World War II

Hello everyone! It’s your errant WWII blogger emerging from the holiday mists. I really didn’t intend for our Thanksgiving break to be quite this long, but sometimes circumstances have a way of jumping in the driver’s seat and taking control. So, as a friend said, we’re three-quarters of the way through the Hallothankmas holiday season and trying to keep our heads above the ho-ho-ho waters until 2008 rolls in and we can breathe again.

The last time we talked I shared a story about a P-38 uncovered by beach eroision in Wales. Now I have a report of a Douglas-C47 that has turned up in Bosnia near Sarajevo. It last flew 13 years ago during the Bosnian war for independence when bullets riddled the fuselage. But this is one tough plane. It’s been around since 1944 and flew as an unarmed cargo plane during the Normandy invasion when it dropped paratroopers behind enemy lines to sabotage German batteries preparatory to the landings.

The plane will be taken to Merville, Normandy, restored, and displayed in the local museum. The radio operator on the craft, Joseph “Buck” Buckner died in 2003 but his son said he could recite the plane’s tail number without hesitation. The plane was so heavily damaged at Normandy with holes in the wings and fuselage it couldn’t take off again after its final drop. Engineers patched it up and it went in again for Operation Market Garden, the mission in the Netherlands immortalized in A Bridge Too Far. Ditto for a mission to Belgium. And it appears the C-47 continued to get shot up right through 1994.

This baby deserves to rest quietly in a museum and have its story told. (Click here to read the Houston Chronicle’s article on this story.)

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WWII, World War II, Normandy, C-47

My apologies to my readers for being missing in action this past week. My housemate spent three hours in the dentist chair Tuesday, not an easy task for any of us but especially hard for an older lady with stroke damage. Also had a kitty in the vet clinic and then there was just other life-related craziness. Several things have been sitting in my RSS reader waiting to be shared with you:

Service Held for World War II Soldiers Formerly Missing in Action - This story from ksdk.com details the wartime service and final burial of seven soldiers lost for 64 years until DNA testing brought their remains home.

Spike Lee Films World War II Story in Rome - According to azcentral.com, the acclaimed director is working on a new film, “Miracle at St. Anna, chronicling the story of four members of the 92nd Army Division, an African American unit, who become drapped behind enemy lines.

Merkel Backs Berlin Memorial for Germans Expelled in World War II - Earthtimes.org has a piece on German Chancellor Angela Merkel supporting the establishment of a memorial for German “expellees.”

Ghost Mountain Boys - Wiscnews.com looks at the new book by James Campell, “The Ghost Mountain Boys, Their Epic March and Terrifying Battle for New Guinea - The Forgotten War of the South Pacific.”

After Half a Century, Army Rights a Wrong - Another great column by Seattlepi.com columnist Robert L. Jamieson Jr., this one concerning the conviction of black soldiers in connection with a race riot during World War II at Fort Lawton in Seattle.

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WWII, World War II, Spike Lee, Germany, Ghost Mountain Boys

These days it’s not unusual for me to be behind in my reading — online and off — which explains why I’m just now reading this lovely column by William McKenzie exploring the fascination we have with the camaraderie of the World War II years by discussing his mother and her Poker Club.

His point about a modern-day longing for the common purpose that was the hallmark of the war years is well taken. And I enjoyed the fact that he was recognizing a group of women who have been “in the same foxhole” since Pearl Harbor. But I especially loved the fact that they are a poker club.

You see my Dad’s Army Air Corps nickname was “Slick” for his prowess at a poker table. In fact, he won the money that eventually paid for his business playing cards all over North Africa and Italy. Years later he’d just shrug it off saying, “Why not? I was 21-years-old and the Germans were shooting at my *ss every day. I never expected to come home alive.”

The column also reminded me of something I wrote a few years back about an encounter with a WWII vet that I thought I’d share with my readers today. I was sitting outside a bookstore when I spotted a trim, good-looking older man standing outside the front door.

He had wavy silver hair and stood perfectly straight as he gazed out over the parking lot. In a moment or two he removed a briar pipe from his pants pocket and lit it. A slight breeze was blowing and it wasn’t long before I could smell tobacco that was rich and well, grandfatherly and kind of sexy all at the same time. This guy definitely had the Sean Connery thing going. I could tell he was getting tired of standing and was just about to wave him over when he started toward me. Reaching for the extra chair as if to drag it away he said, “May I use this?”

