CARROLL GANT BIGGS - AN AMERICAN HERO
NEVER FORGET THE PRICE THAT WAS PAID FOR OUR FREEDOM BY REAL AMERICAN HEROES!!!
Take the day, July 4, to ponder the wonderful country we live in and the sacrifices that have been made and continue to be made, to ensure that freedom.
On the 4th of July we celebrate our independence from England. But that independence and the freedom and liberty that came with it, have been bought with the blood, sweat, sacrifice, death and tears of patriots who have taken up arms in our defense.
We salute them all - the living veterans, the dead, the maimed and the unsung heroes of our history, from the Revolutionary War to WWI, WWII, Korea, Vietnam, Iraq and Afghanistan. They went into harm's way and didn't falter.
God Bless them all and may God continue to bless America.
Americans lost a hero in April of 2003 when Lt. Col. Carroll G. Biggs, USAF (Retired), died in Ruston, Louisiana.
Biggs was a Second Lieutenant in the 306th Bomb Group, 369th Squadron, 8th Army, serving in the European Theater of Operations out of Therleigh, England in 1944.
He was flying his seventh combat mission into Germany as pilot of a B-17 bomber when tragedy struck. Not only was his plane shot down by German fighters, but he and most of his 10-man crew were taken prisoner by the Germans.
Biggs' plane, nicknamed "Misscarriage," was shot down at approximately 1:40 p.m., April 24, 1944, deep inside Germany, Biggs wrote in his memoirs. "Our plane was hit on the first fighter pass as two groups of German planes came into the airspace. We were in trouble," Biggs wrote.
With two engines out and the entire right wing in flames, an internal oxygen fire threatening the bombs and three crew members badly wounded, Biggs ordered the bombs jettisoned and his crew to bail out.
Alone on the plane, he decided to try and fly the crippled bomber to Switzerland. "I would have stubbornly tried to accomplish this feat but a distinct voice said to me, 'Carroll, get out!'" he wrote. "I am grateful now that I listened. The plane exploded about the time my 'chute opened."
Biggs' parachute became entangled in pine trees and he hung there until a German farmer with a shotgun and his wife, who was armed with a pitchfork, captured him. He was turned over to German troops and his experience as a prisoner of war began.
For the most part Biggs didn't talk about his experiences as a POW, his daughter, Marion Biggs McCann said.
"Years went by before he talked about it. I was married with children before he shared anything with me." she said. "He just didn't like to talk about what happened - he saw so many bad things."
She recalled for me one major life changing incident being that of a death march he was on where American POWs and German civilians were being forced to relocate by German SS troops.
"If the women, children and old people couldn't keep up, the German troops would pull them to the side of the road and shoot them in cold blood," McCann said. "He was terrified those horrible atrocities of war he witnessed would destroy his ability to feel compassion."
When the family dog died, Biggs buried the animal in the rain as tears streamed down his face. He later told his daughter he was sad over losing the dog but grateful to learn through the death of a pet that he hadn't lost his compassion.
He was held as a POW in Stalag Luft III for a year and five days until he and some other prisoners were liberated by Gen. George S. Patton's 3rd Army group on April 29, 1945.
"He was traumatized by the war," McCann said. "He was mistreated as a prisoner, but he never lost his ability to feel compassion for others. He was the patriarch of our family and we will miss him."
FROM THE EDITOR
I was born in 1942 and my very first memory is running toward the railroad tracks to see Uncle Harold. Red-haired, freckle-faced Uncle Harold.
Harold Pratt, standing so tall in his soldier uniform, was coming home to visit my mother, Mary, his favorite sister.
I remember Uncle Harold hoisting me onto his shoulders and running down the sidewalk to our house with me squealing and bouncing along for the ride.
Then came 1945 and my next memory was of my mother, sitting in front of her make-up mirror, brushing her auburn hair, crying. The radio was tuned to WJJD in Chicago and Ernest Tubbs' rendition of "Walking the Floor Over You" was playing.
"Why are you crying," I asked.
"Because Uncle Harold is dead," she said. "He was killed on Okinawa."
Bits and pieces of my mother's memories of her brother came out over the years - his freckles - his spontaneous good humor - his winning the harmonica competition in Fremont, Michigan - his going to advanced infantry training - his burial in Hawaii.
The Battle of Okinawa, also known as Operation Iceberg, was fought on the Ryukyu Islands of Okinawa and was the largest amphibious assault in the Pacific Theater of World War II. The 82 day battle lasted from late March through June 1945. The battle has been referred to as the "Typhoon of Steel" in English, and tetsu no ame ("rain of steel") or tetsu no bofu ("violent wind of steel") in Japanese. The nicknames refer to the ferocity of the fighting, the intensity of gunfire involved, and sheer numbers of Allied ships and armored vehicles that assaulted the island.
The battle has one of the highest casualties: the Japanese lost over 90,000 troops, and the Allies (mostly United States) suffered nearly 50,000 casualties, with over 12,000 killed in action. Hundreds of thousands of civilians were killed, wounded or attempted suicide.
Then as fate would have it, I found myself on Okinawa almost 20 years later. I was in the Navy and while on liberty I was drinking a beer in a bar in Naha, Okinawa. Alongside me was a real hard-case. Marines and sailors are traditional opponents, but this particular sergeant, seemed sad, almost pensive.
So, I bought him a beer. We sized each other up and apparently decided a fist-fight would be about even, so we struck up a conversation.
"Have you been to the beach yet?" he asked.
"Nope," I replied. "I'm going tomorrow."
"Then let's go together," Sarge said. A couple of beers later I asked why he wanted to visit "the beach."
"Because my dad was killed in the Okinawa invasion," he said. "Why do you want to go?"
"Because my Uncle Harold was killed in the invasion," I said.
The next morning we stood silently, shoulder to shoulder, a Marine and a sailor, tears streaming down our cheeks, on a hill overlooking the beach that claimed so many American lives including his dad and my uncle. We could still see the horrible artifacts of war - the sunken landing craft, the tanks that never fired a shot. We were on hallowed ground - ground that our loved ones gave their lives for - and we were humbled beyond words.
So, yeah, enjoy your barbeque and fireworks this 4th of July!! When the fireworks light up the skies, let your heart remember our patriots who sacrificed so much to give us our Declaration of Independence, our Constitution, our freedom and our liberty.
Please Lord, know that we thank You for how You continue to bless Sarge's dad, Carroll Biggs and my Uncle Harold. We know they are with You and they are guarding the streets of heaven, because they've already been through hell.
READER COMMENT
Hey, George...those three guys are putting in a good word for you right now!! I am a firm believer that all are alive in Heaven just like Jesus. They are only a prayer, a breath away....they do see us...they probably help watch over us....Jesus conquered death and He lives and so do they! Too many things have happened to me for me not to believe that nothing is co-incidental. It is more likely divine happenstance if anything...did I make up a word.
Anyhow....the article is perfect. Damn I love you for honoring my Dad....my whole family needs some real healing and this will be good medicine --and such an honor for my Dad to be in a column with the likes of Uncle Harold and Sarge's Dad....bye for now.
George, this is worthy reading....your heartfelt tribute to the Sarge and Uncle Harold are beautifully expressed, honor is the order of the day...you do these Patriots all the respect a man can show in the mention of all their names and your part shared in story form...made me cry. I don't usually do that...like to play all TruckerTough!!!
This will be so good for me to send all around to my people so that Dad is not forgotten in their hearts on these special holidays...thank you.
Amy Hollyfield of the St. Petersburg Times, and a reporter for the paper's "Politifact" blog, said that she has been seeking the birth certificate "for months." 
