Scott Radley: How a former Hamilton Tiger-Cat found his biological father 75 years later

He was a teenager on a class trip to Chicago in the fall of 1961 when his mom pulled him into a phone booth and started flipping through the phone book. When he asked what she was doing, she reached into her purse, pulled out a U.S. Army dog tag and handed it to him.

It was stamped with a name he'd never seen or heard before.

Raymond A. Ambrose.

That's when she told me," Dick Wesolowski says.

The man he'd always believed was his father was actually his stepfather. The man she was looking up was that other part of her - and his - past that had been lost years before under impossible circumstances. Then hidden for decades where it remained until just before Christmas when a remarkable fluke allowed the former Hamilton Tiger-Cat to learn the incredible story.

The tale he uncovered begins in the latter stages of the Second World War.

Raymond Ambrose was just a year out of high school when he signed up for the U.S. Army and became a paratrooper in the 509th Parachute Infantry Regiment, nicknamed Geronimo. In time, his unit joined in the fighting of the Italian Campaign. Unfortunately, their first action in Italy went horribly wrong.

They dropped not behind German lines," Wesolowski says, but on top of the German lines."

The story goes that 37 of the 40 men who'd jumped out of the plane that day were dead before they hit the ground. Ambrose and the two other miracle survivors were captured and taken to Stalag VII-A.

The southern Bavarian camp was the largest prisoner-of-war centre in Germany. Designed for 10,000 men, it ultimately held as many as seven times that. Compared to the horrors of the extermination camps, it was glorious. But that's not saying much. Food was scarce, warm clothing was insufficient, lice was rampant and medical supplies were short.

Surviving his entrance to the European theatre was Ambrose's first bit of relative good fortune. The second revealed itself when some prisoners were given the opportunity to leave the camp and work in nearby farms as long as they could speak German. He happened to have studied the language all four years of high school in Chicago.

It wasn't just captured soldiers toiling on the farms. Many Poles, who'd been driven from their country were also on site as prisoners. Including Julie Wrobel.

She'd lived in the Polish town of Radom which was one of the early targets when Germany rolled the tanks over the border in the invasion that launched the Second World War in 1939. She'd been captured by 1942 and taken to the area near the camp to work.

The details at this point get a little hazy since Ray rarely talked about those years. Same with Julie. What's clear is that in time, their paths crossed. And before long, she let him know she was pregnant.

Believing the war was coming to an end and things might soon get frantic - but wanting to be with her and their soon-to-be child - he slipped his military dog tags over his head and handed them to her. If we get separated or anything happens, he told her, use these to find me.

It wasn't long until the Americans did indeed roll into the area as liberators. The trouble was, as predicted, it became chaotic. Within weeks of his April 1945 rescue, he was back in Chicago. Julie wasn't with him.

The Red Cross wouldn't allow any immigrants post war," Wesolowski says.

For a year, Raymond sent packages of clothes and money to her, never knowing exactly where she was or if they'd arrived. He tried and tried to reach her through the Red Cross and military channels but information was scarce. He never learned she'd given birth, never learned he had a son and never knew that six years after the war ended, she married and immigrated to Canada and was now living just hours from her.

They were even closer than that on that day in the phone booth. Yet, he wasn't to be found. By then he was living in Iowa and had started a family of his own.

The two never saw each other again.

Of course, Wesolowski knew none of this when he sat down at his computer a few weeks before Christmas at his new home in Winnipeg - he'd moved from Hamilton where he'd always lived to be near his daughter and grandchildren - and started pecking away. Years ago, he'd made a cursory effort to find Ambrose who was surely long dead by now. But he'd had no luck and had abandoned the effort.

Now, with time on his hands because of the COVID lockdown and the loss of a few friends reminding him it was likely now or never, he decided to try again. So, the 75-year-old went online and started digging, only to come up empty once again. It was a frustration he expressed to his daughter's boyfriend, a member of the Royal Canadian Air Force.

