72 years ago, on Friday the 13th of April, the 743rd Tank Battalion overran the train near Magdeburg, Germany. Shortly  thereafter, other attached units of the 30th Infantry Division, notably the 105th Medical Detachment and the 823rd Tank Destroyer Battalion, also arrived at the liberation site and immediately set to work trying to handle this unexpected encounter. The account of T4 Wilson Rice as he reports on the disposition of the survivors and the soldiers in this combat zone is revealing. 

The following is an extract of more detailed information that is from the 30^th Inf. Div. G-2 Report, 17 April 1945, about the concentration camp train:

CONCENTRATION CAMP TRAIN

On  13-14 April, 1945 troops of the 823^rd Tank Destroyer Battalion, moving into billets in the town of Farsleben, discovered that the normal population of 500 in the town, had been augmented by approximately 2,500 persons crammed onto a prison train of 45 cars, most of them freight wagons, which had been standing in the station for two days.  Conditions on the train were frightful.  It was critically overcrowded, and filthy almost beyond description, particularly in view of the lack of sanitary facilities. Nineteen persons had already been stricken with typhus and six more were already dead of the disease.  No food had been received for three days, and those who still had the strength, were almost dangerously ravenous, some swarming into the local bakery to lick up the raw flour.

“WATER, WATER!” Ervin Abadi. Completed at Hillersleben DP camp, May, 1945. Soldier Monroe Williams collection.

The commanding officer of the 823^rd T.D. Bn immediately ordered the Burgomeister to provide food for the train’s passengers by the slaughtering of cattle and sheep, and the all night operation of the town’s two bakeries, and to provide housing by the community.  These arrangements were confirmed by the Military Government, which later moved the group to barracks in Neuhaldensleben.

Interrogation of 20 of the passengers revealed that they were Jews and some other political prisoners who had been confined in the Bergen-Belsen Concentration Camp located near Celle, Province of Hannover.  This section of Bergen-Belsen was believed to be the only camp set up exclusively for Jews, and was termed as a stopover to Camp xxx. The prisoners were supposed to be used in exchange for German citizens through neutral countries.

On 7 April 1945, the entire exchange group of Jews was suddenly alerted and bundled into the train which wound up on the Farsleben siding.  The train left 8 April and was said to be bound for Theresienstadt, in the Sudetenland.  The train was halted at Farsleben because of the advances of our troops; before the guards and crew abandoned it, the prisoners were told to cross the Elbe River on foot.

[Hauptmann Schlegel, the train commander] estimated that 15,000 persons had died at the camp during his stay there, out of a constantly changing population of about 40,000, attributing the deaths to typhus and typhoid, both of which were frequent, rather than to deliberate starvation.  He said he knew of two as doctors and a “number” of civilian doctors at the camp.  On the train, he stated, there were three civilian doctors.  Five persons died while enroute.  He believed that the 33,000 prisoners outside the stop-over camp at Bergen-Belsen, were about equally political and criminal cases.

A kapo inflicts a beating at Bergen-Belsen. Ervin Abadi. Completed at Hillersleben DP camp, May, 1945. Soldier Monroe Williams collection.

A PW [prisoner of war] stated that the camp was run by two officers of the Totenkopf  Verbande, SS/Hauptsturmfuhrer (Capt.) Kramer and SS/Untersturmfuhrer (Lt.) Klipp.  His own attitude was one of hand-washing apathy.  He was not responsible for what went on, was just a pawn–and if he was bothered by some of the things that went on, no one knows about it.

This is one of the many stories of the Nazi’s organized cruelty of the German model of total warfare.  Two other suspects of the case which certainly will affect the task of Military Government, which will face many of the units now devoted to fighting, were developed at Farsleben.  The first in the report by many of the prisoners, that the inhabitants of the town were very friendly when the train first stopped there –because they expected the hourly arrival of the U.S. Troops.  Later, when our failure to arrive aroused some doubts, the populace reverted to hostility and contempt.  Our troops, when they did arrive, however, found the citizenry of Farsleben most eager to be of help to the prisoners.  The second observation was made by Military Government Officers, after the prisoners had been fed and deloused and after beds and clean bed-clothes had been set up for them in barns and other buildings. The set up looked beautiful, but only for a short time.  The personal standards of cleanliness of many members of the group were bad, and some even went so far as to defecate on the floor of their living quarters.  This rehabilitation for many of the victims of Hitler’s Europe, must mean far more than mere relocation and provision of adequate food and quarters, which itself is no great problem.  True rehabilitation must provide for even so fundamental a thing as a sense of physical decency, for a large number of those who have been treated have lived for years as animals.

