by Stout, Jay
At that point, four months after his disappearance, the Righettis must have known that Righetti was dead even if they didn’t articulate it to each other. It is likely that Cathryn, his wife, was the most grounded and realistic, as most of the requests for help and information came from Righetti’s mother, his sister Lorraine, or his brother Maurice. Still, the family persisted. A letter from Mom Righetti reached General Dwight D. Eisenhower’s desk in Europe. He, or his staff, replied with boilerplate indicating that he fully understood “your mental distress in failing to hear news of your son,” and indicating that a “full investigation” would be undertaken. Although not so flagrant, it seemed that Eisenhower—or someone on his staff—suffered from the same need to please as Tom Welch as the letter closed with, “I sincerely hope we will be able to send you some reassuring news.”9
The tone of the next letter that Tom Welch wrote at the same time was in stark contrast to his earlier, almost breezy note. “I have been unable to dig up a clue as to Rig’s whereabouts. I’m worried and very uneasy now. I can’t understand it. One has to first beg people to go after any information like we want, for some reason or other.”10
Welch wrote that a field team might be formed to travel into Soviet-controlled territory near Dresden. “They assured me they could do this for me. Although it may take time, I am confident they will. I have assured myself that I am going to remain here until we find out something definite.” It is implicit in the letter, although not explicitly stated, that Welch hoped to find out what happened to Righetti, rather than actually finding Righetti alive and well. He no longer believed Righetti was alive.
Mom Righetti went so far as to write to President Truman. She received a reply from the War Department that was little more than soft words. “Your desire for additional details regarding the disappearance of Colonel Righetti is most understandable, and I regret that so much sorrow has come to you.”11 Still, the letter did note that there had been considerable progress in resolving the cases of men gone missing in action: “I wish to advise that on 31 October 1945 there were 12,485 of our men listed as missing in the European Area, and that number had been reduced to 3,868 as of 13 December 1945.” This was indeed encouraging news, but it did nothing for the Righettis.
The family started to grasp at straws. Lorraine asked various headquarters if it were possible that her brother might be hospitalized somewhere with amnesia. The family also asked if he was being held in secrecy—for his own protection—to do work for the ongoing war crimes trials at Nuremburg. Both notions were irrational, and the questions led nowhere.
Carroll Henry, Righetti’s last wingman, corresponded with the family and suggested they contact the 55th Fighter Group directly which, at that time, was based at Kaufbeuren, Germany. In response to Lorraine’s queries, Jack Hayes, the commanding officer—Righetti’s position when he was shot down—was frank and sympathetic in his reply to her: “I have delayed writing you because, for a long time, we hoped to be able to send one of our officers into Russian-occupied Germany, where Colonel Righetti went down, for the purpose of searching the area and making inquiries of the local inhabitants who might remember the incident and give an account of the Colonel’s fate.”12
Hayes’s story was typical for any organization that tried to cooperate with the Soviets. “However, it has proven impossible to secure permission to do this. It is practically impossible to gain admittance to Russian territory, whatever the pretext.”
And then Hayes wrote what the family surely must have been thinking for some time. “The passing of time has diminished our hopes for Colonel Righetti’s return. At first we had great hopes but now there seems only the remotest possibility that he may come back. In fairness to your feelings and that you may not be deceived by false hope, I cannot sincerely believe that he has survived.”
In an effort to salve any hurt that his forthright assessment might have caused, Hayes recalled Righetti’s legacy. “His loss was a hard blow to us both as individuals and as an organization. He not only was an extremely competent officer, but possessed a degree of courage that marked him way above most men.” It is especially striking in a “small world” sort of way that Colonel Hayes was one of the four students who made up Righetti’s very first class. He had described them in a letter home: “Cobeaga, Hayes, Stockett and Pound—two of them poor, and two of them worse.”
