Relive the Battle of the Bulge

Nov. 8, 2006

Editor’s Note: Tom Mountz has held veterans in high regard ever since he was a Cub Scout watching WWI and WWII veterans march in a parade: “I was watching heroes on TV and movies at the time, and I thought, hey, the real heroes are right here.”
Six years ago, Mountz attended a Battle of the Bulge Chapter #23 meeting—the only such chapter left in the state. The men asked him to keep the chapter’s books, and he agreed. His payback was getting to know the dozen men who were part of the U.S. Army’s largest and most intense engagement in World War II.

Hitler had designed this attack to take place in the Ardennes Mountains in Belgium. The plan was for the German armies to reach the sea, trap the allies, and force a negotiated peace. It was a gamble, but Hitler felt that the average GI was soft and weak, poorly trained, and prone to panic.
Hitler launched the attack on a cold, foggy December 16th morning. High-ranking officers dismissed the initial news of the German attack as inflated, but General Eisenhower was aware of Hitler’s diabolical abilities. In the battle’s first week, he moved a record 250,000 men and 25,000 vehicles into combat. Hitler was bewildered by the hardened will, bravery and profound skill of his opponents. The soldiers endured frozen limbs and painful wounds. All the Germans could do was push a bulge in the American line.
Sixty-two years ago, these men returned home to help build our country. Here is a small slice of their stories:

Bill Nemecek, Rapid City, 17th Airborne
Bill Nemecek remembers facing a German firing squad. His frozen feet had made him a burden as a POW, and the German guards didn’t want to deal with him anymore. Two Canadian POWs ran up, shielded him with their bodies and bargained with the guards. They promised to share their food with Nemecek and treat his feet. The guards relented and let him live. Nemecek would love to find those Canadian soldiers today.
After the war, he was still in shell shock. Friends took him deer hunting. Three deer appeared and he killed them all, thinking they were German soldiers. The distinctive clanking and grinding of bulldozers still unnerve him. He flashes back to a German tank blowing up a fellow soldier standing right beside him.
The war was terrible, but he remembers the kindness of a German couple and their 10-year-old son. They walked up with a bucket of water, a ladle and sandwiches to give to a column of 150 POWs, who hadn’t eaten for six days. The German guards were furious and ordered them away. But the couple ignored their shouts. They ladled the water while the boy spread the jam.
Bill travels often to his cabin on the Little Two Hearted River. He savors the peace and enjoys watching the moose, bear and partridges.
 
Tony Stefan, Acme, 953 Field Artillery
Tony Stefan was raised on a farm
in coal country Pennsylvania. To him, the Army sounded like an adventure and a good opportunity. He looked so young, his comrades immediately nicknamed
him “Babe.”
Stefan is a great storyteller. He remembers supporting a bleeding, grimy comrade in arms to an aid station when a speeding Jeep approached from a distant hill. The driver urgently needed directions. The passenger was Marlene Dietrich and she was late for a performance.
Stefan, who still looks young, is stuck on “go.” He continually reads, walks, gardens (he’s a tomato expert), splits wood and travels to his U.P. cabin. His children would like him to move near them downstate. Every time the realtor’s contract expires, Stefan adds $50,000 to the price. He doesn’t want to move.
 
Fred Korb, Traverse City, 101st Airborne
Fred Korb saw intense combat duty, but wasn’t in the thick of it. He did a lot of guard duty, entertained the troops, playing the trombone in the division band, and carried a stretcher throughout Europe, including Bastogne. He earned a Bronze Star, an ETO Medal with two bronze battle stars and a Presidential Unit Citation.
Korb repaired appliances for Max’s Service for 40 years. His wife Dorothy quips “… every woman in town loved him.” She and Fred play music in nursing homes three to five days per week, every week.  He was the state champ musical saw player at age 86. Fred is one of the original members of Chapter #23. He’s 91 years old, but doesn’t look it.
 
