Blog Archives

Nov.1 – Happy Birthday, Dad.

dad in formal shotToday is my father’s birthday: John Paul Dabravalskas, son of Ursula Blasis Dabravalskas and Karolys (Karl) Dabravalskas, born Nov. 1, 1917, died September 19, 2005. 

He and I weren’t close when I was growing up, but as an adult, I’m grateful for him. I wish that we’d have had a chance to get to know each other better, once I was an adult and more understanding of the fact that he was thirty years older than my bio-mother, the first son, and first American born son of Lithuanian immigrants, a man who lived through the depression, served in two wars, and had his military career side lined because he cared more for the welfare of the men serving under his command than the general he served under. (I come by my lack of diplomacy honestly). To say that there were communication and cultural issues between us would be an understatement when I was growing up! But he was ok. by his generation’s standards, he was a good father, a good provider (he worked like a dog). I think I was lucky in a way to have been his daughter. 

My dad was quiet and kept to himself, taught me to play chess (brutally — my chess technique I mean, not his teaching. He gave no quarter though, even when I was a child and to this day I play a mean, mean game of chess as does my brother). He liked reading about ‘unexplained mysteries,’ ‘cryptids,’ and weird things, and was very, very frugal (which was annoying as shit as a child!). After Korea, he worked the rest of his working life in Ordinance at Aberdeen Proving Ground and I remember when I was very, very small (maybe four-ish?) playing on the tanks there. They have several different types of tanks on display on the grounds (or did when I was a child in the seventies) and I have distinct memories of climbing on them. He met my mom at the Proving Ground as well. She worked there as a secretary when she was in her early twenties. 

Like my maternal grandfather, my father served in WWII (they did not serve together nor even know each other)  and then in Korea. He never spoke about his war experiences (though he always encouraged me to learn languages. When I was in elementary school, he’d bring home military manuals for learning German and French. Ironically, he would never speak Lithuanian at home. He was the generation that was encouraged to speak English and ‘be American,’ also, my bio-mom didn’t speak Lithuanian. I regret that I didn’t grow up bilingual but I suppose I’m making up for it now by learning a pacel of ‘dead’ languages. lol). Before he died, he had several years of dementia and would have flashbacks to his experiences in WWII, which scared the nurses sometimes. He died well and the last thing I remember is that he wanted to be sure his children were ok before he died. 

So hail to my father, John Dabravalskas, on this his birthday. 

10584048_10205559314242791_5152423797422584483_n

 

One of the Fallen

Every so often I return to genealogy research. I have to be careful – I can get sucked down the genealogy whirlpool for hours and hours or even days if I’m not careful. Ancestry.com recently partnered with Fold3.com which allows one to search military records and somewhere in a couple of hours of random searching, I discovered that my great grandmother’s nephew had fought and died in WWI.

I don’t know much about him. I’ve got queries out to Heffner genealogists but I’ve made a complete hash of my ancestry.com chart (I was tired one night and merged information for him, his father, and another John Wesley Heffner so now I need to go sort through all the documents and sort it out, a task I’m not looking forward to doing), but here’s what I know.

Wesley Heffner was born on April 30, 1898 in Chanceford Township, PA. He was the son of Amos Heffner and his wife Lottie Ardella (“Della”) Heffner nee Welsh.

He served in Hoboken and was fighting in France from June 14, 1917 to June 5, 1918 — according to his mother’s application for a military pension (apparently if a young man was unmarried, their mothers could apply for a pension at that time, or at least so it seems) and went overseas with Pershing’s first contingent. He was a private first class in Company B, 26th Infantry. He did not come home again.

I have so many questions, so many things that I would like to know about him. Is he buried in France where he died or is he buried here in the states and if so, where? Are there any extant photos? What made him enlist?

When Pershing’s forces first went over it was standard operating procedure to bury the soldiers in the land where they fell. This didn’t sit well with the folks back home and pressure was put on the military to bring their sons back. In an article that made me cry, about WWI, burying our dead, and bringing them home again we’re given a vivid picture of General Pershing facing the atrocious body count of that ‘great’ war:

“THE GENERAL WEPT when he heard the news. About 3 a.m. on November 3, 1917, German troops overran an isolated Allied outpost near Verdun, killing three men from the 16th Infantry who had slipped into the trenches for their combat debut only hours before. These were the first of Jack Pershing’s men to die in the Great War. One was shot between the eyes; another had his skull smashed. The third was found face down, his throat cut. All three were buried near where they had died, amid the beautiful rolling hills of northeastern France. This was as it should be, General Pershing believed. There was no time to bring fallen soldiers back to the States, he said, nor any space on ships crossing the Atlantic. And he couldn’t bear to think of mothers opening caskets to see their boys ravaged by the fearsome new weapons of the industrial era. Within days, however, the War Department discovered that the families and friends of the dead thought differently. Letters and telegrams arrived in Washington asking when the soldiers’ remains would be shipped home. Grand funerals were planned. No matter that the men had died an ocean away or that the war was still going on. Bring them home. This was a refrain Pershing and the military establishment would hear for the rest of the war, indeed, for years afterward. History had given the American people definite ideas about what to do with the war dead. And they weren’t to be denied.”

Read the full article here

Bring them home. I would like to know if my great great uncle was ever brought home.

There is so much I don’t know but at least I have a name. At least I know he exists and I know he fought and I know that he died somewhere on a bloody field in France. It’s a start. It’s not enough, but it’s a start.

Processed with Snapseed.

 

Edit: before I posted this, I actually found a picture of his grave. My great great uncle is buried in Chanceford Township, PA, in St. Luke’s Lutheran Cemetery. I will have a chance to visit his grave, and that of his parents when next I go down to MD. I’ll make a detour to PA. This doesn’t necessarily mean that his body is there – it could have been just a grave with the body actually buried in a field in France, but all things considered, and given what I know of my family, I think it’s safe to assume that it’s his actual in situ grave. I wonder now whether he was shipped back immediately or only after the war…and what it must have been like for his family, first to receive notification of his death (sent to his father Amos) and then his body. How was he remembered by his brothers and sisters (he had 14 siblings) and what stories might they have told?