He’s Waiting For Medals, At 77

As far as the U.S. Army is concerned, John Morrison barely exists.

He seems real enough, especially when his voice cracks with impatience and his hands shake with frustration.

“I’ve gotten some of the dumbest correspondence,” he says, flicking his head toward a brick-sized stack of opened envelopes.

Every letter in the bunch addresses John’s quest to recover medals he earned during World War II and the Korean War. He lost eight of his medals in a nasty divorce 30 years ago and never received at least two he says he deserves.

“They’re just waiting for me to die so they don’t have to put up with me anymore,” he grumbles.

John was a 19-year-old Kentuckian when he joined the Army in 1939.

His first assignments took him to South America and into the Pacific.

By 1944, he was part of the 738th Tank Battalion in Belgium for the brutal Battle of the Bulge.

John continued to fight in Belgium in the winter of 1945 until a bomb blast blew him through a brick building and lodged pieces of the bomb in his groin.

A medic drove him by Jeep to the nearest hospital, but it was a pile of rubble by the time they arrived. John says the medic poured a sulfa powder on his wound, bandaged it and took him back to the battle.

By spring, John had five years of active duty behind him and enough seniority to go home. His uniform was covered with medals - Belgium’s Fourragere epaulet and others on his chest for good conduct and various campaigns.

His company commander gave him his orders and service records and sent him to Paris.

The shoulder bag in which John carried his paperwork was stolen his first day in Paris, after John hung it on his bunk while he showered.

“I reported it and they said it was pretty common. People stole orders so they could go home,” he says.

The Red Cross got him new orders and found him a transport home. He knocked on his mother’s door that July and nearly gave her a heart attack.

Six months earlier, the Army had sent her a silk red-and-white flag with a single blue star in its center and a letter announcing his death in the Battle of the Bulge.

John joined the reserves, mistakenly thinking he had to after Army service, went to chiropractic school and opened his own business. In 1950, his reserve unit was ordered to train for Korea, then sent to the Far East where he fought with the 40th Artillery Brigade until 1952.

He resigned after his return and settled into civilian life. He wanted the Purple Heart he believed he’d earned in Belgium and service medals from his Korean tour, but was so sick of the Army that he didn’t pursue the matter until 1970.

By that time, all his medals had disappeared. A bitter divorce in 1967 cleaned John out. With hopes of replacing his medals, he asked the Army to send him a copy of his records. The Army didn’t respond.

The American Legion contacted the Army for John a few years later and was told his records had burned. His papers were in the National Personnel Record Center in St. Louis. Fire scorched the top two floors of the building in 1973.

John heard nothing more until 1975 when he received in the mail a package with replacements for six of his medals. No explanation was enclosed, but the box came from the Department of the Army.

John figured he was still short four medals plus his Purple Heart. So he continued writing, this time to his congressional representatives.

The Army wanted proof he deserved a Purple Heart. John had only his scar.

“They wanted photos of the people working on my injury,” he says, completely disgusted. “I thought, ‘My God, I forgot to take my camera into battle.”’

An accident in 1978 escalated John’s efforts to collect his military honors. He fell off an oil tank in St. Maries and broke his back and all the ribs on his right side. Doctors said he’d never walk again, but his wife, Cathy, patiently got him back on his feet.

Still, he never regained complete health. Since 1980, he’s had 13 heart attacks, a triple heart bypass and a stroke. In the same period, he’s written dozens of letters to recoup his medals for his family, and gotten nowhere.

Until last week. The U.S. Army Reserve Personnel Center in St. Louis found a few of John’s records. Some are singed, says Andrea Wales in the center’s public affairs office.

The records prompted the Soldier and Family Support Inquiry Section to mail John a form Wednesday. He’s supposed to fill in information and attach proof to help the Army reconstruct his record.

That form will go the Army Board for Correction of Military Records.

John, who’s 77, just sighs and gazes at a picture of himself in a uniform covered with the medals he’s earned. After all his correspondence, no one mentioned anything about his medals.

“It’s unbelievable the amount of energy this has taken,” he says.

“He’s done so much for this country,” says Cathy. “I’m not letting him go until he gets what he’s earned.”

, DataTimes ILLUSTRATION: Photo