Lessons from a Janitor

Life hadn't been easy for young Bill Crawford, but he had learned to cope.  Shortly after his birth on May 19, 1918, Bill's mother passed away.  His father, George Crawford, found it difficult to both work and raise his family, which included Bill's older brother and two sisters.   Caring relatives took them in and raised them through their teens.  Bill saw his father only occasionally, the elder Crawford working long hours to provide support where he could, and struggling to live beyond the grief that had torn his life apart at losing his wife.

The children did remarkably well, learning to mix recreation and responsibility.  Young Bill's first job was delivering groceries for a local neighborhood grocery store.  He also delivered newspapers for "The Pueblo Star-Journal", now "The Pueblo Chieftain".  For recreation, the slender but wiry youth began boxing.  He did remarkably well, boxing Golden Gloves and becoming a champion.  In school, he worked hard, graduating from Pueblo Central High School in 1936.

"Of course, I wasn't always a good kid," Bill would say with a micheievious twinkle in his eyes.  "I used to love to wait for the trolley car to stop to pick up passengers, then disable it while they were boarding, and watch the conductor's frustration when he couldn't get it moving again."  Bill would pause for a minute, then quickly add, "But you know...even when I pulled those teenage pranks, I never tried to hurt anyone...except in the boxing ring."

From time to time, one of the cadets would ask Mr. Crawford if he had ever boxed professionally.  "Naw," he would say.   "I probably could have, but the war (World War II) came along and interrupted my plans."  And that would be about all Bill would say about his war service.

The grizzled, old blacksmith from Pueblo, Colorado shifted his feet uncomfortably.  He felt out of place enough as it was, standing before a crowd of soldiers to face no less than a two-star general.  The date was May 11, 1944 and Mr. Crawford had been summoned to Camp Carson, Colorado for a special occasion.  It was not a happy occasion, but it was a ceremony the man who had already tasted grief far too often could not avoid.

"Your son was a hero," Major General Terry Allen said to the father that struggled to keep tears that formed in his eyes from falling across his cheeks.  Then, slowly the general began to read the official citation that detailed the heroism of George Crawford's son, Bill.

On September 13th, just nine months earlier, Private Bill Crawford had been serving his Nation as a member of the 36th Infantry Division in Italy.  He had landed with the unit at Salerno and moved inland as Allied Forces began the drive to liberate the European continent from the evil and deadly grip of the Nazi regime.  "On that September day," Major General Allen read, "Private Bill Crawford demonstrated the highest degree of valor...and sacrifice."

As his platoon had moved up a hillside, an enemy machine-gun nest began to rain death around Crawford's fellow soldiers.  It was a desperate situation, a crisis that demanded a man of character, and Private Bill Crawford was that man.  Without orders, he jumped to his feet and charged forward, ignoring the bullets that flew around him.  Moving up the hill, Private Crawford advanced to within a few yards of the enemy, threw a grenade into the pit from which they were firing at the American soldiers, and in so doing had saved his platoon.  Again the American forces could advance. 

The advance was short lived.  This time it was not one, but two, separate machine gun nests firing at them from both the left and the right.  And again, it was Private Crawford who stepped forward to save the platoon.  First he attacked to the left, destroying the gun that threatened his comrades.  Without pause, he shifted his attack to the right, knocking out the second enemy emplacement, then turning the captured machine-gun on the now routed and fleeing German soldiers.  Again the platoon advanced, and fought throughout the day.   Then, as darkness fell, the men of Crawford's 3d Platoon, Company I, 3d Battalion, 142d Infantry pulled into a defensive position for the night.  Those who were alive, marveled at the fact that they had survived the viscous fighting of the day.  All knew they were alive because of the heroism of Private Bill Crawford.  None could find the fearless soldier to thank him...Private Crawford was no longer among them...his body lying somewhere in the darkness on the field of battle.  Unable to otherwise express their thanks and admiration for the hero of the 3d platoon, the soldiers did the only action left to them, submitting their fallen hero for the Medal of Honor.

The posthumous award of the Medal of Honor to Private William John Crawford had been quickly approved, and Major General Allen presented the small star-shaped symbol of the highest degree of valor to a grieving father at the military post just 30 miles from young Bill's hometown of Pueblo, Colorado.  Slowly the elder Crawford stretched his work-hardened hands forward to graciously accept the award that, though prestigious, would never replace the son he had lost.   "Perhaps," George Crawford thought to himself, "I should have spent more time with Bill while I had the chance.  Now, that opportunity is lost forever."  As he turned away, no longer could the tears be restrained.  So he slowly walked away alone, hiding them in his solitude.

Half a world away, Private Bill Crawford tossed about on his straw-filled, burlap mattress in a futile attempt to find some comfort.  He was tired, he was sore, and he was embarrassed.  How had he let himself be captured?  How had he even survived that horrible battle at Altavilla, Italy nine months earlier?  Did his family even know he was alive?  Would he survive life in the German prisoner of war camp to ever return home?

