My Father's Korean War Memoirs

[ChicagoRob]

Hello All.

My father sent me this a while back. I found it very interesting (but of course I'm biased) and you may as well.

Rob


Chapter 4, Living the Life of “Beetle Bailey” or “The Corps”



Like a good many boys at the age of 16/17, at least back in the late 1940s area, the military service had a romantic ring. Your brothers, cousins, brothers of your friends took their turns in serving and protecting our country during that time of aggression and need, which, although ended, was still in the minds and hearts of practically everyone.



Hitler and his Nazi Germany, along with the Japanese Empire were defeated – now, one of our allies, the Soviet Union was becoming the one to watch and beware, with their goal of creating communism in every nook and cranny around the world. Not true communism, but the Stalin brand. The “cold war” was upon us.



I convinced my mother that belonging to the Marine Air Reserve was an opportunity that I, or no one else, should have to miss. My persuasion won out, she signed for me and I enlisted in the United States Marine Corps Reserve. (I thought that I was getting into the “USMC Air Force: (There is not, nor was there ever such an outfit).



During my senior year in High School, I attended “drill” at the Olathe Navel Air Station one week end a month I sort of remember staying overnight at least one time, other than the ‘one nighter’, we drove back and forth.



It was fun and somewhat educational. I learned a little about military life, worked on Corsair and TBF Aircraft and occasionally would receive permission to fly with the pilots in a TBF on Sunday afternoons (Not always). My whole objective in joining was to fly. I did.



Back then, you joined the active reserve, for which we got paid. If you missed “x” number of meetings (drill days) you were demoted to the inactive reserve, until such time your enlistment expired. I enjoyed the active reserve, even flew to El Toro in southern California for summer two week training exercises – that was a good experience – got a little taste of military life and a free trip to California at age 18, flew too! Back in the late 40s, not too many flew, or could afford to fly. It was a real treat.



Within a few months after getting married, I quit attending the week end drills and was placed on inactive status. In October 1950, I was working the night shift at the Fischer Body Plant, part of the GM conglomerate. As I arrived home and started to open the front living room door, a hand shot out through the opening, holding an official looking envelope. It was my initiation to come and be with fellow Marines for the next year or so. (North Korea had invaded South Korea in June 1950 – while we were enjoying our first anniversary, the North Koreans were picking on the good guys (North Korea was a satilite of China’s and Stalin’s brand of communism.



The July before, we had an addition to our young family, little Miss Muffet. (Hindsight indicates that I probably could have gotten out of going because of family; however, I have never backed away from things – either stubborn or stupid, it’s how you look at it (I guess).



Wow, quite a difference from the atmosphere in the Olathe Marine Barracks and that of the Marine Corps Recruit Depot at San Diego, California. I made the mistake of sitting on the corner of the Sgt’s desk when arriving – boy was that a ‘no no’. After the chewing out, standing at attention, etc, I chided myself, by thinking, “Boy, what did you get yourself into this time?”



Boot camp was ok, it could have been better organized to be more cognizant to the needs and wants of the participants – no, the Marine Corps doesn’t operate that way. It is all ‘about and centered around’ the drill Sergeants! It was his day – our hell. I guess, you might say, that after 10 weeks of Marine Corps Boot Camp, you go through the metamorphosis of becoming a man.



After boot camp, I was given leave; came home for a few days. My bride, Betty and little Miss Muffet were living with Ralph and Rosie Rusher in Lenexa (Betty’s sister) The Rushers helped look after the

“girls” while I was away. I’m sure that the arrangement caused inconveniences and hopefully some pleasure for all.



My next assignment was what is known as “tent camp” in Camp Pendleton, Oceanside, California. We were on our way to becoming marines. I was assigned to the assault platoon for training. I kept asking where were the airplanes – never did get a good answer. I came out of the four month training with the skills to: Burn up bunkers, trucks, jeeps and other stuff with a flame thrower. Pretty neat really, it would shoot a flame a long distance; also how to use, aim and fire a 4.0 rocket launcher – these were good for light tanks, trucks, etc.

