One of the very best parts of living in Indiana is being able to visit Conner Prairie Interactive History Park. Continue reading “Indiana History! And goats and sheep and cows and pigs!”
This morning, after pouring over my iPad Mini during every free moment these past several days, I finally finished The Nazi Officer’s Wife: How One Jewish Woman Survived the Holocaust by Edith Hahn Beer.
Edith, an educated woman who lives in Vienna at the start of World War II, opts to go underground and live as an Aryan Christian rather than face her fate as an Austrian Jew. Despite the personal heartbreak of being separated from her mother, who is still in Vienna until she is deported to the ghettos of Poland, and her sisters, who escape, Edith becomes a “U-boat” as she calls herself, sinking beneath the surface and reemerging as a young woman named Grete. Along the way, we meet the Germans who helped her, Jewish friends who labored beside her as prisoners at the asparagus farm, and even a few members of the Nazi party who, despite the risk they themselves faced, helped hide Edith’s true identity. She then marries Werner Vetter, a German with hidden disdain for Nazi authority, all while living in fear that, at any moment, her true identity will be revealed.
The book is both amazing and heart-wrenching as Edith finally realizes her mother’s ultimate fate, comes to term with both her assumed and real identities, and tries to begin life anew in a post-war Europe filled with rubble, despair, and starvation.
Definitely the first autobiography of its kind that I’ve read. Definitely one anyone else interested in World War II and the Holocaust should read, as well!
Pete, or James K. Stepro, as was his given name, was born on a chilly February Saturday in 1912. The seventh of eight children in a three-room house with no electricity, he was from inauspicious beginnings. The family was poor but they did the best they could. His early years were full of joy, with his siblings and cousins around to play with and entertain the precocious child. All of them would even scrounge up a nickel a piece to go down to the Dream Theater every Saturday to watch the silent movie that was playing. Then on Sundays, they trudged to the First Methodist Church for worship services.
Pete, below at age 4, was doted upon.
Even from a young age, it was clear that Pete was a strong character – one that was born to lead. He dealt with adversity in a calm manner, one that impressed his teachers early on. And, like many in his generation, he had to learn to be the man of the house at a young age. In 1926, when Pete was just 14, his father died. Immediately, Pete knew his dreams of graduating high school would have to be cast aside so that he could provide for his family. He dropped out of the 8th grade and took a job delivering milk.
Four years went by. The Roaring 20s ended and 1930 came. It was only then that Pete finally got to go to high school, beginning as an 18-year-old freshman. He soon began playing on the basketball and boxing teams.
Below is Pete, second from the right, with the 1933 Corydon High School basketball team. His developed biceps give away the fact that he was four years older than his classmates.
A little over a year later, on August 1, 1935, Pete joined the Army. After basic training, he reported to Fort Knox, Kentucky, which was only a little over an hour’s drive from his hometown, and became a Private in Troop C of the First Cavalry Regiment.
Not long after he enlisted, he and his buddies went to a dance hall on a Saturday night. There, Pete’s life would change in an instant when he set eyes on a pretty brunette named Ruth. They talked, they danced, and at the end of the night, he asked if he could see her again. Her face fell and she shook her head no. “I’m not allowed to date until I’m sixteen,” she admitted. Having just turned fifteen, dating Pete would have to wait. Never one to be kept down for long, Pete waited and on the day Ruth turned 16, he appeared on Ruth’s doorstep and asked her on a date. He would never again look at another woman.
Pete took to military life and began to quickly move up the ranks. On December 7, 1937, he became an officer – Second Lieutenant James K. Stepro. In 1938, Pete left active duty and went into the reserves. Still hoping to better himself, he moved to Bloomington, Indiana to attend Indiana University. His schooling only lasted one year, though, because then, everything in Pete’s life changed.
By 1940, there were rumblings that America was going to go to war. Hitler was tearing across Europe and the Japanese were terrorizing Asia. As Hitler grew more powerful, the American military began to take counter measures. Pete’s reserve unit was activated on July 8, 1940. One week later, on July 15th, the 1st Armored Division was born and Pete’s regiment, the 1st Cavalry, became the 1st Armored Regiment. Later that same year, on December 14, he married Ruth.
Even with a wife waiting for him back home, Pete focused on his job. He was a natural leader and his men loved him. As he prepared for war, he continued to move up within the Army. In April of 1941, he was promoted to 1st Lieutenant.
After the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941, America entered the war. Preparations to go oversees ramped up and 1942 found him in command of company H. Before he could be shipped overseas, Pete took one last weekend pass and went on a trip with his young wife.
Pete and Ruth:
After he returned from his trip with Ruth, Pete was moved to various posts around the US as training continued. He was promoted to Captain and not too long after, he was and on a ship to Northern Ireland.
Training in Ireland was intense. Pete was tasked with getting his men into fighting shape, teaching them to become one with the tanks they controlled. Just four months after arriving in Ireland, the 1st Armored Division moved to England and even closer to the action.
