Remembering Our Nation's POWs and MIAs

Often, we hear stories of those who made it home from war or those who paid the ultimate sacrifice fighting for their country. However, we do not always hear the stories of those who were captured or never found in conflict—our nation’s Prisoners of War (POW) and Missing in Action (MIA). Nonetheless, their families grieve just like Gold Star families, but without closure. To put this into perspective, as of June 9, 2016, there are still 1,618 unaccounted for POW/MIAs from the Vietnam War according to the National League of POW/MIA families.

Personally, when I think of D-Day MIAs, my first thought goes to Staff Sgt. Raymond S. Hoback, one of our Bedford Boys. His story, as told below by his sister, Lucille, demonstrates the pain felt by MIA families:

The next day [after receiving the news of Bedford’s death on D-Day], in our childish way, my sister Rachel and I thought we might cheer our folks up by making them some ice cream.  We were over the freezer cranking away when there was another knock – another telegram.  “The War Department regrets,” the too-familiar preamble read, “to inform you that your son, Staff Sgt. Raymond Samuel Hoback is missing in action.”  Mom and Dad were overcome with grief and I along with them.  To this moment I can remember nothing else that happened that day.  Time simply stopped.
 

Raymond Hoback, D-Day MIA

Raymond was never found. Several of his company mates subsequently reported seeing him lying on the beach near water’s edge, whether wounded or dead they did not know.  What is clear is that he, along with dozens others like him, was taken by the tide into the sea.  A word now about Providence, which manifested itself in the form of a package that arrived at our house a few days later.  It was a book sent by a soldier from W. Virginia, who had landed a day after Raymond had gone ashore.  “While walking on the beach on D-Day plus one,” he wrote, “…I came upon this Bible, and as most any person would do I picked it up from the sands to keep it from being destroyed.”  It was the Bible she had given Raymond for Christmas in 1938.  It was her only tangible connection to her missing son.  She treasured it for the rest of her life, as I treasure it today.

Because they were unable to bring home Raymond, the Hobacks chose to keep Bedford in the American Cemetery at Normandy. Unfortunately, this is just one of the thousands of stories of POW/MIA families across the United States.

If you are in the area, we would love for you to join the National D-Day Memorial on Saturday, September 17 at 11 a.m. for a ceremony to honor our nation's POWs and MIAs.  The event will include a special Missing Man ceremony, wreath laying, songs by Rick Dellinger, and keynote speaker Robert O. Gray, POW, Korea. Gray enlisted in the Army in 1949 at the age of 17. He was stationed in Japan as part of the 24th Infantry Division until he was sent to Korea at the start of the war there.  He was captured by the enemy in November 1950, and spent 34 months in a POW camp. 

Gates open at 10 a.m. and admission is free until noon.  Please bring a chair as seating is limited.  Sam's Dogs will be on site with food available for purchase. Rolling Thunder Chapter 4 and Lynchburg Harley Davidson will also host a Benefit Run to the Memorial on the morning of this event.  For more information on how to participate or donate to the cause, email RTVACH4@gmail.com or click here.  

2015's POW/MIA Ceremony

Until Next Time,

Maggie

POW/MIA Awareness Day Event - Sept. 19, 2015

Hello All!

I hope you are enjoying the beginnings of the beautiful fall season. As you know, the Memorial not only hosts a multitude of events during the summer, we also stay just as active in the fall months!

Jessica Lynch

This coming Saturday, September 19 beginning at 11 AM, the Memorial will host a special ceremony in honor of our nation's POW and MIAs.  Jessica Lynch, former U.S. Army soldier who served in the 2003 invasion of Iraq by U.S. and allied forces, will be the keynote speaker for the event. On March 23, 2003, Private First Class Lynch was serving as a unit supply specialist with the 507^th Maintenance Company when her convoy was ambushed by Iraqi forces during the Battle of Nasiriyah. Lynch was seriously injured and captured. Her subsequent recovery by U.S. Special Operations Forces on April 1, 2003, received considerable media coverage and was the first successful rescue of an American prisoner of war since Vietnam and the first ever of a woman. Despite suffering from traumatic memories of such an inconceivable ordeal, Lynch continues to use her experience as strength to help others heal and raise awareness to the public.

POW/MIA Flag

Immediately following the ceremony, Lynch will conduct a book signing and copies of her book, I Am a Soldier, Too: The Jessica Lynch Story, will be available for purchase.

