From Yahooo News: Treasure hunters eye huge silver haul from WWII ship
When the SS Gairsoppa was torpedoed by a German U-boat, it took its huge silver cargo to a watery grave. Seventy years later, US divers said they are working to recover what may well be the biggest shipwreck haul ever.
Florida-based Odyssey Marine Exploration on Monday confirmed the identity and location of the Gairsoppa and cited official documents indicating the ship was carrying some 219 tons of silver coins and bullion when it sank in 1941 in the North Atlantic some 300 miles (490 kilometers) off the Irish coast.
That's worth about $200 million today, which would make it history's largest recovery of precious metals lost at sea, Odyssey said.
"We've accomplished the first phase of this project -- the location and identification of the target shipwreck -- and now we're hard at work planning for the recovery phase," Odyssey senior project manager Andrew Craig said in a statement.
"Given the orientation and condition of the shipwreck, we are extremely confident that our planned salvage operation will be well suited for the recovery of this silver cargo."
Recovery is expected to begin next spring.
After a tender process the British government awarded Odyssey an exclusive salvage contract for the cargo, and under the agreement Odyssey will retain 80 percent of the silver bullion salvaged from the wreck.
The 412-foot (125-meter) Gairsoppa had been sailing from India back to Britain in February 1941, and was in a convoy of ships when a storm hit. Running low on fuel, the Gairsoppa broke off from the convoy and set a course for Galway, Ireland.
It never made it, succumbing to a U-boat's torpedo in the contested waters of the North Atlantic. Of the 85 people on board, only one survived.
The Gairsoppa came to rest nearly 15,400 feet (4,700 meters) below the surface, but Odyssey is insisting that won't prevent a full cargo recovery.
"We were fortunate to find the shipwreck sitting upright, with the holds open and easily accessible," Odyssey chief executive Greg Stemm said.
Monday, September 26, 2011
Sunday, September 25, 2011
Her family's photos tell World War II history
From the Orange County Register: Her family's photos tell World War II history
Patti Hirahara knows that without a catalyst, nothing happens.
That catalyst came for the Anaheim resident in 2007 when she began documenting and organizing photos of a Japanese-American experience many knew too well, the story of being an internee at a camp during World War II.
She had the tag that showed that her father and grandfather were a part of family number 37105 at the 46,000-acre internment camp in Heart Mountain, Wyo. The camp served as home to 11,000 interred Japanese-Americans from 1942 to 1945.
But she also had thousands of pictures taken by her father and grandfather during that time told the complete story.
Dances. Outings to Yellowstone National Park. Funerals. Details of the barracks in which internees lived. Life.
All captured on film for generations to come.
Cameras were not allowed in internment camps until 1943. When they were, Hirahara's grandfather, George Hirahara, took up a Graphlex camera and became an unofficial photographer of the camp. He also took portraits of internees for minimal prices, she said.
George Hirahara encouraged the love of photography in his son, Patti's father, Frank Hirahara. George Hirahara set up a darkroom at the camp with equipment ordered from the Sears and Roebuck catalog. It was a hobby for her grandfather and father, which also captured history.
"They tried to capture the history with an artistic edge," Patti Hirahara said.
Searching for answers through pictures brought out many experiences for Hirahara, including meeting internees and feeling that she was telling the story of those before her who did not take photos of their experiences in the internment camp, she said.
"I'm giving life to their history," she said. "If we didn't take pictures, all these people's histories would be moot."
Hirahara's collection has been featured at many locations, including the city's Shades of Anaheim exhibit in 2009. It was the first time that Anaheim history curator Jane Newell had seen pictures depicting life inside of a Japanese-American internment camp.
"It was really exciting," Newell said about the photos in the exhibit. "I knew it was going to be something special. It was just amazing to me."
Hirahara parted with a portion of her family history when she donated the photos to her father's alma mater, Washington State University, earlier this month.
She personally delivered the last batch of the more than 2,000-photo collection to the university, which will make the campus the holder of the largest private collection of photos taken during World War II at an internment camp. The university has received a grant from the National Park Service for $49,217 to digitize and preserve the collection, which will be made available on Washington State University's website.
"I am happy that I am able to do this," Hirahara said. "Having our photo collection at Washington State University is the best home I could have asked for."
Saturday, September 24, 2011
The SAS secret hidden since World War II
From BBC News Magazine: The SAS secret hidden since World War II
A secret World War II diary of the British special forces unit, the SAS, has been kept hidden since it was created in 1946. Now it's being published for the first time to mark the 70th anniversary of the regiment. The BBC has exclusive access to the remarkable piece of history.
It was 1946; World War II was over and so was the Special Air Service, better known as the SAS.
Set up in 1941 by David Stirling, a lieutenant in the Scots Guards at the time, it had changed the way wars were fought, dispensing with standard military tactics and making up its own. But in the new post-war world those in charge no longer saw a need for the regiment. It had been disbanded and there were no plans to revive it.
But for one former SAS soldier it wasn't over. Determined that the regiment's story wouldn't fade away and become a footnote in history, he made it his job to find and preserve whatever documents and photographs he could before they were lost forever. It was his final SAS mission.
As it turned out the elite force's expertise was still needed and it was resurrected just a year later in 1947. And by then the soldier's personal mission had resulted in something unique - a diary of the SAS in WWII.
Unorthodox from the start, the SAS was conceived as a commando force to operate behind enemy lines in North Africa, where the British were fighting Field Marshall Rommel's highly-skilled Afrika Korps. Their orders were to attack enemy airfields and harass the Germans in any way possible. Over months they repeatedly went into the desert and destroyed German planes, sometimes with bare hands when their bombs ran out.
After the end of the North African campaign, the SAS then served in Italy. It was at the forefront of the action with the Normandy landings in June 1944, again going behind enemy lines in jeeps assisting the French Resistance and providing crucial intelligence for allied forces.
The SAS continued to be at the forefront of operations through Belgium, Holland and Germany until the end of the war in Europe.
Documents in the diary include the top secret order authorising the first SAS operation and rare photographs of the team which carried it out, naming those who died. It also had highly-confidential briefing instructions to kill Rommel in France. He was injured and sent back to Germany before a team of four SAS men reached him. There was confidential correspondence from Prime Minister Winston Churchill on the future of the regiment and the order assigning it regimental status.
It was a huge tome. The soldier had bound everything in a single, leather-clad book which totalled 500 pages. It measured 17in (43cm) by 12in and weighed over 25lb (11.3kg).
But having created something unique, he then stored it away at his home for more than half a century and told no-one about its existence. Coming from a regiment where discretion was part of its ethos, and belonging to a generation of men who were reticent to talk about their war experiences, it would have been the natural thing to do.
Advertisement
Military historian Gordon Stevens takes Robert Hall through the diary
It was only in the late 1990s, shortly before his death, that he took it to the SAS Regimental Association and handed it over. It was then put in the regiment's highly-confidential archives for years, where only a handful of people knew about it.
Its existence was only revealed outside the SAS when documentary maker and writer Gordon Stevens stumbled across it. He had worked closely with the association on several projects and asked to look at photos from its archives. The diary was brought out and it took him just seconds to realise how important it was.
"As soon as I saw it I knew it was an incredible document," he says. "The records in it don't exist anywhere else. From its contents to how it was pieced together, it was astonishing."
After two years of negotiation it's now being reproduced and published for the first time to mark the 70th anniversary of the SAS. Limited numbers will go on sale at £975 each, with most of the proceeds going to the association.
Months of work have been put in to include material not available to the soldier in 1946, and now held in the association's archives. The pages have been ordered chronologically and reports, maps and photographs have been added to complete the picture and tell the full story of the wartime SAS.
"The diary is a unique document and going through it is a very humbling experience," says the executive vice-president of the SAS Regimental Association, Col John Crosland, 64. He worked on the project and was one of the few people who knew about the diary's existence at the association.
"It shows how extraordinary these men were. Their deeds were astonishing but they are so matter of fact in their reports. What they did with the little kit they had was phenomenal. Their radios probably weren't very exact and medical recovery would have been non-existent."
Much about the diary still remains a mystery. The regiment is not naming the soldier who put it together and little is known about how he got hold of so much important information. Some have speculated that SAS founder Stirling may have encouraged his men to contribute, but those alive today think it is unlikely.
"I had no idea someone was putting the diary together," says 91-year-old Mike Sadler, who was 21 when he became a member of 1 SAS and Stirling's navigator.
"When the regiment was disbanded after World War II we all went our different ways. Anyway, we never spoke about what we did. We just didn't think that way and still don't.
"I would have done the same thing as that man and put the diary away in a cupboard, I still would today. The thought of publishing the diary would not have crossed our minds."
Its publication is very significant, says military historian Antony Beevor, the author of many books including D-Day: The Battle for Normandy. He says up until now there has been very little material about the birth of the SAS.
"That generation of men just didn't talk about their experiences so there is very little information around. They had a huge respect for things like the Official Secrets Act and the SAS were even more security conscious than most.
"The regiment has always fascinated people. It is the most extreme form of military life imaginable."
So why publish it now? Despite the interest in the SAS, talking publicly still doesn't come naturally to those involved with it - past and present. The diary is about celebrating the regiment's 70th anniversary, says Col Crosland. But it is also about educating people - including those in the forces.
"Even within the military, people are ignorant of the part played by the fledgling SAS in World War II. Nearly every allied operation was led by the SAS or the SBS (Special Boat Service). These men were sometimes dropping 500 miles behind enemy lines."
There is also an increasing awareness that time is slipping away, with SAS veterans from WWII getting older. According to the association, 143 are still alive today, including veterans from the SBS and other small units that came under the SAS at the time.
"We thought about publishing the diary for the regiment's 75th anniversary, but knew even fewer veterans would be alive," says Col Crosland.
The association's own archivists have been working closely with older members to extract their stories. But even then the accounts are kept very much as private regimental mementos.
For former SAS members like Sadler, this is the right thing to do.
"Even today I think twice when it comes to speaking about my experiences," he says.
But what the regiment does hope is that the diary may prompt other people with documents or photographs to come forward. These can then be added to its archive.
"This will always be a work in progress," says Col Crosland.
And the soldier who started it all?
"Ultimately, the story of the SAS in World War II is about more than just one man," says Stevens. "I think he would have agreed with the decision not to name him."
and
A secret World War II diary of the British special forces unit, the SAS, has been kept hidden since it was created in 1946. Now it's being published for the first time to mark the 70th anniversary of the regiment. The BBC has exclusive access to the remarkable piece of history.
It was 1946; World War II was over and so was the Special Air Service, better known as the SAS.
Set up in 1941 by David Stirling, a lieutenant in the Scots Guards at the time, it had changed the way wars were fought, dispensing with standard military tactics and making up its own. But in the new post-war world those in charge no longer saw a need for the regiment. It had been disbanded and there were no plans to revive it.
But for one former SAS soldier it wasn't over. Determined that the regiment's story wouldn't fade away and become a footnote in history, he made it his job to find and preserve whatever documents and photographs he could before they were lost forever. It was his final SAS mission.
As it turned out the elite force's expertise was still needed and it was resurrected just a year later in 1947. And by then the soldier's personal mission had resulted in something unique - a diary of the SAS in WWII.
Unorthodox from the start, the SAS was conceived as a commando force to operate behind enemy lines in North Africa, where the British were fighting Field Marshall Rommel's highly-skilled Afrika Korps. Their orders were to attack enemy airfields and harass the Germans in any way possible. Over months they repeatedly went into the desert and destroyed German planes, sometimes with bare hands when their bombs ran out.
After the end of the North African campaign, the SAS then served in Italy. It was at the forefront of the action with the Normandy landings in June 1944, again going behind enemy lines in jeeps assisting the French Resistance and providing crucial intelligence for allied forces.
The SAS continued to be at the forefront of operations through Belgium, Holland and Germany until the end of the war in Europe.
Documents in the diary include the top secret order authorising the first SAS operation and rare photographs of the team which carried it out, naming those who died. It also had highly-confidential briefing instructions to kill Rommel in France. He was injured and sent back to Germany before a team of four SAS men reached him. There was confidential correspondence from Prime Minister Winston Churchill on the future of the regiment and the order assigning it regimental status.
It was a huge tome. The soldier had bound everything in a single, leather-clad book which totalled 500 pages. It measured 17in (43cm) by 12in and weighed over 25lb (11.3kg).
But having created something unique, he then stored it away at his home for more than half a century and told no-one about its existence. Coming from a regiment where discretion was part of its ethos, and belonging to a generation of men who were reticent to talk about their war experiences, it would have been the natural thing to do.
Advertisement
Military historian Gordon Stevens takes Robert Hall through the diary
It was only in the late 1990s, shortly before his death, that he took it to the SAS Regimental Association and handed it over. It was then put in the regiment's highly-confidential archives for years, where only a handful of people knew about it.
Its existence was only revealed outside the SAS when documentary maker and writer Gordon Stevens stumbled across it. He had worked closely with the association on several projects and asked to look at photos from its archives. The diary was brought out and it took him just seconds to realise how important it was.
"As soon as I saw it I knew it was an incredible document," he says. "The records in it don't exist anywhere else. From its contents to how it was pieced together, it was astonishing."
After two years of negotiation it's now being reproduced and published for the first time to mark the 70th anniversary of the SAS. Limited numbers will go on sale at £975 each, with most of the proceeds going to the association.
Months of work have been put in to include material not available to the soldier in 1946, and now held in the association's archives. The pages have been ordered chronologically and reports, maps and photographs have been added to complete the picture and tell the full story of the wartime SAS.
"The diary is a unique document and going through it is a very humbling experience," says the executive vice-president of the SAS Regimental Association, Col John Crosland, 64. He worked on the project and was one of the few people who knew about the diary's existence at the association.
"It shows how extraordinary these men were. Their deeds were astonishing but they are so matter of fact in their reports. What they did with the little kit they had was phenomenal. Their radios probably weren't very exact and medical recovery would have been non-existent."
