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Veterans Day reminds us to honor the men and women who served our country — men like Joe Horne.
I met Joe years ago at a neighborhood coffee shop. We shared many enjoyable conversations, which is how I learned about his incredible life.
A tailgunner in the Army Air Corps during World War II, Joe and his crew enjoyed 11 successful missions. They didn’t expect to survive their 12th: orders to bomb a heavily guarded munitions plant in Munich.
As they approached their target, Joe fought off German fighter planes, but heavy flak hit the plane hard. It lost altitude so fast its windows shattered and landing gear was destroyed.
Their only hope was to make it across the Swiss border for a crash landing.
As the plane’s belly hit the ground — as uprooted earth and stones whipped through the broken windows — the pilot told the crew to evacuate before the plane exploded.
Joe dived out a window and was bruised and cut as he tumbled along the ground — but he survived.
The Swiss detained him in internment camps in Adelboden for six months — camps, writes Cathryn Prince in "Shot from the Sky," that were a dark secret of World War II.
So long as he did as told, he was free to move about the town. He learned to ski and even had time to date a Swiss girl.
But he and a few others crossed the line when they got into a fistfight with Nazi sympathizers. They spent 30 days in the Wauwilermoos military prison in Lucerne, where they received little food or water and regular beatings.
After his release, he and his crew were about to attempt an escape when word arrived that all Americans detained in Switzerland were being repatriated.
On leave in Pittsburgh, Joe attended a dance. He fell for a striking woman across the room — love at first sight. Her name was Dorothy Kvederis. He married her four years later.
Discharged in 1946, he joined the Post Office. After two and a half years of college at night, Joe suspended his studies. He was happy with his life.
By 1954, he and Dorothy had saved enough to buy a house — the house in which he’d live the rest of his life.
They were blessed with a daughter and two sons — a teacher, dentist and corporate executive, respectively.
He loved his job. For 40 of his 46 Postal years, he delivered mail in a predominantly Black section of Pittsburgh.
Despite numerous opportunities to take over cushy routes inside air-conditioned high-rise buildings, he loved his route and would give it up only when he retired in 1992.
He and Dorothy finally had time to enjoy life. They traveled. They attended church every morning. They spent time with family and friends.
Their carefree life ended on Oct. 4, 1992, when Dorothy suffered a severe stroke that left her partially paralyzed. For the next 14 years, Joe cared for her — often getting by on only a few hours of sleep — until her death in 2006.
Joe passed away in 2018 at 91, but my memory of him remains vivid.
He had a zest for living, a fine wit and he put a spring in the step of anyone lucky enough to cross his path.
He was never famous, powerful or rich — but here’s the truth about veterans like Joe: great civilizations are built on the shoulders of such giants.
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