(There have been times recently, when one would sure be nice to use on some of those big pickups and SUVs that hog the road). Then came the training of blowing up various things, using c3”, which I believe was a volatile substance mixed with a soft plastic gel. You could shape it around a pipe, plug a hole, etc – put in a blasting cap and blow things to smithereens. This I had already been trained to do during my high school days when working for my cousin, Fred Rosenau.. I would quarry rock with a couple of assistants (Betty’s dad’s quarry) – drill holes in the rock ledges, then pack the holes with either black powder or dynamite, blow them apart for building stone; load the truck and I would deliver the rock to the job sights. It was interesting work - never boring.

This previous experience did get me in ‘hot water’ with the Sergeant and the Commanding Officer of the Guard, one day when I was pulling guard duty in the ammunition dump at Camp Pendleton…... One sunny spring afternoon, I was assigned to walk a guard post, guarding the bunkers where various explosives and ammunition where stored. A ‘horses a__’ 2nd Lieutenant pulled up in front of me while I walking my post and proceeded to enter one of the caves, - I challenged him (to see his authorization) he hassled me, but finally did show me his order

I saluted him and proceeded walking my post – he commented about my salute, didn’t think it was quite proper. On my return trip, walking the post, I noticed three blasting caps laying on a huge boulder that was at the entrance to the bunker. I picked them up and gently placed them in my shirt pocket, carried them there until I was replaced. From what was told by the Sergeant of the guard, no one had reported missing any blasting caps. That ‘horse’s a_ _ 2nd Lt. went back in and got three more caps without telling anybody! I got chewed out by the officer in charge (another 2nd Lt.) for (1) picking up the blasting caps that were in an unauthorized location; (2) for not turning them in; (3) for almost killing myself by handling those caps without any prior experience. The Sergeant backed me up, and [since this is my story] I believe, hid a snicker when I was telling the 2nd Lt., just out of college my experiences with blasting caps, black powder and the fun we used to have on the 4th of July, back in Kansas.. The sergeant wrote up the report.



My MOS, my expertise, was – an assault platoon marine. Oh, we also learned how to properly shoot an M1 Rifle (Expert Medal), pistols and semi automatic carbines. That’s what I wanted, but, only the NCOs were issued semi-automatic carbines, and I was a lowly PFC with a “hash” mark. (Meaning a mark to put on your sleeve indicating that you had four years of service.) That was good and bad. Usually after four years in the Marine Corps, you should be at least a Lance Corporal... Officers would see my PFC stripe and the hash mark and think that I was busted back for being a screw-up. However, occasionally, that hash mark would put me in charge of a detail. No extra money in the pay envelope.



After tent camp, came cold weather training, which I was excused from taking because my wife had come to California to see me “off”.

I missed; no I actually rode up with them to Big Bear Mountain, and came back on the same truck. My company commander was Eddie Le Baron, a national football hero from California. He was a good guy and a good officer (He had just graduated from OCS; I really owe him a lot for choosing me as company clerk after tent camp. More on this later. Betty and I enjoyed our three days together in California – see her memoirs. It is time to board ship.



Section 2



By this time, after about five and one-half months being on active duty, I had come accustomed to carrying my own luggage, rifles and stuff like that. I didn’t feel too ‘put out’ about doing so; the 2nd Lieutenants (officers) had to carry their own. For some reason, I was one of the last ushered to our ‘state room’ aboard the LST that we boarding.

Our assigned quarters, was fairly good size, mostly filled with bunks, five tiers high, with narrow isles – if you met someone coming the opposite way, you had to do a 90 degree turn and both of you squeeze by the other. I had a bottom bunk (That and other bottom bunks were the only bunks left). It was dark down there, with about 4 or 5 inches between your bunk and the steel deck floor I always wondered it there were rats on that ship? I was never bit, at least by a rat. I was bit by two marines taking me for ten bucks in a few hands of cribbage. I still chalk that up as good experience – which experience kept me out of many many card games while ‘we’ were overseas.



