Dear Wisconsin Stories:
My Father was a British soldier in WW11 and had been sent in a hurry almost untrained with I think about 5000 others to Italy (Salerno?) and found themselves surroundrd by a crack SS division who were slowly "picking them off."

To be brief, they were rescued by U.S. Rangers who came down by parachute. My Dad said the S.S. scattered a bit quick and about 700 surviving brits were saved. He was then joined up with the Rangers as the British chain of command was non existant.

I don't know how long he was a G.I. but he was unable to get out of the habit of eating with just a fork. I only got to know of these things when I enquired why he did so.He spoke very little about the war as I was only a small boy but he did say some of the Rangers were convicts and appeared to be on drugs. Anyway the S.S. appeared to be scared to death of them and I m darn glad they came. He actually came home in a G.I. uniform.(which must have made the neighbours curtains twitch). My mom saw off a British soldier and welcomed back a "Yank."

Forever grateful to the Rangers.
Ted Morris

Dear Wisconsin Stories:
I was eight years old when the Japanese launched their sneak attack on Pearl Harbor. I was eleven years old on Victory over Europe Day (V E Day) on May 07, 1945 and Victory over Japan Day ( V J Day) on August 14, 1945.

I remember the posters in the store windows downtown, with Uncle Sam pointing out at us with the captions I want you or Support the War Effort.- Buy War Bonds.

The depression years of the 1930 s left many people unable to invest $18.75 in a twenty-five dollar war bond. Ten cents war stamps and a war stamp book with 187 spaces were offered to give poor people, and even children the opportunity to support the war effort. A full book of stamps along with a nickel could be traded for a twenty five dollar war bond. I still have a partial book of 10 cent saving stamps.

There was a slogan about the 10 cent stamps. Lick a Stamp, Slap a Jap . Probably, because of Pearl Harbor, we had more hate for ToJo and his Japanese soldiers then we did for the German soldiers.

There were posters with a pretty young lady with a kerchief covering her hair and her shirt sleeve rolled up and her arm muscle flexed. The lady on the poster became known as Rosie the Riveter . Rosie s purpose was to encourage the women of America to enter the work force to help the war effort. America's mothers, wives and sweethearts responded to Rosie's plea by going to work in America's factories and foundries, where they took on vital and physically challenging work. Work, that prior to World War II had been strictly considered to be a man's job. These women built planes, ships, tanks, and other military vehicles as well as munitions and performed all kinds of related duties, with an excellence never before imagined. Someday we should build a memorial to recognize and salute these dedicated ladies.

Prior to World War II, women worked mainly as teachers, nurses, secretaries, telephone operators, scrub-women, shoe and garment makers etc. The performance of these women during the war threw a monkey wrench into the conviction held by many men, that wives belonged in the home. For better or for worse, women had entered America's work force to stay.

The comic book hero, Captain America urged us kids to be good Americans by supporting the war effort. Meat, sugar and certain other food commodities as well as gasoline was rationed and required special stamps in order to purchase them. People were encouraged to spade up parts of their lawns and plant vegetables in what was called Victory Gardens . These victory gardens freed up a lot of food for our fighting men and women.
I remember the flags with a gold or blue star displayed in the windows of many homes in the city. The gold star always elicited a silent prayer for the family, because it signified the death of a Mother's son or daughter in the war. The flags with the blue star signified that a son or daughter was currently serving as a member of our armed forces.

Some of us boys dug through the metal scraps, the bus barn, the small hills behind the gas stations and small neighborhood ravines that people threw junk into. We left behind any metal that stuck to my horseshoe magnet, because iron was priced by the ton. We also collected old newspapers. magazines and cardboard. When we heard Japan surrendered, the war was over people were singing and dancing in the street. The beer was flowing freely. Servicemen in uniform were being hugged and kissed by everyone. We stayed and watched the celebration until almost dark. We would have stayed longer but there was a 10 P.M. curfew for kids under 16.

Some of the greatest and most memorable songs came out of World War II. Songs that were played by America's Glen Miller's Band of Renown. and sung by Bing Crosby among others. As I remember, most were sentimental songs about Mothers, Sweethearts and Home.
Jim Campbell

Dear Wisconsin Stories:
Hello, I'm looking for people who knew/served with Lt. Harry H. Harter of Milwaukee/Marshfield. He had a brother, Mont, and a sister, Ruth. He died serving in the Guadal Canal during WWII. Any info would be great! Thanks! Melinda J. Melinda Jacobsen

Dear Wisconsin Stories:
Hi. You have very nice website! Beautiful design. Martin Brown

Dear Wisconsin Stories:
I have a web site, Born in the USA with stories, poems, and photos about my life on an aircraft carrier U.S.S. Chenango C.V.E. 28.

Robert Fischer

Dear Wisconsin Stories:
I have tried to get in touch with someone to give them the fifteen-minute video of the rescue of myself and two others. Our B-25 exploded after being hit by anti-aircraft shells on a mission over Kyushu, Japan.

The submarine that rescued us was the USS Batfish. We were on the submarine after our rescue for a week and at one point we were off Nagasaki Harbor taking bearings prior to the end of the war. We were finally put ashore by the Batfish at Iwo Jima where we were hospitalized.

James Van Epps

Dear Wisconsin Stories:
This is a story about "those who also served."

I was nine-years old when my father's Wisconsin's 32nd Division National Guard battery was called up in September, 1940, for what was supposed to be a one-year training mission in Alexandria, Louisiana. My mother, older brother, and I followed him and lived in a 23-foot trailer for the first 16 months.

Then, after December 7th, for the next three years we traveled around the U.S. following my father to new assignments. I went to nine different grammar schools in that time. My father had served in WWI and then the National Guard (cavalry) in Kenosha for the period between the two wars.

In 1940, I remember seeing grown men cry when their horses were shipped off and replaced by artillery. Fortunately, my father was not ordered to serve overseas in WWII because my mother was a virtual invalid during that time. I guess our personal loss came about because my mother withstood all the travel, the tension of having my father alerted for an overseas posting every couple of months, and finally her own pain and suffering. She died in October, 1944.

No, our story was not as dramatic or heartrending as families who lost fathers and sons in the war, but I think we may represent a whole second echelon of families in the U.S. who were uprooted for four years and who "also served" from 1940 to 1944.

Roger E. Axtell

Dear Wisconsin Stories:
I salute you for offering this forum for Wisconsinites to share their stories or those of their ancestors. I'm a 3rd-generation military veteran, and I'd like to share the story of my grandfather, Jasper Harwood, who served in the 3119th Signal Service Battalion in WWII. I recently completed a scrapbook commemorating his Army service.

My grandfather is a lifetime Wisconsinite who served in the Pacific Theater. I recently petitioned Senator Russ Feingold to send a letter of commendation to my grandfather, recognizing his distinguished service. I volunteered for Sen. Feingold's campaign, and I know him to be among the most down-to-earth politicians in office. Senator Feingold sent a personalized letter to my grandfather, Jasper Harwood, praising his wartime sacrifice in defense of our nation.

I would be happy to send you a copy of the letter and/or provide more information about my grandpa's service. He's currently 83 years old, and his memory is not what it once was, but this official letter revived his sense of pride in his service.

In case you're curious, my dad served aboard the aircraft carrier USS Constellation during the Vietnam era, and I enlisted at age 17 in the Wisconsin Army National Guard's Company B/118th Medical Battalion. I was Honorably Discharged in 2002.

Again, thank you for providing this forum for Wisconsinites to share their proud histories. I enjoy watching "Here and Now" every Sunday and I salute the work that you do.

Thank you,
Carrie Wipplinger

Dear Wisconsin Stories:
My father served in the 32nd Division in WWII. He was drafted in 1941 and sent to the South Pacific in early 1942. I know very little about his experiences there; he would never talk about what happened. I found a ring (made from gold from the teeth of Japanese troops) with an arrow on it. My father did tell me that this was the Red Arrow Division insignia. I found out that he was awarded the Purple Heart and a Bronze Star for his service. He was discharged in 1944 on points, whatever that was. I found a bottle of quinine pills for malaria and some other things in his hideaway after he died in March of 2000. I would like to know where I could find more information on his service. If there is a museum that collects this kind of memorabilia, I would consider giving this to them.

Thanks, JERRY SMITH

Dear Wisconsin Stories:
This is not a story per se, I was wondering if you know how I can get in touch with some of the veterans who were involved with the liberation of Nazi concentration camps? My young son 5th grade (11yrs) is working on a project at school on this. I think he could gain valuable insight by talking to a guy who was actually there and how it affected his life after the war. Essentially, this would be a 'living history' lesson for him. Is there anyway you could help me with this?

[Editor's reply: Visit the Wisconsin Veterans Museum Web site to learn more about the Veterans in the Classroom project.]

