[Congressional Record Volume 159, Number 113 (Thursday, August 1, 2013)]
[Senate]
[Page S6192]
From the Congressional Record Online through the Government Publishing Office [www.gpo.gov]
REMEMBERING PETER SORBO
Mr. MURPHY. Madam President, today I wish to honor the service of Mr.
Peter Sorbo, of Connecticut, whose family resides in Waterbury, CT. In
January 1943, 18 year-old Peter Sorbo enlisted in the Army to serve his
country during World War II. Deployed to the European theater and
assigned to Bombardment Group 384, Squadron 545, he served as a waist
gunner on a B-17 Flying Fortress and perished on August 12, 1943 after
his plane was shot down above the Rhine.
I would like to have printed in the Record an article from the
Waterbury Republican American that outlines this fascinating story
about one of Connecticut's brave soldiers.
Many of Connecticut's sons, like Peter Sorbo, gave their lives
defending our freedom and they deserve our perpetual gratitude. I ask
that this body devote itself to remembering these courageous men and
women by honoring their sacrifices and forever preserving their
memories.
The following article written by Mike Patrick appeared in the July
29, 2013 edition of the Waterbury Republican-American. Madam President,
I ask unanimous consent that it be printed in the Record.
There being no objection, the article was ordered to be printed in
the Record as follows:
The Truth . . . Finally
It took decades, but Waterbury sisters learn about their brother's
death in World War II
Waterbury.--A family friend, some Internet research and the
handwritten notes of prisoners of war have unearthed a story
of tragic heroism that after seven decades has at last
brought closure for two Waterbury sisters whose brother died
in World War II.
``He was a good kid, a really good boy,'' Marie Debiase
said through tears. ``After 70 years, we're finally finding
out what happened to him.''
All she knew all these years, she said, was that her
brother, Peter Sorbo, died when his plane was shot down over
the Rhine in 1943.
But recently, her sister Joann Devino met Carmen Mancuso,
one of their brother's old friends, at church. Mancuso said
his son Richard was pretty handy at Internet research and may
be able to learn a little more about the circumstances of
Sorbo's death.
The sisters gave them some of their brother's letters and
other documents, and Richard Mancuso, a sales manager from
Madison and self-described history buff, got to work.
``I read a few of them it struck my interest,'' he said.
``I started Googling it.''
Mancuso discovered a treasure trove of information,
including reports of Sorbo's death written by the men who
served with him that day.
The following story was pieced together from those reports,
and from family recollections.
Peter Sorbo was working in the United Cigar store late in
1942 when a woman came in and chided him with something like,
``What are you doing working here when my son is overseas?''
The tall, quiet 17-year-old took it to heart. He quit
school, to the consternation of his parents, and enlisted in
January 1943.
``I remember every bit of that day he went into the Army,''
Debiase said. ``It was a terrible blizzard that day.''
For the next several months, he wrote his family letters
from the European Theater, mostly general, mundane greetings.
Those letters would later prove helpful to Mancuso in
learning how he died.
In August that same year, the waist gunner on a recently
formed B-17 Flying Fortress squadron went AWOL. Sorbo, by
then a staff sergeant, was assigned to take his place on a
bombing mission over a synthetic fuel plant in Germany.
It was an extremely dangerous operation. B-17s were large,
obvious and difficult for their gunners to defend. That was
especially so for waist gunners, who endured sub-zero
temperatures and thin oxygen while shooting Axis fighter
planes through a very small window into a powerful airstream
that made it hard to lock onto a target.
The plane was hit by a 20-mm shell that caught Sorbo in the
neck.
The plane started to go down under continuous enemy fire.
The crew prepared to bail out. One tried desperately to get a
parachute onto Sorbo, who was already dying from his neck
wound.
Then the plane exploded.
Six airmen parachuted out, including one who said the blast
blew him out of the craft, and another who said he saw the
plane go down as he drifted into the Rhine.
All six survivors were captured by the Nazis. Sorbo and
three others were killed, including the crewman who tried to
save him.
Devino said she often thinks of that heroic airman.
``I thought of the family,'' she said. ``If he didn't stop
to try and get a parachute on Peter, he might have just been
a POW.''
The family didn't know any of this for decades.
After the plane was shot down, the military sent a letter
saying Sorbo was missing in action.
``All those years, we were hoping maybe he was a prisoner,
maybe he would get back,'' Debiase said. ``My mother never
stopped hoping.''
It wasn't until the war was over that the government
acknowledged the plane and Sorbo's remains had been found,
and asked the family if it would like them to be returned for
burial.
Debiase said her family doubted from the beginning that the
remains were his, but figured it was a service member who
needed burial anyway, so they accepted them.
``Who we got, I don't know, but we respect it as my
brother,'' Debiase said. ``We visit the cemetery and put the
flags on when they need to be put on.''
Sorbo's loss devastated his family. His father was so
distraught that he walked off a 20-year job as a tool setter
at Chase Brass & Copper.
``He couldn't handle it,'' Devino said.
The parents doted on and spoiled their remaining son. He
ended up drafted into the Korean War, returned an alcoholic,
and died young.
Debiase and her husband, Michael, live in a lovely house
with a dining room table long enough to accommodate their
many family gatherings.
Her brother Peter, she said, wanted to go into radio. He
was funny and kind and protective--all the things an eldest
brother should be to his siblings.
``We at least know what really happened,'' she said. ``We
never knew. I'm glad my parents never really knew.''
Her memories of Peter, she said, she has ``stored away in
my heart'' since she was 9, the age she was when he died.
She's 79 now and Devino is 83.
Debiase looked over at that dining room table, on this day
strewn with Sorbo's sepia-toned service photographs.
``Every holiday you sit down and say, There should be
another chair,''' she said. ``But there isn't.''
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