A little historical aside before I get to the subject.
If you ever drive on I-70 past the sign “Historic Downtown Rocheport” don’t waste your time getting off the highway. Here is a 1-second tour of the place.
Now get back on the road, you still have a couple of hours to go.
St.Louis Japanese Festival is one of the better-organized, meaningful and entertaining festivals in the country. I visited it once before and enjoyed it so much that I didn’t have any reservations about going there again.
The Japanese Festival is once-a-year occasion when otherwise shy Americans release their inner Japanese, normally hidden deep inside, wrap themselves in shower curtains and prance around in uncomfortable wooden flip-flops pretending to like weird-looking food.
My favorite Japanese traditional entertainer Masaji Terasawa was there once again making spun sugar sculptures, origami figures and making fun of the public.
httpvh://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j6RRdVvMny8
I have few clips of his performance.
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The Sumo demonstration was probably the highlight of the day since we decided not to stick around for karaoke.
httpvh://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1kyfYldKDQM
httpvh://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_KteGdvDOQE
httpvh://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0butoszJB6c
On the way back I was tempted to get some “Free water in the name of Jesus” but decided against it, just in case it turns into wine and causes me to get a DUI. I wasn’t so sure I could count on Jesus to pay the ticket.
I found this 1946 Life Magazine article while searching for vintage Kansas photos (the article features a farmer from Shawnee County, KS and a future post is forthcoming). We frequently hear about the way it used to be, stable middle class of the past, high taxes on the wealthy and many other economic and cultural realities that were lost over the past 60 years. The article briefly touches on several segments of the post-war society, their roles in the economy and their material well-being. The language of the article is strikingly similar to what we see in the media today. Over time, the classes described in the article were redefined or disappeared; rich people are not content with just two Cadillac’s; no one is paying two thirds of their income in taxes; and $12,000 a year does not equate to being successful. There is one notable exception: the teachers are still being screwed. Anyway, the article is short, enjoy.
Today is the Victory Day or as it’s known here – Victory in Europe day. I wrote about it last year and I don’t have much to add – not much has changed except the number of veterans who are still with us is getting smaller every year. Instead I will link to a post from a very talented photographer and one of the most popular Russian bloggers about an effort to finally recover the bodies of the Soviet soldiers lost on a battlefield, uncover their names if possible and more than 60 years later give them the honors they deserve. There are hundreds of thousands soldiers in the fields like this one, one of them is my Grandfather.
Monument To The 146 Soldiers Made By The Search Team
The article is translated by Google Translate so the quality may not be perfect but I wanted you to see the photos. These people are true enthusiasts and doing this pretty much on their own time and hardly any financial help. Towards the bottom are some photos of the German Cemetery financed and maintained by the German government.
This song titled “The Victory Day” became an anthem of this day:
Repatriation of Allied war prisoners. Allied war prisoners, freed by the Soviet troops head for the port of Odessa where a ship is ready to take them to their home countries. Photo by M.Ozersky. SIB photo
service
I was born and raised in Odessa but I’ve never heard any mention of a transit POW camp for American and other nationals. I knew that the German POW’s were used to rebuild the city after the war well into the 50’s, but the Allied soldiers were sent home relatively shortly after the Victory Day.
Interestingly enough, Odessa is mentioned in the correspondence between Stalin and Roosevelt in relation to the POW issue.
There is also an order from NKVD concerning the prisoners. (*source, translation mine).
Partial Extract
Copy №1
Order of the NKVD №0015
January 8, 1946, Moscow.
On the partial release of the POW’s from camps and special hospitals.
In furtherance of the directive (telegram) from NKVD № 2943 from December 16,1945 I order:
1.All POW Czechs, Yugoslavs, Italians, Dutch, Belgians, Danes, Swiss, Luxembourgers, Bulgarians, Turks, Norwegians, Swedes, Greeks, Frenchmen, Americans and Britons, who are currently located in separate camps in accordance with the directive of NKVD № 3943, to be moved to Lustdorf (near Odessa) to the repatriation camp № 186. …
3.This order does not apply to persons who served in the Waffen SS, SA, SD, Gestapo officers and members of other secret police.
