‘Connection to our past’ - Legacy of Missouri soldier killed in WWI preserved by military portrait5/22/2020 For many years, a military portrait of George Florea has hung in the home of Jefferson City resident Dot Baker, representing a great-uncle that she never met because of his death in World War I. Acknowledging that she will one day pass the portrait on to one of her children, she hopes to learn more about her relative’s military service to better understand the sacrifice he made on behalf of the nation.
“I didn’t ask a lot of questions about him when I was growing up,” said Baker, when discussing the military service of her great uncle. “I would like to know more about where he fought and served in the war” she added. Born in the community of Knox City in northeastern Missouri on April 24, 1895, Florea was one of nine children. Due to his age, the 22-year-old cattle farmer was required to participate in the first draft registration day that was held on June 5, 1917. His draft order number was drawn during the first draft lottery held in Washington, D.C., on July 20, 1917. Several weeks later, on October 4, 1917, Florea was inducted into the U.S. Army at the nearby county seat located in the small town of Edina. Following his induction, Florea was assigned to Company G, 354th Infantry Regiment—a company of the 89th Division comprised primarily of troops from eastern Missouri. According to the U.S. Army’s Center of Military History, the regiment began forming at Camp Funston, Kansas, in August 1917 under the early guidance of Major General Leonard Wood. Florea and the soldiers of the 89th Division underwent several months of intense training that helped introduce them to many evolving threats of the war raging in France, including trench warfare. However, survival in combat under threats of gas attacks and shellfire launched by enemy troops were not the only possibility for which the soldiers were prepared. “When a case of contagious disease, such as meningitis, measles or scarlet fever, appeared, all the men of the company were quarantined, were required to drill separately and were not permitted to join any assembly with other men,” noted the book History of the 89th Division. The book further explained that when such situations occurred, “The floors of all buildings were washed daily with disinfectants. Every utensil used at the table was sterilized after each meal with scalding water” in an effort to prevent the spread of the diseases occasionally racing through the camp. The young Florea made it through the training unscathed and, according to Order of Battle published by the U.S. Army’s Center of Military Service, his division boarded transport ships on the east coast bound for overseas during the waning days of May 1918. Following their arrival in France in early June, they participated in several weeks of strenuous training before entering into their baptism of fire in late summer. “It was announced recently that the 89th Division had taken over trenches in the Toul sector about August 15 (1918),” reported the St. Louis Star and Times on September 20, 1918. Nine days later, the paper further explained, the 354th incurred their first casualty when William Unland of St. Louis was severely wounded in action. In early September, the division took part in the St. Mihiel offensive in northeastern France. This battle lasted several days and was the first major offensive in which the American Expeditionary Forces—led by Missouri native Gen. John J. Pershing—operated as an independent army. Three weeks later, the St. Louis newspapers were full of reports of area soldiers serving in the 354th who killed and wounded in the campaign. As the the calendar passed through the middle of September, U.S. forces began to shift their resources south toward the Argonne Forest and Meuse River. Throughout the next several weeks, Gen. Pershing commanded what became known as the Meuse-Argonne Offensive—the largest American-run offensive of the war with the ambitious goal of cutting off the German 2nd Army. On September 25, 1918, during the transition into this new offensive, Florea was killed in action. Although the specifics of his death are not specified, evidence seems to indicate he died as a result a gas attack. The St. Louis Star and Times reported in their October 22, 1918 edition that Pvt. Francis Crowley—a fellow soldier of Company G, 354th Infantry—was wounded by a gas attack the day after Florea’s death. The War Diary of the 354th Infantry: Company G notes that Florea was killed at Xammes and that on “September 21 we moved into front lines near Xammes. We suffered some gas casualties here. The 28th we retired to Boullioinville.” The 89th Division history book also describes in great detail a couple of raiding parties that were made into enemy territory by soldiers of the 354th Infantry during the time-frame of Florea’s death, which resulted in a handful of casualties from enemy artillery barrages. “The remains of George Elliott Florea, a Knox County soldier of Company G, 354th Infantry, who was killed in France in the Argonne Forest drive … arrived Friday morning at Knox City from Hoboken, N.J.,” reported the Edina Sentinel on June 30, 1921, describing the reinterment of remains of the local resident who had been buried overseas for nearly three years. In the years after the war, Baker’s grandmother, who was one of George Florea’s three sisters, continued to honor the memory of her late brother by displaying a simple reminder of him in her northeast Missouri home. “I remember the picture always hung in my grandmother’s living room in LaBelle and it has hung in my house since my parents passed away,” said Baker. “Growing up, I knew he was very important to my grandmother and being that he is family, it now means a lot to me.” With a heavy pause, she added, “It’s a connection to our past and I will some day pass it down to one of my children as a continuance of his legacy.” Jeremy P. Ämick writes on behalf of the Silver Star Families of America.
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When Taos, Missouri, native Donna Boyd began the process of pursuing a family history project, she did not realize it would lead to friendship with a museum curator in a foreign country and a glimpse into the character of an uncle killed before she was born.
