Honoring Korean War Veterans

Never forget those who fought in America's Forgotten War!

Schliessman(n) Family Veterans 140 Year History

SCHLIESSMANN, JOHN JOSEPH
PVT CO A 146TH REGIMENT INDIANA INF
CIVIL WAR
DATE OF BIRTH: 1835
DATE OF DEATH: 17 APR 1922

SCHLIESSMANN, PHILIP JOHANN
PVT CO H 21ST INF REGIMENT
1875-1879
DATE OF BIRTH: 09 OCT 1857
DATE OF DEATH: 30 AUG 1917

SCHLIESSMAN: HENRY HUGO
PVT US ARMY
WORLD WAR I
DATE OF BIRTH: 15 SEPT 1898
DATE OF DEATH: 10 JAN 1967

SCHLIESSMAN, JOHN
US ARMY
WORLD WAR I
DATE OF BIRTH:
DATE OF DEATH:

SCHLIESSMAN, LOUIS
PVT US ARMY WORLD WAR I
DATE OF BIRTH: 04 MAR 1895
DATE OF DEATH: 24 JU 1964

SCHLIESSMANN: PETER
US ARMY
WORLD WAR I
DATE OF BIRTH:
DATE OF DEATH:

SCHLIESSMAN, WILLIAM
PVT US ARMY WORLD WAR I
DATE OF BIRTH: 23 AUG 1896
DATE OF DEATH: 23 JAN 1923


SCHLIESSMAN, CHARLES
WORLD WAR II

SCHLIESSMANN, JOHN J. JR
SSGT US ARMY
WORLD WAR II
DATE OF BIRTH: 1914

SCHLIESSMAN, LAWRENCE F. SR
CPL US ARMY AIR CORP
WORLD WAR II
DATE OF BIRTH: 06 NOV 1921

SCHLIESSMAN, MARTIN A JR
WORLD WAR II

SCHLIESSMAN, WALTER H
NATIONAL GUARD
WORLD WAR II

SCHLIESSMANN, DONALD JOSEPH Sr.
CAPT.
WORLD WAR II

CATER, NORMA (NEE SCHLIESSMAN)
LT COL. KOREA, VIETNAM

SCHLIESSMANN, ROBERT MARK
CWO4 US ARMY
WORLD WAR II, KOREA
DATE OF BIRTH: 05/18/1914
DATE OF DEATH: 03/27/1989

SCHLIESSMANN, DONALD JOSEPH Jr
US ARMY
VIETNAM
DATE OF BIRTH: 09/20/1945
DATE OF DEATH: 07/18/2006

SCHLIESMAN, JERROLD J.
SGT US ARMY
B COMPANY 1ST BATTALION 5TH US CALVARY
VIETNAM
DATE OF BIRTH:
DATE OF DEATH: 17 NOV. 1965

SCHLIESSMANN, LAWRENCE F
SGT US ARMY
3/60TH INF 9TH DIV/493 MI
VIETNAM
DATE OF BIRTH: 16 SEPT 1948

David Wetherill - Honoring Veterans Part 2 Poppy Field Found

Poppy Field Found
Dave Wetherill
Copilot, 571st

In the fall 1995 issue of our Newsletter I included an article, entitled “Poppy Field” in which I told about an American soldier discovering, in a poppy field, George Massa’s grave, how the people of Dietersheim had recovered his body and provided a proper burial, after our plane had been shot down. (Pilot, Crew 91, 571st Sqdn.) My story mentioned that I had been unable to locate Dietersheim. In that same issue of the Newsletter we included a letter from A. Verwaal, of the Netherlands, in which he described his work in researching the crash landing of one of our planes. Because Mr. Verwaal’s letter appeared in the paper, we made sure to send him a copy. Of course, then, he got to read both his letter and my story, and he got busy locating the town of Dietersheim and corresponding with me about his efforts. As a consequence, I learned that Dietersheim is a suburb of Bingen.*

One of my desires has been to visit the area of our shoot-down and capture. In March, Jean and I were able to make the trip. We arrived on German soil at Frankfurt Airport, picked up a brand new Opel, and, even though we were feeling the effects of the overnight flight, decided to head for Bingen and possibly Dietersheim.

