A people's hopes & fears lay in five thin paper folders placed by the Communists on the conference table at Panmunjom. "We herewith exchange our lists," intoned the U.S.'s Rear Admiral Ruthven Libby. The Red negotiators picked up a fat directory of 132,474 names, the prisoners of war now held by the U.N. Admiral Libby picked up the five thin folders: a roster of 11,559 U.N. fighting men named by the Communists as their prisoners. Among them were the names of 3,198 U.S. soldiers, sailors, marines and airmen, including that of Major General William Dean of the 24th Division, the highest-ranking U.S. officer lost to the enemy in Korea.
Within 48 hours—by radio, TV, press report and Pentagon telegram—the U.S. people knew the best and the worst of the news from the enemy. Eight thousand of the 11,000 American families, whose sons, brothers, husbands and fathers had been listed as missing in action, could only hope against fading hope, or pray that the names they could not find would yet turn up in the ranks of the living. The kinfolk of the 3,198 identified U.S. captives wept, laughed, gave fervent thanks—and all the U.S. shared their painful joy.
Prayer for a Miracle. "The fact that he is alive is a miracle," cried Mrs. Julius De Benedict, of Mariners Harbor, N.Y., when she heard the news that her son Julius, a 1st Cavalry Division corporal, was listed as one of the Red prisoners. The family had not heard from him in 13 months. "Now," said Mrs. De Benedict, "we will pray for another miracle—that he be returned home safe and sound."
Gladness tempered with anxiety was a common denominator of emotions across the land. In Los Angeles, the family of Corporal Blythe Berkheimer saw his name flashed on the TV in their living room. "We all screamed at once," related his mother Nora. "Later we all cried . . . He was a big boy, 240 lbs., when he left home. A mother can't help wondering, in bed at night, if her boy is getting any food."
In Monongahela, Pa., Mr. & Mrs. Alfred Loutitt, close by their radio, kept the long vigil that mothers & fathers were keeping everywhere. "We just sat there and listened," said Mrs. Loutitt. "We hoped and we prayed, because all we knew was that Charles was missing and the truck he had been driving was found full of bullet holes. Then we heard his name.
I grabbed my husband and he grabbed me. The children started crying."
Help from a Proverb. In a Brooklyn flat, where candles to the Virgin had been burning for more than a year, Mr. & Mrs. Philip Chiarelli saw their son's name flashed on the television screen at midnight. A minute later, excited neighbors began calling; soon an impromptu party got under way. "An Italian proverb," rejoiced father Chiarelli, "says hope is something that even the poor can afford. We had plenty of that."
In El Paso, Mrs. Julio Ramírez sobbed over the news of her son Ralph, a corporal: "Oh, how I hope it's true. I've prayed for him all the time. I can't wait until he comes home. Maybe then I'll be able to sleep nights."