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MEMORIAL DAY TRIBUTE
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emorial Day is a federal holiday—a day of remembrance for those who have died while serving in our country’s armed forces. The May/June issue of Omaha Magazine features the stories of several Nebraska veterans and their war experiences. My husband, Raymond Lemke, was drafted to serve in the Korean War. He was somewhat reluctant to talk about his experiences, but he wrote about his service in a memoir. I’ll share some of those experiences here. Raymond Lemke His basic training was in Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri, which had been closed since World War II. When he first got there, it wasn’t even completely open. Today, it remains open and is known by the nickname “Fort Lost In The Woods”
ACTIVE LIVING A Professor in Motion, Stays in Motion
He trained in engineering—which consisted mainly of building Bailey bridges—and also trained with dynamite, TNT, and other explosives to blow up bridges. After training, he was sent straight to Korea. He was assigned to the 1st Cavalry Division’s M114 155 Howitzers, which had nothing to do with his basic training. He said that Korea was very difficult for him, and he felt that it was a controlled war. He said they would take a hill, back off, then take it again the next day. The loss of life was tremendous. The winter weather in North Korea was nearly identical to the winter in Nebraska. Growing up dirt poor in rural Nebraska provided the right experience for dealing with Korean winters. By layering newspapers inside his clothes, he was able to stay warmer while so many U.S. troops froze to death. On top of the constant cold, he was always hungry. He fondly remembered taking a big jar of peanut butter from a resupply group. After 11 months in the service, he became a staff sergeant. He believed the promotion was because he was still standing. The American and North Korean forces would shell each other continuously until one knocked the other out. They never thought about ear protection, and the battery fire took its toll. Despite suffering tinnitus since the war, he didn’t complain. “I’m the lucky one—I am still here,” he said. He was discharged on Nov. 6, 1953. Later, living in Papillion, he was on the Papillion Draft Board. As a protest against the escalation of the Vietnam War, he resigned from the board, refusing to send more boys there. I am proud of my husband’s service, and I have deep respect for all who have served and sacrificed for our great country— they are truly heroes!
Gwen
Gwen Lemke, Contributing Editor
Scan this page with the LayAR app to view video from Ben Drickey’s trip to Germany with his grandfather.
BEN DRICKEY REVISITS WORLD WAR II EXPERIENCES ON FOOT AND FILM
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PROFILE
STORY BY LEO ADAM BIGA // PHOTOGRAPHY BY BILL SITZMANN // DESIGN BY MADY BESCH lifelong fascination with history turned personal in 2001. That's when he documented his grandfather's return to Germany, revisiting the sites where the U.S. Army Air Corps serviceman crashed and was captured during World War II. ILMMAKER BEN DRICKEY'S
Drickey's video of the emotional trip has only been seen by family, but the project inspired him to make video production his career after years working with still photography and politics. Today, he creates documentaries and branded film content through his studio, Torchwerks. Growing up, Drickey was spellbound by family patriarch Wendell Fetters' stories of being a tail-gunner on a B-26 Marauder flying with the 9th Air Force, 391st bomb group. On an ill-fated daylight bombing run during the Battle of the Bulge on Dec. 23, 1944, his plane crossed the English Channel and delivered its payload over the Ahrweiler bridge. Enemy artillery and fighter flak killed the left engine, igniting a fire, but the crew bailed out before the plane went down. Fetters' chute pitched him into a tree. The impact broke an ankle, but he cut himself down. Alone, injured, and afraid, the 20-yearold Iowa native took a sun reading and hobbled west behind enemy lines in sub-zero cold and snow. Two days later, militia captured him. A family housed him over Christmas, and he spent the next four months in a POW camp before the war in Europe ended. After a stayover in England, he came home to resume his life. He worked, married, and raised a family. Fast forward nearly six decades. Drickey was attending a family reunion, where he learned of his grandfather’s plans for returning to Germany to visit the plane's crash site. German amateur historian Hermann Josef Stolz found its debris and used a piece stamped with identifying information to trace the plane's manufacturer, bomber group, and crew. He invited Fetters to come pick through remnants.