“I heard stories about my uncle’s military service and was researching information on him for a project I was working on,” stated Boyd. She soon located an online blog containing information regarding the crash site of an American plane during World War II. The blog showed photographs of a museum display in Takachiho, Japan, containing information about her uncle’s service. Boyd was able to make contact with the museum’s curator, Shunsuka Ogata, and began sharing information about an incident that had occurred several decades earlier. Graduating from St. Francis Xavier School in Taos in 1941, Boyd’s uncle, Alfred F. Eiken, spent a short time working in St. Louis. A year later, only five months following the attack on Pearl Harbor, he made the decision to enlist in the U.S. Army Air Forces. “He didn’t talk much about it,” stated Francis Eiken, Alfred’s oldest sister. “He just went and did it.” After finishing his intial training at Jefferson Barracks in St. Louis, Eiken went on to complete bombardier training in Texas in 1943. He then finished additional levels of flight training in various locations throughout the United States before his transfer to India in November 1944. A year later, he was sent to Tinian Airbase—a location from which the B-29 Bomber he was assigned completed 28 successful missions. “From my communications with Mr. Ogata and my research, I found that my uncle’s final mission occurred on August 30, 1945 during a POW relief supply run,” stated Boyd. “The wing of their B-29 Bomber clipped a mountain causing it to crash.” After the crash, the military classified the airmen as “missing” since the crash site had not been located and they were unable to confirm their deaths. “Western Union delivered my parents a telegram stating that Alfred was missing,” said Sister Francisca, Eiken’s sister. “Mom told me to run up to the church to tell the priest and he came down to console the family.” However, a few months later the family received a second notification containing the final determination by military authorities. “When the second telegram came we thought that it would say he was coming home,” recalled Francisca. “But the telegram stated that he had been killed. That was truly a sad occasion for my parents.” According to documents from the Takachiho Community Center (the Japanese museum displaying information on the crash), Eiken and eleven of his fellow aviators lost their lives the day of the crash and were buried in the United States Armed Forces Cemetery in Yokohama, Japan. Lt. Eiken’s remains, however, were returned to the family in 1949 and re-interred in the parish cemetery at St. Francis Xavier in Taos. Growing up and hearing bits and pieces of information about her uncle’s sacrifice, Boyd was excited when the curator of the Japanese museum agreed to share articles with her regarding Eiken’s service. “I learned that not only is there a display recognizing those killed in the crash, but the community holds a special ceremony every year and has constructed a memorial site to honor their sacrifice,” Boyd remarked. Boyd has also sent the curator photographs to be used in the museum’s display and in return has received pieces of the plane that previously rested atop remote Japanese mountain as a hidden testament to her uncle’s service. “It was fascinating to learn that they have a memorial over there that we had no knowledge of,” stated Ed Eiken, Alfred’s younger brother. Even though Boyd has only recollections and historical documents through which to learn of an uncle she never met, she is hopeful that his sacrifice will serve as an inspiration to others. “To discover that a country we were once at war with has honored the deaths of my uncle and his friends is heartwarming,” Boyd said. “It is nice to know that this has led to a promotion of goodwill and peace between our two nations while helping us share memories of a family member who never came home.” Jeremy P. Amick writes on behalf of the Silver Star Families of America ‘Sworn allegiance to duty’ - Jefferson City Marine first Cole County resident killed in Vietnam War5/22/2020 Growing up on the east side of the town, Jefferson City, Mo., resident Mark Schreiber recalls the days when he and Dale Clark, a close neighborhood friend, would dress up in military gear and “play Army” as kids. Many years later, as they grew older and graduated from high school, Clark would no longer have to pretend he was in the military when he made the decision to enlist in the Marine Corps.
“I lived on Hobbs Terrace and Dale lived up on Ewing Drive,” said Schreiber. “Sometimes, while we were playing, we ventured into the National Cemetery and we would walk through there … looking at the headstones and talking about the Civil War and those types of things,” he added. A 1964 graduate of Jefferson City High School, Clark’s younger brother, Dan, said that although his brother was several years older, he recalls that he attended one year of college at Lincoln University after finishing high school before finally making his decision to join the military. “My parents were horribly against (his decision to enlist),” said Dan Clark, “because my father was a World War II veteran and I don’t think that he wanted Dale to go through what he had experienced during the war.” Undeterred by his father’s concerns, on June 15, 1965, Clark signed his enlistment papers and went on to complete his basic training at the Marine Corps Recruit Depot in San Diego, Calif., in late August 1965. Several weeks later (November 27, 1965), he was sent to Vietnam, where he became a rifleman with Company K, 3rd Battalion, 9th Regiment of the 3rd Marine Division. Schreiber noted it was not surprising that Clark’s path eventually led to his military service, since he had “showed an interest in the Marines while we were in high school and even made several comments about it.” The young Marine remained in Vietnam for several months, conducting patrols and other military operations until a fateful event that occurred on August 19, 1966, which would secure for him the unfortunate distinction of being the first Cole County resident killed during the war. In a letter sent to Clark’s parents by one of the lieutenants in his company, Dan Clark learned of the puzzling and ill-fated circumstances regarding the death of his older brother. “I was 13 years old at the time, but I remember being told that he had just returned from a patrol (in the area of Da Nang), was debriefed and was resting,” said Dan Clark. “What happened next … I’m not really sure, but it is my understanding that a grenade that was attached to his equipment somehow went off and killed him,” he added. The body of 19-year-old Lance Corporal Clark was returned Mid-Missouri and laid to rest at the Jefferson City National Cemetery on August 26, 1966, following funeral services held at First Baptist Church where he had been a member. “No, Dale didn’t enjoy his duty in Vietnam,” stated Rev. G. Nelson Duke, while officiating the funeral for Clark. “He had written his pastor and others about those weeks on C-rations, the filth and heat of the country, the uncertainty about the enemy.” He added, “But he had sworn allegiance to duty for his nation, and he was performing it.” On the day of the funeral, John G. Christy, who was Jefferson City mayor at the time of Clark’s passing, requested citizens of the community fly their flags at half-staff in recognition of the sacrifice made by Clark; the following month, the city council passed a resolution in memory of the fallen Marine. These days, when Schreiber visits the National Cemetery, he can clearly recall the moments from many decades previous when he and his friend first visited the area that would eventually serve as Clark’s final resting place. “I close my eyes and can still see that tall, skinny, freckle-faced boy with his broad smile,” Schreiber said. “It is still a very emotional experience for me, thinking of those times long ago, of all the glorious events that we foresaw in our minds.” Solemnly, he added, “When you come up together in school for all of those years, you arrive at the mentality that you’ll see each other again tomorrow, but for Dale, there wasn’t that tomorrow. “I believe that his service is symbolic of so many local people that we have lost in past conflicts, who laid down their lives so that we might live to remember them.” Clark was posthumously awarded the Purple Heart and Vietnam Service medals and is recognized on Panel 10E/Line 19 of the Vietnam Memorial in Washington, D.C. Jeremy P. Ämick writes on behalf of the Silver Star Families of America. As the U.S. Army Center of Military History notes, the state of Missouri suffered the loss of 8,003 of its citizens during the Second World War, leaving few families untouched by the fight for freedom. Yet such statistics often fail to reveal the personal consequences of these fatalities—the spouses and children left behind to grieve for their loved ones.
