Memorial Day 2016

" . . . Our echoes roll from soul to soul

And grow for ever and for ever . . . "

These forget-me-nots grow on the lawn here in Argyle.

Mom and Dad brought them from Marilla

one time when they visited here.

The lines are Tennyson, from The Princess.

Here is a bigger excerpt:

The splendor falls on castle walls
And snowy summits old in story;
The long light shakes across the lakes,
And the wild cataract leaps in glory.
Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, 
Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.

O, hark, O, hear! how thin and clear,
And thinner, clearer, farther going!
O, sweet and far from cliff and scar
The horns of Elfland faintly blowing!
Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying,
Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.

O love, they die in yon rich sky,
They faint on hill or field or river;
Our echoes roll from soul to soul,
And grow for ever and for ever.
Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying,
And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying.

Gene's M-1. The Power and the Transmission of Memory.

Some things were seen; many were not seen. Some few things were known; many more were not known. In the end, one day, my brother shone a light in the darkness.

A certain leather strap was always in the same spot at one end of Dad’s closet. To the right of his shirts, hard by his tie rack, directly above the shoeshine kit, it hung on a spindly wire hanger.  Worn, oddly folded, and bearing odd buckles, it was part of our childhood landscape but we did not mess with it.  We also did not ask about it; somehow we knew it were better not to probe.

A clunky scrapbook, with forty-odd pages of photographic prints pasted in in the crazy-quilt style fashionable in the 1940s, was also part of our home. We looked, and we inquired, but the answers, though kind, were brief. Yes, I was in China. We rode ponies into China and when mine went lame I found saddle sores; there was nothing I could do for my pony.

We taught the Chinese to blow up bridges. We blacked our faces, swam out at night, and attached the explosives. When a train came over carrying Japanese soldiers, we blew up the bridge.

A few bits of backstory came to our ears indirectly. From an uncle: There was hand-to-hand. From our mother: He told them he knew English, Polish, Latin, and French, so they taught him Japanese, and then they sent him to China! At the dinner table, talking with my future father-in-law: Ha! Yes, we were flown back over the Hump in late ’45 and the Japanese were still shooting up at us. From the eulogy delivered by the uncle: He jumped out of that plane snapping pictures on the way down, so the planners would have an idea of the terrain for the land invasion they had to prepare.

And we knew from our mother that in his nightmares he would cry out, Hey, Frenchie, look out! Look out, Frenchie!

Yet when we grew up and asked for details, he would just smile and say, There was a lot of running.

Dad died with his boots on, as he had frequently proclaimed he would. Mom kept his bathrobe on her pillow for a few months, then followed him. My brother and I emptied our childhood home; on clearing their closets I took up that strap as though on autopilot, silently packing it for the trip to my office where a collection of Dad-related items began to grow.

On the last day, alone in the house by the woods, alone in the empty house, my brother felt that his job was not done. Not everything was safe. Question marks still hovered in the air. Something made him climb yet again into the big, low attic, turn on the flashlight, and slowly crawl all around looking for answers.

There, jammed way under the eaves, silent and generally invisible, were two grey packages. He took them out from their waiting place. From one he drew photo logs, hand-drawn maps, and a Bronze Star citation related to OSS Detachment 202 Team JACKAL. Out of the other came an Army money belt, from which tumbled medals, ribbons, a field compass, and Chinese coins.

The entire trove is here with me now; I am partway through a proper study and have made some progress. Scanned photos reveal a lot. I figured out who Frenchie was, for which my relatives will forever be grateful. Still, the papers from under the eaves refer to events prior to and after the big mission, in the same way that the scrapbook contains no photos of the big mission, and little information beyond what is offered in the Saturday Evening Post article of March 23,1946, which is pasted right in there. He took home what they let him take home, just as he spoke only of what they let him speak. His handwritten mission journal is in Box 862 of something called “OSS Personnel Files – RG 226 Entry 224” in an OSS/CIA stronghold – maybe the Hoover. Some day I would like to hold that journal in my hands.

The strap is the sling from his M1. The earliest photo of his rifle is from A.S.T.P. training at the University of Chicago.

By the time he shipped out, he had been training with this rifle for a year and a half. As far as I can tell, the rifle is a version of a .30 Caliber M1 carbine.

Its next photographic appearance is somewhere near Kunming, where his buddy snapped a shot of Gene demonstrating how the OSS looks for bad guys in caves.

