Andrew J. Orloski

First generation American served in U.S. Army during WWII.

By Petra Chesner Schlatter, BucksLocalNews.com

Seven decades ago, Andrew J. Orloski, 91, was drafted into the U.S. Army during World War II. He was 21. The year was 1942.

Orloski grew up in Burnham, Pa., which is 30 miles from Penn State and about 60 miles northwest of Harrisburg. Upon his return home from the service, he would work in the steel mill.

Later, he would move to this area and work at U.S. Steel – Fairless Works as the second helper at the open hearth. He lives in Fairless Hills.

When Orloski was drafted, he was the sole supporter of his Polish mother who could not speak English. He is first generation American. His sister would take care of her mother in his absence.

After he left, his mother was known to lie down on the ground and pray that her son would return to Burnham safely.

Orloski does not talk much about the flesh wound he got in his shoulder while he was in Italy. But when he does, there’s often a joke behind it.

There was a big hole in his jacket. “One of the soldiers said, ‘Were you in that?” I said, ‘Yes, I was in that when it happened.’”

He does tell the story seriously. “I was on a hillside,” Orloski said. “I was sitting down, taking my rifle apart and I was cleaning it. A shell came over and exploded and tore a big hole in my shoulder in the back.”
Orloski was given The Purple Heart.

He has other medals: the European African Middle Eastern Service Medal and the Good Conduct Medal.
“One time I was up on top of the hill,” Orloski said. “I was on the downside and I was sitting there and I heard the Germans firing way down in the valley and I saw three shells go over the top and down in another valley. They were behind me. They were firing at some of our troops that were in front of me.”

When Orloski went in the service, he was a private. He reached the rank of sergeant. He was honorably discharged in 1945.

Boot camp was in South Carolina near Spartanburg, Va. He then went to Camp Edwards in Massachusetts. “I joined the 36th Division – that was the Texas National Guard – there were a lot of Texans!” he said.

From Massachusetts he was sent down to Virginia to get mountain training. “We did a lot in the mountains -- up and down,” he laughed. “I just carried a rifle. I was in the 60 millimeter mortar…It’s a tube and there’s a base plate. You drop a shell and it goes up way far and drops on the enemy.

“We went overseas from New York,” he continued. “We landed in Oran, Algeria in North Africa near Morocco and Libya. We just did some more training there.

“Then we got on a convoy and we made the landing in Salerno, Italy near Naples – about 30 miles south of Rome,” Orloski said. “We made the landing. You had to get off those little boats. We got in the water.
“We got on the beach,” he continued. “We walked a little bit and BOOM!! I hit the dirt. It was another BOOM!! A tank was shooting at our ship.”

They kept going. “We cut across a big field,” Orloski said.

“There were a lot of big black cattle. They started attacking our guys. We started shooting them.
“We kept on going,” he continued. “We went up the hills and then we saw the tank shooting the people who were doing the landing. Some of our guys started shooting at the tank.

“I remember once we were up in the mountains and I could hear those bombers that bombed the abbey at Monte Casino,” Orloski recalled.

Later on, they were near Rome. “We fired the 60 millimeter mortars there before we got to Rome,” he said. “When we conquered Rome, that’s when they made the big landing in Normandy. We were glad.”
“They sent us to relieve Patton’s Army so he could relieve Bastogne,” he said. “It was an important village. There were different crossroads. It was like in a forest -- The Ardennes.”

Among the many photographs of his service days, Orloski has a Christmas card from 1944 that he sent to his mother, Anastasia, from France. His wife just ran across the treasure this last year.

Orloski and his wife, Cecelia, have three sons: Andy Jr., Stephen and Perry.

One of their grandchildren, Anastasia, is in the U.S. Air Force and is stationed in Alaska.

Pete Gilbert

Major Gilbert has served three tours of duty in Afghanistan

By John Williams, BucksLocalNews.com

It’s funny how the simple things in life are always the most enjoyable, and oftentimes, the most cherished.

The same can be said of Army Major Pete Gilbert, who had the opportunity to meet his niece, Sophia, for the first time over the Easter holiday when visiting his sister in Newtown.

“It was awesome,” Gilbert, a Maryland native, enthusiastically said. “Over the past six years, I’ve missed out on some of the most important events in any person’s life, like Christmas’s and birthday’s…so being with them in person was a nice change of pace.”

“This all just comes at a great time for me when I’m transitioning to the next stage of my career and my sister having her first child,” he said. “It’s very rewarding.”

Over the past few years, especially with the amount of work that his high tempo unit is assigned to, Major Gilbert didn’t have the opportunities to visit family in the States. He was serving overseas, in many different capacities, in Italy, Kuwait and Afghanistan.

“It’s truly a double-edged sword,” Gilbert said. “On one hand, you’re sacrificing a lot of family occasions and milestones, but on the other hand you’re improving the security situation over there. The long-term goal is the same – protecting the American people.”

He called his position in the military rewarding and said that all of his efforts are worth it to “secure freedom for this generation and beyond.”

Twelve years ago, at age 22, Major Gilbert was commissioned into the Reserve Officers' Training Corps (ROTC) at Indiana State University in 1998. He received a military scholarship while at college and earned his bachelor’s degree in Communications. He went on to serve three combat tours of duty in Afghanistan as a member of the 173rd Airborne Bridge Combat Team. He spent a total of 42 months in theatre.

Gilbert describes himself as somewhat of a military brat. His father served in the military as well as his grandfather – a World War II veteran.

Currently, he is stationed at the U.S. Army Command and Staff College at Webster’s University in Fort Leventhal, Kansas, and is pursuing his Master’s degree in Acquisitions and Procurement Management.

Typically when you’re ranked Major, you attend the advanced learning center as opposed to a war college, which is usually intended for veteran military personnel.

Upon graduation from the general staff college, he will be assigned to a higher echelon position based on his particular skill set. He plans to stay in the military “for as long as I can.”

He explained military operations in the Afghanistan, and the Middle East as a whole, as complex.

“After being deployed to that theatre of operation I can honestly say I see a lot of improvement in establishing security forces,” he said. “There’s been a lot of reconstruction projects and development in the Afghan national army, the core of security in the country’s police and security agencies.”

He said the objective is to assist the Afghan people with building a government that they can trust.

“Over the past 5 years, I’ve seen significant progress,” Gilbert said. “I partnered as company commander and I would consistently be in contact with the same Afghan leaders and village elders. They’re all tired of the violence in their country and just want a legitimate government.”

In his experience with civilians, he said they want an economy where their children can prosper – an attitude they share with Americans.

“It’s about helping out,” said Gilbert. “When we do bilateral military training, we’re looking to improve their system. In today’s world, we’re going to war as an allied force. It’s coalition-based. In the military, we have to be able to accomplish the mission at any time in any given situation. That’s what we do best.”

Major Gilbert also recognizes the importance in staying neutral when it comes to political rhetoric about the military.

“We can’t afford to lean to one side or the other,” he said. “At that point, we really become ineffective. You need to realize that you serve the American people on-or-off duty. Sharing and experiencing different cultures is critical because when you’re partnering with other countries, they may have a different approach than we may have.”

“The relationships we build at our level are more critical than political attitudes political attitudes that are portrayed in the news media,” he explains.

And his feelings on the U.S. Navy SEALs mission that killed 9-11 mastermind and notorious al-Qaeda terrorist Osama bin Laden?

“I think the death of Bin Laden is critical to destroying and dismantling the adversarial networks that exist world-wide,” he said. “[What a] great Job by our special operations forces in such a decisive operation.”
To sum everything up, Gilbert’s opinion is straightforward and said it will take the work of the international community to seek and rid the world of terrorist hotbeds.

“At a macro level, we’re already fighting in two theatres of operation,” he stated, “and we have to be sure to consider how far we are willing to stretch our already limited forces. It’s all tied back to the international community and what our allies are willing to contribute.”

For now though, it’s back to enjoying “life in the States” and the “smaller things in life,” like getting his degree, advancing his career and enjoying time with his family.

“My sister having a child has really changed a few things and the center of attention is on Sophia,” he said. “It’s nice to sit down, not venturing out too far, and sharing memories and stories. It’s something that I’ve missed in the past, but now can look forward to.”

Joseph J. Watts Jr.

Navy air traffic controller instructor was stationed stateside in AC.

By Petra Chesner Schlatter, BucksLocalNews.com

Joe Watts Jr. was a Seaman Second Air Control man in the U.S. Navy. He coincidentally enlisted at the same time as three other young men from Newtown.

As it turned out, they were in boot camp together at the Great Lakes Naval Station, about 40 miles north of Chicago.

The foursome had their picture taken together sporting dress whites – the classic white sailor’s hat and a white uniform with a dark blue tie.

Standing from shortest to tallest, from left, were: Eddy Teschner, Harry Holmes (who lived down the street from Watts), Harry Hauler and Watts. Watts was the tallest.

“It was the four of us --it was neat,” Watts said from his Newtown apartment, where he lives with his wife, Maureen.

“We were buddies when we got to boot camp,” he said. “We had been in school together. We really didn’t hang out together. At Great Lakes, it was basically all training.”