Born June 17, 1915 in Lohman, Missouri, Wilbert Linsenbardt was a small boy when the country entered the tumultuous events of the First World War. Though many years would pass before the sequel to this deadly conflict unfolded, Linsenbardt began to lay down his roots with hopes of building a family. “My father was the eldest of six children,” said Wilberta “Willie” Wright, Linsenbardt’s daughter. “The story goes that my father was in Jefferson City when he saw my mother in a drugstore and was immediately smitten by her. They had a whirlwind courtship and married in November 1941,” she added. Married life began pleasantly for the new couple; however, a month following their marriage, the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor, an event that forever altered the lives of many young men and women throughout the United States. Wishing to do his part in support of the burgeoning war effort, Linsenbardt enlisted in the Army on January 8, 1942. He completed his boot camp and, after additional stateside training, was assigned to Company A, 128th Infantry Regiment under the 32nd Infantry Division (Red Arrow Division), with whom he was sent to the island of New Guinea. The division became part of General MacArthur’s plan “to strike back (against the Japanese), to start back on the long road to liberate the Philippines and ‘on to Tokyo,’” so described Francis Miller in The Complete History of World War II. Located off the northern coast of Australia, New Guinea is the second largest island in the world and played host to the Battle of Buna. Beginning in November 1942, the battle was part of the New Guinea Campaign, lasting more than two years and resulting in thousands of casualties, many of which were not the result of enemy aggression. “Disease thrived on New Guinea,” notes the 32nd Division Association website. “Malaria was the greatest debilitator, but dengue, fever dysentery, scrub typhus, and a host of other tropical sicknesses awaited unwary soldiers in the jungle.” No accounts of the island during this period paint a picturesque scene for Linsenbardt and his fellow soldiers, who, if able to survive the attacks against a well-entrenched foe, might very well succumb to the plagues harbored in the jungle. “When I was born, my parents had been married scarcely a year, and my father was in Australia, I believe, en route to New Guinea after training at Camp Roberts in California,” said Wright. “At the urging of my Aunt Ella Schubert, I was named Wilberta for him since he was away fighting the war.” History demonstrates that events unfolding on the island appeared grim from the earliest stages, as the 32nd Infantry Division made its coastal advance; many of the soldiers lacked proper jungle training and scores of men fell victim to both Japanese machine guns and the illnesses thriving in their jungle surroundings. In a letter dated February 26, 1943, Captain Sheldon Darmelly, commander of Linsenbardt’s company, advised the soldier’s father of an outcome that many parents were to discover through the seemingly callous means of correspondence. “May I offer my deep sympathy for you in the loss of your son, Wilbert G. Linsenbardt, in New Guinea, December 5, 1942,” explained the captain. “He was leading an attack against heavily defended Japanese positions when instantly killed by enemy fire.” Leaving behind a wife of scarcely a year and daughter whom he had never met, Linsenbardt’s remains were transported to the Manila American Cemetery in the Philippines—a 152-acre site that serves as the final resting site for 17,202 World War II dead, most of whom lost their lives during operations in New Guinea and the Philippines. “My mother used the insurance money she received from the Army to buy a house on Dunklin Street in Jefferson City where I was raised until she remarried in 1953 and we moved to a larger home,” said Wright, who went on to graduate from Jefferson City High School in 1960. In later years, Wright said, she perpetuated her family’s legacy of military service when she married her husband, John, who spent 26 years as a pilot with the U.S. Navy. Though she never received the opportunity to meet her father, Wright affirms she has learned much about the man who gave of his life on an island thousands of miles from home by listening to stories shared by friends and family. “They never really talked about (my father) when I was younger,” said Wright, “because it was really a difficult time for the family. But as I got older, his siblings would tell me about him … how he was very well-liked by everyone.” She added, “While I was growing up, I had several uncles who had fought during World War II, but nowadays, I don’t think many of our youth really know of someone who has served in war. This is why I really believe it is important to remember people like my father … because the younger generation really needs to be introduced to those who have sacrificed so much for them.” Jeremy P. Ämick writes on behalf of the Silver Star Families of America. Losing a brother during World War II was a traumatic event for Eldon resident Faye Belshe –a tragedy whose sting the decades have not diminished. In memory of the passing of her beloved sibling, Mueller now wishes to perpetuate the memory of a good-spirited young man who loved baseball and answered the nation’s call to arms as a paratrooper during a time of war. “Wayne was born in Hooker, Oklahoma, on November 15, 1923,” said Belshe, while describing the youngest of her four siblings. “All five of us were born there,” she added. The Rock Island Railroad employed their father, Belshe explained, which often required that the family move to follow