Forgotten Soldier Thoughts

Far Side of Fifty brought this serviceman to my attention towards the end of last year - she found his photograph in an antique shop in Minnesota. It depicts a serviceman in an Army Air Force uniform taken at the Milner Studios in Albuquerque, New Mexico during WWII.

Hoping to learn something about "Peter," I investigated the photographer and found a story interesting, to me, on its own.

"Alabama Milner came to Albuquerque in 1918 with her niece and her children. Milner worked for the photographer William Walton. Algernon Milner, (Alabama's brother) bought the Walton studio in 1919 and turned the business over to his sister who was the primary photographer until her retirement in 1955. Miss Milner captured on film, important history of Albuquerque in her years as one of the city's leading photographers."

On the reverse side of Peter's photograph was this:


Peter J. Stubovage
709 East Mahanoy Avenue
Girardville, Pennsylvania

Being something of a railroad buff, I knew Girardville was created on land purchased by a very wealthy Philadelphian named Stephen Girard. Mr. Girard bought extensive properties in the mountain region of Pennsylvania knowing coal would be found there and soon the Reading Railroad would find its way there.

Today, Girardville is a typical "post" coal mining town in Pennsylvania - parts of it are rather poor and rundown, with housing for the miners that once lived there crowded together within an easy walk of the mines. It was home to John "Black Jack" Kehoe, a member of the Molly Maguires and settled by Irish and later, other immigrant families from Eastern Europe.

Typical of a Pennsylvanian coal mining town, the population soared when the mines were busy in 1910 to perhaps 4,500 people and dissipated to the little over 1,000 souls there now.

So, who was Peter J. Stubavage?

A general search of the Internet tells us this:

Peter J. Stubovage
Date of Birth: 02-Jul-1910
Date of Death: 12-Jun-1971

It tells us he was buried in the St. Vincent and St. Louis Cemetery, Girardville, Pennsylvania and his gravestone says he was a Sargent Army Air Force (AAF) WWII and that others in his family are buried with him - and his father's last name was Scerbavicius. Peter's family name is Lithuanian.

Peter and at least some of his siblings changed their family name from Scerbavicius to Stubovage, presumably after they moved from Budzyliey (near the capital city of Vilnius), Lithuania to America sometime around 1906. Lithuania, territory that Germany, Poland and Russia have disputed for centuries, was under the control of a repressive Russian Czar, Nicholas II at the time Peter's family left.

The 1920 US census taker recorded their name as Stutovage, misspelling Stubovage and making this family all the more difficult to locate.

According to records such as the census and cemetery, we learn that, Peter's father was Dominikas Scerbavicius, and he was born in 1870 in Russia and died in 1956 in Pennsylvania. Peter's mother, Anna was born in 1883, also in Russia, and died in 1948.

Peter had two older brothers, both born in Russia and died in Girardville: Adam Scerbavicius, who was born September 30, 1900 and died June 1968, and Dominic G. (Jr.) Stubovage (ex-Scerbavicius), who was born August 4, 1905. He died in June 1974.

Peter also had an older sister, Marcella Stubovage, who was born March 26, 1907 in Pennsylvania (which tells us when the family immigrated) and died in August 1991. She appears to have never married.

Brother Adam was drafted during WWI. Dominic Jr. appears to have been too young to serve in WWI and too old to have served in WWII.

Peter served in the Army Air Force in WWII and was a Sargent. He appears to have been at the Albuquerque Army Air Base at least long enough to get his picture taken. He may have worked there during the duration - or trained to support bombers there and gone overseas.

Investigating the AAF presence in Albuquerque, we find the Albuquerque Army Air Base was renamed Kirtland Army Air Field in February of 1942.

If you query the Social Security death records database - the only Stubovage's on record are Adam, Dominic, and Marcella. There are no records of any of the siblings ever getting married - or having children. The church they likely attended in Giraldville, which I contacted, has no memory of them.

When the opportunity arose, I drove to the cemetery...



...where I found Peter's father, mother and brother Adam's gravestone...



