Zero-Dark-thirty-five below

Frank Gartz left Keesler Field in Mississippi and arrived on February 27th, 1943, at the Army Technical School in Sioux Falls, South Dakota, for an 18-week stay. His long days of classes, studying, and drilling in a frigid wind will toughen him up. Here's a good description of the town and the first serious courses for an airman in training. He probably wrote this letter before receiving the one his mother wrote to him on March 3rd too, so I'm posting this a little after the date it was written.

ARMY TECHNICAL SCHOOL

A.A.F.T.T.C.

SIOUX FALLS, SOUTH DAKOTA

3-3-43

Dear Mom:

I had to write tonight because soon I’ll be going nuts studying lots of dashes and electron theory. I just made up my bunk and came back to the day room to write this letter. Soon I’ll have to turn in because it’s after 9 now and I’ll have to get up at 4:30.

Today we went to school (6:50 A.M.) and got through at 2:30. From 3:00 to 5:00 we went for a walk and covered about 7 miles. From about 6:30 to 8:00 I have been studying and now writing letters. At Keesler* I wrote and told you I didn’t have much time to myself. Here the situation is more acute. I have less time and more things to do. I’ll write as often as I can which will be 2 times a week or at least once.

I received your $20.00 and have arranged to have my picture taken as soon as I get to town. [Fred's] letter hasn’t as yet reached me but I know it will soon be here. I received a letter from Duck** today and promptly answered it, my first letter to Harvey since I’ve come in the army.

How is Dad and Will? Tell him I’ll write him soon in code to give him and myself some practice. I bought an extra book today called “The Radio Amateur’s Handbook” $1.00.
This book I hope will give me the needed extra help. So far everything is OK in schoool. Now I’ll try to give you a description of the field.

I can do it in a short sentence, but I won’t. It’s on flat ground which hasn’t an ounce of life on it. It’s dusty and very windy and very, very cold. A mild day is 0∘or two below. A cold day is between -15 and -35 degrees below, but today was nice-only 15∘above. This weather as today was very nice. The wind blows up to 50 and 60 miles per hour. Today only 20 mph. The sun even came out in the late afternoon. When the sun sinks, it throws a red carpet over Sioux Falls and the tall church and water tower throw weird shadows over the town on the hill.

I’m with a fellow from Texas who is one swell guy. He is married and is trying to get a call through to his wife. He is a good conversationalist and has almost got me believing that I want my home in Texas when I get out of the army.

Again I’m going to try to send my watch home. It’s losing time something awful. I’ll have to send home my garrison hat ‘cause they’re not allowed on the field. The rules down here are very strict and sometimes unfair, but that’s the army. This will be my home for 18 weeks or so and I had better make the best of it.

Send me some candy (chocolates) if you would. A package would lease the boys very much. A fellow got a cake and some fudge [and] in about 3 minutes they were all gone. The squadron is restricted at the present from leaving the post, so town will be passed up till Restriction is lifted.

In my barracks all the members are sergeants except the 8 men of whom I’m one who came in last Saturday.*** All the men have passed their aerial gunnery school requirements and now have to take Radio Operator and mechanics courses before they go overseas. Well, I’ll have to turn in now so till I write again,

Love
your son,
Frank

*Keesler Field In Mississippi, where he was stationed just prior to Sioux Falls, S.D.
** [Harvey Duck--see previous post, 3/3/43 letter from Frank’s mom].
***The previous Saturday was February 27th, so that’s when he arrived in Sioux Falls

Original below
again, markings are mine on a xerox copy, easier to scan.

Pearl Harbor Day-A diarist's response to war

December 7, 1941

Pearl Harbor was bombed seventy years ago today. My mom, Lillian Koroschetz, started a brand new diary on New Year's Eve, 1941 reflecting back on the previous year and the effects the barely three-week-old war was already having on the every-day lives of Americans.
See this link at Naval History and Heritage for a thumbnail sketch of why the attack in Hawaii was such a surprise and how it enraged and united Americans into a singular resolve to defeat Japan as well as the German Nazi and Italian Fascist regimes.

