Yellow Cab Storyteller 44-12-09 Aaron Lieberger Story

Summary

Episode Summary: Yellow Cab Storyteller 44-12-09 Aaron Lieberger Story

Release Date: January 31, 2025
Host/Author: Harold's Old Time Radio
Episode Title: Yellow Cab Storyteller 44-12-09 Aaron Lieberger Story

Yellow Cab Storyteller transports listeners back to the valor and camaraderie of wartime America through gripping narratives. In this episode, Gene McGahey recounts two remarkable wartime stories, showcasing ordinary individuals performing extraordinary acts of bravery and resilience.

Story 1: The Heroism of Private First Class Aaron Lieberger

Gene McGahey opens with the poignant tale of Private First Class Aaron Lieberger, an unassuming signal linesman stationed in Normandy during the tumultuous days following the D-Day invasion. Aaron's primary responsibility was maintaining the vital field telephone lines that connected the frontlines, a task he approached with unwavering dedication.

Aaron's Dedication:
Aaron was not just a soldier; he was deeply committed to his work. As McGahey narrates, “He tended to the war, he always said. I got a job. I got my line to take care of.” [03:15] This sentiment underscores Aaron's sense of duty and the personal significance he placed on his role.

The Unexpected Encounter:
One scorching noon, while Aaron was diligently repairing a broken wire, he became aware of the presence of German soldiers nearby. Despite the imminent threat, Aaron chose not to panic. Instead of reaching for a firearm, he relied on his trusty tool: a pair of shiny pliers. McGahey describes the moment Aaron's resolve was tested:

“Well, all those Germans heard was that crazy maniac yell. All they saw was that big rock. Big enough to hide a dozen Yankees and something gleaming over the top of it, metal and shiny and deadly looking.” [08:45]

Courage Under Fire:
Aaron's decision to use his pliers as a makeshift weapon was both unconventional and daring. His quick thinking led to the disarmament and capture of the German soldiers without a single bullet fired. McGahey highlights Aaron's bravery:

“He just toted that big pair of shiny pliers stuck in his belt. They were swell pliers, not much Aaron Lieberger couldn't do with those pliers.” [06:30]

This act not only showcased Aaron's ingenuity but also his profound humanity, choosing to see the enemy as individuals rather than faceless opponents.

Story 2: The Resilient Crew of a Half-Flying Fortress in Africa

Transitioning to another extraordinary account, McGahey recounts the harrowing experience of the crew aboard a damaged Messerschmitt fighter over Africa. The aircraft, severely compromised after a battle, was held together by a mere strip of metal.

Crew's Reluctance to Abandon Ship:
As the plane began to falter, the skipper urged everyone to bail out. However, one by one, the crew members refused, demonstrating remarkable courage and responsibility. McGahey narrates:

“Not me, said the co-pilot. Not me, said the navigator. Then the bombardier, the radio man, the gunners. Not me, mister.” [13:50]

The Final Stand:
Only the tail gunner remained steadfast, choosing to stay behind and ensure the safety of his comrades. His determination was a testament to the unwavering spirit of those who served.

“Then the tail gunner riding that scrap of broken metal back there like the tail of a kite, spoke up. Not me, skipper. I'm sticking.” [14:10]

The story serves as a powerful reminder of the sacrifices made by countless individuals who put their lives on the line for their country.

Reflections and Insights

Both stories eloquently highlight the themes of duty, courage, and the human spirit's resilience in the face of adversity. Aaron Lieberger's ingenuity and bravery embody the essence of unsung heroes who made significant impacts through seemingly small actions. Similarly, the crew's collective decision to stay and protect their mission underscores the profound sense of responsibility and brotherhood that defines military service.

Notable Quotes

• “He tended to the war, he always said. I got a job. I got my line to take care of.” – Private First Class Aaron Lieberger [03:15]
• “He just toted that big pair of shiny pliers stuck in his belt. They were swell pliers, not much Aaron Lieberger couldn't do with those pliers.” – Gene McGahey [06:30]
• “Not me, said the co-pilot. Not me, said the navigator. Then the bombardier, the radio man, the gunners. Not me, mister.” – Crew Members [13:50]
• “Then the tail gunner riding that scrap of broken metal back there like the tail of a kite, spoke up. Not me, skipper. I'm sticking.” – Tail Gunner [14:10]

Conclusion

Yellow Cab Storyteller masterfully preserves the valorous narratives of everyday Americans who stood tall during one of history's most challenging periods. Through Gene McGahey's evocative storytelling, listeners gain a profound appreciation for the individual acts of heroism that collectively shaped the course of the war.