his work. They would later spend several years living in Kansas but, in 1939, they moved to Eldon when their father was again transferred. “At that time, Wayne had two years of high school remaining and I can remember the first thing he did when we got (to Eldon) was walk all over town,” recalled Belshe. “When he went by the school, there were kids playing baseball and the next day he went back to the school with his ball glove.” Mueller’s sister mirthfully added, “He loved baseball and I tell everybody that he came to Eldon with a change of clothes and a ball glove.” For the next two years, Mueller continued to flesh out his growing interest and agility in baseball by participating on several local teams and, after graduating in 1941, finally made the decision to explore making a career of the sport he loved. “He went down to Springfield (Missouri) to try out for the Cardinals but it rained all three days that he was there,” Belshe said. “Back then, they didn’t have the artificial turf that they do now and because it was so muddy, he didn’t get a chance to try out. Then,” she added, “he came back home and got his draft letter shortly after that.” Leaving home in March 1943, Mueller traveled to the West Coast and completed his basic training at Camp Roberts, California –a massive training site where “436,000 troops passed through an intensive 17-week training cycle” during World War II,” notes the Camp Roberts Historical Museum on their official website. The young recruit then traveled to Fort Bragg, North Carolina, where he underwent the training to become a paratrooper. While there, he was attached to the 506th PIR (Parachute Infantry Regiment) under the 101st Airborne Division. According to a history of the 506th, the regiment left Ft. Bragg at the end of 1943 and soon arrived at Camp Shanks, New York, to prepare for their overseas deployment. The regimental history further notes that the division took part in several exercises “in preparation for the coming invasion of occupied Europe” and, on June 5, 1944, “the men of the 506th (were) parked by the aircraft that were to carry them into their first combat mission.” Early the next morning (June 6, 1944), Mueller and the men of the division made their combat jumps behind enemy lines. Although they were essentially scattered far from their designated landing zones and incurred significant casualties, they were able to help secure parts of the high ground above the beaches later stormed by the seaborne forces during the D-Day landings. “When Wayne landed on D-Day, he survived that, of course,” his sister noted. “He sent me home a piece of the parachute he used that day and I have kept it all these years.” Less than three months later, the 101st made their second combat jump as part of Operation Market Garden. This operation was a bold plan by British Field Marshall Montgomery for Allied airborne forces to seize roads, bridges and important cities in Holland, essentially cutting the country in half, allowing British armor and motorized columns the opportunity to reach the German border. During this operation, wrote Mueller’s older brother Paul in an article for The Signal –Enterprise (Wabaunsee County, Kansas), the 20-year-old paratrooper from Eldon went missing in action (MIA) near Osphuesden, Holland, on October 5, 1944 after his group was “overrun by a German battalion.” His brother further noted, “Of a group of 44 troopers, 15 escaped.” “My parents never gave up hope that Wayne was alive and might come home someday,” said Belshe. “But 10 months after he went missing, we were informed that they had recovered his remains,” she soberly added. Mueller’s remains were eventually returned home to the family and interred in McFarland Cemetery in Kansas. In the weeks after learning of their son’s demise, Faye explained, her parents struggled to find ways to cope with the unexpected loss of their beloved son. “It was very depressing for my parents … so much so that my dad had to retire from the railroad,” Belshe said. “After that, my father became more involved with Bethany Lutheran Church (Eldon) and spent his time keeping busy with volunteer activities there,” she added. The tears Faye has shed for her youngest brother have in no way diminished over the years; however, she continues to relish the moments they spent together as children and young adults and hopes that the story of his service will be cherished by all for whom he fought during the war. “He was never married and didn’t have any children to carry on his legacy,” his sister shared. “All of the young folks now weren’t alive back when World War II was going on so they don’t fully comprehend all of the sacrifices that were made for them.” With evident solemnity, she concluded, “I think it is our responsibility to share these stories with the younger generations so they can understand what my brother and his fellow soldiers did for our country.” Jeremy P. Ämick writes on behalf of the Silver Star Families of America. In the annals of military history, submarine service has gained a certain level of mystique, inspiring the vision of a sleek, fast underwater craft that moves about in relative secrecy in the world’s oceans. Though such visions might possess a level of truth, local submarine veteran Norbert Struemph recalls his own underwater service being far from romantic, fraught with peril and necessitating a lengthy separation from family. While growing up in the rural community of Vienna, Missouri, Struemph was raised one of 12 children. After completing the eleventh grade, he made the decision to go to work and left for St. Louis, becoming a riveter for the Curtiss-Wright Corporation.
