'Always at his side'
War vet reunited with friend who helped to save his life
(Newsday - New York, Long Island. Sunday, Jan. 13, 2002. By Katie Thomas)
Al Stewart was cold and hungry and desperate when he stumbled upon the Belgian village of Ombret in the first days of 1945, one of the coldest Januarys anyone could remember.
He was feverish, his feet were frostbitten, and the paratrooper had been walking for four days since being separated from his unit, which was headed to reinforce Allied troops at the deadly Battle of the Bulge.
Afraid that the homes might be booby-trapped or occupied by Germans, Stewart lingered on the fringes, "trying to stay calm and cool," while he devised a plan for securing food.
Then, he was spotted. A young boy, maybe 9 or 10, recognized his American uniform and ran back into his house. If Stewart was tempted to run, he couldn't have - his feet were badly hurt and he had no energy left. Minutes later, "his father came over and he talked French". Stewart, now 79, recalled recently. "I didn't understand, so he brought me into the house."
So began an unlikely bond between a 21-year-old American G.I. and a 9-year-old Belgian peasant boy. It was a relationship that was kindled in the midst of hardship and war and grew into a trans-Atlantic friendship in the peacetime that followed. Then it dulled for decades as the duties of family and everyday life consumed them both.
A new chapter would begin 57 years later-on friday- on the set of a Belgian television show. It was a twist the retired machinist from Ronkonkoma would never have imagined as he ducked through the doorway of the young boy's home so many years ago in search of food and warmth.
A cup of hot tea was pushed into his hands and someone traded his torn uniform for civilian clothes.
Then they asked him to stay. The Germans, the family explained, were all over the place, as were informants.
The tiny village of Ombret, located on the Meuse River near the city of Liège, was about 30 miles west of the "West Wall" that divided the Allied front from the Germans, and about the same distance north of where enemy units launched a surprise attack in December 1944, that came to be known as the Battle of the Bulge. The borders were "fuzzy" during the war, and the area around Ombret could very well have been unsafe for a stranded G.I., said Michael Barnhart, a professor of history at SUNY Stony Brook. "There weren't absolutely firm territorial lines," he added.
Stewart accepted the family's offer; he had little choice. His feet were so damaged that his toenails dropped off and the soles of his heels fell away "like a big, thick potato skin."
The boy's grandmother heated a woolen sweater in the oven and rubbed the warmth back into his toes, a kindness a doctor later told Stewart likely saved his legs.
The family disguised their guest in the wooden shoes and simple attire of a Belgian peasant. They gave him a bed in the attic that was next to the chimney and warned him not to go out alone.
"I was a cousin from Brussels. My home was bombed and I had to come live with them in case somebody ever asked," Stewart said. But no one ever did. The boy's father and uncle warned Stewart to stay away from some villagers. Others were sympathetic or apparently bought the family's cover story. Over the next two months, Stewart developed a close bond with the family and especially the little boy, Robert Michaux.
Once his fever had subsided and his feet had healed, the two went walking nearly every day to collect firewood or to fetch eggs and bacon from a sympathetic farmer. Sometimes they played cards by the fire, or went down to the basement to listen to news of the war via Parisian radio.
The Michauxes were Catholics like him, and on Sundays he and the family would cross the Meuse in a boat to the nearest church.
Aided by his Army-issue prasebook, Stewart learned some rudimentary French. He still recalls tidbits, like numbers and the word for "mouth," and the admonishment that Robert's aunt, trying to feed her squirming 18-month-old son Raymond, would deliver. "Sale petit garçon," she'd say - dirty little boy. "In French it doesn't sound like hollering, it sounde like affectionate words," he recalled with a laugh.
Then one day - one of the first without snow - word reached the house that the Canadian Red Cross had arrived in town.
"I said, 'Well, that's good. Go tell them you have a soldier that needs help.' So they came and got me," Stewart said.
He dressed in his G.I. uniform that had been mended by Robert's mother and left. The Canadians transferred him to an American hospital in Paris, where a doctor issued him discharge papers.
He would see the Michaux family alltogether only one other time. It was the first week of March, on his way to report to his unit in Germany before heading home. Stewart took a detour to Ombret for a farewell.
Their brief reunion is captured in a faded photograph Stewart still keeps. He is standing there in his Army jacket and cloth cap, trying to hush a crying Raymond, who sits on his left arm. Robert smiles and leans comfortably onto his American friend.
"I held them in my arms, kissing them goodbye, and I said to Robert, 'The first boy I get, I'm going to name him after you.' "
Three years later, Stewart would keep his promise. After saying goodbye to the Michaux family, Stewart continued on to Cologne, Germany, to rejoin his unit. But when he got there, he learned it had already left for southern France. He followed it and was assigned to guard German prisoners of war for a few monthes while waiting for the next ship tot take him back to America.
When Stewart returned home in August of that year, the friends stayed in touch. Robert sent his grand ami New Year's cards, family snapshots and simple gifts, including the wooden shoes Stewart had worn while in Ombret. Stewart, in turn, sent photos of his children and like-new suits his salesman brother no longer needed.
Robert grew older, and in the letters - translated for Stewart by a Catholic priest - he learned that the boy was doing well in school, and that he dreamed of becoming an electrical engineer. "He was a smart little boy," Stewart said.
As the years passed, Stewart's responsibilities at home grew. He and his wife, Angie, had six children to provide for. When the family moved from Brooklyn in the 1950s they lost touch.
But Stewart never forgot about the little boy. In 1958, the World's Fair was held in Belgium. "I wanted to go over there, but I couldn't. I had too many kids, my job - I was tied up," Stewart said. Robert Stewart, now 54, has been hearing about his Belgian namesake all his life. "Not a day goes by when he doesn't think about that little boy," said Robert Stewart of his father.
After suffering a stroke five years ago, the elder Stewart's longing to see Robert Michaux one more time intensified, his son said. He even asked the Belgian consulate for help, without success. Then, in November, Robert Michaux came to them. "I came home on a Saturday and there's a letter in the mail from Canada," said Robert Stewart, who now lives in Atlanta. Robert Michaux, it turns out, had also been searching for his compagnion, and had contacted a Belgian television show that reunites long-lost friends and relatives. Armed with a baby picture of Robert Stewart and his birthdate that had been written on the back, the show's Canadian contact tracked Robert Stewart down.
Last week, they flew him to Belgium, and on Friday, Al Stewart and his little Robert - now 66 - were reunited under the glare of television cameras.
"I came to tears when I got to Robert and we both cried," said Al Stewart moments after the reunion. "Now we're having a good time at the bar." Despite the decades, Stewart said he recognized Michaux right away. "His eyes look just like his mother and the bottom of his face is just like his father."
Michaux, who had arrived at the studio with his wife, two children, and five grandchildren, said he never forgot the kindly G.I. who loved children and was always generous with is supply of chocolate and chewing gum. "I was always at his side, always at his feet," recalled Michaux, who instead of becoming an engineer pursued a career in toy sales.
His parents never thought twice about sheltering an American soldier, despite the danger, Michaux said. "For us, they were really heroes."
Reflecting on his night of revelation, he added : "This is no good for the heart. This is really a great emotion after all these years."
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