Phil Golden

Dear Wisconsin Stories:
I have a menu card for Thanksgiving day dinner from the U.S.S Monticello enroute from La Harve, France to Boston, Mass. It is dated November 25,1945. Is there anyone out there who was on board that ship? Also have a yearbook from Camp Shelby, Miss. dated 1940/41. Would love to hear from anyone interested in these items.T hank you for your service to our great country.

Mandy Browning

Dear Wisconsin Stories:
Hi

My name is Stuart J. Wright. You might be interested in my book: An Emotional Gauntlet: From Life in Peacetime America to the War in European Skie. Published in October 2004 by the University of Wisconsin Press.

Based on years of research, An Emotional Gauntlet recounts the experiences of the 453rd Bomb Group s Crew 25 (Lt Jack Nortridge s crew) flying missions in B-24s from Old Buckenham, Norfolk, England, January July 1944. Many other 453rd Bomb Group crews are featured throughout.

The original navigator on Crew 25 was Lt Donald Lawry, from Evansville, Wisconsin. He was nineteen years old when he navigated the crew to England in their new B-24 Liberator, via South America and over the Atlantic to Africa. A few weeks later he was killed in action, on 22nd February 1944, when he volunteered to fly a mission with another crew whose navigator was sick.

My research brought me to Wisconsin several times, having traced Donald Lawry's sister. The book contains some background information about the Lawry family and life in Evansville before the war.

A former 8th Air Force B-17 pilot recently left a review on the amazon.com website, in which he stated, 'His style is fascinating and compelling ... the book riveted my attention because of the resonance it established between me and the characters of the book's crews. This book is a towering addition to the literature of the Eighth Air Force.'

A 15th Air Force B-24 veteran who bought numerous copies for his relatives and former crew members stated, 'I finished reading An Emotional Gauntlet by Stuart J. Wright this morning at 3.41 while trying hard to fight back the tears. This book so well represents my feelings, not only during the time I was a crew member, but also over the sixty years since.'

Many thanks.

Best wishes

Stuart

An Emotional Gauntlet: From Life in Peacetime America to the War in European Skies. Stuart J. Wright

334 pages, 100 photos, maps, formation plans

ISBN: 0-299-20520-7

Published in the US by the University of Wisconsin Press

www.wisc.edu/wisconsinpress/books/3479.htm

Stuart Wright

Dear Wisconsin Stories:
My father and Mother, Fritz and Luise Schnook immigrated to Wisconsin on August 23, 1950. Although we owned our own house and property in what was then West Germany, my dad felt it necessary to immigrate because he was concerned about the future of his 3 children of which I was the middle one. As I got older I often wondered how my father arrived at the conclusion that immigration was the best option for his family. Dad joined the Wehrmacht in 1933 and saw action in France, Russia and Italy. Toward the end of the war he was interned as a POW near Milano, Italy at an American POW camp called Gedi. Dad often talked about the way the Americans treated him and was proud to say that it was very humanitarian and decent. He obviously wanted to become a part of a country that offered him a great future. He certainly changed all of our lives with his forsight!

Peter Etter

Dear Wisconsin Stories:
I come from a railroading family. Both grandfathers, Ernest Kuehnast and Fred Revor, worked for the Soo Line, as did my dad, Emery (Zeke) Kuehnast. One brother and several other relatives have also worked on the R.R. During WWII my dad had a deferment from duty because the freight trains hauled war goods. He worked out of the Chippewa Falls yard going west to Shoreham. During the summer of 1945 he was finally called up to report for duty. My mother was afraid she would never see him again, but the bombs that were dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki changed everything. Dad had gotten as far as Milwaukee and was sent home. My mother said it was one of the happiest, and most grateful, days of her life. Kathy (Kuehnast)Spraggon

Dear Wisconsin Stories:
Am looking for information on a cousin, Robert Myers who was killed in WW2. His parents were Ralph and Mabel Myers and I believe they lived in Wisconsin when this happened. He was an only child. His mother is now buried in Wakashaw, Wis. and his father here in Ohio. Can you help me? Thank you. Phyllis Coleman

Dear Wisconsin Stories:
Hi

I live in London but have recently had a book published by the University of Wisconsin Press, called An Emotional Gauntlet: from life in peacetime America to the war in European skies. It tells the story of a US 8th Air Force B-24 Liberator crew based here in England during 1944. It is based on years of correspondence, interviews, and other research. The original navigator on this air crew, Lt Donald Lawry, came from Evansville, Wisconsin. He was killed in action on 22nd February 1944, aged 19, after volunteering to fly a mission with another crew whose navigator was sick. The rest of the crew completed their 30 mission 'tour' and returned to the US. The pilot, Jack Nortridge, came from Freeport, Illinois. In 1996 I traced Donald Lawry's sister and have since met her, Donald Lawry's widow, and other members of the family numerous times. I hope my book will be of interest to anyone who wants to learn about the 8th Air Force and its airmen flying missions over Europe in WWII. Best wishes,

Stuart Wright

Dear Wisconsin Stories:
When my father, Glenn R. Davis, was on leave after a kamikaze hit the air craft carrier on which he was serving, the USS Sangamon,he wrote an article for the Waukesha Freeman. His article was first published on August 24, 1945 and reprinted on August 23, 2001.

Knowing that he was a junior communications officer may help you understand the article.

My father meet and became friends with another Wisconsin man, James Gramling of Milwaukee and Elm Grove while serving on the Sangamon.

Glenn R. Davis

Dear Wisconsin Stories:
THE FACE OF THE ENEMY

Joan Vanden Heuvel

In the summer of 1944, I was 15 years old and about to embark on a six-week career at the Hillsboro Canning Company. Most of the people in my hometown worked at Badger Ordnance during WWII. That caused a shortage of workers for this seasonal job so no one questioned my lack of a work permit.

On a hot and humid morning in July, I climbed aboard my five-year-old, junior size bicycle. A peanut butter sandwich jitterbugged enthusiastically in my bicycle basket as I pumped and bumped over the gravel and brick streets on my way to my first paying job. I fantasized about the white fake-fur coat I planned to buy with my hard-earned cash.

The canning factory building formerly housed the brewery that produced Hillsboro Pale Beer during the 1930s. Now we were at war and the canning company had contracted with the government to produce canned goods for the army. Large, gas-guzzling trucks filled with corn, peas and beans unloaded their foul-smelling cargo, then roared back to the surrounding fields for more.

I rested my bicycle against the wall of the Quonset hut that served as an office. Assigned to a crew in the packaging room, I confronted box after box of canned vegetables sliding down a ramp. The boxes were sealed, stamped as to content and size, then transferred to the loading dock for delivery to the railroad. The voices of Frankie, Perry, and Spike blared from a radio that sat precariously on top of empty cardboard boxes. Robot-like, we moved in time to the music . . . bend, lift, stamp-stamp, bend, lift, stamp-stamp . . .

My shift ended at three o'clock. Raising my arm to punch the time clock was painful. As I pumped up the town hill on fat balloon tires, every muscle in my young body complained and I worried I might fall asleep at the handlebar.

Two weeks later, I was transferred to the steam room where sealed cans of vegetables, stacked in a large rack, were dipped into the bubbling and gurgling vat for their final ¿bath.¿ After the cans cooled, they were stacked in cardboard boxes.

Not many people were aware of it, but at that time Camp McCoy housed German prisoners of war. During the canning season, the prisoners worked in various canning factories in the area. We were not allowed to speak to or acknowledge any of the prisoners and several armed guards stood nearby smoking cigarettes and flirting with the women. I watched the prisoner closest to me with an eagle eye. He was dressed in army fatigues with POW stenciled on the back of his jacket. On his head was what the Marine¿s call a ¿cover.¿ As steam spewed from the huge vat, the heat became unbearable and the guard gave the prisoner permission to remove his jacket. Working in a cool white T-shirt, the prisoner smiled pleasantly, pushed his ¿cover¿ back from his forehead, flexed his muscular arms and continued to lift the heavy racks of canned vegetables into the vat. To my surprise, I saw that the short, blond man leaning over the steaming cauldron was not much older than I was. I wondered how and where he had been captured and if he was relieved to be so far away from the battlefields. Did he have a family back in Germany? Until now, my mind had been filled with images of cruel, goose-stepping, Heil-Hitlering Nazis, all dressed in Heinrich Himmler black uniforms. This young man resembled several of my classmates. I continued to observe my secret friend, while entertaining wild thoughts of helping him escape his captors. I surprised myself with this new concept of compassionate thinking, and then was overwhelmed with guilt.

After six weeks, I ended my canning career. In typical teenage self-indulgence, I thought I needed the remaining weeks to plan my wardrobe before starting my Junior year of highschool.

