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March 2008 Issue
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to Feature Articles
Faith in the Foxhole: How a soldier
embraced his faith amidst the chaos of war.
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Ed
Czyzyk dodged mortar fire as he slogged through bloodied
waters toward the beaches of Peleliu Island in one of
the deadliest battles of World War II. The young Marine
kept moving forward amid the chaos and whistle of the
mortars trained on his landing craft by the Japanese,
who had holed up in caves. "Some of my buddies were
killed," recalls Ed. "A few feet from me the mortars
came down and I thought for sure we were goners, but
somehow I made it to shore.". |
Ed took cover behind a fallen tree trunk
with two other Marines. The Marine on the far end kept asking
for water, but then suddenly stopped. "I asked how come he
doesn't want any more water?" recalls Ed. He had been hit
by shrapnel and killed. Ed crouched lower. Then he heard the
rumble of a Japanese tank and said a prayer. "Good Lord I'm
ready to go. I only have one regret - that I won't see my
family any more." Ed prayed as he checked his hand grenade
and his weapon and prepared to go after the tank.
Then it abruptly turned around. "I said, `Thank
you, Lord.'" More than six decades later, Ed's memories of
the September 1944 landing on Peleliu remain vivid, as does
the Catholic faith that helped him through it. The World War
II veteran still uses the well-worn Catholic Prayer Book that
he believes protected him as much as the 100 pounds of gear
and ammunition that he carried throughout the jungles of the
South Pacific. The adage that "there are no atheists in a
foxhole" holds true, Ed believes. Looking back on those fearful
moments before he and others in the First Marine Division
jumped from their landing craft into a hail of mortar shells:
"You can't tell me that everybody didn't pray. That saw me
through the war," he says matter-of-factly.
His steadfast faith and that of his wife,
Cecilia, remain just as strong today. Into their 80s now,
the two live an active retirement rich with grandchildren,
involvement in their parish and volunteerism. generation,
Ed Czyzyk was no stranger to hardship. Born on the west side
of Grand Rapids on July 23,
The Depression, family tragedy were
prelude to war
Like many in his generation, Ed Czyzyk was
no stranger to hardship. Born on the west side of Grand Rapids
on July 23, 1920, he was one of 11 children born to Andrew
and Anna Czyzyk. A sister died at birth, leaving five boys
and five girls. Ed's parents had come to America from Poland,
and his father worked at a foundry at the American Seating
Company.
When Ed was eight, his mother died. His oldest
sister took care of the children. Money was tight, but Ed
and his childhood friends, "the old gang" as he fondly remembers
them, made their own fun, crafting footballs out of rags or
stringing tin cans onto their feet. They attended Catholic
school at St. Adalbert. Ed's faith always was a part of the
fabric of life growing up. He remembers going to church with
the "old gang" during Lent and Advent, sitting in the balcony
and listening to the Latin hymns. "Every Mother's Day we guys
would go to Ball Park Floral and get a carnation - pink for
the living, white for the deceased," he remembers. Ed went
on to Davis Vocational and Technical High School. In 1940,
he met a young woman named Cecilia at a polka dance. She
would eventually become his wife. "We've been polka dancers
ever since," says Ed. He and Ceil were dating when Ed enlisted
in the Marines on July 21, 1942, two days before his 22nd
birthday. Figuring he'd be called up anyway, he volunteered
so that he could choose his branch of service. He wanted to
be a Marine like his best friend, who had joined earlier and
would later be the best man at his wedding.
Dodging mortars on Peleliu Island
Ed went to San Diego, where he trained to
join a communications unit. Next he spent eight months in
Melbourne, Australia. The first of his three landings took
him to New Britain, an island off New Guinea. The most memorable
and harrowing though, was the landing on Peleliu Island in
September 1944. Historians consider it one of the most bloody,
yet least necessary, battles of World War II. Other area bases
were being captured more easily and it was likely that the
Japanese could not have kept Peleliu active as an air base,
according to the Pacific War Encyclopedia by James F. Dunnigan
and Albert A. Nofi. Japanese troops defended the island by
hiding in caves beyond the beach and waiting. The First Marine
Division suffered a 60 percent casualty rate in a battle that
lasted far longer than the two to three days initially predicted,
Ed said. According to Dunnigan and Nofi, the division lost
1,252 killed and 5,274 injured during fighting, which went
from Sept. 15 to Oct. 13, 1944.