Much about the diary still remains a mystery. The regiment is not naming the soldier who put it together and little is known about how he got hold of so much important information. Some have speculated that SAS founder Stirling may have encouraged his men to contribute, but those alive today think it is unlikely.
"I had no idea someone was putting the diary together," says 91-year-old Mike Sadler, who was 21 when he became a member of 1 SAS and Stirling's navigator.
"When the regiment was disbanded after World War II we all went our different ways. Anyway, we never spoke about what we did. We just didn't think that way and still don't.
"I would have done the same thing as that man and put the diary away in a cupboard, I still would today. The thought of publishing the diary would not have crossed our minds."
Its publication is very significant, says military historian Antony Beevor, the author of many books including D-Day: The Battle for Normandy. He says up until now there has been very little material about the birth of the SAS.
"That generation of men just didn't talk about their experiences so there is very little information around. They had a huge respect for things like the Official Secrets Act and the SAS were even more security conscious than most.
"The regiment has always fascinated people. It is the most extreme form of military life imaginable."
So why publish it now? Despite the interest in the SAS, talking publicly still doesn't come naturally to those involved with it - past and present. The diary is about celebrating the regiment's 70th anniversary, says Col Crosland. But it is also about educating people - including those in the forces.
"Even within the military, people are ignorant of the part played by the fledgling SAS in World War II. Nearly every allied operation was led by the SAS or the SBS (Special Boat Service). These men were sometimes dropping 500 miles behind enemy lines."
There is also an increasing awareness that time is slipping away, with SAS veterans from WWII getting older. According to the association, 143 are still alive today, including veterans from the SBS and other small units that came under the SAS at the time.
"We thought about publishing the diary for the regiment's 75th anniversary, but knew even fewer veterans would be alive," says Col Crosland.
The association's own archivists have been working closely with older members to extract their stories. But even then the accounts are kept very much as private regimental mementos.
For former SAS members like Sadler, this is the right thing to do.
"Even today I think twice when it comes to speaking about my experiences," he says.
But what the regiment does hope is that the diary may prompt other people with documents or photographs to come forward. These can then be added to its archive.
"This will always be a work in progress," says Col Crosland.
And the soldier who started it all?
"Ultimately, the story of the SAS in World War II is about more than just one man," says Stevens. "I think he would have agreed with the decision not to name him."
--The SAS began life in 1941, the unorthodox idea of Scots Guards Lieutenant David Stirling
--In September 1942 it was officially designated 1st SAS Regiment
--Stirling was captured in January 1943 during SAS operations in southern Tunisia
--After escaping several times he ended up as a prisoner in Colditz Castle
--For his distinguished actions while a prisoner he was made an OBE
--In May 1943, his brother Lieutenant Colonel William Stirling raised a 2nd SAS Regiment
--Both were disbanded in October 1945
--The SAS was reformed in July 1947
Source: SAS Regimental Association
and
The PoW and the Nazi general
Major J Tonkin was captured in France on 3 October 1943. He filed this report after escaping:
At about 1100 hours a corporal brought me water to wash in and said that General Heidrich wanted to see me and that it was his custom to entertain all British paratroop officers whom he captured.
Heidrich was a man of medium size, rather chubby, with light hair and pale eyes of indeterminate colour. He was inclined to be bald, and although pleasant enough, gave one the impression that he could be ruthless.
Topics of conversation were obviously going to be tricky, but he started off with a formal invitation to lunch, and would I like chicken or pork? He added that it was immaterial which one I chose, as it was "borrowed" from the Italians, and of course I would think it looting. Being hungry I hastened to assure him that I called it "living off the land" when I partook of the deed. So chicken it was!
The last subject he talked about was what a beautiful stroke the Termoli landing had been. It had inconvenienced them a great deal and was perfectly timed. Then the German corps commander came in and I was taken away.
The next day I escaped while being moved.
Thursday, September 22, 2011
California: World War II relic ready for face-lift
From Mercury News: World War II relic ready for face-lift
Getting 10,000 tons of vintage World War II steel from Richmond to San Francisco was far less tricky than the nuance needed to guide it into a dock Thursday morning.
Three tugboats took about two hours to guide the historic cargo ship SS Red Oak Victory across the bay and another hour to slowly nudge it into the slip where reconditioning and repairs will be done to its neglected and rusted hull.
It was a momentous day for the ship built nearly 67 years ago at Kaiser Shipyard No. 1 in Richmond, the first step in making it seaworthy again.
"I've been waiting 12 years to get to this. It's my dream come true" said 93-year-old San Leandro resident William A. Jackson, a retired Merchant Marine veteran of more than 60 years.
"The next time we leave we want to do it under our own power," said Jackson, esteemed among the Red Oak's dedicated volunteers as the chief engineer emeritus.
Phyllis Doering, a member of the Red Oak Victory board, made the voyage carrying the dog tags and service photo of her father, Herbert Allen Perry, who served on the ship as a machinist's mate first class.
The day was "kind of bittersweet," Doering said. "I'm so happy the ship's being restored -- it's a marvelous project -- but sad he's not here to see it all."
The send-off from the Port of Richmond didn't have the pomp and fanfare of a ship launching, but a contingent of early rising well-wishers showed up to watch the Red Oak depart and most of the regular volunteers and docents were on board.
The departure had been moved up an hour to better coincide with higher tides in the East Bay, said Lois Boyle, president of the Richmond Museum Association, which owns the ship.
The long-awaited repair project was made possible by a federal Save America's Treasures grant and local matching fundraising.
Harold Wagner, one of three Red Oak volunteers who served on Victory class ships during the war, always believed the work would happen even when he had to endure "all the negative people saying, 'Oh, that ship will never sail.' "
"We've been waiting a long time to get it into the dry docks, and I wouldn't miss it," said the 84-year-old San Ramon resident.
Plans call for the ship, a centerpiece of the Rosie the Riveter/World War II Home Front National Park, to be done in time for the Oct. 15 Home Front Festival in Richmond.
The ship is a small but significant part of the shipbuilding output in Richmond during World War II, said historian and volunteer Steve Gilford.
"You get a sense of the scale of the war effort, of one part of it in Richmond," said Gilford, whose book on Henry J. Kaiser and the shipyards will debut next month. "They built more ships here, faster and better than anywhere in the world. It's not just World War II, these things were the backbone of the American Merchant Marine. It's really exciting for the people who put in so much time, so much effort."
Getting 10,000 tons of vintage World War II steel from Richmond to San Francisco was far less tricky than the nuance needed to guide it into a dock Thursday morning.
Three tugboats took about two hours to guide the historic cargo ship SS Red Oak Victory across the bay and another hour to slowly nudge it into the slip where reconditioning and repairs will be done to its neglected and rusted hull.
It was a momentous day for the ship built nearly 67 years ago at Kaiser Shipyard No. 1 in Richmond, the first step in making it seaworthy again.
"I've been waiting 12 years to get to this. It's my dream come true" said 93-year-old San Leandro resident William A. Jackson, a retired Merchant Marine veteran of more than 60 years.
"The next time we leave we want to do it under our own power," said Jackson, esteemed among the Red Oak's dedicated volunteers as the chief engineer emeritus.
Phyllis Doering, a member of the Red Oak Victory board, made the voyage carrying the dog tags and service photo of her father, Herbert Allen Perry, who served on the ship as a machinist's mate first class.
The day was "kind of bittersweet," Doering said. "I'm so happy the ship's being restored -- it's a marvelous project -- but sad he's not here to see it all."
The send-off from the Port of Richmond didn't have the pomp and fanfare of a ship launching, but a contingent of early rising well-wishers showed up to watch the Red Oak depart and most of the regular volunteers and docents were on board.
The departure had been moved up an hour to better coincide with higher tides in the East Bay, said Lois Boyle, president of the Richmond Museum Association, which owns the ship.
The long-awaited repair project was made possible by a federal Save America's Treasures grant and local matching fundraising.
Harold Wagner, one of three Red Oak volunteers who served on Victory class ships during the war, always believed the work would happen even when he had to endure "all the negative people saying, 'Oh, that ship will never sail.' "
"We've been waiting a long time to get it into the dry docks, and I wouldn't miss it," said the 84-year-old San Ramon resident.
Plans call for the ship, a centerpiece of the Rosie the Riveter/World War II Home Front National Park, to be done in time for the Oct. 15 Home Front Festival in Richmond.
The ship is a small but significant part of the shipbuilding output in Richmond during World War II, said historian and volunteer Steve Gilford.
"You get a sense of the scale of the war effort, of one part of it in Richmond," said Gilford, whose book on Henry J. Kaiser and the shipyards will debut next month. "They built more ships here, faster and better than anywhere in the world. It's not just World War II, these things were the backbone of the American Merchant Marine. It's really exciting for the people who put in so much time, so much effort."
One true war hero, France agrees
From News Press.com: One true war hero, France agrees
One of the enduring images of the June 6, 1944, Allied invasion of Normandy is U.S. paratrooper John Steele hanging from the church steeple in Sainte-Mere-Eglise.
Paratrooper Jack Anderson of the 101st Airborne Division had a different kind of landing in the same town that morning.
"I hit the thatch roof of a farmhouse," he said. "I fell right through. The farmer and his wife were scared stiff. They thought I was a German. I was pretty much out of it myself, 19 years old, with the German army all around you."
Last week, representatives of the French government and military awarded Anderson the Legion of Honor medal, France's highest honor, for his service in Normandy.
"It was wonderful being recognized after all these years, wonderful," said Anderson, a Chicago native living in Cape Coral. "They were really great, very serious about what they were doing."
Helen Anderson, Jack's wife of 65 years, heard France was awarding the medal to Americans who fought in Normandy and applied for it on behalf of her husband.
On Sept. 7 in Tampa, Anderson and eight other Normandy veterans received the medal.
Having fought with the 101st in Normandy, in Operation Market-Garden (made famous by the book and movie "A Bridge Too Far") and the Battle of the Bulge, Anderson already had plenty of medals from World War II, including a Bronze Star and three Purple Hearts.
On June 6, 1944, he was almost killed before he was able to jump from his plane.
"I was standing in the door - it was my job to make sure everybody got out - and a shell hit us," he said. "We were losing altitude like mad, not in a dive, but falling flat, like an elevator.
"I got blown out of the plane at about 400 feet and hit the thatch roof. My chute might not have even opened."
The next day, Anderson was wounded in the legs - he's not sure whether it was small arms or artillery fire - and sent to the Normandy beaches before being evacuated to England.
"It was strange for me to come down to the beach," he said. "I couldn't believe all the dead, and when the tide came in, it was just red."
One of the most famous statements of World War II was made during the Battle of the Bulge, after the Germans had surrounded the 101st Airborne and Combat Command B of the 10th Armored Division in the strategic Belgian town of Bastogne.
On Dec. 22, 1944, four German soldiers entered the headquarters of 101st commander Brig. Gen. Anthony McAuliffe and delivered an ultimatum: Surrender or be annihilated.
McAuliffe sent back a one-word answer: "Nuts."
Anderson, who had been wounded again three days before, happened to be present.
"When they gave him that ultimatum, the general had this look on his face like, 'Are you out of your frigging mind?'" Anderson said. "They wanted a formal answer, and he gave them one.
"He was a soldier's general, somebody you'd be proud to follow."
After the war and rehabilitation for his wounds at a military hospital in Colorado, Anderson returned to Chicago and worked as a welder.
Like many veterans, Anderson carried the war with him long after end of hostilities.
"His mother said he would tear up the sheets at night," Helen Anderson said. "He jumped out of bed and had these terrible nightmares. And I was taking shrapnel out of his back I don't know how many years."
Even now, 67 years after he jumped into Normandy, Anderson thinks often about the war.
"Everybody sings their own song," he said. "But nobody can explain it: You had to be there to understand. Some things you go through stay with you your whole life. But I guess I'd do it again."
One of the enduring images of the June 6, 1944, Allied invasion of Normandy is U.S. paratrooper John Steele hanging from the church steeple in Sainte-Mere-Eglise.
Paratrooper Jack Anderson of the 101st Airborne Division had a different kind of landing in the same town that morning.
"I hit the thatch roof of a farmhouse," he said. "I fell right through. The farmer and his wife were scared stiff. They thought I was a German. I was pretty much out of it myself, 19 years old, with the German army all around you."
Last week, representatives of the French government and military awarded Anderson the Legion of Honor medal, France's highest honor, for his service in Normandy.
"It was wonderful being recognized after all these years, wonderful," said Anderson, a Chicago native living in Cape Coral. "They were really great, very serious about what they were doing."
Helen Anderson, Jack's wife of 65 years, heard France was awarding the medal to Americans who fought in Normandy and applied for it on behalf of her husband.
On Sept. 7 in Tampa, Anderson and eight other Normandy veterans received the medal.
Having fought with the 101st in Normandy, in Operation Market-Garden (made famous by the book and movie "A Bridge Too Far") and the Battle of the Bulge, Anderson already had plenty of medals from World War II, including a Bronze Star and three Purple Hearts.
On June 6, 1944, he was almost killed before he was able to jump from his plane.
"I was standing in the door - it was my job to make sure everybody got out - and a shell hit us," he said. "We were losing altitude like mad, not in a dive, but falling flat, like an elevator.
"I got blown out of the plane at about 400 feet and hit the thatch roof. My chute might not have even opened."
The next day, Anderson was wounded in the legs - he's not sure whether it was small arms or artillery fire - and sent to the Normandy beaches before being evacuated to England.
"It was strange for me to come down to the beach," he said. "I couldn't believe all the dead, and when the tide came in, it was just red."
One of the most famous statements of World War II was made during the Battle of the Bulge, after the Germans had surrounded the 101st Airborne and Combat Command B of the 10th Armored Division in the strategic Belgian town of Bastogne.
