Part 3:  THE TRIP HOME

CHAPTER 14 – After the Telegram

“To live in the hearts of those we leave behind is not to die.”

On December 22, 1943, three days after the crash in Australia, the Crecelius family received a phone call: There was a War Department telegraph waiting on them. The telegraph operator read the message over the phone.  It wasn’t until years later that a representative of the service would make a personal visit to a family to inform them of a loved one’s death. By late 1944, commanders stationed in war zones were ordered to write a letter of condolence to the family of any service member under their command who’d been killed. These actions and protocols would come later, but they weren’t in effect when the Crecelius family learned of Randy’s death.

But in this case the phone call came—and that was that. The telegraph was delivered late in the afternoon of December 22, and Randy’s picture and death announcement made the front page of the local Princeton newspaper, The Clarion, the next day, December 23, 1943.  A few days after Christmas of 1943, the family received a letter from Randy. It included a picture of him on a beach drinking a milkshake. “They say war is hell,” he wrote, “but this isn’t bad.”

The world forever changed for the Crecelius family, both immediate and extended. It was a devastating tragedy, one that had played out in far too many American families, and it would remain a burden to be borne by all for the rest of their lives. Still, there was nothing they could do to change what had happened. It was war. People died in war, and there was no reason that Randy should have been spared the same fate of hundreds of thousands of other Americans. The pain of this loss, however, would forever be excruciating and constant for those left behind.

On June 10 of the following year, Maude and Henry received Randy’s personal items in a package sent from Australia. When Maude opened the package, she saw Randy’s billfold and dog tags, nearly charred beyond recognition. The impact of viewing these items was nearly as bad as learning about his death in the first place, reopening emotional wounds that, just seven months after his death, had hardly begun to heal.

Ironically, the War Department telegram, the one announcing Randy’s death, arrived right after the family had received a letter in early December, 1943, from a friend of Randy’s, an Air Corps captain stationed in Florida. He explained that Randy was now assigned away from the major combat, having been moved to Australia on October 1, 1943 with the 374^th Troop Carrier Group. The letter, containing information Randy couldn’t write about from Australia due to war related censorship, was surely done at Randy’s request. The letter from Randy’s friend was very welcome news for the Crecelius family, and it would obviously have been shared with all family and friends that Randy was now in a more secure area—and that perhaps the most dangerous part of his war service was now over.

CHAPTER 15 – Henry & Army Communications

In 1997, I came across a staggering find: the communications between my grandfather and the United States Army about the specifics of returning Randy’s remains to Princeton for burial.  It didn’t seem possible the Army could still have all the letters and forms that needed to be completed by Henry and Maude before Randy could be returned to Indiana. It is coldly titled “Individual Deceased Personal File,” and it was maintained by the Department of the Army.

I have written to dozens of organizations and hundreds of individuals since starting my research in 1996, and I was often surprised by the responses I received, but never more so than the day this packet arrived. The Army mailing was an astonishing time capsule, a period of family pain and heartache captured and forever frozen in time. Upon opening it, I immediately recognized my grandfather’s handwriting. And within minutes, I was transported back to some of the darkest days of his life—a time when he was engaged in an effort to bring his oldest son home in search of a final resting place.  I actually have two packages of these papers – one dated 4/24/97 and the other dated 6/10/04.  I was always on the lookout for a new contact and evidently a request ended in the same Army location - Alexandria, VA – two different times… and they sent two packets.  The information contained in these packages did not change in those seven years.

Randy had been buried in Australia at the USAF Military Cemetery at Belgian Gardens in Townsville. His interment in Grave #359 came at 10:30 a.m. on Christmas Eve of 1943, just five days after his death on December 19. John R. Powell (one of the burial documents has the name of Rowell) the plane’s co-pilot, was buried next to Randy in grave #360.  The pilots who weren’t flying that day attended the funeral services for Randy and the others.

Randy’s remains were moved and reburied on July 18, 1945, in Grave #661 of the USAF Manson Park Cemetery at Ipswich, Qld Brisbane. It wasn’t possible to return the bodies of the deceased to America for burial during wartime, so the Army asked for the space to establish Ipswich cemetery.

In April, 1942 the Ispwich Cemetery trustees gathered to consider a request for a few acres for a U.S. cemetery. They approved the request and increased the number of acres available. It was called the “Ipswich Garden Cemetery.” The original contract between the U.S. and the Ipswich Cemetery Trust was that the servicemen would be buried there “for the duration of the war plus six months afterwards or for a period of ten years, whichever is the lesser.” The first American was buried in Ipswich in May, 1942. Accounts written about Manson Park say that the final number of dead on the burial register was 1,402. The cemetery was a field of small white crosses. Most burials were documented but some were unknown.

