Showing posts with label World War II. Show all posts
Showing posts with label World War II. Show all posts
Sunday, January 5, 2020
Clever bit of Photoshopping
Don found this. Cracked me up. Can you see who's been Photoshopped into this classic picture?
Sunday, November 11, 2018
A hundred years ago today
A hundred years ago today, World War I ended.
This, of course, is the origin of Veteran's Day, originally called Armistice Day.
I remember reading about how the horrors of World War I were eclipsed by the horrors of World War II, and the sacrifices and suffering of the men who fought in the first great war were forgotten because of how much sacrifice and suffering came out of the second great war.
This may be true. Every war has its share of sacrifices and suffering. War is a horrible, horrible thing. It's only because of the bravery of those willing to fight and push back against evil that the world has not been overcome.
Since today is Veteran's Day, please remember to thank a vet for your freedom.
Don't forget the brave men and women who have served our country.
Don't forget the ones who won't be coming back.
Thank you to our veterans.
This, of course, is the origin of Veteran's Day, originally called Armistice Day.
I remember reading about how the horrors of World War I were eclipsed by the horrors of World War II, and the sacrifices and suffering of the men who fought in the first great war were forgotten because of how much sacrifice and suffering came out of the second great war.
This may be true. Every war has its share of sacrifices and suffering. War is a horrible, horrible thing. It's only because of the bravery of those willing to fight and push back against evil that the world has not been overcome.
Since today is Veteran's Day, please remember to thank a vet for your freedom.
Don't forget the brave men and women who have served our country.
Don't forget the ones who won't be coming back.
It is the Soldier, not the ministerFor an amazing photo tour of Ardennes American Cemetery in Liege, Belgium, where Don's uncle is buried, see this post.
Who has given us freedom of religion.
It is the Soldier, not the reporter
Who has given us freedom of the press.
It is the Soldier, not the poet
Who has given us freedom of speech.
It is the Soldier, not the campus organizer
Who has given us freedom to protest.
It is the Soldier, not the lawyer
Who has given us the right to a fair trial.
It is the Soldier, not the politician
Who has given us the right to vote.
It is the Soldier who salutes the flag,
Who serves beneath the flag,
And whose coffin is draped by the flag,
Who allows the protester to burn the flag.
Thank you to our veterans.
Wednesday, December 21, 2016
Memories of Pearl Harbor
December 7, as you doubtless know, was the 75th anniversary of Pearl Harbor.
On that day, I had errands in the city. I was gratified to see numerous flags lowered to half-staff as a mark of respect.
Recently my mother (who was born in 1931) shared an extraordinary story as follows:
In the fall of 1941 my mother started making homemade bread every Saturday. She used yeast on the first recipe, but after that she would save a starter, a piece of dough. Of course we had no refrigeration, so she would just take the starter dough and put it in a bowl in the cabinet. The next week she would use the starter dough to make a fresh batch of bread.
My oldest brother had taken off for something, and he came home with a friend. The boy lived about a mile away from our house, but since we lived along a bayou, we had to cross a prairie to get to his house. He walked in the house and the smell of fresh bread permeated the place. He was wowed, and Mamma broke him off a piece of fresh bread for him to eat.
He had gone to school with us, but like a lot of kids his age he joined the Navy at age 17. He told my mother he was stationed at Pearl Harbor on the Arizona.
This took place on Saturday November 22nd. Thirteen days later he died on the Arizona at Pearl Harbor. His name was William (Bill) Stoddard.
My mother stopped making bread. I was ten years old.
Needless to say, Pearl Harbor didn't just affect Hawaii.
It also affected a tiny little town in the bayous of Louisiana, and a 10-year-old child's memory of a neighbor boy who died for our country.
On that day, I had errands in the city. I was gratified to see numerous flags lowered to half-staff as a mark of respect.
Recently my mother (who was born in 1931) shared an extraordinary story as follows:
In the fall of 1941 my mother started making homemade bread every Saturday. She used yeast on the first recipe, but after that she would save a starter, a piece of dough. Of course we had no refrigeration, so she would just take the starter dough and put it in a bowl in the cabinet. The next week she would use the starter dough to make a fresh batch of bread.