On Dec. 22, 1944, four German soldiers entered the headquarters of 101st commander Brig. Gen. Anthony McAuliffe and delivered an ultimatum: Surrender or be annihilated.
McAuliffe sent back a one-word answer: "Nuts."
Anderson, who had been wounded again three days before, happened to be present.
"When they gave him that ultimatum, the general had this look on his face like, 'Are you out of your frigging mind?'" Anderson said. "They wanted a formal answer, and he gave them one.
"He was a soldier's general, somebody you'd be proud to follow."
After the war and rehabilitation for his wounds at a military hospital in Colorado, Anderson returned to Chicago and worked as a welder.
Like many veterans, Anderson carried the war with him long after end of hostilities.
"His mother said he would tear up the sheets at night," Helen Anderson said. "He jumped out of bed and had these terrible nightmares. And I was taking shrapnel out of his back I don't know how many years."
Even now, 67 years after he jumped into Normandy, Anderson thinks often about the war.
"Everybody sings their own song," he said. "But nobody can explain it: You had to be there to understand. Some things you go through stay with you your whole life. But I guess I'd do it again."
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
92-year-old Wheaton POW shares tales of war
From Daily Herald: 92-year-old Wheaton POW shares tales of war
For nearly 45 months, William “Howie” Chittenden was surrounded by death, hunger and disease. Captured by enemy forces the day Japan bombed Pearl Harbor, he would spend the duration of the World War II's Pacific theater as a prisoner of war.
“For almost four years, I was hungry,” the 92-year-old Wheaton resident said. “I went from 150 pounds to just over 100 pounds. Everyone had a disease. Beriberi, dysentery.”
On Friday, Chittenden served as keynote speaker at First Division Museum at Cantigny's commemoration of National POW/MIA Recognition Day. The 30-minute ceremony drew about 60 people, a mix of veterans and area residents, to hear Chittenden's story.
After the speech, Chittenden said the ceremony serves an important purpose.
“It reminds us every year our burden that we have of recovering those missing-in-action personnel,” he said. “If we don't do this, then we shun and forget the responsibility we have to do that.”
On Dec. 7, 1941, 140 Marines at the U.S. Embassy in China were captured by Japanese forces. China had been under Japanese military control and American forces stood by to protect the embassy.
Chittenden, who had enlisted in 1939, was among those Marines and would spend the entire war in prison camps working as a slave laborer at munitions factories that were repeatedly targeted for bombings by the Allies.
“You have lost every freedom,” he said. “You are entirely under the control of the POW camp. The greatest thing about being liberated was to regain your freedom.”
First Division Museum Executive Director Paul Herbert was noticeably shaken as he introduced Chittenden. The retired Army colonel said seeing Chittenden reminded him of the commitment military members make when they enlist.
“When we take the oath, we don't get to pick how we serve,” he said. “We have to do our best in whatever comes our way. It's realizing that here is a 19-year-old guy, taking that oath. He is put in a dangerous place and he is willing to do what he said in his oath he would do.”
The effort to identify those missing in action remains strong. Herbert said 88 formerly missing servicemen have been identified this year, including 50 from World War II.
Herbert said Chittenden gave a unique perspective but that he stood for a common philosophy.
“He's representative of this huge reservoir of people with a fundamental loyalty to the country,” he said. “It's priceless.”
And that loyalty runs deep in Chittenden's family. Chittenden's brother, Bob, was also a prisoner of war, in Germany.
Despite having two brothers spend time in prisoner camps, a third brother, Dick, badgered his parents at 17 “till they couldn't stand it anymore” and enlisted in the military.
Chittenden said knowing he would return to America and its freedoms made the day he was released the happiest day of his life. However, that elation could not erase the 1,364 days he spent as a prisoner.
“You never forget,” he said. “You can't forget those days. They are indelibly imprinted in your brain. They are in your mind forever.”
“You live with them every day,” he said. “But you don't let yourself be overcome by it.”
For nearly 45 months, William “Howie” Chittenden was surrounded by death, hunger and disease. Captured by enemy forces the day Japan bombed Pearl Harbor, he would spend the duration of the World War II's Pacific theater as a prisoner of war.
“For almost four years, I was hungry,” the 92-year-old Wheaton resident said. “I went from 150 pounds to just over 100 pounds. Everyone had a disease. Beriberi, dysentery.”
On Friday, Chittenden served as keynote speaker at First Division Museum at Cantigny's commemoration of National POW/MIA Recognition Day. The 30-minute ceremony drew about 60 people, a mix of veterans and area residents, to hear Chittenden's story.
After the speech, Chittenden said the ceremony serves an important purpose.
“It reminds us every year our burden that we have of recovering those missing-in-action personnel,” he said. “If we don't do this, then we shun and forget the responsibility we have to do that.”
On Dec. 7, 1941, 140 Marines at the U.S. Embassy in China were captured by Japanese forces. China had been under Japanese military control and American forces stood by to protect the embassy.
Chittenden, who had enlisted in 1939, was among those Marines and would spend the entire war in prison camps working as a slave laborer at munitions factories that were repeatedly targeted for bombings by the Allies.
“You have lost every freedom,” he said. “You are entirely under the control of the POW camp. The greatest thing about being liberated was to regain your freedom.”
First Division Museum Executive Director Paul Herbert was noticeably shaken as he introduced Chittenden. The retired Army colonel said seeing Chittenden reminded him of the commitment military members make when they enlist.
“When we take the oath, we don't get to pick how we serve,” he said. “We have to do our best in whatever comes our way. It's realizing that here is a 19-year-old guy, taking that oath. He is put in a dangerous place and he is willing to do what he said in his oath he would do.”
The effort to identify those missing in action remains strong. Herbert said 88 formerly missing servicemen have been identified this year, including 50 from World War II.
Herbert said Chittenden gave a unique perspective but that he stood for a common philosophy.
“He's representative of this huge reservoir of people with a fundamental loyalty to the country,” he said. “It's priceless.”
And that loyalty runs deep in Chittenden's family. Chittenden's brother, Bob, was also a prisoner of war, in Germany.
Despite having two brothers spend time in prisoner camps, a third brother, Dick, badgered his parents at 17 “till they couldn't stand it anymore” and enlisted in the military.
Chittenden said knowing he would return to America and its freedoms made the day he was released the happiest day of his life. However, that elation could not erase the 1,364 days he spent as a prisoner.
“You never forget,” he said. “You can't forget those days. They are indelibly imprinted in your brain. They are in your mind forever.”
“You live with them every day,” he said. “But you don't let yourself be overcome by it.”
Melvin Dwork, Gay World War II Vet, Gets Name Cleared
From Third Age: Melvin Dwork, Gay World War II Vet, Gets Name Cleared
World War II Veteran Melvin Dwork won a decades-long battle with the Navy over his 1944 discharge for being gay. His discharge is officially being changed from “undesirable” to “honorable," the Navy Times reports.
“I resented that word ‘undesirable,’” said Dwork, who was expelled in 1944, at the height of the war, and is now a successful interior designer in New York, according to the Navy Times. “That word really stuck in my craw. To me it was a terrible insult. It had to be righted. It’s really worse than ‘dishonorable.’ I think it was the worst word they could have used.”
In what is believed to be the first time the Pentagon has taken such a step on behalf of a World War II veteran since the repeal of “don’t ask, don’t tell," Dwork will now be eligible for benefits including medical care and a military burial, according to the Navy Times.
“I think that with the end of ‘don’t ask, don’t tell,’ there is a growing realization within the military that not only gays be allowed to serve openly now but this was probably the wrong policy all along,” said Aaron Belkin, an expert on gays in the U.S. military at the University of California, Los Angeles, as reported by the Navy Times.
The Board for Corrections of Naval Records in Washington made the decision to amend his discharge papers on August 17, the Navy Times reports.
In the proceedings, obtained by The Associated Press, the board noted that the Navy has undergone a “radical departure” from the outright ban on gays that was in place in 1944. The board pointed out Dwork’s “exemplary period of active duty” and said that changing the terms of his discharge was done “in the interest of justice.”
Approximately 100,000 troops were discharged between World War II and 1993 for being gay and lost their benefits as a result, Belkin told the Navy Times. Under the more relaxed “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy, which allowed gays to serve as long as they kept their sexual orientation to themselves, about 14,000 troops were forced out, but most were given honorable discharges that allowed them to draw benefits.
The repeal of “don’t ask, don’t tell” officially takes effect Tuesday, the Navy Times reports.
World War II Veteran Melvin Dwork won a decades-long battle with the Navy over his 1944 discharge for being gay. His discharge is officially being changed from “undesirable” to “honorable," the Navy Times reports.
“I resented that word ‘undesirable,’” said Dwork, who was expelled in 1944, at the height of the war, and is now a successful interior designer in New York, according to the Navy Times. “That word really stuck in my craw. To me it was a terrible insult. It had to be righted. It’s really worse than ‘dishonorable.’ I think it was the worst word they could have used.”
In what is believed to be the first time the Pentagon has taken such a step on behalf of a World War II veteran since the repeal of “don’t ask, don’t tell," Dwork will now be eligible for benefits including medical care and a military burial, according to the Navy Times.
“I think that with the end of ‘don’t ask, don’t tell,’ there is a growing realization within the military that not only gays be allowed to serve openly now but this was probably the wrong policy all along,” said Aaron Belkin, an expert on gays in the U.S. military at the University of California, Los Angeles, as reported by the Navy Times.
The Board for Corrections of Naval Records in Washington made the decision to amend his discharge papers on August 17, the Navy Times reports.
In the proceedings, obtained by The Associated Press, the board noted that the Navy has undergone a “radical departure” from the outright ban on gays that was in place in 1944. The board pointed out Dwork’s “exemplary period of active duty” and said that changing the terms of his discharge was done “in the interest of justice.”
Approximately 100,000 troops were discharged between World War II and 1993 for being gay and lost their benefits as a result, Belkin told the Navy Times. Under the more relaxed “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy, which allowed gays to serve as long as they kept their sexual orientation to themselves, about 14,000 troops were forced out, but most were given honorable discharges that allowed them to draw benefits.
The repeal of “don’t ask, don’t tell” officially takes effect Tuesday, the Navy Times reports.
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
Texas: World War II bomber reunion in Addison
From KCENTV.com: World War II bomber reunion in Addison
Some World War II pilots and gunners took a step back in time on an old B-29 bomber.
"Fifi" is the last B-29 superfortress still flying in the world.
For members of the 504th bomber group, their reunion with the old bomber was an emotional time. That is because of all the close calls and near misses flying on B-29 bombers like Fifi. "Good experience, a memorable experience," says B-29 gunner John Swoboda, "but I don't think I want to go through it again."
B-29 navigator and POW Fiske Hanley says, "Very few of us B-29ers came back. Of the 5,000 lost over Japan, less than 200 of us came back. So, I'm lucky."
The B-29 is most famous for dropping two atomic bombs on Japan to end World War II.
Some World War II pilots and gunners took a step back in time on an old B-29 bomber.
"Fifi" is the last B-29 superfortress still flying in the world.
For members of the 504th bomber group, their reunion with the old bomber was an emotional time. That is because of all the close calls and near misses flying on B-29 bombers like Fifi. "Good experience, a memorable experience," says B-29 gunner John Swoboda, "but I don't think I want to go through it again."
B-29 navigator and POW Fiske Hanley says, "Very few of us B-29ers came back. Of the 5,000 lost over Japan, less than 200 of us came back. So, I'm lucky."
The B-29 is most famous for dropping two atomic bombs on Japan to end World War II.
Michigan: World War II veteran returns to German village where he served
From MLive.com: World War II veteran returns to German village where he served
In 1945, Marvin Drake stood in the doorway of a school in a German village, holding a Stars and Stripes military newspaper with a headline that said “War Ends.” Sixty-six years later, the Jackson man posed for a photograph in that same doorway.
Marvin Drake, 87, had hoped to one day return to the Bavarian village of Schonthal in southeastern Germany, where he was stationed for four months as an infantry Army clerk at the end of World War II.
He had been back to Germany, but didn’t make it to that Bavarian village until July.
Drake’s desire to revisit Schonthal smoldered inside him for many years, he said.
“I wanted to go back just to see the changes that had taken place,” Drake said. “It was not a sentimental homecoming; just a curiosity to see how things had changed.”
He and his wife, Shirley, had toured Germany a couple of times before, but never made it to Schonthal.
“We (his wife and brother-in-law) were over there four years ago on a riverboat tour,” Drake said. “I hired a taxi driver to take us to Schonthal, but on the way the driver got lost and we had to turn around.”
In February, a couple at the church the Drakes attend told them about a tour to Germany.
The couple said they were going to go on a tour of Germany with Mike Ross, a retired Jackson High School German teacher, owner of an educational travel service and a travel columnist for this newspaper.
Drake contacted Ross in February and asked if Ross could take him to Schonthal. Ross said he could start the tour a day early and take Drake to visit Schonthal, Drake said.
“When the other people heard about it, they wanted to go too, so we just diverted the entire tour over there (to Schonthal),” Drake said.
‘A big part of his life’
Drake and eight others visited Schonthal on July 5, the first day of the 10-day tour in Germany.
Drake’s wife did not go on the trip because of health problems, but her brother, Ken Heintzelman, from Seattle, joined Drake.
“We just got to talking in early spring,”Heintzelman, 77, said. “We didn’t make it the first time around. So I thought it would be very nice if we could try again (to return to Schonthal).”
Heintzelman said he and his girlfriend visit Germany every couple of years.
“My girlfriend and I go over there quite a bit,” he said. “(Schonthal is) a neat little place right on the Czech border.
Curiosity about changes in Germany led the Jackson man to visit the village where he had been stationed.
“I just wanted it (the trip to Schonthal) for Marvin, not for me,” Heintzelman said. “He always goes to all those (Army) reunions and it was a big part of his life. He’s kept track of a lot of those people that he was in service with.”
