1st Tour in Korea (1965)

C H A P T E R I

(1965-1966)

I was introduced to the village of Chun Chon by my friend Johnny, who knew his way around most of the back alleys and side streets. He showed me where some of the houses of ill repute were located and some of the local night clubs. Johnny didn't much care if the places were off limits to GI's. As a matter of fact, he seemed to go out of his way to seek places which were not frequented by other soldiers.
A lot of what I learned about Korean customs, Johnny taught me. He spoke some of the language and he respected the Korean people, no matter what their station in life or their circum­stances. Invariably, that respect was returned to him. He had been there a long time and seemed to know what would offend his host and what would please them. He was fun to be with and he saw to it that something of the customs was passed on to me.
Most Koreans, male or female, are hard working and indus­trious. They are family oriented and respect their elders to the point of obsequiousness. The oldest male is the dominant member of the family and even his siblings are expected to follow his wishes. The female performs much of the same household chores as we in the Western world, but since she must move to the house of her husband's family once she marries, she is not accorded the same difference within the family as a male child.

It is not unusual to see great-grandparents, grandparents, parents, and their children living together in one enclave. The sense of family togetherness is very strong. Generally, addi­tions will be made to the house as new brides join their hus­band's household. The house is usually built in a square with a center courtyard open to the air and a veranda running around the entire inside circumference. One must remove one's shoes and step up onto the veranda to enter an apartment of the house. The doors are sliding doors and covered with rice paper. The house is sur­rounded by a tall wall, with, sometimes, barbed wire or glass embedded in the top. This last is to prevent thievery.
Nowadays, I'm sure that most Korean families have inside plumbing. In 1965, however, only the big cities had it. Chun Chon hotels had inside plumbing and offered communal baths or private baths for a nominal fee. All private homes had outside toilet facilities (an outhouse) whose effluvium was periodically removed and used to fertilize surrounding rice fields.
The aforementioned information may seem incongruous to the reader at first, but if you will bear with me, as I relate the events which took place in Korea, you will see how they fit in.
My first contact with the Korean soldier serving with U.S. forces (KATUSA-Korean Augmentation to the United States Army), came on my first morning at Camp Page, in the mess hall. After we had filled our trays and taken our seats, and while beginning

to eat, some Katusa enlisted men seated at the next table began putting sugar in their milk. Some stopped at two teaspoons, but others put three and four teaspoons, and incredibly, one even added a fifth teaspoon after stirring in four, tasting it, and not finding it sweet enough!
I found out later that most Korean foodstuffs, including cakes and candies, have little, if any, sweeteners in them. As a matter of fact, one could even be so bold as to call these foods bland. There aren't many instances of widespread cavities among Koreans, but when given a chance to partake of American sugar or products containing sugar, they make the most of it.
The average Katusa came directly from the Republic of Korea Army (ROKA) upon completion of his basic training, and perhaps an orientation course to prepare him for working beside Americans. He generally had a better than high school education, with some English language instruction, and was between the age of nineteen and twenty-six.
The ROK Army chose only their brightest and best recruits to serve with Americans. This is because they didn't want their soldiers to bring disgrace upon the Korean army. This would have been a loss of "face," which was not acceptable. This sometimes led to misunderstandings and resentment.
There were several instances where American soldiers working with Katusa, gave instruction on how to perform certain

