My 2014

I've sat down to write this several times but walked off each time. It seems like a lot a work and perhaps it is emotionally.

Quite simply put, my 29th year was not what I expected. It was better, it was more, and I could have never imagined how I would grow.

The year rang in with an awful call center job, soul sucking. I put in an application at Origami Owl to work 2nd shift emails support. I didn't care, I just needed out. I was so confident I got the job after my interview I walked out of my other job. End of story, I got the job.

On March 15, my estranged sister had an emergency cesarian section to deliver her daughter. I started Origami Owl the next day. We began slowly texting over the months.

On April 25, I awoke to a panicked phone call from my cousin Cher. Uncle Tom had suddenly died. My Dad's baby brother. His funeral was on my birthday. His loss was deeply painful for all of us.

Rapid changes occurred and eventually we became full time (regular business hours) phone reps.

At the end of May, my mom and I, embarked on a trip of a lifetime. Sentimental as it was important. This sounds silly but we both likened it to a curse on our family, like the movie holes. Paris was amazing. Normandy was emotional. We cried for my grandfather, Uncle Steve, ourselves, our cousins, everyone that was robbed of knowing Nick but most importantly Nick that didn't get to live a full life. I remember placing my hand on his grave and whispering, "I'm so sorry this happened to you". I left Normandy with an inner peace.

Upon return I did confront the solider that shot Nick, he was a coward. I know and I tried - he has to live with that - not me.

When I returned to work I was asked to work back up to the front desk. Eventually I was asked to take over. From there I was asked to interview for the front desk position at our other site that came with progressively more duties. I learn something new everyday in my role and adore all my co-workers there. I've learned to be more social, outgoing - hell I wear dresses and skirts most days. I grew up and I became more professional. I'm proud of the person I'm becoming.

In July I got to meet my niece Audrey. She is perfect but tiny. It's very strange to see how things have come along with my sister. I don't think things are perfect and they won't ever be but they are good. I've grown and tried really hard to let things go because I want my niece to know her silly Aunt Sarah. She's a small, amazing, beautiful little girl - my cupcake.

I was able to mend some friendship by just letting go. My Aunt gave me the best advice " water over the dam" let it go. Do not spend time  dwelling or being angry instead of living the life you could be living.

Next year is my 30th year. I hope to visit my cousin Cher and go to Vegas for my 30th birthday. And of course, spend more time with my cupcake:)

Yearbook Fun!

I found some fun photos and information on my grandfather last night:

1943

1948

WWII 

1942

Ukrainian Crazy

My Great-Grandmother, Eva, is a bit of mystery. Not even a photo of her exists.

The only story I know about her, from Aunt Arlene, is that she had a temper  - and she was nuts.

She would get so upset she would smack her kids around with skillets and the only thing that would calm her down was vanilla ice cream. Aunt Arlene recalled several late nights of running out for ice cream (along with Uncle Steve whom she was dating at the time) so she'd stop beating the kids.

Marge

I didn't know my maternal Grandmother but despite dying suddenly at age 53, she lived a colorful life.

She was born Margaret Mary on April 11, 1922 in Cleveland, Ohio. The circumstances of her early years can be found in previous blogs (See Tag: Evans).

Her friends and family called her Marge. She went to South High School and was quite popular. During a game in which her school played Holy Name, my grandfather asked her out. She had been asked out by a suitor from her home team and eventually declared she'd go with whomever's team won. My grandfather's team won.

In 1943 she enlisted in the Women's Army Auxiliary Corps. According to a cousin she did this by running away to Columbus, and was then stationed in Florida. She did this due to an affair with a married man gone wrong. After 3 months she was discharged due to a skin condition the Army was tired of attempting to treat despite the humid location aggravating it.

She married my grandfather and raised 4 kids.

On 4th of July weekend in 1975, she suddenly died to a ruptured cerebral aneurysm.

Thanksgiving

Gosh, when did life get so busy?

I wanted to write a VERY quick post for Thanksgiving.

Every year my Grandma Miles brought the same thing to dinner, nobody liked it. Nobody wanted to eat it. She would even put it on your plate.

Rutabaga's .... gross!

DNA

I wanted to share some of my results between myself, my mother, and my father's first cousin (my first cousin 1x removed).

Presidential Memorial Certificates

I learned about this service this past week. Thought I'd pass it along.

Still hunting for the death certificate for my Grandma Marge but I've mailed in requests for the others.

The link is pretty self-explanatory.

Aunt Sarah

The best part of having a legacy name is knowing the face that goes with the name.

Meet Sarah Jones Grant. My Great-Great-Grandmother that I was named for.

A hidden family tree...

A few months ago, my Uncle Tom suddenly passed away. Taking care of his affairs has been, mostly, handled by my cousin.

My cousin is slowly going through his things, including 300 some odd book pages when he came across this gem.

I have a lot more work to do but it's more than I've ever known about the family. My Dad said it was drawn up by he thinks (Herbert) a relative that visited in 1976 from Germany. It was made at my Grandparents home likely with his siblings, Uncle, and cousins. The relatives should all have copies but this is the first time any of us have seen it!

I'm so excited!

May the wind always be at your back ...

Link Roundup

A few (or a lot!) of links to round up this week:

Uncle Nick:

Cleveland Plain Dealer
Find a Grave
American Battle Monuments Commission
ABMC Facebook Post
Omaha Beach Memorial
Les fleurs de la Memoire
505th RCT Page
Special Forces ROH
Cleveland Veterans Memorial
AMBC: We Remember
ABMC: Mom visits Uncle Nick's Grave

E-Bay Round Up:

Isaac Evans (my great-grandfather) - Cleveland Press , Milking a Cow

Dorothy : God's Gift

I'm doing pretty good at this challenge and I'm only a bit behind. I've been putting off writing this one. Mostly, I have a lot to say - or I don't know what to say. How do you begin to write about a woman you greatly misunderstood in life but came to understand in death?

Dorothy is a Greek name and it means God's Gift. Click your heels? No, no - she was my grandmother.

Grandma was born in June 1917 and had an older brother, Bob. Her father was HJ and her mother Isabel. During the 1929 crash the family continued to do well due to HJ's business skills but do not mistake that she was very much a child of the depression.

They went to Europe often. Grandma had a run in with the Gestapo. My father says it didn't happen, my Aunt Linda says it did.

After she died I was able to read her diary. She received a diamond ring for her HS graduation. She graduated Ohio Wesleyan. Her mother died during her college years. She married my grandfather after college and they settled in her native Cleveland Heights. Grandma was a Librarian and kept the schools plants. She carted them home each school break to care for them.

As a child, I thought she was a hoarder. It was her depression upbringing coming into view. Bread bags were lunch bags, stocking held onions, etc.