Henry and Maude were willing to leave Randy’s remains in Australia, provided the Army guaranteed that the cemetery would be permanently maintained as a military cemetery. The Army, however, planned to move those American remains (some 19,000 Americans were buried in Australia) to a military cemetery in Hawaii. Family members were given a choice: Allow the Army to move them to Hawaii, or arrange to have them moved to another location. Since Randy’s remains would be moved anyway, Henry and Maude decided to begin a long, tedious process that would ultimately bring Randy home to Indiana more than four years after he died in Australia. 

Randy’s casket was inspected and resealed on December 17, 1947, at Ipswich. Henry received notice that the shipping process had commenced and Colvin & Son’s Funeral Home in Princeton would be notified three days prior to moving Randy from Chicago to Princeton.  They knew Randy would be home again soon.

The communications between the Army Quartermaster Depot and Henry involved several notary stamps to verify that Henry was who he said he was. In addition, they included a number of forms for him to complete, verifying information about Randy: marital status, children, etc. The letter assigning military responsibility for the distribution of personal effects was dated December 23, 1943. The first order of business was to establish that Randy didn’t owe anyone, or the Army, any money or items… and that no one owed Randy anything. Once that was resolved to the Army’s satisfaction, they could proceed with the inventory disposition.

The major communications, a total of 63 pages of communications, dealt with the disposition of Randy’s personal items that were inventoried on several occasions. There were Army-to-Army communications, Army to Henry and Henry to Army, dated 12/29/43, 1/7/44, 1/12/44, 1/19/44, 1/29/44, 2/9/44, 2/12/44 (Henry signed 7 page ID form in front of Notary), 2/21/44, (Army note saying they are sending Randy’s billfold and $195.40 – Henry to sign receipt of billfold, $ and return), 2/23/44, 3/1/44, 5/3/44, 5/17/44, 5/27/44 (items shipped to Henry), 5/31/44, 6/2/44, 6/12/44 (Henry reply saying he received items shipped on 5/27), 8/22/44, 8/24/44, 12/12/44, 12/16/44, 7/18/45, 3/19/46, 11/6/46 (first talk about moving Randy), 4/17/47.

Randy had various items with him at the time he crashed, as well as items at his home location—Townsville, Australia—and possibly items at other locations that took some time to gather. The inventoried items included:

          -Checks totaling $195.40 converted to one check for that amount

          -Officer’s Club tickets

          -Physical Record Card

          -ID card

          -Immunization Register

          -ID pass for Scott Field (Illinois)

          -Officer’s pay data card

          -Certificate of Instrument Flying (10/14/42)

          -Certificate of Instrument Flying (10/1/43)

          -Officer’s Club Membership Card

          -shoes

          -clothing (specified what type and how many)

          -handkerchiefs & ties

          -sewing kits

          -1 knife and sheath

          -military insignia (wings, bars and other items)

          -Scoutmaster Certificate

          -box of calling cards

          -birth certificate

          -personal letters

          -newspaper clippings

          -52 snapshots

          -Air Corp identification book

          -soap dish

          -2 boxes of Christmas cards

          -flashlight

          -checker board

          -padlock and keys

          -portfolio with papers

          -camera filter

          -pair of shoe strings

          -5 photos in frames (2 large, 3 small)

Many of these items were returned in a 76-pound carton that was shipped May 27, 1944. A second, smaller shipment arrived later.

On June 11, 1947, the Army sent Henry a letter and pamphlets entitled “Disposition of WWII Armed Forces Dead” and “American Cemeteries,” which explained the options and services available. Henry completed the necessary forms and provided the name and address of Colvin & Son’s Funeral Home, along with information about Warnock Cemetery in Princeton.  On the “additional remarks and instructions” page Henry wrote:

“If the U.S. War Department should decide to make this (Ipswich) a permanent national cemetery, we are willing to let our son remain where he is now buried. If he is to be moved from where he now rests, you may follow the instructions enclosed here”.

Since the Army was going to move Randy either way, this note formally started the process to get Randy back to Indiana.

An interesting aside was that all of the information contained in the Army’s communications with Henry contained Henry’s name, address and related data – except the “Emergency Addressee” on each of the forms was listed as Maude M. Crecelius.

CHAPTER 16 – The Trip Home to Indiana

One hundred and ninety Australian civilians, said to have been mainly cane cutters, were employed to remove the bodies from the cemetery. A four meter high fence of canvas was erected around the cemetery to screen it from view, and workers were instructed to observe strict decorum. “They were not to smoke or swear or hang their coats upon the crosses.”

