Since I posted Roland Rakow’s story to this site on July 30, 2008, I’ve gained access to additional information about the crash and outcomes for the crew of Roland’s B-25 bomber.

The plane was shot down on September 1, 1942 over North Africa. Roland, who served as the radio operator and lower turret gunner on the plane, was eventually interned in Camp 59.

November 2011, I heard from Jurine Biers, the widow of 2nd Lt. Irving Biers, co-pilot of the plane. Irving Biers passed away in 1996 at the age of 78.

When Jurine learned through the post on this site that Roland was still living, she contacted him. She and her grandson have has since visited him at his home in Florida.

On the 2008 post, Roland explained, “… as our B-25 was returning from its second completed mission—dropping its bomb load on tanks, trucks, and troops on the front line at El Alamein—it was struck by a German anti-aircraft 88 mm shell on the left side of the aircraft, adjacent to the top turret gun position. The shell made a gaping hole, which caused the aircraft to break open and go into a 30-or 40-degree dive.

“The bombardier, navigator, and the top turret gunner were unable to leave the aircraft. The pilot, co-pilot, and I (the radio operator) parachuted to the ground. We sustained wounds and injuries.

“… After the aircraft was hit, I looked for a way of escape and found the gaping hole where the shell had hit. After some effort, since the aircraft was in a dive, I bailed out at the hole. Before exiting, I looked for Sergeant Andersen. He should have been adjacent to the hole, as this was the location of the top turret gun. I could only conjecture that he had been blown out of the aircraft when the shell hit.”

Jurine told me that although the plane had been hit by anti-aircraft fire, on its way down it had a mid-air collision with another Allied plane. The other plane was an A-20A South African bomber. Roland had believed for nearly 70 years that enemy fire alone was involved in the crash.

“I was sitting right next to where that 88 mm shell came though the plane,” he told Jurine. “And I jumped out of the hole it made.”

“The pilots could not get out when the plane first started going down.” Jurine told me. “They were held back in their seats by the centrifugal force, but after it hit a South African plane, their B-25 went into an inverted outside spin which pushed them forward.”

They were then able to exit.

“Weeks later, the Germans collected Allied POWs in order to take them to prison camps in Germany,” Jurine said. “Irving was a truck at that time—a truck with sides on the back of it. He got to talking with another other guy, who was South African, and the fellow said, ‘That was my plane you hit.’

“He cursed Irving and said, ‘That was to be my last mission—I was supposed to be going home after that!’”

Irving had told Jurine that when the bombers did their runs, South African fighters would be on their wingtips as they went in to make the drop. As soon as they dropped the bombs, the fighters hightailed it back to the base. The bombers slowly made their way back, exposed to flack from Rommel’s forces.

Irving parachuted before the plane hit the ground. He had shrapnel wounds, and he was dazed, but he was able to get clear of his parachute. He saw men running toward him, and at first he thought he had made it back and they were Montgomery’s people. But as they got closer he saw big ostrich plumes on their helmets and he realized they were the Italians.

The Italians took him back to their little hut, Jurine told me. They opened a bottle of wine and in pigeon English said, “Love Americana.” One said he had a cousin in “chinchinatti” [Cincinnati, Ohio]. They were having a good time with him. Irving told Jurine that the Italians didn’t want to fight.

Irving was with the Italians for about half an hour, when suddenly the door was kicked open and the first thing Irving saw were knee-high shining boots. He was taken from the Italians by a German feldwebel, who said to him, “You’re American. Would you like a cigarette?” Irving took a cigarette and lit it. The German said, “You are about to meet the greatest general that ever existed—that ever was. General Rommel heard an American flyer came down. He’s never seen one, and he wants to meet you.”

“They put him on a half-track and drove him back to Rommel’s headquarters,” Jurine said. “On the way they talked about Rommel like he was God. Irving said these young men are blond-haired, blue-eyed, smoking cigarettes. They were saying things like, ‘We’re brothers. We should be fighting together. We should be fighting against those Mongols and those Jew bastards on Wall Street.’

“That’s when Irving came out of his shock and realized he had an ‘H’ on his dog tags—for Hebrew.

“He did meet Rommel. But Rommel said nothing to Irving—he just looked him over and left.”

From Rommel’s headquarters, the Germans took Irving to their field hospital. There were people with arms blown off and it was a horrible scene. They took him in ahead of those who were waiting, dressed his wounds, and interrogated him.

“From there they turned me over to another group.” Irving explained. “It was on a half-track. I didn’t know where they were taking me, but they took me—and there was no officer there—they took me to the crash site. Now, the A-20 that we had crashed into, I remember it had crashed and I remember seeing fire and it burned. Our plane had not burned, but the Germans dug shallow graves. They were only a foot deep. The bombardier and navigator were killed in the crash, and they were mincemeat. It was so gory.

“As I said, I was wounded and in shock. They gave me a shovel, and I had to pull out these bodies. I dragged them into the grave and started putting dirt over them because that is what they were wanting me to do. Then I think I sort of buckled up in the knees and collapsed. They took me back to the half-track and they finished burying them.”

Irving’s conjecture was that the Germans ordered him to bury his fallen comrads out of respect. They were according him an honor, because for them the ultimate respect was to bury a fallen comrade.

“Since I talked to Roland I’ve been going through videos I have of Irving,” Jurine said. “I found a half-an-hour tape of him talking to my son. Irving said it was a horrific experience, because it was just pieces of bodies that he was having to bury. Irving thought later maybe Rommel gave the order for him to be sent to bury his comrades. But who knows.”

Then Irving was taken to prison camp in Germany. It was on the way to camp that he again saw Captain Croteau. Irving was interned in Stalag Luft III for the remainder of the war.

I asked Jurine how Irving kept the Germans from discovering he was Jewish. She said Irving buried his dog tags in the sand.

“Montgomery and the Americans were bombing the hell out of Rommel’s force there. So Irving was able to get his dog tags off and bury them.”

Jurine told me Irving’s family was in show business. At Stalag Luft III the Germans let the prisoners build a theater in one of the barracks. Irving wrote, directed, and starred in productions.

Jurine said, “I have some pictures, about 2 x 3 inches large, that have holes around the edges where they had been sewn into letters sent home to family. I understand the photos were taken by the German guards and given to the prisoners to send home so America could see how ‘good’ the prisoners were being treated.

“A picture taken in the camp is famous for being in Life magazine on May 31, 1943. In it, American POWs are pictured outside their barracks. [See the photo at the end of this post.]

“At the end of ’44 or the beginning of ’45, the guys did a production—more like vaudeville than a play—with different acts, including a whole spoof on Hitler. The German officers came to see all the productions, and they laughed with everybody else. They were doing Hitler like he was Charlie Chaplin. The German officers thought it was really funny.

“There exist pictures of them building the theater and pictures of them on stage.

“The other thing that Irving said about the German officers was that in the beginning of the war they treated the Allies as if they were soldiers. They just happened to be on the opposite side. There wasn’t any cruelty. They would steal their Red Cross packages, but they weren’t beating them and killing them.”

Shortly after my contact with Jurine, I heard from Stephen P. Johnson, a historian with the World War II Division of the U.S. Defense POW/Missing Personnel Office in Washington, D.C.

“I just finished reading Mr. Rakow’s account of his experiences.” Dr. Johnson wrote. “At the end he notes that Captain Croteau died in Seattle, ‘not long after the war.’ You might care to let him know that this is incorrect. Hubert P. Croteau passed away in Eugene, Oregon, on 24 March 2006, at the age of 87.”

Dr. Johnson sent me a link to an obituary for Captain Croteau.

He went on to explain, “As you probably know, this agency (DPMO) tries to locate and identify the missing from past conflicts. My division responds to Congressional inquiries, and questions forwarded through the various service casualty offices. I’m researching such an inquiry at the time, and it concerns S/Sgt Rakow’s aircrew.

“The remains of McPartlin, Archer, and Anderson have never been recorded. The 83rd Bomb Squadron did not accomplish the required Missing Air Crew Report (MACR), and the unit records that did survive the war and make their way into the National Archives are sparse (fully understandable as they were busy fighting a war, but inconvenient for the historian trying to find the missing from the war).”

Four years ago, in March 2009, I heard from Bob McPartlin, the nephew of 2nd Lt. Robert J. McPartlin, navigator of the downed plane.

At the time, I was able to put Bob in contact with Roland Rakow, whom he visited that same month in Florida. Bob also later made contact with Jurine Biers.

Below is a photocopy of the page from Life magazine with the featured American POWs.

“Irving is on the right sitting down with gloves on,” she explained.

The caption beneath the photo reads:

“Captured American fliers pose for a snapshot in a prison camp somewhere in Gemany. Second Lieut. A. L. Graham Jr. of the Air Forces, who was shot down over Europe on Nov. 9, 1942, sent this picture to his mother, Mrs. Pearl Graham of Floyd, Va., stitched to the inside of a letter. Graham sits third from left with his back against a building. His letter, dated January 19, follows: ‘Dear Mother, Just a few lines to let you know I am well and getting along fine. Attached to this letter is a picture of a group of us Americans taken outside of our barracks. I am learning to ice skate on an ice-skating rink we have fixed up inside our compound. Ice skating, attending a few lectures, and sleeping, just about dominated our time here in camp. Mama, is my allotment still coming in every month? If so, how much do I have in the bank now? You can send a food parcel every three weeks; send such things as oatmeal, cocoa, chocolate bars, tinned meat and stuff to make puddings. In clothing parcel send me a pair of pants, shirt, socks, undershirts and shorts, toothpaste and brush. Contact the post office and they will give you information on sending parcels. Love, A. L. Graham Jr, 2nd Lt. U.S.A.A.F.’ As officer-prisoners, Lieut. Graham and companions cannot be required to work under international law.”

Additional Notes from Roland Rakow

This month, Roland himself asked me to share this information on the site:

“This addendum is intended to correct certain statements on—and add information to—my narrative that I did not know at the time of the writing.

“The information was given by Lieutenant Irving Biers to his wife, Jurine Biers, before his death in 1996 during recorded interviews.”

1. “The dates for the bombing mission of my group (83rd Squadron, 12 Bomb Group of the U.S. Army Air Force) at the Battle of Alam el Halfa, near El Alamein, were roughly August 25 through September 5, 1942″ Roland said. “The mission has since become known as the Battle of El Alamein. My plane’s first mission, on August 31, was successful. But our second mission, on September 1, ended in tragedy for three of our crew.

2. “In the years since the war, I had never tried to contact any of the remaining members of my crew. But Jurine Biers, after her husband’s death, discovered through this website that I was still living, and she contacted me.”

Shortly afterward Jurine and her grandson Jason—who is a Marine veteran of the Iraq war and an Army veteran of the war in Afghanistan—were going to be in Florida. Jurine and Jason visited Roland during that Florida trip.

3. Roland would like the record to be clear regarding what happened to the crew at the time of the crash. Jurine Biers provided this description from Irving’s recorded interview:

“We were in four echelons of nine planes each. And in each of them there were six-three, three South African A-20As. And then we were the three B-25s. The flak was very intensive. The Germans had these 88 millimeters that were very accurate. And this time we were hit returning from dropping our bombs. I knew we were hit because I had flak—my right arm. We were hit on that side. The main hit of flak was on the tail because we lost control. There was no control. There was nothing. And the plane just on its own started going. It went off to the side.

“There was another echelon of South African planes below us. We tried to control our plane using the engines. We were going so fast. I saw it coming. But it was too late, because we went into it a way. It wasn’t in front of us—it was underneath us. It was a tremendous crash and everything was falling down. I think we were probably at an altitude of 4,000 or 5,000 feet when this happened. And evidently the radio came down and knocked me out. I was the co-pilot. I don’t know how long I was out, but it couldn’t have been very long. But I sort of came to. It was like the noise, the wind—and I was being pushed forward in my seat. And my first reaction was to open the hatch-and I remember turning and seeing the bombardier and navigator were in the compartment behind me. They were being bounced back all over the place like ping-pong balls. I couldn’t even reach the lever—the centrifugal force was so strong. Later on I figured what happened was that we were in an inverted outside spin, which is very unusual. Usually in a spin you’re being forced back. This, we were being tossed forward because it was inverted spinning.

“Then all of a sudden I looked and there was a hatch up on the top that was open. The pilot wasn’t there. This is all in a fraction of a second. He had evidently pulled the hatch and went out. The hatch up on top was never meant to be used for flying. So I went up and got caught in the hatch because the centrifugal force was so great. I don’t remember pulling the ripcord, but I must have because the parachute opened and there was barely 500 feet to the ground. In a matter of a second and a half I would been killed.”

Staff Sergeant Anderson, the top turret gunner, was not found and was assumed killed.

