One of those men was William “Bill” Wilch, of Middletown, a rifleman in the Army’s 29th Infantry Division. He received a Purple Heart Medal, Bronze Star Medal, and the Knight of the Legion of Honor medal, the highest honor that France can bestow upon a person.
That day, right there in the Danbarry Cinemas, was the start of a friendship that lasted 18 years until Wilch died Dec. 5 — two days before Pearl Harbor — after a lengthy illness at Hospice of Butler and Warren Counties. He was 92.
The day after Wilch died, I talked to one of his six children, Steve Wilch, who told me it was that Tom Hanks movie that finally allowed his father to open up those war wounds. Up until then, Wilch told me, his father didn’t talk about the war, and certainly never bragged about his heroic actions.
Wilch came home from the war and lived his life. Went to work. Loved his wife. Raised a family. He often told me that he wasn’t a hero. The heroes, he said, were the servicemen buried at sea on the USS Arizona or those who lost their lives on the foreign battlefields.
But after the movie, Wilch told his son: “I got stories to tell.”
Six years later, I interviewed him about a book his son wrote that contained about 200 wartime letters. Wilch’s mother, Helen Paden Wilch, and his future wife, Mary Rita Routson Wilch, had kept the correspondences and photos in the envelopes he mailed back home to Middletown.
Eventually, Wilch opened the box of letters and let his son inside.
“It’s how I learned about why he was having those nightmares,” Steve Wilch said.
The book also chronicled fellow soldier Burton Burfeind, a member of the 29th Infantry Division, 115 Regiment, who was credited with saving Wilch’s life more than once and keeping him from being a POW.
Burfeind was killed on Sept. 9, 1944 in France.
It was Burfeind’s advice to Wilch, all of 5-foot-8, that became the title of Wilch’s memoirs: “Don’t Just Kill Them, Murder ‘Em. Shoot Pee Wee, Just Shoot.”
When the book was released, Wilch gave me an autographed copy. His hands were shaky, so he printed: “To Rick McCrabb, my friend. Have a good life.” The book still sits on my desk.
Since that chance meeting in 1998, I had several privileges to write about Wilch.
At the 2013 Kentucky Derby, owner Rick Porter had a colt named Normandy Invasion running. Porter invited four soldiers who fought during the invasion to the Derby to meet the horse and watch the race. Normandy Invasion finished fourth in the Derby, behind Orb, Golden Soul and Revolutionary.
During his visit to Churchill Downs, since his wife, Mary Rita, never watched a Derby in person, he placed a picture of her in his shirt pocket. He became known as The Guy With The Picture. He was popular with the wives who wanted to know why their husbands didn’t carry their pictures around.
When the Derby was over, Wilch said, the wife of the owner told him she was so impressed by his love of his wife that if they ever have a filly, her name would be Mary Rita. Months later, a filly was born. He name is Mary Rita.
Wilch also got connected with members of Team Fastrax, the Middletown skydiving team. One summer day in 2015, they remodeled his bathroom, removed more than 20 shrubs, painted the exterior of the home, repaired the gutters and built a wheelchair ramp. The whole time he sat on the porch shaking his head.
“Why me?” he asked. “Why me? I’m nothing special.”
If anything, he was special.
“He was part of the team, the soul of the team,” said John Hart, owner of Team Fastrax. He said Wilch was a regular at Hook Field and Team Fastrax events.
“He’s just an awesome guy,” Hart said. “We fell in love with him. He just has one of those personalities.”
Hart said Wilch was one of the thousands of soldiers who kept America free during WWII.
“Without him, where would we be today?” Hart asked. “It’s overwhelming to be around a hero like that.”
There is a saying often repeated by journalists in newsrooms: "The hours are long, the pay is lousy, but at least everybody hates you."
And every once in a while, you meet someone who makes all that worthwhile.
Thanks, Bill Wilch.
You fought the good fight, my friend.
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