In Passing

There are no replacement souls. When someone moves on, their footprints fade with time -- and they leave our memories stuffed with keepsake images like a closet full of colorful quilts.

Yesterday, an extraordinary person died. His name was Valdor John. In the last three years, my writing partner, Pat Avery, and I spent a lot of time with Valdor in our heads. We interviewed him, researched him, wrote about him ... enjoyed his rich sense of humor and admired his generous character.

Yet Valdor had a dark history. He was already a soldier when the Korean War broke out in 1950. His unit was one of the first groups sent to slow the North Korean advance into South Korea. Within a few weeks, the invaders captured him during the Battle of Taejon. Together with close to 400 other prisoners, he marched to Seoul. "I had a broken leg on the entire march between Taejon and Seoul," he said.

Because he was an Oneida Indian, the communist interrogators singled him out for special treatment. They asked him all kinds of political questions. He told them, "I'm a kid. I don't know about all of that stuff."

They broke the arches in his feet. They pulled out his fingernails. "The first one was horrible," he said. "With each finger, I found myself becoming more and more numb." They dunked him in water and hung him from his wrists until his shoulder joints were dislocated. Frightened and angry, Valdor lived to spite his tormentors.

When the Marines came ashore at Inchon and headed toward Seoul, the North Korean guards hustled the prisoners out the door and marched them day and night -- barely clothed, barefoot, hungry, bearing maggot-filled wounds -- to Pyongyang. Valdor said, "I drank for years to escape the guilt of stealing food from a dead comrade." By this point, the men were dying by the dozens -- but Valdor lived on.

They weren't in Pyongyang but a few days. As American troops advanced, the North Koreans loaded the sick and dying POWs onto a train. After several days, the train pulled into a tunnel. The guards took them out in groups of twenty or thirty -- and shot them. The men all around Valdor died. He lay in the brush through the long, cold night -- with the bodies of his friends nearby -- wounded, but still alive.

Valdor said, "I was unconscious for quite awhile. I guess it was the next day when I came to. I heard someone speaking English...I yelled and they yelled back."

Several Koreans from the area had reported the shooting near the tunnel the previous evening. Brigadier Frank A. Allen, Jr. of the 1st Calvary, several ROK groups and a couple of reporters went looking for the POWs -- fearing the worst, but hoping for the best.

Wounded in his arms, legs, ribs, stomach and back, Valdor struggled to his feet and staggered toward his rescuers. General Allen rushed toward him and put his own coat around Valdor's shoulders. Valdor sobbed that he was too dirty and lousy to wear it. General Allen answered that he was promoting Valdor to a one star general for the day.

Valdor was overwhelmed by the general's kindness. It took a moment for him to compose himself and point to the piles of bodies in the fields near the tunnel.

After months of treatment in a hospital back in the states, Valdor could have gone home. Yet he stayed in the Army. "It was my job," he said simply. Ultimately, he went back to Korea and he also fought in Vietnam.

Valdor chose life even when living was hard. He dealt with PTSD back when it didn't have a name. He fought alcoholism. He struggled with ill health -- the result of wars already fought, drinks already drunk, and cigarettes already smoked. He let people down, but living people grow. He found the love of his life late and they took care of each other until Tuesday morning when he had no choice but to leave her behind.

The last time I saw Valdor was Veterans' Week in Branson, 2007, when Pat and I launched our book called "Sunchon Tunnel Massacre Survivors." Gracious with his waning time and energy, he sat with his fellow survivors, autographing books for hundreds of lucky buyers.

At the end of the week, Valdor, who was no longer able to walk, participated in the Veterans' Day Parade on his electric scooter. Crowds of well-wishers lined the streets. Then, a small boy ran up to Valdor and presented him with an American Flag.

Valdor's smile was broad and white -- and alive. It's an image that lingers like fingerprints on a silver vase -- the old soldier and the young boy sharing a moment.

Despite the fact that I didn't see him often ... I miss him, already. Godspeed, Valdor. Our love and respect go with you as you embark on your next mission.