Further correspondence yielded no new information. Elwyn Righetti was simply gone. The family was gratified when they learned that he had been promoted to the rank of colonel and been awarded the Distinguished Service Cross during 1945 while he was still classified as Missing in Action. Still, neither was adequate solace for their loss.
Finally, the War Department wrote Pop and Mom Righetti to inform them that their son was presumed dead “per Public Law 490, 77th Congress.” In a letter dated April 18, 1946, which referenced “exhaustive investigation” that was likely never performed, the War Department declared: “In view of the fact that twelve months have now expired without the receipt of evidence to support a continued presumption of survival, the War Department must terminate such absence by a presumptive finding of death.” In fairness to the government, the law allowed the military to “close the books” on missing servicemen for purposes of pay, allowances and insurance.
Late that year, Mom Righetti received a letter outlining information that existed in no official files. The veracity of this information is unproven, yet it has become part of the Righetti legend. Fred Gray, a colonel by then, had been friends with Righetti and Cathryn dating back to their time together in the training command at San Antonio. Gray had been Righetti’s boss and preceded him to England where he eventually took command of the 78th Fighter Group. He had helped Righetti get posted to the 55th Fighter Group soon after his arrival.
Gray described what he discovered through unofficial back channels. His description of the strafing attack on April 17, 1945, aligned reasonably well with the account in the group’s mission summary report, which was based on the narrative provided by Carroll Henry, Righetti’s wingman. However, Gray’s version diverged from that in the mission summary report beginning at the point when Righetti reported that he had crash landed and was fine. Gray’s story had an additional element: “He [Carroll Henry] started on out and about ten minutes later, according to the boys at Rig’s group, heard him [Righetti] say something about the farmers coming out after him. That, as far as I’ve been able to learn, is the last that has been heard of him.”13
Gray additionally described how he visited the USAAF’s personnel section in the Pentagon to talk with a friend who was also a friend of Righetti’s. “He told me, unofficially, that he had heard that the people whose duty it is to locate missing persons had finally got a confession from one of the Nazis that the civilians had killed Rig when they got to him. He further stated that he had information to the effect that those civilians had been rounded up, five of them already had been hanged and two more were being tried at the time.”
Fred Gray might have believed that repeating this hearsay was the right thing to do, but it did not stand up under even cursory review. First, Carroll Henry was the last one to see and communicate with Righetti and he described no such communication about “farmers coming out after him.” This would have been perhaps the most important element of the event and certainly would have merited mention. Moreover, there was no reason for Henry to hide such a communication. In later letters he exchanged with the Righettis, Henry was obviously sympathetic and very concerned about Elwyn’s fate, yet he made no mention of hostile farmers.
However, if he had actually received such a radio transmission from Righetti and shared it with the debriefing officers, there would have been no reason for the USAAF to suppress it. It was widely known that downed Allied airmen were sometimes caught and lynched, or otherwise murdered, by German civilians and occasionally by military personnel. And at that very time—1946—there were Germans being held, tried, found guilty and executed for just s
uch actions.
One example was the trial convened on June 18, 1946. Franz Linehart and his son, Markus Linehart, were tried for the murder of three American airmen from the 484th Bomb Group who parachuted from their stricken B-24 bomber during a strike against Graz on March 4, 1945, the month before Righetti was shot down. Two of the Americans were captured and brought to a road where it intersected with a railroad.14 There, a crowd gathered while the two flyers, Harold Brocious and Levi Morrow, were guarded by a pair of policemen. The policemen left when Nazi party officials and associated hangers-on—including the Lineharts—arrived and began to incite the crowd. An official stripped one of the airmen of his personal belongings while Franz Linehart beat another.
A German soldier appeared and tried to stop the abuse but was brushed aside. Franz Linehart’s son, Markus, then stepped forward and ordered Brocious and Morrow to their knees. When they complied he shot them both in the back of the head with a pistol. A third captured flyer, wounded and much abused, was taken to the jail house at Strassgang where he was further tormented. A short time later he was taken to where Brocious and Morrow had been murdered. Upon seeing their bodies he begged for his life, showing photos of his family. He was given no mercy and was forced to his knees and likewise shot in the back of the head and killed, presumably by Markus Linehart. Both Lineharts were congratulated at a celebration that evening.
