LETTERS 200 to 224
Letter 201 - Written By:
Jean E. Kriebel
East Tawas
MI
Cpl. William H. Ryan
KIA April 10, 1953
Korea
Dear Bill,
I was 18 years old and you were just one month from your 21st Birthday when you gave your life For your Country. I was proud to be engaged to you, and could hardly wait for your return to start Our life together. You were a very special person and I loved you very much. You were a Honorable and proud Marine.
You would never believe that after 53 years I have had contact with two Marines that served with you. One is your Sgt Joe Schmid (thru his son) they have worked for the last 4 years to keep your memory alive. And have done a wonderful job of it. Sgt Schmid and his son are two remarkable men.
We never know what God has in store for us, because I married a Marine Cpl. and we were Married for 50 years 1 month, and 4 days when he died from cancer.
He also was in Korea, was awarded 2 Purple Hearts for being wounded in action. He always Wondered why his life was spared and so many did not make it. And we talked of you many times. He knew that I always had a special place in my heart for you.
We had 4 children, 11 grand children and 2 great grand children. And I have told some of my Grandchildren that they would not be here if it were not for Bill Ryan. As I would not have met Their Grandfather If it had not been for you. I want my children and grand children to know about you as you were a important part of my life.
I visited your Grave and your Fathers last month with one of my Daughters. And we took your Biography to the History Room of the Wyandotte Library. There were many tear but so meaningful.
Two Flag draped caskets have saddened my life For Valiant Marines. And I sometime feel that maybe you two have met up there. As it must have all been part of God's Master Plan!
In Memory of:
Cpl. William H. Ryan USMC KIA
Cpl. Wendell T. Kriebel USMC WIA
Jean Kriebel
Letter 202 - Written By:
Henry Welling Sullivan
Little Silver
NJ
October 24, 2006
A letter to my uncle:
Henry Hy Welling Jr. 0-1931594
Lieutenant 49th FA Bn.
7th Infantry
Killed In Action July 6, 1953
Dear Hy:
Unfortunately, you and I never met. I was born in 1964, eleven years after you were killed in the war in Korea. I have read that the Korean War is often referred to as the "forgotten war". I do not know why that is, but I will never ever forget.
Although I never knew you, I have always looked up to you. I guess partly because I was given your name and partly because I believe in my heart that you were a very good person, a good brother, a good son. All the things that I wanted to be. I know that you are someone that I would have liked very much. I am the fourth child of your sister, Sally. Mom is doing ok, but has been sick for many years. She lives in San Diego, California with my oldest brother Danny. Your youngest sister, Tappy, is also well and lives in Chapel Hill, North Carolina. I have four children of my own. Emma, Julia, Henry Jr. and little Sarah. My hope is that my son, Henry Jr., grows up to be just like his great uncle "Hy", football star at Princeton (or maybe Notre Dame) and a leader of men.
I have tried in recent months to find members of your battalion that served with or under you in Korea. I have had no luck. It has been 53 years, since those last days in Korea and I suppose that there are not very many of your mates that are still around. I would very much like to hear first hand about my only uncle. How he lived and how he died.
I will continue in my efforts to find someone, anyone who knew you before your life was taken from you at such a young age. I miss you very much. I will never forget you.
Love,
Henry Welling Sullivan
Letter 203 - Written By:
Judy Crane
Canyon Lake
CA
10/26/06
Dear James Monroe (Moe) Weaver
POW November 30, 1950
Although I've never met you, Uncle Moe, Mom talks about you all the time. My brother, Jimmy, was named after you. She misses you so very much. She still can't attend a war movie at the theater, but I don't blame her. It sounds like you would have been a really fun uncle to have around. I never got to enjoy having an uncle in my life - you died at 18 years old. Your sister, Faye, is a wonderful mom, grandmother, and recently a great-grandmother!
We keep your memory alive with photos throughout the house. I want you to know that you have not been forgotten. I'll continue to encourage our government to search for you.
Love,
Your Niece,
Judy Crane
Letter 204 - Written By:
Beverly Asperson
Westby
WI
THIS LETTER IS TO MY BROTHER, PFC ERNEST V. SIMONSON WHO WAS CAPTURED IN KOREA IN FEBRUARY 1951. HE DIED IN A PRISONER OF WAR CAMP IN CHONGSONG, NORTH KOREA ON MAY 25, 1951.
DEAR ERNEST,
I GRADUATED FROM HIGH SCHOOL IN 1953 AND GOT MARRIED IN 1955 TO ALAN ASPENSON. AT THE TIME OF MY MARRIAGE I LIVED IN MADISON AND WAS WORKING AT THE STATE FARM SAFETY OFFICE. IN 1956 WE MOVED TO EAU CLAIRE WHERE ALAN WENT TO BARBER SCHOOL. OUR DAUGHTER, JULIE WAS BORN IN 1958. WE MOVED TO WESTBY IN 1961. IN 1962 OUR SON, KEVIN WAS BORN. I DIDN'T MAKE IT TO THE HOSPITAL IN TIME, HE WAS BORN AT HOME. WE BOTH DID OK.
OUR DAUGHTER IS MARRIED TO PAT RANKIN AND THEY HAVE GIVEN US 3 GRANDCHILDREN SO WE ARE BLESSED. THEIR NAMES ARE KAYLIE, KELSIE AND PATRICK.
LOVE AS ALWAYS,
YOUR SISTER,
BEVERLY
Letter 205 - Written By:
Alvin and Lydia Press
Ft. Myers
FL
Irving A Press
38th Infantry Regiment 2nd Infantry Division
KIA October 12, 1951
Greetings from Florida.
I'm writing this letter on the lost of my coucin on Oct 12 1951 in the Korean War. I was only 9 years old than but I remember the day Oct 26 1951 I lived in Spring Valley New York. Well on that day the door bell rang and a gentleman gave us a Western Union telegram which we did not know what it was but when my father opened it was telling us our cousin was KIA.
He belonged to the 38th Infantry Regiment 2nd Infantry Division. He was killed while attacking Hill 974 near Kongdong North Korea on Oct. 12 1951.