And there we see the leather carbine sling. We see the pistol in the holster, either a US M3 fighting knife or US M4 bayonet with hilt visible behind the holster, and a magazine pouch mounted on the stock. A 15-round magazine is visible just below the sight.

A true gent named David Fletcher at Iton’s Cave explained to me that “the vertical thing in the carbine stock is a strap well.” Further, “. . .the string arrangement under the pistol holster is a leg tie string, which was often braided if the holster was not secured to the leg at the bottom. . . There was a special method for braiding them, at least in the USA.” Thank you, David Fletcher.

The photo below of a US Army paratrooper’s kit is from the 1938 edition of Philip B. Sharp’s The Rifle in America. The paratrooper’s M1 is a little shorter than the standard rifle that ground troops would carry, according to the text. It does not look exactly the same: the strap well on the stock looks different. It is an “M11903A1.” But look, you can see very well how the strap attaches to the rifle.

A person looking through the China section of the scrapbook thus far, with almost touristic scenes of the rural area near Kunming, would conclude they were just fooling around, wasting film. Actually, they were working. From end-May through early August, 1945, they made multiple sorties north to sabotage things critical to Japanese transport, while preparing for their big mission. 

George C. Chalou edited the 1992 National Archives and Records Administration’s book The Secrets War: The Office of Strategic Services in World War II.From page 95:

          "Vital to Japan’s control of the Chinese interior was the mile-long bridge that crossed the Hwang-Ho (Yellow) River near Kaifeng. This double-track bridge was the thread that joined the Japanese armies of north and south China. Against all odds, Jed veterans and a brave band of Chinese guerillas under the command of Col. Frank Mills and Maj. Paul Cyr mined the great Hwang-Ho bridge. On August 9, 1945, the day Nagasaki was bombed, [in fact over the night of 8-9 August] SO Mission Jackal blew away two large spans in the bridge just as a Japanese troop train was passing over. The entire train, carrying some 2,000 Japanese soldiers, was dragged to the bottom of the Hwang-Ho."

Frank Mills, et. al., published in 2002 OSS Special Operations in China. Chapter 3 discusses the Hwang-Ho Bridges mission, relying on the mission journal. From pages 84-85, Gene:

          . . . was Field Photo trained and . . . [kept] the day-by-day Team Log all the time JACKAL was in the field. Zdrojewski was young, about twenty I guess, [he was 22] but he had been parachute-trained in Kunming and I believe this was his first combat assignment. He was impressionable and his language in the Team Log reveals thoughts that most of us had but never expressed . . . The Team Log was always guarded and placed in a separate container with incendiary grenades that could be ignited immediately if capture was imminent . . .I don’t know of any other operational teams in China that kept a log with this detail. The standard issue blue-lined paper from letter-size writing pads is now getting yellow and ragged with age, but Zdrojewski’s handwritten entries in pencil script are clear.I can picture him, sitting in one of the mud huts or in the rooms they had later in the walled compounds, writing down the day’s events as they unfolded during the months to follow, probably just before climbing into his sleeping bag to grab a little sleep with his.45 pistol and grenades by his side and a lantern or candle or an Army issue flashlight lighting up the scene."

The trove waits for me to resume study, as it had to be set aside for a while. But now I can start again. And I have been keeping that strap oiled.

To the right of his shirts, hard by his tie rack, directly above the shoeshine kit, Gene’s rifle strap was never farther than 12 feet from his hand, every night since he came home in 1946.

(An earlier version of this photoessay appeared on the Member Feed at Ricochet.com)

Uncle Dick Refinishes the Clock

John Zdrojewski, our JPZ, built this grandfather clock in his family home, completing some detail work on the kitchen table on the day his son Eugene was born.  From 1923 to 1982 it looked like this, with the dark stain and shiny varnish:

More photos and details of this clock have been posted as "Grandfather Clock, Then and Now," as well as at "Gene and the Grandfather Clock," "Wartime," and "More on Wartime."  Now some photos have turned up from its time in the professional workshop of Richard Mazurowski.

Uncle Dick took the case apart, sandblasted the wood, and refinished it without dark stain, so that the grain of the wood stands out in all its glory.  He did this work in winter and spring of 1982.

Great work, Uncle Dick.

When the clock came home, Annie Zdrojewski, granddaughter of the maker, kindly posed with the revitalized grandfather clock.