“I had no formal experience creating a moving image. I borrowed a friend's camera and pirated a copy of Final Cut Pro. But I just knew I had to go do it,” he says.
She explained that the uniformed men in the photos were her brothers, and the pictures still hung in the same spot. She invited Fetters to see for himself. He refused.
With Stolz as guide, the Americans traveled to the site, where a cross memorializes the remains of the pilot, Jack Haynes, who died in the crash.
“My grandfather said, 'No, no, no, let's go,'” Drickey says. “He went to the car and wouldn't come out. He was visibly shaken. We didn't know what to do, but we were standing there in awe reliving this history with him.”
Even all this time later, Drickey says, “pieces of fiberglass, aluminum, and rubber” are strewn about. “I was picking up things to take home.” He displays one piece on his desk in the Mastercraft Building. He says his “ecstatic” grandfather “was like a little kid being reunited with something from his past.” The Americans next went to the nearby twostory wood and stucco farmhouse of Josef Hayer, the man who—at age 14—first arrived on the scene of the 1944 crash. Hayer had salvaged things from the smoldering debris. Among his finds was a tailpiece with a yellow triangle on a canvas peak. “It was the first time on our trip where my grandfather was presented with the past in such a dramatic way,” Drickey says. “You could see on his face the memories just flooding back.” Fetters then wanted to return to Eisenschmitt, the village his captors paraded him through to the home he was billeted in. He recalled a tannenbaum atop a table and framed photos of two German Army conscripts hanging on a wall. He was fed dinner and slept in the barn, then he was taken to the rail depot for transport to the POW camp. After nearly giving up the search for the home all those years later, Fetters noticed a familiar landmark. Sure enough, just beyond the hill sat the house. Through translation, the elderly woman occupant said she remembered that war-torn Christmas when an American airman was brought to the house. She was 9 years old then. She recognized Fetters standing before her 56 years later.
“The rest of us were totally intrigued and we quickly realized this is a once-ina-lifetime opportunity,” says Drickey, who, along with his mother, two aunts, and an uncle, joined his grandparents on the summer 2001 trip. Drickey went as a video documentarian even though he was strictly working as a still photographer at the time.
As the visitors drove off, the woman hurried behind clutching oranges as a gesture of friendship. She handed them to Fetters. A family meeting ensued. Fetters held firm. Drickey explained he'd come too far not to go back, so he did. “In my business, I would rather beg for forgiveness than ask for permission most of the time,” Drickey says. He filmed inside the house and interviewed the woman, one of many interviews he conducted for the project. The experience gave him a career path and archived a precious family legacy. “I'm so glad I did it. It was such a learning experience for me about myself, my eye, and my ability to capture an image,” he says. “So many things happened on this trip,” and Drickey says he can only appreciate them all by re-watching the footage. His grandfather lived to see the video. “He thanked me for taking the time to do it,” Drickey says. “He was very pleased it will live on past him.” Drickey has gone on to produce slick corporate videos, commercials, and short films. He also worked as cinematographer on the feature film It Snows All the Time, but nothing compares to that first personal project. His grandfather—the airman who also served in the Korean War— passed away July 31, 2015.
Visit torchwerks.com for more information. MAY // JUNE • 2017
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THE GREATEST GENERATION ON WORLD WAR II
Greatest Generation tell their own stories in a locally produced documentary, 48 Stars. The in-progress film features personal testimonies from World War II veterans. EMBERS OF THE
War buff Shawn Schmidt conceived the project. His co-director is Jill Anderson. The Omaha filmmakers are unlikely collaborators. He's a holistic health care provider and former race car owner-driver. She's a singeractress. He's unabashedly patriotic. She's not. But they're both committed to telling authentic stories of resilience. They met while she was a patient under his care. After sharing CDs of her Celtic music, he was taken by her rendition of “Fare Thee Well.”