Nearby and to my left, I spotted a stone with name Stubovage on it...



It is lettered Stubovage...and it is also lettered Scerbavicius too... The stone is shared by Dominic, Marcella, and Peter.



...and then I found Peter's service marker. After I dug it out from under the encroaching sod...



...I learned he served in the 23d Air Depot Group.



Somewhat nonplussed, I then visited the Church that owned the cemetery...



...located on the northern end of Girardville, on a steep road...



...and found no one there. I then decided to drive out the road to Peter's last known address, where I found this:


A fenced in parking lot with no sign of a house. You can imagine my dismay.

Since then, I have done some follow-up research and here is what I found out:

The information available on-line regarding the 23d Air Depot Group isn't really very clear but it appears that Peter may have served in India/China with the 20th Air Force with the 58th Air Bombardment Group (B-29s) stationed in China. The depot group left there and went to West Field, Tinian, Northern Marianas Islands in 1945. Some of the group was sent to the depot complex at Harmon Field, Guam and possibly, some were sent to Okinawa around July 14, 1945.

For a young man born and raised in Girardville, Pennsylvania - this would have been the adventure of a lifetime. Could I find someone that could tell me his story? Did Peter play a small role with the two aircraft that dropped atomic bombs on Japan, flying from Tinian?

Sadly, Peter seems to have had no living relatives, or offspring. He is a truly a Forgotten Old Soldier. Likewise, we don’t know anything about the person that this photo was intended for - Peter's good friend, Arthur. Perhaps he was a fellow serviceman - and like Peter...has been forgotten? Is being forgotten as bad as, or worse than, being an unknown soldier?

It is amazing how an immigrant family from Lithuania entered the coal regions of Pennsylvania, and there were many of them, to find a better life, to serve proudly in our armed forces, have faded away into nearly total obscurity.

I've looked for other members of the 23rd Air Depot Group and have found only a very few and all of the ones I have found, are now deceased. The number of living veterans of WWII is rapidly dwindling.

I'm afraid no one remembers Peter or his family.

I have promised to myself to remember him and the forgotten others on this Memorial Day.

Peter, and all the other servicemen and women of the United States of America, forgotten, unknown or otherwise, I thank you for your service to provide me with very precious Liberty and Freedom.

A Boy and his Dog

Couple weeks ago, about mid-week, my semi-retired Dad called me and said, "I'm going down to the shore today, this is the last week dogs are permitted on the beach until the end of the summer season. Want to come?" I think he forgets I have to go to work during the week sometimes.

Anyway, he drove two hours each way, to spend thirty minutes on the beach with Zoey. I have think he is insane sometimes... but then I got to thinking about the weekend day we went down there around March 20th. The sun was glorious and the sky, a brilliant blue. The ocean water was a cold, clear green and the white sandy beach was mostly deserted (I hate to sound like a hermit, but I prefer it this way).

While I stood in the dunes and watched the waves roll in and out - I spotted a man walking his dog a ways down the beach.


I shouted, "Hey Zoey! Here comes a dog!"

She turned to me and her expression was one of "you talking to me?"


I simply laughed at her, and she stopped and turned to see what I was pointing at.


Her ears perked up when she saw the black lab I was watching... You could almost hear her think, "Oh boy! Here comes some fun!"


"Come on! Come on already!!"


"Woof woof!! ArrRack! Arrf!"*

*I think this means, "Hi! my name is Zoey, what's yours?"

"Whoooooof! bark bark bark yip!"

*I think this means, "My human is a great guy! You like yours?!"


"Wooof! Pant pant pant auuurrrgghh!"*

*Loosely dog-whispered, this means, "(expleted deleted) [trans: gosh darn] leash! Let me go human!"


"Arrrrrwwwwwwwooooo wuf!"*

*"Well, nice to meet you, sort of... sigh."


"Bark! Bark barkety bark arf!"*

*"Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow, That I shall say good night till it be morrow!"

Hmmm... Zoey must be reading William Shakespeare these days...