Admission is free from 10 AM to Noon. Call (540) 586-3329 or visit our website at www.dday.org/events for updated information.

American Prisoners of War - Vietnam

POW/ MIA Awareness is an annual event, held on the third Friday of September that honors our prisoners of war and those still missing in action. It is a day in which the government reinforces its commitment to account for those brave service members who sacrificed their lives for their country. It is important to remember to honor these service members and not just memorialize them. To many family members, the hope for their loved ones to return to them is still a glimmer of hope.

Here are the current POW/MIA statistics for many U.S. conflicts throughout our history:

Revolutionary War            POW – 18,152              MIA – 1,426

War of 1812                       POW – 20,000              MIA – 695

Mexican War                     POW – 46                     MIA – 238

Civil War – Union             POW/MIA – 194,743

                    Confederacy   POW/MIA – 214,865

Spanish-American War      POW – 8                       MIA – 72

World War I                       POW/MIA – 7,470

World War II                      POW – 124,079             MIA – 30,314

Cold War Era                      POW – Classified          MIA – 343

Korean War                         POW – 7,140                MIA – 8,025

Vietnam War                       POW – 766                   MIA – 1,719

Persian Gulf War                POW – 29                      MIA – 21       

Somalia                               POW – 6                        MIA – 2 

I hope you all will join us this coming Saturday to honor our nation's POW and MIAs.

Take Care,

Elizabeth

Let us "Never Forget"

 Join us at the National D-Day Memorial on Saturday, September 21 at 11 am for "Never Forget," a powerful and moving ceremony to honor those American who served our county and are still missing.  Air Force disc jockey Adrian Cronauer, who while on the air at Armed Forces Radio Saigon woke American troops in Vietnam each morning with the shout of "Goooooooood Morning, Viet Nam!," will be our guest speaker.  Cronauer was portrayed twenty years later by Robin Williams in the major motion picture, "Good Morning, Vietnam!"  Meanwhile, the real Adrian Cronauer was honorably discharged and continued as a broadcaster in Southwest Virginia for about a dozen years.  He later moved to New York, become a lawyer, practiced communications law for a dozen years, and then, was appointed by President George W. Bush as Special Assistant to the Director of the Pentagon's POW/MIA Office.  His speech "Accounting for America's Heroes" will highlight POW/MIA issues.  There will be a wreath laying during the ceremony.  Admission is free until noon.  For more information, call (540) 586-3329 or visit our website at www.dday.org.  This event is generously sponsored by Harley Davidson of Lynchburg.

We hope to see you at the Memorial on Saturday for POW/MIA Awareness Day.  Below is a POW story from WWII.  I apologize for the length of this post; however, this in an incredible story.  I now present to you Clair Cline's remembrances from his time as a POW in Stalag Luft I as he wrote for the Guidepost Magazine in January 1997. 

~Felicia

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The Prison Camp Violin by Clair Cline*

Clair Cline and his violin

In February 1944 I was a U.S. Air Corps pilot flying a B-24 bomber over Germany when antiaircraft fire hit our tail section and we lost all controls. We bailed out and on landing I found myself in a field in occupied Holland, just across the border from Germany. We were surrounded by villagers asking for chocolate and cigarettes. Then an elderly uniformed German with a pistol in an unsteady hand marched me to an interrogation center. From there I and other prisoners were shipped to Stalag Luft I, a prison camp for captured Allied airmen.

The camp was a dismal place. We lived in rough wooden barracks, sleeping on bunks with straw-filled burlap sacks on wooden slats. Rations were meager;  if it hadn't been for the Red Cross care packages, we would have starved.  But the worst affliction was our uncertainty. Not knowing when the war would end or what would happen (we had heard rumors of prisoners being killed)  left us with a constant gnawing worry. And since the Geneva Convention ruled  that officers were not allowed to be used for labor, we had little to keep  us occupied. What resulted was a wearying combination of apprehension and boredom.  Men coped in various ways: Some played bridge all day, others dug escape tunnels (to no avail), some read tattered paperbacks. I wrote letters to my wife and carved models of B-24s.

