A SOLDERS STORY

By DELL ARTHUR

They were known as the greatest generation. This benevolent title was attributed to those men who were once boys who fought in World War II. With the passage of time accounts of those men whose exploits saved the world from the vicious dictatorships of Europe and Japan, slowly fall from memory. Some of these soldiers, sailors, marines and airmen who were engaged in this conflict were awarded the United States highest honor—the Congressional Medal of Honor. Yet the heroics of thousands of combat fighters whose heroic exploits were never recorded shared an equal place of honor. For others simply living daily under the threat of death was enough to demonstrate their valor.

But as time passes the memory of this most horrific war in the history of mankind slowly fades. New wars have continued since then to the present day but none can match the horrific death toll of the Second World War. Nor can the experiences of those who battled at that time be excelled.

The accounts of those times by the men who suffered the horror of battle are usually unrecorded. Most that fought those battles were reluctant to recount them and it was only at the insistence of the wife of one of these heroes that recorded the exploits her husband experienced and she published in a small book titled, “Private First Class—A Paratrooper’s Story,” the account of PFC Paul Gitts.

 In the prelude she states, “…The worst thing that can happen is for all of us to just gloss over World War II, as it was a long time ago, and to tell ourselves that this could never happen again. It can happen and each time it becomes more deadly. We should never become indifferent and pretend that it can’t and won’t happen again…”

In 1944 Paul Gitts was working on the family farm. His older brother just received his draft notice and being married, he wasn’t anxious to go. There was a provision however, that men working on farms were needed for the production of food and an exemption from service would be granted. Since the younger Gitts wasn’t interested in farming he went to the draft board and volunteered to take his older brothers place provided the board would allow his brother to take his place on the farm. The board agreed and Gitts soon found himself a member of the United States Army.

Following basic training he was assigned to England and a glider training school. The Allied forces had earlier on June 6, breached Hitler’s “Atlantic Wall” landing at Normandy, France. The training was accelerated and intense. Gitts, who was trained as an infantry combat soldier discovered that an Airborne Division was established in England and men who qualified would be jumping out of Douglas C47’s. Also there was an increase in pay of $25 over their regular pay for hazardous duty. Attracted to the idea he quickly volunteered. To be a paratrooper a man was selected for his toughness and endurance. Gitts displayed both. Following graduation he was assigned to the 17^th Airborne Glider Division. This was one of the most hazardous assignments a soldier could experience. It was noted that as high as 50 per cent casualties (deaths) could be expected in landing. Yet, like others, Gitts willingly accepted the risk. But when he had the opportunity to transfer to the paratroopers he did. Finally after accelerated training his outfit was ready for the real thing; combat.

Transferred to mainland Europe Gitts outfit was selected to take the town of Nijmegen, Holland and its bridge. This turned out to be one of the bitterest battles of the war and causalities were high. This particular engagement was designed and led by England’s leading general, Bernard “Monty” Montgomery. It was at Arnmen, the last bridge to be taken, that the British suffered a humiliating defeat resulting in losing more than 5,000 men. The Germans retained control of the town and bridge ending Montgomery’s plan to end the end the war quickly.

When Gitts jumped from the C47 airplane he was shot in his right hand on his way down. In his book he recounted hearing the cries and screams of those wounded and dying and bodies of soldiers hanging limply under their chutes.

On the ground the fighting was bitter. The town traded between the Germans and Gitts outfit several times before the 82^nd finally secured the assigned bridge. The battle took six days before English tanks arrived to relieve the paratroopers and Gitts and his outfit was flown back to England where he received medical treatment for his hand and to regroup and transfer to France. It was in France he learned about hedgerow fighting. Hedgerows were used instead of fences and proved an ideal cover for German machine guns. If a soldier tried to walk directly across a field he most likely was killed in an instant. Gitts learned to be savvy in a hurry. This shrewdness would turn out to save his life a second time.

