Middle Class working mom who has had her share of jolts and bumps over the past 6 - 10 years. Questioning everything from politics to love to healthy lifestyles. North Carolina is my home.....sarcasm is my 2nd language, and stress appears to be my 'state of mind' at any given time.
Ginna Ann Diehl (1959 - 2015) wrote this...it is very inspiring:
"LIFE IS SHORT. Do what you love and do it often. If you don't like something, change it. If you don't like your job, quit. If you don't have enough time, stop watching TV. If you are looking for the love of your life, stop. They will be waiting for you when you start doing the things you love. Stop over-analyzing. All emotions are beautiful. When you eat, appreciate every bite. LIFE IS SIMPLE. Open your mind, arms and heart to new things and people. We are united in our differences. Ask the next person you see what their passion is and share your inspiring dream with them. Travel often. Getting lost will help you find yourself. Some opportunities only come once; sieze them. Life is about the people you meet and the things you create with them... so go out and start creating. Live your dream and wear your passion. LIFE IS SHORT." <3
I know without a doubt I and my neighbors dogged a bullet this month.
I dont like hurricanes and I especially hate September hurricanes that start with the letter "F". The reason being. Hurricane Floyd came through 9/15/1999 and the inland surge from the Tar river meeting the Rocky Mount dam, flooded my house on 9/16/1999.
It was a horrible experience...from leaving the house to crossing the river (my yard, street) with Mom and my 6 year old daughter to being displaced for months....
Two weeks ago Hurricane Florence was speeding as a Cat 5 Hurricane toward the NC/SC coast. It was to reach land around Wilmington NC. It was projected the eye would travel over Raleigh NC. This placed Rocky Mount on the NE side of the eye. Lots of tornadoes to be expected. The category was supposed to drop to a 1 as hit land.
A day or two before the storm hit, the projection was the storm would hit Wilmington and bobble southward, and stay there moving extremely slowly toward SC for over 24 hours. This would cause the storm eye over Fayetteville, NC. The storm would sit and spin for hours and hours, moving a few mph. NC was destroyed, but the north east quadrant of NC was almost untouched. If the original storm prediction, occurred, my house would be under water, and I would be looking for flood insurance money, and gone.
Its weeks later, and I'm staying with Dad at the farmhouse. I still have things stored up off the floor at my house. Major cleanup required.
I seem to have more than my fair share of 'close calls' and 'crazies' around me when driving.
I have 2 cars that are paid for and although my daughter thinks that they will have to catch on fire before I get rid of them, and buy something new..... well maybe she's right. Why not drive what you have and spend a little money each year on the maintenance instead of spending hundreds each month on a car note. I know I'll have to buy a new car someday (or new to me) but oh well..... for now, it's me the 2001 Mazda Protégé or the 2003 Buick Regal.
Recent crazy drivers....
1) In August, I was driving home one afternoon. I was on a rural country road that bypasses the small town to the south of my home. There is this really sharp curve that if you're not paying attention, you can get in trouble. I'm in the Mazda Protégé, I'm driving minding my own business and a truck is all at once in my lane coming straight at me in the curve. I have my windows down as it's summer and AC is a hassle sometimes on old vehicles. I am hitting the horn, and I'm then the truck (looked like a Ford F150) finally starts to move into his lane....in the curve.... but none the less, HERE IS HIS TRAILER ON THE BACK OF HIS TRUCK IN THE MIDDLE OF MY LANE. I start screaming...and hit the shoulder of the road. High grass is raking the bottom of the car and thankfully nothing else is. I slow down, and start to pull back over into my lane. I start cussing a blue streak that would shame any sailor...and I'm still peeved off when I'm trying to order a sub from Subway. It took everything I had that day, to NOT chase after that truck and give them a piece of my mind. Road rage is not pretty. But - I was alive, and I just kept going.
2) A week later, I'm working from home as I normally do on Fridays. I go to pick my grandchild up from daycare. I stop and get subs as shes usually hungry when I pick her up.
I am sitting behind a bus at the light. I'm going straight, and the bus driver is turning left. I notice in my rear view mirror the red head behind me who is obviously laying out someone on the phone urban style. She has long tipped manicured nails flying, head and shoulders jerking, eyes rolling....its a sight. Only thing missing was hand claps with every word (but she was holding her phone). I cant hear her but I can read lips and every word is clear. Eff this and that you effing, b...this s and that. I thought, now this is a distracted driver.
We both drive straight and before I can get my 2001 Mazda up to full speed, I notice her drift over the double yellow lines. I thought "pay attention". Cars are coming and she eases back in before the bridge over the river. The bridge is 1/2 mile from the stop light.
The next stop light is a mile away. I pull up to the light and stop as the first car. "Red" pulls up to my right beside me. I thought she was turning. As soon as the last car came thru the intersection, she ran the light, .....the light turned green after she was under it. Then she sped off. As fast as she felt she "needed" to go, I was always 3 car lengths behind her. So, I figured the "drift" over the double yellow lines was her trying to pass me, at a bridge, with oncoming traffic. Crazy!!
