Feel the rhythm, feel the rhyme. Wait a sec, it's Bobsled time?

Our first anniversary is upon us. We're heading northwest with the comfort of warm memories from a year gone by. We've both put in a full days work on Thursday and are anxious to get on the road. Lake Placid is a five and a half hour drive from Boston which is why we decided to stay the night in Saratoga Springs at a cheap hotel (Marriott, of course. It's hard for us to turn down the points).

Wouldn't luck have it, I married the best vacation planner I've ever met. Knowing that I'm in the presence of greatness does not grant me access to the days agenda. I'm told that I will learn of the days plan over breakfast each morning. Today (Friday), starts with an early bakery breakfast at Mrs. London's in downtown Saratoga Springs.

In addition to superb vacation planning skills, wifey is a sophisticated gas pedal maverick. The remaining 2 hour drive to Lake Placid went by quickly. It was just after noon when we arrived at the Lake Placid Lodge. We are both pleasantly surprised with the room, amenities, and especially the service. Over the years, we've both become service snobs... It turns out that Wifey was corresponding with Nancy, a manager at LPL. When we arrived, Nancy poured us a glass of champagne. While our bags were being sent to our room, Nancy sent us on a guided tour of the Lodge and grounds.

After lunch, our next appointment was at the 1932 Olympic Bobsled track (one of approximately 30 functioning tracks in the world). And yes, we went bobsledding! During the summer, the track melts down to reveal it's concrete finish and the sleds are outfitted with wheels. Concrete is slower than ice BUT all of the safety equipment makes the sled twice as heavy as an Olympic bobsled. The net effect is that we speed down the track at the same rate as an Olympic bobsledder. Our time down the track was 42 seconds. How many Cool Running quotes can you repeat in 42 seconds? There is one minor difference though...we only raced the bottom half mile of the track. While we broke 50 mph and pulled multiple G's in the last turn...it's still only a fraction of the effects of racing the full mile track on ice.

Our Olympic Passports are an integral part of our weekend in Lake Placid; they give us access to most of the Olympic venues. Friday afternoon was filled with visits to the biathlon shooting range and ski jump towers. The towers are a prominent artifact in the surrounding skyline. Viewed at a distance, they rise above the peeks in a painfully artificial way. At the base of the jump, the two towers appear equally menacing. We board the ski lift and begin our quiet assent to the top of the hill. The final 120 meters to the top of the ski jump is a squeaky elevator ride in the belly of the beast. At the top of the tower we learned quite a few things about ski jumping. First you're REALLY up there. It takes about 10-12 seconds to reach the bottom of the jump (which would be precisely the wrong time to realize the potential for certain doom). The starting platform on the jump is totally adjustable; based on temperature and other weather factors, the platform is raised or lowered so that the jumpers speed at takeoff is 60 mph (or something like that). We also learned that training can continue during the non-snowy months. The long artificial grass on the jump acts just like snow when wet. In fact, a competition is scheduled for later this weekend. For now, my top priority is escaping the howling wind and creeky tower. It looks like a 1970's construction project up here.

Friday is our busiest day. For dinner we're eating at the LPL restaurant, Artisans. Everything in LPL is built by a skilled artisan, so why not start naming stuff accordingly? Nancy sent us a glass of champagne to help celebrate our anniversary. Any time wifey and I get anything complimentary, we slip into spend mode. To return the favor, we spent over $300 on wine. You're welcome.

As Friday comes to a close, all is well. We're scheduled to go fly fishing early tomorrow AM. We'll have to see if the weather will cooperate. For now, it's time for a cigar, the remainder of the wine, and a great view overlooking the still of Lake Placid.

Preakness, baby. Preakness.

And thus, Wifey and I received an introduction to horse betting. Wifey bet on Sway Away to show and I picked Concealed Identity to win. Outcome? 12^th and 9^th respectively. -$80. Dang. The weather more than compensated!

