Readers Remember

The year was 1944. I was in the Army, temporarily assigned as a medic at New England General Hospital. This is where I met Pvt. Edward Coronitti. His eyesight was lost when part of his forehead was blown away by a German howitzer. He was slated for surgery to have a metal plate put into his forehead. His chances of surviving this necessary surgery were poor.

When I entered Eddie’s room, he appeared to be asleep on his bed. I quietly entered the closet to change clothes. Eddie got out of bed and felt his way toward the bathroom. I stupidly had left the closet door ajar. Eddie’s hand missed the open closet door but his head didn’t.

If it were possible to crawl under the floor, I would have. But Eddie sensed my discomfort and quickly started to console me, saying it was an honest mistake.

This was the start of a wonderful friendship. Eddie and I would talk for hours. We took evening strolls down the dreary hospital corridors. It gave other patients a lift to hear him singing about “starry skies above.”

A few weeks later I was sent to the West Coast and on to the Philippines. I wrote to Eddie about a month after his scheduled surgery, but never received a reply.

I can close my eyes today and still picture Eddie and me strolling the hospital corridors, singing “Don’t Fence Me In.” Thanks to him, the years have never been too unbearable. He has made it much easier for me to stroll through the corridors of life and scatter my little problems “under starry skies above.”

ALLEN LIDYOFF

Montebello

The editors of The Times thank all the readers who so enriched the “Stories That Shaped the Century” series with their important and meaningful memories. More than 2,000 people submitted personal stories; we were able to publish only a tiny fraction of them.