Drake’s wife of 60 years, Shirley, 79, said she wanted her husband to return to the place that had meant so much to him during the war. “In ‘07, we had a riverboat trip and had hoped to visit it (Schonthal) then,” she said. “We knew we were close to Schonthal.”
“For some reason, the driver didn’t know how to get to Schonthal,” she said. “We went all around hell and a half acre. He finally said ‘I’m lost.’ So we turned around and came back.”
Heintzelman was instrumental in encouraging Marvin to visit Schonthal, she said.
“My brother was the one who started talking about it this winter,” she said. “He said I’m going to get you to Schonthal yet.”
“He was very excited to go,” Shirley Drake said. “When it came time, I said, ‘Go, I can’t go with you, but go’. I have back problems and difficulty walking, but I wanted him to go.”
Ross described Drake’s reaction as “subdued.”
“In fact, everyone became reverently quiet. He walked around the now modernized square, lost in thought and memory.”
Fond memories
Drake said he remembers Schonthal as the place where he would sleep under a roof, use an indoor privy and not fear getting shot by an enemy. As an infantryman, it was the first time in a month he had such amenties.
“I had so many memories there,” he said.
Drake said he was 18 when he arrived there during the last weeks of the war.
“The infantry had the worst conditions of anyone,” Drake said. “They had the worst food and the worst living conditions. During the winter they slept out in the cold fox holes.”
“By the time I got into Germany, it was the last month of the war,” he said. “It was about a month before Germany surrendered. I got over there in early April and the Germans surrendered in early May.”
Because he entered the war so late, Drake said he did not see any wartime action, for which he is grateful.
Drake had served stateside for 27 months in an anti-aircraft unit and was sent to Europe as a replacement rifleman, he said.
He and his unit spent 10 days crossing the Atlantic Ocean in a troop ship before landing in France. He crossed France in a box car while en route to Schonthal.
Even though the war ended, it would be many months before Drake would return home in March 1946.
He spent four months in Schonthal typing payrolls because of the 100 men stationed with him. He was the only one who could type, he said.
Drake was transferred to two other German cities, but none had the same feel as Schonthal, he said.
“It was the most interesting time that I had in the service,” he said. “Just seeing how the Germans lived. It was a very primitive area really. They had electricity, but no running water.”
Like the Germans, the infantry division Drake was with lived in primitive conditions, but the unit made the best of it.
“It was calm compared to being on the road,” Drake said. “Having been on the road for a month, we settled into a routine.”
Part of that routine included bartering a dozen eggs from German locals for a pack of cigerettes, Drake said.
“With our canteen cups and a blow torch we could boil the eggs,” he said. “We got brown bread from the locals, too. I asked my parents to send me a jar of peanut butter from home and that was good on that bread, too.”
Drake has put his memories in a book that he wrote called “Million Dollar Experience.”
That book might help him recall his experiences, both old and new.
“Now it seems like a dream, I guess. It’s over and gone so quickly,” he said of his recent trip. “I’m sure I won’t be going to Europe anymore,” Drake said. “If my wife could go, I would think about it. She can’t do the walking and you really can’t do a proper visit without walking around.”
In 1945, Marvin Drake stood in the doorway of a school in a German village, holding a Stars and Stripes military newspaper with a headline that said “War Ends.” Sixty-six years later, the Jackson man posed for a photograph in that same doorway.
Marvin Drake, 87, had hoped to one day return to the Bavarian village of Schonthal in southeastern Germany, where he was stationed for four months as an infantry Army clerk at the end of World War II.
He had been back to Germany, but didn’t make it to that Bavarian village until July.
Drake’s desire to revisit Schonthal smoldered inside him for many years, he said.
“I wanted to go back just to see the changes that had taken place,” Drake said. “It was not a sentimental homecoming; just a curiosity to see how things had changed.”
He and his wife, Shirley, had toured Germany a couple of times before, but never made it to Schonthal.
“We (his wife and brother-in-law) were over there four years ago on a riverboat tour,” Drake said. “I hired a taxi driver to take us to Schonthal, but on the way the driver got lost and we had to turn around.”
In February, a couple at the church the Drakes attend told them about a tour to Germany.
The couple said they were going to go on a tour of Germany with Mike Ross, a retired Jackson High School German teacher, owner of an educational travel service and a travel columnist for this newspaper.
Drake contacted Ross in February and asked if Ross could take him to Schonthal. Ross said he could start the tour a day early and take Drake to visit Schonthal, Drake said.
“When the other people heard about it, they wanted to go too, so we just diverted the entire tour over there (to Schonthal),” Drake said.
‘A big part of his life’
Drake and eight others visited Schonthal on July 5, the first day of the 10-day tour in Germany.
Drake’s wife did not go on the trip because of health problems, but her brother, Ken Heintzelman, from Seattle, joined Drake.
“We just got to talking in early spring,”Heintzelman, 77, said. “We didn’t make it the first time around. So I thought it would be very nice if we could try again (to return to Schonthal).”
Heintzelman said he and his girlfriend visit Germany every couple of years.
“My girlfriend and I go over there quite a bit,” he said. “(Schonthal is) a neat little place right on the Czech border.
Curiosity about changes in Germany led the Jackson man to visit the village where he had been stationed.
“I just wanted it (the trip to Schonthal) for Marvin, not for me,” Heintzelman said. “He always goes to all those (Army) reunions and it was a big part of his life. He’s kept track of a lot of those people that he was in service with.”
Drake’s wife of 60 years, Shirley, 79, said she wanted her husband to return to the place that had meant so much to him during the war. “In ‘07, we had a riverboat trip and had hoped to visit it (Schonthal) then,” she said. “We knew we were close to Schonthal.”
“For some reason, the driver didn’t know how to get to Schonthal,” she said. “We went all around hell and a half acre. He finally said ‘I’m lost.’ So we turned around and came back.”
Heintzelman was instrumental in encouraging Marvin to visit Schonthal, she said.
“My brother was the one who started talking about it this winter,” she said. “He said I’m going to get you to Schonthal yet.”
“He was very excited to go,” Shirley Drake said. “When it came time, I said, ‘Go, I can’t go with you, but go’. I have back problems and difficulty walking, but I wanted him to go.”
Ross described Drake’s reaction as “subdued.”
“In fact, everyone became reverently quiet. He walked around the now modernized square, lost in thought and memory.”
Fond memories
Drake said he remembers Schonthal as the place where he would sleep under a roof, use an indoor privy and not fear getting shot by an enemy. As an infantryman, it was the first time in a month he had such amenties.
“I had so many memories there,” he said.
Drake said he was 18 when he arrived there during the last weeks of the war.
“The infantry had the worst conditions of anyone,” Drake said. “They had the worst food and the worst living conditions. During the winter they slept out in the cold fox holes.”
“By the time I got into Germany, it was the last month of the war,” he said. “It was about a month before Germany surrendered. I got over there in early April and the Germans surrendered in early May.”
Because he entered the war so late, Drake said he did not see any wartime action, for which he is grateful.
Drake had served stateside for 27 months in an anti-aircraft unit and was sent to Europe as a replacement rifleman, he said.
He and his unit spent 10 days crossing the Atlantic Ocean in a troop ship before landing in France. He crossed France in a box car while en route to Schonthal.
Even though the war ended, it would be many months before Drake would return home in March 1946.
He spent four months in Schonthal typing payrolls because of the 100 men stationed with him. He was the only one who could type, he said.
Drake was transferred to two other German cities, but none had the same feel as Schonthal, he said.
“It was the most interesting time that I had in the service,” he said. “Just seeing how the Germans lived. It was a very primitive area really. They had electricity, but no running water.”
Like the Germans, the infantry division Drake was with lived in primitive conditions, but the unit made the best of it.
“It was calm compared to being on the road,” Drake said. “Having been on the road for a month, we settled into a routine.”
Part of that routine included bartering a dozen eggs from German locals for a pack of cigerettes, Drake said.
“With our canteen cups and a blow torch we could boil the eggs,” he said. “We got brown bread from the locals, too. I asked my parents to send me a jar of peanut butter from home and that was good on that bread, too.”
Drake has put his memories in a book that he wrote called “Million Dollar Experience.”
That book might help him recall his experiences, both old and new.
“Now it seems like a dream, I guess. It’s over and gone so quickly,” he said of his recent trip. “I’m sure I won’t be going to Europe anymore,” Drake said. “If my wife could go, I would think about it. She can’t do the walking and you really can’t do a proper visit without walking around.”
Monday, September 19, 2011
Hartford, CT: World War II Vets Reunited
From Hartford Courant: World War II Vets Reunited
When Sheila Miller saw a commercial for Jeremy Bloom's Wish of a Lifetime — a nonprofit organization that grants wishes to the elderly — she immediately thought of her father and his World War II buddy, Lawrence Patton of Groton.
Miller's father, Quinton Thomas, lives in Asheville, N.C., and hadn't seen Patton since a 1995 reunion of the 22nd Bomb Group, on the 50th anniversary of the end of the war.
"They're like brothers," Miller said.
Thomas, 86, and Patton, 91, have "talked on the phone some, but to actually see each other, they haven't," Miller said. Thomas had been helping his other daughter cope financially with her husband's disability; between that and his own health problems, he wasn't able to make the trip.
On Saturday, the two were brought together again. Wish of a Lifetime flew Miller, Thomas and his wife, Mary, to T.F. Green Airport in Warwick, R.I. on Friday. They arrived at Patton's door on Saturday morning.
"He used to be after me to come visit," said Patton, who has traveled to see all his fellow crew members, including a few trips to North Carolina to see Thomas. "I used to say, 'When I see your car in my driveway, I'll consider it.' Well, now his car will be here."
The two men flew B-24 Liberator bombers in the Army Air Corps, a predecessor of the Air Force, during the war. Patton was a gunner and an engineer, and Thomas was a tail turret gunner.
The men went to gunnery school in Panama City, Fla., and the crew formed at March Air Force Base in California.
"A nice bunch of men," Thomas said. "We had no one injured. No one killed. That was a good part."
The gunners in the 10-man crew became close friends, Thomas said. They used to see each other frequently at reunions, but neither Thomas nor Patton have attended one in 16 years.
"I've been wanting to go up [to Connecticut for] a long time, but it seemed like we couldn't," Thomas said. "I've been in the hospital a lot, heart bypass, prostate surgery, pneumonia, you name it."
Although Patton had been fortunate to travel over the years, he, too, has had his share of hardships in recent years. His house burned down in 2002 and his wife, Patricia, died in 2009.
Patton lost nearly everything in the fire, including a journal full of stories and many tokens of his military days. Thomas sent him several copies of pictures, from the war and the reunions, to replace those he had lost.
Wish of a Lifetime granted Thomas' wish as part of its Project 11 campaign, which focuses on granting wishes to veterans this year, since Veterans Day falls on Nov. 11, 2011 — 11/11/11.
On Thursday, Patton said he looked forward to reminiscing about their experiences in the war.
"I don't know what to expect, but I hope we do have time to talk," he said.
And they have many stories.
Thomas remembers being in a bomber that was carrying 20-pound bombs one day when one of them slipped away from the others and fell onto the bomb bay doors.
"It turned them all loose and they all came in on the bomb bay doors. The pilot wanted all of us to form a line and pick them up and throw them out," Thomas said.
"I got into the bomb bay first … so it became my chore to pick up the bombs, one at a time, and hand them to the man next to me, and another one of my buddies … was throwing the bombs out of the escape hatch.
"As I picked up these bombs, I didn't know whether they were armed or unarmed. I picked up 100 20-pound bombs," he said. "And we got them out of the aircraft, no explosions."
Though the war ended 66 years ago and the 22nd bomb group crew ended up spread across America, their brotherhood lives on.
"We were just a couple guys and fate put us together, and we've kept our friendships," Patton said. "There's something about the military that bonds you together."
Saturday, September 17, 2011
Hitler's Atlantic Wall: Should France preserve it?
From BBC News Magazine: Hitler's Atlantic Wall: Should France preserve it?
Sections of Hitler's Atlantic Wall are being restored by French enthusiasts. But should the Nazi fortification be fully embraced as part of the country's heritage?
Along 800 miles (1,287km) of French coast lie some of the most substantial and evocative vestiges of war-time Europe.
Remaining sections of the wall have fallen into disrepair
The so-called Atlantic Wall - Hitler's defensive system against an expected Allied attack - stretched all the way from the Spanish border to Scandinavia.
Inevitably, it was in France that the most extensive building took place. Today there are still thousands of blockhouses, barracks and gun emplacements visible along the French shore.
But in France there has been no effort up until now to preserve this extraordinary historical landmark.
Elsewhere, World War II bunkers have been renovated as tourist attractions or for educational visits. The internet boasts Atlantic Wall fan sites in Germany and the Netherlands - and strong interest in the UK - but nothing in France.
It is as though the nation was relieved to see the German defences slide inexorably into the sands - and oblivion.
But now - quite suddenly - a new mood has emerged. Recently, several local associations dedicated to safeguarding portions of the Wall have been set up in France.
Times have moved on, memories of the war have lapsed, and a new generation no longer feels pain or guilt, but curiosity.Wall finds home in New OrleansIn July 2011, the National World War II Museum in New Orleans, US, took receipt of three sections of the Atlantic Wall (part of it is pictured above).
The huge chunks - complete with pockmarks from bullets and artillery rounds fired by incoming Allied troops - were donated by the Utah Beach Museum in Normandy.
"To see only a small portion of what our troops had to overcome to begin to liberate Europe, to be able to feel the chips and holes made in the wall by their artillery, it really gives you a renewed sense of appreciation for their sacrifice," says museum president Dr Nick Mueller.
"It really has been very rapid. In just the last three or four years, there has been a radical change," says Marc Mentel, founder of Gramasa (Archaeological Research Group for the Atlantic Wall: Arcachon Sector).
