This article is the twenty-fourth chapter of a book. It appears on pages 299-321 of A Life on the Road, written by Charles Kuralt and published in 1990 by Ballantine Books.

The Dentist by Charles Kuralt

I went back to the Soviet Union in May He slapped the place over his heart where 1988. Sometimes—once in a great while—a his medals hung. story on television actually brings people 45 “Where were you?” he demanded of the together, and touches them, and helps make young chief of the guard detail, who had 5 their lives whole. I watched this happen come striding over to see what the shouting that spring. The man who made it happen was about. “Where were you when I was a retired Russian dentist. received these honors for helping repel the I carry around in my head memories of 50 fascist hordes from our precious hundreds of people I have met in these motherland?” 10 years of wandering. The memory of this one His voice rose even louder as he haunts me. Hardly a day goes by that I theatrically answered his own question. don’t think of Nikita Zakaravich Aseyev. “Cowering in a safe corner, a child who He was a stocky old bulldog of a man 55 never heard the guns!” he roared. Or who barged into the hotel where I was suckling at your mother’s breast!” 15 staying in Moscow while I helped out with The KGB men looked at one another with coverage of the Reagan-Gorbachev summit resignation. The chief of the detail started to meeting. The hotel, the gigantic Rossiya speak, but the old man interrupted him. which looms behind Red Square, was 60 “Where were you when the Gestapo gave closed to Soviet citizens that week. All me this?” he shouted, pointing dramatically 20 comings and goings were regulated by KGB to a deep scar in his skull over his right eye. men at the door wearing red armbands A little crowd of Western reporters was inscribed “I am here to help you.” “Pals,” beginning to gather. The raving old man the wry Muscovites call these grim-faced 65 poked the KGB chief in the chest with a guards. Those of us who had rooms and stubby finger. 25 temporary offices in the hotel—mostly “Where were you?” he roared at the top American and Western European of his lungs. He jutted out his old square reporters—wore credentials on chains chin and paused for a reply. around our necks to get us into the building 70 The KGB man shrugged. Without a word, past the Pals. Dr. Aseyev got in on his he unhooked the chain that barred the door 30 medals. and stood aside. The old man marched into He wore his World War II medals on the the lobby of the Rossiya Hotel looking lapels of his suit coat, as do many old satisfied, his medals swinging from his soldiers in the Soviet Union. When the KGB 75 chest. men stopped him at the front door of the He approached the first person in his path 35 Rossiya, an acquaintance of mine happened and demanded to see a representative of to be there watching. He reported that the American television. ”CBS, third floor,” he old man erupted in indignation. was told. He thundered, “What do you mean I 80 Minutes later, he showed up in the CBS cannot enter? You children, you pups! You News offices, a chunky, obviously unofficial 40 have the gall to tell a veteran of the Great character ranting in Russian, insisting that Patriotic War he cannot pass into a common he be heard. As it happened, everybody in hotel lobby?” the place was busily preoccupied, preparing 85 for coverage of what seemed more This article is the twenty-fourth chapter of a book. It appears on pages 299-321 of A Life on the Road, written by Charles Kuralt and published in 1990 by Ballantine Books.

