The story continues as my “Korean War Experiences,” published in the June, 2000 edition of the Los Angeles Korea Time Bilingual Edition.

I graduated from Chicago’s Lane Technical High School, in January of 1950 and went on to the University of Illinois in Champaign-Urbana, in February of 1950. The Korean War broke out in June of 1950.
In America, as recent as only a half century ago, college attendance was relatively a rare happening. As prestigious as Lane was, only ten percent of the graduation class went on to college. It was so rare, and so few young men were involved, that college students were exempt from military service.
So here I was, in America, far away from Korea, the land of my birth, safe from ravages of war. As the early months of the War unfolded, I would read and see the reports in newspapers and on television, and felt the guilty feelings of somehow not doing my share.
The feelings of guilt intensified especially when I would hear about my high school buddies, none of whom were Koreans, dying and sustaining injuries in my Korea. So, toward the end of 1951, I decided to enlist in the armed forces for the sole purpose of going to Korea.
At that time, if you were drafted into military service, you would serve a two year tour of duty. However, if you voluntarily enlisted, the tour of duty was for three years. Because I was exempt from the draft, I had to enlist for a three year hitch.
I had to find a way for a two year hitch because, during a war, at that time, you can serve only one year in a war zone - Korea - and I didn’t want to spend three years away from school for a one year stay in Korea.
I did find a way. There was a provision in the law that allowed a person to request “voluntary induction,” which I did. I qualified as a two-year volunteer, which was perfect for me.
I was to spend the next two years divided as follows: three months in boot camp, three months in special training, three months in combat training, one year in Korea and three months back in the United States, at the Great Lakes Naval Station, which is near my home in Chicago, just biding time to be mustered out.
I had no preference as to which branch of the armed services I would serve in, as long as it was in Korea. At that time, so many Marines were being killed in Korea that there were not enough volunteers to fill the Marine ranks. The Marines were always a volunteer group; they never accepted draftees - except for those three months during the early part of 1952. Thus, I became a Marine.
Now that it’s all done and over with, I would not have it any other way. The training was unbelievably tough, and even after, keeping up with the traditions of the Corps, wherever we went, was always a stress.
Our platoon must have been a pretty good bunch of recruits; we won the battalion marching contest. I do remember our Drill Sergeant picking out about ten people, who were somewhat uncoordinated, telling them that they were sick, that they had to go to the sick bay (hospital) during the marching competition.
We graduated as the honor platoon and we all won our first stripes. We were now private first class, not recruits. Along about this time, I was hearing about regulations that do not allow Marines to go to the country of their origin. What a devastating turn of events.
Again, I searched for a solution - and found it. There was a superceding regulation that permitted a Marine to go to a service station of his choice, based on his class rank in a special training course and that Military Occupational Specialty was absolutely needed in that area. Perhaps this was my incentive for doing my best in the special engineering course that I was enrolled in.
There were seventy people in the class, and I had achieved the third rank. Problem; there were only two positions allocated for the Korean theater of operation. I worried for days in fear of not being one of the two to receive the Korean assignment.
As it turned out, I needn’t have been so worried. I received one of the assignments and the second and last slot went to the last person in class. When I thought about it, what person in his right mind would want to go to a war zone, when there were so many peaceful stations around the world.
We then had three months of combat training, part of which was cold-weather training. This training was necessary because, recently, the Marines had fought in the hot South Pacific during the World War II and they had not fought before in freezing weather as in North Korea. This experience, I still remember today, was the toughest part of the training to Korea.
The ship was very democratically organized. The officers had half of the ship and we enlisted men had the other half. The problem, as I saw it, was that there were about two hundred officers and about three thousand of us. Also, they had the upper half and we had the lower half, much of it below the water line. Oh well, that’s life in the U.S. Marine Corps.
The trip across the Pacific Ocean took about twenty days spanning three Sundays. I volunteered (can’t get away from old habits, I guess) to set up chairs and distribute the Hymnals and the Bibles for the services.
The attendance at the first service, just out of San Diego, was not too well attended. But the second service, about half way cross the big pond, was very well attended; in fact the service was packed. The third and last service, just before arrival at Inchon, was so packed, that a second service was necessary. Whoever said God was not necessary, or was not in the hearts of tough Marines, were sure wrong.
I finally arrived in Korea. Before I could even unpack, I was called into an officer’s office, and asked if I would like to visit my grandmother, in Seoul. Of course, I responded; and before I knew it, I was put on a Jeep with a driver/correspondent and a photographer and was heading to Seoul. Somehow, they found my grandmother’s house and they had me pose with her and my cousins and nephews and nieces.
While in Seoul, one of my cousins, who was a widow, gave me some money and asked me to buy some things for her at the PX. Why not, I reasoned; it was the least I could do for her. However, as I was walking out the PX door, two MPs stopped me and asked where I was going with contrabands. I didn’t have the slightest idea of what they were talking about, after all I had been in Korea only a few days. As far as they were concerned, I was just another Korean civilian wearing illegally obtained American military clothing. Good thing my driver was there to explain.