“That’s where I was when Pearl Harbor happened,” recalled Struemph. “I remember walking downtown and people were standing in line for four or five blocks waiting to sign up (for the military).” On June 5, 1942, six months after the attack on Pearl Harbor, Struemph joined scores of other patriotic Americans and enlisted in the United States Navy. Days later, he was transferred to the Naval Air Station once located on the site of Lambert-St. Louis International Airport, to undergo his initial training. In training, he and other sailors attended dances and special events hosted by a local USO, where he soon met a young woman named Phyllis Fites; the couple married weeks later in November 1942. “Sometime during our boot camp, these guys came down to talk to us and said they were looking for volunteers for the submarine service,” Struemph said. “I didn’t know much about it but I decided to volunteer because it meant that I would receive extra pay,” he added. After passing the requisite tests, the recruit was sent to Groton, Connecticut, and was indoctrinated into his new duty assignment by learning to work on and operate the diesel engines and associated electrical systems used aboard submarines. The next step of his journey took him to California, where he boarded a boat for Pearl Harbor. Shortly after his arrival, he received the news of the birth of his first child, which, he added, was a joyous event tempered by his exposure to the continuing efforts to recover bodies of those who perished during the attack on Pearl Harbor. “Every morning, ambulances would line up on the piers to pick up bodies of sailors that had been killed in the attack,” Struemph said. “They had guys in the water with torches cutting the metal and removing the bodies from the compartments inside the ships that had been hit.” Following a brief stay in Hawaii, the sailor was sent by ship to Fremantle, Australia to work aboard the USS Orion—a submarine tender that stored supplies used to perform certain repairs on damaged submarines. It was here, Struemph said, that he worked for several weeks before receiving assignment to his submarine, the USS Narwhal (SS-167). The Narwhal, naval records indicate, returned to port in Fremantle, Australia, in late 1943 after completing several war patrols. With Struemph aboard the Narwhal as a machinist’s mate, they soon deployed for the Philippines transporting special cargo in support of the localized guerilla movement. “We began missions of hauling Filipinos that were loaded down with grenades, radios and all kinds of equipment; they were trained to fight by the United States,” said the veteran. “We would sneak up some shallow tributary at night to avoid detection by Japanese warships. Then,” he continued, boats would come from shore to pick up the Filipinos and carry them off to fight the Japanese.” In addition to delivering troops, Struemph recalls missions where their sub also transported soldiers and Filipinos who had escaped from Japanese imprisonment. Once everyone was aboard, the Narwhal would “back out” of the tributary and slip into waters with more depth and concealment. “One time, our captain brought the Narwhal up a little bit and put the periscope up,” Struemph said. “He saw nothing but wings, tires and parts from airplanes floating everywhere from a battle that had taken place. He quickly retracted the periscope and we went back down and got out of there before we were detected.” On a separate occasion, Struemph recalled, the submarine slipped through shallow waters between the islands at night and used their six-inch guns to detonate tanks used by the Japanese to store fuel. Though the submarine experienced many narrow escapes with Japanese warships, the crew survived the war and returned to the East Coast. The Narwhal was decommissioned on April 23, 1945 and her two six-inch guns were removed for display at the Naval Submarine Base at New London, Connecticut. The war in Europe ended shortly after their return stateside. However, Struemph and many of the crew of the Narwhal remained at New London for preparations to serve aboard a new submarine to be used in the planned invasion of Japan. Fortunately, he added, the war ended when Japan signed the surrender documents on September 2, 1945, resulting in his discharge the following month. In the years following his wartime service, the veteran and his wife raised seven children and later moved from Vienna to Jefferson City, Missouri, where he retired from the maintenance section of Jefferson City Parks and Recreation. Reflecting on his service, the veteran maintains even though he and his fellow submariners frequently lived and operated under very stressful conditions, Struemph’s time in the service included many good memories, one of which made him think about the family back home awaiting his return. “One time, while we were in Australia, some guys I was on leave with got in trouble at a bar and ended up getting locked up in the local jail,” said the veteran. “I was not involved in the scuffle but had no way to get back to the ship and there was no place for me to stay that night.” He paused, “But an Australian guy took me home to stay with his family.” “The next morning they took me fishing and I really had a good time,” he smiled, recalling the event. “With all of the things that went on during the war, it was nice to meet good people such as them during my Navy time and to be treated as if I was just another member of his family even when mine was so far away.” The 95-year-old Norbert Struemph passed away on November 3, 2017, and was laid to rest in Visitation Catholic Cemetery in St. Martins, Missouri. Jeremy P. Ämick writes on behalf of the Silver Star Families of America. ‘The next mission’ - Jamestown veteran helped maintain aircraft used to escort bombers in WWII5/16/2020 ![]() A native of Jamestown, A.V. Wittenberger enlisted in the U.S. Army Air Corps nearly a year prior to the attack on Pearl Harbor. He became a line sergeant in charge of the maintenance for his squadron, which flew fighters from Iwo Jima escorting bombers during their missions. Courtesy of Denny Wittenberger A 23-year-old Amil Vernon Wittenberger was living in Jamestown and working for the Missouri Highway Department when he received some sage advice from a supervisor who believed the U.S. would soon be drawn into World War II—voluntarily enlist and have some choice in the direction of your military career. Heeding the suggestion, Wittenberger was inducted into the U.S. Army Air Corps at Jefferson Barracks on December 27, 1940.
