Testimonials: Vignettes from Korean War veterans (S-Z)

The following are excerpts from some of the vignettes sent to The Virginian-Pilot to commemorate the 60th anniversary of the start of the Korean War. Authors are listed alphabetically by last name, (S—Z):

I believe all combat veterans returned home with some degree of emotional issues. Today I think they call it PTSD.

When I returned to Straight Creek, Ky., I, too, went through emotional ups and downs and would walk for miles on railroad tracks trying to get my mind straight. For many years, I would occasionally have nightmares about seeing the swollen bodies of American soldiers lined up on the side of the road awaiting transfer back to the states, the sound of Russian T-34 tanks, or the sound of bugles and banzai attacks.

Most of those feelings have gone now, having been replaced with stage four cancer. However, in spite of what I went through, I’m proud to have served our wonderful country.

On my second tour in the summer of 1953, on board the Owen , we went into Wonsan harbor regularly. It was always a hot spot. Lots of shooting on both sides.

One morning, we had barely entered the harbor when the North Koreans started shooting. I could feel and hear shrapnel hitting the bulkhead. Then that was drowned out by near continuous return fire. It seemed to go on for years but was only about half an hour.

We were hit several feet above the waterline at the bow. No personnel casualties.

Fortunately, the sea was calm so we steamed out of the harbor at about 15 knots. As soon as we got out of range of the shore batteries, we dropped anchor and the damage control folks welded a “quick fix” plate over the hole.

In less than two hours, our bow was repaired and we were back in Wonsan harbor. The North Koreans reported us as “sunk” but soon found out we weren’t.

This was the life of a destroyer sailor. We did not engage the enemy face to face in the cold and mud of Korea. We supported the men who did. I witnessed a Corsair, in a flight deck incident, plunge over the side and the pilot was rescued by the plane guard destroyer. Three hundred and sixty men were assigned to the ship that rescued the pilot. Seamen, firemen, engineers, electronic technicians, supply personnel, administrative personnel, gunner’s mates, fire control technicians, signalmen, radiomen, cooks, radarmen, painters, chippers and wipers. Support comes in many ways.

The emotional highs and lows as the war ebbed and flowed. We were elated when we moved north toward the Yalu in November 1950 only to be fearful of the consequence of the overwhelming Chinese attacks that pushed us back to the 38th parallel. We hit a new high when Gen. Ridgway turned us back north from whence we had just come.

Korea’s 1950-51 bitterly cold winter also was near unbearable. We had not received arctic clothing because Gen. MacArthur had planned to have us home by Christmas. The clothing arrived in January and was “warmly” received.

I was awakened at 2 for my morning flight. Breakfast of steak and eggs at 2:30 and then dressed in my flight gear and went to the ready room. My pilot and the other crewman were waiting for me. We were briefed by intelligence and the squadron commander and proceeded to the flight deck.

My aircraft, a Douglas AD-4N Skyraider, was waiting with a full load of bombs and rockets.

About 4 a.m., we launched from the starboard catapult and flew inbound toward Wonsan harbor. Upon entering North Korea air space, we flew north looking for trains, truck convoys or other targets of opportunity. Just south of the Russian border, we found a truck convoy headed south on a main highway. We made a diving attack on the convoy and destroyed several trucks.

After gaining altitude, the pilot made another diving attack, destroying several more trucks. A 37 mm cannon shell exploded nearby, and shrapnel entered the engine area and cut an oil line.

The pilot was able to gain altitude before the engine seized and quit. Since we were near the coast, he was able to glide the plane out to sea and ditch the aircraft about a mile east of Yang Do Island. We were rescued by the destroyer Ozbourn    and returned to the Essex later that afternoon.

In 1948, as an undergraduate student at the University of Virginia, I had as roommates Henry Moncure and Merle Truman Ayers. The three of us had a great year together, and Truman and I became great friends.

After the Korean War started in 1950, I went on active duty with the Air Force as a second lieutenant and eventually wound up stationed at a forward air base just north of Seoul. The front line was not too far away and when Truman found out where I was, he told me that he was stationed on Okinawa, where he was flying bomber missions. He also stated that he was concerned for my safety and that after one of his missions, he was going to land where I was to ascertain that I was safe and well cared for.

Our correspondence continued regularly until one night when I returned to my quarters to find two letters on my bunk. One was from Truman, and the other was the last one I had sent to him. It was simply marked, RETURN TO SENDER ADDRESSEE DECEASED.

– Albert Teich Jr., Norfolk

I was in Korea as a newly minted Marine second lieutenant for the winter of 1951-52. We have all read of the many unrecognized acts of Marine heroism during the retreat from the Chosin Reservoir.

