The Bomber Boys (18 page)

The presence of the guard could only mean there was still
some question of his real identity by Army authorities. Peter laughed out loud.

“They still think I’m a German spy, don’t they?” he asked a young nurse when she popped in to check on him.

“Don’t be silly, Sergeant,” the nurse replied and quickly changed the subject. However, a visit from a staff officer of the 384th Bomb Group confirmed Peter’s suspicions. The two airmen knew each other, and even though the officer did not say as much, Peter knew he was there to confirm his identity. Shortly after the officer left, Peter noticed that the MP was removed from outside his door.

 

 

 

In a matter of weeks, Peter’s health had improved enough for him to rejoin the 384th Bomb Group at Grafton Underwood, where he immediately requested a waist gunner position with a new B-17 crew. The request was promptly denied. The headquarters of the First Bombardment Division felt that Sergeant Peter Seniawsky could be more useful by sharing his story with other airmen who might someday face the same fate he had lived through. Peter was asked to travel to various American air bases and conduct a series of lectures on evading capture.

Major Edward S. Dodge recommended him for the Army’s Officers Candidate School: “. . . the case of T/Sgt. Peter Seniawsky is outstanding for the year 1943,” Dodge said. “Alone and practically unassisted, he evaded out of Germany and effected a safe crossing through three closely guarded borders, finishing in a neutral country.

“His quick thinking, wise planning and ability to overcome seemingly insurmountable obstacles have stamped him as officer material. Which the writer believes should afford him a chance at this advancement.

“Lectures given by the subject to Air Corps personnel in this
theater will result, it is believed, in many more of our personnel following the trail he blazed.” Dodge finished by writing that it was “ . . . an honor to recommend him for OCS.”

Peter was not a born public speaker and more than a little uncomfortable talking about his own accomplishments, but it soon became apparent that the airmen in his audiences wanted to know what to expect. Any of them could find themselves in Peter Seniawsky’s shoes, and, indeed, many eventually did. Peter quickly became an effective and confident speaker.

During one lecture, he found himself talking in front of a group of airmen that included an officer named James Stewart. The Hollywood actor was serving as a bomber pilot and was on his way to becoming a mission commander. Stewart listened as intently as the rest.

The commanding general of the Eighth Air Force, General Ira C. Eaker, was so impressed with the story of Peter’s survival and escape that he awarded the young waist gunner one of America’s most prestigious military honors, the Silver Star. Eaker’s chief of staff, General C.C. Chauncey, wrote in the official Silver Star award notice: “His gallantry, skill and fighting spirit serve as an inspiration to his fellow flyers and reflect highest credit upon Sergeant Seniawsky and the Armed Forces of the United States.”

Once his lecture series ended, the Eighth Air Force decided to send its celebrated evader home to the States. Peter hitched a flight into Washington, D.C., and took the train up the Atlantic coast to New York. When he arrived in Manhattan on February 12, 1944, the first person he called from Grand Central Station was his fiancée, Helen.

As he rode the subway to Brooklyn to meet her, Peter thought of all the places he had been, all that he had experienced and somehow managed to live through. He closed his eyes and could see the faces of the men he had fought alongside of—“Junior”
Kauffman; that wonderful Cherokee Indian, Stanley Ruben; the good-natured Paul Spodar and all the others.

Where are they? Are they in some prison camp or dead? Why did God spare me?
Some questions would take years, even decades to answer. Some could not be answered in a lifetime.

The subway train jerked to a noisy halt. It was his stop. He stepped into a mild night in Brooklyn and the excitement of being home pushed aside any lingering thoughts of enemy fighters, German soldiers, damp haystacks and starvation. Those things would revisit his dreams in the future, but this night was about a different kind of future.

He bounded up the apartment building’s steps with the ease of a young man eager to get on with the rest of his life. He paused at the top only long enough to adjust his Air Corps cap and then he knocked on the door. Seconds later it opened, and Peter was looking into the eyes of “the prettiest girl in Brooklyn.” Peter and Helen were married on April 9, 1944.

