World War II Veteran Speaks

By Steve Satterlee, age 14
Submitted by Ruth Stuart, widow of Edgar M. Stuart
PO Box 374
Ft. McCoy, FL  32134

In my conversation with my great, great Uncle Ed, he talked about his experiences in WWII. He enlisted so that he could serve his country and choose where he went and what he did for the war effort. He felt that he would eventually be drafted and then he would have to be in the infantry. He wanted to be a pilot in the air force, but missed passing the exam by two points. He went to gunnery school so that he would still be able to fly.

Uncle Ed became a tail gunner and was stationed at an air base in Shadow Dung, Algeria in Africa. His plane was a B-17 bomber that flew in a squadron of five or six planes. Usually there were four groups of planes, which made a total of 24 planes. Each bomber was escorted by two P-38 fighter planes. A good memory he expressed was to see 125 P-38 fighters flying overhead. For an honorable discharge they had to fly 50 missions from Africa, but from Germany they had to fly 25 missions because of the added dangers. They knew exactly what they bombed. Their missions were in Northern Africa, and the Italian islands of Corsica and Sicily. Their bombing sites were airfields, sub fins off shore (submarines), battleships, and cities. They bombed Palermo, Italy because they saw fighter planes taking off on the streets in the city. Often the German army used the civilians to hide the military equipment.

In Africa, their living conditions were six man canvas tents with dirt floors. Their beds were wood cots covered with canvas and a pillow. The food at first was K rations which was the size of a cracker jack box that contained biscuits with cheese. Later, a mess tent was set up and non-refrigeration foods were served like powdered eggs and powdered milk. There was no meat until much later, when the Navy began to bring in supplies.

Nine days before the invasion of Italy on Uncle Ed’s 35^th mission, his plane was shot down by anti-aircraft fire over Anzio, Italy. This is his most vivid memory from the war. As the plane was flying at 30,000 feet, the wing was blown off and the remainder of the plane broke up into three pieces. He fell 28,000 feet before he was able to get out of the plane and open his chute. There were ten men on the plane and seven died. The copilot, the waist gunner and Uncle Ed survived. Uncle Ed landed between two Italian barracks and was captured immediately. They took him to an old cement block jailhouse in Rome that had large 3” thick wooden doors. From there, the Germans took him to Frankfort in Germany, then Nuessburg in Bavaria, and then to Krems in Austria where he stayed for 19 months.

Life in the prison camp was barracks with three tier bunks that were two men wide. The mattress was made of straw that made it hard to keep clean. They could not get rid of the bed bugs and lice. They had showers of cold water and often stood on ice to shower. He expressed that, “your legs got stiff from the cold water, but it was better than being dirty.” Their meals consisted of one potato the size of a quarter, a cup of cabbage soup, and one slice of bread made with sawdust. They got food twice a day if they did not make the guards mad and once a day if the guards were mad at them.

One time they dug a 300-foot tunnel to try and escape. They didn’t dig far enough and a walking guard on the outside fence fell into the tunnel. Only one man did escape from the tunnel. Uncle Ed met him 40 years later in Florida.

When the war ended, he was released from the prison. Many prisoners died from overeating after they got home because the food was too rich. It was not difficult for him to adjust to life even though the country had changed a great deal. Music is what he remembers changing to Spike Jones and rock and roll.

Uncle Ed takes a great pride in being a soldier and doing the best job that he could to serve his country. He is glad to have done what he could and has no regrets. Lots of things were not pleasant, but our country was attacked and he feels that entering the war was the right thing to do. He wants young people to know that many people died to make this a better world to live in.

Camp 23~Japan

By Harry Johnson
408 N. Cedarwood Dr.
Danville, IL 61832

PNC Mel Madero – Camp 23 head cook and some of the other kitchen help ended up in the coal mine in the middle of 1945 to take the place of worn out coal miners who couldn’t make the grade anymore. They (the Jap commandant and co.) put the feeble guys in the kitchen.

Harold Pohl, PNC Mel Madero, and Lawrence Obinger, Camp 23 inmates at ADBC Convention in San Diego in the 1970’s.

Then came August 15, 1945. When I came up at 5PM from the day shift, my friend Mouldovan was waiting for the rest and said, “Harry, the war is over!” I said, “Oh, yeah, what are the night miners doing standing over there?” The night miners went down to work and those of us on the day shift went back to Camp and waited for the whistle next morning at 5AM.