important at the time: the final meeting of “A memory of the Gestapo,” he said. “Not the week between the President of the a very happy memory. I have another in the United States and the General Secretary of side of my body.” the Communist Party of the Soviet Union. A 135 He cleared his throat and began: 90 young assistant, a Russian-speaking foreign “We were all prisoners of the Germans at student at Moscow’s Pushkin Institute who a big concentration camp in Forstenberg on had been hired by CBS for the week of the Oder River. There were eight thousand summit duty, took the old man into a American soldiers there, captured in North vacant room in order to get him out of the 140 Africa. The camp was laid out this way.” 95 hall, calm him down and get rid of him. The With his cane, he drew a map on the student listened to a few minutes of what ground in front of the bench. seemed to be a carefully rehearsed speech, “Here the town . . . here the river and the explained that everybody was too busy to railroad tracks . . . here the camp, Stalag 3-B. hear his story at the moment, walked the 145 The Gestapo barracks were here, near the 100 old man back down to the hotel lobby and gate,” he said, “here the French prisoners, sent him home in a CBS-hired taxi—but the Polish, the Yugoslav, the partisans.” He only after making a solemn promise that a indicated each compound by drawing large reporter from CBS News would see him rectangles in the dirt. “Here,” he said, next morning. 150 drawing the largest enclosure of all, “the 105 And that is how it happened that the next Russians. And next to us,” he said, finishing morning, I went for a walk in a park with his map, “just across the wire fence—the Dr. Nikita Zakaravich Aseyev. Americans.” He wore his medals. He carried a walking “Nearly every Friday, the Americans stick in one hand and a worn shopping bag 155 each received a five-kilo food parcel from 110 in the other. The tail of his sport shirt hung the Red Cross. But the Germans gave us out over his trousers, which did not match only one liter of turnip soup per day, and his suit coat. We were accompanied by an one liter of water. It wasn’t enough to keep interpreter, but Dr. Aseyev kept forgetting us alive. We were dying by the tens, and to wait for his words to be put into English. 160 then by the hundreds. The Americans could 115 We was in a great rush to say what he had see this. Twenty-five thousand men died in to say. that concentration camp. . . .“ “You have to help me,” he said. “You are His eyes looked past me for a moment my hope. Everybody lives in hope, you into the distance. know, and I am no different. For more than 165 “I could tell you many stories about those 120 forty years, I have waited for this chance, who died,” he said softly. He paused, still and now it has come.” looking away. Then, abruptly, returning to He shifted his cane to the hand that held me, “But that is not what I am here to do. the shopping bag and grasped my arm. It’s the Americans I want to talk about, you “You can speak to America, is this not 170 see.” 125 true?” he asked, and went on before I could “In all the camp, I was the only dentist. answer. “You must help me find some Every living person, can, of course, get sick, Americans I knew during the war. I have to and the Germans permitted me to treat the thank them for saving my life and the lives Americans. There was no dental surgery. I of many other Russian soldiers.” 175 just accepted patients in an ordinary chair, 130 We sat down on a park bench. He pointed even when I had to perform complicated to the scar in his forehead. operations. I treated hundreds of American soldiers, and I believe there were never any complications afterwards, even in such

2 This article is the twenty-fourth chapter of a book. It appears on pages 299-321 of A Life on the Road, written by Charles Kuralt and published in 1990 by Ballantine Books.

180 conditions as perhaps you can imagine. I “Do you realize what I am saying?” he was the only Russian permitted any contact asked me. This was nearly seven thousand with the Americans, and the Americans kilos of food in one night! Do you respected me. All eight thousand of them 230 understand what this food meant on our knew me, or had heard about me, and side of the wire, where men were dying 185 understood that I was a very good every night of starvation?” specialist, and they held me in respect. He released my arm. “This went on,” he “One day, after I had been there about a said, “at least one night a week for many year, two American brothers names 235 months. At least one night a week, the Wowczuk, Michael and Peter, and a third Americans, many different ones, risked 190 American whose name I forget, spoke to me their lives to collect food parcels and dash about conditions in the Russian compound. out at night to throw them to us. Not one These brothers I knew by now. They were parcel ever failed to make it across the wire. from Chicago, workers in the stockyards, 240 Not one ever was wasted.” and I understood already that they were “Why do you think the Americans did 195 very good people. We were alone in the this?” I asked. room that was the dental clinic. This was “Because we were allies,” Dr. Aseyev the beginning of the thing I want to tell you. answered. “And because they were good The brothers Wowczuk and this other, 245 men.” whose name I cannot remember, proposed a He reached for the old plastic shopping 200 plot by which the Americans would bag lying beside him on the bench and smuggle food to the Russians. They told me brought out a fuzzy photograph. that not only the three of them, but others of “This was a good man, too,” he said. the Americans were willing to participate. 250 “This was a German corporal, one of the Instantly agreed. That is how it all started.” guard detail. He stumbled into knowledge 205 “Wasn’t this dangerous?” I asked. of what we were doing almost from the first Dr, Aseyev threw up his hands. “Oh, of night. He turned his back and let us course!” he exclaimed. “We would have continue. He was a soldier of the been shot if they had caught us. Merely to 255 Wehrmacht, but he did not like seeing be found outside the barracks at night was a enemy soldiers starve. After the war, I 210 shooting offense, and many men were wrote to his family and they sent me this executed in that camp for much less!” portrait of him.” He handed the photograph “How did the Americans get the food to to me. “I had a copy made yesterday,” Dr. you?” 260 Aseyev said. “It is for you to take home to The old man smiled to remember. “They America. With perfect assurance you may 215 waited until the sentry had passed at night tell people that Corporal Alfred Jung was and threw the parcels over the fence,” he an exceptional member of the human race.” said. “The fence was only eight meters high. “What happened to him?” I asked, Those Americans were strong! They could 265 looking at the unfocused image of a young have thrown those things a hundred man in a German Army uniform. 220 meters!” He laughed. “The day the plot was finally “I organized a group on our side to rush discovered,” Dr. Aseyev said, “they took out to the fence and retrieve the packages. him out and guillotined him.” In one night, we received 1,350 packages 270 He set the shopping bag back on the this way.” bench. 225 Dr. Aseyev took my arm again and “What else do you have there?” I asked. gripped it tightly. “I will show you presently,” Dr. Aseyev said. “But now I want to tell you about the

