The Saga of Murder, Inc.
A German Propaganda Victory
by Kenneth Daniel Williams - 351st Bomb Group
During World War II, I was a bombardier with the 8th
Air Force flying out of England. I was shot down over Germany wearing a
flight jacket with “Murder, Inc.” written on the back. The Germans made
much propaganda out of this.
At the request of a group in Holland, the “Bulletin
1939-1945, Airwar Study Group Holland”, I am wring down here the events that
took place in relation to “Murder, Inc.”
Contrary to some of the German propaganda, I was not a
Chicago gangster. I was born in Charlotte, North Carolina, U.S.A. on May
16, 1922. I attended local schools and went to Belmont Abbey College, an
institution run by Benedictine Monks, many of whom came from Germany.
On December 7, 1941, the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor
and every young man that I knew was anxious to join the armed forces to
defend his country.
In June of 1942 I joined the United States Army Corps
of Engineers and advanced to the rank of corporal. In December I
transferred to the Army Air Corps Aviation Cadet program. Having been an
enlisted man, I wanted a commission as soon as possible. To become a
navigator took twelve months, a pilot, nine months, and a bombardier, six
months. I applied for bombardier school and received training in Midland,
Texas. After graduation I was assigned to Geiger Field, Spokane, Washington
for phase training. This is where our crew was formed and trained to
operate the B-17 heavy bombardment aircraft.
In October, 1943, we flew to England and were assigned
to the 351st Bomb Group, 508th Squadron. We were
assigned the B-17 “Murder Inc.” It was an old plane that had been on many
missions and I have no idea who named it or why it was given this name. As
it turned out, we never flew a mission in this plane. It was the custom to
have the name of your plane painted on the back of your flight jacket. One
of the enlisted men came by my room and asked if I would like to have the
name of the plane painted on my jacket. I told him “yes” and gave him the
jacket. He came back the next day with this jacket painted. As it turned
out, I was the only member of the crew whose jacket was painted before we
were shot down in, ironically, another plane.
On November 16, 1943, we flew our first mission to
Knaben, Norway, to bomb a heavy water plane, part of the German effort to
develop the atomic bomb. “Murder Inc.” was in the hanger for repairs and we
flew in a new plane that I believe had not yet been named. This was about
the time they quit painting B-17’s, and the one we flew that day was the
original aluminum color. We had trouble transferring fuel from the bomb bay
tank to the regular tank on that mission and thought we might have to land
in Sweden. The flight engineer finally corrected the problem and we flew
back to England through the worst weather I have ever flown in.
On November 26, 1943, we flew our second and last
mission to Bremen, Germany. We arose about 4:00 A.M. and had eggs for
breakfast. Eggs were a treat reserved for mission days only. From the mess
hall we went to the briefing room to have the mission explained and to
synchronize our watches.
Next we went to the “dry room” where the parachutes
and heated suits were kept. I found that my parachute was being repacked
and they gave me the parachute of a man over six feet tall. I am 5 feet 8
inches. I did not adjust the harness but just put it on and let it hang
loose. The type parachute we used was developed by the British and was
called a “clip-on chest pack.” One wore the harness all the time in the
air, but the actual parachute itself was folded up in the neat little
package that could be clipped on the chest of the harness if ever needed. I
always kept my parachute on the floor close to me in the nose compartment of
We put on electrically heated suits for warmth at high
altitudes. There were heated shoes that plugged into the suit, but they
were light and not made for walking. I wore heavy walking shoes instead
with heavy socks for warmth and for walking long distances in case I was
We were each issued an escape kit that contained a
photograph of us in civilian clothes, maps, compass, chocolate, German and
French money, and other items. My flight coveralls had a large buttoned
pocket on the right leg below the knee where I kept my escape kit.
From there we went to the armament hut for our fifty
caliber machine guns. We had to wipe almost all the oil off the guns because
it got so cold at high altitudes that the least bit of oil would freeze and
jam the guns. I have seen it so cold at high altitudes that spit would
freeze before it hit anything..
We were then taken to “Murder Inc.” by truck. It took
a large truck to carry ten men and all the guns and equipment.
Once on board we began to install guns and check
equipment while waiting for the flare to be fired from the control tower to
signal starting of engines. At last the flare was fired about sunrise. The
pilot began starting the engines, but one engine was not working properly.
The pilot told the ground crew that this plane could
not be flown because of the faulty engine. The ground crew said there was a
standby plane ready to go and we would have to transfer to it.
