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"When Peace breaks out" -- a True Christmas story

12/24/2013

1 Comment

 
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This is my favorite Christmas story and it has nothing to do with me, except my love of seeing people act as humans should.    
    
It was called “The Great War” until a second such war caused it to be renamed World War I. It was brought about by nationalism crashing headlong into entangled alliances. All sides believed that—when war erupted across Europe in August, 1914—they would be “home for Christmas.” 
    
The advances, however, ground to a halt and both sides dug trenches and a long war of attrition began. Sometimes the trenches between the lines were no more than 150 feet apart leaving a tiny strip of “No-Man’s Land.” For four long muddy, disease-riddled, shell-shocked, gas-poisoned years the war was at a stalemate with few gains and horrible losses.
    
It was the war that ruined Europe, especially seeing that this one was the direct cause of the next one. This one witnessed almost 30 million casualties—8 ½ million dead, 21 million wounded.
    
By that first Christmas of the war in December, 1914, the soldiers in the trenches were already sick and weary. They were stuck in vermin-filled and water-logged trenches. They were hungry and freezing and away from loved ones in those barbed-wire-entangled trenches of Flanders fields in Belgium.
    
There were new innovations in war; machine-guns barked out deaths by the dozens, mustard gas was sprayed across the open fields to blister the lungs and flesh of the enemy, huge artillery pieces like “Big Bertha” lobbed huge shells from miles and miles away, and even the skies were no longer a place to look for something peaceful as “aero planes” dropped bombs from flying crates. There was simply no respite from the carnage.
    
Pope Benedict XV proposed a Christmas cease-fire and both the Allies and the Central Powers rejected the very notion of such a thing. The killing would go on. But human decency must sometimes reject the horrors enforced upon itself by those in command.
    
On Christmas Eve, the German soldiers—having received Christmas boxes with gifts of small trees and candles—placed the Christmas trees atop the gun parapets and lit the candles on those trees. The German soldiers then began to sing Christmas carols.
    
Although the British soldiers (and in some cases, Belgian and French soldiers) didn’t understand the German lyrics, they certainly knew the tunes. As the Germans sang Stille Nacht, the British sang Silent Night.

By Christmas morning, “No-Man’s Land” was the scene of soldiers from both sides coming out of their trenches. They shared chocolates and smokes and treats from home. The soldiers from both sides  brought out photos of their sweethearts or parents or children and shared them with each other.

They also buried each others’ dead between the lines and sang together solemn hymns.

According to the official war diary of the 133rd Saxon Regiment, "Tommy (British) and Fritz (Germans)" kicked about a real football supplied by a Scot. "This developed into a regulation football match with caps casually laid out as goals. The frozen ground was no great matter ... The game ended 3-2 for Fritz."

The truce lasted until New Year’s Day. Both British and German officers ordered their troops to resume the fighting but it was seen clearly that these soldiers could not now kill the men whose wives and girlfriends and children they had seen in photos and had learned their names and had shared in Christmas songs and treats. They were threatened with courts-martial and punishment. According to British Pvt. Percy Jones of the Westminster Brigade, they parted "with much hand-shaking and mutual goodwill."

The soldiers could not, would not fight each other again. The only solution was mass transfers of entire units. British units were moved miles down the line and Germans moved farther up the line, so they could once again be ordered to fight against the strangers in the opposite trench.

Stanley Weintraub, author of Silent Night: The Story of the World War I Christmas Truce, described it in great detail and his book is certainly worth reading. He wrote: “However much the momentary peace of 1914 evidenced the desire of the combatants to live in amity with one another, it was doomed from the start by the realities beyond the trenches.”

“The Christmas Truce” is a sweet celebration of the human heart and the tragic absurdities of war. A virtually unknown Scottish poet from the Great War named Frederick Niven said it so well in his splendid poem A Carol from Flanders. He closed with these lines,

O ye who read this truthful rime
From Flanders, kneel and say:
God speed the time when every day
Shall be as Christmas Day.