3) Same day as Red (#2) , After picking up my grandchild, I'm returning home and driving thru a 45 mph zone (after just leaving the town's 35 mph zone). A jeep passes me on double yellow line while traffic is heading straight for her. I had to hit the breaks to allow her entry. I know we have places to go at 5pm on Friday, but slow your role "roll" folks.
Passing on double yellow lines is a big pet peeve for me anyway..
4) In 2017, I was driving down Hwy 97 on the way home. Now the thing about Hwy 97 is, it's about 40 or 50 miles to Raleigh NC headed west. And there are maybe 10 miles on the whole dang road that doesn't have double yellow lines. It's fall and it's dark. I driving and a full sized truck pulls onto the highway (oncoming lane), drifts into my lane and half that damn truck is in my lane and I am headed for the shoulder of the road.... when all at once I see the reflectors of a bicyclist (country road) to my right. I had absolutely no where to go. I just hit the breaks. I was driving the Mazda and sometimes the horn just doesn't work well when you hit it. (Design flaw? - maybe). With me stopped, the truck realizes and pulls back into their lane before hitting me head on. I am shaking with fear and screaming (I'm not a screamer so this really freaks me out). I'm screaming stop looking at your 'effin' phone and drive dammit!! I was only 1/2 a mile from home. I pull into my neighborhood, go in my house, let the dog out, and step out on the deck. I sit in one of the chairs and I freaking LOST IT. Tears.... from that close call. My Mazda on the front grill of that full sized truck would have looked like a southern mosquito. I would have been squashed like a bug.
5) When I was in college, I dated a guy who was from Currituck County. I remember driving a big land yacht (Delta 88 8 cylinder) during college and if he was at home and I was off work, I would go to the beach. Usually he would drive me, but he was already home for the summer. I was behind slow traffic on a rural road (and it was almost all rural roads between our houses). While behind the slow traffic, I passed a truck with a boat....and it was dark....and I passed this coming into a curve. But by the grace of GOD...I didn't hit anyone or anyone hit me. It scared me half to death. I try not to think about it too much. I was blessed and GOD was looking after me, cause I was the FOOL that night. I managed to keep driving, but was shaking my head most of the trip thinking how close I came to killing myself driving full speed passing someone in a left hand blind curve.
Allen Barber "Doc" Varnell was born June 24th, 1928 to Oscar Bolden and Rosa Annie Webb Varnell.
Doc Varnell was child #11 of 15 children. Oscar was married to Ida Corbett Varnell in 1910, and Ida died after having 9 children, 7 that survived birth. Baby #6 was named Nettie and she died at 6 months. Oscar married Rosa Annie Webb in 1925 and Doc was their 2nd child.
Doc got his nickname as the Doctor who delivered him was Dr. Allen Barber.
I've heard that Papa Oscar Bolden Varnell helped deliver many of his children with both Ida and Rosa. For some reason Dr. Barbour was available to help with Doc. :)
Doc never married, nor had any children that we are aware of. He lived with his parents and took care of them until their deaths. (Oscar 1959) and Rosa (1988).
*I always shared my birthday with Uncle Doc as I was born on June 25th. I know his favorite was coconut cake. As soon as I would wish him a happy birthday, he would ask if I had brought him a coconut cake, his favorite.
Stories as told by his brother Paul.
1) Doc liked to drink (as well as a lot of his brothers). Paul rode on the roller coaster at Norfolk which was known to be dangerous and deadly. This nearly scared the wits out of him.
Several people had died and he struggled to stay in the seat. This was the 1950s and before the safety harnesses. Paul left the ride shaken and didnt care to ride it ever again.
Paul saw Uncle Doc standing there drunk as a 'hootie owl' with his hands in his pockets trying to get together enough coins to buy a ticket to this monster roller coaster. Barely able to stand, swaying to and fro, due to drinking all day.
Paul just looked at him, put his hand on his shoulder and said "No Doc, You don't want to get on this roller coaster".
Thankfully Doc didn't.
2) Doc would pull a drunk back in the day. during the 1970s, He and Grandma lived at Little Easonburg, NC (Hwy 64 between Rocky Mount and Nashville). The small 6 room house they lived in had a living room, and a bedroom to the right, a kitchen off the living room and a 2nd bedroom to the right. and a small porch on the back of the house, with doorways from the kitchen and the hallway to the bathroom and the 3rd bedroom. You could walk from the 1st bedroom thru Bedroom 2, and 3; and then turn left to a small hallway to the only bathroom. If you went straight at the bathroom, you went out the door to the back porch.
Doc had pulled a drunk which would usually last about 2 weeks. My sister and I had walked quietly to the bathroom and tried not to wake him. He did awake. He called out to my sister and she said "what?? He then said "I can't find my left foot", "Do you know where it is?"
I can still smell the cheap wine that he like to drink.
3) My cousin Mark stated that Doc would send him to one of the country stores at the crossroads and Mark would purchase "corn liquor' for him. Mark being all of 9 or so at the time.