Casualties to date:                              Division                      24,778

Civilian                                        974

Enemy                           2,100

Other Units                   3,628

31,480

Read Full Post »

Three months ago I got up early, fired up the computer, and typed out the letter that has been in the way back part of my mind for a while. At the end of this school year, I will have served thirty years in public education at my own alma mater, and over a year at St. Mary’s Academy, the Catholic school a town over.

Passport photo for class trip to Spain, Summer 1977. 30 of us, peaking on hormones, were there a whole MONTH. God bless our chaperones…Mr. and Mrs Borys and Miss Schiavetti….

But in reality, I started here a long, long time ago. I don’t really recall tons from high school, but I well remember getting off the bus, scared, as an incoming ninth grader, and asking a neighborhood kid how to find my locker. He mercifully steered me in the right direction, and somehow I navigated through the labyrinth of this mystifying and terrifying place called high school; with the help of exceptional teachers, and a small circle of friends, in a snap of the fingers I found myself as a young man at age 18 longing to leave this community.

I’ve written before about my stinging teenage words to my father, when he asked about my plans for the future…  ‘I’m leaving this town, I don’t know what I want to do, but I do know I am NOT going to become a teacher, like you’—a passing shot before I headed off to college a few hundred miles away. Later, at 26, after several independent years on my own, I was paying him a token in rent, and driving his old car around town. And I was a teacher, a high school teacher like him, and wait—oh, yes—teaching the exact same subject that he had been teaching for thirty years, world history. Even the young can’t outrun the karmic wheel, it seems.

Feb 2, 1992 Glens Falls Post Star story. Captain and the Kid.

So it was with this realization, and a small amount of sadness, that I began my day today teaching, finally knowing that my days in this room—this very school that produced me so many decades ago—this place where I have walked the halls more than any other place in my adult life—are numbered. I also well remember my father’s bittersweet retirement letter—remarking on his thirty years, how he loved it, but also how he wished no fanfare, but to leave as quietly as he had come in, thirty years before. At the time (1993), it was all a blur for me, banging out lesson plans, calling parents of troublesome kids, hammering my way forward into some toenail of a crack into their lives… how am I going to reach these kids? Some of my colleagues figured me for a ‘short-timer’, but as it turns out, I WAS A LIFER.

A lifer. How did that happen?  But, I did it. When times got tough, and I mean really, really brutal in our profession, I kept going. Many teachers left—but I and thousands and thousands of others did not.

A few years back I wrote, respectfully, about where I thought our profession was at, and what our anointed ones were doing in the name of ‘educational reform’. My busiest single day on this blog (14K reads on a January Saturday) was not over history or Holocaust education, but over the sword of Damocles hanging over our heads as a teaching profession. You get to the point where you have to just walk away from the political posturing, heading down the hall with your back to the noise and your feet carrying you back into the classroom, where nothing else matters. You are in your realm, your element. Of course, Dad knew this. The kids KNOW that you know what you are talking about. And some of them maybe see that this student—teacher connection is what real life is all about. You build a relationship, maybe even not one that can be quantified or measured by the bean counters—and sometimes you even go on to do great things together.

My father had a glimpse of that with his own teaching life, and a mirror to what the future had in store for me. “A teacher finds, eventually, their own niche, their own method,” he said. “Teaching is not a matter of how ‘smart’ you are, it’s a matter of personality. If you’re strong and fair, it doesn’t make any difference what you teach.”

*

 My dad passed 17 years ago. I think of him a lot, now that my turn at ‘retirement’ has come around, I suppose. Sure, there is the excitement and happiness of starting onto something new; my wife retired from her 33 years in the classroom less than a year ago (I told the NYS Commissioner of Education and the NYS Board of Regents, in person, how I felt about her in this video). It feels like it is finally okay to clean house and throw out decades’ worth of academic accumulation, though I hesitate to call it ‘clutter’. With every folder that I gently tip over the edge of the wastebasket, or maybe no longer feel the need to replace into the filing cabinet, there is also a part of me that feels like it is gradually folding into the flotsam and jetsam of the river of time. Each day passes quicker now as the path takes a more defining bend in its long journey, where everything is finally blending and equalizing into the sea of tranquility and good intent. I am close enough to finally see this; I try to absorb it all, live each moment; I try to just ‘be’, with the kids.

*

I told my freshmen and sophomore classes today (I teach all grade levels) that in fact they are my last respective ninth and tenth grade classes. I have been avoiding this, though I figured that the news was out, and they probably already knew. The young freshmen appeared not to know—there was an element of shock that took me aback for a moment—well, in truth, for the rest of the lesson. Though I am at my best teaching under emotionally searing moments, I think we were both rattled momentarily-they at realizing I won’t be here for them anymore in a few weeks, like old times; me at their reaction to that reality. While I look forward to the future, comes a time when you are confronted with the impact you are making, and the realization that after 30 plus years, you won’t be making it on that daily basis anymore.

