Thursday, December 6, 2018

Walter Zeeb: Immigrant, American hero KIA World War II

Walter Zeeb
High School Yearbook

A casual mention in a World War II letter led me to the story of an unsung hero from America’s “Greatest Generation.” Walter Zeeb came to the United States as a child from Germany in 1928. He enlisted in the Army in 1943 and was killed in action in Italy in 1944 at age 22, less than a year after becoming a U.S. citizen.

I learned of Walter Zeeb through a letter I found on eBay that was written from North Africa in 1943 by Private Frederick C. Warren to his friend Pearl Naylor in his hometown of Elizabeth, New Jersey. There’s nothing remarkable in the letter; it’s just chit chat about their time together before the war. Among other things, he wrote about how they used to roller skate at a local rink.

In the letter, Private Warren wrote, “Walt Zeeb has not written to me in quite a while now, but I understand he was featured in the national skating revue. Boy, what a break!”
Gladys Till
High School Yearbook

When I find a letter like this, I usually try to return it to the family of the man who wrote it, but I struck out on finding Private Warren’s family, so I decided to check out “Walt Zeeb.”

My research found that Walter Zeeb was a roller-skating instructor at the Morris and Essex Rollerdrome in Springfield,  New Jersey before going into the Army, and the “national skating revue” was some type of big showcase for skaters. I then learned that he died a hero in Italy on June 4, 1944. Sergeant Zeeb’s Silver Star citation says he single-handedly manned an exposed machine gun nest after the gunner had been killed and fired on the enemy to protect other men in his unit despite coming under heavy fire. A War Department news release about his Silver Star award says, "He was wounded, but he maintained his gun position until he was killed by sniper fire later the same day.

A news article in the West Essex Tribune June 24, 1944 said flags were flown at half-staff for a day to honor him in his hometown of Livingston, New Jersey. The article also reported that news of his death came on the first anniversary of his marriage to the former Gladys Till of East Orange. Records indicate he enlisted in the Army in March 1943 and married Gladys in June, probably just before he shipped out for Europe.

Immigration records show that Walter’s parents, Ludwig and Ernestine Zeeb, came to the United States from Germany in 1928 with their six children, the youngest of whom was seven-year-old Walter. He joined the Army in March 1943 and almost immediately filed a petition for citizenship. He became a U.S. citizen on June 19, 1943, and less than a year later was killed in action. Two of Walter’s brothers also served in the Army during WWII, and both came back alive.

Walter and his wife, Gladys, both
attended West Orange High School.
Walter Zeeb's profile from the 1940 West Orange High School yearbook.
In his profile in his senior yearbook, his “weakness” is listed as “Gladys.” They did not have children from their brief marriage. Gladys remarried in 1950 and honeymooned in Bermuda. She died in Florida in 1999 at the age of 79.

Sergeant Walter Zeeb is buried at the Sicily-Rome American Cemetery in Italy, and his name is inscribed on a WWII memorial in Livingston, New Jersey.
I doubt those of us who didn’t live through World War II can fully appreciate how it impacted the lives of almost everyone in America. Here’s Walter, a handsome young man who came to America, got an education, met a pretty young girl and married her. He likely had a fun life being a skating instructor. Then he was thrown into war and died in a foreign country. Gladys married her high school sweetheart, lived with her parents while he went overseas, learned of his death on their first anniversary, and never had the closure of his remains being returned to the United States for burial. The day these two young people were married they probably thought they’d have a long, happy life together. Instead, he died in the service of his adopted country, and she had to find the strength to go on with her life, Greatest Generation, indeed.

Thursday, November 8, 2018

'What a lucky man I am to have a girl like you'

I often come across World War II postcards and letters written by lonely soldiers to their sweetheart back home. Sometimes they mention that the girl sent the soldier a picture of herself. Such is the case with a postcard I recently found on eBay, and the story behind it is particularly interesting.

Back in those days, taking photos and having them developed was a bit of an undertaking. It was not cheap and not very fast, nothing like today when digital photos can be transmitted instantly.

The card is from James, an Army Private First Class stationed in Alaska, to Marjorie in New York City, (I’m omitting last names for privacy). It's dated 10 July 1944. In the postcard, James gushes about the wonderful photographs he received from Marjorie, and concludes by saying, “Your coiffure is stunningly, enormously attractive. What a wonderful, lucky man I am to have a girl like you.”

Ah, young love. But it turns out they weren’t
Front side of James' postcard.
so young, at least Marjorie wasn’t. She was 44 years old, a schoolteacher doing graduate work at Columbia University in New York City. She lived in Laureate Hall, Columbia's on-campus graduate student housing on West 119th Street in the Morningside Heights neighborhood. The building is still there.

Marjorie was a native of Portland, Maine, held an undergraduate degree from Wellesley, went on to earn a master’s from Columbia, and maybe even a doctorate. Records on Ancestry.com indicate she was a teacher in Maine, Connecticut, and New York City from the 1930s through the 1950s, and was later a state personnel officer in Albany, NY.

James is something of a mystery. His Army Service Number appears on the postcard. Usually, that number allows me to find the soldier’s hometown and year of birth in the National Archives' database of WWII enlistments, narrowing down the search, but not so with James. There are gaps in the database, and his record is apparently missing. There were dozens of men with his name in the Army during WWII, so he’s a needle in a haystack.

Marjorie's photo from Wellesley College
1922 yearbook
A bit of luck from a Google search gave me hope of finding more about James, but it was another dead end. The University of Alaska Anchorage / Alaska Pacific UniversityConsortium Library has four letters James wrote to Marjorie, and I was able to obtain copies thanks to their very helpful staff. It’s obvious from the letters that James was well-educated. He had an extensive vocabulary and used perfect grammar. It’s also obvious he was smitten with Marjorie; at least that’s what he wrote. (Who knows, maybe he was like the sailor who had a girl in every port.) Nonetheless, the letters are full of praise for Marjorie’s brains and beauty, chit chat about friends and relatives, and admonitions for her to not work too hard at school. But in all his flowery prose there was not a word that would help identify James.

I don’t know what happened to James and Marjorie after the war, but I do know they didn’t marry each other. She died in 1995 at age 94, still with her maiden name. As for James, he’ll be one of those mysteries I’ll probably never solve.