My Father-in-law passed away about a decade ago from ALS (amyotrophic lateral sclerosis) aka "Lou Gehrig's disease". When he was 19 or 20 years old, he was captured by the Nazis when the bomber he was a gunner on was shot down over Germany during WWII. He was in Stalag 17-B. This Christmas my mother-in-law gave us a little Bible that my husband's father carried on a long march they were forced to make at the end of the war. He had written his vital information inside the front cover and notes in the back that gave a small picture into the last few weeks before they were liberated by U.S. forces. Needless to say, I was in tears when I realized what I was holding.
My husband said that his father never talked about the war or his time as a POW, but near the end of his life he reconnected with the POW survivors groups and attended several of their gatherings. It was wonderful for him to see men that he had not seen since they were liberated. It was also a catalyst for his opening up to us about, at least, his capture. He said that when the plane became disabled, most of them parachuted out and came down in a field. The plane disappeared out of view as it got lower to the ground, with part of the crew still on board. He said that they saw a farmer running across the field toward them, and his first thought was that the farmer would hide them in his barn. That hope was soon gone when he saw that the farmer was leading a group of Nazi soldiers to their location. He said that at the first POW reunion he went to, he discovered that the men he thought had perished when the plane crashed, had survived but had exited the plane so late that they ended up in a different POW camp. He was happy that they had not died in the crash.
The internet makes it so easy to find pictures, information and stories from his POW Camp, and the bit of information in his small New Testament matches perfectly. These little Bibles may have been in the Red Cross packages that were passed out to the prisoners at the beginning of their march from the camp. Not sure, but there was a sticker in the front that said it was from the War Prisoners Aid, YMCA, and the Commission on Chaplaincy Aid for Prisoners of War. Stalag 17-B was a former concentration camp located one hundred meters northwest of the Village of Gneixendorf, six kilometers northwest of Krems-on-the Danube, 85 kilometers West by North of Vienna, Austria.
________________
This was in the front:
Property of S/Sgt. George -------
A.S.N #--------
Home Address
77 Canal St.
Brattelboro, VT.
P.O.W. #105202
Chaplain
Father Kane
Stalag 17-B
This is what is written in the back:
23
17
23
17
29
____
109 kilo April 14th
April 28th 1945.
Completed march of 250 miles
Living in wooded area just 10 miles from Braunau. General Patton's forces only a few kilo from here.
May 2nd Liberated by the 13th Armored Division of 3rd Army, at 6:45 P.M.
May 3rd - 4 yank jeeps came in & took command of camp. Germans are showing true colors today. Our Stalag Officers were asking the Amer. Officers for mercy. No luck! The Lt. Col. in charge of recapture unit is a real Army man. Expect to be moved back to our lines tonite or tomorrow. Many skirmishes around here today. Tanks are still rolling in around the Braunau area.
* * * * * *
From the internet, I got the following first person account of the march. A woman tape-recorded her father, Paul Spodar, who was also in stalag 17-B, as she asked him about the war.
The March
"In the final days of the war the Germans started to dismantle the prison camps. In the beginning of April 1945 the Germans led thousands of POWs from Stalag 17B on a 300 mile march to a "new" camp in Braunau Austria. Hundreds of men were left behind in hospitals too ill to make the march. Unfortunately for the POWs on the march there was no new camp their final destination ended up being in the Weilhardt Forest. The move by the Germans was made so that the approaching Russian troops would not liberate the prisoners.
For almost 3 weeks the POWs covered approximately 15 miles a day in marching columns of 500 men. They were herded along by the guards and their dogs. Paul and crewmates, Jake, Rube, and Beck managed to stay together. At the beginning of the march the men were given a Red Cross parcel it was suppose to have enough food for seven days, the food quickly ran out. During the days of the march they would occasionally pass by working slave laborers consisting of Poles, Ukrainians and other Slavic people. It was at these times that Paul would speak in Ukrainian and beg for any food as they passed the workers. Sometimes Paul got lucky and one would throw a potato or other vegetable without the guards noticing. That little gift of food would be shared between the 4 men.
Through rain and snow the men marched. When someone fell from exhaustion or illness the other POWs would quickly pick them up and drag them along for as long as they could. If a man could go no further he was left by the side of the road where death would take him on his final journey.
During their march they were coming near the Mauthausen Concentration Camp. A column of people were coming towards the POWs at a very slow pace. The POW guards pulled the POWs off to the side of the road. The guards instructed the prisoners in no uncertain terms that if they to tried to talk or pass anything to the people that were going to pass by they would be shot! This was not what usually happened. Before when they passed a group of people the men would try to talk to them with only a stern warning or a cuff with a rifle butt for their discretion. This time the guards meant business don't talk or do anything to the people who were going to pass by. As the column slowly approached they got their answer of why they were not to have anything to do with the people.