“From Jefferson Barracks, he was sent to Chicago for aircraft maintenance training at a site known as Aeronautical University,” said the veteran’s son, Denny Wittenberger, who has painstakingly researched and detailed his father’s military service. When his initial training as a mechanic was completed, the young airman was transferred to Selfridge Field, Michigan, where he was introduced to maintenance requirements for the P-40 Warhawk, a single-engine fighter manufactured by Curtiss-Wright. As the late veteran’s son explained, his time at the Michigan airfield introduced him to a group of iconic aviators who performed some of the most legendary aviation missions of the war. “While he was there, they were assembling the P-40s for the Flying Tigers, who distinguished themselves defending China while fighting the Japanese,” said Denny Wittenberger. “My father told me years later that he volunteered to join them, but they declined his offer because at that time, he had not yet received the required training and experience.” This only delayed his inevitable deployment overseas, and the mechanic was soon sent to the next destination in his military aircraft maintenance instruction—Dale Mabry Field near Tallahassee, Florida. It was here that he transitioned to working on another fighter aircraft, the Republic P-47 Thunderbolt. Several weeks later, he reported to Eglin Air Force Base (Florida), where he refined his skills by continuing to perform maintenance on the P-47s. “He and my mother, whom he had known before the war, were married during this time-frame and while my father was performing his military duties on the base, my mother taught school on the campus of the University of Florida,” said Denny Wittenberger. “Dad wasn’t there much longer because he was transferred to Lakeland, Florida, to learn maintenance on the new P-51 Mustangs,” he added. In his book “Allison-Engined P-51 Mustang,” Martyn Chorlton wrote of the aircraft, “It was popular with all who flew it and no less popular with those who kept it flying.” The author further noted, “The increased range was a godsend and the increased speed a bonus …” Assigned to the 458th Squadron of the 506th Fighter Group, the training Wittenberger received thus far culminated in combat application when the squadron received notice they were deploying to Iwo Jima in early 1945. U.S forces had captured the islands at a great cost in lives, and the U.S. Navy Seabees Construction Battalions were rebuilding Japanese runways to accommodate the squadron’s aircraft. “Their aircraft began providing fighter escorts for the B-29s during long-range bombing missions against Japanese targets,” explained Denny Wittenberger. “These missions were often eight hours round-trip and sometimes included strafing missions if a target of opportunity was identified,” he added. Achieving the rank of master sergeant, Wittenberger became the line sergeant for the squadron, having the responsibility for the overall maintenance for the planes of the squadron along with the 84 personnel and 27 planes under his supervision and care. For the next several months, until the Japanese surrender, Wittenberger and his crew worked long hours to ensure their planes were ready for the next day’s missions. In a citation Wittenberger received from the commander of the 458th Fighter Squadron in September 1945, it was noted he “established a brilliant record of leadership” in addition to “… laboring many arduous hours at night with poor lighting facilities, (and overcoming) all obstacles confronted him.” The veteran would be awarded two Bronze Star medals “for meritorious service in connection with military operations against an enemy of the United States …” His son explained, “After serving four years and ten months on active duty, my father received his discharge on November 9, 1945. He returned to Jamestown and began life as a farmer while also operating the Jamestown Mercantile for a number of years.” The veteran and his wife went on to raise one son. In later years, Wittenberger became a union electrician for Meyer Electric, retiring after working at the Callaway Nuclear Plant. Prior to his passing in 1993, his son explained, the veteran attended some of the reunions held for his squadron. “There was a saying by one of the airman that the 506th was one of the last fighter squadrons to fight since they got there in early 1945, and the first ones forgotten,” said his son. “And when I attended the reunions with my father, it seemed like the pilots got all of the attention and the maintenance people were overlooked.” He added, “When those planes returned from a mission back in the war, those maintenance crews worked all night to make sure they were ready to go on the next mission. There were an incredible number of man-hours invested in that effort and I just want to make sure the dedication of my father and the maintenance crews is never forgotten.” Jeremy P. Ämick writes on behalf of the Silver Star Families of America. Missile maintenance - Jamestown veteran helped maintain Minuteman II missile sites for Air Force5/15/2020 During World War II, Robert “Denny” Wittenberger’s father served in the U.S. Army Air Forces, maintaining iconic aircraft such as the P-51 Mustang. More than two decades later, when Wittenberger received his own draft notice in the summer of 1967, it seemed a natural progression to continue his father’s legacy by enlisting in the Air Force.
