Decorated Veteran
SUMMIT TWP — The nightmares have mostly stopped these days, but Mark Nowakowski, 89, of 201 Freeport Road recently received a more tangible reminder of his World War II Army service.
About six weeks ago, Nowakowski received a medal in the mail. It was the Chevalier de la Legion d'Honneur, France's highest award, from the consul general of France.
“In 2004, President Jacques Chirac on the 60th anniversary of the liberation of Paris decided to award the Legion d'Honneur to the American soldiers who participated in the liberation of France,” said Evelyne DeBarnardo of the French Embassy defense mission in Washington, D.C.
“Since 2004, we have been awarding it to thousands of living veterans,” she said.
Nowakowski said the French consulate wanted him at first to travel to France and then Washington, D.C., to receive his medal.
“I said 'No, I just don't drive that far anymore,'” said the retired Armco employee.
Finally, he said, the consulate staff said they would mail the medal to him.
“I don't know how they got a hold of him,” said Irene Nowakowski, his wife of 60 years. “They wanted him to go to France, Washington, D.C. We don't travel anymore.”
Irene Nowakowski said her husband hadn't talked a lot about his experiences with the 63rd Infantry Division, but lately he's opened up a little more about his wartime service.
“He was in the Battle of the Bulge. He's seen some very tragic things,” said Irene Nowakowski.
“I never heard anything until the first time we went down to Louisiana when I was 16,” said Kathy Geibel, one of his daughters.
“We went down to see his friend, Heinz Hoyt,” said Geibel.
“He (Hoyt) was shot and laid all day surrounded by Germans,” said Geibel, recounting her father's story. “Later in the day, he heard American voices, called out and was rescued.”
Although years ago in 1996, Nowakowski and family members did travel back to France to go over some of the old battlegrounds, said another daughter Carol Schiebel.
“My brother had mapped out where he was stationed,” said Schiebel.“He stood on the same bridge 50 years later that he had stood on during the war and he said the background was just the same,” said Geibel.“I was born next door and lived all my life in that house or this one, except when I was in the service,” said Nowakowski.He said he graduated from Butler High School on June 10, 1943, and was drafted by the Army on July 10.“They got almost the whole graduating class,” he said.Shipped off to Camp Grant in Illinois, Nowakowski said he spent six weeks training to be a medic.“But Stalin, Roosevelt and Churchill had a big meeting and wanted to start a new outfit all together,” said Nowakowski. “So they sent me down to Camp Van Dorn in Mississippi before I could finish being trained as a medic.”His interrupted medic's training would come back to haunt Nowakowski in his Army career.First, he said, he had to start basic training over again because his medic's training left him deficient in his infantry skills.When finished, he spent 13 days being sick in a small troop transport before reaching the European theater.Once there, it was marching and fighting and bad weather, Nowakowski said.He served in Europe from 1943 to 1946.“I was a scout. We'd get a 6 a.m. start if there was a push that day,” he said. “We'd leave at five-minute intervals and if there was anything looming, we'd have to call back.“One time I came upon a big castle where there were 31 Germans captured by one American who wasn't supposed to be there,” said Nowakowski. “They were all eating breakfast. They must have just been tired of the war.“They'd get a gang of us and say 'We want you to go beyond the lines and pick up some German soldiers and bring them back for questioning.'” Nowakowski said.On one such mission, he said, “Our sergeant, he stepped on a mine. Since I had medic training, I gave him a shot of morphine. He was doing pretty good.”But when the Americans were in a dinghy in a river paddling back to their lines, he said, “The sergeant kicked my rifle into the water. I had to pay $92 for rifle.”Other battlefield rescues didn't end so happily.“Another guy,” said Nowakowski. “He got shot at 4 p.m., right when it was starting to get dark. I made out where he was at and we went back and told the captain we could get him. We did but he was shot bad.” He later learned the man he helped rescue didn't survive his wounds.Nowakowski said he took part in the siege of Bastogne during the Battle of the Bulge. The German counteroffensive, which began Dec. 16, 1944, took the Allied armies by surprise and encircled American troops in the Belgian town of Bastogne.“There were four Germans, one could speak English, came under a white flag to see if we would give up,” said Nowakowski. “We were almost ready to give up, we were shooting each other up good. But our general (Brigadier Gen. Anthony McAuliffe) said 'No, we are not going to surrender' and then he said 'Aw, nuts.' The Germans didn't know what he meant.”He said the siege lasted two weeks in two feet of snow in bitter winter weather. “What it got me was a lot of buddies that got killed,” said Nowakowski, as well as shrapnel in his knee and hand that he still carries.When the war in Europe ended, Nowakowski said, his unit was near the Austrian border.But then his interrupted medic's training came back to haunt him, he said. He was kept back while other soldiers were shipped home.“Those with medical training they were going to keep and train as medics and then send to Japan,” he said.But, he said, the war with Japan ended before their medic training could begin.In addition to a collection of German bayonets and medals including the Purple Heart and two Bronze Stars, Nowakowski brought the occasional nightmare home from the war. “I konked her pretty good a couple of times during the night,” said Nowakowski of his wife. “I would be sleeping and dreaming of hitting a foxhole.”But some of the memories are good ones, he said, such as having the singer Tony Bennett in his unit.“He was five beds away from me,” Nowakowski said, noting the crooner was known as Anthony Benito back then.“There was a big place, full of chairs, a piano, a pool table. These guys would come in. One would play the piano, another from Hawaii could play the ukulele. We would all sing for two, three hours, drinking 3.2 (percent) beer, then we'd go to bed,” he said.