Watts had graduated from Newtown High School. A year after graduation, he decided to join up. He had considered becoming a mechanic, but the pay was not very good. So, he headed to Great Lakes instead.
He enlisted in 1948 and was discharged in 1952. The Korean War broke out in 1950. He had opted for the Navy because he wanted to go on carriers and work on airplanes. “That didn’t work out,” Watts said.
At Great Lakes, he had a row boat on Lake Michigan. “It was lifeboat,” Watts said. “Our training was how to get in and off of the ship and load it up. That was the only time on the sea.”

He was stationed at Navy air stations. He never got on a carrier much to his chagrin.

After basic training, he was sent to Memphis for training in the Air Department of the U.S. Navy.

Watts was asked to be an air controller. “I was given a series of exams like a guidance counselor would do,” he noted. He trained at a U.S. Naval air station 20 miles outside of Kansas City.

Watts was stateside in Atlantic City during the Korean War. For three years, he was instructing controllers. He also saw Memphis, Kansas and Lakehurst, N.J. He was back and forth in the Northeastern United States.

In Atlantic City, he got quite a bit of experience with civilian air operations in addition to Navy air traffic. Eastern Airlines flew in there two or three times a day.

When the Korean War broke out, they activated the Navy Reserves. “They sent all of them from New York and New England air control reserves,” Watts said. “They were weekend warriors. They had to stand watch with us. We mentored them for everything. We stayed there and trained the reserves.”

Watts never went overseas during the service. “I was already to go,” he said.

Nearly 60 years later, Watts commented from an air controller’s point of view on the recent incident when an air traffic controller was out of communication for 16 minutes during a medical emergency.

A radar facility last week in the tower of the Reno-Tahoe International Airport in Nevada was staffed with a lone controller.

Normally, a second controller is on duty and takes charge if the other one falls asleep.

“That’s a civilian tower,” Watts commented. “I don’t know what their hours are. There have always been arguments about the schedule that they work. Controllers can take a nap or snooze with somebody else in the tower to wake them up.

“Our shifts were sometimes long but there were always three or four of us around,” he said. “That was the military. We had plenty of help.”

This September, Watts will mark his 82nd birthday. Born and raised in Newtown Borough, Watts was the third generation to run the family’s neighborhood store on North Congress Street. His grandfather and his wife opened the store and had the house built with a storefront in 1900.

Watts ran the store from the 1950s until 1979 when he retired.

He is a member of Post 440 Morrell Smith American Legion. He just received his 50-year plaque.
Joe and Maureen Watts have three grown children -- Keyna, Donald and Randy. Keyna and her family live in the house that her great grandfather had built in 1900.

1st Lt. Pete Thompson

Notre Dame High, West Point grad leads his platoon in Basrah.

By John Williams, BucksLocalNews.com

The spark that ignited the fire was small, just a simple newsletter.

“It caught my attention,” said Lower Makefield resident Lois Tragone. “I told my son, Jeff, that we had to do something.”

The newsletter was produced and sent by 1st Lt. Pete Thompson, a high school friend of Tragone’s son Jeff, as a form of communication for family and friends at home.

“People were interested in their progress in Iraq,” Tragone said, “so the newsletter highlighted what was going on, where they were stationed and so-on.”

Pete and Jeff attended Notre Dame High School in Lawrenceville, New Jersey and graduated in 2005.
Upon graduation, Pete had mentioned that he wanted to join the military and was, in due course, accepted to West Point Military Academy in southeastern New York State.

“(Pete and I) met during our freshman year and have kept in touch to this day,” Jeff said of his friend. “He was the type of kid that you could tell was ‘going places.’ Even at such a young age, he was a man on a mission - had a good head on his shoulders, hung out with the right people and was loved by all the teachers and staff.”

While at Notre Dame, 1st Lt. Thompson was also a standout track and field athlete and
He studied Systems Engineering at West Point and participated in extensive training and graduated with top honors. Before leaving West Point, 1st Lt. Thompson was designated as commander of his platoon – Unit 107. He was deployed to Iraq about two months later and is currently stationed in Basrah with his platoon.
Pete’s tour of duty in the Middle East began in February. He is slated to stay for 12 months.

“I'm sure Pete won't be done after tour number one,” Jeff speculated.

“At 24 years old, he’s already a platoon leader,” Tragone said, “and there are guys in his platoon that are much older than him. It’s a lot of responsibility for a young man, but he takes everything in stride and is such a great kid.”

Inspired to do something bigger-than-herself and to provide basic necessities that Pete and his platoon needed, Tragone sent out a few e-mails. It started with her e-mail addresses contact list and before long, a small ground swelling of support had spawned. She did not expect her idea to take off like it did.

In an open letter to the public on her grassroots organization’s website, SoldierStuff.org, Tragone writes that some men under Pete’s command will not receive a single letter of encouragement or even a piece of food during their tour of duty.

“He respectfully asks that any or all of us who are able,” Tragone writes, “please send some necessities or pleasantries to these young men.

“I sent one email to everyone on my contact list – about 10 or 12 people – and before I was even finished doing it my doorbell rings and my old neighbor drops off a box of stuff at my doorstep. Many people offered help and were interested in getting involved.”

Tragone described Pete as a smart and athletic individual who could light up the room with his smile and who, most importantly, is goal oriented.

Tragone enlisted the guidance and help of family friend and Lower Makefield Supervisor, Ron Smith. E-mail blasts were sent out and soon enough, Tragone got another surprise.

“One man emailed me to let me know that he had setup a website,” she said. “I thought to myself ‘What am I going to do now? The donations started coming in fast, so I opened up my living room and closed it off. Now, it’s my workshop, so to speak.”

Some of the necessities that 1st Lt. Thompson and his platoon use on an almost daily basis range anywhere from baby wipes (the only “shower” they get for a few days sometimes), beef jerky, sunflower seeds, toothbrushes and toothpaste – which are not only used for dental hygiene, but to clean their rifles.

Ground coffee is always a hit, said Tragone.

“It’s almost like treat,” she said, “to get a real cup of coffee. The troops also ask for fruit rollups so when they’re out on patrol they can give it to the local children. With the blistering heat almost year round, lip baum and moisturizer are essential, including sunscreen.

Some other items include batteries, packs of crystal light and propel and swiffer brooms. For a complete list, visit SoldierStuff.org.

In a little over a month, 14 boxes have already been sent and another 19 are packed, labeled and ready to go.

“I probably have another 15 to 20 boxes that could be packed and ready to go at anytime,” Tragone said, while sifting through a box filled with classic car magazines.

“We put so much importance on the wrong things anymore,” she said. We get mad because a hospital is going to be put in down the street, but that’s what people think are a priority. It upsets me. I think I’m getting more joy out of doing this than anything I’ve ever done.”

“He is a great kid, a true friend and someone who would always help you out,” Jeff eloquently said about Pete. “He will give you the shirt off his back if you needed it. He is a true leader and we wish him all the best.”

Newton Dana

World War II veteran was a member of the Flying Tigers.

By Jeff Werner, BucksLocalNews.com

Newton Dana lived a lifetime in 1945.

It was during that historic year that Dana flew with the infamous 14th Air Force’s Flying Tigers under the command of Gen. Claire Lee Chenault. He co-piloted a B-24 Liberator, flying harrowing bombing and supply missions over the Himalayas and into China during World War II.

“Because of what we were doing in China, the Japanese had to split their forces in the Pacific,” said Dana. “They had to bring forces over to China and that made it easier for our guys in the Pacific who were bombing Japan.”

A native of Trenton, Dana graduated from Trenton High School in 1941. After high school, he enrolled at Ohio State University to study animal husbandry. In 1943, World War II interrupted his education. He left OSU and volunteered for the draft to become a flight officer with the U.S. Air Force. He was 18 years old.
“I always wanted to fly, but it was in the back of my head. Now, here I am enrolled in flight training,” said Dana. “And I always knew I was going to end up in China. No rhyme, reason or correlation. There was nothing on paper as to why this should occur. I just had a feeling,” he said.

For the next year, he underwent extensive training to become a pilot with the U.S. Air Force. He took basic training on the 12th floor of the Claridge Hotel in Atlantic City. He then trained in West Virginia, Florida and Alabama before earning his wings in September 1944 from twin engine pilot school in Arkansas.

From there he was sent to Texas where he was trained to fly the Liberator and then to Westover Field in Massachusetts where he met his flight crew in October 1944. The crew trained together in Charleston, S.C., before flying to Mitchell Field to pick up their plane, which they named the Manhattan Maiden.

In February 1945, the 12-member crew with Dana in the co-pilot’s seat departed on the long flight to China with stops in Bermuda, the Azores, Marrakesh, Tunis, Benghazi and Iran. The crew arrived in India before traversing the Himalayas to their final destination, an airbase in China.

During their seven months there, Dana and the crew of the Manhattan Maiden flew 40 bombing and supply missions over Eastern China, hitting targets occupied by Japanese forces.

“If it wasn’t for the Flying Tigers, they would have overrun China,” said Dana, of the Japanese.

One of their most frequent missions was the Yellow River Bridge that crossed the Yangtze. “That was the main link going down into China and our job was to knock that out,” he said. “But every time you’d hit it, they’d rebuild it overnight,” he said. “We were constantly going over it. It was heavily armed.”

Dana said the crew frequently flew through exploding flack, which caused tension on the plane. He remembers one mission where a burst exploded overhead and one of the guys ducked his head down too quickly and broke his scalp open. Blood dripped down onto the navigator’s charts causing some concern until they determined the injury was not life threatening.