Ray Mills, Traverse City, 95th Infantry
Ray Mills’ first job in the war was to prepare the maps for the invasion of Europe. He had it pretty good, living in a cozy English home for nine months. That changed in January of 1945, when he became a combat scout. Amazingly, he never had to shoot a German soldier, something he’s proud of. He helped secure the Remagen Bridge for the Allied tanks to cross. In April, he took prisoners to a stockade at a farmhouse. A shell exploded, wounding three soldiers and killing several others. Mills was hit in the chest with shrapnel and awarded a Purple Heart.
Mills has worked with local government to place a memorial in Sunset Park (it will be placed instead at 11th Street and Division). He also worked closely with state legislators for a Purple Heart monument in Lansing. He was an honored guest at a ceremony last month, but he blew a tire on the freeway and missed it.
 
Richard Rizzio, 274th AFA Batallion
Richard Rizzio was awarded the Silver Star for his actions in the Battle of the Bulge. Like all the other men that served, he feels he was “just doin’ my job.” Rizzio survived three razor close calls, including a near hit in a foxhole. He’s written a personal memoir for his family. He would be too happy to tell you how to chase, catch and cook a chicken in a helmet, while hunkered down in a foxhole.
Richard’s wife Marie cooks chicken a little differently, and the Betty Crocker National contest committee liked her dish better. She recently won a $25,000 first place award.
 
Jim Wibby, Traverse City, 104th Infantry
Jim Wibby was placed in the Army Specialized Training Program, a unit to train the most promising men as engineers and strategic planners. The program was cancelled prematurely because the men were needed for combat. Wibby’s division kept the German forces off balance by scouting and raiding. In the division’s spearhead to Cologne, Jim lost part of his hand crossing the Rohr River.
Wibby later did post graduate work at Harvard Business School and became an accomplished banker, even setting up a private bank for the Stroh family. He now volunteers at the local Democratic headquarters, as well as guiding seniors through the new Medicare drug program.
 
Wayne Mentier, Suttons Bay, 106th Infantry
If Wayne Mentier’s regiment had not surrendered, we would be reading a history about the slaughter of hundreds of men. Mentier still endures the damage from frozen feet and hands. Subjected to a POW starvation diet, cruel prison guards, inadequate clothing and extreme feelings of wretchedness and despair, Mentier survived to tell his experiences to numerous classrooms over the years. He is the new president of the Battle of the Bulge Chapter #23. Mentier has, at length, tried unsuccessfully to generate interest among the city commissioners to support an Independence Day Parade. This parade would be distinctly separate from the Cherry Festival parades.
 
Jim Pekkala, Traverse City, 87th Infantry
In addition to combat, Jim Pekkala trained soldiers on how to properly wear gas masks. He actually practiced with real mustard gas. Thus his lungs are shot. (The soldiers never used the gas, he said, but had it on hand in case the Germans did.)
The image that will follow him to the grave is the liberation of the ghastly Ohrdruf concentration camp. Bodies were stacked like cordwood, 60 deep, shot shortly before the soldiers arrived. Men were too weak to get off their straw bunks, he said.
In recent years, Pekkala led the campaign to fundraise for the fine Battle of the Bulge monument located in front of the VFW post on Veterans Drive in Traverse City. Jim and his wife Maxine built a pond, and he loves taking pictures of the wildlife it attracts.

Maury Cole, Fife Lake, 87th Infantry
Maury Cole spent 39 straight days in foxholes, freezing in subzero temperatures. His stint ended on a wet March night at 3 a.m. He was sheltered in the basement of an old building outside of Roth, Germany. Shells fell on him, knocking him unconscious for 30 minutes. His brother Mel also fought in the Bulge, but Cole didn’t know it until he came to visit him at a Paris hospital. They both attended the Nuremberg trials.
It was Cole’s idea to start the local chapter in 1992; he served as president since then. He has to resign because of health problems, largely from the war—gout from freezing toes and spinal senosis. His awards include a Purple Heart and a bronze star.