OneMansCourage

Just before Father's Day 1999, Ed was on his way to New Jersey to be
with his dad for the first time in almost forty years.

Jenny, the sister Ed never knew he had, waited anxiously at Newark
Airport for her brother. In the crowd, she spotted Ed and nervously
approached him.

"Ed?" Jenny asked with confidence.

"You must be my baby sister, Jenny," Ed said with a smile.

While hugging, Jenny told her brother, "I knew it was you the minute
I saw you. It was like seeing Pop twenty years younger."

After arriving in Hoboken, Jenny stopped her car along the curb on
Washington Street. Ed immediately recognized the elderly man sitting
on the bench in front of city hall.

Pointing, Ed said, "There he is. That's him. That's Pop." Then in a
whisper, Ed said, "I knew I'd recognize him."

Ed stood on the sidewalk staring at his dad for only a moment before
approaching him.

"Hey there, Pop. It's me, Eddie Don."

Tears immediately began flowing from the eyes of this frail, gentle
giant. His hands, callused and worn, began to tremble as he stood to
embrace his son.

Barely able to speak from the knot in his throat, Pop whispered, "I
never knew what happened to you kids, but I can tell you with all my
heart, Eddie, I never stopped loving all of you. I prayed every day,
Eddie that before I died, I'd see all of you again."

Donald wasted no time proudly introducing Ed to anyone and everyone
who made eye contact with this proud father. It was a tremendous
feeling for Ed to hear his dad introduce him once again as, Eddie
Don, my number one son.

Ed spent two weeks in Hoboken, and over that time, he and his dad
would sit for hours on the bench in front of city hall, talking and
trying to make sense of what happened so long ago. Donald did his
best to clear up conflicting stories Muriel told his sons that
perhaps made sense to them as children, but now made absolutely no
sense at all.

"Eddie? Did you ever receive the letters I sent?"

"When you first left and for a while after, I do remember getting
your letters, but then you stopped writing. That's when my mom told
me you had died, which made sense as to why I hadn't received any
more letters from you." It was only recently that Ed learned his
mother was throwing the letters in the trash.

Ed learned that every time Donald and Zoraida went to Miami to visit
some of Zoraida's family, especially in the seventies, Donald made a
concerted effort to find his boys, to no avail. He simply didn't
have the resources to find them, especially given the era and lack
of computer and electronic technology.

During these same two weeks, Donald gave Ed two treasured gifts. The
first was a personal scrapbook kept by Donald's mother, Minnie,
containing original Western Union telegrams and letters from the War
Department about Donald's World War II Prisoner of War experience,
personal letters and postcards that Donald sent home while in
Europe, newspaper clippings from local papers in South Dakota, and
personal pictures.

The second gift Donald gave Ed was a small black book titled, A
Child Prays, which happened to be what Donald called his childhood
Bible. Donald said that the little book went all through Europe with
him. "It's what saved my life, Eddie, and now, I want you to have
it."

Donald proudly showed Ed the medal he received at the Ex-Prisoner of
War Special Presentation Ceremony in 1988.

The following excerpt is from the brochure handed out at the
ceremony:

It is estimated that 142,000 United States
service members were held as Prisoners of War
while serving our great nation in the uniform of
the Armed Forces of the United States. This
number represents U.S. military participation in
World War I, World War II, the Korean War, and
the War in Vietnam.

In order to recognize the special contributions
of these unique veterans, the United States Army
Institute of Heraldry was tasked to create an
appropriate medal honoring our Prisoners of War.
Suggestions and designs were solicited from the
military, veterans, and private sectors. More
than three hundred separate proposals were
reviewed by a Joint Service Panel, which
selected, finally, the design by Mr. Jay C.
Morris, a civilian employee of the Department of
the Army.

The design is simple but moving. The medal
depicts an American eagle defiant and proud
surrounded by a ring of barbed wire representing
the confinement experienced by those held as
Prisoners of War. The ribbon is composed of a
broad band of black, bordered on both sides by
red, white, and blue stripes, symbolizing the
despair of captivity and the ideals of freedom
each of these men fought to preserve.

The public law authorizing the Prisoner of War
Medal specifies that the medal shall be accorded
a position of precedence in relation to other
awards and decorations, immediately following
decorations awarded for individual heroism,
meritorious achievement, or service.

If Ed were in Hoboken, every morning he and Pop had the same
routine. They crossed Washington Street and went to Carlo's Bakery.
This is the same Carlo's Bakery from the reality show, Cake Boss. Ed
always ordered a cheese danish and a coffee for himself. Pop would
order a soft roll with lots of butter and a coffee for himself and
always ordered a hard roll with butter and a coffee for Zoraida.
They then headed back across Washington Street to the bench.

The bench in front of city hall on Washington Street is where Pop
spent almost forty years and countless hours thinking about the
hardships and challenges he had faced throughout his life. There
were bouts with disease, deception and death that many times brought
him to his knees.

And it was this same bench that inadvertently became a refuge for
this father and son to talk about their lives and share their
military experiences.

After returning home from Hoboken, Ed proudly handed me A Child
Prays and gave me the history behind this special gift from his dad.

"Kat," he said, "the honor of this gift is something only a combat
vet would understand."

I didn't say it to Ed, but there was no doubt its significance was
one of courage, strength, dignity, sorrow, love, and healing.