The Most Wonderful Christmas

 

On December 5, about halfway out of the Chosin Reservoir, the war ended for me. When I regained consciousness, I found myself draped over the hood of a Jeep. I knew that meant I had been wounded and not killed because trucks were for our dead comrades. Unaware of what had happened to me, I was dropped off at an aid station.

The corpsman examined me, put a tag on me and moved me out to be air evacuated, along with many others in an old DC-3. We landed at an Air Force hospital in Itazuke, Japan. Time seemed to stand still from then on as I began a flight that would take me halfway around the world. There were hospital stays in Tokyo, Wake Island, Hawaii, Oakland, San Antonio and then my last stop - the Naval Hospital, in my home town of Philadelphia. 

We arrived about 10 PM. I was taken into the hospital and was greeted by many shouts of, "Merry Christmas!". That's when I finally realized that it was Christmas Eve! December 24, 1950. Somehow, I had made it home for Christmas, after all - a true miracle. I was alive, I would heal and I was home. 

My Mom had been praying so hard for me. I had the most valuable gift for both of us - my dog tags.