"Today people are constantly coming up to us at our sites and wanting to know more about the Wall. In the past, the whole issue was too painful, it brought back too many bad memories.
"Time had to do its work. For me personally, there was no way I could have started the association until the death of my grandfather. He had been a prisoner in the war. For his generation, the Wall was something you preferred not to think about.
"Funnily enough, I think it was the death of the last poilu (World War I veteran) a couple of years ago that was the trigger. Suddenly now we see that World War II is slipping into history too."
Members of the association spend their weekends clearing and restoring German bunkers around the bay of Arcachon, a beautiful area of oyster beds, pine woods and tourist beaches to the west of Bordeaux.
Falling into the sea
The sector was too far south to be a likely contender for Allied landings. Nonetheless, the Germans had a complex of emplacements defending the narrow entrance to the bay and the port of Arcachon.
Some of the defences were on the actual beaches, where they are now gradually falling victim to the tides and shifting sands. Others - mainly gun batteries - were on higher ground, and are relatively intact.
'The ignominy we endured'
Rene-Georges Lubat, 91, is one of the few Frenchmen who worked on the Wall who is still alive. In 1942 he was "volunteered" by his village mayor and sent to work on defences in the Arcachon sector.
"There was no choice about it. We had to go," he said. "Naturally we weren't enthusiastic, but it is not as if we had any choice.
"The conditions were not terrible. We weren't beaten or anything and we got a basic wage. At the start we could go home on Sundays, but after Stalingrad they put up barbed wire and we were stuck inside the work camp.
"Of course we knew we were building defences for the Germans, and it felt bad. I remember at the end of the war, my two brothers came home. One had been a prisoner, the other a deportee. I felt so bad I did not want to go to the party celebrating their return.
"But I do think the wall should be preserved now. It is important to remember what happened - the ignominy of it all, the cataclysm that we had to endure."
By studying German military maps, Mentel was able to pinpoint where one bunker had apparently disappeared. In fact it was buried beneath the sands next to the lighthouse at Cap Ferret, one of the promontories guarding the bay of Arcachon.
The association has now dug away the sands, revealing concrete walls still showing signs of the original camouflage. There is also an intriguing outside mural - drawn by some bored German soldier - of a man in a boater hat smoking a pipe.
Such amateur art works are quite common. In another emplacement across the entrance to the bay, there is a cartoon of a jazz band - sadly, rather hidden by modern-day graffiti.
"The Germans built the bunkers according to absolutely standard patterns, so we can walk into one and know straight away where everything will be - the hole for the radio mast, another for the periscope, the air vents, the sleeping area and so on," said amateur archaeologist Jean-Francois Laquieze.
"The blockhouses that are on the beaches, I don't think there is any way we can save. They are already disappearing into the sands, or in some cases are already under water.
"The ones that are slightly inland we can preserve. But there the problem is encroaching urbanisation. Town authorities are under pressure to open up more and more land for building.
"Nowadays we wouldn't for a minute consider destroying our mediaeval castles. But that is what is exactly happening to the Atlantic Wall, which is just as much part of our history," he said.
Blindness
If the French preferred for 70 years to avert their gaze from the Wall, it is perhaps for understandable reasons.
The fortifications were after all German fortifications - emblems to the French of their own national humiliation. But there is more to it than that - the Wall was not just a symbol of defeat - but of collaboration.
"A lot of French construction companies got very rich out of building the Wall," said Jerome Prieur, author of a 2010 book, Le Mur Atlantique.
"After the war, France needed those same companies for the task of reconstruction. So no-one said anything. There was a wilful blindness, in which everyone was complicit."
One section of the wall has even been turned into part of a house
In addition, many thousands of French men were forced to work on the Wall as part of an arrangement between the Vichy government and the Organisation Todt, the Nazis' civil engineering group.
There are some who believe France should declare the Atlantic Wall to be a historic monument, thus ensuring its preservation - or at least of parts of it.
That will never happen. No French government would elevate a symbol of national dishonour.
But what is intriguing is how the French people have themselves now taken the initiative, safeguarding what for them is less a mark of shame, more part of the collective memory.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Russia remembers siege that took a million lives
From News Scotsman.com: Russia remembers siege that took a million lives
By Irina Titova
in St Petersburg, Russia
Air-raid warnings roared across Russia's second-largest city yesterday as residents commemorated the 70th anniversary of the start of the 29-month siege of Leningrad that reduced its population by nearly a million people.
Public loudspeakers in St Petersburg - which reverted to its original name in 1990 - along with radio and television stations, broadcast the warnings as well as the sounds of a metronome used during the Second World War siege to tell residents of the raids and the all-clear announcements.
The 872-day-long siege of Leningrad - the "Blokada Leningrada" - is one of the darkest moments of Russia's participation in the war. A million residents of the city are believed to have died - of hunger, in bombings and while defending the city's outskirts.
Hitler designated Leningrad as one of his major objectives during the invasion of Russia, which was codenamed Operation Barbarossa, and from August 1941 the German's Army Group North set about tightening the noose on the key Baltic port.
The blockade began on 8 September, 1941, when German troops occupied the city of Shlisselburg, thus severing the last connection to Leningrad, cutting off the city's supply of food and military equipment.
With all land routes to the city cut off, the only way to get aid to Leningrad was across Lake Ladoga.
During the short summer months boats were used, but in winter the frozen lake became a makeshift highway known as "the Road of Life" - although others called it the "Road of Death" because of the frequent German attacks on it.
Nina Dmitriyeva, 80, was in the city during the whole siege. She says that like most Leningrad residents, she and her mother lived on rations of bread and glue, which they used to cook soup.
"I remember that it tasted delicious back then," she said.
Ms Dmitriyeva has fond memories of aid from the Allies, including canned ham and fish, that began trickling into the city via a perilous route through Lake Ladoga in 1943.
"I liked that ham so much, and I've been trying to find ham like it ever since, but I never did," she said.
St Petersburg residents gathered in Nevsky Prospekt, where one building still bears a painted Second World War sign warning people: "Stay off this side of the street during air raids." Hundreds of people laid flowers under the sign in the pouring rain.
"There were days when I would step outside my house and see dead people lying in the snow, with their buttocks severed for meat," Viktor Vilner told Russian broadcaster RT. "This isn't something we should try to cover up with heroic stories. That would be unfair to the history of the siege, and the people who endured it."
Some of the survivors have toured schools this month to tell young people of the horrifying experience.
Irina Skripacheva, who was in primary school during the siege, said people grew tired of constant bombings, but everyone, including children, did their best to stay sane.
"Air-raid sirens were driving everyone mad," she said. "But even small children, unaware of what was happening, tried not to cry."
Although the Soviets managed to open a narrow land corridor to the city on 18 January 1943, the lifting of the siege was not until 27 January 1944.
Many of those who survived went straight to fight the Germans, their experiences during the siege spurring them on.
"We joined the army to take revenge for what the Nazis had done to our people in this city. So many civilians lost their lives through hunger and shelling," said Ivan Selyugan, another survivor of the siege.
By Irina Titova
in St Petersburg, Russia
Air-raid warnings roared across Russia's second-largest city yesterday as residents commemorated the 70th anniversary of the start of the 29-month siege of Leningrad that reduced its population by nearly a million people.
Public loudspeakers in St Petersburg - which reverted to its original name in 1990 - along with radio and television stations, broadcast the warnings as well as the sounds of a metronome used during the Second World War siege to tell residents of the raids and the all-clear announcements.
The 872-day-long siege of Leningrad - the "Blokada Leningrada" - is one of the darkest moments of Russia's participation in the war. A million residents of the city are believed to have died - of hunger, in bombings and while defending the city's outskirts.
Hitler designated Leningrad as one of his major objectives during the invasion of Russia, which was codenamed Operation Barbarossa, and from August 1941 the German's Army Group North set about tightening the noose on the key Baltic port.
The blockade began on 8 September, 1941, when German troops occupied the city of Shlisselburg, thus severing the last connection to Leningrad, cutting off the city's supply of food and military equipment.
With all land routes to the city cut off, the only way to get aid to Leningrad was across Lake Ladoga.
During the short summer months boats were used, but in winter the frozen lake became a makeshift highway known as "the Road of Life" - although others called it the "Road of Death" because of the frequent German attacks on it.
Nina Dmitriyeva, 80, was in the city during the whole siege. She says that like most Leningrad residents, she and her mother lived on rations of bread and glue, which they used to cook soup.
"I remember that it tasted delicious back then," she said.
Ms Dmitriyeva has fond memories of aid from the Allies, including canned ham and fish, that began trickling into the city via a perilous route through Lake Ladoga in 1943.
"I liked that ham so much, and I've been trying to find ham like it ever since, but I never did," she said.
St Petersburg residents gathered in Nevsky Prospekt, where one building still bears a painted Second World War sign warning people: "Stay off this side of the street during air raids." Hundreds of people laid flowers under the sign in the pouring rain.
"There were days when I would step outside my house and see dead people lying in the snow, with their buttocks severed for meat," Viktor Vilner told Russian broadcaster RT. "This isn't something we should try to cover up with heroic stories. That would be unfair to the history of the siege, and the people who endured it."
Some of the survivors have toured schools this month to tell young people of the horrifying experience.
Irina Skripacheva, who was in primary school during the siege, said people grew tired of constant bombings, but everyone, including children, did their best to stay sane.
"Air-raid sirens were driving everyone mad," she said. "But even small children, unaware of what was happening, tried not to cry."
Although the Soviets managed to open a narrow land corridor to the city on 18 January 1943, the lifting of the siege was not until 27 January 1944.
Many of those who survived went straight to fight the Germans, their experiences during the siege spurring them on.
"We joined the army to take revenge for what the Nazis had done to our people in this city. So many civilians lost their lives through hunger and shelling," said Ivan Selyugan, another survivor of the siege.
Monday, September 12, 2011
World War II flight nurse collected wounded from Okinawa beaches
From Your Daily Journal: World War II flight nurse collected wounded from Okinawa beaches
Margaret Lucille Covington was born in 1919. Her friends know her as Lou. She is a World War II veteran and will be attending the Flight of Honor to Washington, D.C., with other WWII veterans. Her close friend Myra Dean will accompany her as her guardian.
Many soldiers made it home from foreign battlefields due to flight nurses in the Navy Nurse Corps.
Covington was one of the first to join the Navy as a nurse. She was stationed in Guam, where her plane, a Douglas Aircraft hospital plane, would fly into Okinawa. The flight nurse, along with a few corpsmen, had 45 minutes to drop off supplies and cargo and to load up injured soldiers.
“We were just busy,” she said. “There were injuries everywhere. We took the most injured, and triaged them. We took enemy fire. There was fighting all around us.”
Covington landed on the beaches of Okinawa, the day of the invasion.
“I remember how wonderful the patients were,” she said. “They were so grateful.”
The soldiers were placed on stretchers and stacked in the plane. Covington said they didn’t complain and were friendly and thankful for the help. She said penicillin has just come out, and to administer it, she would often have to climb up the stacked stretchers like a ladder and hang on with one hand while injecting with another.
Covington said when she signed up she had never flown on a plane before, and it made her throw up. The plane had to be flown at a certain altitude because the cabin wasn’t yet pressurized.
“We had head injuries, which you had to be real careful with, and we had broken bones and shrapnel wounds. We flew them to Guam. It took about eight hours. I never had a complaint. We lost one or two but we took them just in case. A lot we left there (on the battlefield), because it was better. You knew it was the best thing, because they wouldn’t make the trip.”
Covington is a Rockingham native, and graduated high school here. She pursued her nursing career, and the path lead her to the Navy. The Navy sent her back to school after her one-year station in Guam, to the University of Colorado, where she earned her bachelor’s degree in nursing.
She spent two tours at Charleston and one at Oakland, Calif., where she received patients off of ships coming home from the South Pacific. She also served as a hospital supervisor. She was instrumental in the building and establishment of a Naval hospital in Puerto Rico, and, on a clear day could see Cuba from where she was stationed. She was home during the Cuban Missile Crisis, and rushed back to Puerto Rico because she felt she may be needed to receive the wounded.
Covington served as a Navy recruiter during the ’50s and early ’60s in Raleigh, but didn’t enjoy it.
“I didn’t like paperwork,” she said. “I didn’t want to sit behind a desk.”
She was discharged at Portsmouth, but only after achieving the rank of Commander, which was rare for women at that time.
“I was up for Captain but I wanted to come home,” she said. “I didn’t want to give it another three or four years.”
Although no longer in the Navy, her career as a nurse didn’t end. Covington went on to teach nursing at RCC and SCC, and served as Chair of the Nursing Department.
She has been active in her retirement as well. According to Dean, Covington delivered Meals on Wheels well into her 80s. She has been actively involved with her church and community. She now resides in Scotia Village in Laurinburg, and has given lectures on veterans for Veterans Day and other veteran functions.
“It’s really nice of Rotary to do this for the veterans,” said Dean.
The Flight of Honor to Washington, D.C., leaves on Sept. 17. The WWII veterans will visit the WWII memorials and sight-see in D.C. while being pampered by guardians who have volunteered their time to ensure the veterans are cared for and well hydrated. The trip is sponsored by Rotary International, local rotaries and veterans organizations and donations from the public. The trip is no cost to the veterans that attend.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Surviving in World War II: ‘Just too mean and too tough to die’
From EnidNews.com: Surviving in World War II: ‘Just too mean and too tough to die’
By James Neal, Staff Writer
By James Neal, Staff Writer
FAIRVIEW — More than 400,000 Americans laid down their lives to defeat the Axis Powers in World War II.
Frank Koehn of Fair-view came about as close as a man can come to joining that number and still live to tell the tale. Shot twice, cut and bayoneted repeatedly by his Japanese foes, Koehn said he survived because of one simple fact: he was “just too mean and too tough to die.”