Grandma loved arts : Ballet, Orchestra, Opera, Museums, etc. She adored the Nutcracker, something that makes me miss her more around Christmas.

She hated pictures, I'm assuming because she literally buried every member of her family (and in-laws) over her life. All she had left was the family she created - children and grandchildren.

We all miss her, I wish I would have known her better but she died a few days after my 14th birthday in 1999.

Dorothy, Isabel, and HJ.

Aunt Edith

I have a love/hate relationship with the next relative I want to share a bit about.

Edith Evans was the older sister of my maternal grandmother. She married her husband, James Sullivan, at age 16. Her daughters were Anna Mae & Lois.

When Edith’s mother, Mary died, my grandmother was 12 years old and lacked any other female figures. Her father and brothers did their best to raise her.

Growing up, I was told Edith was “cruel”, “nasty”, “unkind”, and “not just to your grandmother Marge but to her own children, poor Anna Mae “. It remains unknown to me if she was physically, mentally, emotionally, or all of the above abusive towards the girls. 

Edith died in 1962 following a stroke she suffered some time prior.

They don't throw things away.

I received a neat but also humorous email from my Dad the other day ..... take it away Dad!

I found this interesting. In the wedding photo, my folks are reading a Western Union Telegram. In times past these were used for the most important communications. In the second picture is what I believe the actual telegram. Note the similarities. This was from Sam Mora & his wife Marion from a cabin? in far off Canada. Sam & Marion are buried several graves down from Henry & Isabel at Lakeview. Some things never get thrown away in this family.

John T.

Alliance City Cemetery.

Born in Wales in 1833.

Cousin Skinner

Skinner aka Patrick Joseph Logan was my Great-Great-Uncle.

I don't know much about him except he came over with my Great-Grandmother, Mary Logan Evans, from Ireland when they were small.

I'm not sure why he was called Skinner or why we all call him cousin instead of uncle.

d#: 0208702
Name: Logan, Patrick J. (Skinner)
Date: Jan 13 1949
Source: Source unknown;  Cleveland Necrology File, Reel #050.
Notes: Logan, Patrick J. (Skinner), beloved husband of Emma (nee Godenschwager); father of Mrs. Farrell Finnerty (Bertha), James, Doris; brother of Catherine Parderski, Agnes Herbison, and grandfather; at his late residence, 9309 Bancroft Ave. Friends received at James P. Mullancy Funeral Home, 9811 Miles Ave. Funeral Friday, Jan. 14. Holy Name Church, 9:30 a. m.

Lois Grant Mora

Lois was my grandmother's aunt.

Technically, she was born Hannah Lois Grant but hated her birth name. My grandmother, was given her middle name in her honor, Lois.

Lois was born on June 12, 1890 in Troy, NY. She was the eldest of three.

In 1913 she married George Mora. They never had any children and she died on September 3, 1958 in Lake, Ohio. She was interred at Lake View Cemetery in Cleveland.

Harriet

This is going to be one short post.

Harriet P William born circa 1815 in MA.

She marries Abraham Miles in December 1835 in Cleveland.

They appear on and off in the census for the Euclid area.

Harriet dies May 9, 1892 in Cleveland. Her body was sent to Independence Township Vault by a municipal Cleveland Cemetery.

That's it. I know nothing more. Harriet is a true enigma.

The Library Cleaner

My mother's grandfather was Issac Evans. Isaac was a twin and the youngest of many born to Welsh immigrants in Cleveland. His parents William & Christianna immigrated from Wales. 

Isaac worked as a fireman, labor jobs, and most notably - a library custodian at the Miles Park Branch.

Isaac suffered memory lapses in his later years and not much is known about his family. He died in 1945 and is buried with his wife, Mary, in Calvary Cemetery. 

The Cheese Spread

I'm going to divert this weeks blog from Isaac Evans to a 4 legged friend. Pets play an integral part of our lives. In my mother's family, we are known as the "animal Polachek's".

My mother's eldest sister Linda was born with a physical disability. She has never let it stop her; however, she has limitations. Growing up she began learning about animals, caring for them, etc. Unfortunately, I'm not able to find the exact article but her budding animal career is mentioned in the papers. One recalls the "strange incidents at the Frank Polachek household" namely when Stash the armadillo smashed all the bleach bottles in the middle of the winter. Or the time tree frogs jumped all over my grandmother. I could go on and on with family stories that involve animals. Birds, herps, exotics, they had them all.


Growing up, we had two cats as my father did not like dogs. We had a rotweiler for awhile but that didn't work out. Tiger was adopted from the APL. Mr. J was found wandering the tracks in Cleveland while my father was on patrol and as he put it , " it was a one way ride to the APL ". Mr. J was an orange tabby. Tiger was a tiger/white cat. Tiger got into moth balls and died when we were young. Mr. J was ride or die.

Mr. J was "drugged" by the vet and moved to AZ with us (in the car!!!). I remember his fat ass burrowing under hotel beds and us trying to coax him out. He loved sleeping in the pilot light of the furnace.

In 1995, Mr. J started missing the litter box and having problems. We took him to the vet. Kidney failure. We made the decision to put him down and we cried for days.

For my 13th birthday I really wanted an orange tabby like Mr. J. My Aunt Kathy had recently found an abandoned litter, no mother in sight, near deaconess hospital in Cleveland. One cat was a skinny runt they named little boy. Little boy was neutered and declared healthy. I didn't know it yet but he was bound for Phoenix.

Fighting the USDA weather restrictions on live shipments of animals, he was flown from Cleveland to Atlanta and finally to Phoenix around my birthday. He was so calm that he didn't require anesthesia or drugs of any sort.

I had no idea he was being flown in. We got a call and mom said we had to go to Terminal 2 Cargo Hold. There we found a scared orange tabby in a big red box. It was Crackers.

From there, he was mine. We lived in Arizona and travelled to California, Oregon, and Washington. He rode shot gun in my car.

I'd like to keep my other memories private, something I can hold on to.

Thank you for being my friend Crackers but most importantly - thank you for being my family.

Isabel

Isn't it funny how with some we recall the end of their lives but not the life - or how they lived for that matter.

Shortly after my Uncle Dave died, my Aunt Robin mentioned my father had a 5 year diary my late grandmother kept. I asked him to to read it and he sent it out.

She began authoring it around 1934, her junior year of high school. It was a line a day. The diary chronicled things like camping, dates, graduating high school, her mother's death, and graduating college. Her mother's death was quite interesting to me. Her mother, Isabel, wasn't a woman I knew much about except she had been ill.

Isabel, Dorothy, and Robert Leisenheimer. Passport photo, note her signature at the bottom.

