“After obtaining travel papers, we made our way out of Germany, through the Alps and into Austria. Mutti had lied about us having a place to stay in Austria in order to get the papers, but had us head into the mountains over Innsbruck because she had been there once with my brother Gottfried when he was having troubles with Asthma. At first, we stayed at a large farm, but were told that it could only be temporary because their own family was returning to stay with the farm owners until the war ended. Many refugees like us had flooded the area, hoping to get away from the major fighting and find a safe place to stay until the war was over. Germany had annexed Austria at this time, so despite having left Germany, we were still in an area under German control.

Each and every day Mutti took us for long walks through the mountains. I believe she was attempting to get us stronger in case we had to escape once again by foot to get to Italy and once again away from whatever danger there might be.

On one of those occasions, I took off by myself and found an elderly man living in a hidden cave. He sat me down and explained that I could not tell anyone that I had found him and that he was living here. He said that he would be considered a Partisan, and the Gestapo would come and arrest him. I swore to not tell a soul and was even scared to tell Gottfried. The man I had stumbled across was considered a deserter for not wanting to be part of the German Army. I never told anyone and kept the mans secret.

One day, on one of her walks through the mountains Mutti met a pastor who offered us a place to stay in his apartment.  There was no furniture so we slept on the floor, and to keep warm Mutti rolled me into a small carpet.  I got warm fast but could not move my arms and still feel claustrophobic thinking about it.  

One night, we woke up to sirens blaring. The loudspeakers told people to seek shelter in the basements, so we rushed down, like we had done before in Danzig, to wait out the bombings. The people here were very scared, as they were not used to it like my brother and I were. We had spent many nights in Danzig, sheltering in cellars, so we were not nearly as bothered by this event as others and soon got extremely bored.

After about 20 minutes, Gottfried and I decided to sneak upstairs and see what was happening. I opened the door just a crack and at first all was peaceful. We sat and played in the doorway, when all of a sudden we heard a loud rumble in the distance. Then we saw it, about 4 or 5 houses down an American Army tank coming around the corner shooting at both sides of the street. Bullets were bouncing off the entrance where we had sat. Gottfried slammed the door and we ran back down to the basement as fast as we could with all the adults screaming at us.

We sat again for a while, but the sound of gunfire had stopped, and once again I got bored sitting in the basement. Soon, we decided to creep back up the stairs while nobody was paying attention. We made it to the top of the stairs, when all of a sudden the door crashed open! Standing before us, was the biggest black man I had ever seen with a machine-gun pointed directly at Gottfried and I. I saw what looked like granades clipped around his belt.

“Where are the soldiers!”, he yelled in German. I was so terrified, that I couldn’t move and immediately wet my pants. Gottfried bolted downstairs into Mutti’s arms and she somehow convinced this American soldier that there were no German military people in the apartment. Later, another group of black soldiers from French Morocco searched each and every room for German soldiers.

It was May 9th, 1945, and now the city was in the hands of a large Black American Regiment and a number of small French Moroccan companies. Since these were the first American soldiers I had seen since the war began, I was completely convinced that all Americans must be black.

Once the sun rose the next day, some American tanks, military trucks, and jeeps drove along the avenue as people cheered in the streets. Austria had been liberated from the Nazis.

That same afternoon I watched as big trucks rolled to the center of the avenue to set up a field kitchen. After a short while, the smell of the food cooking drifted towards us, and we decided we had to investigate. It had been so long since we had had any good amount of food and we were always starving.

A large gong rang, and soon we were totally surrounded by American soldiers who came from all directions. I was still focused on the roar of the oil fire under the cooking trailer that sounded just like a jet engine, when one of the soldiers grabbed my hand and made me hold this big tray.

“Hey there Son! You sure do look hungry! Where is your Mama? Here, hold this trey!” It was the same giant soldier from the night before who had scared me so badly, but this time smiling a big beautiful smile with a thin piece of wood in between his teeth. This intrigued me, as I had never seen a toothpick before. He walked me towards another American soldier who spoke German and explained to me,

“The sergeant here wants to tell you that he is sorry he scared you so much that you pissed your pants the other night. He’s got a son around your age back home in the states and feels bad. He wants to make it up to you and give you his food rations for the day. Here little buddy, have a prize from me also. Stay in line, and don’t let those big guys push you around.”

He handed me something wrapped in paper, that I later learned was chewing gum. Then the cook piled the trey high with Fried Chicken, mashed potatoes, peas, and a slice of white bread, as well as a canteen cup of vegetable soup. I could hardly carry it all and could not believe my luck! We had not had that much food once since leaving Danzig!

