TODAY is the 65th anniversary of Andrew Mynarski's heroic and, even if you're not superstitious, spooky death.
Kenora resident Len "Kroppy" Kropioski is nearly 91 now. But when he was a kid, Kroppy was Andy Mynarski's best buddy from Grade 5 through Grade 10.
Their closeness came naturally.
They were both sons of Polish immigrants and they only lived a couple of blocks apart.
"We were great friends," Kroppy was saying this week. "I lived in Burrows and he lived on Manitoba."
Kroppy remembers Mynarski being a quiet kid. And how he was intrigued by planes. Every Victoria Day the two of them would walk all the way from their north end homes to Stevenson Field -- near where James A. Richardson International Airport is today -- to watch the annual air shows.
And then they would create their own air force.
"We made out our own planes right in front of his house," Kroppy recalled.
"That was the one love he had. He loved planes."
So it was that in 1941 Andy joined the Royal Canadian Air Force, where he would meet his best friend in the war.
Mynarski was 27 and Pat Brophy was 22 and they were both gunners on the same Lancaster bomber crew, which made hanging together natural, even though Brophy was an officer.
"Good night, sir," Mynarski used to salute Brophy in a teasing way. But it wasn't all kidding between them.
Shortly after D-Day, and before their 13th mission, Mynarski decided to give Brophy something for good luck.
A four-leaf clover.
It was on that 13th mission that cannon fire from a German fighter-bomber would rip into the Lancaster, setting two engines on fire. The pilot, Art de Breyne, ordered everyone to bail out.
Later Brophy would recall glancing at his watch.
It was 12:13 a.m. on June 13.
Andy was standing at the back hatch, ready to jump, when he glanced back looking for Brophy.
Brophy was trapped in his rear gunner's turret. And the back of the plane was on fire.
Mynarski began crawling through the fire.
By the time he reached his friend, Mynarski clothes and parachute were on fire.
"Don't try," Brophy shouted, waving him away.
But Mynarski grabbed an axe.
And when that didn't work he began tearing at the turret with his hands.
"Go back, Andy! Get out," Brophy screamed. Later, Brophy recalled the moment.
"He hung his head and nodded, as though he was ashamed to leave."
Then Mynarski crawled backwards through the flaming hydraulic fluid.
"Never taking his eyes off me."
When he reached the escape hatch, Mynarski stood up, slowly, came to attention, and saluted. Just before he jumped, Mynarski said something. Brophy couldn't hear the last words, but he didn't have to.
"I knew it was, 'Good night, sir.' " Mynarski would die from his burns shortly after being found by French farmers. But incredibly, Brophy was thrown from the bomb-laiden plane when it crash-landed, and survived without a scratch, as he would say later.
The four-leaf closer still nestled under his flyer's hat.
"I'll always believe," Brophy later wrote, "that a divine providence intervened to save me... so that the world might know of a gallant man who laid down his life for a friend."
On Oct. 11, 1946, four days before what would have been his 29th birthday, Mynarski was posthumously awarded the Victoria Cross, the Commonwealth's highest honour for valour.
The medal is on display at the Air Command Headquarters in Winnipeg.
from
http://www.winnipegfreepress.com/breakingnews/Forgotten-valour-47995546.html?viewAllComments=y
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http://www.warplane.com/pages/aircraft_lancaster.html
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