Irving said that he did not see Roland bail out of the plane and assumed he was killed. The South African Air Force pilot Irving encountered later told Irving that someone had taken a picture of Roland bailing out of the hit B-25, but since the war Roland has not been able to verify that the photo was taken.

3. “A correction should be made concerning Captain Croteau and Irving,” Roland said. “Both were wounded. Captain Croteau suffered a broken leg and Irving was hit by shrapnel to the right arm and upper body. They were captured separately. Irving didn’t see Captain Croteau again until they were both on their way to Germany to prison camp.”

Irving Biers died of lung cancer in Marin County, California, on June 2, 1996. Irving had lived in Coral Gables, Florida, in the 1970s—at the same time Roland was living there—but they were unaware of it and never met again.

Below is a list of 24 British servicemen who escaped from Camp 59 in September 1943. Of these names, 22 are new to this site. I felt great satisfaction in adding them to the master Prisoner List page last night.

All of these escapees traveled south from the camp and safely reached the Allied lines.

The list is courtesy of British researcher Brian Sims. Brian’s father, T/221204 Dvr W. H. Sims, died at sea as a POW in November 1942. Brian’s accessing of records about the sinking of the S.S. Scillin by a British submarine as it carried POWs from Libya to Italy launched his over his over 20 years of research into POW records at the UK National Archives.

The two names that are not new to this site are H. Schofield and Howard F. Jones (H. F. Jones below).

Giuseppe Millozzi, in Allied Prisoners of War in the Region of the Marche and Prison Camp at Servigliano has written that H. Schofield was among the first to escape through the hole in the camp’s west wall, with fellow SAS soldier J. G. Whitlow on September 14, 1943.

Captain J. H. D. Millar, the British officer who was responsible for the evacuation of Camp 59 on September 14, 1943, said in his memoir that he left the camp with Howard F. Jones that night.

Although the records show that most of the men left camp the night of September 14, the record for F. T. Lockett indicates he left a day later, whereas the records of W. G. Newall and B. Guy indicate they left on September 12.

When I questioned whether the three men actually left on these earlier and later dates, Brian said it’s possible the dates could be wrong. “It was a time of great stress so little slip ups could occur,” he wrote.

“There is evidence that at least two sets of Reports made by Escapers through the Lines cannot be found, and that not 100% of Escapers into Switzerland made Reports. This is referred to by MI9 in comments made on a couple of Reports I have read.

“Many POW who were on the loose after the Armistice in Italy were killed by either the Italian Fascists or Germans. The War Crimes Files contain many accounts.”

Many thanks to Brian for sharing the list and allowing me to post it on this site.

F. T. Lockett
Service Number—5050489
Sergeant
2nd Battalion, Parachute Regiment
Escaped from Camp 59 on September 15, 1943

A. A. Willis
Service Number—5774137
Sergeant
2nd Battalion, Parachute Regiment
Escaped from Camp 59 on September 14, 1943

L. Rowbottom
Service Number—1065671
Sergeant
3rd Regiment, Royal Horse Artillery
Escaped from Camp 59 on September 14, 1943

H. Schofield
Service Number—2368486
Signalman
Special Air Service
Escaped from Camp 59 on September 14, 1943

H. F. Jones
Service Number—7518016
Corporal
16th Parachute Field Ambulance
Escaped from Camp 59 on September 14, 1943

G. W. Jaques
Service Number—883615
Gunner
Special Air Service
Escaped from Camp 59 on September 14, 1943

R. E. M. Gollop
Service Number—7586544
Sergeant
2nd Battalion, Hampshire Regiment
Escaped from Camp 59 on September 14, 1943

T. H. Knight
Service Number—5493563
Sergeant
Escaped from Camp 59 on September 14, 1943

H. Tugwell
Service Number—614025
Sergeant
1st Battalion, East Surrey Regiment
Escaped from Camp 59 on September 14, 1943

J. W. T. Duffield
Flight Sergeant
Royal Air Force
Service Number—568313
Escaped from Camp 59 on September 14, 1943

E. R. H. Silverman
Service Number—7015022
Sergeant
London Irish Rifles
Escaped from Camp 59 on September 14, 1943

C. Cowley
Service Number—5495088
2nd Battalion, Hampshire Regiment
Sergeant
Escaped from Camp 59 on September 14, 1943

F. R. Jackson
Service Number—7888771
Trooper
7th Battalion, Royal Tank Regiment
Escaped from Camp 59 on September 14, 1943

W. G. Newall
Service Number—6137771
Lance-Sergeant
1st Battalion, East Surrey Regiment
Escaped from Camp 59 on September 12, 1943

G. Georgiou
Service Number—1712593
Gunner
49th Battalion, Light Anti-Aircraft Regiment, Royal Artillery
Escaped from Camp 59 on September 14, 1943

G. Aitken
Service Number—2980168
Lance-Sergeant
93rd Battalion, Anti-Tank Regiment, Royal Artillery
Escaped from Camp 59 on September 14, 1943

W. Burns
Service Number—3196639
Sergeant
2nd Battalion, Parachute Regiment
Escaped from Camp 59 on September 14, 1943

R. H. Collins
Service Number—5342465
Lance-Sergeant
2nd Battalion, Parachute Regiment
Escaped from Camp 59 on September 14, 1943

S. C. Dowland
Service Number—2614655
Corporal
1st Special Air Service Regiment
Escaped from Camp 59 on September 14, 1943

J. M. Greenshields
Platoon Acting Sergeant
Service Number—860452
Royal Horse Artillery
Escaped from Camp 59 on September 14, 1943

B. Guy
Service Number—902822
Flight Sergeant
39th Squadron, Royal Air Force
Escaped from Camp 59 on September 12, 1943

P. A. Hawksley-Hill
Service Number—115227
Sergeant Pilot
185th Squadron, Royal Air Force
Escaped from Camp 59 on September 14, 1943

G. Mackenzie
Service Number—2748467
Sergeant
2nd Battalion, Parachute Regiment
Escaped from Camp 59 on September 14, 1943

J. F. Meyler
Service Number—4886262
Sergeant
5th Battalion, Royal Tank Regiment
Escaped from Camp 59 on September 14, 1943

Giovina Fioravanti, circa 1940s, and a more recently photo on the Isle of Wight

I received an e-mail late last month from Isabelle Burberry on the Isle of Wight on the south coast of England.

She wrote, “I am in possession of the Certificate of Gratitude signed by Field-Marshall H.R. Alexander awarded to my Mother, Fioravanti Giovina. My Mother is extremely proud of said Certificate and would show it off to all and sundry even to this day. However, I was completely unaware of the story behind the Certificate until a search on the internet led me to your site.”

“I’m not really sure exactly what it was that my mother did, but presume it was to provide help. I know that she was with the Red Cross, and I seem to remember that she had been in Albania and was travelling back down from the North to the South of Italy to be reunited with her family.”

Giovina’s family lived about an hour south of Rome.

The certificates, signed by Field Marshal Harold Alexander, commander of Allied forces in Italy, were issued to a select group of Italians who had risked their lives to protect escaped British POWs and evaders (soldiers evading capture in enemy territory) during German occupation of their homeland.

Isabelle went on to explain, “My Mother met my Father, Frank William Mitchell—probably just after the War—in Rome, where he worked at the Foreign Office. After that they lived in Paris, where I was born, and we all came to live in London when I was just over two. Mum lived in Tottenham from that time on. Dad died in 1973.

Giovina, who was struck with illness about a month ago, is now in a care home following hospitalization.

“Mum, although proud of her certificate, didn’t really talk much about ‘what she did in the War,’” Isabelle wrote. “To say that I’m even prouder of her now is an understatement.”

Giovina’s Alexander Certificate

This certificate is awarded to Fioravanti Giovina as a token of gratitude for and appreciation of the help given to the Sailors, Soldiers, and Airmen of the British Commonwealth of Nations, which enabled them to escape from, or evade capture by the enemy.

H.R. Alexander
Field-Marshall,
Supreme Allied Commander,
Mediterranean Theatre
1939-1945

Other Italians mentioned on this site who received Alexander Certificates are Gigi Pistoia, who assisted G. Norman Davison in his escape, and Nicola and Liberato Lagalla, teenage brothers who transported Captain J. H. Derek Millar and dozens of other escaped POWs in fishing boats down Italy’s Adriatic coast from San Benedetto del Tronto to Termoli.

After I added the post on Giovina Fioravanti to the Camp 59 Survivors site this week, I heard from Joely Carter. Giovina is her husband’s grandmother. On her blog, iwishiwasalandgirl.wordpress.com, she has shared some personal reminiscences:

“My husband’s grandmother, Bella, has always been larger than life. A typical Italian matriarch, she is fiery and protective, and always wants to feed you! When I first met her around 7 years ago, I was struck by how beautiful and elegant she was, and couldn’t believe it when she told me she was 86! Bella is a term of endearment, her real name being Giovina Fioravanti. Originally, Bella aspired to be an actress however on the outbreak of World War II Bella volunteered her services to her country. Over the years, Bella has shared many stories with me, the most memorable being that during a boat crossing from Albania back to Italy, a Bulgarian man had taken a bullet for her using his body as a shield. When I first went to her house, I was proudly shown a certificate, which was hanging in the dining room. Bella explained that this was for bravery during the War, but never elaborated on what she had done to obtain this. It was always assumed that this was an award given to all Italians who played their part in the War.

“Recently my Mother In Law began to do a bit of digging into her mother’s history. With a little bit of help from some internet sites, Izzy discovered that Bella had been awarded her certificate for helping people escape from a POW camp in Italy.

“I am truly in awe of this wonderful woman, and am so proud to be part of her family. I wonder if there are others out there, who like Bella are too modest to tell their story. I hope that one day, your families will be able to say how proud they are of you.

“If you recognise Bella from the War years, please get in touch.”

We don’t know for sure what Bella did during the war. She most likely helped escaped POWs after they were out of the camps. Many prisoners were allowed to escape after the Italians signed the armistice with the Allies in September 1943. In some camps, including Camp 59, the guards left their posts or did not fire on prisoners as they fled.

As the Germans swept southward and began to recapture escapees, the men were reliant on local farmers and workers, many of whom opened their hearts and homes to them. The Italians could have been, and often were, beaten or killed if caught harboring fugitives.

Giovina may have helped to hide escaped prisoners. She may also have helped them find passage to the Allied lines in the south or neutral Switzerland. As a Red Cross worker, she may have provided medical care.

In any case, her Alexander certificate is evidence that what she did was significant. She may well have been responsible for many lives saved.

Private First Class Felice Vacca

I first heard about Felice “Phil” Vacca when his son Mario wrote to me last January:

“My father, Felice Vacca, escaped from PG 59 along with Peter Calvagno, Edmond Petrelli, Joe Mandese and Tony Spicola. I have visited the camp twice. I do have some history if you are interested.”

When I wrote back that of course I was very interested, Mario then sent me a long, detailed account of Phil’s experiences.

Mario had clearly invested a great deal of thought and effort into recording his father’s story. The format he chose was that of a scholarly research paper, complete with extensive footnotes, cross references to historical accounts of the war in North Africa (where Phil was captured), and links to web resources.

What I am posting here, with Mario’s permission, has been taken from that larger paper. Although I’ve removed the notes and references to external sources, the posts contain Phil’s full account of his experiences as well as additional details provided by Mario’s brother Jim.

Mario’s brother Tony was a resource for the paper, too. It was Tony who, when stationed in Italy during the 1960s, found the Virgili family—Phil’s protectors after his escape from Camp 59.

Two posts on this site related to Phil’s story. The account of his cousin Bucky’s death is in the North Africa American Cemetery and Memorial post. And the story of Tony’s 1968 visit to Camp 59 is documented in Twenty-five Years After the Escape.

This first part of Phil’s story begins with Phil’s family origins and covers his life through capture and transport as a POW to Italy. “Camp 59 and Escape” will cover the remainder of his time in Italy, and “War’s End” will wrap up his final military experience.

Felice “Phil” Vacca

The Account of His Capture and Escape During World War II

Phil in uniform

My father, Felice Domenick Vacca, was born in America on October 5, 1919. His nickname was Phil.

Phil was also known as Felice Rocco. I’m not certain why the Rocco name. Phil often explained the Rocco name by saying you had one name for your family and one name for business.

In November 1903, Phil’s father immigrated to America from Italy at the age of 15. His name as it appears on his immigration papers is Dominick Angelo Antonio Rocco. His name as it appears on the ship’s manifest is Domenicangelo Vacca. However, Phil’s step-grandfather was Vitale Felice Dominick Vacca, but he went by Felice Vacca. Confused? So am I.

