Page 76 - Anthology

After two days of battle our Regiment and the 423 were surrounded and cut off. Some of us, including
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me, tried to escape the encirclement by breaking up in small groups. However, our effort only delayed
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our capture by one day when the Germans gave us an ultimatum. We were captured on my 24 birthday,
December 23, 1944. And so, it was that all such groups were rounded up, lined up and sorted out by
rank: Privates, Non-Coms and Officers.

I had been wounded in the hand by shrapnel. It became badly infected and I had to wear a slip (sling)
when I returned home to Espanola, New Mexico.

We were transported by cramped cattle cars with no latrine. The ride took 3 days; we were strafed once
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by one of our fighter planes. We reached our destination: Stalag IV B in Muhlberg, Germany.

The prison was full of British airmen mostly shot down by bomber crews. We got a hot shower but no
change of clothes. The British registered us, and took our money, presumably for safe keeping. Food
was almost non- existent. We ate the equivalent of two or three slices of bread with some sort of meat
spread. The only “hot” thing we were given is what we called “sawdust” coffee. I don’t know what it was
made from, but it was NOT coffee. Our bunks were constructed of 3 shelves of boards. We had only
what we were carrying. I had an overcoat, a blanket, and a field jacket.

Previous prisoners received Red Cross packages, but that stopped about the time we arrived. Our camp
was very crowded. With the shortage of food, we all became so weak that we could do little in the way of
exercise.

There was no planned activity and no formal plan for how we were to spend our days. I spent a
considerable amount of time visiting with many of my fellow prisoners. It goes without saying – it was a
stressful time. Although I could still stand up, there was no talk of or plan to escape.

The older guards (over 50 years old) were very kind. But the younger guards were very harsh. They
would hit us with their rifles and knock us down. I experienced this treatment many times. I had a bad
knee from day one – we were treated poorly.

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In mid-January 1945 a large number of us were transported to Stalag VIII-A at Gorlitz, just inside Poland.
On February 14, we were again moved, this time in small groups and from this day on, we were on a
forced march. The march entailed being broken up into several groups, usually led by a horse drawn
wagon with old German guards. Except for staying one night in a bombed-out brick factory (lice infested),
we were out in the country avoiding cities and the Russians.

Barns were our favorite places to hole in, usually above the livestock - long gone, except a few chickens.
During this time, I observed our bombers in action, sometimes they were hit and usually the crew bailed
out. Dog fights were rare.

Once I observed a long column of what I presumed were Jewish captives, in black/white garb walking
somewhere. (Many years later one of my Polish graduate students took me to visit the remains of the
former Nazi concentration camp at Auschwitz).

The Buddy System worked well. However, my buddy Jack Gillespie from Detroit, a former machine
gunner, weakened by dysentery could not get up one morning. I made the necessary notifications, before
leaving him in a barn. Jack survived, and we remained friends even after the war. He married and lived in
Detroit, Michigan.