Today, I remember the first adult friends I made that summer and the $45 I earned and spent on a downright ugly, fake-fur, white coat. Most memorable to me now, is the image of that young, blond-haired, smiling Prisoner of War. I wonder if he ever returned to his family in Germany. He would be about 78 years old now. Is it his face I see in the crowd of German people who are protesting America¿s recent aggressive invasion of Iraq?

Joan Vanden Heuvel

Dear Wisconsin Stories:
My father, Earl E. Aerts, was in the Coast Guard during World War II. He was stationed on the USS Mosley, a Destroyer Escort, hull number DE321. The family has one photograph of the ship and he tells us 'that's me, standing in the doorway.' He worked in the engine room and when he was told that their picture was going to be taken, he ran up the steps and stood in the doorway.

During his tour of duty, October 30, 1943 to January 10, 1946, he kept a diary. Mostly he writes about their trips back and forth across the Atlantic to such places as Casablanca, Gibraltar, the Mediterranean Sea and Bizerte, and back to New York or Norfolk. One particularly interesting notation is on April 20, 1944 when German planes attacked the convoy. '8 or 9 German planes attacked us, they go one ammunition ship and one escort vessel went down. 180 men were saved. 4 other ships were hit but did not go down. One of the ships picked up two German flyers. Our ship got one plane, there were 3 planes shot down. We were attacked about 35 miles past Algiers. We were taking this convoy to Bizerte.'

On May 3,1944 one of his sister ships, the DE320 destroyer escort was hit by a torpedo from a sub. On May 4 'our ship got the sub.' ON May 5, another sister ship, the DE157, was torpedoed and went down. 150 men were saved. 'We dropped six depth charges. Did not get the sub. Also threw over 323 life rafts and one life net to the men in the water.'

My dad will be 83 years old this September. It is always interesting to listen to his World War II stories.

Mary Brick

Dear Wisconsin Stories:
I was raised in Marinette. My dad was a photographer and my grandparents lived in Appleton. I graduated from UW-Madison. After graduation I went into flight training with a group of about 20 others. We were called The Flying Badgers. We all became pilots and flew during the war. I became a Marine and flew in the South Pacific.

Roger Conant

Dear Wisconsin Stories:
My father was born in Bavaria, near the Czech border. He came to the USA around 1900 and died when I was nine years old. In 1942 I was drafted into the U.S. Army where I was put into an artillery unit attached to the 82nd Airborne Division.

The new name of our unit was the 319th Glider Artillery Battalion. We left for North Africa in 1943 where we were stationed near Casablanca and trained in the hot desert. During the invasion of Sicily, we were ready to go by glider, when many of our Paratroop planes were shot down by our own ships and planes. It was decided to call off our glider assault. Later we landed by LST at Italy, near Naples. The Germans occupied the high ground, and would fire their 88s right down our throats. Finally we (the 82nd AB) liberated Naples. Then we were pulled out back to the United Kingdom to prepare for the D-Day Invasion.

On June 6, we loaded our gear onto the gliders and took off for Normandy. Our tow planes (C-47s) and our gliders took a lot of flak from the Germans. Pieces of shells went right through the plywood and canvas gliders -- many men were killed before they touched the ground. Finally we landed, but we came in too fast, we hit a tree, and our glider began to break apart while still in the air. Our glider pilot was killed and one other boy too. Many were injured in the landing.

Some 82nd Paratroops rushed over to help, we unloaded out supplies and moved towards Ste Mere Eglise, where the 82nd was trying to hold out from counterattacks by the Germans.

After 33 days of fighting,we got to go back to England, 1/2 of the 82nd were either killed or badly wounded. In England we began to train for our next Airborne Attack. In Holland, as in the movie A Bridge Too Far, I will never forget all the men of the 82nd who died to take the bridge in Niemjgen, then once the bridge was taken, the British tanks arrived, crossed the bridge and stopped to make afternoon tea, instead of rushing to Arnhem to rescue their mates.

After Holland we were given a much needed rest in France. But in December we were rushed to the front in our summer clothes, because the Germans had broken through our lines (Battle of the Bulge). It was the worse winter on record for Belgium and we froze. On X-mas Eve, our turkey dinner arrived by truck, but when the cooks pulled it out of the truck, everything was frozen. Some men threw the Turkey drumsticks up in pine trees, hoping that it might thaw out in the days to come.

Finally the Germans ran out of fuel, and their tanks stopped. We counterattacked and got to the Siegfreid Line. Later we took the town of Cologne, Germany, and moved on to the Elbe River,where we met the Russians. Then they pulled us back to France to prepare for our next mission to air assault Tokyo, Japan. As we were training, we learned the Americans had dropped the A-bomb on Japan. The war was over.

Alfred Nigl

Dear Wisconsin Stories:
I wrote a book called "The Vampire Squadron" about our sqadron in the South Pacific. Ours was the leading figher squadron in the 13th Air Force with 169 Japanse planes shot down. I thought it should be mentioned in the list of books concerning the Pacific that you have in your Web site.

William Starke

Dear Wisconsin Stories:
I am writing this in memory of my Grandfather, Winston O. Luckasson. Granpa was in the Army the 121st Filed Artilary 32nd Division during WW11.

In 1943 while serving his country, Grandpa and his company was sent to protect the Great Reef from the Japanese from coming across the ocean. On there way to the coral reef they were ambushed by the Japanese. They were caught down in high grass for many days. He said they knew that the Japanese were planning to over take the coral reef.

A couple of men were sent ahead to scout out the area. Grandpa said he knew something just wasn't right because of the birds that had been flying above him. He waited for some time before heading on. He made some bird calls out to the guys who were with him. Before long, he could see a airplane flying above them; at first he thought it was his own guys until the plane got close enough for Grandpa to see it.

He knew it was not one of their planes because the plane was painted on the side with Zero on it. It was a Japanese suicide plane and Grandpa and the guys that was with him shot it down.

They had to stay underground in the grass marsh for three days or so until they knew it was safe for them to come out.

Grandpa said that the thought running through his head was that he never see Wisconsin or his family again. He said he didn't sleep much at night.

He said when he came home, he never knew how the comforts of home felt until your're gone from home and those things are gone.

I have an album that I made of Grandpa and his WWII pictures are in there from all the places that he was stationed at. In addition to the pictures, I have my Grandfather on tape telling us his journeys and all the things that he had went through while serving his country.

Our son had asked Grandpa if he were younger, would he go back to the serve. His comment was that there is nothing more rewarding or a feeling greater than the pride you have saying, "I fought to keep others safe and free."

My Grandfather passed away on March 30, 2003 and was buried with full military rites and I had the honor of knowing him and loving him and respecting the values and pride he left with me.

Thank you for the site that I could tell one of his stories.

Liz Broadhead

Dear Wisconsin Stories:
WWII veteran Chet Rogers recently published his memoirs online. Chet Rogers tells of his flight crew that was picked to fly over Hiroshima after the bomb, to obtain the official photographs at 26,000 ft for the government. They hid film in the plane prior to this and took their own "unofficial film" at 4,000 ft. Visit his Web site at http://www.666beast.net/rogers2.htm.

Ralph Myers

Dear Wisconsin Stories:
I understand you are interested in World War II stories about Wisconsin men and women. I have written forty plus stories that were published in two northern Wisconsin newspapers about World War II veterans in the north woods. The series was entitled "Heroes Among Us." After an extensive interview, not only did I detail their World War II experience but also their life as a civilian after the war. All stories were complete with a picture of the veteran in service uniform and some also had a current picture. If you are interested in posting these stories or using them in any publications, I would be happy to submit one or all for your consideration.

Bernie Bernie Driggs

Dear Wisconsin Stories:
Elcho, Wis. resident Walter Auer recently released a book concerning his experiences growing up in the Sudetenland. Drafted at age 18, he served in the German Wehrmahct on the Russian Front in WWII and was imprisoned in a Russian work camp.

This is a fascinating, yet balanced, story from a man with a unique perspective from the other side of the line. "The Way We Actually Were" is published by WW Press.

Jeffrey Winter

Dear Wisconsin Stories:
Many people are not aware that there was an all-Norwegian unit in the U.S. Army in WWII. While these special forces' ski troops are never mentioned, the famous 10th Mountain Division is mentioned as "the only ski troops in WWII."

While dozens of books, two just out in the last two months, have been published on the 10th Mountain Division — along with movies and books about the 100th (442 RCT), the all-Japanese unit — the story of the smallest infantry unit in WWII, and one of only a handful made up along ethnic lines, is quietly fading away.

Granted, these quiet Norwegians, most from Minnesota, Wisconsin and the Dakotas, aren#39;t talkers. However, their story deserves to be told. I interviewed a Wisconsin native, Ed Edwardson in 2000. He was still as tough as ever at 93, not looking even 80, strong and robust.

Without backing, support and funding these stories will fade away. Let's honor these vets while a few are still with us.