procedures. Usually, the GI would then ask the Katusa if he understood. Most times, the Katusa did understand, and would do the task satisfactorily. At times, however, the Katusa would not understand, but rather than lose "face," would say he understood. Naturally, when the job didn't get done, or was done wrong, there would be accusations, and bad feelings would develop.
The Katusa first sergeant worked right out of the same orderly room where our first sergeant worked. As a matter of fact, all Katusa worked, slept, and ate, right alongside the GI. If something needed to get done to accomplish the mission of the unit, the combined forces worked together.
The discipline of the Katusa was administered by the first sergeant and he was exceed­ingly tough on his troops. I have seen him stand his men at attention in formation on the company street for over an hour, while he walked up and down their ranks, be­rating them for any shortcomings he found. Sometimes he even kicked them in the shins. They had to endure this without complaint or breaking formation.
Even with such discipline, the Katusa soldier had it better than his counterparts in the ROKA. It was much stricter there, so the Katusa considered himself lucky. Every month, the Korean government furnished him with what we came to call his "care package." It contained such items as toothpaste, toothbrush, soap, socks, underwear, towels, etc. His base pay ranged between six and eleven dollars a month depending on his rank. The average yearly income, for most Korean civilians, was about three hundred dollars. That's not a mistake, you read that right. The Korean economy wasn't very great in 1965, they were still trying to rebuild from the war.
With such a disparity in salaries between GI and Katusa, you would have thought there would have been more animosity. As I said though, most Katusa considered themself lucky not to be serving in the ROKA. Technically, they were allowed to use the same facilities as we, such as the EM club, bowling alley, snack bar, etc. However, as you can see, their funds would not permit them these luxuries. Occasionally they would accompany GI's to these places, but not too often. They didn't want to feel obli-ga­ted to the GI, and besides, the other Katusa would have felt resentment.
A normal tour of duty for a soldier in Korea is thirteen months. Sometime during this tour of duty, he would have to fire his rifle for zeroing and qualification. Most soldiers who have served there, know that the main range for firing for qualifica­tion, is just outside Tong Du Chon, at a place given the name of "The Nightmare Range." Not for nothing, is it called that!
The range is located between two hills (mountains?), with the control tower being in the center and the firing positions in the center and extending up along the face of both hills in a straight line. Generally, whole units (battalions or companies)

will fire for qualification at one time, starting in early morning and continu­ing until finished.
Throughout the day, details comprised of several men, are picked (volunteered) for jobs such as loading ammunition clips with ammunition, carrying ammunition from point to point on the range for distribution, posting new targets, and various other police details. These jobs are usually doled out among the E4 and below. Non commissioned officers (NCO's) did not do this type work, but supervised the lower enlisted men in carrying out these duties. All had to fire for qualification!
The center positions on the range were used for zeroing your weapon, and the targets were fixed at twenty-five meters. This consisted of firing three rounds of ammunition at the target (a Ca­nadian bull's-eye or half-bull) and trying to group the shot group so that it covered the bull and the three holes could be covered by a quarter. After each three rounds had been fired by all on the range, all would go down to the target on line and take note of where the shots had struck. Upon return to the firing position, the windage and elevation would be adjusted on the weapon by raising or lowering the rear sights and adjusting the front site right or left several calibrated clicks. This procedure would be repeated several times until the shot group on the target was satisfac­tory. It was necessary that this be done
correctly or else the person firing at the knockdown (KD) targets for qualification, would not be able to hit them. These targets were not fixed, but fell down when struck. They were placed anywhere from forty meters, to four hundred meters out from the firing positions located on the sides of the mountains.
Each position had two men assigned. One acted as scorer while the other one fired for qualification. They would then switch positions and do it again. The targets would pop up at different ranges and remain up until time ran out or it would be hit by a bullet. The person firing had to fire from various positions such as prone, kneeling, standing and foxhole. Ten seconds were the longest the target stayed up (the time varied) and the person firing could use more than one shot to hit the target, but only had twenty rounds to hit maybe twelve targets, so he had to be careful he didn't run out of ammo too soon.
Depending on how many KD targets you hit within the desig­nated times, and at various ranges, you were given a score of expert, sharpshooter, or marksman. No matter what score was made, every soldier who ever fired that range, will never forget it! I've heard that there is one in Germany which is tougher, but that is very difficult for me to believe. I fired on this range twice, once as an E4 and again as an E5. Naturally, it was easier for me as an NCO, but it was still memorable for its toughness.
In November of 1965, my unit went to fire the Honest John missile at the missile range (entirely different from the rifle range). A Katusa, another radio teletype­writer operator, and me,
drove my RATT rig (a radio teletype­writer set, mounted in a van, strapped with steel cables into the bed of a 3/4 Ton truck) in convoy to the range. I don't remember exactly where the range was, but the trip was a long one, over unpaved roads, and through mountainous terrain. The roads snaked up and down the mountains, sometimes making hairpin turns back upon themselves. Sometimes the roads paralleled rice paddies which had been terraced up and down the mountainsides on both sides of the road.
This was winter, of course, but I had occasion in the spring to marvel at the ingenuity of the irrigation system employed to get water to all those paddies. I'll swear to this day that Korea was the first place I ever saw water running uphill. The system had been perfected for thousands of years and custom has it that the land is handed down from father to son within the family for genera­tions. Land is highly valued in Korea and almost all of it is used in one way or another.
To get back to the convoy, we followed the vehicle in front at about a ten meter interval and tried to maintain a speed of twenty to twenty-five miles per hour. This was the predeter­mined convoy profile. It was not possible for a convoy as long as ours to maintain that profile on those roads. There were about eighty vehicles in the convoy. There was a constant jockeying back and forth, and speeds fluctuated from six, to forty miles per hour.