Koehn grew up in rural Major County just outside of Isabella. His life on the farm continued while the Second World War raged until he received notice at age 19 he had been drafted into the Army.
Koehn was assigned to the 145th Infantry Regiment and later the 172nd Infantry Regiment. Both units fell under the command of Gen. Douglas MacArthur during his campaign to recapture the Philippines.
Koehn landed in a beach landing craft assault on Luzon, the last island in the Philippines campaign, on Jan. 9, 1945.
He got his first and last taste of combat when the 172nd was detailed to recapture the Ipo Dam, 25 miles northeast of Manila. American forces had captured Manila on Feb. 28, but their position in the city remained insecure as long the Japanese held the reservoirs that provided the city’s water supply.
By May 1945, MacArthur had concluded Ipo Dam was a strategic priority, and he dispatched the 43rd Infantry Division, including Koehn in the 172nd Infantry Regiment, to retake the reservoir.
“They got us out there to take that sucker back,” Koehn said, remembering his march on the Japanese high ground surrounding the dam. Koehn and his fellow soldiers dug in around the Japanese, who launched sporadic attacks in attempts to drive the Americans from the rocky terrain below the reservoir.
Koehn dug his foxhole in the mud below the reservoir late one night, setting the scene for a pitched battle that would leave him barely clinging to life by sunrise.
The Japanese began probing the American lines in the darkness, and they were looking for Koehn’s foxhole in particular.
“I carried a B.A.R. (Browning Automatic Rifle),” Koehn said, “and they had found out where I was at and they were coming after that gun.”
What they didn’t know was Koehn had turned the automatic rifle over to a man in another foxhole for the night. Koehn settled in to wait for daylight, and shortly after 4 a.m. he turned the lookout duties over to his foxhole buddy.
His slumber did not last long. He was awakened to find his buddy had abandoned the foxhole — and him — and the Japanese were overrunning his position.
A Japanese officer struck Koehn with a sword across his back, leaving a scar that still bothers him today. Koehn said the sword “must have caught the edge of that foxhole, or else he would have cut me in half.” The officer who struck Koehn with the sword continued on, leaving Koehn for dead.
It did not take Koehn long to recover from the initial assault and begin to fight for his life.
“I came up out of that foxhole fighting like a tiger,” Koehn said.
He said he never knew how many Japanese soldiers were facing him when he emerged from the foxhole, but he was up against overwhelming odds. When he came out of the foxhole he faced a Japanese soldier who attempted to run him through with a rifle-mounted bayonet.
“I just grabbed hold of that bayonet to stay alive,” Koehn said, rubbing a deep scar that still runs across his palm and two fingers. “I held onto that bayonet and pushed, and he fell backward and I was able to get hold of my gun again.”
Koehn began shooting back at the enemy, muzzle flashes providing the only light. He doesn’t remember specifics of the battle, but it left him with wounds that would have killed most men.
Shot twice, through the right shoulder and his chest, and cut with bayonets on both shoulders, Koehn still was on his feet, fighting for his life. His platoon mate with the B.A.R. was able to lay down covering fire with the automatic rifle, breaking up the attack long enough for Koehn to withdraw.
Koehn moved to another foxhole, where the platoon medic, a man Koehn credits with saving his life, was. But, he added, there was a higher power leading him to that particular foxhole.
“I had guidance,” he said. “I had no idea where the medic was dug in at, but the good Lord was with me and by God he stayed right by my side.”
The sun rose that morning to reveal a grisly scene around Koehn’s foxhole, where the Japanese attack was halted.
“There were eight of them dead, laying around that foxhole the next morning,” Koehn said, “they didn’t make it past my foxhole.”
His smile faded as he remembered the first time he took a human life in combat. After a long pause he said simply, “I’ll guarantee it’s a hard thing to do, and it stays with you.”
Koehn eventually was taken to an aid station, a large tent just behind the lines, where wounded men were stabilized so they could be evacuated. Misinformation can travel fast, and word soon reached Koehn’s platoon mates he didn’t survive the trip to the aid station.
“They heard I had died on the way in,” Koehn said with a laugh. Of course he still was alive, and facing a long recovery period and several surgeries.
“I laid there long enough I got bed sores,” Koehn said. After a while, he can’t remember how long, gangrene took hold in the sword wound on his back.
“They cut me open and took all my intestines out to get at the gangrene that had set in around my spine, where that officer hit me with the saber,” Koehn said. He had a negative reaction to the anesthesia and nearly died during the surgery.
He was transported by Jeep to Luzon, where he continued to heal and wait for orders to return home.
“One day this corporal came running in, and he said,‘If you can pack your barracks bag, there’s a cargo ship leaving that can take you back to the U. S.”
He still was recuperating after two months in the hospital and not entirely healed from his wounds. He carried his own gear down to the ship, stopping repeatedly to lay on top of the bag and recover his strength. But, he made it to the ship and back home.
He described his homecoming at Fort Sam Houston, Texas, as “really funny.”
“When I came back the doctors got to examining me and they asked me, ‘How’d you get into this man’s Army anyway?’”
It turned out Koehn’s ribs were out of line, and by Army standards he never should have been enlisted.
“I said, ‘They just took me,’” Koehn recalled with a laugh. “I guess they thought I was a pretty good hand.”
Koehn said his survival in the Philippines gave him the strength to “survive anything else in life,” but he wouldn’t want anyone else to go through the same experience.
“I wouldn’t take any amount of money for what I went through,” he said, “but there’s nothing you could give me to get me to do it again.”
Saturday, September 10, 2011
California: Vallejo loses out on bid for USS Iowa
From the Times Herald: Vallejo loses out on bid for USS Iowa
After a nearly year-long struggle between two cities, the Navy finally made its choice Tuesday -- the USS Iowa is heading to Los Angeles, not Vallejo.
The famous World War II battleship, made notable for transporting President Franklin D. Roosevelt to peace talks, will be donated to the Pacific Battleship Center and placed in the Port of Los Angeles in San Pedro.
"We're very excited. There's been a lot of work over the years to get to where we are today. We're thrilled," Pacific Battleship Center board vice president Jonathan Williams said.
But Vallejo Mayor Osby Davis said he was "surprised and disappointed," given the amount of time and effort devoted to trying to secure the ship for this city.
Square tried to get the ship for the Mare Island waterfront, but had not met key challenges, including location and funding.
The Navy had already donated the ship to Historic Ships Memorial but reopened bids when an intended Mare Island spot was later occupied for a ship dismantling and recycling operation. Further, the Vallejo group had not made enough progress in meeting its own fundraising goals, officials said.
Between the two groups, the Pacific Battleship Center was the only one which met "minimum requirements" including sufficient financing, a viable port facility, business and tow plans and community support, said Chris Johnson, Naval Sea Systems Command public affairs officer.
The Pacific Battleship Center has a combination of $9 million in loans, pledges and the possibility of up to $3 million from the state of Iowa, Williams said.
Merilyn Wong of Historic Ships Memorial at Pacific Square said her group would be willing to work with the Navy again if the Los Angeles donation proved unsuccessful.
She cited the difficulty of finding another Mare Island spot along the waterfront as a major hindrance for the group in its second application to secure the Iowa.
"This project has had numerous ups and downs in the 15 years we've worked with it," Wong said. "We were the only standing party for many years. We would stand ready to work with the Navy in the event the donation did not come to fruition."
Historic Ships raised about $1 million in pledges, she said, adding the group did not rule out the possibility of securing another historic vessel.
Councilwoman Marti Brown called the Navy's decision to donate the ship to Los Angeles, "unfortunate but understandable."
"The group that's been working to bring it to Vallejo has not had the financial capacity at this point and hasn't been able to raise the funds over the last several years," Brown said.
"It felt like a long shot," she added.
Formal transfer of the ship's ownership will occur after completion of National Environmental Policy Act and National Historic Preservation Act regulatory requirements, according to the Navy.
Pacific Battleship Center had already surveyed Suisun Bay and determined the only appropriate time to tow the boat without dredging would be during "extreme high tides," Williams said. He said the Iowa may be towed by tug boat in late October.
Meanwhile, Vallejo Convention and Visitors Bureau Executive Director Mike Browne said he was disappointed the Iowa would not be coming to Mare Island as a museum attraction, tourist draw and tool for economic development.
"It would have meant a lot to Vallejoans," Browne said. "It would have meant a testimony to the men and women who worked on Mare Island for all those many years. That would have been a premiere attraction."
After a nearly year-long struggle between two cities, the Navy finally made its choice Tuesday -- the USS Iowa is heading to Los Angeles, not Vallejo.
The famous World War II battleship, made notable for transporting President Franklin D. Roosevelt to peace talks, will be donated to the Pacific Battleship Center and placed in the Port of Los Angeles in San Pedro.
"We're very excited. There's been a lot of work over the years to get to where we are today. We're thrilled," Pacific Battleship Center board vice president Jonathan Williams said.
But Vallejo Mayor Osby Davis said he was "surprised and disappointed," given the amount of time and effort devoted to trying to secure the ship for this city.
Square tried to get the ship for the Mare Island waterfront, but had not met key challenges, including location and funding.
The Navy had already donated the ship to Historic Ships Memorial but reopened bids when an intended Mare Island spot was later occupied for a ship dismantling and recycling operation. Further, the Vallejo group had not made enough progress in meeting its own fundraising goals, officials said.
Between the two groups, the Pacific Battleship Center was the only one which met "minimum requirements" including sufficient financing, a viable port facility, business and tow plans and community support, said Chris Johnson, Naval Sea Systems Command public affairs officer.
The Pacific Battleship Center has a combination of $9 million in loans, pledges and the possibility of up to $3 million from the state of Iowa, Williams said.
Merilyn Wong of Historic Ships Memorial at Pacific Square said her group would be willing to work with the Navy again if the Los Angeles donation proved unsuccessful.
She cited the difficulty of finding another Mare Island spot along the waterfront as a major hindrance for the group in its second application to secure the Iowa.
"This project has had numerous ups and downs in the 15 years we've worked with it," Wong said. "We were the only standing party for many years. We would stand ready to work with the Navy in the event the donation did not come to fruition."
Historic Ships raised about $1 million in pledges, she said, adding the group did not rule out the possibility of securing another historic vessel.
Councilwoman Marti Brown called the Navy's decision to donate the ship to Los Angeles, "unfortunate but understandable."
"The group that's been working to bring it to Vallejo has not had the financial capacity at this point and hasn't been able to raise the funds over the last several years," Brown said.
"It felt like a long shot," she added.
Formal transfer of the ship's ownership will occur after completion of National Environmental Policy Act and National Historic Preservation Act regulatory requirements, according to the Navy.
Pacific Battleship Center had already surveyed Suisun Bay and determined the only appropriate time to tow the boat without dredging would be during "extreme high tides," Williams said. He said the Iowa may be towed by tug boat in late October.
Meanwhile, Vallejo Convention and Visitors Bureau Executive Director Mike Browne said he was disappointed the Iowa would not be coming to Mare Island as a museum attraction, tourist draw and tool for economic development.
"It would have meant a lot to Vallejoans," Browne said. "It would have meant a testimony to the men and women who worked on Mare Island for all those many years. That would have been a premiere attraction."
Hell on earth: MAX HASTINGS reveals horrors of Second World War with chilling first-hand testimonies
From The Daily Mail: Hell on earth: MAX HASTINGS reveals horrors of Second World War with chilling first-hand testimonies
He longed for his mother. William Crawford was a 17-year-old Boy Second Class serving aboard the storm-tossed British battle cruiser Hood in 1941, from where he wrote home with a heartfelt plea.
‘Dearest Mum, I can’nae eat and my heart’s in my mouth. We struck bad weather today and waves as big as houses came crashing over our bows.
‘I wonder if it would do any good, Mum, if you wrote to the Admiralty and asked them if there was any chance of me getting a shore job.’
Crawford, however, was still aboard Hood when she was sunk with almost all hands, including him.
On the far side of Europe, Red Army Private Samokhvalov was in an equally wretched condition as young Crawford.
He was lining up for battle at Kursk, where the Soviet and Germans armies were about to clash in the biggest battle of the war and a million men would be killed or wounded.
‘Mama,’ he wrote in a letter. ‘I have not known such fear in all my 18 years. Mama, please pray to God that I live. When I was at home I did not believe in God, but now I think of him 40 times a day. I don’t know where to hide my head.
‘Papa and Mama, farewell, I will never see you again, farewell, farewell, farewell.’
Here were two teenagers from different lands, different cultures and thousands of miles apart but with a single thought. Like the vast majority of the millions drawn into World War II, they hated it.
There were many, of course, who fought bravely, proud and happy to serve — and die if necessary.
‘I suppose our position is about as dangerous as is possible in view of the threatened invasion,’ Lt Robert Hichens of the Royal Navy wrote in July 1940, one of the most perilous times in British history.
‘But I couldn’t help being full of joy.
‘Being on the bridge of one of His Majesty’s ships, being talked to by the captain as an equal. Who would not rather die like that than live as so many poor people have to, in crowded cities at some sweating indoor job?’
He was killed two years later but the heroic Hichens was that comparatively rare commodity even in wartime — a happy warrior. For such people, bearing their share of their nation’s struggle for conquest or freedom rendered their sorrows tolerable and ennobled loneliness and danger.
Others were not so keen. ‘I am absolutely fed up with everything,’ a British officer wrote to his wife from the Mediterranean. ‘The dirt and filth, the flies — I’m having a hideous time and I wonder why I’m alive.’
What was it really like to be at war in a world that was tearing itself apart? When, afterwards, men and women from scores of nations struggled to find words to describe what they had been through, many resorted to a familiar mantra — ‘All hell broke loose.’
We may be tempted to shrug off the banality of this phrase. Yet it captures the essence of what the struggle meant to vast numbers of people as they were plucked from peaceful, ordered existences to face ordeals that, in many cases, lasted for years, and for at least 60 million were terminated by death.