“Please do,” I answered, “and sit here if you like. I enjoy pipe smoke.”

A look of pleasure and surprise crossed his face, “You do?” he asked, “My wife says it’s a filthy habit.” He sat down and we began to talk about how he started smoking during the war — World War II — when cigarettes were handed to the troops by the carton. “When you’re that age,” he said, somewhat wistfully, “you think you’re invincible. We had to know it was bad for us, but we just didn’t care.”

I told him about my own father flying planes in North Africa, smoking way too many cigarettes and playing poker. The old gentleman laughed at that and said, “Good for him, I did too.”

Just about that time a pretty silver haired lady motored out of the bookstore in an electric wheelchair. He didn’t jump up to help her, but watched as she approached a mini-van and opened its electric side door. When she was almost inside he said, “Well, I see my wife so I guess I better go but I’ve enjoyed talking with you miss.”

“Thank you, so have I. Have a nice day sir.”

He got up from his chair and went to the van, climbing in the driver’s side. I watched as he backed into the parking lot. Just before he turned away, he waved at me, one of those little finger waggle waves people with secrets give each other. I laughed, he grinned, and I think we both came away feeling it had been a lovely encounter.

Whether he was in his eighties or not, he was still handsome and charming, and obviously still liked to pass the time of day with a strange woman. It wasn’t a sidewalk cafe in Paris, but in a strange way it could have been. He’d have been gorgeous in his uniform, I, no doubt would have been wearing a silly hat. We’d have sipped espresso and talked about the liberation. I think I’m really sorry I didn’t know him then.

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WWII, World War II, nostalgia

You know, I really haven’t decided if reading sites via RSS makes me more efficient or just makes me feel even more overwhelmed. And I am frankly amazed at the number of WWII stories that come through my reader daily. So, just a few things I wanted to share today before they disappear from my consciousness.

Filmmaker Reviews his Film ‘The War’ at MC - The Midland Reporter-Telegram has a story about Ken Burns speaking as part of the Davidson Distinguished Lecture Series. It appears to have been a fairly intimate venue and Burns also comments on his other documentaries. I found it to be an interesting piece.

Okinawans Protest Revisions to World War II History - This one is from the International Herald Tribune. I aways take a look at articles addressing historical revisionism because it can be a good thing and a really, really bad thing. This one is pretty tough to read because new histories are attempting to absolve Japan of any guilt for the mass suicides and murders that took place on Okinawa during the war. The article is particularly poignant because it relates the story of a man who beat his mother, brother, and sister to death fearing what would happen to them if they were captured by the Americans.

We’re Not Heroes: Book Details a Friendship Forged in War - Finally, here’s a book review of a new offering by two of the men profiled in the HBO Series “Band of Brothers.” William Guarnere and Edward Heffron collaborated on “Brothers in Battle: Best of Friends,” which is going on my reading list.

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Haven’t had enough blog reading today? Check out “New BSG Season 4 Promo & Final Five Spoilers” on WatchingBSG.com and “97 Seconds Recap” on WatchingHouse.com.

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WWII, World War II, Ken Burns, The War, Okinawa, Band of Brothers

Once upon a time there was a German historian named von Ranke who counseled his students that history must be written, “wie es eigentlich gewesen.” Rough translation - how it actually happened. There’s just one problem with that bit of 19th century advice. It can’t be done.

With all the discussion about the “rightness” or “wrongness” of what Ken Burns has put together in his documentary, “The War,” I feel that a little commentary on historiography is warranted. Short definition is that historiography is the study of the study of history. Trust me. Double-barreled snore and I have the graduate credits to prove it.

Don’t get me wrong. It’s a necessary part of becoming a so-called professional historian. You need to come to terms with the idea that history has been interpreted in different ways for different purposes — twisted for political agendas (think Nazi Germany), cleaned up to bolster a new nation (think Parson Weems, George Washington, and silly stories about cherry trees), or filtered to justify personal actions (see any political autobiography written in the past 50 years.)

I’ve always held that some sense of the Heisenberg principle — albeit somewhat garbled by the social sciences — is a better place for an historian to start. You know the old saw: the very act of observing a phenomenon changes that phenomenon. If it makes you feel better, go with Immaneul Kant. Everything we can know is based on our experiences. (Also a gross over-simplification, but good enough for government work.)

