By Joseph Choong Sik Yi

I served in Korea, as a U.S Marine, from November of l952 to November of l953. After serving as the head interpreter at the Panmunjom Prisoner Receiving Point during the Prisoner Exchange that followed the signing of the Armistice Agreement, in July of l953, I was assigned to ASCOM City-the Army Supply Compound- located in Bupyung just east of the city of Inchon.

Written here are some of my first experiences with the average Koreans-not military personnel- that gave me my first intimate impressions of Koreans.

In that I had only a few months left to serve in Korea-by Marine Corps regulations, a marine could serve only one year in a theatre of war- I was assigned temporary duty, as an MP, at ASCOM to serve out my remaining time in Korea.

There were many Korean civilians working on the ASCOM base; there were barbers, laundry ladies, houseboys, etc. Sometimes, in appreciation, we would tip them for the personal services that they provided. Instead of paying them with script (military money), by their requests, we would buy them cigarettes from the PX instead. It didn’t make any difference to us-one dollar in script or a carton of cigarettes for one dollar.

The reason for the request was that the Korean person can take the cigarettes and sell them off base, for three dollars on the black market. There remained one problem: although it was okay to have the cigarettes for smoking on the base, it was illegal to take them off the base, and for certain, to sell on the black market.

As an MP, I took my regular turn as a gate sentry. The gate duty schedule was confidential and no one, especially Korean civilians, were to have knowledge of its contents. But, of course, the Koreans got the information: in fact, they knew my gate duty schedule before I did.

The day of my watch, is the day my Korean friends- it seemed that all of them were my friends - would take whatever they had, off the base.

The main gate had two sides, one for the incoming traffic and the other for the outgoing traffic. The pedestrians could take either side. There were two Marines guarding the gate. It was partly our job to "pat down" the Koreans to make sure nothing illegal was being taken off the base.

At closing time, the Koreans would all line up at the gate, to be searched, on there way out. I knew that not everyone was taking things off the base. What I couldn’t understand was why those not taking anything off the base, did not line up on the other side of the gate. My Marine counterpart always had a good laugh about this, but never said anything to the higher ups.

One day, an officer was coming onto the base, in his Jeep, and noticed this strange sight of everyone lined up on only one side of the gate. Through him the word got out that I was letting the Koreans steal everything off the base.

I was called into the Provost Marshal’s office for an explanation. It was fortunate that he liked me, because he accepted my explanation that it was a cultural thing, that the Koreans did not like being touched by others.

I remember hoping, at that time, that the Koreans would figure things out and arrange for those not carrying things out, to line up on the other side of the gate- to help each other.

As for my rationale for letting the Koreans take things off the base, it was not that they were my fellow Koreans. It was that, in my mind, they had earned it, and that the regulations made by the authorities, could have been better structured.

One day, one of my Korean friends told me of a situation that affected his friend’s grandmother. He told me that it would be good for me to know, but that I should not do anything about it because it might have some bad after-effects on his friend and his grandmother.

It turned out that there was a small leak, a very small leak, in the American oil pipeline that went from Inchon to Seoul, and that the grandmother, with painstaking patience, was collecting the small drops of oil. A local policeman got wind of this and took the oil away from the grandmother, threatening to expose her to the authorities if she were to tell anybody about it.

I found my way to the policeman’s house, and lo and behold, he had barrels of oil hidden in his front yard. Between his broken English and my broken Korean, I conveyed to him that he WILL return the oil to the grandmother; he refused. I got so angry, for the first time in my life, I struck another human being; I knocked him to the ground. He was bigger than me. He may have had thoughts about retaliation, so I put my hand on my MP revolver,

He finally agreed to return the oil. I followed up on the matter, and to the best of my knowledge, there were no repercussions on the grandmother or her family. I never did meet the grandmother, which was just as well.

I remember thinking, what a terrible way for people in authority to treat people whom they were entrusted to safeguard from harm.

The cook on our base made arrangements, with local farmers, to provide us with fresh eggs. If there is anything the Marines hate, it is powdered eggs. Because we had fresh eggs everyday, we had, literally tons of powdered eggs stashed away somewhere in the base galley.

At that time, there were numerous orphanages in Bu Pyung, and they all had lots of needs. Through the generosity of our area Provost Marshal, I was allowed to distribute the powdered eggs to the local orphanages.

I thought at that time, and I still do. that Americans are basically good hearted people willing to help others wherever and whenever possible.

Almost everything came to Korea in wooden crates. After the goods were removed, the crates were, once a week, set afire inside the compound.

It seemed a shame to destroy the crates because most of the wood was strong and clean. Again, through the benevolence of the Provost Marshal, I was able to take the crates out to the village. He provided me the clearance to do so, and even the truck to transport the material.

I realize then how creative and innovative the Koreans were. They made all kinds of useful things for personal use as well as for sale.

In their appreciation, they made, for the Provost Marshal, ten walking sticks, covered with leather; they were beautiful. He distributed them to his officers; and although I was only a temporary corporal, he even gave me one. At that time, it was a mark of distinction to have one of these walking sticks.

Basically, we didn’t have much to do in our off hours, except drink beer at the slop shop (beer hall on the base); something good, however, did come out of all the beer we drank.

At that time, a beer cost us five cents a can. Even at that rate, they made so much profit that, once a week, on Saturdays, we had free beer nights. You can imagine, there were lots and lots of empty beer cans piling up. The cans were, at that time, strong, steel cans.

On the main street in BuPyung, there was a church that was quite threadbare from the ravages of war. There were holes made by artillery, bullets, fires, etc. With the beer cans, which we cut open and flattened out, we covered the entire outer surface of the church. WE laid the cans so that the shiny clear metal faces were showing (not the side with the beer company’s logos) and, to us, it looked pretty good.

Some people, however, had reservations about beer cans covering a house of worship. In our minds, it was the only way we knew to weather-proof the building; it had the blessing of the pastor and it would be temporary until a better solutions could be pursued. Maybe it wasn’t Gothic-like in appearance, but it was practical, it did do the job, and the pastor was appreciative.

Late one day, I was called into the Provost Marshal’s office to interpret what a group of six Koreans were claiming against the United States government. The Koreans were talking so loud and so fast that no one could understand what they wanted.

After I had a chance to cool them down and had them talking in civil tones and understandable speed, I finally realized that a cow had died from a land mine explosion. Further that they were claiming that the mine belonged to the United States and that the Americans must pay for the dead cow.

The Provost Marshal, who was a major, was himself a very cool customer; he wasn’t born yesterday. His claim was that the land mine was Russian made and that it was buried by the North Koreans as they were retreating north.

This was, of course, a classical case of stalemate. The land mine had blown up into bits and there was nothing left to prove anything. It then became, simply, a shouting match. And the Koreans won.

The Provost Marshal asked me to find out how much they wanted. I have forgotten the amount, but it was quite a bit. As tough as the Major was, he threw up his arms and said, "Oh hell, give them what they want, and get them out of here." Of course this was an act; he let the Koreans win,

While I was in Korea, I received a preview of the successes that the Koreans would achieve in the world after the conclusion of the Korean War. For me, it was a very positive experience.

The War soon ended for me, in November of l953, as I returned home and back to school. Probably I could not have finished college without the benefits provided by the G.I. Bill.

I took a two-three year detour from the goals of my civilian life, but I surely would not trade the wonderful tour I had with the U.S. Marine Corps and my early experiences with the wonderful common people of the Republic of Korea.