“You Are Free To Go”
We were sitting together in an area designated as a “Waiting Room” in Mission Hospital in Asheville. The area was just outside of the “Neuro-Trauma Intensive Care Unit”. We had been there for a couple of hours. The daughter of a mutual friend had suffered a traumatic brain injury at the hands of someone she knew; her drug dealer that was demanding payment for that which he had been supplying her. Our friend was in the unit, sitting by his daughter’s side. Her survival was in question. We were there to provide support for both of them.
We had talked about several things when I asked him the question that I had been anxious to ask him for a long time. “Bill (Bill Kanos was his name.), will you tell about some of your experiences as a POW?” (I knew that Bill had been a German prisoner of war for a long time during WWII.) He sat quietly for a period of time. I assumed he was either gathering his thoughts or, else, he was ignoring my question in hopes that may be I would want to talk about something different. However, when he began to talk I was spellbound. For more than 2 hours he told me his story. He spoke of his volunteering for service at the onset of the war, of his being accepted into and training as a paratrooper, of the intensity of the buildup that preceded the Normandy Invasion on D-day, of being flown into the “Hedge-Row” country during the invasion, of being dropped behind enemy lines, of taking a “high place” suitable for an observation/recon location, of the onslaught of enemy gun-fire and “rounds” from tanks, of the eventual breaching of their line by the Germans, of the reluctant surrender and capture of his unit, of the days of standing (not being allowed to sit at all) on a train while being transported to a German POW camp near Nuremberg, of days of working on railroad lines (necessary due to the Allied bombings) with limited tools and cruel guards, of poor living conditions in the “stalag” due to the lack of heat and a clean source of water, of tasteless and meager amounts of food, of warm potatoes put into the pockets of his work clothes during his railroad repair duties by kind and apologetic older German women, and of many more difficult and challenging physical and psychological trials. Needless to say, I was overwhelmed by those things he was telling me. He spoke quietly and became emotional as he told of some of his experiences and when recounting stories of some of his “buddies” who became very ill and/or died during those days. After a while, he paused again, but then began to bring his story to a close. He stated that during the nights he would hear the sounds of planes flying overhead and of the screaming of bombs as they fell and then of the explosions that would cause the barracks to quake and quiver. He said this went on for several nights. His fellow POWs and he would speculate that maybe the Allied Forces were drawing near so the nightmare of the POWs would soon end. Suddenly, he said the bombing ceased. The noise of the flying aircraft and exploding bombs was replaced by the sounds of large pieces of equipment, obviously doing something just outside of the walls/fences of the camp. All night long he heard the noise. Just at dawn he heard a loud noise, he was frightened and uncertain. Suddenly the doors to his barracks were splintered and shattered, with pieces of wood and metal forcibly entering the room. Immediately following the breaking of the door, Bill said he stood up in order to see what was going on. A man, dressed in the uniform of an American Infantry Officer entered the barracks, stopped in front of him, saluted him, and then said, “What is your name soldier?” Bill said, “I am Bill Kanos from Waynesville, North Carolina”. The officer extended his hand for a shake and said, “Bill Kanos from Waynesville, North Carolina my name is George Patton. You are free to go.” When Bill finished his story, we were both in tears.
When I learned of Bill Kanos’ death a few years ago I visited his graveside. He now rests beside his “sweetheart” on a beautiful hillside. I stepped to the foot of his grave. Even though I was not in the military I saluted him and said, “You are free to go”. And, because of the service of men like Bill Kanos and millions of others, every day, not just July 4, is Independence Day and “We Are Free To Go!”