(To be continued)

YOU NEVER KNOW

By DELL ARTHUR

A few years ago I decided to take a hiatus from full-time newspaper work that turned out to last a bit longer than planned.

            I love airplanes and always have since I was a kid! Since I hold a commercial pilot certificate with single-engine, multi-engine and instrument ratings, I also held a certified flight instructor rating. It was then I thought I would take a hand at crop dusting and do some traveling.

            Even though I concentrated on this new adventure I still maintained my writing and photography competence furnishing copy and pictures for several weekly newspapers. Another advantage of this new experience was it gave me an opportunity to meet a lot of interesting people and garner feature material. One such person, who also became a close friend, was Karl Brauner.

            I met Karl when we flew together with a crop dusting operation at Tulare, California. We hit it off right from the start. With a shaved bald head he was a muscular man with a strong square jaw off set with a gentle voice. A generous man he would give you the shirt off his back if needed.

In the flying business his manner and appearance seemed incongruous to what you would picture an “ag pilot.” Most folks would think of a crop duster as a dare-devilish type who flew under wires and jumped trees with abandon. True, we did this but in reality every ag pilot I have ever known was a true professional who possessed an uncanny feel for an airplane. This was the mold of Karl—yet there seemed something familiar about him that at first I couldn’t put my finger on. Soon I learned the reason.

            In his former life Karl was a famous professional wrestler known nationally and internationally as Karl Von Brauner. His real name was Doug Donnan. It was later when he teamed up with Jerry Brawner as the original “Kurt and Karl Von Brauner tag team,” that he legally changed his name to Brawner.

            Born on a farm near Ontario, Canada, he and his brother “Red” grew up like most farm kids. Chores on the farm were the usual fare and they worked hard and it paid off. Karl at 5 feet, 10 inches and 215 pounds at the time, he and his brother were in exceptional physical condition, youth being what it is, they were ready for anything.

One day Karl said he and his brother were visiting a nearby town when a carnival was putting on a show. One of the exhibitions he said was a wrestler whose manager bragged that anyone who could stay in the ring with his man for three rounds could win $50. Both of the boys were gifted with athleticism and wrestled as amateurs. Recalling the incident Karl told me that his brother said, “…Hey, he doesn’t look that tough; go ahead and take ‘em, we can use $50 bucks!” So, peeling off his shirt Karl climbed into the ring. Smiling back to that time he said, “…I think it took 15 seconds for me to land on my back in the first row!”

            There are many stories about how Karl got into the wrestling business. He related to me that he and his brother were getting awfully tired of bucking hay bales and other farm work. He said he met a retired wrestler who told him that if he headed to Sarasota, Florida, he could probably find a wrestling job with a traveling carnival. Taking his advice he was soon on his way.

            “There was an old carnie wrestler who took me under his wing. He taught me very move and hold I would ever have to know,” I recall his saying. “If a guy stuck out a finger you broke it! Every dirty trick you needed he taught me. Wrestlin’ some of them farm kids in the mid-west were tough and if I didn’t win I didn’t eat that night!” And learn the business he did. It wasn’t long before he left the carnival life and teamed up with “his twin brother,” Jimmy Brauner. And the rest is history.

As a tag team they were the scourge of the wrestling circuit and quickly drew the hatred of fans. They used every illegal, nastiest, dirtiest dishonest method to won and won several world championships in the process. They used the gimmick of being the “dirty Germans” to full advantage and were “feared” by opponents.

            Their manager was a little slight man named Saul Weingeroff. Standing in the middle of the ring with Karl on one side and Kurt on the other he would bring the crowds to frenzy shouting in the microphone “his” boys could beat anyone with one hand tied behind their backs. These were just some of the outlandish comments he used to incite the crowd. Standing there bare-chested with folded arms in their black tights and leather boots embossed with the iron cross on the sides, the “boys” would just glare and snicker at the crowd. They never said a word.