For me I only knew him short time so I have his picture hanging in the living room and for the first time this year I lit a candle in his remembrance. His father and mother are gone already but his brother that's still here and I see him few times already. He retired Lt Colonel who was in the Navy and Air Force for over 20 years. To my cousin Irving A Press we all miss you and think of you often and its many years that you are gone. I live in Fort Myers Florida with my Wife Lydia and two sons Scott Shawn and one daughter Stacy Press and two grand kids Robert and Clayton Aillson.
Well take care.
Alvin and Lydia
Letter 206 - Written By:
Denny H. Kelly
Yuma
AZ
Dear Bill,
My name is Denney Kelley and I was a kid that lived down the street when you were young. I liked to visit your house because it was much nicer than mine. You always seemed to enjoy my company even though you were a few years older than I. My parents moved away and our friendship parted on friendly terms. You went on to school and college I think. I had to work and quit school to do it. I finished the 9th grade.
Some years later I stopped by your house but you were gone and I visited with your mother. She felt sad that I was not going to school and I told her that I would finish in time. It took me years to get that done but I did make it. My life has followed many roads and our paths may have crossed in Korea. 1 was drafted and in time served with the 45th Division "A" Batt 189 FA BN. I would guess that you were flying overhead.
After the army I attended Lower Columbia Jr. College and graduated with an AA degree. I later-, went on to become a diesel mechanic. A trade I followed for 30 +years. For a few years I owned my own business. Due to a back injury I was forced to learn a new way to make a living so I went back to college and received a degree to teach Voc Ed. I spent 10 years teaching Diesel Technology.
I married in 1955 and am still have the same wife. We celebrated our 51st anniversary this year. We have a son that is a police Sgt. in a large western city. Our daughter, is in charge of quality control at a hospital. Both children are successful in jobs and life. Both have degrees.
Retirement got me in 1994 and since than we have traveled in our motor home throughout the western half of the US. We now reside in Yuma, AZ. In 2005 I finally finished getting my missing diploma. I was a member of the graduating class of Kelso, WN; I received my diploma as a member of the class of 1951. My graduating was in part of a Veterans program that took my service experience in place of schoolwork.
I have several hobbies, writing stories, making things from metal, wood and rock, visiting old friends and new and I like to help people when I can. This is my story to you. I wish you could have been a greater part of it and that you could have had the life you would have liked to have lived.
Your old friend,
Denney H Kelley
The kid from down the street
Letter 207 - Written By:
Hope Pugsley
Casa Grande
AZ
Uncle Noel,
You never knew me, as I came into this world long after you left it. I am your baby brother's baby girl. Your brother Byron and his wife Dorothy have three children, Janet, Tommy and me, Hope. You would have been proud of your brother. He has worked hard his whole life, raised a good family and is now enjoying retirement.
Several years ago Aunt Faye gave me all of your medals that you earned in the Army to include your purple heart. My husband had them made into a shadow box which I proudly hang on my wall. You won't know this but your brother Byron joined the Army and fought bravely in Vietnam. I too joined the Army and served five years as a Military Police Officer. I currently work for the Arizona Department of Corrections as a Sergeant.
In 2001 my husband, step-son and I went to Kentucky and stayed with family. We had the chance to visit Wiley and Belva Goff. Wiley told me of seeing you walking down their street towards their house. He also remembers you telling his mom, your Aunt Dorothy, about the feeling you had of knowing you weren't returning from Korea. I am so very sorry for that. I wish that it had not been so. We have lost so many others since then, in Vietnam, the Persian Gulf and even here on our own soil. So many brave men and women, dying for my right to be here and live the life I lead. So for that, I thank you.
You have not been forgotten, please believe that. I have written the Department of the Army and received information into your service and valiant death. I have e-mailed other Korean Veterans in search of anyone who knew or served with you. T am always looking for that small tie which binds us. You are loved now and for always.
Dad and I visited the Korean War memorial last summer. It is beautiful and you would like how they have remembered you and your fellow brothers. It is peaceful there; as I am sure your hell in Korea was not. Rest well and know that your job is done. You fought a courageous fight and we are so very proud of you. Continue to walk to hills of Kentucky and be at peace.
Until we finally meet one day,
Your niece,
Hope
Letter 208 - Written By:
Ken Brown, USN Retired
Sandy Ridge
NC
October 24, 2006
Gilmer W. Wilson
RA13305392, MOS 00055 PFC, U. S. Army
19 INF RGT 24 INF DIV
KIA September 01, 1950 Republic of Korea
www.kenbrown.info/stokes
Killed in Action, Stokes County, NC
Dear Gilmer,
It has been many years since you gave your life for our freedom in that far-away place called Korea. I want you to know that your family and friends in Stokes County, North Carolina, especially the Sandy Ridge area, have never forgotten you and your comrades who made the ultimate sacrifice for our country during this bloody and often "forgotten war."
My cousin Gilmer, your sacrifice during the Korean War was the driving force behind my web site "Honor Roll" devoted to all from Stokes County who were killed in action during all wars. You can rest assure that the heroic spirit of you and others like you from Stokes County, North Carolina will live on.
Your dad and mom have passed on and are now with you, including your oldest sister, Virginia. Your sisters, Peggy and Mildred are not in the best of health and on our prayer list; Janie is doing good; brothers, Leroy, Cecil and Bunny are in fairly good health, except Leroy needs a hip replacement, but it may interfere with his daily schedule and racing activities, so he chooses to wait. He has over 400,000 miles on his old Chevy truck and hopes it will keep going like the "energized bunny." If by chance, it does break-down on some lonely road in the middle of nowhere, watch over him until help arrives.
My dad and mom have also passed on. Please tell them that they are missed dearly and we think of them every day.
Your cousin,
Ken Brown
Letter 209 - Written By:
Tom Sheehan
Saugus
MA
24 October 2006
Letter(s) to the Lost from Tom Sheehan:
Dear Big John and Little John and Billy and Hughie and Londo and Eddie Mac and Breda and Kujawski and the comrade I carried to his death whose name I never knew and all the others I pray for every night yet, the men of the 31st Infantry Regiment.