My oldest brother had taken off for something, and he came home with a friend. The boy lived about a mile away from our house, but since we lived along a bayou, we had to cross a prairie to get to his house. He walked in the house and the smell of fresh bread permeated the place. He was wowed, and Mamma broke him off a piece of fresh bread for him to eat.
He had gone to school with us, but like a lot of kids his age he joined the Navy at age 17. He told my mother he was stationed at Pearl Harbor on the Arizona.
This took place on Saturday November 22nd. Thirteen days later he died on the Arizona at Pearl Harbor. His name was William (Bill) Stoddard.
My mother stopped making bread. I was ten years old.
Needless to say, Pearl Harbor didn't just affect Hawaii.
It also affected a tiny little town in the bayous of Louisiana, and a 10-year-old child's memory of a neighbor boy who died for our country.
Monday, May 26, 2014
A somber reminder
On this Memorial Day, I'd like to draw your attention to a set of remarkable photos taken a few years ago by a reader (Katie) and her husband, who were formerly stationed in Germany. Katie learned that Don's uncle, Donald Sowers, who was killed in World War II, was buried in Ardennes American Cemetery in Liege, Belgium. She and her family visited the cemetery and sent these photos.
Just recently a reader named Kathy left the following moving comment on that blog post which I wanted to share:
I searched for 2 years to find my mother's first husband Harold Norris, killed 4/4/44 @ 2:04 PM over Romania. I received a photo of his grave from Belgium and walked over to my mother's home and said, "Mom where is Harold buried?" She said, "New Jersey". I said, "Mom, sit down, we need to talk."
Her mouth dropped open when she learned that her first husband was buried in Belgium! He has been there for (then) 65 years. All I started with was his purple heart, his name and service number. It has lead me down a path filled with new compassionate friends and a new understanding of the word sacrifice. Harold was an airman, navigator and top turret gunner. His plane the Miasis Dragon was shot down after delivering a fatal blow to an oil refinery in Bucharest Romania. The plane was hit at the waist by a land-to-air missile. The plane nose dipped, the pilot pulled it up, then it went nose-over-tail to the earth in a fireball. 4 crew were "carbonized" and were buried together in one grave by Romanian Monks. Later, in 1949, with dental records my mother provided, the US was able to locate his remains from the others and he was buried for the 9th and final time in Ardennes. The other 3 airmen are still together buried in the US.
One of the beautiful things I noticed was that each man's life is symbolized with a marble cross. They all worked and sacrificed as a group and from above, all of their individual crosses make up a larger cross. This collective larger cross can only be seen by people in airplanes and God. 3/5ths of the graves hold the remains from airmen who lost their lives....it is to those who fly that the larger cross is visible...a beautiful way to honor them.
The other thing I learned in 2010: the people of Belgium, France and other countries meet and honor our heroes. At Ardennes in 2010, there was approximately 100,000 people present, not many were from the USA. It seems that in life, we considered these men to belong to us, but in their death, the European people consider that these men belong to them, whom they thank and honor every year. Most graves have been adopted. Harold's grave was adopted many years ago and now the lady who adopted his grave is teaching her young grand daughter to care for it. She obviously does not want her grand daughter to forget the gratitude she has for the men who lost their lives saving hers.
I wrote to a man who was age 7 when the bombs were falling on to his town. He was scared and saw more than a 7 year old should see. He remembers the American forces and he remembers liberation. For those who know what happened, who saw the cruelty and oppression, who had no hope, our US Military saved them, their children and their grand children. The maximum gift was given, freedom was restored at a great price, those receiving the gift are grateful....and other airmen and God can see their collective cross, a memorial for their sacrifice, from the air. This has put many things in perspective for me...I hope it will for you too. --Kathy
A mighty "thank you" to our past and present veterans, whose sacrifices too many of us are willing to overlook, dismiss, or forget.
Just recently a reader named Kathy left the following moving comment on that blog post which I wanted to share:
I searched for 2 years to find my mother's first husband Harold Norris, killed 4/4/44 @ 2:04 PM over Romania. I received a photo of his grave from Belgium and walked over to my mother's home and said, "Mom where is Harold buried?" She said, "New Jersey". I said, "Mom, sit down, we need to talk."