Peter Seniawsky
returned to civilian life with a stunning list of accomplishments during his short military enlistment:

Peter and his new bride lived in Brooklyn while he searched for employment. It was not his war record but his Army Air Force training as a mechanic that landed him a job with American Airlines. Through the years, he worked on American airplanes at all three major airports in the New York City metropolitan area.

In 1951, Peter legally changed his last name to Scott. Although extremely proud of his heritage, Peter chose to Americanize the family name for the sake of his young daughters. In school, and later in the service, he had been forced to listen as others mis pronounced or “butchered” the name Seniawsky.

“I decided to give the girls an easier time of it,” he said.

During the Vietnam War, Peter volunteered for service with the American Airlines Cargo unit operating in Alaska. With the rank of first lieutenant, Peter served as chief mechanic there, supervising the maintenance of aircraft flying cargo to South Vietnam.

Eventually, he became American Airlines’ shift supervisor of mechanic operations at JFK International Airport, in New York. In this position, he and his crew received numerous commendations for service beyond ordinary duties.

On one occasion, Peter spotted a DC-10 airliner coming in for landing with some unusual vapors trailing one of its engines. Acting quickly, he called for firefighting equipment, and when the airplane rolled to a stop, he and two of his mechanics reached the engine just as it burst into flames. The three men were able to extinguish the engine fire, saving the aircraft and possibly preventing loss of life.

Few people he worked with at Kennedy knew anything of Peter’s war experiences, but in the summer of 1977 they got a firsthand look at his courage and coolness under pressure. An American Airlines jet was inbound to JFK when airport officials received an alarming telephone call with someone claiming a bomb had been placed on the flight.

The pilot was notified immediately, and upon landing he brought the airplane to a standstill at the end of the runway and then activated the emergency exit chutes. As passengers slid down the chutes and ran away from the jet, an army of airport fire and rescue vehicles and personnel surrounded the aircraft. Soon a New York City Police Department bomb squad team arrived.

Once the jet had been evacuated, the bomb squad captain ordered his men onto the darkened airplane. Peter stepped in front of the police commander and told him to keep his men on the runway until someone could board the airliner and turn on the interior lights. As the supervising mechanic, he was responsible not only to American Airlines but to the Federal Aviation Administration for anything that happened to the aircraft and anyone who might board it at that point. He was not about to stand by while the men of the bomb squad stumbled about in the dark, ripping apart one of his airplanes as they searched for a bomb. It was not safe for the aircraft or the police officers.

The police captain tried intimidation: “Listen, I am the captain of the NYPD bomb squad, mister!”

“And when that airplane is sitting on my runway, I’m captain of that airplane!” Peter responded. The policeman, no longer sure of his authority in the situation but suddenly very sure of Peter’s resolve, relented. Peter turned away and began to climb up one of the emergency exit chutes. He would never have asked one of his crew members to board an airplane with a possible bomb on board.

Once he had located and activated the auxiliary lights, the police officers swarmed onto the aircraft and conducted their search. No bomb was found, but anyone who had witnessed his actions that day knew Peter could handle a crisis with coolness and control. His old friends in the 384th Bomb Group would not have been surprised.

Peter and Helen lived in Queens for most of the thirty-nine years of Peter’s American Airlines career. In 1983, the couple moved to the picturesque shoreline town of Old Saybrook, Connecticut, where they still live today. They are most proud of their daughters, Helen and Barbara, and their four grandchildren.

Lieutenant Giles F. Kauffman Jr.
was captured by the Germans on October 14, 1943, and spent the remainder of World War II in a prisoner of war camp. In later years, he would remember that he was “treated fairly” by his captors, although he thought the enlisted men in the stalags probably had it rougher.