Every reading I've done for more than 55 years simply begins this way: John Maciag was all bone, knees, elbows and jaw, hated his rifle, proficient at killing, wanted home so badly it burned his soul. We leaned up that mountain near Yangu, frightened. War's hurricane tore our ranks, trees of us lifted by roots. I came running down three days later. Like cordwood the bodies were piled between two stakes, all Korean but that jaw of John Maciag I saw, a log of birch among the pine. The sergeant yelled to move on. I said no, maybe never. I am going to sit and think about John Maciag's forever, whose fuel he is, what the flames of him will light. Perhaps he will burn the glory of man or God.
When asked to read to celebrate my new book of memoirs, I wanted to let the audience enter the cubicle where the work came from. This is what I told them: I'll celebrate with you by telling you what I know. I'll tell you how it is with me. This is what I know. This is what I am and what has made me:
Just behind the retina and a small way back is a little room. It has a secret door and passageways and key words other than Sesame. If you're lucky enough to get inside that room, at the right time, there's ignition, there's light, there's a flare, now and then there is a pure incandescence like a white phosphorous shell at detonation. It's the core room of memories, the memory bank holding everything you've ever known, ever seen, ever felt, ever dislodged spurting with energy. The casual, shadowy and intermittent presences you usually know are microscope-beset, become most immediate. For those glorious moments the splendid people rush back into your life carrying all their baggage, the Silver Streak unloaded, Boston's old South Station alive, bursting seams.
At times I have been so lucky, brilliantly, white phosphorescently lucky; it's when I apprehend it all. I see the quadrangle of Camp Drake in Yokahama, Japan in February of 1951. I know the touch and temperature of the breeze on my cheek and the back of my neck; the angle of the sun on me and a host of my comrades, how it has climbed past a chimney of a long, long, gray barracks, and withers on a mountain peak of an unknown horizon flaring at darkness. I know the weight of a rifle on a web strap hanging on my shoulder, the awed knowledge of a ponderous steel helmet on my head, press of a tight lace on one boot, wrap of a leather watch band on one wrist.
I am lucky to know it all again. Pete Leone from McKees Rocks, PA is on my left. Pete Marglioti from McKees Port, PA is on my right. Pete and Re-Pete. Frank Mitman from Bethlehem is there, an arm's length off. Minutes ago, from a standing still position in all his gear, he did a full flip in the air and landed on his feet. John Salazer is behind me. John Maciag, Big John, is in front of me. Oh, how he appears again and again. Behind me, John Salazer is the comrade with two brothers not yet home from some place in World War II, who the captain calls one day and says, "You're going home tomorrow. Get off the hill before dark." "No, sir, I'll spend the last night with my buddies down in the listening post." After darkness settles a Chinese infiltrator hurls a grenade into their bunker.
The count begins again, the eternal count, the odds maker at work, the clash of destinies. On the ship on the way home, on the troop train rushing across America, in all the rooms of sleep since then, there are spaces around me. Memory, at times fragile, becomes at times tenacious. It honors me as a voice, and it is my will to spread that tenacity.
I bring pieces of it with me today, pieces I have captured under white phosphorous as true as a rock in place. They come from the little room with the secret door just behind the retina, just inside a bit deeper.
Knock with me. I share "Milan Carl Liskart, the Coalman," with you, and my grandfather Johnny Igoe, the Yeats' reader, and a few other shining lights that, with tenacity, have found these pages of A Collection of Friends, dedicated For those who have passed through Saugus (and every town), those comrades who bravely walked away from home and fell elsewhere, and the frailest imaginable soldier of all, frightened and glassy-eyed and knowing he is hapless, one foot onto the soil at D -Day or a statistical sandy beach of the South Pacific and going down, but not to be forgotten, not here.
I had their attention. We shared. I said: The shells were cannonading when he died in my arms, blood setting the sun down. Night or darkness now and I cannot find his face again. It is lost, I search for it, stumble, and lose my way. October is rich again, exploding. Fifty-five Octobers have burst the air. .1 inhale it all anew, leaves bomb me, sap is still, muttering of the Earth is mute. I remember all the Octobers; one tears about me now, but his face is lost. How can I find his face again?
Men of this command would not speak the name of comrade knowing the fragmentation of loss as if bones could dwindle. I cannot speak of time coming, only of time past and the laughter/cries of young voices sounding vibrant horns. I hear only echoes from mountains of years in the quick tumbling. You must hear the same mountain, the uncluttered system of their thoughts, the brass and velvet of young men at thinking sometimes down precipices sharper than truth; they would have twinned this command, yielding neither dreams nor arms, ideas set as hard as Excalibur before Arthur. Now their softness mingles in mind's debris trying to say what they knew and took to grave. John never hurried anyplace but to die. He talked to the mountain and we are listening.
This is what John listened to: The day had gone over hill, but that still, blue light remained, cut with a gray edge, catching corners rice paddies lean out of. In the serious blue brilliance of battle they'd become comrades becoming friends, just Walko and Williamson and Sheehan sitting in the night drinking beer cooled by Imjin River waters in `51 in Korea. Three men drably clad, but clad in the rags of war.
Stars hung pensive neon. Mountain-cool silences were being earned, hungers absolved, a ponderous god talked to. Above silences, the ponderous god's weighty as clouds, elusive as soot on wind, yields promises. They used church keys to tap cans, lapped up silence rich as missing salt, fused their backbones to good earth in a ritual old as labor itself, these men clad in the rags of war. Such a night gives itself away, tells tales, slays the rose
in reeling carnage, murders sleep, sucks moisture out of Mother Earth, fires hardpan, sometimes does not die itself just before dawn, makes strangers in ones' selves, those who wear the rags of war.
They had been strangers beside each other, caught in the crush of tracered night and starred flanks, accidents of men drinking beer cooled in the bloody waters where brothers roam forever, warriors come to that place by fantastic voyages, carried by generations of the persecuted or the adventurous, carried in sperm body, dropped in the spawning, fruiting womb of America, and born to wear the rags of war.