Too bad you didn't have a dog tag," the boyfriend said.

Wesolowski almost did a double take.

I do have a dog tag," he responded.

His mom had secretly carried it with her all her life. She never told her husband about it in case he'd want her to get rid of it and she'd given it to Wesolowski sometime before her death in 1990.

It was very special to her," his daughter, Rena, says. He was her true love."

It turns out there's a ton of information to be found about prisoners of war if you have a few important details. Within days, Wesolowski was learning the outline of the story for the first time. About the capture. About the PoW camp in south Bavaria. About much more. Suddenly, the pieces started fitting. He always knew he'd been born in a town called Moosburg but had no real idea where it was.

I looked it up," he says. Guess where it is? South Bavaria."

Yes, right near the camp. Now he was intrigued. Armed with some usable information, he kept digging online and eventually found a listing for a grave for a Robert A. Ambrose in a military cemetery outside Chicago. He'd died in 1986 of a heart attack at 61. That he was gone was expected. That he'd passed away so young was sad.

But, as he dug, he found the names of surviving relatives. Seven children. Three boys and four girls. He started punching their names into the computer.

The first was an alderman in Davenport, Iowa. Raymond Ambrose. Same name as his dad. There was a picture and as he studied it there were some similarities and ... well ... maybe. Then he entered name No. 2., Phil Ambrose.

Boy, Wesolowski thought, that guy looks like he did a while back. He asked his children to take a look. They didn't hesitate. There was no doubt he was related to them.

You could tell," his son Rich says. The photo was crazy."

Since he was still not 100 per cent convinced, Rena decided to email the alderman to see if he knew anything about a long-lost brother. She included a photo. Then, a couple weeks before Christmas, she hit send.'

The moment the alderman - who everyone calls Tony since his middle name is Anthony - read the note, he contacted Phil.

You ain't gonna believe this," he said.

Phil immediately got in touch with their dad's surviving sister who lives in Denver. She confirmed it all.

Yes, Raymond had a girlfriend over there during the war who had been pregnant. He'd been torn up by his inability to get her over to the States and bring his young family together so he never talked about it. In his eyes, he'd failed, so he decided to take his secret to the grave with him. Even made up a story that the Germans had taken his dog tags. But yes, it was true.

Soon, all the siblings were in the loop. All amazed at this revelation. But having no doubt. Especially when Wesolowski's photo circulated among them.

He looks like us," Phil says. He sounds like us."

Within days, an emotional Wesolowski had connected with all of them and spent hours on Zoom meeting his half siblings. Planning a reunion as soon as that can happen. And removing any concern this would be met with resistance or negativity.

I was ecstatic," Tony says. I had an older brother who took the time to look me and my family up."

Most remarkably are the similarities that explain so much. Wesolowski was a sports star and eventually played eight years as a running back and fullback with Hamilton and Calgary Stampeders, including being part of that legendary '72 Ticat team that won the Grey Cup at Ivor Wynne Stadium.

Rena played basketball for the University of Guelph, was a captain on her high school team that won a provincial championship and was once married to former Ticat and current Winnipeg Blue Bombers' general manager, Kyle Walters. His son, Rich, was a highly successful girls' basketball coach at St. Mary for years, who's won the Wismer Award for coaching excellence.

They never could figure out where it came from. Nobody on his mother's or stepfather's side was athletic at all. But the Ambrose family? They're loaded with all-state and all-American football, wrestling, softball and baseball stars.

Dad's athleticism was a strong gene," Wesolowski's new sister Rita wrote in an introductory email.

That's not all. He learned that after the war, Raymond had gone to university, was inducted into the athletes Hall of Fame, and became a high school teacher so beloved everyone simply called him Pappa Ray.' A plaque honouring him now hangs outside the gym in the school where he taught. And coached.

A football coach," Wesolowski says.

Naturally.

Scott Radley is a Hamilton-based columnist at The Spectator. Reach him via email: sradley@thespec.com