Somewhere in France


July 4, 1944


Dear John,

Just a few lines to let you know me and the boys are thinking about you and hoping your (sic) getting along ... I wish I could tell you everything but you understand, I can't do that. We have delt (sic) them plenty hell here in France they will long remember us for this ...



Somewhere in Luxembourg


21 December 1944


Dear Johnno,

Comment allez-vous? All of us are fine but from all indications we will not have a very merry Christmas. No rest for the wicked I suppose.



Somewhere in Germany


12 February 1945


Dear Johnno,

I was sorry to hear that you received only the D.S.C. (Distinguished Service Cross) rather than the MH (Medal of Honor) which should be given for such deeds of selfless courage.

The correspondence is from long ago, men left behind on a World War II battlefield, writing to their comrade John Ahearn as he fought to recover from a bed at the Walter Reed General Hospital in Washington, D.C.

On June 6, 1944, his battalion landed on Utah Beach during the invasion of Normandy, and in going after wounded soldiers Ahearn stepped on a mine, losing part of his left foot and his right leg below his knee.

Ahearn had been in command of C Company of the 70th Tank Battalion, the only tank unit to participate in the landings in North Africa, Sicily and Normandy.

Sixty years later, two of his sons sat at a dining room table, going over the trinkets of his life, doing the things that had to be done to prepare for his funeral.

From a small box emerged more than two dozen letters, some bound by rubber bands, all tied to a war decades past.

Stephen Ahearn, 46, gingerly opened one of the envelopes and pulled out a letter from 1944. After his father had been wounded, his fellow soldiers and his commander kept him close with their letters.

They sent him news from the war, news they shared about their own hometowns. And Ahearn was a faithful correspondent, knowing what mail can mean during war.

The letters represent friendship just as the medals that Ahearn earned represent his bravery. He came away from the war with the Distinguished Service Cross, the Silver Star and the Purple Heart. He wasn't one to boast about his accomplishments. He had kept his honors tucked away, but the letters were soft and worn and now brought out to a dining room table as his family prepared to say a final goodbye.

Ahearn died June 23. The Phoenix resident, who was 89, will be honored today during a funeral service at 10 a.m. at St. Francis Xavier church, 4715 N. Central Ave., in Phoenix.

He lived well beyond the battlefield, beyond the hospital. He moved on with help from prosthetics and became an attorney and a politician.

During his years in Arizona, he served as chairman of the Industrial Commission, was appointed to the Corporation Commission, ran valiant but unsuccessful bids for Congress and Arizona attorney general and helped form the Residential Utility Consumer Office.

He'd gladly talk about politics, especially about his devotion to the Democratic Party.

But ask him to talk about his time during war and he'd usually shy away.

"You'd have to pull it out of him," Stephen said. Growing up, he said his father didn't unload all his war stories, preferring to just be a dad, going out and tossing around a baseball.

Michael Ahearn said he grew up not thinking much that his father wore prosthetics.

"He'd be out there tossing me the ball," the 36-year-old said. "When I think about that now, that's really something."

Survivors include his wife Irene; sons Stephen, John and Michael; daughters Mary Ahearn Lee, Denise Ahearn and Kathleen Johnson; and five grandchildren.