The grim task was completed December 20 , 1947. Two days later, a ceremony was held in Brisbane City Hall to honor the American dead. A casket containing the body of an unknown American soldier was escorted in a solemn procession through the streets of Brisbane. After a ceremony at the City Hall, the cortege moved through the city. In general, the Americans had gained a special place in the affections of Australians during the war, and it was a moving occasion. Flags were at half mast and bombers flew overhead in salute. Shops and government offices closed during the procession, and a silent crowd estimated at 30,000 lined the streets. A band played the Recessional, an Australian Imperial Force bugler played the “Last Post,” and the remains of the Unknown Soldier were carried to the waiting ship.

(The “Last Post” Bugle call is played in the Australian military forces at the end of the day. Since the musical piece describes a “closing,” it is also played at military and other funerals.)

Captain J.B. Harris, the American officer in charge of the War Graves Unit, later wrote the Ipswich Cemetery Trust, thanking it for “accomplishing a resting place for our beloved deceased prior to their repatriation to their homeland and final resting place.” A newspaper article dated June 14, 1971, revealed that “Over two dozen trees and shrubs were planted in the program and it is envisaged that seats, playground equipment and a fountain will later be included.”

Today's name, Manson Park, pays tribute to the work of a local resident, Mrs. Rose Manson, who cared for the graves during the war and corresponded with many of the families in America.

On November 17, 1947, the United States ship “Goucher Victory” (victory ship launched on June 2, 1945–named for Goucher College in Baltimore) arrived in Australia to return the Americans home. The ship left Australia on December 29, 1947. Although some of the Americans who had been buried in Australia weren’t returned to the U.S. until the mid-1970s, Randy was on this ship. He was returned to a port in California and transported by rail to Chicago. He left Chicago via rail at 2:30 p.m. on March 9, 1948. He arrived in Princeton on Train #93 at about 8 p.m. He was met at the train station representatives of Colvins.

Randy was finally buried in the family plot in Warnock Cemetery on March 11, 1948, more than four years after his death. The cemetery is located less than a mile from where Henry and Maude lived in Princeton.  Henry gave Colvins a check for $242 for their services, eventually being reimbursed by the military. That transaction effectively ended the communications between Maude and Henry Crecelius and the U.S. military.

The family still decorates Randy’s grave every Memorial Day. Henry and Maude, along with Randy’s siblings—Jack, Doris and Bob—are all buried in the same plot.

Henry Crecelius lived with Randy’s death for nearly 60 years—from December 22, 1943, until his death on April 9, 1992, at the age of 97. A day didn’t go by during those almost 60 years without Henry’s thoughts drifting toward the memory of his lost son. He knew Randy had died serving his country, and that it was a price that many young men, women and families had to pay… but, oh, what a price it was.

CHAPTER 17 – Life Goes On

As hard as it was, life went on in 1944. There was still a lot of work to be done. The family had grown accustomed to not having Randy around to help as he’d already been away more than three years at the time of his death. Still, that was always considered a “temporary” situation. He would be home as soon as the war was over, they believed, and things would be back to normal—and they would all get back to life the way it was supposed to be on the farm. But now, they would never have that life. Everything would be adjusted accordingly.

Jim was still helping on the farm, doing what Randy would have normally done and also often covering for his younger brother, Bob. Bob was interested in playing basketball for the Francisco High School team, but Henry objected. He had not allowed Randy or Jim to participate in what he considered, at least at the time, a frivolous activity. Jim, who had graduated from Francisco in 1941, told Henry: “I’ll do his (Bob’s) part… Let him play.”

Henry relented, something he did very seldom, on the condition that as Jim suggested, he’d do Bob’s share of the work. Bob still did plenty of work, certainly on Saturdays and, of course, all summer. Until early 1946, Jim was a very busy young man, basically handling Randy’s workload and much of Bob’s—not to mention his own. There were several years when Jim probably put in more time on a tractor, in the hay fields, or doing general farm work than anyone in the area. Although he had the seed cleaner at one point and some other individual projects, most of his time was spent working with Henry on one project or another. He’d learned the art of hard work from Henry and Maude, and he learned it very well. I’m sure after some of the all-night tractor work sessions or the frequent hot and humid haying, the military didn’t look quite so bad.

Jim was also an accomplished athlete and played with a number of independent basketball teams in the area. He played often in the 1943-1945 years. He was also an outstanding table tennis player. He’d grown up competing against Randy (who Jim would say he could never beat) and became an outstanding player.  Both Jim and Randy used the so-called pen-holder grip, which was popular in Asia but a rarity among American players during that era. It is hard to tell how they found that grip, or who served as the initial role model for this sport. Jim always said he learned the game from Randy.