Bill Hoffland

Dear Wisconsin Stories:
Excerpt from of war diary of my father, Henry Clay Henderson US Navy CPO:

Cabanatuan Camp 1 and Camp 3

These two camps were formed at Cabanatuan (Cab.). Cab. 1, where most of the officers were located, was about nine miles from the city. Cab.3 was about six miles from Cab. 1.

The camps lacked proper or necessary sanitation and the dead were left lying around. Even after they were removed, the nauseating odor from the nearby graveyard and its shallow graves affected the surviving POWs.

The 7,000 Americans from Corregidor were crowded into a small open area for a week prior to going by boat to Manila. They were made to wade ashore before being paraded through the streets — in order to make a more defeated impression.

After a short stay at Old Bilibid Prison, they were packed into freight cars and sent to Cab.

The surviving POWs from O'Donnell soon joined us and that brought up the death rate at Cab. to about 50 a day.

Any attempts to escape or use the black market to get food were severely punished by either torture or death. Even innocent associates of the escapers were penalized. In one case when a man escaped while on work detail, five American POWs were selected and shot on the spot.

The camps were divided into shooting squads of 10 men each, upon escape of any one or more, the rest of the squad were to be shot.

With successive new commanders, treatment became worse -- less food, greater restrictions, harsher treatment. After the first of eight escaped in April 1943, all freedome was taken away.

We were told we would be treated as POWs, our names and general locations were sent to parents in the U.S. one year after our capture.

We were informed that we had been treated very kindly, and if the treatment seemed harsh, it was the same as that of Japanese soldiers who are used to being slapped and kicked around.

The Japanese felt they were giving our people the same as had been given to the Japanese aboard. We were required to raise our left hand and swear that we would not attempt to escape under any circumstances. That was early June 1943. In July, conditions for us had become intolerable and some escaped.
Two American prisoners were left behind. Local circumstances prevented the remaining two from leaving at that time. No word as to any serious reprisals has been heard.

The Island of Palawan, on which one of the Japanese camps for American POWs was located, is a narrow strip of land running southwest in the South China and Sulu Seas, just opposite the Occidental Negros Islands. The only village of any size is at Puerta Princessa, Palawan.

The Japanese seized and occupied Palawan in the very early days of the campaign in the Phillipines. In 1942, they decided to enlarge the airfield on the island with the forced aid of American POWs.

In September 1942, there were approximately 400 of us, mostly Marines that were transferred from Cab. to Puerta Princesa.

We were lodged in the old Phillipine constabular barracks, surrounded by a double row of barbed wire. Due to transfers north to Manila and to deaths, only about 300 POW remained in Puerta Princesa. I was in a group on 150 that was transferred out in July 1943. The other half remained and were murdered.

The fate of prisoners at Palawan was almost the worst of the POW prisons compared with that of any other group confined in Japanese interment camps.

We were forced to do the hardest kind of labor, exposed to all kinds of weather and given a bare minimum of food. Many died of starvation, to say nothing of the brutal treatment given us by our Japanese guards, who beat and otherwise abused us at the slightest provocation.

One such incident was POW Sgt. Mullins. While working on the airfield, he got into a conversation with a Japanese soldier. Mullins would not admit that the American forces were in defeat, which angered the Japanese soldier to the point that he picked up a club and swung it at Mullins#39; head.

Mullins tried to cover himself by raising his arm, and the club struck his arm and broke it. The next day, Mullins was forced to return to work with his arm in a sling.

When Capt. Nishamoto had been relieved by Capt. Kinshita, it made no difference in our treatment. As a matter of fact, the work became harder and there was more abuse. Not a single day passed without several beatings of the American prisoners by the Japanese soldiers.

The Japanese guards carried hardwood sticks about 3 feet long and 1-inch thick and beat men over the head for no apparent reason. We were there to work and that was our only purpose. It made no difference whether we ate or were sick.

Various attempts were made to escape, but only a few were successful. The less -fortunate ones who were recaptured suffered punishments of varying degrees of severity.

Men were placed on a third of rations for three days. We had barracks enclosed with barbed wire barricade and were patrolled 24/7 by armed sentries. Other men who tried their luck but were recaptured were subjected to all kinds of fiendish tortures, and finally execution.

After the American air raids began in late 1944, the Japanese apparently took the attitude that the prisoners were directly responsible for the bombing increased the severity of their treatment. Food was now no longer fit for human consumption. Prisoners were forced to work even harder and punished on the slightest provocation--frequently on no provocation whatsoever.

The only thing that enabled us to keep up our morale under this inhuman treatment was the realization that it would not be long before our forces would come and set us free.

One of the most horrible examples of the fiendish lengths to which the Japanese dared to go in their torture of the prisoners under their lash is the tragic event of Dec. 14, 1944.

The airfield at Palawan had already been subjected to sporadic bombings by the American Air Force. On this particular day, they had been relieved of their work at the field and were all in the compound around noontime, along with some of the Japanese soldiers, when an air-raid alarm sounded.

A short time later there was a second and then a third alarm. When the last one sounded, the Japanese insisted that all the prisoners should get down in the shelter. Then they poured gasoline down into the shelter, set it afire and began firing rifles and machine guns through the entrance to prevent any of the victims from escaping from the blazing inferno inside.

Nevertheless, a few of the men did manage to get out and eventually returned to their own people. Pfc. Edwin A. Petry was one of few fortunate ones to escape death that day.

On Dec. 14, 1944, for some reason I took the men from the strip at Iwahig to the compound at noon, together with a bunch of Japanese. I left the truck outside and had started eating when the first air-raid alert sounded. We all went to our shelters until the all-clear signal, then we resumed eating.

The same thing happened at the second alert, 35 minutes later. A few minutes later, the third alert sounded and this time the Japanese were insistent that we all get down in the shelter.

The Japanese then started shooting in the entrances of the shelter and poured gasoline in and set it on fire. I managed to get out, dashed through the barbed wire and practically fell off the cliff on to the beach, where I hid in a cave with Pacheco.

After 3:00 p.m. there were very few shots. Another man came in wounded and delirious, and later four more They said that the beach was being searched. By 2:30 a.m. that night, we decided to look around and told the wounded man and another to wait until we returned. When we got back the wounded man had gone off.

The next morning, we arose at sunrise and traveled with a guide all day. The next night we contacted guerillas and were taken to Broke Pointe from which we were later evacuated by Catalina to Moretai.

POW Rules
Prisoners will keep at least 2 meters away from the fence surrounding the concentration area.

Prisoners will on all occasions salute the Nipponese soldiers or corps.
Penalties to be inflicted on prisoners will be decided by the commander of the concentration camp.

Penalties will be the of the following five classes
1. shooting
2. confinement in the guard house
3. food reduction
4. additional work
5. reprimand

Penalty for attempting riot, attempted or actual escape will be death by shooting.

Penalty for opposing the orders of Nipponese soldiers or insulting Nipponese soldiers or corps will be death by shooting.

Each barrack will organize squads of about 10 men and in case a member escapes, the squad to which he belongs will be jointly responsible and the squad leader and all members will be shot.

Garnet Murphey

Dear Wisconsin Stories:
I am not a veteran of WWII, but one of my customers, Werner, told me about his brother's experience as his unit slugged its way into Germany. I have to share this story lest it is lost forever.

Werner's family moved to the USA from Germany in the very early 1920s. As the years passed, they made several trips to visit grandma and grandpa in Germany.

Once war was declared, they were cut off.

The story now moves to the spring of 1945. Werner's brother, Kurt, notices that the town he is about to enter is his grandparent's hometown. He decides to see if he can find their house, and he does. He enters the home but it is apparently abandoned. Kurt, however, remembers that his grandparents had a secret cubby hole in the basement.

He walked down the steps to the basement, knocked on the false wall, and said, "Grossmutter! Grossvater! Es ist Kurt! Kommen Sie rauch!" ("Grandmother! Grandfather! It's Kurt. Come on out!")

It was a tearfull reunion for them all, and Kurt had to leave with his unit, but everyone in the unit contributed some rations for the grandparents.

Curt Andersen

Dear Wisconsin Stories:
Fritz E. Wolf, my father, was born in Shawano, Wis. He attended Shawano high school where he excelled in leadership, character and athletics. He was on the basketball team that went to the state playoffs in 1933. After graduation from high school, Fritz received a basketball scholarship from Carroll College in Waukesha, Wis. Interestingly, he never played a basketball game for the school. Instead he turned to football, becoming an all-conference fullback of three straight years.