Below are several images of Pete in the UK for training:
By mid-January 1943, Pete and his men were seasoned veterans of the war. They had met with Hitler’s army on numerous occasions but so far, Company H had survived unscathed. Pete found time to write letters home, telling of how cold nights could be in the desert inside his tent (below).
North Africa Jan 25 (not sure)
Monday (I am sure)
Dearest Sweetheart Ruthie,
It has been sometime since I wrote to you, Jan. 17, I believe, and now I am going to take a few minutes to write to my sweet Ruthie. Hun, this morning I received two letters from you, one from Alfred, one from Robert. Since I last wrote to you I have received the following letters – Nov. 5, 27 – Dec. 13=14. The two this morning are Nov. 10-13. Hun, I am glad you have the letters dated because we have to destroy the address as soon as we receive a letter to keep it from falling in enemy’s hands. Also, a letter from Mom dated Nov. 27 – one from Robert Nov. 9, one from Doris Dec. 11.
Hun, you said you received a copy of the Illustrated London News. It has probably expired now since I subscribed for only a quarter of a year but I hope you renew the subscription.
Mom said that she is receiving an allotment from Robert so if she writes you to discontinue the $25 check, don’t discontinue it because I want her to save the money Robert has allotted – I mean save the $22 for him. This was the way I wrote him last summer (and your Petie knows his business.)
Ruthie, you can probably tell by the spots on the letter what kind of weather it is now. Your letter of Nov. 13 says, “We are shedding today and Ermel is helping Mother cook.” It should read “___ and I am helping Mother cook.” You had better learn, Honey-girl.
I suppose that by now Rodney has a new niece or nephew (maybe it’s a cousin) to play with.
Pretty soon it will be Feb. 1st. Time sure does fly. I would sure like to be home with you, Ruthie, then time wouldn’t matter so much.
Hun, I went to some old Roman or Carthaginian ruins and found a little clay tea pot. No telling how old it is, either. It has a picture of a little girl or boy engraved on it. The remains of the buildings have a lot of engravings just like the history books show. I couldn’t stay there but a couple of minutes and I would have liked a couple weeks to dig around in the ruins. It is hard to visualize those places as having been built centuries ago, and that those places were once great cities.
One day I took a ride on a camel – it had only one hump and it began to bubble inside. Lt. Horre said it was taking a drink from one of its several reservoirs.
Hun, I have a lots of figs and dates. Now I am in a big olive grove and there is a fig palm only 40 yards from me. They are good, too.
Last night I turned my radio on to BBC and heard the news from the US (not supposed to do this) and I heard them telling of things that are happening over here. It seems funny that the people at home know about what’s going on sooner than we do.
Hun, do you still have that Coca Cola on ice for me? You probably don’t think much of Cokes much in January. I am still wanting a big, juicy hamburger.
Ruthie, don’t let me forget to tell you about Lieut. Robertson’s slit trench when I get home. It happened some time ago when the planes first started their flying over us but it is still funny to me.
Have you been cracking any walnuts this winter? I would like be at home cracking them for you Rodney and Ila Sue would probably help us eat them. And we will have to teach Ila Sue the game we always played with Rodney, “going through a tunnel.” We liked that game, too, didn’t we?
Today is the 26th, Ruthie. If I get this letter in in time it may make good connections.
I think that I mentioned receiving Xmas cards from Masonic Lodge and Ladies Society Methodist Church.
I sent you several postcards from over here (not where I am) and I know you will like them if they arrive home.
Ruthie, Sweetheart, I must stup writing, but I will always keep loving you with all my heart. For always with loads of fun,
Your Captain Pete James K
After the letter was posted, Pete’s brief respite from the war was over and he went back to work.
Fighting intensified in late January and early February. On February 14, 1943, the 5th Panzer Army met up with three companies, including Pete’s, at Sidi bou Zid. Company H was first attacked by air and artillery shells soon followed. The fighting grew in intensity, chaos raining over Pete’s tank as they faced the Germans. Pete, ever the commander, stuck his head out of the turret so that he could direct the company. A shell hit the hatch cover, which caused Pete to look down at his men inside the tank to make sure that everyone was okay. Reassured, he popped his head back out into the open air. Seconds later, a German 88 artillery shell hit him directly, ending his life.
It wasn’t until February 20th, six days later, that Ruth was notified. She received this telegram while at her parents’ home.
THE SECRETARY OF WAR DESIRES ME TO EXPRESS HIS DEEP REGRET THAT YOUR HUSBAND, CAPTAIN JAMES K. STEPRO, WAS KILLED IN ACTION IN DEFENSE OF HIS COUNTRY IN THE NORTH AFRICAN AREA, FEB. 14. LETTER FOLLOWS. ADJUTANT GENERAL
Pete was buried far, far from home, first in a temporary resting place near the ancient ruins that he had excitedly written Ruth about.
Ruth was notified in June that Pete was to be posthumously awarded the Distinguished Service Cross for his actions at Faid Pass. She was also presented with a Purple Heart for his valor at Sidi bou Zid.