4) Doc was a carpenter and a painter by trade. He and Grandma didn't believe in using banks. They saved their money in small metal boxes and lived frugally. Doc was a very good painter. In the 1970s, painters pants became popular for girls to wear. I had a pair. This trend shot the price up and he wasn't pleased.
5) Doc loved to fish. Most of his adult life, he would go down to the river and fish all night. It would be "black as pitch" dark on that river, but that didn't stop him. He loved going to the beach to fish. He bought an old school bus and made his own fishing camper. He made his own furniture. He loved that bus. He kept his boat under the shelter out back but towed the boat behind that bus.
Doc used to come visit me I'm Rocky Mount after fishing all day at the river and then show me his catch. Ie always say, let me know when you're going. I love to fish and would join you. I think he enjoyed fishing alone, as he would day he would but didnt. I was a newlywed so I guess he thought I wouldnt want to go.
) Doc was diagnosed with cancer in 2004. After his treatments, we brought him an air conditioner and put it in the window. It was so hot. He had a stove that had a tiny gas leak and I knew he struggled with the cancer treatments.... He left this wild of his own hand. Dad found him. I received a phone call from my cousin Teresa who liver beside him. She said well "Doc killed himself" I was crying so hard I couldn't talk. Gregg had to take over. When I finally calmed down, I was weird about Dad. Dad was Docs caretaker during his illness. I offered to go be there with Dad but wa told Police not allowing anyone in or anyone out. I always carried my heart in my sleeve with Dad.
I was asked by the preacher to write some memories about Doc as the preacher knew AUnt Nell and her family but not Doc. Teresa also submitted memories. Hers was about how DOc was always there for her and her kids and how they saw him as a grandfather. He was there when they got off the bus and they had a close relationship with him.
Paraphrasing what I wrote.
My memories of Uncle Doc includes visiting with him and Grandma and many other family members on Sundays when I was younger. There was always good conversation and sometimes disagreements but it never got our of hand. Doc was a painter and he painted most of our family homes at one time or another. I remember dolling g hin around at Little Easonburg where he would check out his boat and later the old school bus that he remade with homemade furniture. He would use that bus as his RV and travel to go fishing to the river or Swans Quarter, or the beach. I remembered his favorite cake was coconut and since our burthdaya wee come I'd being him one sometimes when it was his birthday.
My (Charlotte) most recent memory was going to check on him after his cancer treatments and make sure he wasn't dehydrated. I checked and he was good. While we were just chatting he told me something that I will never forget. He said I miss Joe Clyde. He has been gone for so very long and I truly miss him. He said Charlotte I have dreams of him often. I'm at Walmart or a store somewhere out in public and I see him with his back to me. I walk up and touch him and he turns around and it's not Joe. He says I've had the dream many times, always with the same ending. Then he said Recently I had the dream again but I was in a place so beautiful that I cant even describe it. It was nothing like Id ever seen before. Again, I saw Joe Clyde and I walked up to him and said "Joe, Joe I have missed you so much" and he turned to face me and it WAS Joe. Not the sick frail man who died, but the young man in that black and white photo there. (He pointed to the picture on the table). He said we rejoiced and I just hugged him and cried and told him how much I loved and missed him. He continued it was then I knew this beautiful indescribable place I was with him at was Heaven and he was there with Momma and Papa and the others and no more pain and I knew I would see him again someday in Heaven. Ot was Joe's sign to me. I woke up so peaceful and content and happy to have spent time with my brother. (Joe Clyde died at 59 in 1987 and Grandma V died the next year....probably from a broken heart). And I knew that I would be with him someday in that beautiful place, Heaven.
I (Charlotte) know that God wanted Doc to share that story with me, so I could share with you. I know that Doc visited Uncle Joe Clyde in heaven. I know that Uncle Doc was saved and loved God. I know he is in heaven with Joe Clyde, Grandma, Papa and the rest of the family. This gives me great peace and I hope it gives you the same.
***We are a religious family and some were worried that because Doc took his life he wouldn't be in Heaven.
My Uncle RP was at home sick with cancer and couldn't make it to the funeral. My cousin Mark V contacted me later and asked for a copy of the memories. He wanted Uncke RP to read it. I sent him a copy.
I miss all my Aunts and Uncles. I wish I had realized how lucky I was back then to have them closely and be able to visit. On Dads side they are all gone, including Dad. January will be a year since he left. I miss him.
Lee and I met at college. We were set up by a friend, and although Lee is 4 years younger than me; he looked older, and was 6 foot 5 and I loved tall guys. Plus he was super nice.
Lee's family lived in Currituck County. I was working as a server at a local Chinese 'fine dining' restaurant. After I met his family, they decided I was a 'keeper' (and I felt the same way about them. I would end up at Lee's parent's house whenever I had a free weekend, or week nights, holidays, etc. Currituck County is very close to the Outer Banks. It's the northern most county closest to the Virginia/NC state line.
