By Rosemary Reedy
Special to the Spirit
My mother, Marie Tilger Reedy, saved a treasure trove of newspaper articles. These clippings from the 1960s and ‘70s offered a tapestry of connections to family, neighbors, and friends. Yet, one article stood seemingly out of place: a Missing-in-action World War II soldier, Raymond Laskowski. Laskowski wasn’t a family name, and I did not remember him as a friend or neighbor. At the time of the article, my mother was a busy, married woman farming in Maribel with my dad, John, and caring for three children, with a fourth child on the way. Why had she saved this article? I was determined to uncover why and what connection she felt to this soldier’s story.
“Missing in action” were words that gave a glimmer of hope yet hauntingly suggested something horrible. It wasn’t “killed in action,” but it didn’t eliminate that possibility. Injured, hiding, or a prisoner of war were also possibilities. The loved ones of this man lived with anxiety, clinging to hope and prayers. My mother appeared to be one of those who were hoping and praying.
Who was Raymond Laskowski? The article said he was a 28-year-old radio operator on a plane that went down in Germany on Feb. 15, 1945. The War Department notified his mother, Helen Laskowski, who lived at a Green Bay address. Ray graduated from Wrightstown High School in 1935 and farmed in the town of Wrightstown. In 1945, Ray had a wife and son in Missouri.
Ray’s connections to Wrightstown and my mom and Ray’s being close in age made me wonder if they had met at a dance or some other social activity. I continued my search.
The article stated that Raymond’s wife and son were living in Missouri. I searched the name Laskowski in Missouri on the Find a Grave website. I found him. Raymond Laskowski was born April 12, 1916, and died Feb. 21, 1962, at age 45. He was buried at Jefferson Barracks National Cemetery in St. Louis, Mo. But that was not the end of my discovery. I discovered that Ray’s military service had quite a story to tell.
Ray was a 28-year-old Corporal who entered the Army Air Force in 1943. He was a radio operator and later a POW. His squadron was the 576th BG 392nd Bomb Group. The nine crew members of the Feb. 15, 1945, bombing mission were listed as POWs: Pilot Gene Hubbartt, Co-Pilot John Kenyon, Navigator Calvin Carter, Jr., Engineer Loren Smith, Radio Operator Raymond Laskowski, Gunner Howard Neumann, Gunner Richard Schad, Gunner Paul Matusky, and Gunner Paul Glassman. Their aircraft was the Birdie Schmidt ARC.
The Birdie Schmidt was a B-24 bomber, a model nicknamed “The Flying Coffin.” It was a large, heavy, cumbersome airplane. Early in WWII, Charles Cote wrote in Acme News that the lower left corner in flight formation was the most dangerous position, protecting other planes while being most exposed to flak and attack. Cote called it the “Purple Heart Corner.” Second Lt. John Kenyon called it “Coffin Corner.” The B-24 had two large rudders that were slow to react to controls, making the pilot’s job even harder. Being in the last group in the back corner gave the enemy’s radar plenty of time to hone in on the “Coffin Corner” planes and hit them with flak. That was the flight position for the Birdie Schmidt crew in their first combat mission.
The crew of the Birdie Schmidt wasn’t expecting a combat mission, just a practice run over the English Channel. In the morning briefing, they were surprised to learn they were running their first combat mission.
After engine repairs, the fog, and the late take-off, they eventually caught up to the rest and took their place in the formation. They could see some flak, but it was missing them all. Kenyon reported in his “War Stories” that they were suddenly hit by flak, and the underside of the left wing flew up. The plane started to roll over and take a steep dive to the right. Kenyon explained,
“Quick action by both Gene (Hubbartt) and me (Kenyon) brought the plane under control … with tremendous pressure on our twin rudders. We had lost power in both No. 1 and No. 2 engines, but the wing was intact, and we could see no fire.”
The plane was dropping 1,000 feet a minute. Kenyon noted that they dropped bombs to lighten the weight and jettisoned their guns. They continued to lose altitude and fall behind the formation. Soon, they were alone over Germany. They radioed for a fighter escort but received no answer. The crew thought the fighter planes were busy attacking the Luftwaffe while they were still on the ground. In any case, no help was coming. The crew worried they were an easy target and started sorting their options. Lowering the landing gear was considered a sign of surrender. The German planes might just escort them back to a field. The crew did not want to give the Germans their B-24. Attempting a landing with two engines out on the same side was close to a suicide move. The crew voted, and all agreed to bail out from the clouds and into whatever was below.
