Joe Pickerel, son of Dr. and Mrs. Fred Pickerel was a hero among us younger kids growing up in Cincinnati, Ohio. Joe was blessed with good looks, extremely good coordination and was absolutely fearless. He did all sorts of daredevil stunts and could stay under water for many minutes at a time. To the younger kids like myself he was awesome.
Joe had one problem. He could not stand to be in the classroom. He caused so much trouble that he was invited to leave most of the Cincinnati public schools, including Walnut Hills and Withrow. Besides always being invited to leave, in the other constant factor in his high school career was that wherever he went he was placed in a Latin class. Thus, despite a lack of interest in academic pursuits he picked up a lot of Latin through repeated exposure.
As Joe reached the age of 18 or 19, World War II was in full swing. Joe managed to get into the Army Air Corps. He ook to flying and his natural athletic talent and intelligence took him right through flight school.
Joe's assignment was flying a P47 thunderbolt over Italy. His unit’s assignment was to interdict the military supplies going from Germany to Italy .
He wrote his parents about shooting up all of the moving transportation on the roads. One story that I can remember was about buzzing a hay wagon drawn by a horse and led by an old woman. When he buzzed, the hay wagon a squad of German Soldiers jumped out of the hay and went into the ditch along with the old woman.
Joe also asserted that German trucks with red cross insignia were observed to blow sky high when hit by 50-caliber machine-gun fire. Evidently, German medical supplies were really volatile. After a few of these experiences the airmen took to shooting at anything that moved.
They also learned to make careful note of where the German anti aircraft guns were located so they could avoid them.
One day Joe’s luck ran out and he had to bail out after his Thunderbolt was hit by anti-aircraft fire. He was captured by Italian soldiers and placed in captivity in the cellar of a house. At this point he was in mortal fear for his life as he wasn’t sure what they were going to do with him and he had no apparent way of escape.
At this point in his life when things looked pretty bleak, a somewhat inebriated Italian soldier came down the steps into the cellar late at night. The two of them started to try to communicate. Joe said that when he used his Latin vocabulary, added a lot of “o”s on the end of words and did a lot of hand gesturing, he could make himself understood to the Italian. In other words, “Caesars Gallic Wars” was finally taking on a real and practical meaning in Joe's Life. The message he was conveying to the Italian was that the Allies were going to win the war and things would go badly for The Fascists. They would either be killed in battle or taken prisoner by the Allies.On the other hand, if he helped Joe escape back to the allied lines Joe could make sure that life would go better for him.
Joe repeated his message several times. After a while the Italian went back up the stairs locked the door and disappeared. Joe had no idea if he would ever see his Italian “friend “again or if he paid any attention to what he had told him.
All of Joe’s questions were answered when his Italian friend showed up a few hours later with two bicycles and soldiers uniforms. In short order, the two of them were peddling cautiously in the general direction of the allied lines.
They had only gone a short distance when they were confronted by a group of anti-fascist partisans. Joe’s “friend” went up to the leader of the group and explained that he was helping an American flyer escape back to the allied lines. The partisan leader listened carefully as Joe’s benefactor explained what he was doing. When the explanation was over the partisan chief took out one of the biggest “pistolas” Joe had ever seen and unceremoniously blew the man away. At this point Joe figured he was next and was trembling. He started to explain that he was an American pilot who had been shot down.
The partisan leader smiled and said in clear English, ”Take it easy, I can recognize an American from many kilometers away; keep quiet; come with us and we will get you back to the allied lines.”
The partisans took Joe and put him into the first of a chain of safe houses. He was moved from safe house to safe house till he could cross over to the allied side. This process took the better part of 10 days.
Joe was shipped home to his parents at their summer home in Ryland Lakes Country Club south of Covington, Ky., on the Licking River. That is where at the age of 10, I heard Joe tell this story for the first and only time.
The army decided that after capture and escape Joe could not go back to the European front. They decided to send him to the Pacific. However, before they could complete the paperwork, President Truman ordered the atomic bombs dropped over Japan and the war was over.
Joe held a large number of jobs flying after his stint in the Army Air Corps. His mother wrote my parents that he managed to land safely with a load of wounded GI’s from Korea when there was a massive instrument system failure in the transport plane he was flying. We strongly suspect that he spent a lot of time flying for Air America the “CIA Airline.”
This story is related from memories that are 65 years old so there is a certain lack of detail. Joe died about 20 years ago and I never got a chance to question him about his “adventure.” I talked to Joe’s sister, Ruth, about 10 years ago, but she didn’t remember any more than I did.
Joe took the details of the escape route with him to his grave to protect those involved.
The saddest part of the story is the death of the man who helped Joe escape. However, looking at it from the partisan leader’s stand point it is obvious that the man could be a severe security risk to the partisans and their escape system if he were allowed to live.
Dr. and Mrs. Pickerel and family were close friends of ours. Dr Pickerel was our family doctor and delivered me at Christ hospital in Cincinnati .We lived next to them both in Cincinnati and Ryland Lakes, Ky.
Dr. Pickerel died quite suddenly in 1948, leaving us all in shock. My father was able show his widow, Norma, how to invest the doctor’s assets in the stock market so that they went up dramatically in value over the next few years. Norma was able to live comfortably for the rest of her life and my father was forever a hero and genius in her eyes. She was right, of course.
I was too young to appreciate investing or ask what he had invested in. He did comment that at the time it was as obvious as the nose on your face which stocks to put the money in. I would guess that one of them was Procter and Gamble.
My Brother in law, Vernon Altman, insists that the worst advice I ever gave him was to study Latin in High School. He feels that it was a completely worthless exercise. I hope he enjoys this story about a “dead language."