as printed in The (NJ) Record by Betsy Hays of Wayne, NJ, proud daughter of Edwin W. Hays, S/Sgt., USAAF 8th Air Force, 95th Bomb Group, 1943-45.
 

Soon after the terrible events of September 11, a family friend sent me a photograph he had taken just a year ago, while he was visiting from Denmark. In the picture, taken on a drizzly August day from the docks of Liberty State Park, you can see the American flag blowing in the breeze. In the background, shrouded in mist, are the WTC twin towers standing tall.

For weeks that photograph haunted me. I wanted to write something about how our world had changed, but what? 

As a writer, I like to think I always find the right words. But I was rendered wordless by the stark realization of that which was just here, and is now gone. The thousands of good people who sacrificed their lives. The majestically tall towers.

I still keep coming up with more questions than answers, but I do have one thing to offer: a true family story about standing tall in the face of tyranny. During World War II, my father was a tail gunner on a B-17 Flying Fortress. The plane was named “Just Elmer’s Tune”, after the popular Glenn Miller song and in honor of its pilot, Elmer Costales. On his 13th mission, Dad’s plane was shot down and crash-landed in Denmark, which was occupied, but never cowed, by Germany. Two of the nine-crew members were killed. The others, including my father, were badly wounded. After being aided by courageous Danes, many of whom willingly sacrificed their lives resisting the German occupation, Dad was taken to Germany, where he spent 15 months in three different prison camps, until liberation in May of 1945. He survived one of Europe’s coldest winters. He and countless others endured cruel treatment, starvation and incidents like the “Heydekrug Run”, which was later classified as a war crime. Like many veterans of WWII, Dad returned home after the war, got a job, married and had a family. He rarely spoke of his war experiences, except to recall how the POWs carried out schemes designed to bait their jailers. To demonstrate that their spirits could not be defeated.

A half-century passed. Then, on the 50th anniversary of being shot down, Mom and Dad received a phone call from a Danish farmer, Johannes Ulrich. In 1944, this farmer had been a 17-year old schoolboy who came to the aid of an injured American airman only two years his senior-the airman who would later become my father. Johannes invited Dad and one of his former crewmates to Denmark to celebrate the 50th anniversary of the Danish liberation. Dad hadn’t seen any of his surviving crewmates for 50 years. But off they went, and were treated like royalty by the Danes, not only the military and officials, but everyday people.

Since then, Dad has been back to Denmark several times, cultivating old acquaintances and new friendships. In 1997, my husband and I accompanied my parents to Denmark, where we had the unique pleasure of meeting the brave people, many now senior citizens, who defied the Nazis by helping my father so long ago. In Copenhagen, we visited the Danish Resistance Museum, which honors the men and women who refused to allow freedom to be destroyed. Because they stood up to Hitler and the occupying German forces, the Danes were able to save virtually their entire Jewish population. We visited the stone monument in Logumkloster that was erected to honor the crew of “Just Elmer’s Tune” after the war by Danish WWI veterans.

Then, in 1999, through a set of extraordinary circumstances, four generations of my family-Dad, my mother, sister, niece and great-niece-flew to Berlin to meet the German pilot who shot down “Just Elmer’s Tune”. As it happened, the German Messerschmidt and Dad’s plane had shot each other down. But according to German policy, pilots were expected to fly missions until either the war ended or they were killed. This man and his wife met my family at the Berlin airport with bouquets of flowers and smiles, and entertained my family in their home. On September 11, one of the first calls my parents received was from this former fighter pilot and his wife, who called to offer sympathy and friendship.

Today, Dad is an active member of the American Ex-Prisoners of War, a group that exists to help former war prisoners communicate with each other, obtain medical benefits and educate future generations about their WWII experiences. He frequently speaks to groups about his POW experiences and the cost of freedom, which, he reminds us, is not “free”. I’ve heard Dad and his Ex-POW friends say this many times in many ways. But until September 11, I couldn’t have imagined the enormity of all that any of us, civilians as well as soldiers, may be called upon to sacrifice for freedom.

Fritz Ulrich, the son of the very same Danish farmer who came to my father’s aid over half a century ago, grew up hearing the stories of the American airmen and how his father had once helped one very young soldier. Fritz is the one who researched, determinedly tracked down and arranged for my father to meet with the German pilot in Berlin. He also wrote and published a book called “Rendezvous With Destiny,” which is the story of “Just Elmer’s Tune”.

And so, when Fritz came to the U.S. last summer as the guest of my parents, we were eager to introduce him to the wonders of New York City. When he took that photograph of the twin towers, little could Fritz have imagined how that landscape would be changed forever. I’m also struck by how much our inner landscapes have changed. By how little we know of what will be expected of us in this life. When I look at Fritz’s picture, I see more than just what used to be. I see something standing tall that can never be obscured, that will be forever illuminated by the light from those now invisible towers. That something is freedom.