December 31, 1941 - 10:15 pm

Wreckage of the USS Arizona after attack on Pearl Harbor
Image from Wikipedia "Day of Infamy speech"

By pure coincidence, I am beginning this book practically at the dawn of 1942. What will this New Year bring me––I wonder. For that matter what will it bring the world? 

This has been a momentous year for the world, rather sad for the world, and a very good year for me. 1941 gave me great happiness with Fred.

December 7, 1941 brought the momentous bombing of Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, that definitely entered the United States in the World War #2 in which, in my opinion, we were destined to enter since the repeal of the Arms Embargo Act. So far the war has not yet touched the great mass of us as much as it probably will have by 12-31-42. We already have a taste of it by the rapidly rising prices in everything, federal tax of 10% on luxuries ($1.65 "Nylons,") which, however give a tremendous amount of wear. 

President Roosevelt delivers his "Day of Infamy"" speech
12/8/1941. (Wikipedia image). Within an hour after the
speech, Congress declared war on Japan.

Automobile tires, too, are unobtainable for civilian use, and car production will be eliminated in favor of defense activities by the auto plants. I have a firm conviction there will be a severe depression in possibly 5 or 10 years and I am determined to save some money. I have a start now, $34.00 in postal savings. Also I buy 10 cent defense stamps. When I have saved sufficiently by way of these stamps, I shall buy an $18.75 defense bond.

Ever practical and pro-active, Lil was planning for how she would personally respond to the the war.


Next week: Lil's leaves the topic of war behind to prepare for New Year's Eve and be "damn mad" at Fred for not asking her out!

Blitzbuggy-A Car with History

 Model A Ford-1929 (See Blitzbuggy below)
credit: Hubcapcafe.com

It’s Carnival of Genealogy (CoG) again, the monthly opportunity for genealogy bloggers to ponder a specific topic -- and for April it’s cars. Thanks to Jasia at Creative Gene for hosting CoG.

Blitzbuggy. For those of you who remember your World War II history, the term “Blitzkrieg” (Lightning warfare) may come to mind. Blitz means lightning in German, and knowing my dad, I’m sure irony came into play in naming this iconic automobile.

Blitzbuggy was my Dad's family's 1929 Model A Ford.

Blitzbuggy was special. My parents spoke and wrote about her as if she had a personality. She was maddening and endearing. She required pampering, cajoling, and endless tinkering, yet held her owners in thrall. My parents told stories about her breakdowns as if relating the escapades of a spoiled child, who, no matter how much trouble she caused, was unconditionally loved.

And like a loved relative, she was witness to major family events. When my dad wrote a poem to my mother for their tenth wedding anniversary, Blitzbuggy deserved special mention. I won’t quote the whole poem here--that’s better saved for a future post--but here’s the stanza in which Dad includes their faithful four-wheeled steed in his tribute to their decade-long marriage:

At Central Plaza was our reception

And it was with no exception

Perfect on each and every score.

Home came the bride in Blitzbuggy

And of course, the hubby

Carried her right through the door.

World War II: 1929 Model A Ford, "Blitzbuggy," brings
son to Military Draft Board. Chicago, January 23, 1943 

But Blitzbuggy would also be the conveyance for a beginning that was far less joyous than my parents’ wedding and one that I wouldn’t have known about until I found this out-of-focus photo tossed in among our collection. Coming upon it, I saw only an unremarkable old car parked on a snowy street, with no identifiable people. Until I turned the picture over, and read my father’s detailed notes on the back, I never would have known the critical event this photo documented.

Prior to finding this picture, Blitzbuggy had only existed in family lore. My father had probably told us what vintage the dear little car was, but it hadn’t stuck in my memory. Dad’s notes not only identified the car--its year, model, and make--but also recorded the contribution Blitzbuggy had made to one of the pivotal events of the 20th Century -- and our family’s connection to it. But his identifying data weren't just to jog his memory. They were a way of communicating important family history to my brothers and me. In the note, he refers to his mother as "Grandma," even though she wouldn't be a grandma for another three years. That means he wrote these details well after the picture was taken so his children would know its significance.  Here are his exact words--in italics (my comments are in brackets. Parentheses are his):

January 23, 1943

Ebner’s drafting. Saying farewell. Grandma [Dad's mother] in Blitzbuggy (1929 Model A Ford). Lil [my mother] on right side. [Only the back of her coat and hair are visible.]