Since their appearance followed World War II by a few years, the memory of the European war caused greater hatred and anger from the audience. I remember watching them on television years earlier and marveling on how despicable they played the game. Their gimmick was flawless!

            Were all the matches fixed? Karl would never say. But I do recall his saying that, “You don’t want to hurt a guy too bad—we all have to make a living!” Yet he admitted there were other times when he entered the ring with his heart in his throat. Not all wrestlers liked each other and now and then he said you would run into someone who wanted to make a reputation for themselves.

            Years went by and eventually Kurt and Karl separated. It was then Karl and Red his brother teamed up and continued working the circuit as a tag team. But he was getting older as all of us and “too many body slams,” was taking its toll he later confessed.

            By 1975 it was time to quit the game. Karl retired from the ring and headed for Texas where he resumed his love of flying. He sold airplanes for a while before going into the crop dusting business. And this nearly proved fatal.

            In the lower San Jaquan and Imperial Valleys of California, and the lower part of Arizona, most of the spraying is done at night time. There are several reasons why; temperature and wind drift are the two major reasons. Near Phoenix, Arizona, even near midnight, the temperature can still be as high as 90 degrees. In this kind of heat an airplane’s load and maneuverability is greatly reduced. All of these things, along with fatigue, had a terrifying effect and the result was devastating.

            The grind had been going on for almost a week. Karl was flying nearly all night and getting little rest during the daytime. He was near exhaustion. After putting out his last load of the night the sun was beginning to rise in the east and he was heading back to the landing strip. Flying along at about 50 feet fatigue took over and he nodded off. The next thing he remembered was climbing from the burning wreckage on his hands and knees in a pool of flaming gasoline. He suffered severe burns to his hands and legs but fortunately his crash helmet helped protect his head and eyes. For years after he flew with gloves with the fingers cut off because of the pain.

            Time and distance can be a cruel master. Even the best of friendships suffer separation. I continued spraying for a few more years in different states and Karl remained in California. We touched bases occasionally but then drifted our separate ways. I returned to full-time newspaper work and continued flying for recreational pleasure. Karl continued flying until he was 74. By this time he retired to the northern part of California where he suffered a stroke. On July 5, 2009, he died at a much too early stage at age 78. Like I say, he was a gifted pilot and a cherished friend and I miss him dearly.

MONEY ISN'T EVERYTHING

By DELL ARTHUR

            It all started when John Ashworth was 10 years old he said. Now in his early 20’s he has spent much of his early years rescuing abandoned and stray dogs—sometimes leaving him with bite marks. But for him that matters little. To him every dog is important and deserves a home. They are more than animals; they are his friends. He has crawled under houses trying to coax a frightened pooch to safety, chased frightened dogs across fields and gone into areas where he was exposed to physical danger. Confronting a scared pup can result in more than a bite or two.

            After years of rescue work Ashworth now devotes his time in another facet of saving these homeless strays. Once captured and cleaned up and checked for diseases he now travels across several states delivering these fortunate pups to new forever homes.

            In California where Ashworth lives he estimates that most of the canines captured are destroyed within days. The exact number is a mystery. But this is what motivated him to dedicate his time and energy in an effort to save and place as many of these mongrels as possible. As a consequence he now works for several rescue centers transporting all sizes and breeds of dogs to new homes where loving pet parents open their hearts and homes.

            Sitting at a roadside restaurant where he had just dropped off a pup to a new grateful owner, he reflected on how he got started in the delivery end of the business. “I first started delivering dogs with my mom’s pickup. Then I met Kevan Boston who operates a delivery service and went to work for her.” For the first two years Ashcroft was busy delivering dogs across the lower part of California. But now he covers all Of California, Oregon, Washington, Arizona and Nevada. Once he traveled all the way to Texas. As far as transporting being considered a business, “…it is and it isn’t. Kevan will deliver dogs to new homes for free if need be,” he clarified with a nod of satisfaction.