Germans reported the plane crashed one kilometer north of Dorna and five kilometers northwest of Mulhausen. The entire crew survived the parachute jump. The crew did not know that the area they landed in was very close to Nordhausen, where the Germans were secretly manufacturing their V2 missle. This raised German suspicion when enemy airmen landed close to this classified underground factory.
Even though the crew survived the bailout, they were sometimes miles apart. But Kenyon and two gunners from his crew were taken by a German official to Mulhausen for interrogation. The Germans were highly suspicious of these “spies” who had descended upon their clandestine area. Kenyon’s interrogator, a Luftwaffe pilot, questioned him about the large amount of money in his pockets. Kenyon broke from name, rank, and serial number and revealed it was poker winnings. Kenyon asked the Nazi a question about the fate of his plane and was told it crashed and burned in a field with no civilian injuries. Kenyon’s ring, wallet, and money were returned to him.
The men were sent to Nordhausen for more intense interrogation. Here they were reunited with the rest of the crew, who had also been captured. It was discovered that Paul Matusky left his dog tags on a nail in the shower back in England. The Nazis accused him of being a spy and threatened him with death because he couldn’t prove his identity.
Some of the crew were wounded. Calvin Carter had been badly beaten with a lump the size of a baseball on his head. Paul Glassman possessed a Star of David. Civilians had hit him in the face with a pitchfork and shot him in the shoulder. That bullet lodged in Glassman’s cheek. Loren Smith broke his leg upon landing and needed medical care. Thankfully, the men were cleared of espionage and Smith was hospitalized. When Smith was released, the crew was forced to walk to Dulag-Luft camp at Wexler. Smith couldn’t keep up with all the walking, and the flight crew carried him on a stretcher. The crew ended up at Stalag VII-A near Moosberg.
Kenyon, on the other hand, was separated from the crew within a day or so due to illness and hospitalized. After a week, Kenyon joined a different group of 150 POWs and walked mostly with retreating German troops to Nurnberg, then to Munich, and finally to Stalag VII-A at Moosburg. He was never reunited with his crew while a POW but heard through the grapevine that the crew was OK.
Stalag VII-A was the largest POW prison camp in all Nazi Germany during WWII. According to German numbers from Jan. 1, 1945, the POWs numbered 76,248 at the main camp, with another 40,000 at work camps in factories, farms, and repairing railroads. No wonder Ray and the rest of the crew never saw Kenyon at this camp.
Both Matusky and Kenyon related that POW life was hard, with little or no food, walking more often than other transport, getting to one place, and that base was bombed out or abandoned due to Allies pushing the Germans back and walking some more. Once at the Stalag, conditions did not improve, just less walking. The POWs used clandestine radios. Ray Laskowski may have been part of that as a radio operator. Camp radios informed the prisoners about the Allied movements. Prisoners cheered when Allied planes flew overhead.
On April 29, 1945, American forces near Moosberg wanted to secure a bridge. A few hours before the attack, they learned that a POW camp existed outside Moosberg. The U.S. artillery was ordered not to fire during the attack to protect the POWs from friendly fire. General Patton’s forces liberated the camp. The attacking division found its own MIA members now alive as liberated POWs. The liberated POWs included the sons of four U.S. generals, 27 Red Army generals, war correspondents, radio journalists, four Tuskegee fighter pilots, Jack Hemingway, Ernest Hemingway’s son, and Cpl. Raymond Laskowski.
Several of the crew were awarded the Purple Heart: Hubbartt, Kenyon, Neumann, Schad, Matusky, and Raymond Laskowski. Calvin Carter was awarded the Prisoner of War Medal.
The 1940 Federal Census showed Raymond lived on a town of Wrightstown farm with his parents, Helen and Julius, and his siblings Robert, Delores, and Lavern. The census revealed that Raymond’s neighbors were Sylvester and Gertrude Leick.
His other neighbors were my grandmother, Lillian Tilger, and her children, my Uncle Harold, age 27, and Aunt Leona, age 19. And there was my answer to my question. Why would my mom have saved this article about Raymond Laskowski?
Because Raymond was a neighbor, a friend, someone she cared about and prayed for. I hoped she had learned the good news of his safe return.
My quest to uncover the who and why behind an 80-year-old newspaper clipping led me to the experiences of men facing the realities of danger and death. Raymond and his crew encountered relentless hardships — from the chaos of their failing aircraft to the terror of capture by the enemy and then the grim life as prisoners. The times demanded determination and purpose. They relied on each other to survive and return home to create a world of freedom and equality. This Greatest Generation worked to build a better world. The work continued. We have the tools to advance a more perfect union. Let us honor and appreciate the freedom secured by their service.