First the POWs saw the infamous and brutal SS troops followed by the most pitiful sight. They were Jewish prisoners. You could tell they were Jewish by the big yellow Star of David attached to the rags that they had for clothes. These living skeletons of men were trying to hold each other up as they plodded along. Many did not have shoes, hats or anything on that would protect them from the harsh cold of winter. The POWs just stood there with their hearts going out to these wretched poor souls as they passed by. It sicken the POWs that they could not do anything to help these ill-fated prisoners.
As the POWs resumed their march they saw strewn along the side of the road the bodies of the Jews who could not go on. The POWs said a prayer not for the dead along the road (as they had been released from their mortal misery) but for the others who still had to endure the suffering agony of torture from the SS troops. What little the Jewish prisoners had in the way of covering from the elements, they gave up to respect and cover their dead."
*Links:
This is a great site, Paul's Sentimental Journey, where I got the details of the march.
This link has pictures as well as lots of information.
This is one of the websites that filled in some of the gaps.
Thursday, December 28, 2006
Friday, December 15, 2006
Mr. Chomsky, Please Excuse the Delay
In October, I wrote to Noam Chomsky because few years ago when Savant was 16 or 17 he did a picture that featured a quote by him. After Savant became sick I sold prints of some of his art work on eBay, including that one. Being the opportunistic capitalist / devoted mother that I am, I put the prints back on eBay for sale recently and I wanted to set my son's mind at ease about violating Mr. Chomsky's copyright. We received a positive reply from one of his representatives, giving permission and a request for one of the prints for Mr. Chomsky's archives.
Yesterday, I finally got Savant to sign some of the prints, a limited edition of fifty prints, though we were given permission for an edition of up to 100. Today, about two months later, I'm going to finally get it mailed. I hope. I think I may send a couple of extras. Maybe Mr. Chomsky will sign one and send it back to Savant.
I'm kind of embarrassed that it's taken so long, but if your artist is not himself for a while, it's a slow process just to get him to sign some. Also, my computer that fried, had the good pictures of it, and the digital camera only interfaced with the old computer, so I had to wait for Savant to provide better examples for me to use on eBay so you can tell what the print looks like. But I'm not going to do that today.
I have a question for the art savvy. I understand the reasoning, in the past, for numbering each print. The litho stone image or the image etched into a metal plate, becomes deteriorated by the printing process. The first prints have the best image quality. If you are not using an intaglio or stone litho process, each image should be as good as the first, right? Negating the need to number. We number them anyway, because it is traditional and they are nicely done, acid free paper stock, etc., but I wonder with the new media available today, if numbering prints will become a thing of the past?
Yesterday, I finally got Savant to sign some of the prints, a limited edition of fifty prints, though we were given permission for an edition of up to 100. Today, about two months later, I'm going to finally get it mailed. I hope. I think I may send a couple of extras. Maybe Mr. Chomsky will sign one and send it back to Savant.
I'm kind of embarrassed that it's taken so long, but if your artist is not himself for a while, it's a slow process just to get him to sign some. Also, my computer that fried, had the good pictures of it, and the digital camera only interfaced with the old computer, so I had to wait for Savant to provide better examples for me to use on eBay so you can tell what the print looks like. But I'm not going to do that today.
I have a question for the art savvy. I understand the reasoning, in the past, for numbering each print. The litho stone image or the image etched into a metal plate, becomes deteriorated by the printing process. The first prints have the best image quality. If you are not using an intaglio or stone litho process, each image should be as good as the first, right? Negating the need to number. We number them anyway, because it is traditional and they are nicely done, acid free paper stock, etc., but I wonder with the new media available today, if numbering prints will become a thing of the past?
Thursday, December 14, 2006
Ne Sois Pas Decourage
from Thursday, April 14, 2005
Savant is not himself. We watch his storms roll in. I watch with dread, because he needs to get back on medication, but he claims that it is the medication that makes the people in the TV talk to him when they should be doing their show instead. What a load! If you want to make yourself feel horrible, try reasoning with a lunatic.
He has at times been so far gone that he could not make sentences. I've been told the medical name for that is "word salad". Too bad he looses a good chunk of his memory of these times. While we have them burned into our memories. He does not believe that he looses his sanity so completely. I need to film him so that, when he is stable, he can see what everyone else sees, what he is unable to see.
We want to provide a safe haven for him, whenever he needs it, forever. Easier said than done. He has been committed before, and been taken into the custody of our local jail twice. Each of his stays in jail were brought about by his doing something abnormal, when he's too delusional to reason the negative consequences of his actions. And that his actions are based on the delusional mind movie that has substituted itself for reality.
