War hero’s story finally told
Bentleyville woman tracks down long-lost uncle
U.S. Army Air Corps Staff Sgt. Donald W. Ross was a World War II war hero whose story got lost in a mix of family drama, estrangement, distance, and time.
About 40 years ago, my grandfather, Vance Ross, mentioned that he hadn’t seen his younger brother since 1944. As he sat at his kitchen table in Clarksville, he talked about his little brother who had been a prisoner of war who was eventually released from a German prison camp as part of a prisoner exchange. Don soon returned to Southwestern Pennsylvania, where he visited with some of his family members, including my grandfather. After the reunion, Don left and never contacted his family again. It has been said that Don was upset over family issues that occurred after his parents separated when he was a young boy.
My grandfather asked me to help him find his brother, but this was in the late 1980s, long before internet searches and online family tree databases were readily available. The only clue he gave me was that he thought his brother was living in Texas. I did the only thing I could: I called directory assistance and asked a telephone operator if there was a Donald Ross in Texas. It’s a big state, I know, and if I recall, this search wasn’t very effective.
Since then, I have built family trees on Ancestry.com and Family Search and discovered Don’s name in the 1920 U.S. Census. He was born on March 17, 1920, in Donora, the second youngest of Forest Eli and Lelia Sanders Ross’ six children. Although the Ross family had roots in the Lone Pine and Scenery Hill areas of Washington County and in the Clarksville area of Greene County, they were living in Donora where Forest Eli, the head of the household, was working as a “millwright in an open hearth” steel mill.
Sometime between 1922 and 1928 Forest Eli and Lelia had marital issues and separated, sending some of the children to live with family members or local farmers. The 1930 U.S. Census and family lore indicate that 10 years later Lucille and Betty were living with their mother in Washington; Vance was living in Clarksville with his grandmother; Keith was working on a farm in North Strabane Township, Guy was working on a farm in North Bethlehem Township, and Don was living with relatives in Khedive. In June 1930, Forest Eli was killed in a mining accident in Pitt Gas, making the possibility of reuniting the family impossible. This early childhood separation, the horrors of war, and the post-traumatic stress of being a POW are believed to have played a role in Uncle Don’s post-war departure.
I’m sure my grandfather thought about his brother often, but a reunion never occurred. In October of 2003, Vance died, knowing only that his brother was somewhere in Texas. Recently, while doing some family tree research I made another attempt to locate Don. I started with an online newspaper database, and it didn’t take long before I was able to find newspaper clippings that proved he was living in Greene County when he was drafted. I did a little more searching and I found a photo and records in the World War II Prisoners of War Data File on the National Archives website.
It turns out that 21-year-old Don was living with Carl and Mildred English in Khedive when he entered the U.S. Army Air Force in 1941. The young staff sergeant was a waist gunner on Lucky Lady II, which was part of the 338th Bomb Squadron, 96th Bomb Group in the Eighth Air Force. In the National Archives I found a photo of the Lucky Lady II and a crew of nine handsome young men who posed for the USAAF photographer at the Royal Air Force Base Snetterton Heath in Norfolk, England, on July 4, 1943. Shortly after, the Lucky Lady II was shot down on July 30, killing five crewmen. Don was one of five men on the B17 Flying Fortress who parachuted out before it crashed 12 miles west of Antwerp, Belgium. Don was shot in the leg during his descent and was subsequently awarded a Purple Heart. He was released in 1944 from a German Prison Camp (Stalag Luft 1 Barth-Vogelsang Prussia 54-12). Although the photo’s caption listed Don as one of the men, it didn’t indicate who was who. I, however, knew immediately which one was Don, because he looked a lot like a photo I have of his father.
In March, I posted an inquiry on The Eighth Air Force Historical Society (official) Facebook page to see if anyone could help me positively identify Staff Sgt. Ross in the photo. Within hours I was contacted by Luc Hemelaer, who lives near the town where the Lucky Lady II crashed and has co-authored a book about the fateful event. He was ecstatic and quickly pointed out that he had been searching for Don Ross for decades. He sent me a photo of the monument in the town square of Temse, Belgium, which was erected in honor of the Lucky Lady II crew.
I’m not sure if Don knew that he was a hero or if he knew there was a book and a monument honoring his service. After finding his obituary, I do know that he died on July 20, 2006, at the age of 86 in Rockwall, Texas. He worked for Ford and was “known for his love of dogs, and owned many in his lifetime.” Uncle Don, who was survived by two children, was buried next to his wife in the Rockwall Memorial Cemetery.
I called the cemetery and was told that because they didn’t have a copy of his discharge papers, the local Boy Scouts had never placed a flag on his grave. A call to the local veterans’ office revealed that they didn’t have his discharge papers either. Unfortunately, after being directed to the military’s National Personnel Records Center, I discovered that his records were destroyed, along with millions of others, in 1973 when a fire wreaked havoc on the NPRC storage center in St. Louis. I had hoped to have a flag placed on his grave for this Memorial Day, but that didn’t come to pass.
While I remain thankful that I was able to find my grandfather’s long-lost brother, my plans are to have someone place an American flag on his grave.
I think Staff Sgt. Donald W. Ross deserves that much.
Randi Ross Marodi is a former reporter for the Observer-Reporter. She lives in Bentleyville.