This
is Angelo Archiopoli. Angelo is a youthful 91 years old and lives not
far from me. I’ve met Angelo a few times over the last several years but
it was today that I had the chance to have more of an extended
conversation with him and he shared with me the story of his service in
World War II.
Angelo was drafted in 1942, at he tender age of 21. He was immediately shipped off for training in Rapid City, South Dakota, before being assigned to the 751st Squadron of the 457th Bomber Group, eventually being deployed to the European theater. Due to his skills and aptitude testing he was elevated to the rank of Lieutenant and quickly assigned as a navigator aboard a B-17 Bomber, or as they called it, “The Flying Fortress”.
Angelo navigated his B-17 on several dozen successful mission throughout the Spring and Summer of 1944, but it was their mission on September 28th, 1944 that he remembers the most vividly. Early that morning, 36 American planes set out on a bombing run to Magdeburg, Germany. Their target was a Krupps coffee factory that intel had shown was being used to manufacture tanks and anti-aircraft guns. Angelo’s plane was near the rear of the formation when they were engaged from behind by a group of 25 Nazi ME-109 and FW-190 warplanes. His plane took a debilitating 30mm shot to the rear and crashed into a field a few miles southwest of Magdeburg.
As the bomber came to it’s final resting place, Angelo looked around amongst the wreckage to find that six of his nine crew mates were dead on impact. The only other survivors were Sgt. Robert Christoferson and Sgt. Stan Hojnowski, one of whom had his right leg completely sheared off during the crash. They evacuated the wounded Sargeant from the plane and carried him across the field to hide out behind the cover of a nearby tree line. Within minutes they heard the shouting of German voices and turned to see a farmer and two teenage boys pointing shotguns at them. Shortly after, they were surrounded by Nazi soldiers.
Angelo spent the next seven months as a prisoner in a Nazi P.O.W. camp, sleeping on a flat wooden board, and living on a diet of tepid water, hot broth and stale bread. On rare occasion, when the Nazi’s put down one of their steed, the prisoners were afforded scraps of horse meat as a luxury. On the morning of Thursday May 3, 1945, Angelo and his fellow prisoners awoke at sunrise to find that all of the Nazi guards had abandoned the camp. They had left both their uniforms and their weapons behind. The prisoners gathered the weapons, secured the gates and the arsenal, and took control of the camp. It was few days later when a platoon of Allied forces arrived and informed them that the Hitler was dead, the Nazi’s had formally surrendered to the Western Allies in Berlin, and the war was over. He was soon flown back to the States and after several months of convalescing in a Military hospital, he was honorably discharged in 1946.
Gesturing at my Macbook, Angelo started asking me about the internet and admitted that he hadn’t a clue how it all worked. He asked me where the actual, physical “internet” is located, as in, “is there one big machine somewhere with all that information in it?”. I was explaining it to him as best I could when he stopped me to ask if I could “get music on that thing”. When I assured him that I could, he lamented about a favorite record that he once had, and somehow lost, long ago. I quickly brought up Youtube, and Angelo was enjoying Chopin’s Polonaise, and other old favorites, which he told me he hadn’t heard in about 40 years. Then we watched clips of some old Westerns featuring Buck Jones, who Angelo claims was far better at being a cowboy than John Wayne ever was. He seemed amazed by what we found online, he chuckled, he smiled, and he thanked me. It was the least I could do.
The next time you see an elderly gentleman wearing a hat, pin or some other sort of Veterans insignia, I’d suggest that you stop and thank them for their service. Often, you can never imagine just what kinds of tragedies and hardships these people have endured while fighting for this country. Better yet, do something nice for them or just engage them in some conversation. Sometimes, what may seem like the simplest things to you and I, might mean a great deal in their eyes.
Angelo was drafted in 1942, at he tender age of 21. He was immediately shipped off for training in Rapid City, South Dakota, before being assigned to the 751st Squadron of the 457th Bomber Group, eventually being deployed to the European theater. Due to his skills and aptitude testing he was elevated to the rank of Lieutenant and quickly assigned as a navigator aboard a B-17 Bomber, or as they called it, “The Flying Fortress”.
Angelo navigated his B-17 on several dozen successful mission throughout the Spring and Summer of 1944, but it was their mission on September 28th, 1944 that he remembers the most vividly. Early that morning, 36 American planes set out on a bombing run to Magdeburg, Germany. Their target was a Krupps coffee factory that intel had shown was being used to manufacture tanks and anti-aircraft guns. Angelo’s plane was near the rear of the formation when they were engaged from behind by a group of 25 Nazi ME-109 and FW-190 warplanes. His plane took a debilitating 30mm shot to the rear and crashed into a field a few miles southwest of Magdeburg.
As the bomber came to it’s final resting place, Angelo looked around amongst the wreckage to find that six of his nine crew mates were dead on impact. The only other survivors were Sgt. Robert Christoferson and Sgt. Stan Hojnowski, one of whom had his right leg completely sheared off during the crash. They evacuated the wounded Sargeant from the plane and carried him across the field to hide out behind the cover of a nearby tree line. Within minutes they heard the shouting of German voices and turned to see a farmer and two teenage boys pointing shotguns at them. Shortly after, they were surrounded by Nazi soldiers.
Angelo spent the next seven months as a prisoner in a Nazi P.O.W. camp, sleeping on a flat wooden board, and living on a diet of tepid water, hot broth and stale bread. On rare occasion, when the Nazi’s put down one of their steed, the prisoners were afforded scraps of horse meat as a luxury. On the morning of Thursday May 3, 1945, Angelo and his fellow prisoners awoke at sunrise to find that all of the Nazi guards had abandoned the camp. They had left both their uniforms and their weapons behind. The prisoners gathered the weapons, secured the gates and the arsenal, and took control of the camp. It was few days later when a platoon of Allied forces arrived and informed them that the Hitler was dead, the Nazi’s had formally surrendered to the Western Allies in Berlin, and the war was over. He was soon flown back to the States and after several months of convalescing in a Military hospital, he was honorably discharged in 1946.
Gesturing at my Macbook, Angelo started asking me about the internet and admitted that he hadn’t a clue how it all worked. He asked me where the actual, physical “internet” is located, as in, “is there one big machine somewhere with all that information in it?”. I was explaining it to him as best I could when he stopped me to ask if I could “get music on that thing”. When I assured him that I could, he lamented about a favorite record that he once had, and somehow lost, long ago. I quickly brought up Youtube, and Angelo was enjoying Chopin’s Polonaise, and other old favorites, which he told me he hadn’t heard in about 40 years. Then we watched clips of some old Westerns featuring Buck Jones, who Angelo claims was far better at being a cowboy than John Wayne ever was. He seemed amazed by what we found online, he chuckled, he smiled, and he thanked me. It was the least I could do.
The next time you see an elderly gentleman wearing a hat, pin or some other sort of Veterans insignia, I’d suggest that you stop and thank them for their service. Often, you can never imagine just what kinds of tragedies and hardships these people have endured while fighting for this country. Better yet, do something nice for them or just engage them in some conversation. Sometimes, what may seem like the simplest things to you and I, might mean a great deal in their eyes.