Jean had studied German in college and has, generally, a good language aptitude and a good ear. Even though I knew all of this, I was still amazed at how well she picked up the language. (Thank goodness, because I’m almost a complete dud when it comes to communicating in a foreign tongue.) And, we soon discovered, the highway signs in Germany are very well planned and displayed. Even I had little trouble navigating. We arrived in Budesheim, another of Bingen’s suburbs, and found a place to have some lunch and sample some German food in an Italian restaurant.

After lunch, we went on to Dietersheim, where, with only a little trouble, we found the Catholic Church. We parked our car and looked around. The church doors were locked, but through a window, we spotted a man working at a desk. We attracted his attention and got him to come talk with us. Outside the church we explained, actually Jean explained, the purpose of our mission and he invited us inside. Father Eberhard Otto then excused himself and went into his office. In a moment, he returned with a file folder. As he opened the folder, I saw a letter, in English that had words in it that I had written. It turned out that he had received a letter from Leo Massa, George’s brother, in which my “Poppy field” was quoted. I opened my envelope of stuff I’d been carrying and pulled out a copy of that piece and handed it to him. He glanced at it and then back at me, with an expression of surprise. From that point on we had no trouble holding his interest in our mission.

He explained that he had no personal knowledge of George’s burial as he had come to that area after the war. He did, however, know of a place that might be what we were looking for. During Hitler’s time, he explained, no enemy could have been buried in a sanctified cemetery. That had been strictly verboten. He told us to look for a bus turn-around, out near the edge of town, where, then, we would see a cemetery. Beyond that cemetery, he told us, is a field. Maybe there.

Father Otto then took us on a tour of his church. Of particular interest to us were the beautiful stained glass windows and a hewn stone altar that dated back more than a thousand years.

We drove the short distance to the cemetery. The main gate was closed so we walked along outside of the stone wall that surrounded the place. At the rear, looking out beyond the wall, we could see a field, probably twenty or thirty acres in size. Beyond the field, we could see the Nahe River and a highway, and beyond the highway, wooded hills. We wondered if the burials had taken place out there somewhere, but jet lag was getting to us and it was late. We decided to postpone further searching.

It took us a week and a half of visiting other points of interest before we got back to our search for George Massa’s gravesite. We went directly to the cemetery and went in. A monument to military heroes and the inscriptions on the head stones told we were in a cemetery for war veterans. While we were admiring the graves, we saw a woman walking a dog. As we watched, she tethered her dog to the gatepost and entered the cemetery. She smiled and walked on past us to one of the graves. After a few moments, we greeted her and learned that she was on one of her regular visits to her husband’s grave. His head stone was inscribed, “Heinz Eckert, 1929-1996”.

To Jean, I said, “Tell her why we’re here; ask if she knows anything about the grave.” Jean, in her recently reborn German, broached the subject. Well, the lady knew something, all right. She brightened right up and began to talk, gesturing, and pointing to the field beyond the wall. “Mein mann hat es gefunden.”

“What did she say?” I wanted to know. Somehow, we had lucked out. She told us her husband had found that grave. She had met her husband after the war. He had told her about having found this grave and shown her where it was. But the grave isn’t still there, of course. No, we said, George’s body has since been moved to a National Cemetery on Long Island, near where he had lived. But, she said, there could have been other graves there, for French, Polish, and American airmen, but not any more. Not for many years. But she could tell us how to find the spot. Our elation was almost palpable. Go back through that field, along that path until you get to the dike. Then turn right and walk along the dike. Over there, near the bridge. That’s where they were buried.

Well, we thanked Frau Eckert for her help and started out. Because we could see a fence between us and our goal, we turned left to get to another path that would take us, on the other side of a new highway bridge, to where we could get to the dike. We looked back, and there was the woman, waving at us. She had taken the dog home and had returned on a bike. Apparently, she wanted to make sure we found the spot. She waved and pointed. She was indicating that we should go over, now, to our right. We walked under and past the bridge, and there she was, now having moved to where she could again follow our progress. She was nodding her head and still pointing.

