A Family's Search

I have been blessed to know Julia Pappas Welch and her family for over 20 years. Like most grandmothers, Julia's living room was filled with family photographs. Pictures of her Greek ancestors, her children, her grandchildren, her great-grandchildren. In the middle of this family history was a striking picture of a handsome young airman, forever 19, her brother Michael. I had been strongly cautioned not to ask about him. Lost in the war. Still MIA. Don't.Go.There. A virtual no-fly zone.

Until that day in 2015. Julia was selling the family home and moving closer to her daughters. That day I visited and found her wrapping photos. She took down her brother's picture, sat down next to me and started crying. She had adored her older brother, a first-born, first-generation American giant of a young man.

Julia leaned into my shoulder and sobbed, "Will they ever find my brother?" I replied, "I don't know Julia, I was cautioned not to ask. But, if you're willing, what can you share?"

And then it was the days after Christmas in 1944, and 16-year-old Julia was answering the doorbell to find the priest and the Army casualty officer standing there. She had to translate for her parents that Michael's plane was shot down and he was missing.

She concluded, "All we ever learned from the American government was that Michael was shot down over Germany, which later became part of Poland, that the place was called 'Black Hammer,' and that there were labor camps nearby."