Wysocky Pollock - Two Fathers One War

TWO

FATHERS

ONE WAR

TWO

FATHERS

ONE WAR

Marcia L Pollock Wysocky

A daughters story of two very special men who not only contributed to my life, but to my freedom; each of which I hold dear. You were so different and yet your lives have been eternally intertwined

Copyright 2013 Marcia L. Pollock Wysocky

All rights reserved.

ISBN: 0988809109

ISBN-13: 9780988809109

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013909900

CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform

North Charleston, South Carolina

First Printing 2013

please visit my website: twofathersonewar.com

Cover design by Troy D. Allen

Allen Studios, Waukesha WI

DEDICATION

Mom and I

I dedicate my efforts to my mother, Lucille, the common thread of this story. Thanks Mom for being my Mom. You are the greatest. You allowed me to choose my own path and yet your gentle hand nudged me in the right direction when necessary. You have held me in your arms all of my life. Love you Mom.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

PREFACE

W ho would have thought that a visit from an unknown cousin would transform your life and alter your path? It happened to me. Not that I have always been certain mind you which fork in the road was beckoning me, but this was one of those moments when you knew the direction you chose would consume you for all time. It was a good thing. A really good thing. It was time to revisit what I had always ignored. The loss of Melvin L. Pollock.

If it were at all possible, I would go back in time and pick up where I must have left off. Oh, not so I could look younger or invest more wisely, or maybe, well, not have backed my new car into a flat-bed trailer.

Im talking about not finding my past while I was on my way to the future. I did, at one time, ask my grandmother family questions. Thats where I left off. She has been gone over thirty years. But when a man who served in the Pacific with my father passed away not long ago less than a quarter of a mile away, it was the icing on the cake of regrets. How close I was to an education I would have paid any asking price for. And yet it would have been free. And there were so many others like him.

Heres my advice to you, my reader. Start with the oldest person in your family. Take a tape recorder and ask questions about their life. And when you think that its enough, ask some more. I know what you are thinking. No time. Boring. Excuse after excuse. Trust me, if you are at all human, someday, even if its thirty years from now, you are going to think, Wow, she was right! This is great stuff!

Remember me when that happens

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

L inda and Rick, if you hadnt found the boxes, this story would never have been told.

To the men of the 345th Bomb Group that I have had the privilege of meeting at the last two reunions, thank you for sharing your stories and for listening to mine. You brought me closer to my father, Melvin.

Clarence, thank you for never throwing anything out. You have given the word treasure a whole new meaning.

Anthony L. Rutgers, you have brought tears to my eyes more than once with your kindness.

Troy D. Allen, what can I say. You give a whole new meaning to kindness, generosity and newfound friendship. Besides being a very talented man. Im sorry I may have made you a little crazy.

Lawrence J. Hickey: Author of War Path Across the Pacific. Thank you for welcoming me into your home and taking the time to talk about Melvin and the 345th Bomb Group.

Adams Times Reporter, thank you for permission to use photos and articles from your archives.

To my family and friends, you are the best. Thank you for all of the wonderful advice I was given throughout my writing. You helped tremendously. Your support and encouragement was always the boost I needed to keep going.

Above all, to Robert J. Wysocky, my awesome husband for giving me the opportunity to spend hours and hours on this work. Without you, life would not be the same.

INTRODUCTION

I have never been one for history. It was the past. And its not that I couldnt wait for the future. I knew it would get here sooner rather than later. In looking back, it did just that.

But history was dropped in my lap the day two dusty, dirty boxes were discovered in the shed at the old farmhouse. As I opened the lids, I was immediately thrown back in time. I was now in the 1940s and caught in the realms of WWII.

Before me was the life of a young man who had joined the Army Air Corps. He had reported to the Franklin Street Armory in Chicago Illinois on January 17, 1943. In one of the first letters to his father he tells him, spose youre plenty lonely now. But its all for the best, Dad - I can see right now were here to go to it and Im standing on the threshold of something.

The old letters were a treasure to behold and had such a story to tell. Then I found the picture. As I looked into the familiar face staring back at me, the tears began. I held in my hands a picture of my father suddenly realizing that all of the letters that were addressed to Dad and signed your best son ever, had been written to my grandfather.

As the tears subsided, I now knew that before me were some of the answers to the questions I had never asked. In this day of e-mails and text messages being deleted at the push of a button, I was well aware of how fortunate I was.

My father was an Air Apache and fought the war in the Pacific with the 345th Bomb Group M. He had flown only twenty-four missions before his orders sent him for detached service 2500 miles from Luzon. He and a pilot and radioman had gone to train the new guys from the states.

The letters revealed the passage of time. Or should I say the passage of youth. The change, even on paper was evident. In 1943, he seemed to think he was invincible but by 1945, reality had set in and he knew better. While he was waiting for the ship home, he wrote, Boy, I often ask myself how come I made the grade when so many others didnt. Guess Ill always ask myself that.

On March 17, 1943, St. Patricks Day, in Wilmette Illinois, another young man just 19 years of age, entered the Army. His life had not been easy, so he was probably better prepared than most for what was to come. Little did he know at the time that he would be part of one of the most incredibly famous battles of all times, The Ardennes Offensive, better known as, The Battle of the Bulge.

What these men endured for forty-one days should never be forgotten. Nor, should it ever be repeated. All of these years, a font of information has been sitting in front of me just waiting to tell his story. But whenever he was asked, he would say, not today. But our todays are coming to a close so I am going to ask all I can, beg for the answers and tell his story as it should be told. With love and respect for who he is and what he has meant to me.

From the Pacific Theater to the European Theater, each and every veteran from this war gave their all and have memories to share. And each and every day, their words are being silenced forever.

We must record history while we can, whether it is from their written words or their spoken words.

My father wrote, Illusions are a lie, but I want them near me; hope is another, but I want it to walk before me always. As we journey into the past together, into this time of