Pat DiGeorge

Near the end of World War II my parents met in Sweden while working together in the Office of Strategic Services (OSS) doing counterespionage work against the Nazis. In January of 1945, they wed in a beautiful cathedral in Stockholm, with the nephew to the King of Sweden giving my mother away in marriage. My father was soon ordered back to the States, and he didn’t see his new bride again until the war in Europe was over, nearly five months later. Shortly after they reunited, their first child, conceived in Sweden, was born. Me!

At the National Archives, College Park, MD on October 14, 2011

Named Patricia Dorothy Allen, I grew up as the eldest of five siblings in Bartow, Florida, your typical small southern town with parades down Main Street, the American Legion, silver tea service at the Women’s Club, Friday night football… Like many veterans returning from the war, our father had to work hard to build a new life ‘back home’ and support his growing family. He opened a clothing and dry goods store, Allen & Sons, right on Main Street between the two dime stores.  As Bartow grew, a shopping center on the outskirts of downtown was built.  On the day of the grand opening, as President of the Chamber of Commerce, our Dad cut the ribbon. Our mother always said it was like he was cutting his own throat, and just a few years later Allen & Sons closed.

When it was time for me to select a college, I ventured north to the University of Pittsburgh. Pitt awarded me a full scholarship so I forged ahead to my first real adventure in life. I left the cocoon of small town Bartow and arrived at the big city campus, where I graduated with honors from the School of Nursing four years later. At Pitt I met my future husband, an engineering student, and right after graduation, we got married at Pitt’s Heinz Chapel. Over the next few years we became parents to two boys, and in the early ‘70’s my husband’s job brought us to Atlanta, Georgia. At the time available nursing jobs didn’t fit into the schedule of a busy young mother so I launched a successful career in real estate. During those years I wrote constantly, though most of what I worked on was business-oriented.

In 2008, as a member of my local Rotary Club, I helped organize a program that flew veterans to Washington DC to see the World War II Memorial there. These men — and yes, a few women — were finally in an environment, many for the first time, where they would talk openly about their often harrowing wartime experiences. To help with fundraising, I wrote tributes to many of the veterans, including one about my dad, Herman Allen. As I learned more and more about his experiences during the war, and about my mother’s parallel journey, I became enthralled. My mother had passed away in 2007.  My father, physically fine but struggling with Alzheimer’s, could no longer remember his time during the war. So I began to piece together the story of the Liberty Lady, the B-17 with its crew of ten that flew from England over Berlin, and crash-landed in Sweden, where my life began.