OK…maybe it was a bit warm for a couple of yuppy Bostonians, but the previous 10 days brought rain, rain, and rain. So we were content. Our tickets were complimentary (thanks, dad)! Despite dad's warnings of the 'Soddom and Gomorrah' atmosphere, we happily accepted the tickets to the Preakness infield.

Infield attendees miss some of the days pageantry but gain access to a wide variety of extracurricular activity (more on that later). We opted to set up camp in a quiet patch of the infield along the backstretch. We had front row seats for all of the days races, a great visual on the main stage, only a short walk to the cleanest port-a-potties, and an even shorter walk to the free sodas (I heart Pepsi).

There were 13 races on the schedule. The Preakness was #12. In my opinion, this was brilliant planning on behalf of the organizers. The 100k person crowd descends upon the exit tunnel at intervals; some leave before the Preakness race, some leave immediately following the big race, some leave after #13, and still others stick around for the late entertainment.

Speaking of entertainment, the spectators are 50% of the show. By the time 4p rolled around, the most ambitious spectators were being escorted to the exits (by stretcher), wanderers started to separate from their herds, and the sun/alcohol combination was otherwise winning the battle.

One of our pleasant surprises was that of the commute and parking options. It couldn't have taken us more than 25 minutes to get there (or back) from dad's house. We quickly found side street parking for only $20. The funny thing was that the side street parking is actually public and free! The homeowners have learned that they can make some $ if they block-off the roads with their children and only "allow" cars that fork over the cash. The only downside is that you have to worry about the health and welfare of your car during the ENTIRE event.

As with every trip to MD, the greatest joy is catching-up with the Fam. Dad's hospitality was top notch (e.g. steak and crab cakes on Saturday night) and accommodating (e.g. an extra/unexpected 6a trip to BWI on Saturday morning).

May 1st, 2011

It was close to midnight last night when we heard the news: Osama bin Laden.  Dead.  Killed by US military forces. It's difficult to be exuberant about another human beings death, but I imagine this is the closest I'll come.

I still remember September 11, 2011.  I was in college and preparing to head out the door of Flippo 1 (Marshal, Matson, Wes, and my on-campus apartment).  I left for class before either tower collapsed - not fully comprehending the gravity of the situation.  Later that day, I can remember the F-15s that flew over Ashland as they patrolled the DC sky.  I remember wanting to contact my family.  I remember all of the phone networks being overloaded to the point that no one could complete a call.  I remember classes being canceled.  I remember the ensuing vigils.  I remember the additional security precautions on campus.  I remember the American flags hanging from dorm rooms, homes, and academic buildings.

There's no doubt that this event had a tremendous impact on me, my life, my generation, and my views of the world.  I am fortunate that no one within 'one degree of separation' from me was harmed that day.  To a certain degree, it feels like cheating the most unfortunate outcome.

Upon hearing the news of OBL, I too feel a sense of vindication.  However, I'm disappointed at the reaction that I've seen repeated on Facebook, in Boston, and on TV.  For some reason, watching the college students of today (who ranged from age 8-12 on 9/11/01) react by cheering, dancing, and otherwise partying in the streets doesn't feel like a fitting reaction.  To me, the hoards in the streets resemble propaganda; to be used to our detriment in the future.  Not to say that we shouldn't rejoice for claiming enemy #1, but I prefer a repeat of the days following 9/11 when the houses with American flags greatly outnumber those without.

Visiting the “North Country”

Excluding a bachelor party in Manchester and a night out on the town of Nashua, each of my trips to New Hampshire have been on account of work. Prior to this trip, I really didn't know anything about NH. For example, did you know that the IMF was signed into existence at the Mount Washington Hotel in Bretton Woods, NH? ...me neither. Despite the border being located only 35 minutes north, all of my preconceptions were based on the state motto, "Live free or DIE," and an old girlfriend. In other words, I didn't hold New Hampshire in very high regard.

