The story of an Aurora family’s loss was tragic, even before all the deadly details were revealed decades later.
No, this is not a cold case or tale that could end up as a “Dateline” episode, for this murder stretches back even further in time.
To World War II. June 13, 1944, to be exact.
That’s the day a B-24 from the U.S. Army Air Force’s 485th Bomb Group was shot down near the German village of Sillertshausen on its return trip to Italy following a successful mission over a Munich-area BMW engine plant.
One of the young Americans who lost his life was 19-year-old Robert W. Boynton, a West Aurora High School graduate and youngest of two brothers both fighting in the war.
Up until 2012, his family only knew the young nose gunner had died after the plane crashed, and that it had been no easy task getting his remains back to Aurora.
Sgt. Robert Boynton – son, brother, fallen hero – is buried in the family plot at Spring Lake Cemetery in Aurora.
And it was there the story would have ended had it not been for the curiosity of his great-nephew now living in Arizona, who shares Bob Boynton’s name and became curator of the deceased airman’s war memorabilia, including his Purple Heart.
Among the items: A picture of the crew in front of the B-24 Liberator with the name “Flak Man” painted on its side.
“I thought it was the coolest thing,” said 48-year-old Robert W. Boynton III, who grew up in Batavia and moved to Arizona from Sugar Grove a decade ago.
And so, in 2010, Robert III posted that old photo on a nose art website, hoping to find out more about the plane and its ill-fated crew. Two years later he was contacted by a fellow descendent of those American airmen shot down, who told Boynton, ”I have a story to share with you.”
It was, indeed, a tale of murder.
To begin with, the plane in the photo was not the one brought down by the Germans. The crew – their average age was 21 – were transported from Texas to the base in Italy as a replacement crew for the B-24 nicknamed “Gawgia Peach,” one of 38 planes that took part in that bombing raid in the early morning hours of June 13, 1944.
This fact and many more surprising details came to light thanks to a remarkable 2011 German documentary about the fate of its 12-man crew that was forced to bail out after flak took out its engine turbo.
Through German government records and interviews with survivors and local residents in the nearby villages where the plane crashed, the film by producer Marcus Siebler, simply titled “13 June 1944,” lays out the atrocities that began that day, including the brutal slaying of co-pilot Dennis Griggs from Texas, who was taken to the nearby jail and eventually, through what was described as mob action, was beaten to death with a hammer after a group broke into the jail using a chain attached to a car.
Bob Boynton didn’t get to live that long.
According to one eyewitness account, after the airman from Illinois “freed himself from the parachute … he looked around briefly, saw the forest in the valley” and as he ran toward it shots were fired at him.
Upon his capture, an innkeeper was driving him to the Attenkirchen police station when the vehicle was overtaken by Nazi officials, including Hans Staudinger, Maximilian Herrmann and (a man named) Karl who, according to the innkeeper, forced Boynton “down over a very steep field towards the forest,” according to the film.
“Again and again they shot him in the back,” he said, also recalling that “after a short time Herrmann and Karl returned to the car and I heard them say, ‘It’s done.’”
“We saw the American lying on the ground, covered with brushwood and his breath was coming in rattles,” said another witness. “We went to the holler at the edge of the forest, dragged him into the forest, we heard shots and whispers about a mercy killing.”
Herrmann, he continued, pulled a dog tag out of his coat pocket.
In the meantime, according to those interviewed for the film, local residents were coming from all directions, some horrified at Boynton’s killing, others declaring “it served him right.” This uproar among the citizens, the film said, went on for days, with everyone too afraid to say anything for fear of retribution by the Nazis.
Most of the crew, including the pilot, Lt. Herbert Frels from California, were captured, treated for injuries and taken to POW camps. One airman died when his parachute hit a tree. But also murdered was Pvt. Thearon Ivy from Texas, who hid out for four days – sometimes in an altar behind a small cathedral – and was executed on orders from Nazi officials after turning himself in to an area farmer, according to the film.