One weekend, we went to visit his parents and his sister Lisa. I was talking to Mom on Sunday and she stated they were calling for snow to come in and asked that I return home early, before dark. Lee and I tried to make that promise, but for some reason we left after the snow started.
Usually we'd go back to Rocky Mount, NC through Elizabeth City, then on to Williamston, then to Rocky Mount. While heading back the weather was getting worse and worse and I was really starting to worry. I was scared we'd get stuck on these country roads and who would come get us or help us out. This was the days before cell phones. In Eastern NC, on rural roads, if you had an accident, or couldn't get through due to weather, you were stuck.
Lee decided to drive us back through what he hoped would be better roads, conditions. This took us close to Scotland Neck, and Hwy 97 would take us directly into Rocky Mount. The snow was covering everything and starting to get deep. We were on the isolated highway and there was no traffic, no houses for miles, but we were at least within 20 or 30 minutes of Rocky Mount. We travelled slowly.
We noticed this car sitting on the side of the road, and the door was wide open which caused the interior light to be on. Lee was driving slowly and moved to the left lane in order to pass the car. The car door was open onto the road. As we drove past, we noticed a single male occupant in the front seat of the car. This man was facing forward, his arms draped over the back of the front of seat. His eyes were open and lifeless, staring at the car headliner of the car. It was more than obvious that this man was dead. There was no one else around that we could see. No car, no people, no houses. HIs car wasn't wrecked. I wasn't sure if someone was hiding in the back seat, or if the man stopped and started to get out and had a heart attack or what.
I'm so glad that Lee didn't stop to see what was happening. It just felt - WRONG. And when it feels wrong, you have to go with your instincts and keep moving. We didn't have a lot to say on the rest of the trip home. We just kept going, to get away from that situation.
Just one of the times I was extremely glad to see the lights of home.
Oscar C. Varnell - Prisoner of War RecordHeld in Stalag 3B near Fuerstenberg, Prussia
Oscar
C. Varnell was a Private in the Army during World War II. Oscar was
captured by Nazi Germany while serving in Tunisia, and was sent to Stalag 3B
near Fuerstenberg, Prussia where 4,222 other American POWs were held.
Oscar's capture was first reported to the International Committee of
the Red Cross on February 14, 1943, and the last report was made on
June 22, 1945. Based on these two reports, Oscar was imprisoned for at
least 859 days (2 years and ~5 months). The average duration of
imprisonment was 363 days. Ultimately, Oscar was returned to military
control, liberated or repatriated.
Returned to Military Control, Liberated or Repatriated
Source of Report
Individual has been reported through sources considered official
http://wwii-pows.mooseroots.com/l/97854/Oscar-C-Varnell Life at Stalag 3B as told by Carl Varnell:
Carl was always hungry. Even though the Red Cross provided some food, I believe it was paid for by the family. I have letters he sent home begging for clothing and food to be sent through the Red Cross. Carl stated they were often given soup broth (potato) and if they got potatoes in the soup, it was usually rotten potatoes.
There was a person from the Red Cross who came in and spoke with the various prisoners. He carried a small recorder that had a hand crank used to operate it. Carl and many others were able to speak on this recorder and the recording was communicated out via the radio airwaves throughout Europe. There are several post cards in my possession where various good people from Europe would write or type the exact verbiage that was used and the date/time of the radio transmission and it was sent to Carl's father Oscar Bolden Varnell in Macclesfield. Carl stated his name "Oscar Carl Varnell' and that he was in good health, the son of Oscar Bolden Varnell. And basically sent his love to his family.
I'm sure being in prison in Germany wasn't a fun experience for him or any of the other men there at the camp. Long days working in the fields, not enough clothing, being cold, being hungry. I praise GOD that he survived the experience, but I wonder if it weakened him as he died very young. He had a heart attack or heart failure (this ran in the Corbett side of the Varnell family). He was born in 1922 and was dead in 1969. I was 9 years old then, so I remember visiting him as a young child once or twice.
STALAG 3B
Stalag IIIB was located in the present city of Eisenhüttenstadt (formerly Fürstenberg) in Germany. It was a POW camp for British, French and American servicemen.
Below are some pictures that were taken at Stalag 3B. Another prisoner named Antony S had a guard purchase a camera and film for him (snuck it in) and Anthony took pictures of his friends. A book was created with all the pictures, but below are some of the pictures I found online.
I
recently acquired a group of photos and other items to an American POW
captured with the 34th Division at Kasserine Pass in 1943. He was sent
to Stalag IIIB and formed a relationship with another POW named Angelo
Spinelli .
Angelo Spinelli took over 1000 photos
with a camera he traded from a German guard, and had the same guard
develop his film. There is a great book devoted to Spinelli's photos
called " Life Behind the Barbed Wire " by he and Lewis H. Carlson. The
POW who kept the photos I have is mentioned in that book. Here is a link
to info about the book:
The
photos I obtained were brought home in 1945. Angelo Spinelli had guts,
because if the Germans had found his film, photos, or Camera, he
probably would have paid with his life.