Family history might help explain where the last name Rocco came from. Around 1888, there was a wealthy Vacca known as Cosmo Damiano Vacca who lived in Castelpetrosso, Italy. He was married to Terenziana Notte. They had two sons—Annibale and Gaetano—and a daughter, Delina.

Cosmo’s wife became ill and died young. A good neighbor, Aldino Cifelli, sent his daughter, Fiorangela Cifelli, to Cosmo’s house to do housework. Cosmo had an affair with her and she became pregnant.

At the same time, a crippled shoemaker who lived in the neighborhood, Vitale Felice Vacca, happened to be looking for a wife. Cosmo Vacca offered him Fiorangela as a wife, provided that Vitale would make Cosmo a pair of shoes.

Fiorangela must not have been showing her pregnancy.

Vitale Felice Vacca accepted the arrangement and the couple married. Shortly after their marriage a baby boy, Dominick Angelo Antonio Vacca, was born. When Vitale Felice figured out what had happened, he wanted to send Fiorangela back to her family.

Cosmo Vacca, the real father, offered Vitale Felice Vacca a lamb if he would keep Fiorangela. He also asked Fiorangela’s mother to encourage Vitale Felice to take her back. He took Fiorangela back, and they raised Dominick Angelo Antonio together and had children of their own.

Domenick Angelo Antonio’s half brothers and half sisters were: Tommaso (Thomas Alec), Carmine Raffaele (born June 22, 1892), Rocco Berardino (Benjamin or Benny—born December 12, 1895), and Antonietta (born April 4, 1898).

Phil talked of his Uncle Benny coming to visit while he was growing up. There is a picture of Uncle Benny in the family album, and I presume that Uncle Benny is Rocco Berardino Vacca and hence that is where the alias Rocco comes from.

Phil’s mother, Jeanette Linico, was born in the U.S. to Italian immigrants. Phil grew up in a home in New Jersey where Italian was spoken—speaking Italian was to be very useful to him in time.

Phil never shared much of his childhood experiences with us. He grew up in the midst of the Great Depression. His family didn’t have much, although Phil did have a favorite toy as a child—a bronze horse figurine. The horse—a part from someone’s discarded table lamp—was something Phil’s sister, Angelina, would keep for many years.

Angelina was a year younger than Phil, and he was very protective of her. At some point when Phil was young, his mother divorced his father. When their mom was unable to properly feed her children, Phil and Angelina were placed in an orphanage. I am not sure how long the two were separated, but when things got better they were reunited with their mother.

For a period of time, Phil was raised by his mother’s brother, Uncle Buck (Battista Linico Sr.), while his sister remained with their mother. Uncle Buck’s son, Battista Jr., was two years younger than Phil. The boys became close friends and Bucky was like a little brother to Phil.

Phil often told us that when he was a kid, he and his friends used to scrape up a nickel to go and see a movie. They always stayed for the second showing. When the second movie started, they would make a ruckus and get booted out. Their money was summarily refunded, so they returned to see another movie the next week.

To make money, Phil delivered newspapers. His daily route took him by the Lindbergh house during the time of the famous Lindbergh kidnapping. By the time he was 17, Phil joined the Civilian Conservation Corps. While in the CCC, he worked hard and earned enough money to open a savings account and buy some land.

At age 21, 11 months before Pearl Harbor was attacked, Phil and Bucky, joined the Army together. About two years later Phil would be a prisoner of war.

Phil told us that when he was listed as “missing in action,” his sister and mother took his property and cleaned out his bank account.

To add insult to injury, upon his return his mother—wanting his life insurance money—said to him, “We would have been better off if you had never returned.”

He never spoke to his mother again, and failed to attend her funeral.

Although Phil told us he didn’t speak to his sister again, it wasn’t true. Pictures of his return from the war tell a different story.

Phil moved to North Dakota after the war and never returned to New Jersey. I was younger and really knew nothing of my relatives out East. There had to be an occasional but infrequent phone call. Phil had an Aunt Linico that he always talked about and that was the first relative on his side that I ever met. Perhaps she moderated conversations—I really don’t know.

I learned years later that upon his return, Phil brought a pair of white leather shoes for Angelina’s young daughter, Phyllis. Phyllis tells us that the shoes had gotten wet and the family, knowing how expensive they were, put them on the wood stove to dry. The shoes shrank and no longer fit her, but they never told Phil.

When Phil’s son Jim was burned in an accidental fire, Angelina, on learning the news, worked an extra job to send money to help pay Jim’s medical bills.

Later in his life, Phil worked for Garrison Powerhouse in North Dakota. A contracting company from Philadelphia, Franklin Engineering, was hired to perform studies for the company. By coincidence, Phil learned from the contractor of a Vacca who worked for Franklin Engineering. A meeting was arranged for Phil to meet this Philadelphia Vacca, and that trip, in May 1981, brought him to a final family reunion. It had been 37 years since Phil and his sister had spoken to each. On their meeting, Angelina returned Phil’s “toy” horse.

Over the years we were told lots of short stories—what led to Phil’s capture, his treatment while a prisoner of war, and how the Italian people sacrificed so much to help him.

Phil was a hero, but he never acted like it. As life went on, his memories faded. He seemed a broken man, not the proud and feisty person we saw in pictures of him from before and just after the war. The experience of being captured early in the war, humiliated, and mistreated by his “own” people took its toll. Phil often broke into tears when he talked about the war. It was only later in life that he found the ex-POW organization, which allowed him to open up and share his story as he became friends with others who had suffered similar fates.

How Phil actually escaped has always been a mystery to me. After reaching the American lines he signed a nondisclosure statement, vowing never to tell the details of the escape. Years later, he wrote to the Department of the Army, asking for permission to disclose those details. The government’s reply was ambiguous. It only added to the mystery and my desire to know what happened.

Phil Vacca and his cousin, Battista “Bucky” Linico, enlisted in the U.S. Army under the “buddy system” at the post office in Trenton, New Jersey, on January 3, 1941. The United States would not declare war until December 11 of that year. Jobs were scarce and Phil was paid $21 a month. When he enlisted, he figured there might be a war. As he put it, “the Germans were taking over a lot of countries.”

Phil and Bucky were sent to Fort Hamilton in Brooklyn, New York, for training. Both became members of the 18th Infantry, Company A, of the 1st Division (the “Big Red One”). The 1st Division, at the time scattered across the country, was reorganized with the 16th, 18th and 26th Infantries, located at Fort Devens, Massachusetts.

They were at Fort Devens when Pearl Harbor was attacked on December 7, 1941.

Phil practicing with the B.A.R.

The day after the attack on Pearl Harbor, Congress declared war against the Japanese Empire. Three days later, Germany and Italy declared war on the United States, and Congress responded by recognizing a state of war with the Axis powers.

Phil and Bucky spent that winter and spring in Camp Blanding, Florida, and then at Fort Benning, Georgia. Most of that time was spent practicing boat landings. From there, Phil and Bucky went on to Indiantown Gap Military Reservation in Pennsylvania, and then they boarded a train to New York City.

Picture found in Phil’s memorabilia

On August 2, 1942, the First Division boarded the Queen Mary for England. It was the first time a complete division was carried on a ship. The 1st Armored Infantry Division (15,125 troops, 863 crew) was comprised of three regiments of infantry: the 16th, 18th, and 26th. Craps was the game of choice while en route.
On August 7, the ship disembarked at Gourock, Scotland.

By August 9, the regiments and other division troops had moved into Tidworth Barracks near Salisbury in southern England to continue practicing maneuvers. Phil remembers passing through Stonehenge during one of these maneuvers. He later joked that he got to pee on Stonehenge.

Stonehenge is about halfway between Tidworth and Salisbury, just west of the town of Amesbury and 90 miles west of London.

An Allied command decision was made on September 5 to attempt landings at three sites in Morocco and at half a dozen beaches around Algiers and Oran.

Packed into over 200 ships that were part of an 850-ship convoy coming from England and the U.S. mainland, the invasion forces began their journey to war. Where they were going was unknown to the men. The time and exact places of attack were a mystery. They headed out of the English Channel on the morning of October 27. The armada zigzagged in many directions to mislead German air or water reconnaissance patrols about the final destination of the invading fleet.

En route to North Africa, the troop ships traveled to Greenland and then crossed the equator in the attempt to fool the reconnaissance.

On November 1, officers were briefed about the impending attack. On November 6, the silent convoy headed for the pass to the Mediterranean at the Rock of Gibraltar. The 18th Infantry was to land on beaches a few miles east of Oran, near the area’s second principal port town of Arzew.

At 12:55 a.m. on November 8, General Terry Allen ordered the assault forces of the “Big Red One” to head for the beaches.

Allen and a larger portion of his 1st Division descended on Oran from the sandstone hills above St. Cloud, a key crossroads east of the city. At mid-afternoon, the battalion attacked once more, down the road from Renan, joined by the 2nd Battalion in an attempt to outflank the defenders on the south.

Upon landing, the sign and countersign was “Hi Ho Silver” and “Away!” Failing to respond correctly had dire consequences. One soldier was shot for failing to do so. The bullet lodged in his Browning automatic rifle ammunition belt, which saved his life.

The Army had trained Phil well. He was an excellent marksman with a B.A.R. and a 45-caliber pistol.

“I had a chance to take out a French soldier,” Phil said. “We had been told the French would not fight, so I decided not to fire.”

St. Cloud was a town of 3,500 inhabitants, with sturdy stone dwellings surrounded by vineyards. The town had been reinforced with the 16th Tunisian Infantry Regiment of the 1st Battalion of the Foreign Legion, an artillery battalion, and paramilitary troops of the Service d’Ordre Légionnaire.

“A sniper positioned in a bell tower had us pinned down,” Phil said. “I used my B.A.R. and painted a cross with several rounds across the sniper’s window. The sniper was never heard from again.

“We spent one night in a cemetery. That was the scariest night of my life.”

Sometime during the battle for St. Cloud, Phil witnessed his cousin Bucky’s death. Bucky’s mother would receive news by telegram that he was killed in action in the “Western European Area” on November 10. He was 21 years old. (add link)

The 1st then proceeded to St. Cloud and on to the Tunisian front.

Phil said, “On the night of December 22, 1942, we climbed up the mountain to take our position. We put up a battle on the morning of December 23. The German’s Afrika Korps was waiting for us.

“My squad sergeant was killed in the action. Before he was killed, he ordered me to move to another spot.” After he took Phil’s former position, the sergeant was shot.

About 7:30 or 8 a.m. on December 23, Phil became a POW. He later recalled the weather was cloudy and misty in the mountains of Tunisia and on the hill called Longstop, later renamed Hill 609.

In Phil’s words, “Of our company of roughly 250 men, half to two-thirds were gone. Upon orders of the captain, most of the men surrendered. In our platoon, I was the gunner with the B.A.R. rifle. Upon my capture I dislodged the trigger mechanism, which fell apart and could not be used. I did have two hand grenades in my overcoat pocket. I gave them to the German soldier, who handled them very carefully. The German also threw the bipod for my B.A.R. well out of reach. It weighed around two-and-a-half pounds.”

“The captain of our company was Jewish.” Phil said. “After being captured, he managed to lose his dog tags. Otherwise the Germans would have treated him differently.

“We were ordered to march in a group to the city of Tunis, where we were herded into a large barn. The German major who was there said to us, ‘We are going to lose the war, but we are going to make it hell for you.’

“The major had gone to college in Montana and still had a girlfriend there. We receive no food the night of December 23. On December 24, we were interrogated by German officers. Questions asked were: When did we leave the U.S.A? How many men were in the outfit? Et cetera. The Germans knew more about the war than we did. They told us when, where, and dates of our leaving the U.S.A. Our meal that night consisted of bread and jelly.

“Our company commander, a captain, was taken with us to Tunis. That was the last we saw of him. He was flown to Germany. All soldiers and non-coms were with us. It was assumed that all officers were taken to a camp of their own for special interrogation. The difference in rank had no effect on me. At the time of our capture they told us our family would be notified. At that time the Germans made a recording, having each soldier give his name and state that he was from the front lines. There were gun sounds in the background.

“The Germans split the captured prisoners. Although we were captured by the Germans, we were handed over to the Italians. The Germans flew theirs to Germany and the Italians took theirs to Italy. We were loaded on an Italian destroyer and taken to Palermo, Sicily—arriving there late that same night.

“To the Germans we were soldiers. To the Italians we were traitors. As we disembarked, the Italian soldiers had to keep the Italian people away. Our names were called out as we walked down the gangplank. The Italian mob was jabbing their fingers trying to hit us in the eyes and spit on us as they heard our names being called. Us, being of Italian descent, did not agree with them. They shouted, ‘Come combattete la vostra propria anima!’ (You come and fight against your own blood!) At Palermo, they placed us in a riding stable and we were checked out by a doctor. On December 25, we had soup for Christmas dinner.

