Tributes Index - Avenue of Flags

William Smith

Smith, William

Hermitage, PA

U.S. Army – Vietnam

In the late 1960s, dropping out of college, even temporarily, was risky business. Bill Smith sat out the winter semester in his senior year because he had to ride his motorcycle to get to YSU. His plan to complete his degree in the warmer spring weather appeared to be doomed when the draft board sent him a draft notice. Fortunately, they agreed to postpone his induction until he graduated.

So right after graduating in 1968, Bill was in the U.S. Army, qualified to attend Officer Candidate School. The only branches available were the combat arms.

“I don’t know why,” he says, “but I chose infantry.”

Maybe not the best choice. Life in infantry units in Vietnam could be unpleasant and dangerous, especially for second lieutenants. That seemed to be where Bill was headed when he was sent to jungle warfare school after completing OCS.

Bill’s choice wasn’t so bad after all. He was assigned to the security detachment at the largest ammunition dump in Vietnam. What could be safer than being close to tons of high explosives capable of leveling the terrain for miles around?

Bill’s job was to keep that from happening. Before he arrived, the site’s security was in the hands of ordnance personnel who were neither trained nor equipped for the job.

“We did things differently,” Bill said.

With everything from tower guards to electronic surveillance, chain link fences extending four feet into the ground, mortar and artillery units to do recon by fire, and even guard dogs, Bill’s security detachment had to confront only one attack during his year there.

“By attack, I mean saboteurs trying to sneak in,” he said.

It turned out to be three young teenagers carrying satchel charges.

“We killed them. That hurt. But that’s the kind of war it was.”

But lack of action doesn’t mean lack of danger. That became apparent when the facility was closed down toward the end of Bill’s tour. All the ammo was transported to an RVN dump ten miles away. The night after the transfer was complete, the RVN dump blew up.

“We stayed in a bunker and watched it happening on the other side of the mountain,” he said.

His wife at Fort Benning heard about the Qui Nhom ammo dump being blown up. Contact with Bill through the Red Cross allayed her fears.

She was blessed when Lt. Bill Smith returned without a Purple Heart.

Bill Roscoe

Roscoe, Bill

Sharpsville, PA

U.S. Army Air Corps – World War II

On April 8, 1945, Bill Roscoe found himself in the kind of situation where people tend to bargain with God. Like, “Lord, get me out of this and I promise to serve you the rest of my life.”

Bill had already made that commitment when he was much younger, so he made a another one: “Get me out of this and I promise you I will never worry again.”

He was radio operator on a B-17 Flying Fortress when his plane was crippled by anti-aircraft. Instead of bailing out, Bill stayed to help his friend get out of the ball turret gunner’s pod.

The inexperienced crew members were bewildered, afraid to jump. So Bill pushed them out. Failing to count to ten before opening their chutes, they were too close to the plane when a burning wing broke off and threatened to take them all out. The last one to jump, Bill managed the nudge the wing enough for the wind to take it away from the others.

With his chute full of holes, he hit the ground hard, injuring his feet. He was captured by the Gestapo, who marched the prisoners hundreds of miles. They had nothing to eat but bread made from sawdust and potatoes. Prisoners and guards suffered together.

They ended up in Stalag Luft 7A, a prisoner of war camp for airmen. Starvation and severe treatment caused Bill’s weight to drop from 185 to 85 before General Patton’s forces liberated them.

“For ten years after he got out of the service,” said his wife Dee, “Bill was very sick. He was yellow from toxic poisoning. The only thing that pulled him through was Dr. K. W. Bertram, and the Lord.”

At his 90th birthday party in 2005, Bill said that he and Dee had never had an argument. Faithful to the second promise he made to the Lord, he said he lived a no-stress life with a no-stress wife.

He and Dee were also faithful to his promise to serve the Lord. They served as Eucharistic ministers for 20 years, and taught religion for more than twice that long.

Fifty years after the end of the war, Bill was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross for that incident that lasted a few minutes in 1945. But he and Dee valued far more the satisfaction they earned through a lifetime of worry-free service to the Lord, to each other, to their family, and to their community.

Shirley Werner Rauch

Shirley Rauch

Rauch, Shirley Werner

Greenville, PA

Women’s Army Corps – World War II

The collection of military memorabilia in the basement of the Mercer County Historical Society includes a poster of a cute young lady posing wistfully in a pseudo-military uniform. She is saying, “I wish I were a man so I could enlist!”

