Ray Howarth sits in silence over his plate of roast beef, remembering the days when the pockets in his pants were full of lice-ridden bread crumbs.
As a prisoner of war in Germany during World War II, Ray carefully peeled the dry crust from his single slice of bread each day and hid the crumbs in his pockets so he'd have a few extra bites to eat on Sunday.
If he were caught with the crumbs, he might have been killed, either by other hungry prisoners or guards with nothing to lose. Men had certainly died for less.
Fifty-six years have passed since Ray was liberated from Heppenheim's "Horror Hospital," but his memories of those three hellish months are still painfully clear. Now, thanks to the efforts of a new German friend, they won't soon be forgotten.
"Ray's story is important because it paints a real picture of what happened," says Harald Jost, 45, a town archivist for Heppenheim. "The townspeople didn't know what was going on in the hospital — it was a horrible secret. And now that secret deserves to be told."
Harald recently flew to Salt Lake City to visit Ray and his wife, Donna, and learn more about the 77-year-old veteran he'd met briefly in Germany and corresponded with over the Internet.
Ray invited me to join the pair over a Free Lunch of home-cooked roast beef, mashed potatoes and lemon meringue pie, to share the story of their friendship and Ray's war experiences in Heppenheim.
"I think of Harald as a son," says Ray, who met the historian four years ago, after serving an LDS mission in Germany with Donna. "What he's doing is wonderful. We need to record what happened so it will never happen again."
Ray's ordeal began in January 1945, when he was injured by shrapnel and captured by German soldiers who took him to a psychiatric hospital in Heppenheim.
The place was like no hospital Ray had seen: The rooms were cold and filthy, with bloodstained sheets and the stench of death. There were no doctors, no nurses, no bandages or medication. Only a single surgeon who lopped off infected arms and legs with a cattle dehorner, then tossed the limbs into boxes outside the door.
"None of us wanted that surgeon to operate on us — he hated Americans," says Ray. "But when gangrene set into my wounds, I didn't have much choice."
While four guards pinned him to a table, the doctor cut out the infection in Ray's back, using no anesthetic. "We were more or less told, 'Heal thyself or die,' " he recalls.
Of 330 Americans, 53 did die — of starvation, beatings or untreated wounds. When the war ended, Ray chose to lock away the horrific memories. Even Donna didn't know about his experiences until a few years ago.
"It was during the war's 50th anniversary that I knew I needed help," says Ray, who now receives counseling through the Veterans Administration. "All the news stories brought everything to the surface."
He blinks back tears as he recalls the letters he wrote to each of his six children, apologizing for "the lousy father I was."
"I was too strict," he says softly. "Now I know it's because of what I went through."
As part of his healing, Ray hoisted a black-and-white POW flag up a pole in his front yard two years ago. He hasn't taken it down since.
"It's a reminder never to take freedom for granted," he tells Harald as the men dig into their lemon pie — the dessert Ray most often dreamed about while he was held captive. "I just pray nobody else has to go through what I did."
Have a story? Let's hear it over lunch. E-mail your name, phone number and what's on your mind to freelunch@desnews.com or send a fax to 466-2851. You can also write me at the Deseret News, P.O. Box 1257, Salt Lake City, UT 84110.