Ultimately, Markus Linehart was found guilty and hanged on November 26, 1946. His father, Franz Linehart was sentenced to prison. When it is considered that trials like this were conducted, it made no sense that the authorities—if they had known—would have covered up the fact that Righetti had been similarly killed.
Further, Righetti had gone down in territory later controlled by the Soviets. Although it is known that three small U.S. teams were allowed to search the area for missing Americans during 1946, they reported nothing regarding Righetti. And the American teams certainly had no authority to mete out justice on the spot. So Gray’s statement that “the people whose duty it is to locate missing persons had finally got a confession from one of the Nazis that the civilians had killed Rig when they got to him,” could not have been true. That is, it could not have been true unless it had been the Soviets that had found and hanged Righetti’s murderers. However, had that been the case, the Soviets certainly would have crowed about the justice they had levied to avenge his death.
In fact, Soviet soldiers shot and killed four men, a woman and her ten-year-old daughter on April 24, 1945, after reaching Riesa. The men were older and established in the town—the mayor, the station master, the head of the local farming agency and a blacksmith’s helper. They also served as air raid wardens. Just as was the case with the mother and her daughter, the reasons why these men were killed has been lost.15
Elwyn Righetti notched accomplishments so quickly during his relatively short time with the 55th Fighter Group that the USAAF’s award processes simply could not keep up. However, the end of the war slowed the input of recommendations for decorations and by 1947 there was, quite literally, a stack of medals for him.
The Army could not hold them for a man that “per Public Law 490, 77th Congress,” was presumed dead. Consequently, a parade was scheduled for November 6, 1947, at Fort Ord, California, more than one hundred miles north of the ranch. The awards were to be presented to the Righetti family and it developed to be an event worthy of the war hero that Righetti was. San Luis Obispo’s newspaper, The Tribune, described the ceremony under a banner that read, “Highest Honors Accorded Col. Righetti.” The 12th Infantry Regiment passed six companies in review, preparatory to the award of the Distinguished Service Cross and the Silver Star, as well as clusters to his Distinguished Flying Cross and his Air Medal.
Righetti’s wife, Cathryn, who just a few short years earlier had set up house with him with such delighted excitement, who made him meals, who sewed his clothes and nursed his ills and loved him, and who had given him a child, watched from the side as the medals were presented to little Kyle. Righetti’s family and friends stood nearby.
The citation for the Distinguished Service Cross—second only to the Medal of Honor—reminded them of how he was lost. It read, in part: “After destroying eight parked aircraft in five daring low level attacks, Colonel Righetti’s aircraft was hit. With coolant liquid violently streaming from his badly damaged aircraft, Colonel Righetti, knowing that he would be unable to reach friendly territory, calmly and deliberately attacked the airdrome again. Using all his remaining ammunition in this attack, he destroyed his ninth aircraft, then crash landed his crippled plane in enemy territory.”
Certainly more than one family member must have regretted the bravery that won Elwyn such high distinction.
The Tribune noted, “Army officials did their utmost to make the occasion a pleasant and dignified one for members of Col. Righetti’s family, all of whom were dinner guests of General [Jens] Doe at the Ft. Ord officer’s club, following the ceremony.”
