73 years after he was wounded in Korea, Minnesota man receives his Purple Heart
ST. PETER, Minn. — Earl "Sonny" Meyer stood at the center of the cavernous chapel Friday afternoon, surprised his little medal was such a big deal: hundreds of spectators, a U.S. senator, the senior enlisted advisor for the Minnesota National Guard, and all of Meyer's children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren.
Of course it was a big deal. Seventy-three years after a piece of mortar shrapnel struck Meyer's left thigh during the chaos of Korean War combat, a representative of the U.S. military finally pinned the Purple Heart, the oldest and most hallowed of American military honors, to his chest.
His eyes were damp with tears. The retired St. Peter farmer, 96 years old, didn't really want all this attention. In his view, this medal was really about his comrades who didn't make it home. He thinks of them every day.
"Oh my," Meyer had said a few minutes before, leaning on a cane his daughter had crafted from Lake Michigan driftwood. "I'd rather be home in my recliner. It's all a bit much."
It had been a long road from Meyer's wartime service to the front of Christ Chapel at Gustavus Adolphus College on Friday.
His time as a rifleman and machine-gunner in Korea was traumatizing: sleepless nights in mountain foxholes, Army buddies dying next to him, never knowing if his number was next to be called. In June 1951, his unit was trapped by enemy forces when the piece of shrapnel struck him. A medic bandaged him in the field, telling Corporal Meyer he'd put his name in for a Purple Heart.
Most of the people from his unit didn't survive the battle. Meyer never saw the medic again.
Living a farmer's life, he didn't talk about the war much with family. His three daughters didn't even know he'd been injured, with shrapnel still lodged in his thigh, until Meyer's granddaughter interviewed him for a high school project. His daughters decided they'd try to get their dad his Purple Heart.
For years, the military rejected the request, citing lack of evidence. The family gained advocates, with the office of U.S. Sen. Amy Klobuchar persistently nudging the military, and with Alan Anderson, a Minneapolis attorney who first read about Meyer in a 2020 article in the Star Tribune, advocating for his medal. Anderson sued the U.S. Department of Defense on Meyer's behalf — but only after he convinced Meyer this fight could help other veterans who are having issues with the Army Board for Correction of Military Records.
At the chapel, a Minnesota National Guard officer read a letter sent by the highest-ranking noncommissioned officer in the U.S. Army. Scrawled in black Sharpie ink was a note from Command Sergeant Major Michael Weimer: "Thank you for not giving up on us! Long overdue!"
Then Command Sergeant Major Jason Rost, the senior enlisted advisor in the Minnesota National Guard, opened a black case. Inside was Meyer's Purple Heart.
Before Rost pinned it to Meyer's chest, he explained why this moment was so personally important. Rost had been born in Seoul and adopted by a Minnesota family. Rost had pinned medals before, but never a Purple Heart, and never a medal with such a direct connection to his own heritage.
"I am certain that my life and my service would not be possible without the sacrifice and service of men and women like yourself," Rost said. "Thank you."
He turned to the crowd: "Standing here today, over 73 years later, we have the opportunity and honor to recognize Corporal Earl 'Sonny' Meyer's sacrifice in the summer of 1951, on a thousands of miles away, a land that's now a prosperous country, a democratic country, a free country, because of the sacrifices of men like Corporal Meyer."
He affixed the medal to Meyer's left breast pocket. It fit beautifully. And all the people who came out for this humble 96-year-old veteran burst into applause.