3 This article is the twenty-fourth chapter of a book. It appears on pages 299-321 of A Life on the Road, written by Charles Kuralt and published in 1990 by Ballantine Books.

275 behavior of the Americans when the plot remember about them. For now, I will tell was discovered.” you the names only.” “All eight thousand American prisoners Gravely, he began to read. were assembled on the parade ground in a 325 “Wowczuk, Michael. great semicircle. This was late in May 1944. “Wowczuk, Peter. 280 It was a hot day. Four SS officers went “Oh,” he said, “Bennett! I just thought of down the line of them saying to each one, Bennett. He isn’t on the list. He was on his ‘Give us the name of the Russian who deathbed and I did an operation on him. I organized this plot.’ For three hours in the 330 don’t know his first name. sun, with nothing to drink, the Americans “Jarema, William. He was from New 285 stood in absolute silence. They stood there York. with clenched lips. The German officers “Harold Symmonds. He was from threatened them with severe reprisal. They Mississippi. He lived on that famous river stood in silence. Not one word was spoken. 335 of yours.” Not one American gave the name of the “Walhaug, Lloyd. He was a farmer from 290 Russian Dr. Aseyev. Illinois. “Finally, to bring the thing to an end, the “Emil Vierling, thirty years old, also a brothers Wowczuk, Peter and Michael, farmer. stepped forward. ‘We did it,’ they said. ‘The 340 “Gut. He was a medic. whole thing was our idea.’ A squad of “Gasprich. How I loved Gasprich!” 295 German guards seized them, and the two He looked up from the paper in his hand brothers were driven out of the camp in a to say emotionally, “What good men they closed truck. Later, I learned that they were were! What good men they all were!” taken to another camp, a place for special 345 He took out a handkerchief and wiped his punishment, where they were questioned eyes. “I loved these guys,” he said. He 300 every day by the Gestapo—and the Gestapo continued reading: was the Gestapo, you know! I was afraid for “Brockman, Doctor. Captain. I will tell them, but I had no fear for myself. I knew you more about Brockman. . . that Michael and Peter would never reveal 350 “Dr. Hughes. He was a good friend. my name, and they did not.” “Dr. Amrich.” 305 Dr. Aseyev smiled and lowered his voice. I sat on a park bench in Moscow listening “Later, we were all moved to a different to these American names pronounced in a camp,” he said, “and do you know—I Russian accent. I knew I was hearing a roll found Michael and Peter there. And within 355 call of heroes. a few days, we had organized the plot all “There were others not written down 310 over again.” here,” Dr. Aseyev said. “They all took part He beamed triumphantly, and started in smuggling food. I remember Rossbrigde, rummaging around in his shopping bag. Tossi, Snow—from California, I think— “After the war,” he said, “I wrote down 360 Mangelomani, Audeni . . .” the names of those Americans so I could He leaned forward and said to me, “There 315 never forget them.” He showed me a carbon were four of us Russian doctors in the camp copy of a document of several pages, typed who took an oath one night after the war we in Cyrillic characters and dated September would find a way to thank these Americans. 1, 1949. 365 You see, I am getting old now. This is my “This is for you,” he said. “It is the only chance. 320 extra copy, so do not lose it. It tells the “Now, now because of you,” he said, “if names of the Americans and what I these guys are still alive they will know I