A company clerk did not have much to do while on ship – so 2nd Lt. Le Baron gave me a barber kit and the title of company barber. I lasted through two haircuts. The men were going to revolt and throw me overboard if I did not give up the barber tools. Without the Lieutenant knowing about it, I delegated my responsibility to a guy who used to cut some hair before joining the corps. Everybody was happy about that, until somebody snitched that he was charging two bits for a real good job. The Lieutenant chewed me out and read him the ‘riot act’.

Haircuts were free from then on (The Lt had him cut his hair instead of standing in line for the ship’s barber).



You were not allowed to stay below deck during the day, rain or shine, you were topside. Other than doing our daily exercises (they called it calisthenics)-chipping paint. Nothing else to do – “lets chip paint” It was always cold on deck, we all tried to huddle next to the exhaust vents when chipping. It must have taken at least seven days to get from San Diego, California to Kobe, Japan. If I remember correctly, we were there two full days. Half were allowed to go ashore each day. My first trip to Japan. We also left our unnecessary gear (personal belongings) there in our duffle bags From then on, we traveled light – a regulation sized back pack, which inspired the pack that kids wear today. Did most of the things in Kobe that I guess a tourist from Kansas would do in one day - rode a rickshaw, bought a couple scarves to send home . Couldn’t do much, my spending money was being spent by the cribbage guys. Two days later, we disembarked at Inchon, Korea and disbursed from there. We were a replacement draft, meaning we were being assigned to the various units where vacancies existed in the 1st Marine Division (lstMarDiv). My first assignment was to Able Company, lst Battalion, 7th Marines. Sort of a non-descript outfit.



The lst Marines, of the lst Marine Division was the outfit getting the headlines – it was the outfit that you wanted to be assigned . Their Commander being Chesty Puller, a legendary Marine – a Marine’s Marine. Some will say that he was the Marine Corps. Lt Le Baron was assigned to the lst Marines.



Hey, we carried our load, got our share of the fighting – it just seemed like Puller’s Marines had more photographers and newsreel people traveling with them. Life gets rough out in the field of battle. Sometimes, it’s hard to find a good cameraman when you need one. I was and am proud to have been part of the 7th Marines.



I had no idea where I was, or where I was heading – I followed the pack. Trying to adjust to digging a hole in the ground, which was mostly rock, to lay down your sleeping bag – my rule of thumb was to dig the ‘foxhole’ nose deep. (I had to dig deeper than some). Able company was going up to replace a unit on the line – we hitched a ride on a few tanks that were going that way. It was a rough ride, but better than marching up those Korean Hills.



Operation Mousetrap had just been completed, in fact the lead tank, about three or four ahead of the one I was riding had a ’v’ shaped blade on the front of it, which acted as a plow It was plowing the dead Chinese soldiers off of the mountain road, pushing them over the side. This was my and other’s initiation to the Korean War. The numbers, I cannot recall at this time were horrendous. As I just stated, we were going up to replace another unit, who participated in the Operation Mouse Trap... We saw the results of the operation, which was successful insofar as the Marines were concerned. The best way to explain it, without drawing maps would be to look at a capital ‘M’ One leg of the M would be the 7th Marines; the other leg would be the ROK Marines (Korean). To start, the M looked like an upside down ‘U ‘The Chinese were lead to believe that the center had very little resistance, which it did, so that the Chinese could march/fight down the center, swing around and capture the “bait”, the ROK marine regiment. Thus ‘MouseTrap’. As the Chinese came down the M, six abreast, around the mountain curve, a few hundred yards deep with marching soldiers, the 7th Marines had set up their 75mm cannon They said it was like shooting bowling balls, you would knock down the pins and they would keep coming. That image is with me still. Sometimes, I think it must have been a bad dream – but, I was there after the fact. I was told that the marines riding the tanks saw the worst – only a few of us saw the results. Behind the tanks were dozers burying the bodies, or at least pushing rock over them. In a few days we were relieved from our positions by an army unit, we hiked off the hill. Our encampment on the line was quiet, as war goes, there were a few Chinese, about five or six down in the valley, the first day that we dug in. Everybody up and down the line was firing at them, except me, I guess. My squad leader, knowing that I was one of his new replacements was observing me. He asked me how come I was not shooting at the enemy like the rest of the squad was doing. I thought that I retorted with a good truthful answer, that being: “There too far way for me to hit Sarg, I don’t want to waist ammo.”