Walko, reincarnate of the Central European, come of land lovers and those who scatter grain seed, bones like logs, wrists strong as axle trees, fair and blue-eyed, prankster, ventriloquist who talked off mountainside, rumormonger for fun, heart of the hunter, hide of the herd, apt killer, born to wear the rags of war. Williamson, faceless in the night, black set on black, only teeth like high piano keys, eyes that captured stars, fine nose got from Rome through rape or slave bed unknown generations back, was cornerback tough, graceful as ballet dancer (Walko's opposite), hands that touched his rifle the way a woman's touched, or a doll, or one's fitful child caught in fever clutch, came sperm-tossed across the cold Atlantic, some elder Virginia-bound bound in chains, the Congo Kid come home, the Congo Kid, alas, alas, born to wear the rags of war. Sheehan, reluctant at trigger-pull, dreamer, told deep lies with dramatic ease, entertainer who wore shining inward a sum of ghosts forever from the cairns had fled; heard myths and the promises in earth and words of songs he knew he never knew, carried scars vaguely known as his own, shared his self with saint and sinner, proved pregnable to body force, but born to wear the rags of war
I came home alone. And they are my brothers. Walko is my brother. Williamson is my brother. God is my brother. I am a brother to all who are dead, we all wear the rags of war.
I can take you back to all the hard places, to the adjectives and verb ends; to the quadrangle in Japan in 1951 and the cool wind coming through Camp Drake and the voice of death talking in it and calling Maciag's name (Body Hunger) and little Salazar (Arab Dagger) and Captain Kay (Memphis Peon) and Billy Pigg (Cowpoke) and Stoney Mason (Pennsy Slateman)and Anadazio (Bread You Can't Imagine) and Dan Bertelsen (AKA The Knife) and you listened and it didn't talk your name and you still felt sad and knew you were the only ear. In three weeks they were gone, all gone, and their voices went into ground, and all their words, and they built on the word rock and now they still dance sadly... such words that make you cry with music still in them, and they come long and slowly out of another time funnel, like Billy Pigg crying as he rolled over in your arms and Captain Kay saying, "I just want to go home for a little while and tell Merle and Andy I love them. Just for an hour or so."
And I can say to Hughie: You think I don't remember you. Your nose was red, ears outsized, you moved lanky in your lanky way, you had blue eyes, your cheeks red. In front of the State Theater on Saturday matinees you towered over us. But I do remember you, Hughie. I do! Your hair was tall in front, dark; your arms were long, your nose English like mine's Irish but mostly for word music. You wore dark blue denim dungarees; once a blue jacket with red sleeves. You didn't skate with us, but I remember your picking leaves, watching the sun fall all the way through the filaments. I saw you Saturdays, later on, watching us play football at the stadium. Then, how Time plays tricks on all of us, we were in Asia, carrying carbines in the Land of the Morning Calm. That far Asia's sun set down on you, Hughie, but I walked free of that hole. Each morning now, on my way to work, old shells echo, shy infiltrator eyes me, cursed land mine sits a maimed turtle in my path, dark clouds grow darker, dread rain becomes yellow madness, deep earth opens its welcome arms, and your name flies its black letters on a gray cast iron sign in East Saugus. Once, when I was late for work, snow on the hillside, flowers rimmed the pole. I keep wondering for you, Hughie, Who put the flowers out in January? Is there a friend with long memory? A girl who dreams? Did you visit?
Or send a letter to Londo 50 years later, after Korea, after finding each other: There was a silence at midnight. Cold leaped in pieces like slate falling. Feathers coming loose. Burned bread tossed three days early is sought. Find the jam in cans. Look in the sump holes. Find the raspberry. The sour strawberry. Find jam and old bread harsh as leather. No milk here. No mother's milk. No sour cream on a bet. No cow's cud. No cow. Just cold. Cold smooth as slates. Cold gray as slate. Cold in thin sheaves, like knives in the wind, or emptiness or worn sleeves. Remember the rain we had. Just days earlier. How warm it was, cleansed us down to our toes, inside out, newness. Remember the rain. How warm it was. In puddles it shone your face. Showed you, me, in pieces. But warm. How warm it was. How mild. The grass in mountain grips shone. Now it flares cold with light. Draws attention to itself. Freezes. Tells us it freezes. Says don't hold on to us. The mountain talks back. If you listen, you hear me, it, us, and the cold. Tells us it also is cold. Leans inward. Wants the rain more than we do. And knows better, all its storms cashed in.
I think of you in Las Vegas now, the wind across a desert raw as lonely can be, both of us wondering where Jack Slack was hanging his hat all this time, fording him at last at Fort Bliss National Cemetery, Section PG, retired as M/Sgt. John. R. Slack, fifteen years hidden from our grasp.
Then, think with me in the first week of October, 2006, after my son was married, my wife and I spent a day and a half with Chuck Rumfola in Avon, NY, not having seen him since February of 1952. I said hello for all of you, to this other brother of ours, and he said it back to all of you not forgotten here, never forgotten.
Tom Sheehan
Letter 210 - Written By:
Debbe (Purdy) Petro
Mt. Pleasant
MI
SFC Kenneth E. Wood, 16305766
Battery A 15th Field Artillery Battalion
2nd Infantry Division
Dear Uncle Tim:
Even though I was just a baby when you left for Korea and I don't remember you in person, you have always been in my thoughts!
I remember when mom got the phone call that you were missing....she started crying so hard that I started to cry also....I was only 2 years old at the time but I remember that like it was yesterday!!!
I want you to know that I have 2 terrific sons, Ryan and Eric. I know you would have loved them from the stories I've been told about you. I also have a beautiful black cat that looks so much like Cinders. Grandma really spoiled that cat after you left home and especially after you went missing!
I have a great job at Central Michigan University and I just bought a house about a year ago. Needless to say, I'm finding lots of things that need to be done to it. It's a good thing the boys are handy when' it comes to this kind of thing.
I want you to know that I will never stop searching for you!!! I am on the Board of Directors for Korea/Cold War Families of the Missing and we will never let the memories of you and all the others be forgotten!
I love you!
Your niece,
Debbie
Letter 211 - Written By:
Lynn Gunderson (Maiden)
Eau Claire
WI
To: Corporal Raymond B. Gunderson
Co. G, 2nd Battalion, 7th Cavalry Reg., 1st Calvary Div.
Dear Ray:
I know you remember me as your little sister. I never got the chance to really know you and my memories of you are very vague, but I do know that you are my brother and I love you and I will always honor you for what you sacrificed in the name of freedom.
Mom never forgot you, or for one minute stopped missing and loving you. Her heart ached when she watched you go to war and her pain must have been unbearable when she finally got word of your capture. She kept your pictures close and your memories even closer.