The long dreary months dragged on. One day early in the fall of 1944, I  found myself unable to stand airplane carving any longer. I tossed aside a half-finished model, looked out a barracks window at a leaden sky and prayed in desperation, "Oh, Lord, please help me find something constructive to do."
There seemed to be no answer as I slumped amid the dull slap of playing cards and the mutter of conversation. Then someone started whistling "Red Wing" and my heart lifted. Once again I was seven years old in rural  Minnesota listening to a fiddler sweep out the old melody. As a child I  loved the violin and when a grizzled uncle handed his to me I couldn't believe it. "It's yours, Red," he said, smiling. "I never could play the thing, but maybe you can make music with it."  There were no music teachers around our parts, but some of the old-timers who played at local dances in homes and barns patiently gave me tips. Soon I accompanied them while heavy-booted farmers and their long-gowned wives whirled and stomped to schottisches and polkas.

I thought how wonderful it would be to hold a violin again. But finding one in this place would be impossible. Just then I glanced at my cast-aside model, and a thought came to me: I can make one! Why not? I had done a little woodworking before I was in the service. But with what? And how? Where could I find the wood? The tools? I shook my head. I was about to forget the whole preposterous idea when something caught me. You can do it. The words hung there, almost as if Someone had challenged me. I grew up on a farm during the Depression, and had learned about resourcefulness. I remembered my father doggedly repairing hopelessly broken farm equipment. "You can make something out of nothing, Son," he said, looking up from the frayed harness he was riveting. "All you've got to do is find a way...and there always is one."

Barracks at Stalag Luft I

I looked around our barracks. The bunks. They had slats! Each was about four inches wide, three-quarters of an inch thick and 30 inches long. A few wouldn't be missed. Just maybe, I thought, just maybe I could. I already had a penknife gained by trading care-package tobacco rations with camp guards who delighted in amerikanische Zigaretten. Glue? It was essential. But glue was practically nonexistent in a war-ravaged country. "There's always a way," echoed Dad's words.  One day I happened to feel small, hard droplets around the rungs of my chair. Dried carpenter's glue! I carefully scraped off the brown residue from a few chairs, ground it to powder, mixed it with water and heated it on a stove. It would work. I cut the beech bed slats to the length of a violin body and glued them together. Then I began shaping the back panel. A sharp piece of broken glass came in handy for carving. Other men watched with interest, and some helped scrape glue from chairs for me.

Weeks went by in a flash. I shaped the curved sides of the body by bending water-soaked thin wood and heating it over the stove. My humdrum existence became exciting. I woke up every morning and could hardly wait to get back to work. When I needed tools, I improvised, even grinding an old kitchen knife on a rock to form a chisel. Slowly the instrument took shape. I glued several bed slats together to form the instrument's neck.  In three months the body was finished, including the delicate f-shaped holes on the violin's front. After carefully sanding the wood, I varnished the instrument (that cost me more cigarettes) and polished it with pumice and paraffin oil until it shone with a golden glow.

A guard came up with some catgut for the strings, and one day I was astonished to be handed a real violin bow. American cigarettes were valuable currency, and I was glad I hadn't smoked mine.
 Finally there came the day I lifted the finished instrument to my chin. Would it really play? Or would it be a croaking catastrophe? I drew the bow across the strings and my heart leaped as a pure resonant sound echoed through the air.  My fellow prisoners banished me to the latrine until I had regained my old skills. But from then on they clapped, sang, and even danced as I played "Red Wing," "Home on the Range" and "Red River Valley."

The violin Cline carved as a POW

My most memorable moment was Christmas Eve. As my buddies brooded about home and families, I began playing "Silent Night." As the notes drifted through the barracks a voice chimed in, then others. Amid the harmony I heard a different language.  "Stille Nacht, Heilige Nacht, alles schläft, Einsam wacht . . . " An elderly white-haired guard stood in the shadows, his eyes wet with tears.

Cline with his violin

The following May we were liberated by U.S. troops. Through the years, the violin hung proudly in a display cabinet at home. As my four children and six grandchildren grew, it became an object lesson for escaping the narcosis of boredom.  "Find something you love to do," I urged, "and you'll find your work a gift from God." I'm happy to say all of them did. In the fall of 1995 I was invited to contribute the violin to the World War II museum aboard the aircraft carrier Intrepid in New York. I sent it hoping it would become an object lesson for others. But I was not prepared for the surprise that followed. I was told the concertmaster of the New York Philharmonic would play it at the museum's opening. Afterward he called me.  "I expected a jalopy of a violin," said maestro Dicterow, "and instead it was something looking very good and sounding quite wonderful. It was an amazing achievement."  Not really, I thought.  More like a gift from God.


*Story from http://www.merkki.com/violin.htm.  Clair Cline passed away in September 2010 at the age of 92.  Most recently the violin has been on display at the National WWII Museum as part of an exhibit on POWs in WWII.