Fortunately, there were more than 400,000 women in the early 1940s who had more sense than that. They enlisted even though they weren’t men, and contributed to victory in countless ways.

One of them, Shirley Werner Rauch, enlisted in the U.S. Army’s Women’s Army Corps early in World War II. She learned how to fly a plane without ever flying a plane, and taught others to fly the same way had she learned. There’s no telling how many lives and planes she saved as a result.

Here’s the secret to that success: She was an instructor on the Link Flight Trainer, a simulator invented by Edwin A. Link in the early 1930s. Through a system of air bellows and electrical devices, it moved in very realistic response to the manipulation of controls like those in an airplane cockpit. A recording device on the instructor’s desk traced the “flight path” of the “plane” on a map or chart. It provided a safe and effective means of training pilots to rely entirely on instruments to fly through zero visibility and night conditions.

However, Shirley wanted to serve her country overseas. She probably would have been delighted with today’s opportunities for servicewomen. At that time, the only duty available was one that would probably have delighted the cute girl on the Historical Society’s poster: telephone operator on the old plug-in type switchboards.

The duty may not have been exciting, but the location was stellar: at the Hotel California on the Champs Elysees in Paris. It also gave her the opportunity to meet up with her father there, Lt. Col. Herbert Werner, who was in Paris working on a project for the 12th Armored Division

Shirley is a charter member of the Women in Military Service for America organization. She has a plaque in her honor for her military Service at the Women in Military Service Memorial at Arlington National Cemetery.

Leonard Pleban

Pleban, Dr. Leonard

Hermitage, PA

U.S. Army – World War II

When Leonard Pleban went into the army in October, 1942, he was assigned to the medical detachment of the 908th Field Artillery.

“I couldn’t even stand the sight of blood,” he said. “I puked a few times, and passed out a few times when I saw some of the surgeries, but after that it was nothing.”

During a training course at a hospital, a chiropodist told him about chiropody, which is the old term for podiatry. He didn’t realize at the time that he had discovered his future career.

The 908th Artillery was sent to France shortly after D-Day as part of the 83rd Infantry Division. The unit fought through five major campaigns, including the Battle of the Bulge. Leonard was one of the very few in his unit to emerge without a scratch.

“My captains wanted me to go to medical school,” he said. “I didn’t want to, because I didn’t want to sign any death certificates.”

Then he remembered chiropody, and realized that chiropodists (podiatrists) don’t have to do that.

So the army gave him his vocation. It also gave him an avocation. After the war, Staff Sergeant Pleban was assigned to help set up a nightclub to entertain troops while they waited to be demobilized. He served as MC and half a comedy team in the style of Abbott and Costello.

When he came back from the service, he took pre-med courses at Youngstown State, then enrolled in the Ohio College of Podiatric Medicine in Cleveland.

After completing his schooling, Dr. Pleban found that starting a practice wasn’t easy. He found space for an office in downtown Sharon, above the Sharon Restaurant. With 36 steps up and no elevator, it wasn’t ideal for a foot doctor. It wasn’t even an office, just a large room. Getting set up put him deeply in debt.

Then he had an office and equipment, but no patients. His clientele built up slowly until one key element fell into place. He volunteered to work with the Sharon High School athletic program. He did that pro bono for 50 years.

“ The school got a doctor without cost,” he said, “and I got the kids, their parents, and their grandparents as patients.” He took advantage of invitations to host sports banquets and other events. His sense of humor, initially honed in his military nightclub, made him a roaring success as the Valley’s MC.

“He’s known as the Johnny Carson of the Shenango Valley,” says his wife Florence.

Claude Musgrove

Musgrove, Claude

Greenville, PA

U.S. Army – World War II

As the 164th Engineer Combat Battalion battled its way through Europe during 1944 and 1945, Claude Musgrove served as the unit’s photographer. He converted a captured German ambulance into a mobile dark room and made an enlarger using a condenser lens from a movie theater.

Inside of Claude’s mobile darkroom

Along the way, he photographed history in the making. His unit was among the first to enter Germany, crossing the famous Ludendorff Bridge at Remagen. Hitler’s army had failed to destroy the bridge as they were retreating, so 8000 troops of the 9th Armored Division crossed it within 24 hours after capturing it. Claude’s battalion was put in charge of defending the bridge. The Germans threw everything they could at it – bombs, artillery, even frogmen who swam down the Rhine to blow it up. They failed initially, but managed to damage it severely.

“The major in charge of the bridge told the Stars and Stripes that after ten days’ work it was stronger than it ever was. The next day it collapsed and killed him and twenty-three engineers,” Claude said.