During that time Carroll only lost one game. In 1938, Fritz graduated from Carroll College with a degree in Business Administration. He had the opportunity to try out for the Green Bay Packers but missed the try out due to an appendicitis attack. About this time, Fritz realized that if he was ever going to learn how to fly, now was the time. In 1939, he enlisted in the U.S. Navy. Upon completion of flight training in 1940 he received a commission as an ensign and was assigned to the USS Saratoga as a dive-bomber pilot. During his training at San Diego naval base, Fritz was picked as one of the fliers to perform in "Dive Bomber," a picture portraying Uncle Sam's Dive-Bomber pilots before the war. In the summer of 1941, Fritz resigned his commission to join the American Volunteer Group (AVG) Flying Tigers. [Editor's note: Learn more about the Flying Tigers in the PBS documentary: Fei Hu: The Story of the Flying Tigers.]

Like a lot of other pilots, Fritz Wolf was looking for more excitement. My father was one of the many volunteers who sailed in the first AVG contingent that left San Francisco harbor on July 6, 1941. When he sailed on the Dutch ship Jaegersfontein, Fritz's passport read "agriculture student." The AVG arrived at Toungoo, Burma, sometime in September of that year. The first month was spent getting the P-40 aircraft ready for combat. The rest of the time was spent learning how to fight the Japanese. This was accomplished through a lot of simulated dogfights and one-hour lectures given by AVG commander Claire Lee Chennault.

On Dec. 20, 1941 — two weeks after the attack on Pearl Harbor — Fritz took part in the first Flying Tiger action near Illiag, China, and shot down two Mitsubishi bombers. He assisted in downing a third before his ammunition ran out. During the month of February somewhere near Rangoon, Burma, Fritz took part in a dogfight with 14 Japanese fighters. During this fight he was able to shoot down one fighter before he had to turn tail and run. This victory was confirmed but combat records were lost. On April 8, 1942, near Loiwing, China, Fritz took part in another AVG action during which time he shot down two Japanese fighters. On April 17, 1942, near Magwee, China, Fritz was caught on the ground during a Japanese bombing attack. This was the most terrifying time during his tour with the AVG. During his tour with the AVG, my father was subjected to a lot of Chinese illnesses. Unfortunately (or fortunately), he spent a lot of time on the ground because of it. He was called on to handle operations much of the time. Chennault praised him for his administrative skills. He was honorably discharged from the AVG on July 4, 1942 with 220 hours of combat in the skies fighting against the Japanese.

After returning to the United States for some well needed rest and fattening up (he lost 40 pounds in China), Fritz returned to the Navy with the rank of lieutenant, senior grade. He was assigned as a flight instructor at Jacksonville Naval Air Station, Fla. He was later transferred to Green Cove Springs, Fla., to train with other replacement pilots that were preparing to be shipped overseas. At the beginning of the war, the Navy sent individual replacement pilots to carrier groups but later on realized that sending combat teams that were trained together was a better idea. Teams were made up of five men; four flew as the team with the fifth as backup. Fritz was the team's leader. After their training, Fritz's team was sent to Great Lakes Naval Station for carrier qualifications. From there they were sent to San Francisco, then on to Hawaii (just in time for Thanksgiving dinner), then on to Guam, arriving there just after Christmas of 1944. Fritz and his team came aboard the USS Hornet on Jan. 8,1945. Flying Grumman F6F Hellcats during his time in VF-11 (the Sundowners) on the Hornet, Fritz and the rest of the squadron struck Japanese targets in Hong Kong, on Formosa, Hainan Island and French Indochina. On one of the missions over Formosa, Fritz's plane lost fuel pressure and he was forced to make a sea landing.

When the Hornet reached Ulithi after the conclusion of its south China Sea action in early Feb. of 1945, Fritz was made CO of a newly formed VBF-3 aboard the Yorktown. This was the first time the Navy formed a bomber/fighter squadron. He then requested that his team be transferred as well. While serving as skipper of VBF-3, his squadron would participate in strikes supporting the invasion of Iwo Jima. He also led the first carrier-based bombing attack against targets on mainland Japan. During this attack he officially shot down his fifth Japanese plane making him an ace. He also received the DFC (Distinguished Flying Cross) on this mission. Fritz was later transferred to Naval Auxiliary Station, Brown Field, Chula Vista, Calif., as executive officer of the station. During this time he made application to the regular Navy but was turned down do to health reasons. Fritz left the Navy in 1946 to work for the Wisconsin Aeronautics Commission. My father stayed in the Naval Reserves, retiring as a commander in 1967. Fritz was inducted into the Wisconsin Aviation Hall of Fame in 1989.

R. Wolf

Dear Wisconsin Stories:
My husband, Robert E. Field, of Eau Claire, Wis., joined the Army Air Corps in October 1942 and was sent to Milwaukee for a physical exam and induction. He was sent from Milwaukee to Biloxi, Miss. — Kessler Field — for his six-week basic training. Then he was sent to Scott Field, Bellesville, Ill., for training as a radio operator/mechanic. It was during this time he had surgery and was sent home to Eau Claire for a 21-day recovery period. His at-home time coincided with his high school graduation in June 1943. He was the only man in uniform at that graduation service and did receive his diploma though he had not attended school since his induction in October. During his time at Scott Field, he was also very ill with scarlet fever.

From Scott Field, he was sent to Boise, Idaho, where a 10-man crew for B-24s was formed. Here he received gunnery training. From Boise, he was sent to Muroc Army Air base in the desert in Southern California. Here he was given flight training. From Muroc, he was sent to Oakland, Calif. The crew received their B-24 at Hamilton Field and more training. From Hamilton Field, they went to West Palm Beach, Fla., but left there on Jan. 12, 1944, and went to Trinidad where they waited for repair to damage to their plane, "The Joe Bananas." On Jan. 13, they went to Belem, Brazil, on the mouth of the Amazon and from Belem to Natal, Brazil. They left Brazil Jan. 16 for Dakar, Africa, and then on Jan. 17, they moved on to Marakesh, Morocco, and on to Oudna Air Base, 20 miles south of Tunis.

In February, they moved to Cerignola, Italy, and it was from Cerignola that Bob flew 18 missions. His first mission was on Feb. 14 and it was on this first mission he witnessed the destruction of a plane carrying the men who had been living in the tent next to his.

On April 23, 1944, he was flying his 19th mission heading for Bad Voslau. They ran into real trouble and the plane was badly damaged by enemy fighters and the order came to bail out. The ball turret gunner was unable to get out and the right waist gunner, Frank Coupe, and Bob delayed bailout to assist him. Because of the delay the plane was very low — about 150 feet when Frank and Bob could leave the plane. Bob saw church steeples out of the left waist window — they were that low. His chute barely deployed and Frank's did not open — he was listed as a MIA until March 1945 and his body was not returned to the States until 1948. Fifty years later Bob received the Distinguished Flying Cross, as did Frank posthumously, for their actions that day.

Bob landed near a small village in Rábatamási, Hungary. He was met by a crowd of angry civilians almost immediately, though he feels he blacked out upon hitting ground. He was beaten and taken by fire truck to a small building where he was kept for a short time. Here he was sentenced to death by a firing squad and spent the night in a cell with lights burning all night. Men came in to denounce Roosevelt and Churchill, spitting on the floor to demonstrate their hatred. In the morning, he was taken from his cell, wondering where he would face the firing squad. However, the military took him by truck to a larger city — possibly Gyor, and he was imprisoned there.

He spent one night in Gyor and then was taken by train to Budapest. Another prisoner was taken with him and on arrival in Budapest, they were greeted by an angry mob but shielded by the soldiers who accompanied them. In Budapest, he was put in solitary confinement for longer than he cares to remember. It was not until the middle of May that all of the prisoners there were moved to Stalag Luft 3 in Sagan in what is now Poland. The biggest problem here and in the entire incarceration was the hunger — never enough to eat and his dreams were of food. He lived in a room with 14 other men.

He was held in Sagan until January 1945 when the men were marched out because of the Russian advance. It was bitterly cold — one of the coldest winters in European history. It was a long and tiring march with little food and no proper clothing. They spent one night in a pottery factory, and Bob and others crawled in as their feet were frozen and they were exhausted.

At Chemnitz, they were loaded and crowded into 48 boxcars that took them to Stalag 7A, Moosburg, Germany. It was a horrible situation in the boxcars and they were glad to reach Moosburg. Bob was in Moosburg until he was liberated on April 29, 1945 by Gen. Patton's army — just a few days over a year since his capture.

Bob met some of his crew members in 1985 and learned what had happened to them on April 23, 1944. Five others were POWS (he never saw them in camp) and four members of the crew stayed with the plane. The pilot managed to get the plane back to safe territory, but was unable to land it. The four men bailed out and the plane went down in the Adriatic Sea.

After liberation, he was given the chance to visit London where he had a good time before returning to the States. He was discharged at Randolph Field, Texas.

Shirley Field

Dear Wisconsin Stories:
On Veteran's Day Nov. 11, we remember all our men who are serving their country and those who served during the other wars. I would like to tell you my memories of WWII.