Her mouth dropped open when she learned that her first husband was buried in Belgium! He has been there for (then) 65 years. All I started with was his purple heart, his name and service number. It has lead me down a path filled with new compassionate friends and a new understanding of the word sacrifice. Harold was an airman, navigator and top turret gunner. His plane the Miasis Dragon was shot down after delivering a fatal blow to an oil refinery in Bucharest Romania. The plane was hit at the waist by a land-to-air missile. The plane nose dipped, the pilot pulled it up, then it went nose-over-tail to the earth in a fireball. 4 crew were "carbonized" and were buried together in one grave by Romanian Monks. Later, in 1949, with dental records my mother provided, the US was able to locate his remains from the others and he was buried for the 9th and final time in Ardennes. The other 3 airmen are still together buried in the US.
One of the beautiful things I noticed was that each man's life is symbolized with a marble cross. They all worked and sacrificed as a group and from above, all of their individual crosses make up a larger cross. This collective larger cross can only be seen by people in airplanes and God. 3/5ths of the graves hold the remains from airmen who lost their lives....it is to those who fly that the larger cross is visible...a beautiful way to honor them.
The other thing I learned in 2010: the people of Belgium, France and other countries meet and honor our heroes. At Ardennes in 2010, there was approximately 100,000 people present, not many were from the USA. It seems that in life, we considered these men to belong to us, but in their death, the European people consider that these men belong to them, whom they thank and honor every year. Most graves have been adopted. Harold's grave was adopted many years ago and now the lady who adopted his grave is teaching her young grand daughter to care for it. She obviously does not want her grand daughter to forget the gratitude she has for the men who lost their lives saving hers.
I wrote to a man who was age 7 when the bombs were falling on to his town. He was scared and saw more than a 7 year old should see. He remembers the American forces and he remembers liberation. For those who know what happened, who saw the cruelty and oppression, who had no hope, our US Military saved them, their children and their grand children. The maximum gift was given, freedom was restored at a great price, those receiving the gift are grateful....and other airmen and God can see their collective cross, a memorial for their sacrifice, from the air. This has put many things in perspective for me...I hope it will for you too. --Kathy
_______________________________
A mighty "thank you" to our past and present veterans, whose sacrifices too many of us are willing to overlook, dismiss, or forget.
Friday, October 14, 2011
Ardennes American Cemetery in Liege, Belgium
Quite awhile ago, my husband wrote a piece called Forever Young to memorialize his uncle who died in World War II. Tears spring to my eyes whenever I read this piece, and I've read it many times. My husband never met the man whose name he shares, and who died many years before he was born.
Now here's something unbelievable. One of my readers -- Katie J., whose husband Mike is stationed in Germany -- emailed me a few weeks ago and asked if we would like her to take photos of Don's uncle's burial place in Ardennes American Cemetery in Liege, Belgium.
Oh my gosh, Don was thrilled! Katie's husband, Mike, is the photographer, and these shots are incredibly moving.
Each of these markers represents a life lost, a family shattered, a loved one in mourning... and a world, saved.
Here are the photos, along with some comments by Katie.
______________________________
Front side.
This picture shows the beautiful symmetry of the cemetery.
This statue of a youth was included at the cemetery since most of the soldiers were in the prime of their lives.
Don's uncle.
This is a picture of a picture. Mike snapped this when we were in the visitor's center. I had not been able to grasp the cross shape from my view point, so I was very glad for this aerial shot.
These pictures are the back of the Memorial.
Here is a side view of the Memorial. The kids and I are looking at the plaques that list the names of the soldiers who gave their lives yet had no remains to bury.
Here is a closer picture of those plaques.
Here is the info on CPT Darrell Lindsey. There were at least 3 Medal of Honor recipients buried at Ardennes.
Sections A and C (in the background). If you look carefully, you can see a sort of "hiccup" in the crosses where the sidewalk is between the sections. Also you can see the Jewish Stars of David on some of the markers.
