“Coincidences”?

“Coincidences”? By Jim Kurtz Author of The Green Box Robert Russell Kurtz was born January 8, 1919, in Akron, Ohio. Along with his family, he moved to White Plains, New York, in 1933. Margaret Florence Luther was born May 19, 1921 in Cleveland, Ohio. In 1928, she and her family moved to White Plains. Although Bob and Peggy didn’t know each other as children in Ohio, their paths would “coincidentally” cross in 1941 in a church in White Plains. A year later, on March 28, 1942, they were married. Robert was drafted into the United States Army on July 23, 1941. Less than five months later, the United States was at war. For close to a year, he trained as an artilleryman in the United States Army Coast Artillery at Camp Davis in Holly Ridge, North Carolina, but his desire had always been to become a pilot, so he applied for pilot training and was accepted. In June 1942, he was assigned to flight training in California. Over the next nine months, he trained at three different air bases: Mather, Ontario, and War Eagle. In April 1943, he was ordered to Marfa Air Base in Texas, where he was joined by his wife and a son, Bob, born that February. After months of rigorous training, 2nd Lieutenant Robert R. Kurtz was awarded his pilot’s wings, and sent to Casper, Wyoming, for heavy bomber training. There, it was discovered he had a deviated septum, which could interfere with his ability to breathe the oxygen he would need at altitude, so his training was briefly interrupted by surgery to correct the problem. On June 8, 1944, two days after D-Day, he shipped overseas and was assigned to the 15th Air Force, 55th Combat Wing, 780th Bomb Squadron, 465th Bomb Group based in Pantanella, Italy. On August 3, 1944, his B-24 bomber, nicknamed Sugar Baby, was shot down on Kurtz’s 20th combat mission over Ehrwald, Austria. Lieutenant Kurtz bailed out and was immediately captured by German soldiers to become a prisoner of war (POW). He spent the remainder of the war in three different POW camps before being liberated by Patton’s Third Army on April 29, 1945, just days before Germany surrendered to the victorious Allies. In mid-May, he was on a troop ship heading back to the States and a reunion with his wife and young son. One of the few things he carried back was a small, green Army-issue box, which promptly got tucked away in the attic. Over the next seven years, Bob and Peggy would add three more boys to their brood: Bill in 1946, John in 1947, and the youngest, me, in 1949. The Kurtz household was a wonderful and loving place to grow up in, but everything was about to change. On March 28, 1952, on the 10th anniversary of my parents’ marriage, my father suffered a massive heart attack in the middle of the night and passed away. There have been many “coincidences” in my life; many, as you shall soon see, have been joyous ones. But the fact that my dad had to die at age 33, on my mom’s and his 10th anniversary, ranks as the worst one on my list. In the course of my journey to learn about the man I lost even before I was old enough to call him “Daddy,” there have been many “coincidences.” But I keep asking myself, were they mere coincidences? To me they’ve been more like fate or karma. Through every one of the experiences I am about to relate, I’ve felt my father’s presence. It was as though he was sitting on my shoulder, accompanying me and sometimes guiding me on the journey to finally get to know the father who was taken from me when I was only two years old. 1957-1967- My first exploration of the green box in our attic was as an eight-year old. After my father’s passing, there were two unspoken rules in our household. One was never to ask my mother about my father. Every once in a while, one of my brothers or I would want to know something about my dad, but when we asked my mom, her eyes would well up and she would cry, unable to answer our questions. We 2 learned to stop asking. The second rule was that the green box in the attic was strictly off limits. We knew we were never to open it. My three brothers were older and observed the unspoken rule. They all had memories of our dad, especially my oldest brother, Bob Jr. I didn’t have a single memory of my father, but I had an idea that whatever was in that green box might change that. One hot August afternoon, when my brothers were all out playing and my mom was vacuuming, I snuck upstairs into the attic with a flashlight. I’ll never forget coming around the corner of the unlit space, unable to see anything. Suddenly the beam of my flashlight lit up a shiny green metallic box and my heart stopped. My fingers felt like they were burning as I slowly opened the lid and I realized, even as an eight-year old child, that my life would never be the same. For the next ten years, I spent countless hours furtively rummaging through the contents of that green box without my mother’s knowledge or consent—awestruck, but clueless as to the meaning of the medals, telegrams, love letters, and other unrecognized items it harbored. It would be more than 50 years before I finally felt at liberty to ask my mother questions about its contents. 1967-2000- For 33 years, the green box was put on the back burner. I went to college, found employment, got married, raised two sons, and went on with my life, seldom thinking about that box and the treasures it might hold. 2000- My brother Bill had always been interested in dad’s wartime experiences but, like me, he had little information to work with. My father had said next to nothing about his military service to anyone, including my mother. Bill decided he would attempt to locate surviving members of our father’s original bomber crew. His diligence was rewarded with responses from Joe Spontak, George Britton, and Lee 3 Englehorn, the navigator, bombardier, and gunner, respectively, on Sugar Baby. Bill shared their information with me, and told me how to get in touch with an Austrian citizen he had run across in the course of his research, a man named Gerd Leitner. Leitner had invited my brother to come to his home town of Ehrwald, but Bill was unable to accept the invitation, and suggested Leitner contact me instead. 2001- I received an e-mail from Gerd Leitner, informing me that he had organized a commemoration of the air battle that had raged in the skies over his tiny village on August 3, 1944. As a boy, he had witnessed eight American B-24 bombers and five German fighters get blown out of the sky in 30 seconds. The co-pilot on one of those bombers was my father. Gerd Leitner and a fellow Austrian, Keith Bullock, had done extensive research on the events of that fateful day, and had compiled a list of all the American and German airmen involved in that battle, or their next of kin. Leitner invited me to attend the commemoration, and if I wavered at all, it ended when I learned that Joe Spontak, who my brother Bill had told me was the navigator in my dad’s crew, would also be there. I accepted Gerd’s invitation and arranged for my son Mike and me to travel to Austria. My objective was to learn more about the father I never knew, and I hoped to solve some of the mysteries in the green box. Little did I know I would accomplish that and so much more. August 3, 2001- Mike and I arrived in Ehrwald. Events over the next 36 hours changed the course of my life and enabled me to start filling in the pieces of the puzzle that defined my father’s wartime experiences. Gerd Leitner introduced me to Oscar Bösch, one of the German fighter pilots involved in the battle over Ehrwald on August 3, 1944. He told me he was the pilot who had shot down my father’s plane and said he could prove it. Bösch explained that every B-24 Liberator had a specific 4 color and letter designation on its tail. Then he told me he had seen the big red “H” on my father’s B-24 in his sights, and I knew he was correct. Through my research, I had previously learned that the tail of my dad’s bomber, Sugar Baby, had indeed sported a red “H.” I met Hilde Richter, who witnessed my father’s capture by German soldiers. As an eight-year old, she and her family were having a picnic at the base of the Alps when all hell broke loose above them. She told me she saw my father pull a baby shoe out of his bomber jacket and show it to his German captors. He spoke no German, but evidently he hoped one of those German soldiers might be a family man and take pity on him. It worked. I met Joe Spontak, the navigator who trained with my dad in the States and who fought alongside him in the skies over Germany and Austria.

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