In front of the Draft board
4748 W. Washington Blvd. Chicago, Ill 

Frank Ebner, (ABE-ner) Gartz, born May 14, 1924, was my Dad’s ten-year-younger brother and my grandparents’ youngest son. His middle name was taken from my grandmother, Lisi’s, maiden name, one you’ve read in numerous past posts.

At eighteen years old, Frank was about to start his training to become a navigator for the Army Air Corps in World War II, and Blitzbuggy brought him to sign up for the service just a few blocks from the family home. It’s a familiar winter scene for the city: the snow is piled on the sidewalks, and typical Chicago greystone apartment buildings form a backdrop. The entire atmosphere of the photo--its blurry focus, the gloomy, colorless weather, the faces of the two women in the photo hidden or indiscernible, the lone black auto on a strangely empty street--create a visual metaphor for the emotions of a family about to send its youngest off to war.

"John Philip Sousa" of Neppendorf

Marching Band of Neppendorf - 1925
"Neppendörfer Neue Musikkapelle"
Michael Gärtz, bottom row, 3rd from left

Travel Tuesday

When we walked into the small museum at the back of my grandfather’s Lutheran Church in Neppendorf (near Sibiu) and found photos of my grandmother and grandfather’s sister on display, we realized how interwoven our family history was with this community. The same images we cherished in our own collection at home were here, 5,000 miles distant from Chicago, helping others to understand the culture of the Siebenbürgen Germans. (See last Travel Tuesday Post: Spilling Secrets).

But the museum highlighted a Gärtz my brothers and I had never known.

Although Josef Gärtz had struck out for America in 1910, the family of his half-brother (born in 1867) stayed for the next 70 years in Neppendorf, where the Gärtz name became inextricably bound to the town’s famous marching band.

Neppendorf Marching Band
display. Photo shown at top of post

The church museum dedicates several displays to the band, including this one with instruments, uniforms, and a 1925 photo, entitled Neppendorfer Neue Musikkapelle, The New Neppendorf Band (see above).

No man is more associated with this famous band than my grandfather Josef’s, nephew, Michael Gärtz. He was the son of Josef’s twenty-two-year-older half brother. Born in 1893, Michael was a mere four years younger than his Uncle Josef. You’ll see my grandfather’s nephew, Michael Gärtz, in the photograph bottom row, third from left, at the age of thirty-two.

Michael was drawn to music at an early age. The twentieth century was barely new when, at the age of nine, he joined the Neppendörfer Blaskappelle (brass band), first playing the drums, then the Flügelhorn, an instrument similar to a trumpet.

Flügelhorn

The band was an integral part of the community, playing at weddings, festivities, holidays, and parades. Michael rose to become one its longest-serving leaders. Just one year after the group picture above was taken, in 1926, he was made conductor, a position he held for the next forty-five years.

Marching Band-Neppendorf, detail
 Michael Gärtz, 3rd from left

At the end of the Second World War, about 75,000 ethnic Germans were deported from Transylvania to Soviet labor camps. In 1946, Michael Gärtz’s job was to revitalize the band and somehow bring spirit back to a community that had lost virtually an entire generation.

He did it with passion and verve, leading the band to capture first prize in 1951 as best marching band in Romania, and in 1960, second prize. For a community that needed an injection of hope and positive creativity after the devastation of the Second World War, Michael gave his town a shot of joy and pride.  Here is the conclusion of the eulogy for him I found online, written by a fellow townsman, Ervin Köber. I translated his words from the original German:

Michael Gärtz, 1893-1971

“For his entire life, Michael Gärtz championed the musical cultural life in Neppendorf. The marching band was strengthened under his leadership and the quality of its music reached a distinguished high point. Michael Gärtz is among the most famous music teachers of Neppendorf and Hermannstadt in the second half of the 20th century.”


See photos and hear music of the Neppendorf Marching Band on You Tube.