I had another day to spend in Seoul, so I visited with my old Sunday School teacher, Mr. Sei Woo Noh, who had taken me to public bath houses when I was just a little boy still in Seoul, at a time when my father was in America and I had no male adult to regularly take me to the bath house.
Later that same day, I also visited a good friend from back home, Dick Thomas, with whom I had spent my childhood playing basketball and softball in Chicago. As I was departing, I asked him for one hundred dollars - which was quite a bit of money at that time - and he gave it to me without a question; I will forever be grateful to him for that. We are still lifetime friends, spanning more than half a century.
When I left Seoul, I said a tearful farewell to my grandmother and my relatives. I was scheduled, in a few days, to move north to the DMZ (de-militarized zone). As I was leaving, I gave the hundred dollars to my grandmother. Later on I found out that, with the money that my friend had given me, my grandmother was able to care for her family for three months.
A few days later, at my destination, I was given a copy of the Stars and Stripes, Korea Edition - a newspaper for American servicemen overseas. The headline read that a First Division Marine was home for Christmas. Of course, this was a play on words in that the entire First Marine Division was stationed in Korea.
Upon returning to Seoul, our unit was loaded onto trucks and was headed north. For the first time in my life, when the sergeant in the truck yelled, “lock and load,” I realized that I was in war. I was to spend the next five months on the southern bank of the Im Jin River, patrolling for infiltrators and building bunkers.
It was there that I spent my first Christmas away from home. There were ten of us in the same tent and we tried to make it as comfortable as we possibly could. For Christmas, we cut down a tree from the hillside outside our tent and decorated it with beer cans; it was not bad at all. What was bad was that the radio was on all day long, and what we heard over and over again were “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” and “White Christmas.” We thought we were pretty tough, being Marines and all, but I could see that there weren’t many dry eyes anywhere for days.
The Korean Marines and the U.S. Marines shared the bunker construction responsibilities. The Korean Marines were to dig the holes and the U.S. Marines were to build the upper portions consisting of the lumber and the sand bag work. The problem was that there were no heavy equipment and the digging was done with picks and shovels. Another problem was that in January and February, the ground froze up and was impossible to dig.
Our captain, being an American, became very upset when the Korean Marines were not producing the holes for us to build the bunkers; we were not meeting our quota. So he tells me, who was rushed into being an interpreter (and I have to admit that my Korean was, at best, not very good), to tell the Korean captain that his men were not meeting their quota.
What did I know? I just got to Korea; I had never even met a Korean Marine before, let alone how they operated. So, I told the Korean captain that the holes were not being dug.
Before I realized what as happening, the captain lined up all his men and was beating them with a two by four piece of lumber. As soon as they were knocked down, they would get up again and again, only to be knocked again. I could not bear seeing the beating any longer, so I left. I learned a lesson then; that I would be more prudent, in the future, on how to interpret/convey a message.
I thought the enlisted Korean Marines would be angry with me, but they were not; they adopted me as one of their own. Thereafter, they would even include me, when they had time off and would go into nearby villages to drink Korean liquor and pass the time.
What seemed unfair to me was that, the area we were in was considered a combat zone for us, but was a rest zone for the Korean Marines.
On clear days, we could see across the ImJin River and see the soldiers on the other side; of course, they could see us as well. Regulations were that if we were to receive incoming enemy fire, as I recalled, twenty rounds of mortars for a given month, we would receive “combat pay.”
At the tie, the pay for a private first class was $60/month. In addition, we received $40/month for overseas pay and another $50/month for combat pay. By today’s standard the $100 month to $150/month doesn’t seem much, but it was quite bit compared to the $2/month that my cousin received as a captain in the ROK army.
As soon as our unit received the required number of rounds for the month, to receive our combat pay, our unit commander rotated his units so that another unit would be in place to receive their “combat pay.” As it turned out, there were certain areas, where the river was narrow enough, for the enemy mortars to reach across. Our captain’s reports reflected that he was rotating his men because he did not want any one part of his unit to be in harm’s way more than others.
About April of 1953, there were scuttle buds (Marine’s slang for rumors) that some sort of an armistice agreement was being finalized, that the shooting would soon be over. The rumors became a realty, for me, when I was assigned to the MunSanNi area.
When I arrived at MunSanNi, in May of 1953, most of the Prisoner Receiving Team, composed of American and Korean Marines, had already assembled. The fifty U.S. Marines, selected on the basis of their heroism on the front lines, were selected to serve as the initial greeters, and stretcher bearers, for the returning prisoners of war.
In between preparing the area, to receive the returning prisoners, and training to perform our roles in the actual receiving of the returning repatriates, those of us on the Receiving Team got to know each other well. Except for me, the others had been selected for their heroism in combat; I felt out of place; but they welcomed me.
One thing was obviously clear; none of them felt like they were heroes; they just did what had to be done. I never knew such modesty existed. They never talked about their combat experiences; they came to light only when someone else would talk about them. I didn’t drink much beer before I got to Korea, but that summer, I seemed to have made up for lost time.