We miss you. We miss the life and happiness you might have had. We miss the time we could have spent with you. We miss your smile and your laugh, your hugs and kisses.
Mom and Dad are both gone, so it is only me left. I have 2 daughters and 2 grandchildren - a boy and a girl. Ray, you would love them. Brian likes football, and outdoors. I took him on his first deer hunt last year and he shot his first deer. It was very special. Jess is very girly - not like me at all!! Aunty Mert talks about you a lot. She says you were a great kid!!! She is the only one left in Mom's family and still feisty as ever even tho she is almost 90!! I'm outdoorsy too!! I take after Nick - he taught me a lot about hunting, fishing, and appreciating God's creation. I have a motorcycle and 6 dogs!! I'm very happy. I live up in northern Wisconsin about 3 hours from where Nick grew up. It's nice up here.
Ray, I will never forget you and I will keep your memory alive to my family. I pray for the day you return home. God Bless you my brother.
I love you.
Lynn
Letter 212 - Written By:
George S. Banks, Captain USMCR Retired
Port St. Lucie
FL
First Lieutenant Roger B. Beem, 054249
C Company, 1st Battalion, 7th Marine Regiment, 1st Marine Division.
Killed in action, December 18, 1953
Dear Roger,
I have thought of you on most of the Memorial Days of the past 52 years. I have thought of Bissell, Babson and Benjamin who also gave their lives over there but mostly of you.
That date, December, 1953 bothers me as we were all released to the Reserve in March of that year. So you, you old rogue, must have "signed over" and while the rest of us were preparing for the first Christmas in three years as civilians with our families and not the least, our best girls, you were out there on those barren, frigid hills and never saw Christmas of '53.
We were a strange pair in Basic Officers School. Me, the Eastern city boy with a lot of sophistication and you, the Midwest sort of 'farm boy' from small town, Tiffin, Ohio, uncomplicated, even naive. But that was the beauty of your character.
Remember those days at Quantico, charging through the woods and fields on our assignments of how to outwit the enemy? Me, the athlete was almost embarrassed at your clumsiness. Why the enemy could hear you at 75 yards!
Then, came the day near the end of training when we were to choose where we would like to serve and in what capacity (infantry, artillery, etc.). We knew through the grapevine that though the Corps would try to grant our preferences, only one combination of choice was guaranteed absolutely: Infantry and to Korea.
I was upset when you chose this. I could not say, "But Roger, you are a klutz, a clod". I was prepared to go the same route but I was not going ask for it. Rather, I would trust in Fate to determine my destiny.
You were this pure spirit, rare to find in life. You had the
single-minded belief that devotion to your country demanded that you give it your all.
Well, dear friend, these words have waited in me for many years. That fine platoon leader who you were had nothing to do with agility of feet but all to do with heart and devotion to duty, honor and country which you had in abundance. A better man than I.
Farewell,
Roger Beem
Letter 213 - Written By:
Gail (Bittner) Burroughs
Buffalo
NY
In Loving Memory of: Richard Daniel Keller
160th Infantry Regiment 40 Infantry Division
PVT-E2 U.S. Army
Date of Loss October 28, 1952
Dear Uncle Richard,
I remember the last time I saw you as if it were only yesterday. It was the summer of 1952 and I was a child of five sitting on your lap in our kitchen on Dearborn Street. You looked so handsome in your Army khaki's. I remember my mother, your sister, asking if you had to go. I looked at your face then and saw you smile a bit and nod your head yes. That was the last time we saw you.
But, I know you have never been far from me. There have been occurrences in my life which I know you helped me get through. When I'm driving along in my car, I feel you near me, especially when something unforeseen or scary happens. You were the stockcar racer who could handle a vehicle better than anyone! I really believe you've saved me from more than a few wrecks. Thank you!
Today your Military picture sits on my bedside table. When I look at it I can't help but smile and be grateful to you for your love and guidance, and for the great sacrifice you made for our country and our freedom. God bless you and all our Military men and women.
Your loving niece,
Gail (Bittner) Burroughs
Letter 214 - Written By:
Ronald G. Oniszczak
Oscoda
MI
PRIVATE E-2 JOHN S. ONISZCZAK - US51127691
October 28, 2006
He was my uncle John and my only memory of him was seeing him in his coffin, finely dressed in his Army uniform, in my grandparent's home when I was five years old. As a matter of fact, this past October 26th was fifty-four years since he was killed in Korea. At that time, at that age, I had no idea of the hero that was lying before me. It was not until many years later that I realized that this man, this soldier, my uncle John, had gone off to a foreign land to protect a people he had only heard about and defend a democracy and a freedom he truly believed in.
Over the years I remember visiting his grave often on a Sunday after church, on his birth date, holidays, and most importantly, on the anniversary of his sacrifice.
I have heard my family talk about Uncle John many times as I was growing up but not having personally known him I found it hard to fully comprehend what a good person he was.
I am much older now, married, and both my sons are grown and on their own. I have spent twenty years as an officer in the New York Army National Guard and through those years in the Guard, somehow my uncle John always came to my mind when I needed council or when I had to make a decision that affected my unit and my men.
I still think of him often and actually miss my hero uncle whom I never knew.
Ronald G. Oniszczak
Letter 215 - Written By:
Katherine Laura Flanagin Mercure
Tecumseh
NE
Cpl. Frank Joseph Gilbert, USMC
D Company, 1st Engineer Battalion, 1st Marine Division
KIA April 1, 1952
Dear Uncle "Toots",
My Mom always called you Toots but your given name was Frank Joseph Gilbert. You were born on July 27, 1930 and you died in Korea on April 14, 1952 just one month before I was born. I never even got to meet you, but my mom talked about you all the time. You were one of ten children born to Edward and Katherine Gilbert in New Orleans, Louisiana. My mom said each of the older ones had to help raise one of the younger ones. And you were hers. Therefore, I am sure that I would have loved you very much if I could have met you.
