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Marked by WWII, now daily loss

Last week, one day’s obituaries offered a reminder: There’s only so much time to capture the stories of an American generation — lives marked by World War II.

By DONG-PHUONG NGUYEN
Published September 18, 2006

Sixty years ago, they were among 16-million tied together by war.

Last week, they were seven, linked again in death.

Six men and one woman, they served in World War II and survived one of the worst conflicts in U.S. history.

WWII veterans like them now die at a rate of more than 1,000 a day.

One need only look at an ordinary day’s obituaries — in this case, the Tampa and St. Petersburg deaths reported Friday in the St. Petersburg Times — to get a sense of the loss.

There was the commissary worker. The Women’s Army Corps nurse. The Army Air Force bombardier. The Manhattan Project chemist. Among others.

While alive, some told colorful and memorable war stories. Others kept silent, or near silent, about those days.
Twins Diane and Denise Marsh, whose father took part in the Manhattan Project, a top secret effort to develop the first nuclear weapon, got curious and dug through old mementos in his Sun City Center home.

“You talk about these things and you say, 'Gee, we should write this down,’” said Diane Marsh, 49. “All of a sudden, they’re not there. That history is gone.”

With that in mind, here are glimpses of seven lives, among the 16-million.

Byron E. Marsh, 84,       Sun City Center

Mr. Marsh, a chemist, served as a special engineer in the Army, working at a Knoxville plant. His wife, Marguerite, knew little of what he did. She gathered that he monitored radiation levels among workers, said his daughter, Diane Marsh.

“He could have done more things,” she said. “But he couldn’t even tell our mother what he was working on.”
The FBI and the CIA canvassed the Marsh neighborhood to see if anyone knew about Mr. Marsh’s work, her mother told her. Workers with loose lips were threatened with banishment to the Aleutian Islands.

Later, in civilian life, Mr. Marsh sold chemicals, working until age 82. Several years ago, he returned to Knoxville for an Army reunion.

“He was a very loving, gentle, kind and intelligent man,” Diane Marsh said. “He felt very strongly about our country.”

George Reemtsen, 84, Largo

Three years. One month. Nine days. That’s how long Mr. Reemtsen was in the Army, and he shared that accounting with anyone who asked, recalled his wife of 58 years, Ione Reemtsen.

After entering the military in 1942, he was sent to New Guinea. At night, he heard the drone of planes overhead and the fury of bombs all around him. He worked with the signal corps, enabling radio communication.

Mr. Reemtsen took no leave until 1945. He was on a ship bound for home when the bomb fell on Hiroshima.

“He never had to go back,” said Ione Reemtsen, 81.

Mr. Reemtsen, who retired after 19 years as an order clerk with General Electric, didn’t say much about his days in the Army. He turned down invitations to speak at functions and join veterans groups.

“He never kept clothes, no medals, no nothing,” his wife said. “After being over there for three years, one month and nine days, he had had it with the Army and didn’t want anything more to do with it.”

Edward C. Burg Jr., 84, Sun City Center

Mr. Burg returned from the war a quiet man who had seen too much. He shared memories only with his wife, Evelyn.

Mr. Burg served aboard the USS West Virginia and was at Pearl Harbor when his ship was sunk. He leaped into the water and swam to shore.

“He just tried to forget it,” she said. “He was encouraged several times to join different groups and he refused.

That was part of his past. He wouldn’t appreciate me going into it with anyone.”

Harlie D. Reynard Sr., 88, St. Petersburg

Mr. Reynard was making low-level bombing runs aboard a B-25 when the starboard engine quit. It was midnight,

150 feet off the ground, too low for parachutes.

The plane’s pilot did a hard landing on a dry lake bed, represented on the map only by a pencil squiggle.

“It was incredible,” Mr. Reynard’s son, David Reynard, recalled of his dad’s story. “They were all sitting there, looking at each for a few moments. 'We’re not dead.’ ”

After the initial shock, they scrambled out of the plane and crawled through the jungle for five days, hiding from the enemy, who sometimes brushed right by them. Civilians finally took them in, passing them from village to village at night, until, after 30 days, they were returned to the safety of the Air Force base.

“They checked him out, gave him three meals, a night of sleep and put a B-25 under him the next morning,” Reynard recalled. “No awards, no, 'Hey, you made it!’”

Mr. Reynard, a bombardier and photographer in the Army Air Force with the Flying Tigers, documented his experiences through the lens. He traded candy bars for souvenirs, coming home with boxes of war items — and an endless cache of tales.

“He was awarded a bunch of medals,” Reynard said. “He was a very humble man. He never bragged. I broke the lock on his military chest. Wow. He had old vintage German Lugers, a lot of coin currency out of China.”

Back home, Mr. Reynard pursued artistic endeavors such as photography, painting and violinmaking.

“He was a great man,” Reynard said. “I’m quite proud of my dad.”

Joseph H. “Buster” Fulford, 91, Tarpon Springs

Like Mr. Marsh, Mr. Fulford contributed to the war effort at home.

His background was in the food industry. Mr. Fulford had been store manager at a Krogers.

He was sent to Miami to help run the Naval commissary. He did that for about two years, said his son, Paul Fulford.

“After he got out of the service, he continued his career in the food industry,” the son said, “and did that virtually the rest of his working life.”

Kathleen “Kay” Kline, 91, Seffner

An estimated 350,000 women served during WWII — among them, Kathleen Burkett. She was in the Women’s Army Corps, where she bounced around California Army camps such as Camp Roberts and Camp Beale, training sites for hundreds of thousands of soldiers.

She was a private first class, working as a clerk and then a medical technician.

Through her work, she met many soldiers. But one, Theodore Kline, she later married.
Salvatore A. Gorgone, 93, Pinellas Park

Mr. Gorgone joined the VFW, like many veterans.

But he told his own family little about his time in the Marines.

“He didn’t talk too much,” said his wife of 39 years, Maria.

He was always moving, though.

He earned a living behind the wheel, working as a bus driver, a delivery driver and a driver for a funeral home.

And when quitting time came, he would find a dance floor. That’s how Mrs. Gorgone, 87, remembers him. Not as a fighter. As a gentle man. A kind man.

“He just liked to dance,” she said.

Times researcher Caryn Baird contributed to this report, which includes information from the U.S. Census Bureau and the U.S. Department of Veteran Affairs. Dong-Phuong Nguyen can be reached at nguyen@sptimes.com or (813) 269-5312.

[Last modified September 18, 2006, 22:49:40]