Buried in a POW camp, Ivy’s death was never investigated.
But 11 German nationals were brought to trial by the American Military Court in Dachau two years later and found guilty in connection with the murders of Boynton and Griggs, in large part by testimonies of the local residents who no longer had to fear retaliation.
The documentary noted that Herrmann and Staudinger blamed each other, often “getting caught in their own contradictions.”
Later, their death sentences were reduced to 10 years in prison, but on Dec. 5, 1947, both were hanged for different crimes.
Others involved were given anywhere from two to seven years to life in prison, with some continuing to deny criminal responsibility and at least one showing deep regret for these sins of war.
According to the film, which Dennis Griggs’ mother wrote the music for, there are 225 documented cases of homicide committed against Allied air crew members between 1943 and 1945.
The air crew members of the Gawgia Peach sent to POW camps survived and returned to their loved ones. The film noted that radio operator Richard Barnes became an electrical engineer and never spoke about his wartime experience; Chester Cram became a judge and federal prosecutor for the state of Maine; and while the pilot had to give up his dream of flying because of his injuries, Frels became a civic and business leader, established a local organization for war veterans and carried splinters in his shoulders from the Gawgia Peach to the day he died in 2009.
Sadly, the young nose gunner from Aurora never had a chance to add more chapters to his story.
His body, clad only in underwear, was buried in the nearby cemetery, and after being retrieved by an American rescue party was interned in a large American military cemetery in Avold, France. But it took many frustrating attempts by a grieving father, who owned a wool scouring company in Aurora, to finally get his son home.
From beginning to end, “it is quite a story,” said Boynton III.
His Aurora uncle agrees.
“I was dumbfounded … I did not know my uncle went through all that,” said Tom Boynton, whose father George was able to come home from the war after his brother was killed.
“I have never been happier that this story is finally being told,” he added. “There’s not so many around anymore to appreciate it. But I am.”
So also is Auroran Sarah Lauzen, whose late mother Therese (Ruddy) Longley Anlauf and Bob Boynton were dating when he was sent off to fight a war.
While she’s not sure how serious the two were, according to stories she heard through the years, the pair “had a lot of fun together” going skating, to movies or just driving around. And before he left, he gave the beautiful Madonna graduate a ruby flower ring.
The two corresponded until he was killed, Lauzen added, and his death was devastating to her mother. That’s why when Donald Longley – Lauzen’s father – began dating her after Bob’s death and learned he too would be joining the war as an airman, he told his eventual bride “not to rush into a relationship because he might get shot down as well.”
The stories of these brave young men, Lauzen insisted, can never be forgotten.
Ironically, it was access to German records, including plenty of photographs and other documentation on the Dachau trials, that unveiled this nearly untold piece of Boynton history, said Robert III, whose 9-year-old son also carries the war hero’s name.
The family’s history of service to country runs deep.
When visiting Aurora, Robert III always pays a visit to the family plot that includes the final resting place for his great-uncle and grandfather, as well as his father Robert W. Boynton II, a Vietnam vet who died when his oldest son was just 16.
Likewise, every Veterans Day and Memorial Day, Tom places flowers on the graves of the Boynton veterans. And he is proud of a cross that bears his uncle’s name at Trinity Episcopal Church in Aurora.
Thousands of miles away in the village of Sillertshausen, Robert W. Boynton’s name is also etched on a monument dedicated in 2012 to the crew of the B-24 that crashed in a nearby wheat field, in particular to the three who were murdered in the throes of war.
After the film was shown in that area, out of guilt or a sense of humanity the local people raised the money for this tribute, said Robert III, who hopes to someday visit the site.
“The story of my great uncle’s bomber crew was a mystery until Marcus Siebler’s documentary brought it to light,” he said. “His dedication and research uncovered the truth of this tragedy, bringing closure to our family and the people of Sillertshausen.
“The family is eternally grateful to Marcus, the survivors and eyewitnesses for sharing this incredible story.”
dcrosby@tribpub.com