Transcript

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[Ray Lewis]

Here's the Yellow Cab storyteller. Every Saturday night, the 2,500 men and women who sit behind the wheels of yellow cabs in San Francisco, metropolitan Oakland and Los Angeles bring you these stories, stories of American boys who've gone to war, who fought and sometimes died for our country. And now here is Ray Lewis, your yellow cab storyteller.

[Gene McGahey]

The war is full of guys like Private First Class Aaron Lieberger, ordinary, not very young, just an everyday good natured guy with a job of work to do. In Normandy, after invasion, Aaron Lyberger was a signal linesman. His job was field telephones, running the long live line of the ground wire up to the battlefront, then taking care of the wire, checking, listening, watching, tramping along it with a big pair of pliers, mending brakes. That line was Aaron Leiberger's baby, his pet, his religion almost. You guys tend to the war, he always said. I got a job. I got my line to take care of. Before I get into my story, let me please take just a moment for a question. If someone were to ask you how important yellow cabs are to the three major California cities they serve, I wonder if you would have any way of reaching a conclusion before I became so well acquainted with yellow cabs. I doubt that I could have offered a sound opinion. The other day, though, I came across an answer. It was a figure. It startled me and I think it may startle you. Our yellow cabs operating in the three major California cities, San Francisco, Los Angeles, including Beverly Hills and Hollywood, of course, and the six city Oakland area carried in the last 12 months ending November 30, more than 38 million passengers. When you have to get somewhere and no other form of transportation is practical or available or direct enough, a cab suddenly becomes tremendously necessary. When you figure that there were 38 million occasions like that in our three California cities in 12 months, then you can begin to understand how important yellow cabs are in the lives of our three major California war centers. It was noon. Hot noon. Private Aaron Leiberger had been tramping all that morning. Uphill, downhill, thrashing through brush, climbing rocks, wading cricks. The sun was just about straight up when he found the break in the wire where it dropped down to cross a gully. He found the giveaway, dead slackness. Then the broken end. A big sharp edged rock had frayed it clean across. He cussed a little. Then he stooped and went to work, pulling the snapped ends together, joining him tight and neat. He wasn't thinking about another thing on earth that minute. Just that wire in his hands, getting it mended, bringing it back to life. Then he heard the voices. Couldn't see where they came from. Close. Somewhere down the canyon, 40, 50ft away among the rocks. They were low toned, careful voices. At first he thought Yanks. He got all ready to let out a yell. Hey, buster. Something stopped him. He heard a word. It wasn't a word he'd ever heard before. Guttural, harsh. His right hand closed on the mended wire. Closed tight, so tight it hurt. Can't be. Not here, not in this canyon. But you couldn't miss it. Those words, they were German. Those voices were German. It was Jerry's. Hiding down here on this canyon floor. They said about Private Lieberger sometimes that he was the only guy in France didn't know there was a war on. He never got mad. He never cussed. Schickelgruber. Oh, sometimes if a shell clipped a hunk out of his line, he was kind of sore. Doggone it, those monkeys are sure darn careless with my wire. But he never carried a gun. Too much of a nuisance. He just toted that big pair of shiny pliers stuck in his belt. They were swell pliers, not much Aaron Lieberger couldn't do with those pliers. Yeah, sure, okay, his pals would say, but what are you gonna do if you meet up with a Jerry? Aaron Leiberger let go the wire now, very careful, so that it wouldn't vibrate, so it wouldn't Twang. He listened. Three separate voices. One low and growling and plenty tough. One young and shaky. One shrill, kind of broken. Scared, Lieberger thought. Those are three scared monkeys. Lost, maybe cut off from their lines. Got trapped down here when the boys moved in. Oh, if I just had a gun. He dropped that. Didn't have much feeling about these lugs. Just guys. But they oughtn't to lie around loose. They're Jerry's. Somebody ought to grab em. He went down flat. He squirmed a few feet toward the voices. The big sharp rock almost filled up the canyon floor. He crouched behind it. He shoved his head up slow, like a grandpappy turtle. He could see him now. They were squatting on their heels. Their backs were toward him. Three wide, solid gray green backs. Three helmets. The backs were kind of hunched, like scared men's backs. They shifted their heads a little, side to side, like keeping watch. Any noise? A bird, A rock rolling. They jumped. One turned a little. Lieberger got a glimpse of the gun he carried. One of those wicked machine gun pistols. And then he saw another. Holy cow, they've all got em. They've all got stutter guns. Lyberger looked down then at his shiny pliers. Bright boy, he thought. Uncle Sam's little Weisenheimer. No gun, no knife. Wait. Wait. The Jerrys were getting up onto their feet now. The big one, the tough one, was cussing the others. The jittery one was whining. Lieberger flattened himself. Lizard quick, coming this way. Boot sound. Rocks rolling. When they came alongside the big rock, he just stopped breathing. Lie still and they'll go right past. Them and their stutter guns. Yeah, and they'll head downstream toward the river. They'll maybe get away and it's your fault, Mr. Big. You and your pliers. They were past. Wait. Hold it. The Jerrys were stopping a few feet away. They were stopping. He heard the big one grunt. He heard the nervous one gabble something. For a minute his blood froze up. They'd seen him. No. The wire. That's it. They've spotted the telephone wire. For a second there in the canyon, there was silence. Then he heard the big one cuss. He heard the young one laugh. He heard a rasping, sawing, ugly noise. A vicious little twang. The wire that crossed the gully jerked once like a snake. It coiled and sprang back. Then it dropped down, slack and dead on the ground. Aaron Lieberger didn't move. He lay there, looking at that dead cut wire at the cut end, sawed by a knife blade. Slowly, his hands began to tingle his spine, began to tingle the back of his neck. Why those slimy sons. It was crowding up all over him. Wild, mad, crazy, mad. Clipping my wire. Before he even knew what Private Aaron Lyberger was. Up on his knees, he shoved out the shiny pair of pliers, handle first like a gun. And he was yelling, yelling in a voice that wasn't his own. Get your hands up, you stinking hineies. Get them up. I tell you. I got you covered. Well, all those Germans heard was that crazy maniac yell. All they saw was that big rock. Big enough to hide a dozen Yankees and something gleaming over the top of it, metal and shiny and deadly looking. The youngest one dropped his pistol. He turned to run, changed his mind and shoved his hands to the sky. The jittery one was already clawing air. The big one scowled, grabbed at his gun. Got hold of it. Reach, you swiney. The big Jerry hesitated just a second. He took one more look at the metal thing that was shoving its nose out over the sharp edged rock. And then he reached his machine gun pistol dropped to the canyon floor. It clattered among the rocks. Fifteen minutes later, a jeep load of gis on the nearby highway cussed and slowed up in the middle of the road were three bedraggled Jerrys, all with their hands in the air. Off to one side was a Yank. He had a gun in his hands, a German machine gun pistol. The Yank was grinning. He waved to him to stop. Hey, take these guys off my hands, will you boys? I gotta get back to work. He helped him stow the prisoners in a jeep. He stood there a minute holding the machine gun pistol, looking at it. Then he chuckled and tossed it to the driver. Take care of that for me, will you, sonny? He reached for his belt. Then he pulled out a shiny metal gadget. The men in the jeep didn't know what he was talking about, but he sure sounded cocky. Shucks, I don't need a gun. I got my pliers.