The standby plane was named “Aristocrap” and was an
unpainted aluminum color. The change bothered me because I feared the
ground crew would not wipe enough oil off the guns. I did not believe they
appreciated how cold it could get at high altitudes. At any rate, we
transferred to “Aristocrap,” started the engines, and took off.
Changing planes had delayed us ten to fifteen minutes.
When we got into the air we could not find the 351st Bomb Group
since there were planes all over the sky. Finally we attached ourselves as
the last plane, “tail-end Charlie,” to a group that was just starting out
over the English Channel. I do not remember the identity of the group or
the markings of their aircraft.
When we got out over the Channel we began testing our
guns. There was a chin turret directly below me in the nose of the B-17
that I controlled remotely from my position inside the aircraft. The turret
began to freeze as I tested it and finally froze beyond use. There was a
flexible gun sticking out of the right side of the nose compartment that
operated properly. The navigator also rode in the nose compartment with his
flexible gun sticking out the left side. I reported the turret malfunction
to the pilot.
As we proceeded on across the Channel my feet became
extremely cold because I was not wearing heated shoes. During the next few
minutes I experimented with putting my feet in direct sunlight and this did
keep them warm.
When we arrived over Holland there were supposed to be
American fighter planes to meet us and escort us into Germany. The sky was
full of B-17’s but no fighter planes. I met a P-38 fighter pilot later in
prison camp who told me they were over Holland at that time but could not
As we crossed into Germany I looked down and saw many
German fighter planes taking off from a German airfield. Within minutes
ME-109’s and FW-190’s were at our altitude firing at the formation. Then
came the flak busting throughout the formation. We use to refer to flak
this heavy as “so thick one could walk on it.” The German fighters ceased
their attack and moved back so they would not be in danger of being hit by
their own flak.
The flak continued as we passed over the target about
noon. I did not aim the bombs. In formation flying the bombardier in the
lead plane aimed at the target and all the other bombardiers simply dropped
their bombs when he dropped his. As I watched the bombs fall away I prayed,
as I had over Norway, that they would hit military targets only. Both the
Germans and British used “saturation” bombing. In order to keep down their
losses they would fly at night and drop bombs over a large area in order to
ensure hitting their target. Both German and British airmen thought we were
crazy to fly during the day and suffer the losses that we did in order to
hit specific targets.
A burst of flak hit the chin turret directly below me
and a fragment of it barely missed me as it flew up into the plane. I moved
back to the flexible gun sticking out of the right side of the nose
compartment. In moving back several feet I disconnected my microphone and
earphones and lost communication with the rest of the crew. Flak knocked
several large holes in each wing but all four engines were operating as we
emerged from the flak. As we pulled out of the flak area the group to which
we had attached ourselves began a turn to the right to return to England.
We did not turn with them but kept flying straight into Germany. I assume
the flak had damaged the controls and the pilot could not turn the plane.
When we were all alone in the sky many German fighters
attacked our ship. Six ME-109’s lined up in formation about 1,000 yards
out from my gun position, just beyond the range of my gun. I do not know
how many fighters were at other positions around our plane. The first two
German fighters turned toward us, one flying off the wing and just behind
the other, and began firing their machine guns. Each fighter had six guns,
making a total of twelve guns firing at me. Bullet holes began to pop in
the window and side of our aircraft. Bullets flew all around me. I fired
my gun at the fighters. The first two fighters passed below us and the next
two came in for a pass, firing their guns. As they passed below us the last
two came in. By the time they passed below us the first two were back in
position and began another run. I always had two German fighters coming in
on my position and I continually fired my gun at them. Not one bullet hit
me nor did I shoot down a single German fighter.
I had lost communication with the rest of the crew but
I sensed that something was wrong. I moved over from my gun position and
looked back through the tunnel that led to the pilot’s compartment. The
pilot was down in the tunnel banging on the escape hatch with a heavy
ammunition box. Directly behind the pilot was a solid wall of flames. It
looked to me as if the entire aircraft except for the nose compartment was
engulfed in flames.
The escape hatch was on the floor of the tunnel. I
crawled back to see if I could help the pilot open the escape hatch. As I
crawled toward him the pilot put his foot on the hatch and forced it open.