Mom died in August of 1991 so I don't get to hear her stories of your life anymore. I know it always made her sad around the date of your death and I often wonder if the two of you aren't together now in heaven telling stories about growing up in a loud and noisy Italian family. In 1983, my husband and I adopted a little girl from Korea. Her name was Shin, Mee Hyun and she was 2 years old when she came. In 1985 we adopted another little girl from Korea and she was named Kim, Hyun Jung. She was 5 years old when she came. I wondered sometimes why Mom struggled to be close to the girls. I suppose for her it was hard to accept that they were not the ones who were not the enemy. For me it was exactly the opposite. They were the link between you and the place you died. I guess I will never know as she took her feelings with her to the grave.
Shockingly, Megan, or Mee Hyun as she was called, grew up and joined the United States Marines, just like you. She served her adopted country proud and I know you would have been so proud of her too. I think she would have liked you very much as well. I grew up to become an 8th grade Social Studies teacher in Nebraska and sometimes I wonder why young people today don't understand patriotism and love of country. Perhaps it is because they have not had to sacrifice the ultimate and that is their own life or the life of someone they love. Freedom was given to them. But as it says on the memorial, Freedom is not Free. Thank you for giving your life for my freedom and the freedom of the people of South Korea.
I love you and miss you.
Your niece,
Katherine Laura Flanagin Mercure
Letter 216 - Written By:
Wallace David Dub Shrader
Shelbyville
IN
Letters to the Lost - Korea
My Brother, Louis C. Shrader, was drafted into the army at 20 years old. He was a senior at Waldron High School, in Shelby County, Indiana. He had missed most of 2 years of school at an early age due to sicknesses. "L.C." was sent to Michigan for training and then to Hawaii for more training. He was then sent to Korea and was wounded and sent to the back lines. When he recuperated, he was then sent back to the front lines where he was killed in action on October 15, 1952 while trying to save his company who were all but a few men killed that day, when they were overrun by the enemy.
L.C. was sent back to Indiana and buried in Hope, Indiana (Bartholomew County) in February of 1953.
My Mother and Dad, (L.C.'s parents) are gone now, so they no longer have to cry each time they remember him. I have had a good life so far, and I am thankful for that, but the tears still fall when I think of my brother. I hugged him and said goodbye in October 1951, and never saw him again.
He was my Hero in life, and still is my Hero in death.
Dub
Letter 217 - Written By:
Santos Gonzales
Lexington
TX
November 05, 2006
Dear Brother Domingo,
How I wish that I could be talking to you in person instead of writing this letter. I still remember vividly the last time I saw you. Dad and I took you to Paige, Texas to catch the bus to San Antonio to enlist in the Army. You was wearing a little hat, your thick glasses as usual, and a green long coat that you owned that tied up and down the front with tie clips.
I was 14 years old when the Lord took you away. I always think and pray for you on your death's anniversaries. I am now 69 years old and I still dream about you often. One thing I always wish you could have heard was the admiration that people around Paige had for you for the dedication and braveness you had while serving our country, especially the veterans. I would hear them talking to dad about you. Your family that you left here have always been proud of your accomplishments while serving in the military in Korea.
Your Brother,
Santos Gonzales
Letter 218 - Written By:
Miriam Madsen
Stillwater
MN
November 2, 2006
I am writing this to my brother Sfc. Rollyn E. Palm SNNG27342645. He was killed in action on October 9, 1951 in the vicinity of Kumgong Ni, Korea.
Dear Rolly,
I can't believe it has been 55 years since I've written you. I do hope you got all of our letters and packages. I still have all of your letters you wrote to the folks. In your last letter written Oct. 6, 1951 you had sent the folks $100.00. We kept praying for your safe return. We were all heartbroken when that didn't happen; we loved you so much. You were buried on February 13, 1952 with full military honors at our cemetery in Marine (now next to mom and dad). I visit you often and have a little chat with you. The flag will always be there.
We all tried so hard to make a life after you were gone. Dad got back with his Boy Scouts. He was President of the Historical Society for many years. He wrote a book "Lumberjack Days in the St. Croix Valley." You would have loved that book. He died in 1970. Mom wore her Gold Star pin everyday. She eventually got back to her groups and causes. She was state Chaplain of the Gold Star Mothers for many years. She lived to be 92.
Mom and Dad sold the big house to move into a smaller one. Remember the acorn you planted? That grew into a little Oak tree. Mom and Dad moved the tree to their new home. It has grown into a BIG Oak tree-a living symbol of your life. Would you believe they had raspberries there too?
We had a son and named him Mark Rollyn (he's very proud of his namesake) born in 1953 and we also had a daughter, Maren Marie (after mom) born in 1957. Mark is a supervisor at Andersen Corporation and Maren is a nurse. We have 5 grandchildren and they are all in college.
Oh, your best buddy, Bob Peterson, lives 5 blocks from us. He is my link to you. He recalls all the great times you two had together. You were so much fun.
Sister Harriett and Spad (FBI) were transferred to Montana in 1970. They have 3 children.
Don retired from Andersen Corporation and I retired from nursing in 1987. I became active in Veteran's causes. A Veterans Memorial was built here in 2003. Your name is on the Wall of Honor and your paver has a gold star on it. In 1970 a new Armory was built in Winona (your college town). They dedicated the drill hall in your name, Palm Hall. Your name is also on the wall at Soldiers Field Memorial in Rochester, the Korean War Memorial in Washington D.C. and St. Paul, a Washington County Memorial plaque at the Court House and on the plaque at the Senior High School naming you as a Distinguished Alumnus.
You know Rolly, you deserve all these honors, but most of all you are remembered in our hearts. You will never be forgotten. I will miss you always.
And, now as your Oak Tree reaches toward heaven, I think you know all these things.
With love forever,
Toots
P.S. You gave me that nickname and it stuck!
Letter 219 - Written By:
Phillip R. Koch
Kerrville
TX
A Letter to Lost Korean War Veterans
PFC Kermit Karl Koch
Kermit, much time has passed since we last saw each other but be assured that you have been in our thoughts and prayers since you and I had a brother to brother going away party. We were together at Seipps Dance Hall in my old 1935 Pontiac that did not run too well and the weather was really cold. Do you remember as we tried to leave, some of my friends had crossed all of sparkplugs and we were having a hard time keeping the car running? When I got to the low crossing I had to get out and check the plugs and with good luck I got them back on correctly.