“When we arrived in Palermo, we received orders that all those of Italian decent would be sent to Rome for interrogations.

“We were later taken by truck to Camp P.G. 98 near Monreale, Sicily—out in the country near a mountain pass about 20 km from Palermo. Camp P.G. 98 had tents—about 75 to 100 feet long and 30 feet wide—sort of two tents in one unit, with about two feet space between them. We had no heat. The beds were made of wood frames—double-deckers with straw mattresses. Food was rice soup with a slice of bread. The latrine was an open pit style. Wire enclosed the camp.

Story continued in “Felice ‘Phil’ Vacca, Part 2—Camp 59 and Escape”.

Phil Vacca escaped from Camp 59 with four other prisoners, shown in this photograph. At rear (left to right) are Peter Calvagno, Edmond Petrelli, and Joe Mandese. In front (left to right) are Tony Spicola, and Phil Vacca.

This post is the second installment of the story of Camp 59 survivor Felice “Phil Vacca, which began with “Part 1—Off to War.”

“In January of 1943, we were taken by passenger car to Rome, Camp P.G. 50. Approximately 20 of us American-Italians spent about a month there being interrogated. The questions they asked were the same as before (and they already had the answers to them). There was a German planted among us who spoke American English quite fluently. The interrogators were an Italian Calvary and Mountain Troops (The Alpine Post). While I was there, I saw Mussolini’s Arabian horse. It was a beautiful horse.

“Our group of American Italians remained together for the rest of our trip by passenger car to Camp P.G. 59.

“When we were captured, we had regular uniform on. We had our heavy coats, since the nights were cool, even in North Africa. After our arrival at our permanent camp, P.G. 59, we were given gray jackets with a red 4 x 4-inch patch on the right side of the back of the jacket. On the pants they had sewed on another 4 x 4-inch red patch between the knee and hip. They let us keep our uniform, except for the gray jacket, which was theirs.”

Camp P.G. 59 had wood frame buildings for barracks, with windows and two doors—one at each end of the building. The barracks were intact, but with no heat of any kind. The windows were open to the outside. Bugs and lice were plentiful.

“You’d go in for delousing and come out worse than when you went in.” Phil said. “We passed time with bed bugs and body lice.

“We were placed with other Americans, but us American-Italians were kept as a separate group. English, Australians, and Greeks were also in the same compound. The English and some of the Greeks had been there for quite some time. The camp was enclosed by a ten-foot wall with glass shards embedded on the top. There were manned guard towers along the wall, approximately 100 feet apart. The barracks were set up in sections. A sergeant was in charge of about 25 to 30 men.

“The lights in the barracks went dark at 10 p.m. Roll call was at 8 a.m.

“Every morning we lined up on the parade ground in a section, being counted by the Italian guard and our section sergeant. The guards carried rifles, pistols, and machine guns. I never played any tricks on the guards.

“The latrine was a small building. No stools—a hole in the concrete was used to do either business. A water faucet served for all needs—drinking and washing. The beds were wood frames, four on the bottom and four on the top, each with a straw mattress and one blanket.

“The day began with black chicory each morning. The daily afternoon meal was a bowl of undercooked rice soup and about 200 grams (7 ounces) of dark bread formed into a bun. Sometimes there were greens added in the rice soup. On Sundays, all of the prisoners received a very small, very thin, piece of meat. Our eating utensils consisted of fork and spoon. We had a bowl and a cup to eat out of. I made a knife from a harmonica slide.

“We made little forges, like those used by a blacksmith, to heat water and warm can goods on. The forge consisted of a fan and a firebox, with a crank to blow air into the firebox. Although Red Cross parcels were received once a week, the cans were punctured by the guards with a hammer to make two holes. That would make the food spoil in a day or two. My buddy and I shared one of those Red Cross parcels.

“I received a few letters from home, but no packages. We didn’t see much of the enemy in combat or other doings. We received some news about the war outside through the guards. We felt we would win the war but it would take time. Once in awhile the enemy would circulate a propaganda paper through the camp. Among other things it said the Allies were losing the war. We were told Frank Sinatra and Bing Crosby were dead. Camp P.G. 59 was never bombed or attacked while I was there.

“We were not assigned any responsibilities of any kind, other than to keep clean and stay out of trouble. Although they had work details, I chose not to work. One detail was to cook. Another detail ran the wheelbarrow. The wheelbarrow detail consisted of one man pulling and the other pushing a wheelbarrow full of rocks. The rocks were used to keep the paths and grounds level. Those that worked in the details were given an extra loaf of bread. Recreation consisted of walking around the compound.”

Phil passed the time playing battleship with others. A few of the non-coms held classes in subjects like languages and painting.

“The men that I knew very well were mostly in our platoon and squad,” Phil continued. “Most men got along very well, although the love between the English and the Americans wasn’t too good at times. There was a jailhouse or stockade for those who poked fun or cursed the guards. There were a few who made it rough for themselves. They would cuss the soldiers up and down and were then thrown into the guardhouse with bread and water.”

“One lucky guy took it upon himself to pass gas as the guard walked by. He nearly had his eyes gouged out by the guard’s thumbs. Another gentleman was hung by his thumbs for the night. They cut the buttons off his coat after hanging him up. He was dead from exposure by morning.

“Another unlucky soul was shot in the mouth while in prison. He survived the gunshot. I remember him having to plug the hole in his face with his finger in order to smoke a cigarette. The Germans and Italians wanted to kill the POWs.

“Although we had to contend with body lice and bedbugs, I never was aware of any epidemics or sickness in the camp. There were a few sick and irrational men in the camp, but they were kept in the same area, watched by fellow GIs.

“Out of hunger, a few men decided to eat corncobs. It made them very sick and tore up their insides.

“Those that were wounded received the usual first aid treatment. My age, family, and religion kept me going. Our medical care was provided by a British major. While in camp we did receive a booster shot of some kind. It was given in the chest below the heart. Two or three prisoners died while I was there, two British soldiers and one American. We all stood at attention for their final burial. Being close to death was the least of my thoughts. I did not suffer any wounds except for my pride.”

Back home, Phil’s mother, living in Lambertville, New Jersey, was informed twice that Phil was missing in action. She later received word from the Catholic Church underground that he was a POW. Phil still had his prayer book, the only item not confiscated when he was taken prisoner.

On May 3, 1943, Phil was listed in a Lambertville newspaper as being a captive in Italy. Although previously declared as “missing,” a new communication from the War Department to Phil’s mother notified her that her son was a prisoner of war in Italy.

The Italian armistice was signed in early September 1943.

On September 14 at 3 p.m., Phil escaped along with Tony Spicola of the Bronx, New York; Peter Calvagno of Brooklyn, New York; Edmond Petrelli of New Haven, Connecticut; and Joe Mandese of Jersey City, New Jersey. There is only one written record of their escape. To this day, exact details on how they got out is still not known. They hid in the hills like fugitives while the Germans traced right behind them. All were with the 1st Division, Company A, of the 18th Infantry—except for Joe Mandese. Phil first met Joe at Palermo. He was a member of a mechanized unit and had been captured around the same time.

On this scrap of paper, Phil recorded his capture and transfer from prison to prison:

Teboura Dec 23, 1942
Tunis (city)
Tunisia (country)
Palermo shipped to Palermo
Rome 5 weeks app. [approximately]
Serveano [Servigliano] til time of escape in Sept 1943
P.G. 59
P.M. 300
Returned July 2 1944

The Germans killed or re-captured as many of the escapees as they could. Whole villages were massacred as punishment for helping escaped prisoners.

The five escapees in Phil’s group hid out for several weeks in a corn shed.

The men didn’t know what to expect from the Italians. But when Italian farmers found them hiding out in the shed, the Virgili family, who lived nearby, took Phil in and the family’s sharecroppers cared for the other four soldiers.

The corn shed where Phil and the men he escaped with hid out

Inside of the corn shed

Phil’s grandmother lived in Italy “but it was better off that I didn’t see her,” Phil explained. The Germans “may have taken it out on her.”

When the soldiers were taken prisoner and interrogated, those who knew “what was going on” lied to the Germans about having relatives in Italy.

“They tried to find out where we came from,” Phil said. “If you knew their plan, you gave false information.”

Around that time American planes dropped leaflets by the thousands in the area, offering 5,000 lire to any Italian who would help hide and care for the escapees. “There were so many leaflets it looked as though it had snowed.”

(See post “Italians—Resist by Every Means!“)

The Virgili farm in this distant valley

View southward from the Virgili house. Phil hid in this clump of trees.

The Virgili family lived eleven miles from the prison camp.

Maria Virgili, a widow, had on one occasion risked her life in order to prevent Phil’s capture.

“The Germans would ride up and down the roadways, shooting into crevasses and thickets, and once killed an Italian boy,” Phil said. “We were told to stay low.” Children were sent from place to place to report on the Germans’ whereabouts, “so we knew who was traveling the roads.”

Luisa Virgili, then about 27 years old, hid Phil and two other American prisoners of war in a crevasse. The Germans were patrolling and shooting along the creek, trying to drive out or kill escapees. Luisa wanted to stay with the Americans until the immediate danger was over, but they talked her into going home.

The German soldiers had orders to shoot escaped prisoners on the spot, but the lucky ones were recaptured and shipped to Germany. Through the “grapevine” the Italians knew where the German soldiers were at all times.

Luisa’s mother had become particularly attached to Phil. The older Virgili daughter, Elena, who was 30 years old, and her brother Sergio, who was 32 years old, also befriended him.

The Virgili’s had a second son who was a POW in Russia. “That’s one place the Italians didn’t like to go, to fight against the Russians,” Phil recalled.

Twenty-five years later, Sergio would say of Phil, “Vacca lavoro duro, mangi piccolo, bevanda. Dove è il vino?” (Vacca works hard, eats little, drinks. Where’s the wine?) Phil stayed close to the Virgili farm. Seldom did he dare to venture out. But he basically stayed away from the house, sleeping where they kept the cows and sheep. “The family put itself in danger while helping us,” he said.

Luigia Virgili. As Luigia is a variant of the name Luisa, this woman is likely Luisa Virgili, who is shown below in a much later photograph.

Luisa, Sergio, Elena Virgili, in a photo taken years later

The grapevine communications did let the escaped soldiers know when it was safe to visit the houses.

“The food given to us in camp kept us alive, but when I escaped I weighed 98 pounds,” Phil said. He had lost about 80 pounds while imprisoned.

“I had sores on my body from the lice and bedbug bites.”

Of the Virgili family, he said, “They took us in, fed us, clothed us, took care of [hiding us from] the Nazis and the Fascists.”

Two months after leaving camp, Phil began having stomach problems and vomited frequently. He was fed raw eggs and wine to help heal the severe bedbug bites. The rich Italian food helped him regain his weight and health.

The Italians gave them odds and ends to wear. Years later he would still have the mismatched cufflinks he was given.

“I never had any news about the war while in hiding, but spent most of my time trying to get back to the American lines,” Phil said.

The five escapees made an attempt to get over the mountains to Switzerland, 200 miles to the north. Switzerland was a neutral country. However, “the Germans got wind of it—the intent failed.” Through contact with the Partisans, the underground Italians who helped the Americans, the soldiers learned the Germans had found their plan, “and we were told to stay put.”

Another attempt was made, with the help of the Partisans, to get out by boat. The Germans massacred the Partisans on the beach. Phil explained, “Our first sergeant kept us informed and told us to stay put. We had no arms.

“One farmer wanted to give me a shotgun that he had hidden beneath a drain trough for the barn. When retrieved it was rusted so bad that it fell apart.”

There was a pile of bricks nearby. If the German or Italian soldiers were coming the family would start whistling a particular song, giving the Americans enough time to hide in the brick pile. The Germans made an example of one 24-year-old Partisan who was caught. He was shot in the head in front of his parents. So, for 10 months the men played a dangerous game of hide and seek while the Virgili family endangered their lives to protect them.

The road that passed by the brick pile

When at last the Americans and English had driven the Germans pass Amandola, Italy, the men had the opportunity to contact the Allies. Luisa’s mother had become particularly attached to Phil and wanted him to stay in Italy after the war. He later recalled, “I would have been a deserter, wouldn’t I?”

Luigia gave Phil one lire for good luck, and some bread and eggs. “We emerged from our hiding places, dressed in English clothes, and headed south,” Phil said.