All hell did indeed break loose. Many people witnessed spectacles comparable with medieval visions of hell — human beings torn to fragments; cities blasted into rubble; ordered communities sundered.
Almost everything that civilised peoples take for granted was swept aside.
The war was fought on many fronts by many different nations. Some battlefronts were worse than others. Russians and Germans were at each other’s throats continuously for almost four years on the Eastern Front in far worse conditions than British and American forces ever encountered, and with vastly heavier casualties.
‘Death is everywhere here,’ a Private Ivanov, of the 70th Army, wrote despairingly to his family. ‘I shall never see you again because death, terrible, ruthless and merciless, is going to cut short my young life. Where shall I find strength and courage to live through all this?’
He probably didn’t. One in four Russian and one in three German combatants died in the War — against one in 20 British and one in 34 American servicemen.
But the fact that, statistically, the suffering of some individuals was less terrible than that of others elsewhere was meaningless to those concerned. It was no consolation for a British soldier facing a mortar barrage on D-Day to be told that Russian casualties were many times greater.
Pain and suffering were universal, as were fear and grief. Everywhere, young men and women were obliged to endure new existences utterly remote from those of their choice, often under arms and at worst as slaves.
Most of those suddenly thrown into these extremes of excitement, terror and hardship were conscripts, who clung stubbornly to their amateur status. They saw themselves as performing a wholly unwelcome duty before returning to their ‘real’ lives.
An American war reporter looked at U.S. marines on the blood-soaked Pacific island of Guadalcanal and concluded that ‘the uniforms and the bravado were just camouflage. They were just boys — ex-grocery boys, ex-bank clerks, ex-schoolboys, boys not killers.’
Life in the military was a shock for these youngsters from the moment they were called up. Many had never lived away from home before and hated the indignities and discomforts of military discipline and communal barrack-room living.
Some were upset by swearing and crudity they had never encountered before. Among Americans, everything seemed to be ‘tough sh*t’ and no sentence was complete without its obscene expletives — the effing officers made them dig effing foxholes before they received effing rations or stood effing guard.
Even the most delicately reared recruits acquired this universal military habit of speech. British soldier William Chappell never ceased to ache for the civilian world from which he had been torn.
He missed his home and his friends and bemoaned the loss of his career. His feet hurt, he was ‘sick of khaki, and all the monotonous, slow, fiddle-de-dee of Army life.’
But if service life was bad enough before going into action, then combat itself was an infinitely worse experience. ‘With our tent and clothing wet and half-frozen,’ wrote one soldier, ‘I felt numb to the point of almost not caring what happened to me.’
Trench foot was endemic, dysentery commonplace. Eugene Sledge, an American marine, recoiled from the brutish state to which the battlefield reduced him. ‘The personal bodily filth was difficult to tolerate. I stank! It bothered almost everyone I knew.’
Excretory processes became an obsession. In battlefield conditions, many never made it to a latrine. But as one soldier recalled: ‘No one said anything about how you smelt, because everyone smelled bad.’
And then there was fear, an ever-present sensation, for all that some tried to deny it. Sledge was terrified when his unit came under shell fire. ‘Every muscle in my body contracted. I braced myself but felt utterly helpless. My teeth ground against each other, my heart pounded, my mouth dried, my eyes narrowed, sweat poured over me, my breath came in short irregular gasps, and I was afraid to swallow lest I choke.
‘I always prayed, sometimes out loud. To me, artillery was an invention from hell. To be killed by a bullet seemed clean and surgical. But shells would not only tear and rip the body, they tortured one’s mind almost beyond the brink of sanity.
'After each shell I was wrung out, limp and exhausted.’
Lieutenant Peter White of the King’s Own Scottish Borderers recalled a youngster in his troop reduced to ‘whimpering misery’ as bombs fell. ‘He grovelled in the sand moaning: “Oh God! Oh God, when will it stop, sir?” I felt a wealth of sympathy for him, but dared not show it for he would just collapse the more.
‘No one mocked him or made fun. We had all tasted too vividly of the ordeal ourselves to feel anything but great compassion.’
As Lt Norman Craig waited for the Battle of Alamein to begin in the North African desert, he, too, reflected on the universal nature of fear.
‘The popular belief that in battle there are two kinds of person — the sensitive, who suffer torment, and the unimaginative few who know no fear and go blithely on — is a fallacy. Everyone is as scared as the next man, for no imagination is needed to foresee the possibility of death or mutilation. It is just that some manage to conceal their fear better than others.’
But officers like him could not afford to show their feelings. ‘We had to feign a casual and cheerful optimism to create an illusion of normality and make it seem as if there was nothing in the least strange about what was going on.’
Fear could be contagious if it took hold, spreading faster than a fire. ‘Once the first man runs,’ said an American paratrooper, who witnessed it happening to fellow Americans in the Battle of the Bulge, ‘others follow. Soon there are hordes of men running, all of them wild-eyed and driven by fear.’
With experience, men overcame their initial delusion that all those beneath an artillery barrage or manning a foxhole on the front line were doomed to die. They discovered the truth — that most soldiers survive most battles
Thereafter, it became a matter of personal taste whether an individual decided that he himself was going to be among the fortunate, or condemned to join the dead. ‘Fate, not the Germans, was our undiscriminating enemy,’ wrote a Royal Engineer corporal in the thick of the fighting in Sicily.
Some men resigned themselves to the inevitability of death, and were all the calmer for it: ‘Strangely, the giving-up of hope re-instills hope in you. You concentrate on little things — the next meal, the next bottle of booze, the next sunrise, the next bath.’
Comradeship was fundamental. ‘Nobody has the courage to act in accordance with his natural cowardice with the whole company looking on,’ said a Luftwaffe NCO named Walter Schneider.
But there was much to unnerve them. In combat, the grotesque became normal. An American infantryman watched a shell hit a fellow soldier: ‘He disintegrated, leaving only patches and puddles of flesh and bone spattered in the mud. I sat and ate my food. I had not known him.’
Another young GI was stuck in a foxhole when his buddy was ripped by a machine-gun burst from the thigh to the waist and through the stomach. ‘We were cut off and by ourselves, and we both knew he was going to die. We had no morphine to ease his pain, so I tried to knock him out. I whacked his jaw as hard as I could with a helmet, because he wanted to be put out. It didn’t work, and he slowly froze to death and bled to death.’
A different soldier in the same battle became so desperate in his misery that he found himself gazing with envy at corpses. ‘They looked peaceful. The War was over for them.’
Horrific experiences like these opened a chasm between those who went through them and those who did not. In all armies, soldiers serving with forward units shared a contempt for the much larger number of men in the huge logistics ‘tail’ at the rear, who faced negligible risk.
The gulf was even greater with loved ones back at home. Canadian Farley Mowat wrote to his family from the Italian front: ‘We are in different worlds, on totally different planes. I don’t really know you any more.’
To cope with the horrors they were experiencing, most men under fire focused upon immediacies and loyalties towards each other. ‘Life was free of all its complexities,’ Norman Craig recalled.
‘To stay alive, to lead once more a normal existence, to know again warmth, comfort and safety — what else could one conceivably demand. To be allowed to continue to live — nothing else mattered.’
Although soldiers often talked about women, under the stress and unyielding discomfort of being at war most craved simple pleasures, among which sex scarcely featured. It was home they wanted, whether that was in London, New York, Berlin or Tokyo.
A U.S. Marine officer in the South Pacific fantasised about what he would do if he got back in one piece. His dreams were surprisingly mundane. ‘I’m going to start wearing pyjamas again. I’m going to polish off a few eggs and several pints of milk. A few hot baths are also in order.
‘But I’m saving the best for last— I’m going to spend a whole day flushing a toilet, just to hear the water run.’
Another American officer, 25-year-old Captain Henry Waskow, yearned for toast. ‘When we get back to the States, I’m going to get me one of those smart-aleck toasters where you put the bread in and it pops up,’ he declared. A few seconds later, he was mortally wounded by a fragment from a German shell.
No wonder a powerful sensation among millions of people was that of injustice. They did not believe they merited the plagues of peril, privation, loneliness and horror that had swept them away from their familiar lives into alien and mortally dangerous environments.
Some didn’t mind. The Wehrmacht’s Captain Rolf-Helmut Schröder remembered his campaign experience ‘with gratitude’, despite being wounded three times. ‘We were proud to belong to the German army,’ said another officer, who ended up as a prisoner-of-war in Russia.
But few soldiers were actually eager to join battle. A 19-year-old American recruit was not unusual in openly admitting he had no lust for glory. He and his comrades went to war in the hope that ‘somehow we wouldn’t be in harm’s way’.
It was a tough job for their officers to turn at least some of them into fighters with the guts and the tenacity to close with the enemy, which was the only way to win battles. That meant, ‘conditioning them to enjoy killing’, according to one battalion commander, and it was no easy task with men from democratic nations.
Such qualms did not seem to affect recruits to the armies of totalitarian regimes. Germany and the Soviet Union produced formidable citizen soldiers who again and again fought more convincingly than their Anglo-American counterparts.
With more freedom of choice, British and American soldiers were less willing to accept sacrifice. They expended prodigious quantities of ammunition to secure even modest local objectives and required far larger quantities of food and comforts than other armies deemed necessary. For every pound of supplies the Japanese transported to their garrisons, the U.S. shipped two tons to its own forces.
The same reluctance to endure went for civilians. It is unthinkable that British people would have eaten each other rather than surrender London or Birmingham — as happened during the 900-day siege of Leningrad.
The inhumanity of the war on the Eastern Front was beyond the imaginings of those in the West. A Soviet fighter plane landed back at its base with human flesh adhering to its radiator grille, after a German ammunition truck exploded beneath it. ‘Aryan meat!’ the squadron commander pronounced to laughter as he picked off fragments.
‘This is a pitiless time, a time of iron,’ a war correspondent who observed this wrote in his diary.
Another met a Russian peasant carrying a sack of frozen human legs, which he proposed to thaw on a stove in order to remove their boots
A people who could endure such things displayed qualities of endurance the Western Allies lacked.
Those qualities were an essential aspect of the hell let loose in World War II and, like it or not, they were indispensable to the destruction of Nazism.
■ Extracted from All Hell Let Loose: The Experience Of War 1939-45 by Max Hastings, to be published by HarperPress on September 29 at £30. Copyright © 2011 Max Hastings.
To order a copy for £25 (p&p free) call 0843 382 0000.
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
Los Angeles City Council Votes to Support Filipino WW II Veterans
From Brentwood Patch: Los Angeles City Council Votes to Support Filipino WW II Veterans
Returning after its two-week summer break, the Los Angeles City Council voted Tuesday morning for two resolutions to support two bills in the California State Assembly that seek to create awareness of the role Filipino soldiers played in World War II, and to get veterans benefits awarded to surviving soldiers.
"The U.S. government promised Filipino soldiers that they would receive benefits as U.S. soldiers," Councilman Richard Alarcon said after several representatives of the Los Angeles Filipino community spoke.
Alarcon said that Filipino soldiers who fought the Japanese in the Philippines alongside U.S. troops were promised the benefits by the U.S. government in the late 1940s, a promise rescinded by President Harry Truman in 1951.
H.R. 210 would authorize the secretary of Veterans Affairs to recognize the Filipinos as American veterans, making them eligible for a variety of benefits, including health care. A supporting state bill, A.J.R. 6, would proclaim California's support for the House resolution. In addition, state bill AB 199 would encourage teachers to include the history of the Filipino veterans as part of their social studies curriculum.
One of the resolutions passed Tuesday supports H.R. 210 and A.J.R. 6, and the other supports AB 199.
"Time is of the essence," said Mary Jo Bernardo, consul general for the Philippine consulate in Los Angeles.
She pointed out that many of the veterans are dying, and those who are still alive are in poor health.
"We need support for these World War II vets."
Sgt. John M. Aspiras Jr., one of the veterans, spoke at Tuesday's meeting of the ongoing effort to get benefits awarded, and reminded the council that the issue is pressing.
"Gentlemen, we are a dying breed," he said, choking up.
He later expressed his pleasure at the unanimous vote to support the resolutions in favor of the legislation by saying, "Wow."
Alarcon, who represents the Filipinotown neighborhood of Los Angeles, has been working on getting the Filipino veterans recognized for more 15 years.
Councilman Bill Rosendahl, who represents Brentwood in the 11th District, made a point of wearing his veterans hat during the discussion of the resolutions and when it was his time to talk, he spoke passionately about his support for the resolutions, calling the million Filipinos in the U.S. "an incredible group of Americans."
Rosendahl added that the Filipinos' story should be included in American history books.
"I put on my veterans hat from the Vietnam era," Rosendahl said, explaining that he did so when such issues came up before the council.
"When you wear this hat, you think about what war is and the sacrifice of war."
Rosendahl finished by saluting the Filipino veterans in the council chambers.
Ivy Dulang, of the Search to Involve Pilipino Americans, was also pleased by the vote.
"I'm incredibly excited for the youth and the whole community," she said.
Returning after its two-week summer break, the Los Angeles City Council voted Tuesday morning for two resolutions to support two bills in the California State Assembly that seek to create awareness of the role Filipino soldiers played in World War II, and to get veterans benefits awarded to surviving soldiers.
"The U.S. government promised Filipino soldiers that they would receive benefits as U.S. soldiers," Councilman Richard Alarcon said after several representatives of the Los Angeles Filipino community spoke.
Alarcon said that Filipino soldiers who fought the Japanese in the Philippines alongside U.S. troops were promised the benefits by the U.S. government in the late 1940s, a promise rescinded by President Harry Truman in 1951.
H.R. 210 would authorize the secretary of Veterans Affairs to recognize the Filipinos as American veterans, making them eligible for a variety of benefits, including health care. A supporting state bill, A.J.R. 6, would proclaim California's support for the House resolution. In addition, state bill AB 199 would encourage teachers to include the history of the Filipino veterans as part of their social studies curriculum.
