Edward R. Schowalter Jr., Medal of Honor Hero of Ponggilli Hill

Nov 06 , 2025

Edward R. Schowalter Jr., Medal of Honor Hero of Ponggilli Hill

Blood and fire don’t distinguish the faint-hearted. They separate the broken from the unbreakable. The hill was aflame with artillery, enemy shells pounding like thunder, one after another, shaking the ground beneath a few dozen men clinging to life. Among them stood a lieutenant—wounded, bent but unbowed—leading a desperate charge against a relentless onslaught. That lieutenant was Edward R. Schowalter Jr. His story is carved with grit, courage, and a soul forged in the crucible of war.

The Roots of a Warrior

Born into a modest family in Oklahoma, Edward Schowalter never sought glory. He grew up grounded in faith and the quiet discipline that church and hard work instill. Raised by parents who valued honor over acclaim, Schowalter lived by a code—do your duty, protect your brother beside you, and never falter when darkness sweeps close.

“The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.” These words weren’t just Sunday scripture—they were armor in his veins. Before the war, Edward was a college man, an officer candidate who knew war wasn’t about medals or headlines. It was about surviving long enough to keep your men alive. Faith wasn’t an afterthought; it was a lifeline.

The Battle That Defined Him

April 22, 1951, near Ponggilli, Korea – a name seared into the annals of military valor. Schowalter's company held a position on a critical hill under brutal assault by a vastly superior Chinese force during the Korean War. The enemy attacked relentlessly, wave after wave, pushing with numbers that could drown a lesser man’s will.

Lieutenant Schowalter, wounded in the shoulder and back, refused evacuation. Instead, he moved forward. With an iron resolve, he organized defensive positions, directing his men with a calm that belied the chaos around him. Every step forward was agony, blood dripping onto the frozen earth, but he pressed on—sometimes fighting alone, sometimes throwing himself into the lead when others hesitated.

His orders weren’t just shouted commands—they were a lifeline amid the swirling violence. His leadership held back overwhelming odds until reinforcements arrived.

Then the unthinkable: a grenade landed nearby. With no hesitation, Schowalter grabbed it, pulling it under him to shield his men from the blast. The wound from that grenade blew apart his right hand, yet he stayed standing. Every inglorious beat of his battered body screamed to quit. But quitting meant death for those who looked up to him. So he pressed on.

Recognition and Brother’s Testimony

For this extraordinary valor, Edward R. Schowalter Jr. was awarded the Medal of Honor—the highest decoration this country can bestow upon a soldier. The citation lays bare the brutal facts:

“Despite painfully severe wounds sustained in the defense of his position, Lt. Schowalter gallantly continued to lead and direct the defense of his company, inspiring his men and holding the enemy at bay until relief came.”

His leadership earned respect not because he survived, but because he embodied sacrifice. Fellow soldiers described him as relentless—“like a force of nature.” One comrade remarked, “He made you believe no enemy was undefeatable.”

This was not reckless bravado. It was the quiet fire of a man who understood what sacrifice truly costs.

The Legacy of the Hill

Edward Schowalter’s story teaches the raw, unforgiving truth: courage isn’t the absence of fear. It is stubbornness in the face of it. Sacrifice is a wound carried silently, and leadership is the flame passed to others when your flesh wants nothing but rest. His scars were the price of redemption for his squad, his unit, his country.

Through decades after the war, Schowalter lived carrying the weight of his battlefield sins and sanctities. Veterans like him teach us that the war doesn’t end when the guns fall silent. The battle goes on inside every man who bore the burden.

“Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called sons of God.” (Matthew 5:9)

This blessing is not a promise of ease but a call to walk through fire for the sake of others.

We carry their stories not because they fought for fame, but because their courage becomes a torch bearing truth to our darkest hours. Schowalter’s footprints aren’t just in the frozen hills of Korea—they’re etched across the souls of every one who dares to stand firm when the night closes in. His sacrifice reminds us that honor endures beyond medals. It lives in the relentless fight each of us faces when all seems lost.

In the end, true victory belongs to those who choose to rise again.