“It was not just the music, but Jill's voice. That song fits everything this film has to say about that generation,” Schmidt says. “They're disappearing, and the interviews we did are like their final swan song. It gave them a final chance to have their say about their country, their life, where America is today, where America is going.” Originally hired as music director, Anderson's role expanded. Filmmaker Aaron Zavitz joined the team as editor and creative consultant. Forty-plus interviews were captured nationwide, mostly with veterans ranging across different military branches and racial-ethnic backgrounds. Some saw combat. Some didn't. Civilians were also interviewed about their contributions and sacrifices, including women MAY // JUNE • 2017 / 134 / OMAHAMAGAZINE.COM
who lost spouses in the war. Even stories of conscientious objectors were cultivated. Subjects shared stories not only of the war, but of surviving the Great Depression that preceded World War II. With principal photography completed, editing the many hours of footage is underway. The filmmakers are still seeking funding to finish the post-production process. The film’s title refers to the number of stars—representing states—displayed on the American flag during World War II. Each interviewee is framed with or near a particular 48-starred flag that inspired the project. Schmidt rescued it from a junk store. On a visit to Pearl Harbor's war memorials, he had the flag raised on the USS Arizona and USS Missouri.
60PLUS
PROFILE
STORY BY LEO ADAM BIGA // PHOTOGRAPHY BY BILL SITZMANN // DESIGN BY MADY BESCH
He grew up respecting veterans like his late father, Richard W. Schmidt—a Navy Seabee in the Pacific theater. His father died without telling his story for posterity. “It dawned on me I could interview other veterans and have them hold this flag, almost like a testimonial to what this piece of fabric is about,” Schmidt says. He added that combat veterans' accounts of warfare teem with emotion. “There's a distinct difference in energy, pain, and identification with their country and flag from the ones who did not have to kill. The ones who did kill are still hurting, and they'll hurt till the day they die,” he says.
Whatever their job during the war, Anderson says, “There were discoveries with every new person we talked to. It's humbling that people trust you with some of their most soulful experiences and memories.” Schmidt says, “They opened up with stories sometimes they'd never shared with their family. I think, for a lot of them, it's a catharsis.” There are tales of love and loss, heroism and hate, improbable meetings, close calls, intersections with infamy, history, and fate. Not all the attitudes expressed are sunny. Some folks became anti-war activists. Others returned home to endure Jim Crow bigotry.
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Anderson says the film intentionally depoliticizes the flag: “It can't be about God and country or honoring glory because that doesn't match with the testimony.” Schmidt feels an urgency to finish the project. “The generation that has the most to teach us is leaving,” he says. He won't rush it though. “It's a serious responsibility,” Schmidt says. “[The film] needs to honor these individuals who gave their time, and it'll be done when it's exactly right.” Visit 48stars.org for more information.
A VETERAN
Make a Difference (in Both of Your Lives)
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FEATURE
STORY BY LEAH MEYER, DIRECTOR OF THE OFFICE OF MILITARY AND VETERAN SERVICES AT THE UNIVERSITY OF NEBRASKA-OMAHA PHOTOGRAPHY PROVIDED // DESIGN BY MATT WIECZOREK
HE
LIBR A RY
OF
Congress’ Veterans History Project of the A merica n Folk life Center collects, preserves, and makes accessible the personal accounts of American war veterans so future generations may hear directly from veterans and better understand the realities of war. In the summer of 2015, while pursuing a master's degree in public administration, I had the privilege of interviewing 14 veterans from World War II and the Vietnam War as part of an internship with Rep. Brad Ashford’s office. The experience opened my eyes to a different generation of soldiers (I work primarily with Iraq and Afghanistan veterans at UNO's Office of Military and Veteran Services). My first interview was with Darrald Harsh, a pilot who served in Europe and was captured by the Germans after parachuting from his plane. Harsh talked about his time in the POW camp, which was liberated by Gen. George Patton’s army. Each interview followed a basic formula, starting with an overview of their lives before enlistment. Helen Shadle, an Army nurse who served in Japan during World War II, discussed growing up as the youngest sibling in a large family, living on a farm, hitchhiking to school, and enlisting in the Army the first chance she got. She said the military offered her the opportunity to advance in an era when such opportunities for people like her were few and far between.
