The Old Scrapbook

by Dennis Higgins

  It wasn’t easy for the 325th to hold their ground with the fierce counter-attacks from the German 190th “Hammer” Division, whose resistance had stiffened. It was clear the forest had become impenetrable. G Company could not advance and got stuck along the rim of the forest. This forced F Company to retreat.

  Ray could hear heavy artillery and mortar shells all around, along with men yelling in anguish. He saw some men withdrawing towards him, and among them were the Buffalo Soldiers. General Gavin had sent men from the 320th Barrage Balloon Battalion in, but it later became clear that the use of balloons in the forest would be useless. So the men were used for attempts to clear the way.

  When all the men regrouped, another attempt to take the forest was made as the men marched forward through the thick trees. Bullets whizzed past Ray’s head and some of his brothers in arms were struck down.

  Ray heard yelling coming from his left. There was a man calling for help. Ray broke flank and went to see about him. The man’s leg was shot and bleeding badly. When Ray went to look him in the eye, he gasped. It was Luther.

  “Well, I’ll be. It’s Sardine, we meet again. Son, I think we’re gonna die out in this-here forest.”

  “Not if I can help it,” Ray said and then dragged his friend behind a tree. “Holy cats!” Ray said, “I thought Normandy was bad. We may not win this one.”

  Ray administered first aid to Luther’s leg and then surveyed the situation. “I think I’m going to have to carry you to safety. The Jerrys seem to be flanking west. We’ll head east.”

  Luther laughed. “How’s a scrawny little sardine like you, gonna carry a big…what did you call me? Oh, yeah, Goliath, like from the Bible.”

  “You saw me in the mines,” Ray replied. “Like I said then, good things come in small packages.”

  Ray swung his rifle to his back and lifted Luther over his shoulder. He started walking. When he could hear the shooting off in the distance, he set the large man down and leaned him against a tree. “There, hopefully you’ll be safe here,” Ray said quietly. “I best get back to my men.”

  “Listen, Ray, won’t you stay, just for a little while longer? Talk to me about West Virginia.”

  “What can I say, it was my home until moving to Chicago,” Ray replied. “Sometimes I miss my mother’s bean soup and corn bread. She didn’t make the sweet kind. We would either put lots of butter on it or break it up into the beans. Man…that was good. If I miss anything, it’s my mom’s corn bread. How about you, Luther. What do you miss?”

  Luther didn’t hesitate to answer. “My girl, Daisy, and her sweet potato pie, oh and the best biscuits and gravy in the whole state. But it’s Daisy I really miss. How’s that little gal of yours doing?”

  Ray pulled the picture from his shirt pocket. “She’s making an honest man of me. I asked her to marry me and she said yes. I miss her like crazy.”

  “She’s a purdy one, that’s for sure. You did good there, Sardine.”

  “Yeah, well, she just turned eighteen four days ago and I missed it. I didn’t even get to send her a greeting card. I feel awful.”

  “I’m sure she understands,” Luther replied. “Just write her a long gushy love letter after this mission is over.”

  “I already did, right before the mission,” Ray said. “In fact, I wrote it the day before her birthday. But it will take a month for it to arrive.”

  Ray heard a twig snap, but before he could react, he saw a lone German soldier pointing his rifle towards them.

  “Löschen Sie Ihre Waffe... jetzt! Schnell!”

  Ray noticed the man appeared scared and shaky. In that moment, he felt like the soldier could discharge his weapon at any time. Ray grabbed his own rifle and pointed it at him. The man was no older than he was and Ray suddenly felt a horror right down to his soul. When he saw the German’s finger twitch on the rifle trigger, Ray let loose and shot him. A sickness overcame him, as the first and only man Ray had ever killed laid bleeding on the ground.

  German voices could be heard approaching.

  “This is it, Ray, they’ll follow the sound of that shot and be here in seconds,” Luther sounded defeated.

  “Listen, old friend. I’m going to run and throw them off. You stay here quietly.”

  “Sardine, you can’t do that. Run the other way, save yourself. Get back to that gal of yours.”

  “I have a running chance. You are a sitting duck. Luther, see to my sister back home. Take care of yourself, you big Goliath. I’m glad to have met you in this life.”

  Ray didn’t wait for an answer from Luther. He took off running north and discharged his rifle for the 190th Hammer Jerrys to follow. Ray knew his plan was working when he heard the German voices advancing towards him and not Luther.

  But the Germans were clever and got in front of his path. Ray wondered at that moment if his time and luck had run out. He thought about Bet back home. He saw her in her apron and her lovely smile. He also thought about Luther and how he had saved his life in the mine from hateful men. Ray knew what he had to do. He ran right into the soldiers, firing his rifle. As he ran, he yelled out the name of his beloved Bet.

