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Boeing B-17 Flying Fortress, fathers, Germany, Heroes, United States Army, veterans day, World War II
“Heroes may not be braver than anyone else. They’re just braver 5 minutes longer.”
― Ronald Reagan
When I was little, I found out about heroes. They are the ones who fight the biggest dragons, win the prettiest princesses, and save the best kingdoms in the end. This didn’t surprise me in the least, because I knew someone who was a hero – my father. My mother told me.
As I got older, this belief was shaken a bit. It didn’t seem like it was a hero’s work to fix toilets, keep old cars running, and take your (ten!) kids out for ice cream after dinner so your wife could rest. But I was wrong. That is exactly what heroes do. Then they go to work every day, put each of those ten children through college, and make sure they get a good start in life.
But heroes also answer the call when there are other kingdoms to save. There are not many left of the ones who answered during the Second World War, but my father was one of those too. Don’t get me wrong. He didn’t like war or approve of something that took him away from the college education he craved. For years he never discussed it. Finally, he wrote a couple of letters and we learned a little about his war as Tech Sergeant Robert Figel, Radio Operator Gunner on the B-17 Flying Fortress Nobody’s Baby. That was until Nobody’s Baby lost first one engine and then another during a mission over Germany. Their goal was to make it to Switzerland because rumor had it that if you were there for the duration, you were paid well and lived like kings.
When they lost the third engine, it became clear that spending the rest of the war on vacation in Switzerland wasn’t going to happen. So Plan B was to at least make it out of German territory. With one remaining engine, the crew frantically threw everything they could unbolt off the plane to lighten the load. “We had to drop the ball turret and everything we could drop because we were essentially down to one engine by the time we were going in for a landing.” But they made it behind Russian lines. The entire ten-man crew, all under age 22, walked away from Nobody’s Baby – and into locals who stripped them of their fur-lined flight gear and gave them local clothing.
Finally they made it back to Italy, but replacement uniforms were not available. “This one officer came by – I presume he must have been regular Army because he was so rigid – West Point kind of thing. He was so furious with me being out of uniform, and he wanted to know where I was based. So I told him Naples. Then I told him he better hurry because our base was moving to Marakesh, Casablanca, and then Dakar. And then moving again… He asked, “Are you in the American Army?” I said, “Well, yeah.” You know, I was willing to be compatible for a war, but about that time I felt it was a Boy Scouts sort of thing, and I didn’t get all that enthused.”
We asked him if he missed anything about the war and he answered seriously. “This is the frightening thing about war. I have heard it described as a narcotic, a drug that catches up with everyone and under the fervor of patriotism gets them all enthused. That’s fine when a job has to be done, but war is to be avoided as much as possible.
“In all the time in the War there was never a thought of it ending. We didn’t have access to newspapers or radios so we really did not know what was going on. The end was so casual. One of the guys was walking along and said that Germany surrendered…Looking at it now, I wonder why I was not more enthused about it. The crusade syndrome: through the ages all young people want wars. Yet there was not much of that. People were not negative about the war, but it was accepted as something that had to be done.
“Really, it was a time when the country experienced its finest hour, with exceptional cooperation from the whole country. Wherever I went people were doing their best to mentally and physically support the war effort. I think of this sometimes when I see so many that do not vote. What a contrast to citizenship during the War and now.”
My father’s health is failing. His memory isn’t what it used to be. But he’s still my hero. I thank him, every member of our armed services, and all their families for their service. You are all my heroes.
Awesomeness! I couldn’t ever get my old guys to talk about the war before they died. Seems like a shame to not have their perspective, honestly.
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My father didn’t mention anything for decades. Finally, he told us about the clock on his desk, the only thing he’d taken with him when they walked away from Nobody’s Baby. Amazingly, a few of his old crew were still in touch, and they even got together some years ago. I would love to know what they talked about. He said it wasn’t the War.
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Hey
My dad was on Nobody’s Baby . He was the navigator . He used to tell that story .
He passed a few years back. I was online tonight looking for some info . I would love to hear from you
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Sorry to hear of your loss. If you’d like to get in touch, please email barbtaub@gmail.com
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You might enjoy this poem about families and absence, “While He’s Away: A Poem About Being Gone.” http://wp.me/p3BzWN-lB
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Beautiful poem — Thanks for stopping by and sharing it.
