Jack Leura
Company A, 111th Engineer Bn.

A young Frank Santacroce, from Sag Harbor, NY, had two buddies when he went through basic training in 1942, Jack Leura and Dave Lalicata. It was just as the war against Germany was escalating in Europe, and American replacements were being sent across the Atlantic to relieve the men and women who had already put in their time. Within days of meeting, the three had become good friends, and served together in the same company, A-111th Eng. Regt, 36th Division, until circumstances separated Santacroce from them; one forever, and one for nearly fifty years.

On Christmas Eve, 1942, Santacroce arrived at Ft. Leonard Wood, MO, and met up with Leura and Lalicata as the three began their training for the Engineer Corps. Little did they know, however, that their engineering skills would have a lot less to do with how they spent their time during the war than they imagined.

The three traveled to Nashville for two months where they learned welding, then on to Grant City, ILL, for more engineer training, then on to Camp Kilmer in New Jersey, before traveling across the Atlantic to Africa, in June, 1943.

The temperature was 115 degrees in the shade in a place where you couldn’t find any shade.

36th Division Assignment, 111th Engineers

After arriving in Africa, the Allied invasion of Italy began, and the three soldiers were assigned to A Co., 111th Combat Engineers, 36th Division. Although they were in different platoons, the three kept in touch, and shared many of the same experiences.

It was in Italy that they learned the Army had other duties in mind for them; they were taught about explosives, and how to use them. After fighting it out in the bottleneck of Cassino Valley, A Co. was ordered above Rome to Grosseto. The enemy controlled the high ground, and those moving along the valley floor were easy targets. They were sent back to Naples for more combat training, where we saw the port was filled with Allied ships as the invasion advanced.

The 111th was sent to France with the idea that they would be relieved within 10 days. We were advancing so rapidly, however, that it would be 125 days before relief came, and for David Lalicata, that would be too long.

The Army Can Always Find A Job For You

We were engineers; we didn’t always have the same thing to do, and when you’re standing around without an assignment, the Army will find one for you.

One day, the Army found just the assignment for Frank’s platoon.

We were told to take three days’ rations, and when they gave nine heavy chocolate bars, I thought, "Oh Jeez, we’re carrying explosives!" (The chocolate was intended to give the men energy, and keep them awake.)

The Co. Commander, not wanting to assign any one particular platoon to the job, weighing the danger, had platoon leaders to draw straws. Frank’s platoon got the short one.

The assignment was to take 2,000 pounds of TNT and a bunch of rubber rafts up the river and blow up a bridge. If they couldn’t get back, they were told to hide-out with the French underground.

Attack Virtually Annihilated Platoon

Although it was clearly a dangerous mission, it turned out to be a fortunate one. That night and two succeeding nights, the Germans severely attacked the Allied positions and the mission was scrapped. However, the attack virtually annihilated the platoon that Jack Leura was in. Only a handful of stragglers returned, and Leura was not among then. With one friend killed and another missing, Frank changed companies and left the service in October, 1945.

When Santacroce, a member of American Legion Post 388, thought of his friends in the ensuing years, reading histories written about the 111th, hoping that there would be some mention of Jack Leura, but all of them noted that he was MIA. For the past 48 years, Santacroce has believed that his friend with whom he spent basic training, and with whom he trained in explosives, died the night Santacroce’s platoon got the short straw.

That was, until one night this past January, when Frank’s’ wife answered the phone from a man asking if it was Frank Santacroce’s residence. "Yes," she replied.

Is he Alive?

"Did he serve in the Army in Italy?" came from the voice on the line. "Yes," she said and then there was a pause, as Santacroce noted this week, the voice wanted to ask if he were alive. "Yes, he’s right here," said Mrs. Santacroce, handing the phone to her husband.

It was, of course, Jack Leura, who had not forgotten his "Frank" Santacroce. In fact he had thought of Frank often, as well, but when Jack scanned histories, he couldn’t find the name of his friend. Because of his wounds suffered in a combat company, Frank had changed companies as the war was ending.

After 48 years of remembrances and replaying the march through Italy, and the battle in France over in his mind, Frank finally got to meet his surviving buddy. Jack Leura, as it turns out, has a granddaughter who went east to take a job in New York—that made Leura take a longshot. He knew Frank was in New York some place, out on Long Island, maybe, and sent his granddaughter on a "Mission." It wasn’t long before she turned up a Santacroce in Sag Harbor, and turned the phone number over to her granddad to make the call.

The two war buddies were reunited after nearly a half century on Sunday (June 20, 1993) at Frank’s Jefferson Street home.

It was the nicest—simply the nicest—time I’ve had in my life, and then there was a pause. "I don’t know," said Frank, "how do you say how you feel after 48 years?"

Well, my experience in combat was almost similar to his, except I was captured in the town of Bonjeu, France, 25 miles from Montelimar as the enemy was attacking on August 25,1944. I was firing from a window of an old barn. The enemy saw my fire and shot me through the shoulder. However, I couldn’t get away since the enemy had surrounded the town with a Panzer division. We were marched some 50 miles that took about a week. The Germans did take me to their field hospital and treated my wounds, but returned me to my buddies for the march.

We were loaded into railroad box cars and continued on to Germany; strafed almost daily by American planes until we got to our destination, Stalag 12-A. After 2 weeks there, I was transferred to Stalag-III-C, about 40 miles from Poland. My wounds healed.

On February 1, 1945, I was with a group of five prisoners who escaped from the prison camp. The escape was easy because the Russian Army was advancing toward the camp. The German guards, who considered themselves as noncombatants, got very nervous and left their posts, so we took the opportunity. Many of us rushed out of camp toward the Russian combat lines. When we approached closer to their troops, rifles were aimed at us, then they lowered; we were taken to officers for interrogation. Then they discovered we were escaped American prisoners-of-war.

We were taken to Lodz, Poland; stayed there for about two weeks, then transferred to Odessa on the Black Sea in Russia. After living in box cars for two weeks, some of the Russian soldiers told we would be taken to another part of Russia for better protection, but we knew very well it was to the labor camp in some unknown area.

It was our good luck that a British ship came in to port to unload military equipment for the Russian Army, The British officers got wind of our predicament, and ordered the Russians to release us to them. The British then returned us to Naples and the American Army. I was glad, of course, but also sad that I had lost track of a friend who would remain lost to me for 48 years.

PS: I was a professional boxer when I entered the service, and returned to box from 1945-50. I am Cmdr. of the San Gabriel ExPOW Chapter, at present. I’ll be going to Italy on the 36th Division tour, Aug-Sept.