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The Eddie Potocnik Story...December 23, 1944

12/17/2013

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PictureThe crew of the doomed B-29 Marauder.
The Battle of the Bulge was the final offensive staged by the Germans against the Allies on the Western Front. The D-Day campaign had resulted in driving the German forces out of France and back into Germany and occupied Belgium.

The Germans had launched their last assault through the Ardennes Forest and had created a salient or “bulge” in the Allied lines, thus the name of the campaign. That was launched on December 16, 1944.

Months before, six airmen from Wisconsin and Illinois had been assembled as a crew for a Martin B-26 “Marauder.” Included in the crew were radioman and waist-gunner Corporal Edward L. Potocnik of Owen and engineer and waist-gunner Private Joseph W. Kowalski from Illinois.

They were part of the 391st bomber group and departed Maine for the European Theater of Operations August 17, 1944. After stops in Labrador, Greenland, Iceland and Ireland they finally flew their B-26 to their new base in Roy Arhmede, France on October 1 whence they would fly missions against German targets along the Mosel River.

After five recorded bombing missions, the 574th bomber squadron of the 391st bomber group was ordered into the Battle of the Bulge with the primary target of the railway bridge at Ahrweiler near Eifel, Germany. This was a key factor in the German supply line for the Ardennes front. Both sides knew the value of the target.

There were thirty Allied planes in the raid. Fourteen made it back to base.

The German air defense strategy was effectively simple: anti-aircraft (“flak”) guns would rake the fuselage and engines of the Allied aircraft from the ground, thus “softening them up” for the fighter pilots of the German Luftwaffe. In this raid, in particular, it was terrifyingly efficient. Adding to the chaos in the air, an unusually large fighter group—numbering sixty—jumped the wounded 574th squadron.

PictureEdward Potocnik
Eddie Potocnik’s friend, Joe Kowalski was the first crewmember wounded. According to an interview once given by Potocnik, “the planes were so confined that it was not uncommon for the airmen to not wear parachutes during flights.”

As a result, Kowalski was injured and losing blood so rapidly that he could not don his own parachute. In addition, if the plane were to return to base, Kowalski could not survive the flight. Potocnik buckled on Kowalski’s parachute and pushed him from the waist window at 8,000 feet.

The B-26 was then hit by enemy aircraft fire as a mixed group of Me-109’s and FW-190’s who caught the bomber group by surprise, coming out of the sun.

According to Potocnik, all of the remaining crew were in their positions but the plane had taken far too much damage to survive. The pilot, Lt. Dale Detjens of Wausau, tried to maintain control of the plane and would not leave his seat.

It should be remembered that when a plane is going down and spins out of control, gravitational forces (G-force) increase due to effects of centrifugal force. It becomes impossible to move as the g-force increases. Potocnik knew that his time to act was limited.

As Potocnik and tail-gunner Staff-sergeant Joseph J. Miller were trying to make it to the waist window. Again Potocnik recalls, Miller “who was not wounded, tried to come to the waist to bail out but didn’t get to the window in time when the plane suddenly went out of control. I looked down at the tail-gunner and made eye contact with him, and we both knew that I was going to survive and he would not. We both knew that he would not make it to the waist in time to bail out because of the G-force of the plane. The image of his eyes is, and has always been, forever imprinted in my mind. That image is what I have always carried with me throughout my life.”

In what must have seemed an eternity, Potocnik jumped from the plane only 30 seconds after he had pushed Kowalski out. He barely had time to open the parachute before he was on the ground.

“I landed so close to the plane,” he remembered, “that the explosion and concussion of the plane helped slow the speed of my fall.” The B-26 hit the ground 200 yards west of a farm and went nose-first into a wetland cow pasture, near the small hamlet of Bauler.

In a field, an eleven year old German boy watched the plane go down.

When Edward Potocnik’s parachute settled, he was immediately surrounded by a group of young German boys, probably the Hitler Youth, who had only one weapon between them. They had been told to keep watch and to capture any enemy fliers or soldiers.