In early January 1938 my grandmother writes that her mother is going to have an operation to remove a tumor from her brain.  A few days go by and she writes that "mother is now at DeVand's funeral home" and later she counted the exact amount of flowers at the funeral home. I'm not sure if she was really that detached, the diary was limited, or maybe it was a combination of things.

Isabel's Obituary.

But yes. Sadly Grandma Isabel died on the operating table at age 46 or 48 (depending on the source).

Old Scotch Man

Known as Alex Hill, Alexander Hill was my 3rd great-grandfather. He was born August 1, 1809 in Leswalt, Scotland. Leswalt is in Southwest Scotland and across the water from Belfast, Ireland.

He married his wife Jessie (Jess) Wright in 1835 in Kirkholm, Scotland. I'm not entirely sure when they arrived but their first child, Jane, was born in 1838 in NJ. Their 4th child, Mary Ann, would later become Mary Ann Miles - my 2nd great-grandmother. The Hill's were early settlers to the Western Reserve (see my post about Archie Miles) and resided mostly in Euclid, Ohio.

Alex died in 1892 at age 83 in Cleveland, Ohio from "old age". He was buried at the now historic Monroe Street Cemetery. Alex purchased the plots for the majority of the relatives there.  He bought the graves of the "old" Miles' (his in-laws) " as my father called them. As a little girl I went a few times with my father. Most of the relatives don't have headstones but as I type this - I might send them a request to see if Alex has a stone they would photograph for me.

The gothic like gate house collapsed a few years ago. Luckily, a seasoned architect lives across the street from the cemetery and took the restoration project head on.  Construction is nearly complete and will be celebrated on September 21. The gatehouse will receive a plaque from the Landmarks Commission in addition to an Ohio Historical Marker. 

A wee bit 'o Irish

As a child I knew very little about my Irish roots. In fact, that I was Irish at all. If my sister & I spent St. Patrick's Day with our father he would make the comment that we were the only Irish in the house. One year he was challenged by my step-sister Dawn, " how are they Irish? ". I listened that time.

Eventually I knew the facts. My maternal grandmother was 1/2 Irish from her mother. Technically that made me 1/8th. In middle school I met a friend that was full Irish. Really. Her grandparents were fresh off the boats. I went to the Westside Irish American club. I ate Irish food. I went to the St. Patrick's Day parade, etc. All with the family of this friend. It was more than my family had ever taught me about my "Irishness".

I'd venture to say I'm closest to my Irish line for the simple reason that it's my mitochondrial DNA (mtDNA). mtDNA is passed down the female line. Although males receive a copy from their mother's, they do not pass it on. It also has a much slower mutation rate.

My maternal grandmother was an accident and was 20 years younger than her eldest sibling. Her mother's name was Mary Logan Evans and she died when my grandmother was 11 years old due to kidney failure. She died in August 1933 in Cleveland, Ohio and was only 53 years old. Since she died when my grandmother was so young, little was known of Mary.

This is what I know of Mary from oral history and my own research:

Mary was born to John Logan & Agnes Quinn in County Cork Ireland; however, conflicting records also show her born near Downpatrick Northern Ireland in October 1878 or 1879.

Her father, John, first left Ireland for the US. Her mother Agnes set sail at a later date, departing from England, arriving with Mary and two brothers (Patrick & John) in 1883. Mary was 5 years old and as a result, could recall very little of her time in Ireland.

Once in the US she raised Belgian Malinois for Cleveland PD. No known photos or personal stories about her exist. She was interred at Calvary Catholic Cemetery in Cleveland, Ohio.

d#: 0093040
Name: Evans, Mary
Date: Aug 1 1933
Source: Source unknown;  Cleveland Necrology File, Reel #023.
Notes: Evans: Mary, beloved wife of Isaac Evans, mother of Mrs. James Sullivan, Williams, Albert, John and Margaret Evans, sister of Patrick Logan, Mrs. X. F. Pasdersky and Mrs. Stewart Herbison, at her residence, 9321 Cassius Ave. Funeral Saturday, Aug. 19. Services at Holy Name Church at 9 a. m.

Giants Among Us

I've been a bit behind but today I caught up. When I looked in my book, I smiled, and then I didn't know what to say.

What do you say about a woman that was so great? A woman that wasn't a giant amongst women but a giant amongst humans? I truly mean that. She was wonderful.

I've previously documented how I came to correspond with her. I was transferring an old address book and was curious about this old timer Polachek still alive.

Her name was Arlene. In blood she wasn't my aunt but that didn't matter. She was married to, had children with, and deeply loved my Great-Uncle Steve. Blood or not, she was my family.

Aunt Arlene was born a Dahm to a (mostly) German family. She had two sisters named Audrey and Germaine. I don't quite recall how she met Uncle Steve but I believe it involves a friend of a friend with school.

Aunt Arlene flanked by her sisters.

She said growing up during WWII she didn't face any anti-german sentiment but confessed most of her time was spent worrying about Uncle Steve.

My mom tells great stories of spending time at her house. Uncle Steve apparently liked to " temporarily " fix things. Aunt Arlene would beg him to call my grandfather but alas no. (My grandfather was a Mr. Fix-it type!) He would relent and she said in one letter, " If I had a penny for each time I said " Please call Frank!" ".

In her lifetime she buried her sisters, a child, her husband, various friends, and various family members.

This story always stuck with me, and I'm not sure why but I luckily have the original letter still.

A couple of years after Steve died I attended a funeral for a friend - really more just a coworker, of his that we were friendly with. At the funeral I saw the man's wife and she made the comment to me that Steve & her husband were having a great time up in heaven partying. Meanwhile, we were down here miserable. A few years later, she died and I felt like gee thanks for the support.

I miss you Aunt Arlene, as does your immediate family, and anyone that was lucky enough to have known you. Till we see you again.

Giraffe Lady

She was tall. Over 6ft. Size 11 shoes. She was Jessie of course, my great-aunt.

Jessie around 1912.

East Tech HS.

Aunt Jessie died about 6 months before I was born but it's possible for me to say that - I feel like I knew her. I've heard about her from everyone. 

When I was younger I was given some of her jewelry and we even have her hope chest in our house.

Aunt Jessie never married and I do not believe she ever worked. My father once described her to me like this, " Jessie tried. She tried really hard and really wanted people to like her but she just had kind of a bad way about her. ". Later I asked my mom about the "bad way" comment and was told Aunt Jessie , could be, quite nasty at times.

My cousin Cher talks about Aunt Jessie's back pack. As she didn't work, my grandfather likely supplied all of her funds, and she ALWAYS had a backpack full of gifts. 