I graduated from Seymour High School in 1942. Several of my male classmates enlisted, and it wasn't too long and they were serving their country, along with many of the Seymour-area young men.

I started working for my Uncle Clyde Van Vuren who was the editor of the Seymour Press. We were mailing the Press to the boys in service through the help of several organizations in town like the Kiwanis, Lions, Legion and church groups.

My uncle suggested that I start a column called Betty Ann and Her Gang. My first column explained to them that if they wrote me a letter I would put it in my column and then the rest of the boys would know what was going on with them. Every 15th letter would get a carton of cigarettes.

It was a big success and the town loved hearing from them. I had to stop the cigarette deal as they moved too often and the cigarettes didn't catch up to them, but they kept writing anyway, and this went on until the war was over.

The Krause-Kraft Legion Post in Seymour was named after a WWI soldier and a WWII Marine. That marine was a classmate of mine and a very good friend. Kenneth Kraft had been sent to Bougainville, the largest of the Solomon Islands and a part of the Territory of New Guinea, and was injured in that battle. They sent him back to the States, and as soon as he was able, they sent him to Iwo Jima. He was killed there and so there was a memorial service held for him in Seymour.

Several months later a buddy of his came to visit Ken's mother and told her the whole story. When they landed on Iwo Jima, they had to dig fox holes to lie in to be protected from getting shot. All Ken did was put his head up slightly and that was it.

I closed all my letters, Keep Writing, Keep Smiling, Love, Betty Ann.

Betty Ann (Otto) Kubiak

Dear Wisconsin Stories:
My name is Alfred Fazel of Elkhorn, Wis. I was a member of the Cannon Company and 15th Regiment, the 3rd Infantry Division in WWII. A few days prior to VE-Day, my company mates and I approached a large house — it resembled a hotel — in an Austrian town. We were looking for a place to rest.

We knocked on the door, which was answered by a large Japanese man. We were not able to communicate with him, but he led us to 33 high-ranking Japanese soldiers. We presumed they were in Austria as some sort of collaboration with the Germans. But, they offered us no resistance and we took them into custody. We held them for several days before we shipped them out to higher authorities.

Alfred Fazel

Dear Wisconsin Stories:
I was drafted into the U.S. Army in 1942. Originally, I was assigned to an artillery battalion with the 82nd Infantry Division. Within weeks of arriving at Fort Bragg, the 82nd was converted into America's first Airborne Division.

Now my artillery battalion was the 319th Glider Artillery Battalion. My primary job was forward radioman. I was to accompany a noncom and an officer to the front lines, and use my radio to convey coordinates to the 75mm or 105mm guns.

In 1943, we left New York harbor aboard the Aquitania, a sister ship to the Lusitania. We sailed to North Africa and disembarked at Casablanca.

In July 1943, the first elements of the 82nd Airborne Division were dropped onto the island of Sicily. Most glider troops arrived at Sicily by boat.

The 82nd played an important role in the sucess of the Sicily Invasion; the 82nd stopped the counterattack of the Herman Goering Armored Division and thereby saved the American landing forces which were still disembarking.

In September, the 82nd was called in to help save the U.S. Army landing forces at the beachhead in Salerno, Italy. 82nd parachute regiments were dropped on the beachhead to shore up the invasion forces.

Once again, the glider troops including myself landed by boat. The German 88s kept everyone pinned to the beach with surprisingly accurate fire.

Near the village of Maiori, my unit worked hand-in-hand with Darby's Rangers, one of the toughest fighting units in the U.S. Army. In fact, one day I was almost shot by a Ranger — I had to walk back from the frontlines looking for a break in my radio line. When I was challenged by a Ranger, he asked me for the password. Since I had been at the front, the password had been changed. The Ranger raised his Thompson submachine gun and pointed at my face. Just in the nick of time, my sergeant appeared and vouched for me, and the Ranger lowered his Thompson.

On Sept. 29, 1943, I accompanied the first American patrol to enter Naples. Later, I was to learn, one of my German cousins had just been in Naples a week earlier. My second cousin Josef Nigl of Bischofsreut, Bavaria, had just left Naples on Sept. 21 to assignment on the Island of Sardinia, where he spent the remainder of the war.

In November our division was sent to Northern Ireland by ship. We stayed in Belfast for a few months and then traveled to the Leicester, Nottingham area of England.

There we trained for the Normandy Invasion. On the evening of June 5, we left England loaded in a English Horsa glider, bound for the St. Mere Eglise area.

Our mission was to block any German counterattack against our infantry landing on the beaches. Just before midnight we flew toward the French coast. We had 16 men and loads of 75mm shells packed into our glider. As we started to lose altitude, we began to recieve ack-ack fire; the shells passed right through our plywood glider. Men were praying out loud and I joined them. We said one "Hail Mary" after another. Several men were hit by anti-aircraft fire. We landed with a great crash and finally rolled into a tree. The glider had been totally destroyed in the landing. Three men had been killed of our original 16, we dragged them out of the wreckage, while being fired upon by German machine guns.

We spent 33 days in Normandy without relief, a new record for any U.S. combat division. Those 33 days are like a blur to me now, I can't remember hardly anything that happened during that time.

In July my division was pulled back to England, to train for our next campaign, the Invasion of Holland.

The greatest airborne assault in history began on Sept. 17, 1944. This was documented in the book and film called "A Bridge Too Far." The objective of the 82nd was to sieze Nijmengen and the important Nijmengen bridge.

I ended up dug into an apple orchard on the south side of the bridge while German 88s roared over our heads. The concussion from those shells caused apples to fall on our heads. We didn't dare take off our helmets for a second.

Later I watched from the south shore, as Mjr. Cook led his battalion on a suicide river crossing to the opposite shore.

Finally we captured the bridge, but the British tanks refused to move forward; not even to rescue their companions in Arnhem, where the British parachutists were shred to pieces.

After Holland we went to the Rheims area of France for rest and relaxation. This didn't last too long for in December; we were called up to help shore the Allied lines in the Battle of the Bulge.

We were packed into trucks in the middle of the night. Many men were without most of their equipment and we drove through the night on frozen roads heading toward Belgium and the Bulge.

Although the 82nd never recieved as much publicity as our sister division, the 101st which held out in Bastogne, we probally faced a tougher opponent — the Waffen SS — and we helped stop them from reaching Liege, their ultimate destination.

We fought Tiger tanks in waist-high snow, with only rifles and grenades. On Christmas 1944, we received a special treat of "frozen turkey dinner" but we couldn't build fires to thaw it out!

After the Bulge, we counter-attacked across the Siegfried line to Cologne, Germany.

On April 30, my division crossed the Elbe River, the last bridgehead in Europe. We met the Russians and learned of the death of Adolf Hitler.

We were sent to France, to train for an airborne operation against Japan. As we were preparing, we learned of the atom bomb drop at Hiroshima, and later Nagasaki. A collective sigh of relief went up from the entire 82nd Airborne Division. For us, the war was over.

Alfred Nigl

Dear Wisconsin Stories:
My father, Frank Roberts, was a policeman in Madison during WWII. He was instrumental in organizing the first labor union representing Madison policemen, and has other stories about what it was like to be a cop in Madison during the war. He has some photos from that period and of cops during that period.

Dan Roberts

Dear Wisconsin Stories:
My father Henry Clay Henderson's war diary can be found here.

Henry Clay Henderson was Senior Petty Officer 1st Class U.S. Navy when he was 24 years old. He was on the Submarine Tender USS Otus docked at Luzon P.I. [Philippine Islands] He witnessed the Japanese Air Force bombing at 2:35 a.m. Dec. 7 1941. This is the beginning [of the U.S. involvement] in WWII as we know it. My father was listed as one of the Battling Bastards of Battaan along with the U.S. Marines in the Beach Defense at Corregidor P.I. and the Fall of Battaan. As a result of his capture by the Japanese he survived three-and-a-half horrible years as a POW from May 6, 1942 until he was liberated Sept. 1945. He did not witness the murder of his friends at Palawan camp as he was transferred out the day before. He survived amongst the many soldiers who died on the death march or died in the camps. He was an unwilling witness to the dehumanization of man, along with all of the starvation and torture. He was one of the thousands transported on narrow-gauge rail cars or crammed into the bellies of the Hell Ships, minds clouded with fear as their ships were attacked by U.S. planes and submarines — U.S. forces who didn't realize the ships carried POWs. He suffered from many of the diseases and frustrations that they all felt. My father was among the POWs who finally survived and triumphed. He received a Purple Heart medal among other citations. Later, my father also served in the Korean War, from 1950-1953.

His diary was transcribed with his permission shortly before his death on Aug. 29 1997 at V A Hospital in Dallas, Texas by his loving and devoted daughter, Garnet Henderson Murphey.

