Honoring the Liberators

This week marked the commemoration of the National Days of Remembrance at the U.S. Holocaust Memorial Museum in Washington. Some 120 World War II veterans in their 80s and 90s, wearing tags that said "LIBERATOR," came to be together, to be honored, and to remember.

I am familiar with the story of the liberation of Ebensee, Austria, where soldiers from the 3rd Cavalry Reconnaissance Squadron had done advance scouting for the 80th Infantry Division and discovered the camp while the chimneys were still smoking from the burning of bodies. It was filled with piles of the dead and emaciated, dazed prisoners.

As an officer in the 80th, my father had gone to see the newly liberated concentration camp at Ebensee. He later said that, "In a way, it was worse than combat. I saw wounded in combat, of course, who were in terrible shape, but this was really bad. The smell of it was so overpowering....I didn't know why I'd come. I was sorry I had. It was so devastating, so depressing. Frightening, really."

Annie Gowen, writing for the Washington Post last Thursday, April 15, in an article titled, Remembering the Atrocities of World War II, wrote about Army nurse Dorothy Pecora, now 90 and living in McLean, Virginia, near Washington. Ms. Pecora brought photos to the Museum that she had carefully preserved, and she spoke of the prisoners she tended at Ebensee. I immediately thought of Lieutenant Jeannie Davis, another Army nurse whom I interviewed for my book. They may well have been in the same unit, the 139th Evacuation Hospital. Here's what I wrote in my book when I interviewed Davis:

Her job, along with the doctors and medical technicians, was to get the inmates ready to evacuate to a regular hospital. The men went up to the camp first but a full week passed before they allowed the nurses to go....

When we did go to the camp, and when I think of this, it was so idiotic — we took tablecloths up there. We thought we would try to make it pleasant for them. They had old wooden tables and they were bringing up better food for them. Of course, they were starving to death. They were in bunks, and they were still lying there, many of them dead. Every five minutes somebody would die, even weeks after liberation. It was so awful and there we were, these silly little nurses, putting tablecloths around.

But it didn't shock us as much as others who were not nurses. Through our training, we'd seen everything. The fact that it was done deliberately, in such mass, was what made it different. But we were able to talk to them and stand next to the bunks. I can think of women I know who couldn't possibly have done that, but we could.

Her humility, courage and confidence come through in those comments. I think the nurses are really the unsung heroines of wartime.

As I read through Gowen's article yesterday, it struck me that Dorothy Pecora, from McLean, Virginia, may well have crossed paths with my father. Since he lived in McLean himself for nearly fifty years, perhaps they stood next to one another in the line at the grocery store or the post office. Maybe they chatted about the weather or the rising price of postage, without ever knowing they shared this awful piece of history.

The arch marks the entrance to what remains of the camp at Ebensee. Houses have been built where the camp stood.

Please come to my book talk in Oakton, Virginia!

I want to issue an enthusiastic invitation to you to come hear my talk this week. I'll be discussing my book as part of The Speaker's Series, sponsored by the Friends of the Oakton Library on Wednesday, January 20 at the Oakton library, 10304 Lynnhaven Place, Oakton, Virginia at 7 p.m. The phone number if you want to call to reserve a spot is 703/242-4020. But you can also just show up at 7 p.m.

I wrote this book about my father, who served as a lieutenant in Patton's Third Army and was involved in the liberation of the Ebensee Concentration Camp. His civilian life was plagued by nightmares of combat and the camps. After his death at age 86, I read the riveting WWII diary he kept of the Allied offensive in Europe and was able to incorporate it into my book. I also interviewed family members and fellow soldiers in a rewarding but sometimes painful journey to understand the effects of post-traumatic stress disorder on my father and our family.

I hope you will be able to come - we'll have plenty of time for questions afterwards. There will be books available for purchase and signing also.

Here are just a few of the recent comments I've gotten about the book:

"I was so moved by your scholarship, sensitivity, persistence, insight and wisdom...it had a profound impact on me."

This was from a man whose father-in-law had suffered from dementia for many years: "Thank you so much for the investment of time, talent, and resources you committed to your recent book "The Box from Braunau." You so aptly and appropriately lifted the shadow from the experiences my wife's father had with your father in the 80th Division. Your research has filled a void, for which we are most grateful."

As a postscript to my last blog about Max Cleland, I want to make sure I report that he is doing very well now. Settling into his job as Secretary of the American Battle Monuments Commission, his ptsd symptoms have waned significantly. He commutes between Washington and his home in Atlanta so he can check on and care for his 96-year old father.