One-lire coin—the gift from Luigia

On this piece of paper, Phil recorded place names and events following his return to Allied Command in July 1 1944:

Felice D. Vacca
Delia Virgili

Severino
Marche
Amandola
Ascoli Piceni
Servigiano
Tebourba

Holy Com. [Communion] – July 2 “44
Ascoli – July 3 “
Pescara – July 4, “
Ortona – July 4, “
Torino di Sangro – July 4, “
(clothed & fed)
Termoli
Foggia July 5, “44
(American clothes)
(fed & bed)
Foggia left by plane to Alg. [Algeria] July 6, “44
Alg. July 7, “44
Alg. July 8, “44

“The English troops were on the east side of Italy, where we were located.” Phil explained. “On July 2, 1944, nine months and 21 days after escaping, we joined up with the British lines.”

It took some convincing to get the Americans to believe that they, too, were Americans. A first sergeant who knew Phil from P.G. 59 verified that he was indeed an American soldier.

“When we arrived at Torino Di Sangro, we were given new English uniforms,” Phil said. He was was examined and found to be in satisfactory condition.

“We boarded boxcars and rode to an American air base in Foggia, Italy. At Foggia we were issued new American uniforms.”

Letter confirming the Virgili family had helped Phil hide from the Germans

In translation:

Monte San Martino – July 3, 1944

From September 13, 1943 until today, July 3, 1944, we, the family of Sergio Virgili – son of Settimio, assisted the undersigned in the community of Monte San Martino

Province of Macerata, Marche

P. F. C. Felice Vacca
12011751 U. S. Army

Sergio Virgili

“My reaching the American line was the happiest day of my life!” Phil said. “We boarded an airplane and flew to Oran, Algiers. On July 25, 1944, we boarded a ship bound for America.

Story continued in “Part 3—War’s End.”

Mario Vacca shared the following leaflet with me.

His father, Felice “Phil” Vacca, an escapee from Camp 59, later described distribution of the leaflets over the Italian countryside:

“…American planes dropped [these] leaflets by the thousands in the area, offering 5,000 lire to any Italian who would help hide and care for the escapees. There were so many leaflets it looked as though it had snowed.”

Shown below are the leaflet’s front and back sides and translation into English.

ITALIANS UNDER THE GERMAN YOKE!

Throughout Italy’s roads, forests, and mountains partisan soldiers are in battle against the Germans.

Day and night from their shops, the railways, and fields, they continue to sabotage the oppressors.

Beyond their active struggle is work that everyone—regardless of age or gender—can do: help the English and American prisoners escape from the Germans.

If you help them escape, you will be returning seasoned soldiers to the battle, and give further proof of the Italians’ dedication to the cause of freedom!

For all Italians today there can be only one watchword:

RESIST THE GERMANS ALL MEANS IN YOUR POWER!

In Italian:

Italiani sotto il giogo tedesco!

Per tutta l’Italia, nelle strade, nei boschi, sulle montagne, bande armate di patrioti e di soldati non cessano di dar battaglia ai Tedeschi.

Giorno e notte i lavoratori, nelle officine, nelle ferrovie, nei campi, compiono atti di sabotaggio contro il secolare oppressore.

Ma oltre a queste forme attive di lotta, c’ è un’opera che tutti possono svolgere, senza riguardo a età o a sesso: aiutare i prigionieri inglese e americani sottrarsi di Tedeschi.

Se li aiutate a fuggire, voi restituirete alla lotta soldati agguerriti, e darete prova ulteriore dell’attaccamento degli Italiani alla causa della libertà!

Per gli Italiani tutti non v’ è oggi che una sola parola d’ordine:

RESISTETE AI TEDESCHI CON OGNI MEZZO IN VOSTRO POTERE!

ITALIANS!

Many English and American prisoners who have escaped from the hands of the Germans, and who consider us to be their friends, are in need of shelter, food, and clothing, and ultimately help to reach safety.

The Italian Government is resolved to fight the Germans by all possible means and wants all patriotic Italians to know that for every soldier, airman, and sailor you assist, you will be compensated 5,000 Lire. Your local government officials will distribute this reward for every prisoner you have assisted after liberation from German oppression.

Take care to record the names and, if possible, serial numbers of British and American prisoners you have saved, and make sure that they also have your names.

EVERY ENGLISH AND AMERICAN SOLDIER DELIVERED TO FREEDOM IS ONE LESS IN GERMAN CONTROL.

OUT WITH THE GERMANS!

In Italian:

ITALIANI!

Molti prigionieri inglisi e americani, riusciti a sfuggire dalle mani dei Tedeschi e a raggiungere l’Italia Libera, ci riferiscono di innumerevoli casi in cui amici italiani li hanno aiutati a sottrarsi al comune nemico, nascondendoli, fornendo loro cibo e vestiti e, infine, guidandoli verso la salvezza.

Il Governo Italiano, risoluto a proseguire con ogni mezzo a sua disposizione, a guerra contro i Tedeschi, desidera che tutti gli Italiani sappiano che il patriotismo e la generosità dì quanti aiutino soldati, aviatori e marinai inglisi o americani a [ritugiarsi] nell’Italia Libera [sarrano] compensati con un premio di lire cinque mila. Il premio sarà versato per tramite della Prefettura locale, non appena liberato dall’oppressore tedesco il territorio sotto la sua giurisdizione.

Abbiate cura di prender nota dei nomi e, possibilmente, dei numeri di matricola dei prigionieri inglesi e americani che salvate, assicurandovi che anche essi, a loro volta, abbiano I vostri nomi.

OGNI SOLDATO INGLESE O AMERICANO RESTITUITO ALLA’ LIBERTA, SIGNIFICA UN TEDESCO DI MENO

FUORI I TEDESCHI!

This post is the third and final installment of the story of Camp 59 survivor Felice “Phil Vacca, which began with “Part 1—Off to War,” and “Part 2—Camp 59 and Escape.”

“We landed at Boston, Massachusetts, on August 2, 1944. From there we were shipped to Camp Upton, Long Island, New York. At that time we were given a thirty-day vacation. After 30 days, on August 31, 1944, I reported to Camp Butner, North Carolina, for duty.”

There was a rule in force at that time that forbade Ex-POWs from returning to the same theater of action once repatriated. The military had the choice of sending Phil to the Pacific theater or keeping him in the U.S. He became a guard at the White House.

Phil standing guard in front of the Treasury Building, September 1945

“At that time I was picked out by Captain Minns, from the 250th Military Police (SP),” Phil explained, “[and we were] stationed at 17th and E behind the State Department in Washington, D.C. We had four machine guns—two that were located on the grounds in front of the White House near the Washington Monument, and one each on the East and West Wings.

“We patrolled around the White House on foot. I had the honor guarding two presidents, Roosevelt and Truman. Eleanor Roosevelt would often come out and visit with us soldiers.

Franklin Roosevelt’s last inauguration

“I was handpicked to stand honorary guard at President Roosevelt’s last inauguration,” Phil added.

He was thoroughly investigated before he was made an honorary guard along with several other POWs for special service. After the investigation he was told his last name was no longer Rocco, he was to use the Vacca name.

“I was also an honor guard when dignitaries such as General Eisenhower or General de Gaulle visited,” Phil said.

President Franklin Roosevelt died at Warm Springs, Georgia, on April 12, 1945. That same day, Harry S. Truman was sworn in as president. “I also was an honorary guard at President Roosevelt’s funeral. We remained there on guard for President Truman.”

Franklin Roosevelt’s funeral procession

Around that time, while standing guard over the Constitution in the Congressional Library, Phil met the woman he was to marry, Donna Olson, who worked at the Pentagon as a clerk in the court marshal division.

Phil Vacca (right) guarding the U.S. Constitution

On September 29, 1945, Japan surrendered. When the war ended, his unit, which had temporary barracks behind the State Department, was disbanded. At that time President and Mrs. Truman held a party at the White House for the Ex-POW guards.

“They served beer, Limburger cheese, and crackers, and showed a movie in the White House theater. It was good,” Phil recalled. “I will always feel most honored to have been selected to guard two of our greatest Presidents of all time.”

Phil’s mementos included the label from a bottle of Tommer’s White Label beer that was served at President Truman’s party

“I was the second soldier to leave the company on points,” Phil said. “I returned home. My appetite slowly came back as time went on.”

Because of the POW diet of rice, Phil would never eat rice again. Stomach problems persisted but he learned to live with them for the rest of his life.

Phil received the Bronze star, Good Conduct medal, POW medal, American Defense medal, EMAE medal, World War II medal, Bronze Service Star for the Algerian campaign, Bronze Star for the Tunisian campaign, Bronze Arrow Head for amphibious landing, and the Combat Infantry Badge.

Phil and Donna Vacca

Upon his discharge, Phil married Donna. The two traveled between North Dakota and New Jersey three times before settling down in North Dakota. Phil went to school for two years under the G.I. Bill. At that time there were still German prisoners being held at Fort Lincoln in North Dakota. Phil applied for a job there, but was rejected when they learned of his POW history.

Twenty-five years later Phil’s son Tony would return to visit the Virgili family. See Twenty-five Years After the Escape.

Felice “Phil” Vacca attended services at this church with the Virgilis, even while the area was controlled by the Germans.

The church was the landmark that Tony used to find the Virgili family in 1968. He knew that it was just down the hill and across the river from the Virgili home, where his father had found shelter after his escape from Camp 59.

That first reconnection between the Vaccas and the Virgilis occurred when Tony, then in the service, was stationed in Pisa.

(See “Twenty-five Years After the Escape.”)

The church from another perspective, 1968

Left to right: Tony Vacca, Keith Kilby, Jim Vacca, and Mario Vacca

Mario Vacca said, “My two brothers and I went to Italy in 2001. Tony is the oldest and I am the youngest. Jim passed away several years ago.

“We left for Italy on September 18, 2001, seven days after 9/11. The huge airplane had the three of us and an older woman with her two granddaughters who were returning to Italy.

“It was by accident that we ran into Keith Killby, who was staying with Giuseppe Millozzi.

“Egisto Virgili worked in a bank and had just learned that we had visited his cousin Rosanna. Keith Killby happened to be in the bank. Our meeting was most fruitful, since my father never explained how the escape took place.

“I believe I had sent Keith my father’s story several years earlier.”

As founder of the London-based Monte San Martino Trust and a former prisoner in the Camp 59, Keith had established a research collection of books, manuscripts, and other materials related to the escaped Allied prisoners.

Keith Killby as tour guide. Left to right: Jim Vacca, Tony Vacca, Keith Killby, and Giuseppe Millozzi.

Touring Camp 59 with Keith and Giuseppe

Keith stands beside a brick patch. Many prisoners—including Keith himself—escaped through a hole that was knocked in this wall in September 1943.

Route traveled by Phil and his fellow escapees from Servigliano to the Virgil home

House where the Virgilis lived during World War II being remodeled in 2001

The barn next to the Virgili house

The escaped prisoners hid in the bushes in a crevasse beside this field

“I have since kept in touch with Giuseppe Millozzi and his family as well as the Virgili family,” Mario said.

In a recent e-mail that I was copied on, Mario asked Tony, “I wonder if dad ever knew he could write home?”

For some reason, I think he did or may have,” Tony relied. “If he wrote home that his cousin was killed and he was captured, his mother nor sister either didn’t respond, or did with a brief response on how they felt. Their family pride was at stake and a lot of them considered it dishonorable to have given up and been captured.

“Dad commented one time, regarding giving up, ‘what do you do when you’re out of ammo….?’

“It’s surprising what cultural beliefs can do. I guess we will never know.”

J. Keith Killby, in his London flat, holds a copy of his memoir on the day the books arrived from the printer

The initial plan for publication of In Combat, Unarmed: The Memoir of a World War II Soldier and Prisoner of War goes back several years, when Keith’s nephew, Malcolm Angus, approached him about recording his story.

Malcolm lives in New South Wales, Australia. In the epilogue of the memoir, he writes of the challenging process of writing the book when he and Keith were separated by great distance:

“It is June 2011, two weeks before Keith’s ninety-fifth birthday.

“I am writing this epilogue under my uncle’s close direction in his London flat, where we have been hard at work revising and editing his memoir. I started work on his story some years ago, attempting to do so by Royal Mail from my home in Australia. This proved rather difficult, and so I decided to complete the memoir by his side. Knowing that I was planning the visit, he telephoned me and said, ‘You better hurry up!’”

Last summer, shortly after I met Keith on a visit to London, I sent a note to Malcolm to ask about the memoir-in-progress. I am a graphic designer, I explained, and I would be pleased and honored to design a cover and lay out the interior of the book. He accepted my offer.

Monte San Martino Trust secretary Letitia Blake, Trust chairman Sir Nicholas Young, and I assisted Malcolm with a final proofreading before the 136-page book went to print at TJ International Ltd in Cornwall.