L to R: (Back) Unknown Male, Dorothy Leisenheimer, Jessie Miles
(Front) Estelle Holan, Sterlie Abraham Miles, Sterlie Arthur Miles

Lois Sullivan McBride

Lois was, technically, my grandmother's niece; however, they were about the same age. She and her sister Anna Mae grew up very close to "Marge" aka my grandmother! I've been told the girls were much like sisters.

I MUST have met Lois once and it was likely at Anna Mae's funeral. At the time, I was about 10 years old and don't recall significant details. Her son, cousin Jim, was kind enough to send me some photos her.

Lois was quite a beautiful woman and Jim said the three girls looked quite a bit alike:) She and her husband raised two boys together. Lois passed away in 2001. 

I see the resemblance to my grandmother here!

With her husband and boys.

The Kind Soul of Uncle John

John Evans was my mother’s Uncle.

As a child he fell ill and the Pazderski’s nursed him to back to life. He was reportedly never the same or “right” in the head.

Chauffeur's License (he looks rather Johnny Cash in the first photo!)

Photo Booth Uncle John

Death & Birth Certificates 

Uncle John lived with the family his entire adult life at the house on Cassisus. He worked a variety of jobs and helped contribute to the family. One job included working as a chauffeur. According to cousin Jim, he bought the first color TV. The first one on the street!

My mom says Uncle John was a kind man, he always took care of the family even though he was independent (although still living with them). 

Friends and family  - share with me your best Uncle John stories in the comments! 

The Gassman

The letter from him always concluded “ Love your much (underlined 4x) older cousin Joe & Bernie “.

Joe was my mother’s cousin from her Aunt Katie. He was an only child. Quite a mix you could say. His mother, Katie, was Ukrainian and his father was Italian. That made Joe, Italian Ukrainian. Quite a mix, quite a mix!

He was about 20 years old than my mother but never treated her inferior or provided any less love. 

Mom says he travelled to Asia at some point and Joe let her borrow his outfit for her performance. 

Joe when he graduated High School.

This must have been the winter of 1984 when Grandma Leota died. As my parents have received some inheritance they replaced the windows in the house. Unsurprisingly, the gas bill dropped due to the new energy efficient windows. Unknown to my family, it alerted the gas company that we might be cheats. Thus, the relentless checking of the meter began. Cousin Joe was an executive with the gas company and mom gave him a call.

After my mother had enough and enlisted Joe’s help, it stopped. We all laughed they never took the time to ask or consider that the house may have changed.

I never personally met him but corresponded with him several times until his death in 2008 from Parkinson’s. His wife Bernie (Bernadette) had passed a few years prior.  He always sent me congratulation, birthday, milestone, etc cards. He had his own family of growing kids and grandkids but I found it endearing he took him to remember us as well. Mom says he learned Aunt Katie's skills. He was Aunt Katie 2.0 , he learned her unnatural ability to convey love and warmth. 

Raise a glass to cousin Joe, he was one of the greats!

Beer here!

Martha Polachek Lynch (the only photo I've ever seen or have of her).

Martha Polachek Lynch was my Grandfather's older sister.  She married but had many still born babies. From what I've been told, she was extremely close with her older sister, Katie. She died in 1977. 

I wanted to share the story my mother always recalls about her: 

Aunt Martha would ask the kids to go get the beers out of the basement fridge. (Typically, at a family gathering while the adults were discussing and carrying on in the sitting room.) Uncle Frank (my mother's brother) & my mom would shake the hell out of Aunt Martha's beers and each time - they blew up in her face when she went to open them. Aunt Martha never complained and would laugh at the top of her (probably drunk or tipsy) lungs.

Uncle Archie & Brownie

Archie Alexander Miles was my Great-Great Uncle. He was born on November 6, 1876 in Lynchburg, OH. He died on January 29, 1942.

Just this past year my Aunt Linda sent me a cool article about his death.

Faithful Dog Keeps Vigil as Master Dies

Cleveland Plain Dealer
January 30, 1942

Faithful unto death and still at her post even afterward. Brownie, a large brown mongrel dog, held police at bay while she stood guard over the body of her master last night.
Brownie had been the constant companion and guardian of her master, Archie Miles, 65 a cripple and when Miles died in his sleep some time yesterday morning the dog could not understand that her job of protecting her master was over.
Miles, a former teamster for the Excelsior Cartage Co. 1200 W 9th Street, who was crippled in an accident six years ago, lived alone above a blacksmith shop at 7212 Quincy Ave SE.
A grocery clerk who customarily brought Miles his supplies was unable to rouse him yesterday noting that smoke was not rising from the chimney, called the owner of the blacksmith shop, Frank W. Bauer 11332 Revere Avenue S.E.
Receiving no answer, Bauer called police, who gained entry despite Brownie’s protests. At the threshold of the bed room where her master lay dead in bed, the dog’s fiercely bared fangs forbade further approach.
Even when Miles’ sister, Mrs. Jennie Wheatley, 9524 Marah Avenue S.E. was called. Brownie refused to let anyone touch her master. Finally, Mrs. Wheatley managed to coax the dog into an adjoining room with food and shut the door.
Miles was the grandson of Abraham Miles, who settled on a farm at what is now Richmond Rd just north of Mayfield Rd. His maternal grandparents were Alexander and Jesse Hill who established a farm east of Green Road when Indians were still a familiar and sometimes fearsome sight to the settled pioneers.
For the last six years, since he had been injured, Miles who loved animals, had lived alone. Mrs. Wheatley said, where he could keep his pets without anyone objecting in the years. Miles kept pigeons and only a few days before his death he had bought a couple of injured birds into the kitchen to care for them.
“A home will be found for Brownie.” Mrs. Wheatley said today, “but the biggest problem facing us is what to do with a pet skunk. You don’t know anybody that wants one, do you?”.
The little black and white animal had been brought to Miles by friends who had found it injured in a trap. Through kindness, he had tamed it until it would follow him around and would permit him to fondle it like a pet tabby, but it still does not trust strangers.
Miles is survived by his son, Archie Jr. 13406 McCracken Rd, Garfield Heights and a daughter Leola, 22 who lives in Chicago. Also surviving him are another sister Mrs. A.M. Porter 2252 E 69th St and a brother. Sterlie A. Miles 8109 Force Ave, University Heights.

Brownie

The End (for now)

Before I launch into the story I thought it best to explain a bit about each person. Please note, this is not an exhaustive list.

Gerald - He was 18 years old on June 6, 1944 and was the soldier that shot Nick.

Jules Levavasseur  - He was 18 years old when Nick, badly wounded, & Gerald came to the farm.

Cecile Levavasseur - The sister in law of Jules who was not at the farm that night but knew the story.