His answer to mine was: “Marine, when I give an order, I expect it to be executed – do you understand me?”

“Yes sir”, I said
”And never call me sir again, is that understood? When I come back, I want to smell your piece and it better smell like gun powder”.

I obeyed his orders and fired my M-1, using tracer ammo. The targets were only an inch high, if that large. A lot went through my mind before I pulled that trigger the first time , it was hard for me to rationalize what I was about to do– another experience that I will always remember. As we left the line, .I do remember that I was given an empty army regulation gasoline can, “jerry can” [squad’s water supply to fill canteens] to carry with me, in additional to my life belongings, M1, bedroll, etc.



It was a long, heavy, hot walk. We arrived at our bivouac area after dark, walking in our sleep. We were mostly huddled in the regimental “commons” for the lack of a better word, waiting to be directed to a spot to dig a hole to crawl into.



A buddy that I was in tent camp with, name of Gary Emerson, from the east coast, who was corresponding with my sis Rita, sought me out among the troops and asked if I had signed up for the test the next morning. What test? He said the Sergeant Major was announcing that typing tests were to be given the following morning. The battalion Correspondence Clerk was being rotated and they wanted to give the men first chance before requesting a replacement out of the regimental headquarters. He literally shoved me toward the Sergeant Major, I applied. The next morning, to my knowledge there was only three us who applied. I was given the test and the position. The others were assigned to other duties within the Headquarters Company. Right here, I say thank you to Gary Emerson and Eddie Le Baron, wherever they may be. I inquired of the sergeant major, at a later date, how come the other two guys never took the typing test. He said that he looked at my personnel file after I applied and saw an unsolicited notation in my file made by a 2nd Lt. Eddie Le Baron, Company Commander of 8th draft company ‘X?”, of my clerical abilities, etc. I oiled up my M1 real good and set it aside for time being. Right here and now, I wish to say, that in the United States Marine Corps, under the command of the US Navy, in the 1950s, there was paper work. Have you ever on a manual Underwood Typewriter (a machine used to print words on paper, prior to computers) attempted to type the original and seven copies of onion skin paper, using heavy durable carbon paper. WITH NO ERASER MARKS – NO ERRORS! That was the drill! I had my dad mail me a few sheets of thinner carbon paper – lst bat’s correspondence looked sharper, at least the top three or four copies.



We were the S-l section, the administrative section of the battalion

Motor Pool was our transportation. Willie was assigned to take care of our jeep and trailer, pick up our mail and a couple of times provide transportation for me to deliver docs. We moved with the troops, always approximately one mile behind the line. There would be a Mash unit close by. Some nights, there would be vehicles coming and going all night long. It did not happen often, but it did.



An example on how we operated: We struck camp, naturally it would be raining. The trailer was loaded with all our office, bedding, etc gear, when Mr. Rhodes, our S1 officer, got orders to provide certain documents needed by the regimental command to forward to division and on up the line. We unloaded the trailer sufficiently for me to have my typing desk, which was a large wooden box that hinged open into a small desk with the typewriter then placed on top – it had small drawers for supplies, etc. The unit was set on the side of the hill that was between us and the “enemy” which was just over the ridge, being cleared out by our battalion. Since it was raining, a good hard sprinkle, six of our crew held shelter halves over my head, to keep the paper dry. Mr. Rhodes, standing in the rain was dictating the report to me while I was typing.