This took tremendous pressure since the slipstream was trying to force it
closed. The pilot grabbed me by the waist and forced me head first out the
As I fell clear of the plane, my first reaction was a
sense of relief that I had gotten away from that fire. My next thought
was, “Did I put on that parachute?” I looked down at my chest --- no
I felt something tugging at my shoulders and looked
up. There a few feet above my head was my unopened parachute securely
hooked to the risers of my harness. Evidently I had clipped the parachute
on my harness but he force of the pilot pushing me through the escape hatch
had ripped the risers loose, but the chute was still firmly hooked to the
As I was falling, the pilot fell past me no more than
fifty feet away. He had a look of horror on his face. I thought when we got
on the ground I would kid him about how scared he looked. I found out later
that both the pilot and the co-pilot had jumped without their parachutes.
Evidently their chutes had burned in the fire.
They had told us if we ever bailed out in combat to
delay opening the parachute so we could fall away from the fighting. I
looked up at my chute and decided to open it right away. In case I had any
trouble, I would then have time to work on it before I hit the ground. I
pulled the parachute down to me hand over hand and pulled the ripcord. It
I did not realize the violent shock I would receive
when the parachute opened. I was wearing a harness that was too big. The
force of the opening jerked the harness up and tight around my throat.
There I hung, about 20,000 feet over Germany unable to breath. I grabbed
the risers and gradually pulled myself up in the harness until I could
I had opened my parachute too close to the fighting
and one of the German fighters came straight for me. I thought, “I have
survived all of this just to be shot to death in my parachute by a German
fighter.” But the fighter did not shoot at me. He circled me all the way
to the ground. I assume he was radioing my position to the ground.
Next I realized how quiet it was. All I could hear
was the sound of the breeze through my parachute. I was drifting backward
in a strong wind.
I did not realize how hard I would hit the ground. My
heels hit first – so violently that I did a complete backwards somersault.
I was in a large field and the strong wind caught my parachute and began
dragging me across the field. I tried to get up and run toward the chute to
collapse it, but I could not run as fast as the wind was blowing. I tried to
pull the bottom lines of the chute toward me to collapse it, but I did not
have enough strength. Finally the bottom of the parachute caught on a
barbed wire fence and collapsed, pulling me up tight against it.
The German fighter that had been circling me buzzed
low over me. The pilot gave me a salute and flew away. Again it was very
quiet. I looked down at my right leg for my escape kit. The right pants
leg of my flight coveralls was torn away from the knee down – no escape
kit. I struggled to get out of the parachute harness and just as I managed
to free myself a German sergeant and several soldiers came over a small
hill. The sergeant said, in a British accent, “Are you hurt, boy?”
I told him I was not hurt. Then he said, “What did
you have for breakfast?” I replied, “bacon and eggs.” The sergeant then
said, “I have not had bacon and eggs in a long time.” He told me he had
lived in London for over ten years and hoped to go back there after the war.
The sergeant took me to his headquarters, an
anti-aircraft installation. He got my name, home address and the fact that
I am a Catholic from my dog tags. He kept telling me, “For you the war is
over.” He sounded as if he envied me. He told in detail what would happen
to me as a prisoner of war. I turned out that he was quite accurate.
The sergeant said he had never captured a prisoner
before and wanted to take some pictures. He took pictures of me front and
back. The back pictures showed the “Murder Inc.” on my flight jacket.
These were the only pictures the Germans ever took of the jacket and were
the ones used in the propaganda.
Later that day I was taken by truck to a Luftwaffe
base and locked in a small room. That night a Luftwaffe pilot came to my
room and wanted to talk about airplanes. He did not speak English and I
could not speak German, but we managed to communicate.
There seemed to be a bond among airmen, even on
opposite sides of the war. We had been up there. We knew what it was like
more than anyone on the ground would ever comprehend. It was as if “the
war” was bigger than all of us and it was “the war” that was doing all the
damage and was the real enemy to both of us.
The pilot said he had been a Stuka Dive Bomber pilot
and was wounded in the leg over Malta. His leg was stiff and he had been
grounded. He saw the “Murder Inc.” on the back of my flight jacket and told
me I had better get that off. He said it might cause me some real trouble.
I sat up all night and picked that paint off of my
flight jacket with my thumbnail. By morning all one could see was a faint
outline of “Murder Inc.”
I heard no more about “Murder Inc.” while I was taken
to Dulag Luft at Frankfurt (some solitary confinement there) then on to
Stalag Luft I at Barth on the Baltic Sea.
I was Prisoner of War Number 1664 assigned to Block II
(Barrack II). There were three barracks in the camp. Block III was
completely empty. Blocks I and II held about 200 prisoners each, both
British and American commissioned officer airmen.