Many of the veterans held back the worst details of their war experiences. For some, mundane details were among their most cherished memories of deployment.
The Veterans History Project offers an excellent way to give back to your community. Contributing interviewers have ranged from Eagle Scouts to nursing-home volunteers.
Jack Hetterich, who served in Europe, described the harrowing conditions of the march from France to Germany in the middle of winter. He recalled how his favorite care packages were filled with hand-knitted socks and treats that could be shared with fellow soldiers.
Each interview takes 60 to 90 minutes, and the experience can be life changing. To get started, visit the Library of Congress website. If you are interested in helping, reach out to your local places of worship and retirement homes. Connect with your senators and representatives for assistance in recording these interviews with the Library of Congress.
Bob Alden, who served in the Navy during World War II, said if you have the opportunity, enlist. “You learn a lot about other places and other people—what their lives are like,” he said, adding, “You survive if you make the right decisions.” According to George Ostermiller, who served in Japan and assisted with the post-atomic bomb cleanup of Nagasaki and Hiroshima, “There’s nothing good about a war. It made me realize how fortunate we were at the time.”
Visit loc.gov/vets for more information and to download an interview packet.
Ostermiller said the military taught him about “patience, honesty, and integrity.” A feeling shared by many of the veterans, including Alden. “You’re responsible for all your decisions, every day,” Alden said. “All through military life, you have decisions you have to make on your own.” All the interviews ended with the same question: “What would you like future generations to know about your experiences?” Harsh and many of the veterans expressed a similar response to that question: “Love your country, stay good. Do what they tell you, and don't hold a grudge,” he said.
“There’s nothing good about a war. It made me realize how fortunate we were at the time.” —George Ostermiller “You survive if you make the right decisions.” —Bob Alden
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HEALTH
STORY BY DAISY HUTZELL-RODMAN // DESIGN & COLORINGS BY MADY BESCH
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EMEMBER GETTING AN unopened
box of crayons—for school, for a birthday, just for fun? Remember the smell of the wax? The new, sharp points? Choosing your favorite color? Most people would answer “Yes.” Coloring, whether as a kindergarten assignment or a rainy-day project, brings about happy memories for most people. It is those pleasant memories that have triggered a surge of popularity in adult coloring books. Coloring was often a way for kids to stay entertained for hours, focused on filling in the lines on a piece of paper. That is one reason why therapists are now turning to coloring books for people with dementia. “In my experience, the most helpful reason is because it is a focusing tool,” says Maggie Hock, a licensed mental health practitioner and owner of Bellevue Psychological. Actually, the concept of coloring as an exercise to focus and relax is not new. Psychologist Carl Jung had his patients color mandalas, or geometric patterns, used to express the universe in Hindu and Buddhist symbolism. In these traditions, the creation of a mandala helps with meditation. Intricate circular patterns might be too complicated for dementia patients, depending on the stage of the dementia. Coloring books can be found online or at bookstores, and subjects range from World War II warships to classic movie posters and more. Those with historical subjects may be the best for dementia patients. “Commonly in Alzheimer’s, older memories are intact,” says Dr. Daniel L. Murman, director of the behavioral and geriatric neurology program at UNMC. Merman says memories of doing things as a child often remain while memories of five to 10 years ago fade away. “Memories from childhood are stored in a different part of the brain,” Murman says, noting that the act of coloring taps “into an area of strength, where people would potentially have fond memories of coloring and be able to participate in and enjoy the activity.”