Steps down to bathhouse where we usually assembled at the bottom, with the Jap camp commander saying “You Musta Worka Harder!”

No whistle at 5AM – 6AM – 7AM – 8AM. Here come the night miners all pooped out. They said the Jap bosses worked them harder than ever before just to get even. The war was over!

The Jap guards stayed and guarded us. The Jap commander and his Lts, etc. stayed – until the B-29s came over and dropped us food, cigarettes, clothing – you name it – on August 31st. The Jap commander told us all to go out of camp and find the drop. He would send trucks and wagons. The next day, all the Japs were gone. We made an American flag from parachutes and hoisted it on the Jap flag pole.

American soldiers and officers “found” us on Sept. 15, 1945. We left Sept. 17th for home.

Williams finally receives his medals

Despite a 57-year delay, Dr. E. Eugene Williams humbly accepted his long overdue WWII Distinguished Flying Cross and Prisoner of War Medal on January 6, 2002 at Dobbins Air Reserve Base, Marietta, GA, with family and friends in attendance.

The WWII veteran was a first pilot with the 76th Squadron in the 35th Troop Carrier Group, Ninth Air Force, in the European Theater. He logged 320 combat hours, including Bastogne and St. Vith missions before his luck ran out.

As he flew supplies, ammunition and 110 jerrycans of gasoline, Williams’ C-47 was hit by anti-aircraft fire shortly after he crossed the Rhine River from France.

The huge plane crashed into a rhubarb patch on German soil – then exploded. Co-pilot Flight Officer Clarence B. Collier, crew chief T/Sgt. Willis B. Winkler, and radio operator Sgt. George N. Wilson, along with Williams also survived the impact, but were quickly captured.

Blindfolded, with hands tied before their backs, they prepared to die before a firing squad. Instead, the Germans changed their minds. The crew then marched four days over 100 miles to reach Stalag 6-G.

Following the war, Williams became an ordained minister and received his doctorate degree in communication arts and sciences. Surprisingly, several years later, Williams’ interrogating German officer visited the ex-POW’s home. The former pilot is now a church and institutional consultant who lives in Smyrna, Georgia.

Burma survivor acts as link to VA

by Justo Bautista
Bergan County Record

Beaten with rifle butts, sick with malaria, forced to eat maggot-infested rice and fish and to drink trough water, Karnig Thomasian barely clung to life in Rangoon Central Prison in the sweltering spring of 1945.

Hope came in the form of a flower.

Thomasian discovered one shining green shoot in the prison yard. Other prisoners of war protected it and nurtured it. The plant bloomed on Easter morning, what looked like a lily. The prisoners saw the blossom as a symbol. Inspired, they held a secret Easter service. Jewish prisoners made a stir in the yard to distract the Japanese guards while the Christians prayed inside. “There were thoughts of home and tears as we gathered,” the World War II veteran recalled.

And there are still tears, anytime Thomasian remembers that morning.These days, he makes a point of remembering, and of helping others remember. He is a national service officer, or NSO, for a veterans organization - Garden State Chapter 1 of the American Ex-Prisoners of War. His job is to reach out to other veterans, help them understand their problems, and guide them in their dealings with the Department of Veterans Affairs.

Frequently, the process starts with remembering.

Most of the men imprisoned at Rangoon Central - in the country then known as Burma, now Myanmar - kept their memories bottled up inside for 40 years, Thomasian says. He was that way himself. Things began to change in 1984, when the “Rangoon Ramblers” held an emotional reunion in Oak Brook, Ill.

“The cork blew off,” said Thomasian, now 77 and a resident of River Edge. “Everybody talked incessantly, through the day and night. It was unbelievable how it all poured out. Most of these guys hadn’t talked to anybody.” Gradually, Thomasian learned the therapeutic value of opening up. As he did, he came to understand how his own life had been shaped by post-traumatic stress disorder. He became a national service officer to help others cope with the same sort of problem.

All NSOs are volunteers. Veterans who need help find the NSOs through word of mouth, ads in veterans publications, even newspaper articles. The NSOs help veterans fill out applications for benefits, even accompany them to the hospital, if need be. Thomasian normally sits down with a veteran in his den at home and outlines the entire application process - a long way from Rangoon.

Though Thomasian’s group is eager to help all veterans in need, the emphasis is on POWs who served in Korea and Vietnam. He said former POWs are often reluctant to seek help. “Some of those guys are not being taken care of as they should be,” he said. “And some of the fault lies with them. They don’t want to get involved.”