Pete’s resting place wasn’t final until 1947. At that time, Ruth was notified that they were moving his body from the temporary cemetery to the North Africa American Cemetery at Carthage, Tunisia. She had the option of having his body sent home, but chose not to. There has always been some question as to why Ruth made that decision. It’s thought that she probably couldn’t endure the grief that would follow the arrival of his casket. By that time, four years had passed and the wounds, though still open, were no longer raw. Holding a funeral would have only opened them up, leaving her aching with heartbreak and drained all over again.
Pete’s resting place in Carthage, Tunisia:
I never knew Pete. And my father, who wrote a book about him (which provided me with the above details), never knew him either. Dad was born on May 7, 1945, just as Americans were celebrating the Victory in Europe. But Dad grew up hearing stories about Pete, and once he became a man and he, too, served in the armed forces, Pete’s widow, Ruth, began to give him some of Pete’s personal effects. I grew up staring at Pete’s Army boots, which were safely stored in a glass case, while Dad wove stories of Pete’s childhood and the people I knew who knew him. Just a few years ago, Dad gave me one of his caps, which very well might be the one he’s wearing here:
Even though I never got to have a single conversation with my great-great uncle, who would have been 66 when I was born, I am nonetheless moved by him. He was a strong, proud man full of honor, and he was one of the hundreds of thousands of Americans who gave their life in that most terrible of wars. And as my father advances in years, I feel it’s my duty to keep Pete’s memory alive. After what he did for me (and for the rest of the world), it’s the very least I can do for him.
source – Pfeiffer, Larry. Captain Pete: A Biography of Captain James K. Stepro. Self-published. 1983.
Anyone who knows me knows that one of my biggest obsessions is old time radio – specifically, the show “Fibber McGee & Molly.” (I mean, c’mon, they’re in my WordPress icon. I LOVE Jim and Marian Jordan, aka Fibber and Molly. They feel like family to me!) So I’m quite excited to be adding this Milton Bradley game from 1940 to my collection!
I just discovered Bomb Girls.
An American born four decades too late
Co-worker, who approaches me as I stand at the copier with earbuds in my ears and my iPod in my hand: What song are you listening to?
Me, as I take out an earbud: Huh?
Co-worker: What song are you listening to?
Me: Oh! It’s not music. It’s CBS’ complete broadcast day from D-Day, June 6, 1944! The Germans were releasing information about the invasion but it wasn’t confirmed for a few hours. Right now, General Eisenhower is speaking to the people of occupied Europe.
Co-worker: Oh…well… hope that works out okay.
Me: It does!
The thing I love about history is that it’s everywhere. Growing up, I was convinced that I lived in the single most boring spot in America: southern Indiana. My parents were quick to correct me of this gross inaccuracy and then proceeded to haul me all over the state over the next few years, pointing out that I was, in fact, from a very interesting area. There was the house just down the road, built of Indiana limestone and with nicks in the rocks from an American Indian raid in the early 1800s. As a child in Madison, I was regaled with stories of Civil War hospitals, escaped slaves, and clandestine stops on the Underground Railroad. I saw the site of the Battle of Corydon,where General Morgan attacked during Morgan’s Raid in 1863. I’ve stood at the first state capital building in Corydon, before Indianapolis snatched up the title in 1825. We visited (and eventually became volunteers) at the site where Abraham Lincoln and his family lived from 1816 to 1830 in what is now Lincoln City, Indiana. I’ve stood at the grave of his mother in Lincoln Boyhood National Memorial and at his sister’s grave just across the road in Lincoln State Park.
As I grew older, I became fascinated with World War II history and as it turns out, there was plenty of that around, too. The most visible site was the old Indiana Army Ammunition Plant, which stretched for miles along Highway 62 between Charlestown and Jeffersonville. The place looked abandoned, forgotten, like everybody just packed up one day and never came back. The old buildings, with their cracked windows and crumbling glass, used to send chills down my spine. Even still, I was wide-eyed at the history of the place. Opened in 1940, it was a major producer of munitions during World War II and employed over 27k people.
Once I became a college student majoring in history, I learned even more. The great Falls of the Ohio (in Clarksville) was a captivating place because it was where Lewis and Clark, with their Corps of Discovery, set off to explore the west in 1803. Then there were places such as Rose Island, which was on a piece of land where Fourteen Mile Creek empties into the Ohio River. An amusement park reminiscent of Coney Island, it was a great attraction for residents on both sides of the Ohio River in the 1920s and 1930s. Steamboats from Louisville and Madison would drop patrons off daily for a ride on the Ferris wheel, a trip around the wooden coaster, a swim in the pool, or a spin around the roller rink. The Great Flood of 1937 destroyed this park and it was never rebuilt.
Now that I’m writing a war-era novel and I’ve decided to set it in my old stomping grounds, I’m indebted to my parents and professors for making the rolling hills of southern Indiana come alive with history. What seems like nothing more than abandoned buildings, decrepit homes, and forgotten railroad tracks are, in fact, fascinating places. There’s a story to be told behind every door and I hope, through my novel, to bring some of those stories to life again.