There is absolutely no way the historian can separate his individual identity, understanding, emotions, prejudices, or limitations from the history he writes, films, or records. Period. There is no way to write history as it was. Even if we were to develop a time machine and send the historian backwards to observe the events, his 21st century eyes would not be able to keep him from judging the tight morals of the Victorian world. And just for the record, Ken Burns isn’t an historian. He’s a director.

Invariably when the subject of film or documentary as history comes up, someone gets around to citing Oliver Stone’s 1991 film “JFK.” Do I want a generation of Americans to think that’s the real story of the Kennedy assassination? Lord no! But can I see that the film itself is an historical document and the willingness of many to accept it as fact is a reflection of the society into which it was introduced? Yes. Do I think the film is “dangerous.” No. There’s too much other material pro and anti-conspiracy theory available on the subject, just as there is more than enough material available on the Second World War to make for a lifetime of study.

My mother reads “historical” novels. Any book with half-naked people in a clinch on the cover and text that includes phrases like “velvet throbbing” isn’t history. It is, however, to those who enjoy such, entertaining. Burns’ work is several notches about that kind of fiction and a notch or two below the elusive definitive history. In the long run it will be judged as an historical document of its time, a look at World War II produced against the backdrop of a hotly debated war in the Middle East and a sharp clash of neo-conservatives and liberals in American society. In the short-term, it’s also entertaining and much better done than the “throw the baby out with the bath water” critics are willing to admit.

WWII, Ken Burns, The War, historiography

Sometimes I get in sort of a mood about the war. In my house when you said “the war” you meant World War II, unless you were at a family reunion where the phrase could possibly still refer to the Civil War depending upon to whom you were speaking. (It’s a Southern thing.)

I confess I get cranky . . . no . . . I get angry when it seems that veterans and the war as a whole are being forgotten. Sure, I know we’re 66 years out from Pearl Harbor and young people today just look at the war as another question they need to get right to get the hell out of history class. I taught history after all and the indifference of 90 percent of my students to our collective past saddened, tortured, and infuriated me in equal measure back in the day.

But sometimes the neglect can get even more personal than that. I still maintain close ties to the little town in West Texas where I was born. My mother lives there as do many old friends. Several years ago the publisher of the local newspaper, the daughter of the former editor and publisher, himself a WWII vet, wrote a Veteran’s Day article about the town’s servicemen. The thing stretched on column after column and referred to many men both living and dead. It did not refer to my father. You see, the current editor and I have a personal feud. To get to me she ignored and insulted my father’s World War II service and left him out of the piece.

I won’t go into what followed. Suffice it to say I’d be hard put to walk across the street to spit on the woman if she were on fire. Since then, however, I’ve been even more sensitive to the feelings of living veterans who feel they’re forgotten. So this morning when I read this beautiful tribute to Seattle area veteran Al Weddle written by Robert L. Jamieson, Jr. for seattlepi.com, I cried. Yeah, I know, I cry alot about things related to the war. But what struck me most was the guy-to-guy tenderness of the piece. There are few things more touching than the respect of a young man for an old man. And I suspect there are few things old men enjoy more, even if they would never admit it.

At my own father’s funeral I was doing pretty well, holding it in and sucking it up to deliver the eulogy. Then I looked at the back of the church and saw two young men who worked for my Dad sitting erect, trying and failing to keep the tears from rolling down their cheeks. It is one of my most vivid images of that day. Those boys gave me a gift, although they didn’t realize it, in the love and respect they silently expressed for my Dad. And Jamieson’s piece is a gift to Weddle’s family and to World War II vets everywhere because it says, “I remember. I remember you and I remember your stories.” Bravo!

WWII, vets, Al Weddle, Paul Jamieson

In my inaugural post on this blog I provided a link to an obituary for Rear Adm. Eugene B. Fluckey, 93, winner of the Medal of Honor for his wartime exploits as the commander of the submarine the USS Barb. Fluckey, who also held four Navy Crosses, commanded the Barb from April 1944 to August 1945 and sent 95,360 tons of Japanese shipping to the bottom. Adm. Fluckey died of complications of Alzheimer’s disease in June.

Tuesday, August 28, the Admiral’s services were held at the Naval Academy Chapel. Fluckey was in the Class of 1935. This story carries a moving photograph of his wife accepting the flag on behalf of a grateful nation and the memories of an 83-year-old man who came to bury his commander. Be warned, I cried.