During a mission to bomb a power plant, Dana said several planes in their formation were lost. “Coming back we lost people running out of gas because it was over 12 hours. 12 hours in the air is a lot of damn time,” he said. One of the planes barely made it back after losing two of its engines.

With the end of the war approaching and after exhausting their targets in China, the crew relocated to an airbase in India and flew supply missions over the Himalayas.

Flying “over the hump” was scarier and more dangerous than the bombing missions, said Dana. And the statistics bear him out. The Air Force lost 580 aircraft between air transport and heavy bombers during that time period.

“Imagine not having navigation, no stars to look at and you’re fighting weather, sometimes with winds of over 150 mph, and you can’t get a real good fix. You had no control over your destiny,” he said.

“Every bomb we dropped, every gallon of gas we used we had to fly over the Himalayas,” said Dana. “We lost more people hauling gas then we did in combat."

Inside the cockpit, Dana said he felt invincible, like nothing was going to happen to him. “When you’re young and 20 you’re stupid,” he says today. “Whatever happened, happened to the other guy. The only time you got excited is when something comes close to you. Over the hump I got rid of that feeling. Flying over the Himalayas was worse than combat. The Himalayas was enough to scare the hell out of anyone.”

The crew returned to the United States in early October 1945 not long after the atomic bombs were dropped on Japan putting an end to the war in the Pacific.

“Had President Truman not dropped the bomb, I wouldn’t be sitting here,” said Dana. “I guarantee you that. We would have had over 50 percent fatalities.”

Following the war, Dana returned to Ohio State University and finished his degree in animal husbandry, graduating in 1948.
He returned to Trenton where he worked for his family’s meat packing business, Delaware Valley Meat Packing. He was married in 1952 and moved across the river to Bucks County in 1955. He eventually moved to Lower Makefield where he raised his family.

He recently moved to Buckingham Springs where he continues to work as a food broker, a job he has done since 1964. He’ll be 87 next month.

“I lived a lifetime in a very short time and the only heroes are not in this room,” he said, his voice filling with emotion. “This was a war of survival. There was no choice on this. It was just something that had to be done.”

Hugh A. Bell

Cold War vet forged brotherhood of allies, four- and two-legged.

By R. Kurt Osenlund, BucksLocalNews.com


Hugh Bell isn’t like most veterans. Most veterans look back on their military careers and recall spending the bulk of their time alongside other soldiers, two-legged ones who might have barked, but likely used words instead.

Bell, however, primarily served as a patrol dog handler and a K-9 supervisor, positions he took on as a military policeman with the U.S. Army. He says one of the most important things he learned in the service was the importance of mentorship, and what he cherishes the most is the brotherhood he forged, which, he says, included men and dogs alike.

“I’ve always been a dog person,” Bell says. “Ever since I had a cocker spaniel growing up.”

Bell, 53, grew up in Northeast Philadelphia, until his parents, John and Agnes, moved the family to Levittown. Bell was 7. He and his siblings, John, Karen and Theresa, attended Woodrow Wilson High School. Bell says he knew he wanted to join the military well before he graduated in 1976.

“My junior high school and high school years were during the Vietnam era,” he says. “My cousins were in Vietnam and my father was a WWII vet. That influenced me a lot. I just knew I was going to be on a path into the military.”

Bell set his sights on military police, specifically the K-9 program. He enlisted in August 1997, heading to Ft. McLellan, Ala., where he underwent both basic training and Advanced Individual Training (AIT). In October, he became a K-9 handler, joining the Sentry Dog Program at Lackland Air Force Base in Texas. He learned basic obedience with the dogs, ran obstacle courses, learned how to use them to detect people, and how to attack and apprehend.

His first official assignment was in Alaska, where, as a sentry dog handler, he walked the interior and exterior of a fence line, guarding a Nike Hercules defense missile site.

“The assignment took a kid from the suburbs and put him into the wilderness,” Bell says. “We were 50 miles outside of Anchorage. It was my first experience seeing a bear and a moose walking around like a dog or a cat.”

Bell moved on to the (warmer) military police unit at Ft. Hamilton in Brooklyn, N.Y. He worked gate duty, and his job became, as it would remain, quite akin to that of a traditional county or local police officer. He issued parking tickets, enforced speed laws and patrolled barracks areas. In 1980, at the end of his three-year enlistment, he thought he’d logged enough experience to join his own local police, but couldn’t due to quotas based on gender and race.

To remain associated with the Army, he joined the Reserves, reporting to Ft. Totten in Queens, N.Y., the closest base with a military police unit. It was there that he met one of his mentors, Mickey Goldman, who helped Bell meet with a recruiter, reenlist and get back into active duty (“Something was missing,” Bell says. “Full-time military was missing”).

Apparently, something else was missing, too, for before he set out to Seneca Army Depot in the Finger Lakes to guard a Navy ammunitions storage unit, Bell literally married the girl next door, Barbara, whom he dated for a mere six months before making her his wife. Barbara, Bell says, followed him to virtually every subsequent military mission.

That included a return to Lackland, where Bell upgraded his K-9 education and learned more about using dogs as “regular police dogs,” getting them involved with tracking, building searches and traffic stops. His training ran until September 1982, at which time he went to Fishbaugh Army Depot in Germany, again doing walking patrols with dogs to guard an American weapons and ammo storage unit.

A Cold War veteran, Bell went back to Lackland to hone his skills as a patrol narcotics dog handler, then landed at Ft. Dix, N.J., where he served as a military police K-9 supervisor. Patrolling the massive fort just like a normal town, he oversaw other handlers and performed duties with the dogs regularly. He held his post for five years, working with the Philadelphia Police K-9 Academy, the Atlantic City Police K-9 Academy, the New Jersey State Police and the New Jersey State Corrections Department.

From Ft. Dix he went back overseas to Bremerhaben, Germany, serving as a certified U.S. Customs inspector at the nation’s border. In 1992 he went to Bad Kreuznach in Germany, fulfilling the same duties. His most intense assignment came in 1995, when he was temporarily sent to Bosnia for Operation Joint Endeavor. Landing at Eagle Base Camp in Tuzla, he worked as a bomb dog handler, detecting explosives and sweeping areas newly occupied by U.S. troops. Bell never came across an actual mine, but danger loomed, as he’d heard of multiple soldiers being wounded or killed doing the same tasks during his same mission.

“It was scary work,” he says.

Bell’s final assignment was at Ft. Hood, Texas, where he oversaw 20 K-9 teams as a K-9 supervisor. He retired in 1998 as a Staff Sergeant, and moved back to Levittown with Barbara. Since then, the couple has relocated to Fairless Hills, and Bell has worked as a security guard with numerous regional facilities.

As a hobby, he’s trained dogs with PetSmart and the Lower Bucks Dog Training Club. A mid-’90s hip injury cut into some of his activities, but he remains an active member of the Guardians of the National Cemetery in Washington Crossing, The Disabled American Veterans of Levittown Chapter 117, and the American Legion of Yardley Post 317. He says that these affiliations provide him with the same sort of brotherhood he valued so much in the service.

“The most important thing is to surround yourself with good people,” he says.

Good dogs help, too.

Salvatore Castro

Levittown resident served in the South Pacific during WWII.

By John Williams, BucksLocalNews.com

Bullets fired from Japanese infantry whizzed overhead and Corporal Salvatore Castro took cover in the rugged terrain of the dense Philippine rainforest.

Three days earlier his battalion had just started a six mile prowl through the jungle. He and his unit had come to a big valley shaped like a horseshoe, bare of vegetation due to all the fighting; they spread out and took shelter in fox holes.

Just as he thought the worst had passed, grenades began to shower down on top of his unit’s position. They exploded from all directions with a fierce veracity. Many of his fellow soldiers – some of whom he trained with – perished in the attack.

“I was instructed to shoot in the general area of where the Japanese troops were firing from,” Castro, 85, said. He took his Browning automatic rifle and fired into the directed area.
“So I shot, but that exposed my position,” Castro said.

“As the grenades began exploding, I caught pieces of shrapnel on my legs and arms and, quite frankly, all over,” he said. “Most of it missed me, but I still had foreign objects like stones and clogs of dirt kicking up at me.”

He immediately started feeling the pain and began to bleed.

“I passed out and rolled down this hill,” Castro recalled. “I heard my battalion call to ‘pull back’ and I heard them leaving the area. I started crawling up the hill screaming for their assistance because I didn’t want to be left behind.” He assumed that the rest of his battalion thought he had died.

“I finally got up the hill and managed to catch up to them,” he said. “I still have nightmares sometimes about that moment. I wake up screaming.”

It all started when Castro was a mere adolescent.

He said joining the military was an ambition of his for a while. Before the war started, he aspired to be a pilot. His plans took a detour though after he was drafted in October of 1943 in his senior year of high school.

“I was assigned to infantry,” Castro said. “My basic training took place at Camp Blandey [a military installation outside of Jacksonville] and lasted 17 weeks. After training, they sent us home for a two week furlough.”
After his furlough, Castro was sent to Fort Ord – a disbanded Army post on Monterey Bay in California – and on March 20, 1944, he and his unit embarked on a three-week trek across the Pacific Ocean en route to New Guinea.

“We were attached to the 32nd Division who were already in combat at a small town named Aitape,” Castro remarked. “We got there around the beginning of July and in about a week the Japanese began their offensive.

“We ended up killing some 9,000 Japanese who ambushed us,” he said. “So, we pulled back and prepared for the next invasion, which came not too long after on Sept. 15, 1944 on the island of Morotai,” a member of the Molucca Islands in New Guinea.