In his foreword to the book, Sir Nicholas described Keith’s complex, delightful character:

“Keith is something of an enigma. A conscientious objector, who joined the SAS; a man afraid of heights and prone to chronic seasickness, who became a parachutist and a sailor; a man with a taste for hard bargaining in the meat trade, who went out of his way to see the best in everyone in the brutal context of war…. With typical modesty, and wry self-deprecating humour, Keith reveals bravery in the face of crushing fear; compassion towards friend and foe alike; stubborn adherence to the values of fairness, open-heartedness and integrity; and a delight in puncturing egos and inflated authority, as he tells the story of a kind, peace-loving man, in combat unarmed, in fortitude unsurpassed.”

Keith with his mother, Dorothy Killby, circa 1917

In Combat, Unarmed begins with this paragraph:

“I was born on Wednesday, the 15th of June 1916, in Sydenham, a South London suburb, where the French Impressionist painter Camille Pissarro painted a wide, tree-lined avenue running towards St. Bartholomew’s Church. This painting now hangs in the National Gallery in London. When I visit there and view the picture, I can see the small gate that led into the orchard in which I played and from which I sometimes pinched an apple. Beyond this gate are two tall trees that had to be removed from the land when we built our own house there.”

Keith with sisters Evelyn and Muriel

Photo taken with a German camera that Keith said, “fell off the back of a truck.” At the time, Keith’s 150th Field Ambulance unit had been captured in the western desert of Libya. Keith, seated at center, is holding his helmet.

Soon after Keith and his companions escaped from Camp 59, this Italian woman, Maria, crossed the river and climbed the bank with a pot, or pentola, on her head. Keith said, “We watched as she waded through the river in her bare feet and came slowly up the hillside toward us. She had brought our midday meal!”

The following description appears on the back cover of the book.

J. Keith Killby and Monte San Martino Trust

 
The Monte San Martino Trust was founded in 1989 by J. Keith Killby, a former prisoner of war in Italy, together with other veterans of the Second World War.

“The Trust awards English-language study bursaries to Italians, aged 18 to 25, in recognition of the courage and sacrifice of the Italian country people who rescued thousands of escaping Allied POWs after the Armistice in 1943. The Trust is a registered charity. It is supported by former POWs and the second and third generations of their families, many of whom keep in touch with the Italian families who gave refuge to the escapers.

“The bursaries are generally granted for four weeks’ study at language schools in Oxford and London. The students come from schools in Italian regions where prisoners were on the run. To date the Trust has provided educational bursaries to over 300 Italian students.

“In recognition of his years of service to Anglo-Italian relations, in 2001 Mr. Killby was awarded the O.B.E., and in 2002 he was honored with the Italian title of Cavaliere Ufficiale.”

The O.B.E. is an officer of the Most Excellent Order of the British Empire, an order of chivalry.

Cavaliere Ufficiale, or Knight of the Order of Merit of the Italian Republic is given to individuals in recognition of distinguished public service.

To Obtain a Copy of the Memoir

Sales of In Combat, Unarmed go to support the mission of Monte San Martino Trust.

If you are interested in purchasing a copy of the book, contact Letitia Blake by sending an e-mail to info@msmtrust.org.uk.

Domenico Silvestri, among the first students to receive a bursary from the Trust, meets withthe President of Italy during the opening ceremony of the Monte San Martino FreedomTrail walk in 2001. Keith is seated at far left.

Above left, Adele Virgili—also known as Lelena, or Lena
Above right, Virgili siblings Luigia (also called Gigetta) Sergio, and Adele (Lelena)

After his return from captivity in Italy, Felice “Phil” Vacca exchanged letters with several members of the Virgili family—the Italians who protected him after his escape from Camp 59. (See Felice “Phil” Vacca, Part 2—Camp 59 and Escape.)

These letters continued at least into the 1950s and 1960s.

In the first of two letters below, Virgili family matriarch Maria asks Phil about Giuseppe Montesi and Antonio Petrelli. Phil’s son Mario and I assume that Maria is in fact inquiring about Joe (whom the Italian family would have called Giuseppe) Mandese and Edmond Petrelli. Peter Calvagno, Edmond Petrelli, Joe Mandese, and Tony Spicola were the four prisoners with whom Phil escaped from Camp 59.

Here is a translation of Maria Virgili’s letter:

March 3, 1945

Dearest Felice:

A few days ago I learned that you wrote to my daughter Lena. I was very happy to know that you are home, together with your mom and sister and the people closest to your heart.

We all remember you almost every day, and even more when I go to that hut, where you prisoners had found refuge. As I look at that hut, tears come to my eyes, because I know that there you have lived, for a long time, with the fear of being killed by the adversaries.*

I would like to receive news about you, many and often. Do not get tired of writing to us, because we desire to receive your letters. Your departure was painful for me as if you had been my son, and for this reason remember me often.

There are only a few people left in the family, only four: me, Sergio and Luisa and a nephew.** As you already know, Lena got married to Filippo.

Prisoner Giuseppe Montesi wrote twice, and wrote two long, long letters to Cardinali, where he says he’s been discharged and is home, and many more news. We do not have any news about Antonio Petrelli; if you know any news about him, please write to us about him.

Felice, do you remember me often? Remember when you used to say, “Grandma, I love you very much, I will never forget you,***” etc.? When you answer back to me, if it is possible please send me a picture of your family, especially of your mom. My knife, do you still have it with you? I do, yours. How is your health? And your family’s? We are all well. Greetings to you and to all in your family and also to your fiancé; and you did not get married yet.

Please forgive me if I write on this ugly paper, but nowadays there is scarcity of it.

Please answer me promptly, because I like to have news about you.

Maria Virgili and Family

Translator’s footnotes:

* In a peculiar choice of words, Maria Virgili says “adversaries”, rather than “enemies”.

** “Nipote” in Italian means both “nephew” (or niece) and “grandchild”. Here it is clear that Maria is talking about a male, because of the article, which is masculine, but it is not clear if she’s talking about a nephew or a grandson.

*** It appears that Felice would use the English grammatical construction in Italian, so, literally, the back translation of what Maria Virgili writes he was saying is: “Grama, I want you well a lot, I never forget you”

Below is the translation of a letter Phil received from Lena. Although the date of the letter isn’t known, it is probably the one Maria refers to in her letter.

Mario wrote to me, “I do believe Lena was the daughter that my father wished to marry and bring to America. Funny how things work out in life.”

Felice:

I cannot meet your wishes for what you ask, because I am already married—Let’s leave these things out!

I want to assure you that you can’t imagine how happy I am, knowing that you are home safe and sound, close to your Mother and Sister. Now you will enjoy the greatest happiness, will you not?

Let me know whether you are home because you have been discharged or just on leave for a few days!

And what happened to Gloria?

When it will be possible to ship the packages, I will send you the little things that you left here.

How is it going with the girls! You find many of them, perhaps one every day!

I imagine you are through with all sacrifices: sacrifices have changed to entertainment, isn’t it true?

How many trips do you make you car take every day? In any case, I wish you many beautiful things, a good fiancé and then good wife, who makes you happy forever.

Good bye,
Lena

Loving greetings and wishes for many beautiful things,
Lena

Several years ago, Mario Vacca attempted to discover what happened to the four men with whom his father, Felice “Phil” Vacca, escaped from Camp 59.

He sent one inquiry to New Haven, Connecticut.

Mario explained, “A kind doctor from New Haven, Dr. E. Anthony Petrelli sent me a letter with Edmund’s obituary and it had a photo. It was only by coincidence that he had just received my letter and saw the obituary.”

New Haven Register
Thursday, Febuary 10, 2005

Death Notices

Petrelli, Edmund

In the Mary Wade Home, Feb. 9, 2005. Mr. Petrelli beloved husband of the late Margaret Petrelli was born in NYC, Jan. 18, 1910 was educated in area schools, served our country honorably during WWII for the US Army and relocated to New Haven and married, he was employed as a gemologist for the former Spectors Jewelry Shop. Mr. Petrelli is survived by his in-laws Mrs. Charles Celotto, Mrs. Jennie Mauro, Dominic and Frank Amore, nieces & nephews, great nieces & nephews and his brother Edward Petrelli. He was predeceased by 3 sisters and 2 brothers.

The five escapers pictured here are: (standing, left to right) Peter Calvagno, Edmond Petrelli, and Joe Mandese; (front, left to right) Tony Spicola and Phil Vacca.

Frammenti di Storia poster—courtesy Matteo Pierro, Salerno 1943 Air Finders

Tomorrow in the commune of Pietragalla, Italy, community members will gather for a memorial service in honor of the crew of the American B-24 bomber known as the Fyrtle Myrtle.

The plane crashed 70 years ago this summer—on July 16, 1943.

A group of Italian avian archaeologists of the Salerno 1943 Air Finders group in Italy recovered the wreckage of the Fyrtle Myrtle last year.

The full story of the Fyrtle Myrtle is told on the “B-24 Bomber Fyrtle Myrtle Discovered” post.

Three men survived the crash. Staff Sergeant Edward T. Dzierzynski is listed in the WW II POW database of the U.S. National Archives as having been interned in Camp 59. Although the camp that Staff Sergeant Cyrus F. Johnson Jr. was in is not specified in the database, he likely was held in Camp 59 as well and escaped with Edward Dzierzynski (official records indicate the two men returned to the Allied forces on the same day).

The third survivor, Staff Sergeant Robert E. Dulac, who was badly injured in the crash, was taken to a hospital in Potenza, Italy.

Cyrus F. Johnson is survived by his sons Ron and John Johnson. Lloyd Eldon Kile, who died in the crash, is survived by a nephew, Dennis Heter. I am unaware of any relatives of the other crew members.

Translation of the text of the event poster:

Commune of Pietragalla
Pro Loco Pietragalla
National Association of Families of the Fallen and Missing in the War, Pietragalla Chapter
Salerno 1943 Association

presents
FRAGMENTS OF HISTORY
70 years after the downing of an American aircraft from the skies of Pietragalla

PIETRAGALLO
SUNDAY, AUGUST 4, 2013
19:00, PIAZZA MAGGIO

In Italian:

Comune di Pietragalla
Pro Loco di Pietragalla
Associazione e nazionale famiglie dei caduti e dispersi in guerra – Sezione di Pietragalla
Associazione Salerno 1943

presentano
FRAMMENTI DI STORIA
A 70 anni dall’abbattimento di un aereo americano nei cieli di Pietragalla

PIETRAGALLO
DOMENICA 4 AGOSTO 2013
ORE 19:00 PIAZZA MAGGIO

Official letter concerning Armie Hill’s destroyed military records

An inquirer to this site wrote to me last fall that in his search for military records concerning his father, he had come up short. He explained, “I do have a copy of the SF-180, but since the fire in 1973 his official army records may never be known.”

In 1991, my own father, Armie Hill, learned of that fire when, in response to my family’s urging, he wrote to Congressional representative Toby Roth about possible eligibility for a medal he had not received but might be entitled to—the Silver Star.

When I interviewed my dad about his war experiences in 1976, he had told me that after leaving Camp 59, he and fellow escapee Ben Farley were among the first to reach the Allied line—having traveled some 300 miles from Servigliano through the mountains of central Italy to Termoli in just 31 days.

After transfer from the British forces to the Americans, Armie spoke with the American commander in Taranto:

“He said, ‘Well, we don’t know what to do with you. We’ll fly you back to Tunis when one of our planes goes for supplies.’

“He wrote out an order for us to travel aboard the plane, and we took the next plane out—a large cargo plane. We were the first prisoners of war to escape and to return to safety, so at Tunis they didn’t know what to do with us.

“They said, ‘We don’t know what to do with you. We’ll fly you to Algiers.’ Eisenhower’s headquarters was at Algiers, and other American escaped prisoners of war had been flown directly there. Altogether there were about eight of us. In Algiers, an intelligence officer interrogated us. We were questioned about our escape—how we had escaped and the routes we had taken. Each of the escaped prisoners had taken different routes and arrived in different places.

“The officer told me, ‘I am recommending that you be given a Silver Star medal for bravery in action.’”

Perhaps that recommendation was never written up, or it was rejected—or perhaps it was reduced to ashes in the warehouse fire.

On behalf of the Army’s Personnel Services Division, Lieutenant Colonel J. C. Herbert responded to Representative Roth:

“This replies to your letter pertaining Armie S. Hill.

“The military records of former members of the Army are maintained by the National Personnel Records Center, National Archives and Records Administration, 9700 Page Boulevard, St. Louis, Missouri 63132. A major file occurred at that Center in July 1973 and Mr. Hill’s record was not recovered. Although a number of alternate sources exist which enable that Center to reconstruct the essential facts of military service, these sources do not contain his complete Army service record.

