Stuart Anderson
Age: 87
Born: Nov. 27, 1922
Hometown: Seattle
Residence: Rancho Mirage
Military branch: U.S. Army; Third Army; 10th Armored Division; 11th Tank Battalion
Years served: Dec. 2, 1942 - July 14, 1945
Rank: Private
Family: Wife Helen; three children, Christopher Gee of Seattle, Quincy Anderson of Seattle and Michael Ranta of Kirkland, Wash.
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Twenty years before cattleman Stuart Anderson established his first Black Angus steakhouse in 1964, the Seattle native was driving Sherman tanks through enemy territory in Europe during World War II.
He went on to establish Stuart Anderson's Black Angus/Cattle Company — a chain of 122 steakhouses — which he sold when he retired.
In April, Anderson and his wife, Helen, came out of retirement and opened Stuart's at the former Black Angus location on Highway 111 in Rancho Mirage.
After Pearl Harbor was attacked, Anderson tried to enlist in the Army Air Corps, but poor depth perception quashed his plans.
He was attending the University of Southern California at the time, so he remained in school. A year later, the draft caught up with him.
After completing basic training in Arkansas, Anderson was given a choice between Officers Training Corps or the Army Specialized Training Program.
He opted for ASTP and was sent to the University of Georgia, where he took courses in engineering.
“Because of the wartime personnel demand for the looming invasion of Europe, this program didn't last too long, and we all were returned to regular service,” Anderson said.
Anderson was assigned to tank school in Georgia, and after completing three months of training, his battalion was sent to Camp Shanks in New York for shipment overseas.
Preparing to ship out to Europe, the men headed to the harbor to board a troop carrier. They loaded alphabetically, with the A's loading first.
“I headed down one deck, then another, and another, down, down, until I was at the very bottom of the ship. Four bunks were stacked alongside the bulkhead, and I was assigned to the bottom one. For the first time in my life, I realized I had more than a touch of claustrophobia.”
That night, in his very bottom bunk, he started panicking, thinking about going across the Atlantic — which he pictured full of German U-boats.
He just knew one of these enemy subs would sink the ship and he'd never be able to get out alive. He didn't sleep a wink that night.
And then something unexpected happened. The ship got stuck leaving the harbor.
The men transferred from the stranded ship into another troop ship that had been pulled up alongside.
“We started reloading, this time in reverse order so the Z's ended up in the bottom.”
The new ship was a little smaller, and when it came to the A's, there was no room left.
Thankfully, he said, the men who didn't get a bunk got to sleep outside on the deck.
The ship landed in Cherbourg, France, in late September of 1944 and the battalion began its trek through Europe.
Anderson said his 30-ton tank was tricky to drive.
“You steer with levers and make turns by holding back or stopping one track while the opposite side spins around.
“Normally, no problem,” he said. “However, when we went through Paris, the population came out in force waving white flags and hankies,” to greet the American troops.
Some of the sights of war were nearly unbelievable.
“We were the third tank to cross the Moselle River,” he said. “They built temporary bridges that supported the weight of the tank. When I got across, I saw all of this timber, stacks of logs across the road.”
As the tank got closer, Anderson realized it wasn't lumber that was stacked in neat rows.
“It was bodies. All Germans. They all had their uniforms on. Their toes were tagged.”
Thinking the stench of dead bodies would be horrendous, Anderson prepared for the worst as he approached.
“When I got up there, I realized they were totally frozen. It looked like a stack of logs.”
“As we creeped ahead, all of a sudden, coming along the road are German prisoners,” he said. “One guy to 100 prisoners.”
The men from both armies looked at each other, “With not unpleasant stares,” he said. “It was a feeling I'll never forget.”
As the prisoners filed by, he took note of their faces.
“They were either very young or very old,” he said. “Sixteen or 45. No 25-year-old guys.”
Sometimes the men had to sleep in their tanks and Anderson worked out a way to prop himself so he could sleep somewhat comfortably.
He wedged his helmet between the gun mount and the side of the tank and tied the strap under his chin, which held his head up; then he placed his booted feet on the still-warm engine mount and eventually drifted off to sleep.
While he was sleeping, water leaked through the hatch and created a puddle on the bottom of the tank.
“What happened was, during the night my feet came down into the water,” the said.
“After a few nights like that and the damp, chilly days, I had a hard time walking or even standing when I got out of the tank. I was taken to the front-line aid station where they had to cut my boots off.”
His feet were black.
Anderson had developed trench foot — a serious condition that could lead to amputation if not properly treated. He was immediately pulled from combat — which left him with mixed feelings. He felt bad leaving his comrades behind.
“They moved out for the Battle of the Bulge the next day. I got sent to London.”
Anderson, who spent a couple of months in a hospital in England receiving treatment, said his feet eventually healed.
“A lot of guys lost toes,” he said.