What Potocnik could not have known was that Joe Kowalski, the wounded waist-gunner whose life Potocnik had saved, was also taken prisoner by a lone German soldier where Kowalski came to earth. The soldier took him to the nearby village of Bauler where his wounds could be tended quickly.

Earlier in the war, Luise Vetter moved her family out of the city of Dusseldorf which was suffering from the heavy and repeated bombing from the British and Americans. Her daughter had become a nurse and was away working at a hospital in Adenau, Germany. Frau Vetter had moved her family to the old family hunting cottage at Bauler.

When Kowalski was taken to Bauler, villagers took him to the home of the only woman in the village who could speak English, Luise Vetter. In her diary, Frau Vetter said that she “first soothed him, then dressed his wounds while he lay on our kitchen table which was under the Advent wreath the family had made from berries and vines from the garden.”

She recalled looking down and thinking “this boy is some mother’s son.” Instead of seeing him as an enemy soldier, she saw him as a son. That day, Luise Vetter reached beyond nationality and into humanity.


The following poem is a re-interpretation in English of the original German language poem by Luise Vetter of Bauler, District of Ahrweiler, Germany.

Before me, the enemy, wounded lies
Mid agony, pleading, still he defies.
The sky gave forth a deafening drone
As human targets fell to the snow.

Before me, the enemy, wounded lies
His plight’s solution, time defies.
The enemy, helpless, cries and pleads
My heart for my homeland weeps and bleeds.

O’er stripes and stars, blood freely flows
My hand, reluctant reached, then froze.
Is this not another mother’s son
Are his wounds less, his needs undone?

Oh fear, oh death, oh horrors of war
When will this misery at last be o’er?
What end to see this hatred cease
And in its place, eternal peace?

Compassion’s foe, no longer blind
The victor’s spoils now re-defined.
May the secret of war this simple truth impart
That the surest target is a mother’s heart!

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Frau Luise Vetter, circa 1940, the author of the poem. She is the who tended the wounds of the downed enemy flyer.

When Kowalski was stabilized, he was then able to be moved to a hospital. He was taken to Adenau Hospital where he was treated by Luise’s daughter, Freya Vetter. When Kowalski opened his eyes to see his nurse, he said “All German women seem to look alike.” Of course, the only two German women he had met were mother and daughter.

Eddie Potocnik was taken by his captors to a Prisoner-of-War (POW) camp. He was given a small tin for his rations and each prisoner was given additional rations of cigarettes and chocolate. Potocnik claimed that he was kept alive by not smoking. He would trade his rations of cigarettes for chocolates which gave him needed calories. Instead of sleeping on cots in the POW barracks, Potocnik would sleep in slit-trenches outdoors to avoid the dangers of bombing.

Shortly after the events of December, 1944, Luise Vetter wrote a poem describing her experience with the wounded airman. It is a telling description of doubt in the face of an enemy that is overcome by human compassion.

The war in Europe ended May 8, 1945. It was Eddie’s birthday.

Potocnik and Kowalski made it back to the United States. Kowalski was sent to a Chicago hospital where a finger was amputated and he suffered pains in his leg. Potocnik suffered from shrapnel wounds that caused him great distress. Their four crewmates were buried in Germany.

Eddie came back to Owen-Withee where he married Berniece in 1947 and raised turkeys. Joe married and moved to California.

Planning a trip to see Joe in the early 1952, Eddie and Berniece Potocnik were preparing for their trip when they received a call from Joe’s wife. They were told not to come. Joe Kowalski had died.
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In 2010, Freya Vetter, former nurse and daughter of Luise Vetter, contacted the Bauler village historian Hermann Bierschbach with the poem composed by her mother. She was 92 years old and wanted to fulfill her mother’s wish that the poem somehow make it into the hands of the young soldier she tended. Bierschbach immediately agreed. After all, it was an 11 year-old Hermann who witnessed the falling of the B-26 near Bauler. Freya Vetter died five weeks later, having passed the poem to the next leg of the race.

