A Medium Boy

If the little coal and pottery town of Crooksville (pop. 2,956), Ohio had ever set out to pick a potential hero from among its young men, it would never have chosen Ronald Rosser. Not that Ronald wasn't well liked--he was one of the quietest and best-behaved boys in town. But he just wasn't a fire-eater. He was a medium-sized (5 ft. 8 in.), medium-heavy (160 Ibs.) lad with medium brown hair, who seemed perfectly contented to lean against store fronts and watch the world--or what there was of it in Crooksville--go by.

He left high school in his junior year back in 1946 to join the regular Army. He spent three dull years at Stateside Army posts, came back to Crooksville, went to work in the Misco mine, and acted as though he had settled down for life. Then, in February 1951, his younger brother Dick was killed in Korea. Ronald told his father--a mine boss who has not missed a day's work in 20 years--and his 13 brothers and sisters: "I'm going to get even for what they did to Dick, and I'm not going to take any prisoners."

Fire from the Heights. He enlisted in the Army again. Last summer he was sent to Korea, and was assigned to a heavy-mortar outfit, Company L of the 38th Infantry Regiment. One bitter cold day last January, some men of Company L were trapped in the open near Ponggil-li by heavy machine-gun and mortar fire from a hill above. Corporal Ronald Rosser did not hesitate. With only his carbine and one white phosphorous grenade, he sprinted 100 yards up the steep slope and leaped astride an enemy trench on the heights.

A Chinese popped up on either side of him. He shot the first through the head, pivoted, firing from the hip, and shot the second through the chest. He leaped down into the trench, raced along it, firing as he ran. Five more Communists fell. He threw his grenade into a bunker. Two more enemy soldiers burst out of the smoke. He killed them. He ran back down the hill with bullets kicking the snowy turf around him, got more ammunition, gathered an attacking party and led it up the slope.

Rage & Audacity. Soldiers who followed him were hit. But Rosser, though he finally suffered a wound in one hand, seemed armored against bullets by his own rage and audacity. He charged two enemy bunkers. Once more he fired off all his ammunition. He went down the hill and back a third time, roamed the heights throwing grenades into enemy positions. In all, Rosser killed 13 Communists before he rejoined Company L, which by then was able to withdraw in order with its wounded.

Last week, with Corporal Jerry Crump--a North Carolina boy who fell on a live grenade in Korea, thus saving the lives of men around him--Ronald Rosser received the Congressional Medal of Honor. His father, his mother, his wife (he was married six days before going overseas), and 19 other relatives stood on the White House lawn to watch President Truman hang the medal around his neck--the Misco mine and its employees chipped in to hire a bus for the family's trip to Washington. But, though bursting with pride, Crooksville was still a little incredulous.

"I can't for the life of me see little Ronnie Rosser slaughtering all those Chinese," said Miss Gladys O. Heskett, his sixth-grade teacher, "although I'm sure they deserved it." Ronald, who seemed just as quiet as ever, didn't argue about it. He said he just wanted to come home, rest up a bit and go fishing.

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so reader's discretion is required.