A prairie POW camp

Every so often, a guy hears of something that seems totally improbable. One such thing might be a WWII POW camp located in northern Iowa.

My wife and I visited Algona, Iowa, some years ago, so we took a tour of the Camp Algona POW Museum. Our tour was conducted by Jerry Yocum.

“Camp Algona housed German POWs from April of 1944 until February of 1946,” Yocum explained. “About 2,500 POWs were in the camp at any one time; a total of about 10,000 were sent through.”

The prairie prison camp was the hub of a POW distribution system. Prisoners were sent from Algona to branch camps in Iowa, Minnesota and the Dakotas.

“There was a labor shortage because of the war. Many of the POWs were put to work on farms,” Yocum said.

So, Midwestern farm boys were sent to fight in Europe, and some of the Germans they captured were sent here to work on Midwestern farms?

“That’s right,” Yocum said. “The POWs did a variety of jobs, from milking cows to digging ditches to cutting timber. They were paid 10 cents an hour, a sum that was set by the Geneva Conventions. They were paid with scrip that could only be used to buy things at the camp’s canteen.”

What did the community think of having all those POWs so close?

“The German POWs were polite and hardworking, but it must have felt weird to watch a POW work on your farm and wonder, ‘Did he shoot at my son?’” Yocum said.

My wife and I watched a short museum video. In the film, a Kossuth County woman recounted how her father hired four German POWs to work on their farm when she was 12. She remembered how strange and exciting it was when the POWs and their armed U.S. Army guard arrived at their farm.

I asked Yocum if there were any escapes.

“One small group broke out of Camp Algona by digging under an unused guard tower, but they were soon recaptured,” Yocum said. “They stole some civilian clothes and spoke fluent English, but their heavy German accents gave them away.

“A couple of POWs who were working at Lake Itasca tried to escape by stealing a canoe. They thought they could simply float down the Mississippi and arrive at New Orleans in a few days. But they didn’t realize that the river goes north before it heads south. After two weeks, they had paddled a couple of hundred miles but were only 35 miles farther south. By then, they were exhausted and hungry and tired of fighting the mosquitoes. They were glad to be recaptured.”

The museum features a display of translated writings by POWs. There are letters to and from home, along with some poetry. Most of the missives are about longing for home and anticipated reunions with loved ones.

An extraordinary chronicle written by a POW describes how his capture and subsequent imprisonment at Camp Algona led to meeting his older brother for the first time. The writer had been born a couple of years after his older brother had emigrated from Germany to Iowa. The POW related how he became increasingly excited as he saw more and more signs that said “Iowa” as he rode a prisoner train toward the Midwest.

Upon arriving at Camp Algona, the POW asked if a meeting with his brother could be arranged. It could and was. The emotions of that encounter must have been overwhelming.

Several examples of POW art are on display at the museum, ranging from droll cartoon sketches to lush portraits to intricate woodcarvings.

“The materials for this art were purchased by the POWs,” Yocum said. “The art was then donated to local residents as a way to thank them for their gracious treatment.”

Perhaps most striking is the large Nativity scene that was constructed by the POWs. Containing 65 half-scale figures, it’s proudly displayed each Yuletide at the Kossuth County Fairgrounds.

“After the Nativity scene was completed, the POWs presented it to the community and put on a Christmas program,” Yocum said. “I understand it was very affecting when the choir sang ‘Silent Night’ in the original German.”

Were there any lasting relationships involving POWs and local folks?

“Several locals stayed in touch with the POWs who had worked for them,” Yocum said. “Europe was in tatters after the war, so some area families sent care packages over. The friendships between the families have endured until this day.”

A POW camp in the midst of the Iowa prairie might seem improbable, but just as improbable is former enemies forging a lasting bond that reflects the true sentiments of “Silent Night.”

Jerry Nelson is a recovering dairy farmer from Volga, South Dakota. He and his wife, Julie, have two sons and live on the farm where Jerry’s great-grandfather homesteaded over 110 years ago. Feel free to email him at [email protected].