion. Like Mormons in general, they sat out the Civil War in the territory of Utah. There is no evidence of any participating in the Mormon Battalion during the Mexican War or any providing defense against the US Army during the Utah War. My grandfather was probably too old by the time WW1 broke out to be drafted (b. 1878).

Both of my father's parents were from separate parts in Germany, and met and married in Utah. In my grandmother's family from Barsinghausen near Hanover there are no stories of military service. The Kingdom of Hanover became a part of Prussia in 1868, and unlike most of the several German states, Prussia had universal conscription of all males. My great-grandfather Phillip Tadje (b. 1858) might have been eligible, but if he served it must not be considered significant enough to mention in family stories.

He and his family joined the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints (Mormon), and fired by its message became a leader and missionary in Germany. He was a “warrior” for the Church, which put him at odds with his Lutheran neighbors and German government. This was certainly a motivation for him and his family to emigrate to the United States via Ellis Island in New York sometime around 1900.

My grandfather's family was from Bernterode, in Eichsfeld, which from the early 1800s was part of Prussia. My great-grandfather, Nikolaus Sonntag, doesn’t ssem to have had a military career. He was a was a Waldmeister, and maybe his profession exempted him from conscription. He undoubtedly had skills that would have made him a good soldier, as his profession including hunting and he knew how to use a firearm. His nickname was Eulenklaus, because he was able to shoot owls (Eulen) in flight with a rifle.

With my grandfather, we have the first known (to me) history of military service. Prussia after unifying Germany under its rule in 1871 extended mandatory conscription throughout all of Germany. My grandfather, Richard Sonntag, was conscripted sometime around 1900. He was posted in the eastern frontier of Germany, which now after the shift in borders is in the middle of present day Poland. He was clearly unhappy there. On his first leave he went straight to Hamburg and bought passage on the SS Frederick der Grosse to New York City. The only hint his family in Bernterode had of this was a letter he sent them after he arrived in New York announcing that he was in America. I don’t think there is any way to describe the act other than as desertion, which if he were to return to Germany would subject him to arrest and punishment. He basically left behind all he had in Germany - forever.

I am eternally grateful that my grandfather was an army deserter. I don't think he made his decision lightly. His family in Germany was very close, very devoutly Catholic, and was closely identified with the homeland – Eichsfeld. The American Sonntag branch, which now numbers in the hundreds, owes him a lot of gratitude.

He didn't stay in New York City, but started an exodus that took him across the country, staying for a time in Chicago, and on to Salt Lake City, where he met a beautiful German girl, joined her church, and settled down to have a family of twelve. Of the twelve were eight sons, some of which served in various branches of the military during WWII. Of particular interest in this story, though, is my father, Lawrence Sonntag.

My mom and dad were married on September 1, 1941. Not a good time to start a family, as the Pearl Harbor attack came only 3 months later. My dad, anticipating the draft, left his secure employment at a family business and joined the civilian workforce in war production at Hill Field in Ogden. There he was tasked with rehabilitating aviation instruments, specifically, he rebuilt altimeters. The proscribed procedure was to take one apart over a tray to catch the cleaning solvent, use tools and brushes to clean the parts, put it back together, do a preliminary test that it functioned, and pass it on to be calibrated. The daily quota was three, presumably two before lunch and one after. My dad was very intelligent, and it occurred to him that all the altimeters were the same and the parts fully interchangeable, so he could dissemble more than one on the tray and reassemble without any regard that the parts end up on the instrument they started out on. Using this logic, he was able to do three at the same time, and nine for the day without a great increase work time.

He was pleased with this increase, until he was called into his supervisor's office. His supervisor ask him, “What are you trying to do, make trouble for the rest of us?” Apparently, the increase in his production would set a dangerous precedent and a new norm for the others. He realized that keeping his production at three was the only way he could keep his job and survive there. So he would do his three, all at the same time in the morning, and during the rest of the day would work in the metal working shop. Legacy of this extracurricular work is some tools still in the family - a couple of punches made by swedging armor-piercing bullet tips into steel bars, and a gyroscope (salvaged from a crash) displayed and mounted on a heavy brass stand.