Castro said the island wasn’t well occupied and that it stretched only about 50 miles long. It was all a part of General Douglas MacArthur’s strategy of island hopping dubbed “Hittin ‘em where they ain’t.”

Our mission at Morotai was to destroy a Japanese radar station and setup a United States controlled radar facility,” he stated.

“Information intelligence told us that there were about 3,500 Japanese ashore, but mostly service troops,” which Castro said wasn’t a huge threat. “Apparently, the Japanese were told to create fake camps to create an illusion, so we thought we were outnumbered. We fought them head on and were relieved by men in the 33rd Division.”

By the time he left the South Pacific, he had developed Jungle Rot, a type of tropical, fungal parasite that was often contracted by soldiers overseas. He was treated for the fungus while in Hollandia, New Guinea.

“It nearly killed me,” Castro said. “Penicillin helped relieve the fungus.” He said that Penicillin was his saving grace. Then on Feb. 20, 1945, he was permitted to return to the United States because of the complicated nature of his injuries.

“I quick grabbed my bags and got out of there. We stopped in Hawaii for a day to refuel and then shipped out to San Francisco. It was a great feeling seeing those Golden Gates,” Castro said in a relieved tone.

A military hospital train took him across country to Camp Upton in New York, where he recuperated and attended shows featuring Hollywood personalities such as Lena Horne and Irving Berlin. He even met and spoke with actress and film star of the 1930s and ‘40s, Jean Arthur – he even got her autograph.

He got discharged on Christmas Eve, 1945.

“I was in New York and there was a horrible snowstorm,” he stated. “We stayed in these wooden shacks – it was very cold – so I wore every bit of clothes I had and I was happy to get out.”

The Army had asked him to join the Reserves, but he declined. He served a total of 27 months of active duty in the military.

He attended Drexel University and received his degree in Mechanical Engineering. Not long after, he returned to school and earned a degree in Electrical Engineering because the devices he worked on at work required knowledge of electronics.

“We designed centrifuges and flight simulators,” he said. “I got involved with Environmental Tectonics Corporation (ETC) where we designed pilot training systems.”

He got involved with the Guardians after a close friend of his died. He is currently an active Guardian of the Washington Crossing Cemetery.

“I knew he was going to be buried in Washington Crossing Cemetery and I wanted to be in his honor guard,” Castro said. He volunteers in the office once a week – usually on Tuesdays.
Castro reflected on the enormity of military enlistment in the wake of World War II.

“When the Japanese hit the U.S., we only had a about a half million men in the service.
Eventually we had 16 million people join the service.

“It’s incredible.”

His parents emigrated to Cuba from Spain in 1917, where they met and traveled to the U.S. Salvatore was born in Newark, N.J., and moved to the Philadelphia area in 1948 and got married to his wife, Elenor.

Retired Army Corporal Castro moved to Levittown in 1953-54 and bought his house in the Highland Park section for $13,500.

“When you’re overseas there’s not much to get away from,” Castro divulged. “Living in foxhole isn’t great and living in tents in the South Pacific was very hot and uncomfortable. The best moment was when we got on that boat to go home.”

Michael Donovan

Newtown native pays tribute to local veterans who died in WWII.

By Petra Chesner Schlatter, BucksLocalNews.com

U.S. Coast Guard Veteran Michael J. Donovan has become known as the hometown researcher who keeps a folder filled with a variety of information for each of Newtown’s service people who lost their lives during WWII.

He prides himself on having been “born and raised” in Newtown.

On one sheet of paper, Donovan, who served stateside during WWII, has assembled the photographs of 16 people, many he knew from attending Newtown High School. The Chancellor Center, as it is known today, now houses the Council Rock School District central administration.
Their pictures are situated under the heading: “1941 Reflections of WWII 1945.”

The photo page pays tribute to George Hennessey, Billy Swayze, Leon Hennessey, Ned Maher, Varsal Kirby, Cliff VanArtsdalen, Arthur Strathie, Wm. T. Werner, Wallace Murfit Jr., George Dutton, Mary Bond, Mickey Swayze, Conrad Atkinson, Bob Cahill, Marvin Hilsee and Norman Davis Jr.

Donovan is ensconced in his complex project, which is being made into a Power Point presentation.

Those who attended Newtown High School are part of a memorial at the center, which Donovan made.

“I was young when the war started,” he said. “You are part of the group. I was 13 or 14 when the war started.”

Donovan is married to Josephine and they have two grown children, Amy and Patrick. The couple’s home is in Newtown Township. He enjoys sitting in his easy chair with the fireplace aglow, paging through his research, which is carefully organized.

He went into the service on Oct. 8, 1943 when he was 17 with his father’s permission. The recruiting station was in a former bank at Third and Chestnut in Philadelphia. Basic training was at the Manhattan Beach Training Station in New York.

“I enlisted because I didn’t want to go into the Army,” Donovan said. “I would have gone in the Army when I was 18. I was a junior in high school.”

He would have graduated from Newtown High School in 1945. He had attended St. Andrew School until the eighth grade.

Donovan is humble about his time in the service. “I was just a seaman -- that’s all. I wasn’t an admiral,” he joked.

He said one of the reasons he compiles history about Newtown’s part in World War II is for younger people to learn more.

He emphasizes that WWII is an important part of history. “Hitler was going to take over the world – he tried to anyhow – Hitler and the guy in Japan – Tojo,” he said. “The Imperial Japanese Navy was taking over the whole Pacific Rim. It started with Pearl Harbor.”

Donovan described what the feeling was in the States when the war broke out. “Everybody made a great effort to get the planes, and the tanks and the ships into production,” he said.
“We didn’t have anything -- we started from scratch,” he said, noting that he worked at an aircraft factory after the war in West Trenton.

Donovan described the climate when everyone learned that the war was over. “We were all glad, but we didn’t get discharged until the following June” he said. “The ones with the higher points [amount of action you saw] were discharged first.”

One of his prized pieces of history is a picture of the “Newtown Honor Roll,” which listed all of the people from Newtown who served in World War II. When someone was killed, a star was put next to their name.

The actual honor roll had been displayed in the Gaine and Murfit Chevrolet showroom at 215 South State. Donovan said the expansive board with seemingly countless names no longer exists. He thinks it was destroyed in a barn fire, though he does not know that for certain.

The deaths of ‘Newtowners’ who perished during WWII weighs heavily on his mind and heart. “I knew all them - I knew everybody from Newtown,” Donovan said. “Instead of graduating, we were in war.”

William H. Swayze was one of the 16 who died. He was killed in action on April 28, 1945 in Okinawa, Japan. “The war was over in August 1945,” Donovan stressd.

Donovan’s file on “Billy” Swayze is nearly complete, including a write-up by Donovan.

“Pvt. Swayze and others were guarding a restricted area when an enemy artillery shell exploded nearby,” Donovan wrote. “He was wounded in both legs and received immediate treatment from a medical officer. He was rushed by ambulance to a field hospital where he received treatment on both legs.

“However, the “shock?” seemed to be too much for him,” Donovan wrote.

Donovan explained where he found the information about the 16 who died during WWII. The Newtown Historic Association has a 100-year history of Newtown in a newspaper called the Newtown Enterprise, which was published from 1865 to 1965.

“It’s on microfilm – that’s where I got a lot of this information,” he said, noting that he also wrote to the Army, Navy and Coast Guard for information.

Ned Maher was killed in action in Anzio, Italy. He was in the 3rd infantry division, U.S. Army.
George Hennessey’s transport was “rammed by a French aircraft carrier,” Donovan.

His brother, Leon, died in the Azores off the coast of Africa on March 3, 1945.

“I have a file on every one of them,” Donovan said.

He is especially proud of is seniority in the local American Legion. “I got 63 years in The Legion,” Donovan said. “Not many people can say that.” He is the historian for the Morrell Smith Post 440 in Newtown.

One of Donovan’s treasured possessions is a photograph of himself with his boot-camp buddy, Joe Connell, who he keeps in touch with today.

The picture was taken in Baltimore on the 110-foot harbor tug – a Coast Guard cutter called the Chinock.

Henry H. Pennock

Former paratrooper still standing tall, with stories to tell.

By R. Kurt Osenlund, Pennington Post Editor

A lot of war veterans might tell you they “leapt” into battle, or just kind of “fell into” their military careers, but such statements take on literal meanings when coming from Henry Pennock, a Levittown-based WWII hero who experienced first-hand many tumultuous events that shaped our nation’s military history. Pennock became a paratrooper, a skydiving soldier who sails into combat zones from above. He has the scars and long-term effects to prove just how much action he saw, and though he’s not doing very much leaping these days, Pennock values all that he is and all that he’s come from.

“I enlisted in the paratroopers while I was in boot camp,” Pennock says. “The jump pay earned me an extra $50 a month, and all the girls liked the paratroopers, so it was a good gig.”

Pennock had originally wanted to join the Air Force. Born in Altoona and raised with sisters Betty and Suzanne by parents Henry Sr. and Lillian, Pennock, now 85, attended Altoona High School, where seniors were graduating early each month after January 1943 to meet the military’s high demand for soldiers. Pennock’s flawed eyesight rendered him ineligible for the Air Force, so he enlisted with the Army that March. His boot camp was based at Alabama’s Fort McClellan.