My old man confined himself to the back porch the summer after he retired—back pain, he said. [He had never really had it before, except for the time he fell out of the tree while picking apples with us kids in our childhood. We were concerned, then snickered, as he writhed a bit on the ground. He uttered a few choice words in our direction, had his ribs and back wrapped for a couple weeks, and seemed fine after that.] He did not move off that porch all summer. Back pain, my ass. I’ve got your number now, old man.

And now with one click of the ‘post’ button, thirty plus years of service to ‘Hometown, USA’—to my country—and to humanity—begin the descent over the falls of history themselves. Prosit, my father would say. A toast—so be it, and may it benefit you.

*

Nate St. John photo, 12-7-2016. Prosit.

Here is the Post Star article…. and here; thanks Bill Toscano…

Read Full Post »

On April 15th, 1945, soldiers of the 11th Armoured Division of the British army arrived and liberated 60,000 prisoners of Bergen Belsen concentration camp.  A scene of horror confronted them– thousands of unburied corpses and Holocaust survivors in various stages of starvation and sickness; eight hundred would die on the day of their liberation, and 13,000 more in the following month of May even as the war finally ended.  

The transport liberated on April 13th by the Americans near the Elbe River had left this camp  seven days before. 

743rd S-3 After Action journal report- the moment of liberation

The logbook for the 105^th Medical Battalion of the 30^th Infantry Division was kept by T/4 Sgt. Wilson Rice, who interjected colorful personal commentaries when typing up his reports.

April 13th, 1945

At Letzlingen, Germany, we pulled off of the road to wait.  Here Major Lowell, Major Huff and Tommy met us.  They had gone back to Brunswick to see about getting the soldiers of ours out of the German hospitals, and to see some other hospitals.  Col. Treherne also met us there.  While we were parked here the forward command post came along.  I went out to one of the trucks to talk to some of the fellows from headquarters. They had a German on the truck and he was most unhappy.  He was one of the few who ran before he was captured, and before he was caught, he tore off all of his markings and insignia off of his uniform.  Nasty little Nazi.  They couldn’t find a place to get rid of him, so Paul Huff and I put him on the hood of our jeep and took him into town to the PW [prisoner of war] cage.  On our way back, we passed another walking down the road, but we were in a hurry.  He was smiling and just as happy about the whole thing.  We just merely pointed the direction, and everybody went merrily on their way about their business.

*

When Major Lowell, Major Huff and Cardwell left this area, I went with them.  Farther on down the road, when the convoy was halted again, Major Marsh from the Military Government drove up to Col. Treherne’s jeep.  He told him about a train of civilians that were prisoners of the Germans.  Our jeep pulled out from the convoy and went to Farsleben, Germany, where the train was located.

Also in this town was the command post of the 823^rd Tank Destroyer Battalion, and we stopped there to pick up Capt. Baranov, the 823^rd Bn. Surgeon.  He took us down there, and it was something that you’ve read about, but couldn’t believe.  They were people that looked of being very refined and cultured.  It is said that among the people, was the French Consul to Germany.  Some great minds were among these people. There were two doctors that were members of the train, and they were caring for the people the best they could without any equipment.  Capt. Baranov’s men came up with a few drugs bandages, etc. to use until they could get more.  It was about the same as nothing, but it was to go to the women and children first.  About 75% of the members of this train were Jews so the drugs etc., were given to the two doctors and the Rabbi for distribution.  Major Lowell and Major Huff told them to get all of the contagious and seriously sick to be segregated into cars by themselves.  These cars that they were traveling in were boxcars.  Sanitation was terrible and the people had been traveling in them for eight days and nights, without food or water.  Most of the sickness was due to malnutrition.  There were only two typhus cases.

Liberated Girl as photographed by SGT. George C. Gross, Sat. morning, April 14th, 1945. Farsleben, Germany.

As all of the business was being transacted, a beautiful little girl, about eight years of age, came up to my side.  She was very sweet and her complexion was very clear.  I looked at her, smiled and patted her on the head, and she smiled back.  As Tommy and I were standing there, I soon felt a little hand slip through my arm.  As I looked around, a big lump came in my throat.

As we were leaving, a man came up to our jeep.  He was one of the American citizens and was from Detroit, Mich.  He was taken prisoner two years ago in Warsaw, and his family is still now in Detroit.  He was a sick man, but there was nothing we could do for him, as we were not prepared for such things.  Military Government is taking care of things as fast as they can.  This is what I mean when I say that warfare such as this, was not planned for by the Army.  Things are going too fast.  This man told us about the 33 American citizens.  He went on to say that he knew our circumstances, knew we had to take care of the troops first, knew that everything possible will be done for them as fast as possible, and went on to say,  “We know how busy you guys are, what you will do for us, maybe one week maybe two weeks, but even if nothing else is done, there is one thing we truly and dearly thank you for, and that is for our Liberty”  There was a break in this man’s voice, and I knew how he felt.  There was a lump in my throat.