  Three days later, the allied forces would be victorious and take the forest from the Germans. Luther had survived and was sent home.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Chicago, Present Day

  I went on Facebook and typed in the name Jankauskas. A few came up, but two had a connection to Chicago. I had to pay a dollar each to send them a direct message. I sent the following:

  Hi, I am hoping you are related to someone named Betty Jankauskas (Campioni). I know she has passed, but I found a scrapbook she made in 1943 when she was engaged to my great uncle who supposedly died in the war. I would just like to know how her life turned out.

  Ken Turner

  I attached a few photos from the scrapbook and hoped the message would bear some fruit. I shut down my computer.

  “What are the odds anyone will answer me?” I asked Megan.

  “You never know,” she said. “It’s not like it’s that common a name. You did say they lived in Chicago, right?”

  “Yep,” I shrugged. “It would be something though, wouldn’t it? After all these months of not knowing.”

  “It would,” she replied. “Hey, someone should write a book about that scrapbook.”

  “Yeah, right,” I said. “Like anyone would ever read it.”

  “You never know,” she said. “Maybe we’re all living in the pages of a book and someone is reading about us right now.” She made eerie woooo noises with her mouth.

  “Quit freaking me out.”

  “Hey, Kenny, wanna make love?”

  I can’t remember a single time in my life I have said no to a question like that, so I grabbed her hand and headed for the bedroom.

  The next day I woke up earlier than Megan. I had learned so much about Bet and now I needed to know once and for all, what happened to my great-uncle Ray. Megan had searched in US cemeteries, but something made me look at sites from American cemeteries, overseas. It was nearly instantaneous, what popped up. There he was: Raymond L. Speck, service number, 36628745, Private First Class, 325th Glider Infantry Regiment, 3rd Battalion, 82nd Airborne Division, Company G. Place of Death, Kiekberg Woods, Holland. Died 27 September, 1944. Buried at Margraten US War Cemetery, The Netherlands. He was buried with honors.

  I was relieved he hadn’t left Bet for some floosy, yet sad seeing the details of his death right there on my computer screen.

  I then checked Facebook and saw I had a message. It was from one of the Jankauskas people I wrote to. Her name was Ellen.

  I am married to her oldest son. She had 5 children, 12 grandchildren and died too young! She was a wonderful woman and we miss her still. She would only have been 17 in 1943, but my husband remembers her telling him about another man in her life before her eventual husband.

  We are so happy that you found us! These pictures are amazing - do you perhaps know who the little girl Jean i
s in one of the photos? Any other photos you may have would be greatly appreciated. Betty's other children are also as excited as my husband & I are to receive your message. Any insight into her life is invaluable to us. Again, thanks for everything...

  Best regards,

  Ellen

  I wrote back and told her that the little girl was my Aunt Jean, who was still alive and remembered their mom, but not very well.

  Eventually, I would start writing emails to two of Bet’s children, Jim and Cindy. From them I learned how wonderful their mother really was. I just knew it somehow and here they were confirming it. She met their dad, Edward and married him in 1946. She converted to Catholicism and remained a devout Catholic for the rest of her life. She claimed to be one hundred percent German, even though her dad had an Italian last name. His first name was Otto and he was born in Germany. Betty ended up working at the Christopher School in Chicago, with handicapped children, whom she loved dearly. Jim told me she made them her own and looked after them in ways that only a mother could.

  But there was also some great sadness written in these emails. The happy girl from the scrapbook went through much pain and sorrow in her life. First, she lost her fiancée, Ray, when he was killed in the war. Jim then wrote that she lost her husband, Eddy, when she was only thirty six years old, with five children to raise on her own. She made ends meet by running the tavern her husband owned for a few years and then working odd jobs until finding her calling with “her kids” at the Christopher School. Her heart was big and somehow I knew that. I’m not sure how, but I could tell the person she was, just from that scrapbook. I was told that years later she would have another heart break when her youngest son, Rob, passed away. But even in his death, she thought of others. She had her other children help donate his organs, so someone else could live. She was selfless. But no parent should have to lose a child. I wanted to give her a hug; I wished I could.

  Yet, for all the heartache and pain Bet went through in her short life, she handled it with grace, love, and humor. Her daughter, Cindy, told me they would go shopping a lot, laugh, and be silly all the time. They were more like sisters rather than mother and daughter. I could also tell that all her children and grand-children loved, respected, and admired her. She left them twenty years ago and she was still missed so much. Cindy wrote:

  “She was the strongest woman I will ever know - and she did it all with a sense of beauty and humor. Mom was my everything. She was the nicest, sweetest, and kindest of women. I miss her still to this day, and I treasure all of our memories.”

  I asked the sensitive question about the day she died. Cindy told me her mom was a hard working woman all her life. The day she died, she came home from work to rake leaves in her backyard, where she passed. How sad, and yet I could help but think, she went to be with Eddy, Rob, Frieda, Kat, Donald, Harriet, Ray, and, of course, God. She was happy in a realm we couldn’t understand.