4 This article is the twenty-fourth chapter of a book. It appears on pages 299-321 of A Life on the Road, written by Charles Kuralt and published in 1990 by Ballantine Books.

remember—this dentist who loved them, The next morning, June 4, I left Moscow 370 and whom they did not betray.” for London by Aeroflot jet, carrying in my He stopped. He exhaled deeply, handed hand an orange CBS News shipping bag me the list of names and slumped back on 420 with the word “URGENT” printed on it in the bench. After forty-three years, Nikita red capital letters. The bag contained the Zakaravich Aseyev had just fulfilled an videotape cassettes of Dr. Aseyev’s story. 375 oath. All our news shipments are labeled I invited him to lunch at the Rossiya “URGENT.” This one, I felt, really was. On Hotel. The KGB men stood aside as we 425 arrival in London, I went straight to the CBS entered, not wishing to tangle with him News offices in Knightsbridge, where Al again. At the lunch table, where we were Balisky was waiting for me in an editing 380 joined by CBS News producer Peter room. As we sat with the door closed Schweitzer and others, Dr. Aseyev screening the cassettes, I noticed Al’s eyes produced more keepsakes from his 430 growing moist. shopping bag. “Imagine,” he said gruffly, “The old guy “Oh,” he said, “oh . . . These are my remembered all these years.” 385 darlings, my treasures!” Then, without saying anything more, he There were photographs of the began the hard job of editing Dr. Aseyev’s abandoned camp, clipped from a Soviet 435 story into a form that would fit the stringent newspaper after the war. There were time requirements of that night’s Evening snapshots of the Russian medical doctors News. Once more, on tape, Dr. Aseyev 390 who had survived the ordeal of Stalag 3-B recalled the names. with him. There were more medals, “Wowczuk . . . Symmonds . . . Jarema . . . wrapped in tissue. Finally, there was a 440 Brockman . . .” crude cigarette case made of hammered tin. “Listen to these names back there in “Late in the war,” said Dr. Aseyev, “Dr. America,” I said. “If your name is on this 395 Brockman, who was a gentleman, and with list, an old soldier is saying thank you.” whom I had many long and searching Watching the news that night, William conversations, left the camp. He and some 445 Jarema, retired New York City police others learned they had been exchanged for detective, felt tears spring to his eyes. “It German prisoners. Before he left, he came to was a different kind of weeping,” he 400 me and gave me this. It was the only thing explained a few days later, still unable to he had to give me.” speak without choking up. “These are tears Into the top of the case was scratched the 450 of joy. We were like brothers. I thought he inscription “To N. Z. Aseyev from Sidney was dead.” Blackman, Captain, U.S. Army.” Dr. Sidney Brockman, retired from the 405 After lunch, I walked Dr. Aseyev to the San Antonio, Texas, Health Department, taxi that would take him home. also wept that night. “We were all very “I know you will not fail me,” he said. 455 close to Dr. Aseyev,” he explained later. I extended my hand, but he did not take “We all had tremendous respect for the it. Instead, he gave me a vigorous military man, because we knew the Russian 410 salute, stepped into the taxi with his cane prisoners were having things mighty rough. and shopping bag, and shut the door. As he “In the wintertime, when the Russian was driven away, he looked back, and I said 460 prisoners died in their barracks, their good-bye to him in the only way that was comrades did not report their death to the now possible. I stood at attention in my best Germans. They brought them out and stood 415 imitation of the form I learned in the Army them up for roll call so that their bodies Reserve, and returned his salute. would be counted for rations.”