Several people in the Fairview community have told the story about how, when Jim was in the 8^th grade, the Francisco High School basketball coach brought in a table for table tennis. The short version is that Jim beat everyone repeatedly, including the coach, and the table quickly disappeared.  Jim was agile and strong, and he would have been a great competitor in organized sports. But Bob, however, was the only one of the three boys who Henry allowed to play on a high school teams at Francisco.

Jim was assigned a draft number and reported for the physical in Louisville, Kentucky on February 20, 1945, but was exempted due to the critical nature of farming goods that were needed for the war effort. The Tydings Amendment to the Selective Service Act, passed in the fall of 1942, gave deferments to essential farm workers. Some volunteered anyway. With Randy away in the service, however, Henry badly needed Jim’s help, so Jim stayed on the farm.  There is no way Henry could have done all the work farming approximately 350 acres without Jim. There was no other help around due to the war. There was a shortage of workers of any kind—not just farm workers. Many women joined the work force, something most wouldn’t have considered without the special need to support the war effort. Many women only worked outside the home during the war, eventually going back to being a homemaker, wife and mother. Everybody was doing something to help win the war.

Bob enlisted in the Navy on March 7 and on May 11, 1945, less than three weeks after graduating from Francisco High School, left for the Navy and the Great Lakes Training Center. So now, what was once being done by Henry, Randy, Jim and Bob was now being done by Henry and Jim. Maude’s diary reveals there were a number of days when they all started working at 2:30 or 3 a.m. On some days, Henry ran the tractor all day and Jim ran it all night. They did what they had to do to get the crop out and get it harvested each fall.  Henry also continued to serve on the Gibson County Council, the county governing body. 

Jim married Margaret Mans of Francisco on New Year’s Eve 1947. While they were honeymooning in Miami Beach, Henry and Maude, with help from the rest of the family, moved to a house in Princeton on January 1, 1948. That would remain their home until Henry’s death in the spring of 1992. Jim and Margaret moved into the old home place after returning from Florida. Jim would later graduate from Purdue University and spend many years working in agricultural-related business positions.

Henry often spoke about how Bob could harness the horses for the field when he was very little. He had an intricate system of getting the horses to the stanchion, having the harness hanging above the horse, climbing on the horse’s back, and letting the harness down around the horse’s head with a rope, untying the rope and finishing the harness hook-up. It was quite an operation, and Henry always marveled at how Bob had figured out how to do this by himself at such a young age.

Like Randy, Doris and Jim, Bob was also very active in school, church and community affairs. He was the first Crecelius of this branch to complete college, graduating from Indiana University with a degree in Business Economics in 1951. He spent his career working in the insurance and financial planning industry.

Doris married another Army Air Corps Cadet, James L. (Jim) McDevitt, who was in training in Massachusetts at the time of Randy’s death. Jim McDevitt would also become a pilot and a 2^nd lieutenant in the Army Air Corps in March, 1945. Doris was living in Massachusetts with Jim when word of Randy’s death reached home. She decided to stay in Massachusetts at the time but made a trip back to Indiana a few months later.

In early 1944, life was hard for the Crecelius family: There was always work to be done, and Randy was always on their minds. One day during the spring of 1944, Jim remembered walking into the barn in search of a piece of equipment. He heard a noise before he got very far inside the barn. He didn’t know what he was hearing, but it soon became clear: It was the sound of Henry crying.

Henry sat alone on some bales of hay in the corner of the barn, his head in his hands and spilling over with emotion. It was emotion that he had, of course, kept bottled up when he was around anyone, family or friends. Jim, or no one else, had ever seen Henry cry. Jim could not think it possible that Henry, the man he knew to be as hard as a rock, could ever shed tears. And now he had seen it up close. Jim left immediately without Henry knowing he was there. And he never said a word about the incident to anyone for more than 60 years, long after Henry had passed. Although Jim knew best, the rest of the family was also acutely aware of how so very deeply Henry and Maude were scarred by Randy’s death.

In July of 1944, Doris gave birth to a son, Henry and Maude’s first grandchild. He was born in Indianapolis since Doris had been living there for a few months with her sister-in-law, Juanita. Juanita’s husband, John Steinhoff, was in the Navy. Juanita (who, incidentally, was awarded the “Good Citizen” award at FHS in 1937 following Randy’s 1936 award) and Doris were keeping each other company.  Doris enjoyed the many opportunities that the big city of Indianapolis afforded. According to Randy’s brother Jim, the birth of Doris’s son put the first smiles on the faces of Henry, Maude and the rest of the family since that terrible Christmastime phone call of some seven months earlier. Although no thing or no person would ever replace Randy or ease the heartache they’d always feel, they now had a new life in the Crecelius family to focus on. They could finally start to look to the future.