"I spent a whole day just dodging mortars,"
Ed said, recalling seeing bodies floating in the water as
he made for shore. He remembers the names - like Carl, Ralph,
Donald and Jackson - of his fallen buddies and he's highlighted
them in a history book on the First Marine Division. Once
Ed thought about jumping in a fox hole, but did not. A mortar
landed in it moments later. "You pray to the good Lord to
keep you away from danger and he did. Wherever I went, the
Blessed Virgin Mary was on one side of me and the good Lord
was on the other side of me," he says now. "They had to be.
How could I have got through that?" Remembering the near stand-off
with a Japanese tank, Ed believes that his late mother protected
him. "All along I figured she asked the Virgin Mary to take
care of me. And apparently she did," he recalls.
"How else," says Ed now, "could have I made
it through 31 months in the Pacific with not a scratch, not
a disease." Ceil, who worked at Western Union as part of the
war effort, also prayed to Ed's mother to protect him. For
her and Ed, "Faith is an every-day thing. It's just natural,
like breathing," she says. On the day of the Peleliu landing,
Ed hunkered down until dusk, when U.S. machine gun units arrived.
He guarded the beach that night and spent the next two days
searching for his communications unit. His job was to communicate
messages using radio and telephone equipment. His strong faith
helped Ed through the darkest parts of the war. Ed prayed
often and attended Mass celebrated on makeshift altars - sometimes
on the hood of a jeep or wherever there was enough room. Aboard
ship, he would attend services regardless of whether they
were Catholic or Protestant. After Peleliu, Ed's unit was
sent for "R & R" (rest and relaxation) in the Solomon Islands.
His next and final landing would be Easter Sunday, 1945, on
Okinawa. That landing was "easy" compared to Peleliu, he recalls.
The fighting was intense, but Ed was not in combat. "Our job
was communications - not that it wasn't dangerous, but we
were not there to fight," he said. Ed can recall one happy
coincidence during his months of service during the way. On
the day his unit landed on Okinawa, he saw a familiar face.
"My kid brother had joined the Marines, too," he recalls.
"The ship I was on happened to land right
next to his." One of his saddest memories of Okinawa was watching
Japanese kamikazes dive into U.S. ships in the harbor. "Every
day at sundown you'd see these Japanese kamikazes… they came
in droves," recalled Ed. "It hurt to see those Japanese dive
into those ships. You know that it had to kill a bunch of
sailors and Marines aboard ship. It just hurt." While some
soldiers became bitter toward the Japanese, Ed did not. "They
were in the same (situation) as we were; they were told to
go to war," Ed said, adding that he was thankful that he didn't
have to shoot anybody. You won't hear him romanticize World
War II. "War is hell," says Ed plainly. "There's nothing good
about war."
A soldier's homecoming
Near the end of the war, Czyzyk learned he
would be going home. "I was aboard ship when the war ended"
on VJ Day, Aug. 15, 1945, he recalls. A few days later he
arrived home and proposed to Ceil. The two were married at
St. Isidore Catholic Church three weeks later, on Sept. 8,
1945. Ed Czyzyk returned to the service after a 30-day furlough
for a brief stint guarding ships in the Navy Yard in Philadelphia.
Then he came home to Grand Rapids. In 1951, he and Ceil built
the home near St. Isidore where they still reside.
Ed attended Davenport University, then worked
for an advertising company for 17 years. He would next join
the U.S. Postal Service, working his way up to postmaster
in Nunica and Rothbury before retiring in 1982. The Czyzyks
have five adult children and 13 living grandchildren. Their
home is warm and inviting, with family photos on the wall
and a Nerf football left by one of the grandkids. There also
are war mementoes, including his World War II victory medal
and two others for serving in the Pacific and the United States.
He and Ceil remain active at St. Isidore, where Ed is commander
of the church's Catholic War Veterans unit. Ed is the co-founder
of Pulaski Days and a member of the Michigan Polka Hall of
Fame. Both he and Ceil volunteer as clerks on election days
at the polling place at St. Isidore. Now the two are enjoying
their retirement, the war a distant but still vivid memory.
His life is a gift, and Ed has sought to give back, donating
generously to charities, helping with the Catholic War Veterans
organization and volunteering for more than 50 years as an
usher, lector and church collection counter at St. Isidore
Church. "I don't want anything for myself," he says. "I just
want this world to be better." And he continues to be thankful
to have survived that near confrontation with a tank many
years ago. "I was ready to die - it turned out I didn't have
to," says Ed, who at age 87 can still fit into his Marine
jacket. "So I'm living a happy senior citizen's life." The
war taught him that "whatever the good Lord has ready for
you, you accept it," Ed said. Surviving on that beach in the
Pacific many years ago amounted to something more than simply
chance. "How could I go through all that and not even get
a scratch?" he asks. "I was not lucky," he adds. "I was blessed."
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