Ali and I spent last weekend in the aforementioned Bretton Woods...and loved it! We drove up early Saturday morning so that we'd be sure to have enough time to check-in and find our way to the afternoon's activities. New Hampshire is not a very populated area. According to this, there are 41 more populous states than NH (which leaves a lot of room for trees, mountains, and moose). The winter setting makes for a very scenic drive through the 'shire. Route 93 winds through the Presidential Range of the White Mountains. The drive through Franconia Notch is enough to put anyone in the mood to hug a few trees. In fact, I've been growing a beard ever since arriving in BW. Unfortunately, these photos don't do a good job of capturing scale.

We stayed at the Mount Washington Hotel. The good thing about wifey's travel schedule are the rewards programs. Oh, the rewards.  Because of Ali's Omni status, the room didn't cost us a dime. On the other hand, the hotel cost a lot of dimes to construct: it was opened in 1900 and carried a $1.7M price tag. In an (un)fortunate twist of fate, it was later purchased in 1944 for less than half a million dollars. Ouch. Our room looked out towards Mount Washington and had a great view of the storm that rolled in around dinner time.

By the time the storm closed in on us, Ali and I had already expired the front end of our Zip 'n' Ski package. The zip lines were a lot of fun and gave us even more spectacular views. We never did use the backend of the Zip 'n' Ski. The weather kinda sucked on Sunday morning so we traded up to the Zip 'n' Spa package. Ne refrets here. I'm slowly coming to terms with the reality that I might not be a skier.

Here are two other things that are surprising prominent in New Hampshire: snow mobiles and Subaru's. Did you ever wonder how Subaru stays in business? …New Hampshire. Be sure to check-out the other pictures (link on the left side) from our trip to the North Country.

Side Note: Do you're damn thing, Ray.

Side Note: Congratulation to Ali for winning an iPad at work! Consensus…underwhelming.

Our Bomber Boy

I've been fortunate to find a lot of information about Granddad's service during World War II. I've found so much information that I'm a bit overwhelmed and happy to finally commit it to written word.

As the US entered the war, there was an intense debate about the ability of heavy bombers. The outcome produced a dangerous over-confidence: heavily-armed bombers on daylight precision bombing missions could penetrate any defense without the support of long-range escort fighters. Unfortunately for thousands and thousands of men this assertion was wildly incorrect.

US Bomber aircraft, left to their own defenses, were easy targets for flack gunners and the German Messerschmitts. Knowing the likelihood of not returning to base from any one mission was understandably debilitating for the bomber crews. As morale became a larger issue, the USAAF leadership instated a 25 mission rule: once an airmen flew 25 combat missions, he was cleared to go home. The number was later raised to 30 and then 35.

I mention this because Mom requested and recieved Granddad's official military record from the Gov. I don't think we were expecting full disclosure (which is good, because we didn't get it) but we did learn that Granddad flew 31 combat missions (!) during the bloodiest period of the war for American heavy bombers. I'll have to double check the dates on those changes…conceivably; granddad was in overtime when he was shot down!?

I never thought the key that would unlock the most information about WWII Granddad was his plane. Granddad was a Navigator aboard B-17 aircraft #41-24352.   Navigators were officers which made Granddad a Lieutenant and third in command aboard his aircraft.  The B-17F Flying Fortress was assigned and delivered to granddad and crew (a.k.a. the 352^nd squadron of the 301^st bombardment group of the 8th Air Force) at RAF Chelveston in July, 1942.  Granddad flew his first 5 missions with the 8th Air Force.

 

The relationship between crew and plane didn't start out so well. In August, '42 aircraft #41-24352 made an emergency landing at an unfinished Earls Colne Airfield in Essex, England.  Be sure to check-out the Wikipedia link for Earls Colne. In the last paragraph of the Origins section, look for Granddad's plane #. J Fortunately, the relationship later improved.