We walked on and discovered what must have been the poppy field in 1944. We were walking along a low dike. Our guide was still on duty, waving us on. Soon, when we were pretty close to the ruins of a bombed out bridge, I looked back and saw that she was vigorously nodding her head and waving her fist above her head. We had come to the sacred place. She waved goodbye and got on her bike and, as we waved our thanks, she peddled away. We turned toward our find.

We saw a large field between the dike and the Nahe. There may have been graves there once. A lot can happen to a place in fifty-three years. We felt confident that we had found what we’d been looking for. We walked around saying a silent prayer. Mission accomplished!

*A few months later, I received correspondence from Marshall Shore, of our association, who is quite familiar with Dietersheim, telling me more about the place.

David Wetherill and The Poppy Field - Honoring Veterans

David Wetherill's Poppy Field.

I've been fortunate so far in life. Due to my veteran status and past employment, I've known many combat veterans from all branches of service and from several wars. Each one I knew had an inner strength forged during a time in life when he underwent duress the average civilian would never experience. The more severe their ordeal, it seemed, the greater the strength.

Perhaps that's a product of the will to live, or maybe inner strength is the will to live brought to the surface of personal reality. And too, I think a strong spiritual conviction is necessary to keep inner strength from abandoning us when we need it the most.

Whatever it is, Dave Wetherill was a man with an inner strength that drew others to him. He expressed that strength in many ways. You could hear it in his words, his laughter, and read it in his eyes. He spoke of family and friends, of sharing his love of music, and his pride in fellow veterans.

I found him to be a quiet gentle man. A man I liked almost at once. And I'm the kind of combat veteran who shuns crowds, feels most comfortable sitting facing a door when I'm in an unfamiliar place. Normally, I don't warm up to strangers. But oddly, Dave was not a stranger when we first met. Not that I knew him from the past. I didn't.

My wife and I started a small writer's group in Mount Holly, New Jersey, posted a flyer at local libraries, ran a small reader ad in a local paper, and Dave called to join us.

He attended weekly, offered kind advice, like the fact that clouds scud across the sky. They don't drift. He shared with us the newsletters he edited for his WWII outfit, the 571st Squadron. He was a co-pilot Crew 91. Their B-17 bomber was shot down over Germany. David was badly injured, and spent many months in Stalag Luft One. He spoke of other members of their organization, and about their dwindling numbers.

Then, one night he gave us a copy of two articles he'd written for the newsletter. It seemed there was one member he missed more than any other. The man who didn't live to join, the hero who was left behind.

His pilot went down with the plane, and David never forgot him, never stopped honoring his friend George Massa.

With his family's permission, I'm posting his articles in two parts. The first is titled: Poppy Field and is below. I'll post the follow-up titled Poppy Field Found tomorrow and let you meet this extraordinary man.

This Veterans Day, let's all honor the silent heroes that live among us, like my friend David Wetherill. And remember that those men and women honor the fallen every day as Dave's articles explain.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


NEWSLETTER FALL 1995 Page 19


Poppy Field
by David W. Wetherill


On Memorial Day last year, I was interrupted in my studio by the ringing of my phone. I’d been at work for more than an hour, so the disturbance came as a small relief.

“Hello.”

A man’s voice said, “Is there a David Wetherill there?”

“Yes. Who wants him?”

The voice continued, “I’m looking for a David Wetherill who was a copilot on a B-l7 flying over Germany in World War Two.”

“I am such a person. Who are you?”

“My name is Leo Massa..." My heart fairly leaped. “and I’m looking for the man who was my brother’s copilot. My brother’s name was George, George Massa, and..."

“I guess I’m your man. I was copilot on George Massa’s crew.”

Leo became very enthusiastic. Almost overjoyed. We talked for nearly an hour and ended our conversation after each had promised the other that an early meeting would take place.

The meeting was set for a couple of weeks later, with Jean and me driving to the Massa home in North Jersey. We planned to leave home in time to eat lunch on the way and arrive by 2 PM. Quite naturally, we fell into a discussion of the interesting news we’d picked up from my phone conversations with Leo. It was possible, I decided, that I had met Leo on the occasion of my meeting with George’s parents, at their Brooklyn home, in the summer of 1945. That was my first move after arriving home from my stay in Stalag Luft One.