“MEMORIES FROM CHILDHOOD ARE STORED IN A DIFFERENT PART OF THE BRAIN, [AND THE ACT OF COLORING TAPS] INTO AN AREA OF STRENGTH, WHERE PEOPLE WOULD POTENTIALLY HAVE FOND MEMORIES OF COLORING.” —DR. DANIEL L. MURMAN
Hock says people with dementia have difficulty focusing because the world around them is confusing and distracting. Handing a person with dementia a coloring book and coloring utensils gives them a purpose and takes them out of the confusion for a while. Murman adds that even if they are not experiencing dementia, keeping active mentally and physically will help older people. And if someone does, in fact, have dementia, staying active can help preserve neural connections, which stimulates the brain and may help slow down the progression of the disorder.
While solving crossword or Sudoku puzzles may produce the same focus in people in less advanced stages, coloring has the added benefit of chromotherapy, or color therapy. Colors have different meanings for us as individuals. Someone who was forced to wear brown clothes as a child and hated them may still feel a strong dislike for the color brown. Someone who received a set of primary-colored blocks as a birthday gift might color only in primary colors. Hock says letting someone with dementia color certainly won’t do harm, no matter how advanced the stage. “It’s always worth a try,” Hock says, “to see what would engage them.”
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NOSTALGIA
STORY BY MAX SPARBER // DESIGN BY MADY BESCH
55
A BRIEF HISTORY OF NEBRASKA SPEED LIMITS have a little pinback button with a red flag emblazoned with the words “Safety First.” It was produced in 1915 by the Nebraska Safety League, which seems to have been one of a number of grassroots efforts to improve public safety. This was in response to the nationwide development of a group called the National Council for Industrial Safety, which initially focused on workplace safety, but expanded its scope in the next few years to include traffic and home concerns (changing its name to the National Safety Council). About that time, Omaha’s city commissioner, John J. Ryder, visited New York and discovered something called the “American Museum of Safety,” which functioned, in part, to instruct school children about street safety. He was enamored with this idea and advocated for a local version. Both recommendations came at the end of an era of almost unbridled carnage in the streets. To read the newspapers of the era, crossing the street sometimes sounded like a game of Frogger,
with pedestrians dodging carriages, streetcars, automobiles, and runaway horses. Auto fatalities had skyrocketed—a total of 54 people had died in crashes in 1900, but by 1915 nearly 7,000 Americans had been killed on the roads. The first talk of speed limits in Omaha seems to have occurred as far back as 1903, when an automobile ordinance was proposed. There weren’t many car owners in town, and they tended to be wealthy, and tended to get their way as a result. When the ordinance suggested a low speed limit of six-to-eight miles per hour, the car owners rebelled. Included among them was Gurdon Wattles, who made his fortune in transportation. He complained that cars only went two speeds, slow and fast, and slow was too slow to be much good, and fast was too fast for the speed limit. He suggested 12 miles per hour would be satisfactory. They got their way, but almost immediately advances in auto technology rendered this limit moot. By 1905, cars were speeding around Omaha at 40 miles per hour, and police were complaining it was nearly impossible to enforce the limit—to tell a car’s speed, police had to
“GONNA WRITE ME UP A 125, POST MY FACE WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE, TAKE MY LICENSE, ALL THAT JIVE, I CAN'T DRIVE 55! OH NO!” —SAMMY HAGAR, “I CAN’T DRIVE 55”
watch a car travel from one area to the next and count seconds, and then do some quick math. In 1909, there was even a proposal to reduce
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the speed limit again, back down to six miles per hour, to discourage cars driving at dangerous speeds. Instead, the speed limit crept upward. By 1911, it was 15 miles per hour. By the 1920s, with the advent of highways built specifically for automobiles, the maximum speed jumped to 25 miles per hour. By 1935, it was 35. And in 1969, speeds on the highways leapt to 60 miles per hour. So it has been ever since, but for a brief period in the 1970s when, in response to spiking oil prices, there was a national maximum speed limit off 55 miles per hour, which proved unpopular enough for Sammy Hagar to enjoy chart success with a song titled “I Can’t Drive 55.”
