I was a radio-man on a B-17 when we got shot down on the way to Frankfort. That was February 8, 1944. When we got up to Heydekrug the camp was new and we had to make do without much. Our area was all fenced and we were free to roam around. Therewere four stone barracks with an alley between each of them; the rooms had one window and a door opening into the alley. There wasn't much inside but our bunks, a table, and a stone stove. Our room was F-6 and I was still with Clyde Tinker, my crewmate. Vanderveldon was our barracks leader; he had been in the Royal Canadian Air Force (like Frank Paules).
The space between the barracks was pretty wide - maybe 20 or 30 feet, and then it was a long straight shot up towards the latrine. Me and Tink would walk up out of F5 to get our exercise and head down the alley between E and F towards the quadrangle. I know it had to be good 275 ft across because one day I hit a softball over the fence, back behind the latrine of course. That stopped our game for a couple of days until one of the guards got good and ready to go between the wires to get the ball. That's the way things worked in a prison camp.
The main road went back to a ten hole latrine, where the water and hose were. They had showers in there but we only used them twice in six months. You could go in and wash but it was like when I went to elementary school, back in the twenties. There was a short piece of iron pipe coming up about two feet off the ground with a slow trickle - that was for you to drink or wash in. Mind you now, it was winter and there was no hot water. That, you had to make for yourself back up in your barracks.
Mom and Pop sent me some long underwear. They were for me, which I'm over six feet, but I divided them up with my buddy Clyde. Hell, he was about five feet eight inches. So they was a bit long on him. What they sent me was white, so I had to go down to that old pipe and at least try to rinse them out now and again. I hated to do it, but I had to. That Tinker! I can't recollect if he ever did wash his; I know I threatened to write home about him!
In the morning we'd have to fall out for appell and they'd line us up for the count. There were times when the weather was good and we'd try to screw the Germans up on the count. But really, it didn't always work to our advantage. One of their favorite tricks was to get us alloutside and say: "Well - we're going to have to leave you here." So we'd stay out there for a good couple of hours and it was colder than Hell by the time they came back.
One time, this PW set us up. There was a little guard house out where the goons would stay and they'd come back with their counts. Somebody sneaked in there and stole their picture of Adolf and threw it in the latrine. That made people laugh. To me it was senseless... you wasn't proving anything. Actually the only thing you was going to do was get a lot of guys hurt. When the goons found it floating in the back of the latrine, we had to stand outside in that awful cold.
When rations got passed out, there wasn't much to it. The Germans came around with these bread wagons, passed the stuff out and it would be only so many loaves into each barracks.
Then someone would figure out how many are you and start to divide it up. Sawdust bread it was, although up at Heydekrug it had some barley in it. The most you'd get at any one time would be about one sixth of a loaf. It might have been good for you, if you had something to go along with that. For us it was Kohlrabies or Kartofelin (potatoes). What really got you was that they issued the biggest damn spoon! Hell, one good spoonful and you was done with your ration. I always thought: "Look at that spoon. Maybe they're going to give us something to eat!"
There were trees outside the compound and when you was taking your walk, you might look out there and think about better times. As it was, we had to get our own programs going with the little that we had. There was supposed to be a garden ( but I don't think I ever ate anything from it). As you walked up towards the quadrangle, there was a shanty they used for a "Gym" or if they wanted to have some kind of church service.
In the summer, Padre Jackson would stop by pretty regular. He was the English Chaplain and he'd say: "Anyone who wants to come to church today, just come around and meet me by the barracks." We'd sit on the ground and listen to him talk. It would pick up your spirits, because those English had been in the can for years already. He'd got captured early in the war and had the privilege of going home. He gave that up to stay with the PW. It seems that earlier on, he'd got in trouble for stealing a loaf of bread, and had been prosecuted for it. In some way that led him to being a Padre!
We tried to do what we could to keep up our morale. There were guys taking classes, they put on plays. We organized a Sports League. The Camp paper wrote it up like it's really something; but people shouldn't think we had all that much going. There were some good athletes there, like Barker and Hamm and Pappas, and Augie Donnatelli, (He went on to become the head National League Umpire in the Big Leagues). But you've got to keep this thing in perspective. We remember these games fondly. But is was just to have something to focus on in the middle of all this misery.
