Charles Lee

In January of 1943, my dad, Charles Lee— a 19-year-old farm boy—joined the Army Air Corps. The oldest of eight children, his family lived in Tellico Plains at the edge of the Cherokee National Forest.

He was trained to be a waist gunner and a flight engineer on a B-17 Bomber. From their base camp in Southern England, my dad and the rest of his crew began flying missions over Germany on their B-17 Bomber which they nicknamed the Smokey Stover, Jr. The men had to fly 25 missions before they could return home, but the average number of flights flown before getting shot down was five.

On May 12, 1944, in preparation for D-Day, the Army Air Corps launched one of the biggest air campaigns of the war for the purpose of bombing the German’s fuel

Taken in 1945 when Officers of Army Air Corps went to Tellico Plains to present Emma Lee with the Air Medal. Seated left to right Emma Lee, Clement Lee holding Katherine Plenge; standing left to right Louise Lee, J.D. Lee, and Jane Lee

production facilities. There were 935 B-17s flying in the air from London on this date. Of the twenty-six planes in my dad’s squadron, only twelve returned. This was his sixth bombing mission and would be his last.

As he manned his waist gun, standing in front of a waist high opening in the plane in subzero weather, he saw a vapor trail at “two o’clock,” which was an indication of enemy aircraft. Soon after, he noticed the vapor trail at “one o’clock” and then nothing. This meant that the enemy fighter plane was banking and coming at them. The B-17’s companion fighter planes had been lured into a dogfight with other German fighter planes, leaving it with no protection.

As the German plane attacked, the Smokey Stover was hit and started going down. During the attack, my dad was shot and suffered wounds to his head, shoulder, back, and wrist. With the help of a fellow airman, he was able to bail out of the plane.

As he parachuted down, he saw a German fighter plane bank, turn, and come toward him as he spiraled to the ground. The plane came close enough for him to see the white scarf around the German pilot’s neck. They made eye contact, and the German pilot raised his hand in a respectful salute and then flew off with the rest of the German aircraft.

Soon after hitting the ground, he was captured by members of the German home guard. He was loaded onto a truck and taken to a jail in a small town outside of Frankfurt, Germany, where he was held in solitary confinement for 10 days, receiving no medical care for his serious injuries.

After this, my dad and the rest of his crew were put on a train and taken to a newlyopened prison camp in Poland called Stalag Luft 4.

His family was notified of his capture in late May of 1944.

Nearly 10,000 prisoners would eventually be held at Stalag 4. They were punished if they did not obey the rules. One day a prisoner jumped out of a window instead of going out the door for roll call and was shot and killed.

Food was mostly a soupy mixture of rotten cabbage and bread made from sawdust. Red Cross packages often were not delivered. The barracks were made for sixteen but usually contained twenty-five men, and there was very little heat. Most slept on the bare floor or on wood shavings, and here, in the dark, lonely hours of the night, they would wonder if they would ever see their families again.

My dad was never given anything to wear other than the bloodstained clothes he had on when he was captured. Due to his

Flight Crew, 1942, Charles Lee is in the upper back row, standing far right

untreated injuries and a subsequent battle with Hepatitis, he became very sick and only survived due to the persistence of his fellow prisoners helping him get up and walk each day.

The worst part of his incarceration was a ride with 60 other men in a cattle car. When the Russian Army was advancing toward this part of Poland overtaking the Germans, the Germans were forced to move all 10,000 prisoners to Stalag Luft 1 which was a camp in Barth, Germany, on the Baltic Coast. Those who were too sick to march the entire distance were loaded onto cattle cars.

It was very cold, and they had no coats. There was no food or water except for some watery cabbage soup and more of the bread made from sawdust. It was so cramped in the small boxcar that nearly everyone had to stand all day and all night. Most suffered from dysentery and other illnesses. They were not allowed out of the box car for ten long days.

Meanwhile back in Tellico Plains, representatives of the Army Air Corps presented Dad’s mother with the Air Medal at a somber ceremony at the family home. At this time, three of the four sons were away serving in the military.

Charles Lee during training in 1942 before being deployed overseas

On April 30, 1945, the German guards returned my dad’s personal possessions in a simple manila envelope, in the same condition as they were in when he was captured. That night the Germans fled the camp.

My dad was liberated on May 13, 1945— one year and one day after his capture. Due to his poor treatment, my six-foot three-inch father weighed only eighty-six pounds. He and the other prisoners of war were flown out on B-17 Bombers to Camp Lucky Strike in Le Havre, France. After this, he was hospitalized in Florida for a period of time before finally returning home to Tellico Plains.

My dad went on to start a business, get married and help raise a family. He ran a trucking company and a real estate business, and he served for twelve years as a county commissioner for Monroe County. He died on February 27, 2009 at the age of eighty-six. Countless prisoners of war endured similar hardships as my father, and many returned with physical problems or emotional and mental scarring that stayed with them the rest of their lives. Yet these brave men were still able to raise families, work hard, and be productive members of their communities. They never gave up or gave in.

So, what were the common bonds that helped prisoners of war like my father survive and endure?

They were determined to be reunited with their families.

They had an enormous love for their country and their families.

During the war, they had seen so much death and violence that after that experience, each day was a gift.

Each day was a great day.

Each day had to be lived to the fullest.

They were forgiving; they did not hold grudges or harbor resentment.

They were optimists.

They were grateful to be alive.

They did not complain or whine.

They did not waste food.

They did not eat cabbage. They instilled in their children respect for their country and a desire to serve.

At an early age, these men had seen the worst.

They were true American heroes.

My father’s story has a great lesson for all of us. As we face adversity at a much, much lesser scale, we need to remember that each day is a gift. We should face each day with optimism and hope and a determination to succeed. And we must never forget the sacrifices that all of our veterans have made for our freedom and liberty.