Signed: The People’s Commissar of Internal Affairs S. Kruglov.
During 1945, the Soviet Army overran, in two sequences, German camps that held US POWs. The experiences of the prisoners released by the Soviets was considerably different depending on whether they were liberated during late-January to early-February in Poland and East Prussia, or during April and May in central and northern Germany.
Most of the US prisoners in the early sequence came from Oflag 64 at Schubin, Poland, Stalag III-C near Kustrin, Poland, with a few from Stalag II-B, Hammerstein, Germany.
The Soviets evacuated these men to the east and most of them eventually came out through Odessa. They comprise a relatively small portion, about ten percent, of all American prisoners that were in Soviet hands; contemporary accounts have 2,858 evacuated by way of Odessa. But because of the smaller numbers, the more direct involvement of the US Military Mission to Moscow, and the somewhat more routine evacuation procedures, the Odessa evacuation is better documented and more frequently written about than the liberation of POWs which took place later in central Germany.
American POWs freed by the Red Army were in the main treated very shabbily and came to hate the Russians. Many of them were robbed of watches, rings, and other personal possessions which they had managed to retain even after extended periods of captivity under the Germans. Their food at Odessa was very poor, consisting mainly of soup with cucumbers in it and sour black bread. The Russians generally tended to throw obstacles in the war of repatriation, frequently calling off shipments at the last minute and insisting always upon clearance from Moscow for every prisoner released. American POWs at Odessa were guarded by Russian soldiers carrying loaded rifles with fixed bayonets, and Russian security was more stringent there than German security had been in the various Stalags and Oflags.
This is all the information I was able to find about the role of Odessa in the lives of many American Prisoners of War, but it was interesting to discover a bit of American history involving my own hometown.
Exactly 20 years ago, on July 8th, 1988 I had to report for duty at the local draft station. Several hundred young men gathered in the yard waiting for their fate to be decided by chance and lucky or unlucky circumstances. We all wore old clothes and had backpacks with personal items, we all tried to act brave pretending that this was just another day in our so far mostly care-free lives. In reality, for many of us it was the first day of our adult lives. Most of us have never been separated from our parents for more than a few weeks, many of us never traveled far away from home, we stood there looking like we could care less but our future couldn’t have been any more uncertain.
In the middle of the yard on a desk there were stacks of personal files. Once in a while an officer walked in (they called them “buyers”) with a requisition for a certain number of people and grabbed a handful of files from the top of the stack. That simple act decided where the draftee would spend the next few years: the most unlucky ones were stuck for 3 years in the Navy where being short almost guaranteed a submarine; the others got the Army and shorter guys didn’t fare much better – they were a perfect fit for a tank. In 1988 they were still sending people to Afghanistan, so your file being on top in the wrong time could ultimately decide if you would come home in a zinc coffin. And then there were locations – anywhere from remote posts inside the Arctic Circle, to scorching desert sands; mountains, faraway borders, big cities, resort towns, or somewhere deep in the woods where you’d see people once in 6 months – military was everywhere and all these places needed new “meat”.
My parents didn’t try our “Jewish luck” – a friendly (bribed) officer kept taking my file off the top of the stack until a good buyer showed up. I ended up only a few hundred miles away in the engineering regiment. My parents were happy – I was not too far, I never found out how much money and favors did it cost my Dad. I was happy – I didn’t end up in some horrible dump. “Friendly” officer was happy – he had a reason to celebrate. And the Soviet Army got one of the most worthless soldiers in its history.
That hot day in July of ’88 is still with me. Anxiety and fear long ago faded away but I still remember the buyer grabbing my file from the stack, like a hand of fate grabbing my life and pulling it into a mysterious unknown future.
When I was growing up© every able-bodied male over 18 years old was drafted to serve 2 years in the Army or 3 years in the Navy. Very few people were able to escape the draft based on health and other reasons. Going to college resulted in getting the lowest officer rank but even then a person had to serve some time and if you quit or got kicked out of school, guys in uniform came looking for you without delay. Threat of the military service was probably the single largest stimulus for getting into and staying in college for any male.