We finally made it to the range, which, as I recall, was situated along the side of a dry river bed. We set up the Ratt rig and erected our camouflage net and checked into the Ratt frequency. We were all set for business.
It was very cold, which was especially noticeable early in the morning. Usually before breakfast, the men had to shave because the company commander or first sergeant watched the mess line to make sure that the men were maintaining their personal hygiene.
I would stumble out of my sleeping bag and take my steel pot (helmet) to the mess tent where the cook had some water heaters set up in clean trash cans. After filling the helmet half way with boiling water, I would go back to my vehicle and strip to the waist. I'd wash face, arms, and upper body (if more than three days, lower body was next), and then proceed to lather my face and shave. This whole procedure was accomplished as quickly as possible, amid much shivering and grumbling. After getting dressed, we would take our tin mess kits and get in the chow line for break­fast.
After breakfast on the last day, we broke camp and lined up in convoy for the trip back to base camp. I drove, with the GI
and Katusa sitting beside me (in an actual combat situation, they would be on the watch for air or ground attack along the route of the convoy).

About a third of the way back to camp, my vehicle broke down in a small village. There are mechanics in all con­voys, but after he looked at my vehicle, he said he couldn't fix it. We would have to be towed in, bringing up the rear of the convoy. With no engine running, we couldn't run the heater. It was going to be a long, cold trip back!
I decided to fortify myself for that ordeal, so sneaked across the street to a village store, and bought a bottle of Yakju. This is a Korean rice wine with which I was familiar. It tasted a little like apple cider. The Katusa and the GI had a couple of swigs, but for the most part, I drank the bottle.
I remember singing American and Korean songs (I had learned a couple of songs) on the way back, and occasionally, stamping our feet and flapping our arms to generate some warmth.
We got back to the motor pool, but I was too drunk to make it back to the barracks, so the GI said he was going to get help and I should just sit there until he came back. I don't know how long they had been gone before I decided to try to make it back on my own.
I passed out on the chapel lawn, right across from the Camp Commanders Office. Someone saw me and got me back to my unit. I was called in front of the company commander the next morning and the riot act was read to me. Luckily my platoon sergeant and the first sergeant put in a good word for me. I was a darned good soldier and worked very hard; there were ex­tenuating circum­stances. I did not get busted, but only got a verbal reprimand. Three months after that incident, I made sergeant (E‑5).
One day, while on liberty in the town of Chun Chon, I met a young lady who took me to her "hootch" (apartment) in a com­pound across from the entrance to Camp Page. She was a pros­titute of about twenty years of age, and very knowledgeable about sexual matters. She couldn't speak much English, but there was another girl living nearby in the same compound who translated for her when she didn't understand something I said. This other girl was also a prostitute. That didn't surprise me, but later, when I became interested in this girl, I found out they were sisters.
As I mentioned earlier, girls were not as highly thought of in Korean families, so their parents had sold them to a "house mamasan" to train as prostitutes so that they could send home some extra money. The mamasan furnished them a room to conduct their business, bought them nice clothes, and even cooked and served their food, all for part of their earnings. If they were good at their trade, they made a lot of money, some of which they sent back home. If they made enough money, they might even have a housegirl of their own to cook and clean house for them.
This latter case usually occurred when a GI had agreed to