Three Wisconsin travelers fulfilled the quest, as far as was possible. Dale and Kathy Bartz with Rosemary Berchem had traveled to Germany where they met Arnhild Wöste who introduced them to Hermann Bierschbach. Herr Bierschbach passed the poem on to the three travelers who, with Frau Wöste’s help, translated the poem into English.

Eddie Kowalski was long dead and he left no heirs. They did, however, find Eddie Potocnik. They were able to meet with Eddie and Berniece and bring the poem to the United States—a poem of great beauty and compassion.

A letter from Germany
The following letter was sent to & Mrs. Edward
Potocnik from the translator in Germany


Dear Mr. and Mrs. Potocnik,
    It means a lot to me to write this letter to you today but let me introduce myself first.
    My name is Arnhild Wöste. You may have heard of me by my American friends Rosemary Berchem and Kathy and Dale Bartz who visited with you last year.
    Together we had done a trip to the area where you, Mr. Potocnik, crashed with a warplane on December 23, 1944. During our visit we learned about you, Mr. Joseph Kowalski and the other members of the crew who unfortunately didn’t survive. Your terrible fate moved us very much when Hermann Bierschbach, the elderly man pictured in the newspaper article, told us about it and showed to us the photos and the documents he had collected.
    The villagers never forgot about the tragedy of December 23, 1944, and they still talk about it today.
    Please know that people here in Germany are very grateful for what you Americans have done for us and our country. We are aware that our situation would be very poor and bad if you and others wouldn’t have risked and
often even given your lives to free Germany.  We are trying hard to keep these memories alive with the young ones. I’m a teacher of history myself.

    Thus, this newspaper article attracted a lot attention. People got in touch with Hermann Bierschbach, the journalist and the newspaper to thank them for the information and to let them know how much they had been moved by it.
    Hermann Bierschbach gave me the photos that show the place where you landed with your parachute. Peter Schmitz, who, at the age of nine, witnessed the scene, showed the exact spot.
    It’s my hope that your fate and the tragedy of December 23, 1944, together with the poem, will help to make people aware that we are all brothers and sisters and how terrible wars are. I have experienced that it does work – and not only in Eifel area but also further north where I live. My students were very touched when I told them about you, Mr. Joseph Kowalski, the other crew members and the poem.
    Thank you for risking your life and bearing the horrors of war in order to save Germany.
    Herman Bierschbach and other people in Eifel area asked me to send you their greetings, thanks and best wishes.
    Wishing you and your family all the best,
 
                                                                Arnhild Wöste



All but one of the B-26 crewmates are gone. Luise and Freya Vetter have passed, as well. On opposite sides of the Atlantic, Hermann Bierschbach and Eddie Potocnik sit and remember December 23, 1944 and a plane falling from the sky/

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Hermann Bierschbach, the 11 year old boy who saw Eddie Potocnik's plane go down.

September 20, 2015

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Eddie Potocnik now sits in a nursing home in Owen, WI. What he remembers of December 23, 1944, he no longer tells.
I just received news that Eddie passed away today. He was 92 years old. I got to visit him once after writing the above story.
He didn't know me and couldn't communicate but I just had to spend some time with him. When a writer devotes so much time to the research and writing of someone's story, a bond develops. His passing leaves me grieved but grateful that I got to tell a small part of his story.

On the evening before his funeral service, I got to meet with some of Eddie's family. What lovely and charming people. Berniece is a adorable now as when Eddie married her. The family is absolutely charming.

In that small town in Germany, there is a small shrine dedicated to the events described above. I am honored to report that this article is a part of that display.

God bless you, dear Eddie.

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On the Passing of Nelson Mandela

12/13/2013

2 Comments

 
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There are personalities that affect our cities, like a great mayor; or our states, like a great governor. We are moved by heroic national figures like Abraham Lincoln or Theodore Roosevelt or John F. Kennedy and we continue to feel their impact and importance on our lives and collective consciousness or even conscience.