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The federal limits were repealed in 1995. Currently, the maximum speed limit in Nebraska is 75 miles per hour, a speed that Gurdon Wattles probably would have enjoyed.
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60PLUS
ACTIVE LIVING
STORY BY LISA LUKECART // PHOTOGRAPHY BY BILL SITZMANN // DESIGN BY MADY BESCH
penetrated the narrows of the canyon. Kris Berg, Ph.D., scrambled over dusty red rock, carefully avoiding the steep cliffs that plunged down 50 yards on either side of him. History and geology combined with each footprint he left behind. HE SUN BARELY
While most come to Las Vegas to roll the dice, Berg would rather hike with his wife in the outdoors, taking in the natural beauties of the world (which he accomplished during a recent winter trip). Berg is a self-described exercise nut. The physical fitness bug struck him at a young age. When Berg was just 12 years old, he was diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes. Rather than a healthy boy, people saw him as fragile and sick. In high school, Berg’s coach even kicked him off the football team. “I’ll show you. I’ll be so healthy that no one would do that again,” Berg thought. After his family moved, a new doctor told Berg to experiment. So Berg lived his life, not letting diabetes limit his physical abilities. “Exercise is such a powerful thing,” he says. “People are always looking for a magic pill. It’s right in front of us.” He played multiple sports in high school and college. The science behind it all stimulated and fascinated him. With a doctorate in exercise physiology from the University of Missouri in hand, Berg began teaching at the University of Nebraska-Omaha. “Top to bottom, front to back, he is enthusiastic,” former student Robert Buresh says.
UNO had no laboratory at the time so Berg developed one with the backing of the dean. Berg, a prolific researcher, made ties with the University of Nebraska Medical Center. He developed an exercise physiology lab geared toward an investigative-driven program which would look at the human body from a scientific angle. He soon started a special exercise program for Type 1 and 2 diabetes. His own brother had passed away from the disease at 32. Berg spent years of his career dedicated to informing the public on the positives of exercise to help regulate blood sugar.
Berg still finds time to visit with graduate students who need his help on papers, and he spends two hours or so a day researching.
Berg’s interest never wavered. He tackled osteoporosis next. The Strong Bones Program was born, helping the elderly build up confidence and mobility to avoid falls.
Long and lean at the age of 73, Berg follows a diverse workout plan. He smacks the ball around on the tennis court four or five days a week. The physical and mental “chess match” keeps him sharp. He also still shovels snow, pulls weeds, and hikes.
“We were very fortunate Berg initiated this program,” Berg’s former colleague Josie MetalCorbin says. Although a dancer and yoga enthusiast, 65-year-old Metal-Corbin took the class for the added strength training and sense of community. The classes soon combined into the Adult Fitness Program. After four books, more than 200 articles, and 45 years at UNO, Berg hung up his tennis shoes last May and retired. However, retirement didn’t stop him from doing what he loves.
I’LL SHOW YOU. I’LL BE SO HEALTHY THAT NO ONE WOULD DO THAT AGAIN.” —KRIS BERG, PH.D. (ON BEING KICKED OFF HIS HIGH SCHOOL FOOTBALL TEAM)
“I wanted to go on being physically active regardless of age,” Berg explains.
“I have a tremendous enjoyment of exercise. I never get bored,” Berg says. At the gym, Berg avoids the machines, preferring resistance training (similar to his classes). He stresses the importance of maintaining coordination and mobility. His goal—for himself and for others—is to prevent age from becoming an obstacle to living life.
The Adult Fitness Program is open to members of the general public age 50 and older. The supervised fitness class takes place twice a week at UNO’s Health, Physical Education, and Recreation (HPER) Building. The program costs $36 for three months; parking costs $54 for three months. Contact the UNO Exercise Physiology Lab at 402-554-3221 or exphyslab@unomaha.edu to enroll. Visit unomaha.edu for more information.
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