Matthew found how aircraft #41-24352 eventually became the Holey Joe.  The story below and the location of Earls Colne seem to make sense.  Dover, England is 70 miles Southeast of Essex, England.

"The plane earned its nickname during a raid on Lille, after which the bomber had to make an emergency landing at an airstrip near the Cliffs of Dover with two dead engines and two wounded crew. After surveying the damage their ship had absorbed, one of the crew exclaimed, "Holey Joe!" The name stuck."

In the following picture, A is Essex; B is Dover; and C is Lille.  Other crews flew the Holey Joe but the primary crew was granddad and team.

301bg.com is a website that does a better job of documenting the history of the 301^st Bomb Group than any other source. The site has details about many of the missions flown by the group. I was able to find flight information for three of granddad's combat missions. How's this for surreal? 1, 2, 3. Or:

  

It looks like his regular crew consisted of James Hair (Pilot), Lonnie Miers (Co-Pilot), Emmet Cook (Bombardier), Louis Patriquin, William Garratt, Woolsey, Robert Doremus, Andrew Seaman, and Douglas Upton.  We understand that Granddad and Emmet were close friends.

In November, 1942 Granddad and crew were transferred to North Africa to join Operation Torch under the command of General Doolittle.  On March 22, 1943, Granddad's 26th birthday, the day's target was the harbor at Palermo, Italy.  On that day the Holey Joe had been grounded due to mechanical problems. Instead, they were flying Junior, a newer plane that had been assigned only one month earlier to the squadron based at Ain M'Lila Airfield in Algeria.

At top speed, the B-17F moved just about 300 miles per hour.  Palermo is 401 miles from Ain M'Lila.  Once unleashed, it would have taken Junior and crew certainly no more than 90 minutes to reach their destination.

I wonder if the crew celebrated birthdays?  Probably.  Had they hit the bars the night before? Probably not.  Were they planning an extra celebration for that night? I don't think bomber boys planned beyond the next mission.  Did anyone say, "Happy Birthday, Yonych, we got you a new plane?"

During the raid, Junior was hit by flack and broke apart.  Granddad never talked about it. Any of it. We found a couple of descriptions from Emmet Cook's family members. Here's the first one:

"I was shot down on my 32nd mission, over Palermo, Sicily," Emmet said. "We were hit by flak between the number 2 engine and the fuselage and the fuel tank caught fire. I pulled the emergency release cable that was supposed to pull out the lower hatch door's hinge pins, but it wouldn't budge. I then released the regular latch and stood on the door, trying to use my weight to push it open and I got it open, but because of the force of the slipstream, it didn't open far enough for me to get out. At that moment, the wing burned off and the plane went into a spin. I was pinned against the deck and the plane exploded and I found myself out in the air. Five of the crew didn't make it out."

And the second one:

The day's mission was a raid on the harbor at Palermo Italy. Emmet said, "Our crew was with the 352d Squadron of the 301st Bomb Group flying out of North Africa. [The raid] on shipping at the Palermo, Sicily Harbor...was my 32nd mission. Several ammo ships were blown out of the harbor."

Junior and several of her crew would not survive the raid on Palermo. The B-17 was hit by flak. The bomber's left wing caught fire and eventually tore-off, sending the plane into a spin. Five men including the pilot, co-pilot, engineer, radio operator and ball turret gunner were trapped and perished in the crash.

Both Emmet and Granddad were captured after being shot down and detained by the Germans at Stalag Luft III in Zagan, Poland. He was held captive for over two years.

Mom says that Granddad didn't directly participate in the great escape, but he did contribute bed slats that were used to reinforce the tunnels.  These pictures were taken approximately one month after being shot down and captured. They came from the second link of Emmet's above. Can you see Granddad?

…answer: he's on the far right in the first picture. Emmet is on the far left. I'm the only one that thinks he's in the second picture: fourth person from the right with his hands on hips.  As a sidenote, I've learned that Stalag Luft III is probably less than 500 miles from the birthplaces of both Granddad's parents.

