Veteran, former POW still playing a key role

As a prisoner of war in World War II, one of many crowded into barracks that would be made famous by the film "The Great Escape," U.S. Army Air Forces Lt. Charles Woehrle longed for privacy.

To be alone, he recalled, men would have to walk the perimeter of Stalag Luft III -- if they had the energy to do it.

Today, at 92, privacy is no longer an issue, but energy is. Woehrle has outlived virtually everyone he knew then.

When the daughter of decorated World War II pilot John Campbell called Woehrle recently, asking if he'd like to ride with Campbell at Monday's National Memorial Day Parade in Washington, D.C., Woehrle said certainly, although there was something she ought to know:

"I'm a napper," he told her.

To which the woman replied, "So is my father."

These can be exhausting times for our World War II heroes -- especially those still as active as Woehrle.

Opportunities to play a battered piano helped him get through the tedium of life at Stalag Luft III.

During last week's service, Woehrle had on the organ a copy of a training guide for World War II airmen learning to fly on B-17 bombers. Jim Richards, the chapel volunteer who'd put it there, said his own training coincided with the war's end, so unlike Woehrle, he never fought overseas. But Richards was a B-17 fan, and speaking to visitors gathered near Woehrle, he sang its praises.

"Airplanes like this," the B-17, he said, "they got back."

Said Woehrle: "We never came home."

Trying times

Woehrle dropped a bomb into a slip, and then learned the Clipper was hit. After jumping out, he had trouble opening his parachute, and was at terminal velocity, he said, when it finally did. His jaw was broken in the process. He was lucky, though -- his harness held. Four other members of the crew died in the air. Floating into the ocean, he said the Lord's Prayer.

He was rescued by French fishermen, and then taken into custody by Germans. Eventually, he was brought to Stalag Luft III in what is now Zagan, Poland, and placed in the north camp with Royal Air Force officers. There, the tunnel system was being constructed for the great escape.

Before the escape date, however, Woehrle was moved to the south camp.

The darkest period of his life came in January 1945, when the POWs were led on a three-day march to the filthy, flea-infested Stalag Luft VII-A in Moosburg, Germany. Some froze to death along the way.

At that camp, however, Woehrle had the thrill of seeing an American flag raised. Guards left their towers, and Woehrle heard a Scotsman next to him say: "Laddie, I don't want to sound unpatriotic, but that's the bloodiest finest flag I've ever seen."

At the organ

Woehrle lives alone in his apartment. His wife, Elizabeth, died in 2006 while he was in Ploeren, France, where he received a hero's welcome at a ceremony in the town where the Concho Clipper crashed.

Asked Friday if he thinks of his crew on Memorial Day, he said: "Indeed, I do." He's the only one left. But there is no sadness, really. He knew only two men at a 2007 Stalag Luft III reunion. People die.

At the organ Friday, Woehrle finished with a flourish, all fingers down on the keys, drawing out the final chord. He listened to the Prayers of the People, one of them for "the poor, the persecuted, refugees, prisoners, those being tortured, and all who are in danger."

And to that, Woehrle said, "Lord, have mercy."