5 This article is the twenty-fourth chapter of a book. It appears on pages 299-321 of A Life on the Road, written by Charles Kuralt and published in 1990 by Ballantine Books.

465 He took out a handkerchief, just as Dr. Members of the Underground in Aseyev had done on the park bench, and The Concentration Camp 3-B dabbed at his eyes. 515 In the Town of Forstenberg-on-Oder, “How could we not try to help them?” he 1942-45. Germany. asked. 470 But to risk his own life for them? 1. Michael Wowczuk. Senior sergeant. “It was part of the game,” Dr. Brockman 25-30 years old, blond, native of the town said. “We had all risked our lives to begin 520 of Chicago, former worker at a with or we wouldn’t have been in that slaughterhouse . . . active member of the place. What was one more risk?” underground . . . organizer of help to our 475 He said, “Look, I have not believed in prisoners of war and to our partisans. being a professional prisoner of war. What Continually informed me about the happened is done with. I want to forget it if 525 situation on the Soviet-German fronts . . . I can.” Against his will, he started to weep In the American blocks, there were two again. radios under the platforms in barracks 13 480 “But I can’t,” he said. He paused for a and 15. Michael Wowczuk continually while to collect himself. organized collection of food parcels . . . “I appreciate Dr. Aseyev remembering 530 2. Peter Wowczuk. Brother of Michael. me. I have never forgotten him. I will never 35 years. Blond. Was always with forget him. What more can I say?” Michael. He helped Michael in all 485 He got up, went to a cedar chest in a hall undertakings to organize more food closet, and after a time found what he was provisions for our prisoners. He also looking for. “I kept it in here where it’s safe 535 obtained English leaflets, translated them and where I don’t have to look at it very into Russian, and passed them to me in often,” he said. “I took it with me when I the American medical unit. He also 490 left the camp. It’s about the only thing I’ve actively helped Michael in collecting food kept from the war.” parcels for Soviet partisans in May, 1944. It was a cigarette case fashioned of scrap 540 He also was imprisoned with Michael wood, patiently handmade. He opened the together with a third whose surname I’ve case and shook a small metal plaque into forgotten in a prison in Frankfurt-on- 495 his hand. Oder. There they were convicted by a The plaque read: “To Sidney Blackman fascist tribunal. The Germans were from N. Z. Aseyev.” 545 seeking the name of the Russian The type written pages Dr. Aseyev Communist who helped organize food entrusted to me on the park bench, when parcels for the Soviet partisans. Neither 500 translated, give further details of the they nor the other 8,000 American POW’s sacrifice and heroism that ennobled a gave me up as the organizer, though the miserable place once known as Stalag 3-B. 550 Gestapo sought me for four months. The When he wrote these notes in 1949, they brothers Wowczuk and the third person were meant only as a memorandum to during four months in the prison were 505 himself, insurance against forgetting some subjected to interrogations, but did not men he had vowed never to forget. But as I give my name and thus saved me from read his unadorned recital of bravery and 555 death at the hands of the Gestapo. brotherhood in a dark time, I could not help 3. William Jarema. 25-30 years. Native of thinking of his notes as a message to the the town of New York. Formerly a New 510 world. York courier. A remarkable and warmhearted person. Active member of American Anti-Fascist Prisoners of War, 560 the underground. Constant companion of

6 This article is the twenty-fourth chapter of a book. It appears on pages 299-321 of A Life on the Road, written by Charles Kuralt and published in 1990 by Ballantine Books.