“Decorations such as the Silver Star must be announced by the publication of general orders. A review of Mr. Hill’s reconstructed records failed to identify such orders.

“The time limitations for making recommendations for decorations that recognize service for World War II have expired. However, if Mr. Hill has any documents verifying his entitlement to this award, he should forward them to the U.S. Army Reserve Personnel Center, Attention: DARP-PAS-EAW, 9700 Page Boulevard, St. Louis, Missouri 63132-5200.

“In the absence of any documents, I regret that no further action may be taken.”

Above left: the formerly identified Italian, now revealed to be Romano Maglioni, who lived in Premilcuore, Italy

Above right: Tom Ager, after war and imprisonment

See “Thomas Ager—Escapee from Italian Camp 82” for the story of Tom Ager’s escape from captivity.

When Gill and I were working together on her father’s story last February and she sent me the photo of Romano Maglioni, she wrote, “There is a bit of a mystery about this last photo. It was amongst the letters, and has a name and address on the back. As far as I can read it: Maglioni (and I cannot read the other name, something like Oronuoso) No 1, Via Roma H10 Premilcuore Forli Italia. I wonder if it was someone who helped him when he was on the run.”

Soon after that, I discovered online the name of a woman named Annarita Maglioni at an address on Via Roma in Premilcuore. “Maybe she is a relative,” I wrote to Gill, “Perhaps you should write to her (in Italian) and send a copy of the photo and scrap of paper with the address.”

Gill did just that. She drafted a letter, my friend Anne Copley lent her skills as a translator, and the letter—in Italian—went into the mail.

Several weeks later, Gill received an e-mail from Cristina Tassinari:

“I am the cousin of Annarita Maglioni (Annarita’s mom and my dad are brothers) and Romano Maglioni, who is a relative who lived in Premilcuore during the war.

“Romano Maglioni died a few years ago, but we are trying to contact his brother Carlo, who is still living. My father (Vincenzo Tassinari) remembers Tom Ager well—and also another soldier who was with him (English or Canadian?). They were hidden in a hut and my father, together with Romano, Carlo, and other village boys, in turn, brought food to the two soldiers so they might eat in secret, because they were afraid of the Germans.”

She ended her note, “As soon as I can, I will let you have more news.”

Then, after a wait of several weeks, Cristina wrote again:

“A little while ago, I went with my uncle Vincenzo (Cristina’s father and Lisa’s grandfather) [to Modigliana, Italy] to meet with Carlo Maglioni.

Carlo told us this:

“After the armistice’s signing between Anglo-American forces and the Italian army (September 8, 1943) and after the hostilities stopped, the camps where prisoners were held were left unattended.

“Before German soldiers organized themselves, the prisoners had run away.

“In our little town, called Premilcuore, located 500 meters above sea level in the Appennines between Tuscany and Emilia-Romagna, some disbanded soldiers passed through: Italian soldiers who wanted to come back home, and Allied prisoners who wanted to reach the Anglo-American forces in the south of Italy. Everyone needed a place to stay, food, civilian clothes, and some information on how to cross our mountains.

“One day, in the centre of our village (Borgo delle Balducce), came two or three English soldiers who needed help. They were in good health, but tired and hungry. We helped them with food and recovery in a small hut where the Maglioni family kept some hay and small animals (like rabbits). Every evening Carlo Maglioni (age 18) brought them food and everything they needed, meanwhile Carlo’s brothers (Romano, age 16, sadly dead some years ago, and Pasquale, age 14) kept guard. Other families and friends of the Maglioni’s also took care of the English soldiers.

“They stayed in Premilcuore for about 20 days, but because many people knew that they were hidden and some German soldiers arrived in town, it was decided to transfer them to a place that was safer. With their assent, they were accompanied into the forest of Campigna (6–7 hours of walking through our mountains) where there was a command of partisans of the “Brigade Garibaldi” that was connected with the “Eighth Army of Montgomery”. The Maglioni brothers— Romano, Pasquale, and Don Bruno (a seminarian, age 20)—went with them.

“After that we had no more news from them.

“The brothers that helped your father are:

“Don Bruno (age 89, living, a priest)
Carlo (87, living, retired)
Pasquale (83, living, retired)
Romano (who died some years ago)

“We are really pleased to hear from you that your father returned back home safe and sound in 1945.

“Romano’s family (the family of the Maglioni brother in your photo) and we send you a hug and we all hope to see you one day in Italy.”

Annarita Maglioni

In Italian:

Con un pò di ritardo, con mio zio Vincenzo (padre di Cristina e nonno di Lisa), sono andata a far visita a Carlo Maglioni che ha raccontato quanto segue:

Dopo la firma dell’armistizio fra le forze anglo-americane e l’esercito italiano (8 settembre 1943), con il cessare delle ostilità, i campi, dove erano rinchiusi i prigionieri di guerra, furono lasciati incustoditi.

Prima che i militari tedeschi si organizzassero, i prigionieri si erano quasi tutti allontanati.

Nel nostro piccolo paese, Premilcuore, che è posto a 500mt di quota, nell’Appennino fra le regioni Romagna e Toscana, in quel periodo transitavano diversi “sbandati”: sia militari italiani che volevano ritornare alle loro case al Sud, sia molti ex-prigionieri alleati che speravano in qualche modo di collegarsi con le truppe anglo-americane che erano già al Sud dell’Italia. Tutti avevano bisogno di cibo, alloggio, abiti civili e indicazioni per attraversare le nostre montagne.

Un giorno, in paese (Borgo delle Balducce), arrivarono 2 o 3 soldati inglesi che chiesero aiuto. Di salute stavano bene ma erano molto stanchi e affamati. Fu dato loro cibo e assistenza, furono nascosti in una piccola capanna dove la famiglia Maglioni teneva il fieno e piccoli animali. Tutte le sere venivano riforniti di quanto avevano bisogno da Carlo Maglioni (18 anni), mentre i fratelli Romano (16 anni) e Pasquale (14 anni) facevano la guardia. Al mangiare provvedevano anche altre famiglie vicine dei Maglioni.

I militari inglesi rimasero a Premilcuore per circa 20 giorni. Poi, visto che molti sapevano dei militari inglesi nascosti, e con l’arrivo in paese di militari tedeschi e fascisti, fu deciso che era più sicuro spostarli in un altro luogo.

Con il loro accordo, furono accompagnati nella foresta di Campigna (6-7 ore di cammino attraverso le nostre montagne), dove c’era un comando di partigiani della “Brigata Garibaldi” che era in collegamento con il comando dell’ “Ottava Armata” del generale Montgomery. Ad accompagnarli andarono i fratelli Maglioni: Romano, Pasquale e Don Bruno (seminarista di 20 anni).

Dopo ciò non abbiamo più avuto loro notizie.

Con tanto piacere apprendiamo dalla sua lettera che Tom è ritornato a casa sano e salvo nel 1945.

I figli di Romano (quello di cui lei ci ha inviato la foto), i fratelli Maglioni e tutti noi, ti mandano un abbraccio, con la speranza di poterci un giorno incontrare.

Annarita Maglioni

A few days ago Mario Vacca, one of Phil Vacca’s sons, sent me this information on the Virgili family during WW II.

The information, provided by Egisto Virgili, is below in both Italian and English.

Egisto and his family will be visiting Mario and his brother Tony here in the U.S. next month.

Con molto piacere cercherò di spiegarvi come era composta la famiglia Virgili. Mi pare di aver capito che le vostre conoscenze sono limitate a Elena, Sergio, Luigia ed alla loro mamma, Maria in quanto erano quelli presenti nel periodo in cui vostro padre, Felice, è stato loro ospite. In realtà i componenti erano otto (8). I genitori: Settimio e Maria con sei (6) figli: Nicola (1905), Erminia (1909), Elena (1910), Sergio (1914), Emilio (1916) e Luigia(1917).

With pleasure will I try to explain to you the makeup of the Virgili family. I think I understand that your knowledge is limited to Elena, Sergio, Luigia, and their mother, Mary, as they were the ones present at the time your father, Felice, was their guest. In reality there were eight in the family. Parents: Settimio and Maria with six children: Nicola (born 1905), Erminia (1909), Elena (1910), Sergio (1914), Emilio (1916), and Luigia (1917).

Il papà Settimio muore alla fine della prima guerra mondiale (1918) lasciando la vedova e sei figli piccoli.

The father, Settimio, died at the end of World War I (1918), leaving a widow and six children.

Nicola : era medico e già sposato, viveva con la propria famiglia nel paese (Ripatransone) in cui esercitava la professione.

Nicola: a doctor, and already married, he lived with his family in the countryside (Ripatransone), where he practiced.

Erminia: era morta nel 1940 a causa di una malattia all’età di anni 31.

Erminia: died in 1940, due to an illness, at the age of 31.

Elena (Adele): è mia madre della quale avete notizie.

Elena (Adele): my mother, who you already know about.

Sergio: anche lui, come Elena e Luigia, è conosciuto.

Sergio: as with Elena and Luigia, you are already familiar with him.

Emilio: era in guerra e, purtroppo, negli stessi giorni in cui Felice fu accolto a casa arrivò la notizia della sua morte, avvenuta in Germania.

Emilio: was at war and, unfortunately, on the same day that [your father] Felice was welcomed home news of [Emilio’s] death in Germany arrived here.

Luigia (Luisa): vale quanto detto per Elena e Sergio.

Luigia (Luisa): the same applies as for Elena and Sergio.

Andando a rileggere alcune lettere che vostro padre Felice ha scritto a mia madre Elena, in una di esse ho trovato la richiesta di notizie sul conto di una ragazza di nome Rema che Felice aveva conosciuto a casa Virgili.

In rereading a few of the letters that your father Felice wrote to my mother Elena, in one of them I found a request for information about a young woman named Rema who Felice had known at the Virgili home.

Ho fatto una piccola indagine ed ho scoperto che si tratta di una ragazza, figlia di un contadino di Monte San Martino, che in quegli anni era in casa Virgili per dare aiuto alla famiglia nei lavori domestici. Aveva 16 anni (era nata nel 1927). Poco tempo dopo la fine della guerra si è fatta suora. Ancora oggi, all’età di 86 anni, è rinchiusa nel Convento di clausura delle Suore Benedettine di Monte San Martino. Ho chiesto permesso alle autorità competenti e sono andato a parlare con Lei. Ho domandato che cosa ricordasse degli anni 1943 e 1944, sul finire della seconda guerra mondiale, quando era a casa di mia nonna. La risposta che ha dato è stata quella di ricordare tutti i componenti della famiglia e la presenza di un soldato Americano che era scappato dal campo di concentramento di Servigliano; il suo nome era Vacca ed era molto allegro e sempre pronto a fare scherzi. A tale proposito ha raccontato che quando Lei (Rema) e Luigia andavano a lavare la biancheria in una grande fontana, che si trova vicino alla casetta dove Felice era nascosto,dovevano essere sempre molto attente perchè Felice (quando gli era possibile senza correre rischi) arrivava di sorpresa e lanciava pietre nella fontana provocando spruzzi.

I did a little research and found out that she was the daughter of a farmer in Monte San Martino and at that time was at the Virgili home helping with housework. She was 16 years (she was born in 1927). Shortly after the end of the war, she became a nun. Even today, at age 86, she is confined in the convent of the cloistered Benedictine Sisters of Monte San Martino. I requested permission [to visit her] from the relevant authorities and then I went to talk with her. I asked what she remembered of 1943 and 1944—towards the end of World War II—when she was at my grandmother’s house. In answering, she recalled all the members of the family and that there was a American soldier who had escaped from the concentration camp at Servigliano. His name was Vacca and he was very cheerful and always ready to make jokes. For example, she said, “When Luigia and I went to wash clothes in a large fountain that was close to the cottage where Felice was hidden, we always had to be careful because Felice (when there was no danger) surprised us by throwing stones in the fountain to splash us.”

Se pensate che possa darvi altre informazioni, sono a disposizione.

If you think I can give you more information, it is available.

A presto

See you soon,
Egisto

This article is from Peter Grillo’s son Roy.

He explained, “Digging through lots of papers, I found another item which is very interesting. This is the story my dad used to tell me as I grew up and was asking questions.”

We know that Peter was interned at Camp 59 in Servigliano through a letter from the War Department to Peter’s wife dated July 24, 1943 (See “Peter Grillo—Captive“).

The article suggests the surgery was done in an Italian POW camp. However, there only two British medical officers in the camp at that time, no German doctors. Perhaps at one point Peter was interned in another camp or hospital in Italy where the surgery was performed by the German doctor.