It wasn’t until 1948 that the Army, under Soviet escort, conducted two searches for Righetti. The first occurred on June 21, 1948, and visited Riesa, Schmorkau, and Grossenhain. The visit to Riesa was centered on a search for two enlisted men and had no connection to Righetti, although the town’s police chief, Max Gross, did offer that a plane had crashed to the southwest of Riesa. This tip was not investigated further.16
Unfortunately, the focus of the search for Righetti was centered on the town of Grossenhain. This was because Tom Welch—the 55th’s intelligence officer—mistakenly mentioned it as the likely crash site in a letter to Righetti’s family. In fact, Righetti was shot down while strafing aircraft at Riesa, about ten miles to the west of Grossenhain and about twenty miles northwest of Dresden. It is known that the Righettis shared Welch’s letter with the authorities and from that point Grossenhain took on a life of its own. Welch’s conjecture was foolish and without foundation—and curious. Nevertheless, it caused the Army to follow a false lead that it would continue to chase in later years.
From the report, it appears that the team did, or was allowed to do, nothing more than visit the town’s cemetery. There, they found no record of Righetti. The team did note that there were a number of unmarked graves and that it was possible that Righetti “might be one of the unknowns.” However, the odds were evidently not compelling enough to arrange a disinterment.
The visit to Schmorkau on July 15, 1948, made more sense. It was a village only about five miles west of Riesa (it is assumed that this was the point of interest rather than the larger town of the same name located approximately fifteen miles northeast of Dresden). However, the rigor of the search effort there, as recorded in the report, was wholly unimpressive. The investigating officer could find no one in authority. He finally cornered the bürgermeister’s wife, Frau Bruch, who told him, “that no American was ever buried here.” The officer then attempted to find the area’s vicar in a nearby town, but he likewise was not available. That town’s bürgermeister asserted that his office held all the vicar’s records, “and he was sure that no American deceased were recorded.”17
These pitiful efforts at both Grossenhain and Schmorkau were remarkable not only for their absolute lack of rigor, but because Grossenhain was in the wrong area. A simple review of Righetti’s Missing Air Crew Report would have kept the team focused in the proper area. The report included Carroll Henry’s recollection that Righetti headed west after strafing the Riesa airfield. Instead, the disinterested and incompetent pantomime of a search for Righetti appears to have been nothing but an exercise in “box checking.” To be sure, what the report narratives described could not—by any stretch—be called a comprehensive search.
The Righetti family, as did every family, deserved better. Ultimately, even the Army recognized that the search efforts had been unsatisfactory. In a letter dated May 5, 1953, the Army’s quartermaster general cited the MACR report and noted that the investigations at Grossenhain and Schmorkau were performed poorly. The letter decl
ared that the search effort “is not considered adequate.” Notwithstanding that obvious truth, nothing more was done. The mortuary detachment simply replied that, “the case will remain in suspense, pending further action desired by your office.”18
Except for Mom Righetti—who rationally knew that her son was dead but emotionally could not let go—the family gradually adjusted to the notion that Elwyn was gone. Lives had to be lived and his loss was managed by the family members as each was able. Cathryn’s situation was perhaps the most difficult. She was a young, beautiful woman with a child and a husband that she was mostly certain was gone. She needed to move on, but doing so while living with her husband’s family surely was not easy. Righetti had not only been loved at home, he had been lionized. And it is possible that some of the family felt she still belonged to him.
But she did manage to move on. In fact, she made the acquaintance of Colonel Robert Mailheau at the Fort Ord presentation ceremony during which Righetti’s medals were presented to her daughter, Kyle. Mailheau had escaped the Bataan Death March in the Philippines in 1942 and spent the rest of the war waging guerilla warfare against the Japanese. He and Cathryn developed a mutual affection and were married on May 14, 1948.
“I FELT BAD”
Although the Righettis exchanged occasional letters with the government and a few of Elwyn’s former comrades during the decades that followed his disappearance, there is no evidence that there was any serious official effort made to discover what happened to him. The difficulties associated with getting permission to enter communist East Germany, not to mention actually operating there, were overwhelming. This, together with the lack of any tangible leads, made the notion of renewing the search unrealistic. In the meantime, many of the residents of Riesa and the surrounding area who had survived the war—and the subsequent brutal Soviet occupation—moved away, or died or went on with their lives. To the extent that they could, they forgot much of those dark times.