Lead up to the Memorial Day Weekend

As many of you know, I've been "seeking my roots" this past year or so and my search has turned up some relatives I had no knowledge of even having. Within the confines of my nuclear family, only my father has served in the military, dispensing his ROTC obligation as Captain in the Army between the Korean and Vietnam wars. His father was exempted from the draft in WWII as he was employed manufacturing vital wartime supplies (mostly parts for Navy ships) in the family foundry.

With Memorial Day coming - I wanted to honor the "new" members in my family that served. These are family members ... I never knew.


Great-Uncle James McClurken
Pennsylvania
Cpl, Company D, 34th Infantry, 7th Division
November 5, 1888
March 6, 1958

The best I can tell, my great-uncle served on a "Sanitary Train." These were ambulance trains that were used to move injured soldiers from field hospitals to rear areas for transport back to the states. They were fully equipped and could handle surgery as well as care for the critically wounded.

After the war, my father's mother's father's brother worked for Abbot's Dairy as a chemist, making ice cream.


Cousin Elmer Mousley
U.S. Navy - World War I
October 25, 1897
April 23, 1975

Elmer was an electrician in the Navy during WWI, and he served in Brest, France, and on the US Navy Repair Ship Bridgeport. After the war, he worked for Western Electric, installing automatic telephone switching stations.

---Missing Gravestone*---
Cousin Russell Mousley
April 15, 1893
September 1960

Russell was machine gunner 315th Infantry, 79th Division and was wounded in the Meuse-Argonne offensive that effectively ended WWI. He received a Purple Heart and recovered from his injuries. He became a Philadelphia Committeeman and later a Clerk in the city's Prothonotary Office.

*I've made no progress with getting his headstone (re)placed.

I knew my mother's father, but he died when I was 13 years old. I was at his side with my mother and grandmother - the only family to make it the hospital "in time," and watched him die without waking from a coma-like sleep.


Grandfather John R. Bush
Oct 29, 1896 - March 1974
1M 2/C U.S. Navy
World War I

My mom's father served as a radio-telegraph operator on a destroyer during WWI. A young boy from Calera, Oklahoma, he too sailed to Brest, France and then onwards to Boston, Massachusetts (where he met my grandmother). He got seasick easily and rarely, if ever, got back on a boat after the war. He operated a automobile service garage in Boston until he retired long before I was born.

Tick Tock - Tick Tock

This morning I sit in a quiet office as it sprinkles lightly outside on a gloomy Monday morning. About the only sounds I hear are the tick-tocking of the big clock near the "punch in" station, the soft, but mildly irritating, fan noise from my computer, and the occasional car passing on the wet street. I find myself mentally in another place, however.


Last night, I saw more bad weather was sweeping through the country - centered in the areas already hard hit with flooding and tornadoes. The weather radar image appeared as a nasty red tear, going from Minnesota, south clear to Texas. On the news I heard the names of familiar towns, such as those in Oklahoma where Parsley, Barb and Joan who live and the others in North Dakota, Minnesota, Kansas and perhaps most alarming, Deanna and Julie in Missouri.

People I've never met, and yet, I look forward to hearing from them daily and seeing what they have been up to - and realize the Internet has brought into my world, a special (to me) group of people from all over.

And today, I sit here, a thousand miles away - full of hope they are all unharmed and that they and their families and friends are safe - I scan the news in the many small towns across the heartland of this big, but weather weary country - dreading, in this case, to actually find anything. And I check their blogs for new entries - and wait for the chime that announces "You have new mail" that might bring news from them saying "all is well here".

Tick tock. Tick tock. The wait seems to stretch on...

The End of the World

Recently, I took a train ride from Lansdale, Pennsylvania to Cumberland, Maryland by way of Washington DC.


And while riding on the train into hills of West Virginia, I was thinking... What is the allure of the "End of the World" scenarios? ...and why all the predictions for it?

I mean, most people go through their day-to-day lives assuming that tomorrow will be a lot like today. No shooting flames of fire will come up from cracks in the Earth, the sky won't fall, and the world, most likely, won't end.