I asked if I could go share it with my brother, who was watching me from outside the circle of men, and was instructed to bring the tray and cup back right away as they would be moving out shortly. I hurried across the street towards the apartments with Gottfried at my heals. As I stepped onto the sidewalk in front of our home, a mean looking German man in a trench coat stepped out in front of me and struck my tray with his fist.

“We Germans do not accept food from the enemy!” he shouted at us as our food flew every which way. But Gottfried and I did not hesitate to bend down to salvage everything we could from the ground. The American soldier who had given me the food came running with a number of the others and immediately arrested the man who had knocked down our trey.

We managed to save all the fried chicken and bread, and most of the mashed potatoes, but the soup and peas had been lost. We didn’t mind though, it was still a feast, and we split what we still had in three to share with Mutti when she returned from work. This was my first taste of fried chicken, and I love it so much to this day.  And I’ll always remember my first American Soldier!  I didn’t even mind the gritty mashed potatoes.”- Jochen

This is one of those stories that I remember vividly. Laying in bed as a little kid, my Dad telling me a story at bedtime. I always pictured this big Black American Soldier who had scared him, then given him candy and food. What a wonderful and terrifying introduction to the Americans as World War 2 came to an end.

Just last weekend, my husband and I watched the movie, “Red Tails”. It tells the story of some of the Tuskegee Airmen and how they had been all black airmen who helped with critical missions based out of Italy during the war, often escorting and protecting bomber planes.  It’s a fantastic movie if you haven’t seen it. But every single time I see anything  about black soldiers in WW2, I think of my dad and this story.

Now, knowing that it was an all black group of American Soldiers in Innsbruck, I decided I wanted to see if I could find out any more information as to who the soldiers might have been.

Imagine my surprise when I find that on May 9th, 1945, the most prominent all-black American squadron in the area would have been part of the 232nd Fighter Group, famously known as the Tuskegee Airmen. Although they were based in Italy, they operated extensively in the Mediterranean Theater of Operations, including missions over Austria. With the war officially over on May 8th, 1945, it’s highly likely that elements of the 232nd Fighter Group would have been in the vicinity or involved with post-conflict operations in Innsbruck.

Another possibility would be Company C of the 614th Tank Destroyer Battalion, an all African American squadron that had been attached to the 103rd Infantry Division who had been in Austria during the end of the war. On May 2nd, near Scharnitz, Austria, they lost 7 men of a task force that was pushing towards Innsbruck, their last casualties of the war. Company C, then moved to Telfs, Austria on May 7th where they rested until May 11th. Google tells me this is only about 20 km from Innsbruck. Could they be my Dad’s American soldiers? Were they joined by some of the Tuskegee Airmen? I find it fascinating to wonder about, and will continue to research more on this.

I’ve always wished I could know who the kind man was so I could thank his family for feeding a starving little German boy that day. My Daddy.

The pictures below are some of the soldiers of the 614 Tank Destroyer Battalion.

On a personal note, this is one of the European story locations that I’ve actually gotten to experience with my own eyes. When I graduated high school, my father and step-mother Sandra took me and two of my best friends for a month long trip through Europe. While on our trip we got to experience Innsbruck and stay in a nearly village. It was incredible! We hiked through the mountain, we rode to the top of massive mountains and viewed the world from up high. It is an amazing area, and my friends and I will never forget our time there. I can only imagine how wonderful it must have felt to get out for the rubble filled cities and up into the Alps where the fresh air and mountains could start to heal their war broken hearts.

Oh how I’d love to be back on top of that mountain again with my Dad! At least we have incredible memories of our trip to Austria long ago, and for him, the Big Black American Soldier who let him know the war was finally over!.

….. sort of… well at least that is what they said, but the rest is for another story.

But lastly, while researching for this week’s story I found an incredibly interesting story about “The REAL Inglorious Basterds” (yes, as in reference to Quentin Tarantino’s 2009 film), who played a major part in helping Innsbruck be peacefully transferred over from the Nazi’s at the end of the war. I’ll let you read about it yourself here if this intrigues you. Check out the link below for more on that side-story that probably saved my Dad and his family from facing more fighting at the end of WW2.

https://www.nationalww2museum.org/war/articles/operation-greenup-real-inglourious-basterds

Once again, thank you so much for reading. We hope you enjoy! Make sure to subscribe so you don’t miss any future stories. There is so much more to tell!

-Verina