And just as a couple of asides here, note on the right edge of the photo part of the Blue Boy copy, above the piano.  Then way on the left edge, hanging on the divider wall, that Chinese sword.

Chinese sword?

Green Radio, Marilla Kitchen, c1961

I had decided not to post this picture of myself, out of recoil from vanity or embarrassment; take your pick. But then some intriguing results from G&C Readership Research prompted a change of policy in this instance. Thank you for your responses, Readership Critique Team.

Wintertime is on us in Marilla, probably in 1961.  Through the kitchen window we see snow on the roof of the front porch, with bare branches of the big old cherry tree etching through the grey sky.

Indoors all is cozy, especially for whoever just made himself the whiskey sour sitting on that tray there on the cupboard. The Maraschino cherry is already in it.  Behind the tray we see the little jar of those revolting Maraschino cherries, as well as a big glass jar of something white:  powdered sugar for whiskey sours? Vitamins?  Either way, the signs point to Dad, our EJZ, as photographer.

Alors, au téléphone c'est moi, JZ, looking maybe 7 years old, which is how I date this photo.  The white blobs on my headband are ballerinas in tutus.  No doubt I am talking with cousins Deb and Sharon. 

But the important thing is the radio.

That Zenith radio was big and solid and green. It had vaccuum tubes. It was sturdy and long-lived, even though not particularly fancy, i.e. in having no short-wave band reception.  Marty and Julie worshipped this radio, as it told us when snow days were declared and we did not have to go to school. The light-colored things on either side are holy pictures, which I do not recall specifically. Still, we kids could have stuck them on there to pray for snow days!  Who knows? We were real bon vivants that way.

Below is a picture from the interwebs of a radio of the same make and model. In Marilla that dial, that big metal ring with frequency numbers, was always shiny bright.  In the photo above, I am fiddling with the handle, which is the only use the handle ever got. That radio never went anywhere.

A mere couple of years after this, men made transistor radios. Uncle Tom, our Tom Kontak, had a beautiful small red one, early on; I remember him showing it to us and we being very impressed with the coolness. Tom's was a bit like the one below, except that the dial was black and there were parallel lines of red plastic, instead of that array of holes in the plastic.  Right, Tom? Amazing, the useless things I remember.

In closing, I can only say Hello to you from 1962! You should be so cool!

The Stroinski "Ringo"

The Coot Hill Family Historical Preservation Society offices house several paintings by Buffalo artist and favorite relation Edward Stroinski. We have featured one from our North Gallery and a second from our Administrative Office early in this blog. The Militello horse that made a photographic apearance last post has inspired the Curatress to show off this example of Stroinski equine portraiture.

Ringo was my Quarter Horse gelding, a gift from Mom and Dad.  He was Palomino-and-white, with white mane and tail, and he was mellow.  Physical exertion did not interest him overmuch; speed he did not wish to attain, but he was biddable enough to wander the countryside with me for hours.  At all seasons we would take off and disappear for a while, exploring. What a friend.

I remember Uncle Eddie at a family gathering one time, walking up to Ringo's fencerail and snapping some pictures.  Later he asked my Dad to rustle up some weathered barn boards so he could fashion the frame.  Then they gave me the portrait, just like that.  Whose idea was it? Uncle Eddie's?  Or Mom and Dad's?

Look how tall Dad's pine trees had grown, from 1957 to 1967.

See the shading on the ventral aspect of Ringo's neck, and the shadow of his head and halter on the fencerail.  I stared at these things often instead of studying.

Picnic Supper in Marilla, 1970s

JPZ, Dad, Dziadzi.

It's the back yard picnic venue in Marilla.  Some shirt-and-tie event has taken place earlier.  Now at suppertime, even though the shadows are long, it must be kinda warm, for he has undone his tie.

Marty, did you take these pictures?

John has taken his tie clean off!  And Dad has changed into a sport shirt, since he's home and can do so. This is the first appearance of the EJZ mustache on this blog. Dad is in his Lech Wałęsa lookalike phase - although Solidarity is a decade in the future at this point. 

Sideburns!  How could you menfolk stand them?

A Militello must have come over on a Militello horse.  That's not Queenie; she had light beige mane and forelock.  Marty, do you remember this horse's name?

Dad hung onions out to dry on the front porch.

So does anyone recall what occasion this was?  Please comment on the site if you can supply any details.

