At the end of the Korean War, a Navy medic found a hungry, abandoned, Korean American baby in the demilitarized zone. He took him to the Star of the Sea Orphanage where Sister Philomena, an Irish nun, tried to care for the boy. Her problem was that the Korean women working at the orphanage wouldn’t help a half-American baby. Sister Philomena talked to a Navy chaplain, Father Edward Riley of Iowa, who spoke to John T. Hayward, the captain of a nearby carrier, the USS Point Cruz.
Regulations prohibited civilian babies on the ship, but it was clear the child would die without the crew’s intervention. Hayward ordered the baby brought aboard.
The crew, tough men who had served through a difficult war, found a soft spot for the baby. They named him George Cruz Ascom after the acronym for Army Service Command. The ship’s carpenter constructed a crib, a playpen, and a carriage built from a bomb cart. The men fashioned diapers from bedsheets and took turns feeding and caring for the baby. After George’s afternoon nap, the sailors would take him in his carriage up on the flight deck for fresh air.
Word about George spread throughout the Navy, and pressure grew to get the baby off the ship, but Hayward insisted that his men do all they could to nurse George back to health and get him a visa to the United States.
Sister Philomena continued searching for a permanent home for the boy in the U.S. She found Navy Lt. Hugh Keenan, a surgeon aboard the USS Consolation. As the story goes, the clever nun asked Keenan to try to feed the hungry baby, and then, when he did, she exclaimed that it was a miracle — that nobody else had been able to feed him. Keenan was bonding with the child. After a lot of paperwork, George was adopted by Hugh and Genevieve Keenan and brought home to the U.S.
I’ve heard this story hundreds of times. My grandfather, Paul Reedy, served aboard the Point Cruz, and every time he repeated the tale, the pride in his voice was obvious. Baby George grew up in the U.S. as Dan Keenan, and for 26 years, he has attended every annual ship reunion.
I’ve wanted to write a column about this story, but it has been told many times. I find material for my columns through interviews, not by paraphrasing the news or other writing. But recently, after reading an article about Dan Keenan, I ran his name through Facebook and found a possible match right here in Spokane, Washington.
“It can’t be,” I thought. Had I been living in the same town as this legend for 10 years? I contacted him. As it turned out, I’d found the Navy’s baby.
“You’re Paul Reedy’s grandson,” Keenan said when I reached him. “He was a good man.” How, I wondered, could he remember my grandfather out of all the other sailors at the ship reunions?
We met for coffee. I apologized for being so unprofessional — I couldn’t contain my excitement over meeting the man about whom I’d heard so much.
“Were you surprised to hear from me?” I asked.
Dan shrugged, saying, “Yes and no. My wife, Shirley, says mine is the story that refuses to die.”
“Because of the nature of your adoption, you go to ship reunions. Now, you’re giving up a Saturday morning for the grandson of one of the sailors,” I said. “Is it ever a burden?”
I hadn’t even finished my question before Dan was laughing and shaking his head. “I feel an overwhelming gratitude to the skipper and the men of the Point Cruz.”
“It’s incredible to meet you,” I said. “I don’t know how to write this column.”
Keenan quoted Ernest Hemingway, suggesting I start with “one true sentence.”
Instead, I’ll end with one truth. Dan’s kindness and grace is a fitting reflection of the greatness of Sister Philomena, Father Edward Riley, and the captain and crew of the USS Point Cruz.
*Some names in this story may have been changed due to operational security or privacy concerns.
Trent Reedy served as a combat engineer in the Iowa National Guard from 1999 to 2005, including a tour of duty in Afghanistan.