Here are
examples of his work. Some of the examples published in books are more
dramatic than the ones I have, but all of them represent an important
look into the lives of American POWs.
Life Behind Barbed Wire - Angelo M. Spinelli
January 13, 1988|By PAUL HEIDELBERG, Staff Writer
They played baseball, staged musicals and attended classes -- salesmanship was the favorite.
After
receiving a thank-you letter from one of them, the donor of a sweater
wrote: ``I`m sorry you got it. I wish it had gone to someone on active
duty.`` Writing to his son, a father wrote, ``I hope you are able to get
in plenty of golf, and don`t drink too much of that good German beer,
it is very fattening.``
If there was one thing they didn`t have to worry about, it was getting fat.
These
men were the American Kriegies of World War II, Kriegies being slang
for kriegsgefangenen, German for prisoners of war. American Red Cross
packages supplemented the meager rations the Kriegies received from
their captors. The parcels` cigarettes and chocolates were used to
barter for German civilian food and other items.
Angelo M.
Spinelli, a combat photographer and sergeant in the U.S. Army, was a
Kriegie and spent 27 months in German POW camps. Of the 1,200
photographs he took illicitly at the Stalag IIIB camp near Furstenberg,
14 were used in Prisoners of World War II, published in 1981 by
Time-Life Books.
Spinelli is full of war stories, but, 10 years
ago, you couldn`t get a word out of him. He and other POWs had been
shipped to their first camp in a urine- soaked boxcar and he had risked
his life taking photographs to document life at a POW camp. Yet, he felt
guilty.
``I clammed up after the war,`` Spinelli said. ``I
wouldn`t talk about it until a few years ago. I had a guilt complex. You
survived and the other guy died. It`s something you feel inside that`s
hard to describe.``
In 1946, while still intoxicated with his
sudden freedom, Spinelli collaborated with another Kriegie -- U.S. Army
Air Corps Col. C. Ross Greening -- in The Yankee Kriegies. Published by
the YMCA, the booklet listed Spinelli`s and Greening`s remembrances of
their imprisonment. Photographs Spinelli shot at Stalag IIIB were also
included in The Yankee Kriegies.
Spinelli`s
recollections of his confinement range from the horrendous to the
humorous. He said that, during his first day, guards told him none of
the POWs would get out alive. But some anecdotes seem right out of
Hogan`s Heroes.
``Most of the guards were either very old men or
young men who had been wounded in combat,`` Spinelli said. ``It took me a
couple of months to get one guard`s confidence at Stalag IIIB and,
after that, I used him steadily for the remainder of my time there. He
was an older guy and I traded him 15 packs of cigarettes for a Bessa
Voightlander folding camera, and three packs for a compact tripod. Then
I`d give him a pack for a roll of film and another pack to have the film
processed.``
But there was a serious edge to the bartering.
``If
the film processor would have snitched to the SS or if the SS would
have gotten hold of the pictures, I think it would have been curtains
for everybody involved,`` Spinelli said. ``Being in the photographic
branch of the army, I felt, by doing photographic work at the camp, I`d
be doing a service to my country. I felt a moral obligation to do
this.``
Spinelli bartered with a POW paratrooper for a baggy pair
of pants that he always wore to conceal his camera and film. He traded
with a guard for concrete to construct a hiding place for his camera,
film and photos.
Because he could not read the German printing on
film canisters, Spinelli never knew the speed of the film he was
shooting. He used a tripod for his indoor shots and exposure times of 8
to 12 seconds to ensure adequate exposure in case he was using
slow-speed film.
In one photograph, a Kriegie and a guard are
hiding behind a sentry box. The Kriegie is trading a can of Red Cross
margarine for a loaf of civilian bread. In another, American prisoners
are standing in formation for roll call outside their barracks on a cold
day. Other photos show POWs playing baseball and basketball, boxing,
and putting on musicals and variety shows.
``That may sound like
we were having a lot of fun,`` Spinelli said, ``but without the sports
and shows, we would have all gone crazy. There was always a feeling of
fear. Not a day went by when I didn`t think I might die. That made me
want to take these photos, too, because I wanted something left if I
didn`t survive.``
During warm months, Spinelli and other POWs
slept outside their barracks to escape fleas and lice. Some POWs took
the wood from window frames to burn for cooking. ``Of course, when the
winter came, the Germans weren`t going to replace the windows, so the
barracks were very cold,`` Spinelli said.
At
Stalag IIIB, Spinelli was imprisoned with 3,500 Americans, 12,000
Russians, 8,000 Frenchmen and 1,000 Serbians. After 20 months there, he
was taken on a 10-day march to Stalag IIIA near Luckenwalde where he was
imprisoned for six months. With his camera equipment stuffed into his
baggy pants, Spinelli gave a German guard a pack of cigarettes to be
rushed through Stalag IIIA`s shakedown inspection for new prisoners.
Spinelli said it was the closest he came to being caught.
