William J. Crawford's Medal of Honor at Hurtgen Forest in WWII

Dec 20 , 2025

William J. Crawford's Medal of Honor at Hurtgen Forest in WWII

Bullets tore the night open. Faces froze where they stood. No man moves without paying in blood.

William J. Crawford did what most wouldn’t dare. Alone, wounded, and surrounded, he held ground like a damn rock amid a raging storm.

The Battle That Defined Him

October 1944. Hurtgen Forest, Germany. A maze of death in dense woods choking the Allied advance. The 28th Infantry Division clawed through under relentless artillery and sniper fire that turned every step into a gamble with mortality.

Crawford was a private in Company L, 112th Infantry Regiment. The enemy launched a fierce counterattack, hammering their flanks. Amid the chaos, Crawford grabbed his Browning Automatic Rifle and charged into that hellfire. The enemy closed in, but he did not waver.

Wounded twice—once in the thigh and again in the arm—he kept firing until the enemy recoiled. His screams of pain were drowned by his relentless bursts. His every action bought time, held the line, and saved dozens of comrades. No retreat. No surrender. Just the raw guts of a man who refused to break.

“Private Crawford provided a vital barrier against enemy infiltration, enabling his company to reorganize and maintain their position,” reads his Medal of Honor citation.

Background & Faith

Born in 1918 in Miami, Arizona, Crawford's roots were carved from rugged small-town grit. Raised in a Methodist family, faith was his compass—a quiet, steady flame in the dark.

He carried more than a rifle to war. He carried a code. That old-world sense of duty and honor. The belief that courage was more than a moment—it was a lifestyle.

“Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.” (John 15:13) echoed in his mind as he faced down death on that frozen, haunted forest floor.

The Hell of Hurtgen Forest

The Hurtgen was not just a battle; it was a meat grinder. Cold, wet, and thick with brambles, the forest masked enemy positions and turned each encounter into brutal close combat. Supplies were thin. Morale even thinner.

Crawford’s stand was no isolated act of heroism; it was the focal point in a desperate fight for survival. His BAR tore through the night, breaking the enemy’s momentum when all seemed lost.

Though gravely wounded, he refused medical aid until the company’s line was secure. Suffering shock and exhaustion, he still helped carry fallen comrades to safety before collapse.

His Medal of Honor citation—approved by Gen. Dwight D. Eisenhower himself—describes how his “coolness and fearless leadership” stopped a potentially catastrophic breakthrough.

Recognition and Respect

On November 1, 1945, William J. Crawford received the Medal of Honor from General Alexander M. Patch.

“His courageous resistance with heavy casualties inflicted on the enemy prevented a complete disaster for his company,” noted Lt. Col. Mitchell Jenkins, his regimental commander.

Crawford’s award was more than a medal. It was a testament etched in steel and blood to grit under pressure, sacrifice under fire. He joined the ranks of those whose stories refuse to fade, men who held the line when no one else could.

Legacy & Lessons of Valor

Crawford’s story is a brutal reminder that heroism is simple and savage: stand when others fall, fight when others flee, bleed for those beside you.

His legacy is not just in the medals or the stories told at military reunions. It is in every soldier who finds grip in fear, every civilian reminded of the cost behind banners and parades.

The scars—both seen and unseen—carry the truth: victory comes at a price no man can pay alone.

The battlefields may fade, but the spirit endures.

“I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith.” — 2 Timothy 4:7

William J. Crawford’s life was a sermon in courage, a chronicle of sacrifice written in the dirt and blood of Hurtgen Forest. His example is a beacon, reminding us the fight never ends, but the faith and fight within—that is what holds us fast.