Errors or eraser marks were not allowed on any reports or documents forwarded beyond battalion. It took me three tries to get it right, all the while the six guys grumbling for me to hurry it up, while a corsair was dropping napalm bombs just over the ridge from where we were – you could feel the heat. Ed Stork, my “roomy”, he owned the other half of the shelter halves, took a photo of the event; its funny………… maybe you had to be there to appreciate the humor.





I was always the first to be loaned out from our Section in time of need, meaning to plug up holes in our line because of causalities. Spent a few days with Able Company, a couple of times, they seemed to be the one with the worst luck. Once with Charlie Company, a bunch of us went there – one of Charlie’s platoons was practically wiped out in a fire fight.



I was assigned as a radio operator for one of the platoons in Baker company for a few days until they received a replacement. In the Marine Corps, the platoon lieutenant (2nd Lt.) always leads his men – I didn’t realize the radio man is in front of the Lieutenant – that’s where I was, and that’s where the marine that I replaced was until he stepped on a land mine. You carried that radio, in a back pack all day, slept with it and was expected to be wide awake if somebody called.



I was loaned out twice to S-2 section, Intelligence, to help them on typing their reports, Hopefully we had good intelligence, ‘cause they sure thought they were The whole tent was officers and a gunny sergeant – I was the peon. They attempted to get me transferred to them – thank God for friendly and appreciative officers in Section 1 – I finally was ordered back to S-1 and my old job.



S3, Operations, was a good bunch of higher grade officers, sure of themselves, and knew how to take care of the troops under their command.- I would have accepted a transfer to S3, but it was never offered. It truly was exciting work



All of the traveling around, wore out a pair of boondockers; had a hole in the right shoe. I can’t remember quite where I was, but I stumbled upon grave registrations – a place that I would never want to work. They had piles of shoes and other gear stacked around. I asked, they said yes, I found myself a good pair of shoes, probably somebody who was just shipped over was the previous owner. While I was there, I noticed a stack of rifles and carbines – I asked if I could trade mine in – sure, go ahead. I got the semi automatic carbine that I wanted, with three magazines of ammo. It was so much lighter to carry. – Never did fire it. I got questioned a couple of times up on the line how I rated a carbine – they would buy the S1 story. Actually, up front an M1 was a much safer and surer weapon..



2nd Lieutenant Malloy replaced CWO Rhodes as Adjutant of the lst Battalion, 7th Marines – my new boss, above our gunny and the battalion sergeant major who owned me. After about three weeks on the job, Lt. Malloy came to me for a little private talk and a performance review. He advised me that his wife was pregnant, due in about three months and that since I had a child and the only marine married on the clerical staff, I should be sent to the rear when there is an opening. I agreed.



Ok, you have the ‘line” closes to the enemy, then battalion administrative, which was us in the Sections 1,2,3 then regimental command. Then, way in the rear (Mason, an old Japanese Naval Base) was the lst Mar Div Headquarters, with each regiment and battalion represented by Personnel Offices, Payroll Offices, etc.



Mr. Malloy had three of us transferred to the Personnel Office, and he followed when our CWO was rotated home. We office’d in a huge room, that was a dormitory room during the days of the Japanese occupation - on the second floor of this stone and stucco building. We had quarters about a block away, tents with screen sides and wooden floors. House boy and a wash lady – man, we were living. Regular showers with hot water. Oh, about 2/3rd a mile to downtown Mason, flea market, restaurant, sake bars. St. Joseph’s Catholic Church and School.