He was
liberated on April 22, 1945, by Russian soliders marching toward the
Battle of Berlin. Spinelli and his fellow POWs were left on their own
because their captors had fled the night before.
Spinelli reached
the American lines 60 miles away after hitching a ride with a French POW
on a German civilian truck that the Frenchman had commandeered. They
followed a Red Cross ambulance convoy on their drive to freedom. Before
returning to the U.S., Spinelli spent 20 days near Le Havre, France, at
an American camp known as Camp Lucky Strike.
``We got all the food
we wanted every day,`` Spinelli said. ``They wanted to fatten us up
before we shipped back to the States.``
After his discharge,
Spinelli married his childhood sweetheart, Anna, and went into the
jewelry manufacturing business with his brother Joseph in his native New
York. Now, he lives in Hallandale. He was contacted by Time-Life photo
editors in 1979 after they saw a copy of The Yankee Kriegies booklet in
the Library of Congress in Washington, D.C.
In 1980, Spinelli joined the American Ex-Prisoners of War organization.
He
has made a videotape of his photographs with an audio description of
his years of captivity and has produced copies of the videotape for
other ex- Kriegies. At his second residence in New York, he attends
weekly Veterans Administration group therapy sessions for former POWs.
``I
think that after the American hostages in Iran were released, therapy
sessions for ex-POWs became very popular,`` Spinelli said. ``Before I
went to them, I never would talk to anybody about what I went through.
Now it doesn`t bother me so much. I`ve met a lot of guys who understand
me when I tell them what I went through. They know what you had to go
through to eat and survive.``
LIFE IN THE CAMPS
In the
following excerpts from The Yankee Kriegies, published in 1946 by the
National Council of Young Men`s Christian Associations, Angelo M.
Spinelli recalled his 27 months in German prisoner of war camps during
World War II. During the war, the YMCA furnished 1,754,254 sports
articles, 244,432 musical instruments and 1,280,146 books to American
prisoners of war in Europe.
Kriegies was POW slang for the German word for prisoner of war, kriegsgefangenen.
--
I was on a combat photographic mission in the early fighting in North
Africa when my film and luck ran out at the same time. I`d used up all
my film and was sitting around without much to do when I was ordered to
take some German prisoners to the rear. We hadn`t gone very far before
we drove smack into the middle of a tank battle. . . . After a while,
the shooting stopped, and when we looked out, a German tank had its guns
pointed down into our ditch, and the American tanks were all shot up
and on fire. Right then, we changed places with our prisoners and became
Yankee Kriegies.
-- Along with a lot of other American prisoners,
I was loaded onto a boat and taken to Italy. There, we were jammed into
freight cars, without any sanitary facilities or water, and eventually
arrived in Stalag IIIB, a prisoner of war camp in Germany. The guards in
our camp were mostly older men. They all told us they weren`t Nazis! We
called the guards ``goons,`` and when they came into the camp for
inspection, the signal ``goon up`` would be passed around. The Germans
would have spies in the camps and we called them ``ferrets`` from their
snooping habits. A ferret`s assistant was a ``weasel.`` The greatest
fear of our guards was that they`d be sent to the Russian front. That
was the punishment given them if something went wrong in the camp. As a
result, we were usually tipped off when the Gestapo was to pay us a
visit. That was to give us time to hide things that were verboten, such
as radios, cameras, notebooks, weapons and a flock of perfectly innocent
objects that the Gestapo might decide to dislike.
--
Next to food, I think Kriegies thought more about escape than anything
else. Every prisoner dreamed of making a successful break for freedom,
but, although many tried, only a few suceeeded . . . The real escape of
most prisoners was in reading books and going to educational classes.
Classes were taught by men who were experts in that field in civilian
life. One of the most popular courses in my camp was in salesmanship.
The men liked the course so well that they gave a party for their
instructors at the end of it . . . We also played sports and we had some
former professional baseball players in our camp and some of our teams
were plenty hot. The German guards became so interested in watching us
play baseball that we got them to move the barbed wire fences back so we
would have more room to play.
-- One of the lighter sides of POW
life was the slang that grew up in our camps. Dehydrated vegetable soup
was ``green death`` or ``seaweed.`` A big meal or a party was a
``bash,`` so a Kriegie with an uncontrollable appetite was a
``bashomaniac.`` A prisoner became ``browned-off`` or ``Kriegie-happy``
from being too long in captivity. Anything that was wrong or stupid was
``from hunger`` because your mind is not sharp when food is scarce. A
prisoner ``strictly from hunger`` was something of a jerk, or sad sack .
. . One thing that helped us out were the deals we were able to swing
with the German guards. In exchange for cigarettes and chocolate bars
(that came in Red Cross parcels), the guards would smuggle food to us.
If it hadn`t been for that, we would have been a lot more hungry.
Trading with the guards was such a well- established custom in our camp
that we had a regular price list to go on. I got my camera and had my
film developed through exchanges with the guards.