"stea­dy" them, or become their "yobo." In a lot of cases, the girl just became deeper and deeper in debt to the mamasan, and even­tually killed herself. Sometimes she would run away and try to begin life anew in another location. That was hard to do though, because it was hard for her to be accepted into another com­munity, especially if her profession became known.
I started going with this second girl, Chong Hui, on a regular basis; I became her yobo. That was a mistake, because I became very attached to her; so attached, that I decided to marry her and take her away from the life she was leading.
I only had about three months left in Korea, and I knew that wasn't enough time to get approval on a request to marry. What I did was to have a civilian wedding in a local church (Western style), and then a Korean ceremony at her home. They were both beautiful weddings and Chong Hui even made me a Korean costume for the ceremon­y. We'd planned the weddings for the weekend so that we'd have a couple of days to celebrate. We did that, and I had a most memorable time.
The marriage wasn't recognized by the U.S. Army or govern­ment. As a matter of fact, I could have been court martialed for marrying without my commanding officer's permis­sion, so I kept it very hush-hush. Johnny and another friend were the only U.S. military at the wedding and I cautioned them to keep quiet.
Later that week, I put in a formal request to get married. The Army frowns on anyone marrying a Korean girl for several reasons. The Korean culture is so differ­ent from American culture that many times, marriages of this kind do not last, so they try to stop such a marriage before it happens. The girl may be a prostitute, out to marry a soldier so that she can get an allotment and the other benefits that accrue to being the wife of a serviceman. Many times it is the serviceman's first time away from home and he is easily beguiled by feminine charms. I was twenty-six years old, however, and I figured I knew what I wanted to do and I wasn't about to let them talk me out of it.
I soon had my orders to go back to the states! I guess the Army figured if they couldn't talk me out of it, they'd send me back to the states to let time erase the thought. I had time enough to take a train to Uijongbu to start the official paper­work for the marriage (they have to do a background check on the bride, and that's where her family papers were).
We boarded the train in Chun Chon. That was an experience I'll always remember. The house mamasan had packed us a lunch of kimchee, and kimpop, which is fermented cabbage, and rice, pickled radish, and spinach, rolled into pressed sea weed; quite tasty once you acquired a taste for it! It was well she did, because the train ride was a lengthy one, involving many stops along the way. Most of the passengers had brought their own food and were willing to share it with their fellow travelers. It was a very friendly crowd of people. Most were peasants, going to the big city to sell their produce. The prices they commanded in Uijongbu, were better than in Chun Chon.
I was the only westerner on the train, and as such, I created quite a commotion. All eyes noticed me. The people were very courteous for the most part, but there were mendicants who zeroed in on my presence. Most of these people are allowed to ride the train on a daily basis and press the passengers for alms as long as they don't make pests of themselves. It is how they earn enough money to subsist.
Most of the beggars appeared to be healthy enough to work and elicited little money from the passengers. One fellow, though, will always haunt my memory. His face had been ravaged by syphilis, and was most repugnant to look upon. The poor soul was so piteous, standing before me and begging for money, that I was happy to give him some money just to have his visage removed. Years later, I was to see the movie "Elephant Man," and it reminded me of him.
From Uijongbu, we caught another train to Seoul. We had to transfer some of the paperwork to Korean offices there and fill out additional papers at the American Embassy. Rather than go through the hassle of a return train ride to Chun Chon, we caught a bus back. All too soon, I was also catching a plane back to the states.