  Cindy wanted to make sure I knew one thing about her mom. She told me her glass was always 'full', not half-empty or half-full… it was just 'full'. Even with the tough life she had, with her many losses that were so hard on her heartstrings, she was always upbeat. She never focused on the sadness. She took care of everything with a smile. She had the best sense of humor and was able to laugh with others and even at herself. She told me her parents had many friends while she and her siblings were growing up. They were full of life and so good to others. People all over loved both Betty and Eddy. They were in the bar business together and customers flocked to the bar because of the friendship with their parents.

  As I read all their words about their dear mom, Betty, I felt as if I knew her. Through them for the later years, but it was like I knew her before they were born, like I was an old, long lost friend. But that seemed strange to me since I was so much younger than they were. But through her scrapbook, I had gotten to know Ray and Bet… and I loved them.

  ****

  Chicago

  September 30th, 1944

  Bet was vacuuming the apartment when she thought she heard the doorbell buzz. She switched off the Hoover and listened. It buzzed again and she answered the door. When she saw Uncle James and Aunt Harriet standing there, it brought a feeling of dread to her. She just stood there looking at them, trying to read their faces. Her brother Donald walked up behind her.

  James spoke in an unusually soft voice for him. “Don, run and get your mom from the salon.”

  Donald took off running.

  “Betty,” James continued. “We have some bad news. Ray…”

  “How did he die?” Bet interrupted.

  “A hero,” James answered. “He was killed in a battle against the Nazis in Holland.” His voice started to crack.

  “Please come in and sit,” Bet said. “Let me bring you a beer.”

  Before Bet could retreat to the kitchen, Harriet put her arms around her. Bet broke down her reserve and cried softly.

  Frieda and Donald rushed in and as soon as Frieda saw her sister, she slumped into a chair.

  Bet brought James his beer and he opened a little box he had in his hands. It contained a Purple Heart medal with an oak leaf cluster.

  Bet went into her bedroom to be alone. She stared at Ray’s picture on her night stand.

  “Aw heck, Ray. We were supposed to be married and have babies. You weren’t supposed to die over there. Why the heck did you go and get yourself killed?” She put her face in her hands and cried.

  She grabbed the framed picture off the night stand and ran her fingers over his face. “I’m sorry, darling. You were such a good man and I was so lucky to have you in my life.” She kissed the picture. “I love you.”

  She saw the scrapbook on her dressing table. With tears running down her cheeks, she sat down and looked through the pages one last time. She grabbed her white ink pen and went to a random blank page near the back. She wanted to write something befitting, but no words would come to her. Through her tears she scribbled a crude heart shape. That was all she could manage to do. She closed the scrapbook and brought it out with her.

  “Are you alright?” her mom asked.

  “Uncle James, I want you to have this.” She handed him the scrapbook. “I can’t bear to have it any longer. It was Ray’s camera that took most of these pictures. I hope it brings you some comfort.”

  Seeing Bet’s puffy face and swollen eyes made Frieda and Harriet break down their own reserve and start to cry.

  ****

  In the days that followed, Bet tried to put together the pieces of her shattered life after the devastating news about Ray. She visited old friends and even made one last visit to Beatrice and Jean. Seeing Ray’s family was too painful for her. She knew in her heart that once James and Harriet moved to a dryer climate, she would lose all contact with Ray’s loved ones.

  Coming home from Bea’s apartment, she gasped as she saw a letter from Ray. It took her nearly an hour to muster the courage to open it. It was written on September 24th, 1944.

  Sweetheart,

  I am in Holland waiting for word of our mission. It was postponed due to bad weather. The storms reminded me of Chicago. Remember how much rain we got that one year? I swear it would wait for our Friday nights together.

  I’ve been feeling kind of blue lately. I guess I miss you too much and wish I was there in your arms right now. Oh hell…heck, I wish we would hurry and win this war.

  I don’t know why a smart, pretty gal like you wanted anything to do with a country bumpkin like me, but I thank my lucky stars and God that you did. I think you are the most wonderful person I have ever met. You are kind and loving. I have never heard you say a single bad thing about anyone, even if they deserved it. You think of everyone else before yourself. I wish I was more like that, but I want you to know that I am learning to be and it’s because of you. I haven’t told you I love you enough, but I do, Bet. I really do.

  Sorry, I guess I’m feeling a little sentimental right now. This mission is supposed to be an easy
take-over of a forest, but something about it gives me a sick feeling. Just nerves I guess.

  Say howdy to your mom, I’m glad I could make her smile once in a while. Kiss Kat for me and playfully punch Don in the arm. Don’t hurt him though. You have quite a wallop when you want to.

  I hope you had a wonderful birthday yesterday. Did you make a wish?

  Your future husband,

  Ray

  Bet thought she had been all cried out, but this letter was too much. She barricaded herself in her bedroom for the rest of the evening.

  ****

  1945 after VE day

  Bet would eventually take Ray’s picture out of her frame and mail it to Vern and Bea. She wrote on the back:

  Your brother, taken 4/28/44. The only thing she kept from Ray was her engagement ring. She tucked it away in her jewelry box and cherished it.