Unable to find rest, he pulled from his pocket the small New Testament that his German guards had passed on to him from the Red Cross, and opened it.   He looked down and read the first verse to meet his gaze, Romans 8:31, "If God be for us, who can be against us."  Reading the Bible was a new practice for the young boxer from Pueblo, Colorado but that particular verse was his favorite and he had read it so many times, the worn little Testament seemed to open to that verse on its own accord.  In the words of that verse he found strength to face each new day.  He had fought his battles.  Now, as a prisoner, he needed someone stronger than himself to insure his future.  In a prisoner of war camp named Stalag 2b, Bill Crawford made his peace with God.  It was a step that became the focal point that guided the rest of his life.

Life in the camp was difficult, but not unbearable.  There were moments, like that day in the early spring of 1944 when a German guard had clubbed Private Crawford in the head with the butt of his rifle.   The former Gloves Boxer refused to take such unwarranted punishment.  In the middle of the compound, he ripped the rifle from the hands of his tormentor and rained a series of blows on him that rendered the German unconscious.  Crawford thought he would be severely punished, but the camp's German doctor noted the bruising from the unwarranted attack of the guard and testified in the young American's defense.   Amazingly, the German guard was punished and Crawford exonerated.  Even as the young man had always garnered the respect of his comrades, as a prisoner he also garnered the respect of his captors.

Two months after Private Crawford's Medal of Honor was presented to his father as a posthumous award, the family received news that the young hero was alive.  At about the same time, a telegram arrived at the prison camp informing Private Crawford of his unique and high award.  His treatment improved even more, the Germans themselves respecting his Medal of Honor award and recognizing him for the man of character he was.  But even this could not spare him the perils of the last months of the war.

In the winter of 1944, the Russian army was swiftly advancing into Germany on the eastern front, and the prisoners of Stalag 2b were assembled as the Germans attempted to move the camp.  For 52 days the prisoners were marched through the frozen mountains, one step ahead of the advancing Russian army.   In those 52 days, Bill and his fellow prisoners were marched 500 miles, subsisting on a meal of one potato a day.  Resting firmly in his belief that "If God be for me, who can be against me", Private Crawford determined to survive and return home.   In the spring of 1945 an advancing tank column finally brought him liberty.   He took his first hot shower in nearly eighteen months on VE-Day, 11 days before his 27th birthday.

In a 1995 interview, Bill Crawford recalled the joy of his release and the long ocean voyage home.  As the ship entered New York harbor, "I saw the Statue of Liberty there, and boy it looked good.  It was the most beautiful sight I've ever seen."  Private Crawford's joy in his release, far overshadowed any prestige he felt at the award of the Medal of Honor.  Though it would never be forgotten, it would take nearly 40 years for Bill Crawford to finally receive the honor he so truly deserved.

Private William Crawford was happy to be home, happy to be away from war, and for a time he was happy to be a civilian.  He returned to modest accolades in his hometown, where he preferred to be just another "ordinary" citizen.  He met and married Eileen, and began a family that would eventually spread his love to two children of his own.  Then, he returned to military service, much of it as an Army recruiter in his home town of Pueblo, Colorado.

In 1958, Bill Crawford was one of the Medal of Honor recipients selected to participate  as the honor guard for the burial of the Unknown Soldiers of World War II and Korea.  Everyone knew that Bill Crawford had the Medal of Honor, and the award itself had been transferred to him by his father upon his return.  But when Bill Crawford retired from the United States Army in 1967, he was one of the few men in history to wear the award without having every formally received it.   It had been presented posthumously to his father.

It was upon his retirement that Bill Crawford built, with his own hands, a large but modest house in the small community of Palmer Lake, Colorado.  From there it was a short commute to the Air Force Academy, where he performed his duties as a janitor.  Everyone knew Bill and Eileen Crawford, and everyone who knew them came to love them.  Few people ever knew however, the true measure of the man.  Even in a community as small as Palmer Lake, most residents didn't know that the man who lived down the street was one of the great heroes of American history. 

Such awards can not go unnoticed, however, at a military institution like the U.S. Air Force Academy.  Every spring, Bill Crawford would pull his Army Dress Blues out of the closet and drive the short distance to the Academy to present the "Outstanding Cadet" award to a member of the graduating class.  Seventeen years after his retirement, the most beloved janitor in Colorado Springs prepared for this annual ritual, only this time there was a new twist. 

On May 30, 1984 the presenter became the presentee.  The commencement speaker that year was the President of the United States, President Ronald Reagan.  Looking over the sea of young faces that represented the very best our Nation has to offer, he said:  "America's men and women of today have made us a great Nation."  And then the President turned his attention to the past, calling forward a 66-year old janitor crisply dressed in a uniform that still fit his trim frame.  Forty years  after his heroism at Altavilla, Italy and 17 years after his retirement from a military career, the President hung the Medal of Honor around the janitor's neck.  The cadets themselves, had decided proper recognition of their janitor was long overdue, and had taken steps to see an "oversight" corrected.