It seems even more likely the surgery was actually done after his transfer to Germany. According to the U.S. National Archives, Peter was last interned in Stalag 2B Hammerstein in Germany.

Baldwin POW Underwent Operation Sans Anesthetic

Monday, June 11, 1945

Baldwin—How Pvt. Peter C. Grillo, brother of Mrs. Santa Weldon of 14 Schoen St., underwent an operation for appendicitis sans anesthetic while a German prisoner of war, was told in a delayed dispatch just received from London.

Pvt. Grillo, now in an Ex-POW Casual Detachment near London waiting transportation home, was captured two hours after he was wounded by shrapnel at Kasserine Pass on Dec. 23, 1942. After a day of German hospitalization in Tunis, he was loaded on a six-motored transport plane for Germany which ran into RAF trouble and made a forced landing in Sicily.

Small Dose Wears Off

After a month in a Palermo hospital he traveled five days by box car to a POW camp north of Rome. There he developed acute appendicitis complicated by peritonitis. The German doctor did his best but there apparently was a shortage of anesthetics and the first small dose quickly wore off.

“The German medic did his stuff cold” Pvt. Grillo told a newspaper correspondent in London, “and I just screamed. They strapped me down to the bed and let me scream.”

After he recovered, Grillo was put to work plowing and doing other heavy farm work. That went on for more than a year. By that time there were repeated rumors that the Russian Red Army was coming and presently he found himself in a column of prisoners footing it toward Brandenburg, 400 miles away. They marched for two weeks on bread and water rations and any one who weakened was shot.

Grillo, 26, wears the Purple Heart and Combat Infantryman’s Badge. He lost 50 pounds under the Nazis but appeared rugged and in a good frame of mind—as he had to be to survive those two and a half years before a British armored unit freed him Mar. 25.

Peter Grillo and wife Celica (Roy’s stepmother)

Roy wrote, “my dad was raised in Baldwin NY, and the article is from a local paper there. The clipping was sent to my mother by my dad’s brother, Armand Grillo, who has passed just a few years ago.

“My mother was born and raised in Lunenburg MA, and my dad was stationed at Fort Devens MA (a very short ride to Lunenburg). They met at a USO dance put on by the local Baptist church my mother belonged to. The address on the letter from the War Department is her dad’s house. My mom’s mother died at a very early age, so mom—and my two sisters—stayed with her father through that ordeal and through my dad’s recuperation from his wounds, mental and physical.

“After he returned, my dad became a very heavy drinker, but after a few years he realized what he was doing to everyone by his use of alcohol and quit. I think that was a great accomplishment for anyone who endured years as a POW.”

The BBC yesterday broadcast the first episode of a two-part documentary on the WW II breakout of Allied prisoners from Italian prison camps. The programs are the work of veteran journalist and author Edward Stourton.

This documentary was planned to commemorate the 70th anniversary of the September 1943 camp breakouts and the protection of the escapees by the Italian contadini.

Listen to Part 1 of “The Italian Freedom Trail” (www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b038zcqh)

The far reach of the BBC ensures that this story will be heard not only in the UK, but around the world.

Stay tuned! Part 2 of Edward Stourton’s report is scheduled for broadcast next Friday, September 6.

Here is a description of “The Italian Freedom Trail” on the BBC website:

“On September 8th 1943 around 50,000 Allied prisoners broke out of their POW camps in Italy. On the 70th anniversary Edward Stourton presents The Italian Freedom Trails, the incredible story of the biggest mass breakout in history. In the recounting of the history of World War II it’s often forgotten that Italy surrendered to the Allies and the Italians threw open the doors of their POW camps. For the prisoners in Italy this was a golden opportunity that amazingly they were ordered to ignore. While their Italian guards put down their rifles and in many cases left the prison camps completely, the order from London was for soldiers to wait for Allied troops to arrive so they could quickly be integrated back in to fighting units – any serviceman making a run for it would be regarded as a deserter. The vast majority of men though didn’t hesitate and headed for freedom. All of those who obeyed orders were transported to Germany. Edward Stourton joins an Anglo-Italian memorial walk in the Apennines, along the routes taken by escapers, to tell their extraordinary stories and the stories of those who helped them; stories of bravery, endurance, sacrifice and love, as Eric Newby told in his classic “Love and War in the Apennines.” The series includes interviews with Wanda Newby, the woman who helped Newby while he was on the run and who eventually married him, with veterans who escaped and with Italian families who helped them. These are moving stories of individuals and of a mass escape which helped changed the course of the war and subsequent history of Italy.”

The second episode of a two-part documentary on the WW II breakout of Allied prisoners from Italian prison camps aired on the BBC yesterday.

The documentary was created by veteran journalist and author Edward Stourton.

Listen to Part 2 of “The Italian Freedom Trail” (www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b039dbjp)

Neil Torrsell passed over the rugged, beautiful terrain of Le Marche during his nine months “on the run” in 1943–44.

I first interviewed Neil Torssell in May 2008. An Interview with Neil Torssell covered his experience from the time of enlistment through the end of war.

Another interview, arranged though the Minnesota Historical Society’s Minnesota’s Greatest Generation Project, was recorded the year before.

On a follow-up phone visit with Neil on July 28, 2011, Neil shared more information with me about the time he was a fugitive in Italy.

My questions and comments below are in italic.

Neil, I have some additional questions I’d like to ask you.

You mentioned to me that when you escaped there were eight or nine of you together. You said there was somebody from New York who spoke Italian—Jimmy. You sent me the addresses of some of the guys you knew who were in the camp. I noticed there was a Jimmy Serrentino, and I was wondering if that was the Jimmy who was with you during the escape.

Yes, he was the one with us who spoke fluent Italian.

And you mentioned there was a fellow named Larry, and I was wondering if that was Larry Barlow, who is on your list.

Yes, he passed away several years ago, out in California.

You said you moved around a bit.

We got chased out periodically.

Let’s backtrack a little bit. The Germans turned Italians into German recruits—15- and 16-year-old Italian boys.

They had what are called the “underground telegraph.” They were miles away, we knew they were coming.

I don’t think a day goes by when I don’t think something about it—one thing or another.

It was a pretty intense experience for you.

Let’s just say we lived from day to day. We didn’t know if we would come back alive or not. I may have mentioned before, this German SS patrol stopped near where I was staying. There were two American POWs staying there. The Germans stripped their house, set the house on fire, took the two Americans down to the river bottom, made them dig their own grave shafts—I may have told you that one.

Yes, you did tell me about that.

We were just lucky that where we stayed was right on the main road there. We took to the hills on all the back roads that we knew.

We found out about it a couple of months later when we came back that way.

You had mentioned that when you escaped from the camp you went out from the front gates, right? I know that there was a hole broken in the wall in the back of the camp.

We went out the back gate. The front gate would have taken us more or less right into the village. Outside the back gate was more or less open fields.

You said that there were some shots fired.

Yeah. I think they were more or less for show. I don’t think they were shooting at anybody in particular. Of course, we didn’t know it at the time.

One of the things you mentioned in the interview that you did with the fellow from St. Cloud was that some of the Italians called you “Doc” because you wore gold-rimmed glasses.

Yes, Larry for some reason called me Doc at the time. And that changed to dottore, in other words, the Italian word for doctor. [As in professor.]

You said in the other interview that some of the guys were taken to a Catholic mission church nearby.

Yes. Well, near this one place we stayed there was a little mission church and they went there to bum cigarettes. There might be times when they would get a cigarette, but most of the time they got cigarette butts.

Did you all smoke cigarettes—all of you guys?

Yes.

I understand that cigarettes were a hot commodity in the camp—cigarettes and tobacco were popular.

It was a good trading item. Guys who didn’t smoke could trade them off for other rations.

Can you tell me about the Italians you stayed with—their food, cheesemaking, or baking bread?

I don’t know the exact process they used to make cheese. It was made out of goat’s milk. I don’t know whether they got it down to a certain degree [of temperature], or a certain consistency. Then they put it into little round wooden bowls, about five or six inches across. And then there was [another] stage—I couldn’t tell you how long the process was—but when it was first edible it was real mild, and as it aged it got stronger—like all cheese does. It wasn’t surprising to find a worm in it, so we always washed it carefully before we took a bite.

They were very thrifty as far as getting out and foraging for themselves, and the lived on a very limited diet. We had so much macaroni that I couldn’t eat macaroni for two years once I got back to the States. But now it doesn’t bother me.

What about their bread—or their pizzas—what we think of as Italian food?

Their so-called pizza was a very thin dough baked in their outside ovens. They didn’t have any meat or sausage to put on it, so they had garlic or peppers—something like that—or a little grated cheese to give it a little flavor. It wasn’t bad tasting, but of course in this country we are a little spoiled with all the stuff we put on the crust.

They were similar in size to the pizza you buy in the store here, with thin crust, but there was very little seasoning on top of it. That was because they couldn’t get it.

They were like share croppers.

Most of the places we stayed the horse, oxen, pigs, and sheep in the stable.

Did I tell you about taking a bath? We asked for water for a bath, and they told us nobody takes a bath in the winter. But we did talk them into heating hot water that we could bathe in it. The thing is everyone in the house smelled the same so they couldn’t tell the difference!

You had also mentioned in the other interview that you had a green salad that had snails in it.

Yes, we had salad of light greens and a little garlic and onion. And then the kids brought over a big snail shell. They started laughing and asked if I knew what I was eating, and I said no. At that stage in the game, you eat anything thing that is put in front of you.

I’ll say one thing for them, the breads they made—unleavened breads, that were made without yeast—they were the best-tasting breads when they came out of the oven. They were excellent—whole-grain bread.

Did I tell you about getting salt? I’m not sure how far away it was from where I was staying, but the women would go with big water jars on top of their heads to these salt wells, and then boil the water down to get the salt.

It was an amazing thing that these women would put a crown of braided material on top of their head, and the jar of water would be on top of that. And they would walk along and not spill a drop. They would stop and talk with their neighbors, not bothered at all by the weight on top of their head.

Was the well near the coast?

No, we were about 20 or 30 miles inland.

You mentioned that you had polenta there.

Yeah. It was basically cornmeal mush. A board was put on the table, and when [the polenta] was done cooking it was put on the board and everyone helped themselves to what was in front of them.

You had also mentioned that when you were in the countryside, Allied aircraft would fly over and drop supplies for the underground?

At one place when it was early evening—in semi-daylight—they would drop stuff, yes.

Those supplies were intended for the Italian resistance, or for the escaped prisoners?

These were for the resistance fighters. I never saw any of the stuff they dropped, but I know they did.

At one point you experienced an earthquake, right?

Yeah. That’s the weirdest feeling. First of all I heard rumbling in the distance and I thought it was artillery fire. Then all of a suddenly the ground was shaking and buildings were shaking. The Italian women were praying to high heaven. Fortunately, it didn’t do any structural damage where we were at, but I know it shook the buildings.

No one got hurt that you were aware of in that area?

Not where we were, no.

You were with one of the families at Christmastime?

The husband gave me some lire as a Christmas present, and also some kind of fruit. I can’t tell you what it was. It was about the size of an apple. It had the color of an apple, but it wasn’t an apple. I can recall the taste of it, but it was good—that’s all I can tell you.

We had a big dinner meal for Christmas.

You mentioned the Joe had a leg wound of some sort that wouldn’t heal up. How did he get injured?

He was captured by the Germans in Africa. He had machinegun wounds in his lower leg. There was no proper medication for it. The bruises were festering like crazy all the while. So he couldn’t travel like Larry and I did.

But Joe made it back, though, eventually?

He made it back to the States, too. Others felt the war was going to go around us, but I told my two buddies I’m heading south. They said, “We’re going to wait and get picked up.” And I said, “I’m not going to take any chances—the way that war goes.”

Larry and Joe stayed together and ended up getting picked up by Brits by the sea, and I went off alone and ended up hitchhiking down. All Italian drivers know [of driving] is there’s an accelerator and a horn—they don’t know where the brake is. More or less every man for himself.

In the list of prisoners’ names and addresses you sent me you sent me, I recognized one of the names—Frederick Solberg. Do you remember him?

Most of them I don’t remember. What I did was collect a lot of names, even if I didn’t know the men. I figured when I got back to the States, I’d turn those names in to some source.

How long did it take you from the time you escaped from the camp to the time you arrived at the Allied forces?

The mass break was in late September 1943, and I got back into Allied territory July 5 of 1944—so I was nine months on the run.

Thanks so much for your talking the time to talk with me.

Right after the war, no one really wanted to hear anything more about it. Now there seems to me more interest in World War II than ever.

The men in my age group, we’re getting fewer and fewer every year. If we don’t share the stories, no one is ever going to know.

Well, Neil, your story won’t be lost.