My father, Pete Stiponovich, passed away on March 21, 2007 but I will try to present some of his WWII stories as I remember him relating them to me.
My father was a tank driver and gunner with the 13th Armored Division (The Black Cats), Co. B, 24th Tank Battalion. In 1945 the 13th Armored served in occupied France and then fought in Germany with Patton's Third Army, most notably in the Ruhr Valley.
One story my father liked to tell was about a whistling German soldier. Dad's outfit had taken a German village and they were going through houses looking for German soldiers that might be hiding there. My father was searching one house when he heard a German soldier whistling. Heart pounding, pulse racing, he readied his gun, stealthily followed the sound to the kitchen, cautiously leaned around the doorway, and there was a tea kettle whistling away! The fleeing family had vacated the house so quickly they had not turned off the tea kettle. My family still has this whistle with my father's war memorabilia.
Another story my father liked to tell was about meeting General Patton. His tank had been shot out by an 88 millimeter somewhere in Germany and the crew was waiting for Maintenance to come by and repair it. My father was half-asleep in the turret and the tank commander was asleep down below in the tank. Suddenly he heard someone bark "What the hell's going on here? Where's your tank commander?" My father looked down and saw two pearl-handled revolvers and thought "Oh, my God, it's Patton." Dad hollered down to the tank commander who complained "Who the hell's waking me up; can't you see I'm trying to sleep?!" Patton responded "God Damn it, it's me that's waking you up!" The tank commander came up quickly, saluted the General, and explained briskly that they were waiting for Maintenance to come repair their tank. Patton replied angrily "Get that damn tank fixed and join your outfit." "Yes, Sir" the tank commander responded vigorously.
Another time my father was down in his tank eating sweet canned peaches he had found in an abandoned German farmhouse. Another soldier kept pestering him to share the peaches. Dad gave the other soldier a jar that contained sour peaches; (they had been canned without sugar). The soldier tasted the sour peaches and said "Ugh, how can you eat these sour peaches, Pete?" and he handed the jar back to my father, who enjoyed eating the remainder of the sweet peaches.
My father's battalion also helped liberate Dachau. Dad said he would never forget the stench of disease and death, which he could smell long before his tank reached Dachau. And he said he would never forget the sight of the emaciated prisoners hanging onto the barbed wire fence and staring with haunted eyes that had seen unspeakable horrors, as he drove his tank through the gates.
My father left his tank on the Inn River near Neuotting, German when the War in Europe ended in May, 1945. When I left for my first trip to Germany and Austria, my father said "See if my tank is still there on the Inn River." His battalion went back to California and was readying the tanks to invade Japan when Japan surrendered and WWII was over.
My father is buried at the very lovely and peaceful Ft. Logan Military Cemetery in Denver. Every time I go to visit his grave and see new WWII veterans' graves nearby, I say, "Dad, now you have new buddies with whom to share war stories."
--Judy Stiponovich
