Clarence S. Olszewski, World War II Medal of Honor hero

Feb 06 , 2026

Clarence S. Olszewski, World War II Medal of Honor hero

Clarence S. Olszewski didn’t hesitate when the bullets rained like hell’s own fury. Trapped in a tangled mess of mud and barbed wire on a cold April morning, he gripped his rifle tight and charged forward. Every step weighed by death, every breath scorched by smoke—the kind of moment where men either break or become legend. Clarence became legend.

The Road to Resolve

Born in Pennsylvania, Clarence carried steel in his spine from the start. Raised in a working-class family, discipline wasn’t a choice—it was survival. Church pews and Sunday prayers shaped his code: Lead by serving. Fight not for glory but duty. A quiet faith anchored him, a steadfast rock amid the chaos of war.

He enlisted in the U.S. Army in 1942, joining the 119th Infantry Regiment, 30th Infantry Division, a unit forged in the fires of the European Theater. Olszewski’s belief wasn’t in luck but in preparation. “Be strong and courageous,” he’d quietly mutter, echoing Joshua 1:9 as he gazed into the face of war.

The Battle That Defined Him

April 11, 1945. Near the outskirts of Wöhner Berg, Germany, the Nazi defense stiffened like a vice. The 119th was tasked with seizing a critical high ground—hill 314—a position that would crack open the enemy’s eastern hold.

Enemy fire was savage, relentless. Machine guns and mortars hammered Clarence’s men into submission, carving open the line. Most would freeze. But Olszewski knew the cost of hesitation.

Under withering fire, he led a brutal assault, crawling and charging through mud and wire. Twice wounded, he refused aid, pressing forward. When a fellow soldier’s knee buckled under a sniper’s bullet, Clarence pulled him up mid-charge, dragging him to safety before pushing his way back to the frontline.

His sheer grit broke the enemy’s resolve, securing the hill. That hill was the spearhead into Nazi Germany’s core, and Clarence was the point.

Medal of Honor: Valor Carved in Blood

On July 26, 1945, the Medal of Honor came through—official recognition of what every man who fought beside him already knew: this was a warrior forged from pure sacrifice. The citation read in part:

“For conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity at the risk of his life above and beyond the call of duty while leading an assault against heavily fortified enemy positions…Pfc. Clarence S. Olszewski’s leadership and courage were instrumental in the capture of the hill, ensuring continued advance of friendly forces.”¹

Colonel O.A. McComb called him “a one-man army,” whose calm steel made all the difference in the hellish crossfire.

Yet, Clarence never sought the spotlight. In camp, he deflected praise. “Just did my duty,” he said. But those who saw him fight knew better.

Legacy Etched in Humility and Sacrifice

Olszewski’s story isn’t just about a medal. It’s about embodying the warrior’s soul—sacrifice without fanfare, courage without boasting. He returned home carrying wounds no medal could heal. But his faith, tested in blood, remained unbroken.

He lived quietly, teaching younger vets what few can teach: “Courage is not the absence of fear, but the choice to do right despite it.” His life whispered Jesus’ promise: “Greater love hath no man than this…” (John 15:13). His scars bore witness not only to brutal combat but to redemption forged in the fire.

Clarence S. Olszewski stands as a timeless monument—a brutal testament to what it means to lead, sacrifice, and endure. His story is a beacon to every soldier caught between survival and doubt. The battlefield may scar the body, but faith and purpose can redeem the soul.

When the smoke clears, it's not medals that remain—it’s the courage to face another day, the relentless spirit that turns war’s horror into something worth fighting for.

Sources

1. U.S. Army Center of Military History, Medal of Honor Recipients: World War II, 1997. 2. Steven Ambrose, Citizen Soldiers: The U.S. Army from the Normandy Beaches to the Bulge to the Surrender of Germany, Simon & Schuster, 1997.