Mr. Write's Page

My dad was a bomber pilot during World War II. He flew combat missions over Eastern Europe. In June 1944, during a raid on the Ploesti oil refineries in Romania, his B-24 was shot down. All hands had to bail out.

Dad was captured and dragged off to a Bulgarian prison camp, where he endured months of captivity under horrendous conditions. But he survived, and after a series of incredible events, he and his fellow POWs escaped.

It was a huge personal victory for him. But, like so many of the war generation, he avoided talking about the experience.

In June 1992, when Dad was 75, he had a stroke that put him in the hospital and affected his speech and mobility in ways that took months of rehab to overcome.

Earlier this month, while sorting through my late Aunt Betty’s belongings, I discovered a letter Dad wrote to her while he was in the hospital recovering from the stroke. The letter is a rarity: Dad commenting candidly, although cryptically, about the day he was captured in Bulgaria.

This is what he wrote:

——————

Today, 48 years ago, I was shot down, beaten up, peed on in a shell hole, marched off to a stable/prison for two days, eaten constantly by fleas, flies (green type) and covered with lice.

On the third day, I got a small drink of water and a fish head (raw).

I felt pretty low. Like I do now. But I never gave up hope. So I won’t now.

——————

All his life, Dad demonstrated genuine fortitude. He snapped back, no matter the adversity. Nothing got the best of him.

The stroke was not his last. He had another, and a heart attack. Each time, he handled matters with resilience and determination.

Dad was 27 when he became a POW, took command of the 300 Allied prisoners in the prison camp, and eventually got them all to freedom.

When a young man gets shot down, peed on, starved, and imprisoned, yet perseveres and triumphs as Dad did, he learns lessons and develops traits that serve him well in life.

And when grit and fortitude already are a part of a person’s character, adversity only makes them stronger.

Dad was an honorable, admirable man. In a sizable family of Smiths, he was the “Smitty.” He died in December 2002 after a brief illness, age 85.

Dad in May 1998.