Marie-Therese Levavasseur - The daughter of Jules.

Jocelyne - A Fresville local I found online that guided us.

Bobby - Jocelyne's neighbor. He is very active in the Normandy area and was a teenager during the invasion. He worked at the first temporary cemetery. Bobby was a friend of Jocelyne's grandfather.

Rene - Our Normandy guide. His father was a member of the French Resistance captured and survived Dachau. He lives in Caen.

Dutch Schultz - A fellow soldier (depicted in The Longest Day) that served with Nick & Gerald.

Ellen - The daughter of Nick's late widow, Melba.


____________________________________________________________________

My immediate question was, how did they they get Nick to the farm? What happened as he died? Who was there? I wanted to know everything.

Before we left, I talked to Ellen. I asked her about Nick's burial flag & medals but she never answered. She did tell me she knew nothing of Nick except he and her mother were very much in love. I then shared with her some of Melba's letters.

Unfortunately, Facebook is not permitting me to share the (poor) quality videos but seeing where Nick died answered many of these questions.

On June 5, Rene picked us up from our hotel in Paris for the 3 hour car ride to Bayeux. Upon arriving in Bayeux we were taking the train to Carentan to meet Jocelyne. We were not sure what to expect and with only a bit of language barriers with locals, we bought our tickets. The ride was 2 stops, 30 mins total.

Immediately, we saw traffic was crazy. We drove to Sainte-Mere-Eglise to meet Cecile. She and an older gentleman met us. They live across the street from the historic church John Steel was stuck on. Jocelyne translated. Cecile pulled out the article on Jules that Jocelyne had written, we all laughed. Cecile had the version of events that Nick was 18 and shot by a German bullet. Indeed Marie-Therese had emailed me this version; however, by Jules' (and Gerald's) own account this wasn't the case. Nick was also 28 and not shot by German fire. Perhaps time or a game of telephone caused this miscommunication.

None the less Cecile pulled out a map and sheet to show us Nick's grave. She had been to visit him at the American Cemetery at least 4 times and had a rubbing of the grave. At the end of the visit we gave each other awkward air/cheek kisses and I presented her with a photo of Nick. She was very pleased to have it.

From there we snapped a few photos of the church as a procession marking a new historic marker instillation was leaving. It was wall to wall people. As we were early on time, we went near Utah Beach. We walked in the sand and collected shells. Then we went to meet Bobby.

On the way Jocelyne turned and said , " Do you think you will come back? ". At that moment I knew the answer was yes. She told me I'd love to look into all the local archives which might even have more about Nick. We stared at the country roads that she wound with ease - one lane roads with brutal blind spots.

Fresh off of leaving the church ceremony, we met Bobby at his home in Fresville.

Approximately 15 years ago he got a call about an American wandering around the area with a sketch  (that he had made) of a building he was trying to find. Bobby was called in to translate and learned this man was trying to locate a farm he had shot his friend Nicholas on in 1944. It was Gerald. They searched in vein for several days and Gerald left empty handed.

Several years later Gerald returned and the search resumed. As they were heading near a chateau (used as a medical rally point and the site of fierce fighting by a soldier named Turnbow) they came across an elderly man using clippers to trim the hedges. They pulled up and asked the man and said the story. He said nothing and kept cutting his hedges. Finally he said, I think I might know the place. " Can you ask the man that was there if there was a young man there that night and what did he ask him?". Confused Gerald answered yes there was a young man there and he asked him how old he was. He remembered the young man was 18 because they were the same age. With that the man identified himself - it was Jules Levavasseur.

Gerald then told him that when Dutch Schultz was dying he called Gerald and asked him to come see him - he had something important to tell him. According to Gerald they talked about Nick (or just Polachek as they called him). Nick, Gerald, and Dutch were all gambling together before they left for Normandy. Gerald still owed him money and insisted on paying him. Dutch refused and they agreed to send it to their company chaplan. Gerald left and realized he didn't know what it was Dutch wanted to see him about but when he walked back in, Dutch had died.

All three (Bobby, Jules, Gerald) later went to the farm.

Jocelyne bid us adieu at this point and we headed with Bobby to the farm.

Nick & Gerald landed approximately 20 ft behind the house in a hedgerow. One on each side. Nick was shot on his left side in the lower part of the stomach as he tried to pass the radio. Therefore, it's assumed he landed on the side of the headrow closest to the house. The Levavasseur's took him into the home and placed him on a mattress. Somehow, they were able to find a medic. He said if the bleeding was not internal Nick would be ok, one look at the wound and they knew he was doomed. Nick didn't survive for long and Gerald stayed with him as he died.

I wonder if Nick said anything - tell my family I love them? Take my tags home to my family? Did Gerald beg Nick's forgiveness?

The family wrapped Nick in their linens and with the help of Gerald buried him in the back garden. A plum tree stands there today. Rene told us that the Levavasseur family took a great risk at burying Nick. Luckily it was a private burial so it was not discovered but had it been discovered by the Germans, they could have paid a heavy price.

Gerald has not been returning calls or messages and Bobby feels he is busy trying to forget. I have strong feelings about this but will omit them for now.

As we were talking about coincidences - Nick's grave is C-28-28. Nick's grave location was randomly selected by ABMC. My grandfather is buried in section 23-23 of Calvary and was 5 years younger than Nick. The graves are each 5 apart. Coincidence? Not to mention my mother shares a birthday with Nick's wife and I share a birthday with Nick's father. Someone upstairs orchestrated all of this. How or why, I'm not sure but I know in my heart we will be back to France. My mom feels it in her heart too. Our main mission is accomplished but cementing Nick's legacy is my new focus.

As Bobby dropped us off at the train station he mentioned that he saw flowers at Nick's grave a few days ago. He believes a professor nearby had adopted his grave and would make inquiries for us.  We promised Jocelyne & Bobby we would all keep in touch. I hope to return to France and see them both. They kept saying don't thank us, this is a honor.

The next day started at 3am. We finally got to meet Uncle Nick at Normandy American Cemetery. I will make another entry but I placed my hand on his grave, fought back tears, and just kept thinking " I'm so sorry this happened to you - you should have come home - we all love you - we are so proud but so sorry this happened to you.". Mom later told me she kept saying the same thing too - she was so sorry it happened to him. I know without a shadow of a doubt my Grandma Marge & Grandpa Frank were there in spirit. They would be so proud, I can hear my Grandpa saying " Nick, meet my girls." with a big grin on his face.

I will try to double check this later for typos and such. My mac is running slow and freezing up - that includes my patience at this point!