But for others, doom and predicting it must have some appeal, or why else would they do it?


The most (in)famous example these days is Harold Camping, a California-based "Christian" radio broadcaster who believes that May 21, 2011, will mark Judgment Day, ushering in five months of torment for the unsaved until the universe finally ends on Oct. 21, 2011.

"It's going to be a wonderful, wonderful day," according to Camping.

Camping has made this prediction before, in 1994 (and was obviously wrong) but the tens of thousands of failed doomsday predictions throughout history are a symptom of some irritation deep under the skin of humankind.

Apparently, the "apocalyptic worldview" is a way of understanding the world. Or at least it is to Lorenzo DiTommaso, a professor of religion at Concordia University in Montreal.


Roundhouse in Martinsburg, West Virginia
According to DiTommaso, the apocalyptic worldview isn't uncommon. People like Camping or Aum Shinrikyo, the Japanese doomsday cult responsible for the sarin gas attacks on a Tokyo subway in 1995, might seem like nutcases. But believe it or not, doomsday appeals to the secular and well-adjusted as well.


What ties these disparate groups together is a sense that the world's problems are too big to solve.

Problems that have become so large they have no solution and people (in general) feel humankind will be unable to solve these problems. For many, using a biblical point of view, God is going to solve them. From other points of view, there has to be some sort of catastrophe.

The apocalyptic worldview springs from a desire to reconcile two conflicting beliefs.

The first is that there is something dreadfully wrong with human existence and on the other hand, there is a sense that there is a higher good or some purpose for existence, a hope for a better future.

According to DiTommaso, viewing the world as a flawed place headed toward some sort of divine "correction" reconciles these two beliefs.


Because believers are certain that their sacred text(s) can never be wrong, failed doomsday predictions only convince them that their own interpretations were in error, opening the door to new predictions. For example, Jehovah Witnesses have predicted and waited for the end in 1914, 1915, 1918, 1920, 1925, 1941, 1975 and 1994.

Historically, those who have predicted doomsday, including the early Christians, have been persecuted and oppressed, so the prospect of a final judgment is, in fact, reassuring and comforting.


The train home arrives in Cumberland, Maryland
To be reassured, however, the end-of-the-worlder has to expect doomsday to come within their limited lifetime — and they have to expect to somehow "survive".

Religious believers usually expect that they'll be among those saved from the torments of an ending world. Secular doomsday-fearers, on the other hand, expect to they will need to fight for their survival as social order and infrastructure are destroyed.


Unlike Camping, these sort of people aren't preparing for the end of the world; they're preparing for TEOTWAWKI, which stands for "the end of the world as we know it." The end might come in the form of an asteroid strike, a giant solar flare, a nuclear attack or economic collapse, but their goal is the same: to be ready for anything.

I guess for them, there will be smug satisfaction in being able to say, "Oh yeah! I'm ready when the bombs go off or the environment collapses or the magnetic poles reverse."


The Potomac River and rocky cliffs at Harper's Ferry, West Virginia
Is the world really so bad that people want to "get off" of it?

Unfortunately, for many, yes it is.

I've seen a bit of the world - and in a lot of places, crushing poverty and no real sense of promise in the future remotely exists - For example, those people packing themselves 200-300 deep into trucks in Guatemala in order to come to the USA had no "hope" in their current existence.

The same conditions prevail in many places - Africa, Indonesia, the Middle East, Afghanistan and the once Fertile Crescent, Haiti, and even in the slums and ghettos of this country.

As a young boy, I saw poor people in Thailand that drank, bathed and brushed their teeth in muddy canals filled with motor boats leaking oil and floating human feces. Their hollow faces looked blankly (but somehow enviously) at the group of people I was with - this scene has forever embedded in my mind - not only how well off the people in the USA are - but how poorly off so many others are...


I'm going to make a prediction here - I don't think the world is coming to an end on May 21, 2011.