At one point during this service he caught someone stealing. The thief threatened to turn my dad into the FBI. My dad responded, “Go ahead, I have already been turned in four times.” I ask my dad what he did to get turned in four times. He said it was because he had a German name and some people didn't like him. In one instance, he and another man started a mocking German polka with each other and were dancing around and singing a silly song. In imitation of Hitler my dad would take out his comb and hold it under his lip while he sang and danced. Someone who saw that turned him it. All I can say, if he passed four FBI investigations during war time, his loyalty as an American is absolute - researched, confirmed and certified by the FBI.

At some point he was transferred to Colorado Springs, CO, still a civilian. In the church congregation there was an Army recruiter. He tried very hard to get dad to enlist in the Army, promising him a Sargent commission behind the lines. Dad was not interested, but the recruiter persisted. It came to head when he finally told my dad something like, “Well we are drafting you and you will go in as a private, probably to the front lines. You really blew it, you should have enlisted.” At soon as he could my Dad went and enlisted in the Navy. The rule was that if one enlisted before a draft notice arrived in the mail, the enlistment would take priority.

Things were a little bit more complicated now, because my brother had been born in Colorado Springs. My dad was assigned to Treasure Island in San Francisco Bay, where he began training as a radar technician. It turned out to a good assignment. My mom's sister, Fern, and her family lived in Millbrae. Uncle Ford Arnason worked for United Airlines at the airport. My mom moved in with the Arnason's. It was good that my dad was assigned with a well-behaving group, as he got leave almost every weekend and could see my mom and his son.

My mom didn't like dad's absence during the week, but was gratified that he was getting good exercise in his basic training. However, it turned out that my dad had volunteered for mail duty, so while everybody else was doing push-ups, my dad was sorting mail. It seems to me it was all pretty easy duty, considering that there was a war going on. He only went on a real Navy ship once, to repair some cold solder joints on some aircraft. That was the closest he ever got to sea duty. (He told people he was in the battle of Catalina Island.)

As his training was coming to completion, it appeared that all this would change. Preparation for the invasion of Japan was underway, and my dad would probably be right in the middle of that. His mother wrote him not to worry, that Bishop Koyle had prophesied that the war would soon end. Bishop Koyle was a Mormon bishop in Spanish Fork who had prophetic dreams and had a sizable following until he was excommunicated in 1948. He is mostly known for the Dream Mine above Salem, the location of which was pointed out to Koyle by an angel in 1894 as the location of a Nephite mine. To the Sonntag's and his mother's family, the Tadje's, Koyle held the status like that of a general authority of the Church. At least at this time, the family's trust in Koyle was justified, for shortly after that, Hiroshima and Nagasaki were destroyed by atomic bombs. My dad could see what was in the cards, and figured that the war would end and he would soon go home.

He was recommended for Officer's Candidate School, but he felt that would only delay his release from the Navy so he deliberately failed the entrance exam. Japan did surrender and my dad left the Navy as Seaman First Class. As a kid I used to play in his old uniform, and his navy hats were used by the family on boating trips. In high school and beyond, I used his slide rule issued to him by the navy.

In my own personal history, I was able to obtain draft deferments by attendance of the University of Utah and a church mission to Germany. At some point, the deferment system was abolished and a lottery system was used, based on birth date. I drew the number 194, which saved me from the draft for the immediate future, but if the Viet Nam War lasted long enough, I would probably be drafted. It finally came to the point where my draft call looked imminent - the newspaper announced that the Selective Service was sending out letters for a medical checkup to numbers that included mine. Thankfully, at nearly the same time Nixon announced a general withdrawal of troops from Viet Nam, and I never got a letter. Nixon is not my favorite president, but I personally have to give him credit for that withdrawal.

So there is the sum of military service in my direct line. Grandfather – a deserter, Father – no combat service, and myself – a draft avoider. In addition, to the military service of some of my dad's brothers during WW2, I have nephews that have served in the U. S. Marine Corp, so maybe there is some compensation in their service.

Please note that none of my posts can be considered "History". Almost nothing is verified, but comprises mostly my recollections on things I have heard or read. I don't make things up, but I can't foreclose that I might be delusional. You may note anything that you feel is wrong.