On January 27, 1945, the Allied forces were closing-in on Stalag Luft III and Hitler ordered that those detainees be moved to Moosburg. They were moved by foot over 80 miles during a blizzard before being loaded onto trains for the remainder of journey. The trip took over a week. ...one of many horrible memories that Granddad bared silently.  Granddad and the other POWs were eventually liberated by General George S. Patton (Granddad was proud of this).  Among other medals, he was awarded the Air Medal and Oak Leaf Cluster.


EDIT: I got a comment from Aunt Gerry this afternoon that I'd like to attach to this post:

DAVID - didn't know writing/blogging was one of your many talents!!! Really enjoyed reading about your research on the Yonyches - the crew records show two other friends of Grandad and Grammy (she met them at the POW reunions) - Doug Upton and Ned Woolsey. Also - Grandad did know that Mama and Papa came from towns that were "close" to each other so although 100 miles sounds far to me - he thought it interesting that they could have met back in the old country (possibly) if they hadn't migrated to the USA. Thanks for researching & sharing with us all. Love you! Gerry

Just for the record, I have a remarkably short list of talents.  Thank you for the comment and the contribution!  ...without some reaction from my readers(?), blogging feels awefully lonesome.

Wasyl & Maria

Following Granddad's funeral, I came home with a newfound interest in my genealogy. A few clicks around Ancestry.com only fueled my fascination. It didn't take long before I had completed the family tree to the level of my immediate great grandparents. In total, I've gone back as far as 1812 on my father's side. On my mother's side, I'm limited by the families' more recent immigration to the US. Nonetheless, I can track my lineage through my mom back to the second half of the 1800's.

Considering the source of this interest, it's no surprise that I shortly found my way into one of the thickest books I've ever read, Masters of the Air by Donald Miller. Certainly a healthy dose of appreciation is due to both Miller and Ancestry.com. Then again, I pay for both…so let's call it even.

I didn't know very much about pre D-day (David-day) Granddad Yonych: farm hand, navigator, POW, swimmer, won't go to bed hungry, rumors of a legendary temper (although I was never in his crosshairs), married for life, and only a handful of other things. Enter Ancestry.com…

Born in 1917, Granddad was one of 5 siblings born to Wasyl Janecz and Maria Sobecka. Wasyl and Maria immigrated from Central Europe to the US. Wasyl arrived in New York on August 6, 1913 from Cuxhaven, Germany at age 28. Maria arrived in New York on May 31, 1914 from Hamburg, Austria at age 19.  During this period, the geo-politicol temperature of the region was certainly "hot".  Archduke Franz Ferdinand was assassinated on June 28, 1914 officially signalling the start of World War I.  I can imagine that inhabitants of the region could sense the build-up of tension.  I wonder if Maria and Wasyl were fleeing the region to escape the impending doom?

On May 21^st, 1914 Maria Sobecka departed Hamburg, Germany aboard the Kaiserin Auguste Victoria. Her hometown is listed as Litowicz, Austria. However, my intelligence team tells me that is incorrect.  Maria was born in Brody, Ukraine.  Hamburg is 820 miles away from Brody which is 560 miles away from Stalag Luft III. Traveling in fourth class, steerage, she arrived at Ellis Island ten days later. Here is her passenger record from the Ellis Island Foundation. This is a useful reference because you can clearly see her arrival information and the ship manifest. Maria was single when she arrived. She lists 'agricultural day laborer' as her occupation on the Hamburg Passenger Lists of 1850-1934. Here's a picture on file of the Kaiserin Auguste Victoria. The ship was later the subject of an unfortunate retirement in approximately 1930. Lots more pictures and information about this ship can be found by searching for ship Kaiserin Auguste Victoria.