Forgot to say in the aerial view, the cemetery was divided into 4 sections, A through D. The sections were divided by the walkways and laid out like this: CD AB (viewed from the "front") Your uncle's cross was in the very first row of the C section, the 28th from the right. This picture is a view of sections B & D with the flag in the back. I know it's not your uncle's section, but I thought the flag in the back was a very somber shot.
Sadly, there are far too many of these crosses. (The inscription says: Here rests in honored glory a Comrade in Arms, known but to God.)
When you walk into the memorial, the altar is the first thing you see. We said a prayer for your Uncle, as well as for all past and current soldiers.
This is the wall above the entry way.
The other three walls inside the Memorial are filled with maps. This is the wall on the right as you enter.
This is the wall on the left as you enter.
The view of the Memorial from your Uncle's marker.
View of the flag from your Uncle's marker.
I had asked Mike to take a picture of your Uncle "among the other soldiers." [Note from Patrice: this is my favorite photo.]
The enormity of lives lost is overwhelming on views like this :(
View of the Memorial from the Flag. (The caretakers were out in force on the day we visited.)
_____________________________________
In the mists of time, it's far too easy to forget the evils that threatened our world during World War II. Belgium -- along with other European countries -- is to be commended for maintaining such a beautiful cemetery and honoring the soldiers who died in their defense. Sometimes these soldiers didn't even have remains to bury. In that respect, Don's uncle was luckier than some.
To Katie and her husband, both Don and I thank you from the bottoms of our hearts for making the time and effort to take these photos. They are magnificent. We are never likely to visit Belgium, much less Liege, so these photos will be passed around to family members on the Sowers side.
And to all the men and women who are serving our country and protecting us from the evils that still threaten our world: THANK YOU.
Now here's something unbelievable. One of my readers -- Katie J., whose husband Mike is stationed in Germany -- emailed me a few weeks ago and asked if we would like her to take photos of Don's uncle's burial place in Ardennes American Cemetery in Liege, Belgium.
Oh my gosh, Don was thrilled! Katie's husband, Mike, is the photographer, and these shots are incredibly moving.
Each of these markers represents a life lost, a family shattered, a loved one in mourning... and a world, saved.
Here are the photos, along with some comments by Katie.
______________________________
Front side.
This picture shows the beautiful symmetry of the cemetery.
This statue of a youth was included at the cemetery since most of the soldiers were in the prime of their lives.
Don's uncle.
This is a picture of a picture. Mike snapped this when we were in the visitor's center. I had not been able to grasp the cross shape from my view point, so I was very glad for this aerial shot.
These pictures are the back of the Memorial.
Here is a side view of the Memorial. The kids and I are looking at the plaques that list the names of the soldiers who gave their lives yet had no remains to bury.
Here is a closer picture of those plaques.
Here is the info on CPT Darrell Lindsey. There were at least 3 Medal of Honor recipients buried at Ardennes.
Sections A and C (in the background). If you look carefully, you can see a sort of "hiccup" in the crosses where the sidewalk is between the sections. Also you can see the Jewish Stars of David on some of the markers.
Forgot to say in the aerial view, the cemetery was divided into 4 sections, A through D. The sections were divided by the walkways and laid out like this: CD AB (viewed from the "front") Your uncle's cross was in the very first row of the C section, the 28th from the right. This picture is a view of sections B & D with the flag in the back. I know it's not your uncle's section, but I thought the flag in the back was a very somber shot.
Sadly, there are far too many of these crosses. (The inscription says: Here rests in honored glory a Comrade in Arms, known but to God.)
When you walk into the memorial, the altar is the first thing you see. We said a prayer for your Uncle, as well as for all past and current soldiers.
This is the wall above the entry way.
The other three walls inside the Memorial are filled with maps. This is the wall on the right as you enter.
This is the wall on the left as you enter.
The view of the Memorial from your Uncle's marker.
View of the flag from your Uncle's marker.
I had asked Mike to take a picture of your Uncle "among the other soldiers." [Note from Patrice: this is my favorite photo.]
The enormity of lives lost is overwhelming on views like this :(
View of the Memorial from the Flag. (The caretakers were out in force on the day we visited.)