Garnet Murphey

Dear Wisconsin Stories:
My name is Forrest S. Clark. I flew combat bombing missions over Germany, France and Norway, was shot down, parachuted and crash landed. I was on the missions to Norway and to Berlin in 1943-1944 and was part of the 44th Bomb Group, known as the Flying 8 Balls of the 8th Air Force in Europe. I was a tail gunner and radio operator on a Liberator bomber.

I have the European Middle East Campaign medal, the Purple Heart , Air Medal and the WWII Victory Medal. I am a member of the Caterpillar Club and the Second Air Division Association.

I held the rank of T/Sgt and was a part of the Swiss Internee Association as a founding member.

My story is about being shot down on a bombing raid to Norway; 50 years later I met Oscar Kaalstad—one of the children who hid in a bomb shelter as our bomber dropped its bombs. We teamed up and had a memorial dedicated in Norway to the Americans and Norwegians killed in action in that raid.

The Schoolboy and the Gunner: A True Story of a Tragic Mission of WWII
This is the story of shy 16-year-old schoolboy and a 20-year-old tail gunner who fate drew together in one of the most deadly, brutal episodes of World War Two.

It is the story of how we bonded together 50 years later to rescue tragedy and horror from that time and honor the brave men and women who died that day in November 1943.

It is a story of courage, determination, survival at all odds, defying death in the skies and on the ground and the men and women of a small rural Norwegian village who stood up to the might of the German occupation forces.

It is a story of remembrance, of redemption, of love and duty that binds two peoples together, America and Norway in the face of the greatest evil tyranny the world has ever seen.

It all started early on a cold November dawn at an airbase in England and a village school in Norway. The date was 18 Nov. 1943. The target for that day was the major German airbase at Kjeller-Lillestrom, Norway near Oslo.

Oscar Kaalstad was that 16-year-old schoolboy at school that morning. I was that gunner high above in an American bomber.

Kaalstad remembers it all very well. At the approach of our 100 or so bombers the children were hustled out of the school to a nearby bomb shelter. Oscar huddled with the children in the shelter while overhead at 12,000 feet the roar of the American bombers grew louder and louder. Fear was in the children's hearts.

The bombers flew directly over the village school and the shelter and dropped 830 bombs on the nearby German airbase.

Oscar was frightened but, luckily, no bombs hit the shelter. I got a good view of the entire bombing and saw that most of the base was destroyed. It had snowed the night before and the air was clear and cold.

Then the big bombers turned and we headed out to the Oslo fjord and the North Sea. The worst was yet to come.

More than 25 German fighters intercepted our bombers over the Skaggerak between Denmark and Norway. A deadly fiery brutal aerial battle started.

Six of the bombers were shot down, and went into the frigid North Sea never to be found—bodies were never found. Other gunners were killed at their posts. Each of the bombers held ten men; 63 men were lost in a few short minutes.

I was busy firing at the enemy fighters as my bomber plunged down toward the North Sea. The order was sounded to bail out but I hesitated and instead sank down on my knees and prayed for the survival of the crew.

Just as I prayed and all hope was lost, a thin layer of clouds formed over the North Sea and the bomber disappeared into them hidden from the enemy fighters.

The fighters broke off their attacks but our bomber was about to crash into the sea. By a miracle, the pilot kept the bomber aloft just over the waves and headed for the English coast 500 miles away, struggling with two engines seriously damaged by enemy fire and a huge hole in one wing. The plane was riddled by more than 100 holes.

It was a dangerous tension-filled three hours but finally the thin line of the coast loomed ahead. We prepared to jump because we knew the bomber was useless and would crash.

One wounded gunner stayed aboard with the pilot and managed by another miracle to land the bomber without a landing gear. The crew jumped and all were saved.

Fifty Years Later
Fifty years later I took a million-to-one chance and inserted a brief notice in a Norwegian-American newspaper asking for anyone who remembered that day in 1943. In a few hours I got a call from Oscar. It turned out that Oscar lived 25 miles away in Florida. We met and after a few plans, we raised enough money to build and dedicate a memorial to the 63 men lost on that fatal day in 1943. The memorial was dedicated at the very same base at Kjeller that was the target that day. It was dedicated in May 1995 on the anniversary of the victory of WWII in Europe.

Oscar Kaalstad still lives in Orlando, 25 miles from my home in Kissimmee, Fla., and we remain friends.

When we think of that time, we thank God for freedom and survival and we can always look to the memorial as their way of remembering. The memorial rests in front of a main building at the airbase now under command of the Royal Norwegian Air Force.

Two friends bonded by war and tragedy, one a Norwegian and another an American. Our friendship reached across more than 3,000 miles of ocean and a half a century of time.

Fate and chance played us a winning hand.

Oscar and I led parallel lives by some miracles of fate
1. We both survived the war
2. We both escaped by Nazi Europe
3. He escaped from Norway and I through France
4. We both returned to the U.S.
5. We both went to college in the U.S.
6. He to MIT and I to Rutgers
7. We both spent some time in Switzerland
8. We both got married and raised families
9. We both had interests in history
10. We both retired to Florida
11. We both met by chance
12. We both remembered that fatal day in 1943
13. We both agreed to have the memorial
14. We both attended the dedication in Norway
15. One day 60 years ago this November brought us together

Forrest Clark

Dear Wisconsin Stories:
My father, Ernst B. Decker, was a 1st Lt. with the 774th Squadron, 463rd Bomb Group, 15th AF. He was a lead bombardier in the B-17G Ol' Lucky. He received 54 mission credits and was a recipient of the Distinguished Flying Cross. He is now 84 years old. The following are some of his memories.

Anxious to get a feel for what he was in for, dad would talk to some of the veterans when he first arrived at the 15th. "Don't be lax. Stay alert. Don't relax. You have to always be looking, everyone." On a more ominous note, "Make sure you always have your 'chute."

As to the naming of his airplane: The ground crew, asked if they could paint a name on it. They said to dad, "You guys have been coming back and you've been pretty beat up, we'd like to call it Ol' Lucky."

Dad replied, "I'd appreciate that."

"We'd take off at the end of the runway and go up very, very slowly. If you don't get the speed … well some of them just didn't make it. They'd just nose in at the end of the runway and crash. You'd hope nothing would happen, but they're loaded with bombs, gas, ammo … they didn't even get a chance to take off, just like that … nothing. Then that would hold up the rest from taking off while they cleared it out.'

"Getting ready for a mission is pure boredom. You're setting up … finally you get takeoff … if the takeoff is successful, okaaay … then you start that climb, you circle to the rendezvous, and circle. That's how a lot of your time is spent, you circle to gain altitude and to rendezvous. Very boring. That can take all of an hour. You have nothing to do."

"When the fighters come, that's when it gets noisy in the airplane; everyone's hollering , you know. 'Three o'clock high, four o'clock level, over there, hey!' That's all you hear. Periodically I would have to get on the intercom and say, 'Don't yell. Calm down. Just call 'em as you see 'em.' That's a pretty exciting time. Always wondering what's going to happen. Are they going to get us? With the bullets coming, you can actually hear them hitting the fuselage. With the flak you would get like a 'bllllllkk' across the fuselage; the bullets, you just get that 'blup, blup, blup.' You could actually hear when they punctured the fuselage. I can tell you with all accuracy that we never came back without holes in the plane. Bullets, flak, whatever. The plane always had holes in it. We were always shot up to some degree. Many times well over a hundred."

I asked how personal it was; how close did the fighters get? Could you see the enemy pilots? "Oh yeah, you actually can. They get that close. When they come from the side and cross in front of you. The '17 has those two little side windows and that's where you can see them coming in their pursuit curve. It's an odd feeling. It's a duel all right."

"I've got visions in my mind of a curtain of flak. Like when we'd go to Munich, Vienna, or Blechhammer. So many of these places. See, as soon as you get near they start putting up that cloud. You've heard the term 'flak so thick you can walk on it.' It looked like thousands of bursts at the same time. Coming and coming. It never stops. And you look at it and think, 'We've got to go through that. We'll never make it through there.' Oh man, those are…those are quite some sights."

"There isn't a soul that isn't scared to death when you go out there. I couldn't name one. The popular saying was 'If you say you're not scared on the bomb run, you're a damn liar."

On removing stuck bombs: "Of course, the bomb bay is open, no 'chute, so what you've got to do is be careful you don't slip. We did lose a couple of guys. Sometimes a couple of 'em [bombs] would be hung up. You would trip one and the other one would go and the guy is caught in there [between bombs] and would go down with it. And…it's happened."