Mussolini and Hitler viewing results of assassination attempt

Claude did his best to preserve historical photographs he found in German government buildings. He found more than 500 photographs taken by Heinrich Hoffmann, Hitler’s personal photographer. One shows Hitler and Mussolini inspecting a room destroyed by a bomb in the failed assassination attempt of July 20, 1944.

Another photo triggered a personal memory for Claude. It shows Herman Goering, head of the German Luftwaffe, with Colonel Ernst Udet, the number two ace in World War I, after the Red Baron (Manfred von Richthofen).

“In 1935,” Claude said, “I saw him in person at the Cleveland Air Show. He was over here spying on our airports to see what we had. He flew a biplane upside down and picked up a handkerchief off the ground.”

Claude also had two books that each include a viewing apparatus and 100 stereoscopic photographs of Germany and the war. Another book on the history of the Nazis had actual glued-in photographs instead of pictures printed on the pages.

Claude returned to work at Westinghouse. After he retired in 1969, he and his wife Evelyn bought a motel in Clearwater, Florida, which they operated for nine years. After that, they spent winters in Florida and summers in Fredonia. Their family grew to include 18 grandchildren and 21 great grandchildren.

He bought his first computer when he was 88. He used it to digitize the many photographs he had taken and collected.

Vincient “Jim” Mongiello

Grove City, PA

U.S. Navy – World War II

Vincient “Jim” Mongiello’s father Ben opened a harness and leather repair shop in Mercer after settling there from Italy.

“When the United States got involved in World War I,” Jim said, “Father closed his leather shop and volunteered for the army. He fought in four major battles with the Fourth Division in Europe. And he wasn’t even a citizen.”

That set a good example for Jim. He joined the Navy even before he graduated from Mercer High School.

“In the class of 1943, if you had passing grades, you could leave and go into the service and receive your diploma. In January I joined the Navy. My mother received my diploma in May.”

After training, he sailed on LST 177 across the Atlantic. Unfortunately, the flat-bottomed LST does not do well in the tumultuous waters of the open sea.

“I got seasick on the first day out of New Orleans. An officer caught me lying down. He shouted at me to get to work. I walked out on deck, and here’s the captain with a bucket to upchuck in – he was seasick, too. The rule was, if you were seasick, you worked anyhow.”

Barely 18, Jim was the ship’s “oil king,” responsible for taking on all fuel, dispensing it, and accounting for it.

“I had 57 tanks to take care of. At eight every night I had to have a report on the captain’s desk.”

LST 177 participated in the invasions of North Africa, Sicily, Anzio beachhead, and southern France. As the war was winding down, Jim came back to serve Shore Patrol duties in Philadelphia.

1967 and 1998, he organized 27 reunions of the LST 177. He collected LST memorabilia, including LST 177’s bell and helm (steering wheel). He sent most of it to LST 325, which is still afloat as a museum in Evansville, Indiana.

Throughout his life, Jim was very active in his community, serving 26 years on the Mercer borough council, and being involved in many organizations, including the Masons, United Methodist Men, VFW, American Legion, and Ducks Unlimited. As an alumnus of Mercer High School, he organized many reunions for his graduating class. In 2010, he was inducted into the Mercer High School Alumni Hall of Fame.

John Meredith

West Middlesex, PA

World War II – Army

After landing on Omaha Beach on August 9, 1944, a month and two days after D-Day, John advanced with the Seventh Armored Division all the way across France – fighting the Germans, building bridges, blowing things up, rescuing other military units, and liberating French cities.

By December, 1944, the American and Allied armies had reached the German border. It looked as if the war was almost over. Then Hitler launched a surprise attack with virtually all of his remaining forces and pushed the line back 70 miles. The Seventh Armored Division was thrown into this “Battle of the Bulge” as reinforcements.

John remembered it vividly: “The Germans sent at us two divisions of 16 to 18 year old kids out of high school,” he said. “They didn’t have any idea what war was, and had no training. They gave them those little burp guns. They thought they were cowboys.”

The Germans weren’t the only enemy. With limited transportation available, the American generals opted to give priority to shipment of ammunition and fuel rather than clothing. The weather turned bitterly cold, with wind chills around 30 degrees below zero. Stuck in summer uniforms, many of the troops – including John – suffered severe frostbite.

Meredith kept different kinds of souvenirs from his World War II combat days until his death in December, 2003. Some were extremely painful, such as the German bullet that could not be removed from his leg. And the extremely painful aftereffects of the severe frostbite plagued him until the day he died.

