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In June we went to Alabama to attend the 50th wedding anniversary celebration of Jane’s old college friend. Jane had been a member of the wedding party and wanted to go, so we went. I didn’t exactly relish the idea of this trip but it turned out to be a lot of fun. On the way home the interstate passed by the town of Tuscola, Illinois and Jane wanted to stop at the big discount mall there. Going shopping at a mall is among my least favorite things to do but we had been to this one before and it is above average as malls go, and she persuaded me to stop. What I found was the headquarters of the Korean War Veterans National Museum and Library. It is a temporary location and they are in the process of building a permanent home at Rantoul, not many miles away. Looking at the displays and reading about some of the experiences of veterans of that war brought back memories for me.
Korea was my little war. I was too young for WWII, which ended the summer I started high school. Five years later, I was in college when the whole war thing flared up again. The communist North Koreans, without warning, invaded the South. The whole thing was somewhat ludicrous. In WWII we had urged the Russians to enter the war against the Japanese. Just before we dropped the A-bombs and ended the war, they did so. This allowed them to get in on the peace agreements. In Korea it was decided arbitrarily that Japanese north of the 38th parallel would surrender to the Russians and south of that imaginary line would surrender to the Americans. Strictly a paper situation. But the “paper situation” persists to this day, and caused a conflict that killed thousands of people in the 1950s. I got in on a tiny bit of it when I was drafted in 1954 after completing college. When I got to Korea the fighting was over (though we were very alert to a possible resumption) and I had nowhere near the hardships that the previous GI’s experienced. Still, it feels like “my war”.
I was in the Signal Corps, had gone to radio repair school, and when I landed in Inchon, right after New Year’s, 1955, I was assigned to a unit called Long Lines Signal Group. This unit had charge of communications between Seoul, the Korean capital and Pusan, the port closest to Japan, as well as across the Sea of Japan to Japan itself. In addition were circuits to the cities Taegu and Pohang in Korea and to the Island of Chejudo south of Korea. I was stationed at Pusan, right in the middle and headquarters for the whole thing. Specifically, my job dealt with the radio part of the radio-telephone systems, though our unit handled all communications, cable, open-wire, and radio-teletype. As military duty goes it was a choice job. More interesting than most, and certainly more comfortable than in a combat arm.
We were still close enough to the actual battle to meet people that had been engaged in the fierce combat that characterized this war. When the North Koreans struck, the US army of occupation was still in Japan, and consisted of the 7th Division and the 1st Cavalry Division, both at about half strength and a long, long way from being combat ready. When the invasion started, the US military in Japan scratched together a makeshift combat unit they called “Task Force Smith”, named for the colonel that commanded it. They were sent to Korea to help stem the tide. It was more symbolic than useful militarily. In any case, I had a first sergeant for awhile who had been in that unit. The war was a United Nations endeavor, and not unilaterally US. Many countries sent troops and other aid, notably, British, Australian, Canadian, New Zealand, French, Turk, and others. Sweden set up a hospital which was located within sight of our unit. Also within sight of our hill was the United Nations Cemetery. I have many color slides of all this.
Even though I was in a situation more like a tourist than a combat soldier, I felt a sense of accomplishment and a certain pride. I had plenty of resentment at being drafted just as I was starting my career, but after I got to Korea I felt much better about it. I felt what I was doing was significant. So, visiting this museum brought some emotions to the surface, after about 50 years. When they get their new building I will probably go see it. After all, it’s my little war and my little brush with history.