Ed Stork, who had arrived in Mason before me, took me out on the town the first Sunday that we were there. After church, we went up town and Ed introduced me to Sake. Warm Sake, it tasted just like warm lemonade, I thought. Wow, a few bottles of that “lemonade” and you were in la la land. I was. We were heading back to the base and I decided to hitch hike, against Ed’s wishes. The Jeep stopped, Ed got in the back, I sat up front with the driver and he took us back to camp, even dropped us off close to our tent area. To be friendly, I chatted all the way. The next day, Monday morning, we were required to always fall out for inspection by the base commander. The commander as walking the ranks with his entourage of Regimental Commanders, stopped in front of me, grabbed by carbine, handed it back and said, “Are you getting enough liberty son”?

I said “YES SIR!” Later that day, I overhead Sgt Ed Stork explaining to our CWO what had happen and that it was his fault for letting me have so much “lemonade” Got out of that one.



St. Joseph school was rebuilt with donations from a Marine Unit that was no longer in the area. The personnel from the 7th Marines were invited to the dedication and Confirmation Class. I was sponsor for one of our marines. Although we had a chaplain on base, we attended mass usually at St. Joseph’s - they (the parish priest and the bishop knew enough English to ask for script. It was almost like stateside living except for the regular guard duty that we were responsible to do. Walk a perimeter post at least a couple of times a week during night hours – got awful lonely and was a risky assignment. Unfortunately for us, the army wanted our quarters and we moved back north, we moved twice while up north, we were usually within five miles of the line.



I enjoyed playing Monopoly. A good friend sent me a Monopoly game, which we kept going continuously in our quarters. Instead of the play money, we used Korean won, which was worth about a 300 Korean Won for a dollar. It was hard to lose a lot of money, but it was fun. A buddy from New Jersey, Rino Frasino and myself were the heavy winners, we had a knack for the game. We had wads of won. The last night before we shipped back north, we went to town to the restaurant and had a steak dinner and gave the waitress all of our won, we gave her approximately two years wages. She was quite excited. Where we were going, won had no value to us. After we moved out of the area, it was discovered that our commissary personnel were selling the steaks to the restaurant – we were going to town and paying for steaks, which should have been ours at the mess hall.



The next day, Mr. Malloy and I flew up to select our sight. The others, with the records came by 3 ton truck

.(Mr. Malloy was a high school history teacher in real life, he was a good influence for me). Through his encouragement, I enrolled into correspondence school, which was through a university and endorsed by the USMC and took a course in Personnel Management. Would read the chapter, mail answers to the questions asked at the end of each chapter, and could inquire about the text that was not completely understood by me. ( I used this on my Ford Motor Company application – it got me a job in the Hourly Personnel Office).





Section 3



We established our new regimental headquarters area, adjacent to a river. (Higher ground, naturally) Our battalion quarters, two big squad tents, attached, gave us nice office space with the back room for living quarters – not as convenient as the Mason Naval Base gig, but nice. Everything in the military, always by the numbers, so that put us next to regimental headquarters, a good place to be. This is in the area, or the time, that I discovered that the officers were allotted two fifths of Canadian Whiskey each month, less than $1.50 a bottle. The catch 22 was that the majority of officers did not care for the Canadian Whiskey, taste too much like scotch – they liked Kentucky bourbon! I started getting a fifth of Kentucky Tavern in the mail on a monthly basis. Since it was illegal to mail, I have no idea who was sending it to me. Mr. Malloy, our CO did not abide, but buddies in the officer’s quarters did. He arranged for me to swap on a monthly basis my Kentucky Tavern for two of the Canadian. I was quite popular with the boys around our office area. A couple of shots here, a shot there could ease the harshness of campground living. I scrounged some old wooden boxes, got nails, saw and hammer and made a real front door for our office with a window (The only one on the block).