the Wowczuk brothers. Constant the parade ground in May, 1944, in a organizer amongst the Americans of 610 semicircle before the head of the Gestapo, collection of food parcels for Soviet Krautzer, who expected that one of them prisoners of war and also for our long- would step forward and say who was the 565 suffering tormented partisans. organizer of the collection of food parcels 4. Harold Symmonds. 20-25. Blond. for the Russian partisans, but no one gave Senior sergeant. Medic with the American 615 the name of the Russian Dr. Aseyev. infirmary with whom I had a close 5. Lloyd Walhaug. American medic . . . friendship, especially when I worked in Walhaug was 20-25 years old, a farmer 570 their infirmary where there was not even from the state of Illinois. Loved to joke, a dentist’s chair for the dentist. So Harold very communicative, helped in every way Symmonds always stood behind an 620 the Soviet POW’s, especially in throwing ordinary chair and held the head of the food parcels over the wire barricade . . . patient as if he were a headrest, and also He continually told the Americans that 575 helped me in my specialist work where the Russians were good people and that necessary. . . . they were suffering from starvation, being He always said that such a war as the 625 driven to hard labor and being brought fascists had conducted against all home dead from work. He would say, countries would not happen again, that “Why, why, why? It is not their fault that 580 Marshal Stalin would come to an the Germans don’t feed them but force agreement with our President Roosevelt them to work, beat them and kill them.” and that there would be no war. 630 Lloyd Walhaug in Luckenwald in Camp Harold Symmonds was from the town 3-A obtained for our underground, I do of Mississippi. His house was on the not know how, much medication and 585 banks of the river. He studied in a many bandages, three liters of iodine, 500 technical college for three years, but since bandages, 300 vials of 2% novocaine . . . he didn’t have enough money to continue 635 * * * studying, he was forced to take out a 6. Emil Vierling. A farmer with a lettuce contract with the Army for two years. plantation from the state of Iowa. He was 590 Then the war started and he was sent to an active underground member, often Africa, either to Tunis or Algiers. I don’t threw materials from the infirmary remember very well, but as I understand 640 courtyard over the wire barrier. Next door they were captured in the fortress of to the infirmary was the general camp Tobruk, taken captive by Rommel’s army, bath area in which worked 17 of our 595 and ended up with us. . . . Soviet doctors who were assigned to this Symmonds was a good antifascist wash area with great difficulty through member for more than three years, and 645 the fascist Dr. Kruger who agreed to the when we were liberated from captivity in doctors being taken from heavy work on the town of Luchenwald in April 1945 by the railway and uprooting tree stumps in 600 the tanks, Symmonds came to our the forest. It was necessary to save these meeting and seeing me, ran to embrace doctors by feeding them and this was me. He took me in both arms and wept for 650 achieved. The bath area was common to joy that both he and I were alive. In all my all foreigners . . . The American medics life, I can’t remember such tears, collected food, packed it in bags and kept 605 especially from a young man, such as it in the infirmary stores and upon my those wept by my dear friend, my direction, the American medics threw the American savior, and all of them, 8,000 655 bags to our doctors in the wash area men, were my saviors when they stood on under cover of darkness.

7 This article is the twenty-fourth chapter of a book. It appears on pages 299-321 of A Life on the Road, written by Charles Kuralt and published in 1990 by Ballantine Books.