“I had completed two years of college at Warrensburg and was working at Schanzmeyer Ford in Jefferson City when my notice came,” recalled the veteran. “They sent me to St. Louis for my physical and even though they found that I was completely deaf in my right ear, I was approved for enlistment.” In March 1968, he traveled to Amarillo Air Force Base in Texas, becoming one of the last groups of airmen to receive their basic training at the base prior to its deactivation several months later. From there, he was sent to Sheppard Air Force Base near Wichita Falls, Texas, to begin his advanced training. Throughout the next several weeks, Wittenberger received instruction as a corrosion specialist, learning to prevent and repair the deterioration of aircraft and certain metallic components. “It was under the auspices of civil engineering but we were basically rust scrapers,” he jokingly recalled. “We would sand, prep and treat areas on aircraft that were prone to corrosion such as the wheel wells on the landing gear of the planes,” he said. “This included testing parts of the wings of the massive B-52 bombers for stress fractures.” In late summer of 1968, he received orders for his duty assignment with the 351st Missile Inspection Maintenance Squadron at Whiteman Air Force Base near Knob Noster. “I married my fiancée, Judy, in July 1968, and she had been living with her parents at Prairie Home, but we moved to Warrensburg before I reported to my new assignment at Whiteman,” he said. During the first week of his new assignment, he learned he would be working around nuclear weapons and had to undergo a thorough background check in order to qualify for a Top-Secret security clearance. “I was assigned to a maintenance team that worked with the Minuteman II missiles,” said Wittenberger. “There were 150 underground missile silos we were responsible for maintaining and we operated as teams to perform 180-day and 360-day inspections of the sites,” he added. Missouri was home to 150 Minuteman II missile launch sites during the height of the Cold War—a destructive weapon containing a warhead with a 1.2 megaton yield. Within the state, there were also 15 launch control facilities, each facility controlling 10 missiles. Each missile was sighted for a specific target location, most of which, Wittenberger said, were in the former Soviet Union. During the inspection cycle for the various missile sites, Wittenberger served as a corrosion specialist on a maintenance team that also included a missile maintenance technician, refrigeration technician, electrician and an electrical power production technician. “Each one of us had a duty to perform during the inspections,” he said. “The missile maintenance tech checked the operating systems of the missile and the electrician was responsible for checking the storage batteries and correcting any electrical issues.” The missile sites, noted Wittenberger, were constructed largely from steel and concrete, which was highly susceptible to corrosion. He would inspect the areas both inside and outside the site, touching up and treating problem areas that had fallen victim to weatherization. “Each silo had a sump pump in the base of the missile silo that had to be checked for corrosion as well,” he said. In early 1969, several months into his assignment at Whiteman, the airman received orders for Thailand to serve in aircraft maintenance in support of the air war in Vietnam. Prior to his deployment, he underwent another physical examination, during which the issue of his hearing loss created new cause for concern. “I was sent to Scott Air Force Base for a medical review and then to San Antonio, awaiting the outcome of the review board,” said Wittenberger. “Eventually, they disqualified me for worldwide deployment since I was deaf in my right ear and said that I could either finish my enlistment working in a service club, or some such capacity, or I could take a discharge.” Choosing the latter of the options offered, Wittenberger was discharged from the Air Force on August 22, 1969. Remaining in the Warrensburg area, he returned to college and graduated with a bachelor’s degree in agribusiness in 1972. In April 1973, he was hired by the Missouri Department of Agriculture and remained there until retiring 30 years later. In the years since leaving the Air Force, Wittenberger and his wife raised one son. In addition to his full-time employment, the veteran remained active in his community and served 45 years with Jamestown Rural Fire Protection District, is a past president and secretary of the Jamestown Lions Club and served four years on his local school board. Wittenberger acknowledges that although he was not a combat veteran by traditional definition, he and his fellow Cold War veterans who worked in the various missile defense programs recognize the important role they played in deterring a potential nuclear exchange with another country. “It was just a job and we did our daily routine to help maintain the 150 nuclear missiles here in Missouri that were on continuous alert,” he said. “We had our missiles sighted on the Soviet Union and they had their missiles sighted on us … and had there been an exchange, it would have been nuclear winter here.” He added,” We all tried not to think about the possibilities of what could happen; we just performed the duties that we were given, but we knew in the back of our minds the potential consequences.” Jeremy P. Amick writes on behalf of the Silver Star Families of America. The Silver Star Families of America has received the personal effects of a local veteran, which help chronicle one of the most devastating tragedies in World War II naval history—the sinking of the USS Indianapolis by a Japanese submarine. These documents provide a narrow glimpse into the life of former Mid-Missouri resident Wilbur Miller and his service aboard a vessel that has since become a deep-sea grave for scores of sailors.
Born December 12, 1920 near California, Missouri, Miller enlisted in the United States Navy on January 16, 1939 following his graduation from California High School. A listing of duty assignments provided to Miller’s father in Russellville, Missouri, by the Navy’s casualty office in late 1945, notes that the young recruit attended boot camp at Great Lakes, Illinois, in early 1939, and later received his first assignment aboard the USS Maryland. The young sailor’s service record continues to show a progression through enlisted ranks, continuing with his transfer to the USS Indianapolis—a heavy cruiser—on April 27, 1940, nearly 18 months prior to the official declaration of war with both Germany and Japan. Following the attack on Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941, Miller’s service record demonstrates his participation in a lively list of operations including “the bombardment of Japanese shore installations on Kiska, Aleutian Islands, Alaska” and the “support and occupation of the Tarawa Atoll of the Gilbert Islands from 20 November 1943, to 6 December 1943.” This tempo of combat operations did not appear to deter the sailor’s desire to serve his nation since the November 30, 1944 edition of the Daily Capital News reported, “(Miller) has been in the Navy six years and says it is his intention to remain in the service until his twenty years is up, after which he will be retired on a pension.” Bodily injury also had little effect on the trajectory of his naval career even when, as reported in the October 7, 1945 edition of the Sunday News and Tribune, Miller was awarded a Purple Heart for wounds received when a