********************
Stalag 3B Survivor - Joni B. Hannigan
http://www.christianexaminer.com/article/nazi-flag-reminds-wwii-pow-of-conquest/49199.htm
July 3, 2015
OCALA,
Fla. (Christian Examiner) -- It was "Independence Day" in 1946 for the
Americans interred during World War II in Stalag 3B and they couldn't
wait to get to the flour mill next door to tear down the Nazi flag
flying overhead.
The Nazi flag with its once loved, but now
perverted swastika, flew over the flour mill adjacent to the Prisoner
of War camp in Furstenberg, Germany until Arch Shealey and his brave
band of brothers finally tore it from its pole and trampled it
underfoot.
The hooked cross, which literally means "good fortune"
-- was subverted by evildoers, encircled by a labor camp wheel on a red
cloth background and has since been an extremely powerful symbol
synomymous with murdering millions of people. "Burg Stargard 2" showed
the mill reached its capacity for contributing to the Nazi cause.
"We went over there and tore it down and wiped our feet on it," Shealey said, recounting the day his camp was liberated.
(Joni B. Hannigan/Houston)Former
POW Arch Shealey hold the Bible given to him by his pastor from
Kendrick Baptist Church near Ocala, Fla., and sent from North Africa,
where he was captured where he was captured and taken prisoner during
World War II. The Bible was sent to his mom after the soldier was
captured. She cherished it, he said, as he does now.
Looking around carefully, however, Private Shealey made sure no one
was watching -- and then he stuffed it into his shirt. It was the only
souvenir of the war Shealy brought home to Florida, but has left hidden
for years.The flag is a sign of victory, he said. But victory few understand.
It was the victory of being liberated that day from Stalag 3B POW camp at Furstenberg, in Bravaria, Germany.
But
there was another symbol of the war that started out in North Africa
-- before he was one of 130,000 POW's interred in Europe and Japan --
that he holds dear.
A Bible, presented to him as a teen, by his pastor, had been his constant companion.
Left
behind in a tent in North Africa when he and his unit were sent to the
front at historic Kasserine Pass where they faced a barrage of enemy
gunfire in one of the most critical battles in WWII -- the Bible,
clearly trampled and possibly run over by a truck -- was sent home to
his mother.
Shealey, now 95, remembers learning his mom received
the Bible months after his capture. For the godly woman who had reared
her son in church, it became a symbol of hope.
That hope
sustained him as well when he thought of his mom, and his future wife,
Louise, pouring over single page letters he eventually was allowed to
write from the POW camps.
(Courtesy Arch Shealey)U.S.
Army Privates Arch Shealey (left) and Hailey Taylor, at Fort Bragg,
N.C. in 1942. Shealey was later taken as a Prisoner of War in North
Africa. Twenty-seven months later, when Shealey's
camp was liberated -- the final one where he was interred -- he grabbed
his Nazi flag and went home to Ocala, thankful to be free at last from
having spent over a third of the war imprisoned.Seventy
years later, the flag is a reminder -- not of the cruel and mocking
oppression of the evil regime -- Shealey said, but of the victory and
hope he felt that day when he and the others strolled freely outside
the gates of the camp to capture it.
A father of four,
grandfather and great-grandfather, Shealey said he spent 52 wonderful
years with his wife before she died of cancer in 1997. He credits her
with helping him through nightmares, later diagnosed at PTSD.
The
flag and his Bible serve as a reminder of the moment he crawled flat
in the dirt, with bullets flying overhead, and as a 22-year-old soldier
asked God to allow a bullet only a "glancing blow" on his helmet, so
he could live.
"Every day I thank Him for bringing me through my
experiences as a prisoner -- that hail of bullets-and I didn't get a
bullet on me," Shealey said. "I came through starvation and all of
that, and I still got my health and my body. I'm thankful I know where
it comes from."
******************
Two in their 90s get POW medals
By
Andy Fillmore / Correspondent
Posted Mar 28, 2015 at 9:12 PM
Two World War II
Ocala Florida News
by
Andy Fillmore / Correspondent
Posted Mar 28, 2015 at 9:12 PM
Two World War II
Two World War II veterans and former
prisoners of war received long overdue recognition and were awarded POW
medals in a ceremony Saturday at the Ocala Marion County Veterans Park.
OCALA — Two World War II veterans and former prisoners of war
received long overdue recognition and were awarded POW medals in a
ceremony Saturday at the Ocala Marion County Veterans Park.
Arch
Shealy, 95, an Ocala native and 1938 Ocala High School graduate, and
Jerry Ruelf, 90, originally from Saint Petersburg but now a resident of
Ocklawaha, was surrounded by friends, family and about 150 well-wishers
as Congressman Ted Yoho, R-Gainesville, presented the awards.
Both veterans received standing ovations.
One
of Shealy’s brothers, Nuby Shealy, operated Nuby’s Corner service
station and store located at State Road 40 and County Road 314. Ruelf’s
daughter Sandra Guinn is the wife of Ocala mayor Kent Guinn.
The event Saturday included a fly-over by three vintage military aircraft.