On injuries: "The tail gunner got hit, navigator got hit, Bill Thayer got killed when the plane he was in was shot down.' Dad saw his friend's plane get hit. Dad recalled that Thayer was flying right in front of him when '…a very large explosion went off right in front of his plane, and it slowed, almost stopped in the air, and started down. I called back to the ball and the other positions to see if there were any 'chutes. We broke formation and got chewed out when we returned because we went down to Berchtesgaden [Hitler's place in the mountains] and strafed. We…dove down and we really riddled the place. We had gotten pretty mad because he shouldn't have been in that plane. He was my buddy."

"There was a group of B-24s ahead of us, two of them, side by side, they both got hit at the same time. They both exploded at the same time. There was just one great big black cloud of smoke. That was all. I couldn't see another thing, and they were right ahead of me. That was it! I didn't see any 'chutes."

"There was one that was really bad. A tailgunner. A shell went through the tail, didn't explode, but it caught the guy and took off half his head and his shoulder. When they came back we tried to pull him out and there was all that ammunition over him. What a mess. Oh God! When you get something like that they don't let you use that plane for a while. They want to clean it up."

On his own close call: "I remember pretty clearly that incident. I'm over the bombsight, I'm sighting through the bombsight you know, and all of a sudden I see that big flash and black smoke and all that, and I just froze. I must have been stunned momentarily.

The next thing I remember Eakle is there 'Hey, hey, how are you?'

'Ok, ok.' I guess I was stunned for awhile, maybe the concussion. I may have laid there awhile [on the bombsight], I don't know how long. But I remember when Eakle lifted up my head because he told me, 'I thought you had it.' They must have hit it just right because there was nothing left, just plexiglass all over the place in the nose."

Don Decker

Dear Wisconsin Stories:
This past summer (2002), the Fort Atkinson Summer School did the musical 'South Pacific.' Through special permission from Richard Rogers's wife, the school received a special royality fee in return for honoring the veterans of World War II. It was a wonderful experience with the students meeting and talking with a number of local WWII veterans about their experience in the south Pacific during the war. My son, who played a pilot in the play, had the honor of wearing Bill Stark's bomber jacket for the performances.

The kids researched WWII and I believe learned more about that era than they would have in the regular classroom. As a prelude to the performance, I created a short memorial video in which each cast member and their family members who served in WWII were honored. A short description of where each family member served, honors received, etc., was included with their picture.

Unfortunately, my original copy of the memorial was borrowed and never came back. If I can find another copy I would love to donate it to the Wisconsin WWII project.

Debra Judd-Ehrhardt

Dear Wisconsin Stories:
Gerhald Hansel, a retired physics and mathematics teacher at Appleton High School East and his cousin Mary Ann Walsh (retired from the Navy) share several stories about their three young uncles who all served in World War II. Two of their aunts supported the war effort through the Red Cross and factory work.

Our uncles, who served in WWII, were:

Besides our three uncles serving in the military during WWII, two of their sisters also contributed to the United States war effort. Hilda Pyan left her job at St. Mary's Hospital to become a "Rosy the Riviter" at Marathon Electric, in Wausau, Wis. Her sister Hattie (Mrs. Archie Larson) of Milwaukee, joined the American Red Cross and helped make bandages for the armed forces, plus she knitted socks for the troops.

In 1936, our fraternal twin uncles Alvin and Marvin joined the military service when they were only 17. Alvin became a Boswain Mate Petty Officer and was assigned to the battleship USS California. Marvin went into the Army and survived both Iwo Jima and the Bataan Death March.

Uncle Alvin: Pearl Harbor
Just prior to the USS California setting sail for Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, Uncle Alvin saved the life of Frank Katz, a man drowning in San Pedro Bay. Alvin received a letter of commendation from the chief of police of Los Angeles, California and was honored on board the USS California in a meritorious mast in September 1940,

As a Boatswain Mate 2nd Class Petty Officer, it was Uncle Al's duty to operate the ship-to-shore boats (motor launches), and he performed maintenance on the USS California, a part of the CINCPAC (Commander-in-Chief Pacific) fleet stationed at Pearl Harbor.

On December 7, 1941, Alvin was setting up chairs for a church service next to the USS California at Pearl Harbor. Just then the Japanese zeros started to bomb the fleet. He ran to his ship and started to help fight off the attack.

The hoists that lifted the ammunition up to the big guns were damaged by torpedoes, so the sailors formed a line and passed the ammunition hand to hand. Alvin was sent to check on how badly damaged the ship was. At that moment, a torpedo struck the ship, killing many of the men and tossing Alvin off the ship onto the shore. Alvin was temporarily knocked unconscious. When he came to a few minutes later, men were running in all directions putting out fires and fighting the Japanese.

The USS California was sinking, but the sailors were trying to get the remaining battleships out of the harbor. Alvin ran up the gang plank of the ship next to the USS California and helped take it out to sea.

The War Department sent Alvin's parents four telegrams. The first one said that he was missing in action. The second one came a few days later; it said he was missing in action and presumed dead. Grandma Pyan refused to sign the death warrant. In her heart, she did not believe that Uncle Al was dead, and she was right. About a week later, they received the third telegram saying he was killed in action. A week after the death notice, his parents received a telegram which said "AL IS OK"; it had apparently been sent by Alvin. A week after that telegram, the War Department sent a fourth telegram which said Alvin was alive on another ship at sea. Alvin's parents bought a barrel of beer and had a big party. The family and the neighbors celebrated that Alvin was alive.

When Alvin was near the many islands of the Philippines, the Japanese would swim out to the ships at night, climb aboard and stab the sailors in their sleep. Alvin and the sailors requested that their families send them daggers because the Navy could not supply the demand.

Alvin would tell many stories about his 20 years in the Navy and things he had seen. He seldom mentioned Pearl Harbor or other battles. He preferred to tell humorous stories.

He was in charge of unloading supplies from a ship to an island in the Pacific. A crew of natives were supposed to be helping. He would tell the natives what to do, but they would pretend not to understand and just stood around doing nothing. Alvin got so disgusted that he fired his pistol into the air. The bullet hit a coconut in a tree that came falling to the ground near his feet. The natives were so impressed with his marksmanship that they immediately started to work.

Some of the supplies were for the natives. The natives were given food, but they had to be given only small amounts at first because they had been near starvation and large amounts of unfamiliar food made them sick. The native women were given cloth and sewing machines, which they liked. They had never used sewing machines and had trouble keeping their clothing and fingers out of the machines at first.

Alvin died at age 68.

Uncle Marvin: Iwo Jima and Bataan
Marvin Pyan was assigned to the 15th infantry. They were attacking the Japanese at Iwo Jima. After the Marines staged the initial attack, the 15th infantry went ashore to help secure the island. Marvin and the 15th infantry were then sent to the Island of Bataan. The Japanese forces were so strong that Marvin and the rest of the Army were left stranded without supplies. He and many of the other soldiers were either killed or captured. Marvin ended up in the Bataan death march.

Marvin seldom talked about the war; he wanted to forget it. If he had several alcoholic drinks, he would sometimes talk about some of the horrible things he had seen. He died at age 63.

Uncle Edward: The USS Essex
Edward Pyan had been a Marquette honor student and had many friends. He joined the Navy in about 1942 to help fight the war, like two of his brothers were doing. He became an Engineer Petty Officer and was assigned to the engine room of the USS Essex, an aircraft carrier stationed near the Philippines.

On November 25, 1944, the USS Essex was taking part in a battle near Manila in the Philippines. A kamikaze plane dropped a torpedo that entered the engine room of the ship. The plane then crashed on the deck in the middle of a group of fighter planes, and a large fire broke out. In the engine room, water was coming into the ship through a large hole in the hull of the ship. Edward was on the upper catwalk (fifth catwalk) of the engine room. The order was given to seal the bulk head to keep the ship from sinking. Edward was close enough to the bulk head to get out; the rest of the engine room crew drowned. Fifteen sailors died and 44 were injured on the USS Essex that day.

Edward was the sole survivor of the engine room crew. The explosion and the fact that the rest of the engine room crew died affected his mind, and he was never able to concentrate or hold a job for the rest of his life. He died at age 49. High school boys used to make fun of him because they did not know that he had once been a Marquette honor student but that the war had left him mentally disabled. WAR IS HELL !

Gerhald Hansel

Dear Wisconsin Stories:
The following is an article from the Whitehall Times published in April 1943. It contains a letter written by my uncle, George Hegge, who was in basic training preparing to serve in World War II. (Later, he received the Distinguished Flying Cross, many battle stars and other metals for his service as a Bombardier/Navigator and Squadron Leader.) He is no longer living, so you won't be able to interview him, but I thought his story would be of interest anyway. His brother, my uncle Floren Hegge (also deceased), was in the Army ground forces at the same time and we have some things he wrote that are very descriptive of his experiences in France and Germany, some of it behind enemy lines during the Battle of the Bulge.

Here is the article in its entirety.

Susan Colliton