GHBWNY
Well-Known Member
I think about my Dad a lot. But as Memorial Day approaches, it makes the sacrifice he made for our family and our country all the more poignant.
While Dad didn't die in combat, he willingly put his life on the line like so many thousands of others did in WWII. Some did not make it back home alive, but my Dad --- by the grace of God --- did.
He was a B-24 Liberator co-pilot in the U.S. Army Air Corps (eventually U.S. Air Force). On their first bombing run over southern Germany, they encountered enemy flak and their ship was mortally wounded and going down fast. The crew bailed out, but the pilot had blacked out in his chair. My Dad unstrapped him, dragged him to the open door, clipped him into the zip line and gave him a shove. And then Dad bailed out last. As he descended, he watched his plane disappear behind a mountain and then --- a plume of black smoke. He broke his ankle when he hit the ground. Then he caught up with his radio operator and together they stalked their way through enemy territory, heading toward the Swiss border, hoping not to be caught by the Nazis.
That night they found a farm house with an old German couple who put them up for the night in the barn, having promised not to tell anyone for fear of their lives. Dad and his buddy were fed eggs and fresh homemade bread and butter. The next morning they set out up a mountain trail. It wasn't long before they were overtaken by a Nazi youth on a bicycle coming towards them brandishing a K-98 and were taken to German headquarters and interrogated. Name, rank and serial number was all they gave their captors.
Dad got some superficial medical aid for his ankle and they were quickly shuffled onto waiting boxcars. The trip north was 3 days and at one point their train was fired upon by allied aircraft. Fortunately, no one was hit. He and the other allied troops on board arrived at a Luftwafe prison camp called "Stalag Luft 1" near the small town of Barth on the North Sea.
Dad loved to watch "Hogan's Heroes". He said that the barracks were identical to his right down to the very splinter! My Mom heard he was MIA, but it was not until 3 months after he was captured that word finally got back to her that he was alive. She was so distraught that she miscarried their first child. They were treated fairly humanely in prison camp, as it was a Luftwafe (German air force) camp and there was apparently an unspoken respect shown for the prisoners by the guards.
10 months later, they began hearing rumors that the Russian Army (then our allies) were encroaching on the eastern front of Nazi Germany and talk circulated that liberation might be soon. One morning Dad and his buddies awoke to find the camp entirely abandoned! Not a German to be seen! A couple weeks later, the end of the war was declared and he came home.
All this to say that my Dad was my hero. They say heroes are defined not by how they die, but how they lived their lives. Not knowing whether he would live or die, my Dad willingly gave his all so that those who came after him would enjoy --- and hopefully cherish --- the freedom and way of life we have today. To that, I can only say,
"Thanks, Dad."
While Dad didn't die in combat, he willingly put his life on the line like so many thousands of others did in WWII. Some did not make it back home alive, but my Dad --- by the grace of God --- did.
He was a B-24 Liberator co-pilot in the U.S. Army Air Corps (eventually U.S. Air Force). On their first bombing run over southern Germany, they encountered enemy flak and their ship was mortally wounded and going down fast. The crew bailed out, but the pilot had blacked out in his chair. My Dad unstrapped him, dragged him to the open door, clipped him into the zip line and gave him a shove. And then Dad bailed out last. As he descended, he watched his plane disappear behind a mountain and then --- a plume of black smoke. He broke his ankle when he hit the ground. Then he caught up with his radio operator and together they stalked their way through enemy territory, heading toward the Swiss border, hoping not to be caught by the Nazis.
That night they found a farm house with an old German couple who put them up for the night in the barn, having promised not to tell anyone for fear of their lives. Dad and his buddy were fed eggs and fresh homemade bread and butter. The next morning they set out up a mountain trail. It wasn't long before they were overtaken by a Nazi youth on a bicycle coming towards them brandishing a K-98 and were taken to German headquarters and interrogated. Name, rank and serial number was all they gave their captors.
Dad got some superficial medical aid for his ankle and they were quickly shuffled onto waiting boxcars. The trip north was 3 days and at one point their train was fired upon by allied aircraft. Fortunately, no one was hit. He and the other allied troops on board arrived at a Luftwafe prison camp called "Stalag Luft 1" near the small town of Barth on the North Sea.
Dad loved to watch "Hogan's Heroes". He said that the barracks were identical to his right down to the very splinter! My Mom heard he was MIA, but it was not until 3 months after he was captured that word finally got back to her that he was alive. She was so distraught that she miscarried their first child. They were treated fairly humanely in prison camp, as it was a Luftwafe (German air force) camp and there was apparently an unspoken respect shown for the prisoners by the guards.
10 months later, they began hearing rumors that the Russian Army (then our allies) were encroaching on the eastern front of Nazi Germany and talk circulated that liberation might be soon. One morning Dad and his buddies awoke to find the camp entirely abandoned! Not a German to be seen! A couple weeks later, the end of the war was declared and he came home.
All this to say that my Dad was my hero. They say heroes are defined not by how they die, but how they lived their lives. Not knowing whether he would live or die, my Dad willingly gave his all so that those who came after him would enjoy --- and hopefully cherish --- the freedom and way of life we have today. To that, I can only say,
"Thanks, Dad."