            But there are stipulations Ashworth jealously follows. “I only transfer dogs from proven, ethical sources and before the animal is delivered it has to be inspected by a vet for any problems,” he explained. And it’s a good thing. On one trip his van was stopped by the Douglas Sheriff’s Office at Roseburg, Oregon, and he had to unload some crates for inspection. Fortunately all the paperwork was in order and the dogs were deemed in good health and he was allowed to continue on his trip.

            “We have to comply with state laws regarding the dogs’ health. Before we deliver them they are checked for heart worm or other illnesses by a vet before we ever leave on a trip.” When the pup is delivered the pet owner is furnished with paperwork documenting all the shots given including certification for rabies for transporting across the United States into Canada, and signed by a licensed veterinarian who did the work. In addition, he said, all dogs are neutered.

            And there are dogs and there are dogs! Ashworth has seen them all. It is rare that a pure bred is caught running loose he said. Most of his “clients” are pure bred “mutts.”

            Thousands of dollars are spent by people interested in the dog show sport. Here breeds are jealously protected and champions can demand high fees. But on the other end are the “mutts.” These are the ones that capture Ashworth’s heart.

           

“I don’t know why people are willing on spending $1,000, $2,000 or more for a pure bred when they have no interest in showing them. You can get a non-pedigreed dog for anywhere from $100 up. What is the difference between the two? Dogs bred for a particular breed and trained for competition is one thing,” he stressed. But for the average person who isn’t in the dog show sport there is nothing to offer other than the ability to brag that they own a ‘pure bred whereas a “pure bred mutt” offers a special relationship of love, loyalty and companionship. It may only be his opinion but it makes a lot of common sense.

            Now and then Ashworth will take part in a dog rescue but now his primary time is spent driving all across the western half of the United States. His van now has over 320,000 miles and weekly trips add to the mileage at an exhausting rate. With this type of driving his 1995 Ford van has proven a problem with more frequent breakdowns. And these expenses can take a large “bite” out of operation costs he noted. “We charge by the crate and transport as many as 30 dogs or more at a time. If I have any problems the money comes out of the fees. Awhile back I had a water pump go out and after getting it fixed I was really running short.” And that is where cutting back on travel expenses comes in. Staying in motels or eating at restaurants is usually a non-existent luxury.

            Starting out at San Diego, California, Ashworth heads north. His route stops at many smaller communities where the new pet owners anxiously await their new family member. Time is a factor and the further north he travels the more care and concern he has for his charges. “We try to deliver the dogs as clean as possible,” he explained so frequent stops are necessary. There is the need for the animals to be able to relieve themselves and not mess up their cages. Exercise for the animals is difficult since the trip from San Diego to the Canadian border can take up to four days. Weather can also be a factor. In the summer time the trip is usually pleasant he related. But winter time can be something else.

            “When I’m on the road I sleep in the van with the dogs. When the cold weather hits its usually not too bad since the dogs generate a lot of body heat,” he said with a chuckle. But one thing for sure—the accommodations are not the Hilton. Another factor in transporting is the need for rest and eating. Rest consists of brief breaks sleeping in the van and the food isn’t found included on a gourmet menu. “I eat a lot of fast food stuff but now and then after I deliver a pup the new owner will buy me breakfast or lunch.” When this happens it is greatly appreciated. But the real joy for Ashworth is to see the expression of the new owners’ face when they first see their new pup.

            As far as the actual delivery is concerned all arrangements are made in advance. Now and then there is a missed communication and that is where his cell phone comes into play. He said everyone his number and he also has theirs. Fortunately, he said, it’s very rare that the connection is missed.

            But if anyone thinks delivering dogs as a career they should first be motivated by love. Tabulating time, which can run to 80 hours a week, it may not seem worth it. Ashworth figures he is making anywhere from $2 to $4 an hour! Once the trip is over and he is back in San Diego, his first goal is a hot shower, a good meal and a soft bed. He can be satisfied that he has endeared himself to several happy pet parents and his pups have a new forever home.

            Sometimes money isn’t everything.