We had the Christmas Party for the three battalions and regimental people. Mr. Malloy started acquiring his monthly ration, which we used to our advantage. We borrowed a huge kettle from the mess hall, stole powdered milk and eggs and made the best eggnog that I ever tasted. An office buddy had his mom ship him a few pounds of black eyed peas from Texas – that along with a ham bone that the cook let lay out one night (after a few shots), made our Christmas party. Home made bread compliments of the mess hall. All the officers who came contributed booze to the eggnog – it was pretty potent stuff. A few drank too much and had to be helped to their tents, enlisted men that is. Only the commander of our regimental headquarter unit had too much – more than he could handle – that eggnog was strong. When it happened to an enlisted man, his officer, or sergeant sent him home – but nobody would touch the Regimental CO – I got the job, as ordered by the our battalion Sergeant Major - it was my party, I was responsible. When he (CO) was wrestling with one of our guys and knocked down our stovepipe – “enuf was enuf”



I ushered him outside and told him that I was ordered to make sure that he got back to his quarters so that he would not embarrass himself. He looked at me – a long look- (I’m having 2nd thoughts about this) he saluted and said, thank you corporal, show me the way. Oh, that’s, right, someplace, along the way, I received my second stripe.



I have never, in my entire life, had a religious experience, as attending midnight mass that Christmas. Our altar was the hood of the chaplain’s jeep. It was snowing, a beautiful gentle snow, it along with the singing of all those male voices, Silent Night, Hark, the Angel Sing, Away in a Manger. Oh, what an experience. That is also one of the memories that stay with me.



New Years was kind of ‘dead’, couldn’t book a band, we all stayed home and probably wrote romantic letters to our loved ones, (Some guys corresponded with four or five “ loved ones” . They would share the return letters with us. (No television) But the band bit, does remind me of one more experience during this time. The PX wagon came by about once a month, offering books to lend, stuff to buy, like cameras, watches, chewing gum , candy bars at very good prices with sporting and musical instruments to loan. They had a violin that had never been checked out. I checked it out, I always wanted to learn to play the violin, and figured that I had 3 or 4 months to learn before being rotated home.



After about three nights of screeching in our squad tent, my life was threatened by fellow bunkmates. “Either I put that damn thing back in its case, or the violin and me would be thrown into the river, I put the violin back into its case (the water was too cold), That was the end of the violin caper, I thought. Sometime in March one of the regimental personnel came over looking for me – I had a telephone call from some officer at Divisional Headquarters in Pusan, Korea. I went over to the regimental office (we did not have a telephone) and accepted the call. It went something like this:



“Corporal Lang”

This is Lieutenant Jones, Corporal, do you have any dress blues, with you or in storage at Kobe? (If I owned a set of dress blues, pray tell, why would I have formal wear with me in the boondocks – in a battle zone?)

“No sir, I do not have any dress blues.”

What size are you?

“30/32 inch waist sir, 6 foot tall. Sir, what is this about?

Next week, General Ridgeway and a group of congressmen will be here for inspections and meetings. The general wants you to play dinner music for them on their last night here.

“What kind of dinner music sir? (I did take 4 years of piano and could play the Marine Corps hymn- but surely they could find somebody better than that)

On the violin, of course. How good are you?

Sir, I don’t play the violin – my squad made me quit.

What are you talking about Corporal? You don’t play the violin?

No sir, always wanted to learn how though.

G*%$#dam_@* corporal, why in the hell did you check out an instrument that you could not play?

So that I could learn how sir?

Do you know anybody who does play the violin corporal.?

Yes sir, my Aunt, back home, Sir. We have a guitar player from the Tenseness and a boy from New Jersey that plays a Jew’s harp in our tent (I could tell that he was upset, and was just trying to be helpful).

Corporal, don’t you ever check out an instrument that you cannot play, is that understood?

Yes sir.

Dismissed.

(He never did send the dress blues) I have not picked up a violin since that time.