On Christmas Eve, 1943, three German guards came to
our room (about twenty men to a room) and said I was wanted by the German
Commandant. They took me to the German officer’s club. It was decorated
for Christmas with a Christmas tree and all the trimmings. The Commandant
was seated at a table with two other men. He stood up, greeted me and shook
hands. He asked me to have a seat and offered me some wine. I hesitated
to drink the wine thinking it might be drugged, but the Commandant assured
me it was good German Rhine wine, so I did take a few sips.
The Commandant said the man seated across from him had
come up from Berlin to talk to me. The Commandant then stood up and said he
had to leave, and he and the other officer left the table.
The man from Berlin was wearing a sweater (so no
military rank) and military riding pants and boots. I believe he was a
general from the way the Commandant, who was a colonel, had treated him. He
was a good-looking man and appeared to be about forty years of age.
He asked me about Christmas in the United States and
at my home. We wanted to know what I thought my parents would be doing at
that time on Christmas Eve. I told him about Christmas Eve at home,
exchange of presents, Midnight Mass, and about my family.
He then showed me a Berlin newspaper with my picture
on the front page, a front view and the back view with the “Murder Inc.” on
the back of the jacket. He said he had been sent up from Berlin to see if I
were really a gangster. He said it was obvious to him that I was not a
gangster and he thought that I would probably hear no more about “Murder
Inc.” He wanted to know why we had given the plane this name. I told him I
did not name the plane and did not know why it was so named.
He gave me the newspaper and said he thought I might
like to have it as a souvenir. I have that very same paper in front of me
now at my desk.
I was taken back to Block II and spent my first
Christmas as a prisoner of war.
On December 28 they took me to the cooler (punishment
prison) and locked me in a solitary confinement cell. About 5:30 the next
morning two guards came and took me out the main gate of the camp and
started walking toward Barth. It was just a short distance – maybe two
miles. I asked “Where are we going?” They replied, “Berlin.”
I thought they were probably going to take me to
Berlin, have a fake trial, and hang me in the public square so they could
get more propaganda value out of “Murder Inc.”
At Barth we took a train and arrived in Berlin about
noon. I was taken to an Italian and Russian prisoner of war camp located in
the northern outskirts of the city. They put me in solitary confinement,
but it was not so bad because I had a window to look out.
About noon on December 30 a German guard, who was over
six feet tall and spoke good English, took me to the center of Berlin. We
entered a large building and he said he was taking me to the Foreign Office.
Inside we met a major who took me on an elevator to the fourth or fifth
The major took me into an office that had a desk and
several chairs. One man behind the desk told me he was Dr. Paul Schmidt,
Hitler’s interpreter. He said the other man’s wife had been recently killed
in an air raid. I thought they were telling me these things just to see my
reaction. I had never heard of Dr. Paul Schmidt, but I have since learned
that he was Hitler’s interpreter. I now believe that I was indeed talking
to “the” Dr. Paul Schmidt.
Dr. Schmidt started by telling me that Germany was
right in the war. He said that the countries around Germany were
mistreating their German minorities and that Germany had to invade them to
stop this. He asked me what I thought of Germany’s position.
I told him I understood that when Hitler first came to
power during the Depression he started building roads, putting people back
to work, improving the economy, and getting things rolling again. This was
the same type thing President Roosevelt had done and I thought it was good,
but when Hitler started invading neighboring countries that was bad.
I told him I thought they could actually have gotten
away with it if they had not tried to conquer England, Africa and Russia.
Their worst mistake, I said, was getting the Japanese to attack Pearl
Harbor. Then I said, “Could it be that you did not know that the Japanese
were going to attack Pearl Harbor?” There was no response, but from their
reaction I believe they did not know about the attack in advance. They
simply said something about the Japanese being a great people.
At any rate, I told them that once the United States
had entered the war, Germany did not have a chance to win. The asked me if
I thought the American soldier was superior. I told them no, it was the
production power of the United States that would overwhelm them.
Dr. Schmidt said that all Americans were overly
optimistic and began trying to convince me that Germany was going to win the
war. He must have thought he had me convinced because he said that not all
prisoners of war lived in prison camps. Some, he said, lived in Berlin in
nice apartments and had their freedom within the city, went to the theatre,
had girl friends, and lived a pleasant life. He then said he was not
without influence in the government and he thought he could probably arrange
for me to have just about anything I might want. He then inquired, “Is
there anything you would like for me to do for you?” In response I said,
“Yes.” His face lit up and he inquired, “What can I do for you?” I said,
“Take me back to the prison camp and leave me alone.”
