Uncle Bill

Uncle Bill

My great-uncle Bill Diehl volunteered for the Army in 1943 when he was 19 years old. He managed to pass his physical despite having had Polio as a child. He spent his first few months Stateside as a clerk, and he liked to tell the story of how when he got his first assignment after Basic someone noticed that he had not had grenade training.

So he went to grenade training and was sitting in the bleachers at the training ground when the instructor "accidentally" dropped a grenade after he had pulled out the pin. It was a fake grenade, of course, but they wanted to see how the troops would react. (A few dove for cover, but most just sat there with dumb looks on their faces).

On his second assignment, some of his paperwork got lost and his file said he still had not attended grenade training. So this time when he reported for training, he maneuvered himself to a seat on the front row; closest to the instructor. This time, when the instructor dropped the fake grenade and everyone freaked, Uncle Bill quickly picked up the fake grenade and tossed it into the training field. The commanding officer witnessed Bill’s "heroism", commended him for his actions and said, "Private, if you ever need a favor, come see me."

A few weeks later, when a girl from his home town was in the area and invited him to breakfast, Bill decided it was time to call in the favor. He asked his sergeant for permission to speak to the CO, and the CO remembered “Yes, you’re the young man with the grenade and I did promise you a favor. What can I do for you Private?” Bill explained about being invited to breakfast and before he could finish, the CO was on the phone ordering up a car and a driver for Bill and his girlfriend, and said he would pick up their breakfast tab. And all Bill wanted was just permission to go!

By 1944, Uncle Bill was in Europe, and in late December of that year his family received the distressing news that he was MIA. After two arduous weeks of worry they learned that he was one of many US soldiers who had been captured by the Germans in the Battle of the Bulge. A month later they received a postcard from him via the Red Cross saying he was alive, he was not wounded and was being treated as well as could be expected under the circumstances. But this was the last they'd hear from him for the next nine months.

The Germans lined up the captured Americans for inspection and were ordered to empty their pockets of all personal belongings. Grown men were in tears as pictures of families and girlfriends were torn to pieces in front of them. One of the items Bill was ordered to surrender was a small pocket Bible. When the German guard took Bill’s belongings, Bill said the German paused, looked at the Bible, looked at Bill, looked at the Bible again, then returned the small book to him. Bill would carry that little Bible with him everywhere for the rest of his life.

Bill and his captured comrades were loaded on a train for transport to the POW camp. Now if you paid attention in History class, you'll know that the European winter of 1944-45 was one of the coldest on record. They traveled, 100 to a boxcar, for 5 days without food. The only water was a little bit of snow that blew in through the drafty boxcar doors. (Bill would blame his later-in-life problems with kidney disease on that week without food and water. More on that later). A corner of the car was designated as a latrine, but it didn't get much use after the first day; with nothing "going in", there was not much to "come out." The men huddled close together to stay warm; closer than most men would prefer to get with other men. But you do what you gotta do to survive.

So for the next 4 months, Private William A. Diehl was a Prisoner of War. He lived in the Stalag barracks along with his other POW buddies. As coincidence would have it, one of the men was from the neighboring Pennsylvania town as Bill's and they had some friends in common. They themselves would become lifelong friends. Since food was scarce in the camp, the men made bread out of potatoes mixed with sawdust (what they called "tree flour") to make it go farther. They improvised gloves and socks from rags, and burned whatever they could to stay warm. During his stay as a guest of the Luftwaffe, Bill would lose about 30 pounds of body weight.

This was so far along in the war that Germany was really starting to scrape bottom to keep its fighting effort going. The guard on the barracks was a 68 year old man, who didn't even carry a gun. (All the available guns had been sent to the front lines.). Why didn't they try and escape? Because one, there was no place to go without getting caught, and two, if they were caught they'd most likely be shot. It wasn't worth the risk.

But even as POWs, Bill and his comrades continued to fight the war any way they could; mostly through small acts of sabotage. When the POWs were put to work refueling trucks, they made sure that a generous amount of the precious gasoline got spilled on the ground when the guards were not looking. The Germans had also developed a car that ran on wood chips which could be used for short-distance travel (thereby freeing up gasoline for the front lines). Uncle Bill was assigned to a crew that operated a chipper machine to make fuel for these vehicles. Occasionally, a rock or a piece of steel would "accidentally" fall into the hopper rendering the machine useless for a few days until repair parts could be found.