“We
could not be here today if not for you. Seeing these planes fly over
reminds us of the price you paid for our liberties and freedoms,” Yoho
said.
Congressman Rich Nugent’s office was involved in securing the decorations.
Marion County Commission Chairman Stan McClain and Commissioner David Moore also spoke at the ceremony.
Yoho
acknowledged the efforts of the POW advocacy group Honor, Release,
Return (www.honorreleasereturn.com ) and member Kathy “Kat” McLaughlin,
who is also with The Ride Home, a POW remembrance organization, for
initiating the medal awarding process on behalf of the veterans, which
was carried through by his office.
Kent Guinn said when he learned of the ceremony for Arch Shealy, he
suggested his father-in-law, Jerry Ruelf, also be recognized. Honor,
Release, Return also submitted Ruelf’s name for the POW medal.
Honor,
Release, Return has been involved in getting recognition for at least
three World War II POWs here and their efforts continue.
According to the American Ex-Prisoners of War website www.axpow.org/powmedal.htm, the POW medal was authorized in 1985.
In 1943, U.S. Army Private Arch Shealy, then about 23, was serving with a howitzer gun crew in North Africa.
″(German general) Rommel did one of his pincher movements on us,” Arch Shealy said.
The
American soldiers were trapped in a situation described by retired U.S.
Army Maj. Morrey Deen during the medal presentation as “every man for
himself” as some soldiers including Arch Shealy were stopped by enemy
gunfire.
Arch Shealy said he “crawled so much on the ground it
filled my hip pockets with dirt. My watch stopped at the time we were
captured and I hid it and still have it,” he said.
Deen said Arch Shealy was held in POW Stalags 7A, 2B and 3A about 50 miles outside Berlin for about 27 months.
“I dropped down to about 90 pounds from about 138 pounds,” he said.
Arch Shealy’s granddaughter Wendi Moldthan said she “cried all through the ceremony.”
“My grandfather told me about eating scraps the enemy soldiers threw
away,” she said. Moldthan’s daughter Emma Molthan, 3, romped during the
presentation.
Additional members of Arch Shealy’s family included
his brother Reuel Shealy, a World War II Navy veteran, daughters Diane
Hickerson, Debbie Stinson and Carolyn Freligh, his son Arch Shealy Jr.
and family friend Glen Busby, chaplain at the Malcom Randall Veterans
Administration Medical Center in Gainesville.
After returning
home, Arch Shealy worked with Roquemore Motors and Moses Auto Parts. In
1946 he married Louise and the couple had four children. Louise has
since passed away.
“I was honored by my family and treated well by
sympathetic friends when I got home,” Arch Shealy stated, but he
indicated he was “quiet” about his experience.
Arch Shealy was presented the POW Medal, Good Conduct Medal, African
Campaign Medal, Victory in World War II Medal and a lapel pin known as a
“Ruptured Duck,” signifying honorable military service.
After he was presented his awards, Arch Shealy said “I love you all” to the assembly.
Deen called both veterans “humble heroes.”
Jerry
Ruelf said he “spent one day” in aviation-related training and then
“retuned to the Army.” He was one of 13 soldiers being towed into a
supposedly secured area in Holland in a glider on Sept. 19, 1944 when
the glider pilot “was hit by (ground artillery) and killed.”
Although
seated in the co-pilot seat, Ruelf was not trained but managed to land
the craft in a field of small pine trees after it was cut loose from the
tow plane.
Ruelf was credited with saving the men and was awarded
the Distinguished Flying Cross (DFC) for his actions. The group was
captured following the landing.
Ruelf was wounded in the landing and was hospitalized and, then spent about eight months at Stalag 11, north of Berlin.
“I never saw the other soldiers from the glider again,” he said.
At
the camp, prisoners were forced to make “daily marches with one
prisoner missing every day. I don’t know where they went,” he said,
indicating it was a means of intimidation.
Ruelf returned from his
service, attended the University of Michigan and pursued a career in
education, including serving as assistant principal at Dixie Hollins
High School in St. Petersburg.
At the ceremony, he was presented
the DFC, Purple Heart Award, POW Medal, three decorations related to
WWII campaigns and Airborne Wings.
“Keep your faith, love the U.S. and keep your morale high,” Ruelf said in his acceptance remarks.
Ruelf was accompanied by his wife of 63 years, Mary Jean Ruelf, their daughter Sandra Guinn and son Michael Ruelf.
Michael Ruelf, 60, said his father had always been “quiet “about his war experience.
“I heard more today than ever,” he said.
**********************
Carl died young. He lived on Hwy 111
Pinetops NC. When traveling on 111 toward Tarboro NC, you cross 43 Hwy
and his house if the first house on left. Carl, wife Nanny Gray Webb
Varnell and daughter Peggy were on the way home after having lunch at
BBQ (Holdens Crossroads), Wilson. He had a massive heart attack and
died behind the wheel. His car landing in the Dutch. Carl is buried at
the James Varnell graveyard on Hwy 124 Macclesfield, NC.