My replacement arrived sometime during the last week of April; I had a few days to kill. They assigned me about a half dozen Korean labours (My first command as a sergeant) to do odd jobs around the camp. We had moved the week before – there was plenty to do. And all that beer to drink. (As a reward for his division, an Army general had enough Japanese quart bottles of beer shipped over to Korea to provide each man with a couple of bottles – good beer. Well, the last week of their campaign turned sour and they lost ground to the Chinese Republic’s Army. He was so mad and embarrassed that he called up our regimental headquarters, and offered them the beer. As a sergeant, I was entitled to a whole case. For a week, I watched by detail dig latrines and I drank my case of Japanese rice beer. Packed my gear, boarded ship and headed for Kobe Japan. Have never been back to either place.



We were billeted in the separation barracks at the MCRD, San Diego.

We would be scheduled for physicals, etc prior to being released. We were given the night off, but could not leave the base. Hey, why leave the base- there was everything that a returning Marine would want or need for one night. I was going through my Duffel bag, when somebody came back toward my bunk, asking if I was Lang, Sergeant Anthony J. Etc, etc,

I said yo!

He said, “ You got visitors up front who came to pick you up. I don’t know who you know, but I sure wish I did.” .

With an invitation like that, I am going to go see what is going on.

Wow, the two cutest PFCs in shorter than regulation skirts there to greet me. If I was Sergeant Lang, they were to be my escorts for the evening, and Sergeant Major Joe Beseker was waiting in his office for me. Hey, where I just came from was black and white with gray all over – this was in technicolor. Naturally, I went with the young ladies (Bams) as they were known throughout the corps.



There’s Joe Beseker*, sitting in his office, with a big cigar in his hand, puffing away. Had one of the girls get me a cup of coffee and had it all laid it out for me. Sign a 4 year hitch, another stripe, NCO school

Work in his office, with the two PFCs as your assistants – move the family out in base housing – enjoy life and promised a ladder to climb. It sounded good. He would give me a couple of days to talk it over with my wife. I talked, she listened. She talked, I listened. We decided that Kansas was better than California. to raise our family



That was the second time that I turned down, what seemed to be an opportunity at the time. Mr. Malloy offered me OCS before Christmas.(In the Marine Corps, 2nd Lieutenants do not last too long on the front lines-[see radio story above] He would get me there; (past the entrance exam) it was up to me to stay. My administrative MOS would probably keep me behind the lines, maybe. Betty and I decided – no thank you.



TWA flew me to Kansas City. Betty and I went back to the MCRD in 2002. I purchased a MCRD tee shirt and commented about the size. The sales clerk remarked that if it didn’t fit, to bring it back. I said,

“Lady, I only get here every 50 years”.



· I could probably write four or five pages on Sgt Major Joe Beseker – for one, stag movies come to mind - I firmly believe that he was the template for the TV sitcom “Sgt Bilco.; one of my favorite programs back in the ‘50s – sure reminded me of Sergeant Major Joe Beseker. (The Sergeant Majors unofficially run the Marine Corps.)



@ In addition to my daily duties in the S1 Section and the Personnel Office of the lst Battalion, 7th Marines, I was always given the opportunity to hold guard duty. There were a lot of sub zero weather in Korea – it was cold. Walking was better than sitting behind a machine gun. I was lucky on two occasions. My daily responsibilities consisted mostly of typing reports, about WIAs, KIAs, not to many MIAs. I was very proficient in composing Hardship Letters for line personnel. The officers would send the marine back to me to write the “tear jerker”, so the marine could go home where he was needed. Also typed from written hand notes a lot of letters of condolences for unit commanders. Letters of recommendation for awards of merit for enlisted and officer personnel, such as Letter of Accommodations, Bronze Star, Silver Star – Purple Hearts. Parents, wives, girl friends would write their senators with inquiries on the well being of their loved one – these too, all had to be answered to the Senators. Betty wrote our senator – I did not get to type that one. (These files were always flagged – alerting us to keep an eye on those files”).



Written this 22nd day of September in the year of 2007, I hereby affirm that to the best of my recollection,, being a 4th quarter man, this is an accurate log of my marine corps service.

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