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Thank you. Please share if you know anyone else who can relate.
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A lovely post. So many did not speak of what they saw and did. I loved your reference to the everyday jobs your hero did.
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I often think of my grandmother. She said that by the third time the army officer came to tell her that my father was missing in action, she just told him she’d heard it all before and to stop bothering her.
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A great post Barb, and very fitting for today of all days. We will remember them – each and every one of them because of memories like these. Thanks for sharing.
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It was hard to get him to share the memories, and there are obviously things he’ll never share and we’ll never know. But I’m so grateful for what he has told us.
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I have a picture of my dad with a German POW. I’m not sure where they were but there was a camel in the background. They had their arms slung over each other’s shoulders (Dad and the POW. Camels don’t have shoulders). Dad said the POW was a great guy, spoke English well. He didn’t know what happened to him.
The only time Dad ever told me he shot a gun was when he killed a rabbit because they were hungry. Said he didn’t kill it outright, wounded it, and it screamed like a baby. You could tell that really bothered him. Never said whether he ate it or not. I don’t remember him ever finishing any of the very few stories he told me.
Great post, Barb, but it made me sad. My hero died in 1997.
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It’s funny. I didn’t want to hear about blood and gore, but I always felt that this was a big part of my father’s life that we knew absolutely nothing about. Even when he did finally share a little with us, it was only the stories of misbehaving with his service buddies or funny events. He talked about how he thought it was cold in Newfoundland and was so glad to see the green of England — until he realized that he’d never in his life been as cold as he was while stationed in the land-before-central-heating. Or how he snuck off after basic training to go visit his mother, knowing he would lose rank but that it would be returned before his first mission because there was a minimum requirement for bomber crews. Oh sure, there were hints. For example, he confessed that a trip to Italy years later made him nervous because he just kept expecting someone to shoot at him. I really think that he somehow reorganized his memory to just hold the “good stuff” about the war.
Of course, this is the man who doesn’t remember it ever snowing while he was in college. At Notre Dame. In South Bend, Indiana with a typical annual snowfall of 70-80 inches. So yeah, flexible memories.
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Your dad was in Italy? So was my dad! Now there’s a story waiting to happen. What if they met? Your dad in a plane, my dad on a motorcycle (he was a scout).
I remember Mom confiding in a friend (I learned a lot more about war from Mom than Dad), that she keeps expecting a full-grown Italian sibling of mine to show up one day (Mom and Dad didn’t meet until after the war). She said he was also in Africa, and the reason he wanted to come to Canada after the war was because he’d seen so much of the world during the war.
Mom also said she and Auntie Bo had some good times during the war other than, you know, the bombs dropping all over England.
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I don’t think Italy was his favorite, but he really liked England, and the places he was stationed in Africa. He also has a story about being in Egypt… With a typical American’s (non) grasp of geography, he thought he would hike over to see Jerusalem. Luckily, he was rescued by some British soldiers who thought he was pretty amusing as they explained the concept of desert…
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Your father was a VERY handsome man.
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Thank you very much!
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Beautiful tribute Barb!
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Thank you so much!
As your comment came in, I was on Skype reading this post to my father. He has trouble communicating, but he was smiling as he listened. So I feel so fortunate that I was able to say this to him.
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Tat is so cool. It gave me shivers! I’m sure you made his day!
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It’s a small world Barb. My father – 89 year old James Rose – flew with your father. I just called him after seeing this, printed it, and will be mailing it to him. My father says “he flew there and back with Figel!”.
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What an amazing comment to get! I’m thrilled to hear from you and your father. Sadly, my father passed away recently [here’s link to obit https://barbtaub.com/2013/11/27/bang-the-drum-slowly/ ] but I’m so happy to hear your father remembers him. If you would be interested in a little book of remembrances of his war experiences, you can find it at http://www.blurb.com/b/3068409-robert-figel-world-war-ii-service?utm_medium=email&utm_source=application&utm_campaign=share-share_promote&utm_content=0358pm-06_25_14-body. **Pg. 14 has picture of the crew, with my dad standing next to your father! If you’d like more info, please send email to barbtaub@gmail.com
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