The New York Passenger Lists, 1820 – 1957 shows that Maria was detained upon entry to the US. This was fairly common for women traveling without men. "These women could not be admitted without assurance that someone would care for and protect them." The record shows that she was detained with her cousin (Tekla Bojoun) for a short period of time. Comparing the number of meals served to Tekla and Maria makes me think that Tekla was detained for a slightly longer period than Maria. Alternately, she might have lost her appetite or been ill…your guess is as good as mine. As best I can determine, they were only detained for one night:

1. Tekla was served only one dinner and one breakfast
2. I've seen both 5/6 and 5/7 recorded as Maria's date of arrival at Ellis Island.  Perhaps Maria arrived on 5/6 and cleared immigration on 5/7.

On the other hand, perhaps it's just a convenient reconciliation. At the end of the day, both Maria and Tekla were en route to Maria's sister, Anna Sobecka. Anna's, address is listed as 128 Ridge St, New York, NY. Interestingly enough, mom recalls that Granddad grew up on Ridge Street. Presumably, Wasyl and Maria settled within walking distance of one another. I don't know for certain, but this might be the building where Granddad spent some (or most) of his childhood. Here's what it looks like today.

Wasyl Janecz boarded the Imperator in Cuxhaven, Germany on July 30, 1913. The manifest shows Wasyl's hometown to be Rameuka (?).  However, Granddad has gone on record saying that Wasyl was born in Rava-Russkaya.  Based on Granddad's testimony, Wasyl and Maria were born only 100 miles apart.  Like Maria and Tekla, Wasyl passed through Ellis Island. His passenger records can be found here. Wasyl was one of the first passengers aboard the Imperator. Its maiden voyage was June 20, 1913. More images of the ship, interior and exterior, can be found here.

The ships manifest, New York Passenger Lists, 1820-1957, shows that he traveled in the steerage class, was in good health, 5' 6" tall, arrived with $45, and was…married? But married to whom? Let the scandal begin! J I've found two sources that say Wasyl was married upon arrival at Ellis Island: The New York Passenger List and the Ellis Island Passenger Record.

Here's where it gets even more interesting. In this image from the aforementioned manifest; what do those two highlighted words say? Is the first word wife? And is the second word Tekla? Could the third word on the same line be the (in)correct or alternate spelling for Boujon?

Whatever the mystery, it'll remain secret now. I can't find any more information about Tekla and the 1930 US Census shows that Mary and William married and are the parents of granddad. I also see that, by 1930, Wasyl and Maria did their best to Americanize themselves: Wasyl became William and Janecz became Yonych.

***** Update - 6/29/2012 *****

While I was on Ellis Island, the folks in the library straightened me out (a little bit).  Turns out that the writer just got the lines mixed-up.  They wrote Wasyl's information on the entry above and vice versa.

The column header reads, "The name and complete address of the nearest relative or friend in country from whence alien came."  For Wasyl, the information reads, "brother: Alecksy Janecz, Rameuka."  The passengers name that is listed above Wasyl reads Nikolay Bochauka.  Presumably, this is the husband of Tekla (the woman who Maria was traveling with).

Boston in Winter

And just like that, winter has arrived.

Part of the fun of living in Boston is getting to know the city.  I learned a few things about Boston over the last couple of days.

1. Boston roads get WAY more love from the plows than any road in the burbs. 
2. if you are an out-of-towner or don't own ice skates, then you visit the frog pond (in all of its glory) during operating hours.  BUT, if you're a true Bostonian, then you own your skates (duh) and, once the sun goes down, you head over to the pond at the Public Gardens to skate on the naturally chilled ice.
3. the snow cloud layer traps the light from the city.  Nighttime during a snow storm is curiously bright.
4. the snow absorbs a lot of the Boston noise leaving making room for sounds that are typically drowned out.  That's nothing new...but, the only consistent sound through the Boston streets was the sound of the blizzardy winds hitting and deflecting around the John Hancock Tower.  It was like a passenger jet heard from the same distance.  ...really kinda spooky.  You can't help but hope the engineers designed for blizzardy wind loads.