In the mists of time, it's far too easy to forget the evils that threatened our world during World War II. Belgium -- along with other European countries -- is to be commended for maintaining such a beautiful cemetery and honoring the soldiers who died in their defense. Sometimes these soldiers didn't even have remains to bury. In that respect, Don's uncle was luckier than some.
To Katie and her husband, both Don and I thank you from the bottoms of our hearts for making the time and effort to take these photos. They are magnificent. We are never likely to visit Belgium, much less Liege, so these photos will be passed around to family members on the Sowers side.
And to all the men and women who are serving our country and protecting us from the evils that still threaten our world: THANK YOU.
Sunday, May 29, 2011
Forever Young
This is a piece my husband wrote about his uncle, a man he never met but who will be forever young –- and remembered.
Too many people have no idea what Memorial Day really is. It's become a day for barbecues, for beer, for picnics, for an extra day off work.
But that wasn't the original intent. Memorial Day was meant to remember those who died preserving our freedom. Below is a tribute to one man who did. This is also for all the others who paid the ultimate price for our liberties. Can we remember? Or will we now let those freedoms wither in our brave new world?
_____________________________________
I don't know how he died, really. No one does, since everyone who was with him died at more or less the same time.
I'll bet he was afraid. I would have been.
It must have been hell on earth – above earth to be exact. A booming, banging, grinding, shaking, shattering horror. Especially it must have been tough on him, hanging as he was below the belly of a crippled plane, a bubble of glass exposed to the flak and the fire from enemy aircraft.
A tasty and too visible target.
His B-24 Liberator was powerful, true. But it was also lightly armored and easily damaged in combat. When damaged, the B-24 often lost the electrical power needed to rotate its gun turrets, and the gunners would have to hand-crank their turrets around, trying to follow the enemy planes.
Too slow. Too slow.
He was probably the youngest man on board. He was certainly the lowest-ranking member of the 10 men who made up the crew. That first day of August in 1943, he'd only been in the Army Air Corps for a year and a half. He'd only been overseas for six months. He was 19 years old. He came from a farming family that lived in a very small town in Kansas. He had one sister, two brothers and two very worried parents.
He was assigned to 98BG, a bomber group stationed out of Benghazi, Libya. His mission that day? In coordination with 178 bombers and 1,700 crew members, the 98BG was to attack and destroy the oil refineries at Ploesti, Romania. These facilities provided the Third Reich with one-third of its fuel. And the Nazis were very hungry for fuel in the waning days of 1943.
The oil refineries at Ploesti were protected with massive anti-aircraft batteries and hundreds of German and Romanian fighter planes. The distance traveled by the Allied bombers meant that no fighter protection could attend them. They were alone.
It was a tremendous undertaking. A gamble of men and machines desperately needed for the war effort. A 2,400-mile, 18-hour trip there and back again with only a half-hour of available time over the target.
And in the end, for over 500 airmen and 52 bombers, there was no going home.
They say he's buried at a cemetery near Liege, Belgium. Maybe he is, maybe he isn't. The records show that his B-24 was shot down over the refinery, but that it happened before the crew could disgorge the plane's 8,000-pound payload of high explosives. And the B-24 Liberator was well-known for burning merrily when it crashed.
But I'm sure his name is on one of the white crosses standing in formation at the lovingly well-tended cemetery.
His parents back in Kansas received the medals that he was awarded posthumously at a ceremony, probably one of many such ceremonies on that same day. The medals were: a Distinguished Flying Cross, a Purple Heart and the Air Medal with three oak leaf clusters.
Both his brothers eventually went to war as well. One went as another tail gunner, the other as a pilot. His younger sister stayed home, grieving for the older brother she would never see again on this side.
Eventually she married my father.
The parents, the brothers and the sister passed away some time ago. There is now no one that can tell me anything more about Donald Phillip Sowers – sergeant, United States Army Air Corps. The uncle I never knew and whose name I share.
Donald Philip Sowers never woke to the face of his bride on the day after his wedding. He never paced the floor late at night singing softly to an infant daughter who just couldn't sleep. He never got to hold his child's hand the last time she needed, or wanted, help to cross a street. He never felt the aches and pains of a long life, well lived.
And well loved.
