Korean War hero finally gets the honor he deserves

By Chris Vaughn

cvaughn@star-telegram.com

President Barack Obama, speaking from the East Room on Monday, will undoubtedly read of the inspiring and frightening last few minutes of Army Pfc. Henry Svehla's life.

Svehla, all of 19 years old, already wounded and leading a faltering platoon under withering fire on a hard-fought hill in Korea, gave his life by throwing himself on a grenade that landed near him and some of his buddies.

"Such courage and sacrifice is never found among normal men, and such deeds live forever," his platoon leader wrote to his family after his death.

Obama, having decided to upgrade Svehla's award based on a new look at his actions 59 years ago, will award the Medal of Honor to the young private, who was killed June 12, 1952.

But to those who knew Henry Svehla, he is so much more than a symbol of dauntless courage in a war largely forgotten over the years. Henry Svehla, "Squeaky" to his family in Newark, N.J., was just a lanky, handsome blue-eyed teenager who loved his aunts' lasagna, fishing in the Atlantic Ocean, dancing to Frank Sinatra and doting on his younger sisters.

"What he did was not surprising," said Sylvia Svehla, a younger sister who lives in Bedford. "He was always a very thoughtful, very loving boy who loved his family and loved his friends."

Svehla and Army Pfc. Anthony T. Kaho'ohanohano will be honored Monday at a solemn ceremony at the White House. They are the 134th and 135th to receive the Medal of Honor, the nation's highest decoration for valor, for actions in the Korean War. Svehla is also listed as missing in action, as his remains were never brought home.

Sylvia Svehla and another younger sister, Dorothy Mathews of North Richland Hills, will join two dozen relatives from New Jersey for the ceremony.

Earlier this year, Mathews took a surprising phone call at her home.

"'Hello, Dorothy, this is Barack Obama,'" she recalled. "I was floored. The Defense Department had told me to expect a call from a high-ranking official. I thought maybe a general. But the president? I was speechless."

A decade-long effort

The phone call from Obama brought a decade of inquiries and research to a close for Svehla's nephew, Anthony Svehla, who thought that the Distinguished Service Cross, the Army's second-highest medal for valor, was insufficient.

In May 2001, he contacted New Jersey Rep. Bill Pascrell's office for help in requesting a second look from the Army.

"But I started doing some research on the other Medal of Honor winners," Anthony said. "I always wondered why my uncle didn't get the Medal of Honor. He gave his life for other men. Some of the citations read almost word for word what my uncle did."

Svehla was born in the autumn of 1932 to an Italian mother and Czech father who lived in a second-floor apartment in Newark. There were eventually six children, all essentially raised by their mother, who was left on her own during the worst of the Depression.

Perhaps because of that, Svehla was enormously protective of the girls in his family, especially his mother. His two older brothers served in the military in the late 1940s, and he often was the only boy at home during those years.

"He would come into the kitchen and dance with my mom when she was cooking dinner," Sylvia Svehla said. "He loved to tease her. He was very devoted to her. He was also very mature for his age."

As Christmas 1950 approached, he was working at a service station, pumping gas and checking oil. He remembered the years when they hadn't had much, so he bought a giant Christmas tree, dragged it up the stairs and put it in the corner of the living room. He strung lights on it, then went out and bought all his sisters a present for under the tree.

It turned out to be his last Christmas at home.

'He felt he had to go'

Svehla enlisted in the Army in November 1951, a decision that greatly upset his mother. Despite her wishes, he went ahead.

"He knew there was a war on," Mathews said. "He felt he had to go."

He was shipped overseas in February 1952 and joined Fox Company, 32nd Infantry as a rifleman. The citation for the Distinguished Service Cross lists his place of death as Pyongony.

But Hal Barker, a founder of the Korean War Project in Dallas, said no such place exists. His research through the National Archives reveals that Svehla was actually killed on Hill 472, near a place called Ponggil-li, which was perhaps butchered into English as Pyongony, he said.

"I've looked through many citations for the Silver Star and DSC, and the names of places are often wrong," he said. "They're often phonetic spellings. There is no y at the end of any town's name in Korea."

In one of his last letters to his mother, written May 17, 1952, Svehla told her that his outpost was about 1,000 yards from the front lines, and he promised a picture of it soon.

He thanked her for sending pictures from home and encouraged everyone to write to him as often as possible.

"The pictures you sent me sure made me feel a lot happier than I was," he wrote.

Not even a month later, a Western Union man knocked on the Svehlas' door in the late afternoon.

"He said, 'I'm sorry,' and handed the telegram to my mother," Sylvia Svehla said.

She can still see her mother sitting at the table, holding the telegram in her hands, tears streaming down her face.

Her Henry, as she called him, had been in the Army all of eight months.

"She was devastated," Sylvia Svehla said. "Mother was never the same after that."

She died in 1967 at age 59.

Gaps still remain

As if it wasn't hard enough to lose her son, Svehla's mother never got his body. The family members had no funeral or memorial service, and they didn't even have a marker in a cemetery until the early 1960s, when they requested a headstone be placed at Arlington National Cemetery near the Pentagon.

On his birthday, the anniversary of his death and Memorial Day, the family members went to church and lit candles. They still do so because Svehla is listed as missing in action.

About a year ago, Mathews gave a DNA sample to the Defense Department to help identify his remains if they're found.

"Our government is doing everything it can to find his remains," Sylvia said. "We want him home. America is his country. The government knows we feel very strong about this."

All that is left is to find someone in Svehla's company to fill in all the gaps in their knowledge of their brother. In much of the family lore, he is forever stuck as a teenage boy looked up to by his younger sisters.

Barker said it is an everyday request at his nonprofit.

"I think there's a good chance we can put them in touch with someone," Barker said. "If anyone can find fellows, we can."

Chris Vaughn, 817-390-7547

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