Finally, the war was coming to an end after three years, one month and two days of fighting; the date set was July 27, 1953. Within three days, all military personnel, supplies and equipment, on both sides, were to be withdrawn out of the area. Another impossible task.
What actually happened was that, both sides decided to, instead of withdrawing the ammunition, use up the ammunition. Estimates were that, as high as one-third of the entire war casualty was sustained during the last week of the war. What a tragic decision by unthinking men.
Again, I was safe, within the no-fire zone at PanMun-Jom. From this haven, we saw the continuous heavy artillery battled being engaged overhead for several days.
Finally, the day of the beginning of the Big Exchange arrived; it was August 5, 1953, 9:00 AM. The plan was that, every hour, four trucks each seating twenty-five returning prisoners, would roll down from KaeSung to PanMunJom. As part of the four truck convoy, there were also several ambulances carrying the men who were very sick and the lame.
There the lists of the returning prisoners were presented to the U.S. Marine Corps officer, who in turn would hand them to me. As I read their names, they would respond and debark from the trucks, to freedom; some of them had been prisoners since even before the current war.
I could not read Korean very well at that time, but I did the very best that I could. I would read a name, and sure enough, someone would respond and jump off the truck. It got so that I was getting pretty smug, thinking that I was reading pretty well.
As it turned out, the order of the names on the list was the same as the order of seating on the trucks. No matter how I pronounced the name, the next person jumped out. Just because I read the name wrong, they weren’t going to stay in the truck.
As they got off the trucks, some of them cried shamelessly. I was the first sign of freedom they had seen in a long time. I received lots of bone crushing hugs. It was an experience I will never forget.
In between deliveries, those of us in the initial welcoming group, as compared to those who were responsible for the care and the processing, had time to relax. I remember a couple of times. I espied a young Korean Communist soldier/driver, sitting in a jeep. In a mischievous moment, I jumped in next to him and asked my friends to take our picture. I was surprised at the fear he showed.
Later, I was told by a Korean Marine Corps officer that the young man was probably fearful of the reactions of his superiors, that he was getting too friendly with me. I was so young; so unknowing about the stresses that my unthoughtful actions would place on others.
Considering the complexities, and the unpredictability of the North Korean/Chinese Team, the Exchange was completed quite smoothly. A bit of excitement was felt when a captured American general, Major General William Dean was returned. Instead of the usual ambulance, we had prepared a sedan for the General’s transportation to MunSanNi. The North Koreans were fully prepared to exploit this “special treatment for special people.” Our initial assessment was that a high ranking general should not have been running around on the front lines and getting captured. But our respect for the General was restored when the General refused to ride in the sedan and instead rode in the ambulance just like any other returning prisoner.
Another bit of excitement - this one a daily occurrence - was the disrobing by the North Koreans, of their American issued clothing and shoes as they headed north. This was a show of defiance, staged for the benefit of the North Korean news media. They threw their clothing on the road, and there they rotted in the hot summer months of 1953. This happened on a secured stretch of the road and no one was allowed to retrieve the clothing for distribution to the civilian population; what a waste.
Each day, we received about 400 returning prisoners. We did this 6 days a week, for 5 weeks. We received 12,757 returnees, about two-thirds of them ROK, little less than one-third of them Americans, and the rest, U.N. forces.
With the Prisoner Exchange completed, after farewells to other members of the Prisoner Exchange Team members, with whom I had developed a life time bond, we said farewell and each went our separate ways; me to ASCOM City.


Epilogue:

We Koreans must be grateful to the United States for the 54,246 Americans killed and 103,234 wounded during the Korea War, as well as for the 8,177 still missing in action.
We must, however, know the full story, that Korea is the only nation in the world that is still split, split by American decisions; first, for dividing it in the first place, and second, for not allowing General MacArthur to push up the peninsula to the Yalu River when every sign of success were present.
We must also not forget the valiant efforts of president Synggman Rhee who demanded an Armistice Agreement which would (1) insure a unified Korea, and (2) that only willing North Koreans be repatriated to North Korea. The fact that these demands did not materialize, is another reminder that if we Koreans want something for Korea, we must be willing, and be prepared, to fight for what will serve our interests.
We have been depending on others - South Korea on the United States and the North Korea on Russia and China - to get what we need and want. It is now time for us to mature to a full partnership in world affairs. We now have the means, but we still lack the strong mentality of a first class nation.
I’ve been a member of the Republic of Korea Reunification Advisory Council for ten years. In that time, nothing positive has been done. In fact, the Council has been at it for half a century. It is time for the Council to produce, or get out of the way.
If there is to be reunification, it must happen soon. In another generation or two, there will be no one left to remind our younger generations that North Korea is not another country, that we are all a part of the same nation.
If we are to claim the greatness that we are destined for, we must do two things: (1) rid ourselves of our worse characteristics - we are the world’s greatest self promoters and knavers, and (2) learn to work together cooperatively and unselfishingly for common goals.


Joseph Yi came to America in 1940, at the age of 10, and has lived basically in the Chicago Metropolitan Area. Although Mr. Yi’s professional life was in the mainstream society, he has actively participated in the voluntary social services for the Chicago Korean community.