Memorial

More information

Pfc Lyonel H. Eich graduated from Lexington High School in 1944. He was employed at the Lincoln Cleaners. On 16 August 1944 he was united in marriage with Iryl Tomasek.

He enlisted in Fort Leavenworth, Kansas on 23 August 1944. He was sent overseas in December 1944.

The following article appeared in the chronicle of the 69th Infantry Division Association of Sep-Dec 2004 un the titel "Finally finding het father": She never really knew why, but she knew she didn't
belong. It was a quiet, constant desperation that kept a little girl searching for something to make her feel complete. There were whispers, voices speaking in hushed tones, unintentionally, implying shame. Her biological father, a man she never knew, had been killed in World War II. Who was her father and who was she? Cindy Ross grew up and was well taken care of by her mother and the only man she ever knew as "Dad." But one day as a young girl, she stumbled across her baby book, and there was a name of a stranger listed as her father. His name was Lyonel Eich and he had married her mother before he left for a tour of duty in Europe in 1944.
"They were in love and they wanted to marry before he left, but I never knew that until recently. People were just more private then," she says in a soft voice.
"Certain things just weren't talked about."
For years, Ross would strain to hear any information about her father. She had so many questions and so little information. She knew her father had been part of the Army's 69th Infantry Division. She found a website dedicated to the division and, through that, got a list of men who
might have known her father. In the summer of 2001, Ross sent out letters to anyone who may have known those men.
Through her searching, she found a chaplain who
was with her father when he died. He had copies of letters written by her mother and her grandmother to her father.
"I wanted him to help me find some of my dad'&
buddies. I needed some stories of my dad," she said.
He had news. He brought hope.
The chaplin gave Ross information on how and
where her father was killed. It happened in the town of Weissenfels, Germany. Eich's unit was going in to make sure the town was secure after it had been liberated.
"There was a sniper," Ross said. "And a bullet raised his helmet, and then, there was just machine gun fire coming from everywhere."
In recent years, a group from the 69th got together and began remembering what their division had gone through. Ross received a letter from one of her father's fellow soldiers. He said he remembered seeing a sniper in a window. He raised his gun and he killed the man.
"I think he was hoping to give me peace," said Ross.
As she digs, she uncovers the horrors of war - something she finds unpleasant - but she just has to know more about her father. She needed more sources. Then her husband Valta, the Hamilton County Veteran's Service Officer, brought home information on the American World War II Orphan Network (AWON). Through AWON, Ross discovered she was one of 183,000 children left fatherless in World War II. Her's was a long-forgotten group, not coddled or consoled by a nation that was ready to get on to something
different. The war weary country left the children to fend for themselves. Besides, there were just some things that weren't talked about. Ross has found the names of people who grew up as she did. They are not adults bemoaning what never
was in their lives as children, rather, they are trying to find kindred spirits. People they can connect with who will look at them and say "I understand" without speaking.
"I've been corresponding with e-mails, letters and
phone calls," she said. "It's just so nice to be able to talk about it." She finally found "others" who also wanted news of their heritage and a sense of belonging. In an article that appeared in the July 2001 issue of The American Legion Magazine, writer Matt Grills calls the AWON generation "children without mention. "
"They are the children who go without mention.
Orphans who paid an unusually painful price for freedom: growing up without a dad," Grills wrote.
To further a sense of her biological father, Ross made a trip to Germany. It was gloomy, rainy and cold when she visited the place where the man who gave her life died.
"It fit the mood," she says.
For Memorial Day, a group from AWON will dedicate a wreath that will bear the names of their fathers. It will be placed at a memorial in Washington D.C. Lyonel Eich's name will be there.
This spring, Ross received a posthumous Purple
heart in honor of her father. She is overcome with emotion that she has something tangible to represent a man she never knew, but is getting to know now.
She thinks of the war in Iraq and of the children
who will grow up without their fathers or mothers.
They likely won't be relegated to the silence suffered by the children of World War II. People talk about things now. She has reached a place in her life where silence will no longer suffice. She has to know; for her children, her grandchildren and perhaps, most importantly, for herself and for Lyonel. "I'm just glad people talk about it now. It's so important."