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It was one of the most important events in modern history. Eighty years later, only one man is alive who witnessed it: the German formal surrender in Reims, France, on May 7, 1945.
Luciano “Louis” Graziano grew up in East Aurora, New York, before being drafted in 1943. After landing on Omaha Beach and surviving the Battle of the Bulge, he became the foreman for the 102nd Infantry Field Artillery Battalion, Special Headquarters Command. In early May 1945, he maintained the buildings used by Supreme Allied Commander Dwight D. Eisenhower, including the famed Little Red Schoolhouse.
Graziano, now 102, told me in an interview that he remembered seeing German Gen. Alfred Jodl enter a crowded classroom in the three-story brick building in Reims. “The British, French, Russians, and Americans had already signed. The Germans were the last to sign. [Jodl] wouldn't sign [the surrender] until the others had.”
It was 2:41 a.m. when the steely-faced Jodl finally signed the formal surrender documents with a Parker 51 fountain pen. Among the top brass present was Walter Bedell Smith. “The strange thing,” wrote Smith, “was the lack of emotion shown when the surrender was signed… I do not remember any allied officers around the table displaying elation… It was a moment of solemn gratitude.”
Meanwhile, Eisenhower paced back and forth in a nearby office. His driver and assistant, Kay Summersby, described the room as being “electric with his impatience; at the same time I thought it rather lonely and pathetic.”
Master Sgt. Graziano and other personnel then escorted Jodl along a corridor to the room where Eisenhower was waiting. The Allied Supreme Commander stood stone-faced, rigidly behind his desk.
Graziano watched Jodl walk into the room and “click his heels.” Eisenhower had declared in May 1943, after the surrender of Axis forces in Tunisia: “I won’t shake hands with a Nazi.” He wasn't about to start now.
Eisenhower didn’t mince his words. He was cold and curt.
“Do you understand the terms of the document of surrender you have just signed?” he asked.
“Ja, ja”, replied Jodl.
Eisenhower told Jodl that he would be held personally accountable if the terms were breached.
“That is all,” said Eisenhower.
Jodl saluted, but Eisenhower merely “stared silently, in dismissal.”
Jodl would be hanged for war crimes after the Nuremberg trials. He was a thoroughly despicable person, an amoral toady of Hitler.
Eisenhower’s dog, Telek, sensed it, and growled as Jodl left the room.
Once the German delegation left the building, the press was invited into Eisenhower’s office. Eisenhower gave the press corps what it wanted, made the V for victory sign, grinned his famous grin, and held up the gold pens used by the Germans to sign the surrender.
The press was dismissed, and Eisenhower ordered champagne. He and his closest aides spent the next two hours together. However, there was no jollity, no rejoicing, no bragging. “Everyone simply seemed weary, indescribably weary,” remembered Summersby. “There was a dull bitterness about it. Everyone was very, very tired.”
Before he finally went to bed at 5am, Eisenhower had one last task: sending a message to the Combined Chiefs of Staff. Members of his staff proposed wording for the historic message that the war in Europe was over, which had cost nineteen million civilian lives and about 140,000 U.S. ground troops, most of whom were under Eisenhower’s command.
Eisenhower looked at the proposed wording of his final message regarding the war but rejected them all. He had often written lengthy messages back to his superiors in Washington, D.C. This missive would be concise indeed: “The mission of this Allied force was fulfilled at 0241, local time, May 7th, 1945.//signed//Eisenhower.”
Meanwhile, Louis Graziano snatched some sleep. He too was exhausted. Since he was quartered in Reims, the heart of the Champagne region in France, it was only fitting that later that day he celebrated with some Champagne. “Everyone was relieved,” he told me, “having a good time … looking forward to going home.”
The world exploded in joy the next day, 8 May. The CBS correspondent Charles Collingwood described the story of the German surrender as “the best news the world ever had.”
V-E Day was even more joyous and emotional for Louis Graziano because he was madly in love. Earlier that spring, he had met Eula “Bobbie” Shaneyfelt, a Women's Army Corps sergeant. The couple got married in Reims, of all places, in October 1945.
They honeymooned in Paris and had five children and many grandchildren. “She was a staff sergeant [when I met her],” Graziano said with a chuckle. “I was a master sergeant, so I pulled rank on her. But when we got home, she pulled rank on me.”