BOOK HERE

Read Full Post »

72 years ago this very morning, Lt. Frank W. Towers of the 30th Infantry Division arrived to take the survivors of the train liberated the previous day out of harm’s way. What he saw stayed with him for the rest of his life. In 2007, he contacted me after reading about our first reunion. Later, he made it his life’s mission to track down as many of the survivors that he could, serving as the master of ceremonies for many joyful, and tearful, reunions to follow.

Saturday morning, April 14th, 1945, Farsleben, Germany.

As the 30th Division’s liaison officer, I was told about the train initially by my counterpart, Lt. Floyd Mitchell, who was the liaison officer from the 743rd Tank Battalion, and as he was going back to his headquarters, he asked me if I would like to go with him to see it. I agreed to accompany him, and this was my first encounter with ‘The Holocaust’, to witness all that we had heard about through the ‘propaganda’ [we had been told] in previous months—to see it with my own eyes, that our own Allied ‘propaganda’, was in fact true.
The main roads in some places were impassable, so the trip from Farsleben to Hillersleben was mostly over narrow back roads and dirt farm roads, in order to get to the destination in the shortest time. Due to artillery shelling and too much recent rain they were full of muddy pot holes, and the vehicles had to travel very slowly, or cause breakdowns of the vehicles. The drivers were very well aware of the hazards of driving over this type of roads, as they had done so many times before. Fortunately, during these days it did not rain any more. As I acquired the vehicles for the convoy, some were covered, and some were not, but to these people, it did not matter. Rain or shine, they were on the way to freedom, and although hungry, dehydrated and in frail health, they felt that they were going to a better place than they had seen in many months. They were happy in knowing that they were going to a place where they could get food, sleeping space and health assistance.
As best I recall, we started moving these people in the afternoon, and we continued until dark, which at that time was not until after 10:00 PM, so we halted operations until daylight the next morning, and continued on into the day until all were removed from Farsleben. I am not sure just who was involved in assisting the loading of the people at Farsleben, perhaps by some of the troops from our Engineer Battalion and some of the men of the American Military Government and Red Cross personnel, who also helped in unloading the people, orienting them as to where they were to go to get showers and new clothing, then feeding them and assigning them to appropriate quarters. Then their processing began as to who they were, where they had come from, their birthplace, and their hoped for destination. All of this of course took several weeks before they were all processed and shipped to their destinations.

Later, Frank would travel the world, meeting the children whom he had a hand in saving, and their children, and grandchildren. In the NBC News broadcast below, here he was in the Netherlands just a few years back, with ‘new branches on the Tree of Life’. Frank Towers passed on July 4th, 2016, at the age of 99.

Read Full Post »

From our great friend, survivor Leslie Meisels, to his fellow survivors and his liberators. He sends a version every year on the anniversary of the liberation of the Train near Magdeburg, for the first time he is not able to address it to Frank Towers, who passed at the age of 99 on July 4th this past year. Liberators Carrol Walsh and George Gross previously passed in 2012, and 2009, respectively. Read more, here. 

Holocaust survivor Leslie Meisels with Blessed Cardinal Newman Catholic High School students where they learned about reuniting Holocaust survivors with their American liberators, 11-7-2015. Photo by Joan Shapero.

April 13, 2017
Hello again to all of you ‘my twins’ on our 72nd birthday!

This’ birthday’ wish goes with a heavy heart because the loved, respected and admired by all of us—liberator Frank Towers—the last living liberator of those whom we met at the 2009 symposium – has left us. While he is not with us anymore, the memory and gratefulness for him and all our other ‘angels of our life’ remain with us to the end of our lives, and with our children’s (who were not to be born!) our grandchildren’s, and all future generations to follow, for the fight and sacrifice they did by destroying the Nazi tyranny, and with that, they gave us back our lives.

For all of you who are still around, I hope my good wishes find you in good health, both physical and mental.

It is a blessing to be alive and being able to think back of that ‘special birthday’ of ours, April 13^th 1945.

With my original Birthday on Feb.20^th I turned 90 years old. My children grandchildren and friends made it a non-ending celebration. To be honest I enjoyed it very much. I never knew that being 90 years old means so much joy.

I am still continuing strongly with Holocaust education and make the same message clear all the time; that government-sponsored and organized hatred is what brought on the Holocaust, and the silence of the majority allowed it to happen. Therefore, urge anybody who listens—never let hatred be part of their life, and never stay silent when they hear, see, or experience any prejudice or discrimination.

Also remind anybody what George Santayana said—“Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.”  To remember we must, and we do.

Again all my best wishes and happy 72^nd birthday to all of you!

My best regards to all.

Leslie Meisels

Read Full Post »