Arthur C. Franzwa was an administrative clerk assigned to the 4th Air Force, 19th Bombardment Group, Headquarters Squadron in the Phillipines.

A survivor of the Infamous Bataan Death March, Uncle Art was listed as a P.O.W./M.I.A. during the second world war.

Until recently, I had very little information of the actual details, except that Art was a prisoner in Japanese P.O.W. camps for three and a half years.

From a few things my dad told me, aside from what little rations they received, Uncle Art and his fellow prisoners supplimented their diets with grass hoppers and an occasional monkey (a delicacy for them), when they were able to capture one.

Upon liberation, Art was reunited with family and friends stateside.

This is a letter I wrote to him upon hearing of his being honored by our country's military in 2005, at the age of 90.

Even though this was written for my Uncle Art, I would like to co-dedicate it to anyone who has served in the US military in any capacity. The details may not be yours, but my admiration certainly is.

Uncle Art,

I've wanted to write this for many years, and have even begun it several times, each time side-tracked by my own duties in life. If you're hearing or reading this now, you'll know I was finally successful.

You have always been a hero to me, even before I understood what a true hero you were, or for that matter, what a true hero even was.

My dad, Donald Franzwa, was the number one hero in my life. As his brother, you were my hero through association. After all, any brother of my dad qualified as a hero in my book.

As a yougster I always looked up to you. Way up. Partly because Dad did, and partly because I was so small and you were six feet, four inches tall.

I still look up to you.

You've probably forgotten the day you graduated from "hero by association" to a bonified "personal hero" to me, but I never will. I was only about five or six years old and our families were on an outing on the Sandy River in Oregon. I believe we were on your first boat, "Boatnik," when we pulled into shore for a picnic.

We were all on the beach setting up lunch (OK, you were settin up lunch; I was being a five year old). The shore was fairly shallow, gradually getting deeper, except for one spot. That one spot was well over my head.

I proceeded to run down the beach and jump into what I expected to be up to knees, and "sploop," under I went.

My life flashed before my eyes, (both seconds of it), and I knew I was going to die.

Then I felt this great big hand pull me from the river by the head, the way you might pluck a grapefruit from a basket.

That hand was yours Art, and no one could or ever will convince me that you didn't save my life that day.

I thank you for that, and most of the time, my kids do too.

It wasn't until some years later that I realized that you weren't just my own personal hero, but a man recognized as a hero by my country as well.

I won't go into the details of your military heroism. There are those who honor you that know a heck of a lot more about that side of you than I do. The amazing details of your service can be found by performing a search at: http://www.wwiimemorial.com/

(For anyone interested in the details of their own heros of that era, you may be able to find them by doing a search at: http://www.wwiimemorial.com/ . If you have details that would honor one of our WWII veterans, your information would be appreciated.)

I would, however, like to extend my thanks to those who served with you, and to your compatriots who made the ultimate sacrifice to keep us free, as well.

You all make me proud to be an American, but Uncle Art...

You make me proud to be a Franzwa.

PS I'm still waiting for that second shaddish lesson. The first one you gave me was forty years ago, and my memory's a bit rusty, so when you've got a little time...

I probably still can't keep up with you, but I'm game if you are.

Your nephew,

David B. Franzwa Lebanon, Oregon