Belated Honors for a Hero

The last time Victor Muller saw his brother was in August of 1944. Joseph Muller, who had been drafted and was shipping out for France, had driven up to Victor’s summer camp in the Catskills to say goodbye and deliver his first and last man-to-man chat.

Take care of Mom and our two sisters, Joseph told his 8-year-old brother. You’re a man of the house now.

On Sunday, as wind whipped across the airfield at the Los Alamitos Joint Training Center, Victor completed what he viewed as one of the final responsibilities conferred on him nearly 60 years ago--to take care of family. Victor finally got for his brother what he thought was due him from the Army. With his two older sisters, Ethel Merenyi and Cecilia Zimmer, by his side, their white curls impervious to the breeze, Victor accepted six medals in his older brother’s name, including a Bronze Star and a Purple Heart.

The medals were a long time coming. They were awarded only after Victor lobbied the Army for more than a year, urging them to recognize the heroism of his brother, the anonymous young private killed in southern Germany in the cold February of 1945. Many of his war records were lost.

“It’s a little closure,” said Victor, 65, a retired architect who now lives in Mission Viejo.

He passed the blue cases to his sister Ethel, 79. The Bronze Star glinted in the sun as all around them fighters in the new, 21st-century Army celebrated their annual “Family Day.”

In today’s Army, many are preoccupied with stealth bombers and special forces in Afghanistan. But Joseph’s siblings were picturing the lonely fox holes dug across Northern Europe, and the 90 yellowing letters, written in careful longhand, that are all they have left of their beloved brother.

“Oh yes, he deserved it,” said Ethel, who now lives in Laguna Hills. But then she put her hand on her heart, remembering the grief that descended upon the family the day the telegram arrived informing them that Joseph had been killed in action. Even now, she said, “It’s giving me a pain in my heart.”

Backbone of a Proud Immigrant Family

Joseph was the oldest child, the pride and joy of this immigrant family--ethnic Germans who came from Hungary and settled on East 89th Street in Manhattan.

Joseph used to go on double dates with sister Cecilia every Saturday night. They would dance the polka, the fox trot and the waltz. But first, they had to clean the house to their mother’s satisfaction.

For Ethel, Joseph always had a spare dime so she could go the movies. Once, he took her to Radio City Music Hall to see the Rockettes. In the bathroom, he found a diamond ring near the sink, and promptly turned it in to the management, she said.

Victor, 19 years younger than Joseph, has few memories of his brother, but what he does recall is etched into his heart in such vivid detail that he can close his eyes and see the scenes unfolding in his mind. He remembers his brother’s final visit to his summer camp. Victor had just stolen a pear off a nearby tree, and when a uniformed figure called his name, he quaked in fear, and then felt joy spreading as his brother, dressed in his Army uniform, approached.

He remembers the mixture of bitterness and pride he felt when, at 18, he was stationed in Germany during the Korean War, and saw his brother’s grave in Luxembourg.

And he remembers how in Joseph’s letters home, the only thing he ever asked for--aside from six pairs of heavy woolen socks to be sent to him in Germany--was that he be awarded just one stripe, a promotion from private to private first class. About the time of the 50th anniversary of D-day, Victor, now with a daughter and a son and a successful career as an architect, began to hunger for more details about his brother’s last months.

How did he die? What did he do? Where was he?

Using the Web to Find Answers

Starting on the Internet, Victor found contacts that eventually led him to fly to a military memorial service in Luxembourg. There he got an address for the 80th Infantry Division. He sent off a batch of letters, enclosing an aging sepia photo of Joseph, beseeching the veterans for information.

A week later, the phone rang. An old man was on the line. He hadn’t known Pvt. Joseph Muller well, but remembered the name and face from a brief conversation on a truck ride near the German front.

Other members of the 80th Infantry Division wrote long letters back. They didn’t remember Joseph, but they urged his younger brother to continue his quest. And they told him that Joseph deserved the Purple Heart and the Bronze Star, and almost ordered Victor to keep pushing the Army until he got them.

Two years later, he got what he was searching for: six medals, two badges, and, on Saturday--just the day before the ceremony--a letter informing him that Joseph had been posthumously promoted to private first class.

On Sunday afternoon after the ceremony, Joseph’s three siblings went out to lunch to celebrate his honors.

“I want you to know, we are equally proud of my little brother,” Ethel said. A few minutes later, she sighed. “I am happy and sad, both at the same time . . . I don’t know why there has to be wars.”