“he appears to be mia once again” | va sheridan health care | veterans affairs

THE VISIT It started with a visit to the family farm in Illinois in the late 1970s. Cheryl and her husband, David Denslow, had come to see her parents. Her dad, Louis Pape, had served in

World War II as a P-38 fighter pilot in the U.S. Army Air Corps and was a prisoner of war (POW). Like many Veterans of that generation, he didn’t talk about it much. That day, Louis brought

out an old cardboard box. It was one of the Red Cross boxes sent to Allied prisoners during the war. These boxes were packed with food and basic supplies, such as powdered milk, cigarettes

and canned meat. Most prisoners reused the empty tins. Louis used his to make a cover for a diary written in pencil on sheets of toilet paper. David remembers Louis showing a few items and

quietly putting the box away. “I was humbled by some of the stories he told,” David said. “Cheryl told me I should feel privileged. She had never seen some of those items herself.” When

Cheryl’s mother passed away in 2013, the box was given to them. They didn’t open it for years. DOCUMENTING HISTORY In 2024, Cheryl and David took a cruise that stopped in Norway. At a war

museum, David met a woman whose father had also been a POW at Stalag Luft III, the same camp where Louis was held. “When we got home, I told Cheryl, ‘I want to go through the box again,’” he

said. He built a phone stand from scrap wood and began photographing each page of the diary. He enlarged the images on a screen to read Louis’s writing. “It was slow work,” David said. “But

I didn’t want to miss anything.” SHOT DOWN On Sept. 2, 1943, Louis was flying a mission over Naples, Italy, escorting B-25 bombers when more than 200 German fighters attacked. He shot down

two enemy aircraft before taking hits from enemy and friendly fire. He lost both engines and crash-landed in the Mediterranean Sea. He regained consciousness underwater. After freeing

himself from the cockpit, he floated for hours before being picked up by a German-controlled Italian flying boat near the Isle of Capri. He was processed through Naples, Capua, and Rome,

Italy, Munich, Germany, and later a transit camp called Dulag Luft, near Frankfurt, Germany. He was eventually moved by boxcar to Stalag Luft III in what’s now Żagań, Poland. Louis spent the

next 20 months as a prisoner of war. CAMP LIFE Stalag Luft III held thousands of captured Allied pilots. Inside, prisoners called themselves Kriegies—short for Kriegsgefangener, the German

word for POW. Each day began with Appel, the roll call. “Each person had a specific spot in line, and we were not to move under any circumstances,” Louis wrote. “The guards would walk in

front and behind to count heads. Some liked to count using their rifles.” Appel happened twice daily—at 8:00 a.m. and again at 4:00 p.m. “We lived Appel to Appel,” Louis wrote. “It was a

vicious cycle.” Prisoners taught each other to stay focused. They used hip-pocket classes—short, informal teaching sessions—to stay sharp. Louis taught agriculture and electrical

engineering. Others covered languages, mechanics or whatever skills they could offer. Prisoners built stoves out of tin cans. They carved toothbrushes by hand. Louis kept writing because it

helped him hold on. Delicately written on toilet paper, he wrote: “This little book should contain a few notes and diagrams that sort of describe my life and experiences since I was shot

down.” THE FORCED MARCH In late January 1945, the prisoners were ordered to evacuate Stalag Luft III ahead of the Soviet advance. Louis and thousands of others were forced to march over 58

miles through snow and subzero temperatures, pulling their gear on makeshift sleds. They slept in barns, churches and empty buildings—often without food or firewood. Many became ill. The

journey ended at Spremberg, where they were crammed 52 to a boxcar and transported to Moosburg, Germany. Louis described the conditions as “deplorable.” Still, the men stuck together. Every

mile of that march was survived the same way they had survived captivity—side by side. LIFE AFTER WAR Louis was liberated on April 29, 1945, when American forces reached the camp. Soon

after, he and a group of fellow POWs visited the Dachau concentration camp, where over 41,000 people perished. Louis never said much about that day. “All he ever said,” David recalled, “was

that he saw things no one should ever see.” He returned to Illinois, took over the family farm and raised a family. He lived to be 91. Cheryl said she wished she’d asked more questions. “It

was a part of his life that wasn’t discussed,” she said. “I regret not asking more questions of both my parents.” THE BRICK After her father passed, Cheryl came across a reunion newsletter

from his old squadron. It mentioned a commemorative brick program at the National WWII Museum in New Orleans, so she ordered one in Louis’s name. During his time as a prisoner, Louis had

been listed as missing in action. For a while, no one knew if he was alive. When Cheryl visited the museum and followed the directions to her dad’s brick, it wasn’t where it should be. 

Emotional, she went to the front desk and said, “He appears to be MIA once again.” They eventually found it, but the moment stayed with her. “It reminded me how easy it is for someone’s

story to disappear if no one keeps track of it,” she said. FOR THOSE STILL CARRYING IT Louis didn’t talk about the hard parts. A lot of us don’t. If you’re carrying something, you don’t have

to do it alone. Find mental health support at VA. You can also contact your local Vet Center to speak confidentially with another Veteran—no service connection or medical record is

required. Help is here. Healing is possible. THE STORY CONTINUES Cheryl and David have shared the diary with their son and are still deciding whether to donate it. For now, it stays with

them—kept safe. They’ve gone line-by-line through Louis’ handwriting. Each page brought new understanding—about the war, the man he was and the silence he lived with after coming home.

Cheryl emphasized that Louis’s service is part of their family’s and our country’s history and wants America to learn of it. “His story doesn’t belong in a box,” Cheryl said. “It belongs to

the country he fought for.”