One of the first things Kauffman did after returning to the United States was to get married. He wed Kathryn Bean on June 14, 1945. During the first ten years of their marriage, the couple added two sons and a daughter to their family. Giles (Jeff) Kauffman was born in 1945, Karen in 1949, and Michael in 1955.

As a civilian, Kauffman once again entered Penn State University and graduated with a degree in chemistry in 1947. He spent most of his working career as a chemist in the atomic energy industry.

The Kauffman family moved to Chillicothe, Ohio, in 1954, and Giles and Kathryn lived there until his retirement in 1981. They moved to Florida ten years later to enjoy their golden years in the sunshine.

Once on a trip back home to Ohio, Giles, his son Jeff, and his grandson Christopher visited the Air Force Museum at Wright-Patterson Air Force Base near Dayton. The elder Kauffman
agreed to be escorted around the museum in a wheelchair to avoid tiring his legs. As the three Kauffmans turned a corner, they were delighted to see a beautifully restored B-17 bomber.

Without saying a word, Giles Kauffman raised himself from the wheelchair, removed the rope barrier that protected the Fortress from museumgoers, and walked toward the airplane. He was standing underneath the B-17’s nose when Jeff Kauffman called out to his father, “Hey Dad, I don’t think you’re supposed to get that close.”

The museum’s director happened to be standing nearby. He told Jeff, “It’s okay.” Then walking to the senior Kauffman, he asked, “Would you like to go on board?”

Kauffman smiled as the curator opened the hatch beneath the bomber’s nose. To his son’s and grandson’s amazement, the former World War II bomber pilot climbed into the airplane as if he were in his twenties again. Moments later, Giles F. Kauffman Jr. eased himself into the left seat of a B-17 for the first time in more than five decades.

Kathryn Kauffman died in 1997, and Giles passed away two years afterward.

Frank Pogorzelski
was captured soon after parachuting from Kauffman’s crippled B-17 and was a POW in Germany for the rest of the war. Upon his return to the United States and civilian life, he attended Carnegie Institute of Technology in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, on the GI Bill. Graduating with a degree in civil engineering, Frank began what would be a long and successful career in chemical plant design.

He married Rita Ejchost on July 23, 1946, and in 1950 the couple’s first child was born—a daughter named Carol. Frank and Rita later had two sons, Frank and Paul. In 1966, Frank changed his last name to Porell. His wife, Rita, had already passed away when Frank Porell died in September 2007.

Paul Spodar
was imprisoned in the infamous Stalag 17 until
the German surrender in 1945. After his discharge from the Army, he returned to Cleveland, Ohio, where he had been born and raised. For two years, he worked as a machinist for the White Truck Company, but in 1947 he jumped at the opportunity to join the Cleveland Fire Department.

Spodar had known Anne Sheyka for most of his life, because their parents were close friends. In 1947 he and Anne were married. They raised three children—Ronald, Sharon and Raymond. Two grandchildren followed.

In 1978, Paul Spodar retired from the Cleveland Fire Department after thirty years of meritorious service. Later that year, the Spodars bought a home in New Port Richey, Florida, where they lived until Anne’s death in 2005. Paul now lives in an assisted living facility in New Port Richey. His daughter, Sharon, has created a very interesting Web site named Paul’s Sentimental Journey (
http://members.cox.net/paulspodar/
), which pays tribute to her dad, his B-17 crewmates and all American and British WWII veterans.

Jules T. Beck
,
David D. Danneman
,
William Jarrell
,
Jacob M. Martinez
,
George Molnar
,
Frank Pogorzelski
and
Stanley T. Ruben
were all taken prisoner shortly after they bailed out over Germany. Like Spodar, the enlisted men were imprisoned in Stalag 17. Molnar and Pogorzelski, who were officers, may have been placed at Stalag 17 or sent to a different prison camp. Each of these men remained a POW until the war’s end, when they all returned to the United States. William Jarrell died in December 2000 and George Molnar died in March 2002.