When I was 4 years old, my life changed. My brother Freddie was born. I was old enough to realize some
resentment as my mother came into our home with this bundle that everyone was fussing over. But one look at
this peacefully sleeping baby, and I was won over completely.
My mother was sickly for about 2 months after he was born, so I was given lots of chores. I helped
give him his bottle and held him. He had big dark eyes and hardly ever cried. He was so calm and placid
and when he was a few months older, he gave you the most beautiful toothless grin. You had to love him!
He was such a good, uncomplaining child. I remember once at holiday time, he had Chicken Pox and was
covered with sores. My parents gave him lots of gifts. He sat up and said that it was the happiest day
of his life.
When he was 5 and went to kindergarten, a neighbor’s child also went. Her name was Blossom and she
came from a poor family with 7 children. Freddie and Blossom became inseparable and always, when you saw
one, you saw the other. They played together, were in each other’s classes, did homework together, as
well as everything else.
When they were in high school, Blossom became ill with rheumatic fever. Her heart was very bad and
she was unable to walk. She had a home teacher. After school every day, Freddie carried her out to our
backyard, sat her in a beach chair, where he did his homework and they were together.
When he was a senior, I heard the first real loud argument between my parents and Freddie. They
wanted him to go to college since he was an excellent student. He refused to go, saying he wanted to make
a lot of money in order for him to buy a wheelchair for Blossom. He wanted to take a walk with her or
go to the ice cream parlor. He never went back to school after he graduated high school, and he did get
a wheelchair for Blossom.
When I was engaged to my husband, Ivan, he and Freddie became very good friends. He was the best man
at our wedding.
In 1952, several months before going into the Army, Blossom died. My brother was devastated. He said
it was like losing part of himself. He really loved her. I was eight months pregnant with my first child
when he was sent to Korea. He sent a letter addressed to “Dear Baby” - introducing himself as its uncle -
saying he didn’t know if he would return, but to please remember him. My daughter, now 47 years old, says
that this letter is one of her most precious possessions.
When I was in the hospital, several days after my daughter was born, I knew something tragic had happened.
Call it instinct, mental telepathy or what. But, I feel I was being prepared for what was to come.
We received a telegram that he was missing in action. The telegram came 2 weeks before the truce and I
recall, when the North Koreans were returning prisoners of war, we sat glued to the television set in hope
that we would see his name flashed across the TV screen as the prisoners were released.
My parents, understandably, could not be comforted. My mother suffered a nervous breakdown and my father
had heart problems.
Three months later, the Army changed Freddie’s status to killed in action. He was part of the 17th Infantry,
7th Division that fought in the vicinity of Sokkogae, North Korea. They were on the forward slope of Pork Chop
Hill when attacked my heavy fire. A released soldier observed his body riddled with bullets as his machine gun
was knocked out. However, his remains have never been found. He was awarded a purple heart.
Subsequently, my parents died and my children started growing up. I involved myself in the Coalition of
Familes. I had a stone erected in Freddie’s memory at the National Cemetery in Farmingdale. I raised a
sizeable sum of money from friends and relatives towards the Korean War Memorial in Washington, as well as
the Korean Memorial in Battery Park, in New York. At the memorial in Washington, if you punch the name
Alfred Gold into the computer at the kiosk, you get his picture and a brief biography.
My daughters and I have sent in blood samples for DNA testing to try to connect unidentified remains.
We send flowers to the Punch Bowl in Hawaii on Memorial Day and his birthday, and we have established a
scholarship fund in his memory at our local school.
But after 48 years, I have not given up hope of finding my beloved brother - finally bringing him home
to rest, and let the world know that this good kid of 19 years once.