Japanese suicide plane struck the Indianapolis off Okinawa on March 31, 1945. Through several more engagements in the Pacific theater, Miller and his crew-mates performed admirably, but it was an event beginning mid-July 1945 that would permanently etch the name of the USS Indianapolis in the annals of military naval history. Leaving San Francisco, the Indianapolis made its way to Tinian Island near Guam, where it off-loaded its top-secret cargo: the components for the atomic bomb that days later would be dropped on Hiroshima, thus heralding the end of the war in the Pacific. However, the ship—carrying Miller and a crew of nearly 1,200 sailors, Marines and civilians—embarked for the island of Leyte in the Philippines when the unimaginable occurred just after midnight on July 30, 1945. “… the USS Indianapolis, was torpedoed by a Japanese submarine, immediately killing nearly 300 men, and sending as many as 900 others into the black, churning embrace of the vast Philippine Sea, some 350 miles from nearest landfall,” wrote Doug Stanton, author of “In Harm’s Way,” a book describing the events surrounding the ships sinking. The 24-year-old Miller, who was serving as chief machinist mate at the time, is believed to have gone down with the vessel, which sank in less than fifteen minutes following the torpedo attack. Reports of a swift death may have been of little solace to Miller’s grieving family, but what followed for the survivors was nothing short of a nightmare. Though an estimated 900 of the crew made it into the ocean waters once the ship submerged, nearly 600 of them died while spending almost five days afloat, suffering from starvation, dehydration and fatigue, while others were torn apart during frequent shark attacks. When the surviving crew members were rescued, only 317 remained to share the story of the horrors they endured. Miller’s father, Frederick, was informed of his son’s death in early October 1945, leaving him with only his daughter, Virginia since his wife had passed away 11 years earlier. During a memorial service on November 18, 1945 at St. Paul’s Lutheran Church in California, the choir sang for their departed son “The Navy Hymn” by John B. Dykes, the first verse of which provides a fitting closure to the life of a local man who will remain forever at sea. “Eternal Father, strong to save, Whose arm doth bind the restless wave, Who bidd’st the mighty ocean deep, Its own appointed limits keep; O hear us when we cry to Thee, For those who peril on the sea!” Jeremy P. Ämick writes on behalf of the Silver Star Families of America. A mother’s love for a child can be an abstract and unwavering force that yields to no person or object. Few would argue that such fondness often transitions to a protective instinct, which then encourages the parent to defend their child from all threat or harm. So when a child leaves a mother’s warm embrace to join the military under the threat of war—or, in some cases, death—it must certainly be the height of stress or worry for the doting elder left behind. Yet during World War II, one local mother experienced the unfortunate reality of sending her son off to war, not realizing that she would spend the next several years struggling to cope with the unexpected loss.
Born in Lohman, Missouri, on February 15, 1913, Chester Everett Strobel was the only child of Louis and Emma Strobel and grew up watching his parents engaged in mercantile endeavors. However, the couple’s young son would soon step up to fill in for his departed father. “When Chester was 16 years old his father died and he became the mainstay of his mother,” Strobel’s obituary explained. “With loving devotion he was attached to his mother who in turn bestowed upon her son the fullness of her motherly love and affection.” For many years, “Chetty”—as Lohman resident Gert Strobel notes was Chester’s nickname—helped his mother operate their store that was located in what is now the front section of the MFA Exchange building in Lohman. “They had everything (in the store)—candy, flour, oatmeal, beer,” said Gert Strobel. “It was all in bulk; there was nothing in packages.” As is often the case with young men, Chester developed affections for a young woman, Florence Meister of Jefferson City, and the two were married on September 26, 1942—twelve days following “Chetty’s” enlistment in the U.S. Navy. The young sailor soon said his goodbyes to the two women who meant the world to him and departed for naval training at Great Lakes, Illinois. Several months later, he began his first active duty assignment performing operations in the Atlantic aboard the USS Augusta. Strobel continued his Atlantic-based service while later serving aboard the USS Ludlow, but in April 1943, he was introduced to operations in the Pacific Theater when transferred to the U.S.S. Isherwood—a recently commissioned destroyer. “During the next two years of its operations (USS Isherwood), it traveled more than 115,000 miles” and took part in combat operations in locations including the Kurile Islands and the Philippines, as Strobel’s obituary described. But, as noted on the website for The National Association of Destroyer Veterans (NADV), an unfortunate event on April 22, 1945 robbed a community of one of its native sons. With little warning, the Isherwood came under attack by three Japanese planes while operating near the Ryukur Islands off the coast of Okinawa. All hands reported to their battle stations, but not in time to prevent the deadly consequences that soon followed. An article on the NADV website explains that one of the planes was on a kamikaze (suicide) run and “hit squarely on the No. 3 five-inch gun mount, killing or wounding most of the men on duty within the mount and its ammunition handling room.” What followed was certainly pure bedlam when a depth charge exploded 25 minutes later, killing many more crew members. It is believed that the 32-year-old Strobel was killed instantly when the kamikaze plane struck the Isherwood. A Western Union telegram received near the end of April 1945 notified Strobel’s wife that her “husband Chester Everett Strobel … was killed in action while in service of his country.” Fellow church and community members celebrated Strobel’s life during a memorial service held on July 8, 1945 at St. Paul’s Lutheran Church in Lohman, where the young sailor had been a member. The veteran’s remains were interred in the National Memorial Cemetery of the Pacific in Honolulu. Though Chetty’s wife later remarried and moved to Barnett, Missouri, where she lived until her death in 1990, his mother (who passed away in 1966) never lost hope that her only child might somehow have survived the deadly encounter described in a brief telegram. Many in the Lohman community continue to share the story of Strobel’s mother leaving her porch light on at night, clinging to the belief her son might return home; yet a tribute published in the April 20, 1947 edition of the Sunday News and Tribune provides a glimmer of what appears to have been her acceptance of the loss of her son. “His smiling way and pleasant face are a pleasure to recall; he had a kindly word for each and died beloved by all,” wrote his mother, adding, “Some day we hope to meet him, some day we know not when, to clasp his hand in the better land, never to part again ...” Jeremy P. Ämick writes on behalf of the Silver Star Families of America |
AuthorJeremy P. Ämick is an award-winning author and historian and dedicated to preserving music, military and local histories. Archives
July 2024
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