But I will remember him and so will my children. If you've taken the time to read this, tip a glass in his name and remember him – and all the other lost brothers and sisters as well.
Think of the things he missed, for the things you have.
Donald Philip Sowers died fighting the greatest evil of our time. A young man of 19 who will never grow old.
Have a happy, safe, and thoughtful Memorial Day.
Too many people have no idea what Memorial Day really is. It's become a day for barbecues, for beer, for picnics, for an extra day off work.
But that wasn't the original intent. Memorial Day was meant to remember those who died preserving our freedom. Below is a tribute to one man who did. This is also for all the others who paid the ultimate price for our liberties. Can we remember? Or will we now let those freedoms wither in our brave new world?
_____________________________________
I don't know how he died, really. No one does, since everyone who was with him died at more or less the same time.
I'll bet he was afraid. I would have been.
It must have been hell on earth – above earth to be exact. A booming, banging, grinding, shaking, shattering horror. Especially it must have been tough on him, hanging as he was below the belly of a crippled plane, a bubble of glass exposed to the flak and the fire from enemy aircraft.
A tasty and too visible target.
Fire Over Ploesti
by Roy Grinnell
by Roy Grinnell
His B-24 Liberator was powerful, true. But it was also lightly armored and easily damaged in combat. When damaged, the B-24 often lost the electrical power needed to rotate its gun turrets, and the gunners would have to hand-crank their turrets around, trying to follow the enemy planes.
Too slow. Too slow.
He was probably the youngest man on board. He was certainly the lowest-ranking member of the 10 men who made up the crew. That first day of August in 1943, he'd only been in the Army Air Corps for a year and a half. He'd only been overseas for six months. He was 19 years old. He came from a farming family that lived in a very small town in Kansas. He had one sister, two brothers and two very worried parents.
He was assigned to 98BG, a bomber group stationed out of Benghazi, Libya. His mission that day? In coordination with 178 bombers and 1,700 crew members, the 98BG was to attack and destroy the oil refineries at Ploesti, Romania. These facilities provided the Third Reich with one-third of its fuel. And the Nazis were very hungry for fuel in the waning days of 1943.
The oil refineries at Ploesti were protected with massive anti-aircraft batteries and hundreds of German and Romanian fighter planes. The distance traveled by the Allied bombers meant that no fighter protection could attend them. They were alone.
It was a tremendous undertaking. A gamble of men and machines desperately needed for the war effort. A 2,400-mile, 18-hour trip there and back again with only a half-hour of available time over the target.
And in the end, for over 500 airmen and 52 bombers, there was no going home.
They say he's buried at a cemetery near Liege, Belgium. Maybe he is, maybe he isn't. The records show that his B-24 was shot down over the refinery, but that it happened before the crew could disgorge the plane's 8,000-pound payload of high explosives. And the B-24 Liberator was well-known for burning merrily when it crashed.
But I'm sure his name is on one of the white crosses standing in formation at the lovingly well-tended cemetery.
His parents back in Kansas received the medals that he was awarded posthumously at a ceremony, probably one of many such ceremonies on that same day. The medals were: a Distinguished Flying Cross, a Purple Heart and the Air Medal with three oak leaf clusters.
Both his brothers eventually went to war as well. One went as another tail gunner, the other as a pilot. His younger sister stayed home, grieving for the older brother she would never see again on this side.
Eventually she married my father.
The parents, the brothers and the sister passed away some time ago. There is now no one that can tell me anything more about Donald Phillip Sowers – sergeant, United States Army Air Corps. The uncle I never knew and whose name I share.
Donald Philip Sowers never woke to the face of his bride on the day after his wedding. He never paced the floor late at night singing softly to an infant daughter who just couldn't sleep. He never got to hold his child's hand the last time she needed, or wanted, help to cross a street. He never felt the aches and pains of a long life, well lived.
And well loved.
But I will remember him and so will my children. If you've taken the time to read this, tip a glass in his name and remember him – and all the other lost brothers and sisters as well.
Think of the things he missed, for the things you have.
Donald Philip Sowers died fighting the greatest evil of our time. A young man of 19 who will never grow old.
Have a happy, safe, and thoughtful Memorial Day.
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