Other memories more than made up for the pain and suffering, such as the medals he received for his actions. He was also proud of the letters of appreciation sent to the Seventh Armored by the French cities they liberated.

Those letters painted vivid, positive pictures of the army’s swift and efficient advance. The mayor of Verdun wrote, “We shall never forget that in less than one hour you delivered us of our burden, and the rapidity of your advance has avoided the destruction of half of our village by these unchained brutes.”

The French people were also struck with the contrast between those “unchained brutes” and the American soldiers. The mayor of Chateau-Thierry wrote, “All have been struck by the simplicity and the amiability and the cordiality of your officers and men.”

Even after hard-fought battles, the true character of the American soldier still showed through.

Nick Libeg

Brookfield

U.S. Army – World War II

Pre-military experience can open non-combat opportunities for infantry soldiers. Nick Libeg had taken typing and shorthand before being drafted in 1940, so he was made a clerk typist in the 45th Division at Camp Barkeley, Texas. One of his major jobs was to do the paperwork for courts martial. He had plenty to do. When the 45th Division went on maneuvers in Louisiana, Mardi Gras drew hundreds of men AWOL. The captain in charge of the courts martial was so pleased with Nick’s work that he recommended him for Officers Candidate School.

Commissioned at Fort Benning’s OCS, Nick served as a basic training officer at Camp Rucker, Alabama. His experience at running Libby’s Tavern in Masury gave him another opportunity, though not one that made his life easier. The jobs of mess officer and officers’ club manager were added to his other duties.

But it wasn’t Nick’s objective to avoid danger. He wanted to be a pilot, so he transferred to the Army Air Corps. Maybe the lack of appropriate pre-military experience kept this chance from being so successful.

“I loved flying,” he said, “but I crashed two planes. After the second accident, my trainer asked whose side I was on in the war.”

So he became a bombardier and navigator in a B-24 flying out of England. Enemy fire made the work dangerous, but their most frightening incident occurred because of a problem within their own plane. Their twelve 500-lb impact-triggered bombs were held in place by solenoid-activated clips at their nose and tail. The bottom two of a stack of three failed, but the clip on the front of the top bomb released, tipping it nose down onto the one below. One wrong move would have detonated it. With air temperature at 20 below zero, Nick crawled along an 18 inch wide walkway over the open bomb bay doors and released the bombs with a screw driver.

“We were pretty close to heaven at that time,” Nick said.

Their reward for completing the required 30 missions was another not-so-great opportunity: assignment to the South Pacific. Fortunately, the war in the Pacific ended before they got there.

Nick was able to go back to managing Libby’s Tavern, raise a family, and pursue a successful career in real estate. He served in many community organizations, including the Farrell Lions Club, the Wolves Club, the American Legion, VFW Post 8860, the Optimist Club in Brookfield, and the Shenango Valley Board of Realtors.

For a longer narrative of Nick’s life, go to his life story at America’s Cemetery.

John Leyde

Leyde, John

Sharon, PA

U. S. Coast Guard, World War II

Like many other young men during World War II, John Leyde left for military service in 1943 before his Sharon High School graduation ceremony. It took two years for his diploma to catch up with him through the military postal system.

“I enlisted in the Coast Guard,” he said. “I wanted to go into the Air Force, but at that time they were taking a pretty big beating, so my mother said no way. I said if that’s the case, let me try the Marines. But they were taking a beating in the Pacific. So finally I said to my mother, ‘I’ll join the Coast Guard.’

The image of John guarding the coast satisfied his mother. But it didn’t take long for John to discover that Coast Guard ships didn’t necessarily float around near the shores of the United States.

After basic training, John was assigned to the USS Peterson. This wasn’t a little 65-foot Coast Guard cutter. It was a newly-commissioned destroyer escort.

“It had made just one trip in the Mediterranean prior to my going on.” John said. “They lost a ship with tremendous loss of life. Then they came back to the States. That’s when I went aboard. We went out for a day or two on a shakedown cruise off the coast of Long Island and then went back in to New York.”

The Peterson spent the next two years on convoy duty on the Atlantic Ocean between New York and the British Isles.

“We escorted tankers, and sometimes they would put a troop ship in the middle of all these tankers – maybe 40 to 50 of them. And there were six destroyer escort ships that looked for submarines.”

It was adventurous from the very beginning. After its shakedown cruise, The Peterson was assigned to accompany a newly-formed convoy.