Although I had realized, from the report I had received from Bill Reulbach, our toggleer, at the time of our first meeting on German soil, at Dulag Luft, that George had to have still been on board our B-17, still carrying its bomb load, when it hit the ground, I knew that no official word of his KIA status had reached the Massas. It, therefore, had become my first duty to meet with them and tell what I knew.

He had been only fifteen at the time, but Leo was sure that he had been present at that meeting, and when I mentioned some of the details, he became more convinced of it. I had reminded him that George’s sweetheart, Lisa, a beautiful Finnish girl, had been present. He remembered Lisa but has long since lost touch with her. I had mentioned to Leo that only after my visit to the American Military Cemetery at Cambridge, England, in 1984, and my subsequent inquiries in Washington, that I had learned that George’s body had been identified and brought home to be buried in the Military Cemetery on Long Island.

Leo had then explained to me that the identification must have taken place after a period of time, because he had information about a grave in Germany that had been George’s first stopping place. I was eagerly looking forward to more details.

We arrived at the Massa’s lovely suburban home at about the appointed time. As we parked our car, Leo appeared in the driveway, followed by his wife, Sinikka. A warm greeting then took place. At first, I saw only slight resemblance in Leo to George, but as the afternoon slipped by, I was able to see certain characteristics that I had come to know in George. And, it occurred to me, George would have looked some different by now, if he were still alive.

I answered many questions from Leo about what kind of a pilot, airplane commander, officer, soldier, and man George had been. My answers were all confirming that he had been the best in each category. Then I wanted to know more about the burial that had taken place in Germany. Leo handed me two sheets of lined paper with a penciled letter written on them. This letter, and its subject, had been mentioned on the phone, earlier.

The letter is quoted, in its entirety, below:

I was a member of Co. K-3rd Inf. 424th Division, which arrived in Dietersheim, Germany in May 1945, as a guard unit to 150,000 German war.

Just outside of Dietersheim, in the Rhine Valley, was a beautiful poppy field. As I walked among the flowers, I came upon a lone grave of an American soldier. It was so beautiful I came back to it each day.

I was curious to know more of this boy who rested alone in the quiet of the hills, and I learned he was buried by the townspeople of Dietersheim with full church services. They made him a large crude cross from the deep forest close by, and each day they came to water the potted plants, which they placed upon his grave.

I wondered about his parents, and how pleased they would be if they could only see this final resting place of their boy. As I had no camera, I decided to make a sketch - perhaps locate his family and give it to them. I had only an old German map, on the back of which I made this drawing.

I have also a few poppies, which I picked from the grave when we were ready to leave. It's been a long time ago, but I still keep thinking of MASSA, his grave, the good people of Dietersheim, and his family. I should like to go back some day and visit that grave again.

B. Kruczek, ---- St., Cleveland, Ohio

While I was reading the letter, Leo left the room, and returned in a moment with a framed picture that had been hanging on the wall just inside his front door. I took it and examined it. It was a beautifully drawn pen and ink rendering of the grave described in the letter. After spending some minutes admiring the picture and appreciating the thoughtfulness of the artist/discoverer, we talked about Leo’s heretofore unsuccessful attempts to locate the man who had been so caring and thoughtful and we talked about the town, so far not totally identified, whose people so caringly took George’s body and provided so lovely a resting place for it.

In a little while, Leo produced George’s diary. It seems George had kept a record of his impressions of his daily encounters. I haven’t yet held the diary in my hand, but Leo has promised me he will give me the opportunity to do that on our next meeting. He did read certain pages to me, such as George’s feelings about one particularly frightful mission (11/30/44— “Oh, the prop wash! I was so scared I couldn’t stop shaking.”), and my introduction to him (7/7/44—”I met my copilot today. He’s a swell guy.”)

There were emotional pings and pangs all afternoon, and I guess there will be a few more before this subject is filed away. To quote one observer of our reactions to all of this, “It’s amazing how the need to know survives 50 years later.”

Note: Although Leo Massa has searched, and Bill Reulbach, our crew’s toggleer who lives in the Cleveland area, has more recently searched, B. Kruczek hasn't been located. Nor has the town of Dietersheim.
____________________________________________________________________________

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