His paratrooper enlistment led him to Fort Benning in Georgia, where he commenced six weeks of jump school training. The rigorous, daredevil program tested soldiers’ psyches as much as their athleticism, consisting of tethered practice leaps off the top of telephone poles and base-jump drills off of 350-foot towers.

“My class started out with 8,000 guys,” Pennock says, “and only about 2,000 got their boots. Some of these guys were really physically fit, but they just couldn’t handle it mentally. If you could imagine jumping off the side of a building, that’s what it was like. The object was to toughen you up for the future.”

And that future came soon enough. Pennock – who says the humiliation that befell those who quit inspired him to keep focused and complete training – logged four true “day jumps” and one “night jump” before diving into a week of combat training, then boarded a French luxury-liner-turned-troop-carrier that would take him to Liverpool, England.

There, Pennock was assigned to the 101st Division, the military’s premiere paratrooper outfit that’s since been instrumental in battles in Germany, Japan, Korea, Vietnam, Iraq and Afghanistan. From Liverpool, Pennock and his company moved on to Bastogne, Belgium, where, he says, they weren’t present for two days before they were surrounded by seven German Panzer divisions. The Siege of Bastone had begun. In their attempt to split the allied forces and enter Brussells, German troops bombed Bastogne, leaving nothing, Pennock says, but the basements of houses. The town was a war zone, and the soldiers, who’d moved to the outskirts to escape the bombing, re-converged to battle the ground troops.

Fighting amidst the rubble, and in the bitter cold, Pennock struggled on in Bastogne for 30 days before he and his fellow surviving division members were liberated by Gen. George Patton and his canon-wielding cavalry. This was the battle that would leave Pennock with serious shrapnel wounds and near-frostbitten feet. It was where he’d get by on oatmeal and turkey dinners generously dropped in canisters from airplanes overhead. It was where, on Christmas Eve, Americans and Germans would temporarily drop their weapons and join each other in the singing of carols, the very scene that’s etched itself into history books and been shared with multiple generations.

“When you think about George Washington, and how his men suffered on Christmas Eve, it was a lot like that,” Pennock says.

After recuperating in a Belgian hospital, Pennock traveled to Berchtesgaden, Germany – specifically its Kehlstein peak – where American soldiers had taken control of Hitler’s Eagle’s Nest hideaway. It was 1945. Pennock offers anecdotes about vast German estates where hundreds of Americans guarded thousands of possessions collected by the Nazis, and swanky restaurants that, having once served the Fuhrer himself, were now catering to U.S. troops.

Pennock began training as one of the paratroopers who would enter Japan, but the subsequent dropping of the bomb on Hiroshima nixed the mission. It was just about time for Pennock to return to the States, where he’d land in January 1946 after 25 days of travel. He’d have one last big jump with the 17th Airborne Division, then spend a brief time studying topography at Penn State Altoona. In Kenosha, Wis., he worked with Simmons mattress company and met his first wife, Winnie. They had two daughters, Sonya and Cynthia.

Returning to Altoona, he worked for the Altoona News until, around 1952, he got a job with Seaboard Finance Company – a job that would lead to a 35-year career. Pennock retired in 1985 as a managing supervisor, giving him more time to do as he pleased while based at his home in Levittown. It’s where he still lives today, with his second wife, Elaine, whom he met in 1960 and with whom he’ll soon be celebrating his 50th wedding anniversary. Pennock and Elaine have two children, Diane and Henry, and Pennock has a total of 13 grandchildren and nine great-grandchildren.

During his time as a paratrooper, Pennock endured an injury whose effects haven’t been fully apparent until recently. His left ankle, he says, has become devoid of cartilage, making walking on uneven terrain rather difficult. But he says he’s not ready for any motorized scooters yet, nor does he have any trouble keeping balance. He stands tall, in more ways than one.

“I’ve taken a lot of pride and discipline away from my military service,” he says. “You realize you’re a small cog in a big wheel, but it’s all those small cogs that keep our country free.”

Norman Schnitzer

Korean War-era veteran now leads Jewish war vets.

By Jeff Werner, BucksLocalNews.com

Korean War-era veteran Norman Schnitzer, a national committee member for the Jewish War Veterans of the United States and a former state commander, has fought many battles on behalf of the veteran, but none on the field of combat.

He was among the lucky ones who served during the “Forgotten War,” but was never called to duty in the combat zone.

“But I believe I helped in my own way,” said the Bensalem Township resident, who served stateside for 10 years in the U.S. Air Force Dental Service from 1951 to 1961.

Schnitzer grew up in South Philadelphia during World War II and was the son of a World War I veteran. His father, Max, served as a combat engineer, responsible for building bridges and trenches in France.

“He was also very lucky,” said Schnitzer. “He caught the flu and his CO told him to go see the doctor. But he said, ‘We’re working on this bridge.’ The CO says to him, ‘That’s an order. I want you to go to the doctor.’ While at the doctor, the bridge was hit and his crew was killed.”

After the war, his father worked at the Philadelphia Navy Yard, laying down the teak decks on some of the country’s most known battleships, including the New Jersey, Wisconsin and North Carolina.

“Whenever I visit the New Jersey, I kneel down and touch the deck,” said Schnitzer.

Schnitzer, who was 13 when World War II broke out, graduated from South Philadelphia High School. Following graduation, he took a job as a dental technician. He met his future wife, Harriet, in 1948, and the two were married in 1950.

With the Korean conflict raging between the Republic of Korea, supported by the United Nations, and the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea, supported by China, Schnitzer made the decision to enlist in the U.S. Air Force in 1951.

“It was either that or get drafted,” he said. “I was able to go wherever I wanted to be and I was able to continue my career in the Air Force.”

Schnitzer took full advantage of the opportunity, attending several schools and receiving additional dental training. He served with the Air Force in Texas, Alaska, Ohio and at the MaGuire Air Force Base in New Jersey before returning to civilian life.

“Our job was to make sure our guys were in top shape,” said Schnitzer, who was assigned to the dental laboratory. “I made dentures and partials. I even made some simple orthodontic appliances.”

In one case, while serving in Alaska, he was responsible for rebuilding the dentures of a patient who was in a motor vehicle accident and had fractured his upper and lower jaws.

“They handed me a handful of pieces,” he said. “It took me five hours to put it together.” For his work, he received a promotion.

The year and a half he spent in Alaska were the most memorable. While stationed at an Air Force hospital near the capital city of Anchorage, an early morning fire broke out at the facility.

“We set our plan in motion and we evacuated over 250 patients. We didn’t lose one patient. We lost a nurse from smoke inhalation,” said Schnitzer. “We all got a letter of commendation from the Surgeon General of the Air Force,” he said.

Afterwards, the men had the job of cleaning up the damage, which was confined to the officer’s club and the nurse’s quarters. “I was swinging a mop. I was a sergeant, but I was swinging a mop just like everyone else. Someone walked by and I splashed water all over his shoes. I looked up and I saw three stars. It was the Surgeon General of the Air Force. And he said to me, ‘Just carry on sergeant.’ I apologized, but he said, ‘Don’t worry about it.’”

A volcano also erupted while he was stationed there. “We were covered with six inches of dust and it was hard to get rid of,” he said.

Schnitzer took full advantage of his time in the Air Force, using it to perfect his dental technician skills.

“It wasn’t like World War II where dentistry was sloppy,” he said. “We did some pretty fine work and I was proud of that.”

Following his discharge, Schnitzer worked as a dental technician in the Philadelphia area, making removable full and partial dentures for dentists. Health conditions sidelined his work two years ago and he made the decision to retire.

Today, when he’s not spending time with his 10 grandchildren and a grandchild-in-law, he’s working to make life better for the Jewish War Veterans, both locally and across the nation.
For all the combat he missed during the Korean War, he’s made up for it by waging a battle of a different type in the halls of political power.

Schnitzer has become a strong advocate and lobbyist for the local veteran, serving numerous times as commander of the Fegelson-Young Post 697 of the Jewish War Veterans, as state commander of the JWV and currently as a national executive committee member, which he said is kind of like being in Congress. He also serves on the board of directors and is a life member of the National Museum of American Jewish Military History in Washington, D.C.

“Part of our function as Jewish War Veterans, or any veterans organization, is to help veterans,” said Schnitzer, when asked why he is so passionate about his work on behalf of veterans.

“It’s a constant battle,” said Schnitzer, of his efforts on behalf of the veteran. “When it comes time for the V.A. budget, we have to beg. We don’t have mandated funds. In other words, we’re part of the budget that the V.A. gets every year. And we have to beg.”

The biggest need right now, he said, is the physical and mental care and placement of the men and women returning from combat.

His other passion is the National Museum of American Jewish Military History, which he said is unlike other museums of its kind.

“We don’t exhibit weapons. We tell stories about people,” he said. “Did you know there were 15 Jewish veterans who were awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor? Two are still alive,” he said. “That’s what we tell about in the museum.”

Leonard Feinberg, Part 2

POW recalls his experience during World War II (PART TWO OF TWO)

By Rebecca Schnitzer, Correspondent


When the Battle of the Bulge occurred, Leonard Feinberg found himself in Marvie, a little town outside of Bastogne, Germany.

“We replaced the guys in the 103rd Airborne, who were holding that town,” Feinberg said.

As Feinberg’s regiment started going forward, they came under fire from behind.