WWII, USS Barb, Eugene Fluckey

There are three items for the round-up today that sat in my RSS reader all week. All involve specific individuals - a pilot believed lost, a man who went to war at 32, and the death of a war correspondent:

“Deep Regret for WWII Fighter Pilot Premature” from The Plain Dealer - The story of a son, James Frolking, lost and returned and the memories of the 83-year-old man he is today.

World War II Vet Marks 100th Birthday from the Dothan Eagle - Glenn Marble had a quiet time of the war and was known to his shipmates at 32 as “the old man.”

Correspondent Russell J. Hill; Covered WWII and Postwar Europe from the Washington Post - The obituary for Hill, 88, a war correspondent for the New York Herald Tribune and noted author.

WWII, Glenn Marble, Russell J. Hill, James Frolking

When I first told friends I’d be writing a blog about World War II the reaction was pretty much uniform, “How are you going to find anything to write about? That’s going to be really hard.” The truth of the matter is that there’s always more coming through my RSS reader than I can possibly cover. On Monday’s I’m going to try to provide links to and small descriptions of stories that caught my eye but didn’t make it into posts the week before.

USS. Houston Survivor Honored - This story from the Deland-Deltona Beacon recounts the story of 90-year-old Guy Rose who survived the sinking of the USS Houston and subsequent imprisonment by the Japanese. I had never heard the story of the Houston and found the tale compelling.

Paper Balloon Bombers of World War II - Any war has its fair share of bizarre experimental weapons, but this account, by Walt Sehnert, discusses an effort by the Japanese to use prevailing winds to deploy unmanned balloon bombs against the United States.

Remains of German Flying Ace Recovered - The Washington Post reports on a group of amateur researchers who located the wreckage of Flight Sgt. Maximilian Volke’s plane as well as the pilot’s remains. Volke was credited with 37 kills.

World War II Memorial Dedicated to Texans - A brief story from the Austin American Statesman covering the dedication of a WWII memorial on the grounds of the state capitol on August 16.

WWII, USS Houston, Japanese balloon bombs, Maximilian Volke, memorial, Texas

Regular readers may recall this post from August 1st about Ron Modro’s photographic project to commemorate the Hiroshima anniversary on August 6 at 8:15 a.m.

More than 40 photographers from 25 nations took a single photograph at that instant as both a memorial and a wake-up signal for the crises and challenges confronting our world today. The images are now beginning to appear in the gallery at Ron’s site, Once Upon A Time on Planet Earth.

Prepared to be moved, amused, and provoked to serious thought. One image in particular brought tears to my eyes, that of a little girl and her grandfather seated together in the early morning in France. His arm is around her tiny waist, he’s pointing at something across the water, and even in profile the child’s delight is obvious. (The image is by Sherry Jackson of the Netherlands.)

When you see a moment in time 63 years after the ushering in of terrible technology capable of threatening our planet you get both a sense of the resiliency and the fragility of our world . . . and perhaps even, a glimpse into the things for which men at war fight because they are dear in their hearts. Beautiful work. I’m looking forward to the remainder of the images as they are posted.

Hiroshima, Ron Modro, photography

I’ve never been much of a computer gamer beyond a passing addiciton to Descent in grad school — and that was mainly because anything was better than working on my dissertation. I did, however, once purchase a B-29 simulation package.

It would be hard to describe how God awful I was with that game. Time and time again I crashed and burned that make-believe Superfortress complete with sound effects and curling smoke. Finally, in frustration, I called my Dad. He flew B-29s stateside as an instructor and in the ferry command after he got back from 51 missions in North Africa and Italy.

Without even being able to see my computer screen, he talked me through a take-off — from memory — a good 45 years after he’d last sat behind the stick of that aircraft. It was, to put it simply, damned impressive.

World War II remains a popular scenario for computer game developers and later this year a new game, Undercover: Operation Wintersun will be released. The game will debut in Russia, but an English version has been promised. Players will be put inside Hitler’s Third Reich with a mission to infiltrate Hitler’s inner circle and assassinate the Fuhrer. (If you know your history, you know that didn’t play out so well in the infamous July 20 Plot.)

The more immersive these games become, the more I’m tempted. This one just sounds like plain fun, as much fun as walking into Rick’s bar in Casablanca and trying to get those missing exit visas. Come on, you know you’ve had the day dream . . . you in a dinner jacket, Sam playing “As Time Goes By,” Ingrid Bergman looking tragic and gorgeous. There’s just no escaping it. Those were romantic, dangerous days and their appeal remains undeniable. Just be thankful you grandfather lived it and you can get up and walk away from the computer.

