They Never Came Back Times Picayune December 7, 1991 ************************************************ Copyright. All rights reserved. http://usgwarchives.net/copyright.htm http://usgwarchives.net/la/lafiles.htm ************************************************ Dec. 7, 1941, dawned sunny and cool in New Orleans, and the forecast was for colder temperatures, with possible frost in the suburbs. At the Kirsch home on 5750 Rosemary Place in Lakeview, Isabele Kirsch had prepared a customary Sunday meal: fried chicken, mashed potatoes, green peas. It was her son Cyril's favorite. But Cyril wasn't there. He was attending Auburn on a football scholarship after an All-State career at Jesuit High School. He was center on the Blue Jays' unbeaten 1940 city and state championship team. At the Rooney home on 313 Harrison Ave., in Lakeview, Edna Rooney, too, had fixed her usual Sunday dinner of stewed chicken, rice, peas and salad. It was her son Robert's favorite. But Bob wasn't there. He was attending the U.S. Military Academy in West Point, N.Y., after playing football at Jesuit and Loyola University. New Orleanians would first hear of the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor near the end of Sunday dinner, shortly after 2 p.m. Neither Cyril Kirsch nor Robert Rooney would get many more opportunities to savor their mothers' home-cooked meals, not with the damage that 400 Japanese planes and submarines had inflicted upon the U.S. Pacific Fleet in an early morning bombing raid that caught America off guard and forever changed their lives. On that December day, a half-century ago, five U.S. battleships were damaged, four more were sunk. Eleven other naval vessels were sunk or damaged; 188 U.S. planes were obliterated; 3,500 naval and military personnel were wounded or killed. Four years later, Kirsch and Rooney would be dead, too, two of the United States' 291,557 war casualties. They were killed one month apart in the spring of 1945, as World War II was nearing an end. They had played next to each other on Jesuit's offensive line, although they graduated two years apart, and had grown up in the same neighborhood. And Kirsch and Rooney remain linked today, memorialized by a Lakeview-area baseball park that bears their name. But for surviving relatives, it is a bond, they tearfully say, they could live without. Cyril Kirsch was a big, brown-haired, brown-eyed fellow who had a smile and optimism that seemed almost infectious. "He was not negative at all," said his sister, Audrey Kirsch Zinsel, who was five years younger. "He was always joking and kidding with you. He used to like to slap me on the rear end. And my mother - my mother loved him so - anytime she'd start to get mad at Cyril, he'd go up to her, hug her and say 'Aw, ma.' He called her ma. You just couldn't stay mad at him. He was precious. He really was." The Kirsches were a big family: five boys, three girls. Audrey was the oldest girl, after the five boys, and the nearest in age to Cyril. They were close, often double-dating, dancing at the halls on Airline Highway. In his letters to his sister during his tour of duty in the Pacific, Cyril often would refer to Audrey as "Toots" or "Babe," and usually close with "Your handsome brother, Cy." "He just had a wonderful personality," Audrey said. "He was always with his buddies. In a way, I'd say he was happy-go-lucky. But he had a serious side, too. He took a great interest in his studies. He was very popular with everyone. I don't know of anyone who disliked him. Of course, I'm partial. But I've never met anybody quite like Cyril." Robert Rooney came from a family of five kids, and he, too, is described by his siblings as outgoing and quick with the needle, particularly to his younger sister, Jane. "He was a teaser," said Jane Rooney Carter. "He was so happy-go- lucky. And very nice-looking, full of life. Nothing worried him." Like Cyril Kirsch, Robert Rooney, brown-haired and hazel-eyed, was a playground rat, playing mostly football at St. Dominic's school playground, which was across the street from his home on Harrison Avenue. But Rooney also was the adventurous type. After graduating from Jesuit in 1939, he worked on a cargo ship based out of the Port of New Orleans for a year as a laborer. Though a fine football player, Rooney didn't earn an athletic scholarship. But he played at Loyola and later for one year as a plebe at West Point. He abandoned his football career at West Point to concentrate on his studies. Since Pearl Harbor forced the United States' involvement in the war, the academy accelerated the cadets' educational program to get them into active duty sooner. Rooney's sense of humor was noted in the 1943 West Point yearbook. Under his senior picture, it is written: "As a representative of New Orleans' Irish Quarter, Brooklyn-accented 'Fat Stuff' has been to us the epitome of things Irish. His side-splitting, one- man shows and ready quips rate him with the best laugh-makers in the country - yet, withal, a soldier." When Edna Rooney fixed her Sunday dinner, she never had much success hiding the dessert from Robert, who, hungry from a Saturday night out with the boys, would always find it hidden away in the pantry. "The next day," said Pat Rooney, Bob's youngest brother, "there was always a big slab missing . I think my brother always took it." Relatives of both men say today they were not surprised by the heroic aspects of their brother's deaths. "He did some things that I think I'd be afraid to do," Pat Rooney said. Said Audrey Zinsel of her brother: "Cyril was not a person who