Having said he could do just about anything for me, he
actually seemed apologetic that he could not do the simple thing I had
asked. He said it would not be possible for to return to the prison camp
right away. There were other people in Berlin who wanted to see me. He
wasn’t sure how many persons I would talk with or how long I would be kept
in Berlin. (I believe this conversation took somewhere between one and two
hours. I feel certain it was recorded through a hidden microphone and could
very well still be on file somewhere in Berlin.) Eventually I was taken
back to the Italian and Russian prison camp and the solitary confinement
The next day, Friday, December 31, I saw a British
prisoner of war out in the compound with the Italian and Russian prisoners.
I had a guard stationed outside my door at all times. This guard would
escort me across the compound to the toilets on the far side. The next time
we were crossing the compound I managed to speak to the British prisoner.
A few days later the Englishman pushed a note through
a crack in the wall separating my room from the one he shared with some
Italian prisoners. He wanted to know what I was doing there. I told him
about “Murder Inc.” He sent a note back wanting to know why we had given a
plane this name. I told him I had nothing to do with naming the plane and
had no idea why it was so named. The next day he pushed a note through
saying that he was a Catholic and that the Germans allowed him to go to Mass
in town on Sundays. He said if I would write down a prayer the priest would
put it on the altar and include my intentions with the Mass. I wrote a
prayer that the war would end and for my family back home, and then I pushed
what I had written through to him.
During the next few days he got my entire story by our
pushing notes back and forth. He told me that before the war he had worked
at White Hall in London. As best as I can remember he said his name was
Rufus L. Yates, but after all these years, I cannot be sure. He began to
send me food, cigarettes, religious books, and cards through the German
guard that was always stationed at my door.
One day about a dozen generals and their aides from
the Luftwaffe, SS, Army, and Navy came to the camp. The guard outside my
door came in and pointed to them through the window. He seemed proud that
these important people had come to the camp. He pointed out the different
ranks and different organizations. He tried to explain to me the difference
between the SS and the Gestapo. He said these important people assembling
here had something to do with me. He seemed to think I should be proud of
such an honor.
The generals went into the mess hall. I expected to
be called to appear before them. After about an hour or more they came out
got into their automobiles and left. (I had not seen so many cars in one
place since I had been in Germany.) I did not appear before them, but I am
sure they looked at the evidence that had been gathered and decided to send
me back to the prisoner of war camp.
Early on Sunday, January 9, 1944, the same two guards
that had brought me to Berlin came into the room and woke me up. They took
me by train back to Barth and out to Stalag Luft I. I spent the rest of the
war at Stalag Luft I. The prison camp grew from the three barracks
mentioned earlier to about fifty barracks holding about 10,000 American
officers. No more British officers arrived and the ones there were put into
separate barracks. We were in the South Compound with the British
officers. Most of the prisoners were in the North Compound and completely
separated from us.
I did see more pictures and cartoons in German
newspapers about “Murder Inc.” One day a fellow prisoner showed me a German
magazine that he said was running the story of my life in serial form. (I
do not read German). He said the magazine said I was one of Al Capone’s
gangsters in Chicago and had finally gone to jail in Alcatraz Prison. When
the war started, the magazine reported, President Roosevelt had gone to the
warden of Alcatraz and told him that he wanted the meanest man in the prison
to go over and kill German women and children. The article also stated the
warden told Roosevelt that Ken Williams was the best man for the job.
According to the magazine, Roosevelt then arranged for me to get out of
prison and organize the effort, entitled “Murder Inc.” to kill German women
Not all of my memories of prison camp are unpleasant.
We played bridge, chess, poker and other games. We played volleyball,
baseball, football and other sports. On the train from Berlin back to Barth
a girl gave me a piece of cake after the guards had already told her I was a
prisoner of war. On that trip the guards took me into a beer hall and
bought me a beer. We had a radio at Stalag Luft I that the Germans could
not locate. Some of the men listened to B.B.C. and wrote a newsletter that
was circulated throughout the camp. Someone was always digging a tunnel to
try to escape.
Some memories are not so pleasant. One man was shot
dead, not fifty feet from where I was standing, for stepping out of his
barracks during an air raid. I saw one prisoner, who had lost his mind fall
to the ground, and a guard put a pistol to his head and pulled the trigger
but the gun misfired. Lawton H. Wilkes, the right waist gunner from my crew
lost his mind while confined to Stalag 17-B and ran screaming across the
compound. He started climbing the barbed wire fence and was shot dead by
the guards. The stress of the war and prison camp caused some to lose their
minds. I saw our chaplain (Father Charlton, an Irish priest who was in the
British Army) step between a hysterical guard and a prisoner, calm the guard
down and keep him from firing his machine gun at the prisoner. The worst
things for me personally were solitary confinement and starvation. I lost
from 150 pounds down to almost 100 pounds.