The beginning until 0203 on June 6, 1944

I didn't want to write this because the story should not have ended the way it did. I should properly footnote this but I'm feeling a bit too lazy for that. Many of you have asked, have you updated your blog yet? I'm actually only about a week behind even though I haven't updated in a month (per my own schedule). Returning from France, I am getting over a cold and recovering in general. This is going to be a lengthy entry and as it was expanded in France - it will now be two parts.

A lot happened in France, for Nick - for Mom & I as well.

I know many more details but I thought it best to include those in details of the chaos and the beginning of the end for Nick that I now know started ,  almost the instant he landed, in the forthcoming entry.

My great-grandparents fled Galicia in search of a better life. Louis arrived in 1902 and his wife, Julia, a short time after. The family settled in Cleveland (supposedly due to the strong presence of Slav's). The family was Byzantine Catholic but just "became" Roman Catholic. They had 8 children: Wesley, Mary, Mike, Katie, Martha, Nick, Steve, and Frank. From Wesley to Frank ( my grandfather) there is a 20 year age gap.

Louis supposedly served mandatory military service in Galicia before he left. Admittedly, I know very little about how the kids were raised. I know Julia was "bat shit". She would get so worked up that the children went out at all hours of the night to obtain the one thing that could calm her down, not to mention stop her from beating the kids with a skillet, vanilla ice cream was her kryptonite.

Louis & Julia never went to school. They could not read or write their native Ukrainian let alone English. They relied on the children as translators; however, my mother never heard her father (or his siblings) speak it.

Mary dropped out of school in the 6th grade to help out at home. Each child progressively increased their education level. Nick graduated from a public high school. His younger brother Steve scored a scholarship to a private Catholic School due to athletics. My grandfather followed suit. The boys went on to college - until war called that is.

Circa 1942, Nick married a local girl from the neighborhood - Melba who was a few years his senior. Both families went into an uproar. Melba's family was Jewish. As Aunt Arlene put it, " Good Catholic boys married good Catholic girls & visa versa. It was ok for the kids to play ball in the neighborhood but not marry.". Nick & Melba never had the chance to live together. On November 7, 1942 - Nick was drafted.

It's unknown to me if he volunteered for Airborne and if so what his motives were. My best guess is that he volunteered because Paratroopers received additional pay at approximately $100 more per month. It may not seem like a lot but at the time it was - it was more money they could send back home.

Nick went through jump school in either Alabama or Georgia. On February 10, 1943 the 505th was sent to Ft. Bragg. On March 21 they were moved to Camp Edwards in Massachusetts.

After basic training Nick departed the Port of NYC bound for Casablanca in April 1943 where he arrived on May 10. He received more training.

The rest was quite routine for as far as invasion go. Sicily : Operation Husky. Salerno : Operation Avalanche.

After the invasion of Sicily Nick was awarded a Combat Infantryman Badge; however, the the orders were not cut until 1944 when the unit returned to England. Following Salerno Nick went missing for 28 days. He was reportedly dropped too far north into the mountains before he found his way back to the unit.

The telegram announcing Nick was unaccounted for in Salerno.

The unit then moved to England to prepare for Mission Boston, which was a component of Operation Neptune - the assault and landing phase, the opening maneuver the aptly named,  Operation Overlord.

Specifically Nick was at Spanhoe RAF. The last letter that made it home was a letter to his sister Katie, he didn't know what yet,  but it is clear that he knew an invasion was coming. That was the last time the family heard from him.

The 505th would be transported by the 315th TCG. They would be sent to DZ O near Sainte-Mere-Eglise with specific objectives.

This report is taken from the book "THE THREE ONE-FIVE GROUP", written in 1968, and published in 1984, by now-deceased Bill Brinson. It is now being expanded for reissue late 2002.

The last week in May, Group Engineering received numerous gallons of both black and white paint. Confidential instructions were issued to the four squadron engineering sections to be ready on short notice to mark all aircraft. Three white and two black stripes, each stripe two feet wide, were to be painted around the aircraft fuselage just forward of the tail section. The same pattern was to be painted on the top and bottom of each wing. Once the aircraft were painted, they were grounded until further notice. The "GO " signal for the painting to commence was received on 3 June, and the squadron engineering personnel, chided into competition by Sgts. George White and Sollie Grasmick from the Group Engineering Section, worked continuously until all aircraft were marked.

Airfield Sealed

On 1 June, the airfield at Spanhoe was "sealed:" No one was allowed off the base, all passes were cancelled, and all personal telephone calls were prohibited. Non-official mail was placed in bags and stored. Paratroopers from the 505th Parachute Infantry Regiment, 82nd Airborne Division, stationed near Leicester , began arriving at Spanhoe two days later. They set up cots in one of the hangars and strung barbed wire around the area of the airfield allotted to them. Around the same time, 315th crewmembers scheduled for the upcoming mission were issued "escape kits "containing special instructions, cloth maps, and a limited amount of French francs. These kits were welcomed. Not welcomed were a set of special coveralls, impregnated with an oily and strong smelling substance, which were supposed to be worn on the mission. The impregnated suit was said to offer protection against certain types of gasses that the enemy might use.

The weather forecast for 5 June postponed the planned operations for 24 hours, but on the evening of 4 June, General Eisenhower made the decision that the invasion of France (Operation OVERLORD) would take place on the 6th. The paratroops, advanced guard of the Allied Forces, would take off from English airfields on the evening of 5 June. The mission of the 82nd Airborne Division, of which the 505th PIR was a part, was to secure the western edge of the bridgehead by capturing the town of Ste. Mere Eglise , a key point on the road to Cherbourg.

The Briefings

Early in the afternoon of 5 June, the pilots, co-pilots,and navigators assembled in the Pilots ' Lounge. (The crew chiefs and radio operators were briefed separately.) Maj.Gen.Matthew B. Ridgeway, who commanded the 82nd Airborne Division, and who was scheduled to jump with the 505th was present. When all were present, Col.McLelland announced that the long expected mission was scheduled for that evening. Lt.Col.Gibbons then revealed the map on the wall and pointed out the destination —a drop zone northwest of the town of Ste. Mere Eglise on the Cherbourg Peninsula in Normandy . Over 800 American troop carrier aircraft would participate in the mission, airlifting over 13,000 U.S. paratroopers and glidermen. Additional planes from the British 38 Group and 46 Group would take in the British airborne troops. All necessary information concerning the mission of the troop carriers was fully covered and few questions were asked at the briefing 's conclusion. Pilots went from the briefing to meet and have discussions with the jumpmasters on their respective planes.

The total load for the 315th's 48 aircraft was 844 paratroops and 41,236 pounds of equipment. All that was left to do until the balloon went up later in the day was to wait.

