 Kenneth "Tuck" Belton didn't give much thought to tulips while he
was growing up in rural Tallula. They were just a sure sign that
summer would soon arrive in central Illinois. But his perspective
changed in the bitter winter of 1945. He was a downed B-17 pilot
hiding out with the Dutch Underground, and tulip bulbs were the thin
thread between his survival and starvation.
Tuck was no stranger to hard times. His father was a coal miner
before being seriously injured on the job early in the Depression.
From that time forward, life was tough for the Belton family; they
lived a day-to-day existence, often depending on hunting to put meat
on the table. Tuck joined the Army Air Forces in the summer of 1942
and married his sweetheart, Virginia Atterberry, while going through
training.
By 1945 he was piloting a B-17 on bombing runs over Germany. On
Jan. 20, while returning from his fifth mission, Lt. Belton's
aircraft was hit. He bailed out over northern Holland and was the
only crew member to survive. He was immediately taken in by members
of the Dutch Underground, who hid him away in a chicken shack for
several weeks with little more than tulip bulbs to eat.
For the next few months, Tuck lived life on the edge, sharing the
precarious existence of his fellow Dutch Underground members,
masquerading as William Shank, a deaf and mute bookbinder. Since he
could not speak the language, he wore a placard on his shirt
proclaiming that he was "doofstom." It worked, most of the time. If
caught, the Nazis would not look kindly on a downed pilot who worked
with the Underground.
Belton and his comrades got around mostly on bicycles, traveling
throughout the countryside and occasionally venturing into Amsterdam
as well.
One of his closest calls occurred when he and another Underground
member were riding their bicycles toward a bridge and spotted guards
posted on each end. It called for very quick thinking.
"Let's hit the river," barked Belton's comrade.
"So off we go," Belton recalled over 65 years later. "We drove
those bicycles off in the river. Man -- you talk about cold. There's
ice in that river. And the river was fairly swift, thank God. And I
remember grabbing a chunk of ice and trying to hold my breath and
get under in case they were firing at us. ...We went down that river
half a mile."
Harassing the Nazis was a very dangerous game, and Tuck shared
those risks as he accompanied the Underground on several missions.
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Once, Tuck's group staged a daring rescue of an injured
Underground member who was recuperating in a local hospital. Armed
with an English Sten gun, Tuck found himself face to face with a
German soldier and a Dutch quisling while the others were inside the
hospital rescuing their comrade. He instinctively fired.
"And when I did, all hell broke loose. The guys came pouring out
of the hospital. We got Steve, and I just took off. ... There was a
small group of trees and I ran into there and stayed there for quite
a while. ... It was January ... and I thought, oh, man, what have I
done?" Belton said. "I was all by myself. And about that time this
dog came along -- this big, old, shaggy dog. I guess he was probably
as frightened as I was. I called him and he came over to me. I
petted him, you know, and I stuck him underneath that overcoat, and
he was one reason I kept alive that night. He helped keep me warm."
On another occasion his group blew up an electrical substation
providing power to the Gestapo headquarters in Amsterdam. Two days
later, Belton observed German troops rounding up 10 men off the
street at random.
"They were trying to get back at the Underground for bombing
their substation," said Belton. "They lined those 10 guys up against
the wall, and the firing squad shot them -- just shot them."
His instincts and training almost kicked in, but his companion
that day "laid her hand over on my arm with a pretty strong hold --
you know, not to do anything, which is very difficult not to have
some kind of a reaction."
In April of 1945 Tuck sneaked across a river into Allied
territory. He still recalls the moment his ship steamed into New
York City harbor.
"Outside of my wife, (the Statue of Liberty) was probably the
greatest thing I'd seen," Belton remembered, struggling to regain
his composure. "I still get a little emotional."
Tuck Belton has a unique perspective on Lady Liberty.
___
Mark DePue is the oral history director at the Abraham Lincoln
Presidential Library and Museum. You can listen to Tuck Belton's
entire story and many others in the "Veterans
Remember" section of
www.oralhistory.illinois.gov.
[Text from
Abraham
Lincoln Presidential Library and Museum
news release received from the
Illinois Historic
Preservation Agency] |