“All I know is, they opened up on us and a couple of the guys got hit and there we were. How did we bypass them?” Feinberg still wonders. “So then we retreated forward and it was all woods after that and we just wandered around – this whole regiment.”

Feinberg ended up being the only medic left with his regiment.

The regiment began marching back in a long column with Feinberg in the middle for easy access to the wounded. As they started marching, a machine gun opened up and took down several men in the front of the column. Feinberg and some others jumped into a ditch to escape the bullets.

Feinberg looked around and saw a hill behind them with bushes at the top.

“The ground was all open behind us. I set the Olympic record for the uphill dash wearing galoshes in the snow!” Feinberg laughed.

He got to the top, waiting to see if anyone was coming and wondered where he could go. He started walking along the line of bushes and noticed two men walking up. He dove into the bushes and waited to hear what language the two men were speaking – were they American or German?

“I’m lying there in the bushes, in the snow and a mortar comes in right near me. That’s when I got hit in the thigh and that’s when I got the other hole in my helmet,” he said.

Feinberg saw an open space next to him with more woods. Thinking he could run out-of-sight from the Germans, he got up and started running.

“I get halfway across the open space and a guy yells out in German,” Feinberg remembered. “So I said to him, in my best German, ‘I have my hands up!’ and he opens up with his gun, so I yelled again. Finally, I remembered the German word for medic and yelled ‘I’m a medic!’ and he said, ‘Come here.’”

He joined a few other Americans who were captured.

“You know that expression that your whole insides fell down? That’s the only way I could describe it.”

After working briefly at a German hospital, Feinberg was moved to several different places including a POW camp in Gerolstein. They kept the POWs in an old factory and took the prisoners out on work duty. When word got around that Germans were ready to move some people out, Feinberg was itching to go, but another prisoner was not. They switched names and both went their separate ways.

“I wanted to try to get back to a place where the Red Cross would know I was there so my family could know what happened.”

After Gerolstein, they ended up in Flomersheim where they kept about 100 POWs in an old beer hall. A typical meal there was a piece of bread. Feinberg had gotten sick with an infected throat and as a medic, had his thermometer with him.

“I think it had something to do with my religious background, because they always came to me first, trying to get me to go to work,” he said.

After showing them several times that he had a fever, they took Feinberg’s thermometer away and made him go to work.

“It was the best thing they could have done, but they didn’t realize it,” Feinberg laughed.
“It was a night job where we were unloading boxcars in this little town nearby,” Feinberg explained. “And I discovered as we were taking these cardboard boxes out of the boxcars, that there was food in them.

“We were hungry and here I see cans of tuna, biscuits and I discovered that the boxes didn’t have a lot of tape and I could stick my hand in, take some out, stick them in my pockets and I thought, ‘this is great!’”

Feinberg shared his newfound treasure with the other POWs and pretty soon, people were lining up for work duty, eager to smuggle food back for each other.

They marched the POWs 60 kilometers, from Flomersheim, through Bonn and all the way to Cologne. Afterwards, they moved the POWs in boxcars.

Feinberg ended up in a real prison camp in Lindberg.

“There were hundreds of guys there. But finally, I got registered with the Red Cross.”

Representatives of the Red Cross from Switzerland were at the prison camp handing out packages to the prisoners containing toilet paper and other toiletries.

“The one thing was, they refused to register anyone as Jewish. Evidently, sometime before Christmas, which was quite awhile beforehand, there had been a bombing nearby and there were some unexploded bombs. The Germans came in and went through the list and picked out all the Jewish guys and made them a bomb disposal squad. After that, the Red Cross refused to register anyone as Jewish.”

As quickly as they were moved into the prison camp, they were moved out.

Feinberg recalled a day when American planes decided to bomb the railroad yard. They were locked in the boxcars, people panicking, praying they would not get hit.

“Fortunately, we were not one of the things that got hit! They hit just about everything but us.”
The prison guards took the POWs out and marched them to a railroad station. They put them back in boxcars and they rode to a wooded area in the middle of nowhere.

Someone came over and opened the boxcar that Feinberg was in and they came flying out of the boxcar as the planes began to bomb the tracks again. Feinberg and another prisoner ran out into a big field with their Red Cross packages.

“We ran out into the middle of the field and took the toilet paper. I made a big ‘P’ and he made a ‘W’ and we stood there and waved as the planes came in.”

Some other prisoners lined up in the field and also made a ‘PW’ with their bodies.

“There was a little newspaper article and the article said ‘Human PW saves train.’ But they didn’t mention my toilet paper!” Feinberg laughed.

At this point, the prison guards marched them to Braunfels, Germany.

“There was a big field that was surrounded by barbed wire and that’s where we were,” Feinberg explained.

Feinberg noticed that across the street was some houses and saw an alley between the houses. He told a couple other guys about it and they devised a plan.

They approached a guard and Feinberg told him they weren’t feeling well and wanted to see the town’s doctor.

Feinberg and a couple other men were allowed to go towards town. When they got there, the other men went into town while Feinberg ran down the alley.

“I didn’t want to go into the town. I stayed by myself and I was cold and miserable.”

There was a big hill next to the town and a big cave in the hill. Feinberg went into the cave but he wasn’t alone for long.

“All of a sudden, in come all these civilians. It turns out it was their air raid shelter!”

Feinberg noticed a young girl and her family in the cave with him. Knowing what he was, the girl would come over to him when nobody was looking and point out the people to stay away from.
The little girl, Gretel, told him that her father had been in a concentration camp for “being against the Nazis.” Feinberg knew he had made a friend. He told her he wanted to go to her house.

“It was only a matter of days and the town was taken by the Americans,” he said.

Feinberg had been a POW for three months.

Following his discharge from the army, Feinberg returned to Rutgers and completed his Bachelor of Science degree in June 1947. He then earned a Masters of Science in biochemistry at George Washington University and a Ph. D. in biochemistry at Penn State University. After graduation he spent four years in industrial research and 13 years in cardiology research. He worked at Philadelphia General Hospital and then became the vice president and director of a private clinical laboratory.

Feinberg tells his story with a smile and a quirky sense of humor. He says he wants to write a book about his experience.

“I was just at the right age where I was looking for adventure. This was the ultimate adventure.”

Leonard Feinberg, Part 1

Jewish War veteran shares story as WWII POW (PART ONE OF TWO)

By Rebecca Schnitzer, Correspondent


Leonard Feinberg Ph.D., a retired biochemist living in the Forsythia Gate section of Levittown, remembers his first thought when WWII started.

“I wanted to get into something. That’s the only way I can describe it. I wanted to go fight for my country.”

Feinberg, 87, is a member of Jewish War Veterans Post 697 and likes to speak about the time he spent overseas.

He was born in Longbranch, N.J. and graduated from Jefferson High School in Elizabeth, N.J. in 1941. He started college at Rutgers University in Sept. 1941.

“You can imagine trying to tell your parents, ‘Can I go enlist in the Army?’” Feinburg laughed, adding that his parents’ first reaction was, “No way!”

“But they did come around not too long after Pearl Harbor.”

Shortly after the start of his sophomore year at Rutgers, he enlisted in the Enlisted Reserve and went into the Army. When it was time to choose what basic training he went to, Feinberg told his friends, who also enlisted, that he wanted to go into the tanks.

“They said, ‘Nah, we’re all pre-meds. Let’s go into medical.’ So that’s how I ended up as a medic.”

Feinberg had 17 weeks of basic training followed by three months of surgical tech school, after which he was sent to a replacement depot and then to England to join the 134th Infantry Regiment in the 1st Battalion, which was made up of men from the Nebraska National Guard.

“We got to Normandy – not on D-Day,” Feinberg said. “Where we landed was a short walk from Omaha Beach.”

“We came in a couple weeks after D-Day. As the low man on the totem pole, with all my training, I became a litter-bearer. What we littler-bearers did was go right up to the front line, where anybody was wounded and carry them back to the aid station,” Feinberg remembered. “That was fun and games.”

Feinberg said that the Germans would usually avoid shooting medics. “However, that didn’t always fly.

“Our first objective was to liberate the town of Saint-Lô. That was an important town for us to take, because for them (the Germans), it was sort of a message center,” Feinberg recalled.
“In Normandy they had these hedgerows and these things were impenetrable. That’s what Normandy is famous for – their hedgerows. So I devised a way that we could carry a guy on a litter, cross over a hedgerow and hardly miss a beat!”

“I was such a good litter-bearer; I got the first promotion, to corporal!” Feinberg smiled. “And then I became an Aidman – a company aid medic.”

Feinberg’s battalion went on to liberate towns and cities in France all the way to the German border.

“It was so exciting and so great to liberate these cities and these people were so thankful,” he recalled. “That part – that was the fun part of the war.”

After they had taken a big city in France, they crossed over the German border.

“We had taken this little town and they had some hills, all of the sudden. And there was this big hill and the Germans were holding the hill.”

Feinberg’s commanding officer insisted that they take the hill, but it was late in the afternoon. “The officers were on their radios, telling him it was too late. We can’t go and take the hill. But nope, he insisted.”

Feinberg’s battalion came up the side of the hill and took control of part of it. They started having skirmishes with the Germans, who still ‘owned’ the other half of the hill.

“It was just mass confusion. It was dark by the time it got up there. And we didn’t have time to dig-in and get set.”