When we first got up to Heydekrug, there were a lot of nights when you'd think to yourself: "I might be here for the rest of my life. I might easily be here!" We was down before D-Day, and there weren't even Allies on the Continent. We were up at the far end of things, too! I don't know how we could think it would be over soon, when France was still occupied, and there were Germans everywhere. So, you get to thinking: "I don't want to spend my life being cooped up."
That's how I got hooked up with Sandy Cerneglia. He was a tough little Italian guy from down in New Jersey and he was forever cooking up schemes. We'd talk it over and he'd say "Kirby, I gotta get out of here. I've got to get our of here." There wasn't any situation we was in, that he couldn't see some way to "Get outta here." Up at Luft 6, on the boat over to Stettin, behind the wire at Kiefeheide - he was always on the lookout for an opportunity; and it finally came, when we were on the road in February. Sandy was a guy who couldn't stand being cooped up, and I happened to go along with him. There's guys who said: "I'm going to stay right here and do everything they say. And I'm going to get home." I can understand that, but it kept our morale up, to think about escaping.
Sports was my thing. Aside from football and baseball, one of the biggest sporting events were the boxing matches. This led up to the grand finale. It was the Americans against the British and Canadians. Now, heading up the alley toward the quadrangle was this shanty. That's where we trained. There was no heat, no light and just a bare wood floor. The only way you kept warm was to just go at it; and as far as the thing to hit, why it was just a sack full of rags and sand. There was no light bag to work out with and that meant you just stood there and plowed into it.
Steve Swidirski was "the Bearded Marvel" and he's the one who helped me learn to fight.Steve had won the AAU Golden Belt and was the guy with the winning record, on our side of the fence. He wanted to work out with a bigger guy. I wasn't that good, but with his help, I was getting to where I could pick my spots. Instead of having to swing so many times, I cut down on my punches and I learned combinations. My brothers (back in Columbus, Ohio) were a bunch of tough Irish kids, and they first taught me how to jab. That's what gave me a shot at this business. Now the fellows here were saying: "We'll show you how to make a series of punches; a jab, a right cross and then come back with a left hook." Well, doing it everyday and not having any distractions, it started to come naturally. In three months, I could cross that right, and buddy when it hit, it hit.
We were up in the shanty and sparring. Steve ducked down to get away from my body punch ...when boom! I socked him with my right hand. There he went, his butt bounced around a couple of times. We looked at each other and I stood there said, "Well - I didn't know that was going to happen!" Boy, when you know you can do these things you get that much more confidence. Of course, I didn't know what I was going to face.
Gene Boisevert was French Canadian. He was big. He'd gone through all the elimination fights and had everybody convinced that he was the best. Gene was going to be my big test. My good buddy Clyde Tinker had been watching me and he drags me over to the promoter of thesefights, George Pratt, winner of the gold belt in 1937. Old Tink says to him "Kirby can lick him". So they said to me: "Go in there and try it." Well, as big as he was, if he hit you as hard as he could, it wouldn't hurt you. So I moved into the finals.
The boxing ring was out on the edge of the quadrangle, over near the fence, so that the English could see it as well as the Americans. They had seats out there all around the ring and there were rows of Germans watching us; they got a kick out of the whole thing. Boy, it was a beautiful hot day, and everybody was out there hooting for "American Day".
I felt some jitters because I realized that good many of the fellows in the barracks had betfood and cigarettes on our fights. I would venture to say that most of 'em was betting on the Bearded Marvel because of the fact that they knew what he could do. Steve Swidirski was facing an Englishman named Tracey, who was good. Fact is, he floored Steve right away to start the fight, but couldn't go the distance. He told us: " I don't know how I got up, because Tracey could hit! I just knew I had to get back in there and win it."
I was facing "Aussie Perry" and I was questionable. Folks was almost sure that Perry was going to take me. He'd been around long enough to fight everyone and he'd won every match. We were betting the English we could beat them and there was a lot on the line. When they were ready to begin the heavyweight fight, they called us both into the middle of the ring and said: "OK - Touch gloves and come out fighting. When I put my glove out there, he hit me! Boom! Instead of shaking hands.... Boom! Well, Brother that's exactly what I needed! It made me mad. He shouldn't have done that,because before that I was just going to have a boxing match. Once I got going, I found out the guy didn't like it at all when he was on the receiving end of things. I can tell you, it felt good to win, that day!
