Constable: At 100, WWII veteran reflects on good times amid hardship

Former Hinsdale resident Evert Bergquist won't risk celebrating his 100th birthday today in public.

“Florida is so bad with this virus,” Bergquist says, adding that many people won't even wear masks. The Delray Beach resident finds that a stark contrast from the patriotic spirit shown when he was off fighting in World War II. Back then, seemingly every American grew victory gardens, gathered scrap metal and willingly did without coffee, sugar, nylon hosiery, meat and gasoline for the betterment of others and a greater cause.

Bergquist had to put in some extra effort to do his part as a member of the U.S. Army. Born in Gothenberg, Sweden, on Oct. 20, 1920, Bergquist immigrated with his family to the United States when he was 6 years old.

“We hit the Depression,” says Bergquist, recalling how his father thought his retirement savings would be enough to support them. “He made some very, very bad investments. The property we had was taken away.”

Forced to find work, Bergquist's father opened Bergquist Furniture on Chicago's South Side and handcrafted tables and chairs. Evert Bergquist graduated from Calumet High School and enrolled at the nearby Woodrow Wilson Junior College.

“The war (World War II) broke out while I was at Wilson. I tried at that time to enlist,” says Bergquist, who applied to every branch of the military he could, from the Army Air Corps to the Marines to the Merchant mariners. “I wanted badly to get in. All my buddies were going in.”

Because his father died before becoming a citizen, Bergquist wasn't a citizen and wasn't allowed to enlist. He did, however, get drafted into the Army, where his lack of citizenship prohibited him from applying to be a pilot. When the Army trained him in Louisiana to be part of the force that would storm the beaches of Normandy, France, Bergquist quickly was inducted as a citizen and put on the Queen Mary “to go to England and get ready for D-Day,” he says.

He landed on Utah Beach on Day 6 of the Allied invasion, wading through the water while wearing a gas mask and wielding his M1 Garand rifle. “The Germans were behind the hedgerows, and that was a real problem,” Bergquist remembers. Blades on the front of U.S. tanks helped clear a path through the Germans.

Supplying support for troops at the front, Bergquist's outfit managed surprisingly pleasant moments.

“War is not fun, but there were fun times in it,” he says. He suffered his greatest injury of the war during one of those times.

“I got injured playing football. A guy blocked me in the knees,” Bergquist said. “They wanted to send me to a field hospital” for the pain and swelling in his right knee.

He persuaded his colonel not to make him go. “It was a very good outfit,” Bergquist says. “I liked the people.”

As the Americans marched through France, much of the danger came from the air.

“We were constantly being strafed,” Bergquist says. “We got used to it. We knew they were coming and we got out of the way.”

Seeking shelter in the empty homes of vacated villages, the Americans made their way across France and into Belgium, where they engaged in America's deadliest confrontation of the war - the Battle of the Bulge.

“We slept on the ground and in the snow,” Bergquist remembers. “You could see all the weapon carriers bring back all the dead bodies. That was quite a sight.”

Working with the command outfit to maneuver and supply the soldiers on the front line, Bergquist and his unit “weren't out there fighting for every yard” but worked alongside the anti-aircraft artillery battalions, which came under enemy fire. “It was all around us,” Bergquist says. “You're never quite sure how things were going up there.”

With the Nazis in retreat, Bergquist's outfit pushed into Germany.

“We came across one of those horror camps that the Germans abandoned,” Bergquist says of the grisly scene at the Dora-Mittelbau slave labor camp near the town of Nordhausen. “There must have been 5,000 bodies. They had them piled on tables, left on the roads where they were shot. Guys who weren't dead were laying among the dead bodies.”

He remembers the gruesome vision of feet hanging off the ends of tables at right angles to the broken bones in legs of victims who had been tortured in this camp known for its cruelty. He doesn't know how many of the people clinging to life survived.

His outfit had reached the town they knew as Biergarten when news came that Germany had surrendered.

“We were all delighted of course, but there was no celebration, just relief,” Bergquist remembers. “And despite the name Biergarten, we didn't get any beer.”

Ordered to return to Belgium, Bergquist found an old Jeep and got permission to drive it back with a couple of other soldiers.

“We got to an open area, and they started firing at us,” Bergquist says, figuring they had come across German soldiers who didn't know their war was over. “We jumped out of the Jeep and got in the ditch and fired our M-1s.”

Whether their return fire caused damage, or their attackers simply retreated, Bergquist and his buddies completed their journey to the camp in Belgium. There, he was promoted to tech sergeant so that he could help with an officers' camp.

“I spent the last part of the war living like a king,” he says, remembering wonderful meals and a beautiful garden. “Aside from the fact that it was a war, it was a lot of fun.”

He came home from the war, married his girlfriend, Beverly, in 1946, and took a job with Uarco, a Barrington-based printer. Earning promotions, Bergquist was transferred to Cincinnati, where he also had success. Eventually he landed a job as division manager and moved to Hinsdale, where he and his wife raised sons Craig and Bill. After retiring, he was co-founder and president of Time Marketing until he retired for good in 1993. He's still a member of Ruth Lake Country Club in Hinsdale and plans to return to the golf course if doctors can improve his right knee, the one he hurt during the war.

His wife died in 1995, and Bergquist lives in Florida with his partner, Ann Robertson. Being a veteran gives him perspective and an appreciation for the life he has.

“I have my deep feelings about the cause. I was one of many lucky ones. I did what I did, but I was one of 12 million guys. I came home and was able to have a good career and all that,” Bergquist says. “There were a lot of guys not as lucky as I was. They gave everything and I didn't give much. But I did my part, and I'm proud of that. I've had a great life. I gave three years of it to the country, and that was wonderful.”

He had planned a 100th birthday celebration with Ann and her family, his sons, three grandchildren and two great-grandchildren. “The virus has pretty much taken care of the plans we had,” he says. The pandemic reminds him of the united front Americans showed during World War II.

“Ann and I were just talking about victory gardens,” says Bergquist, who used to speak for Veterans Day programs at many suburban schools. “I talked not only about what the soldiers did, but what the citizens did. Lord, if only we could get together like that today.”