I was privileged to know first-hand of the courage of David Champagne of Wakefield, R.I., member of A Company, 1st Battalion, 7th Marines. I was lucky to be a rifle platoon leader and, for a short time, company commander of this group of truly wonderful men.

David was a fire team leader in 1st Platoon of this company during an attack on Hill 104 in May of 1952.

In a shell hole with his fire team, an enemy grenade landed among the men. David picked up the grenade, throwing it away from the others. The grenade severed his hand and blew him out of the shell hole, where he was killed by enemy fire.

David was awarded the Medal of Honor, and later a new post office in Wakefield was named for this 19-year-old. He did not live long enough to enjoy life as we have known it.

We should never forget the sacrifices made by young men and women like David.

I graduated from East Carolina University in the summer of 1951 at age 22, and in less than a week after signing a contract to play ball with the Chicago Cubs, I was drafted into the U.S. Army.

I accepted the enlistment and went on to serve as a combat engineer with the 3rd Division, 10th Engineer Combat Battalion, D Company.

Of the brave men that I served with, there was a young corporal, James “Jonsie” Jones, who could neither read nor write. Jonsie’s experience working in West Virginia coal mines easily made him the best soldier in the battalion. Since Jonsie had worked directly with dynamite starting at age 9, he handled all of our explosives.

In the time that Jonsie and I served together, a six-month stint in Kumhwa Valley (aka Boomerang) was by far the harshest. Every day, from sun up to sun down, we armed and disarmed anti-personnel minefields. Working with the mines, which we called “bouncin’ betties,” involved lying down next to the devices to carefully insert or remove the arming pins.

If the device accidentally went off, the cast-iron metal would shoot up from the ground and, hopefully, blast in a horizontal direction, spraying shrapnel overhead rather than downward. This work was often combined with two or three nights of patrol with an assigned infantry platoon, meaning little or no rest throughout the week.

On one particular occasion toward the end of our time in Boomerang, a small group of Chinese snuck up and lobbed two grenades into the bunker Jonsie and I were in. Instinctively, Jonsie pushed me out of the bunker and into the trench, and he absorbed the full blast of both grenades.

Later in the summer of 1953, the armistice was signed and we were discharged from the Army. I was formally discharged in Fort Jackson, S.C. Without a phone call home to my parents, I took a bus to Raleigh and then another to Washington, N.C. I arrived around 2 a.m. and had to walk the remaining 15 miles to my home in Bath.

There were no banners, no songs, and no reception. Most people didn’t even realize the war was over.

I remained in contact with Jonsie as he was learning to read and write. He died less than a year later due to complications from his injuries, receiving no citation for his heroism. I believe this is why they called it “the Forgotten War.”

– Submitted by Charles Grant Culbertson on behalf of Jack Lloyd Wallace, Bath, N.C.

Over a four-hour time, on the eve of the ceasefire, the division frontage received about 4,700 rounds of artillery from the enemy and we fired 11,000 rounds at them. The real purpose of this was to avoid having to carry them out after the ceasefire. It was a fantastic show while it was going on.

By the time I arrived in Korea, the war had stabilized, which basically meant the enemy was on one side of the mountain and we on the other.

During the day, everything was quiet but as sun set, the night sky would be bright with flares to mark enemy targets. Our unit would fight the entire night, and the next morning there would be a head count to determine how many men were lost during the night.

On July 15, 1953, I was wounded in the head with shell fragments. I was found in a trench at approximately 2:30 a.m., severely injured from my wounds. I was transported to Japan, in a coma for four days and was hospitalized for a total of 120 days. My injury resulted in paralysis to the right side of my face, permanent deafness in my right ear and loss of memory.

Once stabilized, I was transferred back to the U.S. to continue my treatment at Camp Pickett, Blackstone, Va. The war ended 12 days after I was injured.

My oldest brother, Cpl. Tom J. Mullins, was in the Army four years in the early ’50s.

He was driving an Army tank when there was a “blackout;” his tank hit something, overturned and caught fire. He was burned badly, 190 pieces of flesh were grafted from his legs onto his back. It was a painful experience, but he never complained. Tom was happy to serve his country during the Korean conflict.

Tom died in 1998. He was my hero. And I’m honored to be able to pay some tribute to him and the other veterans.

Falling asleep while on guard duty was punished with a week of eating only corned beef hash. Some nasty stuff. Winter in Korea was brutal. Shoes and clothing were inadequate for the temperatures. Packages and letters were very much anticipated. My aunt sent homemade chocolate that my buddies and I enjoyed. A soldier who had returned home left his guitar so I was the entertainment. I used some telephone wire for strings till my Dad could send some.

At the end of my tour I was offered sergeant. I politely declined.