This story is a little different, it has to do with my connection with a Ukrainian friend.

In 1960, I was a second lieutenant in the U.S. Army, stationed in Verdun, France. In connection with my job, I met two friends, one was Charles Beachem, second lieutenant, Military Police court. The other George Krywusha, also a second lieutenant Corps of Engineers. This is  George's  story.

George was a Ukranian born and living in Eastern Ukraine, near Russia. He could speak, Ukranian, Russian, Polish, German and English — not many people could do that. About 1943, the Russians had George's dad and several others line up in front of a firing squad against a wall. Reason was the Russians accused them of being partisans, fighting for their country.

George told me that at the time, he had a hold of his dad's leg and was yelling out "please don't shoot my dad." Young people in the U.S.  have never faced anything like this, nor like the war that is going on now in the Ukraine.

Anyway, just before the firing squad shot the partisans, the German Army came storming in came into town, as remember the Germans were fighting the Russians. At the arrival of the Germans, the Russians took off and then George and his dad and family took off. They had a truck, grabbed a few clothes and food and took off. When the truck ran out of gas, they abandoned it and took off walking towards the West. They kept on walking and worked on farms to gather food to eat.

After a  year of walking, they arrived in Salzburg, Austria, and were put into a refugee camp. After the war was over, George's dad had a friend in the Philadelphia area. He sponsored them to come to the U.S. They then had to work on the friend's chicken farm for one year.

He told us that he was well received in school, learned English, went through college, graduated as a second lieutenant in the U.S. Army and was sent to Verdun, where we met.

An added point, in 1961, George and I were attending a school in Southern Germany. One day we went to Salzburg and went to the camp. The quonset huts were still there, believe it or not. George met a woman that he knew in the camp. She gave us some dark heavy bread. I think that if I would have dropped it on my foot, it would have broken my toes, it was that heavy.

Once we went to visit them, George in Florida, Charlie in Virginia, but sadly, both Charlie and George are now deceased, I am the last man standing from our group.

Roger Gregory is a Vietnam veteran and business owner in Priest River.