Channel Crossing

A final crew briefing was held at 2030; no major changes were made to the instructions issued earlier. The one serial* of the 315th was to be made up of 48 aircraft —each aircraft carrying 19 to 20 paratroopers, and five to six parapacks of equipment fastened with shackles under the wings.

There was a lead flight of three planes followed by five Vee of Vees , consisting of nine aircraft each. The leader of each nine-plane element was to fly 1000 feet to the rear of the preceding flight. The wing element leaders were positioned 200 feet behind, and 200 feet to the right and left respectively of the rear planes in the leading element. For night flying, this was not a loose formation.

The weather was not too good, but it was not too bad. The skies were expected to be free of clouds over England at the altitude the formation would fly, and only scattered clouds were forecasted for the coast of France.

By 2130 most of the aircrews, paratroopers, and some maintenance men had assembled by the individual planes parked on the hardstands surrounding the airfield. Some were making last minute checks of their planes and equipment;some talked quietly;others remained silent with their own thoughts;all were wondering about what might lie ahead in Normandy . The German forces had worked on "Fortress Europe "for almost four years. Would it be as formidable as the enemy advertised it to be?

There was one group of men whose fate that June evening was not in Normandy , but on the base at Spanhoe. A few minutes before the aircraft were to be boarded, one of the paratroopers standing alongside Flight Officer Weston Harper 's aircraft dropped a grenade. It exploded and sprayed metal fragments in all directions. Two paratroopers were killed instantly and one died later. Fifteen others were wounded, including the aircrew radio operator. The plane received major damage and was pulled from the mission. The handful of paratroopers not wounded, and some who were, tried to get aboard other planes parked nearby at the same time that engines were being started and other planes began to roll to takeoff position. It was reported that one or two succeeded. Such was their training and esprit de corps.

Ninety-Four Engines start up Ninety-four engines began turning over at 2250 and in the order briefed, slowly moved along the taxi strip toward Runway 260. Six aircraft took formation position on the runway, while the others waited to move forward in their turn. Most base personnel not on the planes had an inkling that this mission might be what it happened to be and were assembling on the grass between the control tower and the active runway as if saying "Good luck and Godspeed to all aboard. " At 2306 with ten to fifteen minutes of daylight still remaining, the lead plane of the 315th, piloted by Col. McLelland, started down the runway.

Each five-second interval thereafter, another plane followed the preceding one. The pilots tucked the planes into formation as the serial made a wide sweep of Spanhoe at 1200 feet before taking up a course for " Atlanta , "the 52nd Troop Carrier Wing Assembly Point about 20 miles east of the midlands city of Birmingham . There were two serials from the 316th Group just ahead of the 315th's planes, and seven serials from the 314th, 313th, the 61st, and the 442nd Groups following close behind. These ten serials of 368 aircraft carried the paratroopers of the 82nd Airborne to Normandy.

After darkness, the moonlight above became discernible through high scattered clouds, and on the ground below specially placed light beacons marked the route to the coast every thirty miles. The formation flew southeast until it reached the head of the Severn Estuary, near Bristol , where it turned southward for Checkpoint "Elko. "At Elko, the groups of the other two troop carrier wings moved into the stream at their designated time. After passing the coast over Portland Bill, a descent was made to 500 feet to delay discovery by German radar. Twenty minutes from destination the jumpmaster on each plane was alerted and the formation began a gradual climb to 1500 feet. An unexpected cloudbank was hanging over the western part of the Cherbourg Peninsula that required the 315th to climb a few hundred feet more to get above it and to change course slightly.

As the cloudbank moved away from beneath the formation, the beacons placed on the drop zone by the Pathfinders were identified and shortly thereafter the "T " of green lights was sighted. (The "T, " 30 x 20 yards, was lit shortly before the first serial arrived.) Ground fire was observed off to the right from what appeared to be the town of Etienneville , and one flak burst struck a plane wounding seven paratroopers. Speed was reduced to 110 mph and four minutes before the drop, the jumpmaster standing at the rear of the fuselage received the red lights to stand up and hook up the parachutes to the static line.

As Drop Zone "0, "about three quarters of a mile northwest of the village of Ste. Mere Eglise , was reached, the green lights signaling "Go "were switched on, sending 816 paratroopers floating earthward from the planes of the 315th. The time was 0203 hours, 6 June 1944 . Immediately after the paratroopers were dropped, the planes descended to 200 feet and maintained this altitude until well beyond the east coast of the Cherbourg Peninsula and to the St. Marcouf Islands. Somewhere in this last few miles over the mainland, a 309th aircraft was struck by machine gun fire coming from a house along the route. Lt. R. T. Slater, flying as co-pilot, was slightly wounded and the plane received some damage. Neither Lt. Orien Clark, the pilot;nor Sgts. Prentice Stucker and Rives Graham, the crew chief and radio operator, were injured. Another 309th aircraft, piloted by Lt. Rodney Bemis, received a burst of flak in the fuselage, wounding several paratroopers, three seriously. On the return flight, Lt. Bemis landed at the first English airfield he sighted to obtain medical attention for the wounded. 

Climbing to 3000 feet and returning over the Channel, the crewmembers were aware of the tremendous invasion armada spread out below them and moving toward the Normandy beaches. By 0440, 45 aircraft had returned to Spanhoe, and the other two planes had been reported as having landed at other airfields. Twelve of the C-47s had received damage from enemy fire. For the 315th aircrews, at least, what later became known as "The Longest Day " was over.

Part I: My journey with Pvt. Nicholas Polachek

I've written and said various things about Uncle Nick over the years, but I always circle back. It always begins the same, " In the early hours of June 6, 1944, Uncle Nick parachuted in German Occupied France and was never heard from again.".

That line was the end of his journey but the start of mine.

It would be easy to start Nick's story at the beginning of his life; however, I'd like to start where I entered the picture to provide a contemporary view.

Growing up, I heard the running joke my father told. It involved members of my mother's family betting friends that they could find the name "Polachek" on the Cleveland Veterans Memorial. We knew the name was there but I had been told we were of no relation.

The Polachek name on the Cleveland Veterans Monument.

To provide a bit of context, my mother's parents (Frank & Marge) died before I was born. I never met them or any of their siblings. I knew my mother's sister Kathy (and her children) but didn't know any other members of her family. I didn't meet my mother's brother until I was about 10 and I first learned of her other sister, Linda, around the same age. I'd met much older cousins of my mother's and over the years I've reached out to some other cousins (like my 2nd cousins from her family) but the honest truth is, 99% of the time they don't care to talk or know me.

