By Jonathan Copsey / Staff

It’s not often that one can come face to face with death and not even know it. That’s precisely what happened to General Albin Irzyk during his service in World War II.

A youthful 92 years old, Irzyk was full of stories and tales as he lay in his bed in Emory Johns Creek Hospital, where he was taken over Thanksgiving weekend for what turned out to be another of life’s near-misses.

Irzyk is of Polish stock and, growing up in New England in the midst of the Great Depression, knew the value of hard work and of a good education. He went to university and joined the ROTC in order to help pay for it, training to be in the horse cavalry. He was commissioned as a 2nd Lieutenant in the cavalry serving under a little-known and controversial colonel named Patton.  

“That’s when I knew I’d have a full army career,” Irzyk said. “They didn’t have to hold a gun to me.”

While the war raged on in Europe, Irzyk and his comrades were slowly gearing up for what would turn out to be an inevitable American participation. After more than two years training with the horse cavalry, he was transferred into the “steel horses” of the 4th Armored Division.

“Hitler controlled all of Europe and I was still training on a horse!” the general laughed. And to be assigned to Patton was a blessing; the man had been a strong advocate and designer of tank warfare since World War I. There was no one better to serve under in a tank.

“Patton was the greatest warrior this country has ever had,” Irzyk said. “He was the greatest field commander we ever had. He could not have been an Eisenhower or a Bradley, but no one could have done his job any better. “He was the perfect commander for us.”

Irzyk was a mere 27 years old and he was commanding up to 3,000 men and almost 100 tanks.

During the war years, Irzyk fought in the Battle of the Bulge, Bastogne and Chaumont, among numerous other battles, including being one of the first Allied commanders to find a concentration camp. “We didn’t know what it was,” Irzyk said. “‘Concentration camp’ hadn’t entered the lexicon then.”

One of the most astounding stories of good luck came as a result of a return trip, taken by Irzyk several years ago. During the war, he had been leading a group of his tanks into a small French village that was bisected by railroad tracks. The only way to cross the village was to go through a narrow underpass. But Germans were waiting for his men.

Irzyk’s men fought the Germans and eventually took the village, crossing the underpass safely, but it was not until a return trip, 65 years later, that he learned just how close he had been to a catastrophic defeat.

“The Germans had booby-trapped the railroad underpass,” Irzyk said. “It turns out that the night before, a local farmer had seen the Germans planting bombs under the bridge, hoping to catch us as we passed through the next day. So the farmer invited the Germans to his house and got them drunk.” While they were passed out, the farmer diffused the bombs.

That return trip proved to be an amazing journey for the general, as he was greeted warmly everywhere he went, not only by village officials, but also by the children he helped liberate – who are now parents and grandparents of the villagers.  

“Everywhere I went, they all remembered the 4th [Armored Division].”