However, there are world figures who touch us no matter how far the distance or political barriers; figures of immeasurable profoundness who do not just shape events but affect us to our very soul. Churchill may have emboldened Britain to withstand the onslaught of Hitler and encouraged Franklin D. Roosevelt to participate in "the Great Crusade" but wartime strategies and simple politics do not move the spirit.

Then, and all too infrequently, there comes a person of such depth and dignity, power and passion, honor and humility
, that the world must pause at his or her passing. Persons who make us see the world and, more importantly, ourselves different than we ever could have before. I have seen two such people in my lifetime: Martin Luther King, Jr. and Nelson Mandela.

The resistance against apartheid in South Africa and the Civil Rights movement in the United States were related struggles and each had a profound effect upon the other. Martin Luther King’s phrase “Let freedom ring” was reiterated by Mandela in his speech upon his release from prison. It is not simply a black vs. white issue. It is not simply an African or an American problem. It is part of the struggle for freedom everywhere. Mandela and King both proclaimed that it is equality before the law that must be achieved because in an oppressive system it is both oppressed and oppressor who are belittled. In Mandela’s words, “When one man has his boot on the neck of another, both are suffering.”

Nelson Mandela was not perfect and he declared as much. “I am not a saint, unless you think of a saint as a sinner who keeps trying.” Yes, he had flirted with communism in the 1950’s and found it inadequate for South Africa’s needs. Yes, he had started to embrace armed conflict in the late 1950’s. He had his hatreds but “hatred clouds the judgment” and he was able to look beyond it. No, he was not perfect but he was on a path of perfection. That path had its starting point in prison then on the Robben Island facility off the coast of Cape Town, South Africa. He was determined to maintain his dignity in the face of inhumanity and he began to understand himself. He made peace with his jailer and his warden and turned his enemies into friends.

He achieved the most difficult of all things: to love one’s enemies. He managed that by learning about his own weaknesses and hatreds. When he looked into his own heart, he began to see what was in others’ hearts. Most importantly, he began to desire their freedom as much as his own. The world feared what would happen if the white minority lost control of the government. William F. Buckley, Jr. of National Review said that civilization would collapse if the whites lost political control. They feared “a river of blood” if the black majority ascended to power.

On February 11, 1990, Nelson Mandela walked to freedom after serving 27 years of a life sentence in prison. He began work with President F.W. de Klerk to establish equal voting rights and in 1994 was able to vote for the first time. His first-ever ballot was for himself as the next president.

Instead of a Reign of Terror, there was the Peace and Reconciliation Commission led by Archbishop Desmond Tutu. It was a bloodless revolution that allowed true equality before the law. Whites were not oppressed and no longer were blacks oppressed.
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He sometimes embraced America’s enemies like Castro and Qadaffi but he also embraced our presidents from Bill Clinton to George W. Bush. In the midst of President Clinton’s disasters, Mandela visited him and said “Our morality must not cause us to desert our friends.” Above all, he had learned forgiveness.

He was not always a cheerleader for America’s adventures and misadventures. He cheered for the action in Afghanistan, he derided the incursion in Iraq. He was speaking as friends do. It was the same love of friend and enemy that allowed him—even propelled him—to reach out to Castro and Bush, Qadaffi and Clinton. In fact, he had discovered the same truth that Lincoln discovered; “I destroy my enemies by making them my friends.”

Seeing the citizens of the world through the eyes of understanding and love was what brought him humility and that humility brought South Africa peace. No, he was not a saint, at all. He could, however, point out his well-traveled path to humility and wisdom and love and that, surely, must be the road that leads to sainthood. At least he kept trying.

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The joy that can only come from inner peace.
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    Travis

    My love of history developed right alongside my love of music. I have taught it and written at length on it. This is my place for quick musings or sharing favorite stories.

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