Feinberg noticed that his company commander was looking for Art, the company runner. The runner would take messages to headquarters when there was no other way to communicate. In the dark, Feinberg and his company commander came down the hill and saw Art. Just as they reached him, a mortar shell hit right behind the company commander, killing him.


“He took the whole blast of it, he was right behind me. I got hit in the back and head.”

Feinberg still has his helmet which boasts two holes made from mortar shells.

That’s when things started to get interesting for Feinberg.

(Continued Next Week)

Joseph Oberto

Senior Airman served in Afghanistan at Bagram Airfield.

By John Williams, Bucks Local News

After serving nine months at Bagram Air Field in Afghanistan, Joe Oberto stepped out of his terminal at Philadelphia International Airport and into the warm embrace of his family.

“Coming home after my Afghanistan deployment and hugging my parents for the first time in nine months,” said Oberto, who is 20-years-old, “it was the happiest day of my life. I’m not going to lie to you – I choked up when I saw them.”

“One thing that I’ve learned since enlisting in the military is to never take your family for granted,” he said.

Senior Airman Joseph Oberto was born in Langhorne and grew up in Levittown. He graduated from Conwell-Egan Catholic High School in 2008 and was a stand-out Lacrosse player, earning Philadelphia All-Catholic Team honors his senior year.

He is the son of John and Susan Oberto (of Levittown) and has two younger sisters, Megan and Stephanie, including an older brother, George.

At age 17, he enlisted in the Air Force. After a month upon graduating high school, he left for basic training.

“As far back as I can remember, I always wanted to be in the military,” Oberto said. “I’ve served about two and a half years,” he said. “I completed basic training and tech school training at Lackland Air Force Base in San Antonio, Texas. In December 2008, I was assigned to MacDill Air Force Base in Tampa, Florida.”

The area surrounding MacDill AFB was given to the federal government in 1939 and founded in April of 1941.

He also carried out minor assignments at McChord Air Force Base in Tacoma, Wash as well as Fort Worth, Texas.

He is a Security Forces Defender in the 6th Security Forces Squadron, which means that he provides law enforcement and security duties for United States Air Force bases. It is a subsidiary of the 6th Mission Support Group on MacDill AFB.

A year after arriving at MacDill AFB, Oberto deployed for his first tour of duty to the militarized airfield in Bagram, Afghanistan located in Parwan province (about 27 miles from the capital city of Kabul). Oberto would spend six months at the base.

Bagram, aptly named the 455th Air Expeditionary Wing, is the temporary home to 5,000 Airman whose mission is “Fighting Terror and Building Peace,” as stated on Bagram Airfield’s official website. The base also has an 11,820 foot runway that was just completed in 2006.

On the base sits Camp Cunningham, an Air Force village that is dedicated to the memory of Jason Cunningham. Cunningham, a pararescueman, was killed on March 2, 2002 while medically assisting fellow soldiers and saving the lives of 10 of them. Posthumously, in Sept. of 2002, Cunningham was awarded the Air Force Cross, which is the second-highest mark of distinction a soldier can receive only to the Medal of Honor.

“Before I went to Bagram, I heard about the story of Senior Airman Cunningham,” said Oberto. “When I was at basic training our barracks (the 324th Training Squadron) was named in honor of SrA Cunningham.” He didn’t lodge in Camp Cunningham, but remembers many memorials positioned around the camp.

“For the majority of time I spent at Bagram it was quiet,” Oberto explained. “It was during the winter so all of the bad guys were hiding in the mountains.” However, he said, when March and April rolled around, Bagram received minor rocket attacks.

He said it was the insurgents’ form of “harassment.”

“Just two weeks after I left, Bagram witnessed a major ground attack,” he said.

In mid-May of 2010, the Islamist militant group the Taliban attacked Bagram Air Field with rocket propelled weapons, grenades and suicide bombers. In all, the standoff lasted eight hours and killed one American contractor, while injuring nine U.S. military members.

His fondest memories are of him and his unit sitting around makeshift tables and playing cards and discussing what they’ll do once they get back in the States.

“We would talk about what we wanted to do once we were home as well as the good times and the bad,” he said. “It was in May and the weather was exactly like spring time in the States. It reminded me of just sitting outside on a spring afternoon, hanging out and talking to my family.
It basically brought me that much closer to seeing my family, but I know I would miss the people I served with at the same time.”

Oberto also abides by a strict training regimen.

“Besides working, I enjoy going to the gym – a lot,” he said. “It’s something that has stuck with me since my deployment. When you are deployed you live by a set schedule. You wake up, shower, get ready for work, work (however long that may be), come home and change into your PT (physical training) gear, hit the gym for a good two hours, eat and go to sleep.

“If you aren’t working, you’re keeping in touch with your family or watching some movies on your laptop,” he said.

Joe is once again stationed at MacDill AFB in Tampa.

When he isn’t performing duties on base or in the gym weightlifting, Joe visits Clearwater, Florida to watch the Phillies in spring training or during the fall, they’ll head to “The Swamp” in Gainsville to watch the University of Florida Gator football team. If he and his friends feel ambitious, they will make the 5-hour haul to Tallahassee to watch the Florida State Seminole football team.

“Sometimes we’ll just go back to my buddy’s house, which is about three and a half hours from base and we’ll spend the weekend there,” said Oberto.

He also leads his flights’ physical training regimen. His task is to create workouts and make sure that Airmen pass their PT test.

In the spring, he will deploy to Riydah, Saudi Arabia and will remain there until the fall.

“My future plans are to separate from active duty, but stay in the reserves,” he said, “and hopefully attend Penn State University for Kinesiology. Once I’m finished, I want to get commissioned as a Second Lieutenant, reserves or active duty, and continue a military career.

As of now, he is attending the American Military University, an accredited online university. His ambition is to go to medical school and earn his doctorate in physical therapy.

Bernard Lens

Army Pfc. helped liberate Dachau concentration camp

By Petra Chesner-Schlatter, BucksLocalNews.com


Telling the story of the Holocaust is necessary, so it will never happen again.

That's what people who teach the lessons of the Holocaust strongly believe.

One of those people is U.S. Army Pfc. Bernard Lens of the Makefield Glen section of Lower Makefield Township. He served in Europe during WWII.

Lens, who turns 90 this month, talks with students, telling the story of the Holocaust and what he saw and experienced during The Liberation of Dachau concentration camp.

"We go to schools," Lens said. "We were invited to Washington D.C. two years in a row to present our program."

Lens is a member of Post 697 JWV (Jewish War Veterans.) The group meets monthly and has more than 100 members from Levittown, Bensalem, Yardley and Newtown.

He was part of the American Liberation of the Nazi's Dachau concentration camp.

"We walked in," Lens recalled. "The gates were open. We go in and the first thing we hit is a building. It's an administration building. I see 12 maybe 14 bodies."

Lens said the bodies were civilians who kept records. He said they had been killed so they wouldn't talk.

"We walked around the corner," Lens said. "There were maybe 20 or 25 dead bodies lieing around.

The people, frail and malnourished, needed help. "I asked the captain, 'What do you want to do?' He said, 'Let's get them out. Some need medical care.'"

He approached a building. "God, the door opened -- the stench just threw me back. They looked at me scared. They had never seen an American soldier," Lens said.

When Lens told them he was a Jewish American soldier, he said they seemed relieved.

Lens talked a little slang with them. The thought was "to just take them out -- get them out to the air."

Some were given IVs. "Some could walk," he said. "Some died in my arms -- that's the one thing I'll never forget.

"They would be just walking. They would just fall. They were nothing...The weight of their body was the weight of there bones," Lens said.

"That's what they did to them - starvation," he said. "The things that killed them were TB, malnutrition, not getting medical attention and slave labor."

Lens can attest to being part of the Liberation of a Dachau concentration camp. A photographer he was with took his picture. He is holding a rifle while standing amidst bodies covering the ground beneath him.

One of his jobs was to stand watch over a road leading to the concentration camp. The barbed wire stretched around the camp. He was to shoot with a machine gun if any German soldiers approached.

Before World War II, Lens, a graduate of Central High School in Philadelphia, worked at the Sun shipyard in Chester.

When he came home from the war, he would be in expediting in the clothing industry. He would also work in the sales room. Sometimes he went to New York City when the company had shows. Most recently he worked for a fur company that sold ladies fur coats. Lens retired when he was 70.

Lens has lived in the Yardley area for a dozen years, but lived in Levittown for 35 to 40 years.
His sense of humor is infectious. When asked what he did in the service, he replied, "Run like hell when they wanted volunteers. I was infantry.

"I had special training," Lens said. "I never knew where I was. I moved so fast I didn't get paid for four months."

He was in the 546 Battalion. "I did a stint with General Patton," he said.

Lens said he never regretted being in World War II. "I was single when I went in," he said.
"But I remained a good old 'doughboy,'" he said. "That means you're infantry at the ground -- you're eating the ground. That was a slang expression for infantry.

About being part of the Liberation of Dachau concentration camp he said, "I did what every service person did," Lens said humbly. "We went in, were trained, we did our job.

"The only heroes are those buried with crosses over their graves -- that's my personal opinion," he said.

Lens has been collecting photographs of the Holocaust. He has some very graphic pictures of those who perished in concentration camps. He has pictures taken at Auschwitz concentration camp.

There are bodies upon bodies. They look like skeletons piled one on top of each other in many of these pictures. The mouths of the victims are open. He has photographs of skeletal bodies being put in the crematoria.

Bernard Lens will never forget.