The above photo was taken at my talk at Politics and Prose Bookstore in Washington, DC last year.

Five things I wish I'd asked my father about World War II

Five years after my father died, I finished my book about Dad's experiences during World War II. I had spent a lot of time holed up in libraries, museums, and places like the National Archives doing research about the war. He'd left a journal of his time in combat, excerpts of which are contained in the book, but I wanted to make sure I properly filled in the blanks left by the journal. I delved into the history of battles, the strategy, and dusty old records of the 80th Infantry Division.

I was able to answer many of the questions I had about his military service. And since Dad and I had a few conversations about the war in the year or so before he passed away, I was able to get more information about his personal experiences.

But in truth, writing the book after his death raised many more questions than it answered. Learning about the battle plans, the After Action Reports, and all the dates and times regarding his war made me want to know how he'd felt about it. So as Father's Day approaches, I decided to pull together five things I wished I'd asked my father about World War II, things only he could answer. Doesn't hurt to ask.

These are a few questions I might have asked him over a warm cup of coffee, sitting on the couch one morning, or over a beer down at the pub. I'm going settle in with a cup of coffee now and pretend Dad is sitting with me. I'll start with the questions in a gentle manner, since he didn't like to talk about this subject very much:

— Who was your best friend during the war?

I know that in your war journal you mention Graham quite often. He was a friend from your hometown of Frostburg, Maryland but he received a serious head wound not long after you entered battle in France, and was sent home. After that, who, if anyone, took his place? Did you have another best friend?

— Describe two incidents, one humorous and one serious, that you remember most vividly from the war.

— How did you deal with fear?

I know from your journal that you were very frightened during some of the artillery shelling and thought you were going to die more than once. Were you ever scared enough to think about running the other way? And I often wondered, what keeps soldiers from doing that?

— What was it like to come home?

And what might be more interesting, and surprising — what was it like six months later? Was it hard to adjust over the longer term?

— Lastly, I want to ask about Ebensee, the terrible concentration camp

I know now that you went to this camp and observed it only days after it was liberated by your Division. You had nightmares for years and suffered from your memories of that camp. You even said that it was far worse than anything you'd seen in combat. But did you ever talk about it before I asked you about it five years ago?

Anyone who has the chance to sit on the couch somewhere with a veteran, particularly a veteran of the Second World War, might try asking some questions. It will probably lead to an interesting conversation, and one you'll be glad you had. So grab that cup or coffee (or glass of beer), and don't forget the tape recorder.

Never Forget Ebensee, liberated on May 6, 1945

 

Ebensee, Austria - Sixty-four years ago today the inmates at the concentration camp — emaciated, frightened, and near death — were surprised by the sound of tanks rumbling up the road. Those who were able to ventured up to the gates to see what was going on as two tanks from the U.S. Third Cavalry roared inside the enclosure. The tanks stopped suddenly. They were unable to proceed because the mass of shocked humanity began crawling over the tanks, yelling and cheering and crying. Some simply stared in disbelief.

 

It was a day both inmates and soldiers would remember forever — the day of liberation May 6, 1945.

 

I had planned to write some more today about researching your family's military history, but with a jolt I realized what day it was and remembered what had happened 64 years ago. Since then the people in the camp have been on my mind — the people who lived through the torment and those who died from it. And also the soldiers who came upon the camp, such as my father, in the days following the liberation. Prisoners were so malnourished that, as the soldiers began to feed them, hundreds died because they couldn't digest the food.

Today we can remember them in whatever we do throughout the day — I can't suggest if or how you would do that, but I will keep them close all day in mind and heart. Some I will think of are:

• Max Garcia, a Dutch Sephardic Jew who survived and went on to fulfill his dream of becoming a successful architect in San Francisco;
• Andrew Sternberg, only fourteen when taken by the Germans, who brought his grandchildren to the 60th anniversary of the liberation of the camp;
• Sgt. Bob Persinger who, after leading the Third Cavalry tank crew into the camp, has never been able to erase the memory from his mind;
• My father, Lt. Bill Elvin, who observed the camp several days after its liberation, and said that afterwards, he ran into the woods, devastated and nearly in tears.
• But most of all, the 8,300 who perished at Ebensee at the hands of such monstrous cruelty.

The photo at right shows Polish survivors of the camp at the 60th anniversary of the liberation of the camp.