At the end of the war the Russians took over that part
of Germany and liberated us on May 1, 1945. We had trouble trying to make
arrangements with the Russians to get back to our own people. But
eventually the Eighth Air Force sent in B-17’s and flew us to France on May
Of the ten men on my crew, six survived the war. The
pilot (Orvil L. Castle) and copilot (Leon E. Anderson) were killed when they
jumped without their parachutes. Mike C. Beckett, the radio operator was
shot to death in the plane and Lawton H. Wilkes, the right waist gunner was
killed in prison camp.
From Camp Lucky Strike in France, I boarded a ship at
Le Harve and arrived back in the United States on June 21, 1945, to take up
my civilian life. On September 1, I married my childhood sweetheart Jean
Lorraine Zeman. Over the years we had five children – four sons and one
daughter. I was discharged from the Army Air Corps on December 11, 1945,
and went into the business of manufacturing warm air furnaces. On February
13, 1956, I went to work for the local city and county governments as Civil
Defense Director. The title of this job changed several times until I
retired on October 25, 1983, with the title of Emergency Management
Director. After more than thirty-eight years of being happily married my
beloved wife died of cancer on March 30, 1984. This was a devastating
Right after the war I received hundreds of letters from
all over the world. All of the letters were supportive and wished me
well. They all contained newspaper clippings of “Murder Inc.” that they
thought I might like to have as a souvenir. Many were anxious to know if I
had survived the war. There were so many letters I could not answer them
all, so I regretfully decided not to answer any of them. I put the letters
in a box and stored them in a closet. A slow leak developed in a water pipe
and dripped on the letters over a period of time. Several years ago I took
the box out of the closet and the letters were ruined, turned to pulp. I
would like to express my sincere thanks and gratitude to any of the people
who may read this and were so kind as to have sent me one of those letters.
I did bring home the jacket that had caused all the
trouble. I had “Murder Inc.: painted on again exactly as it had been before
I spent one night removing it. The jacket is old and stiff now and the
lettering has faded, but I am wearing it as I write this.
In closing this
narrative I pray to God that there will never again be another World War.
|The Orvil Castle crew in October 1943
Lt. Leon Anderson, Lt. Ken D. Williams, Lt. Orvil Castle, Lt.
Rear row: Sgt. Francis Bousquet, Sgt. Lawton Wilkes, Sgt. Clinton Logan,
Note: In the Missing Air Crew Report it is reported that the co-pilot Lt. Anderson,
whose chute had been burned in the fire on the plane was sharing a chute
with Sgt. Logan but when the chute opened it was reported that Lt. Anderson
fell off. The pilot, Lt. Castle's also did not have a chute as his
was burned in the fire and he jumped from the burning plane without it.
Sgt. Wilkes died at Stalag 17-B while a POW. Sgt. Bandy was sick on the date the crew was shot down and was
therefore not flying with them.
Robert L. Cheek and George W.
Bond were not regular members of this crew but were flying with them on
November 26, 1943 when they were shot down.
|From our guestbook:
Hometown: Charlotte N.C.
POW Camp: Stalag Luft I
Name of POW: Kenneth D. Williams (Father)
Postal Street Address: 2218 Randall St.
City, State, Zip: Charlotte N.C. 28205
Sent: 10.27 PM - 12/10 2003
My father, Ken Williams of the Murder Inc. story, died peacefully yesterday
morning 12-09-03. I spent time today with my brothers and sister reminiscing
through dad's scrapbooks and remembering him and our uncles and all of those
other guys who so willfully gave their all for the good of fellow mankind.
They all sacrificed unconditionally, with no thoughts of personal acclaim,
so it was especially poignant for me
to find your site recognizing dad and his contribution to such noble
endeavor. I have his original "Murder Inc. an American B-17 Heavy Bomber"
manuscript on the table next to me as I write this. The stapled typed pages
are a bit faded and jaundiced with time but the story is still vibrant, in
part thanks to people like you. I know that I speak for all of his children
by thanking you for making a big part of a good man's life available for
others. Thanks for the web site. Feel comfortable contacting me. If there is
anything that we can do to help you just let us know. Thanks. John Williams