My parents divorce was finalized in 1988 and my mother moved to Arizona, taking us with her. We returned to Cleveland each summer and every other Christmas to visit our father. He took us to Calvary Cemetery to visit the graves of our Polachek relatives. I remember thinking , " why do I care about visiting these random people I don't know?". When I moved to Cleveland full time, in 1995, I went to school with mostly Polish kids. Somewhere along the line I just assumed my mother's family was Polish because of their "chek" surname. When my father told me, " No, you are Ukrainian not Polish.", I stared at him and said, " Ukrainian?".

I have to give my father credit for taking us to Calvary to visit the graves our maternal relatives. Calvary is in a bad neighborhood and given the cold war relations between my parents - it was very unexpected.  I distinctly recall a hot July day when I was about 6. We went to the grave of my maternal grandparents.  It had been almost entirely overgrown with grass and we heard a groundskeeper doing some maintenance a few sections over. My father flagged down the worker with a weed whacker and requested he remove as much grass from the headstone as possible. He did a really good job. We then took the ashtray from the car, filled it with water via a nearby spigot, and did an impromptu wash of the grave. Then we posed for pictures.

My Grandma & Grandpa Polachek's grave at Calvary.

My father became interested in genealogy sometime in the 1990s. I went to Case Western Reserve Historical Society, a membership my grandmother bought him, with him to do research on several occasions. I was painfully bored as he searched card catalogs. I was just as bored as when we would visit my grandmother and she would sit in the kitchen recalling all these family details for him. I wanted them both to shut up so we could go to the park (or whatever it was) we came over to do with her. It seemed like an eternity that they sat there talking.

In 1999, I was back living in Arizona when I had a family tree project for school. I didn't get far with my mother's family - only going back to her grandparents, my great-grandparents.

Fast forward to 2004. My mother had a very old address book. I was helping her transfer entires into a new book. I constantly had to ask if so and so was still alive. One name stood out, Arlene Polachek. Who was this living Polachek I didn't know?

My mother told me Aunt Arlene was the wife of her paternal uncle (Steve). She had spent a lot of time at Aunt Arlene & Uncle Steve's home growing up. Aunt Arlene was described to me a sweet lady. From my Uncle Frank, I learned she enjoyed writing letters. At first I wasn't sure what to make of the fact that I didn't know her - was there bad blood? Why weren't we in contact? My mother assured me there was no bad blood and encouraged me to send her a letter.

At first I wasn't sure what to say. I told her the basics about myself and I really liked family history. I asked her if she'd like to correspond with me and tell me about the family. At the suggestion of my mother, I included a photo of myself from my HS graduation the year before.

She wrote back rather quickly. She was surprised to hear from me but was glad I had written her. She told me about all kinds of things. For example, her grandson has a birthday the day after mine (same year). We wrote back and forth religiously until 2011 when she died. She would sign her cards, " Love, Aunt Arlene" which initially shocked me. You love me? You don't even know me? She just immediately accepted me into the fold.

One day she sent me a written family tree on notebook paper. I knew all of the names except Nicholas. It was plain as day - KIA - Normandy - 6/6/44. I sat in disbelief, WTF? Nicholas was the name on the Veteran's Monument we would bet on and he was my grandfather's brother? It felt like the twilight zone.

I looked Nick's listing up on the ABMC website.

Nicholas Polachek
Private, U.S. Army
505th Parachute Infantry Regt, 82nd Airborne Division
Ohio
35521062
June 06, 1944

Wars or Conflicts:

World War II

 Buried:

Plot C Row 28 Grave 28

Normandy American Cemetery

Colleville-sur-Mer, France

I felt sick. I read Nick's obituary and my stomach dropped when I saw my grandfather's name. This all transpired while I was on the phone with my father. My father was a Vietnam Era Paratrooper. He said, " No, that can't be right. No, I don't think so. (that we were related)".  I sent him the link to see for himself. " Oh. My. God. This was Frank (my grandfather)'s brother? He jumped into D-Day?, Oh. My. God.".

I asked my mother what she knew about Nick. She was told he was killed during the first wave of the invasion. That was it, the grown ups didn't talk about it.

Aunt Arlene didn't know what happened to Nick on D-Day. She went on to say nobody in the family ever found answers. How could that be I wondered. Her next letter included an article on the cemetery where Nick was buried. At the bottom she wrote, " This is where Nick Polachek was buried after being killed on D-Day.".

Due to the NPRC fire, records from WWII are very difficult to come by. I wrote to NPRC and was told, " So sorry, Nick's records went up in the fire.". I moved to Seattle in 2006 and received this letter while living there. It also went on to say Nick may have been entitled to a Bronze Star if he was awarded a Combat Infantryman Badge.

Since the letter said only next-of-kin could file a "proper" request, I let it go. As the years went by, I looked at the letter often. I even wondered if Aunt Arlene could do the request as the surviving widow of Nick's brother.

I located the only known picture of Nick in the newspaper archives. I pulled Nick's IDPF (Casualty Soldier File) and learned his birthday. He died 15 days after he turned 28. I even read the letters my family sent pleading for answers. I also sent Aunt Arlene a copy of the IDPF, she was shocked at Melba's letters because she described Melba as painfully shy.

Letter from Nick's widow to the Army.

I learned nothing about his death;however, I noticed in addition to his wife & father - he left his benefits to Joe (Aunt Katie's son). Joe died in 2008 from Parkinson's. At the time he passed, I didn't know Nick had left Joe the benefits. To me this indicates they had a close relationship. Nick wanted to ensure Joe was provided for. I wish I would have asked Joe about Nick.

Nick's report of death.

In 2012, I had enough. I wrote a letter to Senator McCain explaining the problem and telling him about Nick. That February, NPRC & Army Command notified me that they had verified Nick's entitlement to the Bronze Star Medal. My mission was complete as I knew I couldn't get his medals because I was not next-of-kin. To my surprise, the Army sent Senator McCain all of Nick's certificates.

Two weeks later I got a call from McCain's office. Did I want to pick up Nick's documents or have them mailed? They arrived 2 days later via mail.

It was a victory but my questions persisted, what happened to Nick and why can't someone or anyone for that matter tell me?

In my search I contacted Joe's daughter Judy.  She described a pop up paratrooper Easter card sent to Aunt Katie by Nick. It was the last letter that would make it home. Somehow he predicted the invasion. How that got past the wartime censors is beyond me.  Nick was sure he would be fine - he told Katie not to worry about him because she'd make herself sick with worry.

Judy asked why I was doing all of this and I wasn't quite sure how to respond - it was the right thing to do, that's why.

Several years ago my mother was in a very bad car accident. She received a significant settlement and part of that money was ear marked for France. We were going to see Nick. My mother is over the moon to finally "meet" her Uncle Nick. I think that's it for now. Next week I will write the story as Nick saw and experienced it.