My endeavor, back in 2016 and 2017, to reach as many local World War II heroes as possible led me to then ninety-year-old Noah and wife Jessie Magee, a couple I had known all my life. Proud to be an American, Noah served in the United States Navy during the Second World War, on the USS Core. A Steward's Mate 1st Class, he was in food service on the ship en route to Okinawa, Japan, to pick up troops and return them to the states. As he explained, "When they dropped those bombs, it was over." More on that later. First, more heroes.
I managed to meet with Ewing Rihn (1924-2017) in September of 2016 before he succumbed the following March. His widow Virginia called me with the sad news of his passing. A native of Texas and resident of Franklinton, Mr. Ewing acknowledged himself as a "come here." But before that, he traveled the world over, on ships transporting ammunition and troops. A World War II hero, Ewing was discharged from the United States Coast Guard in August of 1945 for Oceangoing Service in the American Merchant Marine rendered during Armed Conflict from December 7, 1941, to August 15, 1945. And he not only stayed in the Merchant Marine for 42 years, retiring in October of 1984, but he returned to service as a Bosun (Boatswain) during Operations Desert Shield and Desert Storm in the waters of Southwest Asia.
And there was Burnia Martin (1921-2019), a then ninety-six-year-old World War II prisoner of war, when I met him in Bogalusa in 2017. The husband of Erma Crawford Martin and, after her death, Marie Moffett, he was a native of Washington Parish - the son of Dewitt and Era Martin. Drafted into the service, Martin was a togglier on a B-17 - a Flying Fortress - with the 384th Bomb Group, 547th Bomb Squadron, 8th Air Force. On September 16, 1943, on Martin's 14th mission, the B-17 was shot down by the Luftwaffe. Three of the crew were killed, and seven bailed, scattering as they came down. Two of those escaped but the remainder were not so lucky. Burnia Martin landed in Southern France where the French helped him with a disguise, all to no avail. As he explained, a Fieseler Fi 156 Storch, which he said was the German equivalent of my father's Piper Cub, followed him down so they knew just where to look for him. Martin was captured by two German infantrymen (the Wermacht). Following a couple unsuccessful escapes and imprisonment in camps in Germany and Austria, he was liberated by the 9th Armored Division of the Third Army.
Anytime I find myself in Bogalusa, I always remember Dick Weintritt (1920 -1995), a World War II hero, friend, and prisoner of war. While I wasn't lucky enough to hear his story in person, I didn't have to sit down with Mr. Dick, husband of Dorothy "Dottie," to know him. A finer man you could not find. A resident of Bogalusa, he and my dad, Cecil Ellzey (1919-1999), were close friends and business partners who, together with their pal Horace "Zip" Hayden, dabbled in land. But more than that, they were, as Dick's son Charley said, like brothers.
It was in October of 1944 that Lt. Weintritt was in Venos, Italy, serving on a B-24 Liberator bomber as a navigator, bombardier, and aerial gunner with the 485th Bomb Group, 15th Air Force. Returning from a mission, the bombing of the Herman Goering Tank Works in Lintz, Austria, the B-24 ran out of fuel near the Adriatic coast, forcing the crew to bail - Mr. Dick was one of seven who landed in the Adriatic Sea, three of whom drowned. Three more landed, on land, in Yugoslavia. Mr. Dick was in the surviving group of four plucked out of the water, hours later, by German soldiers. Transported in box cars and held in city jails, the Americans arrived in Vienna, Austria, where they were interrogated and held in solitary confinement. Eventually transferred to Stalag Luft III in Sagan, the prisoners of war remained there until the Russian break-through after which they were marched in zero-degree weather to Chemnitz and Moosburg, Germany. They were liberated by the 13th Armored Division, part of General Patton's Third Army.
After the war's official end in the European Theater marked by Germany's surrender, and much celebration, on May 8, 1945 (V-E Day), my father - a liaison pilot with the 28th Field Artillery Battalion, 8th Infantry Division - shared his uncertainty, writing to my mother on May 11, 1945, "Margie, I imagine everyone thinks all the boys will be Homeward Bound shortly. I wonder what the future holds for me - So. Pacific - hope not." A blessing for the world that Japan surrendered after the atomic bombing. September 2, 1945, was much celebrated V-J Day - Victory over Japan Day. A personal note, I am thankful for my dad's safety and return home - for one can only last so long, in war.
W. J. "Jack" Stafford, a native of Washington Parish, survived the war in the Pacific; he was one of the first to set foot on the site of the bombing at Hiroshima. Having known Mr. Jack, a prominent businessman and farmer, husband of Alice Wood Stafford - one of my mother's closest friends - I regret never having asked him about World War II.
I regret that about all the World War II veterans I missed.
