New York
News, March 6, 2001
By Sarah Layden
Russell Blaisdell of Fayetteville didn't know how
to get the children to safety, only that he must.
It was 1950, and he was an Air
Force Presbyterian chaplain in the Korean War. Almost 1,000 Korean orphans
who were abandoned by war looked to him, their "father," for help. With
a prayer and no plan, Blaisdell transported the children south to Cheju
Island.
This year, he returned to Korea, where he was greeted
as a hero. Some of the orphans, now into their 50s and 60s, showered
him with gifts and tales of their lives. They still call him father.
Blaisdell said an ancient belief that remains in Asian culture is that
when someone saves your life, you are indebted to him or her forever.
"There were 1,000 people in need,
and there's nobody else," Blaisdell, 90, said by phone from his winter
home in Las Vegas, Nev. "I didn't know it was going to be successful.
But you don't succeed in anything if you don't try. What a chaplain
does is help people. The thought of abandoning them never entered my
head."
Blaisdell's grandson, David Blaisdell, who occasionally
works in Korea, helped arrange the late-January trip.
When Russell Blaisdell returned to Korea, the Korean
media followed his every move and dubbed him the "Schindler of Korea"
after the man who saved Jews during the Nazi Holocaust.
Blaisdell met with Korean first lady, Lee Hee-ho
and received an honorary doctorate in social welfare at Kyung Hee University.
Blaisdell was touched that his hosts stayed up all night making him
a special robe to wear to the school's ceremony, where he gave an impromptu
10-minute acceptance speech.
Blaisdell remembered that he and others called the
December 1950 mission "Operation Kiddy Car" or "Operation Long John,"
for long underwear purchased for the children. The orphans eventually
were airlifted to Cheju Island, but he entire mission was fraught with
uncertainty. There was talk of an invasion of Seoul by North Korean
troops. Blaisdell described how he didn't sleep or eat for five days
as he tried to find a way to transport nearly 1,000 orphaned children
out of Seoul.
At one point, he thought he would have to make repeated
trips using a decrepit fishing boat as transportation. The old scow
wasn't fit for a kennel of dogs, he said.
"Being a chaplain, there was
only one thing to do," said Blaisdell, a retired colonel. "And so I
prayed. I just put it in his hands."
Blaisdell recalled how his prayers were answered,
one by one. A general offered a fleet of planes that had just landed
in Japan and needed a mission. Could he get the children to Kimpo Airport?
That was 20 miles away, and Blaisdell had one truck.
A Marine company of trucks was in the area, hauling
sacks of cement. Blaisdell told the sergeant to forget the cement and
start putting children on the trucks, so they could make their way to
Inchon and somehow to the airport. When the sergeant told him he couldn't
do that, Blaisdell snapped, "I didn't ask you."
A colonel showed up, and he was irate. He wanted
to know who stole his trucks. Blaisdell realized he knew the colonel
from before the war and explained why this mission was more important
than cement. The colonel understood and offered help. Finally, a plan
was coming together.
As the plane was leveling off with Blaisdell and
the first load of orphans, the colonel asked where they were going.
Blaisdell told him Cheju Island, 50 to 100 miles off Korea by his estimate.
What runway would they use?
"I don't know," Blaisdell said.
What about communication?
"I don't know," Blaisdell said.
What will we do once we get there?
"I don't know," Blaisdell said.
He had gotten that far on a prayer. It would work out somehow.
Every so often in the years since Blaisdell's rescue,
he'd receive a package or letter. Whang On-soon, the director of the
orphanage where many of the children would up, sent Blaisdell pictures
of the children with updates. Before Blaisdell's January trip, his grandson,
David Blaisdell, found out that On-soon was still alive. When the former
director learned that Russell Blaisdell was alive and planning a trip
to Korea, she insisted he visit the orphanage.
On-soon is now 102.
"She doesn't look 80," Blaisdell
exclaimed.
The January reunion was emotional. Blaisdell said
the orphanage director, who is retired but visits the orphanage most
afternoons, was walking with two aides helping her avoid icy patches.
When she caught sight of Blaisdell, she broke away from her helpers.
"She runs over and throws her
arms around me," Blaisdell said. "I was very surprised at her agility
and lucidity."
He was treated like a celebrity in Korea, and while
he appreciates the attention, he doesn't particularly care for it. Last
winter, he was written about in the military publications Stars and
Stripes and Airman as a 50th anniversary story about the war. After
returning from Korea in January, he went to Orlando, Fla., to receive
an award from the Air Force Association. A clip from the ceremony appeared
on "NBC Nightly News with Tom Brokaw," Blaisdell said.
Recent interest in Blaisdell's story had brought
up memories he hadn't thought about in years. His wife of five years,
Sandy, is collecting articles written about him. Blaisdell's two sons
followed in footsteps: Carter is a Presbyterian minister in Black Mountain,
N.C., and Judd is an Air Force officer assigned to the Pentagon.
His other "children," the Korean orphans, have chosen
many different paths. One is a Buddhist monk, another an artist.
"I have a lot of faith in prayer,"
he said. "That's assuming you've done everything you can. If you haven't
done everything you can, don't pray."
BLA-013