One of the resolutions passed Tuesday supports H.R. 210 and A.J.R. 6, and the other supports AB 199.
"Time is of the essence," said Mary Jo Bernardo, consul general for the Philippine consulate in Los Angeles.
She pointed out that many of the veterans are dying, and those who are still alive are in poor health.
"We need support for these World War II vets."
Sgt. John M. Aspiras Jr., one of the veterans, spoke at Tuesday's meeting of the ongoing effort to get benefits awarded, and reminded the council that the issue is pressing.
"Gentlemen, we are a dying breed," he said, choking up.
He later expressed his pleasure at the unanimous vote to support the resolutions in favor of the legislation by saying, "Wow."
Alarcon, who represents the Filipinotown neighborhood of Los Angeles, has been working on getting the Filipino veterans recognized for more 15 years.
Councilman Bill Rosendahl, who represents Brentwood in the 11th District, made a point of wearing his veterans hat during the discussion of the resolutions and when it was his time to talk, he spoke passionately about his support for the resolutions, calling the million Filipinos in the U.S. "an incredible group of Americans."
Rosendahl added that the Filipinos' story should be included in American history books.
"I put on my veterans hat from the Vietnam era," Rosendahl said, explaining that he did so when such issues came up before the council.
"When you wear this hat, you think about what war is and the sacrifice of war."
Rosendahl finished by saluting the Filipino veterans in the council chambers.
Ivy Dulang, of the Search to Involve Pilipino Americans, was also pleased by the vote.
"I'm incredibly excited for the youth and the whole community," she said.
Honor Flight seeks World War II veterans, support
From TBO.com: Honor Flight seeks World War II veterans, support
World War II veterans from across the country are enjoying tours of the Washington, D.C. memorials for free.
Saluting the sacrifices of service members, Honor Flight of West Central Florida is bringing the tradition to local veterans after forming earlier this year. The non-profit organization is part of the Honor Flight Network, which was established in 2005 and has flown nearly 70,000 veterans to the World War II Memorial.
"Our sole mission in life is to transport veterans to their memorial so they can see what America has built for them for their service," said Jim Haake, Honor Flight of West Central Florida's vice president of operations, development and fundraising. "The veterans love going up there, but not just for themselves; they go up there to make sure that the 408,000 who died will never be forgotten."
Of the 1.2 million living America World War II veterans, 32,000 are in the Florida west central district, which includes Citrus, Hernando, Pasco, Polk, Pinellas and Hillsborough counties.
The number of local veterans signing up for the flights is growing. Four hundred are already on the waiting list.
But with each trip slotted for only 70 openings, the need for additional flights and the donations required to finance them is also growing. So far the organization has held two flights, one in May and one in June. The next is scheduled for Sept. 20.
In addition to providing free transport to the memorials, Honor Flight covers breakfast, lunch and dinner. Commemorative caps, shirts and tote bags are also provided.
The day begins with an early flight. Along with each veteran is a volunteer known as a guardian, who pays their own way and shepherd the veteran through the entire experience.
Stops are made in Washington, D.C. at Arlington National Cemetery, Iwo Jima Memorial, Vietnam Veterans Memorial and finally – where most of the time is spent – the World War II Memorial. The day concludes back in Tampa that night with a welcome home ceremony at the airport.
Haake hopes to have one flight a month, from April to October. That's a $350,000 investment, however. He is seeking donations of any amount.
"I need corporate sponsorship," he said. "It just takes a lot of money to do this."
One key need are wheelchairs, especially since the trip can be a bit taxing for participants.
"I need 70 wheelchairs to fly," Haake said. "Right now I have about 14 that I physically own. I would love to get to 70."
The end result of these flights makes such donations a rewarding experience, according to Haake.
"My day job feeds me, but this completes me," he said. "The reaction is … it will bring you to tears."
Veterans are also captivated by the Honor Flight Network's mission.
"I think it is great," said Robert Titus, a World War II veteran who piloted a DC-4 in the Air Transportation Command. "I want to go up there because my brother was a Marine and I want to see his name on there as well as mine."
Nestled between the Washington Monument and the Lincoln Memorial, the World War II Memorial opened April 29, 2004. It honors the 16 million who served in the U.S. armed forces, those that died and all who supported the war effort from home.
Honor Flight currently focuses on World War II, but has plans to expand in the coming years to fly more Korean and Vietnam veterans.
"The stories that the guardian gets to hear, and the veteran gets to hear, that will last a lifetime," Haake said. "It's an emotional day."
For veteran and guardian applications, visit honorflightwcf.org.
For information, call (727) 498-6079.
Monday, September 5, 2011
Today in History, September 5
September 5, 1939
Four days after war had broken out in Europe, President Franklin D. Roosevelt issued a proclamation declaring U.S. neutrality in the conflict.
September 5, 1945
Japanese-American Iva Toguri D'Aquino, suspected of being wartime broadcaster "Tokyo Rose," was arrested in Yokohama. (D'Aquino was later convicted of treason and served six years in prison; she was pardoned in 1977 by President Gerald R. Ford.)
Four days after war had broken out in Europe, President Franklin D. Roosevelt issued a proclamation declaring U.S. neutrality in the conflict.
September 5, 1945
Japanese-American Iva Toguri D'Aquino, suspected of being wartime broadcaster "Tokyo Rose," was arrested in Yokohama. (D'Aquino was later convicted of treason and served six years in prison; she was pardoned in 1977 by President Gerald R. Ford.)
Friday, September 2, 2011
US Tells Japan Where 12,000 Iwo Jima Soldiers Are Buried
From My Fox NY: US Tells Japan Where 12,000 Iwo Jima Soldiers Are Buried
(NewsCore) - Japanese search teams hope to discover the remains of 12,000 soldiers killed during the Battle of Iwo Jima after the US revealed where it buried enemy casualties during the famous World War II clash, The (London) Daily Telegraph reported Monday.
The US National Archives and Records Administration handed over documents that identify four locations on the island where Japanese dead were thought to have been buried.
One site is said to be at the foot of Mount Suribachi, another close to where a field hospital was located. A third is within a bunker where US troops reported seeing the remains of about 200 Japanese soldiers.
A photograph of US troops hoisting the Stars and Stripes atop Mount Suribachi is one of the defining images of the war. The US won control of the tiny eight-square-mile (21sq/km) Pacific island -- 760 miles (1,224km) south of Tokyo -- in March 1945 after a savage five-week battle.
The US controlled the island until 1968 when it was handed back to Japan, but 66 years on from the battle the remains of many Japanese -- including their commander, Lieutenant-General Tadamichi Kuribayashi -- have not been found.
It is believed that 22,000 Japanese soldiers died defending the island -- 629 per day -- while 6,800 US soldiers were killed and another 20,000 were injured.
(NewsCore) - Japanese search teams hope to discover the remains of 12,000 soldiers killed during the Battle of Iwo Jima after the US revealed where it buried enemy casualties during the famous World War II clash, The (London) Daily Telegraph reported Monday.
The US National Archives and Records Administration handed over documents that identify four locations on the island where Japanese dead were thought to have been buried.
One site is said to be at the foot of Mount Suribachi, another close to where a field hospital was located. A third is within a bunker where US troops reported seeing the remains of about 200 Japanese soldiers.
A photograph of US troops hoisting the Stars and Stripes atop Mount Suribachi is one of the defining images of the war. The US won control of the tiny eight-square-mile (21sq/km) Pacific island -- 760 miles (1,224km) south of Tokyo -- in March 1945 after a savage five-week battle.
The US controlled the island until 1968 when it was handed back to Japan, but 66 years on from the battle the remains of many Japanese -- including their commander, Lieutenant-General Tadamichi Kuribayashi -- have not been found.
It is believed that 22,000 Japanese soldiers died defending the island -- 629 per day -- while 6,800 US soldiers were killed and another 20,000 were injured.
Thursday, September 1, 2011
Malta: New lease of life for Qormi WWII shelter
From the Malta Independent Online: New lease of life for Qormi WWII shelter
An underground network of rooms dug out during World War II as air raid shelters, hidden beneath the winding roads of Qormi for the past 60 years or so, were yesterday opened for public appreciation by Fondazzjoni Ulied Qormi and Kumitat Festi Esterni San Gorg Martri Qormi.
George Debono ta’ Minka, an 85-year-old man, was a young boy when the shelter was still in use to offer protection from the air raids. He told this newspaper how his father used to abandon the work in their farm to seek shelter for his family in the shelter.
“Before the shelters were dug out, people used to think that they would be safe if they stayed under the arches of their basements but they were very wrong, because many lost their lives because the basement ceilings collapsed after the bombings,” he said.
Yesterday, he laughed watching people go up and down the shelter stairs smiling. “We didn’t use to smile back when we sought shelter in these rooms,” he told The Malta Independent.
“We spent many days surviving on a small ration of bread which was given to us at 7am. In the evening, the victory kitchens gave out a portion of soup made from who knows what,” he recalled.
Yesterday’s occasion will not be a unique one, as the two NGOs plan on opening the shelter regularly thanks to a guardianship deed signed with the Lands Department and the Superintendence of Culture Heritage. Thanks to this deed the curatorship of the shelter was passed on to the two NGOs.
The shelter comprises around 20 rooms and has five exits, some of them lead to residences along Qormi’s main street which begins near the church dedicated to St George in the main square and winds to the outskirts of Cittá Pinto.
Labour MP and FUQ’s president Marie Louise Coleiro said the foundation is very proud to be working on appreciating Qormi’s heritage.
“These shelters offered some sense of security to Qormi’s residents during the war. Qormi contributed to welcoming people who were evacuated from the harbour region during the war. We had refugees from various localities,” she said.
These shelters will be a showcase of our town and country’s history, she added, FUQ and the feast committee will work on rendering it accessible to offer a unique attraction to tourists attracted to our locality.
Parliamentary Secretary Clyde Pulí described the shelters as a symbol of the community’s commitment to protect its heritage and its evolving identity.
Parliamentary Secretary Jason Azzopardi said he was very happy to be celebrating Qormi’s community’s sense of belonging. He added that the guardianship deed is possible thanks to the Cultural Heritage Law.
“We are trusting NGOs with unique gems that belong to one and all. In the coming days we will trust more NGOs with more heritage sites. It is thanks to these NGOs that the rest of the Maltese people can become aware of what we are so proud of,” Dr Azzopardi added.
The shelters are a reminder of difficult wartimes but also a memorial to the Maltese people’s genius. In times when modern technology was not available, he said, the shelters are also a symbol of unity and the sense of ‘family’ which characterised older times but which are still valid and should be rekindled today.
Qormi mayor Jesmond Aquilina thanked the NGOs for entering such a high-level commitment and welcomed the NGOs initiative to offer tourists and locals an alternative attraction.
In a few days time the feast committee will be organising the Qormi Wine Festival celebrating the town’s old wine making tradition. The shelter will be open for viewing during the festival being held on 2 and 3 September.
An underground network of rooms dug out during World War II as air raid shelters, hidden beneath the winding roads of Qormi for the past 60 years or so, were yesterday opened for public appreciation by Fondazzjoni Ulied Qormi and Kumitat Festi Esterni San Gorg Martri Qormi.
George Debono ta’ Minka, an 85-year-old man, was a young boy when the shelter was still in use to offer protection from the air raids. He told this newspaper how his father used to abandon the work in their farm to seek shelter for his family in the shelter.
“Before the shelters were dug out, people used to think that they would be safe if they stayed under the arches of their basements but they were very wrong, because many lost their lives because the basement ceilings collapsed after the bombings,” he said.
Yesterday, he laughed watching people go up and down the shelter stairs smiling. “We didn’t use to smile back when we sought shelter in these rooms,” he told The Malta Independent.
“We spent many days surviving on a small ration of bread which was given to us at 7am. In the evening, the victory kitchens gave out a portion of soup made from who knows what,” he recalled.
Yesterday’s occasion will not be a unique one, as the two NGOs plan on opening the shelter regularly thanks to a guardianship deed signed with the Lands Department and the Superintendence of Culture Heritage. Thanks to this deed the curatorship of the shelter was passed on to the two NGOs.
The shelter comprises around 20 rooms and has five exits, some of them lead to residences along Qormi’s main street which begins near the church dedicated to St George in the main square and winds to the outskirts of Cittá Pinto.
Labour MP and FUQ’s president Marie Louise Coleiro said the foundation is very proud to be working on appreciating Qormi’s heritage.
“These shelters offered some sense of security to Qormi’s residents during the war. Qormi contributed to welcoming people who were evacuated from the harbour region during the war. We had refugees from various localities,” she said.
These shelters will be a showcase of our town and country’s history, she added, FUQ and the feast committee will work on rendering it accessible to offer a unique attraction to tourists attracted to our locality.
Parliamentary Secretary Clyde Pulí described the shelters as a symbol of the community’s commitment to protect its heritage and its evolving identity.
Parliamentary Secretary Jason Azzopardi said he was very happy to be celebrating Qormi’s community’s sense of belonging. He added that the guardianship deed is possible thanks to the Cultural Heritage Law.
“We are trusting NGOs with unique gems that belong to one and all. In the coming days we will trust more NGOs with more heritage sites. It is thanks to these NGOs that the rest of the Maltese people can become aware of what we are so proud of,” Dr Azzopardi added.
The shelters are a reminder of difficult wartimes but also a memorial to the Maltese people’s genius. In times when modern technology was not available, he said, the shelters are also a symbol of unity and the sense of ‘family’ which characterised older times but which are still valid and should be rekindled today.
Qormi mayor Jesmond Aquilina thanked the NGOs for entering such a high-level commitment and welcomed the NGOs initiative to offer tourists and locals an alternative attraction.
In a few days time the feast committee will be organising the Qormi Wine Festival celebrating the town’s old wine making tradition. The shelter will be open for viewing during the festival being held on 2 and 3 September.
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