William J. Crawford’s Hill 440 Courage in Korea and Medal of Honor

Jan 17 , 2026

William J. Crawford’s Hill 440 Courage in Korea and Medal of Honor

He was bleeding out, halfway to death. The enemy closed in, rifles spitting death like the Reaper himself was stalking that hill. But William J. Crawford didn’t flinch. The line had to hold.

He lay on the scorched ground, wounds tearing flesh from bone, and still gripped his weapon. No mercy. No surrender.

A Soldier’s Forge: Humble Beginnings and Steeled Faith

Born in Quincy, Illinois, William James Crawford came from a working-class family, the kind of roots that grow hard and stubborn. The Great Depression had shaken the world around him, but faith anchored his soul. Raised Presbyterian, he carried the Psalms in his heart — a quiet armor in a world gone mad.

His father taught him the law of work and discipline. But war was its own preacher. “Greater love hath no man than this,” he would remember later, echoing John 15:13 as a creed. To die for brothers in arms — to stand where they stood — that was the code that burned inside him.

The Battle That Defined Him: Hill 440, Korea

This isn’t World War II. This is Korea, summer of 1950. Crawford was a private in Company I, 27th Infantry Regiment, 25th Infantry Division. The enemy air rained shells, machine guns screamed, and the hill’s jagged teeth tore into his unit.

But the heart of the fight beat where Crawford lay wounded, alone.

On July 24th, during the desperate struggle for Hill 440, the Chinese launched wave after wave against his position. Crawford had been hit twice—gunshot and shrapnel bursting skin and flesh—but he refused to abandon his post.

He dragged himself forward, setting up his machine gun. Each trigger pull was a defiant roar against the oncoming tide. When ammo ran low, he crawled under fire to grab more.

“No man was turning back,” Lieutenant Colonel John T. Corley later said. “Crawford’s stand saved the entire battalion’s flank that day.”

Even when comrades urged him to fall back, he stayed. If I go, they all go down with me, that was carved somewhere deep inside.

With one final act of fury, he shattered enemy lines, allowing reinforcements to emerge and secure the hill. He did not survive that day unscarred. His body was battered; his spirit was forged.

The Medal of Honor: A Testament Born in Blood

Crawford received the Medal of Honor for those actions on Hill 440. The citation reads with brutal clarity:

“Despite serious wounds, Private Crawford refused evacuation and continued to deliver heavy fire on the attacking enemy, inspiring his comrades and ultimately repelling the assault.”

President Harry S. Truman himself presented the decoration on October 12, 1951.

The words from his citation are not just ink on paper — they are blood and bone.

Comrades described him as “the backbone of the defense.” One recalled, “When he fired, we all fired. He was everything we needed.”

But Crawford always pointed to faith and brotherhood rather than glory:

“It wasn’t about one soldier or one medal. It was the men beside me that made it possible. I just did what I had to do.”

Blood-Bought Legacy

William J. Crawford’s name is carved into military history, but his real legacy runs deeper.

He embodied the raw truth of combat — courage not born from fearlessness but from facing fear and standing firm. His scars were not souvenirs but silent sermons on sacrifice.

There is no hero without sacrifice, and no victory without cost.

For veterans, his story reaffirms that valor is never solitary. For civilians, it demands understanding—a reckoning that freedom comes at the hands and hearts of those who bleed so others may live safely.

“He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.” —Psalm 147:3

William J. Crawford carried those wounds—not just on his flesh but on his soul—and by God’s grace, he transformed pain into purpose.

A reminder: the battlefield does not just produce survivors; it forges witnesses. Men like Crawford carry the torch. And it’s our duty to listen, remember, and carry it forward.