The world could become a much better place - if humankind would set aside their petty differences and hatreds - and start working together to re-light the extinguished, or never-lit, dreams of the many people desperate to have a meaning in their lives and place in the world free from violence and fear.

What and where is the dream of mankind? If there is anything that seems "gone from the world" on May 21, 2011, it is this dream of a shiny future for each and everyone of us.

What Happened to Spring?

Twas the night before Summer, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
The swimsuits were hung on the clothesline with care,
In hopes that SpongeBob SquarePants soon would be there.

The OCHAs were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sweet taffy danced in their heads.
And ma in her ‘kini, and I in my speedo,
Had just settled our heads for a short afternoon nap.

When out on the beach there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the couch to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the curtains and threw up the sash.


Orange Cones Playing Chicken - one wearing a belt life preserver

The Coppertone girl's full moon set the sand a'glow
Gave the harsh glare of mid-day to objects below.
When, what I had to share via my blog and phone,
Was a miniature keg, and drunk, loud orange cones.

With his very odd laughter, and his fry cook job,
I knew in a moment it must be SpongeBob.
More rapid than eagles his groupies they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!

"Now Simmons! now, Misses all! New York and Texas!
On, Georgia! Illinois! on Louis-ey and Connie***!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now splash away! Splash away! Splash away all!"

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.
So up to the house-top the groupies they flew,
With the keg full of beer, and SpongeBob SquarePants too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and hawing of each little goof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney SpongeBob SquarePants came with a bound.

He was undressed all but pants, from his waist hung tinfoil,
And his skin was all glistened with sunscreen oil.
A six pack of beer he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler, just opening his pack.


Orange Cones Playing in the Water - Adults watching the wee ones

His eyes-how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose peelin' like scary!
His droll little chin was drawn up like a bow,
And the teeth in his mouth was as white as the snow.

His prized spatula he held tight in his teeth,
And his breath it encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a broad face and a big square belly,
That shook when he laughed, like a fishes of jelly!

He was sunny and bright, a right jolly old soul,
And I laughed when I saw him, quite out of control!
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.


Orange Cones on the Beach - Hey! someone stole my swimsuit!

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And refilled all the empties, then turned with a jerk.
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose!

He drained the rest of the keg, while the cones whistled,
Then away they all went, chests puffed slick and chiseled!
And I heard Bob exclaim, ‘ere he drove out of sight,
"Happy Summer to all, and to all a good-night!"

My apologies to whoever wrote "Twas the Night Before Christmas"...and my thanks to Queenie Jeannie for the Beauty Queens, Lady Styx for the left hand beach towel, ToriZ for the right hand beach towel and little clay cone, Alice Kay for Pooh and Party Cone, DeeDee for the big foam cone, Parsley for Prayer Cone and all of rest of you that put up with me.

:)

*** Gene Simmons, Miss Texas, Miss New York, Miss Illinois, Miss Georgia, Miss Louisiana, and Miss Confusion. I realize I'm a name short.

Kind of MIA

In response to my last entry, where you may recall, a rare Socky Head, possibly in the menancing presence of two Orange Traffic Safety Cones was "safely" standing on shore when we last saw him/her/it.


A Corgi in Southern California asked "How would we know if they were wearing life vests if the life vests were orange?" and that is a durn good question!

I thought about what I've seen in my many walks amongst the "orange folks" and could not distinctly recall a case where I ever saw an orange traffic safety cone actually swimming - wearing a lifevest or otherwise.

I recalled a case where I had seen some orange barrels "swimming with the fishes" (you can read about them here) but I did not know (and still do not know) if they were swimming, dead, or doing something else altogether.

And then, just as I was about to go outside and toss an orange cone into a large puddle (in the interest of furthering my knowledge and science in general, of course), I got this fabulous photograph in an e-mail from photojournalist Farside of Fifty who reports seeing this talented Socky Head taking a swim!


P.s., I'm still tempted to toss a cone - stay tuned. :)

I've leave you with this - something I saw/heard by accident, a song from "How I Met Your Mother" (video) that has been stuck in my head - yes... I think the noise in my head has gone from bad to worse...