7. Gut. Medic of the American infirmary. 705 write in American newspapers. I said to An American of Spanish origin, 20-25 him that a newspaper is just a bit of paper years, brunet, a quiet type, rarely entered and you can write any nonsense you like 660 into conversation . . . but helped to collect on it, but if you want the truth I’ll tell you. food parcels in the infirmary . . . and This conversation took place in the threw food parcels to our doctors. I 710 presence of my convoy, Alfred Jung, who remember [Gut’s parcels being picked up brought me to visit Brockman at his by] the surgeon from the town of invitation, illegally, under cover of 665 Voronezh, Nikolai Alekseevich Petrov. . . . darkness. I told Brockman that we have But in general I remember hazily. nurseries, thousands of them, and if any 8. Gasprich. A huge man, 35, from New 715 mother decides to work in industry or York, one of the organizers of the anywhere else, then she can leave her collection of food parcels. . . . After we child in a nursery and after work collect 670 moved to Concentration Camp 3-A, he her child and take it home. We have became representative of the American thousands of nurseries in the USSR! Red Cross. In Camp 3-A in February, 720 Brockman looked hard at me and 1945, he learned that I also had arrived listened attentively. Then raising both and came to visit me. Michael and Peter hands, he said loudly, “Very good, 675 Wowczuk, William Jarema, Gasprich and Doctor. We don’t have that in America!” I organized amongst the Americans the As far as politics was concerned, of collection of 800 five-kilogram parcels 725 course, he was a gentleman with a which were conveyed to our block in the batman like a baron. He treated me to first days of April. This helped to put a good food that night, even omelet with 680 stop to the recruitment of our starving sausage. Before the convoy left, having people into Vlasov’s criminal plot. [A turned out the light in the corridor, scheme by which Russian prisoners were 730 Brockman entrusted to me one food offered normal food rations and release parcel and another one to his batman, from the camp in return for joining the and having said good-bye, we left with 685 German Army and fighting on the the two parcels by the camp road and the German side.] The attempt collapsed and convoy took me to the Soviet block and burst like a soap bubble. In this way, the 735 returned with the batman. Americans helped me fulfill the tasks set 10. Hughes. Doctor, captain, blond, by the underground group opposing perhaps 35 years old. A fine person. He 690 fascism in Camp 3-A. The head of the sympathized with the Soviet POW’s underground unit was Pilot Captain whom the Germans treated so cruelly. Victor Ivanovich Yuschenko. 740 “Why?” he always asked me. What could 9. Brockman. Doctor. Captain. Blond. . . . I answer to his why? Especially since I He was very communicative and related knew where I was and amongst whom. 695 to me very well. He always greeted me in So I always answered I don’t know. Dr. the infirmary with some chocolate and Hughes gave the Soviet POW’s much invariably opened a golden cigarette case 745 food from his personal supply. He would and said, “Please, Doctor, have a smoke.” say to me, “I would like you to accept for He said that he was apolitical, although I the Russian prisoners . . . “ 700 didn’t ask about that. He put questions to Dr. Hughes was killed when the town me such as, “Tell me, Doctor, is it true that of Brandenburg was bombed by in Russia when a child is born it is taken 750 American aviation, along with the from its mother?” I asked him where he Yugoslav Doctor Rado Savlevich got that idea. He said that’s what they Manchino. He also was a fine person.

8 This article is the twenty-fourth chapter of a book. It appears on pages 299-321 of A Life on the Road, written by Charles Kuralt and published in 1990 by Ballantine Books.

11. Amrich. Doctor, captain, brunet 780 painful that they refuse to discuss it, even from New York. I did not know this now, even on the telephone. In spite of a 755 person well. He always kept to himself, diligent search by the Military Field Branch of talked little. On rare occasions, he spoke the Department of Defense and by the Center to me in English. Once in the American of Military History in Washington, several infirmary, I stood by the window and 785 remain unaccounted for. By recent act of looked at the forest, which was situated Congress, World War II prisoners of war have 760 not far away to the east of the infirmary. been awarded decorations, years after their Dr. Amrich came up to me and said, imprisonment. So far as I know, none of the “Tell me, Doctor, is it true that in Kiev at heroes of Stalag 3-B has ever been honored for Babi Yar the Germans shot 90,000 Jews?” 790 what he did there, except in the memory of an I answered that this was a fact, that I aging Russian Dentist. 765 personally in September, 1941, talked “It was a terrific operation,” William Jarena with people who were there. Amrich said. “Terrific. We were repaid many times by burst into tears and I could not get him to our feeling of satisfaction, knowing we helped calm down. Oh no, I thought, now I am 795 people in need. in trouble. Amrich will tell the Germans “See, when you are starving, it is an awful 770 and I’ll get a bullet in the head. But feeling, your stomach tightens up on you. everything turned out all right. Amrich People don’t know how it feels. If you’ve ever calmed down. He was a Jew. been starving yourself, you can’t just walk N. Aseyev, 1 September, 1949 800 away from a person who’s starving. We were all in trouble in that camp, and we did 775 I did my best to deliver Dr. Aseyev’s everything we could to help one another.” message of gratitude and remembrance to all He thought about it for a moment and said, those on his list. I found that some have died, “There ought to be more of that in the world among them the brave brothers Wowczuk. 805 today.” One or two find the memory of Stalag 3-B so

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