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Naturally, Ben considered himself extremely fortunate. But, while he was spared
danger of war raging overseas, Ben was left to contemplate question, "Why me?" that plagues many survivors. The experience clearly impacted way Ben approached life from that day forward. He was determined to take advantage of his second chance and to make most of his time.
To that end, Ben began working tirelessly at age of 18 – in fact becoming something of a workaholic, putting in full time hours at his printing business right up until week he passed away.
Staff Sergeant Louis DeBiase – 1924-1994 In 1943, Lou was drafted and assigned to go to Europe with 7th Army. He served in Quarter Master Corp., handling supplies in France and Germany. When he was drafted, his parents were positively distraught. Losing a fourth son to war effort was simply more than they could bear. Lou’s father, in particular, just couldn’t understand why country was taking another son from him.
Nonetheless, James dutifully delivered his son to report at Fort Niagara. Within days, a heart attack claimed life of DeBiase patriarch – ironically, family’s only casualty of war. To this day, his sons and daughters refer to cause of death as a broken heart. All of sons came home for funeral, one of few times all seven would be together. The fact that Lou never saw frontline action in Army was overshadowed by fact that his draft notice may have played a role in his father’s passing. In 1946, Lou received an honorable discharge.
Army Private First Class Joseph DeBiase – 1925-present The last DeBiase brother to go to war, Joe’s experience was by far most traumatic. He joined 423rd Infantry Regiment, seeing duty in England, France and Belgium. The early days of Joe’s tour were uneventful, as evidenced by a note he sent home in early 1944 saying that, "The worst is over."
But on December 14, 1944, that would all change. Joe, another soldier and their sergeant were sent to take a small farmhouse near Siegfried Line for use as an observation post. Joe and his companions cautiously neared what appeared to be an abandoned building. All at once, a sniper lurking inside shot Joe in left leg – though enemy quickly met his maker with a grenade hurled by sergeant. Joe’s mates headed to Schonberg, Belgium to get help, expecting to return next day. Meanwhile, Joe lay wounded, shivering and hungry.
Unfortunately, following day came and went without arrival of reinforcements. So Joe buried dead German soldier in hay, fearing retribution should he be found by enemy. Joe knew that delay signaled trouble, a premonition confirmed by roar of jet engines and tanks on morning of December 16. As artillery shells peppered farmhouse, Joe hid under a sofa and quietly prayed.
By December 19, Joe knew he’d soon be discovered by German troops, and decided to try his luck surrendering as a wounded soldier. So he gathered up his remaining strength, and set out on rough, frigid road to Schonberg. Suddenly, an American jeep emerged from woods. They had been trying to get to him for days, but had been in hiding due to German onslaught.
The soldiers were under orders to surrender, but an unexpected shell saved them trouble. The trailer overturned, and everyone onboard was injured, including Joe who was hit with shrapnel in his abdomen and leg. The enemy transported their new American prisoners to Schonberg. There, at a church hall, dead and wounded poured in, creating what Joe recalls as "a scene of mass confusion and chaos."
On December 22, finally warm and free of shrapnel, Joe joined exhausted walking wounded on a march to Prum. According to Joe, "We were loaded onto boxcars and taken to Linburg, Germany on Christmas Day, and then forced to walk three days to another train station." The journey continued until they reached Stalag 4-B on New Year’s Eve. "We were freezing cold and had nothing to eat but putrid soup," says Joe. After two weeks of paralyzing hunger, Joe and 35 others were sent to Gorlitz in Silesia where they were indentured to repair railroads and labor in a blanket factory.
In February, Joe got what could be considered a break only under those unimaginable conditions – he was assigned to work in a bakery, shoveling sawdust into oven fireboxes. Each day, he hid loaves of bread in his overcoat in order to feed his starving friends. Joe says, "I’d toss bread into iron-barred window when guard wasn’t looking. Then one day, a French baker snitched on me." Joe was severely beaten for his actions and relieved of his post. But not before he traded two loaves of bread to a German soldier for a P-38 pistol that would later come in quite handy.
By end of February, Joe was shipped to a frigid camp at Elbe River, where nearly everyone was suffering from dysentery. Here, Joe and others worked to repair bombed out railroads – until they were abruptly evacuated in late March.
Suddenly came a glimmer of hope. As one of horses keeled over in frigid snow, starving Germans stopped to make a meal of fallen animal. Joe and five companions recognized their opportunity. Joe says, "We were sent into woods to gather wood to cook horsemeat. We decided to make a break for it." Using Joe’s bartered pistol, they stole a Studebaker truck and headed for Czech border, where they eventually met 1st Division, 3rd Army.
Weeks later, war was over. But many of prisoners left behind were never heard from again. Were it not for his daring escape, Joe likely would have suffered same fate. However, he refuses to view his actions as heroic, insisting that his good fortune was a combination of "self-preservation, teamwork, street smarts and goodwill of strangers."
Joe’s ordeal earned him a Purple Heart – an honor for which he paid dearly. He also received European Medals of Honor and a Combat Infantry Badge.
From Boys to Men Joe, John and Pat each landed on Omaha Beach at various times shortly after D-Day. All but Ben were involved in battles that saw friends and enemies alike draw their last breaths. In end, one of Vincenza’s sons would leave his leg in European theatre – three others their innocence. Yet, each of DeBiase brothers understood that they could have lost so much more. Over next fifty-plus years, brothers rarely spoke of war, to each other or to anyone else. To them, experience is best left unremembered. For rest of us, quite contrary is true.
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William E. Paterson is a business writer living in Niagara Falls.