WWII, computer games, B-29, Third Reich

According to the Wikipedia article on the subject, Italian and German pilots were the first to put nose art on their planes starting as early as 1913. The practice reached its zenith during World War II and then went into decline until Operation Desert Storm when the sassy, irreverent images were revived. They’re still going strong today with our fighting troops around the world.

Although FightingColors.com is in the business of selling nose art reproductions, you can still see some nice examples on their pages, like these from the plane my dad flew, the B-25 Mitchell.

You’ll find lots of interesting links to WWII era propaganda here. And there’s great photos from multiple conflicts at Nose-Art.net.

Fair word of warning. Most of these images are for grown-ups. If you’re trying to explain the war and its culture to kids in the house, preview the images before you click over.

noseart, nose art, military planes, propaganda

If you’re a fan of vintage aircraft, especially the great warbirds of WWII, you’ll want to spend some time poking around the home page of the Commemorative Air Force (CAF). The group started back in 1951 with a single Curtiss P-40 Warhawk. Eventually the CAF preserved a working example of every aircraft that flew in World War II.

Annually some 10 million people get to see these legends of aviation in action and some of the CAF birds are rare. They have the only working examples of both the B-29 Superfortress and the Curtiss SB2C Helldiver. The group maintains the American Airpower Heritage Museum on a 75-acre plot of land in Midland, Texas.

In addition to viewing approximately 20 aircraft on display at any one time (exhibits change quarterly), visitors will enjoy an internationally recognized collection of uniforms, photographs, weapons and a host of other memorabilia and artifacts. The CAF has an archives and research facility and has amassed an impressive collection of oral histories. These folks are doing an outstanding job of preserving an important part of World War II history, both mechanical and intellectual.

And be prepared to spend some time drooling over their online photo gallery of aircraft. I did.

Commemorative Air Force, CAF, vintage planes

The Christmas before my father died I insisted the three of us sit down together and label all the old photos that filled the drawers of the end tables in the seldom-used living room. What started as a chore about which my parents grumbled turned into an afternoon of laughter and story telling that remains a happy memory for me. I love old photos and it breaks my heart when the story behind the image is lost forever.

Sometimes at night when I can’t sleep I poke around on EBay, often looking at World War II photos that have outlived their original owners and become lost and homeless fragments of an age rapidly retreating from known memory. Look at this wrecked jeep. What happened? Is the damage battle-related or did a youthful G.I. go for a joy ride?

Or this group of sailors. Young, cocky, showing off their bare chests. The Ebay description plainly said, “There is no writing on the backside.” Did they live? Did they die? Is there anyone today who would know their faces? I find it both maddening and compelling.

I suppose a part of me always thinks I’ll find a snapshot of my Dad, taken by some buddy in North Africa or Italy, now sitting on EBay waiting for me to rescue and love. It’s a romantic notion. The odds are long even for someone like me who has bet on her fair share of gray horses at 20 to 1. But I do it anyway.

The message in this post? If you know a World War II veteran, spend an afternoon with that person and get those photos labeled. Learn the stories. Our days with “the boys” are numbered and once they are gone the photos will fall silent, most likely forever.

[tag]WWII, EBay, photos, vintage[/tags]

If you are just beginning the process of tracking down information about the World War II service record of your granddad or some other relative, the National Archives site is a good place to start. (Click the image below to go directly to the site.)

In just a few easy steps you should be able to locate the enlistment records you need, which will supply necessary information to continue your research like the individual’s service serial number and the facility at which basic training was completed.

When you go to the site, go through the following steps.

- Under Wars/International Relations (third column) click “World War II.”

- On the next screen select the search icon on the appropriate record series. I used the first link for “World War II Army Enlistment Records, 1938-1946″ to find my Dad’s information. (Note there are 9,200,232 records included in the set.)

- On the next screen click the search icon on the Electronic Army Serial Number Merged File, ca. 1938-1946 (Enlistment Records.)

- On the final screen enter as much information as you have. I used name, state, and year of birth.

The results will give you all the men with the same name who enlisted in that period. Scroll through the list until you find the individual for whom you are searching. It’s just that simple.

WWII, service records, National Archives, enlistment