Marilla Kitchen, c1957

What a nice surprise to pull this out of a box!  We look back at the scene of so much family life over the years since Gene and Clara built their home in 1957.

The brick is the back of the fireplace; no brass or iron hooks have yet been drilled into it for hanging things up.  The stove has two ovens;  I'm still envious.  She has a glass milk bottle in her right hand; what is she up to?  We see the back hall leading to the back door.

Great nightgown and bobby socks, Mom.  Dad's evidently been home a few minutes: long enough to take off "collar and hames," the shirt and tie.  The table is set for supper for two, not four; a serving bowl is being kept warm in that round glass chafing dish with a candle inside it; the little sliver of kitchen window we see is dark.  So are the kids in bed already?  Did Dad get home extra late from the office this Monday or Friday night?

To the right of the refrigerator are the binoculars that have been to China and back. He uses them now to watch birds.

Along to the right are the chafing dish and a bunch of stuff that must include that big green radio.

The kitchen table still has the glass top under that tablecloth; it will be years before I sit on it and break the glass.  It's my desk now, and those chairs are my office chairs.

Mom would wear actual clothes were there visitors.  So Dad must have set up a tripod and timer.  They stand at their kitchen hearth and look forward with confidence to their future life here.

Zdrojewski Brothers on May Street, c1950

Casimir, John, and Eugene Zdrojewski pose, no doubt with their Dad, our JPZ, as photographer, in the back yard at 175 May Street.

Since Johnny was born Christmastime 1947, and it looks like early summer, I'd guess this is 1950.  Happy days, these are, and the sartorial flair is inspiring.

Newsboy Photo Satisfactorily Dated to 11/30/1944

This is an update on my earlier post on The Newsboy: OSS CBI Photobook 7 - Further Outtakes - The Newsboy.  Our EJZ was in Washington DC in November 1944, training with Field Photo.

Below is the photo I call The Newsboy.

                      

The closeup shows us the headline and the illustration by which we try to date the photo.

"ALLIED ARMIES AT LAST BARRIER SHORT OF RHINE"
and in the photo, a man leans over to examine some smashed thing.
What is it?

Metz fell to the Americans and Allies on 11/25/44.  To the east of Metz is the Saar River, oriented north-to-south.  The next river east of the Saar is the Rhine.

So let's say the Saar is the "Barrrier" and the Armies are at it.

From Metz to the Saar is 20-25 miles.  At 10 miles a day, that would take 2 or 3 days, say 11/28/44.

On arrival, news would be sent through the censors and travel by teletype to Stateside newsrooms.  Two days?  If so, the newspaper publication date is 11/30/44.

Also, the smashed thing, the mystery object, is a V-2 rocket, probably crashed on a London street.  From the Wiki piece:

The Germans themselves finally announced the V-2 on 8 November 1944 and only then, on 10 November 1944, did Winston Churchill inform Parliament, and the world, that England had been under rocket attack “for the last few weeks."

So that November, the V-2s were a big part of the latest news stories.


Ricochet people taught me all these particulars.  I'm grateful.



                           

They Still Make Those Rifle Slings

We will reprise the story of the Rifle Strap on Memorial Day.  In the meantime, the news is that rifle slings like that are still available and being used.  A friend on Ricochet kindly pointed out a link to a vendor's photo illustration of the proper installation of a 1907-style rifle sling.  Here's one photo from the very nice series:

The Photo Log, With an Additional Note on OSS CBI Photobook 15 - Southwest China, 1945- Reconnaissance, Part 5, Foldout of Terrain

The panoramic view of the valley, preserved as a Foldout on Photobook Page 15,  has EJZ notations similar to those found in the Photo Log here in the Trove.

The Photo Log is a notebook 4" by 8", bound at the top, containing penciled notes relating three types of data: map design and map point numbering;  Roll and Negative Print numbers;  written descriptions of locations, persons, and events.  The cover is inscribed, "Picture Notes VOL. I" and "Eugene J. Zdrojewski F.P. with SO - Team Jackal."

"F.P." is Field Photo.
"SO" is Special Operations

The notes cover 5/31/1945 through 08/21/1945, and R1 through R11.

There is no mention of any R15, and no mention of J/Rnn.

The Foldout print notations are J/R15NP13 through J/R15NP22.

Does this mean that J is a parallel series of photos?   Where are the "Picture Notes" for J series photos?  Were they taken during that July?