After you left for Japan and I graduated from high school I worked for Peterman's' Sinclair Service Station for almost a year and then joined the Air Force. I guess the Koch boys pretty well had all the service stations covered for several years. You worked at the Texaco, Henry at the Humble and then me at Sinclair. All right together on main street.
Anyhow, after joining the Air Force I took basic training at Sheppard Air Force Base in Wichita Falls, TX. It was there that I met Margie Holland's husband who was a First Sergeant and he pulled some strings and got me out of going to a Cook School and put to work in his office. That was the beginning of nothing other than good luck while I was in the Air Force. After they closed the basic training at Sheppard AFB I was lucky to get an assignment to Lackland AFB, TX to work in the personnel office of Officer Candidate School. After over five years I was sent to Osan, AB Korea for a year. I then went to Sheppard AFB, TX and after a year working in a personnel office I went off to become an Air Force Recruiter in Alice, TX. Then I had duty in Alabama, Texas, Hawaii and then off to my final assignment at Tucson AFB in Arizona. I was lucky to make Chief Master Sergeant after twenty one years and then retired after just over twenty two years. I went back to work for your other brothers, Robert and Henry as a salesman..
In 1952 I met the most wonderful woman (you will love her also) and we got married in 1954 and she gave me three children, two boys and one girl. The oldest boy is married and has two children while the daughter is also married with two children. Both have one boy and one girl. The daughter of the oldest boy has two children. His son also has three children. They live in East Texas so we don't see much of them. Our youngest son is a retired Navy Senior Chief Petty Officer and living in San Antonio, TX in his new home.
Kermit, we have so much to talk about that I think you would be interested in but I better close and give some of the others to have their letters read.
God Bless,
Your Brother,
Philllip, Margaret and Family
Letter 220 - Written By:
Sharon Shurts Murphy
Henry
IL
Corporal William Shurts
F Company 5th Marine Regiment Ist Marine Division
11/06/06
Dear Uncle Billy Shurts,
I remember when you joined the Marines and were leaving for your training and then to Korea. I was around 6 years old. My father is your oldest brother, Duane, who was in the Marine Raiders in WWII. At the time I had 3 younger sisters. Grandpa Shurts brought you over to say goodbye to us. You gave each of us little girls a silver dollar. Mother saved those and we each have our silver dollar to this day. Our family eventually included 2 brothers (one is named after you) and 1 more sister.
I always thought of you as such a hero. Such wonderful things were written about you as far away as the Chicago Tribune. You were called the "singing marine" always telling your squad about Jesus, salvation and singing hymns with them even on the front line. I know you wanted to go into the ministry when you returned home but that was not to be. The paper said Corporal William Shurts, 21, of F Company of the 5th Marine Regiment, was hit by a sniper's bullet on a Korean hill on Dec. 13, 1951 and died the next day in a field hospital. I wanted you to know that you are thought of so often and I feel sad that I was not able to know you better. I know that God must have wanted such a wonderful person to be with him in Heaven.
On this Veteran's Day, 11/11/06, I wanted you to know how much your brothers, sisters, relatives, friends, comrades, and a grown woman who, when remembering you, becomes that little 6 year-old girl in a small town in Illinois, miss you always. Thank you for being so brave to go to war to protect our country and us. I love and miss you Uncle Billy,
Love,
Sharon
Letter 221 - Written By:
Kathy and Patricia Bentley
Rahway
NJ
November 6, 2006
Dear Uncle Francis,
Our names are Patricia and Kathleen Bentley. We are your nieces, born to your brother, Alfred and his wife, Patricia. Our parents have been married for 48 years and live in a wonderful home in Rahway, New Jersey. It is a two story house that has been shared with our family and your brother, Eddie, and your Mother.
Let me introduce you to my sister, Patty Ann, as she has been nicknamed. Patty Ann was born on April 10 and will be 46 on her next birthday. Patty is a physical therapist and works at a school for children with special needs in South Jersey, which is where she lives. She is also a youth minister at her church and organizes numerous service projects and activities that center around faith. In her spare time, Patty does early intervention work with infants and toddlers. Patty has such a special passion and talent for working with children who have special needs.
Now, it's my turn to introduce you to my sister, Kathy, which is what she prefers to be called. She was born on March 1 and will be 32 on her next birthday. Kathy is a fourth grade teacher in Rahway. She has taught both the third and fourth grades for ten years at a local elementary school. She loves her job and is currently going back for her Master's Degree in Educational Leadership. She will be earning her Master's Degree in just a few short months.
We do a lot as a family, like go on vacations to Wildwood and spend every holiday together. To look at our house, you would see many photographs of different happy memories.
We enjoy hearing our Dad talk about you and how he was so proud of you and all that you did, that it gave him the courage when he was drafted in the Army to willingly go to Korea to fight in the Korean War as well. We are honored to take some time to remember you today and think of all that you and many other veterans did to help not only our country, but others too, to maintain freedom.
Until we have a chance to meet in person,
Your loving nieces,
Patricia Bentley and Kathleen Bentley
Letter 222 - Written By:
Sandra Strong
Lynwood
IL
Sgt. Cresenciano Chano Garcia, US Army
POW - Dec. 1, 1950 - Camp 5
June 18, 1931 Feb. 28, 1951
Uncle Chano,
I'd like to introduce myself to you, I am the youngest of 5 children from your sister Carmen. Though I was not born when you went missing and never had the opportunity to meet you I'd like you to know that you have many family members who love and pray for you often. Our family has grown so much, you'd be proud of all their accomplishments. I'm married and have two sons. Bradley is 21 and attends the University of Iowa. My youngest son Eric is 18 and attends Purdue University. You'd be amazed at how much Eric resembles you. It is due to this resemblance that I've come to try to get a better understanding of what happened to you.
I've read so many articles pertaining to the Korean War and how you all suffered. You were at such a tender young age of 18 to have suffered such a terrible fate. Your mother, father, and sisters suffered many years of torture not knowing whether you were alive or dead. In seeing your photo and the resemblance to my son....it hit home hard. It gave me an opportunity to feel the pain I know my grandmother endured for many, many, years.
Your sisters Carmen and Emma would love to have some type of closure. I'm working on giving them whatever information I can find. I attended for the first time this year the Government Briefings on the Korean War. At this time we do not know where you are or if we'll ever get to bring you home. We've submitted DNA samples to see if we can possibly get a match on remains that have been recovered. It is with love and determination that we will get some closure. No matter where you are, our love is there with you and will never leave.
