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As Veterans Day arrives, I’m reminded of my father, Thomas Byrnes — a quiet, resilient man from St. Paul who served as an aerial gunner in World War II.
Near Amsterdam, his plane was struck by German anti‑aircraft fire, killing the pilots. He parachuted out, landed in an irrigation ditch and was captured. He was packed into a boxcar to Frankfurt, held in solitary confinement and interrogated. Yet, true to his training, he said only his name, rank and serial: “Sgt. Thomas A. Byrnes, number 37282507.” After 17 days he was transferred to Stalag 17B near Krems, Austria, where he remained for some 14 months.
In April 1945, he and 4,400 fellow prisoners were forced to march for 27 days through Austrian backroads, with bayonets at their backs, before being liberated by the U.S. 13th Armored Division. He endured unimaginable hardship with courage. He was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross and the Purple Heart. He was, in every sense, a patriot.
His story is also our family’s story — one shared by countless families shaped by the Greatest Generation. I’m reminded of a Minneapolis Daily Times article from Nov. 12, 1944, headlined “1,300 War Prisoners’ Kin Thrilled by Times Meeting.” The story, which my Aunt Florence saved in a scrapbook, described a gathering for families of American POWs. Listed as my father’s “primary next of kin,” she attended hoping to learn any news of him.
The article captured the hope and worry of families waiting for word from their loved ones and learning how to help. My father would later show us that clipping to remind us that the war wasn’t just fought on battlefields, it was experienced in homes across America. He often emphasized the importance of organizations like the Red Cross, which helped families stay connected and provided essential aid to prisoners of war.
He always believed deeply in service and democracy. Every Veterans Day, my father spoke to students about what freedom really cost. His message was simple: “We fought tyranny. Don’t take liberty for granted.” That legacy lives on today, as my cousin’s son, an Air Force pilot, wears a patch honoring my father’s 814th Bomb Squadron.