By Alex Berger
Although our soldiers are still heroically dodging bullets and bombs today, I want to reach back to World War II and recount the stories of three neighborhood soldiers of that war. Two of them did not die on the battlefield, but deserve to be memorialized nonetheless. This applies as well to countless others who also fell in defense of our country.I first became aware of war and the three soldiers as a child. Many of the young men were disappearing from the neighborhood and I asked why. “They were drafted into the army,” my mother explained, “and are off to fight Hitler (Germany) and Tojo (Japan).” Their stories follow: John was the only son of our neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Topolnicki, first generation Americans from Poland. They lived on the fifth floor, we lived on the second. The Topolnickis were great friends of our family. (How I loved Mrs. Topolnicki's cooking, especially those pierogies she brought down to us before her chats with my mother in Polish). John eventually married, had twins and moved away to an apartment of his own. Then he was drafted into the army.John's parents could not read English. They would bring his letters to my sister, Florence, to read. The first letter said that he is enjoying army life and will soon complete his basic training. Another, that he was picked to attend Officer's Training School and will become an officer. Oh, how the parents “kvelled” (expressed satisfaction) over that letter. Then John wrote he was being sent to Europe, but not to worry. Then his letters became less frequent.Several months later, Mrs. Topolnicki brought down a telegram she received from the War Department. “Our son John has become so important,” she said, “he now sends me telegrams instead of letters.” Florence opened the telegram. It was what she had feared. John had been killed in action.”Mrs. Topolnicki,” Florence said, “something is in my eye. I cannot see. Please bring the telegram to someone else to read.” She did and a few minutes later Mrs. Topolnicki's scream could be heard throughout the building.Mike Spatola lived a block away. His swarthy good looks attracted every girl on the block. He was very athletic, particularly on the basketball court and the stickball field. Mike was drafted and sent overseas. A few months later, Mike was sent home for medical treatment because of a severe leg wound. A few weeks later, the neighborhood was shocked when Mike had died. His 18-year old, grief-stricken sister, Pauline, died soon thereafter. It wasn't until many months later that I learned Mike had stubbornly refused to have his gangrened leg amputated. He chose death instead of going through life without a leg.Hoch's candy store was the hangout for the young men of the neighborhood, where they kibitzed (joked) with one another. With his keen sense of humor, Joey Gross was one of the top “kibitzers” in the group. He, too, was eventually drafted. After the war, Joey was discharged from the army and returned home. He looked wan and distraught. Surprisingly, he had lost his jovial manner.Joey mentioned that he had been held captive as a prisoner-of-war by the Germans for three years. Joey, a Jew, was subjected to extreme torture and constant threats upon his life. He never talked about his experiences and tried to forget it. He never could. Joey survived the war without a scar on his body but was left wounded nonetheless.Joey eventually died a civilian a few years later. Unlike John Topolnicki, he and Mike Spatola did not die on the battlefield. But they should also be remembered on Memorial Day, for they, too, gave us their last full measure of devotion. Old soldiers may fade away, but their deeds never do.Finally, I will relate an anonymous Memorial Day story, which appeared in “Graybeards,” the official magazine of the Korean War Veterans Association, several years ago. I printed it in one of my earlier Memorial Day columns and was requested to repeat it by readers. It is written in verse and entitled “A Letter Home.””Dear Mom and Dad: The war is done, and my task is through, And Mom, there is something I must ask of you. I have a friend, Oh, such a friend – He has no home you see. And so, Mom, I would really like to bring him home with me.””Dear Son: We don't mind if someone comes home with you. I am sure he could stay perhaps a week or two.””Dear Mom and Dad: There is something you must know. Now please don't be alarmed. My friend in battle was recently shot and now he has no arm.””Dear Son: Do not be afraid to bring him home with you. Perhaps he could stay a day or two.””Dear Mom and Dad: But, Mom. He is not just a friend, he is like a brother too. That is why I want him home with us. And he'll be like a son to you. Before you give your answer, Mom, I really don't want to beg. But my friend in battle was wounded and also lost his leg.””Dear Son: It hurts me so much to say, the answer must be no. For Dad and I have no time for a boy who is crippled so.””Months went by and a letter came. It said their son had died. When they read the cause of death, the shock was suicide. Days later the casket came – draped in the Nation's flag. They saw their son lying there – without an arm and without a leg.” – Author unknown.”For your tomorrow, soldiers gave yesterday and today!”Reach columnist Alex Berger at timesledger.com or call 718-229-0300, Ext. 141.