“When they brought the convoy out,” John said, “we patrolled out into the ocean. In bringing these big ships together to form the convoy, two of them collided. One of them was damaged. We were designated to escort that disabled ship back into the harbor.”

A German submarine apparently had been sitting out off the coast for days. It put a torpedo into one of the ships and damaged it pretty bad.

“While we escorted it back, our ships were running all over the ocean looking for this German sub. On our way back out, we ran right over top of it with our sound gear. That just let everything go helter-skelter. Our ship and another ship went on each side of this submarine and dropped depth charges. When they brought it to the surface, we started shooting and he started shooting. The sub put a cannon blast through our smokestack.”

The Germans were able to use a machine gun from the conning tower, but not the gun on the forward part of the sub.

“They were trying to get it manned,” John said. “It was pathetic, really. These young German sailors were trying to get from the conning tower to the forward gun. We were cross-firing with 20mm guns. They never did get it manned because they got blown apart.”

The Peterson didn’t pick up any survivors, but a sister ship did. The submarine captain had been told that it would be easy because the Germans had done such a good job that we didn’t have any ships left.

“He couldn’t believe it when he saw 40 or 50 big ships coming out of the harbor. It was right off the coast of New Jersey. He got a free ride to England and was put in prison camp there.”

The Pete made eight round trips between New York, England, and France. Each took about six weeks. When the war was over in Europe, the Peterson was transferred to the Pacific because the war there was continuing.

“We were tied up in Hawaii just waiting for orders when VJ Day was declared,” John said. “But they still sent us to Japan. There we escorted landing craft which went about six knots. Then we headed back home to be discharged. We had a lot of ammo on board – depth charges and everything else. We were going into Hawaii, and got word to get rid of all our ammunition. So we shot off everything we had. When we got to Hawaii, they loaded us all up again with ammo. Then we headed for California. A day or two out, we got the word again: no ammunition. So the captain, being a pretty good guy, said throw it over the side. We don’t want to have to clean these guns again. We went to Florida and decommissioned the ship in the St. John’s River.”

After the war he took a train to Philadelphia where he was discharged from the Coast Guard.

“I came home and went to work with my father and older brother in the family’s auto parts business. And that was where I worked my whole life.”

John got married in 1948. He and his wife Margaret had three children – John T. in 1950, Margaret Jean in 1953, and Elizabeth Ann in 1955.

John was very active in the community. He served on the school board for 20 years; volunteered for the Community Chest; was a trustee, member of the stewardship committee, and Sunday School teacher at his church; and became the first man to be named Volunteer of the Year at Sharon Regional.

Jim Lee

Farrell, PA

U.S; Army – World War II

A lot of people do the strangest things trying to gain respect, but fail precisely because they are seeking it. James C. Lee has gained it in abundance because he didn’t seek it. He just spent his life doing what truly respectable men do.

That wasn’t easy for a black man growing up in the south. But he worked hard to get into college. Then, while in college, he was drafted into the United States Army. At the time, black men were assigned only to all-black units. Well, almost all-black. All officers above the rank of lieutenant were white.

Army life for a black soldier at that time was not just systematically degrading; it could be downright dangerous – right here in the United States. Lee was in the Shenango Personnel Replacement Depot awaiting overseas assignment on the night of July 11, 1943, when conflict a between white and black soldiers ended up deadly.

“I went up the street,” Lee said. “There must have been at least 15 or 25 people killed. The army says like only two or three people killed. But you could see those lying around.”

Assigned to the all-black 2nd Cavalry Division, Lee was sent to Casablanca in North Africa, where the division was dismantled to make up replacement units. Lee became Electrician Foreman in the 1334 Engineer Construction Battalion, which was responsible for furnishing electricity for military hospitals in Italy.

“Allied headquarters would allot me say 40 civilians to do the manual work and things like that,” said Lee, who was a tech sergeant by then, “and I had six NCOs with me that had electrical training.”

Lee worked with his unit all the way from Naples up to the Italian Alps. They were there when the war ended in May.

After the war, Lee returned to Farrell. Despite his outstanding qualifications and electrical experience, he found all doors closed to him because of the color of his skin. Always one to overcome adversity, he opened his own radio and television repair business which he ran successfully until his retirement.

For fifty years Lee has been a dynamic member of the Veterans of Foreign Wars. He has served as post commander, district commander, and many years as quartermaster of VFW Post 7597. The walls of his VFW office are covered with evidence of the respect Lee has earned: countless certificates and plaques honoring his service to his fellow veterans.