Hey, Beaver come on
When you feel alone
Just pick up that phone
And I’ll be there to share my ice cream cone
We’ll lick it side by side
And deep inside you’ll know
Before the day is done

Two beavers are better than one
Da da da da da da da da da da da da
Two beavers are better than one
They’re twice the fun
Ask anyone
A second beaver can be
Second to none
Two beavers are better than one!

Da da da da da (You’re my favorite beaver)
Da da da da da (Space Teens are forever)
Da da da da da (Don’t forget to do your homework)
‘Cuz math’s cool!

We’ll share a root beer float
And learn aboot how friendship weighs
A metric ton

Two beavers are better than one
Da da da da da da da da da da da da
Two beavers are better than one
They’re twice the fun
Ask anyone
A second beaver can be
Second to none
Two beavers are better than one!

Two beavers are better than one!
Two beavers are better than one!
Two beavers are better than one! (Beautiful, beautiful beavers!)

Jerry Lewis or Pete Seeger?

I'm still a zombie.

I got this photograph from new photojournalist Farside of Fifty who reports seeing these two plain orange cones and a Socky Head (last seen in Fargo, North Dakota) getting ready for a swim.


The only thing in my empty head is this (over and over again):

One hen
Two ducks
Three squawking geese
Four Limerick oysters
Five corpulent porpoises
Six pairs of Don Alverso's tweezers
Seven thousand Macedonians in full dress battle array
Eight brass monkeys from the ancient sacred crypts of Egypt
Nine sympathetic apathetic diabetic old men, each with a marked propensity for procrastination and sloth.
Ten lyrical, spherical, diabolical denizens of the deep who swim to and fro about the quo and the quay and the queasy at the very same time
Ten tipsy tailors timidly torturing a terrified tit-mouse.

or is it?

Ten lyrical, spherical, diabolical denizens of the deep who haul, stall, crawl around the about the quai of the quay of the quivvy at the very same time?

...anyhooo...

Eleven corinthian columns careening cautiously, closely contiguous to the covered catacombs of a catholic convent.
Twelve turbulent tom-tits, twittering tumultuously in the top of a tall tamarac tree.
Thirteen thirsty thespians thriftily thumbing through thirty-thousand theological theses.

I've been wondering all morning if I heard Jerry Lewis saying this or Pete Seeger singing it...or heard it from somewhere else...and how to make it stop!

P.s., I like "verse 9" the best - what is your favorite?

Last Weekend in Maryland

It has been a slow week - but for some reason I'm having trouble writing anything. I think left my head in Maryland last Saturday. I took the train from Norristown to Philadelphia, met my Dad and we both headed to Roplh's Wharf to do some minor repairs on the houseboat. While we were there, we spotted our boating friends and said "Happy New Years!" (which it is - its a new boating year just getting underway now).

Barley looks as precious and cute as ever. His Dad was trying to control the "squirmy wormies" long enough for me to get a couple pictures. Barley's Mom, the one-legged marvel, was having a hard time this winter and looks like she will be stuck in the wheelchair this summer. Someone said, "Getting old isn't for sissies..." Boy, was he ever right.

After fixing up a torn decal and some broken plastic vent covers, my Dad and headed to the "main event." The annual Chilifest Fly-in at the Massey Air Museum. There were over 75 planes and perhaps 400 people at the Fly-in. I think they consumed about 25 large crockpots of chili and 300 hotdogs.

I think this plane sported my favorite paint job.

While we ate chili-dogs in the pleasantly warm sunshine, a couple of the aviators put on an impromptu airshow! Zoooooooooooooooooom!

I took a bunch of pictures and a video. I always get a kick out of watching what my camera does to spinning propellers!

As I wandered about the rows of parked planes - I felt someone's eye's on me. This white plane with a yellow strip is not quite what one would imagine a famous WWI flying ace to be flying - but then...

...one really doesn't expect to see a flying doghouse either!