I was in public with him yesterday when he lost it. My objective then became to get him into the truck and go home. He began ranting about how he could sleep on the street or in the woods and eat out of dumpsters. Knowing it was going to be cold and rainy that night increased my distress. I tried to placate him. In the end I did get him home, but the rants were not over for hours, and only after his father got home and took over "rant control". I was falling into my own hole by then. He did agree to see a doctor; we'll see...
The whole thing triggers PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress....) and I become consumed with agony, because my First Mistake/husband used to trap me and our baby, and rant like a lunatic for many hours, or run off with the baby and say they would go live in the woods and eat berries (never mind that the baby was breast feeding) and I would never see them again. When I was pregnant with this first baby, I had to eat weeds I pulled up around where we were staying because I had no food. The husband was always off with his friends that fed him. Sure some days I got a potato or a carrot.
On the local evening news, all over the country, there are murders of women and children, by the husband or boyfriend (If I can't have you, nobody can!). These men can't see why anyone would hate, fear and want to run from them. Do you think maybe the women know you're the kind of guy that could kill them? Besides that, what's not to love?I used to wonder how such a thing could happen. My First Mistake showed me how. Private little hostage situations. I had the chilling feeling more than once that "This is how it happens!", we may not survive the night. What made me put up with Homeless Shelters, starvation, danger, living in the car, his drug use, giving away all my possessions...? I still think I was an idiot to have stayed as long as I did. Now I know first hand that battered wife syndrome is psychological torture as well as physical. I would escape, but not without my son.
I wish the past would not grab me by the throat, but they call it a TRIGGER for a reason.
Looking on the bright side:It is a beautiful morning. I have a new grand-nephew and I have hundreds of pine seedlings to plant. I love trees. With a bit of help from the family, I have planted hundreds on our land. The first trees are huge now. It rarely snows here, but when it does, I like to pretend we are in Canada; Banff Springs Hotel or Whistler or Vancouver, BC....we, Husband#2 and the kids, had wonderful family vacations there. Good memories.
Savant is not himself. We watch his storms roll in. I watch with dread, because he needs to get back on medication, but he claims that it is the medication that makes the people in the TV talk to him when they should be doing their show instead. What a load! If you want to make yourself feel horrible, try reasoning with a lunatic.
He has at times been so far gone that he could not make sentences. I've been told the medical name for that is "word salad". Too bad he looses a good chunk of his memory of these times. While we have them burned into our memories. He does not believe that he looses his sanity so completely. I need to film him so that, when he is stable, he can see what everyone else sees, what he is unable to see.
We want to provide a safe haven for him, whenever he needs it, forever. Easier said than done. He has been committed before, and been taken into the custody of our local jail twice. Each of his stays in jail were brought about by his doing something abnormal, when he's too delusional to reason the negative consequences of his actions. And that his actions are based on the delusional mind movie that has substituted itself for reality.
I was in public with him yesterday when he lost it. My objective then became to get him into the truck and go home. He began ranting about how he could sleep on the street or in the woods and eat out of dumpsters. Knowing it was going to be cold and rainy that night increased my distress. I tried to placate him. In the end I did get him home, but the rants were not over for hours, and only after his father got home and took over "rant control". I was falling into my own hole by then. He did agree to see a doctor; we'll see...
The whole thing triggers PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress....) and I become consumed with agony, because my First Mistake/husband used to trap me and our baby, and rant like a lunatic for many hours, or run off with the baby and say they would go live in the woods and eat berries (never mind that the baby was breast feeding) and I would never see them again. When I was pregnant with this first baby, I had to eat weeds I pulled up around where we were staying because I had no food. The husband was always off with his friends that fed him. Sure some days I got a potato or a carrot.
On the local evening news, all over the country, there are murders of women and children, by the husband or boyfriend (If I can't have you, nobody can!). These men can't see why anyone would hate, fear and want to run from them. Do you think maybe the women know you're the kind of guy that could kill them? Besides that, what's not to love?I used to wonder how such a thing could happen. My First Mistake showed me how. Private little hostage situations. I had the chilling feeling more than once that "This is how it happens!", we may not survive the night. What made me put up with Homeless Shelters, starvation, danger, living in the car, his drug use, giving away all my possessions...? I still think I was an idiot to have stayed as long as I did. Now I know first hand that battered wife syndrome is psychological torture as well as physical. I would escape, but not without my son.
I wish the past would not grab me by the throat, but they call it a TRIGGER for a reason.
Looking on the bright side:It is a beautiful morning. I have a new grand-nephew and I have hundreds of pine seedlings to plant. I love trees. With a bit of help from the family, I have planted hundreds on our land. The first trees are huge now. It rarely snows here, but when it does, I like to pretend we are in Canada; Banff Springs Hotel or Whistler or Vancouver, BC....we, Husband#2 and the kids, had wonderful family vacations there. Good memories.
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