Vietnam-era POWs can be particularly reluctant, said Emilio “Vince” Vizachero, 77, of Burlington Township, an NSO who covers South Jersey. “Can you blame them? They were treated like dogs when they came home,” said Vizachero, a retired shoemaker. Vizachero spent nine months in German labor camps after he was captured in Mortain, France, in 1944. He was an 18-year-old Army private. “A lot of POWs do not want POW license plates on their cars, and when they go to clinics, they don’t want anyone to know they were prisoners of war. They are embarrassed,” he said. “For years we tried to get POWs involved. They didn’t want any part of the VA. The feeling was, you neglected us all these years, don’t bother us now. They say, ‘I have Blue Cross Blue Shield under my wife’s insurance.’ That’s sad, because they could be getting money from the VA.”

Vizachero says he battled the Veterans Administration for years on his own case. Finally he qualified for compensation for back and hip ailments caused by wounds and labor-camp beatings during World War II. “I swore from that time on, I would help any POW to get their claims easier,” he said. Another ex-POW volunteer, 78-year-old Paul Werkmeister of Linden, agreed with Vizachero that POWs used to have a hard time with the Veterans Administration. It was hard to convince VA doctors that ailments were the result of wartime injuries, Werkmeister said. As a 21-year-old combat medic with the 106th Infantry Division, Werkmeister was captured in the Battle of the Bulge and spent four months in a German prison camp outside Berlin.

A top VA official in Washington said the agency has a “good, strong relationship” with ex-POWs. “A lot of ex-POWs simply wanted to get on with their lives and not deal with the institutional government,” said Robert Epley, associate deputy undersecretary for programs - Veterans Benefits Administration. “One of our challenges is to convince them we can and will help them. We’re making progress. We’re dealing with more and more POWs every year.”

In 2001, the Veterans Administration treated more than 77,300 veterans for post-traumatic stress disorder. Werkmeister himself feels that in recent years, the VA’s response to POWs has been better. He credits the work of NSOs. “We’ve got good service officers now, guys like Karnig,” he said. “He knows what it’s all about. He’s been there. I don’t think we had that kind of representation before.”

Service officers often have to steel themselves as they listen to other ex-POWs talk about their problems. The emotions run deep and strong. Thomasian, a retired Madison Avenue art director, knows firsthand about the flashback “cloud” that can turn a veteran’s life into a nightmare. His own cloud arrived 10 years ago, as his wife, Diana, battled cancer. “His behavior changed,” said Diana Thomasian. Unexplained anger “came up like a tidal wave.” “I would recognize what was happening, and turn around and walk out,” she said. “He would come in and apologize. Sometimes, it would be quite emotional. I would stay away. He can turn it off better than I can. A woman takes these emotions quite seriously. It took me some time to get over the hurt.” Thomasian explains that he was confusing his life at home with the life he had known in prison camp. “During that time,” he said, “I treated her like one of the guys in my camp - ‘C’mon, get out of it’ - if they wanted to give up. I was just not being understanding. I never dreamed I had post-traumatic stress disorder. It would never have occurred to me, and that’s where the problem was.”

Thomasian was a 20-year-old Air Corps sergeant from Washington Heights in upper Manhattan when his B-29 bomber was blown out of the sky 20,000 feet over Rangoon in December 1944. Flames raced through the 100-foot-long fuselage. “Everything turned red,” he said. He bailed out head first and watched his plane twist toward the ground. Five crew members were killed. Thomasian was captured. He then spent six months in Japanese prison camps, where the slightest rule infraction brought on an interrogation and, frequently, a clubbing, he said.

As Allied forces closed in, his Japanese captors rounded up healthy prisoners and marched off. He stayed behind to care for the sickest prisoners. He and his friends painted “Japs Gone” on the roof of their building. Their ordeal ended when a British newspaperman pounded on the prison’s big front doors and yelled, “The Gurkhas are right behind me.” “We gathered all around him, looking, touching him,” Thomasian remembered. “He was 6-foot-3. Big. With rosy cheeks. That’s when we all noticed how sick we were.”

Thomasian joined the American Ex-Prisoners of War in 1989. Upon retiring at age 71, he turned his full attention to helping veterans. His message, in a nutshell: “Don’t feel ashamed. Have the courage. You have the right to get these benefits. You laid your life on the line for the country.”

Staff Writer Justo Bautista’s e-mail address is bautista@northjersey.com