In your honor on Veterans Day, several family members are getting together for dinner at my house. We will pray for you to be returned to us one day. No greater gift can a man give than his life for his country and family. I pray that God will bless every Veteran everywhere in the world who has served for the freedom of others. You gave the ultimate price that will never be forgotten.
With all my love,
Your niece,
Sandy Strong
Letter 223 - Written By:
Suzanne Steinbach
Sudbury
MA
Captain John H. Fields
Dear Daddy,
On May 18 this year, it was 55 years since you were killed, but my mother and I still think of you every day. You left with the Second Division a couple of months after my birth and died 5 days before my first birthday. We cherish the snapshots of you holding your firstborn infant daughter at her baptism and, later, in the garden on a sunny day, just as we treasure the formal photograph of you in uniform. That photo was always on proud display in my childhood room.
After your death, I lost my mother to depression for a time, but my grandparents loved, sheltered, and supported us both. My mother returned to college, her hair completely silver by then, and graduated with a teaching credential. She taught school until retiring to care for my children as her parents had cared for me. You would not be surprised to hear that she was a wonderfully dedicated and enthusiastic classroom teacher. The most important lessons she taught, though, were those she imparted to me about your character and life.
When I was very little, my mother must have told me that you were in heaven with Jesus, since this is a conviction that has always been part of my consciousness. My mother knew that when I entered school, there would be a form for each child to complete with parent contact information. She instructed me to write your name: "Captain John H. Fields", and to enter for your occupation"deceased. KIA, Korea". I remember that my mother told me not to tell other children about your death because it might sadden them. It certainly made me sad. I remember seeing newsreel footage of the Hungarian uprising on TV in the 50's and suddenly at that moment beginning to appreciate the horrors of war. I sobbed and fled the room.
And I fantasized. I loved the children's book The Little Princess, about a girl whose father was killed in a foreign war. I liked even better the movie version with a happy ending the father wasn't killed after all, just wounded with amnesia, and later discovered in a military hospital ward.
Longing for a father didn't bring you back, though my mother surrounded me with memories of you, and these guided me day by day. From the earliest moment that it would have had any meaning for me, my mother shared with me that you were a good student and graduated from an excellent collegeso I would follow in that path. With gifts of intellect from both my parents, I succeeded academically and became a pediatrician. This calling seemed to best combine intellectual challenge and the potential to fulfill the obligation to humanity that my upbringing and your example encouraged. My mom said that you aspired to teach at a small college, and I now teach and provide medical care at an academic hospital, the safety net institution for its surrounding community.
Mom has told me so many stories that illustrate your great sense of humor and generosity, your love of travel and poetry, and your Christian faith. With passing years, I have thought about you and the tragedy of your death even more. The memories that my mother has shared will always be alive for me. Your inspiration will always be with me, but I would so much rather have your living presence in our family today, and all the tens of thousands of days that have passed since 1951, and into the years to come.
I will never forget you.
Love, your daughter,
Suzanne
Letter 224 - Written By:
Suzanne and Elizabeth Steinbach
Sudbury
MA
Captain John H. Fields
Dear Grandpa,
When I think of my grandfather, I think of a suitcase full of letters. It's a battered old suitcase lying deep in my mother's closet. Behind the skirts and blouses, and underneath a pile of shoes, it is tenderly hidden away from prying eyes. As a little girl with a curious spirit, I dug the suitcase out of its hiding place and discovered a treasure-trove of memories.
My grandmother saved all of your letters. I read them with hopeless abandon, fearing I would be discovered at any moment. I savored the handwriting - illegible at times to a little girl's eye - and the wrinkled, faded pages, sometimes smudged by rainstorms I could hardly imagine.
A little girl's imagination, however, grasps easily the hopes you and my grandmother shared for a life and family together. You spoke of refrigerators on sale at Sears and toys, Christmas presents, for a little girl much like myself. My mother, nearly one year old when she lost you, is now a woman with no direct memory of you. Though your eyes met only briefly, I know she loves you as any daughter would. Your love has served as a guiding hand through her life, and she feels it to this day.
My grandmother, too, holds on to your memory. She is now an eighty-five-year-old widow with no desire to remove her fine gold wedding band. My grandmother was concerned when I met a boy while teaching English in Japan. "Remember the boy you met in Korea?" I replied. "It's just the same, isn't it?" My grandmother looked down into her folded hands. I instantly lost her to memories of the handsome officer she met overseas. You and your Korean friend visited a jade bazaar in search of a jade engagement ring for her. Now, as I contemplate engagement and marriage, my grandmother reminds me, "They didn't have diamonds in Korea then, you know." It doesn't matter, anyway; all I want for an engagement ring is jade. If my marriage is filled with enduring love like my grandmother's, I will be content. On my wedding day, she (and I, too) will remember you, and wish you could be there, as we wish you could have shared every day with us, year after year.
Love, your granddaughter,
Elizabeth
Letter 225 - Written By:
Priscilla Lynch
Grove City
PA
Sergeant Owen Joseph Cameron 31484267.
I wrote that number so many times writing letters to you in Korea it is embedded in my brain. We met on New Years Eve saying good-bye to 1947. So many years ago. We had such happy times together walking hand in hand around my college campus and around the streets of Boston falling in love and planning our life together when we got married. And then you went off to war. I kept on planning and it never entered my head that you would not come home to me.
You wrote me a letter just before you were taken prisoner by the Chinese in December of 1950. And I still have that letter where you said you would always be there for me and always take care of me. You died in a Chinese prisoner of war camp in June of 1951, the month you were supposed to come home and marry me but you have kept your promise and have always taken care of me as my guardian angel. I have felt you here beside me so many times through the years keeping me alive and guiding me through life's snags and pit falls.
I married a Marine in 1955 and we had four daughters. Our first grandson was named Cameron. I think you know that.
You will always be remembered and always be loved and I will feel your presence near me forever.
Priscilla
Home Page Letters To The Lost
(1 - 24) (25 - 49) (50 - 74) (75 - 99) (100 - 124) (125 - 149) (150 - 174)
(175 - 199) (200 - 224) (225 - 249)