[Ray Lewis]

My sponsor, the Yellow Cab Company, asked me to talk with you about war bonds. In this present campaign, there has been one message from our government that appealed to my common sense and I thought it might to yours. Did you see the war bond advertisement that asked this question? How much does it cost to kill a Jap? It sort of catches you up short. That question makes you think. In war it's kill or be killed. In war it's weapons that generally decide who dies and who doesn't. If both our soldiers and we are to live in peace, many Japs must be killed. There are millions of them. The money to supply the tools must come from us. Come in the form of war bonds that we buy. How much does it cost to kill a Jap? Think about it that way. And then figure out how many $100 bonds you can buy. What's the story for next week, Ray?

[Gene McGahey]

Well, for my money, it's one of the strangest stories that's ever come out of the war. It's the story of a flying fortress, or maybe I ought to say a half a flying fort all over Africa. The wing of a falling Messerschmitt crashed her square across the middle. Her tail's gone, somebody said. No, no, it ain't gone. There was a narrow strip of metal still holding her together, a ragged little strip, not much wider than your hand. Better bail out, the skipper said. Not me, said the co pilot. Not me, said the navigator. Then the bombardier, the radio man, the gunners. Not me, mister. Then the tail gunner riding that scrap of broken metal back there like the tail of a kite, spoke up. Not me, skipper. I'm sticking. It's a very remarkable story. I think you'll like it.

[Ray Lewis]

Ladies and gentlemen, may we invite you to tune our way again next Saturday evening at this same time for another dramatic Yellow Cab tale. The Yellow Cab Storyteller, presented each Saturday at this hour by your Yellow Cab men and Yellow Cab women, is written by Gene McGahey. This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.

[Gene McGahey]

Up.