was concerned about himself. He always thought about other people. I could see that he'd try to protect people other than himself." The army plucked Kirsch off the Auburn campus after he had lettered in football in 1942. "My mother was very upset when he was drafted," Audrey Zinsel remembered. "Even though Cyril had won an athletic scholarship, it didn't cover the entire cost of his school. So my mother had gone out and gotten a job to pay for his education." Kirsch spent 23 months in the service, 10 on active duty in the Pacific. On the morning of April 21, 1945, Sgt. Cyril Kirsch was leading his platoon on the island of Okinawa. The group had accomplished its first goal and was moving up in striking distance of the next objective. Kirsch apparently didn't like the looks of things. He struck out ahead of the group and discovered the Japanese had set a trap that would have wiped out most of the platoon. Kirsch signaled to his men to fall back, then started to join them. He was spotted by a Japanese sniper, who fired and hit Kirsch in the stomach. He died on April 22, exactly one month after his 23rd birthday. Two months later, the Kirsch family first received word that their son had been wounded. "The mailman knew the family and knew where my husband's gas station was," said Lillian Kirsch, Cyril's sister-in-law, widow of Cyril's older brother, Joe. "So he brought the first telegram to Joe." Audrey Zinsel remembered when word came of Cyril's death. "It was a Sunday morning, and my mother and I were getting ready for church," she said. "The first telegram, about a month before, had said they would notify us later on Cyril's condition. The doorbell rang. I went to the door and signed for the telegram. I opened it and read it." Today, Zinsel cries as she did that Sunday morning in 1945. "My mother was just devastated," she said, gathering her emotions. "It was very painful." Said Lillian Kirsch: "It was the only time I ever saw my husband cry." Kirsch, who had just been recommended for promotion to second lieutenant, was awarded the Purple Heart. He was originally buried in the 27th Division cemetery on Okinawa but later was re-interred in Greenwood cemetery, in a quiet, civilian service. One day before Cyril Kirsch's 23rd birthday, March 21, 1945, Capt. Robert Rooney, an Air Force pilot, took off on his 65th bombing mission to destroy targets in Nazi Germany. It was to be the last mission of Rooney's tour, and, according to his brother, Pat, his relief had been reflected in his latest letters to New Orleans. "I remember," Pat Rooney said, "he was talking about how happy he was to be coming home." Rooney already had won the Distinguished Flying Cross after crash- landing his A-20 Havoc Light Bomber, which had been disabled by enemy flak. Rooney and his gunner had been injured by the shrapnel. Rooney saw that his gunner was unable to bail out, so Rooney stayed with the plane. The landing gear would not engage, and Rooney was flying with one arm because of his injuries. He managed to fly the plane across the English Channel and land. But on that March day, in an A-26 Invader bomber, Rooney was not so lucky. The mission successfully completed, Rooney was flying back to the base in the face of the setting sun, his tour over. Suddenly, another flight leader, also blinded momentarily by the sun, crossed into Rooney's path. The planes collided over Belgium. Rooney stayed with the crippled craft, attempting to regain control and allow his two crew members a chance to escape. One, the bombardier, did. Rooney and the other crew member were killed. Rooney, like Kirsch, was 23. Rooney was awarded the Purple Heart and won the Air Medal, with oak leaf clusters, for his heroic efforts. Rooney was originally buried in the U.S. Military cemetery in Margraten, Holland. He was later re-interred in Greenwood cemetery, in a military ceremony, sans the 21-gun salute. "We didn't let them shoot the guns," Jane Carter said. "That was too painful". Rooney's father, and the uncle for whom he is named, worked for Western Union in New Orleans. At that time, they took incoming notification telegrams of people killed in action. Rooney's uncle, Robert, took the message that his nephew had been killed. "I lost my mother and my father, too," said Jane Carter, "but I think about Robert all the time. I wonder why that is?" Her brother had an answer. "It's because he went away, and we never saw him again," Pat Rooney said. "I think about my brother a lot." In a letter dated May 18, 1945, Cy Kirsch's commanding officer, Capt. Edwin C. Kalina, 105th infantry, Company H, informed Isabele Kirsch of her son's death. "I know that there is nothing that I can say that will ease the sorrows of you and your family," the letter said. "I only hope that, in this letter, I can express the feeling of myself and the members of Company H. "It is unfortunate that fate handles people's lives as it does, as so many men , such as your son, having so much to offer the world, are given no opportunity. "Cyril did impart to his men his own confidence, and they looked to him as their leader. He was a man of high character and an excellent soldier. You can be proud of his conduct on the field of battle. . . . "Believe me when I say the men feel the loss deeply. Cyril was a friend and a man to depend on in trying situations. His death leaves a vacancy that no one can fill, and no matter where we go or what we do, his actions will be a standard for each of us to equal." Today, Jane Carter feels the same way about her brother, Robert. "My brother," she said, "was a hero."