Once, one of the German POW's ( I thought he was an old man, but then, I was 16, so he may have been 50 or so) brought in a well-worn copy of a newspaper, a big paper, so probably an Indianapolis paper, and he showed everyone the remnants of a huge stone  building in Germany that was bombed, an apartment building, probably. 

I remember he was very tall and big boned with a very large nose, his name was 'Oscar' (and that was far from an uncommon name with German POW's.) They all wore the same uniform with a big 'PW' painted on the back of the shirts.

He could point out in the picture, which apartment his family was living in when he entered service. He had not heard from anyone there since the paper was printed and he lived every day without knowing if any of them were living or not.

Funny, how little things like that stuck in the mind of a 16 year old.

It's how war 'works', of course, but it was impossible not to feel compassion for that big old guy (even though he was 'the enemy', who didn't have a clue if his family was living or dead.

01/13/2004 - Written by June De Spain, former civilian worker at Wakeman Hospital.