Dachau concentration camp was the first Nazi concentration camp opened in Germany, located on the grounds of an abandoned munitions factory near the medieval town of Dachau, about 10 miles northwest of Munich in the state of Bavaria, which is located in southern Germany.

It is believed that 25,613 prisoners died in the camp and almost another 10,000 in its subcamps, primarily from disease, malnutrition and suicide.

The Americans found approximately 32,000 prisoners, crammed 1,600 to each of 20 barracks, which had been designed to house 250 people each.

Over its 12 years as a concentration camp, the Dachau administration recorded the intake of 206,206 prisoners and 31,951 deaths. Crematoria were constructed to dispose of the deceased. These numbers do not tell the entire story, however.

Prisoners perished from poor sanitation, deprivation of medical care, withholding of nutrients, medical experiments, or beatings and shootings for infractions of the rules or at random.

Beginning in 1942 more than 3166 prisoners in weakened condition were transported to Hartheim Castle near Linz and there were executed by poison gas for reason of their unfitness.

Glenn L. Hall

Navy vet went to become Bucks County Community College dean.

By R. Kurt Osenlund, BucksLocalNews.com


Glenn Hall didn’t know it at the time, but while he was serving with the U.S. Navy at the end of World War II, he was being groomed for a career in education that would lead him all the way to the highest ranks at Bucks County Community College (BCCC). A Doylestown resident, Hall is now retired, living quietly with his longtime wife, Gloria. But ask a great many people how he’s known in Bucks, and they’ll tell you he saw a lengthy stint as BCCC’s Dean of Academic Affairs. His experience in the Navy lent itself to his experiences as both a teacher and an administrator, making him, among other things, a savvy judge of character.

Hall was born in 1925 in York County’s Windsor Township to parents Charles and Rosetta. Raised, primarily, by his uncle and his uncle’s wife, Hall grew up in Windsor and attended Red Lion High School. He graduated in 1943, and went on to attend summer and fall semesters at Lebanon Valley College. Then, his plans were interrupted.

“I turned 18 in December,” Hall says, “and Uncle Sam said, ‘Welcome.’”

Hall was drafted into the Navy in February 1944. In March, he went to boot camp at New York’s Sampson Naval Base. Soon after he was assigned to hospital corpsman school in Bainbridge, Md., and then to a hospital in Bainbridge, where he tackled “everyday nursing duties.” Bored with that work, he urged a Chief Petty Officer to put him on a ship, and got his wish when the USS Granville (APA-171) needed men. Hall took a train across the country to Astoria, Ore. and joined “a new ship and a new crew.”

After some spirited escapades (such as tending to the sore throat of Irish tenor Dennis Day, who was on board the Granville as part of a traveling singing group), Hall and his shipmates left Astoria to undergo various training exercises. In January 1945, the crew left the U.S. for Pearl Harbor, then traveled all over the Pacific.

“Our primary job was to carry troops and their equipment,” Hall says. “We’d unload them to go into battle, and if there were casualties, we would wait, bring them back to the ship and take them to bases to be treated.”

Hall says he always felt grateful that he wasn’t one of the men climbing down the nets to meet the enemy in combat. Another thing he felt was loneliness, despite the company of his shipmates.

“You don’t know what distance is, or what loneliness is, until you’re in the South Pacific,” he says. “There’s the occasional small island, but it’s mainly thousands of miles without any land or anything. The Pacific is so vast.”

Hall says his ship sometimes took troops to Okinawa, and during one such run, in August 1945, after the war had technically ended, the USS Granville was credited for shooting down a remaining kamikaze and aiding in the destruction of another. In addition, the ship took on a lot of wounded soldiers from the battleship New Mexico, which suffered a kamikaze attack.

According to Hall, he served as a “dirty nurse,” working in the sick bay and an adjoining operating room, collecting instruments and cleaning up messes from surgeries. He continued in that position for some time after the war, as his ship continued to travel the South Pacific and recover soldiers. He was discharged in June 1946 as a Pharmacist’s Mate Third Class, and soon after, he returned home.

He went back to Lebanon Valley College, completing his bachelor’s degree in social sciences. He then went to grad school at George Washington University, where he studied history. In the early ‘50s he got a job teaching in York County, where he met Gloria, a nurse. The couple married in 1952.

Hall began frequenting Penn State for summer sessions, earning credits toward a doctorate. He was offered a graduate assistantship, whereby he’d conduct small sessions with students under the supervision of a professor. Shortly thereafter he got a job teaching at a junior college in Florida, and moved there with Gloria. While in Florida, he made good on a Fulbright grant he received to teach in Europe, and from 1961 to 1962, with Gloria in tow, he lived and worked in the Netherlands.

He returned to Florida, taught two more years at the junior college, then saw an ad at an educator’s meeting in Miami for teaching jobs at the newly-forming BCCC. Hall sent in his application, went for an interview with the school’s freshly-appointed president, and became BCCC’s first faculty member. He says it was difficult, the process of getting a new college off the ground, but the rewards far outweighed the hurdles. Hall was teaching what he loved – history. He soon became the department chair, then the division chair, and by 1972, he was the Dean of Academic Affairs. He kept his position until 1987, at which time he returned to the faculty before retiring in 1989.

And as for those special skills Hall applied to his professional life? Gloria says her husband was constantly involved with hiring and interview processes at BCCC, essentially from its start. He would interface with individuals on a regular basis, be they students, colleagues or employees. Hall says that, all along, he’s had a keen knack for reading people, and he has the Navy to thank for that.

“One thing I know is that the Navy increased my sense of being able to perceive phoniness,” Hall says. “There were always hustlers in the Navy, and I developed, very quickly, an ability to detect phoniness.”

And that’s no bull.

George Frazier, Part 2

Following the attack on Pearl Harbor, he served with the SeeBees.

By Jeff Werner, Bucks Local News

Due to injuries he sustained in the attack on Pearl Harbor, George Frazier of Warminster was discharged from the U.S. Army in Dec. 1941.

Back at home in Massachusettes, he took a job at the Boston Navy Yard. While working there he saw signs advertising for help in Hawaii. Longing to get back into the service and figuring he might have a chance if he returned to Hawaii, he put his name in and was sent back to Pearl Harbor as a civilian worker.

It was not until he returned to Pearl that he realized just how devastating the attack had been.
“When everything happened in December it was all confused,” he said. “Getting hit, going in and out of the hospital, trying to stay there. It was mixed up,” he said.

“When I got back to the yard, it was devastation. You had no idea until you really saw it,” he said. “They were still raising ships and we were working on them to get them back on duty,” said Frazier. “The Arizona was still down there. The stack was still up before they cut that all down,” he said.

“We could never figure out why they never hit the oil tanks – there were big tanks all over the place — or the ammunition places,” he said. “The first thing they did was knock out all the fighters, like Wheeler Field. That’s where we heard all the bombing and everything.

“It was just devastation,” he said. “The P-40s that had been lined up in a row at Wheeler were just knocked out completely. They had lined up the airplanes to make them easier to guard, never figuring the Japanese would plow through them right down the line – bang, bang, bang.
“They hit all the fields so no one could get up and shoot them. From then on it gave them leeway to come in. The torpedo bombs were the second wave and they hit everything then,” he said.
Frazier said everyone took the attack personally.

“It was like someone slapping your face. And not just us,” he said. “Back at home, everyone man, woman and child got involved in the war effort. It was the only time in the history of this country that happened.”

Not long after returning to Pearl, he ran into some of his old Army buddies in Honolulu and again longed to be back in the service. He rode with them up into the mountains, where he slept overnight in the dugouts. “I spoke with the captain and he said he’d love to have me back, but I couldn’t get out of the Navy Yard.”

After some persistence, the powers that be finally allowed him to enlist with the U.S. Navy SeeBees, a militarized Naval Construction Force which built advance bases in the war zone.
As a SeeBee, he was shipped to Midway Island, then to Saipan and Iwo Jima where he saw significant action. He received a Bronze Star and two Purple Hearts for his service both at Pearl and at Saipan.

After more than a year of service with the SeeBees, he returned to Hawaii where he re-enlisted in the Army. He ended up with his old outfit in Japan.

“In a roundabout way, a lot of things in between, I ended up with them,” he said.

While in Japan, he witnessed the devastating aftermath of the atomic blast at Nagasaki.

“Everyone had tears. We had just came from jungle fighting and here we are crying,” he said.

“The whole town, 100,000 men, women and babies, all gone. A couple big buildings standing there. The rest was flat. Whoever come up with a device like that, people should shoot them. People have no concept. Oh, God.”

Unlike many, who argue dropping the bomb prevented countless American deaths and brought an early end to the war, he sees it differently.

“When you pick on babies, that’s going too far. To me, that’s a no-no,” he said.

Following the war Frazier lived briefly in Boston and Norfolk, Va., before settling in the Germantown section of Philadelphia. In the 1960s, he moved to Hatboro. He worked for a moving company for about 50 years until his retirement.

For years after the war, he never talked about his time at Pearl or in the service
“Nobody had any idea,” he said. That changed one day when his granddaughter ran into a group of Pearl Harbor survivors at an event in Philadelphia. Soon after, he joined the Pearl Harbor Survivors.

He is often invited to speak to school groups about his experiences and was recently among 20 veterans to participate in a program at Council Rock High School South.

*This is the second article in a two-part series. For part one, CLICK HERE.