Another time, says Bill, a German soldier, a sergeant, asked an American soldier what he could say in English that would be an insult to Americans. Seizing the opportunity to make a fool out of the German, POW told him to say "San Francisco." So this German sergeant goes about the camp sneering "San Francisco" to every POW's face, only to be met with snickers from the G.I.'s and puzzling confusion from the sergeant. When the sergeant tried the "San Francisco" line on Uncle Bill, Bill said he just smiled, put on his best Happy-face, and in a jovial voice, replied "Go to Hell, you Fat-nosed Bastard!" The sergeant smiled, turned, and walked away utterly clueless about what had just been said to him.

In late April of 1945, the POWs were again loaded onto a train for a destination unknown. While the train was traveling, it was spotted by Allied aircraft. Not knowing the train was carrying American POWs, the planes attacked the train. The attack put the train out of commission but also killed several G.I.'s. Fortunately, for my family at least, Bill was not one of them. Now the POWs made their move. In all the confusion they overpowered and killed the few remaining guards, took their weapons and headed west towards their best guess as to where the lines were; traveling at night to shield their movements. They were found two weeks later by a British Patrol that told them that Germany had surrendered and the war was over.

The word came down from Command that any man who was not wounded should stay where they were until supplies arrived and that every soldier could be accounted for. Bill and his buddies lived in a small German town for the next 4 months. Bill was taken in by a German woman (probably a war widow; Bill never knew for sure) with three children. The woman spoke a little English, and by then Bill could get by in German enough to communicate with them. After the war, he continued to send this family "Care Packages" every month for the next five years.

In September 1945, Bill returned to a hero’s welcome in his little Pennsylvania farm town. He got promoted to Corporal, received his back pay for the months while he was captive, and reentered civilian life. He went into the quarrying business with his father. This was at a time when Pennsylvania was embarking on an aggressive post-war road-building campaign, and limestone from the Diehl & Son Quarries was much in demand. He married a local girl, they had three children.

Bill’s oldest daughter followed in her father’s footsteps and enlisted in the Army (Nurses Corps), made a career out of it, (and spent most of her time in Germany, of all places); eventually retiring at the rank of Lt. Colonel. In the 1980s, Bill and his wife made a pilgrimage of sorts to Germany to visit their daughter. Time had softened the horrible memories of the war and Bill was eager to visit the area when he had been 40 years earlier. While he was there, he looked up and located the oldest son of the family he had stayed with after his escape from captivity. The son, now in his 50’s, remembered Uncle Bill and his generosity that had helped get his family back on their feet.

Uncle Bill became a local celebrity of sorts; a prominent member of the VFW and several local organizations. He was active in several ex-POW groups, counseled ex-POWs from Viet Nam, and once ran for town council (he didn’t win). He was a gifted story teller, and was often asked to speak at many of the local gatherings.

Uncle Bill was a fiercely religious and patriotic man. When his Lutheran church refurbished its interior a few years ago, Bill noticed that the American flag that had been in the corner near the altar was missing. "Where is the flag?" he asked the church committee. "We removed it because it does not fit the new decor."

Well, that did it. Bill was livid.

He raised such a stink, loud and long to anyone who would listen, that the flag was soon replaced.

Uncle Bill had been in ill health for several years and had been undergoing dialysis for the last six years of his life. He had a diseased kidney removed sometime in the 1990s, and his doctors did not consider him a viable recipient for a transplant. So in March of 2007 Bill decided enough was enough and decided to take himself off dialysis. He hadn't lost his will to live or anything but he was never the fool. He knew that he was not going to be getting any better, he was in a lot of pain, and he had lived longer than anyone ever expected him to. Most people can only get 3 years of successful treatment from dialysis, and Uncle Bill was blessed six, so he knew he was on borrowed time. He said he made his peace with the Lord, and he was ready whenever He was. His family supported his decision and were at his bedside when he passed. He was buried in the local cemetery with full military honors, rifle salute and all, courtesy of the VFW.

Uncle Bill used to say that when he was a POW, he didn't think he'd live to see his 21st birthday. He died on March 21, 2007 at the age of 82; three years ago yesterday.

Not bad for an old soldier.

Thanks, Guys.

There still is i'm pretty sure.

I could use one.

A blow job.

Damn, hate that.

My turn.