Forgotten Stories and Forgotten People

     I hope you're not tired of reading my stories. I located a few more stories that were stored away. These are Veterans of  World War II Stories. 

     This is a story about a gentleman I met years ago when I was working as a recreational assistant. I'm sure he is deceased now as he was in very poor health at the time I met him in the 1980's. He probably has been forgotten thus his stories too, with the exception of this story which I am about to share with you. 

     Many men in this facility were Veterans of World War II. Some of these residents objected to even polite conversation. Some reacted as though it were an invasion of their privacy, some were combative, and some simply just stared off into space. Sometimes a sudden outburst would happen. One day as I was passing through the hallways I was abruptly stopped. I was given an impromptu educational lecture on the geography and history of the North African Campaign during World War II. From November of 1942 to May of 1943 thousands of British and American forces landed across Western North Africa and joined in the attack which forced the surrender of the remaining Axis troops. This storyteller was angry, and rightfully so. During World War II oil was of the utmost importance and the Middle East had plenty of it. The vivid images this man presented were striking, to say the least. I was taken completely off guard as I had no prior knowledge of these events concerning the Libyan and Egyptian deserts, Morocco, Algeria, and Tunisia being World War II battlegrounds. His raw use of the English language gave a clear description of what war is.

     "Thousands of men, I tell you thousands of dead men! Soldiers lying dead in the sand!" he yelled at me. I thought I could see a tear roll down his cheek as I stood there speechless. I can still see him shaking his fist at me.

     "You, you don't know anything!" He leaned forward in his chair as though he were going to stand up.

     I backed away from him. He was right. I couldn't begin to imagine it. I certainly didn't learn about this in history class. Sadly, I don't remember this man's name but he was one of many who had a story to tell. So you see...after working with and meeting some of the residents I wasn't sure how I might be received. I moved on, deciding to go outside to the patio and garden area.

     It was a warm September afternoon when I first met Nick. He was sitting in the sunlight smoking a cigarette. Rays of sunlight filtered through the treetops and reflected off the metal on his wheelchair. A soft, thin, red blanket covered his lap and draped down his fragile legs. It was my job to encourage the residents to socialize; so, I visited with Nick that September afternoon.

     I watched Nick take the last few puffs on his cigarette before unsuccessfully trying to light another. I walked over to offer my assistance. He smiled and handed me the lighter. As I leaned over to light his cigarette I got a slight whiff of heavy, stale tobacco tinged with the scent of incontinence. His slender fingers were stained a yellowish-brown, and I couldn't help but notice the dirt under his jagged fingernails. 

     "It's a nice day," I said to him.

     Nick nodded his head but offered no conversation. I decided to take a seat on the park bench to enjoy the sunshine with him. Only the soft rustle of the tree leaves with birds chirping interrupted the silence. Then to my surprise, he mumbled something in a low, soft tone and pointed towards the hills. I moved closer and asked Nick to please repeat what he had just said. This time I understood.

     "My home, over hill," he spoke in a soft broken English. He emphasized his meaning by pointing to himself and then towards the hills. Nick paused for a moment then looked at me and added, "In Russia." 

     I listened with sobering interest as Nick proceeded to tell his story. Nick's thin-framed body was now confined to a wheelchair, but his mind journeyed back in time to a place of his youth.

     "Germans, come. Bang, bang, bang!" He used his thumb and index finger to indicate a gun was used.  "Shoot my mother, my father, and my brother."Nick flipped the ashes from his cigarette. He silently stared at the ground.

     His words transported me to another era, another world, a time in history that I had only read about or viewed in the movies. He told me how he hid in the cellar which was to no avail. Soldiers pointing their guns at him, kicking him, and laughing, all the while forcing him to get up to go with them. Nick reported that he was forced onto a train.

     I supposed Nick was a young boy somewhere between the ages of 13 and 16 during this time. I wasn't there to interview him or upset him. I was just glad he decided to talk to me.

     "Lots of people on train." Nick's broken English made the story seem real, as though I could see the events unfolding.

     Later on, I did some research on this as my knowledge of the German surprise attack on Russia was limited, to say the least. At the start of the war, Russia and Germany were friends until Hitler wanted to expand his German Empire and so on June 22, 1941, Germany invaded the Soviet Union. Millions of Soviet citizens were abused, killed, and left to starve.

     Nick's story was unclear at this point. I thought I understood him to say the train took him to Leningrad. He also said he was forced to go to Germany. Whatever the situation...Nick had to do it or die. I don't know where in Germany he was taken. It was at this stage of the conversation that he started making swimming strokes with his arms thus reporting that he jumped in the harbor. I don't know what country or city this happened in. It was all very confusing; nevertheless, it was all very believable.

     I decided to ask him if he were Russian, German, or American.

     He emphatically answered, "I not Russian! I not German! I American!"

     He slowly puffed on his cigarette as he continued his story.
     "I in airborne division! I paratrooper! I jump! I train be Sneaky Pete! I been all over...all over world! He paused to take another puff on his cigarette before saying, "I American!"

     I was lost for words and it was a good thing. Clearly, Nick was agitated with me. Suddenly a breeze gently touched us. I imagined an angel had come to visit as a calmness filled the air. I ask Nick if he had any family or friends.

     "Family all gone, no more." 

     I wondered how many more stories like Nick's were hidden behind the walls of institutions. This wasn't a newspaper or magazine article. Nick was real. His story was real; although I was sorry I wasn't able to piece it together in a more pleasing order.  There was no glamorous Hollywood ending. No applause for the heroes living behind these walls.

     It is now 2018. I have had the pleasure of meeting several World War II Veterans who have shared their stories with me. They are in their 90's and one kind gentleman was just a few months shy of being 100 years old when I met him. It never ceases to amaze me at how vivid their memories are of the places, time, and events that took place during the War. 

     One gentleman told me he joined the navy when he was seventeen. He shared his story with me, then asked, "Do you think there is a heaven?"

     I answered, "Oh...yes there is definitely a heaven. The Bible describes it as being very beautiful." 

     He just smiled at me and didn't say a word.  He was very ill when I met him. Sadly, he died about two weeks later.

     I feel fortunate to have met these brave men. I wish I could share all the stories I've heard over the years as a remembrance to them. It has been very educational as well as an eye-opening experience to learn about history from the men who lived it.